Mrinta Quest: A Tale of Zeheryfel

Mrinta Quest:

A Tale of Zeheryfel

A. L. Peevey

Cover & Interior Images by Sam Peevey

Text Copyright © 2012 by A.L. Peevey

Cover & Interior Images

Copyright © 2012 by Sam Peevey

All rights reserved.

Published at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Books by A.L. Peevey

Mrinta Quest: A Tale of Zeheryfel

Sweet Halo-Dreams and Other Tales of Peril and Magic

The Oten’s Eye: A Tale of Zeheryfel

Mrinta’s Curse: A Tale of Zeheryfel

Coming Soon

The Frowning Sorceress and More Tales of Peril and Magic

DarkDoor Manor: The Mystery of Darling Dair

Dedication:

To my dear wife Tricia:

Your objectivity has been a boon!

&

To my children Hannah, Sam and Becca:

Here’s the story begun in your childhood, 20 years later!

Table of Contents

Chapter I: The High Captain and the Moon’s Queen

Chapter II: Fishing with Pava

Chapter III: Ruva’s Rescue

Chapter IV: An Oath Made

Chapter V: Hunted

Chapter VI: A Miscast Spell

Chapter VII: A Journey Begun

Chapter VIII: The Dance of the Blue Witch

Chapter IX: In the Hands of the Nehri-Togan

Chapter X: At Trendafel

Chapter XI: Wren

Chapter XII: To Nimmer’s Grotto

Chapter XIII: Riddles of a Mad Mage

Chapter XIV: Forest Fair

Chapter XV: A Secret Told

Notes

About the Author

Mrinta Quest:

A Tale of Zeheryfel

Chapter I: The High Captain and the Moon’s Queen

It was nothing but a glimmer dream, cast for them by a street magician for a few coins. Erki’s friends were stout men-at-arms, and Erki was the High Captain. Yet so real was the dream that they all could feel the ghost touch of the mist shrouding them like smoke. It bit through their cloaks and armor with fangs of ice, as they crept from tree to tree.

The Moon’s Queen’s warriors and beasts hid in ambush, casting javelins and darts of awful ice at them. The High Captain’s men screamed as the enemies’ missiles found their flesh, and they fell, littering the steep hillside with their bodies, splattered blood and weapons. It was not all going the enemy’s way, though. The High Captain’s men managed to impale five of the Moon’s Queen’s warriors and beasts with long spears, or cut them down with sword strokes and axe blows. These foes loomed over them with no warning out of the mist, tall men with scowling faces, in blackened armor, or great hulking beasts covered in dirty, matted hair.

The High Captain and his men shouted challenges and chanted Hokh haya like the Hundred Heroes at the Battle of Churusku had done. The warriors of the Moon’s Queen screamed back, uttering evil spells and dark oaths against Light and goodness.

On the hill’s crest above, the Moon’s Queen’s fallen sky chariot threw light of its own, spectral and wane, a ghost’s gleam of moonlight on bitter, jagged ice. Overhead, the High Captain and his men could hear the Queen’s awful voice, as it rose and fell, now a high pitched shriek, now a low throbbing contralto. She chanted and challenged with her own terrible spells, and as the High Captain and his men felt the weight of her words, they were pelted with gloom and despair. The weaker of will fell to their knees, dropping their weapons to stop their ears with shaking finger tips. The stronger of heart shouted with trumpet voices and followed their captain up the hill.

The High Captain ducked behind a wide elm as an ice javelin shattered against it, sharp shards stinging his face. The dim shape of a beast reared above him, slaying two of his men with one sweep of a foul clawed paw. Its horrid roars rang in the men’s ears as it was felled by a flurry of ax blows.

The High Captain reached the hill crest’s edge, with less than a score of his soldiers still standing behind him. Before him lay the ruin of the Moon’s Queen’s sky chariot and around it stood her bodyguard: towering, dark warriors and unknown, awful beasts who charged forth in a roaring mob to dislodge their hated opponents from their foothold on the hilltop. The Moon’s Queen herself rose up behind them, tall and beautiful as an aspen, her crown of silver ice and moonstones glimmering in the fell light of her might. Clad in a gleaming coat of mail, she bore a shield in one hand, ghastly pale like a small evil moon, and in the other she gripped a long sword of moon-metal above her head, ready to reap her foes like wheat. The High Captain’s men attacked the Moon’s Queen’s bodyguard as the High Captain raced toward the Queen, hewing down any who dared to hinder his path. At last, they stood face to face, the High Captain and the Moon’s Queen.

Ask quarter, or feel the bite of my blade Brengil! he shouted.

Never, puny mortal! She aimed a powerful stroke at his neck with her own sword. He jumped back.

So be it! He roared, slashing the Moon’s Queen across her hand, and her sword fell, ringing like a bell on the paving stones that were not supposed to be there. The glimmer dream faded to the reality of one of the parks of the Oldenburg as the Moon’s Queen once again became a pretty maiden with auburn hair who clutched her wounded hand to her chest while angry tears dripped down her face.

Blessed Fenjer, Erki! You needn’t be so rough!

