by C. E. Swain
The weather was changing for the first time since the trip began, and clouds were rolling in from the north in a dark gray line. The rain they saw in the distance was still several hours away, but it looked as though it might last for several days, before moving on south.
"I think we should camp in the ruins tonight," Kyler said to the others. "We have the time to gather wood and hunt for game before the rain gets here, and I know a place where we can go to set up a good, dry, camp."
"The horses could use the rest, and we have enough time to wait out the rain for a couple of days I guess." Feran replied.
"Javen can hunt us something to eat while we set up camp." Kyler said and headed off in the direction of the ruins.
Javen sighed, and the look on his face made Feran burst out laughing.
"I will do the hunting, and you can go and have a look around." Feran said. Laughing again, he slapped Javen on the back, and turning his horse, rode off into the trees.
One of the walls was still standing undamaged, in what was left of the old ruins. Very little of the original structure remained on the hilltop, and what did remain, lay broken and scattered around the hill. The many years of disuse and neglect had taken its toll on the once grand castle, and nature was taking it back.
The camp was in a corner of the undamaged wall, where a large slab of stone that was once part of the roof had collapsed, and lay against it at an angle. There was more than enough room for the horses in back, and Kyler gathered enough grass to last them for several days. The entrance of the camp had been stoned up with rubble, leaving only a small doorway in the center. The angle in which the slab had fallen, allowed smoke from a fire to escape the room through a hole at the front, while a gap in the stone in back acted like a fluke, allowing air to push the smoke out
The rain came down with relentless fury, battering everything in its path as it came. Lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the ruins as well as the landscape, only to plunge them into darkness once more, before repeating the process. The thunder was deafening when it came, and shook the very stones around them, while they waited out the deluge. The storms assault lasted for two long days, as the travelers waited for it to end, warm and dry in their shelter.
The carvings on the wall were still visible under the fallen stone slab where their camp lay, and Javen ask many questions during the time at that camp, that no one could answer. The carving of the dragon rider was the focus of his attention, and was the subject of most of the questions when he asked them. The image enchanted Javen, as the flickering light from the fire sent many shadows dancing across it, making the dragon appear to fly.
On the morning of the third day in the ruins, and nineteen days since leaving Alenvale, the three men set out once more for Argnon. The rain let up, and then quit altogether, as they made their way back to the road. The sky was gray with clouds and the promise of rain to come, but the thunder and lightning were gone, and they had been here long enough. As they traveled through the day, they were mostly quiet, preferring to keep their thoughts to themselves as they rode. The horses walked with their heads down, and the riders wrapped themselves in their cloaks, to keep out the chill that hung in the thick damp air. The rain continued intermittently as the day moved along, keeping visibility down to a minimum, and impeding their progress. Their cloaks kept the rain off for the most part, but it did nothing to raise their moral.
The crossroads were a day's ride north of the ruins as Kyler remembered it from his last trip, but it was getting late in the day, and they would have to find a camp soon after they arrived. Dry wood would be a problem right now, but in a few days that would change, and it would be easier to find he thought. They would be ten days out of Argnon once they had reached the crossroads, and the great western road was bigger, and built much better than the one they were on now. Campsites would be easier to find once they reached the other side of the Grayling River, and there were towns along the way where they could replenish their dwindling supplies.
Darkness was settling in around them when the crossroads came into view that evening. Kyler and Feran were in the lead as they drew nearer to the Great Western Road, while Javen and the packhorse followed.
"We need to find a place to camp." Kyler said, in a quiet voice.
"Where did you stay the last time?" Feran replied.
"Across the great road is an old guard post we co." That was as far as he got.
At that moment, four rough looking men came out of the woods on their right, and made a line across the road in front of them, blocking the way.
"Where do you think you're going?" The apparent leader said, as he stepped forward from the others. "This is our road, and if you want to use it, you will have to pay a toll."
The arrow flew out of the trees and landed with a thud in its target, and then another thud sounded as the unseen man hit the ground right behind the riders, dead. It startled the bandits who stood across the road, as well as the riders they faced, and all eyes turned to the trees from which the arrow had come. The warrior burst from the trees with a yell, brandishing a sword in each hand as he came. The horse he rode was big, and he picked up speed as they crashed into the confused and frightened men, who only minuets before were so confident. The fight was over within seconds, and five men lay dead or dying in the road. Kyler, Feran, and Javen, sat on their horses in stunned, silence, as the warrior walked his horse slowly from the carnage, and came to a halt in front of them. The rain on his armor sparkled in the last gray light of day, and the Golden dragon on his breastplate captured their attention.
