Ye Who Dare Not: Early Spring, Chapter I

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Damlin Tenfoot, The Kitchens of Graveguard Keep, Icy Isle

Damlin Tenfoot hated chopping potatoes. He just knew that his master, Lightburn, would have a excessivly researched lecture about necessity of potatoe fibers as a digestive aid. Sometimes he loved the old fool, Damlin kept chopping. He didn’t even like potatoes. Still, maybe someone would send a message, and Damlin would be freed to bring them back through the portal. It was a shame Graveguard was always so deserted.

At least he’d get to scramble up the stairwell to the top floor and use the portal. That was always fun, he could go anywhere in Myriad Isles. The world felt so wonderful at seventeen. It was a pity that he was nothing more than a glorified gofer. He’d bring the guest back for dinner, and haul buckets of boiling water up those never ending stairs to pour a bath for them. Blast it! Damlin scraped the chopped potatoes into the boiling stew, being careful not to splash water onto his tunic or apron. Why couldn’t the Battlemages find a magical solution for the diabolical combination of tall towers, hot water, and stairs?

Damlin pass the knife to his left hand, grabbed a spoon, and tasted the soup. Blach, it was bland and faintly bitter. Maybe if he added some celery and black pepper? He could slip through the portal, travel to the Town of Eli on the Emerald Isle to buy some spices and vegetables from the Spring Fair. Their weather was always nicer than this icy hellhole. Must be on account of not being so blasted far north. No one in their right mind wanted to live here when the sun vanished for months on end. Damlin was willing to bet that the Emerald Isle had four proper seasons, even though it’s damp all the time.

Damlin heard the clatter of feet running up the stairwell outside the kitchens.

Lightburn burst through the open doorway, tripped over his robes, wispy hairs fluttering, pursued by a man in a black gambeson with a bared sword. The intruder reached out and caught Lightburn by the scruff of his robe, ramming his sword through Lightburn’s back. Lightburn fell to the stone floor, unmoving. A crimson stain darkened on his robe and spread across the stone floor.

The burly man eyed Damlin, wiping the blood off his sword. Damlin froze, fear coursing through his veins.

“Best get out of here boy.”

The man stalked back through the doorway. Vanishing down the stairwell.

Damlin felt something warm oozing onto his fingers. He looked down, he’d cut himself.

Lightburn let out a wheezing gasp, shocking Damlin out of his stupor.

“Come here.” Lightburn moved faintly.

Damlin raced to his fallen master, dropping his knife. Damlin reached down, clung to his hand, and looked into his pale face.

“Find the others.” Lightburn coughed pitifully. “They must stop him. If.. If they fail... find.. Addan Fletcher. The archer.. on the Emerald... Isle.. is... the key.”

Damlin watched the light fade from the eyes of his teacher, a man who had been a guide in this dark world of magic. Damlin stripped off his apron, red with Lightburn’s blood.

He wiped away tears, and stood.

*I will not fail.*

Damlin raced up the stairwell to the portal, and leapt screaming into its golden light.

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Addan Fletcher, Town of Eli, Emerald Isle

The cool morning rain had stopped in the forest. Addan Fletcher took off his bonnet and fished out his bowstring. Humming ‘Innes Aigh’ in a smooth tenor, he restrung his longbow, the yew well worn and cared for. He’d been shooting since he was a tot, even now at twenty two, it never grew old. The pale light filtered through the clouds, and reflected from the dew on the spring grass and leaves.

Addan crouched next to a long leather bundle and unwrapped it. A dozen master-crafted arrows lay inside. Addan looked for his Da’s brand above just the nock, and knew he’d find it even before he saw it. Still humming, Addan set an arrow on the string, and smoothly shot a dozen arrows at a dozen targets. He walked to the each of the butts, pulling an arrow from each bullseye. None of the arrows had missed or cracked.

“Not a bad one in the whole bundle.”

Addan wrapped the arrows back into the leather bundle, taking care around the fletching. Da’s done fine work. Best get back to the workshop, and see where the day leads. It wouldn’t do to lark about today of all days. Listening to the songbirds, He swiftly unstrung his longbow and strolled along the path home.

Half an hour later, Addan arrived at the forest edge. He doffed his bonnet to the Town of Eli, nestled in a crook of the river valley below. Pavilions clumped pixie-like around the walls, here only for the Spring Fair and then gone again, leaving memories and a longing for the next time they’d come.

