A Time in Southeast Keven

When Drake Kasun wandered into Verdun he felt nothing but a weariness born of days spent traveling in the wilds and a hunger come from the same mother. He slipped off his horse, a rangy gelding with a brown and gray spotted coat that did a fair job of blending into the prairie lands of the north. Though Verdun was a fast growing city in its own right it still had the feel much of a border town. The streets, consisting of dirt, dirt, more dirt and then some dust were a clear sign of how things had been no more than a few years past. Drake led his horse slowly down the street, sharp green eyes casting about for anything he should know. When you lived in hard lands and hard times you had to be a harder man to keep from making friends with worms and roots. 1

Voices could be heard echoing down the street, the famous Bennen Marketplace a haven for farmers bringing livestock and crops in to sell here in the late summer months. The houses closest to the gate Drake had so recently come through were mostly run down homes shared by the poor of Verdun. As he moved through the street he spied a relatively decent looking inn with a sign hanging over the sturdy looking porch that wrapped around the corner of the inn that sat facing the corner of the street it seemed to guard. The sign read "Fol's Roost" and had a picture of a white colored bird of prey sitting on a branch. Drake rubbed a heavily calloused hand over his month old goatee. This would have to do. There were several horses tied up out front so he did the same. He ruffled his horse's ears and looked into those big brown eyes. 2

"Be easy Strijder," Drake said gruffly before he smiled and took the last piece of lumped sugar he had from his pocket," be nice to these other boys, I'll get you some more here in a bit."3

The oddly colored horse downed the treat and shook his head about as he watched his owner make his way up the few steps of the porch and step into the open doorway of the inn. 4

Drake Kasun stood a little taller than what most men might have though of as average. The fact that most thought of him as a bit shorter than that was made so because of his build. His shoulders were broad and some wondered where it was his neck had gone. He had always been this way, making for a stocky child in his early years. Hardship and life in the harsh northern lands had turned that stocky little boy into a man that carried a wild strength about him. Drake Kasun was faster and stronger than most men he had ever met and knew it. He was not in the mind to parade this about and make sure others knew his name. Life to him was survival and he had no place for such strutting about. The longsword hung over his left shoulder was only the beginning of the arsenal he carried about him. Strewn about his well muscled frame were daggers and throwing knives he had come across in his twenty odd seasons. One didn't leave good steel lying about when good steel could buy you three meals a day and decent lodging, or your life. The scars that wrapped themselves around Drake Kasun would have scared a ghost. Being a good swordsman didn't mean you'd look pretty, just alive…most of the time. 5

Drake smiled as he stepped into Fol's Roost, he had come across some men who were good with a blade in his days. Some had lived, some had not. The bar that occupied the first floor of the two story inn was fairly well lit thick with the smell of mutton stew and ale. The fifteen or so patrons regarded the newcomer with relative disinterest. Drake removed his wide brimmed leather hat and set it upon the bar counter as he took a seat there. His raven colored hair was shorn as short as he could manage with his sharpest knife, a mite shorter than half a finger length from the scalp. His nose was a good sense short of being bold, aided so by his eyes. They were green in the sense that hellforged chips of emerald were green. He liked how tough men seemed shied away from his gaze, it had made for far fewer scars and seemed to keep his blood in his veins, which he liked even more than his eyes. 6

"Wot can I getcher?" the heavy set barkeeper said in an accent thick with the mountain people, it was said they were the descendants of some great kingdom of old or some such nonsense. 7

"A noggin of house ale iffen you don't mind," Drake said, looking the barkeep in the eye. 8

Pushing the folds of his dirt brown cloak away from his hip he took a few coins from an old leather coin purse tied to his greenish gray belt. 9

"Say, is tha' there belt made o gaeren scale?" the barkeeper asked with a hesitant gaze at Drake's waist. 10

"Three Keven silvers for meals and a room," Drake said, his voice cold and a bit scratchy from days spent riding in the high mountain winds, four coins dropping from his paw of a hand to the barkeeper's," and a gold piece for you forgetting about the belt and anything else you might want to know." 11

The barkeeper nodded, his mouth about to twist up into a smile as he put the coins into his apron. 12

"The noime's Holdr Turny," the barkeeper said, pulling out a rusty old key from a pocket next to the one holding the coins," y' can 'ave the room next t' the woine cell'r down them stairs." 13

Turny the barkeeper turned and indicated over his shoulder at a door behind the counter," tis joost t'rew that door down the stairs, first room on the left, the only oother door is the woine cell'r. Tis the best room for those 'oo don't want no one else knowin theys around."14

Drake decided that he liked Holdr Turny and handed the man two more silvers," For any trouble that might come of this…now if you don't me eating a bite or three of your stew." 15

"Jus call me Turny m'friend, an trouble my way makes fer a bit of life 'ere and then," the barkeeper said with a laugh as he slopped a healthy portion of mutton stew into a wooden bowl and set it and a mug of ale down in front of his newest customer. 16

"Names Drake," the younger man said to the older, extending a hand.17

"Good to meet yer Drake," Turny said with a genuine grin," noice ter meet a new face 'ere and again." 18

Drake nodded and took up to spoon offered to him by this Holdr Turny. Trust was long in coming, but the fact he felt he could trust this heavy barkeeper from the high mountains was something new. Times were that men like Drake Kasun had little to do with trust...19

The first thing he noticed was the belt. There weren’t that many new travelers that entered the Fol’s Roost on a day to day basis and fewer even that could wear a belt like that. And fewer yet, thought the patron, who could slay the beast to earn it. Such rarities as this caught the attention of everyone, but only an experience warrior would know what it was to own such an item. Nils Aristelle was one such experienced warrior. Hailing from the lands of the north, the warrior was sight to go unrivaled, some would say. Others may conclude that he was but a petty mercenary, a soldier from a kingdom long gone, earning his rites through blood and blade. Those that thought such unnerving thoughts were warned to keep them to themselves, enough examples had already been made.20

