by Meg Cowley
Eve and Luke exchanged greetings, upon which Artora clapped her hands. The unexpected sound was a sign, for the rap of hooves on the ground became clearer and two saddled and loaded horses were led into view to bear Nolwen and Nelda.
“We should squander no more time here,” Artora said, “for you have some way to travel today.” She gestured at them to mount their horses. With a last few words of farewell, Nolwen and Nelda led the group out of the gates and into the city with Eve following and Luke at the rear.
Eve raised a hand to her newfound relative, who returned the gesture in kind, wishing with some part of her as she rode away that she might have stayed for longer.
~
They rode away in silence; the clatter of hooves meant there was little chance of conversation. Once they had left Ednor, the jarring noise gave way to more pleasant dull thuds as they drummed over packed earth and grass instead. Eve took her chance to approach Luke.
“What did she say to you?” she asked, as laughter floated back to them from Nolwen and Nelda who were engaged in conversation some distance ahead. Luke regarded her for a few seconds with a strange look. She repeated her question, presuming that perhaps he had not heard.
“Nothing of importance,” he replied. He averted his gaze and increased the separation between their horses as a sign of his reluctance to talk. Eve did not press him, though she was not at all convinced of his sincerity.
It took longer to climb out of the valley than it did to enter it; the journey was steeper than Eve realised. Despite this, they made it to the rim of the great valley by mid-afternoon, where they stopped for a brief respite and some food.
Eve sat near the edge of a ridge that offered an uninterrupted view of the entire vista. Looking down over the expanse before them, Eve tried to remember as much as possible about the valley, absorbing as many details as she could of the landscape.
The city they had been in mere hours before was tiny in the distance. Although Eve had revelled in the beauty and newness of the place, she realised there was much more of the land to explore that she had not yet even dreamed of.
“It’s beautiful, is it not?” The rich, resonant voice of Nolwen startled her out of her reverie.
“It is. There’s a part of me that wishes I could stay,” Eve replied with regret.
“Then you should return some day,” replied Nolwen as if it were that simple. “Although it is good to travel, it is a shame to leave such a home behind. To our advantage, the sorrow of leaving makes the joy of returning all the greater. I shall leave you to your thoughts.” He apologised for disturbing her.
Now that her train of thought was broken however, she no longer wished to linger, for she knew that she could stare at the view all day and not tire of it. Seeing Luke lunching on a rock, she decided to try to determine his strange conversation with the queen.
“So what did she say to you?” Eve asked.
“Nothing of importance,” he repeated after noting her sudden presence with a raised eyebrow. “What was her gift to you?”
“A trinket, nothing of importance,” she replied casually. Luke nodded and smiled as she turned away and she knew he was just as unconvinced with her response as she was with his.
She had no further success in talking to him that day and so, around a small campfire that night, she tried to become more familiar with her strange new companions. Observing them during the day, they seemed unreserved, with lively personalities and found constant reasons to smile and laugh that she did not quite understand.
Although they conversed with each other in the tongue of the Eldarkind, they could speak the common tongue of Caledan, albeit with a strange lilting accent. They had harmonious voices that seemed to ebb and flow and Eve found that their foreign conversations were like listening to music, because of the constant shifting of pitch, timbre and other qualities of their vocals.
They both resembled others of their race, but Nolwen wore his hair uncommonly short, cropped close to his head in a mass of short waves, rather than long as Eve had seen most other male Eldarkind styled. Nelda kept her hair longer and held back in a neat and practical braid with none of the intricacies or decoration that might adorn her brow in Ednor.
Both were outfitted in slim fitting riding outfits that highlighted their lean, muscular structure. Combined with the distinctive facial structure of their kind, this made them seem scarily alike when discounting their more obvious gender differences.
They appeared to be no more than ten years Eve’s seniors and she was shocked to discover that they were in actual fact over twice that amount older than her. She could not keep from wondering if her own fate was to age as slowly as they.
