Chapter 24

Marley shook Jayf and Thysl’s hands off his arms and staggered forward. His stomach lurched as it had each time he came off the Dragon Paths since leaving Ymarii’s lair. It had been long and long since he’d spent so much time in that place between here and there and if he didn’t enjoy the Paths before, now almost made him think the collars were not such a bad idea.

Jayf sat down on a large rock. “Except for short hops, we need to stay off the Paths for a few days,” He glanced over at Marley. “You look awful and I am worn.”

“We are close to one of our old bolt holes. One we played in as kids, Jayf. If we don’t want to camp in the tunnels, we can camp close and use them as a backdoor, should the need arise,” Thysl said, taking a drink from his canteen.

Jayf nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, then his eyes lit up and he grinned. “Is it the one where we stashed the sugar fern syrup and the bottle broke?”

Thysl chuckled and nodded. “An adventure best forgotten. So is it agreed?”

Marley sighed with relief. “It’s settled then,” he said, letting his pack slide to the ground.

“Do not settle yet, the site is through that grove of trees and against the hillside.” Thysl pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at a rocky ridge in the distance.

“Of course it is.” The runesmith picked his pack back up and headed toward the coppice. “Hop to it then, the evening passed us somewhere back on the Dragon Paths and the dark of night lays just ahead.”

They’d covered half the distance when Glyf pointed out a coil of smoke rising through the trees. “There are two with the old blood. One Al’far and the other… the other’s essence is unfamiliar.”

Marley’s heart skipped a beat, and he glanced over at Jayf for confirmation. But whatever Glyf read in his face, she understood more than he realized.

For as he stepped forward, she placed her hand on his arm and said, “It is not Kestrel. The essence is male.”

Marley Stonebender nodded, his jaw so tight he thought he heard his teeth crack. “They’ll not take me by surprise again.” He strode forward a few more steps, his deep voice booming. “Hail to the campfire.”

After a handful of breaths, he took another few paces forward, but before he shouted again, someone at the fire yelled a greeting.

“Hail and well met, show yourself, traveler.”

Although they were the traditional traveler’s words of greeting, Marley detected an accent he recognized but couldn’t place. Once more, he glanced at Jayf.

“He is young, but I sense no deceit, only a healthy portion of caution,” Jayf said before Marley asked.

“Perhaps we, too, should be cautious. Why don’t the three of you use one of those short hops and become scarce until we know more of our host?”

The three nodded and disappeared, while Marley walked forward, hands at his sides, palms turned outward. The young man stood within the flickering shadows of firelight. He looked tattered, his shaggy dark hair held away from his face by a strip of cloth tied about his head. In one hand, he carried a bow, and a short sword hung from his waist.

Still, it was the being behind the youth that drew his gaze. The heavy jaw and meaty features spoke of some measure of a giant in his lineage. Marley’s eyes widened in surprise. He was at least twenty-four hands tall.

“What in the names of the Seven Guardians is one of the great orias people doing in Windy Cove?”

Intrigued by these two travelers, Marley’s gaze swung back to the young man. The boy was taking his own assessment and, after a moment, put away his bow. He looked to be close to 17 hands tall and probably that many years.

“He’s Bien’Orias, and he is with me,” the boy said in a slightly defensive tone.

Their eyes met and Marley rocked back on his heels. The young al’far’s deep amethyst eyes were disconcerting and fascinating at the same time. The runesmith shifted his gaze back to the Bien’Orias, not wanting to vex the boy with his stare.

“Well and well, he honors the Orias side of his family tree,” Marley said, picking up his end of the conversation with a slight chuckle. “Thank you for the hospitality. Friendly faces have become scant of a sudden.” He felt the tension dispel as he spoke and ambled over to the fire.

“Have you ventured into the cove, then?” the stranger asked.

“I have. I take it you have also?”

“Do you think it was nilmorg?” The look of loathing on the young man’s face spoke louder than his words.

And with the Al’far’s question, the three dragonkin appeared out of the trees. Marley glanced sideways to find the young man now stood next to him. Speculation pushed the runesmith’s brow toward his hairline, but before he could ask how he’d come to that conclusion, Thysl spoke up from the far side of the flames.

“What makes you think nilmorgs did this?”

The stranger looked confused as he took in the three new arrivals. “I reckon they’re with you,” he said as his big friend moved in a step.

“Indeed, they are survivors from Windy Cove,” Marley said.

He was almost sure the boy’s accent smacked of the Bitterun coast. Although that seemed implausible with the Hrys-Loba’s hatred of all things Espaire. Still, the enigma he saw within this young Al’far and his silent bodyguard begged him to poke a little and see what surfaced.

