Come one, come all to the new serialized story, Talaski the Starred. This is the grand adventure of a Gutter Rat who is caught by a wizard, and then discovers love, wealth, giant spiders...

You can find it at www.talaski.blogspot.com

Come and see!

Helen

The Master of Paths, the map.

Here is the visual synopsis for the part of The Master of Paths which takes place in the Bardlands. It is also a rough schematic for the Bardlands itself. If you click on it, I think you will see an enlarged version of the map.

The Wizardslands are to the south, below the Shelf. The Shelf is a sheer cliff (that rough, wavy sideways ladder-looking thing) caused by a sudden uplift of the northern land. The uplift is highest at the Southwest Corner, creating the high plains and the rather odd flow to the rivers. The Eastern Green Forest is also on a high knoll, and the river coming out of the mountains splits, with one branch going north and one going west.

If you are wondering why Guerney takes such a long route to Selice, the royal city, the answer is that he needs to convince certain lords and nobles to join his cause.

While I don't have a good scale worked out for this map, I can tell you that it takes about a month to go south from Slatten to the Shelf, and five or six weeks to travel overland from Slatten to Selice. Going by river boat takes a lot less time, but it's expensive. Of course, the time it takes one to travel is affected by such things as weather, bandits, the condition of the roads, and the health of the horses. And riders -- eating last week's roasted meat may slow you down a bit. As a result, I can make the journies last as long as I need them to.

Chapter 21

Two days later I returned to Songless, following my Lord Reinard and his Lady Laurice, but I came as a Bard and not as a servant. A grand wedding feast awaited my lord. Lord Guerney came, bringing all his court and his daughter’s ladies-in-waiting, so that the keep now bloomed with laughter and finery. When Lord Guerney left, however, he took the Lady Victoria with him. She had claimed him as a husband, as I suppose she could aspire no higher.

Over the course of time, Lady Laurice made a proper husband out of Wallen, just as Songless made a proper steward out of Peter. The monk indulged less in wine with honey, though it remained his favorite cure for all ills.

The Spring thaw brought Bards from Slatten. Master Master came to be the new Grandmaster, and under him came Journeymen Sieg and Van. Sharp came as well, though we all knew that he would not stay long – his is the path of wandering, just as mine is the path of habitation. The five of us, as well as two small boys and my own Lord Reinard, raised new beams over the ashes of the old Bardhall. Only the frame stood on the first day of spring, but we stood on rough planking and sang in the dawn while the Cathedral across the way opened its doors to Easter Mass.

In the fall Elise bore me a son. Two years afterwards, we had a daughter. The Lady Laurice was barren.

Each summer I returned to Slatten to sit before the Masters and earn another string on my harp.

And thus life flowed for us, until the fifth summer – but that’s another story, and not all mine to tell.

THE END

***********************************************************************************

And now, as Porky Pig would say, That's all, folks. For this book, anyway. My plans for it are now to go through it, cleaning up typos and editing what I can, and prepare it for publication through the Dead Fish Press. That project will hopefully be completed in the spring -- but as with all things, this plan is subject to modification by fate and disasters.

On the other tentacle, this is not the end of the blog. I will now start writing up another story set in this world, though in a different country and with a much different cast of characters. It's called Talaski the Starred, and tells the adventures of a hapless Gutter Rat and the Wizard Azygous, whom the Gutter Rat has managed to offend. Not a smart thing to do in the Wizardlands.

Helen E. Davis

Chapter 20.2.6

A huge, half-rotted carcass filled the path. White bones thrust up through the leathery skin, shreds of dark flesh hung down, and everywhere upon it white maggots squirmed. A single, flat eye stared unseeing upon the world, upon us. Though the sight was bad, the stench was worse: a mixture of sweet rot, excrement, and musk.

Beneath it’s swollen form I recognized it from Rockridge. This was one of the demons I had fought and killed. This was mine, and to me fell the duty of clearing it away. Of burying it. I had no tool but my hands, but the ground was soft. I started to dig a pit.

This task would take forever.

I was not alone on the path, I realized. Behind me stood all the Bards, Masters and Journeymen and Bards-in-training. There were also townspeople there, from both Slatten and Songless, standing in a cluster by themselves. Charles, Peter, Elise, and Wallen stood between the two groups. All of them watched me.

I dug a hole as large as my head.

Charles came forward first, followed by Peter, then one of the Bards. The four of us dug a hole as large as a fruit basket.

More people came forward, now in large groups, everyone helping to turn the soil. There were Silent Monks among the workers, and priests whose white frocks were not stained with dirt. People came out of the forest itself – Bards I had never seen and a Lady with Wallen’s fine features. One Bard had his hand around the Lady’s waist, and he stopped to speak to Sharp.

Their words were muffled, meant for them alone.

With so many hands helping, the pit quickly grew to the size of a small house. Then we put our hands to the stinking carcass, and rolled it in. With handfuls of dirt, we all covered it over – and the last thing I saw, before its form disappeared beneath the ground, was its face. The face of the Bard-killer, the old Lord Reinard.

May he rest peacefully, and not trouble us again.

When stones had been rolled over the loose dirt to finish the grave, I started the song of the dead. Wallen joined me, and Sharp, and then all the others. The Master of Paths flew over us, his loud cry joining the song.

The path was now clear, for all of us. We all stepped forward.

I blinked, finding myself on the steps of the Bardhall, my hands resting on silent strings. I had my answer – but how was I to put it into words that would satisfy the Grandmaster?

Then I saw that my fingers were filthy, my nails crusted with dirt. Blood flowed from scraped palms. My clothes were stained; sweat dripped down my face. I raised my face to Grandmaster Meiltung, and saw that he also was streaked with filth and sweat. All the Bards on the steps were so marked, and I could see tears coursing down Sharp’s face.

Grandmaster Meiltung looked down at his own filthy, bleeding hands, then wiped them on trousers which were no cleaner. He spoke in a shaken voice. "There will be a Bardhall at Songless Castle, Journeyman Gerard."

I was a Bard.