3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


  • Mareann is found banging on the sisterhood door early one morning. Nearby drums had been heard through the night and most assumed the sisterhood skald must be nearby performing one of his rituals or just performing. The loud banging on the door shortly after the drumming had stopped and so early in the morning causing some alarm. Upon opening the front door the red head rushes in with Taria in tow shouting for Amith and Nicahh. Her face tear streaked she recounts the nights happenings to them.

    He's gone they took him, but I don't know who. Pops is missing and maybe dead by now. The only thing left in the grass save the fire was his blood. He'd told me the tribe was out to kill him. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have let him do the ritual. I shouldn't have asked him to open the gate not so close to the tribal camps. I'm so sorry Amith, Nicahh. her eyes pleading with them for understanding If I had known, I should have realized, but I didn't.

    We'd gathered the wood and started the spirit quest ceremony. I didn't think anything was amiss. Pops seemed in good spirits. I don't think either of us expected anything going to shit. I should have come back when we saw the succubus in the quest. She heckled me. She told me that a skald should have guards whenever he performs any ceremony. That is when I should have known. The walk continued the drums continued. At the end of the journey though we could still hear the drums. The blood was fresh when we woke to ourselves. They can't have much of a lead on us.

    Taria tried to summon him using some of his blood, but the succubus appeared again. She said that he was poisoned that he was taken beyond death. Somewhere he has traveled once before. he told me once he'd gone beyond death, but not where or why. The succubus said she didn't harm him, but that she told people who might be interested in his well being. That those people took him. She said that her sister in the sands was looking forward to seeing him when he finally arrived there.

    You've got to help they can't be far ahead. It only just happened. She looks around to whomever heeded her shouting.

    Nicahh looks confused and tosses about several questions quickly, pausing for a breath and answers…

    Wait, who took him? Another tribe, the succubus you spoke of? And what tribe is against him now, his own? And was he taken during the spirit quest, or after it? And why were you going on a spirit quest in the first place?

    HIs tribe wants him dead. the new chief apparently had the guards disappear during the Norwick calling of the dead ritual. It was intentional. He was lucky that Hedia, Kerrith and some other warrior maiden friends of his showed up.

    He was taken I guess as the quest ended. The succubus said she didn't take him, but she knows who did. She wouldn't tell us. As for why, thats kinda personal, but after he and Amith adopted me I took an interest in his traditions.

    I thought being so close to the sisterhood he would be safe. He had to have thought so too.

    she looks to Nicahh seeming anything, but calm

    Nicahh nods, taking a soft breath in.

    "You are sure he was not taken away in the quest? Should something happen to you while in that state, your body can die. Perhaps with his soul gone, his body was captured by the spirit too? I don't know much about these things to be honest. I have tried to pay attention and learn as much as I can, but it is just something I have not been able to grasp well.

    I feel it in our best interest to seek out the FeatherFlights. Perhaps they can help me to understand it deeper, and I have always had a good relations with them. And they might possibly know why his tribe would turn against him. The new chief, despite the duel against Jerr for his wives, always seemed a wise and kind man, to me at least. I really do not understand this at all. But I will make my way to the FeatherFlights as a start point."

    I heard the drums till the last moment of coming back to myself. His blood was fresh in the grass. The succubus said it was poison. That she had told those who were looking for him where to find him. I know the tribe was involved in the last attempt on his life. I would not start there. Maybe asking Kerrith is the best place to start. Jerr said the current chief has tried to pay him for Jerr's services to the tribe which is one of the highest insults to a skald. The chief would also have been the one that ordered the guards to be there during the ceremony and may or may not tell the truth if you ask who told the guards to leave. Kerrith was also sent away on a goose chase so that she would miss the ceremony according to Jerr.

    The succubus said he wasn't dead yet. He was beyond death, but that he would be joining her sister in the sands soon. If we do not move quickly he will be dead. I'm not sure if we have time to consult the tribe and dealing with any lies they might tell.

    Amith picks up her axe and shield, settles a cloak about her shoulders and leaves out at a trot heading south...

    "No words about where husband be, chief think? Chief about to be getting words.."

    As they moved past the archers and out onto the plains Mareann could still hear his voice telling her of that night of darkness.

    
"I could hear them, moving closer, the drider behind them and the spiders taking their time. Webbing flew out to keep me from running. Like I could run."

Mare nodded. He had told her how drumming anchored ceremonies and spells and that he had been drumming for a ceremony far below. He had shrugged off her question of why he had not invited her or others to help him with the simple reply . . . I was to be guarded and I still can keep a beat for a day and a night if I have to.

"I am not sure who was more surprised when the Tigers hit the spiders, the Drider or me. Those girls are good, a scouting party from a tribe of fighters. I wish I coulda watched more of the battle."

She could see this was hard for him to relate, but not why, not yet.

"Damn lot of spiders, webbing, legs. The spiders had a lot of them but I liked the girls legs better. Watching So . . . one of them do a spinning move that gutted one of the larger spiders . . . beauty in motion. But damn they sent a lot of the eights up the hill that night. The Maidens made a ring around me and guarded me. After the first wave had fallen we could hear another battle on the west side of the hill further down. I thought maybe it was my guard, drawn out of position.

It wasn't. Hedia and Kerrith were handling a pack of Hobbers that had responded to the drumming as well. Poor old hobbers. The only thing that made it take so long was they started to scatter and Kerrith had her anger up so she hunted each individual one down. Most of the night was filled with screams from that side of the hill.

Dawn came and the battle subsided. The rest of the drumming was just an endurance contest but I had company. Hedia and Kerrith flirted with the Maidens and I drummed in and out the day. In the end? about 27 hours, but my hands healed up in a day or two. I talked Heds and Kerrith out of destroying our people. The Tigers headed back south. So there was no damage done . . . I suppose."

    She could still remember the pain in his eyes. There had been damage, he had been left out there as bait, or sacrifice, or something and he had stayed there, willingly. Because his tribe asked it and the Old Ways compelled him he had sat on that damned hill and drummed. He had been lucky. But luck only went so far before Tymora showed the other side of the coin.

    Her hand brushed the coin in her pouch and she shuddered. Had her good luck been balanced? Was this her fault?

    They were challenged at the gate but they opened when Amith identified herself as Jerrs wife. Amith moved through not looking left or right but Mare, through teary eyes, did look. Some of the tribal folk, mostly men with axes, seemed to find this funny, somehow. There were chuckles and elbows in ribs as the women passed.

