Callaghan 1
The Low-Fantasy Novel with No Name (yet)
The Last Message of Grand General Eskayel
My King, I have served you in faith for many years, and I wish to serve for yet more to come. Yet I cannot deny that during that time I served another before you. It was treasonous, I knew, but I beg you allow me to say my piece before you do with me as you will; as is your right. I shall not try to impose to you what manner of entity I followed, for I doubt you would believe me if I did. And why should you? Even I, upon discovering the true nature of the one whom I served, could scarce believe my own conclusions. But, alas, I do not doubt them; nor what I know need be done.
Through this entity, I have seen the fate that awaits this land. Not just your Kingdom of Varantia, nor even limited to Halmsgar itself, but the whole of the world. Fair as the foul, just as the cruel, known as the unknown. This world will die. Through flame the land that gave us all life shall be sterile, and every accomplishment of our age shall have been for naught. Lest we who live now act, this shall pass.
There is but one solution. It shall not make sense to you, your governors, or your people, and it may well seem cruel, but I ask that you and they all clad your hearts in iron and enact what I propose. Those of special talent throughout the land: those who conjure flame from the aether, those who heal without aid of salves or poultice, all who show signs of otherworldly powers. Each must be taken and quarantined in the name of preservation, for it is from them the destroyer will come. I can only hope that dealing with those mystics of Varantia will be enough to alter the future I have seen though even then it may not be enough to change the course of fate. I pray that I shall be written in the annals of history as a tyrant and monster, who deceived the good King with evil lies, as this would mean that—though my honor withered—the people would never know the horrors you would prevent.
Please, My Lord and King, heed these words, and force the mystics together, that their taint might keep from spreading and that our world might evade the calamity I have seen.
-Plea to King Bartre III of Varantia, four hundred and nineteen years after the founding of Roshen. Upon receptionEskayel was stripped of his position on grounds of madness, imprisoned, and executed two days later for charges of high-treason.
Chapter 1
I
We had to reach The Goblin by nightfall. This thought kept intruding into my fantasies, despite that we were—all things considered—still making good time. The day began miserable and overcast, but gave way to a beautiful, sunny and still autumn afternoon as we rode through the wooded countryside. The rustling of leaves–too stubborn to fall–from the canopy above filled my ears. With a pull at the reins, I slowed my horse, Aecha, so I might hear them better over the crackle of the dead ones beneath her hooves. Fidgeting at a bit of salt beef stuck in my teeth with my tongue, I listened to the beautiful music of the woods. If I had known what awaited me at The Goblin; if I had known this day would mark meeting the one who would send my life so astray… I daresay I still would have taken the time to enjoy it.
“Hoi, Candas!”
Ronan’s voice broke me from this trance. I opened my eyes to see him staring back at me. He held his horse, Euron, to a slow gait about ten yards ahead, its thick brown tail doing an odd jig with each step. “What?” I did my best to keep an edge from my voice.
“You alright?”
“I’m fine.” I sighed, pulling Aecha to a canter to catch him.
“You sure? You’ve got that lost look about you.” He didn’t take those oversized green eyes of his off me as I pulled beside him.
“Aye, aye a hundred times. C’mon, we should get a move on.”
I urged Aecha to life with a light kick. She took the command with perhaps too much fervor, leaving Ronan and Euron behind as she galloped down the path. I didn’t urge her to slow, not at first anyway. I loved the chilled wind rushing through my hair, and again my thoughts wandered. A light sound of trickling water hinted at a spring hidden somewhere behind the trees, and the chirping of birds from overhead told not all had yet fled south for the coming winter. I went to close my eyes again, but my thoughts objected.
Enough with these foolish fantasies. You’re losing focus, act your age: Kallie’s life might depend on it.
I pulled back at the rein and the world became a shade of deep red as formerly windswept hair settled in front of my face. Ronan rode up not long after, laughing as I tried to blow the strands from my sight.
After a time, the trees pulled away from the path, revealing a long stretch of dirt road not hidden by a blanket of orange and brown leaves. Loud plopping noises replaced the crackles as the mud threatened to swallow Aecha and Euron’s hooves. I had nearly forgotten it rained the night prior. Ronan had feared it would continue into the day and hinder our journey. I, meanwhile, wished it could have lasted a little longer. It would likely be the last rain before the winter, and Gods take me if I wasn’t going to enjoy it. I stayed up for what must have been hours laying on my pallet and listening to the pounding on the roof, ignoring the voices telling me I’d regret it in the morning. Though I’d have stayed awake until dawn had I known just how restless my sleep would prove.
“So,” Ronan spoke, “You remember the bloke’s name, right?”
“How could I forget; could barely eat what with your Da drilling it at supper.”
