A Reign of Peace

By Nicholas F. Cucolo and Joseph A. Domino

A Reign of Peace is an adventure epic where characters engage in larger than life heroics

to preserve a distant yet familiar civilization. It focuses on a young man named Dominus and his struggle with faith as he confronts threats of war and conquest. How does it all start?

In turning over the soil for the next crop, two hapless farmers unearth a small metallic boxabout the size and shape of a pocket calculator. To their amazement, it hums and has a small translucent window with an eerie pulsating green glow. The community buzzes with excitement. News of the strange artifact reaches Dominus and his close friend, Rumanion, farmers who have also studied history and archaeology at the University. They decide to have a look at this unique relic. Before they realize what happens, they are caught up in a series of events which forever alters their lives and their society as well. Memorable life-like characters struggle in a unique setting and, as a result of their conflicts, mature as they learn more about themselves and the world around them.

Although Dominus is only in his late twenties, he is embittered and cynical as a result of a tragic youth (Man is no better than a swine, he laments, clinging to miserably to this cosmic prank called life, only to have it snuffed out. ..). Later, with the help of the devout cleric Thomas and his sister Elaina, Dominus acquires faith and finds love.

As readers battle villains and a secret race of mutants along with Dominus and Rumanion, they feel as if theyre traveling through the Middle Ages. However, the novel is actually set in the future. At one point, fleeing for his life, Dominus stumbles into a network of caves which houses a missile complex. How is he to relate this discovery to the simple, agrarian values of his society?

Besides Dominus and Rumanion, the book abounds with characters who have distinct and engaging personalities. Mangross, the self-serving mercenary, represents the dark path Dominus could take. Mangross would rather count his gold than ponder noble causes. (I am accustomed to being well paid for my services, he proudly boasts, and with my earnings, I can drink, game, and swyve my fill. Causes make man grim and morbid.) There is Sablestone the hermit, a proud warrior who spurns society, yet is a help to all. And Harrington Nob, the man bound by science and society, who learns friendship and compassion. Grunorga is the chieftain of the mutants; he is revealed to be a sadistic maniacal leader bent on fulfilling his imagined destiny as conqueror.

In addition to the qualifies of a suspenseful fast-paced adventure story, the themes of mans relationship to nature, technology, his fellow man, and to God all predominate throughout the book. However, these motifs all emerge from the action of the story. And the action never stops!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 18, 2000
• ISBN: 9781477166802

Nicholas F. Cucolo

Mr. Domino has been in the technical publications field for 26 years. During that period he has produced two other full-length novels (A Reign of Peace and Principalities of Darkness), as well as a novella and dozens of short stories which have appeared in regional publications. A new novel, entitled 168 Hours, is in progress

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

DOMINUS SQUINTED AT RUMANION’S FARMHOUSE as he urged his black horse, Plume, around a twisting bend in the road. His friend, Rumanion, had sent one of the farmers with a message all the way out to his small cottage, which was located in an isolated spot near the northwestern boundary of the farm. Rumanion had been to the village earlier in the day, where he chanced upon Agrarius, who was a council elder of the village of Morris Wood as well as director of the local archaeological digs. The old man had something of interest to tell them. At least the rain had stopped, thought Dominus. It had been one of those great storms, which occurred now and then, signaling the end of a season.

Rumanion’s farm was good sized for the sparsely populated lands in the year 985. Rumanion had been pacing back and forth in his study, every now and then glancing out the window for his friend. He relaxed when he took a deep breath and smelled the scent of his apple orchard, the wet earth and leaves. When he looked out to the distant hills, there it was again.

It was the third straight night he had noticed the glow of a sizable campfire, perhaps only a mile away. Unusual, he thought, for a large encampment to be passing through. People knew little of the lands beyond, and most preferred to keep it that way. He wondered if Morris Wood had grown too provincial and secluded. Rumanion now squinted across the valley, still able to make out what had once been a great paved road. There had been many such roads; most were now ruptured in places by roots and erosion, some not at all recognizable, almost none that were passable. As Rumanion turned away to feed some twigs to the fireplace, one of the farm hands appeared in the doorway and announced that Dominus was coming up the road.

I’ll raise a light for ‘im and take ‘is horse.

Thanks, Warren. I’ll go with you. Tell me, is all well with you and your son?

Very well. Paul is quite happy. But, sir, have you seen the campfire again?

Aye. Just now.

I figure it’s them been stealin’ those sheep from Archer’s farm, over near the southwestern ridge.

It’s possible.

Rumanion and Warren went out to greet Dominus who was dismounting at the front gate. Warren had only been hired a week ago, so he had not yet met Dominus.

Dominus had been tending his horse with his back turned to the house, but he whirled about suddenly when he heard footsteps. Warren was not prepared for the hard, even fierce countenance of Dominus, who threw aside his black cloak with a flourish, revealing a knotted brow beneath a hat with a black plume. His reddish beard bristled. Warren took a step backwards and tipped into a rain barrel, causing it to splash water on the feet of Dominus. Rumanion snorted out a laugh, wanted to laugh more, but thought better of it. Dominus looked at his wet boots and saw his reflection in a puddle disappear with the fading light.

