“We might have more time on our hands, but we can’t afford to waste it.”
“Ah, I think it will be interesting. Besides, I don’t think they’ll let us leave without saying goodbye.” Dyphestive turned to look over his shoulder and nodded. The township’s soldiers trailed behind them at a distance. They were easy to spot, wearing fur caps and heavy wool coats, their swords belted on and spears in hand.
“Yes, I noticed them casually moving among the crowd and following us. I’m surprised that you noticed them too.”
“Of course I did. I bet I noticed them before you,” Dyphestive said.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Uh-huh.” Dyphestive stopped at a serving cart where two young women, pretty and fair skinned, with ice-blue eyes and blond ponytails, served hot cider. He breathed deeply through his nose. “That smells good.”
“Please, indulge yourself.” One of the women handed him a wooden mug filled to the brim. “It’s courtesy of the Culpeppers. Drink, it gives you strength and refreshes you.”
Dyphestive drank. “Mmmmm, that’s good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the twins said in unison. “How about you?” they asked Grey Cloak.
He smirked. “It would be impolite not to.” He took the cup he was offered and drank. The hot, spicy cider warmed his insides from head down to toe. “That is good. Thank you, ladies. May I ask you a question?”
They nodded.
“What year is it?”
The twins gave him a funny look, giggled, and brightly said, “It’s 6012.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“Come back soon. We’ll be here all day, waiting for the big announcement,” the twins said.
Grey Cloak gave them a funny look as he walked away. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?”
“I don’t know, but I’m definitely going to get more cider.”
“Here, you can have mine.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do, but I’m not thirsty.”
As they passed from one intersection of log-built structures to another, something caught Grey Cloak’s eye. He caught Dyphestive by the elbow and tugged him down the street to his right.
“What gives? Did you smell something good? More cider?”
“No.”
He towed his brother along and came to a stop in front of a building with a bright-red door. The sign hanging by chains above the door read Batram’s Bartery and Arcania.
In a hushed voice, Grey Cloak said, “It can’t be.”
Dyphestive scratched his head. “Should we go in?”
In the past, there had been times Batram had swept them into the store.
Grey Cloak didn’t get a sense that was going to happen this time though. He eased onto the first step. “Perhaps it’s an opportune time to pay our old friend a visit?”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Grey Cloak took the stairs up to the porch and knocked on the red door. “I’ll take my chances.”
The wooden stairs groaned beneath his feet as Dyphestive joined his brother.
“That’s odd. No answer,” Grey Cloak said. He knocked again, harder than the last time.
No answer.
A strong, icy wind swept down the street. Not a soul was in sight, from one end of the road to another. The air whistled through the building’s cracks and crevices. The hanging sign rattled on its chains, and the snow dusted up.
Dyphestive gave his brother a doubtful look. “Let me try.” He hammered on the door with his big fist. “That door’s as solid as stone.”
Grey Cloak nodded. “I know. It won’t budge, not even a crack.”
“What do we do?”
He shrugged. “I guess we go back to the lodge.”
4
Back at the lodge, Grey Cloak and Dyphestive lay in their separate beds, looking up at the rafters in the vaulted ceiling. Grey Cloak flipped a dagger up into one of the wooden beams. It stuck for a moment then fell free, point turning downward, and he caught it by the handle. He did the same routine several times. Finally, he sat up on the edge of the bed and put the dagger away.
“It really bothers me that Batram didn’t answer the door,” he said.
“Maybe he doesn’t know us yet.”
“I don’t see how. It was 6010 when we left Havenstock. I met him the same year. He would have to know me.”
Dyphestive stretched his arms out. “Maybe something else has changed. Maybe he never met you the first time the way that you thought.”
“Oh, don’t say that. It’s hard enough dealing with our current situation.” He got up, strolled over to the fireplace, leaned on the mantel, and stared at the flames.
Streak had curled up on the hearth, eyes closed. “Don’t overthink it.”
“It’s hard not to. And you might be in a time where you haven’t been born yet.”
“Hmmm, that could be dangerous,” Streak said.
