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.