by C. Night
Then suddenly a scent, a lovely, wonderful smell came to them. Rhyen jerked his head south in inhaled deeply. “Master! Do you smell that?” He looked between the treetops closely and saw a steady plume of white smoke. “A fire!”
Cazing’s eyes found the smoke, and he grinned. “Several fires, I think! We must be very close!”
Rhyen grinned back, then grimaced. His skin was so dry from the mountain air that his lip had split open. He licked his lips and tasted the salty tang of blood.
Cazing clapped his shoulder sympathetically. “Let’s go, Rhyen.” He dug his heels into Brefen’s side. The sight and smell of fires had rekindled their resolve. Even the horses seemed more energized.
They trotted into Avernade minutes later. The rosy glow of lamps and fires shone through the windows as they made their way up the main avenue. Delicious smells of roasting mutton and baking bread came to them, and Rhyen found himself swallowing more frequently than usual as he salivated. His stomach growled again and again, reminding him that the whole day he had only a very small breakfast of mostly stale bread. Cinnamon seemed hurried too, as though she could sense that hay and a warm stable were waiting at the inn, which, Rhyen hoped to the gods, was the large building at the end of the avenue directly in front of them. Cazing confirmed this as he trotted up to it and swung down from the saddle.
Rhyen dismounted and leaned into Cinnamon, almost delirious with joy. “We made it!” His legs felt as though they would give out, and he leaned into Cinnamon more deeply. She was trembling too, but whether from excitement at the prospect of a good dinner or from exhaustion, Rhyen didn’t know.
“And just in time!” Cazing pointed at the sky. Rhyen followed his gaze and saw that it had begun to snow, the dainty white flakes catching prettily in the light from the windows.
Rhyen laughed weakly. It had been a long and dangerous journey, filled with hot and cold and hunger and saddle sores from months in the saddle. Rhyen was glad to be in Avernade. Even in the dark, he could see that it was an attractive mountain village, with stone and wood houses with thatched roofs. He knew it was a town built around sheep and goat herding, and the slight smell of the animals prevailed even through the smokes of cooking suppers. Rhyen was happy to be here, and ready to be happy living here. But for now, he needed hot food and a warm bed and rest. He patted Cinnamon and, gathering his strength, he moved away from her and walked up to the inn. He pounded on the door, and a very pretty girl with ruddy hair opened it a crack. She looked at him appraisingly. “You are needing a room?” she asked with a strange lilting accent.
Rhyen nodded. “Yes please, with two beds, and room in your stable for our two horses.” As he spoke his lip cracked again, and his eyes bleared with fatigue. The girl clucked sympathetically and opened the door fully. She snapped her fingers, and a boy with ruddy hair who had to be her brother came hurriedly from within the inn. He was taller than even Rhyen.
“Deene will take care of your horses. We have plenty of room in our stables. We don’t often get horses here, but Deene knows how to handle them,” she said in a businesslike way. The boy sidled past Rhyen and collected the reins of the horses. “He’ll put your things in your rooms.” She assured them, gesturing that Rhyen and Cazing follow her as she turned and led them into the warmth of the inn.
She told them the price for the night as she seated them at a long, roughly hewn wooden table. There were few people in the inn, just some men smoking around the huge stone fireplace and a small ruddy haired boy playing on the ground. There were thick woolen rugs covering the floor, and even through his boots Rhyen felt the relief their thickness offered his swollen feet. He sank onto the bench and groaned as his tired muscles relaxed. Cazing sat opposite him, passing the coins to the girl as he too groaned and stretched.
The girl carefully counted the money. Satisfied, she said, “I’ll go get you some supper. My mother makes it. My name is Dierdre, if you’ll be needing anything else.”
Dierdre bustled away, her skirts swishing attractively after her. Rhyen let his hood fall to his back and he ran his fingers through his messy blond hair. They had made it! Rhyen smiled. They were in Avernade, and he could finally, after months of waiting, start his apprenticeship. He looked across the table at Cazing, who was turning his pipe over in his hands and looking wistfully at the cloud of smoke by the fire.