Grey Cloak rebuilt a timeline in his mind. As he understood it, they were in a time close to when Black Frost wiped out the Sky Riders at Gunder Island. He believed it was after that, but he wasn’t certain. If it was before, he could go back and warn them, but he was fairly certain that happened in 6011.
Someone knocked at the door, and Lorry entered the room. “Greetings. Are you ready for your audience with the Culpeppers?”
The brothers exchanged uncertain looks.
Dyphestive rolled out of the bed and headed for the door. He towered over Lorry, making the slight man look like no more than a child. “Will we be eating?”
“I assure you, all your needs will be met. Everything you can imagine and then some.” Lorry hurried outside and held the door open. “Come.”
“What about Streak?” Grey Cloak asked.
“Your dragon is most welcome.”
Grey Cloak picked up Streak and fed him into his hood. “Good.”
Lorry led them out of the lodge and into the streets, heading northwest toward the top corner of Ice Vale. A huge, castle-like home made out of thousands of logs stood with its back guarded by the mountains. It had numerous pitched roofs covered in snow, with icicles hanging from the edges. A moat of bubbling mud surrounded the castle-home, and a drawbridge had been lowered. Soldiers bundled in furs and carrying glinting weapons watched their approach from their guard towers.
“So, this is where the Culpeppers reside. Very humongous. It must be a large family,” Grey Cloak commented.
“The Culpepper’s lineage goes back centuries. They’re born and bred in the north. A stalwart family,” Lorry said.
He led them into the main entrance. The floors were solid rock, and the walls were stacked stone. Torches hung on the walls every few feet, and the heads of wild beasts and tapestries hung in the grand hallway. “This is the Culpepper Homestead. Yes, it’s as large as a castle, but they strive to make it feel more like a home. Come, the audience chamber isn’t far. They’re eager to meet you.”
Grey Cloak heard the drawbridge rising behind him and looked back. They were sealed inside. “I guess they aren’t expecting any more company.”
“Tonight, they’re giving you their undivided attention.” Lorry led them through the oversized hallways and stopped at a pair of wooden double doors, each with long bronze handles. “This is the audience chamber. They do not consider themselves royalty, so there is no need to kneel or bow. I only mention this because they can be imposing, but I’m sure the likes of you aren’t as easily intimidated as others tend to be. Are you ready?”
“After you,” Grey Cloak said.
“I won’t be joining you. This is as far as I go.” Lorry pushed the doors open. “You may enter.”
The brothers crossed the threshold. Lorry closed them inside.
Oddly enough, Grey Cloak found himself missing the ferret-like little man. He raised his shoulders and wandered deeper into the audience chamber with his brother. The floor was made of black granite, and the stone walls were white
washed. Aside from them, nothing occupied the room but the flickering flames of urns on the floor along the walls. They offered little illumination to the center of the room, which was the dimmest spot of all. They walked toward the center.
Someone spoke in a strong, resonant voice. “Yes, come closer, slayers. We are eager to meet you.”
The brothers proceeded forward. The darkest spot on the opposite side of the room began to take shape. Two persons sat in a tall stone chair meant for two: a man and a woman. Standing in the shadows behind them were several more people.
“I am Hercullon Culpepper. This is my wife, Sandal.” He held her hand in his large mitt when he spoke. Hercullon had a mane of snow-white hair, facial scars, hard eyes, and a jaw as hard as stone. Like Dyphestive, he was broadly built, and his powerful chest and shoulders filled out his black jerkin, which matched the rest of his dark clothing.
Sandal was a honey-blond beauty, shapely in her fur-and-leather garb, with piercing ice-blue eyes that could melt snow. She soaked the blood brothers in with her gaze and gave them a polite nod.
Lorry hadn’t lied. The Culpeppers were imposing, but they were hardly extraordinary like he made them out to be. Hercullon had a muscle-bound build and broad face. They were older, and they would stand out in a crowd, like pillars among men, but they weren’t an ettin or a dragon either.
Grey Cloak cleared his throat. “I’m Grey Cloak, and this is my brother, Dyphestive. Of course, you know that, but we are glad to meet you.” He looked between them. “I think.”
