Need to catch-up? Here's the link to the full collection.
Chapter 11
Part 2
“Rhys. What do you want?” Orothar spat into his shoulder and Dezan could see the clear clump of phlegm slowly roll down his clothes.
“I just came to see how my favourite dwarf was holding up in prison. It seems you’ve… taken to it well.”
“They’ve got me in solitary. Maximum security. They think I’m responsible for the murder of Princess Mari. Said there was no-one called Rhys ap Llewelyn when I brought you up in testimonies. Said you didn’t exist.” Scratching at the table, Orothar continued, “but here you are. Just who the hell are you?”
“I’d rather not say.” Dezan’s smile faded further leaving a barely there frown. “Let’s just keep this façade that I’m Rhys ap Llewelyn.”
“Fine, Rhys. Why are you really here?”
“On account of that other request I wanted you to fulfil.”
“Obviously. Well as you can imagine, the price for the information has gone up considerably. Seeing the cost of the other request you gave me.” Orothar’s face hardened as he glanced around the room, worrying over prying eyes.
“Of course! How’s the supply of arcanum here? You look a bit grey and… not really with it.”
“We get just enough to stop us getting sick. A thimble full a day, if that. You got arcanum?” Orothar’s eyes widened as he watched Dezan reach into his coat pocket. Holding a vial containing a black liquid between each of his fingers, he flashed them at the dwarf before hiding them back in his jacket.
“It’s the least I could do.” Dezan leaned over the table and locked eyes with Orothar, “So, what were you able to find out?”
“It’s in the east, the trolls in Aberhaf have stories about it. There’s an island off the coast that supposedly houses it. What exactly is it?”
“Ah-ah-ah. Now now, Orothar, you don’t need to know that much. Let’s just say my boss is very interested in its location.”
“If your boss is the reason why the princess is dead, I don’t know if I should be happy to have told you that. Give me my arcanum.”
Dezan pulled the vials from his jacket once more and held them over the table. “How do you intend to smuggle these back into the prison?”
“Just stuff them in my beard.”
Dezan frowned, before shrugging and leaning even further over the table. He could smell the stale diet of the prison on Orothar’s breath as he placed the small vials into the dwarf’s beard, ensuring they were as well hidden as possible.
“Pop one open now,” Orothar licked his lips as Dezan uncorked the final vial. The smell of absinthe hit Orothar’s nose as the saliva collected at the corners of his mouth. “Help a friend out and pour it in, will you?”
Dezan obliged, pouring the black liquid into Orothar’s open mouth. The colour returned to him almost immediately, providing instant relief for his magical withdrawal.
“Fuck, that’s good.” Orothar lashed his tongue around his lips, ensuring every drop went to good use.
“Thank you for your help, Orothar. Hopefully your time in prison will be short lived. If the artifact is where you’ve suggested, I’ll be sure to… expedite your stay. As a show of my thanks.” Clearing his throat, Dezan stood and pressed out the creases in his trousers. Stepping aside to the exit, he watched as the prison officer returned and released Orothar from the table.
“Happy to be of service, Rhys.” Orothar was pulled upright by the prison guard and guided over to the prisoner’s exit as both doors clattered open.
Dezan walked back through the prison, nodding at the workers on his way out. Leaving the prison behind and entering into a darkened alley, he clicked his fingers and removed the façade, returning to his misshapen, impish self. Glancing down either end of the alley, and assuring himself that there were no onlookers, Dezan curled his leathery wings around his body and squatted. His muscles bulged with stored elastic energy – as he extended them, he burst into the air, flapping his wings to complete his ascent. Slipping behind the clouds above, Dezan soaked in the cold night air through his small nostril holes protruding from his face, a further casualty of his exposure to the corrupted magic of Pen-y-lyn.
Peering down to the prison below, Dezan could hear cries breaking out from across its being. “Finally. I was beginning to think I’d given them duds.” Sirens began blaring as he watched a body burst out of the front doors through breaks in the clouds, the wood splintering at their back as they sprawled out onto the stone floor of the streets. A hulking figure stepped out of the prison and lifted the humanoid slumped on the ground. Hauling them over their head, they tore its body in half and Dezan winced, “Goliaths. Quite the fearsome race.” Beating his wings, Dezan flew over the cityscape, making his way to the north, back towards Pen-y-lyn.
Chapter 12
Part 1
Having retrieved some weapons and maps from the trolls in Aberhaf, Ifan and the other adventurers made their way to the inlet along the eastern coast. The sun glistened off of the dark sea water, and the breaking of the waves filled the air with the smell of the sea breeze.
“How are you holding up?” Rhian adjusted the string of her new crossbow idly as she walked alongside Ifan, a little way away from Angharad and Gustov.
“Hmm? How do you mean?”
“You seem a bit… Distant. Or… more reserved? It’s only been a month since Mari passed away. Are you sure you’re up for this?” Strapping the crossbow to her back, Rhian focussed on keeping pace with Ifan, staring down at her feet to match his gait.
“I think so. Being near the sea just reminded me of our last day together. She would have loved to be here with us.” Ifan smiled, “we used to go to the beach every week during the summer in Gwynedd. Trefynnon is so land locked, and we were always so busy with the guild, we barely ever got a chance to come see the east coast. It’s beautiful.”
