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

by Michael S. Gormley

  “Yes, I remember,” Tyros said, sharing in his laughter. “Well, Elrich. I won’t keep you.” He extended his hand to his old friend, though, it wasn’t for pleasantries. “Two copper and I’ll haul your cart to the tavern for storage.”

  Elrich wasn’t reassured in the guard’s tone. He knew the man for the thief he once was.

  ***

  Elrich’s dreams flickered through the city of Stalholm, like all dreams do, scattering about frantically. It seemed normal, though he had a slight feeling that these were not scenes he needed to see, memories that he needed to know.

  After saying his farewells, Elrich left the tavern he’d used to store his belongings. The city guard was unexpectedly quick about retrieving his cart from storage, which set him off on a smooth start.

  He made his final roundabouts through the city, quiet as it’d been. Elrich couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling, perhaps he was not the only one who’d noticed the oddities of the lands.

  The unjustifiably high costs at which he obtained his goods—compared to the standard common peddlers he normally dealt with—had rewarded him with the timeliness of his travels.

  Maybe the higher price pays itself off, he attempted to convince himself, knowing he truly hadn’t meant it. If he had the option to take the risk, he would, even if that risk meant losing money.

  Within less than two hours, Elrich’s cart was fully loaded, although much less so than when he’d arrived in Stalholm. Strapping down and securing the necessities—the more expensive goods in his cart—he finally felt ready for his return trip home.

  Elrich felt a modest tug on his black cloak. Turning around, he saw a hunched man standing behind him, hands folded together like a woven blanket.

  The man smiled at Elrich, his teeth yellowed and jagged; looking as though they should have fallen out by this point. He might have been as tall as Elrich—maybe a few inches shorter—but his back now bowed over, making him a good two or three feet shorter than he should have been.

  “Can I help you, old one?” Elrich asked, turning back to his cart.

  “Oh! But a minute!” The hunched man again tugged at Elrich’s cloak. He didn’t appreciate the cold shoulder.

  Hesitantly obliging, Elrich turned back around.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” His yellow teeth seemed sharpened.

  “Make this quick.”

  “Yes, yes.” The old man pulled back the right side of his dark, hooded cloak, showing a vast array of daggers sheathed in his belt, seemingly wrapped fully around his waist. He snickered, licking his dry lips. Repeatedly, he looked down at his daggers, then up to Elrich. Again, at his daggers and back to Elrich. Realizing Elrich didn’t share in his excitement—seeing Elrich’s face straight and unamused—the old man stomped in a quick tantrum.

  “Must I do all the work?” the hunched man snapped at Elrich.

  Elrich didn’t respond. He wanted to return to his business, but he knew the old man would incessantly tug at his cloak again.

  “This one,” the man continued, pulling a curved dagger from his belt. The handle was white and polished. “Dragon bone,” he whispered in a raspy voice.

  “Dragon bone?” Elrich laughed. He noted that his mockery didn’t wear at the excitement of the old man, so he played along. “And where did you come across a dragon bone dagger, friend?”

  “Am I glad you asked!” The man bounced his weight from his left boot to his right, and back again, giddy with excitement. “But that I cannot tell you until the purchase has been made.” He snickered again, licking his lips some more. He was thirsty for the sale, ready for the tale.

  Elrich briskly brushed either side of his cloak backwards, revealing a short sword and a clean dagger on either side of his hip. He felt he need not say more, but it was not enough reasoning for the dirty peddler.

  “Do you have a family, young man?”

  “Aye,” Elrich answered, urgent to return to his mother’s side.

  “Well,” the old man continued. “I’m certain your equipment will do the trick, need be. But a dragon bone dagger will do so much more efficiently.”

  Elrich stared the old man down, confused.

  “This little dagger could end your tiresome obligation.” The man smirked, revealing what remained of his grotesque teeth.

  “I love my wife,” Elrich spat. Wife, he thought. Looking around in his dream, the world had changed. The city was barren and torn. He was still in Stalholm, still in the same dream, but the time was different. “Now, if you don’t turn and walk away, I will use that dagger on you, old one.”

