The buzz of activity they walked into reminded Ghile of festival days. They passed under the stout wooden gate of Last Hamlet and the sound of the wind was replaced with excited laughter and the shouts of his kinsmen.
Ghile couldn't help but walk taller as he entered Last Hamlet. Not only was he with his uncle, a fang of Upper Vale and his father, the clan leader, but also the Sorcerer of Whispering Rock and his apprentice. He imagined he was a hero returning home after a great adventure.
His dream was shattered when his mother appeared, kissed him and ruffled his hair. She fussed over his torn tunic, then sent him on the first of the many chores he needed to do to help prepare for the welcoming feast his father would be expected to host.
Ghile's cousin Gar and his ever present shadow, Bralf, leaned against a nearby sheepfold. Gar was one of those boys who was good at everything and knew it. Bralf, with his piggish eyes, was the type they attracted. Ghile couldn't understand how he could be related to the likes of Gar. They watched Ghile approach, their intentions obvious.
Growing up, Adon had protected Ghile from Gar's bullying. Since Adon's culling, Gar had made up for lost time. Ghile decided to change paths and take a longer route to his father's house. In his haste to avoid the two, he tripped over his feet and stumbled. Their laughter chased after him, but luckily they didn't follow.
Uncle Toren delayed returning to his patrols around Upper Vale for another day to enjoy the celebration. He normally only stayed a couple days. Ecrec tapped a cask as the older men gathered around it calling for Toren's famous tale about the frost wyrm on the Horn. They had heard this tale so many times most could tell it themselves. Many of the younger men nearby, who were butchering and preparing the coming meal, stopped their banter to better hear.
The women gathered at Ecrec's roundhouse with armfuls of the things Elana would need to prepare her home. The younger girls brushed the loose dirt off the hard packed floor while others followed behind sowing fresh straw and giggling amongst each other about how handsome Riff was.
Woolen rugs of every color were spread around the central hearthstone with enough room separating them to allow the women to move freely between them while serving. They brought extra bowls and mugs, then gathered around the hearth and baking oven to cook and gossip.
As the last light of day slipped behind the wind buffeted palisade of Last Hamlet, the men sat around the central hearth of Ecrec's roundhouse, its flames casting light off the red wattle and daub walls and sloping thatch ceiling. Every rug around the hearth was taken. Young women moved among them, filling bowls and mugs, correcting those men whose stories became too outrageous. The older women and children sat along the walls sharing stories and laughter.
Ghile and his little sister, Tia, had been sure to get a seat near the baking oven to enjoy its lingering heat. He marveled at how bright his father's home was with the torches Almoriz had freshly enchanted with everflame. How they burned so brightly and yet wouldn't set the thatch aflame baffled Ghile. Riff had even enchanted some this time, which only set the girls more aflutter.
Ghile shook his head at all the festival dresses his cousins wore and the dazzling displays of hastily gathered flowers woven in their hair. Ghile wondered if Riff realized the danger he was in.
“My Sabritha is sure to catch his eye. She is of handfasting age as of this summer festival, you know,” Ghile overheard his Aunt Wirt say.
“I would not want my Tera to marry a sorcerer. No telling where she would end up. Lakeside with those Dwarfs and them stone buildings of theirs. Or worse, he might take her out of the Cradle all together. I made sure to snatch every flower she had in her hair this afternoon,” Aunt Jilla added.
Ghile glanced over along the far wall at Tera. She sat there sullen. He would be thrilled at the chance to see the world outside the Cradle.
Ghile was savoring his pottage. Normally it was mostly gravy and tubers. His father had made sure tonight's had plenty of meat. He eyed the last chunks in his bowl and then saw Tia's large expectant eyes beyond the rim.
She showed him her empty bowl. How could someone so small eat so much and stay that way? With a sigh he handed his bowl to her and then leaned forward to better hear the adults.
“How go your studies, Riff?” Toren said, accepting a bowl of pottage from Elana.
