Published: 25 Apr 2019

The Road to Fortmain

Although it was early spring, the breeze was reminiscent of winter as James and Kenneth rode into Cross Creek. “You know the stories, and you’ve met Acclaudius; I want you to meet the rest of his family, too,” James said, as he and Kenneth rode toward the River Horse Inn. “I don’t know where we may travel after fulfilling our mission in Fortmain, but in the service of the Light, I think we need friends. So far, I’ve found none better or more true than those in Cross Creek.”

Acclaudius was in the stable when they arrived, and dropped the farrier’s hammer he was using. “James, Kenneth, I’m glad to see you, again,” he said. “I remember how Kenneth healed James when we arrived … and I remember how James saved my life before that. You are welcome, not as custom but as friends.”

Thanuel confirmed his elder son’s welcome, and brushed aside James’s offer to pay for their room and board. “I can never repay you for what Good you’ve brought to my family and my house,” he said. “And I would rather that you be guests and friends.”

James thanked the man, adding, “You know Kenneth and I serve the Light. You know that this service may bring danger to those whom we meet, and even more danger to those who are close to us. Yet you offer friendship. That is so very precious to us.”

Joey, especially, pressed James and Kenneth to stay another day. He was disappointed, but understood when James told him that he and Kenneth were on a mission. Their goodbyes were tearful. “We’ll try to come back,” James said. “If we do not, we will remember all of you forever.”

Ten miles south of Cross Creek, the Royal Road lay underwater. Heavy spring rains in the Bierken Mountains to the south had flooded a swamp that in dryer weather would be lazy bayous feeding the Yaloosa River. The swamp had overflowed, washing away parts of the road, and covering sections with ankle-to-knee-deep water. A heavy, unwholesome fog ebbed and flowed over the marshy ground. The boys could see less than a furlong into the mist. On each side, tall, rank grasses and gnarled trees—horribly twisted cypresses—rose scores of feet into the air. James and Kenneth were no longer sure by which route they had reached this place. The sun was veiled in the fog, making it difficult to judge direction from that beacon.

“I think that way is south, and it does look as if the road might have been here before this flood washed it out. We’d best lead the horses.”

The two boys waded through the water, carefully probing with their staffs. As they walked, the fog lifted and the sun, over their left shoulders, confirmed they had been walking southward.

About mid-afternoon, they approached a break in the trees. In dryer times, the alley between the trees might have been a creek or bayou. As the boys debated which path to take, they heard the sound of rushing water. They turned, and faced four lizard-like humanoids with javelins and clubs in webbed hands.

The Lizoids’ intent was hostile. One raised a javelin and drew back his arm. James attacked magically, freezing the would-be javelin thrower in place. Kenneth’s attempt to magically invoke fear had no effect. Drawing swords, the boys exchanged blows with several of the Lizards. James smacked one with the flat of his sword, felling the creature. Kenneth swiped at a thrown javelin with his left arm, batting it away. Faced with this resistance, the lizards fled. All but the one, that is, who had caught the blow from James’s sword, and then drowned.

“I’ve heard of Lizard Men, but I’d never seen one before today,” Kenneth said.

“Other than that half-lizard creature at the school, neither had I,” James said. “I was surprised that they attacked. I thought they were skittish. We must have startled them. Perhaps we were too close to a nesting ground, or something.”

By evening, the boys reached dry land. They could see the road leading south, but it was growing dark. James elected to stop for the night. Now, he sat on a blanket, his back to a tree and his unsheathed sword at hand. Kenneth lay with his head in James’ lap. “Why did your spell work on the Lizards, and mine didn’t?”

In the gloaming, James reached down to brush the boy’s hair back from his forehead. “Probably the Lizards didn’t understand the words of your spell. They don’t use the common tongue. Words and sound are important parts of the Fear spell; the Hold spell doesn’t need to be understood. It works on body chemicals, only.”

Kenneth continued, “I thought that the Hold spell could be blocked too easily for it to be a good fighting spell. Why did you use it?”

James chuckled. “The Lizards were naked. None of them had any place to hide a counter-charm. I was taking a chance, though. I had to guess that the Lizards’ neurotransmitters were similar enough to ours for the spell to work.”

Night fell. The stars wheeled unseen above a high overcast as the two boys snuggled under the tree.

