3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


  • The singing was what they heard first. It echoed through the forest, occasionally punctuated with a grunt or a scream as something died. They followed it to a clearing right on the edge of the Tiger Lands and found him in a clearing. A small collection of goblin bodies were scattered around the clearing and the skald seemed to be . . .well . . .dancing! There was no other term for the spins and twists he did as he wove his axe in and out of range of the latest pair of goblins to face this man. One of the Battlemaidens reached for her bow but another smiled and shook her head. "Watch, he is giving a lesson."

    The axe was flipped back onto his back as he spun about and his foot caught the first goblin at the neck, ending its attack before it started. A fist within a well-made weighted glove lashed out and sent the second goblin flipping backwards, end over end. Three arrows flew out of the woods on the far side of the clearing, one hit and one missed, the third skittered off of his armor. He muttered a soft curse and his hands filled with throwing darts that spun lazily through the air to kill the first archer. The crackle of energy as they hit told the women that these were not your average darts. He sang a bit as he closed the distance between him and the archers and drew out a double bladed sword. It lashed left and right as he moved between the two archers, forcing them to decide to drop the bows and draw short swords that never managed to penetrate his armor. It didn't last long. Panting, with a grin on his face, he stepped back to the center of the clearing and began the dance anew . . . circling while the double bladed sword made for a center axis that he spun about.

    One of the Battlemaidens laughed softly at the sight of the fat old man dancing and was shocked to see how fast he could draw a bow and point it right at her, hidden though they were. "Heyas." The arrow returned to the quiver. "I was wondering how long it would take for someone to show up." He stood as still as a statue as the women filed out of their hides but he broke into a wide smile as he saw Soja was among them. For reasons she could not even explain to herself she realized that she, too, had a big grin on her face.

    "Come, eat drink, be warm by my fire." The skald invited formally.

    "You don't have a fire." Objected the youngest Battlemaiden.

    "Ah, the sight of so many beautiful and skilled Maidens would light a fire in the loins of a statue. But if you wish the formalities . . . ." He swiftly built a fire and tossed a few of the bodies beyond the clearing so there was not quite the abattoir mood to the area.

    The eldest watched how far one of the bodies flew, seemingly without effort on the part of the man and revised her estimation of him again. "Thank you for the food and drink." She took a sip from his canteen and a bite of travel bread then sat by the fire with one smooth motion. "Are you here to enter Tiger lands?"

    Jerr shook his head. "Not when what I came to see has come out of them." He took a fine cloth out of a bag and used it to clean and polish the double sword he had used earlier before offering it silently to Soja.

    She took the weapon and noted that the blades were well balanced and of better metals than her own. "This is very nice. Though you seem more at home with your axe."

    He grinned. "A skald should be able to use or teach any weapon. But aye, axe is my personal choice. This blade . . . " he cleared his throat. "This Blade has been blooded, used in true battle. I give it as a free gift to you, Battlemaiden Soja, asking nothing in return. It is yours to keep, or to return. As you deem right." His voice held the singsong tone of a ritual long established and she tried to recall what she had learnt of the rules of gifts in the old ways.

    "I . . . " She looked to the senior of the Maidens patrol for help but that one was looking out beyond the fire. She turned to follow the gaze and gasped.

    Again they were surprised by the swiftness a fat old man could manage as Jerr rolled to his feet, axe in hand to face the goblins that were now coming out of the forest. The one in the lead was huge, with a bloodied warhammer held loosely in one hand. It stopped and grunted something in a guttural language and one further back cried out. "He asks if 'you are ready for your time', fat one. He says he will make it quick . . . and take his time with the women instead."

    Jerr's eyes flashed as he growled low. "I have had enough of people talking about taking women after they are done with me." The axe slowly rotated in his hands as he spoke. "It is not my time, tell him to leave now or it will surely be his." The hiss of weapons being cleared from sheathes sounded behind him. "This is not a ceremony, greenskin. I will not be fighting alone."

    "Nor will he . . . " The mob of goblins charged.


  • The camp was quiet as he drifted in, stopping at various fires and working his way towards the center. Each fire stop was a chance to sip a bit of wine and exchange a few words about how they were settling back in and what might be needed. He joked with a few about going hunting for white skins and getting some warmer rugs for the winter that was coming.

    But that was all just stalling for time.

    The tent was off to one side. Maybe not obvious to an outsider but to one who had grown up in this camp it was easy to see. Jerr sighed and wished for many things but none of them would have been enough to keep him from this task.

    He went in with an expression similar to that on a man going to an execution. In a way . . . it was.

    The old mans eyes were so close to closed that Jerr was not sure if he was asleep or awake. Then they opened, blurred by the years and tired of the pain. "You came."

    Jerr nodded, taking in the wizened old man on the furs. Was this the man who had once lead a charge against bugbears with Jerr singing by his side? Was this the young lad that had sat by the fires listening to tales while trying to catch the eyes of the older battlemaidens? This was a skeleton . . . a shadow of life clinging . . . clinging.

    And he was younger than Jerr.

    The skald took a weak hand, large at the end of a bony arm, and held it gently. "Where else would I be, then?" He whispered, more to himself than to Edde. A part of him, in primal fear of the taste of death in the air was screaming Anywhere, away, with your wife, not here, not now, death waits here, it waits and watches, run fool run Jerr held the hand and watched they eyes of the old man as they faded and drifted then gained focus again.

    "I don't want . . . "

    Jerr nodded. "I know."

    "It's not fair."

    "Never is, never ever is."

    The eyes looked wildly around, from their sunken position in the face of wrinkles. "Why is this a tent? Why are we not marching . . . the orcs are building a fortress."

    "That battle is over, we won, Edde"

    It was quiet for a time and the breathing calmed and slowed. Then it quickened and the eyes looked about again. "It hurts so."

    Jerr had seen Edde with three arrows stuck in his back and forget to mention it till he tried to sit down. He could not imagine this pain that Edde felt. "I could get the shaman . . . "

    Edde spit. "That witch? She never has enough . . .says I should be a man or die and be done with it."

    Jerr sighed and added 'chat with Kerrith' to his list of things to do.

    "I don't want . . . "

    Jerr waited, his leathery hands holding Eddes as he felt helpless . . . . for there was little he could do save stay with the man. It was quiet for a while.

    "not like . . . this . . ." The eyes looked to some far off shore. "we were . . . warriors."

    "No." Jerr corrected him. "We are warriors. Ave heyokarr. I have my axe before me."

    "Ave heyokaa." It was like a distant echo, his voice.

    "Ave heyokarr, I have my brothers and sisters beside me."

    "Ah . . . .heyo . . ."

    "The spirits they are with us, Ave Heyokarr"

    'a eyo . . . . bear . . I was a bear.' The voice gained a bit of strength.

    "Ave Heyokarr. Where will you go, brother Bear?"

    'Battle it calls.'

    Jerr reached to his pack and drew out the things he had collected. He put on ancient robes of ceremony and then read a series of scrolls focussing on the old man. Strength returned, along with clarity of mind, limb, and eye.

    It would not last long, but then, it would not have to.

    It never does.

    Edde, Of the Heyokarr stepped out of his tent for the last time, battle songs singing in his ear. He marched to goblin lands, back to where he first blooded his axe, so long ago. For him it was as if the years had never passed . . . the first few goblins came, one by one, and fell, two by two, as the axe cut them in half.

    Jerr sang the death song of Eddde and watched from a respectful distance as the goblins, realizing what was happening, finally, sent for a proper challenger.

    He was big, for a goblin. Probably had some bugbear blood in him. His armor had an oily sheen to it, like a hot rock on a summers day. His warhammer looked well made and poorly cared for.

    Jerr eyed him and nodded. Edde grinned and moved slowly forward as the skald started a slow beat.

    It would have been nice for it to be an epic battle, with blood shed on both sides and the very air ringing with the exchange of martial skills honed over decades. Jerr always hoped he would get to be witness to one of those.

    He did not get his wish.

    The goblin batted the axe of Edde to one side and crushed his skull with the back swing. Edde never even got a blow to start, let alone land. The hammer hit him again before his body hit the ground but it was more show than need. Then the goblin looked to Jerr, white hair tossing slightly in the evening breeze. He babbled something in their foul language and one, further back called. "He asks if you also wish to die here, old, fat, manling."

