A Tale of Seven Worlds
Book Two
By Adam Martin
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter One:
Myslo’Ain reclined in his chair, head craned back to stare up at the stars, and pondered what lay in the vast red galaxy spread before him.
“There IS something out there, Clover, I know it!”, he exclaimed.
Clover rolled, begrudgingly, to a sitting position from his cot in the corner of the balcony, ran his hands back through his short blonde hair, and splashed a little water from the wash basin on his face to clear his thoughts. He loved nothing more than staring into the great abyss of blackness and shining embers of light in the night sky, but he had drank a little too much wine before his midday slumber.
“What cruel sort of god could imagine a need for the days and nights to be so long that one must sleep twice in the course of it all?” Clover pondered out loud and mostly to himself.
Myslo’Ain just continued to stare up and up, “The kind of god that would give us twenty and four hours to marvel at this glorious creation.” and he spread his hands above his hands motioning to the heavens. They had both been born nearly eight-hundred years after the battle of the gods and knew nothing of the fact that the colorful landscape was actually the remnants of a dead god. “But hear me, there is something out there. I was in the observatory at dawn and I saw it, cresting along our horizon. It’s another world, I swear it, followed by several smaller shapes around it. Were it not for a glint of light cast off of what I can only assume is water, I’d have missed it entirely.”
Clover turned to look a long while at his elven friend, with scruffy short-cropped black hair, his clothes elegant but disheveled, ears lined with rings, and his eyes ever gazing into the next great unknown, and he knew the mind inside that shell was racing through a thousand thoughts. “Well then,” he said knowing exactly how it would affect his friend, “find a way to get me there.”
“You mock me, Clover Wheatdale, but I will find a way and when I do, we’ll travel further than you’ve ever imagined.” With that they both laid back in their cots to stare at the night sky a while longer, both in deep thought and silence.
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter Two:
The next morning Myslo’Ain’s head was filled with ideas about how to properly chart this new world he had seen, but first there was research to be done and to access the great library in the capital required money, of which he had little. Travel to Granenbae would be easy enough. The cities all over the planet had merged into one great metropolis; even the forest cities were included in the council and that meant maintained roadways between every township the world over. Transportation, however, still came at a cost and, so, there was work to be done around his local township to earn some coin.
Peering from the balcony of his family’s estate, the tallest section well above the tree tops, he surveyed the forest and valley pondering what work he could manage today. Even though he hadn’t much renown he was, afterall, a wizard of considerable skill. His parents had wanted him to follow the family business and become a merchant, but magic was so strong in his blood that even they couldn’t deny him his dream. Now that they were gone from this world, he couldn’t help but wish he’d gone with them on a few more trading journeys.
“Rupert’s first to see if he needs some clothing mended,” he thought to himself, “then to Empta’s to sell some scrolls, and finally to Dunworth’s to sell some of the items I enchanted this week. That should fetch me enough coin to travel to the capital. I’ll sell a few more items when I get there for the coin to access the library and an inn.”
The course of his day settled in his mind, he gathered up his book of magics, his scroll box and a myriad of enchanted trinkets and weapons all of which he placed in his haversack before settling his cloak in place.
“Clover.” He said in a gentle voice as he kicked his friend’s cot softly to wake him. He got not but a small grunt in reply, but continued, “I’m going to make coin for travel. Mind the house and talk to Mirna about watching the dogs while we’re away. I hope to be able to travel with one of the night caravans. Pack a bag for a months travel, I expect we’ll both be seeing the great capital for the first time by months end.”
Clover didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d already been to the capital many times with Myslo’Ain’s own parents. He had been taken in by the elf family as a young boy, given food and shelter as long as he did his share of work. He had quite often traveled with the merchants on their long journeys and had seen nearly half the world while they were still alive. He missed the travel, truth be told, but in staying here he’d become solid friends with Myslo’Ain, who had continued to let him live in the oversized house out of friendship and without the stipulation of required servitude. “I’ll see to it.”, was the only reply he gave as Myslo’Ain made his way to the door.
Myslo’Ain made his way into town with a journey on his mind and dedication in his heart. Following his plan, he went first to “Rupert’s Travel Clothing” where he gained a few gold for spells spent mending torn clothing to be cleaned and resold. Next he traveled to the edges of the Elderwood Township to visit Empta’s store of “Mystic Enlightenment.”
“Good day to you, Myserbane.” Called Empta as Myslo’Ain entered the store and the bell overhead chimed his arrival. Empta was a pleasant old woman with long paling hair and the greenest of eyes, but Myslo’Ain had long suspected that she partook of far too many of her own remedies and herbs of enlightenment.
Myslo’Ain donned a genuine smile as he approached the long stained oak counter. Senile as she sometimes seemed, Empta was a delightful person to be around. “And good morning to you as well, Empta.” He responded as he reached into the side pocket of his haversack to retrieve his scroll box. “Any particular scrolls you might be looking for today? I’ve got a few that make the caster more intelligent for a time, some to increase speed.” He opened the ornate box as he sat it on the counter and began flipping through the various scrolls within.
“This one” and he held up a tightly bound scroll with a ribbon of silver around it, “gives great luck to the person that uses the magic of its words.”
Empta scanned the scrolls with her small green eyes and with a delicate hand pointed to a scroll of thin parchment with a blue and grey ribbon at the bottom of the box, taking care not to touch them without having paid for them. “How about this one? What magic does it contain?”
“That, my dear lady, is a spell to change one’s appearance.” Lifting the scroll from the box, he let his fingers trace along the rough parchment remembering the time spent to create it. As much as his goal in creating the scrolls was a source of income, he enjoyed taking a moment to reminisce about the time it took to create a particular scroll before selling it. “It’s available if you want it, but I can’t see what purpose it would hold for healing or enlightenment.”
Quick with her retort and a mischievous smile, Empta replied, “You’d be surprised what people will tell you when they don’t know you’re you. The things you hear in those moments can be quite enlightening indeed.”
“Alas, Empta, I think you consider me too worthy of gossip. Too few know who I am to be concerned with my goings-on or my feelings about their thoughts. Still, if you think it a good buy, I have three such scrolls on hand and a few more in my library that I’d be glad to sell you.” With that he sifted through the scrolls in the bottom of the redwood box with it’s gold filigree to dig out the remaining two scrolls with matching ribbons.
“Seems to me you’re trying to sell a bit more than usual, my boy.” Empta said with a question obvious in her eyes.
