3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


  • 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 . . .


  • He sat down on the edge of his bed and leaned over his wife, Amith, kissing her gently where she rested. Her eyes opened and looked up into his with a questioning look.

    He nods. "I said the challenge to the Featherflights. They now have to decide."

    Arikess had come with him, probably out of boredom more than anything else . . .

    "Greetings Jerr" he called. Jerr nodded and responded, more focussed on the task ahead. "Where are thee headed this day?"

    "Tribal grounds, to see how the recovery progresses." Jerr paused, "and to risk my life."

    "Mind if i come along? I like sight seeing" Arikess paused. " .. . you mentioned risk your life?"

    "Be respectfull before the Featherflights and you are welcome." Jerr nodded. "Risking my life, not yours."

    "Of course , but what do you mean all the same?" Arikess queried.

    Jerr considered the question as he pulled on his armor looking ahead to the plains. "I am challenging for the leadership of the tribe and it is up to them to set the conditions."

    "Right now?" Arikess looked shocked as Jerr nodded. "It is my honor to witness then, Jerr. I will be your witness."

    Jerr smiled and continued looking south. "Carefull out there."

    "I know the road, old one." Arikess smiled.

    Jerr grumbled. "Roads change."

    Arikess snorted then said. "I am surprised none of your closer companions came to support you, isn't this significant?"

    "I didn't ask or say what I was up to." Jerr said as they entered the camp. He ignored Arikess saying somehting about fearless as they were now within the tribal grounds and he was walking slow and steady right through the camp making sure he was seen by all as he did so. He went up the hill to the long house and stepped up to the cliff edge and looked out over those who had started to gather. He unbuckled the leathers and stood there in light clothing. Striking his drum he called out in a commanding voice for them, the call echoed off of the walls of the small canyon. He choked on the first word, so strong was his emotion. He tried again, raising his voice so it filled the area.

    "FEATHERFLIGHTS! A TRIBE WITHOUT A LEADER BECOMES A CHICKEN WITHOUT ITS HEAD, IT MAY MOVE FOR A WHILE BUT IT DIES . . . SLOWLY. I WAS DECLARED SKALD OF THIS TRIBE, I AM A MEMBER OF IT. NOW FORM A COUNCIL, SET THE CONDITIONS OR ANOTHER TO FACE ME FOR IF I HAVE TO CRAM IT DOWN YOUR GULLETS THIS TRIBE WILL HAVE A LEADER. IT WILL GO ON FOR WE ARE NARS

    The challenge was laid, all understood that he was now standing to challenge for the leadership of another tribe. How they would react would remain to be seen. He nodded to Arikess. "Now we go."

    "Notable speech." Arikess said quietly as they walked through the tribe to the stream bed.

    "Short ones are the best. Make your point and give them time to absorb it." Jerr pulled on his armor ass he looked at the archers watching them pass. Inside he wondered if the challenge would be one of archery. He touched his bow, but it wasn't his bow but one made by Eluriel. He made a note to get some more woodworking in and make some more bows for practice work in the gypsy camp. He walmost vibrating on the way back from unreleased tension and it did not go well for the orcs who saw two simple travellers as easy prey. Fists and fireballs soon convinced them that appearing easy is not the same as being easy.


  • He leans against the wall and feels the stone of it rub his arm. Stone, dug from the land is now an outlander tool to section off a part of the countryside. Jerr lays a hand on the stone and sighs. Did HE feel like this? They told him later the description of the caster. Her again.

    A spider walked up the sid eof the wall, a small garden type and Jerr watched it climbing. He nodded. "Yes, they are getting more bold. But why come all the way into town, just to cast a spell on me?" The spider began to spin a web and he absently watched it as he stayed to the shadows and also watched the great gaping hole where a gate once stood. The web was a fine complex little thing and he let the message it brought sink in.

    "No, not me, but maybe what I am doing . . . " He looked at the gate as Theon came through and said nothing, lost in thought. "Many are talking to the Yuan Ti, so it is not that. What makes me different?" Strand after strand the spider wove as the old skald watched. "The tribes? Why would they care who is chief? Unless . . . " His eyes narrowed. ". . .oh…"

    He swung his drum to the front and started to play softly a thanks for the guidance and focus the spirits sent to him. Right or wrong he had a reason for himself and a direction to go.


  • _"Now!" She hissed with delight as the flower wilted before the fires dim flames. "He is weak. Most likely in battle."

    The large warrior on the opposite side of the fire nodded. "And there will be no sign?"

    She threw the flowers and a poison sack into the flames and they burnt swiftly with a black flame and white smoke. "He is old, the flower of his youth long behind him. He will know nothing save that he is dying. It will seem that his final season came upon him, as your people say."

    The warriors topknot bobbed as he nodded. "Well past, it is, I'd say. Old fool just did not know when to stop._

    Jerr staggered as the pain took him. Keira watched him, cautious that it was not some sort of trick. He fell for the first time as the pain brought him down like a puppet with its strings cut.

    _"And you will recall our deal."

    The young buck nods and spits into the fire. "I am no snake lover. Thius is a battle between the outlanders and not for us. We will not take part, as nothing has attacked our camps. Outlanders do not belong here."

    "I thought you said that you were going to take the widows" she muses.

    "Take them, not keep them." He brags, puffing up his chest. "They are only good for one thing. After that they can go and take any halfbreeds I get upon them with them. The old fool was diluting the tribe, weakening us. Now he pays the price. I am sure they will be thankfull for my attention after being married to that fat oaf, so lost in the 'old ways' he might even have been stupid enough to take from them what was rightfully his." Again he spits on the flower writhing in the flames. "I will take what I want and then send them on their way."_

    He struggled to sit up and fell again, his left arm refusing to obey him. Keira propped him up and gave him something to chew on, woody, He gnawed on it and wheezed. She sat behind him and held him up with her own body weight, asking questions. He struggled to stay awake and answer them but it was a haze of pain, and numbness. The fire guttered low and even the young buck had run out of things to brag about. The darkness of the cave was a blessing to her, but slowly sapping his spirit, as she planned. She reinforced the promises and he nodded, not noticing the added layer of geas she laid with the final smoke from the fire. He would be theirs, and through him, the tribes. For now they would be removed from play, later they would fall, each in its own time, at the hands of one of their own.

    She carried him from the inn to Vrokas on her shoulders, he lying like a dead man, which he almost was. Vroka pointed off to the infirmary and Keira dumped him on a bed and then sat at the foot of it. Calm eyes watched him slowly dying, shutters on a closed soul.

    Vroka eventually came in and examined him. She cast one spell and then another. "When he get bit?"

    Keira looked up. "I . . . bit?"

    "Spider, by looks of it. He be poisoned bad. You in the queen cave?"

    Keira's expression did not change. "You can cure him?"

