Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  With a smile he returns to his papers. Letting wild fancies get the better of his senses, he was getting old. The document sitting on the top of the pile is a breakdown of the finances of Bray and its ironworks. He glances at the paper for the briefest of moments before moving it aside. Next is an invitation to attend a gala at the Royal Palace in Dalvistel. The elderly Baron smiles at the memories of his last visit to the palace. The Queen is a delightful woman, if you can stay within her fragile temper. He reaches over to a candle and drips some dark green wax at the bottom of the invitation. He returns the candle and before the wax has time to harden he stamps his seal into it. He moves this to the other side of the desk and begins to read the next document.

  A knock at the door snaps his head up and he calls for whoever it is to enter. The door opens abruptly and three men stride into the room. Two of them look like his own guards, garbed in the colors of his crest, white over dark green. They are kitted out in full armor, however, and this makes him instantly nervous. He was unaware of any assaults or brawls within the town. He is always the first to know of such matters. He turns his attention to the third man and his mind collapses in on itself. The vision before him is hideous and twisted by more than just age. It, for that is what he would have described him as, stands only about four feet high, although he probably was taller before time bent his back and has almost clear parchment thin skin. His face no more than a skin covered skull, no lips, no eyelids and no nose. Its pale lilac eyes stare out blindly but still snap onto his own. The fear which has clouded his mind lifts and he pushes himself up from his seat. “What is the manner of this?” He begins.

  “Sit Siddle Lokkie,” the wizened old man says, lifting himself onto the chair opposite. “I have some business to discuss with you. It is very important for you to listen.”

  Baron Lokkie is taken aback by the rudeness of this creature before him. No-one would dare speak to him in such a fashion. “Now you look here! I do not know—”

  “Shut your mouth, Baron,” the man spits, waving a withered arm at Lokkie. “The world is in great danger and you can be of help in saving it. Now how does that sound?” What passes for a smile breaks across the ruined face.

  “Danger?” Lokkie repeats dumbfounded. Here is this little beast of a human, being disrespectful to someone who is clearly of a higher station in the world, spouting nonsense about danger. “Get out! Get out of my office right this second!” The old man cocks his head to the side but makes no move to leave. “Guards!” Lokkie yells, but they just stand to the side, flanking him. “What is this about?” he says, looking from one face to the next, anger building up by the second.

  “Calm down, Baron Lokkie. I do not wish for your heart to give up on you.” He waves his good arm to silence the Baron before continuing. “You must be aware of the Prophecy of Ages? Of course you are, you are not a stupid man. Well, it is my belief that it has now begun. Power is shifting and darkness has started to spread across the land. Four boys and two girls will lead the armies of the just into the final battle and there they will break it and power will end in the hands of the villains.” He leans forwards and stares with his horribly milky eyes. “This has to happen, you see, or the world will fall apart. I know what you are thinking, why not help them to win and give the world to the light? Because it is already decided that they will lose. So all we can do is stop them from breaking the world more than it already will be. Understand?”

  Baron Lokkie does not understand. He knows the Prophecy, everyone does, and everyone thinks it to be rubbish. He knows it will come to pass but the heroes would have to be helped into victory. He leans closer to the withered old fool and forces his words out between clenched teeth. “Leave this place, you vile old scoundrel! You will not spread your evil words around my towns. If it is true and it has begun then I will be lending all my support to the six who will save us. Now get out!”

  “Foolish bastard,” the crazy old man sneers. “You do not know who you talk to. I am Wizo’d Fallharis. Oh, you will regret this and you will pay for it with your blood!”

  “Razzork,” Lokkie whispers to himself. “How?” But the question does not get answered. The guard on the right thrusts his sword forwards and stabs its tip into Baron Lokkie's throat. He tries to call out but the words come as only a gurgle of blood which pours from the wound. He looks into the dead eyes of the guard and feels sick. The realization that even in death he will be helping the legendary wizard bring about the end of everything he has spent his entire life building saddens him but the last thought that passes through his mind is the face of the Queen of Atlant and how she will miss his stories at her gala.