Sorry, Remle. I did get a little carried away.

As Erki bent down to pick up Remle’s sword, she kicked him in the stomach. The game then became a battle in earnest as the youths and maidens from both groups began to fight, depending on whom they supported: Erki or Remle. Though Erki was the better liked of the two, Remle did have friends and many, many admirers of her auburn hair. But now, Erki had Remle pinned down.

Call quarter, Remle, and I’ll let you up.

Before Remle could answer, Erki felt a rough hand on the back of his neck, and he was jerked backward and thrown to the ground.

What do you think you’re doing? growled an angry voice.

Dancing! What does it look like? yelled Erki despite his pain.

Leave my niece alone! You are rude and undisciplined, said Remle’s uncle, Uraz, a huge, muscular man. He stood glaring down at him. Erki began to shake a little, feeling regret for his earlier words.

I’ve a mind to beat you here and now as an example for your friends. Hold him, lads!

Four or five of Remle’s friends rushed to help Remle hold Erki. Those loyal to Erki charged into them and dragged Remle and her friends down. Battle erupted again and, as he tried to back away, Uraz was tripped up, falling beneath the knot of shouting youths and maidens. When Uraz managed to stand up again, he reached down into the struggling heap of bodies and grabbed Erki by the hair, pulling him free of the chaos of fists and legs. Erki howled in pain.

Just as I thought, said Uraz with a cruel snicker. You are a mommy’s boy, aren’t you? Look at the son of a miserable merchant, lads! He can’t take it!

Erki squeezed his eyes shut against his pain and kicked out as hard as he could, landing the toe of his boot on Uraz’s knee. Startled, Uraz let go of Erki so suddenly that the youth fell to his knees. Some of the others, frightened before, now began to laugh at Uraz’s surprise and pain.

Uraz, his face reddened by his rage, reached out and yanked Erki to his feet by the front of his shirt. He grabbed one of the wooden swords and struck Erki across the thigh. Erki howled again, and his friends surged forward to defend him again, but they stopped when Uraz jerked as if he himself had been struck. He whirled around, angry words on his lips, and received the butt-end of a staff beneath his chin. He grunted and collapsed to his knees, a dazed look on his face. A stooped-shouldered, silver-haired man stood glaring down at Uraz.

Avle! shouted Erki. I never knew you could fight! His friends cheered.

Get up now, lad, said Avle. His quiet voice was firm. It is time you came home. Supper will be served soon.

You are brave, grandfather, when a man’s back is turned, said Uraz. As he rose to his feet, he drew a long dagger from his boot. He searched for fear on Avle’s face but found instead a burning stare.

And you should learn some manners.

Avle’s staff flicked down, striking Uraz across his wrist and the dagger fell, ringing on the paving stones. The staff whipped up once more and struck Uraz on the side of the head. The younger man’s eyes rolled back, and he fell senseless to the paving stones.

Avle shook his head and prodded Uraz in the boot with his staff.

He must learn to duck. Let’s go home! We’re late for supper, and your mother’s voice will be loud.

Sorry, Remle! said Erki, as he hugged her. He picked up his gear, said good night to his friends and ran to catch up with Avle, who was already walking away. Erki’s friends looked down at the still form of Uraz, lying surrounded by Remle and her friends, before they too slipped off into the growing dusk.

As her own friends darted away home, Remle knelt and peered into her uncle’s face. She felt anxious, not about Uraz’s health, but about his mood when he awakened, which he soon did. Rising to his feet, he shook off Remle’s attempts to support him as he staggered up the street. Remle followed him.

I’ll teach that gray head a lesson, mumbled Uraz as he struggled to make his legs work. I’ll stretch him out cold for his final sleep.

Remle glanced up in the darkening evening, trying to see Uraz’s face and shuddering at his evil mood.

And that Erki! I can’t believe you go around with him. Next time, I’ll take care of him too!

Remle just nodded; she was too afraid to disagree.

Chapter II: Fishing With Pava

Erki woke up early several mornings later. He yanked his clothes on and ran down to the kitchen. Cook had not even built up the fire in the stove yet. In fact, he was outside in the dooryard, picking some of the late squash in the kitchen garden.

Opening a cupboard, Erki found the heel of a two or three day old loaf and a chunk of cheese not too speckled with green mold. He wrapped them in a piece of cloth, stuffed them into his knapsack and crept out the other door into the side yard where the fruit trees grew. He plucked several nespra fruit and an odd apricot or two from the fruit laden branches and put them in his pockets. Pausing by a small cabinet built against the outside kitchen wall, he opened its weather-grayed door and pulled out his beloved fishing gear. Up he leaped on to a bench, bowed in the middle and bitten by long years, pushing himself to the top of the door yard wall. Over the wall he scrambled and down he dropped into the dank alleyway on the other side; he followed it as it wound northward, overshadowed by the tall, steep roofed townhouses above. A huge orange cat burst out from behind a pile of rubbish, its yowls echoing from the alleyway walls. Erki jumped backward and almost stepped on a monstrous black rat, which snapped its yellow teeth at him. The cat ran, still yowling, up the alleyway with Erki hurrying not far behind, shuddering in disgust at the sight of the rat.

