3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


  • Amith was finally off to the house getting supplies and Mare was asleep. Jerr sat on the cliff edge and looked up to the moon, almost full. Two more days and his deadline would be past. The chief would declare him dead and move on to his New Ways and new vision for the tribe, having cut free the anchor to the past that theskald was. He looked down off the cliff and thought of all the times he had wished for death, for release from the flames and shuddered. He could hear voices in the lower camp echoing up. Odd accents, even for the polyphonic land of theNarfell pass. He shrugged and coughed, a bit of smoke coming out of his lungs.

    One of the boys of the camp scrambled up the hidden access and ran to him. "Jonni sez there be strangers asking after you. They talk funny. He wants to know if you are expecting visitors."

    Jerr looked down at his hands and frowned. Amith had hidden his axe, because he wanted to go south to find the Kossuthans. His armor was in the tent, under Mare and he wasn't going to wake her. "What do they look like?:" He asked hoarsely.

    "One of them is carrying a brass horn bigger than me. Another has a armor that is covered in little dangly bits. The last looks damn cold cause he ain't wearin much more than normal clothes and dey look all soft an fuzzy." The boy squinted trying to see the visitors in his mind while he described them. "Usual weapons cept the blue one has a bow that is twice da size o any I seen here. An the fuzzy guy has a staff of a weird sort of wood with drooping branches coming off the top of it. Like a ladies hair."

    "Colors?" Jerr asked pulling on weighted gloves and tugging his whip free of its place in his pack, setting it to one side.

    "Blues, green and the fuzzy one is in light browns."

    "No red? Show them up." Jerrs whip hissed across to knock the flap closed on the tent, hiding Mare. The boy ran off as Jerr focused on the now and his temperature began to rise.

    The three arrived and looked to see the skald sitting with a tent behind him. There was no fire nor even signs of where a fire might be laid but the smell of smoke and cooking meat filled the air. It was the one in the tan 'fuzzy' clothes who spoke first, inDamaran. "We had heard from traders that you were dead. It is pleasing that this is not so."

    Jerr sat unmoving and asked. "I do not know you, how is it that my life would be of interest to you?" His Damaran was an older dialect of the tribes.

    The Bowman in Blue smiled lazily. "I am Sytur, Battlehorn of the Manticores. This, " He gestured to the green clad man beside him. "Is my apprentice Yerot." The man in green bowed respectfully and said nothing.

    "And I am Swaervor Water-singer of the Otters." He shook his staff and a soft wind made it whistle slightly.

    Jerrs eyes had widened as they introduced himself and he shook his head slowly. "I . . i . . I offer you food and drink, if you need fire . . " he chuckled and winced, "it will come soon enough. But I welcome you to my camp.

    They all took a sip of his canteen that he passed over and a bite of his rations before sitting. Swaervor was the last to sit and he did so with a slow dignity and grace that spoke of a lifetime of training. Jerr could see that the staff he carried was still living wood and the tendrils dangling off the top moved against the wind, occasionally. There was a minute of silence as theskald and his guests took their measures of each other. Sytur was strong, his forearms spoke of a life with a bow and such a bow it was, Long and of a supple dark wood that glistened with an inner sheen of natural oils. The quiver was half again as long asJerrs and no doubt held arrows that matched the bow in size and make. The horn at his side was long and straight and may have held some common heritage with an elven hornJerr had once owned and played. It was carved with runes and images of battle and had seen many a dent and scar in its day, like its owner. Yerot sat respectively just to the left and back a pace from the circle the other three made. His belt held a double set of short swords that some might laugh at, but notJerr, who had also noted how quietly the apprentice moved across the camp. Swaervor was wearing what Jerr guessed to be sealskins, light brown and tan he would be nothing but a shadow in the muddy waters of a river.

    Skalds. Battllehorn, Water-singer, call them what you will, these were men from the lowlands, and skalds.

    In the same time they looked at their host, faces unreadable as they took in what they saw, and knew. The skald of the Nars was human . . . or was born one, of the Heyokaar tribe. He was reputed to be over 90 years old now yet the man that faced them looked like a very burnt and damaged younger man. Heavy set and bandaged loosely with charred rags he sat still with a dignity that spoke of decades of experience. As he removed his gloves they could see that is hands were burnt the most yet there was a drum sitting nearby that showed both blood and soot on it. He was reputed to be an axeman yet none was visible although an elven bow and a whip lay close to where he sat. The burns across his body looked fresh, though they had heard tell of the battle more than a week ago. It had taken this long to find where he was, a youngHin had almost eagerly given them directions to the gypsy camp. The members of the camp had been guarded and watchful of the strangers when they had told of the purpose of their visit. Which was both as it should be, but not here. He was not with his tribe, recovering. There was no sign of shamans or healers yet the man was obviously injured seriously. The single tent behind him could at most hold a few people. There was something wrong far beyond just the injuries the man had.