    Men with bows looked pained and sorry and the women were a combination of sorry and angry. "Not all of them" Mare thought. "Not all of them wanted this to come about."

    --more in a bit--


  • Jerrs arms were not feeling it yet. He was in the zone and the beats rolled out of the huge ceremonial drums and across the hills. Great hollowed out logs with a thin spot in the center he had a small selection of drum sticks arrayed beside him in case one broke. Preparation, that was the key. He thought back to his teachers lessons. "If you are not ready for something, it will happen. And it will happen at the worst possible time and place. For that is the way of the world."

    The memory of those words were still echoing in his mind when the first spider tried to bite him

    The beats stumbled for a moment and the Ancestor, all bone and skull looked up to the distant hills. "Your skalds are clumsy"

    "Skald. There is only one old fool."

    The skull snapped around and looked at the shaman. "One? Drumming all of the ceremony? Others come from other tribes to help him do they not?"

    "He is the last." The shaman brushed the question aside and the ceremony continued.

    Deep down the dwarves and drow battled, advance and retreat, trap and springing. The drum beats were lost in the clash of battle but somehow, deep down, Dwin could still feel them and fougth harder.

    The Hobgoblins had made it halfway up the slope when Hedia and Kerrith caught up with them. Thirty hobgoblins from the deep caves. Two very pissed off women. Outnumbered . . . but the hobgoblins did not realize that they were. The spells flew and counter spells rose up to meet them. The tribeswomen were at a disadvantage as two dispells came up to meet each spell they tried. But then it got to melee range and the momentum shifted.

    Fangs skittered off of small scales on his leg and did not break the skin though his rhythm stumbled. He growled and lashed back in an offbeat. The spider bounced across the clearing and hit two others. Jerrs eyes widened. "Oh shite" The drumming continued, for that was what he had to do . . . but his hand moved down and grabbed a war-drum stick. Hit on the offbeats, he could do this, if there were not too . . . he glanced back and whispered a prayer. There WERE too many. He could hear the drider chanting and the darkness enveloped them all. In the darkness the drum still sounded. Because it had to.


  • Longish, I understand if you don't read, especially since this is just the first half.

    Gotta love spring break.

    "So we have an agreement?"

    The barbarian chief grunted. "We will support you in the times you need. You will support me in a similar fashion."

    She smiled. "Good. Together we can remove the people who do not belong here and restore what once was."

    "You will keep the stumpy and the bitches from making the ceremony?" He nodded, not considering the multiple meanings to what she had just said.

    "And you will remove the guards from the 'old fool'"

    "He has been a thorn in my side long enough. New ways are coming and he slows us from advancing. There will be no guards and I assume your minions will be able to follow their ears?"

    She chuckled coldly. "They don't have ears but they will find him well enough."

    After they both left the fire slowly guttered out and darkness filled the cave.

    Amith woke up Jerr with a nudge and stepped back out of reach of his grasp with a smile. "Shaman here to see you."

    He groaned and rolled to his feet and went to the tent flap to find Kerrith there, looking mad at the world, as always. "I offer food, drink and fire, you are welcome in my tent."

    She snorted and shook her head. "The chief told me to find you myself. The omens are aligned, to the hill for the drumming you go. I am to find the chancellor and Hedia."

    Jerr frowned. "You?"

    "Chief insisted. Said it is best if a person of rank found Dwin. He sent no other people to look."

    "Odd."

    Kerrith nodded shortly. "I don't like it but I don't have to."

    "No. The drums will begin when signalled."

    Kerrith left without another word. Jerr gathered his things and kissed his wife goodbye, heading for the high hills where he had been building the deadwood great drums.

    Kerrith tried all the usual places first. Then she began to worry and look further afield until finally she found Hedia in a small camp in the back hills of Peltarch. Hedia looked up gloomily as her wife sat down.

    "What?" Kerirth asked after a minutes silence.

    "They don't want us there."

    "What?" The ice in the second question would chill a volcano.

    "A Heyokaar was killed in the graveyard, accident of battle, I was told. I took him back to the camp and they took him. Refused my help. 'Don't need your sort of healing' and brushed off. Am tired of being set to the side and ignored."

    Kerrith punched her lightly on the arm. "Maybe we go back and teach them some respect, eh?"

    Hedia smiled.

    Jerr jogged with a light heart to the top of the hill. He noted the Heyokaar guards as they respectfully nodded and stepped out of sight into the surrounding forest. That was odd, they had not been prone to show respect lately. He shrugged it off and stretched. It would be a long session, but he knew what was needed. He watched the southern sky as he ate slowly and drank. Once the drumming started he would not be stopping for anything. He looked about to offer the guards some but they were not to be seen. Jerr frowned and was about to investigate when a screaming arrow flew up and he stepped up to the drums instead. It was time.

    The great ceremonial drums rumbled across the land like a rhythmic thunder. To the North Kerrith and Hedia hugged and swiftly broke camp befor eheading south. Deep below Dwin cursed and grabbed his pack, heading out of the caves as swiftly as he could. All across the land others listened and wondered. Some knew what the sounds meant and headed south to Norwick for the ceremony. Others, with assigned tasks, sharpened weapons and set their ambushes. And from one cave in the hills a chittering grew louder.

    Far far to the south a warrior maiden party of the Red Tigers looked to the sky and smiled.

    The eldest spoke softly. "Only one who can drum that loud"

    Soja smiled. "Or that well." She looked to the double sword in her hands and looked wistful "I never properly thanked him for this."

    Mira rolled her eyes. "Oh no. We cannot go being thought of as rude . . . " She sighed theatrically. "No choice I suppose. We will just have to go visit him. If only we knew a way to find him . . . "

    He twin cuffed the head and nodded. "The Old Ways demand we go and thank him, it is only right."

    The eldest smiled. "If we go, we will miss the ceremony of the dead he drums for." Soja did not say anything but the eldest took one look at her face and laughed. "Aw, we have seen bones before and I would like to share a fire with him again as well." They started to run north, covering the distance with quick and steady grace. As the vanished into the Rawlins one caled in a sing-song voice. "The fire is not the only thing of his Soja would like to share . . . " Laughter followed them.

    The ambush below was almost perfect but the old dwarf was more skilled than the war-party was ready for. He quickly recognized how bad it was as the tunnel went completely back and was ready for the first assault. he grumbled to himself about how often he had chided others for travelling alone and now here he was in combat and unsupported. Reluctantly he fell back to the dwarven stronghold and gathered others for what was looking to be a battle. "Why now?" he asked as the ground continued to thunder and he cursed, looking at driders swarming outside the gates.