  The old man did not break eye contact. He stared into Elrich’s dark eyes. He saw the honesty in the young man’s promise, but he wouldn’t give in that easily. “Does she enjoy whittling?”

  “By the gods.” Elrich laid his head back towards the sky in exhaustion. He didn’t truly want to kill the old man, but his annoyance was surely driving him to the point of desperation.

  “I tell you what.” The old man’s smile reformed, enthusiastic as ever. He didn’t fear Elrich, at least not as much as the fear of a loss of the sale. “The dagger is yours for a measly price of twenty silver pieces.” In fairness, that was cheaper than the standard dagger in a city such as Stalholm. “And you take it home as nothing more than a beautiful whittling knife for your lovely wife.”

  Elrich dropped his head back down to the old man. Reaching into his coin pouch, he removed twenty silver pieces and, dropping them each to the ground at their feet, snatched the dagger from the man’s hand.

  Turning back to the cart, he admired the dagger. It truly was beautiful, but of that he didn’t care. He tucked it behind his leather belt.

  He could hear each chink of silver beneath the old man’s fingernails as he scooped them from the cobblestone streets. He didn’t feel a tug upon his cloak, but the old man couldn’t leave without another word.

  “I feel our time has been pleasant,” he said to Elrich. “And hopefully the story of the dragon bone dagger reveals itself to you.”

  Elrich breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he heard the old man skitter away behind him. His being freed from the hunched beggar was worth twenty silver pieces.

  ***

  He quickly paced through the city, with its shadowed faces of strangers and merchants, beggars, and guards. Until finally he saw the canopy of the forest, the stars as he rested upon the grasses.

  When he felt closer and closer to the Fellenor homestead, the dream slowed, and he sensed the smell of smoke burning his nostrils. Something felt strange, not only the situation, but the time as well. Elrich knew that he’d not been returning from his trip from Stalholm, at least, not the same as when he’d left his parents in their cabin.

  Now, the man whose memories he’d inherited—his long-passed grandfather—had a family of his own, a wife and daughter, living in the same cabin he’d grown up in.

  The scent was oddly heavy. Even in the dark forest, he could see, ahead of him, the forest starting to clear where his homestead lay on the outskirts of Grimmrich City.

  A familiar feeling of dread crept up his spine, and the shiver of anxiety churned his stomach.

  When he breached the forest, the night sky was cloudy, refracting the light from the glowing moon. The abrupt change in contrast strained his eyes, as they’d grown so accustomed to the darkness.

  His heart sank quicker than a merchant’s raided ship, as the small shack he’d so recently called home sat within a blazing ball of scorching flames. Thick clouds of barreling, black smoke veiled the sky above, sitting even darker than the clear night’s sky. The desolate fields surrounding his home sat quietly, more barren than he’d left them a few days back.

  His boots sank heavily into the elastic earth as he bounded for home. Elrich felt the sheathes that concealed his infrequently used blades slapping off his burning thighs with each surge forward. The soggy fields felt endless, though barreling through them, he felt as if he’d never reach the burning cabin. He felt it was alr
eady too late.

  Elrich prayed—he felt the prayer his ancestor had pleaded with—to any gods that would hear his cries for his family.

  Close enough to feel the immense heat pulsating from what remained of his home, Elrich’s mind was pierced with pain.

  “You are too late.” The boisterous voice boomed, echoing throughout his mind. He winced from the shock, not allowing it to slow him down. He couldn’t manage to shake the ominous voice from his thoughts. “Your family will burn with your memories.”

  Using all his remaining strength, he smashed through the wooden door, spraying splinters around him as he fell to his knees inside the crumbling house.

  The poisonous smoke quickly filled his lungs, burning them like it had his home.

  As the smoke stung his eyes, his wife’s feet dangled to and fro in front of his swelling eyes. Constricted by the rope around her small neck, her body, through a tattered, soot-stained dress, was curiously unaffected by the flames.

  Elrich had no hesitation in dragging a scorched wooden chair and climbing atop it. His sharp dagger severed the rope that held her lifeless body, and she slumped over his shoulder.