“They go well, Fang Toren. I'm working with metals now.”
Ecrec grunted. “Good, maybe next time you visit I will barter with you to sharpen my steel and mend Elana's pots instead of your Master. He eats twice as much as anyone I know.”
The others laughed. Almoriz only smiled and placed another handful into his mouth.
“Don't tease, Husband.” Elana scolded. “Good Master Almoriz has a healthy appetite, is all.” She moved behind the sorcerer, refilling his ale.
“So tell me, Master Almoriz, what other news from the Cradle?” Ecrec asked, smiling at his wife.
Master Almoriz lifted his mug in thanks to Elana. “I have already told you of the Whispering Rock Brewsons and the casks they are preparing for this year's festival.”
“News from Redwood is the same. The Fangs of Redwood speak of Vargan encroaching farther up into the mountains. Some were spotted near the lakes of the Southfalls themselves.”
There was mumbling amongst the men and the women pulled their children closer.
“I wonder if some of the Vale Fangs will be asked to travel south after the festival to help?” Toren said.
Almoriz nodded and continued. “Perhaps. They already have enough trouble to deal with in the Drops. The plainsmen raid further and further into the mountains every spring. Though, I should think Mother Brambles will keep some of her druids and their shieldwardens in the Cradle after the festival to help in the south.”
“What of Lakeside?” Ecrec said.
“Lakeside is no different than you remember it from last year's festival. I do not tarry there longer than I need to.” Almoriz waved his hand before his face as if he had caught some foul smell.
It was well known Master Almoriz had no love for their dwarven overlords, whose stronghold was centered in Lakeside, and more importantly the Sorcerer of Lakeside. Ghile heard he was more dwarf, than human. He took the coins the dwarves used in barter for his services. Other humans in Lakeside had even adopted the practice. Many thought this was too much like the dwarves and men like the Sorcerer of Lakeside were forgetting the traditions.
Almoriz traveled among the outlying settlements using his powers to help them and only asking the freedom to come and go as he pleased, a warm place to rest, food while he stayed and enough to last him till he reached his next destination.
The sorcerer motioned his cup towards Ghile. “Will your boy be taking his manhood test this season, Ecrec? He finally looks of age.”
A hush fell across the gathering. Ghile could feel his father's eyes upon him. He pretended to watch his sister. She was licking the last morsels from his bowl. Toren had brought this very subject up on his return to Last Hamlet and the shouts coming from Ecrec's house could be heard outside the palisade.
“He will be there as is his duty. He and the rest from Last Hamlet who are of age,” Ecrec said with a strained voice.
“I'm sure he will do well, he is a fine lad,” Almoriz replied.
“As long as his feet stay out of his way!” Gar said.
Laughter mixed with embarrassed gasps as heads turned to see others' reactions. Gar and Bralf sat away from the wall as not to be with the children, but still far enough from the men since they too still had to pass their manhood tests.
Ghile saw his father's jaw tighten and then heard Bralf's guffaws silenced when Gar's mother, Aunt Jilla, hurried over and cuffed Gar upside his head.
“Mind your tongue, boy! You dishonor your Uncle Ecrec with such talk. He has shared his hearth and food.”
Gar's father, Dargen, took this opportunity to drain his mug and thus avoid the entire situation.
The awkward silence was broken when Toren rele
ased a loud belch. “That meal was fine, Elana. It is times like this I wish I had not been chosen to be a fang and had snatched you or one of these other beautiful women up for myself.”
Ecrec humphed and the others laughed when Elana bounced a chunk of bread off Toren's head.
With the tension broken, Tia climbed into her mother's lap, “Show me the water animals, Riff!”
Riff sighed as if reluctant to appease the children. He then smiled mischievously at Tia and rose to fetch a wash bucket setting near the hearth. The children, and a couple of the older girls, shrieked with glee. The adults dug out pipes and pouches. Then, they too settled in to watch. A show of magic was enjoyed by all ages.
