Read Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology Online

Authors: Martin Hengst

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #Anthologies, #Coming of Age, #Sword & Sorcery, #Anthologies & Short Stories, #Teen & Young Adult

Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology (6 page)

BOOK: Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology
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~

"So what do we do we do now?" Torus asked.

"We wait." Royce chose a pebble from the dozen or so he had in his left hand and whipped it out across the water
, counting the number of times it skipped. It reminded him of quiet afternoons with his grandfather, which in turn reminded him of the King. "Greymalkin will send a boat to Pearlwatch Estuary as soon as he realizes the Warhorse isn't coming back. We'll be here when they get here. I imagine it'll be no more than a month or two."

Torus scowled and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"A lot can happen in a month."

"What would you have us do? Swim?" Royce took another pebble and chased the first. His eyes never left the water.

"No but--"

"Relax, Lieutenant. The Imperium has persevered for thousands of years without us. I'm sure she can hold on just a little while longer until we get back.

Torus didn't reply, but he lowered his bulky frame onto the edge of the dock where Royce had parked himself. He took a handful of stones from the pile that Royce had collected and tossed one, sidearm, across the still water of the estuary. They watched it jump, once, twice, thrice, and more, until it finally sank after the sixth skip. Royce raised his eyebrows.

"Nice."

The only reply he got from Torus was a grunt. Royce shrugged and tossed another stone.

Returning Faarsh's body to the Shyraan conclave had earned them a great deal of respect. Shreth was second in command to a massive Shyraan that towered over even Torus at nearly nine feet tall. He was ancient, in his thirteenth decade, and it wouldn't be long before he followed Faarsh into the Ethereal Realm. Still, he'd welcomed Royce and Torus into their village as if they were old friends, once a rapid conversation of hissing and spitting had been concluded. They'd rested there long enough to heal their wounds, sate their bellies, and take on some meager supplies donated by their new allies.

They'd left the village with new backpacks, food, and a few scant articles of clothing. The backpacks were woven from a plant fiber that grew in the jungle with a skill that would impress even the most seasoned tradesmen in the Imperium. It was thin and durable, requiring a good amount of force to penetrate with a blade, but much lighter than leather. Royce had told Shreth that the backpacks alone would be a backbone of a trade deal with the Imperium. Shreth had demurred, saying that the Shyraan weren't ready for such complications just yet. Royce couldn't blame him.

Shreth's daughters had taken much amusement from the task their father gave them. He'd provided some old clothing, gathered from the other Shyraan, and instructed his daughters to take the items in so they would fit the smaller men and not make Royce and Torus appear to be children playing dress up in their parent's clothes. Royce commended his aplomb. Sorrow would breed in an idle mind. With a task to undertake, they weren't as likely to mourn their mother's loss overlong.

Stopping at the wreckage of the Warhorse on their way to the Shyraan village had been a waste of time. Aside from the weapons they already carried, there was nothing more of use on the wreck. They'd helped Shreth and Hsaan set the ship to burn. The rise and fall of the tides would carry the last of the doomed vessel out to sea. As long as it was off the beach, it couldn't give rise to another Grobin infestation. Royce was quite sure they'd seen enough Grobins to last a lifetime.

Royce was certain that finding their way home would be far more complicated than it had turned out to be. The Shyraan had a sixth sense when it came to cartography. In the largest hut at the center of their village, Shreth showed them a great map that took up most of one wall. Detailed wasn't enough to speak of the volumes of information the map held for them. Hunting trails, streams, copses of trees, even boulders large enough to withstand the ravages of wind and weather were identified on the map. As were the most rapid ways to cross the jungle to points beyond without getting near the beaches or the seas.

Fear of the Siren's retribution had instilled in the Shyraan a hatred of the sea that went beyond anything Royce had ever known. Even bodies of fresh water, though incapable of supporting a Siren population, were regarded with intense antipathy and mistrust. Fortunately, there wasn't much freshwater between the Shyraan camp and the Pearlwatch Estuary. Four days of hard travel with Shreth and Hsaan as their guides saw them back in a human settlement. Torus worried that they were near enough to the Shyraan that territoriality might become an issue, but Shreth informed him curtly that they believed in holding no more land than they could live in and care for.

