by BJ Hanlon
At the other side of the bridge, he turned down a small riverside street heading toward that southern wall. It was thin, and the water gurgled from ten feet below him. More shouts came from somewhere.
He cut across another road, bypassing another long bridge. He saw a sign that read, Prancy or Pantsy Road. He couldn’t be sure.
The river curved and with it the path, but ahead about fifty yards, he could see the door.
Near it, a group of men appeared, he couldn’t see tabards but their silvery helms told him who they were. Guards and they were leveling spears. His mind was locked. They weren’t far away and he could see no way to turn.
He ducked a low beam holding a sign. His back clattered it and the rings that held it squealed. As he glanced back he saw the woot cut of a man holding a mug swaying back and forth.
Edin somehow could feel the water next to him, only yards below. The glares of the helms grew close. His heart leapt and almost started to summon an ethereal shield. He could cover both him and the horse… but would the beast freak out? Perhaps throw him? It was risky.
But then the feeling of the water grew again, like it was calling to him. He reached toward the river and felt the currents and the soft ease of flow. He felt a small surge from somewhere and pushed his hand up toward the guards.
A wave splashed against the wall, it leapt like a child’s arm reaching onto the table to snag a cookie. The guards screamed in shock, their spears wavered and then nearly at once, they all dropped to cover their heads from the impact.
It splashed down and the water exploding outward. The horse didn’t stop and when he’d looked, Edin noticed a clear path between the guards who were coughing up water and crying out from the shock.
Then he saw the portcullis being lowered. Edin was twenty yards away as he saw a man cranking the wheel on top of the parapet.
He kicked the beast, but he almost didn’t have to as the horse clearly knew their goal. The gate began to descend faster.
Edin pressed his body deeper into the horse’s mane as the thick metal barbs glinting like spear heads dropped. He closed his eyes and felt a rush of something pass inches over his head. A few moments later he heard the screeching of metal followed by a loud thud.
Edin opened his eyes and looked back. The gate was closed and he could see guards on the other side, yelling at each other.
A whistle sounded over his shoulder as something flew just over his head, barely missing the horse’s neck. The fletching of an arrow appeared sticking out of the road.
Edin thought of a shield, a normal one that soldiers threw over their backs when not in combat. He envisioned an ethereal one. He felt it in his stomach and saw the glow of white light over his shoulders. He heard the whoosh of arrows but none hit him nor did the horse cry out or stop.
Soon, he was rushing through the moonlight on the river road, the moon twinkling off dark waters. Or was that the ethereal light? Edin released the shield pressed forward.
The river began to pick up speed and widen, he could hear it as much as feel it. The horse slowed to a trot. He could see the glimmering sweat on the animal’s body, he could hear its ragged breath. Edin didn’t press it to gallop anymore.
He barely gave a thought as to finding the town that Grent told him. First he had to cross the river. It was far… too far to swim and the horse would never make it.
After a few hours trotting, campsites began to appear off to the side of the road. Their fires were low and once in a while he could see a flicker of movement blotting out some of the glow. Probably sentries keeping a look out for bandits.
Edin stopped a bit later and led the horse to the river’s edge. It drank sloppily for over a minute while Edin splashed the cool water on his face and rubbed his tired eyes. After a few moments, he tied up the horse to a branch and sat, leaning against a tree. Suddenly he was incredibly tired.
He glanced back toward the city. He couldn’t see it anymore though dark clouds were beginning to blot out the moon. Edin wondered how far back his pursuers were, or if they’d even left the city. They could be waiting on Por Fen. The trained professionals meant to deal with his kind. Was there an enclave in Frestils? Most large cities had them. Calerrat had an enclave as well as the training center known as the Citadel. Even Dunbilstonian recruits learned their craft at the white palace.
He felt a chill but decided against lighting a fire. Edin rested his head on his pack and closed his eyes.
He woke to the rumbling of wooden carts. But slowly noticed the patter of rain and the splashes of wheels in ruts.
Edin craned his neck and squinted up toward a passing caravan. Guards, quite a few of them moving in the direction of Frestils passed him. Many were glaring down from their mounts. They wore mismatched tunics and armor, but all had a black cloth strap across their biceps.
On the first cart sat a large man in brightly colored robes. He glared down at Edin as if he were scat on his shoe. Three more large oxen drawn carts followed.
Edin sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sun was still low and he had no idea how long he’d slept.
One of the men wearing a green conical hat and had the same skin as the jeweler’s guard glared at him. His eyes seemed dead.
Edin stood and began stretching. He drew the attention from other guards whose hands moved toward their weapons. His sword was strapped to his waist but he kept his hands far away. What did they expect him to do? Attack a merchant caravan by himself? Either they weren’t bright, or just always cautious.
At the river’s edge he splashed his face again. In the daylight he could see the width of the river, probably two hundred yards across, nearer than further up. It was slower near the bank also, gurgling over protruding rocks, but as it moved to the center, it became faster with small slips of white rapids.
Edin didn’t want to try and repeat the crossing of the Crys River, and he wasn’t sure his horse would be able to make it. He looked at his mount, it seemed almost silver when the sun shined on it.
