A Sea of Cinders

by Adam Bishop

  “That it must be,” Rhys replied. “I haven’t seen Viggo lick anyone since that fair-skinned Elven girl visited our town. Arlinn … or Arqwen, I can’t remember her name now. A beautiful woman she was.”

  “Then it’s a good thing she isn’t here now,” William added. “If I know Baldric, Viggo wouldn’t be the only one wanting a lick.”

  Rhys burst out laughing along with Baldric, who nodded vigorously.

  “I won’t argue with you there, my friend,” Baldric said. “Elven girls possess a beauty far exceeding that of any mortal gal.”

  “I thought you said you’ve never met an Elf?” Rhys questioned.

  “I haven’t. But if pictures tell the truth, I’ll never leave the forest of the Veil once I get there.”

  William joined in on the laughter. However, his headache quickly silenced his amusement. Bloody beers, he thought. Just go away already, won’t you …

  “What’s the matter, Will? Rhys’ brews a little too much for ya?” Baldric taunted.

  “You’re hilarious,” William replied sarcastically. “Don’t act like you feel fresh as a fish in water. You slept in just as long as I did.”

  “Oh, I did. And I freely admit it. We're friends, after all, William. I just didn’t want you to feel bad.”

  William looked at Baldric as if to say, you’re full of it. “So you pretended to sleep longer just for me?”

  “Exactly. You’d do the same for me, I’m sure. What you need now is a good bit of grease, is all. You wouldn’t happen to have any bacon, would you Rhys? It works wonders for those who drink more than they can handle.”

  Pork sizzled on cast-iron, responding to Baldric’s question. “My thoughts exactly,” Rhys replied. He filled the pan with thick strips of bacon. The succulent aroma of fried pork quickly spread throughout the room. “Help yourselves to a cup of tea. The kettle’s full and a pair of cups are waiting for you’se.”

  “A humble host, you are,” Baldric said. “Would you like a cup of tea, Will?”

  “I would love one,” he replied. “My Grandmother always said a cup of tea could cure anything.”

  “That it can,” Rhys mumbled to himself. “So! Wilted and tender, or burned to a crisp? I know everybody likes their bacon a different way.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” said Baldric.

  “Somewhere in between,” William answered. “I’ve always found it tastes best that way.”

  “As have I,” Rhys seconded.

  Their breakfast went down fast, with few words in between. Rhys also boiled them some eggs and warmed up a few scones he had picked up from the town bakery earlier that week.

  “Dinner, ale, and now breakfast! You must let us repay you in some way,” William said after they had finished eating. “We may have no coin, but we can work for what’s rightfully due.”

  “Aye, it’s the least we can do,” Baldric added. “There aren’t many people like you left in Cellagor. It wouldn’t be right to not reciprocate such kindness.”

  Rhys replied with a humble chuckle. “Hush, hush, lads What kind of person would I be if I didn’t help out a couple of weary travellers in need?” he asked with an honest expression. “Not to mention a pair who are on a quest to warn the Elves of approaching doom. All of us living in the Golden Breast care for the Elves as if they were kin. Your intentions cover all costs here, and don’t think anyone else would tell you differently. I’m sure others will offer their help as well … once the word gets around, that is.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?” William asked.

  “Just keep our little town a secret, and warn the Elves of what you told me. The Planter of the Eternal Garden is the only one who knows what would become of this place if the Braxi came marching through.”

  “You have our thanks, then. And our promise,” Baldric said.

  “As do you mine,” Rhys added. “Now, whaddya say I give you the full tour of the Golden Breast, eh? Show you’se what it’s like to live in a land free from the crown and throne.”

  “Lead the way,” Baldric answered. “Is it safe to assume that the Gladsaxe Inn will fit into this little tour of yours?”

  “The walk to the Inn is the tour,” Rhys replied with a cheeky chuckle.

  ***

  The Golden Breast basked in the afternoon sun as the trio stepped outside. Both William and Baldric quickly took notice of the homey ambiance the small town gave off, especially now seeing it in the daytime, free from the shadows which had hid its welcoming but rustic tone the night before. All of the houses appeared bright and freshly painted, and it also seemed as though every resident in town had been graced with a green thumb. Neither leaf nor petal sat out of place. It was like each garden was competing with the neighbouring property.

