Dragonsphere (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 1) Page 11

  Donovan untied the reigns of each horse and handed one of the reigns to each of the monks, keeping hold of one for himself. “They are safe. Don’t be afraid, Musician. They will speed our journey considerably.” Donovan placed his foot into the stirrups and climbed atop his mount with a practiced ease. Calderon and Velkyn, having never ridden before, looked from their mounts to Donovan, and then back to their horses. Shrugging, they mimicked the old man and attempted unsuccessfully several times to climb onto their own horses before finally finding success.

  Calderon gripped the horse with his knees tightly, afraid of falling off. Velkyn seemed to have better balance and merely held onto the reigns for stability. “You seem to be comfortable riding for someone who’s lived in the abbey their entire life,” Calderon remarked to Donovan, still trying to find a comfortable way to ride his mount.

  “There are many things about me that may surprise you. With such a long journey ahead of us, I am sure you will learn a lot more about me before the end.” With that, he pulled the reigns of his horse and turned eastward. It took both young monks a few minutes to get their mounts to follow their commands as Donovan did not give them any help. “You said the end …” murmured Calderon, “… the end of what?” Donovan looked over his shoulder at his pupil but offered no explanation. He urged his horse forward and turned his eyes back to the east.

  The young monks were finding it much easier to get their horses to follow commands as they rode. “While time is something we don’t have enough of, we must conserve the energy of our horses for now. We will stop to rest at an inn when the sun begins to set if the horses can make it that long.” The horses trotted along at a leisurely pace. “What about food and water?” Velkyn asked.

  Donovan reached behind him and patted a large sack tied to his saddle. “We each have enough to last us a couple days. We can buy whatever we need when we stop each night.” Velkyn seemed pleased with the answer and merely nodded to himself. Calderon wondered how his mentor knew where they were headed and voiced as much. “I have been this way before, many years ago,” answered the old man. Calderon looked to Velkyn. “Do you think he’s hiding something?” he whispered.

  Velkyn nodded his head. “We all are hiding something. The better question would be what is he hiding. Only time will tell.”

  • • •

  The day was long and uneventful. They had traveled without seeing much of anything or anyone except the occasional merchant caravan. Earlier in the day Donovan had pointed to their left as the road they traveled on forked that direction and continued straight, telling them that the castle they had visited the day before was that way. They had continued straight, the scenery nothing but tall grassland as far as they could see.

  They didn’t talk much as each of them were occupied with their owns thoughts. Velkyn thought about Nydel and wondered if she had snuck into the monastery and found his note yet. He looked behind him several times, hoping to see some sign of her trailing them, waiting for the opportune moment to meet with him. He was greeted by nothing except the empty road and the tall grass which swayed in the gentle breeze.

  Calderon’s thoughts were far different from his friend’s. He missed the stone walls of the abbey the moment they were out of sight. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t push the sense of foreboding from his spirit. There really wasn’t anything to justify his fears other than the fact that everything outside of the abbey was unknown to him. There was also the new emotion of distrust he felt towards his mentor. He thought the man was no different than himself or Velkyn, that he had entered the brotherhood at a young age and had never ventured out. His assumptions didn’t seem to line up with who the old man actually was. He also found himself wondering about the people of Oakvalor. The only thing most people knew was they were the enemy and nobody could remember why. Was the brotherhood there as devout in their faith as the men of his abbey? Was their king a believer in the Divines as well? He found that notion hard to fathom considering the ageless war both kingdoms were waging against one another. If they shared the same beliefs, whatever petty grievance they had with one another would be overlooked because if you shared the same values, you would be on the same page and fight for what mattered, not one another. All this and more swirled within the young man’s mind.