With a joy he could no longer contain, Myslo’Ain fell into an excited detailing of his discoveries and his plan to travel with Clover amongst the night caravan bound for Granenbae. He explained that if he was right then there was no telling how many other worlds there were beyond theirs and what mysteries they could hold. New remedies and cures, beings and races wholly different from the ones found on Fa’Jo, “and who knows what they would look like, what languages they speak or how their societies would work. If I can work it out, it will be the journey of a lifetime and an apt use of the skills I’ve worked all these years to gain.”
When he’d finished describing all the wonders he expected to encounter he glanced at the sand glass behind the counter and realized that he’d been talking poor Empta’s ear off for more than an hour. “Gods take me, look at the time. I am so sorry, Empta. I did not realize I had taken so much of your time and I still have errands to run.”
“Fret not, young lad.” Came her response in a sweet and gentle voice. “I am more familiar with your kind of excitement than I am often willing to admit. If you are certain of your destiny and need to sell these scrolls to get there then I will take the lot of them, including the one for increasing the power of thought.” Reaching under the counter, she retrieved a small pouch that rang of coins as she placed it on the counter. Small halfling hands digging into the pouch she retrieved several pieces of platinum, gold and silver. “No haggling today, my boy. You have things to attend and I will pay your full prices as a blessing for your journey.” Taking his hand in hers, she placed the coins in his palm and closed his fingers around them.
“Empta, you truly are a gift from the gods.” Myslo’Ain said with a smile on his face. “I must away. I’ve other errands to attend before the midday rest.” With that he opened his belt pouch, dropped in the coins and turned to head for the door. As he was reaching for the handle he was startled by Empta’s voice so close behind him. Heart pounding from the surprise, he turned to see the elderly hafling standing no more than two feet away from him. Looking to the counter across the room and back to Empta, he wondered how she had made her way so quickly to his side and without the faintest breath of sound.
“Myslo’Ain,” she began and he startled again. It was the first time she had ever gotten his name correct and he was taken aback by the preciseness of her pronunciation of his elven name. “If you are truly determined to take this journey and seek adventure in some unexplored world.” She trailed off for a moment as though thinking of days gone by, her eyes momentarily glazing over as she looked into a memory he knew nothing about. “A gift,” she resumed holding up a small bottle of liquid “may it protect you from the all the wounds the world can bring. ‘Tis the last of my personal stock and I need it no longer.”
Taking the small container in his hands, Myslo’Ain stared at the swirling red and gold liquid knowing exactly what it was. Though he had never crafted one himself he had studied them and he recognized it. He knew that she was not being mysterious or vague in her statement, the potion she had handed him could, quite literally, heal you from almost any wound or injury He went down to one knee so he could see Empta eye to eye and after a quiet moment he took her in his arms and hugged her as a few tears found their way to his cheek. “Thank you, Empta.” Pulling back from her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, stared into her green eyes and stated again, “Thank you.”
As he made his way through the city to his next destination he reflected on the events in Empta’s shop and how, for the first time since his parents had died, it had for a brief moment felt like he had a mother again.
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter Three:
“Fifteen platinum and no less. You know you can sell it for twice that price.” Myslo’Ain remarked. He had been haggling prices with Dunworth Rockguard for nearly an hour and so far only two items had been settled. He feared if this kept on for much longer it would start to eat into his midday rest and though he was feeling the need for sleep, or at least a few hours to meditate, he could not let his items go for an unfair price.
“Aye, that I could, lad. That I could. But this be a shop intended for profit and if I were able to sell it it would get a good price. Fret, I do though, over IF I would be able to sell it. ‘Tis a handy trinket, but ne’er have I heard ‘nyone ask or look for such a thing.” He looked the item over once more before handing it back to Myslo’Ain and then placed his burly hands on the counter. “I canna’ do more than ten platinum and you canna’ do less than fifteen and so it is removed from the bargain.”
Dunworth was starting to look tired as well, bags forming under his hard-set dwarven eyes, and Myslo’Ain knew the merchant had further to go to get back to his underground home than he did to get back to his home in the woods. “Agreed, he said with finality. One more item for you to view though. It is a pride of mine that I have spent many an hour crafting. The finest, perhaps, of any work I have ever done.”
Dunworth, noting the eager look in Myslo’Ain’s eyes grew curious and soon his curiosity outweighed his desire to close shop and head home. Motioning with his hands for Myslo’Ain to show him the item he proclaimed, “Aye, aye. Get on with it then.”
Excitement apparent in his actions, Myslo’Ain reached into his magical haversack and withdrew a long-sword from its depths. Holding it balanced on two hands, he presented the sword to Dunworth.
Eyes passing over the sword, Dunworth took in the molded and embossed leather of the sheath, the blue tinged metal of the hilt and the finely shaped grip. Finally, noting a tiny impression in the pommel, he looked askance at Myslo’Ain. “Try’na sell me my own wares, boy? I sold that blade to you near four months back. Crafted that with me own hands! Shaped it, sharpened it, even worked and tanned the leather myself. It still bears my insignia for gods shame!” He spat furiously at the elf he perceived to be trying passing his work off as his own. “I’ve grown fond o’ ya over the past years, boy, but this. THIS! What have ye to say?”
Clearly taken aback by the misunderstanding, Myslo’Ain attempted to gain his composure and stumbled into explanation before he was beheaded with his own blade. “Master Dunworth, in all my years I have never crafted a blade and I do not intend to start claiming so now. This blade was crafted by you, that is truth, and I would speak otherwise to no one.” He pleaded hoping to calm the dwarfs temper before continuing.
“It was your fine craftsmanship that allowed me to work crafts of my own into it. Such masterful work is rarely seen, but is required of any item before magic can be placed into it. I claim not to have crafted the sword, but rather the magic I have since placed within it.” Adjusting his hold on the weapon he shifted so the grip was facing Dunworth.
Mood calming, Dunworth reached over the counter to take hold of the sword and pull it from its scabbard. “I dunna’ know what was done to this blade, but I can feel a difference in it to be sure.” He turned the sword over in his hands several times inspecting the runes now embedded in the length of the blade. “Causes a sensation on the skin to even hold it.”
“I have worked four magics into it. The first to hold the keen edge you placed when you crafted it, the second to help it strike true and the third and fourth are as part of a great storm.” As Myslo’Ain explained the different magics in the sword he pointed to different sections of runes, his words dripping with pride over his accomplishment. “At their will the wielder of this weapon may choose to have the blade lined with the power of lightning, causing their opponent to be accosted by the very power of nature.” He stepped back a foot or so and motioned to Dunworth to give it a try.
