by Ryan Cahill
I’ll just have to ration my food a little for the next few days.
CHAPTER 15
Shadows Don’t Sleep
They travelled from sunrise to sunset, only stopping to rest the horses and eat some dried meat and cheese. Calen couldn’t remember the last time his body had been free of pain. He had never thought riding a horse could cause so much agony, but he was wrong. The insides of his legs were chafed to a raw red colour, and a constant ache ran from his rear up through his spine and all the way to his neck.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had the chance to rest properly, but every time they stopped, Aeson took Calen and Dann to practice the sword while the others watched. Sometimes Erik or Dahlen joined in if Aeson requested. Therin and Rist mostly stayed by the horses, splaying themselves out on the ground. Rist was buried in the book he had purchased in Milltown.
Each time, Aeson ran them through a series of forms. Some, Calen recognised from training with his father; most, he did not. Learning each new form was slow and repetitive, but once he got the hang of it, it began to flow. Although his body ached, Calen found comfort in the sword forms. A familiarity that settled his mind.
As the sun sank into the horizon and the birds began their night song, Dann frowned. He wasn’t as quick to pick up the forms as Calen was, which frustrated him to no end. He never liked not being the best at anything. There would be no practice that night, though. Camylin would provide a reprieve. But that didn’t stop him from sulking, as he had done every night since they started training.
“Camylin,” Erik said as he pulled his horse up beside Calen’s at the top of the hill.
The city of Camylin sat nestled against the mountainside. The sun setting down over the ocean washed the red slate rooftops with a warm orange light. It was even bigger than Calen remembered. Massive walls encircled the city. Their sprawling lengths were broken at regular intervals by thick cylindrical towers. Even from a distance, the keep stood head and shoulders above the rest of the city. It backed up against the north-eastern wall, just below the mountainside. The Glade would have fit inside the city walls a hundred times over, with room to spare.
“Wow…” It wasn’t often that Dann’s breath was taken away. Calen had forgotten that Dann had never been to Camylin. Ölm was the farthest east that he had ever been.
Dahlen laughed. “A little bigger than that village of yours? This is only half the size of Berona and half again of Antiquar or Vaerleon.”
Dann mouthed to himself, “‘A little bigger than that village of yours?’ Asshole.”
Neither Calen nor Erik could help but laugh at Dann, much to Dahlen’s irritation.
Once the laughter died down, Rist turned to Calen. “You feeling okay?” Calen heard the hesitation in his voice. He knew he meant well, but Calen wasn’t ready to talk. He wasn’t ready to believe what had happened. It was best to roll it into a tiny ball and hide it somewhere in the back of his mind. He would come back to it, but not yet. It was too painful. It would break him if he let it.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he lied. “Just trying not to think about it. Have you ever been to Camylin before?”
Calen was aware that Rist knew he was trying to change the subject. Calen knew very well that Rist had been to Camylin on many occasions with Lasch, but he let it go.
“I have, actually,” Rist said, playing along. “I’ve been several times with Father, when he sourced rugs and paintings for the inn.”
Calen nodded in acknowledgment. Both young men were aware that the answer was not needed, but it was appreciated.
Therin pulled his horse to a halt just before they joined the main road into Camylin. “This is where I leave you. Camylin is no place for an elf. Not one that wants to keep his head, anyway. I will meet you tomorrow at midday, at The Wilted Leaf Inn, just a couple of hours east of Camylin.” Moving his horse closer to Calen, Therin leaned in. His voice was a whisper in the wind. “Your father was a great man. I will mourn him with every passing day. He deserved a better death.”
He did not wait for a response. Therin pulled his cloak tighter around himself and ensured the drawstrings were tied firmly. He kicked his horse into a canter, heading down the southerly road that drew down and around Camylin, ignoring Calen’s shouts.
“Wait, Therin!”
What did he mean?
