Trouble in Kelda
Toark and Eóvan made their way back onto the road from where they had camped hidden among a group of trees, setting off at a much quicker pace than previous days. Rushing to keep up, Eóvan gave his companion a quizzical look.
“If I'm not mistaken,” Toark grunted, “we can make it to the town of Kelda by midday, if we hurry our pace. From there we can buy a pair of horses to take us to Malchior.”
A surge of panic hit Eóvan at the mention of the capitol city.
“Malchior?” he squeaked. “Why do we need to go to Malchior? I thought we were headed toward the Great Cliffs?”
“And where do you suppose they are?” Toark growled fiercely, annoyed with Eóvan's obvious fear and lack of reasoning.
Comprehension sliced through Eóvan like a knife. Clare's father had been the King. Clare had grown up in the capitol city, which meant that the Great Cliffs couldn't be far outside of the city. The danger of what they were trying to accomplish had finally washed over Eóvan. He spent the rest of the walk to Kelda in silence, realizing at last that Toark had as much to fear from their journey as he did.
They reached the merchant town shortly after noon, stopping to eat at an inn named 'The Blind Wench'. The fish soup and freshly baked bread seemed like a feast after three days of eating whatever could be scrounged on the trail. They ate in silence, savoring every bite of the meal. After all the platters had been emptied, Eóvan was stuffed and longingly hoped that they could stop for an hour in order to nap. Questions kept popping up in his mind, however.
“What will we do if…?” the boy began, pausing sharply after catching a look from Toark.
Clearly this was not an adequate place to ask questions. Nevertheless, Eóvan felt that he had a right to gain some answers! He began again, cautious to keep his words cryptic and of no interest to possible eavesdroppers.
“What will we do if our attempts fail?” he questioned again. Toark seemed satisfied by this new technique.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he replied.
“But, Uncle!” Eóvan began to protest, using the fake relation they had decided to be most believable. “What happens when…?”
“It is something to think about, certainly,” Toark interrupted, thoughtfully. “But as we have no way of knowing what the outcome will be, we might as well push it from our minds for now.” Looking down at Eóvan his eyes smiled slightly. “There’s no use worrying about what we can’t do anything about, boy.”
Eóvan nodded, placated.
“Will we be staying at an inn in Malchior?” he pressed on.
“Not at all!” Toark replied, lowering his voice to a whisper and glancing around. “We will not enter the city unless forced to do so!”
So they would be roughing it the entire way then! Eóvan glanced down at his empty bowl, wondering if he should ask for seconds. Perhaps he might not be fed so magnificently again? Toark, on the other hand, had different ideas about how to spend the remainder of their time in Kelda.
“If you see any soldiers,” he instructed Eóvan as they returned to the now bustling streets, “don't panic and don't talk to them! Just come and find me.”
“Where are you going?” Eóvan asked, unsure as to why he felt a sudden fear at losing his traveling companion.
“To buy some horses!” Toark stated matter-of-factly. “You stay here and don’t draw attention to yourself! The less your face is paraded around different towns, the better!”
Eóvan agreed and watched as Toark wandered off down the market street. He then drifted into the shadow of a dusty building where his face would remain hidden, but could still observe the commotion of the market. Eóvan had always enjoyed watching the market in Twarum, and the flurry of Kelda was much greater in size than that of his home town. Nevertheless, with a full stomach and tired eyes from the journey, Eóvan soon drifted off to sleep in his concealed corner.
Three quarters of an hour later, Eóvan awoke to Toark’s soft, but harsh admonishments. He was furious at Eóvan for allowing himself to fall asleep in the middle of an unknown place. The old barman spent the better portion of the remaining hour reprimanding the boy through a lecture. Unable to stand much more of the tongue-lashing, Eóvan promised meekly that he would never let it happen again and turned his attention to the horses that Toark led behind him.
One was large steed the color of dark toffee; the other was a smaller but sturdy mare, completely black except for one ear, which was white. Toark passed the reigns of the smaller horse to Eóvan, who greeted his new mount a bit nervously. The mare snorted her distaste at Eóvan's anxiety, and nudged him with her nose. He stroked her face lightly and she sidled closer to him.
“The man said that they was bred for speed,” Toark said mindlessly as he attached his pack and a few new supplies that he'd purchased to his horse's saddle. “I've decided to name this one 'Rurik'. Any thoughts for yours?”
Eóvan racked his brain for a name to call her. The mare waited patiently while Eóvan searched his thoughts as though she knew what Eóvan was deliberating over. Finally, Eóvan came to a decision.
“Jetta,” he said.
Toark laughed good-heartedly at this.
“Very original, Eóvan!” He chuckled. “She's jet-black and fast!” Eóvan grinned in response but did not change his mind. The name seemed to fit the horse.
Sidling onto their mounts, Eóvan and Toark made for the northern gates, winding through the small and easily maneuvered streets of Kelda. The town was bigger than Twarum, but was still a small-knit community. The visitors were eyed warily, as were the copious amounts of soldiers that now littered the streets as well. Toark whistled carelessly in the saddle next to Eóvan.
Upon reaching the outer gates, Toark and Eóvan found their path blocked by a thin line of soldiers standing guard. Eóvan tensed with panic in the saddle and Jetta stamped her feet as if insulted by Eóvan's lack of confidence in her ability to carry him safely. Toark winced at Eóvan’s obvious nerves, which reminded Eóvan that they were supposedly travelers who had nothing to hide from the king. He tried to focus all of his thoughts on calming his racing heart.
