Captain Horatio Horn and the Slutty Space Pirates
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A Daemon-Horn BladeChapter 6 free porn video
It took exactly a week to arrive in Tellismere from the crossing at the ford, and the towns of Glideuch and Ghasby came and went with little to remark about them to remain in Rowan's memory. At every stop they gained some fresh coins for their caravan guard fee, but nothing like the large sums they had earned earlier on the other side of the great river. Here nearer the capitol, things seemed safer and talk of war remained that, just talk.
All of this land on the western side of the Duchy, on the western side of the Bekingham River and Crystal Lake seemed much more populated and prosperous than the lands they had traveled across in the eastern shire. Here the coastal road was well-paved with stone, done exactingly and at some considerable expense by an earlier Duke. The caravan was able to travel smoother and faster than it was ever able to on the plain dirt roads of the eastern side. Villages dotted the road and only rarely were there no traces at all of any nearby settlements. Here the trees were well cut back from the road and often the forest was quite distant, as villages had cleared the woods for large farms.
Here in the west, the inhabitants were safer, Oddtus mentioned casually. On this side of the river the boar-men had not trod their feet in over a dozen generations and even the night-goers were just creatures of story and history, rather than an ever-present and lurking danger. Both the towns of Glideuch and Ghasby had old but stout walls around the town and sturdy keeps with soldiers to defend them, but most folks had the attitude that trouble would never come here during their lifetime. Rowan hoped that it would remain so!
Entering Tellismere, Rowan and Boyle both figured that they would be immediately reporting to the Duke's castle, on top of the northernmost hill of the city overlooking the rocky cliffs where the short but rapid Klure River flowed its last miles west past the city into the Great Western Sea. The Lore-Master had other ideas and bid them to contain their enthusiasm for another day or two.
"Let's not borrow trouble just yet!" Oddtus advised. "We'll get a room at the finest inn in the city, get cleaned up from the road, rest a bit, listen to the town gossip a bit, and get dressed up into some clothes that won't make the fussy Ducal nose twitch with disgust at a pair of young uppity peasants intruding into his home. Oh, he'll want to see us alright ... but I'm certain that we'll all regret the experience soon enough afterwards, but trust me ... I'm certain that this is indeed the right thing to do!"
Buying a nice outfit suitable for wearing before a Duke was easier than both Rowan and Boyle would have expected. After spending two weeks in the saddle, both lads looked tanned and much harder in appearance. That both lads had seen battle and bloodshed shown now in their eyes; both now had the look of roaring boys, dangerous men that were as comfortable with a sword in their hands as they would a soft slattern and a jack of ale. They were recommended to a good clothier that catered to the local nobility who possessed a suitable stock of ready-to-wear fashionable garments, and any disagreement the shop keeper might have had at their unkempt presence disappeared after the sight of some good silver in their hands and the sound of considerably more jingling in their purses.
Technically, it was quite illegal and morally reprehensible for a pair of peasants to be dressed as nobles, but money had always resounded much louder than any words of law in most of the Southern Duchies. The offered coins were pocketed with lightning speed and not too much later the young lads left the clothiers dressed in the latest fashionable style and they now could have easily mistaken for a pair of young nobles. Their purses were lighter, it was true, but at least they thought they could make it past the Duke's castle guards now without getting a bucket full of night chamber waste tossed at them.
Money was certainly not one of their pressing problems at the moment. In fact Boyle joked if he had even suspected for a moment that they'd arrive two weeks later in Tellismere with much more silver in their pocket than when they'd started, he'd have made the trip here years earlier.
Here in the one of the most prosperous inns in the city, the gléaman had obtained for them a fairly large room with a pair of beds in return for the usual promise of an evening of entertainment, and if the first nights take was any indication, he took in a least two full gold mark's value in silver coins. How the tight-fisted Histrio stored all of seemingly endless wealth was anyone's guess, he never seemed to have to dip into his purse for any cost. Boyle joked that over half of the Foole's pack had to be filled with coins, as his belt purse never seemed to get any heavier despite the lofty rewards he was getting for his services.
