(Art source unknown)
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 15
Chapter 14
Nightmares
Keryln awoke by the same nightmare he’d been relentlessly plagued by for the past month. Though this time, things were not as bad as usual since he was able to recite Mara’s prayer. No longer assailed by throngs of screaming, terrifying faces, his ears did not hurt. Just like his father had taught him, the youngling kept his focus and bested sleepless fears, as he chanted every single word precisely as he should.
Instead of a blank mind, however, this morning he’d remembered a little something. He thought it of importance; a single, albeit hazily-shaped smallish wooden item. It could’ve been a spoon or a cup, perhaps even a tiny bowl. There were moments when Keryln nearly remembered the item’s shapes, yet assailed by a sharp headache, the knowing kept evading him. He’d hoped that with the help of Joel, that vision could be made clear.
The boy reached for his nightstand and grabbed a piece of cloth, though there was no need to wipe his face. Not a single droplet of cold sweat! Keryln hopped up on his feet, put his wooden shoes on and the long-sleeved shirt, his first intent to share the dream with Joel, and then run off to The Sonsy Maid.
He’d promised Aeriale help, disciplining her wardrobe’s unruly door. When you woke up early morn, there was nothing worse than waking up the entire storey with a loud, rather annoying creaking. Recovering your clothing and shoes should be a private and best of all, silent affair. Honestly, replacing or oiling hinges, and leveling crooked drawers was a job best fit for a journeyman carpenter like himself. Making said wardrobes and drawers, however, that was a task entirely different. One which required accurate calculation, a sharp eye, and steady hand with the saw.
Frost fast approaching and there were dancing light-bunnies no more. With a tiny frown, Keryln tightened his belt, clicked the dagger’s sheath in its place. Donning a light-ish, but warm pelted jacket, he made sure to pocket his gloves and the cozy hat which granny Folst knitted for him. The obnoxious wind could easily punch him in the nose, ears, or chill his fingers to the bone. He was not keen on blowing snot all day or lose sleep because of coughing fits. Like his dad oftentimes warned him, many an elf child forgot to keep their long ears warm and all miserable and feverish, sniffled for ninths on end.
Keryln left the dormitory in a hurry, his shoes clacking and clinking as he rushed towards the Temple gate. Yet as soon as he ran past the kitchens, he immediately noticed that something was off. Yes, the cooks and their helpers were preparing food as they usually did every morn, however, there were armed Paladins posted at every door. More, each was joined by their squire and two Temple warriors; worried, their eyes constantly searching for danger, gauntleted hands tightly gripping their arms.
He slowed down and halted, their concern now his. Since he grew up in Temple and Joel learned him of how things were, Keryln knew of only one reason why there were armed Paladins posted within its halls—an attack. Be it a possible future onslaught, one which commenced right now or the aftermath of such, the duty of Mara’s warriors was to protect. That also meant no child would be allowed outside either and Keryln’s worry grew.
Whoever the enemy threatening Temple, the boy felt quite safe, for one needed no small army if they dreamt of breaching the gates. To then overwhelm Mara’s armed to the teeth defenders, these attackers would have to field a force clad in enchanted armor, wilding magical arms of the highest craftsmanship. Aeriale, though she would be under the protection of Lady Thaliel and her husband Rolan, she was potentially at risk.
As if to further fuel Keryln’s worry, the distant choir of cries and the clank of metal echoed through the corridor. Meaning that the Temple gates were wide open and, some sort of a battle raged outside on the streets. He looked at the Paladin nearby who gently shook his head when Keryln pointed down the corridor.
Sadness plastered all over his youthful human face, one of the priestly squires uttered – “Before morn had dawned, we were warned of another weird magic calamity. When the beguiled attacked, already all Temple warriors were out there, sword in hand. Now the battle rages and many lay bleeding across the streets. Only those who have seen death and would volunteer to tend to the wounded may go...”
“This is Keryln, Joel’s boy.” – said the Paladin following a long look in Keryln’s eyes – “He was taught how to treat wounds and fought the ensorcelled.”
“My friend is staying at The Sonsy Maid! Wait, please tell me, what about the elders?!” – Keryln asked, eyes wide and mouth dry.
The three warriors shared looks and their Paladin answered – “If I am not mistaken, they were evacuated. As for the tavern, you ask the Temple Seneschal. He is out on the temple square, directing all triage areas.”
The boy blinked and eyes darting between the knight and his warriors asked – “Please, Sir, I volunteer for triage duty!”
“Alright, but his Eminence would never forgive us if anything would happen to you.” – said the Paladin and following a short few moments of thought, commanded – “Squire Lem, you grab your shield and stay glued to Keryln at all times!”
His gauntlet touching Keryln’s forehead, the Paladin blessed him – “Be unwavering in the face of hardship and neither blood nor sorrow would hamper your resolve.”
Armed with a spear and long shield, the squire ran beside him. Keryln noticed that the young man had a warhammer on his belt, the Marrite red tabard donned over a sturdy chain mail. Rather quick on his feet this squire, yet not as speedy as Keryln, who made sure to run and ask the gate guards if they saw Aeriale. Worried even more after witnessing them turning their heads, he ran outside on Temple Square, eyes wide as he observed the huge mass of people fighting, bleeding, and dying.
