Curse of the Dragon Kings, Page 3

  Gil shook his head in serious agreement, a quietly amused smile on his lips.

  “How is Sal these days?” Asked Gil.

  “Turnin’ Pemble’s hair white, I’m afraid. But a help to him, to be sure. Pemble’s got an extra hand I could use round my place. But, say, you know what Sal did for me last time he come home?”

  “No,” said Ferias. “What all ‘e do this time, eh?”

  “Cured my lame bull—remember that special breed cost me a month’s wages? Well he was lame, for all his quality. ‘Was a cheat who sold him to me. I got ten gold for him last week at the auction.”

  “He stops in here every so often,” said Gil. “He always has a tale or two about old Pemble.”

  “Oh, you’ll never catch old Pemble in here, to be sure,” agreed Niel. “The Pegasus isn’t quite an ale-house, but then it ain’t much better—to the likes of him. Pemble’s got funny ideas against drinking. And yet see all he puts in him magical potions?” Niel made a grimace. “I tell ye I wouldn’t drink that brew of his for any money. A foul use to make of clean water!”

  The others laughed.

  “But,” Niel said, “I do take that paste he give me on my bread every evening. Just a little, and I sleep sound. Wish I’d had the stuff twenty years ago when I took a poor back.”

  “Well, that magic costs too much for the likes of me,” said Ferias. “But a good draught of ale, now that will do wonders.”

  “How bout yer boy, Mel, Ferias?” asked Gordon, the local butcher.

  “We’re countin’ the days when he’ll be off to the castle.” Ferias returned in an ever-growing good humor.

  “What?” Niel and the others gave a shout of astonishment.

  “That’s right,” said Ferias with relish. “Mel finished his apprenticeship to the guardsmen. Our fortunes are likely to turn around with a commission any day. And it couldn’t come sooner—I have three daughters!”

  “Weren’t there talk he wanted to be a warrior?” Niel said, in a tone meant to stir Ferias from flaunting his good luck.

  “Oh no, I’m not letting the lad go off and do a crazy thing like that. What, a warrior living the life of a ruffian, and no better than one of the scourge, the horse-riding brigands? No son of mine will live the life of a wanderer. He’s to be a guard and stay near his family. ‘Less there’s war."

  “And there may be,” Harfen, one of the local-born traders said quietly.

  The conversation halted.

  “What do you mean—war?” Asked Ferias, his face growing pale.

  "Have you heard news?” Asked one of the others, as the company swarmed round Harfen to hear of any tidings from beyond the city wall.

  “I have,” said Harfen carefully, “though I don’t know what it bodes.”

  “Tell us,” said Niel.

  “Yesterday, on my way back through the gate,” Harfen said, his voice low and full of mystery, “I overheard a story from an eastern farmer near the forest.”

  The crowd gave a murmur. Sane folk did not linger long around those parts.

  “I heard tell that folk around there caught sight of a strange beast—a black and treacherous thing.”

  “A bull, perhaps?” asked Niel.

  “Oh, no,” replied Harfen. “The eastern farmers have been losing livestock. Sheep and cows both, anything left out of doors past sundown."

  “What you suppose it could be then?” asked one of the local farmers.

  “I don’t know, but it didn’t sound like no ordinary wolfhound or the like. They say it left marks behind—and tracks as big as a man’s head.”

  Niel shivered. “A likely tale.”

  “Maybe, but these farmers were talking like it was going on some time. And there’s help to be sent from Gyfen for the eastern holdings.”

  “A waste of our taxes,” said another. “An invention so’s they can get more money to hold off the brigands.”

  “Not so many easterners been selling at the meat markets these days." Gadli the dwarf nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder if there isn’t something to what you heard.”

  “Surely not.” Said Niel.

  “Did your fellow describe the tracks of this foul beast, friend?” A strange voice, low and resonant, asked from amidst the company. The stranger was a young man wearing a hood over his wide brow. He was fair of face, like an Elf from the north but longer, with the bluest of eyes, full of cold integrity and rimmed with full black lashes. His skin was pale, and his manner unyielding.

