"I've just met this young man, and here you are wanting to show off my most embarrassing tale," said Roland with mock remorse. "Fine. A story from me and then my news, Holve."
Roland wasn't embarrassed by his story. In fact, he seemed to be relishing in the chance to tell it. Ealrin noticed that a few of the Rusty Hook's patrons had taken a break from their meals and had begun listening to the tale.
Roland took another bite out of his fish, chewed and swallowed, then started on his tale.
"I was venturing through the villages and towns in the northern rim of the republic. There were rumors of a cleric who had been rounding up some followers and asking for all their gold. Normally religion doesn't bother me, but this one felt odd. I found the cleric and was able to expose his lie pretty easily. What I couldn't shake were the rumors I heard after the cleric. Dragon. One living up in the high mountains somewhere. He got himself a stash of gold and was killing anyone who came within a few leagues of the place. So, naturally, I went looking for it. I have to say, adding Dragon Bane to the end of my name seemed pretty tempting. Well, all the signs pointed to one cave up on the Morath Mountain. But what I found wasn't a Dragon. It wasn't a stash of gold either. Just some troll Shaman trying to act all-important. He burned down most of the trees, and what wouldn't burn he snapped in half just to add to the story. I figure he was trying to scare everyone away because he thought he found some rimstone in the area. Well, taking on a troll, Shaman wasn't near the adventure I was hoping for, but he turned out to be pretty tough. Seeing as how I'm standing here and he's not, you can guess who won. But I still hold a grudge against all trolls because of what he did to me."
At this, Roland leaned in for dramatic effect. As a result, everyone else in the end also leaned in a little closer to hear what the troll had done to him. The inn's patrons held their breath.
"He turned me into a chicken."
Roland waited just a moment to let the absurdity of his statement sink in before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. For good measure, he began clucking like a chicken and actually threw up into the air a handful of real chicken feathers.
It wasn't long before the entire inn was laughing, Ealrin included. It was the first time he'd laughed since he arrived here. It may have been the first time he'd smiled as well.
"I can't believe after all these years you still carry around a pouch of chicken feathers," said Holve through a half stifled chuckle.
He does have some humor then, Ealrin thought.
"And I can't believe you still set me up for that story every time we meet," chuckled Roland, wiping away tears of his own.
Most of the patrons at the inn went back to eating their meals, breaking out into small fits of laughter as one or two retold Roland's joke.
"So how much of your tale is true?" Ealrin inquired.
"The cleric and the troll are real. I checked those out myself, after I heard his version of it the third time," said Holve. "But, to my knowledge, our friend Roland has never been a chicken."
"In manner of speaking or in reality?" asked Roland, finishing off his supper. He was obviously pleased with himself for telling his story so well and for the reaction he’d received from the other patrons.
"Still, the only thing I got for all my troubles was a scar that won't heal on my neck from that blasted shaman," he said, rubbing it with his hand. "It's funny to tell it my way, but as it happened, I'd much rather forget. As I said, Ealrin, some things are fine for forgetting."
"I'd rather know who I am, and clear the fog in my head," Ealrin replied.
"Ah, but perhaps the man you were wasn't who you truly wished to be?” Roland said as he swallowed his fish and bread. “Like that cleric who used religion as a selfish means for himself. Suppose you used to be like him? Perhaps fate has granted you the chance of a better life than you lived before, hmm?" Roland said through half a mouthful of fish he had just purloined from Holve's plate. "Now, Holve," Roland said, turning his gaze back to his old friend with a wink. "I've been watching the goblins in the west..."
The thought Roland offered up hadn't occurred to Ealrin.
Would he be glad to remember his old life, or be shocked at the revelation? Was he a good person? He felt as if he was. But what if his feelings were wrong? Perhaps he was someone who was ruthless, uncaring, and unsympathetic towards others. What if the life he had forgotten was, indeed, worth forgetting?
There wasn't much time for consideration. Because Elezar came crashing out the kitchen, shaking a butcher knife at a man dressed from head to toe in brown cloth. The odd attire obscured his features.
"Thief! Brigand!" yelled the old man as he chased the man out the door. "Give me back that locket!"
Chapter 5: The Stolen Locket
Roland and Holve were the first out the door behind Elezar. Ealrin quickly got up and followed the group out of the inn.
Elezar stood cursing the north, and throwing a wooden spoon as the thief made good his escape. Roland and Holve were standing next to him.
"What did he take Elezar?" asked Holve, putting a hand on his shoulder.
At this, Elezar began to weep.
"He grabbed my locket, Holve! That's the most precious thing in the world to me. I don't know why he'd take it. It certainly wouldn't fetch a good price at market," he said through fits of sobbing.
"Doesn't seem to be interested in selling it," said Roland, still looking in the direction the thief went.
“Either he’s desperate or stupid. Both are dangerous," Holve said as he adjusted the sword in his hilt. “Feeling up for a bit of adventure, Ealrin?”
Ealrin wasn’t sure. He’d only made a few short walks around the town of Good Harbor. This didn’t seem like it was going to be anything like those trips. Trekking after a thief who already had a good head start on them and was heading out of town towards the forests and small mountains of the island seemed more than a little taxing for him.
