by Levi Samuel
Remle adjusted uncomfortably in his saddle. "Not all of them. One was found wandering the roads a few miles north of here. He informed one of my soldiers of your ship not long ago. We dispatched to see if there were any more survivors. It seems you may be the last. But we'll keep looking."
Gareth felt a slight bit of joy hearing one of his men yet lived. "Did you happen to catch this sailor's name?"
Remle looked at the exhausted captain feeling remorse for all he had lost. He seemed to have suffered more than the loss of his ship and crew. Something deeper troubled the man, something that made him feel lost yet resolved at the same time. "Yes, his name was Malakai Torne. He was taken into Shadgull City where he regained his stamina. From there he caught a ride to a town called Aldridge."
Gareth looked upon the men. "I thank you for the information. Would it be possible to barter a ride to this Aldridge so I may find this man? I have little to offer, due to Corin's need to sink my ship. But I don't mind working off a debt. May I repay the service with service?"
Remle thought about the offer for a moment. Glancing over the man's appearance, quickly assessed his abilities. He was exceptionally well dressed for a man washed ashore. His gaze locked on the blade resting peacefully in its scabbard. “Are you any good with that?” He gestured toward the bound weapon.
“I hear the pointy end goes in the other guy.” Gareth smiled, refusing to boast his prowess. It was too soon to trust these men. If they turned on him, it was best they underestimated his ability.
Remle chuckled. "Well, my friend—" He paused at the thought of using the title again, "I have a problem with a young dragon attacking caravans on the road to Heroes Gate. Unfortunately, my men have been busy with more local matters. If you would agree to take on the task of slaying this beast I would see you not only to Aldridge, but with a small fortune to pay for expenses and to accommodate you while you're in these lands."
Gareth felt a small trimmer of success hearing the matter of coin arise. "I'll accept your terms."
Remle pulled a large blue bag from his waist and tossed it to the sailor. "Jem, see this man to your saddle."
Gareth climbed atop the horse, securing himself to the rider. They set off at a gallop, disappearing into the forest.
The fire crackled and sparked, sending tiny sprites into the night sky. Several men laid around the fire. Some lost in its dance, while others were fast asleep. The gallop of a horse echoed closer, halting just out of their camp. A lone voice echoed from the darkness.
“Get off yer’ asses and come take a look at this!” The lowly human climbed from his horse and pulled a frayed burlap sack from the saddlebag. It was packed so tightly that the seams stretched, threatening to burst open and spill its contents. It hit the ground, ringing out like chain links.
The others roused themselves and slowly approached.
Heaving the bag with rushed, small steps, the man moved toward a crude wooden table hammered between a pair of trees. Coin and small trinkets spilled from the newly formed hole in the bottom.
“That's a good haul, Kelly. Where'd you get all of this?” A man with a wide scar across his face asked, watching him pour it into a large pile.
“I got a lead on a big score. This was the proof. There's a lot more. A whole room in fact.” Kelly smiled smugly at the others, his superiority evident by his expression.
They stared in awe at the amount of gold, silver, and gems resting on the weathered table.
A large half-orc towered over their shoulders, admiring the collection. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pushed through, hoping to get a better look. “That a lot of loot.”
“Ya plannin' to hit it tomorrow?” The scarred man asked, shooing the half-orc away. “Go lay down, ya oaf. If we need something smashed, we'll let ya know.”
“Sorry, Sean.” The green-skin yawned, flexing his arms and back. Turning around, he sauntered off toward his cozy blanket near the fire.
“Yeah, tomorrow's the best time. I'd hate for my informant to give the details to someone else and have them beat us to it.”
The scent of cherry floated in the air of the crowded pub. A dull roar echoed from the patrons minding their own, while others laughed and joked with their companions. The room was lit from above by a large basin suspended from the rafters and a flickering flame spouted from the oil within.
