by CJ Brightley
The army that marched down from the cliffs that held the capital city of Darrion was mostly made up of the city guards as well as a large handful of volunteers who didn't normally serve in the armed forces.
“If you hadn't spent so much time boasting, you would have heard the announcement,” Lincoln said calmly. “But thanks, I was trying to work out what rhymed with 'monstrous.'”
Bernard smacked his own forehead.
“Your poems will never catch on,” he bemoaned.
“They may,” Lincoln replied, scribbling another minuscule word before stuffing the paper under his breastplate. “No rations above two a day. I heard it will get worse in the city.”
A low growl in his stomach reminded Bernard that he had wanted to come on the adventure, regardless of the food supply. But now he was curious as to what his more round companion had heard.
“Worse, huh?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” Lincoln said, attempting to straighten his helmet and adjust the chin strap.
Bernard thought that was a losing battle.
“The elves bought nearly all the food in Lone Peak. Now there's more gold in the city than wheat. Sad you can't eat gold,” Lincoln said as a matter of fact. “The shop owners were all in a tizzy yesterday when they realized they had nothing left to but money.”
“Is that why ol' Shanner wouldn't sell me any of his finer drinks?” Bernard wondered out loud as he absentmindedly tightened his own helmet.
“That and you haven't paid your tab in the last three moons,” Lincoln answered. “Oh, a halt.”
The trumpet rang out clear over the cliffs as they were ordered to a standstill.
Captain Kilgore was at the front of their company, as always.
“We camp here tonight,” he shouted over the heads of his guard. “Put those tents up quick, the skies look like rain!”
The soldiers worked fast, but the new recruits were a bit slower. Over a span of half an hour, the tents of the army were arranged into neat rows and ready for their occupants.
All except for one.
“That peg doesn't go there!” Bernard shouted at Lincoln, who was attempting to hammer in the exact peg Bernard had pointed to a moment ago into the exact spot he had told him to place it.
“But you said,” Lincoln began, before being interrupted by Bernard tripping on a rope and falling into the progress they had made so far.
In a heap of cloth and rope and tent pegs, Bernard was swearing all sorts of horrible things.
“Oh,” Lincoln said, producing his parchment and small quill again to scribble out a few words. “I had forgotten those two words rhymed. Thanks.”
Kilgore was standing over them in a terrible temper.
“Why has even the potter from the lower districts managed to set up his own tent and mine, while you two trip over yourselves in trying to be the worst guards this city has!”
It was a low blow to Bernard, who wished nothing more than to sink into the pile of cloth. He didn't even attempt to get himself out of the mess and salute.
“I'm making my rounds,” Kilgore said, threateningly. “If this tent isn't up by the time I'm finished, you two won't receive your second ration for the day!”
“Yes, sir, Captain Kilgore!” Bernard began to say, though most of it got muffled in the rope that he was trying to break free of.
Lincoln sighed and put away his poetry.
“Rations are why I came on this march,” he said sadly, pulling Bernard free from the tent and picking up a peg and hammer in hand. “Where does this one go again?”
As he began directing Lincoln once more, Bernard tried to think of the great adventures he would have and stories he would be able to tell after they marched on the Wood Walker elves, rather than the supper he and his friend were likely to miss.
46
An Old Elf's Tale
“I'll show you my face if you show me yours!” Serinde challenged the voice that rang out just outside the ruined house's walls.
She had scrambled to her feet and grabbed the knife that had ended the life of another a few hours ago. Perhaps she would have to put it to use again.
Erilas tried to sit up and turn to face the direction the voice had spoken from, but she winced at attempting to move her neck around too quickly. Still, the hurt elf picked up another blade they had procured from the deceased guards and held it tightly.
“Such bravery,” the male voice chided.
Slowly, an older elf stepped into the light of their fire from outside the ruins.
“I suppose you'll think very highly of yourself if you stabbed an elder with your knife when all he wants is a bit of your fire,” he said. “Not much better than those Enoth thugs, eh?”
His hair was a dark gray color and long. It was tied into a messy ponytail. His clothes were made of simple green cloth and brown leather and spoke of many days of travel. A small pack rested on his back, which was slightly hunched.
“You two look like you've had a pretty awful day,” he said, stopping to observe the both of them.
Without invitation or further pause, the visitor sat down and began to warm his hands with the small fire Serinde had built. She had yet to put her knife down or change her defensive stance.
“Who are you?” she asked, still unsure if they could trust this wanderer. Maybe had had been sent by the empire to find them and kill them? Maybe he was disguised as an old man to try to kill them both? There was something about him that made him seem untrustworthy to her.
“Names, titles, monikers, they're all so useless sometimes!” the elf said as he removed his pack.
Serinde tensed as he plunged his hand into the bag. He looked up at her and laughed, far too loudly for her liking.
