Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (6 page)

345th Dawn of the 5000th Age of Lion

Erendil had hardly slept since he left the cold,
damp darkness that was his home. There was simply too much to
experience. The ship was as beautiful as he had envisioned it. It
was rather large, with powerful masts and white sails that caught
the wind and used it as a way to propel the ship. Dozens of
crewmembers, including the captain, went about their duties,
consisting of cleaning, polishing, cooking, and, of course,
steering the large vessel. Waves crashed against the hull as the
ship sped along the vast ocean in a warpath. Traveling the seas was
serenity, the only sound coming from the reverberations of rolling
waves and blowing wind.

They had arrived on Makka in about ten days, but
to Erendil it was a flash. He thoroughly enjoyed every moment in
the outside world, and he wished he could just stop and savor it
all.

The three stepped off their ship onto a long,
wooden dock. Dockworkers bustled about, and what Erendil was told
was called Port Yjur loomed ahead. Serraemas glanced at the captain
and nodded before turning and heading down the dock. The captain
returned the gesture, then hurried off to attend to other
matters.

Erendil was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of
activity of this port; Vana was much quieter in comparison, and he
drew in as much as he could. He estimated that there were nearly a
thousand ships docked. From inside the coastal city, he could hear
the racket coming from the multitude of structures of the inner
city.

The three stopped just at the end of the dock.
Erendil looked around and absorbed as much as he could. Fisherman,
farmers, and merchants all trying to sell their respective goods
shouted at the top of their lungs. Small shops and stands littered
the edge of the port, while larger structures loomed beyond. He
wanted to stop at each and every one, and to interact with as many
people as possible, but Raxxil’s wary eye served to tether Erendil
close.

"Remember, keep your cloaks on and hide your
faces", Serraemas said coolly. He turned to Erendil. "Especially
you. Towrth aren't particularly welcome here, even as a slave.” He
stopped for a moment. “Well… you aren't really welcome anywhere."
He withdrew a set of chains from under his dark cloak, and wrapped
them around Erendil’s wrists loosely.

Erendil looked at the chains in confusion.

A slave?

"You'll only be able to travel as a slave,"
Raxxil added, as if reading Erendil's mind. “Nobody likes a
lizard-man. You're all savage and bloodthirsty.”

"But I'm not savage nor bloodthirsty", defended
Erendil.

Raxxil gave him a smirk. "We're all orphans of
the world here, so I’m sure you'll fit right in if you stick with
us."

"We don't have time to waste", Serraemas ordered
calmly. He made his way into the crowd with elegance, sliding his
way through in a quiet dance. Raxxil followed Serraemas, though the
hammer-wielder had a different approach: barge in a straight path
and knock over any unfortunate soul that did not see him
coming.

Erendil followed suit, trying not to pay any
heed to the sea of condescending eyes and grim faces that bore into
his soul.

---

"Fresh fish!" yelled a fisherman who sought to
sell his catch. “Come get your fresh fish!”

Serraemas heard many other terribly unpersuasive
bids like it as they waded through the crowds and moved deeper into
Yjur. He looked around to regard the many faces. This was their
daily itinerary: wake up, gather their goods, try to make a living,
and repeat. To these people this was life and nothing more.

Serraemas let loose a sigh as he drowned out his
surroundings. Like mindless sheep, their cries only proved to be
annoying. No thought outside of the mundane. Just a monotonous,
trivial life chasing desires foolishly. No purpose. Live and
die.

In the back of his mind, her voice called out to
him. Long ago he had stopped answering, for he realized that she
would never hear him again.

"Serraemas!" Raxxil bellowed, interrupting the
staff-wielder from his thoughts.

Serraemas wheeled around, focusing his attention
on his larger counterpart.

Raxxil stood hunched over, clutching his stomach
with his left hand as if struck by a piercing blade. An uneasy look
was strewn across his face.

Alerted, Serraemas jumped into a defensive
stance in front of Raxxil, and quickly surveyed the area. Despite
his keen eyes, he could not catch anything suspicious. Instead, he
felt a strong tug on his cloak and turned back to Raxxil, who still
held the same expression.

