Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  Cedric observed them carefully, examining every maneuver, every block, and every pivot, gripping his dagger while at it. Next to him, Thaddeus and Jossiah Biggs were gawking as more recruits arrived at the camp, half of them human and the rest elves and gnomes. There was even a goblin at one point, and its smell had apparently made Jossiah feel queasy, or so he argued.

  The goblin was an ordinary one; a green-skinned halfling with an oversized head, a long sharp nose, and triangular ears like those of a bat. Most goblins were about as short as the average gnome, except their bodies were often bony and gangly, and some had never learned to speak properly outside of small words and gestures.

  “Unbelievable,” Jossiah grunted, gawking over the array of life in the camp.

  “It’s pointless to dwell,” Thaddeus said to him.

  “Are you telling me you don’t feel sick to your gut?”

  Thaddeus Rexx didn’t give him the courtesy of a reply. Instead he turned his gaze the other way, towards the twin raiders. Gwyn was darting out of the way, when she swiftly clashed one knife against her brother’s sword and the other to his neck. There they paused, shooting each other a smile.

  “Ye gettin’ slower,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” he panted. “Just drunker. Forgive me.”

  They chuckled. He sipped from his winesack as they took a moment to catch their breath. Gwyn noticed Cedric staring again, only this time she responded far friendlier than she had before.

  “Oi, toothpick!” she called for him. “Care to giv’ it a go?”

  Cedric stammered. “Oh… No, s-sorry I really shouldn’t, I…”

  “Get over here,” she demanded.

  “Leave him be, sister,” Daryan took a seat on a nearby boulder. “He’s only a squire.”

  “Ye wanna be a squire yer whole life, then?”

  Cedric fought through his nerves and walked over to her, a trembling hand on the ivory hilt of his dagger. “I’m sorry. I’ve never exactly… done this before.”

  “No shit,” she said. “Come on. Giv’ us a jab.”

  Cedric drew his dagger. He was almost certain he was holding it wrong. Still, he did as he was told, waited for the opportune moment, and swung the sharp end at Gwyn. With minor effort, she clashed one of her knives against his and pressed the other gently against his neck.

  “Eyes on me hands, toothpick. Don’t let ‘em get within a foot of ye. Got it?”

  Thaddeus Rexx observed the two of them. He’d known Cedric since he was just an orphan boy mopping up the floors of Nottley’s Tavern. And here he was, that same boy, all grown up and crossing blades with a Woodland raider. Thaddeus couldn’t help but smile.

  Cedric gave a careless swing, far too close for Gwyn’s comfort, and so she impulsively darted to the side and kicked him in the ankle. Cedric fell face-forward on the dirt, his dagger sliding out of his palm, his wrists scraping against the mud.

  Daryan gave his sister a concerned half-grin, as if saying ‘Go easy on him’.

  “Stop dartin’ forward, lad,” she said. “Jab ‘n’ step back. Always. Let us hear it.”

  Cedric winced from the pain. There was a small cut on his left wrist and a fresh layer of mud on his pants. He pushed himself up to his feet. “Jab and step back,” he repeated.

  “Trick is, though,” she grinned, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Ye don’t jab ‘til yer enemy’s jabbed a couple o’ times. Let the fucker get tired. When they’re tired, they’re sloppier. Then ye jab. Got it?”

  Despite the pain, Cedric found himself smiling back.

  He was used to pain, sadly. At least now he was learning from it.

  “Let them get tired, then jab. Got it.”

  “Good lad. Now let’s try it again.”

  Cedric knew he was making a fool of himself. Truth was, however, he hadn’t had so much fun in years. He waited, as Gwyn paced around him like a wildcat striding around a prey. She darted forward with a jab, and Cedric took a step back, trying to match his pace with hers.

  “Good,” she said. And then she jabbed twice.

  Cedric stumbled a bit, but he dodged both attacks.

  “Think quick, toothpick,” she grinned at him.

