The Merchant and the Menace (2 page)

Giar danced to his left, avoiding the deluge of
liquid flame. The Elf lord’s head snapped back toward his son. His wild eyes
locked on those of Steff as he ripped a short sword from its scabbard.

“RUN!” he bellowed again.

Steff obeyed. He wheeled and dashed into the
darkness of the Nagur Wood. He vaulted fallen timber and plunged through
thickets. Branches slapped his face and thorns tore his flesh. The Elf lad was
uncertain of his direction or the location of the path. His lungs burned as he
ran on and on. The screams of Lord Giar carried through the wood. Tears welled
in Steff’s eyes. How could he abandon his father?

He slowed.

His duty was to the kingdom. Giar’s orders were
clear. Steff must return and warn his people of the Malveel threat. Luxlor was
in danger.

A faint cry pierced the stillness of the wood then
abruptly silenced. Surely there was no hope for one man against a Malveel lord.

Steff stopped, dropped to his knees and sobbed.

“Not much of a chase,” growled the darkness around
him.

Steff’s head snapped up and he frantically searched
the wood. He flung the bow to the ground and snatched his own dagger from its
sheath, holding it awkwardly before him.

“Sh- show yourself,” stammered the Elf.

A pair of red orbs flared to life a dozen yards in
front of him. They hovered before Steff then slowly circled through the wood.

“My brother, Methra, leaves me the tiny one,”
croaked the voice. “I hoped for a bit of sport from our chase, but you
disappoint me, Elf.”

The orbs vanished into the darkness and silence
enveloped the wood. Steff’s eyes darted about, snapping toward any movement,
perceived or imagined. He lifted his blade higher.

“What ... what do you want?” stuttered Steff.

“We seek the Seraphim!” snarled the voice from
directly behind the Elf boy.

Steff whirled on the sound. The orbs were closer.
The boy staggered backward, trying to put distance between himself and the hate
filled eyes. He could hear the Malveel’s hoarse breath rasping between jagged
fangs.

“The power of the new Seraph draws us. It is close,”
continued the Malveel. Contempt filled its voice. “You are not the Seraph.”

The orbs disappeared once more. Steff spun this way
and that, slashing the darkness with his dagger. Panic overwhelmed him.

“Do not .... do not test me, Malveel!” cried the
Elf in desperation. “My powers are .... you cannot stand against the New
Seraph!”

Silence hung in the wood. Steff slowly turned,
trying in vain to penetrate the gloom. Seconds dragged on. He saw nothing and
heard only the light breeze as it buffeted the leaves in the canopy above. His
heart slowed and his despair grew. Steff’s shoulders drooped and gradually his
blade dipped toward the forest floor.

“You ... you dare not taste my power,” called the
boy feebly into the void. Perhaps the Malveel feared this being they hunted.
“The new Seraph ... I ... I hold your doom.”

“Hardly,” sneered the creature in Steff’s right
ear.

The boy spun. Blazing eyes and glistening fangs
hovered inches from his face.

Kael scowled at the ceiling inches above his bunk.
He was so close to finally convincing his father to let him journey to Luxlor
when rumors of trouble in the Nagur Wood reached the village. Would Brelg call
the trip off and spoil Kael’s first chance for a bit of adventure?

The boy rolled onto his stomach with a dejected
sigh and glanced below at his sleeping brother, Aemmon. The absurdity of the
sight that greeted him, made it difficult to continue his brooding.

Aemmon, nearly a man now, lay in the lower bunk.
Half of Aemmon’s lower legs dangled over the end of the small bed their father,
Brelg, had fashioned for the boys when they were young. Aemmon’s right arm
stuck out from beneath a woolen blanket, knuckles lying on the wooden
floorboards.

In the early morning light, Kael could just make
out Aemmon’s dirty blond hair jutting out from under a goose down pillow. The
snore that rumbled from under the pillow kept rhythm with the bulk heaving
beneath the dark blanket.