Rumanion, it’s too early for one of your laughing fits. I just got here. When his friend began to chuckle again, Dominus shook water from his boots and continued. New hired help?

You could hardly blame our ‘new hired help’. You look like an old forest demon.

Warren seemed to relax when he saw Dominus barely concealing a smile. However, when they all started inside, Dominus turned to Warren in earnest and said, And don’t look at me like I’m some devil. Dominus stormed ahead of them into hall, where he met Paul who carried a tray. The boy stopped and stared.

Rumanion was still chuckling. Don’t be afraid, he said, it’s only Ominous Dominus. Warren nodded and Paul left for the kitchen.

Dominus turned and entered Rumanion’s study, flinging his cloak down on a chair. He immediately poured himself some brandy. Next, he looked at Warren and then Rumanion, awaiting further explanation.

Dominus, said Rumanion, turning to Warren, helps me run the farm. He lives—

Alone with my horse, Dominus grumbled.

Warren stood, staring and fidgeting with his hat, not knowing what to say. His gaze drifted to the varied collection of artifacts, some strange objects to him, which lay across a long table.

Dominus continued, I tend some chickens, a cow or two, and part of the orchards. He again reached for the bottle of brandy. I hope I did not frighten the boy.

No, Master Dominus, he’s a good lad and can make sense out of most things.

What’s Paul been up to? asked Rumanion, poking coals in the fire.

Well, he’s reading one of your books. I’m glad he learned to read in Hawkington. I can’t read so good.

But your interest in history is keen, is it not? asked Dominus as he spun around and pointed to the table.

History? asked Warren, confused.

Aye, the past. These things we preoccupy ourselves with, said Dominus disdainfully. For example, at just about every site we’ve found these black curved chips. They’re tough yet pliable. Some have wavy impressions. Dominus reached for a chunk of this substance and held it up. What could they have been used for? No one knows. Now he squeezed it.

You’ve seen the old pictures, said Rumanion, the covered carriages with the black wheels.

Who knows? Maybe Warren has some idea.

Domi, don’t make fun of him.

Please excuse me, mumbled Warren who lowered his eyes, I haven’t been much around schooled folk like yourselves, but I would have Paul educated.

That’s good news, said Rumanion.

Aye, by all means, added Dominus, but he should be warned that such cultivating of the intellect may darken his outlook on the human condition and make him grim about the mouth.

See? Rumanion thumbed at his friend, this is such a casualty. Dominus twisted his features in mock effrontery.

Warren again looked at the table, now catching sight of an old timepiece that ticked uncertainly. He shook his head and frowned.

These things dug up from the earth—these arteefacts are a strange lot.

Oh, I don’t know, said Dominus, sighing impatiently as he stared at the distorted reflection of the crackling hearth through his half filled brandy glass. I’ve seen strange enough sights right here above ground.

How strange, Warren? asked Rumanion.

Back in Hawkington, they dug up stuff there, too. I used to pick all kinds of things from the fields I plowed. Everyone did, I guess. And then we’d have town meetings and talk about it. One night, the night the strangers were there, someone made a loud joke about me hoarding valuable treasure. I don’t exactly remember the strangers leaving after that, but, anyway, that’s the night it happened.

What happened? asked Dominus, finally turning about and facing the others.

Warren rubbed his face and lowered his eyes. Our farmhouse was burnt to the ground. Even the fields were scorched. At least that’s how we found it when we rode back from the town late that night.

Was anything of value taken? asked Rumanion.

No. We had nothing worth the taking.

What happened after that? Did you see the strangers again?

No. We left with the clothes on our back and some possessions a few people gave us. We tried to find a cousin up north here but never did. So we looked for a place where we could earn our way and have a roof over our heads. We were directed to Agrarius when we got to the Morris Wood. Found him at that inn.

The Jolly Nine, added Rumanion.

Well, began Dominus, making a sweeping gesture with his hand, here’s yet another fallen prey to foul misfortune.

Warren rose. It’s time to make the rounds.

Dominus raised an eyebrow.

It seemed like a good idea. With that campfire, said Rumanion. Come Warren, I’ll walk outside with you. Dominus poked at the fire, staring distantly into the embers.

The two men headed for the hall as Warren drew up his heavy cloak. Rumanion opened the door and stepped outside. Warren started to walk down the road, but turned.

Curious business, these arteefacts. Rumanion nodded as Warren lingered. I warrant somethin’s not well with that young man. I hope I didn’t say somethin’ wrong.

No, Warren, said Rumanion drawing close, he’s a fellow of high principle. But, there are sorrows which weigh heavily upon him.

A pity it is, said Warren, scanning the countryside.

Well, have a care if you meet any travelers. They must certainly be outsiders, but I can’t imagine what they’re doing here. I’ll look in on Paul in a bit. Warren nodded thankfully and headed for the stables.

