Tempest in a Nutshell

By Sophia Rhitlark

A failed public herald turned broadsheet bard, Cassra Besricton just can’t seem to keep her job or herself out of trouble. After she flippantly used a quote from Druidic writing to fill out one of her articles, the local grove is furious and demanding to know how she got a hold of a supposed lost verse. Others too want to know, and she soon finds herself dodging both spells and questions as she tries to avoid a cult of heretical druids. Now faced with the greatest tempest of her career, she learns there is far more at stake than simply her job as dark forces gather to summon an ancient evil, and she alone might hold the key to either damning the world or saving it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophia Rhitlark
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215630327

Sophia Rhitlark

Sophia Rhitlark has always been fascinated with history, legends and myths of all types, times, and countries. In her writing, she tries to spin yarns that blend fantasy, suspense, and mystery with a touch of humor. When not occupied by work and writing, she also enjoys nature, gardening, and a bit of single player RPG gaming on the side.

Book preview

TEMPEST IN A NUTSHELL

Copyright 2023 Sophia Rhitlark

Published by Sophia Rhitlark at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or event, past, present or fictitious is purely coincidental and not what the writer intended.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1---A BARD’S LIFE

Chapter 2---TROUBLE COMES IN DOUBLE

Chapter 3---GATHERING CLOUDS OF INTRIGUE

Chapter 4---DODGING DANGER

Chapter 5---OAKEN GROVES AND MISTLETOES

Chapter 6---AN ANCIENT TALE OF BETRAYAL

Chapter 7---WACKY PLANS ARE SOMETIMES THE BEST

Chapter 8---WHAT’S LOST YET MIGHT BE FOUND

Chapter 9---SHOWDOWN

Chapter 10---A TEMPORARY ALLIANCE

Chapter 11---A COZY TETE-A-TETE

Chapter 12---THE MONSTER THAT FEEDS ON INK AND PAPER

Chapter 13---GETTING AT THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM

Chapter 14---THE CHOOSER OF SOULS

Chapter 15---HOW TO KILL A DEMON

Chapter 16---HERALD OF THE END TIMES

Chapter 17---THE CATACOMBS

Chapter 18---DISASTER STRIKES

Chapter 19---TOO FEW OPTIONS

Chapter 20---ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

Chapter 21---VENGEANCE IS A LADY IN GREEN

Chapter 22---WHERE DO DEMONS GO WHEN THEY DIE?

EPILOGUE

About the Author

TEMPEST IN A NUTSHELL

A failed public herald turned broadsheet bard, Cassra Besricton just can’t seem to keep her job or herself out of trouble. After she flippantly used a quote from Druidic writing to fill out one of her articles, the local grove is furious and demanding to know how she got a hold of a supposed lost verse. Others too want to know, and she soon finds herself dodging both spells and questions as she tries to avoid a cult of heretical druids. Now faced with the greatest tempest of her career, she learns there is far more at stake than simply her job as dark forces gather to summon an ancient evil, and she alone might hold the key to either damning the world or saving it.

Chapter One

A BARD’S LIFE

I sat at my desk, my eyes blurry from the continuous scanning of the crystal screen. The never-ending tick of the wall clock rang in my ears as it slowly sliced away at the minutes marking the ceaseless march to publication. The breath of a sigh escaped my lips; I needed a few more tales for ideas. Most people assume bards just make it all up, and while that might be true for most broadsheets, at the Weekly Bard, we do try to keep a kernel of truth to our tales.

Mind you, I hadn’t set out to be a bard. A herald was what I had wanted to be, a disciple of truth working at some big town crier. But, well, let’s just say that it hadn’t worked out as I had hoped. At the sour taste of the memory, my mouth crinkled into a frown as I gazed at the screen and the rumors and gossip flitting across it. There was little to stir my imagination; every story I passed was one that I had covered in some form or other at least ten times before.

