There is a giant sendoff for our departure. Both King Leo and the Lord Erriam wish us the best for our journeys. King Leo even gives me a hug, and it feels like the hugs I get from my grandfather. Lord Erriam may not be as emotional but he gifts me something more practical: an elven greatsword.
A beautiful blade it even has a ruby studded hilt which gives the deadly weapon a touch of elven beauty. It requires both hands to be at its best. Fortunately, I’m warrior class and am skilled with the sword.
*No,* replies Tinny. *Levels cannot be bought or gifted. You have to earn them with your actions.*
*It should still make you a more effective fighter though, assuming you use it properly.*
*I believe that’s up to you. I’m just a tin man, as you like to say*
*What does that mean?*
But I don’t respond.
Let him chew on that bit of nonsense for a while.
I sheathe the great blade behind my back – like Cloud in Final Fantasy 7 – and I’m surprised at how light it feels on me. I could wield it one-handed if need be, which may well happen at some point.
Never know when I’ll need my flashlight again.
Leaving is bittersweet, especially when I see Mary shed a tear at our disappearing horses, and as I watch the princess waive at us long after everyone else has stopped. But I also thank the Maker that I’m being allowed to leave at this point. The elves are almost too enthusiastic. During our trip they run out of their homes, and children chase after Dauntless. I feel like I’m a one-man Thanksgiving Day parade, and I don’t need that kind of attention or celebrity.
“Well, I think this will be quite refreshing,” Myran announces as we travel. “I’ve never been to the mountains before.”
“Never been?” I ask. “Aren’t they your neighbors?”
“They are,” Myran concedes, “but they’re behind a very high fence.”
I’m lost. “Ugh. The mountains are a fence?”
Myran shrugs. “In a way. Elves certainly don’t enjoy the mountains. Our people have never lived at high altitudes and don’t like the cold. But that’s not the real reason. The bottom line is that the goblins tend to mind their own business and we tend to mind ours. It’s a mental fence more than a physical one.”
Cyrus grunts. “That could be said of the dwarves as well in my opinion. Except the fence is a wall manned by archers and pikemen,”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“My mentor told me that before the War of the Magi the borders between the realms were porous. Goblin, elf, human, dwarf, didn’t matter. They’d all come and go as they pleased. There were no checkpoints, not guards to determine if any individual was suitable or not. If there was a known danger the realms would work together, and they trusted each other for the most part. That all changed after the war.”
“In what way?”
“Well,” says Myran. “At first everyone hated each other so that was pretty great.”
Cyrus strokes his chin. “Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. But there was a lot of distrust that took decades to heal. In some places it still hasn’t been.”
“You mean with the dwarves?” I ask.
“I mean with the dwarves,” Cyrus answers.
“They started the war,” Myran says. “There's was the first tower to fall. People haven’t forgotten that.”
“Except all the towers have fallen now,” Cyrus says. “Even the human one.”
“Yes,” Myran says with a smirk. “Seems you all weren’t so special after all.”
Cyrus looks away. “I am well aware of our hubris, Myran.”
Myran sighs. “Look, Vicar, I’m just ribbing you a bit. That’s all.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Some of the humans thought their success in the war was because they were the Maker’s chosen race. That rubbed the others in rather the wrong way.
“Well, maybe we can finish the healing,” I say hopefully. “With the arrival of the sorceress the races will have a common enemy. They’ll have to work together.”
Myran and Cyrus look at each other but don’t say anything.
“It’ll never work,” says a new voice.
I spin around, even reach for my blade, but see no one around.
“Down here. Down below. Where I always am.”
It’s the donkey!
The grey pack donkey is plodding along per usual; it’s skimpy tail swinging back and forth in the breeze. Its hair is mangy and its face long. So very unremarkable compared to the noble Dauntless.
“Hello,” I say. “What’s your name?”
“Don’t have a name. Just a donkey. Not worthy of a name.”
“Not worthy of a name? What does that mean?”
