“You should have listened mate.” Chyla grabbed the front of the soldier’s chest plate, glaring into his eyes.
“Let him be, we need to get going.” Dominic glanced up toward the gates window where archers could be seen getting ready.
Chyla looked up.
“You’re lucky we need to go.” With another glare into the scared man’s eyes, Chyla pushed him back to the ground and flipped up her hood.
The call to arms above them rang out shortly before the two kicked off and ran away from the gate. The odd arrow would strike the ground wide, making them change their direction slightly as to not run in a straight line, but their speed would have been enough to outreach the arrows alone. It was not long before they were comfortably out of range and slowed to stop and check for anyone in pursuit.
“Figures the Bardain raiders would have the gate as well. No merchants, gate almost closed, we actually got stopped, and no mention of the fire in Tarna. We could probably keep a normal pace from here on; they won’t send someone after us.” Dominic scanned the Wind Gate to watch what little movement there was aside from the wounded being hauled back into the stone walls.
“Sure about that?” Chyla cocked her eye up at him.
“They have other objectives in Estar it seems, we are just two civilians. The port should get word of it quick enough and send out a regiment. One we get to Dampth, we can let the garrison know and they can sort it out from there. I do wonder what relic they were looking for though. None of the Dragon Shrines in the churches have anything special.” Dominic sighed and peered down at the grumbling girl beside him. “You sure got a little out of hand.”
“Damn Scridule grabbed my ass.”
“Well, half of it is hanging out.” Dominic smirked down at her.
“It isn’t an invitation to grab hold, one of the reasons why women are better.” Chyla gave his hip a little punch.
“You hang out with me, I’m a man.” Dominic turned to the road behind them and began to walk.
“You’re different.” Chyla trotted to catch up.
“I’m different? You’re the one who can’t keep her hands out of her pants.” He said with a laugh.
“It’s part of my charm.”
Dominic laughed again.
“Oh, go to Necrolis Dom. How long until we get to Dampth?”
“Should be a day’s travel. We will have to stop at the Travelers Tree along the way if we slow too much but should be able to get there before dark.” Dominic nodded to himself.
“Gross, no way, I hate those trees, and we don’t have any bed rolls.”
“Then let’s pick up the pace and get there before dark.” Dominic bumped into her with his hip.
Chyla bunched up her lips to one side in annoyance and finally nodded with a sigh.
The sun finally breached the top of the mountains in the north and sent its warmth across the central province. Both flipped back their hoods to take in the sunshine and let it wake up their faces. The cold air from behind the Wind Gate faded quickly like there was a magic holding it back, forcing them to open their jackets as they walked. It was not long before Dominic finally pulled his off and stuffed it into his pack, stretching his hand out for Chyla’s jacket, she pushed his hand away.
The sun and the day stretched across the central province as the two carried on their way along the beaten road, dodging horse droppings or the odd hole that carts wore through the earth. Walking in silence, taking in the serenity of the day and the friendliness of each of the travelers on the road, it was as if the world was trying to help them forget the carnage they left behind.
• • •
Rays of light cascaded through the branches of the massive tree, tickling branches as they moved with the sun. The root structure was thick and dense, stretching across the forest floor, creating a maze of growth that could easily trap any unexpected. A small child like figure scurried through the tree roots, rushing over fallen branches and leaves.
Carrying a small staff with three small pouches and a couple of feathers hanging from one end, the figure raced along. Sounds of its hoofed feet struck the wood of larger roots it couldn’t hurdle. Jumping from root to root, its hairy goat like bottom half moved liked it wasn’t connected to the top half. The figures torso had the frame of a small child yet aged with a long time passing. A single strap holding a pouch was slung over its shoulder. Dark black hair covered its very round head that barely hid a set of small twisted horns twirling up into the air and large leaf like ears that drooped down to the side. Large solid pale blue owl-like eyes jerked from side to side as it ran, watching everything and anything.
Sliding to a halt next to a short opening in the base of the tree, the half goat child lifted its staff, speaking under its breath. The top of his staff lit up like a star in the night, getting brighter and then quickly fading, a clicking sound at the bottom of the tree could be heard. The small figure pushed on the base of the tree which swung open into an extremely long corridor.
The satyr ran through a small opening at the base of the massive tree and into a corridor beyond. Clopping along the stone flooring, the entry it ran through silently closed behind in the distance. The hallway was brightly lit with wooden walls arched overhead, giving the runner just enough space to stand up straight and be able to move at full pace.
Within moments the satyr reached the end of the tunnel and skid to another stop, resting at the top of a long root made stair. Before heading down the wooden planks, the half man half goat patted the pouch on his side to make sure that it was still there, and its contents still inside.
Looking out beyond the stair, the inside of the tree looked a lot smaller than the outside made it look. Outstretched across the wooden cavern, a massive grove village filled in around large flowers and odd shaped vegetation. Bits of light streaked through the odd opening in the ceiling, dancing their daily ritual across small thatched roofs and cobbled pathways. Vibrant flowers littered the village everywhere, growing anywhere and everywhere they could, some as tall or taller than the buildings. Hundreds of other childlike satyrs could be seen scurrying around, performing their everyday routines.