Kane leaned back in his wooden chair, listening to the legs creak against the unusual weight. He watched the sparks dance inside the blazing fireplace. An occasional ember skipped through the chainmail curtain blocking the fiery oven, only to go out when it hit the floor. Stretching his arms, he flexed the muscles in his back, allowing it to pop several times before relaxing them. Returning the front legs of his chair to the floor, he watched the barmaid hurry over, remembering the last time he’d visited the pub.
The barmaid carefully set the tankard on the table, keeping the contents from sloshing too wildly. Staring at the armored young man, she waited expectantly.
Fumbling with the leather binding on his coin pouch, Kane pulled it open and snatched a two copper pieces from the bag. Handing it to her, he watched her bow, revealing a deep crevice at the top of her corseted blouse.
A knowing smile breached her lips. Giving him a good, long look, she spun and rushed off to tend to her other duties.
She's cute, but unlikely to have interest in me, Kane thought, watching her form through the fitted dress. Retying the pouch, he stuffed it under his armor, making sure it found its pocket. Lifting the heavy mug, he sniffed the golden liquid, savoring the sweet scent. Placing it to his lips, he took a careful draw, hoping it was nothing like the ale. The taste of fermented honey filled his mouth. “No wonder they call it the nectar of gods.” He stated to no one in particular. Laying the drink to rest on the table, he noticed two men stepped through the doublewide door.
They wore thick, layered armor, mostly covered by matching blue and silver tabards. Marching across the tavern room, they approached the barkeep, actions full of purpose.
Kane watched intently. He’d never seen soldiers such as these. And they clearly had some business here. One of the men pulled a rolled piece of vellum from his pack and laid it on the counter. The other laid a small brown bag beside it. Judging from the size and shape, it was most likely full of coin. The first one leaned over the counter, speaking a few words through the echoing voices behind them. He tried to hear them, but the patrons were too loud.
The barkeep nodded, watching the two men leave as quickly as they arrived. Seeing the doors close, he broke the seal and read the missive.
Feigning a long draw of mead, Kane watched the barkeep pocket the bag and disappear into the room behind the bar. He guessed it was the kitchen, but there was no way to tell without drawing attention to himself.
A few moments later, the barkeep returned with another scroll. This one was crude compared to the original. Carrying it over to a large board nailed to the wall beneath the stairs, he tacked it to the mass of existing bounties. Returning to the counter, he started wiping the same area he'd been cleaning when the soldiers approached.
Curiosity peeked, Kane slammed the remainder of his tankard and wiped the excess away on his sleeve. Setting the wooden mug on the table, he stood, feeling the effects in his legs. Careful to retain his balance, he approached the board and read the notice.
Wanted notifications of criminals, heroes, or simple help crowded the soft wood, filled with pin holes. Even a few requests for ritual sacrifice or intimate encounters were posted for all to see.
Kane reviewed the board, noting the name Craig carved along the top boarder. Looking over the numerous items, he found the newly tacked parchment.
Attention weary travelers, the road north is being accosted by a dragon. Any attempting to travel to Heroes Gate should seek an alternate route. Those who wish to rid the world of this beast, meet at the north edge of town at first light, tomorrow morning. Reward will be given for any who assist in the assault.
Reading the message once again, assuring he understood its meaning, Kane shook his head, clearing the fuzzy sight that was starting to plague him. “Perhaps it's worth investigating.” He said to no one in particular. Rubbing his eyes, he turned to leave. His feet frozen at the sight of a stranger passing through the doors.
The man wore ornate brigandine armor and had a short, curved blade on his left hip. His head was freshly shaven, reflecting the orange glow of the fire light.
Kane felt a strange sensation wash over him. It wasn't the man’s appearance that halted him. It was something deeper. Something familiar— yet unknown. Frozen, unable to look away, Kane watched the man approach the barkeep.
