by BJ Hanlon
“I wasn’t–”
“With some food in our bellies and a good couple of nights sleep, we’ll be set for the final leg,” Master Horston said.
“So, we’re headed to Alestow I presume,” Edin stated more than asked. It was a large city that spanned a thin peninsula, one side touched the Mirasa Sea the other the Crimson Ocean. A major port city with a large Por Fen presence.
Grent glanced around and whispered, “Carrow.”
He raised an eyebrow. Carrow was a hundred leagues north of Alestow in a natural bay. To get to the isles from there would take a long sea voyage. Then he remembered Horston saying something about it not being in the southern isles.
They ate and had another ale. Edin sat back after he finished his entire plate of food and looked out into the rest of the inn.
The crowd was dwindling, though a few louder men with darker complexions and golden embroidered bandanas around their heads laughed a few paces from the fire place.
Edin felt his eyes growing tired and his head a little bit loopy as he finished his third mug of the poor ale.
“Well I’m tired,” Dephina said nudging Grent. He instantly stood and nodded at Master Horston and Edin.
“Don’t wear him out too much. Tomorrow we need to resupply,” Master Horston said. “And horses, I’m sick of walking.”
“I can’t promise anything.” She grinned and winked at them.
Edin took another drink as a warming sensation flowed through his body. It mixed with drowsiness like oil and water in a barrel after a quick shake. It was as if he were on the edge of sleep and staying up for hours.
“I think it’s time for bed,” Master Horston said and pushed himself up.
Edin looked down at his ale, still nearly half full.
“I’ll be up shortly,” Edin said taking a drink.
The old man nodded and disappeared up the stairs. To the right, a man dressed in leather armor began belting out a song, a few others joined. People watched, some laughed others rolled their eyes at the drunken revelry.
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself safe in Yaultan. Enjoying the company of old friends listening to Ulson’s tales or chatting with Berka and Kesona.
Months ago, when there was nothing to worry about except which university he’d attend or how to get out of going to one, this would be a night of excitement. Now excitement, if he could call it that, was almost being slaughtered. Edin felt tears welling up.
Now, his only job, if it was that, was to get off the continent in secret.
As he sat, he realized he hadn’t spent much time thinking about it, wondering what the Isle of Mists was like. Would it be a sanctuary where he could openly display his gifts? Where there other people his age, other magi? Would it be only old men and women stuck in small rooms with little food?
What about laws, he figured magi could wield a lot of power, what happened if two began a fight… or a duel. Mage duels in the few old stories still told always precipitated burnt villages, rotting livestock or blazing fields.
He set his empty mug on the table and stood. Walking past the group of men joyfully singing and laughing struck him. He tried to put on a smile as he slipped up toward the room.
A few doors away he heard quick breaths and a soft cry and was almost certain he heard the terrin’s name from Dephina’s voice.
Edin turned red and darted to his room slipping inside. The small oil lamp sat on a dresser, its flame low. Master Horston was already snoring in his bed in a smooth rhythm.
Heck, even the stoic warrior and deadly bard seemed to be happy, maybe even falling in love. What a story that would make, Edin thought. Grent gave up everything to protect a magus and see him safely out of the grips of the Por Fen only to find a soul mate… if those were even real.
Edin opened the window, letting in the cool night’s air. He took off his tunic and felt the breeze strafe his body. Voices from below poured up through the window, joy was in them and Edin felt envious.
He looked out into the darkness and thought about exploring the city the next day, the things he’d see. The palace, the university, maybe the arena. He heard there was one in every city. Some days it held fights where men tested each other in battle, other times people dressed up and told stories. Theater they called it. People pretending to be someone else. For a long time, he didn’t get it… but now as he thought, he understood. If he had the ability to be someone else… not a magus, would he take it?
His dreams of adventure, seeing new places and experiencing new things were all coming true, but like any wish granted in the old fairy tales they came at a cost he’d never imagined. If he could get his mother and Kes back, he’d trade anything.
Lying down, Edin covered his head with his pillow and closed his eyes allowing the memories of an old life to roll over him as quiet tears rolled down his face.
13
First Day Off
He woke with a slight headache as the sun rose. His mind was clear and soon the normal aches from a day on the road came shortly. There was no chance he’d be able to sleep anymore.
Glancing over he saw Master Horston still snoring, wisps of his mustache fluttering like leaves in the breeze.
His mouth felt dry as he dressed. Edin wondered if it was possible to take a bath here, and maybe get his cloths washed. He’d have to ask the innkeeper when he saw him. He grabbed a wooden cup and stuck it in a stone wash basin scooping out water and sucking it down. After a few cups he splashed some on his face.
An urge to train came over him, exercising felt almost like an addiction, though there was no possibility of practicing his talent here. Master Horston told him some cities have alarms that trigger if anyone uses the forbidden arts. That sounded a bit like magic.
But maybe he could find a spot for his mundane exercises.
His body began to wake as he reached the common room. A few people looked up from their bowls of steaming breakfasts. Estillan pushed out of the swinging door and looked at him, she scrunched her nose as if saying he stunk.
