Then the story told of a time when M’lani was gone for so long that the realm began to seem dimmer and for the first time the Elves became worried. When the goddess finally returned, the Elves were overjoyed. This time, instead of an extended celebration, M’lani told them of a new home that she and her brothers and sisters were building. She told them that there was a place much like their current home already prepared there for them, and a whole world for them to explore. The Elves were terribly excited, and nearly all chose to go.
A portal was opened for them to go to their new home. The Elves passed through it, taking some of their favorite creatures with them. They spent the next few years exploring the land. Then a terrible thing happened.
M’lani’s dark brother L’mort introduced Death into the world. None of the others could undo this thing their brother had made. M’lani, seeing this, wrought the miracle of Birth, and gave it to all creatures, just as her brother had inflicted Death.
The other gods brought into the world similar gifts of creation and destruction. Wind and water wore down the power of earth, and earth joined with fire to build back to new heights. Thus the world would be ever-changing and worth exploring.
M’lani walked once more among her beloved Elves, wrapping them in her love and shielding them from Death as much as she could. Then, one day, she was gone.
Shortly thereafter, Men appeared. They were newly created, combining traits of all the peoples of the world. At the same time, rumors that all of the gods had disappeared reached the Elves.
Lacking divine guidance, the peoples of Ærth began to quarrel. Men, being the shortest lived of the races besides the Orcs, but the most prolific of all, held life in the lowest regard. They swarmed across the land, and no race but the Elves were safe from their savagery. The Elven people, least touched by Death, were so slow to reproduce, and so fair to look upon that Men found the gentle Elves to be no threat.
Men overtook most of the world, crushing all resistance until the only remains of the Elder Races were confined or in hiding. Then, they turned on each other.
Kevon leaned in closer to read the last passage of the story. The Wars of Men have lasted for more than a generation of Elves, but the Elven people still hope for the return of their goddess, and wish for a chance to return home.
Kevon closed the book. He did not know what to make of the story. He’d occasionally heard mention of the gods, usually in the form of a frustrated curse. None of the books he’d been allowed to read in Holten’s library had spoken of them. From what little he knew of Elves, they were incredibly long-lived, some speculated fifteen hundred years, if not more. It stood to reason that their stories and legends would be changed the least over time, being passed down far fewer times than any others.
His head full of new ideas and questions, Kevon rose to return the book to its place on the shelf. He finally noticed Marelle watching him, a small smile on her face. The brothers were nowhere to be seen.
“Good book?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “It sure put the little one to sleep.”
“It’s actually quite fascinating.” Kevon replied. “If it really is a translation of Elven lore.”
Marelle shrugged. “I’m going to bed. Carlo wanted to talk with you. He’s out back.”
Kevon started to ask what Carlo would want with him, but Marelle had already turned to go. Kevon allowed himself to watch her until she disappeared into the hallway at the far end of the room. He sighed and walked back to the kitchen.
Two of the village girls were washing dishes and cleaning up the leftover food. They both flashed Kevon sweet smiles, and the cuter one even winked at him. Kevon smiled back and continued on through to the back door.
The garden at night was different, but just as spectacular. Torches were placed in concealed sconces that Kevon had not seen during the day, and the flickering light threw dancing shadows all about the beautiful landscaping.
Seeing no sign of Carlo, Kevon continued along the lit path to a large open area where the torches seemed to end. He stood for a short while, and the ache in his arm began to bother him. He rubbed it, grimaced, and turned to go back to the house.
Thwack!
Kevon barely heard the whistle of displaced air before the wooden pole slammed into his sore arm. Pain flared up, and Kevon’s hand went numb almost instantly.
Carlo whirled into view brandishing one of the whittled limbs he’d brought from the earlier campsite. Startled, Kevon reflexively visualized the symbol for fire, but caught himself before he poured any energy into it.
“Never expose a weakness.” Carlo scolded. “You never know who is watching.”
“What are you doing?” gasped Kevon painfully, clutching his sore arm.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” Carlo snapped, giving the carved wooden sword a twirl, causing it to whistle softly. “I’m going to thump that arm again if you keep babying it.”
Kevon glared and released his arm, fighting back the tears the pain was threatening to release.
Carlo nodded, and then tossed the sword to Kevon, producing another from behind his back with a flourish.
“Now,” the mercenary chuckled, “Let’s see what you can do.”
Chapter 12
Kevon hurt.
The light beginning to stretch in the small window of his room gave his head an ache to match the pain already resounding throughout the rest of his body.
The impromptu sparring match had not gone well for Kevon. Luckily, Carlo had limited his strikes to places that were covered with clothing, or hair. Kevon rubbed the knot on the top of his head and frowned. This man was old enough to be his grandfather, and Kevon had not been able to land a single blow. Several times, Carlo had not blocked with his sword, but had shuffled his feet and turned slightly to avoid a lunge. Practice had ended when Kevon took a swing at Carlo’s head and the mercenary stepped inside the swing, intersecting the arc of Kevon’s arm with his flexed neck and sending Kevon’s sword flying.
