by Ben Stovall
Torvaas seemed startled by the question, and she worried he had not even noticed she was beside him. “The Torgashin do not use tents,” he began, “and, during the summer, we forgo the use of blankets as well. Being of the scaleskin, the elements are not as harsh to us as they are to the corasin—” she arched a brow at the term, but Torvaas continued “—the rain hydrates us, and we bask in the warmth of the sun; we do not wish to eschew these gifts of Eldre’alasa.”
“Eldre’alasa?”
“Scalespeak. Eldre is what we call our guardians. Alasa is our word for the sky,” Torvaas said.
“Do the Torgashin not use shelter at all, then?” she asked, bewildered.
“No—we have huts made of earth in our villages. These are provided by the Eldre’rivrak: The Mud-Father, husband of Eldre’alasa. The scaleskin have many guardians, but the Torgashin focus on these two.”
“I’m sorry to press so much, but what are the scaleskin and how are they different from the Torgashin?”
He smiled, though she could barely register the gesture through his scaled features, and said, “It is no trouble, corasin. The Torgashin are my tribe and only that. The scaleskin is a word that means all of us. As you are vainyri and human both, I am Torgashin and scaleskin. The closest tribe to our village is the Valranir, on an island off the coast of the Lowlands. They focus more on Eldre’atena and Eldre’ilorvak, the matron of valor and patriarch of victory.”
She thought for a moment, then asked, “Do all tribes focus on two guardians—a man and a woman?”
“Two guardians, yes,” he said, “though, not always are the pairs of difference.”
That caught the attention of Joravyn, and she realized he’d been listening the whole time. “Really? The scaleskin pantheon consists of dual patriarch or matriarch pairings?” he asked.
“It does. The scaleskins believe the guardians we revere were ascendants of our kind; heroes that were the embodiment of the ideals they represent. As far as we are aware we have never rejected any scaleskin that did the tribes well and supported the others as they were able, why would the guardian pantheon do any differently?” Torvaas replied.
“This all extremely fascinating, Scales. Do your people keep written records?”
“No,” he said, “only ancient drawings on walls and oral retellings.”
“Shame, that—if you would allow me to write some to bring before the historian’s council? Oh! Is that why the scaleskin mate for life? Are they driven to join this pantheon with their loved one?” Joravyn asked.
“For some, yes,” Torvaas began, “not all scaleskin seek to be guardians, and fewer attain it, of course. For most it is simply enough to share their lives with their loved ones. Some, however, do spend their time on Gandaraar alone, content without accompaniment. Mating for life is becoming more and more uncommon, in truth.” He was silent for a moment, before adding, “I would be happy to have you write the tales down and share them. I doubt they will retain their significance fully with the corasin, but perhaps they can touch the hearts of your people, issalen.”
“Issalen?” Lytha asked. “What does that mean? And corasin?”
“Scalespeak words – they do not translate simply. Corasin means ‘those not of the kind.’ Issalen …” He paused, searching for the proper words. “It would mean ‘one touched by the stars’ though not exactly. It’s just—”
“It’s what you call mages,” Joravyn said. Lytha was thankful there was no heat in either of their voices, only understanding.
“Yes,” the rogue said. Joravyn nodded at Torvaas and turned around to catch up to the group, hustling as he did so.
“What about your name, does it mean something too?” Lytha asked.
Torvaas stopped. He looked down to his feet, closed his eyes for a moment, and inhaled before looking up, “It means shadow-thief.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you.” She tried to reassure him, placing a calm hand on his shoulder. He looked at her, and she thought she saw a tear in his eye. The scaleskin nodded his thanks to her.
“It was something I wanted to be, once. I earned the name, believing it was something of importance—something the Torgashin needed me to be. I hoped I could help my tribe with my talents. I learned, though, that a thief is only a thief to those around him.” His voice wavered as he spoke, and tears hugged the corners of his eyes.
Lytha shook her head. “Torvaas,” she began, “if your tribe only sees you as a thief, then they don’t deserve you. I’ve only known you for a day and I can see you’re much more than that. You’re patient, kind, and caring—qualities found in the best of us. Doesn’t matter in the slightest if you’re a rogue.”
Torvaas’s head flinched away as the tears fell from his eyes. “Do you really think so?”
