Vengeance Blooms Page 5

  She lay back on her rucksack, watching as Wezlan Magicked a fire onto a mound of sticks he had gathered. “Wezlan, back in Woodrandia, Erania said the tree had connected with me. That it could sense a purpose in me. What do you think she meant?”

  The old man heaved himself onto a fallen log and eyed her off. “There is Magicka all around us, Ashalea. It is in the very air we breathe, the soil we walk on, the trees and plants of this forest. Magicka is the foundation of life, but only those born with the ability to wield it can sense its power. There are deep wells of this Magicka that reside in places across Everosia. In Woodrandia, it is the great oak, in the Moonglade Meadows, it is the very hill itself. In the Aquafarian Province, it is in the lake and at the Academy.”

  She raised herself up on an elbow. “The Academy?”

  “At Renlock, where mages are educated on the uses of Magicka and train to master their abilities. It was built over a well of energy many years ago and is the first and only house of Magicka arts for all races— the perfect place to practice in peace. Those who live there would protect it with their lives.”

  “And you trained there?”

  Wezlan nodded. “The Divine Six were its council leaders. Renlock was everything to us. But when the darkness came, everything changed.”

  “He seems to have that effect on people,” Ashalea grumbled. “So, where did these Magicka wells come from?”

  “They are gifts from the Gods and Goddesses. Some say that they are spirits; here to guide Everosia’s people to their destiny.”

  Ashalea frowned. “But the tree didn’t speak to me. I willed it to guide me, to give me answers, but it stayed silent.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t ready for what it had to say, Ashalea.”

  She fumed in silence. Why couldn’t anything be simple? Why wouldn’t anyone ever give her answers? And now a stupid tree sought to keep secrets too. She thought of it humming in laughter and it made her even more frustrated. Ashalea scowled for a long time, and Wezlan chuckled at her efforts. She rolled over and fell asleep soon after, exhausted and angry at the world.

  ◆◆◆

  With the horses in tow, Ashalea and Wezlan picked their way through the woods at a comfortable pace. Ashalea took note of her surroundings for what could be the last time in many months. Despite the eternal Autumn in Woodrandia, it was spring, and birds chirped merrily as they darted around. The early morning sun filtered through the trees, basking the party in a warm glow. Her elvish eyes could see condensation as it slowly dribbled down the mossy trees. Such simple treasures. She would keep them firmly in her mind when the road got rough. And it would. Ashalea expected that much.

  Who knows how long it would take to find the Guardians? And what did this mean for her? She would do everything in her power to help Wezlan. Gods, help the world for that matter, but what about her own goal? Vengeance was the knife that twisted in her belly. Making the darkness pay for what it did was all that really mattered in her fragile heart.

  Ashalea snuck a peak at Wezlan as he rode behind her. He sat straight as an arrow; a determined look plastered on his face. His staff and sword bobbed against Lerian’s flanks and he held the reins with a firm grip. Who was this stranger, and where was her old friend Wezlan? He looked to be younger, more agile; like a sense of purpose had renewed his resolve and rewound the clock.

  He caught her gaze and smiled behind his big beard. “Something on your mind?”

  She grinned. “You surprise me, that’s all.”

  “Oh? You think I’m too old to be traipsing through the woods?”

  “You said it.”

  “A challenge then. See you at the wood’s edge.” He spurred his boots into Lerian’s sides, and the pair shot through the trees, Wezlan’s robes flying behind him as they streamlined to the edge.

  “You cheeky old man,” Ashalea uttered in surprise. She was hot on Lerian’s tail moments later, silver hair whipping back as they galloped besides each other. Kaylin pulled in front, a nose ahead of Lerian, and Wezlan furrowed his bushy brows.

  Ashalea curled her lips smugly, but she spied him reaching for his staff. “NO! Don’t you dare,” she protested, throwing him a glare.

  He whispered, and a gust of wind blew her off Kaylin’s back. She twisted mid-air and landed comfortably on her feet, much like a cat falling from a great height. Wezlan guffawed from the clearing and she stalked up to him, a scowl on her face. His twinkling eyes were too much, and a smile crossed her face.

