The Tower of Daelfaun (The Tales of Zanoth Book 1)

by Ethridge, Aaron J.

  “Basically,” Sarrac said.

  “No,” Alena replied in the same instant.

  “I feel like I'm getting mixed messages,” Paul pointed out.

  “Well,” Sarrac said rocking his head side to side as he spoke. “The wording of the prophecy isn't exactly clear. It seems to mean that she'll give it to you, or whoever the it is. But it could also mean that you'll have to take it from her.”

  “And how could I do that?” the young man asked.

  “You couldn't,” Alena replied shaking her head. “There's no way.”

  “He can,” Sarrac asserted. “And he will.”

  “No,” Paul replied. “No, he won't. So, what's your backup plan?”

  “We don't have a backup plan,” Alena replied. “You're just going to have to do your best. Without the sword we don't stand a chance against Myra.”

  “Hmmm,” the young man said thoughtfully. “Alena, you honestly don't believe I'm the it, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, you're just trying to get me killed then?”

  “Nope.”

  “In that case I don't follow you,” the young man said.

  “Look, Paul,” she said staring into his eyes, “the only thing we can do is try. Myra has to be the daughter of darkness, we're certain of that. And that means until she's dead we're not going to be free and you're not going anywhere. And who knows? Sarrac could be right, I guess... I mean I can't imagine you being the it, but stranger things have happened.”

  “Like what?” the young man asked.

  “Nothing springs to mind,” she confessed. “But I'm sure there has to be something.”

  “Well,” he replied, “if she doesn't give me the sword how am I supposed to get it?”

  “If she acts like most hags,” Alena began thoughtfully, “which she probably will, then she'll want to have you for dinner...”

  “You mean...” Paul interrupted.

  “I do,” she nodded. “But she certainly won't kill you immediately because she'll want to keep you fresh...”

  “Of course,” he interrupted again. “I mean, after all, I'm sure she doesn't have a chest freezer!”

  “What's a...”

  “Never mind. Just keep explaining this insane... plan I guess we'll call it, for lack of a better word.”

  “Right...” she nodded. “Well, if you don't come out with the sword within an hour or so, me or Sarrac will go to the door and draw the hag out. Then the other one will head into her hut to set you free.”

  “Sure, sure,” he replied, his gaze passing from one of his companions to the other. “Or we could just kill her and search the hovel over her dead body. I mean, normally I ain't into killing women, or anyone else for that matter, but I ain't gonna be too broke up about sending some battlefield scavenging cannibal to the grave.”

  “Paul,” Sarrac said quite seriously, “even if you are the it and even if we already had The Blade it would be a terrible fight. Hags are nearly impossible to kill. We might be able to defeat her one day, but we're certainly not going to be able to do that anytime soon. Not with these weapons, anyway.”

  “And this is the woman you want me to rob?”

  “It's not a matter of robbery,” Sarrac chuckled. “The sword isn't hers and there really is a good chance she'll give it to you.”

  “There's essentially no chance of that at all,” Alena asserted. “But there is a chance you'll see it somewhere in her hut and we can steal it while she's chasing Sarrac through the swamp.”

  “Not worried about him either, eh?” Paul asked. “You pretty much see other people's lives as expendable don't you?”

  “She'll never catch me,” Sarrac replied. “Hags are fast, but I'm faster. And in spite of the fact that they're hard to kill they don't like being chopped with axes. Plus I don't plan to get too far from you guys. We'll get away from her one way or the other, don't worry about that.”

  “Oh I'm worried,” the young man assured him. “Don't you worry about that. I'm very worried and I plan to stay worried until I get back home.”

  “Suit yourself,” Sarrac replied with a shrug.

  As there seemed to be nothing else he could do, Paul fell in line behind his companions and followed them through a dry and dreary land, as a pale and sickly sun slowly climbed into the heavens. The surrounding landscape was filled with brown grass and dead trees. As they drew nearer the swamp of Fralmoor the verdure did appear to be more alive, but it also seemed more diseased somehow. The stench of stale water and rotting flesh slowly filled the air as mile followed weary mile.

  Around noon they paused their march long enough to drink a little water and eat some of the dry rations they were carrying. Paul felt sick to his stomach and, in spite of the fact that he was nearly starving, didn't feel up to eating. His companions, however, insisted that he consume his share of the repast. He had to keep his strength up and in time he would become accustomed to lands even more twisted than those they were currently passing through.

  In the early afternoon they brought their trek to an end. They had drawn as near the swamp as they dare for the time being. The marshes of Fralmoor were dangerous during the day, but truly deadly at night. While Sarrac set out in in search of something to supplement their rations Alena took up the swords.

  “Here Paul,” she said handing one of the blades to him. “You're going to have to start learning to fight.”

  “Now?” he asked, staring up at her, exhaustion filling his eyes.

  “Unless you'd rather wait until after you've already been killed.”

  “No,” he sighed, slowly lifting himself from the ground. “No, I suppose that would be too late.”

  “Do you know anything of swordplay?”

  “I know which end is the handle.”

  “I noticed that last night. Is that all?”

  “That's about it.”

  “So computer programmers never use swords where you come from?”

