by JD Hart
Near the town square where Tatem Creeg’s likeness stood silent in the dark, the boys turned their attention to the building on their left. Two large, white columns supported an imposing marquee featuring the outline of a prancing horse pulling a cart, while the balconies for the six floors overhead vanished into the night sky: Estora’s Tavern and Inn. Two wide, hardwood doors held panes of colored crystal in the shape of frothing mugs, exaggerating the bright lights and lively movements of those within.
The two stepped through the portal and were immediately assaulted with the sights, sounds, and smells of the tavern. Several dozen tables crowded the room, filled with patrons and bonds busy eating, drinking, laughing, and arguing over recent local events. Several servers with brightly colored dresses and exhausted smiles wove through the crowded room, trying to keep up with demands while steering clear of roaming hands.
Conner and Pauli slipped through the noisy tavern, offering a nod to the plump bald man to their right. Estora’s husband, Minch Elflander, returned a haggard nod as he deftly placed several filled pewter mugs from each fist onto a waiting tray. The boys forgotten, Minch grabbed three more empty mugs placed on the bar by an impatient server and turned again to the dark oak barrel of Narwalen ale at his back.
The two continued through the middle section of the inn, sounds from the raucous tavern receding behind. To their left, the inn’s receptionist sat nearly hidden behind a tall, dark counter, staring inattentively at a book. To their right, a narrow wooden stair with painted iron rails spiraled to the six floors above where those leasing rooms would find their quarters.
While the two had walked with resolute certainty through both tavern and inn, their determination faltered when they arrived at a door near the back. They had never been in the Palaver Room, heightening its mystery and lore. Unlike the rest of the structure, the ancient oak-planked wall looming before them was completely void of decorations or hangings, except for the thick double doors beneath an archway containing an unusual stained glass window.
It was the seemingly random pattern of colored glass that gave the Palaver Room its enigmatic reputation for the arcane. The flickering glow of a fire within the room lit the glass, casting a distorted bowl-shaped image across the white ceiling over Conner’s head. His vision was taken by the radiant images coming to life in the reflected light. Warriors and Barbarians brandishing longswords battled while around them fallen comrades lay twisted and dying beneath the horses’ hooves. In the background, a keep wavered like a flag on a shifting hillside. And above the scene danced the blood red words, Let the light within illuminate that which is cast out.
The scene depicted Striker’s Battle, a pitched conflict of four hundred years before, more than a hundred years after the Anarchic War ended. Colonel Striker and half a score of ordermen leading two hundred Queen’s Defenders had ridden out from their newly built keep near the Borderlands to confront an invading army of over one thousand Anarchists commanded by two score Barbarians, Warlocks, and Black Knights. Every Warrior and Defender died that day, and the Anarchists claimed the keep. But the enemy forces had been so severely depleted by Striker’s assault that the keep was taken back by Harmonic forces the next fortnight. It had never been lost again. The keep had been renamed Striker’s Keep in honor of those fallen.
“Well? Are you two going in or do you plan to stand there until you grow roots?” boomed Estora Elflander from behind. She smiled warmly at them, a copper pitcher in her hand. The owner of the inn was a big woman, though her size was not in height. Her thin blond hair hung without a hint of curl, making her round face with small eyes and large lips seem even rounder. It was commonly rumored the woman had worked every day of her life, even, it was said, the afternoon she had given birth to her daughter, Niora, twenty years before. From her current disheveled appearance, Conner doubted she had taken a break all day. Though many thought her brazen, he knew the woman had a heart exceeding her frame. But her smile faded into a frown when the two made no move to either go in or get out of her way.
“Oh, now really! I don’t have all day to wait for you two.” She parted them easily with her thick arm, crossing the few remaining steps to the door they had been reluctant to take. She twisted the brass knob hard and pushed the doors wide. Without pause, she crossed to the fireplace, a red fox trotting close in tow, to pour a dark brown liquid from the pitcher into a large copper pot hanging near the fire. The boys took advantage of her entrance and trailed her through the doorway. The strong aroma of hot ciderbrew, a local concoction of lightly fermented apples, pears, and mulling spices, filled the smoky room.
