The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (34 page)

Kirin
mussed her hair and quickly turned to his wife, who stood waiting on the steps of their hut. “Can we get some food organised? Maybe you can see the butcher. Half a pig should do it.”

His wife nodded and scooted of
f to the other side of the square.

Twenty minutes had passed and Tor was still lying on his side along the edge of the clearing. He was awake
, but barely. He heard the sound of footstep approaching and slowly opened his eyes. There before him stood a line of Cren of all shapes and sizes, some with smiles on their faces, some agape with awe. Tor looked down the line from left to right and smiled at each in turn. About twenty stood staring at him. All were silent; nobody wanted to speak. Tor rolled onto his back and blew a plume of bright-orange flame thirty feet into the air. He spun quickly onto all fours and looked fiercely at the assembled Cren, especially the children. After a second, he laughed. They all joined in and applauded him on his fire show.

Tor was happy to be in the company of so many friends. For years, he had seen none but the same few dragons and maybe the odd villager.
This is good,
he thought as he talked to the Cren. They were friendly souls and mighty interested in him. Even the children were fearless, never having heard a bad tale about a dragon. In their eyes, Tor was an exciting, wondrous thing. They felt very lucky to meet him. Their kindness showed, as Tor all but forgot the reason for his journey and sat talking and eating with his new friends.
This is how it should be. It has been so long.

After around an hour, Cal returned to the group. He bowed to Tor and beckoned Kirin with a nod. Kirin walked over to him, laughing and tipping his mug at those having fun in the clearing.

“I’ve got some men together. We will leave first thing in the morning. They should be easy enough to find, but I’d like to observe them in the daylight first, check all is clear,” Cal said. “It’s six hours, so if all goes well, maybe late evening tomorrow,” he said.

“Very good,” Kirin said. He stood a while
, looking quizzically at Cal. “You’re not one of those who think we should stay out of this, are you, my friend?”

“Sir, my personal views are my own. I will do my duty.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Answer my question.” Kirin threw away the dregs in his mug and squared himself up to Cal.

“Sir, I don’t know enough to have a strong opinion one way or another.”

“And you think I don’t either. Is that the problem? Do you think this is all a bit rushed and maybe we should sit at council and debate a while?” Kirin waited for a response. “Well… is that what you think?” He insisted.

Cal stood firm against the accusation. Looking sternly away from Kirin’s gaze, he answered, “I think we have a council for a reason, sir. This clearly is a matter for it. There are eighty thousand Cren throughout Crenach’coi, and while you are our leader, you are not a dictator.”

Kirin nodded his head and bit his lip. “Will you do as I asked to the best of your ability?”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Cal said.

“Then go and do it. Leave the politics to me.”

Kirin’thar turned and rejoined the party. Cal hastily about-faced and stomped off along the track. The three Cren with him stood staring at each other for a moment and then all quickly marched off to catch up.

Back at the party, they had built a fire and all were still laughing. Kirin came to stand by Tor, who had apparently seen what had happened.

“Is there a problem, my friend?” he asked.

“No, no. Nothing for you to worry about, my friend. The Cinnè’arth will be sent to you as you requested.”

CHAPTER 25

The morning sun laid long shadows across the hollow. Despite the near-perfect blue sky, the campsite remained in complete shade. A chill in the air contradicted the heat of late, enough that Elspeth pulled her blanket tightly to her chin. She lay on her side, eyes half open, staring at her brother. How long had she been lying there? Time had run faster than the river she could hear in the distance; for two copper, she would swear she
’d been in bed for less than an hour, yet the dawn belied her senses.

She watch
ed surreptitiously as Olam rose. She doubted if he’d slept much either; the man had tossed and turned all night. Why did he feel so bad? It wasn’t as if any of this was his fault, or was it? He knew about that… black thing and didn’t warn them. He attacked the Salrians with that
apple bomb
Grady mentioned. In fact, it seemed as though they’d done nothing but follow the man from one disaster to another for the past week and a half.
No, that isn’t fair. You just want someone to blame. Olam didn’t shoot the bloody arrow.

Olam flung his blankets to the side and stumbled, still crouching, the few feet to where her brother slept. Only Elspeth already knew he wasn’t sleeping. She had watched for an hour as Ealian lay half-propped against the roots of the oak tree. His eyes open wide, staring into nothingness. His breath was shallow for the most part, occasionally dragging a harsh gulp of air through his open mouth. Olam took him by the hand and knelt by his side. Elspeth watch
ed as the old man leaned close to Ealian’s ear and whispered.
What is he saying?

Wearily, she rolled herself out of her blanket and crept quietly to her brother’s side. She bowed low upon seeing him up close. Only a few hours passed since exhaustion forced what little sleep she’d had upon her, yet it was clear, even in that short time, Ealian had taken for the worse. His skin shone of a clammy, grey hue. Matted sweat lined his forehead. His eyes were blackened, gaunt, and glazed a greyish-blue and lay deep in his skull.

