The ample storerooms of the lorehouse lay 12 feet lower than the worn cobblestones of the street outside. It was somewhat damp, too damp to store precious parchment. A few cords of wood filled one corner. A bin of root vegetables could be found in another, flanking the flight of wooden stairs that led upward to the kitchen. A quarter of the largest room had been partitioned with dressed stones , and a narrow beam of light crept from beneath a rough-hewn door. A nearby stone stairway led to an alley entrance with a small iron-bound door, closed and barred in darkness.
The room was plainly furnished with a trestle table and benches and several worn chairs. The table was covered with bone gaming pieces and money, which the four men around it ignored. Three of those present had come through the alley door at the changing of the second watch. Half-empty mugs stood by every place.
Loremaster Brian sat in a high-backed chair at the head of the table, dressed in a coarse woolen tunic of charcoal gray. To his right sat Thomas of Longmont, clad in a faded green jerkin with leather patches on his elbows and heavy boots on his feet. Across from Thomas sat two men, both wearing war badges. One was in his thirties, with light hair, a ruddy face and a flowing golden moustache. His short-sleeved tunic showed a heavy golden ring on thick biceps. His rich clothing, trimmed with fur, contrasted sharply with his companion, who wore only the coarse wool and leather of a soldier in the field. His weather-beaten and scarred face marked him as a veteran of many campaigns.
The Loremaster spoke, the soft candlelight softening his features and gilding his close-cropped white beard:
"Brothers, where three or four are gathered . . . "
". . . there am I in the midst of them," came the response from his three companions.
"Brothers," continued the Loremaster, "We have thanked our Master for His care for us."
"And we dedicate ourselves to His service."
"Well, then how goes the work of the Kingdom?"
"Fellow Deacons, Brothers," began Thomas, "I am aware of a need."
And so the discussion continued for perhaps an hour. A widow would find a bag of cornmeal on her door step in the morning. Another would be visited by a surgeon from one of the troops to provide medicine. Many such needs wee discussed, and the limited resources parceled out as best they could. As the tasks were organized, the time for petitions arrived. Needs discussed and others beyond their ability to help were recounted. The name of the dead drover was mentioned, with a petition for his family. Then the men sat silent with folded arms and bowed heads. Finally, with the needs of their charges dealt with, and petitions offered, the meeting relaxed. Thomas of Longmont spoke:
"Brothers, one of our fathers left a bit of verse which you all know, and which I would discuss."
"What is that, Brother?" asked the Loremaster.
"I think you have heard of Carl the Elder," responded Thomas. A mutter circled the table.
"You must mean the so-called prophecy," said the Loremaster, brow and nose wrinkled, as if he smelled something bad.
"So-called is said well, of course," returned Thomas. "Yet there is a prophecy that your young men shall see visions and your old men shall dream dreams.'"
The Loremaster closed his eyes and then began to recite:
Under a waning springtime moon
Bearing a blade with a northern rune
Riding under a scarlet doom
Through the stone gate came the key.
He broke off the chant, opened his eyes and asked, "Is that the verse you mean?"
YOU ARE READING
The Stonegate Sword
FantasyStonegate's fair city was built on the ruins of a town of one of the ancients. It was not called Stonegate, then, for in those days there was no need for stone walls or for gates. I've heard it said, though I can scarcely believe it, that in those d...
