by J. C. Staudt
“Much obliged to you,” Kestrel said with a grin as he swept the coins into his palm.
“What did you do for him?” Alynor wanted to know.
He waved a hand. “Oh, that’s nothing for right now. A tale for another time, perhaps. I’ve been meaning to ask… why did you two come this way, if your destination is Castle Maergath?”
“This way is the fastest,” said Darion.
“Would it not be quicker to follow the Breakspires north and cross at Rivermont? Then we could travel the Red Road southeast and take the Grimlir Pass through Vale.”
“First of all, there is no we,” said Darion. “After tonight, we go our separate ways. Second, my wife and I mean to cross the Greenshore by ferry and take ship from Deepsail to the Dathiri desert.”
“Do we?” asked Alynor. “This is news to me. If we go by the Greenshore, of course you know we must stay a night in the Greenkeep.”
“I know that, my lady.”
“Do I take that to mean you actually want to visit my father?”
Darion frowned. “I feel I should, my lady. It has been some time. I ought to see how my men are faring, leastwise.”
She raised her brow in surprise. “Your men? You mean the ones you sent to my father as a means of placating him so you wouldn’t have to go there yourself?”
The very same, my lady, he thought. But there were other reasons he’d chosen this route. Reasons that had nothing to do with her father or his castle. “While we’re here, I might as well check up on them.”
“Best of luck finding a ship from Deepsail at a time like this,” said Kestrel. “By the time you arrive, every ship capable of sailing the Aeldalos at speed will be either halfway up the Fengate or making its way round the Dathiri coast. What’s more, I’d imagine you’ll be hard-pressed to find a guide through the desert. War does tend to inconvenience the commonfolk.”
Darion waved him off. “I’m sure we’ll find something. Won’t we, my lady?”
Lady Alynor wrinkled her mouth. “Actually, my dearest… I believe I side with Kestrel on this one.”
“He doesn’t have a side to be on, nor a say in our travel plans,” Darion insisted.
“Perhaps that’s true, but he makes a fair point. And I do have a say. If we keep moving eastward, we’ll be heading straight into ogre-infested lands. With a column of soldiers at our backs, maybe it wouldn’t feel so foolhardy. In our case, it would be safer to turn north and ride the eastern edge of the Breakspires. Rivermont is as secure and well-provisioned a town as we’re likely to find, and Vale is only a short distance away from it. Deepsail, on the other hand, is at least a week’s ride from the Greenkeep. It’ll be a month by sea from there to the Dathiri desert; more, if the wind isn’t right.”
“And what about after we pass through Vale and find ourselves with leagues upon leagues of road to travel north or east? What then?”
“Then we choose. North, or east,” said Kestrel.
“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Darion asked. “You are not a part of this decision.”
“Then I suppose I shall have to get used to staring at your horses’ backsides. How did you feel about the distance I left between us today? Was it too much, or too little?”
Alynor gave Darion a sympathetic smile. “It sounds as though we’ve gained a traveling companion whether we like it or not,” she said with a laugh.
Yet I’m certain you like it very much, Darion wanted to say. “Fine, singer. But keep your eyes and your hands to yourself. If I wake up to find you’ve harmed me or my lady wife in any way, I’ll find you wherever you are and wring your scrawny neck.”
Kestrel raised his tankard as if to offer a toast. His cocky smile made Darion want to follow through on his promise straightaway. “Here’s to the start,” he said, “of a friendship for the ages.”
Chapter 8
The going became easier once they’d descended from the mountain pass and started north along the eastern edge of the Breakspires. The hot sun baked them all through the mornings, but the mountains gave them shade in the afternoons. Alynor was relieved to have fled ogre country and moved into calmer territory, if such could be found in the realms. She was happier still to have their evenings around the fire filled with Sir Darion’s brave stories and Kestrel’s beautiful songs. But she was happiest of all about the calluses forming in place of the blisters on her hands and feet, and about the stiffness from riding that seemed to diminish a little with each day.
Days passed on the road in moments which seemed to grow longer all the time. With them came clarity, and with each story Sir Darion told her, Alynor began to feel as though she knew a widening sliver of who her husband was. Darion had been hesitant to tell his tales with Kestrel listening, but a little extra encouragement was all it had taken to bring him round to it.
One night after supper, Kestrel took out his lute and began to pluck the notes of a sad song. At first it sounded like the one Alynor had heard him play in the Moonshade that first night. But when he started to sing, the words were about a woman. He sang with such ease and comfort, and with such a sharp glimmer of emotion in his eyes, that whenever he looked at her she found herself lost in them.
When the song was done, Alynor took in a deep breath, realizing she had forgotten to breathe for quite some time. “Was that one of your magic songs?” she asked him.
He gave her a soft smile and shook his head. “No magic in this one, milady.”
“It’s beautiful. Who is it about?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t write it.”
“Oh. Have you written many songs?”
His smile faded. “I try to learn a new song everywhere I go. The music of the realms is a fascinating thing, with all its brands and variations. It would be senseless to write my own. So many songs have been written already that if I knew them all, I could play a new one every night, and never the same one twice.”