Rowan largely stuck close by the inn as the city was overly bustling and noisy for his tastes and he could think of little to tempt him out of doors. That first day he caught up on his sleep and in the evening nursed his drinks in the inn's main taproom listening to the nobles, military officers, wealthy traders and factors debate current events, indulge in rumors and the growing rumors of war. No other coastal fort in the northern wildernesses of Crystal Lake had suffered attack, yet, but scouting parties reported trails of unknown creatures nearby, also scouting the forts. More troops from the south had indeed been transferred up north but most agreed that if this was a major invasion that those reinforcements would be quite insufficient. Even the great factors and nobles would agree to a conscription of the young men, most believed, but the Duke had yet to order this. Some praised his caution and frugality; but most moaned his indecision.
There was one errand that Rowan did need to do, and the next morning he paid a pair of litter bearers a shilling to take him to the Hall of Guild-Masters and he was very surprised to find that this building was not but four blocks away from the inn, an easy walk in a safe prosperous neighborhood. Far from angered at being taken advantage of as a stranger, he immediately struck a deal to offer them an additional silver if they would wait for him outside for up to an hour, and then if they show him around this part of the city he'd offer to buy them lunch and a drink for their trouble as well. They heartily agreed. Rowan presented his Master's proclamation from Gorge and paid his one gold mark master's fee to the guild secretary and was told that if he came back tomorrow his master's certification and accreditation from the guild would be completed, ready for him to pick-up. Rowan agreed to return the next day, and pay the copyist fee of another eight pence for an additional second copy of the document.
With plenty of time to spare that afternoon, Rowan enjoyed his guided tour of the highlights of the city and true to his word, provided his guides with a meal and several leather mugs of a very suitable ale at their favorite tavern, which was not too far distant on a good street from Rowan's inn, and he made a note to visit here again this evening to catch the news and gossip from the perspective of the towns middle-class and working men.
The news there at this inn was about the same, and the rumors confirmed that war did appear to be very likely soon. Also most unfortunately, there were strong rumors that Broadmore, the Duchy to the south of them was already engaged in one of its regular on again, off again, border wars against the island Duchy of Drakland. If that wasn't enough misfortune, pirate ships from the Windswept Isles far to the north, often called the Pirate Kingdom, had been raiding around and south of Graymyst Island and the Great Northern Bay. The more cautious ship-masters were staying in port, they said, not sailing out either north or south through the strait to Corælyn for either love or any amount of silver.
Graymyst Island was a good ways north, on the other side of the northern Brittle Mountains and all trade between them and the Southern Duchies had to travel by sea. No one, in their right minds or not, crossed the Brittle Mountains on foot, or if anyone did they had never lived to boast about it. The lands to the north were part of the ancient and former great kingdom of Vágráþrír, named after the Bay of Three Rivers, now called the Great Northern Bay. Today, their once great kingdom was broken apart into several more or less independent Duchies that changed rulers and names pretty much like erratic but still barely functioning clockwork.
Graymyst was the rocky anchor for all of the northern trade and the lands to the west across the Great Western Sea, but they had no political or military power, or the will to bestir themselves even to defend what little they still possessed. Like impoverished Tellismere, most of the eastern parts of the Great Northern Bay were rugged and heavily forested with but few and largely independent settlements. Like the Southern Duchies, it was a place for a man to build something from the wilderness with his bare hands, or else to flee from oppression, or even rightful justice in their old lands.
Boyle on the other hand, soon discovered that a certain notorious area of brothels and enterprising young ladies of the street was but a block or so away, inside a warren of alleys and side streets collectively called Grape Lane, but which the locals all referred to by its older and cruder name, 'Gropecunt' Lane. Nearly at once, the kindly large lad befriended a young lady who was relatively new to life on the streets and he gave her pimp a sound thrashing that he was unlikely to ever forget. For the next two days they kept each other highly amused and entertained in their personal and paid for small bedroom at the inn, rarely only coming out except to use the privy or snatch another beaker of wine or a meal. Rowan at first suspected that the two had formed some sort of attachment, as perhaps he had miraculously found his old childhood girlfriend, but instead he was surprised when she left for good on their third morning there.
