The Stars of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 1)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “I'm on The Journey,” Darian answered, unsure what to make of the thief's differing stories.

  “Ah, well, that's cleared that up. Not really, but I suppose it doesn't matter. The real point is that you're here, you're alone, and you need looking after. So, I'll tell you what. I'll act as your guide for a few days and keep you out of trouble. Then, as payment, you can let me go. By the way, my name's Kilren.”

  “I'm called Darian, and I think I have a better idea,” the young knight said, taking his prisoner over to his horse and drawing a rope from his pack.

  “I don't think I like this idea,” Kilren observed, as he sat tied to a tree, watching Darian build a fire.

  “I never said you would,” Darian replied, glancing over his shoulder.

  It did seem a shame that Kilren would hang for his sad attempt at robbery. Once the fire was lit, Darian could see from his thin facial hair that he was a young man; perhaps no older than the Telian himself. His light brown hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail. Of the two of them, he was the smaller; but he had already shown that, under normal circumstances, he was also the stronger.

  His blue eyes looked up pleadingly at the young knight as he said, “Aren't you supposed to act as a judge or something in situations like this?”

  “It's true, according to our code, I can release you, if I feel you've truly repented.”

  “Repentance! I conceive now of an even better bargain,” Kilren replied, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You teach me the error of my ways and make sure I don't come to any harm. I teach you the ways of the world and make sure you don't look like an idiot. Of course, you'll have to cover my expenses... I'm running a little low on coin at the moment. Still, it's quite a bargain for the skills I offer. I'm looking forward to traveling with you! You certainly need someone watching out for you. Anyway, you can untie me now...”

  “Good night, Kilren,” Darian said, stretching himself out beside the fire before quickly falling asleep.

  Darian was awakened the next morning by the smell of frying bacon. He opened his eyes to find his prisoner crouched over the fire with a pan in his hand. The ropes were still wrapped around the tree where the would-be highwayman had been bound the night before and another horse stood grazing beside his own.

  “I told you that you could untie me last night,” Kilren said, glancing over at the knight with a grin on his face.

  “I figured if I let you loose, you'd be over the hills and far away as soon as I closed my eyes.” Darian replied, raising himself from the ground.

  “Well, you were wrong,” the rogue observed, stirring the contents of the pan. “I told you; I'm looking forward to traveling with you. So, where are we off to?”

  “Where did you get the horse?” Darian asked, pointing at the animal in question.

  “She's mine. I had her hidden nearby,” Kilren replied, raising the pan in his hand. “Bacon?”

  The young knight considered his rather unique prisoner as he drew a small metal plate from his nearby pack. It struck him as strange to agree to travel with a man who had intended to rob him only the night before. Of course, Kilren could have fled or attacked him during the night, but he had done neither. Perhaps it was his destiny to guide this young rogue to salvation. Perhaps that was why the Eilian had led him here.

  “My plan was to head for Tagril,” Darian said, holding his plate out to the rogue.

  “Well, it's a bad plan,” Kilren answered, dropping a few slices of bacon onto the outstretched dish. “You should change it.”

  “I expect you just want to avoid the guards there,” the Telian replied, sitting down on the grass beside his new companion.

  “I do, but that's not all. That symbol on your chest,” Kilren said, pointing at Darian's tabard with a grease-covered fork, “that's the symbol of Solarin.”

  “I know it is!” The young knight said with a touch of pride.

  “Well, the local Mikralian officials aren't going to like that much. If we head that way, you'll need to take it off.”

  “It's the symbol of the kingdom I serve. I won't dishonor it.”

  Kilren rolled his eyes with a groan. “You'd better thank the Eilian you ran into me. By yourself, you'd've ended up dead in a week... or worse...”

  The pair quickly finished their breakfast before climbing onto their horses. Darian directed their course straight for Tagril, disregarding his would-be guide's warning. For his own part, Kilren appeared to resign himself to their destination, even pointing out a short cut that saved them several hours. As a result, they were within a few miles of the town before the sun had set.

