When I first conceptualized D’Aprile’s Fools, it was meant to be a very short story with some quirky characters with what I would describe as “less than adequate” affectations of the Strain.  They were meant to be the bottom of the barrel.  But long-time readers and lurkers will know that I tend to get wholly invested with my stories—even the April Fools ones.  What started as a quirky idea took over and ended up becoming an epic story about fighting for what’s right, even against bitter odds.  The characters ended up being multidimensional and rich, and they took over for me for close to a year.  The story also gave me an opportunity to explore a country that up until then was home mostly to the villains in the grand tapestry of Tellest.

Turning Fools into Gold

When all the heroes have been taken, fools will have to do.

Frederic D’Aprile is a warrior on a mission to right the wrongs of his country. When he finds himself outnumbered by the Ebon Hammer, he knows he needs help from unlikely places.

He isn’t expecting the mad wizard, Bixby Alladocious, to live up to his name.

Together, warrior and wizard set out on a quest to bring together new heroes battling with self-doubt and fears in a world that doesn’t take kindly to people with strange blessings like the Strain. But, united, they believe they can finally stand up to the tyranny taking hold in the nation of Blacklehn.

D’Aprile’s Fools embodies the future of Tellest.  It shows off a diverse cast of characters with interesting powers—even if they aren’t fully aware of how to use them—and explores relationships in heartfelt ways.  It shows how people become friends and families, how we can all be compassionate for one another, and how we all have to look toward a better and brighter future.  D’Aprile’s Fools is a story that is close to my heart, and it’s one that opens up a brand new avenue of talespinning for me.  I can’t wait to continue the story of these great heroes, but for now, I want you enjoy their introductions.  Because it’s currently running on its launch promotion, for $3 off, there’s no better time than now to pick up the next big thing from Tellest.  Check out the new Tellest novel, D’Aprile’s Fools, on Amazon today.

The post D’Aprile’s Fools has released! appeared first on Tellest.

Let’s start out with this piece.  This is the first time that I put anything together like this, because I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted the cover to look like.  I knew that I wanted the characters in a tavern, and that I wanted them kind of posed at a table.  I’m not great at sketching things myself, but I found a tool online that is spectacular for posing (and great help for artists that want their work to be anatomically correct).  JustSketchMe is great, and it let me set up a roundabout way of what I wanted the D’Aprile’s Fools cover to look like for Leo.

After that, Leo went to work making it his own.  My original sketch was far too wide for a front cover, but it gave the better understanding of where we were trying to go for it, and it allowed Leo to compose things better.  Six characters is a lot for a front cover, but he made it look easy.

Leo didn’t only fit them in, he made them pop.  This is the most characters we’ve ever featured on the front cover, even considering things like Tales of Tellest.  And each of them looks like part of the crew.  From left to right, we have Bixby Alladocious, Caira, Frederic D’Aprile, Leonell, Nellie and Mireya.

But of course a full book cover has a back, so we had Leo keep working…

If you click on this cover, you’ll see a full sized version of it.  We had to tweak things a little bit because our other two characters on the back weren’t fully centered, so this isn’t the final version.  Leo worked on it a bit more though, and you’ll see that final version here:

Assuming the book is out now, all you have to do to pick it up is click this link.  Check out D’Aprile’s Fools on Amazon today!

The post Cover Art – D’Aprile’s Fools appeared first on Tellest.

A Tale by Michael DeAngelo

Chapter Four: Bixby and the Bird

Cold rain pelted the ground, leaving the grass slick.  The unsteady terrain meant no difference to the man skulking through the trees though.  He took his time, studying his surroundings, listening to the wind that hummed through the valley.

A flash of lightning exploded overhead, and Bixby wondered if it was a natural phenomenon, or if it was produced by the majestic creature that he pursued over the past several days.  A screech filled the air, and he grinned, knowing that his task was soon to be completed.

Bixby had seen the creature aloft in the air, had been in awe of its massive wingspan, and even a little intimidated by its massive talons—the idea of being torn to ribbons by its claws seeming like as unappealing a death as he could think of.  But he had never seen it in the light of day, or at any proximity where he could truly appreciate it in all its glory.

He reached into the pocket of his britches and retrieved the old piece of parchment.

Bixby didn’t travel with any sort of bag, or belongings other than what he wore on his back—a sleeveless red cloak that sat upon a yellow tunic, and a pair of grey britches accounted for his most of his garb.  There was always the chance that he’d end up parting with whatever extra equipment he brought along, and he preferred to keep his things nice and tidy with that in mind.  In all honesty, he was surprised that he’d managed to keep hold of the parchment for as long as he had.

As he unfurled the notice, he looked at the artist’s rendition of the creature.  The thunderbird illustrated upon the page appeared powerful and menacing, as though it had made conscious measures to cause havoc in that part of the northern Grand Falmere.  More likely, he thought, the hunters it had attacked entered too close to its roost,  They hadn’t quite earned the bolt of lightning that struck them—and were lucky to survive it—but neither did the thunderbird deserve the mark of death that the lodge had placed upon it, or so Bixby thought.

Still, if people were frightened of the thing, it was only a matter of time before someone found their way to it.  One way or another, if Bixby didn’t involve himself, someone or something was going to die.  There was one other option that he knew of: he could drive the majestic avian away.  There were other cliffs to roost upon, and the mage knew that the thunderbird would have a better chance of survival if it left the northern reaches of the great forest.

Another ribbon of lightning streaked across the darkened sky then.  Bixby could only give thanks that the lightning didn’t strike the ground nearby.  The clouds above were natural, the moon shrouded behind an impenetrable veil.  In those moments, the lightning served to help Bixby locate his bounty.  His slow approach served him well, for all he needed was a single golden feather to prove he had ensured the beast would cause no further harm to the hunters.

As the rain came down, Bixby stepped out of the dense copse of trees, and looked upon the nearest cliff face.  Water poured down the side of it, and he knew that the ascent would be dangerous.  But he had more than a few tricks up his sleeves after so many years of demonstrating his magical acuity.  As another shriek from the thunderbird rang out above, the mad wizard held his hand against the cliffside.

Though it was cold, Bixby summoned an even frostier magic to bind his hands to the stone.  Ice formed around his fingers, locking them into place upon the jagged rise.  When he kicked into the cliff face, he summoned icy steppingstones as well, falling upon them to rest his weary arms after he had climbed dozens of feet into the air.

His hair was soaked then, and water cast into his eyes.  It was enough to have him struggle to see how much farther he had to scramble.  There may have been a better way to get to the top, but the man couldn’t dismiss the rush he felt by the danger.  Where most arcanists might have formed an icy staircase to climb to the top, there was something enriching about the more primal experience.  The sensation of his heart beating rapidly in his chest, his heavy, quiet breaths steadying him—it was all a sign that he couldn’t take any shortcuts to his destiny.

As he crested the top of the cliff, he could see the massive avian considerably closer than he had in previous encounters.  The thunderbird’s back was to him, and it didn’t see him, but every now and then it flapped its wings, buffeting the air and sending a loud noise reverberating through the air that Bixby had earlier thought was the deep resonation of thunder.

Another bolt of lightning roared across the sky, and the intruding arcanist could see that it coincided with the mighty bird’s upraised wings.  It shifted again, squawking into the night, and he was surprised that anybody would have had a hard time finding its roost with all the racket it made throughout all hours of the night.

Swinging his feet over the ledge, Bixby crawled until he arrived on solid, safe ground.  The thunderbird’s roost was not so far away then, and the courageous wizard could see the branches that had been used to fashion its nest.

When it crooned into the sky once more, the man making his approach hesitated.  He could see the oval shape just beside the monstrous bird, and he realized that the creature had reason to be so ornery.  If it had something to protect, it would certainly keep any dangers away from the cliffs.

Coercing it to leave might have been a little trickier than he had initially hoped, Bixby thought.

As the thought pulsed in his mind, the thunderbird took flight, flapping its mighty wings enough to have the thick and sturdy branches in the nest rumbling.  It flew high into the air, disappearing into the clouds, another cry leaving its beak.

Bixby was afforded an even better look at the nest then, and of the single egg within it.  Cracked open as it was, it didn’t appear that the thunderbird was hatching the egg anymore.  But as Bixby drew closer to it, he understood that it was not caring for any offspring either.  Something had happened to the egg or the chick, he supposed, and he realized that all of the screeches he heard were likely ones of distress.

Still, she couldn’t stay.  Her grief was likely to cause even greater destruction.

Bixby held out his hand then.  He could only hope that his plan for her would spare her life, and that she would find a new home.

A flame seemed to flicker in the air just in front of his hand, and he focused on it for several moments.  Then, a beam of light emerged from the air behind the flame, almost as though it were tearing through the flesh of his palm.  As the beam converged on the summoned fire, it turned into a blazing ray that landed upon the wooden nest.

The scent of the fire carried on the wind at once, and Bixby squared his jaw at the sight of the eggshell succumbing to the tremendous heat.  He knew that there was some comfort that the thunderbird likely felt in returning to its nest, looking for its offspring though it would never be present.

