Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (34 page)

He looked at the lifeless corpse in front of
him. Blood pooled on the ground from her grave wounds, her eyes
stuck on the shock and fear she had experienced in her final
moments. For the first time, Erendil felt tears stream down his
cheeks. He tossed aside his bow, falling to his knees and placing
his hands on the ground. He wept for several minutes, disregarding
the clanging of weapons and shouting from beyond the icy dome that
had encompassed his battlefield.

The field shattered and dissipated, revealing
what had occurred on the outside. Serraemas stood while dozens had
fallen, and the experienced elementalist had hardly broken a sweat.
He rushed over to Erendil and inspected the girl.

"Are you all right?" asked Serraemas.

Erendil refused to answer, and instead continued
to gaze at the floor.

"You regained control", continued the
staff-wielder, as evident of the drops of tears that saturated the
ground. Akaba could never be capable of such a thing.

"Is this what we are?" snapped Erendil.

Before Serraemas could answer, a string of fiery
explosions filled the air to the west, heralding Raxxil's return.
In the distance, the burning elementalist coalesced into view. One
hand flung his hammer about, while the other locked Arwynn into
placed by his side. He made his way with a lack of finesse, just
about destroying anything—and anyone—in his path; those that had
the misfortune of getting in the man's way were crushed by his
weapon. A few seconds later, the group was together again.

"Where to?" asked Raxxil between quick breaths.
Tucked in his arm was little Arwynn, though this time she was
hardly flailing as before. She looked sullen, and Erendil wondered
if she was perturbed by their actions but at the same time helpless
to stop any of it, just as he was.

Serraemas quickly pointed to the eastern wall,
and the two started off in that direction. Erendil did not bother
to move. The others had only taken a few steps before they stopped
and turned to him.

"What's the matter with him?" inquired
Raxxil.

Serraemas dashed toward Erendil, picking him up
with one hand by his leather vest. The two looked at each other
face-to-face. "We don't have the luxury for this. In this world,
one is pure by virtue of age. Children are naive. Idealistic. If
you want to survive, you will have to see the world how it really
is. The fallen are not innocent, and neither are you. They're
already dead. You
will
join them if you don't move."

Erendil did not budge.

“War is not about right and wrong”, asserted
Serraemas. The tension in his voice rose. “There will be no songs
sung of this day, so don’t weep about injustice.”

With that, Serraemas gently released his grasp.
He hurried over to the bow, picked it up, and held it out for
Erendil to take. The archer took a deep breath, reluctantly
grabbing his weapon. Dark thoughts constantly tugged at his mind,
but he suppressed them.

Once more, Serraemas led the charge. They
bounded above the walls of the kingdom. First the upper level, then
down to the middle level, and finally over the walls to the lowest
level. They neared the stables as commonfolk fled in fear. With
haste, they saddled three horses.

The icy elementalist nodded to Raxxil, and the
latter brought his hammer upon the stone wall. With a booming crash
and fiery explosion, the stone relented and created a gaping hole.
The sky was dark as they touched grass, once again free.

Chapter 20

4th Dusk of the 5000th Age of Lion

My heart is black and hollow

I can feel the darkness rising

Withdrawing inside where none can follow

Only to find that this is where you're hiding

I cannot bear this

My hands shake, unsteady as my soul

Return me to bliss

I am no longer in control

"We can ask around in Merchant's Keep",
explained Serraemas. "He was headed north, and someone like him
might even have business there. If not, someone might know
something anyway."

They had continued on horseback to the east for
several hours before reaching Nokle Road, and then pursued the
road's route until they reached the end of Farrin Forest. Up ahead
was the notorious city itself, and the bustle of its inhabitants
could be heard for miles.

Clearly, sleep was not on the city's to-do
list.

Much like Enept-Ihs, high walls lined the city,
though that was it as far as similarities go. The walls of
Merchant's Keep, much like everything else it was built with, was a
patchwork of materials. The city was formidable in its own right,
but it was not structured in a way that most other kingdoms were,
as its inhabitants were the dregs that congregated here. Merchants,
bandits, thieves, and anything in between all made their home
here.

The only governing body, aptly named the
Tradesman, was a collection of wealthy and powerful barons. While
the city did not quite uphold strict constitutional laws, rules
were loosely enforced as long as relative order was maintained.

Guards—or rather sellswords, given by their less
than formal armor and ruffian features—kept watch as they
approached, but Serraemas knew that they were only on the lookout
for larger and more threatening hosts such as the armies of
Enept-Ihs, Illistainn, or some other force seeking to raze the
city.

But it was just three elementalists and a little
girl that showed up, and they did not receive so much as a
prolonged glare—a glare fixated on Erendil, naturally. Other than
that, the four of them had no trouble in entering the city. It was
only a matter of minutes before they stood in the market section
named ‘The Black Exchange’, where all manner of stores, street
vendors, and bars lined the dirty streets. Immediately they were
bombarded, from curious glances at Erendil, to scantily clad women
offering services to anyone with a big enough coinpurse, to vendors
ignoring personal space and offering whatever goods they wished to
sell.

Serraemas motioned for them to enter a
relatively respectable looking establishment a little further down
the street. It had a sign that depicted a vicious snake baring its
fangs with the words 'Snakebite Pub' under it. The four of them
hastily bolted to their destination, careful to avoid the different
characters that sought their attention. Right before they entered
the bar, they passed a group of three rugged-looking men who each
held steins filled with ale and sung:

"O'er the horizon yonder

There goes our bright future

Setting with the sun

I drink my ale

While our dreams fade one-by-one"

The rickety wooden door swung back and forth as
they entered the chattering pub. The smell of alcohol and the
bumble of drunkards assaulted Serraemas's nose and ears. The pub
was filled to the brim, but the newcomers had the fortune of
finding an empty table with four chairs and quickly took their
seats. To his left, Raxxil beamed at the gloomy towrth, who had not
said a word since their escape and was now looking down at nothing
in particular.

