The Travelers' Song

by Brendan O'Gara

  They sat and ate quietly after the food was laid in front of them, filling the table. They watched the tavern fall back into a normal rhythm. It was as if a man died on the floor every day. Charlotte asked, “What will you do?”

  Wandalor sighed. “We will not interfere or help as you say, unless asked, and only then if helping will not jeopardize our mission.”

  “What is your mission?” she asked.

  “We are scouts, information collectors, from Emeranthia. Our job is to gather knowledge and return it to our sovereign, Mooreclasian, Emperor of the Shadow Dark,” answered Thalin.

  Darr looked around cautiously, with suspicion. He was worried that people around would hear too much. He cleared his throat and interrupted to stifle the conversation, shooting a look across to Thalin and Wandalor. He grabbed a few flagons and a skin of wine. The others stood, grabbed plates, and pocketed bread. “Let’s go,” Darr said.

  When he spoke, the barkeep with a scruffy beard and dark skin, walked over to the table where the travelers sat. He was not really dark skinned, just dirty. He caught the eye of Johan first and said, “Sir, the owner of the establishment would like to have a word with you and your friends. Would that be all right with you?”

  Johan said, “Here or somewhere else?”

  “Upstairs, in your room, in just a few minutes.”

  Wandalor replied, “Sounds acceptable.”

  They went back to the room, carrying the remnants of food on a couple of trays. They sat down where they could talk at leisure. Darr said, once they were settled in the room, “Now we will answer any question you care to ask, Charlotte, because it seems you are in this with us now.”

  A loud knock stopped him from continuing. Thalin answered the knock, opening the door only slightly to the person on the other side, who spoke quietly, causing Thalin to open the door the rest of the way. The man entered. He was a shorter human than the barman and cleaner. He introduced himself as Laofrick ‘One Cut’ Holton, the owner of this establishment. “I own this place; I am called One Cut by my friends.” The man fidgeted, nervously bouncing from one foot to the other.

  Wandalor tried to placate the man. Darr did the same, saying, “We’re not like other men. We’re not killers, not hunters of men come to town to kill people. We’re simple wanderers. We’re not here to cause any problems or any trouble.”

  One Cut ran a hand over his hair. “I’m not calling you a liar, sir. I just don’t believe the things that you tell me. Simple folk have simple tools and simple means. The sailors who come here stick together. The woodsmen stick together, and the tradesmen do as well. See? Different classes of laborers and people stay to their own. You six have spears, bows, crossbows, and swords.” His voice cracked with apprehension.

  “You have implements that no one here owns. I mean no one. No one in this town here. Hunters have spears, bows, and hunting implements, but hunters do not come into my bar. The name of my bar is Way Finders and that is what I think you are. A group of way-finders. A new type of-of...a new type of profession, if you will. Most common folk stay in the town they live in unless they are traders and merchants who travel the trade lanes. Not-not the way finders; not adventurers like you. That’s what I think you are. I think you’re adventures, and we need you. This town needs you because whatever killed Ucla, I don’t think it’s going away. I think something is out in the woods. It has found that it can kill people and chase them back into town. We have town guard, sure, but the town guard is just that town guard.” One Cut bounced and teetered in the doorway, wringing his hands as he spoke.

  “The town guard doesn’t own its own armor, piece by piece, see? The town guard shows up for their shift, one person who is wearing the armor takes it off so the next person to work can put it on. We have spears, but they’re not metal tipped. More like sharpened sticks. No one has ever been rich enough to have that much metal to make a sword, much less the plate armor. I saw underneath that bag. I saw you come in. You didn’t see me. I was in the crowd, locals know who I am. A face in the crowd. I like that way. I can keep an eye on my bar and nobody knows.” One Cut suddenly stopped. A look of horror came over his face. “Oh...Oh, please tell me that you're not like the last group that came through three months ago. There were only three of them, and there’re six of you. Good, good.” He looked around the room, assessing the group.

