“Vaihlen!” shouted Brailen. He’d gained some considerable ground on the party, his donkey trailing sluggishly behind him. He’d purposely planted his feet with each step, leaving a distinct trail for those behind him. If he’d walked normally, there would have been no trace of him within the sands.
Kyrn looked quizzically at the old wizard. The fear escaped through his sigh when he saw the chapped smile curl on Magmi’s face.
“Vaihlen,” Magmi repeated quietly. He leaned into Kyrn. “It means ‘ocean’ in elvish.”
The thin layer of sand spun into the air as Kyrn raced to Brailen’s side.
Together, they stood atop the highest dune of the Sand Wastes.
“It’s beautiful,” Kyrn said.
“It is. In a strange way.”
The dune drifted slowly down, like a shallow mountainside. At the bottom, the seaside town of Havenport sat on the edge of the Grey Sea like it were nothing more than flotsam rolling with the currents. The entire port-city rested on the sea. It looked small from their height, but the wooden planks of the city streets stretched for miles against the shore.
Kyrn noticed the city itself rocked with the waves, and as the sunlight bounced off its swaying features, he felt slightly dizzied. He felt Brailen’s hand gently grab hold of his arm.
“Steady, now,” the elf smiled down to him. “We’re not even on the waters yet.”
Kyrn looked back at Havenport. Past the rooftops, Kyrn could see the silhouettes of numerous ships anchored at port, their masts rising high like gravestones. He’d never been out upon the sea, though he and Elrich had snuck to the Grimmrich port countless times. They’d known no better place to find the most interesting characters. And, more than once, some dangerous ones, as well. He closed his eyes and thought of the severely-cramped sensation he’d felt when they’d traveled quickly down the Castrylian River. He was not looking forward to this voyage, yet, he felt a fool to be concerned about that. And not what lay ahead.
When the old wizard caught up, they made their way delicately down the dune side. There were slips and falls, each time Syonne flapped her wings furiously to help the fallen to their feet.
The donkeys, however, traversed the lands elegantly.
***
“It’s been a great many years since I set foot on these rocking docks,” Magmi stammered like he’d been grateful to have spent such a long deal of time out of Havenport.
When they’d entered the seaside town, Kyrn noted that the houses themselves were built upon large pillars, set deep within the coastline. The walkways throughout the city floated upon the water, chained to the nearby structures, houses, and buildings to keep them from drifting out into the great unknown of the Grey Sea. They’d not held them entirely in place, though, and they trembled and wobbled with each footstep upon them.
Kyrn found himself thrusting off the nearby buildings with the butt of his glaive to keep himself from toppling into the waters, more than once. At first, he’d watch the old wizard attempt the same with his cane, though it hadn’t the same reach as the king’s glaive. The further on through the port-town they traveled, Magmi became more and more hunched, looking as if he’d be more comfortable crawling along the streets on all fours.
Brailen, of course, with his nimble, weightless step, had no trouble. Convinced that his half-elf companion must have shared some of the elven blood attributed to his deftness, he practiced with Kyrn’s balance. Step neither on your toes, nor your heels, he’d told the young half-elf. In fact, do not think about what you are doing whatsoever. Brailen watched as Kyrn fell entranced to his melodic voice. He’d taken the young one’s mind off everything.
When Kyrn realized that his mind was back in Castreeth, thinking of Brailen as a young boy, he was no longer losing his balance upon the city streets. He laughed, surprised at what Brailen had called his ‘elven meditation,’ and looked back to find Magmi tightly clutched to Syonne’s arm, her wings flitting violently to keep him ashore. Kyrn laughed again and fell back to help Syonne with the old wizard.
Towards the center of the city, the streets widened and were more properly fastened. Dirty kids ran about, dressed in rags and tattered clothing. There were only a few shopkeepers in what Kyrn discerned was the city square. One of them, an elderly woman, mopped the already wet wooden planks in front of her inn. A sign dangled above her door, swaying from the awning. Chiseled into the wooden plank was: GREY WHALE INN.