Hercullon rubbed his jaw and studied them. He didn’t say a word, and an awkward amount of time passed. Finally, he said, “You slew White Ice. I imagine you didn’t slay him with conversation.”
Dyphestive chuckled. Grey Cloak elbowed him.
Hercullon lifted his hand. “It was a jest.”
“Ah, well, it was very funny.” Grey Cloak made an uncomfortable chuckle.
Hercullon didn’t bat a lash. He quieted. With his cunning eyes still fixed on the brothers, Hercullon whispered in Sandal’s ear. Retaining her polite smile, she nodded.
It was the most awkward meeting Grey Cloak had ever attended. It was worse than the days when he’d been scolded by Rhonna, back at Havenstock, for not doing his chores. Sometimes she would make him sit in a room with her in stone-cold silence. Somehow this was worse. It was weird.
Dyphestive rose onto his toes. “Are we going to eat?”
Hercullon slapped the arm of his stone chair. “Hah! A man after my own heart!” His loud voice echoed through the chamber. “Yes! Now that we’ve met, we will feast.” He let go of his wife’s hand and leaned forward. “But first, I want you to tell me the story of how you killed the beast.”
“By the looks of you, I’m surprised you didn’t kill White Ice yourself,” Grey Cloak said.
Hercullon stretched out his massive arm and pointed his sausage-sized finger in Grey Cloak’s face. “No doubt I could have, but there’s a reason I did not and you did.”
5
Hercullon and Sandal soaked up every word of Dyphestive’s version of slaying White Ice. Both of them were on the edge of their seats, wide-eyed and almost drooling.
When Dyphestive ended the story, Hercullon broke into applause. “A gritty tale. One of the best I’ve ever heard. You are brave men, bold men. Men such as you are in short supply.”
Sandal hung on her husband’s arm. “Agreed, my love.”
“Servants!” Hercullon clapped twice. “It is time to feast!” He eyed the brothers. “Follow.”
A group of bare-chested, strong-backed men appeared from the shadows carrying long poles in their arms. They slid the poles into rings built into the stone chair and lifted it off the ground. They carried Hercullon and Sandal deeper into the chamber and passed into another hall, where a rectangular wooden dining table loaded with silver platters of food waited.
The men set Hercullon and Sandal down. They moved to the opposite ends of the table, Hercullon taking position at the head, and sat down in chairs. Grey Cloak and Dyphestive joined them.
The dining hall was similar to the dining halls in the lodge. An iron chandelier with burning candles hung suspended overhead. Two fireplaces burned in the corners. As the male servants departed, a pair of female servants in modest robes entered, filled their tankards with ale, and hurried away, vanishing through a small portal near the fireplace.
Hercullon stood at the end of the table and raised his tankard. “To the White Ice Slayers. Because of them, Ice Vale is safer, and my gold is too! Ha ha!” He guzzled down his ale and slammed his tankard on the table.
A servant woman hurried back and refilled it. Dyphestive finished his ale and slammed it down. Grey Cloak took a drink of the bitter ale and frowned. Sandal caught his face and smiled.
“Everyone, eat. I’m famished.” Hercullon loaded up a plate of meat, potatoes, and rolls, stacking it up to his chin.
Dyphestive did the same, and both men dug in with their forks and knives.
“I like your appetite. It’s no wonder you’re so big—as big as me.” Hercullon leaned over and elbowed Dyphestive. “It’s a good thing to be big and barbaric.” He soaked his potatoes in gravy. “We are descendants of barbarians. Our savage brethren still live in the climbs behind us. We conquered Ice Vale centuries ago, but our root has spoiled. We’ve lost our civilized ways.” He looked across the table and winked at his wife. “But not all are complaining.”
“Hercullon is the strongest of them all.” Sandal swept her hair over her shoulder. “Every five years, a champion from the tribes challenges him. He must defeat them, or war will ensue and Ice Vale’s civilization as we know it will be lost.”
“Aren’t you on the same side?” Grey Cloak asked.
