The Call of the Crown (Book 1)

by T. J. Garrett

  The path rose in a gentle incline as it turned slowly north towards the fork in the road, the place where Gialyn and his father had arranged to meet the Tanners. The track was never busy at this time of day. Indeed, it was never particularly busy at anytime. A horse and cart, now a hundred paces ahead, had thrown up a thin mist of dust that still lingered where they walked. Yet neither the noise of the horse’s footfalls nor the clattering of cart wheels was heard above the Geddy River as it surged—still fat with the spring melt—down through the weirs of the Alber canal, scarcely ten feet to the right of the path.

  Afternoon rays from the late-spring sun sent shards of brilliant light prancing off the Geddy’s mirrored surface. The patterns they made danced frantically in the shadows of the steep riverbank. At the base of the weir, white foaming crests formed where rocks stood proud above the surface. A pale mist twisted airily above them. The indiscernible breeze caught the vapours, lightening the heavy air around it. Gialyn was grateful for the cool spray—brief though it was.

  Any other day, he would be happy to take in the view. The Geddy Vale was his solace, his place of consolation, his guardian against the impractical imaginings of his youth. No matter what disappointment he met with, the valley was always there. He would always lose his troubles on a walk along the river—but not today! Today, he was low, depressed, and too miserable to pay the Geddy its well-earned admiration. Today, the vale seemed to taunt him, as if to say, “Look what you will be missing, you fool!”

  Gialyn turned away from it and fixed his eye on the distant horizon. The sight of it was nothing new or unusual. Yet, somehow, the view left him cold. The hills, valleys, and meadows—once a familiar backdrop—seemed strangely alien. Looking at them now made his palms sweat and his stomach churn, forcing him to catch a breath. Why should the view make him feel such dread? Was it a fear of the unknown? Again, he turned away.

  The state of Gialyn’s backpack was doing nothing to ease his present mood, either. Do we really need all this? Twisting from side to side, he hitched it up, adjusted the straps, twisting his neck and shoulders to find comfort, but couldn’t make it balance nicely on his back. Making do, he pushed his thumbs under the shoulder straps and let it be.

  Daric eyed his struggle. “You should have tied the bedroll to the bottom, like I said.”

  Gods, that is all I need, thought Gialyn. Barely ten minutes in and he’s already picking fault. He huffed under his breath, giving his pack another tug up his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it now,” Daric said. “You can fix it when we get to the footbridge. We should have some time. Likely as not, that girl, Elspeth, will be late.”

  “I doubt it.” Gialyn turned away from his father, mumbling a curse that Daric couldn’t hear—he hoped.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “She is the only one who actually wants to come on this trip.” The pain in his shoulders distracted Gialyn, as he had resolved to stay silent for a while after his father’s jibe about the bedroll. He saw his father raise a brow and then sarcastically mimic him by shuffling his own pack, smiling as he did so. Gods, this is just…

  “What do you think about that?” His father interrupted his thought.

  “Think about what?” Gialyn asked. He renewed his grip on his pack, wondering if his father was talking about that or about Elspeth. He hoped he was talking about his backpack.

  “About spending nigh on six weeks with that girl you like, maybe more.”

  Gialyn sighed. Of course, his father must know about his feelings for Elspeth—it was hardly a secret; half the town knew, probably Elspeth, too—yet he had never spoken to him about it before, and Gialyn was thankful for that. So why now? Why the sudden interest? Was he trying to make up for lost time? Had mother mentioned something?

  “I doubt she will notice. She is always too busy with her—”

  What am I doing? Why are we talking about his? Bad enough he wants to talk at all, but not this, not Elspeth… Please, gods, no! Gialyn glanced nervously to his side, wondering if his father would continue.

  “You are going to be stuck in close quarters with the girl. There will be no escaping it. You had best figure out a way to deal with it—and quick—before it turns into a problem,” Daric said.

  “What do you mean, ‘deal with it?’” Gialyn asked. Then, once more, immediately wondered why he did.

