3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


  • 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 . . .


  • 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 . . .