“Hello milady, I’ve come to win the tourney, and steal your heart.”

The forest, songbirds, and chipmunks ignored him.

Addan sighed, and marched into the valley.

As he walked, the sun poked through the clouds, and the weather no longer threatened to ravage an upstanding archer’s bowstrings. For as Da said, a wet bowstring is a useless bowstring.

Grassy fields just outside the town wall shone emerald in the golden sunlight. The wind smelled of damp earth, wet horses, fried meats, and baked goods. The pennants and tents of the Spring Fair sprouted up around the town, while merchants from near and far hawked their wares just outside the stone walls.

Addan moseyed through the ruckus along muddy grass streets of the Spring Fair.

“Meat sticks, get your meat sticks! Only four crownlings a piece.” A portly merchant cajoled with a rosy flush to his face.

“Morning Henry, why four crownlings? Your normal price is two, and that’s one too high!” Addan laughed lightly as he walked by.

“I’ve been hoisted by the farmers’ high prices.”

“Ain’t that a crying shame and a taste of your own medicine to boot!” Addan jigged away without listening to Henry’s profane reply.

The flag of Eli, twin dryads on green, hung above the stone gate as Addan strolled into the shadows beneath the gatehouse.

“Addan storming Fletcher, I ought to string you up for sneaking over the wall this morning.” Chief Guard Hornsly glared at Addan from under his open faced helmet. He was an intimidating man, wearing a well fitted chainmail hauberk with his wide hands resting on the longsword at his waist.

Addan opened his mouth to defend himself—

“Don’t start with me. I saw you slip over the wall, longbow in hand early this morning.” Chief Guard Hornsly set a heavy hand on Addan.

Addan closed his mouth, preparing for disaster.

“You do our town proud now, you hear?” There was no escaping his weather beaten gaze.

Addan looked him in the eyes and nodded.

“Now off with you.”

Addan nodded again and walked out from the gatehouse’s shadow. A crowd of colorful bards in silks, all strumming lutes, trumpeting horns, and singing of love and war barged down the narrow street ahead of him.

Something festive was in the air today, the smell of money being made, and good food. Trappers, lords, craftsmen, merchants, entertainers, farmers, and ne’er-do-wells all mingled on the busy streets of Eli. Throughout the rest of the year, there was nothing quite like it. Even Walter the pickpocket was smiling when Addan passed by Baker’s Street.

His feet soon carried him to Craftmen’s Lane, and down the familiar alley to his home. The morning’s dew covered the stone walls of his father’s fletchery. Addan stopped in front of the smooth oak doorway. He ran his fingers over the twenty-two grooves cut into the frame, and remembered his father marking the doorway as he stood against the frame on his tiptoes after each birthday.

Addan opened the door and passed through, forcing his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

“Da, I’m home.” Addan slammed the oak door shut behind him, and walked into the main room.

Knut Fletcher looked up from his desk in the back room as his steady, strong hands kept working. His father’s face was as broad as it was tall, worn like well loved leather, framed by a steel-gray beard and slight baldness.

“Ah, and how were they?”

“Fine, as always Da.” Addan set his gear on the kitchen table and opened the pantry door, rooting around for breakfast.

“Tourney is in thirty minutes. I signed you up this morning, and told McGuffin you’re winning.” Knut set down the arrow he’d been working on.

“Ah, ol’ man McGuffin is a larker.”

“Heh, that he is. I’ve made a dozen arrow, special for you.” Knut stood grabbing the bundle, and walked to the kitchen table. He set the bundle on the table.

“Thanks, Da these’ll be great!” Addan stalked over to the table and placed a loaf of bread on the table.

“We should head on down, before things get a mite too busy.”

“Ah, lemme grab a bite.” Addan reached for the loaf of bread on the table and tore off a hunk. “I don’t wanna miss the mage tourney. There’s supposed to be a Battlemage! Been seven years since the last one came round!”

Addan stuffed the bread into his mouth.

“Alright son, lemme grab my cloak. Got everything you need?”

Addan nodded, still chewing, and picked up the new bundle of arrows.

Knut came back from the back room with an undyed woolen cloak slung over his shoulder. Addan shoved the door open with the toe of his boot. Knut just looked at him for a beat.

“Well, at least eat the bread before you’re standing on the tourney green.”

