Ash 25, 122
Once upon a time, when the sons of Aileor still ruled the golden plains south of the haunted forests, there was a huntsman named Kaspar, a forester by the grace of the reigning Duc. Though he had been a forester for many years, he was intemperate in his cups, and brashly offended the ladies of the town of Derswald, where he came to trade his traps. One night, when he grew particularly free with them, the people of the town paid a wizard to lay a curse on Kaspar. All unknowing, he took the wizard’s coin for trade, and thus accepted the affliction upon his soul.
Thereafter, Kaspar found himself unable to strike stag and swine alike. Arrow after arrow he loosed, and his quiver grew light; yet his sled grew none the fuller. At last, his bags were empty and his heart was full of despair. In a grave plight, Kaspar built himself a fire for the night in the hollow where crossed the old ways of Sellen and Synker. There he rested, casting about for hope in his cursed night.
But as the moon grew bright above, a traveler chanced upon Kaspar’s camp, a tall, thin man, attended by a mule and carrying weighty packs upon it.
“Ho there!” cried Kaspar, “Who goes out upon the High King’s road?”
“Naught but a simple tradesman,” the figure responded, “A peddler, Kelain by name.”
“A peddler! Come not this way, traveler. I have been cursed by evil folk, and I would not care to embroil you in my woe!”
“Cursed?” Kelain inquired, “Lay out the nature of the curse, then. It so happens that I have seen some small display of the art in my travels; perhaps I may assist you.”
“I fear it is folly, but even still. A wizard of Derswald has placed a curse upon me, that no shot of mine will fly true. As my line is decreed by the High King to be foresters, it is the death of me!”
“Ah!” Kelain cried, “Worthy forester, it is fate indeed that our paths should cross here. For I have with me a set of arrows, imbued with a charm such that they can never miss, whatever the curse upon you decree. Six such arrows, and a seventh.”
“But such wonders must cost a fortune! I have no such treasure to trade.”
At that Kelain smiled. “Fortune indeed, for I ask not even a single coin. You may have six silver arrows, each of which will strike true whatsoever it is you desire. As price, I ask only that you also take this seventh silver arrow.”
“And what does it strike?” Kaspar asked, suspicious.
“It strikes as I desire.”
Though none could but suspect such a convenient trade, Kaspar took Kelain’s bargain. Six shafts of silver which attended to his whim, and one to a desire yet unknown.
Yet Kelain’s bargain proved as good as it seemed, and better. The arrows were sturdy- even upon striking a deer in full glory, they seldom broke. As promised, they never missed. In a week, Kaspar returned to Derswald with a great bounty; and the next week, an even greater one. So livid were the townsfolk that they ran the wizard who had cursed Kaspar out of town, then tied him to a great rock and poured boiling tar upon him.
As the hunter’s fame and fortune grew, so too did his luck with the women of the town. Many a pretty young girl came to woo the man who had become known as the greatest hunter in all the lands south of the Astralars, and many a girl did he make merry with and then dispense with the next day.
Still, as months turned to years, his stock of charmed arrows diminished. One broke, at last, upon the skull of a stag with eighteen points for antlers. Another went into the side of a boar who, though slain, still managed to run itself off the top of a waterfall. Yet another was stolen by one of his girls as he lay in a drunken haze, he having been thoughtless enough to show it to her while boasting. In time, he came to have only one of his six arrows- one arrow, and the seventh, too.
Yet one day, his fame became so great that a foreign princess, a northerner, came to the town to see him shoot. Kaspar was overcome by her beauty at once- in an instant, his wine-sopped adventures with the women of the town in the taverns seemed ashen and joyless. He knew at once, in his heart, that nothing would matter to him ever again, save that he know the princess’ love.
“You are Kaspar, the great hunter? The minstrels in my father’s hall sing of nothing but your exploits.” the princess said.
“It is true, and more.” he boasted, wishing only to impress her, “I have slain boar and stag, wolf and bear. Falcons on the gyre, I have shot down. There is no creature of land, air, or sea which I cannot slay.”
“Save the dragons themselves.” the princess corrected him.
This pious retraction, which any man might have accepted, stuck in his craw. “Nay; even a wyrm of the sky, my bow could strike it down.”
Such a boast, once made, could not be retracted. The princess would think him hollow and boastful; to swallow his pride and admit himself unworthy to face a great wyrm would show him to be a small, weak man. Thus, Kaspar insisted upon setting off into the forest with the northern princess, thereupon to find a dragon’s lair and display his powers.