    Swaervor spoke first. "You are Jerr of the Heyokarr. Yet we hear that you also serve as skald for all the highland tribes. Is this so?"

    Jerr nodded slowly. "Thom of the Red Tigers died some seasons ago. My son, whom I was training, has also walked the final path. TheFeatherflights were hoping he would be theirs, one day. I have no apprentices though I did what I could to keep the histories alive."

    "You taught women." The voice was mild, neither accusing nor encouraging.

    "A Near-wife learned the death lays. An adopted daughter, the sun hymns. I taught women, yes."

    Sytur leaned forward. "A women can sing the deathlays? Unheard of. Impossible."

    "She is all that and a quiver of arrows." Jerr chuckled. "I stand by my decisions and make no apologies for them."

    Swaervor nodded. "Nor should you." he looked to Sytur and murmered, "Even a bent stick . . . "

    " . . . is an arrow if all else is gone." Sytur leaned back nodding.

    "HEY!"

    All hands did not move though each man suddenly knew exactly where his and everyone elses weapons were as the womans clear voice echoed in the camp.

    Mare slapped the tent flap aside and came out to stand with her hands on her hips. "Who are you calling a 'bent stick'?"

    Her red hair shone like a quicklsilver fire in the moonlight and her eyes blazed with challenge. She walked up to sit in exactly the same position behind Jerr that Yerot was behind Sytur. She moved with a dancers grace and a bit of a hip sway that was a challenge to the mens club that sat before her. She looked at Jerrs back and winced, seeing that some of the bandages were smouldering. He shook, smothering a cough and she knew he was fighting the fires within, again. "I sent the tales south with the traders. You took your own sweet time getting here, too. Jerr is going to be declared dead by his chief in two days. We got lucky and rescued him from his captors . . ."

    "Who are dead?" This was the first time Yerot had spoken and his voice was like the whisper of a blade leaving its sheath.

    "And ashes." She nodded. "They burned up where they lay, with no help from us."

    The newcomers looked at each other and shook their heads. "They will be back, then." Yerot said, finally.

    "Didn't you hear me? Dead, burned, nothing left." Mare said.

    "The Kossuths have a spell. Firebird . . . "

    "Phoenix" Jerr corrected.

    "Yes, phoenix. They prepare for their deaths and if they fall they rise from ashes they have prepared back at their temple."

    "Good." Jerr said flatly. "I have some unfinished business with them." As if on cue his right arm started to flare up until the bandages had burnt off and his skin writhed in the flames that came from inside. Jerr shuddered and smiled through the pain. "And warmth by my fire."

    Mare started to explain to them but she saw that none of the others had any move to help or even one of surprise. So she watched them from her place behindJerr and listened.

    "We have seen that spell before. It is a curse. Its duration is usually longer than a man can live, though many take their own lives." Swaervor looked into Jerrs eyes and nodded. "But not you. You have your own fire, and now you know you have something that needs doing. You may burn, but you will not burn out."

    Jerr straightened as the Water-singer spoke. His eyes burned with an inner fire that had nothing to do with a curse. The arm lit the area with flames but they could see that the pain was not reaching the man, now.

    Yerot looked from Jerr to Mare, behind him and nodded. His pain was hurting her as well, though he would be blind to it, for the moment. Her face was sharp and drawn as she sat, taking in it all and brushing a stray orange lock of hair out of her eyes. She would make a goodnearwife, one who already knew the duties of a Battlehorn. But she would not look his way, her eyes were always on her father or Swaervor . Yet hers had been the plan that sent the rumors and messages south. What power did she have in this northern land to be able to plan and execute such an audacious endeavour? His gaze switched to the older man and the light from his burning arm put the edges of his face in jagged relief. Yerot knew that the flames burned as though the arm were resting in a campfire yet the skald sat still and only the occasional wince told of what he must be feeling. She was the fox but the man would be the old wolf, or was it dragon? Either way, ifYerot ever had to battle these two he would strike the man first and try not to present a vulnerable side to his cub.

    As though she felt his eyes upon her Mare looked Yerot up and down and shifted slightly. It was probably coincidence that it presented both her cleavage AND her weapon to better view.

    Yerot prayed he would never fight against these two.

    Swaervor looked to Jerr and asked. "Will you heal here, or go home?"

    Jerr whispered "What is home?"

    "There comes a time when the singer is rejected, the song old and out of tune with the times. We are the conscience of the tribes, their contact with who they are. Even if they wish to be someone else we are there to keep them both anchored and flowing in times river. That is one of the great times of testing. Does the conscience or the tribal 'wants' win?" He looked toJerr and spoke with great passion. "You are not a weak man. You would have been dead long ago if you were. But this is not about strength, it is about staying power. Can you stand alone, before your tribe when they wish you were no longer there?" He paused and looked into the flaming eyes of theskald. "It is your decision. You judge only yourself in this."