As it was, no one ever seemed to ask the mercenary just what it was that fueled his battles, his choice of sides. It certainly wasn’t the money, for anyone with an eye for riches could see that the clothes donned by this particular warrior were far from ragged, and the blades he wielded were easily worth a small settlement. But what then, if not the money? Nils grinned at the thought, the unbidden ideas already forming in his head as the man stepped through the door, and proceeded with purchasing a room for the night. When he had begun his dining for the evening, Nils took a moment to study the man, pairing him up against himself; searching for weakness. Cold blue eyes judged intently, staring out from a mess and tangle of shaggily cut black hair. With high cheek bones and a tan complexion, Nils was to be considered a very handsome man, more than ripe for the picking. His body, standing about 6’ 2” at full height, was covered in layers of sinewy muscle, his leanness betraying the strength within. He wore no armor on his person, and more than one person was want to argue that he was too arrogant to ever think of it, projecting himself as being above the necessity for defense. The best armor, he had been heard to say, is one that doesn’t get hit. A long white vest, shimmering with almost an incorporeal existence in the dimly lit tavern, was the only clothing that Northerner wore on his upper body, and even this was all but non existent, its thin layers blowing in the wind constantly to reveal the torso beneath. Long black pants, loose and made of some silky material, ended in a pair of heavy black boots. Everything about this man seemed regal, as if a crown would come naturally to his head.21

With a gentle sigh, Nils lifted his mug to his lips, allowing the foamy liquid within to slither its way down his throat, burning all the while. With a smile of grim satisfaction, Nils placed the mug back on the table and stood, raising strong hands high above his head in an obnoxious stretch. He was an eye-catcher, and more than one bar-wench had to be stirred back into work as his lithe form moved fluidly across the barroom floor. Carrying no weapons on his person, Nils was suspected to be either capable of defending himself without them, or a fool, begging to be mugged. One look at his eyes obliterated any idea of the latter. As Nils neared the table the newcomer sat at, Turny came hustling over, blubbering something nearly incomprehensible behind his thick accent.22

“Now, hold’em up there, Nils. He asked fer ‘is proivacy, an’ Oi have te respect ‘at.” Nils said nothing, but merely looked into the eyes of the sluggardly barkeep.23

No words needed to be exchanged, for Nils seemed to have the rare talent of speaking volumes with a singly glance. And one glance was all it took. With eyes moving pointedly to the floor, the barkeep stepped aside, making room for the man that seemingly ran this joint, though only in presence, not in title. With a quick gesture of his hand, Nils had pulled a chair for himself from Drake’s table, seating himself without question. He eyed Drake up again for a moment, then spoke, his voice crisp and clear, low and resonant.24

“Nice belt you have there.”25

Drake looked up at the taller, roguish looking man who had so easily intimidated old Turny. Still chewing on a specifically choice bit of mutton he'd come across in the stew he shrugged.26

"Never know what you'll find lying about in the wilds these days."27

"Indeed," the man Turny had called Nils said with a wry twist of his mouth, Drake concluded that this Nils could probably do a good sneer if the mood took. 28

There was tension about the room as Drake went back to eating his soup. Turny was behind the bar counter, absently collecting several mugs that were sitting in immobile testament to customers come and gone. Most of the patrons tried not to look at the two men. 29

The oddly dressed, wiry man they all knew as Nils wasn't known as a wrathful or troublesome man, though he had come by a few run ins with the City Guard. A recognized mercenary, his exploits were known here in the north, but only by word of mouth. The major fighting was mostly in the southern lands where nobles had been warring amongst themselves for near a hundred years. But the nation of Keven and the free towns beyond were a peaceful place to be, rough and wild, but peaceful. They said no blade had ever touched Nils Aristelle save the razor he shaved with. This wasn't entirely true, a few pale scars could be found here and there across his lithe frame, but his quick hands and whip-like strength had shown out in more than a few brawls in Verdun. Turny kept cleaning, casting glances at the two men who seemed friendly enough on the surface. That tension did little to hide itself. As much as Nils was a man to keep good of, this Drake character was a new breed altogether. He looked right the part of one of them mountain lions Turny had hunted as a youngun up in the mountains known thereabouts in the north as the Toes of the Sky. A fierce tall range of peaks, they stood as a mighty hefty guard to the cold wasteland that lay beyond them, the Wolderlund. Wasn't much up there to interest anyone south of the Toes, a few stories here and there. Something they talked now and again about the fabled Jhumoc. The supposed benefactors of Sulred, the famous trade town a good to days beyond the northernmost border of Keven. Like their patron fathers they were said to be. Turny shook his head as he glanced up again to see Nils nodding thoughtfully at something Drake had said. What was it Nils had said to the hard looking young man? Turny placed a piece of gunsee in his mouth, the tough root leaking its garlic flavor into the old barkeep's mouth. The belt. Turny knew Gaeren hide when he saw it. Some thought the Gaeren and their dark kin to be but tall tales told to frighten the children and amuse the old'uns. He'd seen them up close, closer than he liked for certain. They were meaner than a badger with a sore tooth. And they were smart too. Where'd a young stag like this Drake fellow come across a prize like that?30

Drake lifted the bowl to his mouth, draining the remaining broth into his mouth. Wiping his chin on his sleeve he nodded at Nils' last comment, Fol's Roost was a right decent place despite its looks. Setting his bowl down he drained his mug of ale dry and nodded politely to old Turny. The he turned to look at this Nils fellow. They'd talked of naught but niceties since the skinny man had asked about the belt. Good thing lying ain't to hard, Drake thought to himself with a small sense of chagrin. 31

"I best be out and about," Drake said, rising to leave," more than like I'll run into to you again Nils…"32

"Aristelle," the long limbed man said, extending a hand to Drake and standing up as he did.33