Camylin sat at the base of the Wolfpine Ridge. It was the funnel through which all people from the villages travelled to reach the mainland of Illyanara. It was the only major city for hundreds of miles. That meant the main road into Camylin was a busy one. Everywhere Calen looked were merchants and their horse-drawn wagons, laden down with everything from wheels of cheese to casks of cider and ale. The more elaborate and ornately carved wagons belonged to the silk and wine merchants, their elevated status obvious by the height of their noses in the air.
There were young people searching for employment, or a chance at a busier life than their villages could provide. Hardy-looking men with swords and axes belted to their hips and backs walked side by side with families on a rare trip to see the city. Calen had to stifle a chuckle of amusement at the strange mix of people.
Calen pulled up his hood when he saw men and women from the villages, some he recognised, some he didn’t. Even the ones whose faces were unfamiliar to him could be marked out by the wide-eyed, expectant stares on their faces. Most would never have seen anything like Camylin. A shot of panic ran through him as he felt a hand grabbing the back of his head, pulling his hood down over his shoulders.
“Get that damned thing off you,” Aeson whispered, his annoyance evident even in his hushed tone. “How do you think the city guard will react to a hooded rider with an elven blade strapped to his hip? Think with your head, not your ass.”
With that said, he trotted on, bringing his horse to the front of the group. He didn’t think the others had noticed, or at least they pretended not to. Feeling a twinge of embarrassment, Calen drew his cloak up around his sword. The last thing his father gave him.
The city guards barely even noticed them as they rode in through the massive arched gateway. They rode just far enough apart from each other so as not to entice any questions. On their own, none of them drew even half the attention that the mercenaries or cutthroats would draw, with their battered armour and motley collection of scars and war wounds.
As they passed through the gate, the road widened to over twice its original size. There was a split in the middle, occupied by a long row of peddlers’ stalls, interspersed with large elm trees, carefully pruned to allow just the right amount of shade. On either side, the street was framed by large stone buildings and an ever-flowing network of side streets and stairways as the city fanned out and upwards.
It was even more spectacular a sight than Calen remembered. Up close, he felt like an ant next to the giant buildings.
Calen had always thought that nothing could match the buzz and grandeur of the Moon Market, no matter how far he travelled. In Camylin, it was as if the Moon Market took place at every corner, at all times, and this was not even a day of note.
“The inn is just up ahead,” Aeson said. “We will bring our horses around the back, to the stable yard, and arrange some rooms for the night. I will be meeting our acquaintance there in an hour or so. It would be best to be settled in by then. Also, no names when we’re inside.”
Aeson pulled his horse to the right to avoid stepping on a small child, who tottered about aimlessly, oblivious to the fact that he had nearly become paint on the bottom of the gelding’s shoe.
The stable yard of the Traveller’s Rest was reasonably small, with only three or four horses tethered up outside. It was to be expected. With the size of the city, there was not much room to spare for extravagant stables.
The inside of the inn was a different story altogether. The common room was enormous. It was easily three times the size of The Gilded Dragon’s, and it smelled of wine, incense and tabbac smoke. Private booths were built into all the walls e
xcept the wall behind the bar, which was fronted by large casks of wine and ale. All the furniture was made of the most exotic wood and the finest velvet and leather that Calen had ever seen. The bar was a long slab of oak, ornately carved to such a degree that it easily matched the craftsmanship of the two dragons that sat atop the staircase of Lasch’s inn.
Calen couldn’t help but tap his foot along to the tune the bard was playing on his flute. It seemed familiar, though he didn’t recognise the words that the other patrons were singing.
The clientele were the oddest mix he had ever seen. There were merchants dressed in fine silks of audacious reds, golds, and greens; shifty, weasel-like men with circles under their eyes and dirt melted into their clothes – cutpurses and pickpockets, by the look of them – and grizzled men in heavy leather armour, with more scars on their face than hairs on their head. There were even some women – ladies, by the cut of their clothing. Calen really wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Not one of them looked like they should be there, yet not one of them looked out of place.
