MANDORLA: Gods and Elves

By Dale Cameron Based on a story by James Culverhouse and Dale Cameron mandorlastory@gmail.com

Not where, whom. Let me tell you

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Contents 1st Arc Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine The Death of Stem Faar Stones and Bones Ash of Loneliness Keep in the Cellar Awakenings Chasing Birds A Rending and a Sending Do Not Suffer a Witch to Live Before Tomorrow First Letter to Eleanor 4 13 32 51

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CHAPTER THREE - KEEP IN THE CELLAR

"My lord, is it still your desire to proceed?" Ilkan, Lord of Drakfalos Keep was slow to respond to the young mans query. His mind was distant and his thoughts troubled. When finally he did respond, it was with an expansive gesture toward the expectant throng gathering within his stone hall. "What else would you have me do Ariston?" he asked. "The storm, thank I'anemi, was less vengeful here then down near the Lake; but my vassals and free tenants are sorely pressed none the less. I think we can spare them a free day so that they may have a chance to tend to their homes." Ariston stood to the right of his lord's seat and was dressed in the red livery of Captain of the Keep Guard. The clothes fitted him well enough but Ariston wore the livery with a self-consciousness that suggested he did not yet fit the clothes. He pressed his query. "It was not the storm or the free day I was referring to my Lord." "Then what is it you do refer?"

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Ariston did not know if his lord was mocking him but he felt compelled to continue. "The Cellarman," he whispered so that none in the hall might overhear their private conversation. "The Cellarman," said Ilkan loud enough that those closest turned toward them and Ariston became convinced his lord was indeed mocking him. "Yes," whispered Ariston even quieter then before. "Is it still your plan to release him?" "You overstep yourself, wife-brother," said Ilkan turning his attention from the hall and meeting Ariston's eyes. The young man averted his gaze and Ilkan nodded in satisfaction. Lord Drakfalos allowed his left hand to stray to the sheathed sword at his side, the fabled dragon slayer. When his lord continued to remain silent Ariston summoned his courage. "Then forgive me my Lord for speaking out of turn, it is just that I fear for your lordship if the Cellarman is released today, so soon after the storm. What will the people think? Could we not delay for a few weeks? The Reader may still come; it is in all probability the storm which delays him." Ilkan continued to maintain his silence and Ariston grew bolder. "Ask it of me my lord and I will see your will done. Why should you continue to feed such a wretch over all these years? A man who lacks even the good grace to die? This day at your command, I have broken down the bricks and beheld him who none have seen for a lifetime. He is old and death clings to him. I could see that he troubles your lordship no further. It would be a kindness to send him onto the Wold. It will be quick, I promise." Ariston's eager mouth was almost touching Ilkan's right ear. Ilkan adjusted his position in the chair and Ariston was forced to back

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away lest his lips touch his lord's person. The hand that had caressed the dragon slayer fell limp after gathering whatever reassurance it had sought. "Do you see whose head watches over us?" he asked Ariston. The young man did not bother to lift his head and look. All in Drakfalos keep and beyond knew of the dragonhead mounted on the wall over Ilkan's chair. Some called it sacrilege, others praised his show of strength but all marvelled. It was the dragon slayer at Ilkan's side that was said to have shorn dragon head from dragon body. "Yes my Lord, I see it." "Look again." Lord Drakfalos commanded. Ariston obeyed. The monstrous reptilian head reared out of its mountings and even in death it seemed to roar defiance at the humans that dared to gather beneath its humiliated remains. Streaks of black tar etched the hall's wall running down from the beasts severed neck and toward the floor. It gave the appearance of fresh running blood. The marks had appeared the very night the dragon head was first mounted and no amount of cleaning had ever, even minutely, cleared the marks away. Yet the older servants, those that had lived in the keep from the beginning, swore that the marks had moved over the years by their own accord. Such a phenomenon had occurred during the storm. For one tarry mark, that once had run vertically up and down from the dragonhead, had vanished during the storm, leaving not a trace ingrained in the stone. Ariston had questioned the servants but no amount of investigation had elucidated a cause or even revealed a witness. All he had achieved was to set the loose tongues of the older servants wagging in satisfaction and guaranteeing them an even more responsive audience.

