Chapter Twenty Three
Adam sat on a wide tree stump covered with soft green moss. Delas stood to his side, the sun at her back shielding the piece of parchment unrolled across his lap. He was hunched over the document, examining the symbols and trying to recall everything Legan told him before he and Delas headed off toward the Libraries of Anthros.
They’d been traveling for almost two weeks, mostly staying on the edges of the forests for protection, when they could, and hiding in low, grass covered hollows when trees were scarce. They began their travels keeping a constant watch when darkness fell, vigilant for the mounted riders they spotted the first night. As time went on, they became weary of keeping watch, and by the end of the first week, gave up on the night watches entirely.
“I don’t think this makes sense,” Adam said, his finger sliding over the symbols and coming to rest on a squiggly line running roughly south.
“What’s wrong?” Delas asked, her voice betraying her fatigue and frustration of traveling in the field, eating cold food for fear of attracting attention to themselves with a fire, and never completely drying out from the periodic rains.
“I think we’re here.” He emphasized the position of his finger, “This road here, is this line on the map. If this is Oldenmills,” he slid his finger further south a short distance to a drawn cluster of small building symbols, “then it should be somewhere along this road, that way.”
“Well that’s good news. So what’s wrong?”
“I’m not an expert at reading maps like Legan, and this was a rough sketch he made from his more detailed maps. I just don’t want to get us lost or stumble into those riders again.”
Delas smiled and pushed an errant lock of hair away from Adam’s forehead. “C’mon. Put your map away and let’s get going. Right or wrong, standing here is not going to get us to Oldenmills any sooner. Let’s have a bit of faith. I think the gods have bigger plans for us than getting lost along a road in the middle of nowhere,” Delas said, her mood brightening.
“All right, let’s go,” Adam agreed, and rolled up the map, stashing it away into his pack and slinging the bag over his shoulder.
“This way?” Delas asked, pointing in the direction opposite from where Adam had previously indicated.
“Very funny.”
It was almost noon two days later that they first noticed smoke hanging lazily to the south of their position, and an hour after that, they came upon the sign announcing Oldenmill.
“Looks like this is the place. Let’s hope they made it. C’mon,” Adam said, holding his hand out to Delas.
* * * *
Adam and Delas stepped through the gate and looked down the narrow street. In most of the towns where they’d stopped in since leaving Allenon, the activity of commerce was evident. The movement of goods back and forth and the groups of residents moving from shop to shop was almost entirely gone here. The town radiated a slow death, as if afflicted with incurable disease.
“Adam, where is everyone?” Delas asked, grabbing at his elbow to get his attention. They walked along the packed dirt street, looking at the boarded up storefronts and lifeless faces of the residents who avoided eye contact, and kept to themselves as they went to and fro.
Adam shrugged his shoulders and led Delas into a small shop toward their right that looked like it had faired a bit better than its neighbors. It looked to be a dry goods shop, judging from the small cloth sacks stacked in the windows and scales, both large and small, with their balancing weights stacked nearby, visible through the open doorway.
“Let’s stop in here. We need to find out if there is an inn in town. If the others made it, they may be staying there,” Adam said.
He walked through the doorway, followed by Delas. The first thing he noticed was the dry air filled with the smell of the harvest. His heart grew heavy as he took in the scents of ground grains and dried vegetables, and he thought of his family farm. Along one wall were small barrels labeled for grain, as well as small sacks of the same. Along another wall were shelves and bins containing the vegetables he smelled earlier. The bins also contained nuts, berries and roots. Some of the bins he could identify, but the majority of them were alien, so he decided they must be local farmed crops or collected in the forests and fields surrounding Oldenmills. Near the bins were wooden cases filled with hay and slim ceramic bottles of wine and various ciders.
“Adam?” Delas elbowed him softly in the ribs and the spell was broken.
“Hmm?” He asked.
“You were lost there for a second.” Delas smiled.
“Just thinking about home. All this…it just reminded me of our markets. When this is all done and over with, I would love if we could go back there, so you could see where I grew up. To see the farm.”
“When this is all done and over with?” she repeated. “Still optimistic after all Thomas told us?”
Adam rolled his eyes and waved her away. “I do this sort of thing all the time. Not to worry, my young lady.”
“Well, I do like the sound of that.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” A rough voice broke up the moment between the two and grabbed their attention. A stout middle-aged man finished waving goodbye to a customer walking out the door and turned his attention to Adam and Delas.
“Can I help you?” he asked. “I’ve all sorts of grains and a fine assortment of dried goods. Looking for liquid refreshments? I have those too. What can I help you with?”
Adam was going to speak, but Delas laid her hand on his arm and spoke.
“We are new to Oldenmills, passing through really, and are looking for a place to stay. Is there an inn in town, or nearby?” She smiled her best disarming smile.
Boredom, accompanied by a wet click of the shopkeeper’s tongue sucking a food morsel free, was all the expression Delas and Adam received. Finally, the stolid expression broke and was replaced by a reluctant smile. He sighed, the smile faltered, but the low-level good-will was still there.
