Tuesday 5 May 2009 - Kilroy likes it here
Remembering spring would come someday
I will lift my eyes up to the hills
Adventures from Nightshade
Book One
Heather Nicole Knisley
Chapter One...Callan's mission
The wind was whispering around the rocks as the dark clouds moved in with the intent of covering everything in a fog. Callan knelt on the hard ground, his bow taunt as he held it in his hand. He was sighting down the arrow, waiting for the man to move into view. The muscles in his arms began to ache as he waited and he started to wonder how much longer he could hold his position.
“Wait until he is in your sights,” Callan's commander had ordered. “You canna risk missing Callan, not this time.”
Callan bit his bottom lip as the words rang through his head again. It wasn't like he missed often, his commander was just an old worry wort! Well Callan would show him! This time he would hit the man right in the heart! There would be no chance of the man living!
Something was stirring by the campfire. Callan focused all his attention on that spot now, ignoring the growing ache in his arms as he watched. Yes! It was as he had hoped! The man he had been waiting for was standing up, he was moving from out behind the group of men and coming Callan's way!
Callan felt his heart start to beat faster, his hands started to shake and sweat. He forced himself to remain calm, if he lost his control now there was no telling where the arrow might go! Pushing all else aside but his assignment Callan closed one eye and watched as the man walked into the cover of the rocks, right in front of the arrow.
Now! Callan released the string and the arrow sang through the air flying in a smooth arch. Callan watched as if flew toward its target, and embedded its self in the man's arm! The moan that escaped the young archer's lips would have been enough to give away his position had not the man suddenly howled at that moment. Instantly the rocks were swarming with men, all armed with cross bows.
Arrows filled the air as the wounded man was hurried into the cover of the rocks. Callan knew he had failed, he had forgotten to calculate the wind and therefore and lost his aim. Now his only thought was getting away without getting an arrow in his own heart. Quickly he moved backwards, hugging the shadows as he slipped into the rocks.
“There!” one of the men shouted and Callan could have kicked himself when he realized they must have seen him moving. That was another thing his commander had warned him about.
“The enemy most likely won't see you unless you move. No matter what, stay still until they are not looking, then slip away!” Callan heard the sharp words as he quickly moved backwards, there was no point in staying hidden now that he had been spotted.
The wind started to pick up as the men moved in on the young man. No longer whispering it started to howl and before the strangers had any idea of what was happening the clouds had settled over the mountain in a thick, dark fog. It was that fog that saved Callan's life. As the enemy stumbled about blindly Callan leaped to his feet and ran off, he knew his way around the mountains well enough, he did not need to see to know where to go and very soon he was well out of range.
He was safe, for the time being.
***
It had started to rain, a cold bitting rain that chilled the men right to their bones. They were all huddled in their low tents when Callan stumbled back into camp, wet, cold, hungry, and very out of sorts.
“Why look whose back!” one of the younger officers called out from the safety of his tent. “You look like a drown rat Callan!”
Callan bit his lip to hold back the retort on his lips. Had the man not been an officer Callan would have decked him.
“How did it go?” one of the other men, this one was not an officer, called out from the tent he was sharing with three others. “Did you get our man?”
“Put a sock in it!” Callan snapped sulkily.
The men all hooted with laughter and one said, “Someone is out of sorts!”
“His mood is as black as those clouds!” another chimed in.
Callan glared fiery daggers at them. “Come out here and say that you yellow bellied cowards!”
The men only laughed harder, this time the officer joined in as well. Callan stood in the center of the tents and scowled, his dark eyes matching the blackness of the clouds and the fog. Had anyone of ventured out into the ran they would have met double the storms, the one from Callan would have been the worse. However, as long as they stayed in their tents and jeered they were safe, for the most part.
One of the older men spoke up, almost yelling to be heard above the rain and laughter. “Come now ye lot!” he roared. “Leave the boy alone! Canna ye see he missed his man?” And though the words were meant to be kind they did more harm then all the laughter and taunting put together.
“I am no boy!” Callan roared at the same time lighting flashed across the sky. “And I would dare any man to saw as much to me face to face!” He drew his sword and looked ready to fight the whole camp single handed when a firm voice broke everything up.