Taking a more battle-ready grip on the sword Dunworth focused his thoughts on what Myslo’Ain had told him and thought of the blade covered in lightning. Nearly as soon as the thought entered his mind, the sword came to life with small arcs of electricity dancing across the blade.
“Impressive indeed, lad. May I?” He asked as he came out from behind the counter and approached one of the practice dummies.
Myslo’Ain gave a shrug and a smile. “It’s your merchandise. If you wish to destroy it then, by all means, feel free. You won’t be damaging the blade.”
Dunworth took a moment slicing the blade through the air in mock combat to get accustomed to the weight of the blade; he gave one last sideways glance to Myslo’Ain and then turned with full force to slash at the dummy. The blade made a clean line through the wooden shell of the dummy and lightning cascaded down the inner metal form to dissipate into the ground. As the blade passed through the center of the target a cacophonous roar of thunder echoed through the small shop causing several smaller items to rattle from their shelves to crash upon the ground.
Such was the ruckus that a town guard came running into the shop, sword drawn and eyes scanning the room for a threat. He spotted Dunworth standing over the the remains of the practice dummy, Myslo’Ain standing calmly by the counter and a myriad of items strewn about the room. “Dunworth?” The human guard asked cautiously as if to ask if something was amiss. Dunworth, however, only laughed and returned to his place behind the counter.
Myslo’Ain held out the scabbard to Dunworth so he might return the sword to its protection and turned to the guard. “Sorry for any alarm or confusion. Dunworth was inspecting an item I brought in to sell and thought he might like to give it a test.” The guard was still on high alert and it took nearly everything Myslo’Ain had not to break out into full on laughter. “It would appear he is a much better swordsman that I had previously known.”
“Are ye saying that was my doing and not that of the sword?” Dunworth asked almost accusingly.
“Oh, no, it was certainly a property of the sword.” Myslo’Ain said, turning back to face the merchant. “That is the last property of which I spoke. A final enchantment to set home the ability of any true swordsman. If a blow is landed in a particular way, so as to cause a great deal of damage, the sword reacts and causes the thunder you encountered.
Myslo’Ain began walking around the shop slowly and returning items to their spots on the shelves. “But it takes a skilled hand to accomplish that last bit of magic and if you do, the thunder emanates from the tip of the blade causing the weapon to deal even greater damage as the sound attempts to escape into its surroundings.”
The guard, now more curious than alarmed, made his way to the counter. “And you crafted this weapon?” He asked of Myslo’Ain.
“Naught but the magic within it. The blade itself was made by Master Dunworth.” Myslo’Ain replied nodding toward the dwarf merchant.
“Aye, and a fine blade it would be for a member of the guard. What say ye, Aberstrom, care to buy a blade of the finest craft and magic?” Dunworth added.
“As a guard of the township, I highly doubt I could afford the price.” He stated as he eyed the sword with a sort of longing. “How much would a blade like that cost a member of the guard?”
“Well,” began Myslo’Ain, but he was quickly cut off by Dunworth.
“For one who keeps us safe during the long hours,” Dunworth said, flicking his eyes to Myslo’Ain, “no more and no less than three thousand platinum. And I assure ye, that is a discounted price.”
Myslo’Ain slowly turned his head to stare at Dunworth Rockguard as though the dwarf were the horrid ghost of a mad-man.
Aberstrom, however, let out one loud laugh before he replied. “That sword, then, is worth more than nearly everything I own put together. Save maybe for my house and my wife.” He shook his head and continued, “Well, maybe not the wife. Still from the look of the weapon and what it’s done to your store, it would be a fair price. Sadly, I haven’t that much coin and so I must decline. You send me back to my duties in shame and longing Rockguard.” He quipped as he headed for the door.
Myslo’Ain watched in moderate disbelief as the guard left the store then turned back to Dunworth. “Three thousand platinum! Three thousand?” He asked, mostly stunned from the conversation.
“Aye, Myslo’Ain, three thousand.” the gruff merchant replied. “To sell it fer any less would be a disgrace to both our names.” he turned the sword over in his hands, taking one final look at the work, before handing it back to Myslo’Ain. “As much as it pains me to say, I haven’t the money to buy it from ye either. Yer likely to find few in this township who have use for a weapon such as that and fewer still who have the coin to buy her proper.”
“What of the capital?” Myslo’Ain asked hopefully. “Do you think I would have a better chance there?”
“I can almost assure ye of that. There are many more merchants in the grand city and a good number o’em what sell items with enchantments upon them.” Dunworth pulled a scrap of parchment and an ink well from behind the counter and began to scratch something out. “If yer headed fer the capital, I suggest ye wear that sword on the way. “Tis no small travel to get there and ruffians still harass the convoys from time t’ time.”
When he finished writing, he tore of a square of the parchment and handed it to Myslo’Ain. “When you reach the capital, if in fact you do, find this man. He is the head of the local merchants guild. If there be anyone in Granenbae with the coin to purchase that sword, he is one of them.”
Looking down at the scrap of paper; Myslo’Ain read out the name scrawled in blocky dwarven letters. “Haymish Marrinword?”
“Aye, master merchant, trader in all cities of Fa’Jo, head of the merchants guild and sixth of his name. No merchant can trade in the capital without approval from him or his father. Your parents surely would have known him with all their traveling and trading.” Dunworth nodded and smiled. “Be sure t’ give him yer full name when you meet, it is like he will remember. And don’t go settling on a price less than three thousand platinum. It is worth more than that and he will know he can sell it for more.”
With that the two settled their accounts for the items Dunworth was willing to purchase and Myslo’Ain headed for home with a few more platinum in his pouch. As he walked he contemplated the journey ahead content that he had made enough to pay for the journey there and that he should be able to make a rather large sum once he got there. If Dunworth was correct, he would have no problems paying for access to the library or purchasing any other supplies he might need.
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter Four:
A wheel hit a small divot in the road and sent the cart to rocking causing Clover to stir from his sleep. Glancing to his side he found what he had expected; Myslo’Ain was sitting with his back against the front boards of the cart, book in hand. He had a small coin in his hand with the spell of light cast upon it and would alternate between palming the coin to stare up at the stars and revealing the coin long enough to scribble some notes in the book.
“Two weeks you have been at that.” Clover stated. “I know the skies are a wonder to behold, but you are missing the beauty of the land around you.” Clover pushed up from his bedroll and moved to lean against the boards next to Myslo’Ain. “Where is this other world you hope to reach?”