  Daric put a hand on Gialyn’s shoulder and moved closer. With a half-smile on his face, he spoke. “Decide how you’re going to treat her beforehand. I would go for the practical approach if I were you. Keep everything simple. If you need to ask her something, then ask her as though she were a work mate. If you need to tell her something, just come out and say it, as though you were talking to Meric or one of your other friends.” Daric squeezed Gialyn’s shoulder; his expression took a more serious tone. “Whatever you do, do not react to her moods. I promise you, whatever is causing it; chances are it will have nothing whatsoever to do with you. Learn how to bite your lip, you know what I mean.” He patted Gialyn on his shoulder and straightened up.

  “Oh.” Gialyn was surprised he was actually listening to his father and even more surprised he seemed to be making sense. “I… I will try that, thank you.” He really didn’t want to agree. Gods, he’ll be talking to me about where babies come from next! Stop agreeing with him.

  Daric pulled up at his straps and put a little bounce in his step. He seemed pleased that he’d had his little talk. Perhaps he thought that was one less problem to worry about—at least for now.

  “By the gods, I remember when I met your mother. I’m surprised she didn’t run at the sight of me.” Daric laughed so hard his backpack shook. He grinned while slowly shaking his head, amused, it seemed, at his own recollections.

  Gialyn wondered whether he should ask the obvious question. He balanced his curiosity with the anguish of holding a personal conversation with his father. After some apprehensive pondering, his curiosity finally got the better of him. “Why, what did you do that was so bad?”

  “What didn’t I do? I was such a foolish, hard-headed young man back in those days; I thought I knew everything.” Daric shook his head again and smiled as he stared along the path. “Let me put it simply, without too many details.” He gave a wry, sideways glance at Gialyn, apparently mindful that his son was fishing for controversy—and he was right, of course. “You should approach love with three simple rules: never lie, never pretend, and most importantly, never presume!”

  Gialyn was puzzled. “What do you mean by… ‘presume?’”

  His father suddenly grew a little flushed and fidgety, perhaps realizing he had opened the door to an awkward subject and had stuck his big foot right in the middle of it. Serves him right. “Well… uh… without being too blunt,” Daric said. “‘Never presume’ means be respectful and wait or even ask permission.”

  “Oh!” Gialyn was horrified. He wasn’t expecting that at all. Oh no… Gods, get me out of this conversation, quickly! He knew exactly what his father meant by “ask permission.” He answered quickly with a simple “I see” and quickly looked over at the river… to the sky… to his feet… to the bush drooping sidelong against the edge of the path—anywhere but at his father.

  Daric looked as if he was just about to continue when his attention was drawn to something up ahead. He pointed along the track towards the fork in the road. “Is that… Grady up there?” he asked, cupping his hands around his eyes to get a clearer view.

  Gialyn creased his eyes and then—silently praising the gods for the timely change of subject—he laughed. “Yes, I think it is… Come to say good-bye. That is good of him.”

  Daric stood, one fist on his hip, the other scratching his chin. He blinked and looked again. “He has not come to say good-bye. There is a backpack on the ground next to him.” He shook his head, mouth half open in bewilderment. “Where is he going?”

  The crease of a smile crossed Gialyn’s lips. He knew the reason Grady had his pack with hi
m—at least he hoped he did. Please, gods, let him be coming! Please, gods, let him be coming! The thought kept repeating all the way to the fork in the road. If nothing else, Grady’s presence would keep his father off his back.

  * * *

  The cart that was ahead of them was now parked by the side of the track. The driver stood by the wheel on the far side, mallet in one hand, scratching his head with the other. He looked puzzled and in a dim mood.

  Daric gave him a nod. “Is everything all right?”

  The driver shook his head. “The cotter pin is split. Nothing I can do here. I’ll just shore it up. I will have to go back and fetch Gobin to fix it.”

  “He was at the canal half an hour ago, shoeing one of the pit ponies.”

  “Oh, thank you… Daric, is it?”

  “Yes, Daric Re’adh.” Daric gave a shallow nodding bow.

  “Harnon Gaulman.” He put his hand to his chest and returned Daric’s nod. “The canal, you say. Good, at least I do not have to walk all the way back to Alber.”

