by Brad Clark
Conner found the elf’s words refreshing, but Hargon looked upon the captain skeptically. “What’s your angle?” Hargon asked.
Janari returned a blank look. “I do not understand,” the elf said. “I am not sure what you mean by that statement.”
“You are strangers and we threatened to kill one of your sailors, and you still help us out only because you promised us that you would. What else is it that you want?”
“We want nothing,” Janari said. “You have nothing that we want or need. Indeed, we are strangers, but that does not change our promise. A promise is something that we elves take very seriously.”
Hargon narrowed his eyes and said, “I’m not buying it. You want something.”
Janari shook his head. “There will come a time when someone will want something from you, and it will make no sense for you to give it to them. But you will, because I have given something to you.”
Hargon laughed. “Are you serious?”
Janari stood stoically, his eyes glaring deep into Hargon. “It is the elven way. And one time, it was the way that men were taught as well. But it seems you have forgotten.”
Conner pulled Hargon towards the side of the ship where the rope ladder would take them down into their small row boat.
“Come on,” Conner said. “It is their way. Can you just leave it at that?”
Hargon shook his head and glanced over Conner’s shoulder at Janari. “No, I cannot just leave it. They will want something from us. It is how these things work. It was how I did it when I was emperor, and it is how everyone else does it as well. You give something to get something.”
“They don’t want anything,” Conner repeated. The he glanced back at Janari himself and added, “Now climb down the ladder before they do ask for something.”
Without another word, Hargon climbed down the rope ladder and into the awaiting boat. A sailor sat in the middle of the boat holding tightly onto a rope to keep the boat from drifting away from the ship. Once Conner dropped into the boat, the sailor released the rope and began rowing them towards shore.
It was a slow and quiet journey. Hargon kept glancing from the ship to shore, expecting something to happen. He clearly did not trust the elves or anyone who would offer a friendly gesture without getting something in return. When they reached shore, Hargon jumped out and started walking away. Conner pushed the boat back into the water so the elven sailor could return to his ship. Conner gave a slight wave to the elf, but either the elf did not see him, or chose not to notice him.
Conner walked backwards, away from the water. He watched as the elf rowed with long, strong strokes, pulling the boat quickly through the water. Conner was not sure what to make of Captain Janari and his crew. He still could only picture in his mind the elves of his childhood. They were short and mischievous creatures that were always the bad part of the stories. They weren’t always portrayed as evil, but they were never portrayed as the good guys. And yet, here they were. They looked and acted just like any other man he had ever met, other than the pointed ears. He didn’t know where they came from, and more importantly, why they were here. The cargo hold of the ship was empty, so they weren’t here to trade goods with the people of Taran. They had no weapons, other than small daggers, so they weren’t here to attack Taran. But despite his curiosity, he knew that he could not let himself get sidetracked by them. He had a mission that he needed to finish. He needed to get back to Karmon, and in order to do that, they needed supplies. But first, he was tired and hungry, so he would need to find food and a place to sleep.
Hargon was walking quickly down the street when Conner caught up to him.
“Where to?” Conner asked.
“I am hungry,” Hargon said. “And tired. But we will also need provisions and horses to get to Karmon.”
Conner glanced back at the sea. Somewhere in the darkness was the elven boat. “Maybe we should have asked them to take us to Karmon.”
“I don’t trust them,” Hargon said. “No one helps without getting something in return.”
“That’s not true,” Conner countered.
Before Conner could continue his argument, Hargon continued, “But they are gone, so we don’t have to worry about them anymore. But we do need to find a nice tavern.”
They didn’t go far before the noise coming from a nearby building caught their attention. They walked into a hot, smoky tavern that was filled with cheerful, laughing patrons. No one looked up or noticed that they came in, which is what Hargon was looking far. He pushed Conner forward towards the back of the room. They had to wade through a sea of drunken Tarans, smiling and laughing and having a generally good time. Many of them were standing in groups, but many others were seated at long tables where they could drink much more without having to worry about falling over.
Near the back of the tavern, they took a seat at the end of a long table. Almost as soon as they sat down, mugs of foamy ale were slapped down in front of them by an overworked barmaid.
“Is there food?” Hargon asked as the barmaid turned away.
She turned back with a sigh. “There may be some stew left over. I’ll be back.”
She returned only moments later and set two wooden bowls down in front of them and a long slab of stale bread. Hargon looked at the food with a face that said he would rather die than eat what was in front of him. Conner was too hungry. He broke off a chunk of bread and used it to scoop the thick stew into his mouth. It wasn’t tasty, but it was food, and he was very hungry. A moment later, with his stomach gurgling at the smell of the food, Hargon joined in.
Conner had kept his head down while he ate, focusing on eating rather than his surroundings. Hargon, however, ate slowly, his eyes moving about the room, taking in the festival atmosphere.
“What could they be celebrating?” Hargon asked.
Conner looked up with a mouthful of food. “What?”
“The drinks are flowing freely and everyone is laughing and having a good time. I wonder what the feast is for.”