  "He… said it was the size of two men—” Harfen stopped to remember.

  “And dark grey, an unwavering shadow blending with the night to seem but a trick of the eyes, yet from the edge of nothing, hovering near, it strikes, and it gives no quarter,” the stranger continued, low, in an earnest persuasiveness. “It has eyes of red fire, a deep flame into the abyss. It has no soul. It is a terrible beast, moving swift and soundless, yet yielding up a shrill cry in attack that would send shivers into the heart of the bravest knight. I have seen it.”

  Gil stared at the stranger, his heart racing. “What is it?”

  “I do not know.”

  There was a long silence.

  “And how is it you fared so well with such a beast?” asked one of the locals.

  “I cannot tell you how, but I am not defenseless against the creatures of foul sorcery,” returned the stranger, drawing aside his outer cloak from his left shoulder. Beneath it he held a sleek, silver-studded bow like a slim cleft of pure moonlight. It was a weapon so beautiful that a new murmur of awe came from those around him.

  “This is my weapon against them,” said the stranger. “Its arrows fly straight and true for those worthy enough to bear it. In these many years I have earned that honor.”

  “Well, Prince Cormac will send aid to the east, no doubt.” Said Ferias. “We can do nothing. What mention of war did you hear, Harfen?”

  “Only that Prince Cormac fears the creature’s appearance to be the threat of a hostile kingdom. He will know more, when the army is dispatched east.”

  “I am hungry. I would very much like something from the kitchen, lad.” Said the stranger to Gil. He moved to sit down just before the bar, where there was an empty seat in the shape of a wood carved swan. He drew aside the rest of his cloak with a light gesture. His hair was a pure silver, the same as his bow.

  “Yes, sir.” Said Gil.

  “No bread.” Said the stranger. “Just meat.”

  “There is some meat, but it may not be much. I will bring you our best this evening.”

  “I will pay you extra for it.”

  The stranger lifted a heavy purse at his side for only a moment. And as he did so, Gil caught a brief glimmer of bright silver hanging low from his belt.

  * * * * *

  “Culan, would you firmly tell the lad over there that I want a drink,” said Dylan.

  “Yes, master,” Culan said, rising. “Two pints, please.” He said, taking in the tradesmen’s hearty conversation.

  “Two pints it is,” said Gil cheerfully, as Culan gave him a handful of copper coins.

  Gil filled the pints under the tap. As he passed them to the customer, a woman descending the stairway from the rooms above caught his eye. She moved with speed but a subtle grace. Her hair was dark gold. She was tall and slender in a fine silver dress, and as she came into the tavern light, he saw that she was beautiful. Her face was ageless and youthful. She was most certainly of the fair race of Elves.

  “Lovely lady, will you have a drink?” One of the tradesmen shouted with a chorus of loud whistles.

  “I thank you, but I think I had better fetch one myself,” returned the woman in a clear, saucy voice. “If you could find your feet, good sir, I would gladly accept.”

  Several of the tradesmen laughed. The woman abruptly stopped, and a cloud of anxie
ty passed over her face. Her eyes held the gaze of the stranger seated at the bar. She paused, and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, the silver-haired elf had disappeared. The Elf woman summoned courage and smiled.

  “A glass of wine, if you please,” she said brightly to Gil as he was serving the pints to Culan.

  “No trouble, miss.” Said Gil, flushing crimson. Her eyes were green-gold with diamond-shaped pupils. He had trouble looking away.

  Culan returned to his master.

  “Did you find out who the lady was?” asked Dylan, taking a pint from the servant.

  “The lady?” Culan turned around, puzzled. “Where was she?”

  “Take a look back,” Dylan instructed.

  “Oh. No, no, I hadn’t.” Culan said. “I tell you I don’t know how I missed her. She is lovely.”

  “That is exactly why I asked if you had caught her name,” said Dylan, exhaling.

