Roland of the High Crags - Books 1-3

Chapter 6-1

One act of mercy lifts from the heart three acts of regret, child.

One act of mercy lifts from the heart three acts of regret, child.One act of mercy lifts from the heart three acts of regret, child.If you believe.

If you believe.If you believe.If you strive to live the Bretan Way—and if you believe God is merciful.

If you strive to live the Bretan Way—and if you believe God is merciful.If you strive to live the Bretan Way—and if you believe God is merciful.One gesture of kindness dispensed to those who have never experienced kindness,

One gesture of kindness dispensed to those who have never experienced kindness,One gesture of kindness dispensed to those who have never experienced kindness,Brings God and his Infinite bliss closer to you.

Brings God and his Infinite bliss closer to you.Brings God and his Infinite bliss closer to you.FROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS

FROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS

I awoke from a deep slumber. I knew it had been a deep sleep, for every muscle and joint in my body throbbed with pain. But the pain was bearable. What was not bearable was the unrelenting desire to eat gnawing at me. I was famished.

The moment I opened my eyes, I smelled a strong aroma of onions being cooked in a pan filled with a juicy slab of meat. A wonderful aroma so real and so fresh, my mouth watered, and my stomach seemed to be doing somersaults in anticipation. Onions, herbs, and fresh meat were being fried in a giant iron pan over a blazing fire. An unmistakable pleasure one never forgets after experiencing it for the first time.

With the smell wafting across the room, I opened my eyes and looked up into the rough wooden beams and thatched roofs of a large peasant hut. Though feeling very weak, nevertheless the corners of my mouth pulled back in a grin as I took a deep breath.

I knew where we were. I knew we were far from the searching eyes of our enemies. It was safe for me to rest for a few moments more. Cedric, that wonderfully intelligent partner of mine, knew where safety would be found in our flight from Odar’s Lair. He had unerringly flown here without any prompting.

The hut was lit by the soft light of several dozen candles and from the blazing fireplace. From somewhere behind me, I heard the pleasant noise of a man humming to himself. The smile on my lips widened. I recognized the voice and dearly wanted to greet him. But I was far too weak to speak. I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.

I must have dozed off, for the next time I gazed up at the thatched roof of the hut, the soft light of candles had been replaced by a grayish late afternoon light. The crash of thunder and the prattle of harsh rain rattled the hut. On a roughly hewn wooden stool beside my bed sat a very old man with a long gray beard. His hair fell well past his shoulders. It was well-groomed and almost glowed in the soft light filling the hut’s interior. He was dressed in the plain clothing of a forest dweller. Just a simple home-spun cotton shirt and rough leather pants. The man’s brown eyes were bright and cheerful, with many laugh lines around their edges. What little face was visible through the beard showed a dark healthy tan. Seeing I was awake, he grunted and lifted his head to look at someone who was apparently near him.

“Woman, this wild man we knew long ago has returned to the living. No worse for wear, I might add.”

His was a deep voice filled with power and vitality. Just hearing the man’s voice made me smile with pleasure. I knew the ancient one. I knew who he was talking to. And I was genuinely happy to see both of them.

“Roland?” the familiar voice of the old man’s wife chortled from behind my head. “You awake? Good! I suspect you have been a very mischievous child of late. Father and I wish to hear all about it.”

It was Brogan Runyan and his wife Tomasa. Two people who had been in my life for as long as I could remember. My surrogate parents, mentors, even my teachers. The two ancient people who lived their daily lives in the deep forest a dozen leagues higher in the mountain range called the Tantors, a set of peaks and crags some two days’ hard ride by Great Wings from Odar’s Lair.

“The children? The birds?” I stammered, just remembering my charges and beginning to panic.

Brogan’s powerful hand settled onto my shoulder and pushed me back into the plain sheets. There was a smile on his lips as he shook his head gently. I found myself relaxing again. All was safe.

“They sleep for the moment, boy. These twins of yours, they have the energy of ten men. And this dragon child, Roland. She is a delight! You have much to tell us, I know. I feel it may be a tale we may not want to hear. The life-force around us is a stir with misgivings. Much has happened as of late.”

“Bah, you old fool!” the man’s wife chortled again, coming into view with the round, beaming face of a woman who was still very beautiful after all these years. Kicking a wooden stool to the bed, she sat down beside her husband with a soup bowl in her hands and lifted a wooden spoon up to me. The spoon was filled with chunks of garden vegetables and white Thakk meat.

