“The elves, however, were not without great warriors of their own and they also had mages of immense power. They fought back with unheard of courage and valor.”
“Did they win?” Julian asked hopefully.
Kian paused and looked out into the night, then he shrugged.
“In the end, who can stand against Death?” Kian rubbed the stubble on his face.
He didn’t like talking about the elven race’s fate, but the boy had asked.
“After the elves were defeated, humans dominated the world and the fearsome God of Death returned to Hell. Very few elves still remained in the world. Without the Reaper to fuel the humans’ hearts with hate, even mankind tired of the bloodshed. Only the Reaper’s personal guard, the Horsemen of the Red Hand, still hunted the elves. A few years later, when the Red Hand finally vanished from the world, the elves that remained were driven into what is now known as the March of Sylonia. What remains of my mother’s people are there.”
Julian shifted uncomfortably at the horrible story. “Why do they stay there?” The boy asked, “If the Death God is gone, can’t they return to their lands?”
“The elves are few now and their lands belong to humans. The elven race is still hated by most of mankind. A few ventured out on their own, some even live outside Sylonia, like my mother. They try to dwell among men, but most of them just live in the poverty and misery of the March, shunned and despised by mankind.”
“Why is it you don’t live in Sylonia, Kian? Then you could be with people that don’t hate you.” The boy’s eyes went wide, and he held his hands out to the swordsman.
Kian could see that Julian thought he had offended him.
“I don’t hate you. I was talking about other people,” Julian corrected himself.
Kian wrapped his black cloak tighter around himself. The night air had grown colder.
“I cannot. The elves hate those of us with human blood more than your church does, Julian. Those of us you call “half-breeds” have no home. We aren’t wanted by the humans or the elves. Both races look on us with contempt.” Kian didn’t want to talk about his heritage anymore, so he decided to change the subject. “That is enough stories for one night. I think you should rest now and try to sleep. You can travel with me tomorrow, if you wish. I will see you get safely to a village or town.”
Julian yawned. “I am tired, and I will go with you in the morning, Kian.”
Kian pulled a small blanket from his pack and gave it to the boy. Julian curled up on the ground near the fire. In the distance, a wolf howled.
“Kian, do you think the Reaper will ever come back from Hell?”
The half-breed threw a few more sticks on the fire and settled down with his back against a tree. He had scared the boy with his story. “The Old Gods are gone, Julian, they have been for a very long time. I don’t think they will ever return. Now go to sleep.” Kian looked at the boy and saw he already slumbered.
Morning came and they ate a sparse breakfast of dried meat and hard bread. Kian was glad to have the horses; he would be able to travel much faster now. He picked a big chestnut mare from the trio, and Julian rode a smaller grey mountain horse. The horses weren’t fast, but they were steady and strong. Kian was not an accomplished rider and he could count the times he had ridden on one hand, but his balance was uncanny so he had little trouble controlling the mare.
Julian told Kian his story as they rode. Most of it focused on his mother. Kian could tell by the way Julian talked that he had been very close to her. “When I get older, I will find out what happened to her even if I have to go to Baron Serban’s castle myself. If he harmed her, I will kill him for it,” Julian said with conviction.
The boy made Kian think of his own mother. “If anyone harmed my mother, I too would want revenge. Gildor always said that vengeance was a dangerous thing, and it must never consume a man’s life.”
Julian brushed his coarse brown hair out of his eyes. “Why did he think it was dangerous? I think it would be dangerous for the man you were seeking revenge on.”
Kian grinned.
“I said that very thing to my master. He said that if a man let the pursuit for revenge become the most important thing in his life, one day it would devour his soul, and in the end, he would be left with nothing.”
Julian was silent for a moment, taking in what Kian had just told him. “If someone hurt your mother, what would you do, Kian?”
Kian stopped his horse and looked at the boy. His brows lowered, and Julian leaned away from the half-elf’s intense gaze. “I would kill them.”
Keeping the Blue Dagger Mountains to their right, Kian and Julian rode on through Trimenia. The country was bleak and the soil rocky. Though rain blew in from the sea quite often, there were few farms; in most places, the soil was just too thin to grow a crop. As they made their way south and the mountains grew distant, large pine and sycamore trees began to line the road. The rocky hills gave way to the dark and eerie forests of southern Trimenia.
Kian was pleased that they had not run into many others traveling on the road. The only traffic had been the two tinker wagons they had seen. The tinkers traveled from village to village, fixing people's tools and utensils. They were well known for keeping to themselves and didn’t give Kian and Julian a second glance.
Kian was afraid if they ran into the wrong people along the way, there could be trouble because of his lineage. He had the boy with him now and didn’t want to risk putting Julian in danger, so they moved along as quickly and quietly as they could. He could pass as a human at a glance. Unlike true elves, he had some facial hair. He could not grow a full beard but left unshaved, his face had enough stubble to help hide his true identity. Closer inspection however would reveal his mother’s high cheekbones and tapering chin, and his flawless skin—not to mention if someone happened to see his ears, not truly pointed like an elf’s but too upswept to deny his blood.