Addan beamed at him with chipmunk cheeks, and they walked into the street together.

The cobbled streets we’re filled with even more travelers than when Addan had first entered town. Knut and Addan walked past vendors, and inns, and the other shops along Craftsmen Lane before turning onto Main Street and walking through the crowds inside the town. Addan matched Knut step for step, walking together in companionable silence, soaking in the aromas of horses, bread, spices, fresh rain, and the wet joy from people around him.

“Son, you’ve got to know, I’m proud of you.”

“I know Da, I know.”

“We’ll need to finish up that contract for the city.”

“I think I’ve done about a quarter of it.”

“We’ll need to finish it after the fair then - two hundred shafts in the next two days.”

Addan kept walking alongside his Da.

“You know I can’t get them all done without you.”

“Aye, we’ll get them done.”

They walked to the gate. Chief Guard William Hornsly spotted them, and smiled at them as they passed through.

“He’s a good lad Knut!”

“Aye, it’s all from his mother.”

“Give those lowlanders one for me Addan.”

Addan smiled, and waved back. Once they were out of earshot of the gate Knut looked at Addan as they walked.

“Still nervous around William?”

“Aye. He storming intimidating.”

Knut chuckled and looked at his son, grinning.

“William Hornsly doesn’t take a shine to just anyone.”

Addan looked unconvinced.

“Heh, he’s rough on the outside, but he’s a good heart.” Knut scratched his beard.

“Just remembered, we should get some honey for dinner.”

“What does that have to do—” Addan stopped walking.

“Oh, so you are paying attention.” Knut smiled as he stopped.

“He saw me going over the wall this morning.” Addan shook his head.

Knut let out a deep laugh.

“So that’s why you’re grouchy as a skinned cat.”

Addan looked down at his feet for a moment.

“Been trying to get over that wall unseen for eight weeks. Done it when others are on guard, but not when he’s there.”

Knut furrowed his face, light gleaming off his bald pate. “There is more to William then I know. He came to town when I was about your age.” Knut smiled at the memory then let out a bark of laughter. “Seems like he’s aged half as fast I have. Must be all that walking he does on the wall. He was as mangy as a young wolf and wounded inside. But he was my best man when I married your mother, and he was there when we buried her.” Knut’s shoulders sagged.

“Didn’t remember him being there.”

“Course not, you were no taller then summer fescue.”

Her memory weighed between them, a familiar burden.

Knut started walking. Addan hustled, and fell into step again. They passed the stables, smelling of horse shit and wet hay.

“Son, I know she’d be proud.” Knut looked upwards to the clearing sky, eyes watering.

Addan and Knut arrived at the crowded tourney grounds outside the walls of Eli. Addan slipped away from Knut, and climbed a stack of hay bales to get a better view, savoring the scents of woodsmoke, fried pork, cured hay and the electric smell of magic. A half a dozen bales had been placed strategically around the tourney grounds in preparation.

The Master of Ceremonies pointed at the tourney ground’s edge, and said something that Addan couldn’t make out as the crowd cheered. A swarthy man in a turban, and a little man with fiery hair stuffed under a bonnet walked into the wide tourney green. The mages bowed to each other, then immediately started blasting away at each other. Light danced across the courtyard; thunder followed, setting the crowd to cheer.

Bonnet dove behind a haybale. It exploded in a misty spray of magic and hay. Hair akimbo and yelling obscenities, Bonnet sprung off the ground and blasted Turban, sending him skidding away.

Turban dusted off his shoulders, smirked, and charged Bonnet. Bonnet plastered him with a blizzardly blast, but Turban held on to his hat with a hand, and walked steadily towards Bonnet. Turban lifted his other hand and snapped his fingers. The tam o’ shanter zipped off of Bonnet’s head and into Turban’s waiting hand. Bonnet’s face turned red as a boiled lobster.

The crowd surrounding the field erupted in cheers, and some sang the first lines of ‘Scotch at a Mass’ before being booed down by their fellows. Paddy Tildens, the tourney’s bellboy, took that moment to bang a hammer on the wooden bell.

“Stop banging the bloody bell!” Conner McLeighty the vigorous, and youthful, Master of Ceremonies shouted at Paddy and faced the cheering crowd. “I say, how many of you would like to bloody well watch the next fight?!”

The crowd roared in reply.

“Mangus Manguson.” Conner pointed an accusing finger at Bonnet. “You sire have lost your hat, and the match! Bloody well get off the field!”