The clouds and fog vanished in the next day’s morning sunshine. The boys rode south through heavy oak trees. By midmorning, the trees gave way to open grassland. The Royal Road bisected plowed fields, some showing bright green shoots of young plants. The fields grew more numerous as they approached a village surrounded by a log palisade. Nearing the village, they saw a small boy, accompanied by two dogs, driving a herd of sheep from the village toward the grasslands. The boy was being very careful to ensure that the sheep did not wander into the fields, and did not see James and Kenneth. One of the dogs, more alert than the boy, barked, drawing the boy’s attention.

The boy, Ceti, named the village Berksfield, and confirmed that the road to Fortmain ran through the village. In the village, the boys saw a tavern, a blacksmith’s shop, and about 20 houses. On one edge was a chapel, but it appeared to be neglected, even deserted. The marketplace—which doubled as the town square—was nearly empty since it was not a market day. James dickered at one stall to buy bread, cheese and fruit while Kenneth looked at wooden toys, baskets, and beads. The merchant tried to sell them wine in fired clay bottles, but James declined. They had enough to worry about without risking any befuddlement of their senses.

As much as they’d like to have stayed for a night in the village, the boys pressed on. The neglected chapel was a bad omen; there was something going on in Berksfield that they didn’t like, and they were anxious to be gone from that place.

Beyond the village, the road widened but still bore the marks of the winter’s storms. Here and there, usually at the verge, a stone block was upturned or in a few cases completely missing. “The Army will be out, soon,” James observed. “It looks as if they have plenty of work to do on the road.”

Kenneth looked puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said. “The Army repairs the roads? In Carter, it is the responsibility of each town and village to maintain the road halfway to the next town. Of course, I don’t think the road ever got this bad.”

James looked startled. “I didn’t know you were from Carter,” he said. “I guess I always thought you were from Arcadia. The way you talked and your manners … I guessed you were the son of a knight or a rich merchant.”

Kenneth blushed, “Actually,” he said, “my father is the Duke of Carter.” The boy looked closely to see how James would receive this revelation.

“Duke?” James said. “That’s a hereditary title. Does that mean you’re…?”

“Oh, no,” Kenneth replied, quickly. “I have four older brothers. The eldest has already been designated to inherit the title.”

The next morning, the boys continued to follow the road as it crossed rocky ground, the toes of the Bierken Mountains. The Royal Road was bordered by a wide, grassy verge. Beyond the verge, pine trees stood tall and dense.

Kenneth saw a movement in the brush to the right. Three muscular and extremely ugly Trolls sprang from between the trees, short swords raised to attack, and rushed across the verge toward them.

James stepped between Kenneth and the Trolls and raised his left hand above his head. Stretching his fingers as far apart as he could, until the tendons on the back of his hand stood out in taut relief, he reached for magic. Gathering the power, James threw his hand down until it pointed at the nearest Troll. A blunt cylinder of blue-white fire crossed the distance between James and the Troll. In the blink of an eye it struck the Troll in the chest. The results could hardly have been more dramatic had the creature been struck by lightning. Its arms and legs stiffened; its shaggy hair stood straight up from its head; its feet left the ground and it fell backwards, twitching. A worse than Troll-normal stink accompanied the involuntary release of the contents of its bowels.

The two other Trolls were not deterred by this attack, but paused only for a moment before rushing toward the boys. By this time, Kenneth had unsheathed his sword. He stepped from behind James and parried the sword of the first of the two remaining Trolls. This gave James time to draw his own sword and a dagger. Using the dagger, he turned the second Troll’s sword and neatly skewered the creature through the stomach. The Troll looked puzzled and then rather stupid as its blood gushed out when James twisted and withdrew the sword.

Kenneth, meanwhile, was holding his own against the third Troll—but no more than that. James aimed a blow at the Troll, who raised his arm to deflect it. For an instant, James’ sword was wedged against the bone of the Troll’s arm; the bone cracked and the boy’s sword was free. Kenneth thrust quickly into the creature’s neck, and jumped back as blood gushed out. The Troll collapsed to the ground.

The first Troll stirred as the effect of the spell wore off; he reached for his sword and staggered to his feet. Kenneth threw his dagger left-handed. The dagger imbedded into the Troll’s eye, penetrating the brain. The Troll collapsed, dead.

