"The Knights: Goldry" by Nathan W. Woods

A young boy of eight, his face, dirty; his hands, wrapped in rags to protect from cold. He has short brown hair, and soft brown eyes. He sits on a street corner in the middle of winter to beg for coins alongside the lepers and homeless. The whorehouse behind him reeks of rotten milk and sewage. Men of all walks of life walk by, the richer tend to snub the beggars on the street, staying away as far as possible; the poorer tend to not have enough money to fill their own needs and help another. Life is hard, and stealing is almost the only way to survive. Goldry sits every day at a corner in the many streets of his town, sleeping in temples when he is allowed, in door frames when he is not. He did not choose this life; the fire that took away his house two months ago also killed his parents. With no known relatives he was forced to live in the street when his money ran out. He became somewhat proficient at cutting purse strings. Two years later a small purse grants him an unprecedented reward, a small flute. He plays the flute nightly to stave off the fear and darkness.

Strolling through the darker part of town to get to a bar at which he plays he notices lilting flute music coming from one of the darker alleys. Intrigued by the sound he follows it to its source. Sitting in front of a run down business is a twelve year old boy, play the flute for coins of passer-byes. The man starts to come by nightly until one-night Goldry notices that the same old man keeps coming back, but never leaves any coins. Shrugging the boy plays on in his own way, every note sad and long, pushing some to tears and earning him more coins.
"You are playing it wrong," the old man states one night after everyone else had left.
"So? It earns me food."
"Don't you want better than daily bread?"
The boy shrugs, not really remembering a time when he did not have to fight for every scrap he came by. The old man pulls out a flute not much different than the one the boy has, except that is finely worked with intricate scrollwork on the sides. He plays a song similar to the one that Goldry had played earlier, only this one much softer and much more beautiful because he did not have to fight the noise of the crowd. The boy sits entranced by the music for long after it fades into nothing.
"Now you try," Rubylight states.

Goldry looks at the old man in awe and a little fear then plays his flute again, this time the old man picks up a harmony to the song, many of its notes dissonant to the song Goldry plays, but making it all that much more powerful and sad. The music fades into nothingness, Goldry weeps, and the crowd that had gathered from the business exploded in applause and tears. Rubylight stands and bows, and indicates that Goldry should do the same. They both bow several times then the old man leads the young boy away from the crowd to his humble home on the other side of town.

"You still play it wrong," Rubylight states as Goldry steps off of the stage after playing his flute, still the same one, and several other instruments. As Goldry grew in both age and talent Ruby eventually let him play in front of crowds for money again. He had moved far beyond playing in the street though, he now played in front of packed bars. He had learned to make the crowd weep or laugh through his music. One night after his performance Goldry walks into Ruby's room, where Ruby lay on his bead. Goldry sits beside the man he has come to call father over the past seven years and knows it is near his time to die.

"Because I was unable to handle the responsibility of it." Rubylight says quietly. "There is a map hidden inside my lute, remove it and use it to find the sword, it is yours if you claim it before someone else does. Go now, it will not be many months before I die and the sooner you find it after I die the more likely no one else has claimed it. Go." He tosses his lute to Goldry and points to the door, "GO!"
Goldry nods and, taking the lute, goes. On his way out he grabs his rapier and the main-gauche he had been practicing with. He also grabs his old flute and some clothes and supplies. Goldry heads to the nearest town and pays for his room and board by playing nightly for the crowd in the inn he stays at. His money supply, although not minuscule, does not buy much and he has to limit himself to keeping his donkey in food and stables rather than any of the niceties of life. He stays in his room almost constantly trying to find the map his mentor was talking about. After almost a week of trying to figure how to take apart the lute without destroying it he throws it across the room in a fit of rage. It bounces off of the wall with a sick sound and lands on the bed with all of the tuning pins broken off and all seven strings lying limp across the bridge. Between the way it was laying and the way the light hit it something looked familiar. Goldry slowly walks toward the lute as it lay there on the bed and with nimble fingers he removes the strings. Underneath, in the intricate scrollwork, seems to be a map of some sort, with the compass directions scribed under the strings in the neck. "Well, well what have we here?" He studies the map for many hours, then plays one last night at the inn for an audience that had increased in size nightly since he had been there. The next morning he packs up his bags and walks out. The innkeeper realizing that he was loosing his biggest draw tries to keep him there with promises of money and gifts, but to no avail. Goldry heads west further away from the hometown that he grew up in and the life he knew.