“One would think, but there is always someone who wants the crown for themselves. They feel their way is better,” Hercullon said.
Grey Cloak buttered his roll. “So, you are the ruler of Ice Vale.”
Hercullon nodded. “But I have a council that governs the affairs of the township. I’m not one for meetings and ceremonies.”
“When is the next fight?” Dyphestive asked.
“Soon.” Hercullon exchanged a glance with Sandal.
She gave a quick nod.
“I would like you to meet someone. Our child.”
“Certainly,” Dyphestive said.
Hercullon made an awkward motion with his hand and stood.
A young woman entered the dining hall. She was tall and shapely, wearing a dress made from animal skins. Her beauty resembled that of her mother, and she had strength in her bare limbs like her father. She approached with grace, chin held high, her gorgeous eyes probing the brothers.
Following Hercullon’s example, Grey Cloak stood. Dyphestive joined him. Both of their jaws hung open.
“This is my daughter, Dinah. A little goddess, isn’t she?” Hercullon side-hugged his daughter. She kissed his cheek, walked to her mother, and kissed hers as well before standing by Dyphestive.
“Oh.” Dyphestive pulled a chair out for her and watched her sit. He scooted her in so far that her chest rocked the table. “Sorry.”
The men resumed their seats.
“Dinah is our only child. It’s not from a lack of trying, but having a pack of children has not been our fortune. Hence, the Culpepper family is dying off.”
While he ate, Dyphestive nodded. Dinah smiled and helped him reload his plate.
Blinded by jealousy, Grey Cloak could barely pay attention when Hercullon spoke, but Dyphestive seemed unaware Hercullon even spoke.
“My family needs a strong seed so it can grow. Yes, I could have slain the ettin on my own, but instead, I sent champions to take it down. All of them failed. All of them died. You even saw their bones.” Hercullon took a long drink. “The truth is, I’d all but lost hope in men bold enough to take the ettin down. Then you two came along, you and your dragon. It was as if you fell from the heavens and took out White Ice. I knew the moment I heard i
t that one of you would be the one to become my heir apparent. The one to marry my daughter and make the family line strong again.”
Dinah played with Dyphestive’s hair while he ate, and he was all grins.
Grey Cloak kicked him underneath the table.
Dyphestive gave him a puzzled look. “What did you do that for?”
“Will you pay attention? Didn’t you hear what Hercullon said?”
“No.” Dyphestive gave Hercullon an embarrassed look. “I’m sorry. I was, uh, distracted. What were you saying? Something about slaying White Ice yourself?”
“I’ll tell you what I said.” Hercullon grabbed Dyphestive’s forearm and looked him dead in the eye. “I believe you arrived here for a reason. It’s fate. You are here to marry my daughter.”
Dyphestive’s face dropped. Grey Cloak couldn’t help but smirk.
Then Sandal reached underneath the table and squeezed his thigh.
6
“Marriage?” Dyphestive blurted out. “I can’t marry. I’m too young.”
Hercullon hammered his fist on the table. The platters jumped. “You will marry!”
“Easy, my love,” Sandal said smoothly, as she pulled her hand away from Grey Cloak’s thigh. “The young warrior is just surprised. He needs time to let it sink in.”
“It’s an honor!” Hercullon stated in his harsh voice. “Men have given their lives to wed our precious daughter. And this warrior makes excuses? What’s the matter with you, boy? The world will be at your feet. You can rule Ice Vale with me.” He thumped his chest.
Dyphestive swallowed the lump in his throat as Dinah playfully hugged his arm. She smelled fantastic and looked fantastic as well. No man in his right mind would resist her. His tongue thickened in his mouth. He glanced desperately at Grey Cloak.
His brother appeared uncomfortable and seemed to be wrestling with something under the table.
Dyphestive cleared his throat. “I feel honored, Hercullon. But I’m not ready for marriage. I have other, er, obligations.”
Hercullon narrowed his eyes and grumbled. “Only a fool would tell me no.”
Barbarian Backlash: Dragon Wars - Book 14 of 20: An Epic Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Adventure Series Page 2