  Carrying her from the burning house, he surveyed the small cabin. His daughter was not in sight. He shouted her name until his voice was raw and sore.

  There was no response.

  Elrich laid his wife upon the burnt grass outside the doorway. The cool gusts of the night air started to cleanse his tortured lungs. He fell to both knees, worn down and bruised, straddling his wife’s soulless body. Even in death, she remained beautiful.

  He rested his forehead against hers, and his tears were released, falling upon her face. She felt so cold. There was nothing left.

  “You were my everlasting light through the darkness,” he whispered. He stood from atop her lifeless body and, in that moment, the Darkness subdued him. With the ceasing of his tears, so did the fear that was within him.

  “You were too late for her.” The deep voice reemerged in his head. “And now your own daughter is an eternal slave to the Darkness.”

  Every emotion within him turned to a boiling rage. He would find his daughter. Elrich himself would burn down every blasphemous town that stood in the way of himself and the only family that remained. Crimson blood poured from his clenched fist, his soot-filled nails digging into the palms of his hands.

  Fire and Brimstone, Elrich Fellenor.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Eavesdropping

  The Grey Whale Inn was quite rowdy. Perhaps, the most rambunctious it’d been in the past week or two. A dark and gloomy storm began rolling towards Havenport, its thunder echoing through the Sand Wastes like sparring giants. The inn did seem a perfect place to take refuge from the heavy rains.

  The Grey Whale was dark and cozy, the hearth in the corner lit, casting shadows upon the back of a young bard skipping on the fireplace as he entertained the guests. There were loads of tables spread across the floor of the tavern. Ralia had even dragged more of the poorly-constructed tables from a backroom to seat all the guests, and there was hardly any room for her, or her help, to squeeze through, their hands full with platters of ale and baskets of fresh, steaming breads.

  The rowdiest of folk sat at the bar, patronizing the old barkeep. The man looked weathered by the salty seas, as if he’d never been anywhere outside of Havenport in his life. He hurriedly washed and dried mugs, and scooped his hands into the barrels of mead behind the counter, quickly refilling the boisterous patrons’ mugs before slamming them back upon the counter. When he had even a moment to himself, he ran his surely tired fingers through his unkempt, black hair, unknotting it, while streaking the beads of sweat from his forehead through it in the process.

  The tables themselves were full, seating more men and women than they should. Chairs were stolen from other tables and squished between the others to make room for the larger parties, and even at those tables, the excitement-hungry men pulled Ralia’s waitresses into their laps as they passed by. They seemed to know better than to upset Ralia, however. Her waitresses landed into their dirty laps with a quick gasp, and the men pushed them back to their feet with a quick slap on their backsides. The waitresses rushed back to work with reddened faces.

  The group that interested Biddledur Foltar the most, however, had staggered in two at a time earlier in the afternoon. Now, as the sun disappeared outside, they sat at a table too large for the four of them in the corner of the Grey Whale. The halfling had recognized the great wizard when he’d first entered the tavern, his red robes catching the early day’s lights magnificently. There was an aura about the old man that convinced Biddledur that the old man was precisely the wizard he’d heard song after song of. Though, most of those songs spoke of a Magmi the Mad. He’d not expected much more from bards and tall-tale-tellers throughout the lands of Einroth. He’d learned more from his short years at university many years ago, than anything of the miserable folk of Havenport would in an entire lifetime.

  Shortly after they’d taken their seats and helped themselves to their first basket of bread, an elegant, blond elf entered the tavern with a spry little creature at his side. Now, she was something that Biddledur had never even dreamed of. Her small, translucent wings flipped across her back when she set herself to the tavern’s floor, her blueish skin shuddered with the eyes set upon her.

  Biddledur watched the two catch a glimpse of Magmi and his young friend, and they made their way to the table. The little creature at the elf’s side surely got attention, but all the Grey Whale’s patrons let it be, seeing the well-equipped nature of the newly-come party.

