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The Bonds That Bind: Book One of the Legacy of Auk Tria Yus
The Bonds That Bind: Book One of the Legacy of Auk Tria Yus
The Bonds That Bind: Book One of the Legacy of Auk Tria Yus
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The Bonds That Bind: Book One of the Legacy of Auk Tria Yus

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Grocia and his friends have grown up in the kingdom of Davergen knowing as good a life as the times allow. Taxes are high. The soldiers are rough. The earl and the two kings are arrogant, ruthless, and cruel. But the teens dont know any better, and they understand thats just how their world works.

When Grocia is approached by a mysterious man bearing a cryptic message about rebellions, deserts, a Hooded One, and magic swords, Grocia begins to understand that something big is on the horizon. Ferlenn Dri wants to prepare him for whats to come and what his role will be.

Theres a rebellion growing, and dark magic is about, turning day into night. Its agents are raising an army of untold wrath. Two swords of an old, forgotten legacy are about to meet, and war with the kings looms. And Grocia, a boy who never passes on a dare, is caught in the middle of it. He must choose a side and decide how much hes willing to sacrifice for people he has just met and for a larger world hes never truly known.
LanguageEnglish
PublisheriUniverse
Release dateApr 29, 2011
ISBN9781462010882
The Bonds That Bind: Book One of the Legacy of Auk Tria Yus
Author

Seth Giolle

Seth Giolle was born on a small, rural farm in southeast Ontario. After Travelling throughout Canada in all its splendour, he once again makes Ontario his home.

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    The Bonds That Bind - Seth Giolle

    Contents

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    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    Chapter Ten

    Chapter Eleven

    Chapter Twelve

    Chapter Thirteen

    Chapter Fourteen

    Chapter Fifteen

    Chapter Sixteen

    Chapter Seventeen

    Chapter Eighteen

    Chapter Nineteen

    Chapter Twenty

    Chapter Twenty-One

    Chapter Twenty-Two

    Chapter Twenty-Three

    Chapter Twenty-Four

    Chapter Twenty-Five

    Chapter Twenty-Six

    Chapter Twenty-Seven

    Chapter Twenty-Eight

    Chapter Twenty-Nine

    Chapter Thirty

    Chapter Thirty-One

    Chapter Thirty-Two

    Chapter Thirty-Three

    Chapter Thirty-Four

    Chapter Thirty-Five

    Chapter Thirty-Six

    Chapter One

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    Equilibrium

    The log was rough under his bare feet. He was doing his best to avoid the knots and bits of wood chips stabbing up along that forebodingly surface, but every so often, he brought his foot down, and pain shot through every nerve ending possible. He almost curled up his feet and cringed a couple of times, but he didn’t. Suspended twenty-two feet along that log over that ravine, such a move would be a very final mistake he wasn’t going to make. Just twenty feet to go. Grocia took in some careful breaths, making sure to keep his body relaxed.

    Why had he taken this dare?

    The further out above the ravine he got, the more the wind played with his short, ragged, dirty blond hair and tugged on his green trousers and off-white shirt. The wind made his body sway dangerously, and even his natural sense of balance was tipping.

    With the ravine’s deep, hollow emptiness; the log’s taunting, remaining feet; the ravine’s fast-moving, snaking river; the river’s sharp, jagged rocks, and the wind’s constant, distracting churning, focus was essential. And focus was definitely slipping. Grocia swallowed hard.

    Again, the thought crept in, a silent curse muttered: why had he taken this dare?

    The Tchronin Mountains ran along the coastline beside Davergen, at the southern end of the Isle of Tchro, and it was out-of-bounds to the general public. As such, it attracted the local youth to explore the range whenever they could get away unnoticed.

    The river running far below was a tributary of the seas surrounding the Isle. It ran half the length of the mountains and as far as the eye could see from where Grocia paused, with flat, rocky ground on each side. The log Grocia crept along was attached to one side of that ravine with a large, light brown nest on its end. That nest was his prize if he could make there alive.

    And back again.

    How many people had tried this before? How many people had died?

    He shook his head. Too much thought. Log, feet, nest. Focus. Too bad he couldn’t block out the suns beating down from above. Just his luck: all three were burning nice and hot, no clouds in the sky today. Two falcons circled overhead for a moment: hunting for their masters or simply looking for food?

    Log, feet, nest. Log, feet, nest.

    Grocia looked down quickly, then, returned to his steady mantra again.

    Log, feet, nest. Ravine. Deep, dark, rocky-bottomed Ravine.

    His focus faltered, but he cleared his throat, carefully, and tried to block those last words.

    Sliding his right foot forward a few inches, the left instantly matching the action, he answered his own original question: because Fel had dared him. He was there, on that log, inching forward for towards that stupid nest, for a lousy egg from that nest, and it was a long, long way to fall before hitting those sharp rocks and that frigid water, likely in that short order.

    Because he’d been dared.

    As usual, he’d taken it. If he weren’t so scared, he’d be quite angry with himself.

    I remember the last time someone tried this, a voice drifted out. The leg bone came out near the hip, didn’t it? Grocia closed his eyes.

    You bet. It was hanging. And the blood was all down the leg. Isn’t that red line about ten feet out on the log where he went down?

    Na, it’s the smear at twenty just behind Grocia’s right foot there. Grocia almost found himself looking. Had there been a smear a few feet back?

    He fared better than that guy before him. They never even found his left arm.

    Guys, Grocia shouted backwards, gritting his teeth.

    Speaking brought on slight hip and upper body movement, and Grocia lost his focus again. Balance, usually so natural, became uneasy. Slowly, steadying his breath, Grocia inched closer to the nest. The rope around his left ankle chaffed on his skin, and he mentally practised the fold if he were to fall, mentally grabbing the rope with both hands. He hoped not to fall, of course. If he did, the rope would likely just pop his ankle, leaving the rest of him to fall to those rapids below.

    Pop his ankle?

    Why hadn’t he opted for tying it around his waist?

    Too many late questions. Too much thought. It was the wrong time to doubt, and it was too late to turn back, so he started edging forward again. A smell not unlike rotten food hit his nose, his stomach near turning. What had died, and why did it have to die where he could smell it?