  Danlynn flashes his best grin at the guard who drags him into the street and drops him there. The guard mutters something but his words trail off as he turns and slams the door to the guardhouse. Danlynn picks himself up and brushes the dust from his coat and breaches. He looks both ways down the street, and just as he is about to go exploring the sky rumbles and a spot of rain lands on his cheek. He sighs angrily and heads into the town, looking for a place to sit out of the rain.

  The town is at least ten times the size of Gressgs village and sprawls outwards from a small central square which also houses the town’s market. Once it had been the same as Gressgs, but now they model the buildings on the southern style and have replaced the wooden structures with ones made of a mix of brick and white clay. The houses are joined into strict rows, creating a grid system to the town. Even though the population of Bray is only double that of Gressgs they have many traders and travelers passing through and so there are many inns, taverns and pubs. The trade in Bray comes mainly from the iron works, which line the back of the town away from the shops and houses. They buy food from outside of the town; having turned their backs on farming many suns ago, and trade between Gressgs and Bray is very strong, bringing in almost half of the wealth to the country village. The money made from the iron works is not a great amount but keeps the town afloat. Rumors did reach the outer villages that the Earl of Bray had borrowed money from the south to pay off debts after one of the iron works had shut down due to fire. It was also rumored that the Earl was no longer in charge of the town. Many believe that Baron Lokkie is the real power in the town, controlling it from his offices in Baoloun.

  But none of that is of any concern to Danlynn as he swiftly searches for an inn or pub. In the distance he sees a sign swinging lazily in the breeze. As he approaches he makes out the picture of an anvil with what looks like a wagon wheel propped up against it. This must be an inn. The sky booms overhead and the rains come crashing down into the town of Bray.

  Danlynn steps out of the rain into the dry and warmth of the Wheel and Anvil Inn. His first impressions of the place are far from good. A dank and musty smell hits his nostrils almost knocking him backwards into the rain soaked streets. The floor is covered in a fine layer of dust and here and there straw has been trodden in from the stables and not removed. The tables and chairs are mostly different, with only a few being uniform with the rest of the décor. A large fire stands to one side, unlit and a wet dog lies sleeping in front of it.

  All eyes turn on him as he enters and for a brief moment he thinks he is about to be shown the pavement outside as a large, thug of a man shambles over to him. Then he speaks. “My fine chap. Look at you, darling! You are soaked through.” He takes Danlynn’s hand and pulls him over to the fireplace, pushing him into a seat. He bends to the mantle and opens a grate. A slight draft comes though and before he can ask what it is for the fireplace erupts into life. “Now you need to dry off. We do not want you to catch a cold.” He pats Danlynn’s knee at the same time as he calls over a serving girl. “Get this handsome young man a drink. Cider?” Danlynn nods once. “And also a plate of warm meat. In fact warm the cider. We have to get the chill out of you, son.” His hands return to himself and he smiles before seemingly coming to his senses. “Oh, how rude. Mother always said I had terrible manners. I am Hegig and this is my inn.” He turn
s a circle and beams proudly down at Danlynn. “Are you here in town for a long stay or just the night?”

  Danlynn goes to tell him that he is due to leave Bray and only ducked into the inn to get out of the rain. However, the look on Hegig's rough face changes his mind and instead he says, “I am due to leave tonight but am looking for a place to spend the day and have a meal.” A slight and very brief look of disappointment crosses his features but pride soon returns and he nods his head vigorously.

  “And you have chosen my inn. That warms my heart young man. We do not get many outsiders enter through the doors. Mostly it is market traders and stablemen. You will enjoy the food, drink and we have entertainment tonight.” He turns to a small stage built out of upturned creates and then to a painted sign on the far wall. “Miss Shine is a beauty you will not see anywhere else in this town.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What does this Miss Shine do?”

