Bladeshire 14

By David C. Daoust

Khadory followed along as the grey bearded Tharnan led the two oxen, pulling the wood laden cart, into what appeared to be a makeshift shanty town. A town of tents and encamped wagons surrounding a sectioned off work yard, populated by more Baeldhori than Khadory had ever witnessed. Each with the same boxy build and flowing long beards, each with limbs like tree trunks and hands the size of hocks. They were happy to see him; they commented on his promptness as they shifted their attention on the load.

The Baeldhori had a way with wood that Khadory found impressive. The giantkin had stripped the wood from his cart and set to work on it immediately. They chopped, hued, sawed, and planed it into what they needed faster than Khadory would guess anyone could. The first of the logs was split and set up as sawhorses, which they used to saw the rest of the beams into long planks far faster than the first. The wood itself, remarked one worker, was for scaffolding.

They piled the beams with other materials. Mostly stone, lots of stone; carts of it. How exactly they managed to move a quarry to this wagon town was beyond him, but witnessing the ease of which they worked with the wood, he knew it was not beyond the Baeldhori.

All for Bladeshire’s latest structure, a Stone Watchtower. One taller than any other, possibly ever— but the boy suspected the Baeldhori were having him on a bit. Khadory laughed and said he could not wait to see it. And really, whether the tower reached the heights they claimed or not, it was true, he wanted to see it. A massive stone tower, peering out over Redcap Creep—guarding the very area the two village children spotted Kyoba the week before.

The Baron’s rangers had been scouting the swamplands within ever since. This tower was to be their new station. Feral dogmen, Khadory could only imagine. He had never witnessed one. Heard one, maybe. Though many of the children would claim most any howl or random animal noise, that came from the direction of the Creep, to have come from a Kyoba.

Khadory watched the Baeldhori work for as long as he could, witnessed some interesting things, but eventually he had to return to the woodcutters. Where Khadory finished out his day and headed back home to the Abbey.

The entire day, his thoughts wandered back to the tar-kiln and that weird pipe. One he could not quite imagine, a pipe in the dirt. Was it curved? Bent? Was there a funnel that caught the tar and oozed it into this strange neighboring pit… a pit sealed tight? So many questions, and way too much time ‘til morning.

Finally, the rooster crowed, and the frustrated inquisitor awoke within the Abbey. He moved quick to get dressed; washed what he needed, scrubbed his teeth. The monks knew his plans, they had to. It was all he talked about the night before at dinner. Maybe they would take the hint that his chores might not be done quite as early as normal… Ultimately, it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

Khadory was heading to old man Hindal’s stead, also known as the Collier’s Yard, where that kiln was meant to be. Old’man Hindle was the local Collier. The surrounding land was used to make charcoal… much the same way as they planned to make this batch of tar, only minus the enigmatic pipe to catch the dripping pine resin. As such it was one of very few homes built away from the cluster of cottages that made up Bladeshire Village.

The oversized mastiff came across the boy first, Abe, Chantilles’ dog, her protector. At least, when he was not distracted. The familiar dog walked up close, and Khadory gave him a scratch.

It was not surprising that he came upon Chantilles soon after. She was clutching a rather odd satchel. Mostly it was odd because it appeared to be empty. It was pretty early in the morning; he reasoned that maybe the bag just was not put to use quite yet. It suddenly hit him that he never actually looked in on her the day before. He was too preoccupied with kilns, pipes, and green wood scaffolding.

Khadory smiled as he approached.

The young girl, while her greeting was friendly enough, appeared surprised. She whispered something harshly and clutched the satchel close.

“How’s this? Off to meet with Hilda Mae?” Khadory asked, referring to the bobcat they’d met the last time they were together.

“Ida Mae,” Chantilles corrected with a smile, “Her name was Ida Mae.”

“Oh, I know,” Khadory claimed good naturedly, though mostly hiding the fact that he’d misspoke. “I was making sure you knew.”

“I see,” she laughed and relaxed a bit, let the empty satchel hang loose at her side. “Making sure I am who I appear to be?”

Khadory was dumbstruck by the idea. That would have been a smart way to figure out if she was possessed again. Too bad he hadn’t come up with it. “Pretty smart, eh?” Khadory tapped his noggin as he claimed the strategy all his own.

“Yes, well, we’ll have to check in with Bertrum,” Chantilles suggested, carefully examining his facial expression as the two walked down the path, “See what that old boar has to say of it.”

“Brigham!” Khadory corrected on queue.

“Oh, good,” Chantilles laughed. “You’re still you as well.”

The pair continued chatting as they fell into step. Abe disappeared again in the foliage, though still followed along. Khadory led the way to Hindal’s stead, he did not realize that the girl might not have been heading that way. Did not even think to ask where she might be headed, when the dingy old hut appeared around the bend, he just led her forward.  Their discussion was distracting enough for the girl to just keep walking with the boy as they entered the Collier’s yard.

Hindal was the oldest person Khadory had ever met. (Except for the Baeldhori he supposed, but they were not really considered ‘human’ at all.) The Collier had been blessed with only daughters, each married; off raising children and living their own lives all over the shire. Khadory knew his wife was called up to the heavens long before he was born. Thus, the Collier, except for a few animals, lived on his own. Although there was a steady stream of helpers that worked with the aging collier these days. Mostly the old man still watched over the work… made sure the fires were controlled. Khadory liked to think the old man was passing on what wisdom he could.

The boy spotted what he was looking for before the pair had even approached the door. A big deep hole. He veered to it right away. The promise of answers, at long last, pulled at him. Abe’s interest was clearly piqued as well, the old mastiff charged ahead to investigate. All while Chantilles approached the cottage door, proper.

The mastiff immediately began growling at the smoky hole in the ground.

Khadory felt like it was a safe bet that this was it, the kiln. It was still hot… it would have had a smoldering fire within all night long. The kiln needed to be pretty warm for the conditions to be right. At least, that was what Hindal had explained to him the day before.

The problem—he could not find the bottom. It should not be quite that deep. He grimaced with the idea that he may not find the information he was seeking. It was not until he peered in deeper, inadvertently blocking the light into the hole, that he saw it through the smoke.

Something shifted. Something large.

He immediately darted back. Abe, however, pressed forward, crouched low to get a better look, growling all the louder.

Khadory crept back carefully to the opening. Something dark and fury… he saw a thick hide of fur, cross from one side of the pit to the other. One side of the den, to the other. Surely it was far more than a hole.

In the infinite wisdom of all dogs, Abe immediately began barking as loud as he could at the unknown invader.

It was clear to the boy that the kiln was far deeper than it was meant to be, because something had dug up from where the old man had dug down.

Khadory turned to find Chantilles announce that no one was even home. He felt a cold chill when he realized where the old man might be…