He wondered if it had a name. It was almost a certainty, people loved naming things; animals, weapons and even their homes if they were special. A count supposedly named his home ‘Vispastio’s Mug,’ after the god of wine and celebrations.
Grent may have heard the name but probably didn’t care to remember.
Edin filled his a waterskin and got back on the horse. They waited until the caravan was just about passed when an idea crossed his mind.
“Hello gents, wanna tell me where nearest westerly road may be?” Edin said in an accent that was close to what he’d heard in Frestils.
The guards at the back of the column all glared at him without a single word.
“Not too talkative are ya? Fine, be that way. Hope ya’ll don’t get lost too soon,” he said in the most sarcastic voice possible. He turned the horse and pushed him on down the road toward Alestow while keeping an eye out for a way to cross.
Around mid-afternoon the sun was beating down on him. The fields grew wilder with thin forests of cypress trees then back to farms or grasslands. Hulking bovine munched grass in fields a few hundred yards away. Finally, nearly invisible smoke rising in front of him told of civilization.
A small brown spec on the horizon turned out to be a farmhouse and a little further down what looked like a waypoint.
The farmhouse sat off the road and leaned slightly. It felt as if a strong wind would topple the building. He wondered if anyone lived there. They’d be gambling with their lives, he thought. A shift in the wind slapped a shudder against the splintering wall. The shudder cracked and dropped down onto a wooden bench. Then he noticed an empty chicken coop, a discarded wagon wheel, rotting hunks of metal that could’ve once been a plow or a shovel. The remnants of a collapsed red barn sat on old fieldstones behind the house.
Edin looked back toward the road and then the river feeling the breeze and listening to the patter of the horse.
As he continued, he saw a small wooden pier protruding into t
he river from the far bank. Edin squinted and saw a barge.
Across from the barge was another pier and a small building that looked to be a store. It wasn’t even a village or a hamlet. Just the one place and the barge.
Edin dismounted at the front and tied up the horse.
It was cooler inside and smelled of food. Edin wiped his forehead. At the far end of the counter a man sat hunched over a plate scooping up the contents with his hands. He didn’t even look up as the door slammed shut. The rest of the room was covered in merchandise. Farm tools, cloth, wagon wheels, barrels of oats, barely or ale. He saw thin hats, like those used by the woodsmen from Yaultan. It was a strange assortment of goods, everything a traveler would want and probably much that’d been sitting in the shop for years.
A few moments later an older woman appeared, she wore a brown threadbare dress, and her hands were caked with flour.
“Can I help you?” she asked, wiping a hand across her forehead leaving a small streak of white powder. Her eyes were red and they looked as if she could barely keep them open.
“Is this an inn?” Edin asked.
The man at the end of the bar snorted.
“No dearie, just a Public House and store.”
“I was hoping you had something to eat, and maybe an ale.”
“Ale I can do; the only food I can offer is a sweet apple loaf and raw vegetables.”
“A loaf and ale,” Edin said and offered a bow of his head. He remembered seeing some of the servants at the manor in that state, exhausted and barely able to function. If they were in this condition, his mother would more often than not send them home with pay.
“Get me an ale too, woman,” the hunching man said in a tone that was rough, boarding on angry.
The serving woman poured the mug and Edin sat at the barstool and sipped it. The ale was colder than the ones at the Drunken Boar and tasted far more refreshing.
“We brew our own ale here,” she said when he let out an appreciative sigh. A few teeth were missing from what would’ve been pleasant grin. Almost motherly.
“It’s good,” he took another drink as she disappeared and then reappeared moments later with a small loaf of bread and a plate of jam.
“Where’s my ale?” the man called.
“You got coin for it?” she called back over her shoulder not looking at him.
“I got coin right here.” Edin didn’t need to look over to see he was grabbing his crotch.
“You couldn’t even get a free sample with that.” She chuckled.
Edin felt the hairs on his neck stand as the man pushed out his chair and stood. The old woman turned to face the hunchback, for now Edin saw his back bent from years of fieldwork. He was tanned from field work and wobbly on his feet.
“You gonna say that again?” His muscles twisted like a python crushing its prey.
Edin put his hand to the pommel of his sword. He could almost taste the tension, it was like a bowstring ready to snap. Then he glanced back at the woman, she looked confident, smug even.
“That hasn’t been useful in years.”
“Well I’ll give it some use wife!”
“Dear husband, you’re making our guest uncomfortable.” She turned and looked at Edin, then at her husband. They laughed together, loud hearty laughs like two old wolves howling at the moon.
“Sorry,” the woman said, “we like to do that sometimes. How’s the loaf?”
“Good,” Edin said even though he hadn’t eaten any.
“Hmm… so where you headed boy?”
Edin took a bite, the bearded old guy was staring at him too. “Alestow.” Edin said swallowing it with a gulp of ale. “What about that barge, is it for rent?”
“Ain’t a barge, more of a raft,” the old man said. “But if you’re going down south, best way would be to follow the road. That side of the river is trees and jungles with no direct routes. Take ya another two weeks.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” Edin said. “How do I get across then?”