"Finally showed that asshole, huh?" exclaimed
the hammer-wielder with eagerness, but was met with silence. He
then turned to Serraemas. "He's back, right?"

"Who's back?!" said Arwynn as she glanced around
at the other patrons. She had also been fairly silent during the
night, but seemed energized by the peculiar city and its wide range
of inhabitants.

"Why does it matter?" muttered Erendil, finally
opening his mouth. He lifted his head and gazed at the other two
elementalists. If he had eyes, Serraemas was certain they would
display a mixture of fury and self-contempt. "My hands are bloodied
regardless."

Raxxil leaned back and scratched his face.
"Welcome to Ashkar, bud. The world you want to see—the world inside
your head, will always be just that. Don't lose your head too often
in the clouds, or you'll lose it for good by the edge of a
sharpened blade." Raxxil then looked at Arwynn and patted her on
the head. "That goes for you, too. You're with us now, so toughen
up."

Serraemas nodded thoughtfully as he looked
around, sifting through the patrons and noting any that could be of
interest. Toward the back of the room sat a hearty, moon-faced man
sporting a thin mustache. He wore a flowing brown robe that bared a
portion of his chest, and hung around his neck was a collection of
earthen stones fashioned in a necklace. His eyes were slanted and
appeared to be perpetually closed, as if the man was sleep-walking
or forever stuck in a dream. The man raised a large mug and took a
gulp of something heavy.

To their left, Serraemas noticed several men
huddled around a table. On it was laid out a board with piles of
coins stacked near each of the men, and they were playing a popular
game called Bakdan. Of course, no game was complete without some
form of gambling, and the men took turns rolling dice and either
cheering or groaning as money changed hands.

A barmaid, wearing a slightly more reserved
attire than the women outside, walked over to their table. "What'll
it be?"

"Nothing for now, thank you", Serraemas said
quickly.

"Sure thing", said the girl before she turned
and walked away to provide her services to other patrons.

Serraemas continued looking around—

He stopped, catching the eye of a man sitting by
the countertop near the bar. This one wore a trench coat and a
wide-brimmed hat with a pair of pointed, high-shaft boots. Slung
over his back was a large crossbow. The curious gentleman's
youthful yet rugged face lit up with a smile as he chewed on some
form of grass. Under his hat was short but messy fair hair.
Curiously, it didn't appear as if he was drinking at all. Serraemas
held his gaze briefly before scanning the rest of the room.

A heavily armored figure entered the pub and
glanced around hurriedly, as if searching for something. His entire
body was covered in heavy, red-and-gold plate from head-to-toe,
which included a cuirass and a set of spaulders, faulds, cuisses,
gauntlets, and greaves. Both his spaulders and helmet, the latter
of which covered his entire face save for a slit exposing his eyes,
were forged with spikes that curved upward, making the armor
resemble that of a dragon. Likewise, his chest plate bore a
depiction of a winged dragon with four limbs and a tail. Matching
his armor was a sheathed sword at his side and a shield on his
back. Down his back was draped a magnificent cape.

Strangely enough, the armor felt familiar to
Serraemas, though he could not recall why.

The knight looked at the group of four first,
then their weapons. As he walked toward them, Serraemas watched
Raxxil place a hand on his hammer with narrowed eyes. With the
other, he reached over to Arwynn defensively.

"Pardon my intrusion, travelers", began the
peculiar warrior, "I mean no ill will. May I trouble thou for a
simple request?" His voice was deep and wise, a voice from someone
that had witnessed much during a lengthy life, belying the knight's
powerful posture.

"Very well", replied Serraemas with a nod. The
knight's eyes had a soft, red glow, and looked weary with sorrow.
It seemed as though this man was on a quest himself, but one that
had so far been long and unsuccessful.

"I am searching for someone by the name of
Vanessa Daladin", said the melancholy warrior. "Have thou brave
adventurers heard of her, or anything pertaining to her at
all?"

Serraemas shook his head. "No, we have not
encountered anyone by that name nor have we heard that name until
now."

He could hear the knight sigh deeply in
defeat.

"May I ask you something in return?" inquired
Serraemas.

"By all means", returned the armored
warrior.

"We seek someone who may have drifted through
here", explained Serraemas, "He would appear disheveled, wrapped
with a tattered cloak and carrying a black tome."

"Thou hast my apologies, but I have no
information that may be of use to thee", responded the knight after
a brief pause.

Serraemas nodded simply.

"Thou hast my thanks for thine time", said the
stranger sincerely as he bowed. "I bid thee farewell." He looked
around briefly before storming off to question another group.

"What a guy", joked Raxxil as he released his
grip on his hammer, then smiled at Arwynn and patted her again.

"You don't recall where that armor is from?"
asked Zaranet inside his mind.

Serraemas continued examining the knight's
armor, attempting to remember where he had seen it before. Hundreds
of pictures flashed quickly within his head. Different places—and
even different times—but he could not quite find the right one.

Wait, I do remember… He’s a knight from
Lorine—?

Serraemas felt a hand on his shoulder, bringing
him out of his thoughts. He looked into Raxxil's eyes, the latter
shifting them to the right. Following the directions, Serraemas
once again caught a glance from the man with the crossbow. This
time, the cheery countenance was replaced with a curious glare.