Trimenia was not known for its friendly people, his master had told him. He would wait until they rode into Phlosha to find a place for Julian. When he told Julian what he intended, the boy offered no argument. The hill people of Phlosha were fierce fighters, but Gildor had said they were not an unfriendly folk—at least to other humans. He would try to find a village that would allow the boy to stay and leave Julian there. He used to complain about the old man’s insistence on him learning to read and write. His mentor had made him study the kingdoms of the world and their histories. Maps had also been a favorite of the old man; he said it was always good to know where you were and where you were going. He regretted giving Gildor such a hard time about the education his old master wanted him to have. Now that he had left the valley, he saw the wisdom of it.
“Was your father a warrior too?”
The boy’s question shook Kian from his daydreaming.
“I don’t know, Julian, I never knew my father.”
The boy looked confused. “Did he die like mine?”
“You ask a great deal of questions,” Kian said.
“There is nothing else to do when you ride but talk.”
The half-elf shrugged. The boy had a point. “You are right, Julian. It’s just been a long time since I had someone to talk to, you will have to excuse my lack of manners. To answer your question, I don’t know if my father is alive or dead because I don’t know who he was. My mother never told me. When I asked her, she always said it was not important.”
“Where do you come from, Kian?”
The boy was very chatty, Kian thought.
The half-elf was not much of a talker, and he didn’t like to talk about himself. He was a soft-spoken man and had spent a great deal of time alone. It was hard for him to answer the boy’s questions.
“I was born in the free city of Thieves Port.”
“Did you have a nice home?”
“I think that is enough questions for today, Julian. We should start looking for a place to stop for the night.”
The boy stopped talking.
As they traveled farther south, the road became narrower and the trees seemed to close in on them with each passing day. The sun stayed hidden behind the low clouds, heavy with moisture, and it was hard to keep anything dry.
A week from the Phloshain border, a heavy mist began to come down and made the day miserable for both travelers. The trees were so heavy with dew that when it was quiet, the water dripping from the leaves made it sound like it was raining inside the forest.
Kian looked up at the clouds. “Let’s find somewhere to get out of this, Julian.”
The boy’s hair was already plastered to his head from the drizzle, and he was shivering. They turned the horses west towards the mountains. The clouds began to thicken and the drizzle turned to rain.
Their spare horse reared up and the reins were nearly jerked from Kian’s hands, almost pulling him out of the saddle. He looked back and at once saw what had frightened the animal.
A pack of wolves was coming up fast behind them.
“Julian, ride,” Kian shouted.
He let go of the trailing horse just as the wolves slammed into it like a giant’s war hammer. In moments, the horse was down on its side and being torn apart by the pack. Three of the wolves still gave chase, not staying back with the rest of the pack to feast on the fresh kill.
The lead wolf was large and its fur black as night. Kian could see that the beasts were gaining on Julian. The boy’s smaller horse would never outrun the wolves. He had to act or Julian was dead.
Kian yanked his horse to a stop and slid from the saddle. He barely had time to pull his blade before the wolves were on him. The first leaped for his throat and the swordsman thrust his blade, piercing the wolf through the chest. The second went for his leg, but yelped as Kian’s boot met its jaw. The black wolf had passed him by and went straight for the boy. From the corner of his eye, Kian could see Julian’s horse go down in a heap. The black wolf was standing atop the animal like a victorious king.
He wanted to go to the boy, but he had to keep his attention on the grey wolf in front of him. Kian knew he had to kill the animal quickly to have any chance of getting to the boy in time. He went on the attack. The beast was too fast jumping back when he thrust at it. It was wary now, the kick he had given it showing the animal that this man could hurt it.
The grey wolf bared its teeth and lunged at the half-elf, mouth wide open. Kian spun on his heel, making the wolf miss him. He brought the longsword down on the animal's back, shearing through its spine.
He raced to Julian’s horse that lay dying on the ground. Kian saw how huge the black beast truly was—easily twice the size of the grey wolves he had killed. The wolf had sunk its teeth into the boy’s shoulder and was dragging him toward the forest. Kian sprinted towards the creature, determined not the let the animal carry Julian away. The monstrous wolf turned his head with the boy still in its jaws and looked at the swordsman sprinting towards it. Kian stopped when he saw the beast’s eyes; there was a strange intelligence in them. The wolf opened its slavering mouth and dropped the boy to the ground, loping off to the west.
Kian ran to where Julian lay on the ground, still keeping one eye on the fleeing wolf. The boy was unconscious but breathing steadily. The wound on his shoulder looked bad. The wolf had not just punctured his flesh, but had ripped and torn it. Kian cut strips from his cloak and bandaged the boy’s wound with the pieces of the wet garment, then wrapped the boy in what was left of the ruined cloak.
