The Secrets of Brymar (The Elitherian Fragments Book 1)

by James Coy-Dibley

  “I do my part for the crown,” Zed said as Max passed by. “It’s just running a butchers shop, after all.”

  “But you’re proud of this place,” Max said as he looked into Zed’s eyes, “as you should be. I can hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes.”

  “I would say that I am,” Zed nodded while following Max into the next room. “I’m happy to see what this place has become, and I enjoy running it.”

  The next room carried a vastly different atmosphere from his grey-stone shop. The gentle flicker of fire from a substantial fireplace in the far wall bathed the room in soft yellow light, illuminating the colourful and quaint interior. There were no windows in here, only walls lined with high bookshelves. The fireplace caught their attention first, the large, yellow flames crackling above a few thick logs, the smoke rising through the chimney above. Yet the room still felt cold, a strange contrast to the outside, and Max felt his arms shivering to combat it.

  Across the floor were several very fine rugs, woven from the master weavers of the southernmost plains, Sumnersen, Zed’s homeland. With their highly ornate designs and unique material, Max admired them each time they visited and had always wondered how Zed had managed to bring them here. Their overly colourful fronts depicted creatures and settings foreign to these lands, and the use of vibrant dyes specific to Sumnersen gave the rugs’ origin away instantly. Any other rug seemed pale in comparison, a dull attempt to mimic the masters of the south with little success, but Zed would always brush off the comments about the rugs and say these ones were some of the least interesting he’d seen. Max couldn’t believe it. If Zed spoke the truth, then the Sumnersen Plains must be the most colourful place in all the lands.

  But what impressed Max the most, and even Aroden, were the countless tall bookshelves along every wall in the room. The dark, timeworn wooden structures spoke to their majestic age, each massive bookshelf holding a hundred books or more. When he wasn’t running the shop or helping the Brutean Kingdom in an errand, Zed read extensively on subjects ranging from entertaining tales to more applicable, practical subjects. Of the hundreds of books around the room, all of them bore unique cover designs, titles and colours, and had no doubt been read at least once, if not several times. But many of the books could not be read by most people, as their language was that of Zed’s and the Sumnersen Plains.

  Around the fireplace stood a few chairs and a small table, where Zed led the group and motioned for them to sit. “Please, take a seat while I go and put on some more suitable robes.”

  “Very well,” Aroden answered as he took a seat, anxious to find out more about the traveller. The wooden chair creaked beneath his weight. “But hurry,” he called out to Zed.

  To the side of the room was a rickety wooden stair case leading to a balcony above, where Zed’s bed and other commodities were. He rushed up and changed into a long, light green robe and returned wearing his leather shoes. He stopped in front of them and hesitated before sitting.

  “Can I offer you anything to drink or eat?”

  “No, we’re fine,” Aroden answered for them.

  “Are you sure? I have some fresh bread just in from the bakery if you want some. It’s quite good.”

  Max wanted some, but Aroden cut him off. “No, we won’t be here for long.”

  “Very well,” Zed said as he took a seat.

  Max glanced around at the bookshelves. “I always forget how many books you have,” he said.

  “They keep me sane,” Zed chuckled to himself, “and close to home.”

  “When was the last time you voiced your language?”

  “A long time now; no one here speaks the language of Sumnersen, but I enjoy reading it. I used to read some of the books aloud to practice the spoken language, though it’s been a while since I have even done that.” He shivered even under his thick green robes and scooted his chair closer to the fire. “It’s always so cold in here.”

  “Perhaps another log on the fire might help with that,” Aroden suggested.

  “Doesn’t seem to make much of a difference,” Zed countered. “That fire’s been going the whole morning. If I’d known the Arraci would be coming through the caverns, I could’ve started it long before they came.”

  “That explains why I’m freezing in this light shirt, then,” Max commented with a light smile, but he could see Zed’s frustration.

  Zed pointed to a small rug along the side of the room. “That’s where the entrance to the caverns is, right under that rug,” he said. “It was open for a long time this morning.” He looked to Aroden inquisitively. “I noticed that you brought more Arraci into the city than usual, at least twenty or so.”

  “Yes,” Aroden said, “as a precaution, since we’re hopefully going to meet this traveller you’ve found.”

  “I’m glad that you received my message so quickly.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  Zed shrugged. “Not much, I admit.” He pulled out an old piece of parchment from within his robes, setting it on the small wooden table between them all. “But he could read and understand this.”

  The crumpled parchment depicted symbols transcribed from the texts in Brymar; whoever could read this sample text would be able to help them decipher Brymar’s secrets and hopefully uncover the elusive history surrounding their home, finding the lock that matched the golden key. Aroden’s excitement built as he struggled to sit still.

  “You are sure? He could definitely read this text?”

  “Yes,” Zed nodded, noticing their excitement. “He even read it out aloud. I’m not sure how he made those sounds, but he spoke it as if it were his first language. It was quite remarkable.”

  “Incredible,” Aroden exclaimed, “this is the first time we’ve come this close to finding someone who can read this. How did you find this person?”