    Jerr shook his head. "Not my time, yet. He fought well. Tell him he has by thanks and there is a box of wines and ales in the woods east of here. Go, celebrate, live for another day. I need to bury a friend."

    There was a babble of the ugly language and then the large Goblin made a derisive gesture at Jerr, one that needed no translation. He stepped forward and raised the warhammer once more, having the blood lust growing, and wanting another kill.

    Jerr eyed him and brought the drums to the front. "I said I have a freind to bury, tell him to go . . .

    The goblin laughed as the translation reached him and started to move forward, stalking the fat man with the drum.

    Jerr struck the drum and yelled "Heyokarr" in a voice that filled the forest.
    A line of axes flew out of the trees to form a line in front of the goblin. Then the area behind Jerr was filled with the tribes warriors and battle maidens. "Last chance."

    The translator was very shrill and other voices called to their champion who took a long last look at Jerr then spat on the ground between them and then was gone back into the darker forests. Jerr watched him go then slowly picked up Edde and carried him back to the camp. He sang the death song for his young friend.

    Leaving was easy. He felt like Eddes tent. Still a part of the camp, but isolated, set aside. His return to the Gypsy camp and his wife was calming.

    "Where were you?" She murmered in elven as he slipped into the bed furs.

    "I had to see an old friend." He replied in the same language.

    She snuggled closer and held him as he went to sleep. Her bright eyes watching him but the mind behind the eyes saw only the man, standing still as axes past his head so close he lost hairs. Saw him face an enemy holding only a drum and confidence in his fellow tribesmen. "Tempus bless thee" She whispered softly.

    Not all battles need to be won, some have to be lost.


  • "The Coldstone mountains come by their name honestly. Formidable and frozen, they are."

    The Skald settles down by the fire and begins his tale without any introduction. His voice is pitched low but it carries as though the wind and the world wanted to hear it as well. The crowd gathers quickly as he continues to speak of those who went on that journey.

    "Grag, well you all have heard of him. Death with an axe and, by the smell of it, lives on beans and rotting carcasses of his enemies. He was the one to organize this along with Lyte, who is also a general of the legion. Two more dissimilar leaders I cannot imagine. Grag is bigger than life and twice as noisy. Lyte is quiet but wherever the battle is hottest she is there by your side. A deadly beauty, she is, and a good woman."

    He sighs and takes a sip of ale before continuing.

    "Now I don't want you thinking it was all legion. Call, of the Phoenix went along. The silver valley was represented by wee hins who wielded mighty magics or spotted and scouted for us. I will come back to mention two later. I and Hedia of the Heyokarr. Gypsies, guardians, Divine shields, members of the Sisterhood. . . .the list goes on and on. Each climbing the mountains for one reason, to stop Sharn from pushing this war forward."

    "Sharn. An ancient white dragon, been around so long even our verbal histories do not remember when the dragon first took a home on the tops of the mountains." He chuckles. "Then again, we all know Sharn was there, but nobody was absolutely sure what sex Sharn was. I guess to worry about something like that was only needed if you were another dragon." His chuckle breaks into a cough for a moment and he accepts another ale passed over. "Another dragon . . . where was I? ayah, the group. We had clerics and the Blue bard himself, warriors and scouts of all shapes and sizes. Bowyers who could make the arrow sing in flight and even a Giant from the mountains names Grax. A more diverse group all bound in one purpose you could not imagine. Why, they even let me tag along . . . ."

    The skald touches the axe at his back absently and looks off into the distance. "The orcs were first. Groups of them patrolling the road over to where Ormpur used to be. Now normally they would have been something to worry about but with this group, well it was a race to see if you could even get an arrow off fast enough to hit a still living body. Many a shot I saw hit lifeless corpses that did not have the sense to finish falling over, so fast did death take them. Past Ormpur we went running into our first giants but they, too, were out in the open and easily swarmed and dropped. Remember that, an enemy away from his home advantage is easier to take. Use your strengths and their weaknesses against them." At the back the olderwarriors nudged the younger to listen close, for this was not a tale but a lesson. "It was sad to see the ruins of a town where once I had traded but we did not linger. And the climb started."

    The mountains are not something you can do in a straight line. Switchbacks and blind paths, drop-offs and narrow ledges. Up and down and over and across, through mazes of frozen rock and snow we trudged. At times one would get separated and the others would wait . . . or not, depending of if their absence was even noticed. A Heyokarr war-band takes care of its own but this was a collection, not a tribe. A war-party of goblins shadowed us for a time and tried to lay an ambush but our own scout had spotted them and led a few of us back to put paid to their account. There were moving warriors of ice, bigger than any man who barred our way. Ice giants of every variety, from their priests to their witches and warriors who would charge blindly to close with an easy target. The group took damage but the clerics such as Elyl, Eldrith, and Hedia kept many a warrior from staining the snows crimson with their lifes blood."

    "Twas on the peak we rested, before searching for the cave entrance. The few giants left pulled back to defend the cave. Jeremy Steel and others watched over the camp allowing the priests and mages a chance to re-attune themselves with their sources of power. Zyphlin sang a song that made the cold ledge feel comfortable for a moment and we gathered our strength. Then we had to find the cave."

    He pauses and looks about. "You'd think a dragon cave on the top of a mountain would be a simple thing to find, wouldn't you? Well it ain't. Specially when there are still Giants sneaking about casting spells and vanishing back into the snowy mists to hit again from another side. We lost Peppy up there, right before we found the cave it was. Peppy was a wee hin who had more magic in her little fingers than most kings magic councils. Worst of it was her soul had moved on and no diamond in the world would bring her back. Every time I see a scroll now, I think of her." He shakes his head and makes a toast to the sky silently. "Well, we found the entrance and there the band proved that it may be lead by a general or two but taking orders was another thing. Grag wanted some to watch their backs and stay at the entrance to the cave. He chose those he wanted to take in to face the dragon . . . . and the group would have none of that. as Jeremy said. 'I walked all up and down to be left sitting here?' We all went in."

    The skald starts to cough and drinks half another ale trying to calm his throat. "Dragon caves are odd. I found the cave to be both hot and cold at the same time. Frosty breath and yet I wound up having to take off my armor and shirt from the heat. Not that we didn't get exercise . . . Ice was alive in there, it would reach out and hit you. The giant king was making his last stand in defence of Sharn, willing to give his life for the dragon. We obliged him by taking what he offered. But the traps . . . the path was perilous, we lost Riama to traps and she, too, went beyond the reach of a diamond no matter how hard our priests called." He toasts the sky again.

    "So we got to the last chamber, where Sharn awaited us." There was muttering from the back. "And the warriors prepared quaffing potions and being bespelled by the mages till they fairly glowed with the weaves wrapped about them and their weapons." The muttering got louder. The skald looked up and smiled softly. "Is there a problem?"

    "Aren't you leaving something out?" Zyphlin asked from next to the skald, though none saw him arrive.

    Jerr blushed. ((settling several bets amongst the women as to whether he even knew how to)) "Nothing important."

    "Some of them know, you are not the only one to be telling tales. Should they hear it from you or Dimion?" Zyphlins voice was soft but still carried as only a trained speaker could make it.

    The skald muttered a curse. "You gonna tell the tale?"

    Zyphlin smiled. "In my own time, but this is your telling, just don't leave it out . . . it is important to your people."

    The skald nodded, mute for a moment. "But . . . the color."

    "Just tell the tale."

    The skald nodded to a space that is now empty. The crowd looks about but there was no sign of the Blue Bard. "Like I said, the cave, to me was both cold and hot. As we got deeper the heat made me . . . uncomfortable. First I removed my leathers, then even my vest was too much. The complaints were loud and common. I couldn't catch my breath properly and there was even talk of me having the plague or going mad. They were close. I chanted the warchants and found some relief if there was an enemy before me. I almost welcomed the fights and was getting in the way of the giant and Grag. The rest of the time I staggered at the back, trying to keep up. There was no way that I could stop, not having come so far . . . but the smell, the feel of the cave . . . got to me." His eyes are slightly redder when he looks up to the crowd, most of the words are spoken as he stares into the fire. 'In the end I thought my back would burst so bad was the itching and pressure. I had Keira cut me . . . " His hand touches his shoulder blades. "That was where the wings came out."