“That’s enough for tonight.” Carlo had told him. “We can continue this tomorrow evening if you’d like.”
The mercenary had collected both wooden staves and gone back into the house, leaving Kevon to catch his breath.
Kevon sat up in bed and began collecting the willpower he would need to start moving this morning. He thought he heard faint footsteps before the knocking started.
“Kevon?” called Marelle.
Kevon pulled his tunic on over his bruises and winced. He stood and shuffled over to the door and lifted the catch so the door would open.
“Yes?” he asked, peering through the crack that he allowed the door to open.
“I brought you breakfast.” Marelle said, moving the large shallow bowl into the Kevon’s field of vision. “Father and Carlo have almost finished getting the wagon and horses ready to leave.”
Kevon opened the door wider and Marelle averted her eyes.
“Will this be enough?” she asked. “I can go back and get more, another mug too.”
Kevon peered at the bowl Marelle was holding. He recognized the leftovers from the night before, a few cuts of meat sinking into a ladle-full of stew. A slab of buttered bread balanced on the edge of the bowl and Kevon could smell the spiced cider in the mug Marelle was holding.
“Yes, this will be plenty,” Kevon replied, slightly confused. “I’ll be doing good to finish this off, let alone another mug, why…”
“No reason… Just thought you might be… thirsty.” Marelle shoved the food in Kevon’s direction and the bread tottered precariously on the edge of the bowl.
Kevon took the bowl and mug from her and as soon as she could, Marelle whirled on her heel and started back down the hallway. He called after her. “Marelle!” Without looking to see if she responded, Kevon turned to place his food and drink on the stand next to the washbasin just inside the door. He took a bite of bread and turned back to look into the hallway.
Marelle stood just outside, staring at her feet, bl
ushing.
Kevon watched her as he chewed on his bread.
Marelle looked up and sighed.
He swallowed and raised an eyebrow. “What was that all about?” he asked firmly.
“Nothing!” Marelle snapped.
“All right. Thanks for breakfast.” Kevon moved to close the door.
Marelle stopped the door from closing with her foot and poked her head inside to look around.
“Uh…” Kevon began.
“Fine.” Marelle growled. “Carlo told us that from the night you had last night, you might not feel like getting up so early today.”
“I do feel kind of sore and worn out, but…” Kevon stopped in mid-sentence as he saw the shock and anger flood onto Marelle’s face.
“Which one was it?” she asked flatly, her suddenly watery eyes now staring past him.
“Which what?” As soon as the words escaped his lips, it hit him. More food. Two mugs. Checking his room.
“Wait. You think that I…”
“Never mind. I really don’t want to know.” Marelle interrupted, turning to leave.
“Wait.” Kevon commanded, flickering a bit of energy into a Control rune. The last thing he wanted was a messy scene here in this peaceful place.
Marelle stopped, and turned back to face him.
“The old man beat the straw out of me with a stick last night.” Kevon confessed, shaking his head.
“What?” Marelle asked, looking confused. “Why would he do that?”
“Seems like he’s going to teach me how to use a sword.” Kevon answered, shrugging. “He really didn’t say much, just thumped me around a lot.”
“Oh.” Marelle blinked a few times and the corners of her mouth twitched as if trying to hold back a smile.
“So,” Kevon grinned. “What did you think I was doing last night?”
Marelle stared at the floor and waited a few breaths before she answered. “The way those girls were whispering about you last night, and with what Carlo said this morning, I…” she sniffed. “I didn’t know.”
Kevon reached out and gently lifted Marelle’s chin so he could look her in the eyes. “No one who lives here interests me,” he whispered. “In the slightest.”
An awkward silence followed.
“Okay.” he said finally. “Thanks again for breakfast, I’d… uh, better eat it so we can get back on the road?”
“Yes!” Marelle said quickly, snapping out of the stillness and backing away a few steps into the hall. “And I need to finish getting ready.”
Kevon ate bites of food and took swigs of cider in moments between the gathering of his belongings. As soon as everything was packed snugly and piled by the door to the room, he finished his meal and carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen. The two girls who had been cleaning last night were there again, and bumped shoulders trying to get his plate and mug. As Kevon turned to leave, he wondered if these two had been the ones whispering about him.
Kevon had retrieved his belongings and was about to exit through the front door of the house when the Mayor entered and stopped him. Kevon started to thank the man for his hospitality, but the man waved it off and ushered him down toward the library end of the room.
“Rhulcan has passed through this town at least twenty times in the last ten years,” the Mayor began. “He, and recently, his daughter, has brought nothing but kindness and good will since we’ve known them.
“Yes, I can believe that,” Kevon agreed, somewhat confused.
“Rhulcan told me of your situation,” the mayor continued. “And as much as I would like to be able to offer you sanctuary here, I cannot put my people at risk.”
“Nor would I ask you to, Good Sir.” Kevon responded. “I’d not bring my troubles down on a place so pleasant.”
