Stormcaller (Book 1) (21 page)

The mist covering the Denerian Cliffs to the west flitted away in the afternoon heat and a warm breeze dissipated the clouds overhead. The white tufts of waves to the west faded in and out of view between the trees of the dewy forest of the Woodland Plunge. A stream wound musically beside the path, feeding the wild flowers blossoming upon its edge. The soft beat of Ashes’ and Marie’s hooves seemed to work in time with the gurgle of the stream.

Walter gazed at the stream, taking in the peace.
Us, heroes. That would have been a sight my parents would’ve liked to have seen. Time changes, life doesn’t stop.
The tune of the river seemed to change while they rode.
The wheel turns and turns.
Something caught his eye, pulling him from the lull of the stream.

A man wearing overalls formed of pale blue light stood by a tall willow, waving towards Walter. “What – who
is
that?” Walter asked, concern in his voice.

“Where?” asked Nyset, following his gaze.

Walter looked back to the tree to find it empty. Baylan eyed him curiously. “What did you see?”

“I’m not sure – it was a man, except I could see through him, see beyond him.”

“I am unfamiliar with this phenomenon,” Baylan said. “However, since only you noticed it, I would surmise it is another effect of the armor, or perhaps your abilities.”

“Tell us if you see it again,” Nyset said, dismissing the flames that surrounded her hands.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Walter said, turning on her with anger twisting his face. There was a darkness that caressed his peripheral vision, occasionally creeping into his focal point. It didn’t matter how many times he washed his face or shook his head. That darkness was part of him now.
I. Am. Death.

“Walter! Control yourself.” Baylan barked.

I’ll open you up and taste your flesh, outlander. Carrying a Breden sword… yet you let so many die, pathetic coward.
Stop – no, stop. He is a good man, a friend, a friend, yes.

Walter nodded, sagging in his saddle. “I apologize, to both of you.” They spent the remainder of the ride in silence, partly enjoying the scenery, and partly distraught at Walter’s actions.

They arrived in Shipton by late afternoon. The bustle of civilization seemed to lift everyone’s spirits in spite of the waning sunlight. The dirt road became a narrow fieldstone single-arch bridge spanning the brackish water created with the melding of the fresh blue water of Lich’s Falls from the east and the brown sea water of the Bronze Coast to the west. Baylan scribbled in his notebook while they crossed the bridge.

The bridge led into the town square, where the buildings were built a story taller than those in Breden and were more densely packed. It was a small town, with no more than a hundred residents. Most of their commerce was conducted by serving the merchants who often met in the town’s square primarily to trade in furs, gems, elixir beans, tobacco, and farm animals. Beyond the town square was another fieldstone bridge headed east towards Midgaard.

Nyset and Baylan took the horses to the stables while Walter approached an older woman with the face of a dried orange, selling aromatic lamb skewers. She wore simple trousers and a white apron with a few orange stains.

“What’ll it be, son?” she drawled.

“Three skewers. Could you wrap them, please?” he smiled.

She nodded, and started delicately wrapping them in thick brown parchment.

“What’s the news?” he asked.

“Oh, well, there’s always lots of goings-on. Breden to the south, you may know… had been attacked a week ago by horned devils, I’d heard. I wouldn’t go anywhere near there, sonny, no sir.” She finished wrapping two of the skewers, and stopped on the third, putting a hand on her hip. “The devils attacked to the north too. Some are sayin’ the ol’ magic has returned.” She shook her head. “You see somethin’ that ain’t right, you just run away, I always say – kept me alive this long.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Walter said.

“That’ll be three marks,” she said.

Walter fished in his satchel, forgetting he had given his last, and only, priceless mark to Mrs. Jacklabee. He groaned.

“C’mon now, I don’t have all day –’tis closing time and the pub is callin’ my name. What? You think this is a charitable operation?” She laughed as she started unwrapping the skewers.

Walter’s eyes glowed a fierce yellow in the light of the setting sun. He emitted a low rumbling growl. “Listen,” he said. She flinched when she saw into his glowing eyes.

“You will give me those out of the kindness of your heart, and I will let you live another day.”

She faced him with her arms crossed over her narrow chest. “Who do you think you are–”

“Quiet,” he hissed. “Hand me the lamb and close your cart, or this sword here will be through your gut. If you tell anyone about this I’ll remove the skin from your bones, slowly.”

She frowned. “Not worth the trouble,” she muttered and tossed the skewers to him.

