With the upcoming release of Forsaken Foes we invite you to enjoy, Serpent’s Spine,

By EM Malachi

The fire had been smothered, but there still were a few embers. A poorly butchered deer carcass was bleeding nearby. The gargoyle had been at the abandoned camp recently. Iolo’s quarry was close. The bard searched for a fresh trail away from the campsite.

Iolo hadn’t known Feridwyn well, but what he had seen had earned his respect. In spite of his misgivings about the Fellowship, Iolo planned to take up Feridwyn’s duties at the poorhouse after Justice had been served. Right at this moment though, he was hunting Feridwyn’s killer through the mountains.

After Katrina had reported the murder, the town guard pursued the killer, Forskis, through the streets of Britain and into the neighboring farmlands. Forskis had set a farmhouse on fire to cover his escape. When the smoke finally cleared and the farm family inside were safe, the gargoyle was long gone. The local guards didn’t have the means or experience to track Forskis into the mountains. Iolo did.

The Serpent’s Spine Mountains were a maze of jagged rocks. One misstep almost sent the old bard on a very fast fall back to Britain. Why the gargoyle didn’t take flight, Iolo did not know, but it meant there was a clear trail to follow into the mountains. Still, Forskis had a day’s head start, and this was the closest Iolo had gotten.

Iolo readied his crossbow as he followed the tracks away from the fire. They led through the gorge as it narrowed, eventually coming to a dead end. A falling pebble made him look up. Forskis was holding onto the ravine wall high above, waiting for him. Iolo managed to get a bolt into the air, but the shot went wide. The gargoyle snarled and used his incredible strength to pull free part of the rock face, starting an avalanche.

Iolo covered his head as the rocks fell on him.

8/7/2019

We invite you to sit back and enjoy, An Honest Man

By EM Malachi

An Honest Man

Katrina poured water on the wound and winced in pain. A large thorn had caught her arm when she was helping a sheep escape a briar tangle. There was one in every flock: independent and curious. As she wrapped her wound, the errant sheep nuzzled her leg, looking none the worse for wear.

She had joined the drive from Skara Brae to Britain so she would have an excuse to see her friend. Feridwyn’s early letters about the Fellowship had been excited and full of stories. Then they had gotten shorter and hinted at his doubts. His most recent letter was the most surprising of all: he was going to marry another member of the group. Katrina needed to know what was going on.

*****

When she arrived in Britain and found the Fellowship Hall, she saw a large crowd gathered listening to a man giving a speech. When she didn’t see Feridwyn at the group, she asked someone about the Fellowship poorhouse. She was directed to the outskirts of Britain.

The poorhouse was crammed full of extra beds and supplies, but the occupants were at Batlin’s speech. As Katrina made her way through the narrow halls, she bumped into a large gargoyle. When she tried to apologize, he gave the shepherdess a nasty look and hurried to the exit. As she turned back, she saw the gargoyle had left a trail of blood. Katrina rushed down the hall.

Feridwyn’s small room had been turned over, and he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Katrina shouted for help as she pulled cloth from her bag. She desperately tried to put pressure on the largest wound.

Feridwyn recognized her, grabbing her arm. “I doubted. I couldn’t let it be.”

“There will be time later. I need to help you.”

He was crying now. “It wasn’t what I wanted.”

Katrina again shouted for help, but she felt the hand on her arm let go. The dying man looked past her before muttering his last words, “Will I see them again?”

7/18/2019

We invite you to sit back and enjoy, Iolo Undercover.

By EM Malachi

“You’re Iolo the Bard!”

“Not today I’m not. I’m just someone with a bowl of stew. Mind if I take this seat?” The bard sat down. “How are you doing today?”

Feridwyn examined the bard sitting across from him. An old cap covered shaggy white hair, and there was a warm smile behind the long beard. “I’m well. What brings you to the Fellowship?”

Iolo tentatively ate a small spoonful of the stew and looked pleasantly surprised. He set to work on the bowl. “I heard of the good work being done here and wanted to see it for myself.”

“What do you think so far?”

“I think I’m hungry. After a morning of stacking crates, I still have a lot of questions. The first being: Is this really the best way to help people?”

“Many have voiced doubts about our work, even a dear friend of mine, but trust is required.”

Iolo thought for a moment. “That reminds me of a story.”

There once was a farmer who bred and trained horses. One day, when he went into his stable, a voice said to him, “The nail holding the lantern is loose. One good gust, and it will fall.”

 The farmer didn’t see anyone, just his horses, but he went over to the lantern and checked. The piece of wood was rotten, and the nail fell right out when he pulled on it. “Thank you! The whole place could have burned down.”

