Sheldon's Ride

By Susan Koziel

“From his hiding place in the ruined temple Callum could see the Albion slave army file past; then the dark lord and his wizards came, all of them heading south through the pass. He backed out of his hiding place and around the other side of the mountain; called his mount and left as quickly as he could travel to Stewart hold. While the mages were gone, the army hiding throughout the highlands could finally rise up against the Albions. It was time to take back their lands and holdings before any of the Dark Lords of knew what was happening. Callum traveled at break neck speed to reach the Stewart circle and summon the magic of the ancestors; sending each spirit to the other circles, calling all Caledon to battle….”

          Sheldon turned away; he’d heard the story of the Overlords hound a dozen times before. All the kids liked it; the great Caledon Mage calls the army into action, overthrows the Albion Slavers, and saves the day, big deal. He wasn’t a kid any more, he didn’t have time to stop and listen; so he got up from the table and headed over to where the older men were. Their stories interested him more then any bard’s tale of moldy ancient mages. He looked over at Tristan, his best friend, who was absorbed in the story along with all the kids and about half the holding. Sheldon just shook his head, how could anyone be interested in that sort of thing? Fanciful tales just didn’t inspire him. He’d rather hear the real thing, like how the war was going on the boarders. Information on the Albions was particularly interesting, he was an apprentice courier after all, and he could be called to take messages to the different boarders commanders. It paid to listen to the soldier’s tales who had just come back from the front. Recent tales had been fearful, the men spoke of an army of the dead that did not stop until their heads were severed from their bodies. The Overlord had commanded all bodies of the dead be cremated and the ashes scattered to prevent the Albion mages from raising the fallen Caledonian soldiers. Not a popular rule to be sure, especially among the lords who wanted to be buried in their hold circle. Disgruntled lords and armies of the dead aside, today’s talk was about how far the boarder had been pushed back and that much of Caledon’s farmland had been turned into a muddy, bloody mess. Clan Reid had lost half their lands and the fighting would reach Stewart hold in a matter of days, unless the druids could find a way to ward away the dead. 
          Sheldon had passed a good portion of the evening listening to the discussion at the soldiers table, but once they started bringing out the ale the stories turned to other things, and Sheldon slipped off into the maze like back hallways of Stewart hold. As he wandered through the cold stone halls, lit with flickering torches that never quite touched the winter cold, Sheldon thought about what the next few days were going to be like: Father would be too busy with affairs of state to be bothered with any of his children, and mother would be ensconced with the druids researching spells against the walking dead. Sheldon would end up looking after his younger sisters and brother, not such a change he thought. Father never has time anymore Sheldon thought bitterly, ever since the Lords council had asked him to be their head, the great mighty overlord, he was too busy to spend time with his family. Yet, as he finished the thought, he knew deep down that being overlord was a lot of work, and it was important. He just couldn’t help feeling resentful, especially since he’d started dreaming about his parents’ death. He always felt that he wasn’t going to have enough time with them. He also started to notice what happened to children without parents who had no one else to claim them, they were extra mouths to feed and the clan would turn them out. It was a matter of survival; a clan couldn’t keep someone that didn’t contribute. “One will not keep more then than one can support” the creed the Eastern clans stuck to rigidly when any one asked them for sanctuary. The western clans had no worries, food was plentiful and they’d take on outcasts who made it that far. The problem was Father’s new laws had made many enemies among the western clans, so he doubted that refuge would come from there for his family. Sheldon shook his head trying to get his mind off such depressing thoughts, he logically understood the laws but his feelings didn’t comply. Especially since he’d seen a group of hungry looking Easterners turned away from the gates earlier that winter. He never forgot the face of the young man with one arm and two children in tow. He couldn’t reconcile his feelings with his father’s reasons for turning them away no matter how often it was explained to him. 
          His mind drifted in and out of contemplation as he wound his way through the halls to his room. Entering his own small corner of the world he kicked off his boots and sat in front of his mirror looking at himself for a few moments. His mom’s brown eyes looked back at him, and his father’s black hair; which he kept shorter than most warriors, was tied back, the clan braids with their colored threads stood out sharply against his hair. Couriers rarely had long hair; they needed to keep it out of their faces when riding at speed. He was slighter in build then most of the other Stewarts he knew; when he was younger he’d even asked his mother once if he really was a Stewart. She’d laughed and said she was certain of it. He never told her, but he was disappointed by the revelation. The memory brought a smile, his mother’s smile. His mother was a tiny, slim women with chestnut brown hair and eyes that laughed and flirted with anyone who met her gaze. She smiled easily and was the only person he knew who could make his father laugh. As a healer and a druid she complemented his father, who had been a Baine, a warrior mage. His father’s back hair and green eyes were striking enough, but his height and muscular build allowed him to tower over almost any one in Caledon. Sheldon briefly thought about Chulainn, his twin, who was much more like his father, and if Chulainn would ever speak to their parents again. He wondered if Chulainn was still alive on the northern border. They hadn’t heard from him since he left four years ago after a huge argument. Lord Black had taken him in, but who would have turned a warrior of Chulainns ability away. By rights Chulainn should have been training as a Baine – that was the argument, but Chulainn always had a mind of his own and adamantly refused the apprenticeship. By rights Sheldon should have had magic as well, but his manhood ceremony had come and gone. He had received his clan marks, the two tattooed blue lines on each cheek, but magic had never raised its head in his direction. His father had told him, “It just takes some people longer to develop magic then others, just wait, it will come,” but Sheldon wasn’t so sure. Tristan had his bard’s magic, Flora, his sister, was entering druidic training, Chulainn could be a Baine if he wanted to, so what was wrong with him? Had he somehow angered the goddess? Long ago he’d overheard some druids talking that he’d prophesied something during a fever one spring, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t remember anything about it. He sighed and turned away from the mirror. Making sure the fire was stoked he readied himself and crawled into bed still brooding.

