The Paladins of Naretia

Chapter 3

  "Honestly, Ol?rin, do I really have to go?" Aramus asked.

  "Yes," Ol?rin replied, his enthusiasm lifting his legs higher than they would normally go.

  "You could just go yourself, you know. I don't mind finding my own food and staying around the outskirts of the town, like I normally do."

  "What would be the fun in that? Come on, Aramus. Some of the most wonderful things in life happen with a pint of ale in your hand."

  "Need I remind you, old man, that ale has no effect on me?"

  "Bah!" Ol?rin replied, batting his hand in Aramus's direction. "You just haven't drunk enough, that's all. Come. Let us try an experiment and see if we can't get you drunk tonight. Eh?"

  "And the wings?" Aramus said, gesturing toward his back.

  "Ah, I nearly forgot," Ol?rin replied, slapping his hand on his forehead. "Here."

  He took off his droopy hat and pulled out a black cloak, which shouldn't have fitted, from inside. Aramus took the cloak and looked questioningly at Ol?rin's hat. Up until recently, Ol?rin had been content to live with the young man in a small hut many miles from Lothangard, and out of the way of prying eyes. They had only ever ventured into the public as needed. With all his comforts so close at hand, he had never had any need to use his hat in Aramus's presence before this. But Aramus was nearing the time when a prophecy would come to pass. With little or no change in his demeanour, Ol?rin couldn't leave anything to chance. It had become apparent that they must embark on the perilous journey he had tried so hard to avoid. It also meant that Ol?rin must remove the veil of normalcy he had tried to give Aramus.

  "What?" Ol?rin said, shrugging his shoulders. "There has to be some perks to being a wizard, right? I shouldn't tell you this, but I also have a cauldron, some books, potions, spare clothes, and, amongst other things, a chicken in there."

  "A chicken?"

  "Why not?"

  Aramus rolled his eyes and threw the cloak carefully over his wings. He covered his head with the moth eaten hood, and Ol?rin nodded in satisfaction.

  "Just keep the hood down low and no one will see your eyes," he said to Aramus.

  "I hate wearing this thing," Aramus huffed.

  Ol?rin knew only too well and waited for Aramus's shoulders to slump under the memories that should have haunted him. 'Be strong, my young friend,' Ol?rin thought. 'It will all be worth it in the end.' But Aramus's shoulders remained as square as ever.

  They strolled down the narrow, hilly streets of the small mountain village of Tasadia. The townsfolk were mostly Mountainmen now. It seemed to Ol?rin that the higher they climbed into the mountain communities, the more Mountainmen they saw. The tall, wide people, all with fair hair, green eyes, and adorned in thick fur coats, gave them peculiar looks as they passed by. Ol?rin suspected that the sight of an old man and a hunch back, who cowered away from bright streetlights, might have seemed quite an odd couple to them.

  "Evening," Ol?rin said, dipping his brim toward a pair of ogling ladies.

  Mountainmen were commonly twice as tall as a regular man, and the origin of their size had been lost through time. It was believed that they were either the bastard children of man and fabled giants, or demi-gods gifted their size by some old world deity. Either way, a love of alcohol was also a well-known trait of the Mountainmen. If it weren't for their love of ale, which saw them become jovial and melodic, Ol?rin was sure they could have easily conquered the kingdom of Naretia. Thankfully for the kingdom, they had never shown any interest in defeating anything but a tankard.

  The village sparkled with the frosty jacket it wore and Ol?rin was relieved that the wind had finally died down. His thick cloak and fur boots were sodden, and the cold mountain air had crept into them, trying to remove his toes. Frost bite would have been a certainty if the squall hadn't weakened. Ol?rin stared longingly into the warm glowing living rooms of the oversized cottages that lined the hilly streets.

  "Tell me again, old man, why have you never found yourself a woman and settled down?" Armaus asked.

  "Psht, too busy, far too grumpy and finicky for the delicate creatures that are women. I mean, could you imagine some poor lady having to deal with the likes of me?"

  Ol?rin hocked noisily and spat half way across the street to emphasise his point. Seeing a glint of disbelief in Aramus's eyes, he proceeded to scratch his rear end and complain about the parasites that might be living there.

  "Hmm," Aramus replied, sounding unconvinced.