Down to only the chestnut mare now, Kian slung Julian across the saddle in front of him and started to search for a place to get out of the rain. The sky began to rumble and the rain pounded down, soaking them both to the bone. It took the half-elf over an hour to find shelter in a bank where a massive tree stood, its gnarled roots exposed where part of the bank had eroded away. Kian tied the mare to one of its roots and pulled Julian up under the overhang. It wasn’t much, but it let them at least keep the rain off their heads.
Julian had not stirred since the wolf attack. He was still wrapped in the torn cloak and Kian covered him with the blanket from his pack. It was not much drier than the cloak, but it seemed like the thing to do.
It took until nightfall for the warrior to build a fire, the wood soaked from the rain. He finally ripped his pack into pieces after it had dried, and he used flint and steel to light it. It was well after dark before the fire offered any warmth at all. Kian leaned back against the cold damp soil, exhausted, and kept watch over the boy.
“Kian, are you awake?”
The half-elf opened his eyes and saw Julian staring at him. Kian was shocked; he thought he would have to care for the boy several days before he could move around.
“Julian, you shouldn’t be up. How do you feel?” he asked.
Julian looked at his bandaged shoulder. “Better, it doesn’t hurt much. I’m sure I can ride.”
Kian shook his head as he examined the shoulder. The wound had looked much worse to him before, but now that the rain had cleaned away the blood, it didn’t look so bad.
“The wolf killed your horse, Julian. You will have to ride double with me.”
“Oh” was all Julian said.
But Kian could tell the death of the horse bothered him. Kian breathed a sigh of relief—the attack could have turned out much worse.
Julian’s wound had gotten better with each passing day. By the time the pair rode into Phlosha, the boy was all but healed.
The Hillmen of Phlosha were clannish and had no king. Each village or town was led by a hetman or chieftain. The clans often made war against each other—the only time the Phloshains united as a country was to repel an outside invader.
The two travelers rode through the hills and vales for several days, enjoying their beautiful surroundings and warmer weather. Kian found himself trying to delay finding Julian a home. He was beginning to enjoy the boy’s company. The half-breed had never had a friend. He didn’t count Gildor, as he had been more like a father. Julian was the closest thing to a friend Kian ever had, and he liked the feeling. He knew he would have to leave him, though; it would be far too dangerous for the boy to come along with him.
A few days later, Kian found a small village nestled in a green valley. The men of the village met him wearing their traditional kilts. They had donned chainmail and armed themselves with sword and spear. He explained that he wished to leave the boy with them. “Leave him and go, half-breed. Your ungodly kind is not welcome here.” Kian didn’t argue. He had expected worse.
The boy looked unhappy as Kian prepared to leave. “This is Farwell, Julian. I hope you do well here.”
“Can’t I come with you, Kian?”
The swordsman’s throat tightened. He hoped the boy wouldn’t do this. “No, Julian. I’m going home to Thieves Port to see my mother and brother, and that is no place for a young man like you.”
“Maybe we will see each other again?” the boy said hopefully.
Kian knew that wasn’t likely, but he didn’t want to disappoint Julian any further.
“I’m sure I will pass this way again someday. When I do, I will find you.”
Kian handed the reins of the horse to Julian. He took the pouch from his belt and gave it to the boy. It held the few copper coins he had left.
Julian tried to hand the horse’s reins back to the half-elf.
“You can have the horse, Kian, and you might need the money to get home.”
Kian smiled thinly at the boy and patted him on the shoul
der. “The horse belongs to you, Julian, and perhaps the money will keep you fed for a while until you make a start here.” Kian waved goodbye to Julian and headed to the south, a pauper.
The city of Turill hadn’t changed much since Prince Cain had been gone. The capital city of Bandara still teemed with people. The streets near the sea were heavy with tradesmen and merchants loading and unloading goods from the ships in Fair Wind Harbor. The smell of the ocean and the sound of the gulls reminded Cain of his childhood. As a boy, he used to watch the ships come in to the harbor from the eastern palace windows. In the hub of the city it was no different, only it was wagons that were being loaded and unloaded instead of the huge trade ships.
The sound of clinking coins changing hands was everywhere. The capital was alive with trade. Turill was one of the places on the Middle Continent that the Gold Road passed through. In fact, its great eastern branch ended in the heart of the city. That area of the city had of course become the trade district and held the Great Market of Bandara. It was said you could find almost any item you wanted there, and any service as well from butchers to barbers, fortunetellers to fishmongers. The Great Market of Bandara had everything a man could want.
Many people said that was why it was called the Gold Road. It brought trade to every town or city it passed through. Cain had been told when he was a young boy that the Gold Road got its name from the yellow stones used in its construction. Legend said it was constructed by dwarven craftsmen thousands of years ago and that their wizards enchanted each and every stone, and that was why the road had lasted down through the centuries.
Cain didn’t know if he believed that or not, but it had outlasted the dwarves themselves. No one had seen one in hundreds of years. Old tales said the Reaper had killed all of them. He didn’t know if that was true or not either. What Cain did know to be fact was the road brought huge amounts of trade to Bandara, and trade meant gold and gold was power.
DAWN OF THE PHOENIX Page 2