    Vroka nods, not caring about where he actually was hurt. It will cost 100 gold. I have potions for this. But you wait long time to bring him in. He should be dead.

    Keira nods. "Yes, but he isn't." She looks down on the sleeping face. "He should be, but he isn't." Her eyes reveal nothing as she looks on the face and rubs her forearm, the her neck.

    In the ashes of a distant fire, deep within a cave, a rose showed a last bit of green and red. Slowly the flower opened and the smell of the foul smoke was replaced with the scent of flowers and an open field, of the land above. But nobody was there to take note of it, in the darkness.

    Jerr eyes opened and he looked up at the ceiling and whispered. "i am dragon"


  • He sat by the fountain and listened to the ethereal winds howl at one of the doors. Slowly he turned the axe over in his hands and buffed it lightly with a cleaning cloth. He hadn't used it much lately, SHE had encouraged him to learn to use his hands and his feet. And she had been there when the challenge came.

    They had been in the Baths. It was a place where Jerr could relax, get away from it all and soak. Nobody bothered him there. Unless he invited the source of the bother. There she was right beside him, wearing something next to nothing.

    Selula coughed discreetly. “Excuse me”

    Jerr looked up, surprised. “No worries”

    She smiled and looked slightly embarrassed. “Someone is here”

    Jerr looked about and smiled. “It is a big pool.”

    She shook her head. 'They want to speak with you, they were rather insistent.”

    Jerr sighed and nodded, swiped the water from his body and pulled on a gypsy tunic. He was worried and almost didn't notice that Keira had also exited the bath. He followed Selula to the outer room where one of the Heyokarr awaited, sneering at the plush surroundings.

    Jerr smiled easily and greeted him. “Heyas”

    The sneer turned and focused on him. The tribesman's eyes narrowed. “You are soft and this proves it. A tribe is only as strong as its leader"

    Selula resorted some towels and pretended not to hear.

    Jerr shrugged. “Bathing before a festival?” His eyes narrowed, ignoring the quiet pad of feet behind him. “ . . .and?”

    “Tempus will decide our leader. I challenge you for the leadership of the Heyokarr tribe.” The words were almost spat out.

    Jerr felt a calmness flow into him. He had known this was coming, now here it was. “Of course you do.”

    “And the chiefs wives.”

    Jerr managed not to snort, barely. He ignored the add on and spoke formally. “As is the old ways I name the conditions.”

    The tribesman nodded. “I await your conditions.”

    Jerr thought for a moment and smiled, looking at the axe on the tribesman's shoulder. “You name the weapon, I will give you that. The strength of the tribe is its people so any within the tribe may bless or strengthen you or me as they decide. Once the battle commences it is you and me, no armor. Now, what weapons?”

    “The great axe” The tribesman frowned when Jerr chuckled. “If you can even lift one, at your age.”

    Jerr smiled lazily. “I think I can find one of those. There will be a festival, they will have a fighting ring set up we might as well use it, no?”

    “I am not going to shame you in front of so many. We will meet in a proper ring, blessed by our gods. Not as some spectacle for others.”

    Jerr smiled wider. “I appreciate your discretion. send word when it is ready. I will come as will my wives” a finger lances straight at the tribesman. “and you bring your friends.”

    “I will bring our people, so they may see what you have led us to.” The sneer was back.

    “As the old ways require, so shall it be.” Jerr intoned formally and watched as the tribesman left. “damn”

    Each wife took it differently. Nicahh took it in stride “It was bound to happen.” Amith was blunt and to the point. “It is a challenge. Face the challenge. Let Tempus decide.” He was asleep in the tent when she carefully took his axe and put a better edge on it. Lilin asked the most questions, looked the most concerned. All promised to be there if they could.

    Keira would have shown up. He knew that. He did discourage her one statement. “If there is a new chief, his will be a short term.”

    But it made his heart sing, the dragon in him roared agreement as the tribal side of him explained that would only weaken the tribe further.

    But the song was still there, the roar of defiance. He looked down at the axe in his hands and nodded. Not easily would he leave the tribe. Now, or ever.

    Old? Weak? Soft? A wolfish smile crossed his face as he looked to the door where the winds still howled. “I am dragon. Let him come.”


  • Jerr looked in the mirror at the blood trails coming out of his ears and back into his hair. It was that bad, he thought. Spending a few moments cleaning up did not change anything, he could hear nothing but ringing. He looked at eyes haunted by the fear of this not being a passing thing and then turned from the mirror and walked back to his room.

    He sat on the bed, turning a scroll over in his hands, not looking at it. The explosion had not been that violent but he had been right on top of the second one. After that the sight of the crowd had been too much and he had wandered out out to where the south gate sometimes was where he sat and watched over the lake, waiting for the ringing in his ears to fade.

    But it didn't.

    Later, Genzir and a group of others had wandered by and gestured for him to follow. From what he could make out from the lips they were heading for a cave.

    He hated caves.

    But he wanted to know if he could handle the ringing in a combat situation, so he followed along. A stop at the grove and Raisa and Tindra worried over him some. Raisa gave him a scroll that might cure the deafness but he was afraid to try it. Afraid of it not working. It was tucked in the scroll case along with assorted other scrolls he pack ratted away.

    He hated caves and it was worse, deaf.

    His songs and contact with the weave seemed a chancy thing. If he focused his intent then some of his most oft used songs flowed out naturally, but he was hesitant to try. From the winces he could tell that his voice was off, so he drummed the sun and prayed for forgiveness of the gods. Ilmater was the third.

    But he was still deaf.

    The cave was almost a relief. The enemies attacked and Jerr met them with his axe. It did not require voice or hearing. Just a strong back and a steady hand. That he had. But it was like he was alone in a crowd. Nobody spoke to him, he could see that they were talking but they did not include him, he supposed it was too much work. So he followed along, but if he was distracted they would all head off and he would have to cast about to find them again, he would not hear them go. Ting guided him now and again but she seemed . . .distant.

    maybe it was him

    maybe it was what he was . . . .becoming

    deaf

    less than a full man

    not worth taking along

    when they left the caves they came up through Oscura. His feet knew the way and he wound up sitting next to Dirge. The well he could still hear. But he had always known it was not a sound but the essence of sound. The screams were almost a comfort, something to drown out the ringing.

    nobody noticed

    nobody came after him

    not worth it

    he wandered south, wrapping himself in the weave he did not bother clearing hobbies but just glided by them his head full of sound, his ears full of blood

    it was the same in Jiyyd, people would come and go and be talking, but not to him. not worth it, he supposed

    Keira

    She stopped, sat beside him, faced him to mouth words clearly so they could talk. It was like warmth to a man on the big ice. He took in her face, her lips, everything.