  “He found me, actually,” Zed said. “You know how I circulate a few of the words from Brymar around the city’s inns, through a few trusted Arracian scouts. They bear a few of the symbols on their clothes in case someone recognises it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well one of the scouts was approached by this man after seeing one of the ancient words on his cloak. He asked where they’d come across the language, and, to avoid suspicion, the scout said it was a random coincidence. After the scout reported the encounter to me, I sent him back to approach this person and ask the traveller to meet with me; but here’s the odd part: before the scout could find him, the man entered my shop and asked to speak with me directly about the text.”

  “How did he know you were connected to the scouts?” Aroden asked before Max could express his own concern.

  “He said he saw one of them entering this shop, and that they’d left without their cloak with the words on it. He must’ve assumed I was the one that sent them.”

  Aroden shrugged, but Max didn’t brush it off. “That’s alarming,” Max said. “This traveller has already linked the scouts to you.”

  “Do you know his name?” Aroden asked.

  “He wouldn’t say.” Zed slightly cringed. “Nor did he show his face or reveal anything else about himself. He refused to tell me anything.” He paused, sensing Max’s discomfort and Aroden’s concern. “I know only that he could read the language, and he gave me this,” Zed said while pulling out a trinket of jewellery, a thick silver ring engraved with the same markings from Brymar, and holding it up for the others to see. “He told me to give this to the person who wanted to meet with him.”

  “This is madness,” Max exclaimed, ignoring the ring and turning to his father. “We know nothing about this traveller or whether he poses a threat to us. You know we can’t do this.”

  Aroden reluctantly nodded. “I know.”

  Zed put the ring on the table. “He told me that the person wearing the ring should go to the Black Beetle Inn in the Laurdor District, and that he would approach them.”

  “Does this traveller know who he’s meeting?” Aroden asked while sh
ifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I didn’t reveal anything, only that it’s someone who’s interested in the translation of some text.” Zed shook his head. “I met with him for only a few minutes as it was during business hours; I had customers waiting behind him. But after the meeting, the Arracian scouts couldn’t follow or find him anywhere,” Zed admitted.

  Max shook his head. “Well at least he doesn’t know who he’s meeting.”

  Aroden nodded, his hope returning. “That means that anyone can wear that silver ring for the meeting. We’ll send someone else with the ring first to ensure this traveller isn’t a threat to us.”

  “That could work,” Max nodded, approving of this new plan, “an Arracian would be best.”

  “We’ll send Brian.”

  But Max shook his head on the suggestion. “I see no reason to put Brian in danger,” Max countered. “Why not send another one of the Arraci?”

  “Because he’ll know how to handle any situation, and I’d prefer that he go in my place.”

  “Why not Rachel?” Zed suggested. “She knows this city better than any of the Arraci since she’s the Watcher of Orwell.”

  “She’s at the house with the others,” Aroden said and shook his head. “Besides, you know that Brian wouldn’t allow one of the others to do such an important errand.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” Max conceded. He looked to Zed. “Let me see that ring.”

  Zed handed him the ring. “It’s quite heavy,” he said before dropping it into Max’s hand, “heavier than you’d expect.”

  “Yes, it is.” Max admired the weight of the ring. “I’ve never seen a material like this before, have you?”

  “No,” Zed answered, “that would be a question for your master blacksmith, Loin, in Brymar.”

  “We’ll have to ask him,” Max said.

  “You said the Laurdor District?” Aroden confirmed.

  “Yes,” Zed nodded. “He said he’d meet you there.”

  “I wonder what’s so special about this ring,” Max mused while inspecting it.

  “Again, he wouldn’t say.”

  “What if he recognises Brian?” Max pointed out.

  “Even if he did, what would the traveller do? Brian would be fine,” Aroden brushed off. He stood up. “We must inform the Arraci of the plan and find Brian in the marketplace. We’ll need to tell him what we know.”

  “I’m sure he’s watching the door and will approach us for our next move,” Max said, standing up too. “But we should probably go back to the safe house first and let Adriana and my brothers know.”

  “No, Adriana needs to focus on them instead of her brother. I want to meet this traveller as soon as possible and going home would only delay that.” He shrugged. “Besides, we don’t know how long this person will be in Orwell. I wouldn’t want to risk missing this chance.”

  “Understood,” Max said, though his disapproval was obvious. He thought of Adriana’s worry if she knew what her brother would be doing.

  “It must be midday by now,” Aroden said as he moved towards the door.

  “Should I come with you?” Zed asked.

  “No, stay here,” Aroden decided. “You’ll need to prepare for the opening of your shop later, and I wouldn’t want to disrupt that.”

  “Very well, I do have a shipment of meats coming in shortly.”

  Max held the ring in front of him, scrutinizing it more closely. “These are definitely similar markings to the ones in Brymar,” he commented. “I wonder why he had this ring in the first place.”

  “We can ask him that, too,” Aroden said with a hopeful grin. “He’s definitely the person we’ve been searching for.”

  Max nodded.

  “Come,” Aroden said. “Let’s find Brian.”

  Chapter VI

  Adriana galloped down the narrow, finely-gravelled road towards Forelorne.

