Something was happening, and Tuvallis kept hearing a little voice in his head, as if his subconscious was whispering in his ear. The voice was subtle, but insistently saying the same thing; leave the mountains and join the world of the living.
He had been alone for most of the last fifteen years, except for the few trade excursions to various towns that he made each year. But being alone was what he wanted; at least that is what he continued to say over and over again as if to justify his chosen solitude.
But recently his subconscious seemed more persistent. It was as if he was missing something, or was needed for some task. He felt like he needed to find a village and see what was happening in the world that he had chosen to leave so many years ago. This pull became so strong that he eventually found himself hiking lower and lower, heading to a small village called Egrin, one that he had visited several years back.
Grabbing his bow, Tuvallis slung the quiver over his backpack and silently vacated his hiding spot. Though he was a big man, he could move like a ghost if he wanted. Not even the drooping bows he crouched under noticed his presence.
The town was a few days from his location and he was eager for a warm room, and a soft bed; hopefully both would be available.
It took him several hard days of hiking to reach Egrin. As he moved farther and farther down the Tundrens the snow began to diminish until it was no more than a foot deep. The small village was nestled beyond a frozen stream and was tucked safely in the shadows of a fifty foot rock face. It was a good spot to settle, thought Tuvallis, as he gazed down at the candlelit windows and smoking chimneys. The sun had just set and the timing was perfect as he did not want to stay another cold night huddled around a small fire tucked in some cave or shelter.
There was no wall around the town, but the design of the homes and buildings, combined with the fact that there was only one main road that entered the town, created a makeshift funnel to lead all newcomers into the village from one direction. The village watch could post guards at the entry point if need be. The town was just large enough to deter any roaming monsters from wanting to do anything rash. But you could never be too careful in the frontier lands where there was nothing to protect you except your own steel and that of your townsfolk. And the men here were men such as he; tough, accustomed to hard physical labor, and not afraid to bloody their knuckles or their swords. You had to be of that mindset to survive out here.
Tuvallis walked at a steady pace toward the lantern light just beyond the small bridge that spanned the frozen stream. His breath billowed out in puffs of steam in the cold air as his dark narrow eyes squinted toward the light ahead of him. There was a small building beside the road which probably housed the watchmen for the night.
Sure enough, as Tuvallis crossed the bridge and neared the little stout building built of logs, a man in a heavy dark wool cloak emerged from the entry holding a lantern up high. The man was medium height and build and Tuvallis noticed that his right hand rested on the pommel of his sword. Tuvallis held no doubt that he could use it if need be. There was a large bell hanging nearby that could be rung in alarm if anything attacked in the night.
Tuvallis stopped and let the lantern light bathe his features as he looked up at the guard. “Greetin’s,” he said, “Me name’s Tuvallis and I be hopin’ to get food and shelter fer de night.”
The man didn’t say anything for a second as he eyed Tuvallis. “Where ya comin’ from, mountain man?” the guard finally said. It was obvious by Tuvallis’s appearance that he had spent most of his time hunting the steep peaks of the Tundrens.
“Here and there,” Tuvallis answered back.
“Where ya goin’ then?” the guard asked.
“Not sure yet, but I be thinkin’ of headin’ out of de mountains in a few days, maybe towards Cuthaine or Finarth,” Tuvallis replied.
The guard spit on the ground, but Tuvallis noticed that he no longer held the pommel of his blade, and he had slowly lowered the lantern so it was out of his eyes. Now Tuvallis could make out the man’s features. His face was bearded with a thick mat of dirty blonde hair and his eyes sparkled turquoise blue. His features were non-descript, but his eyes gave him some character. They were unique, and there seemed to be a fire behind them, ready to burst out at any moment. He looked a bit younger than Tuvallis, who had seen nearly forty five winters.
“Not sure why you’re wantin’ to leave the mountains with all that’s going on, but that’s your choice I guess,” the guard said.
“What do ya mean?” Tuvallis asked curiously.
