3. The Last Skald

The Last Skald


  • I've really enjoyed reading this whole story as you've written it. Always sad to see it end, especially as it filled me in on so much of a really enjoyable character that I so rarely got to see in game.

    I believe how hard it is to write. I have tried to write something similar and it's been sitting unfinished so I appreciate the time and thought that went into this.

  • S

    😢 touched the heart. sniffs

  • The Halfling Defence League

    whipes away the tears after reading the post.

    -Iria


  • 😢

    hugs miss you MND a lovely post, but such a sad ending.


  • He finished the evening song and stood in the gathering dusk as the echoes came back off of distant hills. The beats were perfect, honed over decades of practice . . . and they were wrong. Alone he bowed his head and wept, the drum dropping from numb fingers.

    "Sounded pretty good ta me." A voice commented softly from behind.

    Jerr tensed as he turned slowly. The old man was well weathered, not a city dweller but one who spent a lot of time in the wilds. He held no weapon and was sitting by near the small camp the skald had made for the evening. Years of experience lead him to guess Druid, though there was nothing to prove him right or wrong, yet.

    "Oh it was right, note wise. But . . . "

    "Something was missing?"

    "Once in a bar there was a device the gnomes made. It would play music if you fed it a coin. The notes were right but most folks would rather hear a bad player over a machine playing."

    "More to music than notes and beats, eh?"

    Jerr eased down gingerly, nodding. "I used to have that, too. But now I feel like I am just some wind-up machine. All the notes and no . . . " He struggled for the right word.

    "Spirit"

    Jerr nodded. "Spirit, soul, heart."

    The old man squinted at him, looking deeper than the face Jerr presented to the world. "Fire has gotten to the last level. You still have enough of yourself to notice what is going on. On the bright side, when the fire runs out of fuel, you won't care anymore."

    Jerrs eyes snapped up to the old mans. "On the down side, I won't care because I won't be me anymore."

    "There is that." The voice agreed thoughtfully.

    The darkness was making the camp all shadows with only starlight and a sliver of moon to light the camp. The old man was sitting still enough to be almost invisible save for the glint of starlight in his eyes.

    Jerr looks at the still shadow and asked. "Not sure I know who you are, sir. But you seem to know a fair amount about me."

    "Heard ya play often enough." The old man said agreeably. "And if you puzzle it out, you'll figure out who I am."

    Jerr chuckled. "I do like puzzles. So you know about the fire?"

    "Aye, and the choices you have to make. Was wondering if you had come to a decision yet."

    Jerr looked up at the stars and sighed. "Not sure I have enough of me left for a decision. Or the ability to decide for myself."

    "You can decide, lad. I will help you if you need it."

    Jerr's eyes widened as he considered that. A star shot across the night sky as he continued looking up. "Way I see it there is only one path I can claim right now. To keep burning, nothing else is open to me."

    The slince filled the clearing on the hilltop for a hundred heartbeats. "That is one way of looking at it." The voice said in the darkness. "But you could also hide from the flames by becoming a dragon. You know it won't hurt then."

    "I thought about that. But then I wondered. Would I be leaving myself behind? Could I stay me or would I just become the fire that burns me. I think it would be surrender to the flame, not victory over it. What would be left might have my memories. . . but would it stay me?"

    "No, lad. You got that one right. The dragon would claim your name, and for a while you might manage to use the memories to keep the semblance of your spirit alive. But you would not be you."

    "I won't take the thrid path. I won't kill myself. And I know that charging into a battle I can not win is a form of suicide. It tempted me for a while but those who know me would know it for what it truly was."

    A small laugh filled the air. "No, never figured you for a quitter, but you were right to list it as one of the choices. Be honest with yourself."

    Jerr sighed. "Lying is easy for some. Just not for me."

    "That is why your music was so good, you know. You used honesty and love as a melody. Folks hear that, between the beats."

    Jerr hung his head. "So I won't kill myself or aid in my own death, but I don't want to burden others with watching me lessen day by day. Though most folks don't see it."

