by Casey Odell
Farron glared at him, holding the blade in front of him, ready to go again. It was Bren’s turn to lunge forward. He swung at the elf but was blocked, the crack of the colliding wooden swords echoed throughout the clearing. Bren swung again, stepping towards the elf and forcing him back to the line of trees, attacking with a relentless vigor, his movements swift and quick. Farron blocked the attacks, parrying the blows away with little effort and an amused expression. He was enjoying this a little too much.
The fighting duo disappeared into the trees, the lesson quickly spiraling out of control.
Worry gnawed at Claire’s mind. She was beginning to think that this wasn’t just a friendly match anymore. It was clear that the elf didn’t like the General, but he didn’t have to go this far.
The clacks of wood grew further away into the forest. Her feet lurched forward and carried her in the direction of the fight. She had to stop them before it escalated into something more serious. What was Farron thinking? He was in as much danger of exposing them as she’d ever been. It didn’t seem like him to lose control like that.
Claire rushed through the trees, following the loud cracks of the swords. She found them easily; Farron pursued Bren now, each swinging and parrying blows at a dizzying pace. She watched helplessly, not knowing how to stop them. Rushing in seemed too risky. She shouted at them, but was ignored. Their focus was lost to the fight, their attention locked on one another.
Farron knocked Bren’s sword away and sent it flying through the air. Bren stumbled backwards, shocked at the swift disarmament. His hand quickly grabbed for the gold hilt at his waist, but before he could draw it Farron threw his weapon to the side and kicked the General in the stomach, sending him backwards to the ground from the force. In a blur the elf drew both his daggers as he stepped on Bren’s chest, drawing one up to Bren’s throat while the other hovered above his chest. The movement was quick, effortless, and sent chills down Claire’s spine. He could have ended the fight long ago if he really wanted to. What was he trying to prove?
Farron gazed down at Bren with ice cold eyes, his face emotionless. Each of them remained still, waiting for one or the other to make a move.
“Farron!” Claire shouted in a shrill voice as she rushed to them. She reached out and gently placed her hands just below the elf’s elbow. She kept her eyes on his face as he stared down at Bren. He didn’t seem to notice her, even when she tightened her hands around his arm. “Farron,” she repeated in a calmer voice. She didn’t want him to make any sudden movements that could hurt the General.
Farron finally looked up at her and the tension eased out of him, muscles and shoulders relaxing a bit. He raised himself off Bren, lowered the blades and stepped to the side. He transferred the dagger in his right hand to his left and offered Bren a hand. Claire glanced down at the General for the first time. She’d been too nervous to take her eyes off of the elf before to notice his reaction. He wore an uneasy smile as he took Farron’s hand and was pulled to his feet.
Claire grabbed the elf by the arm and dragged him away while Bren brushed himself off. When they were at a safe distance, she stopped and spun towards the elf.
“What was that all about?” She glared up at him.
Farron grinned and shrugged his shoulders, daggers still in hand. “Just a little friendly competition.”
Claire sighed. He wasn’t as charming as he thought he was. “You could have hurt him.”
“To be fair, he was going to draw his weapon first.” The amusement faded from his face as he leaned in closer and pointed a dagger in Bren’s direction.
She jumped a little at his reaction, her eyes glancing nervously at the blades in his hand. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, but his little display moments before had been frightening. Who knew what the elf was really capable of doing?
“I see.” The emotionless mask slipped back into place as he sheathed his weapons. “We should arrive in Sanre tomorrow.” He shot one last glance at Bren before he brushed past her into the forest.
Claire relaxed and let out a long breath before she made her way back over to the General, who was searching through the leaves for the practice blades.
“Sorry about that.” She laughed nervously. “He can get a little carried away sometimes.”
“I’m alright, Miss Claire.” Bren looked up from his search to flash her a wondrous smile. “I was just a little shocked. I hope you learned something from our little duel.”
“A little.” Not really, but she couldn’t tell him that. They put so much effort into it, after all. Even if it hadn’t truly been for her benefit.
She began to look around for her sword. It was a few paces away, buried beneath some leaves and dirt. She bent to pick it up and examine the damage done. Splinters stuck out from the edge and the black paint was rubbed away in several places. At least it was still in one piece. Either way, she’d better not let Aeron see it in such poor condition.
Bren had found Aeron’s, which had suffered a worse fate than hers. The end had split from the rest of it and hung on by a thin sliver. She took the pathetic looking stick in both hands. It was going to be fun explaining what had happened to it to Aeron. She sighed again. It was going to be a long night.
14
Sanre Du Lore looked like a normal town. High walls sat on the edge of a river, covered in white plaster. A gate sat in the middle of the wall, the doors open to welcome travelers. A wooden drawbridge spanned the water to meet the dirt road on which the group traveled since early in the afternoon.
The muscles in Claire’s shoulders ached, stiff from practice and the comforting sleep the great outdoors had to offer. As predicted, Aeron was upset about the sword and had barely said a word to any of them-- especially Farron, who’d walked ahead of the group as usual. She guessed Aeron really could hold a grudge. As expected, Bren had been the first to apologize for his actions and for the ruin of the sword. He even offered to replace it. Which Aeron gladly accepted, a little too quickly.
