Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"Let's just jog the igwaza at first as we go," Soern called out as he took the lead on the road across the plains. He said a couple commands in the kirzan tongue and the three igwaza started trotting at a medium pace. "We'll head due east," Soern continued. "We could run the igwaza the whole way across the plains, but then we'd have to rest a day on the other side. I would like to keep them fresh enough so we can keep moving and not stay in one place for too long out in the open. If we run into trouble, then we can run away from it."

The road they followed was flat and not heavily rutted. They slowly lost elevation after the initial steeper decline from the tree line. The sky was clear and even though the temperature was a little warm, the breeze from trotting was just enough to keep the riders cool. Dashyl imagined the sky being full of airships of every size and color. He had only seen them from afar, but marveled at their ability to soar high above Rynaga. Compared to the previous day's ride, today the young sarion felt like he was soaring smoothly through the sky on his igwaza.

"Riding this way is much easier," Dashyl announced.

"Igwaza runners are built for speed. The faster they go, the more natural the motion and the easier it is to ride them," Soern explained.

"Let's run. I want to run," Dashyl begged.

"Be careful, you may just get a chance to before long," Soern warned.

"It couldn't hurt to just run a little ways so Dash could get the feel," reasoned Fretly. "If we do have to go all out, he would be used to it and not freaked out."

"Good idea, Fretly, but why don't we wait a little bit longer. We can run them right before we break to eat," said Soern. Dashyl smiled at Fretly when he looked back at him and thrust his fist in the air. Fretly shook his head and laughed.

The three riders didn't say much for the rest of the morning. Dashyl now thought that jogging the igwaza was more hypnotizing than anything. Their motion seemed to rock him gently and almost lull him to sleep. The scenery didn't help either as it was all level grasslands as far as the eye could see. Behind them, he could still make out the thin, dark mustache of the tree line on the horizon. Dashyl started to ask if they could run when Soern stopped suddenly.

"Hush," Soern said sharply to Dashyl as he put his finger to his lips and squinted.

"Was that thunder," asked Fretly. No one answered, but there did seem to be a soft rumbling fading away overhead.

"Is that smoke above the tree line where we just came from," asked Dashyl as he pointed back down the road.

"That's smoke," Soern said as if he had a sinking feeling.

They heard another muffled boom from the tree line followed by more smoke billowing into the sky.

Fretly and Soern looked at each other and then at Dashyl. Soern said with urgency, "Boy, you're going to get your wish, now. We've got to run!"

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

The three travelers had eaten, rested their legs and were now scouting the lowlands that rolled away from their vantage point down to the horizon. Soern squinted as he scanned the view, sweeping his head from side to side. The kirzan hummed as he pondered the state of the plains they were about to cross.

"How far does it stretch," asked Dashyl. 

"A fair ways. And we'll be exposed the whole time. Of course, so will anyone who tries to attack us," Soern replied.

The tree line reached from north to south as far as they could see, as if the woods had been planted a long time ago and the planter had run out of saplings all of a sudden. A strong wind started to blow into their faces as they gazed at the unending sea of golden grass before them. 

Soern inhaled deeply through his nose. "Ah, even this far north you can smell the sea. The winds from the coast can travel all the way up the plains, bringing a reminder of salted air. That smell will get stronger and stronger as we get closer to Trader's Haunt. It will grow so thick, that once you are in the gates of the city, the salty air will choke you and you won't ever want to smell that place again. But now, in the fresh air of the plains, good memories of the coast are all it inspires."

"This Trader's Haunt place sounds terrible. Why do we have to go there," Dashyl asked. "Isn't there any other place to catch an airship?"

"Son," Soern said, "We are in the hinterlands of Veratar here. We are far from the safety of the Protectorate cities, or even important independent cities. The Legion prefer to stick to the coast and sail past these lands, viewing them as strategically irrelevant. The only reason airships go to Trader's Haunt is because the goods that can be gotten there are so precious and rare that their potential owners want to procure them as quickly as possible."

