Damon Greyhart

Coldwater Keep, the seat of House Braddock

The Boulder Islands

    IT WAS A PARTICULARLY STORMY DAY when Damon Greyhart and his companions arrived at the Boulder Islands. Fat drops of rain fell from a grey and aching sky, and Damon was soaked to the bone. He forgot how wet and rainy the coasts could be, and he supposed he forgot sometime during his days in The Woodlands. If the coastal lands turned men into stone, he supposed the midlands turned them into putty.

    He rode alongside Thane Arther Braddock on a straight and narrow strip of land that led to Thane Braddock's ancestral home, Coldwater Keep. Behind them rode their honor guard, twenty or so men proven to be the best warriors their lands had to offer. His daughter Annette rode with Gunir and Erik on a wagon, still telling stories about all manner of things. There was no end to Annette's curiosity, or her giggling for that matter.

    The rest of Damon's bannermen and sworn shields took to the harbor towns, in need of drink and company after a long sail. Damon only hoped they wouldn't be too unruly. As Arther told it, the Boulder Islands were troubled enough, and Damon was sure they didn't need any more problems.

    They passed through numerous sea gates along the way up, each manned by one of Arther's salty and rain-soaked bannermen. They lit a fire as they went by, just as they did when the Thanes first docked in Mudwick Harbor. They hadn't even pulled into port yet when one of Arther's bannermen went to light a pyre near fifty feet tall. When he asked about it, Arther told Damon it was to signal to the stewards of his keep he had returned, so that dinner would be ready by the time he arrived home. Damon made Gunir write that down so that he could implement a similar process when he returned to the Woodlands. He was sick of waiting near an hour for dinner to be prepared after a long journey home.

They were finally past the last Seagate, and their destination was just ahead. When Damon finally laid eyes on Coldwater Keep, they widened at the grandeur. There weren't many castles left in Farrenhelm, war or the winters had taken them. Damon only knew of Castle Frostwind, where the royal family resided, and Silver Rock, where the Whitelockes made their home. But Coldwater blew both of those out of the water.

"Quite something, isn't she?" Arthur said to Damon as they approached the final gate to the keep itself. It was a grand thing built of seastone, with towers that reached into the sky like the fingers of a giant. Damon's seat, Maple Oak, was nowhere near the grand scale of Coldwater Keep. Maple Oak was only a modest manor, surrounded by trees armored in pines, and the homes of his sworn shields. Where Coldwater Keep was a warrior full of bravado, Maple Oak was perhaps an admirer, wishing to be the warrior instead.

"Yes," Damon uttered out jealously. "Quite something indeed."

"It's been in my family's seat for generations. My father told me it was built by the elves, and was one of the first keeps captured by men during the revolution. They say there's magic still within the walls of Coldwater."

Damon snickered. "Maybe that's why they returned...to take it back."

Arther chuckled. "Let them try. I'll send them back to the Abyss myself."

*****

A most delicious smell danced in the air of the warm main hall as Arther led them into Coldwater. Most of their honor guard retreated to the barracks in the Keep, excited at the proposition of spending time with mead kegs, dice games, and the whores. "Whatever makes the men happy," Arther had said.

Two stewards came to Damon and relieved him of his sopping wet cloak, and one did the same for Annette.

"I hope you're hungry, Lord Greyhart," Arther started to say. "Most nights when I return, my stewards prepare a dinner fit for-"

"Father!" an excited boy exclaimed. Arther's turned his head and a smile grew on his face, watered and nurtured by the sweet sound of his son's voice. The boy ran into his father's arms, with enough force to make the Thane slightly stumble.

"My son," said Arther. "I've missed you and your brothers terribly!"

Damon smiled at their reunion. It always did his heart well to see a parent reunited with their children. He always felt the same way when his little Annette would light up at his return from a long journey. It wasn't long until another son of his emerged from within the keep, and then another, and then another. They don't seem to stop coming...

