Bebo

Leggi i capitoli

	Chapter 7
	Chapter 7 -------------- The punch hurt almost immediately after it hit Fane’s jaw, and the boy stumbled back, reeling under Muirayn’s assault. The blonde man was surprisingly strong for his relatively slim frame. ‘Fane!’ Muirayn growled. ‘Idiot!’ Gwynia accused, ‘We should have left him to die at the hands of The Zard.’ She said, her anger re-directed, ‘Now he will be the death of us.’ Fane clutched his jaw, rubbing it with a wince. His dazed mind struggled to piece reality back together, as if he had just awoken from a lifelike dream. Muirayn sighed and faced upwards as he rubbed his head, evidently frustrated by the constant poor turns that his mission was taking. ‘I don’t suppose you know what you’ve done, do you?’ He asked, laughing slightly at the irony of it all. He paced the room in 2 steps before turning and pacing back again, agitated and unsure of what to do next. Fane responded, ‘Freed myself?’ He didn’t believe it even as he said it. In fact, he knew he’d done more than he was supposed to. Muirayn shook his head, ‘No, you’ve alerted every mage slayer, slaver, guard, and agent in the city. We will be lucky to escape here without being hunted by the King’s own mages, let alone without a spot more than curiosity from half a dozen slavers and guards.’ Fane glared, releasing his hurt face, ‘I’ll take my chances.’ Secretly of course, he was worried. He had not intended for the guards outside to hear, nor the soldiers of the city, and certainly not a ‘mage slayer’ what ever that was. It couldn’t be good, but the time to act had come, and he had lost control, perhaps out of fear and desperation, and now he had to hope and pray that whoever came for him had good intent. ‘I thought he couldn’t contact Humans? Don’t you need long training for that kind of thing?’ Darren asked. Muirayn nodded, ‘You do. We need to get out of here, and fast.’ ‘Command the stone to return to wood.’ Gwynia said, readying herself. ‘Only kill if you have no other choice.’ Muirayn did as he was bade, and instantly the door caved inwards, a company of guild guards charging through, swords drawn, ready to defend the man who paid them their wages. Gwynia’s song came alive, focused directly on the area of flooring between her and the guards. Fane could feel what it was doing. It was as if his senses had been heightened by the use of his own power moments before, even though his physical form felt virtually shattered by the effort. He understood exactly what Gwynia was doing: she had created a trap on the floor tiles. The guards rushed forwards, their feet touching the tile. Instantly, sparks of blue energy racked through them, cracking like lightning about their forms, singing their skin and flinging them backwards into their own comrades. Muirayn stepped forwards, his own song forming a duet with his friend’s, harmoniously weaving his own commands to the nature about him. The floor rippled outwards in the hall outside, cracking the polished wooden planks and splintering them as they rose up in shards of inverted rain. The ground heaved like the inhale of a giant’s chest, throwing the guards off balance to tumble backwards over one another. Most collapsed unconscious from either the blue lightning or the crashing localised earthquake that was unkind with the manner of their landing. They small party stepped out of the office, Gwynia and Muirayn at the lead. The remaining guards quickly disappeared back down the sewer tunnels. ‘Nice spell.’ Gwynia muttered to Muirayn as they walked calmly through the haze of smoke and dust. ‘You too.’ Muirayn said with a wide grin, ‘Where did you learn that, anyway?’ ‘A ward I’ve been working on in my spare time. Now, let’s hurry, the girl is just up there.’ She said, pointing to the balcony of cells on the upper floor of the guild. Fane considered ducking for the exit, while the dust and chaos gave him cover, but he quickly dispelled the cowardly notion. Sec would not escape without his help. But something else kept him too, of course; the amulet that bound him to Gwynia. They approached a pair of guards with crossbows, who stared blankly at the mages. They had not conceived such a thing possible, so as the company passed them, they turned and fled. Obviously the guild wasn’t paying them quite enough to take on magic users. Room 17 was less of a room and more of a dungeon cell. For ‘freed’ slaves, they lived in rooms remarkably similar to jail cells. They approached the room and could see even by five feet away that it was not for keeping people out, but for keeping the person in. Thick steel and heavily bolted locks were a keen clue as to the builder’s intent. Before they reached the door, the surrounding surfaces vibrated suddenly, a shockwave blasting through the complex like a tidal wave of raw magic energy, visibly disturbing the very air in front of their eyes, quaking the unsettled dust. The door bowed outwards at its