Blood Will Tell (Fantasy)

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The attack came unseen. The blade sliced cleanly through the taut flesh of his ribs, making his grunt audible. He rolled away from the direction of the blade and, in doing so, managed a sound hit against his assailant with a kicking foot. The attacker swallowed a groan, renewing his or her onslaught.

Cale felt the rush of battle flow through his body and it effectively calmed his heightened fear of death. He caught his attacker as he or she made another swing. He blocked most of the lunge with his chest, discovering grimly he was of a heavier weight. Using new found knowledge, the assailant rammed a knee between Cale's legs. This immobilized him long enough for a better cut with the knife. The unknown person threw a quick punch to his face and broke free of his hold. The next cut was at the throat; a deadly strike even without poison.

Cale woke instantly. His eyes opened without warning, adjusting to the skittering of moonlight coming in through an ajar window. The memory faded as he lowered the arm above his head to wrap around his bedmate, Solua. He brushed loose hair off her cheek with a thumb and watched as she slept the sleep of the innocent.

He'd been with Solua for nearly a year and he wondered when she would try to kill him again.

He slowly slipped from the bed, not wanting to disturb her. Cale dressed in the previous day's clothing - a tunic and trousers - and carried his soft-soled boots under his arm. He eased open the door, letting it shut silently behind him. Walking down the hall, he listened to the nightly noises with half an ear. Most of his mind was occupied with what he would say to his mother tonight.

The staircase leading from the upper floor to the lower one loomed ahead. The old wood squeaked under the tiniest of weights, waking his father and that was something he shuddered at doing. Instead, Cale propped a thigh on the thick railing, lifted his feet and slid down the railing, landing with practiced grace. He stepped through an archway and toward the inner garden his mother tended.

He saw her immediately; the moonlight glinting the silver streak in her auburn hair. She was kneeling on a patch of grass and harvesting the fruit of her favorite plant. As she placed a handful of small, yellow, pear-shaped tomatoes into a lined basket, she said, "Time to go, I expect."

"Yes," Cale replied, sitting down on the other side of her. "I know I should say something to Dad, but I don't want a fight."

"Well, it's what he's good at," she answered with a sigh. "Berserkers aren't people you can reason with easily." She smiled and managed to coax one from her son. "Strange that he's so adament about you leaving home while I'm the supportive one." Cale grunted. "What about Solua? Do you think she'll follow after you?"

"If she doesn't, then I've been giving her too much credit," he said with a chuckle. The pair sat in silence, enjoying one another's company. He took in her profile and marveled at how physically alike they were. The only testaments to his father were his extreme height and the dark blending of hair colors. "I said goodbye to Shannon and Leo already."

She nodded, reaching over to him and cupping his face. "Do you have what you need? Money, gems, clothes?" A blush spread across his cheeks. "I know, you want to learn about the world and be yourself, not the first born of two great heros. Jaeg and I have friends and that friendship extends to our children, too. Don't let being your own person get in the way of asking for help."

"I won't, Mom, I promise," he said and hugged her. They held each other for a while, until he broke away. They walked back inside and Cale removed his full pack from a secluded spot under the stairwell. He slipped the straps over his shoulders, taking time to adjust the weight bumping against his back. While he did that, his mother left and returned with a stout walking stick in her calloused hands. She passed the staff to him and smiled sadly as he left home for the first time.

She trudged down another hall to her bedroom, sensing her husband waiting inside. "Cale's gone," she breathed as she entered.

A large man peeled away from the shadows of the room. He held his arms open and gathered her close. His voice was a sensual rumble as he spoke, "Kirsten, he'll hold his own. We taught him well." He felt her snuggled closer and rubbed the small of her back. Husband and wife held each other. Letting a child go was never comfortable.

