Young Writers Society

“We’re nearly there.”

Devlin turned back to Gwyn and Malcolm as they came upon the sturdy bridge that crossed over the river Gnofen. It was a ruddy bridge, caked with fresh snow that blew across into the swirling waters a few feet below. It was wide enough for two wagons to cross comfortably, or as had been the case the last time Devlin had seen and crossed it, eight columns of Astorian troops. Things had been much simpler just those few months ago.

He waved his hand, hurrying the two shaking youths to catch up with him as the sun dipped below the horizon ahead of them.

”We should reach the inn by nightfall and get some hot food and a real bed before tomorrow.”

Gwyn and Malcolm said nothing, but Gwyn’s head did perk up for a moment with the mention of a tasty, hot meal. They had consumed two rabbits that Devlin had roasted over an open fire, but those had been so dry and void of flavor that Gwyn barely touched them. Malcolm hadn’t seemed to mind, eating enough for the both of them. He spoke for the first time in a while.

“We should leave Gwyn there and keep moving tonight.”

Devlin recoiled. It was the first time Malcolm had shown any emotion other than a glare here or there at Gwyn or nowhere in particular.

“We need to rest. Carris was sent ahead to warn Atheron.”

Malcolm scoffed as he tramped across the bridge. “Like that plan worked.”

Devlin walked alongside him, keeping his arms tucked. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you sent a wench like her to do the job for you. She’s probably dead at this point.” There was no remorse in his voice, something that did not go unnoticed on Devlin.

“You don’t think she could make it down the mountain? She did survive an assault on your town unscathed.”

Malcolm shrugged and lowered his head. Devlin looked to Gwyn for an explanation on the sudden tonal shift but found her glaring past him at Malcolm. He sighed. It wasn’t worth getting in whatever bickerings had existed on that mountain village.

Doesn’t matter in the grand scheme. But I hope she made it.

“Either way, whether she made it or not, there’s no purpose in pushing ourselves any harder. They’ll reach Atheron before us either way. Why the sudden demand for the double quick?”

“Double-quick?”

“Yeah, you know, moving at a doubly fast pace. You’ve barely said a word and yet now want to catch up those Sadorians.”

“Oh. I see. I want revenge, that’s why. They killed my dad in cold blood and deserve to die.”

“Fair enough. But why rush now.”

“Because they killed my dad! And if they reach Atheron they’ll either get their supplies and leave, or they’ll be caught and tossed in a prison. That’s too good for them. They deserve to suffer for what they did.”

With that Malcolm moved ahead of the group. Devlin slowly nodded his head. The boy had fire in him, something that Devlin could respect. If he went up against Eridan though he would be cut down for sure. At least, as long as Eridan had that sword. There was something about it. Magical? That was ridiculous, right?

Magic doesn’t exist. That’s what they say.

But what else could have stayed that dragon’s fire, tossed the Town Guard through the air? He needed answers. There was one person who may be able to answer them, and he was with King Ormen in the Plains of Cahl. Perhaps Atheron was the wrong destination. Devlin ran a hand through his hair.

This was not how this week was supposed to go.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They reached the Lazy Dragon Inn as the last ray of sun sunk below the blackened horizon and quickly acquired a room for Malcolm and Gwyn. Devlin had no money, but his status as an Astorian soldier had been enough to convince the innkeeper for one room and a meal for the two of them. He was given a stall in the stable out back free of charge after chopping firewood.

He dropped the last load of firewood in the box at the back door of the kitchen and made his way around to the main room downstairs where many of the guests sat around. Some hunkered down by the large stone fire on the left wall, while others clumped together at the bar, sharing stories as they downed ale and mead. For his part, Devlin picked a secluded two-seater in the corner facing the bar. He was given a hot bowl of meaty stew with a piece of bread and one large mug of ale.

The stew warmed his insides and the ale revived his spirits as he enjoyed the warmth that wafted through the room. There was a jovial atmosphere to the place, something severally lacking at Hoden’s Pass. It all seemed to so tranquil, the elderly couple wrapped together in a blanket by the fire, the laughs from the bar, th-

THWACK!

The door to the inn burst open and was followed by a howling gust of wind. Devlin’s hand instinctively went to his hilt as a cloaked figure entered and hurriedly slammed the door shut. A few snowflakes swirled about him. There was a bulge on the newcomer’s back, a strange u-shape. All eyes turned to the abrasive entrance, narrowed in annoyance or wide in surprise.