  Retrieving the horses had taken longer than planned, the same stingy, loathsome stable keeper complaining about Richard’s quick departure and then Adriana’s. He’d threatened not to take the horses back after they returned, but had quickly changed his mind after Adriana had presented her opinion in the matter; unsurprisingly, her threat proved more effective. But retrieving some of the Arracian horses for those that travelled through the caverns – that’s what took the most time. The horses were in a small group of trees around an oasis close to the cavern entrance, a short distance away from the city, and none of them had wanted to gallop anymore. By the time the group of eight Arraci had made it through the caverns and onto the road to Forelorne, the sun had already begun its descent to the South.

  The village was a short distance away.

  Adriana couldn’t help but quietly hope they’d spot Richard galloping back to Orwell, a childish, innocent grin on his face and sparkling triumph in his eyes. He would’ve been in Forelorne for a while by now and likely started the journey back. Perhaps they would run into him at any moment now, and this irritating worry would finally be over.

  The ancient Artelian Forest watched them from their left, its enormous old trees masking its ominous interior, while the tortuously twisted branches gave the eerie forest a dead appearance from the outside. By the side of the forest, a small ditch ran parallel to the dirt road with short grass growing in it, its stems protruding from the dry soil as if desperately reaching for air. Between the forest and the road was a steep incline leading to the cusp of the daunting forest edge; the extra height exacerbated the forest’s imposing trees, which made all of the Arraci and the horses uncomfortable as they road past it. But what overwhelmed the senses was the ghastly smell from the trees, a sickly pungent scent that lingered all around them, so strong that they could almost taste it.

  Without any signs of Richard, Adriana could only hope he still dwelled in Forelorne. He was always such a child; this wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But without a doubt, this was the most dangerous thing he’d done and easily the most careless.

  Something caught Adriana’s attention ahead in the distance. She couldn’t discern it, nor could the others, but something cluttered the sides of the roads. Several times she’d been the one to accompany Richard to Forelorne, and she knew that nothing lined this road except the sick forest on the left and barren lands to the right. But there was something ahead, something out of the ordinary, and anything different was hardly ever a good thing in these parts of the world. After a few more strides, they came into focus, all of them on the incline leading up to the forest.

  Bodies.

  A shiver rippled through her body as her chest tightened. They were dead, all of them, just lying off the side of the road. Death hovered over them, and with it came the stench of rotting, one that made her gag in combination with the putrid, decaying forest. The bodies stared with dead, glassy dark green eyes. At least ten of them all lay motionless on the grassy incline leading to the forest edge. Adriana stopped her horse after seeing the first one.

  She jumped off, as did the others, for a closer look.

  “What is this creature?” one of the Arraci asked.

  “I don’t know,” Adriana said, the fear palpable in her voice. “I have never seen anything such as this.”

  They weren’t human – their dry, dark green skin gave that much away – but they shared many characteristics of a person. In fact, were they to be dressed up in human clothes and have their faces concealed, they could pass as one just fine. Black metal armour and tattered rags covered their muscular bodies. Sharp, rotten teeth protruded from their decaying mouths, an unsightly appearance that matched their stench. Adriana hadn’t seen these creatures before – none of the Arraci had. She covered her nose in vain to try and fend off the smell.

  She walked up to a nearby body and took a knee, staring down at the creature. Beside it lay a long, black sword, jagged and sharp, along with an asymmetrical, black shield with matching jagged edges. The shield was equally as sharp as the swo
rd’s blade, equally deadly. It bore a symbol on it that none of them recognised, an intersection of three triangles with a beast’s head at the centre, a single arrow directly piercing through the middle. Adriana further inspected the arrow and noted its orange feathers. It was an Arracian arrow, one that only an Arracian archer would shoot.

  “Orthol or Gringal must’ve shot this arrow,” Adriana said as the other Arraci surrounded her. She saw all of the other orange-feathered arrows that protruded from many of the dead, along with a few other perfectly white arrows with white feathers, which puzzled her. “They were here…and they were attacked.”

  “Their bodies are not among the dead,” one of the Arraci called out in relief as he walked further away, carefully inspecting the other bodies in the short grass. “They must’ve made it out.”

  “But what are these things?” another Arracian asked as he hovered above one of the creatures. “Have any of you seen one of these before?”

  “No,” Adriana answered. “I haven’t seen this crest either.”

  “Not all of them have arrows in them,” another Arracian commented as he walked around the rest. His eyes focused on one as he pointed. “This one has only wounds from a blade. A curved one by the looks of it, you can see how the depth of the wound changes,” he added. “They must’ve fought up close, too.”

  “But none of the Arraci use curved blades.” Adriana’s face was a mask of bewilderment. “Orthol uses a battle axe, and Gringal prefers his short blades. And Richard would’ve been carrying his only sword, which isn’t curved either.”

  “Someone else must’ve been in this fight then,” the man responded.

  “But who?”

  “Look at these,” one of the other Arraci called out as she pointed at the ground. “There are tracks.”

  Adriana stood quickly and rushed over, looking at the tracks leading up the steep incline to the forest’s edge. “Someone was dragged here,” she said. Her fear built as she stood over them. “It looks like they lead into the forest.”