Darkin: A Journey East (14 page)

“Aagh—alright. I will attempt it, but gaining a worthy ship out of Saru Gnarl I will not engage in, for I think that errand to be more foolish than making the sea-trip to Erol Drunne,” Remtall exclaimed.

“Alas, securing the ship is my task, with the aid of Flaer, I hope,” Slowin said. Flaer briefly looked up, not apparently asleep after all; he nodded in agreeance.

“And us too,” Erguile rallied.

“Yea!” Adacon chimed between burps.

“But of course,” Slowin responded, and he began to tell of the plan he had in mind for stealing a ship worthy to cross the ocean. He talked long into the early morning until it became ineffective to talk further, as the ale had taken its final toll on them for the night. It had been thoroughly outlined that Slowin, Flaer, Adacon and Erguile would travel to the cape city of Saru Gnarl where they would stealthily take a ship. They would then sail south along the coast to Kalm’s Point, where Remtall could safely board. From then on out it would be Remtall’s ship, and until they harbored in Enoa they would answer only to him.

“On to bed then—follow me,” said Remtall, and he led them all upstairs to their rooms. The last two to bed were Slowin and Adacon, who shared a room. Slowin slept half off his mattress; he seemed comfortable despite the small bed. Before nodding off, Adacon rattled off his last question of the night.

“Is Erol Drunne a free city?” he asked.

“It is Adacon. It is one of the last in Darkin,” Slowin answered.

“And what is it that is so dangerous about the route to reach it?”

“That city is only accessible by crossing the Fang Shoals. It is said that more than just shoals, however, stay those waters.”

“Fang Shoals, it sounds dreadful.”

“It is, and those forbidding shoals must we thank for Erol Drunne’s safety,” Slowin ended, and he turned over to go to sleep. Adacon’s imagination flared briefly, imagining what Erol Drunne and the Fang Shoals looked like; then he thought about his friend Remtall, and his new friend, the gnome father. It seemed that each day passed with more excitement than the last, and though the contents of the days were stained with dark omens, Adacon relished in it, enjoying each new curiosity. He tossed for a short while in hope, and then fell fast asleep.

VI:  WEAKHOOF

The morning came fast for Adacon and his party, and Deedle’s Inn was alive and bustling in the early hours of a new day. The group had a swift breakfast in the tavern before convening outside the Inn on Rislind’s main drag. The slaves—filled with fresh Rislind tea, dough cakes, burnt potatoes, and sausages—decided it had been the best food they had ever tasted. Slowin led a brief council in the cool breeze, and with urgency he pressed the party to move eastward, yet Remtall interrupted:

“I believe I can procure for us three horses,” he said, and in the early morning sun he released a flask from his side and drank twice. Remtall, it appeared, was already drunk with liquor.

“Horses! That would be exactly what we need,” Adacon replied with glee.

“I expect no horse could carry me,” Slowin confessed.

“I know such a steed as might carry you Slowin—indeed I know
just
the steed,” Remtall proclaimed.

“But we’ve never ridden horses before. Besides that, there are five of us traveling,” Erguile said.

“These horses will mind you less than you will mind them, so worry not that you have never ridden. To you Slowin, I will give my steed Thunderhoof. To Flaer and Adacon I will give Fablefen; and Erguile, you will have Weakhoof,” Remtall explained.

Flaer, Slowin, and Adacon nodded in acknowledgement, but Erguile looked confused.

“Weakhoof? I wonder if he will make our journey, or does his name belie his endurance?” Erguile griped.

“His name more than belies his hardihood; though Weakhoof is old and slow, he is ever full of valor,” said Remtall.

“And then what horse will
you
ride to Kalm’s Point?” asked Adacon.

“Gnomes have other friends in nature that you have yet to see—Yarnhoot!” Remtall shouted. In a moment a giant black condor appeared, diving down and standing next to Remtall. The bird was half as big as Adacon, and the perfect size for Remtall. He immediately mounted Yarnhoot and ascended, turning his path mid-air for a nearby meadow where horses grazed.

“Astounding!” Adacon remarked.

“Yes, gnomes are curious in their partnerships. I myself would prefer a giant tortoise over any other beast,” Slowin chuckled.

“A golem on a giant tortoise—that would be a sight; I think I’ll need some of Remtall’s liquor before seeing that,” Erguile laughed.