They revealed they were members of Artora’s household, distant relatives who held positions of no great significance in her household. Eve realised with a smile that this also meant they were distant cousins of her own. As for why they had been chosen to accompany her, they did not give any explanation, but Eve was unsure whether this was because they would not or could not.
They spent the early evening eating around their campfire and telling small tales of Ednor, the surrounding land and most dearly to Eve, stories of their family, who were albeit distantly, also her own. They had been well educated and travelled Caledan beforehand as scouts and envoys and, as Eve was sure she would find their tales much more exciting than they found hers, she was keen to listen. Luke, sat beside her, listened as Nolwen and Nelda shared tales in undulating voices.
So it was, that by the time they came upon the Great Lake a couple of days later after several discussions as to their course of action, Eve felt at ease with her new companions. Even Luke had begun to emerge from his shell and speak to them, his mixture of fear and reverence ebbing.
Soren
Jem scrambled for his horse, but Edmund rode to cut him off and dealt a stinging blow across the back of his shoulders with the flat of his sword. Jem yelped, causing his horse to bolt. He sprinted after it in a futile attempt to catch it whilst Edmund gave chase.
With his accomplice suffering, Al rushed towards Soren, who was forced to turn Miri as Al raised the axe, to back her from harm’s way. Al moved forward and grasped her rein, but Soren could not swing his sword; Al had moved to the opposite side of Miri’s head. Quick as a flash Soren grasped his hunting knife and plunged it into the man’s outstretched arm.
With a howl, Al dropped the reins and crumpled, cradling his bleeding arm. Miri threw herself away from him. Her eyes rolled and her stride lengthened as she fled. Soren forced her to turn back and brought down his sword on Al’s ax as the man stood before the charging mare. The weathered wood was not fit to stand before a royal blade and it shattered, the axe head spinning away into the undergrowth. With nothing but a shortened stick to defend him, Al turned tail and fled.
Soren turned back as Edmund returned. “Shall I kill him?”
Edmund shook his head.
“Why not?” Soren asked, surprised at his response.
“They are not worth it,” said Edmund, his voice heavy with contempt. “Pathetic. They do not even deserve to be called men.”
“What if they should tell someone we are here?” Soren persisted.
“I would not worry about that,” Edmund replied, dismounting to check his horse over. “If they were more bothered about our horses then we have not been recognised. And in any case, what self-respecting pair of bandits would ever admit to being beaten by a boy and an old man?”
Edmund remounted. “We should go. There may be more of these folk about and I would not care to meet them.”
All seemed calm as they moved on, but it took a while for the hammering of Soren’s heart to quiet. Before they had gone far they came upon the still form of Jem upon the floor, blood upon his brow.
“Tripped. Hit his head upon the ground,” said Edmund in response to Soren’s enquiry. Soon they passed the bandit’s horse quietly grazing, and after that they were alone. To their relief, there were no more encounters in
the desolate place. When they came upon the fisherman’s house that afternoon, it was such an unobtrusive place that if not for the boat bobbing up and down by the shore they would have entirely missed its presence.
A rocky cliff rose up from the shore and out into the sea to form a slight shelter and natural harbour for both boat and dwelling. Behind the cliff a wooden shack, grey with weathering seemed to blend into the rocky wall and a similarly colourless, aged gangway extended into the water from the beach.
The craft moored there seemed the most well cared for thing of all and Soren recalled seeing similar looking boats at the main docks in Pandora. A large lean to, a shed and a cart sat against the cliff next to the house. The place seemed deserted as they scouted the area.
“It looks like a cog,” explained Edmund when Soren asked why the craft was so close to shore, “which explains why he can moor it in such shallow water, as it’s almost flat bottomed under the water line. It’s not a large one, but I wager it could still hold a belly of fish. I would also guess it’s quite old, however it looks well kept. Hopefully it’s sea worthy.”
Their horses’ hooves clattered on the rocky ground as they rode down to the dwelling. When they dismounted some yards away from the front door, a disembodied voice rang out.
