by Tony Roberts
They completed their meal and stood up. Faer looked at her pack. She regarded Markus’ poor example. “Use my pack, Markus. It’s bigger and tougher. Just needs a spare strap. If you take one from yours you can use your pack as a waist pouch.”
“You sure? I mean, this pack’s your father’s.”
“Sure I’m sure. I want to keep my sword free. I’ve got a belt pouch too,” she tapped a small canvas shape around her middle. “We haven’t got a lot of possessions. Let’s get ready then we can go.”
Markus picked the biggest burning piece of wood he could find and followed Faer to the rear of the chamber. With sword in hand Faer slowly pushed the door open and stood waiting in the doorway, her eyes shifting from side to side. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go see what’s here.”
They stepped through and stopped. The doorway led to a small narrow platform, about ten feet deep and twenty wide. At the end there was a long stone stairway that led down into inky blackness. Fluttering of wings betrayed avian occupants somewhere. “Faugh!” Markus held his nose. “What is that terrible smell?”
Faer glanced to one side. A collection of materials lay in a rough circle, outside of which lay piles of droppings. “Bird guano, look.”
“Ugh, that’s horrid!”
“And look at the size of this nest. Huge. No wonder I was frightened. I must have scared it off its nest.”
“Anything in the nest?”
Faer poked it with her sword, holding her nose. There were a few pieces of wood, some scraps of cloth, bones, webs, and some small objects in the bottom. Faer knelt and picked them up. She held them up to the torchlight. Glittering, colourful, translucent. A red stone, a blue one and two white ones.
“Wow,” Markus said in a hushed tone. “Those are gems, I know that!”
“Worth anything?”
“Not half! The sailors who some say they can be worth lots!”
Faer looked at the stones again, then passed the blue and one of the whites to Markus. “Yours,” she said.
“What – but you found them!”
“We share. You and I are partners. We share the dangers, so we share the treasure. Yes?”
Markus opened his mouth, then accepted the gems. He pocketed them, looked at the pleased look on the half-elf’s face, and embraced her. They stood there for a moment, then broke as more flapping sounds reached them. “I think there are more of them around,” Markus said. “What are we going to do?”
Faer picked out of her pocket the cloth sling and bent down, picking up a loose stone at her feet. “If they come at us, I’ll use this,” she said. “The stone stairs go down a long way – I can’t see the bottom.”
“Can you see any live things?”
She nodded slowly. She pointed off to the right. “A few up there. I think there’s a number of ledges up there. This looks like a huge cave. These winged things must live here. Come on, let’s go down.”
They slowly made their way down, Markus’ torch lighting the way for both of them. The stairs were wide, but gradually narrowed as they went. They were a foot deep but worn and chipped. Pieces of rock and stone lay everywhere, as well as bird droppings and husks of what used to be living things, some of which neither of the two knew what they were. The air was cool and still.
“Hold on,” Faer said, her sword firmly in one hand, the sling in the other. “Stay here, I’m going to see what’s ahead.”
“Go careful,” Markus said in a hushed tone.
Faer looked round, nodded, and resumed her way. Her dark vision would see further than the torchlight, but she needed to be far enough away from the torch to be able to use her superior vision. After fifteen steps she stopped and looked ahead. Her eyes got used to the dark and she could make out what lay ahead. More importantly the winged beasts remained where they were, perched high up at the top of the cavern. Now she could see how big it was and it went far and wide. She gasped in awe at the very size of it. This cavern must have been here long before the chamber above and the doorway ahead had ever been built. Clearly someone had come to this place in the past and built a passage through the cave.
She turned. “Come on, Markus, I can see another way out.”
Her words echoed around the cavern. Screeches came from above and the two crouched in a reflex movement. “Hurry, Markus, I don’t like the sound of that,” she said.
“Nor do I,” Markus said, hurrying. The two made their way down further and now the bottom of the staircase could be made out in the torchlight, a balustrade with plinths and carved stone heads of some persons long dead on top. Flapping from above took their attention.
