“Is he going to make it?” Skiggi’s voice filled Ardwin’s ears.
Darkness surrounded Ardwin. Every inch of his body stung like a thousand little needles worming through his flesh, meat, and bones. “His burns are severe,” a woman said. “The explosion shattered almost every bone in his body. No. I don’t think it is likely. And, if he does live, he will never be the same.” Dori whimpered, sniffled, and then broke into a choking sob that scathed Ardwin’s splitting skull. “Then again, it’s a miracle he’s survived this long. He’s stubborn. I’ll give him that. Pray for him. We’ve done what we can do.”
“Come on, love,” Skiggi whispered. Footsteps fled into oblivion beyond hearing. Silence filled the darkness.
Blue eyes pierced the shadows. Rose’s face floated beneath a current, passing Ardwin by, then vanishing. Murphrey glared. I’ve been the catalyst for so many deaths. Uthrad Pendragon pleaded to Ardwin with earnest eyes before the void also swallowed him. Where does this river lead? He tried to follow, but he was too broken to move. I’ll never be the same. The dark current carried faces from his past: the young brothers he’d slain during the Choosing Ritual, the fletcher of Colonia, who’d perished in the siege, countless red sash radicals, bandits, soldiers, courtiers, and spies.
So many lives cut short.
A sliver of light pierced the darkness. His left eye peeled open, revealing a high ceiling of white plaster and a sconce affixed to a column.
The fire washed through him, spreading across his skin and causing his hands and feet to tremble. Ardwin clenched his fist. A shock of pain caused him to spasm. He cried out. A woman’s face hovered over his own, wrinkles carving her flesh. She lowered a rag onto his mouth and nose.
Oblivion claimed him.
Ardwin awoke at the center of a clearing: lush green grass surrounded by mighty oaks and soaring elms. A golden sky radiated. Foxes, rabbits, and deer nibbled on bushes and berries while colorful birds and chattering squirrels leaped from tree to tree. “Hey!” Padair called. Ardwin spun on a heel to watch the satyr climb out of a shallow creek bed, following a well-trod path through the grass. “I see you’re finally awake.” He stopped at the edge of the clearing. “Do you remember anything?”
“I remember the explosion,” Ardwin said. “Everything after that is gone as if it never happened, but my body says it did. Did Rose—?”
Padair lowered his eyes and shook his head.
Ardwin swallowed a lump in his throat. “Murph, too. I remember.”
“Murphrey left you with no choice,” Padair said as he entered the clearing. “I should say Keya left you with no choice. Her magic turned Murph into her puppet, as she did with the Abbot, which she planned to do to you. Everyone knows you did your best. It’s not your fault.”
“Keya and the Holy Order wanted me,” Ardwin said. “If it weren’t for me, Rose would be performing with Skiggi and Dori, celebrating at the tavern or gambling. She’d be alive.” He grinned, but a tear welled in his eye, so he wiped it away with his thumb. “And Murph—” Ardwin stopped to sigh, releasing a swell of guilt from his belly. “No. It is my fault. I shouldn’t have meddled. I put myself in their path and encouraged Rose to follow me.”
“I’m just glad that you are alive,” Padair said. “You lied about your name but can’t hide your nature, my friend. Nature is a funny thing.” The satyr walked across the clearing, approached a bush, and lifted one of its shaggy branches. His arm disappeared into the leaves, then withdrew. A length of black scales twirled around and around. “This little guy survives because he eats the rabbit, and the rabbit survives because he eats the grass, and the grass survives because it eats the dirt. It is the natural order of things.” Padair bent over and allowed the serpent to uncoil itself from his forearm, slithering through the grass, into the shadows beneath its bush. “You know, only the strongest survive in the wilderness, but even the most fragile flower can thrive in a well-tended garden. Follow me.”
“Where are we going?” Ardwin asked.
“You’ll see.” Padair turned and descended along his goat's path back to the creek bed. Ardwin followed.
The trickling creek led into a dense wood, thick with thorns and saplings. Pushing past the thicket, the ground gave way, sloping gently as the creek widened and tumbled down a series of mossy stones, gathering in a little pond. A stream spilled away from the pond, winding into the forest. Willow trees grew along the banks in groves, and reeds dotted the mud. Yet, the largest willow in the forest–the largest willow Ardwin had ever seen–hovered over the pond, strands of leaf-covered threads reaching toward the gurgling waters. Its leaves glowed under the golden sky. No. They’re glowing. Ardwin, standing at the pond's edge, reached out and touched a golden leaf. The little blade fell from its thin branch, then fluttered toward the pond’s surface, where it floated, bobbing upon ripples. “This place injured Keya. Why?”