“An independent inn? No, we don’t have one of those. Not too many travelers that stay long enough to make it profitable I guess. There are a number of shops that have single rooms, just to help make a little coin, you understand…to survive.”
“Anything for three or more travelers?” Adam blurted out.
“Three or more? You would probably have to try the Bawdy Mistress. It’s a tavern in the center of town. Plenty of business there. They have rooms on the upper floor, but aye, the noise. If you can stand it, a group that size could find rooms together.”
The door to the shop opened and the shopkeeper lost interest in being an Oldenmills tour guide and turned his attention to the new patron.
“Devon, good day to you. How can I help you?” He said, walking around Adam and Delas and leading his customer toward the wall lined with the small barrels.
“Well, we have a place to start,” Adam said. “How do you do that, with the smile, putting people at ease?”
“It’s a gift. It worked with you,” Delas said and walked out the door without looking back.
* * * *
Adam stopped after he turned onto the street that contained the Bawdy Mistress Inn. Delas almost ran into him but managed to stop just in time.
“Hey,” Delas blurted out, stepping to one side. She looked in the direction that Adam was facing and saw the inn.
The Bawdy Mistress Inn was a two story building that looked like it may have started out as a large family home. It was expanded using marginal construction practices at times, it seemed, and had a tired, run down look to it. The wooden railing that once circled the wrap-around porch was partially missing, the spindles looking like jagged teeth in some places. The paint on the inn was faded and peeling and the run down atmosphere extended to the wooden sign swinging from metal chain links attached to a simple inverted L frame. The sign was weather beaten, its lettering barely readable. The artwork under the text was of a reclining female, her skin barely darker than the wood on which she
was painted.
“How does it stand up under its own weight?” Adam asked.
“Don’t let her looks fool you,” a passer-by said, stopping near Adam.
“Excuse me?”
“The Bawdy Mistress,” the man said, pointing his finger at the old building. “She’s a couple hundred seasons old if she’s a day. She may look like evil itself on the outside, but you might be surprised by the interior.”
“Surprised, huh?” Adam said, disbelief clearly in his voice. The man nodded and then continued on his way down the street away from the inn.
“Well, let’s go,” Delas said.
Adam and Delas walked down the street toward the inn, which didn’t get any better looking the closer they got to it. They stepped up on the porch. As Adam touched the door knob, the door sprung open and two men spilled out, both laughing and continuing the conversation that must have started inside. The door was slowly closing when Delas reached out and stopped it in mid-arc. A warm glow, rumbling conversation, and the smell of aromatic food flowed over them.
They stepped into a small area with a counter in front of them and an opening to their right, which spilled into a much larger dining area. The dining area looked to have been converted at some point into a pub-like setting complete with tables and a long polished bar along the far right wall. The rumble of conversation was coming from the group of patrons filling the tables and talking loudly to be heard among each other.
“Can I help you, young man?” A woman’s voice called from behind the counter.
Delas gently pushed the small of Adam’s back to prod him over to the counter, and away from the smell that was making her stomach start to grumble.
“Yes, hello. We’re looking for some friends of ours, and I’m not sure if they’re staying here or not,” Delas said to the middle-aged woman behind the counter.
She looked at Delas and then Adam, the corner of her mouth jerked upward. She released a long sigh, “Let’s see. What’s his name?”
Adam was dumbfounded by the question. He opened his mouth and then closed it again without making a sound.
“I’m sorry. My friend had the night fevers as a child and has trouble understanding questions. We’re looking for a young man named Paul. Paul Wheyman. He should be traveling with two others.” Delas rested a hand on the counter, trying to remain calm and not raise the curiosity of the innkeeper.
“They should have come in, maybe, two, three weeks ago.” Delas blurted out as the thought came to her.
The woman looked in the tattered leather-bound book that she retrieved from under the counter. She ran her finger over the last couple of entries in the book before looking up.
“We have a Kyle Wheyman, but he is staying with only one other. Is that your friend?” She looked at Adam and spoke with a noticeable softening in her voice.
Adam nodded his head.
“They are in room 2B. Top of the stairs, second room on the left.”
* * * *
Adam knocked three times on the door and waited. He was about to knock again when the door opened and he was staring at Kyle’s face.
With a wide grin, Kyle yanked the door wide open and the two embraced and both talked over one another’s greetings. When they broke apart, Kyle wrapped his arms around a smiling Delas and told her how much he missed her.
“C’mon inside,” Kyle said, waving them in.
When they passed the threshold, he told them to sit down. He stepped across the hall and knocked on the door opposite his. When the door opened, Legan stood there with a mottled cloth in one hand wiping black fingertips on the other.
“Spilled some ink.”
“They’re back. Come on.” Kyle said, quickly moving to one side as the dwarf dropped the cloth and pushed past him into his room. He turned and could see the hugs and greetings and quietly thanked the gods that they were all together again. He picked up the fallen cloth, tossed it into the room and closed the door. He joined the others in his room, latching the door behind him.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to eat?” Kyle asked.
