During several dances in which participants moved and switched partners, Trestan and Cat kept running into Petrow and Inedra. The young farmer’s daughter had succeeded over the other women in getting the most attention from Petrow. Though other women also tried to steal Trestan away for a dance or two, the young man focused on dancing with Cat.
There were slower styles of songs as well. Marches, slow waltzes, and other softer melodies allowed moments where the dancers could talk more than dance. It allowed Trestan and Cat more time to converse about various subjects, ranging from foreign dances and songs to different lands and people. The young smith learned more about Cat’s own homeland. As he listened to every tale she had to tell, he felt something continue to stir within him. It must have been wanderlust, for he wanted to see far away mountains, elf villages, and other new lands. He longed to see the morning mist over some quiet bay, or enjoy the sounds of strange songbirds under a jungle canopy. He loved his home, and had been only too glad to get back to it after their adventure had succeeded. Now a part of him wondered if he was going to get lonely for the open road again, despite all the dangers it held.
As such feelings passed through his mind, his focus stayed firmly in the moment. He just wanted the night to last forever. In all, he spent only a small portion of the evening dancing with Katressa; however, it was the one thing that most occupied his memories afterward. Dancing with her was the best part of the evening, and the most exciting thing he could ask for after his long adventure.
Neither Lord Verantir nor Lady Shauntay could have rewarded him any better.
* * * * *
The band set aside their instruments for the last time that night. Scattered vendors no longer served the crowd, having either turned to fun pursuits themselves or retired to their beds. Many families were back in their homes, whether or not they were actually asleep yet. A few villagers assisted some of their fellows in navigating the pall of drunkenness to their doorways. The occasional voice still sang or hummed a few bars of some merry tune. Bursts of laughter sporadically echoed through the open street. In all, the lanes of Troutbrook were once again becoming quiet and dim. Street lanterns still burned; however, the smoke of doused fires and spent pipes filtered the light.
The companions had gathered around a table occupying the courtyard beside the inn. Salgor’s hands gripped a mug, but the dwarf’s face rested on the wood as he snored. Mel contentedly smoked his pipe. As the others watched the gnome, they realized his head kept dipping to his chest; his conversation weaving more erratically than it normally did. His warm outer coat had become the resting place for a few spilled ashes from the pipe. Petrow had promised to be the gentleman and escort young Inedra home to her family. With torch in hand, he had guided the woman away from the buildings and down the road. He had promised to return, and even offered what spare room he had in his little home to any of the companions that wanted to stay the night. This was after the innkeeper promised free rooms for the night, though the companions wondered if the drunken man would remember the arrangement in the morning. Cat and Trestan were still awake and sitting on the same side of the table. The two of them talked with Mel, though the gnome tended to drift aimlessly in his own topics. The half-elf and human were quite amused at the gnome’s attempts to hold a decent conversation when he looked ready to fall off his bench.
“I don’t want this night to end,” Trestan mused. “I don’t know how I will feel in the morning, or what I will do. I’m sure there will be chores to be done at the forge, yet it will feel so odd. I may actually feel out of place when I first don my apron, and swing that hammer. I don’t know if I will get a long, decent sleep…or find myself lying awake and letting my mind wander in the dark.”
Cat put a hand on his back, massaging the back of his neck as she spoke. “The night really doesn’t have to end. I could stay up ‘til the morning light shines, and then I may see about sleeping away the day. I’m sure your father won’t mind if you rested through the morning a bit after all you have been through.”
Trestan closed his eyes for a bit. He didn’t immediately respond, instead letting his mind and body relax a bit to Cat’s touch. “I do want the night to go on forever. Yet…”
Cat lost her grin, and tilted her head to see his face better. “Yet what?”
Trestan sighed, allowing himself to relax in the gentle massaging of her fingers. After a moment he turned to look her in the eyes. Mel was still mumbling words as they spoke, lost in his own world. The young smith took Cat’s hand in his own and threw a pleading look her way. “Promise me you will stay long enough for me to craft you a gift. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow or the next morning to find you had left already.”
She was taken aback, “Left? I have nay need to be anywhere soon. I’ll be here tomorrow…why do you bring this up now?”
Trestan fumbled for words. “As much as I want to be here with my new friends and share tales all night, there is something I’ve wanted to do since getting back. I just couldn’t sleep tonight until I got something out of the way. I just didn’t want to go before now, yet the hour is late. When I go to sleep tonight, I guess I just want to know that my friends will all be here in the morning again.”
Cat was confused and relieved all at once. She wasn’t sure what he had been planning to say or do, and the young man hadn’t been direct with an answer. The half-elf was willing to trust that he had something important on his mind. She also did not want the night to end. The woman put on an encouraging smile to offer him support. “Do what you have to do, and don’t worry about tomorrow. I suspect we will all be here, and that life will go on. Have faith in the paths that the gods offer you, just as you always have shown.”
“Thank you. I’ve treasured your company. We’ve only even known each other for a few days, but it seems much longer”
Cat smiled, “And I have treasured your friendship. Be safe and well.”
