Misthaven: The Complete Trilogy

by J Battle

  ’And, as you drank your fill, did your tongue loosen somewhat, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Sir. My tongue is still stuck in my mouth, else I‘d struggle to talk to you, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Petre, I suppose you are right. Now, you have more experience in these matters than I, so, do you have any suggestions as to what should be done?’

  Petre smiled then, and it was a sly, unsettling thing altogether.

  ‘I been thinking on that, and It seems to me that it don’t much matter if we have the boy, or if the boy be lost. As long as the prince, he thinks we have him, then he’ll do as we want, and it will all go as we planned.’

  Meldon took a half-step back, and he glanced back at the door as he considered Petre’s words.

  ‘So, you believe that all is not lost?’

  ‘No, Sir, not if we’re clever enough about it.’ Petre coughed then and Meldon was disgusted at the wet sound in his chest.

  He walked closer to the door, for a breath of air that might be somewhat fresher.

  Could he go ahead with the plan as originally envisaged? Face up to the prince without being absolutely sure what had happened to the boy?

  He sighed. No need to make that decision now, he decided, not now when action was required.

  He turned to Petre. ‘There is one more thing I need to ask your opinion of, if you would be so kind.’

  Petre looked up hopefully, anticipating that the game was still in play.

  Meldon struck him firmly across the head with his staff, knocking him to the ground. Then he rushed forward and struck him again, and again. When Petre’s head was cracked and his brains glistened in the dim light, Meldon kept right on; blow after blow until he quite ran out of strength.

  He settled himself down on the bed when he’d finished, with his chest heaving, and perspiration smarting his eyes.

  ‘Oh my,’ he whispered, with a quiet little chuckle, ’I never thought that would be such…fun.’

  He began to wipe the end of the bloodied staff against Petre’s coat; it wouldn’t do to be walking the street with such obvious evidence of his blows for all to see.

  ‘Who would have thought that brain matter would be so sticky?’ he mused.

  When he was happy enough with the condition of his staff, he stood up and left the hovel without a second glance at his deceased former partner.

  With Petre dead, there was no longer a link between him and the kidnappers, and he could act whichever way seemed best to him. What that would be would require some thought on his part.

  As he turned from Petre’s rundown street, he saw a whore walking slowly towards him.

  ‘Hello there, darling,’ she said, with a smile, and a swing of her hips. ‘You looking for company, my dear?’

  Meldon glanced back along the street, and then he turned to her. Her hair was long and would perhaps have been her best feature, if it had ever been washed, or had the benefit of regular brushing. Still, she was fair enough, he thought, for his purpose today.

  ‘Yes, young lady,’ he said, with a chuckle, because his blood was still all fired up with the kill, ‘I believe I am. Do you have somewhere quiet we can go?’

  ‘Oh yes, my dear. I do, but it will cost some coin.’ She lifted one hand and rubbed her thumb and index finger together.

  He was appalled to see that her fingernails were black edged with dirt. But he wasn’t going to let that get in the way.

  ‘I’m sure it will be worth it.’

  ‘I’ll be making sure it is, my dear.’

  Chapter 6 Rockmites

  They roared and they rumbled as they swarmed across the road, eager and intent on their prey.

  Belloom grabbed the first in his powerful hands and tore off its head with a quick jerk and a twist.

  Then he was ready for the next.

  Ferrooll took the fallen headless corpse and threw it at the onrushing Rockmites.

  He leapt right after it, with a roar of his own.

  ‘What do we do, my lord?’ asked Jumba in a hushed tone, his eyes fixed on the battle before him.

  ‘We have swords, don’t we?’ answered Richard, withdrawing the sword that his father had passed down to him.

  ‘I don’t reckon our blades will be much use against those rock things.’

  ‘So we just stand and watch these brave fellows as they die in our defense? Not when I can still stand, man.’

  Richard strode forward and swung his sword at the nearest beast.

  ‘I was only saying,’ muttered Jumba, as he rushed to join him.

