by Jason Jones
“How? Ye’ got any ideas, elf?”
“No.”
“James, anything?”
“Afraid not. Heading west to those lands, there is no real explanation besides suicide, or the truth. But I would thank them regardless, the Knight General has insisted and we are in his country. They have been nothing short of honorable and giving.”
“Great. If I tell em’ the truth, someone sure will hear o’ it. Keep it quiet then, I will handle it in four days, I be the one to explain it when we leave em’.” Zen stood and sighed.
“Knight General Jardayne o’ Highmont, though we not be in need o’ yer escort, it would be an honor it would, to have ye’ then. Me thanks to ye, and to you as well, little Shans.” He raised his glass of fruit and weak watery wine that humans loved, drank, and sat back down.
The knights of Evermont, the five that had remained while their low king was away at the capital with the other five, all stood, glasses in hand in early morning. Tall and strong, blonde men with blue eyes stared at one another.
“I believe that I speak for us all, the knights of Evermont that is, when I say that you five are likely the most heroic and dedicated folk that have passed through our city since I took my knighthood. I commend thee for your honor and bravery!” Young Sir Anders of Carrelyn flicked his blonde braids of hair back and looked to his four fellow guardians of the low throne in Evermont.
“No finer truths hath been spoken yet this day!” Gruff yet noble, Sir Naghen of Nestrim concurred.
“I shall drink to any words of praise for these five bearers of deed and companionship!” Handsome and clean shaven, Sir Valonne of Cailoc raised his glass with the others as his whispy blonde locks blew around.
“My word unto you all, and I give it seldom. Should you require anything of me, would anyone seek the smallest of obstruction unto your path, call for me, and my blade is yours.” Codaius of Norninne, the Bear of Evermont, stared into each of them, and spoke low and serious.
Sir Codaius and Knight General Jardayne each drew their blades over the breakfast table, followed by the other three, and raised them high toward the five companions they thought were heading to Freemoore under their escort.
“Yay! Yay! Yay!” The knights, their squires, and the little minstrels all stomped, clapped, and shouted.
Saberrak stood during all the cheers and walked past Zen, patting him hard on the shoulder which spilled his wine a bit into his lap. Gwenneth did the same, yet not as hard. She leaned over to Azenairk and whispered.
“Had you worried for a moment there?”
“Aye.”
“Saberrak and I handled it, just as you asked. The escort was unavoidable without drawing suspicion though. Stop doubting, my bearded friend.” Gwenne smiled as the winds of the open air room took her long black hair around them both.
“Yer right, yer right. I get it, got it, sorry and all.” Zen smiled up to his arcane wielding friend.
“We leave in two hours, are you ready?”
“As ready as I will ever be I s’pose then. You?”
“You know the answer to that, Zen. We are always ready.” Her confidence shone through her sincere smile. She noticed James staring up at her, a dumbfound look upon his face. She smiled back to him and then kissed Zen on the cheek.
“See you down at the north bridge.”
Azenairk turned as red as the strawberries in front of James. He looked to Shinayne who shrugged and continued to eat and drink in peace. Then to James, who was staring back at him, straightfaced and serious.
“What was that for then?” James asked direct, very demanding in fact. He turned his head away and took his glass of water.
“Luck I s’pose, why? Ye be needin’ one then? I can ask her for ye’, hey Gwenneth---“
James spit his water all over his food, choking, coughing, drawing stares from a few gathered pygmy singers and two squires.
“No, no…don’t---“
“Yes, Zen?” Gwenneth smiled.
“James here was wonderin’ bout’ a kiss for luck too, ye’ know.” Zen smiled, his flush face returning to normal.
“No, I was….no…not---“ His coughing took over.
“Is that so?” Gwenneth walked back and leaned toward James Andellis. She looked at his trim brown beard, short waves of hair, then his deep blue eyes that turned right into hers, not inches away. The room quieted.
James could not speak, her green eyes captivated him, her wry smile, her fair skin and dark contrasting hair on the breeze. His throat tightened, water trapped still, he held his cough lest he would likely shower her face with what remained of his refreshing drink.