They were all of differing sizes, ages, and coloring. There were four of them, three with dark hair like their father, and one with a mess of chestnut curls. The oldest looked to be a man nearly grown, and the youngest was about the same age as Annette. They were all talking over one another, asking their father a variety of questions about his trips, from how long the sail was, to whether or not Arther saw any of the elves.

Damon whistled. "That's quite the litter you have there, four sons."

Arther turned back to Damon as his sons fell quiet. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "I have six, actually."

Damon's mouth fell open ever so slightly. "Six sons? Gods above, I pity your poor wife!"

Arther laughed. "Fear not for my wife, Lord Greyhart. She runs a tighter ship than any sea captain I've ever seen."

As if on cue, Arther's wife entered the main hall, with a young boy in her arms and a grown man behind her. Damon assumed they were the two missing sons.

"Hello, my love," Arther's wife said as she embraced him. Arther kissed her gently, and tousled the hair of his son in her arms. He then shook arms with the eldest of his sons, and their reunion struck Damon more as two warriors crossing paths rather than a father and son excited to see each other.

Arther turned back to Damon, his family now amassed. "Lord Greyhart, allow me to introduce you to my family." He gestured to his wife, who stood next to him with the boy in her arms. "This is my wife Ingrid, and our youngest son, Ansel."

Ingrid bowed her head. She was a comely woman, with matronly features and auburn hair. She had only the slightest signs of aging in her face, as evident by the crow's feet near her chestnut colored eyes. "A pleasure to have you in our home, Lord Greyhart."

Damon returned a bow of his own. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Braddock. You have a lovely family. Quite the strapping young men you have here."

Arther nodded proudly. He clasped the shoulder of his eldest son, who was nearly the same height. "This is my firstborn, Toryn."

Toryn bowed his head. "Lord Greyhart," he said respectfully. He was a well-muscled youth of twenty years, and had the same look as his father; a broad face with deep blue eyes beneath long locks of hair as dark as midnight. Damon imagined Arther looked much the same at that age. Looking at Toryn was like looking into the past and digging beneath the years of Arther.

Next after Toryn stood a young man who perhaps just left the final years of his adolescence behind. He had dark hair like his father, but the warm chestnut eyes of his mother. He was far more scrawny than Toryn, and did not stand near as tall or proud as his older brother. Still, doesn't mean he might one day, Damon thought.

Arther gestured to him, still by his wife's side. "This is my second son, Brandr."

"Lord Greyhart," said Brandr, mimicking Toryn's greeting by bowing his head. His voice slightly cracked as he said Hart, and Damon had to stifle a chuckle. I remember those days, when my voice had yet to deepen. I pray they are days soon over, young Brandr.

The next two boys Damon guessed were no older than thirteen. They were exact copies of each other, and Damon swore that at some point unbeknownst to him, he had gotten himself drunk, and was seeing double. "Those are my twin boys Orynder and Oliver." They both had black hair and mischievous smiles, but it was their eyes that caught Damon's attention. Both had one chestnut eye and one blue eye. How interesting, Damon mused.

"It is a pleasure, Lord Greyhart," Olynder said enthusiastically. Or was that Oliver?

"Quite pleasurable, actually, Lord Greyhart!" the other one, Oliver, quipped.

Olynder frowned at his brother. "I said it was a pleasure first!"

"And I said it was 'pleasurable', you half-wit," Oliver retorted.

"Shit-for-brains!" Olynder cursed.

"Squid-fucker!" Oliver snapped back.

"Boys!" Ingrid snapped. "What did I say about language!"

"But mother, he started it!" the two twins said unanimously. They proceeded to argue further and insult each other with colorful curses Damon hadn't heard since his youth.

"Oliver, Orynder!" Arther's loud voice tore through and bounced off the walls of the keep. It was the same volume and tone he used to command his ship, Damon recognized. He didn't blame the father for having to resort to it to quell this brotherly spat. "Enough!"

"Sorry father," they both said with dropped heads and apologetic tones.