    Grocia closed his eyes. The world stopped turning for a moment, a breeze washing over his face and rustling his hair. When he opened them again, the world started to turn anew. Carefully, Grocia dried his hands on his trousers and blinked twice.

    He moved his left foot another inch. His arms quickly flew up as his body pitched to the right. Behind him, leaning forward on their log, his friends stopped breathing for a second until he straightened up and slid his right foot up behind his left. Looking forward, Grocia’s eyes ran the length of the log toward to the nest.

    Log, feet, nest. Log, feet, nest.

    Three more feet, he mumbled to no one in particular, taking in some slow and careful breaths.

    His friends leaned back comfortably on the log again, five feet back from the edge of the ravine, Ethril and Gax laughing jovially, near over-doing the effort. Ethril wore his usual dirty white shirt and black trousers. Food stains and ink streaks covered his left arm and right shoulder. They all knew his good, work shirts were stored safely at home.

    Gax, a good half-foot shorter than Ethril’s five foot, nine inches, had brought his brown vest along, ripped in multiple places from his work in the stables. He only owned one pair of trousers and sat carefully on his part of the log to make sure not to ruin them. In contrast to Ethril’s hands, Gax’s fingers were scarred and calloused from iron and rope burns, but like Ethril, his light brown hair had been cut short to save it having to be washed too often.

    A thick rope, the other end of the one that was tied around Grocia’s ankle, sat in a coil by Gax’s right foot, crossing his lap to Ethril’s, looped through uneasy grips. Ethril carefully fed his end through to where Grocia inched slowly along with Gax collecting more as was needed.

    Fel sat rigidly to their left, looking around from time to time. His black hair was cut short, and he wore a simple white shirt and travelling pants. A small, yet sturdy, sheath sat at his hip, its dagger being slowly turned over in his right hand, finger to finger in a careful circle as he scanned the rocky ledge on their side. Unlike the other two, his black shoes were in good shape, shined that morning and properly soled.

    Have you guys heard the latest? he asked in a clear, voice that carried well on the wind, absentmindedly scratching his forehead. Grocia closed his eyes where he moved along the log, working to block out the voices. They say there’s a group of rebels somewhere up here.

    We heard you the first time, Fel, Ethril replied, shaking his head. Gax nodded.

    And the second, and third times, Gax added, grinning comically, the cheer fading under Fel’s quick, dark glare. Seeing this, Ethril shook his head some more.

    Come on Fel, he said, leaning back and stretching his body out, his eyes still locked on Grocia’s cautious form. No one would believe a story like that. These rumours come up from time to time. I’d bet anything it’s just a group of traders trying to run down prices, or raise their own. Finishing his sentence, he looked to the log again, keeping his expression light, but watching Grocia’s feet carefully.

    Fel just returned to scanning the horizon, like the cracks set in the rock walls where their ledge ended and the path down began held eyes, as if someone would jump out from those many shadows and surprise them.

    If the stories were true, Ethril continued distractedly, the whole of the castle would be talking about something credible, and the guards would have been doubled a long time ago. We’d never have been able to get out and up here. Would we? They’re just stories no one should believe.

    Well, not everyone lets things slip so easily, do they? Fel asked. Challenged? Grocia wondered. Log, feet, nest. Focus. There’s a lot of truth to rumours more often than not. As for security, Davergen doesn’t need doubled patrols. We’ve got the finest men on Tchro.

    What stories? Gax asked, his interest piqued. Ethril sighed. He considered Fel for a moment with an uneasy frown before turning to Gax.

    Stories of a man who can dodge crossbow bolts and kill three men at once. He grinned at an internal thought. There are even rumours he’s been emptying out the royal and noble stores, stealing weapons and food and getting away unseen. They say he has thousands of followers just waiting to overthrow the two Kings and every noble in the land, the Earl included in that last group. Gax blinked a few times, Ethril slapping his shoulder hard. If they had those numbers, he spat, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, they’d have done it already, or tried and died more likely. Gax nodded slowly, Fel snorting derisively. Like I said, Ethril added confidently, nothing credible a person should believe.

    Ethril and Gax nodded together, blinking a few times before returning their attention to Grocia. While they’d been talking, Grocia had inched himself ever closer to the nest, his body tipping left and right now and then before steadying out again.

    Did they hear anything more about that band and travellers? Gax asked, licking his teeth and avoiding eye contract with Fel. Was it glool like they thought?

    Ethril shrugged. The soldiers have been mumbling a lot about it, and it matches glool: the stink, so many dead, more like devoured.

    Stink? Focus. Almost there.

    You know, Ethril noted, I don’t think anyone’s actually made it this close to the nest before. What do you think? Fel said a silent curse, tapping his dagger against the log distractedly and looking out to where Grocia tilted his head slightly, moving his right hip out an inch for balance.

    Well, Gax said, smirking again, they say the guy from Fettil made it as far once.

    Wait a minute, Ethril countered, waving his hands. Wasn’t that the guy with one leg?

    He was after they peeled him off the rocks.

    Hey! Grocia called from his spot on the log. I can hear you say these things, you know. None of it’s helping any.

    Ethril and Gax, crossing their arms, broke into another laughing fit. Seeing Grocia tip slightly, Fel smiled, and sheathing his dagger, he picked up a small rock, throwing it across the log. It skipped twice and fell down into the ravine below. Grocia stopped moving and listened. His heart skipped a few beats when there was no sound of rock hitting water. When the faint sound did hit his ears two minutes later, his heart skipped a few more beats, but he faced forward, chin held high, and kept moving.

    Ethril gave Fel a sidelong glare, sneering at the same time. Fel just glared back, not interested or not aiming to provoke. Ethril spat over his shoulder and slowly shook his head, turning back to monitor Grocia’s progress once more.

    Log, feet, nest. Grocia slid his way along the log. He was glad he’d worn his thin shirt. The breeze passed through the fabric and gave him some relief from the heat. Now if only it would take away that rotting smell, things would almost be pleasant.