“Maybe if he asked a lady himself, nicely.” Gwenne stared, his face was red, his eyes were tearing she thought. She waited.
James could not speak, his cough stifled barely. If he moved his mouth the moment would be surely destroyed. Silently, he closed his eyes and leaned in toward her. He thought of her lips, her skin, he felt it inside without question.
Gwenneth’s lips were an inch away from his, her breath on his, then she looked around, everyone was staring. Her face went flush and she stood back straight.
“I do apologize for interrupting your meal, please, continue.” She waved her hand, curtsied, and turned away despite the groans of disappointment from the little folk.
James opened his eyes and coughed into his hand. The water drained and dribbled off his fingers. Gwenne was gone, already walking out the balcony toward the bridge. He hung his head as everyone went back to their conversations and meal.
“Nice work James, nicely done there. She done froze ye’ then, and ye’ had yer chance.” Zen chuckled and bit into the eggs and pork on his plate, cold, but still delicious.
“I was choking, not afraid. Why would you think I wanted to kiss---“
“Ahhh, James, knight o’ the Falcon o’ Chazzrynn, don’t be tryin’ to scuddle yer way past me then. Hah! Remember, son, I be twice yer’ age nearly, and me eyes be workin’ just fine at sixty three years o’ life. Vundren, bless this boy to have the courage to take the woman he---“ His humorous prayer was cut short.
“You are intolerable at the moment, my stocky priest. I think I need to get ready.” James smiled, tried to hide it with wiping his mouth, and left the table.
“Hah! What a family I have then, eh elf?”
“Indeed.” Shinayne smiled.
“Ye’ know he wanted to kiss her, right?” Zen looked to the elven beauty beside him.
“Yes, I have known for some time actually. I am over twice your age, remember? An elf does not need eyes to see such things, my devout friend.” Shinayne patted Zen on the shoulder.
“Now yer’ just tryin’ to be all competitive.”
“No, but I knew back before Deadman’s Pass, I felt it.”
“Aye?”
“Yes.”
“Well I knew before that, in uhhh…in Bailey with the dragons.” Zen bluffed.
“No you didn’t, it wasn’t there yet.” Shinayne smiled.
“No?”
“No.”
“You elves be too connected to all that love stuff, how is a dwarf s’posed to compete with all that then?” Zen went back to his meal.
“You cannot. See you at the north bridge?” Shinayne smiled and got up to leave the table.
“Aye, need a few moments. Keep the others quiet, for me and all.”
“Of course, what is family for?”
“Vundren bless ye’ Shinayne, may he bless all of us, especially now.”
“And Siril bless you, my friend. See you there.” Shinayne bowed to the knights, the minstrels, and headed out the doors.
“A song before our travels, Lord Thalanaxe?” Tubrey o’ Tarnobb piped up over the ever quieting room.
“Sure little man, go ahead then. Know any dwarven songs?” Zen smiled as he ate, receiving puzzled looks from the little band gathered around the room. They all looked to each other, shrugging, trying to think of any ballads from the men of
the mountains they had heard. They hung their little heads to the no.
“Tell ya’ what then, I’ll sing one out, ye’ and yours put the music to it. Ready?”
“Yay!”
Curses IV:I
Central Plains Tradeway
Shanador
The sun stroked down, hour after hour, unrelenting on his black clothing, atop a stolen black steed, in layers of chain and leather armor, black as pitch. The breeze, if there was one in the barren plains of grass and brush, did not assist in the slightest. Only the strong gallop of the stallion, reaching top speed and gracing under the occasional grove of trees, gave any relief to the cursed Nadderi elf. His white pale skin burned in the summer sun, his black swirls and hair soaked in the heat, only the young deer that ran alongside seemed content with the journey.
