Neutral Good Ranger

Copyright © Donald Stotts, 1996

Created by

Donald Stotts

Dravonen's Tale:
For Kith and Kin


Dravonen Dolgiiri squatted before the fire pit and thrust at the burning embers with the slender stick he held. There would be hell to pay, and if rumor spoke truly, it would fall on his head to uphold the honor of clan and village.

Dusk-blue eyes rose from the fire to settle on the sleeping forms of the twins, Tuornen and Tiya. He smiled. "Marillion, my heart, had thee but lived to see our children." Had it been a year already? The smile faded. Dravonen's hand went to the medallion hanging about his neck, a gesture many remarked upon, although Dravonen himself remained unaware that it had become habitual.

Muscles tensed as the waterproofed bearskin that covered the entryway into the stone cottage was shoved aside. The man who entered seemed akin to the bear--massively built, his dark hair and full beard shot through with gray--save for his ability to move silently, more shadow than substance, for Dravonen had not heard his approach.

"Word hath reached thee, I know. 'Tis a foul thing of which we must speak, and though my heart breaks, it falls to me."

Dravonen registered the tenseness in the man's voice, the look of regret etched into his face. "Thou art the village elder, Hrothgar, and through marriage I am blood of thy blood. My home be thy home."

At Dravonen's gesture, the man moved to the fire, settling atop one of the stools near the pit. "The unfortunate occurrence at Crookshank Glade was righteous, but undertaken with little regard for consequence. Of Amlaff and Asmund I expect no less, for they be sons of my loins and as rash as their sire. But thou art a master of letters and learning, more clever by half."

"Mayhap, but still am I a warrior," Dravonen replied. "I know not how the soldiers of Lord Rhutgin act in their province, but forcible beatings are not condoned in the lands that pledge allegiance to Lord Harvald."

"Aye, but the way of the warrior be not limited to blade and bow. The law be clear: None shall hunt the wilds of the royal preserves. The men of Lord Rhutgin sought to punish poachers, as was their duty."

Dravonen's eyes bore into those of his kinsman. "Two waifs and a young maiden, with one rabbit between them."

"Lord Harvald directs that such miscreants be presented before him for judgment," Hrothgar replied. "Lord Rhutgin provides his soldiers with greater leniency. Lord Harvald hath expressed his displeasure at the incident. Lord Rhutgin hath accepted blame on behalf of his men."

"And now?"

The stool creaked as the older warrior shifted his weight. Hrothgar took a deep breath, his dark eyes meeting the dusk-blue orbs of the young man across from him. "A noble hath been embarrassed in the lands of a peer. Conflict hath arisen from less, at court and on the field of battle. To serve the greater good, our lord must take unto himself something that hath vexed Lord Rhutgin."

"At what price?"

"Strange tales hath reached the Lords Alliance; 'twas the reason for Lord Rhutgin's visit," Hrothgar explained as he leaned forward in anticipation. "Lord Rhutgin was charged with finding one who might discern the nature of some perilous threat to the allied realms. Now the task falls to Lord Harvald."

Dravonen's eyes darted from his kinsman to the sleeping forms of his children and back again. "What threat?"

"I know not, save that Lord Harvald hath in his possession letters bearing the royal seal of Langington, and one marked with the sign of Oesch-Onarga; Lord Harvald said the contents shall be shared with the chosen one, and none other."

"A matter then that vexes both the mighty and the learned of Western Glashia, and hath caused each to seek alliances amongst the free peoples," Dravonen replied, one hand absently stroking the medallion about his neck. Dusk-blue eyes settled on the fire, as if seeking insight in the flickering flames. "'Tis said the witch women of Caurgil Mount hath sought to assail the ears of all who might listen, in every village, at every stronghold. 'Tis said they speak of evil tidings borne upon the four winds, that a time of doom be upon us lest those of goodly heart stand steadfast, and be prepared to strike on behalf of hearth and home."

Hrothgar shrugged. "Dire portents, and a sort beloved by those harridans."

Dravonen waved off his kinsman's dismissal. "There be as many young women as old amongst their numbers, and though they live apart, whene'er their loyalty to the Alliance hath been tested, they hath acquitted themselves with honor and stalwart courage; many are the clanfolk who would lie dead if not for their aid, victims of orcish hordes or threats more darksome still. Though the women of Caurgil Mount hath been known to see menace in shadows, they hath discerned threats truly enow to warrant a willing ear."

"Mayhap," Hrothgar remarked. "But if the lords take their sorcerous clamor seriously, they shared it naught with me. I was told only that Malachi's Invitation somehow plays a role in what is to come."

"Malachi's Invitation? 'Tis a death sentence, if the tavern tales are to be believed," Dravonen said, even as a wistful look came upon him. "A faraway place, across the Innocus Mountains, past the mighty Tempec Forest, and into the Kingdom of Langington, to legendary Mount Gideon itself; what threat could be deemed so perilous to the allied realms as to send someone forth on such a quest?"

The older man sighed. "Since thee and my sons acquitted thyselves so well 'gainst his soldiers, Lord Rhutgin suggested that the selection of a champion would not be difficult. Lord Harvald agreed, and put it 'pon me to deliver unto the lords he who will undertake this task." Dravonen's kinsman paused, as if searching for the right words. "My sons be thy equal as warriors, if not in wit. I wandered for hours seeking insight into whether or not my choice be that of village elder or a father who wishes to protect his sons. I look to my wife and am lost, imagining only her countenance should some evil befall them. I look to my daughters through betrothal, seeing the pain of loss each would bear, of children yet unborn." The man paused again, looking at the sleeping twins. "Thy father and mother hath passed this earthly vale. My daughter, thy beauteous Marillion, was taken during childbirth, a loss for which we both still mourn."

"And what of Tuornen and Tiya?" Dravonen asked.

Hrothgar's face flushed. "As thou hast long known, should some evil befall thee, thy son and daughter I would raise as my own, for such be the measure of how I love them. They will want for naught."

Dravonen smiled weakly. "Aye, kinsman, thou hast e'er been generous."

"Wilt thou honor my request?" the burly man asked.

"A request, or a command?"

Hrothgar's face was solemn. "'Tis folly to trust a father's judgment, yet my intuition whispers to me that the task will require a warrior of intelligence as well as bravery. Bereft of certainty, I ask thee to decide. Malachi's curse be known as much to me as to thee; failure and death be the legacy of those who hath gone before. I shall not condemn thee to the wolf pack. Say thee nay and I shall send one of my sons in thy stead. But to thee I give the choice: Wilt thou go?"


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