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The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin
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<blockquote data-quote="eris404" data-source="post: 2614796" data-attributes="member: 5338"><p>“Never mind him,” Worthen says with a shake of his head. “The foundry is over there. We should get the bell and go straight back.”</p><p></p><p>“It can’t hurt to have a look around at least, can it?” asks a crestfallen George.</p><p></p><p>“I’m having second thoughts, Master Barleycorn,” the handyman tells him. “I don’t like the looks of this place. Not sure it’s a good place for students to be wondering about.”</p><p></p><p>Worthen moves the team slowly and carefully towards the foundry building. Through its open doors, you can see the wooden outline of bell, a template the craftsmen have made, resting forgotten against a wall. Several large, clay bells sit in the center of foundry while workmen go about their tasks. Worthen frowns and hails one of them. He motions Dante to follow.</p><p></p><p>“We’ve a bill of sale for a bell,” Worthen tells him, nudging Dante to show him the paper.</p><p></p><p>“Aye, and there it is,” the workman says, pointing to one of the clay bells.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t know anything about bell-making,” Dante says, “but that bell seems to be made of clay.”</p><p></p><p>The workman laughs. “It’s because it ain’t finished yet. Still need to make the cope and mold. We’re behind yet. All these bells,” he gestures at the other clay bells, “were ordered first and so’s they’ll need to be finished first.”</p><p></p><p>“We were told it was to be done by now.” Worthen takes the bill from Dante and thrusts it to the workman. He raises his hands and backs away, as if the bill is a venomous snake.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t know much of the business part. You’ll need to take that up with Lucius Krekket. What I do know is that you need bell metal to make bells.”</p><p></p><p>“But, he owns the copper mine!” Worthen protests.</p><p></p><p>“Bell’s only part copper,” the workman explains. “Copper we’ve got. It’s tin we need. Look, if the tin comes in today, we can have the bell made in less than a week. Take rooms at the Bell and Clapper – it’s a nice little place, clean and even has a little museum. It has a dragon claw in it – you’d like to see that, wouldn’t you, son?” He tries to smile at Dante, but seeing the wan, sulky, teenaged face, thinks better of it. “Come back in a couple of days and check in on us. We’ll know more then, and it might even be ready.”</p><p></p><p>They do hire rooms and as promised, they are clean, if a little threadbare. Dante and George share a room, leaving the elf with Worthen. Serai, as the sole girl, gets her own room. Once settled, they admire the weapons, the sad, dented shield and the giant talon taken from the dragon’s body. The bargirl is nice to look at, even with the dark, puffy circles under her eyes, and does her best to be cheerful. Even Tokket, the keeper of this inn, makes pleasant chitchat with the newcomers in between yawns.</p><p></p><p>But our young friends are impatient to explore the town and soon leave Worthen to his ale and conversations about the weather with the locals. It isn’t hard to find directions to the cottage of Utresh, the wise woman. Everyone has gone to her at some point for a cure, a love potion or to have his fortune told. It’s that little cottage there just on the outskirts of town. There is no wall or gate to this town, so it easy enough to leave the bustle of the town and enter the quiet, empty pastures that surround it.</p><p></p><p>Her cottage is surrounded by trees, though there is clearing enough to keep a couple of clucking hens busy scratching in the dirt. Crows shriek from the trees. A black cat lies on the porch and watches with disinterest the students approach. His tail flicks nonchalantly. A white cat licks her leg, but scuttles away as if startled. Several kittens wrestle in the grass and take playful swipes at the travelers’ ankles. A tabby pounces at the hens, which launch their fat little bodies into the air with a flurry of feathers.</p><p></p><p>The cottage, though, is quiet, except for the play of wind chimes on a warm breeze. When they get closer, the students can see that the gray house has been decorated with arcane swirls and symbols. Dante smiles.</p><p></p><p>“They’re fake,” he whispers to his friends. “They are mostly gibberish, though she may have found a couple of real ones in a book. That one is a real draconic rune, but it means ‘bread.’ It’s all for show. I don’t think we’re going to learn much from her.”</p><p></p><p>“Should we still talk to her?” George asks.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t think it would hurt,” Serai notes. “She talks to everyone in the town, knows their gossip and secrets. If anyone knows if something is going on in Bellhold, she would.”</p><p></p><p>The boards of the porch creak under foot. Dante knocks on her door. When there is no immediate answer, he tries again and again. He calls to her by name, asks if anyone is home, but still the door remains shut, no footsteps inside, no answering call.