    He knew better than to try to talk as the crowd reacted, he sipped an ale and stared into the fire thinking dark thoughts about chatty bards. "Mine is the blood of dragons. It is my spirit totem and my heritage. That day, that cave, awoke something. After that, I was the trap finder. And I was not in the way, at the front. When we arrived at the chamber I tried to ask Sharn 'Why'. I wanted to know why this battle was forced upon us, why Sharn chose to come off of the mountain at all. But there was no time for speech, no negotiations. Sharn pointed to the giant and said he was the reason but before I could ask more the battle had started. I would love to tell you of an epic battle that raged for days at the top of the mountain . . . but I will not lie to you. Sharn fought tooth and nail, but used no magics. Fire breath met a blast of arctic cold, but the spells and preparations of the war-band far outstripped the raw power of a dragon. In a way . . . " The skald pauses and looks into the fire. "I think it was how Sharn wanted it to end. Like a warrior who knows when his last battle is upon him, the decision to fight and fight well, to die with honor. And so, as we have always done . . . I speak to the strength of the enemy, and the honor that we gained in the battle. I sing to the lives lost on that mountain, of Peppy and Riama. and I remind you. . . you spirit totem lies within you, but there may come a time where it will become you and you it. May you find that day a victory, and not a loss. I haven't yet decided what that day was, for me."

    He rose and looked about the circle of listeners before moving off into the night. Leaving them with their thoughts and taking his with him, for he knew that the breath of fire comes from two types of dragon . . . and he had not been the golden one.


  • He awoke suddenly, as the sounds around him were not quite right. Then he remembered that he was in the southern forests and not in his own bed. He looked up to see that there were now a few battle maidens sitting nearby, watching him. He smiled and rolled to a sitting position. "Is there food?" He blew on the fire and tried to get a bit more heat out of it in the predawn cold.

    One of them brought forward a basket which held some fresh bread and salted meats. Jerr grinned and tore into it with a gusto. "So you do have appetites." That was from the one who had escorted him to his sleeping place the evening before.

    "Missy, I have appetites like you would not imagine. But I try to keep them under control, lest they rule me." His eyes flashed with the light of the growing fire. "The taking, the keeping, and the hungers. That is the way of the dragon." He looked at each one of them in turn and they felt the heat of his gaze like a caress. "Each of you I would take, and each of you I would keep. I am of the dragon totem and I am dragon, inside. But I have the control, for now." He looked back to the fire. 'Have they decided?"

    "Not yet, it would have been a sure thing except for that one problem." His guide said smiling.

    "Problem?"

    "The boy," she spat the term, "that you taught manners to? The son of the chief. You did us all a favor with that lesson but the shame of it stains your visit." She grinned. "A lot of people have wanted to shut the little shite up for his smart ass remarks, but it took a realskald to do it right."

    Jerr sighed. "Me and my temper . . . "

    "Well, you did it properly, but now with the chiefs family bearing the shame and the boy not exactly happy with you. It does not look good."

    Jerr sighed and finished the breakfast. "Dammit. I might as well take my leave, then."

    One of the women held out a spear, stopping him from rising. "While we may not travel as a tribe, honor does not forbid us from hunting where we will. The woods will be more alive than you know, skald."

    Jerr looked at the end of the spear and leaned towards it slightly. "You remind me of a friend of mine. But you know better than to level a weapon at a man . . . even if I am not a warrior." He grinned, "Though with all of you gathered about . . . thoughts of my own spear are not far beneath the surface."

    The others laughed as one of the slower ones wondered, "But I thought you had an axe . . . "

    "And you should know better than to challenge battle maidens, old man. We still follow the ways of mates here."

    "We did as well, but my shaman annulled some of my marriages as I had wed for love, not for power." Jerr looked about and smiled softly. "A common mistake of mine. I would want to know you better, ladies, and for you to know me. before we traded spear thrusts. I have a true wife and I am faithful to her." He glanced to the horizon, "but the sun rises and I have duties."

    They allowed him space to stand and sing, his voice filling the village with the morning prayers of the people. Lathander, Tempus and Uthgar were thanked for the blessings of the light, of battle, and of the spirits in the land. Then songs were simple but the tone and timbre of them would make even the gods pause and listen. He held the last note as the chief and shaman approached, the battle maidens moved further back but stayed close enough to hear what was said.

    "We will see if the battle calls to us, skald. We make no promises." The chief started formally. "May your journey back be a safe one, you are safe in our lands, this time."

    Jerr sighed and nodded at the dismissal and gathered his things. He had considered arguing the decision but he knew it would only make him appear weak, and that was not something he wanted to be with this tribe. His light pack on his back, he checked his camp one more time as the chief and shaman turned and walked away. He looked to the battle maidens. "As you said, so it was." He turned to face the one who had watched over him and smiled. "I thank you for your watchfulness. I slept like a child in his mothers arms." He stepped closer than normal and looked down into her eyes. "You, I would like to know better . . . but another time. If I were not well married you would be far less awake this morning." He grins wolfishly. "I know you were doing your duty but you did it well, what is your name?"

    She did not step back but met his gaze with an open challenge. "Soja."

    'Well, Soja, Red Tiger battle maiden, you have the thanks of a skald, and of a dragon. I will decide how to express those thanks another time, seeing as I did not take the most obvious way." The other women whistled as he swayed towards her for just a moment and then swayed back.

    "Scared skald?" One taunted.

    "Only of my own nature." He replied calmly. "My hungers . . . I do not speak just of food, ladies. I speak of all hungers of the flesh. To mistake age for forgetfulness, in my case, would be an error. Or to mistake control for not caring." His hand drifted up to cup the chin of Soja. "A skald does not forget. A dragon is ever about the taking, the keeping, and the hungers. But I will not steal food from another mans bowl, and I do not know any of you well enough to be . . . considering. Or considered."

    Sojas hand covers his own for a moment and her eyes widen at the feel of his skin. A pause and then she tugs the hand from her face. "Battle maidens make their own decisions as to consideration. We are not the food of any mans bowl, and you know that. We take battle and love in our own measure, on our own terms."

    Jerr smiled. "Good for you. I was afraid the old ways would be dying but if you still keep to them then there is hope, for us all. Old Thom was a good teacher."

    They all nodded and touched weapons in remembrance of the Red Tiger skald, now dead. Soja spoke again after a moment. "If you are ready then we will travel with you to the edge of the lands. The chief said you will be safe and we will, as is our duty, make sure that is so."

    Jerr grinned and stepped back. "Ah but can a bunch of girls keep up with one fat old man?"

    Their shouts of indignation were drowned out by his laughter as he sped out of the camp, them in hot pursuit. The run to the edge of their lands was a game of hide and seek. Of speed and craft and all were laughing when they parted. Jerr had the consideration to hold off on magics until clear of their land but soon after a buzzing of a slightly chubby pixie streaked across the sky.

    The maidens paused at the edge of the lands and looked after the path he had taken. "We won't go, will we?"

    Soja looked to the young maiden who asked. "As a tribe? Not a hope. But as a maiden of battle, I think I will be running a wide patrol. Any of the enemy that tries to escape to the south will find the woods less hospitable than they once were. THAT we can do for him."

    One nudged Soja. "Getting a crush on an old man like that?"

    Soja frowned for a moment. "He is not old, not as old as he looks. His hair is dyed. The hair on his hands and arms are blond. And his skin . . . it is hard, like tanned leather." She paused and looked down. 'I wonder if he will remember me . . . "

    The eldest battle maiden snorted. "Skalds never forget. Nor do dragons. You need to learn to hear all that a person says. He did not say he was at the front fighting the white dragon of the mountain. He said he had his teeth in its throat. I, for one, wonder whether he was being figurative . . . or literal."

    They all looked to the north and whispered as one. "Travel well."

    A moment later the forest glade was empty.


  • He stuffed the double axe into a corner with leather coverings on the blades. "Travel light, travel fast." His pack he spread out before himself and sorted what he needed from the normal mess he went about with. "Travel smart, travel hidden." He took some food from Amith who stood watching him arrange the much smaller load. It smelled of meat and spices that took him back to when she had made him a meal and served it on a shield . . . showing that she did know how to cook.

    In elven she added "Travel loved, travel missed."

    Quiver replaced with a smaller one. "If it isn't dead in a hundred arrows I shouldn't be shooting at it." Throwing knives and daggers came out of various packs and sheathes and filled his chest. He stood slowly and checked the load now, A bow, made by Eluriel long ago and one he would not trade or change for the world. His axe, made by his wife, which almost never was out of reach. A skinning knife at his belt was balanced on the other side by a long black whip that had been a gift from Kiera . His pack held a few days food and a fair number of scrolls and potions.. His toothed cloak on his back with the hood thrown back and a simple iron broach he had gotten from the dragons hoard clasping it.