A loud rumble came from Raxxil's stomach that
lasted for quite a while. The two stared at each other for several
moments in silence, while Erendil stood behind Raxxil with a
confused expression.

"I'm hungry", Raxxil mumbled weakly, as if his
stomach had just relayed that information to him.

Serraemas looked around, and spotted a sign that
read 'Hoji's Barbecue'. He turned back to Raxxil, and crouching
next to him, struck the fiery elementalist in the abdomen with
lightning speed. Serraemas then stood up and walked toward the
shop.

“You can’t… you can’t just punch away hunger…”
muttered Raxxil softly.

"Over here", Serraemas said, ignoring the
comment and beckoning the hammer-wielder with a wag of his
fingers.

At this point, Raxxil was on one knee, clutching
his stomach in pain. Erendil inched closer to Raxxil, attempting to
help the human up—

"Back off!" Raxxil barked as he pushed Erendil
away with his free hand. “This is nothing.” The hothead forcefully
stood up and stumbled after Serraemas, who was already waiting
expectantly by the establishment.

Serraemas shook his head at Raxxil, and the
latter shot back a rude gesture.

"It always amazes me how well you two get
along", resonated Zaranet from within.

Serraemas made no effort to respond.

"You should cut him some slack", continued his
elemental. “After all, if there’s anyone who’s at your side no
matter what, it’s him.” Zaranet then laughed to himself. “Other
than myself, of course.”

"Hurry up”, Serraemas commanded as he gritted
his teeth and clenched his fists, the blood draining from his white
knuckles. “You’re wasting time.”

---

"Another round!" shouted Raxxil.

Dozens of empty plates were stacked upon each
other, and his appetite showed no signs of slowing down. The fiery
warrior had barely eaten since they arrived, and he needed a proper
refueling. Both Serraemas and Erendil combined barely ate more than
a few plates.

"Of course!” squealed Hoji, the owner, as he
danced about from table to table and back into the kitchen. “Coming
right up!” He was an elderly man, but he had young spirit. The
aroma of spices and cooked meat emanated from the kitchen and,
strangely enough, it seemed as though Hoji was the only person
working. And yet, he was able to procure an infinite amount of food
in a short time while also doing every other duty
simultaneously.

Raxxil let loose a loud belch and then licked
his fingers, much to the chagrin of his two companions. He glanced
at them and gave a food-filled grin, but quickly went back to
chowing down another plate.

"Last plate, then we're leaving", ordered
Serraemas coldly, and Raxxil could feel Serraemas's chilling death
stare boring into his skin. “We have a mission to complete.”

Raxxil glanced up at Serraemas with a mouthful
of food, and gave him a why-are-you-doing-this-to-me look. It
didn’t work, other than to augment the intensity of the
staff-wielder’s icy glare.

“Raxxil”, Serraemas said calmly.

"Arghmnfoanrigo", Raxxil complained without
swallowing his food, discontent filling his jumbled words. Erendil
grimaced, but Serraemas remained unmoved. The staff-wielder’s blank
stare spoke volumes.

"Alright, alright", Raxxil conceded. He got up
from his chair and moved toward the kitchen. Just as he neared the
entrance, Hoji burst forth carrying several more plates of steaming
meat, and a delicious aroma filled Raxxil's nostrils.

Hoji seemed to read Raxxil's solemn face
perfectly. "Leaving so soon?"

Suddenly, Raxxil had the notion that he had just
shattered an old man's dreams. He pointed at the appetizing food.
"I'm going to need that for the road."

---

Erendil watched in wonder at the large, powerful
beasts standing before him.

After leaving the barbecue shop, Serraemas had
insisted that they purchase mounts to assist their travels.
According to him, they were in a rush since they had lost some
time—a concept Erendil was not familiar with. The towrth heard
Serraemas mentioning a place called Cursewood as their destination,
but did not inquire further as to why it was named that.

They stopped just outside of the port next to a
large stable that housed dozens of beasts called horses. Serraemas
was speaking to the stable owner, leaving Erendil and Raxxil to
their own musings.

Erendil walked up to one of the beasts and
studied it intently. As he neared it he caressed its long mane. It
stared at him, but offered no judgment—something that the
inhabitants of Port Yjur seemed to have an abundance of.

