Given his struggles with spending too much time around his siblings, Ayron was actually excited to hear rumors of some small skirmishes taking place along the border they shared with Avrelan, a land to the south ruled by King Stefan. He knew it was most likely a simple mission brought on, more by misunderstanding, than a deliberate intent to stray into their territory, but it needed to be dealt with. Stefan had a reputation for being dishonest and untrustworthy in his dealings with the other nations of the Known Lands. More than that, there had always been bad blood between him and Azavon. Stefan rose to power by murdering most of his own family. His crown carried the blood of all of Azavon’s dead wife’s relatives. He was known to the other nations in the Known Lands as a man without integrity. Ayron could probably have sent some of his men to check the border, as they were certainly competent enough to handle the mission without his help, but he was bored playing politics at court, saddened by his inability to find a way to lessen his brother’s grief, and uncomfortable spending time with Alysan.
As the younger son of the ruling family, it fell to Ayron to lead the armies of Silvendil and see to the defenses of its lands. He really enjoyed his job and frequently traveled to the different military encampments to meet and encourage the brave humans and elves that willingly fought side by side to defend their homeland. However, when he was in Findara, the capital city of Silvendil, he was expected to attend the seemingly endless meetings of the Council of Elders. He tired quickly of these mandatory meetings, and failed to understand how most of the council members actually seemed to enjoy spending the majority of their waking hours in disputes and discussions. This was why he jumped at the opportunity to take a dozen of his soldiers and spend some time traversing the land he loved so well.
Ayron, putting his musings aside, rose from his bed pad, got dressed, and called his guard to order. After a quick meal of travel biscuits and fruit, washed down by fresh spring water, they cleaned up their campsite, saddled their mounts, and headed deeper into Everin; the forest that cloaked the boundary between Silvendil and Avrelan. As he rode, Ayron passed the time by training his drakenhawk, Keroc. Drakenhawks were descendants of ancient dragons, now believed extinct. They resembled dragons in structure, but not size. They were small enough to land on a strongly muscled arm or on the pommel of a specially made saddle, but large enough to be fearsome fighters. Drakenhawks were hatched from eggs like dragons but were more restrictive in coloring; a rich blue-black for the males, and a deep cobalt blue for the females. Their scaly skin and leathery wings were other traits drakenhawks shared with their larger relatives. These fascinating creatures had shiny crests in the shape of crowns on the tops of their heads that, like their talons and the tips of their tails, shone with the brilliance of gems. Keroc was a young drakenhawk and had only recently become Ayron’s companion. His previous companion, Berroc had been killed by a grymwolf in a battle with the dwarves from Grimsfyne. Berroc died bravely defending Ayron’s life. Keroc’s youthful enthusiasm and joy had gone a long way to ease the grief of Berroc’s passing.
As Ayron and his men rode south, he sent Keroc on small training forays into the deep woods ahead to scout each area before they arrived. It took time for young drakenhawks to learn to project the images they saw into the mind of the person receiving them without distortions. The more excited they were, the more distorted the image could be. Ayron chuckled softly to himself as he remembered Keroc’s first attempt to send him an image of a small boar wandering through the woodland. He received flashes of black shaggy fur, giant tusks, and razor sharp fangs. It took almost five minutes for Keroc’s excitement to diminish to the point where Ayron could determine that he was looking at a small boar, rather than a very large and vicious beast. Ayron was anxious to complete Keroc’s training before they entered into battle together, where even a momentary disorientation caused by a distorted image could result in death.
Just as Ayron was about to call a halt so that he and his men could partake in a small midday meal, Keroc flew excitedly at him, flapping his wings and screeching loudly. Ayron waited patiently until the little drakenhawk calmed down a bit. When Keroc seemed settled, Ayron asked him what he had seen. Almost instantly, the image of a black dragon filled his mind’s eye. Remembering that King Stefan’s cote-of-arms included a black dragon exhaling great crimson flames, he quickly called his men to attention and shared the news with them. He felt an urgent need to discover why Stefan’s men were on Silvendil land and to get them back across the border into Avrelan before the situation escalated. Silvendil and Avrelan had maintained an uneasy peace since Stefan’s rise to power. If his men were on Silvendil land, it was a violation of the treaty between them which could result in war. Ayron and his men rode through the thick forest as quickly as was safe for their mounts. He firmly hoped that Stefan’s men had been on patrol and accidently strayed onto their land. Everin was a very dense forest and it was sometimes difficult for even experienced soldiers to get their bearings.