    Amith flowed into his open arms and looked up at him. "Old fool. Remember my rules."

    His chuckle came from the belly, more felt by her than heard. "Yes dear, I will obey . . . if I can."

    She kissed him lightly then slaps his ribs, hard enough to make him grunt. "You obey."

    He scooped her up and hugged her tight in a bear hug that drove the breath from her. "Yes dear." Then he swept out of the tent and moved off into the pass. It wasn't until after he was gone she saw that he had also left all money and keys behind. Where he was going, there would be no locks, and he wasn't going to do trade . . .

    He moved through the camp swiftly, just nodding to people he knew and took the narrow passage south. Hobgoblins saw just a blur of red and black and he passed them by, allowing them their lives for another day. He walked wide around the refugee camp and up and overSams hill and up to the defences where he looked out at the new gates of Norwick . He spent a few minutes considering it before he backed well out of sight behind another rise and scratched a prayer circle in the turf. Kneeling he started a low song that slowly built up to a full blessing. He called upon the land and the spirits to bring the balance back. He offered his weapons to the sky, his heart to the spirits all around. Then he slowly stood and arranged his scrolls, potions, and self facing south. "Not for me, not for anyone person, not for the people, for the Land." He then started to gather the weave in song which he wrapped around himself like layers of clothes. "Fire will not burn, cold will not chill, hard to hit, hard to see, strength of the land, fast as a thought." Chanting he drank, read and sang till he was well protected, then he reached for a single scroll off to one side. He read it loud, keeping an image in his mind and the remaining ashes of the parchment fell to the ground battered by the air tossed about by the buzzing wings of a pixie.

    Heard, not seen, it buzzed over the defenders and the walls and scooted around the perimeter of Norwick. Once past the town it swung south and west and picked up speed as it headed for the territory of the Red Tiger tribe of the Nars folk.

    Colberg, son of Hroth walked silently through the forest, axe ready and senses stretching out to find any enemies within the domains of the Red Tiger lands. The buzz of a large insect grew and then stopped. In a flash of magics there stood before him a old fat man who calmly spoke the tribal words that required an audience with the tribal leaders.

    He took in this stranger with the toothed cloak and an axe handle jutting up over his right shoulder back towards the camp and tried to assess what this would be about. The tattoos that were visible named him most likely one of the foolish Heyokarr. The lad took him the long way but the skald kept pace almost effortlessly. The bow that lifted over the other shoulder looked to be of pointy eared make and not a true warriors bow but the grip looked well used and it never caught on a branch not even leaf as they glided through the woods. His leathers looked odd . . . red and black with touches of gold as though trying to impress someone. The young warrior snorted to himself. As if armor that could be seen by a blind man was impressive to a hunter like himself.

    The camp had seen them coming and was ready when he arrived with the guest. The Shaman greeted him by name. "Jerr of the Heyokarr. You come unannounced and without invitation. Why do you test our hospitality so?" The Skald stood and waited for the true greeting, saying nothing but smiling just slightly. The Shaman sighed. "Very well, come, have food and drink, be warm by our fires."

    The fat man sat smoothly by the fire and accepted water and some fresh breads from one of the women. His gaze flickered over her and he smiled, she blushed and withdrew from the circle a little faster than normal. "I come to give you an opportunity that happens seldom in our lives. A great battle will take place against a strong foe with many allies. The Battle will be a true one and honor to be won and lost in the eyes ofTempus. I am not asking you to come, but permitting. It is on Heyokarr land but my tribe has come to the aid of the Featherflights and will be trying to defend the women and children of that tribe. While we were there our own lands fell along with the town known asNorwick. Orcs, Giants, mad priests of an evil god . . . "

    The chief rumbled, "I am surprised you do not offer us a dragon as well, skald."

    Jerrs eyes flashed. "I was there when we climbed the mountain and killed Sharn. The dragon has been taken care of. It was not something I felt the Red Tigers were . . . needed for."

    From the back a voice called out. "You? A fat old man? what did you do, shoot arrows and sing ditties from the back while real men fought the dragon?"

    Jerr paused and looked to the chief. "This is what I am to expect? I am welcome at your fire as an object to be ridiculed?"

    The chief pauses and then shakes head. "You are excused from the guesting ways if you wish."

    He had not finished the sentence before Jerr was up and through the crowd to grab a young warrior. He picked him up by the neck and threw him into the open and then stood waiting for the warrior to stand. "For your information." His whip hissed from his belt and slithered out behind him with a flick of the wrist. "I was not at the back." The boy struggled to his feet, drawing an axe only to have the whip lash out, the axe dropped from numb fingers. "I was not singing." The whip did not slow but rotated over both of them and then came down around an ankle and flipped the boy back to the ground. "I . . . I . . .had my teeth in Sharns throat and felt his blood slow then stop. I ate the dragons heart and none there said me nay." The whip wove a figure eight above the boy who scrambled to get out from under the lash. "Friends of mine died on that mountain, sisters of mine were lost. So do not you EVER mock that journey or those who went up there or by the dragons blood I will breath fire myself and cook you where you lay mewling." The whip snapped above the boys head one more time then theskald slowly recoiled it and hung it at his belt. He turned his back on the boy and returned to the fire.

    This time his voice rang out with the timbre of a skald, filling the clearing and easily heard by all, even though he did not seem to be shouting. "I warned the Shaman long ago that a war was coming, that the time of the tribes was almost at hand. I was saddened to hear of the loss of Old Thom, he was a good friend of mine. But the time is NOW. You can hunt and wonder where all the good foes have gone, relive the old memories until they die, for without a skald . . . they will. Or you can join us in this fight for the land. Be remembered for as long epic tales are told. Here, at this camp is safety and long life. Where I am going is death, destruction, and the chance to live forever in the histories.

    I come, not as an emissary but as a neighbor. A guide. I am asking nothing, just giving you the permission to come, if your hearts have the courage. Come, if your arms are strong enough. COME, if you wish to see a battle unlike any other. If these things are not true . . . " He spit into the fire and it flared. "Then stay. You will live longer, but it will not be what I call a life worth living."

    He looked to the chief. "I thank you for the food, drink and warmth. I have places to be, battles to join."

    The chief shook his head. "You will stay the night, at least. The Tigers will discuss your . . . invitation. One of the battle maidens will show you where to lay your head." He raises his voice. "This night you will be safer than you would be in your own lands, this I say." He did not look at the bruised lad scowling at the edge of the camp but others did.

    Jerr nodded and followed a woman with wide swaying hips and what looked like a double ended sword or spear strung across her back. He was given a pallet by a smaller fire at the edge of the village that was still withing the boundaries but far enough away that the voices that lifted to him were but sounds, not language. She lingered nearby and smiled suggestively at him but he smiled back and rolled to face the fire. Her indignant snort made him smile wider as he drifted off to sleep.


  • With a sigh he slid to one side as she joined him beneath the furs. "You were right. Tempus's vision was as accurate as could be."

    She leaned up on one elbow and looked down at him, staring at the ceiling. he slowly looked into her eyes and smiled. "You were a dragon?" She asked in elven.

    "I was a dragon. I fought Sharn, with all the rest of the party."

    She nodded. "How was the battle? Did Sharn fight well?"

    He frowned. " . . . no. I expected more, I think we all did. The giant guards came closer to hurting us than the dragon did. Sharn was . . . well . . .old. Didn't use any magics, just breath and claw. I think Grag could have won the fight without the rest of us even involved. We took no chances and once the fight started . . . none of us gave any mercy at all."

    She nodded again. "Sharn died in battle. Maybe that is what was the goal, all along."

    Jerr looked back to the ceiling and whistled. "Now that would make more sense than any of the other reasons people had given me. Sharn wanted to die in a battle and we obliged. Fought so the battle would be real, worthy."

    She nods and lays her head on his chest. "Am glad Sharn die, not you."

    He nods his head down to breath in the scent of her hair and smiles. "Me too, my love, me too."


  • Flying.

    The wind whistling past and the freedom as his great wings lifted him above the mountain. Keira was waiting, up top. He had saved her for last, to fulfill a promise he had made. The giant and the hin had been the last load before but for the moment he weas free . . .

