The Crystal Curse
By Leroy Dumont
Copyright 2009 Anthony Dias Souza
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-4523-2911-6
Other Books by Leroy Dumont
Bitch of Balar
Demon Horde
End of Forever
Keeper of the Seal
Reprisal
Sweet Revenge
Talons of the Gods
The Bladesman
Prologue
Calista resembled a monolithic ship adrift at the center of the turbulent Sagried Sea. The nine thousand foot Mount Fenne rose at the northern extreme of the oblong island like a gigantic prow counterbalanced by the three thousand foot Mount Gart at its southern end. The island had only a few miles of accessible coastline along its northwestern shore with the balance being sheer, insurmountable cliffs. Low rolling hills graced its western half, stretching from the dense northern forests to the stark sandstone face of Mount Gart. Its eastern midsection was a flat fertile plain nourished by the network of streams flowing from the snowcapped Mount Fenne. The climate was temperate but the often-clouded skies were given to gentle rains that turned into torrential downpours in the early months of spring.
Three distinguishable ethnic groups occupied the island. The indigenous Zedag were fishermen who laid claim to the navigable shore at the northwestern end of Calista, putting out to sea to harvest its coastal waters. Still, they never ventured far from the island and rarely saw single mast boats from the continent a hundred miles west. They were darker than the rest of the inhabitants and apparently indigenous to the Calista. To the northeast, the Grenal and Ludrin were lighter in texture and distantly related to each other. They were descendents of the first immigrants with only a vague recollection from whence their ancestors came. Both groups were uncultured in manner and were led by hereditary shoba, although the Ludrin were more sophisticated than the cruder Grenal. The Ludrin were craftsmen who domesticated the goats of Mount Fenne and now managed sizeable herds. In contrast, the Grenal thrived on hunting, living primarily on the wild boar roaming the dense forests of their northern domain. The diet of both clans was supplemented by an occasional deer, which had been hunted almost to extinction. Venison was revered as a delicacy and only eaten by the shoba of the northern clans. The Ludrin who occupied the less dense forest to the northeast thrived primarily on their goats.
The Klaran and the Montig were the most recent arrivals on Calista. Although similar in stature and complexion, they had descended from different ethnic strains. Both groups were the remnants of a civilization forced into the sea when the larger island they occupied succumbed to a reawakened volcano that ultimately destroyed it. The two clans were fairer and more educated than the rest of the island's inhabitants. They had a written language they adapted to the spoken tongue of the Ludrin and Grenal. The latter became the lingua franca of Calista for when the Klarans and Montigs arrived, they were outnumbered by the resident clans. Only traces of their original language remained in the form of isolated words added to the spoken Ludrin-Grenal.
The Klarans were the first to arrive. They brought a few sheep with them that over the two intervening centuries burgeoned into extensive flocks. Settling at the western end of the island, the Klarans grazed their animals on the lush grass flourishing in its gentle hills.
The Montigs took to the eastern side of Calista, occupying its broad flat plain and cultivating its native barley and oats, together with a coarse wheat they brought from their former homeland.
Except for the Zedag who maintained thatched huts along the shoreline, the northern clans lived in roughly hewn timber longhouses. The Grenal in the extreme northwest mined the base of Mount Fenne, extracting primarily tin, zinc and copper ore to barter with Klaran and Montig. The Ludrin traded hides and cheese, and served as craftsmen, bartering elegant tables, chairs and other wares for Klaran wool and Montig grain.
Both the Klarans and Montigs constructed modest castles of sandstone blocks that served as the centerpiece of their walled enclaves. Their isolated townships were governed by an elite group of nobles descended from original settlers. These intermarried within their own, holding themselves aloof from the other inhabitants who they regarded as barbarians, while the commoners of their lot had taken Ludrin or Grenal wives. Both were feudal societies where all land was the property of presiding earls. The House of Thax ruled Klaran and House of Eldren ruled Montig, and both were at odds.
In the generation past, Klaran laid siege to Montig. Many on both sides died in the encounter before Klaran withdrew its forces. Neither clan would forget or forgive. Their confrontation evolved from a dispute of boundaries. The Klaran sheep encroached on the plain claimed by the Montig, destroying a part of their farms. Montig reacted by slaughtering the animals. After several armed clashes, Klaran attacked Montig. Their abortive war ended in a fragile truce mediated by the Ludrin shoba that set new boundaries between the two antagonistic clans.
Goaded by Fastian his ambitious brother, Lord Holgar Vedal, earl of Klaran, perpetuated the hostilities. His deceased father, Barthon Vedal, aspired to rule Calista and transform the island into a single domain under his command. He bestowed upon himself the pompous title: Guardian of Calista, Lord of the Land.
Fastian Vedal sought to fulfill the dream of his father by conquering Montig and enthroning himself as its earl. He began to raise a private army and Geral Macave, first minister of Montig, was arming the farmers in response to the growing threat to his domain. Although maintaining their fragile truce, both clans were bracing for war.
Chapter 1
Tamas Lorang drew back a step and lowered his right hand, resting the tip of his wooden practice sword on the straw covered ground. "I yield," he panted. "You have the better of me." Dropping his metal plated wooden shield, he wiped his perspiring brow with his freed forearm.
"You give up too easily," Dagar Redan laughed.
Tamas pulled off his bronze helmet and tossed it to the attending courtier. "We have been at it the better part of the morning," he grumbled, squatting to recover his breath. "You have more stamina."
"From purer living," Dagar chided. "You spend too much time carousing. The late hours you keep drain your vitality."
Tamas dropped his practice sword and arose. "I stand admonished," he sighed, dipping his head.
"I doubt that," Dagar scoffed, placing his arm about his companion's shoulders. "Come, I'll magnanimously share a flagon of ale with my vanquished foe."
"A large one," Tamas added as they left the stabling area. "I have worked up a powerful thirst."
Both young men were inseparable friends, although Dagar was the elder by two years. They were reared in the castle of Lord Vado Redan, earl of Montig. Dagar was the nephew of the childless earl and heir apparent. As such, he served as commander of the palace guard. However, he was reluctant to assume command of more than the brigade delegated with the menial task of escorting Morat Pligan, the minister of trade for the populous clan. Tamas, a distant cousin, was his second in command and grudgingly assumed Dagar's chores.