Closing my tired eyes, I leaned back in my chair. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hate my job. Actually, I was grateful to even have it. After I had lost my post as herald, it hadn’t been easy to find work. Here at The Bard, my boss was a good-natured dwarf that viewed his employees with a fatherly eye. He could be gruff at times if you missed a deadline, but he was fair and evenhanded. He had given me another chance when others wouldn’t even give me the time of day. But still, I did miss doing more serious work, not to mention the respect that went with it.

I opened my eyes and sat back up. Releasing the crystal screen with a pass of my hand, I gazed into the flat, mirror-like disk, and stared at my reflection, a face pale from spending too long of winter indoors. My brown eyes still glowed with the intense silver cast from the I-mage-web as the spell of the viewer screen faded. I blinked once or twice to clear my mind and vision. Finally slipping my notes and pen into my bag, I rose.

Enough sitting indoors, I needed to get out into the fresh air. In the outside world I might find something to inspire my genius. I sighed once more. Who am I kidding? Cramming my hat on my head and swinging my coat over my shoulder, I headed out.

As I made for the foyer door, I nodded a greeting to the receptionist, and she waved me over in a conspiratorial manner. Are you going out to lunch?

I glanced at my watch. Seeing how late it is, I guess I might as well grab a bite to eat.

Taffra held sway over The Bard, running the day to day needs of the office that our boss had no interest in. Enthroned at her desk, she guarded the office with the ferocity of a mother hen against any intruders. Usually of a bubbly nature, she could nevertheless be a formidable opponent to any transgressor, and her acerbic tongue was sharp and ruthless with any supplier that overbilled.

Somebody was asking for you. She toyed with a strawberry lock of hair as she brushed it back behind the point of her ear. She grinned, a mischievous smile. I told him you were busy, but I could take a number and message.

I take it he was cute then, for you to have shown such initiative. Did he leave any message?

Nope, he said he’d try again later. She leaned forward, her large saucer eyes brimming with curiosity. Who was your man of mystery?

I shrugged. Not a clue, Taffra. Your guess is as good as mine. And if you were so curious about him, why didn’t you tell me when he was here?

She shrugged. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him.

I raised a brow in surprise. Well, judging from your reaction, he was certainly worth a look over.

She grinned. I’ll let you know, then, next time he shows up.

If he comes back. I couldn’t help but wonder myself. My social calendar was somewhat lacking, and my acquaintance list was even scarcer. Really, I couldn’t think of anyone I knew, past or present, that would have raised Taffra’s interest.

The door to the boss’s office opened, and Druger looked out. Less chitty chat and more work, girls, please. Besricton, step into my office, would you.

With my escape route cut off, I followed my boss meekly into his office. If it’s about the new story set, I’ll have them done in a day, I bluffed. It was always a bad sign when he got formal and used my last name.

No, it’s about one of your last ones.

But I thought you liked them? You said they were some of the best that I had done.

He gestured for me to take a seat, and I took the stool that was better suited to a dwarf than a tall woman. I did. He left the word hanging before continuing. However, this afternoon I had to deal with a rather upset caller.

I’ve never known you to be ruffled by complaints before, sir.

You would be ruffled too, my dear, if you had to deal with an irate arch druid. The dwarf regarded me with steel gray eyes. It seems you used some passages from some of their secret cult writings.

What, Tomeridic’s Prophesies? I knew it was obscure, but I didn’t think it was forbidden or secret.

No, not that one, the other one.

Gelgeremic’s Visions? I just threw those in as a humorous afterthought.

Druger stroked his braided beard. Hmm, maybe your frivolity added to his bad temper. He also demanded to know how you got a hold of your copy. I had to assure him you hadn’t been snooping through their crystal records. You weren’t, were you?

Of course not, you know I don’t have any talent. Wherever I got it, it must have been on public domain.

That’s what I told him. He grinned. You didn’t get any help, did you?

I shook my head. Certainly not! Why would I bother getting help to steal a snatch of verse?

Oh well, I removed the offending quotes from our site, but I can’t do anything about hard print versions.

I frowned. I was paid by the word, and I had been pretty wordy in that section. You’re not going to take it out of my fee, are you?

Well, fewer words would mean fewer coins.

