"Darkmoon Ridge (Chapter 1)" by James K. Bowers

    Auzinna bounded down the stairs, shrieking, “She’s dead!  She’s dead!”  T’ralex hit the stairs running, taking two or three steps with each stride.  Alorra’s chamber door stood open.  Light from several candles sent flickering shadows to dance about the walls.  She lay motionless, draped limply over the book she had been studying.  Dread filled T’ralex’s heart as he drew closer, then dissipated as he noted the slow but rhythmic movement of her breathing.  He reached out, gently touching her shoulder with his hand.
    It was impossible to tell who was startled more -- the wizard or the priest.  The mage leaped to her feet, her voice echoing words of power, delving into the void to tap elemental forces best left alone.  “Nuarma partholan num alimathar el garigor avemb--”
    “WAIT! It’s ME!”  blurted the abbot, stumbling backward.
    “...oh...was I sleeping?”
    “Obviously!  What was I to become?  A toad?  A smoldering cinder?  Perhaps a puddle of ooze?  You have to stop this, Alorra!  What if it wasn’t me?  How would I explain to Madam Gordath that you had turned her daughter into a potato?”
    “T’ralex, you know I haven’t the means to turn anything into anything!  That’s not how my spells work.  Besides, I’ve told you before not to disturb my studies.  And if it wasn't for...”  Alorra paused, her mind belatedly comprehending T’ralex’s words.   “And what has Madam Gordath’s daughter to do with anything?”
    “She thought you had died.  Quite thankfully, the poor dear must have decided she shouldn’t touch anything dead.  She’s downstairs and, no doubt, scared witless by now.  We have some unexpected guests and, I suspect, will be hosting the Earl himself in very short order.  Please, give me a moment to calm the child before you join me at the hearth.”   Too much studying.  T’ralex made a mental note to speak to Alorra later about this habit of hers, for there was no time for it now.
    T’ralex hurried down the stairs.  Auzinna was nowhere in sight.  The door was closed; a good sign.  If Auzinna had bolted home, she would have had a great deal of trouble with the heavy door.  In her panicked condition, she certainly wouldn’t have taken the time to close it behind her.
    “Auzinna?  Where are you, child?” he called softly.  “All is well, dear.  Alorra was only sleeping.”  No answer, just the quiet shuffle of her feet as Auzinna appeared from behind a tapestry.  “Ah...there you are.  Alorra will be here in a moment or two.  Maybe we should see if she will warm some milk for both of us?”  The latter served to bring a smile to the girl’s lips.
    No sooner had T’ralex calmed the young girl than Alorra appeared, coming down the staircase.  She stopped in her tracks as she viewed the makeshift hospital surrounding the hearth.  “What is this, T’ralex?  Who are they?”
    “These are our unexpected guests.  And, quite important guests, I might add.  Why don’t you warm some milk for the three of us.  I’ll tell you what I know while you’re doing that.”
    Alorra disappeared into the cellar for a moment, returning with a small jug of milk.  She listened intently to T’ralex as she warmed the milk at the hearth.
    “From what you have seen, our visitors are not in the best of health.  I have done as much as I am able for them, but I fear death is still very close to each of them.  It appears that the most I can do for them now is to clean their wounds and keep them comfortable as they rest.”  T’ralex returned to the task of cleansing their wounds as he spoke.  “Two of them appear to be soldiers, but the woman bears the badge of a Khurda.  They rode into town a short while ago, maybe an hour.  Auzinna and her brother were to help me tend to the three of them, but when I realized just who this woman was, I sent Jeddun to the castle to notify the Earl.”  T’ralex paused, looking over the unconscious travelers.  “I don’t know if they were conscious when they arrived or if their mounts just happened to find Southgate on the way to wherever they were bound.”  Again, the abbot paused as one of the injured men stirred.  “Their horses, as far as I can tell, belong to one of the King’s cavalry brigades.  Cavinan has seen to them... for tonight, they rest in our stable.”
    Alorra, lost in thought, said nothing at first.  She handed a cup of warmed milk to Auzinna, who began sipping it as she sat cross-legged by the fire.  Pouring two more cups, she joined T’ralex by the travelers.  “What do you suppose caused their wounds?”