  Through the day, as the sun set, Biddledur kept himself tucked into the corner of the inn, occasionally refilling his mug and nibbling some bread to keep up his appearance. Though, none even paid him any mind. He wasn’t sure if they’d even noticed the small halfling enter the bar. His only visitors were Ralia and her barmaids. They’d not miss a chinking pouch jangle into their establishment.

  Though he’d not been well-versed in lip reading, he’d kept a steady eye on Magmi the Great’s party. You will know your sign, the Dark Lord had told him. Until then, patience. This was the only thing close to a sign that’d crossed the halfling’s eyes in the past tenday.

  When no light crept through the windows of the Grey Whale, more folk, retiring from the market stands in the town square, flooded into the tavern.

  The halfling could no longer see the party. He hopped from his stool, a good jump for him. It was easy for the halfling to remain inconspicuous. He kept behind the taller folk, even dodged the hastily pacing waitresses. And, though he’d not liked it, he scurried on all fours beneath a few tables, until he sat uncomfortably at the feet of Magmi and his companions.

  The halfling listened to them laugh together as he situated himself. The group shared a hefty sigh of exhaustion and Biddledur felt something that’d slipped his mind since he’d been too busy shaking in his boots over the Dark Lord—loneliness.

  “You’re almost too much, Kyrn,” laughed Magmi. Biddledur watched the wrinkled wizard’s hand tap the young boy on his leg. He’d learn their names first by only well-traveled legs. He watched Kyrn shuffle in his seat, and Biddledur quickly dodged the mass of boots shuffling beneath the table.

  “I wish we’d not need to leave tonight,” Kyrn said. “I like it here. When this is over I’d like to visit Havenport again.”

  The golden-haired elf kicked his foot beneath his seat, leaning into the table. “And we’d surely have you back in Castreeth,” he said. And the name rang within the halfling’s ears. This party was growing more curious by the minute. “That is, if you’d like to stay.”

  “Of course, Brailen,” Kyrn quickly put in. “I’d like to help restore the forest, if I could, before I even dream of traveling Einroth.”

  For a few moments, the party seated above the halfling was quiet. Their wooden mugs rapped upon the table with each swig, and Biddledur was overwhelmed by the noisiness of the tavern.<
br />
  He listened when the elf spoke. “The sun has set,” he said. “We’re to meet the shipmaster at the docks when we’re ready.”

  Biddledur understood then, knew that the wizard had indeed been the sign he was looking out for. Though, he couldn’t piece together why he’d not just stepped into the West Lands through the Dark Lord’s mirror. Perhaps it hadn’t worked that way. The halfling wasn’t very akin to magics of the sort. Again, he shuffled as all the party leaned into their table.

  “We do not know these men,” Magmi hushed. “Even if Aldir set us on this path, we must keep what is around your neck safe and hidden. And especially,” he added, “the stone within my pack.”

  Biddledur saw the wizard’s burgundy robes scrunch as he sat back within his seat.

  “Though,” Magmi said, “I’d hoped we’d have a safer method of travel for our curious item.”

  The entire party jumped from their seats as the table shook fervently. Biddledur had tried popping quickly up from the table, and somehow managed to ram his head into its underside as he did. “I do!” he shouted, hand gripped tightly on top of his curly, brown hair-filled head.

  For a moment, the party stood wide-eyed in silence. A quietness fell over the tavern. Not entirely, but enough that many of the Grey Whale’s patrons stared at the corner of the room with concerned glances. When an entire party of fully-equipped travelers leaped up from their seats, they’d come to learn nothing good would come from it. So, the drunken patrons buried their faces into their mugs and carried on.

  Magmi snatched the halfling by the scruff of his neck and rushed outside the tavern. The entire time, Kyrn stood at Brailen’s side, Syonne perched on the tabletop, watching the halfling squirm as he was dragged from the Grey Whale on the tips of his heels.

  When Magmi dropped the halfling to his backside, the rest of the wizard’s party exited the tavern. The streets were wet with a light rainfall and, now, were empty. Biddledur squirmed away from Magmi, walking like a seaside crab, as the red wizard glared down at him.