“Currently?” Myslo’Ain asked and then thought a moment. “About now it should be around,” he traced his finger across the sky as if following the path of an object before settling his finger to point almost directly down, “there. That is part of what will make it particularly difficult. It is always on the day side of the planet.”
Myslo’Ain opened his palm again to jot down some more notes in his book, the light from the coin nearly blinding Clover with the sudden change. “And are you sure that this other world is always there?” Clover asked with genuine interest as he began rolling up his bedroll to tuck away in his bag. He hadn’t used his backpack in nearly a year and was surprised to find Myslo’Ain had enchanted it to be like his own. It was handy, but rather odd to be able to place so many items in such a small space without the weight changing; More odd that anytime he reached into the bag for something, the item he was trying to retrieve was directly on top.
“Not entirely. I didn’t have a chance to go to the observatory the morning we left and it would be nearly impossible to see with the naked eye.” Myslo’Ain finally paused in his constant study of the night sky long enough to look at the nature passing by the cart. They had been with the caravan for two weeks and he had been buried in his books nearly the entire time.
“You are right, my friend. The nature of this area is beautiful.” Sealing the stopper on his ink well, he also packed up his items and began to inspect the flora next to the road. His eyes adjusted to the dark more easily than Clover’s and he would still see the colors of the petals and the details in the stalks of the tall flowers and weeds.
“You do realize we have passed through five other townships during this trip, do you not?” Clover asked as he looked at his companion, not sure how much Myslo’Ain had been paying attention since they started out. Myslo’Ain was a scholar and a wizard, he had an attention for detail beyond most people Clover knew, but when he got caught up in an idea everything else seemed to pass him unnoticed.
Clover, however, was always watching the things around him. it was his favorite part of traveling. New sights, new sounds, the joy of a fresh breeze pushing against his skin and the scent of some foreign meal or exotic flower filling his nose.
He could see from the expression on Myslo’Ain’s face that he had not noticed. He may have realized there were more voices and an overall rise in the level of noise, but unless there were new passengers joining the caravan it did not stop once it reached a city. The whole of the caravan would stop three times a day to rest and feed the horses, but always outside of the cities.
“Ain,” Clover began, “if you are so keen to travel to an entirely different world, I suggest you see and learn as much about this one as you possibly can so you can make a proper comparison.”
“As is often the case,” Myslo’Ain replied, “you are correct. Your common sense often prevails in areas that a book can not lend guidance.” He moved his backpack to reset between his back and the boards of the cart, struggling somewhat to stay comfortable with the sword hanging from his belt.
Before they had set off, two strong suggestions had been made. The first was to keep the sword at his side in case he needed it, the second was to refresh his memory of his offensive and defensive spells. Having not traveled much with his parents and not at all since their passing, he was not wise to the ways of the road and chose to heed the advice. He wore the sword, though he didn’t know how to use it in the slightest, and before each sleep he read his tomes and recounted to himself how to use spells he was not overly familiar with.
With a barely audible chuckle, Clover asked, “Why do you wear that thing if you don’t know how to handle it? It will only make you uncomfortable and if you have to cast any spells it will likely just be in your way.”
“And how about you? I don’t know why you insist on wearing your armor when we are traveling with a caravan of merchants and guards.” Myslo’Ain quipped. “You look as if you can’t even sit still in it, squirming to and fro, such as you are.”
“The squirming is fixed easily enough.” Came the reply as Clover tightened the straps on his leather armor to cinch it in place. “See? All done. You with a sword, however, not so quickly remedied. I can use a blade a touch better than you, why not let me worry over it until we get the capital?”
Myslo’Ain only nodded and began to loosen the belt holding the sword in place as Clover held out his hand to take it. To the left of the road birds stirred to flight and the night insects became quiet. “Be still a moment ‘Ain.” Clover whispered as he lowered his hand and his eyes darted into the shadows of the trees.
“Be patient, my friend. I almost have it free.” Myslo’Ain stated as he continued to fidget with the belt.
One of the horses toward the front of the caravan gave a nervous whinny and Clover shifted to rest perched on his toes. “Never mind the belt.” He whispered even more quietly than before. “Just give me the sword. Something isn’t right.”
Shoving his bag into the corner of the cart and settling his belt into a steady position; Clover closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds of his surroundings. The horses were anxious, the birds were fleeing and silent as the turning of a page he heard it. Turning his head to the back of the caravan, he opened his eyes just in time to see the arrow pierce the guard’s throat.
Within an instant Clover shifted all of his weight grabbed Myslo’Ain by the scruff of his shirt and, with a sudden jerk, pulled both of them to lie flat in the cart below the edges of the rail.
Myslo’Ain began to yell in protest, but his words fell silent as a hail of arrows bombarded the railing where he had been sitting an instant ago; missing his haversack by inches. All around them there were screams as people fell to the ground dead or injured.
Taking a cue from Clover, he reached out with his foot and kicked his backpack into the corner of the cart and under the lip of wood in hopes of providing it with some measure of shelter. As the screams of pain continued, they were joined by battle cries and the sounds of metal to metal and he realized Clover was asking him a question.
“Ain?! What does it do?” Clover was inches from his face with a look in his eyes that Myslo’Ain had never seen. “The sword, you enchanted it. What does it do?”
“Lightning! It has the power of lightning in its metal.” He reached to draw the blade from its sheath and was pressed back to lie on the floor of the cart by Clover.
“Stay here and stay down.” Clover said with his hand on Myslo’Ain’s chest. With that he pulled the sword from its scabbard, rose to his feet and vaulted out of the cart in one fluid motion.
As his initial stunned confusion began to wear off, Myslo’Ain heard the rumbling sound of thunder as if from some great storm cloud. Rolling to his side, he peered through the gaps between boards in the side of the cart. He realized then that the thunder was not of an oncoming storm, but the power of the sword he had crafted. Here and there people clad in dark armor littered the ground, their bodies still arcing with the electric shock of lightning as Clover seemed to dance through the battle dodging blades and laying ruin to the bandits attacking their caravan.
Elsewhere on the road, caravan guards were engaged in single combat with bandits while more ruffians poured from the woods to attack travelers and ravage the supply carts.
“Why have you spent your time studying these spells if you are too afraid to use them?” Myslo’Ain thought to himself. Clover had told him to stay down, but he knew he could help rather than lie cowering in the back of a cart. “Put on your defenses, stand up and be counted a man on the battlefield.”
