Travis Starnes
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Threads of Destiny (The Veilguard Saga #1) - Chapter 1 (Re-Write)
🕑 Added 2023-12-19 15:16:01 +0000 UTCSo now that I'm like 2 (woops, typo, should have said 3, since I'm basically done with chapter 3) chapters in, I realise the new outline structure I used on this book, I kind of hate. So I've reworked it back to how I normally structure novels and added in some subplots, which requires me to basically rewrite everything. This should seem familiar to what you read before but with a lot more setup leading into the next chapters (You'll see a rewrite of chapter 2 soon, and chapter 3, which I was practically done with, should be out in a few days and have all the changes worked in)
Chapter 1: Secrets of the Forest
“Osric? Osric? Damn you, boy, answer me.”
Osric hurried out from the small back room, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
“Sorry, Master Ironhand,” he said, skidding to a halt by the forge.
The burly blacksmith turned from the anvil he had been hammering at and scowled at his young apprentice. Though not an unusually tall man, Ironhand had a presence that could fill up a room. His powerful frame spoke of decades spent shaping metal. For all his size, Osric knew him to be an incredibly gentle and caring man, underneath the gruff exterior.
“Sleeping on the job again?” Ironhand rumbled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of one meaty hand. “I told you I needed that new stove casing shaped by lunchtime. Talia is expecting her new stove this afternoon, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t ready.”
“No, not sleeping, Master Ironhand. Just fetching some materials from the storeroom. I must have lost track of time.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again. A blacksmith without discipline is no better than a drunken fool.”
Osric ducked his head, abashed. “Yes, Master Ironhand.”
As he picked up the tongs and began working the first iron strip into shape over the forge’s glowing coals, Osric could feel Ironhand’s eyes still lingering on him for a few moments before the blacksmith turned back to his own task.
Truth be told, while he had gone to the storeroom for supplies, he’d taken longer than it really needed. It was the height of summer, and this close to the forge, there were times it felt like his skin might boil off. The small storeroom, which doubled as Osric’s sleeping quarters, might not be all that much cooler, but as the sun started to climb in the sky, he’d take it.
Besides, it wasn’t like it mattered. Yes, Talia needed the new stove, but Osric knew for a fact she ate at the tavern half the time anyway, and it wasn’t like she needed it for warmth. A few hours here or there wasn’t going to kill anyone. Nothing around here was worth getting that excited about.
Life in Eldham was so uneventfully mundane. Day after day, it was the same routine, which for Osric was wake up at dawn, stoke the forge’s fires, and spend the daylight hours pounding out horseshoes, stove parts, and farm tools.
Osric sighed loudly in spite of himself, prompting Master Ironhand to glance over.
“Something on your mind, boy?” the gruff blacksmith asked.
“I was just thinking,” Osric said as he brought the hammer down again. “Doesn’t it grow tedious just making the same types of things, day in and day out? Horseshoes, stove parts, axes; it’s always the same. I saw that sword you made for that Greenwood Ranger last year. If you went to Wolf’s Ride, you could be one of the greatest smiths in the Crownlands. People would travel for leagues to get one of your fabled blades.”
Osric lifted up his tongs and jabbed with it a few times, as if it were a sword he could use to vanquish unseen opponents.
Master Ironhand turned to fully face Osric, his brow furrowed. “Glory and excitement? Is that what you’re after? Let me tell you, boy, those things are fleeting. What we do here may not seem glorious, but it’s honest work that keeps this village going. A knight’s pretty mail won’t plow the fields or keep a family warm come winter. Don’t underestimate the value of mundane things.”
“I know, it’s just that... I want more. To test myself against true challenges, to see the wider world beyond these familiar fields. I know, I’m an ingrate who doesn’t appreciate how good I have it here?”
“No, lad,” he said, his expression softening. “Those things are only natural for a young man like yourself. I’ll admit to a longing or two when I was your age as well. You know I trained in Wolfsridge.”
“You trained in the capital? I never knew that,” Osric said, lowering his tong-shaped sword.
“Aye, I spent near on five years there as a young lad,” he said, getting a faraway look. “My father sent me to apprentice under the master smith Enthnor.”
“What was it like?” Osric asked eagerly.
Master Ironhand hardly ever talked about his past. As far as Osric knew, he was born with a hammer in one hand, yelling at his mother for taking too long.
