Chapter Twelve: The Quest Begins

Tara had always imagined what the start of an adventure would be like. She hoped it would be something like flying, or falling—that there would be a sudden, irresistible call to go out into the unknown, and then and there, without looking back, she would go. But Tara knew enough about fantasies to understand that this was rarely, if ever, how the best adventures began. It wasn't how hers began, either.

She couldn't wait inside the tavern, not after the encounter with Berga. It disappointed her that the old woman seemed afraid of her because she already knew about her husband's lost battle horn, and Berga's desire to find it. Berga played a minor role in the game, but Tara loved every part of Swords of Allerion. All the characters meant something to her, especially the friendly ones.

Maybe, thought Tara grimly, not having many friends in the real world made me want hundreds in a game.

It was true that Tara had always been, for the most part, a loner. Juliana was the closest person she had to a best friend, and they had very little in common. They liked to watch Lord of the Rings marathons over pizza every year. They shared chores around the apartment. But Juliana had friends of her own, and Tara—she felt awkward around most people.

Only in Allerion did she feel as if people didn’t judge her at face value. There, it was what she did that mattered, not who she was. There, she wasn’t a geeky girl with long arms and a nervous smile. She was a warrior, a hero, with friends at her back who would not only die beside her, but for her.

If this was a dream, it was as cruel as it was incredible. As a teenager, Tara had wanted nothing more than to be in a world like Allerion where she could prove herself in a way that didn't involve modern skills. She wasn’t necessarily complaining, but now she was beginning to see what a challenge Allerion could be as well.

This time, she wasn’t hiding behind an avatar radically different from her own appearance. She wasn’t infallible. She was Tara MacQueen, making mistakes and winning trophies.

And hoping to level up enough to catch some spineless fish, she thought to herself with a rueful, sideways smile, leaning under the Old Troll tavern’s awning. If her first encounter with Berga was disappointing, she still couldn't get over seeing the real, flesh-and-blood Acalon. The dragon rider was as steel-edged as she remembered, but she had known how to keep her distance. He noticed her, and that was what mattered.

Tara wondered where Acalon was keeping his dark dragon, Fenryx. The giant dragon was never far from his short-tempered master, but most villagers were afraid of the enormous, fire-breathing beasts that were more common by the Skorcrest cliffs. They might be powerful allies to a few, but dragons were dangerous enemies to most, and were far from welcome in most civilized areas.

Tara imagined that Acalon had instructed Fenryx to wait for him in a more isolated location.

The shortening golden rays were growing rusty with day’s end. The sun was close to setting. As the chill of evening set in, Tara slightly shivered. She was a little uncomfortable in her new armor, as necessary as it was. The iron was heavy, and she was grateful for the tunic Elita had given her that morning. At least the cloth padding didn’t let the armor chafe her skin.

“Ah, there you are!”

Elita’s greeting was more than welcome. Tara hadn’t seen her coming, the little creature’s short stature and earth tones making it easy for her to disappear in a crowd. The gnomes had an undeniable gift for vanishing, which was necessary for self-preservation in the dangerous upper lands, far from the tunnels and caves they called home.

“Wenrik and Horon are behind me,” puffed the gnome, adjusting the goggles over her stubby nose. “I see that you fared well at Eoman’s Hammer. The Helm of the Schemer—always a trusty set for a wanderer.”

“I’d rather have had Shadowken light armor,” admitted Tara, “but I’m nowhere near that skilled. And I couldn’t afford it anyway.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“You will in time, with the right experience,” said the gnome encouragingly. “Be patient. No one is born a mighty warrior or enchanter. Unless you’re a troll or an elf.”

Tara snorted, amused. She glanced at the gnome. “You’re pretty tough yourself to come with us.”

“Tough? Me? Well, I suppose so.” Elita was pleased by the compliment. “But I don’t really have a choice, do I? Those boys would be lost without me. They’re too reckless, especially Wenrik. I’m glad he has Horon to keep him in check. But they both need each other. That's how brothers are.”

“How did you end up together?”

“Oh, that’s not an interesting story,” said Elita, shifting the satchel of provisions she carried to one shoulder. Tara took the bag from her and the gnome murmured her thanks. “Be careful now, there are some very valuable ointments in there that could save your life. Very expensive too, I might add.”