Rumanion re-entered and Dominus spoke distantly. How passed you the time today?

No picking today with the rain. I caulked a window and looked over some old manuscripts. The rain slowed around noon so—

I had a leak in my roof, interrupted Dominus gloomily. I put a bucket under it and read by my stove, listening to the drops—plop, plop. Rumanion started to speak again, but Dominus continued, so, what did Agrarius want?

Something unusual was found.

What is it this time? There’s nothing really new under the sun. Dominus had begun to pace around the room, fidgeting and gesturing with his hands.

Do you want to hear about it, or not?

Dominus took hold of his restless behavior and forced himself into a soft chair. He folded his arms as if to restrain himself into his seat.

It’s a light weight metallic bar, about five inches in length. It also has markings—

Oh, this is agonizingly curious.

It hums.

What do you mean it hums? Is there a nest of hornets within? How can it hum?

It can be heard if held close to the ear. Also, it has a small indentation. Maybe an eighth of an inch. At the bottom, there’s a kind of milky film with a greenish glow. It pulsates off and on.

It must have some kind of built-in energy source. Something from the past come to haunt us.

Well, that’s the description given anyway. It appears to have been built to withstand more than a little punishment.

How so?

It was found by two poor farmers on their own land. It seems they flaunted it about the Jolly Nine in return for small coinage. Contests were held to see if the object could be broken or opened. According to one of Agrarius’s men, it faced the axe, a mallet, fire, and boiling water, and still it hummed and the green light shone.

I see, said Dominus, now greatly absorbed by the subject. Nothing like this even in the collections at Wittech or the Preservation Vaults.

Anyway, Agrarius requested that you seek out these farmers and offer them a sum for it.

Well enough. I could use a change of scenery. But I think we need someone more qualified to examine the thing. There are no alchemists in Morris Wood.

Agrarius said we’d worry about that later.

Agreed. Where is the farm?

Not too far. Agrarius suggested that you ride to the Jolly Nine and inquire of Cobble, the innkeeper, the exact whereabouts of the farm. These farmers are named ‘Soil’, oddly enough. Dominus winced as if he had heard a bad pun.

I’ll leave at dawn. I am anxious to see this mystery. Besides, there is little time to waste. Someone may yet damage the object.

The two men shared a bit more brandy, and when Dominus drained his glass, he rose and drew up his black cloak.

Send word if there’s trouble, said Rumanion. Dominus made a face like he didn’t understand.

Rumanion came outside with a lantern and waved as Dominus mounted and rode off. As he passed back through the hall, he glanced in at Paul, who was asleep as a book lay open across his lap. Rumanion went about closing up the shutters, and he scattered the coals in the hearth. He thought of Warren’s story, and dismissed it as a coincidence. Once more, before he retired, he cracked the shutters and peered without. The campfire was no longer visible.

*    *    *

The stillness of the unsettled night air hung like a specter announcing some oncoming change. A glow emanated from the highlands southwest of Morris Wood as though a meteor had fallen from the black heavens and had lodged in the hills. Two men, whose ragged clothes were damp with evening moisture, made their way over a rubbly path toward the campfire, brushing aside slow, swirling insects and anticipating a small but welcome measure of warmth. John and Margen strode eagerly, driven by a purpose they hoped would set them on to better days.

It’s a good thing we scared them riders off. They’s gettin’ too close to the spot, said Margen.

Aye, replied John, they don’t want no one to see what they’s about.

They promised to pay well, didn’t they? That’s good enough for me.

You just got to remember they’s plain vicious. And don’t look at ‘em when you talk to ‘em, or else they get mad.

See, then, said Margen, better to be on their side.

As they approached the fire, they noticed a solitary hooded figure stooped near the blaze. John and Margen vaguely perceived others settled around the perimeter of the fire, but they could just as easily have been shadows. The two men heard the uneasy breathing of horses, but could not locate the source. This mingled with unfamiliar guttural sounds coming from the shadows, making the men blink and squint into the darkness. The figure turned slightly, seeming to recognize the two before him with a snort of disgusted superiority. He spoke with the same guttural characteristics.

The supreme Lord Grunorga will be coming to these regions soon. He’ll want the relic. The terranean advisor is already about, he sneered with his head still bent toward the fire.

Aye, said John meekly, we were with him at the inn. That’s when he sent us to you.

What is the news? said the figure, spitting into the blaze.

Well, stammered John, shuffling his feet and looking at his partner, there was to have been coin for this.

First a low murmur, then suppressed laughter rose from the shadows. The figure by the fire leapt at John and hauled him near the flames by the collar. Margen started to react, but froze when he heard the scraping of metal and saw the glint of steel in the firelight. With his back toward Margen, the figure held John close to the light. In this sudden motion, his hood was slightly pushed back. John stared in terror, wide-eyed.