“What? Think I'm going to stick you with my dried fruit?” he said as he pulled out a few pieces of long red strips and waved them at her.
“If I had wanted to kill you both, this would not have been the way I would have gone about it,” he said as he took a bite of the strips and looked at them both.
“Sit down, girl,” he said as he looked up at Serinde. “Keep your knife at your side if you must but I am no threat to you.”
Erilas looked up at Serinde, who did not take her eyes off the newcomer, but slowly sat down opposite him and close to her sister. If the old one did attack, she would not let him get Erilas without going through her.
“Comfortable?” the elf asked her, a snide look on his face.
“Who are you?” Serinde asked again, recognizing that he had not answered her question.
"That question isn't nearly as important as what the quarry bosses are going to think when you two don't show up tomorrow," the elf replied through a mouthful of fruit.
Serinde considered him for a moment. She turned to Erilas, who shrugged her shoulders.
"How did you know we work in the quarry?" Serinde asked.
The elf snorted.
"There are two Enoth guards freshly dead out there. There's no elf settlement the empire hasn't emptied in a five day's walk, and you haven't got enough provisions to last more than two. The both of you have the look of long days in the pit and not enough of what the rest of the south needs."
Serinde and Erilas exchanged looks again. This time, it was Erilas who spoke.
"And what does the south need, stranger?" she asked in a weak voice.
The gray haired elf looked at them both before turning his gaze to the fire and taking another bite from his supply.
"Freedom," he said simply. "And my name is Omior. I'm from Eccott. The only free elf city on Irradan."
47
Bargaining with Strangers
Silverwolf held her knife to the throat of the elf on the bear. She knew she would have to act quickly to determine whether or not this elf was the friendly kind.
She certainly had been dealing with way too many hostile elves as of late.
"What would an elf be doing spying on other elves, huh?" she asked.
It wasn't that she was p
articularly curious about why this elf riding the bear was spying. She had been looking for him for a good while. Silverwolf had been told this elf had information she wanted.
For a moment, the elf said nothing. He merely kept his breathing steady and glanced over at the woman who held a knife to his throat.
She always felt empowered holding someone at knife point. A new scar on her forearm reminded her how a blade could influence others.
This was one elf she needed on her side.
“I need your service, Amrolan,” she said.
She could tell he had not been expecting her to know his name by the flicker of his eyes at it. The bear let out a snort, but the elf put a hand on its neck, seemingly to comfort it. For a few seconds they stood there, unmoving.
And then something Silverwolf could never have imagined happened.
Blume, the young girl Ealrin had rescued from her ruined city, crashed into their clearing and collided into the bear, landing in a heap at its feet. The hulking beast began to growl at the girl who quickly backed away from its teeth. Keeping her knife against the elf's throat and her eyes locked with his, Silverwolf motioned with her hand for Blume to stay back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl lift a very unusual sword into the air.
She stood to her feet, awkwardly holding the sword and glancing back and forth between the two she had run into. Silverwolf could tell she wasn't glad to see her.
“What are you doing here?” Blume asked with a heated tone.
Silverwolf hadn't been sure what she felt about the little tag along girl. Now she was becoming a bit more concrete on her feelings toward her.
“Adult stuff,” she replied, snarling just a little bit. She wasn't about to be deterred from her payday because of the interference of a little girl.
“And why do you have Ealrin's sword?” she snapped back at her.
“May I see that book?”
If Silverwolf hadn't been keeping her eyes on the elf, it would have taken her longer to register that he had spoken. Amrolan was looking at one of the books that had fallen out of Blume's bag and was lying on some grass nearby.
Slowly, Blume edged her way to the tome, still holding her sword out to the bear. Awkwardly, she bent down and picked it up with one hand, holding it to her chest. The other hand still held the sword, though Silverwolf could tell the girl was straining to keep it up.
“I saw you before,” she said. “Outside Lone Peak. I thought you were going to attack me.”
Amrolan turned his head to the side, as if considering Blume's words.
“I do not desire to attack anyone,” the elf said. Silverwolf noticed that he gave her a rather hard glare before giving his attention back to Blume.
“I need help,” Blume said. “My friends have been captured by the elves and I can't help them by myself.”
So, Silverwolf thought, Ealrin went and got himself captured and left Blume to fend for herself.
How wonderful.
“I have no quarrel with the Elves of Enoth,” Amrolan said.
Blume looked at the book clutched against her, to Silverwolf, and then back to the elf.
“If you promise to help me,” she said, hand trembling with the weight of the sword. “I'll let you read it. But you can't have it, it belongs to a friend.”
Was this little girl really going to be able to sway her target with a book when she, an expert assassin, had a knife to his throat? It didn't matter. Without the help of her and the new friends she had made, the three of them weren't going to get very far.
Not on foot at least.
“We're together,” she added hastily, motioning to Blume with her free hand. She knew this was her chance to get in on a deal. “In exchange for reading that book, you help the girl free her friends and give me a lesson in ancient runes.”