  Donovan was as unreadable as a blank page. He had learned many things during his long life, and if there was one thing that he knew was a mighty advantage, it was being able to conceal your emotions and intent. He hadn’t survived this long by luck. The young monks traveling with him were clueless to the world outside the abbey, and though he mostly pitied them for it, he also envied them. To be oblivious to the things he knew and was burdened with, the things his hands had committed … he pushed the past out of his mind and thought about the journey that laid ahead. He wondered how much Oakvalor had changed since the last time he had seen it. He knew they would find help there, but he didn’t know if they would find answers. The wizards there were not loyal to anyone but their craft, but he didn’t know if the monks there held true to their faith over the king as those in Talvaard did. He had never seen the abbey in Oakvalor, but he had heard of its existence.

  The sun had begun its descent behind the mountains and the sky slowly changed colors on the horizon. Deep oranges and reds lined the clouds and both young monks were awestruck by the beauty. “It’s amazing,” Calderon remarked in a hushed tone. “Indeed,” Donovan said, “It is a sight that never gets old. Look there,” he pointed. “The first stop of our journey.” They could see a small building in the distance, perhaps another half hour of riding left to reach it.

  “We won’t make it before dark,” Velkyn stated. Donovan turned and looked at him. “Not at this pace,” he agreed, grinning. He nudged his horse and the animal picked up speed, going from their slow pace to a fast run. Calderon and Velkyn followed the old man’s lead, urging their horses in the same manner. They were thundering down the road, the gentle breeze seeming to gain strength and began to blow their hair around wildly. They made it to the inn with their quickened pace in half the time it would have taken. The horses were breathing heavily when they stopped.

  Calderon had trouble getting off the horse and ended up slipping and falling face first into the ground. He pulled himself up, the embarrassment evident on his face as he spit dirt. Velkyn stifled his laughter. A young boy, possibly no older than twelve, came to collect their horses after they had pulled their belongings off and the boy led the horses into the stable that was located behind the inn.

  Donovan turned to the young monks when he was sure no one would hear their conversation. “If anyone makes conversation with you, do not tell them where we are going or what we are doing. If knowledge of what has happened with the sphere were to become known, it could cause fear among the people that would result in chaos. As best as we can tell, there is almost no travel from Talvaard to Oakvalor. If people get the wrong idea, they might see us as traitors and we would be in no end of trouble.” Calderon and Velkyn exchanged glances. “Is there food here?” Velkyn asked. They all laughed at the remark and Donovan nodded.

  The interior of the inn was old and worn. Rough boards attached to the walls gave the place the appearance of a rustic wood cabin. From behind the badly scratched bar a woman took orders. Ten tables were arranged in a haphazard manner, each surrounded by three stools. Around those tables was a minimal crowd, although busy for this inn. The three monks made their way to an empty table and sat down. Calderon was relieved to be off the horse, but his backside was numb and his lower back was a bit sore. He couldn’t wait to lay down. After a few minutes, the woman from behind the bar made her way to them.

  “Evenin’ gents. Welcom’ ta the Sly Mare. What’ll ye be havin’?” she asked. The monks found her lack of proper speech annoying. Donovan didn’t give them the chance to speak and answered for them all. “We will take three orders of whatever the special is, and three mugs of water.” The barmaid grinned at him and he noticed most of her teeth w
ere missing. “Water? We ain’t servin’ no water ’ere ’cept ta ’orses. Ale er cider?” she asked him, still smiling. “Cider.” She offered a mock curtsey and sauntered off behind the bar to place their order.

  “Who doesn’t have water?” Calderon asked, baffled. Donovan looked at his pupil and again found himself envious of his ignorance. “We probably will not find water at any of these types of establishments. They specialize in tasty alcoholic drinks.”

  Calderon’s eyebrow raised. “Why would people pay to lose their common sense?”

  Donovan shrugged. “Only the Divines know.”

  The barmaid returned several minutes later with the mugs of cider and made a second trip to bring their food. On each plate was a mound of chopped, skinless potatoes covered in butter and salt. She casually tossed three forks onto the table as she walked away. Velkyn, who had yet to speak, commented on her behavior. “She seems rude.” Donovan merely nodded his head in assertion before closing his eyes. The two young monks lowered their heads and Donovan said a prayer over their meal. “Not everyone in our kingdom follows the precepts of the gods. Especially so as we get to the fringes of Talvaard. Our order has a rough history.” None of them had eaten since midday and found themselves a lot hungrier than normal.