Tamas Lorang was rebellious. He loathed the formalities of court and preferred to associate with the common members of the palace guard. Although a capable warrior, Tamas was given to mild excesses. He was satisfied spending his time with a cask of ale and an accommodating wench.
The pair crossed the castle grounds to the commoner's entrance at the rear of the kitchen. When they entered, the kitchen master turned and halfheartedly bowed. "May I serve you, sires?" Fernet Gandel asked.
Tamas drew up a nearby stool and sat. "Ale," he said before Dagar responded.
The kitchen master spun about and shooed a young chore woman on her way. "Two flagons of ale and hurry," he ordered before turning to address the two noblemen. "I could serve your ale in the grand hall, sires," he suggested, wishing to have them leave his small domain. Although serving in the castle for over twenty years, Gandel felt uncomfortable in the presence of nobility, always fearful of rendering an offense.
Dagar looked at his companion but Tamas shook his head.
"I'm not about to move," Tamas murmured.
"Serve the ale here," Dagar said to Gandel.
The kitchen master mustered a thin smile and lowered his head. "As you command, sire."
The scenario was typical of the relationship between the two young noblemen. Dagar was indecisive, rarely rendering an opinion but deferring to Tamas. For the most part, the latter took charge of their brigade and issued orders as if carrying out Dagar's commands.
Although a capable warrior, Dagar seemed unwilling to lead. He would procrastinate interminably much to the chagrin of the impatient and impetuous Tamas. In private, Tamas would berate him. "You have a sound mind of your own. All you need is the will to use it. You stand second in the clan, heir to the earl. What will you do when your uncle dies?" Dagar always responded with a weak smile. "The day is still a long ways off." Tamas would heave a despondent sigh. "Not that long. Your uncle is very ill. He retches when he awakens and barely can hold down his food. If you remain as you are, Macave will continue to run the realm."
Like Dagar, Lord Vado Redan seemed to have no mind of his own, leaving all matters of importance to Geral Macave, his first minister. Unable to produce an heir, the earl of Montig compensated by pandering to his sexual appetite and placing the blame on Tera Fandor, his childless wife. His impotence was common knowledge, for his many mistresses never became pregnant and were engaged only in short-lived affairs with the earl.
To the visible relief of the kitchen master, Dagar and Tamas finished their ale and exited, taking to the stairs to seek out their quarters on the uppermost floor.
The castle of Montig was a modestly simple stone structure, rising three stories above the large walled village surrounding it. Narrow slits for windows appeared at intervals along the four sides of the edifice and an external set of six stone steps led upward to the main door utilized by the nobility. The ground floor held the kitchen and the quarters of the serving staff, and a deeply dug basement was used to keep the castle stores. A grand hall and an array of storage closets for the sixty plus nobles residing at the castle comprised the second floor. Residential quarters occupied the third and top floor. A flat roof with a chest high wall served as the castle's parapet.
Resting on the sofa after a leisurely bath, Dagar Redan frowned across at his companion who slouched in an oversized chair. "Pligan is leaving tomorrow for Grenal. We will have to pull the fat bastard along in a goat cart."
Tamas grimaced. "It took eight days the last time. Longer, if the bastard had to walk."
"He'd die from the effort," Dagar muttered.
"He would," Tamas agreed, squirming to strike a more comfortable posture in his chair. "You know Valdar can't stand the bastard. The last time he called Pligan a fat sow."
Dagar acknowledged the remark with a nod. "Valdar was drunk as usual. The rogue drinks more ale than any six of his men. His bladder must hold at least a keg."
Segay Valdar, the shoba of the Grenal Clan, was a crude, burly man with boorish ways who ruled his domain like a Viking warlord, feasting on the wild boar from his forests only the Grenal would eat. Valdar covertly encouraged the feud between Klaran and Montig, profiting from the extra ore he bartered for the manufacture of weapons as the rival clans armed themselves, and from the mutton and grain he received for acting as an avenue of trade between the two feuding clans. There was no direct discourse between Klaran and Montig.
"Valdar does put away the ale," Tamas agreed. "He has to, to stomach that filthy swine."
"They roast them whole," Dagar frowned. "I'll never get used to having a carcass staring at me while I eat."
"The head of a carcass," Tamas smirked. "Valdar places it on the table just to make Pligan retch. I swear Pligan turned green when Valdar popped an eyeball out of its socket and offered it to him." He rolled his head to look at his companion. "At least, Valdar takes a fancy to you."
Dagar scowled. "Meaning?"
"Meaning that he admires your stature. I heard him tell Pligan you must have a trace of Grenal blood."
Dagar grimaced at the thought. Granted, he was taller than most of his clansmen, standing a firm six foot two with brawny shoulders and arms to match. However, he was certain of his heritage. His mother was the younger sister of Lord Vado Redan and his deceased father had been a noble of his clan who took Dagar's mother as a wife in his later years after his first wife died giving birth to a stillborn child. Dagar was pure Montig and not related to the taller, more hirsute Grenal.
"Valdar judges our clan by the likes of Pligan," Dagar said sourly. "In his eyes, we are all short and fat."
"But I am neither," Tamas countered. "He has seen the rest of our brigade. They better represent our clan."
"Not by much," Dagar grumbled. "Most of them stand short compared with the Grenal. We should select a better cut of men."
Tamas agreed with a silent nod. At five foot seven, he was more representative of the Montig. Like the Klaran, his clan was not very tall or muscular. Most were short and sinewy, growing wiry as they increased in height. Few approached six feet.
"Well?" Dagar prompted when his companion did not respond.
"Well what?" Tamas asked.
Dagar frowned. "Should we select new men for the brigade?"
Tamas first answered with a shrug. "It's your decision. Do you want new men?"
Dagar hesitated. "Do you think we need them?"
"Do as you like," Tamas sighed. "It's your brigade. You have your pick of the castle guard."
"Not if you are satisfied with those we have. I just thought some of the others would serve to impress Valdar."
"Then select them," Tamas groaned, rising from his chair. "This decision I leave up to you. I'm going to my quarters to rest. Our joust left a crick in my back." He stepped to the doorway and turned. "Sooner or later, you will have to start thinking for yourself. It's enough of a chore tending to my own mind."
Dagar scowled as his companion left. The thought would plague him throughout the night but come morning, he would leave with the same contingent of men.
Chapter 2
The single goat tethered to the two-wheel cart strained at its harness as it made its way across the plain above the Montig grain fields. It traveled behind a contingent of armed Montig clansmen with Morat Pligan perched uncomfortably on its cart. Two men followed to lend a hand when the goat faltered on the gradual inclines.