Riff sat the bucket before Tia, its contents sloshing gently. He then scooped a small amount of water into one hand. Stepping back, he waved his other above the first while chanting under his breath. Ghile couldn't hear what he said, but it had a rhythm to it and the words seemed more like a rumbling tone than anything discernible.
Tia leaned forward, her eyes transfixed on the top of the water. Ghile turned his attention there as well when the children began clapping and whispering with excitement. The watery shape of a small lamb rose, the water flowing across its surface. Three more soon joined it. They began moving within the confines of the bucket. Feeding on the surface and raising their heads to bleat silently.
A large wolf appeared on the surface opposite the sheep and then charged across the water. One of the children screamed. Suddenly, one of the sheep rose up to reveal itself as a Valehound, like Ast and Cuz, hidden amongst them, to attack the wolf. The children all cheered at this turn of events and then the watery figures collapsed back into the bucket.
Tia looked up at Riff with surprise. Riff shrugged and raised both of his hands to show her. They were both completely dry.
“All out of water, little one.”
Tia clapped and bounced in her mother's lap, “Again! Again!”
“Your control of water is getting better, Apprentice.” Almoriz drew a small stick from the fire to relight his pipe.
“Your source is lasting you much longer now.”
Ghile watched Riff straighten a little under the praise.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Again, Again!” The children demanded.
“Alright, flowers, but then it is off to bed, I should think. It grows late,” Elana said.
“I would like to have Master Almoriz and Master Riff look to a few more of my spears before they retire. I also want to know what you want for that cauldron I saw in your packs, Master Almoriz,” Ecrec said.
Almoriz inclined his head to Ecrec.
Toren clapped his hands together. “And I want to hear some music. Go collect your drums and pipes, men. Ladies, prepare yourself. Once the children are tucked away, I want to dance!”
4
Between Friends
Ghile lay silently staring into the darkness overhead. The young ones had been taken to one of the quieter roundhouses to sleep. The music and dancing had lasted long into the night. Little by little, yawns preceded goodbyes and the families eventually left and with them the heat.
Ghile pulled the woolen blanket up to his neck and wriggled deeper into his straw stuffed mat. He sniffed. He would need to re-stuff the mat in the morning.
“By Daomur's beard, this straw is itchy! I will never get to sleep,” Riff whispered near him, breaking the silence.
“Neither of us will if you keep complaining,” Ghile said.
Ghile listened to Riff shifting around trying to get comfortable. He heard a low throaty growl.
“And what is with these hounds? Get off me you smelly beasts!”
Riff pushed against Ast and Cuz who seemed to have taken a liking to their newest guest.
“I sleep in an inn when we travel to Lakeside. An inn!” Riff said, having given up on trying to move the enormous Valehounds.
Ghile thought back to his many trips down out of the valley to Lakeside. The thought of all those buildings huddled together made him uncomfortable. His father felt the people of Lakeside had given up too many of the old ways to adopt the ways of the dwarves. The people of Last Hamlet always camped outside the town wall when they visited for the festivals.
“I don't even know why Master Almoriz feels the need to come all the way to the top of the Cradle. Why do you live this high up? Do you even realize how much colder it is up here?” Riff said.
Ghile smiled in spite of himself. “My father says something about the grass up here being lusher for the herds. I don't know. Our family have always lived here. Last Hamlet is our home.”
“Properly named, that's for certain,” Riff said.
Ghile turned his head towards the central hearth where the old sorcerer lay covered in blankets.
“Get any louder and you can ask him yourself,” Ghile said.
Riff sighed.
“I don't see how all your complaining is helping. Sometimes you just need to make the best with what you have.” Ghile shook his head at giving advice he knew he should follow himself.
“Is that your advice, prisoner of Last Hamlet?” Riff said.
Ghile rose up on an elbow and looked over to the other side of the roundhouse where his parents slept. He listened for the deep rumbling of his father's snores before replying, “Do you think I want to be a sheepherder? I would cut off my right arm to be a sorcerer.”
