A Deal with a God
By Gerry Torbert
The events of the past few months sat heavy on Darmon's mind, and that of the soul collective that was Dragonslayer as well. They felt like hundreds of tons of rock on his shoulders; as though they were the very blockish formations of dirt and stone that made up the looming mountains that flanked Hiding Valley itself. With Sunshield Mountain to the north and Mount Stuart to the south, the stories that were told of the deep cleft were often hidden in the pockets of darkness that crawled from the sun as the burning orb reached higher in the sky.
The stories centered around the vicious fighting that took place here between the Caembuhls and Stuarts, many years ago. The two powerful clans often fought with the McLeods to the north, the Lewises to the east and each other over land, economics and even over the charms of a young lass. Having settled their differences decades ago, the Caembuhls turned their attention to the Donalds; the Lewises to the undead of the Sarumvest, and the Stuarts and Mcleods to a few disputes, then peaceful coexistence.
Most of the larger and longer battles of Creagland had been forgiven, but not forgotten; they left behind them scars on the souls of a proud people and ten parcels of land that saw many bloody fights. This valley was no exception, and well worth the trip his tutor had taken him on when he was a youth; the tutor pointed out various caves and crevasses in the rocky slopes that served to hide the Stuarts from their adversaries and provide them places from which to fight.
He could see some of the holes and formations even now, and he vaguely remembered their importance as the sun hit them from different directions on its path across the sky. He could see some smoke from the peat fires of the Tarbert clan's stills, huge copper pots making some of the best contraband twelve-year whiskey in Creagland. He was past the Caembuhl/Stuart property line, a designation agreed upon after one of the last battles, where the Stuart River became known as the Caembuhl River. The Caembuhls were always interested in commerce, and supplied the renegade clan with much of its barley, while the Stuarts provided their sept clan with cover. No one wanted to stop the flow of the Hiding Twelve; none, that is but their biggest competitor, the Haig clan.
Darmon had stayed the night in Airdbuain just to make sure Brian Caembuhl had recovered from the herb he gave him. The clan father seemed back to his old self once he awoke, and together they stayed awake through the night--Brian telling what he knew of Dohmra's activities, Darmon telling some of what Brian must have thought were wild tales. They parted with a promise to unite their clans in what may become a systemic threat to all of Creagland. And now, Darmon and Slayer rode Gollygem and headed toward home at long last, after a whirlwind of a half year.
Darmon hadn't given much thought as to how his return would be received. He didn't want to be given a hero's welcome, as was the normal procedure--he certainly didn't want to attract too much attention to himself, at least until he found what the magician Faugas was up to. He couldn't be sure if news of his return had reached home before him, as news has a way of traveling fast in Creagland, despite the terrain and distances. He knew that Eaomann had risen to the position of Captain of the Guard before he left, and he hoped he might run into him before anyone else. The captain was usually stationed at the south gate, however, and he'd be approaching from the north. Darmon shrugged, thinking he'd have to take his chances. A brief thought of Jonat Caembuhl crossed his mind, and he realized that despite all that had happened, he genuinely missed the lovely lass.
He noticed a lone hawk's shadow over the glassy streambed, and looked up. The hawk seemed to be following him, but as he looked, it broke off to the west, over Mount Stuart. ...damn, probably Faugas' hawk... not much chance of a quiet entrance now...
The stream was in its wide arc to the west now, and he knew he'd be in Slaughbaetha soon. The castle and the city surrounding it was situated at a strange high point in the northern reaches of the Glen of Life, and the streams ran away from it in both directions, northwest and southeast. To those who lived there, it was a perfect and majestic location; those who attacked it found it quite defensible.
Soon, his chest swelled as the quartz walls and buildings loomed before him. He stopped at a farmhouse along the way, owned by an old friend, Eohn Lewis. Eohn and Frida had worked the little farm for years, having moved there after Eohn married the young lass from Anaria. They were good people who knew Darmon as a youth, and they took him in, fed him, fed Gollygem, gave Darmon a soft bed for the night and washed his clothing. Frida insisted on the treatment, as both had heard of his accomplishments--they were now apparently of legendary status.