    He stood to sing the sun up and then returned to her and put his head in her lap. He didn't need to be spoken to, just noticed. The peace he found let muscles he had been tensing slowly relax and exhaustion flowed into him. She had her hand resting on his neck, after having traced his ear. He wished he could purr like a wolf.

    tired, he returned to the sisterhood

    and now here he was, a scroll in hand and fear choking him so much he was afraid to try to read it in case he got the words wrong.

    he lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling

    that is where Amith found him, later, asleep, scroll still loose in his fingers. Frowning she pulled it out and looked at it, then at him.

    "Old fool." she said in Elven.

    He did not move

    She shouted it and he made not a twitch.

    She looked down at the scroll again and back at him.

    and began to read . . . .


  • Awaking in the tower, the door shimmering to the left, he found a moments peace. It was something he had sorely needed for a very long time. Always running from one errand to the next, grabbing naps at the edge of camps. He said hello to many folks but he did not stay long enough to be touched by any of them. Except.

    Keira

    He shook his head. Just coincidence, they had the same friends and went the same places. It is not like he was following her or she was following him . . . change the subject. He stared at the ceiling and tried.

    Natanya.

    William was still on his case and he had tried to explain. He had started to apologise to her only to have her rebuff him and walk away. Well, what did he expect? "be persistent" William had said. "You're good at that." William was right. But Jerr thought that William was more a Paladin than many who clanked about in their shells of metal and self righteousness.

    Keira wasn't self righteous.

    Change

    Neither was Laucien. Poor lad. Jerr had yet to figure out who or what the boy was in love with but he was fairly sure that it was at or very near the level of soul bond. With a dead woman. Not good. But while hope remained, Lauc would stay alive. Jerr had met Dianna once but she had focussed all her attention on the lad. The trip into old Aarnath had been rough and Jerr was still puzzling over why there. Keira had been along as well as Yuna whom Jerr still thought of as the Wild Child but was now a student of Keira's.

    Damn, back to her again. He looked around the room and thought about the long meeting he and Genzir had just finished, hours before. This could go right or very very wrong. Dealing with the Yuan Ti was like juggling blades. Impressive if done right but bloody if done wrong. This was a nice quiet room, warded and locked. If he couldn't get home he would stay here, to recharge, every now and again. But he recharged best when in the arms of Amith.

    Now there was a subject change.

    She was his anchor. The one constant in his life. She had taken the remains of his old axe and made him the new one. Slowly he drew the axe and laid it on his lap. And there the problem lay. The Drow had killed Besk, out in the fields and Jerr had been part of the recovery team. But getting Besks things to save them from the Drow had been a difficult task. Damn if some of the chests were not empty and others filled with ore. Unbalancing was not the word . . . hellish was. He struggled to save what he could and step by step he had headed back to the town.

    and dropped his axe

    his axe

    the axe

    the load was too much, he couldn't pick it up and so he stood over it trying to reallocate the load so he could get a hand free.

    Keira was there . . . she was always there.

    With a simple word she picked it up and followed him. So focussed on the load and the drow that may be watching, he let her. Let her carry his axe. The axe. When they got into town she waited by the gate and he took the load in to where Besk was to be raised by Vroka. Only once he was unloaded did it hit him. He staggered back outside and there she stood, holding it for him. She made some joke about he being without a weapon and her with. Holding his axe.

    decades earlier

    "For some of you it will be the sword, others the blade, most" the old weapons master smiled, "the axe. You will have one that will be yours. If you rise and honor yourself and the tribe, you might carry a family axe, and with it travels the honor of your family. That axe will be passed down through the generations and be known as an axe of your house. The Chief, well he carries the tribal axe. With it comes the honor of the tribe. He carries it and it strengthens him, reminds him of who he is."

    A young chubby skald in training looked up. "Is that the greatest weapon then?"

    "No Jerr. There are Nars Weapons. Ones that cross the boundaries of Tribe. They belong to the land and they carry the most responsibility. Ask your master about the greatsword that travelled north to fight the giants. Or about the Hammer of the Deep that one of our ancestors took to stop the Dark Dwarves by dropping a mine on them. Each of those weapons were not of a tribe but for all the tribes. We speak in reverence of the War Bear and his sword, The Smith and his Hammer. Other weapons are in our histories. Most were made in a time when the whole land was threatened. The men and women who carried them shouldered a heavy burden indeed. They knew to lose, the battle or the weapon, would bring shame upon us all. No harder task is there than to keep such a weapon."

    fade to present

    Tears dropped softly onto the haft of the axe as he remembered. He wanted to think that HIS was a Nars weapon but he had let her hold it as though it were a trinket accidentally dropped. He hadn't even thought about it.

    But now he had to.

    and soon he would have to make decisions

    the tears stopped falling and his face hardenned. Too many loads had almost turned him from doing the right thing. Like the walk across that field carrying ore and empty boxes he had focussed on the now and ignored the storm to come. Tried to ignore his own heart.

    Paladins, wrapped in their self righteousness. They did not know focus and sacrifice. Mages, locked in their towers would not know the study of an enemy. A few might know the willingnness to walk onto a blade, to get to the throat of an enemy. But they had not seen a Dragon fight.

    Taking the emotion, the resolve, he wrapped it up deep inside of himself. Only a bit of anger remained on the surface and he hoped that an enemy met him before a friend did.

    There was much to be done. Debts to be resolved. Empty boxes to be dropped and ore, handed off to others.

    he would not be foolhardy

    or a fool

    anymore.

    he was Dragon

    he was Nars


  • Outside the huge tent he carefully afixed the teeth of the demon wolf to the head of the cloak. Singing soflty to himself as he did so he did not pay any attention to the children of the camp as they gathered around to listen.

    _I am the spirit of the hunt
    I am the way of the land
    I am the day and the night
    made by my own hand

    I am the shelter from rain
    I am the warmth against snow
    And I will be with you
    Where 'ere you go

    I am the spirit of the hunt
    I am the way of the land
    I am the day and the night
    made by my own hand

    I am here for the people
    I am here for you
    Skin and teeth gathered
    For a purpose that is true

    Fur and tooth, skin and claw
    Bind together for me
    Weave and spirits, big and small
    Bound together be_

    He smiled and set the the cloak to one side.

    "Is it finished?" one of the smaller children piped up.

    Jerr grinned. "Yes and no. I need the blessings of the spirits before it is truly finished. But you can play with it."

    The rest of the day was full of a child filled bear roaring about the camp as the Skald sat and watched chuckling.

    Night fell and he retreived the cloak and carried the sleepy child still in it back to his parents. Then he went out and sat by the outer fires and stared into the flames, ale almost forgotten in one hand.

    What to do?

    He made a mental list of his woes and grinned as he realized almost every one of them had a woman at the root of it.