True, this was perhaps one of the safest city quarters, the three major temples built here. However, there was a mass of ensorcelled swarming at the battle formed Paladins and, before his unwilling to believe eyes, Keryln witnessed shield lines buckle, forests of otherwise sturdy militiamen spears shatter, and temple warriors, be overrun. He heard the wallows of people who suffered, having being forced to kill former friends and loved ones. Far too many unfortunate citizens had become beguiled by weird magic.
For a moment, one terrifying and depressing moment, Keryln almost believed that these stalwart defenders would falter, that their strength would fail before that insidious assault. In his heart he wondered how would a militiaman, a guardsman, or a temple knight, feel when they faced their ensorcelled loved ones in deadly combat. During wartime, the same soldiers had fought many a creature of the Rift and emerged victorious. Yet these were chaotic monstrosities and their foe now wore the face of a neighbor, a mother, a father, or a wife...
The stomp of armored boots and clangor of weapons shattering shields nearly overwhelmed his hearing. Screams of pain ajoined the roar and crack of weird magics, when entire groups of beguiled burst out in greenish flame. Bodies stacked one atop the other, more ensorcelled swarming straight through the violent fires with no regard for their own safety. Though Paladins, temple warrior, and militiaman did not relent, they became swarmed with a forest of burning arms.
Yet when everything appeared forlorn, roared what was the mightiest battlecry Keryln ever heard!
“Oaths of fire, soul, and blood—die but fulfill them now!”
In the near distance, Keryln saw the shining priest who said these words, his long pike topped with a brilliant gonfalon, charged straight into the thick of it. Hit, he was hit so many times and by weird magic, blade, and spear, yet he rallied the troops. Bodies aglow with the same golden halo he burned with, their strength recovered and then multiplied, Paladins and temple knights charged at the ensorcelled as if they weren’t about to be overrun.
Keryln tore his eyes from the battle and soon noticed a large tent nearby, one which bore the colors of Mara’s Temple. Around it, there lay a great number of emergency healer tents, large and small, crowds of people walking, limping, and being carried on stretchers. The boy nudged his guard and together, they moved with the utmost of haste.
“Whoever had organized the masses of beguiled,” – spat out the squire as they ran towards Temple Square’s center – “they did a poor job!”
“I-I don’t understand... they almost won!” – hastily mumbled the boy, confused as to how a near victory could mean a poor leadership.
Lem laughed, clanging his spear and shield together – “They did not even have a reserve unit, ready to exploit the gap. Relying on the shock of slaughtering innocent people beguiled by weird magic, that could get the monstrous filth who did it only so far!”
Panting, they halted before the Seneschal’s tent and Keryln, having asked the guards posted there about friends and family, walked inside. One of the aides, an elderly woman in charge of records asked his name, noted why the boy came here and having realized that Joel was his foster father, alerted the Seneschal.
“Son, if not for your dad’s warning, we’d be swimming in blood and gore by now!” – said the old priest, whose hand and eye had been lost in the last war against the creatures of the Rift.
“My Lord Seneschal, I pray to Mother Mara that my father and friend Aeriale, they are both safe.” – said Keryln following a bow and again his voice wavered, when he pointed at the Temple square – “I came to volunteer and help with the wounded!”
The Seneschal and his aide exchanged looks and she canted her head, invoking a sad sigh from Keryln. Another woman noted the boy in her list when given a nod from the Seneschal, who instructed – “Keryln, do what you have to, carry wounded to the southern triage area, but you are to not leave the safety of this square!”
“I understand, my Lord Seneschal!” – and the boy bowed, rushing out of the command tent where Lem awaited him.
The old man and the squire exchanged a sign when Keryln was already a few steps gone. He would not know of it even if he saw, for that was of Marrite warrior blood oaths. Only those who yearned for Paladinhood took vows of sacrifice and guardianship.
Ran they did again and in short order, reached Keryln’s assigned triage center. There, organized by temple healers, a small team of doctors and nurses treated the steady stream of wounded. Given a stretcher and a small bag of healing potions, the boy and his guardian squire proceeded to carry one bloodied body after the other, between street battle lines and there. It was good that he had his worker’s hand wraps under the gloves or he wouldn’t have endured this.
The overwhelming stench of blood and bodily odors, the ichorous smell of weird magics and molten metal conquered the boy’s senses.
For what he assumed were hours, Keryln carried weeping, bleeding to death people. Citizens cried out the names of their loved ones, asking him or Lem if they knew anything, praying for their families’ safety. Wounded soldiers agonized and not so much from their brutal wounds, but because they were forced to kill the beguiled.
At one point a healer stopped Keryln since his stretcher was so caked in blood, there was a real danger the wounded could slip as they were carrying them. There was no more elixirs to spend, but they did have him a stamina potion and thus, armed with a new stretcher, duty continued.
