McGowan awoke early the next
morning fully rested. The sun shone brightly through the window as dust danced
in circles around the light, casting a haze across the floor. The room he was
in was sparsely furnished, but cozy. Two beds lay near the window, with a
washbasin and closet on the far side. The room’s entrance was just in front of
the basin, a large wooden privacy door that was considered quite expensive in
most places throughout the realm. He went to the washbasin to clean the cobwebs
from his head and put on his cassock. It smelled like it had been unwashed for
some time and McGowan decided it was time to buy some new traveling clothes
sometime today. Cyrus' bed was still unused and that made McGowan smile. He had
known Cyrus for some time now and it seemed he could always find some lovely
lass to spend a little time with. McGowan placed his hand on his mace as he saw
the door opening then relaxed when he saw Cyrus standing there, hands on hips.
The warrior walked in, a broad grin on his face as he looked at his friend. His
shirt was white and had gold designs inlaid into the collar. His new breeches
were dark green and the boots he wore were lined with sheep's wool. His hair
hung loosely but neat across his shoulders, face cleanly shaven.
“How did it go last night,
Cyrus?”
“Very well, thank you. She's a
very interesting woman that's led quite a life.” Cyrus laughed, “Believe it or
not, some of her stories put mine to shame. I've grown quite fond of her.”
“I hope you didn't get too fond
of her.” McGowan commented, “We are leaving in a few days, you know.”
Cyrus looked at his friend and
nodded. “Don't worry. I told her I would come back here as soon as I could and
I intend to do just that. Maybe even take her to Forge's Den with us once this
Malkar threat is over. Depends on whether she wants to leave this place though,
even for a short while. This old tavern has quite a story behind it.”
The warrior cleared his throat.
“But enough about Eileia. How is your sister?”
McGowan washed his face and
answered as he towel dried it. “I haven't checked on her yet. I was hoping you
would get here soon. Would you like to accompany me?”
“Sure. It will be noon in a
couple of hours. Balifore says it may be a few days until we hear anything from
this Zolaar character. We'll take today off to rest some. We need the downtime
anyway. You think Veronica will be able to help us out when he arrives?”
“We'll see. I don't want to
overexert her. That dagger could have killed her, had it been just a little
lower.” McGowan put on his traveling leather boots as he and Cyrus talked about
the warrior's night. Apparently, they had done just as she had asked, talking
amongst themselves into the twilight hours of the night. They had fallen asleep
in her room as the sun was rising, lying together to keep warm in the chill
morning air. McGowan finished lacing his boots and the two headed for the door,
towards Veronica's room.
Veronica lay in her bed propped
up by several large pillows stacked behind her back. She wore a loose fitting
white nightgown, probably belonging to Eileia, and her hair danced on her
shoulders, catching the sunlight. Talric sat by her in a chair dressed in his
green shirt and brown pants, talking softly with her when McGowan and Cyrus
arrived.
“Talric and I were just talking
about you, Cyrus.” She said with a smile. “Have you had the opportunity to
spend some time with your new friend yet?”
“We had a nice time last night,
Veronica. She is quite the charmer.”
Veronica smiled slyly. “I'm sure
she is.”
“How are you feeling, little
sister?” McGowan asked her, placing her hands between his.
“Just fine, Mac. You did quite
a good job. Almost unnoticeable.” She winced as she moved her arm. “Of course,
that's only if I don't move.”
“Well, just take it easy today.
We're going to check out the town and take some time to really relax. Eileia
will be here to keep you company and help you out if you need anything.”
“She already stopped by to drop
this off to me.” She said, casually rubbing the gown between her fingers. “She
looked like she hadn't slept much last night. You wouldn't know anything about
that, would you Cyrus?”
The warrior's face flushed
bright red. “Just get some rest, Veronica. “ Cyrus turned to Talric. “Go tell
the others to relax. We'll try picking up some more information on Zolaar
tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Talric held Veronica's
hand and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Come back later and we’ll talk
more.” Veronica whispered to him.
“I will.” He smiled.
Cyrus looked at the two. They
had grown quite close since the night they were attacked by Malkar's henchmen a
few months back. Talric had risked his life to protect her until the others had
arrived; nearly getting himself killed in the process. They would make a nice
couple, Cyrus thought, although his elven heritage wouldn't mix well with her
human blood. She would be a withered crone when he was still in his prime. I
hope they know what they're doing, he thought. Cyrus trusted his two companions
had worked out every detail before hand and shrugged the thought aside. They
knew what they were getting into.