The figure hissed angrily, You’re not dealing with petty robbers. You’ll be paid all right, filthy terranean! You’re lucky we suffer your kind to live. John was gasping for breath. Now speak.

The farmers. The bumpkin idiots have it. They brought it to the inn. They claim they found it and now they own it. They keep it at their farm. To the north—

We know the place.

The Council at Morris Wood is to offer them money for it. They are sending someone. To barter for it.

Not good. It shall be more heavily guarded then. We must act, said the figure, glancing distantly into the fire. It took him a moment to remember that he was holding John by the collar. See the terranean at the inn for your payment. He’ll have money enough. He released the trembling John, who backed slowly away with Margen, both men now shivering.

Do you find it cold? asked the hooded man, more reserved and solemn now. Don’t you like the dark? Where a thousand unseen horrors lurk? Go and sleep. We’ll take you to our homeland one day where the cold and dark are forever. But, it will not be our homeland forever. Laughter sprang up and the murmuring from the shadows was continuous. You better get used to us. The darkness was our destiny and now it shall be yours. Our children will no longer suffer for the crimes of your ancestors. The figure turned and faced the camp. So it is recorded at the Shrine and upheld by Lord Grunorga. Now, void my sight.

John and Margen turned and fled, stumbling over one another as the other figures tossed stones and animal bones from their supper after them and broke into high-pitched shrieks of laughter. The forest grew even more damp and misty as the messengers struggled through the dark hush; the once familiar terrain was now menacing and alien.

*    *    *

Dominus unbolted the door with a snap and a thud, and was greeted by the stillness of the foggy pre-dawn. A slight graying in the eastern sky was perceptible. The rising mists obscured the stars in the yet blackened sky as Dominus trudged to the back of his cottage. He carried a blanket and saddle over one shoulder and a sack over the other containing a wineskin, fruit, cheese, and some smoked meat. A gust of wind stirred and loosened some wet yellow leaves from the overhead branches. The leaves showered Dominus as he made his way to a small stable where Plume awaited.

Having prepared Plume for the journey, he fastened his sword to his belt and donned his hat, the one with the small black plume that matched not only his steed, but also the rest of his apparel. He would tell Rumanion, My meager possessions are in harmony, even if the rest of the world is not. This morning, he mumbled a not unfamiliar litany, The milk is sour and the water foul. The bread, a stale cold crust. And, a plague on the universe for letting me sleep but half the night.

As Dominus mounted and set off in the direction of the Jolly Nine, he found himself squinting at a blinding sunrise which had just appeared on the horizon. He was a black speck on four rhythmic legs, moving across meadows, darting in and out of low-lying fog banks in certain partially obscured clearings, slopes, and gullies.

The sleepy young man frowned at the old paved roadways whose flaky white and cracked surfaces glistened in the morning sun and lay as scars across the land. Occasionally, he passed a crumbled unrecognizable mass of dwellings from the past and the rusted fragments that had been identified from preserved pictures as horseless carriages. Now, at best, these were fragile hollow husks through which the wind whined, children played, and about which the elders made up tales. Throughout the centuries, whatever of the ruins that would burn had served as fuel.

Dominus recalled his studies. There had been the roaming superstitious tribes of a few centuries back. They were referred to as the Aimless Ones. These were people pressed by an unimaginable past, an uncertain future, and a present with no point of reference. They viewed the past as absolutely evil and destructive. No reminders of it were to be permitted. As a result, the survivors pulled down many buildings that withstood the Great Devastation. It was almost as if they feared that their continued standing posed a threat, as though they were yet active targets for the fiery weapons that fell from the sky.

Dominus hardly noticed that, in spite of these reminders, the forests had again flourished and reigned supreme across the countryside. His eyes grew distant and cold and he felt sorrowful as he mused to himself.

Another winter soon to come upon us, he thought as he viewed the foliage, and what is there to show but a graying beard and deeper lines upon my face? And for what? Life is but a brief respite, a coming in from a cold wet journey to a hearty fire—which may burn us if we are not cautious—and before the frost is melted from our beards, must we journey into the unknown.

The sun was now higher in the sky when Dominus dismounted near a glade. After reaching into his sack for a piece of bread, he climbed up onto a boulder to check his position. He paused with a deep breath.

A few more hours ride, he said aloud, but he was really thinking of hot stew at the Jolly Nine.

He noticed that Plume had moved to a nearby stream for a drink. When he also sought a drink, he knelt down where the water moved slowly as he vainly squinted for his reflection. Plume raised her head and her ears twitched. Dominus drank without satisfaction. He washed his face and hurriedly dried it with his sleeve.

Dominus mounted Plume and continued on his journey, which now extended through densely wooded thickets and spots of marshes where the flowering of the morn had been stunted into a prolonged misty dawn-gray. The foggy air hung limply in the damp mossy enclosure. Swamp emissions stifled the air. Water snakes could be heard slithering about in torpid puddles of brown slime. No birds, crickets, or small woodland animals could be heard. Plopping droplets of water struck dead brittle leaves, which still clung to trees of blasted bark and exposed, twisted roots.

