by Ben Stovall
“Yes. Thank you, Tyrdun,” she said. “This all turned out more grandiose than I expected. When I’d posted the notice, I expected a group smaller than this one to respond—maybe two or three men?” She frowned. “If that had been the case, we wouldn’t have gotten past the wyvern the first time.”
Tyrdun chuckled, much to Lytha’s surprise. “I’ll say, lass. Definitely a tale for the tavern.”
“None of my friends will believe it,” Lytha said.
“Which part? Killing the wyvern? Twice?”
“Traveling with Red Watch. Most of the people I know seem to revere you guys.”
“What? Why?”
“You make them a lot of money. I know them through the Bard’s College in the Ironwood District.”
“You’re a bard?”
“I am.”
“You’ll haveta play for us!”
Lytha smiled, shrugging. “Sure thing, Stonehammer.”
“Excellent!” The dwarf bounded to catch up with the others.
It wasn’t long before the moon was high in the sky, but they were still a few hours from the clearing. Lytha’s steps became more and more clunky. She had to focus on differing things just to keep herself awake. The ground underfoot called like the softest bed, begging her to lie down and rest. Then, much to her surprise, Fanrinn was beside her; he was keeping her pace, though he said nothing for some time.
“It was unworthy of me to say what I did in the bone pit. You couldn’t have guessed a wyvern would be there,” he said. The elf took a deep breath. “My apologies, Lytha.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she offered. “You only wanted to keep your sister safe.”
He sighed. “We’ve lost a lot of people in the past. Clients, friends, partners … family. The very idea of Ellaria joining us has terrified me for years. I couldn’t bear to add her name to a list of my failures. Then, we fight a wyvern on her first journey together? One that very nearly kills Ulthan?” Fanrinn shook his head. “I would rather fight this necromancer’s army myself than see my sister harmed.”
Lytha frowned. “Fanrinn … Ellaria is a grown woman, capable of taking care of herself. She’s not a child anymore. If you don’t stop treating her like one, eventually she won’t put up with it. I’m sure you’d rather her be by your side if this is the life she’s chosen, and not off on her own somewhere?”
The elf nodded. “You’re right. I … I’ll try.” Lytha smiled and patted his shoulder. He bowed his head to her once more and then left to rejoin the others ahead. It was barely a moment before another voice called to the woman from Vainyr.
“By Liawynn, does everyone have some reason to talk to you, Lytha?” Ellaria asked, catching up from behind.
“It certainly seems that way,” she said, smiling.
“Well, I’m here on official business,” the elf claimed.
“Oh? And what’s that?”
An impish grin spread across Ellaria’s face. “We wanted to see if you wanted to stick with us! Do you want to join Red Watch?”
“What?” Lytha shook the shock from her face. “Me? I’m not … I’m just a singer!”
“We happen to be in the market for a bard.”
“But I can’t fight like you guys do!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re a natural with that crossbow. And that means something, coming from me.” She winked.
Lytha wet her lips, considering the elf’s words for some time. She had to admit she’d had more fun – insanely – these last few days on the road than in the city. She breathed deep. “I’ll stick around—for now. Nothing … committal yet.”
Ellaria’s arms shot into the air. “Yes! Great!”
“I think you should ask Torvaas too,” Lytha said. “He’d love to stay with you guys.”
Ellaria grinned. “He already said yes!”
Lytha noticed the trees thinning. Everyone looked to each other before running quickly down the path, emerging at the clearing full of Queen’s Bloom. Relief palpable on all their faces, the band quickly set up the tents and turned in, forgoing even the warmth of a fire. They all settled in and were asleep before they knew it.
✽ ✽ ✽
Lytha awoke later into the night to the howling of a distant wolf. Light flickered on the canvas to her right, the shadow of a man cast on its surface.
She crawled from the shelter to find Torvaas had built a fire and sat cross-legged beside it. “Lytha,” he said in greeting.
“What’re you doing up?” she asked.
A nonchalant shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Are you not exhausted?”
“I am.” He smiled weakly. “I don’t know why. Something caught my eye in the woods over there. Sparkled.”