Oh, come on, Druger, be fair! You know I don’t have much.

He waved a hand around the room, taking in the faded wallpaper and old furnishings. The furniture was old enough for the scrap heap, but not old enough or well-built enough to be antique. Do I look like I’m made of gold? He stared into my pleading eyes. Okay, I’ll let it slide this once, but don’t get me into any more trouble. I would like to avoid all druids and their sharp knives.

As I left Druger’s office, Taffra glanced up inquisitively. Everything all right?

Oh sure, everything is fine. I just need to stay up all night racking my brain.

Ah, that bad then? she commiserated.

Yeah. I pulled my hat out of my coat pocket where I had crammed it. I think I’ll get that lunch now and some coffee. I think I’ll be needing it.

As I stepped out, a gust of wind buffed me and tugged at my hat. I glanced anxiously up at the sliver of sky visible beyond the row of older buildings and warehouses. A late winter sun shone brightly, but slate gray clouds dotted the sky here and there, like some flock of dark sheep, making it a tossup over whether it would rain or not. I resisted the urge to retreat back to my little office nook, and tugging my hat more securely over my ears, I stepped down onto the cobblestone sidewalk. I needed to think, and with some luck the brisk breeze would scatter the cobwebs of my mind much as it scattered the clouds over head. I had promised Druger three more stories on his desk by morning, but that wasn’t what my mind kept turning to as I took the road down to the river.

Arnemus was a secular city, built over a thousand years ago by the emperor Naristofus to secure his footing in the newly conquered territory, the old kingdom of Druiwellwin. Of course the old empire was long gone, but the old fort of Arnemus still stood and had given the city its name. Over time, the druids had found that they actually liked living in more urban settings, so the city expanded, taking in many of the old groves of the surrounding countryside. The city was an eclectic mix of the stone and brick structures favored by the old empire and living wood structures that were the druids’ specialties.

I paused at the two bridges that crossed over the river which was high from the snow melt and rain. One bridge was masonry, built for the heavy cart traffic, and the other bridge was made of trees, two sets on either bank of the river and a fifth tree planted on a small isle at the center of the river. The branches met over the water and wove together to make the bridge for pedestrian traffic. Other branches arched up and over, sheltering the walkway. Most of their foliage had been lost, though a few leaves still stalwartly clung on and flapped in the breeze.

The city was much like the two bridges with the two walks of life running side by side. One was the bricks and mortar world of everyday life made up of many races and creeds, and the other was the secretive and mysterious groves that dotted the city all over. The druids didn’t actually run the city, but their numbers and prominent positions certainly gave them a casting vote, and it was pure folly to court their ire.

What had possessed me to use the poem? A juicy scandal, hints of corruption, now those would have been understandable, but some silly rhyme. I shook my head at the nonsense of it all. Perhaps it was the long winter spent indoors, but I was starting to feel trapped in a corner I had an overwhelming, unfathomable desire to run, nowhere in particular, just to run and keep running. I stopped at the bridge railing and looked down at the swift flowing river. Was the desire to run from or towards something? I crammed my fists into my pockets and hunched my shoulders. I didn’t run, but I did walk, letting the brisk exercise drain the tension from my mind.

For lunch, I stopped at a small diner. The food was simple if plain, but their coffee was endless. After promising Druger three more stories by morning, I was facing one hard all-nighter, and writing in a coffee induced delirium might help.

What will you have? Cillus the waitress asked as I sat down at a booth. She was half elf, half dwarf, with the large eyes and pointing ears of one and the short stature and hint of facial hair of the other.

I’ll have lots of coffee and whatever your daily special is.

Stew and sandwiches.

I see cook hasn’t gotten any more adventurous in his menus. As I recall, the daily special was always stew and sandwiches, I remarked.

Well, when you’re good at something, why change?

Whatever, just keep the coffee coming and I’ll be happy.

She jotted down my order. You know, Cassra, you make a better customer than you ever did a waitress.

