Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey

by Steve Windsor

  For a moment.

  He looked down at the man and the furrowed brow came back, along with his years.

  Roland spoke and broke Ealrin from the thoughts of Holve he was having. Who was this man, apparently so angry at life, yet who hid something within himself?

  Was it joy?

  "Fine with me. But know that if he should decide to come to on my watch I'll take the honor of returning him to his current state of consciousness!"

  ***

  It was Holve who found what was left of a horse cart. The bed of it was badly burned, but would hold the weight of one without fear of breaking. The wheels were slightly uneven, but as it had two wooden poles jutting out to go on either side of a horse or other beast of burden, two of the three could pull the cart along while the third kept watch over the still quite unconscious man in the back.

  It was slow going and the suns had already disappeared over the sea when they emerged from Lonely Pass. There was still just enough light to see the path they were to walk to return to Good Harbor. Roland joked as they came out from under the trees that perhaps punishment enough for the thief could be to listen to every story Soltack wanted to tell him.

  Perhaps.

  The trio arrived back in Good Harbor long after the night had set. The city guard was right. They had to make a fair amount of racket to get someone to open up the gate. The lights from the various houses and businesses in the city gave them light to see as they brought the man to the city council. A weary looking man addressed them at the building and took them around to the rear, where he opened one door with a key, which led to a small hallway with six or so smaller doors leading off it. This was Good Harbor's jail.

  They lifted the man off the cart and set him into the first room on the right. The room itself had no window. The only opening was a small barred rectangle high in the door and a swinging door in the bottom of the door, which Ealrin assumed was for food and waste. The only furniture to speak of in the cell was a bucket. Before they left, Ealrin insisted the guard leave the man a pitcher of water and some bread from Holve's pack.

  The thief had woken up several hours beforehand and refused to speak. Well, perhaps it would have been better to say he was unable to speak. Roland had taken the opportunity to also tie a bit of cloth around his mouth to gag him. He didn't strain or try to get free of his ropes. Though doing so would have been quite a feat, Roland had used the entire length of rope and wrapped the man several times as well as made secure his arms, feet, and legs. He didn't struggle now that they laid him down in the cell.

  Ealrin himself bent down and cut the rope holding him quickly. He undid the cloth so that he could eat and drink. Standing up, he walked out of the cell and allowed the guard to close and lock the door.

  "We'll come back in the morning and let you know what we've decided to do to you," Ealrin spoke through the barred window.

  No response.

  The three left the man where he was. Ealrin noticed Holve put a few coins into the guard’s hand and whisper something to him. The guard grunted and nodded his head. They turned to walk to the Rusty Hook and the guard resumed his post at the front of the council building. It was only then that Ealrin had a thought: Who else lay in one of those cells in the jail of Good Harbor? And what was their fate?

  The walk back was made in silence. Holve had taken the locket out of his own bag and held it in his hand. Ealrin had seen the two interact a lot, and knew that Holve would be glad to return this treasure to the old man. He was glad he was able to help retrieve it to help pay back the kindness of the innkeeper.

  Heads turned when they opened the door and stepped inside the inn, where several patrons, though it was late, were sitting at tables drinking or around the fireplace staring into its warmth. The spring night had turned cold.

  When Elezar spotted them, he was across the room, attempting to stir a sleeping man whose grip was solidly on a wooden mug he had apparently been drinking out of a little too heavily. On seeing the trio, he left the man and walked over to them.

  Holve held up the locket to him.

  Elezar, despite his age, did a half skip to get to Holve quicker. He let out a laugh of happiness and hugged Holve around his chest. He then turned to hug Roland, who stretched his arms out wide and broke out a big smile as well. Elezar playfully pushed him aside and turned to Ealrin.

  "Many thanks to you three for returning my locket. It's the most valuable thing on Ruyn to me! Though I've still no idea why any thief would try to steal it," he said smiling at Ealrin and company.