It might have taken no time at all, or it might have taken hours before Dierdre brought them their supper. Rhyen had lost all track of time as he sat there, feeling his frozen limbs thaw and enjoying the warmth of the place. The people seemed nice here in Avernade. Rhyen was at his ease, but Cazing seemed distracted. But they both perked up as Dierdre place huge plates of roasted and seasoned mutton in front of them, with potatoes and carrots and freshly baked bread. She put a slab of goat cheese between them as well as a heavenly looking pie. Finally, with a thunk, she placed two huge tankards of ale in front of them.
“Thank you,” they both muttered.
Dierdre inclined her head and bent into a slight curtsey. “Your room is upstairs, second door on the right. The beds are made up, and my sister will be putting warming pans in them in just a moment. Would either of you like baths? I can put the water on.”
Rhyen sighed gratefully. A good soak in hot water sounded excellent. “I’ll have one, please!”
Cazing shook his head. “In the morning, maybe.”
She left them to their mountains of food. They steadily worked their way through their plates, the cheese, and the pie until nothing remained except the crumbs. Rhyen finished his ale. He smacked his lips appreciatively. It was strange to think that the taste had been foreign and disgusting to him only a few months ago, when now it was so refreshing. Cazing also seemed pleased, except he still held his empty pipe in his hand a little forlornly. They sat together in comfortable companionable silence. After awhile, when both started nodding, Dierdre came back.
“Your bath is ready, Mr…?”
“Hyldhem,” Rhyen sleepily replied. “Rhyen Hyldem.”
She smiled a dimpled, appealing sort of smile. “The bath is down this hall, last door on the left, Mr. Hyldhem.”
Rhyen smiled back.
Dierdre turned to Cazing. “Is there anything else I can get you, Mr…?
Cazing hesitated. Finally, with a resigned sort of expression, he replied, “My name is Cazing of Avernade. And some tobacco, if you’ve got some for sale.”
A curious expression came over Dierdre’s face. “Cazing?” she exclaimed loudly, completely ignoring his request for tobacco. “The Cazing?”
The men around the fire abruptly stopped speaking and turned, as one, to look at Cazing.
“Not the great sorcerer of the Tower?” One very old man whispered, staring intently. “We’ve heard legends of you, since I was a small boy…”
Rhyen suddenly felt very awake. He looked at Cazing shrewdly. Cazing looked maybe forty, and this old man had to be at least seventy. But then he remembered that he and Rode had been friends for, as they had told him, a hundred years…
Cazing inclined his head. “The very same.”
Dierdre was gazing open- mouthed at him. There was no talking. Then, with the exaggerated lilting speech of the people of this town, another old man clambered to his feet. “Well, Mr. Cazing, if it’s tobacco you’re wanting, I have a tin for you! ‘Twould be an honor to smoke with ya, sir, and to hear the legends from the source himself.”
With the honest excitement and hospitality of the old man, the tension broke, and Cazing laughed and stood. “I would be the one who is honored, sir! And I’d gladly fill my pipe, thank you!” He joined the throng of men about the fire.
Dierdre seemed to remember herself and closed her mouth, carefully concealing her surprise. She turned, and with hardly a tremor in her voice, looked down at Rhyen. “You’ll be knowing magic too, then?”
Rhyen didn’t really know what t
o say. The truth was, of course, that he knew nothing of magic, but Dierdre was very pretty, and so, encouraged a little by the ale, Rhyen replied, “I’m his apprentice.” Which was also the truth, but stretched a little, since he hadn’t actually learned anything yet, except perhaps how to ride a horse and drink ale.
Dierdre smiled widely and tossed her ruddy hair. “Then you have my welcome, Rhyen Hyldhem.”
He smiled back. She raised her eyebrow. “Your bath will be getting cold.”
Rhyen glanced over at the fireplace where Cazing was happily puffing away on his pipe and saying something that had the men on the edge of their seats, hanging on his every word. He wanted to join them, to listen to Cazing talk about himself, which rarely happened, but at the same time his aching muscles longed for a hot soak. There would be plenty of time to learn about Cazing, years and years—or however long it took to become a sorcerer.
Almost reluctantly, he dragged himself off the bench and followed Dierdre down the hall.