++++++++
Solua came to groggily and rubbed her sleepy eyes with a knuckle. He'd left without her knowing. Berating herself, she scampered out of bed and dug around for her clothes. Expertly, she turned the tight-fitting shirt, trews and jacket inside-out. No longer were they a motley mix of riotious colors; they became the darkest shades of blue and black.

Becoming one with the shadows was her bread and butter and this time, she would not fail in her assigned task. The penalties of her employer were things she'd rather avoid.

 

The long walk in the early morning hours served two purposes. One, Cale was able to compartmentalize his thoughts in a logical manner and two, he finally had sufficient time to himself without interruptions. Another way he took after his mother.

Foremost in his mind was Solua. She was oblivious to the fact that Cale and his parents knew she was a hired assassin. None had confronted the young woman in order to discover who had hired her to kill Cale. Oh, there were the immediate reasons: Cale was the oldest son of the Jaegreoth, a berserker king, therefore the next leader of a powerful, warrior people or revenge against the father by killing the son. These were easily dismissed because Jaeg had a second son, Leo, who was fast becoming a berserker in his own right. There had been no attempts on Leo's young life.

The sun rose, heating the worn path that served as a thoroughfare connecting the Jaegreoth's clan to the village of Aspery. Cale walked along with his head lowered to block the sun's blinding rays. He kept track of his steps as a pointless occupation when his serious thinking started looping in circles. Aspery grew closer. He wondered if anyone there would recognize him. He'd not done much to gain notariety around the area, unless gossips counted his studious nature. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

++++++++
Qu paced her run along the packed ground that served as a road from Aspery. The stitch in her left side ached as she moved, but stopping wasn't an option. Being to close to the only road for miles also upped the danger factor. She had no choice. Her sense of direction was lousy at the best of times and now, running for her life, made it ten times worse. The road was her only line of direction. If she kept following it, she'd get to the bridge and passed the bridge were the lands of safe haven.

Her body felt ready to drop. The thing that kept her going was sectioning the distance. Get to that big tree, she'd tell herself. Then over this hill and find the mushroom logs. It helped her to focus on her goal and not keel over with exhaustion. Her leg muscles burned and her feet felt like lumps of wet soil. Every breath seared her lungs.

She crested the hilltop, grateful for the pull of gravity to ease her pains. A foot hit a kicked up patch of ground and she got flung forward. Qu's arms reached out and took the brunt of the fall. Crying out, she winced as the ground tore at her skin and left it bloody. She tumbled down the slope like a freed stone, each landing biting into her already aching body. When she finally stopped, she lay on her stomach. Her body refused to move even though her life hung in the balance. Tears spilled from her eyes. It was such a bad way to die; being run down until you could move no more and waiting where you fell for the hunters to find and kill you at their leisure.

++++++++
Cale saw the body and paused. Glancing around the area nearby, he felt safe enough to approach. As he walked closer, he sensed something was wrong and barely heard the rustle of grass before a person in dark clothes appeared. "Solua," he hissed and readied himself for combat.

Solua pulled back the cloth hiding her identity. "Cale," she answered with a smirk. "Didn't you know it's bad manners to leave without saying goodbye? What would your parents say?"

He snorted. "My parents were wondering why I didn't get rid of you long ago. Who's paying you?"

"No one, my sweet. I'm doing the world a favor by ridding it of you." She had the temerity to laugh as she drew her shirt carefully off her torso. She tossed it in his direction. "Be a gentleman, Cale, and hold my coat." Reflexively, he reached to catch it and she giggled, covering her mouth with a hand. The light throwing knives cut through the morning air. His father would not be happy that his son fell for such a trick. The knives hit their marks, scarring him on the shoulder and chest.

"Damn!" he yelped, stumbling backwards. He yanked out the blades and threw them away, choking up on his staff to wield it as a club. The assassin quickly withdrew other throwing implements from her clothing. Before she could let them fly, she jerked with shock and clutched at her throat. Her eyes widened and she fell over. Cale rushed to her, touching her neck and finding her already dead. He rolled her halfway over and saw the metal bolt protruding from the back of her neck. He let her drop as nausea rose in his throat. Gagging, Cale moved away from Solua's lifeless body and covered his face with the crook of his arm. He plopped down on the grassy shoulder of the dirt road. He sat there for a long time, coming to terms with his former lover laying dead beside him.