    The falling rock hadn’t only affected Grocia’s nerves. Gax fingered the rope where it ran across his lap, some of his nervousness coming out in his words. If we stay here any longer, we’re likely to get caught, he quietly noted. If we’re not back in enough time, the next watch will go out on patrol and find the grate we left open. There’s no shame is calling this dare off Grocia. No one’s going to make fun of you.

    Fel shook his head. I will, he said. Take your time. His friends glared at him anew.

    Ignore Fel, Ethril said, his own hands anxiously closing around his portion of the rope the tightest yet. Granted, no one’s going to catch us up here, Fel and Gax. They’re on patrol on the other side of the forest. I already told you three that. Fel rolled his eyes, Ethril momentarily closing his. Still, whether we’ll be found out or not, I agree with Gax, he continued a second later. The egg’s not worth it, and whether they’ll be checking that wall any second or not, we are on a time limit here.

    Grocia felt his feet start to slip. In that moment, the voices faded out. There was no argument, no awkward moments, the kind that had been growing of late when Fel was around. In the silence that came, there was nothing. Then, there was an echoing pulse in the back of his head and a loud, deafening heart beat that pounded in his chest.

    At first, he instinctively wanted to fold, to grab the rope around his ankle, but he couldn’t give up. Gritting his teeth, his right hand instead moved to his waist while his left came up to rest on his head. As quickly as his feet had started to slip … his body balanced out again.

    Grocia laughed anxiously, coughed a few times, his breath coming in broken bits. Nothing to worry about.

    Less than ten feet. It was that close. The nest was that close. Fear was replaced by the excitement of the moment. He needed to act fast. They’d taken the trip up, past patrols, breaking from routines, work that needed to be done, work that wasn’t being done, and the window for their safe return was closing. He’d come too far to fail. He wanted that egg.

    Taking a deep breath, Grocia made three quick steps along the log. On that third step, he leapt, arms outstretched. His world swivelled left as his body twisted out and down. His left hand found only air. His body plummeting towards the ravine, his right arm struck out further in desperation, and all three friends rushed forward to the ravine’s edge.

    Ethril and Gax gripped their end of the rope tight and prepared to keep Grocia from hitting the rocks and rapids below. Fel looked on, near the rope but not grabbing it. A second later, eyes wide, all three of them looked on with clear relief. Grocia hung perilously from his right hand from the lower base of the nest.

    Ethril’s smile was a mixture of bitterness and anxiety, his fingers still gripping the rope in a firm, if not firmer hold. Good, you probably weigh too much for us to support anyway. Now, get the damned egg and get back here. He wiped his brow. Gax closed his eyes and shook his head, then blinking a few times. Fel frowned.

    Grocia turned towards his friends with the biggest smile on his face his friends had ever seen. Still grinning, he lifted himself up and perched gingerly on the very end of the nest. He then reached above his head and into the nest. Grocia felt around for about a minute. Something wasn’t right. Taking his hand back and lifting his whole body and head up, he peered into the hollow, empty nest. Where were the eggs? He’d gone through so much trouble. Had it been for nothing? A long, silent moment later, he looked back at his friends with an exasperated expression on his face. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

    That was when they heard the cry ripple through the mountains, and the air seemed to move behind him, the way water moves when someone steps into it, rippling outwards; only, this ripple didn’t push Grocia outwards like everything else. It, instead, held him in place, and he turned, pale-faced and terrified, to see what was happening.

    The smell was overpowering. The sight was worse. Not glool. Something a lot bigger.

    The next few moments were confused as the largest bird any of them had ever seen flew from the rippling air, carrying with it the smells of the dead. Portal. Grocia’s mind grasped for an explanation. This bird, this creature, had come through a portal from … somewhere foul. It’s wingspan easily stretching wider than three fully-grown men. It had a shallow, two-foot long beak from which more than one row of teeth could be seen, and the brilliant orange of its feathers was offset by muscular black talons. The portal it had come through closed behind it, shaking the nest, log, and Grocia. The bird let loose an angry cry and gripped Grocia by the upper arms with a ferocious jerking motion, pumping its wings harder, starting to climb higher into the air, ripping Grocia from his perch by the nest. His friends shouted from the lip’s edge. Grocia screamed back.

    His mind reeled. The closest thing he’d ever heard of to this creature was the cassiloni-te, and its sudden appearance matched the cassiloni-te’s ability to shift between realities, between their own world and that of the Auswix Chaz: the world of the dead. It would explain the stench, but the cassiloni-te were smaller, ground-bound, and ate fruit. And no one had seen any of them for some time now. From the size and look in this winged creature, Grocia mused painfully that it must have been an ancient ancestor that never got over its need for meat.

    The bird’s flight path took it and Grocia up away from the ravine and back towards solid land and the town far below. As it flew, it arched its back as if to shift again, and Grocia’s eyes went wide. The air was almost like a soft wave enveloping them, and that was not good. He started to kick and punch as best he could, ignoring the pain as the talons dug into his arms.

    Ethril and Gax tried to keep a hold on the rope as it followed Grocia and lifted them into the sky, Fel adding his own weight to the mix this time, but the rope gave way and snapped, and the three fell in a tangle on the ground. They watched Grocia swing and kick at the beast carrying him further up and away in helpless horror.

    In a final effort, Grocia brought his left leg up, landing a solid and painful blow to the bird’s underside, and the bird reeled. There was a buzzing sound. Something passed by his right ear. The bird jerked again, wailing sharper than before. This time, it flipped around and funnelled down towards a nearby, low cliff with the ground coming on fast. His friends stared on in, numbly working to roll off each other and follow where the bird was going down. Grocia whirled around helplessly as his captor plummeted ground wards, his stomach churning, and vision going blurry, before hitting the ground in a cloud of brilliant colours.

    A scream? Laughter? Not even Grocia was sure which.

    Minutes later, near the cliff wall, Fel and the other two found Grocia climbing out from a mess of feathers: smiling, grimacing now and then, yet feeling quite giddy. He had some scrapes on his right and left arms, and both were badly bruised. His back and shoulders hurt a lot, as did his ankle and leg, but all that pain was worth it. Even with all that, he felt like he was on top of the world. Shaking their heads while catching their breaths, the others gave him some space to stand.