Cyrus walked down the stairs
around midday and looked over the bar. There was no evidence that a fight had
broken out here at all. The tables and chairs had been placed almost exactly as
they were before, the blood scrubbed from the floors. Fights were always
breaking out here, Eileia had told him, but the one last night had to have been
one of the most destructive.
The bar was just starting to
get the first noontime customers of the day, a few people scattered around the
tavern eating heartily and drinking ale. The confusing sounds of several people
talking reached Cyrus' ears, bringing a slight grin to his face. At least no
one was talking about the fight last night, he thought.
A loud, throaty voice could be
heard over the clamor of conversation, calling his name. He looked across the
bar to see Max sitting at a table waving him over. He reached the table moments
later, Max beckoning him to a seat opposite himself. He was tearing into a leg
of a roasted turkey and obviously wanted to wait until he was done before he
greeted Cyrus. While he waited, Cyrus called out for the barkeeper, whom Cyrus
remembered was named Dronus, to bring him a large mug of ale.
When the order had arrived, Max
was through with his turkey and pushed the plate away. He wiped his mouth on
the sleeve of his shirt and burped loudly. Both men started laughing as they
looked around at the smiling patrons, most of who didn't hear or didn't pay
attention to the gaseous release.
“I see you still enjoy a good
bird now and then.” Cyrus said as he peered at Max impassively.
Max looked across the table to
him, still wiping his mouth. “Nothing like an excellent turkey to fill an empty
stomach.” He patted his rock solid stomach expressively and looked around as if
searching for someone. “I realized last night after I left that Darius wasn't
with you. Did he decide to head back home or did the old boy finally settle
down?”
Cyrus glanced at Max in brief
shock. He then realized that his brother's death wasn't exactly well known news
in these parts. He picked up the unused fork off of the table and began to
sketch designs in the wooden table with it. He hoped briefly that Eileia wasn't
watching him. She surely wouldn't like the fact he was scratching the furniture
she had brought in to replace what had been broken in the fight.
“I didn't think you would know
about him. We had been investigating some foul things going on in West Kornas.
Darius, three others, and myself split up to find out more. Somehow, this fiend
Malkar captured Darius and tied him to a stone slab in the middle of a dark,
underground temple. We followed his horrible screams and found him, still tied
down. His heart was...” Cyrus suddenly found it extremely hard to finish, his
throat burning as the rush of brutal memories came flooding back to his mind.
Max had not moved during the
short story. His face had darkened considerably; his eyes focused on some point
in the oaken table. He sat there for many moments, Cyrus staring at the big
man's face, before he looked back up at Cyrus.
“He was a good warrior, your
brother.” He paused briefly and looked back down at the table, unable to look
Cyrus in the eyes. “He will be greatly missed.”
Max looked back up to Cyrus and
continued. “Have you dealt with this Malkar appropriately? You are not, of
course, blood Clan but you have been taught by my people and should follow our
code when dealing with a murderer.”
Cyrus looked around the room
briefly, taking in his surroundings, then looked back to Max. He had noticed,
in his brief scan, that Avengard was walking down the stairs, probably to join
them. Avengard didn't really know much about him or his friends, having only
started traveling with them a couple of months ago. He hoped the paladin would
indeed join them so he could get to know the man better.
“We are still hunting him now,
in fact. He has escaped us twice already. I want nothing more than to cut out
his heart and stuff it into his mouth. When the chance arises, he will be
mine!” Cyrus emphasized this by slamming the prongs of the fork into the table,
pushing it deep into the hard wood.
Max placed his hands on the
sides of the big man's head in a show of sympathy. His life belongs to the clan
now, Max said without using words. His gaze bore into Cyrus eyes as Max tried
to add his strength of grief and vengeance to Cyrus' own. Max stood from the
table and grasped the warrior's hand. Avengard reached their table then,
confusion showing on his face from the incidents he had just witnessed.
“I wish you luck, my friend.”
Max told Cyrus. “Now I must leave. Perhaps our paths will cross again.” This
time he did manage a smile. “I would love to test your skills with the blade
when next we meet.”
Cyrus managed to smile back.
“It's a challenge then. Good bye, my friend.”
Max left and Cyrus turned to
Avengard, who still looked confused.
“Did you sleep well?” Cyrus
asked him.
Avengard gazed solemnly at him.
“Yes, although not as well as you.”
Cyrus laughed at that. “What's
that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it, my friend.” He said
as he shook his head, a slight smile seeming to creep over his ever-stern
visage. “Have you already eaten?”