“James,” Kenneth whispered as his sword fell from insensate fingers. The boy was white; his eyes were wide. James dropped his own dagger and pulled the boy to himself, supporting Kenneth against his body with one arm, his sword ready in the other.

“It’s okay, Kenneth. It’s over, now.” He felt the boy’s heart beating like a trip hammer in a flax mill. Kenneth gasped for air; his entire body was shaking.

“I’m … sorry … I’m … sorry…” The boy managed one word per ragged breath.

“It’s okay, Kenneth. It’s over. It’s over,” James said softly as he held the boy tightly to him. At last, Kenneth’s breathing slowed; his gasps turned to sobs; he clutched James tightly.

“Why are you crying?” James whispered, still holding the boy close.

Kenneth gulps. “I failed you. I almost fainted.”

“Nonsense,” James snorted. “I would be dead if you hadn’t cut the throat of that second Troll; we both might be dead if you hadn’t killed the one…”

James paused. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve never … never before. Oh, Kenneth, I’m sorry, I should have known.”

Despite all his training, Kenneth had never before killed; he had never been in a situation where his life was in so great a danger. The encounter with the Lizoids had been no comparison. They’d run from no more swordplay than the drills a beginner would use to warm up before lessons.

“I knew it would happen someday,” Kenneth said. “I just didn’t think it would be so fast, so soon, and so ugly.” He shuddered.

James hugged the boy tightly. “But it did. And it was. And it will be again. And I’m so happy you didn’t like it, and that you did it, and I expect you to do it again. I’m pledged to protect your life, and you, mine. And as long as there is Light and Dark, and as long as we’re together, that’s what we’ll be doing. But I’m glad you didn’t enjoy it.” James stepped back and smiled at the boy, who gazed into James’ eyes with trust and gratitude.

“Thank you, James. Thank you for knowing what to say and for saying it. Thank you for being my friend and my mentor. Oh,” the boy whispered, “I want you so badly!”

“I know, Kenneth. I want you, too. But we can’t afford to be distracted, now.” The tween continued, “I want you to sit down under that tree and drink some water and rest. I’ll keep guard.” James walked Kenneth to the tree and helped him sit down. Taking a jug and blanket from his pack, James wrapped the boy in the blanket and gave him sips of water.

After Kenneth had calmed down, James instructed, “You’d better clean your sword. I’m going to see what these guys were carrying.”

Kenneth checked his sword for nicks and smoothed out the few that he found. He remained alert, and watched as James retrieved the dagger from the Troll’s eye, and sorted through the junk in their pockets and pouches. James cleaned Kenneth’s dagger before returning it to the boy.

“Thank you,” whispered Kenneth, offering the water jug to James when the tween sat next to him. James took a swig of water, and then opened his left hand to show the boy what he’d found.

“One of them had this in his pouch. It was wrapped in straw and cloth. He apparently thought it was valuable.” James held a rounded, flat piece of something that resembled ivory. It was about three inches in its longest dimension, and about two inches in the other; it was about a half-inch thick. Carved in relief was what appeared to be a hunting talisman. It was clearly a deer of some sort, although the antlers were enormous compared to the size of the body. The figure appeared to be crudely designed, but the etching was precise. The lines varied in width and depth, giving the image a sense of proportion and dimensionality.

“It glows,” Kenneth said. James nodded. Kenneth was developing a strong Mage Sight. He was able to see, without trying, magic inherent in the talisman. Now, as James concentrated, and the lines of magical force that pervaded the World became visible to him, as did a greenish glow at the heart of the talisman.

“Hmmm,” James mused. “This magic is beyond my knowledge. I think, however, that I should keep this.”

The last light of the sun dwindled over the western hills, illuminating a building on the south side of the road. “An inn, I believe,” James said. “Odd that no one mentioned it. It’s at about the half-way point of the last part of the trip.”

“Will we stay there tonight?” Kenneth asked.

James looked at the inn. The lines of magic in its vicinity were undisturbed. “There’s no Evil there,” he said. “And I really do want a bath.”