“A wolf?”
“I don’t think so. A wolf would’ve left when I built the fire, but I still see it.”
Lytha hesitated, then asked, “Want to go check it out?”
Torvaas replied with a curt nod and rose.
The glinting sheen was revealed to be the moonlight shining off a single gold coin placed at the base of a standing stone shrine, ancient runes carved into its surface.
“Well, that solves that,” Lytha supposed.
Torvaas took a step closer. “These runes are Scalespeak.”
“I thought the scaleskin didn’t write?”
“We do send letters to the other tribes. In my … occupation for the Torgashin, I often had to read such letters. I know the runes here.” Torvaas felt the smooth stone with his hand.
“What do they say?”
“This stone honors the seven-hundred scaleskins that held the west against the Raevarkan. Though outnumbered against the enemy ten to one, they held their ground and defended the Hallan.” He shifted, brushing away some moss. “Any scaleskin that is worthy may find the weapon of the great Eldre’torvaas, the only … the only scaleskin to be elevated alone.”
“Eldre’torvaas? A scaleskin elevated without a partner?” Lytha blinked, incredulous.
“It would appear he led these seven-hundred in their battle,” Torvaas said, surprised at the revelation. “Hallan would translate to home, though I do not know of any scaleskin settlements near this area, presently or otherwise.”
Lytha arched an eyebrow. “What about this Raevarkan? What does that mean?”
Lytha nearly jumped out of her skin as Joravyn appeared behind them. After he laughed, he said, “It’s Scalespeak for invaders.”
Torvaas nodded.
Lytha eyed him. “How do you know that?”
A heavy frown cut across the mage’s face. “Scaleskin slaves in the empire use it from time to time.” He looked away, disgust clear on his face.
Lytha tried to distract him. “Did we wake you? I thought we were quiet enough.”
Joravyn let the held breath go, his easy smile returning. “I’m sure you were. But I set up some perimeter wards. Just in case.”
Lytha heard a click from the standing stone, and Torvaas withdrew a dagger from its basin. The weapon was well-made, a single rune etched into the blade. The inscription was golden and seemed to let off a small light of its own rather than reflecting it. The metal was as dark as the leathers the scaleskin wore. Torvaas admired the craftsmanship for a moment before speaking.
“The rune means ‘paralysis’ in your tongue. The blade is lighter than my other daggers, much quicker to strike with. It is truly a weapon worthy of Eldre’torvaas.” Torvaas smiled at it gingerly.
“That looks like darksteel,” Joravyn said. “You should keep it.”
Torvaas looked to him and back to the weapon. He considered the words. “Do you really believe so?”
The mage nodded. Torvaas smiled and stowed the dagger in its sheath, tying the casing to his belt. Lytha noticed even the leather was impressive, with the same rune and another that she assumed meant Eldre’torvaas. Joravyn bowed and said, “I’m going back to bed. Get some sleep you two.”
Once alone, Torvaas looked up from the new weapon at h
is belt to her. He took a deep breath and said, “It means much to me—hearing of Eldre’torvaas. To know that a scaleskin who did what I do could become a guardian, and the only one elevated alone …” The rogue turned back to the stone and laid a gentle hand on it. A gust of air blew between the trees, it was cool, but not frigid, and the small cloth tied to the memorial danced along its gale. Torvaas closed his eyes tightly before turning back to her. “You were the first one to believe I could be more than torvaas, Lytha. Thank you.”
She was slightly surprised. “No need for that, Torvaas.” A short silence fell between them, and he nodded in response. He began walking back toward the camp, and Lytha turned to join him. “Wait,” she said after a moment, “do you think you’ll keep using the name Torvaas?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Surely you were not always called that—is there another name you had before?”
“All the children of the tribe are called Sala’hakun, small scales, or more often simply Hakun. Eventually we find our calling and our name is what we are. Those who are grown but do not have their title are Salaboro, lost scales. I know who I am and what I do. I am Torvaas—I cannot change that any more than I can change being a scaleskin. With all of you, however, it is not only my title. It is my name. It is not what I am, but who I am to you all.” Torvaas smiled at her, and she nodded in agreement.