    Another sweep and a grunt and he started to gain altitude. What few giants there were left on this side of the mountainside saw a red shadow sweep across them and then it was gone. He orared for the sheer joy of it before alighting on the clifftop and slithering down the hole into Sharns Chamber.

    Shadows clung to her as she continued to explore little nooks and crannies in the cave. She drifted here and there as he caught his breath and smiled at the lair, probably for the last time. "I did a lap outside with the mages and I looking for twists in the weave. If the orb of winter is up here it is well shielded."

    She nodded absently and walked over. Calm eyes looked up into his eyes of flame contained and she said softly. "How does this make you feel?"

    He looked down at her, then around the chamber where the remains of the rough 'harvesting' of Sharn had taken place. Headless the remains of the corpse lay, skinned. Blood and bits of meat had scattered to each corner of the room. He could steal taste the dragons heart on the back of his tongue. "Cold. . . and hot . . . part of me wants to feed more, till there is nothing left. But the others are waiting for us." He sighed heavily, hs breath a mix of raw meat and smoke. "Are you ready to go?"

    "She looks up, her expression unreadable. "How will you take me?"

    He laughed . . . "always with the double meaning? While having you in my talons is tempting, I think on my back will do." He bent his neck down so she could climb aboard. "You weigh almost nothing. Hang on with hands and legs . . . " They shot out of the exit like a red thunderbolt and he took to the sky.

    Wheeling, circling, shooting through cloud layers and snapping back to level with a rustling snap as the membranes of his wings caught the air they descended from the mountain top. If she said a word on the way down he did not hear it as he roared and sang for the fire in his veins and the wind in his wings.

    They did a high pass over the lands he loved. Nowick, smutty little fires obscuring the view of the invaders. Peltarch, from very high up, in case a mage though this was some invasion, the gypsy camp, hard to find, nestl;ed in the valley, the refugee camp, small fires burning and peopel huddled about them. Then Jiyyd hove into view. He landed, lighter than the last two times. There was a large pile with most of the adventurers arrayed around it. The division of the hoard.

    Deep down a voice urged . . . grab the chest, fly, you could be gone before they realized it. There are places you could be, a lair to make. Maybe go back and make an offer to that green you met . . . He stifled the thought but the hoard was right there, calling to him. Maybe she would come with you . . . you both could fly far from here, find a new life . . . He looked over to Keira and shuddered softly. Again he fought with the voice, but his claws dug a pair of grooves in the turf and he looked around for a distraction. his eyes lighting on a pig in a pen. "Is anybody gonna eat that?"

    They ignored him. Funny how easily they all adjusted to his new self. Or were they? He looked closer and saw that some still had weapons out and though they were not looking directly at him . . . .
    down down down

    fight it, swallow it

    calm

    peace

    he bent down to talk to Hedia and slowly he folded in on himself until he was just a skald, a fat old man . . .nothing more.

    but he had flown

    flying, in his heart he still did

    he chose simple, almost worthless things from the hoard, to try to make ammends for the thoughts he had had . . . for how close he had been to betraying the party.

    flying

    inside


  • He suddenly sat up in the chair by the fire and looked around. It was quiet save for Shady singing some odd tune to herself in the background. He knew he would be stiff, getting up so he sat and looked at the fire and thought over the days to come and the days gone by.

    The featherflights were well, they finally had started answering again. Some losses to the Heyokarr but the warriors had made it into the camp. This had taken a huge load off of the skald. Aelthas had been used and rescued . . . his recovery was goign slowly and Jerr had made it a point to give the man his space at the sisterhood, though he had been mentioned in more than one sunrise prayer.

    He now felt like a ghost, Jerr did. He drifted from the battlefront to the camp and back again. He would pass the odd word of fancy with friends and aquaintances but nothing was in movement. he worked out with the whip until he had the swing and the timing of it, but that was only a few days of practice, much to the detriment of the Hobgoblins in the pass. Keira was not around since she told him what her plan was. Part of him was glad for that, for he had been tempted to try to talk her out of it while another part wanted to encourage her to go.

    The fire was warm and thoughts went to those in the camp around him. The Heyokarr families were glad for the news he had brought. The Roma and Gali had welcomed them like long lost relatives. He kept an eye on any issues that came up, but for the most part, things were running smoothly.

    It was time to go . . . .one last run North for supplies and then he would head south . . . Very south. Delaying wouldn't change anything, wouldn't help anyone. He had told Nicahh, Keira, Amith. He had to find Lilin and then he was gone . . . .


  • They met in the garden again and he sighed. She was moving with a serenity and grace that had always captured mens eyes and now he knew, some of it was on purpose but underneath, there was still Nicahh. And a lot of it was her.

    She sat next to him and started to lay out her supplies for the day but he lay a leathery hand on hers and stopped her gently. "No, you have completed the task."

    She looked at him sharply. "You didn't say that yesterday."

    He smiles and shrugs. "It is tradition. The student always comes back for the lesson that is not there, for there will always be more deaths and more to the song. But for now, unless there have been more from the battle in the Featherflight camp. We are complete." He sighed. "thank you . . . you know what this means to me and even with you being very angry and hurt . . .you did this." He reached out and touched the plant he had been nursing back to health. "When you are singing try to remember life in the midst of death. It is the hardest thing to do and I never quite manage it." He looked back into her eyes. "I think you can. Now I am not going to run off and kill myself . . .at least not try to. But there are a whole bunch of things I have been holding off on until we finished this."

    She nodded and waited for him to continue.

    "The people are outnumbered and the other side is not bleeding out the way we hoped. With Corde . . . " He pauses as her expression changes, just for a moment. "I don't think we CAN bleed them out, not without more numbers. I am going to try to get those numbers."

    "How?" She asked her face again calm.

    He paused and looked off into the distance. "Two tribes I have spoken with before, but not in a while . . . I once spoke with the leader of the Worgs. I will try to find him again. I told him long ago that a war for the land is coming and that he would have to take a side. I scried the camp of the enemy and the wolves they are using are being kept in pens and cages. His cooperation is not full with the other side, if it exists at all. I hope I can remind him of what we discussed and gain some allies and scouts in the woods.

    The other tribe is the Red Tigers. They live for war and would make a greta force on the southern side of Norwick. That would force the town to split its defences and make them more vulnerable on the north side as a result."

    He looks down. "And I need to know if the Featherflights still live. So I was going to use this . . . " He shows a tattered scroll that would allow him to shapeshift once. "I can walk to the wolves. Once that is done I will fly above the battle to see how the Featherflights are and then continue on to the Red Tigers where I will return to my self."

    "And how will you get home?"

    "That is why I had to teach you the song . . . I don't have a plan for how to get home. If the Red Tigers say no, if the Featherflights are all dead. Then I will be pinned on the far side of the battle . . . I will try to make it to the grove . . . do what I can . . ." He trailed off and looked to the ground. "Amith knows, and understands. She doesn't like it but she understands. I will leave a lot of my things in the tent, in my chest. Try to travel light." He snorts . . . "well, light for me. I am telling you because of what you have done for me and what you mean to me. I know you will take care of the family but I wanted to say thank you for all you have done through the years. I am sorry for all the pain or anger I brought you and wish . . . oh I wish for so many things. But the important one right now is that I wish for you to find your own happiness. As I found mine."

    He leaned across and gently kissed her cheek and then rose. "It will take some time to get ready, but if I do not see you again, know a part of you is in my heart and I am happy because of that."

    He turned and headed for the door towards the kitchens, whistling a tune she had not heard him sing before.


  • He looked up as she entered the garden and smiled. She gathered herself and set her potions and drinks to the side and looked to him to start the beat.

    He didn't. "A lot of people are worried about you." He said gently. She begins to protest but he holds up his hand. "I know, you promised and we are almost through. I want you to know you could have not done anything more precious for me than what you are doing right now. But the death lays take a lot out of you, and a lot out of me." He gazes out at something far beyond the Sisterhood walls and his expression turns serious.

    "The back door we thought we had is closed. The plains are littered with orc and giant camps. Nicahh . . . I don't know how I am going to get them out." He hangs his head. "I am doing it again. Me me me. . . . sorry."