  "Perhaps you ought to quit calling it the most valuable thing on Ruyn, eh Elezar?" said Roland with a grin.

  "Bah. Anyone who takes a second look at it would know that it's just a picture locket, barely worth a day's wages! It's the inside that hold value to me."

  With that Elezar opened the locket. Inside were fashioned two small portraits of two women, one older and one just coming into marrying age.

  "It's the only likeness I have left of my wife and daughter. They were killed in a goblin raid back twenty years ago. I miss them terribly, but because of this wonderful gift, I'm able to remember them as they were and carry them with me everywhere I go." He offered it to each in turn and Ealrin took it and held it gently in his hands.

  Both women were plain looking, but both were smiling in a way that told Ealrin that they were content. Elezar had given nearly none of his looks to his daughter, save for her nose and smile. The rest was a carbon copy of the other woman in the locket, Elezar’s wife.

  It was then that something strained Ealrin’s chest and would occupy his thoughts that whole night.

  What had become of his family?

  Chapter 11: The White Wind

  Elezar didn't recognize the thief. Their best guess was that he smuggled aboard some recent ship that had come to Good Harbor. Though he never offered a name, he agreed to work for Elezar for half a moon as punishment for stealing the locket. His nights would still be spent in the cell.

  He never apologized for his thievery, but nor did his heart seem so blackened that he was beyond remorse. Whether he was trying to escape some worse fate in the Republic, Thoran or Beaton, he was potentially just seeking refuge like others who come to Good Harbor. It couldn't have been his preferred choice to live. Probably just hungry and wanting to sell the locket for a meal. As Holve had said earlier: desperate.

  The morning after the ordeal was over, the trio had woken early for breakfast. Elezar proudly wore his locket and showed with renewed passion. Every patron heard of his wife and daughter. Several times Elezar had to stop telling his own story, being so overcome with sadness for his departed family, or gratitude for his locket's safe return. Meanwhile Holve, Roland, and Ealrin ate their breakfast at a corner table, and received several pats on the back for a job well done. Holve was not in a talkative mood, so Roland and Ealrin did most of the talking about their adventure. It was after they had finished their meals that Holve finally spoke.

  "My work here on Good Harbor is done for now. I'll be needing to make my way to Thoran. Roland is coming with me. The question is, what will be your course of action? You could stay here in Good Harbor. I could try to secure work for you in the city, in one of the shops, or out on the farms of the island if you wished. Maybe get you sailing again. Several merchant ships pass through here and they are always looking for honest sailors. Or..."

  Ealrin contemplated his prospects. There was the chance to stay here in Good Harbor and to work. He wasn't sure about any craft that he knew much about. While walking through the stores, he had waited for one of them to trigger a memory. No matter if he was at the black smith's or the fisherman's docks, the merchants haggling or the traders, nothing could clear the fog that prevented him from remembering who he was or what he had done before his crash. Spending time on a boat had not made him recall much. It had only made him sick.

  "I want to come with you," Ealrin had said before giving Holve the chance to finish. "This island holds nothing
for me, save for the kindness of you and Elezar. I want to come with you. I don't know what I'll find, but I know that Good Harbor won't help me remember who I am."

  Holve looked to Roland, and then back to Ealrin. His face held a little less of a grimace.

  "I had thought you'd decide on that."

  "Hoping he'd decide that more like it," said Roland as he prodded Holve. He rose, adjusting his cloak over his back and picking up his harness of weapons. "Grab your things Ealrin, we're sailing out before midday!"

  Of course, Ealrin's things were easily put on his person. All he owned in the world was his clothes. His white shirt was tucked into his brown leather pants and the coat rested on top, which bore the only identifying thing about him: his name. After the crash site had been cleaned up and picked over, nothing more of value could have been garnished from the wreckage.

  Eight small patches of overturned and uniform earth were the only things that remained of the wreck, and each of those bore a wooden sign that simply said:

  "Shipwrecked in Spring, Imperial Year 1001."