“Out with it then.”
“Davitt.”
Ronan shot me a smile, “Aye, that’s our man.”
I tried to brush a stubborn wrinkle out of my wool tunic before giving up and covering it with my cloak, hiding the light blue beneath the earthy green. “I’ve got the name and the phrase, but did your Da tell you anything else?”
Ronan shook his head, “Nah, beyond he’s an old friend of his who loves Ilindian dark ale and songs about drinking.” He didn’t mention it, but he fidgeted with the drawstring pouch that hung from his neck; the pouch which would make us quite the mark for any bandits on the road.
“Not a lot to go on.”
“Aye, but secrecy is the nature of his business. I’m sure he’ll find us… Just hope he doesn’t get impatient.”
“Aye.” I eyed the sun between the trees, where the veiled horizon threatened to swallow it. “We are running a touch late.”
“And just whose fault is that, eh?” he replied with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Oh, shut it,” I snapped back, “alas, I slept in. Holler for the sentinels.”
“C’mon Cand, just yanking your bow.” He chuckled, causing his loose-fitting tunic to ripple like a dull brown current with the slight rise and fall of his chest. A light wind whistled through the baring branches above us, filling the silence for a time before he resumed. “You were thrashing something awful when I came to wake you though. It must have been one hell of a nightmare you were having.”
“It was,” I admitted, “though I can’t recall any of it.” Not sure why I added that bit; perhaps convinced I could will it to be true if I said it enough. I worried he would press the issue, but he just nodded and looked back to the road. Trying to turn my thoughts away from my damned night terrors, my mind fell instead on a path well-trod: complaining about Ronan. Must’ve told him at least a hundred times I hated being called Cand. Would it have just killed him to say Candas? Was the second part truly so much effort? Still, preferred Cand to that name; the one he gave some four years prior, when I was thirteen, or perhaps twelve, and he fourteen. He only gave it up under serious duress about two years later. Still, I didn’t dare push him too hard on the Cand issue, lest he forget my promise for another solid kick to the stones if he again dared to call me ‘Candy’. Don’t think I could have stood another two weeks of him wincing and complaining that the shot had left him barren. “We can only hope,” I muttered to myself, mouth twitching into a smile at the memory.
“What’s that?” Ronan turned to face me.
“Nothing.” My cheeks grew warm as they betrayed my embarrassment. He would have had a time noticing though (at least, I hoped) since my light freckles often made my cheeks seem rosy. I could thank my mother for those and my straight red hair, which hung to my shoulders that day in a myriad of loose strands. All else about my face came from my father if Ma was to be believed; the slight curve in my chin, my high forehead, and my eyes. That was one detail she never failed to mention.
“As grey and sharp as fine steel,” she’d say.
This wasn’t the only steel I had inherited, but also the more literal of his sword. The baldric chose that moment to slip from my shoulder, sending the leather sheathe to press against my leg. With a sigh, I pushed the strap back up and considered, as I often did, just sticking it in the saddlebag. I’d hoped that this would stop after I punched a new hole to tighten it a bit snugger, but at the end of all it was still made for a grown man, not a young woman.
The baldric was righted, but the scabbard took an unfortunate angle that drove the guard into my thigh. For all my training with Ronan’s Da, this was the apex of the sword’s damage since I inherited it. In reflection I should’ve considered it a blessing, but couldn’t help thinking the training and my supposed skill were going to waste. True, Ronan’s Da was a challenge enough in a spar, as age hadn’t taken from him the talents he’d picked up as a mercenary, but he claimed I was a natural, as my father before me. Didn’t take this with the praise he meant though. How good could my Da have been? He was dead.
This thought snuck through my mind as I grasped at the hilt and slid it from the scabbard. The frayed leather of the grip pressed against my gloves as the black iron guard pulled further away, revealing the dull sheen of the blade. My eyes fell upon the small flecks of orange and brown rust that marked the countless nicks and scratches, to spite my efforts to care for it. I only pulled it out a short way, not even getting a quarter of the way up before a gust of wind caught in my cloak, fanning it out and exposing me to the chill of the season.
I slammed the sword back in its casing before recalling the fluttering hems, hiding myself once more in their warm embrace. “Not much farther now…” I muttered to myself.
“Weather getting to you?” Ronan replied with a mocking lilt.
“If you’re asking if I would rather be sitting by The Goblin’s fire with a warm mug than out here chilled to my marrow, then yes - very much so.”
“You and me both,” he clutched his own pale-grey cloak a little tighter. “Add a lass at my side and you are describing my Pahrras there.”
“Oh yes,” a grin crossed my lips, “like the last one... Agrette?”
Ronan’s gaze hardened. “Aylett.”
“Aye, the one who tipped a cider over your head?”