  "Anyway, I'm too old now to consider such things. But you on the other hand, you're at the right age to find a young lady friend," Ol?rin said, jabbing Aramus in the ribs. "How about we try and find you someone tonight, eh? In a mountaintop village like this, there is bound to be a surplus of girls needing husbands."

  "Old man, don't you dare," Aramus said. "You know as well as I do that no woman would have me. I'm a freak, a bad omen, as evident by the cloak I have to wear just to walk amongst them. Better we just keep our heads down, get some food, and then be on our way."

  Ol?rin was disappointed. If there was anything that could make his quest easier, it was if Aramus could find true love. Such a thing had a powerful magic all of its own and it was always good. Ol?rin had witnessed its lure turn a village lout into a hero, and Aramus so desperately needed to change, even if he didn't realise it. He sighed with deep-seated resignation because the young man was right, of course. Most women would have opted for an old wizard, rather than a strange creature like Aramus. It was unfair, but it was the truth.

  "Very well," said Ol?rin.

  The two walked in silence and soon the streets opened up into the large town square. Brightly decorated carts filled with food, clothes, wine, toys, weapons, and a multitude of strange items Ol?rin recognised from his youth, crammed every square inch of the quadrangle. The air was heavy with the smell of pan fried nuts, freshly brewed ale, and smoked curiosities. More than the smells, voices boomed, one louder than the other, with the names of the different products for sale.

  "Oh look," Ol?rin squeaked with delight, quite by accident. "It's Winter Fest, the Mountainmen's celebration of the end of winter's end. I hadn't realised so many months had passed. Come, Aramus, come and see the delights of such a wondrous event."

  "Ol?rin, I can't. It's too bright, there are too many people."

  Ol?rin ignored Aramus and trotted toward the coloured stands, instantly lost in the red, gold, and orange silks that floated in the gentle wind. He gazed over the mottled stalls, and sniffed in deeply the scents that he remembered only too well. The smell of caramelised nuts conjured recollections of his days as an apprentice wizard. Dried fish on a stick brought back the memories of he and his friends quelling the potent maladies of ale by eating a variety of food on a stick. Ol?rin laughed as he remembered accepting the challenge of eating a fried rabbit gonads on a stick once.

  "Do you know? "

  Ol?rin was about to tell Aramus about the surprisingly sumptuous taste of fried "Ruts", as he had so donned them, when he realised that Aramus was no longer behind him. Craning his neck over the tall Mountainmen, Ol?rin spotted Aramus hiding in the shadows beyond the reach of the bright street lights. If he hadn't have known to look for him, the young man would have been invisible.

  "Aramus, coo-wee, over here. Yes that's right over here. Come, don't hide in the shadows, my friend, not when there is so many wondrous things to see."

  The crowd between Ol?rin and Aramus took bewildered glances at the two. The young man put his head in his hands and shook it. 'Oh, perhaps not quite so loud next time,' thought Ol?rin. Regardless of the embarrassment, or perhaps to save himself some more, Aramus reluctantly joined Ol?rin in the busy market.

  "Look at these," Ol?rin said, pointing at the menagerie of products lining the streets. "Why, it's been more than a hundred and sixty years since I've hand the pleasure of tasting pickled snails. And look, stuffed barbequed apples, how wonderful."

  "Dare I ask what they're stuffed with?" Aramus asked sulkily.


  "Pig snout of course!"

  "Of course, why wouldn't they be?"

  Ol?rin noted the tone of distaste in Aramus's voice and scoffed at his limited palate.

  "Two dozen snails and a stuffed apple please," he said to the jolly looking Mountainman behind the stalls. "Oh, and if you have any beetle candy I'll have a packet of those too. You know, Aramus, I've always wondered how they get the snout into the apple. There never appears to be any damage to the skin of the fruit and yet, they have assured me, every time I asked, that it's not done through magic."

  Aramus didn't respond.

  "Five shekels for de lot," the rosy-cheeked Mountainman said, leaning close to Ol?rin with an unsteady gait, a fatuous grin, and an overpowering whiff of ale coming from his breath.

  Ol?rin tossed the oversized man five silver coins and collected his brown paper bag with a satisfied sigh. He stuck his nose into the produce and inhaled as though the smell alone could sustain him.

  "Ah, now that brings back memories," he said, handing Aramus a stuffed apple.