For three days and three nights, they traveled the lands, until at last they came to the lair of a great black wyrm, an old and jealous lizard who accepted no company. There, Kaspar unhooked and strung his bow, and nocked the sixth arrow, then waited for the wyrm to emerge.
When at last the dragon came to leave his cavern, Kaspar loosed his flight, sending the silver arrow fair and true into the dragon’s eye. But though the wyrm howled and wept tears of blood, he did not die, and it quickly became clear that the dragon would soon recover, and slay his erstwhile slayer in turn. Overcome with desperation, Kaspar nocked the seventh arrow, and shot it. The bolt flew true-
-into the princess, watching from the road behind him.
Kaspar was able to escape the wounded dragon, but the princess was dead by his hand, and his heart filled with rage and longing. It was clear to him immediately who bore the blame; the fault lay with Kelain, the deceiving peddler.
The huntsman knew not from whence Kelain hailed, so he took a chance and returned to the crossing at Sellen and Synker. There he waited for six days and six nights, which were all his alone. And then, on the seventh night-
“Hail, worthy forester!” a voice called, and Kaspar sprung to his feet.
“Well met, Kelain. Come, step closer, that I might greet thee.”
Kelain stepped forward into the center of the crossing, and Kaspar lunged forward to paint a line- closing the circle he had drawn in the middle of the clearing.
“Halt and despair, Kelain! I have drawn a binding circle about you in the blood wept by the black wyrm, which all men know is proof against demons such as you!”
“It is true,” Kelain admitted, “You have cleverly trapped me, as a hunter is wont. Permit me to beg for my life, then.”
“Beg, though you will find no quarter. Your pleas will fall sweet upon deaf ears.”
“Then know, great forester, that your princess is dead, but not yet gone. I have hooked her with my magic, to drag her to my realm. Yet, she is tied still by your devotion. Stay true to her for a single year and my spell is broken, and I must return her to life.”
“Swear this is true, Kelain, by all the gods!”
“In the knowing of Akrivar I swear it, and by the Spider, and atop the hallowed earth of Aedrin, I give you my bond. Abide by these strictures for just one year, and she is yours once more.”
“Done!” cried Kaspar. “And by the fact of true love, I shall never fail her!”
The love of men burns bright and hot, and as beautiful as a star; but like those stars of night, it fades. For six months, Kaspar kept his promise, bolstered by the memory of the princess’ fair skin, and bright eyes. In the seventh month, however, he met a young woman with freckles on her face and raven locks, who could sing a note so high and sweet that the stones wept. And so in the seventh month, he was untrue. And in the eighth. And the ninth. In the tenth, he was abed with rashes of the loins, but in the eleventh too, he dallied.
Then in the twelfth month, one year precisely from the day he shot the princess, he was hunting for boar in the dark forest, when he heard dancing and singing. Intrigued, he approached a lone clearing, where a fire had been set.
There, in the clearing, was Kelain, smiling. And there, dancing a stately dance about the flame, was the princess. At the sight of her, Kaspar’s heart burned with love anew, and he rushed to her side, sobbing: “Darling, my darling, I am so sorry. I will be true to you, now and forever!”
And the princess smiled at him, and beckoned him into her arms. And there they embraced, and her embrace was cold. He felt her papery skin upon his, white as leprosy, and smelled her rotting breath, and they danced one final time.
The next day, the people of Derswald found the body of Kaspar near the gates to town. There was no sign of what had killed him, save for a frostbitten patch of skin on his cheek, like the imprint of a dainty hand. The people mourned the loss of the great hunter, and brought him into the lodge to prepare for his eternal sleep.
For six days, Kaspar lay in state, sleeping the sleep of death. On the seventh, his eyes opened, and he rose.
And that was the end of the town of Derswald.
The bonfire flickered in the firepit, long done gorging on hunks of driftwood and dead palm leaves, but not yet ready to subside to embers. The sun had faded to a dull orange blur painting the horizon, but the stars were not bright enough to truly shine. Too early to sleep, too late to wake- a liminal hour.
Into this hour, Imogen Ward interjected, huddling close to the fire so that its light stained her green skin with ruddy hues, and the sparse scales on her arms and neck glinted inconsistently. In the wan light, her face seemed to hollow, to grow more gaunt and strange. Flashes of some violet lightning glinted behind her eyes.