“Now, what about those nilmorgs? You said you thought they did that?” Marley’s thumb pointed a direction over his shoulder toward the ridge of bluffs and cliffs separating them from the coast.

“Aye, after running into a couple of their encampments between here and Freeport, I just assumed they attacked both Ymarii and the dragonkin.”

The runesmith studied him, intrigued by his knowledge of the attack on Ymarii. He bit his tongue to keep from voicing his thoughts on assumptions and hoped the boy would elaborate, but he seemed about as forthcoming as his dour companion. After a few moments, Marley shrugged and, with a grin, clapped the young man on his back.

“So we each have tales to tell, and I am a passable camp cook,” Marley Stonebender said, stretching out his arms expansively. “If it would be acceptable, we’ll share our food as you have shared your fire and we can each share our tale?”

Although the young al’far nodded, it was not as cordial as Marley might have hoped. Still, his hand no longer lingered at his scabbard and though he looked somewhat distracted as he studied the dragonkin, the runesmith sensed no hostility.

Not waiting for any more of an invitation, Marley turned to his companions. “Right then, Thysl, would you fetch a pot of some sort and any spices you might scavenge from the stores in the cave?” The dragonkin disappeared before the last word left his mouth.

Their host pivoted, staring at Marley with a bemused look on his face. “I have a scroll for Thysl if he is the Port Administrator for Windy Cove. Do they always pop in and out like this?”

“He is indeed that Thysl,” the runesmith said. “As for the disappearing, I fear it’s part of being a dragonkin. You get used to it after a while.”

As if on cue, Thysl reappeared, the cooking pot and a cloth bag bulging with found goods in his hands. The young man pulled out a small sealed scroll from his pack and strode over to Thysl. “I have a message for the Windy Cove Port Administrator, Thysl. Would that be you?”

Thysl Looked from the boy to Marley, his grief like a shadow blotting out the blue and green swirls in his large irises. “I would have been a double handful of days ago. There will never be another Windy Cove Port Administrator, there will never be another Windy Cove.”

“Perhaps since ye are sharing camp hospitality, I should make some introductions.” Marley cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Thysl you have now met and as he said, he is the once Port Administrator of Windy Cove.”

Marley nodded at Thysl, hoping the dragonkin knew he wasn’t alone in his loss. He paused and waited for Thysl’s reaction to his introduction. When the dragonkin merely nodded at Chayse, Marley swept his hand out toward the two dragonkin on the far side of the fire.

“That’s Jayf, he’s my sidekick and Thysl hatch-mate. That pretty little thing next to Jayf is Glyf, Ymarii’s eldest hatchling.”

The young al’far glanced between Marley and the three dragonkin, a quizzical look on his face. The runesmith waited for him to say something, sure that behind that look, words lurked. But he was once again silent.

After a few awkward moments, the runesmith grinned and with a slight bow said, “And I am Marley Stonebender, runesmith, composer, and sometimes minstrel with the Echoing Note, a guild out of Kylarone.”

As he introduced himself, Marley noted the youth seemed to stiffen and his brows crinkled in what the runesmith would have sworn was disbelief. The young al’far turned slightly toward his big friend and Marley felt certain they communicated in some way. But whatever went on between them, when the youth turned back to the fire, he had recovered.

“I’m Chayse and as you already know, this is Mek. Merchant Dielbig, out of Freeport, hired us. He had lost a couple of guards to a nilmorg attack while they worked to clear the aftermath of Ymarii’s rage. He signed us to scout ahead and make sure they could get through.”

The youth studied the dragonkin and compassion marked his face as sure as anger when he spoke of the nilmorg. Something about him brought Kestrel to mind and Marley realized that, like Kestrel, he was pureblooded al’far and yet not. With that thought, he turned his attention once more to the young al’far’s words.

“We sneaked past two bands of nilmorg. One on the merchant road near the waystation,” Chayse paused, shaking his head. “Two score of them, and a double handful of rasmorg. They killed the old man that ran the station and his guests.”

“We skirted around the beasts’ makeshift camp. Mek found the waystation messenger birds tucked in a small shed hidden in a copse of trees. I sent one with an update for the trader and set the rest free.”

“Then we hightailed it northeast looking for some of Dielbig’s family living close. We hoped to warn them, mayhap, get them to safety.” He shrugged, shaking his head as he continued to speak.

“Half a league out, we came across what looked to be a farm family. I’m guessing Dielbig’s relatives. They were dead.” Chayse scrubbed his hands over his eyes; he stood and held them out toward the flames. His movements, sharp and filled with pent-up furor.

Marley couldn’t help but think as he watched the youngling that he tried to wipe the sight of the family from his eyes and burn it away in the fire. The runesmith sighed, taking the bag from Thysl and filling the pot with some water.