Horses were unknown on Calista and personal transit relied on carts powered by goats raised by the Ludrin. The northeastern clan hunted the animals on the northeastern slopes of Mount Fenne before the father of Nagil Dakair domesticated them and managed to raise his own private herd. Upon his father's death, the soft-spoken Dakair transformed the majority of his clan into goat tenders, grazing the animals on the upper portion of the Montig plain, below the dense forest his clan occupied. Through Morat Pligan, he negotiated a pact with Geral Macave. The Ludrin paid for the use of Montig land with goats for carts, cheese and hides.
Pressing northward, Dagar Redan halted and turned to look back at the staggered column of thirty men. "We are stretched out thin," he grumbled.
Tamas Lorang also stopped to look. "Because Pligan's cart is moving too slowly. We should fashion a new one drawn by two goats."
"Or make Pligan walk," Dagar frowned. "The bastard needs the exercise. It would help rid him of some fat."
Tamas glanced northward. "We are almost to the forest. We can tighten the column then. The Klaran never cross Montig land."
"They know better," Dagar retorted. "We meet only in the Grenal woods."
Chance encounters with the rival clan occurred when trade delegations crossed paths on visits to the Ludrin or Grenal. Neither side resorted to arms but merely traded polite insults through gritted teeth and sarcastic smiles.
"Lord Holgar has been making overtures to the Grenal," Dagar said as he and Tamas continued, veering to the northwest. "He is trying to cut off our supply of ore."
Tamas passively shrugged. "Valdar will never agree to it. Our grain keeps him in ale."
"A strong incentive," Dagar laughed. "Without his ale, Valdar would wither and die."
With a quick check of the column, Dagar focused on the approaching forest. "Five days to cross the plain," he sighed. "We are moving slower."
Tamas dismissed the remark with a flip of his hand. "Not by much. We will be at Valdar's village in eight, same as the last time."
"Slower this time," Dagar insisted.
"Are you in a hurry?" Tamas asked. "You have been complaining since we left."
"Just want to be done with this chore," Dagar replied sullenly.
"No more than I," Tamas sighed. "I hope Pligan takes his time there. I'd like to spend a few days in Grenal."
"Sopping up their ale," Dagar frowned. "Your thirst for it almost rivals Valdar's."
Slacking the pace, the two men drew together their brigade as they entered the Grenal woods. The dense spruce forest offered no more than a narrow winding trail marked by ruts left by the sledges the Grenal used to transport ore to the smelter at Montig. They followed the path from the walled compound of their clan, passing two contingents of Grenal haulers the previous day.
Nearing sunset, the brigade was approaching the clearing where the haulers usually made camp when an old woman appeared on the path. She had fallen and lay sprawled, partially hidden beneath a scraggly bush.
"What have we here?" Tamas asked, drawing to a halt.
Dagar stepped around him and knelt at the woman's side.
"Is she alive?" Tamas asked.
"Looks a bit stunned," Dagar replied, drawing his waist water flask. He removed his scarf and moistened it, dabbing the woman's brow and face.
The old woman gradually opened her eyes and looked up at him.
"Are you ill?" Dagar asked.
She gave a weak twisted smile and raised a hand to rub the back of her head. "I fell."
Dagar raised her to a sitting position and offered her a drink from his flask.
The woman took a sip and coughed, leaning against his shoulder as she gathered her wits.
"Are you Grenal?" Dagar asked.
The woman shook her head. "Ludrin."
"A far piece from your lands," Dagar noted.
Using his arm for assistance, the woman took to her feet. "I have traveled farther," she said as she tested her balance before turning loose of him. "An owl startled me when it swooped across the path. I stepped backward and fell."
"Have you your senses now?" Dagar asked.
"With your kind aid," she replied, flashing an almost toothless smile. "I can continue on my own."
When she took a shaky step, Dagar held out his hand to stop her. He drew his boot knife and went over to a tree to hack off a lower limb. He pared the branches to fashion a walking stick while Tamas watched impatiently.
"Here," Dagar said to the woman, holding out the trimmed bough. "This should steady you."
"A debt to repay," she said as she accepted the gift. The woman reached into the pocket of her soiled robe and withdrew a quartz crystal the size of a pigeon egg. "A talisman for your kindness," she said as she handed it to him.
"Are you a seer?" Dagar asked.
The woman nodded. "I am one who has sight."
Older women who served as midwives and herbalists practiced magic on Calista, and a few were deemed to possess the gift of insight and precognition. These lived apart from the others and were most prevalent amongst the Ludrin who sought the aid of the spirits they believed inhabited the material world. The kuda were especially powerful and gave life to otherwise inanimate things.
"You hold the heart of a kuda," the woman continued, tapping the hand in which he held the crystal. "It will come to you in dreams."
Dagar politely dipped his head as the woman hobbled on her way, easing herself past the other men.
"What did she give you?" Tamas asked.
Dagar held out the crystal on his open palm.
"A worthless stone," Tamas sneered. "The old hag had nothing better to her name."
"A kuda," Dagar countered, frowning at his skeptical friend.
"A stone," Tamas insisted. He was a practical man who placed no faith in the unseen. "Only the Ludrin and Grenal believe in such things. Some even carry the bones of the animals they kill."
Dagar closed his hand about the crystal and pressed it to his chest. "It has a feel to it," he said softly.
"What sort of feel?" Tamas asked.
Dagar thought for a moment then shrugged. "A difference. It has a warmth to it."
"The warmth of your hand," Tamas scoffed. "Come on, it's getting dark and we still must set camp."
Reluctantly, Dagar followed his friend. "The Ludrin place their faith in such things," he said, fingering the crystal.
"And the Grenal drink to the health of their dead," Tamas laughed. "Life is no more than what you make of it. We die like animals to feed the worms that thrive in our graves. That is the cut of it."
"There must be more," Dagar countered. "I have seen things in my dreams that have no place in life."
"The demons of a soured stomach," Tamas chided. "They are conjured by an unsettled mind. I pay no heed to such nonsense. When the body ails, the mind conjures images to express its pain."
Dagar heaved a plaintive sigh. It was pointless to argue with his friend. Tamas was a materialist to an extreme. He was resigned to his mortality and to his given station amongst the Montig. A handy wench and a pitcher of ale was enough to satisfy him.