  In truth, Jumba’s judgement was close enough to the truth, as their blades blunted themselves harmlessly against the flesh of the obdurate monsters. But perhaps they distracted the Rockmites enough to give aid to the Giants’ cause.

  In the midst of the beasts stood Belloom, roaring and bending and twisting and ripping the life of each creature in turn. Beside him Ferooll laughed out his joy at the truth of being a Giant.

  There were barely three of the beasts left standing before the ferocity of the Giants, and they were surely doomed to fall. But a fourth Rockmite slipped unseen from the side of the road and, before he knew it was there, clamped its powerful mouth on to Belloom’s left arm.

  With a quiet sigh of pleasure, it began to grind its jaws down upon the thickly muscled limb.

  ‘Hey!’ yelled Belloom, as he swung the creature in a great arc and smashed it against the nearest of his attackers. The Rockmite thus struck fell stunned to the ground, but the beast clamped on to Belloom’s arm refused to be dislodged. It just kept right on grinding away.

  Ferrooll dispatched the rest of the creatures, and then he turned to aid his friend.

  Belloom looked up at him as he approached, confusion clouding his expression.

  ‘Ferrooll,’ he gasped, ’I don’t know what…It hurts, Ferrooll. It hurts.’

  ‘Don’t you worry old friend. I’ll gets it off you soon enough, don’t you worry yourself.’

  He grabbed the beast around the slight narrowing in its body that might be called its neck, and he began to squeeze.

  The creature closed its eyes, as if to aid its concentration, and ignore his attack.

  ‘Ferrooll…something…Argh!’ Belloom punched the creature again and again on its broad rocky head. But it was all to no avail. The creature had no intention of giving up until the job was done.

  ‘Help me Ferrooll…It’s going to…’

  With a terrible stone clang the creature’s irresistible teeth came together, and it fell away from what remained of Belloom’s arm.

  Belloom dropped to his knees, staring in bewilderment at the rich red blood gushing from the stump of his arm.

  ‘What…?’ He looked up at the horrified face of his friend.

  Richard rushed over to him, unbuckling his belt as he ran.

  ‘Quickly Jumba, light a fire, now. Now, Your Highness, hold yourself still if you can. We need to stop that blood now, or you won’t survive the day.’

  He placed one hand on the Giant’s arm, just a foot or so above the ripped and chewed flesh, and he wrapped his belt around it, slipping the end through its loop and pulling it tight, with a grunt.

  ‘Here Squire, we’ll need your help to hold him still. Come and hold his arm, if you will. Jumba, how is that fire going?’

  ‘Nearly there, my Lord, if you give a man a chance.’

  Ferrooll bent over his old friend and lowered him gently onto his back. ‘Steady there, friend, while the little men help you as best they can.’ His own face was so pale, you’d be forgiven for thinking that he was the one bleeding to death.

  With the small fire burning, Richard lay the tip of his blade within its fiery heart.

  Suddenly he looked up and he scanned the road.

  ‘Where…where did the Trytor go? Quickly Jumba, run back to the carriages and be sure that all is well.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’ He looked around for his horse, which had obviously decided that the
re were better places it could be.

  ‘Run man! There’s no time to find your horse first. Go!’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’ Jumba began to run as fast as his somewhat portly frame would allow.

  With the blade ready, Richard brought it close to the Giants.

  ‘Hold him steady now, Squire,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d rather not be crushed by his mighty fist.’

  Ferrooll gripped Belloom’s shoulders and nodded.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Richard pressed the hot blade against the bloody stump, wincing at the hiss and the smell of cooked meat.

  When the job was finished, he slumped back onto his knees, and he studied his patient.

  He was surprised to find Belloom’s eyes were open, and that he was watching him calmly.

  ‘Thank you, human man. I reckon you’ve saved my life, you have.’

  ‘Your Highness, I believe you have done the same for us.’

  ‘Forget the ‘Your Highness’. I don’t reckon they’ll make me king now; not with one hand, and the arse ripped out of my pants.’

  The sound of slow heavy footsteps turned Richard’s head.