    The drow and the yuan ti. Was it coincidence that they were both run by women? He chuckled and tried to turn from that thought. Amith might not be able to read minds but he did not want to chance it. Both were thought to be untrustworthy . . . but this came from folk who made plans to betray any they allied with at the first good opportunity. 'Get them before they get you' is a bad attitude to enter an alliance with.

    The paladin woes. Natanya, what was it about her that made him crazy? If he was judged by how he treated her he would be thrown out many a tribe. He took a sip of his ale and stared into the fire. He knew what was going on but he would not admit it to anyone, not even himself. To do that would be to give it strength. Something it did not need. In the flames he could see her staring back with hurt accusing eyes and he sighed. Another sip of ale banished the image, for now.

    Keira. He could watch her stretch and the hunger came. That woman brought out the dragon in him faster than ayone else. It was always a struggle to keep calm and in control. Worse was how she was beginning to act. 'Jerr, stay back.' In how many battles had he heard her call out to him, warning him or protecting him? The fire danced a little higher and he saw her lithe body for a moment in the sweek of a flame. More ale.

    Nicahh. He sighed. How was he supposed to help her when half the time she did not even know what she wanted and the toher half she was trying to push away those that she loved? She still hadn't given him a key and he was fairly sure she never would. In the little tribe that was their family he was he conscience and she liked to be able to lock him out.

    Lilin had the kids now. She still didn't know about the rumblings in the Heyokarr because she never went into the camp. Which was just as well. Hedia said that things were beginning to look like they would reach a head soon and he would have to face a challenge. But the baby girls were beautiful and he couldn't get enough of looking at them. Even if one of them was gassy.

    Then there was his only worry that didn't involve a woman. The Featherflights wanted to see him. He had gone several times over the last day but all they would say was yes, they wanted to see him, but not right now. But he could see worry in the eyes of the guards and he did not press the issue. The orcs of the plains were beginning to regret his regular passage as he had little time nor inclination for patience.

    More ale and when he realized that he was out he staggered off to the tent to be with Amith, the one true wife who never was someone he fretted about by the fire but the one he always dreamed of when he was not with.


  • He sat by the fire of the Featherflights and spoke softly with some of the warriors. "None of them are getting better?"

    He looked to see worried frowns and head shakes around the circle. "Then it is not just candy. But the way it is targetting, it has the 'feel' of poison or a spell, not disease." He pauses then asks. "I want to bring some people in to help me eliminate some possibilities."

    The head shakes were almost instantaneous.

    Jerr sighed. "I know the ways and I know the problems of the tribe STAY problems of the tribe. But children are sick and these are people of a larger tribe, the older tribe."

    A senior warrior frowned at that. "What do you mean, older tribe?"

    Jerr smiled and started to sing, fingers tapping out the rhythm on his wardrum.

    _I am the Nars, I was born in antiquity, in the ancient days when men first dreamed of the Gods. I have been tried through the ages and found true. The crossroads of the world bear the imprint of my feet.

    IN MY HEART is wisdom and strength and courage of those who ask. Upon my altars is the proper sacrifice, and my prayers are to the gods and they are honored. My sons work and pray together, without rank or discord, in the public mart and on the battle field. By signs and symbols I teach the lessons of life and death, and the relationship of man with the Gods and of man with man.

    MY ARMS ARE WIDESPREAD to receive those of lawful age and good report who seek me of their own free will. I will accept them and teach them to use my tools in the building of men, and thereby, find direction in their own quest for perfection so much desired and so difficult.

    I LIFT UP the fallen and shelter the sick. I hark to the orphan's cry, the widow's tears, the pain of the old and destitute. I am not church, nor party, nor school, yet my sons bear a full share of responsibility to the Gods, to the tribe, to neighbor and themselves. They are freemen and women, tenacious of their liberties and alert to lurking danger.

    AT THE END I commit them as each one undertakes the journey beyond the vale into the glory of the next realms. I ponder the sand within the glass and think how small is a single life in the eternal Universe. Always have I taught immortality, and even as I raise men from darkness into light, I am a way of life. I am the Nars_

    The drum fades and he pauses, meeting the eyes of each and trying to see if they had gotten what he was saying. "There are children sick. They are Nars and I am Nars. When I come back I will see them and try to help. If you plan on stopping me . . . sharpen your axe. You will need it."

    He left the fire without another word and crossed the plains ignoring the orcs and hobbies unless they pressed the issue. They, he left unconscious and bleeding and continued on. When he got to the house he left word for Nyda and Keira to find him as well as any others skilled in healing or willing to help care for sick children away from the house.

    That errand done he went south with a couple of scrolls in his hand and was seen going into the militia office of Norwick.


  • He had to admit, it was odd, the sort of folks he met while watching the well. Half of them he would not let close to his children, the other half professed to be champions of good . . . and he still would not let them close to his children.

    Maybe he was just being too protective.

    But being down there seemed to make singing the sunrise all the more important. It was like the well drank the light from his soul and he had to go up to the surface to recharge or darken . . . in a way that did not bear thinking about.

    Maybe that was it. He had been trying to figure out what was going on with his life and wives. Amith was becoming the rock that he clung to, the one steady feature of his life. Nicahh, he wondered why she was getting skittish again. Then he thought of the last time she had been like this and smiled . . . aha! Lilin was too focused on her new husband and child on the way to know how much damage she had done to him. Then there was Kiera . . . not a wife, but their relationship was changing and he was not sure how or why. A small voice in the back of his head asked him if he was using her to strike back at Nicahh and Lilin. Honestly, he could not say. He thought of the recent conversations they had had. What was more odd was that she seemed to be reciprocating. He could think of no reason for her to do that . . . He shook his head and turned his thoughts to other worries.

    Visits to the Heyokarr camp were becoming more frequent as he was watching the faces of the young bucks, trying to see who the hungry ones were. The looks were there and he knew the challenge was just a matter of time. They saw him as an old, fat man . . . .not worthy of being a chief. It would be an education for them to find out that older may mean wiser. Jerr was not going to leave the tribe again without a fight.

    He looked down from the top of the spellkeep tower and out over the pass. Genzir was right. This was a good place to come and think. It gave him a chance to focus on what it was all for. The sun started to rise and he sang softly, fingers barely brushing the drum.

    _We are the people, we are the Nars
    The land lives on

    In battle we stay true to the land
    In peace we offer the open hand
    We keep the old way and look to the new
    Once we were many, now we are few
    The land lives on

    We are the people, we are the Nars
    The land lives on_


  • He sighed and looked aorund the now deserted spellkeep before heading upstairs through the magical beam of light. It was quiet in the library since most were down below preparing for the festival. It gave him time and space to work . . .and think.