By contrast, Dagar always felt more was required. It was the source of his insecurity. He never was sure he was accomplishing that which life demanded of him.
"The stone has a feel to it," Dagar insisted as they entered the broad clearing where the Grenal haulers normally made camp. The trees and underbrush had been cut back to make room for the more than fifty men and their sledges. The ground was trampled hard.
Tamas turned and frowned. "You stay and play with your stone. I will have the men set camp while there is still light. Pligan will want a fire to keep warm. The bastard will insist we boil him a pot of broth."
Dagar quietly nodded. As usual, his friend would tend to the brigade, issuing orders as if carrying out the will of his superior. Dagar never had a mind for such things.
Chapter 3
After a restless night, Dagar awoke when the first rays of sunlight penetrated the trees. Most of his brigade was still asleep. The three posted sentries on morning watch normally waited until Tamas gave the order to rouse the rest of the men.
Dagar nudged his friend with the toe of his boot. "Are you awake?"
After several more jabs, Tamas opened his eyes and scowled at him. "I am now," he muttered. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Most of it," Dagar replied. "The screech owls kept rousting me. The blasted birds could not hold their tongues."
Tamas sat upright and rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing as he massaged a particularly stiff muscle. "You were never bothered by them before. Why now?"
Dagar shrugged. "I slept uncommonly light. Dreams filled my night."
"What sort of dreams?" Tamas asked with little genuine interest. His friend often shared the visions he encountered in sleep, wondering if they were omens of future events. Usually, most were no more than distorted images of the things troubling his mind.
Dagar stood and stretched. "A mix of the old woman and others," he replied amidst a stifled yawn. "In one, the stone shone bright like night lightning."
"The hag and her stone," Tamas sighed. "You're making too much of it. She peddles her drivel to the Ludrin to sustain herself. The ignorant bastards give her food in exchange for her worthless charms. She probably found the stone near the mines. The Grenal dig hundreds like it and dump them on their slagheaps. The hag went there to collect a few to barter with her kin."
Tamas slowly arose and glanced about the camp. "Pligan is still sound asleep," he noted.
"Wake him and have the men hitch the cart," Dagar commanded.
Tamas turned sharply to look at him, staring blankly.
"Is something wrong?" Dagar asked.
"You gave an order," Tamas said.
"Then carry it out," Dagar scowled. "Am I not in charge of this brigade?"
His companion silently nodded. He motioned to a nearby sentry and relayed the command. "Rouse the others and prepare to get underway," he called out to the other sentries.
Tamas appeared a bit puzzled as he watched the men take to their feet and gather their gear. "Are you in a hurry to greet Valdar?"
"In a hurry to be on with the chore. Last night unsettled my mind and standing about makes it worse." He removed the crystal from his waist pouch and stared down at it. "I dreamt of a woman," he said distantly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The old hag," Tamas suggested.
Dagar shook his head. "A much younger one."
"A wench?"
"A Klaran. She wore a flowing gown and had a band with their standard above her brow. Neither of us spoke but I awoke when she held out her hand and I reached out for it."
"A Klaran wench," Tamas frowned. "Your meal last night must have soured your stomach if you dreamt of one. None are fit to be anything but a breeding sow."
Dagar glared at him. "The bias of a narrow mind. We are of the same breed, Klaran and Montig."
Tamas continued to scowl. "We are the better. The Klaran are not far removed from the Grenal. Only the Ludrin possess a hint of breeding. If you must dream, best dream of your old hag."
As they spoke, a sentry walked over. "We are ready, sire," he announced, addressing Tamas. "Minister Pligan has mounted."
"Then follow me," Dagar said before Tamas could respond. He picked up his pack and headed toward the northward path.
"You heard him," Tamas said when the sentry merely stared after Dagar.
The sentry thinly smiled and dipped his head. "As you command, sire," he said.
"As he commanded," Tamas retorted over his shoulder. "It seems Sire Dagar as decided to take charge of the brigade."
"A first for the noble commander," the sentry murmured under his breath. "I wonder what lit a fire under his arse."
Chapter 4
With long deliberate strides, Dagar Redan pressed northward at an accelerated pace. He commandeered two men to help pull the goat cart when it faltered, much to the chagrin of Morat Pligan who incessantly complained he was being jostled about. Dagar ignored the minister and pushed forward until sunset when he directed the brigade to make camp. Exhausted, he immediately fell asleep to awaken at first light.
When the sun illuminated the clearing, Dagar ordered the brigade to prepare to march onward without bothering to awaken Tamas Lorang. The commotion roused the latter and Tamas stood and stretched.
"I see we're getting underway," Tamas said, glancing about the camp.
"As soon as Pligan takes to his cart," Dagar said.
Across the camp, the minister was growling at the men, refusing to mount. Instead, he waddled over to Dagar and Tamas.
"There is no need to hurry, my lord," Pligan said sourly, addressing Dagar.
As the nephew of the earl and the heir apparent, Dagar merited the title of respect.
"I set the pace," Dagar barked, glaring at the minister. "If the cart pains your arse, you have the option to walk. Now get mounted or take to your feet."
Pligan hesitated, glancing at Tamas as if waiting for him to intercede.
"Did you hear me?" Dagar growled.
Pligan dipped his head. "I shall mount, my lord," he murmured, turning and plodding back to his cart.
"You were a bit short with him," Tamas noted. "He is a minister of the realm."
"A fat lackey with few redeeming virtues," Dagar retorted. "At least, the bastard knows his place."
After checking to see if Pligan had settled on his cart, Dagar raised his hand. "Move on!" he shouted to the brigade, taking the lead on the northward trail.
Tamas hurried to his side. "Are you possessed?" he asked sharply.
"Impatient," Dagar replied without looking at him. "It is imperative that we hurry."
"Why?"
"To be there before the Klaran. Lord Holgar is sending a special delegation to meet with Valdar."
Tamas looked puzzled. "Why haven't you mentioned it before now?"
"To stop you from hounding me," Dagar sighed. "My uncle urged me to speak on his behalf to Valdar. He called me to his quarters the morning we left."
"But that is Pligan's role."
"Not on this occasion. I will conduct the negotiations this time around."
"A distinct change of demeanor," Tamas murmured, not knowing what to make of the haze of intensity now gripping his friend's face. Dagar seemed obsessed with a sense of purpose. His voice was firm, lacking the lilt of doubt that usually shaded his words.
