Brothers Haymaker (Haymaker Adventures Book 2)

by Sam Ferguson

  No one dared ask if they would make camp and rest at all that night. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, knowing that there could easily be a group of elves coming after them by now. They would need to push as far as the horses would go.

  They rode until daybreak, and then they stopped near a cool stream to allow the horses to drink and nibble upon the grasses and clover near the brook. Jonathan only then realized that he no longer had his pack, nor his metal bow he had received from the elves as they crossed the waters to Telward. In fact, he was still wearing his slave garb. He furiously opened the laces on the front of his shirt and threw it on the ground in disgust.

  “Pick it up,” Ziegler said.

  Jonathan wanted to tell him what the shirt signified, but he didn’t dare disobey the man. His face was hard, jaw set and eyes colder than they had ever been before. Jonathan bent down and picked up the shirt, reluctantly putting it back over his torso.

  He watched Ziegler as the large warrior spun around, scanning the trees and undergrowth carefully. Captain Ziegler then removed his shirt and draped it over a branch. Jonathan once again saw the numerous skull tattoos covering the warrior’s arm and side. There was one tattoo for every lost Ghost who had died in the Murkle Quags under Ziegler’s command, Jonathan knew. The newest one had been inked onto the captain’s body after Bear had been killed during their battle with a gigantic troll in the Warrens. Captain Ziegler walked over to Ruben. “You said you had some of our backpacks, did you find mine?” he asked.

  Ruben nodded, turned back to his horse and retrieved Ziegler’s bag.

  Ziegler sighed and took the pack into his hands. He flipped open the top flap and reached inside. He pulled out a strange contraption that looked like a needle with a sort of tube or canister above it. On the lower side there was some sort of lever or trigger mechanism as well. It took Jonathan a moment to realize what it was, but as soon as he figured it out, his eyes welled with tears.

  Ziegler stood in the center of the group as they all watched him sanitize the needle with a match, and then he put two new tattoos onto his body. His skin welted, turning red and raising a bit as Ziegler worked, but the man did not make a sound. He continued until the work was complete, and then he put the device back into his backpack. He rubbed a thumb over the tattoos and closed his eyes as his head fell low.

  “Brothers Moose and Bull, may you rest in peace here beside Bear. Gods willing, I shall see you both again soon.” He raised his head and took his shirt down from the branch before marching over to his horse and saddling up. He pulled his shirt on and then looked at Jonathan and the rest of them. “Time to move,” he said.

  Jonathan’s body moved slowly with exhaustion, but after watching Ziegler’s strange ceremony to honor Bull and Moose, he was not about to complain. The rest of the group seemed to feel the same, for they all wore grim, determined expressions on their faces and went to obey their captain’s orders.

  They rode another hundred miles that day before they made camp and allowed the horses to rest.

  Jason sat next to Jonathan while they shared some bread Ruben had managed to swipe from his captors and stuff into a bag. Miranda sat alone, leaning her back against an oak tree and staring further down the road toward Gwyndoltai. Ziegler disappeared into the forest, and Ruben sang a song as he held a water skin in his hand.

  Hold now

  Your journey here must end

  Volganor is calling

  Your fate the Gods attend

  Hold now

  Stand fast as legends born of yore

  Mingar now is calling

  From across Zintara’s shore

  Now you can sleep

  Forget toils and battles apace

  Now you can sleep

  All your troubles now fade away

  Safe in hallowed halls

  You shall never again weep

  Hold, can’t you see

  The gods have found you?

  Enter their hallowed hall

  Across the sea

  A rainbow rises

  Nagé has come to carry you home

  Jonathan listened intently to the words as he finished his bread. He thought of Moose and Bull, and allowed his tears to flow over his face quietly. Ruben repeated the song three times, and each time Jonathan felt his sorrows lighten and his eyelids grow heavier.

