The Crystal Warrior

The Crystal Warrior (Chapter 1)

He shuffled to the hearth. Using a wadded cloth, he took his battered old kettle from the fire and poured the pain-killing tea into the silver cup that was his most prized possession. As he sipped the tea, Pieter ran gnarled fingers over the patterns engraved on the cup and muttered the incantation beneath his breath. He must remain strong and focused. His intent must not falter, not even for an instant.

He drained the cup and set it carefully aside before snatching up the precious bundle of crystals. He cradled it to his chest as he hurried from his hut. 'Twas time to meet his destiny.

The thundering of hooves heralded their arrival. Pieter had to shield his eyes against the glare of the noon-day sun before he spied them, silhouetted against the hillside. They rode with no accompanying hue or cry. Each man was silent as the grave.

The same could not be said of the villagers. Shrieks of terror split the air. Most ran to their huts and cowered within. Bah. As if mere wood and thatch would save them.

A few brave men arrayed themselves at the muddy path that was the village entrance, clutching whatever weapons they could find. Amidst those waving pitchforks and shovels, one man brandished a pitted, rust-splotched sword. Fools. Pieter shook his head at their folly as he hobbled past.

"Go back inside, Pieter," one of the men called, his voice thick with fear. "Ye be getting yerself killed!"

"Have ye taken leave of yer senses, old man?" another cried. "What d'ye think ye be doing?"

"Saving you all." Thanks to the tea he'd brewed, Pieter's joints did not bite and protest when he knelt. Goddess grant this spell would be just as potent. He untied the linen and spread it out on the ground. He placed the eleven large gemstones in a circle, with himself at the center point. He was the focus, a man named after a crystal, a man who'd dedicated his life to learning how to harness the power of such stones. He struggled to his feet to await his fate.

The warrior called Wulf spotted Pieter barring his way. He reined in his battle mount and raised a hand to halt his men. He quirked one brow at Pieter, then barked a scornful laugh. "A graybeard who should be a-bed, nursing his aching joints. This is the best defense you offer."

A small figure hurtled toward Pieter, momentarily distracting him. Amie. His great-granddaughter had torn herself away from her mother's arms. Her actions did not surprise him. She was a fiery little creature with the heart of a warrior. Goddess. Please let him save her from these men.

"Amie, no!" Her mother lunged as if to go after her, but was forcibly restrained by the other women.

The little girl skidded to a halt beside Pieter. Hands on hips in a perfect imitation of her mother, she faced down the fearsome warrior. "Don't speak to me grandda' like that, ye big bully! Go 'way and leave us be!"

One of the mounted warriors, the flaxen-haired one they called Kyan, snickered.

"Silence!" Wulf snarled. His assessing gaze raked Amie's body from head to toe. "The girl-child is comely. Too, she shows no fear. When she comes of age, I will honor her courage by bidding for her on the Choosing Block. You show courage also, old man, so to appease this child of your blood I will spare your life."

"My life is already forfeit. But not to you Lord Keeper Wulfenite."

Wulf's eyes widened momentarily before he shuttered them with an emotionless stare.

But it was too late. Pieter had noted the telltale signs of his disquiet. Yes, Styrian, I know your true name. And, Goddess willing, my knowledge will help me to defeat you.

The huge warrior kneed his mount forward but the beast shied, forcing him to haul back on the reins. His men shifted restlessly behind him. "Much good knowing my true name will do you, old man," he said. "If you insist on resisting us then so be it. The earth will drink your foolish old blood as readily as it does that of younger men."