by Tyson, Mark
Rennon chuckled in spite of himself. “No, not that time. The time I told you I saw my dead grandmother sitting at the end of my bed at night.”
“I didn’t think you were serious.”
“I still see her, Dorenn,” Rennon said somberly.
“Okay, Rennon, I made a mistake when we were six. I think I can keep it to myself now,” he paused. “Why do you think you still see her?”
Rennon stood and brushed the dead leaves and twigs from his backside. “Another time perhaps, right now I just need to sleep.”
“Rennon, you can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Leave me in the dark like this.”
“I am truly sorry, Dorenn, but I can’t tell you, not yet anyway. Just let me come to you on my own,” Rennon said, and then he walked back to camp.
“I have been hearing that a lot lately,” Dorenn muttered to himself.
The next morning, after a breakfast of dried beef and bread, the party packed up and moved back onto the southern road. The guards and Rodraq cleared the campsite so well that it was difficult to see any signs that anyone had made camp there at all. Trendan hoped they would reach the first village from Brookhaven at around midday, and indeed, as the midday summer sun beat relentlessly on their backs, the party reached Soldier’s Bluff, which meant they were making good time.
Up until the last four leagues or so, the terrain had been mostly flat with occasional rolling hills topped with green and golden grasslands. Now the hills became much steeper and trees became more prevalent. Sharp stones began to appear on the road, and despite Rennon’s excellent inspection of the horse’s hooves before they had left Brookhaven, some of the rocky terrain had damaged one of the mount’s shoes. The damage was not severe, but it did require a blacksmith. Dorenn knew that Rof’s blacksmith shop was not far off the main road, just beyond the guardhouse. He had not been to Soldier’s Bluff in quite some time, but he was sure nothing had changed much. The village was not large, just a collection of two or three shops and a handful of houses, but it was a clean and pleasant place. As the party approached the guardhouse, a stout man in rusty chain mail called a halt, and Rennon complied.
“What business do you have in Soldier’s Bluff?” the pig-faced guard asked in a gruff voice.
“We are merchants bound for Symbor from the village of Brookhaven,” Rennon replied.
The guard studied Dorenn for a moment, and then he saw Tatrice step out from behind the wagon. “It’s okay, Feyon; this is Master Lourn’s son and a summons group from Brookhaven.”
The stout man perked up immediately. “Mistress Tatrice. It is good to see your fair face again. Are you well?”
“I am well, Feyon, but I am in a bit of a rush as one of our mounts is in danger of losing a shoe. We need to get to Rof’s shop.”
The stout man stood aside. “Aye, Mistress Tatrice, you may pass at once, and welcome to Soldier’s Bluff.”
“Thank you, Master Feyon,” Tatrice said, bowing slightly and stepping back onto the wagon.
As the wagon lurched past the guard, Tatrice blew him a kiss and he blushed furiously.
When Rennon drove the ale wagon around the first corner, Dorenn was surprised to see Fadral’s wagon unhitched and stowed away neatly, as if it had not been used for quite some time. “Rennon, is that Master Fadral’s wagon?” he asked.
“It certainly appears to be,” Rennon replied curiously.
Trendan rode up next to Rennon. “Isn’t that—?”
“We think so,” Dorenn said before Trendan could finish his sentence.
Rennon halted the ale wagon next to the shop not far from Fadral’s wagon. A dark-skinned man came out of the shop, rubbing his hands with a cloth. He instinctively circled round to the injured mount. “Horse thrown a shoe?” he asked.
“Aye,” replied the disguised guard. “Well, it isn’t thrown yet but it is damaged.”
“Thought so. I could see the limp all the way down the road.” The dark-skinned man’s huge arms were the size of an average person’s leg. “Name's Rof,” he said as he held out his massive hand to the guard. “Hop down and I will repair it for you.”
The guard dismounted and the smithy led the horse to an anvil near the shop.
“Master Rof,” Dorenn began, “is that Master Fadral’s wagon?”
The blacksmith lowered his head. “Aye, such a tragedy. I liked the old peddler.”