“I’m certain you could write your own,” she said. “You’re very talented.”
Kestrel gave a nod of appreciation. “You are most gracious to say so.” He lifted his voice. “And now, I think it’s time we heard one of Sir Ulther’s adventuresome tales. What say you?”
Alynor clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, yes, I say yes.”
Darion returned from making water in the woods and plopped himself down beside the fire, where his armor lay in neat piles next to his bedroll. His neck was red and sunburned where the top of his gorget ended, and Alynor noticed new strength in areas of his formerly shapeless abdomen. This journey has done well by him thus far, she reflected.
“There are two stories that come to mind,” Darion said. “Shall I tell you about my scrap with the denizens of the Goblin’s Nest, or about my first dragon?”
“Goblins,” said Kestrel.
Alynor laughed. “I was going to say dragon.”
“Which will it be, then?”
Kestrel looked at her, eyes smiling through his stoic expression. “As you will, milady.”
She considered. “Let’s hear about the goblins,” she decided. “We’ll save the dragon for tomorrow.”
While her husband told the tale, Alynor’s mind began to wander. She found herself staring at Kestrel more frequently than Darion, though the singer was merely sitting quietly, listening. Kestrel was not bad to look at, truly. Nor had his behavior ever frightened or troubled her. As she thought about it now, she realized she had noticed him often as they traveled, and much of the time without being conscious of it.
In truth, Alynor found Kestrel as warm and gentle in his ways as a summer breeze. Every time he spoke, his voice trickled like the waters of some faerie stream. He never moved unless it was deliberate; he only sang when the moment called for it, and never to fill a silence. When silence was needed, he kept it. He was altogether different from the gruff, iron-hard man she called husband. That was the thing of it, really; he was so different. Is this what it feels like when someone grows on you? she wondered.<
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It wasn’t as though she were falling in love with the man. At least, she did not think so. She felt something for him—or about him. It was not something that made her feel compelled to act, but it was there; it existed. The sooner she identified it, she told herself, the sooner she could put it behind her and forget about it. But the sensation never left her. In fact, she only found it growing stronger as the days drew on.
All told, it took them another four days to reach Rivermont. From a distance, the town’s rooftops were regal in the foothills, nestled in the Breakspire Fork, where the mountain range split in two on its way to the Aeldalos. Flowing down through the mouth of the fork and across the widening valley between the two mountain ranges was the Greenshore, a river on which Alynor had spent countless days of enjoyment in her youth. Rivermont’s many bridges joined the town’s various districts across the rushing rapids which cascaded down the mountainside.
“This looks like a nice place to stop for a rest,” Alynor said, nodding toward a grandiose daub-and-wattle building whose bustling patronage could be seen through a pair of huge bay windows spanning most of its frontage.
“Not there,” Darion said, shaking his head.
“You chose our lodgings in Fenria Town,” she said. “I’ll choose this time. And I choose the—” she searched for the sign, “—the Two Turtles Tavern.” She heard Darion give a grunt of displeasure, but he did not object.
It was about time for the midday meal, so the three travelers procured a table and waited to be served. Alynor was startled when two men came up behind Darion and began to taunt them.
“Well, what have we here?” said the one.
“Naught but a tired old spellsword, come to face his demise,” the other replied.
“A caster, you say? I bet I could take him.”
“Why don’t we rile him up and find out?” The man pushed Darion by the shoulder, softly the first time.
When Alynor looked over at him, her husband was trying to hold back a smile. “Myren… Evulon,” he said. He rose to his feet and stepped over the bench, turning to face them.
Next Alynor knew, the two broad-shouldered men were accosting him, wrapping him in heavy bear hugs, smiling and joking. She slid down the bench to avoid the cluster of bodies. The two men were the same size as one another in both height and girth. As a matter of fact, they looked almost exactly alike. There was something familiar about them, too.
“Alynor,” Darion said. “This is Myren, and this is Evulon. These are my brothers.”
“Your brothers? No,” she said, surprised.
“They are indeed,” said Darion. “Fellows, this is my lady wife, Alynor Mirrowell of the Greenkeep.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” Alynor said. She had known of Darion’s four brothers, but not that any of them lived here in Rivermont.
“Pleasure’s all ours, marm,” said the one he’d called Myren.
“I trust you’re enjoying your time at the Two Turtles thus far?” asked Evulon.
“I am. Very much,” she said. “This is our friend Kestrel.”
“How d’you do?” Kestrel said, standing to shake hands with the two men. “I think this place could use a little music. What do you boys say?”
Darion gave the singer a dry look. “Let them alone, minstrel. Their custom wants none to do with that hoax you call music.”
“You’re a musician?” asked Evulon.
Kestrel gave Darion a sharp look. “Your brother doesn’t seem to think so.”
“We’ll be the judge of that. You’ll have to come back and audition for us sometime.”
“Apologies, but we must be off for a minute or two,” said Myren. “Business calls. Don’t you go anywhere, Darion. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Lady Alynor,” said Evulon. “If there’s anything you need—anything at all—don’t hesitate to give us a shout.”