    Once he was set into the rhythm Jerr smiled as he started to try to play off of the echos, adding them to the complexities of the ceremonial drumming. He thought back to a simpler time when his master had been training them.

    
"The why is it hard?" Thom had asked.

"You will have to keep the beat, keep it going. The trade-off between drummers is critical. For the best drumming each should do one hour on and one hour off. Now you and Jerr begin, when I say switch you will trade places and not lose the beat. We will do this for the rest of the day."

"All day?" Jerr asked.

"All day and all night if you don't get it right. Endurance is as much apart of ceremonial drumming as skill is." ~~~

Jerr sighed and looked around the clearing. There would be no relief for him, he was the only skald left. Endurance would be the key, as he had been taught. He closed his eyes and let the music carry him forward into the night. The tears on his face were for Old Thom, whom the skald missed dearly.

****

As soon as night fell the spiders left the cave and began the climb up the hill. The driders herding them kept them moving full speed, they had been told that the drummer would have no guards and they wanted to feed.

****

Hobgoblins listened and gathered with a warchief and shaman. This drumming would be stopped. They moved across the path and up into the hills making no effort to hide their passage.

****

Kerrith and Hedia stopped in the pass and looked at the tracks heading east and then south to where the ceremony was. "They didn't wait for us." Hedia said.

Kerrith frowned again to the south and then down at the path. "Neither will the Hobgoblins."

Hedia followed he gaze up to the hills. "He will have guards."

Nodding, "Enough?" Kerrith asked.

"Enough now." Hedia turned and went up the steep path.

****

To the beat of a distant drum the pieces move into place

m

  • The rumble of his snores was deep, slow, and almost lyrical. Amith paused for a moment considering the recumbent form and the leveled a solid kick.

    snort gurgle ruff wazzat?

    In elven she replied. "Too long you sleep. Get up, out."

    "Hmmf? What day izzit?"

    "Not day, old fool, month. You bear, to sleep the winter away?"

    A lazy grin splits the face. "I'm not bare but i could be in a moment"

    "Old fool, up, out, you stink of sleep. Go get clean, see how the world has changed. When you have done some errands then you can come back and we will talk of who is bare." Her voice held a tolerant tone of amusement but the iron beneath it was not hidden.

    He got up.

    Errands, always errands.

    From town to town, fire and inn he travelled the old paths and touched base once again.

    The skald was awake.


  • "NICAHH?" Jerr paused and waited for an answer. "NICAHH!" Nothing "Right, get the kids ready we are going NOW!"

    Sisters gathered all the children as the sun began to set and they headed out the door bundled up against the weather. Jerr was at the head of the procession and sisters on each side. Amith brought up the rear in full armor and her greatsword held at the ready. They passed under the eyes of the Troff legion archers who smiled at the parade as the young ones waved happily.

    "Stay together," Jerr reminded them. "I will tan the hide of the first person to step out of line or wander off. Keep close to the Sisters and everything will be fine. Remember your manners, this is important." Little heads nodded seriously and the size of the group tightened up. Jerr nodded back to Amith and then started to jog ahead, scouting for any danger.

    "Dammit" He muttered. "Did every carrion creature get notice of our trip?" He swept tha last of them aside with a double swing of the axe and kicked the bodies to the side as the group caught up. "No, don't play with any of the bits, keep together."

    So into the plains the family went.

    They were almost to the tribal camp when he saw it. A whistle to the group had stopped them back a ways as he considered the undead. The consideration stopped when it tried to do an end run around him towards the children. "No you don't you bugger." Jerr swiftly ran it down and dropped it before it closed the distance. One look at the Sisters bristling with weapons around the kids told him he didn't have to worry but he spun and headed forward towards the gates. Another was there, fighting the outer guards.

    Jerr stepped forward and dropped it with a single swing of his axe. "Bloody hells, what are these things." he asked of the guards.

    "Nay idea they came hissing something about their master being a jealous god and that those who turn their fave from him can expect no happiness nor mercy" Repilied one of the guards dabbing at a small wound.

    Jerr absently sung a healing song as he turned this idea over in his mind. "Well I am here for the enspelling ceremony as are the kids. If Bane wants to object he can send who he wants. But who works with Bane here?" He paused. Oh . . . wait . . . Fark"

    The group of Sisters and kids had come closer and Jerr waved them through the gate. The tribesman nodded. "Aye"

    Jerr watched them going in as he turned this over in his mind. "And since the reason we are here is . . . Fark." He spun his axe as Amith passed by and gave him the nod that all were inside now. "Keep watch. If anything bigger comes I will come out to deal with it."

    The Heyokarr snorted but the Featherflight archer nodded solemnly. Jerr went inside to where the shamans and craftsmen waited.

    The weave was smooth as glass here with ripples coming off of the focus of this ceremony. Jerr began to sing as each child and sister walked forward and touched it lightly. From some a small spark would jump to the stones. From others the spark was more pronounced. Jerr smiled and kept in mind the lassons of the death lays, her trying to stop him from drinking, her being there for Amith and him when they had lost their homes. Jerr reached out and a bolt of lightning zorched across from where he stood to the stones, he lowered his hand,unhurt. Amiths was almost as bright as were some from the other sisters. Ael glided up, barely making it in time. He nodded to Jerr and the bolt of lightning lit the night. Jerr smiled and continued to sing. Jerr took the slip of parchment from Ael and then the leader of the Norwick scouts slipped away into the night again.

    Jerr translated and copied out the proper runes for the craftsman to carve before he escorted the children back to the house. He did a complete sweep of the inside of the house before joining the family for breakfast. After he went out to stand in front of the house in his old guard position . . . watching the sky.

    "Spirits protect them. No miffed God is going to ruin her day."


  • The eating hall was unnaturally dark. The shadows kept even the walls from being seen made a twilight of the normally bright room. The tables were shoved to the walls which almost seemed to breath as Jerr skidded into the area. In the center of the room a shadowed figure sat with its back to him. It was holding some small object in front of it that he could not make out.

    "Heyas" he called softly.

    The figure twitched but did not turn. Ther bundle moved and gave off a soft cry of a baby just waking up.

    Jerrs eyes narrowed and the axe rotated slowly in his hands as he sidestepped, eyes not leaving the figure. "Tis a child then, is it?"