“Noisy, crowded, smelly, everything you’d expect of a big city. The capital has ten times the people of Eldham in one of their markets alone. Everyone’s in a hurry to get somewhere or sell you something. You have to keep one hand on your coin purse at all times,” he said. “But I’ll admit the sights were something. The sprawling markets, the towering castle, the nonstop activity day and night. As a wide-eyed farm boy, it was like another world opened up.”
Osric tried to imagine it, a bustling city packed with exotic wares, grand buildings, and opportunity. It sounded like the polar opposite of sleepy little Eldham.
“Is that where you learned to forge a sword like you made for the Ranger?” he asked.
Master Ironhand snorted, leaning a hand against the anvil. “No, swordsmithing’s a whole ‘nother skill. But I did pick up plenty working under Enthnor. How to shape a sturdy plow or smooth out buckles. The fundamentals.”
“Why’d you leave?” Osric blurted out. “If the capital was so amazing, why come to somewhere like Eldham? Why not set up a smithy there?”
“Because cities have a way of swallowing your soul, boy. All that rushing about leaves no time to catch your breath. No stillness, no peace. Out here we’ve got clean air, open skies, and good honest folk.”
“Boring folk,” Osric muttered under his breath.
“Enough of your grumbling, boy. If you crave adventure so desperately, I’ll send you on one. We’re almost out of limestone dust. Grab the sack and head into the forest to collect as much as you can. Maybe when you get back, you’ll be able to focus on your job and stop daydreaming about adventuring.”
“We’re nearly out, and I’ll not have a useless grindstone in my smithy. Take your pickaxe and fetch enough to fill a sack. And you better not take your time getting back, or it’ll be your hide.”
“Yes, Master Ironhand. Right away,” Osric said, setting his tongs down and hurrying into the back room.
He gathered his tools and a large empty sack before hurrying out the door, not wanting to further provoke the blacksmith’s ire. Walking down the path to the forest, Osric kicked an errant rock. As adventures go, this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. He went to the forest all the time for supplies, or really whenever he annoyed Master Ironhand a little too much.
“And don’t stop to talk to Talia,” Ironhand called out as Osric left.
Talia Penrose was the assistant and apprentice, of sorts, to Elder Miriam, although what a village elder apprentices someone for, Osric never quite knew. He was also a lot like Osric, in that he’d been given over by his guardian to Master Ironhand when he’d apprenticed. Although the difference was Osric had lived with his aunt, who shuffled him off to have one less mouth to feed, while Talia’s parents had died in a fire when she was little, and Elder Miriam had taken her in.
Osric liked Talia. She was kind, clever, and maybe one of the nicest people he’d known. He enjoyed spending time with her when neither had duties, although that was also because there were only a handful of others in their age range that lived in the village proper, and not out in one of the far-flung scratch farms or forest cabins where a lot of the population in this area actually lived. The village itself tended much older, closer to Master Ironhand’s age, so as two of the few young adults, they had been kind of thrown together out of circumstance as much as anything else.
Osric hadn’t been intending to sneak off to see her, though. For one, she had her own duties, and she was much more conscientious about doing those than Osric was, and because he recognized when Master Ironhand was in a mood, he had no intention of setting him off again.
As he entered the cool shadows of the forest, Osric returned to the story he’d been telling himself, to imagine himself as a hero on a quest rather than a lowly apprentice on a chore. His pickaxe became a sword, and the rabbit that ran by a fearsome beast, out for blood.
He wasn’t ten anymore, and so make-believe wouldn’t hold him for long, but he allowed himself to enjoy the game for a little while, as he dreamed of adventures in far-off lands.
His adventure only lasted as long as it took to get far enough into the forest to find the special limestone rock that Master Ironhand had shown him, which was part of his secret to making good, strong iron. Then it was the backbreaking work of prying it out of the ground and smashing it into small enough parts to fit inside his sack.
One time, he’d asked why they didn’t just buy it like they did the iron they bought from the mine, which they had to make the day-long ride to in Tom Sorral’s wagon once every month or two. Master Ironhand had told him this stone, which they crushed and melted into the slag, wasn’t found in the mines. As far as his master knew, their forest was the only place to find it. It was also why Master Ironhand’s wares were some of the best around.
Setting the nearly full bag down by a stream, Osric kneeled down and splashed cool water on his face.
“Some adventure this is,” he muttered to himself.
After a few more moments of brooding, Osric stood and picked up his tools. It didn’t take long to locate another decent chunk of limestone to chip away at.