          It was dark and snowing, he was traveling as fast as possible to Mackenzy, but why? He couldn’t remember, all he could hear was chanting. It covered him with a foul feeling, growing around him like a sheet of ice. He fled, and felt a sharp pain pierce his side, then his arm. Then darkness, then …
“Sheldon, Sheldon, wake up.”
Sheldon recognized Flora’s voice and felt her poking his arm. 
“Sheldon…”
“Alright, Alright, I’m up already,” he opened his eyes to be greeted by his younger sister’s face, green eyes, red hair, and freckles. 
“Dad wants you in the couriers room right away.”
“What for?” groaned Sheldon as he dragged himself out of bed and winced as is feet touched the cold floor. Thin beams of light were coming through the shutters of the window – he must have slept in.
“He need’s you to deliver a message, Timor brain.”
“Do you know where?” Sheldon asked as he dressed while trying to remain under the warm blankets on his bed.
“Just how am I supposed to know that?”
“Well you seem to know everything else that goes on around here.” He reached out and ruffled her hair.
“I do not,” she said smoothing down her hair and stepping out of reach, “but I think I heard him mention Mackenzy to Bedir.”
Sheldon grabbed his courier pack and paused to wave her out of his room.
She stuck out her bottom lip in a faked pout.
“Put that lip back or it’ll freeze that way, and don’t think I’ll make the mistake of leaving you in here.”
“Hrumph.” was her reply as she walked out the door, which he closed and locked after her. He knew if he didn’t any books he had would get swallowed into the flurry that was her room. 
          Sheldon made his way to the small room used to brief couriers on their assignments. When he arrived his father was already sitting behind the desk examining a map, glaring down at it as if he could burn the invaders out with a look. His father hadn’t always been like that, Sheldon could remember a time when he laughed and his eyes sparkled at shared jokes; but not anymore. To his father’s left was the hold arms master Bedir, a tiny dark man who had come from somewhere south of Caledon with the gypsies and decided to stay. Despite his size, or maybe because of it, Bedir had become known as the best teacher of arms in Caledon. Bedir had always been a friend to both Sheldon and Chulainn, in fact it was Bedir who had suggested to Sheldon that he become a courier when Sheldon seemed at loose ends trying to decide a profession to apprentice to. Father had wanted one of the twins to become a Baine so badly, but Sheldon had neither the talent nor heart for it. Bedir managed to suggest a different course for Sheldon by matter of fact-ly mentioning, “since the boy likes to travel…”
It was Bedir who looked up first, “Sir, your son.”
“Have a seat” his father said looking up and motioning to a chair with a fluid movement, “you’ve been an apprentice courier for four years.” 
Sheldon nodded trying to figure out what his father was about to say next.
“I’ve been talking to Bedir and your master, and we all feel you are good enough to hold a full posting as a courier.”
Sheldon smiled slightly trying to keep his joy contained, inside he was dancing up and down and yelling with joy.
“I don’t think I need to remind you that this gives you a new responsibility to your clan, which should not be taken lightly….” The rest of his father’s speak disappeared into oblivion as Sheldon’s mind raced with jubilation. 
“… Your first assignment will be,” Sheldon’s mind snapped back to attention, “to carry a routine message to Mackenzy hold, it must not fall into the wrong hands.”
“Yes. Sir.” Sheldon replied.
His father nodded, handed him the small dagger that contained the message in its hollow hilt, wished him luck, and dismissed him. 
          Sheldon almost ran for joy through the halls and down to the stables – but feeling all adult now, he contained himself to a quick trot. He got to his Timor’s stall and stopped to put out a hand for her to smell him. Timor’s had notoriously poor sight at close distances, and had a tendency to hurt anyone they didn’t recognize or didn’t like. Many a boy had bitten hands or broken arms or legs by being careless around the shaggy goat like creatures. Once Caylene had decided he was her friend he saddled her. She seemed impatient and restless to get on the road. Fidgeting as he did up her saddle, and catching his excitement she wouldn’t hold still for him to place her halter until he smacked her on her nose. “Hold still, you damn goat,” he said as he finally got her halter on. She looked at him soulfully, “And don’t try that innocent look either, you snow demon.” He said as he checked that all the straps were secure. Once she was ready he lead her shaggy black form out of the stables and into the courtyard before he mounted, then left through the main gates. 