    "More than you think, do, lad" The voice was soft. "They see you losing bits of yourself. You have no idea how much they have tried to find answers to your problem. None at all."

    "So I drum on the hills, spend less and less time with them . . . " Jerr whispered softly. "I cannot stand to see the pain in their eyes."

    "I know, lad, I know. So what are you going to do?"

    Pain, anger, sorrow, grief, love, desperation and elation flooded through the skald as he stood. He rose in the cold camp and when he reached full height he kept going up, skin shifting as wings flooded out behind him and the camp was visible to his new eyes. The old man on the ground looked up at the great red dragon above him and waited for an answer.

    Jerr looked about and sighed. "You were right, Mica . . . my lord, I know I have not performed well of late . . . I apologise . . . I have not the right to ask anything of you . . . to even speak to you . . . "

    The old man stood. "You earned that right long ago. The debt does not fade with time."

    "You said you would help me down the path I chose. So I could stay as I am?"

    "Your choice."

    Jerr stretched his wings and revelled in the strength he felt.

    Then the wings folded by his side. "Nars, I am the land and I have sung to the spirits of the land all my life. The greatest fool ever I would be to turn my back on the spirits in the end." He begged . . . "saying goodbye?"

    "No, I am very sorry . . . but who would you say it to? Who would you tell that you loved that does not know it?"

    Jerr nodded the great head slowly. "Let me see the land, one last time. Please?"

    "Fly, you fool." The man grinned.

    With a snap the wings filled with air and the red dragon climbed high up into the sky. He roared out flame above the land of Narfell and smiled as he did so.

    "I won't come back down, for I have never left the land, and the land can never leave me."

    "Of course not." Uthgar whispered in his ear for it was time for the songs to be sung in the lands beyond.

    If you thought this was an easy post to write, you are dead wrong.


  • They sat on the edge of the cliff, legs swinging off the side as he stared out over the pass. A distance from all the problems around them, the changing face of the Gypsy Camp, the glacial progression of the J'Nast forces. The dark evernight of Norwick. Or the Ouroborous that was Peltarch, eating itself while the predators moved closer.

    "So there it is. I don't burn when I am that size." The fat man looked sideways at the young redhead and sighed.

    "Thats great, pops, so your cured?"

    No, as I retuned to this the heat built up again. I talked to a fire elemental and he said the fire is atteched to my flesh and bone. That the Dragon is not exactly my flesh and my bone so I can escape the flames, if I am willing and able to leave this form behind."

    "So what does it take to change you?" She still was smiling at his reprieve.

    "Mare, you don't understand. Even the fire shows. I am not me when I am the dragon. I wouldn't be sure I could stay me, keep what and who I am intact. And I'm . . .a red. Like Rass." The last part was almost whispered.

    "But you'd live, pops. With no burning."

    Jerr sighed. "What sort of life would it be? I'd have to leave all of yo behind. The kids, you, Amith. I'd find some lair and sleep there? Roll on what little I can recover or gather from the battlefields."

    "Pops," Mare struggled to try to get it into his head. "talk to Ma. See what she says."

    Jerr looked at her and shook his head. "You know what she is going to say, don't you."

    She nodded, looking out over the pass. "I bet nobody who knows and loves you is gonna say different. But you'll have to find that out for yourself. All that aside. You don't know how to make the shift anyways, do you?"

    "No, it happens when a lot of power is arrayed before me or in the air around me. I still have my memories, I still know who I am, I just am . . . bigger."

    Mare giggled. "Bet that N'Jast skald wet his pants when you did that."

    Jerr guffawed. "He was good, I'll give him that."

    Mare tapped Jerrs leg and laughed as well. "Maybe where he comes from. But not here. He was good, but not good enough."

    "Speaking of which. I need you to help me make a speaking drum. I have some people I need to talk to and some of them are on the far side of the lines." he pointed west.

    "Show me how, pops, just show me how."

    Chatting as they stood he lead her into the woods looking for just the right log.