Arther sighed. "Apologies, Lord Greyhart. My boys forget their manners from time to time. I will see to it that they are disciplined."

    Damon chuckled. "It's quite alright, Lord Braddock." If anything, Damon enjoyed listening to the two brothers bicker. It reminded him of how Kristoph and Latham would argue. He missed his boys every day, and it was seldom a day went by he didn't think of them.

    "And lastly, this is our son Nylls," Arther finished.

    The last boy was the only one that took after his mother, with a mess of chestnut curls that came down to his shoulders, soft cheeks, and bright blue eyes. He gave a far more formal and extravagant bow. "At your service, Lord Greyhart."

    Damon smiled widely. "Thank you, young Nylls. I will let you know if I am in need of anything." He felt a small hand curl around his fingers. He looked down to his left, and Annette smiled up at him. She was ready for introduction.

"Noble Braddocks, this is my daughter Annette."

Annette gave a sheepish wave, which made Damon smirk. For someone so desperate for attention, she sure shies away when she receives it.

    Ingrid flashed a bright warm smile. "Well aren't you a sweet little thing! I hope you're hungry, we have lots of food waiting for us in the main hall. Why don't we settle in to eat?"

The notion drew everyone's approval, and they made off for dinner.

Arther led them into his dining hall. It was a cavernous thing, with a hearth at each end, and a grand dining table center of the room. Portraits of whom Damon assumed to have been past Braddocks were hung on the wall, as were decorations of mounted preserved sea life. On the wall behind the head of the table rested a mounted shark's head, fearsome and roaring with intensity. On each side of the shark's head were two shields emblazoned with the sigil of the Braddock family; two sharks swimming on opposite sides, one colored blue swimming in a field of white, and the other the reversal.

    Damon wished his father had chosen something as fearsome as a shark to represent their family. When Gandyn Greyhart became Thane of the Woodlands, he chose the modest and simple shield as his family sigil. It was odd when it came to painting the sigil of a shield on a shield, as it would be stitching the symbol of a shirt into a shirt, but Gandyn promised there was wisdom in his decision.

    "Let the other families boast of the strength of a bear or the cunning nature of the wolf," Damon's father had said. "At the end of the day, neither will save you in battle. Only a shield will do that."

    Arther took his seat at the head of the table underneath the great shark head. To his left sat his wife, Ingrid, and to his right was where Damon was to sit. That was the traditional seating arrangements in Farrenhelm when you had a guest dine with you. Your spouse sat your left, the same hand on which you wore your ring, and your guest sat on your right, the same hand you would shake theirs with.

    Arther's sons sat in an order that suggested oldest to youngest, with Toryn next to his mother, and Nylls the furthest away. It wasn't long after they sat that the stewards brought out their dinner; grilled swordfish, potatoes, and leeks. Damon hadn't had a meal like this since his youth.

    "So, Lord Greyhart," Ingrid started as she sliced into her swordfish. "Arther tells me that you once called the Coastlands your home. How did you end up becoming the Thane of the Woodlands?"

    "That is quite the story, actually," Damon replied. "My father and I entered the charge of Thane Halfhill when I was only a boy. When he passed, he named my father as his successor. He had no heirs, and it was a very unexpected surprise."

    "I could imagine, Lord Greyhart. A sudden Thanehood thrust upon your family must have been very difficult for your father."

    Damon smiled. "With my father, you wouldn't have known it. He was a wise and respected man. Thanehood suited him very well."

    "I don't doubt it," Ingrid said as she took a bite of her swordfish.

    Damon noticed Arther's eldest son, Toryn, was hardly eating. He looked troubled, with eyes that brewed storms. Almost as if he had heard Damon's thoughts, the young Braddock looked towards him. "My father says you're to help us defeat the Greymen."

    Arther set down the bite of food he was about to take. "Not now, Toryn."

    Toryn shook his head. "Father, they killed another eight of our people while you were away! We must take the fight to the shores of Greyspear, and we must do it now."