Rennon and Dorenn looked at each other. “What happened? Is he here?” Dorenn asked.
“Aye, he is. The poor man died near a month ago. He came into Soldier’s Bluff at full speed claiming that some animals attacked him. His horses were lathered up, and he was badly injured. He died before the next morning. I expect he would have lived if we had a cleric about.”
“That is impossible. He was in Brookhaven not two days ago. I saw him myself,” Dorenn said.
“And so did I,” added Trendan.
“And me,” Tatrice said, walking out from behind the wagon.
“Nay, that would be impossible. I tell you he died here near a month ago. I carried his casket to be buried and attended the funeral myself.”
Lady Shey came out of the wagon now. She went directly to Rodraq and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and rode off. Lady Shey moved to stand beside the wagon on Rennon’s side. “Did he speak of what kind of animal he ran into, good smithy?” she asked.
The blacksmith’s forehead furrowed, and he brought his hand up to cup his chin. “Not that I recall offhand. The claw marks looked like wolf work. The strange thing I remember was the bites on his arms and legs. They seemed to melt away like he was burned by fire.” He shook his head. “Hard to explain but that is all I remember.” He turned and led the mount to the anvil.
“What is it, Lady Shey?” Tatrice asked.
Lady Shey did not immediately answer. “We should move along as soon as possible. After Rof repairs the shoe on the mount, we will push on to the village of Cedar Falls. I hope to make it there by nightfall. I cannot justify camping out in the open so near a village if there may be danger.”
“What about Rodraq? Where did you send him?” asked Tatrice.
Lady Shey made a face as if she were searching her mind for an answer, and then she abruptly ignored the question. “Let’s get loaded up; Rodraq will catch up to us in Cedar Falls.” Sylvalora glanced curiously at Lady Shey before she climbed into the rear of the empty wagon, joined shortly by Lady Shey and Tatrice. Trendan paid the smithy, and Rof began to work on the damaged shoe.
The smithy finished his repairs quickly and the guard remounted. Soon the party was slowly moving back to the main roadway and onward to Cedar Falls.
“What was all of that about back there, Rennon?” Dorenn asked him as they left Soldier’s Bluff. Rennon did not answer, so Dorenn clarified his question. “I mean, where did Lady Shey send Rodraq?”
“Who knows, women are always mysterious.” He flicked the reins to spur along the horses. “I want to know what happened to Fadral.”
“Aye, me too. Did you see Fadral in Brookhaven too?”
“I didn’t see him. I was in Sanmir’s shop,” Rennon answered.
“I tell you, Fadral was as real as you are sitting next to me now.” As an afterthought, Dorenn reached out and pinched Rennon smartly on the shoulder.
“OUCH! Are you crazy? I almost pulled on the reins,” Rennon yelped.
“Sorry, I was just making sure.”
“Well, go make sure with someone else,” Rennon chided.
Dorenn laughed. “I said I was sorry.”
Rennon glared at him and then turned back to watching the road.
Trendan had found a place to camp for the night and was directing them toward it when Rodraq was seen riding up from the road ahead. By Trendan’s estimation, they were only half a day from Cedar Falls, but Lady Shey insisted on stopping for the night instead of traveling a few hours after sunset. Dorenn was confused since she had seemed so intent on reaching the village earlier, but he
decided to say nothing. Trendan argued that the road was clear and only a few more hours travel in the dark would not matter, but Lady Shey would not hear it. After she talked briefly with Rodraq, she absolutely insisted on camping for the night. Dorenn vowed to find out why she was so adamant on making camp. He thought it would be more dangerous to make camp than to continue to travel. After supper, he would take her aside for a talk.
The camp was set up in much the same way as the night before; Trendan had again found a small group of trees to conceal the camp. The only difference was Lady Shey had the guards patrol the surrounding area just outside the perimeter of the camp, and she had them guard longer than the night before. It was obvious to Dorenn that the story of Fadral’s death had spooked her. Dorenn approached Lady Shey after a supper of dried beef with thick gravy and biscuits to talk to her. She was preparing a large glass jar with tealeaves and water to put on top of the wagon to brew in the sun while they traveled the following day.