  The young boy had no idea that Ruben was not only singing, he was casting a spell over the camp. After the third repetition of the melancholic song, Jonathan, Jason, and Miranda has fallen into a deep sleep. There, in the dim light of Ruben’s singular magic orb floating in the air above the camp, the wizard brought his hands up to his face and sobbed into them as he rocked back and forth. Neither Jonathan, nor the other two in the camp were any the wiser, for the sleeping spell had put them into a sound rest that could not easily be broken. Even the horses had fallen into a restful slumber, allowing their muscles to recover from the relentless pace of the journey.

  The only witness to Ruben’s tears was Ziegler, who stood stoic and fast several yards away, and watched the wizard from the shadows of the night.

  Early, golden rays broke upon the forest in the early hours of the morning to find the camp fully rested and ready for the day’s travel ahead of them. They mounted their horses and Ziegler again led them at a gallop though Tanglewood Forest. They kept pace at one hundred miles per day, stopping only at night to rest, and arrived at Gwyndoltai upon the seventh day from the time they had fled Inghali.

  If Jonathan had been in awe of Tirnog and Telward, he was now entirely speechless upon seeing Gwyndoltai. The great, founding city of the elves was more breathtaking than any city or natural wonder he had ever seen before. The descriptions he had read in his travel book could never have done it justice, either. A great ring of elevated aqueducts circled the outer walls of the city, bringing life-giving clear water to vines and flowers that crept up white marble columns and stretched across the arches that supported the aqueducts. Vineyards and orchards spread out from there in a great ring of emerald leaves and painted blossoms. Beyond that, and protected by what appeared to be several inner rings of walls, was an extremely tall, alabaster tower that rose up until the spire disappeared into the clouds themselves.

  Even the air smelled of sweet honey as they dismounted their horses and began to walk along a road paved with large, flat stones and bordered with a fence made of silver rails and golden posts. Jonathan would have normally expected Ruben to talk about the history of the city, but the wizard was uncharacteristically quiet, keeping his eyes to the road and walking just behind Ziegler.

  The great walls of green and black marble rose up in a ring before them, standing fifty feet high and filled with fountains fashioned into eagle heads that spouted the water down to the aqueducts below that would in turn carry the water to the outer ring and feed the lush plants. Jonathan could see two other roads that he imagined would have looked like spokes on a wheel, driving a direct line to the inner rim of Gwyndoltai. No one was on either of the two roads that he could see, and Jonathan had to wonder whether anyone was in the city at all, for he didn’t see anyone working the fields, vineyards, or orchards either. As they drew closer to the open gatehouse, Jonathan noticed a plaque set upon the right side that was written in Common Tongue. From the words written upon it, he learned that the road they were using was the only allowed entrance for those who were not elves, and wished to enter Gwyndoltai. It also cautioned against entering any of the other sections of the city.

  Ruben finally broke his silence and asked Ziegler to stop the group. Then he turned to address them. “Gwyndoltai is a very traditional city. We must behave here.” He turned and pointed to the sign Jonathan had just read. “The other sections this sign speaks of are the ancestral homes of the various elf races. The Vishi’Tai, Svetli’Tai, Sierri’Tai, Tomni’Tai, Korr’Tai, Pes’Tai, and Nizhni’Tai all have sectors in this city that are considered their personal holy lands. Under no circumstances are we to enter any of those other
sections, or we will be imprisoned without any degree of leniency or mercy.”

  “What section are we going to enter?” Jason asked as he pointed to the open gate.

  Jonathan was about to answer, excited to talk about the large capitol city of the elven nation, but Ruben beat him to it.

  “This is a hanging garden. The elves use this section to allow outsiders to enter their first city. Further in, there will be another gate, where we may make supplication to enter the second circle. From there, we will have to ask to gain entrance into the third circle. However, with the disciplinary record, and our suspicions, I think we have a good chance of getting in, if you let me do the talking. The center of the city is for the council chamber, and usually one must be a king or queen to gain entrance there. However, it is still possible that the council will hear our concerns via a proctor speaker, and then give us the help we seek.”