The inn’s symbol was an hourglass. The sign seemed to be broken: the hourglass was lying on its side. Nevertheless, the inn was a busy place, far busier, James thought, than the traffic they’d seen on the road. James trusted his instincts and his magic, both of which told him that he and Kenneth would be safe. There were more than a dozen horses in the stable. In the courtyard were two wagons, one of freight, and one whose cloth cover, stretched over hoops, suggested it doubled as a home on wheels.

James pulled Horse’s off rear hoof between his legs and examined it. “Horse has a loose shoe,” he said. Turning to one of the stable boys, he asked, “Have you a farrier’s hammer?”

While James and the stable boy took Horse to the farrier’s stall, Kenneth removed Honey’s tack, and began to groom the horse.

“Hello, there.” Kenneth turned at the greeting to see a red-headed boy leading a mare into the adjoining stall.

“Blessed Solstice,” Kenneth said in the common tongue. “My mother’s name for me is Kenneth.”

The boy looked at Kenneth for a moment, and then said in Elvish, My mother’s name for me is Rudy.

Kenneth looked hard at the boy, and saw he had no recent Elvish blood, before he replied in the same tongue, and asked, “You speak Elvish?”

“Just a little,” Rudy replied. “My Best Friend, Sam, thinks I should be able to say my name, as well as please and thank you in Elvish, Dwarvish, and Gnomish as well as Common.”

Rudy raised an eyebrow and said, now in Common, “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?”

James, having repaired Horse’s shoe, had walked up leading his horse. “Why do you think that?” he asked.

“I felt his blessing, and there’s something else…” Rudy squinted, “His aura is golden, and strong. He pulls magic around himself as he moves.”

Rudy’s perspicacity surprised James. To detect the color of another person’s aura without the obvious use of magic? To see how Kenneth’s aura interacts with the magical field? That’s a skill that only the strongest mage… “You’re a mage?” he said for Rudy’s ears only.

“I think I will be,” Rudy replied. “When Sam and I return home, I will begin training. In an earlier life, I was a mage, and some of what I knew has come back to me,” Rudy said. He paused and his eyes widened. “I’ve not told anyone that, before, but somehow I feel you are trustworthy.”

James offered his name, and said, “Kenneth and I are both clerics, and sworn to the Light. We see your light and that it is good. We will keep your secret.”

Rudy nodded his thanks. Then his eyes widened and he smiled as a tween approached. “This is my Best Friend, Sam,” Rudy said.

After introductions, during which James and Kenneth took the measure of Sam, Kenneth proposed that the four share a room. They would save a little on the cost of their stay, but, more important, James felt that he and Kenneth would need friends on their journey, and that Rudy and Sam would make good friends.

Sam agreed, and after all their horses were settled, led the way into the common room, where the publican held court behind a bar.

“Be welcome to the Sometime Inn,” the publican said as the four boys approached. “Blessed Solstice.”

“Thank you. Blessed Solstice to you.” Sam said. “We would like a room, supper and breakfast, and boarding for our horses.”

“Eric,” the publican addressed another boy. “Show these boys to their room and the bath, and then bring them back for supper.”

“One thing,” the publican cautioned, “no guest asks another where he’s from or where he’s going. It’s a custom.”

“What is the…” James question about the cost was lost as Eric took his hand and tugged him toward the stair.

“Eric, what’s the custom – the cost,” James asked, to be interrupted by the ebullient boy.

“Sing a song of sixpence,” the boy sang. “A pocket’s full of rye.” He giggled, then continued. “Custom is a sixpence each.”

As they passed the bath, the door had opened and a pair of Elven boys emerged from a cloud of steam and eucalyptus. James’ brain was working overtime. “Eric, is this a Good place?” He wove magic as he spoke so that when the boy’s reply came he could tell the Truth of it.

“Oh, yes,” Eric said, suddenly serious. “Callahan insists on it.”

After reaching their room, the four boys donned the robes that were provided, and then followed Eric to the bath.

Following supper, the four boys retired to their room. The Askings were pro forma, but the couplings were intense and many.

The next morning, James and Kenneth rode westward on the last leg of their journey to Fortmain. As they crested the first hill, Kenneth looked back, and then said, softly. “James, it’s not there. The inn isn’t there anymore.”

This story will continue “In the Prince’s Secret Service,” Chapter 5 and in other stories that follow that one.

We hope that you enjoyed this story of World. The author appreciates all comments to his stories. David dot Mcleod at CastleRoland dot Net.