  “How does it feel to be bested by an old man?”

  “I’d say cheating is a more accurate term. And besides,” she said haughtily, “Kaylin crossed the boundary first.”

  He waggled a brow and put his hands up in defeat, chuckling as he did. He bowed in mock reverence, and swept an arm before him, and for the first time, Ashalea noticed their surroundings. Green hills stretched as far as the eye could see. The land was dotted with purple flowers soaking up the sun and hosting friendly bees as they moved from bloom to bloom. Ashalea recognised the place from maps to be the Purple Plains.

  It was so peaceful, the sweet smells and sense of freedom was a breath of fresh air for a wizard, elf and horses. She cast a final glance at the woods behind her, and as the wind blew, they seemed to sigh, bending their branches in farewell. Ashalea closed her eyes and basked in the open sun. Its warmth grazed her freckled nose and cheeks, and she inhaled a deep breath.

  “Onwards then,” she said to her old friend.

  He nodded. “To Maynesgate we go.”

  From the forest edge it was a short ride to the Old Road, where they would travel past the small village of Seranon and take the fork left to Maynesgate. It would have been faster to cut across country but Wezlan was wary of bandits preying on small parties. So, they stuck to the road, frequented by merchants and travellers such as they.

  The horses had a bounce in their step and their spirits soared at such open lands. At a long-lasting gallop, it took just over two days to reach Seranon with nary a hello or time for a nod to passers-by. Lerian and Kaylin slept under the stars that night, for the woods they called home were so thick it was a beauty they longed to gaze upon.

  Ashalea and Wezlan stayed the night in The Sleepy Owl; the town’s only tavern. The villagers were friendly, their curiosity unmasked. Ashalea received many stares, and she pondered how many elves they had met, if any. It reminded Ashalea of what Enalia had said, in response to her question about seeing the world. ‘Why on Everosia would I want to?” Evidently, Enalia wasn’t the only elf who stayed hidden in the forest.

  The innkeeper, a thin red-headed man named Girald Turner, kept both conversation and ale flowing, eager to please strangers in such fine silks.

  And keep the profit coming, no doubt.

  “Where do you hail from?” He asked, slipping into a chair and planting three mugs of ale on the table.

  “We have just left the Elven village of Woodrandia,” Wezlan said. “On official King’s business, you see. The King of Maynesgate has commissioned us for this task himself,” he winked, and Girald nodded knowingly, though Ashalea suspected he hadn’t a clue what that entailed. She didn’t either, but after glancing at Wezlan in surprise, he patted her arm reassuringly.

  “Where might you be headed then?”

  Ashalea flashed a warning look at Wezlan, but he just smiled. “We have many places to travel to. A King’s work doesn’t wait you know,” he tapped his nose, and Girald nodded, his eyes lighting up with a hungry glint at the mention of the monarch.

  Ashalea noted his eyes as they swept over their clothing once more, and she struggled to hide a smirk.

  “Would you like any more to drink? Some food perhaps?”

  Wezlan took a big gulp of his ale; brown froth dripping into his beard. “Some bread and cheese, soup for us both, and more ale.”

  The innkeeper turned and barked, yelling right next to Ashalea’s ear as he did so. “BERN!” She grimaced, and he smiled apologetically. A young boy around twelve appeared out
of an adjoining room. He ran to the table and skidded to a halt, his red hair and ruddy face a clear indication of his relation to Girald.

  “My son,” the innkeeper said to Ashalea and Wezlan softly. Then, “CHEESE. FRUIT. SOUP. ALE.”

  The boy murmured a flustered, “yes sir,” then ran back out of the room in a hurry.

  Ashalea felt like throttling the man. She put a finger in one ear, and Girald apologised again. “Sorry m’lady, I forget that your hearing is better because of your, well,” he gestured at her pointed ears.

  Wezlan cleared his throat.

  The innkeeper cleared his. An awkward silence followed. “So,” said Girald in an overly chirpy tone, “what business do you have with the King?”

  Ashalea raised a brow at Wezlan. She was tired, and now one of her eardrums was ringing. Girald had overstayed his welcome.