Trestan got up and promptly gave another respectful bow to his friend. Mel seemed to clear his thoughts a bit when the young man stood to leave, though he had missed the words between his taller friends. He waved a good night to the young man in a way that spilled more of the cooling pipe embers. Trestan waved back with a grin, then turned to walk southward along the main street.
Cat watched him go as she considered what he might be doing so late in the evening. She was interrupted by her thoughts as Mel stood up from the bench and stretched. “If you will pardon me, I shall visit the little gnomes’ shack again and be right back to pick up our conversation where we left off.” He then stumbled away, leaving her beside the snoring dwarf.
The woman who was equally infiltrator and scout didn’t hesitate to make use of her chance. Trestan was still visible down the street as Cat moved to follow. Even wearing the elegant evening gown, the woman crept along the shadows of buildings as stealthily as she could. It may not have been respectful of Trestan’s privacy, but Cat always liked finding the unknown and uncovering truths. She navigated between alleys and shadows. From a safe distance, she observed the young man. He walked on the opposite side of the road as the smithy, glancing at his home but not stopping. His footsteps brought him near the well in front of the church and the marble stand that now held the duplicate relic. He did not stop, continuing past several more buildings until he was near the southern end of the main street. Beyond him, the night lamps illuminated the nearby stone bridge spanning the brook. Trestan stopped at a two-story house near the end of the village. Cat found a hiding place to observe discreetly and from a distance. When she looked upon the building, she guessed the significance of its meaning to the young man.
The house was one of the largest in the village. The structure had been well constructed and furnished better than any of the other private residences within the village borders, save the one belonging to Priest Gerlach. It looked to have once been a warm and inviting home, despite the size and impressiveness of the walls compared to the houses on either side of it. The house seemed to la
ck whatever warmth it had once owned. New wooden boards were nailed across the doors and first story windows. Shutters on both floors were closed and secured to discourage robbers. No lights burned from within, leaving the interior very dark and cold. Often houses were closed up in such a way when the only residents had passed away, with no one present to claim them.
Katressa recalled a memory from the night of the battle on this street. She recalled seeing two figures running towards the battle from the south end. Trestan had been one of the two; the other had been the paladin and mentor that had been a big influence on his life. They had rushed into battle from this house, yet when it was over one of them hadn’t lived to see the next dawn. The words from Trestan came back to her memory.
Trestan shook his head, “It’s too late for my good friend here. I’m glad he fought bravely and good against such odds. In fact, when he knew death was at hand he actually praised his goddess for the life she had given him. He told me only this morning he hoped he could meet death that way. How rare is that?
This had once been the home of Sir Wilhelm Jareth, warrior and champion of Abriana. Cat watched Trestan walk up to the house. The young man was mourning his deceased mentor. She saw him look up to the windows of the second story. The half-elf could not know of the room with the hearth, grown cold and silent in the empty house. A window on one side, unremarkable to her, was the same window Jareth had peeked out when the first signs of trouble had disturbed the two men. Trestan kneeled on the steps of the house, placing his hands against the wooden boards barricading it. His head bowed until it rested against the closed oaken doors. While Cat kept her silence and distance, the young smith let his mind wander across his own memories. Hot tea and sword practice, tales of far lands and long quests, advice on women and being a man…all memories on which Trestan dwelled. Cat could only pray to her own gods as Trestan lamented his old friend. Eventually Trestan stood before the cold wood and ran his hands along the door for the last time before parting. The young man turned away from the house but did not go back to the smithy. Cat watched him take a new course, but when he was out of sight she crept back towards the inn and her other friends.
* * * * *
It was dark, but Trestan knew the path well. He followed the edges of the brook, climbing away from it a bit towards part of the woods. Constellations of stars traveled the night sky, guiding him where Jareth built the shrine, where Abriana’s stars would burn brightest in midsummer. It was too early for that time of year, but the old warrior taught Trestan some of the other star patterns.
When Trestan got close, he could see light marking the shrine. Although there had been torch brackets available at the site, this was something totally different. A steady, white light could be seen through the trees around the shrine.
He came closer to the shrine until he could see the area clearly. The shrine itself was unchanged. Every flower and rock was as Sir Wilhelm had placed them when he had constructed the religious sanctuary. Near the shrine lay something new; something the young man had been told he would find. A mound of earth ringed by rocks and new plants marked the resting place of his mentor.
Trestan kneeled by the grave. The light illuminating the shrine came from two gems enchanted by the local priests of Yestreal. They were a precious gift from other lives the veteran swordsman had touched. The soft light of the gems bathed the shrine and the grave, helping to ward the nighttime chill. A temporary marker stood at the head of the grave. Few residents of the village could claim a stone marker after death, but Jareth had left behind enough cash and goodwill that one was being made for him. The talk around the smithy earlier that night informed Trestan they were contacting a stone mason in Barkan’s Crossing to craft a proper headstone.
