A Sea of Cinders

by Adam Bishop

  Gill considered the idea for a moment, but it was too late—his ego had already consumed him. “Ballocks! He’s overstayed his welcome already! It's time he learned a thing or two about those who live in Havelmir!” Gill stood up. As he walked toward the pipe-smoking foreigner, he rested his palm atop the hilt of his blade. He had sharpened it that morning.

  He stopped at the foot of the man’s table. The man remained as still and calm as he had been for the past several hours. Gill leaned forward and grabbed the man’s brew, chugging it in one steady motion.

  “Buuuurp!” Gill wiped his mouth. “Oh! Sorry, were you going to drink that?” he asked with a mischievous grin. He waited for a reaction. Surely this would cause a rise out of the foreigner.

  The cloaked man simply grinned, revealing a set of rotting teeth. He took a long haul from his pipe.

  “You find me funny, stranger?” Gill asked, clenching his teeth. His hand now firmly gripped the hilt of his blade. He wanted nothing more than to drive his sword deep into the cloaked man’s skull. He pictured the blood, heard the sound of iron meeting bone.

  “Are you so easily tempted to kill me? Do you always let your anger decide your actions for you?” the cloaked man said eerily. His tone was near a whisper, yet the words travelled through the tavern with force and clarity.

  The power of the cloaked man’s voice loosened Gill’s grip on his blade. A hint of hesitation set in, forcing him to question his previous intentions. For a moment, he pondered the idea of retreating and sitting back with his friends. But then his weakness and self-doubt pushed him to the brink.

  “You best be careful with your next words, outsider. It’s late, and you’ve tested my patience enough for one night.” Gill was gripping his blade once again.

  The cloaked man took another mighty haul from his pipe. He blew smoke in Gill’s face. “It’s the scent you don’t like, isn’t it? I think you’ll find it rather embracing once you get used to it,” the drifter said, now looking back at Gill through his set of corpse-like eyes.

  “I’m warning you, stranger,” Gill said. He was on the precipice of drawing his blade.

  “My name is Vagrin. I am no stranger to your King. But you are … so what I say to you is: who will be missed more?”

  Before Gill could draw his sword, Vagrin sprang up and drove a small hollowed spike into Gill's jugular. It happened in a blur of motion. And before Gill or the Perry brothers even realized, Vagrin was sitting again, filling his pipe with more of that foul-smelling herb Gill despised. Gill brought a hand to his neck, feeling the small metal spike jutting out of it.

  “Easy, now,” Vagrin urged. “I wouldn’t pull that out … unless your wish is to die.”

  Gill trembled, his eyes widening. Everything had happened so fast.

  “Wha—what do you mean?” Gill croaked.

  “Well, the instrument sticking out of your neck is a bleeding spike. If you were to pull it out now, the serrated end would tear your artery. You would bleed to death in seconds. But, if you leave it in, you should have a day or two before the blood siphons through its core. Not to worry though. It’s a painless death. Someone as foolish as yourself surely doesn’t deserve to suffer … especially not on my account.”

  Vagrin then got up. He nodded at the Perry brothers and left the Maidens Pearl. Moments later, he had disappeared into the shadows of the night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  An Onion on the Hook

  Many miles had been left behind them since that night spent on Tullin’s Bay. Their travels led them northeast along the Riders Coast, where they made their way through the Fields of Dale and into the rocky lands of Colt. Despite Colt being a rather barren land, absent of almost any life, they found themselves sitting at the edge of a gorgeous riverbank.

  “I thought you were a fisherman,” Baldric said sarcastically. “Two hours have passed and all I’ve seen you pull out of the river so far has been an empty hook.”

  William took in a deep breath and forced a smile. He wanted nothing more than to catch a fish, but now his patience was fading. Baldric’s coy remarks didn’t help. “Fishing isn’t about catching loads of fish. It’s the time in between that makes the catch worthwhile,” William said, quoting his father. He then thought back to how impatient he was the first few times he tried fishing. He noticed the same impatience in Baldric that his father had seen in him. “It might take a bit at first, but you’ll understand after you fish a few times. Although I must say, it doesn’t help that I’m using a self-made rod with raw onion as bait.”