“Think they’re coming at us,” Faer said in a hushed voice. “Come on, straight ahead is a door. Let’s get to it.”
Even as they reached the bottom and the small pair of doors came into view ten feet away, something came at them from above, screeching wildly. They both ducked and a waft of carrion stench filled their senses. Faer flailed wildly with her sword but missed. Another screech and a second bird creature swooped. Faer slashed again and the avian swerved aside in alarm.
“Got it,” Markus said, strain in his voice. “It’s open.”
Faer backed towards the door, and was helped through by a breathless Markus. Another screech and the door was slammed shut. The two took a deep breath and looked about. They were in a small chamber with dust coating the floor. It was hexagonal in shape, about fifteen feet in width, with another door in the opposite wall. The four walls with no door were coated in webs, but faded colours denoted that once, long ago, there had been painted murals there.
“I wonder what this place was,” Markus said, holding the torch aloft.
“Some fortress, or palace? Why here? For whom? Well,” she took a deep breath, pocketing the sling but keeping her sword free, “there’s just one way to go.”
She sidled up to the door and listened. She could hear nothing and indicated as such with a shrug. The door was of wood instead of metal, and showed signs of rot. The handle was a dull, green oxidised metal, thick with growth. She was loath to touch it, so grotesque it looked, so she pushed experimentally at the panel next to it. The wood crumbled and the door just fell apart, collapsing at her surprised feet. “Oh,” she said, her hand to her mouth.
“Rotten,” Markus commented. “Do you hear water?”
“Yes,” she replied and looked into the room beyond.
Once it might have been described as being luxurious, but now it was a sorry shell of its former glory. Sunlight filtered through a hole in the roof, so Markus dropped the torch and stepped into the room. Faer stepped to the left and looked around. The middle of the floor was sunken, circular in shape, and filled with water. Stones lay across the floor and into the pool, fallen masonry from the collapsed roof, and vines and ivy were hanging down from above. Half of the chamber was covered in vegetation, spilling down from the fallen roof. Around the circular pool were narrow, slim columns, supporting the vaulted roof.
The collapsed masonry was blocking the far side where a doorway could partially be seen. The floor was tiled and coloured in shapes. “Wow,” Faer said, gazing at the designs. “Beautiful. This must have been a bathroom.”
“Maybe, or just a pool. Who knows? The people who built it are all dead.”
“I’d’ve liked to have asked them,” she said. The water entered the chamber from a fountain shaped like a fish, the water vomiting from an open mouth, and it flowed away on the other side via a sluice and channel and vanished through a small opening in one of the walls. “Fresh water?” she said, unsure.
“Try it,” Markus said. “Looks alright.”
She dipped a hand in and sucked the fluid from it. “Mmm! Clear and fresh! Must be spring water. Let’s fill up.”
They emptied their water flasks and then refilled with the fresh water. They drank from the pool and filled their stomachs. Markus wiped his mouth. “Doesn’t get much fresher than that.”
Faer looked up. “That’s our way out. You up to cli
mbing?”
“Again?” Markus groaned, then stepped up to the foot of the pile of rubble. He looked up. “Ah.”
“What?” Faer joined him.
“There – that tree. That’s what caused the collapse, look, the roots.”
“Oh yes.” A huge tree was growing close to the hole and its roots were clearly visible, lying over the gap and dangling down, some of which were quite thick. “Well, let’s go.” She grabbed one root, pulled hard, and when it held, used it to climb the pile of masonry up to the top. She scrambled over and found she was in a glade of some sort.
Markus joined her quickly and they looked about themselves. Behind rose the hills that cut Selanic and the coast off from the mainland. Ahead ran a sparse woodland, with thick clumps of grass, shrubs and bushes at scattered intervals. A particularly heavy growth stood where they were, which explained why the ruins were hidden. Unless someone fell through the roof, nobody would guess it was there.
They tramped through the glade, Faer’s sword once again in her back sheath. The sun felt good when they stepped into an open spot. The air smelt different here, no saltiness, no smell of the sea. It was strange. They could smell earth, foliage, flowers.