Kyrn, puzzled, stared at the woman.
She caught his eye and leaned upon her mop handle, smiling at Kyrn and his band of companions. “Not from around here are ye?” she asked politely.
Kyrn glanced at the others. “Me?” he asked. “Oh, no. Not really.”
“Keeps the salt from eatin’ the wood,” she said, and she glanced at her mop. She put out her hand, wet and dirty from her morning’s work. “Call me Ralia,” she said.
Kyrn took her hand, surprised at the firmness of her shake. He wiped away the water from his hand onto his pants and said, “Kyrn. These are my companions in travel.” Again, he looked behind him.
Brailen stood with his hands folded across his chest, entirely pleased to watch Kyrn interact with a world he’d never known. It was strange to him, being close to two-hundred years older than Kyrn, and he’d seen equally little of Einroth as the young half-elf.
“We’re supposed to have a ship in wait for us,” Kyrn said, hoping that Aldir’s ‘source in the south,’ as he’d called it, was reliable.
Ralia grinned, pointing to the sign above her. “I’m just the innkeeper. This here’s me place, if ye need’n a place to rest,” and she peeked over Kyrn’s shoulder, “and ye’re lookin’ like ye do. ’Specially the old’n. Feel free to come on in.”
Magmi grumbled behind Kyrn’s back, forcing a curl of his lip.
“Thank you, Ralia,” Kyrn said.
Brailen was beside him now. “I’ll check with the harbormaster,” he said. “Rest your feet, Master Kyrn. I’ll reunite with you shortly.” He turned to Syonne. “Perhaps you’d come with me.”
Syonne looked at Kyrn for approval. Kyrn knew the elf’s thinking. Surely, they’d seen strange things in these southern lands, the Soligae had proven that. Still, Syonne would only draw extra unwanted attention.
“You’re in charge.” Kyrn winked at Syonne.
She smiled and fluttered to Brailen as he walked back into the seaside city.
Kyrn could see the wizard was deep within his thoughts. He’d begun fearing his age, Kyrn knew. Magmi had already begun walking towards the inn, but Kyrn quickly grabbed his arm. The old wizard let out an irritated humph and turned to the young half-elf.
“The robe,” Kyrn said. “Why is it red?”
“Hmm?” Once Magmi pulled himself free from his brooding, his mind caught up with the young half-elf. “Ah. For the school of arcana.”
Kyrn could see the twinkle of pride flicker again in the wizard’s eyes.
“When the Wizard’s Council sat high atop the Caltros Mountains, we all had our own schools. Our own studies. Mine was of the arcane arts.” He smiled, and again his mind wandered to those days of old. Though, his memories were now filled with satisfaction. That was Kyrn’s intent, he thought. He kneaded the half-elf’s shoulder. “You’re a smart boy, Kyrn,” he said. “And kind. Always remember; that is what sets us aside from the Darkness.”
Kyrn nodded. “What color were Northal’s robes?” he asked.
“Perhaps, one day, you’ll see,” Magmi answered. He opened the door to the Grey Whale Inn. With a light rap on Kyrn’s back with his cane, he followed the half-elf into the tavern.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elrich’s Dream
As soon as young Elrich’s weary eyes shut and his body fell into a deep slumber, he forgot the torment of being locked within his room with the absence of Abellia. He nearly felt as if he were awake, though he knew, somehow, he was within a dream. How real it felt though! As if he were reliving a long-lost memory.
With his feet propped upon a recently bound hay bale, Elrich brushed back his wavy, blond hair and plaited it loosely. He leaned against the cart, nearly halfway filled with hay from his morning work, and closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the morning sun.
Although cool winds rushed from the mountains to the east, he let the sweat bead from his forehead, course down his face, and drip onto his tanned chest where he’d undone the strings of his tan shirt.
