A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 2: Chapter 21: Portents

Not much is known of the Fae, for all accounts of which are mostly hearsay, and dubious in nature. Among the elves, it is said that they come from the place between worlds, the In-between or the Betwixt Place. Still from what evidence I have collected, they seem to be the source of the fabled and much sought-after Witchwood. The material is a devil to shape but it is as hard as the finest dwarven steel, and much lighter. Some say it is living wood and is able to slowly repair the damage done to it. I would very much like to see it for myself someday.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

A low rumble, reminiscent of the quake that nearly entombed my comrades and I within the mines, echoed through the earth, steadily advancing with each passing heartbeat. We hastened outside, eager to behold another wondrous spectacle of this realm.

A rolling wave of mane and hoof thundered in the distance, growing ever closer. A vast herd of horses stretched across the horizon, a flowing line that moved majestically across the grassy plain in a multitude of natural colors, flowing in unison towards the southeast.

Larynda’s mouth was open in wonder, and even the stoic Kidu could not help but stare agog at the sight before us. All around the caravan, there was a great whooping and hollering as raw joy filled the air with its song. The great herd had come.

“Isn’t that a beautiful sight?” commented Laes, breaking me from my stupefied wonder.

I could only nod mutely as the herd slowly began to fill up more of my vision, growing ever larger and louder, the thunder of hooves clamoring ever closer.

“Are we safe here?” I asked the caravan master, feeling nervous at witnessing such a huge number of animals.

“Hah! Of course. The horses of the herd are a gift from Kaes-Loka, the god of hearth and herd. It brings only good fortune to those who witness its passing. An excellent sign for our journey. Only the most experienced and respected Waveriders take from the herd, on occasion, after offering a great tribute to His name at the temples. A true prize in horseflesh! Perhaps we can commit some heresy for gold today! Khalam! Khalam!” His voice was an enthusiastic whip-crack over the din of celebration, catching the attention of a thick-set and heavily-armored rider before whispering conspiratorially to me, “You can’t ride by any chance, can you? Any experience wrangling horses?”

“No, I have never had the time to learn,” I replied to him, somehow naturally in a whisper, and shook my head.

“More's the pity. Perhaps I will have you learn later! It is good to broaden one’s horizons, hah!” he finally finished, winking at me before he began to discuss horse theft with his Guard Master.

Soon enough, a flurry of activity stole over the guards and workers as new plans were made. Great lengths of tough-looking rope were produced and knowing looks were exchanged among the people of the caravan. They planned theft against the Tides, to steal from them what the Children viewed as sacrosanct. I wholeheartedly supported their endeavor and wished them good fortune.

"I will leave Jasper, Khalam's second, here with the train. Since you are in my employ, I would ask that you follow his orders," Laes commanded in passing, as he mounted an impressive-looking steed.

It was suspiciously of a similar breed to the horses that the men rode in my first contact with humans in this world. A silky dun brown, it was a little heavier-looking and thicker about the chest, the animal's lines promising more power than endurance.

Clicking his tongue loudly, Laes left with his entourage to intercept and plunder the equine sea. An armored man, clad in a pristine coat of plates with a bronze-plumed helmet, who I assumed to be Jasper, saluted the group as they left... Soon enough, Jasper began to bark out orders, quieting the infectious air of festivity. In no time at all, the caravan began to resume its journey.

Back in our own wagon, Kidu and I spent our time in the maintenance of our equipment. A part of me regretted purchasing the wavy parrying dagger, as it was a devil to sharpen. Still, the blade had a special place in my heart, as I remembered using it against yielding flesh and taking a small measure of vengeance.

While we were busy, Larynda chose to spend her time creating more of her Seals. Occasionally she would squawk in irritation when she made a mistake or when a small bump disrupted her script, causing her efforts to be wasted. I tried to read some more scraps from Elwin’s gift book, but gave up as minor motion sickness took me. Instead, I decided to swallow a little of my pride and ask the half-elven girl a few questions to help confirm my theories on magic in this world.

It was surprisingly informative. The little girl, despite her young age, was well-read and knowledgeable, and she helped clarify a few of the points that had been a little troublesome. From her, I learned that Mana was apparently in all living things, from the smallest of rodents to the largest of dragons.

However, only a few creatures, man being one of them, could understand the intricacies of Mana to fully utilize it. One such way was, of course, through spells. The language of a spell was, in essence, a way to twist the meaning of a state of existence, a play on words on the current observed reality. I mentally envisaged the whole thing as a sort of cross between advanced arcane mathematics, with mystical puns, and Mana being the source of power that bridged the gap between. Throughout all of this, Kidu remained impassively quiet, occasionally nodding to some point, as if it confirmed one of his own thoughts.

It was not until near sunset, when the caravan began to slow and settle, the first hints of red and oranges staining the sky, that the caravan master returned. Kidu and Larynda were engaged in one of their practice sessions and they paused in their sparring to look at his triumphant return. He had an air of victory about him, tempered with a look of exhaustion, the setting sun creating a halo about him and his riders. Behind them, a line of six wild and newly-captured horses followed, straining against the ropes that led them. One of the horses was a particularly fine specimen, his coat the color of burned gold that reflected the hues of the oncoming evening.

They were greeted by the drudges, their animals seen to, and their immediate needs met. The stolen horses were taken away and expertly hobbled and staked close by. I could see from the people’s reactions that this was probably not the first time Laes had engaged in horse theft against the Tides. The riders were excused from guard duty that evening, their colleagues good-naturedly jealous of their success. I saw them clump into small groups and regale each other with their accounts of the day.

Evening stole across the sky, slowly painting the heavens with her first stars. Winding down, the train prepared for the night. Soon enough, once the site had been secured, a fire was lit and the delicious scent of the evening meal began to waft along the cool air.

My own group kept to ourselves, our meal consisting of a sort of long-grained pink rice layered with thinly-cut spiced meat, then slathered with a sweet-smelling sauce. I was told by one of the cooks that this sort of food was eaten only in celebration. Larynda positively stuffed her face, putting off even the wild man, who did not have much in the way of table manners.

As the meal and celebrations came to an end, I decided to tell my companions a tale from my own world, about a certain boy who had been accepted into a school of wizardry. I told them of the adventures of ‘the boy who lived’. Of his friends and his struggle adjusting to his newfound destiny. Some things, however, must have failed to translate well.

“He sounds like a real ungrateful sot! ‘E should be grateful to just have a roof above his head. This boy never did a thing to help right. He was rich too, an’ he never shared with his family. That don’t quite seem right to me!” chimed in Larynda, shocking me with her perspective.

“You say this great wizard, his parents had been killed by another dark mage, yes? Why does he have the time to be playing fanciful ‘games’ in a ditch? Should he not be practicing every day, that he might grow in might, and take his vengeance on that dark mage?” rumbled the big man, his voice tinged with a faint hint of disappointment and irritation.

I had to remind them both that it was a fictitious tale, and reminded myself that I would have to adapt certain parts for this tough audience. Perhaps one of the Greek epics would be more palatable for this lot. In my mind, after all, was a whole world’s collection of stories and tales to tell, their contents fresh and new for this world.