  “See, they were here, and in twenty minutes they killed one of my bar patrons. One of them then pulled out a coin from his pocket, tossed it down on the dead man, and before they could move away from the dead man’s body over to the bar, the door opened up again. In came the elf, wearing all black clothing and robes. He was bald, and had blue swirling tattoos on the right side of his head. He walked in with two guards in black leather armor. They looked down at the dead man. They looked at the three men who had killed the man. The elf said, ‘Thank you very much for the new member of the Legion.’ He then walked over and put five gold pieces down on the table by the bar, looked at my barman, and said, ‘This is for the mess.’ The other two picked up the dead man by the shoulders and dragged him out. That elf turned around to follow, closed the door, and before the next person could open the door to look out they were gone. Just a matter of seconds, see? A puff of smoke and they were gone. I immediately banned those three from my inn, told them never to come back. No..-no killing in my bar. My wife, she gets mad when she has to mop up blood. No, don’t want her mad. No killing here. You’re-you’re not like them, right?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charlotte listened to the men talk. Eventually the innkeeper left. She drifted away to a window seat and sat looking out over the town of Blackweb. She could hear murmurings as the men decided what to do with the information they had gathered. She was certain that they would do something, despite Wandalor’s declaration that they would not intervene. She felt her instincts were right, and that it was not the way of this group to ignore someone in trouble. Besides, they had plucked her off the road and helped her, kept her safe with Eldritch incantations and actions, had they not?

  These men were good men. Charlotte saw in them, in each one, different qualities of goodness. Wandalor with his fatherly speech and wise words. Thalin and Gadlin with spells and hands to guide her. Johan was impish, true. If she gave him so much as a nod of encouragement he would have her half undressed in a matter of seconds. She smiled. Johan looked for the fun in life. Darr was full of light, as paladins were supposed to be. He was practical with his treatment of her, like a brother.

  Charlotte fingered the scrap of paper in her pocket. Still, was the goodness she saw enough to tell them the details of her task? Of her promise?

  The men began to implement the plan. Charlotte decided to wait. She would tell them after she found the first piece. She needed it to prove her mission wasn’t a waste of time.

  The decision was made for Gadlin and Thalin to go scout out where the kimera might have gone and how best to kill it. They could wait for it to come closer to town, but that was a risk that would place the townspeople and themselves in greater danger. They wanted to have the upper hand in this fight.

  Wandalor followed the two down and planted himself on a bar stool for a little while. Darr and Johan checked on the horses and gear. Charlotte was overcome by exhaustion. Travel had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. Safe in the inn, she decided to take a nap. She knew the next few days would be more arduous and, not knowing what the days held, taking the opportunity now in this relatively safe place seemed the best thing she could do for a little while.

  Gadlin and Thalin walked out of town on foot and began to look out on the edges of the town. It wasn’t long before they had found an area that looked like something big had trampled through the trees. Sure enough, upon closer investigation they found there was blood—and a lot of it.

  “This must be where the kimera grabbed Ucla,” Gadlin said, and Thalin agreed. They entered the forest at that spot and soon found a dim trail winding through the trees. Th
ey followed the trail and saw tracks. Gadlin squatted down to inspect a large track. He bent his head down and sniffed the track. He wrinkled his nose, surmising, “It appears to be a large feline. Jaguar maybe. It doesn’t smell right. There’s more to this.” Gadlin ran his finger over the track wall and inspected the horizon cut of the indention. “It’s big; bigger than a bear.” Gadlin shuddered “Small dragon-sized beast, perhaps?”

  Thalin came in for a closer look, inspecting the trail and looking at drag marks in the path. “Tail drag, but it lifts it often. See, stab marks. Scorpion tail,” Thalin determined. “Whatever the beast was, it was heavy enough to sink paw tracks four inches into the mud along the creek bank. Look,” Gadlin instructed, pointing to a puddle of steamy liquid. “Venom.” As they followed the tracks of the beast they realized that it moved through the woods with a destination, purposeful and straight forward.