  Baldric laughed. “I can’t argue with you there, my friend. Maybe you’ll prove me wrong once we get you some proper equipment.”

  William shook his head, trying to hide the fighting grin on his face. He never found himself bothered by Baldric’s sly remarks. Everything he said was cleverly worded and never held an ounce of disrespect. It was a rare quality that few possessed. Many found it amusing, yet Baldric seemed to use it in a way no other could.

  “It isn’t so much the rod as it is the bait. I need something other than this bloody onion on my hook. Maybe you’d like to give it a go?” William asked, holding the rod out to Baldric. His expression said I know you won’t try.

  “No, no. I have no doubt you’re a great fisherman, Will. I only poke fun is all. I’ll be as useless as a shadow in the water,” Baldric said with a standoffish gesture.

  William smiled once again and turned his attention back to his line. The river’s current was strong, and without a bobber he would have to keep a keen eye on the pull. The calming flow of the river added to the peaceful near-silence between them. They both found the watery hum of the current to be relaxing.

  Baldric lost interest in the whole “hush, hush,” fishing activity pretty quickly. He soon found himself studying the Elven sword he had found in Rhan. He picked up the blade, removed it from its sheath, and laid it across his lap. The willow leaf saber was a work of art. Elven runes decorated the fuller of the blade and the sleek wooden hilt was decorated with beautiful ivory and gold inlays. Baldric ran his thumb over the silver pommel, which had been skillfully carved to depict the head of a northern shrike. He had read many books on Elven weaponry, and he’d never imagined he would be in the possession of an Elven Lord’s sword himself.

  “You should have never taken that sword,” William said, ending his friend’s brief moment of bliss. “Stealing from an Elven Lord, dead or alive, will surely bring us closer to death.”

  “I only mean to borrow it,” Baldric defended. “I plan on presenting it to Lord Thinduill as an act of respect.”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to find such a respected piece of history in the hands of a human.”

  Baldric grimaced, returning the sword to its sheath. “You know little of the Elves, Will. They aren’t barbarians like the humans in Havelmir. Such ignorance will only bring you further from understanding the complexity of their race.”

  William quickly realized he had struck the wrong chord. “I meant no disrespect. My apologies. It’s just … well … yes, it’s true I know little of the Elves. From what I’ve heard, they’re a menacing race and they enjoy killing humans for the fun of it.”

  Baldric took William’s words into account. “It’s not your fault, Will. You can’t be blamed here. I’m just used to those who show a great deal of hatred toward the Elves. I mistook your words for what they were. You grew up at sea, and it’s foolish to think that you would know the Elves for who they truly are. I should be the one apologizing here, my friend.”

  “There’s no need for an apology,” William said. “My fear of the Elves got in the way of what I said. I’ve never met an Elf, or even known anyone who has. All I know is what I’ve heard, and none of the tales end well.”

  Baldric tilted his head, his brows rising in unison. “Still, my words were hasty ... have you ever heard of the War of the Fallen, Will? What am I saying?” he muttered to himself shaking his head, “Of course you have. What I meant to say
is, what did you hear?”

  William gave Baldric a look that said, what do you take me for, a fool? Indeed he had heard of this war —everyone had. Nonetheless, he felt as though he was going to get another history lesson. “The War of the Fallen … I may have lived at sea my whole life, but everyone knows that story. How the humans fell into the abyss, how thousands were lost to darkness. It’s a miracle our race didn’t go extinct that day!”

  Unexpectedly, Baldric grinned. William found this very disrespectful, but he figured the reason behind his queer remark held a suitable explanation—and he was right.

  “This is true, my friend. But what you don’t know—or more suitably—what you weren’t intended to know, is that the Elves also nearly went extinct that day. Both sides fell into darkness, Elf and man alike. The abyss nearly wiped out both armies. The real miracle was that anyone survived, for the Gods wished for complete desolation.”