  They ate in silence. Calderon mentioned the odd taste the cider had and Donovan knew it was not virgin. He didn’t think one mug would hinder his companions and he let them drink it. Velkyn was busy watching the people in the inn. There was a man at the bar who appeared to be taking an interest in the conversation at a table near him. Velkyn shifted his attention to the table as well and took note of three men. He listened to their conversation and shook his head. All three of them were drunk.

  • • •

  Julian Brathenworth had misplaced eyes. He knew this fact for whenever he stared directly ahead at the beer in his glass, one eye thought it mostly empty; the other mostly full. What other explanation was there for this differentiation of opinionated eyesight than misplaced eyes? He held one unsteady hand before his face and closed his left eye. He concentrated upon the glass behind his hand as he opened his left eye and closed his right. His hand moved. He repeated. Yes, he was sure of it; his right eye made his hand appear higher than his left. Therefore, his eyes were all wrong. “Crap!” he slurred.

  “What’s that gov?” A pale faced man with a lengthy mustache directed at him. Julian blinked several times and then turned his gaze upon his verbal aggressor. His puffy red lips pursed as he drew breath. He took an absent swipe at his straight shoulder length hair but missed. “I think I said crap,” Julian replied, making three attempts at his glass before his hand grasped it. While continuing to stare at the man, he raised the glass to his moist lips and swigged.

  “Argh, that it is, but we drink the piss, eh?” The man chuckled, took a gulp of his own brew and then turned his attention back to his own table and his two companions. Julian sniffed hard as he again turned his back to the group. With nothing better to do, he began to eavesdrop.

  “So, Theo, what do you say?” One gruff voice asked. “What do I say governor what do I say?” replied the man who had addressed Julian. “Yes, what do you say?” asked a third.

  “I say … do you like beer nuts?” the familiar voice of Theo. That was followed by a series of humming and crunching, then some general noises of affirmation. “Now … where was I?” said the gruff voice.

  “You was talking about adventuring.”

  “Oh yes, I was. So, what about it?”

  “I don’t know, you were the one discussing the topic. I was just listening politely,” said Theo. “Of course, I was doing the discussing. You would hardly talk about adventuring. You are not an adventurer. But you could be.”

  “Could I?”

  “That is what this conversation is about.”

  “And what about beer nuts?” munched the third.

  “Beer nuts … what’s the fascination with beer nuts?” said the gruff voice. “I guess they’re delicious.” Again, more grunts and crunches. All was quiet for a short time. All except breathing and crunching.

  “I’ll do it!” Theo yelled, rising to his feet with one hand over his heart. “Good for you son, good for you,” acknowledged the gruff voice, having finally received his answer. “Do what?” asked the third, spraying broken beer nuts from his mouth as he talked.

  “Right. Now what’s the plan?” asked Theo.

  “The plan … argh, the plan. The plan is simple. As adventurers, we need adventure.”

  “Oh, that is true, very true,” mumbled the third through a mouth full of beer nuts. “And the best source of adventure is Dillenger.”

  “Oh yes,” burped the third, “Dillenger is full of adventure.”

  “So, let’s go get Dillenger!” Theo yelled. “We would, but …” At that moment, Julian decided to pitch a sale. He spun his stool gracefully on one leg so as to face the mob of adventurers. After rotating too far and too vertically, be picked himself up off the floor and presented himself to the crew.

  “Gentlemen, I believe I can help you … for a price.” The three stared at Julian for a moment, munching beer nuts. Julian averted his gaze, sought some inspiration and began afresh. “I am Julian Brathenworth, magician for hire.”

  “For hire … for hire,” the gruff voiced man said with increasing zeal. “And what would we want to hire a magician for?”

  “I believe you are adventurers,” Julian said, proudly giving a knowing leer. “That we are gov, that we are,” said Theo, stroking his mustache with a soggy finger. Silence.