“What is this place?” Calen whispered to Erik.
“It’s a… private meeting area?” Erik said, as if he were not quite sure himself. “Father often uses it to meet acquaintances.”
Calen nodded as he looked around the common room. He could see why Aeson used it to meet acquaintances. Which he figured was a nice way of saying, “anybody he didn’t want to be seen meeting.”
It didn’t take long for the rooms to be sorted. The innkeeper had only two left, each with three beds. Calen, Rist, and Dann would take one, and Aeson, Erik, and Dahlen the other.
“Five minutes,” Dahlen said as they separated. “We’ll see you in the common room.”
It was clear to Calen that the room they had been given was only intended for a single occupant. All three beds were so closely jammed together that there was not enough space between them to stand sideways. The room was sparse besides. The only form of decoration on the wall was a badly patched hole, and an oil lamp that looked as though it had long since broken.
“Remind me again, why are we here?” Rist said, tossing his bag onto the bed on the far right of the cramped room.
“We don’t exactly have much choice,” Dann said with a shrug, running his hand along the damaged patch of wall.
Calen dropped his bag on the floor beside his bed and turned back towards the doorway. “Come on, it’s been a long few nights. Let’s just get a drink.”
We’re here because I’m going to find the men who took my family from me.
Erik and Dahlen had already secured a large circular table in the western corner of the room by the time Calen, Rist, and Dann got down the stairs.
“Where’s… you know?” Dann asked as they approached the table. His voice trailed off when he registered the sharp look from Dahlen. Aeson had warned them not to use names in there.
“He’s sorting business.” Erik nodded towards one of the private booths, with the curtain drawn all the way across. “He’ll be done in a few hours,” he added, playfully elbowing Dahlen.
“A few hours? What are we supposed to do till then?” asked Dann, incredulous.
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I plan on drinking.”
“Well,” Dann said, “now you’re speaking my language.” As they sat down, Dann gestured to a slightly overwhelmed looking serving girl to have three more ales brought to the table. She nodded sheepishly before disappearing into the mass of people around her. “One copper, she forgets the drinks,” Dann whispered in Calen’s ear.
“Done.”
Rist looked up from the book he had just pulled from his pocket. “If I end up waiting the rest of the night because of you two playing a stupid little game, I swear to the gods I will throw water on you in your sleep.”
“Oh, relax,” Dann said, waving Rist away. “Read your book and stop ruining our fun.”
Rist twisted his face into a disapproving look. He licked the tip of his finger and turned the page, his eyes returning to the words within.
“I’ve never been to Camylin before. It has to be ten, maybe twenty times the size of The Glade. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been farther east than Pirn. How much farther is it to Bel—”
Dahlen was frowning at him again, his eyebrows raised. Dann wasn’t great at keeping his mouth shut. It was only going to get worse with ale.
Out of the corner of his eye, Calen spotted the serving girl passing by the table, wandering around like a headless chicken. She had already forgotten. He waited until Dann launched into another tirade of verbal diarrhoea, then caught her eye with his, gesturing at the table. Recognition crossed her face. She nodded again and bolted towards the bar, picking up her skirts into her fists as she dodged in and out of the drunken crowd. Within a few minutes, she was back at the table, full of apologies. She placed three tankards of cold ale down in front of Dann. He smiled at her, paid her for the drinks, then slid one each over to Calen and Rist. He was raising the tankard to his mouth when Calen coughed loudly, one eyebrow raised.
“Oh, fine. You’re such a bad winner.” Dann dug into his pocket for the coin. He scowled, then tossed it, a little stronger than necessary, to Calen. Rist looked up from his book, a knowing smile on his face. He missed nothing.
The drinks continued to flow as the night wore on. With each drink, Dann talked more and more horseshit. He claimed the bear they killed during The Proving was easily as big as a dragon.