    Soon enough drum beats echoes through the hills and pass. Those who knew, understood the messages sent.

    j


  • He lay curled nearby, snoring softly. She caressed him, crystals of ice forming where she touched that swiftly melted on contact with his skin. He hadn't dyed his hair in a while and the blond roots shone like gold hidden beneath snow.

    Tears come easily to a water elemental and she let them drop on his face, trying to ease his pain. He grumbled but did not wake and the tears swftly dried.

    "A small mercy, at least he does not burn on the surface anymore" A voice from the doorway said.

    She looked up to see Fire flickering as he looked down on the man and her. "So he is getting better?"

    "No. He and I spoke for quite a while before he came to see you this time. He allowed me to enter him to see what was within. It was . . . not good. The man has been burning so long he only flinched a bit as I touched him."

    "What did you find? Is it one of your kind enslaved? He told me that he was worried that . . ."

    "That one of us might be getting hurt while killing him. Yes, that is why he asked me to touch him. They all are good people here, but what kind of man worries that his killer might be getting hurt?"

    She sighs. "Killer?"

    The flames bob. "What has been done to him is an abomination and not one of our kind. The fire is burning down to his core. It has left his skin and now is within the flesh. Then it will go to the bone."

    "And he dies?"

    "No. that is the not the core of a mortal. After the fire is in his bones it will go to his true core. The thing they call a soul will burn till there is nothing left of him for the gods or devils to claim."

    "Soulless, like us. Not good or bad, just is."

    "I tried to speak to the burning within him but it is not a true flame. It is a spirit flame. I spoke to him about it and he. . . "

    "And he made some joke, right?"

    Again the flames bob. "No anger, no begging. He just laughed and took the news. Asked if I could tell how long he had before the fire got to his bones."

    "How long does he have?" She rested a hand on his shoulder and the sleeping man shivered as ice spread across his back.

    "With your help, longer. But you know everyday is pain for him. He may not burn on the outside, but that does not mean the flames are gone. You have to decide if we are doing him any favors by extending his life."

    She looked down on the sleeping skalds face and sighed. "It is what HE wants. How can we deny him a chance?"

    "You didn't hear me then. He has NO chance. None. He is dying and there is not a damn thing we can do about it, except change the timeline." The flames flared angrily and heat washed the room, melting the ice on Jerrs back. The water elemental grimaced as she steamed and gestured, cooling the room once more.

    "I apologise. It is just he has always been one of the ones to come visit us, even before he needed to. He brings me gifts, small woods or flammable fluids."

    "He brings me waters from lakes and streams of his lands." She whispered. "And it was he who had Haesphatus open our doors so we could move about a bit more freely."

    Quiet filled the room for a space as they watched him sleep then fire drifted back to his own room and she sat beside the sleeping man, her tears cooling his face.

    j


  • He slowly slid his knife with the grain and sighed. "Damn." It had dug too deep again and another staff was ruined. Jerr wiped a rag across his forehead and stepped back from the workplace to sit in a stream and cool down. His memory flashed to long ago, Cotton and Kaona, teasing and playful, washing his hair for him in this very stream. He missed both of them but the more he thought of it the more glad he was that the water was cold, then and now.

    "Skald." The voice was unfamiliar but Jerr knew the accent and stood slwowy, pulling on a charred robe. He turned slowly to face the Featherflight scout.

    "I greet you. I offer food water and warmth by the . . fire." He gestured to where a small bit of food and a canteen sat near the campfire the woodmaster used to cook his noon meal.

    The formalities were soon out of the way and they sat by the stream, Jerr keeping his feet in the flowing water. he found that this kept his fires low and the cough was slowly clearing. "What news from the Featherflights?" Jerr asked.

    "We have had visitors to the camp. To see us, not the Heyokarr."

    "Oh? Would I know these visitors?"

    "They were stumpies." Jerr winced at the derogative term but did not interupt. "One was named Dwin."

    "Ah, and he came to you, not summoned your people to him. Good, he is getting better."

    "He knew the manners and spoke well for an outsider. . . . "

    Dwin sat and took the bite of food and a swig of ale offered before any more speaking was done. As he took this moment he looked aorund the fire and wondered. All of the males here were young, even by human standards. None of the men whom he had dealt with before were present. "Where be yer eldas? Where be the head shaman?"