“I lied to you,” the satyr changed the subject.
Ardwin peeled his eyes away from the bobbing leaf, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”
Padair stood, arms crossed and fuzzy brows scrunched tight. “I promised to keep your story a secret, but that’s not in my nature. I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need,” Ardwin said. “You were a reliable friend when I had no one else. And now, I must ask you for one last favor. Sever our bond. I know it’s the only thing keeping me alive. I’m tired, my friend. Worn thin,” Ardwin said. “And I’d rather be dead than live as an invalid beggar until I starve or freeze. Or be a burden to others. What kind of life is that?”
“Drink the water,” Padair said.
Ardwin turned toward his friend. “The water?”
“Snakes eat rabbits, rabbits eat grass, but everything drinks water.” Padair knelt beside the pond. “Your Holy Order believes that a careful hand created the world, and, to some degree, they are right.” The satyr dipped his forefinger into the pond and swirled it around and around, causing the water to form a little whirlpool. “It was also a monumental mess. Both must be true for reality to exist. The friction between the dichotomies holds everything together–the elements.” He extracted his finger and stood. “These are the waters of creation. Pan grants you one sip in gratitude for cleansing his realm of the mad elf, who would have become a blight if not for your meddling. It was difficult to convince him, my friend.”
Another breeze cut through the trees, joining the waterfall’s gurgling song. Ardwin placed his forefinger on the fallen leaf and swirled it across the pond’s surface. “What will it do to me?”
“It won’t make you grow horns,” Padair knocked his lopsided head with his right fist. “Unfortunately.”
“But?” Ardwin’s eyes narrowed.
Padair lifted his chin and bleated: “Ah-ah-ah! Of course, you think it’s a trap!” The satyr scoffed and rolled his eyes. “This water is pure energy; it will heal your body. Drink it.”
“I don’t know if I want to.” Ardwin plucked the leaf from the water and tossed it into the breeze. “I’m tired of fighting. Of killing.”
“Then stop,” Padair shrugged.
“The world won’t stop trying to kill me,” Ardwin said. “That is its nature.”
“There are also forces fighting to keep you alive.” Padair tapped his hoof. “Don’t give up. That’s what Ninathril wants—your soul. That sword must consume, too. And it’s fallen into unworthy hands—Skiggi, no less! He’ll gamble it away the first chance he gets. You know it’s true. And who might end up with it next?” His hands shot into the air, rising above his head. “Do the world a favor and throw Ninathril into the sea!”
Ardwin stared at his blurry reflection in the troubled waters. He dipped a finger. It was cold. “Why should I live while everyone else dies?”
Padair placed a small hand on Ardwin’s shoulder. “I’m a satyr, not a philosopher.”
Ardwin glanced up at Padair, then turned his eyes back to the pond. He cupped his right hand and dipped out a palmful of water. He brought the hand to his lips. “One sip? And, just like that, I’m healed? No more burns? No more broken bones?”
“Just like that.” Padair shrugged.
Ardwin drank. The water slid down his tongue like a sugary syrup or a drizzle of sweet honey. Birds chirped, pecking at his ears. The boughs of every tree moaned and groaned against the wind that shook their rustling leaves. Greens and browns, yellow flowers, the blue of jaybirds, and every color grew vibrant as the forest symphony faded. The golden sky burned brilliantly. Warmth blossomed in his belly, and his skin tingled. Ardwin stood. “What now?”
“It’s time to go,” Padair said. “Pan doesn’t care for visitors, especially humans and dwarves. Consider yourself lucky.”
“Thank you,” Ardwin said.
“Until we meet again.” Padair waved. The world dissipated into darkness.
Ardwin awoke in a musty chamber surrounded by plastered walls and ceiling, lying on a feather bed with a thick blanket thrown over him. The sconce burned hot overhead. Ardwin threw off the blanket and sat up, inspecting his hands and lifting the sleeves of his loose garment to inspect his forearms and biceps. I’m healed! He looked up and locked eyes with a middle-aged woman wearing a dust-brown dress. She held a tray of clay bowls, which she promptly dropped. Her eyes grew wide. The woman screamed and ran down a hall lined with beds on either side.
Great.
