Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2) Page 4

  After the second and third time he had seen her, he could no longer deny his feelings to himself. He wanted her but knew he couldn’t. She was of noble birth. He wasn’t. He knew his sword craftsmanship was second to none but had initially held back a little of his talent when he first moved to Sodorf, not wanting the attention. But after he saw Donive, he realized his only hope of being with her was to gain the respect—even if not the love—of the nobility. The Sodorfians were known far and wide for their love of fine swords. It was almost a religion to them.

  Keeping the membership of the nobility open only to those of noble birth was also a religion to them. He knew his odds were almost impossible, but no law forbade a man below the noble class from marrying a woman of the nobility. Social customs came close.

  He assumed it would never happen, but it gave him something to dream of as he spent hour after hour forging swords so finely crafted the nobility could not resist them. He quickly became well known but found that his enemies in the nobility always seemed to outnumber his customers.

  He hadn’t even expected to see Donive the day of the dance. It was an informal festival. But when he saw her he knew he had to take the chance. Now that the impossible had happened, now that he was knighted, he knew that there was no turning back.

  Chapter 5

  There was a knock at the door.

  When it opened, Pitkins saw a maid standing in front of him.

  “May I help you, Sir Pitkins?” she said, a mischievous smile on her face. “I have a feeling you’re not here to see Binstel, Patsrona, or Fritzer.” Her smile had only gotten bigger.

  “May I please see Donive?” Pitkins asked, smiling a little nervously.

  “Donive! I knew there had to be someone here you wanted to see,” she said, laughing now.

  Pitkins was surprised to feel himself blush but smiled nonetheless.

  “Thank you, Rena,” Pitkins heard a voice say. It was Donive. Rena curtsied and then excused herself.

  Donive smiled at him. “I believe you better speak to my father first.”

  He wasn’t far behind. “Please excuse us, Donive,” he said.

  There was a sense of calm about him. It surprised Pitkins but calmed his nerves a bit.

  “I know you’re here to see Donive, and I want you to know that if you treat her with the love and respect she deserves, you have my blessing. You’ve already proven she’s safer with you than with any other man in this kingdom, and in my heart that makes you the most worthy. Not only are you a knight, there’s not a noble in Sodorf who would dare publicly question your worthiness of that honor. If you wish to marry Donive, it’s her you’ll have to convince.” Fritzer chuckled and then said, “Best of luck!” and then clapped Pitkins on the shoulder.

  Pitkins was at a loss as to what to say, since apparently Fritzer already knew the situation from top to bottom. “You have my word I will treat her with the highest dignity and tenderness.”

  Fritzer smiled and then shook Pitkins’ hand.

  The afternoon that Pitkins spent with Donive seemed suspended in time. Every moment was magical. Every gaze they shared seemed a journey through paradise. They walked along the edge of the large estate surrounding Fritzer’s large mansion. As they did so, they neared the impossibly tall tree shaped like a scarecrow.

  “Want to hear something silly?” she asked, her eyes playful.

  “Sure,” he said, smiling.

  Donive looked back towards her house to see if anyone was watching, then grabbed Pitkins by the hand and gently pulled him forward. She squatted low to the ground and moved forward into the tree. Mesmerized, Pitkins followed her inside. A shaft of sunlight pierced through a small opening in the tree above them, illuminating the interior.

  “When I was a little girl, I discovered this entrance. The shape of the tree near the opening makes it look like just another furrow in the tree, rather than an opening, so it’s not easy to see it’s hollow inside. I used to come and spend hours in here, just to think. Sometimes I still do,” she smiled but blushed slightly.

  “I love it,” Pitkins said sincerely. “It’s private, peaceful, and gives excellent shade while still allowing light to come through.”

  Donive looked down.

  “What is it?” Pitkins asked, grabbing her hand gently.

  “When I was eight years old, I had a vivid dream—a nightmare. I dreamed an evil people invaded Sodorf and began killing everyone, and I climbed inside the tree so they wouldn’t see me. I saw and heard terrible things.”