Visibly frightened by the warrior who stood before them, and shaken by what they had just witnessed, the men from Alenvale were on the verge of fleeing for their lives in panic. Never had they seen men killed so quickly, and with such little effort as they did tonight. Surely this was the sprit of a 'Dragon Warrior' of the old world, they thought. No one alive could defeat five hardened men like these, alone. Believing they were about to die themselves, they watched the warrior in silence, unable to speak. When they had finally regained their wits, it was Javen who spoke first.
"Are you about to kill us?"
"Kill you, why would I kill you when I have just saved your life?" The warrior replied.
"Because you are a sprit of the dead, and that is what they do." Feran said, finding his voice for the first time.
"Sprit of the dead. You think that I am a sprit of the dead?"
"Well, yes, aren't you?" Javen asked, before any one else could speak.
"I was alive when I woke up this morning," The warrior said, as he turned his head and looked at Javen. "And I do not remember dying along the road today."
"So you are not a sprit of a dragon warrior from the old empire?" Feran asked.
"No, I am from Wayborn in the southern lands of the White kingdoms. You looked like you could use some help with the ambush they had set up for you," He said, as he looked at the riders, one by one. "I came across their tracks a few days back, and wondered what they were up to."
"White Kingdoms, I have never heard of the White Kingdoms before." Kyler said. "Where are they?"
"West of here by many months, and well beyond the golden woods, as well as the broken land before it."
"I am Kyler, and this is Feran, and Javen." He said, as he pointed to each of his companions as he named them. "We are from the village of Alenvale in the south, and I would like to thank you for your help. We were in a bad situation, and probably would not have survived it if you had not saved us."
"Menimeth is my name, and I am pleased to meet you, but we should get out of the rain for the night and dry ourselves as best as we can I think. It would not do to survive an ambush, only to die from fever. Would you agree?"
"You are right about that," Kyler said. "I will go and look at the old guard post, these men must have a camp somewhere close by."
Menimeth retrieved his bow and cloak from the trees, and set about stripping the bandits of their weapons and armor. Th
ey may have been somewhat dirty, and their cloths worn, but their weapons and armor were oiled and clean, and in good condition. Feran and Javen helped drag the bodies to the side of the road across from the guard post, and covered them with ground sheets. The horses of the outlaws were in a brush corral behind the building, and off to one side. Menimeth led Donner and the other horses there, after the saddles and gear were removed. There were more than enough supplies and wood to last for weeks in the Guard post and the storeroom in back, as well as the loot and personal possessions that the bandits had acquired.
Kyler had a fire going, and was cooking supper when the others came in from the rain. Menimeth gave them the weapons and armor he had removed from the highwaymen, and sat down to eat the meal Kyler offered him. His own armor was far better than any of the ones the bandits had worn, and the swords he carried were of Elvin make, forged long ago. The swords were a matching set, forged by Elvin magic before the Great War of the old empire, and given to him by an elf named Loren after saving his life. Kyler, Feran and Javen, however, had no armor at all, and their swords were notched and worn.
"Pick out something that will fit well, and use it from now on." Menimeth said to the three men. "The weight could take some getting used to, but in time you will grow to feel like it is a part of you."
Kyler helped bury the dead the next morning, in a clearing that was behind the corral, and he was wearing his new armor as he worked to get the feel of it.
"Menimeth had been right." He thought. "The armor would take some getting used to."
The weight on his shoulders did not hinder him, and it fit well enough to allow him to move around freely and unencumbered. Javen on the other hand was having a harder time than the rest adjusting to his. He was the smallest of the group, and the weight was a burden on him as he worked, but he tried not to show it.
Menimeth dug the graves early that morning before the others woke. He was the one that killed them, so he should be the one to do most of the work in burying them, or at least that was the way he felt about it. When the graves were finished and ready for their occupants, he returned to the old guard post, and set about preparing their breakfast. After they had eaten, and while the men from Alenvale were busy with their tasks, Menimeth inspected the possessions of the highwaymen. Inside a bag on the floor in the storeroom, he found a chest full of gold coins, along with several bags of gold and silver jewelry. One thousand gold coins were what he counted, and he wondered where they came from. This kind of money was not collected on the road by bandits, here, or anywhere else. This had to be blood money of some kind, unless he missed his guess, but for whom. Not these three surely, for they were just poor farmers sons, and the amount was too great for someone of such standing. They would not be poor any longer he thought, as he counted out three hundred coins, and put them in a pouch for each man. The money would go to good use, and he was sure they needed it badly for their village. He separated the jewelry into three piles of equal size and value, keeping only a circlet with a large blue stone in the middle for himself, as well as one hundred of the gold pieces. He placed the jewelry in pouches, and tied them and the coin purses together. Everything else he placed in bags to be loaded on the extra horses they now had.
When the dead had been buried, and the horses were loaded with all that they were taking with them east, Menimeth handed each man a bag of gold and jewelry in turn, and said.