    "These are the elders." She spoke from beyond the fire, but her voice crackled across. "The ones you dealt with have met with misfortunes."

    "Misfortunes?"

    "Drow, for the most part." A handful of crossbow shafts fell to the ground, spilled out like some sort of augery. "Hunted and killed. We are a young tribe once more, though not of choice but of consequence."

    Dwin looked out beyond the light and saw that few were the men in the outer circle. This was a tribe that had been hit hard, first with the plains wars and now by drow. But there had been little drow activity reported in Norwick of late. . . why here?

    "Dere be other dangers beside th Drow. A dark force is buildin in da warrens down in Rawlinswood."

    "Our deepscouts, the Feathershadows, have said as much."

    "We be gittin ready ta fight an try ta erase the buildin danger, but ta do so leaves our back open."

    One of the stronger looking lads murmered. "Skald says: Bare is the brotherless back."

    "Aye, an ee is right. I ain't askin ya ta commit or stand guard. But if Oi know that there be eyes in the woods. Arrows ready, then maybe I can go inta those warrens a little more . . . focussed." Dwin hesitated, gauging his crowd and decided. "Oi won't insult ya with money. I ask this as a favor. Between neighbors. While I am away, can you keep an eye on me home?" The weight of the arrowheads was heavy in his pack. The extra pouch of gold hung by his side. But the mention of Jerr had brought back memories of how the skald acted, what he valued. If this was a generation of lads who listened to him . . .

    The tribesmen whispered but the broad-shouldered one who had spoke before was the one who answered Dwin. "As a neighbor, could we do less? We will not commit what few we have to a stand-up fight. We cannot. But you have friends, and eyes in the forest. We wish you a good flight to your target and a safe return to your quiver."

    "So we will be in the woods to the south. It would do us good to have battlesong available if our bows are needed."

    Jerr looked down at his toes and smiled. "Can I be any other place than there? I am your skald and there I shall be, though stand not too close in case my smoke gives away my position."

    The warrior stood and smiled. "There are none of us who would not stand by you, skald. For we know you will stand by us. Could we do less? Fly true."

    A moment later he was gone and Jerr stood and went back to try to make another bow.

    j


  • The view from the tribal gate was obscured by the mists of the river passage. But that did not stop the scouts further out from seeing the entourage approaching. Featherflights had been detailed to the gate watch more often than not and they saw what was coming . . . and smiled. What they did not do is send any word deeper into the camp.

    Women in red dresses swept through the plains and scavengers and oversize carrion bugs were driven back as the smaller group moved along. The women did not come close to the gate but the message was there just the same.

    It was not as though they were needed. Almost everyone in the inner group looked very competent in their own right. Except for the burning man who staggered and coughed but kept coming, smoke trailing off of his robes. He dunked himself in streams and gasped thanks before rising and continuing on refreshed and extinguished.

    When they came in sight of the gate they paused. Jerr looked up at it then down at his Mare and Amith. They stood on either side of him, ready to catch him if he fell, though nothing had been said. The other three skalds followed behind and watched both the family and the reaction of the guards at the gates as they opened the way and entered the tribal camp. The archers, all Featherflights by their tattoos and tribal markings, nodded respectfully and grinned at the thought of what was to come. They frowned to see the damage that Jerr bore and hands tightened on weapons as they looked past the skald and set their eyes on their duties to guard all within.

    Jerr stood straighter as he passed them, stifled a cough though it made his ceremonial robes smoke and steam. He went through the inner camp to where the Heyokarr chief stood. Surprise showed in the chiefs eyes as he looked to see them approach but it vanished with a cunning flash and he opened his arms wide.