  “This truly is a secret little haven, isn’t it?” Baldric said, admiring the town’s natural beauty.

  William chimed in, “It really is. It’s amazing to see the difference the light of day brings.”

  “She is quite the sight to see, isn’t she?” Rhys replied in a proud tone. “One hundred and sixty-three years it’ll be this winter. Still a young town, no doubt—but a happy one nonetheless.”

  “And may she flourish for another hundred and sixty,” Baldric said with his hand placed over his heart.

  Just before they could begin their tour of the Golden Breast, Rhys notice little old Britta Thompson scurrying her way over towards them. “Rhys, Rhys!” she cried from a distance.

  Despite the town’s mundane reputation, Britta always enjoyed gossip regarding anything and everything—especially when it involved new visitors in town. “Rhys, you must introduce me to your new friends here. We haven’t had any visitors in so long; certainly none as handsome and young as you two lads,” she added with a smile. Although she was deep into her eighties, it was well known that she had once been one of the most attractive girls the Golden Breast had ever seen. This remembrance of her previous beauty sometimes conflicted with her choice of words.

  Rhys tried his best to hide a subtle snicker, but it made its way through anyhow. “The short, curly-haired fella here is William. The tall, lanky blond one is Baldric.”

  “Lanky?” Baldric disputed. “He means fit. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs …”

  “Britta, just Britta is fine. My husband passed a long while back, my dear.” She blushed as she shook their hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” William replied.

  “So, what brings you fine young lads all the way out here?” she asked.

  William and Baldric were hesitant to answer. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the old lady. It was just that the meaning behind their journey had remained a secret to everyone thus far—with the exception of Rhys.

  “They're off to visit the Elves,” Rhys replied for them. “I found them wandering about the woods and thought I’d set them on the right path, is all.”

  “Oh, how nice,” Britta replied. “Rhys is a kind man, he is. Quite the looker for his age, too,” she teased. “Off to visit the Inn then, are we? You must stop at Lily’s along the way. She makes the best pastries on the hill.”

  “That we will,” Rhys agreed. “Don’t tell them too much now. Our town only has so much to offer.”

  Britta brought a hand to her mouth and grinned bashfully. “My lips are sealed. Enjoy your time, boys. Maybe I’ll see you at the Inn later.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” William and Baldric said simultaneously.

  Next, they arrived at the charming town square. It was surrounded by several small shops, and it was the only part of the Golden Breast where the ground was laid with stone, giving it an air of importance.

  “Welcome to our marketplace,” Rhys said. “It may be small, but I think you’ll find there’s more to offer than meets the eye. You can find all sorts of food: meats, cheese, butter, vegetables, fruits, and so on. We also have a spice dealer, and the bakery Mrs. Thompson spoke of is just across the way. There’s also a tailor, a fletcher, and a ver
y talented cobbler who goes by Guto. I’d say I could get you a fair price, but I doubt those Elven boots of yours need any mending. And last but not least, there’s a small church up the road if you’se wish to make an offering to the Eternal Garden. Provided you pray to the Planter that is. Ain’t no harm in ridding yourselves of a couple seeds of sin.”

  “I don’t think William here is much of a religious man, but I may plant a few seeds … it’s been a while.”

  “That’s an impressive statue,” William said. He pointed at the stone sculpture placed in the centre of the market. “Who is it?”

  “Ah, yes. The man who made all of this possible,” Rhys said. “Cadwalader Brynmor was his name. He founded this place when he was thirty. Look at it now, a haven hidden in the land of the Elves.”

  “Brynmor?” Baldric repeated, recognizing the name “Any relation to Brittle Brynmor?” he asked.

  “Aye. Hef Brynmor, now better known as Brittle Brynmor, was Cadwalader’s first grandson,” Rhys confirmed. “But, I’m sure he’ll tell you this himself. As I said, he likes to talk.”

  “His grandson!?” William blurted in disbelief. “How old is he?”