Arrival in Pearlwatch had been an experience. Royce imagined that the conversation he had with the Captain of the militia was similar in aspect to the conversation Shreth had with the leader of his people. In Royce's case, he'd have been happier if his people had been half as welcoming of then newcomers as the Shyraan had been of them. Still, he knew that these things took time. Humans were eminently adaptable. They'd come around.

"I'm still not happy you kept me in the dark about your...whatever you want to call them. Your powers," Torus said, interrupting Royce's thoughts.

"You're right, of course." Royce clapped the man on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. It can't. My life is in your hands."

"Literally." Torus's voice had dropped an octave, taking on an ominous tone.

"Exactly. I suspect I'll know if I ever upset you again."

"You wound me, Sir."

"Not if you wound me first."

Torus chuckled and Royce knew that they were okay. Their friendship was strong enough to withstand the great gulf of difference between them, and there was still no one else that Royce would want to be shipwrecked with than his Lieutenant. Royce was a consummate tactician. He could say that without false modesty. But Torus...well, Torus was just a good man, and Royce was lucky to have him as a friend.

Together, they sat on the end of the dock until the sun dipped below the western horizon. They'd been through many battles and they
'd go through many more.

For now
, though, all things were right in the world, and Solendrea was at peace.

 

 

 

If Wishes Were Horses

 

“Come on, Declan, swallow it.”

Serena held her brother’s jaw closed with one hand and patted his cheek with the other. Not hard enough to be considered a slap, really. Just hard enough to keep him from letting go of his already tenuous hold on consciousness. The attack had left him spent and limp. He was as comfortable as she could make him among the moss and ferns. His pale skin, a stark contrast to her sun-kissed tan, was almost white and his curly brown hair was damp with sweat.

He shouldn’t even be out here, damn it.
Serena ground her teeth while she waited for his body to swallow on its own, getting the much needed medicine into his belly. She should have insisted that he stay behind. There was a hostel owner in Overwatch who had been willing to look the other way when they weren’t on time with their dues. Which, she had to admit, was often.

Declan swallowed the thick syrup she’d poured on his tongue and beat at her hand ineffectually. Serena heaved a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere under her toenails and collapsed onto the soft moss beside her brother. This had been a bad one. She hadn’t been sure he was going to make it back, even with the medicine she’d forced on him. Her long brown hair, a shade darker than her twin brother’s, was plastered to her forehead with sweat. It was more than just the heat of the jungle. Ever since they were little, Declan’s attacks had scared her in a way that nothing else could. There was something very disturbing about the way he could be fine one minute and helpless the next.

“I wish you had stayed back in Overwatch,” she groused. “At least there you could get more medicine if you needed it.”

Serena fingered the thigh pocket of her breeches. There were two vials left. They’d used twice that many making it this far into the jungle. Even if they left now, with nothing to show for their endeavor, Declan might not make it back out. The healer had been very clear about his condition. The medicine kept it at bay for a while, but his attacks had become more frequent and more severe.

Declan’s laugh was mirthless.

“With what?” he asked, his voice weak. “My good looks?”

Serena sighed. She shut her chestnut brown eyes and pressed her palms to the closed lids, as if the pressure could drive away the sick feeling in her stomach. There were two sixteenth-Crown coins in the purse she and Declan shared. That wasn’t even enough to pay for a single vial. They hadn’t had much to start with, and what little they’d saved had gone into provisions for this trip. They had to find something worthwhile out here in the middle of the jungle. Otherwise, they’d be back out on the street.

Living on the street wasn’t anything new for either of them. Orphaned before they could walk, she and Declan had been passed from hand to hand, shelter to shelter, charity to charity, for as long as they could remember. They’d always had each other, though, which was more than some people could say. Declan’s disease might make him weak and subject to a fit at any time, but it left his mind as sharp as ever. Declan was the smartest person Serena had ever known. They’d made a good team. Declan would plan the petty thefts and schemes that would keep them alive, and Serena would put them into action. They’d never had very much, but they’d managed to beg, borrow, or steal enough to keep them out of the Militia’s dungeons for the past twenty-five years. That wasn’t to say they hadn’t gone to bed hungry more often than not, but they managed to keep going.