In the back of the grove, on the far side from the stairs was a larger bauble like structure that was made entirely of roots. There were a couple of braziers and a water fall that came from nowhere noticeable that made it stand out from the rest of the structures, the Undergrowth Temple. A subtle blue light emanated from the inside and pulsed brighter and back again as if it were the heartbeat of the village.
“Good day Brentol.” A smiling childish face greeted him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”
“Not now Branol, I need to speak with Elder Thranol. Is he at the temple?” Brentol slowed his pace to greet the other satyr and skipped backwards waiting for his response.
“He should be, been in there since late last night.” Branol called out as he spun in his stride and rushed on toward the root temple.
It didn’t take Brentol long to get to the other side of the village. Sliding to a stop in front of the temple, he looked up at the structure and took a deep breath. With a quick bow and a few words spoken under his breath, a subtle breeze brushed past him in acknowledgment that prompted him to quickly stand up and step into the temple with a hand on his pouch.
Inside, the temple was dimly lit with the blue pulsing heartbeat, but everything around could still be seen. Any surface was still being over taken by the same flowers that littered the village with the odd root pushing out from the wall but quickly returning to the structure. The root walls cascaded down from the ceiling, making a welcoming umbrella around the open space. The heart kept pulsing in the middle, illuminating two other satyr who stood in front of it and pointing at it during their conversation.
“Granol, the light has changed, we must question the Dragons. Has there been a conversation yet with their ambassador?” The older looking, yet still childlike satyr holding a very crooked black
staff spoke as Brentol entered.
His attire was very similar to that of the other two but looked a lot further aged; threading ends were frayed and worn. The colour of his skin was darker, almost purple like.
“Not yet Elder Thranol. Brentol has been gone for two days and should be…” Granol stopped talking as a winded Brentol got close.
“About time you got back.” The Elder pounded his staff against the ground as he spoke.
“Came as hastily as able. Seems the Ambassador has already spoken to the Dragons in their realm and been given an item to pass on to us.” Brentol reached into his pouch and pulled out a small mask.
A very simple mask made from a glass like material, Brentol’s hands could be seen through it as he held it. Small indentations and raised ornate markings crawling around the edges like vines gave the mask a bit of depth. There were no holes for eyes or a mouth but the design from the vine like engravings formed what looked like a face.
“Freyolin’s Mask!” Elder Thranol exclaimed
“The Ambassador mentioned they were pushing high urgency our way to gather their children and their relics to the Iceclaws. Shaman Thron-Din will be waiting for the delivery. The Ambassador also mentioned that with the gathering of their children, that we are to check on their children’s spirit bearers and make sure the Mother has the map.” Brentol handed the mask over to Elder Thranol.
Turning the mask in his hand, the Elder examined the relic closer.
“Why would they ask about the children’s spirit bearers?” Granol questioned.
“Seems Necrolin’s Cup has made it into the High Realm and there has been a rift disturbance in theirs. Eirolin’s child may be in dire consequence with her heart being touched by the Furhdrae and that they will be hunting the Mother now, with the chains becoming weak. Tyrolin’s child will need to be courted to ensure that there are no breaches before they reach the Mother. The protection of the siblings will need to carry forward, and Minolin’s child will need to be soothed before her nature consumes the host and the Dragon is freed to slake her lust in High Realm. Chronolin’s child will need to be found and brought out of his lethargic ways to open the Dragon’s Crucible.”
“Eirolin’s host is bound by the fate of the Chains; they need to regain their strength before she falls into her sleep and the Dragon fades back to Low Realm. The hearts of High Realm are being affected by the interruption of balance and will need to be watched.” Elder Thranol turned his gaze to the pulsing heart of the temple.
“The Narx cannot hold back the lost Children in their greed and hunger without the Chains or the runes. The Children’s spirits will need to be rallied to strengthen the Mother. Tyrolin’s wrath will be easy to sway, the Elf in which he resides is already pursuing the Wing of Incinolin and that mask. Chronolin’s child will be difficult to find, the Dragon is tricky with his idle possession; no one knows when he has embodied his host in High Realm or if he has moved on to a new host, time doesn’t bother.”
The three stood in silence, letting the Elder think.
“Elder Thranol, what should we do, what about Minolin’s child?” Granol broke the silence.
“Minolin’s lust can be soothed once Tyrolin is near; that won’t be a problem, once we get them together. She is hosted by a young human woman who won’t be hard to find. It is the Mother we need to locate, give the news from the Dragons and get her heading in the right direction with the map. She will need to carry their relics and get them back to the Dragons.” Elder Thranol extended his hand with the mask toward Granol.
“Porter Granol, you must take this relic to the High Realm and deliver it to the Shaman posthaste. Go your way, via Sky Pedestal to start and meet up with Tyrolin’s child. She will not be expecting you so be cautious.”
Granol grabbed the glass mask from the elder and stuffed it into his pouch. Spinning quickly, he left the temple in a hurry, hooves echoing against the cobble flooring and streets as he ran.