“I do. You’re a good man, Torvaas I’m certain of it.” Lytha stepped forward and wrapped the scaleskin in a tight embrace. Torvaas returned the gesture, trying—and failing—to stop himself from crying into her shoulder.
It was a moment before the rogue became composed once more. He offered Lytha quiet thanks, then stepped away from her.
“Alright,” she said, “I see a break in the trees ahead. Might be the pit. Let’s go.”
Torvaas nodded.
They arrived to see the group standing at the edge of the ridge, looking out onto the massive bowl. It stretched for miles, small ridges incrementally laid into the walls every thirty or so feet down. The length of the ridges was dissimilar, some were wide enough for a cart, and some weren’t big enough for a kitten. The variance required one to descend into the pit’s deepest layer if they intended to make it through its length. Lytha had remembered the pit was large but had forgotten its exact size over the years. She looked up to the sun, and saw it was just a little past midday. She hoped they would make it all the way through the boneyard, even if it meant some travel during the night. The pit was eerie during the day, sure, but it was even worse without sunlight. Lytha remembered that much.
“Ye sure we have to go through this thing?” Tyrdun asked with his brow furrowed.
“I’m afraid so,” Lytha responded. “Skirting the edge would add another day to our trip.”
“We’d better get moving, then,” Ulthan said. He looked back to the group, and added, “I don’t want to have to stay the night in this old klonto graveyard.”
Everyone agreed. They descended into the pit to the third ridge and began following it around, crunching snow beneath their feet. Lytha gripped her cloak around her tightly to keep warm. She set a hand on one of the large bones protruding from a skull—a horn previously, without doubt. The ivory shaft was smooth to the touch and had weathered many storms. It’s been here for a long time, possibly longer than I’ve been alive, Lytha thought. She looked over the ridge’s edge into the pit’s center and found herself admiring the massive bones within. The klonto were amazing beasts, able to carry twice their own weight without struggle, and they often weighed quite a bit. Deep in the center of the boneyard the skeletons were colossal. Lytha always wondered why the beasts seemed to be getting smaller over the years.
“Have you ever had klonto meat?” Inaru asked Ellaria, catching the elf’s wide eyes at the bones.
“I haven’t. Is it good?” she answered.
“It is,” Inaru paused in pleasant memory, “I do not know how to describe it, but it is, without a doubt, the best thing I have ever eaten.”
“When have ye even eaten klonto?” Tyrdun asked, surprised.
“The clan kept a few around, we ate the ones that passed,” Inaru said. Tyrdun shrugged, accepting that answer. They continued walking and made their way into the bottom of the pit.
They descended in relative quiet, a few muttering conversations held only to keep boredom at bay. They came to the last ridge and began to climb into the bowl’s depths.
Tyrdun was the last to begin the descent, his stature leaving the handholds the group had used out of reach. His hand probed around, and he
shifted dirt away from a partially exposed bone. Laughing his victory, he grasped it and—
Crrrrik! It snapped. His footing failed; he tumbled down the ridge. The others gasped as he hit the ground with a clangor rivaling a smith’s shop.
“Tyrdun!” Fanrinn cried, scrambling toward him.
“Ow,” the dwarf answered. “I’m fine. Ain’t the first—”
A roar tore into the sky, drawing their eyes around. A beast had risen to its full height in the pit’s lowest echelon. Its eyes were a deep scarlet; its head was not unlike the maw of a dragon, though its body was covered in a thick brown fur. A tail poked over its head, a scorpion-like stinger at its end, and it stretched its long leathery wings to their full length, roaring loudly at the intrusion.
“Wyvern!” Ulthan screamed as they all spread for cover. Lytha ducked low behind a rock and drew her crossbow. Ellaria crouched beside her and readied her bow. She looked across an opening to see Fanrinn with his own, kneeling beside Joravyn.
“Chaarge!” she heard Tyrdun shout, rallying Inaru, Torvaas, and Ulthan to his side. The wyvern wasted no time, snapping its large maw at the oncoming assault, which Ulthan smacked aside with his shield. Tyrdun slammed his mace into the neck of the beast, and two arrows slammed into its side. It roared again and ducked as it stabbed its tail at the group. Torvaas nimbly jumped to his right to avoid the blow, and Lytha noticed poison drip from the tip of the stinger. She took aim and pulled the trigger, sending a bolt straight to the wyvern’s hind leg, but it bounced off the thick hide. She ducked behind the rock to reload, cursing her inexperience with the weapon.