Elrich could feel that the air was followed by harsher weather. Though, he’d never seen the farmlands of Grimmrich so green. The lands were living, deer leaping through the plains, and the snow on the eastern mountains sat only on the highest peaks. It was a marvelous sight, and he wondered how long ago it must have been.
He closed his eyes and thought of the family that wasn’t truly his, but whoever’s memories he’d inherited. He didn’t hear the footsteps crunching through the fields and was jolted awake when a hand grabbed his shoulder.
“Sleeping on the job are we?” a voice came from over Elrich’s shoulder.
He turned awkwardly in the small cart—small for the six feet three inch stature he’d been placed within—to meet the pleasant gaze of his father staring down at him. His father’s eyes were blue as the cloudless sky, yet his black hair had faded throughout the years to a glossy grey.
“Yes, father,” Elrich said. He groaned as he slowly lifted himself and let his legs dangle from the end of the wooden cart.
“Well,” his father started, “you seem to have filled only half the cart.” He looked around at the fields; his smile of admiration for his son faded when he looked at the dying land of his home. “Your grandfather worked these fields,” he continued.
“And his father before him,” Elrich said dully. He’d heard the story many times before.
“It gets worse and worse every winter.”
Elrich looked upon the fields with his father. The old man was not mistaken. Each year the fields grew more barren and, more importantly, yielded less and less.
Elrich was torn. He admired the state of the lands, the green grasses and the warmer weather. Though, he could still feel the emotions of the memories he was placed within; the fear of the dying lands.
“How is our reserve?” Elrich asked.
“Less than what you have in this here cart, I’m afraid.”
Elrich hopped down and turned on his heel. He eyed the bales that he’d hoisted into the cart throughout the morning, counting them in his head. Precisely eleven. He turned back to his father, now sharing the same concerned scowl that crept upon his father’s face.
“Father,” Elrich started, but he knew what his father was expecting.
“I’ve grown far too old to travel with you through the forest,” his father said. Seeing the concerned look on his son’s face, he quickly continued, “You will travel yourself, bring back what you can.”
The winds picked up their pace, as if to add to his father’s sense of urgency, and Elrich’s intertwined hair thrashed against his shoulder like a bull-whip. He weighed his options but, in the end, it all boiled down to the same thing.
“How’s mother?” Elrich asked.
“Worse with every sunrise,” his father answered. “I fear for her.”
“Then I will leave tonight.” Elrich hid his despair, veiled by urgency. He knew his father would not be thrilled with Elrich’s travel through the woods alone, nor would he have ever considered sending his own son off at nightfall.
“You will do no such thing.”
“Father,” Elrich started. “If I leave tonight, I can arrive by dusk tomorrow.” He knew it was a convincing argument. He knew his father understood they had no other choice. Still, Elrich admired his father’s concern.
Without another word, Elrich and his father walked silently back towards their quaint little cabin. The roof made the cabin look much larger than it truly was, but the left slope had bowed in greatly over the years, and it would probably not withstand the weight of the coming snow storms. The foundation seemed adequate, at least from where Elrich was standing, but it hadn’t taken well the past eighty years—since his great-grandfather, Elrich the First, had built it.
The memory hit Elrich like a slap to the face. His dreams were the memories of his own grandfather, the ancestors before him. But why? And how? Perhaps the vision the witch had shown him was one and the same. Perhaps the witch still held control over his mind. But why show him this? Perhaps, after all, it was only a dream.
With a slight creak like a crying cat, Elrich opened the front door, slightly lifted it to keep it from dragging along the floor as it hung crooked. There was much work to be done before winter, but Elrich knew there wasn’t enough time, and the door was the least of his concerns.
He helped his father raise himself up the couple of stairs leading into their homestead. In the field, his father carried himself like a man twenty years younger, but he couldn’t handle the simple task of ascending stairs, not since his knees had become old and loosened.
“Watch your step, Father,” Elrich said gently.
“I’m not a cripple yet!” his father scoffed, swatting away at his son’s good gesture.
Elrich laughed and closed the door behind them.