The man strode to the bar and greeted the innkeeper in a hushed tone. Devlin watched as they discussed quietly. The cloaked figure pointed over his back to the bulge, his sleeve rolling up as he did so to reveal a silver bracelet with a small elf figurine. In an instant, Devlin grinned.

He said nothing but watched as the innkeeper began to nod and clapped his hands together.

“Folks, who would like some music on this frigid and terrible night?” he hollered in a rousing voice that carried across the room.

A few cheers went up from those closest who had been not-so-secretly eavesdropping on the conversation that had taken place at the bar. The other guests turned back to him.

“Seems this gent here doesn’t have all the funds necessary to pay for a room. However, seems he’s got something he’s willing to trade for a stall out back. Say’s his name Miles, and he is a musician for the Royal Army.”

That brought some oo’s and aah’s from those listening. Devlin laughed to himself. Miles never was very good with money.

“Says that he’s headed to rouse the troops who be freezing up north, but he wouldn't mind a little practice as he’s on his way. So I say again, what say ye? How about some music?”

This time several more cheers went up. Devlin pounded his mug on the table and let out a whoop. Miles wasn't just a musician in the Royal Army, he was the king’s own personal musician. Which always made Devlin even more impressed that he was broke so often. Devlin took a swig of ale.

Miles now whipped back his hood back and Devlin spewed the ale everywhere, coughing and hacking. Where there had before been long hazel locks was now nothing but a bald head that made Miles look much less like the happy youth that he was, and much more like a giant baby. His face wasn’t exactly masculine you could say, and though he had attempted many times before, he couldn’t seem to grow a beard or mustache.

Miles turned to Devlin a knowing smile came over his face, but he made no motion of familiarity and tossed his cloak aside. He now took his instrument from his back, the cause of the bulge, and plucked a few strings as he flexed his fingers.

“Good evening everyone,” he smiled, revealing a perfect set of pearly teeth. “As has been stated, my financial status is not one of great report, however, I can assure you that I was in no way responsible for that!” His voice carried through the inn was a powerful, youthful echo.

He rubbed his hands together as he let his fiddle hand from its strap. “You see, just a few weeks ago I was assigned with riding north to our valiant troops. They say that music is a great inspirer, and you rest assured that our men could use some of that.” his voice dipped low now, reeling in his audience’s attention as they leaned forward. “They say it gets twice as cold on the other side of the mountains. I can assure you, however, that without my hood on my head gets just as cold!”

That brought a ripple of laughter. Devlin shook his head. Whatever the story behind the haircut, he would bet that it involved a bad roll of the dice on Miles’ part. That or a jousting tournament. He never was good at gambling.

Miles continued as he walked in and out among the tables.

“But back to the money! You see, there’s this knight back in the Royal City that had been undefeated for many weeks and I lost many coins for my belief that he could be beaten. Well, at last, I conceded to the pressure and put my money on him against an opponent who should have been no contest. Let me re-phrase that. I put all my money.” He shook his head in self-shame. “And my hair,” he added in a mutter at the end.

A smile spread over Devlin’s face and those closest to Miles let out a chuckle as they picked up the hushed words.

What did I say?

“So here I am, doing the king’s bidding because quite frankly, I’ve got no other option. I don’t have many skills, one of the few being barber, but you can imagine how folks might feel if I were to offer my services in that department.”

He ran a hand over his head as the elderly couple guffawed. He gave them a shrug. “What can I say? It’s just not fashionable yet. But you didn’t ask me to talk to you, you asked me to play.”

“We didn’t ask you to do anything!” something yelled from the bar.

Miles winked that direction. “Fair enough. But nonetheless, here I am. What can I say, I’m persistent. You know, they sat that King Ormen is one of the most persistent monarchs we’ve ever had in this country. The way that he took control of the kingdom upon his father’s death and handled Sadoria’s repeated pirating attacks is one that I believe will go down in legend. To help memorialize that I wrote a little tune about it that I’ll play for you here tonight.”

He strummed the fiddle a few times, picking at the higher notes and matching them with his mellow, round voice. Devlin noticed a few eyebrows raise. Devlin took the last swig of his ale and sank back in his chair, letting go of the pressures that beset him for a moment. After all, it wasn’t every night that you had the king’s royal musician stop by your inn on a cold and windy night.

This is going to be fun.