"How important is this special Klaran delegation?" Tamas asked.
"We have heard only rumors," Dagar replied obliquely. "Lord Holgar is seeking to have the Grenal ally with him. His brother is gathering a sizeable force at Klaran, marshalling it under his personal command. Macave believes he will attack Montig if Valdar rallies to his side."
"Then there is more to this than just trade."
"That was what Macave suggested, although he has not received confirmation from his Ludrin spies."
"A repetition of the past," Tamas sighed.
The earlier war between the clans ended when the former Klaran earl, Barthon Vedal, died in the assault on Montig. He was felled by a battle-axe and his eldest son, Holgar, withdrew, ending the siege.
When Holgar Vedal was installed at earl of Klaran, Macave sent emissaries to broker a truce. Both sides were devastated by the war and Lord Holgar readily agreed. New boundaries between the two clans were drawn through arbitration at a meeting held in Ludrin. The truce was sustained without incident for the better part of ten years, supported by the neutrality of the Ludrin and Grenal. An alliance between Lord Holgar and Segay Valdar would shatter the tenuous peace.
Tamas Lorang walked behind his friend in silence, passively staring down at the ruts left by the ore sledges. Dagar was pushing northward with an intensity that was beginning to worry him. "Are you feeling well?" he asked.
Dagar glanced back at him. "I am. Why do you ask?"
"Because it seems something has hold of your mind. This is unlike you."
Dagar shortened his strides. "I am driven," he said quietly. "There were more dreams last night."
"More?"
Dagar nodded. "I was standing in a field with Klaran shepherds and Montig farmers surrounding me, all staring silently. The Klaran woman appeared and moved toward me, placing a blade in my hand. When I looked down at it, the blade was covered with blood. Suddenly, there was an ear piercing shout and I woke up."
"Was that all there was to it?"
"Another part. A woman sat beside me and I held her hands in mine. We gazed at each other but neither of us spoke. I had a sense we knew each other beyond this life."
Tamas furrowed his brow. "Unusual to say the least," he murmured. "Was it the same wench?"
"The same one," Dagar confirmed. "She has appeared in all of my dreams yet has not spoken."
His friend shrugged. "Probably a mix of things," he suggested. "I always dream of wenches that catch my eye in passing. The mind has a way with such things."
"Not this one," Dagar said with a brisk shake of his head. "I have never seen the likes of her before. There are no Klaran women at Montig."
Tamas brushed aside the comment with a wave of the hand. "You must have fancied one," he suggested skeptically. "Don't let your dreams prey on your mind."
"The old woman said the stone would give me visions," Dagar murmured.
Tamas scowled at the statement. "You have let her twist your mind. Best rid yourself of her stone. It preys upon your imagination and wreaks havoc with your sleep."
Reaching into his waist pouch, Dagar withdrew the unpolished crystal and held it loosely in his palm. He stared at it for a moment as he walked then returned it to his pouch. "My dreams torment me, not the kuda. When I hold it, it settles my mind."
"Then take it out before you give orders," Tamas suggested. "You are pressing the men. Although they whisper, I heard them complain."
"About what?"
"The pace. Yesterday, you stopped only once to rest. It placed a strain on Pligan's goat." He glanced back at the column and the minister's cart. "Even now, the animal is being pulled along. At this pace, it will collapse."
Dagar slowly nodded and raised his hand, halting the brigade. He stepped to one side to lean against a tree. "Maybe I have pushed too hard," he conceded.
"Too hard," Tamas agreed as he squatted near his friend. "We are not on a forced march."
Dagar lowered himself to the ground. "I feel driven."
"To be in Grenal before the Klaran," Tamas suggested.
Dagar ruminated then shrugged. "That and a sense that someone awaits."
"Valdar," Tamas said.
Dagar deliberately shook his head. "The woman. Even now, I can see her face."
Tamas mildly frowned. "We are far from Klaran. Best to envision a Grenal wench. Valdar will gladly provide one if you ask. The bastard places little value on marriage. He has more than a dozen concubines and not above sharing them with his guests."
"A fact which you took advantage of," Dagar said, managing a smile. "You probably spawned a bastard or two, mixing Montig blood with Grenal."
"A distinct possibility," Tamas laughed. "In eight visits, I had my share of Grenal whores. One, I believe, was sired by Valdar himself." He quietly snickered. "I wonder if that makes me blood kin to the drunken bastard."
"It makes you a philanderer," Dagar frowned. "You never have your fill."
"Never," Tamas guffawed. "Unlike you, I choose not to remain pure. A man is given seed to sow as many fertile breaches he can plow and there is no better place than amongst the Grenal clan where wenches look forward to being spread by a Montig."
Dagar hissed a quiet sigh and took to his feet. "You are as bad as my uncle. He has had more mistresses than anyone else in the realm."
Tamas also stood. "A record number. Twenty-one so far."
"Twenty-one," Dagar repeated, silently ordering the brigade to follow as he began walking.
"By the best count," Tamas laughed. "His wife is no better. Tera Fandor dabbles with the guard."
"My aunt is a whore," Dagar retorted.
Tamas noted that Dagar again had accelerated the pace. "Best remember Pligan's goat," he said, tugging at his friend's sleeve to slow him. "You should keep a more measured pace."
Dagar reluctantly acceded and shortened his strides. "I'll rest the brigade when the sun is high. We should be at the Grenal village by dawn tomorrow. I will have Valdar provide a sledge and haulers to take Pligan back to Montig. Let the Grenal keep the cart and goat."
Tamas softly laughed. "Pligan will have a fit but it would be appropriate. The fat bastard resembles a mound of ore."
With a distant nod, Dagar pushed forward. His thoughts had returned to his dreams.
Chapter 5
On the third day following his encounter with the old woman, Hagar Dagar awoke after another restless night. He wandered over to the campfire to help himself to the pot of boiled oats his men prepared for Morat Pligan.
The minister looked up as young noble approached. "Could we march a bit slower, my lord?" he asked in a polite but strained tone.
Dagar picked up the minister's empty bowl and ladled it full of oats. "We will march at a steady pace," he replied, wiping the man's discarded spoon on his sleeve and digging into the porridge.
"Steady but measured, my lord," Pligan pleaded. "The goat is losing its legs."
"Then maybe you should walk," Dagar mumbled through a mouthful of oats.
