The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (11 page)

“What?” Grady looked at his friend with a quizzical gaze.

“He read me, knew exactly what to say, how to act to put me at ease. He is no simple traveller, of that I’m certain. He reminds me of royalty somehow, that… certainty, which only comes with power. It may only share this road a while and then part, never to meet again, but as I say, of the two, he will be the one I will be watching.

*
  *  *

The first hints of dusk fell as they approach the copse of trees Olam had suggested for their first campsite. The sun lay large at their backs; it would soon be touching the crest of the Brion Spur. Yet the curtain of darkness lay slowly in late spring, time enough for camp to be set within the small wood of Birch and Elm.

“Here we are, my friends,” Olam said. He was the first to venture the few yards down to the tree line.

Daric followed. “I suggest we go down closer to the stream, where the ground is flat,” he said. “We will be close to water and—” He realised his suggestion was a little self-evident.

Daric began to take charge of the proceeding, guiding the younger members down to a clearing by the stream. He suggested that they—the younger ones—set up their bedrolls in the centre, near where the fire would be.

Elspeth had already started to unravel her bed underneath a small overhanging rock. “If you ask me, we should sleep under here,” she said. “It will keep us dry if it rains.”

Daric stared at her. “All right, fine,” he said, waving his hands in the air. “Leave them to it, Daric. Get on with your own bed, Daric,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Elspeth kicked her bedroll into shape and pushed her pack underneath the overhang. Then, looking at Gialyn, she spoke. “You can set yours down here by me,” she said, gesturing to a space at the side of her bed.

Gialyn’s jaw dropped. “Really… me!” he said and immediately coughed on purpose, as his reply was ludicrously high in pitch.

Ealian looked up at him, huffed, and slowly shook his head in mockery.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gialyn asked.

“The look on your face, Re’adh. Don’t you go reading into things
. She suggested you sleep there so the wolves might get you first.” He laughed.

Elspeth glanced sideways at Gialyn and laughed, probably at his vacant expression.

Gialyn put his hands on his hips, then folded his arms, then put one hand under his pit. He changed his position four times before nibbling at his fingernails with the other hand behind him. “Well… do you want me to sleep there or not?” He knew it was a stupid, defensive thing to say as soon as he opened his mouth.
Gods, that’s twice now. Treat her like a friend. Treat her like a friend. That’s what father said. Oh no, she’s looking at me again. What now? And what is he sniggering at? Stupid Ealian, camping in a white—”

“Calm down,” Elspeth said. She stood up with her hands clasped in front of her and a doe-eyed expression on her face. “Would you please sleep by me, Gialyn, protect me from the nasty, nasty wolves?” she asked, playing the damsel.

Her playact put Gialyn more at ease. He was relieved they shared a joke—even if it was at his expense. He rolled out his bed a few feet to the side of Elspeth’s and dumped his pack by the rock next to hers.

“Fool,” muttered Ealian under his breath.

The next hour went quickly. Everyone attended to his or her duties—as prescribed by Daric.

The late evening turned to early night. Near darkness fell on their camp beneath the broad leaves of the birch and elm. The fire was up and burning well, reflecting an orange glow all about their comfortable grotto. The youngsters sat patiently while Daric prepared their fish supper.

Daric had brought a lot of fish, nearly a full bag of them—seems he really did like fish. Either that or he didn’t know how to make anything else. Whatever the reason was, the fish smelled good. Everybody was hungry after their first long day.

Grady, too, had brought supplies, mostly bread and sweetroll—plenty for the first few days, at least. Gialyn was particularly pleased with him for bringing the sweetroll.

They settled down in front of the bank and ate their first meal together. Things were good. All were happy.

Halfway through their supper, Arfael got up and lumbered down beyond the stream—doubtless to answer nature’s call. Grady seized the opportunity to ask Olam about his remarkable friend.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Olam, and I will understand if you choose not to answer… Your friend, Arfael, where does he come from? Who are his people? I have never seen his like.”

The Albergeddians all stopped eating and looked at Olam. The question was on everybody’s mind.
Even Daric—who would normally pride himself on keeping out of other people’s business—hitched up a bit closer so he could hear better.

The question was expected
. Indeed, by most accounts, Olam would have expected it to be asked much sooner. He gave a little sigh at the predictability of it. Smiling, he turned to Grady. “My friend, I cannot answer without betraying a trust, sorry.”

“Of course, it is your business, sir. Pardon me for asking.” Grady looked disappointed and backed off to his original seat.

“I will say one thing. So far as I’m aware, there are no others like him, at least not in Aleras.” Olam settled his plate on the ground, picked up his waterskin, and waited for what was bound to be more questions.

“So where does he come from, then?” Grady asked.

“East,” Olam replied without raising his head.

“That is it… east.” Grady looked around as though gauging the interests of the others. He knew he was pushing for an answer and didn’t want to be rude
.

Olam drew the waterskin away from his lips. “Yes
, east,” he said.

“How long have you known him?” Grady persisted.

Olam dropped his shoulders. He seemed a kind man and, so it appeared, quite a talkative one, but Gialyn got the impression the old man was trying to decide what to say without being too rude. “A long time, Grady, since before you were born, judging by the look of you.”

Grady’s mouth opened wide. A resounding mixture of oohs and ahhs swept across the camp, as though the mystery of their illustrious giant was indeed a worthy enough tale for campfire talk.

“How did y—”

Olam interrupted Grady. “Sir, I’m sorry, but Arfael can speak for himself. I do not feel comfortable talking about him in his absence.”

“That is all right, Olam.” The booming voice of Arfael came from just beyond the tree line. He walked up into the firelight, every move followed intently by the Albergeddians. “We are together for two months. They can know some.”

