The Home Stone

Blick and Treymane said their good-byes as the Halfling boarded the ship in Buckthorn, bound for Haggle Ville. He was on his way to warn his people of the impending danger from the northern tribes. Blick, on the other hand was where he needed to be. From here he would summon his army together and head towards Maryton. There he would attempt to cross the only bridge that separated The Hillshire from Caldor.

Calling his generals to a secret meeting he decided to send a smaller army ahead to protect the bridge at Maryton. The main body with Blick at its head would follow about three days later.

“The larger army will move a lot slower than the advanced guard,” he stated. “So we must move fast. Have the smaller group ready to sail on the morning tide.”

The next two days found Treymane on his own journey west to Haggle Ville. He enjoyed the trip, as he knew that there soon would be nothing to eat, but what he could scrounge up or hunt. If the barbarians have not yet attacked he would go to his village of Hooter’s Hollow to warn the garrison and his friends there. He could check out his house if there was time and even maybe get in a fishing trip to his favorite stream. All these maybes, he thought were making his head spin. After a while he headed back down to the dining room and ate a meal of spiced potatoes, roast meat and some of his favorite ale. When he had finished moved along the narrow corridor to his little cabin and rested until the ship anchored in the harbor at Haggle Ville.

As soon as he could Treymane disembarked and headed straight for his friend Boddle’s house. He knew that if anyone could get the people to take this threat seriously, Boddle could. A short time later he found himself standing in front of the fisherman’s door. He remembered the last time he and Boddle along with the other friends sailed to the Dragon’s Mouth to cast the box with the ancient magic into the steaming cauldron of the volcano. He remembered as he knocked on the door, the narrow escape they all had as they swam towards the tiny ship of the fisherman, as the volcano erupted with full force. Had the mountain exploded to the side that the friends were fleeing from they would have all perished, but luck was with them and they made their escape by allowing Blick to let go of the dead dwarf called Duncan.

The front door opened, but no Boddle stood there. Instead a much younger halfling stared at him.

“Can I help you?’ asked the young man.

“I’m looking for my friend Boddle,” answered Treymane. “But I seem to have the wrong house.”

Treymane was about to turn around and leave when the young man spoke again. “Boddle was my father. He died two years ago when his boat overturned in a storm sending him and the ship to the bottom of the Saradan Sea.”

Seeing the shocked look on Treymane’s face, the young hobbit bade him to come in where they could continue their conversation in a more private surrounding.

“My name is Biddle and this now belongs to me,” the young man introduced himself. And offered Treymane a glass of fine wine that came from Maitland, the home of the elves.

“I don’t have much time, for I am on urgent business,” Treymane began. “There is great danger coming from the Snowlands. The barbarians are planning to invade the Hillshire and enslave us all. We must warn our people, so they can go into hiding until the dwarfs and the elves can drive them back over the Great Divide. Can I depend on you?”

“What precisely do you want me to do?” asked the younger one. “I’m not exactly that well known around this city. I spend most of my time out there in my boat fishing to make ends meet, so tell me what it is you want me to do.”

“Get together with as many of your friends as you can and let them tell their friends and so on.” Answered Treymane, “but make no mistake; there isn’t much time for debating the subject with others. Either they follow our advice and are safely away from here, or they will be forced into the ice mines in the far north. Do you understand the urgency?”

Biddle nodded that he did and soon bid farewell to his visitor. Within hours the young man had gathered as many of his friends to his house and told them what Treymane had foretold.

Borrowing one of Biddle’s horses Treymane set out for Potter’s Ville. From there he would ride north and warn the people in his home village. He rode on all day and just when the sun began to set he ran into a patrol of dwarfs. Dismounting he told them of the encroaching danger from the north and was invited to stay the night in their camp. After dining on a good meal and washing it all down with some dwarf ale, Treymane sat around the campfire with the rest of the patrol and repeated his story of how Kirin came to Shannon’s house with the dark news. He also told them that Blick was gathering an army to march west to Maryton and beyond if possible.

“Well then we have nothing to worry about,” he heard one of the dwarfs say. “With the army on its way, we should be able to handle those rogues of the north.”