He decided to dismount and walk Plume for a while. As he did so, he stepped in mud, almost up to his knees, whereupon he swore great oaths and cursed his paltry life, likening it to swine rolling in their pens. When this was concluded, he continued at length, cursing existence in general, citing any deities who were listening as doting and incontinent village idiots.

Suddenly, he heard a whizzing sound and felt something grab at his cloak. There was a thrashing disturbance beyond in the thick woods, as if riders were moving towards him. Dominus started to move, but found that his cloak had been pinned to a tree by an arrow. He snapped the garment free of his collar and reached for his sword, expecting at any moment to be set upon by robbers. One rider broke out from the brush and Dominus tensed, holding his weapon with both hands. He stayed close to the tree, abandoning the notion of escape, for, as he remounted, he could have given the bowman another clear target. Surprisingly, the hooded rider urged his steed past Dominus, ignoring him completely. A second rider, whom Dominus assumed to be an accomplice, emerged, cutting across an opposite corner of the swamp, farther away. He then followed the first rider, driving his mount, a white stallion, as a flash of light through the murkiness.

Where is the reason in this? Dominus cried at a cloud of dust and flying hunks of mud. It is not my purse they seek, he added to himself. The galloping grew distant.

Dominus mounted Plume and pursued the riders. The assailants had taken the trail that was on his route. He rounded a bend or two and stopped when he could neither see nor hear a trace. It appeared that he had been quickly and cleanly eluded. Finding no signs after weaving through vines and catching himself on thorns, he cursed angrily. This was senseless. What did they want with him? For the balance of the morning, he rode a bit faster and more cautiously towards the Jolly Nine, wondering whether or not to forget the incident.

It was slightly before mid-day when Dominus arrived at the Jolly Nine Inn. Because inns were not in great abundance, the Jolly Nine served not only the traveler, but also the community as a social center: a place to exchange news and enjoy the company of others. Master Cobble, the proprietor, always saw to the comfort of his guests, be they local citizens or wanderers from afar. On Saturdays and holidays, parties were held. People knew of no other establishment where one could sit by a blazing fire and enjoy suckling pigs, roast fowl, broiled trout, hot steaming loaves, apple, peach, and all kinds of berry pies, bowls of fresh cream, and barrels of ale and wine. Families and friends gathered, told stories, played musical instruments, and danced in a small adjoining hall. Lovers often stole away to the upper rooms, or even the stables.

One entered the inn through a small vestibule. The lattices of all the windows were made of delicately wrought iron, and many had stained glass, some restored from pre-Devastation times. Adjacent to the dancing hall was a large room to accommodate special occasions and public meetings. The ceilings were all decorated by a network of oak crossbeams.

Most of the rooms abounded in decorations: variously collected articles from earlier times. One favorite among the patrons was a grimy shapeless mass of metal from which protruded little arms. Some had buttons with letters: Q-W—T—U on one row,—D-F-G—————on another, and———B-N-M on the other. This display had been nailed to a wall on a kind of plaque. Another item which generated interest was a fragment of a thin metal sheet, colored a pale red with two distinguishable letters near the unbroken edge: O-P. There were many other foreign objects, a number of them similar to those in Rumanion’s collection. Colored glassware, popular as a craft, could be found everywhere. Cobble and his family resided in a small cottage behind the inn, next to the stables, although Cobble himself frequently slept in the kitchen to be closer to his guests.

At this time of day and week, the inn lacked its Saturday evening glow, for most were laboring in the fields or in their shops. It was a lonely atmosphere that greeted Dominus, but it was warmed by the cheery bustle of the proprietor, Master Cobble.

How goes it, Master Dominus? Not the worst for wear I trust.

How so?

You’re muddy. Did you pass through the swamps? Or did the horse—

Hot stew and ale if it please your keepership.

Why so gruff? On such a fine day. I’ve just the thing to cure your distemper. Dominus looked doubtful. This evening, we have some small festivities planned. Why not join us?

Perhaps. Is the inn so vacant this time of day?

More or less. The evening holds the bulk of the inn business, you know. Just that hermit chap before—what’s ‘is name. Odd fellow. Misanthrope, not unlike yourself, say twenty years hence.

Misanthropy is treated as some dread disease.

It may very well be, for all misanthropes live a sort of self-imposed quarantine, you know, like the hermit fellow. Just a moment. The stew’s hot—vegetables fresh this morning. A second cup of ale will do you good and fresh bread—

I would meet with this hermit for a bit of discourse on our chosen professions.

I would not advise it. I don’t think he would be in any mood for such talk.

Why not?

"Odd fellow. Outward disposition such as the hardness of iron and, yet, a certain attractive glow to him; well, I cannot fathom it. Anyway, an hour or two ago, he came in for stew, like yourself. Right after, some rough looking strangers—never seen the likes of them—come in and demand a bottle of wine. There were four of them. Boisterous knaves, too. In no time at all, rattling tables and chairs, gambling at cards, loud vulgar joking. Had to send my wife and girls out. I asked them to soften their manner, but they only laughed and made the sign of the long finger.

