Tahr (The Days of Ash and Fury Book 1)

by Sean Hinn

  “You tell him, boy.”

  “Well, you see, gentlemen, when I arrived at this fine establishment, I made a wager with our merchant friend here, his ring against my dagger, that not only would I be riding our friend Earl’s back here inside an hour while he danced a jig, but that he’d be pleased as a peach about it.”

  The men nearly fell over each other laughing, and their great friend Earl, who could have easily considered himself the butt of the joke, saw the right side of it and laughed along with them.

  “I will not pay!” the merchant insisted, “The boy cheated, and you all saw it!”

  Earl stepped forward, edging the showman out of the way.

  “The boy didn’t cheat you, mister. He didn’t cheat us, neither. Turns out he’s just damned good with a knife, and better with his head. The ring.”

  The merchant hesitated. Earl leaned in.

  “Now.”

  Barris departed the inn, shaking his head, just as the boy bought a round of drinks for his new friends, and just failed to see the embarrassed merchant’s gesture at another man at the far end of the bar.

  V: MOR, AND THE NORTHERN ROAD

  The weary Barris circled Phantom, inspecting the mount as best he could under the light of the streetlamp, and determined that the care he received while in the command of the too-young stable hand was, in fact, excellent. His jet-black coat gleamed in the meager light, his silver mane and tail brushed free of tangles, his hooves scrubbed clean. The spectacularly muscled mount was still clearly exhausted, to be sure, but he had rested some this day, and would rest again this night.

  “You have done well, young man. Tell me your name.”

  The copper-haired boy beamed back at him. “My name’s Nikalus, Sir Barris, and you can bet I done well! This is Phantom, I heard o’ him, he’s the best horse I ever seen or I ain’t never seen a horse, and you can bet I seen some horses! I just knowed it were him when you brought him in this morning, I knowed it! I told Tam–”

  Barris interrupted the boy with a smile. “You know of Phantom, Nikalus? Tell, me, how many years have you?”

  “I’m ten Sir, but I’mma be eleven in a cycle, and everyone knows o’ Phantom, well, at least everyone who ever cared about horses, that is! Is it true he can run for a cycle without a rest? Cause I heard some tales that–”

  “It is close enough to true, Nikalus,” Barris replied, gently stroking the muzzle of the great steed. “Though such exertion taxes him much more than is fair.” The wide-eyed Nikalus tried to speak again, clearly a thousand questions on his mind, but Barris was too sorely fatigued to indulge the boy further, and held up his hand.

  “You can be sure I will tell you more about Phantom when I leave him in your care again, Nikalus, less than a cycle from now. You shall be his only caretaker when I travel to Mor, from this day hence. But we must be leaving. Tell me what I owe your master and we shall be on our way.”

  “’Tis but a quarter of a scale, Sir Barris, but you don’t even have to pay if you don’t wanna, I was happy to care for him, I even oiled your saddle and bags for ya but that didn’t take no time at all and–”

  “Hush, boy. Here, this is for your master,” he handed the boy a halfpiece, “and this is for you,” he said, withdrawing a currency of a different color from a secret pouch within his cloak.

  The boy looked at the coin, and back to Barris, stunned.

  “Your family shall reap the rewards of your hard work this season, Nikalus.”

  The boy did not quite frown at this, for he was too overjoyed with his gift to be saddened, but his expression did mild a bit. “Ain’t no family, Sir Barris, ‘tis just me, Master Argus, and his boy Tam, but Argus, he’s a lot like a father to me, to be sure. But the crown, Sir Barris, I wouldn’t even know what to spend it on–”

  “Then I am sure you will find something, Nikalus. Perhaps a present to yourself for your hard work, and something kind for your master and Tam. Do not spend it all, however, for I shall return in a cycle with more to match what you have saved, if you will agree now to care for Phantom again as you did this day.”

  The boy’s grin widened in admiration and gratitude as Barris climbed upon the great steed, and he proudly straightened. “Thank you, Sir Barris, and you can bet I’ll take even better care of him next time. Ain’t no one in Mor gonna care for Phantom never but yours truly!”

