by Greg Ricker
He was always polite.
Too polite, sometimes. Especially when he was around the Queen.
His sandy hair, grizzled with gray, was tucked behind his pointed ears. His furry eyebrows lifted as he listened for a response.
"Good morning, Jerimen." Elssamon stepped into the classroom as the Spellfinder slid away from the door.
The present class held thirty students - men and women of all ages, but mostly youths - that stood from their kneeling rugs, and bowed. All wore white sombays, just like Jerimen's.
These were the Strays.
Every Elf feared the name, secretly in his or her heart, but everyone was a Stray at birth. Most found their Dy'Shin power before even fifty years of age. Few kept the name for much longer, and very few their entire life.
All wore smiles before their King, despite their unhappiness.
"How are our students developing, Jerimen?" The King asked, after a quick glance at each of the Strays. The elder students seemed to avoid eye contact, obviously ashamed to be there.
"I have seen nothing but progress all the days of my service, your majesty." Jerimen was behind Elssamon, but he bowed again anyway. It was the polite thing to do. He spotted Steol's eyes rolling at his prognosticative reply. "Like this boy, Ren!"
Quickly he approached a young Elf boy. ¨His power is the strongest I have ever sensed."
The boy bashfully smiled up at the King, and Elssamon was smiling back.
"Please be seated class." The students obeyed Jerimen in a heartbeat. Even with Elssamon present, the Spellfinder was the leader in this room. Everyone knelt on his or her rug, but Ren.
"Show the King, Ren." Jerimen gave the boy permission.
The young Elf looked about the room, and then closed his eyes. He concentrated, intent on controlling his power. He was the perfect example of an amateur.
Someone well practiced could use his or her Dy'Shin power as easily as thinking about it. It was not until then, that one was truly free from the name, Stray.
Ren began to shake, and his legs became rubber canes. He most certainly had a block between his mind and his gift.
Suddenly, it happened.
The objects on Jerimen’s desk began to rattle, and then lift into the air. Books, papers, an ink bottle and quill, and a large candle, all floated a few feet into the air. Then the Spellfinder's chair joined in. It remained only inches above the floor, as if more weight was becoming difficult. The small objects, along with the chair, seemed to be the young Elf's limit. That much power was common among the few other Elves in Ayarlyn, with the gift of telekinesis.
Then suddenly, as the elder Elves watched with widening eyes, the desk itself slid back into the wall, scraping across the hardwood floor. It began to climb that wall. The picture that hung there was not a part of Ren's thoughts, and it was knocked to the floor, where it shattered. Then the pieces lifted into the air, as the noise of broken glass entered his mind.
An amateur, indeed he was, but with great possibilities.
Steol had not removed his eyes from Ren since the desk hit the wall. One of the books he carried was called, The Home Of The Mind, a study of the brain, and its reaction to the world around it. He was only half way through the book, but his sharp memory recalled something from a chapter he already read. Stress on the mind could be reduced greatly, when not focused entirely on doing so. Ren was simply trying too hard. He could tell, without Jerimen's certified opinion, that the boy really was strong with the power.
When the desk returned to the floor, and half of the objects on it returned to its surface, Steol stepped forward.
Jerimen was obviously taken aback by the event. Ren had never shown that much power for him.
Perhaps the boy had been trying to impress the King.
"Would you mind if I talk to the boy?" Steol asked.
Jerimen chuckled, secretly inside. "Not at all. Please do." Eight years with the child, and it was a great achievement when Ren moved the candle on his desk a month ago.
Steol sat on the floor before the boy, and set his books on his lap. Ren was nervous over the disturbance he had caused.
"What is your favorite game, Ren?" Asked the Advisory.
Ren looked at him and smiled. "Hide and seek, sir."
Steol frowned. A common game for a child to favor, but it would just not do for his idea. He thought of something else.
"Do you ever play pretend?" He asked the boy.
Ren nodded. "All the time."
