"So what brings you this way? I heard word you were arriving only a week ago. What mess awaits you across the border?"
"There be no artifacts to worry about this time old man," Pollus laughed. "'Just more labor for the sake of the Empire. We head for Royal, on the coast of Corcadia to join a garrison of Imperials. Alas, it's a tale that has no ranking with the likes of someone as common as yourself. Your tales still bring you much attention I see?"
"Counters for my looks if you follow me?"
The Alduainians were offered free ale, and his companions were grateful, his son Gallus among them, only a child when Clancey last observed him, now he looked every part the soldier as his father. The men of Alduain were a portrait of prestige, their doublets were finely stitched yet all varied, though all wore Alduainian robes, colored in the darkest shade of green, with the insignia of a mountain with a chevron inside it, and a sword that pointed down through the peak that represented the knights of the mountain men. For warriors who had been horribly influenced by war the Alduainians were gentleman, prominent among the patrons who had many questions, and the soldiers were happy to indulge them.
In the late watches of the night, the music had gone and the roar of the villagers had subsided, the inn rooms had filled and some double the occupancy. Those without a room slept on bedrolls sprawled across the dock where braziers gave warmth from the frosty bite of the sea. Away from the tavern a cloud of smoke arose from Clancey's second-story balcony, for he and Pollus sat back on a pair of rocking chairs and beheld a moonlit night.
"That Pollus," Clancey pointed toward his village, "that is a good life. Away from politics and elitist city folk. People here don't care about gold or the dangers of war, they're simply immersed in love and friendship. They would not call their work a chore, rather embrace it. Things like war are but a feature in a story, peril to these people is expensive labor or inadequate tools, perhaps what would make a finer dinner. That is a good life.”
"You were never one to shy away from city life I would think, I dare say you exaggerate on such things, the banality of it all."
"All I know is after years spent roving from city to city, a greater appreciation I find in these simple village folk."
Pollus filled his hash-pipe once more, amused the conversation had become a debate.
"It's funny, any villager you ask would tell you they'd much prefer to experience the city life. That's just how life is I think, people are fascinated in that which they do not know. I would claim your life treads along that very line."
Clancey held high his silver hash-pipe, the sparkle of the moon’s reflection upon its gleaming surface reflected like diamonds.
"You know the Arch-mage of Astiroth gave me this pipe, if you believe me."
"I don't believe you," said Pollus, and Clancey scoffed at the accusation.
"Are you calling me a thief?"
"Well face it old friend, a treasure hunter is merely a more conspicuous form of a thief, but a form none the less."
"I prefer opportunist. As grim as it sounds I only stole from the dead, they have more to concern themselves with than possessions my friend, the living have nothing to fear from these hands."
"Except for that Hash-pipe?"
"Except for this Hash-pipe yes," Clancey laughed. "Treasure hunting Pollus it…" he started, empowered by the thought, "it was a wonderful life, as much as I tell people otherwise, it was a blessing my friend, an absolute blessing. Sure there was danger, but it was always a preface to a greater discovery. I never cared about the gold you know, discovering history and exploring lands even bards couldn't speak of, for me that was where the wealth lie."
He took a puff from his pipe and again noticed the fragile hand that held it.
"I encountered many monsters, weathered many punches. Alas my friend, age is a monster I cannot flee, and it has consumed me."
"Consumes us all Clancey. Be grateful that many don't get to live a life so extraordinary."
Pollus stood to look back at the accomplished collection Clancey had acquired over the years.
"Perhaps you're right, many a man could peddle such things and live a wealthy life, but I can see the value to be had gazing upon them now, could impress even a dwarf I would think."
He ruffled a few old coins from Clancey's strongbox in his hand, all varied in where they could be spent. Every item his eyes lay upon raised a question, from the trivial to exceptional, it was an archive of artifacts like no other.
"I must admit it is odd to be surrounded by so much mystery in a land I'm so learned about," Pollus remarked, staring at a helmet whose origin was oblivious to him. "A wiser man would have worn the finest armor going into the perils you did."
"Aye, but I'd wager they'd run nay as swift," he laughed, "and run I did. Would you like another drink old friend? I have something quite intriguing if you wish to try, new actually."
"Always appreciate a great tasting ale, not like that firewater they serve in Anville. If there's gold to be made you should augment your brew, a barrel of your ale in every tavern would give countless soldiers high spirits after a demanding day by my account."
"If I did that old friend I fear you wouldn't find the need to come visit."
Clancey gathered some goblets and poured the ale. "You know as much as I admire the chance to create my ale here and share it amongst others, I regret not doing more with my time."
"Ooh that's good," Pollus interrupted, taking a sip of his drink. "What would you do?"
Clancey looked out beyond the balcony where his fields of barley and wheat were crowded with tents occupied by Pollus' men, to his interest were the exceptional steeds that grazed his grass.
"I’ve constantly desired to breed horses here, though not for the sake of coin. I have always revered them, longer than I have the taste of ale. I mean the space is ideal and I could afford the labor. I would have done it a while ago, but when I arrived here there was less need for fisherman to have horses and more need for them to have a good drink if you follow me."
"What's changed?"
