Thorval’s Tale

By B. K. Parent

It is with great relief to all in the land of Sommerhjem that the challenge to choose a new king or queen has been completed, even if the result of the challenge was very unexpected. What will happen next is unknown. For me, now is the time for reflection.

My past catching up to me placed my family in danger. Very few folks know of my wife Ani’s and my involvement with those who secretly provided information to Queen Octavia. Nor do many folks know just how deeply involved I was after the death of Queen Octavia in thwarting the Regent’s intention to prevent Princess Esmeralda from becoming the next ruler of Sommerhjem when she came of age. What is important now is what can I reveal about my past and what do I still need to hold secret? My name is Thorval Pedersen and this is my tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532078033

B. K. Parent

B. K. Parent, author of the award winning Sommerhjem Journey’s series, and the Sommerhjem Tales series, has been a storyteller all her life. She is a gleefully retired school psychologist who resides in Minnesota where she currently serves as mayor of her city. She splits her time between home and a cabin in Wisconsin, which she shares with Celeste and two cats, Carson (the original Carz) and Shaggy (the model for Ashu). Like us on Facebook: Sommerhjem Journeys Series Cover Graphics/Art Credit: Katherine M. Parent

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 B. K. Parent.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

2019 Katherine M. Parent cover and interior art

ISBN: 978-1-5320-7802-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-7803-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019909163

iUniverse rev. date: 07/24/2019

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Part Two

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

42592.png

Many thanks to the Chapter of the Week Group who have been my main readers, critics, suppliers of ideas and support, and have kept me on track: to Celeste Klein who encouraged me daily; to Patti Callaway, Flika Gardner, and Joni Amundson who insisted on their chapter every week and let me know if the cliff hanger at the end of the chapter worked; to René Carlberg, Cathy Carlson, Glennis Cohen, Sarah Huelskoetter, Beth and Josh Irish, Vickie Keating, Jenni Meyer, Anna Slater, Connie Stirling, and Robin Villwock for also being members of the Chapter of the Week Group and reading the story.

I would like to thank Eric Standen, retired Navy Supply Officer and present bosun of the tall ship The Friends Goodwill out of the port of South Haven, Michigan, for his expertise concerning boats and sailing. Any errors concerning boats and sailing in this book are completely the author’s fault.

Once again, many thanks to Katherine M. Parent for her cover and interior art. I can only hope the inside of the book is as good as the cover she has designed.

A special thanks to Steven Freund, who took copious notes on all of the books, and created a detailed map of the country of Sommerhjem. The map contained in this book is a simplified version of the map Steven created, redrawn by Katherine M. Parent.

A special thanks goes to Linne Jensen for surviving editing yet another book with me. I am extremely grateful for her knowledge of grammar, punctuation, and the ability to make sure the stories have consistency. Thanks also to Mary Strum and Rosalie Evans for finding errors we missed.

To Rosalie Evans, Solicitor-Clerk of the Municipality of Neebing, Ontario, Canada, and the extremely kind and welcoming folks of Neebing. They are truly Neebing blessed, and the area in which they live looks more and more like Sommerhjem every time I visit.

To CEK, always.

INTRODUCTION

44086.png

All of the books in the Sommerhjem Journeys Series and the Sommerhjem Tales Series were written originally as serials. The chapters were each approximately four plus pages long and sent via e-mail to friends and relations once a week. A cliffhanger was written into the end of each chapter in order to build anticipation for the next chapter or, in some cases, merely to irritate the reader. You, as a new reader, have choices. You can read a chapter, walk away, and then later pick the book up and read the next chapter to get the serial experience. Another choice is to just read Thorval’s Tale as a conventional book and one more chapter yourself to three o’clock in the morning on a work or school night. Whichever way you choose, I hope you enjoy learning about Thorval’s early years.

EXCITING NEWS

The Municipality of Neebing, Ontario, Canada, has commissioned the building of a rover homewagon and is placing it in the park next to their municipal building. They have named the park Journey’s Middle after the first book in the Sommerhjem Journeys Series. Neebing, Ontario, could be Sommerhjem, for it has the rolling landscape that you can see a homewagon traveling across, the large body of water with various bays, the high tree-covered hills where foresters could live and work, and the cliffs that would attract a finder looking for tyvfugl bird treasure. Definitely a place worth visiting.

