by Adam Bishop
“My friend, William, and I were in a war between the Braxi and the Elves of Rhan. We managed to hide during the fight and took the clothes afterwards.”
“So you stole em!” Brynmor accused with a frown.
“No, course not. You see, we were prisoners. We took them after the fighting had subsided. We mean to warn Lord Thinduill of what happened there. I met William during the march to Rhan. He seemed like a trustworthy fellow, so I decided to bring him along for the journey … he’s a good man…best man I’ve ever known.”
Brynmor studied Baldric’s face for signs of fabrication. He saw none. “You’re saying the Braxi attacked the Elves in Caperoot Wood?”
“Caperoot?” Baldric queried. “I’ve never heard that name before. Is that what people used to call it?”
“Used to … I still do. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Brynmor said defensively. “But yes. I suppose that name died off a few years back. Rhan is Elvish slang for little brother. It’s a fitting name, considering its size and all.”
Baldric knew right then that this was going to be a good day. He had yet to take a sip of his ale, but already he was learning something new about the Elves. “I had no idea,” Baldric said. “I’ve read—”
Brittle Brynmor cut him off before he could say anymore. “Hold on there, boy. What of this war you speak of? Are you telling me the Braxi defeated the Elves of Rhan?”
“I wish it wasn’t so … but yes.”
“Bah! You’re a liar! No human army could ever defeat the Elves. Especially not in the woods.”
“I would have thought the same … but the Braxi weren’t alone. A pyromancer aided them in battle. He supplied them with some kind of magic oil. It eviscerated the entire forest within minutes.”
“A pyromancer … in Cellagor?” Brynmor found such a claim hard to believe. “Your whole story reeks of falsehoods … however, I believe you. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone is feeding me lies. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case here. You also mentioned a name that caught my ear … Thinduill. How is it you know this name?”
“Elven history has long fascinated me,” Baldric explained. “I’ve read countless books about them. Their culture, their Gods … everything I could get my hands on. I want to warn Thinduill of what has happened in Rhan. The Braxi left no survivors. Or rather, none that they knew about,” he said with a smirk.
“Cheeky little bugger, aren’t you?” Brynmor said, taking note of Baldric’s half-smile. “I like that. A mortal risking his life to help the Elves. Well then, I suppose you came here today to learn more about those you have yet to meet, yes?” Brynmor asked.
Baldric nodded enthusiastically as he took his first flavorful sip of ale.
“Right then, where shall I begin?” the old man said. “I suppose I’d better start with my grandson, Percy. He was a singer you see, but not just any old singer. He had the voice of a golden god. Had a knack for singing since he was a young lad. Everybody on the Breast knew it. I remember the first time I witnessed his true potential. He was sitting in my study reading through one of my dusty books filled with ancient songs of old: A Walk Down Country Lane ... A Decade Gone … Hangman ... The Wind Won’t Blow, and so on. Anyhow, he started singing the lyrics from one of those songs, and let me tell you, I’ve never heard anything like it before in my life. His voice, his tone, his melody—it was like he’d written the damn song himself! He had never heard any of those songs before. They were just words on a page. But they were more than words to him. He saw the music, the beauty and art of it …”
Just as Baldric found himself fully captivated by Brynmor’s tale, the old bugger stopped abruptly to address his empty brandy glass. This must be how Will feels sometimes, he thought.
“Gladys! Gladys!” Brynmor shouted, slamming his glass down. Before she could make it half-way across the room, he continued his bickering. “Just bring me the damn bottle! Do I have to keep asking? If I had the bottle, I wouldn’t be hollering at you all the time. I’m an old man—I don’t need this stress.”
“You drink too much as is,” Gladys answered. “If I brought you the bottle you’d be slurrin’ your words come mid-day and in bed before the sun went down.”
“Bah! Bottle or no bottle, you know I only drink on two occasions … when I’m thirsty and when I’m not,” Brittle Brynmor said with a raspy laugh. “Drink up boy. You don’t want that ale gettin’ warm!”