  “Most of us don't. Of course, some learn how just so they can impress girls at conventions.”

  “But you didn't?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Then how do you impress the girls?” she smiled.

  “I don't,” he replied shaking his head. “Can we just get started?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Alena first showed Paul the basics of holding his weapon and how to position his body while fighting. Then the pair sparred slowly around the camp for nearly half-an-hour. By the end of this modest exercise every muscle in the young man's body was begging him to fall on his sword in order to spare them from more of this torture in the future. In the end, however, he settled for collapsing on the ground and whimpering softly to himself.

  A few minutes later Sarrac returned with a number of grotesque root vegetables that looked like pale bloated worms. These he laid beside the fire to bake for roughly an hour. As they were cooking an odd, but somehow familiar, odor filled the air. Paul wasn't sure if the scent was coming from the food or the swamp and thought it best to ask.

  “What is that smell?”

  “The swamp-roots,” Sarrac replied.

  “You'll get used to it,” Alena said with a sigh.

  “I think I kinda already am,” Paul replied. “I mean, it seems very familiar.”

  “It expect it is,” she said. “Cooked swamp-roots smell, and taste, a bit like the odor of sweaty feet.”

  “Yeah,” Sarrac nodded. “Sweaty feet that have been wearing worn leather boots all day.”

  “Yep,” she agree, “that's it exactly. Sweaty leather boot foot roasted to perfection.”

  “And we're going to eat that?” the young man asked, a look of disgust on his face.

  “We are,” Sarrac nodded. “They're actually really good for you, believe it or not. They even help prevent nausea.”

  “How?” Paul asked. “By being so disgusting that, having eaten them, nothing can ever make you sick to your stomach again?”

  “They're not that ba
d,” Sarrac chuckled.

  “They are,” Alena disagreed.

  “Okay, they are,” Sarrac confessed. “But you get used to them.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed again. “Yeah, you do.”

  “No offense,” the young man said, gazing down at one of the cooked swamp-roots, “but y'all's world kinda stinks.”

  “We know that,” Alena pointed out. “That's why you're here.”

  A few minutes after this rather interesting, and undeniably disgusting, meal the companions stretched out on the ground to get some sleep. Alena offered to take the first watch in order to let Sarrac get some rest. He in turn would take the second, and a sense of duty, along with not wanting Alena to have to take two watches, compelled Paul to volunteer for the third.

  His nobility of spirit was greater than his endurance, however, and before the sun had risen he had fallen asleep at his post. Fortunately for him it was his companions who discovered this fact, rather than some wandering undead terror. With a swift kick to the head Alena gently awakened the young man from his seated slumber.

  “Ahhh!” he screamed in surprise. “We're under attack!”

  “No we're not!” she yelled. “But it's no thanks to you! You can't just fall asleep at your post, you idiot! It's amazing you didn't get us all killed!”

  “You're right,” he said rubbing his head. “You're right and I'm sorry. Okay?”

  “You're sorry?!?!” she exclaimed. “I'll try to keep that in mind when you actually do get us killed. Of course, this is really all my fault. What kind of fool gives some other fool a chance to get them murdered in their sleep?!?!”

  “I think you've made your point,” Sarrac said, helping Paul to his feet. “I doubt he'll do it again.”

  “You can be sure of that,” the young man nodded.

  Their breakfast was quickly consumed in relative silence. Paul didn't feel up to talking after his rather massive mistake and he got the feeling that Alena wouldn't be able to open her mouth for a while without automatically screaming at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her glaring angrily at him. At that moment it hit him that she reminded him of one of his college professors.

  Alena was unquestionably hotter, and a little younger, but she had that same look of rancor in her eyes that Professor Strumen would get sometimes. Of course, he had to admit that telling an English professor that you didn't understand why a programmer needed to take English classes was probably a bad idea in retrospect. He would have to try hard in the future not to do anything stupid. That might reverse the damage. On the other hand, it never did with the professor...

  As soon as their meal was complete the companions plunged into the marsh. Whereas the previous landscape had been drear and dying, the swamp was living and loathsome. The water that separated the islands of spongy earth that filled the morass was not only stagnant, but putrid. The scent of decay was almost overpowering and yet the area was full of life.

  A wide variety of insects filled the air. Sadly, they all seemed to be of the blood sucking variety. Large black birds were also very prevalent, and more than once Paul caught a glimpse of what appeared to be some kind of large pale snake slipping off the muddy bank into the jet black waters. His companions assured him, however, that most of the native creatures would pose no threat, provided they were out of this corner of purgatory before nightfall. For his part, the young man had every intention of putting as many miles as possible between himself and the swamp at the first opportunity.

  After roughly five hours of following a path Paul couldn't see, a small dark building came into view. It was set on the very center of a hill almost completely surrounded by the black waters. It had been constructed of truly massive stones and large decaying logs. The young man felt that shack certainly was an accurate description, however, he also felt the seer must have put frail in there just for meter's sake.

  “Okay,” he said, slowing shaking his head and raising his hands. “Let's just stop for a minute.”

  “What is it?” Alena asked, a bit of an edge still in her voice.