    His notes about the well of souls spread out to cover the table he had commandeered. A sidebar of tests still to try slowly filled up with idea as they came to him. The top had his angular handwriting pronounce a lesson learned long ago, from a dragon. "There is no magic, just INTENT"

    He wondered how committed he was to seeing this through as he began to paw through the shelves of the library. He had a new idea for research and was looking for tomes on spell traps of the ancient nars as well as any reference to the child voiced spiders. Gtahering a few texts he headed back to the desk and jotted notes from the important parts of each into his portfolio of papers. But after a while his mind wandered to the other worries that he had.

    He was back on the shore of the stream just south of Peltarch, she sat beside him but not as close as usual.

    "It's . . .good to see you." he murmered, eyes on the fire he had built for them.

    She warmed her hands and looked up at him, "What's wrong? Why'd you think I was mad at you?"

    "Did you marry?" He asked, still not meetiing her eye.

    "Yes but…" She hesitated, seeing him slump as though he were a puppet whose strings had just been cut. "Oh...Umm...

    Jerr looked right into the fire.

    "Did I mess up being your near wife?" she asked, softly.

    "If you branded BARD on my forehead it would have been less dishonor to me" Jerr snapped.

    Lilin looked confused and frustrated "What?"

    Jerr looked up at her for the first time and she could see the pain written across his face. "That you remarried is good, and I am happy for you. But to not tell me, to not let me meet him before you wed" Tears welled up in his eyes.

    "Hey Hey Jerr..." She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

    "That hurt me deeply, love."

    "I didn't mean anything by it Jerr."

    "It said to all that I was not part of your heart though you will always be part of mine." The last part came out as a whisper, barele audible.

    "I just felt like... i couldn't wait," her hands waved agitated, "I let every other good person get away from me and I feel horrible that I hurt you really do and I'm truly deeply sorry. But... We're only halfway married." She offered hopefully.

    "Halfway? Giving you one and a half husbands?" He asked with disbelief.

    "We still need to hold a ceremony to Tyr and you are definetly invited to that one." She added firmly then looked at him questioningly, "Okay?"

    "Lil, you know I am to treat him like a brother and I have yet to meet him?"

    Lilin frowned "I can't change what I did Jerr, but I am sorry and I am trying to make up for it and..."

    Jerr nodded, "I'll come."

    He paused and then looked at her. "I truly feared you had . . .left me. I couldn't take that."

    "You should know me better than that." she chided.

    "Too many people are beginning to turn from me and I do not know if I or they are changing." He mused.

    "I made a promise Jerr and I intend on keeping it for as long as I can."

    Jerr nodded and they discussed the details of her new husband. As the sun rose he sang a hymn to Tyr, ironically written by another Paladin he had once thought to marry.

    "He is a lucky man," he said, standing and starting south, leaving her by the ashes of the fire they had talked near, "and if he hurts you . . . a dead one."

    And so he had headed south, and wound up at the table covered with notes on a well that held screaming souls. His wives still loved him and NONE of them would approce of the work he was doing now.

    "But a man has to have a hobby." He muttered to himself, "While waiting for the winter snows."

    The papers were rolled into the oiled skin and tucked deep into his pack as he headed downstairs to the sound of a rehearsal and laughter. But inside his head he still could hear the screams of the well . . . and a dread, dead, song that echoed from deep within himself.


  • He staggered into the room and dropped onto the bed about 1 in the morning. Amith elbowed him and then gave a sniff.

    "You stink of ale, wood, and sweat." She growled in elven.

    "Was helping rebuild the crafters hall in Jiyyd. They needed someone to run the saw. So I helped."

    "You worked? Like a job?" She snorted softly, amazed he had time for that from his usual 'rounds'.

    "No, like a neighbor. Cyrian tried to pay me but I was doing what should be done, not what should be bought." He stretched sore muscles and threw an arm over his wife.

    ""you still stink." She groused. "So why did the hall need rebuilding? Grag pass gas too close to the forge?"

    Jerr chuckled. "No, love. Some mage came into the town invisible and then fireballed the building. Most think it is young 'easterners'."

    She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Is it?"

    "They fit the description and equipment and tactics, but they are all young. It doesn't look good, Love."

    She could see exhaustion fighting with concern on his face. "A tribal thing, yes?"

    "It could be. If they were taken away and gathered, trained, then this ia a blood feud. Since they are taking the battle to the towns they will not be obliged to follow the old ways in combat. They can lie, deceive outsiders where they would have to be honorable with the Heyokarr, the Featherflights, or the Red Tigers. They may make treaties but I will not be able to say if they will honor them. Not to mention how the locals observe treaties."

    "Yes, many in the pass are honorable only if they know they are being watched."

    'And some, not even then. Not much I can do unless it becomes a tribal matter. Not much at all except help rebuild and watch."

    "You'll not fight them?"

    "If attacked, or if they attack a place I am, I will be obligated to defend . . . . guesting laws. But I will not initate anything, I represent too much to be foolish . . . well . . . more foolish than usual." he grins and hugs his wife close.

    "Old fool" She slaps him lightly and then accepts the closeness. But she stays awake listening to the house as his breathing slows and he sleeps in her arms. Every day his skin feels slightly more leathery and every day he adds another thing to worry about, another battle to fight or mediate. She strokes his hair and sighs. Two fools.


  • He walked out of the house almost absentmindedly. The long talks with Amith were helping. She was angry, yes, but she was coping well, as befit one of her faith. But she was hiding something from him, which was not like her. He did not press but his mind kept turning over possibilities.

    The door swung closed and he turned to lock it then heard the yelp.

    Damn hobbies. he swiftly cleared the two who were chasing sparky about the barn and then he headed out onto the open road. Another pair spotted him and charged. he handled them the same but was shocked when one cast a spell at him. The shock wore off quick enough that his back swing finished the caster.

    "huh" he nudged the body with his foot and looked up to see a well armed and armoured Hobgoblin watching him. "Well? We gonna do this?"

    The Hobbie charged in and Jerr swiftly knew he was fighting out of his own class. He stepped back to catch his breath, blood running freely down his leathers.

    The hobgoblin chief chuckled. "yoouuuuuzzz puny"

    "yer good" Jerr admitted.

    "noooo killlzzzz so easy no moreez" The Hobbie continued, lefting his weapons.

    "So why do your folk keep bothing my dog?" Jerr asked, trying to buy time.

    Hobgoblin Chief licked his lips "tastezz gud"

    "uh huh most of them die for 'tastes gud'"

    The hobbie motions to the dead "deyyyz matezzz wit youzzz bride . ..dat youzzz call dogzz" and then he laughed.

    "Which bride? I have several."

    The hobbie held thumb to nose and blew snot all over. Jerr chuckled at the feeble attempt to gross out a tribesman.
    The hobbies eyes suddenly went narrow. "nowzzz.. you payzzz coin or you loose head"

    Jerr smiled at that . . . now we were to the meat of the matter. "Only two choices?"