A little distance further on they came to a path running ahead. They looked back. It seemed to run to a pair of rusted gates. “I’m willing to bet that goes to the place we’ve come through,” Markus said. “This must be the same path we’ve been on since leaving the village.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Faer said, then stepped onto the path and led her companion on through undergrowth, hacking some aside, and suddenly they came out onto a road running left to right. “Oh, this looks well-travelled.” The mud had two deep ruts in it, and evidence of something else, with semi-circular shaped marks all around in both directions.
“Yes – which way? Left or right?”
“Which way is west?” Faer asked, remembering the headsman’s words.
“West? Ah, let me see,” Markus squinted up at the sun. “It’s mid-morning, so it’s right.”
“Right it is then,” Faer said decisively, and stepped in that direction, turning to wait for Markus who was not so confident. “Something wrong, Markus?”
“Oh, it’s just that – I’ve not been in these places before. I’m a little unsettled.”
“You and me both. Well, we won’t get where we’re going to unless we get going.”
Markus came up alongside. “And where’s that?”
“I suppose it’s the city of Gorradan, or that’s what the headsman said it was called. He said it’s a big place and we could find someone there who would know about Keria and Kaltinar. Kaltinar is where I must go, according to my father.”
“Yes, I remember you saying when you read me his letters. Very well, let’s get going. The sooner we get there the sooner we can eat and rest.”
They followed the road, seeing buildings in the distance away from the roadside, small groups of white-coloured habitations. The land here was cultivated, fences separating areas of land, and crops were grown in uniform rows. The two looked at one another in wonder. Then they heard a sound of something behind them and they turned.
They saw something they’d never seen before.
FIVE
Three men on animals. Both recognised the animals from drawings. Horses. The men were covered in metal. Helmets, chainmail armour, gauntlets, leggings. Huge swords hung from saddles and two carried lances.
The two hurriedly stepped aside and looked on with open mouths as the three riders approached. The trio stopped and looked down at the travellers. The leader, or the one they took to be the leader, the one without a lance, had an open-faced steel helmet. His face was hard, his countenance stern. He had clear blue eyes and a slash for a mouth. “And who are you two?”
“Uh, sir?” Faer spoke, hesitantly. “We’re from the village of Selanic. We’re seeking a place called Kaltinar.”
“Kaltinar? Kaltinar!” the man leaned back and eyed his companions. He turned back to the two youngsters. “And what do you know of this place?”
“Please sir, I must go there to learn how to use my sword.”
“Indeed? A little old, aren’t you?” the man said. He surveyed her closely. “Elf-blood, aren’t you?”
“Sir,” Faer said, her heart thudding in her chest. Her hand felt for and grasped Markus’ who locked his fingers in hers.
“An unusual one though; never seen an elf with skin quite your colour. Been in sun a lot, eh?” he laughed and his companions joined in.
Faer looked at the trio wildly. Were they mocking her? Were they going to be just as bad as the villagers?
“Apologies, little one,” the man said, killing his mirth. “Bad joke. Not long into adulthood, I’ll wager?”
“Sixteen, sir. And Markus here.”
“Oh? Markus is it?”
The young man bowed. “Sir.”
“Well, you both have manners, which I approve of. And young lady, what is your name?”
“Faerowyn, sir.”
The man nodded slowly. “Faerowyn. So, Faerowyn, how do you intend to find Kaltinar?”
Faer stood up straight. “Sir, I will ask around in the city of Gorradan. I think this road leads there?”
“It does indeed. On foot it is two day’s travel. Less than one on horseback. We are travelling there. May I introduce myself? Captain Lace of the Gorradan Militia. These two are members of my unit.”
“Oh, really?” Faerowyn beamed. “Could we please travel with you?”
Lace smiled. “But we travel faster than you. You’d have to run to keep up, and you look too young to keep up with us for long.” The two men laughed again.
“Oh,” Faer’s smile vanished.
Lace surveyed the two for a moment, then shook his head sadly. “Faerowyn, do you know what it is like in Gorradan?”
