by M. M. Perry
“My little Cass,” the man spoke with a thick accent which Callan couldn’t place, “What can I be doing for you today?”
“We need to be outfitted for the mountain. I don’t think any of us have warm clothes. And,” Cass said rubbing her head a little, “If I could get some of your elixir, that would be wonderful.”
“What is this?” Driscol said touching Cass’ head.
He peered down at Cass’ skull, carefully parting her hair. He saw the pink scar that, though healing well, was still easily visible. His finger traced the length of it as he shook his head, making a disapproving sound.
“What have you done to yourself, little Cass? Selina, she will not be liking this at all,” Driscol said.
“I just had a little run in with an aswang is all,” Cass said shrugging.
“Try five of them,” Gunnarr said crossing his arms.
“Aswang?” Driscol said, his eyes opening, “In this lands?”
Driscol said something in his own tongue then, as unfamiliar to Callan as his accent. Callan guessed Driscol was cursing some of the gods, as he was able to pick out their names from the foreign swearing.
“I will get you these things,” Driscol said after he finished his cursing, “but you must promise, no more aswang,” Driscol said in a fatherly way.
“I think I can manage that,” Cass said smiling.
“Then let me go. I will be right back with some things,” Driscol said.
Cass turned to the group as Driscol walked away, his feet making the metallic sound as he crossed the square.
“That’s Driscol, in case you haven’t guessed. He’s Selina’s husband,” Cass said.
“Yes, I remember her mentioning him. Did he raise you as well?” Callan asked.
“For a time, yes,” Cass said.
“That explains a lot,” Callan said.
“Where’s he from?” Nat asked.
“I was never really sure about that. I think he hails from Arless, but it’s hard to say. The accent… is very unique. I suspect he comes from a small village there, where they just have their own local dialect,” Cass said. “He never really talked about his homeland. I think something bad happened there… so I never pressed him about it.”
“He certainly looks like a warrior,” Nat said.
“He’s retired now, but yes, he was once,” Cass said.
“Maybe we should see if he wants to make a little extra coin. I could pay him handsomely,” Callan suggested.
Cass shook her head.
“No, I don’t think he’ll want to go to the temple. But he’ll probably accompany us up to the city. He has many friends in Chulpe, and can help find us a place to stay for the night.”
“I’m the king of Faylendar, I think I’ll be able to find a place to stay on my own,” Callan said huffily.
“It might be best not to play up your royal heritage,” Cass said, “unless you want to pay four times as much as your average citizen for any rooms they give us.”
Callan could not argue with that logic, and his purse was not bottomless. He nodded and looked around the market.
“I suppose you’re right. In any case, I’m looking forward to a good meal and a hot bath. I hope your friend will be able to get us into an establishment that can offer those amenities,” Callan said.
“I’m sure he can,” Cass said smiling.
The group dismounted and perused the goods being offered by some of the vendors while they waited for Driscol to come back. When he finally arrived, he was carting a huge bundle of clothing with him.
“I did the best I could. I look for clothing to fit you all. Please, look and find something that works for you,” Driscol said pushing the cart towards them.
The group began rummaging through the cartful of clothing. Callan quickly found a fur lined coat and some thick leather pants lined with fur and boots that would slip on easily over his own clothes. He set them aside while he waited for everyone else to finish looking. Callan glanced up at Driscol, who was humming a tune under his breath and watching with keen interest the way Gunnarr joked with Cass as they rummaged through the pile.
“Driscol, is it?” Callan asked.
“Ya,” Driscol said turning toward the king.
“Cass tells us you’re Selina’s husband. Do you spend much time away from your wife? This seems like a long way to travel, from here back to her, particularly for someone who’s retired,” Callan said.
“Selina,” Driscol began, a starry look coming into his eyes at the mention of his wife, “I will be visiting on her soon. She does not always be wanting me around. People, they make her see. She does not like the seeing so much anymore.”
“Oh. So you don’t get to see her that much then. That must be hard,” Callan said.
“I was long time warrior. I live long time with no company. I have home now, and wife. I not wanting to ask for more. I am lucky man, ya? I not wanting to anger gods with greed,” Driscol said.
“I guess not. What is it you do when you are out in the world then, since you’re no longer a warrior for hire?” Callan asked.
“I am always searching. Looking for beautiful things to bring Selina. I find much in the world that she has not seen. I bring to her to make her happy,” Driscol said.
Cass approached them, her arms full of clothing.
“Selina doesn’t get out much. Going into big cities has always been a burden for her. Coming in contact with people, it tends to set off her abilities. You probably know this. Your seers, don’t they keep to themselves up in towers, secluded from the rest of the world?” Cass asked.
“Yes. But I always thought that was because they wanted to focus just on the royalty when they saw things, and not be distracted by the futures of the servants and lesser ranks of the peerage. I didn’t realize it was because they might be overwhelmed if they were around more people,” Callan said.