  They went on for a few minutes as the men in Viktor’s company sat and watched. The sun was starting to set, and Jossiah Biggs was growing more restless than usual. When he heard nearby footsteps approaching, he leapt to his feet desperately. Viktor Crowley did not look very happy. And Jossiah sighed and prepared himself for the worst. “What’s happened, old boy?”

  “We’re to march with them to Halghard,” Viktor replied. “There, we’ll have to figure something out.”

  It was vague, but they had known worse conditions in the past.

  “Looks like you lot are getting acquainted,” Viktor leaned against the cart full of ale barrels.

  Jossiah scoffed. “This whole place is a bloody freak fest.”

  Viktor grimaced. Despite their years of friendship, he knew Jossiah to be rather ill tempered and riddled with chauvinism. And while he knew the man was no halfwit, he learned that looking the other way often proved more effective than arguing, for there was no changing a mind like Jossiah’s. Not easily, at least.

  “Settle yourself, old dog,” Viktor said. “If you gave it a chance, you’d see it’s not as bad as you make it out to be.” Jossiah scoffed again. Viktor ignored it; instead, he stared into space, as all around him soldiers were starting to put out fires and roll up their tents.

  It must nearly be time, he thought.

  And then, as if reading his thoughts, a soft voice startled him.

  “I’m sensing a fight…”

  Viktor turned around. “Oh… Hello,” he said, stunned and thrown aback by that striking face. Skye, the silver-haired elf from the river, smirked as if being able to sense Viktor’s fervor.

  “Can you spare a moment, Sir Crowley?”

  “Certainly,” Viktor cleared his throat. He gave his friend one last glimpse. Jossiah, as expected, had a scowl on his face. “Excuse me, old friend.”

  Viktor walked off with the elf, firmly yet quite obviously flustered. He couldn’t help but pry through the corner of his eye. In their hand, Skye carried a staff, as casually as if it were any other stick. It looked very much like any other stick, except it was carved beautifully into a straight pole while the top of it remained jagged and split into four thick stems.

  But in the end, it was no more than that, a stick.

  There was no glow, nor anything suggesting it could cause any harm.

  Unless, of course, Skye were to whack someone with it.

  As they walked, Viktor tried to be as furtive as he could, but his demeanor couldn’t hide his astonishment. His eyes moved back and forth from the sword on his belt to Skye’s wooden staff, from his steel armor plates to Skye’s ragged grey hunting outfit.

  No weapons. No armor. And yet not a single scar on that face, Viktor thought. How intriguing.

  They walked towards the outskirts of the camp, where the commotion was far less lurid and the crowds diminished to a few sober soldiers here and there. They approached a grey-haired figure dressed in frayed brown robes and a loose grey shawl.

  “Zahrra,” Skye called out to her.

  The witch turned to them, her eyes back to their natural green color.

  “Ah… The man who used to be a knight,” she said.

  Viktor grew a sudden wall of defense. “What’s this all about?” he asked as he placed a hand on the brim of his sword.

  “Easy, Zahrra,” Skye said. “Just say what you have to say.”

  The elf was somehow calming Viktor’s nerves with minimal effort.

  “I’ve plenty to say,” Zahrra grinned. “But very little that he wishes to hear, I’m sure.”

  Viktor allowed for a moment of silence before scoffing. “I’ve no time to waste on speculation. Forgive my bluntness.”

  “It’s not speculation,” Skye intervened. “Zahrra’s visions are quite real… In fa
ct, they’ve saved me more times than I can count.”

  Viktor’s foot nearly made way for the camp, but the elf brought him back. The witch, he didn’t trust. That much, he was sure of. But something in him refused to walk away from Skye. “Very well,” he sighed.

  Zahrra grinned again. But it wasn’t entirely an eerie grin anymore. Not only did she know many things that he was unaware of, but it gave her pleasure to, it seemed. She closed her eyes, visualized it all one last time, took a deep breath, and then said, “He lives.”

  Viktor’s eyes moved confusedly from the witch to the elf. “Pardon me?”