“Horon said that Wenrik was a slave when he was very young,” said Tara.

“That’s right. And Horon was a smith’s apprentice. There was little difference between the two, in terms of treatment. Humans can be very cruel to each other.” The gnome spoke in a clipped voice. “I took Horon as my own apprentice, even though he showed as little promise as a crafter as he did as a blacksmith. It was mostly for myself, not his sake, that I took him in. I just wanted to see if it was possible to make the boy smile.”

Tara didn’t trust herself to speak at once. “That was a brave thing to do.”

“Oh, it’s nothing!” The gnome dismissed her. “Although I can't say a lot of the gnomes appreciated those great galumphs squeezing through our tunnels. And what about you? You must be terribly brave to risk so much for an old battle horn that Berga didn’t even ask for.”

“She would have asked if she trusted me,” said Tara.

Elita was curious, but didn’t press her. She sensed in the young woman a new distance. And as strange as Tara was with her unusual abilities, the gnome was reminded of Wenrik and Horon, and all the happier to see the two men coming towards them.

“You took your time,” she chided. “Well? Are you ready?”

“It wasn’t just the ale that kept us,” said Wenrik with his easy humor. “Wanderer’s Bane isn’t close, and it’ll take us half a season to get there by foot. I purchased horses for us, waiting beyond the gate.”

Horon grunted affirmation. “At least it will save me having to carry Elita on my shoulders for miles. That gnome weighs more than you think.”

"It's all the iron ore inside her," agreed Wenrik.

“Oh please,” said the gnome. “I can walk on my own two feet.”

Horon looked over Tara's armor. “It’s hard to believe that when we first met you, we thought you were one of many corpses,” said the Fenman. “You look more like a fighter now.”

More like...does that equal not quite? Tara couldn't help smiling nonetheless. She felt more confident in the company of her three companions. She was glad, genuinely glad, that they had chosen to come with her.

“I met a dragon rider,” she said. “He advised me what to buy.”

Horon’s expression changed immediately to disapproval. “One of the Flight Folk? What business does he have here in Regan?”

“No more business than us, I suppose,” said Tara generously. She hoisted Elita onto her own shoulders, wanting to save the little gnome from sloshing through muddy water. They weren’t even outside the city yet, and already her new boots were as filthy as the old ones. “Do we have to leave at night?”

“Yes,” said Elita. “Especially after that portent of yours. These people may fear you, Tara, but it’s never a good sign when too many notice you.”

Tara doubted if anyone would recognize her in her new armor. She had barely recognized herself when Eoman directed her to a mirror.

“I wish they weren’t afraid of me,” she murmured.

Elita rapped the young woman’s helm lightly with three knuckles. “It’s natural for folk to fear anything new. Give it time, Tara. Once they know you as we do, they won’t be afraid at all.”

Tara knew she must be right. She was more than a little nervous herself, when she saw Regan’s gate ahead of them and the guards on either side, guarding the road to the outer world. It wasn’t the guards that shook her, but the wide unfamiliar shadows ahead of them.

But Allerion was never a dark world. Even on overcast nights, there was a natural aura in the atmosphere that made vision possible, if more difficult.

This night, it wasn’t the aura, or the two moons, that made the world more visible. There was a ghostly third moon in the shadow of the second, and a strange, eerie pattern of green light that reminded Tara of hexagons, barely seen beyond the stars.

“What is it?” she whispered. “That isn’t normal?”

“No,” said Wenrik, helping her onto her horse. “Those are more of the strange signs we spoke of. Do you know what it means, Hero?”

Tara shook her head. This wasn’t in the game. A sight like this—there was something weirdly modern and technological about it, a pattern that didn't fit with Allerion's wild and generally uncultivated ambience.

“I pray it’s nothing,” said Elita, sitting on her own little pony. “These signs—they frighten me. They don’t look right.”

Only Wenrik seemed untroubled. He nudged his mount forward, trotting into the night. “If it is some doom ahead of us,” he called to his companions, “I am not afraid of it. I hope it is a sign of the great battle some speak of, that will come at the end of all times. That is a challenge worthy of my blade.”

“He’s an idiot,” complained Horon, looking at Tara, who only grinned. “Please tell me you’re not an idiot, too.”

“Maybe just a little,” she replied, and Elita laughed.