  III: Quest

 

  "Where's that boy?" Gil heard Marnat holler from the kitchens. A moment later the door to the kitchen creaked. Marnat and the two strangers he'd been negotiating with appeared.

  “These two have paid for dinner," Marnat ordered gruffly, "and as much ale as they can drink. I'll just go see if that fool girl Eloise has got your rooms ready," Marnat said to the strangers and headed up the stairs.

  Gil nodded and headed into the kitchen. Mygdewyn and Ronan sat at a table near the tap.

  “If the rooms are as nice as it is in here, how long can we afford to stay here?” asked Ronan.

  “No more than a week. Nieli wouldn’t have steered us into ill winds. I think we could have done far worse. The house is full tonight, and most of them seem to be from around this part of the city.”

  “Let’s keep our wits about us until the company clears a little.”

  “What—you go easy on the ale?” Mygdewyn laughed.

  “I would rather rest and be merry this evening after our long journey. But we have little choice but to find work now, and there are many about this room who might need a hired hand. What can you fetch for that old ax? And what is this staff worth?”

  “Easy, there, Ronan. You’ll find more than one way to put your magic to a golden use, and more than one buyer. I can hire myself out to a farmer to clear fields if it comes to it. But can we sort that out after a good night’s sleep?”

  The noise died in the room as a small troupe of musicians gathering in the corner of the tavern began to play a bright tune.

  “I suppose. We can also look for more permanent lodgings,” finished Ronan, not quite able to quiet down. It had been a long day, on foot, and they had paid a visit to Mygdewyn’s Uncle Nieli, who had no advanced warning of his nephew’s coming. Ronan was still weary from strenuous spell-casting, but the taxing effect on him had reached a point that it would take much to set him at ease. Mygdewyn was very patient with him, and not displeased to be. He wanted the Elf to be merry, but in an odd way, he was also comforted by Ronan’s keenness of mind and conduct. The Elf’s character set his own spirit at ease.

  “Here you are, sirs,” Gil said, setting down a tray with two pints of ale and two platters of stew and bread.

  “That music is splendid,” remarked the dwarf. “Is it like this every evening?”

  Gil stopped and smiled pleasantly. “Two nights a week, we have a lady who sings to the lute, lovely as a nightingale. Those evenings are generally slow, but some of the locals prefer it that way, so as to enjoy the music. But I would say we have a good number most nights.”

  “Are there any lodgings in the area where we might stay as long as a month? Somewhere not likely to cost more than a few gold?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” replied Gil, briskly, scratching his head. “I can ask around, if you want. A couple of the locals do rent out small rooms for traders and laborers.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Mygdewyn, giving Gil a copper.

  Gil nodded and took the tray back to the kitchen.

  On his way, he nearly ran into the silver-haired stranger. He stepped back quickly with a shiver. The air seemed colder than it had a moment ago.

  “Oh, pardon me,” said Gil.

  “No trouble. A moment?”

  “You want something?” asked Gil, looking ahead to the kitchen.

  “You have many friends who speak well of you in this city,” observed the stranger, drawing closer to keep his voice down. Gil noticed the diamond-shaped pupils of his eyes.

  “I do?” He said, shivering again.

  “The tradesmen.” Said the silver-haired stranger.

  “Oh,” Gil almost blushed. He took the observation with a measure of genuine surprise. “I have known them many years. I see and hear a lot that goes on in this part of Gyfen. I may have met half of the folk who live in the city.”

  “Indeed,” said the stranger. “Can you tell me, have you heard of this lad who returned to Gyfen with a golden helmet from the west?”

  “Artur Hamils’ son? Oh, well, most everyone has heard about him. You don’t have to go far to catch all the gossip. He’s been in here to crow about his treasure a few times this week. But he’s not a regular customer.”

  "You know him then? And where he lives?” asked the stranger.

  “Not too sure,” said Gil, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you want to know?” Gil continued without caution. “You wouldn’t be after him, would you? You don’t look the type.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the stranger.