“I’ll take ya,” the husband said. “A copper.”
“And ten for the ale and food.”
“That’s cheap.” Edin pulled out his purse and glanced in, there was more than enough. He pulled out the money and put it on the counter. “Can I get some to go as well?” Edin asked.
“What?”
“Ale and the food, I see you have an aleskin on the shelf.”
“It’s a waterskin.”
“Same difference,” Edin said and smiled.
The husband chatted during the short trip across, told how he’d built this place with his paw some fifty years ago and turned it to the best quick stop on the road. His wife was travelling, ended up staying. “Still ain’t sure what she saw in me…” he said and grinned. “Still don’t.”
At the other side, he got back on the horse and began trotting down a small dirt road that headed somewhat northeast.
“At the crossroads, head right for Alestow,” the husband called. Edin glanced back with a wave.
He found the crossroads an hour later. They were all going generally in the intercardinal directions. There was nothing to tell him which way to go but the setting sun. He headed down the one he thought was northeast. It was barely a one-horse road, a path really.
Slowly, the path and surrounding area began to feel overgrown and neglected. Scrub brushes and gnarled trees grew into a web of branches. The dirt path was barely seen through the sprouting grasses and ground cover. The road twisted around boulders and beneath overhanging fruit trees. He plucked a golden peach and bit into it. The juices began cascading down his stubble and dripping onto his trousers.
The road became craggier as dark gray stone escarpments began to appear on the side of the path as if he were entering a cavern but then they’d disappear a short while later to be replaced again with forests or fields.
The sun was beginning to set when he spotted a clearing with a circular stone ring at the center. He stopped. The trees were getting thicker and the pockets of grasses and field flowers disappearing. Except here. He tied the horse and began collecting firewood.
Edin made camp with a small fire and began eating some of the apple bread and another peach. Without knowing when his next meal would be, he nibbled at the former. The fire warmed him and offered a comforting glow as the sounds of the nocturnal beasts and critters began to stir.
Edin stretched out his back and his sore thighs from the saddle and began the Oret Nakosu. After he finished all the exercises, he still was full of energy. Not walking was a real boon.
He practiced the sword and when all four of those sets were done he looked at the staff. The air was warm and heavy. The exercises taxed his muscles but the staff stared at him, taunted him. ‘Try again,’ it said in his mind.
He ignored the voice and laid near the fire. As he sipped from the aleskin he stared up at the night sky and tried to pick out the constellations, the gods Losilin, Estoolin, Vipastio, the sea beast a giant squid corrinbomon. Edin could never make them out, even when Horston had tried to show him with the telescope. All he ever saw were tiny white dots on a field of black. Infinitely small and out of reach.
Edin closed his eyes; the ground wasn’t as comfortable as the bed but he drifted off quickly.
The world was odd. Edin thought it was a dream but it felt different. He watched from what would’ve been a second story balcony, though it was closer to him floating in midair.
A dark cloaked man driving his horse as fast as he could rushed through the night. The animal was straining under the whips, it sweated and white saliva was foaming at its mouth. Edin felt bad for the beast, though he was certain he’d done the same to his own horse, the one without the name the day before.
The man burst through the open portcullis and into a city. His emblem, the insignia of the mage hunters was gold. A Justicar. He leapt from the horse as it protested the harsh treatment. He threw back his hood revealing a bald head with thin black eyebrows. In the shimmering lamp l
ight, he had a ghostly appearance. His dark eyes scanned the inner part of the gates until he spotted a pair of guards.
“I’m Justicar Merik and I’m looking for the magus,” he said to a guard. The guard’s eyes flickered toward his partner then back at the Justicar. “Where is he?”
“He… uhh…”
“Escaped last night,” the man said, his voice was shaking.
“I know he escaped, where did he go? Where did he stay? Who was he with?”
“South… he headed south. I don’t know where he stayed…” the first guard said.
“I heard he and his companions stayed at Drunken Boar… terrible ale but not too bad of a time.”
“I didn’t ask for your recommendations on what to see in this damned city. What happened to the companions?” Merik spat.
“Disappeared too, no one knows which way they went… everyone was chasing the mage.”
“Morons…” The Justicar grunted. Merik looked around peering up at something, what Edin didn’t know. “Where is the merc guild in this dung squabble city?”
“Near the north gate, just past the beggars’ row.”
Merik turned his head slowly as if it weren’t attached to his body and looked almost directly at Edin.
Edin felt as if the dark eyes were piercing his head. He heard a loud neigh, Edin looked away, he had to. He saw the Justicar’s warhorse, it was silent and drinking from a trough. Where’d the neigh come from?
A howl followed and this time it wasn’t his dream.
Edin’s eyes popped open, his head buzzed with the face of the Justicar, Merik. The man from his dreams… his nightmares.
It took him a moment as he looked around to realize he wasn’t in the city, he was in a clearing with dim spurts of silvery moonlight breaking through trees.
Over his shoulder the horse whined louder and rustling came from somewhere in the dark beyond the edge of his sight.
He slipped his hand to his sword and pulled it from his sheath as quietly as possible. His eyes weren’t adjusting as quick as he’d like.