They hadn’t ridden very far, when they came upon a strange sight. Ayron was seldom struck dumb, but the sight of about twenty men in various stages of undress in the middle of Everin Forest on the Silvendil side of the border was the last thing he expected to see. Seeing Ayron and his warriors in full battle armor riding up caused the group to nervously freeze in place and raise their hands. There were no uniforms in sight, but Ayron knew better than to dismiss what Keroc saw. A tall gangly fellow with a swarthy complexion and unkempt hair approached him.
“Hi, ma names Crawley: who are ya?”
“We are soldiers from Silvendil on border patrol. Why are you here?”
“We’re farmers n traders from the village ah Devonspyre. We’re on the way ta Tarlon. There’s a festival there ta’day and we thought we’d join em festivities and maybe drum up sum trade.”
“Isn’t Tarlon on the coast of Unity?”
“Yup tis. Why ya wanna know?”
“Because right now, my friend, you are trespassing on Silvendil land. Tarlon is about two hours southwest of here.”
“So sorry mista, we musta got turned round. Soon’s we finish changin inta clean clothes, we’ll be movin on. I’d preciate it if ya could point us in the right d’rection.”
“By the way, why are you all here changing in the middle of the forest? I’m surprised you didn’t change at home before you left this morning.”
“Ah, um we hadda work sum first, and wed not look verra good showin up for the pardy in dirty duds.”
Ayron didn’t buy Crawley’s story for even a moment. There was no ring of truth in his words, and something about the group of men was making several of their mounts and the two drakenhawks that accompanied them very nervous. He’d learned a long time ago that, often the key to survival was a person’s willingness to trust in his or her own instincts as well as in the instincts of their companions. He had absolutely no idea what these men were up to, but it was obvious to him that this was not a casual band of villagers out for a day of frivolity. Having nothing better to do, he decided to play along with their story. He informed Crawley that he and his soldiers needed a rest from the rigors of a lengthy patrol and would be riding along with them, so they could enjoy the festivities as well.
Ayron chuckled to himself as he watched Crawley squirm, trying to think of a way to get rid of him and his soldiers. Crawley attempted several different times to downplay the festival in Tarlon while his men finished dressing,.
“Ya know, Tarlon’s a verra small village. Thar ain’t much there fer fine men, like yerselves, ta do.”
“Oh that’s ok Crawley. My soldiers will enjoy the sea air and the fresh foods they can buy at the market.”
“Ya mighta wanna stop ta Port Galba. Yer ken enjoy da sea, eat good grub, and enjoy a lil fun, iffen ya know whut I mean. I’m purt shur Tarlon don’t have enithin like that.”
“On don’t worry; my men and I are used to simple accommodations. We will actually enjoy setting up camp on the beach and relaxing for a day
or two until it is time for us to get back to our duties.”
Crawley came up with a few more feeble arguments to convince Ayron and his men that traveling to the festival would be a useless waste of time, but Ayron had a counterargument ready for his every attempt. Failing to come up with anything that would convince the soldiers not to accompany them, Crawley turned his attention back to his own men, encouraging them to finish dressing so that they could get underway. Once dressed, the motley crew mounted some scraggly undernourished looking ponies, and led the way toward Tarlon. Ayron found it very interesting that Crawley seemed to know which way to go, and didn’t repeat his request for directions. “So much for being lost”, he said to himself and Keroc under his breath.