Sommerhjem%20Crest.jpgMap%20of%20Sommerhjem%20pdf-1.jpg

PART ONE

Mobileforge.jpg

CHAPTER ONE

44117.png

The last time I saw my daughter Arial, who now goes by the name of Nissa, she asked me to tell her about my past. At that time, shortly after the challenge that determined who would rule Sommerhjem had drawn to an unexpected conclusion, I had to leave her in the capital. I needed to travel with Seeker Chance to complete an urgent task for the Crown. She had asked me questions about my early years, as they had caused her to leave our home, a cottage named Journey’s End, when my past had caught up with me over a year before. Time and circumstances over the past year had not allowed me to answer her questions.

My daughter had to flee Journey’s End, just outside of the small fishing village of Mumblesey, which lies on the far northwest coast of Sommerhjem on Rumblesea Cove. While I could have talked to her once we reconnected that summer, or over the last cold season when she returned home to spend several months building her new homewagon, I had not felt I could speak then, for Sommerhjem was still too unsettled. With all that has happened to her over the past year, including her involvement with the new rule of Sommerhjem, I feel I need to give her some information the next time I see her. While her adventures are a tale for another time, I need to take the time to think about just what I should tell her. I will have plenty of time for reflection on my travels back to Journey’s End.

My name is Thorval Pedersen, and this is my tale. I am a metalsmith and a rover, which is what traveling tinkers are called in this land. I was born into a rover clan. Growing up a rover, I was encouraged by my family to find my own skills and follow my own path. I was interested in metalsmithing from an early age, for my father was a general metalsmith, and I learned a great deal from him. When I was almost a grown lad, I became more and more interested in knife making. Gowan, a skilled rover metalsmith who was known for his knife making, noticed my interest and invited me to travel and learn from him. Over the few years we traveled together, he became my teacher and my friend. Just as I became a young man, Gowan, who taught me all I knew about knife making, died as the result of an unfortunate accident. Having no other family, Gowan left his two horses, homewagon, cart, and all his tools to me.

At first, it was difficult and, I will admit, scary, traveling on my own without Gowan. Though I knew I was gaining a good reputation for my work, especially for the knives I produced, I continually worried about getting enough work and selling enough of my wares to carry me through the cold months. Once the summer fair season had begun, the pain of losing Gowan eased, though the worry did not. Since I was in the early years of traveling in my own homewagon and being on my own, it helped me to be among other rovers in the camping areas at night after the fair closed each day.

Toward the end of the summer fair season that first year, I took a commission from a noblewoman, a Lady Celik, to work for her after the fair season was over. Upon the recent death of a cousin, she had inherited Cliffmoor Manor and needed skilled folk to put it back to rights. I thought it was a sure way to earn enough coin to make it through the cold months. I certainly never expected the long term consequences of taking Lady Celik’s commission.

I remember pulling the horses to a halt for the first time at the gates leading to Cliffmoor Manor. It had been a worrisome last couple of hours on the road, due to a storm that had come up suddenly from the west. Pounding rain had made the lane muddy and slippery, and the trees on either side of the lane swayed dangerously back and forth. The howling wind rocked my homewagon. Several times I had to get down and move large branches and small trees off the lane. During that harrowing ride, I thought of pulling over until the storm passed, yet I could find no place to stop that was any safer than being on the road. By the time I arrived at the gate to the manor, I was thoroughly soaked to the skin and very cold.

Looking up through the rain, I saw a stone arch spanning the lane into Cliffmoor Manor. The stone pillars on each side of the arch were carved to look like the trunks of beautiful trees, their limbs reaching out to form the arch. One of the metal gates to the arch was half off its hinges, swaying and creaking in the wind. I could see the other gate lying tangled in the overgrown brush and weeds that encroached on the lane. It obviously had been there for quite some time. As I looked down the lane through the arch, I could see the lane had not been very well maintained either.

Sitting there, I wondered if I had made the right decision by accepting a commission so early in the fall, especially considering the state of the gate and the lane. I became concerned about missing a number of the fall harvest festivals Gowan and I normally went to. I hoped that the commission would put more coppers and silvers in my pouch than I would have been able to earn at the fall festivals I would be missing. More than that, Lady Celik was a very influential noble. If she liked my work, then maybe she would put a good word out. Besides getting folks to see and buy my work at summer fairs, word of mouth was the best way to build my reputation as a traveling metalsmith.