Another screech permeated the air, that one emerging with a different tone.  Gone was the frantic cry of a mother’s mourning.  Instead, it was one punctuated with rage.

The thunderbird emerged from the clouds, carrying strands of mist upon the edges of its wings as though it dove down toward the earth with the full might of the heavens upon its back.

Bixby saw her at once and knew that there was no turning back.  She had seen all that she had worked to create wrought to ashes, and the man who lit the spark still stood beside the pyre.  With a loud shriek piercing through the rumble of thunder, the mammoth bird lifted her wings.

The arcanist knew what that meant.

Diving out of the way before he even heard the crackle of lightning, Bixby avoided a deadly blast of energy as it struck the ground where he had been standing.  The power of that lightning bolt was tremendous, and he knew that it was reinforced by her fury.  The cliff that he had climbed to arrive there crumbled under the force of the thunderbird’s magic call.

With the blaze roaring behind him, Bixby knew that there was nowhere safe to run to.  That didn’t matter, however.  He anticipated such a thing in provoking a mighty thunderbird.  Besides, it was just as likely that in trying to escape, the creature would hunt him down.

No, standing atop the cliff beside its burning roost was precisely where Bixby meant to be.

The thunderbird screeched again and flapped its wings to stay aloft.  But it didn’t summon up another bolt of lightning as quickly as Bixby had thought it would if it could produce the energy on its own.  It was more likely, he surmised then, that the creature had to wait to let some sort of atmospheric material accumulate before it could harness the power.

Bixby had no such limitations.

Even as the thunderbird flapped its wings harder and faster, buffeting him and trying to send him tumbling from the cliff, he clung on.  The arcanist reached into the aether, summoning a trio of small violet orbs that danced around his open hand, which he aimed toward the monstrous bird.  At once, he sent out the trio of magic missiles, each finding their mark in the sky.  One by one they popped against the creature’s body, zapping it as it hovered where it was, in defiance of the man below.  Small, uncontrollable convulsions had its body tensing, but it remained aloft, only sinking a foot or two in the air before a mighty beat of its wings brought it back to a more comfortable height.

Bixby’s projectiles were no match for the thunderbird’s lightning, but they hurt just enough to incense the creature further.  It brought its wings back—not up, the wizard below noticed—and dove forward.

It was just as he had hoped.

With its talons leading, the thunderbird was sure to dice Bixby to ribbons if it could reach him.  He stood where he was though, just as defiant as the beast had been.  His muscles tensed, and he prepared to move at the opportune moment.  The bird moved on quicker than he expected, despite its size, but Bixby had many years of experience by then.  He was familiar with the need to adjust the timing of his spells and knew that instantaneous alterations were a necessity in dealing with the legendary beasts of Tellest.

One of those shifts was needed then, as the thunderbird swooped in.

And Bixby was eager to oblige.

An explosion detonated at the wizard’s feet, sending him flying into the air.  The burst of flame and flying rocks caught the thunderbird off guard, and it fluttered just a moment, trying to make sense of the new danger unfolding.  It lost sight of the arcanist, who was high above it then.  Bixby completed his arc and began falling back toward the ground.

But he had managed his spell with impeccable timing, and gusts of otherworldly wind that he summoned from one direction or the other kept his intended trajectory intact.

He landed upon the mighty creature without fail, his heft catching the thunderbird off its guard.  Together, both careened toward the valley below, with Bixby clutching onto a handful of feathers upon the bird’s back.

The legendary beast refused to crash into the ground below.  With a mighty flapping of its wings, it rose, further into the air then.  Before long, Bixby could see the low clouds closer than ever, though they were still hundreds if not thousands of feet away.  Still, he was farther than ever from the ground as well, and he couldn’t ignore the trepidations that shook his heart in his chest.

Bixby let a smile stretch his lips, excited by the prospect of being one of the very few people who had ever flown into the air with such power beneath him.  There were other ways to touch the sky, he knew, but perhaps none were so incredible as riding on the back of a mighty thunderbird, even if it was under duress.

After everything that happened to the gigantic bird, he couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for it.  There was a very real possibility that the thunderbird would leave and never come back.

Before it did though, Bixby remembered the task at hand.  He needed something to show for his merits, after all.  With all his might, he clutched a golden feather in hand, and ripped it from the thunderbird’s back.

An incensed screech rang out as he tucked the feather into his belt.

Preoccupied as he was, he didn’t notice at first as the static in the atmosphere began to accumulate again.  By the time he looked up, and noticed the bird’s wings rise, he realized it was too late to do anything except brace himself.

The bolt of lightning broke into several ribbons of electricity, striking the thunderbird at multiple parts upon its back—including the fellow who tried to ride it like a stallion.

Bixby’s body convulsed then, far greater than the pitiful missiles that he had shot at the creature caused.  His jaw clenched and he growled through the pain, but he lost hold of his exotic, wild mount.  As the thunderbird rose into the air once more, Bixby could no longer maintain his position upon its back.

Despite all his preparation, he knew there were still sure to be some uncertainties.  Still, he didn’t expect the creature to strike itself with lightning.

He rolled from the giant bird, the wind rushing against his face and summoning tears to his eyes before it dragged them away.  Bixby watched as the ground seemed to race up toward him.  The arcanist struggled against the refusal of his limbs, trying to bring his arm to bear.  If he could just move a little quicker, he could survive the latest fall.

He couldn’t unclench his fingers, the bolt of lightning leaving his hand gnarled and charred, he realized.  There shouldn’t have even been a chance for him to have survived the electric blast, let alone to chance surviving a deadly fall from such a height.

Knowing that there was little he could do to fight against gravity, he closed his eyes, letting the last moments of his life fill him with what peace he could find.

Bixby Alladocious barreled toward the ground, and he readied himself for death.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

The post D’Aprile’s Fools – Fourth Chapter appeared first on Tellest.

A Tale by Michael DeAngelo

Chapter Three: The Mad Wizard

The pair of men arrived at the outskirts of town just as the last sliver of daylight could be seen above the tall trees of the Grand Falmere.  His legs sore from being left unused for so long, Frederic leaned upon his knees to get the blood flowing.  As tired as his limbs were, he was certain that the horse’s body was spent.  He thought he detected a bit of urgency in the merchant’s pace, but he hadn’t expected that they would arrive in Galden before nightfall.

Frederic realized that Olafur caught him looking his way, as though he was trying to size up why he had hurried them along.

“If there were members of the Ebon Hammer behind us, I’d sooner see old Buster a little tired than see us beset upon,” the merchant offered up.

Shrugging, Frederic nodded in understanding, but he held out his hands a moment later to placate the driver.  “If they didn’t find me at Ellingsor, I suspect they swung around east to look for me closer to the coast.  Even if they truly suspected I was here, I don’t think they would risk the ire of the elves of the Grand Falmere.”

“You might be right,” Olafur said.  “And they’d be right to be cautious.  The great forest has become a bit of a sanctuary to those elves who still live in Blacklehn.  Fowler and his ilk believe they’ve chased all the elves out of the country, but they’ve just sent them all to one place.  He might have caused himself even greater trouble going forward.”

Frederic tapped his knees and shook his head.  “I can only hope that the elves understand that not all of us feel the same way our mad king does.”

“It seems we’ve had our fair share of those over the last century, doesn’t it?” the merchant said, thinking of the history of their country, and the dangers they endured because of it.

Before long, the wagon rolled a bit further up the hill and around a copse of trees, and the travelers spotted the tall tower that marked the border of the town.

“That’s it,” Olafur announced.  “We’re here.”

Frederic stared at the spire for some time and realized that it wasn’t quite what he thought at first.  “That’s not a wizard tower,” he surmised, with almost a childlike innocence.

“Just a mundane watchtower,” the merchant confirmed.  “They store some winter grains in there from what I understand, though they once used it to protect them from invading barbarians when the town was first established long ago.  Being able to see all the way down the hill was a great way to get word to their hunters to return to the town and prepare for an attack.  They say that Galden has never been sieged.”

“But they no longer use the tower for guarding the town?”

Olafur shrugged.  “More often than not, these days they rely on the elves for their support.  Several of their allies can commune with animals, and they fly their birds into the sky.  There’s no better vantage than hundreds of feet up in the air, wouldn’t you think?”

“That might be so,” Frederic agreed.  “But the Ebon Hammer are no mere barbarians or bandits.  If they were coming for Galden, I fear they would arrive here undetected.”

“Perhaps one or two would be able to sneak in under the cover of darkness, or in the surrounding forest, but they would be taking on a great risk of their own.  Others have said that there are elves among the Grand Falmere who can speak to the trees.”

“I’ve heard the same of all of them,” Frederic said.  He paused but finally nodded in agreement.  “Perhaps if Galden is under the protection of the elves, they would be alright after all.”

“If only all of us could have such a safeguard,” Olafur mused.