  Aramus refused, all the while glancing nervously at the pressing crowd. A few green eyes returned Aramus's wary look. He was careful to keep his hood lowered and his back away from prying hands.

  "Come," said Ol?rin gently. "If I remember correctly there is a little tavern near here called, The Monkey's Nuts. Fantastic food and even better ale, quiet too and out of the way. What say we have a drink or three there, you know, to warm the old bones?"

  "I'd say that sounds like a good idea," Aramus replied with a hint of relief in his voice.

  The two companions left the bustling market and made their way down narrow winding streets, lined with more oversized cottages. The smell of smoke wafting from the chimney stacks, mixed with the crisp mountain air, brought a smile to Ol?rin's lips and a warm feeling in his heart. 'How long has it been since I celebrated Winter's Fest?'

  Ol?rin had always loved the Mountainmen's winter festival. In his youth he used to travel here every season with his Mountainman wizard friend, Gustoff. Whilst the rest of the kingdom wallowed in the cold and damp, locking themselves away in a hibernation, Ol?rin found warmth in the high mountain settlements. There was never a door shut in his face, nor was his tankard ever left empty. Perfect strangers would hug him and invite him back for a hearty meal. For to know the Mountainmen was to truly know family. It was for that very reason that not many Mountainmen took up the call of wizardry when it came. They preferred the simple life instead, unlike the human or dwarf wizards, of which there were many.

  But that was over two centuries ago now, and Gustoff had not lived the long life Ol?rin had. He had been one of only a few wizards to answer the Mountainmen's call for help in the genocide that was perpetrated by the ogres some one hundred and fifty years ago. With the aid of a wizard, turned by the alluring powers of Dantet, the ogre's had emerged from the world below.

  But living in this world was not a natural thing for ogres. Without the heavy hand of Dantet culling their population, their numbers grew too large to hide in the darkened city streets. The mountain offered them a new home where they could flourish. But they were ferocious neighbours, and the fever of bloodthirst infected a large portion of them.

  Hunting in packs, they came upon the Mountainmen settlements and sent word back to their leaders about a new abundance of food. Although the mighty Mountainmen had put an end to the war, their population had been cut in half by the end of it. Since then, they had become more cautious about inviting strangers into their homes, especially if they were wizards. Now, instead of open doors and warm smiles, the only movement from the houses was the twitch of an off-white curtain as the two strangers walked by. The war happened a long time ago and the reasons for their stiltedness had been lost through the ages by most, but not by everyone. Wizards were not welcomed anymore, not since they decapitated the dark wizard responsible for their losses.

  Ol?rin didn't expect anything less. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't feel the weight of guilt for pursuing his quest instead of aiding his friend. But obsession had blinded him, and most of the wizard caste, to anything other than the prophecy. It was that regret which made his steps feel heavy in a place he used to call his second home.

  They rounded a sharp corner and Ol?rin stopped short.

  "Ah, good, it's still here," he said. "The Monkey's Nuts."

  The two story thatched building looked as though it had been through a few fires in its time. The straw roof was tattered and bare in spots, while the once white walls were caked in soot. Red shutters dangled precariously from their hinges, missing slats, and in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Ol?rin didn't remember it looking quite so shabby, but then again, it had been a long time.

  "You sure this is a tavern?" said Aramus.

  "Never judge a dwarf by his height, Aramus. Some things might just surprise you."

  Aramus gave a snort and wrinkled his hooked nose at the building. Ol?rin had to admit that he probably would have had the same reaction if he was introduced to the pub in its current condition. Regardless of the tavern's appearance, however, Ol?rin heard the cheerful sounds of men singing and tankards colliding from inside, and that was enough for him.

  He pushed the timeworn, wooden door open and smiled. Inside, the tavern hadn't changed a bit. Sawdust still covered the grey slate floors, large tables with even larger benches lined the yellow walls, and a great fire burned inside an enormous hearth against the far wall. Tall Mountainmen lined the circular bar in the centre of the room, their heads nearly reaching the wooden rafters. They paid no heed as the two strange men entered, too busy besting each other in arm wrestling matches or drinking games.

  The tavern was busy, but Ol?rin saw his usual table set off to the back and made a beeline for it. Just like he remembered, this table was the only one made specifically for the smaller derrieres of non-Mountainmen folk and, as such, was all but useless to the usual clientele.

  "Sit," he ordered Aramus, who dutifully followed his directions.