Walter watched as she pushed her bouncing ramshackle cart east from the square.
Did I just really rob a woman who could’ve been my grandmother? I have to get this off, it has to go now.
He yanked on a slate bracer with four small spikes, but to no avail.

He felt frantic. The recurrent, crushing weight swelled in his chest, making his hands sweat. His heart raced and the pores on his face opened with nascent sweat.
You already are a monster.
“No!” he shouted. People near him moved a few steps away and cast curious glances in his direction.

**

Wooden mugs of ale collided in uproarious cheers, and voices laughed over the din of jovial conversation. It was Friday night in The Hissing Gooseberry, and it seemed all of the locals had arrived for the pub’s special, half-mark bacon-and-elixir-flavored ales. Baylan, Walter and Nyset sat together in a corner at a sturdy table, sipping on their dark ales. Walter discovered that Nyset had brought a quite a few marks, and so he hadn’t needed to resort to thievery. He would keep that to himself.

Two fellows you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley arm-wrestled at the table beside them. Three older couples dined together at a wide rectangular table on the side. Walter caught bits of a spirited conversation about the future of elixir beans, and whether it would be a profitable crop in the north. He found himself tempted to chime in, but left it alone, preferring to have a relaxed night.

“Great place! I love the energy,” Nyset said.

“I wonder how they’ve produced such a marvel on the taste buds,” Baylan mused.

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that it sure is nice to do something normal again,” Walter said, wiping foam from his upper lip.

“Hmm, normal,” Baylan said distantly, peering into his mug.

“What is life like in the Silver Tower, Baylan?” Nyset asked.

He emerged from his reverie. “Oh, it’s wonderful! We have the grandest library among all of the realms, there is so much to understand and discover. There are thousands of artifacts from the first Age of Dawn with undiscovered secrets to be extracted. If you want to follow the path of scholarship, as I’ve gathered from our limited time together, that would certainly be the place to go,” he said.

“Fascinating. I’ve read what little I could find of the Tower, but it seems to be difficult to find much written about it in depth.” Nyset said.

“That is by design, dear,” Baylan said, lines forming around his eyes when he smiled.

“Oh?”

“Yes, well, the Tower has many enemies. Fighting a blindfolded foe is preferable.”

“C’mon, you can’t possibly have enemies. Who can fight against this?” Walter said as a tiny indiscernible spark danced in his palm. Baylan wrapped his hand around Walter’s, closing his hand and extinguishing the light.

“Please, Walter, this is not something to put on display. If this wasn’t entirely obvious, your ability to use–” He cleared his throat. “To use both sides of the mark, as it were, and therefore the sundering chains, is rare.
You are probably a target now,” he whispered. “Please use discretion with your ability, for all of us,” he said, shifting his eyes to Nyset.

Walter nodded, worry streaking across his eyes, “OK.”
Both sides of the mark.

Nyset set her sharp eyes on Baylan. “My parents seem to have developed a bad impression of the Silver Tower, warning me to hide my ability lest someone from the Tower discover it. You seem pleasant enough, why were they so worried?”

A loud thump and a victorious cheer erupted around the arm wrestlers. Baylan peered over his ale towards the commotion and then back at Nyset, brow wrinkled.

“Your parents are wise to be weary of the Silver Tower. Two hundred years ago, someone such as myself would have snatched you from your bed at the slightest inkling of magical talent. Times have changed, mostly. There are still some that adhere to the old ways. I–this isn’t the place for this discussion.” Baylan said, back stiff and eyes tightening.

“Hey, elf shoes, are you man enough to arm wrestle?” a high-pitched yet masculine voice said from beside Walter. A bulky man with a round face and heavily tattooed, crossed arms sneered at Baylan’s shoes with their curling tips.
They do look strange for these parts.
The man wore an open vest revealing a wide muscular chest and thick abdomen.

“I surely can’t deny a challenge,” he smiled at the man that resembled a stone wall. “What’s the wager?”

“Three marks,” he grunted.

Baylan set his mug down, and waved to the barmaid for a refill. “Agreed,” he said, moving to the small table behind Walter and Nyset. It wasn’t actually a table, but an empty beer keg with stools on either side. The surface had two indentations from years of elbows causing wear.

“Alright, set your marks here, sir. You too, Babs,” said his friend, pointing to a third indentation in the keg.

