Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks, guys. I appreciate the kudos. Writing this story had its ups and downs but as I'm rereading and editing it for the PDF version, I'm fairly happy with how it all came together.
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Chapter 93
EPILOGUE
A wind blew in fits and starts over the hillside graveyard. It whistled faintly as it slid between the stone markers, most of them still new enough for the chiseled lettering they bore to be clearly visible. A neat fence, kept in good repair, bordered the entire site, and bundles of flowers were laid out on most of the graves, staked down to protect against the wind.
A single man lingered there, keeping a solitary vigil, kneeling beside a grave that was obviously new. The others that had come with him had long since retired, but he remained, like a tree taken root, his head bowed, saying a difficult and personal farewell. He was old, and gnarled almost like the vines that had started to creep up onto the surrounding fence, but he did not let the cold or the wind touch him. It was not clear if he even noticed either.
When he finally rose, the day had all but fled, the sun vanished beyond the western horizon. As he made his way to the gate near the base of the hill, a man emerged from the small shack of whitewashed wood perched alongside the road. He was half the other man’s age if not younger, and clad in a long coat that didn’t fully cover the suit of mail he wore. A sword with an exceptionally carved hilt rode at his hip. The older man was not armed, but his hand drifted to his belt as if expecting to find a hilt there as well. A pair of horses were tied up alongside the shack, and looked up as the men met at the gate.
“What are you still doing here?” the old man asked.
“The First Citizen asked me to wait, m’lord.”
“Bah. I may be old, boy, but I’m not some feeble wretch needing a nurse to carry me to the crapper.” He waved a hand expressively. “I thought you Dragon Knights were busy these days. Seems I heard something about a new chief of the hill giant tribes thinking he might make a good king.”
The young man cracked a slight smile. “Well, word is that when Chief Drugga heard that Corath Dar was in the area, he took his wenches and fled for safer lands.”
The old man stabbed a finger into the younger man’s chest. “Don’t sass me, Cael. I tossed you over my knee more than once, and you’re not so old that I can’t do it again if need be.”
“Of course, m’lord baron,” Cael replied, with a serious half-bow.
“Gah, and stop with the freaking titles. Bad enough that those kneeling sycophantic wretches down in the town won’t let up when I’m trying to take a freaking nap, I don’t need you joining in. Don’t just stand there gawping, get the horses.”
Cael recovered the mounts, and brought them. He found Dar staring up at the hillside, a distant look on his face. He stood, and waited. It was several minutes before Dar started and looked back at him.
“Well? Gods, boy, you aren’t going to make much a knight if you’re always standing around, crowding people. Get back and give me some room.”
He mounted, with difficulty, although Cael knew better than to offer help. The two rode back together, the wind tugging at their cloaks possessively.
The road wound only a short ways before the hills parted to reveal a considerable town nestled in the vale below. Lights beckoned in the upper storeys of the homes and inns of Hope, the bright glow strongest around the wings of the hospital, shining like a beacon against the deepening night. But instead of heading down into the town, Dar directed his mount onto a trail that split off and headed back into the hills, following a stream that bubbled down a rocky course toward the town.
“You’re not going down, m’lord?” Cael asked. He started to add something, but clamped his mouth shut.
They’re expecting you down there, Dar heard, as clearly as if the man had said the words. Well, screw ‘em. He was the one who’d lost his wife, and he’d grieve her in his own way.
Cael followed, and Dar didn’t say anything; he knew that the man would follow regardless of what he said. Kiron seemed to think that there were still people out there who would be happy to see Corath Dar dead. Dar snorted; if so, then he probably hadn’t met them. The last serious assassination attempt had been seven years ago, and the bastards had made the mistake of thinking that Allera was less of a threat than he was. That had been a big mistake, for them.
Thinking of Allera drew a fresh edge across his grief, and the pair rode in silence the rest of the way. Finally the trail deposited them in front of the house that rose along the crest of the hill overlooking the town. It was a beautiful place, looking far older than it was in reality, as though it had always been here. The marble had come from Camar, along with the craftsmen who knew how to shape it, along with metalsmiths, carpenters, and other artisans. Allera had protested at the size of the house, which extended deeper into the hill than it first looked, but she had eventually gotten absorbed into the work, doubling the size of the herbcellar, and adding a subbasement where she could grow several varieties of mushrooms with medicinal properties.
Several of his people came out to greet him. He shooed them away, and caught Cael making gestures behind his back. He left them all with the horses, and entered through the side door through the kitchen. He was hungry, and he grabbed a sandwich from those laid out on the sideboard—they knew him better than most, he supposed—before retiring to his private study.