Darmon could scarcely decline the offer--he smelled of the road, his clothing was dirty and he really needed a bath. Not being able to sleep creates a lot of sweat. Eohn gave him some news of happenings in town, and Frida mentioned Jonat more than one time. After a hearty breakfast, Frida presented clean clothes, including a fistful of fresh heather broom for his shirt. Darmon thanked them and rode the last two hundred yards to the gate--with all he had faced this seemed to give him the most apprehension.
As he approached, he noticed a tall lanky figure walking along the ramparts; it disappeared below, then reappeared at the bulwark just above the main gate and leaned over the wall. "Hey, lad. Ya got some kinda hay on yer shairt, an' ya du. Think mebbe it was some hay from a wanderin' bale, what got tossed on yair 'ead?"
Eaomann never gave up. Never. Darmon looked up and shook his head. "Get yer Creagish butt doon 'ere, ya clank. I'll show ya who's got the hay in their 'air!" Darmon dismounted as Eaomann straddled the wall and let himself down to the ground with a thump. Darmon slipped off Slayer and as they met, Eaomann executed a perfect arm drag and threw the First in Line to the ground, ending on top of him.
"Ya fancy boy! Last time ya smelled this good, ya's headin' off ta war! But look 'oo's still on top!" With that, Darmon reached up with a leg and wrapped it around his neck, pulling him back and himself to a sitting position, pulling out his sghain dubh and holding it to the Captain of the Guard's throat.
"Ye'r not as careful as ya should be, Captain," he smiled. "Besides, I can't let ya best a 'ero, can I now?" They both laughed and Darmon helped him up to a powerful hug. "So, how ya been, hay-tosser?"
Eaomann laughed. "Life's been good, Darmon. I guess ya scarce heard much, bein' all over like ya have. Uilliam is sick, been so fer a while. Eohn is takin' over, but..." he looked around, as if to make sure no one was listening, "...seems Faugas 'as the reins, at least it does ta me, brotha. Watch yerself, Darmon."
Darmon nodded. "Yeah, I heard the sort. Same all over Creagland, I'm afraid. I'll 'ave ta be lookin' oot fer meself, no doubt. Me mum, how is she?"
"Oh, Christine's jus' fine. Got a lot on 'er plate, bein' the Clan Mother--guess she never thought she'd 'ave all that responsibility. She'll 'ave some o' yer favorite pies baked, tho."
Darmon frowned. "You mean everyone knows..."
Eaomann laughed and slapped Darmon's back. "Oh, hell, yea. Faugas let us all know, and asked for a 'ero's welcome!"
Darmon shivered. He had liked the attention in other places, but here, he wasn't sure of how he'd like the pedestal he'd be on. "Oh, an' one more thing--how's Jonat?"
Eaomann stopped laughing and took a quieter tone. "Oh, the Caembuhl lass. She's... fine, Darmon. Yea, fine. Hey, come along, lad. Ya got a big day a'comin'!"
Darmon looked at him quizzically as he gathered Gollygem's reins and strung Slayer back on his shoulders. He followed the big man toward the gate as it opened, and as he looked back over his shoulder to the horse, he noticed both the Lewises on foot behind him--he realized then that this was to be a big affair. As the two men approached, the gate opened, and Darmon's fears were realized.
About a hundred children led the charge--Darmon hadn't felt that much sheer power since the battlefield in the east. There wasn't much he could do but walk in whatever direction they pushed him--he picked some of them up in his arms, but with half a dozen kids clasped around each leg, there was no where to go. And as another wave of older children cheered and rushed him from the front, there was no where to go but down. And as the children realized they had just downed Creagland's greatest hero more piled on, hugging his neck, cheering and chanting "Darmon, Darmon..."
Thankfully, soon after the hero could no longer be seen, a few adults began to gently grab a few of the youngsters and pull them off. Soon, Darmon climbed to a kneeling position, still being hugged and kissed by some of the girls. A burly, giant Coo Stuart grasped his hand and helped him up, but he still had a girl in each arm. Over the chants, Coo chided his cousin, "Betcha ya ain't seen a fight the likes o' that fer a while, Dar!" A giant hug from the monster lifted Darmon and three girls several feet in the air as more cheered.