"Good." Steol could work from that. "That is exactly what I want you to do. When you try to lift something heavy, I want you to pretend it is something entirely different. Something small, and light."
Jerimen cleared his throat to hold back another chuckle. He glanced at the King, who was watching the other two attentively.
The desk began to shake at the same time that Ren closed his eyes, and so did he, but that was all that happened.
Steol grabbed the boy's shoulders. "There is nothing here that weighs more than the air itself, Ren. Nothing. Imagine it is so!"
For a few moments longer, the desk and the objects upon it, wobbled. Then, to the amazement of everyone, Elssamon, Steol, Jerimen, and the kneeling students lifted five feet in the air, and remained there.
The total weight was far greater than that of the desk.
"Most impressive, Steol!" The Spellfinder's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Perhaps you should visit my class more often!"
"I shall see that he does." Said Elssamon, looking down uncomfortably. After all, the boy had no experience with control.
Steol sighed. He doubted he could find the extra time. Though Elssamon's words sounded more like an order.
¨Now, Jerimen,¨ The King sounded slightly nervous, ¨if you could, please have your student put us back down.¨
X
Tylas
Just east of the Derimon Pass sat the village of Tylas, which was undeniably a town on a steady decline from a peaceful civilization. It was mainly a square full of trading shops, taverns, and inns. Crime had become commonplace. A stab in the back, was the proper way to end a quarrel. There was no one left with a trustworthy heart, or even a care for good manners. They did not belong.
They were more than likely, dead.
One was either a thief, or a swindling businessman, in Tylas. Only they prefered to hide their true professions behind commonly legal titles, and occupations. The only reason the legit area of town survived, was due to the everyday fact that people needed to eat, drink, sleep, and clothe themselves.
Danuel stopped their horses before riding into the village. They could hear the commotion of the crowded streets, and smell the variety of foods sold within. He had changed his coat to an aging brown one, with a tear in the right sleeve. He had thought of bringing the coat to wear outside of Bowenn, despite his dislike for it, so not to attract attention unnecessarily. Looking like a wealthy noble in Tylas, or in any poor city, was a very foolish idea. It was the same as wearing a sign that read, ‘Rob me!’ on your back.
The first thing Danuel had to do, was get a couple of rooms somewhere. Then he would go in search of swords for hire. Even thieves could be turned into soldiers, when paid the right price.
Kaylel was not comfortable about staying in the village, but she was ready for a hot bath, and a soft bed. After two days on Moon's Eye's back, she had even found it difficult to enjoy standing. She did not wear a disguise, herself, for Danuel assured her that no one would be out to rob Kaylel of her ointments and stitching thread.
Despite the Prince's reasoning, Kaylel was nervous about her surroundings.
With Danuel carrying her supply bag, the four walked the remainder of the way to the village. There was no gate, or guard. One just had to enter at his, or her, own risk. The road into the village was once paved with crude bricks, but it had since been damaged beyond repair, from years of neglect. The ground was swallowing it up as it settled into the dirt, and many brinks had vanished completely. Hidden under inches
of mud and hardened animal dung.
Thank goodness, for the strong smell of staleness in the air.
It actually seemed to help, a little.
There were very few houses in Tylas. Most people who dared lived there, were permanent occupants of rooms in the various inns lining the streets. Shops of every kind imaginable separated them. As well as those unimagined, where sin was for sale. The road was alive with activity. Ox-pulled carts made their way through town, slowly, due to the rough surface. Men walked about their business, many whispering into ears along the way, and women carried baskets stuffed with wrapped bundles, walking quickly, with their heads low. Two barking dogs chased a large cat as it bolted across the road, and then disappeared down a narrow alley between two buildings.
Tylas had its share of dark, narrow alleys, but they were better known as, death traps.
They were filled with secrets, and spilled blood.