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"I see only your vanquished foe my Lord." "Is that all? What I see Ariston is the slayer of my mother. But that head was not mounted by my efforts alone. The Cellarman, you seem so eager to send onto the Wold, was with me on the day that, foe, was vanquished. So I do not desire the Cellarman's death; far from it, I have only ever desired his life." Ariston listened intently his mind calculating. This was part of a tale he had never heard told. In truth none knew how Ilkan had come by the dragon head. Most accepted that Ilkan had slain the beast in some fierce battle but some, especially those most unnerved by the sight, were prone to grumble that Ilkan had most likely stumbled upon the dragon when it was already dead. Since the Readers taught that dragons were immortal unless slain, it seemed rather unlikely it had died without violence. "Then it was right that you slew the beast. Vengeance demanded it." "And do you Ariston, demand vengeance for the death of your parents?" "I have sworn it so. I would kill those responsible without let or mercy," answered Ariston, his brow knitted. "Without mercy you say. Then you choose to be no better than the heathens who murdered your parents? Ruled not by your spirit but by your blood?" "I am no savage," countered Ariston. "No, you are not like they," accepted Ilkan. "You are the son of a knight, soon to come into your majority. But beware for savagery knows no one people." Ariston was eager to express his own opinion and theory but saw that

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his lord had lifted his head to peer up at the decapitated beast overhead. The young captain of the guard did not like to be reminded of his parents murder. Before the fall of Valere Howe the plainsmen had raided the Lower Kingdom almost constantly. They were cunning foes, capable of moving quickly and remaining hidden for days on end, able to strike deep and without warning into Kingdom territory. With the fall of Valere Howe their raids had for a time ceased and then degenerated into sporadic random affairs. The Kingdom had grown peaceful but this was little consolation for Ariston or his sister, for it was on one such random raid that his parents were killed. His sister had not been with them or she too would have been taken, as were the other women, as was their mother. He prayed nightly that the plainsmen had murdered their mother swiftly or she had taken her own life, he could not abide the shame if she still lived. Ariston had been with his parents the day the plainsmen changed his life. It was the Gods mercy, according to his sister, that he could recall so little of the events but then he never told his sister of fleeting screams of panic cut short or of a claustrophobic hole in the earth filled with loss. Once such memories had plagued his day just like his night, but now his day was filled with fears only for his future. For what was not known before their parents death was the debt his father's gambling had left. It should not have been so. His father Sir Dremmen was descended from a noble and long family, married to Lady Goti the third daughter of Medreo de Aristi a prominent Gebelah lord; but when the accounts were tallied nothing remained except the small and insignificant knight-holding of Termor, on one of the few stable tributaries at the edge of

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the Bog. Or so it was thought, until it was discovered that even Termor had been pawned by his father to Lord Drakfalos in exchange for fealty. As their liege lord, Lord Drakfalos had generously taken Ariston and his sister into his care, when none would aid them, and brought them into the safety of his hall. To Ariston he had promised the return of Termor upon the boys majority and for his sister, Lord Drakfalos as was his right, had sought to find a suitable suitor but who would have a young orphan girl with no dowry. It was to Lord Drakfalos's credit, so the servants told Ariston, that their lord had taken Ariston's sister into his bed and then later as wife. Ariston too had striven to win his new lord's love but no matter his efforts, it was never enough, for his lord loved another more than he. Ariston had learnt to conceal his anger and frustration but a time for reckoning was long overdue. Lord Drakfalos spoke again but his voice was distant, "To kill a dragon Ariston is not undertaken lightly. For it were dragons that came to King Balada's aid, when all seemed lost, and turned the tide for men against the elves. An alliance was formed that day between men and dragons. It is a terrible thing to break." Ariston had heard the arguments before. It was a moral question that turned on the gratitude for a past service rendered or a complaint over the restrictions posed by dragons on mans' expansion. Why should only the Isleman have safe passage through the Wash? If they would but share their secret, then all could benefit with trade to far and exotic lands. Even more pressing, if the rumours were to be believed, dragons seemed no longer content to be the winged lords of their own domain but had been seen flying