Lytha heard an unfamiliar chant as the sky darkened for a moment. She looked over the rock and watched a large bolt of lightning strike the creature from the sky. It seemed stunned from the blow, and the others took advantage of the moment. Inaru slammed both his large axes into the beast’s right wing, and it screamed from the pain as he tore it apart, grounding it permanently. Torvaas stabbed the two daggers he carried into the beast’s underbelly, leaving them there as the scaleskin rolled away and drew another set. Arrows slammed into the beast relentlessly, and Lytha fired a bolt that sailed over the beast’s head, missing completely. It regained control of itself and thrashed about for a moment, sending the four men next to it flying away; Ulthan slammed into the pit’s wall, leaving him closest to the beast. The wyvern closed the distance, and bit down on the paladin, before realizing the armor would prevent his maw from crushing the man. The wyvern rose his tail behind him, and sent it stabbing into Ulthan’s chest, punching through the plates and sinking deeply into the man.
Lytha gasped in horror as the paladin screamed in pain. She raised the crossbow and shot at the tail with a bolt. The projectile whistled as it cut through the air, slamming into the beast. The bolt only caught its hind leg, but Ellaria took a shot of her own that punched into the stinger’s joints. The wyvern screeched loudly, and pulled the poisoned tip from the paladin, who writhed on the dirt floor. The beast glared at Lytha and Ellaria. It began to rush toward them on its large legs, flattening its wings against itself to gain speed.
“Oh no ye don’t!” Tyrdun yelled across the pit. He lifted his arm high and flung his mace forward. It sailed through the air, spinning twice before slamming into the beast’s maw. The force of it slammed the wyvern’s head to the side, and Lytha saw a massive fang fly from its jaws. It was knocked off course by the blow, crashing into a rock. A second later, it recovered, and brought its maw around to glare at Tyrdun. With a snarling visage, it took off in a wild sprint toward him. The dwarf held his large shield and pressed himself completely behind it. Then, Torvaas sprang from the dwarf’s shoulders, sailing through the air above the approaching wyvern, daggers held downward.
He landed on the beast’s back, the blades sinking in deep. The wyvern stood on his hind legs, and Torvaas pulled one of the daggers out as his legs swung downward. He stabbed it back in forcefully, and the creature shook violently, but Torvaas did not let go. Lytha saw the creature bring his tail around, to stab at the Torgashin tribesman on his back, but the tail refused to bend the way the wyvern needed, due to the arrow lodged in it.
The beast flapped his mighty wings to take flight, bounding from the ground with its large hind legs. However, the tearing in his right wing forced him out of his ascent, crashing to the ground. Torvaas yelled out in pain but remained on the beast’s back. The scaleskin pulled a dagger out, and placed it above the other, dragging himself forward. The wyvern darted to the pit’s wall and threw itself against it, managing to wound itself more than Torvaas. Inaru bellowed, striking at the beast to tear its attention from the scaleskin. Torvaas pulled himself the rest of the way to the beast’s head. He pulled his left dagger, and stabbed it into the top of its skull, then the right, stabbing it into the monster’s eye. After another loud screech, the beast fell to the floor, where it lay lifeless. Inaru rushed over to help Torvaas down, as Lytha and the others looked to the writhing body of the paladin.
“Ulthan!” Fanrinn yelled, his voice breaking with worry as he ran to the paladin. The man was pale, sweating profusely, shaking violently, blood streamed down the front of his armor from his wound, and the paladin looked feverish. He panted and grunted loudly as Fanrinn applied pressure to the entry wound. “Bring me the bastard’s tail, now!”
Inaru swung his axe, severing the tail in one go and brought him the stinger. Fanrinn grabbed Ellaria’s hand and placed it to the wound. “Apply pressure, sister,” he instructed, calmly. The medic drained the poison into a vial and withdrew another with a light blue liquid within it. He poured the poison into the second vial, stoppered it, and shook it vigorously. He put the tip of it to Ulthan’s mouth, and tilted the liquid in. Ulthan coughed and breathed hard for a moment before his condition bettered. He stopped shaking, and his color returned. The auzixian’s eyes were closed, and his breathing returned to normal.