  Gadlin bent down and looked across the ground. He then prostrated himself and looked again. Thalin knelt beside him. Gadlin suddenly jerked Thalin down onto his stomach. “Do you see how the land looks raised? It seems unnatural to me,” Gadlin opined.

  “I see. There is something, look there. We need to be cautious,” Thalin said.

  The men moved low and slow. They soon saw clearly that there was an entrance to a cave. The soil by the entrance looked freshly scraped and flattened, as if something big had lain down at the entrance to a rest. However, it was not in sight now.

  Gadlin and Thalin pulled back and headed to town. They broke tree limbs and pointed them in the direction of the cave, to make it easy to find it again. They went straight to the inn to tell the others and plan an attack

  Wandalor pulled a timepiece from his pocket. The brass casing shimmered in the soft glow of the tavern’s torchlight. Attached to the top was a small leather strap. He sighed. He had intended to have Darr make a proper holder for his treasure. The numerals on the face were foreign to him, but through research of the old customs he had be able to translate the numbers. Wandalor recognized that time was an illusion and only truly understood by those in tune with nature, those who could read the rhythms of the world and the stars. Nevertheless, it fascinated him. He used the piece to estimate that the two scouts had been gone about twenty-three minutes.

  A rank-smelling fisherman came up to the bar to order a tankard, mumbling under his breath. Wandalor heard one word, “Kimera”, and adapted his ears as the man continued to complain. “I need to get back on my boat. Damn kimera here in this town. Cursed, it is.”

  “What have you heard about the kimera?” Wandalor asked.

  “I’m not one for town gossip,” the sailor grumbled.

  “Still, what did you hear?” Wandalor queried, cajoling the sailor.

  “I heard it said that, by all accounts of those who have seen it, the kimera, the beast, has the body of a giant jaguar standing eight feet at the shoulder, the tale of a scorpion, and head of a cobra. I am casting off at first light,” the man growled, and walked away.

  Upstairs, Charlotte, in the throes of a dream, tossed and jerked. In her dream she sat up, but in her bed, still in her traveling clothes. She got up and looked out the window. She was horrified at what she saw. The town was littered with bodies, destruction, and blood. Red, blue, and black were the new colors of what was once a serene harbor town. Blackweb was the stage of a terrible battle. The air which would normally be filled with the scent of freshly baked bread was now filled with the smell of death. The sounds that bombarded her were deafeningly loud, the sound of explosions drowning out any other sound in the area. The sound was enough to make even the bravest tremble in fear. Two scarcely trained groups haphazardly fought for supremacy, but it was clear which side would win. The dead lay in heaps across the town. The faces of the fighters were grim with the certainty of death and despair, their spirits broken.

  With the certainty of victory the opponents fought with a sense of relief, knowing all would be over soon. Some succumbed to exhaustion, no longer able to defend themselves. Much were too tired to care, while others thought of home and what they’d left behind. The toll on both nature and life was disastrous. It would take ages before the town recovered. Debris, weaponry, and metal took the place of buildings, market stalls, and roads.

  Suddenly Charlotte found herself walking among the bodies of the dead and dying. She looked down to see Thalin— his squared hood was down, leaving just his eyes exposed. Attached to the top were many small layers of crafted leather shaped in the appearance of dragon scales. The shoulders were oval, quite short and large, decorated with a layer of animal pelt, covering every surface. Still, she knew his eyes.

  Thalin lay flat on the ground in an expanding pool of his blood. His vision went blurry as tears filled his eyes. Biting the pain was barely an option, as agonizing cramps seemed to crush him from within. Staying alive exhausted him and the pain took its toll. Tired, but unable to sleep and unable to stop the searing pain, with the passing of each moment the pain worsened. For a moment he feared it would never stop. Thalin longed for death, for peace. It became harder and harder to swallow the pain, to ignore the sensations and the voices telling it to stop. Dream Thalin wished for a bed, a hot bath, or just a fluffy pillow to lie on. Right now all he cared about was surviving and ignoring the pain. Thalin knew Gadlin was near. In this dream state, Charlotte could read his thoughts.