“That’s if Blick arrives in time,” said Treymane cautiously.

A sudden hush befell the group as everyone realized that they could be on their own, for without the army they would be overrun within a few days, if this northern army was so great as the halfling stated. They continued to drink while the captain posted a couple of sentries. When the fire died out the little man pulled out his bedroll and went to sleep.

Early the next morning he bit farewell to the patrol and thanked them for their hospitality and continued on his journey. He rode as quickly as the old mare would let him. It was not the fastest animal he had ever ridden, but the old horse was sure footed and did not miss a step. Even when the road became rutted, because of the frequent traffic from caravans that dealt their wares all over the Hillshire.

By evening he came upon the village. It was not as busy as Haggle Ville or any of the other towns he had been to. This was a quiet farming community. The hamlet had a general store, a stable, and an inn. The rest were houses that belonged to the farmers and their families. On the far end of the town was a garrison that was manned by ten dwarfs. There he stopped and informed the sergeant in charge of the news from the elves. Again the dwarfs seemed to be unmoved by the message he had brought. No alarm was given and he was told not to mention anything in town of the danger that would most probably never happen.

“No use frightening the people over some rumors,” stated the sergeant.

Feeling a bit disappointed, Treymane made his way over to the only inn in town. There he rented a room and went to sleep. He was not hungry enough to have supper, as he could not fine anything on the menu that wet his appetite. Lying there awake for most of the night and thinking that no one really cared, if the hoards come or not disturbed him a lot. His story had been dismissed for being nothing but a rumor. What would they all say when the attack comes? Then they would remember his words and say that they should have listened better. He knew the penalty of losing this war. It meant the ice mines for most of the folk of the Hillshire and death to all the men-at-arms. Finally well past midnight he dropped off to sleep.

Treymane was up again as the night gave way to the dawn. Packing some food he had bought at the inn he saddled the old mare and off he rode. Hooter’s Hollow was his next stop. If he kept up this pace and his horse did not give out he would be in his home village by sundown. There they would listen to him, because the only pass east of Rogalandt was just a few miles north of the town. It would be the first one taken if the garrison there was unable to stop them. He thought of his friends as he rode on through the day stopping only to eat and to rest the horse. He loved his home here. The beautiful rolling hills that spotted the countryside with grasslands, forests and streams that were always filled with fish made his homecoming a pleasant adventure. Except for this time. Now he was on an urgent quest. One, like no other. He was coming to try and save his people from becoming salves to a people that cared nothing of anyone else, but themselves.

It was already dark as the hobbit rode into the village. Everything looked quite as it should, with people out and about doing what they normally do after a hard day’s work. The Alehouse Inn was bustling with patrons that had come to quench their thirst and catch up on the latest gossip. He smiled as he passed the houses that lined the main road. This was his adopted home for some twenty-five years now, ever since his parents died. Uncle Rufus took the young lad into his home, where he learned to read and write that he would not have learned if he had followed his father’s footsteps and become a fisherman. His uncle sent him to school every day and when he was finished he taught the young halfling to fight and defend himself if the need ever arose. He had nothing, but pleasant memories of this little hamlet.

Treymane passed the drinking establishment and continued up the road until he reached the tower that housed the garrison. Outside the tower he found about twenty tents that had been erected only days before. The extra men would come in handy when the invasion began, he thought to himself as he made his way to the guardroom. Upon entering he saw that all was quiet and no one was in a panic. Here too he heard some of the dwarfs saying that they would stop any attack dead in its tracks. He then spoke to the dwarf in charge and was advised to do the same thing that he was told in Potter’s Ville. Feeling disappointed, he left the tower and went home. There he unsaddled his horse and let her graze on the now long grass in his front yard.

