A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1)

by Michael S. Gormley

  Kyrn shook himself from his mother’s stories. “And what do we seek in the west?” Kyrn asked. “King Glahlan never made it that far in our talks.” Kyrn shuddered at the mention of the false ‘King’ Glahlan. “Hide the fallen king’s gems, perhaps?”

  “Not hide, Master Kyrn,” the old wizard answered. “I hope to find one of the few remaining elders. My brother, in fact. Nylah the Great, we may call him.”

  “You hope?” Kyrn questioned.

  “It has been countless years since I have heard from Shal. Even more than had passed between myself and Northal, before he made recent light of these dark times.” The old wizard stood from his seat at the bow of the ship and pulled his tattered robes over his head. There, he stood in nothing more than a thin night slip.

  Kyrn, Brailen, and Syonne stared at the wizard, utterly confused by his spontaneous behavior. None dared to question.

  Magmi, standing in his slip, as if he were readying himself for bed, rummaged through his pack. “Damned elf better not,” he muttered to himself. “Ah!” he said at last. “There it is.” From his leather pouch, Magmi pulled a long, elegant robe. He slipped quickly into it and stood before his three companions. For the first time since he’d been in Kyrn’s presence, the old wizard looked clean. His pointed brows still ruffled like his long beard. Now, though, instead of looking as if he wore a shabby, brown sack, he was adorned in a burgundy robe, stitched with silver etchings similar to Kyrn’s glaive down the chest. “It has been a long time since I’ve worn this,” he said. “Long since the wizard’s council sat atop the Caltros Mountains.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Kyrn sputtered.

  “Surely, you have, Master Kyrn. There was a time when we held a great importance in the lands of Einroth,” Magmi continued. “Before some of us fell to the Darkness.”

  Kyrn eyed him suspiciously.

  Though, Brailen spoke for him. “The Dark Lords?” the golden-haired elf asked. Seeing the old wizard nod, he continued, “The Five Fingers of the Black Order were once elders?”

  “Indeed they were,” Magmi said, as he sat himself back at the bow of the boat. “We sat high, a council of ten, atop the mountains. “Long ago it was, indeed.”

  “The Five Fingers,” Kyrn said to himself. He looked up at the wizard. “You, Northal, and your brother. That means there are still two others.”

  Magmi lowered his head. “No, Kyrn. I’m afraid not.” He raised his head in false spirits. “They fell when the Five Fingers were formed.”

  “What happened?” Kyrn asked. “They fell to the Dark Ones? The Five Fingers?”

  The old wizard shook his head, as he ran his withered fingers through his beard. “No,” he said. “The Five Fingers created the Dark Ones. They fell only to necromancy.”

  Kyrn sat back against the stern of the boat and let his mind wander.

  “Now,” Magmi continued, though Kyrn only heard a muted voice through his thoughts, “no more speak of such gloomy things. There will be more to come when we reach the Wastes.

  ***

  Kyrn’s group traveled south along the river for days. Three sunrises he’d had warm his skin as they sat, cramped in the small boat.

  Syonne had gotten restless by the time the river straightened itself towards the Sand Wastes. The last day she’d spent flying back to shore and gathering the sparse fruits and vegetables to keep Kyrn and the others fed. She’d been able to go a long while without eating, she’d shown Skinny that. But she knew her companions weren’t the same as her. So, for them, she spent her time scavenging along the riverbanks.

  None had spoken much at all. And no more words were uttered of the Dark Ones and their growing presence in Einroth.

  Kyrn found himself lost in stories when he’d asked the old wizard if he’d known his mother. He found himself quite surprised to find that Magmi had indeed known her. Stayed with her briefly when she was a child in Grimmrich, in fact.

  Skoval had returned two days back, squawking high in the sky as it soared back to its master. When it landed upon the old wizard’s shoulder, Magmi shared bits and pieces of the scavenged herbs with his bird. Every once in a while, Magmi would cup squeeze the bird in his hands, too large to be cupped, and whisper to the brown creature.