"These are the farmlands my friend, horses can be used for many a ploughing. Plus, with the war ever closer to our borders our armies will need cavalry. Villagers here can be ignorant to the dangers close at hand, but they don't know better."
"You suggest the Alduainians aren't capable of victory?" Pollus said mockingly. "'Tis a good ambition, you should pursue it even, if not now then what lifetime do you expect to accomplish it." Clancey nodded and pocketed the idea.
"You know I was half expecting you to be asking for my help again, once I heard you were coming this way."
Pollus burst with a laugh to imply such an idea was ridiculous.
"Well it wouldn't be the first time old friend. I must admit I never completely understood the glory of your name when I first met you, a man who admired treasure for something other than its power. The fact so much treasure exists out in the land astonishes me so. You were reckless at best I must say, but look at the good you achieved."
"My tales would be less exciting if I were a man who listened to reason. By my reckoning I was arrogant, I would argue it comes with youth, yet many mistake it for bravery. Be there one thing old age rewards you with Pollus and that is knowledge, and a sensibility towards everything you do, or have done for that matter. If I was wise to one thing my friend I'm pleased it was this - that there are many artifacts of power beyond our understanding in this world, and they should not be trifled with."
"Some men would argue power is all that matters in a lifetime. History rarely remembers a moral man, we're more entertained in the tales of those who conquered, those that destroy in order to conquer, may it disgust us." Pollus leaned over as if to whisper. "Your victories I feel should earn you such a tale, aspiring men in generations ahead."
"It is flattering friend, but I am no hero. My troubles stemmed from my own curiosity, heroes reside in people such as yourself. Soldiers don't choose danger, but protect us regardless, and I wis
h your soldiers good fortune. Alas you have yet to tell me what awaits you across the border, is there a threat to our province?"
"The Imperials are garrisoned in the north of Corcadia, this battle with their army has been mired in the Yellowlands for months we’re told, strong as the Legion may be they cannot penetrate the Corcadians’ defence. Our orders are to join Royal in the south, and meet their army on both sides, but now I hear ashlanders have joined some militia from the mountains to make things harder for everyone. I’m telling you, that province is one giant mess these days, you have five factions fighting for a reason I highly doubt they remember, all to grow an Empire I suppose."
"Why send you?" Clancey wondered. "Our bodies are far from durable anymore Pollus. Is it not Alduain custom to honor retirement to those who have served as long as you?"
"A custom no man in Alduain can oblige. Sure it looks considerate on paper, but do you think I would sit comfortably back home as I do now, knowing my son is fighting a war so far from home. I would use every ounce of strength left to protect my family, whatever the cause."
"You come to protect Gallus. I understand completely, surely age is no obstacle if the willpower is true."
"Us older people are made to feel we aren't useful at anything anymore. Years of history we have endured, yet even now in the twilight of my time no difference do I sense I've accomplished. But yes, for my sons Gallus and Theo, I will exhaust myself to see their safety."
"You're a true knight Pollus, your memory will live long through them. A respectable father is most endearing I say. I think about the lads downstairs that Serin takes into his care, all whose parents abandoned them. Serin be a most valuable man, the very highest, his kids love him like a father and that's all that matters. They call each other brothers and sisters no less, most heart-warming. Perhaps it is my one regret in life to never experience such things."
"You're right old friend," Pollus said with a hint of sadness. "I don't know what awaits me across the border, perhaps its resolve will happen long after I'm gone, alas I have lived a good life. I think a man should realize this before his end."
"Indeed, be it many years from now."
Clancey raised his goblet and Pollus did likewise.
"Shall we toast in memory of a good life then?"
"Yes we may. I will toast to your untimely victory," Clancey laughed, "and for me, an end to adventure."
Chapter 1
LANDAU
In a small wattle house across from the Great Oak, Landau woke up early before the sun could embrace his village, and dressed himself in his brown breeches and vest, all oversized and dangling off his young physique. He was eleven years old, scruffy looking with a natural pale complexion, his untidy maroon hair dangled with many fringes, yet his face was adorable, with curious blue eyes settled upon his apple cheeks and a pinched nose as cute as a button, sitting low above his top lip. Reserved in the manner he would talk, his personality reflected through his behavior. He led by example and committed to any task imposed by his father, or Clancey for that matter.
His days were simple, helping around the house in the morning then running off to play with Serin's kids, before laboring at the tavern come afternoon and seldom nights. On occasion he perched himself atop of Pine-Tree Pillar to read a book, a towering spiral of granite with a soft stretch of grass and a solitary pine that overlooked the boats and tavern. It was his peaceful corner, with a majestic view of the sea, though seldom did he happen upon a new book. No hawker ever wandered the southern roads, for folks in the south barely read nor desired to, and little time existed of late to relish such moments.
He started the fire the way his father had demonstrated, then went to the yard to garner eggs from the cages, the few chickens he owned were not startled by his presence. Down the road he ambled to Gundry the town baker who prepared a fresh loaf, it was Landau's reward for aiding Clancey at the tavern who in turn compensated Gundry with a free ale every afternoon. Landau showered his eggs with seasoning and carefully toasted the bread before he plated each item to bring to his father. Quietly he opened the wooden shutters, and the minimal sunlight elongating from the horizon entered the room. He placed the meal on a side table, and the aroma quickly awoke his father.