The sun rose to midpoint in the clear sky, heating up the earth. A whimper roused the now adult Cale from his stupor. He looked around himself and finally saw the body of a girl, the one who'd captured his attention a short time ago. He stood on shaky legs, nervously walking to her. He bent down and turned her onto one side so he could look at her face. Dark hair cascaded away from her cheek and exposed the one trait the girl could not hide for long:

A delicately shaped, pointed ear.

 

He sat on a padded stool, hands clasped in prayer and elbows rested on his knees while he continued his daily vigil. This was the third late morning he watched over his charge, waiting for her to awaken. Her breathing sounded deep and calm to his ear. She lay flat on her back with one arm flung up beside her head and the other outstretched toward him. Her black-brown hair tousled across the pillows. Cale stared at her, thinking how pretty she was along with why she was this far south. Elves isolated themselves in a far northern valley decades ago in order to keep their racial line 'pure'. He sighed and wished the girl would wake up. He longed to talk to her, discover why she was so far from her home and find out who wanted her dead.

The door opened. Cale shot to this feet, his entire body taut until his mother entered with a leatherbound satchel. She raised a brow at her eldest son's defensive posturing. "Calm down. I brought her something to write on," Kirsten informed him as she walked toward the bed.

"Sorry, it's just..." he replied shyly and returned to his seat.

She rolled her eyes, motioning him to leave. "Go find your father. The two of you really aren't suited to a sickroom." He sighed, gave one last look at the elven girl and quit the room, shutting the door behind himself. Kirsten seated herself on the vacant chair, placing the satchel at her feet.

The girl's eyes opened the moment Cale left. She sat up, clutching the bedclothes to her chest as she asked, "Where am I?"

"You're in Tahl Rion, berserker lands. My name's Kirsten and the guy you've been avoiding is my son, Cale." Kirsten gazed steadily at the girl as her black eyes widened in shock. "Yes, I speak the elven tongue," she recited in a bored voice. "What's your name?"

"Qu," the girl answered in a mousey tone. She overcame her surprise quickly and brought her eyes to the auburn haired human. "*You* are not allowed to speak my tongue, human."

"I guess that's just too bad for you then. Take a chill and relax. Remember, Qu, you're in *my* home, so I suggest you take that uppity attitude and stow it." She passed over the leather package. "There's parchment, quills and ink inside. I don't guarantee your letter will get to your family as fast as you'd like-"

"No!" Qu cried. Her eyes grew large and her face paled. "No letters. I have no family."

"What of your father? I'm sure he'd like to know you're okay." Shaking her head, Qu denied the presumption. Kirsten tucked her hair behind her ears, deciding to be honest from the get-go. "Qu, I know you're not a full-blooded elf. I've seen elves before. You're too short for one thing and too meek. Elves are a very 'in your face' kinda people. Which all means you have blood flowing inside you that's not elf."

The room fell silent when Kirsten stopped talking. After some minutes, a meek voice trembled, "Human. My father was human." Gradually, the story of her parents meeting came out. "Father was a low-born warrior from Shiarde. He was with a raid that invaded the elven city Sho'ca'shyr. He took my mother as his captive. I was born a year after her imprisonment and she died a few days later, when her family retaliated in battle. I got shifted among my father's people until I began to show my elven powers. I was shunned from both sides of my heritage. I traveled as quietly as I could, trying to keep myself hidden."

"But someone found out and put a hit on you," Kirsten murmured. Qu looked at her questioningly. "A hit...someone hired someone else to kill you."

"Yes, but I don't know who. I'm sorry about your son's woman," she whispered and reached out to comfort the other woman.