”On a night like this,” Imogen spoke over the fire, her voice quiet; just audible over the crackling light and the sound of distant waves, ”Years ago it was. Before Ailos fell, to be sure, and maybe even before Kythera. Back before the plague, when people learned to fear the waking of those who should sleep for good. You see…”
~~~
Once upon a time, when the sons of Aileor still ruled the golden plains south of the haunted forests, there was a huntsman named Kaspar, a forester by the grace of the reigning Duc. Though he had been a forester for many years, he was intemperate in his cups, and brashly offended the ladies of the town of Derswald, where he came to trade his traps. One night, when he grew particularly free with them, the people of the town paid a wizard to lay a curse on Kaspar. All unknowing, he took the wizard’s coin for trade, and thus accepted the affliction upon his soul.
Thereafter, Kaspar found himself unable to strike stag and swine alike. Arrow after arrow he loosed, and his quiver grew light; yet his sled grew none the fuller. At last, his bags were empty and his heart was full of despair. In a grave plight, Kaspar built himself a fire for the night in the hollow where crossed the old ways of Sellen and Synker. There he rested, casting about for hope in his cursed night.
But as the moon grew bright above, a traveler chanced upon Kaspar’s camp, a tall, thin man, attended by a mule and carrying weighty packs upon it.
“Ho there!” cried Kaspar, “Who goes out upon the High King’s road?”
“Naught but a simple tradesman,” the figure responded, “A peddler, Kelain by name.”
“A peddler! Come not this way, traveler. I have been cursed by evil folk, and I would not care to embroil you in my woe!”
“Cursed?” Kelain inquired, “Lay out the nature of the curse, then. It so happens that I have seen some small display of the art in my travels; perhaps I may assist you.”
“I fear it is folly, but even still. A wizard of Derswald has placed a curse upon me, that no shot of mine will fly true. As my line is decreed by the High King to be foresters, it is the death of me!”
“Ah!” Kelain cried, “Worthy forester, it is fate indeed that our paths should cross here. For I have with me a set of arrows, imbued with a charm such that they can never miss, whatever the curse upon you decree. Six such arrows, and a seventh.”
“But such wonders must cost a fortune! I have no such treasure to trade.”
At that Kelain smiled. “Fortune indeed, for I ask not even a single coin. You may have six silver arrows, each of which will strike true whatsoever it is you desire. As price, I ask only that you also take this seventh silver arrow.”
“And what does it strike?” Kaspar asked, suspicious.
“It strikes as I desire.”
~~~
Though none could but suspect such a convenient trade, Kaspar took Kelain’s bargain. Six shafts of silver which attended to his whim, and one to a desire yet unknown.
Yet Kelain’s bargain proved as good as it seemed, and better. The arrows were sturdy- even upon striking a deer in full glory, they seldom broke. As promised, they never missed. In a week, Kaspar returned to Derswald with a great bounty; and the next week, an even greater one. So livid were the townsfolk that they ran the wizard who had cursed Kaspar out of town, then tied him to a great rock and poured boiling tar upon him.
As the hunter’s fame and fortune grew, so too did his luck with the women of the town. Many a pretty young girl came to woo the man who had become known as the greatest hunter in all the lands south of the Astralars, and many a girl did he make merry with and then dispense with the next day.
Still, as months turned to years, his stock of charmed arrows diminished. One broke, at last, upon the skull of a stag with eighteen points for antlers. Another went into the side of a boar who, though slain, still managed to run itself off the top of a waterfall. Yet another was stolen by one of his girls as he lay in a drunken haze, he having been thoughtless enough to show it to her while boasting. In time, he came to have only one of his six arrows- one arrow, and the seventh, too.
Yet one day, his fame became so great that a foreign princess, a northerner, came to the town to see him shoot. Kaspar was overcome by her beauty at once- in an instant, his wine-sopped adventures with the women of the town in the taverns seemed ashen and joyless. He knew at once, in his heart, that nothing would matter to him ever again, save that he know the princess’ love.
“You are Kaspar, the great hunter? The minstrels in my father’s hall sing of nothing but your exploits.” the princess said.
“It is true, and more.” he boasted, wishing only to impress her, “I have slain boar and stag, wolf and bear. Falcons on the gyre, I have shot down. There is no creature of land, air, or sea which I cannot slay.”
“Save the dragons themselves.” the princess corrected him.
