Guards Vestige

by Alexander Adams

  They walked in silence for nearly half an hour. The tunnel was mostly a straight shot with only a few small turns. One of those ended at another ladder. The Dragon Guard climbed first and quickly reached the top. Griffon couldn’t see what he was doing but after he disappeared from sight, she figured he expected her to follow, so she started climbing as well.

  When she reached the top, she was met by another, much shorter tunnel with the entrance blocked by tall weeds and shrubbery. It narrowed to the point that she had to shimmy through it sideways. She pushed her way through the foliage on the other side and stumbled into a short cave that led into the evening air. Griffon took in her surroundings. She was in the thin and sparse tree line just east of Forge. She could see the city wall just past the trees a short distance away.

  “I’m sure you can find your own way from here,” the ranger said with a sigh.

  Griffon took a deep breath. Even though she was out of the city, she still didn’t know what to do. She supposed her best bet was to head for the harbor and try to buy passage to Navia or Dalisia. It was far too late into autumn for her to walk anywhere without supplies. Even if she had them, the closest city was Dalisia, and that was nearly a month away by foot.

  He leaned in to examine her face in the dark. “Will you be all right on your own from here?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you for helping me.”

  He sighed again. “It was my fault this happened to you,” he said. “Dale never would have made it to the city if I had done my job properly. So trust me, no thanks are needed.”

  He turned, pushed aside the foliage, and headed back into the tunnel, disappearing from sight. She watched as the lantern light was cut off abruptly, along with the sound of stone grinding against stone. Curious, she stepped back into the cave and was astonished to find no visible entrance to the narrow crack in the back wall from which they’d emerged. She stood there for a moment admiring the seamless entrance she couldn’t actually see. Finally, she left and headed toward the harbor. She stuck to the sparse tree line to ensure she was out of sight of the wall, though she couldn’t imagine it would matter with the sun nearly gone.

  After several minutes of walking, Griffon stepped onto the wooden boards of the harbor. She paused to glance around and get her bearings. The area itself was barren of people, though there were plenty of ships moored at the docks. With winter fast approaching, the captains of every vessel were trying to get in one last haul before the freezing cold and snow set in. She only hoped this would help her convince one of them to take her aboard for a far lower price than was normally required. Seeing as how she was short by about half of what she would need, her hopes weren’t high. But she resolved to try, regardless. She didn’t really have another option.

  Griffon spotted an inn at the far side of the harbor and figured that was the best place to start. She made her way over and stepped inside. It was nearly empty, save for a few tables of haggard-looking men and an equally haggard bartender behind the counter adjacent to the door. She stepped up to the grimy and sticky surface and waited for the bartender to make his way over.

  “Not really the best place for a young lady like you to be at this hour,” the bartender said. “Need a place to stay?” He seemed genuinely concerned for her as he glanced back at the men dotting the room.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said, “I don’t. I need to pay for passage on one of the ships docked here. Do you know who I could talk to?”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he said, “there are three captains leaving tomorrow. I know two of ’em wouldn’t mind taking you aboard if you can pull your weight and pay the fee. The third, well, he would take you if don’t mind paying with something other than marks.”

  It took her several seconds for his meaning to sink in. When it did, her face flushed a deep red. “Where can I find the other two?”

  “Captain Colton is at that far table over there, on his way to Navia. Captain Andrews is by the hearth, bound for Dawnstone.”

  She thanked the bartender and made her way to the fireplace to speak with Andrews, as he was the closest. The captain and his men were laughing amongst themselves. When she approached, one of them tapped a man with a large brown beard and balding head on the arm. This man craned his head to look at Griffon. The laughter stopped as all eyes turned to her.

  The balding man who she assumed was Andrews examined her up and down before speaking: “What can we do for you this evening, miss?”

  Trying to appear more confident then she felt, she extended her hand to him. He gripped it tightly. “My name is Griffon Hart. I need to secure some last-minute transport.”

  “Where exactly are you heading?” the captain asked. He stroked his beard.

  “Dawnstone.” She figured it best to choose where he was heading to minimize inconvenience for him. If she changed her mind she could always step off the ship at another port if and when they stop.

  He nodded. “I see . . . have you ever sailed before?”

  “No sir.”

  He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table. “How much do you have for passage? My usual rate is two gold marks, three if you can’t contribute properly.”

  She handed him the coin pouch. “One gold, fifty-seven silver, and eighty-three copper marks, on my last count.”

  Several of the men at the table openly laughed at her and were quickly silenced by a stern look from the captain. He gingerly took the bag from her and handed the pouch to the man to his left, who poured the coins onto the table and began counting quickly.

  “Why,” the captain said, “should I allow a young woman on my ship with no sailing experience for half the usual passage fee?” He didn’t sound upset. It was closer to curious.

  “I have no real answer for you,” Griffon said. “All I know is that I need to be somewhere other than here.”

  He looked at her for a long while. When his crewman finished counting the coins, he placed them back in the pouch and handed them to the captain. “My count,” the crewman said, “is one and fifty-seven plus eighty-three copper exactly, sir.”