Darmon's ordeal wasn't over, though--he was mobbed by quite a few more older children, although a little less exuberantly. The younger ones still crowded around his legs, though, and he lost his balance again. "Hey, Darmon, ya forget how ta walk?" asked Eohn Lewis as the First-in-Line again crashed to the ground.
But Eohn was almost drowned out by the next wave of excitement, as the Stuart Band began a lively Hiding Valley Reel, and Darmon made it to his feet again, still holding the young girls--more likely, they were holding him. He continued his walk toward the quartz castle toward the adults.
A tent had been set up over several tables of the biggest picnic the Stuart clandom had seen for many years. A pathway was made for Eohn and Christine to greet him next, and he had to peel the arms of the young girls from around his neck to hug them. His mother began by scolding him for being away so long without sending messages back, while his father simply hugged him and said, "Good to have you back, son".
"Good ta be 'ome, father. Any news of Uncle Uilliam?"
Eohn frowned and shook his head. "No, son, he's still sick--very sick. He was in the same shape as yers truly, but...well, I guess you've 'eard the stories..."
"I've gotta see 'im, as soon as I can, father."
Eohn shook his head. "No, son, enjoy your first day back, as much as ye can. It would be too...open, too...evident, if ye know wha' I mean..."
Darmon nodded, knowing full well that his father--in this case--knew what was best. "Un'stood, father--there's a lot I 'ave ta tell ya, the nature o' which only we two should share."
Eohn smiled; "I imagine so, son. But for now, eat; ya got a lot o' partyin' ta do, an' stories ta tell the young'uns. I imagine you'll want ta keep some o' the details to yerself, tho..." he said, tilting his head and looking out of the corner of his eye, as if to warn Darmon.
Darmon nodded and looked to his mother. "An', mama, where is Jonat?"
His mother stopped talking to another member of the welcoming party, looking to a nodding Eohn, then back to Darmon--"Well, she's fine, she's inside. I'm sure you'll both have some interesting conversations later." She beamed in a strange way--one that Darmon had never seen.
Darmon looked quizzically to his mother, then to his father, who smiled and shrugged. "Come, Darmon, let's get ya fed; got some o' the best food you'll ever have." He led the hero toward the tables as the bagpipes blared and the children chanted.
The First in Line was truly the first in this line. He grabbed a wooden plate and had no luck in choosing what to eat--the women of the clan told him of their favorite dishes, prepared especially for the occasion, and piled his plate full, only after they hugged him. The children stopped their chanting and began running off their energy, two young boys sword-fighting with sticks nearby. One lost his balance and rolled over Darmon's left ankle, almost bringing him down--but he kept the plate upright. "I see young James hasn't lost his exuberance, Mrs. Donald!" They chuckled as she scolded the boy, but Darmon bent over and said, "Keep yer guard up higher, James, but don't knock over the tables," goading the boys into more play fighting.
Darmon almost lost the plate again as he rounded the table and came face-to-face with Jonat Caembuhl. The beautiful bow in her glistening, flowing red hair matched the blue and green of her woolen full-length dress. Her ample breasts seemed to float toward Darmon, but another look revealed they were buoyed by an equally ample bump held high under her dress.
Coo Stuart strode forward and grabbed the plate from Darmon just before it lost its balance. "Yer food's safe wi' me, Dar. I won' eat it. But if ya doesn't kiss that beautiful woman, I will!"
After fighting orcs, kobolds, oluks, drow, undead, ghosts, and castle guards, Darmon walked the few feet to her with a new kind of fear and trembling. He looked deeply into the brilliantly blue eyes that beamed the signs of a new life--he recognized that look, the same he had seen in his mother's. "Jonat...is he...is it...?"
"Ours, Darmon," she said as she gently formed her hands over the womb, as if to present it to him; "little Darmon, he is." She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck in a deathlike grip.
The catcalls began--"Whoo, Dar! Ya was busy 'fore ye left!" and "All the baddies ya fought are nothin' now!" followed by laughter and a chorus of "whoo-O-O-O!" Darmon turned to another wave of attackers this time--congratulatory wives and women--he wished he was on a battlefield, instead.