As they rode, Ayron noticed that all of Crawley’s men had weaponry of much better caliber than was normally carried by farmers and merchants. And these men, who claimed to be merchants and farmers, carried no goods with them to sell in Tarlon. His conclusion was that they were most likely either soldiers from Avrelan’s army or mercenaries for hire. Of even more concern was that these men were going to great lengths to hide who they were and what they were really up to. He fell back a bit to share his observations with his second-in-command, Thane, who agreed with him that something was amiss. After observing Crawley and his men for a bit and discussing the inconsistencies in their story, they came to the conclusion that the group of men they were traveling with looked more like they were planning some sort of trouble, than going to a village for some fun and frivolity. And, if they were really headed to Tarlon, they could be putting more in jeopardy than Avrelan’s treaty with Silvendil.
Chapter 3 – Differences
Elwyn was interrupted from her thoughts by a sharp pain. Lost in reflection, she neglected to see a rather large shell lying directly in her path and tripped over it, stubbing her toe as she did. As she kicked at the shell sending it skittering far down the sandy beach, she was again reminded of how different she was than other girls her age. She’d grown taller than most of the adult villagers, including her uncle, by the time she was twelve. And, to her great dismay, she was built more like a young boy of twelve than a blossoming maiden of sixteen. The leather pants and tunic she wore while hunting looked more becoming and felt more comfortable than the pretty skirt and blouse she was wearing for the celebration today.
Over the past few seasons, Elwyn came to realize that she lacked the necessary attributes properly fill out feminine attire. That fact alone made it very difficult for her to mingle with the other young women who had been arriving all day in Tarlon for the celebration. She hated the fact that she was expected by her uncle to participate in social situations, like today’s festival. They made her feel unfeminine, unattractive, and unprepared to deal with life.
Something else that made it difficult for her to fit in with other young people was that she was much stronger, faster, and a more accomplished marksman than most, if not all, of them. She had also already beaten many of the young men in open archery competitions. She was aware that her uncle and Clayre spent a considerable amount of time in heated discussions over her astonishing abilities when she was younger. Her uncle seemed to be of two minds when it came to how she should be trained and educated. He was adamant that she be taught how to fight, hunt, and survive the harsh conditions of the forest. At the same time her uncle appeared uncomfortable with her participation in any public activities that would cause her to stand out or draw any attention to her extraordinary talents. She knew him well enough to believe that there were reasons for how he raised her, but whatever his motives were, he wasn’t sharing them.
Clayre, on the other hand, had some strong opinions of her own about how she should be raised. She and Clayre both often argued with Rhys, reminding him that the whole village already realized that she was unique and that it made no sense to try to hide her abilities. Clayre insisted that it was important for Elwyn to be trained to maximize her natural skills and talents, so that she would be better able to fulfill whatever destiny lay before her. The word “destiny” to Elwyn had become a trigger word synonymous with frustration and confusion. How could she even contemplate fulfilling her destiny when she had no idea who she was, why she was so different from the people around her, or what those differences meant to her future? It didn’t help that the only person that might know the answers to those questions, wasn’t talking.
Elwyn knew that Rhys and Clayre must have come to some compromise though, because her training and education had a much different focus than that of the other children in the village. There were times when she felt overwhelmed with the pressure that came from trying to please two masters. She was taught the basics of fighting, hunting, riding, trapping, and woodland survival, like the young men of the village. And because she lived in a fishing village, she also was instructed in swimming, boating, and given some basic training in navigation. She quickly became more accurate with a bow and arrow than most of the village hunters. She also realized during this time that she had no love of taking a life. She would never hunt for more than they needed to eat, and would not hunt game if there were fish to be had in the marketplace. Rhys also instructed her in hand-to-hand combat and the use of the short sword. Again she excelled because of her natural agility and strength. She and Rhys would often spar in the evenings when the work was done and the evening meal finished. While her uncle was the best skilled of the men in the village, he was no match for her. In no time at all, her superior strength and agility made her the consistent winner in their evening skirmishes. She felt her uncle was pleased with her extraordinary skill in both hand-to-hand combat and with a sword, but he never told her he was, or said why it was so important that she learn to fight.