  “Look, Darian,” The rogue said, pulling the reigns of his horse, “I honestly think we should wait until tomorrow to go into town.”

  “Don't you want to sleep at an inn tonight?” Darian asked, glancing back at his companion.

  “Not tonight, thanks.” Kilren shook his head.

  “I think you're just trying to convince me not to head into Tagril; it won't work.”

  “Well then, there's no harm in you giving me a few more hours to try.”

  Darian laughed aloud. Kilren was like no one he had ever met. He wasn't sure what to make of him. Still, given the choice, he would rather spend another night out under the stars. On the following morning, they could be in town in less than an hour. The decision was made; the two dismounted and setup camp for the night.

  As the twin moons climbed above the mountains, the small town of Tagril was wrapped in shadow and soft pale light. Windows were aglow with the golden beams of burning lanterns and the streets stood empty, but for a lonely merchant wandering home from a busy day here or a solitary sentry standing out his watch there. It was the very image of a quiet, peaceful hamlet.

  Tagril lay on the outskirts of Mikral, just five miles from the river Neres, which marked the northern border of the kingdom. Beyond that river lay the mountains, where no king ruled, and beyond those mountains lay the peaceful kingdom of Innalas. Nestled between the mountains and Mikral, the town was defended on all sides. Its small garrison had only two real duties: to protect the populace from wild animals and, in the case of heated disputes, from each other. For almost twenty years, Tagril had been a place of tranquility where, with the exception of wolves occasionally roaming the countryside, there was no hint of danger.

  This night, was different, however. This night danger had crept down from the mountains like a shadow. It was the shadow of death. Already, two poor souls had been covered by that dark mantle and more might be by morning. Ten horsemen had crossed the river just an hour before and sat watching the town from the heights of a lonely hill.

  “You know what you're supposed to do?” asked the largest of these horsemen, stretching himself in the saddle.

  “I do,” answered another of the riders, turning to face his commander. “I'll give you half an hour to get in place, then I'll attack the stables from the south. We'll steal as many of the horses as we can and run off whatever we can't take. After that, we'll ride south for about a mile, let the horses go, break up, and meet you back here.”

  “Exactly,” the commander nodded. “We've got to get this done quickly. They change the bridge guards at midnight. No matter what trouble we stir up here, when those bodies are found, they're going to know we've come from the north. I don't want to find that bridge held against us with any force.”

  “Still, we've a couple of hours, Barlan,” a third rider observed, gazing down at the town as he spoke. “I say we give it enough time to let everyone get settled in for the night.”

  The large rider silently considered the situation for a moment. In truth, it would be three hours before the guards changed and, even after that, it would take almost an hour to get help. His band could reach the bridge in less than half an hour if they rode hard. All in all, the delay offered more benefits than risks.

  “You're right, Mort, we'll give it an hour,” Barlan said, sliding from the saddle. “We should be able to get the job done
and still cross the bridge before midnight.”

  The men followed his example, dismounting and stretching themselves on the grass to wait. In a few days' time, the mercenary hoped to have his prey safely delivered and his reward collected. A fair amount had been offered for this job, especially considering the rather low risk he and his men ran. Why he wanted this girl was more than Barlan could guess, but it wasn't his place to ask questions, only to deliver what was paid for.

  Gwendolyn sat on a window box gazing out over Tagril with a book in her hand and a dreamy look in her bright green eyes. The few street lamps within her view flickered merrily; shedding their gentle rays on the houses around the square. Her family lived in a large two story cottage in the very center of town. Most of the wealth of Tagril belonged to a number of former Solarin nobles that had been allowed to keep some part of their fortunes after the war. Her father was one of these and had wisely invested the little left to him in trade. Raw iron and uncut gemstones came down from the mountains to be traded for tools, food, and other goods. In the fourteen years since Gwendolyn's birth, her father had steadily increased his affluence.