Their home was cluttered. A cramped kitchen sat packed with dirty plates and mugs, nearly toppling off the wooden countertops. Beside the crackling fireplace, Elrich’s mother lay still on a small cot that his father had set out for her. The two men, father and son, stared at the woman they’d admired for so many years. He pictured her tending the garden, and telling him stories of the harsh winters that she’d shared confined in the cabin with her husband.
Looking back, Elrich realized she was only preparing him for the harsh reality that, one day, he’d have to face the winters without her. Without his father. Seeing his mother nearly lifeless before the fire made her stories seem even more a reality.
“I’ll find medicine in Stalholm,” Elrich said, finally breaking their silence.
His father took only a moment to regain his breath and dam the tears that built themselves in his eyes. “Only time will heal her,” he corrected his son.
“No,” Elrich argued. “There are medicine men and women in Stalholm that have herbs and powders from the West Lands.” He glared at his father, and he knew the stubborn man would have none of it. “They can help her.”
To Elrich, it mattered not who was to help his ill mother, or what they’d done to help her. If by his life Elrich could heal her, then he would die doing so.
Perhaps one day he’d grow to be as stubborn as his father, but he was not there, not yet. No, now Elrich was young, and he was a fighter, a warrior of spirit, and until proven wrong, he’d fight for his mother’s soul.
***
Elrich spent the rest of the day and into dusk loading his wooden cart, which, like their little cabin, he’d been fixing his entire life. His father had shown him the quickest path through the forest, one keeping watch while the other slept through the night. For them the journey was a two-day trip, but, without sleep, Elrich planned to cut that in half. As he loaded the cart with supplies and goods for trade, he wondered how his father had felt so secure leaving his mother to fend for herself while they were gone for all of those trips they’d taken throughout the years. He surely didn’t want to travel alone, but he felt at ease knowing that his father would remain at his mother’s side.
Elrich felt a slap on his shoulder, snapping him from his thoughts. He draped a black tarp over his cart and turned to his father. Elrich could see the concern in his father’s eyes, but both knew this was the best course of action.
“Remember,” his father said, “stick to the path.”
Throughout their years of travel, their cart had flattened the grasses of their route, creating two thin lines of dead forest where the wooden wheels had rolled over the grass.
“Yes, Father,” Elrich reassured him. “It shouldn’t take long. I’ll arrive at the city gates by n
ightfall tomorrow.”
“You must travel quickly then.”
“Yes,” Elrich agreed. “For time, and for mother.”
***
Pleased with the ease of his travel, Elrich approached the northern gate of Stalholm. The gate stood about half the height of the towering guard’s posts attached to either side of the fortified wooden gate.
As he neared, a man dressed in full silver armor, embroidered with a gold trim lined down the side, approached Elrich. The guard rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword, bouncing against his hip as he walked. “Travel or trade?” the guard asked.
“I’ve come to trade,” Elrich answered, impatient yet courteous.
The guard, nearly the same height as Elrich, studied the newcomer. At last he asked, “Elrich Fellenor?”
Elrich halted, his cart slowly sinking in the soft ground. He looked the guard over once more. Like all the others within the city, the man appeared no more than a metal soldier.
Realizing Elrich’s apprehension, the guard quickly removed his silver helmet, revealing a genuine smile, tucked neatly beneath his rugged beard. “Elrich Fellenor!” he repeated.
“I’ll be damned,” Elrich said, realizing it was his old acquaintance. “Tyros?” he asked, questioning his own memory. He recognized the man, but seeing him in his new attire was not the easiest thought to wrap his mind around.
“What do you think?” Tyros asked. He strutted briefly, showing off his position among the guard, flaunting his illustrious armor. “They finally took me in.”
“Tyros, the last I saw you with the city guard,” Elrich reminded him, “they’d taken you in chains and left you in the cellars for a tenday.” He laughed at the thought, watching Tyros dragged away for their younger, more rambunctious decisions.
A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1) Page 22