They was talkin’ strange. About things changin’ and about stayin’ in favor with the right people. That’s all I could hear. By the time they had come, the hermit had finished his stew and was out in back—you know—and tendin’ his horse and such. Well, he comes back in to pay as I was walkin’ away from their table. One of these strangers sees him, one with a bow, and he whispers something to the others. Then they all get quiet. That’s when the hermit sees them and then recognizes the one with the bow. First the one with the bow rises, and then the others.

With a bow?

Aye, but let me finish, said Cobble impatiently. "I was by that time, hiding under the counter here, watching through a peephole. But the hermit, not flinching an eye, says to them, ‘One at a time, or all at once. The choice is yours.’ One of ‘em says they were just leavin’ anyway, and so they all start backin’ out through the door when one of ‘em raises his hand to the hilt of his sword. Before I could blink, the hermit grabs up his crossbow and in the same motion flings a chair at three of them. Then he fires an arrow at the fourth and nails his sleeve to the wall. Well, they pry his sleeve loose and stumble out the door, probably for their lives.

"So, I thanked the hermit and he turns to me all calm and says, ‘It wasn’t done for your sake. Knaves offend me.’ The likes of the glint in his eye I’ve never seen.

So, what were you asking about a bow?

You said the hermit had a bow?

Aye, and so?

Never mind. It’s likely this fellow would brawl with anyone. Mark his selfishness. It sounds like a performance to bolster the ego. It’s like strutting in front of a mirror.

Dominus paid Cobble for his meal and then gathered up his cloak, preparing to leave. I would hope to meet this hermit sometime.

I know nothing of him, except that he wanders in and out of here, usually at slow times like these, every few weeks or so.

Well, before I forget why I’m here, I need directions to the Soil farm, for that is my destination.

Cobble grimaced. What on earth for?

Don’t tell me the stories I’ve heard are true.

No less, I assure you. They are inept farmers, nay, clowns, buffoons. They’re what you might call an irony of nature.

Dominus twisted his features in confusion.

Those bumpkin farmers, one fat and the other thin, chose a certain number of years back to build their little farm on rocky soil, soil as barren as their wit. You can’t possibly be consultin’ with them on farming matters, for they barely grow enough to feed themselves. Turnips, mostly.

No. We’ve learned that some interesting artifacts have been found on their land.

You know, I respect learnin’ and all, but it’s hard for me to see the value in digging up and studying these things. Nobody knows what most of them were for. I mean, they make a good display in here. People come in and talk up a storm over them—

I see. And then they get thirsty.

Well, yes, I suppose they do.

We hope our interest serves a more lasting purpose.

Maybe we’d be better off not knowin’ who made them or why. I’ve heard Agrarius’s people talk about the big fires of long ago. Everything destroyed. It was the people that done that who made these things we find in the earth.

That’s more or less true.

And they said something about the Fields of Argarundun and the great fires there.

The ruins in the East. There were buildings as high as the clouds brought to rubble by powerful weapons. That’s what caused the fires. It was so bad there that dust clouds yet remain. Nothing lives there.

When did all this happen?

Nearly a thousand years ago.

Cobble paused and stared distantly. Dominus slurped more of his stew and ale.

Do you know Rumanion?

Aye.

We’ve been charged by the Morris Wood Council to undertake some research. They await our findings and, besides, we have some farming of our own to attend.

I should have known, then. You and Rumanion have been to the University. I should have guessed from the way you spoke. Cobble again grew pensive. That’s what bothers me about these artifacts. These brothers were here two Saturday nights past with some devilish thing. Don’t know what it was. Some said it buzzed and others told of a light that throbbed. Like a heartbeat. It was true as I could see. It seemed to interest everyone, even strangers who were there.

Tell me more, Cobble.

Well, first they charge fees to look at it. Then, challenged anyone to open it, which none could do. There were a lot of strangers in here that night. A merchant from Egerton claimed the thing was of great value and had powers we didn’t understand. He got quite an audience, as I recall. It was even a greater attraction than the GameMaster. He watched the proceedings with a close eye. He seemed displeased to be so upstaged.

Who?

You’ve seen him before. He offers games of chance for the customers. Travels about to other inns, I suppose, where he can find them. No one knows much about him. Dresses strange: all in green with a long hat.

I vaguely recall such an individual.

Anyway, the farmer clods went home with a small purse. At least they would not have to eat their own turnips for a few days.

I see. But where is their farm?

Continue on the Northeast Road and once past the rise, veer off to your left on the narrow path marked with a faded sign. A mile or so down this and you’ll find the farm, if you can mark it for such. They are hapless patches indeed.

Very well then, good Cobble, thank you for your hospitality and help.

Dominus, soon outside, pulling his cloak about him, mounted Plume, when Cobble came scurrying out.