  A blank stare fell upon William’s face. It was the first time he had heard this theory concerning the War of the Fallen, and it was the first time anyone had believed Baldric’s version of the Battle—despite the truth behind his words. William, still baffled by what he just heard, fumbled his words. “What do you … the Elves, they too were … I thought?”

  “I know it must come as a shock. Taking something you’ve known as truth your whole life and twisting it around—I felt the same way. But think about it. Why would the Elves retreat to the forests as the humans did to their Kingdoms? If the Elves had such numbers, wouldn’t the war have ended differently? Both sides lost that day. The mountain stole the victory from both the humans and the Elves. The War of the Fallen took place nearly one hundred years ago. The story has simply been manipulated over the years, both for those on land and at sea. Any story worth telling has its fabrications, and one as epic as this is more than suitable to bend the minds of others, wouldn’t you say?”

  William found himself at a loss for words. Everything Baldric had said made perfect sense. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around the pure scale of it. He simply nodded, waiting for his next words to form a sentence. “I’ve no doubt what you say is true. But why would the Elves cast such a spell if it meant death to their own race?” he asked.

  “The Elves never intended such a grim fate. For all anyone can be sure of, they weren’t even aware of the actual outcome. According to history, Lord Ammarth—the Elf responsible for conjuring the mountain—was obsessed with the Barthaglonn, or The Book of No Quarter, as it’s known to humans. He believed he had found a pattern in the book and that he understood how to use it. The cruel fate of it all was that he had been wrong—wrong being an understatement. He was so far off that the gamble he took nearly killed off his entire race. This outcome was the cause of a new age. An age of tranquility, which has now come to an end. The war against the Elves has begun again. And if history repeats itself, we’ll all be doomed.”

  William found this history lesson equally fascinating and terrifying. Knowing such magic existed in the world left him feeling helpless and insignificant. Through Baldric’s wisdom, he had come to understand why the war between humans and Elves had been inevitable. He now knew the truth. It wasn’t just about differences of beliefs and religion. It was more than that. It was about ultimate power—the control over life itself. “This book you speak of, The Book of No Quarter. Where is it now ... has it been destroyed?”

  Baldric stared back at William through dulled eyes. “Such a book can never be destroyed. It was forged by the Gods themselves. As for its location, well—your guess is as good as mine. I doubt even the Elven Lords could answer that question. If anyone would know of its whereabouts, it would be Orrinelmborn, King of the Elves. He would die a thousand times over before revealing its location.”

  William tried to take all of this into consideration. Until now he had never thought that knowing the truth behind something could be such a burden. He was sure there were still a lot of things involving the current war he didn’t know about, but he felt like he was finally viewing the bigger picture—a picture he hoped would never be painted.

  “And you feel siding with the Elves could better our chances of survival … despite everything you just told me?” he asked.

  “Well … yes. I mean, I doubt the Elves will make the same mistake twice. They’re a far superior race to that of man. If the tides were turned and we humans possessed such power, I fear a painful death would meet us all.”

  William found himself agreeing with his friend’s perspective. He was human, yes. But he had seen what humans were capable of, and if such a power was placed in the hands of someone like Dadro, greed and destruction would undoubtedly put an end to all life. “I may not be ready to place my trust in the hands of the Elves, but I can’t deny man’s avarice for greed and power. If I had to choose, I would rather the Elves be in control of the book.”

  “Trust me, William. The Elves have no intention of killing those who mean no harm. War was nonexistent up until the birth of humankind. No battles have ever taken place between Elf and Elf. They’re a peaceful race,” Baldric said.

  William nodded. “I hope you’re right, my friend,”

  “That I am, and I’m sure of it. Trust me, Will. I wouldn’t save your life just to introduce you to greater danger.”

  William believed Baldric was telling the truth. He just hoped the Elves Baldric spoke of still existed, and that their race hadn’t taken on a change of heart.