“Ya don’t know? Well I can see from your expression that ya don’t. Tarsis was destroyed by the Dark One’s army,” the guard said somberly as he shook his head in disgust.
“What! The city is no more? What of the king?” Tuvallis added quickly.
“Not sure, stranger. But the tidings are dark, there is no question about that. Enough talk in the cold. Come on in. I know our local barkeep has a couple rooms and I don’t think they are occupied.”
“At the Dancing Elf?” Tuvallis asked.
“Yup, you been here before?”
“Been a while, but yes, some years back.”
“Well, in case ya forgot, continue down the road and you’ll be seein’ the building on the right.”
Tuvallis grunted his thanks and continued down the snow covered road. His thoughts were dark as he thought about Tarsis burning in the shadows of Malbeck’s army. But his mindset couldn’t ruin the beautiful winter night. The bright stars and moon cast an ambient glow off the sparkling snow and he easily found his path through the well laid out town.
Sure enough, the building he remembered was on his right, looking just like the picture in his mind. It was entirely built of logs giving the walls a solid look, and a huge thick oak door was dead center and covering most of it was a giant brown bear pelt. The pelt had been hammered onto the door with iron nails and burned into the fur were the initials D.E., the Dancing Elf. Through the tavern’s several windows Tuvallis could see the glow of the room’s flickering candles and could almost feel the warmth from the fire in the hearth. It looked welcoming, and Tuvallis entered with barely a pause.
The heavy oak door squeaked open and the cold winter air rushed in and dashed about the room for a second before the door shut behind him, cutting the brisk breeze off from its source. Tuvallis stamped his snow covered leather boots down hard several times on the iron grate in front of the door as he looked around the room.
It was a simple structure, made from the local materials. There was a giant stone fireplace to the right filled with three foot flaming logs. Tuvallis smiled as he felt the heat from the fire wash over him. It had been a while since he sat in front of a large warm fire sheltered from the cold winter conditions. There were six wood tables and benches placed sporadically around the room, and one simple bar to the left. Flanking the bar were several doors that Tuvallis knew led to the kitchen and to the guest rooms; at least they had when he had visited several years ago. The walls were lined with antlers of various sizes, as well as several wolf and bear pelts.
The bar was empty except for two men sitting by the fire talking quietly and drinking from clay mugs. They looked up at Tuvallis and he didn’t miss their surprised expressions. They didn’t get many strangers coming into town during the winter, and they were not successful at hiding their curiosity. But after a few seconds they resumed their conversation, glancing at him occasionally when they didn’t think he was looking.
Tuvallis set his heavy pack down by a table and lifted off his thick fur jacket. He leaned his bow against the table and walked toward the bar. Just as he neared the plain wooden structure, the door to the left swung open and a portly old woman stepped through it and behind the counter.
“I thought I heard the door open. What can I do for ya, stranger? Me name’s Lydia, and I be the proprietor of this here establishment.”
She was not an attractive woman, but not really ugly either, just plain. Her long gray hair
was held back with a leather head band. Her skin was aged but not overly wrinkled, and when she smiled her whole face lit up. Her teeth were perfect; straight and white, and they made her face come alive. It was rare to see teeth like that on anyone, let alone on an old woman living in a remote mountain village. Tuvallis liked her immediately, as she had a friendly aura about her.
“I be lookin’ fer warm food and a bed,” Tuvallis grunted.
“Sure, stranger, but I won’t do either ‘til you give me a name,” she replied with a smile.
“Sorry, ma’am, me name’s Tuvallis.” Sorry, what was he saying? Tuvallis never said sorry to anyone, let alone a bar maid. But there was something about this woman that seemed to bring out the best in him, and he smiled as he tried to think of the last time he had said sorry. But he had so much hair on his face that Lydia didn’t even notice the expression.
“Where ya from?”
“All around, don’t call one place home,” Tuvallis answered.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lydia said. “What would you like to drink? I’m sure you’re hungry as well?”
It was a peculiar comment, but Tuvallis shrugged it off quickly as he thought about the food and drink. “I’ll have a mug of mead and whatever you have warm to eat.”