  Gadlin was indeed near. Charlotte saw one of his own short spears protruding from his belly. The stabbing pain of his wound kept him conscious. Gadlin’s head felt light, everything around him seemed to spin and a feeling of nausea crept up his throat. Desperate for some form of relief, he sought out every solution. Ignoring it, working through it, using it to fuel his strength. But nothing seemed to work. It was all too much to handle, and for a moment he considered giving in to the pain and giving up. Letting go. It was impossible to relax completely. Gadlin was unable to block the pain entirely. It was clear to him that this was going to be a long day. Gadlin was absolutely determined to not let this pain from his own weapon finish him, but he was unable to. Charlotte gasped, as she too felt Gadlin’s pain. She began to weep.

  Gadlin fell forward, the base of his own short spear buried in the soft ground as the head bit deeper. The sharp edges cut through his muscle and flesh, tearing under his weight. The weapon ripped through the armor on his back. Blood sprayed out of him as he landed on the ground, dead. Gadlin’s head turned to one side, his gaze passing over the battlefield and landing on Wandalor. Charlotte screamed.

  Calling loudly across the battlefield, Darr could be heard in battle, screaming his war prayers. “Infinite God, My Shepherd, I lost Your Light and stepped into darkness. I don’t know what came over me; I let drink take over my mind. Purge me of sin, allow me to mend my ways. Sanction me for my sins so I may start afresh in Your divine grace.” The face shield of Darr’s helmet featured subtle slits that resembled arched vaults, stained-glass windows of an ancient castle, and arrow-slits of fortresses, and a splash of floral motifs at the top amped up the spirit of romance. The shoulders of his armor were made up of seven layers that covered the upper and back of the arm. A rectangular chest, side, and plated back pieces and deeply etched splint lower legs were all edged in brass and had riveted rondels on knees to protect his extremities. Bazuband covered the forearms, and his chainmail shirt with half sleeves reached his knees. Light cotton undergarments were worn beneath his armor. Darr was at home on a battlefield, like a whirlwind of flash and skill blocking blow after blow. Instinctively stopping arrows from finding a home, placing his sword like a surgeon in his enemy’s flesh through the weakest point in their armor.

  Charlotte saw her friends some of whom had shuffled off this mortal coil and others who continued to fight. She didn’t know what had brought on this battle. Charlotte had no idea when this battle started or why it happened. She only knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. She saw her friends, the worshipers of the old gods, die. And the only person who still stood was the warri
or of the new God, the God of Light. None of the combatants had attempted to attack her. How odd and out of place, she thought. However, she wasn’t going to do anything to draw anyone’s attention to her.

  Charlotte frantically began to look for Johan, Wandalor, and Varian. By the gods, let Varain not be here among the fray. Charlotte knew that Varain was well trained and capable of doing great deeds in a heated battle. Likely he would inadvertently get drawn into a struggle with Darr, and right now she was unsure as to who she would hope to be the victor in that battle. Looking about desperately, she hoped not to see him. Charlotte gave in to a moment of relief when she didn’t see the dragon.

  Then she heard the sound of dragon wings in the air above her head.

  Her gaze snapped up and she saw Varian’s silhouette in the sky. The beautiful, majestic dragon swooped and descended in a barrage of flames as he lit a group of fighters ablaze. As soon as she saw him, he was gone from her sight.

  Instead of her dragon, she saw several dark spots in the sky. She realized in an instant the black spots were falling to the ground and screaming as a man passed in front of her and landed with a wet thud. Her eyes locked on to Wandalor across the field as he was calling out incantations and simply pointing at enemies. Charlotte’s eyes followed Wandalor’s hand gestures. She saw the man he had pointed to and, as if he had been grasped by a gigantic hand, his sword fell to the ground. As Wandalor whipped his hand in an upward motion the man was swept up, the earth under his feet floating some several inches off the ground. Following the man with her gaze, Charlotte watched as the man went up out of sight. She had no idea if or when the man would descend.