Elwyn did not find her lessons with Clayre quite as easy. Clayre’s primary responsibility was to teach her how to read, write, and do calculations. The local school was small and did not welcome females. The village elder felt that young women could be better instructed at home by their mothers and other female relatives. Young men were sent to school just long enough to learn how to buy and sell goods in the marketplace. The rest of their education was learned on the job, training to work in the family business. Elwyn chuckled at how frustrated and unhappy she’d been to spend several hours each day learning to read and write fluently. Practicing her calculations was a bit easier for her, but was still a very distant second to being out in the woods hiking and practicing with her bow. Recently though, she’d become very grateful for her ability to read, for it allowed her to soak up every piece of written material that came into the village from the surrounding cities. Unfortunately for her, there were very few books and documents sent to Tarlon.
There were times Elwyn felt that her uncle was determined to keep her ignorant and isolated when it came to the world beyond the borders of her village,. She was aware that there were other nations and races of people in the Known Lands. Unfortunately, her lessons didn’t include any information about them, and her uncle would say very little on the subject. She knew Clayre disagreed, but felt it was one of those battles she couldn’t win. So all Elwyn really knew of geography was that she lived in Unity, one of the nations in the Known Lands. She also knew that her village of Tarlon that lay somewhere between the two large cities of Port Galba and Port Strabo.
Many of the villagers would travel to one or the other of the cities occasionally to shop, or to trade. She also knew her uncle made trips to them from time to time to buy blacksmith tools and supplies, but he always seemed to have a reason why she couldn’t accompany him. And nobody ever came to her village. The last time a ship docked at their port, she’d been ten. It was swept in during a storm and was gone again before the passengers could even disembark. The only visitors that came to her village were the people living in the few small settlements close by. Tarlon didn’t have a market or an inn to encourage trade. It was a dead end. Unfortunately, her repeated pleas to travel with her uncle to visit the larger cities fell upon deaf ears. There was alwa
ys some excuse why she couldn’t go. She’d never understood why he was so determined to keep her hidden.
Elwyn was also struggling with where Clayre’s training was leading her. She wondered why, if Clayre wanted her to discover her destiny, she’d insisted upon instructing her as she would an apprentice healer. She was taught to identify all the different types of forest vegetation, to recognize if they had medicinal qualities, and to know the condition they treated. Clayre showed her how to make healing potions, poultices, and tonics. And as she worked at Clayre’s side, she learned how to treat burns, bruises and bites, as well as to set bones and deliver babies. It was clear that Clayre was trying her best to pass along to her all the medical skill and knowledge she possessed, but Elwyn wasn’t ready to commit to a life without a husband and children; which was a requirement for anyone accepting the position of village healer.
Still, she worked hard at everything asked of her, and became as skilled as possible to make both her uncle and Clayre proud. She was becoming increasingly aware that she had to speak with them both before too much more time passed. She hoped to make them understand that, even though she’d never been beyond its borders, she knew her destiny did not lie in Tarlon, but somewhere out in the Known Lands beyond. Something called to her deep in her spirit. She realized that the call was only getting stronger with time and at some point, she would have to follow to see where it led.
The sea breezes increased slightly in intensity forcing her to engage in a battle with another errant lock of hair. Her hair was the most normal of her features, and even it was unusual in a village where hair color ranged from light to dark brown. She knew that she’d gotten the reddish-gold hair that tended to tumble down her back in a riot of curls from her mother. However, her other features served as constant reminders of just how different she was from other young women. Even as a child she looked very different from the other girls. She had very large eyes that were a deep violet in color and turned up slightly at the outer corners. Her eyebrows were not curved like the other girls, but lay in a straight line slanting up toward her temples. Her skin was another mystery. It was pale, like porcelain, and never seemed to burn or tan, no matter how much time she spent in the sun. The only way to bring color to her pale skin was to cause her to blush. She had no idea where her unusual features came from, and her uncle would say nothing on the subject. He did tell her that that he and her mother were almost identical in appearance and coloring. Her uncle had warm blue eyes that darkened and became tinged with gray when he was angry. His eyes were framed with gently curved eyebrows and his complexion was fair. When he spent time in the sun, he tanned and developed a band of freckles that danced across his cheeks and nose.
Origin Page 3