With that he uttered the incantation to place Armor of Mages upon himself, pushed to his knees and stood. A bandit noticed Myslo’Ain stand from his place in the cart and changed path to besiege what he apparently thought to be a defenseless and well dressed noble. Myslo’Ain raised his hand, pointed at the ruffian with a determination and recited another spell. Lightning gathered about his fingers before streaking through the air to meet its target. The bandit writhed in pain, screams wrenching themselves from his throat and then silence as he fell still on the ground.
Instantly, a surge of guilt reared in the back of Myslo’Ain’s mind. He had never killed anything but a plant before today and the realization of what he had done begged to be answered by his conscience. Feeling the guilt begin to paralyze him, he pushed down all remorse. He looked out over the area of the caravan at people scrambling and fighting for their lives and knew he did not have time to waste and wallow in the consequences of his actions.
“I’ll not be able to hear anything for a week when this is over.” Clover said aloud to no-one in particular as he ducked the swing of a sword, side-stepped and returned a blow. His sword sliced through the air with practiced ease, small wisps of lightning tracing its path only to gain purchase on his target and arc through a bandit's body in a fight to reach the ground as quickly as possible. “Here we go again.” Clover thought as a rumbling noise began to build from within his opponent. “What in the twelve hells did he do to this thing.”
As he gathered his footing to turn and find another enemy to send to the gods he caught a glimpse of a blade arcing toward him. Footing awkward and options limited, he took to the only defense he could manage and fell prone below the path of the sword.
For a moment his attacker continued forward determined to finish the job, but suddenly halted with a look of shock, confusion and horror on his face. Concerned with what could be so terrible that the bandit would cease his attack, Clover glanced back over his shoulder in time to see a lion forming from thin air and light. Before he could manage to roll out of the way, the beast hurdled over his head to tackle the bandit to the ground and deliver a ferocious bite to his neck.
When the lion was satisfied that the bandit was dead it turned back to Clover, padding slowly up to him. As Clover prepared himself mentally for what came next, he found himself confused when the lion stopped at his side as if waiting for him to get up. Looking around, he saw Myslo’Ain standing atop the cart with a myriad of small colored pouches dangling from his fingers. Around the cart several ethereal swords moved through the air of their own accord, attacking any ruffian that dared to come near. Myslo’Ain looked at the lion then back to Clover, gave one terse nod as if to say all was well and turned back to the bevy of bandits surrounding the next cart in the caravan.
Clover nodded back in thanks, gathered his feet below him and pointed the lion toward a fresh group of bandits emerging from the forest.
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter Five:
“He needs more than a stiff drink to recover from a wound like that.” Berick Kirkland was saying. “He needs proper medical treatment.”
Berick was the head guard for the caravan; A burly human with a beard to make a dwarf proud and a head of short scruffy red hair. Currently, his light green eyes were focused on the bottle of red and gold liquid Myslo’Ain was trying to get a very unconscious Clover to drink, while his hands applied pressure to the worst of the holes in Clover’s chest.
The battle had ended quite abruptly when the bandits had grown tired of Clover and the lion tearing through their ranks with relative ease. Several of the bandits that had been keeping cover in the edge of the woods all fired upon Clover with their crossbows and all of them had hit their mark. Seven crossbow bolts had been protruding from Clover’s chest; his armor pierced through and blood seeping to the ground. Still he had managed to finish off the last of the bandits within range of his sword.
As he fell to his knees, the men in the woods began to close ranks on him and he could not lift his sword against them. The lion was his only protection and it was only able to take out one assailant before the spell ran out and it dissipated to nothing.
Upon seeing the situation, a rage had overtaken Myslo’Ain like he had never felt before. He had lost his parents to bandits on the road and he would not lose his friend the same way.
Myslo’Ain had lept from the cart, mystic swords whirling angrily about him as he charged headlong to his friend’s aid. The garrison of bandits had turned their attention to the mad wizard charging down the line of carts and prepared themselves for combat only to have Myslo’Ain stop some ten feet away and raise both hands angrily. Foreign sounds of invocation streamed from his lips, his fingers streaked through the open air tracing the patterns that matched his words and as the marauders began to close ranks the tiny hairs on their skin stood at attention.
Too late had they realized what was happening, too late had they chosen to turn and flee. The air crackled with power and lightning formed as a solid bolt in the air streaming to the first man in the group before arcing and spreading to the other terrified looters.
The smell of burned flesh permeated the air and charred mangled bodies littered the ground. Here and there, guards wandered through the wreckage giving a final death to any bandits still taking in air, while others helped the wounded back on to their carts. The travelers and merchants who had died in the attack were placed in a single cart to the rear of the caravan. Their passing would be made known at the next township and their bodies and belongings returned to their families or business. Those dead who had neither would be granted a burial at the local cemetery.
The caravan company would not hear the end of this tragedy for quite some time. Their business would suffer and travel would slow for a while. None would consider that there was naught to be done about the situation. They had hired guards, and good ones at that, but the number of bandits had far outweighed even the number of people in the caravan. Myslo’Ain pondered on this for a brief moment as he looked at Berick before deciding that, at this moment, he simply didn’t care.
Berick’s face was a mix of worry and pain. He had a deep gash across his left shoulder and a few weeks from now he would have a rather prominent scar across his right eye. For the most part he was able to shut out the pain, such as any man who had seen battle more than a hundred times could. His worry though, at this moment, wasn’t for the trouble his caravan service would suffer, but rather for the dead and dying. Foremost in his current thoughts was Clover, a man he had never met or spoken so much as a single word to. Yet this stranger who lay dying beneath his hands, blood seeping up through his fingers, had given everything to save the lives of his fellow travelers. He had joined a fight to protect the people who were supposed to protect him. He looked back into Myslo’Ain’s eyes and they shared an understanding that, in this moment, Berick, too, simply did not care about the business so much as the people.
“It’s done, lad. Let your friend be.” Berick stated in a somber tone staring down at the holes in Clover’s armor and seeing the blood no longer flowing. “I’m no physician, but I’ve seen death enough to know that when the blood stops, so does everything else.” Sitting back on his legs he gave a heavy sigh as he looked around at the damage done.
Myslo’Ain gave a small smile as he let the last few drops of liquid fall into Clover’s mouth before tossing the bottle into Berick’s blood soaked hands. “A momento for the time you saw death swayed from its course.” He slowly let Clover’s head rest on the ground and began undoing the straps of his ruined armor. “He’ll need a new set, this one is ruined.”