  Pitkins paused for a moment, not sure whether to ask for more details, but couldn’t help himself. “What happened?”

  “I stayed there for a long time. Days, maybe even weeks.”

  Donive then looked at him with an intensity he had never seen from her before.

  “That dream has stayed with me for all of my life. It seemed so real.”

  This time, Pitkins kept his mouth shut. He could feel a chill move down his spine, then back up, leaving his ears and scalp tingling.

  “Someone rescued me in the dream. But I could never picture his face.”

  Pitkins was now feeling shivers. Donive’s gaze, although innocent, was unnerving him with its intensity.

  “I dreamed it again last night, Pitkins. This time I saw the man’s face. It was yours.”

  Pitkins felt goosebumps. He had had dreams that later came true and wasn’t one to underestimate a dream’s power. Donive’s eyes told him she was serious.

  They embraced, and Pitkins held her tight.

  “Donive, there’s something I must tell you. Actually . . . a lot. I only ask you tell no one.”

  “I won’t,” she said, eyes sincere.

  When Pitkins finished, he had a couple tears running down his cheeks, although he had fought back an army.

  Donive’s eyes were moist. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Donive, there’s something I must ask you.”

  She sat erect.

  Pitkins reached into his pocket and produced a stunningly beautiful diamond ring. “I felt something special for you the first time I laid eyes on you. You have been my inspiration for longer than you can imagine. What I feel when I’m with you I know is something special and something I’ll never feel with anyone else. I love you, and I want to be with you forever.”

  He paused for a moment and looked down. He then looked up and directly into her eyes, “Will you marry me?”

  Donive looked at him calmly, then smiled, and a tear slowly rolled down her left cheek. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  Chapter 6

  The day of the wedding had finally arrived. Donive was breathtaking. She wore a long, white, beautiful dress. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair was styled into an intricate series of braids dazzling to behold. There were many people gathered at the temple where the wedding was taking place. All the nobility was there. She had a huge smile on her face and had had one on nearly all morning because, quite simply, this was the happiest day of her life. A single gold earring hung neatly in each ear, sparkling, catching the beams of light that shot through the windows on this sunny fall day. A pearl necklace descended to just right above her bosom. Large pillars stood throughout the temple looking like well-trained guards. Rows of long marble benches covered with satin cushions seated the numerous guests attending the wedding.

  The priest, Kipsin, began to speak: “Donive, daughter of Patsrona and Fritzer of Gindelson, do you agree to love forever, to care for, and to never forsake Pitkins?”

  “I do,” she replied.

  “Sir Fritzer, father of Donive, and Patsrona, mother of Donive, do you in any way object to Donive so dedicating herself to this man?”

  “We do not.”

  “Sir Pitkins, man of our magical forests, do you likewise agree to love forever, to protect, to care for, and to never forsake Donive, daughter of Patsrona and Fritzer of Gindelson?”

  “I do,” he answered, smiling.

  “Then I pronounce you two man and wife.” />
  Everyone cheered as Donive and Pitkins locked in a passionate embrace and kissed. After the wedding ceremony, to which only the nobility were invited, everyone joined in on what was one of the biggest celebrations Sodorf had ever seen. The next day, the nobility were summoned to a meeting to discuss some changes Fritzer had in mind for Sodorf.

  Chapter 7

  “So,” Fritzer said, addressing the body of nobles, who were seated in a large rectangular formation, “are we in agreement on the issue of military training and rearmament?”