Aemmon looked so content, Kael found it difficult
to disturb his brother’s slumber. Instead, he grinned and dug beneath the
blankets of his own bed. He and Aemmon had a bit more time before they needed
to start the day’s chores and Kael’s bunk still fit him so comfortably.

Contentment filled the boy. Many a night he crawled
into this bunk for sleep and many a morn he reveled in its warmth. Memories
flooded him now. Memories of wondrous stories told to him and Aemmon by their
father as the pair of small boys yawned and drifted to sleep. Memories of their
mother always at a bedside when one of them woke from a nightmare.

Other memories crowded his reverie. Memories of
worry and sleepless nights. Memories of the sound of his father’s boots as
Brelg paced the hallway outside his mother’s room. Memories of a healer shaking
his head in confusion. And finally, memories of tears soaking the blankets on
this very bed.

Kael’s smile disappeared and he quickly sat up and
threw his legs over the edge of his bunk. He noiselessly dropped to the ground,
landing in a crouch beside Aemmon. A twinkle danced in his eye.

“Aemmon, get up,” he whispered just inches from the
lumpy pillow.

The deep snoring sputtered then stopped.

“Huh?” came a confused reply from beneath the
pillow.

“Get up,” said Kael softly. “Father hasn’t cancelled
our trip yet. Maybe if we ignore the news, he will too?”

Aemmon moaned and the big hand lying on the
floorboards slowly rose and dragged the pillow from atop his face. His chiseled
features remained placid and his eyes closed.

“When I open my eyes I’m going to see sunshine,
right?” mumbled Aemmon.

“Not exactly,” chuckled Kael as he glanced out the
tiny window of the room atop their father’s inn. The sky was awash in the rosy
hue of dawn. “You may see a bit of ‘shine’, but you certainly won’t see any
‘sun’ yet.”

Aemmon grumbled once more and plopped the pillow
back over his face.

“C’mon Aemmon,” pleaded Kael. “I won’t be able to
go without you.”

The pillow didn’t move. Kael frowned and softened
his tone.

 “I can understand if you don’t want to go to Luxlor,”
he murmured sheepishly. “I wouldn’t want to force you into anything. I suppose
I could always try again next year ...”

Aemmon dragged the pillow from his face once more,
but this time his eyes were wide open and his smile was etched with accusation.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that sad tale,”
announced the big lad. He broke into an imitation of a simpering Kael. “I could
always try again next year.”

Kael grinned and the pair chuckled. Aemmon sat up
and rubbed the sleep from his eyes while Kael dressed. In a moment, Aemmon
stood, producing a loud groan from the floorboards in their room. He dressed
and the boys made their way to the main stairway of the inn.

They moved quietly in order not to wake any of the
lodgers. Kael dashed down the old wooden staircase without making a sound. He
turned and suppressed a laugh. Aemmon took each step slowly, wincing as the
knotted wood creaked and popped under his impressive weight. After quite some
time, and considerable frustration, Aemmon reached the bottom of the staircase.

“How do you do that?” he whispered.

“You looked as if the whole staircase was about to
collapse,” chuckled Kael as he clapped his younger brother on the back.

Aemmon smiled, gave his brother a poke to the ribs,
and the pair walked out the rear door of the inn toward the stables. In the
early morning sun, the differences between the brothers were quite evident.
Aemmon was a classic example of a young man from the Southlands of Zodra. He
was tall, with his bulk comprised mostly of muscle. His blond hair and blue
eyes mirrored many Southlanders’ traits.

Kael, on the other hand, stood out. He was smaller
than most and his wiry body held a darker complexion. The single most striking
characteristic of Kael was his hair. It was jet black. Dark hair was unusual
for a Southlander, and Kael’s hair was darker than a raven’s wings.

The pair strolled along and Kael noted heaviness in
his brother’s step.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kael.

Aemmon stopped and the sadness in his eyes
disturbed Kael. They stared at one another for a long moment.