Baldric chugged down the rest of his ale without hesitation.
Gladys shook her head and filled her cousins glass. “Here. This ought to shut you up for a while.” She then turned to Baldric with a smile and a happy tone. “What about you, dear? Can I get you another pint?”
“Well of course you can!” Brynmor blurted out, answering for him. “He’s a young lad yet. I could have drunk down an entire barrel at his age.”
Baldric simply laughed and nodded. “Another ale would be lovely,” he said before redirecting his attention to Brynmor. “So, what happened with Percy? Did he go on to become a famous bard?”
“Fame did follow, yes. But not until he met his friend Page. I’ll never forget the day those two first met. It was around this time of year when Page showed up in town unannounced. No one knew where he came from or where he was going, but he brought this strange instrument with him. It was like a lute, but much bigger. Its body was shaped like a peanut and it had six strings instead of fifteen. I was skeptical of the boy at first. He claimed to be a travelling musician in search of a singer. It wasn’t until I heard him play that I knew he had been blessed by the gods. A day later he and Percy were playing together. Their first performance was held right over there on that small stage in the corner. I knew right then and there that they were something special. The way they complemented each other was indescribable, you’d think they had been playing together since birth. It wasn’t long after winter had passed that they went to go live with the Elves. I was shocked by it. I mean, sure—I’ve heard of people visiting the Elven forests before, but to be invited to live with them? That’s an honour all on its own. It’s no secret that the Elves possess a talent for music and creativity far exceeding that of any mortal soul, so when the offer presented itself everyone knew it was time to say goodbye. The morning after, both Percy and Page packed their things and set out to master their craft.”
“And what about you?” Baldric blurted. He could hardly contain his questions. “Did you go with them?”
“I’m getting there, my boy, mind your patience now,” Brittle said with a wrinkled grin. “So, a fortnight passed. Just as dusk was approaching, Percy and Page came walking through that very door,” Brynmor said, pointing to the entrance of the Gladsaxe Inn. “We spoke over a few drinks, and next thing I know, I’m packing my things to go live with the Elves as well. Percy had told the Elves about my love for music, and so they insisted I come live with them for a while … Let me tell you, those were the best years of my life. The music … the atmosphere … the nature ... it was like living in a fairy-tale. I lived in the Viridian Veil for just over thirty years. The Elves are a fascinating race, truly. Everything is appreciated in such a different manner with them. The sun, the wind, the wildlife, and everything in-between. They’re a peaceful and harmonious race, rich with history and tradition. I swear it felt as though my old age managed to escape me during my time spent with the Elves. I would have never left had Percy and Page not wanted to travel, but they dreamed of playing their songs for all those near and far. Being that my youth had already passed, I decided to come back home and live out my days among my own kind, like I was meant to.”
“Thirty years!?” Baldric said with wide eyes. “That’s incredible! Did you meet Lord Thinduill?”
“I did, along with many others. I can’t be certain if he still lives there, but there was an Elf by the name of Galdrinor who I found particularly fascinating. He could enter one’s mind with the touch of his hand and flip through memories as if they were pages in a book.”
Just as he was narrowing down his list of questions, William and Rhys entered the Gladsaxe Inn. He spun around in his chair to see if William had purchased anything. To his surprise, William was laden with fishing gear. A large gillnet hung off his back, along with a barbed fishing spear fit with two teeth, which together looked like a thin crab claw. He was also carrying two fishing rods in his right hand and a well-crafted landing net in his left.
“The fisherman has arrived!” Rhys announced.
Baldric sprang to his feet and went to greet his friends. “Well, would you look at that?” He gestured to William’s new gear with a cheerful grin. “I’m guessing you also found something better than an onion to use as bait?”
William laughed. “I sure did! There was a small angler store in town. I found all kinds of useful gear. Wait until you see all the different lures I got. Oh! And here, this is for you,” William said. He held out one of the fishing rods. “Now I can finally teach you how to fish.”
