Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One)

by Julian Saheed

  * * *

  Christill and Thibalt found Andron to be a welcome change. They continued to work on Steelfist Ranch, tending to the ever growing stock of horses. In Feldom they had finally found a place where they no longer felt like outcasts. The city was so alive and ever changing that they never attracted a second glance.

  Oswald soon allowed them to move into his small home, where they were given a room of their own. Despite his constant reminder to them that they would be forced to leave as soon as the Duke allowed it, Oswald had gradually warmed to the brothers.

  A few weeks after their arrival, they joined Oswald as he journeyed down to the ruins of Carlor. The builders guild of Andron had been enlisted to begin the arduous rebuilding of the shattered village and Oswald had willingly provided the guild with horses for the journey. The brothers helped to raise a monument in honour of the men and women that had fallen in its destruction, yet the true cause of the disaster remained a mystery.

  Although he made no mention of it, they suspected that their arrival in Feldom had brought out a guilt within Oswald that had lain dormant for many years. A deep regret of his abandonment of Iara and Christill's mother Lissi. In the ruins of Carlor Oswald showed a more sensitive side as he told to them of his past and described their birthplace. Still unsure what to make of their father, the brothers simply continued to listen and learn.

  They eventually learned to keep time by the Feldonian calendar. Oswald described to them the fourteen months of the Feldonian year; this being the three hundred and fifty first year, of the sixth era of mankind. Though it took some time to adapt to, they eventually found themselves tracking the days in Feldonian fashion.

  Waking at the crack of dawn, they ate with the rest of the farmhands and then began their activities. They helped to groom and wash the horses, muck the stables and, when needed, travel to the market to purchase supplies. Several months into their stay, Thibalt had even convinced Oswald to keep a young filly that he had taken a liking to, named Esree.

  Oswald also gave them time away from their chores, and in these breaks the brothers explored the city. Being the most active port in Feldom, the harbour and market districts always held some excitement for them. They mingled with the diverse peoples of Andron and did their best to learn about the society to which they now belonged. Yet in this time they quickly found that there were several corners of the city best avoided. The bustling harbour brought with it a plethora of cutthroats and thieves. Men who would not think twice about murdering a man for his coin.

  It was in one such part of the harbour that the brothers had their first brush with the lingering effects of Andronian ale. Unaccustomed to the strong drink, they soon understood that in some things moderation is pertinent.

  Having entered The Smiling Trout in search of a meal, they found the only unoccupied table in the far corner of the room, away from the boisterous bar and the band playing in the front of the tavern. The room was full to bursting with the visiting sailors and dock workers that had finished for the day. The combined roar of the drunk patrons and poorly timed music left the brothers astounded. The sour smell of sweat and spilled drink wafted through the air, mingled with the faint odour of roasting meat from the kitchens. Thibalt already felt his mouth watering at the smell of the roast and raised his hand to call a serving girl.

  She returned with two plates of roasted potatoes and char-grilled beef, and slammed two foaming cups of ale onto the table before storming off for the next order. The brothers glanced at each other, shrugged their shoulders and guzzled down a large mouthful of the ale. Christill sputtered up some of his ale with a cough, but Thibalt slammed his fist into the table in delight.

  "This must be what the gods drink!" said Thibalt excitedly.

  Christill wiped the ale from his chin and replied, "It's a lot stronger than I expected."

  But Thibalt wasn't listening. He had raised the cup once more to his mouth and was gulping the remaining ale down in long draughts. He slammed the empty cup down on the table and motioned for the serving girl to bring him another. She swiftly did so, taking another two copper coins from Thibalt before handing it over.

  By the time Christill had finished his food, and leaned back to rest his stomach, Thibalt had ordered his third and Christill's second.

  They then spotted three sailors making their way towards them.

  "Looks like someone took our table, Tristan," said the smallest of the three, a man with stained yellow teeth and dark black circles under his eyes.

  The man named Tristan, a slender figure with a coarse brown beard and long hair covering most of his face, let out a boisterous laugh. "Always room for a few more, Luan. Don't be so rude."

  The sailors then joined the brothers, calling for cups of ale.

  Thibalt and Christill sat silently at first, unsure what to make of these three men, but found themselves engrossed in their tales. The sailors talked amongst themselves, ignoring the brothers at first. They spoke passionately of the tension between Dargon and the Alliance that showed little sign of improving. To their surprise, they learnt that Feldom itself was divided in its beliefs. The western and eastern halves of the nation bore little love for one another and were held together primarily through trade. The citizens of Andron blamed their problems on the warmongering easterners. Yet, in the East, Feldonians accused their western brethren of lying complacently on their backs, growing wealthy whilst they were forced to suffer Dargon's wrath.

  To their even greater surprise they learnt that the northern cities, under the rulership of a separate King in Auldney, restrained their contact with the rest of the nation. It was rumoured that those in Auldney still followed barbaric tribal rituals from the dawn of man and kept to themselves to hide their debasement.

