3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


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

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

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

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

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

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

    He smiled and set the the cloak to one side.

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

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

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

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

    What to do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

    The head shakes were almost instantaneous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

    Maybe he was just being too protective.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Jerr looked right into the fire.

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

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

    Lilin looked confused and frustrated "What?"

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

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

    "That hurt me deeply, love."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Jerr nodded, "I'll come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "You'll not fight them?"

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

    The hobgoblin chief chuckled. "yoouuuuuzzz puny"

    "yer good" Jerr admitted.

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

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

    Hobgoblin Chief licked his lips "tastezz gud"

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

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

    "Which bride? I have several."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Does Nicahh know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Nars Skald


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

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

    "Hey!" he yells, grinning.

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

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

    The mage sneers. "Boot licker?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Um, why drow out here?"

    "I do not know but . . . .

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

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

    "Not going to check?"

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

    "What he say?" Asks Wolf.

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

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

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

    "He just.. insult then run?"

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

    Dyson looked confused. "Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

    "Find Bel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "My father . . . "

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

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

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

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

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


  • warning . . . this is a long one, partial transcription of what happend IG*

    He tossed another piece of wood on the fire and sat, looking out into the night. He and Thom had learned so much together. He thought of the long nights working through names and songs . . .

    The ale went down easy, as the ones before it had as well.

    He had been right, but to miss seeing his old friend by one day . . . that hurt . . and to find out this way. He tossed off another ale and looked across at tower hill, deep in a memory far closer to the present.

    He looked out into the night, the others paused behind him. Execept maybe Braeth, he had vanished into the night shadows but Jerr somehow knew he would not be far. "They are watching . . . ANYTIME! TALK OR OTHERWISE!"

    Rary asked "What quarrel do you have with them?"

    Droigo followed that with "Who is they, mr?"

    Jerr didn't turn to answer. "Red Tiger tribe." He said into the night. And what Featherflights are to bows, they are to weapons."

    Natanya pointed ahead, "Maybe is a trail they want you to enter the planes"

    Droigo mumered "I am not familiar with them."

    "They come here now and again to trade, they like furs."

    Natanyas keen eyes spotted the fire on tower hill but Jerr stopped them before they went up. "IF they are here to talk I will not have people with me start a battle . . ."

    Marius offered to stay below and Droigo showed his hands empty. Jerr smiled and shook his head. "Please, it is my honor at stake you may come up but be peacefull unless YOU are attacked"

    Natanya had a bleak look on her face as she said, more to herself than anyone else. "I'll not make that mistake again."

    On the hill was a fire and a Red Tiger banner. Jerr waited and looked around, knowing that even then they were being watched.

    Droigo asked, "Should we be worried about the red tigers?"

    "When they had a skald they followed the old ways but I think their skald has died so they may, or may not. If arrows fly from the dark, I will know." he paused and chuckled. "Actually it will be axes, but you get the idea"

    The Hin whispered, "Axes are even worse, but yeah, I get you."

    The Red Tiger stepped into the light of the fire and faced Rary, who had been preparing, spell after spell. Their eyes met but neither made a move that could be translated as a start of a fight. They shrugged at each other. Jerr stood to one side . . . "I come to your fire, may I sit or am I welcome?"

    The Red Tiger Warrior looked over the group examining, gauging strength. as the skald stood by very formal, awaiting an answer. The Red Tiger Warrior motioned to the fire. Rray stepped aside, looking like he was totally removed from the mundane happenings.

    The Tiger waved the others away from the fire and he and Jerr sat at it.

    Jerr paused and then asked the question foremost in his mind. "So, Is old Thom dead?"

    The Red Tiger Warrior noded, resting his axe on his crossed legs "He is with the Sky Father."

    Jerr sighed "He was a good man, we trained together." He passes an ale across to the warrior and drinks one himself. "To Thom." There was a quiet moment then he continued. "I am Jerr, but you know that."

    The Tiger nodded, drinking to the toast and then sitting body relaxed but seemingly poised for anything. Jerr envied him that state as he felt as wound up as a bowstring.

    Jerr introduced the others around the fire, Lilin as his wife, Natanya as one he was courting. The Tiger nodded approvingly. Droigo as a road companion and Rary as a holy man of note in the Nars region. Braeth stepped out of the shadows and Jerr introduced him as one who was born Light. The Tiger nodded to acknowledge the others but his eyes never left Jerr.