Drake shook the man's hand and fought back a smile, he had a good grip, and calluses enough to match his own hands, the hands of a man much in practice with a sword. He'd heard of this Nils Aristelle some years back, two nobles from the south had come north with their armies. They didn't breach upon Keven lands, but they came into the mountains a mite smaller than the Toes of the Sky that drew up along Keven's southern border, rough hilled country just below that. The two forces had met there, the battle lasting for near four days. The things it was said this Nils Aristelle did there were something to be wary of. Drake had come to find something other than trouble with someone who might be as handy with a blade as he was himself. Drake turned and walked out of the inn and stood on the porch. Looking down at Strijder he put his hat back on. This was shaping up to be a fair bit easier than he'd thought it was going to be, as long as he stayed back of trouble from men like Aristelle.34

Across the street were shops filled with odds and ends, a home cooking little bakery sort of place and a sizeable stable yard belonging to the fat barkeeper who owned Fol's Roost. Shadows had begun to cast themselves flagrantly about with the setting of the sun on the green and fertile Keven countryside. He hid in those shadows. He was good at this sort of thing. This Drake of the Kasun clan had a better chance of keeping the sun from sinking below the horizon than catching a glimpse of me, his watcher thought with a smile. He was to be followed and observed. If things went as planned Drake Kasun would lead the watcher right to the man that was really important. As the powerfully built Kasun rode down the street on his high shouldered mount, the watcher noticed a lithe shadow of a man move silently between the inn and whatever building was next to it. Catching a mere glimpse of the dark, shaggy hair and odd clothing was enough to name the slender limbed shadow Aristelle. Frowning absently, the watcher absolved to ask his master if he could have Aristelle killed quietly. A man with that mercenary's talents could be troublesome if he discovered the importance of Kasun's reason for being in Keven. Shaking his head he turned and walked into the shadows, disappearing from the street entirely.35

Nils moved like a wraith amongst the growing shadows as darkness fell over Verdun. This Drake was an interesting man. It had been quite sometime since he'd met a man who looked near as handy with handled steel as he. Running noiselessly up to a stack of old boxes behind some building or another, Nils went from the alleys and back streets of Verdun to the rooftops. He smiled, pleased with the ease with which he was able to keep Drake in view. The man had ridden across the town in an aimless manner. Yet there was a sense of purpose about him that intrigued Nils. A creature of curiosity if nothing else, the lithe Northlander was determined to get a better idea of what this man was up to. Life in Verdun had grown stale. The garrison that stood in the middle of the city had gone quite with the departure of the captain of the City Guard and near all of his five hundred men not more than three weeks ago. Training in the lower mountains it was said. Peace is a terrible thing for a warrior if training was what was supposed to get your blood boiling. Nils eyed the dangerous looking man on horseback, this Drake. There was something going on and it smelled like a chance to at least get the blood moving again. The cloaked man turned his horse down another one of those wide dirt paths that served as streets in this life forsaken city. There were few people out this night. Several beggars, sleeping of course, no source of coin to be had, or bothered, and a few others who looked about, clearly unsatisfied with the darkness of night being enough cover for their deeds. Nils cursed silently under his breath. In the single moment he had looked away from the street, his muscular quarry had disappeared. From his perch atop the two story building her currently sat atop, he tried to make out the freshest set of hoof marks in the hard packed dirt street. Frowning at his inability to do so he moved without a sound to the edge of the two story building and dropped onto the next, a squat little place maid of baked brick, smelled of heavy meats and good spiced wines it did. It was then that he heard the voices speaking in hushed tones. Moving across the slightly tilted roof, Nils settled like a ghost on the overhang. From his roost that slanted out near halfway over the narrow alleyway between this fine smelling building and the next, he could hear everything clearly, even if it was a bit hushed. Drake's hard, deeper tones were evident, along with lighter ones that sounded for certain the part of a woman.36

"Lets 'ope you be right in that none be following you. Where are the oothers?" 37

"They've made camp some miles north of the city in a decent hollow surrounded by the only fair nub of swamps in these parts. Just an hours walk away from the river that runs stone's throw away from the north gates."38

"Good, good."39

There was a moment's pause which Nils used to roll his eyes in exasperation at the woman's accent. The mountain people were a ridiculous bunch. Descendants of warriors and mighty kings my eye. Nils brushed his contemptuous thoughts away as Drake spoke.40

"You should have told me the barkeeper was one of you. Nice old feller."41

"Ol Turny 'elps when 'e can, wish we 'ad him in t'young days. Any'ow, where y' brother's be about? They coomin?"42

"No, I couldn't find them in time so I sent word I was looking for them. Last I heard of Kyndero he'd taken up with an outfit from a few of the free towns to do this an that." 43

"And Nahl?"44

"Not sure about him, Nahl always was a bit different than either me or Kyndero. Hasn't been less than three years since Nahl got that fool notion of going to Polcanpol into his head. Hadn't heard hide or tail of him since."45

"We coulda made fair pick a use oot a them two, nifty wit a blade as they be."46

"How bad is it Shalteli?"47

Nils' ears pearked up at the name, it seemed to ring a bell off somewhere in the dark, but he couldn't figure out why. 48

"Bad, Zedwary and Telmar came back tis amorn wit words that Grufalo and Colroy are camped wit a few more oov ours at the start of Sorr's gap. They found the men. Looks t'be a soight worse than we thought. They're moovin quickly. Say n'more than a week at best afore they'll be t'roo the pass. We moost be careful a who 'ears a this, y'know they'll 'ave oiyes in the cities closest t'the gap, mayhap even the capital itself. The other cities are mobilizing, but it will be a good six days before the first troops get here. Iffen they learn tha' we knoo tha' they's a coomin they moight as like push right 'ard t'roo the gap. If this is what coom aboot then Verdun will fall. An' t'rest oov Keven as well. They'll b'no chance wit 'er forces spread out loike they be." 49

