The Wintershall Tales

That’s it!  Thanks for sticking with the tales of Fortitude and his companions.  Hope you enjoyed it!

Chris

That’s the end of Book 3 – ‘the Darkening Road’.  Tomorrow, Book 4 begins; ‘The Blacksmith’s Golden Crown’.

I’ve now added a full PDF of Book 2 for those who have come late to the Wintershall Tales. 

Book 3 gets underway tomorrow and the maps & illustrations have also been added to the key reference documents list on the right-hand side of the screen.

And that’s the end of book 2 – The God in the Mountain.

There will now be a short break before we begin Book 3 – The Darkening Road.

Book three will start in two weeks – from Thursday 8 January.

Have good Xmas all – Chris

Most common search terms today for locating the Wintershall Tales are: “Wintershall”,  “bayonnar”, and “he silenced her with a gag”

Umm, OK…

For those of you who are new to the Wintershall Tales, chapters 1-9 are now available via PDF link on the right-hand side of the screen.  Thanks Jason for all the corrections.

For those who have arrived late – I’ve just put in a PDF of chapters 1-4 under Reference Documents.

The night was bitterly cold.  The shepherd slowly worked his way along the narrow path – moving as much by feel as by the dim moonlight occasionally appearing through the broken cloud above.  He hugged the wall to his left – keeping as far from the cliff on the other side as he could.

“Agnes,” he called.  “Where are you?”

The gusting wind swept his words away in an instant, but he stopped to listen anyway.  The distant crash of surf far below was joined by the slap of tree-branches bending in the wind and rustling leaves.

“Where are you?” he cried again.  “Come out you damned animal?”

Anger and frustration gnawed at him.  His master’s prize Romney had wandered off due to inattention on his part.  He would be whipped at best or possibly even dismissed if the creature had come to any harm.

He shuffled on searching blindly in the darkness.  The village of Stowe was now a quarter mile back and its lights had long since disappeared behind the snaking bulk of the hillside above.  Another few hundred paces, he guessed.  Another few hundred paces and he would reach the seaward edge of the headland.  There was a small grassy ledge there and the remains of an ancient stone watchpost.  It was a long shot, but he hoped that the sheep might have taken shelter there under what remained of the old arched roof amid the long grass.

“Agnes!” he called again trying to keep the frustration from his voice.  “Where are you?  Come to me.”

The bulk of the land disappeared before him as he stepped around a rocky outcropping.  The sea was visible ahead as a black formless mass under a dark velvet sky.  Silhouetted faintly against the sky was the arched roof of the old shelter.  There seemed to be a faint light illuminating its underside.

The shepherd frowned into the darkness.  Who would be here at this hour and in this forsaken place?  It was far from the main road and not in a place that anyone would come to casually.  The man’s frown faded and was replaced by a mixture of suspicion and fear.  Ivon pirates frequently raided these waters – intercepting the rich merchants sailing between the Duchy of Withersea and the southern trade ports.  Smugglers were also reputed to choose places like this to land goods that were either prohibited or subject to high tariffs.

The shepherd was not a brave man, but reason told him that this was an opportunity to deflect blame for losing Agnes.  If he could report either smuggling or piracy to the company of militiamen based in the village, his lordship might overlook the loss of the sheep.

He considered this from all angles and decided that it was worth the risk.  He shifted the knife at his belt so it was more accessible then got down on all fours.  He began crawling forward, moving as slowly and carefully as he could.

He got to within a dozen paces of the shelter before he was able to see what was inside.  A man was seated with his back to the shepherd.  He wore a large dark coloured cloak and a full hat.  A hooded lantern sat beside the man.  A small amount of light emerged from a tiny slit in the hood and cast nearly imperceptible shadows that danced on the underside of the shelter roof.

The shepherd watched silently for more than five minutes but the man did nothing but remain seated – staring out to sea.  Something about the man’s cloak looked familiar, but the fasteners were not visible and he could not even make out its colour for certain in the dim light.

The shepherd considered his options.  Agnes was not here and he did not dare return to his lordship without something to atone for his lapse in duty.  He needed to know who this stranger was and what he was doing here. 

He tried to still his pounding heart as he lifted a small pebble from the ground at his feet.  He paused to direct a silent thought to Illana – praying that she might protect him this night.  He then flicked the stone out so it landed to one side of the shelter.

The stranger stood without any sign of alarm.

The shepherd tensed – readying himself to flee back into the darkness.

“Now,” the stranger called softly.  It was a man’s voice and the shepherd knew it instantly. 

The shepherd felt a moment of relief, but before he could call out, massively powerful arms seized him from behind and he was lifted effortlessly into the air.  He twisted in fearful alarm and tried to wriggle out of his captor’s grasp. In doing so, he saw what was holding him for the first time.  His scream cut off and became a whimper as utter terror took him.

The creature holding him was humanoid, but its face was the face of a demon.  A long eyeless maw with twisting tentacular tendrils formed its head.  Its body was invisible, but there were massive broad shoulders under that head. 

He whimpered and flailed – barely holding on to his humanity and sanity.

The cloaked man turned.  He spoke a single word and his hand began to emit a pearly glow.  He stepped forward and lifted his hand to the face of  the wild-eyed shepherd.  “Cynric,” he said softly and with genuine regret.  “You shouldn’t be here.  I’m sorry.  No one was to be hurt from the village.”

The shepherd began to sob at the hopelessness of his situation.  “Why?” he moaned.  “Why you?”

The man did not answer.  He simply nodded at the creature holding Cynric.

The creature’s head angled down and one of its sinuous hands wrapped around the shepherd’s skull.  The shepherd felt its mind punch effortlessly into his.  In an instant it had seized his memories, thoughts and feelings.  Just as it sensed everything of the shepherd’s mind, he was able to see its mind in turn.  It was utterly alien and without any human compunction or compassion. The sheer power of that mind and its inhumanity snapped the shepherd’s mind in an instant.  Sanity and consciousness were taken from him and he let out one despairing moan before collapsing twitching and grunting.  The creature casually flicked the shepherd’s body over the edge of the rocky headland and it disappeared silently into the darkness below.

The man watched this with a mixture of fear and rapture.  “Does he or anyone else know anything, honoured servant of our master?”

The creature indicated that the man’s secret was still safe.

“Do I give the signal then?”

The creature indicated assent.  Its business was concluded here and its presence was a risk to this operation.  A line of light appeared behind it – reaching up from the ground to a point just above its head.  It stepped back and, as it did, its form somehow flattened and foreshortened.  It then slid into the light and disappeared.

The man bowed reverently.  He then set about doing his master’s bidding.  He dismissed the magical light from his hand and returned to the hooded lantern.  He carried it over to the edge of the cliff and proceeded to give the complex set of signals he knew from memory.