  “Well then, mayhap you could use a man of magic?”

  Silence. Julian waited patiently.

  “Why?” asked the third, whom Julian deduced looked a little like a weasel, with beady black eyes, greasy black hair, and a pointy nose. “To aid with your adventuring,” Julian offered. All three stared at Julian, confusion on their faces. “I … do magic,” Julian said tentatively.

  “Oh,” said the weaselish man, “magic. But I don’t have any kids.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Julian warbled.

  “You do party tricks, right? I don’t have kids, but thanks anyway.”

  “No, no, no. I do proper magic. You hire me and I provide you with magical services so as to aid you in your adventuring.”

  “What adventuring?” inquired the third.

  “You are adventurers, are you not?!” Julian screamed. “That we are gov, that we are,” Theo smiled, stroking his mustache again. “Then you must need help on adventures?”

  “So, you can help us with magic on our adventures?” questioned the gruff voiced man, who had remained silent until now. “Yes,” sighed Julian, relieved to be getting his pitch acknowledged. “How much?”

  “Right. I demand an equal share of profits, nothing more.”

  “No, how much help?”

  “What?”

  “How much help can you give?”

  “Oh. I … can give …”

  “Do you like beer nuts?” asked the weasel man. “Yes … I guess …”

  “Excellent. You’re hired,” winked the gruff voiced man. Julian looked from one man to the next, took a large swig of beer and then collapsed onto the floor. Either the alcohol had knocked him out, or the conversation had.

  Velkyn snorted derisively and turned his attention back to his own table. He somehow felt less intelligent having heard that conversation. The barmaid came to collect the plates as soon as the three monks had finished eating. “Will ye be havin’ anythin’ else?” she asked Donovan. “We would like a room for the night,” he answered, finishing his cider and handing her the empty mug.

  “With yer meal an’ room, it’ll be thirty silver.” Donovan withdrew a small leather pouch from his robes and counted out the appropriate amount and handed it to the woman. She double counted it, smiling at him the entire time. Nodding in satisfaction, she left the table and came back a moment later with a key. “It be the door with a three on it,
” she said. Lowering her voice and leaning in close to the old man, she added, “Might want to keep an eye on your belongings. Things be comin’ up missin’ a lot lately.” Donovan understood her meaning and smiled in thanks for the warning. He looked to the young monks after she had left.

  “We should take turns watching our door,” he said lowly. The two nodded and rose from their chairs the same time Donovan did. They followed him across the room to the left where a small flight of stair led them to the area of the inn that housed the rooms.

  The beady eyes of the weaselish looking man followed them until they were out of sight. Looking to the man with the gruff voice, he smirked and nodded.

  “I have always thought the actions of men

  the best interpreters of their thoughts.”

  - Kelros

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “If I am forced to eat another one of these particularly disgusting cave creatures again, I shall …”

  “Peace, Kelron,” interrupted Kelros. “At least in the Tunnel’s darkness, we do not have to look upon them too much. Besides, by looking at you with the light of one’s fire, one could hardly say that your appetite has decreased significantly from this most undesirable fare.”

  Kelron looked down into the darkness in the direction of the large lump of flesh, blood, and scales, the like of which having been the sustenance for the two hundred Serpentauri during their residence in the Tunnel. He belched, a ball of flame erupting from between his fangs, his forked tongue flailing wildly about his open mouth. For a moment, the small segment of the Tunnel lit up by the almost blinding flash and then returned to its usual darkness. “Your skin does not draw so tightly over your bones either, Kelros. How can you stand to eat these things anyway?”

  “What else is there to eat?” replied Kelros, somewhat irritated at his friend’s constant complaining. “It’s a lot better than having to eat ourselves like the Cannibals of this Island. Did you know that if enough of these creatures band together, they could kill an unsuspecting Serpentaur and reduce him to pile of whitened bones within an hour? They even eat the scales and the coat. Quite a gruesome spectacle, from what Father Ean has told me. It is most important that we eat them before they eat us.”