"There was a time n'more than a year ago I'da been a ways back of this sort of thing, risking my neck for others and the like." 50

Nils didn't know whether or not to believe what he was hearing. He knew the names Colroy, Zedwary, and Telmar. They were brothers from one of the free towns closer to the Toes, back up into the Forest of Esraner that sat below the Toes like grass beneath your feet. A mean sight that forest was, the land thereabouts a hard land filled with plenty hard men. There was a forth brother to those three names, the youngest, Kalter. Nils had never personally met any of them, but their reputation in Keven and the free towns south of whereabouts in the mountains the slender northlander had come down from preceded them. They were said to be fair minded men barely out of youth but tougher and meaner than any of the beasts or men that roamed the wilderness that surrounded what posed for civilization here in the north. Sure Keven was a peaceful, educated place. But it had nothing on the luxury of the southlands beyond the mountains that served as Keven's southern border. The only way to come north was through the mountains to the south or the east of Keven. The Forest of Esraner formed a western barrier almost as impassable as any treacherous peak. North lay only the Wolderlund, the wild lands beyond the Northern Toes where legends and nightmares were realized, preying upon any fool who dared such a desolate place.51

Grufalo was the named that caught his attention most of all. It explained the ringing bell the woman's name had set to clanging. Grufalo and Shalteli Ertshire were some of the most recognizable names amongst the mountain people. For those who said that the tales and legends of a mountain kingdom in the Toes were more than just that, the Ertshires were more than just another clan of funny talking mountain people. They were said to be the direct descendants of the former kings of the lost nation. Far as Nils was concerned it didn't matter much whether or not there had been such a nation. It wasn't there now and that was what made it seem not too important. Still, if he was hearing correctly, there was something coming through Sorr's Gap, the only way from Keven to the Eastern coasts that bordered along the deep blue seas. There were some coastal towns out that way, but nothing more, and they were open seaports at best, fishing villages at worst. He would have dismissed it right off as nonsense if he was listening to a princess of sorts in her own right talk it out with a man who looked fit to wrestle one of them monster bears from the Toes and ask for more. Nils smiled, his hunch had been correct. A man with his skills could turn a good amount of coin if the situation was handled properly. Before he could change his mind he slipped off the edge of the roof and into the narrow alleyway without even the slightest whisper of a noise.52

Drake Kasun whirled about, the longsword clearing it’s sheathe with a deadly rasp of leather and metal. The falling shadow dodged the blinding quick slash and stepped back. Drake stepped forward and set himself for a quick kill as the man he stood ready to disembowel held his hands away from his body. 53

"Hold onto that sword for a moment.” Nils' confident, resonant voice was easily distinguishable. 54

Drake fixed his intense green gaze on the taller man and kept his sword at ready.55

"Speak."56

A cross look of agitated annoyance flitted through the icy eyes of the mercenary, his lips pulling into a sneer to match his words.57

“Speak? What am I, your dog?” Nils was known for holding an attitude that could match a harpy’s, and the lack of respect to go with it.58

“No, but if you don’t speak, you’ll be a pitted boar…” Drake spoke with a quiet confidence, his words stated matter-of-factly.59

There was no threat in his voice, only truth. With the long sword pointed at the gut of the man before him, Drake was in a position to make demands, and Nils recognized this. He was not, however, one to fall in easily to the wishes and suggestions of others, and regardless of the situation’s dire odds, Nils maintained his poignant attitude, saying nothing and glaring meaningfully into Drake’s eyes, daring him to make the move. However, it was Shalteli that broke the moment’s tension, her voice rising above the men’s dispute with calm strength.60

“Both of ye, settle yer’selves. We doon’t be needin’ this right now.” She looked between the two men, finally settling her eyes on Drake.61

“You know this, Drake. You know we could use the ‘elp.” Her voice was firm, but not pushy, the words more a suggestion than anything.62

“No.”63

Nils smirked, standing up straight as he realized the situation was in hand. He knew that he could handle himself in a street brawl, but against an armed warrior….that was a different story. All the same, he was slightly pleased it hadn’t come to that, yet.64

“You don’t need me? Well, first off, little darlin’, I never said anything about wanting to go along on your little carpet ride. You think that I just jump into battles with people wearing belts made of Gaeran hide? What kind of fool do you take me for?”65

Now it was Shalteli’s turn to grin, her eyes dancing with a shimmering humor as she spoke. Her voice carried a tone that went straight through Nils, his mind mesmerized by her beauty. “I take you for a mercenary, and that means you work for your pay. Does the who and where really matter that much to you?”66

Nils quirked an eyebrow, his blue eyes sparkling dangerously. How did she know he was a mercenary? He had listened to the entire conversation that these people had, and unless she was some sort of magi, something Nils doubted by the look of her, Drake had not even mention Nils, much less his occupation. True, his reputation often led him, but for a woman who didn’t seem to know his name, this was unlikely.67

“And, my dear, just how do you know that I am a mercenary?” Nils voice was calm, reserved, not allowing a hint toward his thoughts.68

A flick of the wrist and a roll of the eyes marked the woman’s annoyance, though her voice remained calm.69

“Oh really now, do you think that I’m blind? The way you stand, your attitude, they all mark you for a mercenary. Besides, why else would you follow some stranger you had just met if you weren’t looking for a bit of work…or fun, if you care to put it that way.”70

“Not to mention the tattoo on his right side,” Drake added, as if a passing thought. By this time, he had lowered his blade slightly, realizing that there was no immediate risk from this man. True, he still did not trust him, but all the same, he could run him through quick enough.71