  Freidor stood up. “Rearming could be a good idea. The recent events have demonstrated that we Sodorfians have grown soft. We no longer possess the martial spirit nor the martial talent that we had many years ago. But my concern is that rearmament could have the opposite of its intended effect: It could motivate the Dachwaldians to also begin rearming. For centuries, we have lived in peace. There hasn’t been so much as a skirmish between our two peoples since the Seven Years War. King Duchenwald is a peaceful man, and the evidence gathered by our spies suggests the Dachwaldians have no interest in war and represent no threat. No doubt the Dachwaldians are also watching us, and they probably see ample evidence that we do not have bad intentions towards them. Rearmament could result in a precarious peace that could turn into war at the slightest offense, real or imagined. I support a mild rearmament. Perhaps all nobles should be required to spend several hours a day dedicated to the arts of the sword and archery. That way, next time we’re attacked by a large creature, we’ll be able to defend ourselves. But I do not support any increase in our standing army, although perhaps our reserves could be increased by a small percentage. Remember, any rearmament is going to cost money, and we must first make sure that any such increase in spending is justified by need. That is all.”

  Freidor sat down. For the next several hours, many of the nobles spoke. Some took a more militant stance, others a softer one.

  Chapter 8

  Pitkins and Donive were in Seihdun, a beautiful town in the northernmost area of Sodorf. They had a private mansion to themselves, and it was the perfect location for a couple of lovers to find both comfort and seclusion. Stepping outside of the spacious bedroom, one had an excellent view of the large, jagged mountains towards the north. Outside, a large, steaming pool of water offered relaxation, a fence surrounding it tall enough to allow privacy, yet short enough to not block the beautiful scenery surrounding this rustic locale. Neither Pitkins nor Donive had ever been so happy in all of their lives. They both felt like they had died and gone to Cixore.

  Pitkins kissed Donive on her lips as they lay in bed, as happy as one would expect two lovers to be.

  “Let’s go to the hot springs,” he said, his eyes playfully scanning her body.

  “Sure,” she said. She giggled.

  As they were going down the stairs, Pitkins saw something move . . . at least thought he did. Grabbing Donive gently but firmly by the back of her neck he whispered, “Get down,” into her ear.

  She looked at him. This was no joke.

  He went back up the stairs. He grabbed his sword and a small dagger and returned.

  “Just in case,” he said, handing her the dagger with a grin, trying his best not to let his very real concern show in his tone.

  Suddenly, Pitkins felt the slash of a sword against his back.

  Pain. Big, oozing gobs of it. It shot back and forth across his back like an insane arrow caught in a perpetual ricochet. He could already feel the blood trickling down his back. Then, just as suddenly as the bleeding had started, it seemed to . . . stop? Perplexed, but no time to stop and think about it. He looked over his right shoulder and saw the black-cloaked figure prepare to slash him again. The attacker’s eyes were wild like a wolf’s. Pitkins quickly stepped forward with his left leg and kicked hard with his right foot.

  WHOOSH!!! He could hear the air rushing out of the attacker’s lungs like air leaving a balloon that’s just been untied by a playful child. His sword dropped lifelessly to the ground like a branch from a rotting tree. Clank.

  “Uhhh . . . hh . . . uhh,” was all the attacker could utter as his deflated lungs tried desperately to once again bring air into their owner’s body. He reached down to pick up his sword once again.

  BAMM!!! Pitkins jumped into the air and crashed his knee into the attacker’s face, snapping his nose like a fortune cookie. The man doubled over, grabbing his nose in pain with both hands.

  Pitkins grabbed the attacker’s head by the jawbone with both hands, pulled him forward, turned his back to the attacker while rotating the attacker’s head upward facing the ceiling, rested his neck over the back of his shoulder, squatted, then shot upwards while pulling down hard on the attacker’s head.

  “Say HI to everyone in hell for me!”

  CRACK!!! Vertebrae shattered like an icicle fallen onto a stone surface. Pitkins removed the black-cloaked figure’s mask. The man was blonde, handsome, and quite dead.

  “Donive,” Pitkins said, “Check my back. I felt a slash, and for a split second I swear I felt blood trickling down it, but suddenly it stopped. I’ve been cut before, and no wound scabs that quickly.”

  Donive examined the area. His shirt had definitely been cut through. Lifting it, she saw dried blood, but, no open wound, not even a scab. What she saw looked like a . . . welt. Like a mark left by a whip, not a sword. She looked at Pitkins and shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no bleeding.”