Such majestic creatures, yet subjected to a
life of servitude.

"Hey, lizard-man!" shouted a voice from
behind.

"What is it now?" Erendil asked as he turned to
meet the hammer-wielder. For the first time, his words were tinged
not with puzzlement but discontent.

Raxxil threw a rolled parchment at Erendil. It
struck the archer’s chest, but fell to the ground when Erendil made
no effort to catch it. Instead, he remained still with mouth agape
at the rude man standing before him.

"Learn that map,” Raxxil blurted vexingly. “If
you’re going to be one of us, you’re going to have to learn how to
navigate. You’re our new tour guide!”

Erendil scoffed at Raxxil's impetuousness. "I
can't read maps.”

Raxxil placed his palm on his forehead, shook
his head, and sighed. He turned and walked away. "Useless."

"I heard that!" Erendil blared.

"Don't encourage him", said Serraemas, returning
with three horses. "Let me show you how to ride."

---

It had taken some time to get accustomed to
riding such magnificent creatures, though Erendil managed to hold
on as the beast galloped with blazing speed.

They had traveled for several days on a long,
paved road that unraveled into the vast lands beyond. Just outside
of Yjur was the Kaghro Grasslands, which mostly consisted of flat
plains with the occasional hill. They passed several farms on their
way, and Erendil spotted a variety of unfamiliar plants and
interesting animals meandering inside expansive fences that he
longed to examine, but understood that there was a task that
required haste.

Gradually, the farms gave way to open fields
that were relatively untouched by civilization. While he was very
curious about people and cultures, there was a serenity about
nature that absorbed him in a way that urban areas like the port
did not.

Up ahead, Serraemas slowed his steed to a halt.
They stopped just before a set of unusual trees that, on closer
inspection, radiated foreboding energy. Twisted branches and
gnarled bark beckoned maliciously as an eerie feeling washed over
Erendil. It was as if they served as a warning not to enter.

"The sun is beginning to set", announced
Serraemas as he pointed ahead. “We rest here for the night and
enter Cursewood at daylight on the morrow." He then dismounted and
proceeded to unload essentials from his pack. Raxxil followed suit,
moving supplies and setting up camp. Up above, the sun was
beginning to set and the sky was slowly darkening. To Erendil, the
cooler air and the sound of creatures not normally heard during the
day was a stark contrast to what he was used to. In the caves below
where he had grown, there were no day and night cycles—just
darkness.

"So, are you going to explain what the hell
we're going in there for?" Raxxil asked loudly, still focusing on
his task. Instead of answering, however, Serraemas chose to
continue his work, and silence fell upon them. Erendil elected to
stay quiet and watch curiously as another interesting debacle
unfolded, for their interactions were starting to become rather
entertaining.

Raxxil shook his head, muttering something
unintelligible and seemingly giving up his efforts to elicit a
response from Serraemas. The hammer-wielder collected an assortment
of dry twigs, branches, and leaves onto a large pile. Once he was
satisfied, Raxxil held out his hand at the collection, and a flame
suddenly burst from his open palm. It bathed the pile in flames and
created a small campfire. After he was done, he sat in front of the
blazing fire and waited patiently.

Finally, almost as if pleased, Serraemas
finished his work and sat opposite to Raxxil. Erendil took the cue
and decided to join them.

"Inside those woods," Serraemas began, "Are many
things that are unnatural and unholy. Whatever obstacles that lay
waiting will attempt to hurt or kill us, and what we seek lies
beyond that."

Raxxil rolled his eyes and growled in impatient
frustration. "And what do we seek!?"

"The Dark Witch of Cursewood", replied
Serraemas.

Raxxil guffawed. "You're joking, right?"

The term ‘witch’ piqued Erendil's interest
greatly. Growing up, he was told that witches and warlocks—having
dark appropriation of demonic influence—were able to manipulate the
dark element without being attuned to a dark elemental as an
elementalist or being a demon.

"So then we will ask for her aid in tracking our
target?" Erendil inquired.

"Quite insightful", Serraemas commended. "Having
an affinity to demonic magic allows an individual to sense and
track others that are the same. She should be able to point us in
the right direction."