The two dumbly shook their heads, clasping hands even more firmly, which Lace noted. Aw, the two kids are scared stiff.
“It’s not a place I’d recommend two innocent kids like you to be roaming around on your own. It’s full of – individuals who would take advantage of you. First off, they’d take all your belongings, then you’d end up in a place you’d not wish to be. You, Markus,” Lace jabbed a thick finger at the scared looking young man, “would probably be put up for sale in a slave auction and end up tending someone’s fires for the rest of your life. And you, Faerowyn, would no doubt with your beauty end up in a brothel.”
“Sir – what’s a brothel?”
Lace looked at his two men who exchanged sad looks. “It’s an establishment full of women who either want to or are forced to sell their bodies for sex.”
“Sex?” Faerowyn looked at Markus, then at Lace in confusion.
The two men covered their faces with their hands. Lace sighed and rolled his eyes. “Faerowyn, if I were you I’d turn round and return to Selanic.”
Faer bowed her head, then looked up. “Sir, I’ve been banished from the village. They – they don’t like – elves.”
“What? Don’t like elves? What sort of madness is that? Everyone likes elves, especially beautiful female elves like you.”
Faerowyn felt her face heat up. Her skin was too dark for the red to fully show but Lace could see the blush. “S-sir…”
“I tell you what; I’ll give you a pass. It’s a royal pass, so nobody will question it. You are to come straight to my house, Captain Lace, you understand?” he pulled out a flat piece of leather and rested a fresh piece of paper he extracted from a satchel hanging from his saddle. He found an ink quill, dipped it in the travelling pot he had and wrote on it. As a captain I have authority to give such passes as long as I don’t abuse it.”
“Sir – thank you.”
Lace eyed Faerowyn briefly. “You must not talk to anyone. Especially groups of men hanging on street corners. You are a rarity; I’ve never seen an elf as dark as you before, and particularly one as beautiful. You’ll end up in a brothel in no time. You
’d make the owner a fortune.” He passed the paper to her. “This is a Royal Pass. Nobody can oppose it except a member of the Royal Household or the army, like me. Now, let me see that sword of yours.”
Faer hesitated, then slowly brought her blade forth. She looked at it for a moment, then turned it round and passed it to the waiting Lace. He hefted it and eyes the blade, his eyes widening. He noted the hilt, the pommel, then turned to his men. “Here, catch.” He threw it to the nearest of his men. Faer felt a moment of panic. Was she going to lose her sword?
The soldier weighed it, looked up in surprise, then swung it a few times. He whistled through his teeth and showed it to his companion. Both men looked impressed. “Elf steel?” the first soldier asked.
“Sir, I don’t know – it was bequeathed to me,” Faer said honestly.
The soldier reversed it and laid it across his arm, bending it, lowering the hilt towards Faer. “M’lady,” he said smiling.
Faer stepped up to him, smiled a thanks and took it.
Lace sucked in his breath deeply. “Elf steel is worth a fortune. Some thief would have that off you faster than… well I won’t say what. Keep that out of sight until you know how to use it properly. That’s a fine blade, and I know plenty of people who’d kill to get their hands on it.”
Faer nodded, sheathing her blade.
Lace regarded Markus. “And you, young Markus, what are you?”
“Sir, a humble fisherman, also banished from the village. I’m Faer’s friend and companion.”
“Good; a friend in times like these is worth their weight in gold. Lady Faerowyn, look after Markus here, as I said, a friend is invaluable, especially now.”
“Why is that, sir? Why now of all times?”
Captain Lace shook his head slowly. “You’ve not heard of the war?” The two shook their heads. “Well, you are really behind the times. The king of Gorradan, who, incidentally is your king to whom you pay homage, is at war with the forces of Jerethal, a rival who desires his throne. Jerethal commands the lands to the west and is looking to march on the city. So when you get to the city, you’ll find it on a war footing. Do not be surprised by guards at the gates asking all sorts of questions, but answer them honestly and show them the pass. Now we really must be on our way. I shall inform my wife to expect you two. Good day.” He waved briefly and galloped off, followed by the other two.