Pligan groaned at the thought. "I believe it will last the journey, my lord. There will be ample time for it to rest when we reach Grenal. The path is reasonably level from here on."
Dagar finished his meal and dropped the spoon and bowl at the minister's feet. "I shall keep a measured pace," he promised before walking back to where Tamas Lorang was still asleep.
"Wake up," Dagar urged, nudging his friend with his boot. "Time to move on."
With a muted grunt, Tamas opened his eyes then sat upright, blinking in the stream of sunlight penetrating the trees and illuminating his face. "Your hurry is a plague on my legs," he grumbled, rubbing his calves. "My muscles are getting stiff."
"Too much leisure and too little exercise," Dagar chided. "If you collapse, I will have the men carry you."
Tamas took to his feet with a prolonged groan. He carefully studied the expression on his friend's face. "You still look a bit oppressed."
Dagar shrugged. "Much less so. I am growing accustomed to my dreams."
"Were they the same?"
"The same," Dagar confirmed with a nod. "Only the images were more distinct."
"What of the woman?"
"She was off in the distance, walking toward me. There was a host of men behind her, too far off to make out clearly. I believe they were Klaran. The woman approached and took my hand."
"Did you speak?"
Dagar slowly shook his head. "Like before, I awoke when I reached out to her. The dream recurred twice last night."
"Because your mind is obsessed with it," Tamas suggested. "You best set your thoughts on other things. After all, it's no more than a dream."
"A dream," Dagar murmured. He glanced at the trail leading north. "We should be in Grenal by noon."
"Easily by noon," Tamas agreed. "I already can taste the Grenal ale. If things go as before, we should have a couple of days to rest."
"That depends on Valdar," Dagar said. "If he hasn't heard from Klaran, we may have to stay until he does."
"For how long?"
"As long as necessary."
Tamas frowned. "That may strain his hospitality."
"And your self control," Dagar added. "On this visit, restrain yourself. Leave the Grenal wenches alone."
"Why?" Tamas demanded, visibly displeased.
"Because I'm telling you to."
"Is that an order, my lord?" Tamas asked sarcastically.
"An order if you like. I am in command of this brigade."
"I shall contain myself," Tamas sighed.
"A first," Dagar smiled. He turned to survey the camp. Pligan had mounted his cart and the brigade was ready to march. "Pick up your pack," he said to Tamas, raising his own. "Time to get underway."
Motioning his men to follow, Dagar walked briskly across the clearing with Tamas at his heels.
"You still hurry," Tamas grumbled.
"To be done with the march," Dagar said over his shoulder. "I too have thirst for Grenal ale."
"A thirst for something," Tamas muttered, maintaining the accelerated pace.
With Dagar withdrawn into his thoughts, the pair moved silently northward, arriving at the outskirts of the central Grenal village shortly before noon. The compound of Valdar was no more than a collection of forty rustic longhouses constructed of pared logs and topped with roofs of sod. Set in the midst of an expanded clearing, it was arranged in an oblong rectangle, slanting due north. Other members of the clan lived in smaller similar enclaves closer to the mines at the base of Mount Fenne. When Dagar's brigade arrived, there were several children playing amongst the buildings and a group of women gathered at a smokehouse where three men were gutting an elevated boar. The brigade drew only casual glances from the villagers who were accustomed to visitors from the southern clans.
Halting his men, Dagar waited for Pligan to dismount. "I see your goat survived the journey," he said to the minister. "I presume you are none the worse."
"I have also survived, my lord," Pligan said caustically, rubbing his rump. "The march was a bit hurried."
"A bit," Tamas agreed. He looked at Dagar and held out his hand toward the second nearest longhouse. "Shall we call upon Valdar?"
Pligan scowled. "It is customary to have me announced."
"Announce my arrival," Dagar interjected, glaring at Pligan who lowered his eyes.
With a patient sigh, Tamas strolled toward Valdar's quarters.
The act of announcing their arrival was pointless. The Grenal never stood on protocol. Pligan merely wished to impress Valdar by the gesture to emphasize his standing in the clan. Dagar had usurped the privilege.
Several minutes later, Tamas Lorang existed and hurried back to join Dagar and the minister. "The Klaran are here," he scowled.
"The Klaran!" Pligan wheezed. There was a glaze of consternation distorting his face.
Tamas nodded. "Valdar is entertaining Justa Remar, the personal aide of Lord Holgar. His brigade is camped west of here. Valdar's aide suggested we set ourselves back near the path south."
Dagar turned and gave the command, dismissing his brigade.
Pligan stood transfixed, wringing his hands. "What is Remar doing here?" he asked, staring at Tamas.
Aside from the earl's brother, Justa Remar was second to Lord Holgar. His presence at Grenal portended high level negotiations beyond the usual bartering. Clearly, Lord Holgar was seeking more than Grenal ore.
"What did you make of it?" Dagar asked Tamas.
His friend shrugged. "Not much more than the fact Remar seemed ill at ease. He deferred to Valdar when Valdar said we were welcome at Grenal."
Dagar nudged the preoccupied minister. "Come, I'm looking forward to meeting Justa Remar."
Pligan weakly nodded and followed as Dagar took the lead. They crossed to the longhouse and without hesitation, Dagar stepped through the door.
The interior of the elongated building was unpretentious. Its peaked timber roof held several tallow lamps suspended on long copper chains. Thick wool draperies partitioned off the rear of the single room and an extended table graced the barren left front wall. Segay Valdar sat behind it, flanked by Remar of Klaran and Odan Ursal, the personal aide of the Grenal shoba. An array of platters and mugs decorated the table and a few women stood along the opposite wall near smaller tables of food and drink, waiting to serve Valdar and his guest.
The Grenal shoba leaned to look past Dagar at Pligan. "I see you have lost none of your fat," he laughed. He nodded to Dagar and Tamas. "Escort your noble minister over here," Valdar beckoned. He whispered to his aide then shooed off the man before holding his hand out to the vacant chairs to his left. "We are about ready to eat. I trust your walk has worked up an appetite."
"A ravenous one," Dagar smiled, preempting Pligan. He crossed the room and skirted the table to the designated chairs. To Pligan's chagrin, he took the one closest to Valdar.
"I never had the pleasure of meeting your guest," Dagar said, leaning forward to nod to Remar.
"Justa Remar of Klaran," Valdar said, passing his hand toward the man. He turned to Remar. "This is Dagar Redan of Montig."