Boyle, the kind hearted fellow that he was, had put on his court clothes and looking his finest, went and paid a visit to the office of the local embroiders guild, where he then sought to find an apprenticeship for his young friend. She was quite old for normally starting such a craft position, but any and all objections ceased after Boyle crossed their palms with some silver. The young lady was accepted, and more than grateful for a new life off of the streets.
"You know you're a fool yourself now!" Rowan laughing told his friend as they prepared to leave for the Duke's castle for their long overdue meeting later that morning after her departure.
"Certainly not! Everyone in the end got exactly what they wanted! I got to enjoy the charms of a rather sweet young lady who was not at all a hardened whore and find a home for her off of the streets and in a career much to her liking. The guild in turn, thought they were doing a favor for someone placed very highly in the Duke's court and was happy to take a small bit of money and assign her an apprenticeship with a good mistress, so everyone was happy."
"Still it cost you some silver for the private room and buying her apprenticeship."
"Not as much as you might think and not enough for what she was worth! What's a little silver between friends! If you can't spend silver on your friends then what good is it for? My purse isn't that much lighter but my heart is, now that I've done somebody some good! Besides, she was sweet and all, but not the woman I intend to consort some day. It would have been rude then to buy her affection and then just leave her without some sort of an understanding otherwise."
Rowan had to admit that his friend had a point.
Reaching the castle on foot, dressed in their best, Oddtus, Rowan and Boyle announced themselves at the gatehouse. The Foole even had a short letter of introduction prepared to present to the castle steward, who came to examine them with considerable interest. Apparently, the events on the Duke's summer island near Swanford were already something of an open secret here in Tellismere; everyone knew something terrible had happened, but no one was making free with all of the particular details. The Lady Ayleth was still in seclusion in her chambers and a great number of medicus's, physicians, priests, wise-women and healers had come to visit her and left, apparently with their purses no heavier in silver than when they had arrived.
After waiting a considerable length of time in a waiting room, the trio was finally admitted into one of the smaller reception rooms that featured a few hard chairs with little decoration or padding, a threadbare rug on the floor and four unadorned bare walls with small tables in each corner. Clearly this wasn't a place where the Duke met people he was kindly disposed towards. There in seclusion and silence they waited for several hours more before anyone came to meet them.
Finally at last, two guards came in first to guard both doorways and for a moment or two Rowan was certain they were about to be escorted towards some cellar dungeon for an entirely different sort of rather uncomfortably direct questioning. But a few moments later an attendant arrived with a nicer, more comfortable chair for the Duke to sit upon and at last the great man himself, His Grace, Emdyn de Mosena, Duke of Tellismere entered the room and seated himself.
The Duke, much like his reputation, was not much of a man to look at. He was of middle age, short and rather thin and weedy looking. His hair was nearly bald and he coughed often. His pale skin suggested that he only rarely if ever exposed himself to daylight and the flab of his arms and body suggested that he rarely if ever took exercise or practiced at arms. His weak dark eyes were too nervous to ever fix themselves for long on a single person or object and his hands had a slight tremor to them. Apparently, exactly as the Foole had remarked sometime earlier, the Duke enjoyed less than robust health, and was of quite a nervous and indecisive disposition. Definitely a man with a weak body to go with a weak mind.
Oddtus, Rowan and Boyle all rose and bowed to His Grace, but the Duke was not terribly impressed with what he saw and said as much.
"Like dogs to their vomit, the source of my misfortune has yet returned ... undoubtedly to press my hands for silver to ill-repay the wickedness that they had bestowed upon me. Thrice damn thee! Why did you curse the sight of my eyes? Give me one reason why yours instead should not be burned out by hot irons that readily await you in my dungeons?"
The Lore-Master, resplendent in his colorful motley gléaman's costume just smiled and bowed deeper. "Defame the poor dogs not, for their nature is that of a Foole, such I am, with their brains simple and naturally addled. For the canine will consume with glee the stool of their enemies the cat, and consider it to be fine fare indeed. This Foole is but little wiser, but would remind Your Grace of the great services that he did indeed perform in the protection of your daughter. Indeed the facts of this fateful matter should be well known to you!"