"Oh," is all Dashyl said.

"Besides," continued Soern, "I need to return to my post. My duties do not allow me the time to escort you all the way to Legion lands. I suppose I could let you keep the igwaza runners and send you off alone, but how would you find your way, who would defend you? This is the quickest, safest way for you to return home or go wherever it is you want to go next. You must leave this area before the people hunting you have figured out that you have left so you can throw them off your trail."

"I agree," chimed in Fretly. "This really is the best way, Dash. We'll be fine, Trader's Haunt isn't as bad as our big friend here makes it seem. When I came for the Center of Death Tournament, we were able to go quickly from the airship anchor to the outer gates without much fuss. Trust us. Wait until you see the airships!"

Dashyl smiled at his two companions. "Okay," he said.

"Well," Soern said as he sighed, "things look clear from up here. No razorwig swarms, no Krill Assassins waiting to ambush us, no vaygr crouching among the blades of grass ready to pounce on us." Soern laughed and kept laughing as he mounted his igwaza runner. "Come on, let's go, you two."

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"Ah, it's been so long since I've ridden one of these things, my backside isn't used to it," Fretly moaned as he shifted from cheek to cheek on the back of his igwaza.

"At least you knew what to expect," snapped Dashyl. "Both my legs are numb, but my feet are swollen and throbbing." Dashyl let out a loud, fake sob.

"Hush, you two," Soern growled at them. "Even though we are on a road, we are in the wild. You never know what could be lurking among the trees."

"Like what, vaygr" Dashyl asked, his eyes growing big. He had never seen a vaygr in the wild, but he knew they could be vicious and deadly if encountered.

"Perhaps. To our luck, vaygr don't hunt much on the Tournament Plains, they are too exposed to large mob kilwings that patrol the skies over the plains, especially here in the northern end."

Fretly scowled. "Those flying carapids? I've heard that the larger ones will kill and attack vaygr. Would they attack us?"

"No, as long as we stay in a group, the mob kilwings won't bother us. It's the razorwigs I'm worried about," Soern admitted.

"What are those, they sound icky," asked Dashyl, crinkling his nose.

Soern stopped his igwaza and the other two stopped behind him. He turned around on his mount and said, "We're in the late days of the Forlan cycle, soon the Blossoming will be turning to the Reaping. During the Senna cycle, razorwigs will begin to cross the plains in great swarms. One does not want to be in the path of a razorwig swarm. Right now, they are feeding on the new growth of these woods. If we disturb them, they could decide to take flight and swarm early."

"Why don't we want to be in a razorwig swarm," asked Dashyl.

"Because...just trust me," Soern said as he nudged his igwaza onward. "We'll be clear of the trees very soon and drop down to the plains. We'll stop to rest and eat at the tree line. We can scout the plains from the high ground to see if we spot anything unpleasant and prepare for it."

Dashyl and Fretly exchanged glances and then both grimaced, their current pain interrupting any fear of a gruesome future fate.

Dashyl's Quest

“Rise and ring,” Groernen said loud enough to wake everyone. He banged two spoons together when nobody stirred.

“Okay, I’m up,” Soern said as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“I’ve made a hearty breakfast for you travelers,” Groernen said, beaming a bit too much. Fretly and Dashyl gave the cook dirty looks as they sat down at the table and began to eat. Those dirty looks turned to smiles as the meal pleased their mouths and made the two glad to be awake.

“After you finish eating, get your sleeping sacks ready and everything else you have,” Soern ordered.

Soern took the longest to get ready and his two companions sat in their chairs full of questions, questions Soern waved off as he packed. After a while of this hustle and bustle, Soern announced, “The igwaza are loaded and everything’s ready.”

The four of them walked outside the hut. The morning light hung low on the horizon. Around the back of the hut, in a small pen, three igwaza stood loaded with supplies for the journey, each of them picking up one foot and then the other in anticipation of running.