Osric wedged his pickaxe into a crevice in the limestone and pushed down with all his weight. The rock slowly shifted and cracked, with a few pieces breaking loose. He crouched down and brushed away the debris, then inserted the bar again for another attempt. As he strained against the unyielding stone, his mind wandered once more.
What would it be like to be one of those adventurers from the tales, boldly venturing into the unknown? Slaying vile monsters, rescuing fair maidens, uncovering treasures beyond imagination? Osric was jolted out of his daydream as the rock suddenly gave way and lurched to the side.
“Finally,” he muttered, bending down to inspect the now exposed cavity.
He froze as his eyes fell upon something within the crevice that glinted in the dappled sunlight. Gingerly reaching in, Osric extracted an intricately engraved metal ring, stunned by its craftsmanship. It looked somehow old, ancient even, yet it was polished to an almost bright finish. A delicate and highly detailed image sat in the middle, where a gem would otherwise go, depicting some kind of bird in flight, a sword in its talons, and a wreath or halo on its head. Osric wasn’t an expert, but the workmanship was exquisite. He knew what this was, or at least, what it might be.
He’d seen the scribe who sometimes came through town with the tax collectors with a ring something like this. A ring with a pattern, that of the king, set in the middle. Osric had once watched as he talked to Master Ironhand, and when they finished, the scribe wrote out a long document for him. Although Osric knew his letters, he hadn’t paid much attention to the document. He had, however, noticed when the scribe rolled up the document and poured some wax into the seam to seal it, and then pressed that ring into the wax, leaving behind an impression of the symbol of the king. It had struck Osric then because it had seemed important, formal.
This ring was similar to the scribe’s ring, but... more. The detail on this ring put the scribe’s to shame, but it looked as if the purpose was the same. The head of the ring wasn’t all that was fancy and impressive. The scribe’s had been smooth metal aside from the king’s symbol on the top, but this one was detailed across the band of the ring as well, along with four tiny blood-red gems just down from the symbol in the middle. Low enough that they would not leave their impression, or at least not obscure the impression of the bird, if it was pressed into wax, but still surrounding it.
Osric reached to pick the small piece of jewelry up and thought for a moment that the gems around the face of the ring almost glowed as his fingers touched it, giving an almost pulsing sensation. It lasted for an instant before the feeling was gone, but Osric knew what he felt. Magic.
He didn’t really understand magic, although he knew that mages and sorcerers featured in many of the stories he’d heard or read used it. He didn’t know why, but it was the first thing Osric thought of as he touched the ring and saw that pulse. It felt otherworldly, special.
After a moment’s hesitation, Osric carefully picked the ring up. Holding it flat in his palm, he looked it over closely, slowly turning the cool metal over in his hand. Although it was clearly very old, it showed no sign of corrosion. Looking into those small gems, they still seemed to have an ethereal glow. As he gazed upon it, Osric felt an inexplicable connection to the artifact. It felt like more than just a ring. It felt... important.
It was both exhilarating and like the treasure he’d been dreaming of, only made real. Looking around, as if someone was going to yell at him any moment to put it back or call him a thief, Osric slid the ring into his pocket. The forest was quiet. He hadn’t been paying that much attention before, but Osric thought maybe it was quieter than it had been before. Not eerily silent, there were still far-off noises, but... it didn’t feel as peaceful as before.
Osric checked his pouch. He’d collected enough stone for Master Ironhand. Maybe not as much as he’d originally intended, but enough all the same. What he knew was, he didn’t want to stay in the forest any longer. He could feel the ring in his pocket, unnaturally heavy, weighing him down. He didn’t want to be out here on his own anymore, but he also didn’t want to put the ring back.
Besides, he wanted to know more about it, and he knew who to ask. Returning to the village, Osric stopped by the forge to drop off the stone he had collected. Thankfully, Master Ironhand wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It was already late in the day, which meant Master Ironhand had most likely gone to the inn, as he normally did. That had been Osric’s only real duty for the day, so he unloaded his satchel and hurried away. Yes, his life might be easier tomorrow if he started work on the new order of brackets for Farmer Dolan’s new wagon, but he had a mission now, and he wasn’t going to be deterred.
Leaving the smithy, Osric headed to the center of the village, toward the longhouse that sat at its heart. The place where the villagers met and partied, where their elders governed and people were married, it was the business part of Eldham. The elders had their own homes, but at this time of day, he knew that Elder Miriam would be there. She was always sitting outside on the small bench, a book in her lap, alternating between reading and watching the people go about their day.