  Daric nodded again before continuing on to where Grady stood. “And what is all this?” Daric asked, pointing at the pack resting against the back of Grady’s legs. He, too, realised what was going on. “Are you coming all the way to Bailryn?”

  Grady tittered. “Ah, so you figured me out. Well, you didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?”

  Daric’s mind spun. For three days, he had considered how he was going to handle three youngsters by himself on such a long trip. It had not been an easy thought. A flash of relief sparked in his eyes when Grady confirmed he was joining them for the entire journey. Nevertheless, he was still puzzled. “You can’t just pick up and leave. What about work? Your home! What abo—”

  Grady interrupted. “Slow down. I have it all under control. The new man, Arlen, is staying at my house and taking on some of my shifts at the canal. He was more than happy to help. Good man that Arlen.”

  Daric still looked unconvinced.

  “I have cleared it with Tanner,” Grady said. “He was more than happy. ‘An extra escort cannot hurt.’” Grady did a fair impression of the emissary. “He even called me by name, and he’s paying me, too. It is all arranged, Daric. Don’t you go worrying about it.” Grady folded his arms and waited for a response.

  “If you’re sure,” Daric said.

  Grady stilted his smile; his expression became serious. “To be honest, friend, I need a change. Things have gone a bit… stale… of late, too much like one long day running into another. Why not take a trip, get away for a few months?” Again, he waited. Daric wondered why. He didn’t need his permission to join them. Nevertheless… “It is all right with you, isn’t it?”

  “Are you joking? I would have paid you myself if I had the money.” Daric leaned forward and shook Grady by his shoulders. The wide grin on his face told all how happy he was at the idea. “I think it wi—”

  CRACK!

  Daric and Grady spun round towards the noise.

  SNAP!

  The cart began to list to the right. Harnon slipped on the incline, almost falling into the river. He gathered himself and ran to the front. Frantically, he tried to loosen the harness before the cart slipped down the bank and took the horse with it into the river.

  “Help! Help me!”

  Daric, Grady, and Gialyn were already halfway there. Daric pointed to the horse. “Help him with the strapping, Gialyn.”

  Gialyn joined Harnon. The horse was panicking. Its eyes bulged. It whickered frantically, pulling its harness tighter and tighter. Gialyn couldn’t get a finger under it, never mind undoing the buckles.

  “With any luck, he’ll snap it,” Harnon said. “It’s too bloody tight to undo, and I cannot get close enough to calm him.”

  The horse whickered frantically and kicked out at Harnon. Panic flashed in its eyes. Every kick of its hind legs scraped the broken wheel against the hard ground. The spokes shattered and splintered, and with each snap of a spoke, it tilted more towards the steep bank and the rushing weir of the Geddy River.

  Daric and Grady braced up against the cart, one on either side of the broken wheel. “You get ready to jump,” Daric shouted. Grady just nodded. Both men had shoulders pushed hard against the cart rail. Daric could see what was happening. If the horse didn’t calm down, the poor thing would follow the cart down the bank. “Gods, why haven’t you got that bloody horse free yet?” He grabbed the spokes, Grady took hold on the other side, and both men heaved with all their strength. It had little effect; still the cart slid closer and closer to the edge.

  Suddenly the cart stopped sliding and lifted away from them. Daric and Grady tumbled to the ground as the broken wheel spun free. Quickly, they got to their feet. Daric’s jaw dropped at the sight of Gialyn’s “giant” standing at the rear of the cart.

  The giant’s face was expressionless, as though the weight of a cart full of raw pig iron had little effect on him. He simply nodded at the two of them. Daric and Grady looked to each other with disbelieving smiles.

  The other man—the older one with the cane, the giant’s companion—walked casually forward. Stopping by the side of the horse, he ran his hand gently along its flank, whispering quietly as he moved forward. He passed his cane to Gialyn and laid his hands on either side of the horse’s head. Slowly, the old man moved closer until his brow touched the horse’s nose. All the fear appeared to flow out of the animal. It whickered gently and stood calm. Its eyes blinked; its breathing levelled to a steady pant.