“Thank you,” she said, still somewhat baffled.
Darion sat back down.
“Are those men really your brothers?” Alynor asked.
“As honest as I can be, yes.”
“Why… they could be twins.”
“They are.”
“Really? After all your stories, I can scarce believe I hadn’t learned something as simple as that about you.” Then it dawned on her. “This is why you didn’t want to travel this way. You would rather have suffered a visit to my father than enjoy some time with your own flesh and blood?”
“Flesh and blood.” He laughed. “Maybe one or the other… but not both.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother always swore she saw my father in them, but that was wishful thinking.”
“Oh. They’re the younger ones. They were born after—”
“After my father was killed. Nine months, give or take a few days. I’ve never treated them any differently than my two full brothers. But the truth is, we’ll never know for certain.”
Alynor couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like, growing up with the constant reminder of your father’s killer in the faces of men you called brothers. When Darion had found those four thieves and tortured them, had he recognized his brothers’ faces in one of theirs? No wonder he didn’t want to come through Rivermont, she thought. It all made sense to her now. They are his blood, but they bring him pain all the same. He may have murdered their real father, and they none the wiser for it. “I’m sorry, my dearest. You should’ve told me. I would’ve—”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Alynor,” he said, but she saw the way his jaw tightened after he spoke.
“This is quite a large establishment, even for an inn,” said Kestrel. “They own the whole place?”
Darion nodded. “The two of them. Partners in everything they’ve ever done, to the exclusion of all else. Owning a place like this has been their dream since they were boys.”
“Do they have a hand in running it?”
“They manage it. They don’t do any of the hard labor themselves. They used to, but they’ve no need anymore.”
Presently, Myren and Evulon rejoined them at the table. The former had long, wavy locks, while the latter’s head was shorn close; both had hair of the same deep reddish brown color. Were it not for those subtle differences, the two men could’ve linked elbows and spun in a circle and Alynor would’ve found it difficult to tell them apart afterward. They were thick-bodied like dwarves, but their formidable height spoke of a larger race in their bloodline. These are half-brothers to Darion, surely, Alynor thought. He’s wise to see it. And kind to treat them as brothers anyhow.
Darion spent some time catching up with them, which included telling Alynor and Kestrel all the embarrassing stories from when they were babies. Myren and Evulon had a few choice growing-up tales to tell about Darion in return. Kestrel eventually wandered off to mingle with the other patrons. Alynor saw him talking with a group of common girls across the room and felt a pang of jealousy. It was unfounded, she knew, so she hugged Darion’s arm and tried to forget about it.
When the night had aged and the tavern’s patronage was waning, the twins gave them keys to two rooms on the third floor, normally reserved for foreign dignitaries and passing royalty. They called Kestrel back and found their way to the inn’s top floor via a private staircase at the end of the long second-floor hallway. There were only four guestrooms at the top, arranged two to each side of a wide landing.
“Turns out you know of a free inn as well, my friend,” Kestrel said, impressed.
“We’ll not be staying long,” said Darion. “Nothing is ever free when it comes to family.”
Kestrel looked puzzled. “Is that because they won’t let it be free, or because you don’t want it to?”
Darion’s eyelids were drooping with intoxication. He belched into his cheeks and blew it at Kestrel, who stepped aside. “Because I say so,” he slurred.
“Best of luck with him tonight,” Kestrel said, giving Alynor a wink.
She rolled her eye
s and guided Darion toward the door to their room. She heard Kestrel’s door swing open behind them as she put her key in the lock. The singer gave a whistle of amazement. When her door opened, she and Darion found themselves standing before a room so large and lavishly furnished it made her gasp.
“This is more beautiful than our bedchamber back home,” she said. She turned back to Kestrel, who was looking over his shoulder at her. He gave her an excited smile before shutting the door in front of him and starting back down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“A room this good deserves company,” he said, giving his eyebrows a flutter. “Enjoy yourselves.” Then he was gone, and Alynor was left to push her husband into their room and help him undress for bed. A few minutes later she heard footsteps on the stairs. A girl giggled; someone shushed her. Hinges creaked, and the landing was quiet again.
Alynor could not help but wonder which of the common girls Kestrel had chosen. It was no concern of hers; she was a married lady of a high house, and the singer was only a commoner. Yet somehow, she cared anyway.
Darion was asleep and snoring by the time she’d hung out her clothes and brushed her hair. She lay awake, waiting for the night to pull her under. Just when I’d begun to fear I might enjoy my husband’s company, she thought, this singer seems to be all I can think about.
She looked at her knitting, the two tiny socks she’d been too busy to find time for these last weeks. Not only am I a woman wed, she thought. I am soon to become much more than that.
Chapter 9
“Do I have to?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Sir Jalleth said with a smile. “You’re free to stop any time you like.”
The old knight was always reminding Darion he could quit; making it easy for him to give up. He had never once encouraged the boy to stop, but neither had he forced him to keep going. His every word was impartial, a fostering of motivation without heavy-handedness. It was up to Darion, he had said, and it would remain so until Darion either achieved success or chose failure.