    She saves her voice and lays a hand on his arm. He looks back into the distance. "One verse, today. Just one. We should be finished in a couple of days, even if we cut it down to an hour or two a day. But today . . . you have work to do and I cannot hear it or judge it . . . ever. I want you to start making a verse for me. Micah told me he saw me dying . . .as a dragon. And if I am lucky, I will get that chance on the plains. And I will do it willingly, if it gets the Featherflights free." He pauses, "for I am dragon, and I will do what I have to do."

    "One verse, a couplet even, save it for the day. Rest your voice today, no arguing, no yelling. Just think, write, and help me get the sisters off my back for being so cruel to you." He grins. "Even Amith had some words for the time I am spending with you."

    "I'll be going, see you tomorrow for one of the smaller sections . . . old age." He chuckles. "We never have many die of that . . . ."


  • The archers tower shook slightly as he punched the post with enough force to put a hole in a house wall. "Dammit!'

    Keira ghosted beside him and looked curiously at his hand but there seemed to be no lasting damage. She chose to say nothing although a hint of smile played across her lips as she saw the fire in his eyes. Lauc came up from behind and asked what was wrong and Jerr growled some small phrase of disgust at the whole process before stalking off for some peace.

    It was quiet in the garden, Nicahh was not about . . . . he had given her some time to rest her voice as he was making her sing what he could, but he had developed his voice through years of practice and training.He looked at a nearby plant that seemed to be doing badly and frowned. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you" he whispered to the plant as he fetched some water for it and sang softly to the plant of the great forests and the world beyond the walls. "I did not mean to sing nothing but death for you. . . "

    "It cannot hear you." Keira said from the shadows. He managed not to jump too much.

    "I know, but all the songs of death will hurt any spirit. And as the spirit goes, so goes the body. If I needed this plant for a medicine I would not hesitate to harvest it, but I will not hurt it out of simple neglect and common ignorance, if I can do otherwise." He set his canteen back to his belt and smiled at her. "There is enough common ignorance around, eh?"

    She nodded and sat on the bench near him. "They anger you. But hurting yourself will help nothing."

    He nods slowly. "I had to punch something or someone." Looks to her. "I was close to asking you for a sparring session. But it would not have been a good idea."

    She nodded.

    He tended the plant and then sat staring at it for a time, she watched him, more than the plant. "They don't get it at all, do they? Or is it me? Am I trying to make people see things through my eyes too much? Am I fighting the wrong war?"

    "What will the Giants do?" She asked after a lengthy pause.

    He shrugged. "Old ways, broken, make way for new ways. I would expect them to do one of three things or a combination of them. Steal bodies, steal gear, or make an all out push and take the wall and the town. How would the town react it Grag fell and they took his body to keep it from being raised? If some of the people started to lose their weapons and see them being used on the other side? I know Peppy lost a hat and they got it back, but I am talking about them stripping the dead and keeping everything."

    She smiled.

    "I know, for you that would not profit them much. But I don't want to see you dead, just the same." He grinned at her. "Not unless . . . . " The grin gained an edge and a bit more teeth showed than a normal smile might allow for. He coughs and looks away, the cough having a small amount of smoke mixed in it.

    She sniffed and smiled.

    Silence returned to the garden, the silence of two people comfortable in their own thoughts and the presence of each other.


  • He sat and looked out as Keira spoke with Lyte. He was far enough away to show he was not taking part in the conversation but close enough to hear the words. Listen It was the best way to learn, to think. He could see the surprise on Lytes face as she bagan to realize that Keira was speaking more than just her usual one line comments and trying to explain a concept.

    The trip to check Ormpus seemed to have had an effect on Keira. She did not like the killing of the wolves yet if they came close she was her usual deadly and efficient self. But she seldom used to comment on the need for a kill, or whether there was another way to do this.

    They had sat in the old hollow above the ruins of Ormpur and talked, Juster, William, Lyte and Keira had. Jerr was trying to drink in the silence of the grove and find a measure of peace in his soul to carry for the next day. he let the words wash across him the way Lyte sat in the stream and let the water play across her body . . . . it was funny, he admired the play of the water but there was something more spiritual than sensual about how she held herself in the cold mountain stream.

    The sun rose and he quietly sang it up asking for strength for the defenders, and guidance for himself. Then they walked back. That is when he really beganm to notice that Keira was trying far harder than she normally would to get the message across. This was important to her. . . and that made it important to him.

    He had to find a way to talk to Sharn.

    This whole war had a wrongness about it and the only way to settle it was to get it from the dragons mouth without winding up INSIDE the dragons mouth.

    Climb or challenge from the ground?

    With or without people?
    he had promised to take Keira. but this might be a one way trip . . .

    He looked to the walls where people stood waiting for the next wave.

    He looked towards the mountain and sighed.

    Neither, until the families were rescued. He could not leave them in there . . .


  • The voices rose and fell, in the garden, with a lot of pauses inbetween. The melody had been easy, the rhythm, simplicity itself. Chants were not hymn, not complex . . . but they were long.

    Nicahh had a beautiful voice and Jerrs was mellowed with age and practice, like a highly polished carving. He spent a pair of hours setting the history of why the song of death was sung and then they had begun. Each death, a lesson, each fall . . .a chance to raise another up. So they sang. The cold took a trio of hours to list all those who had been caught in a pass, in a storm, wandered too far from camp, or been ill prepared for the swift changes in weather that the mountains were famous for.

    At the end of each session Jerr thanked her, nodded to Ael if he was about and left without another word. Anyone following him after this would find him in some out of the way part of the house or in the fields sipping ales and blinking back tears.

    Finding Jerr, other than that was becoming more of a challenge. It seemed like he was always passing through on his way somewhere else. He did time at the wall and added his arrows to those of others. General Lyte seemed always to be willing to listen to him and ask after his responsibilities yet he has never been known to hold a rank in the Jiyyd Militia. Norwick scouts and druids knew he was a regular to the grove and the lands around it making his patrols alone, more often than not. The Camp often found him singing a simple hymn or checking on the status of families who now fell under his care. In the camp he often had a small train of kids following him about and begging for 'cookies'. Only Oscura had noticed a break in his regular stops. Dirge reached for some flowers to crush and frowned when she realized he had not dropped off a bouquet lately.

    Running . . . for the slow fat kid he once was he found that he spent a lot of time on the move, now. But then there were the peaceful moments. In the arms of his wife, in the grove praying, and when he was talking with Keira.

    But somethings you cannot run from.

    "All warriors who can swing an axe will go to aid the Featherflights . . . but not you, skald." The rational part of Jerr understood he was being given the larger task, to care for not one tribe but two. But the call of the axe was strong in his blood and to be left behind was galling. Worse was how few people understood that he would willingly fight a forlorn hope beside his brothers, if that is what was called for. He had sung them off that morning and listened to them charge out onto the plains.

    Now it was his turn.

    The rescue.

    When the Featherflight families were ready they would drum a call and Jerr would answer with a timeline of when the rescue would come. Like a well oiled machine they would pierce the Orc Lines long enough to allow the families to make a run for it. He looked out from the top of the wall to the south and smiled thinking of the number of people who were ready to act . . .

    well, that was the plan.

    He had almost considered just asking the Giants to give safe passage to the families but decided that this idea might be pushing it. That the bodies of the dead were being respected was good enough. At least those of the giants. They had dropped off ales for the defenders to honor the battles and even accepted a gift of alcohol in return. Each time he pushed a little more, as he had been trained. To negotiate you needed two parties participating . . . .he was trying for that.

    along with other tasks.

    it was nice to keep busy . . .

    run


  • "But why are they burning the field?" the young skald in training asked. The smoke swept up from the northern wheat like a spear striking the sky.

    "The disease will spread, unless it is stopped. Prayers and magics did not slow it down and now we must sacrifice some to save all." The old skald spoke calmly and watched the workers lighting some more of the field while trying to contain the fire on the other side. "It is not a decision lightly made, but if it is not done all the fields might be blighted. That is our way, we will try to save when we can, but there are times when you must sacrifice to save the whole. The tribe is more than any one person. We are a people. We must always try to save what we can, but there are times when we have to accept. You know who started the fires, this morning?"

    Young Jerr shook his head then looked out on the fields and considered. Finally he pointed to one man. "Him?"

    "Very good. Why him?"

    "It is his fields being burnt. To him when the . . . "

    "The word is responsibility. And why him?"

    Jerr thought about it. "I do not know, it just feels right, that way." His chubby young face looked out at the fires and the smoke made his eyes water. "If he was to lose, it was right that he bear the loss of his own hand."

