“I hope you're right,” she replied.
“I am,” he said with a smile.
Shortly after the bard offered this assurance to the elvish maiden, the band emerged from the edge of the rather dense wood through which they had been traveling. Before them, sitting atop an immense hill, stood Mikral City. The road, which had been paved with rough stones for many miles, widened into a true boulevard as it passed through the section of the town that lay beyond its massive walls. Large flowering trees grew along each side of the street that led directly to the prodigious gate opening into the city.
The many buildings that met their immediate view were somewhat different than most of the human structures Erana had seen up to that point. They offered the eye a variety of architectural styles to behold and ranged in size from tiny single story shops to expansive, multilevel cottages. The roads that wound away from the main street were anything but symmetrical and the houses that were built along them had been placed, at least in many cases, to take full advantage of the surrounding landscape.
This was nothing like the elf had expected. So far, her experience with human towns had been limited to extremely small villages where convenience was the only consideration – both for the location and design of a building. Here, however, she saw for the first time how mankind would, if the opportunity presented itself, do their best to blend art and nature.
“It's beautiful,” Erana observed aloud, her eyes wandering over the scene as she spoke.
“You think so?” Kilren asked with a smile.
“I do!” she nodded. “At least, for a human city it is. In my imagination, Mikral City was just a huge human village, where every road ran in a straight line and every house looked exactly the same.”
“We do that in smaller towns,” Kilren explained, “because it's easy, it's cheap, and it's convenient. However, this is what we do when we have more time and resources.”
“Well, it's wonderful,” she smiled. “Although, I have to admit I've gotten a lot more used to the villages. They're cozy somehow.”
“Aye,” Ian nodded, “that they are. And Mikral City is magnificent. So, let's go see more of it.”
Having said this, the dwarf kicked his pony into motion; heading straight down the road toward the gate, immediately followed by his companions. As the party passed through the entrance of the city, the eyes of several of the town guards seemed locked unblinkingly on the fair elvish maiden.
“Why are they staring?” she whispered to her love.
“Are you kidding me?” Kilren laughed. “You're beautiful!”
“They both are,” the Telian added, his smiling gaze shifting from one of the maidens to the other.
“Sir Darian?!” Gwendolyn asked, clearly stunned by this assertion. “Did you actually say that?”
“According to the book,” Darian explained, “I'm supposed to look for opportunities to offer ladies meaningless flattery. Apparently they really like it. That seemed like as good an opportunity as any.”
“Meaningless flattery?” Gwendolyn repeated.
“Does the book say that you’re supposed to tell them when you're doing it?” Erana asked.
“No!” the knight exclaimed. “You should never do that. It says that they'll generally get really annoyed if they don't believe you're completely sincere.”
“So then, you don't really think we're beautiful?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Of course I do,” Darian chuckled. “I mean: I'm a Telian, it's not like I can lie. I suppose that some knights could offer ladies completely meaningless flattery, but I have to limit mine to things that fall within the realms of the truth.”
“If you do think we're beautiful,” Erana began, clearly trying to step through his thought process, “in what way was the flattery meaningless?”
“Because it doesn't mean anything,” he replied with a wide smile. “You two are two of my best friends. You're great people who I love to be near. That would be true even if you were bald, toothless, hunchbacks. That's why it's meaningless. What difference could it possibly make to any of us whether or not you're beautiful?”
The companions' reactions to this statement varied somewhat. Ian burst out laughing, Kilren ran has hand across his face, Garik stared at his older brother while shaking his head in silence, Erana simply nodded slowly; and Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, nodded her head, shook her head, looked as if she were about to speak several times and never did.
“Ladies,” Garik said, after a moment of silence. “Allow me to assure you that it makes a great difference to me. I feel blessed by the Eilian to be able to travel in such fair company.”
“You know,” Kilren said, gazing at the boy, “you have a lot of confidence for someone your age.”
“Well-merited confidence,” Garik asserted.
“It certainly seems to be,” Ian laughed. “Either way, I think it might be best for us to part company for a few minutes.”
“What?” Darian asked. “Why?”
“First off,” the bard began, “I think Kilren and Erana may want a few minutes to speak to his parents alone before he has to introduce the rest of us.”
“That's a good idea,” the lieutenant agreed.
“Second,” the dwarf continued, “I want to go to the library and I want Garik to go with me.”
“The library?” the boy repeated.
“Aye, lad,” Ian nodded. “You're interested in magical items, aren't you?”
“Very.”
“Well, as Kilren pointed out earlier, you don't just go get them. There are a great many artifacts in Areon. Some lost, some hidden, some for sale, and many of them spoken of in one tome or another. If you're interested in things of that nature, you had better learn to love reading.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy replied.
“Lastly, I thought that Sir Darian might want to escort Lady Gwendolyn through one of the city gardens.”
“What?” the knight asked. “Why?”
“Because I don't want to take you to the library,” the dwarf chuckled, “and I feel certain she'll be able to keep you from getting lost or worse.”