This pious retraction, which any man might have accepted, stuck in his craw. “Nay; even a wyrm of the sky, my bow could strike it down.”
Such a boast, once made, could not be retracted. The princess would think him hollow and boastful; to swallow his pride and admit himself unworthy to face a great wyrm would show him to be a small, weak man. Thus, Kaspar insisted upon setting off into the forest with the northern princess, thereupon to find a dragon’s lair and display his powers.
For three days and three nights, they traveled the lands, until at last they came to the lair of a great black wyrm, an old and jealous lizard who accepted no company. There, Kaspar unhooked and strung his bow, and nocked the sixth arrow, then waited for the wyrm to emerge.
When at last the dragon came to leave his cavern, Kaspar loosed his flight, sending the silver arrow fair and true into the dragon’s eye. But though the wyrm howled and wept tears of blood, he did not die, and it quickly became clear that the dragon would soon recover, and slay his erstwhile slayer in turn. Overcome with desperation, Kaspar nocked the seventh arrow, and shot it. The bolt flew true-
-into the princess, watching from the road behind him.
~~~
Kaspar was able to escape the wounded dragon, but the princess was dead by his hand, and his heart filled with rage and longing. It was clear to him immediately who bore the blame; the fault lay with Kelain, the deceiving peddler.
The huntsman knew not from whence Kelain hailed, so he took a chance and returned to the crossing at Sellen and Synker. There he waited for six days and six nights, which were all his alone. And then, on the seventh night-
“Hail, worthy forester!” a voice called, and Kaspar sprung to his feet.
“Well met, Kelain. Come, step closer, that I might greet thee.”
Kelain stepped forward into the center of the crossing, and Kaspar lunged forward to paint a line- closing the circle he had drawn in the middle of the clearing.
“Halt and despair, Kelain! I have drawn a binding circle about you in the blood wept by the black wyrm, which all men know is proof against demons such as you!”
“It is true,” Kelain admitted, “You have cleverly trapped me, as a hunter is wont. Permit me to beg for my life, then.”
“Beg, though you will find no quarter. Your pleas will fall sweet upon deaf ears.”
“Then know, great forester, that your princess is dead, but not yet gone. I have hooked her with my magic, to drag her to my realm. Yet, she is tied still by your devotion. Stay true to her for a single year and my spell is broken, and I must return her to life.”
“Swear this is true, Kelain, by all the gods!”
“In the knowing of Akrivar I swear it, and by the Spider, and atop the hallowed earth of Aedrin, I give you my bond. Abide by these strictures for just one year, and she is yours once more.”
“Done!” cried Kaspar. “And by the fact of true love, I shall never fail her!”
~~~
The love of men burns bright and hot, and as beautiful as a star; but like those stars of night, it fades. For six months, Kaspar kept his promise, bolstered by the memory of the princess’ fair skin, and bright eyes. In the seventh month, however, he met a young woman with freckles on her face and raven locks, who could sing a note so high and sweet that the stones wept. And so in the seventh month, he was untrue. And in the eighth. And the ninth. In the tenth, he was abed with rashes of the loins, but in the eleventh too, he dallied.
Then in the twelfth month, one year precisely from the day he shot the princess, he was hunting for boar in the dark forest, when he heard dancing and singing. Intrigued, he approached a lone clearing, where a fire had been set.
There, in the clearing, was Kelain, smiling. And there, dancing a stately dance about the flame, was the princess. At the sight of her, Kaspar’s heart burned with love anew, and he rushed to her side, sobbing: “Darling, my darling, I am so sorry. I will be true to you, now and forever!”
And the princess smiled at him, and beckoned him into her arms. And there they embraced, and her embrace was cold. He felt her papery skin upon his, white as leprosy, and smelled her rotting breath, and they danced one final time.
~~~
The next day, the people of Derswald found the body of Kaspar near the gates to town. There was no sign of what had killed him, save for a frostbitten patch of skin on his cheek, like the imprint of a dainty hand. The people mourned the loss of the great hunter, and brought him into the lodge to prepare for his eternal sleep.
For six days, Kaspar lay in state, sleeping the sleep of death. On the seventh, his eyes opened, and he rose.
And that was the end of the town of Derswald.
Imogen pulled back from the fire as she finished her tale, letting the silence reign for a time. Then she spoke:
”And that's the story of the Forester and the Seven Arrows, as I heard it told in Zaichaer as a girl. Who will go next?”