</p><p></p><p>“Maybe we should try around back,” George suggests. They do so, talking loudly so as not to startle her, should she be hard of hearing or overly occupied. George sees movement in the trees, a flutter of skirt, someone hiding, but not doing it well.</p><p></p><p>“Hello!” He calls out. “Don’t be frightened. Please come out and talk to us.”</p><p></p><p>She peeks from behind a thorny bush. She is small and her dark eyes are wide with fear. Her long hair is still quite dark, with a few strands of silver near her face. Her shawl is drooping from her shoulders as struggles to keep both it and her bag clutched to her chest.</p><p></p><p>George holds out his hand. “Please come in and talk to us. We want to help.”</p><p></p><p>“I have to go,” she tells him. “It isn’t safe here anymore. You should go, too.”</p><p></p><p>“Please, just talk to us first, then we’ll help you go.” George smiles. He realizes that he using the same tone of voice he used as a child to try to coax crows and squirrels out of trees. It is useless on animals, but on the frightened, grandmotherly woman, it is soothing and reassuring. She trusts him and takes his hand.</p><p></p><p>Inside, she offers the young people chairs, though regrets that she will not make them tea, because of her concerns about the water from the river. The cottage is small and tidy. There is a large hearth, but no fire, a sturdy old table and several chairs, more than a woman living alone might normally have. She sits in a rocking chair and puts her bag protectively on her lap.</p><p></p><p>Dante is drawn to the jars on the shelves, both of which are plentiful. The clay jars are unmarked and stoppered with cork. He takes one down and pulls out the cork. He is no herbalist, but he can recognize the scent of the dried basil. Another contains a minty herb, the next bark covered in moss. Small stones, feathers, animal bones are placed in between each jar. He finds a wooden box in which a deck of cards, wrapped in silk, have been placed. Over the mantle of the fireplace, a lovely crystal, shaped into a perfect ball, rests on a wooden stand.</p><p></p><p>“The tools of my trade,” she remarks.</p><p></p><p>“And these,” Dante says, lifting a small skull, “give you power?”</p><p></p><p>“Power?” she half-laughs, half-snorts and shakes her head. “I can tell you’re students from Ambergate. You stick out like thorns around these parts. So, I can’t lie to you. I can make a poultice and set bones. I can make teas for fevers or women’s troubles and I can read fortunes in the cards. But power, like you have power? No, not me, I’m afraid.”</p><p></p><p>“So, why were you trying to sneak away?” Dante asks.</p><p></p><p>She rubs her tired eyes while thinking.</p><p></p><p>“I didn’t want to see anyone,” she says at last. “I heard you coming up the road and I got deathly afraid. I was afraid that…”</p><p></p><p>“Afraid of what?”</p><p></p><p>She sighs. “I had a vision. I’m sure you’re used to such things, but I’ve never had them before. The other day, Mrs. Krekket came to me for a reading. She is a steady customer, comes once a week, usually asking about her husband’s business. Sometimes she asks for a wealth charm or a cure for some minor ailment, stomach problems usually, too much rich food. Anyway, I put out the first card, the ten of cups. It’s such a happy little card, with a carefree couple dancing on it and a peaceful little village in the background. The village looks just like Bellhold, I thought, and suddenly it was like I was dreaming with my eyes open. I was walking through town and I could see everyone moving about, but their eyes were vacant, soulless. And I realized somehow that they couldn’t dream, not a single one of them. And for some reason, it made me deathly afraid and I had to run away before they got me, too. It was just like, like the old days.” She pauses, swallowing. “I’ve been having such awful nightmares since then and these horrible headaches the next day. I thought it was happening, that you were coming for me. Something is coming. I don’t know what it is, but I know I have to leave, before it gets here. I don’t want to find out.”</p><p></p><p>“You can’t leave!” Dante exclaims, horrified. “You have to warn the townspeople. How could you think of just leaving them without least warning them?”</p><p></p><p>She shakes her head, tears rolling down her face.</p><p></p><p>George says, “Dante, it’s alright. We can warn them. Let her go.”</p><p></p><p>“No, it’s not alright, George,” Dante insists. “They won’t believe us.”</p><p></p><p>“I can’t go into town.” Utresh breaks into sobs. “What if it’s happened already?”</p><p></p><p>“It hasn’t,” Dante tell her gently. “We just came from there and everyone is just fine. Look, can you at least go to the Mayor? I know he’d believe you. Please?”</p><p></p><p>She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands like child and nods. “I’ll try. It’s just that the nightmares are so terrible. I just want them to stop.”</p><p></p><p>“What do you dream about?” Serai asks, handing her one of her lacy handkerchiefs.</p><p></p><p>“I dream about my death. I mean, I dream about Death.” She takes the deck from its wooden box and unwraps it. Searching through the cards, she pulls out a card called Death. It is an image familiar to the students: a skeleton in armor upon a pale horse before which women, children and even kings kneel.