Merchants used loud shouts, bad rhymes and mainly foul language to praise their goods. The smell of spices arose from the food stalls. The children’s shrieks, while they charged on the candy stalls, echoed throughout the city.
The royal abode, soaring with all its might, stood on the hill overlooking the city clock square. It also was decorated with gleaming ribbons. The kingdom's flags rippled on its towers.
The guard started its patrol from the royal abode's gates, throughout the city's street, and then returned to the city clock square. The guard's commander, his huge black moustache covered most of his face, marched at the front line, pounding a massive drum. After him, marched a dozen knights in traditional armour and livery, some were flag-bearers and some hold their swords in the royal form. Behind them marched players that strummed, blew, and hit various instruments and contraptions. After them, at the end of the procession, a cart was drawn by mules, loaded with larkmouth flowers, which sang in unison and harmony, from bass to soprano, the kingdom's anthem:
"Here between the Uruklip Mountains to the abyss,
The night will sing on the morning bliss.
Between whispering ocean and Asador sea
The sun will praise the moon for all to see.
We came from dirt, yet here we remain,
Until it is time to return to it again.
For justice we serve and uphold,
Carrying the weapon of love for all.
Nature kingdom, its name is renowned,
Its name's truth shall be known.
We'll guard each river and brook,
Swearing fealty to our kings of Wonderook.
We were born in nature, and here shall live free,
Because he was here before us, and always shall be.
For a rainbow sky and flower beds sight
All of us shall gallantly fight.
We will not be deterred by Chaos,
We will not hesitate, join us!
We will shout in the light against the end,
We will obey your rules, our nature friend.
Nature kingdom, its name is renowned,
Its name's truth shall be known.
We'll guard each river and brook,
Swearing fealty to our kings of Wonderook."
"Make way!" the commander called occasionally. "The Adventurers' Tournament mission will be announced exactly on the purple tree hour!"
Everyone understood his meaning. Every city and village has a clock at the central square, also called a Horistus Clock, on the name of the Biston, who had invented it 6,770 years before. The clock is comprised of eleven tall cypress trees situated in a half-circle form. Each one of the cypresses has a different and unique leaf colour. The other half-circle is comprised of eleven night candles and flowers, located parallel to the cypresses, and with opposite colour spread. In the centre of the circle stands a rotating statue of the Biston Horistos decked in silver armour.
Reading the clock is easy enough. When the sun rises, Horistus's statue casts the first shadow on the blue cypress tree, and the statue turns blue; this is the first blue hour. As the sun progresses along the sky, Horistos turns yellow from the yellow cypress. This is the yellow hour, the second hour of the day.
At the last day hour, as the sun sets behind the red tree and the moon appears, Horistus's armour reflects the purple moonlight and lights the blue night candle flower, the first hour of the dark. So the hours of the dark progress, but the statue of Horistus does not rotate.
During notime, when both the sun and moon does not grace the skies, the words "Strike" appear on Horistus's armour and the dwarf lowered his head. Some say that he does so in respect to the horrors of the dark times. Others joke and say that he does so in shame because the clock cannot work at that time.
In plain words, the purple tree hour, the hour in which the tournament mission will be announced in the third hour of the day.
Chapter 3 - A Reunion
Loud laughter and tinkling glasses were heard from the open feast at the local wine bar, also called "the three dimensions" bar. All along the long bar, chilled ice wine was poured into glasses made from dry ice. Even though the hour was quite early, many visitors and local patrons were already drinking: some of them could not find a suitable place to sleep and stayed on the floor.
Wooden tables were arrayed all over the bar, varied in their size: small, medium and large. Some speculated that this was the source for the bar's curious name. The beer glasses, also arrayed in three distinct sizes, were refilled over and over again.
Loud cheering voices were heard from one of the tables, where a boisterous group of red-nosed bistons competed in arm wrestling. At the next table, three moustached humans played cards, wearing expensive suits and tall hats, smoke rising from their cigars. The waitress, a tall, shapely, flaxen-haired elven girl, received the attention of all the patrons when she squealed, as her buttocks were repeatedly pinched.