    "We thought you dead and gone, skald. Or so injured that you would retire to live with your . . .women. Come, be not a stranger. Eat, drink, be warm by the . . ." he tossed more wood onto the bonfire that was already roaring . . ." Fire." His eyes glinted in the burst of flames as he watched Jerr stagger back from the heat. "You look frail, sit close and warm yourself . . . Old man"

    At a gesture room was made by the fire, but not in the traditional spot of honor for a tribal skald. Tradition had the chief flanked by his shaman on the right and his skald on the left. The space made for Jerr was on the far side of the fire. A tankard of warm milk and a bowl of porridge was set beside him as young warriors chuckled and elbowed each other.

    Mare watched this, her face white with a cold fury. She looked to see that Amith had one hand on her greatsword and was measuring the distance to the chief through the fire. Mare looked about and chose her first target as well but in looking she noted the one person standing behind the chief, back in th shadows. Too slight for a tribesman, cloaked and hooded this one stood stock still. She looked closer but then returned to matters closer to hand.

    Hand. Jerrs reached out and touched Amiths, lifting her fingers from her hilt. "We are guests." He whispered. "Please don't." He looked through the flames and with a stronger voice he answered the chief. "I bring my Truewife, a daughter, and skalds from the Lowlands as guests."

    The Chief nodded to the skalds, ignoring the women. "Looking for work in the mountains? Have the Lowlands already disposed of men mired in the past and in traditions designed to hold back the progress of the people?"

    "No." Sytur answered. "We still keep to the Old Ways. We Came because we had heard rumours that your tribes were losing their skalds. That soon there would be no songs in the Highlands. We were glad to find that we were mistaken."

    "It will be true, soon enough. And we need no help from your people. Ours will be a new kind of music. That of deeds and of progress. Not of histories and rules. Well made alliances and a taking back of what is rightfully ours. This is a new day, a new era for the people. When you return to your chiefs down below tell them THAT. Tell them the time is coming again for the Nars and for the Tribes." He paused, his eyes bright with his vision of the future. 'If you dare. For to tell them of our progress will be to tell them of the things we have chosen to leave behind. Like your kind."

    Jerr sat and watched the chief through the flames. The flames flickered in his eyes as he took this in. "I have not been left behind, yet. My chief. I am not dead. I am not forgotten." He stood. "Till the day I die and the gods take me . . . I am here."

    "Till you die. But how long will that be, old man? What duties can you perform for us even now? Look at you. Can you lead us in battlesong? Or will you sit in a cold corner of the camp and leer at women a fifth your age? What use are you to us? Go, GO! Go to your comfortable beds in the cities and towns. Go hide behind the women who shadow you, protect you." He looked in scorn at Amith and Mare. "Your very choices of marriage insulted the People. You chose to marry outside. As if none of our women are good enough for you. You and that Shaman, Kerrith. It is you who left us, long ago, with your dreams of the bigger world. of THE LAND. It isn't the land you should have focused on, it was the people. Our People."

    Jerr staggered and then straightened, his left arm was on fire, flames licking up the length of it. But he didn't even look at it, his eyes still on the chief. "You still don't get it. It was never either/or. The people ARE the Land. Nars is all of it. Not just People, not just a plot of dirt. The spirits of the people live and breathe, here. RIGHT HERE." His voice suddenly rang out filling the whole camp. "We are the Heyokarr. But we are also the Nars. Featherflights, Red Tigers, all of us. NARS WE. You talk of breaking free of the chains of history. I speak of returning to our glory as a cohesive tribe. You treat the Old Ways as though they slow you down. For me they are the foundation that holds us UP. We have the same goals, Bjorn. We just see different paths to that goal. But there is one thing, one place were we have a vast difference."

    Taking a breath Jerr stepped into the fire, to cross to where the chief stood. His clothes flared and burnt from his body as he kicked logs to the side and tread on the glowing embers. "If you ever EVER belittle my family, my wife, my children again I will see you fall. All you work to build will be ashes. A tribe is family, never forget that." He staggered and swayed. Mare and Amith circled the fire and took his arms, Amith draping a cloak across his bare shoulders.

    The chief watched as they led him back ot the other side of the fire and snorted softly, trying to convince those around him that he was not impressed. "Threats from a toothless lion." he said under his breath but he could feel his heart still pounding and wondered if he could have stepped into that fire.