    Somewhere from in the darkness that pressed in on every side a childs high giggle rang out. Normally that would have brought a smile to his face, but not in the darkness, not after the wellspawn he had faced and fought. It shot a cold shiver up his spine and made his grip on the axe tighten. If he was alone here, he would fall, sure as the sun did rise. But if that was a baby in those arms . . . He continued to sidestep, slowly closing and goinig around the shadowed figure. He caught sight of the baby, and a newborn it was, probably no more than a few days old. The figures face was hidden by a hood.

    "Show your face. It is not my way to deal with those who will not."

    The figure, in answer,ducked its head even lower. He could see nothing.

    "Come out of this dark room and into the light. It is not right for a child to grow in darkness." He tried a different tactic, but the head only dipped again. The baby began to fuss and a pale finger touched its lips and then pulled back into the sleeve. The baby began to cry.

    For Jerr, this was all he needed, again he was moving at fullspeed towards a goal, axe swung back to his shoulders and focus completely on the baby. He never saw what he slammed into . . . be cause it was invisible . . . but he knew that scent.

    "A. a a Amith?"

    "Old fool." She swung her hands out and banished the darkness and lights shot through the great hall. Decorations in a riot of bright colors hung from the walls the walls were also full of all of his children watching and stifling giggles which now broke into laughter and cheers. "Now step up and take your granddaughter"

    "Granddaughter?" His eyes lit up with joy as the shadowed figure offered him his grandchild. "Oh lords . . . " He cooed softly as practiced hands took the baby and swung it gently to some inner rhythm. "What is her name to be?"

    His adopted child looked up at both of her parents and whispered "Amith."

    Jerrs grin could only have gotten wider if he lost his ears in the process, but he tried. His wife sputtered and groused. "I wans't told this."

    "It was a surprise for both of you."

    Jerr looked about the decorated hall and asked the assembly. "And what is this all, then?"

    The children answered in a happy roar. "Your day!"

    "My . . . what?"

    "They say in city there is a day called fathers day. They know it not a tribe thing but they all wanted to be here . . . . for you,old fool." Amith tried to take the baby but he absently spun and continued to coo at the child who was now grabbing his nose with tiny hands. "There is ale and food. Now give me my granddaughter or I get sword."

    Jerr grinned and exchanged the baby for things that were, by far, less interesting than the baby. He moved through the crowd and was hugged and kissed and teased by all of his children. There were so many of them He and Amith had been parents to any child who came to the Sisterhood orphanage for many years. Any child of the age of six or higher could consider themselves one of his, in a simple adoption ceremony.

    He gave half of what he took in treasures to his wife to spend on the children and knew that that was supplemented by other Sisters in the house. No child in the Sisterhood ever wanted for things that could be provided, be it food, clothes, or someone to call mother and father. But on this day, they were giving back. He looked across the room at his wife who still held the little baby and could see the sadness flicker in her eyes. She knew that she would see this young one with her name grow, age, and die in the fullness of time. That was the true curse of longevity. He whistled a bar or two of The Perfect Rose and saw her stiffen then smile sadly and relax, enjoying the here and now of a newborn in her arms.

    He looked aorund at the gathering and marvelled at the size that his family had grown to. None of them were his blood kin, his only blood son had died. But that did not diminish the love he had for those here today.

    He started to sing for the pure joy of the moment and his voice filled the hall and the house itself till the very windows rattled and the walls shook with the power of the skalds voice. If the gods were looking down that moment, that day, they knew they could take the man but not ever take the mark he left behind nor would he leave with a single regret.

    For he was home.

    and loved

    and that was all he truly needed.

    m


  • Jerr smiled as he swung back south towards the featherflights camp. The scavengers of the Plains did little to make him lose his smile as most knew better than to challenge the fat man as he jogged towards his goal. The smile did dim as he approached the river entrance to the camp now occupied by the Featherflights and the Heyokarr. He paused and steadied his temper and composure before heading into the long green tunnel that opened into the camp.

    It was a study in contrasts. The Featherflights greeted him with smiles and respect. The Heyokarr made quiet comments about the 'soft old man' and one even called for him to 'play them a love ballad'. Jer rgritted his teeth and proceeded to the Great house where he told the Leaders of the combined tribe that he wold be away with his family. The Featherflight shamans nodded and wished him well. The Heyokarr chief, Bjorn, said. "Back to the soft bed, eh? Well, at least it will be nice and quiet here, with you gone." and waved him away.

    Jerr blushed and stared straight ahead as he said the words of parting. One of his sons still working as an apprentice woodworker to the featherflight masters caught up with him, to go to the house together. "Dad? Why do you let them do that?"

    Jerr waited till they were clear of the camp and on the plains before answering. "The manners on how to treat a skald are being forgotten. Or driven under. As long as they do nothing direct I cannot challenge and they know that. I think Bjorn is trying to drive me from the tribe to strengthen his own position. Having me about reminds them what it was like, before. I wanted to make the tribe grow, expand. He wants to sit back and wait for the problems to come to him, then charge them head on. IT worked in the orc war . . . but not all enemies will fall to that sort of tactic. So I let him take his shots, and I do not leave for to do so would weaken the tribe even more." Jerr sighed. "As long as you are not being mistreated, I can live with some words . . . for now."

    His young son looked up to the grizzled face in profile and smiled wolfishly. "No dad, nothing I cannot handle."

    "Good, you are the last one I was sent to fetch, maybe now I can get a meal." As if on cue, the skalds stomach gave off a rumble.

    They both waved at the guards on the cliff as they passed and were greeted at the door to the sisterhood by Amith. "We out of ale. Do without or go get."

    Jerr sighed. "Yes dear." He hugged his son and kissed his True Wife and headed into Jiyyd.

    When he got back, the door was open and the house was silent.

    The house was never silent.

    Ever.

    He looked at the doorstep and remembered fighting an undead ogre in the process of breaking in. Now the door was open. The axe slid into his hand without conscious thought as he accelerated to a flat out charge into the house spinning left after bouncing off of desk in the front hall. He scanned the kids room in passing, seeing no sign of trouble other than the usual chaos he continued on into the eating hall axe held high.

    He wasn't ready for what happened next.

    Nobody ever is.


  • He set the deer meat down on the table and looked over to Amith who was busy keeping three things on the go at the same time. "OK, that is the rest of the meat. Now what?" She pointed to a list on the wall and he squinted to find more things to fetch. "Right. I will go get the kids from Peltarch and bring them down. Be back later, Love."