“Make casting hard,” Riff said.
“Very funny. You do not realize how lucky you are. I have lived here all my life. At least when I was younger I had Adon.”
When Riff didn't immediately answer, Ghile lay back down.
“How long has it been?” Riff eventually said.
“How long has what been?” Ghile said.
“You know, since he was, um, culled.” Riff's voice was soft, almost too soft to hear.
“Four summers ago,” Ghile sighed. “Things are so different now. They still will not tell me why the dwarves culled him.”
“The dwarves do what they have to, Ghile. You know the histories. Surely your parents told you the histories?” Riff said.
“Some. Father doesn't care for the dwarves or their rules,” Ghile said.
He remembered some of the stories about the war between the gods. His people believed all the gods were the children of the All Mother, Allwyn, as she was known by his people. Allwyn created them and they in turn each created the different races.
“We are a cursed race, Ghile. They must cull any of our kind who show any signs of the Hungerer, for fear of the second coming,” Riff said.
Haurtu, the Hungerer. The insane god who tried to eat all his siblings. A story to scare children into listening to their parents.
“I have heard it said the dwarves of Lakeside pay the cullers to take those not in their favor,” Ghile said.
Riff sat up at this. “Your people should be careful; that sort of talk is dangerous.”
“Who is going to hear them? We live at the top of nowhere, remember?” Ghile said, then continued, “Besides, Adon showed no such signs. What signs? Did you see any such signs? Do you even know what they are?”
Ghile heard shuffling and coughing from somewhere nearby. He didn't realize how loud the sound of their voices had risen.
They both settled back down and lay there in silence for a long time before Riff replied in a low whisper.
“No, no I don't. But, that doesn't mean the cullers don't.”
5
Unwelcome Guest
Magister Obudar hurried through the arched hallway. He closed his eyes and exhaled trying to regain control of his emotions. He had lived among these humans too long. Adjusting his shoulder plates over his robe, he continued up the stairs to the Bastion's roof.
The rest of his clansmen were already there.
“The culler has not yet arrived, Magister Obudar,” Getchkin said, inclining his head and stepping slowly backwards as Obudar swept past.
Obudar looked to the skies, squi
nting out the light his bushy eyebrows didn't already block.
“Do not use that word, Getchkin son of Glern. Knight justices do not appreciate the title humans give them.”
Getchkin bowed again, this time lower.
Obudar looked out over the stone battlements at the surrounding human settlement of Lakeside. Fishing boats plied Crystal Lake beyond the uniform rows of wooden longhouses. A cacophony of noise pushed up from below, the humans preparing for their summer festival.
Obudar, like most dwarves, did not understand the pleasure humans drew from their incessant celebrations. Though, if he had to make a comparison, he felt it was equivalent to the pleasure he received from a season's trade fairly concluded where all parties were content. He had to admit, their festivals were good for business.
He thought about his past two decades as magister of the human containment here in the Cradle. He was proud of his record. Under his guidance, and Daomur's justice, they had produced a steady supply of goods for the empire. Cradle wool was of the finest quality and even the humans' ales and beers were beginning to demand a price comparable to their own dwarven spirits.
He had faith in Daomur and rarely questioned the laws passed down from the Judges Council in far off Daomount. He understood the dangers they felt the humans posed and the need for the Order of Knight Justices. Yet, he still did not look forward to these annual visits.
Well, the knight justice would arrive, endure the humans' manhood tests and celebrations and then perform the ritual of attrition on the supplicants. Hopefully none of his charges would be selected for removal. Humans were such emotional creatures and never understood the need for it, even when you explained it to them. It was bad for business.
A loud screech alerted Obudar to the knight justice's arrival. The gathered dwarves watched as a large griffin and its rider came into view. The two circled over the town, taking a wide route before gliding down onto the Bastion's flat tiled roof.
The Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1) Page 2