  The older man looked to his friend and pointed to the verge across the path. Slowly, the two of them led the horse and cart away from the riverbank. “You can unhitch him now,” the older one said, calmly looking at Harnon while stroking the horse’s muzzle.

  “Thank you, sir, thank you.” Harnon bowed almost to his knees as he moved to unhitch the horse’s straps. “Harmon Gaulman is my name, sir. I’m in your debt. If there is anything—”

  “No need for debts, my friend. It was our pleasure to help. This is my friend Arfael”—he gestured towards the “giant”—“and I am Olam.

  Arfael bowed to Harmon.

  The cart-man nervously bowed back. “He’s a handy one to have around,” Harnon said to no one in particular.

  Olam laughed. “Yes, I suppose he is at that.”

  Arfael smiled, showing two rows of dog-like teeth.

  Olam turned and started to walk towards Daric and the others. “Hello, my friends, I’m Olam, and this is my friend Arfael.” He bowed deeply with his open hand placed on his chest. “Good that you were here. I feared we would be too late. If you hadn’t stopped it sliding…”

  Arfael lumbered up beside Olam.

  “Gods, it is him. It’s the giant.” Gialyn’s muffled whisper was louder than he expected. He quickly put his hand to his mouth and swallowed hard.

  Daric greeted Olam and the giant with a friendly handshake. “I think the thanks should be all yours.” He looked over the two men.

  The lumbering Arfael was huge, probably over eight feet, maybe more, even with his slouch. The long, light-brown linen cape he wore barely reached around his immense shoulders. It clasped at the neck with a thick iron ringlet that attached to two lengths of cord woven in and out at the collar in a most sturdy fashion. He had arms the thickness of Daric’s leg, with hands the size of coal shovels and fingers the thickness of tent pegs.

  Arfael slouched forward, looking down on Daric from inside his hood. Staring passively, the giant had cat-like eyes—yellow with oddly shaped pupils. There appeared to be no profile to his face; all was flat, yet distinctive in feature. A thick, barely shaven, jaw protruded like that of a wolf or dog from inside his hood. A thickset forehead, lined with bushy eyebrows, and a flat nose took up much of his face, completed the stranger’s unusual facial features. Despite the curious qualities, he had a striking look, not ugly at all, but clearly, he was not Surabhan.

  Daric tried not to stare. He quickly turned his gaze back to the ol
der man.

  Olam was more common in appearance. It looked to Daric as though he may be a teacher or perhaps a man of letters. He certainly spoke well enough to be a learned gent. He held himself proud. There was no slouching here; he was standing as straight as a plumb line, even when he leaned on his long cane. He was clean-shaven and had smartly combed golden hair—long, with just a touch of grey at the temple, and kept back in a ponytail by a thin leather tie. The cut and style of his clothing led Daric to conclude he was no labourer, miner, or farmer—those were the common trades in Ealdihain. Otherwise, he looked quite average, especially when compared to his friend. However, he did have a strange sense of calm about him, as though he had travelled far, seen much, and had come away the wiser for it.

  Daric looked over the two men with his guardsman’s eye. Helpful or not, he wasn’t a man to accept strangers easily, no matter how gracious their first meeting may have been. Something about the two unsettled him, most notably, their weapons!

  “Why are you so at arms?” Daric pointed at the weapons he carried. “Sword, knife, bow, axe—are you expecting trouble?”

  Olam laughed. “By Ein’laig, no!” he said, taking up the sword and knife by their hilts. “These belong to my friend here. I carry them in exchange for him carrying my pack, a fair trade I would say. The bow is mine; the axe is for cutting firewood.”

  His reasoning settled Daric a little.

  Olam continued. “No, sir, we are most certainly not looking for trouble. Arfael and I are here in hopes of finding travel companions. We heard a group might be journeying east. In my experience, it is always better travelling in a group.”

  Daric nodded and eased his stance a little, feeling, as it were, calmed by Olam’s manner and explanation. Still, his surprise at coming across such a man as Arfael left him ill at ease. He knew nothing of his race—if indeed there were such a people. Maybe it is just him. Perhaps he is Surabhan and just born that way. As was with most folk, Daric had a tendency to worry about what he didn’t know.