“That's a good idea,” Kilren agreed.
“We'll all meet at...” the dwarf began before pausing for a moment.
“The Gilded Chalice,” the lieutenant said.
“At The Gilded Chalice in about an hour,” the dwarf replied. “Where exactly is it?”
Kilren quickly gave Ian and Gwendolyn exact directions on how to get to the library, to the nearest park, and from both locations to his parents' inn. This attended to, the party left their horses in the care of a local farrier; feeling it would be better to continue their travels in town as pedestrians. They then broke into three couples, each going their separate ways.
“So, exactly what are we looking for?” Garik whispered, as he and the dwarf wandered amongst the book lined shelves that stretched from the polished stone floor to the gilded ceiling above.
“I'm looking for a very particular legend,” Ian replied. “You're looking for anything on magical artifacts that may interest you and keep you quiet while I'm reading.”
“That makes sense,” the boy nodded. “What legend are you looking for?”
“It concerns Galock Moore.”
“Never heard of him.”
“I'm not surprised,” the dwarf replied. “He was a wizard that lived more than a thousand years ago.”
“And he's important because?”
“Because he tried to make himself immortal,” the bard explained.
“Did he succeed?”
“No,” Ian replied, shaking his head, “which is why I said tried.”
“So you want to read about some failed wizard?” Garik asked quietly. “I'd rather read about one that wasn't a failure. One that actually managed to make a flaming sword or armor that could make you fly or a bow that shot arrows of acid or something like that.”
“The history of Areon is replete with successes like that,” the bard assured him. �
�However, what's far more scarce is failures like those of Galock Moore. Although he didn't manage to make himself truly immortal, he did live for hundreds of years.”
“And you want to do that?”
“Dwarves often do,” Ian replied. “Humans don't.”
“So you want some human to live that long?”
“There are a few humans I wouldn't mind living that long. However, there's one in particular I'm trying to help.”
“And who would that be?”
“Here,” Ian said, pulling a large tome from one of the shelves. “The Artifacts of Dallenmar. This is an interesting work on a number of legendary magical items that there are reasons to believe actually existed at one time; even if all of them have been lost to history. I'm sure you'll find it interesting. Take it to one of those tables over there and give it a look through. I'll join you in a few minutes.”
Garik took the tome and immediately obeyed the dwarf's command. At first, he was disappointed by the fact that it didn't seem to contain very many pictures, but that changed once he began reading about the powerful magical items that the volume claimed had once existed in Areon.
“How do I look?” Erana asked, turning to face her fiancée.
“Breathtaking,” he replied, slipping his arms around her.
The couple stood just outside The Gilded Chalice, the elvish maiden bracing herself for her first meeting with her prospective parents-in-law. The establishment was, just as Kilren had claimed, right in the middle of Mikral City. It was a truly massive structure, four stories high, built of thick wooden beams and light colored stone, and roofed with red tiles. The young man took his bride-to-be by the hand, stepped over to the building's entrance, opened the large door for her, and led her inside.
The common room held a generous amount of both patrons and commotion. A number of servants passed from one table to another with trays loaded with flagons of ale and glasses of wine. The scent of roasting meat and pipe tobacco, along with the sound of genial conversation, filled the air. Many of the windows were opened and several brass lamps hung from the ceiling, giving the chamber a light and open feeling.
For several seconds, the couple stood unnoticed, before a very attractive young bar maid caught sight of the lieutenant standing in the doorway.
“Well, as I live and breathe,” she said with a wide smile, “if it isn't Kilren Tellar himself, come home at last!”
“Looks that way, doesn't it, Andrea?” he replied.
“You've been gone two years,” she said, shaking her head slowly.
“Not quite that long,” he smiled.
“Too long,” she asserted. “Still, that's doesn't matter now, I guess. What is it you want from me this time?”
“Who is she?” Erana whispered.
“An old friend,” he replied in hushed tones before responding to the question. “I'm actually here to see Mother and Father. Where are they?”
“Your father's in the back,” Andrea replied, nodding her head over her shoulder. “I'm not sure where your mother is. You'll be able to find them both if you look hard enough, though.”
“I'm sure I will,” he said with a smile.
“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” the barmaid asked.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “Erana, this is Andrea, a childhood friend. Andrea, this is Erana, my fiancée.”
“Your fiancée?” the barmaid laughed. “Better her than me, I guess. Either way, it's nice to meet you, Erana.”
“And you as well,” the elvish maiden replied.
“We could have a bit of talk, but I've got work to do,” Andrea said with a smile. “Otherwise, I'd be more than happy to share a few stories with you.”
“Like what?” Erana asked, raising a single eyebrow.
“Well,” the barmaid replied, setting down the flagon in her hand, “like the time Kilren and I...”
“As much fun as that would be,” the lieutenant interrupted. “I'm sure Mother and Father are expecting us anytime now. We shouldn't keep 'em waiting.”
“I'm sure they could wait five...” Erana began.