Danuel assumed that finding a vacant room would prove possible, but to find a good, clean place to stay, that could be quite difficult. The names of every inn were vulgar, and each more so than the one before, it seemed. It was as if they had once been competing, for the most offensive title.
Kaylel had only to view a couple, before she ceased to read any more, but Danuel read on, until one name caught his eye.
The King's Three Wives. Not an obscene name, but an obscene story. One that he knew well, and one he should not have heard when he was only ten.
The place appeared somewhat clean, though.
"We'll get a room here." Said Danuel, catching Taron and Dalt laughing behind their lips, and then Kaylel read the name.
She had not heard the story, or she would have thought it possibly the worst sign yet.
One wagon, eight horses, and two mules carrying bags, were tied to the long hitching post in front of the inn. A man in a black shirt and black trousers, sat in a chair close by. Even in a town like Tylas, men who were paid to watch horses out in front of the businesses, could be trusted. Good watchmen, like good ale, meant customers would return to spend their coins.
After their horses were tied, Danuel tipped the watchman with a reasonable coin, and whispered something to him that made the man nod and smile. They even shook hands.
"May I say that you have as fine a horse as I have ever seen?" Declared the watchman.
"Thank you." Replied Danuel.
"As fine as Mister Levin's, that one is." The man added.
Danuel motioned for the others to move on.
Who is Mister Levin?
Inside, a motley mix of men occupied every chair, at every table, with a dozen women in aprons running to serve them all. The place was much nicer inside, than out, though lacking sufficient lighting. There was a small stage on one side of the mass of tables, where two men performed. One played joyfully on a flute, as the other danced while simultaneously juggling knives.
On the opposite side of the large room, was a long, wooden bar, with a wide countertop. Behind it, stood the innkeeper. He was a tall, balding man, with a huge belly behind his stain covered apron.
Danuel led the way to the bar, while Kaylel kept catching men eyeing her up and down, and she gripped Danuel's arm as hard as she could. She watched the men performing on stage, and could only imagine the many stitches the juggler had earned in his lifetime.
She did not even know that Danuel had already talked to the innkeeper, and had paid for a room, until a young woman stepped up to them, slipping off her food and ale covered apron. Kaylel thought the girl had pretty, brown hair and eyes, but she was about as skinny as a rail.
"Follow me." Was all the young woman said, and her deep, growling voice made Kaylel change her mind about the girl being pretty. She started up a nearby staircase.
"I'll see the rooms later." Danuel informed them suddenly. "You go ahead, and get some rest."
Kaylel did like separating, at all. "You are not leaving me to..."
¨I will not be drinking.¨ He cut in quickly. "I just need to find out where to get our things."
"Then I am going with you." Kaylel demanded.
The girl leading was not waiting on them.
"We had better do this alone." He said, pointing his head at Taron and Dalt. "You will be safer here."
She grunted.
Kaylel only felt safe, near him.
"Please get your rest." Danuel gave her a smile she could not resist, and she wondered if he was beginning to know how well it worked. “If anything, we could all use that.”
She was still hesitant to give in, but she did. "Be careful, all of you, and please, hurry." She hoped they would be within the hour.
"You had best hurry yourself." Danuel motioned his eyes to the young woman disappearing down the hall at the top of the stairs, but Kaylel did not turn to see.
First she smiled at him, and then hastened up the steps. She could not help but think that he was staying downstairs to get drunk. Mostly, she hoped he would pick her out some good clothes that fit.
“I wanted to thank you boys for your help back there.” Said Danuel to Taron and Dalt, who turned from watching the performance on stage. “I know you have had a lot to deal with lately.”
He saw the same look in their eyes that he feared showed in his own.
The loss.
The sadness.
The anger.
The confusion.
Danuel pulled a bag from his coat that he had filled that morning special for them. “Here.”
He tossed it to them, and Dalt reached out and caught it with both hands. It was heavy, and sounded like coins colliding inside.
“Have some fun, on me.” He told them with a grin.
The southlanders gaped at each other.