  Hegig laughs a deep belly laugh and slaps Danlynn on the back. “She takes her clothes off.” He carries on laughing as he walks away, leaving Danlynn alone. Danlynn smiles, this suddenly looks good after all.

  He thanks the young girl who brings over his food and cider and settles back in his chair. A young man carries what looks like a large wooden tray over to the stage and settles it on a small plinth. Danlynn watches as the man lifts the cover to reveal rows of fine tightly pulled strings. With a quick crack of his knuckles he grabs a pair of oddly shaped wooden sticks and begins tapping the strings. An eerie soft music rises from the instrument in a tune that Danlynn recognizes as the man with two wives. He has a large swig of the warm cider and readies himself for the show. He has the best seat in the house to see this Miss Shine.

  A slightly chubby boyish woman knocks his table as she passes and instead of moving on she clambers onto the stage and starts to undress. He tries desperately to avoid seeing her naked form, thinking that it could damage his future with the fairer sex. Maybe that is why the innkeeper seems to have a fancy for the men in the inn and not the women. He lowers his head into his meal and begins to stuff as much in as possible, the idea being to look uninterested. Maybe he should try to sit like the innkeeper, look at the boys a bit. The thought has only just left his mind when her hands grab hold of his and haul him onto the stage.

  A dark-hooded figure stands abruptly from the back of the inn, a hand thrusting outwards. Danlynn chokes on the mouthful of meat and gags. Lumpy, pulpy vomit spills from his mouth over the bare breasts of Miss Shine. She cries out and ducks behind a screen. Roars of laughter bubble from every corner of the inn and one man calls out. “It about time someone informed her that she is no beauty.”

  In the chaos of the moment Danlynn runs from the inn and heads for the stables. He grabs the reins of a sleek grey gelding and hops up into the saddle, ignoring the shouts of the stable boy. He spurns it into a gallop and leaves Bray.

  Tak’arshi strides from the inn and scans the streets. The boy had gone during the commotion and he had been sitting too far back to get out in time to stop him. He closes his eyes and focuses on the Mana trail of the boy. So strong yet unused. He snaps his eyes open and strolls into the stables. He will be easy to find now he knows what his trail looks like. He would have smiled if he had the means to feel emotions. He turns to a flustered looking boy. “My horse,” he says. “The tall grey.”

  11

  HAKAMEN NEEDLES

  Wind rushing through his hair. The horse sweating and whining, frothing at the mouth, eyes rolled in terror. The night closing in around him. There is a noise. Barking. He turns in the saddle to look behind him. Heart pounding in his chest. Breathing fast and shallow. Something collides with him and he falls. Darkness.

  Derry’n opens his eyes and stares at the cloudless sky. Numbness has settled into the back of his head and down his spine. He flexes his fingers and toes. Relief flooding into him. Thank goodness they still work. A dog appears in his sight. It stares down at him, large dopey grey eyes locking onto his. It is sleek with grey fur and long legs; long floppy ears hang beside its face and it has an almost comical expression across its brow. It places a wide paw onto his chest and barks. A voice floats on the wind. “He wakes. The fallen one wakes.”

  Derry’n pushes himself up and the dog pads away, looking back at him. Through the trees a chubby old man appears and he smiles broadly upon seeing Derry’n. “Ah.” He pats the dog on the top of the head before dropping a rabbit onto the ground. The dog picks it up and carries it to a fallen tree where he starts to devour it. “I thought it would mean you were up. He only ever barks for two reasons and he knew I already had his food.” The man chuckles softly. “Good to see you awake. I am Uelist.” He offers his hand. Derry’n looks at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching out to take it. “And that there is Buddy.” He nods his head towards the dog, which at the mention of his name raises his head from his meal.

  “Where am I?”