centre accompanied by the dreadful sound of grating, bowing metal as it was pulled apart. The party took a hesitant step backwards. It was but a split second later that the door erupted outwards, the metal crumpled and bent as it catapulted outwards and over the banister, falling away with a loud clunking boom. The group startled, shielding their faces from the unexpected occurrence. And then she stepped out. She was short for a Human, perhaps only an inch taller than Fane was, but it was hard to tell, as her hair was matted and fell in frizzled locks about her dirt-streaked face and cheeks. But he could see from her slender form that she was young – perhaps not even as old as himself or Sec. She stood in a similarly filthy gown of what must once have been white, but now was closer to deep grey, and her feet, encrusted with grime and sewage, were bare and raw with calloused skin. She turned to Muirayn, who was in the lead of the party, and her eyes seemed to pass straight through him. There was fear there, in the deep of her eyes; fear and uncertainty, like a creature chanced upon whilst in a waking nightmare of perpetual somnambulism, unable to discern what is real and what is not … and perhaps … not caring one way or the other. She did not even gesture, she did not even move her green eyes; Muirayn simply flew sideways over the railings of the stone balcony, his hands lashing out at the metal surface, trying to find purchase before he fell to his death. Darren caught his hand, clutching with his own onto the railings as Muirayn dropped. There he hung for a moment, shock in his youthful eyes, looking up at Darren, who gritted his worn yellow teeth with the effort of holding the younger man’s weight. He let out a short gasp of alarm, and strain which echoed about the concourse. Gwynia rushed forwards at the girl, looking to take her down before she could use her powers again, but it was already too late. Caught like a fly in the rough embrace of a swatter, Gwynia stopped mid-motion, and then she tumbled backwards, somersaulting over Fane’s head. The girl turned her attention back to Muirayn and Darren, and Fane’s heart skipped a beat as he stood there motionless with fear beside the other crewman. Darren was next to feel her wrath. A candle stick, come from nowhere, struck his face with the force of a battle axe, cracking his skull and knocking him unconscious where he stood. The First Mate slipped over the side of the balcony and at that very moment Muirayn latched onto the side of the balcony under the metal railings. With a determined grimace, Muirayn strove valiantly to hold onto Darren’s limp hand, which slipped inches by the passing second. He failed. The First Mate slipped away into the long fall that awaited him, and disappeared from Fane’s line of sight. Muirayn’ outcry was one of instant painful guilt, unable to believe that he had just let go of the man that moments earlier had saved his own life. He hung there for a moment, and then slowly turned his gaze back upwards, awaiting the blow that would send him into the same fate as his comrade. Fane could not stand by without acting any longer. Muirayn was not his enemy, and he would not opt to watch him die. But he could not act either, he simply froze. The fear in him was overwhelming, seizing his muscles and claiming them, turning them to rock; from the sinew about his abdomen, to the tendons of his legs. He thought to speak, but could not do this either. His throat had become narrow and course, his irregular heart pounding through his neck and up into his ears. He stood by and listened to his mortal fears personified in the liquid thumping of adrenalin infused life-blood. Luckily, however, the girl ignored Muirayn as he hung there. She came towards Fane, moving quickly past with the sinister grace of a field moth heading towards the glow of the moon. The sailor pulled Fane to one side as she passed, letting her go free. The girl hurried down the stairs quickly, sparing the Fane and his small group, and heading away, towards the exit. “Let her be!” The sailor hissed. Fane dwelled on the thought in that moment that he didn’t know the sailors name, but wanted to thank him for thinking on his behalf. The girl walked through the door that the party had entered when they first arrived at the guild, but then she stopped and shuddered violently, a blue spark streaking around her in a snaking bolt of power. The girl dropped to her knees, and slumped forwards, unconscious at the entrance. Gwynia stepped out from behind the staircase bellow them. It had been her spell that had stopped the girl from escaping. The Furalian woman looked up at Muirayn, who was scrambling to climb back up to the balcony. She nodded, assured that he was safe, and then turned her attention to the First Mate of The Grey Eagle. She rushed to his side and bent to look at him closely. He was face down on the hard floor, bent in a crumpled heap and had obviously landed badly. Gwynia sighed, ‘He’s dead.’ She said solemnly. Muirayn swore as he came to his feet on the landing, and swung a frustrated kick at the metal railings that had saved him. The rest of the crew had all liked Darren; that much had been clear from the moment Fane had met him aboard The Eagle. Gwynia added: ‘We don’t have time to bury him, and we cannot carry his load … it will be a hard pressed escape as it is.’ ‘Agreed.’ Said Muirayn, a tear in his eye and his voice barely a whisper. ‘We should honour his brave death with our survival.’ The remaining sailor bowed his head in sadness, his face sternly protesting against the grief that would shortly follow. ‘I’ll carry the girl.’ Muirayn said, ‘We need to move quickly!’ --- The past two weeks had been a blur of action and life-changing events for Fane. Not only had he been taken from his home, but he had been told the truth about magic, and even used his powers at a level he did not know he possessed. Moreover, he had aided in the death of a pirate … no, the death of a man. And now this; the city, the conflict, the magic and now the escape. His head swam with the constant barrage of new information, new sights and what would later be painful memories. But more was still to come. They found the streets again quickly and now discretion was discarded. Muirayn held the girl over his shoulder, and Gwynia remained uncloaked and constantly drawing attention to her tall, pale-grey form and red curls as the party ran through the city towards the docks. Cries emerged from somewhere behind, and then the whistles of the city watch. As they sprinted through the narrow back streets, Fane was sure he saw a company of guards running parallel to them, in the same direction. All was a rush of adrenalin and motion amidst the chilling sunset, all faces turned their way as they desperately tried to reach the haven of The Grey Eagle. Even Fane, who would have welcomed the chance to escape, knew that he had no choice but to return to the ship for now. They pushed quickly onwards, skirting barrels and pedestrians, parked carts and discarded refuse. The salty breeze of the nearby coastline came at them in waves of wind, spiralling its way up from the docks. Finally they turned a corner and were upon the seafront, surrounded by ships and wooden piers on one side, and brothels and taverns on the other. Fane didn’t even turn his head to sneak a look inside the brothel windows as he passed them, as he might have done under any other circumstance. His fear was barely kept in check by the thumping adrenalin-induced desperation. He saw it in the distance; The Eagle. But it was pulling away! It was leaving them! ‘Muirayn!’ He cried out in between heavy gasps of breath. ‘I know!’ Muirayn replied, quickening his pace. Then they saw the reason why. Soldiers were gathered at the edge of the docks, some scrambling up the edge of the ship, some firing arrows from the sidelines. It seemed as though Fane’s message had been a success. Without due warning, their remaining sailor companion erupted into flames and was sent cart-wheeling backwards into the sea. The party slid to a halt, staring at the image as if it were a dream. From out of the shadows of an alleyway came a figure. His hair was a black as a raven’s crest. His garments were thick and adorned with metals plates and tough leathers, he was a man dressed for war. He looked at them through his translucent pale grey eyes, a wicked, calm expression on his stone grey skin. Swearing in rage, Muirayn was the first to react, but before the first note of his song could pass his lips, a spark of lightning snaked between the dark figure and the young mage, narrowly missing him and instead punching a whole neatly through his cloak under the arm. Muirayn span away and began running towards the sea, calling out for the other two to follow him. Gwynia charged in pursuit, her brow lowered in concentration as a glittering blue dome shield appeared behind them all, blocking the dark mage from attacking them further. Fane ran too, following Muirayn as he leapt deftly into a small fishing boat tied up on the docks. ‘Keep him off of us!’ He pleaded to Gwynia. Gwynia ushered Fane into the boat and nodded, peering back at the mysterious Furalian man, her shield still raised. Muirayn sawed furiously at the lines with his dagger, trying to get them free and away into the sea. The dark mage was stepping now towards them, arms outstretched, hand shimmering like a bright thundercloud; sparks of raw power traversing his digits and palms. As he reached the shield it flickered dangerously and seemed somehow to shrink backwards. Gwynia gritted her teeth, her concentration doubled in the task of maintaining the barrier. But it seemed hopeless against a mage of such superior power. The battle was joined by a company of soldiers and guards, all sliding to a halt unsure of how to proceed against what to them was an