    "Roaring Claw sent me" The Tiger explained to Jerr. He wants to know why you offend."

    "Tell me what choice I had. I needed to speak to your people but not invade their hunting lands. Thrice I rounded the lands drumming. Thrice I called the challenges and was not answered. If you would not answer me there, I would bring you to me. So I challenged."

    "We have heard the drums. We saw the challenges. You were not welcomed. That should have been enough."

    "It wasn't, not now, not in this time." Jerr spoke from the heart, with an urgency that conveyed far more than his words did. But the Tiger sat there, calm and composed. "Things happen beyond your borders that will affect you. I needed to speak, to the shaman, skald, or chief. If I need to earn that right, I will. If I have to burn every totem marker you have to make you pay attention . . . I WILL." The last came out as a shout. "The survivors will listen, or I will be silenced and the gods know . . . I am difficult to make to be quiet"

    TheRed Tiger nodded again, listening, "When the leaves turn red and start to fall, neither do they welcome the snow. And thus the snow waits, until the leaves are gone."

    Now Jerr nodded. "Patience. . . . But the snow does not wait forever."

    "Roaring Claw would have welcomed you, when the time was right." The Warrior said.

    "Will he yet? If I am like the snow?"

    Lilin, to one side, looks up at the snow already falling and then to the bare tree beside her.

    The Red Tiger, on the other hand, looked to his axe, then back to Jerr. "He has understood your insult, and taken it, for now. He wishes to hear your words from my lips. He speaks these words to you… That Thom rode the sky pony on the dawn before your drums were heard. The sky was void, save for a black bird. The signs have decreed you are unwelcomed."
    Jerr nodded. " It sorrows me that that was so. I would have sung my heart out for him, to speed him on his way. He would have been named in the death lays if I knew for sure."

    "The Tigers have sung his lament, and built his cairn."

    "Tell Roaring claw I will be the snow but things build apace and ask him one thing for me. When will the people fight for the lands? When will we stand together as we once did and not depend on other folk, other races, to defend us? They are my friends." He points to the elves. "They came to watch over me, they are friends, but they defend a land that is ours . . .for US. But they are not Nars." He points to Droido. "Am I to hide and cower behind him? I know the Tigers have their pride and their lands . . . but things are stirring that will need all the folk . . . Tigers, Heyokarr, Featherflights . . . all to stand as one."

    The Warrior growled. "They know nothing of us... thus they cannot fight for us. The Red Tiger fights it's own battles."

    Natanya stirred but said nothing, the movement caught Jerrs eyes and he paused before answering, trying to regain his calm, and failing."We fight together or we die alone. You will die well, honorably and heroically but die you will."

    "We will die with pride." Nods the Tiger.

    "If Roaring Claw agress with you . . . I shall see you in the great halls when the sky ponies take us. One can take pride in being part of a greater whole. I take pride that these folk came out here with me, I asked them not."

    Natanya removed her helm so Jerr could see her proud face shining at the edge of the fires light.

    Jerr spoke softly at first but with rising volume, once more in control of his emoptions and his skills with word and song. "I am a skald."

    The Tiger nodded.

    "I am also Chief of the Heyokarr. Roaring owes me the courtesy of listening before saying no."

    "Your words will be brought to his ears."

    "In this I thank you." Jerr whispered and looked to the sky. "How did Thom die? So I may sing to him at dawn."

    The Red Tiger also looked to the sky, then back to Jerr "Thom joined us on his last hunt. He knew his last summer had come, and wished for it to be."

    "Time works its wonders, fair and foul." Jerr agrees."I thank you for your words, for your time," He chuckles, "and for my drums. Travel well, brother."

    "It is only in honor, to respond your challenge in kind."

    "Sometime perhaps we can compare axe skills." Jerr says with a grin, showing his own axe that his wife had made him.

    The Tiger sized up the fat old skald and replied. "When your winter comes." With that he left the hillside and vanished into the dawn on the plains, the scream of a surpised orc echoed across the span, then there was silence.

    Jerr breathed out slowly, as though he had been holding his breath for a long time. he looked about at those who had stood by him through the night and not one anything to bring him dishonor."If I offended any of you, I apologise."

    Natanya replied."None at all.. for a moment I feared I might offend your companion."

    Lilin looked at him with mixed emotions and asked. "So... they don't want you dead?"

    "Not yet . . . I got lucky, next time I hope it is the chief." He didn't hear his nearwife murmer 'good' softly. "Do you know how many times the tribes have tried to unite?"