“Callan!” all the men fell silent and Callan turned with a now humbled expression to his command's tent.
The general was standing in the ran, right outside his tent, his eyes fixed on Callan. Quickly the young man sheathed his sword, then stepped forward on shaking legs, he knew he was in trouble. The commander looked him up and down as all the other men shrank back into their tents were they could not be seen.
“Come with me,” the commander said to the young man before him.
Callan moaned softly, and followed his general inside.
Inside the other tents the other men all laughed and joked together, thinking about the trouble Callan was sure to find himself in. The general was not a cruel man, just stern and rough around the edges and when one got on one of his edges they were in big trouble! And Callan had been on one of those edges for awhile now.
None of the men found out what went on in their commander's tent until midnight. It was then that Callan came stumbling into the tent he shared with two other men. Both were still awake and trying to play a game by the dim light of a burning rush. However, they forgot their game the moment Callan entered.
“Welcome back!” the older of the two men, Jettison, said cheerfully enough.
Callan scowled darkly, sat down by his cot, and yanked his boots off without a word.
“How did it go?” the other man, Cahal, asked with a smirk.
Callan yanked his wet cloak off, it had been nearly dry until he had had to walk from his commander's tent to his own in the rain. “Fine,” he growled, and hurled the wet cloak at Cahal.
Cahal yanked the cloak off his head and prepared to throw it back when Jettison stepped in the middle of them and snapped, “Grow up you two!”
Callan just scowled and pulled off his wet clothing, put on his dry things, and flopped down on his cot. He turned his back to his companions and made as if he was going to go to sleep. Cahal, however, was not going to let him get away with it that easily.
“What did he say?” Cahal asked after a long silence.
“Who?” Callan sounded like a bear when he answered.
“Fermion, the general, who else do you think?” Cahal got a warning glance from Jettison but he did not pay any attention to it.
“He said you are to be used for target practice!” Callan growled, he yanked his blanket over his head.
“Grow up Callan,” Jettison muttered, he was a patient man but no man was that patient!
Callan tossed the blanket off, sat up, and faced the two men who were still seated on the dirt floor. He sighed and decided to give in, he liked the men too much to stay mad at them long.
“I have to leave Nightshade,” Callan said, his voice was low and even though he tried to sound angry he could not hide the hurt and disappointment.
“What?” Cahal and Jettison leaned forward, shock written all over their features. They had known Fermion was angry, but not angry enough to banish Callan!
Callan sighed again and told the two men all that had passed between him and the general. “He said my arrogance was not only endangering my own life but that of the whole army, and in a way everyone in Nightshade. He also explained that we don't have enough men to hold back an invasion like this, so he is sending to Fairfield to get re-enforcements.”
“As if those desert dwellers would help us,” Cahal muttered, for a moment forgetting Callan's disappointment.
“Why Fairfield?” even Jettison seemed uncertain of it all.
“If Nightshade is taken Fairfield is the next to go,” Callan said, putting it the way Fermion had. “So he figures they will be willing to help us.”
“And you are the one he is sending?” Jettison looked at the young man before them.
Callan sighed and nodded his head. “Yes, he is sending me to a nobleman, Kallum by name. Fermion said he would help us, or at least tell us, rather me, where to go to get the help we need.”
Jettison thoughtfully nodded his head while Cahal asked, “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow, after the noonday meal,” Callan dropped his head into his hands with a moan.
Cahal looked at Jettison and saw the same look of disbelief on his face. Surely this could not happen! Not to them, or Callan! Everyone knew the risk of traveling through Nightshade, especially in these days! It was not safe to travel with the invaders hiding behind every rock, waiting to jump out and run them through.
“Will you be alright?” Cahal could think of nothing else to ask.
Slowly Callan lifted his head and, true to form, muttered, “I shall probably be killed before I get out of the mountains!”
***
Nightshade and Fairfield, though in the same land, were two completely different kingdoms. Neither was ruled by a king which accounted for most of the trouble. Another danger was that the land was the only way to get from the eastern side of the world to the western.