Here are some oats for your steed. Dominus reached for his money. Put up your purse, Master Dominus. It is a gift for your company in the lonely hours of the day. And remember the festivities here tonight. Try to come. You can tell me of the university. I may send one of my daughters there.

I will try. Much thanks.

Whirling about, Plume kicked up a cloud of gray dust as Dominus headed for the Northeast Road.

CHAPTER 2

I’M CERTAIN IT WAS ONE OF THOSE FOUR MEN who pinned me to a tree, said Dominus aloud. But this must be the right direction, for a desert is more fertile than this acreage. His destination was nearly in sight. The sun was now very low in the sky as he pulled his cowl closer about his ears.

There’s a sorry state of a farmhouse. Plume began to neigh and snort. Easy, what is it? Tied to a large maple tree, which grew at the foot of a crumbly fence leading up to a barren wind blown path some fifty feet away, were four horses. Dominus felt for the tear in his cloak.

Dominus stepped backwards, and tied Plume to a birch hidden from the farmhouse. He crouched low, surveying the cottage, which sagged in the middle of a desolate clearing. Then he inched forward. After a few moments, he sprang upright and, in a stooped position, bounded away from Plume until he found himself in a clump of trees. Again, he crouched, this time feeling for the hilt of his sword. Bent low, he quickly moved towards a misshapen door at the rear of the farmhouse.

Dominus placed his shoulder against the framework of the cottage and inched towards a shutter, which hung limply from its hinges. He leaned forward and peered through a crevice in the worn and warped exterior. In the middle of a sparse room, he had a good view of two darkly clad men, one with sword drawn, the other holding a bow and arrow at his side, looking intently at something on the floor in front of them. Behind them stood two others, stolid, with arms confidently folded as they, too, gazed in the same direction. Dominus thought, I’ll wager these are Cobble’s rowdy patrons. He drew a quick breath and again peered within. To the left of the strangers he noticed a lean man, perhaps ten years older than he, sitting upright in a chair that groaned with every motion. His clothes were ragged, frayed, and unwashed, his hair tangled, and his face layered with grime and the sweat of fruitless toil. But what really drew Dominus’s attention was the wide-eyed fright that seized his countenance as he likewise gazed at the ground in front of him. From his vantage point, Dominus could not see what had captivated everyone. Instead, he heard assorted grunts and scuffling sounds coming from the floor.

He waited and fidgeted, trying to decide what to do. It was now almost completely dark. Within a few minutes, one of the men began to unbutton the front of his breeches. The man with the bow turned slowly to him said,

What do you think you’re doing?

I have to go.

In here? Don’t be a peasant.

What’s the difference? The shack’s a dung heap anyway.

The difference, peasant, is that it offends me. Go outside.

The first man grumbled, but complied. Dominus moved to the rear corner as he came out and headed for the nearest large tree. Dominus crept up behind him, drew his sword, and hissed,

Turn around slowly and don’t make a sound. The man whirled about and promptly peed over Dominus’s boots. Surprised, Dominus looked down at his boots and the man took the opportunity to disarm his foe. He brought his foot up and caught Dominus partially in the groin. Dominus gasped for breath and sank to his knees, but as the man started to run past, he managed to trip him, and then both men grappled, making no small disturbance. The man with the bow, apparently the leader, now opened the farmhouse door, and shouted,

What are you doing out there? You need help? The others laughed.

Dominus now gained the upper hand and had placed his blade across the man’s throat and grabbed his hair with his other hand. Move an inch and I swear I’ll leave you speechless. Now speak exactly as I say. Call for one of your friends to come out here. Say you’ve found something. By the tree. As soon as the man did as instructed, Dominus struck him unconscious. He used the man’s sleeve to wipe his boots. One of the others stepped into the darkness, found the tree, and was struck down as well.

Dominus now sprinted towards the back door. He drew a deep breath and barged through shoulder first. The door easily gave way, and Dominus drew his sword as he faced the two remaining strangers. The leader began to raise his bow, but Dominus knocked it loose and cut its strings. Now, steel clashed as he turned on the other who had drawn his sword. After a few moments, Dominus managed to graze his opponent’s shoulder. The lean man who had been sitting in a chair arose, picked up a lamp, and shattered it across the bowman’s face. Dominus flung his wounded opponent at the bowman. Both men collided and collapsed in the doorway.

Hearing scuffling sounds from behind, Dominus turned abruptly and saw a fat man clothed in a single sheet of sackcloth with a bedcap on his head. The man held a sack he had apparently retrieved from underneath a small bed made up with threadbare blankets.

Our lives are in danger here. Come with me, said Dominus frowning as he made his way to the back door. He was now certain that he had indeed located the Soil farm and the two brothers who hopelessly tilled the land. They nodded and obediently followed him through the back. Outside, Dominus raced to his horse and untied her.

When the Soils caught up, he glanced at the sack, which the fat Soil held and said, Do you have it? He made a face like he didn’t understand. Dominus threw his hands in the air and cried, The glowing thing!