Conner looked around. “Nothing, I think,” Conner replied. “This is a tavern. This is what people do. They eat, they drink, they laugh and then they go home.”
“Everyday?”
“Well, I don’t know. Some of these men are pretty drunk. I wouldn’t think that they would do this every day. There was one time back at the castle in Karmon where I had too much ale and I was sick the entire next day...”
Hargon had stood up in the middle of the story and was obviously not listening to Conner anymore. He moved over to the table where a group of five men were pounding the table in laughter.
“Hello!” Hargon said with a smile on his face. He did not know why they were laughing, but he joined in anyway.
The five men at the table turned as one. The remnants of their laughter was still on their smiling faces.
“What are we celebrating here, tonight?” Hargon asked.
The five looked at one another and then burst out into laughter. They each drank more from their mugs, much of the ale spilling down their shirts.
“We celebrate freedom!” one of them shouted.
“To freedom!” Hargon said, raising his mug. “From what are you free?”
The man snorted out a laugh. “You must be a stranger here.”
“Indeed, we just arrived today in your fair city.”
The man stood up and shouted, “We celebrate freedom from the tyranny of Emperor Hargon! We celebrate whoever it was that killed the murderous emperor!” The rest of the tavern erupted in cheers and shouting. “To a new Taran Empire!”
Hargon took a step back and fell back onto the bench next to Conner. His mouth hung open and his face had gone white. He would have stayed there, silent in his shock and surprise if the insults hadn’t come. Conner knew he should have stepped in and pulled Hargon out of that tavern, but he, too, was shocked at the words that were flung about. He had never heard anyone talk with so much hatred towards anyone as these men did towards Emperor Hargon.
But they weren’t just words of anger, they were insults that went far and above anything he could have imagined. What got Hargon was when one of the five right in front of them implied that emperor preferred relations with a donkey over a woman.
Hargon moved quickly and grabbed the man by the back of his tunic and pulled him out of his seat. Hargon wasn’t that strong, but the man was small and highly inebriated.
“I’ve heard enough,” Hargon said.
“And just who are you?”
“I am Emperor Hargon!”
The man laughed even harder. Then Hargon closed his fist and struck the man square on the nose. The man fell back onto the table, knocking over every mug of ale that had been on the table. Conner jumped up to pull Hargon away, but the man’s friends were too quick. Hargon was thrown backwards onto another table. Conner tried to intervene peacefully, explaining that Hargon was simply a crazy old man, but the drunkards now had a fighting bloodlust. Their angry words turned to angry actions and even if they didn’t believe the scraggly man was Hargon, they came after him like he was.
At first, Conner wished he had a weapon, because he would have easily been able to protect himself and Hargon. But he would also have left a bloody trail of dead bodies. He avoided most of the haymakers thrown at him, but he couldn’t avoid them all. While he was trying to push away the first man that Hargon attacked, someone else hit him from the side, sending him hard onto the ground. There were too many hands and feet punching and kicking him to get up, so he could only crawl away and hide under a table.
The fighting had not stopped there. Others joined in the fray, not knowing what the fight was about. Soon, everyone in the tavern was throwing punches. Conner found Hargon, who had been knocked unconscious. He had a large bump on his forehead and blood running from a cut on his lip. At first Conner had thought Hargon was dead, but he could feel slow and steady breathing. Now that everyone else in the tavern had joined in the fighting, it was easy enough for Conner to pull Hargon away from the middle of the fight.
He hoped to get all the way out of the tavern and slip away into the night, but the bulk of the fighting was towards the front of the building. The best that he could do was to pull Hargon to a back corner away from everyone else. He slapped Hargon on the face several times to wake him up, but he was out cold. If he could get Hargon awake, they might be able to still sneak out unnoticed, but there was no way that he could carry him or drag him out unnoticed. He kept expecting that someone would come over and continue the fight with Hargon, but they were left alone. So he decided that he just needed to wait it out. As soon as the fighting stopped, he would just get up and leave.
But the arrival of the centurions changed his plans. A dozen or more came bursting into the tavern, long wooden clubs in their hands. Most stopped fighting as soon as they came and ran out the front door. But a few stalwarts who liked to fight stayed and took on the armed centurions. Although some of the centurions took a beating, it did not take long for the overwhelming force of the soldiers to bring the fighting to an end. Soon, all that was left were the centurions and a mess of overturned tables and spilled drinks.
Two centurions approached Conner, their bloody clubs on display.
“You started this?” one of them asked.
“Of course not!” Conner replied.
“The bar keep said you and your friend did. There are many broken chairs and tables. The bar keep wants you to pay for them.”
Conner looked around, wondering how he could escape. The only way that he would be able to get out would be to leave Hargon here. And if he did, and someone took a good look underneath the beard and hair, they might realize that the emperor really wasn’t dead. Although he had just met the man, he couldn’t leave him to that fate.
“How much?” Conner asked sheepishly.
“More then you have,” the centurion replied.