    That stopped the hobbie for a moment and then he replied. "noooozz… betterzzz... you bring me dogsss" His hands flexed on his axe as he grinned at the skald. " ..youzzz bring dog herezzz or me takezzes youzz head ANDsss dog"

    Jerr smiled, rolling his shoulders so his drum swung round. "No, how fast can you run, big fella?"

    The Hobgoblin Chief looked almost comically confused "me no runzzzz"

    Jerr shouted and struck a war call of the Nars, one the hobgoblins had long since learned to associate with death impending. The hobgoblin chief ran.

    Jerr turned and headed into town to rally folks but all he found was the guard all gathered for free sample day at the bakc of the inn. The screams of anmals floated over the wall and Jerr went back out to find both cow and dog missing.

    Damn. He heaed after them, casting about for a track . . .


  • They arrived at the entrance to the camp, him in ceremonial robes, her in dark armor.
    “Let me go first, just in case.” Jerr said.

    “Sure” Ting replied, looking about at the plains around them.

    Inside the camp it was even more tense. Ting felt like every eye was searching her for the best place for an arrow to land. Jerr moved with a stiff formality as he moved towards the center of the camp and sat down at a fire. An old man with various fetishes hanging from his belt sat opposite Jerr and nodded, passing across some meat and a wine skin. Jerr took a bite of the meat and one gulp of the wine and then passed both to Ting while maintaining eye contact with the shaman. For a moment Ting thought the shaman was going to object but then he relaxed and nodded slightly. She could hear tension being released from a dozen bows around her as she, too, took a bit of the meat and a sip of the wine. She sat behind and to one side of Jerr, out of the way but where she could easily hear and see what was going on. The fact that she was also covering his back was purely coincidental.

    Jerr took the gift of food and drink back from Ting and passed them to the shaman and then pointed back towards the entrance to the camp. “What are THOSE?”

    Ting looked to see what Jerr was pointing at and saw human skulls set on short stakes near where they had passed.

    The shaman nodded without looking. “Part of why you are here is to be told that. We ask two things. First, that you listen all the way through. Secondly that you remember your place and your duties. This is our tribe, not yours. And this is our problem, not yours.” The shaman waited until Jerr nodded. “Two people raided our camp, months ago. A man in purple armor and a female of elven build using magics they cloaked themselves in darkness. With weapons, magics, and her claws they killed several of our tribe.” This is recited in a straight matter of fact voice, which makes it all the more cold in the morning sun.

    Jerr's hand touches his axe and it takes great effort for him to keep still. But he manages.

    “We failed to be able to track them far, one went into Jiyyd and the other out towards the pass we asked Nicahh, your wife, to investigate and we told her not to tell you. Your son sang the death lays for the fallen warriors and you would have been proud of him. Nicahh has told us that armor is too easily donned and used as a disguise that a woman of HER” he gestures to Ting “build and skilled in the art of bare handed killing is not that rare.” At this statement that he has made the shaman snorts.”The man was a cleric, he used dark spells to rip the soul from a man but that is not why you are here, that is why you could not come here for we knew you would try to do something and it is not your place.”

    The shaman looked Jerr in the eye and paused.”Nor is it your place now. But we must tell you that your son, Bel is missing. He left soon after the attack saying he had some ideas where this might have come from and none have seen him since. Two weeks ago your son Dyson went looking for Bel, and now . . . both are missing.

    Jerr's weapon is not so much reached for as it seems to fly into his hand. The shaman holds up his hand. “I told you, Listen to it all, and remember your place. Bel is an archer of our tribe now and Dyson is the skald if they live. I am telling you this news as a parent and that we are doing what we can to find them and that you are to do NOTHING.”

    Jerr growls a low note that rumbles across the fire like distant thunder.

    “We cannot tell you what we will do, nor make any promises. The 'wild magic' makes scrying impossible. So you are allowed back to the camp, we have nothing to hide now. But you are not to act on this matter as it is a tribal matter now, not family. You will abide by our wishes if you have the honor of the old ways.

    Ting can hear Jerr's teeth grinding but nothing is said.

    “We consider both your sons members of the tribe and you know all that that means. I am done, now you may ask your questions.

    Ting says, in elven, very quietly. “Put the axe away, Jerr.” It is a long slow moment before the axe slowly is slung back across his back but nobody there doubts that it is just an instant from being in his hand again.

    “Two sons, and tribesmen from the attack and you would have me do NOTHING?

    The shaman meets Jerr's eyes calmly and nods. “Yes.”

    “Does Nicahh know?”

    “About your sons, no. There are many in the tribe that hope they are still alive . . . .quite a few of the younger ladies are taken with Dyson.”

    Jerr shakes his head. “I'll not be distracted. . . .so you told me all this so I can go home and do nothing, except wonder if my sons live or die.”

    “Yes. If you follow the old ways, you will do this. I know we ask much. But you can do so much. Travel well, skald.” The shaman stands and turns his back slowly, pauses then walks from the fire.

    Jerr hangs his head and looks back at Ting. “Time to go.”

    She nods at him, seeing the anguish in his eyes. “Alright.”

    When they clear the camp Jerr pauses and stares out onto the plains.”Oh Ting, what am I going to do . . . or not do?”
    Ting pauses and then whispers. “I don't know how best to comfort you for this.” But in her own way, she does. She walks back with him to the gypsy camp and almost feels sorry for the orcs and hobgoblins that get in his way. They part as he heads for his tent still looking like he had aged a dozen years.


  • As he jogged along the road he thought of the 'rounds' Once, long ago, a skald would expect to stay in the camp. Keep the histories and teach the young. He would go to battle, sure. But he knew where he would sleep, each night.

    Now he had beds at the Sisterhood and his tent in the Gypsy Camp. He took rest in the baths of Peltarch or the grove, south of Norwick. Each few days he would run the rounds and touch base to make sure that he had a handle on what was going on . . .

    Gypsy Camp: Jeni was back and a saurial sat within a glowing cage. He did not seem to mind and Jerr spent some time with him, even sang him a couple of old dragon songs before moving on.

    Druids Grove: A quick sweep of the perimeter was the equivalent of shaking out the carpet. Bodies of goblins too bold for their own good flew left and right as Jerr checked in on the grove but did not try to go deeper to the inner sanctum.

    Sisterhood: The door was locked and Clara was still about. The gates of Jiyyd had been repaired again and a few youngbloods were making inroads on the local hobgoblin population so there was little for him to do, he turned south.

    Featherflight camp: He was stopped at the stream by an archer who softly gestured for Jerr to hold his ground. Signals were passed further into the camp and he waited, curious, until the lead hunter glided out of the shadows and stood before him. "You cannot come in right now, skald."

    "What?" Jerr stepped back and tried to look past but the shadows hid any details of the interior of the camp. "Why?"