But, then again...
It was hard to put a finger on it. Just like when Roland had called him young, the thought of going off on a chase like this, an adventure, made sense to Ealrin. Perhaps the man he couldn’t remember used to do things like this all the time; chased down thieves, climb mountains, did for others instead of himself.
Something in it was natural.
“Let’s go,” said Ealrin.
“Now, there is a little fight still left in you," said Holve. “Let’s see if you can put it to any good use.” Holve was almost glaring at him as he spoke. Was he daring him to run after the thief after just recovering from his injury? It certainly felt like it to Ealrin.
“Are you sure old friend?” Roland said cautiously. “Ealrin here may not be up for it.”
At this, Ealrin knew actions would speak volumes when his words would fall short and he set off at a jog in the direction of the thief.
“Are you going to let him keep his head start?” he shouted over his shoulder.
The chase had begun.
***
Good Harbor was concentrated on the shore. Most of the businesses were built as close to the water as earth would allow. Ancient stones shored up the water as to not allow the soil to be washed out to sea by the tides. Looking down into the depths would allow you to see the murky water of the Forean Sea, the eastern side of the island.
The various shops and businesses that made up Good Harbor's commercial district could be visited with a morning walk. Each was made of wood and fairly plain, save for the painted signs that dictated whether you were walking into a baker’s store or a fish market. The paint was peeling off the front and sides of most of the buildings due to the sea air. Each was closely packed next to the other, to be close to the shore and in sight of any traveler who stepped off of the docks. The stores all had some sort of glass front or window to show off their wares and several had their wares laid out on tables. The effect was four or five streets that split out from the docks to do your shopping on, with each having its own flavor of things to
sell: metal and leather, fruit and other grown food, meat and animals. The five streets made the city of Good Harbor look like the fingers of a hand outstretched, with the palm being the docks and the water.
The docks themselves were a maze of old, sun-bleached, and slightly warping wooden paths that allowed small rowboats to be tied to them. Piles of goods were stacked onto every available space. Not that they stayed there long. Either they would go to the shops or the residents, or be put onto the ships that were anchored out further at sea. The water close to Good Harbor was too shallow to allow for the bigger ships to sail too close.
The residences that came after the shops, further past the shore, could all be seen with a walk during the afternoon. Though the Rusty Hook was a good place to stay if one didn't wish to be seen, you could hardly walk around the city of Good Harbor without being noticed by the general population.
Not a good place for a thief to run and hide. The people were too proud to be a refuge for thieves intentionally.
So it was no surprise that the thief passed the walls of the city as quickly as possible. Though the town was small, an ancient wall protected it from outsiders and invaders.
"A city without a wall is like a chest without a lock. Easy pickings," Holve would later say.
The wall was the only thing made of stone in the whole city. Everything else was wooden and made from the trees that were closer to the city than the far mountains. Holve said that the wall was older than Elezar.
The trio jogged past the town and down one of the dirt roads that ran from Good Harbor to the outside farms and small villages. A man who was guarding the door to the city had seen the thief run past the door and pointed the direction out to the three. It was not yet fully dark and the gates weren't closed. He reminded them, as they ran by, that he would be closing the gates behind them and to expect not to be let in during the night unless they made a big racket trying to get someone’s attention.
Apparently the city guard was understaffed.
Holve knew every farmer and villager by name. Ealrin was certainly impressed. Not just with Holve's uncanny recollection, but also by the sheer time and energy it must have taken the man to learn such small details.
The first house belonged to a farmer and his family. After asking if they had seen a man who fit the description, the farmer replied "He went running like he was a demon being chased toward the Lonely Pass!" Holve had thanked the man and promised to return to catch up later, but for now the group was quick to resume their pursuit.
Holve's mind was a treasure trove of information about the island and its inhabitants.
Ealrin's mind was an island in and of itself: one shrouded in fog.
The island could be covered from coast to coast in two days time at a jog. Both Holve and Roland had done this on several occasions. As they ran, Roland was relating the stories to Ealrin, who was thankful for an excuse not to say much and only let out a grunt every once in a while. His body was still not fully recovered from being injured, and his ribs, though sufficiently scabbed over and healing, were still sore and bruised. Currently, they were screaming at the abuse he was inflicting on them.
How in the world can you run and talk at the same time? Ealrin thought as he listened to Roland speak without hardly any difficulty at all.
"...of course that was after we had to round up that group of dwarves who claimed an ancient stronghold on the mountains. Ha! I've seen those mountains and the only living thing inside them are rocks. Ancestor's hall my foot! They were looking for an excuse to settle and mine for gold without going through the Republic's paperwork. They only put up a little fight when they saw my posse and me coming after them!" relayed Roland. Ealrin was jealous beyond measure. Roland had hardly stopped for a break from the jog. Yet he was still relaying past stories from adventures in and around Good Harbor. The man had yet to break a sweat, let alone become short of breath.