Ten days of near solid riding on Bottom, his donkey, brings him to Antar, capitol of Antaria. Antar is a thriving town of moderate size. Its walls are dark but not foreboding and seem well patrolled by the town guards. Guards patrol the relatively clean streets and crime seems low. The shops are mostly the color of the wood they were made of, but some are washed a brilliant white. Most shop owners sell their wares outside of the store during the day and some call out loudly what they are selling as a stranger walks past. Behind a second set of walls, these a brilliant gray stone protect the castle from both wars and thieves. The streets are full of foot traffic and Goldry has some trouble negotiating Bottom through the crowd. "Well, now, I am out of money, Bottom. Let us see if there is someplace needing a singer." Goldry, thinking a job would be easy to find, looks through several Inns and bars around town, only to be shot down at each by either a singer, or the owner. Finally he finds an inn that will let him play...but only after he started playing outside on the street and taking money away from the patrons before they entered. The place is run down but well kept. Patrons follow along with some of the more well known tunes, and some cry to the sadder tunes. Goldry earns a decent living through his tips and because his room and board are paid through the owner for his playing. One night, months later, he asks the manager for money instead of room and board.

The owner lowers his eyes and nods slowly, paying him his last night's wages. Then, after the bar is closed and most of the patrons are gone, Goldry packs his bags and heads into the pitch night playing a sorrowful tune on his flute seeming to say goodnight, and good bye to the friends he has found. Riding Bottom once more Goldry heads west once again. Soon the rolling hills he grew up with change into sparse woodlands. The beautiful sunrise behind him Goldry looks at his lute map and tries to decide the best way to journey into the next country over. After long hours of starring at the map in the lute and the one he 'found' in the bar he decides. Even though it would take him several days out of his way he takes a more northern route to the border neatly skirting an area labeled on both maps as 'wild lands'. Three days after leaving Antar his first troubles began. Recent rains had soaked the road into a morass of puddles and small creeks. Bottom soon tired plodding across the wet ground and Goldry was forced to walk, muddying his second best set of clothing. Traversing the land soon became a chore and he could not even cheer it up with his ever-present music because he had to fight a very stubborn donkey. At the hill he saw it...The wild lands were bordered by a large imposing forest. Deep and dark it held many a secret, but it was not the object of his quest. Along the edge of the almost desert of the wild lands and the dark forest was a narrow road. It promised both safety and peril. Safety from the dangerous lands of both the forest and the wild lands, and peril from the bandits who waited along it. At the base of the hill in good sight of the road Goldry decides to rest for the night. As the sun sets in all of its fiery glory Goldry contemplates Rubylignt's decision to send him on this quest...and whether his mentor still lives. An inner sense of peace that he had not felt since his parents lived suddenly washed over him and he slept well for the first time in months. Bottom, cropping grass near by, seemed in a good mood as the day started and stayed that way through out the day, even with Goldry riding him. The dark night upon him and no where to camp Goldry decides to rest on Bottom. With the dark forest on his left, with its deep mix of oak and yew trees, and the Wild lands on his right, with it's sparse trees and dense undergrowth, Goldry pulls out his pan pipes and plays a haunting tune of the area. Two discordant notes rise above the rest as the slow melody interweaves them, making it both beautiful and frightening. Long into the night he rides slowly, his song comforting his donkey and himself. With the sunrise behind him Goldry finally finds a place to camp. Setting himself on the ground he writes his song from last night on a scrap of parchment that, although much tattered and worn, was clear. After only a couple of hours rest for both his donkey and himself Goldry sets out once again. The pipes now play a lighter tune, no less beautiful than last night, but instead of the two discordant notes one strong note rises above the rest.

A couple of hours into the day Goldry feel something out of place...but he cannot judge what. Out of the dark forest he thinks he hears laughter but cannot be sure. He stops bottom and looks around, thinking about what to do...that was his first mistake.
"So, stranger, what brings to this part of the country?"
Looking around but not seeing the originator of the voice Goldry shrugs, "Just passing though."
"Ahh, you must know about the toll then."
"What toll? Show yourself."
A man dressed in a ragtag leather vest and pants, steps out of the woods a few yards ahead. "So, I suspect you will be paying the toll now?"
"How much is it?"
"Well, that depends on how much you have."
"I have nothing, at least nothing you would want." That was his second mistake....
"Oh, I think I will be the judge of what I want. Get off of your mule."
Goldry nods and does so, making sure his rapier and main-gauche were safely secured on his person. The man walks over to Bottom and with a nod of his head four more men come out of the forest and surround him and Goldry.