</p><p></p><p>“You were here when Copperdeath was alive?” Dante asks.</p><p></p><p>She nods. “I was just a little girl, but I was put to work making things like chess sets, coins, mirrors. Most of it has been melted down to make bells, of course. You know, the bell in the center of town was made during Copperdeath’s rein. They call it Wyrmcall. It’s still rung at sunrise, noon and sunset. The sound of it still makes my stomach churn.”</p><p></p><p>Dante has a sudden idea. “Ma’am, do you know Othic, the farmer who lives on the other side of town? He’s a widower and I think he’d been glad to have some company –not that I’m suggesting anything improper.”</p><p></p><p>She laughs. “At my age, I take that as a compliment. I know of Othic, but only to nod to on Market Day.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, we visited him before we got into Bellhold. Neither he nor his farm hands have had any headaches or bad dreams.”</p><p></p><p>“He has a well,” George adds helpfully.</p><p></p><p>“And as George says, he does get his water from a well. We could ask him for you if you like.”</p><p></p><p>“I would like that,” she tells him. “Thank you.”</p><p></p><p>On their way back to town, George is thoughtful and a little worried. So are Dante and Serai, too, if he judges their expressions correctly. Jade’s face, however, is calm, unreadable. George has had no real experience with elves, except for Master Lykor, who, with his mirrors that could see every secret inside your mind, was always more than a little intimidating. George wonders idly what makes elves different from humans. They have a humanoid shape and from a distance they look enough like humans. True, Jade was shorter than George, but then again, many human men were shorter than George, too. But George knew, height or no, that Jade was by far stronger than he. Were all elves stronger than humans? Dante would know . It’s probably written somewhere in a book.</p><p></p><p>“Are you going to stare like that at me all day or you going to ask me to dance?” Jade says.</p><p></p><p>“Excuse me?” George asks, flushing and flustered.</p><p></p><p>“You’re excused,” the elf mutters dryly. Sensing George is embarrassed into silence, Jade asks, “Besides my devastating good looks, was there a reason why you were staring at me?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about elves,” George admits.</p><p></p><p>“Thinking about elves,” Jade repeats. “This should be an interesting rumination coming from the star pupil. Pray, Master Barleycorn, what were you thinking about elves?”</p><p></p><p>“I was wondering what makes them different from humans.”</p><p></p><p>Jade stops George with an upraised palm. “What makes us different from humans? I will tell you a secret, Master Barleycorn. What makes elves different from humans is that we don’t worry about the future. Do you know why that is? Because we leave things better than when we found them. Chew on that for a bit and maybe, just maybe, you might live longer than fifty years, too.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="eris404, post: 2614796, member: 5338"] “Never mind him,” Worthen says with a shake of his head. “The foundry is over there. We should get the bell and go straight back.” “It can’t hurt to have a look around at least, can it?” asks a crestfallen George. “I’m having second thoughts, Master Barleycorn,” the handyman tells him. “I don’t like the looks of this place. Not sure it’s a good place for students to be wondering about.” Worthen moves the team slowly and carefully towards the foundry building. Through its open doors, you can see the wooden outline of bell, a template the craftsmen have made, resting forgotten against a wall. Several large, clay bells sit in the center of foundry while workmen go about their tasks. Worthen frowns and hails one of them. He motions Dante to follow. “We’ve a bill of sale for a bell,” Worthen tells him, nudging Dante to show him the paper. “Aye, and there it is,” the workman says, pointing to one of the clay bells. “I don’t know anything about bell-making,” Dante says, “but that bell seems to be made of clay.” The workman laughs. “It’s because it ain’t finished yet. Still need to make the cope and mold. We’re behind yet. All these bells,” he gestures at the other clay bells, “were ordered first and so’s they’ll need to be finished first.” “We were told it was to be done by now.” Worthen takes the bill from Dante and thrusts it to the workman. He raises his hands and backs away, as if the bill is a venomous snake. “I don’t know much of the business part. You’ll need to take that up with Lucius Krekket. What I do know is that you need bell metal to make bells.” “But, he owns the copper mine!” Worthen protests. “Bell’s only part copper,” the workman explains. “Copper we’ve got. It’s tin we need. Look, if the tin comes in today, we can have the bell made in less than a week. Take rooms at the Bell and Clapper – it’s a nice little place, clean and even has a little museum. It has a dragon claw in it – you’d like to see that, wouldn’t you, son?” He tries to smile at Dante, but seeing the wan, sulky, teenaged face, thinks better of it. “Come back in a couple of days and check in