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upon the Plains of Mara, a potential threat to all Lower Lords. Yet despite this new danger the Isleman still would not share the secret that might give them aid. Ariston answered contrary to his Lord. "What terms Balada gave for the alliance with dragons are lost in antiquity; which well suits the Isleman for who now can judge how they might misuse those terms to their own benefit. I think dragons are just beasts and we should hunt them as such. They should no more stop man's expansion then a cow should stop a man crossing a field." As he finished speaking he thought he heard something, like a distant rumbling. He glanced up at the dragonhead, convinced that was where the sound had originated but none in the hall save he and Lord Drakfalos were staring at the dragon's preserved remains. Lord Drakfalos smiled before looking away. "We have the Plains all the way to the Kithias mountains, perhaps we should be content with what the Gods have chosen to allow us. I will proceed today," Ilkan said returning to the question first posed by Ariston. "I would see what has become of the man who has spent twenty-seven years beneath my keep. The Readers be damned if they will stop me, I should have defied them years ago. Ariston brought his fist to his heart seeking the Gods protection from such blasphemy. The dragonhead was only the most well known of the mysteries surrounding Drakfalos Keep. The other mystery was one that was only whispered of when darkness oppressed and men sought to tame their mortal fears by naming and claiming them. This mystery concerned the keep's longest inhabitant. A man entombed within a secret cellar during the keep's construction. Brick by brick, so the stories told, he had been interred until only

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a single brick space was left open for the provision of food and water. What gave the story credit, at least to those who witnessed it, was that each year just at the close of autumn, a Dragon would berth down at the River and a Reader would take the winding path up into the hills to Drakfalos keep and without a word even to Ilkan, would descend alone into the keep's basement. The failure of the Reader to arrive this year, combined with the destructive storm, was causing much discussion in the keep. "But what of the Cellarman's crimes at Valere Howe?" persisted Ariston, choosing to provide unasked for answer to his lord. "They say he is a witch and practiced blood arts and worships Taelia and her son?" The crimes may have once been true but the decayed man Ariston had seen rocking and twitching in the corner of the cellar seemed, to his eyes, only an inconsequential annoyance to the smooth running of this lord-holding. "His crimes Ariston were the crimes of youth. Of seeking to rise above one's place." Ariston finally sensed that he had pushed his lord's patience too far. "Forgive me again my Lord, I beg. It is for love of your person that I have spoken so." Ilkan sighed and took hold of Ariston's hand. "I know. You are like a son to me, though your sister shares my chamber. Now tell me now, have you had word of Parvenus, could he perhaps have been injured in the storm? I grow concerned. I was near beside myself last night, until your sister returned safe, now all I desire is word of my son." Like a son but never a son. "Your son," said Ariston, unable to say the hated name, "is well my Lord.

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Whilst you rallied the village men and women and brought them to the safety of the keep, your son, spent the storm in a farmhouse. He claims he was kept well warmed through the night, thanks to two young and obliging milk maids, though he could not vouch as to their rest." Ilkan squeezed Ariston's hand in frustration. The pain brought Ariston only pleasure to have set Lord Drakfalos against his son. "Perhaps if you..." "No Ariston. Do not come between Parvenus and I. He is my son to command and admonish, and never forget your future lord." "Yes my lord, I never forget," said Ariston. "Announce me to the hall and then let us begin."

Keep guards flanked the man. He had been washed and dressed in a thin black robe but still he looked like something found in town drains; rotten and forgotten. Ariston, as keep captain, stood proudly to the front in his red livery and motioned the guards to urge the man along. This they did cautiously, unwilling to touch, even with their pikes, a person of such infamy. The old man shuffled forward unsteadily to face his jailor. The hall was emptier than it had been but such was the interest that servants loitered in the stairwell and many of the guards were storing up memories to relate to any listener who cared to ply them with drink. Ariston went to the Cellarman's side and unafraid, pushed the old man to his knees before Lord Drakfalos. Bowing to his lord, Ariston backed away leaving the Cellarman alone, the eyes of the hall upon him. Head bowed the old man was still except for his twitching fingers, which