Kendari had passed through the Gimmori Mountain foothills in Kivanis, taken a horse in the night from a small stables, saddle and all. He left a handful of platinum and gold in a pouch where the saddle was hung, as he was no petty thief. The deer would not leave his sight, never more than a few hundred feet ahead or behind, its small horns bounding up from the tall grasses as it ran along. The cities of Pellan and Fort Shadyr had passed by, far to his north. A week past, Acelinne was to his south. He kept his westward charge through the lonely plains, stopping only for water, rest, and the avoidance of sporadic packs of nomadic hunting lewirja and suspicious centaur tribes. The elven swordmaster would buy his food from traveling merchants on the central Shanador tradeways, at night, in the cover of hood and shadow only.
Passing across the lonely bridge of stone and oak in early evening, Kendari of Stillwood slowed his pace. The Garalan River Tributary, the name escaped him as there were so many, was rushing south toward the Misathi. A major river would have had tolls and guards, this one did not, so Kendari paid it no mind. Tents of merchant caravans dotted the landscape of small hills and sparse fir trees, and he felt the need to rest himself and the horse. For the deer, he could not have cared less.
“So, you are indeed reincarnated from the bowels of Seirena, we have attained that much.” He looked to the deer that waited a few feet away. Kendari dismounted and stretched as he spoke.
The deer nodded once quickly, growled, then looked to the river. Its brown fur and small white tail seemed to tremble when Kendari spoke to him.
“Laedury, the river elf of the Hedim Anah I killed back over three centuries ago? Is that you then?” Kendari tied the reins to a browning fir branch and walked toward the river behind his divinely insisted upon companion.
The deer shook its head and growled twice, which meant no.
“Jurloe, elven captain in Stillwood I slew back when I was yet to be cursed. I did not see him among the specters when---“ Kendari saw the small horned head shake, meaning he had guessed wrong again.
The deer drank from the riverbed, sidestepping away from the Nadderi elf if he got within ten feet or so.
“How about you? Did I kill you to eat, your parents perhaps? I hate venison actually, a gamey iron flavor that no amount of onion can veil, so nevermind.”
Growling mixed with water dripping from the raised face of the deer hinted at its displeasure and understanding of every word this cursed elf spoke.
“Irramas! The priest in Shalokahn, it must be. I cut your head off right in your own temple after you paid three assasins to kill me and I brought you their ears. About a century and a half past?”
Face still in the water now, the deer shook its head and growled bubbles, twice.
“I have killed thousands, you realize. This may well take years to piece together. If your goddess is so merciful, then why can’t you speak? Stupid animal.” Kendari knelt next to the river, cupped his hands, and drank of the refreshing water.
His whole body fell into the river, drenched, knocked over by the quick rush of the deer that slammed its head into his shoulder.
Sploosh!
Kendari stood, blades out, Shiver popping and crackling as its heat turned the moisture into steam. His blessed off hand sword from Cristoff Bradswellen held in reverse, his stance knee deep in the Garalan tributary was perfect. The deer stared at him, head cocked to the side, ten feet away and taunting him with just a look. They had incurred a few chases recently, and the deer had shown how much faster it was on foot than the cursed elven swordsman, each time.
“You are dinner, I assure you now. I will find a taste for venison. Perhaps not tonight, but you will have to sleep, eventually. I will sell your parts to merchants, I will keep a hoof as a reminder, but I will cook you over an open flame and enjoy every bite.” Kendari stewed, dripping wet, staring at the deer that rebelled against his every comment and command. He paused, hoping to feint the animal with words and stillness.
Kendari suddenly ran, diving out of the river, onto land, and sprinting a sword pointed lunge toward the four legged animal. When he reached the spot the deer had been, it had leapt off and was now twenty feet to the west, near the horse. It growled again, staring at the frustrated elf that had been threatening to kill it for nearly five weeks of sporadic and indirect western travels.
“I will find out who you were, and I will kill you again! Then when she sends you once more, we will see if you have improved on your communication. Don’t think the horse will help you either, he is smarter than you, he fears me.” Kendari stared his green eyes into the brown eyes of this irritating animal.
The deer ran off to the south, over a hill in the darkening horizon. Kendari and the horse watched, then it was gone.