The Palaver Room was the only part of Creeg’s Point that had survived the fires that nearly destroyed the town close to the end of the Anarchic War. It was a dark, rustic room ten paces across and ten deep, made of thick, mature oak. Wide beams of tightly pressed dark planks formed the flooring that did not creak even under Estora’s imposing weight. The fireplace, made from boulders of different shapes and sizes, spanned the entire back wall of the room. Embedded into the wall, a thick beam that matched the floor served as the fireplace’s mantel. A hearty fire crackled and popped in the large half-circular firebox, but Estora was not satisfied and heaped on another split log.
The other walls were made from the same hard oak as the floor. Adorning every section from floorboard to ceiling hung portraits, murals, tapestries, and plaques of people with names Conner did not know. About the room sat a dozen people Conner and Pauli’s age, studying them.
“Who enters without being noticed first?” A gruff-looking boy jumped from his seat, pressing up close to Conner. “Why have you come?” Judston demanded with a brooding scowl. Shy of a year older than Conner, the boy had always enjoyed bullying him.
All the others who had a moment before been sitting relaxed slowly rose to their feet.
Conner stiffened, too confused to answer.
Undaunted by the threat, Pauli stepped around Conner to get face-to-face with Judston. “We’re here for the pre-bonders meeting, but if this is fight night, then you can still count me in!”
To Conner’s surprise, this shattered the tense moment. Everyone broke out in laughter and crowded even closer, welcoming the two into the group with shakes and back slaps. After a few minutes, Conner edged his way to Pattria, who stood apart. “Where’s Moni?”
“She couldn’t come. Something to do with helping her dad prepare his shop for tomorrow’s sale. She’ll have to wait until the next meeting to be inducted.”
After a few minutes, Judston closed the doors and called the group back to order. The title of dean of the pre-bonders was assigned to the oldest of those who had attended Karlana Landcraft’s school but had not yet received the Calling. Though it was generally reserved for secretive town council meetings, Estora allowed the pre-bonders to use the Palaver Room for their social gathering once every fortnight and talk privately about their future as bonded adults in the community. After refilling their mugs with fresh, hot ciderbrew, everyone took their seats. Conner quickly took the chair beside Pattria.
Several of the older members started teasing the three new initiates about attending Karlana’s school. This was all Pauli needed to start in about the events of the morning. When Conner interjected how Karlana seemed to know what he was thinking, everyone in the room nodded their agreement.
“Yeah, that can be quite spooky,” someone commented.
But the statement did not pacify Pauli, who declared, “Karlana is more than spooky. I’m telling you, as sure as plants grow in dirt, the woman is crazy!”
Estora, who had entered to check on the copper pot, rounded full on Pauli, a pudgy forefinger wagging in his face as she scolded. “Pauli, as always, you do not know what you are talking about!” Several chuckled at her back. Estora moved to the firebox so she could take them all in with a stern look, fists planted on wide hips for emphasis. “A fool sees only the sickness that grips a man without seeing the man who grips the sickness.” She waited to let th
em consider the words. A few glanced down with newfound embarrassment while Pauli wrestled with the meaning. “Since you are all pre-bonders, I will go easy on you this time.” The entire room went deathly silent.
Since Estora had their attention, she continued. “Let me tell you a story. Once, there was a young, free-spirited orphan girl who showed exceptional promise in sorcery. In fact, she was so exceptional she was adopted by a Lady Sorceress, who took responsibility to school the girl properly. At the age of fourteen, she was accepted into the Sorcerers Order, younger than anyone ever before, even among those of privileged birth. It is said that by the age of bonding she had advanced to the rank of magus. And three years hence became magi adept, a rank less than half of all those in the order apparently achieve by midlife.