Skiggi and Dori ran down the hall. Skiggi skidded to a halt. His wife slammed into his back with a yelp, causing Skiggi to stumble forward. “It’s true…” The dwarf tugged at a bead in his beard. “It’s true!” He bellowed laughter, then closed the distance, wrapping Ardwin in his thick arms and squeezing. “Ah! Oh, my boy, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me! How’d you do it? Come on, now!”
“Stop it!” Dori shoved her husband aside. “He’s still healing!” She locked eyes with Ardwin. “Aren’t you?”
The nurse who’d run screaming led three men down the hall, feet thumping against the stones. Admiral Carlozzi in his baggy pants and steel cuirass, Captain Deacon a bundle of bulging furs, and a man Ardwin did not recognize, with hawkish eyes, standing tall and lean, dressed in baggy pants below a white tunic with two purple stripes from tail to collar. Golden bands wrapped his forearms and earrings dangled on either side of his bald head. The nurse stopped three beds away. “This is the man.” The nurse’s eyes avoided Ardwin, darting around the hall from wall to wall, bed to bed. “He was at death’s door this morning. Now—” She covered her mouth and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Carlozzi turned to Deacon, who shrugged, then back to the nurse. “You may go. Thank you.” The Admiral waved a dismissive hand.
“Gladly.” The nurse marched past the men.
“Hmph.” Carlozzi watched the woman flee down the hall. “Your man’s recovery is distressing. Curious.” He stalked down the hall and approached Ardwin’s bed, where Skiggi and Dori stood like sentries. “Deacon says you’re a sailor. I’m a man of the sea, too.” Carlozzi motioned for their mysterious companion to step forward. “This is Governor Achaeus. The Master of Naxos demands answers for the ships burning in his harbor. And, as a protector of this Duchy, so do I.” He paused. “Speak truly.”
Ardwin took a deep breath. Mustering his best Milanese accent, he spoke: “They remained in the harbor for so long that my curiosity got the better of me. So, I started following them around the city to see what they were up to, and that’s when I caught one of them praying to Alexander before breaking his morning fast. I knew right then that– ”
“Why did you come here to begin with?” Governor Achaeus asked.
“I’m traveling to Chios,” Ardwin said. “Getting as far away from the mainland and its wars as possible.” He looked at Deacon. “The captain took me on in Caliacra, and I had a mind to become a sailor, but the waters proved too rough. So, I sought my fortune elsewhere. When things turned south, I had no one else to go to, so I sent word to Deacon.”
“The life of a seaman isn’t for everyone,” Deacon added. “So I cut the boy loose, naturally.”
Achaeus cupped his chin with his right hand and narrowed his eyes on Ardwin. “Why didn’t you go to a customs officer? Why act as a vigilante? Given they had a ship and you, a poor refugee from Milanis, had nothing.”
“I have family on the mainland, and they threatened to find them!” Ardwin cried.
“They could, too. The Burgundians command an extensive spy network.” Carlozzi stepped past the Governor, then sat on an empty bed. “Did you learn anything about the agents you encountered? Who were they? Who sent them? Why were they here?”
“There were a lot of elves,” Ardwin said. “I think they were mercenaries because Burgundia doesn’t have a lot of elves. Nor Freehold.” He scrunched up his nose. “I don’t know what they were after or who sent them, but they were not Chiosian or Milanese men. Do you think they’re planning an attack?”
Carlozzi chuckled. “If they were, you and I foiled any endeavor they hoped to stage. We shattered their armada at Pyrgos.” He lifted his chin. “Now, what else did you learn?”
“Nothing,” Ardwin said.
Governor Achaeus looked at Carlozzi. “His story is vague.”
“A lot happened.” Ardwin rocked on the edge of his bed. “Fast. It got out of control. I’m sorry.” He averted his gaze. “If I went to the guards, the Burgundians would have found out. I hoped to sail away with Deacon before they killed me.”
“Why didn’t they kill you?” Achaeus tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “It seems a miraculous oversight by trained professional killers.”
He doubts there were agents at all, doesn’t he?
Carlozzi raised his right hand. “This isn’t an interrogation, Governor. We are speaking as friends. For the enemy of my enemy is my friend, is he not?” The Admiral grinned as he leveled his eyes with Ardwin’s. “Deacon’s story lines up with the dwarves’ and Alessandro’s. I believe we owe them all a debt of gratitude and our eternal thanks.” The Admiral stood up and placed his left hand on the hilt of his saber. “How did you heal so quickly?”
Ardwin shrugged. “The nurse overreacted.”