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traced through an intricate pattern of movements that only the Cellarman could decipher. Slowly he lifted his head and squinted beneath the shafts of noonday light, which shone through glassless narrow windows into the hall. He was the keep's oldest inhabitant but this was the first time he had beheld the hall. At the time of his internment nothing save the ground floor cellar of the keep had been constructed. The Cellarman recognised the massive edifice of spiritless tissue that roared in lifelike mockery out of the hall wall above Lord Drakfaloss chair. A smile of thanks momentarily played across his lips but the gesture was invisible to all who were present. "So they broke you in the end," said Ilkan. The scratching quill of the court scribe fell silent in expectation. The Cellarman said nothing but lifted his arms into the air allowing his long sleeves to fall back. His arms were deathly white and skin bare. Only Ilkan seemed taken aback. The Cellarman met Ilkan's gaze. "I am made new," he rasped. Ilkan broke first. With a heave of his overlarge frame Lord Drakfalos stood from his chair. "Your punishment has been an example to all in this land of the consequence of practicing blood magic. But I, who was granted authority over you by King Greatorex himself, believe that after twenty seven years your punishment is..." Lord Drakfaloss voice trailed off as he noticed a knight dressed in rich mail arising from the stairwell. A small rift parted between the guards and the inquisitive servants as Lord Drakfaloss son, Parvenus, strutted across the hall toward his father. In his hand he sloshed a flagon of spilling wine. Even from within his living tomb, the Cellarman had heard of Parvenus,

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Ilkan's braggart and slovenly son. The young man's foul moods, fornication, lying tongue, drunkenness, brash and uncouth behaviour were renowned. My lord, croaked the Cellarman. There was discernible panic in his untried voice. "Ilkan, say the words that may set me free, it will take but a breath. The Cellarman was too late; Lord Drakfaloss attention was already lost. Stepping forward Ariston placed himself squarely between his Lord and his future lord. Parvenus waved Ariston away disdainfully but when two other guards stepped in to support their Captain, Parvenus grew livid with Ariston. How dare you obstruct me. Step away!" Parvenus! Parvenus flinched at the voice of his father. Ilkan forgave his son much, more than much; not least because he believed his son's behaviour was partly his fault. The boy had never recovered from his mother's death, strong willed Parvanah, Ilkans first wife. Ilkan had loved her fiercely. She had entered the Wold when Parvenus was twelve. The boy had been away at the time, beginning his service as squire to the Lake Lord, Lord Byrne. Ilkan had held off a year before summoning Parvenus back to him. He had believed it was right to have his only child by his side, working together father and son, to build a lord-holding that could be passed down their line. Perhaps he should have summoned the boy back the minute his mother took ill or perhaps he should never have summoned him home; as it was Parvenus was taken from the large and important court of Byrne and returned to Drakfalos to find another woman, only a few years older than himself, in his mother's place and the woman's young brother a

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favourite of his father. From the first doomed meeting an irreparable rift was rent in Ilkan's household. Parvenus had blamed his stepmother for everything and hated the younger boy Ariston who had entered his family. Ilkan had encouraged Ariston to make overtures of friendship and companionship to the older Parvenus but each of these small efforts was quashed more ruthlessly than the last. Ilkan chose to keep his son close in the hope reconciliation would be possible but Parvenus's anger had festered for more than a decade and showed no sign of abating. Since the summer, when Ilkan had appointed Ariston to captain of the keep guard, the strain in the household had grown worse until the two young men's enmity had become unbridgeable. Ilkan was tired. Tired of all the gossip that said he was a weak leader. He knew his reputation was crumbling. The powerful and independent Lake Lords had told him as much the last time they had rejected his application for membership. Lord Iole's opposition Ilkan could at least understand; embroiled as they were in a longstanding dispute over the small knight-holding at Termor. Iole had claimed that Ariston's father had no legal right to sell Termor to another, as Iole had first right of refusal. The King's Court had thought otherwise and had favoured Ilkan, though they had granted to Iole leave to hold the land until Ariston's majority, upon which Termor would be granted to Ariston as a fief holding to Lord Drakfalos. At the last meeting of the Lake Lords however, the other lords had turned on Ilkan, some of whom were friendships he had spent years currying. The dragon head, the Cellarman but most of all Parvenus had been at the heart of their criticism. They had even dared to reopen what Ilkan had believed he had silenced decades before, his

