“You Wendlithian trollop, mind your own business or you can join that one on the floor,” spoke the brawler in a voice that failed to match her unbridled dangerous tone, “or you can join me in my bed. I’ve never knocked boots with a Wendlithian.”
She said nothing but sauntered forward with very deliberate agile footsteps that made her lithe, tall form seem to flow like some sort of animated smoke towards the aggressors. Never once did she take her eyes from those of her opponent. When he released the slightest bit of tension in his corded muscles that could have been thought to be the start of an attack, the woman leapt into action with the speed of the jaws of a bear-trap. She came forward so fast that she was a blur to Ethan’s sluggish vision, and a powerful sidekick thumped deep into the man’s stomach. All of his breath, and not a small amount of spittle, exploded from his gaping maw as he clenched his eyes shut in pain. The brawler simply teetered to the side and he promptly fell over, his hard skull bouncing off of the floor with an audible thump that Ethan felt through the floorboards.
She quickly kicked him across his face when he made the slightest movement and the man then laid still. “Which of you wishes to lie down beside your friend here?” she asked the other three as they did their best to appear brave and unaffected by the mysterious Wendlithian woman’s unnerving and formidable skill at laying tough guys violently to the sticky floor.
They exchanged glances with one another and the fearsome woman, and they finally silently decided that the risk was far too great. They crept forward cautiously as one would sneak towards a sleeping bear, worked together to lift their ringleader, and, as a group, they hurried him and themselves from the The Border’s Bed. The patrons of the inn that had crowded around the scuffle let out applause and bursts of laughter as the woman turned on her heel to face Ethan where he cowered beneath the table. She extended her hand and spoke in her thick southern accent, “Get out from under there, storyteller.”
Ethan nodded in reply, not wanting to speak due to his throbbing jaw that he already felt swelling, and he extended his own hand letting her help him to his feet. The whole spectacle loosed a wave of chuckles and mockeries from the gathered crowd that strengthened Ethan’s anxieties. “Be silent,” the minstrel said in a tense voice just above a whisper. She spoke so softly that at first Ethan thought that she was speaking to him, but then he noticed that she was looking dangerously into the crowd beneath low eyelids. It was the look of a feral cat before it entered a fight.
One way or another, the inebriated patrons heard the order, or perhaps they had just felt her taut wrath waiting to be unleashed. They thus backed nervously away to their tables, conversations, and drinks. Following her statement she released a withering scowl at the dispersing patrons, and together she and Ethan made their way back to her isolated hearthside table. He sat down across from her as she slid smoothly and quietly into her seat with her back to the wall, scarlet eyes absorbing everything they saw into a quick cunning mind that so very obviously lay behind. Finally her eyes settled on Ethan as he massaged the side of his jaw.
“I remember you from Lumberwall, The House of Chronicles,” was all she said in her thick Wendlithian accent.
Ethan nodded slowly and managed to mutter, “Yes, I saw you there as well, milady.”
The title seemed to amuse her for her flawless face broke into a thin-lipped smile as she snorted and picked up her beverage. The minstrel sipped at her own wooden goblet of some type of dark indigo wine, probably blueberry, and after a contented sigh her penetrating gaze once more settled on the storyteller, “Hungry?” she asked.
Ethan nodded again, maybe just a bit too hurriedly, and in reply she placed her half-eaten bowl of chicken and vegetable soup across the wooden table in front of him along with her spoon. He lifted the spoon with nervously shuddering fingers and he plunged it into the bowl. Ethan lifted out a spoonful of soup and raised it to his lips, but before he took the bite he gazed back at the woman. She simply smiled and sat motionless as she watched him. After a moment he wrapped his lips around the spoon and chewed the food. His sore jaw protested the action, sending screaming pains throughout his head, but at the same time the warmth of the food soothed the ache. The taste was also quite exceptional as it was lightly seasoned with sea salt and peppered. Spices were so rare in the villages of Vhar that he had only tasted them maybe a few times. Ethan decided that the prospect of a tasty dinner far outweighed the temporary pain of his jaw, and thus he continued to eat.