    "Then why are you here?" Jerr whispered.

    "Times like this belong to more than one tribe. Whatever you do, whatever you decide, will be taken home by us, sung to our own tribes and kept in our histories." Sytur intoned. "For that is our way."

    "It is the Old Way." Jerr nodded.

    The three visitors stood, dusting themselves off. "We will find a place to sleep in your camp below. If you wish to talk listen you have but to send word and we will come."

    Jerr stood and hobbled forward for a moment. "Don't leave just yet. Stay for sunrise. Sing with . . . us." He waved forward Mare who carried both her drum and his. His was wrapped in wet rags that he slowly unwound, looking to the horizon the whole time. The others stepped up behind him readying their own instruments. Jerrs drum rang with the first strike and the hymns to Lathander, Tempus, and Uthgar echoed out across the pass. The skills of the five musicians blending to make the Gods pause for a moment and look down . . .

    and another day began.

    in a quiet darkness

    one voice muttered a curse.


  • The first few days after he was rescued were a blur of pain and bandages. His skin was charred and crips and removing bandgaes often re-opened the damage. The flames that leaked out of his skin burned bright, as though a fire raged below the surface.

    So they took him to the pixie roost and there he sat. Some friends came to visit, all wnated to use healing magics on him but after the first time he warned them off. Amith had cast a healing spell and the backlash of fire had hurt her and Mare quite severely. Jerr seemed no better, no worse but to heal him was to release the fire within and endanger the healers.

    His voice was gone . . . screraming for days on end will do that. But he managed the occassional joke for those who came by and he was never alone. Amith was near, cooking one recipe or another as was Mare. They told him edited versions of news of the land. Amith left great blanks in stories that a child could see. Mare was a bit more imaginative but he could hear that the world was changing as he healed.

    Seer came by and he, chuckling, asked that she not use him as a vision fire. He caught her just as she started to lean in and laughed as she leaned back, slightly abashed.

    Telli dropped by with a plant reputed to help burns and it did. The normal healing properties did not set of his inner fire and slowly he gained ground. He shared the chocolates she left with his nurses and started trying to regain his voice. Drumming was too hard as his skin would crack if he moved woo quickly.

    Members from the camp below would hear his voice, in the middle of the night, sometimes singing, more often crying or whimpering. But he was getting better, slowly.


  • The brothers half led, half carried Mica back to the Sisterhood. His eyes were fixed on nothing but the pain of what he saw was easily discerned. The women of the sisterhood gathered round him in the weaving room and he sat, staring at a candle flame for a time before explaining.

    "Da is trying to distract them, lead them away. That is how they wound up in Peltarch. He hates the city with walls but all his crying of high walls made them think that was where he had an attachment. They know better now. He got a little rest and a little stronger but they found the book in the college . . . and they know more, now.

    "They know that he has a family . . . and they will bring him here."

    "Good." Amith spoke the loudest and the fastest but she was not the only one to do so.

    "No, Ma. Not good. If Da figures out where they are taking him . . . he'll do something desperate. Anything to keep them from coming here. I saw it a long time ago but I didn't understand. He will shift so he can die and they won't bother the coming. I saw it Ma, him dying a dragon but I never realized he would die because he was a dragon. I saw but I didn't get it till now. We have to stop him . . . before he hits the crossroads. Da has been along the roads so often he will know where he is, even if they are still torturing him."

    Nicahh whispered. "They'll want him to know, won't they?"

    Mica nodded. "They'll make sure he knows . . . and what will happen when they get here." His eyes snap back to the flame of the candle. "If you make plans, don't do it near flame. People can see through flames. The Seer can and so can the ones who have Da. To talk in front of a flame is to maybe talk in front of them. But they can listen to me all they want . . . I am only saying what they already know."

    Amith looked to the candle flame. "Hear me if you can. He dies and you will not outlive him. My husband. MY HUSBAND."

    The candle flame winked out . . . as though hit by a strong wind.

    Mica looked at it and then at Amith, lit by a high narrow window, she was the image of an ancient elven goddess. "They heard you, Ma. They heard you."


  • After a while the pain is there but you almost reach a state of peace with it. Except these people were very good at what they did. Sometimes the flames were pain, other times they were healing him. And he never knew what was coming next. His mind drifted from the charred husk that was now his body . . .

    She dug the knife into his arm and twisted it. The pain was there but the cut healed behind it. All the time she had watched his eyes. She had atught him a lot about pain . . . .

    Further back he watched as Sy stripped the skin from Nahwen, one strip at a time. He held her hand and winced in sympathy as she tried hard not to cry out. He had gone first and she had been here for him, there was no way he would leave her here. The pain in her eyes screamed though no sound was heard.