    "No." Swaervors voice was low and melodious but it cut through the undercurrent of conversations. "This man is not a skald of the Heyokarr." he pointed to Jerr with his staff. "As is right in the Old Ways, we skalds have consulted and this only makes us even more sure. It is our decision to make . . . Jerr is no longer the skald of the Heyokarr."

    Mare looked in horror to them. "He greeted you! Guested you. And this is how you repay him?" Her red hair tossed in the light of the fire as she advanced on the trio. "You are not worthy to sing morning song with him, you are not worthy to even be present when he drums!"

    None of them made a move as she strode forward though Yerot tensed and looked from her to Jerr and then to Amith who stood by her husband one hand on his arm and the other on her hilt once more. A glance across to the chief showed him grinning at this sudden turn of events. Inside Yerot smiled then flicked his gaze to the shadowed figure even further back and frowned.

    Swaervor stood before Mare and looked at her, with a wisp of a smile on his face. "This is not a betrayal, child. Far from it." He raised his voice. "The skald Jerr is no longer Heyokarr. As is the written in the Old Ways he may be removed from that office by a triumverate of skalds and we have made that decision. It is our decision that he is in name what he has been for a long time. We Name him Skald of the Nars. Let runners go to the tribes of the Highlands, we will carry the word back to the Lowlands that this man is of all tribes. He is not to be claimed or owned by one or another. All should Honor him and greet him as one of their own as he is Nars Skald. His home is the Land, let each tribe set a place for him. His family and tribe is All of us." Swearvor slowly knelt looking up to the staggered Jerr. "We had to come, to see and know for ourselves. You do not have a choice in this matter and for that we apologize. It is a heavy burden we place upon you. If you wish, Yerot will stay as your apprentice and take a place in the tribe of Your choosing."

    Jerr looked from Swaervor to Yerot and then all around him. He let out a breath full of smoke. Standing clear of his wife he limped forward till he stood behind Mare who was still facing the trio of Lowland skalds. She felt his hands rest on her shoulders and he kissed the top of her head lightly. "I already have an apprentice."

    He then slowly walked away from the fire, away from the tribe of his youth and out into the night. From the darkness the Featherflights cheered the passage of their skald but from around the fire was the stunned silence as the Heyokarr try to decide whether they wanted what they had striven for, now that they had it.


  • Jerr coughed and looked up. Amith dropped his axe in his waiting hands and growled. "You promise."

    "Yes dear, not for Kossuths, not for fire priests. To go to the tribe."

    "You keep this promise, old fool. I have errands to run but I am trusting you"

    Jerr smiled up at her and whispered in elven. "I will obey."

    The elven woman left after reaching out to touch his cheek gently then slap it lightly. "Old fool."

    He coughed again, letting free the ones he had been smothering while she was here. His bandages were smoldering with the effort and he knew this would be a bad bout.

    Mare found him closer to dead than alive, the axe turning in his hands. "Good." He coughed, "I wanted to talk to you before we left."

    She quietly checked his bandages and shook her head. He was very hurt right now but he was acting like it was a normal day. Smoothly she sank to the ground next to him and waited.

    "You had some questions. and have had them since I had my visitors. You want to ask them or let me guess?"

    She looked at him grinning and took a deep breath then let the questiuon out in a rush. "I got the feeling you aren't supposed to teach women. It left me wondering if that is why you never taught me."

    "Jerr shook his head. "No, it is your age, dear."

    "But I will live longer than a human."

    Jerr shook his head quicker. "No, I crossed the line about whether to teach women a long time ago. I taught you the sun songs, Nicahh the death lays. But to be a skald . . . I was trained right from when I was learning to walk and talk. Being a skald is a path you start on right from the start."

    "By that logic I should be a whore, and I am not."

    Jerr coughs through his laughter. "I don't think that ALL paths are started at birth. Aside from that you have no idea how proud I would be of you as an apprentice. But there is the tribe. They don't want skalds anymore. So I would have been training you for . . . well . . . it would have seemed to be for my own ego. But I have a question for you, now. I am going to face the tribe. Will you walk with me?"