It was the sad truth of his own experience that what was seen could never become unseen, but it was also a lesson only life could teach. So he plodded on, asking, “How could you tell it was nilmorg?”

“The farmers did not die without a struggle. They took more than one of those misshapen bilge rats with’em. We followed the trail, finding another bunch camped north and west about half a day away from here. It was nilmorg that did that in Windy Cove too, wasn’t it? I didn’t see any of... of their bodies there, at least where I looked. But everyone left in the trader’s area of the Port was dead.”

Marley frowned; they didn’t have time to explore the district populated by non-dragonkin after the attack, but he knew Chayse spoke the truth. He glanced over at the half-giant. Although Mek said nothing, there was no guile in the big fellow’s eyes.

A slight nod passed between the two and Marley bent himself to finish the stew. He pulled a few tubers and some fresh greens out and sliced the roots into his pot. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Chayse as he stared pensively into the fire. The boy was clearly upset by what he’d seen in the Cove.

Soon Marley turned back to Thysl. “Do we have water for a pot of kala? I don’t recall any freshwater close by.”

Thysl considered a moment before speaking. “Indeed, there is. We can use the water we have and refill in the morning.”

“Agreed then.” Marley took a water flask and filled a tall, narrow pot he pulled from his pack. “Where did you say the group of nilmorg camped, Chayse?”

“The last camp we happened on lay about half a day’s march from here, west and keening north.”

Marley glanced around, certain his friends searched their collective knowledge of the land. With a frown, he asked, “Was there a river near?”

“Aye, we heard its whispered rush in the distance. To the northeast of their camp would be my guess.”

“How many of ‘em in the camp?” Marley asked as he put a handful of crushed kala into the pot. It boiled up and he dribbled a little more water into it. Satisfied with his cooking, he turned his attention back to Chayse; his stare, encouraging the boy to answer.

“Caught sight of seven of ‘em. It looked like a scout camp. We saw no rasmorg, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one or more… T’weren’t much for getting that close to those bilge rats. I smelt their stench; I wasn’t about to count those bulbous noses.”

Marley felt Jayf’s eyes boring into him. Without turning around, he said. “So do you or Thysl know the river these noxious vermin cozy up against?”

“We all agree the Moonwash River runs through that area,” Thysl said.

“And there are only two places within a half-day’s journey to set up a camp of that size,” Jayf finished.

Marley pulled the stew pot to the side of the fire before he spoke. “I would lay money they have moved on,” he said, sticking a burnt finger into his mouth with a grunt.

“I’m thinkin’ I’d be the richer, for they looked like they set a perimeter of spikes and pits, filling the pits with their dung. When I say stench, I exaggerate not.”

“Perhaps, they are waiting for someone or something,” Glyf said, taking the bowl proffered by Marley.

“On the morrow, we head in that general direction. Perhaps we start a little earlier and learn what we can about what is moving in such close unison with the Tavir Academy and that ilk.” The runesmith held out the last bowl to the young man and picked up his own.

“Mek, the rest of it is for you. I fear you would wither away on what a dragonkin can live on.”

“Can we backtrack here for a moment?” Chayse asked, “What does the Tavir Academy have to do with the nilmorg or… or, or what happened in Windy Cove? They wouldn’t have anything to do with such evil.” The young al’far’s voice sputtered to a halt. His face, open and demanding.

“You were headed to the Academy, I take it?” Marley’s brows arched in curiosity.

“Aye. Someone that apprenticed there raised me. Before he died, he told me there was a scholar there I could trust to help me.” Chayse spat the words out as though they somehow proved the runesmith a liar.

“I fear you will find no welcome there. They are not a friend to any of the ancient blood or any whose blood is tainted with it,” Jayf said around a mouth full of stew.

“What does that mean?” Chayse asked.

Marley grabbed a handful of spring leaves off a nearby bush, used them to wipe out the bowl, and then threw the leaves into the fire. There was a sizzle and pop and small spirals of smoke before the leaves turned to embers. He stood watching the dance of the flames for a moment, wondering what this new player brought to their quest and how much he should say.

He looked up to find Chayse stood with his arms crossed defensively across his chest and his brow furrowed in obvious irritation. “I’ll tell you what,” Marley said. “The dragonkin will need rest soon. Share a cup of kala with me as I sit first watch. I will give you an answer for an answer and a question for a question.”

Chayse nodded and although his posture relaxed, the al’far still seemed guarded. Marley glanced over at his friends, their meal finished; they cleaned and stacked their trenchers.

“You shall get no argument from us on that point,” Jayf spoke for the three and they soon settled within their various cloaks and wraps on the far side of the fire.