  ‘How…?’ He leapt to his feet. ‘What’s happened, man?’

  ‘My Lord,’ said Jumba, his eyes on the ground. ‘I can’t tell ye…, I can’t.’ He stopped as his master gripped him by the shoulders.

  ‘Tell me!’ hissed Richard, through clenched teeth.

  ‘He’s killed them all, my Lord,’ Jumba whispered, and then he looked up into his master’s face. ‘They’re all killed; every last one of them.’

  ‘No!’ Richard pushed him out of the way and rushed down the road, hoping that his trusted servant had got it all wrong.

  He stopped at the first overturned carriage; at the broken body half beneath it. At the body he’d held these 30 years in his arms.

  He reached out to touch her, for one last time, and he cupped her bloody head in his hands. He pressed his lips against hers, and a single sob wracked his body.

  Gently he laid her beloved head on to the ground, and he pushed back a stray hair from her face.

  Then he looked up, and he would have sobbed once more, but he knew that, once started, would he ever stop?

  Just beyond the broken body of his wife, was the slim body of Clara; cold and still and bloody on the hard ground, covered by a coarse brown blanket.

  He rushed over to her, and he sank to his knees and he covered his face with his bloodstained hands, as if that could help, as if there was any help to be had.

  After a moment, he dropped his hands, for there was one more sight to be seen, though he could hardly bring himself to move.

  Softly, he whispered her name, in a hushed, manic prayer. And then, from somewhere, he found the strength to stand.

  He swayed a little before he took the first step; before he went searching for the body of his youngest daughter.

  There were servants scattered about, and he was sorry to see them, but his eyes sought only Alice.

  He walked around the horses, ripped apart where they stood.

  He passed the second carriage, and he saw Jerrold, his sometime cook and always friend; 40 years they’d known each other, but he couldn’t spare him a thought.

  He reached the last carriage, and he spun around then, for she was not there, and nor was her pony.

  Could she have escaped? If she was mounted when the attack came, could she have turned and rode for her life?

  A tiny spark of hope sprang up deep inside his chest, and he was about to call her name.

  Then he saw the dark brown shape in the middle of the road, some 50 yards off, and that hope was ripped from him in a second. He began to walk towards it, though he knew what it was.

  He placed a gentle hand on the pony, still warm as it lay on the road. There was hardly a sign of the blow that had killed the poor beast, but there was blood enough for all that.

  He straightened then, and his hand went to his sword. Had he heard something? Or was it just a frail hope’s last call.

  The grass beside the road rustled, and he saw movement deep inside.

  ‘Father.’ No more than a whisper, as if the strength was seeping away. ‘Father, I’m sorely hurt.’

  ‘Alice!’ He yelled, as he crossed over to her, and he found her lying in the grass, with blood on her head and her arm hanging all wrong, but alive; so alive.

  ‘He came from the front and the side. We couldn’t fight him, father; he was so big. I couldn’t fight him. I need a blade, or something. I couldn’t fight him, and Beauty, he was so scared, so I let him run, but the beast was so quick and I think my poor pony threw me, to save me. I couldn’t fight him; I couldn’t.’

  ‘Shush now, girl. No need to fret so. He’s gone, and I’ll keep you safe, so close your eyes and rest yourself.’

  ‘Is mother alright? And Clara? I didn’t see them. It all happened so quickly, but I couldn’t fight him, father. I need a blade. Please give me a blade and teach me how to use it, so, next time, I’ll be able to fight him.’

  ‘Now my dear, no need to worry about all that. You just rest for a moment or two, and then I’ll see to that arm.’

  ‘Is everyone alright, father? I thought I heard screams. Did I hear screams?’

  ‘Shush now, it was probably just the horses.’

  ‘Beauty’s dead, isn’t he?’

  Lord Richard put his hand on her head, and he closed her eyes. No need for the pain of knowledge just yet, he thought.