“Boy, death is death. I’ve seen naught but priests and clerics reverse that sort of damage and we have neither.” He started to reach out to place his hand on Myslo’Ain’s to provide a shadow of comfort, but stopped short as Clover’s armor was slid off to reveal a faint rise and fall of his chest.
“There, you see? A stiff drink was precisely what he needed.” Placing the sword back in the scabbard still on his belt he rose to go find the least damaged set of armor the dead bandits had to offer.
As he walked by Berick, he placed a hand on the stunned man’s shoulder. “If you would be so kind as to have him returned to our cart?”
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter Six:
“How long?” Clover asked without opening his eyes. His head was resting on a pillow and he felt cushion under his body. “It must be bad if they have me in a bed.” He thought to himself.
“A few days.” Myslo’Ain replied with a soft voice. “Five full days and nights to be precise. You have healed well though, so it was worth the spells.”
“Ain,” Clover started, “I’m sorry for the delay this will cause. We’ll find another caravan to take us the rest of the way.”
“And exactly why would you do that when we are already part of a caravan?” Myslo’Ain asked.
Clover opened his eyes at that to take in his surroundings. Finding himself on the bench of a closed carriage rather than a hospital bed he sat up, feeling dizzy as he did so. “I’m famished. Why are we in a carriage instead of the cart we paid for?”
“The owner was among the deceased.” Ain said with sadness in his voice. “The last lord of a small house. He was headed to the capital to search for a bride.” Myslo’Ain turned his attention to the window. The curtain was drawn and blocked his view of the outside, but he stared at it nonetheless. “Now that he is gone, his estate will go to auction. The mayor in the last township saw fit to remove this carriage and its horses from his estate and gifted it to us for our services in the battle.”
“Who drives us?” Clover asked looking about the inside of the carriage. “And where are our packs?”
Myslo’Ain pointed at the cushioned bench Clover was sitting on. “The late lord’s steward. I hired him on for one silver a day; at least until we get to the capital, perhaps longer depending on the circumstances. Else he will leave us once we find lodging to seek another lord to serve.”
Gathering a bit of strength, Clover moved across the carriage to sit next to Myslo’Ain and lifted the cushioned plank from the other bench to retrieve his pack. Looking into the storage compartment he saw both haversacks, Myslo’Ain’s sword and a fresh set of armor. “What did you do with my armor?” He asked in a soft sad tone.
“That is your armor.” Myslo’Ain responded nodding to the compartment. “I gathered armor from one of the fallen bandits, cut off some bits of leather and used my mending spell to repair it.”
Clover reached down to retrieve the armor, lifting it slowly and with a bit of effort to look at the lining inside. A small sigh of relief slipping from him, he read the message inscribed there: “To Clover: May this armor protect you even when you are not protecting us.”
“I almost tossed the whole thing, so ruined as it was.” Myslo’Ain stated. “Master Berick saw that message, though, when they were picking you up to move you back to our cart.”
“And those few words were enough to stay your more rational mind?” Clover asked puzzled. “The amount of work, spells or no, to repair such damage; It would have been far more logical and reasonable to simply replace it.”
Myslo’Ain smiled at his friend then. “Aye, but I still recognize my father’s writings.”
“Thank you, Ain.” Clover said as he placed the armor back in its place and withdrew his pack to get some rations and wine.
“It is I who should be thanking you. All those hours I spent toiling with my magic, all those trips I avoided like some great burden.” He shook his head thinking back on it. “I thought you were just going along for the labor, an extra hand to move merchandise. I never imagined you were protecting them.”
“I owe them, and you as well, much more than I could ever repay.” Clover said between swigs of wine. “When even my own parents didn’t want me, they took me in, raised me, gave me a home. And you never questioned it, you treated me as a brother from the first.”
“Well now you are just being silly.” Myslo’Ain jibed. “We are brothers, you just have shorter ears and bad eyes.”
“And you’re nearly four times my age and about half as mature.” Clover retorted before reclining back into the soft carriage cushions; chewing begrudgingly on rations.
A knock came from the front of the carriage and Myslo’Ain turned to slide the small speaking window open. “Yes, my young friend?” Myslo’Ain asked of the young boy driving the carriage.
“Master Kirkland approaches, M’Lord.” Haron Lostec whispered back.
“Thank you, Haron. Slow us a pace so he can join us.” Myslo’Ain replied before closing the speaking window. To Clover he added, “Berick is a good man, helped me save your life. Still.” He paused while looking at the open bench and Clover’s haversack.
Clover kept out his rations and wineskin, closed up his haversack and with help from Myslo’Ain, placed the cushioned seat back on the bench opposite them.
Feeling the carriage slow down, Clover pulled back a corner of the curtain to peer outside, momentarily blinded by the stark contrast of light. Blinking into the sunlit surroundings he could see the large form of Berick approaching the cart and opened the carriage door as he arrived.
Gripping the side handle, Berick stepped up and into the moving carriage with an almost practiced ease. Nodding once to Clover before turning his attention to Myslo’Ain he stated, “I see you’ve finally let him wake.”
Eyes flicking quickly to Myslo’Ain and back to Berick, Clover did his best not to let on that he was bereft of information. “He did at that. Clover Wheatdale.” He said plainly while extending his hand to the guard. “I understand you helped to save my life.”
“I did little aside from staunch the flow of blood. ‘Twas that drink he gave you that truly kept you with us. And that only after you saved the lives of many more than yourself.” Berick gave a firm handshake before reclining into the cushioned bench, an apparently rare comfort for him.
“What news for the day, Master Kirkland?” Myslo’Ain inquired.
“No trouble, glad to say.” Berick said with a forced smile; The losses of a week ago still causing him obvious pain. “We hired on an extra ten guards at the last township. Ought to help keep the rabble from trying anything again.”
“Well now that Clover is rested and healed, we will be glad to be of service again.” Myslo’Ain chimed in. “Should the need arise.”
At that, Berick began undoing the knot that held his larger belt pouch closed. “Your, as you say, services, saved many lives. Some of the guards included. I’ve not been witness to that sort of magic in many years master elf.” Withdrawing two small bags from his pouch, he continued. “And you, Clover, can’t say as I’ve ever seen a fighting style such as yours.”
“What good is a spell or sword if you are unable or unwilling to use them.” Clover responded. “We’re glad to have been able to help. Besides, it was our own lives on the line as well.”
“Regardless,” Berick said as he tossed one small bag to each of them, jingling with the sound of coin as they were caught. “Each of the guards have chipped in and the remaining travelers as well. You’ve done a guard’s duty and it was decided that you should have a guard’s wage.”