“Yep, that’d be her…” he sighed, “And cider I paid for, no less.”
“Well, fair’s fair, was kind of her to try cleaning that mop of yours, Gods know someone needed to. Just a pity she didn’t have water on hand.”
“Oh, shut it,” he snapped, though his lip curled into a smile as he ran a hand through his thick, black hair. I laughed as I met his eyes for the briefest second. They were alive with that mischievous glow they got when he smiled. I brought my attention back to the road, allowing the last few chuckles to die in my throat.
“Do you think Kallie suspects anything?” Ronan blurted out.
My brow arched at the question as I turned back to him. “Think you’d know better than me.”
He shook his head with a mocking smile. “Cause I’m her brother? Nah, she shares nothing with me, lest it’s a jab. You and her are mates, I’m sure she tells you things she wouldn’t me.”
“Only cause she doesn’t want you flinging it back at her. She doesn’t always appreciate your… well, let’s call it wit.”
“You mean she doesn’t enjoy a good, well timed and poignant quip?”
“She doesn’t enjoy you being a wise-arse, no.”
“See though, that’s what I mean, she’d never tell me that.”
“Only because she knows you’d see it as encouragement.”
Ronan’s eyes grew yet larger as he feigned indignation. “What, never!” He gave a chuckle though his face fell. “Admit, perhaps I’ve been hard on her. Wonder if she’ll ever miss her ol’ wise-arse brother when all’s said and done.”
He turned back to the road, taking on a vacant expression. I left him to his thoughts and retreated in turn to my own. Kallie hadn’t confided in me, but still I knew something was off: she seemed quieter than her usual the past few days. I shook my head; surely, there were a hundred explanations. Surely, it didn’t mean she suspected.
The trees on the side of the path had been thinning for a while, but their abrupt disappearance not far ahead told me we had finally cleared the woods. In the distance, across a small canopied bridge which crossed the Lilany River, sat the town of Yrenna. Thatched roofs of around twenty buildings visible through a light haze of mist marked our destination at about a quarter mile away. The largest of these belched a plume of smoke that scarred the darkening sky through a narrow chimney.
“Sing for the Gods; they’ve got a fire going,” I said.
“I’ll save my songs til’ I find a spot by it.” Ronan said as we entered the final stretch.
“After we talk to Davitt.”
“Really know how to suck the excitement from the moment, don’t you?”
Gazing at the long expanse of straight, clear road ahead, an idea crossed my mind. A childish one. “Race ya.”
Ronan shot me a smile, “You’re on - last one across the bridge buys the first round.”
“Aye,” I set my gaze on the path ahead. “Must warn you though, I’ve been meaning to sample their Roshen vintage.”
I didn’t wait for his reply, but kicked Aecha to life, bobbing up and down in the saddle with my cloak fanning out behind me like a mossy stream as she charged down the road. The wind slammed at my face as she galloped, stinging my cheeks and making my eyes water. Over the rush of air I heard Ronan pleading Euron to speed. That wine was good as mine.
Just wanting to be sure, I leaned into Aecha’s mane, pressing my face into the black hairs that lined her neck and urging her faster. She didn’t rest until after we crossed the bridge, planks creaking a touch too loud for comfort as she galloped across. I turned to find Ronan hadn’t even reached the first plank. “Thanks girl,” I said with gentle pat on the side of her muzzle. She snorted, which the years of riding her had taught me meant something akin to, ‘you’re welcome, just don’t make me do it again.’
A few seconds later Ronan finally caught up, pulling his mount to a skidding stop beside me, black locks bouncing to the last step. “You cheated!”
“How so? I made no rules to break. You set the only one, and by that, you owe me a drink.”
“Bah, it was over from the word go anyway - which you didn’t give, mind. You’re already smaller, plus y’know that ol’ Euron can’t go as fast as Aecha,” he gave a pat to the horse’s flank.
“It’s the bad rider who blames his mount.”
He rolled his eyes, “I’d offer a retort, but I’m parched and chilled. Let’s get inside, we’ll figure out who owes who what by the fire with drinks.”
“After we...”
“Talk to Davitt.”
The town was neither large nor important enough to demand proper walls, but still two guardsmen halted our approach at the southern gap in the palisade.
“Halt,” the stouter of the two men called out, raising his arm with a light tinkle of ill-fitted mail.
“Good evening to you as well,” Ronan flashed a toothy grin.
The catchpole shifted the pike couched against his right shoulder in what he likely thought was a menacing way. “What business have you in Yrena?”
“No business, only looking to patronize your fine inn.”
“How long’ll you be staying?” The other interjected.
“Just the night.”
The taller looked to me. “I see your companion has a sword. Anything else to declare?”