  Rhys laughed before answering, giving the impression that it was not the first time he had been asked this question. “Well, Brittle Brynmor will, and has, insisted that he’s not a day older than eighty. But the old bugger’s been saying that for the past thirty years. If I were you, I’d simply agree with ‘im.”

  “Duly noted,” Baldric replied. “He sounds like quite the character. But I must say, I too find it hard to believe. Do you know how old he really is?”

  “If anyone does, it would be his cousin. She’s the one been runnin’ the Inn for the past fifty years. But I wouldn’t go asking her about his true age. Them two bicker more than a couple a crows fighting over pieces a bread. You’ll be leaving the Inn with a worse headache than you have now. But, were I to wager a guess—I’d say somewhere around one hundred and twenty, one-twenty-five, even. Most people say he’s too stubborn to die. Personally, I believe it has something to do with his time spent living amongst the Elves.”

  A look of wonder painted Baldric’s face. “Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s make for the Inn, shall we?”

  Rhys was humoured, as he’d never met anyone so intrigued by the thought of an old man’s tales. “No need to be hasty. What about you, Will? Is there anything you’d like to fetch while we’re here?”

  “I’m still full from breakfast,” he said patting his belly. “But even if there was, I haven’t the coin to buy anything.”

  “Bah, come now. You remember what I told you’se. Your intentions cover all costs in the Breast. Here,” Rhys said. He handed William a small satchel filled with coins. “Get what you need, or anything that catches your eye.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” William said in disbelief. The generosity perplexed him. It was a strange feeling—he was both grateful and guilty at the same time.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Rhys replied. “Just let whoever you meet know you’re a friend of mine and they’ll treat you like family.”

  William smiled and nodded. “A good friend, you are. And a generous one at that. I won’t forget what you’ve done for us. Baldric and I will be sure to repay you one day.”

  “Make it to the Viridian Veil and we’ll call it even,” Rhys said. “Now, I know your friend here is itchin’ to get to the Inn. I’ll bring him over there quick and then I’ll come back here and meet you at the statue. Two birds with one stone, as they say … today I’ll be the stone.”

  With that said, the three of them parted ways. One in search of the tales of old and the other on the lookout for things unsold.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Gladsaxe Inn

  Baldric followed Rhys up the wooden steps leading to the entrance of the Gladsaxe Inn. The Inn stood three stories tall with windows wrapping around the entirety of the top floor. Although simple, its homey design was seamlessly constructed.

  “My home away from home,” Rhys said, welcoming Baldric inside.

  The first thing Baldric noticed was the Inn’s distinct smell. Being that he had spent most of his life in a tavern, he expected the stale smell of spilled ale and pipeweed—neither was present here. Instead, the Inn possessed the fresh scent of mountain air blowing in from the Valley of Larin.

  “Hello there, Rhys!” A kind voice shouted from across the room. “Oh, oh my … is that a new face I see there! Have you brought a visitor with you today?” the barmaid asked with wide eyes. She stopped polishing glasses and made her way around the long wooden bartop. “Who might your friend be?” she asked, straightening out her long navy blue dress as she approached them. “I can’t remember the last time we had a new customer in here.”

  “This is Baldric,” Rhys answered. “He’s come all the way from Havelmir.”

  “Havelmir!” she gasped. “Oh goodness! That’s no place for a young man like yourself. A city full of bearded brutes and steel. I mean no disrespect, it’s just … the things I hear. Mind my manners, dear,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Welcome to the Gladsaxe Inn. My name is Gladys.” Her hair was tied up in a bun and, despite her age, she still had some blond streaks amongst the grey.

  Baldric assumed this was Brittle Brynmor’s cousin. He replied respectfully, “No disrespect taken, ma’am. It is a ghastly place, no doubt. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Baldric bowed his head.

  “My word, are you sure you’re from Havelmir?” Gladys asked. “You speak as though you were highborn.”

  “My father taught me proper speech. After he passed, I was sold to a barkeep in Havelmir. It’s not as bad as it sounds, mind you. He wasn’t a cruel man. Far from it, to be honest. If anything, I was lucky to live where I did.”