Both Adam and Delas laughed.
“A hot meal would be great,” Adam said.
Legan stood and headed toward the door pausing as he opened it. “I’ll ask Mrs. Telanger to bring up some trays of meats and bread…you’ll love their bread,” he said, rubbing his round belly, “and then I’ll be back.” He slipped through the door, closing it behind him.
“Should we get Amber too?” Delas asked, half rising before Kyle put his hand on her arm and eased her back down into her seat.
“We lost Amber in the desert that was once Crystal Bay,” Kyle released a long sigh, and watched Adam’s face turn ashen and Delas’ eyes fill with tears. Delas covered her face and cried into her palms.
Several long moments passed before Adam asked, “What happened?”
Delas raised her face and wiped the remaining tears from her red-rimmed eyes. “Yeah, what happened?”
Kyle settled into his chair and started to tell Adam and Delas what had happened since the group had split. He’d just finished explaining what occurred with the Black Sun when the door opened up and Legan entered.
“The food will be up soon,” he said, “Oh, did I interrupt something?”
“I was telling them about what happened while they were at the Great Library. I just finished telling them about Amber.”
Legan let out a long breath. “That was truly a loss.”
They were all quiet for an awkward moment, and then Kyle cleared his throat and continued his history, including a boring account of their last two weeks in the inn.
There was a knock at the door which interrupted the close of Kyle’s monologue.
“Ahh I smell food,” Legan said, getting up from his seat on the edge of one of the two beds. He opened the door to two young females holding small wooden trays of food. Legan ushered them in and directed them to a small table opposite the beds.
“Will you need anything else?” one of the women asked Legan.
“No, that looks good. Thank you.”
The young women excused themselves and slipped out of the room quietly.
The group descended on the trays, picking from the serving dishes before filling their plates and returning to their seats.
“Now that you know what happened to us, were you able to find out anything about Gnomepenne’s history and the medallion?”
* * * *
Kyle stopped peeling the apple in his hand at the sound of a series of sharp knocks at the door. He looked at Adam who shrugged his shoulders and went back to compiling his list of supplies. Kyle sighed, put down the apple and knife and stepped to answer the door. Standing in the doorway with his fist raised was a young man with dark hair and blue eyes. He wore cotton pants and a leather vest over a linen shirt. His boots looked like they hadn’t seen polish since the day they were bought.
“Kyle Wheyman?” The young man asked, lowering his hand.
Kyle fought to keep recognition from his face.
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong room.” He quickly dismissed, and started to close the door.
“I’m a friend of Amber Wellon. She sent me a message that she would be arriving with your party. That you would need a guide through the pass. Where is she?”
Kyle opened the door again and took another look at the man standing before him. Around his belt were small leather pouches and a dagger hung in a sheath at his waist. The worn boots also contained a strip of leather along the side that held a small throwing-stiletto in place.
Of course Amber’s friend would be a thief, Kyle thought.
Kyle looked back at Adam, who folded over the parchment with his list of supplies and stood up. Kyle turned back and motioned for the man to enter.
“Come in. And you are?”
“My name is Jenor,” the young man said, as he walked through the doorway. He picked up a piece of fruit from a bowl on a side table, slipped it into a pocket hidden away somewhere
on his clothes, and grabbed another piece before continuing to an empty chair. He sat down.
“Well? I asked downstairs and the girl they described with your party, definitely isn’t Amber.”
Jenor sat in silence for a while after Kyle chronicled the history in the desert with the Black Sun, and the loss of Amber. Kyle decided to give Jenor all the time he needed and waited for him to be the first to speak. When he finally opened up, there was a seriousness to his face that Kyle hadn’t noticed when he first came into the room.
“Amber was…damn. She and I spent an awful lot of time underground. I probably saw her more by torchlight than by any other kind of light.” Jenor sighed, and then chuckled to himself. “She did have a tendency to get into trouble.” He paused again, remembering something that sobered him.
“Do you have a piece of parchment? Some ink?”
Adam brought over his list and his ink to Jenor, who turned it over and began a quick sketch on the backside. He slowed his drawing speed down when he began work on the details of the mountain pass, high above the town. Soon he put the writing instrument down and examined his work.
“That’s good,” he said as he rested his finger on the drawn cave symbol attached to a zigzag that ascended the drawing of the mountain from the base.
“This is the path up the mountain. It starts about two miles north of town. There is a road out the North Gate leading that way before turning west. When you notice the turn, continue heading north. You’ll start up a slight rise and will come to a field of large boulders along the base of the mountain. Look for two boulders marked with symbols and names. Those are written there by the locals. They challenge one another to make the climb as a rite of passage or some nonsense. Before they make the trek, they mark the stone. Most return, never reaching the top because it is too treacherous in places to continue. Others…well, others have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Kyle asked.
“Some of them. If the Ochon begin circling the peak, that’s a pretty good sign they fell.”
“What are the Ochon?” Adam asked.
Medallion of the Undead Page 24