The two of them crested the hill and passed by the old watchtower.  As Frederic looked up to its pinnacle, he saw torchlight fill the windows.  Whether it was to warn others of the town of the arrival of new visitors, or a planned point at night to have it serve as some sort of beacon, the warrior below could not be sure.  Regardless, there were people in the tower, and they kept up with some sort of patrol, it seemed.  Even without the assistance of the forest elves, the townsfolk could react to danger on their own.

As the visitors rolled on, they came to the border of the town, which had been marked by a long stretch of a post and rail fence.  It seemed to go on in either direction—north or south—and curled around to the west.  There were no gates fashioned at the road, and Frederic hummed to himself as the wagon rolled toward the two fence end points.

“You look as though you’re casting judgment upon this quaint little town,” Olafur teased.

Frederic lifted his hands as if to admit to such an assessment.  “Dark days have made a cynic of me.  I tend to look at everything with an eye on practicality, and not necessarily in the way that other people have considered them.  With the world the way it is, I would have long ago turned these fences into a sturdy palisade, with a gate sealing off the road.  Maybe a perch above the gates on the other side for a few archers to stand watch.”  He pointed up above the empty space on the road, as though he were visualizing the completed project.

“It seems like a way to make a humble town feel like a prison,” Olafur said.  Gone was his optimistic tone, as though a hint of the mirth that he’d shared with his companion had been infected by Frederic’s darker experiences.

The warrior shook his head.  “You’re right.  I have my own way of doing things, and they shouldn’t be considered as anyone else’s standards.  Sometimes doing things to add security ends up making people feel a bit less safe.  Besides, a palisade is only strong against a foolish or incompetent foe.  A well-placed fire could bring the whole thing down, and if an enemy had siege weapons, it would fall before long.”

Olafur chortled.  “My friend, if that is what passes as optimism for you, I fear you may be too far gone to rehabilitate.”

Although he knew the statement was made in jest, Frederic couldn’t help but feel that a spark of truth was there as well.  After everything he’d endured over the past several years, he felt as though the parts of him that saw the good in people had diminished.  Where he had once seen Blacklehn as a colorful, vibrant place, he now only saw things in shades of grey.  Perhaps it was just the gloom of winter, he reflected.  If he was able to make amends for what the Ebon Hammer had done, there was a chance that he would see those faded colors begin to return.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t realize how quickly they had arrived at the town proper.  While most of the houses were constructed closer to the forest’s edge, the common buildings were the ones that a visitor to Galden would happen upon first.  A pair of them had their backs to the recent arrivals, but several more awaited on the opposite side of those first buildings.  A ring of trodden dirt surrounded a circle of yellowed grass in the center of the town, and as Olafur urged Buster around it, he pointed toward the buildings and explained what they were.

“They’ve got a few of the trade buildings around here, just to ensure any visitors that do come through are wanting to spend their coin early on in their stay.  Blacksmith, leatherworker, carpenter, tailor.  This big building over here to our right is the town hall.”  He drew the wagon to a stop, on the other side of the ringed pathway, letting the horse take a much-deserved rest.  “I’ve got the stables over this way,” he pointed toward the south, “but if you head north along the other road, you’ll reach the inn.  I suppose they thought better than to let ale and politics mix.”

Frederic realized that the merchant was tossing him from the cart, and he quickly gathered up his sword, and climbed down from the seat.  He realized just how tired his legs were when he nearly wobbled from his feet, and he leaned upon the wagon for a few moments.  Frederic was afforded a few more when Olafur stood and turned about, rummaging through his goods.

The merchant found what he was looking for and presented it as though he’d found some great treasure then.  It was just an oblong carrot though, and Frederic surmised it was not a special treat for the trader, but his tired beast of burden.

Olafur confirmed his suspicion then, when he climbed off the wagon—struggling a little bit more than Frederic had, it seemed—and hobbled toward the horse.  “Here you go, Buster,” he said, offering up the carrot.

The horse was hungry indeed and gobbled up the carrot in only a few bites.  It nudged the merchant then, almost as though it was offering forgiveness for a hard ride to the town.

“When you get to the inn, make sure to order me an ale too.  I have been talking on the road a fair deal longer than usual.  I could certainly use a drink to wet my whistle.”

“I can do that for you,” Frederic replied.  “I’ll see you there shortly.”

As the warrior walked away, passing between the buildings on the northern side of town, he listened to the merchant as he talked to the horse.

“There’s a good old lad.  What do you think?  Are you ready to turn in for the night?”

Frederic didn’t look back over his shoulder until he rounded the road as it curled west.  He imagined that Buster was glad to be relieved of the burden of the cart, even though the bit and bridle kept him somewhat restricted.  It didn’t seem to impair his eating though, and when he was done devouring the carrot, Olafur hurried along, hopping back into the driver’s seat with some effort.

The warrior found that when he’d lost sight of his unexpected companion, he felt a sting of loneliness that he was not anticipating.  The town was cold and dark, though Olafur had insisted the people were not.  But with winter upon Blacklehn, nobody wished to spend their time out in the cold.

Luckily, it seemed their mirth carried out into the streets anyway, for the closer Frederic drew to the tavern, the more boisterous it seemed the residents of the town became.

Before long, he stood at the entrance to the inn, watching as a quiet breeze sent the sign outside the building swaying back and forth.  Illuminated by a nearby oil lamp post, the building’s name and its emblem were on full display.

“The Hardy Oak,” Frederic muttered.  He nodded, as though he’d deemed the name worthy, and then he pushed the door open and hurried inside.

Though the music and lively energy inside never faltered, it was immediately apparent that a stranger to the town had arrived.  Perhaps it was the sword at his hip, or perhaps it was the layer of grime that still stained his skin and his armor from where he had slathered mud upon his face and body, but he swore he heard whispers about his sudden presence.

Frederic cared not for the whispers, but he knew that he must have been a strange sight indeed, and that showing up in the winter, no less, was stranger yet.  He waved to the onlookers, hoping that they would find him a little less threatening or dodgy if they knew he could be kind despite his weathered appearance.

He took up a spot at the bar a few moments later that were clear of the other patrons.  He knew that he would have another guest beside him soon, but he also didn’t want to leave anyone feeling any more uncomfortable than necessary.

Frederic waited to see if he could gather the innkeeper’s attention.  He was a sturdy fellow who shaved his head bald, but he had a thick mustache that had a few strands of grey among the darker chestnut hairs.  The Hardy Oak was likely his establishment, and it was possible that the name of the place was shared with its owner.  When the innkeeper looked toward the road-weary warrior, Frederic lifted two fingers to indicate he wanted a pair of drinks.  The owner of the establishment arched his eyebrow, likely wondering if he was good for it.

“Just to be clear,” the warrior said, “I have a friend who is joining me here who will pay for these.”

The old barkeep folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back, as though he was seeing how much the stranger could test his patience.  “Is that so?  And who is your friend?”

“I traveled here with the merchant, Olafur,” Frederic explained.  “He’s just taking his horse to the stables and he’ll be meeting me here afterward.”

“Ollie is here?” the innkeeper asked, his demeanor changed at once.  “I thought we had seen the last of him before the winter.”  He chuckled to himself and bent low to fetch two pewter tankards from under the counter.  “You come bearing good news, so I’ll take that as a sign.”

He took the two tankards in one hand, and approached the rear of the inn then, where a trio of barrels sat on their sides on a stand.  They looked no worse for wear, and Frederic was forced to reconsider his stance on the naming of the building.  Perhaps the tavern built those tremendous barrels out of the trunk of a mighty tree, he mused.

A few moments later, the innkeeper arrived back at the bar, sliding the two filled tankards in front of the new arrival.

“I take it you’re not going to be leaving as soon as you’ve arrived here,” the bartender said.  “Are you looking to rent a room?”

“That depends on whether or not you have a room to spare,” Frederic said.  “And it depends on what you’re willing to accept as fair barter; I have no money.”

The innkeeper flashed a crooked grin.  “You mean Ollie isn’t paying well for your protection?”

“Well, I think it was more an act of charity that he picked me up on the way here.  I was at a farmhouse just west of Tiltham Forest and he spotted me walking.  Something makes me think he knew he didn’t need a guard for his trip.”  Frederic took a sip of his ale then, and looked down upon it, appreciative of the unfamiliar flavor.

“Well, if you’re planning on staying for a while, there’s certain to be a few tasks that you could help out with.  Walther, our blacksmith, might need help with some of his tools, or even gathering wood.  We’ve got a couple of farmers, Jacob and Cornelius, who might need help with their livestock.  Or if you’re any good with a bow, I’m sure Sigor, our tanner would pay well for any wild game you could find in the woods.  But, uh, you’ll probably want to talk to our headman, Merewin, before you do any of that.  We’re friendly with the elves of the Grand Falmere, but it still might not be a great idea to hunt on lands that might be sacred to them.”

“There’s a good deal of work to be found here,” Frederic said.

“Aye,” the innkeeper said.  “If you know where to look and you can be friendly with the folk.  Probably wouldn’t hurt to clean yourself up before you go about introducing yourself, since you look like the wrong end of a happy pig,” he teased.