“Can I have some water?” Edin asked. The woman huffed and turned around. He made his way over to the desk where the innkeeper had stood the night before.
A small bell rested on the counter. Edin tapped it, instantly regretting the decision as the noise reverberated through his head causing the headache to increase ten-fold.
The innkeeper appeared the same as the night before except the smile wasn’t as bright and he looked in as much pain as Edin.
Estillan dropped a mug of water next to him and turned away.
“One for me too daughter,” the man said rubbing his temples. “What can I help you with young man?”
Edin took a sip from the warm liquid. “I had a few questions.”
“The palace is down the avenue about five hundred yards east…”
“Actually, I was wondering about a place to practice sword, then maybe get a bath and my cloths laundered.”
“Behind the stables is a small field, there will be some horse droppings, but you’ll be getting a bath, so I wouldn’t worry about it, just leave your boots out back when you return. Flag me down when you are done and we’ll set up the rest, I assume you have coin?”
“My guard holds my coin,” Edin said tilting the mug back to get every drop. The pounding of his head subsided slightly but didn’t go completely away.
“And he’ll pay?”
“Yes,” Edin said. “It is my families coin he carries.”
The next two hours were spent practicing his sword forms and strength exercises. He thought about asking Dephina to borrow her knives, but the idea of seeing her and Grent in a tangle of human flesh was unappealing.
His blade whirled through the air as he practiced. The sound of the wind being sliced made him feel like he was actually attacking something of importance other than the imaginary foes he currently fought in his mind.
Edin’s chest was pounding when he finished the forms for the third time. He wiped the swea
t from his eyes and took deep breaths of the city air. It felt unclean and even tasted dirtier. It was like gnawing on an uncured strip of leather while standing near a blacksmith’s forge. He sheathed his sword as he started toward the back of the inn when something caught his eye.
Propped up against the stables sat a long wooden stick. It looked about the same size as his quarterstaff back in the room. Edin stared at it for a few moments when the image of the magus in the mural popped into his head. The man carried a staff and a sword. That didn’t mean the mural man knew how to use them both as weapons. Maybe the other was an enchanted staff, though he wasn’t sure what that would mean.
He moved closer and inspected it. On the base there was a threading pattern about three fingers wide, he’d seen these before, used to screw into a rake or a shovel most likely.
Edin picked it up and felt the weight and twisted it in his hand. A little heavy and stiff.
He flipped it around his hand, using its weight and momentum to carry it over his knuckles and catch it as it was about to tumble to the ground.
“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” Edin whispered trying to convince himself to give it a shot. Edin glanced at his left hand, it was the weaker of the two but after duel wield practice with Dephina, he felt he may be able to handle it.
Unsheathing his sword again and holding it in his right hand he gripped the stick. He wasn’t about to call it a staff. It’d be like calling a donkey a warhorse.
Edin started with it at the unthreaded end, but the weight was tough on his wrist and moved it to the center. He found a better balance and less stress on his ligaments.
Taking a relaxed standing pose he held both weapons in front of his body. The first sword form was easy for his body to get through and had become second nature. Muscle memory as they say.
Edin stepped out with the first slash in bow stance moving the staff behind him. Then he spun it forward and retreated in dragon stance as if trying to block a strike. Edin untwisted his body carrying the staff then the sword across the front of his body.
Edin stepped forward to thrust when he felt and heard a loud thwack on the back of his head.
Stars filled his vision as his mind went blank for a second and he stumbled forward. The world returned and he heard a soft guffaw followed by a louder heartier one. Edin rubbed the spot and glanced around.
An old fat man stood at the corner of the stables holding a pair of horses’ reins in one hand and his stomach in the other. He was laughing so hard, Edin could see the tears flowing down his face. His clothes and girth said he wasn’t want for food or money. Next to him stood a ginger haired girl with bright green eyes. She could’ve been a relative of Berka, though the thin face and nose weren’t a great resemblance.
She looked older than Edin, but not by much. Probably the man’s daughter or a young wife. Edin felt his face warm, probably turning as red as her hair. Edin didn’t acknowledge them. He dropped the staff where he stood and drooped his head as he made his way across the field littered with large brown piles of dung.
He didn’t take off his boots, nor remember to wipe them. Edin noticed a scowl on Estillan and glanced back at his path. One boot left smudges of brown and yellow. She pushed him out the door.
“Off with those you dirty child,” she said.
He took them off and didn’t look toward the stables. Upon entering he saw Estillan with a bucket and a brush scrubbing the floor.
The innkeeper directed him to a pair of rooms at the rear of the inn where the baths were held. The innkeeper turned on a faucet and water poured from a spout. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen plumbing, but water had never been able to come out hot. Edin slipped in when it was full and soaked for a long time with a glass of white wine. A common accoutrement to the bath… or so he was told.
The bath attendant, thankfully not Estillan, gave him a sponge, which he said was actually a creature from the Mirasa Sea. Edin was sure the man was just fooling with him.
He sat in the bath until the water began to grow cold and a serving girl reappeared with his laundered clothes.
