Untitled-Fantasy Novel

A candle illuminated the upstairs corner window.  The solitary traveler stopped short of the gravel path leading up to the front door and pulled his black cloak tightly to shield his face from the icy wind.  He was poorly dressed and his hands were cold.  He glanced down, feeling a searing pain as he rubbed them together.  The skin was taught and tender in response to the abuses of the battering wind.  A heavy snow had begun to fall.  He had stopped briefly in the neighboring village tavern to empty his boots and thaw his frigid body with a warm cider.  But there was little time to spare and basic human needs must be pushed aside.
         He lowered his cloak and attempted to survey the old house, a task which proved almost futile with the cover of darkness enveloping him.  The house was plain, a stone rectangle with no distinguishing characteristics.  As he trudged up the pathway, he could see the thatched roof was in dire need of repair.  Withering vines climbed up the sides of the decaying stone, twisting its way around the shutters like arms pulling the homestead back into the earth.  The ravages of time and neglect were taking control.
         The front door was bolted tight.  He circled the house, checking for an opened window, still noticing the warm glow radiating from the upstairs.  Who could be up at such an hour?  There was no simple way inside, all the windows were either fastened or painted shut.  He would not draw attention to himself by forcing his way in.  The traveler would wait until day break when the house was a bustle with activity; too busy to notice.  Then he would make his move.
         He would need rest and shelter from the cold.  Returning to the tavern was out of the question, he would keep watch over the house and its inhabitants until the time was right.  As he followed the gravel path around the house, he felt an odd sensation.  The little downy hairs on the back of his neck began to prick, as if someone had been standing right behind him.  He spun around.  No one.  Nothing but darkness.  The traveler shrugged and continued walking.  At the edge of the wood, he spied a small building, nothing fancy, but enough to keep him out of the elements.  As he made his way to the structure, every step he took was echoed.  Someone was following him and whoever it was did not want to be noticed.  He quickened his pace and reached the building, stopping right in front of the door.  The traveler listened for the echoes of his steps.  Nothing but the howls of the winter wind filled his ears.
         The building had been comprised of spare planks of wood, fastened haphazardly together with nails, stakes, or any other piece of useable metal.  The door was no different; criss-crossed planks held together with a hinge.  The shed was leaning severely to its right.  The traveler swung the door behind him, glad to be free of the wind.  The force of the shutting door rattled the shed to its core, sending all sorts of items crashing in upon each other in the darkness.  He could hear metal implements clanging against each other hitting the hard frozen ground with a thud.  The screech of a cat pierced his ears.
         “Oh bother!” the traveler said aloud, rummaging in his leather knapsack.  He produced a small glass ball, no bigger than his hand.  Balancing it upon his left palm he bent forward and began to softly blow until the faint white glow of the sphere illuminated the crooked shed.
         “Much better.” He said rather matter-of-factly and proceeded to shake off any loose snow that had accumulated on his person.  He spread his cloak down on the earthen floor and set his knapsack and the glowing ball on top.  As he bent down, the searing pain returned, this time in his midsection.  The traveler look down at his waist and noticed he was bleeding again.  The linen strips had not managed to subside the blood for long.  He peeled back the dressings to reveal a five inch long gash, fresh blood oozing from the wound.
         He then realized that he had no fresh bandages.  He would be forced to close the wound himself.  Scraping up a clump of half melted snow from his boots, the traveler smeared the icy mush into the cut.  The mix of blood and water ran down his waist onto his leather pants.  It would take all his strength to close the gash long enough to stop the bleeding and save the muscle from tearing any further.  He placed both hands on to his burning left side and loudly recited the incantation, “Melden wunde machen!”  He could feel the spell working, his fingertips tingling as he put all his energy into sealing the gash.  He looked down at the wound.  The skin was slowly growing over into an ugly purple scar.  That would hold, at least for the night.  He slumped further onto his knees as the spell sapped all his strength.  He needed to find food before his body gave over to exhaustion. 