The eastern half of the world, the world was flat, was inhabited by the wild and unruly Sea Raiders. They lived on the small islands that were in the east, the only spots of land in the midst of the sea. The islands were pleasant enough, though some were barren and rocky and not fit for goats to live on, let alone men.
The western half of the world was not inhabited at all, at least by men. Wild beasts lived in the lands in the west, fearsome creatures that one would be glad enough not to meet in real life as they were frightening enough in the tales. It should come as no surprise that men did not live in those lands, but they wanted access to them. It was in the west that the gold lay, in the west were the riches were.
In between the east and the west was the Sea of Storms, there were always hurricanes roaring in that part of the sea. Sea monsters swam there and ate ships whole. It was impassible, and feared by any man who had any sense at all. Sailors, even Sea Raiders, didn't dare go near it.
The only way to get from the east to the west therefore was to crossed Nightshade and Fairfield, the land that lay in the middle of the Sea of Storms.
Nightshade was a mountainous country. Tall jagged peaks reached up to the sky, the highest ones were covered in snow year round. The people of Nightshade were rough, a people used to living in cold conditions and hazardous places. They were a strong people, but a little people. Though they were brave fighters they did not have many men to fight, and they knew an invasion could be fatal to them.
For years the Sea Raiders had left the Mountain People alone, having heard of their fierceness. However, the thought of all that gold just waiting for them made them bold until they finally decided to attack. Invading the land they had caught the people off guard, but not for long. Very soon an army, rather a small band of desperate men, was formed, and the Sea Raiders met resistance. Since then the fighting had never ceased.
The Sea Raiders would not just pass peacefully through a country, they would burn, destroy, and raid as they went; and the people of Nightshade were not going to let them do such things. However, they were starting to realize how badly out numbered they were. And it was as a last resort that Fermion sent Callan, the youngest man in his army, to seek help from the people of Fairfield, the Desert Dwellers.
***
Rean-Hammon, son of the nobleman Kallum, sat upon his horse and gripped the spear tightly in his hand. He felt the hot, dry wind in his face, the sun beating down on his bare head. He smiled and then dug his heals into the horse's flanks, urging him into a gallop.
Over the sand the horse raced, the sound of his pounding hoofs filled Rean-Hammon's ears as he flew over the sand. The young man counted the beats, slowed his breathing, and steadied his hand.
Now!
Rean-Hammon tossed the spear with all his might, it flew from his grasp and struck the target as the horse thundered pass. A wild yell filled the air and Rean-Hammon turned his horse back and galloped over to his friend's side, stopping in front of him.
“Dead center!” Trystan yelled as Rean-Hammon dismounted, Trystan slapped him on the back.
“Dead center?” Rean-Hammon asked in disbelief. “I was sure I was too high.”
Trystan shook his head, light brown hair fell into his eyes. “Dead center,” he said with confidence. “I'm looking right at it.”
Rean-Hammon reached out and Trystan placed a long stick in his hand. Using it as a guide the young man walked over to his target and felt the spear, Trystan was right; it was dead center.
Trystan joined Rean-Hammon and yanked the spear out for him, then handed it to him.
“Shall we go back to the house?” Rean-Hammon asked, he turned his sightless eyes on his friend.
“Might as well,” Trystan shrugged his shoulders. “I'll go after the horse.”
Rean-Hammon said nothing, just stood back and listened as his best friend darted away. Both young men were the same age at eighteen, but they were as different as night from day; not only in looks but in mannerisms.
Trystan was tall and muscled, sandy hair and pale blue eyes. His skin was rough and brown from being out in the sun and dry wind all the time. He spent his life outdoors, working with his master's horses. In every since Trystan was a true Desert Dweller and would have hated his life as a servant were it not for Rean-Hammon.
Rean-Hammon was an inch or two shorter then Trystan and not as strongly built. His hair was darker then Trystan's and his eyes were a dull gray. His father, Kallum, was one of the Desert Dwellers who had married a beauty from the mountains. In some ways Rean-Hammon looked more like his dead mother then his living father. His mother had died in the same fire that had claimed his eye sight at the young age of six; she had died saving her son's life.
