Stormcaller (Book 1) (22 page)

Walter felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. Pain wracked his shoulder and muscle fibers tore as he fought.
He’s not human
. Walter groaned as he forced his Cerumal-plate-infused body to fight even harder.
I will win, I will, you big bastard.
Grimbald’s hand moved a smidgen, creeping towards the starting point.
Yes, keep pushing.
People around them whooped and raised mugs. Grimbald narrowed his glowing blue eyes.

“Enough playing,” Grimbald said. With a renewed surge of strength he slammed Walter’s hand onto the keg with a dull thump. Walter winced as he pulled his arm back and attempted to rub his shoulder through his armor. “The champion reigns!” a woman in the crowd yelled.

“Nice work, Grim,” Fretus said, handing him glittering marks. Grimbald looked into his palm and frowned.

“You said nine, this is seven marks.”

“Well, the dealmaker needs his cut too,” Fretus said. Grimbald grunted, stuffing the marks in his pocket. He turned his bulk to face Walter.

“You are very strong for… for a man of your size.” Grimbald folded his arms.

“Uh, thanks. I see you’ve been eating well,” Walter said with a nod.

“I was always big. It can help for some things, but if you want to blend in, not so good,” he said, soft-spoken.

“I can imagine. My name is Walter,” the boy said, offering his hand. Grimbald took his hand and Walter braced for a hand-crushing shake. Grimbald had a surprisingly fine calibration of his strength, as his shake felt like that of a normal man’s.

Nyset emerged amongst the dispersing crowd. Walter looked to the table to see Baylan frantically scribbling away in his notebook. Walter shook his head.
He spends more time in books than reality.
“That was impressive,” she said, putting an arm around him. “But now we’re really broke.”

“I see you’ve met my boy’s wrath,” said a beaming man beside Grimbald, wiping down an ale mug with a sodden cloth. He wore an open, light-green vest over a cream tunic. He had a tuft of hair that wrapped around his bald head and a bizarrely trimmed mustache.

“Need rooms for the night, travelers?”

“Is it that obvious that we’re not from here?” Walter replied.

“I see many come through here. I know the locals.”

Walter nodded.

“Where y’all headed?”

“We’re not sure–”

“Midgaard,” Nyset said over him. Walter glared at her. She blushed and her lips formed a line.

“Yes, probably Midgaard,” Walter said. Grimbald turned from another conversation at the mention of Midgaard.

“Oh, wonderful!” said the mustached man. “Grim is headed that way tomorrow as well – you will travel together? He just turned eighteen, and is now old enough to join the Midgaard Falcon. They promised you an officer’s position if you joined, didn’t they, Grim?”

“Yeah, pay seems good,” Grimbald said, yawing. Nyset and Walter shared a glance. Walter imperceptibly shook his head at her. Baylan slid up behind them, listening. The moon shone brightly through an open window beside them.

“What is your name, sir?” Nyset asked.

“Charles, I run this lovely operation,” he said, waving his arm in a wide arc. “And yours, young lady?”

“It’s Nyset, pleasure to meet you. This is Walter and Baylan, my travel companions.”

“So, yes, you will travel together?”

“No–” Walter said.

“Yes, in exchange for beds for the night we will bring Grimbald to Midgaard,” Nyset said, interrupting Walter. He gritted his teeth.

Charles tugged on one of his mustaches. “I only have two beds left, if you want to call them that. You’ll have to sleep in the barn. I’ll have one of the servants get them set up for you.”

“Done,” she said. “We’ll see you in the morning, then. Goodnight.”

“Nicely done,” Baylan said, as they made their way to the attached barn.

“Great, now we’ll really blend in. At least it’s not like anyone is trying to kill me or anything,” Walter said.

“I think he would be quite capable of fighting if the need arose,” Baylan noted.

“So you’re taking her side now?”

“No – well – I think it will be OK,” Baylan said.

Walter shook his head. “I hope so,” he said, yawning and slumping onto the small wooden cot the servant had set up. Nyset slid into bed next to him. Her warmth lulled him into a deep sleep.

Chapter 20 – Midgaard

“Within my flesh I stood in a new land and found streams of rippling souls, awaiting domination.”
–from
Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

Walter’s eyes opened to the screech of a crowing rooster on the barn roof. The edge of the morning sun had just started cresting the horizon, casting pink and blue rays across the open skyline. The scent of hay reminded of him of home and feeding the few dairy cows. It crunched under his weight as he shifted his body.

Nyset stirred and resumed softly snoring. This was his first time sleeping in the comforting arms of a woman. For a moment, he felt happy. A glacier forged in the torrent of the passing week encased his heart. Her warmth had punctured a hole in the glacier, allowing in a sliver of warm light.
But how long will this feeling last?

The rooster stalked into the barn, pecking for insects. Walter narrowed his eyes and outstretched his right arm, allowing Stormcaller to spring to life.
Not long.
He slashed at the rooster, bisecting it as it released its last squawk. The other tendrils of Stormcaller had struck the ground and small flames danced as smoke spiraled from the layers of hay on the floor.

“Shit!” He jumped out of bed, pushing Nyset aside. He started smothering the flames with his thick cloak, snuffing them out.

“What happened?” Nyset said groggily. Baylan appeared beside him, stomping on tiny flames with his boot.

“Can’t say I’ve ever awoken to almost being burned alive,” Baylan said drly, eying him.

“Must have been some kind of spontaneous combustion, that happens sometimes,” Walter said.

Nyset lay propped up on her elbows, staring bewildered. “What is wrong with you?”

