Chapter V
I hate running from a fight, Yrael snorted as the rain beat pellets down into his arms and face. It stung him, but he knew that he would have to keep his pace if he wanted to run from Kealei and his soldiers.
Thunder boomed in the distance, and Yrael's lips thinned. He didn't like being out in this weather, not when there was such a long distance to go. He had to hurry on...but where was he heading?
All logic told him to make a wide circle and then return to the sourthern lands of the kingdom. He had tricked Kealei by doing this before. But somehow Yrael knew that this time his handy ploy would not work.
"Where to then?" he asked himself aloud, humming slightly although he wasn't heard over the pulsing beat of the falling rain. He turned his head and a strange sight flooded into his eyes: there was a city in the distance.
"Belisaere," Yrael muttered softly, consumed in a new array of muses, "the largest city in this world."
Ha! he thought victoriously. Kealei would never suspect that....
He smiled grimly as he straightened the pack that hung loosely over his shoulder. To Belisaere then. He would work his future from there.
*** *** ***
Dyrim walked slowly into the blacksmith's shop, her blonde hair pinned back so that it didn't hang over her face. She glanced around, her blue eyes sweeping over the area with an unnatural attentiveness.
There was an elderly man sitting at the counter; he seemed to be asleep. Calmly and gracefully, Dyrim glided over to him, clearing her throat delicately.
"Sir?" she asked quietly, not wanting to startle him. The door opened and she turned her head.
"This is the place?" Saraneth asked her, taking the same studying overview of the shop. Dyrim nodded.
"You reached Belisaere quickly," she noted, turning her attention away from the sleeping man. Saraneth shrugged nonchalantly, unconcerned with the assessment. He always traveled swiftly, and he had known that Dyrim would be waiting.
Dyrim pursed her lips at Saraneth's silence. He was always a confusing one, she thought grudgingly. Her slender hand reached out to gently shake the man on the shoulder.
He jumped up, his eyes flying wide. "Who?!" he asked, his words a slur.
Dyrim stood before him, her face unable to be read. "Is Master Belgaer here?" she questioned.
"May I ask who is calling fer 'im?" He looked her over with suspicious eyes. She was dressed in white.
Dyrim smiled placidly as Saraneth found his way to her side. "I am Dyrim, and this is my companion Saraneth. We've journeyed far to speak with him."
The older man nodded uncertainly. "I'll tell him that you've arrived," he shook, the words seeming unnatural. There's something about these two, he shuddered to think.
"Thank you," the one called Dyrim replied as the man hurried to the back of the shop where the tapping of a hammer flooded their ears.
*** *** ***
Orannis yawned, falling down on the bed of the room he had rented from the inn. He lazily stripped himself of his shirt and rolled over on his side, trying to ignore the screams and hoots of the drunken men in the tavern beneath his room.
He had just closed his eyes and was beginning to drift off when a knock came at the door.
"Damn," Orannis muttered under his breath as he forced himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes with one hand as he made his way to the door.
The knock came again, more persistant this time.
"I'm coming!" he called, slightly annoyed at the impatient person at the door. The knocking stopped and Orannis put a hand on the knob.
He was in no mood to be entertaining guests. All day he had accept challengers. True, he had made some valuable money, but he was stressed from the constant use of the sword. Now, all he wanted to do was fall onto his bed and sleep.
He twisted the doorknob and blinked once tiredly. A beautiful young woman stood in the doorway, a tray of food in her hand.
"Ah," she said pointedly, noticing that he was not fully dressed. She looked up, giving him a late-coming smile. "You had said you wanted your tray brought up here. Phillid sent me to bring it to you."
Orannis returned the smile. "I'd forgotten all about the food," he admitted, "but thank you." The woman offered the tray to him and Orannis took it, moving inside his room to set it on the small wooden table there.
"Are you the fighter that came here to let people challenge you?" the serving girl asked, still in the doorway. Orannis turned his head her way.