Baldric took the rod and examined it with a twinkle in his eyes. “Wow, thank you, Will! I can’t wait to try’er out. I’m sure with a teacher like you I’ll be catching fish in no time.”
“Let’s hope so,” he replied. “With a little practice and a lot of patience, I don’t see why not.”
“Aye, Afon has the best fishing gear I’ve ever seen,” Rhys admitted. “The Elves have even come to buy his fishing line due to its strength. They say it’s unmatched. He refuses to tell anyone his secret. Some say it’s the type of hemp he uses, but I think it has more to do with how he soaks the line.”
“Well, I look forward to testing it out,” William replied.
“Sorry to cut you off, Will. But you must come meet Brittle Brynmor,” Baldric said. “He just told me the most incredible story about his grandson and how he ended up living with the Elves.”
William and Rhys followed Baldric as he scurried back to Brynmor’s table. Although William was nowhere near as enthusiastic about meeting the town elder as Baldric had been, he still found himself mildly excited. After all, the old codger had been to the Elven Kingdom they were travelling to, and if nothing else, he could offer some reassurance.
“Mr. Brynmor, this here is the friend I told you about, William. And well, I’m sure you’ve already met Rhys,” Baldric said as he took his seat.
“I hope you know how to use all that gear boy. It’d be a shame if Rhys wasted his coin on ya.” Brynmor said.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Rhys replied. “William talked my ear off on the way here. If I didn’t know any better, I would think him Afon’s son.”
“So, that’s how you found our little hamlet then, is it? The Bowman Brewer showed you the way.”
“I found them wandering the woods on the hillside north of the Breast. They seemed harmless enough. And after speaking with ‘em, I knew they were good lads.”
Brynmor nodded. “I haven’t gotten to know William yet, but Baldric here reminds me of myself a bit when I was younger.”
“Well it seems like you’se got along just as well as I thought then,” Rhys concluded.
“Care for a drink, lad?” Brittle grunted at William. “Plenty to offer here. Gladys! Oy, Gladys! There’s new customers about! Make yourself useful, eh!”
William didn’t want a drink, but he felt inclined to order one anyhow. He still felt a little groggy from the night before, yet he doubted Brittle Brynmor would show any sympathy towards such a meager excuse. “One beer never hurt anyone,” William replied. “Plus, I can’t say no to Rhys’ famous family brews now, can I?”
“Ah, yes! That’s the spirit! You’re not as much of a pansy as your appearance would suggest,” Brynmor snickered. “A beer in the belly offers more than a beer in the keg. Well then, here she is at last, old Molasses Gladys.”
“Oh, how funny. I suppose this explains why everyone calls you Bitter Brynmor,” Gladys snapped back. “Mind him, dear. The years have tainted his manners is all. It’s a pleasure to have you in town. What would you like?” she asked Will.
“I’ll have the lager,” William replied. “And a round of shots for my friends here. It’s not every day you find yourself surrounded by good company.” William figured if he was going to drink he might as well get the ball rolling.
“A hardy order by the fisherman, William!” Brynmor announced. “Baldric said you were a good man. I had my doubts, but perhaps I was wrong about you.”
“Only time will tell,” William replied.
“Did you go anywhere else in town?” Baldric asked.
“I walked into a few places, but once I saw Afon’s shop, that was pretty much it for me. I’ve never been somewhere with so much fishing gear. My father always told me to stay on the ship whenever we anchored in port to resupply.”
“A true seafarer you are,” Brynmor stated. “Have you ever seen the sirens in cape Pelorum?”
“William doesn’t believe in such creatures,” Baldric teased. “He thinks our world only consists of humans and Elves … oh, right—and one pyromancer.”
Rhys was humoured by Baldric’s playful banter. “Your friend here told me he spent most of his life at sea. Tales of those who roam the lands must seem unlikely, no doubt.”