  “Well, you’re in the Golden Brest now, my dear. What can I get for you’se?”

  “Believe it or not, Baldric has come here to meet your cousin,” Rhys said, trying to contain his smile.

  Gladys furrowed her brow. “My cousin! You do know I only have the one cousin, right?”

  Rhys laughed. “Yes, Gladys. This is a small town. I know everyone who lives here by name.”

  “Well, I hope you didn’t come all this way just to meet him,” Gladys grumbled. “I fear you’ll be rather disappointed.”

  “I have a feeling they’ll get along just fine,” Rhys insisted. “Alright then, I’ll be back eh? Keep an eye on him for me, will you?”

  “You’re leaving?” Gladys said.

  “Aye. I’m gonna go fetch Baldric’s friend.”

  Rhys left before the bemused barmaid could get a word in.

  Gladys shifted her attention back to Baldric. “Well then, dear. Can I get you a drink? I’m not sure if you know this, but Rhys himself brews all the beers we carry here.”

  “Oh yes, he shared some with us last night. Best ale I’ve ever had. I’d love an amber if you have it.”

  “Of course, of course. A fine choice,” Gladys nodded. Just as she was about to walk away, she paused and turned back around. “Sorry, my dear. I almost forgot. You wish to meet my cousin. The old bugger’s in his usual spot. Back of the room over there, on the far right. You let me know if he’s any trouble and I’ll be sure to set him straight for you.”

  “Thank you,” Baldric replied.

  Despite Brittle Brynmor’s infamous reputation, Baldric couldn’t have been more excited to meet the death-defying man. To his surprise, the Inn’s first floor was much larger than he’d expected. There were at least twenty more tables than in the Maidens Pearl, and the number of booths lining the walls outnumbered the Pearl by a long shot. The decor was equally impressive. Countless paintings hung from the walls, free from dust and fitted inside maple-etched frames, and several well-crafted instruments were mounted alongside the paintings, waiting to be played by any who possessed such talents. There was even a small stage built into the back corner of the room.

  Finally, he saw him. Sit
ting in the back corner—like a stick in the mud—was Brittle Brynmor, dressed in garments fit for a king. He was wearing a black tunic with a golden-stitched pattern of leaves underneath a purple velvet vest. He also had on a pair of pointed leather boots—which looked freshly polished—and to top it all off, a sleek mahogany-brown velvet Tudor flat cap fitted with a large violet feather rested atop his head.

  Baldric strode over and took the seat in front of him. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brynmor. My name is Baldric. Baldric Algar.” He extended a hand for a shake. Brittle Brynmor simply picked up his glass of brandy and swirled it around.

  “Who are you, then? Some glorified merchant? I’ve never seen you before. You think you can swindle me, youngin’? I’ll bat you over the head so hard you'll wish your mother never squeezed ya out.”

  Before Baldric could respond, Gladys placed his ale in front of him and swatted her cousin’s head.

  “You bitter old bastard, you! This sweet young man came all the way from Havelmir! All he wants is a moment of your time! He’s not selling a single thing, so get that idea out of your fat wrinkled head and treat him with some respect, or the next time I swat ya will be a lot worse than that, ya hear?”

  Brittle Brynmor took a few seconds to let everything sink in before answering. “Havelmir? You mean that northern Kingdom full of goat fuckers? Quite a trek, that is. Leave us be then, eh? I’ll talk to the poor boy.”

  Gladys reframed from any further scolding on Baldric’s behalf and left them to their meeting.

  “So, what is it you want to know, boy?” Brynmor asked.

  That signature grin appeared on Baldric’s face. “Usually I’m the one who tells the stories, but I hear you’re quite the tale-spinner yourself.”

  “Tale-spinner!” Brynmor repeated. “I haven’t heard anybody use that term since my friend Stephen died. He preferred the darker side of things, and he could tell a story like no other. He was obsessed with this black tower he saw in his dreams. Poor bastard said the dream would always loop back to the beginning right at the end.” Brynmor sipped from his glass before acknowledging Baldric’s clothing. “You dress like an Elf, but you’re most certainly not one. How is it you came by those clothes?”