Once inside he lit the fireplace to dry out the dampness, for the house had stood empty for a few weeks. He then sat down in front of the fire and lit his pipe. This was one of his favorite pass times besides fishing or visiting his friends. The young halfling looked about his domain. It was built under a mound of earth with a grass roof. Not all folk of the Hillshire lived as he did. Some lived in homes built of wood while others had houses made out of stone and mortar. Living under a hill had its advantages too. It was easier to heat when the cold weather came and it was cooler on those hot summer days. It was also easier to add extra rooms when all you had to do was dig straight out the back of your house and no one would see. Especially, if the extra room, was supposed to be a secret one. He also enjoyed having friends come a visit him, but he did not like cleaning up after they left. Now he began to relax and soon fell asleep in his chair. His last thought was that tomorrow morning he would pack away all of his much beloved things and hide them where no one would find them and if time allowed it, he just might go fishing at his favorite spot.

The early morning found him still in his favorite chair. The fire in the fireplace had died out some time during the night, so he threw some more kindling into the hearth and lit a new one. He boiled some water and made himself a good cup of tea that warmed him and took the dampness out of his muscles and joints. He munched on some left over bread and cold cheese that he had bought in Potter’s Ville, before busing himself hiding away some of his precious belongings. When he had completed his task, he gathered up his fishing pole and was about to leave, when he heard a loud commotion outside on the street. Opening his front door he heard a dwarf running down the road shouting that they were being attacked. Dropping his pole he gathered up his weapons and saddled his horse as quickly as he could. Minutes later he was on the road south passing his friends and shouting for them to run and hide in the forest.

He rode on for about an hour before he reined in his mare and turned around to see if he was being chased. He was quite alone, but in the far distance he could see billowing smoke rising up over the forest canopy. Hooter’s Hollow was burning. This meant that the garrison was either defeated or trying to hold back the invading hoards. In any case he was not going to stick around to find out. If he could, he would head for Maryton. There he would meet up with Blick and his army. Treymane continued to ride until well past noon when he dared to stop. The old mare was almost exhausted and needed a good rest. He turned off the rode and dismounted. Leading the mare by the reins Treymane lead it to a small clearing deep in the forest. Here he decided to stop. Well hidden, he knew that no one could see nor hear him from the road. Here he felt safe. The little man must have fallen asleep, because the noise of thudding hobnailed boots woke him. Leaving his mare grazing on the abundant grass, he crawled through the brush towards the main road. Staying well-hidden he saw what looked like a caravan coming from Hooter’s Hollow. This was a long caravan he thought to himself, but then he noticed something. All the people were wearing the same boots. Then it hit him. These were not merchants; they were soldiers. They must have gotten past the garrison and now were on their way south to Haggle Ville or maybe on to Maryton. He waited until the long line of barbarians had passed and then crawled back to where he had left his horse, but when he got there the horse was gone. So was his saddle and backpack. Angry with himself, he swore under his breath. He had been a fool to leave almost everything just lying there for anyone passing by. Luckily he had remembered to bring all of his weapons with him. At least he could defend himself and also hunt for food so he would not starve, but from here on the going would be much slower.

Treymane spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding the main road by following a small hunting path that ran parallel to it. Soon it became too dark to see and so not to run into any encampment of the enemy, he found a large bush and crawled into it.

The next morning he was awake just as the sun crested the eastern horizon. He sat there hungry and thirsty. He had lost almost everything the day before and now he had to find food and water if he was to make it to Maryton. Treymane thought of heading directly east to Hooter’s Lake, but that would leave him fully exposed on the open grasslands, so another safer route had to be found. He decided to cross the river at Hooter’s Bridge and continue south staying just off the road and concealed by the trees that dotted most of the route.

By the time the sun stood straight overhead, Treymane had reached the bridge. Peering out from behind the trees he saw that the barbarians had left a company of men to guard it. How was he going to cross now? He sat there debating with himself hoping to find a solution to this new problem. He could backtrack and head for the lake or he could wait until dark and take his chances crossing the bridge. He also thought of finding another way to cross somewhere between here and the lake, but decided that would not be a good option. The river ran much too fast and he was not a very good swimmer, so the bridge was the final decision. He would attempt to cross after dark. As he waited for the end of the day, Treymane sat with his back to a wide old oak tree and let his mind wonder. He thought of happier days, like last year at Roma’s farm.