on us. We’ll know more then, and it might even be ready.” They do hire rooms and as promised, they are clean, if a little threadbare. Dante and George share a room, leaving the elf with Worthen. Serai, as the sole girl, gets her own room. Once settled, they admire the weapons, the sad, dented shield and the giant talon taken from the dragon’s body. The bargirl is nice to look at, even with the dark, puffy circles under her eyes, and does her best to be cheerful. Even Tokket, the keeper of this inn, makes pleasant chitchat with the newcomers in between yawns. But our young friends are impatient to explore the town and soon leave Worthen to his ale and conversations about the weather with the locals. It isn’t hard to find directions to the cottage of Utresh, the wise woman. Everyone has gone to her at some point for a cure, a love potion or to have his fortune told. It’s that little cottage there just on the outskirts of town. There is no wall or gate to this town, so it easy enough to leave the bustle of the town and enter the quiet, empty pastures that surround it. Her cottage is surrounded by trees, though there is clearing enough to keep a couple of clucking hens busy scratching in the dirt. Crows shriek from the trees. A black cat lies on the porch and watches with disinterest the students approach. His tail flicks nonchalantly. A white cat licks her leg, but scuttles away as if startled. Several kittens wrestle in the grass and take playful swipes at the travelers’ ankles. A tabby pounces at the hens, which launch their fat little bodies into the air with a flurry of feathers. The cottage, though, is quiet, except for the play of wind chimes on a warm breeze. When they get closer, the students can see that the gray house has been decorated with arcane swirls and symbols. Dante smiles. “They’re fake,” he whispers to his friends. “They are mostly gibberish, though she may have found a couple of real ones in a book. That one is a real draconic rune, but it means ‘bread.’ It’s all for show. I don’t think we’re going to learn much from her.” “Should we still talk to her?” George asks. “I don’t think it would hurt,” Serai notes. “She talks to everyone in the town, knows their gossip and secrets. If anyone knows if something is going on in Bellhold, she would.” The boards of the porch creak under foot. Dante knocks on her door. When there is no immediate answer, he tries again and again. He calls to her by name, asks if anyone is home, but still the door remains shut, no footsteps inside, no answering call. “Maybe we should try around back,” George suggests. They do so, talking loudly so as not to startle her, should she be hard of hearing or overly occupied. George sees movement in the trees, a flutter of skirt, someone hiding, but not doing it well. “Hello!” He calls out. “Don’t be frightened. Please come out and talk to us.” She peeks from behind a thorny bush. She is small and her dark eyes are wide with fear. Her long hair is still quite dark, with a few strands of silver near her face. Her shawl is drooping from her shoulders as struggles to keep both it and her bag clutched to her chest. George holds out his hand. “Please come in and talk to us. We want to help.” “I have to go,” she tells him. “It isn’t safe here anymore. You should go, too.” “Please, just talk to us first, then we’ll help you go.” George smiles. He realizes that he using the same tone of voice he used as a child to try to coax crows and squirrels out of trees. It is useless on animals, but on the frightened, grandmotherly woman, it is soothing and reassuring. She trusts him and takes his hand. Inside, she offers the young people chairs, though regrets that she will not make them tea, because of her concerns about the water from the river. The cottage is small and tidy. There is a large hearth, but no fire, a sturdy old table and several chairs, more than a woman living alone might normally have. She sits in a rocking chair and puts her bag protectively on her lap. Dante is drawn to the jars on the shelves, both of which are plentiful. The clay jars are unmarked and stoppered with cork. He takes one down and pulls out the cork. He is no herbalist, but he can recognize the scent of the dried basil. Another contains a minty herb, the next bark covered in moss. Small stones, feathers, animal bones are placed in between each jar. He finds a wooden box in which a deck of cards, wrapped in silk, have been placed. Over the mantle of the fireplace, a lovely crystal, shaped into a perfect ball, rests on a wooden stand. “The tools of my trade,” she remarks. “And these,” Dante says, lifting a small skull, “give you power?” “Power?” she half-laughs, half-snorts and shakes her head. “I can tell you’re students from Ambergate. You stick out like thorns around these parts. So, I can’t lie to you. I can make a poultice and set bones. I can make teas for fevers or women’s troubles and I can read fortunes in the cards. But power, like you have power? No, not me, I’m afraid.” “So, why were you trying to sneak away?” Dante asks. She rubs her tired eyes while thinking. “I didn’t want to see anyone,” she says at last. “I heard you coming up the road and I got deathly afraid. I was afraid that…” “Afraid of what?” She sighs. “I had a vision. I’m sure you’re