impossibility transpiring before their eyes. Some looked to each other uncertainly, while others simply stood and stared. With his free hand the dark mage seemed then to beckon to Fane, singling him out amongst the three. His pale fingers flexed and withdrew into his palm as if he was slowly crushing a small object in his claw. And instantly Fane Felt it. It was then he realised that the dark mage was trying to help him. That if he could find a way to leave the slowly withdrawing fishing boat and go back to the mage, he would be protected, and he would be able to return home. There would be no more fear, no more uncertainty. The dark mage was his friend. By this time the Human soldiers had began to act. Drawing in closely to form a semi-circle around the dark Furalian mage, they pointed their crossbows directly at him from all angles, yelling at him sternly, commanding him to come away from the water’s edge. Swivelling his arm in one fluid motion, the Furalian stranger diverted the lightning strikes away from the company of Seekers and back towards the Human soldiers. The lightning was raked back across the soldiers, and they fell one at a time, sent somersaulting backwards as the powerful energy bolt slashed their bodies and charred their skin and protective clothing. It was as if a lightning scythe had been reaped across their circle, and some were fittingly lacerated and gutted, while some were utterly destroyed and shattered by the awesome power. Without pause, the magic attack was re-directed back at the small fishing vessel. Gwynia struggled valiantly against the assault, while Muirayn struggled to find a way to help her. The fallen sailor was lost; his body floating dead in the water by their side, charred and broken by the initial blast. Behind them, The Grey Eagle came, directed hard to port, turning back against the tide to come to their rescue. Too far away. And in the distance came which must have been coast guard vessels, judging by their bulk and obvious arsenal. The Eagle would not stand a chance against such ships, at least not without the aid of magic, and their sources of magic were currently under attack on the land of dock. It was only by chance that Muirayn noticed Fane’s newfound expression. The boy was rising to his feet, a hypnotised and dazed expression on his young face. Muirayn started forwards, desperate to stop what was about to happen. But it was too late. Fane stepped out onto the water and fell forwards. In that same instant, Gwynia’s shield broke, dispersed into the ether by the constant barrage of power. Lightning pummelled deep into her stomach, audible as it smacked against her, smashing her to the deck of the ship and leaving her tottering on the edge, her limp form inches from slipping into the water, and steaming with electric heat. Fane struggled forwards, fighting the current, desperate to reach his salvation. But as Gwynia fell back and the distance between the two of them was sufficiently increased, the bracelet reacted. Immense pain shot up through Fane’s body, streaking through his veins in pulsing waves. His muscles tensed and then he was no longer swimming; he was sinking. Desperately he floundered, trying to ignore the pain as salt water poured into his gasping mouth, choking his breathing, causing him to cough and splutter against the foreign invasion to his lungs. Muirayn, who was already at Gwynia’s side, reacted quickly, pulling the fallen Furalian towards the other edge of the small vessel. As he reached the other side, Fane’s pain lessened, the magically enchanted amulet no longer reacting to the distance between Gwynia and Fane, The dark mage seemed to allow this to go on, standing calmly by the water, watching the spectacle, waiting for Fane to come a few feet closer to the shore’s edge, ready to snatch the boy out of the soft waves. Fane felt relief flood through him as the pain stopped, his head clearing quickly, the fog of pain and panic dispersed in a rush of adrenalin. Still spluttering, he kicked against the water, pulling himself upwards once again until he was safely swimming, his destination unchanged. The dark mage smiled, nodding to Fane in encouragement. But then Fane remembered something. How could he just abandon Sec? How could he just leave his best friend alone in his captivity? How could he escape and allow his friend to go on as a prisoner and a slave? He had to go back. He had to return and save Sec! No sooner had the thought hit home, that the spell was broken. Confused, Fane stared up at the dark mage in wide eyed fear. What had possessed him to run towards this murderer? To think that he could offer better protection and freedom than those he ran from. Had it been a trick? Had the mage hypnotised him? But it was too late; the dark mage leaned forwards and grabbed hold of Fane’s arm, dragging him to the shore with alarming strength and ferocity which all but rent the boy’s arm from its socket. Fane struggled as he was hauled onto dry land, but a solid strike was dealt to the side of his head, leaving him further dazed as he was cast to the ground like a rag doll. With an outstretched arm, the dark mage pointed a finger at Muirayn, threateningly. ‘She isn’t dead.’ He was talking about Gwynia, Fane realised, ‘But she will be, and so will you, if you do not also hand over the Human girl. Bring her to the shore and I will spare your lives.’ Muirayn stared up from the damaged form of Gwynia, his handsome face dark with hate. With cold eyes he gave his reply, and it came in the form of a song. But there wasn’t enough time for the blonde man to call forth whatever power he had planned. With a sigh and a nod, the dark mage released a fireball from his clenched fist. Fane stared in horror as the flames shot forth, erupting like some terrible volcanic explosion, reaching out to consume its victims. But then the water rose up. It shot upwards in an eruption of its own, it swallowed the fire even as the two elements met. A superior magic - a counter. With a confused frown, the dark mage span his gaze right, casting an accusing glare at this new source of magic. What he found was a giant, bent with his hand in the water, bearded jaw clenched and his gaze calm and collected. ‘What…’ The dark mage began. Tyrius rushed forwards, swinging a massive arm with all his might, like a war hammer. And like a war hammer it collided with the Furalian’s face. The dark mage simply crippled beneath the massive blow, stumbling backwards, fighting to retain usage of his legs. He failed, collapsed, and then passed out. Fane looked up, his vision blurry and out of focus. The big man looked down at the small Dreyhood smiled slightly. --- Fane watched on with affection as his dog bound along close to his side. His brow raised and a half smile on his boyishly clean face, he inhaled happily. It was nice to be back outside, amidst nature once again, and it hadn’t taken too long for his wounds to heal either. Of course, he was still a little sore in some places, namely his ribs, but he ignored the discomfort and set his mind on the day ahead of him. There was an innocent bound to his step, like a spring in his heel, which matched his content expression. He was dressed smartly this dusk, at least by his own standards. He wore a cotton shirt, decorated by bronze buttons and flared cuffs, which was complimented by his favourite brown leather belt with an overly polished round bronze buckle, inscribed with his family crest. He could smell the polish; that was how much work he had put into his appearance this night, and even his shoes were gleaming … or at least the part of them that wasn’t being soiled by damp grass. He was confident that tonight he would be able to win the heart of Nealla; the Dreyhood rose, and Sec’s sister that had been of his affections for far too long now. He was looking sharp, and feeling most indefatigable, filled with the vigour of life. Moreover, there was no bruised speck of yellow or purple left on his face, and with their disappearance, his vanity had been reborn with all the potency of a Tenakoshan berserker. He approached the camp fire and could already see his friends off to the side. Sec and Rillyan were both there, and Nealla was sitting with them, as were a couple of her friends and Boseraphim. The party was just starting as dusk approached, but people were already in a relaxed mood, drinking and laughing in small groups, waiting for the music to begin. Fane focussed on Nealla for a moment and felt his heart skip a beat, a sudden wave of anxiety-induced nausea washed over him. She was looking more beautiful than ever; her hair had been curled in dark twists, falling in glossy ringlets around her face and slender shoulders, which were exposed due to the dress she was wearing, which was off-the-shoulder in the style of a modern bar-maid or Dreyhood dancer. He found it difficult to really see the dress, as he was mesmerised by her beauty, her gleaming brown eyes brightened with the spark of glee as she laughed heartily. What was she laughing about? He glanced to her side, in the direction of her gaze and noticed who she was talking to. Boseraphim, Fane’s brother. Fane almost swore. He looked away, wrinkling his nose in annoyance and jealousy at the familiar interaction between his sibling and his love interest. Didn’t Bo’ realise that he liked Nealla? Why hadn’t he told his brother so? He berated himself inwardly. Sec and Rillyan rose to greet Fane, coming to his side with smiles aplenty. Apparently they were looking forwards to tonight also. ‘Why the glum look, friend?’ Sec asked, Rillyan close behind, sauntering in a half-day dream as usual. Fane took only a moment to correct his sour expression, ‘Nothing’s wrong, Sec. I was just hoping that you pigs haven’t swilled all the wine already.’ Sec’s grin widened, ‘Not me.’ Fane looked past Sec’s shoulder at Rillyan, ‘He looks like he’s on his third barrel.’ ‘Oi!’ Rillyan protested, smiling. ‘Fourth.’ Sec said with a slow nod, ‘That we know of. But he’s handling it quite well.’ Fane laughed. ‘Now, now, we’re being unfair, he’s hairly bad a drop.’ Sec burst into booming laughter, which was deep and heartfelt. ‘I think you mean barely had a drop.’ Rillyan said, slow as ever. ‘That’s what I shed.’ Fane mocked, mimicking the expression of a typical drunk person, wobbling back and forth and glassy eyed with warm sedation. Rillyan gave Fane a light jab to the gut (which hurt a great deal more than it probably should have) and turned back to the party, ‘Hurry up then, ‘cos the next round is yours to buy, Fane!’ Fane smiled at Sec, raising an eyebrow and rubbing his (probably bruised) stomach, ‘Teaches me to open my mouth eh?’ As they passed Boseraphim and Nealla, Fane slowed and glared at his brother angrily. They were still talking and laughing quietly off to one side of the group, and Fane really couldn’t contain his envy. He wanted to be in that position tonight, he wanted to be the one making her giggle. Fane swallowed his negativity and decided to do something about it. ‘Hello Nealla,’ Fane said, ignoring his brother, ‘You’re looking particularly beautiful tonight.’ Nealla looked up at Fane and smiled, revealing a set of dazzlingly straight teeth framed wonderfully by a deep shade of red lip-paint. ‘Thank you, Fane!’ She squealed, evidently flattered by the comment. Fane bowed slightly, ‘May I buy you a drink?’ he asked politely. She glanced down, noticing that her cup was still half-full of wine. ‘Ahh, I’m okay for the moment,’ she replied apologetically, with a twinkle in her chocolate brown eyes, ‘I’m still half-full.’ Fane couldn’t resist, ‘Looks half empty to me.’ He joked, remembering the old Meunos adage. ‘I’ll catch up with you later then.’ He said; his brows turned upwards in the middle in a sign of concern and sincerity. He was good at this; it came with practice and knowing that he was beautiful – which he was. As he walked away he shot a glance at his brother that was probably unnecessary and perhaps quite childish. Thankfully, Boseraphim wasn’t looking at him, but at Nealla. This only served to annoy Fane even more. Several cups of wine later, the older people of the village were starting to look at the group of youngsters with some concern. They were on their way to being intoxicated, which was never a great thing with 16 to 18 year olds. But still, they were permitted to drink under supervision, and under supervision is what they currently were. The band had started to play some time ago; perhaps half an hour, Fane couldn’t be sure as he had been involved with an interesting conversation with Sec, Rillyan and one of the village girls who seemed quite interested in any and all of the three boys. Fane flirted and joked with the girl, but his glances were always upon Nealla, who had not yet begun to dance. The music was pleasant and jovial, a jaunty mix of flutes, lutes, fiddles and hand drums, played in a fairly typical Dreyhood fashion of celebratory happiness. There was no singing, just the music, which was all-too tempting to dance to. The sounds played around the villagers and harmonised with the faint crackle of the camp fire. It was like the sounds of the day brought into night; the song of birds, the rustle of the trees … only there was rhythm, practiced melody and chorus. It was, Fane decided, the sound of mortal happiness put not into words but into music. Music was much easier for the soul to digest than the complicated weavings of pedantic poetry or forced lyrics. It had a simplicity that was irreverent of acumen; it spoke in a language that even the smallest child could digest and respond to, or so Fane believed. The celebration was in honour of Transcendental; the yearly festivities to mark the day when the Gods departed the earth, leaving mortal kind independent and free to choose their own paths. To some, such as the Lamentors, it was a sombre occasion, as they believed that people had proved themselves unworthy to be cared for by their departed Gods. To others, such as the Autarchists (which Fane was part of), it was joyful, as it was believed to be the time when the Gods gave the people of Sheol their independence, and their freedom to live as they wished. Some did not even celebrate Transcendental, as they did not even believe in the Gods. But most did, and to most, this was the most important day of the year. It gave thanks for life, and prayed either for the return of the Gods (*1), or for the continued independence of the peoples of Sheol. ‘Good minstrels this year.’ Boseraphim said, who had recently appeared to sit by Fane’s side. Fane glanced at his brother, who was as mysterious looking as he always had been. ‘Yeah.’ Fane said, nodding sincerely. There was also general agreement from his friends, who were vaguely silent for the moment. Boseraphim paused for a little while before saying something that would stay with Fane for a long time: ‘I’ve always thought.’ He said, ‘What if this was the last year we were all together during Transcendental? What if Tunlan were taken over by Humans sometime soon? I know it sounds depressive, but it always helps me.’ ‘Helps you how?’ Sec said, ‘Helps you kill yourself? Because that’s all that kind of thinking is likely to do. Come on, Bo’, this is supposed to be a happy occasion.’ ‘That’s my point.’ Boseraphim said calmly, ignoring the fact that to some it was a mournful one, ‘We need to enjoy this, for how do we know that there will be another? How do we know that tomorrow will not be our last day on this earth? This might be our last year together as friends, so we should seize it, shouldn’t we?’ The group nodded, provoked into consideration of these words. ‘Right!’ Boseraphim said, ‘So let’s get ourselves some more wine, and then get up and dance!’ He smiled, his mysterious expression shattered into a million pieces. There was a cheer of agreement between the friends, who designated Fane to go buy some more wine from the Tavern owner, who had come out of his inn to sell spirits on a stool at the centre of the celebration. Fane grumbled, muttering that he was sure he bought the last two rounds too. He only had so much allowance, after all. There was dancing after that, both rehearsed and otherwise. Fane found himself dancing with a handful of village girls for whom he had little interest or affection. Some were pretty, but they were beneath him, as he was their aesthetic superior, and for that they were not worthy of his attentions, other than those of a platonic fashion. He knew full well that the attitude was arrogant, but he didn’t much care; for tonight his heart was set on Nealla. Though, to his annoyance, she spent most of the time dancing with – or close to – his brother, who he increasingly resented with each passing melodic composition. Still, after perhaps an hour of dancing, and a great deal more wine, he began to enjoy himself with his friends. Moreover, the peasant girls appeared more and more attractive as the wine flowed and the night went on. He even began to recall some of their names, as he danced close to them in their revealing, flowing, flirty dresses and over-indulged faces full of make-up. When he returned to sit, as the night grew long, talk had taken a slightly optimistic turn. Sec was in the middle of answering a question that had been put to him by either Boseraphim or Nealla, who were again sitting side-by-side. ‘Of course, you know where I’ll be!’ He was saying, ‘I’ll be Captain of the Home Guard!’ He said proudly, and very seriously. ‘In one year?’ Rillyan laughed. ‘Of course!’ Fane handed them both their drinks and sat himself back down. ‘That’s a little too optimistic, isn’t it?’ Sec shook his head (perhaps a little too vigorously for a sober person). ‘You’ll see. I’ll be a mighty warrior, I will. I’ll make damn sure that Tunlan isn’t taken over by Humans this time next year. We’ll be together again next year; Sec The Mighty will make sure of that!’ ‘Sec The Deluded.’ Fane muttered. One of the girls in the group came to Sec’s aid, ‘Well I think it’s sweet. You’ve got to have dreams, Fane. What are yours?’ Fane paused, good question, he thought. Although he was sure that his future would hold something good, he wasn’t sure what that something would be. ‘Well … I’ve always liked nature …’ ‘Which is why you’re training to efficiently kill animals.’ Rillyan said sarcastically. Fane ignored Rillyan for the moment. He had a respect for nature, but he understood the need to kill and eat animals, especially in this day and age of famine. ‘I think I’d like to travel for a while.’ Fane said, ‘Maybe train to be a ranger … I mean, my hunting experience would help with that.’ It was obvious that he hadn’t thought too much about it. He was happy in Tunlan, with his family. Maybe he would simply follow in his Father’s footsteps as the village Huntsmaster, he didn’t really know. But he was curious by nature, and would have enjoyed seeing the rest of Horn. ‘What about you, Bo’?’ Nealla asked. Boseraphim pursed his lips and replied, ‘I’m not a fighter, but there is a need for young men in the Dreyhood army. I’d consider working as a scout for a while, or a tracker for the army. But in the end I just want to be here, in my home, and settle down and raise a family.’ He smiled. So damn charismatic too, Fane hated the way Nealla looked at him as he did this, as he said these things. It was then he decided; he wouldn’t let his brother have her. ----------------------- *1 Chastites and Antediluvians (Gragretians) both believed that some day the Gods would return, once the evil of the rebel God Mythir had been dealt with. Fane’s religion did not believe this, but nevertheless, the Transcendence was still seen as an event to be remembered and celebrated.
Scrivi una recensione >>>