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.

Dashyl's Quest

“Oh, dad.” Dashyl said, putting his father’s journal back into his travel sack and smiling. Fretly had dozed off on Soern’s bed while Dashyl was reading the journal entry. His friend seemed at ease even in a stranger’s bed. Dashyl had always felt comfortable in strange places with his father and having Fretly with him had the same effect. He looked around the small, one-room hut. The furnishings were spare, a rudimentary kitchen and dining area along one wall, with the bed and a floor to ceiling shelving unit on the opposite wall. Other than that, the hut contained a few chairs, a table and a trunk.

Dashyl stood up and went to look out the window next to the door. The window, other than the teapot and cups, was probably the cleanest item in the hut. He could see far down the road in the direction of Anchorwatch. He didn’t know how far away it was, but it couldn’t be too far. The afternoon shadows of the trees that lined the road grew longer, but that was the only change that Dashyl noticed other than the small circles of moisture that his breath made on the glass.

“I wonder when he’s coming back,” he said out loud. Fretly stirred on the bed and rolled over, mumbling something. 

Dashyl sighed and turned away from the window. The boy crept over to the trunk. It wasn’t locked. He glanced over his shoulder at Fretly and knelt down in front of the trunk. After a few moments, he lifted the wooden lid and peered inside. Papers filled it. Dashyl picked up a little stack. They were messages written in the Sidrani Symbolic writing that he didn’t understand. The only thing he recognized about them were the delivery stamps. Apparently, most had been delivered by igwaza runners. A couple in his hand were delivered by trinket owls, but he didn’t know from where. He didn’t recognize the stamp locations, they weren’t from any Legion controlled lands. The boy rummaged through the trunk, picking up stacks of paper and thumbing through them. Towards the bottom, he found a stack of messages written in the Sarion tongue. Intrigued, Dashyl sat on the floor and began to read.

Kilkarak’s Expedition Journal Entry Day 9...Addendum

Beer! Beer, beer, beer! I could never have imagined something could make you feel so…tingly. I tingle from my lips to my toetips. My head won’t balance on my neck. Forgive my handwriting, it is dancing across the page, up and down, like the hills of my homeland. These words are spilling from my fingers in big golden drops on this page. At the tavern, I had the fortune to meet a brew master from Hiroja. I forget his name…something like Hoarg, Foarg, Schmoarg-a-boarg-a-dilly-doo. How do I write laughter? Boarg and I became fast friends over a pint of fangwail pale ale. I gave him a fake name but I may have let it slip that I am a chemist. We had a delightful conversation about specific gravity and how to combine different ingredients and where they are harvested. We compared compounding methods and ratios. Ratios. That word looks funny, ratios. Is that how you spell it? My next pint was a bitterot brew and I do believe I went blind after my first sip, but I kept up the conversation, not letting on that my world had gone dark. However, when my sight came back, my new friend was gone. How long had I been talking to myself? Had anyone noticed? I’m glad I was in disguise. If any of my friends saw me, I would be banished from the Catalyst Foundation. What am I saying? I am already banned from the Catalyst Foundation and I have no friends. Well, except Jarax, who should return at any moment. And my son, Dashyl, who is asleep on the soft bed next to the writing table. Peaceful. Enjoy the peace, son. Once we reach the Tanglefern Thicket, all luxury and comfort will vanish from our lives. Perhaps I could take some beer with us. I do believe that is one of the best ideas I have ever written down. Good night.

***

Readers, please forgive my entry from this night. I am not proud of the frame of mind this entry reveals, but for the sake of true and accurate reporting of this expedition, I will leave it intact for future readers. – Kilkarak