The light from the enchanted gems revealed the temporary inscription marking the grave. The writing on the wooden board read: “Sir Wilhelm Jareth. Champion of Abriana, worthy of being a good friend and a second father to many.”
The words brought tears to Trestan’s eyes. The man had touched many lives in the village aside from just his own. He had been a second father to many of the young boys, offering advice and guiding words to those who needed them. Trestan remembered Petrow’s story about how the warrior had sat with the young lad under the stars and helped build a roof over his head the next day. When the young smith stopped to think about it, Sir Wilhelm had spent a lot of free time assisting other people in one way or another.
Trestan Karok curled up on a bench at the shrine. His eyes carried out a silent vigil over the grave of his old friend. The young man’s thoughts drifted, wondering about the parts of the warrior’s life that remained unknown. Trestan had never really met a paladin before, and for many years didn’t really equate that term with his mentor. The young man mused on how a person could place a vow, pledging their life to the needs of a deity, and still find the happiness in their own life fulfilled. The concept dwelled in his thoughts. The young man considered many thoughts and philosophies, unbothered by the night’s chill. The young smith found sleep, under a canopy of stars, bathed in the light coming from the silent grave.
* * * * *
When hands shook him gently, it seemed as if Trestan was struggling to wake up from a deep slumber. It took him some time to make out who was shaking him and recall where he was. A slight headache, a result of the alcohol that still lingered, did not help his concentration. The young smith stretched and yawned as much as the bench would allow. Petrow was talking, but the first words were lost in a pall of a half-asleep mind.
It was still night, there were still stars overhead.
Trestan became more alert at that. What reason did his friend have of searching him out and waking him up before morning? He begged Petrow to be silent a moment, as the young smith gathered in his surroundings. Indeed morning had not come yet, though it couldn’t be far away. The grave and shrine were no different as when he had seen them before falling asleep; however, Petrow was different. The other young man had changed clothes, wearing something more suitable for travel. The handyman respectfully waited until Trestan was wide-awake.
The young smith spoke, “Alright, why did you come up here already to find me? And why are you in a different outfit?”
Petrow gave in a sly smile, “I’m getting ready to travel, and so are the others. I wanted to come up here and get you so that you didn’t get left behind, not like we would do that to you.”
Trestan wore a confused look. “Travel? Whatever for?”
Petrow still wore a mischievous grin. “What if I told you that we have a way of getting back the stolen holy relic if we move now? The rest of us were talking, and we have a way to find that band and bring it back!”
CHAPTER 19
Trestan fought a headache and tired limbs just to be able to stand. Petrow, his eagerness apparent, practically pulled him up and off the bench. The young smith shook his head to clear the webs in his mind. “What do you mean? I’m still half-asleep, and you are talking about chasing that group again?”
Petrow nodded excitedly, “Aye, but we must hurry! It is almost first light, so I shall tell you as we run back to the village.”
Groaning, Trestan had to start jogging in order to keep up with Petrow. His older friend wasn’t about to wait around. The light from the grave of Sir Wilhelm disappeared behind them as they made their way through the wood. Roots and branches posed a hazard in the dark, but they continued as fast as they reasonably could and even sped up their pace when they were running on the path beside the brook.
Petrow shouted over his shoulder to his trailing companion, “Remember what that one-eyed man had said back at the bluff? The one you wounded.”
Trestan started to answer, but was interrupted as his foot encountered a tree root in the dark. He steadied himself as he ran, and didn’t bother to concentrate on remembering the conversation. “What part do you mean? Can’t remember it too well.”
“We asked him where they were going,” Petrow was huffing, apparently he h
ad practically run to the shrine from the town. “He said the ship was supposed to take them to an island, with a castle on it, among shallow waters out on the sea. He said they would be sailing for two days straight to the east in order to get there. Do you remember how long ago that conversation was?”
To Trestan it had seemed like a long time. “Aye, come this morning’s sunrise it will have been two days since he told us that.”
The two young men continued running along the riverbank in the darkness. In the distance, some lights burned down in the village. Petrow continued his explanation as they navigated the path, “So, my point being that they have either arrived or will be arriving this morning, correct?”
Trestan understood what Petrow was indicating; he did not understand what means they had to reach the group. “Aye, I see your point so far. However, that still leaves them two days out at sea, from a point of land that is a couple days of travel from here. That is a mighty long distance considering that we don’t even have a boat, aside from a few small riverboats some of the fishermen own. None of those would be safe out in open sea. I should also mention that we don’t know how long the other group is staying out at that castle.”
“In regards to that last part,” Petrow spoke as he continued running, “That is partly why time is of the essence, and why we have to move quickly before they leave for some other destination.”
“Granted, but you are still dodging the main question…and please slow up a bit!” Trestan appreciated when Petrow slowed, though both still walked fast down a dark path. Trestan continued, “Tell me clearly, what hope do we have of catching them? Never mind the fact that they are very dangerous. I still don’t see how we would even have a hope of getting to them quickly.”
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 37