  The chamber in which the maiden sat held ample proofs of her father's success. Its paneled walls were of the finest craftsmanship and from them hung a number of paintings depicting scenes of flower covered fields or solitary forest walks. Against one of these walls sat a large, beautifully carved bed covered in bedclothes that were both soft and warm. A number of elegant wardrobes also helped to fill the chamber; themselves filled with clothing of the highest quality. A small shelf lined with books containing tales of noble history and romantic fantasy stood beside the window box on which she sat. A delicate silver lantern hung from the ceiling, lighting the scene with its gentle golden glow. The entire chamber stood as a testament to her father's achievements and wealth.

  However, Gwendolyn was more interested in the past than the present; more fascinated by former nobility than by current comforts.

  “Nanna, what was grandfather's title?” she asked, turning to look at her old nurse.

  “I've told you many times, my dear,” the old woman replied, pulling a nightdress from one of the wardrobes.

  “I know, but I like to hear it. Tell me again!” She closed her book and placed it back on the small shelf at her side.

  “Child, your grandfather was a knight and his title was Sir, as you very well know.”

  “What was his castle like?”

  The old woman glanced up at her young mistress, shaking her head.

  “As I've told you countless times, love, his castle – if you could call that poor pile of stones by that title – was small, dark, and drafty. This house your father had built is much more practical and cozy. Now, put this on.”

  Gwendolyn rolled her eyes before slipping on the nightgown and crawling into bed.

  “Oh, Nanna,” she sighed, “you're always so negative about the past. I think you try to forget how grand it was so that you don't become bitter.”

  “No, dear, it's simply that I've seen in life what you've only seen in dreams,” Nanna replied, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Your grandfather was an excellent man and cared a great deal for his family, his vassals, and his friends. In the end, he died fighting for them. However, your father has a much better head for everyday living. Your entire family was almost ruined after the war. Well, what did your father do? He applied himself to the problem and found a way to make a living through trade rather than rents. All of you would be living as peasants right now if it hadn't been for him. Your entire family owes him a great deal. Now, sit there and be quiet for a few minutes.”

  Taking a brush from the bedside table, the old woman ran it through Gwendolyn's long blond hair, quietly singing an old tune as she did so. It was one of Gwendolyn's favorites and told of Solarin's first king and how he settled between the plains and the mountains long, long ago.

  “Maybe father will become a Mikralian knight one day,” Gwendolyn said dreamily.

  “Maybe he will, my dear,” the old woman grinned. “Maybe he will.”

  “Then, I could marry a knight, and I would be a lady.”

  “Well, being a lady is much more important than being called lady. I have no doubt you'll live up to being your grandfather's granddaughter – with or without the title.”

  “I'll try... there's nothing wrong with being called lady, though...” she said, slowly drifting off to sleep.

  A scream rent the air; shattering the silence that hung over the little town. An arrow flew from the darkness and struck the stable guard; sinking deeply within his shoulder.

  “The stables are under attack!” he cried, drawing his sword.

  A single flick from the blade of his foremost attacker knocked the young soldier's weapon from his hand. Disarmed and unable to resist his fearsome opponents, the young man fled into the night. However, his cries had fallen on friendly ears and, in moments, the bells were ringing; calling the guards to arms.

  “That's it. Let's go,” Barlan said, glancing over the deserted street.

  “Lead the way,” Mort replied with a wave of his hand.

  Two figures, wrapped in black, stepped from the shadows and quickly approached a large, two story cottage. It belonged to Faelor, a wealthy merchant and one of the leading men of the town. It held within it the prize they sought. The pair crossed the empty street in order to reach the small door that led to the kitchen.

  “It's locked,” Mort said, carefully turning the handle. “It'll take me a second.”

  “Hurry,” Barlan nodded.