“He’ll be alright. He just needs to rest and let the antidote do its work,” Fanrinn said, relieved. The elf looked to Lytha. “I thought you said this road was not dangerous the last time you traveled it, Vainyri,” the medic spat.
“I—it wasn’t! How was I to know about a gods damn wyvern?”
Fanrinn scowled. “Ogres are one thing, but a wyvern? That’s another story. We should never have taken this job!”
“Is the beast not slain?” Inaru asked, matching the heat in Fanrinn’s voice. “You said so yourself that Ulthan will be fine after he rests—we have suffered no grievous wound in this fight. Is it dangerous to cook food now as well? That you may burn yourself doing so?”
“That’s not even close to the same thing! She told us the path was not dangerous. A damn wyvern? That is. Definitively. She lied to get us to take her to her father!”
“I did not!” she shouted defensively.
“And we’re supposed to believe that?” Fanrinn asked. She found herself searching, her brow concerned and worried. Fanrinn stepped close, inhaling to spew more insults, but Inaru stepped in between them. He looked at him, incredulity shining in his eyes. “You’re siding with her? You believe her?”
Inaru looked over his shoulder at Lytha and nodded. “I do,” he began, “and we have never gone back on a job. I’m not going to start now. Are you?”
Fanrinn gaped, clearly stunned by his words. Tyrdun stepped beside Inaru, and Ellaria stood on the side opposite the dwarf, her body taut as a bowstring. Fanrinn looked to her, pleading. “Sister?” he asked.
“Come on, Fanrinn! You know she wouldn’t have done this. She’d have told us.”
Fanrinn scowled and threw his arms up in the air. “You shouldn’t even be here, Ellaria! It’s too dangerous! I can’t believe I let you come with me!” With a noise that sounded more befitting an orc than an elf, Fanrinn quickly turned and moved the paladin into the shade. Tyrdun helped the medic set up a tent. It was clear that in his condition, they wouldn’t be able to get any further tonight.
Inaru’s gaze lingered on them for a mom
ent, before he turned to the vainyri woman. “Are you … will you be alright, Lytha?” he asked, concern evident.
“I will, yes. Thank you, for what you—”
He held up a hand stopping her, “Fanrinn was always one to easily stress when he needed to patch someone up. He’s yelled harsher things at all of us; he did not mean them, truly.” Inaru placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she nodded.
Everything calmed down after a few minutes, and the group set up camp in the shadow of the wyvern. Inaru began butchering the beast, warning them of the difficulty of wyvern to cook, claiming it to be sinewy and tough unless the beasts were young. Fanrinn kept watch on Ulthan, moving him into his tent once Ellaria had set it up. Torvaas returned with some firewood from the forest at the apex, and Tyrdun helped him make a fire pit a short distance from the wyvern’s corpse, placing a ring of runestones from his bag around it. Joravyn set the logs to flame with his magic. Tyrdun began cooking the wyvern meat after the blaze grew to a comfortable level. They sat in the warmth of the fire, and little conversation was made. Fanrinn took his food to Ulthan’s tent, where he watched his recovery. The few times the elf left the canvas he spoke not a word to anyone and didn’t even look at Lytha. She hoped she hadn’t caused any trouble between the adventurers.
Ellaria offered her kind words, reassuring Lytha that everything would be okay, and the elf turned in for the night. Joravyn gently patted her before heading to his own tent. Torvaas thanked Tyrdun and Inaru for the meal, and they both thanked him for killing the beast. He lay his bedroll down close to the fire, but far enough away that he would not be woken by any conversations that did not reach yells. Eventually, Lytha bid the two-remaining goodnight, and entered Ellaria’s tent.
She was restless within the canvas shelter however. Lytha tossed and turned throughout the night, her mind busy with thoughts about Ulthan’s wound and Fanrinn’s words. Hours passed, and she groaned languidly at her weariness that still weighed upon her eyes. Lytha rolled over and saw Tyrdun’s shadow still flickered on the canvas. He sat at the fire alone, still as a stone. Resigning her restlessness, she rose, bundled her cloak around her frame and approached him.