Elspeth swayed until steadying herself against Olam’s shoulder. Sickened by her feeling of helplessness, she began to moan. “What are we to do?” she asked. Her words brought forth a stuttering cry, as if they were as much a plea to the gods as a question for Olam. “Look at him!”

Olam took Elspeth by the shoulder, steadying her against her trembling heart. “Don’t lose hope, child. He is fighting. We have some time.” Olam’s words rang thin in her ears. She knew the truth was plain enough to see, even to her untrained eye.

Elspeth eyes turned to steely determination. She got to her feet and moved swiftly to where Grady slept. “Get up!” she said, kicking him about the leg.

“Wh—what’s happened?” Grady sat up. Blinking, he squinted around the camp, doubtless looking for the cause of this rude awakening. His shoulders slumped when his gaze fell on Ealian. His face said he remembered the promise he
’d made to Elspeth.

“Grady! Quickly, please! My brother doesn
’t have long. We must go to town and fetch the medicine Olam spoke of.” She picked up Grady’s pack and thrust it into his arms.

“I know, Elspeth. Calm down.”

“Calm was yesterday!” Elspeth said. Blinkered determination raged in her chest. They were going if she had to drag him out of the camp.

Grady had risen quickly, too quickly, nearly losing his feet and landing in the fire. Slowly he stumbled over to where Ealian lay. The sight of the young man took his breath. He raised his hands and interlocked his fingers, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “Oh no!” he whispered to himself. “I’ve seen healthier-looking dead men.” He bent to Olam’s ear and whispered, first glancing around to see that Elspeth couldn’t hear. “Are these… medicines going to work?’

“What! No, Grady, you do not just give up on him. We are going,” Elspeth screeched. She threw her half-folded blanket to the ground. “Just take water and a little food and we’ll be off. No excuses. You promised!” She stomped over to where the waterskins were stored, picked one up, and took it over to him, shoving it in his hand. Her eyes stared at him, full of hurt and disappointment. She was going and he was coming, too, no arguments.

Grady bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Elspeth. I just…” Elspeth stood, fists on hips, staring at him. “Never mind, give me two minutes.”

“Going where?” A shout came from the south, beyond the rim of the hollow.

Elspeth’s heart jumped in her chest. She dropped her pack and ran to where the sound came from. Finally, the seal broke on her tears. Her face shone red, her legs quivering, as she ran with open arms to Daric. “Thank the gods you are safe. Thank the gods!” Her words were barely audible above her blubbering.

“Elspeth, what is wrong? What has happened?” Daric must have thought the worst. His eyes certainly said so.

“It’s Ealian!” She was holding Gialyn by now. “The story is too long! You must speak to Olam. Grady and I are off to a town to find medicine.” They continued walking while she spoke.

Daric looked to Grady with a puzzled expression.

Grady answered his gaze. “I’d love to tell you, Daric. It has been a night for tales, that’s for sure. But Elspeth is right. There is no time. Olam will speak of it… and it’s good to see you well, friend.” He bowed low with his hand on his heart.

“It is good to see you,” Elspeth said, “both of you. I’m so glad you are well.”

*  *  *

Daric found the hollow held more questions. The first, and not least: what were the Salrians doing there? However, so hurried was the chaos that before a minute’s end, he found himself saying good-bye to Elspeth and Grady.

Olam explained everything: what happened with Arfael, Ealian’s fever, the scroll, and Elspeth’s quest for medicine. Daric had so much to say he found he was unable to say anything. Obviously, it was clear to him the priority was Ealian. Olam explained about the
kharoe ash and liet root, most notably that he honestly wasn’t sure if they would help at all.

“Then why did they go?” Daric knew the answer before he finished asking it. “Never mind, but Be’olyn! They are piling trouble on top of misery by going there.”

“I know,” Olam said. “She needed to do something. Fear loves nothing more than a task-less heart.” Olam poured water into his palm and dripped it onto Ealian’s lips. “To be honest, Daric, it is a blessing she will not stand and bear witness. The hurt in her eyes brings forth a pain in my chest greater than I can swallow. I fear a bad end before tomorrow is done, and I do not have the words to tell her.”

Olam tried once again to coax a little drink into his young friend. Ealian gave no sign of knowing the water was at his lips, and to force it would choke him. Olam put down the skin and sat quietly with his hands together, as though at prayer.

Gialyn, tired as he was, came to sit beside his father. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No, child. We must wait and hope!” Olam said.

Gialyn sighed. “This isn’t a lesson I wished to learn!” Sat with his eyes fixed on Ealian, he was close to tears.

Daric patted his knee. “We will do all we can, son. If these herbs don’t work, we
’ll try and find the woodsmen.” He didn’t hold out much hope of that. He said it to keep some hope alive in Gialyn’s heart. It didn’t look to have worked too well. Before Daric could catch him, Gialyn slipped off the rock.

“It is all right, son. Steady yourself.” Daric reached behind for water. “Sip this slowly and keep your head low. It will pass!”