“Well with honeyed words like that to convince me, how could I refuse?”

The innkeeper couldn’t keep himself from laughing at that, and he leaned under the counter once more, that time producing an iron key.

“We’ll say the first night is on the house.  I can have a water basin brought to your room, but your armor looks like it’s seen better days, and there might be a better way to tidy that up.”  He paused to look at the patrons of the tavern, searching for one that he’d served one earlier that could have offered some help.  When he found the one that he was looking for, he pointed her out.  “Vaeri is a river elf from the forest who comes in here from time to time.  Her people have an affinity with water—not just in the rivers and streams, but in the very air.  I’d wager she could wash your armor in a few moments where a scrub would take an hour.  You can tell her I’ll pay her, and all you’ve got to do is help me swap out the next barrel that is going to empty with a full one from the back.”

“I think that’s a suitable bargain,” Frederic said.  “Before I meet her over there, I wanted to see if I could ask you something.”

“You can ask me whatever you want.  That’s half the reason we get strangers that come into this town.”

Frederic took another gulp of his drink then, and looked about, as though he was trying to identify one of the other patrons who was in the Hardy Oak that night.  “I’ve heard tell of someone who either lives in Galden, or close by.  I thought maybe that tower was his when we were rolling into town.  He’s eccentric, and has some acuity with magic, and—”

“Oh, you mean the mad wizard?” the bartender asked.  “Yeah, we know him.  He’s a bit of an odd duck, for certain.  But he’s good to us so we try to treat him in kind.  He has a room here that I keep available to him whenever he needs it, though he does happen to wander off for what seems like days before he comes back.  I could ask one of our other regulars to see if they could check to see if he’s in.”

“I don’t want to be any more bother than I already have been,” the warrior stated.  “You’ve already been too kind to me.”

“Nonsense,” the innkeeper said, waving off the other man’s humility.  “Besides, it looks like you’ll have your opportunity to talk about getting your armor cleaned up sooner than we thought.”

“Another drink!” the elven maiden cried as she approached the bar again.  “How much do I owe you, Roald?” she asked.

As she drew closer, Frederic looked her over.  From the other side of the room, she looked like any other elven female he had come across, though admittedly there weren’t many.  She had raven-black hair, angular features and a petite frame.  But she also had a certain weariness in her eyes, even though it was hidden under a veneer of almost manic excitement.  She wore a wild smile, as though nothing could take away a lasting exuberance.  When she spoke, it was with a bristly voice unlike any Frederic had heard, least of all from an elf.

“Vaeri, we have a new visitor to the town.  This is…” the bartender paused, realizing that he’d never handled any of the pleasantries.  “My apologies.  You’ve already got my name from this lovely lass.  I’m Roald.  But I never asked you for yours.”

“Frederic,” the warrior said, raising his ale tankard to salute his new companions.

“It’s a pleasure,” the barkeep said.  “Vaeri, he’s going to be staying in town for a while, and I thought we could make sure he and his armor were cleaned up a bit.”

She leaned forward and hunched over, allowing the stranger to see a little further down her tunic.  “And what’s in it for me?” she teased.

“Well for one,” Roald said, “your drink.  Now don’t cause any trouble for him.  He just got here; do you understand?”  He looked to Frederic and shook his head.  “I may have got you more than you bargained for.  Vaeri can come on a little strong, but she’s harmless.  I’ll go find out about your mad wizard.”  He tapped his knuckles on the table to punctuate his promise to start the search.

As the bartender moved along, Vaeri inched closer to Frederic along her side of the bar.  “So, are you looking to have your armor cleaned up while you’re still in it, or can we get it off of you?”

Frederic excelled at many things but understanding an elf maiden’s advances were not one of them.  “I’m not wearing any other clothes but these.”

“I’m not sure which answer I just received,” she teased.

That extra little tantalization was just enough for the warrior to realize the maiden was flirting with him.

“Oh, I… That is, I’m married,” he said, showing the ring on his finger.

“I don’t see a wife anywhere nearby.”

Before Frederic could offer up a firmer protest, someone else’s voice rang out.  “Vaeri?” the man spoke.

The maiden turned around, seeing the newly arrived merchant a dozen feet away, amongst all the boisterous folk in the tavern.

“Olafur?” she said, excitement abound in her voice.

He hobbled toward her then, and as he drew near, she spread her arms out wide.  She wrapped them around his shoulders while he enclosed her in an embrace that started around her waist.  As they came together, Olafur’s lips brushed against hers, and she closed her stormy eyes for what seemed like the first time since Frederic had seen her.  Vaeri seemed to float there for a second, and when they parted, it seemed as though the merchant had tamed her somewhat.

“I didn’t think you were coming back before the winter ended,” she said.

“I wasn’t planning on it myself,” Olafur said.  “But I thought to myself, ‘Galden is a fine enough place to wait out the cold of the rest of the year’.”  He leaned to the side, seeing the warrior, who arched his eyebrow in curiosity.  “I wasn’t interrupting anything now, was I?”

Frederic held up his hand for a moment, trying to ensure that nothing inappropriate was happening.  He reached forth and grabbed the second tankard then, holding it out to Olafur, who gleefully accepted it.

“We were just seeing if Vaeri could help me clean up my armor since I’ve got it all caked in mud and grime from the road.”  Still feeling tinges of the awkward discomfort in the air, he took a long sip of his drink.

The elf maiden danced her finger down Olafur’s chest then.  “We were trying to come to an arrangement about whether or not I could get him out of those clothes.”

Frederic nearly choked on his ale then, and he sat forward to make sure it wouldn’t stain his armor further, or spill upon the floor.

“Were you now?” Olafur wondered.

“Of course, now that I know you’re in town…” she dallied.

“We’ll have to see if Roald has an extra room available,” the merchant insisted.  “I don’t know if my leg will carry me into the grove on so cold a night.”

“I could keep you warm,” she said.

“I’m certain you could,” he teased right back.  “If you don’t mind, love, I’d have a talk with Frederic.  He’s new here, after all, and he might need to hear a few more details of the town that would help him while he’s visiting.”

She nodded, understanding that she was being dismissed.  “Come find me when you’re done,” she said.

He indicated his understanding of that notion with another kiss before she walked away.  He flashed his eyebrows at his newest companion once the two of them remained at that side of the bar.

“So, you met Vaeri,” Olafur said.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to do anything out of sorts,” Frederic assured.

The merchant chortled and shook his head.  “You may not have, but I would have been surprised if she was on her best behavior.”  He turned his head, seeing that the maiden had gone back to her spot in the tavern, flirting with other townsfolk then instead.  “Vaeri is a nice enough lass—well, lass sounds a bit belittling.  She’s seen much of this world, I’m certain.  She’s older than anyone in this tavern, and she’s learned to live life to its fullest, we’ll say.  Most days its hard to keep her satisfied with the typical ins and outs.  Life moves a little too slow in the forest, so she comes here to quicken the pace.”

“That sounds a little unusual for an elf,” the warrior replied.

“Perhaps,” Olafur mused.  “But your unexpected predicament leads us to a new dilemma for you.  If Vaeri is meant to help you with your armor, we’ll have to find you a spare set of clothes.  Galden’s tailor, Osti, might even have something in your size.”

“Yes, but as I’m having a hard time explaining to people this day, I don’t have any money,” Frederic maintained.

“Don’t worry about that,” Olafur said.  “You’ll find that the people of this town are reasonable when it comes to barter.  In fact, I was hoping you might be able to help me with a few things in the morning.  I don’t know if you noticed it, but I shuffle more than walk, and doing that with a crate full of goods makes unloading my cart even more difficult.”

“Of course,” Frederic agreed.  “It’s the least I could do for your help getting here.  We were never going to experience any banditry on our way to Galden, so moving a few crates is fair trade.”

“No, I meant that I’d like to handle getting you some new clothes while you’re here in the town,” Olafur clarified.  “You can’t wear your armor until it falls apart on you, and if it’s like any other room in this place, the one Roald gave you has a chest in it that matches your door’s key.”

“It’s strange seeing a place with such hospitality,” Frederic said.  “I’ve seen Blacklehn’s darkest parts, and before today, you would have convinced me that they were all snuffing out the light.”

Olafur clapped him on the shoulder.  “Don’t be caught off guard when the façade wears off.  Every place has its shadows.  Everyone has their demons.”

“There he is!” they heard then, as the innkeeper returned to the counter.  “How have you been Olafur?  I didn’t think we’d be seeing you before the end of the year.”

The merchant extended his arm and shook his friend’s hand.  “It was a last-minute decision.  To be honest, with the cold rolling in, all I could think of were the hot springs at the western rise.  The chill has been taking a toll on me.”

“Funny you should mention it,” Roald said.  “I was just looking for the mad wizard for this one you found.  Walther said the last time he saw him, he was heading to the springs himself.  But that was a day ago, it seems.”

“He’s always wandering off on his little escapades,” Olafur said.  “You might not see him for another day or so,” he added, looking to the new arrival.