          He headed south on the dirt road before turning east onto the old Slaver’s Road. As they picked up speed the road became heavily forested on either side, and the wind was blowing hard and cold from the west signaling another bad spring snowstorm. Sheldon could almost taste the ice crystals in the air, but he was so absorbed in his ride he failed to notice the unnatural swiftness with which the sky darkened and the initial small crystals of snow that wound their way to the forest floor. Nor did he notice the occasional flash of dark blue Albion uniforms among the trees, or the chanting that started as a low hum and narrowed his awareness, leading him off the trial and into an exit-less canyon. Eventually the hum worked its way into his conscious thought waking him and became a chant; which raked its icy claws down his back. He found himself and Caylene pinned on three sides by rocky cliffs and in front were Albion soldiers, blue uniforms worn from weeks on the battlefield, crossbows; clean, shiny, and pointed at him. Behind the soldiers he could see a darkly robed mage, chanting and watching him like a cat does a mouse just before pouncing. In a few brief seconds Sheldon’s mind registered Caylene shift under him to the left, and the sound of the crossbow bolts cutting the wind. He barely held on as a sudden jolt slammed into his side, then another into his left shoulder, and he heard the sickening sound of cracking bone. Then felt Caylene lurch forward, fleeing past the soldiers and the mage, and he clung on with all his strength. Her muscles strained to their limits as she hit top speed, he felt more bolts whistle past and the chanting grow louder again. Fear spurred Caylene on and kept Sheldon from fainting in pain. Vaguely he registered that they were fleeing through an army hidden in the forest outside of Stewart hold waiting to attack. He foggily thought he should warn his clan, but it would be to late. Then he fell into the black of pain and finally blissful unconsciousness.
          A painful nudge summoned Sheldon back to the real world. He tried to close his eyes and drift again in to the pleasant blackness he’d just left, but again the same nudge. He opened his eyes and found he was laying face down in the snow. Starting to pick him self up brought a sudden sharp pain in his side and his arms collapsed under him. He lay there a few moments catching his breath and blinking away tears until he felt he could try again, more carefully. Eventually he managed a sitting position and looking around saw absolutely nothing he recognized. This didn’t surprise him, when a Timor decides it’s leaving not much will stop it. If it’s terrified it will run till its heart gives out – that thought stopped his mind dead in it’s tracks. He looked around in sudden panic and saw Caylene – or rather the black mass of fur that had once been Caylene, collapsed on her side looking like a giant pin cushion, a red stain spreading through the snow beneath her. “No!” grief suddenly pushed all thought and feelings away and he managed to crawl over to her. Against all logic he shook her trying to wake her, to make her move, to make her do anything. Finally regaining her senses he stopped and his mind, now numb, started working on the basic problem of survival. What did he need from her saddle bags, what had to be done before sunset. The act of making the list focused him he searched through the saddlebags and found his aid kit. He bound the wound in his side – mostly a big cut in a larger bruise, thanks to his armor. Then he removed the bolt embedded in his shoulder and promptly passed out. Once he came to the second time that day he dressed the shoulder wound and pulled everything he could carry from the saddle bags to a large old spruce tree, and stored it under the low hanging branches where it was dry. Digging a pit in the ground in front of a section of the tree where he could squeeze he started a small fire with the dry dead branches that the base of the tree hid. By then night was falling and he dozed fitfully wrapped in as many blankets and clothing as he had. His dreams were of war, but not a war he recognized, the soldiers didn’t look right they wore uniforms he didn’t recognize and fought with weapons that he couldn’t make sense of. Eventually, the first rays of light streamed into his little hide away and chewing on some dry rations he decided he would figure out where he was, and how far he was from Mackenzy.

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Notes from the GM: This is one of my first shorts about Sheldon's early life. I'm still not satisfied with it as it seems choppy. I've revised it a few times, and will probably continue to everytime I pick it up.