“My lady, may I ask you a few questions?” Dorenn began.
Lady Shey stopped what she was doing, and as if she had read his mind, she stated, “I sent Rodraq out front to search for signs of this ‘animal’ Rof described. I do have suspicions that it is no animal, and yes, Rodraq did find signs to collaborate my suspicions. Any other questions you wish to ask of me or is that the whole of it?”
Dorenn was stunned but he hid it well. “Only one more. Why all the mystery?”
Lady Shey resumed her task and set the jar on the back of the wagon. “I am not in the habit of exposing my suspicions until I have evidence to back them up. Morgoran always said to be sure or hold your tongue.”
“Morgoran,” he said, looking around nervously. He did not expect her to talk about him so openly.
Lady Shey looked at him with a gaze so intense, he could not look at her and shifted his eyes away. She scowled. “Why is it so difficult for you Symborians to accept? The world existed before you outlawed magic you know.”
Dorenn pursed his lips angrily but remained wisely silent.
Lady Shey again looked at him with her sapphire blue eyes, and her gaze melted into a combination of hurt and anger. “Morgoran was one of the greatest wielders that ever lived, and one day he will be again.”
“I meant no offense, my lady, but to speak about wielders in the way you are is grounds for death in Symboria. I tried once to read about Morgoran and wielders in the village archive, but most of the stories of magic and wielders are outlawed too.”
Lady Shey smiled. “I know. I am sorry. Morgoran is just a sore subject with me. I never really had a chance to get to know him well before his curse, and I hate to see him the way he is now. It is a complicated affair.”
“What is wrong with him?” Dorenn asked.
“Ask me another time when I can tell you the full story. As for now, I need to speak with Rodraq.” Lady Shey feigned a weak smile and shuffled away from him.
Dorenn realized he still did not know what Rodraq had found ahead on the road, but he knew better than to pursue the noblewoman and ask more questions, so he went to find Rennon, Trendan, or Vesperin. He found Vesperin meditating and praying just out of sight in a clump of close trees, and Dorenn decided not to disturb him. Trendan and Rennon were smoking pipes and playing nine cards by the fire. Dorenn found his own pipe and joined them. After a time, Tatrice joined them as well, and soon she was snuggling up next to Dorenn. Apparently her anger had subsided, although when he tried to bring the subject up, she shushed him and said something about not stoking a dying fire, so he let the matter drop.
At first light, the camp was packed and the area cleared. Dorenn and his companions played nine cards late into the night, and consequently, they were all tired at breakfast, but as they began to travel again, the tiredness subsided a bit. Dorenn hoped they could stay in an inn when they reached Cedar Falls. He understood the party would reach the small village before noon, which put them almost a full day ahead of schedule. He planned to suggest an overnight stay. Lourn and Dorenn often stayed in Cedar Falls when traveling to Symbor; the little village was one of the most beautiful places in all of Symboria.
It was midday when the sprawling village of Cedar Falls came into view, its slate roofed houses glistening in the summer sun. The river Euflare Aquane ran through the middle of the village, and many boats lined the shore in front of shops and storefronts on the river walk. The main road wound down next to the river on the opposite bank. Intricate wooden bridges spanned the river, leading to larger shops farther down on both sides of the river. Each shop and storefront was elaborately decorated with shudders, trimmed doorways, and sharply painted signage. There were two inns along the river walk, both with outdoor dining areas arranged under colorful awnings. Dorenn had Rennon stop the wagon near one of the bridges that led across the river to the larger of the two inns, The Eagle and the Hare. He was surprised to get no argument from Lady Shey, Tatrice, or Sylvalora about stopping so early in the day; instead, he got resistance from Rodraq, Rennon, and Trendan, who were fervently overruled by the women wanting to soak in the scented bathhouses so famous in Cedar Falls. Dorenn secured rooms at the inn, and Rennon oversaw the stabling of the horses and team. Rennon had the wagon taken to the rear of the inn for cleaning and minor wheel repair.