  After the second or third time, Kyrn tried to secretly scoot himself closer to listen to what Magmi had been telling it. He’d heard bits and pieces, though he’d not been able to make out any of the words. At first, he’d thought the wizard had been speaking elvish to his bird, though he learned quickly that he was wrong. The noises coming from the wizard’s mouth sounded nothing more than quick breaths and soft whistles. Each and every time the wizard spoke to the bird, however, Skoval took flight, circling the boat a few times, bringing with it a strong gust of wind that rushed the ship hastily down the river.

  ***

  On the fourth day, when the sun had begun to fall from the sky, Kyrn stood quickly from his seat. The day had grown immensely hotter than the day prior, and beads of sweat rolled down Kyrn’s face, splashing upon to his chest beneath his leather vest. “Land!” he shouted.

  The others stirred from their thoughts and looked out over the boat’s bow. At first, it looked as if the river poured into the vast ocean of the southern tips of Einroth. As the ship rocked, though, they could see that it was only a mirage from the sun, playing tricks on their eyes with its final life of the day.

  “Just in time,” Magmi said quietly. He turned to his companions, stuffing a book he’d been reading back into his pouch. “We’d not want to travel through the Wastes at night.”

  “We must only be on the borders,” Brailen questioned. “We must have a way to go before we reach any port town.”

  Magmi agreed with a slight nod. “Not to worry, my friend.” He gave a slight shake of his arm, and Skoval flew ahead with a delighted screech. “Skoval will show us the way.”

  Not long after the rest had packed up their belongings, Syonne stuffing the remainder of what she’d scavenged into Kyrn’s pack, their long boat dug deep into the sandy shores with a quiet whoosh.

  All they could see before them was sand. Rolling hills of it. It’d looked a shimmering silver beneath the lowering sun, but it was cool and brown beneath Kyrn’s hands, as he dropped to all fours. The river hadn’t been wide, but they hadn’t the time to stop along the way, so said Magmi. Kyrn felt dizzy standing upon the outer lands of the Sand Wastes.

  “Our minds are weary,” the old wizard said, as he helped Kyrn to his feet. “Though, our legs have had ample time to rest. We must move quickly if we’re to follow Skoval to our shelter before sundown.”

  There were no complaints. But Kyrn could feel the tired minds of the party weighing on them as their boots sunk deep into the sand, slowing their progress. Many times, through the Wastes, Kyrn had thought he’d seen towers, cities, shelters of stone and wood alike for them to stop and rest along the way. Though each time had been yet another game the setting sun played on his eyes. He brushed them with his sleeves, trying to keep the stinging sands from them. It seemed only to dig the fine grains deeper into his dry, hazel eyes.

  The wind had picked up tremendously. In a sense, it’d felt soothing, the contrast to the sun’s rays. Kyrn had never experienced warmth like this before. But the winds forced them to remove their cloaks and wrap them loosely around their faces, the grains of sand so sharp, their faces began to bleed.

  Kyrn eyed Syonne. Somehow, she’d been unbothered by the sands. But she struggled to keep herself straight with the increasing winds.

  The party stopped atop a dune of sand, looking out over the wastes. They still could see nothing other than sand. That is, none of them other than Skoval. The bird circled overhead, down the dune and over yet another mound of sand. It screeched over and over again back to its master.

  “We’re close,” Magmi said, inhaling grains of sand as he spoke.

  Kyrn was the first to begin his descent down the dune, careful to keep from slipping down the hill. As he di
d, he felt the ground beneath him shake and roll, the sands falling like a tanned waterfall down the side of the dune. He fought to keep his footing, but his boots were deep in the sand, and, with a twist of his ankle, he fell to his back and spiraled down the hillside.

  “Kyrn!” Brailen shouted out. He moved forward, hoping he could stop the half-elf from falling, but he, himself, tripped over a rock jutting from the sands.

  Kyrn found his footing halfway down the hill, and looked up at his party in time to see a beast standing atop the dune, looking down upon Brailen. It stood on all fours, spider-like in appearance. Though, its legs appeared to be cast of solid grey stones, like a suit of armor over its arachnid body. Upon its back, facing the sky above, sat more of the grey stones, as if a small mountain range had formed on his back.

  The half-elf fought to climb his way back up the dune, his boots digging into the shifting sands, pulling himself along with the hand free of his glaive. As he neared the top, he could see a face so small upon the beast that it almost looked nonexistent. In what would be the front of the beast’s circular body, there was a small spot free of the stone, with eight beady red eyes looking down at the fallen elf.