Farron was the first to cross the drawbridge over the river, followed by Aeron. Her stomach tensed as she approached the bridge. The river drifted peacefully underneath. However, it wasn’t a fear of bridges that made her nervous. Bren had seemed surprised that she would want to stop at this town and she was nervous to find out why.
“Wait, Miss Claire.” Bren held out his arm in front of her before she could step onto the bridge. “We have a tradition in Lendon. Before we enter another country, we must first say goodbye to our own.”
Claire looked up at the General. “What do you mean?”
Bren spun around to face the empty road behind them. “We leave the country by stepping backwards into the new one. That way, we don’t offend the land or his majesty and have good fortune on our return.”
She studied his face. He was serious. No matter how silly it seemed, she’d heard of stranger traditions. Who was she to judge? So, she spun around to face the empty road as well, hoping the two elves weren’t watching.
“Like this.” Bren bowed in the direction of the road. “This is farewell, but not goodbye. Please grant me good fortune upon my return.” He glanced down at her and waited for her to say something.
“And me as well,” was all she could come up with at the moment. She felt silly enough curtsying to an empty stretch of road.
Bren stepped backwards and Claire did as well. She closed her eyes and hoped against all hope Aeron didn’t see what they were doing. She walked backwards, taking slow, even steps, not wanting to fall into the river below. That was a whole different fear all in its own.
“Bren? How far do we have to walk backwards?” she asked but was replied with only silence. “General?”
Her back bumped into something and her eyes flew open.
“Mon lainí, I really hope that you have not gone crazy already.”
She tilted her head back to see Aeron with a worried look on his face, then back down to find Bren still on the drawbridge, doubled over in silent laughter. Sh
e crossed her arms as Bren straightened up to join her and the elf.
“I’m afraid Miss Claire is as gullible as you say, Aeron.” His eyes glittered with amusement as he fought to control his smile.
“So it seems,” Aeron agreed from behind her.
Claire sighed loud enough so the others could hear it. Even Bren was starting in on the teasing now. And here she had believed he was a gentleman. Aeron planted his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him.
“We only tease because we are fond of you. Even Mr. Grumpy over there.” He motioned with his head to Farron standing across the street with crossed arms. “Now come, let me show you the wonders of Sanre.” Aeron spun on his heel, grabbed Claire’s hand, and planted it on his arm as he began to walk down the street.
“Have you been here before?” she asked. She didn’t think he was allowed to leave the forest. Unless this was where he came all those years ago on his little excursion.
“Unfortunately, no.” Aeron feigned sadness. “That is why I must take full advantage while we are here.” He glanced over his shoulder and leaned in close. “I will keep your prince busy while you go seek out that contact.”
Claire calmed a bit. She’d almost forgotten why they came to Sanre. Farron had mentioned that he had a friend in Sanre that could help her in her search for her mother, but would he still follow through? They weren’t exactly on the best of terms at the moment.
The streets of Sanre Du Lore weren’t as lively as Lendon’s. No market stalls stood along the main street. The mobs of people and farmers were absent as well, which left the dirt road devoid of life, save for a few scattered people wandering about. According to Bren, Sanre sat right on the border to the Lendonian Kingdom and was famous for the nightlife it offered. Gambling and prostitution were just a hop, skip, and a bridge away.
The buildings were modest with clean lines and white plastered walls. Colorful signs swung out in front of them, their windows blocked-out or shuttered on most of them. She counted three gambling holes and two brothels: all conveniently placed on the main road into town. Sanre sure didn’t disappoint.
They came to a crossroads, filled with the most people she’d seen so far. Taverns lined the street, their patrons spilled out into the road, the loud music from each blending together into an incoherent mash. Claire swallowed hard. What had she gotten herself into? And what kind of friend did Farron have here? She couldn’t imagine him loafing about in such a place. Or maybe there was a hidden side to the elf. She glanced over at him. His arms were still crossed, his face an unreadable mask. Maybe he really was a night worker. There were surely plenty of perverts in this town that would pay for even his company. She smiled at the thought.
“Well, General.” Aeron spun around to face Bren. “I believe you owe me a sword.”
Claire peered at Bren, her chest tight, afraid to see his reaction. Aeron didn’t have to be so direct.
Bren’s eyes went wide but he recovered with his dazzling smile. “Of course.”
Aeron put an arm around the General’s shoulders and squeezed tight. “Do not worry, my lady. I will show him a good time!”
A pang of worry hit Claire. His idea of a good time was a little unsettling. Especially in a town like this one.
“I would hate to leave Miss Claire all by herself,” Bren said as he glanced at Farron.
“Oh, no!” Claire chimed in. She waved her hands in the air in front of her as if to brush away his concern. “I’ll be quite fine! I’ll just wander around a bit and find a suitable inn. Besides, I have a guard.” She glanced at Farron, who seemed to be ignoring them. She knew what the General’s real concern was, but the idea was just too ridiculous.
“Alright, my lady, we shall see you later. Try not to have too much fun!” Aeron grinned before he turned to the General. “So tell me, Bren, have you ever gambled before?”