  City rivalry was not something the brothers were unaccustomed to, with the Miirvkin in Hamal having strained relationships with their neighbouring settlements. However, the outright aversion shown by the Andronian citizens still amazed them.

  After some time the banter took a friendlier turn and the brothers joined in on their conversation. The sailors explained how they were only in Andron for a few nights, whilst their ship restocked for the journey back to Cardrin in the south.

  "So what will you take back to Cardrin?" asked Christill, who was finding himself more at ease after his second cup of ale.

  "Mainly stone fruits and medicine. You know, leeches, honeysuckle wraps and such," answered Luan.

  "And a large shipment of bear pelts that we took onboard in Larthstone. Though we won't be telling the harbourmasters about that one, if you catch my meaning," added in Tristan with a sly wink.

  "I don't really," replied Thibalt, who had begun to sway in his seat. Christill had noticed the numbing effect of the drinks taking hold of him after his second cup and could only imagine what Thibalt was feeling with his rapid indulging.

  "Taxes, boy!" replied the third sailor, an overfed ruffian by the name of Roran.

  "Doesn't everyone have to pay taxes? Our father is always mentioning them."

  "You only pay if they know about it," said Tristan. "Do you have any idea what we would be forced to cough up on a load of bear fur from the north? It wouldn't even be worth the trip if we paid the correct levies at each port of call."

  "Why so much?" asked Christill, whilst Thibalt motioned for another cup of ale for the both of them.

  "Because every bastard gets to dip his fingers into our coffers. We pay the harbourmasters guild for the use of the docks. We pay the Duke for the city's upkeep. We pay the blasted disciples of Skiye an offering to the goddess. Worst of all we pay the royal customs to provide our fat King with an even greater share of all of our profits."

  "Hardly seems fair," commented Thibalt, eagerly taking hold of his new cup of ale for a big mouthful.

  "That's why every sailor from here to Dark Shell Bay sells his mother to avoid paying it," said Luan, his wide smile presenting his mouthful of rotten teeth.

  "And wha
t happens if you get caught?" asked Christill.

  Roran's eyes narrowed dishearteningly. "We silence the harbourmaster who found out and set sail before the local guard can commandeer our cargo," he replied.

  "Much like our last visit to Summerstone," said Tristan with a chuckle. "Roran here likes to pride himself on being able to beat anyone and everyone into submission. Claims he once fought one of the King's personal guards and won. Gods, he almost thinks he could take on the Thaldun Blades, he does."

  "Who?" burst out Thibalt louder than he had intended.

  The three sailors turned to him perplexed. "What do you mean? You been living under a rock or something?"

  "Our father doesn't let us away from the Ranch very often," lied Christill, aware that they were dangerously close to revealing their Miirvkin upbringing.

  "The Thaldun Blades are Karmena's finest warriors. The most skilled soldiers that they have to offer," said Luan, whose eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

  "Well if you are such a great fighter then you should try take on the champions in the Arcein Arena in Hamal. I have never seen better warriors," said Thibalt with a hiccup.

  Christill's eyes shot wide open and the three sailors pushed back from the table in alarm.

  "What did you just say?" asked Tristan.

  "We best be heading home," Christill said hastily, grabbing Thibalt's arm and rising from his seat.

  "But I haven't finished," complained Thibalt.

  "Just move!" yelled Christill.

  The three sailors rose from the table and towered menacingly over them. "What kind of treacherous dogs are you?" called Luan.

  "He doesn't know what he is saying," said Christill. "He has had too much to drink."

  Thibalt, sobering up as he realised what he had said, also rose from the table and took a step back, sensing the tension in the air.

  "I think he knew exactly what he was saying," replied Tristan, taking a threatening step around the table. "You some kind of Miirvkin spies?"

  "No, it's not what you think," said Christill, but he was interrupted by Thibalt's cry as he reached out and hoisted the wooden table up and at the sailors.

  The three men turned as the cups and plates flew into the air at them, and were pushed back by the table that toppled over upside down.

  "Run!" called out Thibalt. Christill did not hesitate and they were both off, storming towards the door whilst the sailors recovered.

  They rushed out of the tavern and headed straight down the street in the direction of the Ranch. Neither of them turned to look behind and kept their focus on putting as great a distance between themselves and The Smiling Trout.

  Running at their swiftest pace, it did not take long before they were forced to stop and catch their breaths. They had rounded several corners, hoping to make it too hard to follow them and were pleased to see no one in immediate pursuit.

  "What were you thinking?" said Christill, his hands on the back of his head, gasping for air.

  Thibalt dropped to his knees and retched up his evening meal on the side of the street. After wiping his mouth he replied in a weakened voice, "I don't know. I just blurted it out without realising what I was saying."

  "We need to be careful. Who knows what they would have done to us. Can you go on?"

  Thibalt nodded and they continued on back to the Ranch. "Don't tell Oswald!"

  "Agreed," replied Christill.