  Chapter 7 Mage

  Far away from Lord Richard’s travails on the road; to the south and the east lies the hidden valley of Misthaven, protected from the eyes of strangers by a shroud of grey mist and a spell of avoidance that made those same eyes reluctant to even see the mist.

  All of this was the work of Mage Evens, a frail old man feeling the weight of his years and his responsibilities.

  ‘It is near full moon, mage,‘ said Anders, his young student.

  ‘Ay, I know that well enough. You have no need to keep reminding me.’ It was still early, so Evens was more than a little grumpy, although his mood was unlikely to lighten as the day progressed; not this close to the full moon.

  ‘Can I help you with it?’ offered Anders, hopefully.

  ‘Ay, it is time, I expect. You know all your words, and you spend long enough with your long nose in those books.’

  Anders smiled, and then he scowled as he ran his finger along his nose. He was barely 20 summers of age, with his light brown hair long enough to hang past his fashionably stiff collar, and he would rarely pass a mirror without taking a moment to be sure that he was looking his best.

  ‘If you hold the Stone, I’ll say the words for you, if you like.’ There was eagerness in his voice, along with a touch of something that might have been fear.

  Evens stared at him without expression. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  ‘Ay, I’ll do just that, but first, you must touch it. I know you worry about that, and you are right to be concerned, but you’ll never be a Mage if you can’t lay your hands on the Wellstone and suffer what you must.’

  Anders’ pale skin seemed to whiten at his words.

  ‘But…’

  ‘It is time, boy, unless you want to waste the years you have spent in study.’

  Anders stiffened. ‘I will do it, mage, and I will not flinch.’ His left hand went to his collar and he flicked it with one finger.

  Mage Evens smiled. ‘Oh, you’ll flinch Anders, for the pain is terrible. Just lay one finger on the Stone, briefly, and then pull it away.’

  ‘Is there not a better way to do this, mage? Without the need to suffer?’ As he spoke, he pushed his hair back from his face, revealing quite the ugliest of ears, surely more suitable for a beast of the forest than for a respectable human.

  ‘Nay, lad. It has always been this way, and it won’t change in our lifetimes. My master taught me as I teach you, and his master taught him, and it has always been the same. In this life, you get nothing free;
for everything there is a price to be paid. And so it is with the Wellstone. It will take before it gives, and the taking is hard.’

  Anders nodded as if he agreed with the old mage’s words, but, in his head, he was thinking ‘that may be true, you doddering old fool, but why does it have to be the mage who has to bear the pain?’

  ‘Come now, Anders, while your courage is set, let us do it now.’

  The old man gathered his grey robes about himself and made his way to the stairs.

  ‘I’ll be close behind, mage, but I need to go to the well first.’ He couldn’t resist a secret little sneer as he watched his master.

  ‘Ay, that’d be fine lad,’ he called back. ’Fear will dry your mouth soon enough, I think.’ Quietly, just to himself.

  At the well, Anders took a drink, his hands trembling at the thought of the coming ordeal

  ‘There has to be an easier way than this,’ he muttered.

  When the solution came to him, it was just so obvious.

  ‘It will take some planning, and I’ll have to find a fool, for what sensible person would agree?’ He smiled then. ‘But there are fools aplenty to be found. You only have to take a look.’

  But first, this.

  Moments later, he was with the mage in the little room at the back of the mage’s home.

  Sitting all by itself in the middle of a stone table, was a dull brown rock, about the shape and size of a loaf of bread. It looked nothing special to the eye at first; just a simple rock.

  As the mage approached, it began to change. The dull colour changing to pink and then to a bright fiery red as it sensed what was about to happen.

  Evens knelt before the Wellstone, with a groan as he bent his old knees.

  ‘Say the words, lad,’ he said, in a strained voice. ‘Say the words.’

  Anders moved closer.

  ‘Per id, est dem…,‘ he began, his voice faltering, ‘plutre, Fell tsi li bel.’

  ‘Touch it now,’ hissed Evens. ‘Now!’

  Anders hesitated, with his hand outstretched, one finger extended.

  ‘Touch it, Anders,’ said Evens, softly.