    "With no food, how will he survive the coming winter?" The teacher queried.

    Jerrs eyes narrowed. "The tribe will provide. It was hard for him to do this . . . almost like he fought a battle."

    The old skald leaned back and smiled. "Not almost. he did fight the greatest enemy and ally we have, the land. He lost but in making the loss on his own terms and in his own time he brought great honor to his house. No, he will not go hungry and in the spring all the other farmers will help him replant, rebuild."

    "Rebuild?" The youngsters eyes looked further afield to see the storage areas of the farm wrapped in flames. "Even those?"

    "To stop an infection, you root it out, flame and destruction. To let it have a single chance to return might doom the tribe. We do not take chances when competing with the land. But we will rebuild. And the people will live on, and this evening you will sing the song of bravery for that farmer and the losses he has taken. So go practice now, lad. We want to do this right in the evening, aye?"

    Jerr scampered off over the hill looking for where he had laid his drum.

    The weathered and leathery face of a much older Jerr looked down on the camp below. His hand absently let the chain of the necklace run through his fingers. "Fire and destruction." He stared at Ceras tree and sighed deeper. "I am so sorry, Nat, Ging, William."

    A shadow flitted across the camp and Jerr smiled as it vectored in on him, A moment later Keira sat next to him, close but not touching. "Maybe kegs as well?" she whispered.

    "Aye, we have some allies in this but also there will be those who try to stop us. If it comes to destroying the tree and all within it it will have to be done quickly before there can be organized resistance. Druids understand the need for balance, others do not. Continue gathering the supplies and I will find folks who know what must be done and are willing to do so." His eyes stayed on the tree, his face hard.

    "You will kill them all?" Keira asked.

    "If I can, yes. If I don't then I will have failed. Fire and destruction to stop the spread. The tree and all within it must die if the cure is not found soon. . . . fire and destruction, no conversations, no words . . . death."

    "You always talk."

    "That is when I was what I was." He slowly turns to focus on her. "People change."

    "…" She paused then nodded. A moment later she was off down the hill and back into the camp . . . shopping. Jerr returned to watching the tree, trying to decide which boxes could be refilled with kegs.


  • He rolled over and clutched his head. "Damn, what was in that black bottle?" He loooked up and saw the top of his tent, he was sleeping in his own furs and comfortable . . .except for the head. Amith was cleaning, noisily. Amazing how she could make fluffing a cushion so bloody loud.

    "One time. That was it." She grumbled in elven. "You need to lose weight."

    He looked down and saw the drag marks leading to the bed. He then grunted and she correctly took that to mean, 'yes dear, and I am sorry'. It was nice having someone who understood you even when you were unintelligible. She banged a feather pillow next to his head and then left.

    He closed his eyes and smiled. Married, not married. Skald, not skald. He had not been trying to drown his sorrows, he had been mourning the losses. His pride had stood him well in the past, now he was trying to bury it. Complacency had a separate grave nearby. Just because he thought he knew what was going on did not mean that he actually did.

    Listen, watch, learn. There must be some reason why Ael hired him on to the scouts and he was going to earn the right to stay, dammit. Across the camp friends might be dying and he had spent some time talking to the spirits in Phoenix. Somewhere, somehow there mus be more knowledge available about a lich of only a thousand years ago . . .

    He reached out and grabbed the canteen which held water and drank deep. Back to Peltarch was called for, the college library might yield more in the legends and songs. But first, a bath. Fortunately most of the camp was in the outer area keeping the sick company, from a distance. So few were subjected to the former skald bathing in the waterfall at the back of the camp by the cliff. They did not hear him laugh as he scrubbed and whisper something about someone named Nahwen and how he still missed her smile, her laugh, and her ass.

    Then clothed, he moved through the camp at a dead run . . . it was time for learning.


  • He prayed for several hours before rising from the floor to stand in the doorway. The portal to the cave of testing was before him, pulsing with a soft yellow light. Was this one more to fail? Or a chance to turn it around, the losses, the shame . . .

    "Did you try?" Amith asked, holding him in their tent.

    Jerr closed his eyes. "I did, but could I have tried harder?"

    She slaps his chest with a thump. "No do that. You know there is always smart men After a battle. But you need to be smart in it."

    "I lost so much."

    "You lost nothing but words. Chief, skald, they words. Have people stopped listening to you? You lose your drum, your voice? You lost nothing." Amith leaned against him listening to him breath, his heart slowing as he absorbed her words. He sighed deeply, her head rising and falling with the tide of air.

    "Lilin, Amith . . . "

    "Are mad at you, so am I. You didn't tell us about his joke, not good to let that sort of thing be hidden. Was bad surprise. You focus too much on one thing, you stop seeing battle and just see axe, never good. Everything, everyone is there, they were there for you. But you just saw your axe, and then you lose. Did you ask who she was? Who she worshipped, his shaman? No. Just saw axe and self." She thumped his chest each time she said axe, to drive the point home. Then her voice softened. "Not telling them showed you didn't trust them. They are very mad, and hurt. They lash out at you . . . as they should. I hurt, too."

    Jerr stares at the ceiling and sighs. "All axe . . .no talk, no wonder they stripped me of skald. I haven't been much of one lately. But what if they do NOT forgive me?"

    "Why would it matter. If they do not forgive you then they did not love you in first place. They just feel sorry for old man." The edge on her voice was hard. "If they no forgive then there never was marriages, just illusion of them. Not your problem, is theirs, now."

    "It wasn't an illusion to me . . . "

    She props herself up on an elbow and looks over at him. "I learn long long time ago, you not fat like people say. It is just you need a big body for your heart. When you decide to love you do it, with all of yourself. No hold back, no hesitate. It was hard to learn that you could do it to other people, even other elves . . . " Her breath catches. "Lilin said no because we talked. I no trust her, even if she is sister."

    Jerr did not bother to ask who.

    words . . . all he had lost was words

    titles, they were just words. he could still sing the sun up and down. he could still work for united tribes in the nars. but as Jerr, not skald, not chief, just Jerr.

    In the morning he was in the Heyokarr camp, singing the sun up.

    tests could wait, he had people to see.


  • Some tasks take bravery, for your life is at risk.

    This wasn't one of those.

    Jerr was fairly sure he would have walked with a lighter step towards a duel with a dragon than this task before him. He had bought some new clothes for this, afterwards he was going to burn them. Avoiding people was the hardest part. He didnd't want to talk to anyone, especially Keira. She had the uncanny knack of finding him, wherever he was. But this, this was a new order of pain for him.

    A runner had delivered the message. "The celebration of the new chief will be needing a skald to record and commemorate. Be there." So he got his things together and took the back ways, wrapping himself in the weave through the main pass, just to be sure. Most at the camp would not meet his eyes and he passed quietly through till he came to the big fire.

    The new chief, Beorn son of Jer'han, looked out with a grin that bordered on a mocking smirk. "I have not met my new wives yet, skald"

    Jerr shrugged and continued tuning the drum. "I never agreed to that, it was a challenge for leadership, not women. If you are having trouble finding some of your own . . . "

    Beorn snarled. "Watch yourself. I let you live since you are the only skald we have."

    "Only one in the pass, right now." Jerr nodded, eyes still on the drum.

    "The women are MINE." Beorn ground out.

    Jerr chuckled. "They are, and always have been their own. Try to take what isn't yours and you will die, slowly or quickly depending on which one you try for. I have freed them from myself since only a chief may have many wives, as I am no longer . . . " He ducked his head a little and shrugged again.

    "Bah, I will take what is mine and they will learn the ways of the tribe from a true warrior." The chief waved a hand dismissing the subject for now.

    Jerr tensed then let a breath out slowly.

    Ale flowed and food was plentiful. Jerr took anough to keep hunger at bay and only a bit of ale for fear he would not stop if he truly started drinking. As the day wove into night he sang the sunset and then came the time for the celebratory song. He chose his song with care and modifuied it to contain the name of Beorn but most of the song was for the hopes of the tribe, for the connection to the lands. It called people to remember who they were in the times to come, to hold on the the Nars and the ways of them. The last lines were the ones he had worked on the most.
    . . .
    For lead on, Oh Beorn, the tribes eyes look to you
    Yes lead us well, new Heyokarr chief, for we watch.
    He stilled the drum suddenly and let the last word echo in the dale. The chief was almost too drunk to notice but a bit of a fire was still there. "Good enough, old man. Here, for the songs this day . . . " and he tossed a bag of coins out to land at Jerrs feet.