“Aye, that too.” Shalteli nodded her head. She had seen the tattoo that flowed around the right side of Nils torso, ending just above his hip. It was the Mark of the Sell-Sword, a tattoo that made Nils a member of an elite group of mercenaries and bounty hunters. It meant that Nils was more than just a petty warrior, and that he had proved himself on many occasions working for the right people. It meant that his sword was as good as his word, and that his only true loyalties lie behind the gold. Nils nodded. So these people knew what that meant. That could mean a few things. One of which, Nils didn’t particularly like. It meant that if they offered Nils a job, and the pay was reasonable, he would have to take the job. No choice in the matter of who it was for, as long as the money was good, it was his duty. However, it also meant that these people were no simple wanderers on a menial task. These people knew they lay of the land, and they must know some pretty important people to understand the Marks.72

“Ok, so I am a mercenary. That still doesn’t mean I know what’s going on here. I know about the Gaeran, hell, I’ve fought them before. I know that it means a great deal that you’re wearing that belt, Drake. It’s not a task easily accomplished to fall one of those beasts. And you, lady, I’ve heard your name before, and not in talk about roses and lilies. I know who you are….but the real question is, what are you doing here?”73

Shalteli shook her head and pinned the slender man with a hard stare.74

“There’ll b’noo answern sooch questions out ‘ere. I tells you when you take the job agreed?”75

“How much?” this Nils fellow was quick to get to the point.76

“Twenty, b’month, fer as loong as needs be iffen we…”77

“Five, paid by week,” Nils said quickly, cutting her off,” no sense in getting paid by month if you don’t live that long.”78

Shalteli smiled brightly, looking to Drake who was looked like he’d had his toes stepped on. She laughed, these lowlands weren’t any good for laughter. She missed the time she got to spend in the mountains, the Toes more than any other, home is home.79

“Drake, I think Oi’ll be taken a loiking t’this un!” Shalteli laughed, watching the mercenary’s hard eyes spark with an unreadable emotion as she halted the brief negotiation,” supply yer own weapons and ‘orse and she’s a deal doone.”80

Nils gave a small bow, his eyes never coming away from Shalteli’s strong brown eyes. Her father had always told her she was strong and she believed it with every fiber of her being. She would have to be strong in the days to come.81

“Drake, Oi’ll be off to get Zed, Tel and Joral, fill this’un in on what ‘e needs to know and take ‘im t’get d’oothers. Head east o’town an’ we’ll find you afore y’gets t’far.”82

Drake nodded without taking his eyes from Nils Aristelle.83

“An iffen y’thinks he might be in with them, don’t take n’chances.”84

The smile that appeared on the shorter man was a fearsome thing that looked at the very least like one of the big mountain cats baring its teeth. With a gentle swish of her skirts Shalteli turned and walked out into the alley, it was time to move. She frowned as she moved down the street with a purposeful stride. Nils Aristelle was not a name she’d heard much of, but to be of the Mark he would have to be nothing less than brilliant with a sword. If only Drake doesn’t kill him. Knowing Drake Kasun was like knowing the fierce thunderstorms that could come up over the plains before you could blink. Like an avalanche or hungry kouda bear he had a sense of wildness around him that she found endearing though other women would like have felt quite the opposite. Shalteli shook her head and moved steadily towards the eastern gate, the city streets quiet and relatively deserted. These times were for wild and dangerous men.85

Drake sheathed his sword and looked about, obviously waiting for the Ertshire woman to make haste away. He struck a fearsome figure in the faint hints of light cast from the dimly lit city street. The dark cloak hanging across his broad shouldered frame and his closely shorn dark hair only emphasized the danger he seemed to emanate. Nils could do much the same when the time called for such, but a man like Kasun would be remembered whereas Nils could do nothing but dress down a bit in the old beggars cloak he had acquired one day and he would be forgotten in a moment. Drake looked him in the eyes, his hard green gaze like a hammer.86

“Go back to Fol’s Roost,” his countenance was a cold seething of rage and determination,” I will meet you in the room Turny gave me.”87

Nils nodded as Drake turned and walked out of the alley, his strangely colored horse coming from somewhere just outside of the mouth of the alley. Kasun had done nothing but motion with his hand and the horse had come to him. Interesting. Even in only a few steps Nils could tell that the horse was built for running. Drake was a fine judge of horseflesh. Shrugging to himself he took two quick steps and jumped high against the wall of the building rising up over the squat little brick building. Pushing off the wall he appeared to float up onto the rooftops.88

Nils paused on a ledge as he thought for a moment, a small grin spreading across his features. Battles going on, people from the Toes, unanswered questions, so much going on! Nils nearly reeled at the possibility of coin that could end up in his pocket. Despite the well-to-do appearance of the mercenary, as well as the stories that followed him like a pack of hounds, Nils had been running a bit low on money recently. Oh, he was still very capable of making ends meet, but his coffer hadn’t been as full lately. Shrugging this thought off, Nils continued his trek across the rooftops, carefully leaping from stone to wood, from wood to metal, his thoughts trailing in his wake all the while. With expert skill and grace, the mercenary missed not a step. In fact, it was as if he knew exactly where each step would land him, precision marked foot falls safely marking his way. Nils smiled at the thought, recollecting on the training that had brought him to such a subtle understanding of the layout of this town, this land…89

“Good. Now the next step, it’s simple work Nils, and remember, if you make so much as a sound, you’ll regret it.” Nils paused, looking at his instructor much as a young child would look at a father.90

In truth, Nils was but only seventeen, and hadn’t seen his father in over four years, but Stillart was as much a father as he could ask for, and then some. Having taken him into his apprenticeship with an almost unheard of eagerness, Nils had thus far proven his worth to his benefactor. Now, however, he started to doubt himself. Carefully leaping from stump to stump, Nils knew better than to look down, allowing his mind to focus on the barbs and spikes that lay beneath the structured pathway of timber tops and raised stumps. Failure meant death, or impalement in the least. That was how it always. “There is no better motivator than death.” One of Stillart's sayings and one he said often. How true it was though. If you had no choice but death, or to continue on faultlessly, then what could you do but win? In Nils mind, there was no other choice. Step. Leap. Jump. It all lead onward, lead him one step closer to the day when he would receive his mark…91