Clover and Myslo’Ain both sat their purses of coin on the bench between them. They both had better manners than to count gifted gold on the spot. “Thank you Berick. And thank your men as well. It was unnecessary, but greatly appreciated.” Myslo’Ain replied.
“Just the right thing to do, we venture.” Berick stated plainly. “In addition to the coin for your services, we have refunded your fees for travel. We only have a week of travel left to the capital, but keep an open ear.”
“You think it likely that we’ll be attacked again this close to the capital?” Clover questioned.
“Not likely.” Berick replied in a tired and obviously road weary voice. “But not entirely out of the question.” Leaning his head back against the soft velvet he let out a long low sigh and whispered, “Someday.”
Clover extended him his wineskin. “To someday, Master Kirkland. May it arrive sooner rather than later.”
Berick took a quick draught of the fine wine, passed it back to Clover and stood as much as he could in the confines of the carriage. “A man can certainly dream. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. Back to the long road.” With that he opened the carriage door and levered himself out with a push to match the pace of the horses.
“Ain?” Clover said with a lilt to his voice.
“Five days and five nights, just as I said. Only,” Myslo’Ain paused a moment to look almost ashamed. “I had to spell you to sleep several times. The potion healed you up well enough, but any stress could have torn your wounds. Thus, any time you began to wake up, I spelled you back to sleep.”
Pondering a moment that it was done out of care and naught else he asked, “Could you have woken me if you needed to?”
“Easily enough.” Myslo’Ain replied and Clover just nodded in acceptance. “Berick was true enough in his statements. Never have I seen a fighting style quite like yours.
Resuming his feast of rations now that Berick was gone, Clover spoke between bites of jerky and swigs of wine. “Traveling with your parents and learning how to guard them, we often traveled with caravans like this one. I learned how to use a sword from many different men and a few stalwart women.”
“Granted I have yet to witness so many fights as to be an expert, but your style still resembles but shadows and shades of the styles I have seen.” Myslo’Ain stated ponderously. “Are there so many differences between how to wield a blade?”
“As I said, I had many different teachers.” Clover responded. “While there are not so many different styles that they can’t be counted, there are differences enough from man to man in how they use those styles.” Thinking a moment for a comparison he finally questioned, “What happened when you decided to enchant that sword with a myriad of spells?”
“They are complementary spells, carefully chosen to maximize the effects and make the blade easier to use.” Myslo’Ain replied.
“And so it is with the way I wield a sword.” Clover answered with a steady voice. Feeling more awake and stable of condition, he moved back to the other bench to more easily face his friend. “As I learned various aspects of the different techniques and movements over time I took to evaluating what components of each worked best for me, which movements flowed and which ones conflicted.” He propped his feet up on the bench next to Myslo’Ain and only now realized he was barefooted.
“Well, my friend,” Myslo’Ain started, “you are a complementary force of nature with a blade. Where, though, have you been practicing since you stopped traveling?”
“The fifth floor of the house.” Clover said with a puzzling look as he wiggled his toes and tried to remember the last time he ran around without boots on.
“Of the house?” Myslo’Ain asked. “It has the space?”
“It has plenty of space.” Clover said, returning his attention to Myslo’Ain. “It has nothing but space. You do all of your spelling on the top floor and in your room, we take our meals on the first floor and your parents rooms remain undisturbed on the second floor. The third floor contains naught but my room and all of the furniture that used to be on the fourth floor.”
“I think, Clover, I have become too set in my ways.” Myslo’Ain said, a hint of sadness in his tone. “Even in my own home I do not travel to unnecessary places. Tell me a truth now. Am I on a fools errand, wishing to travel to another world when I hardly travel my own home?”
“Fool is a word I would never ascribe to you.” Came Clover’s soft reply. “If anything, it is that you have lived your entire life in that house, save for the few times you traveled with your parents. You know its every nook and cranny, every loose floor board. Aside from the changes I make here and there while you toil with your magics, there is nothing in that house you do not know.”
“Perhaps.” Myslo’Ain said, head turned back to the curtained window.
“I’m glad of this sudden desire you have for travel.” Clover said as he used his bare toes to grab his new small purse from the bench across from him. “You want a truth? I was going stir crazy sitting idle in that house for so long.” Undoing the strings of the purse, he continued. “Much as I love to laze about, I would have ventured out on my own before too long I wager. Better still, though, to travel with a friend.”
Myslo’Ain smiled at that and rested his head back against the cushions. “Better indeed.”
Clover dumped the coins from the pouch into his lap, held in place by the folds of his shirt and started counting them as he placed them one by one back into the bag. When he had finished he asked, “How much was our fee to travel with the caravan?”
“One hundred gold each, paid to Berick in the form of twenty platinum.” Myslo’Ain responded. “Why?”
“I count fifty gold and twenty platinum in my bag.” Clover said with an almost astonished tone. He had seen people purchase items worth much more than that; he knew that it was a common thing for working persons to have that much money, but he had never been the owner of that much gold at any one time. Odd jobs he did from time to time earned him enough coin for food and the simplest of weapons to practice with, but he had never needed more than that. “You should have this. To recoup your fees for the journey.”
Myslo’Ain held up a hand in protest without turning his eyes from the curtain. “You have earned it, my friend, and so much more.”
“Thank you. I shall see it to good use.” Clover replied gratefully. “Ain?”
“Yes?” Myslo’Ain responded, voice heavy with the desire for a mid-days rest.
“Where are my boots?”
Myslo’Ain of Fa’Jo
Chapter Seven:
Myslo’Ain sat next to Haron on the bench at the front of the carriage; As much as he enjoyed the comforts of the cushioned inner seats, they would reach the forest edge soon and he wanted to be able to see the capital first hand. Ahead, Clover walked next to Berick talking about weapons and fighting techniques from the way Clover was showing him the sword used in the battle two weeks prior.
“Have you ever been to the capital before, Haron?” Myslo’Ain inquired in earnest.
“Once, M’Lord.” Haron replied. “I drove my late Lord Deraven for a ball and feast last year.”
Myslo’Ain glanced over at the young man next to him. He was no more than seventeen years old, his hair shaggy and blonde, he was thin as a stick and wearing clothes that had seen better days perhaps six months ago. “No need to call me Lord, young master Haron. For I am not one. I am as you, a regular citizen of the outer townships.” He said plainly. “You owe me no loyalty and no service past the city walls. However, if you would care to make a fair wage and have fresh clothing, Clover and I could have need of someone to continue with this carriage and show us what you know of the city.”