    Jerrs blood burned. This was an insult to any skald and not worthy of a man who would be chief of the tribe. He turned from the fire and walked out into the night, laughter from the chief following him . . . others looked to Jerr and then looked away.

    he had to go find a good place to burn these clothes.

    as he went into the darkness one thing lingered in his mind, running laps of it driving all other thoughts away.

    people actually believed that he would gamble his wives away. they thought that little of him. even his own wives had thought that, not wanting to hear any explanation.

    bard . . . the chief had tried to pay him like some common bard.

    shame made his face burn as he let the darkness take him, and he was gone.


  • Focus

    His leg lashed out and caught the hobgoblin squarely in the stomach, as it doubled over his hands drove a hammerblow across its back that left it broken on the ground, the two swords falling from lifeless hands.

    Keep your focus and they fall.

    One charged in from the side and he stepped forward leaving one leg behind to trip him. The step back to snap the neck with the heel of his foor was almost an afterthought.

    Keep your focus on the now, not the . . . then
    _she had looked . . . afraid.

    it made him feel dirty. she was not the one who should be afraid. she hadn't lost control.

    he had._
    A blade sunk into his side and he threw one of the axes from his belt. The hobgoblin went down, the axe blazing in its chest. He tossed another to distract a shaman before cherging in to finish it with his hands.

    like he had almost finished her

    He snarled at the thoughts intruding and spun in place, looking for something else to fight. There was nothing but a roadway littered with bodies.

    and the enemy was still here, for he was the one standing, waiting for her to decide . . . if this continued . . . .he had lost control in so very many ways

    Jerr hung his head and walked towards the camp.


  • warning PG13, violence etc. you can skip this one if you want

    Dammit.

    He was trying to lighten the load, not add to it.

    But part of him kept to one set of habits, one path, while the rest of him struggled to cross the gap and get on the new path, the one he had to take.

    And in the middle of all this was Keira. He didn't know which path she stood on, was she a last remnant of the old path or the marker he used to find the new one?

    He didn't know. All her damn questions. Getting a straight answer out of her was something close to impossible. But he managed it, every now and again. Yet he didn't know what she was. Perhaps a third path, not the old one, not the new one he searched, but an path he might not need or want . . .

    He had wanted to spar, and when she invited him down below the inn he thought they might do so, as they had last time. It had been like dancing strike, be struck, dance away and circle. This time was different. She was different. It all had gone different . . . . since he asked her the question. (and in a deep part of himself he knew it was his fault, not Nicahhs, not Keira's, his and his alone)

    He remembered her words from last time, about rhythm and misdirection and struck first. She didn't hit back. Thinking it a trap he circled and spoke again but she just watched him. So he tried a second time, flipping her over with the force of the hit and she took the kicks and rolled back to her feet.

    any second now she will rise up and drop me . . .any second now

    But she didn't, she let him beat her bloody, then bloodier. She didn't know the anger that was rising up inside of him, the dragon anger he worked so hard to control. The only words she said were taunting (and told him something about her he had not ever suspected). He bound her hands and stepped back, trying to keep the anger in check and she rose before him, his fist lashed out to knock her over again. "I didn't tell you to untie yourself"

    His stomach heaved as he heard himself say the words. He wanted out of here, he needed to find the path but the forest was all blood now, no trails lay before him. He was losing . . . lost. She had managed to beat him without lifting a finger. "Ask for your freedom and I will give it to you."

    She stares at him silently.

    Inside he is screaming 'ask ask ask' But he pulls her up and repeats himself. "Ask and I will let you go." Inside he begs for the freedom, for her and for him. 'ask, please gods, ask' If she asks he can misunderstand her, walk away, forget it all and try to find the path beyond the blood.

    Again and again he strikes and the dragon rises further, not held back by his demanding she ask.

    and

    she

    doesn't

    dammit

    She is far too resilient. He can see bones resettle he knows he broke. The dragon wants him to finish her. THAT is the other way past her block. If she is dead, he can try to find the path again. Once dead her blood will stop flowing stop hiding everything, stop filling his eyes, his mouth.

    He bit her, hard, her blood in his mouth. The dragon smiled, with Jerrs face. "Turn around" She stared at him, face as bloody as the paths in his mind. "Turn." he spoke slowly, clearly. "Around."

    Slowly she shuffles about, favoring one leg he had kicked hard in the kneecap. He untied her and stared at the strap of leather in his hand before putting in a pouch. She had bound him, by refusing to be set free. He might as well keep the strap to remind himself. Stunned by his own violence, his own anger, he hands her some healing draughts. As though nothing had happened they go back upstairs, he unmarked, her bloodied and bruised from the rain of blows she had endured, had let happen.

    He thinks back to a question she had once asked him. "Would you hurt me if I asked you to?"

    Had she asked?

    Had he asked for this? He feels the strap of leather in his pouch with his left hand and also tightening about his heart. Had he asked?


  • A month passed since the challenge to the Featherflights, More than that since the young buck challenged HIM for the Heyokarr. Jerr was beginning to feel like a caged animal. Always waiting for something to happen but just . . .waiting.

    The pressure was changing him, stretching him out and squeezing him down at the same time. He found he was doing more lessons, for people in the tribes and folks around the fire. Like he was making sure he left a legacy if and when the challenges came to fruition. He told tales of punishments of the tribes and the slow magics of the old ways. Where a spell might take days to cast. The mages laughed and tried to imagine telling goblins to 'hold still' while a fireball ritual was being prepared. Jerr smiled tolerantly and continued with his lessons.

    He tried to make time to be with each of his wives, to do something special for them. He wondered if Nicahh had been given the outfit he had had commissioned from a gypsy seamstress. Lilin had her comb already but now he needed to find something else for her. He nagged the knife maker in Peltarch to speed up the order. He and Amith took a few days away from the Sisterhood and toured each of the places their remaining children lived and spent some time with the kids. Time pressed on and he could feel the wheel turning but he felt disconnected from it now. Finding a quiet grove he and Amith spent a couple of days sleeping out beneath the stars, like they had long ago. They spoke of little things, not the changing of the world but of the proper sharpening of an axe and he could spend hours looking into her eyes or watching the sunlight dapple her hair. They sparred but usually ended in a more closer form of 'combat'.

    It was his grounding, his reconnection to family, that brought him back to his focus and purpose. He returned to the Featherflight camp and started to drum, when he ran out he slept by the fire and would awaken to drum again. He told the Featherflights the old tales, of cross tribal magics, of the sea-less ship, of the threats that had gathered tribes together in the past. He drummed till his hands throbbed and sang till he was hoarse, but still he sung on. One the morning of the third day he stopped in the middle of a song and staggered off to sing up the sun and then headed to Jiyyd to walk and talk and have some ales.

    She was there. So was Natanya. So they both spoke and, when she left, Natanya gave him a kiss goodbye, without his asking. He touched his cheek and looked after her stunned and then Keira drifted closer and just watched him. He looked to her, mind racing with a thousand questions he knew she would not answer. So he did not ask but went to his room in the Sisterhood to sleep like one of the dead, the three days of drumming having taken so much out of him.

    That night the Drow attacked, though he never awoke. His own internal clock brought him up to sing the sun and he found Grag and several others standing before the Sisterhood discussing the Drow attack of the night before. He looked to the east and drummed as the first glimmer of light shot above the towns skyline.

    They THEY attacked, huge spiders whose very presence chilled your heart. Jerr sang to Lathander and was doing a Tempus hymn when something inside stopped him. The drum thudded loudly in the early dawn as he spun, axe flying to his hands and he charged the biggest spider there.

    whack He cut hard on one of the legs as a toxic fang skittered across his leathers, painting a green line on the red and black leathers.

    thudrr The back swing skittered across the thorax of the beast making a slight starring of its hairy shell.

    "never" He panted

    whack

    "interupt"

    Crunch

    "Prayers!"

    He staggered back from the corpse of the beast and looked down at is own injuries with blind eyes. A chant from behind and some of the worse wounds closed but he could still feel the attacks he had been ignoring. "Thanks, Old Cat" He said to Wolf.

    Then she was there again, a red and black shadow of his own form, slim and ethereal. He invited her to walk north with him and they started to talk. For he was looking to all he loved for the grounding . . .