Serena took the map from her other thigh pocket and opened it with reverent fingers. She smoothed the creases out with a gentle touch, as if the meager handling would make its contents vanish into thin air. They’d lifted it from an adventurer passing through Overwatch. After a few drinks at The Bottle and Sword, he had loudly boasted about being on the verge of a life-changing discovery. On the off chance that he was right, Serena and Declan had come up with a quick plan to relieve him of his burden. So when the adventurer slipped out of the tavern, Serena did her best imitation of a drunk. When the solicitous adventurer caught her by the arm to steady her, she flowed up against him like molten honey. She wasn’t as voluptuous as many of the ladies who frequented the tavern, but she was pretty enough that he didn’t push her away. A moment later, she’d snaffled the document pouch from his rucksack. She thanked him for his concern and disappeared into the crowded streets of the city.

Later, in the hostel, Serena had laid out the scraps of paper, velum, and parchment that were stuffed in the pouch. She’d almost missed the map, scrawled on the back of a scrap of folded parchment, but Declan hadn’t. His sharp eyes and equally sharp mind had recognized its purpose as soon as he’d seen it. A trip to the library and several boring hours of research later, Declan had declared the map both genuine and valuable. It was a treasure hunter’s map, encoded with a derivative of a cryptic code that adventurers used to ensure messages to each other weren’t intercepted. Another few days of work
, and Declan had broken most of the notes jotted down in the margins of the map. It would lead them to an ancient temple and, Declan was sure, lost treasures that would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

As soon as he had said rich, Serena was sold. From that point forward, none of the dire warnings Declan had bestowed upon her had penetrated the promise of a full purse. Every time Serena looked at the map, all she saw was a place of their own, a
well-stocked larder, and clothes without holes in them. Clothes that she’d been the only one to wear and hadn’t come from a consignment shop or secondhand goods broker. She’d always wanted money of their own, money they could spend on things that weren’t necessities. It was her dream and she’d stop at nothing to see it realized.

“We should be getting close,” Serena said, folding the parchment and slipping it back into her breeches. “Do you think you’re strong enough to walk?”

Declan sat up. He was moving slower than Serena would like, but she knew from experience that pushing him wasn’t going to get her anywhere. He’d move when he was ready, and not before. Her brother wasn’t usually that stubborn, but when he dug his heels in on something, it was impossible to get him to budge until he was good and ready. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed all right. Maybe they were over the worst of it.

“I think so,” he said finally, getting to his feet with a little grunt. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Nope,” she replied with a toss of her head. “But if there’s money involved, I’ll find it.”

Declan made a face.

“Money isn’t everything, Serena. We’ve done all right so far.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she lifted the hem of his tunic and showed him the holes and frayed edges. The tunic was too big for his slender frame, and hung on him like a sail on the mast. Serena dropped the hem of the tunic and poked at the length of frayed rope Declan was using to cinch the shirt around his
waist. He slapped her hand away.


All right, all right. You don’t have to be obnoxious about it.”

“Oh Declan, I would have thought you’d know me by now.”

“Fair point,” he said with a faint smile. “Carry on.”

Serena cast an eye at the sky. Though the thick canopy of branches blocked out most of the sky, the sun was still bright enough to make its position readily apparent. For good measure, she checked the trees, looking for moss and vegetation that only grew on the north side of the rough trunks. Assured she had her bearings, she drew the short sword from her belt and began hacking a path through the dense foliage ahead of them.

Her exploration sword was one of the few things she had that was really hers. She’d gone to Gunther’s Warehouse in Overwatch and spoke to the surly dwarf herself, ensuring that he knew exactly what she needed and wanted. The ruddy-faced little man had promised that he knew a smith who could deliver what she asked for. In return, she’d worked in the warehouse for weeks, stocking shelves, moving barrels, and sweeping up after the doors had closed for the day. It was menial work, and she hated it, but it had gone to a good cause. A little over a month later, Gunther had presented her with the sword.