  “This ally of yours?” she said. “The sheep farmer? He lives…”

  And there it was… Viktor became hooked, if only for the time being… He had mentioned John Huxley back in Sir Percyval’s tent, but at no point was it specified that he was a sheep farmer. “How did you…”

  “He travels with a thief and a witch,” she went on. “They walk to Wyrmwood as we speak… It is where they plan to meet you. And quite a ways ahead of you, I’m afraid.”

  Viktor’s heart raced. He felt the place grow suddenly colder, an icy cold where it was only lukewarm at best. It frightened him, alarmed him, gave him chills in his spine. “How can you possibly know?”

  “I’ve told you,” she said, somewhat coldly. “They just come to me. They’re short but clear.”

  “How clear?”

  “Clearer than you are right now,” she snapped at him. “He wears farmer’s clothing and a silver sword with a handle made of whale bone. Too fancy for him. I assume you gifted it to him?”

  Viktor was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what made him more anxious, the witch’s words or the fact that he was starting to believe them.

  He lives…? John Huxley lives… That tough, resilient little runt, he lives!

  As much as he wanted to believe it, as much hope as it gave him, he couldn’t help but doubt. He was, after all, only a man. “Are you absolutely certain?”

  Zahrra’s eyes rolled so far back, it seemed almost painful.

  “Viktor Crowley, I don’t know you,” she said with a deep sigh. “And if you died right at this moment, I wouldn’t bat an eye. That’s how meaningless you are to me… But that also means I’ve no reason to lie to you. Doubt me all you’d like, but I’m telling you he’s alive. They’re all alive. And if you want to see them again, you’ve some catching up to do.”

  With that, the witch walked away.

  Viktor was quiet, but there was a glow in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

  “What do you plan to do?” Skye asked him.

  Viktor hesitated, but his lips were starting to show traces of a hopeful smirk.

  “Catch up,” he said.

  * * *

  Robyn Huxley walked beside her cursed companion Nyx, deep in the heart of the Woodlands, along a wet dirt path that reeked of fresh dung.

  A good sign, she hoped. Where there are droppings, there are sure to be horses… or ogres…

  The half-moon emitted a dim light through the roof of leaves and the chilly midnight wind was picking up. And yet for a change, Robyn found herself almost entirely at ease. Her fear of the dangers of the Woodlands had diminished, and she had come to the realization that danger was imminent in any direction, even among humans. She looked down at Nyx and for a brief moment she was jealous of his grey fox pelt.

  “You never told me you were a soldier,” she said, attempting to make conversation so as to avoid the silence.

  “I never told you I was a human either,” Nyx said, his shaggy feet fortuitously skipping a step every few yards due to the many years he had spent living as a crow. “Not that it matters. It was a life I once knew and will never return to. And I made my peace with that about a hundred years ago.”

  “What did you look like? If I may ask…?”

  “Oddly enough, I can’t remember,” he said. “I’ve had so many faces, my human face is no more than a blur.”

  Robyn felt a tug in her chest. She was thrilled to have him back, that much was certain. But she had almost forgotten how much her prying troubled him. She tried to keep her questions simple, but the energy and vigor she felt was beyond compare. Nyx was back… And the more she came to terms with the idea, the wider her smile grew. They walked towards a hidden cave to rest for the night, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep a single minute. She was far too overjoyed for sleeping.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” Nyx said after a long silence. “About your arm, that is…”

  Robyn’s forearm was wet and warm beneath a layer of cloth. She had coated it in callis root once they were a good distance from the camp, but she’d done it in a hurry. And while the blood seemed to soak through the cloth, the pain was far less agonizing than before.

  “The callis root is helping,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nyx was unsure of what else to say. Part of him felt guilty about stopping her from shooting the vile captain back in the tent. He knew that if he had allowed her, however, there was no chance of escaping with their lives. The only option at the time was to live to fight another day.

  “Do you remember much?” Robyn asked abruptly. “About the Great War…?”

  Nyx sighed. Though he felt reluctant to reply, he also felt he owed her an answer.

  “Regrettably so,” he said, losing his gaze into the distance. He even chuckled for a moment, a sad chuckle. “I can’t remember my own face and yet the war I remember as if it had happened yesterday… It’s funny, the way the mind works. It’s always the bad memories that stay the longest with us…”

  “How bad?”