“Does he always do this?” Frederic wondered.  “Even though Galden seems a fine place, the rest of Blacklehn still surrounds it, and there’s all sorts of manner to run into trouble there.”

The bartender and the merchant shared a laugh then.

“If there’s one thing the man you’re looking for doesn’t care about, it’s trouble,” Olafur insisted.

“There’s a good chance he’s not the one finding it,” Roald added.  “He’s making it.”

Frederic blew out an anxious sigh as he considered his reasons for racing to Galden.  “I know he’s a wizard, but it’s still possible something could go wrong out there.  Olafur, he’s the only one I’ve heard about who can give me the answers that I need.”

“What’s that all about?” Roald asked.

The merchant looked at his new companion and bobbed his head.  “There’s some personal issues that we’re trying to work out.  But the good news is that you don’t have to worry about anything, Frederic.  If there’s one person who you’ll never have to worry about, it’s Bixby Alladocious.”

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Four

The post D’Aprile’s Fools – Third Chapter appeared first on Tellest.

A Tale by Michael DeAngelo

Chapter Two: Refuge in Revenge

His muscles ached, a painful reminder of the hours he’d spent in his hole, avoiding the scrutiny of the Ebon Hammer.  Frederic hadn’t encountered any more of the mercenaries while he rested behind the bridge’s pier, but he reminded himself repeatedly that he couldn’t scurry away until the darkness had enveloped the town.

The mud was caked onto his skin then, leeching away any warmth he might have been able to muster.  He dared not rake it off though—even after he entered Tiltham Forest—just in case prying eyes in marvelous helmets were pointed in his direction.  With luck, any of the heat his body gave off then would be construed as a squirrel or a rabbit, and he’d be ignored.

Frederic didn’t care that he’d entered the woods hours before.  The Ebon Hammer was relentless, so he had to be as well.

Tiltham Forest was the smallest major forest in Blacklehn, and, surrounded by the Grand Falmere Forest—the largest woodland not only in the country, but indeed, the continent of Draconis as well—it would have seemed a miniscule speck on a map of the region.  But for a single man, traversing at night, it was a dangerous trek and one that would not soon be finished.

The exhausted warrior traveled light, only the clothes on his back and his sword at his side.  In days where he could have better planned the treacherous journey through Tiltham he would have prepared a bow and a quiver of arrows, with hopes that he could acquire a meal during the trip.  But on that dreary winter evening, he knew that even had he risked bringing a bow, he would never have felt confident that his cooking fire wouldn’t be seen, even miles into the forest.  There were eyes everywhere, he reminded himself.

Still, he would have to break from his seclusion eventually.  There were no guarantees of a derelict house at his next destination, and he would have to start his search for others who were willing to help him in his quest to bring down members of the Ebon Hammer.  And, if he was lucky, he could find someone willing to feed him in exchange for manual labor.

On the other side of Tiltham, a small town called Galden stood.  They were known for being hunters as well, though they didn’t prey on people.  They were good people from what Frederic heard of them, and they mostly kept to themselves.

That might not have served him well, as he knew he needed those who had been gifted by the Strain, or at least their sympathizers, if he hoped to stand a chance against the mercenaries who had caused such trouble for his country.

Galden sat closer to Grand Falmere than it did to Tiltham, and Frederic knew that even when he emerged from the forest, there would be a long leg of his journey left to complete.  As the morning light began to shine through the canopy behind him, he thought to forage for whatever food he could find that wouldn’t require a cooking fire.

Frederic happened upon mushrooms and berries more plentifully, but he didn’t feel confident enough in harvesting them—his memories of his mother’s warnings about toxic plants were distant things then, but he couldn’t help but consider how foolish he would have felt lying in the woods dying of a poisoned mushroom when he was planning on overtaking a villainous mercenary guild.

When he happened upon a persimmon tree, though, he had no reservations.  Those fruits that clung onto the branches through the early winter were wrinkled and ripe, and he knocked a few of the ones most easy to reach down with his sword.

It was as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.  Frederic lingered underneath the tree, looking for the rougher-skinned fruits.  He ate his fill, finding that the sweet meal sated his thirst, as though he was drinking a juicy nectar that tasted of honey.  He arrived at the right time, it seemed, for he had heard that persimmons could leave one’s mouth feeling dry as though they’d been chewing on cotton plants.  And while he had found a few puddles here and there along his travels, he thought better than to drink from any of them, knowing that another hard day’s journey would have him close to Galden.

Frederic clung to hope that he could reach the town without incident.  As close as it was to the Grand Falmere Forest, it was rumored that it was under the protection of the elves of Blacklehn—the one race that the humans were unable to drive from the land that they claimed was theirs.  Thus far, the Ebon Hammer hadn’t brought war to the elves of the eastern forest.

It seemed they knew that they would be outmatched.

A tenuous agreement kept the humans and the elves apart in most cases, but everyone in Blacklehn knew that the time would surely come when one side or the other would break the unspoken treaty.  The elves knew that those with magic were persecuted, and who else but the elves would be in danger next once all those humans with the Strain were rounded up and locked away in some old forgotten dungeon?  And Frederic was certain that the Ebon Hammer was not about to wait for such a time that the elves would make the first move.

At any time, it seemed, another war was bound to begin on Blacklehn’s soil.

They could have their war, the road-weary warrior thought to himself, if it meant he could save those who were trying to escape persecution and suffering.  The elves of the east had sat back while the dwarves, the elves of the west, and the minotaur were driven from the country.

Frederic bowed his head then, remembering that his people were the ones who were truly responsible, and that even those whose ideals differed from the king’s had done nothing to stand against the tyranny.  It was folly to pray that the elves would offer reprisal or sanctuary to the humans who wouldn’t stand for their neighbors or their kin.  And in time, when no one was left to subjugate for their magic, there was a certainty that there would be other reasons to ostracize and torment people.

He knew he was one man, but Frederic swore he would play his part to end the upheaval and eliminate the Ebon Hammer.

Before long, the warrior passed beyond the edges of Tiltham Forest.  The trees were far behind him then, and a long stretch of farmland separated him from the bare fields ahead.  The crops had grown and were never harvested, leaving pale yellow stems and stalks, many of which had been picked apart by birds and rodents.  Frederic wondered if the farmer and their family had succumbed to a natural passing in the harsh country, or if they were in fact one of the few people who demonstrated signs of the Strain.  Had the mercenaries invaded the farm and ripped them from their lives to rot the rest of their life away in some prison?

The traveler shook his head.  It was all mere conjecture, he knew.  He needed something to help him pass the time, and it seemed sullen musings were all that he could conjure.

It was a lucky thing that he was able to wrench himself from his thoughts then, for he heard the distant whinny of a horse.  He dropped to his knee, hiding in the scattered, bare crops, hoping that whoever was making their way about the surrounding fields hadn’t seen him.  Before the farmer had died or left—of their own volition or otherwise—they had set to work creating a partition of stone around their livelihood.  Hunched low as he was, Frederic couldn’t see much beyond the wall, but he heard the approach of the horse and the wagon it pulled.  Slowly, the warrior crept toward the wall, and dared a peek over the barrier.

A sole traveler journeyed forth, an uncovered wagon behind him.  Considering all the dangers in eastern Blacklehn, Frederic couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the sight of someone who risked so much with no one at his side.  The fellow did not wear the look of a fighter, but that of a merchant.

And with only one town between the farmhouse and the Grand Falmere Forest, Frederic knew that they were heading to the same place.

Blowing out an anxious sigh, the hidden man rose from his spot, and hopped over the retaining wall.  He walked along the flatter stretches of the field alongside the farmland, his eyes set to the west as though he hadn’t heard the approach of the merchant or his horse.  He had hoped that his sudden presence wouldn’t panic the traveler and believed that appearing to walk away from him might help him.

As the merchant drew near, he realized that he rode along a more beaten path.  The trader rolled forth, until the two men traveled parallel to one another.  The merchant looked over at the man and offered a wave, but he kept moving on ahead, his horse easily helping him to outpace the lone warrior.

“Ho!” Frederic called out.  He hadn’t expected to make an appeal to the stranger, but as the wagon slowed, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from exercising a light jog to reach him.  “I take it you’re heading to Galden?” he asked when he arrived beside the wagon, keeping a gap between them to alleviate any anxiety that the merchant might have had of traveling alone.

“Aye, I sell my wares out that way once a fortnight or so,” the trader said.  “Are you heading there yourself?”

“That I am,” Frederic replied.  “And I’m not one to usually ask for assistance, but I could use a decent meal and a comfortable bed to sleep in more than I’d care to admit.  If we’re both traveling that way, perhaps I could offer my sword in protection to you in exchange for a quicker trip there?”