“That may be true,” Brynmor said. “But the boy mustn’t rule out what he has yet to see. All your opinions will change after visiting the Elves. Many wonders lurk about their forests. I could tell you stories that would make you question my sanity.”
“I doubt any story is needed for that,” Gladys taunted as she returned with their drinks.
“Bitter words from a bitter gal,” Brynmor parried.
Gladys snickered. “I believe you’re the one known as bitter. Drink your drink, old man.”
“The older the fiddle the sweeter the tune, they do say,” Brynmor answered.
“Well then I guess your strings rusted off a long time ago,” Gladys countered, ending the old man’s banter. “Can I get you boys something to eat?” she asked with her back now to Brynmor.
“You’se have to try the cottage pie!” Rhys blurted. “You’ve never had better, trust me. Gladys is a real gem in the kitchen. I’d weigh ten pounds less if she ever decided to leave town.”
“Sounds delicious,” Baldric said. “What about you Will? You hungry?”
William nodded. “I’ve never had cottage pie before, but I look forward to trying it.”
“Very well then,” Gladys said with a smile. “I’m off to the kitchen.”
***
After their round of shots, Brittle Brynmor dove into yet another tale from his stay with the Elves. He told them about the time he and Galdrinor took the great Nine Tail River all the way to the Elven capital of Leof Ealdwin. That day, he met with King Orrinelmborn himself. His description of the ancient Kingdom left Baldric and William covered in goosebumps. Baldric had read about the Elven capital before, but now he realized the author of those stories could have never visited the Elven Kingdom. In the book he read, the author described the Elven capital as a vast Kingdom surrounded by a metaphorical maze of forest and foliage. Although this wasn’t entirely false, the book’s description completely misinterpreted the meaning of the word maze. According to Brynmor, the maze of forest was far more intricate and structured than one would think. Its design was slowly and methodically forged by the magic of the Elder Elves. It was a maze in the most literal sense. There was nothing metaphorical about it.
By the time Brittle Brynmor had finished spinning his tale, they had scraped their plates clean. The cottage pie was even more delicious than they had expected. Day had fallen to night, and once again William and Baldric found themselves full-bellied and mirthful, enjoying the bountiful hospitality atop the Golden Breast.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” Rhys said to the two novice travellers. “A shame y
ou have to leave on the morrow. You must come visit us again sometime soon.”
“That we will!” Baldric said. “Don’t you doubt that for a second.”
“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” William added. “I’ll admit—at first I thought it impossible to enjoy life as a dryfoot, but your town and its people have proven my feelings unwarranted. I would gladly return to the Golden Breast anytime.”
“Dryfoot, eh? That’s a good one, lad. I’m glad to hear it,” said Rhys.
“As am I,” Brynmor seconded. “The Viridian Veil may not be far compared to the road you have taken here, but I’ll make sure you’re fitted with a pair of horses for the end of your journey.”
“Horses!” Baldric exclaimed. “You’ve already provided us with so much. We can’t accept such an offer.”
“Who said anything about an offer,” Brittle snarled. “You’re takin’ the horses and that’s that. They just stand around all day anyhow. This way there will be no excuses about you’se not visiting!”
“We can’t thank you enough,” William said.
“Yes, you can.” Brittle shot back. “Warn the Elves of those blasted Braxi. I won’t have any hairy northerners invading my town!” Brynmor shouted, waving his cane in the air.
“Alright, don’t get too excited now, old-timer,” Rhys said. “I think that old ticker of yours has had enough excitement for one night.”
Brynmor brought his cane back down. He contemplated giving Rhys a gentle jab with it, but he decided against it. “Well … I suppose it is getting late, isn’t it,” he said, sounding somewhat disappointed. “A good night’s rest will fare us all well. Seeing as you’se are the only two customers, feel free to pick any of the rooms you like … except for mine of course. No one’s allowed in there but me!”