Tall spikes blocked their path as Toark and Eóvan slowly approached the city gates. To Eóvan, the soldiers all looked the same: black tunics and trousers covering iron armor. The only differences he noticed were in facial hair, which did not seem to have a uniform rule; some wore long beards while others did not possess even a goatee. Eóvan realized sadly that these hairless faces must belong to the newest and youngest of recruits. He had not forgotten the ruthless jibes the soldiers had made at the trader’s fair on the unsuspecting boys of Twarum.
Since not many people were traveling in and out of Kelda, the soldiers were quick to approach the two unknown travelers, making no effort to hide their annoyance at this interruption to their eventless day. Eóvan shifted uncertainly in the saddle as a younger soldier scowled at him with narrowed eyes.
Toark shot a warning look at Eóvan and growled, almost inaudibly, between his teeth.
“Don't say anything!”
Eóvan hadn't been planning to…
Four soldiers advanced on them, holding their spikes fiercely. Despite Eóvan's firm grip on the horse, Jetta snorted her distaste at the men. The nearest soldiers eyed her warily as they drew near and Eóvan grinned at the horse's ability to incite fear in his adversaries. He stored the knowledge in the back of his brain for future reference.
Toark and Eóvan attempted to ride casually as they approached the soldiers at the gate.
“What be yer business in Kelda?” A gruff soldier with a graying beard demanded, presumably the leader. He directed his question at Toark, but was staring ominously at Eóvan, who returned the gaze unblinkingly.
“I'm called Bryam,” Toark lied, pointed at himself. “And this is my son Abram. We stopped in Kelda to sup at the tavern. Now it's back to the road.”
“An’ where yuh be headin'?”
“To Malchior, good sir. My son is to be apprenticed by a shipman there.”
“And where yuh be from?” The soldier questioned, glaring evermore strangely at Eóvan. “Yuh not be from...Twarum, perchance?”
“Nah,” Toark said, matching the drawl of the soldier. “We be from Cort-Leynn – lived there all my life, yuh know! Why do you ask?”
“Didn' yuh hear? There be a huge fire ther 'bouts. The whole army encampmen' burn' to the groun'! Five soldiers dead, more hurt pretty bad..” The soldier stepped away from Toark at this moment, moving quickly toward Eóvan, who did his best not to look too upset or concerned. “They say a boy no older'n him s'the one who be startin' it.”
“That's terrible!” Toark interjected. “I'm so sorry to hear that!”
“They say he be headed this way.” The soldier continued to eye Eóvan suspiciously for a minute before turning away. “Yuh don' fit the description tho'. He wus uh pretty boy one. Tall, with yelluh hair an' green eyes!”
“Of course not,” Toark replied, showing nothing but casual concern. “You say there were casualties though– were any civilians hurt?”
“Naw, they got it ou' 'fore anyone else was gettin' hurt.”
“That's good to hear!” Toark replied, nodding at the soldier, who glared back.
“Right,” the soldier barked. “Git then! We don't be needin' any mo' trouble.”
“None at all, sir,” Toark shot a lopsided grin at the man, before cantering through the gates. Eóvan followed suit.
Once they were out of view from the gates Toark turned to Eóvan, pale as a ghost. Eóvan was sure his own faced looked as horrified as Toark's. They both had the same horrifying thought coursing through their minds.
Bryynt!
“There's nothing we can do, Eóvan,” Toark said at last.
“But..!” Eóvan spluttered out his protest, unable to form a full sentence.
“Nothing! Whether or not he really did start that fire, he's just as much a marked man as we are now. The best way to help Bryynt will be by contacting the Elves.”
“Right... “Eóvan agreed. “Do you really think he started the fire, though?” Eóvan was sure Bryynt was incapable of such an horrific act, but he had to admit that Bryynt fit the description pretty well. Not many people in Twarum could match Bryynt in looks.
“He certainly fits the description, doesn't he?” Toark answered. Eóvan glared menacingly back at him. “It doesn't sound like something Bryynt would do though,” the old man finished. Eóvan nodded his agreement.
“That was a good test, nonetheless,” Toark said, changing the subject. “They would have arrested you on the spot if they knew who they were looking at. We're lucky you look more like a man than an Elf.”
“What does an Elf look like?” Eóvan wondered.
“A lot like a man, actually!” Toark laughed. “I've seen many a soldier fooled by the appearance of an Elf. You've got to know how to tell them apart!”
“And how do you do that?”
“It's all in the face. Elves don't have really long bodies and exotic features like so many are led to believe. The only way to tell an elf from a man is by watching his eyes. Elves don't need to blink nearly as much as a man does, and they're usually able to remain still for quite some time,” Toark smirked at Eóvan, who was fidgeting in his saddle. “Although I think that has more to do with training than actual race.”
Eóvan glared at Toark, but couldn't help but laugh. He'd always had problems keeping still.
“And I suppose you can always tell by the ears,” Toark continued. “Elves ears are a bit pointier than a human’s. Though finding an Elf who is willing to show you their ears would be difficult; most Elves wear their hair too long to show them off.”
Mindlessly, Eóvan lifted his hand to feel his ears as Jetta cantered swiftly beneath him. Toark chuckled at this vain impulse of the young boy’s.
“Yours are no pointier than any other human’s, Eóvan; which is why we’re able to travel freely still.” The old barkeep looked at his companion, a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s unable to tell if yours will ever be pointed, son; you’ve only half an Elf’s blood.”
As the ride wore on, Eóvan thoughts turned back to Bryynt. Where was he? Why had he fled Twarum? Did he really set the army camp on fire? As the day wore on, Eóvan began to realize that he really knew everything about Bryynt after all. The revelation made his heart squeeze with pain.
I appreciate you! 
No problem, Sweetie. Anytime...
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