“Well there’s the thing,” the merchant said.  “A hungry warrior has a touch of a disadvantage against a well-fed one, isn’t it?  And if we’re beset upon by bandits on the way to the town, what good will your empty belly do for me?”  He paused, watching a look of disappointment stretch across the other man’s face.  He couldn’t shield a grin, then.  “Look, mate, I’m just joking with you.  Honestly, it will be nice just to have the company.”  The fellow shifted in his spot, leaning over the seat of his wagon to reach behind him.  “Here,” he said, grabbing a handful of something from his stock.  When he turned, Frederic was still on the ground, looking as though he was waiting for a more formal invitation.  “Well come on then.  I said I’d help you get to Galden, didn’t I?  But I won’t be waiting here much longer, so you’d better make up your mind about whatever it is you’re trying to get going, alright?”

Frederic nodded, and climbed into the seat beside the merchant, who held his hand out, palm down as his new passenger arrived there.  As Frederic lifted his hands to gather up whatever the merchant bestowed upon him, he nearly dropped a handful of dried nuts.

“Black walnuts,” the merchant said.  “I’m supposed to be selling them, but to be honest, around this time of year, I end up eating most of them.  Just putting on my winter coat, I guess,” he continued with a laugh.

The fatigued warrior took a closer look at the foodstuff in his hands and tilted his head in appreciation—and in confusion.

“They’re already shelled,” he said.

“That they are,” the merchant confirmed.  The road can be a bit mundane, so on some nights, when I’m waiting to feel a bit more tired, I spend my nights cracking the things just to pass the time.  The good news is that I can sell them for a better price just because of the extra work I’ve done.”

“If you don’t eat them,” Frederic said, half-teasing when he spoke.

“If I don’t eat them,” the merchant said.  “The name’s Olafur.  No need to shake my hand, as I can see you’ve got yours full.”

With a grin on his face, he snapped the reins, urging his horse forward once more.

“I’m Frederic,” the warrior said as he munched on a few of the walnuts.  “I appreciate you lending your seat on the way to Galden.  And for sharing your food.  All I had to eat this morning were a few overripe persimmons, and I don’t think they were going to sate my appetite throughout the day.”

“Well, maybe you would have made it through the night,” Olafur suggested.  “But you wouldn’t have made it to the town before the day was done.  Even if you walked on through to morning, you’d still have half a day.  It’s a bit harsh of a trip, you see.  We’re going uphill for most of it.”

“Then it seems I owe you more thanks than I initially thought,” Frederic said.

Olafur waved his hands.  “Think nothing of it.  But I would ask you this: when you get there, what are you planning on doing?  You didn’t have the money to purchase a horse or even provisions for the trip, I’m guessing.  How were you hoping on paying for a meal when you arrived in Galden?”

“I know some people there who I’m hoping could help me get on my feet,” Frederic replied.  The statement was full of mistruths, he knew.  But for the same reason that he had hidden from the people of Ellingsor, he felt it pertinent to keep some secrets from the merchant.  “If I’m lucky, I can trade knowledge and strength for a little assistance.”

Olafur grinned once more.  “Here I thought I could put one over you again.  Even if you didn’t know anyone there, I’ve found that the people of the town have been among some of the kindest souls I’ve ever met.  Sure, they’re a little off the beaten path, but maybe that’s part of the appeal.”

Sending a sidelong glance toward the merchant, Frederic wondered if perhaps Olafur had his own reasons for avoiding the lands east of the forest.

“It is a long way from any other settlement,” the warrior said.  “With only Ellingsor on the other side of the Tiltham, and maybe Twin Rivers a ways to the southeast being the closest, it’s got to be hard making a living selling your wares in this closed off little place of Blacklehn.”

“Well, there are a few places that you might not be aware of,” Olafur replied with a laugh.  “They aren’t on any map, for sure.  But you’re right to some extent.  Galden isn’t close to anywhere else by any means.  And you might think that it’s one of my last stops as I make my rounds, but in truth, it’s my first.  I come here to trade, yes, and sure enough, the humans of the town will give me a few copper or silver for the food that I have—they’ve always been very hospitable—but I don’t come here with selling first in mind.  I come here to buy.”

Frederic arched his eyebrow then.  “What does Galden make that’s worth coming all this way?”

Olafur raised his finger as though he knew that to answer would potentially cause problems for one of them.  “That’s the kind of question that can get someone in trouble.  But you did say that you were hoping to sell your sword in exchange for the ride to the town, yes?”

“If we run into any bandits or other dangers between here and Galden, I’ll fight for you,” Frederic agreed.  “You have my word.”

“Then at least for a little while, you work for me.  And there’s a certain code of workmanship between merchants and their sellswords that says we have to tell each other the truth to help each other avoid the dangers in this world.”

Frederic shifted in his seat, a little worried by what the trader might be suggesting.

“You’ll not run into any bandits between here and the town,” the merchant insisted.  “They know better than to risk any run-ins with the elves.  Now, other dangers…”  He waved his hand, trying to keep to the point.  “The people of Galden have made decent enough friends of the elves, and that’s who I come to see.  Over the years, I trade for their goods, since you won’t see many other vendors in Blacklehn who would risk elven wares in their stock.”

“And for good reason,” Frederic said, though it was clear he spoke without judgment.  “Elven goods are considered contraband throughout the country.”

“As are all things not crafted by human hands,” Olafur said.  “How long before Fowler and his men start raiding towns looking for items that were forged by a magic touch and smashing them to pieces?”

Frederic didn’t realize it, but he breathed a sigh of relief.  The idea of the man beside him sharing the same insights allowed him to let down his guard a bit, and he tossed another small cluster of walnuts into his mouth for good measure.

“Anyway, it’s that contraband that keeps me fed for the year,” Olafur went on.  “You’d be surprised about how many people have come to enjoy the workmanship of elven wares, or even their food, though I’ll admit, I haven’t much of a taste for it.

“So yes,” the merchant continued.  “Galden is my first stop, and it’s a lucrative one indeed.  And it doesn’t hurt that the Grand Falmere Forest just feels a little warmer this time of year.  I’ll probably be relaxing here for a while as the winter frosts come in.  If, that is, you don’t secure the last room in town.”

“If it comes to that, you can certainly have whatever the inn offers,” Frederic assured.  “While I was hoping for hospitality as well, I don’t have the means or the time to spend most of the winter there.”

“Ah, well then it sounds as though perhaps you’re not for wanting to get help getting to your feet.  Perhaps there’s something else you’re getting at?”

Frederic looked at the trader, and something compelled him to speak the truth.

“I’ve been on the run from the Ebon Hammer,” he admitted.  “They tracked me to Ellingsor, but I eluded them.  They’re—”

“A pox on this land,” Olafur said, nodding his head.  “It used to be that the people of Blacklehn could trust in one another to make it through the harshest nights.  Now, it seems, our neighbors and brothers are a risk to us, and could bring danger down all around us just by parting their lips and letting a secret slip through.  You should not have told me they were after you.  I’ll keep what needs hiding, but I could just have easily been a clandestine member of the mercenaries who were after you.”

“If you were, I wouldn’t be making it off this wagon alive,” Frederic suggested.  “These walnuts would be poisoned, and you’d have the type of gear that would have me roped up before I even leapt to the ground.”

“It’s a sad situation we find ourselves in when we have to second-guess every passerby who we meet.  I’m sorry that you’re being hunted, but I assure you, the people of Galden will put you up and ensure your safety.  We don’t even have to tell them about your gifts if you don’t want.  As I said, your secret is safe with me.”

Frederic bowed his head and looked to his hands.  Free of food, they looked so empty.  “I don’t have a power,” he insisted.  “My wife though…”

Olafur looked to his new companion, as though the weight of Frederic’s burden was now shared with him.  “You aren’t going to Galden to hide.”

“As I hear it, there’s someone in town whose had run-ins with the Ebon Hammer before and lived to tell the tale.  If anyone can help me determine where my wife was taken, it’s him.”

“It won’t be easy,” Olafur said.  “Finding an Ebon Hammer hideout is one thing.  Trying to overpower them is another altogether.  My wagon was searched by a pair of them about a month back, and the one had a spear that looked as though it had just touched a storm cloud.”

Frederic intertwined his fingers, leaning forward as he considered the difficult task ahead of him.  “They employ all sorts of magical relics because they know they need an edge against people with powers.  And they typically have the odds in their favor, because they find scared citizens who are off on their own.  If only the people of Blacklehn would rise up as one, perhaps we’d…”

“It’s too late,” the merchant replied.  “Fowler’s army drove a wedge across the country, and the Ebon Hammer are picking the weeds that remain.  Everyone is too afraid to do anything except hide and run for refuge.  I’ve heard a lot of people in the eastern side of the country began fleeing south for Raleigh and Cracius.”

“Perhaps that’s where the farmer went,” Frederic muttered.  “The farmhouse you picked me up in front of looked like it had been abandoned for some time.  Whoever lived there abruptly ceased their tasks.  I’d like to think they knew the Ebon Hammer was going to be scouring the countryside and they took the opportunity to flee while they could.”

Olafur looked ahead, his sight on the road ahead.  “We could all use some of that optimism in these dark days.  Whoever you’re looking for in Galden, I hope you find them.”

“So do I, Olafur,” Frederic said.  “So do I.”