         The patched together shed was cluttered with farming implements, most of which had fallen on top of each other.  The traveler pushed aside the toppled spade and hoe and made room for himself to sit down.  The fierce wind blew harder, rattling the make shift building and its contents.  He was glad to be out of the bitter cold, it would give him a chance to thaw and make sense out of what it was that he was sent to do.
         Laying down on his cloak, he emptied the contents of his knapsack:  a tattered, leather-bound book, a few bits of cheese, a blue glass bottle filled with a dark liquid, and a small leather satchel-the contents of which where unknown to him.  He picked up the hunk of cheese and inspected it for mold.  It was free of any visible spots and smelled earthy.  The traveler popped it into his mouth.
         “Is there room at that big feast of yours for another?”
         The traveler abruptly looked up, searching for a source.  He could see no one.  The shed was much too small and cluttered to be harboring any other.  He began lifting up a galvanizing watering can and heard the voice again-
         “My heavens, you honestly think a gardening tool would be talking to you?  Set it down, you dolt!  I’m up here!”
             The traveler shot a glance upwards towards the rafters.  There he saw a pair of yellow-green eyes staring back at him.  He swallowed hard, forcing the partially masticated chunk of Jarlsberg to become stuck in his throat.  His eyes welled up and he began coughing to dislodge the cheese.  Between his teary haze, the traveler could see the pair of eyes moving closer along the wooden plank overhead.
         “I certainly didn’t mean to frighten you to death.” The mysterious pair of eyes said.
         The traveler, in between fits of coughing, replied, “You-nearly did.  Shouldn’t-go around-sneaking-up-on people.”
         “My sincerest apologizes.  Practice chewing a bit more before swallowing.  Could do you a world of good.”
         The traveler made a fist with his right hand and pounded against his chest in hopes of clearing his airway.  He felt the mass slide down the back of his throat and looked up to where he had seen the pair of eyes.  They were gone.
         The traveler picked up the sphere at his side and held it at arms length away, moving it back and forth in hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious green eyes.  He began searching the shed, peering into every nook and cranny.  As he turned and headed to look behind a pile of burlap feed sacks, he tripped over a fallen pitch fork.  He could not regain his balance and fell forward, the pile of old worn sacks cushioned his fall.  The traveler also lost hold of his glowing orb and it landed with a thud onto the frozen ground, sending out a ripple of light as it extinguished.
         “First you’re choking, now you’re falling over.  Well I can’t help but hope that you’ve abandoned any boyhood dreams of joining an acrobatic troop.” The voice had reappeared, taunting him.
         “Do manage to pull yourself out of those dreadful old gunny sacks and let me have a proper look at you.”
         The traveler rolled off of the pile and pulled himself up, dusting off cobwebs and debris.  His side began to ache again.  The spell would never hold without proper rest.  His body was shutting down.  The pair of green eyes was watching him, this time from ground level.
         “A bit of light perhaps?” they asked
         He groped around blindly, looking for the orb.  It had rolled just out of his reach, behind a large rake that had been propped up against one of the walls.  He picked it up and brushed off any dirt.  The glass was cold and weighed almost nothing in his hand, its smooth polished surface sliding beneath his fingertips.  The traveler lowered his head, pursed his chapped lips together and blew softly upon the orb, his breath instantly causing light to appear and fill the shed.  He spun around and turned to look in the same spot where he had previously seen the eyes watching him.  The pair of green eyes belonged to none other than a cat.
         The animal was perched atop the fallen pitchfork, cleaning its paw.  It was larger than the common house cat, with long matted black and tan fur and a patch of white on its chest, and looked as though it was missing part of its left ear.  The traveler stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the peculiar creature.
         “My heavens,” it said, looking up at him, “you act as though you’ve never seen a talking cat before.”
         “I, um, well; I guess I haven’t actually ever seen one.”
         “Hmm, no, I gather you’re probably right.  Few people have really.  It’s the talking pig or goat that everyone claims to have seen now days.  We cats have become rather scarce really, and preferably so.”  It said rather proudly
         Just as the traveler had begun to interject, the cat continued.
         “Would you kindly turn around?  I’d like to get a proper look at you.”