Nicholas was a great man, tall and slender with hair like his son's, but his face was thin and almost gaunt, an overgrown beard draped from his jaw, and remained unkempt for some time. His eyes appeared tiny, as though his eyelids were heavy, and his brow sat arched upon them, like they warranted sorrow. He once looked a picture of health but in recent times had been dealt a disconcerting affliction. His muscles progressively failed him, at first an increased exhaustion found him resting regularly, before long his strength began to abandon him, spiralling to a point where lifting his knife and fork to eat his son's breakfast was a tiring prospect.
"What time is it son?" he moaned, shimmying back to sit upright in his bed.
"The sun has just come up dad, thought you might wanna get up early and see the soldiers leave. Clancey said they’d be leaving mid-morning."
"Son I don't think I have the energy to get myself ready in time, you understand lad?"
"It's alright dad, I'll help you, we only need to go to the porch, Clancey says they'll be passing our way."
Nicholas smiled at his boy, though proud for his son, touches of regret welted in his eyes. He cordially ate his breakfast before Landau assisted him into his clothes; he tied his shoes and buttoned his coat, then carried the weight of his father on his shoulder to escort him to the lounge, to sit by the fire.
It was a cool morning, even with the doors closed and the fire snapping, so Landau made his father a cup of warm tea to enkindle his insides.
"How was the party last night Landau?"
"I was washing up Clancey's mugs for the most part, but didn't mind too much, you should have seen the soldiers there dad, with their fancy cloaks, oh and their weapons, swords and spears would you believe, just like in stories I read."
Nicholas could tell his son was excited.
"I wish you could have been there dad, a few people asked about you."
"I could hear the music just fine from my room," he muttered, peering at the aftermath of last night's carousal, his voice fainter than normal. "What did they want, these soldiers?"
"They were friends of Clancey from what Elliott told me, headed towards the mountains I think. I went and had a peek at their horses before coming home, they were huge dad, bigger than those Aurochs we saw last year, well not as tall but…" he stammered, frustrated he couldn't clarify it properly.
"Hope Clancey didn't keep ya too late," looking down the road where Clancey's estate occupied a company of horses, heavily burdened with armor and supplies.
"Indeed there can only be trouble to travel so far as Alduain," said Nicholas, but was interrupted by the clashing of his cup to the floor, the handle slipped through his fingers.
Landau said nothing, instead he snatched some cloth to wipe the spill before helping his dad to his chair, though Nicholas gave him a soft push, frustrated to think he couldn't do it himself.
"Be glad that they're gone and our village can get back to its quiet business."
Landau had succumbed to remain quiet in such moments, for the constant sympathy of his father's state only inflamed him. He cleaned the spill before he washed the dishes, from the kitchen Landau spoke in length of the villagers that had turned up last night, excited more to describe the soldiers, for it was foreign to observe such apparel and armaments.
Nicholas listened to the elation evident in his son's voice, a welcome distraction he thought in a village void of outside interaction.
Landau finished up and escorted his father outside. On their quaint porch they watched the last of the Alduainians canter east towards the mountains, while the rest of the villagers from out of town began their journey home. Nicholas struck a conversation with old friends from Tripple when Elliott came running, pulling Landau’s arm to come join him by t
he stream.
The slippery stream as the kids called it was a favored spot for them to play, here butterflies came to flutter, while swallows and goldfinch revelled among the trees. Landau was thrilled to consume his time with the Porthos children.
Melly was the oldest girl in the village, though very much one of the boys, a corpulent girl with long and dark curly hair the color of chocolate. She was a couple years older than Landau, the few remaining children in the village were younger, other than Timothy who was just shy of being a man. Landau was reminded of Melly's quick temper when the pair ran to the stream where she scoured for frogs, before Elliott kicked the current to cover her dress in water.
"Elliott you twit, do us all a favor and roll down that hill!"
"Sorry," he said. "I was only tryin' to get rid of the smell that was oozing from that dress."
"The only smell around here is the one you were born with! If they buried you it would still persist."
She kicked water towards Elliott who floundered away, he travelled only a few feet before Melly tackled him to the terrain to smear mud on his face, despite his surrender.
A small hill of soft grass hung over the stream like the handle on a ladle where Jenny was perched, the youngest girl in the village, petite with long, luminous blonde hair. Landau rushed to plant a kiss on her cheek which caused her to giggle before she wiped it off.
She was the last of the abandoned children to have arrived in the village only five years ago, and ever since she learned to talk Landau prized her as his own little sister. He cherished talking to Jenny and received her full attention, be it a story he just read, someone interesting at the tavern, she was always eager to listen. Maybe it was her ignorance, or her innocent, impartial look on the world, but her caricatured expressions could always be counted on to be endearing. In a plain white dress that exuded innocence, she nestled on the hill with the Elder's cat, a fat, orange striped slouch she called Boogers who was not perturbed by her affectionate strokes.
The Secret of Azuron (The Sword Empire Book 1) Page 2