  Uelist brushes some dry leaves from his knees and makes his way to a small fire burning in what can only be described as an inside-out house. A table and three chairs are set out on one side, a very old sofa complete with cushions on the other and a large dirty rug covers the forest floor. Even the fire is inside a hearth, a pot hanging from it. “You are in my home,” says Uelist, who follows his statement with another chuckle. “Well, to be exact, it’s the edge of the Billitst Woods. About half a day to the coast and the Needles.”

  “That far north!” Derry’n shakes his head, which sends stabbing pain into his limbs and white stars across his vision.

  “You’re still not right I see. That was a nasty fall you had.” Uelist dips a ladle into the hanging pot and sips the contents. Spitting it straight onto the ground and hacking a cough from his throat. “Seems about ready,” he says filling a mug with the brown liquid. He brings it over and offers it to Derry’n. “Drink this. If you keep it in your gut then it’ll do you a world of healing. If you sick it up, well—”

  Derry’n grabs the mug by its half-handle and gulps it down. It tastes like the time when he suffered from food poisoning and was sick until there was nothing left, mixed with the vomit flavor an even worse one, milk. He gags and the mixture fills his mouth but he clamps it shut with his hand, fighting his body to keep it in. Some of the liquid comes out of his nose yet most of it slides back down into his stomach. “Water,” he says holding out the mug. “Please.” The mug is taken and replaced by a water skin which Derry’n drinks dry.

  “You’re a tough young thing. I’ve only kept it down the once. I have tried to flavor it but nothing helps.”

  “Thank you.”

  Uelist stops and shakes his head. “You don’t say a great deal do you sonny?” He regards Derry’n with a confused smile. “What's a Marinish doing on this side of the world, anyway? I didn’t think you lot left ya ships.”

  Derry’n stares at the old man with wide eyes. He tries to speak but a voice in his head tells him that whatever he says will make him look a fool. He lowers his head and forgets, berating himself for being so weak willed.

  “So big and so shy. You should be strong and wild.”

  Derry’n glances up at the man, who gives him a quizzical look. “I am-”

  “Shy?” Finishes Uelist. “I can see it in your eyes. Funny thing that. Looking at you.”

  “I look slow witted.” Derry’n drops his gaze again. His insides churning for more reasons than just the broth. “They say I am.”

  “Slow witted. Well if that’s what they say then it must be true.” He shakes his head and reaches a hand out towards Derry’n, patting him on the shoulder. “Maybe you just haven't been challenged much in your life. I bet if I trained you to hunt you would be very quick witted.” He smiles warmly. “Tell me sonny, what is it you do be good at?”

  Derry’n looks back at the floor and thinks. He has never thought about it before. He does as he is asked and keeps to himself. His parents are the only ones who see what is inside him and they like what they see. But everyone el
se judges him on his appearance. He is very good looking. He knows that. He has stared at himself in the mirrors at home. Once even naked. He knows he has a good body, strong, well defined and broad. He knows some of the girls admire his chest when he works topless in the stable. He has heard them giggle and say things about the curly hair which runs from his chest down his flat stomach. His face is also very handsome and he would catch the girls staring at him. Even Darwin’t’s Aunt has done it on occasion. However that is all on the outside and he does not care for it. They all think he is damaged on the inside. Slow and stupid. His slow deep voice he has had since he was about five suns old makes him stand out. That and the fact he is a head taller than everyone else in the village. Nobody has ever asked him about his insides. He hadn’t himself. He looks up and stares into the pale blue eyes of the old man.

  “I am good at carrying and moving things around.”

  Uelist bursts out laughing and Derry’n shrinks back inside himself. “Oh dear boy, they have treated you badly! You are slow-witted because they have made you so. Now think of what you,” he stabs a finger at Derry’n’s chest, “are good at!”

  “Thinking, helping others, being kind,” they come out in a rush, anger, frustration and regret breaking out. “I am good at being a listener and I am good at seeing the truth. I... I... I am—” huge sobs shudder from him and he drops backwards onto the floor.

  “Oh they have been very cruel to you.”

  “Be like me. Be wild and free.”