“Well, come on, let’s go get some rest. We’ve another day of walking ahead of us,” Lytha grinned.
Torvaas beamed, nodding.
✽ ✽ ✽
Ellaria woke, yawning loudly in her tent. The elf felt a chill in the air and realized it wasn’t going to be as warm as the last few days. She quickly changed her clothes and wrapped her deep green cloak around her slender frame. Then, Ellaria left her tent to see Lytha, Ulthan, and Torvaas awake, sitting around a small fire pit they made. The sun was high in the sky, perhaps midday, and Ellaria couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow.
Catching her look, Ulthan explained, “Hasn’t been a single night out here that Inaru or Tyrdun have gotten much rest, if any. We can let ‘em sleep a little bit longer.”
“Shouldn’t we be returning to Souhal, Ulthan?” Ellaria asked.
“Fanrinn went ahead to inform the king we’ll need to meet with him when we reenter the city. We aren’t far from it; I’d estimate we get there just before the sun goes down.” Ulthan smiled, and Ellaria nodded to him. She took a seat next to Torvaas, holding her cloak around her tightly. Another gale rolled in, billowing the parts she couldn’t secure, the chill biting her skin mercilessly. She noticed Torvaas shivering and shuddering and wondered if the scaleskin had anything to wrap himself with.
“Torvaas, do you have a cloak? Certainly you need one to stay warm here,” Ellaria asked, concerned.
Torvaas frowned slightly, still shaking. “I do not own one.”
“Is that a scaleskin custom, like the lack of a tent?” Lytha asked across the circle.
“No. I did not bring one when I left the tribe.”
“Why not?” Ulthan asked.
Torvaas seemed slightly pained by the questioning, and sighed, shivering at another icy blast. He looked down for a moment, before returning to their gaze, “When I left the tribe … I had hoped I would not return.”
“What?” they asked in unison.
“Lytha already knows how I was treated among the scaleskin,” Torvaas began. “I was an outsider, only accepted because the role and talents I had were useful. I was a thing there, so I ran. I didn’t stop until the ogres found me, by then it had been days. They took me prisoner and locked me in a cage near some others. An orc and a pair of humans were in the cells before me. The ogres fed me boar, trying to … fatten me up … They ate the orc first, and then ate the man the next night, leaving the woman in the cage beside mine.
“She looked to me, reaching her hand through to touch the bars of my cage, ‘You have to promise me, Torvaas,’ she begged me, ‘promise me you will kill every ogre in this camp.’ I felt tears roll down my face and agreed. She was taken that night and eaten as the others had been. It was the next night you all came and cleared them out, so in truth I owe you all my life,” he said. “First, for stopping my execution and completing my task, and second for saving me.”
Another gale blew in causing the man to shiver violently. Ellaria removed her cloak and wrapped it around the scaleskin. “Ellaria, I can’t …” the rogue protested, moving to pull the covering off.
“Don’t worry! I have a spare.” She smiled at him, and Torvaas blushed as he wrapped the warm cloak around himself. Ellaria drew another one from her bag, the fabric a chestnut brown, and the clasp displayed an M. She wrapped it around herself gingerly and sat back down on the log. “This one was my mother’s. She’d asked Fanrinn to take it when he left nine years ago, and every time he’d come back since. He always refused, so when I left with Fanrinn she made sure I took it along,” she said, smiling at the cloak.
They heard stirring and Tyrdun was out of his tent within moments. He looked them all over and gestured to Inaru’s tent. Ulthan replied with some hand movements to signal the orc was still asleep, and Tyrdun sighed happily. “I didn’t wannae be the last one up,” the dwarf said with a laugh. The others chuckled quietly along with him, and he began to dismantle his tent.
Ellaria realized she’d do well to do the same. Once done, she returned to her spot, Tyrdun sitting beside Ulthan. The dwarf wrinkled his nose and said, “I don’t remember the last time Joravyn slept in this late.”
“Should we check on him?” Ulthan asked. Tyrdun nodded. The dwarf took a few steps toward the tent with the paladin, and they exchanged a look.