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presumed humble origins. Ilkan had made a vow during the storm, a vow to sow the seeds in his domain that would re-establish himself as a wise and able ruler. That vow began and ended with his son. "Allow my son to approach Ariston," ordered Ilkan. A hush was over the hall and Ariston and the two guardsmen broke away so that their lord could deal with his son. The Cellarman knelt ignored but two paces behind Parvenus. Im leaving father, Parvenus stated bluntly. Nor will I ever return. Ilkan looked at his son with a disgust that finally overrode any lingering feelings of disappointment and responsibility. Where do you think you can go? What will you do? Will you be a highwayman or mercenary, fighting for whoever will pay? Would you drown the spirit I gave you in blood? Here Parvenus you are the future ruler of this lord-holding. What more could ever be offered to you? Yet you come to me snarling defiance and claiming you have decided to leave your family, on a whim! Parvenuss face reddened. He had no intention of backing down. He had practiced this speech often enough and believed his whole life was but a prelude for this day. He stepped closer to his father. This is no lordship; it is a chicken farm. And I am a knight and no bird breeder. I would not stay even for the satisfaction of leaving your dead body to rot unburnt. He spat his final words vehemently aware of their blasphemy and the shocked in drawing of breath around him. To deny ones father a burning and allow his spirit to be given final release from his flesh; it was unimaginable. The Cellarman rose unsteadily to his feet. Lord Drakfalos's contorted crimson face looked like it was going to erupt. His guards shrunk back at the

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sight of him. Their lord had earned renown for his strength of arms during the fall of Valere Howe. Nor did his own men doubt that it was by his valour that the dragon head adorned the keeps hall. The greyness of Ilkans beard nor the roundness of his belly was true indication of his threat. It seemed only Parvenus was unaware of his father's reaction so preoccupied was he in speaking his heart. Im sick of living under your house, under your rules; you and all your great plans. Where have they brought you? You killed my mother by taking your slut and from the looks of how puffed up you've become, you probably want to kill me too. I care not." Pausing for a few rapid breaths Parvenus added in finality, Take Ariston, that dog you have trained to be your son. Let the Gods bear witness I curse you Ilkan, no father of mine. Ilkan looked to his left eyeing his sword, his dragon slayer and had sudden visions of seeing his sons head severed completely by the blade. Wrestling with his rage he focused his eyes back to his son, Whose son are you faerie spawn because you are not of my spirit? Are you a changeling? What witch possesses you to speak so? There is no witch in this keep, except she! Parvenus pointed to a dark haired young woman, accompanied by her maid servant, who was just stepping down into the hall from the keeps solar. She who opens her legs to you each night! Why even I... Blood drained from the young womans face. Her legs swooned and were it not for the quick supporting arm of her maid she would have fallen the last step. Parvenus laughed contemptuously and turned upon his heels.

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The sight of Parvenus's back was the starting stone to an impending avalanche. Lunging for his dragon slayer Ilkan let the scabbard fall free as he ran towards his unworthy son. Slamming his free fist into Parvenuss side Ilkan sent his son crashing to the floor and the flagon of wine sprayed across the onlookers. Parvenus, his wind coming in painful jerking gasps, was not even aware that his father held a sword over him. Ilkan swung the blade high and brought it down in a savage knowing arc, intending to end the life his spirit had begun. None moved to stop him, except one. The Cellarman threw himself into Ilkans body, knocking Ilkan completely off balance. The sword smashed into the keep's floor, splintering stone and the hilt burst apart in Ilkan's hands. The possibility of their lord being harmed finally made the guards leap into action as they tackled the Cellarman to the ground. Parvenus regained his breath and rolled over to come eye to eye with Ariston. He tried to speak but his breath kept coming short. "Once you had everything but now you will see that it is I who has everything and that includes you. Ariston's mailed fist slammed into Parvenus's quickly turned head. Ilkan could only stare at his bloody hand and the shafts of the wooden hilt imbedded within his palm. Finally Lord Drakfalos found his voice. "Take them away, he said looking unrecognising past Parvenus and resting his eyes unforgiving on the Cellarman. Now! Ilkan turned and walked away. The Cellarman's hopes of freedom died with every fading step.

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