“Oy! What d’yer want?” it shouted.
Soren and Edmund scanned the area. No one was there. A clatter drew their attention to the small craft. A man’s head popped up over the rail, wild haired and bearded.
“We mean no harm,” called Edmund. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Do you know where we may find Garth Storrsson? We have a business proposition for him.”
“Aye,” said the man, after a pause. “Yer looking at him. A business proposition you say? I aint had one o’ them in a while. Hang fast, I’ll be a moment.” He ducked out of sight, and after more clattering, swung himself over the rail and onto the gangway with a resounding thud.
With a slap of his hands and a quick stride up the pebbled beach, he stood at his door looking them over. He was not a tall man by any standards, but his stocky build and confident gait made him an impressive figure. His chin held high, he stared at them with wrinkled eyes and ruddy cheeks.
“And who might you be?” He folded his arms as he faced them.
Soren’s eyes flicked to Edmund.
“My name is Erik,” said Edmund in his usual measured tone. “I’m a merchant looking to expand into trading on this coast line. My servant here accompanies me. You were, ah, recommended to us in Harring for the quality of your fish.”
Garth squinted suspiciously.
“Very well then, yeh may come in to talk but I aren’t making no promises,” said Garth.
The distinct smell of fish outside formed an offensive sensory barrier, but as they ducked through the low door, they were surprised. It was clean inside and tidy, although sparse and small. There were two rooms; a living space and what appeared to be a bedroom, kept warm by an aged stove.
As they closed the door and stood inside, unsure of where to put themselves, they observed that the place seemed well built. Soren felt glad it was summer however, as it seemed an insufficient place to weather out a winter in.
“Sit down,” said Garth.
They backed down onto a wooden bench and placed their swords down beside them; their crossbows and everything else they had left outside with the horses.
“To business then. What’re yeh interested in trading?” Garth leaned against the stove.
“Well it depends what you catch,” improvised Edmund. “I was hoping we might come on a test voyage with you the next time you go to sea?”
“Hah! What kind of merchant are yeh if you don’t know what yeh looking to buy?” snorted Garth. “What do yeh want, trout, pike, sturgeon, or somethin’ else?.” He fired the names at them. Soren had no idea what any of them were.
“Any of those would be perfectly adequate if they’re the best you catch,” replied Edmund.
Soren noticed Edmund’s agitation and shuffled nervously.
“Well I can’t magic them up out the sea!” Garth slapped his hand against his thigh in frustration. Soren jumped. “They’re all freshwater fish; any merchant hereabouts with a grain o’ sense would know that! Now I’ll ask yeh again what kind of merchant are yeh, if y’are one at all, and if you’d stop wasting my time!”
Soren’s heart pounded in his chest as his body flooded with panic. A bead of sweat rolled down Edmund’s forehead next to him. Neither Edmund nor Soren answered. Edmund flexed his hand, but did not reach for his sword.
“Well?” Garth demanded. “Yer filthy and no offence to yeh but the pair of yeh stink to high blinking heaven; I dunno what swamp yeh’ve been bathing in! Even so I ain’t seen no strangers before riding such fine horses, dressed in such fine clothing, wi’ such nice weapons, nor talking so proper neither. I aren’t stupid, so why are yeh here and what do yeh want wi’ me an’ my boat?”
Soren and Edmund shared a look, resigned to the truth. Soren stood. Edmund remained seated.
“It seems we underestimated you,” Soren. “We are no merchants, you are correct. I apologise for the ruse, but we desperately need your boat. We must travel to the isles of Kotyir. It is a matter of life and death and we could find no other sailor who would dare venture even half as close as you do.”
“Yeh want to see the dragon isles?” Garth seemed confused by their role reversal and glanced between them.
“Not to see them, we want to land on them,” said Soren.
Garth’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Land? Why on earth would yeh want to land there? D’yeh know what’s out there?”
“Yes,” said Soren, “and it is for that reason we need to go. We need to find the dragons.”