  Barris made a soft clacking noise with his tongue, and the noble Phantom reared steeply on cue, as much to impress young Nikalus as to invigorate mount and rider one last time before they rode on to their camp to rest.

  ---

  Barris was forced to bring Phantom to a skidding halt as he turned a corner onto the thoroughfare to the main gate, narrowly missing a horseman who had ridden past him with all speed.

  “Fool! Slow your mount!” yelled Barris, and a trio of riders sped past a moment later in pursuit. A thief to be sure, thought Barris, but it was not his affair, and he brought Phantom back to a trot towards the gate. The road leading out of the city was paved in cobblestones, and to run a horse so speedily upon it was more than dangerous, it was cruel, for many a horse had broken a leg in such runs. Barris sighed and stroked the mane of the great Phantom. “They bear far too little esteem for your kind, dear friend.”

  He passed over a narrow moat and through the towering iron Northern Gate of Mor, hardly drawing the attention of the sentries on either side, who were peering through the darkness to follow the progress of the maddened riders that had just careened past. Less than a hundred paces beyond the gate, the cobblestone gave way to an unpaved road, lined sparsely by young elms that had just begun to shed their first leaves. Barris willed Phantom to pick up the tempo; he was eager to cross the Morline, where he could properly rest Phantom, pitch his tent, and finally fall into slumber. He briefly considered that he could have stayed the night at the Whistling Wench, and would already be at rest, yet the thought of the fleas and the stench of smoke and overfull chamberpots brought a scowl to his face. “No, my friend,” he spoke softly to Phantom, “it is the river for us tonight, as I know you would have it, too.”

  The forest thickened and the road narrowed slightly as they rode on. The temperature dropped a bit yet still remained mild enough that Barris did not reach into his saddlebag for his gloves. Just short of an hour past the gate, they came upon the Morline crossing and a small guardhouse, a trio of watchmen milling about. Barris slowed and approached the familiar men.

  “Well met, gentlemen. How fares the evening?”

  The tall, silver-haired Captain Storey reached up to stroke Phantom’s neck and spoke first. “It fares well for us, Barris, but I’m not so sure about that boy that just rode past. Looks to me like he’s in for a rough one.”

  “Might be his last one, if I were to wager,” this from the dusky-skinned, hulking Sergeant Long.

  “I wouldn’t wage against it, Sergeant,” said the Captain, shaking his head. “Thieves.”

  “Thieves,” his men agreed, in unison.

  Storey turned to the knight. “How was your visit with our illustrious king?”

  “I was reminded why I rarely venture south of the Morline, my friend.”

  “Well, at least you’re back with your head, and still attached,” this from Guy, the greenest of the three sentinels, and the only one wearing his helm.

  Long glared at the man. “Careful, Private, or it’ll be you with a hole for a neck.”

  “Ah, it’s just us four, Sarge, I’m no fool.”

  Barris sided with the Sergeant. “As far as you know, watchman. Agents of Halsen need not be present to hear. And so we should dispense with this talk.”

  “Agreed,” replied the Captain, eyes leveled at the youthful Guy. “But tell us, Barris, did he hear you?”

  “He heard, Captain, to the degree that he would, though whether he listened, time will tell. At the very least, he has agreed to meet again in a cycle. I must make haste to Thornwood with news of our audience, for he has requested that I return pe
rsonally for our next parley.”

  “Fury he did...” this from Sergeant Long.

  “Fury indeed,” Barris sighed, “but I am expected Sergeant, and too much is at stake for me to worry myself with a bit of discomfort over the matter. Though I do pity Phantom, for I work him too hard.” Phantom snorted at that, as if the prideful animal were offended by the idea. “In any case, I must be going. I wish to make my camp just beyond the bridge, and rest as soon as I might.”

  “Why cross the bridge, Sir Barris?” queried Guy. “There’s little reason. You can rest and eat here with us. I was just about to light us a fire and–”

  “No, private,” the Captain interrupted, “though I would extend the same offer. But our friend wishes to cross the Morline, so the fresh air can renew Phantom’s strength.”

  “And my own, my friend. Be well gentlemen, and stay alert this cycle, for your own sakes. I fear that the signs we have observed do not bode well for the season, and perhaps longer still.”