I grimaced at the memory. After I had lost my job as a herald at the town crier, I had tried a very brief and very disastrous stint as a waitress. Yeah, that was a nightmare. I don’t know how you put up with the work.

She shrugged. It’s a job, and I guess having thick skin helps too.

Once left alone, I took out my scribbled notes and sat staring at them. Druger usually was easy to work for, and for a scandal sheet The Bard was tame, nothing too sordid, but just enough scandal to give the readership something to gossip about with their friends.

I drummed my pen on the table, trying to decide which idea to use. The afterlife of celebrity ghosts, where are they now? That might work. Life beyond the stars was a popular subject at the moment, but I would need to scan the I-mage-web and see what I could find. Maybe add an arcane prophecy about the stars. No, forget that. No more prophecies, not for a while. I would probably do a write up on a two-headed kitten born suspiciously close to a mage school. If I wanted a new twist, I could hint at alien parentage.

Mind if I sit down?

I blinked up at the stranger and glanced around the empty diner. Seeing how crowded it is, I guess not.

Ignoring my sarcasm, he sat down, and Cillus popped up from nowhere.

What will you have, sir?

Just a cup of coffee, thanks.

At a guess, I’d pinned him as Taffra’s man of mystery, on the whole not bad looking. His hair was dark and short, and his face, clean shaven and tanned, showed off a strong jawline and chiseled lips. Really, the only fault I could find with his appearance was a silly pair of black glass spectacles. And I mean silly; the diner was quite dim, rather pretentious to be keeping the shades on.

Still, I was intrigued. He didn’t look the usual sort of loon wanting us to cover his paranoid theory. He was too well dressed for that. I gave him another puzzled once over. His dark blue suit was of a cut and cloth that whispered success. If I had to make a speculation, I would’ve guessed banker or some other equally respected profession, which made our encounter all the more strange. Professionals that relied on trust and respectability did not often seek out the acquaintance of scandal sheet writers. They were far more likely to avoid us like the plague. No, certainly not the usual raincoated madman.

I cleared my throat. I’m sorry, did you want something? If it’s about a story you would like us to cover then you’ll have to write it up, send it to the office, and the editor will decide if we’ll handle it.

What? He managed a blank stare even with the shades on.

You’re trying to pitch me on a story, aren’t you?

No, I wanted to know where you found the Gelgeremic Visions.

It was my turn to look surprised. Well Hades in a hatbox, not an occultist fanatic. Why, what is your interest? I glanced about for Cillus just in case I needed back up.

Let’s just say that I collect odd bits of information as a hobby.

No. My eyes narrowed as a winter’s edge filled my voice. Let’s say you just get lost, and I never see you again.

Now, Cassra Besricton, I’m only trying to help you. He waved his hands in a placating manner, and I took note of the gloves.

I didn’t write any of my stories at The Bard under my real name. For one, it helped having several pen names to make it look like we had a larger staff. Second, I had some hope that one day I might be able to reclaim my herald career. One can dream, can’t they? So, you know my real name. Next you’ll be telling me you know where I live.

Well, actually I do. It wasn’t that hard to find out. And if I did then others will. Look, just hear me out before you jump to the wrong conclusion.

Very well, but you had better make it quick, because the longer you talk the worse you are sounding.

I will try to keep this brief then. He took a breath. Listen, the original book went missing over a century ago, and all that remains are incomplete copies made at different times over the years.

So?

So, where did you find yours?

Look, I work on a deadline, and I usually waste most of my time goofing off until the last night. Then, driven by coffee, I cram a lot of stuff together and hope it doesn’t get rejected.

That doesn’t answer my question, Cassra.

Yes, it does, and please call me Miss Besricton. You try scanning the I-mage-web at three in the morning and see if you can remember everything. I don’t see what the big deal is. I stumbled on some excerpt someone put up by mistake. So what?

"You don’t get it. I’ve read every known copy there is, and those excerpts aren’t from any of them. Someone either made up that quote, or they have access to a more complete copy. And if you don’t have the book then you somehow stumbled upon it. Miss Besricton, aren’t your heraldic instincts in the least bit