  Aramus kept his back to the wall and his hooded eyes to the crowd. He shifted nervously in his stool and pulled the hood down further. Ol?rin felt a pang of pity for his young companion. 'To always have to be so guarded.'

  "Vot vill it be?" a female voice interrupted his thoughts.

  A large woman with thick, blonde hair tied up in a two haphazard buns on the sides of her head, tapped her large foot as she waited. She was young and pretty, maybe a little older than Aramus, but at least a half size taller than him. She wore the traditional Mountainwoman brown skirt and white shirt with intricate embroidery throughout. She threw side-ways glances in Aramus's direction, more out of interest than caution.

  "Two pints of ale for me and my deformed friend here," Ol?rin said loudly enough for everyone to hear.

  A sudden pain shot through Ol?rin's leg.

  "Stop drawing attention to it, will you?" Aramus hissed under his breath.

  The young Mountainwoman paid no heed to their dispute and disappeared through the crowds of large men toward the bar. Ol?rin rubbed his leg before resting his hat and his staff on a chair beside him.

  "Aramus, if other people's curiosity makes you uncomfortable, then the best way to end that curiosity is to point out the answer. People lose interest once the mystery is no longer a mystery."

  Aramus huffed and pulled his cloak around him further. Ol?rin ignored his friends discomfort and turned his attention to the young waitress instead. She returned with two enormous tankards of ale and banged them down on their table unceremoniously, before taking another quick look at Aramus and leaving. Although the cups would have fitted nicely into the large hands of any Mountainman, Ol?rin and Aramus both had to use two hands to lift the brews.

  Fuelled by three large ales, copious amounts of beetle candy, and the homely feel of the tavern, it wasn't long before Ol?rin found himself waving his half empty tankard in the air and jovially singing along to one of the Mountainmen's
songs, occasionally throwing some stuffed apple into his hat to feed the chicken.

  "Oh, on de tide of scarrabee,

  De God, Krut, came from de sea,

  He loved de Mountainmen young and old,

  And gave them gifts dat were not gold.

  "Take my strength, and my might,

  Take my two green eyes for your sight,

  Dese were de words he had spoke,

  To de mighty Mountainmen folk,"

  "Come, Aramus, sing with me," he said, elbowing Aramus in the ribs.

  Despite having had four tankards of ale, Aramus remained unperturbed. Neither the ale, nor the bonhomie of the tavern, seemed to move him. Ol?rin sighed and turned to his young companion.

  "Couldn't you at least try to have some fun?"

  "I cannot be anything other than what I am, Ol?rin," he said flatly.

  Ol?rin was caught by his words. He felt a lump in his throat and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 'But you must, my friend, the future of Naretia may depend on it.' The sinking feeling deepened and Ol?rin felt a coldness edge in around him. His head swayed and his vision blurred. It was not dread or ale that was making him feel so ill.

  "Oh, no," he whispered. "Not now."

  Ol?rin felt himself slump forward onto the table and, as the world disappeared around him, he heard the distinct noise of his tankard crashing to the floor.

  "Old man, snap out of it. Not here. They'll realise you're a wizard and who knows what they'll do to you," he heard Aramus whisper in his ear. "Oh for the love of the Goddess Edwina, at least close your eyes, they've turned all white again."

  Ol?rin felt a hand slide over his eyes, and then he was surrounded by darkness. But in that darkness he could still see a silvery outline of the place he had just left. He watched as he floated above his body, which Aramus had propped up against a nearby pillar, and above the heads of the unsuspecting patrons of the Tavern.

  "Is your friend okay?" the Mountainwoman asked as she came to collect the fallen tankard.

  "Yes, yes, he's fine," Aramus lied. "Just too much ale, that's all."

  "Hmm," the young woman said looking at the pair. "I suppose Mountainman ale is a bit strong for you little folk. But you seem to be okay. You must have de strong stomach."

  "I guess so," Aramus said, looking at his empty cup.

  "I like a man vith de strong stomach," said the waitress, leaning over suggestively and picking up Aramus's tankard. "How about I get you anoder vun?"

  Ol?rin's vision from above their table, drifted off with the sound of Aramus stuttering nervously. The tavern disappeared in a mist of swirling silver lines, and Ol?rin found himself outside the front door again. The frost glistened in his vision under the moonlight, like a painting made entirely out of diamonds. He felt no coldness anymore.