  “Be well, First Knight. Take care of him, Phantom, he looks like Disorder.”

  Barris leveled his gaze at his friend. “On the worst of my days, Captain, I am a shining beacon of glory compared to you on your best.”

  Captain Storey’s men laughed heartily at this, and he cuffed them each firmly in return as Barris urged Phantom to the bridge.

  ---

  Barris had prepared his camp just off the Northern Road, just out of sight of the bridge and guardhouse along the northern shore of the Morline, before crossing the river on the way South that very morning. He did so partly to make it easier for himself and Phantom to quickly find their rest this evening, but more as a promise to himself that he would survive the encounter. How sad that an emissary from a neighboring kingdom should fear for his life when visiting on business of Tahr, thought Barris, as he quickly lit his fire and unsaddled Phantom. Barris unrolled a blanket over the mount, who shied beneath it, stamping his front hooves.

  “As you wish, willful creature. You are most rude when weary.” Phantom whinnied softly and bumped Barris in apology as he removed the blanket, and the elven knight took a moment to stroke his friend’s mane, nuzzling up to his neck. “Ah, but you have right to be, my friend. Rest well; we shall take it slowly tomorrow, and perhaps even rest once more in the evening.”

  Barris unrolled his own blanket under the small tent, and nearly crawled into it, remembering as he reached to remove his boots, however, that he had not set protection around the camp for himself and Phantom. He straightened and paced a circle around the camp, softly chanting the prayer in the ancient language of his people.

  “Fah ni yef Da, tah Nü shadda ni.” As we serve You Father, so You shelter us.

  The spell would warn both knight and rider if danger should approach, and unlike many elven spells, it did not draw upon the life energies of the petitioner, but was rather a gift from the First Father himself, its power proportionate to the faith and service of the one delivering the appeal. Barris did not doubt its effectiveness.

  I was afraid this day, Barris thought to himself as he inched nearer to the fire. He lay upon his thin bedding, remembering the long hours spent in the anteroom, exhausted yet too frightened to close his eyes. Only in dark, quiet moments such as these would Barris admit to himself his anxieties, for to do so in the light of day, he believed, would make them plain upon him for all to see. Yet I am not ashamed. It is not I, nor my people, who caused Halsen to become the tyrant he is, no matter what he may believe in his heart. This brought a sigh from the knight, as he considered his lovely queen. Ah, how I wish you were here beside me now, my Terrias. I fear I shall see you seldom in the seasons to come. Barris chided himself immediately, for she was not his Terrias by any means, though he would wish it so with every fiber of himself. It is enough to serve you, my queen. In that I take much joy.

  Barris rolled onto his side, facing away from the fire just in time to catch the shadow of three riders heading south at a canter over the bridge. Three only, Barris noted. Perhaps there is one less thief in the world this night. With that, Barris slept.

  VI: G’NAATH

  Shyla returned down the wide tunnel with her head down, Oort and Thinsel protectively at either side, Oort’s menacing expression and fierce gaze fending off any dared comments from the gawking gnomes they passed along the way back to their family’s stone recesses. She marched numbly along, incapable of thought or reason or speech, so heavy was her heart for her parents, so petrified by the prospect of her looming expulsion. After what could have been an hour or a turn, for in her daze Shyla had lost all sense of time, they turned up the passage to her parents’ stony hollow, and Oort pulled back the drape to let her mother pass. He seized Shyla’s arm, however, holding her back for a moment.

  “Ye’ll be strong for yer mother, girl. Yeh can cry in me own arms whenever yeh like for the next three days, but in front of yer Ma, ye’ll be brave. Do yeh understand me, Shyla?”

  Her father never used her name, she was always “girl,” or “child,” or “Nugget,” or any number of other affectionate titles, but never Shyla. The sound of her own name established just how afraid her dear Papa was at this moment, and Shyla’s heart managed to sink further, so deep into her belly that she palpably felt her chest hollow out. Yet she wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and fixed her pigtails, smoothed her blouse, stood up as straight as she ever had, and looked into her father’s cloudy eyes.

  “I know, Papa. I’ll not be caus’n her more pain, of that yeh can be sure.”