         Never having been given directions from a talking cat before, he quickly obliged, turning a full 360 degrees.  When he completed his circle, he saw the cat had jumped down from its perch and was rubbing itself against the tines of the pitchfork.
         “Dreadful thing, flees.” It said.  “Come closer.”
         He obeyed, noticing the cat, as it arched its back against the metal, did not have a tail, just a furry nub where his tail should have been.  The cat stopped scratching and sat directly in front of him, studying him with those big green eyes.
         “Hmm, I suppose you must be him:  hazel eyes, disheveled black hair, dreadful scar on your left cheek, black traveling cloak, and clumsy as an oaf; yes, they certainly gave a splendid description of you.  Hit it right on the head.  Well, Rian of Denham, what shall we do next?” It asked.
         Rian sat down, ran his hands through his hair, and shook his head, not knowing what to think.  A talking cat?  The cold has addled my brain.  Perhaps that cheese was moldy?  That’s it, I’m hallucinating!
         “No, my dear boy, you most certainly are not.  I’m quite real.”
         “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asked, finally finding his voice.
         “My heavens, where are my manners?” the cat said, quickly holding out its clean paw to Rian.
         “Thorvald Octavious Whiskopolies, master of telepathy, mouse-catching, and other various skills, at your service.” he said with a slight bow, “You may call me Thor.”
         Rian gingerly shook his extended paw.
         “Pleasure.”
         “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, dear boy.  I’ve been so eager to make your acquaintance ever since Slaidburn.”
         “You’re been following me?”
         “But of course, my dear boy.  They wanted to keep tabs on you.  I’m what you’d call a traveling insurance policy.”
         “Who sent you?”
         “You mean, you don’t know?” Thor asked, curling himself into a ball.
         “Of course not.  I’m just following orders.”
         “Indeed.  Well, various groups of people seem to have quite an interest in your success, or failure.  It depends upon with whom you speak.” He said, stretching his limbs before he settled down again.
         Rian sat back down upon his outspread cloak and picked up the leather satchel he had been carrying.  He turned it over in his hands, examining the cold brown leather for the slightest indication of what could lie inside.  It seemed nothing out of the ordinary, except for the insignia that had been burned into the front flap-a Celtic shamrock.
         “Wondering what’s inside, aren’t you?” Thor asked
         “Of course, aren’t you?” Rian asked, looking up from the item in his hands.
         “My heavens, no.  I am most certainly not.”
         “Why not?” He asked, puzzled that the strange cat lacked curiosity.
         “My dear boy, some things are better left to the imagination.  Besides, the contents are neither for myself nor for you.  I am sure we will both know exactly what is inside in due time.” Thor said slyly
         “Well, since you seem so keen on telling me nothing more, what do you suggest we do now?” Rian asked, becoming increasingly impatient
         “I suggest,” Thor said with a yawn, “that both you and myself get some long overdue sleep.”
         “But what about tomorrow?”
         “What about it?” the cat said with a sneer, not wanting to be disturbed from his impending sleep, “You will proceed as planned.  You will march right up to the front door, knock, introduce yourself as some sort of stable boy, page, hired hand, whatever pseudonym you so chose, and you will kidnap the girl.  No one cares how you do it, just that you do it!”
         “Are you coming with me?”
         “Yes.  I shall be nothing more than your beloved pet and traveling companion until further notice.  Everything else can be sorted out in the morning.  Now good night Rian of Denham.” Thor said with a yawn, settling into a deep sleep.
         Rian tossed the satchel down on the ground like a spoiled child and lay down upon his cloak.  He picked up the glowing sphere, taped it lightly with his forefinger and all light was extinguished from the shed.

Chapter 2

Rian awoke with a start.  Streams of light poured through the uneven patchwork of wood that formed the east wall of the lean-to shed.  He had slept more soundly last night than any since he had departed.  His body had given in and shut down.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he could feel an aching in his hands.  He looked down.  The delicate tanned skin was blistered and cracked from the cold.  He hadn’t thought to bring anything to shield them.  Rian wasn’t used to such a miserable climate.