"Lord Dagar," Remar greeted with a polite tip of his head. "The heir to Lord Vado."
"The heir," Dagar confirmed aloofly. "I presume the earl of Klaran enjoys his health."
The exchange was meant to point out their differences in status. Remar merely was an aide to Lord Holgar while Dagar was a prospective earl.
"Lord Holgar flourishes, my lord," Remar responded, acceding to Dagar's more exalted station. "I assume you came on a matter of trade."
As the Klaran spoke, the women placed flagons of ale before the new arrivals. Dagar immediately picked up his and raised it. "Your health," he said to Valdar before taking a prolonged drink.
Valdar let out a guffaw and slapped the table. "A man after my own heart. Never let formalities interfere with a good drink."
"Never," Dagar grinned, taking another draft of ale. He gestured toward Pligan. "Formalities are the bane of those who serve. Nothing should keep a man from his ale and the hearty meal I see you are about to serve."
"Spoken true," Valdar boisterously agreed. He clapped his hands, raising his chin to the women. "Bring on the food!"
With platters of roasted pork set across the table and knives serving as the only utensils, Valdar and his guests began to eat. Like Pligan, Justa Remar grimaced at the fare, cutting thin slices of meat. He gingerly picked one up with his fingertips and nibbled on it with curled lips. By contrast, Dagar mimicked Valdar's cruder table manner, taking up a large chunk of pork in his hand and gorging his mouth, washing down the morsels with drafts of ale.
Swallowing hard, Valdar leaned close to him. "I see you gave up the reserve of the past."
"I found little advantage in it," Dagar said. "A man should be true to himself and make no pretense at being something he is not."
"The heart of a Grenal," Valdar said with a broad approving grin. He set down his knife and raised his flagon of ale. "To a warrior reborn," he said, toasting Dagar.
"A warrior amongst warriors," Dagar responded, extending the toast. "Fury and fervor lives on in the hearts of the Grenal."
"And in the new Montig," Valdar added as both men took hearty drinks.
Remar felt obliged to raise his flagon and take a sip. He felt demeaned, having to toast a member of the rival clan.
"What brings you to Grenal?" Dagar asked, leaning forward to address the Klaran.
Remar offered a thin smile. "A matter of trade," he replied obscurely.
"Trade in flesh," Valdar said, scowling at the man. "My noble guest came to offer me a bride."
"A comely wench, I trust," Dagar said, still looking at the Klaran.
Remar glared back at him. "She is Lady Nolla Vedal," he said with that low growl one uses when issuing a reprimand. Dagar referred to a Klaran noblewoman as a wench and Remar took offense.
"Lord Holgar sent her as a gesture of his respect for the Grenal," Remar continued, tipping his head to Valdar.
"Bartering for more than ore," Dagar retorted. "Does the earl now pander his kin to elicit the favor of the Grenal?"
Remar stiffened in his chair. "You render an insult, my lord," he growled. "I demand you retract your words and apologize."
Dagar looked at Valdar. "By your leave," he said, abruptly taking to his feet and placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I rise to your pleasure," he snarled, glaring down at Remar. "A Montig never apologizes for stating a fact."
Drawing a containing breath, Remar fixed his eyes on the Montig. "At another time, my lord," he said through clenched teeth. "I withdraw in deference to our host."
"I shall look forward to it," Dagar retorted, taking his seat.
Noisily clearing his throat, Justa Remar arose. "By your leave, sire," he said, bowing to Valdar. "I shall return to my camp. We may speak further after the noblemen from Montig have left Grenal."
Valdar waved the man on his way without looking up at him. He waited until Remar exited before returning to his food. "It seems you drove off my guest from Klaran," he mumbled through a mouthful.
"Will you endure the loss?" Dagar asked, showing little concern.
Bits of pork sputtered from his mouth as Valdar laughed. "I will survive the absence of the buffoon." He turned to face Dagar. "Did you come to Grenal to counter Remar?"
"In what way?" Dagar asked in turn.
"His offer of the daughter of Lord Holgar. The earl seeks to unite our clans."
"A daughter," Dagar mused. "I trust she is a comely wench."
Valdar grinned. "Most comely, though a bit small of breast. However, she has a nice rounded arse from the little I saw of her. She was drawn on a cart when they arrived. I believe she was not at her best."
"Will you accept her?" Dagar asked.
Valdar ruminated then shrugged. "My refusal would be viewed as an affront to the earl. Lord Holgar seeks more than an advantage in trade."
"A Montig disadvantage," Dagar suggested. "Like his brother, Lord Holgar has his eyes on our lands. There are rumors Klaran prepares for war."
Valdar pensively nodded. "Fastian Vedal caters to his ambition," he conceded. "An alliance with Klaran would upset the balance and I will not involve my kinsmen in your feud."
Swirling the ale in his mug, Dagar engaged his eyes. "If it came to war, on which side would you stand?"
"On neither," Valdar replied firmly. "If you engage each other, we will let you settle it amongst yourselves even if I accept a Klaran bride."
"Have I your word on it?"
"My word kept true," Valdar replied.
"I shall relay your oath to my uncle," Dagar smiled.
"Do you speak for him?"
"I do."
Valdar leaned forward to look at Pligan. "Why did you bring him?"
"To plague his arse," Dagar grinned. "If you would provide the haulers, I shall return him to Montig by sledge."
Valdar softly chuckled. "In the morning. My haulers prepare to take a load to Montig. You can put his fat carcass on a sledge. I trust you intend to remain."
"At least for another two days," Dagar confirmed. "My brigade should be well rested by then. I pressed them hard on the march north."
"How many men do you have?"
"Thirty and my second in command."
Valdar grunted. "Remar brought fifty."
"Will it be a problem?"
Valdar shook his head. "I will tolerate no war on Grenal land. Take heed of it. I will also inform Remar. If the both of you are at odds, you can settle it with a private duel but your men will stand down regardless of the outcome."
After taking a sip of ale, Valdar wiped his lips on his sleeve. "I have sent my aide to gather two hundred kinsmen to insure the peace. They should be here by now."
Dagar politely dipped his head. "My men will not raise a blade except in self defense. On this, I give you my word."
"Then see to your food," Valdar smiled. "I intend to measure your capacity for ale. The pork fat will help shield your blood and keep your wits about you. That is the secret of the Grenal."
"One I shall put to the test," Dagar laughed, raising his flagon and emptying it with a prolonged draft. He set the vessel on the table with a thump. "I stand to defend the honor of the Montig. Bring on your ale."