“To be honest, I don’t really know much of the city.” Haron stated in a voice that made him sound ashamed. “I only e’er took Lord Deraven to his inn and the hall where he attended a feast. I’ve only seen a small portion of the whole of it and I hear tell it is the size of ten cities.”
“Still, you drive a carriage better than I could hope to accomplish.” Myslo’Ain pointed out. “Clover may have the know of it, but of that I am not entirely certain. Knowledge of the city or no, the offer stands. Think on it between now and the inn..”
“Thank you, My.” Stopping himself from completing the sentence, Haron corrected himself. “Thank you, Myslo’Ain. I’ll give it some thought.”
Hearing a sharp whistle from ahead, Myslo’Ain turned his attention forward to see Clover looking back at him, standing still as the other merchants flowed around him. They were nearly at the forest clearing and Clover seemed to be waiting for him before breaching that edge.
As the carriage rode up next to him, Clover grabbed the side handle and pulled himself up to stand on the single step used to get onto the front bench. One foot dangling in the air, he looked more at ease than Myslo’Ain had seen him in a long while.
“You have truly missed traveling.” Myslo’Ain offered, more a statement than a question.
Staring up at the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of branches and leaves, Clover only nodded. After a short moment he returned his attention to the road ahead. “Eyes forward my friend, you won’t want to miss this.” As the carriage cleared the edge of the forest, the last tree fell away and Clover raised his arm to point to the east.
Ahead, the road curved to where Clover was pointing and stretching into the sky was a great wall at least one hundred feet tall. Where the road met it, there were two massive gates and to each side of the gates the wall stretched as far as Myslo’Ain could see; appearing to curve back to the east.
Higher still, above the crest of the wall, Myslo’Ain could see tiered levels of the city fading into the horizon, building to a large central castle that looked, at this distance, to be as large as the entire Elderwood Township; its great spires vanishing into the clouds overhead.
“Never could I have imagined such a thing.” Myslo’Ain said awestruck. “The enormity baffles the mind.”
“Then even more baffling will it become.” Clover jested. “That castle marks the old center of the capital. The true center lies further to the east. The whole of the capital spans an area once developed as seven different cities and villages, each two days ride from the capital in their own directions.”
At that Haron chimed in, “If you’ll be wanting the same inn as my late lord we’ve another two and a quarter days of travel. The Gilded Bear was its name; rests near the center of the capital proper.”
Keeping his smile as he took in the sight of the city ahead, Myslo’Ain grew inwardly sullen. He knew then, from the way Clover spoke, that the man had been to the capital before. He knew it must have been on a journey with his parents on one of their trading runs and try as he might not to be, he found himself a bit jealous of his friend.
What sort of things would he have seen, what knowledge could he have gained if only he had traveled with them more frequently? The more he thought on it, the more his jealousy turned to guilt. He could have studied his magics on the road just as easily as in his home, but he had thought it an inconvenience and knew nothing of what he had missed until this moment.
Msylo’Ain was startled back to the present by Clover’s hand patting his shoulder. “Come, my friend.” He was saying. “Best we ride into the city inside the carriage. Our new friend might get some odd suspicions about him for driving in an empty carriage.” Dropping to the ground he kept pace with the carriage long enough to open the door and step into the riding chamber.
Lacking the physical prowess of Clover, Myslo’Ain jumped down from the carriage, very nearly twisting his ankle in the process, only to fall behind the faster pace of the horses.
After a bit of running and with Clover’s help, he was able to make it inside the cabin. As he stretched his ankle to relieve the pain, Clover drew open the curtains on both sides of the carriage. “What shall we attend to first once we reach the city?” He asked as he returned to his seat.
“We have a fair bit of coin thanks to our fee being returned and the payment for our assistance in combat.” Myslo’Ain said as he pondered the best course of action. “Perhaps secure our lodgings at the inn and get a nights sleep in a proper bed?”
“A sound plan, that.” Clover said, obviously eager for a solid nights sleep. “Then out the following day, I suppose, to find Haymish and sell your sword?”
“To the contrary.” Myslo’Ain responded with a smile. “Out to the shops to find a new sword of equal craft and then some time to enchant it. The sword we brought along already has an owner.”
Eyes turned up in question, Clover said, “Ain, we’ve discussed this. It is a fine sword, but you don’t know your way about it.”
“Quite right, but I am not the owner of that blade.” Myslo’Ain said quickly. “It found a new owner during our journey.” He thought for a moment more before continuing. “Four magics I added to the sword and it did bring good fortune; I think Four Leaf a fitting name. Don’t you?”
“Four Leaf?” Clover said confused. “Who purchased the sword?”
“You did.” Myslo’Ain said in a serious tone. “You purchased it with your skill and your blood.”
Clover was shocked and perplexed for a moment. Not only did he now have more gold in his possession than he had likely ever owned, he now had a sword that was worth more than nearly half, if not all, of the supplies being transported in the caravan.
As the initial surprise wore off, he took a chance to think about his gift. “Wait.” He began. “You intend to name a sword Four Leaf and then give it to a man who holds the name of Clover?” He asked with a combination of mirth and indignation.
“I find it fitting” Myslo’Ain replied, doing his best to contain his laughter. “If not altogether appropriate.”
With an over exaggerated harumph, Clover turned to drop the paned window nearest him to allow a slight breeze to fill the cabin. “Four leaf clover.” He muttered to himself.
Clover turned to make another snide remark about the name of the sword, but was interrupted by a knocking on the front of the carriage. Reaching up, he slid open the tiny window. “Yes, Haron?”
“Nearly reached the gates, sirs.” Haron replied turning his head slightly to be more easily heard. “Best to have the taxes ready.”
“How long has there been a tax on using the gates?” Clover asked with confusion in his voice.
“Don’t rightly know how long, Sir.” The young steward responded. “Just know it was in place last time I was here.”
“Thank you, Haron.” Myslo’Ain called forward. “Do not pay them anything, I will cover your fees.”
Without waiting for a response, Clover slid the small window closed. “When we reach the gates, in a fine carriage such as this, might be best for you to act like a noble.”
“And how does one act like a noble?” Myslo’Ain asked with a raised eyebrow.
“In my limited experience?” Clover jested, “Indignant, bored and better than everyone else. Don’t happen to have any cleansing spells readied do you?”
“Almost always.” Myslo’Ain said as if it should be obvious. “It is such a basic spell, I almost always prepare it. Years of having the dogs live in the house has made it a habit.”