    Ethril rested his hands on his hips. You’re not going to live to see eighteen at this rate.

    Fel smirked and added, It’s too bad about the egg.

    He looked a little too happy for Grocia’s liking. Thinking on it himself, Grocia looked down at the bird. Its neck had been broken in several places, and there was a definite smell to the beast. It was clearly dead. Smiling again, he lifted up one of the beast’s muscular, black talons and shrugged.

    Who needs the egg? I’ve got the bird. We should get back before any of us are noticed missing, he said, drawing his tool from his belt, a small, curved blade. He made a crude cut along one of the three main digits, making sure all blood splatter was directed away from him and his friends, even pausing to drain some of the extra that continued to flow. Smiling, he picked up the foot and a half long talon digit, long, gnarled claw tip firmly attached on one end, Grocia grinning triumphantly.

    Fel’s smirk faded quickly, turning to a steady scowl. He took a quick look around. What’s the rush? he asked. We’ve come all this way, and we’ve still got a little time.

    Ethril, Gax, and Grocia rolled their eyes and made their way back towards the ravine’s edge and their day’s supplies. Grocia did a small dance, nearly cradling the head like it might break if held otherwise. His ankle and headache stopped his dance short, but he still laughed. He’d survived. He couldn’t believe it himself. Ethril and Gax laughed beside him, Ethril showing Grocia what he’d looked like from below, legs and arms waving about. Gax imitated the stunned expression Grocia had worn.

    We should explore, Fel offered eagerly, the other three still ignoring him. Have some … fun, he quietly finished, slowly exhaling. Spend some more time.

    Grocia recovered his shoes, and Ethril and Gax grabbed their packs. Grocia considered pulling on his off-white tunic. Shrugging, he did. It felt cooler without, but he didn’t want to carry it, and there was no room in his pack for anything else. Besides, it covered the bruises from the wandering eye. Grocia’s body hurt a lot, and he wanted to stay longer and rest, but they’d been away too long. If their absences were noticed, bad things would follow. Fel, who hadn’t come with any supplies, save his dagger, just watched them.

    Come on, Fel, Grocia called as the three friends made to leave, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything and giving his clothes a quick shake to remove the dirt he’d picked up in the landing. I won the bet, and this will prove it. You don’t have to take it so hard.

    Fel remained, seemingly shaken. Grocia shrugged. If Fel couldn’t take losing, so be it. He’d catch up. He always had. Grocia looked out from where he stood.

    From the top of the ravine, the mountains folding away around them, he had a good view of the desert to the south and the town, castle, and port of Davergen to the north: home. Having sat unused for years, the port was in a state of disarray. The grey, stone path down towards the port from the town had crumbled in places, whole chunks uneven or missing, and the port itself was a mixture of broken moors and floating debris: heavy, white rope and anchored stone the only reasons most of it hadn’t already floated out on one of the many tides.

    Some said an army had tried to invade from the water about eight years back, and the port had been dismantled to stop any other armies from trying the same. Some said it had been destroyed in a silent battle against dark magic. The fact that those mages the stories talked about told of men and women who wouldn’t be stopped by a simple lack of walkway, and the fact that the modern day mages swore no magic had been involved back then, didn’t stop people from watching all mages carefully, just in case they’d been there.

    Rumours were abound, and there were even those who claimed a horde of ogres, maybe some doyug or lanchir even, had attempted to invade the town. According to those rumours, all the creatures had accomplished was to destroy the port.

    Still others reminded people of the arguments the Earl had been having with the traders from the Coloured Seas to the west over prices and tariffs. With the port gone, there were no more arguments, and those people suggested that the wreckage remained as proof for the Earl that he’d had the last say. Living in Davergen, people quickly grew to understand the Earl’s style, and destroying the whole port just to make a point wasn’t beyond him.

    Grocia figured the last one was true. Ogres would be floating along with the debris if they’d been involved, and as for mages, well, he’d never met one of them before. He’d heard of mages doing shows for coinage or serving nobles who ran the towns and their armies. The truly talented mages, of course, served the two Kings. And why would mages care to destroy a port?

    Whatever the case, time was leaving them behind. Davergen was home. What more was there?

    Grocia, Ethril, and Gax continued laughing and started down the steep, winding trail that led back to town. Fel sneered momentarily; then, checking the suns, he shook his head and offered a silent curse. Slowly, a grin formed, and he looked to the path leading down with a hopeful glance, even offering a hesitant nod. Tapping his right foot, he hurried after the others.

    Chapter Two

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    Friendship and Time

    Grocia carried his prize with pride, and the bird’s talon swung rigidly as he walked. Let’s call the bird a Cassilon, he suggested a few feet down, still beaming. You know, like the delmor being such a larger version of the teloq-delmor. I think it fits. I should have taken more than one digit. What do you think? he asked Gax. I should go back and get another one? Maybe the head instead?

    One will be enough, I think, Gax replied with a shrug, but if you think there’s time, he added, Ethril rolling his eyes. Gax frowned. He’s right, Grocia. We don’t have time. Maybe we can get out again soon to get something else. The body can’t go bad that quickly. The head’s too big, he suggested with an uneasy frown. What are you going to do with that anyway? Gax added casually, eyeing the elongated digit out from the corner of one eye with interest. I don’t think your grandfather’s going to let you keep it, and it will start to smell if not treated properly.

    A wave of guilt swept across Grocia’s face. He hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t that his grandfather would actually hurt him. Grocia knew that much. It wasn’t that his grandfather would even yell. That wasn’t his way. Grocia just couldn’t stand knowing he’d let the man down, not after all he’d done for Grocia, and he’d promised to stop the dares, hadn’t he?

    Grocia shook his head. No, he won’t. I’m not sure Gax, he admitted sullenly. Do you want it, after the others see it, of course? Again, he’d done so much work. He had to get something for it. Right? His grandfather had taught him that much.

    Gax’s eyes went wild with delight. Wincing slightly, Grocia called a halt, stopping and carefully removing his shoes, well worn but also well used. Though he could stand most slivers and the like, some of them, the ones he’d missed before putting his shoes on for the walk down, were really getting too much. At least his ankle and face weren’t complaining as much as he’d figured they would. Now if only he could ignore his back, shoulders, and sides.