Now comprehending, the Soil brother nodded and started to open the sack. Dominus slapped his hand away and looked in the distance. He saw the first two strangers staggering back to the house.

The lean man now spoke up, I’m Boltsoil. Bolt for short. I know a place. By this time another stranger emerged from the house. He gestured wildly to his comrades. Dominus grabbed the reins, but Bolt said, The path is too narrow for the horse!

Dominus snorted and whacked Plume on the rear, sending her off into the night. Dominus now followed the Soils in another direction into the thick forest. They scurried down the winding narrow pathway, nearly stumbling several times over sharp rocks and loose stones. Continually they swept aside branches, which slapped them from head to foot. After three or four hundred yards, they came before a cluster of maple trees and halted.

When the heavy Soil gasped for air and looked about in confusion, Bolt wailed at him, Dreg, you fat wedge of grease! Is this the spot or not? As Dreg hunched his shoulders and shook his head, his brother reached for the sack, shoved him into the bushes and ordered, See if anyone’s out there, vat of curdled cream.

While Dreg’s fat bottom wriggled through the undergrowth, Dominus turned about and scanned the trail they had taken. He paced back and forth and fingered the hilt of his blade as he waited. He soon turned to face Bolt. Just as he was about to berate him for the delay, Dreg, face of a fat babe, poked his head out of the underbrush and motioned for them to follow.

After thrashing a few yards into the brush, they found an opening to a cave. As a little child who fears the dark, Dreg had to be pushed within by his grumbling brother. Outside, dusk had fully settled upon the land. Inside the cave, the three crouched in utter darkness, afraid to speak. The silence ended within minutes as Dominus heard approaching footsteps. He held his breath as he reached for his sword.

We’ll never find them, growled a voice. If it hadn’t been for that meddler—you hear me, meddler? We’ll cut your throat for this and feed your tongue to wild dogs!

What’ll we do now? asked another voice.

You mean, you sniffling ass wipe, what will we tell the master?

After a brief pause, a softer voice hissed, There’s no point in looking further tonight. We’ll track them down in the morning.

The first voice again cursed and added, Our efforts will be poorly received. Let’s get the horses. We can think of a story on the way back.

Soon, all was again silent. Dominus sighed in relief and unclenched his fist and wiped his brow. When he was reasonably certain the strangers were some distance away, he led the Soil brothers from the cave.

You know the land here. Where should we go?

Bolt squinted, pointed, and replied, There’s a glade on the other side of the rise. It should be safe there. Satisfied, Dominus nodded his approval. The brothers began to move off, as Bolt now tightly clutched the sack.

Dominus followed them along an abandoned path through the dense brush of the outer edge of a pine forest. Owls shrieked from time to time, making the Soil brothers tremble. Scurryings of unseen night animals were audible, always on either side of the obscured path underfoot. Soon, rushing water could be heard. Crickets, frogs, and foaming water, hissing and gurgling over smoothly worn stone rounded out an early evening symphony.

The glade is near, whispered Bolt. Just past those boulders.

Good, said Dominus, wait here.

Where are you going? Where is he going? uttered Dreg who was quaking almost past speech. Dominus was already out of earshot. He examined the isolated glade and decided it was safe enough. There was a gnarled and tangled thicket on one side and a rushing stream on the other. A few bats fluttered carelessly overhead. Soon, the Soils followed.

Now, said Dominus I want to see the object that has nearly undone us all.

Good sir, helpful traveler, no, savior—

The name is Dominus and stop the groveling. I’m not really a traveler. I’m just a farmer who spends some of his time studying archaeology and history.

You mean study things like what we found?

That’s basically true.

If you’ve studied history, then answer me if man has always been as miserable as we have, asked Bolt, waving his hand in the general direction of his hovel and pointing toward Dreg, who was mindlessly scratching the earth with a stick.

More or less, but let me finish. I have received report, now apparently true, he added, glancing at the sack, that many articles have been uncovered on your land.

And, until today, considered worthless, gloated Bolt, his eyes sparkling with new found purpose. Dreg perked up his ears. My much schooled friend, continued Bolt, Dreg has maintained a childish curiosity and fascination with little things since an infant. It’s been his nature since a child to collect things, even to put them in his mouth to see if he could eat them. When quite young, we thought he had eaten some poisoned berries, resulting in a fever, which dissolved away part of his brain. Over the last few weeks, while trying to plow our barren fields, he uncovered many strange objects, piling a goodly number of them on our bare shelves—would it were food—like a child gathering twigs and pebbles. I’m just thankful that our parents are not here to see our want.

All these objects are worthless?

Well, except for that special one. Didn’t exactly make a spectacle, but we managed to collect a small fee for showing it off at the Jolly Nine Inn. A week’s supply of food that we stretched to two. Many saw the object, but the interest did not last. A strange thing to come out of the earth. It’s super-super-erogatory. That’s what it is all right.

Aye, it’s the reason for my coming. To investigate. Dominus glanced at the sack