She tipped her head to one side. "Oh, Solua wasn't anyone important. She tried to kill Cale herself. Well, nevermind. That's all in the past now and you, my dear, are safe here. Stay as long as you like." Kirsten gripped Qu's hand and sent her a smile. "Feel free to look around the place when you're up to it. I know the guys are intimidating, but they're big softies at heart."

Qu watched as her hostess left the room. She breathed in deeply, letting her senses flow for the first time in a long, long while. Kirsten had not lied; Tahl Rion was a safe place to be. She threw back the covers and cautiously stood on her feet. When she was sure of her strength, she snooped through the dresser for clothing to wear. Withdrawing a loose blouse and skirt, she dressed and opened the door to her new life.

++++++++
September 14, 2005, early morning
Stanley rubbed the indentations on the bridge of his nose left by his glasses. He blinked sluggishly and gaped at the digital clock on his computer screen. Four-thirteen in the morning! Groaning, he vowed never to stay up so late again. His thighs were asleep and his neck had a painful crick from being bent sideways for goodness knows how long. He flicked off the monitor and stumbled the short distance across the room to his still unmade bed.

Flopping onto the mattress, he moaned happily at the cool pillow soothing his cheek.

"Stan," a seductive voice whispered to him in the darkness. "Stan, wake up." The voice was followed by a poke in the ribs. He rolled onto one side and squinted toward the voice. The shadows formed into a feminine shape a tad on the short side. "Put on your glasses. We need to talk." The tone grew serious. He reached out blindly and plucked up his glasses, slipping the bows over his ears.

The lenses brought in and focused the dim glowing from his computer, adding color to the shadowy figure looming over his bed. He caught a glimpse of reddish hair and bolted upright. "Kirsten? Kirsten Foxx?" he yelped in shock. "What the-"

"Yeah, let's move over that, okay?" Kirsten stated, bending one leg under her as she sat on the bed. "I need to reread the background history you wrote for Gregor Baltiste."

"Why? How does my first RP character affect your life in the fantasy realm?"

She huffed a lock of loose hair obscuring her vision. "Because I've met his daughter."


Finis

[ October 29, 2005, 16:41: Message edited by: kuemper ]

 

Great!

 

Say it isn't so! It's a cool opening chapter--the situations you've described open up lots of possibilities...

 

Internet protocol stays with me like a fungus. It's how I end my stories, just to let readers know this is all there is to it. I hate reading a story, waiting for the rest of it and find out that what I read is it. There's more to it, even background for Kirsten and Jaeg, but I'm in BG game mode so it's on hold.

Also, listening to sea shanties and Irish folk music doesn't help my imagination.

 

Nice story

 

It may not help your imagination, but its good all the same

 

Like it ;

 

I think you got a real knack for writing there, kuemper. You've got a good vocabulary and an easy pace that is a heck of a lot better than some of those WOTC guys. And of course, a woman's attention to detail. Delve into a story with a stronger plot and more in depth characters. IMO, maybe you should lay off the sea shanties and Irish folk music and pursue this talent a little more.

 

Excuse me for that. Considering I've been pursuing this little gift for 27 years, I had to chuckle at Newfie's comments.

The story was edited in my head to cut out a lot of the more adult things I would normally leave in, which makes it feel like bits are missing.

The sea shanties are from hubby, who (for some reason) decided he needed to get in touch with his Irish heritage (that he doesn't have). I wasn't up to playing 'dueling media players' just to get the music groove I enjoy.

 

No offense meant, kuemper. Just some strong suggestions.

 

Nice work, kuemper. Thanks for taking the time to share it with us.

 

@Newfie - no offense to *you*! I see I might have come off too flip or insulting, which I didn't intend. It gave me a chuckle and set me in a good mood for the afternoon.

Thanks, all.

 

That's me. Here to spread joy and goodwill wherever I go. A regular Santa Claus.