“Now, this woman had taken an eagle for a bond, but no ordinary eagle. The bird possessed an intelligence unseen in other animals. As she advanced her skills in sorcery, her preceptors began to observe her fighting style changing into a form heretofore unknown—a style possessing certain qualities of an eagle. Indeed, by the age of twenty-five, she was so powerful she could best most Sorcerers in practice.
“The Lady Sorceress was very proud of her adopted daughter’s accomplishments. So when the Sorcerers Order’s Council of Lords began speaking of making the young woman their Advocate for the Realm, the sole person their order would put forth as the next monarch’s Champion of the Realm, the Lady Sorceress heartily agreed. But while the young woman possessed all the necessary qualities to compete against the other orders’ advocates on the Field of Contest, she had none of the medals of honor or valor needed for advocacy. So the order’s lords requested that she be assigned to Striker’s Keep to complete the necessary requirements.
“For three fortnights, she saw little combat. Then one evening, she was assigned to lead a small patrol of Queen’s Defenders inside the Borderlands to investigate some suspicious activity. When the patrol did not report back the next morning, the keep’s colonel dispatched two full companies. They found the patrol, their bodies littering a hill, butchered to a man. And over the hill to the east, they found an entire battalion of Anarchists, two hundred strong, also dead to a man. But the Anarchists had not just been killed. Many had been dismembered, others disemboweled. Yet others were found with limbs and heads ripped from their bodies. In the midst of this gruesome carnage, they found the Sorceress’s eagle, dead from a dozen arrows. Though they examined each bloody corpse and sent scouts in every direction, they were unable to find the young sorceress.
“Several days later, a farmer east of here was bringing crops to market when he came upon a young woman wandering alone on the road, near to death from exhaustion, her cloak drenched in blood, though she had few cuts on her. He brought her straightaway to town, where Etrum Benhaven labored three long days to restore her health, and though her body was healing, her mind was slipping away.
“News of the Borderlands battle reached town, as it inevitably does with so many lost, so it wasn’t hard to put the events together. So the town council sent a message to the Sorcerers citadel near Loren Canyon. The Lady Sorceress arrived with her entourage to find her adopted daughter in an unfortunate state of mind. Nothing more could be done, so the Lady Sorceress purchased the last unfinished building in town. The town council agreed to take care of the young woman.”
In the silence following, Conner spoke the name on everyone’s mind: “Karlana Landcraft.”
Estora regarded him sadly. “That is her name now, yes.” She studied each face with a broad glance about. “There is enough awareness left in Karlana that she insists on repaying what was done for her, in the only ways she can. She heals bonds when they are sick, takes care of animals in distress, assists in schooling, and prepares those who soon will receive the gift she so gravely misses.
“I was told no one knows why Karlana bonded with such a powerful animal. But I overheard one magus here with the Lady Sorceress say it was because she was schooled in the elemental arts too early. I don’t pretend to know the ways of the orders. But I do know this, and it is something to heed well in your life. If your bond dies before you, may the Harmonics forbid, you will spend many years in Yearning. And for the simpleminded, or when the bonding is strong like it was with Karlana, Yearning can surely become maddening.”
Conner glanced up at the words etched into the stained glass above the door. He considered how a little knowledge could change his perspective on life.
No one seemed interested in breaking the silence, forgotten mugs of cooling ciderbrew in their hands, so Estora started toward the door. “I think I’d better make sure my tavern is still there.” She pulled the doors closed behind her without looking back.
Alton, a short stocky boy sitting next to Pauli, clenched his fists. “That wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for the Anarchists. For five hundred years, they have attacked the good people of Griffinrock and the other Harmonic Realms beyond. They refuse to abide by the agreements signed at the end of the Anarchic War. They aren’t going to leave us alone until they are destroyed.” A few nodded agreement, giving him the courage to continue. “I, for one, am going to join the Queen’s Defenders once I have bonded. And if I’m not good enough for the fighting guilds, then I’m going into the militia. Either way, I’ll die before I let Anarchists walk the Eastlands again.”