  “Look,” he replied, gazing directly into her eyes. “I was willing to go along with this when I thought it might all be a dream. But it's been like thirty-six hours now. I need a shave and a shower. I need fresh clothes and I want to brush my teeth...”

  “What's your point?” she interrupted.

  “My point is that this non-stop discomfort has finally convinced me that I ain't likely to wake up.”

  “No,” Sarrac agreed, a look of understanding on his face. “No, you're not. As difficult as it may be to accept, Paul, this is really happening.”

  “I know,” he nodded. “And I'm having a moment of clarity.”

  “Meaning what?” Alena asked.

  “Meaning that I ain't about to walk up that hill and knock on that door.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Let me answer that question with another question,” he replied, raising one eyebrow as he spoke. “Sarrac, when you said this hag went out on that battlefield to get food you did mean people's dead bodies, right?”

  “Yes, but...” Sarrac began.

  “Nah, man,” the young man interrupted. “Nah, there ain't no but here. This lady was eating dead people three hundred years ago. True or false?”

  “True,” Sarrac admitted.

  “Right,” Paul nodded. “And if she were to grab me and start jamming me into a pot or something you and Alena aren't going to be able to kill her. True or false?”

  “Also true.”

  “Alright then,” the young man nodded. “Yep, I'm scared.”

  “You're a coward!” Alena barked.

  “Well, if my choices are coward or fool, I'll take coward every time.”

  “Then I'll go!” she snapped, turning toward the cabin.

  “No you won't,” Sarrac said, grabbing her firmly by the shoulder.

  “Look,” she said, glaring at him as she spoke, “the hag wasn't going to give him the sword anyway! It makes more sense for me to go in. At least I won't wet myself while I'm waiting on you to rescue me. I just hope Paul has the guts to sneak into an empty house to get me out.”

  “I know you're a lady and all,” the young man replied, his eyes locked on Alena, “but you're kind of a cow. You know that?”

  “What's a cow?” she asked, turning her glaring gaze to him in turn.

  “That don't matter,” he replied. “The point is that if you were trapped in that house I'd risk my life to get you out. After all, you are... well... you're some kind of a lady, I guess. But I ain't gonna jam my head in no noose 'cause you two think some old bat's got some old sword stuck up in a closet somewhere.”

  “We don't think,” Sarrac said. “We know.”

  “Okay,” Paul replied. “If you're that confident then why didn't you bring an army out here and just take it from her?”

  “Because the prophecy said you would take it from her,” he replied.

  “No,” Alena said. “The prophecy said the it would take it. And, in fact, Paul's cowardice may have just kept us from making a terrible mistake!”

  “How do you mean?” the young man asked.

  “Well,” she replied, “say we succeeded in getting the sword, what would happen when the it does come?”

  “Well... No, actually you have a point. What about that Sarrac?”

  “The prophecies can be difficult to understand,” Sarrac said. “However, I still believe you are the it and that you will succeed. But either way, it makes the most sense to send you in.”

  “And why is that?” Paul asked.

  “Hags like men,” Sarrac replied. “And I don't think drawing the hag out would be the best task for your particular skill set.”

  “No,” the young man agreed.

  “So, really it's you or nobody.”

  “I got ya,” Paul nodded. “Nobody it is. Let's go.”

  “He's right,” Alena said
, the emotion in her voice finally under control. “I just have to keep in mind that it really isn't Paul's fault that he's not the it.”

  “Hold on,” Sarrac said, raising his hand. “Paul, if I'm right then you are the it and you'll be able to get the sword. If I'm wrong then you're not the it and it's only a matter of time before we all end up eaten alive by some undead monster. People don't die of old age in Zanoth. You see what I mean?”

  “I think I'm getting close.”

  “Well, the last couple of days have been relatively easy. If you're not the it things are going to get a lot rougher. Hags kill you quick once they've decided to eat you. It's really a relatively easy way to go all things considered.”

  “Let me make sure we're on the same page,” the young man said. “You're saying that I might as well do this because if we don't get the sword then I'm better off dead anyway?”

  “Basically,” Sarrac admitted. “I mean no offense, but you're not going to last long here alone, and Alena and I can't protect you forever. All we can do is get you to a village and wish you luck. You might last a few months, but I honestly doubt it. I'm sorry, I really am.”

  “You two murdered me,” he said, his gaze passing from one to the other. “I hope you know that. I forgive you, but I want you to be more careful with your summonings in future.”

  Having said this the young man turned with a sigh and headed for the shack. As he drew nearer the hag's lair his heart began to pound wildly. The only real hope he felt was that he might wake up at home in bed after he'd been killed. It didn't seem likely, but this whole experience had been the most unlikely thing he had ever heard of...

  The moment he reached the large, iron studded door he took a deep breath, set his teeth, and loudly knocked.

  “Who's there?” a rather surprised, and very pleasingly feminine voice asked.

  “Excuse me, ma'am,” the young man replied. “I'm Paul, Paul Stevens, and I'm out her lookin' for somethin'.”

  “I hope you're not looking for helpless women,” the voice inside said nervously.

  “No ma'am!” he replied. “I'm actually looking for... well, as crazy as it sounds, a sword I was told you had.”