It did not take Trystan long to catch the horse, he had a way with the mighty beasts which was why Kallum put him in charge of most of the training. Once the horse was caught the two young men returned to the house, rather the sprawling mansion that stood in the middle of the desert.
“I'll take your things around to the back,” Trystan said once they reached the front door. “Once I have Edam cooled off I'll come up.”
Rean-Hammon nodded his head and flung open the front door, which was more like a gate that opened upon a courtyard. The moment the young nobleman stepped inside the courtyard he was greeted with delicious, cool air. Trees, with wide leave, had been planted to offer shade and a stream flowed through the trees, bubbling out of the marble fountain that stood in the center of the place. Grass and flowers covered the ground and a white marble path led up to the front door of the house.
Rean-Hammon did not need his stick to feel his way around in that place. He had grown up playing in the stream, or sitting by the fountain as he listened to his mother read a book. If there was any place in the world that Rean-Hammon knew it was the garden his mother had planted with her own hands. She had chosen every one of the flowers, not only for their color but for their scent, and even though he could not see them he knew what color they were.
Hurrying up the path Rean-Hammon pushed open the door, trying to sneak in so that he would not have to be dotted upon by his old nurse. However, she was as quick as ever and cornered him the moment he placed his sandy shoe on the cool tile floor.
“Rean-Hammon!” He froze as she rushed over to him. “Don't tell me you were out at this time of day!”
“I wanted to practice before the sun got too much higher,” he always felt like he was eight around her rather then eighteen and nearly a man.
“You will get sunstroke if you are not more careful!” she rebuked as she pulled him inside and closed the heavy door.
“We are always careful dearest Mairi,” he said with a soft smile, he bent his head and kissed her forehead. “You know we are, don't you my dearest of nurses?”
“None of your sweet talk!” Mairi rebuked, though he heard the delight in her voice. “Up to your rooms with you before your father sees you! I shall send up a meal, and I suggest you take a bath and get out of those rags!”
Rean-Hammon knew it would do him no good to protest and hurried up the wide stairs and into his chambers. Once he was safe within the walls he shut the doors and leaned his back against them. The west window was open, allowing the breeze to come in, it felt cool on his face and carried with it the sweet smells from the garden. The smells of his mother as he had come to call them. He smiled and enjoyed the peacefulness before he went to take his bath.
Once he was out of his rough, cotton riding clothes, washed up, and into his baggy pants and loose shirt, which was made out of a thin, light cloth, Rean-Hammon did feel better. He went into the main room to finish drying his thick hair and it was there Trystan found him. As always his friend entered through the wide window, climbing the vines that grew up the side of the house.
“Is my lord all clean?” Trystan asked as he leaped to the floor.
Rean-Hammon pulled the soft towel from his head and Trystan laughed.
“What?” Rean-Hammon demanded.
“Your hair stands on end!” Trystan said between bursts of laughter.
Rean-Hammon rolled his eyes and tossed the towel at his friend, hitting him right in the face and muffling the laughing. Trystan pulled the towel from his face and sat down on the windowsill, still grinning from ear to ear as Rean-Hammon threw himself down on one of the low couches.
“You had better hide,” Rean-Hammon warned as he wiggled his bare toes into the thick, bright rug. “Mairi is bring food up in a bit, she will not be pleased to find you here.”
“Mairi cannot resist my charms,” Trystan said as he stood up and walked over to a small table where a bowl of fruit rested., he picked up a bright red fruit and took a bit. “She wouldn't dare deny me anything I asked!”
“She is going to have you thrown out one of these days, if you are not more careful,” Rean-Hammon walked over to his friend's side. “She'll tell by father and he will make you spend the rest of your days in the barns, cleaning up after the horses.”
“No, that would be too nice,” Trystan took another bit and wiped the juice from his chin. “I would stick me in the kitchen and force me to slave over a roaring hot fire with that old hag...”
“Ahem!”
Both young men turned and felt their faces redden as a woman entered the room, carrying a tray of food. It was the old hag herself, Ilsa.
“Oh!” Trystan took a step backwards as she fixed her sharp eyes on him. “How are you today? Here, let me get that for you!” And he stepped forward to take the tray from her.