Osric had always been amazed by Elder Miriam. She was old, but not that old, yet she seemed to have an infinite store of knowledge, and she was as wise as she was kind. She’d always been nice to Osric when he was small, and he still felt a warm place in his heart when he thought of her. Of course, she was nice to everyone, but Osric liked to think maybe she was a little extra nice to him.
She was, indeed, sitting on her bench, reading, when Osric got to the longhouse. Her silver hair was tucked tight against the back of her neck, as always, probably to keep it from getting in the way of her reading, Osric thought. She seemed to sense him approaching and looked up as he did. Although he’d come to talk to her many times in the past, she somehow realized today was different the moment her gaze hit him. He could see it in her eyes, the way the corners crinkled as they narrowed, like a hawk considering a mouse.
“You had a busy day in the forest?” she asked.
While it wasn’t unusual for Osric to make his trips into the forest to collect things for Master Ironhand, he was surprised that she knew that’s where he had been all the same.
“I found something,” Osric said in almost a whisper, leaning closer to her, concerned that someone else might overhear his unusual treasure.
Elder Miriam raised her eyebrows, the lines on her face deepening with curiosity. Closing her book, she beckoned Osric to sit beside her.
“The forest often holds secrets, Osric, but they’re not often shared lightly,” she said, her voice a soft blend of intrigue and compassion. “Show me what it has given to you.”
As Osric sat down, he hesitantly reached into his pocket. His hand trembled slightly as he carefully drew the ring out, presenting it to her in his outstretched palm. Here, in the sun, the ring’s detailed craftsmanship stood out even more than it had in the shade of the forest. Elder Miriam’s eyes widened slightly as she saw the ring, a mixture of recognition and surprise flickering over her face. She extended a delicate, aged hand towards the artifact, her fingers hovering over it, stopping as if sensing the energy it radiated.
“This is no ordinary trinket, Osric,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “There is an aura around it, an energy that feels ancient, arcane. Where did you find this?”
Osric didn’t answer right away. A farmer, someone he had known for years, started to walk past, causing Osric to close his fingers around the ring, hiding it from view. Elder Miriam looked around for the first time since the ring appeared, seeming to notice the people around them going about their business on this warm summer afternoon.
“Yes,” she said, almost to herself as well as to Osric. “Yes. Come, let’s discuss this further in my cottage, away from curious ears.”
She stood up from the bench, a steadying hand on Osric’s shoulder, and began to walk towards her residence. It wasn’t far, barely a stone’s throw from the longhouse, as befit her status as a village elder. Even with her importance, Eldham was still a very small village, and her cottage mirrored that fact. A quaint two-room structure with a nice garden outside, although Osric knew her neighbors and friends tended to that more than Miriam did these days. At her age, spending time kneeling in the dirt, tending to it, was a bit more than her frail body could handle.
As they walked, the village’s everyday sounds faded into a hushed backdrop. He was focused on the ring in his hand, which felt heavier than anything so small had a right to be. He felt as if everyone around them could see it, no matter how tightly he clenched his fist around the metal. It felt as if they could sense its presence, the foreignness of it. He was glad to follow her into her cottage and shut the rest of the world out, away from them. Elder Miriam’s cottage felt like a safe haven, a place free from the prying eyes of the village.
As Miriam opened the door, Talia, who was tidying up books and scrolls when they walked in, looked up suddenly, a surprised expression on her face as Osric walked in behind Miriam. She had probably not expected Miriam home so soon, since she usually stayed by the longhouse until near dark, and almost certainly didn’t expect Osric, who’d normally still be at Master Ironhand’s shop.
Closing the door behind them, Elder Miriam gestured for Osric to take a seat at the small table.
“Osric! What brings you here at this hour?” she asked, smiling in a way that made Osric temporarily forget why he had come.
“I found something...” Osric started.
“Talia, would you be a dear and put on some tea?” Miriam interjected, cutting Osric off.
“Yes, Elder,” Talia said, setting about preparing the tea while Miriam cleared space on the table.
Osric took the wrapped bundle from his pocket and carefully unfolded the cloth, revealing the mysterious ring. As she brought the tea, Osric could see Talia trying to peek at what he and Elder Miriam were looking at, clearly interested.
“This craftsmanship is ancient, and these markings,” she said, pointing to the detailed bird with the sword and halo, “they are not any I’ve seen before. I have a faint memory… no, I can’t recall, but I know this symbol is old. I can feel the energy rolling off it. There is powerful magic here. Powerful.”