Carlozzi laughed. “You have the heart of a Chiosian, my friend! I’d welcome you to the capital myself, but—”
“You won’t be leaving Naxos until the investigation ends,” Achaeus finished. “None of you. And you will each be subject to a private interrogation. We are strict adherents to the law in Naxos and wish to uncover every detail of this situation.” He glared at Ardwin before turning and walking away.
“Everyone looks to the Governor for security and assurance,” Carlozzi whispered. “He takes his duty seriously.”
“As he should,” said Ardwin.
“Speaking of duty…” Deacon stepped forward. “The Admiral has a Triumph to attend and is making for Chios with haste.” He folded his hands behind his back. “Isn’t that right?” Carlozzi nodded. “Perhaps Alessandro could sail with you to the capital? It would be a small—”
“You were present for the previous conversation,” Carlozzi said, cocking an eyebrow and glaring at Deacon. “Achaeus wants a thorough investigation.”
“You’re the Hero of Chios—the man of the hour! With your assurance, our young friend could leave this nightmare behind and start a new life—a decent life,” Deacon pleaded, unfolding his hands and holding them out to either side. “You know me, Carlozzi. I’m not a pirate. Those men were Burgundian through and through—they were up to no good! Alessandro is an exemplary young man. I would’ve made him my first mate if he’d stayed with the crew, but he’s got better sense than I do! Help the man out!”
Carlozzi huffed and threw his hands in the air. “Achaeus is abiding by the law, as will I. I’m an Admiral, now my friend. The Duke’s man.”
Deacon stepped closer to Carlozzi and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “I wonder, Admiral, if a man is never punished for his crimes, and that man grows to become a better man, is he still a criminal despite the lack of prosecution? Is a man’s conscience sufficient judgment? Some would say no. Some men, like Achaeus, would track that criminal down and exact justice through the law.”
Dark eyes swirled within a gathering storm. Carlozzi’s nostrils flared. “You’re pushing your luck!”
Deacon chuckled. “I’m sticking my neck out for a friend, as you’ve done for me repeatedly.” He scratched a red-stubbled cheek. “You’re a better man than these clams, Carlozzi. Alessandro is, too. You’ll see!” He smacked Carlozzi’s shoulder. “I know you’ll convince them to let us go! You’re a good man!”
Carlozzi’s eyes widened. “Us?”
“Naturally,” Deacon said. “My new ship went up in flames, and most of my crew either burned or drowned. What’s left for me here? Achaeus and his prisons or a hangman’s noose?”
Carlozzi pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He closed his eyes. “Caeino and his humor.” The Admiral lowered his hand and opened his eyes. “Okay. My friend. I will speak with Achaeus on your behalf, but I will not force the Governor’s hand! I won’t!”
“I’m not asking you to,” Deacon said. “Just speak to him.”
“I said I would!” Carlozzi spun and walked toward the hall. “I’ve never met a more arrogant Milanese…” the Admiral’s voice trailed off as he disappeared down a dark corridor, boots thumping. Deacon sat down at the foot of Ardwin’s bed.
Ardwin studied the smuggler. “You shouldn’t have threatened him, especially not for me.”
“No.” Deacon shook his head. “Probably not.” He sighed, wiping a glaze of sweat from his brow. “I knew the Admiral when he walked and talked like a dockhand—before he joined the Navy. He knows how the world works. As for you, I’m not so sure.” Deacon worked his mouth as if he’d stuffed it with tobacco. “Your letter promised payment for my services. Given that the dwarves say you didn’t write the letter, I suppose you expect me to accept nothing in return for losing another ship—and my crew—to save you. You’re wrong.”
“Oh?” Ardwin asked.
“I need a good first mate for my next crew,” Deacon said.
“You’ll be sailing the high seas with us,” Dori said, emerging from beside Skiggi and rounding Ardwin’s bed. “After you finish your mission, of course.” She winked. “We can help with that, too.”
“How much have you told the Captain?” Ardwin asked. “Dori? How much have you told him?”
“Enough,” Deacon said. He averted his gaze, staring at the dancing flame of the nearby sconce. “I found your sword in the wreckage, and Skiggi recognized it. Don’t think I knew what I was holding, or I’d have never given it up.” The smuggler grinned. “Is it truly…” his eyes scanned the surrounding darkness. “You know?”
“Yes,” Ardwin said. “It is. And it must return to its rightful owner.”
“I’ve seen elf witches and flying swords. Of course, Ninathril is real.” Deacon stood. “Well.” He patted his chest with two meaty paws. “I’ll leave you seadogs to your reunion and return to the alehouse. I expect you on Carlozzi’s ship.”