    "The Shaman has requested that you not come into the camp for a period. He did not leave a reason why for us to tell to you." The Hunter paused. "He said that he knew that you would honor this request of territory as a chief and as a skald."

    Jerr stood, stunned. He shook his head. They were, of course, right. "I will abide by the shamans wishes. You will send word when things change?"

    The Hunter nodded and padded on quiet feet back into the forest. The riverguard shrugged apolegetically at Jerr and also pulled back, bow and arrow in hand.

    Jerr moved over to his hill and sat down. A few moments had a fire lit and he pulled out an ale and sipped it slowly, staring into the flames. Now he had two tribes to wait upon. The Featherflights and the Red Tigers. He snorted and headed for his own tribal camp, located off the main paths and well hidden by illusion and skill.

    Heyokarr camp: It was always hard for him to know who or what he was when he came to what should be his home. Chief? Skald? Elder? he was all and he moved through the camp checking on stocks of furs and food. On the health of the sick and the happiness of the tribe. Kerrith spent much time in the camp and he considered her almost a co-chief. But she would be the first to admit that her temper would serve the tribe poorly if she were ever given complete power. They looked to the lands and walked the perimeter of the camp checking that paths were well hiddden and the old touchstones still active.

    The Heyokarr had always been the closest tot he weaver and it was obvious in the camp. Folks seemed on edge, unsettled and Jerr felt a measure of it as well. Like the calm before the storm or, as he had described to William, the feeleing when you let go of the rope and fly out over a lake, before the water pulls you in. He sang sunset and sunrise in the Heyokarr camp and made a promise to himself to do so more often. He slept the night in Kerriths tent, not wanting to bother others and having not rebuilt his own after his return to the Heyokarr.

    Some folk might talk of his sleeping with Kerrith and Hedia, but those folk were not going to tallk of it within earshot. And his people knew the Old Ways and that Jerr would not ever do anything to dishonor the women, himself, or the tribe. For that was the reponsibility that a chief and a skald both held as basic concepts.

    After two days of running he returned to where Amith was cleaning the kitchen in the Sisterhood and they spoke of the children now growing up and moving out. They also spoke of the new group moving down soon and how they would continue the cycle once more.

    Laying with his one true wife in the sisterhood that evening he realized. many beds . . . one home. The Nars. All the land was his house and he was always home. He looked up at the 'Hero of Cormyr' medal hanging on a wall by the bed and chuckled. The one time he had left the Nars and nobody knew what had happened. 'Hero"? He laughed again and rolled over to face his wife, a far more pleasant thing to look at than some scrap of metal and silk.

    He was home. Many things he claimed to be, most with a smile. Sister, Knight, House guard, Chief, Member of the College of Bards and Guardian of the Grove. But skald he had been trained. and skald he was

    Nars Skald


  • The feeling still was there, like something was about to happen and he could do nothing about it. He headed out to sing the sun at the crossroads and then check Jenni at the Gypsy camp.

    A young lad shot past him heading for Jiyyd like all the orc fortress was after him. Jerr paused and watched him run and then turned to see a drow heading for the crossroads, staff in hand.

    "Hey!" he yells, grinning.

    A hobgoblin places itself between the drow and the skald. Jerr drops it with a pair of punches, not wanting to draw a blade . . . yet. Amazingly the drow stops and turns.

    Jerr runs up to just out of reach and stands facing the drow asks. "You know what my job is?"

    The mage sneers. "Boot licker?"

    "Nice try, guess again." Grinning, almost daring the mage to try once more.

    The made looked over his shoulder at the horizon. "Annoying pissant."

    "Closer." Jerr admits. "I sing the sun, up and down and I am a guessing that you don't keep as close track as you should."

    The mage looked not the slightest bit phased. "Try keeping it down then."

    Jerr heard a scuff behind him but he did not turn to look, not wanting to take his eyes off of the drow. Something deep inside, years of training, told him dawn was very close.

    The drow did look over Jerrs shoulders and with a curse and dark speech vanished from sight. Jerr sang the song of open eyes and gave chase to the now visible drow who looked over his shoulder in surprise.

    They ran up and over Sams hill, the guards wondering why the skald looked so focussed as he dragged a stick from his belt. The twin missiles shot out and glanced off of the fleeing drow. In one flowing move Jerr put the stick in his quiver and drew and arrow and his bow swung into his hand swiftly.

    Two arrows wizzed past the drows ears and he tunred to face the skald, another chant and a fist of eldritch energy grabbed Jerr and slammed him to the ground. The drow looked over Jerrs shoulder again and scuttled into the old abondoned mine. Wolf, a moment later stood over Jerr looking down and offering a hand up. Jerr just lay there laughing like it was the greatest joke in the world.

    The druid grunted and continued to offer the hand till a leathery palm slapped into his and the fat old skald rolled to his feet with surprising quickness.

    "Um, why drow out here?"

    "I do not know but . . . .

    Wolf looked up, noticing the sun rising "He trapped now.."

    "He should never talk to a skald at dawn." Still chuckling he looks at the cave. "No, there are back ways, I'll bet he is long gone.

    "Not going to check?"

    "Only a fool chases a shark into the water." Jerr says. "I found out what I wanted."

    "What he say?" Asks Wolf.

    "Not what he said, where he went and the fact he was alone." Jerr grinned and tapped the side of his nose.

    Wolf rubs the back of his neck and looks slightly lost."So um… what that mean then?" He eyed the cave warily.

    "One, it means they are active in this area. Two, my money is on they are also making another beachhead in the spider cave. Three, they are weaker than they want us to believe . . . : if they send a solo drow most times I have seen them in hunts of four or more. And lastly, the do need some lessons in insults, that was pitiful"Jerr seemed actually amused at the whole thing. Wolf grunted noncommitedly.

    "He just.. insult then run?"

    Jerr nodded. "Not to mention they have trouble telling time. He knew dawn was close but not how close. I knew better and talked to him to stall, he fell for it. For all their smarts they are not that wise." H echuckles and turns north again. Taking his leave of the druid Jerr once again moved towards the camp of the gypsies. But he was still laughing to himself.


  • _The old panther lay at her side, her jet black fur now greyed from age. Nicahh was not for sure why Mali had followed her to the meeting, though, her company was not unwelcomed. The men of the Featherflight tribe had gathered around her as she stepped into the clearing then slowly made her way to the fire; some looking her over as a possible threat, while others looked her over as a possible mate. Compared to the majority of the women of the tribe, she was a near goddess in some of their eyes, her firery hair illuminated by the campfires as her piercing blue eyes gazed from one to another, offering them a small smile that had taken years to perfect. She was different, exotic in her own way, particularly so as she tucked her hair behind her half elven ears. But, her visit was not for pleasure, despite the looks she gave some of the barbarian men in passing.