    “I’m not sure I would care to guess.  These,” he said, pointing to one of the men, “appear to be the result of some clawed animal, but the wounds on his left shoulder and his stomach were certainly made by a blade.  They all bear both types of wounds.  If they don’t recover, we may never know... or we may only find the answer to your question when someone pays the price of another attack.”  T’ralex glanced toward the door, then spoke more to himself than to Alorra.  “I hope Jeddun has gotten my message to the Earl by now.  This whole situation has far too many implications to wait until tomorrow.“
    “Perhaps they are victims of more than one encounter.  That would explain the different types of wounds,” offered Alorra.  “From what you have implied, the only thing that kept them alive to reach Southgate is the fact that they are soldiers.  They must have been in excellent condition before they came upon whatever or whoever did this to them. But why would they have come here instead of seeking aid at one of the outposts?  Surely, one of them would have been closer.”  Alorra’s eyes begged an answer, but T’ralex only shrugged.  He, too, would only be guessing.
    Alorra fell silent as she studied the travelers, inspecting and comparing their wounds.  They could have been corpses if judged only by the color of their skin.  “Did you think to send for Sylnia?  You know her mastery of herbal cures would help.”
    “Alorra, this is the Khurda of Penzand,” T’ralex said, motioning toward the unconscious woman.  “I don’t think anyone else is yet aware of that.  Sylnia’s skill with herbs is rivaled only by her skill at spreading gossip and rumor.  As much as we need her help, I couldn’t bring myself to ask her for fear of her wagging tongue.  It simply wouldn’t do for the whole town to be stirred into a frenzy over this before the Earl has had a chance to take what action he may. I shall send for Sylnia yet tonight once we are better able to fathom this situation. . . or if their foothold on this world worsens.”
    “Yes, I suppose you are right, but I would still . . . T’ralex?  Where is her sword?”
    Alorra’s words loomed in his consciousness like a gathering storm.  The sword of a Khurda. . . only six were ever forged.  Their worth could never be measured in gold or silver.  Their value could only be gauged by the blood and sacrifice of the long line of Khurdas who, for over two centuries, had passed down both their swords and their honor.  “I haven’t seen it,” whispered T’ralex as their eyes met.
    “Did Cavinan mention it?  Perhaps it was slung on her horse,”  offered Alorra.
    “He didn’t say,” said the abbot.  Remembering details of the early evening, he added, “But I doubt greatly that it was.  All three horses had the trappings of the King’s cavalry. . . none were caparisoned in the emerald of Penzand.  I am led to believe she has lost both sword and mount to whatever force they engaged.  Still, I should check the stable.  Luck does come in two varieties, after all.”
     As if the discussion of her sword was her cue, the Khurda groaned softly, but remained unconscious.  Perhaps she dreamt of the events that had brought her to Southgate.  Perhaps she did not dream but felt, instead, an emptiness of purpose spawned by the loss the sword.  She no longer rested peacefully.  Nor would she find peace until her sword was reclaimed.
    The door swung open ushering in a swirl of powdery snow.  The herald proclaimed, “His Most Righteous Lordship, Gaylord Ulthrond, Earl of Southgate, Lord Marshall of Stonedown Reach, Guardian of ElvenOak and Protector of...”
    “ENOUGH!” roared the Earl.  “Save that pompous drivel for those who may need to be impressed.  The abbot knows who I am.  Better than most I would think.  See to the boy.”  The Earl brushed past his herald and crossed the room with purposeful strides.  Though now draped in the fineries of his station, his fluid, catlike grace revealed the Earl’s years as a warrior.  The Earl was followed by two knights, Agravar and Rothmore.  Jeddun, whose tale of adventure was growing longer by the minute, evaded the herald and strutted in with the knights.  The herald merely shook his head as he pushed the door closed.
    The Earl looked down at the prone figures.  A look of curiosity washed over the Earl’s features only to be replaced with one of expectancy as he looked to the priest.  “These are the wounded travelers of whom the boy spoke?  The King’s troops?  Soldiers die every day, T’ralex.  What makes these so special that you would send for me at this late hour?”
    “My apologies, milord, but this should explain my actions, if not the situation,” said T’ralex as he brushed aside the Khurda’s hair and raised her necklace for the Earl to see.  “She’s Penzand.  We don’t know why she’s here.  We don’t know who or what attacked them.  We aren’t even certain that they will live.”  T’ralex let out a defeated sigh.  “All we do know is that you needed to be told of this immediately.”
    T’ralex turned to Alorra and gave her a slight but meaningful nod.  There was little more that T’ralex could do for the travelers without Sylnia’s aid.  Alorra would need to fetch her, though T’ralex dreaded the very thought of it.  Sylnia’s greatest love was “current history”, her polite term for gossip.  This fascination with everything she had no business knowing was, in itself, not so terrible; but, when coupled with the current situation, Sylnia’s ability to drag a coherent story out of anything with more wits than a turnip could have disastrous consequences.  No, T’ralex decided, he was not looking forward to being courteously cross-examined by Sylnia.