Cries and clangor of battle became one as Keryln had to run further and further to reach the line. Not that many hours had passed, yet in the boy’s troubled mind, burdened with so much bloody pain, a full day ticked away. When they were called for to carry one of the last wounded, his heart suddenly ached and tired eyes refused to believe what he saw.
There, on the broken pavement lay granny Folst! A deep gush across her chest had been hastily bandaged, yet the woman was slipping in and out of consciousness. As he ran back to the triage area carrying her, at first she did not recognize him and kept asking Keryln help to find himself, make sure he was well.
“Do you know if Keryln is.. safe? He... cough... is my kid.” – she mumbled, bloody spittle on her lips – “K-keryln, when you find him... wheeze... tell my boyo that... I am... well!”
Keryln gnashed his teeth and, breath raspy, knees buckling from much tire, ran even quicker. Since Lem was at the back, granny Folst could eventually see his face and, voice even weaker, asked the young squire a favor – “T-tell him, tell my Keryln that... wheeze... I’ve got something yummy pickled for him... cough... and little Aeriale.”
He dared not speak for fear of losing his rhythm since even the stamina tincture he drank lost its effect.
“Tell, Keryln... tell my boyo... wheeze... tell him, do not forget to... cough... tell. I put it at... Do you know.... spittle... he made me n-new... sh-shelves? H-he is my little... sweet carpenter...” – granny Folst’s voice barely a whisper, yet despite the clangor of battle, Keryln was able to hear every single raspy word and with never before experienced clarity.
Sweat dripping down his caked in blood clothing, Keryln finally saw the triage area. He no longer felt his hands, yet somehow was able to keep clutching the stretcher handles. They placed granny Folst on one of the free operating tables and she, eyes wide open, finally saw him. The boy and Lem shot the doctor asking looks, which he answered with the most tired, painful sigh, as soon as he examined her. Such was the healer’s fatigue that he barely stood on his two feet, his hand trembling perhaps even more than the old woman’s.
Nevertheless, he and a nurse cleaned and sew close Folst’s brutal wound, replacing the bloody bandage. No matter of their swift care, the grandmother soon became unresponsive and the light in her eye dimmed. Keryln, if he was blind and deaf, his very soul could feel the healer’s desperation, his helplessness. There were too many wounded and despite the large Temple reserves of elixirs, their priesthood’s many prayers of healing, one could not save everyone.
Keryln panted as he was so out of breath after this desperate run, the boy was unable to speak. All he could do was grab a hold of her trembling hand and look her in the eye. A smile blossomed on Folst’s bloodied lips, as she breathed her last:
“Found... you!”
As the healer closed her eyes and slumped down, his legs no longer obeying, Keryln simply stood there. Tears he had cried them all and, face twisted, the boy slowly took control of his breath. Her hand soon became cold and with a chill gust of wind howling across the Temple Square, the boy shivered. He did not move even when a funerary detail of three Kannite priests came for his granny. They, visibly just as mortally tired and bloodied as the healers, chanted a prayer and carried Folst’s covered with a snow white shroud body away.
Mechanically, the boy reached for his stashed jacket. Donning it, he rummaged inside the pockets, unresponsive fingers dropping one of his gloves. Lem picked it up and helped Keryln, who had somehow managed to put his cozy hat on, earmuffs and all. No longer needed for there were no more wounded to carry, the two rested at the medical tent’s empty supply crates.
Galloping hooves brought them out of their tired stupor. A lone knight, his armor mangled, helm’s visor melted away, he rode past them, shouting – “Keryln, has anyone seen Keryln?!”
“Sir knight, I am the one you seek.”
As the man turned his mare around, they saw he’d tied himself to the saddle with his ragged cloak. Blood dripped from his wounds, coloring the knight’s leg armor crimson. Perhaps no older than the squire, face pale from blood loss, the rider gave Keryln his father’s message:
“His Eminence Joel wants you to know that he is safe. Together with others, they have successfully defended The Sonsy Maid and her inhabitants. Now, you are safe to ride there… with an escort, of course.”
Aided by his two nurses, the healer approached and proceeded to unsaddle the dying knight.
“No, unhand me I say! I must ride back into battle... I have... my duty!” – This one protested, as they swiftly removed his armor together with gambeson, clothing, and bits of skin.
Without a single word, the doctor and his assistants proceeded to do exactly as they should, ignoring the knight’s protestation. Keryln gave his guardian a nudge, nodding at the horse, who, in stark contrast with her rider, appeared quite healthy and full of strength still. In a few minutes the two rode away, leaving blood-soaked Temple Square behind them.
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
[MWF] — The greatest magical wrestling federation ever!
Awww Granny is gone on to Valhalla. I will miss her. Hopefully Joel is ok. What terrible magic to make you fight your best friend or family. These stories have a life of their own. And I look forward to each new episode.
I just followed the link and read the first post of this series. Was really well-written. High-fantasy. Easy to visulize the environment and a cool intrigueing setting on the frozen mountainscape. I like the idea of the blue frost that freezes at a touch--When I release a later chapter of my story you gotta check it out @The black Knight. It has a monster type in it that your blue ice reminded me of! --"The Heat Sloths." That drain your heat at a touch.
I'd recommend others to read This Blood and Frost series!