“Have you ever ridden an igwaza runner before,” Soern asked.

Fretly nodded yes, but Dashyl said, “No.”

“Ah, well, you’re in for a treat, my boy,” Soern said. “There’s nothing like riding a speedy igwaza in the cool morning air.”

Soern put his hand in the middle of Dashyl’s back and walked him over to the igwaza the boy would be riding. “Grab this last large horn on its neck for leverage and throw your leg over its back. The runners have been bred to have a break in their back horns to make a natural riding seat. You’re small, so you might slide around on the smooth skin there. You can tie yourself in if you need to.”

Dashyl grabbed the horn and flung his leg over the igwaza but immediately slid off the other side onto the ground. Soern erupted into laughter. “Okay, I will put you on and we’ll tie you in.” Dashyl didn’t feel so bad when Fretly did the same thing when he tried to get on his igwaza.

“Do we need to tie you in, too,” asked Soern.

“No, I’ll get it,” Fretly snapped back. And on the second try, he did.

With Fretly and Dashyl on their rides, Soern mounted his. Soern’s igwaza was almost twice as large as the other two. It’s muscles rippled under its thick hide as it steadied itself under the Kirzan’s weight. “This is Ragnish, my igwaza. I’ve raised him since he could fit in the palms of my hands. You’ll be hard pressed to find a bigger, faster runner in all of Veratar. Dash, we’ll have you ride in the middle so your igwaza can simply follow the other two and won’t stall or run off on its own course.”

“Got it,” replied Dashyl.

Soern turned to his brother. “My brother, thank you for taking up my duties for me while I am gone.”

“It is no trouble, my brother. Londa can handle the cooking duties for a few days. I’ll not let any ruffians get through to Anchorwatch on my watch,” Groernen said as he patted Ragnish’s hindquarters.

“Farewell, then. I will see you soon unless the road does not see me return,” Soern said, quoting the old Kirzan saying.

“Farewell, my friends,” Groernen called out as the three riders rode away from the hut.

“Good bye,” Dashly and Fretly called out in unison.

The three travelers pointed their igwaza into the rising sun and set out on the road to Trader’s Haunt.

For a long time the travelers rode in silence. The questions that Dashyl and Fretly had earlier faded with the road dust that their mounts kicked up into the air. The road rose in elevation a bit and the trees eventually came close to the sides of the road engulfing it in shade.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Dashyl finally stopped concentrating on staying seated on his igwaza and just enjoyed watching the scenery pass. “How long is the journey,” he asked Soern, the questions from this morning once again popping up in his head.

“A few days,” he replied. “We’ll keep this pace while we are among the trees, but once we are out on the plains, we’ll pick up the pace and break into a run.”

“I see,” Dashyl said. Suddenly, he felt a twinge of guilt and all the other questions he wanted to ask fell away.

“Soern,” Dashyl said somewhat weakly, “I found your letters.”

“Oh boy,” muttered Fretly.

Soern turned around on his igwaza and looked at Dashyl, “What?”

“I was bored and I found your chest and got curious,” Dashyl explained. “I couldn’t read most of them, but I did find some written in the Sarion tongue.”

“Yes, and those are the ones you read,” Soern asked.

“Yeah, they seemed like love letters,” admitted Dashyl.

“True, that they are…were,” Soern replied.

“You were in love with a Sarion,” Dashyl asked.

Soern turned forward again and let out a deep sigh. “Yes, I was,” he said. “I met Yishala when I was competing in the tournament. I thought she was a weapons dealer. Initially, she told me she wanted to make business connections back in Denholm where I am from. She claimed she wanted to become a supplier for the Shrieve Council in Denholm.”

“What happened,” asked Dashyl.

“She was not what she seemed,” was all Soern said.

“I’m sorry,” Dashyl consoled.