Ilsa scowled and Trystan smiled charmingly, took the tray with a grand bow, and placed it on the table saying, “This is too kind of you my lady! I truly do not know what we should do without you! You take far better care of us then we deserve!”
“You have that right!” Ilsa snapped, but though her voice was hard her eyes were glowing with pleasure. No woman, no matter how old, could resist Trystan. She turned to Rean-Hammon. “Is there anything else you need my lord?” she asked with a kind look.
“No thank you Ilsa, I am sure we have everything we need,” Rean-Hammon gently clasped her hand in thanks.
Ilsa smiled, bowed her head, and left the room. Once she was gone Trystan flopped down on one of the couches and sighed heavily. “That was close,” he gasped.
“You're going to get it one of these days if you are not more careful,” Rean-Hammon warned, but he knew his words were not true. Trystan could weasel out of anything.
Rean-Hammon pulled the lid off the tray and sat down by the table. Trystan joined him and the two began to eat. There was bird, finely cooked with herbs and a almost sour spice. There was mashed potatoes with rosemary and cream, roasted onions, iced fruit, and cool cream pudding. To drink there was cold milk with the cream nearly foaming off the top.
After they had eaten they both went out onto the veranda and rested as the sun rose to its peak and the heat of the day became unbearable. The servants and occupants of the house all sought out cool places to rest until the sun started its decent.
“Do you ever want to leave?” Rean-Hammon realized he had been drifting off into a light sleep when Trystan spoke and woke him up.
“Hmm?” the young nobleman murmured.
“Leave, you know, leave this place; maybe even leave the desert?”
Rean-Hammon turned his head in his friend's direction. “Leave the desert? And go where?”
Trystan shrugged his shoulders. “Anywhere, somewhere were there is adventure and danger! Don't you ever wish you could do something exciting? Fight in battles, force back an enemy and teach him a lesson he won't soon forget, give him a sound thrashing!”
“That sounds like something Ilsa would do to you,” Rean-Hammon grinned, and then frowned thoughtfully and added, “But yes, I would like to leave and go somewhere, anywhere if it was away from here.”
Trystan leaned forward, fixing his eyes on his friend. “Why don't you then?”
Rean-Hammon jerked backwards in his seat, then leaned forward and hissed, “Are you mad Trystan? My father would kill me!”
“You're father doesn't even know you are around!” And though the words were hard Rean-Hammon knew they were true. His father cared nothing for him, if anything he hated him and blamed him for his wife's death. But leave? Leave his home, the only place h had ever known? The thought had never entered his mind.
“Where would we go?” Rean-Hammon whispered the words, knowing they were dangerous.
“To the mountains, or over the sea,” Trystan dropped his voice lower as well.
Rean-Hammon thought about that, then shook his head. “Its all well and good for me,” he suddenly hissed. “I am of age and of noble birth! But you, if you are caught you will be hung as a run-a-way slave!”
“That is why I wouldn't get caught!” Rean-Hammon could hear the excitement in his friend's voice and knew he had been thinking this out for a long time now. He felt his stomach drop down to his feet.
“Trystan,” Rean-Hammon felt his face start to drain color. “You're not planning on running away are you?”
Trystan rested his elbows on his knees and looked intently into his friend's face. “Not unless you come with me,” he whispered.
***
Callan flung his pack onto his back and looked at Jettison and Cahal one last time, the last time for all he knew. “Well, its been nice knowing you,” he muttered. “I probably won't make it back, but just so you know if I had to share a tent with anyone I am glad it was you two.”
Fermion rolled his eyes. “You're not going to die Callan,” he muttered. “Now remember what I said.”
“Head west until I reach the desert. There is a town right on the foot of the mountains, there I will be able to get directions to the noble man Kallum's house,” Callan said dully.
Fermion moaned. “Right, and do be careful Callan; try not to get too cocky.”
Callan bit his bottom lip hard, saluted his general and turned smartly on his heals; however he happened to turn on a patch of ice and was nearly sent tumbling to the ground. He left camp followed by roaring laughter.
He knew he was not getting off to a good start.
Chapter Two...Adventure in the Mountains
Tales
Friday 15 May 2009 - Happy Birthday
Posted by Hriste
-Hriste