 “You’re welcome!” said the strange voice.

 A few days later, the farmer was getting ready to repair the thatch on the stable roof. He had the ladder in place when the same voice said, “The ground is soft under one rail. It’ll sink as you climb, and you will fall.”

 Again, the farmer only saw a few of his horses in the corral, but he checked the ladder. One side was indeed sinking into the ground. “Thank you again! May I know your name?”

 “I have a couple of names, but all my friends call me Smith.”

 A couple of weeks later, the farmer was purchasing a new saddle from a traveling merchant in the village, when the voice warned him, “Don’t buy that saddle. The rigging isn’t attached very well.”

 The farmer checked the straps and didn’t see a problem, and the merchant assured him that no one had ever had a problem with one of his saddles. Since it was a very good deal, the farmer ignored the advice. “I think I know a thing or two about saddles.”

 The farmer put the new saddle on the horse and started the ride for home. Feeling good about his purchase, the farmer started to push his horse into a brisk gallop. As horse and rider turned the bend for home, the farmer saw the fence gate had somehow shut, and he decided to try to jump it. The horse under him had other ideas and instead turned off to the side. Just then the billet straps tore loose, and the rider tumbled off the horse into a puddle of soft mud.

 While the farmer was wiping the stinking mud from his face, the horse bent his head down. “I also know a thing or two about saddles. While you are putting on our old saddle, grab me a sugar cube.”

As Iolo finished his tale, Feridwyn laughed. “My little ones would have loved that story.” Feridwyn’s face darkened for a moment when he remembered. “I need to see about a food shipment to Ter Mur.”

Iolo patted the other man’s shoulder as Feridwyn got up to leave. “I know what you’re going through. It’s difficult. Let me know if you ever want to talk about it.”

Feridwyn gave a sad nod. “If you stick around, I’m sure we’ll share another meal. Good meeting you, Iolo.” He left.

Iolo wiped a crust of bread along the bottom of his empty bowl. “For a cult, they make a decent stew.”

7/1/2019

We invite you to sit back and enjoy Trust Thy Brother,

By EM Malachi

The lamb looked at the shepherdess and gave a confused bleat. With the new smells, the small animal had grown shy. Katrina gently guided the lamb into the pen.  Feridwyn, the animal’s owner, had sold the rest of his flock, but he had wanted her to have this one. “Why Britain? Why can’t you do their work here?” she asked.

Feridwyn emptied the oats from his pockets and tossed them into the pen. “It’s where I’m needed. The poor of Britain and Paws are crowded together in that awful city, and the Fellowship goes where their help is needed.”

“There are poor people here too.”

“True, but the shepherds take care of our own. When those vultures came for the gold I owed last year, you paid them and prevented them from throwing me out of my home. That is what the Fellowship is trying to do on a larger scale.”

“Other groups perform charity. That isn’t new.”

“But they haven’t done enough! For too long, the powers in the gilded houses and castles have made promises, but those at the bottom have only gotten poorer.”

“You are giving up everything, your whole life here.”

“I already lost it. Lily and the twins. Ever since I lost them to the pox, there have been many times I didn’t think I could go on. When I met the Fellowship envoy, I was in the darkest place I had ever been. She talked me back from the edge.”

“I didn’t know things had gotten so bad. I would have helped.”

“I didn’t want help. I wanted a reason to go on. I needed a purpose again, beyond living another day. I believe in the Fellowship’s work. For the first time in so long, I feel hope.”

*****

With the Pirate Guild wanting him dead, it cost Mole all his gold to bribe a sailor to let him stowaway in the ship’s hold. It was a week of worry and claustrophobia, followed by a month of sickness, alone in the dark. He arrived in Britain nearly dead.

Those unloading the ship found him when they moved the stacked crates that had been his cell. The sailors drew lots to see who would move him to a convenient alley. The docker with the short straw was surprised Mole was still alive. He helped the wretched stowaway get to the Fellowship House.

For a week, members of the Fellowship brought potions to his bedside and helped him eat. Mole soon regained enough strength to sit by the window and listen to Batlin speak to the people of Britain.

At the end of the week, they came to him with a job. They brought him to a warehouse where people from Paws and refugees from the pirate conflict were working for the Fellowship. A stern woman named Brita showed him how to wrap powder charges for a ship’s cannons. Mole didn’t let on that he had done it before.

Settling down to work, Mole looked at the child next to him who was counting out grapeshot pellets, and muttered, “Better than starving.”