"Don't tell me I've gotten so much publicity," he snorted caustically. The girl laughed, her radiant eyes sparkling in the humor.
"What's your name?" Orannis asked.
The girl replied, tossing her head to the side, "Ranna."
"Lovely name," Orannis said suavely. "I'll-"
"Phillid says he is up here!" one of the men called. Orannis' head turned immediately to the call. "Stole my money, he did! Unfair fightin'!"
"Um," Orannis started hesitantly, unsure of what to say, "I do believe I might have caused some trouble in your inn."
Ranna looked down the corridor. "They are drunk," she told him, eyeing them carefully. Orannis nodded, grabbing his shirt and his sword. He looked around and found his purse of coins.
"Give my apologies the master of the inn," Orannis calmly said to Ranna as he threw open the window in the room.
Ranna nodded politely, snickering at Orannis' sudden bravado. "I will, sir," she promised with a deep curtsey.
Orannis gave a single nod before he leapt from the window. Ranna hurried to window and watched as the man dangled from the sill of the window.
"Wish me luck," he said with a wink and dropped. With quick reflexes, Orannis grabbed the sign of the inn, swinging twice before he let go and completed his sail to the ground.
Orannis looked up. A group of men had joined Ranna at the window. Orannis felt the pride swelling in him. He dipped low in a mocking bow and then sped off down the street.
----------
Note from me, the author-person: I'm not really sure I'm going to continue this story, but I just had this chapter lying around. I wasn't too certain what to do with it so I thought I might upload it. I've been really busy and I had a lot of writing-doubt lately (due to a simply MARVELOUS teacher of mine - sarcasm). I've only been able to write poems now-a-days (and a chapter or two of my Forgotten Realms fanfiction), but my novel and any other things, I haven't found any desire to write.
I'll leave this story up, but I have no idea when it might be updated or if I'll even continue it. Thank you though, for all the reviews I've been given. =) Latae for now.
~Aithne Veradine
I hate running from a fight, Yrael snorted as the rain beat pellets down into his arms and face. It stung him, but he knew that he would have to keep his pace if he wanted to run from Kealei and his soldiers.
Thunder boomed in the distance, and Yrael's lips thinned. He didn't like being out in this weather, not when there was such a long distance to go. He had to hurry on...but where was he heading?
All logic told him to make a wide circle and then return to the sourthern lands of the kingdom. He had tricked Kealei by doing this before. But somehow Yrael knew that this time his handy ploy would not work.
"Where to then?" he asked himself aloud, humming slightly although he wasn't heard over the pulsing beat of the falling rain. He turned his head and a strange sight flooded into his eyes: there was a city in the distance.
"Belisaere," Yrael muttered softly, consumed in a new array of muses, "the largest city in this world."
Ha! he thought victoriously. Kealei would never suspect that....
He smiled grimly as he straightened the pack that hung loosely over his shoulder. To Belisaere then. He would work his future from there.
*** *** ***
Dyrim walked slowly into the blacksmith's shop, her blonde hair pinned back so that it didn't hang over her face. She glanced around, her blue eyes sweeping over the area with an unnatural attentiveness.
There was an elderly man sitting at the counter; he seemed to be asleep. Calmly and gracefully, Dyrim glided over to him, clearing her throat delicately.
"Sir?" she asked quietly, not wanting to startle him. The door opened and she turned her head.
"This is the place?" Saraneth asked her, taking the same studying overview of the shop. Dyrim nodded.
"You reached Belisaere quickly," she noted, turning her attention away from the sleeping man. Saraneth shrugged nonchalantly, unconcerned with the assessment. He always traveled swiftly, and he had known that Dyrim would be waiting.
Dyrim pursed her lips at Saraneth's silence. He was always a confusing one, she thought grudgingly. Her slender hand reached out to gently shake the man on the shoulder.
He jumped up, his eyes flying wide. "Who?!" he asked, his words a slur.