Cyrus gestured to the now empty
seat in front of him. He motioned for Dronus who quickly removed the plate of
ravaged turkey bones. Cyrus used the barkeep's rag to clean the table then,
after tossing it to back to him, called to Eileia and asked for some steak and
spiced potatoes. While they waited for their food to arrive, Cyrus removed the
fork from the table and, placing it out of sight, clasped his hands together
and looked to Avengard.
“Let me tell you the story
about how I lost my eye.” He began.
Talric decided to explore the
woods off the northern path that began just outside the city, edging the
mountains. The road was well traveled, the wind blowing through the trees brisk
and comfortable. The coming of planting season had arrived quickly and it
showed in the sudden change of weather. The grass along the edges was short and
icy, dotted here and there by short stubby bushes. The ranger went fifty yards
to the tree line and chose a particularly large pine that he noticed, as he had
approached the woods, was the largest pine on this side of the wood by fifty or
so feet. As he started to climb, he heard a guttural echo in the distance that
sounded like an animal call. He lowered himself back to the ground and listened
intently for a few seconds, hearing the same sound again. Talric found it
strange to hear such a call, particularly out of season. Cupping his hands over
his mouth, he repeated the sepulchral call perfectly then listened again.
Seconds passed and Talric heard the cry again, this time a little closer than
before. He answered and moments later a thin elven male approached from the
wood, sword in hand and a bow slung over one shoulder. The elf's hair was
golden yellow and was braided, hanging to his belt. The clothes he wore were
various hues of greens and browns, closely resembling the clothes that Talric
wore. The elf approached cautiously then, realizing whom he saw, smiled broadly
and raised his hand in greeting.
“Ho, Talric Iriv’Teshai!”
“Ho, Gaelen Olaris’ven!”
Talric clasped his old friends
arm warmly.
“What brings you to these
woods, Talric?” Gaelen asked, slipping his sword back into its sheath.
“I'm here waiting for someone.
A friend of mine was killed not far from here by a group of fanatics I've been
chasing. Are you familiar with the Brotherhood of Darkness?”
Gaelen's eyes widened at the
name. “I have heard of them. Their kind slaughtered an elven village not far
from here. Is this person you seek a member of this vile cult?”
“My friends and I believe he
may be involved in some way.” Talric told Gaelen what he had found the previous
day at Ogre Pass. He described the cleric to his friend, hoping he had seen
some sign of Zolaar.
The elf shook his head. “We've
had a lot of raids on our smaller villages so we tend to keep careful watch on
all the roads in the mountains.” He continued. “If you like, I can spread the
word and let you know when we do see him.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Talric
smiled, “You can leave word at the gates of Metier. They can reach us any
time.”
Gaelen bid his farewell then
smiled to Talric slyly. “You need to stop by my stead more often, brother. My
youngest misses his Uncle Talric.”
Talric laughed. “Of course. I
would not want your son to miss his uncle for too long. I will visit soon.”
With that, Talric made his way
through the sparse woods, back to Metier. By the position of the sun, he
estimated it to be two hours past noon. He sighed, wishing he had more time to
visit the elven villages. It had been a while since he had visited Gaelen's
stead, almost fifteen years ago being the last time. He made a mental note to
remember to come back once his job was finished here.
Cyrus and Avengard had just
finished their meal when Raem Saeroth walked into the tavern. He searched
briefly before spotting the two, then casually walked towards them, grinning
broadly. He pulled a chair from one of the nearby tables and seated himself.
“I hope you have enjoyed your
stay at my niece's inn. It's one of the best in town.”
Cyrus looked at the man in mock
disappointment. “You've trained your men to send travelers here. No wonder she
does so well.”
Raem looked shocked. “Me?
Showing favoritism to my favorite niece?” He smiled. “Never!”
The two men laughed, Avengard
craning his head as Eileia appeared from the back room. She approached the
table, placing a finger to her lips as she looked at Cyrus, telling him without
words not to let Raem know she was behind him. She grasped her uncle by the
shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.
“Need a drink, handsome?” She
asked.
Raem turned to her and patted
her hand. “Bring me an ale and I'll be happy, pumpkin.”
She glanced down at him with her
hands on her hips. “I wasn't talking to you, you old fool. I was talking to
Cyrus.” A sly grin crossed her face as she looked to Cyrus and winked. She
laughed and bent down to kiss her uncle on the cheek again.
Cyrus chuckled and ran his
fingers through his hair, looking at Avengard. The knight only looked from Raem
to Eileia, his face stern as always. Avengard cleared his throat, clearly not
wanting to interrupt her.