“You will eat this now, Roland of the High Crags. And do not make a face at it or I will thrash you with this very spoon!” she said with a mocking voice of severity but breaking into another radiant smile just as soon as the words left her lips.

It was Thakk Peasant Soup, and as a child living in this hunt, how I hated to eat all its many vegetables. But the hot fluids, the crunch of the vegetables, and the delicious meat I now weakly consumed tasted like the nectar of the gods. In my weakened state, I could feel the hot broth sliding down my throat. It spread its soothing warmth throughout every fiber of my being. With each spoonful, I felt strength returning to me, realizing I was ravishingly hungry.

“Laddie,” Brogan began, lifting a suspicious eyebrow with a sparkle in his ancient eyes, “I suspect you conjured up one whopping piece of wizardry to be this hungry. Come, out with it. Tell us everything. We’ve been waiting for three days for you to open your eyes.”

“Three days!” I whispered, pushing the last spoon of soup away, then struggling to rise. “It can’t be. We must leave. We must be on our way.”

Brogan’s rough hands pulled me up to a sitting position on the bed and Tomasa slid a heavy blanket across my shoulders. But there was no getting out of bed. The effort to just sit up almost made me collapse into the sheets in sheer exhaustion.

“You will be going nowhere for the next week, my fine young friend,” Tomasa informed me in her sternest motherly tone. “Weather has set in for a while, anyway. You need your strength to return, and the children in the next room cannot ride through the storms in their condition. So here, you will all stay until the storms have passed.”

Brogan’s rumbling chuckle in response made me smile once more. Hearing Tomasa’s soft but commanding voice and feeling the old man’s presence again was an elixir for my soul. I was feeling my body beginning to recharge again. I felt as if I no longer had the weight of the world sitting on my shoulders.

“Father,” I said, strong enough to open only one eye to look at the old man. “The world as we know it is about to be cast into the fires of a new forge. What will emerge cannot be foreseen.”

The old man, the greatest of the living Bretan wizards, found his ancient briar pipe and began packing it slowly with tobacco. There was a thoughtful look on his dark craggy face as he lit the pipe.

“A change, you say? Well then, perhaps the wife and I will be forced to buy new clothes! But let me hear your tale, son, before I pack a week’s provisions and walk to King’s Island to shop.”

There was a deep, long rumble of thunder that sounded as if the deluge was increasing in its downpour. It was the time of the year for these kinds of storms. They rolled down from the peaks above, covering entire valleys and usually lasting a week or more of pounding rain before blowing away. To travel in the saddle of a Great Wing or Winged Beastie was close to impossible. To trek through the winding forest and mountain trails in such tempests was unthinkable. Mountain streams would turn into raging rivers and there was always the threat of mudslides cascading down from the mountains, wiping out the tenuous paths so painstakingly carved into them by the few peasants who lived in this valley.

We would be safe here for at least a week. But it was time we could ill afford to lose. In order to get my charges to safety, we had to travel many leagues yet. The longer we tarried, the more we gave the Hartooth opportunities to find us.

A sigh escaped my lips. There was nothing to do but, in a still terribly weak voice, tell the whole story to the two people I loved the most in the world.

* * *

I awoke again, surprised to realize I had fallen asleep. The house was mostly dark, except for the dim light of one single candle I knew Tomasa would have burning in the middle of a stone table in the center of the hut. Wizards in the Kanris are not fond of the dark. Even old and incredibly skilled wizards like Brogan and Tomasa. My eyes adjusted and the soft light of the candle burning soothed me. Outside, the rain continued to pound on the thatch roof. But here in this comfortable soft bed, it was safe, warm, and dry. Yet, frowning, I realized it felt somehow constricted as well. I could not move one arm without feeling something soft and warm rub against it.

Turning my head, I found the sleeping form of Ursala lying atop my arm, the covers of the bed almost hiding her completely from view. In her mouth was the thumb of her right hand and on her face was the look of a sleeping child completely oblivious to the world. A surge of emotion welled up within me, an emotion I was not familiar with. Despite its newness, it felt strangely pleasurable.

Smiling, I used my free hand to pull the covers over her just a little more, and then I rolled around to face her. The warmth of her tiny body felt good, and I started to fall asleep again with her still sleeping on my right arm. In her aura, my wizard’s Inner Eye felt the gentleness and quiet belief she felt safe sleeping by my side. And her child-like belief in believing I would keep her safe, in turn, filled me with a father’s sense of wellbeing.

I would keep her safe, I vowed, for as long as I could draw breath and stand on my feet.

* * *