As I drove through the arch, I continued to wonder just what I had gotten myself into. If the condition of the gates was any indication of the state of Lady Celik’s estate, had I now found myself on a fool’s errand? I thought about what I knew about Lady Celik. She was married to Lord Celik, who had his headquarters in the capital. His vast fleet of trading ships traveled up and down the coast and to the lands north, south, and west of Sommerhjem. I also knew Lady Celik was a close confidante of Queen Octavia. Beyond those few facts, I knew little more, though I had heard some interesting rumors about Lady Celik.

It became more and more obvious, as I pulled up in front of the manor, that the estate had been neglected for some time. Through the pounding rain and swirling fog, the look of the manor house gave me the shivers. A huge flash of lightning lit up the front and revealed a building overgrown with vines. The lightning also revealed that some of the windows were boarded over and some of the shutters were hanging catawampus. A few shutters were being blown open and closed by the wind, banging against the stone exterior of the manor and adding to the creaking, scratching, and groaning noises being produced by the overgrown foliage. Light shone out of only a few windows, and the porch lanterns were not lit.

This is certainly an eerie and unwelcoming place. I really wonder what I have gotten myself into. I hope this is not a wild goose chase. Perhaps I should turn around and head my homewagon back down the lane.

Before I could get the horses moving, the front door of the manor opened, and the porter leaned out, holding a lantern aloft. Drive your homewagon around back to the stables. There’s a good and sheltered place next to the forge where you can pull out of the wind. The marshal will meet you there to help you with the horses. When you’re set up, come in by way of the kitchen to get warm and dry.

With the help of the marshal and a stablewoman, it took very little time to get my horses unhitched, into a warm dry stall, rubbed down, and fed. Once the homewagon was leveled, and its wheels were blocked so it would not roll, I checked inside to make sure everything was still in place after the buffeting it had taken by the heavy winds. I found my home on wheels just as snug and tight as I had left it when I had started off in the morning, with the exception of a metal cup that had spent the day rolling around on the floor. I also checked the cart I pulled behind the homewagon to make sure none of my metalsmithing tools and supplies had broken loose from the jostling they had endured on the rough roads. All was well in the cart, which also served as a booth at the summer fairs. Before I left the homewagon, I put a small fire in the woodstove, hoping to take out the damp and add a little heat for the night.

Once everything was set and settled, I followed the marshal’s directions to the kitchen door. The warmth coming from the huge fireplace was welcome after the cold driving rain. I had not realized how hungry I was until the delicious smells coming from the kettle hanging over the fire wafted my way. After hanging my rain cloak on a hook inside the door, I looked around and noticed that Lady Celik was seated at a table with several other folks.

It surprised me once again that Lady Celik was quite a young woman. Even though she was sitting at the table with the servants, no one would have mistaken her for anyone other than the lady of the manor. Not a tall or imposing woman, her dark blond hair was done in a simple style. I had only met her once before, but I had quickly gained an impression that this woman, who was very fair of face, was so much more than simply one of the simpering young noblewomen who attended court in the capital. I think what struck me most were her deep, dark blue eyes which saw far too much.

Swiftly removing my hat, I addressed Lady Celik. M’lady, I said, with a slight bow of my head. Not too much mind you, for while rovers honor the Crown, we feel we are free clans.

Ah, Thorval, good, you are here. Please come and join us. Cooks has made a delicious squash soup, and her bread would rival anything served at the royal palace. Come now, take the seat at the table closest to the fire. You look like you could use a good drying off and warming up. As you can see, we are informal here, so none of that ‘M’lady’ foolishness. Lady Celik will be good enough.

Yes, M’la, er, Lady Celik. Thank you.

Cooks, a woman of middle years and ample girth, set a steaming bowl of soup before me, along with a hunk of dark bread and a small crock of butter. As I ate, I had a chance to give the kitchen a closer look. The kitchen was quite a contrast from the outside of the manor. The stone floors were swept clean with the exception of a small dusting of flour near where bowls of bread were rising. The pots hanging from the ceiling looked to have been scoured within an inch of their lives, and the knives laid out on the cutting table were honed sharp. Everything was organized and neatly in place. The chairs next to the wooden table by the fire were well-made and sturdy. After our meal, I sat back with a warm cup of tea, and Lady Celik began to explain the recent history of Cliffmoor Manor.