    Gax stared at the talon hungrily before finally pulling his eyes away. Ethril took the chance to have a drink, draining a good half of his canteen before offering Gax any. Fel watched them eagerly for a moment, his attention fading bit by bit, and slowly, his attentions were directed around, up, and down. There was an expression quite similar to realization, a dawning of thought, and he closed his eyes, his mouth a thin, near brittle slit.

    We should hurry, he noted, one hand on his dagger. Grocia looked up, smiling.

    I thought you wanted to look around more, he teased. That’s my line, he quickly and quietly added, and we will. Fel shook his head in exasperation. Gax looked out over the edge to their left, smiling warmly and following the path of a lone hawk for a second.

    I love the view up here. Do you guys remember those games, hunting each other up along this path? Ethril and Grocia nodded, but Fel just crossed his arms. Gax shrugged. I kind of miss those days, before we all got busy, before things started getting so complicated. Remember when we could get up here every soltie, maybe twice a soltie? Grocia smiled.

    Depending on your family and place in the greater scheme of things, blacksmith, potter, or merchant, each person, child or adult, lived in their own world of sorts. The chores and duties for each societal class were unique and separate, and they rarely only mixed in market or barter. Even then, only when necessary. Grocia, Gax, Ethril, and Fel had always been oddities in that mix. Those were the days. They were younger, all four of them, still working hard in their given worlds, but they’d always found the time, and no one had ever found out. Yes, those were the days.

    Times are changing, Ethril noted, frowning. It’s not the same anymore, is it?

    How long had it been since the last casual conversation? Three soltie? Maybe more? And how long had it been since the four of them had been up there together? That had to have been months, Fel’s attendance abruptly falling off; his words to them had become shorter; his time spent visiting, less and less. Those months prior, it was almost as if he didn’t know them anymore. Once, recently, Fel had even flipped out on him. Grocia pulled a sliver from his right foot, looking to where Fel flexed his right hand, fanning his fingers out, then around a few times.

    Fel had always been the one to hold them back: always one more crack to explore, one more root to cut. But that was then, wasn’t it? Grocia had been about for First Rights that last few times. First Rights was the first ceremony to mark the beginning of the next day cycle, the time for soldiers coming on duty to praise Grionde and ask for strength in their coming shift. Grocia had spied Fel on one side, intently watching the small vials being passed around. Fel was near age for a commission. They all knew that.

    But it wasn’t wine in those vials. They all knew that as well, and no matter how mature Fel had always tried to be, too boastful for Grocia’s liking, he’d always been frightful of the slightest bit of blood, and his sudden dare this time, the unexpected return to the old Fel, the way he’d been acting the whole time - something was off.

    Ethril and Gax were much the same as they’d always been, just taller. Then again, Grocia mused, they were more serious, and their jokes usually carried a graver tone, involving someone’s death more often than not. Maybe it wasn’t the world that had changed. Maybe it was them.

    Can we go now?

    Grocia looked to Fel again and nodded, slowly massaging and swivelling his ankle around. Yes, they, and things, had changed.

    Let’s go, he summoned, slipping his shoes on again and massaging his ankle a bit more before standing. He ignored his side again, hoping it would return the favour. The four of them headed off down the path. A short time later, Fel’s hand came up, and everyone stopped. Was that a whistle behind them? It was too controlled to be a bird. It came again, and Grocia felt fear grip his mind. That whistle was definitely no bird.

    Fel looked down, then, up, his eyes going wide, a bitter grimace crossing his face. He quickly ran to the left and behind a large boulder, and everyone else followed and buried their backs against the rock, packs dropping as quickly and quietly as possible to their sides.

    It was nice sized boulder: large enough to hide all four with at least two feet on either side and a good foot of height above them. There were smaller rocks to their right, forming the rest of the ‘L’ shaped hollow, where they could roll behind and peek out to spot anyone coming. The large boulder cut off anyone’s view as they came up beside them. This system had been conceived decades before as a natural defence in time of war with similar rocky hollows set up every so many feet down the path to the forest and town below. Grocia was too young to know if it had ever been tested and actually worked. He just hoped it had and would.

    Grocia glanced over at Fel. His body was perfectly still, right hand near his dagger, eyes straight ahead. Gax shivered to Grocia’s right. His breathing was quiet, but he took it in gulps, closing his eyes as he exhaled in small portions through his mouth.

    Ethril, on Gax’s right, sat with his eyes closed as well. He spoke a silent rhyme and made circular signs with his right hand. Though he didn’t recognize the sign, Grocia was sure it wasn’t Grionde. Swathai maybe? Something close to it. Something new for Ethril and certainly not supported by the Kings. Fel, making a silent visual sweep where he sat, noticed this too, his eyes narrowing slightly.

    Sitting for what seemed like an eternity, Grocia looked around anxiously. He was about to move to peek over the smaller rocks to his right when he heard the riders coming near, riding down in an easy, slow trot, horses neighing briskly. Grocia moved his head forward just enough until three horses and riders came into view.

    Where had they come from? Was there another path up on their side of the ravine? Grocia’s mind became alert, his senses sharper: had they been watching them at the ravine? Could they have been seen without being aware of it?

    The riders wore full plate, silver armour. Their horses, a rich, chocolate colour, tall and commanding, were armoured as well, and the shields at the soldiers’ backs bore the mark of the two Kings: two crossed swords. Bright red cloth with golden trim covered their horses down to the hip and up along the neck. Grocia’s mouth fell open.

    Not the Earl’s soldiers. No, these soldiers and their mounts didn’t belong in Davergen or anywhere around it. The nobles that ran the towns, Davergen among them, had their own armies, vicious and cruel, yes, but the best food, training, and supplies were sent to the two Kings. Their soldiers and horses were a breed above the ones found under any local rule. These soldiers were King Durlan or High King Jehan’s. Did it matter? Grocia opened his mouth unconsciously in the urge to scream, but a hand wrapped itself around his lips and pulled him back. He struggled to get free, but Fel’s hold was strong. It was only moments before the sound of voices drifted towards the hidden boys. Grocia settled after a moment and swallowed a nod to indicate he had control. He and Fel peered out again at the soldiers.