Chapter 10
The next morning Rhyen overslept. Afraid he’d missed breakfast, he hastily yanked on his clothes, which had been washed and folded by Dierdre or one of her sisters the night before, and pounded down the stairs. But the great room downstairs was empty, and freezing, as the fire in the great fireplace had gone out.
Rhyen sighed. “Of course,” he muttered. Now that he had rushed out of bed and down the stairs, it was obvious it was before dawn. There wasn’t even a gray light in the windows. He flung himself down on one of the benches, and waited for the rest of the inn to awaken.
He stared at the fireplace. There was a heap of wood stacked next to it, and Rhyen went over and started a fire. He reclined in one of the easy old armchairs and stared into the flames, occasionally stoking the charred limbs or adding logs. He thought of the old men from last night, on the edges of their seats as they grouped around Cazing. With regret Rhyen realized that they probably knew more about his master than he did. But, he eventually thought, all they know of him is stories… Rhyen wondered if, someday when he was a sorcerer, he would ever be remembered in stories? Suddenly, the memory of the dark rider crept into his mind, watching him from the Ikanan tree line, hidden in shadow, suspended in stillness and silence. Who was it? What did it want with him? Rhyen replayed the memory in his mind over and over, all the while staring into the dancing flames.
Eventually, the people of Avernade and the inn woke up. Cazing slunk downstairs halfway through Rhyen’s second plate of breakfast, served to him by the curvy Dierdre, who was much friendlier this morning and less businesslike than she had been last night. She beamed at Rhyen every time she passed his table, and he kept accidentally missing his mouth with his fork. Cazing smiled knowingly, but said nothing as he joined Rhyen at the table.
After breakfast, Cazing and Rhyen headed out into the town. It was relatively small, not quite a city, but people were bustling around to and from the different shops, focused on their errands. There was no wind, but the still air was cold. Rhyen was grateful for his wool cloak, freshly laundered by Dierdre, and the thick scarf he had borrowed from his master. He pulled the cloak tighter and hunkered down into the scarf, gazing at the town in interest. Cazing was looking around with distaste. He pulled a little on his pipe, chewing on the stem.
“What’s wrong?” Rhyen asked curiously. He thought Avernade was a charming town, very quaint. The people had been more than friendly and quite polite, and the streets, although nothing more than hard-packed earth, were kept clean. The houses and buildings were stone with thatched roofs of sticks and hay. The lamp-lined cobbled streets leading to the impressive brick buildings of Ikha seemed pompous in comparison with this rustic Avernade. In Ikha, people were intent on their own affairs, but here, even as the people moved about their daily errands, smiles shone forth from all sides, and though they were strangers to this place, everyone Rhyen saw waved at him.
Cazing sniffed. “Nothing’s wrong with it, Rhyen. In fact, it looks almost exactly the same as when I left it. But that’s the problem with Avernade—it never changes.”
Rhyen shrugged. He didn’t think that was a bad thing at all. He was sure Yla, his hometown, had changed tremendously since last he had seen it. He almost hoped never to go back because he was sure it would sadden him if he didn’t recognize his own birthplace. “What now, Master?”
“We go get supplies,” Cazing answered, shaking out his pipe and pocketing it. He rummaged in his never-ending bag and pulled out a handful of coins. “You’re bankrupting me, Rhyen.” he said grumpily, counting them out.
“Well, you have to eat too.” said Rhyen a little defensively.
Cazing snorted, but he grinned at Rhyen, who felt relieved. “There’s a shop down this street that should have what we need.” He pointed down a little alley and they went towards it.
Rhyen liked how everything in Avernade seemed slanted. The buildings were level, of course, but the streets reflected the mountainside in that, no matter which direction they were headed, they always seemed to be climbing up or going downhill. As they made their way downwards, Rhyen looked up. The massive trees stretched to the heavens, the few leaves still clinging to their branches white and frozen, and the snow fell as soft as kisses around his face. There seemed to be no sun in the sky, just whiteness, and everything seemed quiet and peaceful. Even the footsteps of passersby were muffled by the quiet white blanket upon the ground. It was beautiful.