In but a few moments the bowl was empty save for the spoon, and Ethan sat back in his chair with a sigh, his eyes shut as he savored his half-full belly and somewhat healed jaw. Not a word had passed between the two performers the entire time that Ethan was eating, but now that he was finished he thought it prudent to initiate some conversation with this singer that had stood up for him against a group of drunken toughs, and made sure he had something to eat to boot. After opening his eyes and staring into her tanned face decorated with those vibrant surreal red eyes, though, the only thing he could say was, “How did you come to possess red eyes?”
After asking he winced at such a stupid question when there could have been much more practical and less intrusive things to say, but before he could mentally berate himself too much she answered, “I could ask the same of you and your yellowed eyes.”
Ethan’s boyish face, youthful despite his short red beard and moustache, revealed its confusion at her statement and he replied as much, “What do you mean, milady? My grandfather and father possessed amber-colored eyes, and I have been told that all in our line have possessed them since the Ancient Age. It just runs in our blood I suppose.”
“I have traveled the length and breadth of the land of the Three Baronies from my homeland in Wendlith to the verge of the Ice Wilds, and thus I can inform you that I have never seen yellow eyes such as yours in person, though I do know how they have come to be. Pure-blooded Wendlithians have eyes of fiery orange, whereas Greenwellians have eyes of blue or green, and Vharians, as you well know, have eyes of brown. Yellow eyes, though, are not well-known among most of our land’s inhabitants, storyteller. Tell me, do you know the story behind your own eyes?”
Ethan’s only reply was, “Do you?”
The woman smirked and let out a yawn before she answered, “It is said that when the land that would become the Three Baronies was created certain bloodlines of men were bestowed the power to conjure Wizardcraft powers, a gift long since lost into the age of myth. Even at the end of the Ancient Age there were still some individuals capable of casting Wizardcraft powers, but eventually the gift simply died out completely. Those very few bloodlines that have managed to survive until our time, a millennium now into the First Age, have a sign of their long-lost gift, uniquely-colored eyes. Vharians whose line possessed Wizardcraft in the time long passed were thought to have yellow or amber eyes such as yours while Greenwellians whom were similarly-gifted were thought to possess turquoise-hued eyes.”
Ethan listened to her explanation, and with a shrug at its conclusion he took it with a grain of salt. He knew better than to believe in Wizardcraft powers and the Wizards who were said to cast them. Of course, he knew many stories and legends of heroes during the Ancient Age who used Wizardcraft, but he was taught, and he knew, that they were just some flavorful exaggerations that accumulated on the old tales with each additional generation of the telling. He cleverly replied, “That is all well and good, milady, but it seems to me that you have avoided my original question. What of your eyes?”
She grinned like a little girl caught with her hand in a honey jar and replied, “Wendlithian lines whom were said to originate with Wizards are said to possess scarlet eyes.”
Ethan nodded and smiled back. “My name is Ethan.”
“Call me Scarlet, Ethan.”
“Well, Scarlet, you are a marvelous singer, and as I have found out tonight you are also a brilliant fighter. I’m pleased to be in your company.”
“And you, Ethan, are a very
talented storyteller, a boon to the ancient traditions of the Barony of Vhar, but as I have seen tonight you are a miserable fighter.”
He chuckled at Scarlet’s good-natured jest, and finally lowered his satchel to the floor beside his chair. He enjoyed being in the company of the minstrel. She was very gorgeous of course and, well, he was a young man of passions and desires, but she was also obviously very knowledgeable about myths and history. Ethan replied to her jest with a question, “What are you doing this far north, so far from your homeland?”
“I am infected with wanderlust, Ethan. Are you not as well? As I encounter new people and cultures and adventure my collection of songs and skills continue to grow, as do I. Truth be told I have not been back to the Barony of Wendlith in many years.”