As if activated by thought, a searing pain tore through Nils’s lower back, flaring from where the tattoo marked his skin. In an instant, the graceful leaping of a nimble man turned to the mindless seizures of an infant. Nils fell to the ground, clutching at his back.92

“Fine! Take it! Shelescht Mor!” As the words left his mouth the pain subsided, leaving Nils once more in control of his body. 93

However, as the moment passed, it would seem that this was far from over. Emanating from the strange tattoo, an iridescent light infiltrated the night air, a gold hue shimmering beneath the vest. Nils tore the vest from his shoulders in an effort to halt the incessant itching that had taken the place of the burning sensation, his back bare against the cold stone roof. With a grunt, Nils rolled to his stomach, pushing himself help unto his hands and knees. With an almost retching sound, an ethereal bird tore itself from the tattoo on Nils back, shimmering in the midnight air. Nils panted heavily, forcing himself to hold back the tears that begged to break free. In an effort of supreme will, Nils forced himself to stand, placing the vest once more on his back. Only then did he turn toward the bird, still hovering like a golden sun in the air.94

“Go on. Go back to them. Tell the house everything about tonight. Tell them that when I will contact them when the time is right and not a moment before. Be quick about it, Mor, or it will be your head and not mine.” With a vicious ‘caw’, the ethereal vanished into the velvety sky, leaving no mark in its wake.95

Nils slumped to the ground in a moment of exhaustion, his head falling into his hands. Damn the house, he thought, damn them and their rules. He had to report it, that he knew, but he had no idea that it would come so fast. The house first, then the job. That was the way it worked, had always worked. But once, just once, Nils would like to finally be able to talk to them himself, rather than this most painful of magics that manifested itself in his mark.96

With a sigh, the mercenary stood, calling upon his deep reserves of strength to continue on, his silent plight taking him across the rooftops toward the Fol’s Roost. He would be there when Kasun came back. And when they reached the Toes, Nils would have some business to settle. And then, if he was still alive, well, then he would start thinking about ways to spend his money.97


Shalteli Iua Ertshire slipped over the high stone walls on the easternmost side of Verdun, stout rope tied around the raised battlement. She snapped her wrist as her feet hit the ground, flicking the rope with an easy practiced motion. Catching the rope as it fell she paused for a moment, watching the edge of the wall, her off hand lingering at her waist where she wore a thick bladed knife. Turning she ran from the walls her soft toed boots kicking up dust. She had always loved to run, free in a way she only found on horse or foot but always on the run. She knew something was following her, she had felt the presence of something inhuman the second she set foot inside Verdun’s walls. Whatever it was had to have some idea of what was going on. She had been foolish to come herself. Her name and face were well known amongst the northern lands of men and even more so amongst those whose plans she sought to foil. Ertshire, the name of kings and queens dead and gone, only a dream remained.98

From the walls of Verdun the land was a flat thing of sparse shrubs and a few trees. No more than a half mile from the town the flatland turned to a raucous arrangement of hill and dale all the way to the Southern most extent of the Toes of the Sky, the natural border that separated Keven from the eastern coast. Shalteli kept up her pace, unwilling to look over her shoulder. From a small copse of tired looking trees three mounted shadows emerged without a sound, a riderless horse in tow. She sped up as the riders pulled alongside of her. She kept with them for a moment on foot before swinging up into her saddle. Glancing her she thought she saw a dark shape flitting across the flatlands, but when she blinked it was gone. It was there, somewhere.99

“Wobegone missy! Isn tha rascally Drake un toon?” a loud, deep voice guffawed from the biggest of the riders, his thick mountain accent much more pronounced than even her own.100

“Aye Joral, t’oothers are with ‘im,” she said loudly over the pounding of the horses hooves,” we go to their camp, its joost north oov the city, a bite hollow surrounded by a smattern oov the swamps. Y’know the place?”101

‘Aye missy, that I do!” bellowed the hulking Joral as he turned his heavy shouldered, broadchested, workhorse of a mount to the north, a westerly slant to their path, taking them on a parallel course with the walls of the city that now sat a mile or two away.102

Shalteli let her horse fall back so that she came up next to a tall, long limbed rider. His long, shoulder length hair was a dark brown, hints of red running throughout giving it a look the color of dark rust. His face was clean shaven, a face for to send the ladies swooning, as they did every time he played the lyre.103

“Miss me luv?” he said, his well articulated, slightly mischievous voice sending shivers down her spine.104

“Aye,” was all she said as she leaned over to kiss him.105

“Save it brother!” a hard, somber voice thundered from behind them both,” what is in your head to be doing this on horseback!? An’ at full gallop!”106

“Ease Telmar,” the slender rider called, his shifting grey hazel eyes sparking with amusement,” the danger makes it all the more fun!”107

Shalteli laughed as she looked ahead, Zedwary Anderon was a prankster of a man, his laugh infectious and his smile a danger to all who claimed melancholy. His younger brother, the stern, broad Telmar was a serious minded warrior with a taste for knowledge, having stayed in town schooling a few years longer than any of his other three brothers. Horses keeping their determined pace, the four riders moved swiftly through the hill country that surrounded Verdun, each maintaining a watchful eye on the land around them. Shalteli smiled as she caste a glance at Zedwary, her troubadour, her dreams stayed beyond the fall of night. If only she was a queen as her ancestors had been, he would be her king…108