An old lutin stood in the corner, playing a music box that was twice his size, turning its handle over and over. The rhythmic music added to the joyous atmosphere of the place.
A blind and limping beggar walked between the tables, using his cane for guidance, he stopped at each table, stretching his hand for alms. Many scraped copper coins for him; others shared their meal with him and allowed him to enjoy a glass or two. Also, there were others that ignored him altogether.
"Well, Dunlop, you promise to tell me the source of the grey elf," a thin and reedy voice was heard from one of the tables. It was a small and energetic squab, wearing a media painter vest, covered with soot and brushes sticking out of its many pouches. Opposite him sat an elven fellow, his slick hair parted in the middle, thin moustache, wearing gaudy reporter robes and a yellow necktie. On his robes, he proudly presented his newspaper yellow embroidery "Notizia Newspaper – From all over the world to you".
"You're right," said Dunlop. "Well, Serdamus, here it goes. Like I've said before, the source of this evil race is quite interesting. Especially since it is linked with the birth of evil in this dimension, birth of wickedness, birth of the immortals, and more important – the birth of notime."
"What?!" wondered Serdamus. "The notime?"
"We'll eventually reach that particular detail," said Dunlop. "You know that the grey elves are also called stone elves, since in their veins, instead of warm blood, flows molten stone. The grey elf can see in the dark and has a keener sense of smell than a mole. This race is more cunning than any fox and more poisonous than any snake."
"Oh dear," muttered Serdamus.
"Ancient elven tomes relate that with the founding of the Nature Kingdom, more than seventy thousand years ago, the golden elves were chosen to rule and guide this kingdom, because they were the most advanced of all races at the time. The elves themselves have chosen Wonderook, their leader, to reign over them as king. He governed the land with wisdom and generously, respecting all the different races, keeping the harmony between the continent denizens and the nature, teaching them to uphold its laws.
"After a few years, the king discovered that his wife, the queen Natrischia, is barren and cannot bear him an heir or heiress. As was the custom is those days, the king searches for an elven woman to bear him his heir, and Serin was chosen."
"Serin…" nodded Serdamus.
"A year later, the firstborn son of Wonderook was born and named Dwiler. And with his birth, the king received some wondrous news: his own wife, Natrischia, was pregnant."
"So she wasn't barren after all," understood Serdamus.
"Yes," answered Dunlop. "A year later, Natrischia gave birth to Wonderook's second child, Mitafolas."
"King Mitafolas, I think I heard of him," said Serdamus gladly.
"Good," said Dunlop. "Well, Dwiler and Mitafolas have grown together as brothers and love each other. After thirty-three years, while they both attended the elven academy, a terrible accident happened. Dwiler fell from his horse during a riding class. Dwiler and Mitafolas were racing at the
time, and Mitafolas could not stop the horse in time, and ran over his poor brother, killing him on the spot."
Serdamus hummed sadly.
"The royal abode mourned his passing," continued Dunlop. "But Serin, Dwiler's mother, blamed Mitafolas for intentionally killing his brother so that he could inherit the throne of the kingdom. King Wonderook and queen Natrischia was angered upon hearing her accusations and banished her from the kingdom. Mournful and vengeance-ridden, Serin desecrated her son's grave, kidnapped his body and fled to an island near Nature, near the south-western corner of the continent."
"What?" wondered Serdamus. "She stole the body?"
"Yes," Dunlop nodded. "And there she turned to practicing dark magicks. She devised a spell, which will return her son to life so he can inherit his father's throne. After many years, Serin finished the spell. The elven woman chanted for an entire night while the skeleton grew flesh upon its bones, but the skin itself was dry, coarse, and…"
"Grey," finished Serdamus.
"A storm had begun," Dunlop threw his hands in the air, "as if the sky themselves threw their wrath on the forbidden magick, and the thunder hammered above. The ground began to boil and dead bodies and skeletons emerged from the earth, from all the races of the world. ’Kolchis!’ The horrible sound of that grey elf grated as he stood on his legs. ’Kolchis!’ called the dead bodies and skeletons from their morbid lips. The dead surrounded him reverently. ’Kolchis!’ called the stone elf with his demonic voice and pointed at his exhausted mother. ’Kolchis!’ called the dead and covered her with their dead hands and fingers."