Garth’s mouth fell open at that. “Who are yeh?” he whispered.
“I am Soren, son of the late Queen Naisa and rightful king of Caledan. I travel with Sir Edmund, advisor to my late mother. My throne has been taken from me and Caledan is in peril. I am forced to desperate measures to right the wrongs that have been done. I must travel to the islands of Kotyir.”
Garth sat down on top of a barrel. His mouth gaped. “Bloody hell,” he said at last.
“Will you help us?” Soren said. “We can pay you.”
“I dunno what to say,” murmured Garth almost to himself, his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed.
Soren waited with bated breath.
“It ain’t every day I get a supposed king to be riding up asking me to show him some dragons.”
“Well, it will be late when we arrive, if we are to set off back to Harring today and an unsafe journey back in the dark. Time is of the essence for us, so perhaps we may stay the night hereabouts whilst you decide on it?” Edmund suggested.
“That’ll be fine. I need some time to think on this ‘un. Fancy helping me unload my catch? There’s a meal in it for the both of yeh if yeh do.”
Soren had a sneaking suspicion that Garth was humouring them, but with nothing better to do, they set to unloading Garth’s catch after making the horses as comfortable as possible in the lean to storage area to the land side of the dwelling. It was not much in comparison to the royal stables, but at the very least the horses were dry and out of the wind.
Once Soren and Edmund started to relay the fish back onto land, Garth set about methodically and rapidly scaling, beheading, and gutting the fish in preparation for storing them. It was not a large catch and they soon finished. Edmund sat down to join Garth – Soren was reluctant. The task was repellent. The fish stank and each time he picked one up, his hands and clothes were covered in slime and tiny silvered scales.
Garth must have noticed this, for he sent Soren off with a bucket to fill up the empty barrels in his lean to with fresh seawater. Back and forth he went until he had done so and then the three of them packed the barrels up with fish directed by Garth, which were then sealed in to salt themselves in time for the next market, or to be used by Garth when they were prese
rved.
The afternoon had been therapeutic; they had talked little, and the methodical nature of the tasks had lulled them in a sense of calmness. As sundown approached, they built a small fire to burn the fish entrails on and tidied up the shore of mess. As they half-stripped to wash themselves in a small bucket of cold water, a shout rang out from inland.
“Dad?”
The high-pitched voice startled Soren and Edmund, who almost kicked over the bucket by accident.
“Lindy!” waved Garth to a girl with bushy brown hair and baggy shapeless clothes who stood on the rise from which Soren and Edmund had first spied Garth’s dwelling.
As she ran down to them and hugged her father, who gave her a scratchy kiss through his beard, Soren thought with a stab of sadness that she looked much the same age as his own sister. He forced himself not to think of Irumae as he greeted her.
The four of them ate in silence around Garth’s stove – a wholesome meal of fresh fish and root vegetables. The fish was rich and tender and Soren savoured each mouthful of the flaking meat. It was not until they had finished eating that Garth struck up the conversation they had been waiting for. He sighed, sat back and folded his arms.
“I migh’ be crazy, but I’m tempted. However, I’m not about to believe I’m in the company of the righ’ful king of Caledan and some all important lord. Yer don’t seem very kingly to me! How do I know if I can trust yeh?” He observed them through narrowed eyes, as his wide-eyed daughter sat beside him.
“I suppose you don’t,” replied Soren. For the first time, he felt anonymous. He realised that, although everyone in the capital would recognise him, here, where people had never seen the king or queen, he would be just another face amongst everyone else. “We’ll leave the horses here though, as our guarantee.”
“Oh, righ’, so I’m only worth two horses am I? Thanks!” replied Garth.
“No! That’s not what I meant.” Soren tried to rectify the misinterpretation.
Edmund interrupted. “We mean to prove ourselves trustworthy. Of course we will pay you handsomely as well. We will leave the horses and money here. As for giving you some confidence that we are who we claim to be; you will know the royal crest?”