The donkey bobs his head. “It means no one gave me a name. No donkeys get names. Except by children sometimes. I like children. I would rather stay with them than die on this quest.”
“What? You’re not going to die.”
The donkey swishes a fly away with its tail. “We’re all going to die. It’s hopeless.”
“You didn't see us against the Dryad,” I say proudly.
“You’ve never been to the dwarves,” the donkey rejoins.
“We’re not going to the dwarves. We’re going to the goblins.”
“But we’ll have to go to the dwarves eventually.”
“And you’ve been there?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Well, I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” I respond.
“That‘s what everyone says. Until they meet the dwarves.”
I don’t need to deal with this.
I ride forward out of earshot, feeling frustrated and thinking I should speak with animals before having them join my quest.
“I need some sort of mammalian screening process,” I whisper to myself.
“What’s that sire?” Dauntless asks me.
“Oh, I’m just annoyed, Dauntless. The donkey thinks we’re all going to die.”
Dauntless tosses his illustrious mane. “Well, that’s disappointing but not unsurprising, sire. They do have a bit of reputation.”
“Donkeys? A reputation?”
“I’m afraid so, sire. Comes from all the baggage they carry I think. Keeps their faces looking down all the time. They should look forward. To the horizon!”
I grin and hold Dauntless back as he pretends to charge forward. I also feel a little guilty and guide him back to my new companion.
“Listen, donkey,” I try, “I appreciate what you’re doing here: hauling our packs. It’s an important job and we could never go all this way without you.”
The donkey just snorts, his monotone voice reverberating in my ears. “No need to thank me. Just doing my job. Like all donkeys. It’s our lot in life.”
I see.
“It’ll get worse when we reach the mountains,” he continues. “The cold weather makes my joints ache. I’m not a young ass like I used to be when I first made that trek.”
“So you’ve traveled a lot?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Now I’m starting to get depressed.
“Hey,” Myran calls back. “Are you talking to the animals?”
I cringe. “Yeah. Is it that obvious? I try to keep my voice low.”
Myran looks over to Cyrus. “It is to us. But that’s cause we know what to look for now. People don’t just randomly lean over donkeys for minutes on end you know.”
I shake my head. “I’ll have to be more discreet I guess.”
Myran flicks the concern away. “Don’t worry about it. What’d the donkey say? I’ve always wondered what animals actually thought about life.”
“Ugh,” I stammer, not sure how much to divulge. “He’s worried about the mountains. He says his joints ache in the cold.”
Cyrus and Myran both laugh.
“So, he’s just like elves and humans then,” says Myran. “Whining about all the problems in life. Tell him he needs to develop some goblin blood. They don’t get cold apparently. Rumor has it their females wear bathing suits in the frost. I’ve never seen it, though I wouldn’t mind given the chance.”
“Alright,” Cyrus says. “Let us remember we still walk under the Maker’s sight. Especially those who were only recently betrothed.”
“Cyrus, were you always so uptight?” Myran asks.
“Uptight? Why I suppose I was. Though before my vision I was ‘tight’ in different ways. Mostly the way of violence. Out of the entire military, I believe I was the only one pleased with the fall of the tower.”
Myran laughs. “Pleased? Was the holy vicar jealous of the powerful mages? Wanted some of the power and glory for yourself, eh?”
A shadow passes over Cyrus’s face and his voice becomes harder, and faster. “No, I did not want their power. I just wanted to fight. Something. Anything. For too long the military had been idle. Just wasting away under a corrupt and demagogic leadership who were lazy and unprepared for –”
Cyrus stops suddenly and the shadow leaves him. “Anyway, it’s not important.” He forces a grin. “Not nearly so interesting as donkey talk.”
Myran and I look at each other and we each smile awkwardly.
Ok, well we all have our issues I guess. Good to know.
That night I lay awake thinking of goblins, dwarves and donkeys and I think of a suitable name for my new animal friend: Eeyore.