    I don’t see anything. Are you sure of the time?

    You were there, weren’t you?

    Yes, yes I was, but I was hoping I’d remembered wrong. So it was a lot of nothing, nothing that’s taken me away from my meal I’d like to mention. And damn, that woman they just got in the kitchen cooks good, on top of other things.

    There was silence. It pounded through Grocia’s ears as he sat there frozen, Fel’s arm holding him steady. Gax looked like he was about to explode, and Ethril had opened his eyes. Look here, the trail of blood keeps going off towards the edge, more sporadic, and it smells like something died around here. I don’t like this.

    Grocia stared down at the bird’s talon lying a foot from his hand. Its blood dripped out in a small pool on the ground. He’d left a trail. The thought weighed on his mind. He’d left a trail, and royal soldiers who weren’t supposed to be there had been up near the ravine and followed it. And now, likely, they’d all die. If they were truly unlucky, they’d just be taken prisoner and sent to the dungeons for questioning. Grocia closed his eyes. From Ethril’s stories, it would be better to die quickly.

    It isn’t much of a trail. It’s likely from whatever killed that bird up there, the other soldier added, grumbling, his horse further neighing under the suns’ heat. It’s decided to head off into the skies is my bet. Look, there’s nothing up here. Let’s turn back and get something to eat.

    Silence. Horrible, paralyzing silence.

    Fine. We’d better report this. He can decide what to do with it. He certainly won’t be happy, and I’m not going to be the one taking the blame for this.

    A coarse laughter broke, Fel’s features going pale. I only hope they let me be the first one to talk to this whelp again. I have some questions I’d like to ask. The soldier spat from his steed as they turned to leave.

    There was a sound of horses moving off down the path. After a silence that seemed to last forever, Fel let go and almost threw Grocia away from him. He peered around the boulder and down the hill. When he turned back around, the corners of his mouth curled, and his nostrils flared.

    You almost got us killed! he shouted hoarsely. Was it worth it? Was it worth some damned egg or bird? You don’t think.

    You came up here too, Ethril said, rising to his feet as he spoke. No one made you come up with us … or dare him for that matter. Ethril helped Gax to his feet as he made a quick check over the rocks on his right to make sure the soldiers were gone.

    I never thought he’d actually do it. I never thought you three …. Fel stopped mid-sentence, unable to continue, his face going red. I was so sure …. There has to be a way, he muttered, shaking his head. There has to be a way to …. What did you do?

    He beat your dare, Gax returned, rolling his eyes. Get over it.

    Gax almost ate the words as soon as he said them. Fel drew the dagger from his belt and took a quick step towards him. Seeing this, Grocia stepped between the two, drawing his leather-shaping tool from his belt.

    Are you going to stop me Grocia? Fel asked, a wide, hungry grin forming, challenging, bitter eyes opened wide. Are you going to turn me into a boot? We all know you can’t fight.

    That won’t stop me from trying. You lost the bet. We’re all tired and frustrated and want to go home. Let’s not turn this into anything more than what it is.

    Fel laughed, struggling to temper a sarcastic, anxious grin. You’ve no idea. Shrugging a few times, he considered what to do next. Ethril moved around to Fel’s flank and stood ready with his hand at his back. Grocia remained where he was.

    Fel was right: he couldn’t fight, not really. He’d been shown the moves before, watched fighting enough times, but fighting with blades led to death. What right did he have to take someone’s life? Who gave him that responsibility, and why would he want it? Still, now, if the need rose, he’d certainly try. Things had obviously changed, but surely, the old Fel was still there. Surely, their friend wasn’t completely lost to the changes going on around them.

    Either way, it was clear Fel would have a fight on both sides if he made the stupid choice. Fel seemed to consider for a moment how that fight would turn out and whether or not he should try. In the end, Fel just sneered.

    My father ….

    We all know your father’s a soldier Fel. The words rolled off Ethril’s tongue and carried with them a definite threat, no sign of Grocia’s distaste for violence present. But that isn’t going to help you if try anything against Gax or any of us here and now. Remember, you’re not a soldier yet.

    Fel’s eyes went back to Grocia. They hung there for moment unmoving, and then Fel replaced his dagger and stepped back onto the path with hesitant, yet alert steps.

    This isn’t over Gax, Fel announced. And I suggest you all get out of here before those soldiers come back. Before leaving, he turned around and smiled. I’m going to be a soldier one day, just like my father – no matter what it takes. You all just made a big mistake. A big mistake.

    With that said, he took off down the trail. The other three looked at each other uneasily. Gax took in slow, deep breaths. Ethril looked down the hill with worry on his face. I don’t like how he’s changed over the last few months, he noted.

    Gax nodded and said, Thanks.

    Don’t worry about it Gax. Ethril, you know things about the castle we don’t. What are the people saying? What are they doing here? Those were the Kings’ soldiers. The Earl doesn’t rank that high on the greater scale of things. He doesn’t have any units like that.

    Ethril looked down the road again as he answered. A stranger, a ‘lord someone,’ arrived two days ago with a compliment of them. They’ve been staying in the back of the castle, unseen for the most part. I told you about them. Grocia shrugged in frustration and pain, sheathing his tool again. Ethril just frowned.

    Well, I did tell you about them. Anyway, something big’s happening. They even have a whole section of the dungeon to themselves apparently, and they ride out into the forest a lot: looking for someone, I guess. They’re keeping everything really quiet. We should go. Something’s not right here.

    The three of them gathered their packs and took off down the hill, keeping an eye out for trouble as they went, only stopping sparingly in other hollows. They didn’t see Fel or any soldiers again the rest of the trip down and were glad of it. When they reached the edge of the forest, Grocia groaned and stared back up the hill.

    Damn.

    Gax’s face was flushed with sudden panic. What?