It was a thing of beauty. Twenty inches long and crafted of fine
Iaorian steel, the blade was a curved edge on the bottom and straight on the top, save the first four inches of the top of the tip, which were serrated and sharpened individually for cutting through fibrous things like the vegetation she encountered on a near daily basis. The guard was a curved cup, the hilt wrapped in leather and capped with a sturdy, flat pommel that could double as a hammer when required. She’d specifically asked for a finger guard as well, as a second line of defense against the thorny brush she often had to contend with. In all, it was a beautifully made tool and she took great pride in it. As soon as she’d taken it from Gunther’s grasp, she’d informed him that she wouldn’t be back to work. She’d paid off her debt, and the sword was all she needed. The dwarf had shaken his head at her impudence, but said nothing as she left the Warehouse. She’d never been back.

For the scabbard, she’d conned a journeyman skilled in leatherwork into thinking that she had a
commission for a Baron in one of the noble houses of Overwatch. Serena had overseen the construction of the sheath, ensuring that it fit her blade perfectly. The day it was complete, she told the journeyman that she’d deliver the Baron’s commission straight away. Instead, they’d left that day with the map to the temple and their riches. By the time they returned, she’d have the money to pay for the scabbard a thousand times over.

Lost in thought, Serena wasn’t paying attention to where she’d placed her feet. As she raised her arm to strike out at a
particularly thick clump of undergrowth, the ground gave way beneath her. She clutched the sword and held it above her head as she fell. Landing on the wickedly sharp blade would end their expedition for good, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing it in the fall. She landed on her rump, hard, and bounced down the steep-sided ravine. When she hit the bottom, her jaw snapped shut with the force of the impact. Her teeth clipped the edge of her tongue. She tasted copper and cried out.

“Are you
all right?” Declan called from somewhere above and behind her.

Serena spat, her crimson tinged saliva staining the moist moss she’d come to rest on.

“My pride is broken, but I don’t think anything else is.” She flexed both arms and legs, and twisted at the waist to test her theory. She’d be sore in the morning, but she’d survive. “Don’t try to come down that way.”

“No, thank you, I won’t.” Declan’s chuckle rankled her and she made a gesture she knew he couldn’t see.

Serena got up, tucked her precious sword into its scabbard, and brushed the worst of the damp earth and plant matter from her breeches. As she was picking twigs out of her hair, she heard Declan curse. He was rampaging through the undergrowth like an angry rhino.

“Problems?” she asked, her tone sickly sweet.

“Thorns!”

“Awww.”

She smiled as she listened to Declan’s progress. She pulled her hair back and tied it in a rough knot at the base of her neck. She was lucky it hadn’t caught it in any branches on the way down. It could have hurt a lot worse than a few bumps and bruises or a cut tongue.

The sun was nearly overhead and shone down into the ravine over her shoulder. A glint amongst the moss caught her eye and she knelt down to take a closer look. There, nestled in the soft blanket of vegetation, was a thick gold coin. It was caked in grime, only the edge clean of the muck at the bottom of the ravine. She brushed
its face with her thumb, wiping away the mud and dirt of who knew how many years.

It was smaller than a Crown, but thicker. It was probably worth about as much on the Exchange. With a bit of spit and a polish on the hem of her tunic, she had the coin restored to its former glory by the time her brother had made his way down to where she was standing. The head and tail markings on the coin were scrawled in a looping script she’d never seen before. It certainly wasn’t a coin of the Human Imperium, Overwatch, or Ethergate. It didn’t look like anything she’d ever seen associated with the Xarundi or the Gargoyles, though those two races tended to deal in precious stones and rough metals rather than currency.

Serena caught Declan’s eye and flipped the coin to him. He caught it in the air with deft fingers.

“What do you make of this?”

She felt a little stab in her chest as she let the coin go. It was hers by right. She’d found it, claimed it, and cleaned it. There was no reason it should be in anyone’s hand except hers. Still, she knew she could trust Declan, and he’d give it back after he had examined it. What she knew and what she felt were two entirely different things. She had to stop herself from taking the coin back before he could even get a good look at it.

Declan held the coin up to the sunlight. He turned it this way and that, letting the light play across the surface of the coin. He offered it back to her and she all but snatched it out of his grasp. Serena tucked the coin deep down in her pocket, so she could feel its cool weight pressing against her leg.

“The symbols look a little like Pheen writing, but not enough for me to be certain. Could be anyone’s.”

Serena wrinkled her nose.

“What would the Pheen do with money?”

BOOK: Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology
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