Ethan answered with a nod of understanding, but before he could say anything in response Scarlet continued, “And what of you, Ethan? Why are you, alone and poorly-equipped, traveling from your homeland? You are a trained storyteller, are you not? Are you aware that your talents will not be as appreciated outside of Vhar?”
“I have left my village in the Barony of Vhar because any bonds that had once connected me to those mountains have perished. And yes, I am well-aware that the art of storytelling, cherished as it is in my rural homeland, will be but a performance scheme to earn me a few coins at best in this barony. At worst I will become just some novelty act mocking the real traditions of the far north. That, Scarlet, is why I vowed to myself not to use my storytelling for profit or pleasure once I crossed the border into Greenwell.”
She nodded approvingly at Ethan’s wisdom and passion, but then she looked worriedly back into his yellow stare. “What do you intend to do here then?”
Ethan could not help but smile at the mockery and taunts that were sure to follow his answer.
“I will become a Forester of the Three Baronies.”
The mockeries and jests did not come, however. Instead Scarlet smiled warmly at Ethan and replied, “And, Ethan, I am sure you will be a boon to that old and prestigious order. But first you must learn some of the skills of combat and wilderness survival.”
“And where do you suppose I do that, milady?” answered Ethan as he scrapped his finger along the bottom of his empty soup bowl.
“You leave with me on the morrow. I am heading south on horseback anyways. Being as you wish to join the Foresters, Greenwell City is your destination, correct?”
Ethan could only nod to Scarlet, though inside he was screaming and dancing about his fortunes.
Chapter Five
Tests of the Wilder Sort
Ethan and Scarlet journeyed ever south along the Three Baronies Road over the following days. Mounted as they were on the back of Scarlet’s steed, a muscular black stallion, they made very good time as well, traveling near to forty miles a day. Beyond the town of Pineburg settlements in the northern verges of the Barony of Greenwell were not terribly far apart along the road, about a two full day’s ride between each one of them, and they often continued to increase in size. One of them was even twice the size of Lumberwall. They passed through the communities of Oakenhold and Stagmeet respectively during the one-hundred and sixty miles they had covered thus far.
The thing that Ethan had found initially hard to deal with was that Scarlet insisted that they sleep outside of the towns, even though they often met them at nightfall. She maintained that that was the way of the Foresters, sleeping in the wilds, and thus it was something that Ethan would come to accept. The first couple nights had been particularly rough on the storyteller as Scarlet had also insisted that he find his own food and water, which he grudgingly did, for that was also the way of the Foresters of the Three Baronies. It seemed that everything that had happened during the travels thus far had been solely testing and conditioning Ethan to the lifestyle of the Foresters.
Earlier in the morning, just before sunrise no less, Scarlet and Ethan had packed up their supplies at their little campsite outside the mossy thick stone walls of the town of Stagmeet, an average-sized town for Greenwell but still far bigger than Lumberwall. The town, resting quietly along the Three Baronies Road, catered to trappers, hunters, loggers, wood-workers, and herbalists. Ethan had wanted to enter the town and do some sight-seeing because its rustic woodland charm had enchanted him slightly, but it was already night when they had arrived, and so Scarlet had instead ridden them around the town’s walls through the thick woods of the Forests of Greenwell. Upon reaching the roadside beyond the town’s southern walls she had ordered him to set up camp. That is what had happened with both of the settlements that they had passed after leaving Pineburg; they avoided entering to camp in the wilds just within sight of the settlements’ walls. It was torture for Ethan, a young curious man in a new and exciting land he had only heard tales about.
Still Ethan couldn’t help but smile when he laid down every night on the forest floor with his satchel as a pillow. He always had a full belly due to his supper that he had foraged for in the forest, always plant life such as blueberries, mushrooms, and sweet roots. He didn’t have a weapon for killing fauna for supper, and Ethan wondered if he would be able to kill a wild animal if he did have an appropriate armament. He was sure he would kill an animal if it was attacking him or if he was starving, but now there was no reason when the edible flora of the forest was so plentiful. Scarlet, though, had no such inhibitions. In fact she only killed wildlife and didn’t eat a single plant. They seemed to be opposites.