         He lay back down on his cloak, resting his head against the leather knapsack he had carried and stretched, arching his bare arms over his head.  A sharp pain in his waist met the tightening of muscle.  He glanced down, noticing his chest was also bare.  He didn’t remember undressing.  In fact, Rian found he had very little recollection of the night before.  The small amount of light afforded him the opportunity to finally survey his surroundings.  The shed was a mess, full of well-worn farming implements, feed sacks, and cobwebs.  Rian sat up, noticing one of the burlap sacks wrapped tightly around his middle.
         “My heavens, it’s about time you woke up.  Thought perhaps you’d never come to.”
         Rian look around frantically, not remembering he had been joined in the shed last night.  Seeing Thor peering down from the rafters brought bad a flood of memory from the previous day.  The mangy cat was sprawled out atop one of the wooden beams, his paw swinging over the side.
         “I thought I had dreamt you.”
         “No, dear boy.  I’m still quite real.” Thor replied
         Rian sighed, and reach over for his crumpled shirt.  “I had really hoped all of this was just a dream.”
         “As do we all dear boy.  No one wishes that any less than you.  But, things are as they are.  Must push on, mustn’t we?”
         Rian didn’t respond.  He picked up his pale blue linen heap and dusted it off, shaking out any wrinkles.  He noticed a dark red stain on the right side, sighed heavily and began pulling the garment over his head.
         “You’re not really thinking of wearing that are?”
         “What does it look like I’m doing with it?  He replied
         “Can’t wear a dirty shirt dear boy.  The poor girl’ll likely think you mad.”
         Rian popped his head through, “Does it really matter much what she thinks?  You told me I was to kidnap her.  Innocent girls never think well of their abductors, bloody shirt or not.”
         Thor chuckled and pounced down from the rafter.  “I say, well put dear boy.  Finally regaining some of that blatant sarcasm.  I’ve been told its one of your most enduring qualities.  I gather we’ll get along much more splendidly with it.  I do love a good banter.”
         “Bloody fantastic.”  Rian replied, gathering up his black cloak from the ground.
         “By the by,” Thor continued, ignoring him, “what in the world did you do to yourself?  I took the liberty, as you may have noticed, of patching you up this morning.  Dreadful gash, really, must have split open when you fell into that pile of sacks last night.  What a right comical sight that was, tripping over a blasted old hoe.  Simply brilliant!  Any how, my dear boy, what did you do?  Get into some sort of scuffle with a vigilante? Thor asked, finally getting to the point.  He stared blankly at Rian, no doubt waiting to be thanked and given the information he sought.
         “Rather not talk about it.  Thanks.” He replied, stuffing his cloak into the knapsack.
         “Try folding it you barbarian!  Don’t you take any pride in your belongings?  No, I gather you don’t, wearing a bloody, soiled shirt.” Thor rambled on, answering each question he posed.  “Was no trouble, dear boy, glad to fix you up.  Was a right challenge without opposable thumbs, but no matter, good as new now.  I say, how did you manage to close it up before?  Didn’t find any sign of sutures.”          
         “That’s because there weren’t any.” Rian responded carelessly, as he finished folding up the cloak.  Much to his chagrin, it fit nicely into the overstuffed pack.  He went to work looking for the light orb he had put out the night before.  It was no longer sitting beside his other belongings.
         Thor had grown interested, creeping closer to Rian.  “No sutures?  What ever did you use?  Wood sap?  Hot irons?  There must have been something!  I’m rather adept at healing, as no doubt, you have noticed.  It must have been some sort of sinew.  Yes, that must be it.  I’m certain.”  He rambled on, sure of himself.
         “Magic.  I used magic.”
         “Really?” Thor asked, thoroughly amused by the idea.
         “Yeah.  Some charm to hold it together.  Didn’t really work though.”
         “My heavens, I was certain it was a sinew.”
         Rian rolled his eyes.  He had always preferred to be alone.  Despite his obvious advantages, Thor’s incessant rambling and arrogance would easily become a burden.
         Thor sat back on his hand legs and clapped his large paws together in delight, “Splendid!  Absolutely splendid!  I was told you couldn’t use magic.  This will make things so much simpler.” 
