Chapter Eleven: An Ancient Tale Begins
Tranith Argan: Book 1
The assassins were dead, and Brookhollow was astir. Now, a few months after Felanar’s encounter with the dragon, things are quiet in Brindledown. Not for long.
Kara walked from the main room to Felanar’s bedroom to see what her brother was doing. It was a quiet winter evening, one of many mild nights so far that season. Chafrar and Sera were making a rare visit to the Slumbering Dragon, and since Alak had recently moved to his new home Felanar and Kara were alone. Felanar had been quiet for some time, and Kara, wishing for some company, had put down her book and gone to see her brother.
As his sister entered the room, Felanar looked up from his book, which Kara saw was one of the old books of elven legends they had pored over as children. Little had they realized how valuable those books would prove to be. After their visits to Elaria, they had eagerly re-read them and had committed to memory as much of the lore as they could, skipping the parts that they now knew were simply legend. The rest they viewed as practical and worth knowing.
“What are you studying?” she asked him quietly, her dark brown eyes reflecting the light of the candle on the table.
“Music theory of the elves. They get so elaborate in their musical compositions.” He looked at the desk and at the horn that Alessa had given him so long ago. Neither he nor Kara had ever used their horns but had treasured them and often fingered the carvings and inscriptions. Kara, seeing his look, smiled.
“Alessa was always proud of you for your skills in learning their ways. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Kara, I got that idea from time to time. I think, though, I will never be as skilled as she.”
“I should hope not, for our lifetimes are considerably shorter, and if you could surpass her skills it would speak ill of her diligence. Yet even so I saw pride in her eyes the last time we visited and you were speaking with Tassair. She could see that you really do practice. It brings her pleasure to see someone take such an interest in their ways; I could tell. Most people take little notice of the elves, and most elves take little notice of people, other than to stay out of their way.”
“Yes,” said Felanar, “I’ve thought the same. They are an isolated people and at times seem to just fade into nature.”
“Exactly what I mean,” Kara continued. “Faded is a good word to describe them, almost an echo of a former glory. I think that is what frustrates Alessa, and why she was so happy to meet someone who took an interest in elven ways. She wants to reach out to others, I think, and was touched at your interest in them.”
“You touched her too, you know. She told me once that you surpass my own skills in more than one area. She was proud of you, too, and she likes you as a friend.”
As she said this, they heard a knock at the door and brother and sister looked at each other with curiosity. It was the middle of the evening and they expected no one. Furthermore they had heard no horse approaching. Felanar walked over to the front door and opened it. To his surprise, Ravesfel was standing there in the night air.
“Ravesfel! I would never have guessed. Come in, my friend, come in out of the night.”
The old man entered the room and sat down by the fire. He removed his dark brown cloak and gratefully accepted the drink Kara offered. He look worried, his wrinkles showing more prominently than Felanar had ever seen. Granted, seven years had passed since he had last laid eyes on him, yet he had never seemed to show the effects of old age before. Until this night. In the light of the fire, Felanar thought he looked older than he could ever have imagined.
“Ah, thank you, Kara,” he said with a quick smile at her as he took the cup from her hand. He took a sip of the hot drink and closed his eyes as he savored the flavor. Felanar looked at him with anticipation and finally said, “It’s so good to see you. I was wondering if I would ever see you again.”
A thought crossed Kara’s mind. “Are you finally taking him to serve the Regent?” Her eyes were fixed on Ravesfel as her face betrayed her mixture of apprehension and pride. She had long anticipated the day when her older brother would disappear to Tranith Argan, and she well remembered her old vow to join him there. How this would happen was another matter, but in her heart she suspected that the day he left to serve the Regent would be the day she lost her best friend.
Ravesfel opened his eyes and looked at Kara kindly. He had grown fond of the girl over the years, especially the way she had devoted herself to the training. With no encouragement from Bren, she had kept up every step of the way and excelled at everything taught.
“Do not fear, Kara. You will not lose your brother at this time, nor ever, I would guess. That is not my purpose in calling, nor the reason for my agitation. In truth, and I think the time has come for you both to learn the truth, Felanar was never to serve the Regent. So do not worry about his being called off to service as some underling to do the Regent’s bidding.”