Though he ached with every step now, Ealrin certainly took in the beauty of the island as they pursued the thief. All of the villagers or farmers who had been watchful of the roads had pointed them continually towards what they referred to as "Lonely Pass." Spring had come beautifully for the island. Trees were exploding with the colors of their blossoms and the ground was giving forth life in all directions. To look in one direction would give you a fantastic view of a small mountain ridge rising up to meet the majestic reds and oranges of the setting sun in the west. The other would show you the land as it gradually sloped down to the sea. Night was beginning to fall in earnest and the deep blues and purples of the night sky were taking the place of the daytime's burning sun.
It was truly beautiful here.
Not a bad island to crash land on, Ealrin thought.
Holve finally stopped them upon coming to the entrance of what Ealrin guessed was Lonely Pass. It certainly looked lonely. At the base of the mountain grew a forest coming to life in the spring. Two of the mountains split ways at some point long ago to form a pass between them, covered in trees yet still allowing for a path to grow between. Only the desperate would take such a route in the night. Again, as Ealrin thought of the creatures of the darkness, some fog in his mind cleared. Traveling through a forest without light would not be ideal; least of all for someone who was as tired as he must be.
"If we head a bit to the east we can see if Old Soltack will allow us to stay the night with him. I wouldn't want to travel much through the woods while..." Holve cast a quick look at Ealrin, who was desperately trying not to breathe as heavily as he wanted to through his burning ribs. "Well, while we can't see our hands in front of our faces."
Ealrin knew they were truly going to stop for him and he was grateful for the break, but a small bit of pride was stirring up inside of him, pushing him to protest.
"Suppose we lose our man?” he asked through gasps of air. He wished he would start breathing normally again so he could seem like he was better fitted for the chase.
“With all the kindness Elezar has shown me I would certainly like to retrieve this locket of his to repay him. Don't you worry the thief might..." Might what? The island was, in fact, surrounded by sea. No land was visible from Good Harbor. Was there something within swimming distance on the west side of the island? Or a boat waiting for him?
Roland finished Ealrin's thoughts for him.
"I doubt the thief plans to steal away from the island. He'd have had a better chance of that slipping onto a boat in Good Harbor. No boats sail from the west either. Much too dangerous. Goblin waters."
"I think we'll be safe letting him sleep in the woods tonight,” Holve continued, brows furrowed as he surveyed the landscape ahead of him. “If we're well rested I'm sure we'll have the advantage over him tomorrow."
Ealrin thought the best way to have the advantage on the thief would be to sneak up on him while he slept. Yet, knowing his body had taken enough punishment from the chase so far, he conceded.
"So who is old Soltack?" asked Ealrin as he followed Holve along the edge of the mountains. The trio was now walking off the beaten road and onto a narrow path that led to a house, just visible in the failing light.
Holve and Roland exchanged sly smirks. Roland answered.
"Crazy old coot doesn't quite do him justice. He's dependable and quite good company. But let's just say he's lived by himself 20 years too many. He's full of odd stories and rants every now and then."
"Has anyone turned him into a chicken?" Ealrin asked Roland, smiling a bit himself.
Roland let out a laugh that was much too loud for a group trying to hunt down a thief, but was genuine and rang over the field and off the mountain.
"Holve, I've met many a man in my adventures and half of them were those that you've introduced me to in our many years. Some I haven't thought much about or like, but this one is growing on me!"
Chapter 6: General Rayg
In the coolness of the dawn, he could see his own breath mist in front of him, as well as the breath of the four hundred souls behind him. The
bursts of fog were the only telltale sign that they occupied this spot, covered as they were by several barriers of protective magic.
The mountain of the dwarves loomed before them. For generations dwarves had dwelled in and mined the mountains of the Southern Republic without fear of their precious bounty being claimed by another, thanks to the treaty of peace signed nearly one hundred years ago.
That treaty ends today, thought Rayg, general of the Mercs.
He stood taller than any other man around him. He was broader as well. The sword he carried was nearly the same size as his own body. It would have been impossibly heavy to lift for any other man, but not Rayg. He was more than just a man.
"I don't like the idea of raiding the dwarves," spoke Gileon in his ear. Typically the short, squat man would not be able to whisper to him so because Rayg would simply ignore the words coming from the height of his torso. As the company was kneeling down to remain in the barrier, Gileon could talk directly into Rayg's ear.
This displeased Rayg greatly.
"You heard how they plan to attack Conny and usurp power from the elders so that they can mine the plains!" Rayg directed back to him in a harsh tone. "They must be dealt with swiftly if we are to maintain peace!"
"Peace," the word echoed in Rayg's ear. Yes. All would be done for peace. Or so the common man would believe.
Preparations for this day were four years in the making and all players had to be in the correct spot, ready to pounce as one. Some of the lesser races would play their own role. But it would all be for the rise of man.
"The age of man is come," said Rayg out loud, yet barely audible to any but himself and possibly Gileon. No matter.
The morning sunlight would cast out any doubt or darkness from their plan, Rayg thought.
He rose above the protective barrier, effectively breaking it and revealing the four hundred men in red robes under battle armor standing at the base of the mountain. A dwarven horn blared in the distance.
It begins, thought Rayg with a smile.
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 93