“I have some braised pork with potatoes and onions. Should still be warm. Will that do?” Lydia asked with a smile.
“Yes, thank you,” Tuvallis said, then added hesitantly, “I passed by here some few years back; the bar keep was er… a man named Clark. Thought he be the owner.”
“Clark was me husband,” Lydia said, her smile all but disappearing. Tuvallis didn’t miss her past tense reference and he immediately wished he had not brought it up. “He was killed last year by raiding orcs. If you will excuse me,” she said as she turned to pour his mead and prepare his meal, the light from her face gone like the moon on a cloudy night.
Tuvallis shook his head and moved back to his table. Her statement didn’t surprise him as he had seen more orcs over the last few years than he had throughout his entire life. Malbeck’s rise had definitely stirred up the foulest of creatures and they were increasingly making their presence known.
The two men by the fire stopped talking and looked at Tuvallis as he sat down near them. One man was tall and thin, maybe fifty winters, with skin worn and weathered from the elements. The other was younger, probably around forty, bigger, more fat than muscle, with a plump rosy cheeked face flushed from the mead and the warm fire.
The tall man smiled and nodded his head in greeting, while the younger man looked at Tuvallis with an uncertain expression. “Welcome to Egrin, trail burner, my name’s Jonstin and this is my friend, Smit,” the older man said warmly as he indicated the heavier man sitting next to him. Smit just looked at Tuvallis and took a long drink from his mug.
“Tuvallis.”
Tuvallis was usually a man of few words and he rarely mixed pleasantries with dialog. If it didn’t need to be spoken, he wouldn’t say it. Besides, he was so used to solitude that talking did not come easy for him. His fragmented speech and poor grammar made these townsfolk sound like pompous royalty.
Lydia came back with a tray of steaming food and a large mug of mead. She set them down near Tuvallis along with a knife and fork.
“That will be two coppers for the food and one Tarsinian silver for the room,” she said briskly, her warm smile returning.
Tuvallis dug in the leather pouch hanging at his side and paid the woman, all but ignoring her as the smell of the warm food assaulted his senses. It had been a while since he had eaten a hot home cooked meal, and the smell of the braised pork was making him salivate. He grabbed the fork and knife and attacked the food, only pausing to breathe and drink the cold mead.
“It’s good isn’t it?” The tall man chuckled. Tuvallis grunted in agreement as he all but inhaled his meal. “I’d eat here every night if I could afford it. But don’t think my wife would approve.”
Now it was the bigger man’s turn to laugh. “What does your wife approve?”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jonstin replied as they clacked their mugs together and drained both their glasses. “You live in the mountains?” Jonstin asked. It was really more of a statement than a question. Tuvallis’s appearance made it a foregone conclusion.
“Yup,” Tuvallis replied as he finished off the last piece of gravy drenched pork.
“Guess you haven’t heard then,” Smit said somberly.
Tuvallis didn’t’ miss the tone or their expressions. “’Bout Tarsis?” he asked gruffly as he finished off his mug of mead.
“Yup…how did you…,” Jonstin began to ask.
“Watchman, blue eyed fellow,” Tuvallis said.
“Colvan’s his name. Good man, pretty good with his sword too,” Smit added.
“You hear that Malbeck is marching his army toward Finarth? He’s razing everything to the ground along the way. Horrible destruction they say,” Jonstin said bitterly.
Tuvallis set his mug down hard, surprised at his own anger. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise to him. Of course the Dark One was going to continue his relentless advance, a path of murder, destruction, and utter conquest. That was what such men, or demons, whatever he was, did. They took and took, until there was nothing left to take. But it still caught him by surprise when he pictured Tarsis burning and his black army marching south, destroying everything in its path. It surprised him how much it upset him. His knuckles turned white as he unconsciously squeezed the edge of the table in both hands. Both of the villagers didn’t say a thing as they looked at his still form, wondering how he was going to react. “How long ago they leave Tarsis?” Tuvallis asked sharply.