         “I can’t.”
         “Can’t what?”
         “Use magic.” Rian replied, looking under a stack of discarded feed sacks.
         “Didn’t you just say that you could?  Please don’t bamboozle me dear boy.  You have me confused with a Sphinx; I am not one for riddles.  Can you or can’t you?”
         “I can.  But I can’t.”
         “My heavens, which is it?”
         Rian gave up looking and sat down next to Thor, who was coincidentally becoming very cross.  His one good ear had folded back in irritation.
         “I’m just not supposed to, you know, use it.”
         “And why ever not?  If I had such a splendid useful gift, I’d be turning everyone into mice and milk.  In fact, I’d most likely be eating you for breakfast right now.  Hmm, breakfast, now that would really be splendid.  Be a sport and turn that old watering can into a dish of warm milk.” Thor commanded, pointing his paw toward the can filled with grimy water.
         “You don’t know what you’re asking.” Rian groaned, running his hands through his mess of black hair.
         Thor was taken aback, “Of course I do.  You have a wonderful gift and you ought to be using it right now to benefit us both.  I’m hungry and I don’t ever like to plan a kidnapping without a good breakfast.”
         Rian groaned and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.  He picked up the grubby old watering can, shook it gently and stuck his nose inside.  The stagnant water reeked and Rian grimaced, recoiling from the odor.  He held it at arms length and mumbled some words in a tongue Thor scarcely understood.  The galvanized metal glimmered and the liquid gurgled and sputtered.
         “There, try it.” He said, offering it to Thor.
         The cat gingerly crept up to the watering can and bent forward, “Smells like milk.”  He dipped into the can, lapping up the liquid.  Instantly he spit it out.  “Ugh!  Good heavens boy, I didn’t ask for sour milk!”
         “See, I told you I wasn’t supposed to do magic.  I’m not, not any good with it.” Rian admitted sheepishly, he was terribly embarrassed.
         “Hmm,” Thor replied, actually pausing to think, “That does cause a bit of a problem. I must admit, I’m terribly surprised.”
         “Yeah, you and everyone else.  My Mum and Dad won’t even let me live with them anymore.  I’m the embarrassment of the family.  They even built me my own cottage, away from the village so I don’t have anymore mishaps.”
         “Good heavens.  That certainly explains quite a bit.”
         “Why do you say that?” Rian asked, puzzled.
         “Dear boy, when I first saw you, I could not figure out why they had chosen you to complete this task.  You were hardly cut out for it, scarcely old enough to undertake such a journey without protection.  Now I see, they want you to fail.” Thor replied, pacing back and forth.
         “Whaddya mean?  Who does?”
“By fail, dear boy, I mean something much more serious than mere failure, which, I gather, you’re used to by now.  They want you out of the way Rian, because if I have heard correctly, and I’m never wrong, your success means so much more than just redeeming King Aldrich and saving the entire kingdom of Rosevear from a fate far worse than death.”
“Yeah, like what?  I doubt I’ll ever amount to more than a second rate Mage, selling fishing charms and love potions.” Rian replied, picking at his bloody shirt.
“Boy,” Thor started, stopping dead in his tracks, “don’t be so bloody hard on yourself.  You can’t be all that miserable.  I wouldn’t have been sent to guide you if you were.”
“Well, maybe that’s just it.  Maybe I’m such an idiot with magic that I get to have a talking cat as a babysitter!” Rian hollered back
Thor was noticeably irritated by this comment, growling and hissing under his breath, “Then don’t be surprised dear boy, when your worthless talking cat of a babysitter leaves you for dead!  They will catch up to us, Rian, and when they do, the two of us may never be heard from again.”
“Who, Thor?  Do my parents want me dead or something?” Rian asked, becoming defensive, “Look I may be awful at magic and a total screw up but I don’t think that warrants death.”
         Thor abruptly stopped pacing and stared Rian down with his green hypnotic eyes, “No dear boy.  It’s the Lorcan Brotherhood.  They don’t want just you Rian.  They want us all.”