“Thank you.” Gialyn forced out the words between breaths. Daric could see the sickness was almost at his throat. Little wonder, after the night he’d had. Suddenly, Gialyn sat as still as a statue. His eyes stared forward, and his hand trembled ready near his mouth. He quickly leaned over the log behind him and wrenched out the water he’d just taken. “Sorry!” he said.

Daric rubbed his back. “No need to be sorry, son.” Daric sat with him for five minutes while the colour returned to his cheeks, rubbing his back and wiping the cold sweat from his brow with a cool, damp cloth. “Come. You should sleep for a while, or at least rest by the fire. It’s been a long night for us all.”

Gialyn curled up by the fire, with the blankets tucked tight under his chin. There he slept.

*  *  *

Elspeth and Grady made the ten-mile trek to Be’olyn in a little less than four hours. Upon seeing the outskirts of the town, their frantic stride turned to a steady walk. The first sight of buildings was that of dishevelled shacks that lay to the north of the track—faded wooden huts, hunched together, that looked no better than a poor farmer’s barn. They passed them on the far side, casting a wary eye back and forth between the doorways. Little stirred among the broken buildings, save a flicker of movement as one of the residents stole a peep out of a glassless window and then quickly slipped back into the shadows.

Be’olyn lay in the pit of a narrow valley. It would hardly merit the title of a “town.” Indeed, it wouldn’t if it weren’t for the fact that it once had a courthouse. Four streets of badly managed cobbles and packed yellow mud split off from the main road. None led to anywhere but a dead end. The awnings of the main street were ill born, set clumsily against the skewed houses and shops. A broken veranda, strewn with crooked chairs, lay at the front of one. Grady guessed it could be an inn. He appeared half-hearted at the prospect
of entering.

“It is usually the best place to start.” His words were meant to encourage, though fell far short of the mark.

“If you say so, Grady,” Elspeth said as she looked up and down. “Is there not a store or something… anything?” Elspeth asked.

“Maybe.” Grady looked around. “But there are no billboards or posters. This
could
be the store, for all I know.”

Elspeth shook her head and breathed a heaving sigh
. She appeared less than enchanted at the thought of entering such a place. “As you say. We don’t have time to stand guessing. Let’s get it done and be gone.”

They walked across the road and entered the building.

The door swung closed behind, leaving them suddenly in darkness. Elspeth grabbed Grady’s arm. The smell of putrid beer and stale smoke rose from the sticky floor. A haze of what smelled like ammonia stung their eyes. The room lay silent, save the sound of the glass clattering as they entered. A small nest of candle lay in a nook in the far left corner. A line of bottles and goblets faintly reflected their light.

“It is an inn,” Grady said. He moved close to Elspeth’s ear. “Stay by me. Do not leave my side.”

They walked slowly towards the light, their widening eyes revealing more with every step: two men stood casually against the bar at the right, empty tables at the left, and in front, a large barman stood, ironically, cleaning a glass.

Grady walked slowly towards the bar, feeling his way with his feet. Two more men came into view. The first was an old man, stood alone on the left. The other, about his own age and build, sat beneath the candlelight in front of the bar. Grady stopped short and nodded to him. He made no response to Grady, but he looked Elspeth up and down and then turned to the others with an approving grin.

Grady greeted the barman. “Excuse me, sir. Might I ask you a question?”

“Drink first, questions later,” he said, still with his eye fixed on the glass in his hands.

“Yes, of course,” Grady said. “Two spirits, please.”

“Root or vine?” the barman asked.

“Err… root please?” Grady said, not really knowing what he meant by vine.

The barman turned, picked up two glasses, splashed them to half-full with clear spirits, and placed them unceremoniously in front of Grady. “That’ll be two bits,” he said.

Grady nodded approval. “That is a good price for spirit.”

“Two bits of
silver
!”

Grady paused. The barman—for the first time—looked directly at him, arms spread wide with hands flat on the bar top.

Grady mumbled to himself while rummaging through his coin purse.

“I have it,” Elspeth said. She went to reach inside her jacket.

Grady put his foot on her toe and pushed. “No, daughter. I know you’re trying to help, but you must save what
little
you have.” He stared forcefully into Elspeth’s eyes.

Elspeth quietly folded her arms and nodded. “Of course… Father. Sorry.”

Grady put two silver coins on the bar and thanked the barman. “Now, about my question. We’re looking for medicines, kharoe ash and liet root, enough for one.”

The man by the bar—the one who had ogled Elspeth—laughed. “It doesn’t look to me like you need any medicine.” He grabbed Elspeth’s behind and squeezed.

Grady put his arm between the two and pushed Elspeth behind him. He thrust his right hand inside his jacket—as though going for a weapon—and waited. He had played this game before. He knew thieves were cowards and opportunists, and he’d expected to be tested. Was he easy or was he trouble? He knew what they were thinking.

“That’s enough
‘a that!” the barman barked, thumping his fist down on the counter. “Olshtan, ye knows betta than to treat a man’s daughter like that in my establishment. Now go sit yeself out the way.” The barman waved him off into the corner.