Elder Thranol turned to Brentol.
“Herald Brentol, head to Low Realm, make sure the other Dragon children are accounted for, they must not know about the Chains and runes or they might do something to help things along. They are young and impulsive.”
“No one has heard from Hubrolin, Fafnolin, nor Adepholin for thousands of years. Are we sure they are still in Low Realm?” Brentol squinted one eye and raised the other in his query.
“The three Dragon children have yet to embody a high realm child of their own and would not be able to leave Low Realm until they have.” Elder Thranol shooed Brentol with the back of his hand before he could say another word.
Pushing off with his staff, Brentol spun and ran out of the temple. Elder Thranol watched as he left and turned to the pulsing blue heart in the middle of the chamber. Leaning heavily on his staff, he stared into the pulsing blue light. Every other high end of the pulse would pop a small flicker, sparking quickly to white and quickly fading back to gentle blue.
“Bursha duu Furhdrae tui Durrim.” Elder Thranol’s eyes watched the blue pulsing light of the heart and whispered again. “Follow the Spirits to Dream.”
• • •
Chyla’s fist slammed into the side of the drunk man’s jaw, sending a tooth flying across the tavern, skipping across the floor into the corner. Everyone stopped their conversations to see the commotion and the entire bar went quiet as the patron fell to the floor and lay still for a few seconds. Moments passed in the silence, not even a cough, then finally the drunk wounded man twitched and groaned which was shortly followed by the erupting roar from all the patrons. Everyone went back to their drinks and conversation like nothing had happened.
“Come on Chyla, stop making friends.” Dominic grabbed her hood and started to drag her toward the back counter.
“The Jurcunde tried to stick his hand up my skirt.” She regained her balance from the punch as she swatted away his hand.
“You always attract the best kind of people, don’t you?” Dominic laughed as his gaze was met with a scowl.
“Did you ask about clothing? I need to get out of these grubby things.”
“The inn keeper will bring up a collection of things for us to go through. You can change into something a little more decent.”
Chyla laughed as they ascended the stairs beside the barkeep.
“It’s the last door on the left.” Dominic pointed down the hallway as they crested the stairs.
Chyla sped up with the excitement for a place to sit and lay down. Bursting through the door, her excitement faded when she saw a single large bed with a small table in the corner. A small stone fireplace with a burning fire lit most of the room, crackling and sparking across the hearth. Dominic caught up to her and was greeted by her frowning face.
“What in the name of Necrolin is this Dom?” Chyla placed a hand on her hip, dropping it in disappointment.
“It was their only one left.” He pushed passed her and dropped his pack on the small table in the corner. “Take the bed, I’ll take the floor.”
Chyla perked back up with a smile and skipped over to the side of the bed and jumped with her backside onto the blankets. Dominic shook his head at her and moved to warm his hands against the fire.
“Get settled, I’ll get us some food.” Dominic talked over his shoulder.
Chyla nodded and grabbed one of the loose blankets draped across the head of the bed and a pillow, tossing them to the floor. A few of the feathers stuff into the sheet for the pillow billowed out, whirling around in the small torrent it created. Chyla leaned back against her elbow and slide a hand down her skirt.
“For the love of the Dragons Chyla, do you have to?”
“I haven’t been able to all day and I want to soak this underwear before I get new ones, leave the innkeepers daughter a little surprise.” With a smirk and a wink, she started to rub herself and fell back against the bedding with her eyes closed.
Shaking his head, Dominic headed out into the hall and closed the door behind him with a
heavy thud, the handle banging against the inset steel mount. The tavern below was just as rowdy as it was when they first got there. The patron Chyla knocked down was back in his chair with a cloth against his mouth, covered in blood. His friends were laughing in their conversation, mocking him and mimicking his pathetic pain and how he got punched by a little girl. The stairs to the inn first level were steep which made dodging a topless prostitute with a man in tow along the way, who disappeared into a nearby room.
“Apologies for the commotion Keep.” Dominic greeted the bartender who was standing behind the counter cleaning a mug.
“Happens a lot around here, nothing was broken so it don’t cost nothin. You still need those clothes for you and your daughter?” The innkeeper kept his gaze on him.
“She’s not my daughter, and yea we will still need them.” Dominic sat on a nearby stool.
“Florence.” The inn keep called over his shoulder down the bar to a portly woman sitting on a stool behind the counter who was playing with a small cloth. She pushed herself off the stool with help from the wall and waddled over to them.
“What?” Her gruff voice was just as portly as her size. Her stained brown dress made her look very simple and unclean.
“Go in the back and get this man some new clothes, he’s got a small little lady with him as well.” The innkeeper returned the glare of his wife who spun and disappeared through the kitchen door.
“I’ll take two meals as well.” Dominic reached into his pocket and pulled out four coins and placed them on the counter.
“Kalstinian silver eh?” The barkeep kept his hand in the mug as he looked down at the coins. “Expensive them.” His gaze was met by a stern glare from Dominic as he looked up.
“The extra payment is for your silence; we will be gone before anyone wakes. We also need to get a message to the garrison captain.”
Age of Souls Page 12