Kara gave a quick glance at the surprised Felanar. Much more than surprise, though, he felt disappointment. Were all his dreams to come to naught? Was he never to get out of this village? He said to Ravesfel, “I’m not to serve the Regent? Then what was the purpose of my training? What do you mean about learning the truth?” His eyes widened as he waited for what he assumed was bad news.
Ravesfel didn’t answer immediately but stared into the fire. The flames made light flicker and dart on his face. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the logs and a slight breeze from outside the windows. Ravesfel closed his eyes and frowned.
“What’s wrong, Ravesfel?” asked Kara. “Are you all right?” She walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Please Ravesfel, you are our friend and we are yours. We trust you. Trust us and tell us what is on your mind. You seem so concerned and not at all yourself. I am worried seeing you like this.”
The old man turned his head to face Kara. He stared at her as if searching for something. Kara stared back, looking into his timeless eyes. What was he searching for, she wondered. He stared with unblinking eyes until finally she felt intensely uncomfortable. The old man slowly turned to face Felanar and began to speak in a low and steady voice.
“Did news from Brookhollow reach you in the past month or so? Are the villagers talking about the spies that were caught?”
“Yes, I heard about it at the inn one night,” said Felanar, wondering what this had to do with his serving the Regent. “It seemed an odd account, but the regulars at the Slumbering Dragon seemed to take it as a great victory, though I failed to see how a crowd of thirty men slaying a small group of spies proved much of anything besides there being power in numbers.”
Ravesfel’s face brightened momentarily as he chuckled to himself. “Small-minded villagers love to exaggerate their tales. I suppose in a year it will be up to fifty men surrounding the spies, with every able-bodied man in Brookhollow claiming the kill.”
He now turned serious. “But it’s a lie, Felanar. I’m used to the folks in this region and their ways. Brookhollow and Brindledown men pride themselves on being ready to defend their villages. I don’t doubt that they really did rise up against those spies. Westerners are not welcome in most eastern lands, but among small town folks they are especially viewed with suspicion. Even so, Felanar, something did not make sense.
“I first heard the story up in Tranith Argan about four weeks ago, shortly after it happened. Some city merchants were returning with some goods from down south, and I overheard some outlandish tale being told among them. I stopped them and asked what they had heard, for in truth I don’t like the sound of western spies. There is constant tension between our two lands, and it’s good to pay attention to any rumor concerning their plans. So I asked these merchants what they had heard and where they had heard it. That seemed to make them nervous, what with the guardian asking them hard questions and all, but they told me what they had heard. They told a tale of a whole band from Brookhollow fighting off a band of thieves and spies from the west, or some such nonsense. If true, this would be incredible. What would westerners want with Brookhollow? What would a band of spies be doing in the Low country? The merchants had no answers other than what some drunks in a pub had told them.
“This news, rumor or not, unsettled me. Things have been quiet in recent years, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s just a lull before the outburst. I spent a week or two mulling over the news. Should I take the word of some drunken villagers, as relayed by some merchants, seriously? At first I felt foolish for wanting to follow this up, but finally it seemed foolish not to. What if there was a kernel of truth in the story? What might it mean?”
Felanar and Kara sat and watched the old man with great interest. It was rare that he talked this much and they didn’t want to interrupt this moment. They did wonder what all this had to do with Felanar, however, and Ravesfel seemed to sense their puzzlement.
“Yes, yes, I know, ask an old man a question and you get a rambling story.”
Felanar and Kara reassured him that they were interested in what he was saying, even as they blushed at his words. He had, as ever, been astute.
“I promise you, what I have to say will be of utmost interest to you. Be patient for there is much to say and I want to say it right. Now, where was I? Ah yes, the stories of drunken villagers. So finally I set off from Tranith Argan not two weeks ago. I wasn’t traveling in haste (though now I wish I had been) for it still seemed like a waste of time. It wasn’t until six days ago that I reached Brookhollow. I soon found the source of the tale and interviewed the proprietor of the Hound & Hare. He knows me from my travels and is a good man. I don’t think he feels completely comfortable with me, and it showed at first. But I finally got him to tell me the details.
“’Come’, I said, ‘do you really expect me to believe that a whole band of spies were crawling around Brookhollow? This is Ravesfel you are speaking with, not some fool in the corner of the common room for you to impress with a story.’”