Claire crossed her arms as she watched the two disappear down the street. Bren glanced unsurely back at her with Aeron’s arm still planted firmly around his shoulders. She hoped they didn’t have too much fun by themselves; she sure wouldn’t. She glanced at her quiet companion. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since yesterday after his little scuffle with the General.
Awkward tension set in as she looked out at the crowded street. Would he actually follow through on his word?
“Well I do not know about you, but I’m hungry.”
Farron’s voice made her jump. The mention of food made her stomach growl. She’d forgotten that she’d only eaten a light lunch earlier in the day.
“I suppose I am as well. What do you suggest?” She turned to the elf.
“How ‘bout some local cuisine? I know a place.” He looked at her sideways.
Anything would be better than what they’ve been eating. “Lead the way.”
He held a hand out to her and she looked up at him, eyebrow raised high.
“It’s not a good idea for a woman to wander the streets alone in this town.”
Claire put her hands on her hips. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Fine.” Farron shrugged and took off down the street in the opposite direction that Aeron and Bren had gone.
This was going to be fun. She glanced one last time down the tavern riddled street, hoping Aeron wasn’t really going to show Bren a good time. Then she hurried after Farron, who was already several paces away, almost lost in the crowd, but least he wasn’t hard to find.
“Hey, Miss, what’s the hurry?” A hand caught her by the arm suddenly, pulled her back and spun her around. A man snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, his breath reeking of alcohol and other unsavory things. Bald of hair and round of belly, he surely wasn’t a catch, which could explain his presence in such a town.
“To get away from you of course,” she said curtly. She had never been too fond of dealing with drunks. Alcohol gave even the shyest of men confidence. Most of it unwelcome.
“That’s not very nice of ya,” he slurred and leaned in closer.
“It’s not nice of you to commandeer a lady, either.” She began to pry his arm away from her waist but his grip tightened.
“What’s the big hurry?” He smiled, exposing browned teeth. “We could have some fun.”
Hardly likely, she thought, but decided not to share it. Making the man angry would only worsen the situation. “Please, sir, remove your hands.”
“And let you get away? I don’t think so.”
“What makes you think I would want to go anywhere with you?”
“A tiny little thing like you shouldn’t be wanderin’ around here alone, didn’t anyone tell you that?”
Unfortunately, they had. “I believe I can take care of myself, sir.”
“I wouldn’t even charge ya--”
“Is this how your mother raised you?” she shot at him.
The man’s expression faltered a bit.
“I would hate to think that this is the way that you would woo a lady, kind sir.” She kept her voice even and summoned up a glare that would have made her mother proud. “I am not a lady for hire, and even if I were, I’d think she’d receive a certain amount of respect, or at least warning before you so ungratefully seized her. You should be glad that this town offers such services, because that may be the only way you could get a woman. Now if you would, please remove your hands before I bury my dagger in your belly.”
The man’s hands grew slack and she used the opportunity to pry them away.
“And for future reference, I want you to remember this. I’m sure women in your path will thank me.” With that, she spun around to look for her silver-haired companion.
Farron stood off to the side, waiting, with a mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. When she drew nearer, he stretched his hand out.
“Come on then,” she caved, snatching up his hand before she dragged him away through the crowed. She didn’t know where she was going, but anywhere was good if it was away from that drunken lard.
&n
bsp; He tugged her to a stop in front of a two-story building. The sign out front read Tillie’s Tavern. A boisterous crowd cheered inside, the music drifted out into the street through the open doors. She’d transferred her grip to his arm. Holding his hand just felt awkward.
“Is this it?” She wasn’t impressed.
“Well, it was here. I think.” His eyebrows gathered in concentration. He spun around and looked further down the street. “Or maybe there.”
He took off down the street and she struggled to keep her grip on his arm. This time he stopped in front of Miranda’s Haven. The atmosphere seemed quieter than the previous one. A glass window provided a glimpse to the building’s innards. Small tables were scattered about most of the room with a bar along the back wall.
“Ah, here it is.” Farron gazed through the window, his eyes far away, as if remembering a fond past.
Claire wondered if Tillie or Miranda were real people, muses honored with the name of a tavern. She dropped her hand from Farron’s arm and followed him in through a pair of swinging doors. More of a restaurant than a bar, music was absent from the space. Instead, it was filled with the constant hum of people and the help. Much of the light came from the window facing the street, supplemented by oil lamps on the walls and simple candlelit chandeliers from above.
People around the room glanced at them as they entered, but didn’t seem to give them too much thought. Perhaps they got more elves here in Sanre? In this type of town, he probably wasn’t the strangest thing they’d ever seen.
A perky young woman with strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail approached them, gave Farron the eyes, looking him up and down. Claire sighed, rolling her eyes. If only she knew. But it seemed awfully presumptuous of the girl. Claire was right there. Would it be so out of the realm to think that she and the elf could be together?
They were led to a sunken area by the window to a table with two chairs.
“My name’s Miranda.” She giggled and averted her eyes down.
Claire’s attention quickly turned to the young woman. Was this the muse? Her eyes narrowed as she studied her. Mother never would have named the tavern after her daughter. Some things were just so unfair.