    Closer to the now was the feeling he had had in Sharns cave . . . . NO! Away from that thought away away . . .

    In the cauldron he whimpered and slumped.

    On the docks Mica also slumped and started to cry. His brothers rushed to him. All he could gasp was "Take me home. Please take me home. I am sooo sorry Da . . . "


  • Nicahh ghosted through the gates behind Mareann and Amith, a shadow barely noticed by the most keen eyed of the Featherflight guards. They nodded and chuckled as the Heyokaar next to them stayed blissfully unaware. Mare and Amith were as different as could be in their passage through the camp. Amith glided straight ahead, looking neither left nor right till she arrived at the chiefs house. Mare's head was constantly on the move, looking all around noting the difference in the blending of the two tribes and how the camp was laid out. Nicahh evaluated the camp and swiftly found the old woman she had dealt with once before.

    "Where is your husband." she asked after being greeted and offered a small strip of bread and some water.

    "He has gone, hunting accident in the winter. Drow found him alone and left him with a new headdress." She rested her hand on a skull to one side which was marked by a ring of crossbow bolt holes.

    Nicahh looked at it and her face became a mask of calm. "I am sorry, I did not know."

    "The skald was . . .sleeping . . .his wife told us. We buried him, quietly." The last word was whispered in sorrow. Nicahh nodded, knowing that deaths were usually sung.

    "Were the drow found?" The question had a casual tone.

    "No, they hit several times in the past six months. The old bowyer master was found staked out and used as target practice. Crossbows." The old woman spits and rests her hand on the ringed skull, it seems to give her peace. "They are targetting our old, we have lost many."

    "Both tribes?"

    "No, the Heyokarr are a younger group, more warriors and fewer hunters so they did not have the old to lose. The new chief, he is young, strong and wants the same for his people. That was why he challenged the skald-chief and that is what he is pushing for. Racial purity, strength, youth. He speaks of New Ways."

    Nicahh sipped the water and thought on this.

    Amith stood before the chief waiting. He looked at her and then at Mare, face still tracked by tears.

    "Yes?" He grumbled.

    Amith held up a hand before Mare could say anything and continued to wait. Fixing the chief with eyes that had watched children born, grow, die. She looked like she could wait forever.

    Mare, after a moments pause nodded and settled into a more comfortable stance and waited without saying a word.

    Time passed.

    But age of an elf and the patience of a fox trumped young ambition and the need to be doing, growing. "Very well, sit warm yourself, drink and eat if you want. You are guests." Resentful, said but said and Amith nodded and sat, motioning for Mare to do the same.

    "So, why you here? The skald too lazy to come himself? Or is he hiding behind your skirts now?"

    Amith took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I have been told my husband is missing. He vanished while drumming a spirit walk."

    The chief looks about. "Well that is odd. I don't know of any tribesfolk planning one lately."

    "He sang for my daughter, adopted." She gestures to Mare.

    "A skald sings for the tribe, Your husband sang for anyone, he was little more than a bard"

    Mare started as though he had slapped her but she kept silent, eyes beginning to burn with anger.

    "He was drumming the spiritwalk for my daughter, unguarded. Just as he was unguarded when he called the dead." It was not quite an accusation.

    "He found womens skirts hide behind, just the same. He grew beyond the tribe. It started when he married outside the people and has ended with his death."

    Amith leaned forward. "I no said he was dead, but that he was missing."

    "Yes, yes," he waved the difference aside, "we will wait the requisite time before declaring him dead to the tribe. But in truth he has been dead to us for a long time. Our tribe," at this his voice raised and the women knew he was speaking to all present, not to them. "Our tribe is taking new ways, not anchored by archaic traditions and men who slow us and tie us to a time best forgotten. They lived for 'The Land'. But I am here to stand for 'The People'. Are we to stay here, in a grave of dust and tradition? Are we to be the forgotten people? NO! The land may be ours, but only if we have the strength to step up and take it. In honor of the time now passing, we will wait the days and seeks. We will bid farewell to the last of the elders of the tribe. With him die many things, most left best forgotten. The only irony is that he will die unsung as with him the death lays have also gone."

    Her voice was not bardic trained but it did manage to fill the area. Nicahh stepped out and singing the death lays, starting at the very beginning. Mare took up the rhythm on a small drum modeled after her fathers and the sound grew. The chief frowned to be upstaged but he knew batter than to interrupt. One look at the people gathered around nodding and listening, leaning forward to hear each name told him this was a good time to step away from the fire, ignored. Nicahh and Mare sang and drummed for an hour, driving the point home before Amith rose and left the fire, the other two ladies followed her and the music drifted from the camp, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence.


  • 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.