Chapter 6
At mid afternoon, Tamas Lorang clutched the arm of his inebriated commander as he helped Dagar negotiate his way back to the Montig camp. Morat Pligan waddled along behind the pair, softly muttering to himself.
"You drank too much ale," Tamas chided. "Another flagon and you would have been flat out on your arse."
"The Grenal way," Dagar snickered. "Valdar fell asleep in his chair."
"He passed out," Tamas frowned. "The thirsty bastard drank two flagons to your one. I swear the man is bottomless. I don't know where he stores it."
When they reached the encampment, Dagar unceremoniously plopped his rump on the ground. He teetered for a moment then dropped to his side and immediately closed his eyes.
Pligan scowled down at him. "He has lost his mind," he said disdainfully.
"Just drunk," Tamas grinned. "He did put away more than his share of ale."
Pligan glared. "I meant his challenging Remar. We did not come here to incite the Klaran. Remar will not let the affront pass. There will be repercussions."
Tamas dismissed the comments with a casual shrug. "Remar will let it pass. Valdar summoned his men to keep the peace."
"The challenge was uncalled for," Pligan persisted. "Sire Dagar insulted the daughter of Lord Holgar. The Klaran earl will hear of it."
Tamas scowled at the man. "You can report it when you return. We're sending you back in the morning."
"But the goat has not recovered," Pligan protested.
"You will be sent by sledge."
"By sledge?"
"Weren't you listening? The brigade will remain for two more days but you are leaving at dawn."
"But what of the negotiations?" Pligan hissed. "Sire Macave specifically engaged me to see to the continued neutrality of the Grenal. I believe he has not briefed Lord Dagar on the latest developments at Klaran."
"And what would those be?" Tamas asked.
The minister leaned closer and lowered his voice. "The brother of Lord Holgar is marshalling his men, drawing upon the shepherds to bolster the guard at Klaran."
"Raising an army," Tamas suggested.
Pligan nodded. "That is as Sire Macave believes. The men in arms at Klaran now number about three hundred by reliable reports. If Fastian Vedal conscripts another five hundred, he surely will march on Montig."
Tamas glanced down at the sleeping Dagar. "Do we stand ready to defend ourselves?"
"I believe so," Pligan replied. "Sire Macave is distributing arms to our commoners. They will be called to Montig if the Klaran cross the boundary. Sentries have been stationed there and Ludrin spies keep watch at Klaran. Sire Macave will be informed."
"Where do the Ludrin stand?"
"Firmly neutral." Pligan drew a short breath and sighed. "Nagil Dakair will not involve his kinsmen if the Klaran march against us."
Tamas frowned. "But he is indebted for the use of our lands."
The minister gave a hapless shrug. "Not sufficiently to resort to arms. Dakair already informed Sire Macave. He will not cooperate beyond commissioning spies to keep watch on Klaran. If Lord Holgar invades our lands, he and his kinsmen will stand aside."
"I will advise Sire Dagar," Tamas said. "He can see to Valdar."
"But that was my commission," Pligan protested. "This is a matter of great delicacy, best guided by a more experienced hand."
"Or one of higher station," Tamas retorted. "I believe Sire Dagar can best speak for the earl. Valdar regards him as an equal and from what I have seen, as somewhat of a friend."
"As a fellow sot," Pligan muttered.
"Guard your tongue!" Tamas snapped. "You are little more than a lackey at the castle. Speak ill of Sire Dagar and you will be pulling a plow in our fields."
The minister blanched and gulped. "I meant no offense, sire. I should have said Lord Dagar has shown the same propensity for ale."
"To curry favor," Tamas growled. "Valdar has little patience with the flowery words of diplomacy. His neutrality would best be insured by one he regards as his peer."
"A valid observation," Pligan said with little conviction. "If I must, I shall return to Montig."
"You have been ordered to do so," Tamas said curtly. "See to your bedding. I have other things to attend."
Pligan started to walk away.
"One more thing, minister," Tamas said, halting the man.
"Sire?"
"Take care what you report to Macave. Sire Dagar is favored by the earl."
Pligan offered a thin smile and a dip of his head. "I shall temper my report."
"Temper it well, minister," Tamas cautioned. "Your station will depend on it."
With a deeper bow, Pligan walked away. Sire Macave will hear of this, he murmured. Dagar does not yet command the realm.
Chapter 7
Tamas Lorang sat near the Montig fire, idly watching the sleeping Dagar when Odan Ursal walked into the encampment. The aide to Segay Valdar approached the pair and grinned, staring down at Dagar. "Sleeping off the ale," he suggested.
"A needed rest," Tamas said, smiling up at the man. "Should I wake him?"
"There is no need to. Segay asked me to call and inquire after your needs. Are your provisions adequate?"
Tamas shrugged. "We have sufficient water, dried meat and grain."
"But no ale," Ursal noted. "If you send a man with me, I shall provide a keg. There also is fresh pork for the asking and lentils for a hearty stew."
"I accept your gracious offer," Tamas said, rising. He beckoned to two men from the brigade who sat nearby. "Accompany the noble gentleman," he ordered.
When the pair responded, Ursal tipped his head. "Segay invites your commander to dine with him tomorrow. A sledge was arranged to transport Minister Pligan to Montig. The haulers will call for him at dawn."
"I shall have the sentries awaken the minister," Tamas said.
"Until tomorrow," Ursal said, responding with a polite dip of his head. "I shall see that your men are well supplied."
Tamas nodded a farewell as Ursal urged the two men to follow and walked away. He sat and returned his gaze to Dagar whose eyelids were fluttering, indicating the onset of a dream.
A few moments later, Dagar appeared to startle, opening his eyes and abruptly sitting up.
"Have you recovered your senses?" Tamas asked when his friend blankly stared about the camp, affirming his surroundings.
Dagar responded with a protracted grunt.
"Still obsessed with your dreams," Tamas suggested.
"They plague me," Dagar confirmed. "The cut of them remains the same."
Withdrawing the crystal from his pouch, Dagar rolled it between his fingers as Tamas passively watched. Noting his friend's gaze, he held the crystal in his open palm. "It gives me solace," he said, drawing a calming breath.
"It has given you more," Tamas frowned.
"Like what?"
"A measure of confidence and a haunting dream. It seems the old hag bestowed both a blessing and a curse with her stone."