used to such things, but I’ve never had them before. The other day, Mrs. Krekket came to me for a reading. She is a steady customer, comes once a week, usually asking about her husband’s business. Sometimes she asks for a wealth charm or a cure for some minor ailment, stomach problems usually, too much rich food. Anyway, I put out the first card, the ten of cups. It’s such a happy little card, with a carefree couple dancing on it and a peaceful little village in the background. The village looks just like Bellhold, I thought, and suddenly it was like I was dreaming with my eyes open. I was walking through town and I could see everyone moving about, but their eyes were vacant, soulless. And I realized somehow that they couldn’t dream, not a single one of them. And for some reason, it made me deathly afraid and I had to run away before they got me, too. It was just like, like the old days.” She pauses, swallowing. “I’ve been having such awful nightmares since then and these horrible headaches the next day. I thought it was happening, that you were coming for me. Something is coming. I don’t know what it is, but I know I have to leave, before it gets here. I don’t want to find out.” “You can’t leave!” Dante exclaims, horrified. “You have to warn the townspeople. How could you think of just leaving them without least warning them?” She shakes her head, tears rolling down her face. George says, “Dante, it’s alright. We can warn them. Let her go.” “No, it’s not alright, George,” Dante insists. “They won’t believe us.” “I can’t go into town.” Utresh breaks into sobs. “What if it’s happened already?” “It hasn’t,” Dante tell her gently. “We just came from there and everyone is just fine. Look, can you at least go to the Mayor? I know he’d believe you. Please?” She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands like child and nods. “I’ll try. It’s just that the nightmares are so terrible. I just want them to stop.” “What do you dream about?” Serai asks, handing her one of her lacy handkerchiefs. “I dream about my death. I mean, I dream about Death.” She takes the deck from its wooden box and unwraps it. Searching through the cards, she pulls out a card called Death. It is an image familiar to the students: a skeleton in armor upon a pale horse before which women, children and even kings kneel. “You were here when Copperdeath was alive?” Dante asks. She nods. “I was just a little girl, but I was put to work making things like chess sets, coins, mirrors. Most of it has been melted down to make bells, of course. You know, the bell in the center of town was made during Copperdeath’s rein. They call it Wyrmcall. It’s still rung at sunrise, noon and sunset. The sound of it still makes my stomach churn.” Dante has a sudden idea. “Ma’am, do you know Othic, the farmer who lives on the other side of town? He’s a widower and I think he’d been glad to have some company –not that I’m suggesting anything improper.” She laughs. “At my age, I take that as a compliment. I know of Othic, but only to nod to on Market Day.” “Well, we visited him before we got into Bellhold. Neither he nor his farm hands have had any headaches or bad dreams.” “He has a well,” George adds helpfully. “And as George says, he does get his water from a well. We could ask him for you if you like.” “I would like that,” she tells him. “Thank you.” On their way back to town, George is thoughtful and a little worried. So are Dante and Serai, too, if he judges their expressions correctly. Jade’s face, however, is calm, unreadable. George has had no real experience with elves, except for Master Lykor, who, with his mirrors that could see every secret inside your mind, was always more than a little intimidating. George wonders idly what makes elves different from humans. They have a humanoid shape and from a distance they look enough like humans. True, Jade was shorter than George, but then again, many human men were shorter than George, too. But George knew, height or no, that Jade was by far stronger than he. Were all elves stronger than humans? Dante would know . It’s probably written somewhere in a book. “Are you going to stare like that at me all day or you going to ask me to dance?” Jade says. “Excuse me?” George asks, flushing and flustered. “You’re excused,” the elf mutters dryly. Sensing George is embarrassed into silence, Jade asks, “Besides my devastating good looks, was there a reason why you were staring at me?” “I’m sorry, I was just thinking about elves,” George admits. “Thinking about elves,” Jade repeats. “This should be an interesting rumination coming from the star pupil. Pray, Master Barleycorn, what were you thinking about elves?” “I was wondering what makes them different from humans.” Jade stops George with an upraised palm. “What makes us different from humans? I will tell you a secret, Master Barleycorn. What makes elves different from humans is that we don’t worry about the future. Do you know why that is? Because we leave things better than when we found them. Chew on that for a bit and maybe, just maybe, you might live longer than fifty years, too.” [/QUOTE]
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The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin
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