My late cousin, Lord Forsømme, had very little interest in his estate, I am sad to say. He did not spend much time here. My cousin was much more interested in spending time at the capital pursuing foolish endeavors and bad investments than in managing his land and looking after his tenants. What little coin he could squeeze out of here went to support him in the manner he wished he could actually afford. He was never content here, and it shows. As a result, his bailiff, who was charged with overseeing the lands and buildings of the estate, collecting fines and rents, and acting as the estate accountant, was able to keep much of the rent for himself. My cousin’s reeve, who supervised the work on his property, checking that everyone began and stopped work on time, was supposed to ensure nothing was stolen and was the biggest thief of all. The reeve and the bailiff kept for themselves much of what coin my cousin allotted to them to run and maintain the estate. Because of their greed and mismanagement, the estate has suffered. Without a steward, the manor house has also been greatly neglected, as you can plainly see. Thankfully, Cooks and the marshal have done what they could to keep Cliffmoor Manor from falling to complete rack and ruin. I have since sent the bailiff and the reeve packing, along with a few others.

And we thank ye for that, said Marshal Leal, who was in charge of the household’s horses, carts, wagons, and carriages. It’s been a wee bit difficult these last few years tryin’ to keep the place from just collapsin’ in on itself. I fer one am glad yer here, Lady Celik.

Thank you, Marshal Leal. I will take my leave now. Ellar, the new steward, and I have much to discuss. Just as Lady Celik was about to leave the kitchen, she turned and addressed me. I will leave you in the good hands of Marshal Leal. He will fill you in on where you are to work and what is immediately needed. He has a list.

I turned to Marshal Leal when I heard the marshal make a snorting noise.

Aye, lad, I’ve a list sure enough. I’m hopin’ ya don’t have commitments to other commissions over the next few months, for it’ll take ya that long to get through the first list. Once ya get through that list, I can assure ya Lady Celik will have another list ready. Not that I’m complainin’ mind ya. No, indeed. ’Tis good to have someone who cares about the estate again. She certainly got here just in time to keep all of us from starvin’ to death durin’ the comin’ cold months.

When I lifted an enquiring eyebrow, Marshal Leal went on. The former bailiff and the former reeve were about to sell off what little crops our tenants had been able to eke out this year. They were also negotiatin’ with several meat merchants to sell off most of the hogs, cattle, dairy cows, and sheep. Lady Celik put a stop to all that. The bailiff and the reeve certainly had not expected her to show up within a week of inheritin’ the estate, I can tell ya that. She has even ordered extra supplies to carry all who work on the estate through the cold season. I’ll tell ya right now, Lady Celik has certainly gained the loyalty of all who live here.

Listening to Marshal Leal talk about all that Lady Celik had done made me feel a great deal better than I had earlier when I had first seen the state of the gates and the lane.

When ya’re finished with yar meal, I’ll take ya out to the forge. It’s a small one to be sure. Has all that ya will need though. Fortunately, our former bailiff hadn’t gotten around to sellin’ off the tools. I do have to warn ya about the condition of the place though. Haven’t had a smith here since I can’t remember when. Ya’ll have a few days of heavy cleanin’ to get it back into workin’ order. Ya’ll probably have to rebuild the bellows, for I can’t imagine the mice haven’t made many a nest or meal out of ’em.

Marshal Leal had given me a swift once over while he was telling me what needed to be done. I wondered what he saw in that brief assessment. I am certainly not an imposing young man. I am not tall by any means and am wiry rather than muscular. Some might describe me as being very compactly built. I am sure I had the look of a ruffian at the moment. Normally, I am clean shaven, since my beard, when I tried to grow one, could be only described as scraggly. In addition, I had had no time to get the tangles out of my dark auburn hair, nor take a proper bath, since I had been on the road for the last several days.

Fortunately, the rain had slowed down to a steady soft drizzle by the time Marshal Leal and I headed out to look at the forge. The small stone building did not look too bad from a distance. The closer I got to the forge, however, the worse it began to look.

As ya can see, said Marshal Leal, the stone work is still in good repair. The roof, on the other hand, was in terrible shape up until recently. Lady Celik hired several rover thatchers, who spent the last month repairin’ roofs all over the estate, the forge bein’ one of ’em. They moved on about a week ago. Mighty fine workers, mighty fine. I’ll leave ya now to take a look around. There’s a lantern hangin’ to the left, just inside the door. When ya’re done lookin’ around, the bath house is down the path behind the stables, should ya wants to clean up. Cooks has breakfast set up at sunrise. See ya on the morrow. If ya have any needs, we can talk about ’em then.