  Mort quickly drew something from beneath his tunic and began manipulating the lock while his companion stood guard; a short sword in hand. As the pair worked, the sound of a slamming door caught Barlan's attention. Glancing around the corner, he observed a man dressed in nothing but a night shirt and a pair of leather trousers running down the street with a bow and quiver in his hands.

  “That'll be the master of the house,” Barlan said, reaching down and tapping his partner on the shoulder.

  “The former master,” Mort replied, shifting his gaze from the lock, “if he dares to pull that bow against us.”

  “It'll be better that way; he'll never know he's lost his daughter.”

  “Perhaps you're right. Now, let's see if fortune's smiling on us.”

  Moving quickly to the front of the house, Mort tried the handle. It had been left unlocked. The villains ducked into the cottage, silently closing the door behind them. Without hesitation, the pair passed through the house and swiftly mounted the stairs. As they reached the top, a sliver of light cast by a cracked doorway fell across their path. This gap slowly widened to reveal a beautiful woman in an elegant nightdress.

  “Faelor, is that you?” asked a light and lovely voice.

  The smaller of the two intruders leapt on the frail figure and, with a single blow of his blackjack, brought her silently to the ground.

  “You'd've done better to kill her,” Barlan commented.

  “The Eilian may punish me for many sins, but not for murdering helpless women,” Mort snarled under his breath.

  “You've got no guts,” the hardhearted rogue chuckled quietly.

  A moment later, Barlan threw open a nearby door and the pair burst into a young girl's bedroom. Two figures stood staring out of the room's one window; listening to the town's ringing bells and watching the commotion in the streets below. One was an old woman, the other a young girl. Before either of them had time to turn their heads, the woman lay unconscious on the floor. The girl screamed, but Barlan instantly slapped his heavy hand over her mouth.

  “The entire town's screaming tonight, love; don't expect that anyone's heard yours,” the callous voice of the large brigand whispered in her ear.

  His short black beard rubbed the side of the young girl’s face. She struggled for a moment before going limp in the arms of her captor.

  “She's fainted,” Mort observed.

  “That'll make it that much
easier,” replied Barlan, tying a gag onto the delicate young girl.

  “We'd better take her some clothes,” Mort said, stepping over to one of the wardrobes.

  “Why?” Barlan asked, glancing up at his companion with a sarcastic smile.

  “She's not going to want to be dragged all over the countryside in a nightdress.”

  “No,” Barlan agreed, tying her hands and feet together as he spoke, “but I expect she's going to have a lot of things happen to her that she doesn't want.”

  “Still, I'll get her some clothes.”

  “You really are a warm-hearted maggot, aren't you?”

  Darian awoke just as the sun was peeking up over the treetops. Even at this early hour, it was obvious that the day was going to be beautiful. Rekindling the fire, the young knight was just beginning to start breakfast as his companion stretched himself with a yawn.

  “So, still determined to go on to Tagril?” Kilren asked sleepily, blinking slowly in the morning light.

  “I am,” Darian answered, throwing a few more sticks on the small fire. “You can't have expected me to say anything else.”

  “Well, I had a wonderful dream last night,” the rogue replied, rolling over on his side to look at the Telian. “A beautiful young woman in a flowing blue dress stepped lightly across the dew-covered grass, bent down, put her lips almost to my ear, and whispered gently with her sweet, warm breath, 'Fear not, in the morning Darian will know wisdom'. So, it gave me hope.”

  “Honestly?” Darian asked excitedly.

  Kilren stared at him silently for a moment before saying, “You really are a sucker, aren't you....”

  The young knight made no reply, but rather got up and retrieved his pan and a bag of meal from his pack. In less than an hour's time, they had cooked and consumed their breakfast, saddled their horses and broken camp. The pair pointed their mounts toward Tagril and kicked them into motion; riding side by side.

  “So, I expect you can pretty much do anything?” Kilren asked, as the pair reached the base of a large hill that overlooked the little town.