    She smiled, watching him leave. It was funny but you could always hear the different ways he said Love. She also thought it was funny that he was working so hard for something and he had no clue about what was going on. A few moments later two of their older daughters poked their heads in. "Make cookies and cake." Amith directed them as they grabbed aprons and set about the kitchen.

    "Daddy gone?" Sara asked looking back at the door.

    "North to get the boys." Amith started carving the meat and tossing parts on different platters, some to be roasted, some for a stew.

    "So the young ones can decorate?" At Amith's nod Rose whistled and yelled "Do it" and screams of delight filled the eating hall as boxes were dragged out of hiding and opened. Streamers and hanging began to rise up as high as little hands could reach. Sisters arrived to boost the little ones up higher and the room began to transform.

    The docks of Peltarch are a place one can always find work, if you are not lazy. The sons of the Sisterhood worked and were known for not complaining about the weather or the shirking their duties. But today was a special occasion. Young Mica had been rebuilding a ships crows-nest, or so any who asked would be told. In truth he was keeping a watch to the south for a familiar form. His whistle sounded across the docks and dockyard foremen nodded as the brothers gathered their things and headed down to meet their 'father'. "Who is that." asked a Captain new to the docks.

    "The big guy? That is Jerr. Not a friendlier guy you can meet in a tavern, always willing to buy you a drink and hear about your day. Sings a mean sea chantey if you get him in the right mood and his morning and evening songs are always welcome." The foreman checked off the jobs that the lads had left with him, once again impressed at what they had gotten done while they were waiting.

    "So he is a bard, eh?"

    The foreman blanched and whispered harshly. "Don't let him or any of his sons hear you say that. He hates that term, he says he is a skald, whatever the hells that means."

    The Captain looked out at the hugs being exchanged by the odd assortment of men. "Which ones are his sons?"

    "All of them."

    "All? There is a hin, two full humans and a halforc there. They cannot all be his sons."

    "I hear tell he has many wives, and that he lives in a house full of women down south. But that is just bar-talk. All I know is the lads told me that they would need a day or two for a family celebration and that I could give them the time off or fire them. Jerr came up to escort them down south to their house."

    "He is escorting them?" The Captain blinked.

    "Well the roads are not as safe as they once were. Travelling with a group is safer and as Jerr jokes . . . 'hide behind me and nothing will be able to even see ya'. More than a few folks have travelled south under his care and I ain't never heard that he lost one."

    "Knows all the back ways eh?"

    The foreman shakes his head. "From what I hear, he goes right through the main routes. The axe he carries ain't just a decorative piece."

    The Captain snorts. "Gotta be strong to father so many kids from so many women."

    "Aye, that, too." The both laughed and returned to the business of the docks.

    Jerr was in a jolly mood having gathered his sons together and the trip down to the house was relatively peaceful. The few hobbers that made the mistake of thinking it was easy pickings fell to thrown axes long before they got close enough to even be a bother. They spoke of earlier times while stopping off at a farm to pick up another of Jerrs daughters, now a married woman and then swung down to Norwick to get a few more. They separated just outside the house as Jerr promised to be in soon, but he still had to touch base at the Featherflight camp.

    The children went in to the house to help as the skald swung south once more, a huge smile on his face.

    Faces watched from the window as he jogged off, small giggles smothered.

    The decorating continued with more laughter as lookouts watched the road for potential guests still to arrive.


  • Manners

    Jerr sat by the fires of the gypsy camp, carving another animal and singing softly to himself. He looked up and spoke softly as people came and went, settling small arguments and issues with a gentle voice and a willing ear. It appeared he was waiting for someone but he did not seem at all worried about the time or even the weather. His wife brought him a simple meal at midday and he smiled and kissed her softly before reaching for another piece of wood and tried to free another image of an animal from the grains.

    It was late in the afternoon when Dwin showed up, looking slightly preoccupied as he sat down next to the skald with a grunt. "Even when ye gets what ye asks fer, tis not what ye expected, is it?"

    Jerr chuckled and shook his shaggy mane of white hair. "No, just have to get married to know that lesson. Or take a job that is bigger than you expected. Norwick keeping you busy?"

    Dwin grunted and dug a pair of bottles out of his pack and tossed one to Jerr in way of an answer. "So, I got yer note about having a small chat. Ye want ta take this somewhere more private?"

    Again, the head shook in amusement. "No, this be a bit of a lesson in manners for you and any who care to listen in are always welcome to. I am not a big fan of hidden knowledge. Not the way of the tribes."

    "Ah, so this be tribal matters, does it?" Dwin sipped and smiled. "Well, then, I am all ears."

    Jerr leaned back and drank deep of his own ale and then looked at the bottle and smiled. "I suppose I should start at the beginning and then work my way out. Greeting the dead changes from tribe to tribe, Here in the gypsy camp they have day of the dead festivals and the greeting is in a party setting. The Heyokarr are not quite that flamboyant." He sips again and looks about at other curious folks listening in. "We of the Heyokarr remember our dead in the death lays which I sing once a year. Now Nicahh has also learned the lays so I am not the only one who remembers. Tis a very hard task and the singing takes three days to do. We sing every death of remembrance of the tribe."

    "Of the past year?" Dwin asked.

    "That we can remember. Period. All of them." Jerr sighed. "It depresses me and I am prone to drink a bit too much."

    The flat of the great sword seemed to come out of nowhere to hit him on the back of the head. "Far too much" Amith corrected in Elven as she set a dinner down beside him and set some food next to Dwin as well. It was a well spiced meat and some fresh breads.

    Jerr grinned up at his wife and smiled, rubbing the back of his head. "Far too much." He nodded to Dwin with a rueful smile and ate as they talked. "The dead have their own feasts, in many lands beyond the living. Our food and theirs are not the same and so to offer or offer food across the border of death indicates . . . a lack of knowledge."

    "Ya mean it is a dumb thing ta do?" Dwin mumbled around a piece of venison.

    "Yup yup. Dumb is another way to say it. Drink is the same way, although I can proudly say I once managed to take a drink to the fugue for the skeleton who is there. Shoulda brought a mop, too. Messy business all around. So the normal tribal greeting of food, drink and warmth is not really relevant. Vision is. We dress in our best for seeing the dead. Colors abound in our formal ceremonial robes if we plan to speak to the dead for that is something that crosses the boundaries between the living and the dead. That, and sound. So how you look, and speak is a key consideration. Which brings me to what you should discuss."