Arfael sat next to his friend and picked up his bowl of something that looked like cheese and some very dense bread.

Olam bowed to his friend. “If you’re sure…”

Arfael nodded.

The rest of the travellers put down their plates and turned their attention to Olam.

“I met Arfael around fifty years ago in—”

“Uh… Beg your pardon, sir.” Elspeth interrupted. “But
you
barely look fifty. He definitely does not.”

Olam smiled at her. “We all have our stories, Elspeth my dear, but, alas, I can only tell one at a time.”

Elspeth nodded apologetically.

Olam carried on. “I came across Arfael fifty years ago. My bridal had snapped, and Arfael was working as a blacksmith at the time, living in a small camp just outside Barais’gin, about twelve miles east of Aldregair, almost on the coast. As soon as we met, I felt a bond. I couldn’t explain it at the time and chose to ignore it. One of the villagers told me not to bother talking too much to him, as he couldn’t remember folk beyond a week or two after meeting them, and that it was ‘a waste of time trying to get to know him.’ Still, I stayed and talked. Indeed, I stayed for nearly a week, but then I had to leave.

“It was not until five years later that my travels brought me back that way. I went to see Arfael as soon as I arrived, and to our mutual astonishment, he remembered me! Why he remembers me, I do not fully understand. As time passed by, a strong bond developed between us. We decided to travel, see if we couldn’t come up with some answers to the mystery of who he was and where he came from.”

“Sir,” Daric said. “If you do not mind, I have a question.”

“Please, my friend, ask away,” Olam said, reaching for what was left of his fish supper.

“You said you didn’t
fully
understand why he only remembers you, but you do have an idea why.”

Olam laughed. “You are indeed a guardsman, Daric, and a man of sharp wit, if I may say so.” Olam bowed towards Daric, who returned the gesture. “Yes, you are right
. I have an idea why he remembers me, but that is an entirely different story and one I shall keep to myself, perhaps for another day.”

“As you wish,” Daric said. “I won’t impose, sir.”

“So when you say mystery,” Grady asked, “what do you mean, exactly? What answers do you seek?”

“The same answers to the questions you asked yourself the moment you saw him, Grady,” Olam answered. “Where does he come from? Does he have kin? What of his homeland? All the simple things every living soul should have answers to.”

“Why is he so big?” Ealian asked.

“Ealian!” Elspeth starred scornfully at her brother and then slapped him about the shoulder. “That is just rude.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a perfectly legitimate question.”

Arfael let out a deep, slow laugh that filled the camp. Even the ground seemed to shudder under his monotonic chuckle. The sound of the giant’s apparent amusement delighted the Albergeddians, as if, despite his size and his obvious differences, he was really just a simple soul, not unlike themselves. They all joined in with him.

“Have you visited Bailryn?” Daric asked amidst the laughter. “Surely, the capital would be the place to look for answers. There are almost as many folk living there as in the rest of Aleras combined. Well, if you include the outer villages.” Daric’s laughter quietened to a staggered chortle as he saw the effect his question had on Arfael.

Rafael’s
shoulders dropped. He bit his lip and looked pensively at Olam.

The travellers fell silent, too.

Olam spoke. “We have had, shall we say, some bad experiences when around large groups of people. The human predilection for fearing what they do not understand tends to get in the way of meaningful discourse.”

“Uh?” Gialyn scratch
ed his head. He gazed vacantly at Olam. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

“He means people can be stupid,” Daric said. “I’m sorry if I brought up painful memories, Arfael. Please accept my apology.” Daric addressed Arfael directly.

Arfael nodded. “No harm done, sir.”

“Can we go back to the age thing?” Elspeth asked. “Do you know how old you are?” She directed her question at Arfael.

Arfael shook his head. “Not sure. At the cave since I woke up. I think it was a long time,” he said in his usual single-syllable manner.

Olam helped answer Elspeth’s question. “He lived at Barais’gin for a good thirty years before I found him. At least, that is as far as the locals could recollect.”

“Well, that would make you at least eighty,” Elspeth said. She put a hand to her chest and looked agape at the others. “By the gods, I hope I look that good when I’m—uh… Not that I… or that… Oh, never mind.” She covered her face in embarrassment.

Elspeth’s stumbling statement brought the camp back to laughter.

Arfael sat with a smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked a man out of place among friends, looked as though sharing laughter and companionship were as alien to him as he was to the rest of the travellers.

Daric was laughing, too. Not merely because of Elspeth’s embarrassment, but at the place he found himself.
This is good,
he thought.
Maybe this trip was the right thing to do after all, the right thing for Gialyn!
Yet, just as he felt most content with his lot, a doubt entered his mind. He caught a glance shared between Olam and Arfael, a moment’s hint at some hidden secret, perhaps, or mutual understanding, as if some hidden dread had passed between them. Daric quickly dismissed his apprehension, as being the makings of his suspicious nature, yet the thought and feeling would return often during that first night.

As for the rest of them, the night passed quickly. The previous day’s emotional toil—as well as the tiredness of their limbs—left them with little defence against the fast-approaching slumber. Ealian and Elspeth spoke for a brief while before turning in. Daric and Grady spent some time checking supplies. Olam and Arfael went through what for them was probably a well-rehearsed ritual of sleeping under the stars.

The camp settled and all went soundly off to sleep. Only Gialyn lay restless for a while, partly, perhaps, because of his vicinity to Elspeth’s bed, partly at remembering the sound of his mother’s tears. He tossed, turned, and rearranged his blanket at least a dozen times before sleep finally, mercifully, caught him.

CHAPTER 8