After Marshal Leal left, I spent some time taking in the outside of the stone forge building before I headed inside. I liked the looks of it. Rather than windows, there were shutters that lifted up, letting in fresh air and light. I noted the door was going to need a little work, for one of the hinges was broken, and the latch was missing. I figured that could be easily repaired.

The door was difficult to pull open, its remaining rusted hinges squealing. Once through the door, I reached left and found the lantern. Lighting it, I held it aloft and surveyed the interior of the building. Dirt and dust covered everything, along with old rotting clumps of thatch that had fallen in over time. Debris, dried animal droppings, and bones crunched underfoot. The place certainly smelled of long occupancy by rats and mice. The bellows were indeed in tatters, but the hearth itself looked to be in good condition. There was a goodly patina of rust on the anvil and the tools. In addition, both of the slack tubs were in pieces and would have to be replaced. All in all, I thought the place could be brought back to a workable condition with several days of very hard, dirty, exhausting work.

A week later, I realized I had been rather optimistic in my assessment that I could have the forge up and running in a few days. It had taken a day and a half just to shovel out and haul off the debris, take down the cobwebs, and invite in some of the estate cats to remove the vermin. It took another whole day to rebuild the bellows. Once that was done, I discovered the tuyere, the pipe through which the air from the bellows is forced into the fire, had been home to a number of generations of rodents and had to be cleaned out.

When the thatchers had been redoing the roof, they had removed a crane’s nest from the top of the chimney. I spent some time making sure there was nothing in the chimney itself that would cause a chimney fire. Unfortunately, between built-up creosote and bird and bat droppings, the chimney had needed to be swept before I could build a fire in the firepot of the forge.

Once the tools had been cleaned of rust and organized, and the slack tubs had been replaced and filled with water, I set about getting a good hot fire going in the firepot. My first metalworking task was to forge a new hinge and latch for the forge door. When those were finished and had been installed, I felt I was ready to begin on the tasks Lady Celik had commissioned.

Toward dusk at the end of the first full week after the forge had been cleaned, repaired, and readied for use, I noticed Lady Celik had an uncommon visitor. It did not strike me as odd that she would have visitors. What struck me as odd was who the current visitor was. Or, it may be more accurate to say, what struck me as odd was what the current visitor was.

CHAPTER TWO

44146.png

The forge and my homewagon were next to the stable, across the large courtyard from the rear of the manor house, and gave me a good view of the comings and goings at Cliffmoor Manor. I found it interesting that off and on there were folks arriving at odd hours. Being a light sleeper, I was aware that folks would often arrive well after dark and depart well before dawn.

That evening, just after dusk, as I was beginning to damp down the forge fire, I heard the sound of a single horse approaching the stable. Looking up, I was surprised to see that it was Marshal Leal himself who greeted the rider, rather than one of the stable hands. The rider swiftly dismounted, and he and his horse were hurriedly escorted into the stable.

I met the new arrival in the kitchen, having been summoned there by Lady Celik later that evening. Although he was seated at the table, he was clearly much taller than anyone else sitting there. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with long blond hair tied in a single braid down his back. A bushy beard covered most of his lower face, which was dominated by a large nose and eyes the mysterious blue of twilight. Yet for all his size and commanding presence, there was an underlying hint of scholarly intellect.

Thorval, please come and meet our visitor, said Lady Celik. Seeker Eshana, this is the rover metalsmith, Thorval Pedersen.

I have heard of you, if you are the rover Thorval who is gaining a reputation for making very fine blades. I have seen some of your knives, said Seeker Eshana.

Thank you for your kind words, I replied. I had never spoken to a member of the Order of Seekers before, though I was aware of their reputation. I knew their main purpose in life was to gather and hold the old knowledge, and find that which was lost. There were also rumors that floated around the campfire about certain abilities that seekers had, such as the ability to command you to do things just by their tone of voice. I had no firsthand knowledge as to whether that was true. Some folks even claimed seekers could change shapes, or change into another folk in mere moments. That, too, could just be an old granny tale. What I did conclude looking at this seeker was that, based just on the sheer size of him, I would not want to cross him. I would