    Jerr took a break to sing the sun down and Dwin listened politely and smiled as the skald included a standard hymn to Morradin along with the hymns to Tempus and Lathander. "Thank ye lad."

    Jerr nodded and sighed as the last bit of the daylight became the orange red of twilight. "The dead appreciate song and I will most likely be singing during the entire time you are talking so I will not be able to advise or take part in the discussions."

    Dwin nodded. "You and other skalds?"

    "There are no others." Jerrs eyes went bleak for a moment. "The shamans have their own songs and they will sing them as best they can. But the one child I trained to replace me died. The other tribes have been looking to me to fill in for services but the way of the skald is dying out. We are considered . . . well, that is not the topic for right now. Just let it be that I am . . . last."

    Dwin frowned but nodded at what was obviously a sore topic for Jerr. "So there will be song and music."

    Jerr sighed and shook himself as though throwing off the mood and smiled. "Aye, best I can do. Might ask Harmony if she can perform, or some of the bards from the college. The dead appreciate new talents and songs. Harmony is damn good, she sometimes accompanies me in the morning song and makes me look bad." He grinned. "Now for the next part. The dead do not hold the same allegiances they might have had in life. They have been dead a long time and may not want to be reminded of things that they did or said on this side of the border. So calling up old treaties or old affairs will only complicate matters as well as frustrate them."

    "Frustrate?"

    "Aye, like we are children whining about being promised a sweet three weeks ago. For them what happened in life is a distant memory so to call upon promises and favors owed is putting us in the same class as the child."

    Dwin nodded. "That may make things a bit more difficult."

    Jerr shrugged. "If it was easy, it probably wouldn't be part of your job description. So you have them before you and you cannot call upon times gone by you must focus on the hear and now. Have clear what you want and what you hope for. Now you do have another portion of this to worry about. The Kelemvorite Templars. The shamans are already mad at them and the third call is going to be coming when the signs are right. If the paladins and priests get in the way of the dead then it will be come the duty of the living to guard them. I am talking battle. The dead will not fight but the youngbloods who guard them are already bragging about what they are going to do to the 'dead turtles'."

    "Dead turtles?"

    "It is what they call the paladins and priests in their heavy armor. You should have seen the party that was held for the ones who blocked up the gates of the temple on the second call. Those lads will not want for companionship or honor for some time. But the next time will not be blocked by such a simple trick." Jerr frowned. "I have no problem with the members of the temple itself, but I don't think they are going to listen to reason on this one. From what I understand, what we are going to be doing and what we have done so far goes strongly against everything they stand for. They see my people as nothing less than necromancers."

    Dwin frowns and nods. "Tis nay gonna be easy, I'll admit."

    Jerr leans back and grins. 'Ah well, that is why they pay you the big bucks and I am just a simple scout."

    Dwin sighed and they both grew silent, watching the sparks from the fires shoot up into the night.

    //ooc
    any and all can consider this slightly common knowledge if they have ties with the gypsy camp


  • Jerr rubbed his face in his hands and stared out at the crossroads, below. What was going on? He was having a harder time controlling his anger and keeping a smiles for the people around him. Lor had been a blessing as she sat and listened quietly to him spill out the latest woes. And somehow he knew she understood what he was going through. Caught in one form and feeling the emotions of the other. It was all he could do to keep from becoming a hazard to strangers. Looking to the sky he nodded, he needed true rest.

    Later, curled in the bolts of cloth and having added new shiny rocks to his collection he felt more calm and a peace with himself. He made a list in his mind of things he had to do and the best order to accomplish them in. The lesson for manners for Dwin could wait, it would be a bit of time before the third Call. But that lesson did have to take place. Being rude to the living was bad, being rude to the dead, far far worse. Speaking of manners . . . .

    He ran his hand across the lace bolt on one side of him and frowned. He had expected somebody would have offered to teach Mare by now, but according to the apprentice board, nobody had. He sighed and nodded to himself. He would have to brush up a bit. It had been a very long time since he had been trained in that art, but . . . he nodded to himself. She was under his care, whether she liked it or not, and he would teach her.

    As he still had duties for the tribe.

    That hurt.

    The abuse was growing in the tribe, the disrespect of the chief to his skald was infecting other warriors. Sneers and side comments about fetching a pillow for the old man to sit on. Of making sure he did not doze off at the fire. And he had even had coins tossed out of the dark beyond the fire when he sang of the old ways. Nothing he could make a challenge out of, just the little cuts that never stopped . . . never healed. He did not change his routine of visiting the camp, it was his duty. But it was not feeling like home, anymore.

    Only here was.

    He stood and moved across to the skull and ran his hands round an eye socket. "Well old bones? Did they drive you into your cave, over the years? Did you have friends, family, and then slowly they all vanished into time?" The skull said nothing.

    He sat down at the desk and frowned, sorting a few scrolls absentmindedly before the smell of food reached him. She came carrying a covered casserole. "Thought I would find you down here, old fool."

    He smiled at his TrueWife. "I never hide from you, not sure I could."

    She slapped him absently as she set the huge dish down before him. "We share."

    "Always." He dug into the venison with gusto and they elbowed each other in a friendly way as they ate. "If the kids saw us eating this way . . . "

    "It would take us weeks to break them of the habit. But we don't bring them down here."

    "Only a few folks even know here IS here."

    She straightened the area a bit as she moved about it. Touches the glowing sphere, ran her fingers through a bowl of silver rings on a bookshelf. "You are gathering things." She looked at him oddly. "You need to get out and hunt. We need more meat put away for the winter. If you collect things, collect meat, things for family, for sisters."

    Jerr reached out to her and smiled. "And I may get in a better mood?"

    "Tired of you coming home grumpy, if you come home at all." She groused.

    He pulled her into his lap and smiled. "I have to come home, everything I need is here, right now." He squeezed her tight and buried his face in her hair.

    Slap. "Old fool." But she didn't try to get away.


  • He rolled over and rubbed his face on silk. Even with his eyes closed he could sense the sky blue of the fabric. Beneath it a fine cotton competed for attention but he frown slightly. When had he added furs to his bedding? His right hand swept along the new touch and then he remembered, just as the fur began to rumble in a soft purr. Lilin. He slowly propped his eyes open and looked over at her large head and slanted eyes. Then he shook his head and chuuckled. "Ya know, this was not why I invited you down here."