Pauli’s eyes lit up at the mention of the Queen’s Defenders, and he immediately hitched his plow to the back of Alton’s comment. He went right into how he and Conner had encountered a battalion of Queen’s Defenders in Greston Woods a few days before. Having captured everyone’s attention, he began embellishing the story so much Conner began to wonder if he was talking about a different escapade.
Near the end of Pauli’s tale, Conner became aware that the raucous din from the tavern had died away. No longer fascinated by Pauli’s wild fable, he moved cautiously to the door. Others noticed the unusual silence as well. By the time Conner reached the doors, everyone was crowded close behind with puzzled looks, attempting to peer over his tall shoulders—all except for Pauli, who stared blankly in mid-sentence at the backs of his once-attentive audience.
Conner pulled the doors wide. The stillness that met the group was palpable. Everyone in the tavern sat at their tables, captivated by a young woman standing between the inn’s stairs and the tavern’s ale bar beyond.
It was said the voice of Niora Elflander, Estora’s daughter, could make the most ardent of merchants pause, even while haggling over an especially profitable deal. Niora held a dulcimer, which she began to strum while her meadowlark bond, perched on the spiral railing behind, bobbed and pranced about. Those around Conner held their breath in anticipation. Someone pressed from behind. He turned to find Pattria smiling up at him. He stepped to the side and she slipped past, her narrow shoulders pressing against his chest.
From Niora’s dulcimer came the opening strains of “The Dreamer Sails and the Sailor Dreams,” an ancient Grenetian ballad sung along the Realm’s sea towns. As she sang, her meadowlark bond interjected melodic overtones in precise timing.
In the days when I was young
Many songs of love I’d sung
But the words never seemed to rhyme;
The meaning always wrong,
And the verses seldom long,
For it seems that only dreams could keep time.
Won’t you give me just one smile?
Yes, laugh with me a while,
For the songs of my past now seem sad.
Through the many endless years
I have cried a million tears
As I roamed for the home I never had.
Setting sail upon the sea
I wanted only to be free
From the songs as a youth I had known.
Carried by the changing tide
I crossed the oceans wide
Searching for a distant shore to call my own.
Then on a bright, clear morn
A new song in me was b
orn
For that day I sailed into view
Of a land I’d only known
Where the seeds of dreams are grown;
Never clear, never near, till I met you.
Won’t you sing for me your song
For my journey has been long
But I’m sure that my course has been true.
Will you take me by the hand,
And write our names into the sand?
For it seems I’ve found my dreams here with you.
It was nearly a minute before the enchantment broke, but when it did, the tavern erupted into loud applause. Niora curtsied with flushed cheeks, and immediately, a crowd of admirers lavished the singer with praise so she would be sure to sing again soon.
The evening waned and chores waited at first light, so those around Conner began saying their good nights. Through all of this, Pattria stared up at Conner expectantly. All had departed—except for Pauli and Alton, holding an ardent discussion on the numerous strengths of the Queen’s Defenders—so Pattria hooked her arm into Conner’s. “Walk me home?”
As they stepped past Niora, Conner paused. “What a lovely song, Niora.”
Niora flashed Conner a warm smile. “Thank you, Conner. I am glad you liked it.”
He opened his mouth to offer more admiration, but a hard tug on his arm sent him two steps nearer the doors, Pattria gripping his elbow all the tighter. They exited with haste before she slowed to a more comfortable pace.
“You really are quite incorrigible,” Pattria said with false irritation.
This of course, as she knew it would, only broadened his smile. He scanned the sky and pointed at Erebus nearing its zenith. “At least you know what you’re getting into.”
Pattria grunted disapprovingly, though she put little emotion behind it. In a small, private community as old as Creeg’s Point, it was vital to keep kinships strong. The future of the very community had to be considered from a greater vantage point when making decisions affecting others. So marriages were planned through rational discussions among parents. The Stonefields and Morelaces had long since agreed to Conner and Pattria’s betrothal.