Chapter One

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The post D’Aprile’s Fools – Second Chapter appeared first on Tellest.

A Tale by Michael DeAngelo

Chapter One: The Last Warrior

Water splashed over his boots as he sprinted along the creek.  The narrow body of water ran through the town at a snail’s pace there, but a tall embankment gave the man little room to adjust his stance.  It was better than trying to escape out in the open, he reminded himself, even if they were new boots.

Frederic could hear the shouting up above.  Mercenaries had come to Ellingsor—one of the largest and best equipped bunch he had ever seen.  As he scampered along the levee, he considered that they could likely give Blacklehn’s very army a real fight.  But Frederic knew that it would never come to that, for the military structure had empowered the mercenaries so in the first place.  He was certain that if he’d gone back to look at who had served alongside the ranks of the army, he would find more than a few who had joined up with the Ebon Hammer.

Blacklehn wasn’t known for its tolerance—not anymore, and not for quite some time.  Frederic still remembered the fury with which the minotaurs of the country had been driven away, some with sharp warnings, others with sharper blades.  Those who had thought to cling onto the life they had known were driven back, and though Frederic had not seen it firsthand, he’d heard of the storming of Dragontooth Coast as though it was some heroic thing, and not the massacre that it truly should have been revealed to be.

He pictured the minotaurs forced into the dangerous waters, unable to stand against the might of Blacklehn’s human army.  There was no reprieve on either side, certainly, for the spears of sharpened stone that jutted out from the waters of the eastern sea like the fangs of some mighty beast were just as deadly as the steel ones that were wielded upon the shore.

Frederic shook his head, wrenching his concentration back to the present.  There would be time to muse about where everything went wrong later, or so he hoped.  A child’s scream up above pierced his very soul, and he stopped in his tracks, clenching his jaw.

He could have gone back at any time.  He could have unsheathed his sword and made a stand, protecting those who had offered him shelter, however unwittingly.

But, racing through the creek, he was forced to consider whether he was truly being pragmatic, or if he was just a coward.

No, he had to remind himself.  He still had a duty to hold himself accountable for—a principle that would be undermined had he thrown himself to the wolves.  There was no hope of victory in Ellingsor, for Frederic might have been the only competent warrior left standing.  And as much as he trusted his prowess in a melee, he knew that the Ebon Hammer outnumbered him greatly, and that they had much better gear to boot.  Though he’d carried his sword for some time, and he had used it to cut himself out of trouble more than once, it would not hold up against some of the relics that the mercenaries carried with them.

Frederic blew out an anxious sigh as he raced further along the creek.  His blade had no name, and some of the members of the Ebon Hammer were geared head to toe in magical gear—a touch of hypocrisy, the warrior thought, considering who they were rounding up and assaulting as they moved from town to town.

Ellingsor’s second creek flowed into the first then, and when the two converged, it was hard to ignore the water’s increased pace.  Frederic slipped from the embankment, leaving his new boots far damper than he would have liked.  His focus, though, was on the bridge that crossed along the south end of the town.  An arched viaduct comprised of stone, it cast enough shadows that he believed he could take refuge there.  After all, it wouldn’t do to charge past the levee, into the open air beyond the town.  One of the mercenaries was bound to have a horse, and even if they didn’t, someone younger and more resilient—perhaps with one of those artifacts—would easily be able to hunt him down.

The bridge was his target, he reminded himself.  Once he was there, his escape would be complete.

It had to be.

As he made his way, he adjusted how he ran, bouncing from one side of the embankment to the other and back again.  With the water rising higher, it wouldn’t do to step into the water again.  The wintry bite would soak through then, he was certain, but it would also announce his presence with a splash.

Relief finally reached Frederic when he arrived beside the bridge.  Two wide piers held the bridge aloft, though over the years, when the embankment was fashioned, it too lent support.  The wide gaps that used to be present behind the piers were narrowed considerably, and the light of day hardly ever reached the center of those hollows.

Frederic kept his eyes trained upon the one on the right, knowing that it would be a tighter squeeze than he would have preferred.  Still, it had been a long time since he wore bulky metal armor, and he took solace in knowing a pair of bulky spaulders or a breastplate would give him no trouble that day.

The man paused as he heard a horn blow in the distance.  Frederic still wasn’t sure what the tone heralded, but it never felt as though it was a call to disembark.  He wouldn’t have trusted that meaning anyway and knew that he’d be shivering in the dark under the bridge until nightfall.

Worse still, before he felt he could climb into the hollow between the pier and the embankment, he thought better than to crawl in the way he was.  He wore no shining mail in those days, just sturdy leather armor that would keep him warm through his travels.  But his fair skin was apparent around his short beard, and his chestnut brown hair.  A quiet growl left his lips as he considered the move he was about to make.

Frederic bent low and scooped a handful of mud out of the creek.  His hand shivered once it was covered with water, and he bobbed his head, knowing that it would feel worse slathered upon the rest of his body.  In time, he had the muck covering his arms and his hands and clumped onto his face and his neck.  It was quick work, and the haste at which he set to his task had him wondering whether he would be able to endure the cold once it set in.  He untied the scabbard from his belt then, dirtying up the crossguard and the pommel of his sword as well.

Feeling sufficiently disguised, Frederic climbed into the hollow behind the bridge pier, fighting off the urge to grunt as he struggled with the discomfort of the small space and the awkward position.

When he had finally reached the center of the recess, he allowed himself a deep sigh of relief.  He knew that it wasn’t yet earned—that the members of the Ebon Hammer were still about the town of Ellingsor, but he had done all that he could, given the circumstances.  The mercenaries were ruthless, built to uncover those who meant to hide from them.  And when they set their sights upon their bounties, it was a rare thing indeed for them to fail.

Frederic set his sword between his legs, hiding it as best he could.  He knew that if he was found, his sword was the only thing that would make a difference.  The members of the mercenary group sometimes scoured towns and temples looking for their prey in solitude while other members of their company led their own inquisitions.  If one of the Ebon Hammer happened upon him on their own, he would have to show them his talents with a blade.

He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.  Even if he was discovered by a sole hunter, he was in no position to fight.  They could easily summon aid, or even attack him on their own with little resistance.

It was all speculative, Frederic knew, and it was enough to drive him mad in his own solitude.  He closed his eyes, working as best he could to ignore the distant screams and shouts.  He found that more challenging than he cared to admit, for there was some hope in that detachment.  If the members of the town were the ones being harassed, he was being ignored.  And if he could last long enough to escape from under the gaze of the Ebon Hammer, he could make amends.

He could make them pay.

The nearby sound of a horse snorting rent all the courage from him then, and he clutched his chest if for no other reason than to stay his heart.  He heard its hooves clopping upon the stone bridge, and he clenched his jaw hard enough where he worried about accidentally gnashing his teeth together loud enough to give himself away.

They wouldn’t find him, he told himself.  He had prepared his disguise and found a hiding spot that none would consider looking within—though he had scouted it out days earlier.  Frederic knew that at the center of the hollow, a sunny day wouldn’t shine a light to reveal anything that might be there.  And with the dreary, overcast days of winter upon Blacklehn, there was certainly no natural light to be found between the pier and the embankment.  Even if the hunter had a relic that could lend some light, the mud would hide him further, and cool his skin.  He had heard tell of members of the mercenary group that had acquired enchanted helmets which allowed them to see the body heat emanating off their prey.  Frederic was not about to take any chances.

It was all pointless, he reminded himself.  With so many of the townsfolk rounded up near the northeastern part of the village, no one would think to search for him there.  And he had played his part well in protecting the people of Ellingsor; no one knew that he was hiding out in the town, so no one would have to lie to protect him.

No one, that was, except for his beloved.  They had found refuge in a building which had gone unused for some time.  Frederic and his wife were careful not to disturb the corner cobwebs, but he knew they had left their presence known by the boot prints they left upon the floorboards.  The warrior was surprised to see no one else in the town using the building, for it had served them well, even in their sparing use of it.

All that changed when the Ebon Hammer found them.  Frederic and his wife held their own against the lesser-equipped and lesser-trained acolytes.  But when grey attire turned to black, both husband and wife knew that it was not some cursory force that fell upon Ellsingor.  Still, the pair were not meant to be underestimated.  They held their own, fighting back reinforcements, as well as growing fatigue.  A flanged mace had caught him on his shoulder, but he rolled it about, turning into naught but a glancing blow.  His wife caught the blunt side of a war axe, sending her into the wall between rooms, almost shaking the door off its hinges.

They were outmatched by then, she knew.  All it took was a glance in Frederic’s direction to tell him what he already understood.

He could have fought, he reasoned.  They could have tried with all their might.  But the Ebon Hammer’s elite had broken through the rear of the building.

In the darkness of the building, Frederic only saw a pair of crimson eyes in the shadows before his wife grabbed hold of his shoulder and sent him stumbling through the door to the next room.  As tactical as he was, he knew that she hadn’t made an errant decision—the choice had been analyzed as though she were overseeing herself from the heavens, considering all the outcomes before her muscles had moved an inch.