It watched silently as the Monegaad girl ran swiftly from the walls, her gray riding dress flowing efficiently around her quick steps. The Montegaad. They were thorn in the side. Their kingdom long since gone they still had considerable power amongst the northlands. Keven adored them as people out of legend, the free towns hailed them as protectors of the people, champions of those who the wild northlands would have otherwise taken without them. It was said that some of the Montegaad still lived deep in the Toes, their nation not yet dead. But as much as he knew no human had found them. All for the better. Though their defeat had not been complete, the Montegaad had never been the same. With the Ertshires to lead them they were still formidable and must be dealt with. He knew if he took the girl now he would be rewarded by his master. But there were others there; he could feel them, taste them even from the walls. The elder brother was worth more, he was the one he sought. Casting a sharp eye around him he made sure he was alone on the parapet. Slipping over the wall he hit the ground without a noise, moving like a shadow of the night across the open field east of Verdun. When the others emerged from the hills he knelt, watching as they moved north and then started to curve west. They were going to find the others. Things were not going as his master had planned. The swift destruction of the towns on the coast had not been enough to stop word of their coming. Someone must have survived. His master had to know. Dark shadows of the night moved eerily across the open field east of Verdun’s walls. Time was short.109

With a practiced ease that belied the task at hand, Nils swung himself down from the roof of the Fol’s roost and into the window of what would be his room. Having had this particular ‘home’ for quite some time, Nils knew where everything was and should be, regardless of the penetrating darkness that had swept in at nightfall. Precarious steps took him around the random110

objects that had been strewn to the floor at his whim, never to be picked up or moved again. Finally, when he reached the nightstand beside the bed, was he able to light a candle and shine some light on the situation. 111

The room was a mess. Everything in it was either laying carelessly against something else or had been haphazardly thrown onto the floor, left to rot in the layers of dust that had since descended. A few items, however, were stowed carefully away, obviously well cared for. Nils walked across the room, stepping on certain objects of little value, his eyes falling on two of112

the floor boards. To the untrained eye, these floor boards would look like each and every other floor board around them, but to Nils, they served as much more. In a day and age where the innkeepers were as much burglars as anything else, it was necessary to hide certain things, away from the prying eye. So when Nils bent to the floor, his fingers pulling at the loose boards, he gave a small smile as they came away from the rest. Reaching within, he pulled forth a bundle of cloth, and laid it on the floor beside him.113

With the care of a father tending his new son, Nils unrolled the long wrap, his eyes taking pleasure in the items within. Calloused fingers closed over the cool metal of a silver bracelet, plainly adorned with simply designs. However, as his fingers touched the metal, the bracelet seemed to writhe and twist in his grip. Used to this reaction, Nils merely placed the item on his114

left wrist. Next, he reached for the brace of knives, fitted to an attachment that could be strapped onto his thigh, providing easy access to the six small blades held within. Finally, the sword. Nils revered his blade above any other he had ever seen, and with good reason. The blade was crafted from a mithril alloy, allowing it the strength of enchanted steel with a weight that steel could never achieve. Nearly unbreakable, it was a blade that Nils had won in competition, then had augmented in several ways. Ancient runic scripts ran up the length of the flat of the blade, shimmering a soft blue in the darkness of the room. At the base of the blade’s flat, two jewels had been faceted in, what looked like a ruby and an ebon stone. The hilt was wrapped in thick black leather, bearing yet another, larger, ruby in the pommel. Lifting the blade from where it lay on the cloth, he stood. With an ease that marked years of practice, Nils placed the back-holster on himself in a matter of moments, strapping it across his bare chest. Replacing his vest on himself once more, Nils drew the blade, making sure that the top of the sheath was raised slightly out the neck of the vest, allowing easy access to the blade. With a swing of the hand and gentle loop of the blade, Nils replaced it, stretching his back once more.115

Turning then, Nils kicked the boards back into place before stepping to the116

door and snuffing out the candle. Might as well get a drink, he thought, if117

I’m to be waiting long for this fellow.118

Drake Kasun walked into Fol's Roost in a mood that advertised itself as something of a sore tooth. The sell-sword wasn't trustworthy, without or without the Mark. The many guilds of the south held a great distaste for him, politics were when one man tried to tell other men what to do, made worse when it was excused as good for those not making the decision. Drake frowned as he walked behind the counter, the few patrons still left recognizing him and dismissing him just as quickly. He would rather die by a mistake of his own, than live by the word of a politician. This business was going to be bigger and far worse than any of the trouble he'd sought out in his few years. I am glad to have come, he thought as he made the descent into the darkness of the cellar. The first room on the left, door slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath Drake shifted the dark cloak on his broad shouldered frame and walked into the room.119

Having very little by way of furniture, there was a bed, complimented by a wash bin and a simple, homespun rug on the middle of floor. The mercenary was leaning against the far wall, well armed with a brief assortment of knives, for throwing like as not, and the hilt of a sword sticking up over his shoulder. He must have a sense of the magnitude of what he was getting himself into. The bargaining for his price had been too fast. There had been a light in the man's eyes at the mention of his kind of work. There was a small bit of Drake that whispered in his mind that the man was half mad.120

"Drake Kasun, it's time you start telling me why I'm to be paid as much gold as I am…unless you were just looking for a pretty face?" 121

Drake nodded the contempt for the man clear on his hard features, green eyes piercing with intensity, restrain the beast within, not now, not now. 122

"You know Shalteli, and I assume her brother?"123

"Of course," Nils responded crisply, leaning forward to shift the sword sheathed on his back," the Montegaad are living legends, and their leaders hailed in some places as royalty." 124

Drake decided that he did not like the way the man spoke, the way he said anything. Not now.125

"They are who will be giving all of us our coin," Drake smiled, like watching a snake open its mouth before it strikes," what? You don't believe I'd do this for the loyalty only do you?"126

Nils shrugged as Drake laughed.127

"What will you do sell-sword, when I tell you what we face? What if you turn and run?"128

There was silence as the two men stared at each other, the animosity and tension palpable. Drake, who was now standing next to the bed, sat down, the smile leaving.129