  “We’re attending all of the land’s taverns. It seems some of the innkeepers are neglecting to pay their taxes, and others are ripping off their customers,” Wezlan said merrily. “Can you imagine? Trying to steal from the King.” He snorted. “He’s charging double interest on repayments for those we can prove are breaking the law.

  Ashalea chimed in. “It’s sad, the levels that some men stoop to. It’s a shame that all innkeepers aren’t as honourable and kind as you, Girald. I’m not looking forward to interrogating you.”

  Girald’s face went white. “Int…Interrogating?”

  “Oh yes, and we have very firm methods of extracting information,” Ashalea said, conjuring a ball of fire in one hand.

  His yes ogled from Ashalea to Wezlan and back again. “That won’t be necessary, m’lady. I’m an upstanding citizen, I pay my taxes, even give back to the public! Why, you can have your meals on the house, if it please you.”

  “How kind of you, Girald,” Wezlan said. “Perhaps…”

  He gave Ashalea a sideways glance.

  “Well, I think we can let the interrogation slide just this once. For your upstanding hospitality.”

  Girald wilted in relief. “Oh, thank you, the both of you. Blessings be upon you and enjoy the food.” He nodded his head sharply and scurried from the room.

  The young boy ran back in, almost stumbling over his own feet as he carried a huge tray of assorted cheeses, bread, two bowls of soup and one giant mug of ale.

  Wezlan smiled and flicked a coin to the boy, whose face lit up instantly. “There’s a good lad.”

  Ashalea burst out laughing. “Wezlan, you cruel man. His father almost had a heart attack.”

  He shrugged. “Harmless fun. Besides, what’s a wizard without his tricks?”

  ◆◆◆

  The next day they sped onwards to the fork in the road, took a left and advanced to Maynesgate. From here it was much slower, and they were forced to amble along with the throng of people. Carts and stalls lined the road with men and women, elves and dwarves, all selling their wares or carrying sacks to their own ends at the capital. It was truly a mixed crowd.

  Ashalea looked about her in amazement. “Wezlan, look, dwarves!” she uttered in amazement.

  The old man chuckled. “And many more of them in Maynesgate.”

  A disturbance up ahead forced the crowd to stop, and, not paying attention, Ashalea and Kaylin bumped into a dwarf right in front of her.

  “Oi,” he said turning around, his red chubby cheeks frowning at her. “Can’t ye see where ye going there?”

  Ashalea just stared at him, both amused and a little flustered.

  “What’s the matter with ye, aint ye seen a dwarf before?” he asked accusingly.

  “Well no actually, I was just saying to my frie–” Ashalea began.

  “Arghhh who cares,” the dwarf said rudely. “Off with ye, bloody elves.”

  By this point Ashalea was utterly perplexed at the exchange. She turned to Wezlan with hands up and his laughter boomed in return.

  “Not all of them in a good mood,” he said, laughing merrily.

  He whispered in her ear, winking mischievously, “and that is usually to be expected with dwarves. For that matter,” Wezlan added a little more sombrely, “expect the citizens of Maynesgate to be impatient, rude and untrusting. The poor waste no time on strangers and will do whatever they can for a few coins. It’s little wonder why with the conditions they live in. Be on your guard. The children are good at pick-pocketing.”

  By the time they reached the city gate, it was approaching nightfall, and guards were ushering the queue along in their haste to close the portcullis. One bored looking fellow glanced over, calling for them to halt. He was of low rank, bearing no badges, and his slumped posture and lithe frame suggested he’d barely held a sword in his life.

  “An elf, and what are you supposed to be, a wizard?” He chuckled haughtily to himself, peering up and down Wezlan’s robes from behind a pointy nose.

  If only you knew how right you are, Ashalea snorted, covering it with a small cough when Wezlan glared at her.

  The man gave her a dismissive glance and eyed them up and down, a hint of greed flashing in his eyes. “That’s some fine clothes and weapons you’re sporting there. State your names and business,” he barked.