The place was calm, a sanctuary, but now it just reminded him of her. He was about to go back for a bottle when a voice out of the darkness startled him.
“Hello, Dar.”
Dar belied his age in the speed with which he reached the mantle over the hearth, and took down the sword that hung there. “Who is it? What do you want? By all the gods, if you’re looking for a fight, I’ll give it to you.”
“I’m not looking for a fight, Dar.”
“You...”
A globe of light appeared, hovering over Varo’s outstretched hand. The cleric looked exactly as he had the last time they'd met, almost thirty years ago, now. “I don’t want anything from you, Varo,” Dar said, lowering the sword with what might have been a bit of reluctance.
“I know. But she’s waiting for you. There’s no need to keep her waiting, not now.”
Dar muttered to himself as he put the sword back in its place. “You come to me now? After all this time?”
“Would you have gone with me, before, had I come?”
“No, I suppose not. Had a few things left to do.”
“You’ve lived a rich life.” He looked around. “Nice place.”
Dar snorted. “They call me ‘baron’ now. Can you imagine, me, some noble priss in silks and lace? Me, the bastard that the Duke tossed down into Rappan Athuk? Well, I showed that fat prick. Made him choke on my sword, I did.”
Varo smiled. “Yes. You showed the Duke, and Orcus too. You showed all of them what it was to cross Corath Dar.”
“Aye, and I’ve still got some fight left in me, if any of those other bastards try anything. I heard that there’s this hill giant, been stirring up some trouble up north. I’m half tempted to take my sword and go up there and show that bastard...”
“No, Dar. Your battles are over. You’ve fought well. Now it’s time to rest.”
“Rest?” He stopped pacing and looked at the cleric. “You said she’s... she’s waiting for me?”
“Yes, Dar. It’s only been a short while, but she doesn’t want to wait any longer. Come with me, and I’ll take you to her. I’ll take you home.”
Dar came forward. Varo extended his hand, and Dar started to take it, but paused. “Don’t think this means that I’m not going to kick your ass one of these days. You’ve earned it, over the years.”
Varo smiled. “Agreed.”
The two clasped hands, and a brilliant white light flared, obscuring everything.
When it had faded, Corath Dar was gone, having returned home.
THE END
* * * * *
Chapter 93
EPILOGUE
A wind blew in fits and starts over the hillside graveyard. It whistled faintly as it slid between the stone markers, most of them still new enough for the chiseled lettering they bore to be clearly visible. A neat fence, kept in good repair, bordered the entire site, and bundles of flowers were laid out on most of the graves, staked down to protect against the wind.
A single man lingered there, keeping a solitary vigil, kneeling beside a grave that was obviously new. The others that had come with him had long since retired, but he remained, like a tree taken root, his head bowed, saying a difficult and personal farewell. He was old, and gnarled almost like the vines that had started to creep up onto the surrounding fence, but he did not let the cold or the wind touch him. It was not clear if he even noticed either.
When he finally rose, the day had all but fled, the sun vanished beyond the western horizon. As he made his way to the gate near the base of the hill, a man emerged from the small shack of whitewashed wood perched alongside the road. He was half the other man’s age if not younger, and clad in a long coat that didn’t fully cover the suit of mail he wore. A sword with an exceptionally carved hilt rode at his hip. The older man was not armed, but his hand drifted to his belt as if expecting to find a hilt there as well. A pair of horses were tied up alongside the shack, and looked up as the men met at the gate.
“What are you still doing here?” the old man asked.
“The First Citizen asked me to wait, m’lord.”
“Bah. I may be old, boy, but I’m not some feeble wretch needing a nurse to carry me to the crapper.” He waved a hand expressively. “I thought you Dragon Knights were busy these days. Seems I heard something about a new chief of the hill giant tribes thinking he might make a good king.”
The young man cracked a slight smile. “Well, word is that when Chief Drugga heard that Corath Dar was in the area, he took his wenches and fled for safer lands.”
The old man stabbed a finger into the younger man’s chest. “Don’t sass me, Cael. I tossed you over my knee more than once, and you’re not so old that I can’t do it again if need be.”
“Of course, m’lord baron,” Cael replied, with a serious half-bow.
“Gah, and stop with the freaking titles. Bad enough that those kneeling sycophantic wretches down in the town won’t let up when I’m trying to take a freaking nap, I don’t need you joining in. Don’t just stand there gawping, get the horses.”