  “Why should they help us?” Jason asked. “I mean, we have had to fight in nearly every elven city we have come to. Why would the council help us now?”

  Ruben nodded understandingly. “If we were accusing a Vishi’Tai, then perhaps we would be facing an insurmountable challenge, but we have evidence against a drow, and the council no longer looks upon them favorably.”

  “We stand a better chance here than anywhere else,” Ziegler put in. “Let’s go in and find out whether they have seen Raven.”

  The group walked through the large gates and Jonathan’s mouth fell open at what he saw. In the large, wedge-shaped section of the city that was bordered by two walls leading toward a second circular wall, was a veritable jungle of large flowers, pools with fountains, and small buildings that appeared to be no larger than houses back in Holstead, but were made of fine granite and marble, with silver and gold accoutrements. He looked up to see a plant as tall as a tree, but its trunk was like that of a large flower, green and supple. Great leaves fanned out above him and swayed gently back and forth as higher up there were red and orange blossoms that looked to be at least half as large as he was.

  Birds were busily flapping about, flying in and hovering near the flowers as they dipped long, hooked beaks in to drink of the nectar before flying off to another flower. In the gardens here he could see a few elves working, trimming hedges or cleaning the mosaic tiles surrounding the various pools. He couldn’t help but wonder about how amazing the other sections of the city must look if this was the way the elves took care of the one section intended for guests that must come only rarely, since in Jonathan’s lifetime he had never heard of the king, or anyone else for that matter, traveling up to Gwyndoltai to speak with the elves. All of that was handled by messenger birds, or at most a small envoy sent from the elven cities.

  It took nearly ten minutes to walk to the inner gate. This one was closed, and Ruben was forced to ascend a small series of marble steps and then pull upon a brass chain to ring a bell.

  Several minutes later, a tall elf with discerning, blue eyes came to the gate with his arms clasped behind his back. He wore a velvety black jerkin with red clasps up the center. Over that he had a long, flowing black coat that was slender at the waist, but flared out behind him. Golden trim was sewn into the sides, and the collars stood up and stopped just below the elf’s angular jaw. His pants were black as well, made of silk and tucked into highly polished boots of black leather. The whole ensemble was an extreme counter point to his bright eyes and long, silvery hair which flowed freely behind him as he moved.

  “What is it you wish, traveler?” the elf said in a dry, stale voice.

  Ruben bowed his head. “I am Ruben Faelwyn, from the College of Mystics in Lehemat. I have come to seek advice regarding the disappearance of one of my colleagues.”

  “The council is not in session today. It is Aelwyr’s Day, a day of rest and celebration. I am surprised that you didn’t know that, being from the College of Mystics as you claim.”

  Ziegler took a determined step up the stairs, but Ruben held out his hand.

  Ruben then continued to converse with the elf at the gate. “Aelwyr’s Day is not for another three days, according to the calendar set forth by the first council of Gwyndoltai.”

  The elf behind the gate smiled and bowed graciously. “A test, fine sir, to ensure you were what you claim to be.” The elf then turned to a large chain of silver on his side of the gate and pulled it downward. A series of clicks and clanks reverberated inside the gatehouse as the portcullis was raised and held open. “I cannot assure you that the council will hear your inquiries, but you are free to move onward to inquire whether the proctor will carry your message for you.”

  Ruben bowed again, and the elf stood aside and gestured for the group to enter the next section of the city.

  Jonathan noticed that the space between the walls was even thinner in this part of the city. They were heading toward the point of a wedge, it seemed, but that did not make this portion of Gwyndoltai any less resplendent than the other areas he had already seen. Grand manor houses sat in neat rows of cobblestone streets lined with flowering pear trees and winding magnolia trees in full bloom with their whites, purples, and pinks prominently displayed for all to see.

