A Daemon-Horn Blade Ch. 04

"But what did the Daemons have to do with the Dragon Wars?" Boyle asked curiously.

"What exactly do either of you two lads know about the Dragon Wars?" The Lore-Master asked suspiciously. The two lads just shook their heads.

"Nothing much at all - only that you've mentioned this several times before in the past, very briefly." Rowan replied.

Oddtus sighed. "Even the very wisest of men know little of those dark times over a thousand years ago. There are few surviving stone buildings, let alone writings from that period and even fewer manuscripts from that era that survive to this day. When that terrible war was over, no one wanted to remember the dark days that had passed. There are a few surviving songs from that period but they are sung hardly ever at all, except to pass them along to the next generation of joculators for them to learn and remember. The war against the ǽrost, the first-born, was so dreadful that even the winners felt that they had lost everything worth living for, and they all wanted to bury themselves in forgetfulness."

"So who were the first-born? And did they fight the Dragons... or the Daemons?" Boyle wondered, scratching his short straw colored hair in puzzlement.

Oddtus laughed, so long and so hard that at one point the lads thought that he was going to roll right out of the wagon and fall onto the road.

"Lads, the Dragons were the first-born, the very first race created by the Gods, most particular by the God of Fire, Lígfýr, who was impatient to receive their worship, and acted nearly alone, with little help of the rest of The Seven. For a thousand years they flew the skies and ruled everything beneath them as the masters of this world and every living thing that lived under their proud and arrogant gaze. We... well the Gods, had created them too well, making them nearly Gods themselves, filled with near limitless power of their very own. They even created servant races, such as the goblins, and many of the Eotenas, the monster races to serve or amuse them by being hunted prey. When the second-born came, such as the Ylfe and Dweorg races, there was little peace between them right from the start and the divisions soon lead to war, with the Gods and Goddesses having to choose sides.

"So the Gods themselves fought each other? Against the pattern of the weaving?" Rowan asked in amazement and wonder.

They did, but rather indirectly. No God actually struck another in anger but they channeled their will through their intermediaries and their creations. They had greater strength of will in those days and the pattern of the Weavers was as of then uncertain. The world and the weaving were still new and no one could tell which was the proper way, or how things ought to be. Even my patron, Gléagerád, the wisest of the Gods, did not know then which paths should be taken and he even perhaps made his own share of unfortunate mistakes. As the first-born were well noted for their avarice, over-weaning pride and cruelty, most of rest of The Seven sided against the Fire-God and his race of dragons, but they never directly enforced their own hands or will against the other in battle. That had been expressly forbidden by the Weavers. Instead, via their proxies, the races of the second-born, and then later the races of the third-born, all fought against the Dragons and their lesser kin. It should have been a mildly difficult but short term affair, but somehow the first-born held on and even solidified their power against all odds. This lasted for several thousands of years."

'So, was the race of men part of the second-born?" Boyle wondered.

"No, in fact they were the very last of the third-born, created in desperation by Yweorfan, the God of Cultivation, with assistance from several of the other Divinities, including also again my patron. It was also at this very bleak time that, Ámyrðria, the Goddess of Lies & Weal, offered another new ally against the Dragons for this war that appeared to have no end. It is unclear if she created the race of the Infernals herself or if she made contact with them in some other dark world, and in return for their help, offered them a home in ours. In any case, and most ill-advisedly, their assistance was accepted and soon regretted by nearly all. The evil they did upon this world was too terrible to be ignored for long. They were an ambivalent and fair-weather ally at best, much like their patron Goddess, and many believe still that they in fact actually secretly served the dragons right from the very start, or at least allied themselves with them. The second-born all loathed them and would have nothing to do with them. These divisions in their ranks prevented any unity from ending the war for at least another thousand years, until at length, finally the last of the Dragons were defeated, mostly due to the heroic efforts of men and the other third-born races, and of course the creation of the Wizards."

"There was no magic in the world before that?" Boyle wondered.