“Though you didn't ask me
either,” he started as he glanced at Cyrus briefly, “I myself would like an ale
as well.”
With a squeeze of Raem's hand,
she excused herself to bring them their drinks. Raem watched her walk away
briefly before turning back to Cyrus.
“I think she's gotten fond of
you, Redblade.” He stated. “You've been here only a day and already picking up
my niece.”
Cyrus looked at him with
sincerity in his eyes.
“I only have the best of
intentions towards your niece, Raem. She's a wonderful young woman. I believe
she would have turned me away if my aim were otherwise. She's very smart.”
Raem patted him on the
shoulder. “I did not mean to make you feel I was questioning your intentions
towards her, son. She's a grown woman and can handle herself.” He laughed
loudly. “If you'd clean yourself up. You know; buy new clothes, cut your hair,
shave and bathe more, I may let you court her.”
Cyrus turned to him, wide-eyed,
in spurious shock.
“What's wrong with my hair?” He
asked.
Avengard burst out laughing
then, a rare occurrence for the knight. Both men looked at him as he laughed,
Cyrus more surprised than Raem. He had known Avengard to smile now and then. He
had even known him to crack a joke. Never had Cyrus seen his friend laugh so
hard he began to cry. The knight contained himself as best as he could as
Eileia was returning with their drinks. She placed the mugs in front of them
then, nudging Cyrus to move over, sat at the table with them. Eileia gripped
his hand beneath the table. He smiled then turned back to Avengard, who had
regained complete control over himself and appeared as stern as ever.
“I'm sorry, Avengard. You were
about to tell me about your family.”
Avengard sipped from his mug,
cleared his throat, and then continued.
“My father was part of a
Peacekeeper force from Torando, which is where I was born. My mother had been a
chambermaid for Regent Aleen when they met, and soon left her work when my
father asked for her hand in marriage. She cared for him dearly. When I was
born, she stayed home to take care of me, leaving my father to continue his
work.
“I started to train with a
sword at the age of five. A friend of my father's taught me every day for the
next six years until he thought I was as well trained as he could manage. Soon
I was sparring with the local townspeople in mock conflicts, besting most of
them and earning their respect. I trained with other fighters who would pass
through occasionally, absorbing any moves I could.” He paused as he took
another quaff of ale. Raem took this opportunity to ask his father's name. He
knew quite a few Peacekeepers in his past travels, but the name he was given
did not seem familiar to him. Avengard continued.
“When I was sixteen, I was
taken in as a knight-squire at the request of my father. Two years later, I
fought by his side and held him in my arms as he died, the victim of a cowardly
arrow in the back of his neck. My mother died a short time later, never having
overcome her grief at my father's untimely demise.
“The next year, while traveling
to Safe Haven, I met a beautiful young maiden named Rena Silverwing, the
youngest daughter of a blacksmith. She lived in Lorimar with her family and
asked if I would accompany her on the rest of her journey to the city. I agreed
and allowed her the use of my horse as I walked along side. We fell in love on
the way and, three months later, were married at her fathers consent. She bore
me a son nine months later, and I spent a lot of time at the blacksmith's barn,
forging a fine sword my son would one day wield. It took nearly a year before
it was finished, my wife's father proud of my dedication to such a fine piece
of work.
“We left for Beruna Fortress to
visit her sick cousin when my son was three. That was when I met you. I…”
Avengard dropped his gaze to
his mug before bringing it to his lips again. He stood and walked towards the
door, excusing himself. Cyrus glanced to Eileia and Raem somberly, drawing a
deep breath to finish the tale for them.
“We found him, bound and
beaten, on the road between Lorimar and Beruna Fortress. He was near death,
tortured by a gang of orcs.” He paused in short, remembering the scene. “My
friends and I killed all of the orcs and saved his life. His wife and young son
were beyond help, tortured to death by the orcs. We found out that this Malkar
we sought had persuaded the orc chieftain to kill us, but the band had stumbled
across Avengard and his family first. He was just in the wrong place at the
wrong time. We rode back to Lorimar and gave them a proper burial. Her family
alienated Avengard, blaming him for their loss. He was pained far beyond their
comprehension. He felt he still owed a life debt to me and wanted badly to
avenge the death of his wife and child, so joined our fight. The sword he uses
now is the same sword he made for his son.”
Eileia wiped a tear from her
eye and Raem stroked his chin. The Peacekeeper still grieved his loss and Cyrus
felt his pain. As the three watched the knight walk outside, Cyrus stroked
Eileia's arm, drawing comfort from her touch.