  “Like the men around here—mercenaries mostly—who would follow a treasure hunter to steal what he found. Some people think it’s all right to plunder a man who plundered another. I don’t. If you’re a mercenary, I would advise you to find another target.” Gil spoke with quiet conviction. “Artur is my age, and foolhardy, but he has a wife and two children. They do not eat meat but once a month.” Gil paused, averting his eyes again from the stranger’s flashing eyes. “If you do not want anything else, I must return this tray to the kitchens,” he said, his defenses having abated.

  The stranger made no movement as Gil headed away.

  The song ended in time, and another took its place.

  “I should never have thought to find you here, Galanor. Will you trouble yourself to sit down?”

  “What a strange coincidence to meet you here, Aiovel,” said Galanor, taking a seat at the table where the Elf woman had gone to enjoy the music.

  “I certainly did not arrange it.” Said Aiovel. “I would not seek to draw you from the comfort of your golden baubles. What brings you here?”

  “Your frost, fair lady, attempts to wound me.”

  “So, it is a matter of money.” She laughed.

  “No, of vengeance.” He threw back. “I think you would understand.”

  “Your expression did not lend that impression,” remarked Aiovel. “The boy said something to you that has made you falter.” Aiovel said.

  “Yes, the boy gave me a reason to hesitate. And I am not without mercy,” replied Galanor. “My vengeance can wait. Are you alone?”

  “I am—at present.”

  “That man has been watching you these five minutes.” Said Galanor.

  “The one with the faithful old servant? Yes, I know.”

  “He thinks he is being discreet.”

  “Do you think he would make a good companion, for want of a better?”

  Galanor sighed, with a new breaking humor. His affection was undeniable. And, it seemed, his affection rendered a transformation in his manner.

  “Tell me simply, what business brings you here?”

  “Is it any of your business?”

  “No, but I did once risk my life to save you—“

  “And I suspect I will never hear the end of it. It is an uneasy rest, to know such security as I am ab
le to relish in my forest, while all the while, I can feel the darkness encroach upon the unprotected world.”

  Galanor’s smile faded. “All this year, I have noticed a change in the air. The spring was dank and chill. The summer brought hellish heat and now a drought. The crops have failed. I smell darkness churning up the elements of nature to turn against mankind. And now, the black beasts have made their presence known once more. My people talk without purpose on the fate of the human kingdoms if these beasts propagate and ravish our farms and holdings, but still those in the western cities do not fear for themselves. And that is not wise.”

  “What you have sensed is the reason I am preparing to make a long journey.” Said Aiovel. “I am here to seek aid on that journey. The Dark Wizard has awoken from his long sleep. A black army crossed into Ellwellyn Forest—and many hundreds of my people were slain.”

  Galanor shuddered.

  “I came also to bring word to the west that the black armies are headed this way. I have had my audience with Prince Cormac, little good though it may do to prepare him for the danger that has turned its malicious eye towards him. Prince Cormac has never heard of the Dark Wizard. His main interest was in keeping his people safe from the black creature terrorizing his western holdings. I fear that he will send no aid further west than that to look into the source of the danger. And I do not know who else would. Cormac’s kingdom borders Elwellyn Forest. It is the closest to the evil stirring. Why should Windfall or Rostend or Dunlaith listen to my warnings? They also have never heard of my people, or of the Dark Wizard. If I can expect any assistance in a journey to Dun Rigor, I must arrange it myself, and as soon as possible.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Galanor.

  “I am going to kill the Dark Wizard.”

  Galanor paled. “That cannot be done.”

  “I know.”

  “I will go with you.”

  “I did not ask you to.”

  “There is no need. I do not make it a habit to cross into the territory of those not of my sect. But I have no other choice. If the Dark Wizard has awoken from his sorcerer’s sleep, there will be no mercy for my people. He will try to destroy us. And then, all of Arcaendria.”

  * * * * *