Walter growled and stalked from the barn. He found a quiet spot on the outskirts of the village where the thick forest of the Woodland Plunge met scrubland, and he worked through the Sid-Ho forms. He jabbed with his left fist, delivered a cross with his right, grabbed his imaginary opponent with both hands behind the neck and delivered a flying knee, followed by a spinning kick. He worked his body through every maneuver he knew as clinking and the scent of morning supper permeated the air from The Hissing Gooseberry. An hour passed and he panted from the exertion.

He stared into the forest, hands on knees as he caught his breath.
That was what I needed.
Three shimmering humanoid figures materialized before his eyes, wavering in and out of existence. One was a young boy with a gaping neck wound, another a man with a curved sword through his chest, the third an elderly woman with a knife lodged in her eye socket. They stood between trees and shrubs, unfathomably without disturbing the vegetation. Walter stood tall, taking a few steps back. “What do you want with me?” Their bluish light became wisps of black smoke, dispersing in a gust.
Am I losing my faculties? What is this madness?
His skin crawled.

Walter strode inside. “Ah, Walter, decided to finally wake?” Charles said, smiling and flipping a flour cake on the stove.

“Not exactly,” Walter said, wiping cool sweat with his scarf.

“Hungry?”

“Oh yes, looks wonderful, thank you,” he said wearily, accepting the flour cake and thick pat of yellow butter Charles handed him.

Baylan and Nyset sat with Grimbald on a long table, with crumbs on their plates, in the midst of the spirited conversation that often arises from the light of a new day. Grimbald sat on two stools to support his mass and worked on a second pile of at least ten butter-slathered flour cakes.

“Good morning,” Walter said sheepishly, sitting beside Grimbald.

“Ah, my arm wrestling contender! Did you have a good morning exercise?” Grimbald asked excitedly.

“Absolutely. You’ll have to show me what you do to get so strong,” Walter said.

“You might be sorry you asked,” Grimbald said, lips forming a half-smile.

“Why do you want to join the Midgaard Falcon, Grim?” Baylan asked, scraping the flour cake remains into a small pile on the side of his plate.

Grimbald shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what else I could do, but what I can do well is swing an axe. I think that’d be useful for soldiering, don’t you?”

“Indeed, I believe the Falcon will be needed now more than ever.” Baylan pushed his black hair behind his ears.

“Why is that?” Grimbald asked, stuffing half of a flour cake in his mouth in one bite.

“We live in an age of tumultuous times, the future is uncertain,” he said, steepling his hands.

Grimbald grunted and squinted ponderously.

“Are you referring to the, eh, recent attacks?” Charles asked from the kitchen.

“Yes, and the future is infinitely and uncertainly predictable.”

“You Tower wizards sure are strange,” Charles chuckled. “Are the rumors true? Are there really monsters from the legends about?” He walked to the table and sat beside Baylan with a cup of steaming elixir.

Walter, Nyset and Baylan shared glances. Walter nodded.

“They are true. We came from Breden, there was a… a terrible raid,” Nyset said. Walter looked at his wooden plate and picked at his food.

“The blackness
has
returned,” Charles murmured, gazing deeply into the dark brown, spinning elixir. For a moment, the only sounds from the room were the scraping of forks and slurping of elixir.

“Well,” Charles said, pausing. “I sure am glad you lot are here to travel with Grim.” He smiled. “I’ll let the guard know, and tell everyone to keep their doors locked.”

“If you have weapons, keep them handy,” Walter said.

**

They left with full bellies traveling east along the Soldier’s Way, two days from Midgaard. Grimbald rode a Blood Donkey, named for their reddish coats and noted for their unusual size, strength and stubbornness. He had slung a massive, beautifully crafted, double-sided battle axe across his back. It was clearly built for him, Walter noted. No other man could lift, never mind swing, such a weapon.
Where did he have such a weapon made?

“Incredible weapon,” Baylan marveled.

“Gift from my pops,” Grimbald said, running a finger along its handle jutting from his shoulder.

“Business must have been doing well,” Walter said, curiously eying the axe.

“I wonder…” Grimbald said.

About two hours into their journey an oddly familiar bark resounded from the woodlands south of Lich’s Falls.

Walter stopped Marie, causing her to huff. “Do you hear that?” He said. The barking and baying grew closer in the stillness.

“Wolves again?” Nyset said.

Walter dismounted and unsheathed his Breden long sword. Shrubs and small trees wavered in the forest as the noise drew nearer.

“Possibly,” Walter said, moving into a fighting stance.

“It’s moving fast,” Grimbald said, cracking his knuckles and flexing his shoulders.

A black hound lunged from the vegetation and Walter dropped his sword. “Wiggles!” He yelled. The furry mass jumped into his open arms. Wiggles yelped and cried with excitement. “I thought you were gone, boy! I’m so glad to see you,” he said, laughing and rubbing the dog as it furiously wagged its tail in circles.

Nyset grinned and knelt, patting the dog. Baylan poured water from his skin into Nyset’s cupped hand and Wiggles ravenously lapped it up.

“This thing is yours?” Grimbald asked. Wiggles jumped onto Grimbald, catching his face with a lick. “Ack!” he groaned, swatting Wiggles away.

They made camp that night under the entrance to Snowden’s Caverns. Walter looked up to the twisting stalactites that threatened to come loose and impale him.
How would it feel if one of those came through my face? Stranger things have been known to happen. Then I could be with Mom and Dad.
He shook his head and blurted out “Bleh!” transporting himself from the dark thought path.
Then Nyset, Wiggles – they would still be here, without you.