“It is odd that he drinks at this early hour,” Slowin thought aloud. Flaer nodded in agreement to Slowin.

“Maybe he is celebrating his return to the ocean as a captain of the high seas,” Adacon guessed merrily.

“Yes, perhaps.”

Remtall suddenly returned in the sky, and just as quickly he descended upon the street, diving in for a landing that thumped, and he bounced off of Yarnhoot with a stutter. In the meadow three horses could be seen galloping in toward Deedle’s. Soon the three horses stood before the party, neighing in unison and then hanging their heads in a mellow fashion.

“The saddles, and then we will be off,” Remtall said, and once more he hurried off, this time on foot, leaving Yarnhoot with the slaves. The enormous condor eyed the group lazily and diverted its attention to some bugs crawling on the ground nearby. Adacon and Erguile went to the horses and petted them, offering the much needed creatures a warm greeting.

“We’re very lucky to have met Remtall’s aid here. Without horses we would be delayed almost two days’ time,” said Slowin.

After several moments Remtall appeared again, carrying saddles. He went about fastening them, introducing each horse as he worked. Thunderhoof was a powerful looking white stallion; Fablefen was an equally impressive brown stallion; and last was grey old Weakhoof, who looked more a mule than a horse. Weakhoof and Erguile began to converse.

“It looks like we have a tremendous adventure in front of us, eh?” Erguile prodded his horse. Weakhoof groaned miserably and looked away.

“A fine partnership already,” Remtall poked, drinking from his flask again.

“Let us go then. Vesleathren acts surely as we do, and our hope lies not in Rislind, but across the Fang Shoals,” Slowin commanded.

“Yes, yes: All is well now that the sea calls me back and I seek revenge for my son,” said Remtall. He was wearing a new pack for his journey; he sat down for a moment, taking off the pack and grabbing from within it a leather flask, thrice as big as the one fastened at his hip. He promptly refilled the smaller flask and drank anew.

“It is unwise, Remtall, to drink so much at this early hour of our departure,” Slowin said with concern. “We shall need all your wits.”

“Hah, my wits will be kept in perfect order at Kalm’s Point, this day at Dusk,” Remtall replied. “I have only to tell the mayor here of my going, and then Yarnhoot will guide me away from this village for the first time in ten years.”

“Farewell then, Remtall, that we may meet you soon,” said Slowin, and the party exchanged farewells and mounted their steeds. Erguile had the most trouble, stumbling and falling off twice before finally finding his seating. They trotted down the main road out of Rislind, leaving by the eastern gate. They waved to a few straggling citizens who gawked at Slowin, and Thunderhoof, whom he dwarfed. Finally the three horses and their riders were traveling east once more, down the path that led toward the emerald foothills.

“I am upset we didn’t stay longer, I wanted to meet trolls,” said Adacon as they approached the first line of trees.

“There will be a better time for that; the journey we attend is more pressing,” replied Slowin.

“I know; they just fascinate me so!”

The three horses worked their way up a steep gradient and to the surprise of all the horses made the trespass appear easy. Every ten minutes the group would wait up on account of Weakhoof, the only horse stumbling on the rocky terrain.

“Come on you bastard!” Erguile yelled. “Who has a whip for this brute?”

“Be patient with him,” said Adacon.

“Yes, Weakhoof is doing his best,” Slowin added.

The trek up and out of Rislind through the eastern route was surprisingly easier than the path in, and before long they came to another secret pass at high elevation. A boulder among a great many, along the side of a high ridge, blocked the way through. All around was a steep drop, but the horses were sure-footed, even Weakhoof. Slowin dismounted and treaded carefully along the thin path toward the enormous boulder, indistinguishable from the others nearby.

“Remtall said it would be marked,” Slowin said, bending down on one knee to look for an etching. In very small print near the bottom of the boulder was a tiny carving that read ‘
Fare On East
.’

“This is it,” Slowin said, and he told the others to back up some, and in a moment he squatted down and began to stretch his arms around the circumference of the massive hunk of rock. Even Slowin’s arms looked puny against the size of the rock, and Slowin grunted as loud as he had ever done. With a start the boulder began to roll to the right, and having nowhere to go on the slim ridge it rolled down the mountainside, crashing its way through dozens of trees, sending startled birds into the sky to avoid its destruction.