    "Dammit son, I said not now!" Arther shouted. His voice echoed off the walls of the dining hall and into the rest of the keep.

Toryn dropped his head. "Forgive me, father."

Arther sighed. "We'll discuss the Greymen after dinner, son. Our troubles with them are not appropriate to discuss at dinner." He looked at Damon. "Are you enjoying your food, Lord Greyhart?"

Damon nodded and prepared himself for another bite. "I am indeed, Lord Braddock. Your cooks are very talented. I might consider taking one or two of them with me when I return to the Woodlands."

That solicited a laugh from Ingrid, and the tension that filled the dining hall after Arthers outburst seemed to dissipate. Funny enough, Damon actually agreed with young Toryn. He wanted to discuss the Greymen, and he wanted to do it sooner than later.

*****

    After dinner, Ingrid and her youngest sons led the stewards in cleaning up after dinner, while Damon joined Arther and Toryn in the Thane's study. It was a modest war room, lined with bookshelves and maps of the Boulder Islands.

They sat around a table that was centered in the room, and Arther gave each of them a horn of mead. It was a spiced mead, and Damon found it rather comforting in this drab and dreary weather.

"So, young Toryn," Damon started. "What was it you were saying at dinner? The Greymen have killed more of your people?"

Toryn nodded solemnly. "Eight of our coastguard. Their attacks are...they're strange."

"How do you mean?" Damon inquired.

Toryn shook his head as he thought. "They don't seem to want anything. They don't kill with purpose. They just hurl spears and arrows from their longboats, and then retreat after they've killed someone."

"Do you ever give chase?" Damon asked.

Arther shook his head. "I've forbidden it. I don't want to risk losing ships or more men than we need."

Damon grunted. This was peculiar indeed. "Perhaps if we could capture one, we could learn what it is they're after, why they attack so strangely."

"We know why," Toryn said with a fiery passion. "It's the Witch."

"Toryn!" Arther chided. He looked around nervously, afraid something was suddenly creeping in the shadows. "I told you that we are not to speak of her in our home."

Damon forgot how superstitious the people of the islands could be. But then again, he remembered being plenty terrified of the stories of the Witch of Greyspear. "Why do you say this?" Damon asked Toryn.

Toryn looked to his father, who hesitantly nodded for him to continue. "I have a friend in the Coastguard, Bori. He says he saw her one night."

Damon found that hard to believe. "He saw her? Where, when?"

"He saw her gliding over the waves underneath the light of a pale moon. He swears it by the Gods. I've never seen him so scared. He almost couldn't even finish the story."

Damon looked to Arther. "Do you know this Bori?"

Arther nodded. "He's a good lad. He's the son of one of my most trusted sea captains."

Damon looked at Ather skeptically. "Do you believe in the Witch, Arther?"

Arther took a deep breath, and held it for a few moments. "I do," he said finally. "Strange things have swept the lands recently, Lord Greyhart. These are trying times."

Damon felt himself near pale at the admission. What have I walked myself into? "I want to speak to this Bori. I want to hear the story for myself."

Toryn nodded. "I can take you to him tomorrow at first light. There's many more people who swear they've seen the Witch as well."

Damon nodded. "I'm sure. Stories of her have been around for a long time, even since I was a boy."

"They're not just stories, Lord Greyhart, I promise you," said Arther. "I pray to the Gods you never find yourself having one of your own." Arther seemed to want to add something else. "Until now," he said finally. "We thought the elves were gone, dead for a thousand years...and now they're back. Don't be so quick to dismiss the Witch, Damon."

Damon supposed he had a point. It wasn't so much that Damon didn't believe in the Witch of Greyspear.

It was more that he didn't want to.

*****

Shortly after their conversation, Damon and his company were showed to their rooms. Annettes was in the same wing as Arther's children. Sleeping in the same halls as young strapping men such as Ather's made Damon thankful his daughter was only a girl, and not yet a woman.