“It isn’t just people, places can do it, too. Locations can trigger strong visions, particularly when something significant will happen there. Same with people. If the event is significant, meaning it will affect many more events that follow after it, then Selina will have a very strong vision. Also, the longer you spend time with her, the more of your future she is likely to see. She spent my entire childhood trying not to see my death,” Cass said.
“You think she saw anything about us when we visited?” Callan asked, an inquisitive note in his voice.
“Maybe. She’s gotten better control over it as she’s aged. But it’s still hard on her to keep the visions at bay,” Cass said, “and she doesn’t tell me about the ones she does still have anymore.”
Before Callan could ask Cass to elaborate, Gunnarr came up to them, a furry hat on his head.
“This is not unlike what we wear back home in Braldashad,” he said.
“Ah! You are from Braldashad! Good people,” Driscol said. “Hard working and honest. The women are a little strange though.”
Gunnarr chuckled.
“Too many lonely nights cooped up in their homes. When they travel, they make the most of it,” Gunnarr said.
As if this explained everything, Driscol laughed and nodded his head.
“Now I understand. You have cleared up much for me. You are also a warrior?” Driscol asked.
Gunnarr nodded.
“Good, good,” Driscol said patting Cass on the back, “Only a strong warrior makes a good match for this one.”
Gunnarr blushed and Cass spoke quickly.
“Yes well, I think it’s time we got moving, don’t you?” she asked, hoping to cut short any more comments Driscol might make about her personal life.
Viola and Nat had just found some clothes that would work and were approaching them. Viola practically disappeared behind the stack of fur lined clothes she was carrying.
“We might want to put them on now. As we go up the road, it will only get windier and colder,” Cass said.
They all began pulling on their things. Driscol took the clothes the
y hadn’t selected back to wherever he had gotten them. When he returned he was carrying several heavy blankets, one of which he laid gently over Inez, who had slept through the entire exchange.
“She sleeps a lot,” Callan said then, noticing that for the first time and wondering why no one had remarked on that before.
Driscol cocked his head as he looked at Inez. He stared hard at her for a long time before commenting.
“She is very old. Her strength is waning. She will only sleep more as time goes,” he said.
Driscol turned and he and Cass exchanged a look.
“An odd choice for you to bring with you, such an old woman on such a long trip. Why is she here?” Driscol asked.
“My seer told me she was essential to our success. So far I haven’t seen any evidence of that. She hasn’t done anything but been a nuisance the whole trip. Well, I suppose she helped me find Cass, but I’m not so sure I needed the old woman for that,” Callan said scowling down at Inez, who slept on oblivious to being the center of their conversation.
“Hmmm,” Driscol said.
If he had any other thoughts on the matter he did not share them with the group. Instead he turned toward Cass again, a stern look on his face.
“Where your quest takes you that you come here?” he asked pointedly.
“We are headed to Oshia’s temple,” Cass said trying to sound casual.
Driscol frowned.
“Selina knows this?”
“She does.”
“And she let you go?”
“I am not a child any longer, Driscol.”
Driscol stared at Cass, his frown deepening, bringing with it a deep furrow in his brow.
“Why you go there? It is important?”
“The king’s wife is dying from a strange illness. The royal seers told him this was the only way to save her,” Cass said.
“And he picks you? You did not volunteer?” Driscol asked.
“I did not volunteer,” Cass said, crossing her arms.
Cass noticed the looks everyone was giving her and she began to feel uncomfortable. Driscol continued to frown at her.
“Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and we’re in bit of a hurry. We should mount up,” Cass said dismissively.
“Not yet,” Driscol said fishing a small vial out of his pocket, his frown slipping but his demeanor clearly still that of a very unhappy man, “I think you ask me for this.”
“Oh yes, thank the gods,” Cass said, snatching the vial, popping the little cork stopper and downing the contents.
Everyone in the group couldn’t help but notice the smell that escaped the opened vial. It had an astringent fragrance that left their airways with a freshly scrubbed feeling.
“That was your elixir,” Viola asked curiously, “for a headache?”
Driscol nodded, “Enchanter taught me recipe. Maybe I teach you. It does not require magic to make, but ingredients are rare.”
“I would like that,” Viola said.
Driscol smiled widely, apparently setting aside his unresolved conversation with Cass for now. He turned and walked to an area that Callan thought might serve as the stables for the small village. The rest of them got onto their mounts and waited for Driscol to join them. He rejoined them riding a huge brown creature that couldn’t really be called a horse. Its body was broader and more muscular than any horse Callan had ever seen, and it had two colossal curved horns on either side of its head. The group watched in awe as Driscol maneuvered the strange beast toward them. As it approached, Callan could see that although its head and legs were covered in fur, its back was covered in brown scales, the same color as its fur. The creature’s head never rose above its shoulders as it approached, its nose close to the ground. When Driscol halted in front of the party, the creature considered the other mounts, looking up at the other horses by tilting only its eyes.
“Is that a horse?” Nat asked.
“It is catoblepas. Rare creatures,” Driscol said proudly, “a gift from my Cass.”