“We had a trader come in just before the snows fell. He said the Dark One’s army would reach Cuthaine by the end of winter,” Smit said.
“Dat puts ‘em in Finarth by spring or summer,” Tuvallis whispered to himself.
“We just hope we don’t see any part of his vileness up here,” Jonstin said. “We’ve already had some problems with marauding orcs. They seem to be getting bolder.”
“Orcs be everywhere, but yer safe from his army, fer now anyway. You’re not in its path,” Tuvallis said.
“Yeah, well, we figured that,” Smit said testily.
Tuvallis glared at him and Smit’s confident expression melted away. Tuvallis sat there quietly for a moment, taking in all that he had been told. Malbeck was back and he was re-forming his army. The drums of war were sounding again. In that moment Tuvallis made up his mind.
“Where can I find supplies fer hard travel?” he asked the two men.
“I can help with that,” Lydia said as she came up behind him with another mug of mead. “What will ya need?” she asked with a brilliant flash of her white teeth.
* * *
Not all the Free Legion warriors were dead. Captain Hadrick, despite his protests, had been asked to escort the thousands of refugees from the city. He was accompanied by fifty horsed and heavily armored Free Legion warriors. It was not a job that any of them wanted, but nonetheless they would see it through. It was no easy task to walk away from the city knowing that their comrades were defending their home without them. They should be next to their sword brothers, fighting and dying if need be.
There were over two thousand men, women, and children who had left Cuthaine in the face of Malbeck’s army. Of that number, just over a hundred were men who were armed and could fight if forced to. They had left two days before Malbeck’s army would arrive at the gates. Some refugees had left earlier to find new homes, foregoing the safety of traveling with larger numbers. Others stayed, unsure of their next move.
Captain Hadrick and the rest of his men did not want to babysit, they wanted to fight. But it was not that easy. They could not just leave the people of Cuthaine. Besides, what could fifty more warriors do in the face of Malbeck’s army? They had some decisions to make.
“I say we continue on to Finarth,” Groben, a gray hai
red veteran suggested to the small contingent of warriors sitting around a warm smoldering fire.
They were taking rest after a hard day of marching. The refugees were scattered around the grass field flanking the road. Fires were lit while men and women unpacked carts and saddlebags to prepare for supper and a night of well-earned rest. Orders were given and Free Legion warriors were either on perimeter guard or taking rest and food.
“It is a long way,” Norith replied. “Some of these people may not want to go that far.”
“Some might not be able to go that far,” interjected Jons, a young brown haired soldier. His eyes were tiny, giving him the appearance of one who was always squinting. “There are over four hands of the elderly that I know of.”
“That is not our concern. Finarth is in Malbeck’s path. We will have our opportunity to avenge our comrades if we go there. You know this to be true!” Groben protested loudly.
“Calm, Groben. We all want to avenge our brethren. But the reason you just stated may be reason enough not to go to Finarth. We would be taking these people from one danger just to face it again. What is the sense in that?” Captain Hadrick asked, though his voice lacked conviction.
It was obvious to many that the captain wanted to go to Finarth as well, but he felt obligated to the refugees to take them to safety, wherever that may be.
“Captain, I agree with Groben, and not just for revenge,” Silvy stated slowly, pausing briefly to sip his tea. Silvy was short for Silvanus, and he was broad and thickly built. The men knew him as one who did everything methodically. He spoke slowly, ate slowly, and made up his mind slowly. The only thing he didn’t do slowly was fight. He was a skilled fighter, and the men all respected him for his quick blade and pondering wit. “The way I see it, we have few options, Captain,” Silvy continued. “There is no place safe for these people. Malbeck is sure to have roaming scouting parties. We have nowhere to take them. Finarth will be where the final stand is made, and although it will be dangerous I don’t see it any more so than leaving them out here and hoping that an orc scouting party doesn’t find them. I say we take our chances at Finarth where we can at least fight for their protection.” Silvy stopped talking and took another sip of tea.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow Page 2