McGowan, Talric, and Veronica
came down the stairs. Veronica seemed to be in high spirits now, despite the
trauma she had gone through the night before. They walked over to their
friend's table, greetings going all around. Veronica asked Eileia if she would
like to accompany her into town to shop and, making sure Dronus could handle
the tavern for a few hours, she eagerly accepted. They left quickly, Cyrus
receiving a quick kiss on the cheek before they departed.
“Talric and I were going to the
temple to ask the prelate a few questions about Malkar.” McGowan told Cyrus. “I
know you said we should relax, but I want to find out more about Malakar’s
interests. We'll let you know what we find out.”
“Where are Balifore and Thordex?”
Cyrus asked as he peered at the stairs.
“They're upstairs arguing. They
each think they have the best way to pick a lock. Thordex says tools are the
quickest and Balifore argues that a good spell is faster. They've been going at
it for the past fifteen minutes now, testing and timing as each tries the lock
on their door to see which way is best.”
Cyrus shook his head in
contrived disappointment, snickering quietly. “Those two never give up.”
With a nod from Cyrus, they
departed, leaving Raem and the warrior alone at the table.
“You promised to tell me what happened
after Yannone.” Raem said, pointing at Cyrus. “This may prove to be
interesting.”
Cyrus touched his patch
casually and smiled. “We chased Malkar through a series of tunnels that ran
beneath the city. We heard the keep collapse, but we weren't even near the
place when it happened. With all the twists and turns of those caverns, we took
the wrong passage and ended up about forty feet below the lip of the Endless
Sleep.” The big man sighed. “Imagine that. There's a tunnel that runs from the
Endless Sleep all the way to the keep. If we had known that during the battle…”
Cyrus trailed off, knowing he didn't have to elaborate further. If they had
known of the secret tunnel, thousands of deaths could have been avoided. The
defenders would have been taken completely by surprise.
“Anyway, “Cyrus continued “We
climbed up the walls of the Endless Sleep and took a trail back to Yannone. You
were gone by that time. It was strange how I felt so peaceful when I was
standing by the edge of that bottomless pit.”
Raem squinted in confusion.
“What do you mean by that?”
Cyrus scratched the black
griffon tattoo. The redness was very deep today, probably due to the change in
weather.
“I guess it was because that
was where my adopted father found me. I was abandoned there when I was very
young and was raised by the chief of the Black Griffon Clan in Forge's Den. He
says he doesn't know what possessed him to take me as his own, but he felt as
if he had to. He couldn't leave me there like-” Cyrus paused when his gaze met
Raem's. The man was staring at Cyrus as if he were a ghost, clutching something
beneath his tunic. “Is something wrong, Raem?” The warrior asked.
Raem snapped out of his
contemplation and leaned back in his chair.
“No, nothing. I was…just
reminded of something I needed to do.” He smiled feebly. “Now tell me about
that patch over your eye. I never did pick up on that story.”
Cyrus moved closer to Raem,
giving him a good view of the patch.
“We killed a red dragon in a
ruined keep just after leaving Yannone. I had been wounded and lost my eye
during the fighting. Although McGowan healed most of the scarring on my face
and chest, he could do nothing to help me with my eye. Going through the
dragon’s treasure, my brother found this patch and had me try it on. Strangely
enough, the patch was very large but shrunk to fit me perfectly.
“The runes on the patch
fascinated me. After being reassured by Veronica that it was enchanted, I soon
realized I merely concentrate hard enough and can see as the elves do. Night
vision comes in real handy in dark rooms. When I use the patch normally, it
acts as another eye. I can see as if I had not even lost half of my sight. It's
better than having a blind spot, I assure you.”
They continued talking well
into the late afternoon. Raem left to check on his men and to walk his patrol,
declining Cyrus offer to accompany him. I have some things I need to sort out,
Raem had told him, and I would rather be alone for a bit. With that, the
veteran had hurried out of the tavern and disappeared down the street.
Cyrus spent the rest of the
afternoon walking the streets of Metier alone, suddenly becoming depressed at
the recent loss of his brother. Normally, time like this would have been spent
with him, learning the lay of the town. His tattoo began to itch again. He
cursed the gods for his pain and, thinking it over, decided it was best not to
carve the damned thing off of his arm. He had failed his clan by allowing his
brother to die. He briefly wondered why he was heading back to Forge's Den in the
first place. To beg forgiveness? To ensure everyone believed Darius had died as
a warrior should? No, he wanted to be rid of this overwhelming weight that
burdened his heart. He wanted reassurance that he had done everything he could
to protect his brother. He wanted his father to tell him it was not his fault.