"Ah, ha, what is this? What a beautiful lute...it should fetch a good price with the minstrel in town."
"I would suggest you drop that..."
"Or you will do what little man? You are surrounded and outnumbered."
With a lightening quick move Goldry draws both rapier and main-gauche and then dropping into a defensive posture he says "Or I will drop you." Several men around him start closing with a varied selection of rusty swords and clubs. The man holding the lute laughs and indicates to Goldry with a bored hand.
"Get him."

Goldry unfocuses his eyes and turns around to meet the threat behind him first. He watches the men's centers as they move toward him with malicious intent. The man in the middle, a large man, wearing a merchant's clothes some years out of style charges first. Goldry registers the threat of the man's huge club and parries the over hand shot with his rapier, then spinning beside the man as he over balances himself in the swing Goldry's left hand swings his main-gauche into the center of his back. The large man takes a further two steps forward in shock before crumpling to the ground. The next two come at him also at a run, the smaller of the two slightly behind. Goldry blocks the larger man's sword with his now bloody main-gauche and dodges the thrust of the smaller man by side stepping. The large man takes a step and backhands his sword across Goldry, barely being deflected by the rapier. The smaller swings a quick series of feints as he tries to work around Goldry's back. With a lunge the larger man comes in and Goldry manages to trap the larger man's sword between his and his main-gauche and with a twist he disarms the man. Seeing his opportunity the smaller man runs in only to be clocked on the top of the head by Goldry's left elbow as it came across from the disarm. The small man, knocked for a loop by the hit, stumbles into the larger man and knocks him down and out. As Goldry turns around, his left arm temporarily numb from the hit, he feels a lancing pain shoot across his right shoulder. Goldry is blasted to his left by the club hit from the fourth man. He hits the ground a couple of feet away and rolls. With a grunt he manages to roll himself over on his back. The worrying pins and needles feeling was slowly going away, but his right arm was dead. The fourth brute looking down at the fallen Goldry grins. "Well, well now..." The man charges again and with a shout brings his club down. Goldry dodges frantically to his right as the club falls, barely missing the crushing blow to his skull. Once again on his back Goldry scissor-kicks the man, his right foot behind the man's thigh his left in front of the knee. With a crunch and a scream the man goes down holding his left leg. Goldry slowly gets up and to his surprise the man who had assaulted him first was clapping.

"Bravo, bravo...most people give up when the first one comes after them."
"I am not most people."
"I can see that...impressive, but in the end futile."
"Why do you say that? Your men seem to be a little out of it right now."
"Ahh...yes, well my men are wimps when it comes to that."
Goldry slowly walks over to the man standing by Bottom grabbing his main-gauche and rapier on the way over. About three yards away from the man he stops. Putting his weapons on the ground in front of him in a careful cross he starts humming. Looking at him in surprise the man starts walking over, sword ready, but stops about half way, entranced. The soft low notes seem to carry the man to some other time; he falls to his knees weeping. The song sways back and forth across the lower end of Goldry's register slowly, the melody very serene and also compelling in a strange way. The lute in the man's hand seems to almost hum along with the song, adding a soft harmony to the notes. Even bottom looks like he is far away in some better place as the song slowly fades away. Exhausted Goldry stands and walks over to the now very quiet man and holds out his hand. The man accepts the hand and stands, handing Goldry back his lute and the money he had taken from his saddlebags. Nodding, Goldry walks back over to Bottom and pats him on the side to wake him out of the trance he is in. Bottom gives him a sorrowful look then droops a little as Goldry gets back on his back to continue on. "I know friend...I know."

A few hours later Goldry and Bottom arrive at a small town. The dilapidated buildings were a bustle of activity. Arriving at the one and only tavern in town, the "Bloomin' Back, Bar and Inn", Goldry sets himself up for the night. Carefully unstring the lute again Goldry takes another look at the map. This town seems to hold some significance to the creator of the map...and the trail to the sword is not on the main road out of town. Instead of heading almost straight west, as the road did, the path from this town to the Sword turned southward almost immediately after leaving town.