"Desist pestilent Foole!" The Duke stormed, rising to his feet in anger. "Your actions are indeed known and you've received your purse of reward, as well has that stout young lad to your left. There is no more treasure to be gained here, nor any further goodwill to be sown for future harvest. And as to why that other and more particular cause of my misfortune was thought needful to be brought into my presence only shows that ill-fortune and malice guides your steps Foole."
"It was no ill-fortune that bade this brave young man to slay the Daemon but a moment before your daughter could be befouled in its grasp, and it was greater fortune still that allowed his skilled hands to bind and consume the infernal forces of its horn into this very sword the brave lad now bears in your service. And it is further by his valiant undertakings that your daughter, marred and scarred by an evil infernal source forbidden from this world, shall be cured and restored! But if you have found other methods and require not our services to obtain this restoration, then we indeed wish His Grace well and we shall take our leave from you."
Oddtus had only managed to take one step backwards before the indecisive and petulant Duke leapt forward out of his chair to grab the Foole's hand. His attitude now completely changed and he begged that the Foole speak his mind, which he did at great length, after refreshments had been provided.
"It is true," the Duke sadly spoke with his eyes moistening into tears, "that no medicine, priestly prayers or supposedly magical cures have restored the pristine health and beauty of my beloved daughter. She is fated to marry one of the great Earls or Dukes, or perhaps even a king, but with the wounds she has suffered not even a stable boy would bend a knee in troth-oath to her. I have promised silver and lands to no result for any such cure as would restore her, but how can a Foole and two young lads of no family or of no especial skills other than courage, restore that which was infernally taken?"
"My Duke, do you especially value those small wooden tables with the stone tops that are in each of the corners of this room?" The Duke, puzzled, shook his head. "If not, would Your Grace then command his two guardsmen to each strike the table closest to them with their swords? The wood may perhaps be old and weakened but those stone tops appear to be ísengrǽg, or grey ironstone to my eyes and should prove an interesting demonstration for which His Lordship might soon be much enlightened.
With a nod of approval, the two guardsmen drew and swung their swords against the hard stone tops and sparks quickly flew from the impacts. One sword was soon dented into relatively uselessness and the other sword quickly shattered into two pieces. The stone tops were not much the worse for wear with but light scratches to show for the assault. The Duke scowled as the Lore-Master smiled.
"With Your Grace's permission, Rowan, the slayer of the infernal creature and both the forger and master of the Daemon-Horn blade, shall draw that sword and give His Lordship a more suitable demonstration upon the other two unmarked tables."
Upon the Duke's rather reluctant permission, Rowan drew his sword and the fourteen runes upon its blade began to glow at once with a soft but clearly distinguishable golden glow. With a single sword stroke the stone table top was cut cleanly in two and the halves of the table fell loudly to the floor. The Duke was plainly astonished speechless and Oddtus nodded for the lad to smite the other remaining unmarred table as well, and it immediately was split into twain with another single sword stroke. With a slight salute to the Duke, Rowan sheathed his glowing sword and resumed his seat next to the Foole, who was beaming like an elated cat that had just enjoyed a spectacularly relieving bowel movement in a delightfully forbidden place.
"And so my Lord, our hero — and the savior of your daughter, has not only protected her once before but he shall likely yet again! For it is only by the presence of this imprisoned Infernal, the sole remaining physical part of the creature that now remains, that the cure for her restoration shall be obtained. Apart and separate, no healing of man, feat of magic or the fervent prayers of even a hundred priests shall benefit her, if the sword ... and her savior, are separated apart. Together with Her Ladyship, we must go to the Temple of Aðbaernesa in Corælyn. Only there can the most important part of the necessary cure be obtained."
This statement confounded the Duke, and Rowan and Boyle were also equally caught by surprise.
"Can't my daughter just stay here in safety until the necessary items are gathered and you then return back here?" The Duke asked in whiny tone as he wrung his hands together in misery.
Hortense
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