"Oh dear," muttered Serdamus.
"The morning did not rise in Nature that day," said Dunlop dramatically. "All Nature denizens are used that in Nature, and in this dimensions, the sun rises in the west and sets in the east; the purple light of the moon appears with the setting of sun and lights all night at the same place with its curiously square shape. But this day, the sun did not rise, and when the moon's turn arrived – it also disappeared. Fear was not a concept that was known in Nature until now, and its arrival was terrifying."
"Whew!" called Serdamus.
"So the stone elves were created," concluded Dunlop, "and brought to this dimension not only its timeless denizens, the immortals, but also the first notime is Nature's history. Since that day, the two races hate each other. The sylvan golden elves and their cousins, the stone elves, are mortal enemies in every conceivable way."
"Kolchis… Isn't it the name of Klaxes's castle, the abode of the eldritch dragon?" said Serdamus.
"Yes," continued Dunlop, "almost one hundred years ago, a necromancer, a stone elf, one of the descendants of Kolchis, tried to marshal Hashon's forces. After the repeated failures of his forefathers to conquer Nature, he decided to gather the strongest army ever to march on Nature. In order to do so, he brought a black dragon from the forbidden Dragon Dimension. He tricked the Inferno god to open a gate between the dimensions. The necromancer offered to Klaxes, the black dragon, all the riches of the Nature kingdom if he would join his cause.
"But Klaxes's ambition was greater, since it is the nature of a black dragon. After the dragon passed between the dimensions, Klaxes turned on the necromancer and ate him in front of his two sons, Sernin and Hubris. He allowed them to live and crowned himself the monarch of Kolchis. He taught Sernin powerful magicks and gave him the name Kruzar, the word 'highmage' in the Draconic tongue. He taught Hubris, the younger son, how to wield a sword and command armies."
"Waitress, more beer!" called the squab.
"I can't believe it!" said Dunlop.
"What? It's only my second glass," said Serdamus.
"No, I'm not talking about this," said Dunlop, looking at a certain point at the other side of the bar. "Over there, the man with the hood," he leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "this is Claude Achtisanor."
"What? Claude Achtisanor? No way!"
"I tell you, this is Claude," insisted Dunlop.
The beggar reached their table and stretched his hand.
"I will never forget his face," continued the elven man, searching for coins in his pocket, which did not move an inch until some coins touched his hand. "I tell you, this is Claude Achtisanor." He found a copper coin and put it in the beggar's hand.
"No way," laughed Serdamus, "Claude Achtisanor is twice as tall and thrice as wide as this fellow." He drank from his beer glass, "and if you are so sure, why don't you go and ask him yourself."
At the corner of the bar, nursing a wine glass, sat Achtisanor, wearing his black and worn cape. His greying braids and beard protruded from the hood he wore on his head. His grim eyes were focused on a fixed point on the wall.
"You know, this is exactly what I will do," Dunlop rose from his seat, straightened his tie and moved towards Achtisanor's table.
"No one will interrupt my friend while he drinks!" a thin arm shot and grabbed Dunlop's shoulder. "Not I, neither will you, nor the squealing maid, methinks."
Dunlop turned with alarm and saw that the hand was connected to a reed-thin man, bald shaven and thick of brow, which eyed the curvaceous waitress that passed beside him. He wore patched leather armour. A big backpack, from which peeked a small copper harp, was hanging from his shoulder at a dangerous angle.
"And to whom may I be addressing? If I may ask, mister…" wondered Dunlop.
"Oh," the man shifted his eyes back to him, "I am the famous travelling bard, Monsieur Francois De-Fontain Fantastick." His head was held high in pride. "My good friends call me De-Stik!"
"Well, okay, well, gee…" muttered Dunlop, as he knew this name quite well.
"Well, okay, and gee to you as well, stop stuttering and your words do tell!" De-Stik drank from his wine glass.
"Well, I am sorry, mister, ahh… Master De-Stik…" Dunlop tried again.