    One by one the men that had been in the camp the night of raid came up to her, telling their stories. Telling of the two murderers that had made their way into their home, slaughtered their brothers, then ran off in the night before the men could be properly assembled to hunt them. The warriors spoke of the smaller attacker, of which, they believed to be a woman based off her size. They spoke of how she ran with a slight limp, but her hands were as deadly as any they'd ever seen. Some of the braver men even asked Nicahh if she thought it was possible it could have been one of her own Sisters who would have launched such an attack, since they had seen her near the plains the morning after. To which she could only reply, "I highly doubt it. No one in my family would just kill to kill, and if none of you have warranted an attack, then it would be ludicrous to think they'd just attack you. But worry not, she will be interrogated and I know my Sister would not lie to me."

    More and more gathered as Nicahh asked question after question, the old grey cat moving closer and closer to her, until she was curled up completely against Nicahh, her head resting in her lap. As the night progressed, ale and meat were passed around, the Shaman insisting the crimson haired woman dine with them, though no matter how many times she said she did not comsume either, she found a pile meat and eight mugs of ale in front of her as another Featherflight barbarian brought her the simple offering. When the Shaman's wife finally exited from her tent, she was quick to chase off the young barbarian men, telling them to respect their Brother Jerr's wife. The look of disappoint on some of their faces was hard to hide.

    After spending the night, waiting for the Featherflight trackers, who had tracked one of the attackers to the road outside Jiyyd, to return from one of their hunts, Nicahh spoke quietly with the men, gathering as many details as she could. She knew it was time to leave, as her faithful cat took a vicious swipe at one of the men that had moved too close to Nicahh, his leg bleeding from her razor sharp claws. She knew not why Mali had reacted so, perhaps she had sensed the crimson haired woman's anxiety over the whole situations, or perhaps, she was just old and cranky like that. Regardless, the two slowly made their way out of the camp shortly afterwards; a few arrow whizzing by their heads, landing in the hearts of the orcs that threatened them as they did. No orcs got near her that day, as some of the archers stood at the river watching them go.

    She could not help but wonder, if they'd done it for her protection, or to show what she stood to face should she fail upon the task to find the murderers._


  • The ceremony finally ended and the flames died down. The bodies had long since vanished into the mass of fire and only a few off shaped branches showed where the major bones lay yet unconsumed. Dyson slumped and stilled the drum with his palm and looked about. The faces of the tribesmen looked back at him, silent for a moment and then they turned and vanished into the camp further up the stream.

    A hand came down on his shoulder and he looked to see the shaman standing there. "You did well, your father would be proud, if he were to know. But he cannot know of this ceremony or the part you played, not yet . . .anyway."

    Dyson looked confused. "Why not?"

    "Your father has a lot to worry about but this would take priority and distract him from larger things. It must be kept quiet, for now." The shamans eyes twinkled. "But I am sure you have other things to think about besides that." He gestured off to the edge of the fire light where a small group of girls Dysons age stood giggling and looking at him. "A skald is a rare thing, especially a young one." A gentle shove sent the young lad toward the girls and off they went into the darkness.

    "In the face of the death life can be found." The shaman whispers watching the lad go. "Forgive me Jerr."

    With a sigh he turned and scooped the long bones from the bier. "I am sorry, my brothers, you deserve better treatment than this." Heading for the walls he began to call the spirits to himself, and to call the lost souls back from the great hall. The bones were, with great ceremony, planted in the ground about the camp. On each bone he spoke words of vigilance and guarding. On each bone he traced the all seeing eyes and the injunction in that the failure to guard the camp in life bound them to do so in death.

    It made him feel dirty to do this, to bind souls that had tried and failed in such a way. But the needs of the tribe . . .

    It was after dawn when he finally entered the tent where his wife was waiting. Each asked the other, "Is it done?"


  • Nicahh looked him over once more before nodding her approval. "As ready as you will ever be . . . and you are sure you do not know why they would want to see me and you, but not your father?"

    Dyson looked up and shook his head. "No. they have always dealt with him. I have gone along a few times and they saw me at the death lays . . . but always with Dad."

    She shook her head, red hair tossiing for a moment. It was very hard to be so mad at a man and still worry about him, the frustration was making her feel 'off center'. "Fine, then I suppose we will find out. You know the rules for the plains?"

    He nods. "Keep moving and remember to duck, they won't get more than one shot at me."

    "Not while I am with you, no. And if we become seperated?"

    "Find Bel."

    She nodded again and they went out the front door of the sisterhood together. The passage to the Featherflights was relatively uneventful. The orcs and hobgoblins that would have blocked the way suddenly developed a bad case of dead. None of them even saw what hit them. The Featherflights were waiting and VERY tense, Nicahh and her son could feel it as soon as they stepped into the clearing. Nicahh caught the scent of death, and fire, neither were new smells to her but not welcome ones for all that.

    The shaman and his wife stepped forward and formally greeted them in Damaran before switching to common. "We have need of a skald . . . so we asked for Dyson."

    Dyson squeeked softly and clutched his drum to his chest. "Me?"

    "You." the shaman nodded and stepped forward to take the boy to where a croud had gathered about some mound. The shaman wife intercepted Nicahh as she started to follow.

    "He will be fine, but we must speak. Please, it is important."

    Nicahh paused and then nodded and followed the old woman to a tent where a pot of herbs bubbled merrily. Drums, slow and low began in the near distance. Hesitant at first but swiftly gaining strength and confidence.

    "He was well taught." The old woman murmers and notes Nicahhs involuntary tensing. "But that is not what we must speak of . . . "

    Dyson was lead through the crowd to stand before a funeral bier. On it were three bodies, one whose chest was blasted away, the other two had their faces stretched as though they had died screaming. "I could not bring them all back, some had souls blasted beyond the reach of my meagre powers" The shaman whispered softly. "But they must be drummed home so they may stand tall in the great hall."

    "My father . . . "

    "Jerr is not here, you are. Play, boy . . . give their souls the peace they deserve."

    Dyson gulped and brought his drum before him. nervous fingers rattled the top to make sure the tension was just so, in echo of similar moves his father did for important pieces. Thoughts bounded round his head of what would happen if he made a mistake? Where had his mother gone? he scanned the croud seeing that all the trieb save the guards were gathered, watching him. (relax) his fathers voice whispered in his memories (they do not know every beat and you do. there are no mistakes, only variations)

    He slowly lifted his hand high and brought it down, the beat echoed and prompted the next as he sought the rhythm of the land, the echo beat his father had taught him so long ago. Then he began to sing . . .

    In Jiyyd the drums rang softly in the distance, most assumed it was Jerr and shook their heads as it was neither sunrise nor sunset.

    In the distant gypsy camp nothing could be heard over the snoring of an exhausted skald who slept as his adopted son and nearwife learned things he could never teach.