“Everything will be fine,” Kael blurted cheerily.
“These recent stories about the Nagur are nothing. The ale starts talking when
the loggers stay in the common room too long. There’s nothing to any of it. You
know that, right?”

Aemmon frowned deeply.

“Do you think Old Sarge would allow us to go on
this trip if he didn’t think we’d be fine?” sighed Kael.

“No, course not,” his brother replied.

“The only way to get to Luxlor is through the Nagur
Wood. You’re not afraid of the Elves are you?”

“No,” returned Aemmon with a shake of his head.
“Father’s been trading with them for years.”

“Well, as for the Nagur, the stories we heard are
just that, stories, made up by lonely men who spend far too much time out on
the open road,” Kael shook his head and smiled broadly. “Besides, where’s your
sense of adventure?”

“My sense of adventure is still sleeping in our
room, as I should be,” yawned Aemmon with a smile. “And neither the Elves nor
the Nagur concern me.”

“Then what?” prodded Kael.

Aemmon frowned once more and his eyes focused on
the ground at his feet.

“Oh ... nothing,” murmured the lad. “I ... I just
wish things didn’t need to change. I like them the way they are.”

Kael looked quizzically at his brother and
chuckled.

“You and I going on our first trading journey isn’t
going to turn the world upside down, Aemmon!”

Aemmon paused and searched Kael’s face. He flashed
his brother a light grin and arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe ... maybe not.”

The larger boy grabbed an ax from the stable wall
and went to split logs for the woodpile. Kael watched him go and doubt entered
his mind. Why was Aemmon so reluctant to go on this trip? In the past, his
brother always brimmed with confidence. Nothing bothered him. No challenge was
too great.

The loud thunk of the ax lodging deeply into a log
drew Kael from these thoughts. He hustled to the shed, retrieved a bucket and
entered the inn. He filled the oaken bucket from the kitchen pump and stepped
into the dining area. His father, Brelg, was eating breakfast. Kael hefted the
heavy bucket toward a dark corner of the common room, hoping to avoid any
notice.

“Good morning, boy,” said Brelg without raising his
eyes from his food.

“Morning.” answered Kael as he froze in his tracks.

Brelg frowned, glanced up and waved the boy over.
He pushed a chair back from the table and motioned Kael to sit.

“I’ve a bit of a problem. Perhaps you can give me
some advice,” began Brelg.

Kael smiled and took his seat at the table.

“An extremely persistent young man I know has been
pushing to help me expand my business. He’s rather young, so I’m not sure I’ll
approve, but his resolve is slowly wearing me down,“ grumbled Brelg. “I was
ready to concede when recent news caused me to become a bit apprehensive.”

Kael smiled broadly.

“I’m sure he’s quite competent, sir,” replied the
boy. “Besides, what could go wrong?”

Brelg frowned and placed his fork upon his plate.

“Seriously Kael. This business in the Nagur Wood
causes me concern,” said Brelg. “I know how much you want to experience a bit
of the wider world, but maybe this isn’t the proper time.”

“You know how the loggers talk when they’ve been in
the common room all night,” frowned Kael. “One acre of cleared forest becomes
ten. A six point buck becomes twelve. What does their story amount to? Some
unfamiliar tracks. A feeling of being watched or tracked. Both are easily
explained by a large bear and the fertile imaginations of men alone on the open
road.”

“Mr. Drovor is a very sensible man,” returned Brelg
with a frown. “He does tend to exaggerate things a bit, but this time his story
seems ... different. I’m a fair judge of men, my boy. I must be in this
business. The usual twinkle that dances in Drovor’s eye when he spins a tale
was missing.”

“Well, you’ve often said that I’ve learned the business
pretty well myself,” said Kael proudly. ”My advice to you is to forget Drovor’s
tale. How many times has he stood in the common room describing how he out
maneuvered a band of highway bandits or outran a pack of starving wolves?”

Brelg furrowed his brow. Kael tried to change the
subject.

“Don’t forget,” said the boy. “A candidate for the
Zodrian Guard rides with me.”