“Finally, some rest.” He sheathed his swords and went for the waterskins on the horse to fill them, boots sloshing as he walked.
“Naahhahhyye!”
Kendari drew his off hand blade halfway out and stared at the black steed, eye to eye.
“Don’t you start now, I have had about enough.”
“If Seirena wished revenge upon me beyond this curse, she is well on her way. This little voyage to Vin Armon had better pay off, for your sakes, or my blades will be---“
He paused, the horse looked south at the hill, they had both heard it. The sound of men shouting, laughing, yelling to one another. Whatever it was, it was less than friendly. Steel upon steel ringing in echo assured that feeling. The sun fell fast to the east, then the deer stood atop the hill, beckoning in a silent pose for the horse and Kendari to see it.
“I am not going. I care not for any more signs, strange behaving animals, or even the climb up that hill. Tell your smaller idiot friend I am not going.” Kendari continued with the waterskins, shaking his own head now that he realized he was conversing to a horse to pass on a message to a deer.
“Madness, madness shall be her revenge upon me, I can see it. Soaking wet, tired, and talking to horses and four legged food. That is how Seirena will see me spend the last of my days. Kendari of Stillwood, master of blademasters, assassin of assassins, rests here after insanity from talking animals sent by the forgotten goddess of---”
Kendari heard it again, then the harder clash of steel caught his elven ears, someone had been cut. He looked to the southern hill. The deer was still standing there, looking down at him as he stood halfway to the river. He grinned, hearing what could only be a fight or duel taking place beyond the deer. He set down the waterskins and strode south.
“I am only going to watch the bloodshed, and there had better be some.” He passed the young buck as he whispered, hearing the quiet hoofsteps behind him.
Kendari crouched low, crept closer to a dusty crossroad that led to the far off Southern Tradeway near the Misathi, and gazed out at the tents. Half were up and posted well, ten more were laid out and yet to be raised. The soft white glow of the sliver of Carice was contrasted greatly by the open sky holding a glowing half green Gimmor on the cloudless evening. He watched for motion, found it beyond the southern side of the tents, and he rushed in the darkness to behind the row of wagons.
“I say, she is quick indeed! Anyone else care to try?” A
man’s voice spoke up over the mumbling crowd.
Kendari watched as a man, the one that had spoken, walked close to the wagons and picked up his greatsword from the ground.
“I will see it done! Perhaps you men would be afraid to split a wandering whore, but I am not. I have no bones about taking it to her while she is bandaged and cut, live or no. I have done focked a few worse than she!” Another man, larger, a Shanadorian man for sure, drew a bastard sword and twirled it in one hand.
“I have told you, I am no whore. I am traveling west, alone. Leave me be.” A woman’s voice, calm, Kendari had heard it before.
“Lone woman on merchant roads in the night? Not a whore? Say what you would lass, say what you would. Twill be easier if you put the blade down, let us have our way with what you do, and then you get your coins.” Another man, one of dozens in the armed merchant caravan surrounding this woman, tried to ease her down before anyone else got seriously injured.
“Focking whore! You cut me!” Another man, kneeling on the ground and holding his arm, yelled over the men surrounding the woman with a blade.
Kendari strode out, deer behind him, and stood in the firelight not twenty feet behind the ring of men. He looked past them, seeing reddish blonde hair on the woman, green robes, and that beautiful serious face, he remembered now. It was the woman from the Temple of Golden Mercy in Chazzrynn, the one from the alley in Harlaheim, Angeline she had said her name was. The woman that could fly off of walls.
She must be tracking me again he thought, but why, Kendari could not figure. No walls to push from, so no flying, hence her predicament.
“Then who is next? I have disarmed three of you, the next man may not be so lucky.” Angeline stared at their eyes, taking small steps in circles, waiting and feeling with her blade, Charity, drawn and on guard, for who would charge her next.
“I say take her in a rush. Forget the honor and swordsmanship.” Kendari walked up to them, startling five or six close by, hands on his pommels.
“Mind your business traveler, we here are just having a midjourney foray with a wandering whore, tis none of your concern.”