    She looked at him and then down at a spot on her fur that was damp . . . he had drooled in his sleep. She looked back at him accusingly.

    "Oh be real, love. How different is it from the way that you wash? For that matter I am SURE it is not the first time you have been drooled on. Or over, for that matter." He stretched across the collection of fabrics and revelled in the various textures.

    She looked about the little area with cautious eyes before sitting up and cleaning herself. The glow from a stone on his desk filled the little nook with moonlight. Colours looked a bit different and for a moment she saw him as a very young man, rather than the elder of the camp that he was. He stood and moved across to his desk before looking back at her. She met his gaze with steady eyes of green.

    "I am going to be working on some writing here. You are welcome to stay, but I will not be much company." He said in an almost apologetic tone.

    She snorted and stood with typical feline grace. Walking up to him she waited for him to bow down so that she could lick one side of his face before pacing off into the darkness of the tunnel. His chuckle followed her into the darkness.

    He watched her swiftly meld with the shadows before sitting down to his papers and beginning to sort his projects into piles. The book on the well was stalled until he could get Dirge to finish the frontispiece for him. He would not even consider allowing anybody else to try to do work for this project. A couple of scrolls that had been mishandled lay under a book as he pressed them flat before beginning to try to raise the text. A report for Ael was done and just needed dropping off in Norwick. Then there was a copy of the proposed alliance between Gali and Norwick to go over and notate. A small list on one corner had all the items checked off. He was ready to . . . he would have to tell Nicahh that all the physical materials were prepared. Though timing was somewhat determined by the stars he could manage to bull his way through almost anytime. But just because the physical was prepared did not mean that she was ready. THAT would be the determining factor. The second column of check marks was more sparse, he had Lor working on doing the gathering for that one.

    He looked at his bookshelf and whispered the word that unlocked it and spent some time sorting the scrolls, adding and subtracting from those that he carried. He sighed and added a few more to the shelves and again promised himself that he would get them properly filed soon. He knew he was lying. Back at the desk he made a short list of issues. Nicahhs dreams was at the top of the list. That was followed by the retrieval of the Gali souls . . . with Ezachiel. He made a face and shook his head. After that came Lors spirit walk. He missed Tindra and hoped that a fair deal could be reached that allowed both to be around. Then there were the usual tasks of scouting the Rawlins and writing reports, checking with the Gali and making sure the camp was running well, checking into the Featherflight/Heyokarr Camp and making sure that the tribesmen were managing to integrate.

    He sighed.

    Once he had been a tribesman first and foremost. Now he was . . . more . . . when had it changed? Had he lost or gained something with this change? He didn't know if he wanted the answers to this one. He also knew he would have to find them just the same.


  • He jogged along the road north out of Norwick with a song in his heart. The sky was a bright blue, one of those clear crisp days that make you happy to draw a breath. Someone had been through, of late, so the road was clear and he rounded the curve into the gypsy camp and was soon settled in his own tent praying and planning.

    Spirit quest and dream walking . . . .he had been taught of them long ago.

    The tent faded out as the young warriors and one skald in training breathed deep of the sweet grass fire and sang the focusing chant. "You are to stay with your guide." The older skald and the shaman sat side by side and sang as well. "Some of you may meet your totem and what you will do will help determines your path in life. Others of you are not ready, or else your guide is not. There is no shame in this."

    The tent faded further until they were on a snowy hilltop, yet none felt the bite of the cold. To the north the mountains climbed up into the clouds, to the south was a lane that seemed to weave even as the watched it. "We are going to the spirit realm. Do not go down this hill, for the easiest path exists only in your dreams."

    "So it is not there, truly?" The skald asked, looking down the slope.

    'I did not say that. It is the way to the dreamtime. In that direction is the dreams of one of us, and all the nightmares that go into those dreams. It is not for younglings or for an old man like myself. One does not ever enter the dreamtime unless ALL understand the dangers involved."

    "Like if we die here, we die in the realworld?"

    "This IS part of the realworld. Dammit Jerr it is all real, just different planes. No, death is obvious. It is the hidden dangers that one must know. Right now we are on a spirit quest. This is where you go, to confront an inner aspect of yourself. To make it your own guiding principle. Down there is to go into another persons realities and inner self. If you die in there you will leave echoes. They will be haunted by your death within them. And how many of us want to see the dreams of another? See how they truly think and feel?."

    One of the warriors at the back muttered he'd like to see the dreams of one of the battlemaidens in the camp. The Older skald spun and pointed at him. "And if she dreamt of you as a babe in arms? Or a clown? Or maybe just not at all for she has never truly noticed you? How will you handle not existing. If you dream walk you can fade and weaken. The guide would have to pull you out before you ceased to be."

    "j j j ust fade?" The warrior considered death by obscurity and blanched.

    ""In every persons dreams, they are the center. If you have to go into them you should have a very very good reason. What you do in there can kill you. What you do in there strikes at their very inner being. If they do not trust you all the dark of their mind will array before you, to keep you from the center. Even if they DO trust you sometimes the mind erects defences for its own reason. And that ignored the privacy issues. You will not know if you see memory or dream, all will look the same."

    "Then why bother? I want my Lion spirit."

    "The old shaman nodded and lead the way up the slope. "Seldom is there reason to go into a persons mind. But it does happen." He looked back at the young skald huffing and puffing up the slope. "and you need to be ready for it."

    He was.

    He had spoken to Ael and done his best to explain the dangers and the possible benefits. Now he had to find Keira and do the same. But he knew what the outcome would be. He could tell her that they would most likely die or go mad but it would save Nicahh and she would be asking when they would be leaving. He chuckled. It was time to start gathering the supplies. Some of them would be a bit difficult to get and he would need some help over the next few days. He grabbed some parchment and started the list.

    Sweet Grass, Eastern plains beyond Jiyyd or else maybe the ruins of Ormpur.
    The woods, oak, cherry, birch, ash, pine, deadwood.
    And a set of drums, one for each dream walker and one for Nicahh, perfectly tuned.

    A trip to Ormpur was first, Lor came with him and helped with her finer tuned sense to find the sweet grass. Neither wanted to kill the worgs and wolves and tried to avoid it if they could. But the first ingredient was found. Lor and Tindra had their own worries and he wondered if he would be able to help them as well. So many of his friends were finding enemies within.