"We go to face nightmares, mercenary, things from our darkest dreams. You've fought the Gaeren, good, they'll be there. But they will not be as you know them, wild tribes wandering the borders of civilization. They lead them that we go to fight. The Renarse come as well, skin the color of the darkest night, they are shadows of men. The horrors that are going to pass through Sorr's Gap are the darkness come for us. We have to stall their main forces long enough for Keven to bring its men together. If they were to be through the gap before we brought Keven's armies together, Keven would fall. Shalteli had a man come to her some time back, more than half crazed. He told stories of terrible beasts and horrible monsters raiding up and down the easterly coast that lies just over the mountains. We thought it was normal raids, but when he started talking numbers we knew something was afoot. She's sent more men to confirm, the ones that came back spoke of massive camps on the beaches, whole towns put to the torch, the inhabitants passed out amongst the demons to do with as they wished…which was mostly to be eaten." 130

Nils stayed silent as Drake paused, looking him in the eye. He'd fought Gaeren and knew of Renarse, his travels for the House having taken him to a myriad of different places. But still, the numbers described were staggering. If it came to having to fall back through Sorr's gap and making a stand at Verdun he knew they'd be in a cook pot by week's end. He smiled, stepping forward, hand extended.131

"I'll do it."132

Drake nodded, taking the man's hand in his.133

"If you betray us or decide the stakes are to high, know that I will kill you."134

"Indeed," was all he said, the pain of the Mark still throbbing gently in his side.135

Rising to his feet, Drake turned and left the room.136

"We go now to Sorr's Gap. We will be stopping in a small village on the way there, Fow, if I know my stuff."137

"I have heard of Fow," Nils said slowly, his own luck apparently taking a drastic move towards success. 138

Fow, the House was never truly gone…139

Aaron Delmouth.140

Age unknown. Height 5’4”. Gray hair, blue eyes, small frame.141

That was all Nils knew about him. And in the old days, though only some weeks in the past, Nils wouldn’t have cared to know any more. He was the target, the intended victim, the dearly departed. No matter what they called it, it was all the same. But now… So much had happened. So many rumors were flying in from all over. And now this. War. Could it really be true? Nils questioned his thoughts thoroughly as he walked the streets, his mind set on other matters. They pay is so much, he pondered, how can I say no? And we go through Fow, its such easy money! However, even as the words formed in his mind, he knew that it was not truth. No money was easy money in this business, because his life was on the line, wagering every gold coin all or nothing.142

...143

It was morning. The air that slid across the plains north of Verdun was still heavy with fog and the sharp aroma of churned up grass. He could smell the cookfires before he even saw the camp tucked down in a hallow surrounded by swamplands on three sides. Some river ran through the far western end of the bog, just far enough to make out the rustling of rapids. Drake smiled as he saw figures moving about the small assortment of tents.144

“Hadolay!!!” Drake bellowed, his eyes alight with a pleased sense of mischief.145

Those within the camp stopped what they were doing long enough to recognize Drake’s stocky frame atop the familiar Strijder. Nils rode close behind on his own mount, a well muscled dun. Two of the figures from the campsite still a near mile off broke away from the others and dashed out towards the two riders. Drake watched in amusement as he recognized the irrepressible Anderon brothers, Zedwary and Kalter. Moving with an easy gait Zedwary loped along like a wolf, limbs moving in a fashion that seemed almost lazy. The younger of the two, Kalter, was a bit thicker in build, but equally as quick. Drake felt a small surge of pride as he felt a kinship to the two younger men. They were all predators, bodies forged in the fire of the lands of Keven and the free towns. A sharp bark of laughter from Nils caused Drake to break away from his reverie and watch as Zedwary and Kalter closed in on them. They’d gone a little half the way and had not yet begun to tire. Drake shifted in his saddle and let Strijder set a slower pace, eager to see which of the brothers would prove the faster. Quiet moments passed around Nils and Drake as they watched the two runners approach.146

“You’ll have to run faster than that little bear cub!”147

They jostled for position as they began to run faster.148

“All that time kissing Shali has made you slow enough to be beaten!”149

Zedwary dodged a wild elbow by his brother and gained a step on him.150

“I’m sorry brother,” Zedwary yelled,” Drake wants to talk and I can’t wait for you!”151

With that the younger Kalter put on a burst of speed and dove at his brother’s legs, wrapping them up in a flying tackle. The both hit the ground hard and rolled, Kalter coming up on his feet first and trotting over to the two riders. The barefaced Kalter stopped next to Drake and lifted a dirty stained, calloused hand to him.152

“Behold m’lady, I have won this race…in your honor.”153

Drake lashed out with a boot and hit Kalter square in the chest, causing the youth to stumble backwards into his older brother, who tripped him head over heels with a cunningly placed kick to the back of the leg.154

“Appreciated Drake, that little one was getting a bit big for his trousers.”155

Drake smirked as he glanced back at the mercenary who was staring off to the east. The sell-sword hadn’t been so arrogant this morning. Pretty boy probably didn’t like being raised from his bed before noon.156

“I hear Shalteli made it back last night,” Drake said quietly.157

“She made it back. And they haven’t been apart since. Staying up the whole night and chattering like a pair of squirrels in spring,” Kalter laughed good naturedly as he stepped up beside his brother.158

Zedwary shrugged and gave them a goofy grin.159

“Zed, Kal, this is Nils Aristelle, he’s coming with us.”160

Zedwary shrugged and looked to little brother.161

“Guess he can come if he likes.”162

“Long as he doesn’t hog all the fun.”163

Drake shook his head and pushed Strijder slowly forward with a soft click of the tongue as Zedwary lead the way back to camp. He did not turn to look when Nils rode up beside him.164

“These brothers are the ones you recruited make war on your so called forces of darkness?”165

“They’ll get the job done,” was all Drake said as they continued on slowly, a good rest for the horses after the morning’s ride.