“I need a room for the night.” Gareth tossed a silver coin on the counter. He glanced around the room, locking eyes with a young man near the stairs. A strange glow radiated from him. It wasn't a solid aura. While that was rare, it wouldn't be the first he’d seen. No, this man's glow was cracked and faint. Like it both was and wasn't at the same time. This truly was a first. The sound of metal sliding across the counter roused him. Glancing down, he snatched up the small brass key. Refusing to delay a moment longer, he headed for the stairs, nodding to the young man as he passed.
Kane stood frozen, trying to understand what he'd just seen. Surely the mead hadn't made him see things. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he made for the door. Glowing red men are too much for one evening. And if I'm going to aid in this dragon hunt, I'll need to prepare myself.
The brilliant moon beamed into an enveloping fog, hanging low in the sky. It illuminated the lantern lit streets in a dull white glow, blocking vision for more than a few feet. It was remarkably quiet considering the number of people still out, but most of the population was indoors for the evening.
Ravion passed the signpost at the edge of town, lost in his thoughts. It wasn't very big. Little more than a juvenile, I'd wager. But it's still too much for me to handle on my own. I need to find someone skilled enough to combat the beast, and preferably wealthy enough to pay me for services. Maybe if the man’s gullible enough to believe the search was his idea, I can score an added bonus. Rounding the corner, he heard the first real commotion since he returned town. Altering his destination, Ravion followed the shouts to the pub he’d first visited. Approaching the doors, he jumped back, narrowly dodging the wooden barriers.
A man flew head first through the double doors, landing hard on the dirt road. Small bits of dust flew into the air, coating him in a light layer. He groaned in pain and rolled onto his back.
Ravion watched two men march from the tavern.
One threw a sword and belt atop the man, while the other tossed a cavalier hat at him. Spitting in the man’s general direction, he turned and marched back inside. His companion at his heels.
"Rough night?" Ravion asked, kneeling beside prone man and extending his hand.
"You might say that. I've been shipwrecked, robbed, and now thrown from a pub because I caught a man cheating at a game of cards. I can't rightly cut him down since it seems every man at the table was loyal to him." He reached up, accepting the offer.
"I see— Well, there's always time for retribution another day. Come on, I'll get you a drink." Ravion pulled the man to his feet and snatched the dirty hat off the ground, handing it to him.
The man took it, patting it off against his equally dirty leather armor and loose-fitting clothing. The stench of salt water radiated from him. Placing the hat atop his head, he grabbed the belt and tied it in place. “Name's Malakai by the way. Malakai Torne."
"Ravion Santail," He stated, giving a graceful bow, rolling his hand in kind.
The two made their way for the Inn of Aldridge and took a seat at the corner table.
It was much louder than Ravion remembered. Instead of a slow evening, as it had been the previous day, it was now just like every other pub he’d ever attended. Crowded and full of conversation. Signaling the barmaid, Ravion laid a few coins on the table.
She appeared a moment later carrying two tankards. Laying them to rest, she snatched up the coin and disappeared again.
"So— I see you carry two blades. Is it safe to assume you're skilled with them?" Ravion casually took a swig, sucking in much less of the liquid than he let on.
Malakai grabbed the other mug and tipped it back. "One might say that. I've spend the majority of my life on the sea. Most recently I served on a fishing vessel from Everik."
"Interesting. Though I must admit I'm curious. What kind of fishing vessel requires a swordsman?"
"That's a good question. We were a fishing vessel, though it's been months since we’ve caught any fish. The port we hail from was attacked, leaving many of our families murdered. I was fortunate, my family died years ago. I didn't have to witness what much of the crew had. We set out in hopes of finding more of the creatures responsible. Maybe we could help some folks like no one did for my mates. But not all tales have a happy endin'. Our ship ran into rocks a about a week’s ride south of here. I woke up on the shore near a forest road. Started walkin' until I met a patrol. And I eventually ended up here. Been tryin' to decide what to do ever since. I'm lucky—" Malakai paused, "Armor's rarely worn on a ship. When it gets wet, it gets heavy and tends to pull you down. Captain told us we were going down. I dressed in my best figurin' it was my time. I laid down in my bunk and next thing I know I'm lost, wandering aimlessly down a road."