Dyrim stood before him, her face unable to be read. "Is Master Belgaer here?" she questioned.
"May I ask who is calling fer 'im?" He looked her over with suspicious eyes. She was dressed in white.
Dyrim smiled placidly as Saraneth found his way to her side. "I am Dyrim, and this is my companion Saraneth. We've journeyed far to speak with him."
The older man nodded uncertainly. "I'll tell him that you've arrived," he shook, the words seeming unnatural. There's something about these two, he shuddered to think.
"Thank you," the one called Dyrim replied as the man hurried to the back of the shop where the tapping of a hammer flooded their ears.
*** *** ***
Orannis yawned, falling down on the bed of the room he had rented from the inn. He lazily stripped himself of his shirt and rolled over on his side, trying to ignore the screams and hoots of the drunken men in the tavern beneath his room.
He had just closed his eyes and was beginning to drift off when a knock came at the door.
"Damn," Orannis muttered under his breath as he forced himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes with one hand as he made his way to the door.
The knock came again, more persistant this time.
"I'm coming!" he called, slightly annoyed at the impatient person at the door. The knocking stopped and Orannis put a hand on the knob.
He was in no mood to be entertaining guests. All day he had accept challengers. True, he had made some valuable money, but he was stressed from the constant use of the sword. Now, all he wanted to do was fall onto his bed and sleep.
He twisted the doorknob and blinked once tiredly. A beautiful young woman stood in the doorway, a tray of food in her hand.
"Ah," she said pointedly, noticing that he was not fully dressed. She looked up, giving him a late-coming smile. "You had said you wanted your tray brought up here. Phillid sent me to bring it to you."
Orannis returned the smile. "I'd forgotten all about the food," he admitted, "but thank you." The woman offered the tray to him and Orannis took it, moving inside his room to set it on the small wooden table there.
"Are you the fighter that came here to let people challenge you?" the serving girl asked, still in the doorway. Orannis turned his head her way.
"Don't tell me I've gotten so much publicity," he snorted caustically. The girl laughed, her radiant eyes sparkling in the humor.
"What's your name?" Orannis asked.
The girl replied, tossing her head to the side, "Ranna."
"Lovely name," Orannis said suavely. "I'll-"
"Phillid says he is up here!" one of the men called. Orannis' head turned immediately to the call. "Stole my money, he did! Unfair fightin'!"
"Um," Orannis started hesitantly, unsure of what to say, "I do believe I might have caused some trouble in your inn."
Ranna looked down the corridor. "They are drunk," she told him, eyeing them carefully. Orannis nodded, grabbing his shirt and his sword. He looked around and found his purse of coins.
"Give my apologies the master of the inn," Orannis calmly said to Ranna as he threw open the window in the room.
Ranna nodded politely, snickering at Orannis' sudden bravado. "I will, sir," she promised with a deep curtsey.
Orannis gave a single nod before he leapt from the window. Ranna hurried to window and watched as the man dangled from the sill of the window.
"Wish me luck," he said with a wink and dropped. With quick reflexes, Orannis grabbed the sign of the inn, swinging twice before he let go and completed his sail to the ground.
Orannis looked up. A group of men had joined Ranna at the window. Orannis felt the pride swelling in him. He dipped low in a mocking bow and then sped off down the street.
----------
Note from me, the author-person: I'm not really sure I'm going to continue this story, but I just had this chapter lying around. I wasn't too certain what to do with it so I thought I might upload it. I've been really busy and I had a lot of writing-doubt lately (due to a simply MARVELOUS teacher of mine - sarcasm). I've only been able to write poems now-a-days (and a chapter or two of my Forgotten Realms fanfiction), but my novel and any other things, I haven't found any desire to write.
I'll leave this story up, but I have no idea when it might be updated or if I'll even continue it. Thank you though, for all the reviews I've been given. =) Latae for now.
~Aithne Veradine