  Instead of playing the noble card, Wezlan just smiled and gave a small bow. “I am but a humble merchant. My name is Pilon Hintar, and this is Trinda Velendaya, an escort from Woodrandia. We travel to Maynesgate to sell medicinal wares made from the great elves. Trinda is consulting with some local healers to take stock orders.”

  He gestured at his clothes and the horses. “I visit Woodrandia often, and their hospitality and kindness are great. I am sure the Elven Queen would not take kindly to any delays in our return. My business is my own, but you would do well not to question my authority, or I will report it to a more qualified officer.” He emphasised the last and donned a most conceited stare that made the man shrivel in response.

  Hardly able to argue, the man had no choice but to let them through, grumbling as he waved them along.

  “Many blessings be upon you,” Wezlan dared to call over his shoulder, offering Ashalea a cheeky grin as he did so. “Maynesgate. Here we are!” he said with one sweeping arm.

  Ashalea was amazed at the sheer size of the city in front of her. People clambered around markets and stalls, and workers dashed about on their final errands before heading home. Rickety buildings made for houses, and dirty children could be seen running amok, no doubt filling their ragged pockets with coins gained from unsuspecting travellers. The most noticeable thing of all though was the smell made up of three distinct things. Fish. Piss. Shit. It was stifling.

  Wezlan glanced at Ashalea, laughing as her nose crinkled in disgust. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. The air clears the higher you go.”

  Above the winding streets, the castle loomed, glorious and decadent in the distance. The building sat looking down on the citizens below; its gardens and walls well protected by numerous gates, and undoubtedly patrolled by guards. Lights began to twinkle one by one in various windows as servants prepared for their evening tasks.

  Maynesgate was known for the considerable divide between the rich and poor. Ashalea had read about it in books. It had been described as a cesspool, teeming with murderers and thieves who lived on what they could steal day by day. The city chewed and spat out the weak, and it rewarded the strong.

  The poor lived in the lower confines, inside derelict houses, if they were so lucky to own a home at all. Many beggars wandered the streets; rotten, shrivelled shells of their former selves. The real bad areas were crowded with sewer rats and thieves that would gut anyone stupid enough to find themselves alone and cornered in the alleys.

  Then there were the brothels and bars. Not established joints, mind, but makeshift stalls where goons could toss a few coins and take their pleasure on the sidewalk. These places attracted the most detestable people of the nastiest gangs, and they weren’t policed anymore because it suited the King to ignore such frivolities, and it suited the gangs not to wa
ste time murdering soldiers.

  Hard and fast crime occurred everywhere, but the unwritten rule was that the filth too impossible to dust would remain rulers of their own little paradise, away from more decent folk and too far from the nobles for the King to care.

  As Ashalea scrutinised every detail of the city while they walked, she realised Wezlan was still talking to her and snapped back to the present. He pointed to the upper tiers of the city.

  “We will stay at a tavern for the night. While we are in Maynesgate you will remain Trinda Velendaya, a medicinal merchant from Woodrandia. You never know who might be watching,” his eyes narrowed as he scanned the city, but he sent her a reassuring smile.

  “Come, onwards and upwards.”

  Boot and hoof trekked up the windy cobblestone — public streets too well travelled and patrolled to welcome any men with blood on their mind— and as they climbed, the smell began to dissipate as Wezlan had promised. The houses grew larger, made from stone rather than cheap woods and paper-thin materials, and the people were dressed in finer things, though so not fine as the upper nobility.

  A group of bedraggled children darted through the street, howling and whooping in glee. One of them snatched a cane right out from a gentleman’s grasp, and the man stumbled to the ground.

  “Oh, this will be interesting,” Wezlan said. “Observe.”

  Ashalea watched the poor man struggle, and the woman on his arm gasped as she helped him to his feet.

  “Filthy rats!” He shook his head, red faced and embarrassed. But the children circled back, and the boy dropped the cane, laughing as it clattered to the ground. “Seek your thrills elsewhere, little menaces,” the man huffed. As he bent to pick up his walking stick, a girl around ten years old shimmied his wallet out of his back pocket. Her fingers darted in and out and then the group of them disappeared just as quickly.