“I think I’m going to like Avernade,” Rhyen called to Cazing.
“Trust me, Avernade’s going to like you.” Cazing laughed.
Rhyen was confused. “Why’s that?”
“Because once it gets out that a sorcerer has returned, business is going to be booming here. But we probably have until next spring until that happens.”
Rhyen frowned, then he shrugged. He didn’t know what Cazing meant, but he probably would next spring. They had arrived at the shop and pushed happily into the warmth inside. Rhyen was surprised at the size of the store. It had looked much smaller from the alley. He was also a little confused at the wares displayed.
He had been expecting foodstuffs and saddles and tack and wool and such, like the store his family operated, but what he found was freshly sawed lumber, iron nails, tools, loose stone, bunches of sticks and bundles of hay, buckets, and rope. What on earth would they need these supplies for?
“Can I help you?” asked a short, round-bellied man. He was rounding a corner from what was probably the back storeroom, and his shining red face was beaded with sweat. His apron was tied as loosely as possibly but still threatened to burst at the seams. He dabbed at his forehead with a grubby looking scrap of cloth and beamed cheerily up at them. “Oh! New in town, eh? Who might you be then, sir?” Cazing opened his mouth to reply, but the shopkeeper continued happily. “I’m Bonder, and you’ll be standing in my shop, best in the mountains, if I do say so myself! Ha! What’ll you be needing then, my fine friends? We’ve got anythin’ and everythin’ you might need for your buildin’ projects.”
Rhyen shifted uneasily. Building projects? But he could have sworn Cazing had mentioned having a home in Avernade. His master wasn’t really expecting him to build a house, was he? Rhyen knew little to nothing about construction. Maybe they were just there for some rope or something.
Bonder squinted at Cazing thoughtfully. “Now, you’ll be looking familiar to me, sir! Is it possible I know you? Ha! My wife’s always saying I forget a face, but, swear it on me mother’s grave, I never do. So I knows I don’t know you, but it seems like I should! Maybe you’ve a brother who’s been in my shop before? Or a father, maybe? You’re not so old as having a father already passed, so maybe that’s where I’m finding the familiarity? Argh, in any case, it’s fine to meet, you, friend, mighty fine indeed! And you, son, now here’s a face I definitely don’t know. It’s good to see a sturdy young lad like yourself. What, but you’re so tall! You’re not a giant, are
you? Ha!”
Rhyen laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Bonder smiled even wider when Rhyen laughed, threw back his head and bellowed with laughter until his huge belly shook and sweat ran down his shiny head in rivers. Rhyen and Cazing exchanged a glance, Rhyen grinning openly and Cazing biting back his tongue, suppressing his grin. Bonder was such a strange, happy person, and he clearly took enormous enjoyment out of his laughter to the point where it stretched passed the boundaries of appropriateness, until Rhyen joined in, roaring with laughter at the shopkeeper. Even Cazing chuckled.
After a few minutes, Bonder regained his composure, and, mopping at his sweaty brow, gasped, “So where were we, then? You were thinking of placing an order?”
Cazing smiled, his eyes calculating. “Yes, thank you. We’ll need lumber, nails, some basic tools…”
Rhyen looked sideways at his master. Bonder pulled out a charcoal pen and merrily began scratching away on a scrap of paper, nodding as he recorded the seemingly endless list of supplies that Cazing required. Rhyen clenched his hands into fists nervously. What on earth where they going to do? He glanced out the tiny window to the snow-strewn alley. They couldn’t possibly build a house from scratch in this weather, yet the supplies seemed to indicate they would.
At long last Cazing finished with “…and two pairs of warm gloves, please.”
Bonder, bobbing his head appreciatively and beaming while he looked over the paper, ducked through the door to the back of the shop. Cazing scratched at his chin. Rhyen waited for him to speak.
“Master?” he asked finally, spreading his hands. “What are we doing?” He was a little annoyed that Cazing was always so secretive. Just once, he thought, I’d like to know what the plan is.
“Getting supplies,” his teacher replied, smirking.
Rhyen gritted his teeth. “For?” he prompted.
“Some repairs.”