  Hollowed out silvery Mountainmen walked by, and even through him, unaware that he was there. The street lamps shone a dazzling light on carts as they ambled past, and the sounds of hooves clopping seemed distant.

  Without warning, Ol?rin fell beneath the earth. Although he was surrounded on all sides by the dark soil, he could still see beyond it. His vision painted a silvery outline of something small burrowing its way underground, like some artist had drawn a moving picture on a black canvas. The creature came closer and closer. It wasn't long before Ol?rin knew what it was, and the sight made his heart pound fiercely in his chest.

  "So, ver are you two from?" the waitress's voice cooed.

  "Look, you seem like a nice girl, but really, I'm not right for you," Aramus said uneasily.

  Ol?rin was only half aware that he was back in his body. Coupled with the copious amounts of ale he had drunk, he found it hard to snap back into reality. His limbs were heavy and his head, too dizzy to allow him to speak.

  "I tink dat I should be de judge of dat," she said.

  Ol?rin opened his eyes to the sight of the young waitress sitting at the table beside Aramus. She leaned over, and gently pulled his hood down behind him.

  "No, wait?" Aramus said, raising a hand, but not stopping her.

  Aramus closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. 'Don't be repulsed, don't be repulsed,' Ol?rin thought over and over hopefully. The young woman took Aramus's chin in her hand and raised his head up to look at her. He opened his eyes, and for a moment, Ol?rin saw the hope he had so longed to see there.

  And then it happened.

  "Dantet!" she whispered at first, her eyes and mouth opened wide.

  She snatched back her hand like Aramus's face had burned her and got up from her seat, backing fearfully into the crowd.

  "DANTET!" she roared to the patrons of the tavern. "HE HAS DANTET'S EYES."

  Aramus remained stoic. His shoulders didn't slump, his eyebrows didn't furrow. In fact, he remained more emotionless then Ol?rin had ever seen him before, and Ol?rin knew that that wasn't a good sign.

  The patrons turned to look at the person the waitress had screamed about, and each of them mimicked her fearful expression. Some of them backed away, other's put down their ales and reached for their swords. The remaining few just stared open-mouthed at the young stranger with slatted amber eyes. It was only then that Ol?rin's groggy mind reminded him of the vision he had just had.

  "We must leave," Ol?rin croaked.

  "Whatever gave you that impression?" Aramus said, throwing his cloak off and flexing his large black wings to a startled crowd. He reached out a hand to Ol?rin and helped him onto unsteady feet. "Yes, that's right take a good long look," Aramus spat at the crowd. "Why don't you all run home and grab your pitchforks and torches? That's what you want to do, isn't it? Well, go on then."

  "Aramus, we must leave, now," Ol?rin said more forcefully.

  "They're not going to do anything, old man, too worried about the wrath of Dantet, aren't you? I pity all of you, you know, letting superstition dictate your thoughts and actions. Pathetic!"

  "ARAMUS!" Ol?rin boomed, silencing the whispers that were flittering around the tavern. He grabbed hold of Aramus's black leather tunic and pulled him closer. "We have to go now. One of the queen's molemen is making their way here as we speak."

  "You saw it in your vision?"

  "Yes. Forget the Mountainmen. Pick me up and fly away from here as fast as your young wings can carry us. Do you hear, Aramus?" he said, grabbing for his staff and hat.

  Without needing another word, Aramus scooped Ol?rin into his arms and burst out of the Tavern in a torrent of flapping wings. Ol?rin knew that if he asked Aramus to take to the air with him, the gravity of the situation would be clear.

  Turning his head back toward the tavern as it disappeared out of sight, Ol?rin spied a mound of soil erupt from under the cobble stone in front of the door. A small, furry ball emerged from the mud. But before it could get a good look at which direction they were headed in, Ol?rin pointed his staff toward the ground.

  "IGNEOUS!" he shouted.

  A sliver light snaked from his hand, down the twisted wooden knolls of his staff, until it gathered at the burl like streaks of lightning chasing each other. The deadly sphere pulsated and shot toward the mound, its sound tearing through the air as if it were fabric. Ol?rin wasn't sure if he hit the moleman with enough force to stun him. Regardless of its capacity to remain upright, he was sure it wouldn't be able to follow them at the very least.