“… it was huge! Easily twelve… Hic… maybe fourteen feet…”
By the time Aeson emerged from the booth, Dann had successfully exaggerated every story Calen had otherwise known to be true and also invented some rather dubious other ones.
Rist had rarely looked up from his book. Dahlen, to Calen’s surprise, was quite enthralled in Dann’s stories, matching him ale for ale as well. Although, that probably explained the former.
Calen had also managed to get Erik to agree to a rematch with the axe throwing, seeing as it was obvious that he had purposely missed the last throw.
Calen’s back roared with relief when he finally collapsed onto his bed. It was a welcome respite from the aching throb he had felt for most of the day.
He stretched out his legs and arms as he lay there in the bed. They burned in that delightfully painful way they did after they had been overused. Even Dann’s drunken snoring wouldn’t stop him from sleeping tonight.
Creaking floorboards on the landing just outside the room woke Calen from his light sleep.
“Dann,” he whispered, attempting to channel as much urgency as the situation would allow. No response. Dann continued to snore rather loudly. Calen sighed, throwing his eyes to the sky. “Rist…”
“Yeah?” Rist’s voice was groggy, not entirely awake. He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes and sat up in the bed.
“There’s someone outside the room,” Calen said, nodding towards the door.
“Calen, don’t be so—”
Thud.
“What the fuck was that?” Dann shouted as he shot up from his sleep.
The door swung open, cracking violently off the wooden wall. Erik stood in the open doorway, a body at his feet. Blood flowed freely across the floor. “Get dressed and get your things. We need to go, now.”
He was met with blank stares.
“Now!”
The chill from the wind was bitter and harsh, lashing at Therin’s face as he rode through the night. He pulled his cloak tight around himself and signalled Vaen to ride faster. Something didn’t seem right. He was not sure what, but he knew there was something, like a feeling scratching in the back of his mind.
It was less than a half hour’s ride to The Wilted Leaf. He knew the innkeeper there, and if he kept to himself, there wouldn’t be any trouble. It was amazing how accepting people became when coin was involved.
He could use a warm meal and a good night’s sleep. The ache in his back spread as he rode. The stiffness in his wrists throbbed. It
had been a long while since he’d had a proper rest. Far too long. Gritting his teeth, he urged Vaen on faster.
He was loath to leave the egg now that Aeson had finally found it – and Calen. It was a strange twist of fate that they spent centuries searching for an egg, only to find its Draleid by pure serendipity. The fact that the Draleid was Vars’s son… what he would give to know the odds of that. Rest well, my friend. I will watch over him – at least you saw fit to pass him on my sword.
And the other one, Rist, had the Spark in him. Finding the Spark in people from the South was a rarity these days. There was, at least, some truth in the old wives’ tales of inquisitors roaming the lands, snatching up children who misbehaved. The inquisitors sought all those who even showed a glimmer of the ability to touch the Spark and stole them away, off to the High Tower in Berona. It left the lineage diluted in the South. Every year, there seemed to be less and less with the potential to wield the Spark. It truly was sad. Until now, the villages must not have seen an inquisitor in generations. Living at the edge of the continent could have its perks.
Therin cursed as Vaen lurched forward. He thrashed wildly, nearly throwing Therin from his back, head-first into the packed dirt below. Vaen stomped his feet and neighed anxiously as his head spun from side to side.
It took Therin a second to regain his composure. The sudden jolt broke his train of thought.
“Strange to see an elf in these parts.” The voice echoed in the night, as if it came from everywhere, and nowhere, all at once. Therin knew that voice, or at least the sound it made. It was harsh, like steel dragged across a gravel path. An uncontrollable shiver ran up Therin’s spine. He reached for the Spark, pulling on threads of Fire and Spirit. Just in case.
The darkness should not have made a difference to his eyesight, not with the Spark flowing through him. The right balance of Fire and Spirit should have given him the night vision of a kat, but the light seemed to pull away from him, shrouding the night in darkness.