  ***

  Ealrin looked back over the ship's railing at the city of Good Harbor, shrinking away in the distance. It wasn't home, he knew that well. Yet at the same time it was the only place he could remember so it pained him, if only a little, to be leaving. Instead of trying to remember what the place looked like and bore the image into his mind, his hands were busy sketching roughly the scene he saw now: Good Harbor at the edge of the sea with the mountain range stretching behind it. The forest covering the space between the grassy farmlands, and the mountainous rocks that reached out for the clouds. The Lonely Pass that they had traveled only yesterday to return to the Rusty Hook. Yes, the Rusty Hook must be drawn as well.

  Elezar had sworn that the pack had been left by some traveler many moons ago, and it had cost him nothing. He had pleaded with Ealrin to take it as payment for returning the locket. No matter how much Ealrin had tried to reason that it was he who needed to be paying debts, Elezar wouldn't budge. So Ealrin had taken the simple traveler's pack from Elezar, as well as the hug he had offered him.

  Elezar let Roland hug him as they departed; as long as he promised not to crush his bones or pick him up off the ground.

  Roland had happily indulged in only one of those requests.

  Inside the pack, Elezar had put what Ealrin knew was not simply left by any traveler. A bound leather volume with blank pages and a writing tool lay in the bottom, as well as a fine dagger that was not meant to be worn around the waist or the ankle, but instead was fastened to the inside of your forearm. With practice, it could be released with the proper motion so that at any moment a knife could be in your hand within a blink of an eye. Ealrin was still trying to get it to work, no luck so far.

  It was in the leather bound book that Ealrin sketched Good Harbor on the second page. The first had one note:

  "Remember from this point on. Elezar."

  After writing a short passage about being found, Holve, Roland, the Rusty Hook, the thief and Everstand, Ealrin began to write about and sketch The White Wind, the boat on which he sailed currently.

  The White Wind was a fine vessel, nearly thirty paces long and ten across. Its main mast was taller than most trees Ealrin had seen on the island, with two more that rivaled it. Felicia, its captain, had said that once she had been used for war, but now, with the Southern Republic no longer expanding its borders and the goblins fighting among themselves, it was tasked with the more mundane: like transporting cloth and other goods from the mainland to Good Harbor and ferrying back those who could afford the toll.

  It was a fine day for sailing, Ealrin thought.

  Many of the crew had busied themselves with their tasks. Though they were mostly male and human, there was a large measure of respect, and perhaps a bit of fear, for Felicia Stormchaser.

  She was an imposing woman standing a head taller than Ealrin. Her jet-black hair fell down past her waist, tied up in a single braid. Her piercing green eyes surveyed the horizon around her as she steered the ship from its helm. With her rough and salty voice she barked orders that were obeyed without question. Men flew to follow her command. No one gave her a glance that bespoke of looking down upon her for the gender she had been blessed with. She was the captain of the White Wind. The chaser of storms. It was quite the impressive sight to see, Ealrin thought.

  Yet for being found shipwrecked, he felt odd. His legs didn't respond well when the boat rocked to one side or the other. The things Felicia would yell to a crewman were foreign to him. Shouldn't he know which side was port and which was starboard? Or how the rudder worked? Or in what fashion the masts were made?

  None of these made a path through his fog. Only more questions. If he was a sailor, why had he lost all knowledge of sailing?

  It was extremely frustrating. He took his mind off his wonders by getting to know other members of the crew and by practicing his sword skills with Roland. The journey from Good Harbor, which was on an island in the Southern Republic, to Loran, the major port city of the country of Thoran, was four days worth of sailing with the wind being strong and true.

  In the first two days, Ealrin made a point to talk with people aboard the White Wind, and was never lacking to hear a good story from them. Captain Felicia had with her some of the most traveled sailors in the continent.