“That sucks. Having grown up in Trefynnon, the east coast is a gem. A day’s travel by carriage makes it more of a holiday getaway than something I’d be able to get to once a week, but me and my Mam would come here every summer. Without fail.” Rhian paused and bit her lip in anxious excitement, “… maybe, we could make it a tradition too? I mean the guild that is. We could come here on, like, a guild holiday.”
Ifan blushed, “that’s a great idea. You should mention it to Hephaestus when we’re back in Trefynnon, I’m sure he’ll be up for it.” Looking over to Rhian, he could barely see her face through her mass of red curls, until she glanced over to meet his gaze. Ifan coughed as he turned back to face the beach stretching out ahead of them, as both his and Rhian’s face turned a deep red.
“I’ll definitely do that. Ahem.” Rhian rubbed her face with the back of her wrist, hoping to wipe away the sweat and embarrassment streaked across it. “How long, ummm, how long do you reckon we have left ‘til we get to the cave?”
Graciously accepting the change in topic, Ifan replied, “Like, thirty more minutes maybe? Unfortunately, we don’t have Terry anymore for timekeeping.” Smirking, he pointed to their right, towards a roughly beaten path that would avoid the rocky outcrops they were fast approaching. Stepping to one side and waiting for Gustov and Angharad, Rhian and Ifan stood silently for an eternal minute.
“Good eyes, captain.” Angharad smiled as she stepped past Ifan and Rhian, winking at her female friend who barely stuck out her tongue in response.
“Why are you two so red? Have you succumbed to heat stroke? Do you need some water?” Gustov stopped briefly in front of the pair, before Angharad beckoned him over. Both of them breathed a sigh of relief under their breath as they turned back to each other smiling.
Gesturing for Rhian to take the lead, Ifan followed closely behind as they all walked single file up the shrub covered hillside around the coast. After a few more paces, he stopped. His chest panged with pain and his breath became shallow and stilted.
Shifting at the noises behind her, Rhian turned. “Ifan!” She rushed to his side and clasped her hand around his shoulder.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Using her as a support he lowered himself to the ground before sitting on the tight sandy dirt.
“What’s up?” Angharad called back to the pair.
“It’s Ifan, he’s… He needs some time, I think.” Rhian looked back at Gustov and Angharad, watching as they turned around. Concern plastered Angharad’s face, while Gustov’s eyes rolled.
“Come on little prince, we need to keep moving.” Gustov began shambling over to Ifan, pushing past Rhian, and placing his hands under Ifan’s armpits. “Up and at ‘em.”
“Woah, woah, Gustov.” Rhian gripped impotently at Gustov’s hulking bicep as he hurled Ifan to his feet.
“It’s ok. It’s ok. Don’t worry. Thanks, Gus.” Ifan caught his breath and watched as the goliath patted him on the shoulders.
“You let me know if you have another wobbly, Ifan.” Gustov turned back around and set out to catching up with Angharad, who chastised him as soon as he got out of earshot of Ifan.
“You’re such a… You could be a bit more gentle!” Angharad shook her head and after assuring that Ifan and Rhian were ready to go, continued on the beaten path.
“We had an agreement. He’s been struggling since his big sister passed.” Gustov picked his teeth, continuing, “He finds my demeanour… relaxing. Something about how I remind him of his papa.”
“Oh. Well then. Good job, Gustov.”
“Thank you, little Angharad.”
With Rhian’s help, Ifan continued forward, barely keeping pace with the group as he continued struggling with some acute chest pain.
“Are you sure you’re ok?” Rhian held his arm; her face was plastered with concern and worry.
“I’m sure. Ta, Rhian.” Placing his hand on hers, he caught her gaze and flashed her a weak smile through pained winces.
“What’s wrong? Is there anything more I can do?”
“Just some… mental anguish.” Ifan chuckled, “You know, watching your sister die in your arms…” His breath caught in his windpipe, “It leaves its mark on you. Just… get Gus’ attention if I go down again. He helps.”
“Ummm. Ok. Can I ask why?”
“He, uhh, handles me like my dad used to. Like a knock-off home comfort.”
Rhian laughed, “I get that. I’ve seen portraits of King Rhydian, he was huge.”
“And strong as hell,” Ifan puffed up his chest and grabbed his bicep, “used to be able to pick me up with one arm even when I was a teenager.” Slowly, Ifan could tell the pain in his chest was passing as he laughed with Rhian.
“I wish I could have met him – the man who defended Inarell from the ‘Ice Dragon of the Northern Wastes’ single-handedly. Big shoes to fill.” Rhian smiled before watching Ifan’s demeanour sink once more, “Sorry! I, uh, shouldn’t have said that?”
“I’ve heard that all my life, don’t worry about it. ‘The inheritor of the Divine Breath shouldn’t spend all his time with his head in a sketchbook, ‘my protégé shouldn’t cry at his sister leaving for magic school’, ‘you’re destined for greatness’. Yada, yada, yada. I had a –” Ifan paused and thought about his words carefully, “strained relationship with him. An odd one at the very least. Maybe overly dependent? I don’t know.”
“He’d be proud of you. And your mam too.” Rhian felt Ifan’s gaze fall onto her face, and she blushed through an embarrassed smile, “I assume… Probably.”
“I’d like to think so.” Ifan smiled back at Rhian, and they fell back into a comfortable silence as they continued following Angharad and Gustov along the shrub-laden coastal hills.