  Brailen quickly rolled over as one of the creature’s four pointed claws dug into the sand where he lay. Quicker than the beast could pull its leg from the sand, Brailen was back to his feet, his serpentine blade in hand.

  “More servants of the Dark Ones?” Kyrn shouted, now nearing the crest of the dune.

  Brailen took a quick swing at the creature, tapping off its rock-like armor, keeping it at bay. “No,” he shouted back to Kyrn. “Only creatures of the sand,” he said. “Though, vicious they may be.”

  Magmi the Great circled his cane as he held it vertically in front of him. The top began to glow a bright red. “Soligae, they’re called.” As he stepped away from the creature at arms with Brailen, the old wizard bumped into the rocky leg of another. He turned sharply with a quick gasp, and slammed his cane into the sand. The ball of red light forming on the top sputtered into the air, like a sole firework high above Grimmrich.

  Skoval didn’t need a command. He screeched through the darkening sky, diving through the red ball of light. The smoldering bird collided firmly with the front of the Soligae, sliding it backwards in the sand.

  Seeing one so close to the wizard, Brailen thrust another meager blade towards the Soligae before him and, as it flinched away, he leaped forward. His first foot landed upon the solid stone of the Soligae’s knee, his second rested upon its mountainous back.

  Before the beast facing the wizard could halt its skid, the golden-haired elf had leaped over Magmi, landing between the old wizard and the second Soligae. Brailen, however, could not maintain his footing in the shaky sands. When he landed, he continued sliding forward, closer to the Soligae, and the creature raised its sharp claw to meet him.

  Brailen fell to both knees. The tip of the Soligae’s claw, sharper than a stone arrowhead, drew a thin line of red against the elf’s cheek. But, as Brailen continued to slide towards the beast, he leaned his back to the sands. As he slid beneath the creature, its four legs like a prison around him, he let his elven blade slice open the Soligae’s soft belly, spilling noxious entrails over him as he came out behind the creature.

  The beast fell flat upon the sand, and Brailen rose to his feet. “The belly is weak!” he shouted, seeing Kyrn now standing face-to-face with the remaining Soligae.

  The half-elf spun his glaive back and forth before him, as he hoped to keep the Soligae from jabbing at him with its front, spear-like legs. “Can Skoval strike again?” he asked quickly.

  “Let us hope so,” the old wizard said quietly, though, as Kyrn caught Magmi’s eyes from the corner of his own, he could see that the wizard didn’t seem confident. Kyrn hadn’t wanted to push the bird beyond its limits. He’d not even known the creature’s limits. Though, if Brailen had gotten lucky felling the other, Kyrn would need more than a sheer blessing to stop the second.

  Kyrn kept up the flurry of the blue lights before him, startling the beast as it stepped closer to him. He could see the head of Magmi’s cane glow a deep-red and, before long, it shot into the sky. When Skoval’s screech came, Kyrn pulled the glaive back to his side, and readied himself for the impact.

  The bird dove harder than before. Skoval collided with the Soligae, standing angled on the dune, just between its side legs, and the beast lifted from the ground. Before it could overturn completely, Kyrn had whipped the glaive around his back, circling himself in a trail of the fallen king’s blue essence, and sliced the belly of the beast.

  Kyrn fell to the sands and sat in silence.

  “That be more useful than yer old cane.”

  Kyrn turned quickly to the voice. He stood slowly, wide-eyed.

  Iafi walked casually towards the dune from where Kyrn had tumbled down before their attack. “Speechless, I know,” the dwarf said. When he reached them, he helped Kyrn from the sands. “Heard yer bird screechin’ from inside,” he said. “Gonna be more to come if ye don’t keep her quiet.” Iafi winked at the wizard.

  “It is good to see you again as well, Master Butcher,” Magmi mocked the dwarf.

  “Aye,” Iafi agreed. “Though I be afraid those days are behind me now, yet again.” He pointed to the bottom of the dune. “Brought ye some help, though. If ye’d like.”

  Shaking the sand from their backs, four donkeys paced at the bottom of the hill.

  ***

  With the help of Iafi’s gifts, Kyrn and his party quickly reached where Skoval had been circling before.