Shaking a thought away, she pointed at one of the open chairs and said, “Talia, come assist me.”
Talia didn’t bother to sit, moving quickly to stand beside Miriam, looking down at the ring before the Elder could even finish her sentence. Sitting back, Elder Miriam’s hands began to move with purpose above the ring. Her fingers traced through the air, forming complex gestures as she began to weave her magic. The ring responded to her motions, emitting a soft blue glow that intensified with each pass of her hands.
After a moment, much to Osric’s surprise, Talia began the same motions, mimicking the Elder, but maybe in reverse. It was hard to tell as he looked from their hands, to their concentrating faces, and back to the ring. It was too much for Osric to take in all at once.
Suddenly, a thin tendril of blue magic extended from the ring, reaching towards Osric and lightly brushing against him.
“This ring,” Miriam said, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and seriousness, “is not just old and powerful; it is connected to you, bonded in a way I’ve never seen before. This is far outside of my understanding or anything I’ve read about.”
Osric, taken aback, could only stare in stunned silence. Everyone knew how wise and knowledgeable Elder Miriam was, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock to learn that she could weave magic. And Talia too! Miriam didn’t even tell her what to do. She just watched what the Elder did with her hands and knew, their combined motions, or power, or whatever, causing the sudden light to appear.
Talia caught Osric staring at her open mouth and blushed a little but remained completely focused on her motions, her delicate fingers never stopping their fluid contortions.
His moment of wonder was marred by what the elder had said. Why was it tied to him, and how could someone as wise as Elder Miriam not only not know what it was but say it was outside of her experience? The words filled Osric with dread and gave him far more questions than answers.
Miriam stopped the motions, Talia following suit a moment later, and the blue tendril dissipated as the glow from the ring slowly faded. The Elder looked at Osric, her expression a mix of concern and fascination.
“You must be careful, Osric. A bond like this is rare and can attract unwelcome attention. This ring holds secrets, perhaps even dangers, that we don’t yet understand.”
Osric nodded, resisting the urge to swallow hard, and asked, “What should I do with it?”
For a moment, she didn’t reply, only leaned back in her chair, watching him through the flickering candlelight.
“For now, keep it safe and hidden,” she advised solemnly. “There are people who would do terrible things to possess an artifact as old and powerful as this. We must learn more about this ring and its origins. Until we do, and can figure out a way to disconnect it from you, I’m not sure how much danger getting rid of it or losing it might cause you. These kinds of connections can be powerful and could potentially put you in great harm.”
“So I just… keep it?” Osric said, a little panicked at what she meant by ‘great harm.’
“Talia and I will research in my books. There may be something in the histories that can tell us what this is. But until we know more, you must tread carefully, Osric. Such items can change the course of lives, and not always for the better.”
Stunned by all of this, Osric carefully picked up the ring, feeling the cool metal against his skin. He could almost sense the pulsing energy that Elder Miriam had mentioned and feel that tendril still reaching out to him. Slipping the ring back into his pocket, he stood up and bowed awkwardly toward her.
“I ... um ... thank you, Elder Miriam.”
“No, thank you, Osric. Life is so quiet here that sometimes I forget how exciting the world can be, with ...” she said, trailing off, not finishing the thought. “Never mind. You go. I’m sure Master Ironhand will have much for you to do in the morning.”
Osric nodded, still feeling shaken by everything that had just happened, and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, Talia gently caught his arm, stopping him in the doorway.
“Osric, wait,” she said softly, looking left and right to see if they were alone as he turned to face her.
“Try not to worry,” Talia said. “Elder Miriam is the wisest person I know. If anyone can uncover the secrets of that ring, she can.”
Osric gave her a small, grateful smile. “I know. It’s just... a lot to take in.”
He wanted to ask her about her knowing magic, about what just happened and what she did, but he didn’t dare. Not out here in the open when both she and Elder Miriam had kept their abilities secret. Besides, he’d had about enough revelations for one night. He didn’t think he could take any more. Talia stepped closer and squeezed his arm reassuringly. He could feel the heat of her body as she brushed against him.
“We’ll figure this out,” she said. “I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her words sent a rush of warmth through Osric. He reached up and briefly clasped her hand with his own.
“Thank you, Talia,” he said quietly. “Good night.”
Comments
Brett Grayson
Intriguing first chapter of another saga that I anticipate will enrapture.