    I left the talon behind the rocks, Grocia explained, shaking his head. He looked from one friend to another. Well, I mean, after all that work …. The other two looked quite unimpressed. Grocia looked back up the hill and let his head fall. Fine, let’s keep moving. I should have taken the head, Grocia muttered sullenly. There’s no way I could have forgotten that.

    The three youth sprinted through the forest. They made for their usual trek past the dark green groves and around the small, light-blue pools of water. Having taken the same trek so many times, Grocia did it with his eyes closed at a few points. In fact, he was doing quite well when his foot hit a loose rock, and he was sent sprawling. Pain coursed through his entire body at the jarring, and the world swam for a few minutes before he could collect himself.

    Drawing up at his side, the other two helped him to his feet, and they set off again with Grocia feeling the breeze whip through a rip newly formed in the left leg of his trousers. The mud could be cleaned off, but his grandfather wasn’t going to be any more impressed with another rip to have mended. And the day’s bruises were back with a vengeance now. The day just kept getting better.

    They finally came to the edge of the forest and Ethril and Gax peered out at the town wall. Grocia took this chance to catch his breath. As he looked up, he noticed the most powerful of the moons in sky above them. Tsy Tchay was his favourite of the three moons, even if he didn’t take part or believe in the ceremonies some groups secretly did in its honour. Ethril nudged Grocia so he’d pay attention, pointing to a spot just around the corner from the main town gate.

    The drain was closed.

    Whatever the truth of the matter with the port, the town and castle were stark contrasts to port’s broken form. The castle and town stood quite strong. They’d lost nothing in the passage of time. The castle sat on a raised bit of land to the rear of the town. It boasted several balconies on each few floor, supported by four towers, one per corner: an average castle with above average gardens descending in rows down to the wall that separated the Earl’s world and the town’s, and most any time of day he could be seen walking those balconies, looking out on the town of Davergen.

    There was some debate how much he could actually see from that height; still, that constant presence, and the many easily angered soldiers and guards were enough to stop most crimes from happening. Grocia wondered if the Earl could see beyond his balconies to the town wall. Could he see them crouched there? Inside, he knew it wasn’t possible, but then again, he sometimes wondered.

    He didn’t think the Earl had his own mage to keep his watch over Davergen, but there were times it seemed like he had someone with a second sight whispering in his ear, keeping him alert to all things going on in his town both visible and hidden.

    The castle was surrounded by its own, well-patrolled wall, a smaller, also patrolled, wall built up around the town. Around it all, sentries marched, groups of two or three regularly searching the forest that started at the base of the mountains and ran to within thirty feet of the town wall.

    The Earl might simply be an earl, and a short one at that, nowhere near as well respected or favoured as most of the other nobles under the two Kings, for well-publicized reasons, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be feared. Of course, every castle had its weaknesses, and whatever the official rules, the guards touring the outer, town wall and its surrounding forest kept their own relaxed schedule. In short, they were lazy, and Grocia and his friends had learned over time how to get around those simpler patrols.

    They only checked the wall-mounted drains, set deep into the stone every hundred feet, at regular intervals throughout the day. The existing guard went inside for the scheduled changes each time, leaving any run from the forest unseen. The wall drain they’d come out from had been left open enough to make re-entry easier when they’d left.

    But the drain was closed.

    Fel? Gax asked. Ethril shrugged uncertainly. He then checked left and right and motioned for them to follow him, leading them across the open field to the drain cover while the guards at the main gate were distracted, preparing to make their rounds. They always talked too long and laughed at bad jokes. Still, it could be close.

    The three of them worked quietly together to loosen and pull the drain cover open, slipping in through the grate just as the guards started their circuit. Knowing how loud footsteps could be in a dry drain tunnel, the three friends waited a foot inside the wall: hidden back into the darkness on damp ledges.

    Gax pointed to the edge of the rock where the metal of the grate would scrape the stone. There was a medium-sized splattering of blood showing. They checked their own arms and legs and looked out at each other, stopping moving and sliding back into darkness as the sounds of footsteps drew near.

    It’s open again. A guard cursed.

    A guard’s head poked into the opening and looked around. It damn well stinks in here, he growled, spitting to one side, nearly hitting Gax’s frozen, pale form. The three of them were silent where they sat. After a moment, the head spat again and disappeared.

    Looks like we missed this group, one guard said, the grate slamming shut with a sudden, echoing, jarring chime. That last one will keep them busy for a while anyway, won’t he? Grocia could feel the cold of the stone wall at his back. In the darkness, he noticed the thin slip of a blade in the corner, just inside the drain. Fel’s dagger?

    They’re going to be locking every one of them tomorrow is what they told me, the other guard noted, spitting, then, clearing his throat. Did you hear about that prisoner we got in two days ago? The one they brought with them? I hear they’re going to start questioning him soon. I wouldn’t wanna be him. The chuckle that followed wasn’t pleasant.

    I heard they used the rack on some guy in those dungeons once, and he screamed so loud, you could hear it on the other side of the forest. I would’ve liked to see that.

    They heard the guards move off. Their words and laughter trailed off behind them until there was nothing but quiet. Slowly, the three friends bent out of the shadows and looked at each other. There were no words. There was no need for words. They’d taken him. They’d taken Fel, and there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Somehow, Grocia couldn’t help but blame himself: accepting the dare, leaving the first trail of blood. What had he done?

    Walking through the tunnel they were in, they came out into a larger chamber. A small pool of grey water collected in a sunken basin surrounded by a crumbling ledge. Other than three more tunnels leading in different directions from the chamber, there were foot-deep slots in the walls. They’d decided they were shelves originally, but no one really knew for sure. Ethril walked towards the old, wooden steps on the other side of the room, careful to walk around that central pool. While Ethril lifted the trap door on the roof of the room and peeked out, Grocia looked around at those other three tunnels.

    It had always amazed him how many tunnels ran under Davergen. He’d only ever been down three of them, but there seemed to be an infinite number going out in all directions through different junctions. Actually, he’d been down more than three, but only once.