Nat looked at Cass with renewed awe. Cass waved her hands in front of her, as if warding the imminent accolades away.
“He makes it seem more impressive than it was. It followed me home. I told you I was stranded in the Wet Desert once, right? Well, this thing wandered out there too. I don’t know why, maybe it was looking for food. In any case, I found it moping out there and shared what little water and food I could spare with it, and it followed me all the way back to the Plains of the Dead Gods. I already had a horse, so I told Driscol he should care for it.”
“Does it really turn people to stone when it looks at them?” Nat asked turning back toward Driscol.
“No,” Driscol said patting the horse’s flank. “That is only myth. It is still very dangerous creature though. If it raises head, watch out. That means is going to charge. You don’t want to be in front of charging catoblepas.”
“No, I don’t expect I would,” Nat said reverentially.
With that, Driscol spurned his catoblepas to turn to towards Chulpe, and the small group followed him to begin the trek up the mountainside.
Chapter 13
The last soft glow of daylight was still lingering in the sky when the small party finally arrived in Chulpe. The merchants were too busy closing up their shops for the evening to pay much attention to the small band as they passed them, while the inns and taverns were just beginning to fill. It was easy to distinguish the inhabitants of Chulpe from the foreigners—their brightly colored clothing stood out even in the dimming light. As Driscol led them through town, adroitly weaving them through the thinning crowds, Callan watched one lavish looking inn after another pass them by. Banners of rich velvet hung from many of their walls flanking thick wooden signs expertly carved with images of comfortable beds or tables laid out with steaming roasts and flagons of ale.
“This one looks promising,” Callan said as they walked by one particularly ostentatious looking establishment.
“Bah,” Driscol said gesturing broadly, “you do not want these. They are no good for you. Only for foolish foreigners.”
He smiled wryly at the king.
“Unless you are foolish foreigner?”
“Let’s assume not, for now,” Callan grinned as he replied.
“Ignoring all evidence to the contrary?” Inez asked.
Not even her acerbic criticisms could darken Callan’s mood right now. He was already imagining the hot meal of fresh meats and vegetables, a crackling fire and a warm bed that was waiting for him at one of these inns.
As Driscol led them further into town, the buildings became less showy, yet still impressively built, well maintained and, as with all buildings in Chulpe, still decorated with beautiful wall murals. Gone, however, were the frills and finery; none of these businesses draped themselves with velvet. These establishments only had small signs, unadorned with images or scrollwork, that simply stated the name of the place and what type of business could be found within. Driscol eventually led them to a building, larger than those surrounding it. The sign that hung from the front of the building read simply “Ulma’s.” Driscol dismounted and gestured for the rest of the party to follow his lead. As Nat helped Inez out of her wagon, a young boy trotted along and looked up at Driscol.
“Good day, Mr. Driscol. Will you be staying for the evening then?”
Driscol reached into a breast pocket and pulled out two fat gold coins. Callan didn’t recognize the reliefs on them and he imagined they might come from Arless, a land he knew little about.
“Hello, Pip. We are. Our belongings are in the wagon,” Driscol said.
Without further instruction, Pip first took the coins, then the leads of the catoblepas from Driscol and guided it through an archway that led behind the inn.
“Come, your highness. I think you will be pleased with these accommodations,” Driscol said ushering Callan into the inn, “is not for foolish foreigners.”
He winked at Callan.
Callan looke
d up at the building skeptically, wondering if he might not be better off playing the fool, and sneaking away to stay at one of the better looking inns. Once he got inside, however, he quickly changed his mind. The floors were covered from end to end with thick carpets of brightly dyed wool. As Callan stepped on it he noticed it was even plusher than the grass of the plains. The tables set up in the dining area had beautiful grains, set off by dark stains, and were carved with simple elegance and polished to a shine. The people sitting at the tables were talking loudly and laughing raucously; they were almost all people of Chulpe, decked out in the traditional rainbow of brilliant colors. What really caught Callan’s attention, however, was the food. The meals being served smelled both exotic and delightful. Driscol led them past the merry groups at the tables and further into the inn to a long bar, the top so reflective Callan noticed he could see his face in it. Behind the woman tending the bar were rows and rows of liquors of every sort, and several stout wooden kegs that Callan guessed contained various ales. Cass elbowed Gunnarr as she pointed out one cask in particular and they both grinned happily.
The woman behind the bar was busy lifting the bottles one after the other and wiping down the already gleaming surface beneath them. A handful of patrons were clustered at one end. As Driscol sidled up to the bar, he said something to them in a language Callan didn’t recognize, and they laughed boisterously. The bartender, a big woman with breasts threatening to burst the fabric holding them in, turned to face the newcomers. A girdle threaded tightly around her managed to give her a hint of a waist. She wore her bright red hair in braids that looped around her ears, and her eyes were the color of sand. When she saw it was Driscol at the bar, she smiled so generously that Callan found himself unable to help but smile back at the stranger.