"Stop your muttering! My memory might be deceiving my soul, but I do not recall that we called ourselves friends at all," interrupted De-Stik.
"Oh, yes, I am sorry again, mister… De-Fountain Fantastick," Dunlop managed at least to utter a full coherent sentence. "Might you be so kind to answer my question?"
"I would answer with much glee," said De-Stik. "But wouldn't it be helpful if you first asked me?"
"Well, okay," apologized Dunlop. "My friend, Serdamus, and I have a dilemma," he pointed toward the squab sitting on the table. The squab himself was furiously drawing the tall thin man on a small paper canvas, "Is the master sitting there in the corner Sir Claude Achtisanor, also known as Claudiomaris in the elven language?"
"The one and only, good sir!" said De-Stik. "And heed me advice: bother him not, he might not be so nice!"
"Yes," Dunlop staggered away from him. "Of course, Master De-Fountain Fantastick, we will not bother him," and he sat in his seat.
"That Achtisanor is very weird," Serdamus turned the page in his canvas folder. "The way he is sitting there, not moving a muscle."
"You see, I was right!" said Dunlop. "Now shut up and start painting him too. We have a story to write. If Dr-S…" he looked around to see that De-Stik was out of hearing range. "If De-Stik and Achtisanor are here," he lowered his voice, "only the lutin is missing. My gods, this could be the scoop of a lifetime," he whispered with much enthusiasm. "I can already see the title. 'Tigertief Reunited!' I am telling you, Serdamus, our competitors will be pink with envy!" His eyes shone.
"Bartender!" the smiling voice of De-Stik echoed in the room, "my glass is empty for more than second, how could this atrocity have happened?"
The bartender opened a new wine bottle and refilled De-Stik's glass. As the last drop of the bottle filled the glass, it suddenly shattered, and the wine splashed on De-Stik's pants.
"Oops, excuse me. Sorry, sorry," a small and amused voice said behind De-Stik. "I didn't really mean for it to happen, I only wanted to shatter the glass… and…" he laughed. "Well… It seems that I succeeded! Pretty cool, eh?"
De-Stik turned towards the familiar and annoying voice. A little a
nd fat lutin held his big belly while he laughed wholeheartedly.
"Krunch!" De-Stik lifted the laughing creature from the floor. "Choop Krunch, ha ha ha! It is really you," he raised him above his head. "Time to say goodbye to all you knew!"
The lutin stopped laughing and a trace of fear crept into his features.
"Whew, you've got bigger since I saw you last," marvelled De-Stik and put the lutin on the bar before him, ignoring the jests around him, "you grew an inch more, but your belly is about to burst."
"And I thought you drank yourself to death," the red colour returned to Krunch's face. He jumped from the bar to De-Stik's arms, and he immediately noticed a copper plate hanging from his bag. "Whew, what's that?"
"Ah, this is a gift I received from some followers," De-Stik prided himself. "This is the talisman of the order of the Lyrical Maulers." He shows Krunch their initials L.M. carved on the plate.
"Ahh… the Lyrical Maulers…" Krunch smiled a hesitant smile towards De-Stik. He never even heard of that order.
"Excuse me," said Dunlop, the reporter, and his hand holding a small quill and parchment stood in front of Krunch; Serdamus peeked behind him. "I am sorry to bother you again, the esteemed Mister De-Fountain Fantastick," he apologized, "and hello to you, Mage Choop Krunch! It is good to see you, or should I say, the three of you, back in one place… I will be happy if you could answer some questions –"
"I have no time for the prattling of the press," De-Stik looked menacingly at him, "you bothering me without any recess!"
"Yes, you are bothering us, sir, and my friend is more than upset," Krunch added solemnly.
"Let's have a sit," he laughed when he saw Dunlop's figure disappearing into the crowd. "I have lost all patience. I want to hear everything, what was so important? The letter that you've sent me already sent goose bumps all over my body… Where Achtisanor did came from? It hit me like a ray of light during a notime…"
Logan Marsh: A Thrilling Fantasy Novel (Action Adventure,Mystery, Y/A Book 1) Page 3