"There had always been magic, but it was subtle in those days; mostly minor innate powers given to the second-born, or wylde-magic that randomly appeared without order or reason, but it was Gældra, the Goddess of Spirit & Magic, who desperately risked nearly everything by giving up some of her very own power directly to a selected group of men that she trained to use magic, and they become the first of the race of Wizards. Some say she went to speak to the Weaver's directly for help in ending the war and in return for the powers she was given, she pledged the perpetual service of the Wizards to defend and protect the Weaving thereafter, as their sole primary duty. She deserves special credit for the victory, I think, as some say it was the Wizards who virtually on their own finally ended the war, and it was also the Wizards who broke the alliance with the Infernals and banished them from this world. Now, angered and betrayed, they constantly look for weaknesses in the shield that separates their world from ours, and seek to take back what was apparently promised to them."

"That is a dreadful story!" Rowan exclaimed. "How could they make such an unspeakable bargain?"

"Assuming in fact that they actually did so, it was certainly very unwise. But never forget that the Gods and Goddesses, now mostly lost to us, had much greater power and much greater responsibility in those days, but with little more actual wisdom and foresight than you or I. Their feet, like ours, were no strangers to missteps or even bad stumbles in the dark. I have heard it whispered as rumor that one of the reasons that Yfelde Soð, the God of Justice trapped and banished his brother and sister deities was their alleged support and contact with the evil race of Infernals, and to prevent this sort of bargain from ever occurring again. Whether this is truth or not, I cannot say, but his sole divine reign for these last hundred years has hardly been without blemish either."

The lads nodded, terrible divine treason or not, the stern and unforgiving rule of the God of Justice was tempered by precious little mercy.

Despite the darkening skies of the oncoming summer rainstorm, the caravan made it safely behind the high stone walls town of Haldyne early in the afternoon just before the first raindrops fell.

*************

"What do they mean by 'there are no boats'?" Rowan blustered. "There are three ships right there in the harbor that I can see now! Surely the Duke has not sheltered the entire trade fleet back in Tellismere?"

"Apparently he has." Oddtus stated gloomily. "The Duke is now finally and most properly becoming concerned about the attacks upon the forts at the northern sides of the lakes and he has ordered every ship to be made available for transferring soldiers, scouts and guardsmen up north. The southern garrisons, forts and towns are to be stripped of half of their troops for the campaign, so it looks like the guardsmen lost to the Daemon in Swanford won't be soon replaced anytime soon either. The three ships at dock have already been taken over by the Navy for ferrying troops and keeping the islands supplied. No ride for us there! Until further notice, it will be by road caravans only that trade goods will move across Tellismere, down around the southern roads of Crystal Lake."

"Well, it could be worse." Boyle offered.

"It already is, I think." Rowan muttered. "I overheard a different caravan master say that bandits are hitting the longer road between Haldyne and Lacestone. They're trying to run that route fast, to make the trip in a single long travel day, but just about every other caravan is getting hit. No cavalry guards are available for them either now; they're getting shipped up north to scout up there. I bet these are probably the same bandits that were near Swanford last month that raided the caravan the Duke was riding with."

"Not good." Boyle grumbled. "We're going to need some horses then. That will be expensive, even for my purse." A just barely decent old riding horse was going to be a minimum of four or five crowns each under the best of circumstances, and with war threatening, finding something better, a good quality horse could and would cost several pounds of silver, something like a hundred to two hundred shillings each. Just for a single horse, let along saddle and tack. Horses had always been expensive and in times of trouble a good horse could cost as much as a good plot of land.

"Ah, well I came prepared for that eventuality." The Foole smiled. "Boyle, take this letter and go visit the fort's stable-master. With most of his scouts going north, there's bound to be a few decent stabled horses that he'd rather not provision for the next month or two. This letter should gain us some assistance. Pick us out a couple of good ones that are up to several weeks of travel."

Boyle took the parchment and looked at it quickly and then grinned. He then sped off eagerly to the stables.