Ravion listened to the confusion and sorrow in the man's voice. He couldn't help but feel for him. Having shared a similar bond, it was always hard to say goodbye. Or worse, be denied a goodbye. But he'd never suffered a shipwreck. His departure from the sea was much more favorable. A bald man wearing brigandine armor caught his eye. He had an aura about him, reminding him of his own people, but this was different. This man couldn’t be dalari. He didn’t feel right.
Gareth looked around the pub, spotting a familiar silhouette sitting with his back to the stair. He seemed to be in conversation with a young man, maybe in his early twenties, though he had a much older stature. Not to mention the light blue glow radiating from him. He'd seen similar effects before. The man probably used some form of fancy magic, though he wasn't dressed as a typical caster.
Ravion watched the man approach. Locking eyes, he raised a finger to silence his companion. Hoping the gesture would prevent him from carrying on in the stranger’s company. "May we help you?"
Malakai glanced behind him, spotting the face of his captain. He jumped to his feet, nearly spilling his tankard. Without hesitation, he snapped to salute.
Gareth smiled. It was good to see one of his men yet lived. “Relax, Malakai. The ship's gone. I'm no longer your captain.”
Malakai dropped his arm, nodding respects to the stout man. "You'll always be my capt’n, Capt’n."
Resting his hand on the sailor's shoulder. Gareth continued. “I'm glad at least one of my crew survived, and I'm fortunate it was you. I'm in need of your tracking skills. I can pay for the service. And your new friend here, if he so desires."
Ravion stood extending his hand, "Greetings, I'm Ravion Santail. And while I haven't been in this area long, I'm known as the finest scout for days." Doesn't matter who knows me as that.
Gareth smiled, shaking the tall, skinny man's hand. He felt a kinship to him. He was familiar— yet unknown. "Well, I'm gonna’ go see if I can find a few men capable with a blade. I bid you gentlemen goodnight. I expect to see you on the north edge of town in the mornin’. We're tracking a dragon so be prepared." Before they could ask any more, he turned and made for the door.
Chapter X
The Tyrant
The early morning sun beamed through the trees, glistening off the layered dew. A snapping branch echoed through the forest, accompanied by the crunch of leaves.
Nezial rolled over and opened his eyes, careful to keep from blinding himself. Listening intently to the echoing sounds, he whispered a quiet incantation. His clothing disappeared from the overhead branches and fell into place
around his body. Getting to his feet, he waved away the summoned bedroll. It reform into the pile of leaves he had been before. Throwing his hood overhead, Nezial grabbed his satchel and cautiously climbed from the ravine. In search of the commotion, he dove deeper into the alfaren homelands.
Movement passed through the thick brush up ahead.
Making his way closer, new sounds echoed into his ears. Nezial recognized a voice. Its owner was unknown, but the language seemed familiar. A smile crept to his face. Language meant intelligence. And intelligence meant purpose. Taking in the guttural pitch, he tried to recall a spell that would allow him to understand it. It clearly didn't belong to the myrkalfar. Their tongue was musical in nature, like listening to the elements sing to one another. No, these creatures were trespassers, same as him. That meant there was a chance for an allegiance.
Without a sound, Nezial moved closer, stopping on the edge of a small clearing in the now dense forest. Inside the grove, three large creatures stood, arguing among themselves. Recognizing the beasts, their language rushed into his mind. He felt foolish, having missed it before. He was little more than a child the last time he studied the brutish culture, but it seemed the knowledge stayed with him. Watching from a distance, he studied the creatures. It wouldn't favor him to give away his position prematurely.
They stood nearly seven foot tall and had thick tusks protruding from their lower jaws. Heavy hide armor protected their chests, while lighter leathers and furs wrapped around their forearms and legs. The exposed skin of their faces and hands was stained brown. That meant they were from the eastern clans, Nezial recalled. That lot was mostly hunters and gathers, but they had relations with the northern clans which constantly required them to pass through the alfaren forests.