Amrolan raised an eyebrow at Silverwolf.
In answer, she produced from around her neck, a simple golden pendant. A fist-sized disc hung from the chain, carved with elaborate runes and markings on one side.
On the other side of the pendant was a picture of a tree.
“Recognize this map?” Silverwolf asked with a smirk on her face.
Afterword
Thanks for reading On the Shores of Irradan, the first title in The Everring Tree trilogy!
Don't miss the next novel: Between Wars of the Ancients! Sign-up to the Retrovert Books email list to stay up-to-date!
If you enjoyed this book, make sure you leave a review to let others know what you thought!
Make sure to like the retrovertbooks Facebook page as well! I hope to hear from you along your journey.
Find me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.
Thanks again for reading!
Ronald
Hope and the Patient Man
The Gryphon Clerks, Book 3
Mike Reeves-McMillan
When a promising date ends in head trauma and ruined trousers, Hope must confront the curse she accidentally placed on herself at the end of her first relationship. But can she do so while also qualifying as a Senior Mage, solving the mystery of her parents' toxic marriage, and helping two awkward friends communicate - all while periodically blacking out?
A love story, with engineering. About - and for - smart, nerdy women and the men who adore them.
Content warning: While it does not depict sex directly, this book does contain "adult situations" and what one reader has described as "delicate eroticism". If you are uncomfortable with these elements, this isn't the book for you.
Place in the series: This is a direct sequel to Hope and the Clever Man and picks up where that book leaves off, but it can be read as a standalone.
Copyright © 2014 Mike Reeves-McMillan
All rights reserved.
Published by C-Side Media.
1
Dinner
They’d had a delicious dinner at one of the more expensive Gulfport restaurants, and shared a bottle of excellent wine. Judging by the way Hope was walking, it was more wine than she usually indulged in. She took Patient’s right arm and stumbled against him, laughing.
“Careful,” he said, flinging out his walking stick to keep himself from falling, and mentally cursing his weak leg. The carved dragon head of his stick dug into his hand as he used it to lever his weight, and Hope’s, to the right.
“Sorry. It’s these shoes.” Her own footwear mostly had steel toes, so she had borrowed a pair of shoes for the evening from her best friend and flatmate Briar.
“I thought it was the wine.”
“And the wine. Shoes and wine, Briar’s two favourite things. What are your favourite things, Patient?” She laughed again. He would almost say she giggled, except that Hope didn’t giggle. Her large dark eyes met his with an unguardedness that he hadn’t seen before. Pale as she was from working indoors, her flushed cheeks brought her back to a more usual skin tone, and her black hair, gleaming and herb-scented, fell across one side of her face. She blew it away and laughed again, and his heart contracted sharply. He was still not used to the idea that such a beautiful woman wanted to spend time with him.
“I don’t think you should get on that airhorse,” he said.
“No? You’re probably right. But how’m I going to get home?” She stretched out the last word, crooning it.
“You could stay in town here and go home in the morning. Probably not much more expensive than a ferry back to Illene, then a ferry back here again to get the airhorse.”
“And how’re you going to get home?”
“I could take the ferry, I suppose, and walk.” Patient’s home in Redbridge, a village not far north of Gulfport, lay near the river that also ran through the city and through the university town of Illene, where Hope lived. Even with his leg, he could walk between the ferry dock and his cottage without much discomfort.
“Or you could stay in town too. Should we get one room, or two?”
“Now I know you’re drunk. Which means that the answer’s two.”
/>
“Oh, come on,” she said playfully, and swung around in front of him on the pavement, seizing both his forearms. “We’ve had a nice night. Let’s live a little.” She slid her hands up his arms to the shoulders, stepped in, and raised her face to his. Startled, he let the kiss begin.
She screamed, convulsed, and collapsed. He staggered as he grabbed for her, trying to keep her from falling, but his weak leg folded under him and they both stumbled to the ground. Her head struck the stone kerb and rebounded.
“Hope!” he shouted. She was whimpering and twitching in some kind of fit.
He heard running footsteps from behind him as he tried to keep her head from impacting the hard surface a second time. They hadn’t walked far from the restaurant, less than a block, and he recognised the doorman as the man leaned over them.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Not sure,” said Patient. “Some kind of fit. Help me get her safe, put…” but the doorman was already whipping off his jacket and wadding it up to put under her head. They got her stretched out and waited for the fit to be over, Patient pulling himself round to sit with her head in his lap while the doorman crouched next to her shoulder. Patient’s leg had woken up and was proclaiming its tale of woe, but he ignored it.
After what seemed like much longer than it probably was, Hope gave a gasp and her eyes came back into focus. She made gagging movements, and he rolled her quickly onto her side, whereupon she threw up a gourmet meal and half a bottle of expensive wine onto his new trousers.