  “Dreadful… Every city and village was raided. Every day, hundreds were dying. Soldiers marched into our homes under the king’s orders and dragged out every boy and girl over the age of fifteen. They threw a sword and shield into our hands and took us away in carriages in the dead of night. Many of us were never heard from again.”

  “Did you not have a say?”

  “If we resisted, they would call us rebels. They would kill our families and make us watch.”

  Robyn allowed for a brief silence, mostly for herself as she took it all in.

  “I’m so sorry, Nyx…”

  “A war brings about desperate times, Lady Robyn,” he replied, more at ease than she had expected. “Anyway, it’s in the past… I was a dumb boy, praying to the gods day after day, asking them to keep me alive for as long as they could.” He paused for a chuckle. “Perhaps I should have chosen my words more carefully.”

  She tried to smile down at him but he hardly took notice, as he appeared to be lost in thought, reminiscing on the memories of the young man he once was.

  “What were you like?” she asked. “Before all of this?”

  “I was merely an ordinary carpenter’s son,” the fox said. “Ignorant, naïve, wishful… I lived a simple life. Can’t say I had much talent for carpentry, really. My father was the one with the gift of craftsmanship. I wanted to be a knight of the king’s court, as many boys dream to be at some point in their lives. Though once the war started and a blade was actually shoved into my hands, I wanted nothing more than to escape from it.”

  “Was that the first time you held a blade?”

  “It was not,” he said. “My father had been long acquainted with the blacksmith that crafted swords for the king’s army, you see. He gave me one as a gift when I turned sixteen. You can imagine how thrilled I was at the time.”

  Robyn chuckled, imagining what Nyx would have looked like as a young inexperienced lad swinging a rapier at a sack of hay. “Were you any good?” she asked him.

  “Goodness, no. I was rubbish,” he replied, to which she chuckled louder. “I never had a mentor of any kind. I was simply a lad with big dreams, toying sloppily with a weapon I knew nothing about. But I was put to the test soon enough. One night, while I was stumbling home drunkenly, I happened upon a very much sober man violating a girl in a dark empty road. Fortunately I had my sword.”r />
  “Did you kill him?”

  “I did not. In fact, he disarmed me and pinned me down. He nearly killed me, if it hadn’t been for the girl hitting him in the head with an empty glass bottle.”

  Robyn couldn’t help but smile a bit. Nyx did not mind, in fact he’d laughed about it once or twice himself. “Yes, it was rather embarrassing. Though it did teach me quite a valuable lesson.”

  “And what lesson was that?”

  “You can fantasize all you’d like, Lady Robyn, but when it comes to a real fight in which your life is at risk, it all comes down to what you really are and not what you pretend to be.”

  His words sunk in deeply, and Robyn took a moment to consider them. She knew she was not a cowardly person. However, her confidence was not enough to face a raider or a mercenary in armed combat, and she was very well aware of that now.

  “And so it was,” Nyx continued, “That every night from that moment on I practiced for hours on end until I made certain that no one would ever disarm me again. That’s how I survived all those battles during the war, you see. Stayed alive until the very end. And it was after that final battle when I was struck with this vile curse.”

  They walked around the base of a large hill, and it wasn’t until they reached a patch of grassless dirt that Robyn realized the hill was actually a cave. There was a cold breeze coming from the inside, the only sign of life inside that dark abyss.

  “Is this it?”

  “It is,” Nyx said, strolling casually inside. “Not to worry, it’s only a goblin cave.”

  She hesitated. Oh… really? That’s all? Great…

  “No need to fret,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “They’re mostly cowards and tricksters. Worst thing you have to worry about is if they stole from you in your sleep. I’ll keep watch for the night, you get some rest.”

  She stepped inside, walked a few feet until she was no longer comfortable, and took a seat against the smooth brown stone. The night sky was still visible a few yards away, which eased her nerves a bit.

  But she simply couldn’t keep her eyes off Nyx.