The crescent blade of the war axe cleaved through the door and the wall beside it—another part of her plan, Frederic realized.  She had parted ways with her husband, knowing that it was the only way that both could survive.

And despite every part of him protesting, the weary warrior knew that her plan had merit.  Against his instincts, he made a choice that enveloped him in regret and shame.

He ran from the building, as fast as he could, knowing that escape was the only hope for finding his wife again.

Frederic heard someone splash into the creek at his side, wrenching him from the recent memory.  He had to fight against his instincts to turn and look in that direction.  He clenched his eyes shut, doing his best to act as though he was part of the environment, just some debris that had washed into the hollow over the years.

With his eyes shut, he relied on his other senses to assess the situation.  The bridge ran from north to south, and there was hardly any sunlight to speak of anyway that day.  The member of the Ebon Hammer—it had to be, he knew, for nobody would forego an escape on a horse—likely looked under the main arch of the bridge but wouldn’t have bothered with the small cavities behind the piers.

Frederic heard the fellow walk forward, splashing into the creek without a care.  A moment later, he detected him on the other side of the bridge, ensuring that no one hid behind the pillars there.

The warrior’s heart skipped a beat when he heard a torch’s flames crackle as the hunter approached the hollow.  Frederic clutched his sword tighter and had to remind himself not to stress the leather handle enough to make a noise.  How he wished he had pulled the dagger from his boot then.  He found himself in an awkward position, but he was certain that he could have flung it forth with ease, catching his pursuer off guard.  The sword wouldn’t reach on a sidelong thrust, and there was no possibility of a lunge in his constricted setting.

Still, as the torch crackled louder upon the hunter’s investigation, Frederic considered his options.  Did he keep to his ruse, pretending to be a part of the environment?  Or did he make one last stand, knowing that he needed to kill the mercenary quickly and without mercy?

The horn resounded in the distance again, and the hidden warrior could hear the sudden turn the mercenary made.  Frederic still didn’t know what the horn meant, but the hunter beside the bridge moved with enough urgency that it had to mean something of interest.

Unable to climb back up the embankment, the mercenary hurried down the creek toward where the ground leveled out.

Frederic finally took a glance in that direction.  True to their name, the members of the Ebon Hammer wore darker attire, their mail tinted black or grey depending on their rank, he surmised.  The departing hunter wore a dusky grey with a hood pulled up over his head.  Perhaps an inquisitor of a higher rank would have found the skulking warrior beneath the bridge.  Frederic could only work to count his blessings in silence as the hunter left his sight.  A few moments later, he could hear the horse whinny as its rider returned to it, and together they returned to the northeastern part of town.  Frederic only let an audible breath leave his lips when he heard the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves fade into the distance.

The unseen warrior stared off into the western fields, the creek running steadily through them.  That morning, a frost had touched some of the crops that were grown there—onions and radishes that Ellingsor would sell further south as the colder weather moved in.  The frost had dissipated then, even with the cool breath of winter in the air, but Frederic knew that it would return that night.

He thought to burst from his hiding spot then.  With the Ebon Hammer converging on the opposite side of the town, perhaps he could race for Tiltham Forest in the distance, losing anyone who might have been looking for him in the thickets of the place.  It was a dream, and a foolish one, he told himself.  The hunters would track him down and drive him out of hiding, even if he only aroused their suspicions late in his fateful exodus.

No, he would have to wait there, uncomfortable and cold in his hiding spot, until daylight faded from the area, and he could hide beneath a velvety black sky as he departed.  He would be left instead with his thoughts, the cramp fighting its way to his leg, and an empty belly.

Struggling against his discomfort, Frederic brought up an arm, and leaned his head against it, hoping it would alleviate some of the pain he felt in his neck.  To sleep would be another foolish endeavor, for in his position he would never find true comfort.  And the longer he closed his eyes, the more prevalent the memories of his failures became.

The people of Ellingsor could swear until they were blue in the face that they didn’t know that Frederic D’Aprile was present in their town.  That was the rub of dealing with the Ebon Hammer.  They forged their own semblance of the truth out of suspicions, dark desires, and lies.  It just so happened that in this occasion, they were right, and they likely sensed it.  The warrior was nearby, and they would torture the townsfolk to get the answers they wanted, even if they weren’t sure why they were making false confessions.

Frederic steered his thoughts back to productive ones: the escape set before him, the preparation for his meeting with members of the Ebon Hammer, and the punishment he meant to inflict upon them.

He wasn’t their typical prey.  Frederic didn’t have one of the many gifts that people in the country had which found them persecuted by their countrymen and the bounty hunters.  He couldn’t even cast a lick of magic.

But he knew people who could.  He had served with them in Blacklehn’s military, and broke bread with them while he led his own pursuits.  Frederic was a friend to people with the Strain, which left them different, changed—dangerous, the king of Blacklehn and his closest advisors would say.

And while Frederic’s closest allies with those gifts or curses had already been taken by the Ebon Hammer, the warrior had a nose for finding others like them.  He knew that there were greater dangers than exceptional humans or dwarves or elves, and he had a talent for bringing people together.  For him, they were the only hope for Blacklehn in the years to come, when those worse things came knocking at their door.

He meant to bring together a new band of heroes, even as those who had potential were persecuted and forced into hiding.  He meant to bring hope back to the land where he had grown up, back to the country that he had fought to protect against such vile acts of evil.  He meant to make a stand against the Ebon Hammer, to put them down once and for all.

Another scream rang out in the distance.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The post D’Aprile’s Fools – First Chapter appeared first on Tellest.

Well, this year we are back in business.

I’ve been working on this story for the last several months, and I’m finally ready to unveil it.  I’ve been telling people about it on my newsletter for what feels like forever, and they’ve been getting little snippets of it here and there.  But today, I get to really lay it all out.

I typically tell stories where one character is at the forefront.  He or she may meet other people that become part of the action, but I wanted to tell a story that encompassed a lot of people, and their experiences.  As Tellest is a story about heroes, I wanted to also talk about people who we wouldn’t normally see as heroes, and who definitely wouldn’t see themselves as such.  Most of them are affected by the Strain, but in ways that are a little unconventional.  Let’s learn a little more about them, shall we?

Frederic D’Aprile – The leader of the group.  Frederic doesn’t have powers, but he’s been around powered people long enough to know how to make the best out of their skills.  Due to unfortunate circumstances, after all the real heroes he knows have been captured by a growing force of dark agents with a hatred for magic and diversity, he must put together a team of ragtag would-be heroes with some…peculiar abilities.

Quicksand – Leonell has had a rough go of it over the last few years.  He lost his father, and then subsequently lost the man who took him in and treated him as a son.  That man’s biological son really does not care for Leonell, and makes him sleep in the shed within the pig pen.  Leonell plays along because he doesn’t want people to know his secret: that he has the Strain.  Leonell has the ability to manipulate the earth—but only where he is standing.

Spark – Poor Mireya learned early on that her power was very destructive.  After an accident at home, in a city where people were already hateful of those with powers, she used fire magic by accident and burned a building down.  To make matters worse, it was a building owned by her family, and she dreaded what her father would do to her if she found out.  She ran, and took up shelter far away.  Since then, Mireya hasn’t been able to use her powers effectively—due in no small part to the fact that the fire she summons burns her as well.

Bubbles – Caira is a little bit different.  The daughter of an elf and a gnome, this diminutive would-be hero doesn’t contend with too much of a broken home compared to the other heroes.  She lives with her father in a cabin in the woods, but he’s overly protective, and hasn’t allowed her to live much of a life.  But when adventure calls, she’s ready to charge forth.  Caira has the ability to summon magical bubbles!

Ointment – Nellie returns us to a tragic character who has pretty much lost everything.  She’s on her own out in the wilderness, trying to survive as best she can when she’s discovered.  When Frederic finds her, she instantly takes to the group, and explains her power: she can’t heal anyone, but she can take away the sting of their pain.

The Wizard – Of course, Frederic can’t do everything on his own.  He needs someone with an understanding of the Strain; someone who hasn’t been captured (or was able to escape) from the nefarious mercenaries roaming the land.  Luckily for Frederic, he’s happened upon an unconventional wizard.

And who is this wizard, you ask?  Why, none other than one of our favorite characters to play with, Bixby Alladocious.  For those unfamiliar with Bixby, allow me to explain.  Bixby first appeared in a Tellest story in his eponymous debut, Bixby Alladocious and the Lady of Life and Death.  Bixby has a most peculiar ability.  When he dies, his soul reconstitutes, creating a new body for him that waits for him in the Nexus.  It just so happens that Bixby dies a lot.  What better partner to have then someone who can shrug off the greatest of wounds, the nastiest of diseases, poisons and infections, the toes most stubbed?

Together, this group of six plans on making a difference across the country they call home, and wrenching it back from the hands of those who would desecrate it.  This is only the first adventure, with many more to come.  Will you come along and join up with these brave people?

Will you join D’Aprile’s Fools?

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