  Oort beheld his daughter, her clear, pink irises suddenly less youthful somehow, and his chin trembled. “Then come on in, girl, and let’s comfort yer Ma best we can.”

  There was no comfort to be had for Thinsel that day, and Shyla’s promise not to cry lasted less than a turn, as her Mama pulled her into her arms and her great, heaving sobs shook Shyla to her very bones. Oort looked on uncomfortably for a moment, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, until Thinsel stretched her tiny, wrinkled fingers from behind Shyla’s back towards him. Oort reached for the small hand, and took his wife and daughter into his arms. He joined them in their weeping, his own broad shoulders slumping and rocking now, as he tightened his arms around the two broken-hearted lights of his life, his tears flowing as freely as theirs.

  After a long while their moans began to recede, yet they continued to hold each other, none of them speaking, as if letting go now would be a final, irrevocable acknowledgement of the fate they confronted.

  It was Thinsel who broke their shared embrace first, squeezing and patting them each as she did, stepping back to straighten her dress and her spine. She quickly turned away and reached for the bellows to breathe new life into their small hearth, its embers still glowing from her morning meal with Oort. Her husband looked on at this, one arm still around Shyla, whose face remained buried in his chest, and he wondered at how strange it was that so much in life could change in less than the time it took for a hearthfire to burn itself out.

  “Yeh’ll be needing to eat, child, and eat well, as much as yeh can stand afore yer leaving us.” Thinsel placed another pitch-dipped dunglog onto the fire and leaned into their cupboard, gathering ingredients for a stew. “Yer father’s hard work has beget us this hearth, and we’ll put it to good use these few days, on that yeh can count.”

  Shyla turned her head enough for one eye to watch her mother shuffle about, and her shame deepened. Me father, workin’ extra shifts fer a year to earn us a nook with a chimney; me Ma, even now putting her sorrow aside to cook me a meal…why in Tahr could I not be more like them? All they’ve done, all their years, all for an ungrateful layabout like meself…

  Shyla’s tears began again, and her mother turned when she heard her sobs return. “No more o’ that, Shyla. Yer about to be facin’ the wide world in naught but a tenth of a cycle, and the time fer pityin’ yerself is past. Git over here and help yer mother with the stew, or ye’ll catch me spoon on yer backside.”

  “Yes, Mama
.” Shyla dutifully joined her mother.

  “And find som’n to do with yerself, Oort, for yeh sure ain’t no help in the kitchen no how.”

  Despite his ruined heart, Oort couldn’t help but smile at his resilient wife as he stepped out from their home, looking back on his ladies as he pulled the curtain shut. Sure, we’ll comfort you’re Ma we will, girl. As if she ain’t the pillars o’ the whole stinkin’ cavern already.

  Oort meandered along the passageways, oblivious to the stares and whispers of the gossipy gnomes he passed, replaying the morning’s trial in his mind. Cindra Sandshingle herself, he thought. Now there’s a twist. And eight seasons, not a lifespan…I ain’t never heard o’ such a thing, long as I been a gnome. He turned a corner, then another as he wandered and puzzled it over.

  Could be the law’s been changed, and I didn’t hear none about it? Oort considered. He dismissed the idea out of hand. Naw, canna be that, for as deep as G’naath goes, news flies from one end to th’other like a cloud o’ dungflies. Oort continued his walk and his conjecturing for a brief while, until he nearly tripped over a gnome that had suddenly appeared in his path.

  “Well hello there, Oort. It is good that you came.”

  Oort looked down at the elderly female gnome, and was stunned to be looking into the bright, smiling face of none other than the silver-haired Cindra Sandshingle herself.

  “Uh, I ah, I weren’t meaning to–”

  “Of course yeh were, yeh silly old gnome, now come in afore the whole of G’naath finds me door.”

  And there was a door, and Cindra held it open for Oort, grinning all the while, and Oort just stood there in the middle of the tunnel, jaw hanging open. He looked down the tunnel, and behind him, and back, rubbing his bald, pale head, baffled.

  “I been down this tunnel a hunnerd times, and I ain’t never seen no door–”

  “Well didja not just hear me, ya daft old gnome? ‘Tis a secret door, now git yerself in it!”