“Ah, there is no need to be sorry. The times we had together were some of the best in my life.” Soern continued, “My boy, if you have a chance to love, let nothing keep you from it. Even if it ends in heartache, experiencing the way love fills you up and gives each day a brighter intensity, it is worth more than all the riches you can imagine.”

“I can imagine quite a lot,” Fretly chimed in.

Dashyl wanted to laugh at his friend’s comment, but he could tell Soern was in no mood for mirth. He did not say any more and rode on caught up in memories that took him far away.

Dashyl's Quest

Groernen finished preparing his stew and left it to simmer on the radia stove. The large Kirzan ducked as he came through the door to the hut holding sleeping sacks and bed clothes. “Here,” he said handing one to Dashyl and one to Fretly. “You can make your beds on the floor tonight.” Groernen motioned over by Soern’s bed and unrolled his own sleeping sack in the corner by the kitchen.

Dashyl unrolled his next to Fretly’s. “You’re a cook,” Dashyl asked.

“Yes, I love to cook. Been cooking my whole life,” answered Groernen.

Fretly walked over to the stewpot and gave it a stir. “So, you live in Anchorwatch? Did you move here with your brother,” he asked.

Groernen snatched the wooden spoon out of Fretly’s hand. “Don’t stir it too much, lad. The spices must settle into the broth gently,” Groernen explained. “To answer your question, yes, my brother invited me to settle with him in Anchorwatch. At first, we lived in this hut together, but then I got a job at the Black Onion Inn. Now, I sleep there so I can make meals from early morning to late at night.”

Groernen sat on a chair and smiled at his brother’s visitors. He moved his head side to side in order to look at each of them in the eye for a few moments, grinning all the while.  “I love my job,” he said, finally. “I get to please so many people and I meet new people all the time. Soern, he likes to be by himself mostly. We’ve settled into our lives here. All we have is each other, so it’s nice to be near my brother.”

After making small talk for what seemed an eternity, Groernen stood up and gave the stew a stir and a taste. “I do believe the stew is ready. The grit root is tender but not stringy. Let’s eat.”

Dashyl and Fretly each took a bowl from the cupboard and held it out as Groernen filled it with his stew. “Smells good,” Dashyl said.

“This is good,” Fretly said after steady stream of slurps. “You really do have some talent. This is the best rootmash stew I’ve had since I can remember.”

“Well, thank you, young sir,” Groernen said as he bowed his head slightly. “I’ll clean up,” he added.

Groernen collected the empty bowls and cleaned up the mess he had made. Dashyl and Fretly both sat up in their sleeping sacks, their eyelids growing heavy with their bellies full.

“Go ahead and get some sleep, my friends,” Groernen said when he had finished cleaning. “I know Soern wants to get an early start on your journey to Trader’s Haunt.”

“I’m already there, cookie,” Fretly said with a yawn. Dashyl didn’t hear this exchange, he was already asleep.

At one point, Dashyl’s eyes fluttered open during the night. The boy sat up in the room bathed in starlight. “It’s just me, Dahsyl,” Soern whispered. The Kirzan eased himself into his own bed and let out a deep sigh. “I have all the supplies we need and three of the fastest igwaza runners in Anchorwatch. We have a long way to go, but we are ready. Now get back to sleep, Dashyl, You’ll need to be fresh tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Dashyl whispered before drifting off again.

Dashyl's Quest

Soern burst through the door. “I’m back,” he announced. A Kirzan who looked exactly like Soern, maybe a tad younger, walked through the door after him.

“Dashyl? Fretly? Where are you two,” asked Soern as he scanned the hut.

Soern threw the door shut with his foot. A figure leapt from behind it and did a somersault onto the floor.

“What,” Soern asked, “Dashyl, why are you rolling around on my floor? And where’s your friend?”

“Uh, well, we weren’t sure if you were bringing someone to take us captive or something,” Dashyl explained. “Fretly’s under the bed,” he said, pointing in that direction.