“’Well’, the proprietor responded, ‘It may all be in how you define a band, I reckon. If they are dangerous enough, two would qualify, wouldn’t they?’”
“He seemed to be getting defensive about his story, no doubt because he had been using it to pack customers into his little establishment each night by telling it. We talked a little while longer, and I finally got about as straight an answer from him as I was likely to get, though he wanted me to swear not to tell anyone in the village this version of his story.
“He said it was just the two men, Felanar, and they appeared to be travelers. It wasn’t until their accents gave them away that they were viewed with suspicion. He seemed proud of the way he uncovered the spies and how that drove them off. Well a crowd did form after them, to be sure, though it was probably more like a half-dozen or a dozen men at most, mostly the regulars of the inn and the stable boy. They had the advantage on the two spies, for they knew the nearby woods better. It seems they had them surrounded, though what they were going to do with them when they caught them is a question they probably couldn’t answer even now. It’s probably a good thing they didn’t catch them or blood would have been shed, undoubtedly on both sides.”
“What do you mean they didn’t catch them?” asked Kara. “We heard they had been caught. You mean they really got away and the story we heard was made up?"
“No, Kara, that isn’t what I mean. The spies were caught, all right, but they did the catching themselves. The innkeeper was loath to admit it, but after I threatened him he confessed and told me, in very hushed tones, the truth of the matter at last. They surrounded the men, it was true, but they never had a chance to do anything for they found the two of them already dead. They killed themselves before they could be caught. One had been stabbed by the other, and then that one took poison.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Kara.
“A very good question, my dear girl, and one that I asked myself. Why would two western spies do that? What fear would have driven them to choose death over capture? The autarch of the Tri-Cities of Shakaart is a shrewd and cunning fellow, but he is not evil. Spies for him do not fear him, although they respect and honor him. For all his stern nature, he is not a cruel man. No, something wasn’t right so I asked to see the bodies. They had been hastily buried in the forest, but I was able to dig them up. Their bodies were in bad shape by this time, but their clothes were recognizable, and I found their weapons. I also found the vial of poison that the one had taken. To an untrained eye, there was nothing remarkable about their appearance. They seemed like travelers to all, and it was only their accents that had given them away.
“Ah, but to a trained eye, there was more to the tale. These were not men from the west. Oh, yes, their accents showed that was their origin, but they were not spies of the autarch. Their clothing was wrong, and their weapons especially were wrong. The westerners use a curved blade or a scimitar. It is the mark of the autarch. No, these men had a curious sort of blade. Double-edged, with intricate inscriptions on the handle and with the emblem of a dragon. These men never expected to display their weapons to others, but now that I examined them in the plain light their appearance told me everything. These men came from Shanaar!”
Both Felanar and Kara started when they heard this. Kara asked incredulously, “They were sent by Vélakk?!”
Ravesfel looked at her sharply. They heard the wind swirling around outside and the fire was growing low. His eyes seemed even older now, and he seemed to sink into his chair.
“It pains me to hear that name spoken by one with a voice so pure, Kara. It is a shame that the people of Brindledown even know of the name, but yes, that was the origin of the spies. That, at least, explained the actions of the men. Others have chosen death rather than face the wrath of their master after a failed mission. He rules with fear, and his cruelty is unsurpassed. One can almost understand the choice made by those men.
“Yet one mystery remained. What was their mission? The story told me was that they were looking for distant relatives. The villagers didn’t believe that, and neither did I. As I said, however, out of strange stories can be found the kernels of truth. Clearly they were looking for someone.
“Then I had a piece of luck. A band of Findára sought me out on the outskirts of Brookhollow. They had observed my presence in the forest, and when the Brookhollow men returned to the village the elves slipped out from among the trees. I did not know them personally, but they knew me. More important, they knew what the spies were seeking. They had overheard them talking before they entered Brookhollow. Even men trying to be quiet sound loud to elven ears. As these men walked along the road toward the village, the elves heard them talking. What they heard they now relayed to me, and what they said confirmed a suspicion that had been growing in me. It was a suspicion that chilled my heart.”
Ravesfel looked intently at Felanar in the light of the fireplace, slowly raised his right arm, and pointed a finger at the young man.
“The truth is they were looking for you."