  “I’m glad Skoval reached me in time,” Iafi said, as he hitched the donkeys to a wooden stable built into the side of a large overhang within the Wastes. “Ye must be exhausted, young Kyrn.”

  “We all are,” Kyrn answered.

  “Not to worry anymore. Get ye inside and ye’ll all have a good night’s rest.”

  Kyrn truly felt happy to see his old friend. The emotions wouldn’t come out though. His mind was fixated on his own life. How much of it had been hidden from him. And much like the journey he’d made so far, and, surely, the journey to come, he wondered why everyone around him seemed so much more informed than he’d been.

  Iafi brushed a thick layer of sand from a door beneath his feet, much like the door Kyrn had tried to sneak from at Skinny’s Lodge. The dwarf pulled it open with a bellowing grunt. He extended his hand downwards. “After ye,” he said.

  Kyrn was the first to descend. Leaving the darkening sky outside, a sense of relief rushed over him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sand-less air. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the short stairwell led into an unkempt foyer. There was a hand-carved bench lining the wall, just beneath a lit brazier.

  Iafi slammed the door above the stairs and led the party through the foyer, into a short hallway. He showed the wizard to a room for the night, and another to the golden-haired elf.

  Brailen gave Kyrn a low bow. “We’re closer now,” he said, and Brailen retired for the night.

  Before the dwarf opened the door to what Kyrn assumed would be his chambers for the night, he stopped and studied Syonne.

  She stood, now, beside Kyrn, not having enough space to hover at his side in the cramped corridor.

  “Hmm,” Iafi grumbled. “Got yer own elleinor, have ye?” Iafi chuckled when Kyrn gave him a questioning stare. “I’m sure ye know a lot more than ye did setting out from home,” he continued. “Probably some ye didn’t truly want to know, I’d imagine.”

  Kyrn knelt to the dwarf. “You knew as well?” he asked.

  “Be learnin’ a lot of things, too, me friend,” he answered. “I’ve got one more thing to show ye before you get some rest.” Iafi pulled Kyrn along the hallway, until it ended at a large, wooden door. It was splintered, and Kyrn could hear it creak with the winds outside. He felt uneased by their underground shelter.

  Iafi pushed the door. When it didn’t move, he gave it a rough shoulder and a quiet
humph, and the door creaked inwards.

  The half-elf walked into the room. The ceiling was three times as high as the hall, and it widened into a broad, square chamber. Hand-made bookshelves, rickety as the rest of the shelter, lined the floor. At the far wall of the room, a hearth sat lit, the flames brightening the center of the room.

  The skin of a bear, larger than Kyrn had ever seen, lay at the base of the hearth. Circled around it were a few leather sofas. A man sat in the shadows, legs crossed, in silence. Seeing the half-elf enter, he unfolded his legs and stood from his seat, setting down his mug on the wooden table before him.

  The light of the fire frisked the man’s face, his dark beard longer than Kyrn had remembered. “Aldir!” he shouted.

  Before Aldir could skirt around the small table before him, Kyrn was embraced in his arms.

  ***

  Long after Magmi told Kyrn to rest up and rest well before they again traveled in the morning, Aldir and the half-elf sat within the common room sharing stories of their travels. They laughed and cried over the family they’d left behind, their beloved home in Grimmrich.

  After they’d become separated in the mountain pass, he told Kyrn, Aldir made his way back to Grimmrich, but only briefly. There, he found Iafi, preparing himself for a journey back to his cavernous homeland.

  King Ulzrich had already gathered his two remaining children, scurrying off with them in the night, headed to Stalholm.

  While Kyrn listened to Aldir speak of Abellia and Elrich, the young half-elf’s heart ached, and he gripped the amulet beneath his vest. It all seemed so quick—a hasty adventure that he’d wished for all his life.

  The amulet had been still for too long; no faint glow upon his chest; no fidgeting wings beneath his shirt. It eased him slightly to know that Aldir had yet again seen them after their departure, but that had been so long ago.

  Now, Kyrn could only hope.

  Deep into the hours of the night, Kyrn and Aldir shared stories of their travels. And, though they had many laughs, the stories they told turned dark, loomed over by the nearing storms.