  Over the next several days what had started out as romantic bliss began to turn into a nightmare. The welt became increasingly swollen, looking as if an exponentially expanding worm was inside it, gaining strength perhaps while eating Pitkins’s flesh. Donive was disturbed by the nightmares that were obviously plaguing Pitkins every night. Pitkins tried hard to keep their spirits high, but everyday he seemed worse. His eyes were bloodshot; he suffered from headaches. Pounding ones that felt like two knights were duking it out with maces inside his head. By the third day, things were so bad that Donive decided they had to leave. They would return to Sodorf and seek a doctor to examine the strange wound. If need be, they might even seek a master of Feiglushen, such as Kipsin, to see if perhaps Pitkins had been attacked with some sort of poison.

  (but it couldn’t be that; surely not)

  On horseback, it was a three-day ride to the City of Sodorf.

  (dear Saixen, please protect him; PLEASE!)

  The first night they stayed at an inn in a small town called Seisphen. Pitkins and Donive went to sleep. But Pitkins was not sleeping comfortably. His welt was continuing to swell—it was larger now than ever. The worm was now a garter snake, pulsating in cadence with the beat of his own galloping heart. Sweat pouring from glands all over his body. His pants and shirt soaked. He had a fever higher than most of the surrounding mountains. He tossed and turned. Donive was asleep, exhausted from the long ride on horseback.

  Pitkins talking in his sleep. “No! No! Nooooo!” he kept repeating. He could see an aerial view of the provinces of Sodorf, and he was traveling north. A face flashing intermittently. The face of a tall, old man. Then he saw the man’s body. He stood over six feet tall. A pair of pince-nez perched on top of his long, crooked nose. His hair was silver, long, and curled towards the ends like a scorpion’s tail. Suddenly, the eyes behind these funny-looking glasses turned dark red like bottomless pools of blood.

  “Pitkins,” the face said in a low, ominous voice.

  “Yes?”

  The eyes continued to glow red, but inside his eyes there began to emerge a swirling, spinning pattern; he felt himself being drawn.

  “Come to me,” the voice said.

  “Where are you?”

  “North, far north. I will show you the way.”

  “But what do you want of me?” Pitkins asked.

  Then the face disappeared. He was flying. Flying high above the tallest trees of Sodorf, the tops of which looked like shrub bushes from this height.

  (I’ll die if I fall)

  It was nig
httime, but the moon was full, and he could see the mountains, valleys, and streams. Suddenly, his vision became telescopic. He could see things happening down on the ground far, far below him. Predatory animals lurking about, seeking an easy kill. Wolves prowling the meadow; their howls sent a chill down his spine like a vibrating tremor along a long piece of steel. Snakes slithering around in the darkness. An anacobra killing a bear. The bear slashed at the anacobra with its claws as the snake’s coils worked their way around the ambushed bear like ropes of death and did manage to cause some damage to the dreadful snake, but then the snake sank its fangs into the bear, and the bear began losing its strength from the poison, while the snake continued tightening its coils around the bear’s body, squeezing the life right out of it.

  Falling. He could no longer fly; he was headed right towards a pack of wolves he had seen just a moment ago following the tracks of a pregnant doe. He hit the ground with a thud. The wolves eyed him bloodthirstily. They were hungry. They had not been successful in their hunt and were desperate for flesh. Animal flesh was what they had been looking for, but human flesh would do. It would do just fine. Pitkins reached for his sword. Gone. He reached for the dagger he kept in his boot. Gone. He didn’t have any boots. Nor a shirt. He was completely naked other than his undergarments; he had no weapons. The wolves began forming a circle around him.

  (what a way to go down)

  He got into a fighting stance, prepared to take out with his bare hands as many wolves as he possibly could, but then a sharp pain went shooting through his back. The welt was swelling now. It wasn’t really a garter snake. It was an anacobra. And it was growing. Waves of pain went shooting through his back like randomly thrown darts. Suddenly, he saw the old man’s face again.