Turban bowed, sweeping his arms low to the ground before righting himself. “Zalavi Zenzi, the eleventh of the seventeen Battlemages, accepts his victory.”

Mangus Manguson rose from the ground and stalked over to Zalavi Zenzi. The crowd went silent from anticipation.

“Give me, my Tam o’ Shanter afore I smack you, ya wee git!”

Zalavi considered him for a time, before handing over the bonnet with a flourish. “Your head.”

Zalavi vanished in an explosion of perfumed smoke. Mangus staggered back, coughing from the heady, cloying scent.

Addan saw the faint outline of Zalavi moving through the smoke towards the exit, and gagged as the toxic perfume drifted his way.

“Bagh, show off.” Mangus stalked, weeping and sneezing, towards the exit.

“Paddy find me another hay bale!” Conner bellowed over the crowd’s laughter. Paddy scrambled away as only a gangly lad can.

Addan watched events pass him by. The sun shone golden on the makeshift streets, and motley open markets around the fairgrounds. Hundreds of merchants and townsmen milled throughout it, hawking wool, iron, and fur for spice, linen, and other rarities. Addan reckoned that more deals were made or broken over this fortnight, than during the rest of the year. It was his favorite time of year.

A pair of smiling thieves slipped through the crowd beneath Addan, cutting purses, drifting though the festivities. Mirth lit the faces of lords, merchants, stewards, ladies, guards, and servents as they mingled and passed from stall to stall. The guildsmen and merchants counted their coins and wares with furrowed brows. The scents of fresh flowers, baked breads, and fine spices entranced Addan as he waited for the next event.

A third of an hour later Paddy, carrying a hay bale, staggered back onto the tourney grounds and dropped the load, collapsing on top of it.

“Oi, great work Paddy!” Conner stalked over to the bale and easily shifted it to replace the missing haybale.

Paddy barely moved as he gasped for air.

“Ah Paddy, you’ll never impress the lasses if you can’t lift!” Conner flashed a grin and struck a pose, flexing his sizable muscles.

Paddy mumbled something that Addan couldn’t quite make out. Paddy righted himself, stuck a finger up his nose, and blew a booger into the grass. Paddy extracted his finger and stared at the snot. After Conner turned away, Paddy flicked the snot at Conner.

Addan saw a few girls in the crowd whispering and laughing with the each other.

A moment later, two armored warriors marched onto the green; both were clad from head to foot in chainmail, and plate. Addan couldn’t see the faces of either warrior behind their helmets, or hear their names over the crowd.

The first warrior stood with confidence and wore a red and black surcoat emblazoned with a falcon. The second warrior was a foot shorter and wore dented plate without a sigil. Both men wielded blunted longswords. The warriors faced each other and looked to Conner for the signal.

Connor dropped his arm and both men charged towards each other. Falcon slipped to the right, and Dented circled away to the left. Dented swung his sword towards Falcon’s legs.

Falcon parried the blow, stepped in close, and punched Dented in the helmet. Dented leaned under the next slice, which glanced off the top of his helmet, dropped his sword and grabbed Falcon in a bear hug.

Dented bodyslammed Falcon into the ground and hauled back up his fist, but Falcon grabbed Dented around the neck and dragged his head down. Falcon and Dented rolled onto the ground, chainmail and plate clattering. Dirt, and grass clods flew as the warriors rolled away from each other.

Falcon scrambled to his feet and looked for his sword. Both warrior were unarmed, heaving in deep breaths. Falcon found his sword as Dented rushed him. Falcon took a wild swing which bounced off Dented’s backplate.

Dented tackled Falcon and slammed him into the ground. Dented pinned Falcon to the ground and struck Falcon in the helmet with blow after ringing blow until the Master of Ceremonies ran over and dragged Dented off of Falcon’s motionless body.

Dented yanked off his helmet and let it drop on the grass. Lands above, it was Chief Guard Hornsley! Falcon was carried off the field on a stretcher. *The old bastard can really fight.*

Hornsley stared right at him as the crowd just about rioted. Addan cracked a grin and raised his arm to salute the guard. Paddy Tildens banged away at the fair’s lucky wooden bell, and the Master of Ceremonies directed people to the archery range for the next event, longbow archery.

Addan could almost imagine them cheering for his victory.

He could feel it in his bones.

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