"Keep these out of sight, and do not carry more than a few gold pieces on you at a time."
Kyler, Feran, and Javen, took the pouches Menimeth gave them, and looked inside them. Inside was more money than any of them had ever seen before, and they sat there staring at the gold coins.
"What is this for?" Kyler asked, taking his eyes from the bag in his hand.
"Because they do not need it any longer." Menimeth said, raising his hand, and pointing to the newly dug graves.
" You got this from them?" Javen asked.
"From the loot in the storeroom." Menimeth replied, as he mounted Donner, and turned him east. "I will take one of the horses that we acquired from the bandits, and you can split the rest among yourselves, as well as the loot."
Menimeth led the way as the four men rode from the crossroads that morning. This was the first time in more than a year that he was not alone on his journey, and he was sure that he was now in the land of his ancestors. Kiler rode beside him as they made their way east, and talked about his home in the south, as well as the fair. Menimeth learned a lot about this new land from him, and he liked the man more and more each day. It was just passed noon of their third day together, when they reached the Grayling River, and the stone bridge that crossed it. Menimeth had never seen anything so grand as the bridge across the river. It was wide enough for wagons to pass with ease, and two stone dragons sat guarding the entrance at both ends.
It was late in the evening when the rain ended, on the day before they reached the bridge. The clouds had moved on during the night to the south, and the sun rose bright and warm, for the first time in many days. The river was swollen to its banks from the rain, so the four men decided to make camp early, and cross the river the next day, giving it time to recede. There was enough dry wood for another night on one of the packhorses, and they would not need it anymore after crossing the river. There were towns along the way in which to stay the night from here to Argnon and beyond, and they had enough money now to pay for it.
Menimeth began instructing his new friends as they traveled, how to best use their weapons and armor when in a fight. Going through the drills they were taught, and improving with each passing day, the men soon became comfortable with their new weapons. They practiced each night as they camped along the way, as well as during the day when they stopped to rest the horses. It was a good time to step up their training Menimeth thought, and began to teach the men his way of fighting.
Menimeth spent the rest of the day where they camped by the river, teaching Kyler to use the bow, and how not to be seen. Feran and Javen looked more at ease in their new armor now, and fought each other in mock battles several times during the afternoon. They had learned more in the last three days from Menimeth, than they ever did in their village, and all three men no longer worried about the fair, or the army.
That night as they sat by the fire and ate, they talked about the towns they would see along the way. The empire they said, had suffered greatly since the Great War so long ago. Dragon riders had ruled the land in the time before the rise of Arnoran, and had driven him back into the sea in the Great War. His armies were destroyed in the final battle, and in a rage at his loss, Arnoran used dark and evil magic to strike back at his foes. The dragon riders disappeared, along with most of the armies of the empire in a blinding flash of light, and the lands of the evil mage king became barren and desolate. They were now known as the ruined lands, and were dangerous, and in some places deadly to cross. There were no more dragons or riders left to rule the Great Empire, or protect it from its foes. The lesser wars, which came after the fall of Arnoran, brought the empire to its knees, depleting its resources as well as its coffers, and causing the empire to split into pieces. It was now called the Great Empire, but in the time of the regents, it continued to decline as trade dwindled, and in some areas, disappeared all together.
The town of Rivervale offered food and drink for the weary travelers, as well as a room for the night. Menimeth sat with his back to the wall at a table in the corner of the Grayling tavern, and with his companions around him, ate roasted meats and seasoned cheeses, washing it down with ale. Kyler had stayed here with his father in the past, and was known by the tavern owner, so he paid for everything to arouse less suspicion. They would reach Argnon the day after tomorrow, and there, Menimeth would say goodbye to his new friends. The voice in his mind called to him always, and he drew closer to it every day, but he now knew it came to him, as well.
The feeling came over Menimeth just seconds before the three men entered the tavern. Kyler sat beside him
still, but Javen and Feran had gone up to their rooms for the night. Only one other patron was in the establishment, and he sat by the fire drinking ale from a goblet. The leader confronted the lone patron from across the table, as the other two men went to either side of, and behind him.
"I thought I told you not to come back in here." The man said with an evil grin. "Rylee and Dralin are still mad about the drink you spilled on them."
"I have as much right as any one to be here." The patron replied, setting down his goblet. "And it was your friends that spilled the goblet, not I."
"He thinks he's better than us boss." Dralin said, sneering.
"Yeah Grif, he sure does." Rylee added, smiling at his boss
"Does he now?" Grif asked. "The way I see it, you owe me several goblets of ale, so we will take your coin purse before you leave."
"Pay for your own ale, and shut your mouth." Menimeth said, sipping his ale slowly. "We want to drink in peace, and quiet."
Turning his head and looking at Menimeth, Grif said.