“How would you...”
“I have seen your likes before,” the centurion said, pointing his club at Conner. “Dirty, smelly, begging for scraps. I bet you don’t even have enough to pay for whatever slop they served you tonight. Get up, the magistrate will decide what to do with you. A few months in irons, I would guess.”
At least half the centurions that had come into the tavern were now circled around Conner and Hargon. There was nothing for Conner to do but to go with them. There was no way for him to escape, not without a blade. As he started to think about trying to run, the centurions tied a rope around his legs that would keep him from running. His hands were roughly tied behind his back. At first he protested and started to fight back, but a club hitting him sharply on the shoulder stopped his fighting.
“The next one is across your face,” the centurion said.
With his arms immobilized by his hands being tied behind his back, and his feet not being able to move more than a few inches with each step, Conner shuffled his way out of the tavern and down the street. Hargon was thrown over the shoulder of one of the larger centurions who carried him to the centurion’s garrison.
The garrison was on the outskirts of the city in a square wooden building surrounded by a tall wall made of wood timbers sunk vertically in the ground. The wall wouldn’t have survived a full frontal assault from a well-armed army, but it would offer some defense against a rowdy mob. On each corner of the wall there was a simple open tower where a centurion manned with a crossbow kept watch. As the centurions approached, the gate was opened to allow them to pass.
Once the gate was closed behind them, Conner’s hands and feet were untied. But instead of clubs, the centurions drew their short swords.
“I’m not going to fight,” Conner said.
“Of course not,” a centurion replied. They all kept their swords out.
“Pick him up,” another centurion ordered, pointing to Hargon, who had been dumped on the ground.
Conner did as he was told, throwing the emperor over his shoulder. Then he was led inside the building.
A large fire was burning on the opposite wall, providing more than enough heat for the whole building. Several tables were setup to his left. Just past the tables was a doorway leading to another room. To his right was a wide opening leading to a room where he could hear snoring. He was pushed towards the back of the room near the fireplace. An iron bar door was unlocked and Conner stepped through. It was shut behind him and locked.
“Sleep it off,” the centurion said, shaking the keys. “You’ll learn your fate in the morning when the magistrate wakes.”
Conner set Hargon gently on the floor. There was a pile of blankets in the far corner. He pulled one off and the rest of the blankets moved. He took a surprised step back to see that there was a body there. Whoever it was said nothing, but pulled the blankets tighter around his body. Conner put a blanket around the still form of Hargon before finding a spot on the floor to sleep.
***
Conner jerked awake. He was stiff from sleeping on the hard floor and let out a groan as he sat up. With a mind still fuzzy from sleep, it took him a moment to gain his bearings. He was surrounded by darkness, but there was a soft red glow from the large room on just the other side of the iron bars. Looking around, he found Hargon snoring softly right next to him while the other person in their cell was still in the same spot as when he had fallen asleep. Conner wanted to pull the blanket off of him, or her, and see who it was, but he really did not want to disturb the still form.
He stood up and stepped over Hargon to peer out through iron bars of the door that locked them in. There was little to see other than several rows of empty tables. He turned his ear to the room, but he heard nothing, not even a crackling from the fire. He pushed lightly on the door, hoping that whoever had put them here had forgotten to lock it, but it did not budge. Frustrated, he rested against the cold iron and let out a sigh.
For the first time in many days, he had a moment to be still, allowing fear to creep into his thoughts. It was happening to him, just like the past spring when he had come across a youn
g lady in distress. He had acted without thinking and brought her to safety, which was as much luck as anything. And now he found himself in a similar circumstance, but instead of leading just one person to safety, he was supposed to be leading the entire world to safety. He did not understand at all why he was given this task. He was barely older than a boy with no real set of skills for saving the world, and yet this Michael had come to him to tell him that he was to be the one to do it. He had lived most of his life alone, living off the land using his own self-taught survival skills. How in the world could those skills help him save the world?
And just what was this Ark of Life anyway? He didn’t know where in the castle this Ark of Life could be found, much less what it looked like. He could spend years searching every dark corner of the castle and still not find it. And in the meantime, this Deceiver would come to South Karmon and take it himself. He was not a god, and he could never stand against one. Part of him wanted to just run away. He could turn tail and head west to where there were lands that he had never even heard of. Maybe he could even find his way to the land of the Hurai. He was just one person, a young man who should not have been given the weight of the world on his shoulders. There was no way that he could complete this task that he was given. Someone else would have to do it.
“We need to get out of here,” Hargon whispered from under a blanket.
Conner pulled himself out of his thoughts and replied, “The doors are locked.”
“We will fight our way out when they come for us,” Hargon countered.
“We have no weapons. They will kill us. Any other bright ideas?”
Hargon sat up and looked over at the sleeping body a few feet away from him. He could barely see the shoulders rise and fall with each slow breath. “Who is this? Maybe he can help.”
“I do not know. He has been asleep since we were brought here.”
“Let’s ask him. Wake him.”