Cael recovered the mounts, and brought them. He found Dar staring up at the hillside, a distant look on his face. He stood, and waited. It was several minutes before Dar started and looked back at him.
“Well? Gods, boy, you aren’t going to make much a knight if you’re always standing around, crowding people. Get back and give me some room.”
He mounted, with difficulty, although Cael knew better than to offer help. The two rode back together, the wind tugging at their cloaks possessively.
The road wound only a short ways before the hills parted to reveal a considerable town nestled in the vale below. Lights beckoned in the upper storeys of the homes and inns of Hope, the bright glow strongest around the wings of the hospital, shining like a beacon against the deepening night. But instead of heading down into the town, Dar directed his mount onto a trail that split off and headed back into the hills, following a stream that bubbled down a rocky course toward the town.
“You’re not going down, m’lord?” Cael asked. He started to add something, but clamped his mouth shut.
They’re expecting you down there, Dar heard, as clearly as if the man had said the words. Well, screw ‘em. He was the one who’d lost his wife, and he’d grieve her in his own way.
Cael followed, and Dar didn’t say anything; he knew that the man would follow regardless of what he said. Kiron seemed to think that there were still people out there who would be happy to see Corath Dar dead. Dar snorted; if so, then he probably hadn’t met them. The last serious assassination attempt had been seven years ago, and the bastards had made the mistake of thinking that Allera was less of a threat than he was. That had been a big mistake, for them.
Thinking of Allera drew a fresh edge across his grief, and the pair rode in silence the rest of the way. Finally the trail deposited them in front of the house that rose along the crest of the hill overlooking the town. It was a beautiful place, looking far older than it was in reality, as though it had always been here. The marble had come from Camar, along with the craftsmen who knew how to shape it, along with metalsmiths, carpenters, and other artisans. Allera had protested at the size of the house, which extended deeper into the hill than it first looked, but she had eventually gotten absorbed into the work, doubling the size of the herbcellar, and adding a subbasement where she could grow several varieties of mushrooms with medicinal properties.
Several of his people came out to greet him. He shooed them away, and caught Cael making gestures behind his back. He left them all with the horses, and entered through the side door through the kitchen. He was hungry, and he grabbed a sandwich from those laid out on the sideboard—they knew him better than most, he supposed—before retiring to his private study.
The place was calm, a sanctuary, but now it just reminded him of her. He was about to go back for a bottle when a voice out of the darkness startled him.
“Hello, Dar.”
Dar belied his age in the speed with which he reached the mantle over the hearth, and took down the sword that hung there. “Who is it? What do you want? By all the gods, if you’re looking for a fight, I’ll give it to you.”
“I’m not looking for a fight, Dar.”
“You...”
A globe of light appeared, hovering over Varo’s outstretched hand. The cleric looked exactly as he had the last time they'd met, almost thirty years ago, now. “I don’t want anything from you, Varo,” Dar said, lowering the sword with what might have been a bit of reluctance.
“I know. But she’s waiting for you. There’s no need to keep her waiting, not now.”
Dar muttered to himself as he put the sword back in its place. “You come to me now? After all this time?”
“Would you have gone with me, before, had I come?”
“No, I suppose not. Had a few things left to do.”
“You’ve lived a rich life.” He looked around. “Nice place.”
Dar snorted. “They call me ‘baron’ now. Can you imagine, me, some noble priss in silks and lace? Me, the bastard that the Duke tossed down into Rappan Athuk? Well, I showed that fat prick. Made him choke on my sword, I did.”
Varo smiled. “Yes. You showed the Duke, and Orcus too. You showed all of them what it was to cross Corath Dar.”
“Aye, and I’ve still got some fight left in me, if any of those other bastards try anything. I heard that there’s this hill giant, been stirring up some trouble up north. I’m half tempted to take my sword and go up there and show that bastard...”
“No, Dar. Your battles are over. You’ve fought well. Now it’s time to rest.”
“Rest?” He stopped pacing and looked at the cleric. “You said she’s... she’s waiting for me?”
“Yes, Dar. It’s only been a short while, but she doesn’t want to wait any longer. Come with me, and I’ll take you to her. I’ll take you home.”
Dar came forward. Varo extended his hand, and Dar started to take it, but paused. “Don’t think this means that I’m not going to kick your ass one of these days. You’ve earned it, over the years.”
Varo smiled. “Agreed.”
The two clasped hands, and a brilliant white light flared, obscuring everything.
When it had faded, Corath Dar was gone, having returned home.
THE END