“No, no,” Kilren said, pulling the elvish maiden along by the hand. “If Andrea starts talking, she won't stop for an hour or two.”
“Don't worry,” the barmaid assured her, “I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“I'm sure we will,” the elf agreed.
Kilren led his lady love through a series of hallways that eventually terminated in a large, low roofed chamber at the back of the building. Here, a number of men were sitting, discussing current politics over a pint and a pipe. As the couple entered, one of the largest men rose. His appearance made it seem likely that he was the proprietor as he wore a white apron over his well-made and well-fitted clothes.
He was just under six feet tall, thickly built, and extremely muscular. The man crossed his arms, flexing his biceps as he did so, and stared at Kilren; a look of sincere displeasure in his eyes.
“This is a private room,” he said with a deep and masculine voice.
“I know,” Kilren replied. “I was just trying to find my father.”
“What's he look like?” the man demanded.
“He's a little taller than me,” the lieutenant began. “Dark hair, blue eyes, muscular, fairly handsome, but he has a stupid expression on his face most of the time.”
“That sounds vaguely familiar,” the man asserted. “How old is he?”
“Forty or so.”
“You look to be eighteen or thereabouts.”
“Thereabouts.”
“I had a son your age once,” the man said, a smile beginning to force its way across his lips. “But, he's been gone so long I'm not sure I'd recognize him.”
“I haven't been gone that long,” the lieutenant laughed.
“You've been gone way too long, boy,” the man replied, stepping over to lock Kilren in a bone crunching hug. “And who is this?”
“Although I'm sure you already know,” Kilren said, “this is Erana. Erana, this is my father Jathan Tellar.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Tellar,” the elvish maiden said, her voice shaking slightly.
“Mister Tellar,” the man laughed, before bowing deeply to her. “Allow me to welcome you to our humble hostelry, Miss Erana. It's rare that we're allowed to offer such a fair daughter of the forest a sample of our hospitality. Although I know that the roof above your head is no substitute for the shaded canopy of the wooded glens of Innalas, and that the beds we boast can't compare with the heather of your homeland, and that our finest vintage can scarcely equal the cool, clear water of the kingdom from which you come, we do our best. What do you ask of your servant? Command that we may obey.”
The elvish maiden stood silent and blushing for several seconds before Jathan burst out laughing again.
“That's the greeting I would give you if you were one of my guests,” he explained. “If that were the case, you'd be perfectly right in calling me Mister Tellar. However, I'd prefer it if you just called me Jathan or, if you'll do me the honor, Father.”
“Certainly, Father,” Erana smiled.
“That's much better. And allow me to greet you as my daughter,” Jathan said, pulling the maiden into his arms and giving her a slightly less vigorous hug than he subjected his son to. “Now, let's go find your mother.”
Jathan led his son and future daughter-in-law quickly back toward the front of the building, where his wife was busy dealing with a merchant. The chamber into which they stepped was obviously an office. Kilren's mother – who was nearly forty, but still retained the bloom of youth – sat behind a heavy wooden desk, arguing somewhat loudly about the quality of the last shipment they had received as well as the price of the next. Fortunately, she and the merchant in question managed to come to an understanding within moments of the trio entering the room.
“Is this her?” the woman asked, leaping to her feet the moment the merchant was gone.
Kilren'
s mother was several inches shorter than her son, but still taller than Erana. Her figure was slender and attractive, and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she spoke.
“Mother,” Kilren said proudly, “allow me to introduce you to Erana. Erana, this is my mother, Linnia Tellar.”
“Just call me Mother,” Linnia said, stepping over to take Erana by the hands. “It's wonderful to meet you at last!”
“And you as well, Mother,” Erana replied with a wide smile.
Instantly Linnia wrapped the elvish maiden in a fond embrace.
“Thank you for writing,” she said. “If it were up to that son of mine, we'd never know where he was or what he was doing.”
“What should we drink in way of celebration?” Jathan asked.
“Ale,” Kilren suggested.
“That mud?!” his father laughed. “That may be good enough for you and I, but your mother and my daughter-to-be deserve better than that!”
As he said this, he stepped over to a nearby cabinet and pulled four glasses and a bottle from it.
“Now, Kilren,” he said, setting the glasses on the desk and working to pull the cork from the bottle.
“You have to grow up some time,” Kilren whispered to his fiancée.
“You have to grow up some time,” Jathan continued as he began filling the glasses.
“Why not start now?” the lieutenant said softly.
“Why not start now?” his father asked, offering a glass to his wife.
“You're heir to the finest inn in all of...”
“What?” his father interrupted.
“Nothing, Sir,” Kilren replied, shaking his head. “You were saying?”
“I was going to say that you're heir to the finest inn in all of...”
At that moment, Jathan was interrupted by some disturbance that seemed to be coming from the common room.
“I wonder what that is,” Linnia said.
“We'd better find out,” he husband nodded. “Come on, son.”
The Lords of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 3) Page 4