“How did you know which boulder had the marking?” Adacon asked, stunned once more at Slowin’s power.

“Am I not a Metal golem of the Red Forest? I have dwelt long enough in Nature to know when man has restructured her,” Slowin answered, ushering them through the passage. “No matter how small the tampering is.”

“On the western side the vine wall grew back to block the way in, so what of this pass? Won’t the secret way to Rislind be open for all to enter?” Erguile worried. Flaer looked toward Erguile and motioned upwards, and Erguile looked overhead. At just that moment a thunderous crackle echoed from the ridge above, and over its lip another huge boulder began to roll. It seemed to be rolling off at just an angle to drop into the place of the boulder just removed.

“Dear god!” Erguile yelled. Terrified, he smacked Weakhoof’s side repeatedly until the old horse trotted on through the hole in the mountainside. Slowin quickly mounted Thunderhoof and fell in line behind Fablefen as they all made it inside just in time, and a loud crash accompanied by an earth shaking tremor let them know the way was sealed once more.

“What strange magic,” said Adacon.

The three horses maneuvered through the short cavernous pass and came out on the eastern slope of the mountain, slowly stepping onto what seemed a trail amidst the rooted tangle of the forest floor. The descent was not nearly as steep as the way into Rislind, and it was easy riding for what seemed a long stretch of time, until finally the trees began to thin out and a flat horizon once again appeared. The slaves beheld the golden prairie before them, forgetting fast the mountains they had come through. The sun was high overhead and no dark clouds weighted the sky. Ahead was the Rislind Plateau Wilds: golden straw and emerald-patched grasslands stretching interminably into the distance. The party saw, though very faintly from great distance, what looked to be a road tangling in and out of several running brooks. By all measures it was a beautiful day, and being thoroughly heartened at the sight of blue sky and puff-white clouds, Erguile spoke with cheer:

“How long is it before we reach the Saru Gnarl cape?”

“Riding strong, as I would have it, we’ll be there by nightfall,” Slowin replied.

“This land is beautiful,” Adacon said, reviewing the roving green hills that stretched away in each direction. Each hill was twined with flowers and pink-leaf trees that grew down to the edge of the streams.

“Rislind has always been a pretty place, but it turns to marsh soon, and we must return to the gravel slave road of Grelion before long, lest we sink deep into the mire,” Slowin warned.

“How are you holding up Flaer?” asked Erguile. Flaer glanced over at Weakhoof and Erguile, and from his expression it looked as though he thought them the oddest looking pairing he’d ever seen. Smiling, Flaer looked to the sky and back at Erguile, nodding approval.

“Alright, time to quiet our chatter and see the mettle of our steeds at last,” Slowin said, holding tight his reigns and kicking Thunderhoof’s side gently. “Yar!”

Thunderhoof began galloping over the brimming prairie at increasing speed. Fablefen followed at Flaer’s command, and finally, bringing up the rear, was Weakhoof. All three horses left the green mountains and sped far from the haven of Rislind. In the west whence they had come was a small silhouette of a distant range.

Before long the horses closed in on the gravel slave road they had spied from afar, and much as Slowin predicted the terrain turned marsh-like. Slowly the grass had turned grey and thin, and the streams ran wider and darker. The trees grew gnarled and hunched, and the meadows turned to treacherous vats of mud. Bugs swarmed the riders as they slowly descended the Rislind plateau. The sky stayed clear and bright, but the air had certainly thickened with a humid stink that ran with a growing wind; the odor became more rancid with each passing moment as they worked deeper into the bog. It had been five hours since they had passed through the mountains, and Slowin brought them to a halt at the side of the road by a clear stream.

“This may be our last source of pure water for awhile,” he said. “Have your fill and replace what you’ve drunk.” All the riders dismounted and gathered at the edge of a murky stream. The horses greedily lapped their fill; Weakhoof tried to drink from the same spot where Thunderhoof and Fablefen drank, but they neighed and aggressed on him, forcing him to walk away and find some other place to drink.

“Poor Weakhoof, disrespected as an elder,” Erguile sympathized.

“He is a slow horse. I wonder if Remtall could have found no other for you, he weakens our pace,” Slowin remarked. Just then Weakhoof shot a cold glance at Slowin, as if in recognition of the slander.