"Did the Duke really give you an Aide and Assistance letter? That's a precious gift! And quite unlike him." Rowan remarked.

"Of course he didn't. He's a cheap and rather thoughtless old miserly bastard, but I've spent enough time around him to know his real needs, rather than his current thoughts, so I thoroughly prepared myself for this journey. His signature and his seal were easy for me to obtain; he'll sign anything you put in front of him as long as it doesn't involve him actually spending any money, and he's half-blind enough that he can't read anything put in front of him without a glass, and he's usually too vain to use it. This letter should get us horses easily enough, and even feed for them at any ducal stable along the way. For the moment we're allegedly official messengers of the Dukedom, with all of the rights and privileges thereof. He doesn't know it, but he does really want to see us, so we'll make him pay the brunt of the expenses to get there. I've even got a signed letter of credit or two we can use in a pinch if we need to!" The tricky gléaman said with a grin.

True to his prediction, Boyle was delighted to report that he had obtained three good Duchy horses all ready for them to take in the morning, along with some packs of pressed grain cubes for them and even some dry camp rations for us. A quick examination of their food stocks showed that they were in a decent shape of preparation for a week or two on the road and with some coin in hand, Boyle raced off to head to the town market to buy some additional provisions before the sun set and the marketplace closed for the night.

With the evening, the Foole had no difficulty at all earning them some bowls of stew and even a pint or two of respectable ale as he bargained his services for their upkeep, and he even added quite a few extra coins for his own purse, by singing and telling stories late until the taproom was ordered closed for service for the night. This was the first time they had seen the gléaman in his brightly colored motley costume and in performance, and he handled the sparse audience of soldiers and tradesmen spellbound with his antics, songs and stories for hours.

Watching with some interest, Rowan's recent misfortunes seemed all but forgotten as he laughed and stomped his feet in applause. He was sure that the Foole had been showered with enough pence to earn well over a crown, or maybe two. Clearly a good Foole was worth well more than his weight in ale and even up to the proverbial hat full of silver. His new friend Oddtus was apparently really one of the very best. No wonder that he had kept a close association with the Duke and his family!

With a warm bed in the barracks stables, the trio caught an abbreviated but good night's sleep after reviewing their needs and plans for the morrow.

***********

The itinerant Lore-Master was already well-prepared for life on the road and he even had a small tent that the three of them could just barely squeeze into should it rain at night. Boyle had an old but very sturdy pack, now filled flush and tight with food supplies, some cookware and even a brand-new wool blanket wrapped around the top of the pack that suspiciously looked identical to an expensive foreign woven one that had hung in the Swanford stables for some time. Rowan decided that he wasn't curious enough to ask if it had been borrowed from his old boss Cegred. The old drunk would probably never notice it was missing anyway. Rowan, for his own pack, had an old but warm and well-loved blanket from his old bed in his former master's house. He also had a small set of ironworking tools that he had forged himself as a very young journeyman so that small repairs could be made while on the road at any campfire. Little else other than a few changes of fairly worn clothes filled his pack. He offered to take some of the extra load from Boyles, but the sturdy stout lad just laughed and shook his head.

And he had his sword, ever at his side even as he slept, so at least he looked something like a young guardsman or scout. Boyle, while rummaging earlier in the stables had found a pair of short-bows for himself and Oddtus, some arrows with a quiver that could be strapped neatly to the sides of the saddle, and even a nice old cavalry long spear that he took an instant fancy to. An evening's work with some steel wool took off all of the rust and a few swipes of Rowan's whetstone made the spear point razor sharp. The gléaman had his old favorite decorated walking stick, complete with colored ribbons and bells and hinted with a smile that he was as mean of an old-cuss as anyone with his staff in hand in a dire situation. Having seen the old Foole in action fending off the approaches of the Daemon, Rowan had no doubts about his courage.

If Rowan had any fears or doubts about his adventure, he was too tired and content to dwell upon them and instantly fell fast asleep.