Jonat led Darmon by the hand over to the table to get her own food, to the obligatory quip "Let 'er eat, she's eatin' fer two!" She filled her plate and followed him to the chairs that had been set up outside the main keep gate, and Eohn and Christine joined them along with Dairmad and Fionna Caembuhl, all starting talk of a ceremony.
Things calmed down after a while, some of the guards going back to their posts with full bellies; an occasional farmer bidding adieu to tend his crops; several school teachers gathering their charges and leaving to a chorus of goodbyes from the tykes. Still it was quite lively and there was talk of a late torchlight story-telling session hosted by the sword-wielding hero, who enjoyed washing down the delicious food with Uncle Aodh's heather whisky.
Speaking of massive edged weapons, Slayer began to quiver slightly on his back and a few people quieted down as Faugas approached the waning festivities. Eohn nudged Darmon slightly as he approached the table, nodding toward the wizard--Darmon looked up and inwardly seethed.
"Ah, Darmon Stuart, as I live and breathe! How good to have you back; what a surprise!"
Darmon nodded--"Faugas, how nice o' ya to grace us. I would assume your hawk told ya I was nearby, though--he'd been a'followin' me all up the valley. Come and eat, ol' friend!"
Faugas reached out and shook Darmon's hand--Dragonslayer quivered slightly, trying his best not to attract the seer's attention. Darmon could feel a slight tingling as he shook and brushed it off, causing a little start in Faugas' actions and giving him a slight look of concern. "I'd like ta, hero, but I've got so much ta do right now. They tell me the food is great."
Darmon smiled and answered "Sorry 'bout that; more fer me ta eat, then. 'Ave ya talked ta my uncle?"
Faugas answered carefully, "I'm afraid Uilliam isn't feeling well right now, it may be a few da..."
Darmon's eyes narrowed and he sternly interrupted, "I'm sure he'll be...better...in a short time...maybe even this afternoon, yet..." He spoke forcibly with an underlying meaning barely hidden. Eohn, out of sight to Faugas, grabbed Darmon's arm and squeezed slightly in an indication that caution was needed. Darmon's glaze never left the sorcerer's eyes.
Faugas paused, then smiled and replied "Oh, he did look a little better a little while ago. I'd say you may be able to talk to him in an hour or so, but don't tire him out, as he's trying to recover." ...good move, Darmon...you let him know what you want, and let him know who's in charge...hope it works, old friend...
Faugas turned toward the main keep. "Very well, then, I'll see to him. It's good to have you back, Darmon."
When he was out of earshot, Eohn grabbed Darmon's arm and turned him toward himself, saying "Easy, boy. There's some things ya oughta know about him. I think he's got Uilliam under..."
"Some sort of a trance, eh?" interrupted Darmon, "I know. So was Cousin Brian--I just came back from Airdbuain, Father. It seems all the sorcerers 'ave some sort o' control--remember Osgur Tavish? Same thing."
Eohn sighed. "Old Osgur, too, eh? I'm afraid I've been unable ta make certain decisions too, son."
"Well, Father, I've…acquired...a few tricks. Let's just say I won't be affected a lot. Trust me, I've got some friends..." On cue, a few clouds parted and the sun shone more brightly on the party.
Darmon and Jonat ate with the others, exchanging glances and congratulating the clan mothers for their cooking. Darmon tried to dance around the more sordid and saddening parts of his journey, saving the bulk of the stories for later--he whetted their appetites, as they had his. Still, several of the women held quite a lengthy side discussion with Jonat as to the color of her gown, the flower arrangements and more.
As most of the rest of the clandom filed out to do their jobs and lead their lives, Darmon overheard Slayer trying to get his attention : ...what is it, Slayer...over to your right...sunlight...it happens, old friend...no, Darmon, not like this... Darmon noticed that clouds had covered most of the sky since he arrived--usually not much of a surprise in Creagland--but he glanced over his shoulder at a strange cone of sunlight beaming through a gap in the clouds. Even though the clouds were still moving, the patch of sun stayed at the same place and stayed the same size . ...you thinking what I'm thinking, Slayer?...who else, Darmon?...