“Watch your back,” Ardwin said. “No doubt the governor will be following.” Deacon laughed. The captain bowed his head and strolled down the hall. Ardwin wanted to trust Deacon, but nagging in his stomach told him that the smuggler knew too much, as did the dwarves. They can’t keep a secret. Ardwin stood up on wobbly legs. Damn! I’m too weak to defend myself. Dori and Skiggi rushed to his side, allowing Ardwin to grab their shoulders and remain upright. “Why did you tell him about the sword?”
“He guessed it!” Skiggi spoke through grinding teeth.
“You could’ve lied,” Ardwin said.
Skiggi and Dori exchanged looks. They stepped away and pushed Ardwin onto his bed. “Deacon isn’t the only one who stuck his neck out for you!” Dori’s eyes glistened with fresh tears, but the red rings around them bespoke hours of sorrow. “We lost our best friend.” Her hands folded into trembling fists. “We’re doing our best, even if it’s not good enough!”
Ardwin propped himself up on a weak arm. “You’ve been through a lot.” He lowered his gaze. “How did you all find the Order’s ship? What happened?”
Skiggi stepped forward. “Easy enough with that bald fellow.”
Murph’s ‘contacts.’
“We got your letter—” Skiggi cleared his throat with a shake of his head that rattled every bead in his thick beard. “Not your letter two days after you left Eirgo, telling us Rose had been kidnapped. We did as you asked—or someone asked—and convinced Deacon to sail north before the repairs were finished. The letter promised a hundred silver circlings for each Burgundian agent, so he accepted. I think the captain took a liking to you and wanted to help, but he is a businessman. The bald man met us at the harbor and informed us you had made your move against the Burgundians, and they’d taken you prisoner, too. He had your sword. The whole thing smelled fishy, but we had nothing else to go on, and searching around town didn’t offer any answers.”
“The bald man helped us plan, but he kept delaying,” Dori said. “Then, one night, he rowed to our ship, climbed aboard, and told us to prepare for a fight. We were anxious by then and ready to be underway.”
Skiggi nodded. “It’s strange. The more I think about the bald man, the hazier my memories get. It’s like a fog surrounds him.”
Dori shivered.
“Keya’s magic,” Ardwin said. “She orchestrated the whole thing.”
“I never hated elves,” Skiggi said. “But I never feared them, either. Until now.” He tugged at a bead in his beard. “But that’s what happened, at least to us. We won’t ask you for details.”
“We waited for a funeral,” Dori said, rubbing her hands together. “We thought you’d want to be there, and we don’t know what to say.”
“I do,” Ardwin said.
They followed the shoreline north as the sun rose over an expanse of shimmering waves. Ardwin stood upon a grassy rise at the dividing line of sand and earth, while Skiggi and Dori stood to his right, and Deacon, Andrea, and Tyandrea Accardi stood to his left, holding cloth-bound offerings of food and circlings. Each laid their gifts on the soft dirt of Rose’s grave. “May the Gods deem thee worthy,” Ardwin recanted the pagan rites. “May your soul burn bright amongst the heavens, and may your flesh and bones nourish the world below. May your waters join the rivers and the seas—the lifeblood of the world—and may your words carry upon the wind as wisdom for the young. You are free from your mortal bonds. Only the Gods may judge you…”
Deacon placed a hand on Ardwin’s shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”
“I don’t know her name,” Ardwin said.
“Madeline.” Dori covered her face with two small hands. Skiggi wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her in close. Dori wilted. Skiggi patted her back and whispered into her ear.
Ardwin swallowed hard. “Only the Gods May judge you, Madeline, daughter of Wexley, friend of Dori and Skiggi.” He paused. “She was an excellent performer and had an incredible eye for talent. She was a survivor. And those who carry her words and her memories in their hearts will miss her.”
Ardwin knelt, grabbed a handful of freshly shoveled dirt, and allowed the grains of earth to sift between his fingers. He stood and scattered a cloud of brown dust in the wind. A large hand clapped his back. “Well done,” Deacon said. Ardwin watched the cloud of dust dissipate into the air. “Don’t stay too long. Carlozzi is waiting for us in the harbor, and I don’t want to give Achaeus the chance to change his mind.” Deacon and the Accardi twins trotted down the soft slope of sand and dirt, passing through patches of tall, thin grass and heading south along the shore toward Naxos. Ardwin turned and watched the waves crash against the sand, churning to froth. He looked to the north: fair blue over dark seas, melding at the horizon.
Will you become one with this world or find a new world to wander?