“Do you hear that?” Tyrdun asked.
“Sounds like whispering.” They nodded and parted the tent’s flaps.
“Oh, sorry!” Joravyn said. “Thought I was being quiet enough.”
“What are you doing laddie?”
“I was scrying,” he said, exiting his tent. “Stitches will be at Souhal in less than an hour, and Imynor is still alive.”
“You can see all that?” Lytha asked, relief in her voice.
“I can—the person I want to see has to be either unaware or accepting, of course. Wears me out worse than everything else, though,” Joravyn said.
“It does not seem unlike the magic my father has.”
“It isn’t. Your father can garner more, however. Events that may happen, things farther away. I don’t even know if he needs to catch the target unaware or have permission,” Joravyn looked Lytha over. “Could you ever do that?”
Her lips flattened into a line as she considered the words. “I don’t think so,” she finally concluded, “most of my dreams tend to involve cheese.” Lytha won a chuckle from the others with that.
“I ask only because I sense a small amount of magic within you, undeveloped. You may possess the talent,” he explained.
“Magic?” She was bewildered. “Me?”
“Yes, you! Very few people have no magic within them, of course, but yours is more than that of the common man. More like Ulthan, here.”
Ulthan had the makings of a scowl prickle at his features. “Joravyn – that’s not … That magic comes from Solustun. Not me.”
“It’s in your blood!” Joravyn exclaimed. “All those fireballs and flame strikes? – that’s your power!”
“No. I do that through Solustun.” The paladin’s tone was sour.
Joravyn realized he’d said something he shouldn’t. He frowned. “I didn’t mean it that way, Sunshine. Can’t it be both? You tap into magic and summon the will of your god?”
“No, there is nothing magical about it. I call Solustun as a man and he answers, nothing more.”
“If that were the case, why can only some men become paladins?” Joravyn asked. Ulthan’s jaw tightened. The mage was correct about that, for certain, as Ellaria had heard not all applicants could join the ranks of the paladins. Some had a talent for it, whether it was magical
in nature or not, the elf couldn’t say.
“You always do this! Is it so hard for you to understand that Solustun’s will is simply how these things are done? To accept the truth as I and many others have?” Ulthan asked, his voice heated, but his question genuine.
“It is, yes,” the mage replied. “In the south, many gods are worshipped throughout the empire—all of them sound as ridiculous and impossible as the others. I respect your faith, Ulthan, though I will never share it, and what we saw in the east only reinforces that.”
“What we saw in the east?” the paladin spat in response. “I do not have any clue how that is relevant to your lack of faith! In fact, that should have been enough to show you the truth of Solustun!”
Inaru stormed from his tent, scowling, and Ellaria could tell it was not because the argument woke him. The orc bellowed, “What did you see in the east.” Ellaria knew it was more a command than a question, and both men looked away gritting their teeth.
Ulthan spoke first, “We found an old temple. The structure was made of red stones, that held their strength through the ages. A stone unlike any other in Auzix. It was ancient—older than Souhal. We journeyed inside and found texts.”
“The books weren’t written in a language I’ve ever seen,” Joravyn began, taking over. “I’d just about given up when I found one written in Elvain … but, not Elvain. It was ruined—charred pages and smudged inks. The pages I could make out made it clear the elves hadn’t always been in the temple, and that they were being forced to submit to the will of human invaders. It mentioned an elf called Solys’itan. He was accompanied at all times by a special regiment of warriors he called his paladins, and he imbued each with a bit of himself, allowing them to call down his magic.”
Ellaria couldn’t argue how similar the names sounded.
The paladin frowned, before continuing, “The resemblance is not lost on me. The link is still tenuous at best, however—”
“Tenuous?” Joravyn interrupted. “In the temple, we found that shield you’re so fond of. And plenty of other items with magic infused into their very creation, all bearing the symbol of the Church of the Blazing Fire. Mages are powerful beings, and if he was one of the strongest there ever were, he would most certainly be powerful enough that some would call him a god. I hoped to share this knowledge with Souhal, but Sunshine—”