    His first time down in the tunnels, the lack of light had scared him terribly, and he’d been separated from the other two. Not that he would admit this to anyone, of course. With three suns, even when there was only one sun in the sky, it was never really dark. People just slept when it was time to sleep with one or more suns above. Simple. Down in those sewers that first time, separated and lost in that darkness, alone, he’d felt a fear he hadn’t known before. He didn’t really even know what those other tunnels were anymore. He’d just found his way back to the others and made sure to never lose them again. He was better with the darkness now, but it still bothered him a little.

    Maybe Fel had got away and was hiding in one of those other tunnels? He’d always been more accustomed to the dark, but he wasn’t just lost. Was he? Maybe the guards had been talking about someone else. Maybe. Grocia was sure there were tunnels leading to the dungeons. They could try a rescue if they knew the way, if Fel would accept their help, if they’d survive the attempt. If he was even there.

    There was nothing he could do but wait and hope for the best. Gax and Grocia stored their packs in the old spot, and after a long moment, Ethril motioned that the way was clear, and they climbed up after him and out into the suns’ light.

    The loud, busy marketplace buzzed about them, smells of sweat and spice converging from all sides, and no one took notice as the three of them slipped out through the trap door between two of the stalls and closed the door again, making sure the shrub covered and hid the wooden door from view again.

    Even in the light of the suns, there were no words, just silent, guilty expressions and long, sad faces. Looking around quickly and casually, they separated. Grocia took several slow, steadying breaths. He couldn’t help but think about the soldiers, the blood … and Fel. He also found himself wondering who it was in the dungeons that the guards had been talking about - with those soldiers that shouldn’t be there.

    The more he thought about things, the more his mind focused on his grandfather, the rip in his trousers, and his grandmother. His back, arms, and shoulders still felt sore beyond imagining, but he could deal with pain. It wasn’t his first time suffering the ill effects of a dare gone wrong. Compared to what was to come, no bruise could come close. How would he ever tell his grandfather of his day? The rip in his trousers would be proof enough of his misspent adventure. His grandfather would certainly ask. He always did, and Grocia certainly couldn’t lie. Grocia just hoped he could avoid that question. Somehow, his grandfather never missed a beat. And his grandmother was sick. What if something had happened while he’d been gone?

    It had just started out as a simple dare.

    Chapter Three

    missing image file

    Roots

    Grocia’s was surrounded by loud and crowded stalls. Chickens and fish hung from a line strung out to his right to start with, pots and pans displayed amid the stalls on his left. After that, it was all a buzz of noise, colour, and smell, mostly sweat and churned dirt, but not always.

    A steady throng moved about, stained tunics, woven cloaks. Men and women from Davergen and the surrounding area carrying large baskets, clay pots, or threadbare, cloth wraps mixed into a tight, human weave. Every one of them was looking for a bargain and fighting anyone who got between them and a deal while guarding their coin purses. Many shady-looking men and children slipped casually through about the crowd, eyes and hands moving erratically as they went, doing a little business of their own.

    Watching the merchants’ arms flail and smiles widen as people came near, their voices competing to be heard, Grocia shook his head. He knew all the merchants and trusted none of them. They’d cheat and steal from anyone they could to make some silver. He stopped long enough to watch them speaking to a few people, talking down to women, smiling wide, standing straighter when selling to a man. The only merchant who was near respectful to women was the man selling perfumes and scented scarves.

    Still, even with the perfumes, the prices would be different in each case, depending on whether it was a woman or man buying the item. Such was life. Such was business. Grocia hung around one of the perfume stalls long enough to counter the smell of dead bird. He just made sure to walk on before starting to smell too feminine.

    A minstrel’s voice added a beat to the marketplace. He was set up on a small stage, his bright red and white clothes a stark opposite to the dirty, worn wood beneath his feet and the muddy earth around him. His voice and smile boomed over the disinterested crowd.

    "Hey, hey, fiddle me day.

    A tune to lift your feet.

    I’m here to sing you lullabies and tunes to touch you sweet

    I’ll not be offering promises

    Though I might make you swoon.

    I’ll be here to sing you songs.

    The word’s a heart in full bloom."

    He stopped to strum his lute vigorously, then, started a smoother, seductive rhythm, directing his attention towards one, attractive woman in particular. The woman looked up and rolled her eyes.

    "Love’s a fancy dance,

    Many just can’t mind.

    They move across the floor

    They stumble, trip, stub, and flip.

    Their noise is such a bore."

    He managed to get a bit of grin from the woman, and he bent to one knee to blow her a kiss. A large man stepped up beside her, and the minstrel quickly stepped back, eyes fanning the crowd distractedly and singing on. The man and woman left, the minstrel breathing more easily.

    "Now, when I’m with a lady,

    A beauty oh so fine,

    There’s no flower in the world

    To equal her sunshine.

    There’s no scent, no sound, no fury

    As strong as her potency.

    No man, no power, no limits,

    To love’s exhilaration and insanity.

    Taste, touch, vision,

    Overpowered and overwhelmed.

    Love drives the mind,

    Stirs the soul,

    What a find."

    Grocia shook his head. Some people never learned. Most minstrels didn’t last the soltie in the marketplace. Their boisterous calls and challenging songs always met with fist, rotten food, or boot, sometimes all of the above, and he imagined this one would find himself removed from Davergen just as harshly as the rest.

    The town of Davergen was spread out into sections, marked by the compass: northern, western, southern, and eastern quadrants. People lived in the different quadrants based on their trade and connections. With all the theft and shady dealings, the market place had been moving around Davergen over the last few years, the Earl having moved it closer to the castle each time so he could monitor its goings-on more closely. It now sat by the gates to the inner castle grounds, and soldiers patrolled the area regularly. It was to those soldiers the minstrel stood nearest when passers-by took offense to his words.

    As Grocia made his way past a man selling what he claimed was a rock that would hold fire, two soldiers dragged a frightened man past, one soldier firmly holding each arm.

    I paid for it, the man sobbed. His dirty face, greasy hair, and stained cloak marked him as one of the beggars that spent most of their time in the Eastern Quadrant, Grocia’s side of town, but Grocia didn’t recognize his face. From the look of his feet, sores, calluses, and cuts, he hadn’t worn shoes in some time. The lady’s lying, the man protested. I paid for it I tell you! It’s all just a big mistake.

    The soldiers ignored

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