“I suspected as much,” the old man chuckled, clapping Kevon on the shoulder. “So I brought you this.” The mayor produced a small carved wooden box from a pocket and handed it to Kevon. “Open it,” he suggested.
Kevon eyed the latch and pried the inlaid wooden catch open. Inside were six small depressions, each filled with a different type of seed.
“Seeds?” Kevon asked, obviously confused. “I don’t under…”
The old man winked. “That’s because I haven’t explained it… I have several friends that after years of farming have decided to try their hands in other pursuits. One of my dearest friends works in the iron mines near the southern frontier. He cooks for the miners, and grows the herbs he uses in a small garden there. I send him seeds now and again because the climate there is less than ideal for some plants. He occasionally sends me new woodworking tools.”
“You want me to take seeds to an iron miner?” Kevon asked, still not sure what to make of the request.
“Where better to go now than where Magi cannot follow?” the Mayor explained. “Bearing this box, my friend will know you have my trust, and he can find you a place there. Until you decide otherwise, I think hiding would be wisest.”
Kevon nodded somberly. “I agree. The iron mines would be a perfect place to get my wits together and decide what to do.”
The Mayor nodded. “Ask for Normic the gardener. Give him the box and tell him whatever truth you feel he needs to know. And give him my regards.”
Kevon closed and latched the box, withdrew the pouch from his inner pocket, and slid the delicate looking case in to rest against the pearl. Returning the pouch to its place, he thanked the Mayor again and took up the bags he’d set down while he was speaking with the old man.
When Kevon emerged from the house, he found the wagon ready, the horses harnessed, and Marelle holding his saddled mare, stroking her muzzle and feeding her a carrot. He clucked his tongue in greeting as he approached the mare, patted her flanks a few times before beginning to affix his gear to the saddle.
“Carlo’s already headed up the road,” Rhulcan said, double-checking the wagon harnesses. “As soon as we’ve taken care of everything here, we can follow.” The Merchant eyed Kevon. “You’ve spoken with the Mayor?”
“Yes, thank you.” Kevon answered, patting the box in his pocket.
Kevon tightened the last leather tie, accepted the reins that Marelle offered, and swung up into the saddle. “I’m ready,” he announced.
Rhulcan gave Marelle a hand up into the wagon and flicked the reins. The wagon rumbled through the center of town. Several families had gathered to see them off, and half a dozen children were roughhousing in and around the street.
Half an hour from Elburg, Kevon grew bored with the pace that Rhulcan had set, barely half as fast as previous days.
Rhulcan explained that though this was a well-traveled road, the stretch ahead was known for more than its share of bandits. It was a small swath of land between the influences of Kron, Eastport, and the Dwarven Hold to the north. Once Carlo returned from scouting ahead, they would go faster, but not until then.
Kevon lasted another five minutes. “I’m going on to see what Carlo’s about now,” he declared. He urged the mare up to a lope, easily outdistancing the wagon. His mount tried to go faster; but Kevon shortened the reins, keeping her to a smoother gait.
Another half hour passed. Kevon now rode in somewhat different terrain. The land started to bunch together. Outcroppings of rocks jutted like something more suited to the mountain passes. Though the road continued on its eastward course, it snaked around the protruding rock formations and some of the larger trees.
Kevon slowed the mare to a walk, taking a few moments to study the road ahead as he crested a larger hill. The next hour’s journey would be the most likely place to be attacked by bandits. Boulders and trees crowded the road, some large enough to conceal a handful of men.
Kevon drew back on the reins and started to turn back. He did not want to go into this stretch of road alone, nor did he want Marelle and her father to have to either.
As the mare started to turn, she pricked her ears up and tossed her head against the pull of the reins to get a better
look at something.
About a quarter of a mile down the road, what appeared to be Carlo’s horse was half-obscured by a tree growing near one of the large rock outcroppings. Kevon steadied the mare and drew breath to shout at Carlo.
Then Kevon noticed the movement on the other side of the rock formation. Kevon squinted and could just make out two figures dragging a third.
Carlo had to be the third.
Kevon dropped to the ground and formed the Illusion rune in his mind. He focused on the area between himself and the others, throwing waves of distortion up. If they happened to look his way, they would see only the heat-haze of early afternoon.
Kevon quietly led the mare back over the ridge and dropped the Illusion. He tied her to a nearby tree and returned to where he could see what was happening.
Carlo was still being dragged by one of the figures. The other bandit had gone back for Carlo’s horse, but the stallion was not being cooperative.
It seemed to Kevon that the two men were headed for a dense grouping of rock some distance from the road. Boulders and up-thrust slabs surrounded two large trees; it was possible that there was a small area in the middle of the formation that could not be seen from any direction.
Kevon figured the best time to head down would be now, when both were busy trying to drag their respective loads into hiding. He started down the hill, trying to keep behind rocks or trees to shield himself from view. He threw up a haze whenever he needed to move from one concealing obstacle to the next, surprised at the lack of effort the improvised spell was costing him. He could feel his magical reserves slowly depleting, but there was no physical strain at all.
Apprentice Swordceror Page 7