  There were four dwarves with beards down to their shoes. Admittedly, that meant that their hair was only the span of your arm but still impressive. They hailed from a place they called Dun Gaza. In dwarven tongue, the word before a city tells them how important the city is. It can describe a mining colony or a forge city, where metal is shaped and formed into weapons or other things useful to the mountain dwellers. Apparently those are the only two types of dwarven cities there are, so Ealrin was informed. Dun meant that it was a large forge. If it were a smaller forge city it would be Cardin, but a Grandun would mean it was the biggest forge city on the continent. Grandun Krator was where these dwarves were off to. Apparently Dun Gaza had completed some great task and they were to inform their masters of it. Grandun Krator rested in the heart of a mountain between Beaton and the Goblin Maw. That mountain range, Ealrin was told, held more dwarves than men in the three countries of Beaton, Thoran, and the Southern Republic combined. Ealrin wasn't sure if this was prideful exaggeration or the truth. Either way, he was interested in the stories these four had about goblin wars, great weapons of war forged in their city, and other stories. Mostly they were about fighting, or weapons they had used in fighting. Or the weapons they had created that were held by some great dwarf or another, and used to kill scores of goblins. They took pride in their handiwork, Ealrin could tell, but more pride in what their works accomplished.

  Also on board were two elves. It was hard to tell whether they had a dislike for only Ealrin, or a dislike for everyone in general. Granted, these two obeyed their captain without question, but it was obvious that they considered themselves on a higher level than the rest of those aboard the ship. Still, they were glad to share their stories with a captive audience, and Ealrin was more than willing to listen.

  As far as they knew, only a handful of elves actually lived on the continent of Ruyn. And those that did were Woodlanders. Long ago in elf history, there was some event that split the elves into three different lines. The Woodlanders lived on both the continent of Ruyn and Redact. They claimed two woods as their home, one in the Southern Republic, and another in what was referred to as "The Northern Wastes." Ealrin didn't think such a place warranted a visit, but he would very much like to meet the elves of the south if he could.

  Something happened which had made the Woodlanders move from where they had originated: the faraway continent of Irradan. A second group of elves lived on that continent and claimed it as their home. Some humans lived there, Ealrin was told, but it was predominately an elven land.

  When he asked about the third line of elves, Fi-Dash, the older looking of the pair, simply said, "We no longer s
peak of those who have sold themselves to the flames of darkness." Giri-hon, the other, younger looking elf, simply turned his eyes from Ealrin and looked, instead, at his plate of food.

  And that was all they would tell him.

  They were all taking a break for a noon meal while Ealrin was hearing about the elf's history. Holve came walking past with his empty plate and kicked at Ealrin.

  "That'll do on your history lessons today, young swordsman. It's time to practice again!"

  Aboard the White Wind, there were three acceptable times to not be waiting for the next command from Felicia: During a meal that Felicia had instructed be given, during weapon's practice which Felicia had advised they do, and whenever Felicia was asleep, which Ealrin had not yet seen her retire to her quarter's for the last two days.

  And after the noon meal was weapon's practice for those on board. Everyone heartily enjoyed this time of the afternoon, though Ealrin a little less than everyone else.

  It was a sight to see all the varied weapons of the different members of the crew, especially between the various races.

  The elves fought with two swords, though they both also carried a bow around them as well. The delicate swords were only the length of one's forearm, but the elves struck out at one another with such precision, swiftness, and ferociousness that Ealrin knew better than to doubt their deadliness. He only hoped he would never cross blades with a Woodlander. They were adept fighters.

  The dwarves, on the other hand, were not as precise as they were relentless. Instead of fighting with thin and seemingly delicate blades, they preferred anything that was stout, heavy, and most of all, big. Two of the dwarves carried maces with spikes on their heads that were taller than they were. They wielded them with both hands and could easily smash apart a barrel with one solid blow. This only occurred once on this voyage before Felicia came down on them harshly for such waste: the barrel had been filled with provisions and the offender, Farin, had been ordered to clean up the mess and go without the evening meal. Ealrin found out later it was best not to irritate a hungry dwarf.