  The captain nodded and tossed the pouch back to Griffon. “Sorry, miss,” he said. “Unless you can pull your own weight on my ship or pay the proper amount, I’m afraid you’ll have to find another way.”

  She sighed and nodded. “Thank you for your time.

  She turned to walk away as he spoke again: “Good luck to you, miss.”

  With slumped shoulders, she made her way to the other end of the room to speak with Captain Colton and hopefully have better results. Unfortunately, she was met with the same. With a feeling of hopelessness, she stepped back to the bar and sat on one of the stools, her head in her arms as she tried to figure out what to do next. Surely there were guards patrolling the harbor that had been told about her and given her description. She couldn’t stay here long. It already seemed a miracle she hadn’t been spotted already.

  Maybe I can get some supplies from the sailors . . . enough to get to Dalisia, at least.

  There were farms between Forge and Dalisia. Surely one or two farmers would help her; let her stay for a night as she traveled. Griffon was startled out of her thoughts by a light tap on her arm. She lifted her head to see the bartender hand her a small mug.

  “I can’t afford this,” she said, eyeing the drink in front of her and suddenly realizing her thirst.

  He smiled. “You aren’t paying for it.”

  “Who is?”

  He smiled wider. “I am. You look like you could use something to lift your spirits.”

  She gripped the mug and felt the heat radiate through her hands. “What is it?”

  “Warm cider. Don’t worry; it won’t mess with your head like the hard stuff.”

  She lifted the mug to her lips and took a long draw. It warmed her whole body and sent chills down her spine. She
thanked him and he nodded politely before stepping away. Griffon sat there for a long time, enjoying her drink and still having no idea what she was going to do. She couldn’t pay for a ship. The more she thought, the less sure she was that she could even get supplies. Even if she did, winter was nearly here, so walking anywhere wouldn’t end well. Edaren winters were harsh and travel was never recommended this close to autumn’s end if you weren’t seasoned in survival. She placed her head in her hands and tried not to scream out of pure frustration.

  “I hear you need a ship.” A tall lanky man with long matted black hair spoke as he sat next to her.

  “Leave her alone, Dent,” the bartender called form the other end of the counter, more annoyance in his tone than anything resembling a warning.

  “Mind your own business,” the new arrival said. “I just want to help the young lady.”

  Griffon knew nothing about this man aside from what the bartender had said, but just looking at him turned her stomach. She knew she wanted nothing to do with him. “Thanks,” she said, “but I’ll find another way.”

  He leaned over the counter to look at her face. “Aw, don’t be like that. I can help you if you just,” he looked her up and down and tapped his fingers on the counter, “help me.”

  “Help yourself.” She stood and started to leave, but Dent grabbed her arm.

  “I’d rather you do the honors,” he said. He yanked her closer. She heard several men at the table behind her laugh.

  She gripped the mug of cider on the counter and brought it around hard, striking Dent across the face to send him reeling back. He released her arm momentarily. Griffon bolted for the door but one of the men from Dent’s table stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

  Dent recovered and stepped up behind her to grab her by the shoulders. “I normally don’t like fighters,” he said, alcohol on his breath as he whispered in her ear, “but I think I’ll make an exception.”

  “Let the young lady go, Dent.”

  Dent turned around, still holding her. Captain Andrews was calmly walking over to them, along with his six crew members.

  “Back off, Andrews,” Dent said. “This isn’t your problem.”

  Andrews looked at Dent, and then glanced at the now-empty mug lying on the floor. “My men and I were having a rather nice evening before we set out tomorrow,” he said, “and all this commotion interrupted that. So now I consider it my problem.”

  Griffon took a sidelong glance at Captain Colt across the room. Colt and his crew looked at Dent with tense stares and appeared ready to spring out of their seats at a moment’s notice. Several of the men fingered the hilts of daggers and knives at their belts.

  Dent suddenly shoved Griffon away “Fine,” he grunted angrily, “her face isn’t as fresh as I prefer anyway, already been marked with a nice badge.”

  Griffon stumbled forward and ran a hand over her previously bruised cheek as Dent stormed out the door, trailed by his men. Andrews leaned over the counter and whispered to the bartender, who nodded briefly before disappearing into the kitchen. Andrews sat on a stool and motioned for Griffon to do the same, which she did quickly. He held out his hand without a word and after a moment, Griffon realized why. She placed the coin pouch in his palm.

  He stuffed it into one of his pockets as he spoke: “You will work whenever able, whether it is cleaning, cooking, or heavy lifting. If you do not know how you will be taught. You will sleep in the cargo hold, you will not disturb any of my crew when they are at work lest you rather be dropped off on shore, and you will not complain. Not a single word.” He raised an eyebrow. “Understood?”

  She stretched out her hand and he took it. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll sleep aboard the ship tonight, one of my men will provide you a blanket and escort you aboard The Royal Jewel.”

  Griffon considered something for only a moment before speaking. “Sir, uh . . . Captain Andrews, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to Dawnstone.”

  He narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. “Then where do you want to go?”

  She was tired of having to be rescued. Tired of not being able to fight back and protect herself from people like Dent, like Fox and Dale, like her father. She was going to change that. She was going to make it so she never needed help again.