    "Of course pops, I don't trust those bastards not to stick an arrow in you. You got to let me try to heal you up some though. So that they don't see the extend of the damage." She looked around as though expecting a sneak attack at this cold camp.

    Jerr straightened and slid the axe to one side. "The three in the camp below will also be coming with us, as witnesses." He looked at her with his eyes as serious as she had ever seen them. "When we walk I will bae asking a favor of the skalds, if you allow me to. I will ask that if I fall and you come to them asking, they will train you as a skald."

    Mare looked at him. "If I do this am I making your life better by carrying on your work or worse by breaking what should happen with what is?"

    He leaned back and watched her eyes. "Take a moment and ask yourself the question, tell me what you believe the answer to be."

    She considered that for a moment, her eyes not leaving his. "I think that you wouldn't have come to this offering if you weren't sure you wanted to follow through with it, but that you want me to be sure it is what I want."

    He smiled widely. "That's my girl. Now I need to change before we head out.

    She nodded and checked her own weapons as he slowly slung the axe across the burns and jagged cuts running down the length of his back. His wince didn't slow his movements but her heart cried out to see the pain he was in. "What do you plan on saying to them, pops?" She asked quietly as he rose and started towards the way down off of the cliff.

    "It depends on how I am received. But have I ever struck you as the kind of man to quit and leave quietly?"

    Mare fought back the smartass answer that leaped to her lips and followed the old man down off of the cliff. As they went to his tent the he made her groan with his sense of humor which was just as filthy as it ever was. Mare rolled her eyes and watched as he pulled on a ceremonial robe in his tent in the camp. What was more telling was that he had had to brace himself before even entering the tent and had rushed out to catch his breath. Panic was more visible on his face at the prospect of being inside than pain was when his own arm flared up.

    They had hurt him in so many ways.

    Territh and Tiang (Ting) Joined them on their walk. Then they were joined by the lowland skalds. Other than the question Jerr formally put to the skalds the talk was of inconsequential things such as lap dances and Tings taste in men. The other skalds watched as Tirreth blasted a small group of Hobgoblins out of their path, none of them missed the shudder that Jerr had when the flames lanced out to destroy the creatures. Nor the fact that his leg started smoking till he kneeled for a moment in the deeper snow to the side of the road. Mare helped him up and the continued on.

    They passed through the crossroads and Jerrs head keep turning, looking, searching. Mare did not ask who or what he was looking for, she knew. What she didn't know was where Amith was. She told him of Oceans plan that had brought the lowland skalds to the pass. The skalds all listened and nodded. Jerrs' blush was hidden beneath the burns but they heard him mutter 'hiding behind womens skirts again'.

    Yerot surprised them all when he spoke up. "Where is your fathers home?"

    Mare looked back at him and shrugged. "He has none or many. Depends on what you mean. He is an elder in the Gypsy camp and has a tent there. But he also has a room at the Sisterhood where he cares for his children."

    "I thought he had no blood children left."

    "Like me, there are other adopted children." They turned onto the long road and started curving south when the distant sounds reached them. Pots, pans, hands clapping and voices singing the morning hymns. Looking up they saw people lined along the archers ridge, crowding the legion guards there. Mare looked up and smiled. "There they are. That explains where Amith went, doesn't it pops? Pops?" She looked to see her father standing, staring at the cliff and crying openly.

    "All of them?" Yerot looked to the crowd in wonder.

    "All of them." Mare murmered as she took Jerrs arm. "Come on Pops, you don't want to be late for your funeral."

    The crowd swelled behind them as farmers joined the chorus on the ridge and waved their support. Women in Sisterhood robes moved ahead of the small party and the path to the tribal camp was quiet and unencumbered. The lowland skalds exchanged glances and nodded. It was as they had thought.


  • ((Much Kudos! Should I be upset that mare is being given credit for Ocean's plan? No. Will ocean if she finds out? Hell yes, the only thing bigger than her perform skill is her ego 😛 ))


  • 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.