  Jonathan marveled at the manors, noting that most of them looked to be empty, or at least there were no inhabitants of this sector that he could see out upon the streets. Unlike the first area, there weren’t even any elf workers around, though Jonathan knew they must regularly come through, as the buildings and roads all sparkled and shined in the bright light of the sun.

  It took another ten minutes for them to reach the next gatehouse, which consisted of great double-doors made of some sort of red wood that Jonathan didn’t recognize, supported with black metal hinges and plates. A smaller door was built into the large door on the left, which would allow for someone to pass through without the giant set of larger doors needing to be moved out of place.

  Once again, Ruben bounded up the stairs and pulled upon a brass chain hanging on the wall nearby. A loud gong sounded, its tones echoing behind the massive doors and lasting for several seconds before fading into the silence once more.

  It took much longer than the elf at the first closed gate had taken to appear, but eventually someone did come and open the smaller door. This elf was nearly seven feet tall, with his golden hair pulled into a high knot above his head and draped down his back like Jonathan had seen done with horse tails for parades. He stood in grand, red robes with silver runes sewn into the chest and emerald vines sewn into the tops of the sleeves down to the wrists. His skin was slightly tanned, and his eyes were black as night. He smiled at Ruben and nodded when the wizard bowed his head.

  “Ruben Faelwyn,” the elf said unexpectedly. “I see you have finally arrived.”

  Ruben glanced back to the group and frowned. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he said.

  The elf smiled gently and shook his head. “No, but I met with your predecessor at the college a few decades ago. A pleasant wizard, as far as human wizards go. I have heard great things about you, and suspected you may come to Gwyndoltai at some point.”

  Ruben nodded. “I have come to seek a proctor to deliver a message to the council for me,” Ruben said flatly.

  The elf’s smile disappeared and was replaced with a straight-lipped expression that stared back at Ruben from under an arched brow over the elf’s black eyes. It was several moments before either of them spoke. Jonathan wondered if perhaps they might be communicating with their minds, for they seemed to stare at each other for a long while. The elf’s black eyes narrowed, and then flicked out to the group. They scanned each member of the party in turn, and then rested upon Jonathan.

  “He will deliver the message,” the elf said as he pointed to Jonathan.

  Jonathan felt a nest of snakes hatch in his stomach and his throat went dry.

  “If I may,” Ruben began as he bowed his head. “Jonathan does not understand your customs.”

  The elf shook his head. “I will go with him, but the boy will deliver t
he message to the council.”

  Ruben bowed again and then backed away. Everyone turned to Jonathan expectantly.

  He walked up the stairs and Ruben removed his leather satchel and held it out for him to take. Jonathan nodded, knowing that the disciplinary record was inside. He then followed the elf in red robes. He was so nervous now that he did not take notice of the grand, towering mansions around him now. He tried to think of how he would word what he needed to say. Would the council listen to him? Did they know about Inghali? Was he walking to judgment?

  The door behind him closed with a deafening echo, sealing him off from the others. The elf in the red robes walked quietly and quickly toward a final wall. Through the closed portcullis, Jonathan could just make out the base of the astonishing tower that rose up to touch the clouds. The baby snakes in his stomach seemed to grow as he looked at the door in the tower. Now they were like full-size vipers slithering around in his gut. His face went flush and he nearly turned to run back to the others.

  Before he was even ready for it, the portcullis opened and the tall elf in red robes ushered him to the door in the base of the tower. The elf produced a key and unlocked the outer door, then pulled it open and motioned for Jonathan to go inside. The young man walked in and found himself in a type of mantrap. Another heavy door stood only a few feet away, closed and locked. The elf in the red robes stepped in and pulled the door behind them closed, locking it with his key before knocking on the next door.

  A small panel in the door slid away and a pair of green eyes peered out at them.

  The elf behind the door said something in Taish.

  The elf in red robes answered and the panel slammed shut.

  A moment later, Jonathan heard a series of clicks and metallic scrapes, then the door opened inward.