“Keep it in your pockets, though.” Insisted the prince. “This is no place to show off your coins.”
Dalt quickly tucked the bag away, and the two were quick to leave the inn, in search of the nearest bizarre.
Alone, and needing to relax, Danuel did not see the harm in one mug of ale. It would be merely for the purpose of blending in.
He made his way to the bar, and was waited on rather quickly, despite the crowd. Upon receiving his drink, he made eye contact with the innkeeper.
"Who does one talk to about hiring some backs in this town?" Danuel asked before taking a drink. “Henchmen, and such.”
Just a small drink.
He even swallowed it slowly.
The innkeeper pulled a rag out from a pocket in his apron, and started wiping a spot off of the countertop.
The spot did not exist.
"I tend to steer away from non profitable business affairs, friend." The innkeeper smiled.
A chuckle came from a man seated nearby at the bar.
Danuel reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, gold coin in his closed fist. Doubling what he had paid for the room. The exchange from his hand to the innkeeper's rag, as it swept by, was so fast even he was not sure that it was made.
The big bellied man's smile was even wider, as he dropped the rag containing the coin into his apron pocket. Then he walked out from behind the bar, and into the mix of tables. He apparently had someone within the room in mind.
Danuel spotted a small table in a dark corner with only two chairs, when the two men sitting there stood and walked away. He made his way to it, and seated himself facing the center of the room. He watched the innkeeper stop at a table of men playing dice, where he leaned over and spoke to one of the men. They both looked at the bar, and then the innkeeper's eyes searched the room, until he spotted Danuel in the corner, and pointed at him, speaking again.
The man at the game table stood, and slowly crossed the room. When he reached the prince's table, Danuel asked him to sit. The man did so, and ran his fingers through his short, curly, red hair.
"I would like to get back to the game as quickly as possible," he said, looking back at the table he had left, "so if we could hurry, please."
He was, at least, rudely polite.
Danuel smiled. As much as the man was sweating, he must have been losing, horribly. If that was the case, it would not take much coin to arouse this one's interest.
"I am looking for a fair price for some men with horses." Danuel began. "Men who also know how to use a sword."
The man was looking at him questioningly, then. Trying to read his mind, it appeared.
"The need for weapons is merely in case of bandits.¨ He explained. ¨I have an employment for them that could take weeks. There will be some traveling to do, but all expenses will be covered. Would you know anyone interested?"
The man was silent for a moment before he spoke, scratching the small, fuzzy beard on his chin. "The men I know will want something in advance. They do not lend their swords for promises."
Danuel knew he had to convince the man, without telling him the truth. He could not be a prince on his way to fight a Dy'Shan Lord, and live through the night, in this town. He would most likely end up tied in a sack, and held for ransom.
He would just make the deal short and simple. "I want as many men as you can trust, and one extra horse for a partner of mine. I will be at Derimon Pass when day breaks. If you do not show, then so be it. Meet me there, and I will discuss your payment." He stood to leave, but the man caught his arm.
"If you wish me to do this," the man began, "then you do not speak a word of it to anyone else. Do not continue to look for help yourself, either. I will get you the men that you need."
He squeezed Danuel's arm tighter. "You had better be for real, stranger."
Danuel nodded. "Tomorrow, then."
He wisely laid three small,gold coins on the table before leaving the inn.
The man snatched the coins and grinned. His eyes followed Danuel out of the door.
Then he laughed, quietly.
Not because of the money he could now return to the game with, but because sometimes, Deril Bahr, just had to laugh at his luck for always being in the right place, at the right time.
Taron and Dalt had never seen a less kempt town, and had never smelled alleys so foul. The food, however, was actually quite tasty, and the shops about town were filled with many interesting things. For the most part, they had done well saving their money. They ate well, and bought some more clothes, but wanted to keep some for their stay in Mynnorah. There was no telling what the shops in the Dwarf kingdom were filled with.