“Happy, Fretus?” Babs said with annoyance. Fretus had a deep scar stretching from the corner of his lip to his ear, and long hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Alright, no lifting the elbows off the table, a good clean wrestle. When the back of your hand hits the wood, it’s over.”

They nodded, and clasped hands. Babs smiled, proudly displaying his five teeth.

“One… two… three, wrestle!”

Baylan hung on for what seemed like a long second before the back of his hand came smashing down upon the top of the beer keg. “Ow!” He squirmed in the clutches of Babs’ giant hand. “Such strength,” Baylan said, walking away.

“Any other challengers?” Babs boasted with arms wide.

“Hey,” Nyset hissed to Walter. He turned to her, smiling and feasting on her eyes.

“Yes?” he said, slurping down more ale.

“Go and make use of that suit. We don’t have many marks, and I’m sure we’ll need them.”

He sighed. “I thought you had more? Alright, let’s hope this works.”

“I accept,” Walter said, attempting to hide his armor in his cloak and sizing up Babs.
Hopefully these two don’t recognize this armor.

Babs leaned in towards Walter with a bright-eyed look. “I’m gonna get me new skin designs!”

Walter inhaled and exhaled with a five count, slowing his breath and quieting his heart, slipping into the calm of Warrior’s Focus.

“What are ya waiting for?” Babs called from his chair. Walter shifted to the empty seat at the keg table. The din of the crowd muted as he turned inward, mentally scanning his muscles, flexing and priming them for work.

“OK, clean wrestling on three. One… two… three, fight!” Fretus yelled.

Their hands locked in a shuddering stalemate. Babs’ expression changed from a smirk to gritted teeth as he struggled against Walter’s strength.
He’s strong, but the armor has made me much stronger. Put on a good show – not too much.

Walter allowed his arm to be pressed halfway toward the keg’s surface, wincing in a feigned struggle. He started reversing the bout, pushing Babs’ arm a quarter beyond the middle starting position. Babs grunted in surprise and inhaled sharply. Babs was incredibly strong, and Walter did have to work to wrestle him, but, he could finish this at any time. In a burst of explosive force he smashed Babs’ arm onto the keg with a thump.

“What the–?” Babs said, staring at his arm as though it had betrayed him.

“Incredible, a win for the newcomer!” yelled Fretus with his arms overhead.

Walter puffed his chest out and sat a little taller. “Yes!” He clapped, rubbing his hands expectantly. Inquisitive heads turned, wondering what the fuss was about. As Walter reached for his winnings, Fretus’s hand caught his wrist.

“What is this?” Walter said, glaring at Fretus.

“Wait, how about triple or nothing against another challenger?”

Walter took a deep breath. “Alright, but this is the last one.”

Fretus called something to a behemoth of a man who sat hunched over the glowing hearth. He turned, revealing the true size of his massive body. The moisture from Walter’s throat seemed to have fled, causing him to swallow. He reached for his mug on the nearby table where Nyset and Baylan watched wide-eyed.
How did I miss this bastard before?

“Good luck,” Baylan said. Nyset nodded reassuringly.

The man had arms almost as wide as Walter’s abdomen and stood two hands taller than him. He had a black bushy beard that enveloped the lower half of his square face, and bright blue eyes.

“Hey, Grimbald! Up for a challenge, champ? Nine marks,” Fretus said, nodding towards Walter.

Grimbald paused, sizing up Walter for a few seconds. “Sure,” he said with enthusiasm, meeting Walter’s stare. He moved with little grace as he plopped onto the stool opposite Walter.
His shoulders are like the twin peaks of the Denerian Cliffs – what have I gotten myself into?
Walter gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

They clasped hands. Walter felt like a child grasping this man’s engulfing hand.
Don’t fail me now, blasted armor.
A small crowd of a dozen onlookers gathered around for the excitement. Grimbald wasn’t challenged often, for obvious reasons. “Get’im, Grim!” a stout man shouted.

“One… two… three… wrestle!” Fretus said, beaming with excitement.

Grimbald’s power was stunning. His veins throbbed as he used the full force of his bulk to violently twist Walter’s arm within a finger’s length of the keg’s surface. He was hoping for a quick win. Walter’s mind panicked but his body reacted. His muscles fired to resist Grimbald at the last instant, honed by years of combat training. Grimbald’s expressionless face slowly transformed into a confident smile as he struggled to pin Walter’s hand. “Finally, a real challenger!” he bellowed.