New CotW

Chapter I

Dusk had fallen like
a dusty gray cloak about the shoulders of the dark mountain. A streak
of crimson sun showed on the horizon, the last glory of the setting
sun. Its bright white flanks all but drowned in the shadow of the
mountain, a single pegasus flapped broad, feathered wings frantically
against the cold winds. Clinging close to its back, low in the
saddle, was a man, his form muffled by his white cloak and hood. The
winds beat against the pair, making white mane, tail, and cloak
flutter wildly. White feathers were plucked by the wind, whipped
mercilessly about in the air.

Framed bright
against the black stones of the double-peaked mountain, the pair
struggled for their lives against the tempestuous, howling winds.
Ahead was the entrance they were looking for; tendrils of warmth were
whipped about in the air as they slipped through the entrance. A hot,
red glow emanated from the hole, promising an escape from the
wind-whipped mountain.

“Look, Ramal:
the smoke from the furnaces of Parnassus! He is at work now, forging
the sword that will…” The cloaked man’s young,
strong voice carried on as his winged mount nodded silently and set
silver eyes on the view above. The two sharp peaks of the mountains
poured forth pillars of dark smoke. As the two neared the entrance
and Ramal answered his master quietly, a steady, pounding clash
became audible, loudest at the entrance but seeming to reverberate
throughout the whole mountain.

At last, after
almost an hour of struggling against the harsh winds, the pegasus’s
silvery gray hooves stood firmly on the small ledge outside the
entrance. Dismounting, the man clung to the stones as he eased his
way over to the entrance. A sudden gust of wind knocked his hood and
filled up his cloak, threatening to tear him off of the mountainside
and send him hurtling down to his death. His visible breath coming in
ragged gasps, the tendrils of vapor carried away swiftly by the
winds, Ramal lunged, wings folded against his sides, and his ivory
white teeth snapped down on his master’s cloak hem, pulling him
back against the side of the mountain.

Gasping as tiredly
as his mount, the cloaked man patted Ramal’s back in thanks and
ducked through the entrance, followed by the white pegasus. Both had
saved each other’s lives so many times that they scarcely
thought of it now.

Illuminated by the
burning red glow, a massive figure stood before an iron anvil that
was at least as tall as Ramal. His pale, bulging flesh, scarred by
many sparks, and protected only by a linen loincloth, covered
powerful muscles. Even the giant’s hands were not protected by
gloves; Parnassus was fully in tune with his craft and worked by the
sound, smell, feel, and sight of his metal. Tiny ears were
accompanied by a single, large, yellow eye located just above the
bridge of his short, ugly nose.

“Fear not,”
said the man. The wind had revealed a young, perfect face with pale
golden, almost white hair and silvery eyes like Ramal’s, but
there was a sense of power and authority in those eyes, and beams of
golden light burst from his clothes and skin. Parnassus dropped his
hammer and covered his eye fearfully with both hands. “Greetings,
Parnassus. I have been sent to check on your work.”

Still frightened of
the radiant being, the ugly cyclops uncovered his face and picked up
his hammer with a trembling fist. “The work goes well, my lord.
It will be finished by winter,” Parnassus said in a voice deep
and low but stuttering slightly.

Seemingly hesitant,
the white-cloaked young man at last said, “You are to take it
to him yourself, Parnassus.”

With a slight sigh,
the cyclops nodded. “As you wish. Excuse me, my lord; Ares! The
blade is finished!” A smaller cyclops deeper in the cave
standing by a shorter anvil took the beaten blade with his tongs and
began his work. Parnassus shouted again, “Animethus! Bring food
and drink for our guest!” At last he turned back to the glowing
man and his mount. “I began work on the blade right away and
have just finished it. Now Ares will make the quillons, and then he
will pass it on to Disares, who will fashion a handle and pommel for
it and last of all I will…er…ah, here is Animethus. I
must apologize for the lack of proper seating, but if I use a smaller
boulder I can make you a cyclops seat and table.”

The young man found
himself seated on a smooth boulder about half his size, covered with
goatskins, before a table fashioned a stone slab with four stones for
legs. He and Ramal feasted on an abundance of goat’s meat,
goat’s milk, and fried mushrooms, served on skillfully crafted,
silver platters, or in the case of the milk, in silver goblets. Ramal
had not spoken to Parnassus at all or to any of the other cyclopes
except to quietly thank Animethus, and his master seemed not to
notice Parnassus’s awkward hesitance in telling him of the
process of making the sword. He had looked strangely sad since the
cyclops’s blunder, though, and Ramal wondered inwardly what it
was all about.



It was warm for an
autumn day. The sun brightened the reds, oranges, and yellows of the
leaves. Two boys traveled across the plains northeast, towards Redrin
Forest, their clothing blending in with the grasses. Several miles in
the direction opposite to that which they were going was their
village. To the west and the south were broader plains, expanding
eventually west to the Great Sea; centaurs roamed those plains, and
even here in the smaller plains between their village and Redrin
Forest they would have to be careful of the half-horse tribe-beasts.

One boy was shorter
than the other, and wore an olive green tunic, reaching almost to his
knees and belted at the waist. Although they were traveling across
open plains then, the two would soon reach the dense forest, so he
was armed with both bow and dagger; the bow and quiver were slung at
his back, and the dagger was sheathed at his belt alongside his
pouch. In length, the bow was somewhere between a longbow and a short
bow, crafted by the boy himself out of ash wood. The dagger was a
simple affair with a long, tapering, steel blade and sturdy wooden
handle. Alongside his bow and quiver of arrows, which were fletched
with harpy feathers obtained on previous expeditions, was a pack with
provisions.

The other, taller
boy was similarly attired, but his tunic was a dull yellow and his
bow and dagger were more skillfully made. His arrows, too, were
fletched with the dark brown wing feathers of a harpy. Unlike his
companion’s dark brown hair, his was dirty blond.

Thus equipped, the
two friends, both around seventeen years, walked beneath the warm sun
through the grass towards the forest. Both boys were too tired to
talk, and trudged wearily on. It was only a little less than a
quarter of a mile to Redrin Forest. At last, after a silent, sweaty
walk across the short distance remaining, they reached the shade of
the trees. Many of them were aspens or birches, whereas the trees of
Taurus Wood to the east of their village had more oaks and elms.
Arelas, the shorter boy in the green tunic, sat down with an
exhausted sigh, his back against an aspen tree. Eldan, his friend,
sat beside him, producing an apple from his pack and slicing and
coring it quickly with his dagger. Both boys munched contentedly on a
half of the red apple as they talked.

“It’s a
bit late for lunch,” commented Arelas.

“This isn’t
lunch, Arel’ – we already had lunch,” Eldan
reminded him.

“Oh yes. I
forgot,” chuckled Arelas.

“Sure you
did,” teased Eldan.

Ignoring the jibe,
Arelas finished chewing before saying, “I wonder what we’ll
have for supper. I hope it isn’t cabbage, again. What I need is
some harpy meat.”

Eldan laughed.
“That’s disgusting…harpy meat.”

“I wonder what
the worst thing they eat is,” mused Arelas, happy that Eldan
had laughed at his joke.

“Probably
spiders and dead centaurs,” joked Eldan.

“Dead
centaurs…now there’s a thought. But they wouldn’t
dare fly over the plains – they’d get shot down by
centaurs in the blink of an eye,” said Arelas.

“I was
joking,” said Eldan, annoyed at his friend’s slowness.