  A sudden tug on William’s line stole him away from his worried thoughts. He quickly focused his attention on his line and patiently waited for his chance to set the hook.

  Baldric noticed William’s immediate change of character. He too focused on the line in hopes of witnessing William catch their dinner.

  “Come on, take the bait,” William said. He couldn’t remember the last time he caught a fish. Every second brought back a nostalgic feeling he had long forgotten. The intensity was exhilarating. His mind was free and his focus couldn’t have been any stronger. The second his line inched under the surface of the water, he yanked back on the rod. He felt the hook set and rushed toward the edge of the riverbank to pull in his catch. His hands moved quickly—like a watermill rushing through a strong current. As he neared the end of his line, the weight of the fish became apparent. Judging its size, he controlled the strength of his pull. Seconds later, he reeled in a sizable fish from the river and swiftly brought it away from the bank, placing it safely on the ground behind him. A large grin painted his face, and Baldric shared the same expression.

  “Would you look at that! Who knew an onion on the hook would bring in such a catch?” Baldric said. “I never doubted you for a second, Will,” he added holding back a smile.

  William let out a brief laugh and looked up at Baldric. “Oh yes, I’m sure of it,” he said sarcastically as he removed the hook from their flopping dinner. “Looks like it’s not such awful bait after all!”

  “Well, I’m sure there’s other bait that would shorten the wait, no?” Baldric chuckled. “Best be on our way. If we make good time you could teach me how to skin a fish before sundown.”

  William smiled, “That I will. But I have to, say it’s a little different than skinning a rabbit. It calls for more of a delicate touch. I’m not sure you’re best suited for such things.”

  Baldric grinned at William’s remark. “You obviously haven’t spoken to any of my past lovers. My words may be harsh, but my fingers speak a whole other language.” Both of them burst into laughter as they walked toward the tree line in the distance.

  ***

  The large trout was beautifully flayed and sat roasting over the fire. The smell set both of their stomachs to a low growl. They used some of the spices they had found in Rhan to season the fish, and now the scent of thyme and garlic filled with air.”

  “I must say, your speed was impressive back there. I don’t think the fish even realized he had been caught until he was out of the river and onto the grass,” Baldric said.

&
nbsp; William looked at the cooking trout and nodded slightly. “You can’t be dull when you set the hook. The fish is always faster than you, but his speed means nothing if you don’t give him a chance to use it.” Again, William found himself quoting his father, which saddened him a little. However, he was also grateful to have so many fond memories of him.

  “Said like a true master of the art,” Baldric replied.

  “Those are my father’s words again. He was a wise man. Much of what he said sticks with me.”

  “He sounds it. I would have liked to meet him. My father taught me many things as well. Whattaya say you teach me how to fish and I’ll teach you how to use a bow? We have a long road ahead of us, and this way we’ll have something to do.”

  “Sounds good … I just hope you're better at catching fish than you are at skinning them,” William jested.

  Baldric grinned. “Just wait until you try to shoot an arrow for the first time. Then we’ll see who's laughing.”

  “Who knows? Maybe I’m a natural.”

  “Uh-huh,” Baldric replied in a doubtful tone. “Trust me—it’s not as easy as it looks.”

  “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. For now, we eat,” William said, getting up to remove the fish from the V-shaped skewer he made. It was cooked to perfection—golden brown and crispy around the edges with a tender flakey centre.

  “Mmmm, you sure outdid yourself today, my friend. This is delicious.” Baldric stuffed his face.

  “There’s nothing better than a fresh catch,” William replied, trying to savour every bite he took. He could have eaten ten more fish, but food was scarce and they would have to get used to eating smaller portions while they were on the road.

  Swallowing his last bite, William couldn’t help thinking about what Baldric had told him earlier. He began finding himself more intrigued by the Elves, ever since that night in the ruins of Rhan. Until then, he had always thought of the Elves as a daunting, wood-bound race of savages. The more he learned about who they really were, the more he realized how mistaken he had been all his life.