Soern laughed a few belly laughs before saying, “My young friend, if I wanted to take you two captive, I would not need anyone else.”

Soern reached under the bed and pulled out Fretly, covered in dust. Fretly sneezed three big sneezes, stood up and stuck his hand out to the new Kirzan in their midst. “Hello, I’m Fretly, nice to meet you.”

“This is Groernen, my brother,” Soern introduced what looked like his twin.

“Hello,” Groernen said, waving his hand briefly.

“I’ve brought Groernen here to watch over you while I go back to town for another igawza and supplies,” Soern explained to everyone. “I didn’t want you two to be alone after dark and it is taking me longer than I thought to borrow another igwaza. My brother will cook dinner for you and keep you safe until I return.”

Groernen swung a big sack from over his shoulder and onto the kitchen countertop with a large thud. With a big grin on his face he said, “I am going to make rootmash stew. It will give you great energy for your upcoming journey.” Groernen loosened a strap on his back and swung a huge hammer to the ground. “And I have my smashing hammer.”

“See there,” Soern asked, “you will be well taken care of.” Soern crouched down to look at Dahsyl and Fretly on eye level. “Now, you do not need to fear me. I am on your side and I am genuinely concerned about you. Until you are in Trader’s Haunt, you are my responsibility. I do not take that responsibility lightly.”

The Kirzan clapped his visitors on their backs, grabbed a long orange root from the countertop and took a bite of it before rushing out the door.

Dashyl and Fretly looked at each other a moment, but their puzzled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of pots and pans being pulled from Soern’s cupboards.

“This better be good,” Fretly said in between bangs and clangs.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Groernen reassured, “this will be the best rootmash stew you’ve ever eaten.”

Dashyl's Quest

 “What are you doing?”

The question made Dashyl yelp as he jumped up and scattered papers into the air.

He whipped around, his heart racing in his chest. Fretly was rolling on the floor laughing.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Dashyl yelled at his friend. The boy scrambled around the hut picking up the pages of the letter he had just been reading.

“Oh, you should have seen how high you jumped,” Fretly said, sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes while trying to quit chuckling.

“Not funny,” Dashyl protested.

“Sorry, but what are you reading,” Fretly asked.

“Nothing,” Dashyl replied as he gathered up the pages, folded them up and put them back in Soern’s trunk.

“If you’re going to be a sneak, Dash, you need to not be so jumpy,” Fretly admonished. “Now, what are you doing reading our host’s letters?”

“They’re just love letters,” Dashyl said, unimpressed.

“Any juicy details,” asked Fretly, in that awkward stage before becoming a man.

“No,” Dashyl said crinkling up his nose. “They’re from a curic, maybe one that took care of us.”

Fretly’s interest suddenly grew serious. He crouched down behind Dashyl and peered over his shoulder into the trunk. “Anything interesting?”

“Well, the letters are written in the Sarion tongue,” Dashyl said.

“That’s not unusual, the Saraja are still taught the Sarion tongue, but they don’t speak it publicly,” Fretly explained.

“Yes, but why is she writing to Soern in the Sarion tongue,” Dashyl asked. “Shouldn’t someone writing to Soern write in Sidrani Symbolic like all the other letters and papers in this trunk.”

“Sh,” Fretly suddenly interrupted. “Soern’s back and he has company.”

The two inside the hut could hear Soern’s deep voice in conversation outside and a similar, deep voice responding.

“They must be tying up the igwaza,” Fretly reasoned. “Quick, close the trunk and let’s get ready. We don’t know if this Soern guy could be setting up a trap for us.”

“Right,” answered Dashyl as he closed the trunk and joined Fretly peeking out the window next to the door. He could see Soern outside with another equally large Kirzan. They would find out soon if it was a trap or not, Soern and his companion were coming in. Dashyl braced to either run or fight.