After settling into their rooms, the three women made their way to the bathhouses and insisted the men and boys also should have a bath if they wanted to continue to travel in their presence. The Eagle and the Hare had three bathhouses: one for men, one for women, and one for community. Each bathhouse had three rooms; the first had warm water, the second hot water, and the last cold water for rinsing. Being simple folk from a small village, only the men and women’s bathhouses were utilized.
Scents of wild flowers and lavender filled the women’s bathhouse as Tatrice settled into the sunken pool of hot water next to Sylvalora.
“Tatrice dear, how long have you and Dorenn been seeing each other?” Sylvalora asked offhandedly.
Tatrice blushed furiously. “We have known each other all our lives. I suppose we have always been together.”
“Thank you for being so straightforward, dear.”
“Why do you ask that question of me, my lady?” Tatrice asked as she reached for a cake of rose scented soap.
Sylvalora frowned. “I am not nobility, dear, no need to refer to me as such.” She smiled. “I ask that question of you because Dorenn’s destiny is quite important, and I want to know how serious you are about him.”
“I am not planning to marry him if that is what you are getting at. I love him, that much is true, but I am not ready to marry.”
“That’s right, Tatrice, do not marry because it is expected of you. Marry because you feel it is right. Marry for love,” Lady Shey interjected, lowering herself into the warm, lavender scented waters and giving Sylvalora a slanted look.
“If my mother were still alive I think she would disagree,” Tatrice added sadly. “My father said she would have me married off by now.”
“A tragic affair, your mother. She was a good woman,” Sylvalora stated with respect apparent in her voice.
Tatrice started. “You knew my mother?”
“Oh yes, dear, Shey and I both knew her before you were born. Don’t you remember anything about her?”
“Not much. I remember she would sing to me at night.” Tatrice had a far off look in her eyes. “And she smelled of lilacs, and she was stunningly beautiful.”
“Aye, she was indeed,” Lady Shey remembered. “Where is your father? Does he still reside in Brookhaven?”
“No, he is serving in the army of the West as a general. He was one of the first to go. He commands an outpost in the Jagged Mountains, you know.”
Sylvalora shifted in the water. “Whose care did he leave you in then?”
“He left me in the care of his best friend, Lourn Adair.”
“I see,” Sylvalora said.
“What do you mean Dorenn has an important destiny? Are you a
seer?”
“I am many things, child; however, I leave the seeing to Morgoran Cleareyes and the Prophecies of the Vale. It is he who sees into the future.”
Lady Shey cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps you say too much, Sylvalora.
Sylvalora took an expression of irritation. “Aye, I have not forgotten, Shey.”
“Very well, I will not presume to debate you on what you choose to tell her, but let us not fill Tatrice’s mind with too much to contemplate too soon.”
“You are right, Lady Shey, very well.”
“I do not mind,” Tatrice interjected, hoping to hear more.
“Aye, but we do,” Lady Shey said, pouring the scented water on her back with a bathing ladle. “You will know all in time, I am sure.”
Tatrice opened her mouth as if to say something, but Lady Shey frowned, so she disappointedly closed it again.
Chapter 5: Symbor
Dorenn roused to a gentle knock on his door. He rubbed his eyes and rose out of bed. Not yet fully awake, he stumbled across the room and opened the door to find Tatrice standing there.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said gleefully. “I thought you might want to get some breakfast with me this morning. Rennon, Trendan, and Rodraq are already hitching up the team and getting the wagon loaded, so we will have to hurry.”
Dorenn yawned and rubbed his eyes again. “Symbor is only half a day’s journey from here. I thought we would leave later in the day.”
“Well, Lady Shey says she needs for us to press on so that she may conduct her business as soon as possible.”
“Is her business in Symbor urgent?” Dorenn asked. “I never got the impression it was all that pressing.”
“Well, for some reason she woke up everyone but you.” Tatrice flung open the curtains to let the warm morning sunshine fill the room. “The rest have eaten breakfast already, but I waited so I could eat with you.”
Dorenn cringed at the brightness of the sun and shielded his eyes for a moment. “Which is my point exactly; if she is in a hurry, why did she let me sleep in?”
Tatrice shrugged her shoulders.