Erki knew his route well, for he had traveled it dozens upon dozens of times, both alone and with companions. This path, like a dank tunnel, led to at least a dozen destinations.

That damp morning he was headed for Princess Darta’s Bridge, where it arched over the central canal of the Oldenburg. The fish were plentiful there: lazy carp, darting trout, and ponderous catfish, and yes, plump frogs swam there. The truth was that Erki was going to see Pava, an odd friend who always haunted Princess Darta’s Bridge like a ghost doomed to tread its rough bricks forever.

After crawling over several more walls and prowling through an orchard of gnarled nespra trees, Erki arrived at the Lane of the Dancing Dwindi, still quiet in the early morning light, and followed it to where it climbed over Princess Darta’s Bridge. At the top of the bridge’s worn span, Erki leaned over the southern curb and called down into the shadowed, splashing water rushing below.

Hoy, friend! Let’s fish!

Who are you calling to, Erki? asked a familiar voice behind him.

Erki whirled around to see a dark haired, broad-shouldered boy about his own age of fourteen standing close enough to touch him.

"Why you, of course, Pava! How did you do that?

Do what?

Climb up here and get so close, so fast without my seeing you?

"I thought myself here, Erki."

"What does that mean, you thought yourself here?"

You wouldn’t understand. It’s too difficult to explain.

Pava brought out a fishing rod of his own from nowhere, stabbed a worm on its hook and cast it over the bridge curb and down into the canal below. Erki just shook his head. Pava never answered any questions about his almost magical ability to appear out of nowhere or to have a needed object at hand, when there was no place he could have been hiding it.

Did you bring food, Erki?

Yes. And he brought out the bread, cheese, and fruit he had put in his sack. Pava stared at it, a hungry glint in his eyes, so Erki handed everything to him. Pava didn’t eat all of the food, just most of it.

I always forget how much I miss eating, said Pava as he wiped his hands on his ragged shirt, which never seemed to get more worn out or dirtier than it always was. Cheese tastes so wonderful! I love the smoky flavor of this kind.

Don’t you have anything else to eat but what I bring you or what you catch?

I don’t need to, but I love to eat.

"How can you not need to eat?"

I shall tell you much one day, my friend, but not today.

Erki just shook his head again as he cast his own line into the gurgling water below. The sun soon climbed above the high roofs of the surrounding houses and began to heat the moist air, pleasantly at first then furnace-like, yet the pair kept at it until there was a heap of silver-mailed fish between the two of them. Other fishermen had joined them in ones and twos, though they were having less luck. One grizzle-bearded fisherman peered at the boys’ untidy pile of fish, his eyes shiny with admiration.

If you lads are plannin’ on eatin’ or sellin’ your catch, you’d best put’em in a bucket of water. They’ll spoil fast in this heat.

Don’t worry, good grayfather, replied Pava. My friend and I are getting ready to grill them now, and you and anyone else who wants can have a bite to eat! Where nothing had been before, a square brazier stood, hot with glowing coals. Pava began to clean and arrange the fish over the coals. They were soon sizzling and filling the air with a toothsome smell. Erki flipped the fish over with a forked stick. As the fish browned, Pava seasoned them from a small pouch he had brought out from somewhere. A baker’s boy brought several loaves of bread and a crock of butter. Soon, there were even a couple of urns of chilled cider sitting atop the curb with ladles and mugs so that the diners could wash down their feast of grilled fish and buttered bread. To Erki’s astonishment, their catch of fish fed the dozens of folk now crowding the bridge.

When the sun hung straight overhead, Pava and Erki escaped to the muddy, moss splotched shade beneath the bridge. They perched on a narrow ledge of stone, much scarred by winter’s grinding teeth when the canal froze hard. Erki pulled his boots and stockings off—Pava had no boots, much less stockings—and they cooled their hot feet in the green-tinted water.

Pava, where do you live?

I’ve always lived here, under this bridge.

What happened to your parents? You weren’t born under this bridge!

No, I wasn’t born here. I don’t remember any parents.

Why don’t you leave here? You could work for someone in the market and have a roof over your head. Maybe you could even work for my father.

No, I’m not allowed to leave this bridge.

Erki heard his friend’s words, his disbelief forcing him into asking more questions.

Who would make you live under a bridge?

Some others and I did something very bad once.

What did you do? Everyone does bad things sometimes.

We rebelled and wouldn’t listen. Then we said we were sorry, but we were still punished—don’t feel sorry for us because we got what we deserved—and my punishment is to stay at this bridge until I’m told I can leave.

So you haven’t always lived here?

Yes, I have. I’ve lived here since before there was a Princess Darta’s Bridge, even before there was a city called the Oldenburg.

Erki was even more confused than he’d been before. Pava, though a good friend in Erki’s opinion, must like to lie or had to because he was hiding from danger or maybe he was just an orphan gone crazy from sadness or loneliness. Erki nodded as if he understood and believed every