Epic Fantasy Adventure: The Angel's Blessing: Holy Paladin's Quest: Book 1 (Sword and Sorcery Epic Fantasy Adventure Book With Dragons and Magic) by Blaine Hart Page A
Authors: Blaine Hart
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and so he sailed the world in search of glory, wisdom and to inflict Holy Justice upon the wicked. For years sailors and merchants would land on our island and tell tales of Kell’s valor in lands unknown.
That’s what they say.
In the years of peace that followed many tales were told and retold, and then told and changed again and again. And in the small confines of the island of Dunsil the simple herbalist’s grandchild became a living legend.
He returned to our island the year that I was born, and while many looked at the legendary hero in awe, their real amazement was that the lad looked as if he had never left. It was as though time had not touched him, and when he walked into his grandfather’s cottage with his backpack full of magic and treasures, the old man simply looked up and told him that the garden needed tending.
He would say nothing of his adventures, but people would talk. Kell shunned their stories, but he didn’t shun their company. He was still young and he had a quick wit at the tavern and loved winning at darts and skittles. The young women all eyed him and so at the festivals and dances he never lacked a partner. His knowledge of herbs and medicines grew as his grandfather taught him all he knew as he waned in years. People came to trust the young man as they did his old grandfather, sometimes more.
In time, the great herbalist finally passed. Every man woman and child on Dunsil stood on the white sands of the island’s eastern shore as Kell made ready the last boat. They covered his body in beautiful flower blossoms, in hopes that the sea would pause and delight in the scent and so allow fair winds to carry him to his eternal paradise. Even the witch Wendfala came to give her blessing.
I was just a small boy at the time. I remember my mother urging me, my sisters and my brothers to let go of our flowers. But I was fascinated by the naked old man. He was nothing but old bones wrapped in tan skin at the bottom of a small rustic boat, and yet the blossoms made him seem almost alive.
“Forgive my child Kell,” my mother said. “He is –“
“Young,” Kell said. “And fascinated.”
Then he set his gaze on me and he smiled.
It was not that long after the funeral that I was selected to be Kell’s apprentice. I trembled with the honor and surged with excitement.
I had heard all of the grand tales. Indeed, I had been raised in the shadow of those magnificent stories, and when he and my father bartered for my apprenticeship, I thought that the gods themselves had blessed me.
“He’s kind of scrawny.”
“Yeah,” my father said. “He is. But how much bulk do you need to scratch out your herbs?”
Kell frowned.
“Look,” my father said. “I have a farm. Farming is a strong man’s job. The boy will be better in your hands. I will give you milk, cheese and all the whey you want for four years.”
“Seven.”
I listened as they haggled over my worth. In the end I went for the price of six years of milk, three of cheeses and all the whey I could carry between the houses until I was seventeen.
It was a good bargain.
Master Kell was a soft-spoken and kindly man. He treated me well and our house wanted for nothing. Along with teaching me herb lore, he also taught me numbers and letters, and while I found numbers valuable in weighing and mixing and figuring out the price to put on a remedy, I never understood why Kell put so much value on writing.
We worked in a daily routine and there were always things to get done or learn. But Kell was a light-hearted soul and we often took the time to play. We would sometimes end a long day frolicking and fishing on one side of Crystal Lake while the women washed their laundry on the other. My master had an eye for the ladies and there were quite a few nights that I spent alone sleeping under the Starlight.
When I came into my teenage years I learned two very important lessons of life. One was girls. When I was young girls were simply giggly
That’s what they say.
In the years of peace that followed many tales were told and retold, and then told and changed again and again. And in the small confines of the island of Dunsil the simple herbalist’s grandchild became a living legend.
He returned to our island the year that I was born, and while many looked at the legendary hero in awe, their real amazement was that the lad looked as if he had never left. It was as though time had not touched him, and when he walked into his grandfather’s cottage with his backpack full of magic and treasures, the old man simply looked up and told him that the garden needed tending.
He would say nothing of his adventures, but people would talk. Kell shunned their stories, but he didn’t shun their company. He was still young and he had a quick wit at the tavern and loved winning at darts and skittles. The young women all eyed him and so at the festivals and dances he never lacked a partner. His knowledge of herbs and medicines grew as his grandfather taught him all he knew as he waned in years. People came to trust the young man as they did his old grandfather, sometimes more.
In time, the great herbalist finally passed. Every man woman and child on Dunsil stood on the white sands of the island’s eastern shore as Kell made ready the last boat. They covered his body in beautiful flower blossoms, in hopes that the sea would pause and delight in the scent and so allow fair winds to carry him to his eternal paradise. Even the witch Wendfala came to give her blessing.
I was just a small boy at the time. I remember my mother urging me, my sisters and my brothers to let go of our flowers. But I was fascinated by the naked old man. He was nothing but old bones wrapped in tan skin at the bottom of a small rustic boat, and yet the blossoms made him seem almost alive.
“Forgive my child Kell,” my mother said. “He is –“
“Young,” Kell said. “And fascinated.”
Then he set his gaze on me and he smiled.
It was not that long after the funeral that I was selected to be Kell’s apprentice. I trembled with the honor and surged with excitement.
I had heard all of the grand tales. Indeed, I had been raised in the shadow of those magnificent stories, and when he and my father bartered for my apprenticeship, I thought that the gods themselves had blessed me.
“He’s kind of scrawny.”
“Yeah,” my father said. “He is. But how much bulk do you need to scratch out your herbs?”
Kell frowned.
“Look,” my father said. “I have a farm. Farming is a strong man’s job. The boy will be better in your hands. I will give you milk, cheese and all the whey you want for four years.”
“Seven.”
I listened as they haggled over my worth. In the end I went for the price of six years of milk, three of cheeses and all the whey I could carry between the houses until I was seventeen.
It was a good bargain.
Master Kell was a soft-spoken and kindly man. He treated me well and our house wanted for nothing. Along with teaching me herb lore, he also taught me numbers and letters, and while I found numbers valuable in weighing and mixing and figuring out the price to put on a remedy, I never understood why Kell put so much value on writing.
We worked in a daily routine and there were always things to get done or learn. But Kell was a light-hearted soul and we often took the time to play. We would sometimes end a long day frolicking and fishing on one side of Crystal Lake while the women washed their laundry on the other. My master had an eye for the ladies and there were quite a few nights that I spent alone sleeping under the Starlight.
When I came into my teenage years I learned two very important lessons of life. One was girls. When I was young girls were simply giggly
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