Ethan also smiled because of the environment in which he now found himself. He had made it. He was in the interior of the Barony of Greenwell surrounded on all sides in deep green forests of old ancient oaks, birches, and evergreens. The solemn misty pine woods he had known his whole life on the flanks of the Vhar Mountains were enchanting in their own way to Ethan, but these old-growth deciduous woods that shrouded the entirety of Greenwell practically radiated a primeval essence that bespoke a long, rich history and forgotten enchantments. Here, in this land, Ethan could almost believe that Wizardcraft and Wizards had once existed, and that these forests were where they were born and where they were last to die away.
They rode southward in the midmorning sunlight that slanted through the trees to their left dappling the two riders and the road in swaying patches of warm light. Birds called and sang at the roadside and the chattering of nearby squirrels, angered at the passing of the people, periodically surprised their stallion. Deeper far off noises and calls echoed forlornly in hollow obtuse tones as they finally made their way to the ears of whoever traversed the road. The summer heat, Ethan was sure, would be quite oppressive were they not shrouded by the swaying leafy canopy of green foliage about thirty feet overhead. In fact, the climate on the forest floor where the Three Baronies Road meandered its way through the trees was actually quite cool.
Ethan rode on the saddle behind Scarlet, his hands resting on his own thighs, as Scarlet started up a song. That was something that she often did during their ride.
Ancestors’ graces have blessed this ground
With a kiss of the oldest kind
One of enchantments naught to be found
And beauty for all to find.
Like a chapel these trees surround us
Green and shade, they be our mates
Let us all commune with the natural world
To find the secrets of all things’ fates.
Ethan smiled when she finished her song, its words still fading into the deep woods around them. Many of Scarlet’s songs seemed to be about nature and wilderness, and the reverence and respect that they demanded from those who sojourned in them. Those songs inspired Ethan. They filled him with a palpable energy and excitement at the prospect of joining the ranks of the Foresters of the Three Baronies and actually living the words of the minstrel’s songs. When a few peaceful quiet moments had passed he asked the troubadour, “Why did you leave your homeland to go traveling around the Three Baronies as a minstrel, Scarlet?”
From his positio
n in the saddle behind her he could not see her smirk. She chose to ignore his inquiry and ask one of her own, a common practice for her whenever Ethan asked her anything about her background. “Do you feel that you are ready to join the Foresters of the Three Baronies, storyteller?”
Ethan sighed and shook his head at his companion’s blatant withholding of her personal information. “I don’t believe I am ready, no. But we do have a very long stretch of road ahead of us still before we reach Greenwell City. Do we not?”
“We have no less than five-hundred and thirty miles by road to be exact.”
“That would take us nearly two weeks!”
“Yes, well,” Scarlet began in a conspiratorial tone, “we could always take a shortcut, Ethan. It would be excellent training for you as well, much better training than just camping along the roadside and hunting game, or hunting plants in your case I suppose.”
“Well, where is this shortcut?”
Scarlet’s slowly looked to her left out into the deep woods, a slight woodland gust lifting long strands of her pale blond hair that had strayed at some point during their ride from her long braid. Ethan followed her gaze into the mysterious and potentially-ominous landscape that those many old trees concealed, and he promptly swallowed a lump of anxiety that found its way into his throat. “Through the forest?” he asked in shaky hushed tones.
“Aye, we go through the forest. We would first continue on down the road to where the next settlement lays, a boring, noisy town called Breckyn’s Call, and after camping in its vicinity we would turn south into the Forests of Greenwell where we would face only a three-hundred and seventy-five mile ride. My steed can travel in the wilds as easily as on a road so we won’t lose any time that way. The shortcut will thus take us about nine days, but you will almost certainly get more hands-on training on enduring the hardships of the Foresters.”
The Azure Wizard Page 5