    "A lot?" Lilin asks.

    "Whoever tries always fails, and dies." Jerr nodded. "But word is that Alexander is forming a demon army. I plan to be ready for him. But for now, I need to buy some ale to sing Thom's lay."

    "Alexander?" Lilin asked.

    "Gildors son. If I fail . . . " He looks down as the fire that has burned through the night gutters and dies, as though on cue. "poof we all are gone. Oh and Nat? I may have stretched the truth, making you look like a soon to be wife." he grins wolfishly, "I figure you're gonna take some time to convince." then chuckles, " but be afraid, be very very afraid."

    Natanya narrows her eyes with a small grin. "Feel free my dear, if anything I shall take it as the compliment it was meant."

    Rary speaks up, startling Jerr who had almost forgotten he was there. "This demon army is threatening that tribe?"

    "The demon army is threatening all of the Nars." Jerr replies flatly, all merriment of the moment before, gone. "But it is to the tribes shame that whenever a large threat appears that outsiders shoulder the load. Where were the united tribes when the defiler walked the land? The Featherflights sent archers to Norwick to stand off Atul once. That was the closest we have come in living history."

    Raryldor nods "I'm sure you have your pride. But they are not the only ones at risk, then."

    Jerr snorts. "Pride? I am an old fat man. But I also am the leader of a tribe and in that . . . yes . . . there is pride. But we need to EARN that pride! The Heyokarr follow me for my 'wisdom'. I shamed the Featherflights into either standing or hiding. I do NOT know what it will take to convince Roaring Claw. . . but not knowing does not mean I will not try. It just means I might not succeed." He sighed and hung his head. "and Amith says . . . I am not allowed to do that. Far be it from me to disobey a wife." Now grinning at Lilin and Natanya. "Now I have a fire, ale and camp to make and a lot of singing. I really wish I could have laid a stone on his grave. Thank you all very very much."

    He drank another ale and began to sing, of his friend and the days of learning, long ago. Tears silently flowed down his cheeks, unheeded as he paid tribute to the one who had made him, by default, the last of the skalds . . . it was not a title he wanted.


  • The lesson went long into the night, the lad was learning but there was so much more to teach. Jerr felt like there was some timekeeper, watching him and lifting a hand to end it all. "Good, that is enough for the night. Now where can you learn more of these legends?"

    The boy sighs and sets the drum aside. "You have written the ways and put them in the bardic college. You also will be putting a copy in the spellkeep if you get a chance."

    "Exactly. And they will be there for you to find, if I am not about. I have taught you the greetings and the leave takings. The ways of the battle and the funeral, of celebration and of grief. But, son . . . there is so much more."

    "Then teach it to me . . . "

    "I try, lad. I live the ways and I try to show them to the world around us. You talk before you strike. You are willing to listen but if lied to, you have the rights to take recompense. You are the conscience of a tribe, their mouth and their heart. Battle warriors will mock you for being slower, or not as strong. But the same men and women will strain to hear their own names sung in the drinking halls at night. YOU keep the world alive, son. YOU make it more than a day to day struggle for existence. EACH song is a stike against time, a way of screaming defiance. WE WERE HERE!" Jerr looks to his adopted son. "I am asking a lot of you, but I am getting old and taking chances for a greater cause. I need to see through the uniting of the tribes . . . or die trying."

    "Mom says she doesn't let you die."

    He smiles and nods. "And we always listen to your mother, when we can. But sometimes we don't have a choice, lad."

    "Mica sez . . ."

    ""Dyson, I know what Mica said, and I wish I knew what he meant. But in a way, I almost hope he is right. That part of me sings to be free and if I died a dragon . . . who knows how i would arrive at the ancestors hall? I love you all, and my wives as well. It will take a lot to keep me from coming back . . . and the gods don't seem to be too partial to my singing that they are summoning me up for a private performance."

    "What?"

    "Old legend, son." Jerr grinned. "A skald who sings true and solid to the gods may one day have a chance to play before them, personally. It is the reason we practice, and do the morning and evening song. To meet the gods . . . now there is something worth shooting for. If they remember you, you have defeated time . . . and made your stand." Jerr sighs and looks to his son, all long and lean.

    "If not me, then you. Practice in the morning, now get off to sleep, I have rounds to run."

    when i leave my footprints on the sands of time, I try to walk above the highwater mark Jerr