    He shook his head and started gathering the woods and visiting the crafters looking for scraps of the various types of woods. He left a note for Eluriel, if anybody could find him theb harder woods it would be her, or Z.

    m


  • The Featherflight grounds were quiet. All had gathered and waited for the sun to set, watching the dusk grow and the wood being piled high. When the sun touched the horizon a slow drum beat rang out as the skald entered the clearing, followed by his wife and many of his adopted children. They wore their best clothes and stepped in time to the steady drum beat that seemed to penetrate bodies and shake the very walls of the camp. Tents began to pulse to the drum beat and then, with his palm, he stilled the drum and stood before the fire-to-be.

    "My son, Dyson, sang the deaths of warriors who defended this camp, paying the highest price. I sorrow that I was not here that day, to see and hear him. I sorrow more that I will never see or hear him again. He and Bel went after the the man who lead the attack on the camp and they never returned. Years have passed but that wound is still fresh, still pains me. I know I am not alone in this." He looked around at the solemn and sad faces and then to his wife who stands, an elven statue beside him.

    "Loss is part of The Way. But we have a the means to temper the loss. For we remember."

    The crowd intoned "We remember."

    "Each laugh and each tear. Each touch and each blow. We remember." He spoke loudly, to the stars, more than to one person.

    "We remember."

    "So we have not lost, we have just had two of our own pass on to the beyond. There, they await us." He paused. "When we see them next I hope to be able to tell them . . . " His voice broke for a moment. Amith said nothing but laid a hand on his arm. "To tell them that they were remembered . . . and avenged. We know who we owe."

    The crowd rippled with a name . . . Corde.

    "He escaped the battle of Norwick. But his kind does not run far. It may be he went to the drow, or perhaps deep into bugbear territory . . . but he will not be forgotten. Dyson and Bel were good boys, good men. But the world is a balance, for good there will be evil. For those who give without asking anything in return there will be those who take and demand. Such men and women still walk the land. For Bel, for Dyson do not let them take from the tribes, from the land. For to do so would be to forget."

    He looked over at the torch held ready for him and shook his head. "Dragons do not forget." He took a deep breath and slowly blew flames onto the pyre. It lit the clearing and the flames leaped into the night. Sparks spun to join the stars in the sky as he smiled to the crowd and began to play a lively beat. "We remember with laughter, not tears. With joy of the lives we knew and touched."

    The party went into the morning hours.


  • After the battle Soja tried to sort the chaos into some form of cohesive memory. As she had been trained, she started by sorting it into the six parts. Smell, sound, sight, touch, taste, and inner.

    Smell. There had been the smell of a fire built with oil that was swiftly replaced with the stink of the goblins as they charged. That, in turn was replaced by a smell of burning flesh as Jerr had breathed fire at the charging line and killed five in a moment of flames and a roar that defied description. The rest of the battle had been overlayed with the smell of smouldering goblins. Then came the awful moment as she smelled the crisp copper tang of human blood along with the fresh feces and knew one of her party had been gutted.

    Sound. The Battle screams of more than fifty goblins were drowned out by the battle cry of one man trained in the art. His cry of "The Land! Nars, we!" and the battle hymn that followed penetrated and carried him and the women forward, adding that extra 'ooomph' to the swings. The beat didn't change even as he spun to chop the goblins that surrounded him. It took her a moment to realize he was still dancing. Then came the scream from one of the twins as the other fell, a goblin blade deep in her belly. Jerrs answering roar made all the previous sounds whispers. Most goblins actually ran from the clearing in fear of the rage contained in that single shout enhanced by a drum beat that echoed off of distant hills.

    Sight. Each of the battlemaidens used a different weapon. Mira, the youngest lanced in and out of the fray with her spear, like a stinging bee. Carah, the eldest, used the greatsword and the area near her was filled with limbs of goblins. With great sweeps she would occasionally reap a harvest of lives in one stroke that swept through a rank of the charging mob. The twins, as usual, locked their shields and advanced through the mob with scimitars sweeping out in delicate cuts. Jerr was using his great axe and she remembered watching him cut straight through the haft of the largest goblins warhammer to drive that axe deep into the skull. As for Soja, she had used the weapon still in her hands. The balance was perfect and she spun it end for end throwing up shining arcs of blood as she moved on to another goblin. The look on the twins faces as one lay on the ground the other desperately standing over her. Matched in pain and anguish, but only one of them was bleeding.

    Touch The rough center of the new weapon kept a firm grip. The clink and slide of blocked attacks sending shockwaves the length of her blades. The rasp of air, in, out. Breath was life in a battle. The footing getting muddy as blood pooled around the Narsfolk and goblins fell.

    Taste His lips tasted like ale and ashes . . . but that wasn't part of the battle, just part of the confusion.

    Inner Confusion at the gift and her own fool grin she could feel on her face. He was an overweight singer of lessons and waaaay too old. But his gift had been nice and to watch him dance . . . or fight . . . not all his lessons were sung. Then had come when the twin fell. Soja had trained to be a battlemaiden all her life. They all knew the chance of loss and death and accepted it. She somehow realized that Jerr knew it, but wouldn't accept it. He made all his previous movements seem slow as he skidded to a halt beside the twin and sang a healing song, ignoring arrows that still flew from the shadows of the wood. He then touched a rod to her and prayed softly, singing and twisting the rod in some subtle fashion till its glow spread out across her body. Soja felt a thrill as the twin twisted and coughed once, clearing blood from her throat before sitting up. Jerr nodded and looked out to the forests and shouted a challenge that brought an end to the arrows and peace to the clearing.

    Sorted it began to make sense.

    The kisses, after, had been thanks for bringing back the twin from the edge. And revelling in a life still to be lived. They had all kissed him . . . it was no big thing.

    But she could still taste his lips

    and she was still confused.

    and she kept the gift

    no big thing

    right?

    …


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

    But that was all just stalling for time.

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

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

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

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

    And he was younger than Jerr.

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

    "I don't want . . . "

    Jerr nodded. "I know."

    "It's not fair."

    "Never is, never ever is."

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

    "That battle is over, we won, Edde"

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

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

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

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

    "I don't want . . . "

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

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

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

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

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

    "Ah . . . .heyo . . ."

    "The spirits they are with us, Ave Heyokarr"

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

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

    'Battle it calls.'

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

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

    It never does.

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

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

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

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

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

    He did not get his wish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

    He sighs and takes a sip of ale before continuing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Just tell the tale."

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

    "Problem?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Scared skald?" One taunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    A moment later the forest glade was empty.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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