After changing he returned to the common room, it was quiet as people were delving into their breakfast. Grent, Dephina and Master Horston were sitting at a table near the smoldering fire. He made his way over and took the chair next to his old tutor.
“So, how was training this morning?” Grent said with a smile.
Edin looked at him for a second. His beard and mustache that had been becoming increasingly more scraggily, were now trimmed and neat. Master Horston had a trim as well.
Edin ran his fingers through his growing beard, it still wasn’t long enough for it to be considered unkempt.
“It felt good,” Edin said.
Dephina shot him a doleful glance as he heard some snickers from off to his right.
Edin quickly glanced and saw a few others staring at him, not even trying to hide their laughter. He caught the gaze of the red-haired girl across from the fat man who’d somehow turned his entire girth around in his creaking chair.
Edin smiled at them and turned back to his companions, “come on, let it out.”
“Don’t worry, we all…” Grent started but then snickered and shook his head, “I can’t even…”
Dephina elbowed him hard in the ribs.
“Well, not many people knock themselves out during training.” He laughed.
More people joined as if they were party to the conversation. Edin glanced down, wondering how stupid he looked, twirling a stick around in one hand and a sword in the other. In some part of his head, he thought it would look amazing and awe-inspiring, heroic, like in a bard’s tale.
He felt his lips twitch as he thought of the scene. Who wouldn’t laugh seeing that? He looked up and smiled as he rubbed the spot. Edin laughed.
It grew louder and more people joined in, even Horston’s chuckle came from beside him. The old man put his hand on Edin’s shoulder and squeezed.
After a short while, the sour Estillan showed up and the laughter stopped. Breakfast was some sort of oatmeal. The room grew louder with the early morning conversation. After they finished eating Grent stood.
“I’m going to see if we can find some horses, the lieutenant... requested I drop off the pack horse with the guards.”
“Well, I don’t want to do that,” Dephina said. Again, she wished to stay away from the guards, maybe a habit from her profession. “I have other obligations.”
“Are you coming back?” Grent asked.
She pulled herself up and kissed him deeply. “Of course you big oaf.” She winked at Edin and left.
“We’re leaving tomorrow after breakfast, with any hope, we can be at the pass in a week.”
“I was hoping to look at the palace, and I’m down to my last set of clothes,” Edin said. “I don’t want to look like a vagrant when we get to…”
“Yes, and my robe is quite filthy and torn, I’m not sure a deep cleaning will do the trick.” Master Horston said.
“Very well, stay close to the inn if you can, there are merchant stalls in the square near the palace, stay on King’s Avenue, no side streets or alleys and stick together. Be back by nightfall.” Grent ordered him as if he were the father.
Edin emptied his pack for the new purchases he wanted to make and strapped his sword to his belt. A half an hour later, Edin and Master Horston were walking down the street.
They could barely see past the bobbing heads in front of them, though high above a four-story building, he spotted the gray palace tower.
Their inn was close enough to the palace to enjoy it, but far enough away that it didn’t cost per night what a tradesman would make in a month.
Edin reached back and touched the tender bump on the back of his head. It hurt still, though he pondered trying the two weapons again. Though in a more private setting next time.
More wooden buildings lined the streets, the shades of them varied from a light brown to a dark chestnut. Some were painted in friendlier
colors. The size, shapes and probably age changed with each new building. Drying clothes and gawkers hung over railings above the street.
Master Horston and Edin were in no rush, though some people pushed past them while others seemed to be out on an easy stroll. The worst were the blotards who stood in the middle of the street chatting and stopping the forward movement.
They were so self-absorbed they didn’t seem to see the angry looks being shot their way. A part of Edin wanted to smack one of the idiots in the gut and slip away. Maybe later.
The city was home to more kinds of people than he ever thought, all different races and colors, some were dressed in drab, almost ragged clothing, others in tunics, trousers and silky vests that seemed to shimmer, brilliant forest greens, flower yellows, ocean blues and beet reds. A few men wore large brimmed hats with colorful plumage sticking out of the bands.
On the back of a woman’s shoulder, Edin saw a tattoo of sun. In Yaultan, women didn’t get tattoos. These were different type of people.
Edin spied other people, all ages, pushed off to the side of the streets. Some held their hand stretched out, though they kept their face downcast and hidden between their knees or in their tunics. Others just had their legs pulled up close to their chests trying to make themselves small.
Ahead of him, he saw a pair of silver helmed guardsmen fighting the crowd near the right side of the avenue. The leader, a golden-haired giant of a man held a thick wooden stick and seemed to be threatening the discarded human refuse against the buildings.
“The forgotten,” Master Horston whispered as a guardsman passed them whacking a kid around ten. He cried out and ran down a thin alley next to a butcher shop.
A young man, probably Edin’s age rushed through the crowd toward them. He bumped into a man with the large brim hand and a velvety blue tunic.
“Watch where you’re going, rat,” the man shouted. The young man kept his eyes down, turned and scooted past Edin and into the alley the child ran.
Edin shrugged at the sight and kept walking.