Darmon smiled at the revelers and wiped his mouth with his napkin, excusing himself for a few minutes. Jonat was too busy talking about the impending nuptials to do anything but nod, so the others leaned in to hear her plans as Darmon got up from the bench and walked toward a little man in gray clothes, visible only to him this time--but Eohn noticed his leaving, and glanced occasionally after him.
The First in Line entered the patch of sunlight, approaching Tanarus. "Well, Tanarus, 'ere I am. What's ta happen now?"
The old man placed his hands on his hips and walked back and forth a little. Something in his demeanor told Darmon that the Demi-god wasn't as omniscient as he thought, perhaps even a little concerned. "Hero, you are going to have to find out what Faugas is planning, and proceed from that point. These wizards have some way of communicating, and their plans may change."
Darmon's brow furrowed slightly, and Slayer intentionally shielded his thought--an action that was felt and not lost on his friend. "Tanarus...it seems that even you don't know what's goin' on...am I right?"
The God of the Sun bristled a little, but slightly changed his tone. "They are far too powerful, Darmon. They will soon have total control over all of Creagland, and Zeland will take you over with little fight. We can't have that, now, can we?"
Darmon drew a breath of surprise--Tanarus was hiding something so important that he couldn't spell it out. Suddenly an image appeared in his mind--one of Faugas and other wizards leading an army of Zeland and Farland over Creagland, burning villages and murdering its inhabitants. Darmon felt it was from Slayer, and the sword silently acknowledged that it was. Then another image appeared--one of the wizards controlling the sun. Darmon stepped back slightly, his eyes opened for the first time in quite a while.
"Since when ya give a hoot about us, Sun God? Sounds ta me yer more worried about yer own skin--I'm right, eh? Wha' 'appened ta the good ol' Sun God I used ta know, the one who had no problem killin' off people? Why da ya need me, all of a sudden?" Darmon crossed his arms over his massive chest and shifted his weight in a more authoritative manner while the swirling flecks of light that made up Tanarus' head spun wildly in anger - maybe frustration.
Calming down a little, Tanarus realized he'd have to come clean--"It is true, damned Creag; they have accumulated their power, and I cannot kill them without killing many. I cannot have this happen, nor can you. They have been communicating at night, and I believe that your friend Sulis is trying to diminish my power through them. Your sword is right..."
Slayer harrumphed to Darmon in pride while Darmon's mind began to spin. "So, ya need me, old man. I dunna work fer free, ya know..."
"Nothing can be done about the curse, Darmon. It has been set and is in the hands of Fate. You will simply have to..."
"You will have to do somethin', Tanarus," interrupted the hulking hero. "I can walk away from this and my people can run away to Anaria--I've got friends there. Seems you have ta make me an offer!"
Tanarus sighed and shrugged his slight shoulders. "I...I can suspend the curse on your immediate family in the next generation, that is all. They will live full lives. But you cannot walk away, eternal champion--you know that. You'll still grow old and watch your children die of old age, and their children."
"Damn you to the hells, Sun God. An' I'll lose an ally in Sulis, too. Damn you."
Tanarus chuckled in an eerie, sadistic manner. "You will not need her, Hero. You will regenerate day and night--I will have to do that to ensure your success. I cannot promise she will be happy with you, though. But there is one more thing--I must have the tooth."
It was Darmon's turn to seethe. "Not until I'm done wi' it, Tanarus. Not 'till the wizards are defeated."
"Fair enough, Darmon Stuart--fair enough." The last few words were spoken as Tanarus dissipated into a cloud of sparkles and as the clouds closed the cone of light. Darmon stood and watched as he disappeared, becoming lost in thought, only to be alarmed by a familiar voice from behind.
"Darmon, my son--is there anything wrong?" He turned to greet a worried Eohn.
Darmon smiled and nodded. "Yes, Father--but I have it under control. I 'ave ta see Uilliam now, and I dunna know 'ow long I'll be. Just take care o' Jonat for me, and stay away from your brotha's 'ome 'till it's over."
Eohn began to question him, but much to his disbelief, reassuring words from a hunk of metal assuaged his concerns. Darmon headed for the walls of the main keep.