  “I want to go to Vigil.”

  Chapter Seven

  15th of Horace, 26th year of the Fourth Age.

  Aaron Cross had never been happier to lay on a thin, old, and unstable straw bed with a leaky, shoddy roof over his head in his life. He had left Dalisia fifteen days earlier. Half that time had been spent on the ground under the stars by a fire, something he wasn’t used to but didn’t hate. He had never been this far away from home for this long. The farthest he’d ever gone was Wayside, and that had been only for the duration of the six-day trip down The Draw and back. But here he was, sitting on the edge of an old rickety bed in a cross castle between Wayside and Grey Gate, his journey still stretched out before him. He was headed for Vigil, which meant he still had over another month of traveling.

  He yawned, stood, and stretched before walking across the rough stone flooring to the small, round window set into the far wall. The sun was just starting to rise and was sending gold rays through the dirt-encrusted glass. He gazed at the small courtyard of the old war fort. It was built directly over a three-way fork in the road, with wide, arching doorways over each fork, their gates long removed. Between the doors to Wayside and Sapella’s Crossing was a stable that was badly in need of repairs. Across from it, next to the door to Grey Gate, was the inn that Aaron was in now. Behind the inn was a stone tower just on the outside of the wall, with a bridge across the gap connecting them. A narrow and cracked staircase led up to the tower from the side of the inn.

  The courtyard itself was just a large dirt patch with a few tufts of dead grass dotting it. Several chunks of the wall that had broken away over the years and been left to become part of the ground as weeds and grass slowly grew over and through them. It was a mess, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

  Aaron smiled as he crossed the room to the dresser near the door. He dressed and headed out into the narrow hall and down the creaking steps into the cramped and poorly lit lounge area.

  Several tables and chairs sat uncomfortably close to one another, a small candle on each tabletop. Half the candles were unlit, giving the room a darker tone then it should have had, defeating the purpose of the room. He stepped around tables and made his way to the door and outside into the cold. Aaron crossed his arms and took a deep breath, watching the air fog in front of him. Edaren was cold year round. Winters were often deadly for the poorer citizens with their lack of proper clothing and lack of proper heat in their meager homes. Aaron hated the cold. He wished he had been able to leave sooner.

  It hadn’t been easy deciding to leave Dalisia, even after waiting as long as he had. His father had tried everything he could to keep him home, but thankfully Aaron’s two sisters and his brother were supportive of his ambition to become a Dragon Guard like his grandfather. They risked their father’s anger, aiding Aaron by helping him steal away on his “father’s” horse—the same horse his father had taken from him to ensure he “did as he was told.” Aaron’s brothers and sisters also helped him gather the supplies he needed for the trip, such as a bedroll and dried meat so he wouldn’t starve on his way. The profession of Dragon Guard wasn’t exactly encouraged in Edaren. Rumors swirled surrounding the order and its lack of intervention during the War of Sovereignty. But Aaron had always taken his grandfather’s word and love of the order over anyone else’s opinions.

  Aaron walked across the courtyard to the stables to check on his horse, Bella, a white mare that was probably too old for a trek this far but was the only one he had been able to afford. He had purchased her a year before, when he’d first started planning his jo
urney. Aaron stepped through the stable door that hung by a single hinge and was greeted by the owner of the inn, a tall, round man with a short brown beard and balding head.

  Roland, the inn owner, was brushing Bella. “Morning Mr. Cross,” he said with a wide smile. “I trust you slept well?”

  Aaron returned the smile and nodded. “Better than I have for quite a while.”

  “Happy to hear it! You know, when my family purchased the deed to this land, my great grandmother was worried it would be nothing more than a money pit. She thought it would never turn a profit and sustain our family. But my great grandfather proved her wrong and turned it into the best cross castle inn this side of Quiver Lake!”

  Aaron said nothing and simply smiled and nodded as the man rambled. He had told Aaron this story the previous day when he first arrived, and again last night while he dined before bed. Roland was clearly proud of what his family had turned this old war outpost into since it was decommissioned in some long-forgotten war and left in the hands of the Royal Army. The army had left it unused for years before auctioning it off for next to nothing. Aaron half-listened for when the man might want him to reply and instead focused his thoughts on when he would leave.

  It would have to be soon. He wanted to reach the base of The Spines in two days at the least. After that he would have to keep an eye out for all sorts of things as he rode along the path at their base. Everything from valgrets to highwaymen roamed those mountains. Aaron’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard Roland’s wife shouting at him from the wall above them. He caught only the last couple words—she wanted her husband to greet the new arrivals at the gate. Roland excused himself and stepped out of the stables in a huff, muttering some rather unkind things about his wife.

  Aaron watched him go before turning to his horse and gently patting her on the flank. He lingered for only a moment, as his curiosity got the best of him and he stepped back outside. When he emerged, he found Roland speaking with a young woman and a young girl, likely the woman’s daughter by the way the girl clutched the woman’s leg and hid her face in her dress. Neither had a horse, though the mother carried a pack with two bedrolls strapped to the top. Both looked exhausted and in need of a bath. Aaron wondered what brought them here on their own as Roland led them into the inn while the mother showered him with thanks.