After putting Annette to sleep, he was shown to his own room. It was simply decorated, with only the essentials; a bed with a trunk at the foot, a dresser with enough drawers to fit an entire maidens wardrobe, and a desk with a powder station. On the walls were the banners of the Twelve Thanes, which Damon found to be very hospitable of Lord Braddock. You never knew who might spend the night in your home with you. Depending on the circumstances, the notion could be either incredibly exciting, or horrifically terrifying.

His Carls, Gunir and Erik, hauled in his belongings, which weren't much, just two trunks worth of clothing, and some personal items. Once settled in, he dismissed them for the night, though with those two, he was sure their night was far from over. Coldwater Keep was a lively place, as Arther told it, and his guardsmen's barracks was practically a small tavern. Damon didn't mind all that much. After their traveling, he was happy to let his men have a little fun.

Having changed into his sleeping attire, Damon settled into bed, his father's leather bound journal in his hand. Damon was only just a little upset Gandyn decided to keep a journal after their arrival to the Woodlands. Had he written during their years in the Coastlands, Damon could have learned so much more about where he came from.

Damon licked his fingers and flipped to a page, one that had given him trouble lately, one that compelled him to travel to the Boulder Islands. It was a page towards the end, though the end was only a little ways past the middle of the journal. There were many more blank pages that went on, and Damon wished more than anything his father could filled them with his words.

The page Damon flipped to was dated as the 17th Day of the Summers End, 993 AM.

I have been deeply troubled, as of late, Gandyn's hand wrote. The Thanes hardly seem to agree on anything anymore. I feel as though our meetings have turned to the squabbles of children rather than the discussions of men.

The King has become more and more demented, hard of listening, and ill-tempered. King Agner was once a lively man with good humor, but I'm afraid that with every year that passes, he loses himself more and more. Soon enough, he'll be nothing more than an empty vessel for a tired and worn out soul.

I pity his son, Agner II, so young to be thrown into such tremendous responsibility. Lord Whitelocke and Lord Cullen sit on both sides of his ears, and I'm afraid the boys mind, much like his fathers, isn't his own.

I do not trust either of them, but I am more weary of Nolan. He has been odd these past few moons. Ever since his trip to reconquer Greyspear, strange things have been happening with the man. His wife, Andrea, died recently, and the man has hardly spoke of her since. I'm not sure if this is to grief, or simple indifference. With a man like Nolan, it is hard to tell.

He has sent his son, Seigfreid, to Jorden, intent on having the young man join the Jordein Ranger Order. Seigfreid never struck me as a man of the blade. I do not imagine he will thrive in the lands of the lions.

The script ended here, and Damon turned the page.

Nolan didn't conquer Greyspear, though this did not come as a shock to any of the Twelve. Better Thanes have tried, and better Thanes have failed. The man did not even step foot on their shores when he had his ships turn around.

Whatever he saw turned the mans soul to ice, this I am certain. That place is godless, and has been long abandoned, left to the savage greymen that call the place their home. Damon was terrified of them as a boy, I remember. He used to crawl into bed with me and Thyra every night he had a nightmare. The stories of the Witch troubled his heart, and yet, the boy kept asking to hear them. I suppose there was sense in it. The better you knew your enemy, the less scary they were. Still, they were only stories, and I reminded him as much.

He's a man grown now, with boys of his own, and another child on the way. He'll make a fine Thane one day, a better one than the Twelve deserve.

The entry ended there. Damon wasn't sure how many times he had read this passage over the years. It was different than the other entries. Gandyn was always of high spirits and optimistic, sure that each new day held new wonders. He wrote about the colors of the world, the laughter of children, the good nature and lighthearted conversations he had with his Carls.

Yet here, that man wasn't present. Thunderstorms invaded his clear skies, and that storm came in the name of Nolan Whitelocke. Something about his trip to Greyspear troubled Gandyn. What would make a warmonger and accomplished Thane such as Nolan turn tail and run? Whatever it was, Damon was going to find out, one way or another.

What happened in Greyspear, Nolan? What was it you saw?