Goldry wanders downstairs to get some breakfast. "So, how did this place get such an interesting name?" he asks the barmaid.
"Oh? The Bloomin' Back? It used to be the Bargaining Beck, but the boss, Beck, has had back trouble for a couple of years now, so we decided to change the name." She chuckled. "He couldn't believe it when he came one morning, and the sign had changed. He laughed so hard that he was laid up for a couple of weeks in the storeroom, his wife was concerned...and the name stuck."
Goldry, doing his best impression of solemn through out the tale, burst out laughing at the last statement. "Aye, I guess it is a fitting name, always good to have a story with any name. Mind if I write it down?"
"Naw...Go ahead, although I don't know why you would want to."
"I write down the best and funniest stories I come across...it helps me remember where I came from."
"Can I hear one?"
"Ya, I suppose so, let me find my notes." Goldry goes back to his room and returns a couple of minutes later with a small sheaf of rolled up paper. Sitting at the table where he ate his breakfast Goldry takes out a blank sheet of paper and copies the barmaid's story about the bad back down, chuckling all along. Digging through his papers he asks, "Do you want a funny one, or a serious one? A serious one I think...you have already given me a funny one."

She gives him a big grin and waves a couple more of the bar hands and the bartender, as there were no patrons in the establishment at the time. Goldry clears his throught and digs through his papers to find an appropriate story. "Ahh...I suppose this will do." He says digging out a sheet covered with scribbles, in some places they were so dense that they covered each other. In several places on the page were elaborate drawings of dragons that seemed to fly. In at least one place the words formed together to make a picture. "Once upon a time...Ever notice how these things always start that way? Anyway, once upon a time..." Goldry's voice seemed to change slightly as he fell into verse. The words melded and flowed together into a song, its haunting melody unaccompanied by instrument still carried power beyond the actual words.

"The chill of a world that turns its back
From the strangers who come outlined in black
Lanterns bobbing and weaving along the way
Something fateful, that distant day...

The frigid dispassion of barren snowfields
Calls like a lover -- and yet, never yields
The blizzard had passed but its cold touch remains
In ice coated trees and white crystalline plains.

Go to the door, child, and tell what you see.
Men come, and a carriage, but what could it be?

Old Talden pored over the note in despair
His daughter Sidera peeked over the chair
He snatched it away, for fear she might know
The fate they had fallen to some time ago.

He told her, fetch wood; and the note left her sight
A ruse, she perceived, but went out in the night
And lo she beheld on the lucid horizon
Lights and a carriage and people and horsemen.

Go up the stairs, girl; go curl up and hide
Discretion is wiser than roguish pride.

Sidera returned and informed her poor father.
He sent her upstairs, but listen she'd rather:
Some loose boards once lifted gave both sight and sound
Of all the disasters the night would expound.

A debt left unpaid seemed the spark of the flame
As Talden and stranger each shifted the blame.
The payment demanded sent chills through his heart:
A daughter required as the other part.

Run for your life now, ere before long
What you hold dear slips away and is gone.

The floorboards gave way from age and decay
And Talden's voice uttered a cry of dismay
Sidera had landed quite safe on the chair
But found herself withering under a stare:

The stranger, entranced by this give from above
Summoned his guards with a wave of his glove
The father yelled out, and his child was afraid,
So one shot old Talden, and two chased the maid.

Too late to run
Too late to hide
If only you'd known how much you cried.

She backed to the door, but found t'was behind her
The man -- hateful man! -- who had ordered her capture
She ducked, cut and ran, but was seized from behind
The strangers withdrew as they dragged her outside

She screamed and she kicked, and at last sprinted free
O sister, dear sister...I know you will help me...
She never discovered the reason she fainted
It pulsed through her mind, insistent and plaintive.
She blinked, quite bewildered, then fell fast asleep,
A sleep like the snowdrifts.....soft, cold, and deep.

The frigid dispassion of barren snowfields
Can backstab and wither, as much as it shields.
The blizzard had passed, and soon spring would come
But alas, for the maiden.....the blizzard's begun."

Goldry quietly finished his breakfast and headed out to Bottom, mounting the old donkey he road out of town to find the Bluzco, and his future.