Don

Don spurred awake. He seemed to have dozed off again while riding his horse. The traveling wizard was not used to riding on such smooth paths and roads. Where he came from, the concept of a paved road was nonexistent.

The empire was famous for its well-maintained highways and bridges that spread from the center of the continent to the farthest reaches of its territories. The famous golden roads were named for their yellowish tint that shined with the rising sun. The condition of the paved roads stood as a kind of map of the empire’s influence. The more control the empire asserted over a particular province, the better the roads were maintained. Being as close to the heart of the empire as they were meant traveling on the safest, smoothest roads known to man.

Don reached into his saddlebags in search of food. He scraped the bottom of the bag, only to find a handful of stale bread remaining.

“I hate to say it, but it seems our food stores have officially run out.” Don turned the saddlebag inside out. He broke the stale bread in two and tried to hand half to Shalnark.

The rogue waved it away. “You take it. I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? You’ve eaten far less than I have, and I am dead starving,” Don said, cracking his teeth into the rock-hard bread.

“What we are feeling right now is hunger. It’s starvation that you should worry about. You should save that other half for when that sets in.”

Don released the grip of his jaw on the bread and reluctantly set it back in the saddlebag. “We are going to need to stop to resupply at some point. We’ve been riding for five days now. Surely we’ve created enough space between Riverhill and us to merit a stop?”

Dusk ruffled his feathers. “There have been no signs of pursuit from your predators. They have likely given up.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Shalnark said, tousling some golden necklace around his neck. “Regardless, we still need to stop for supplies, or we won’t make it to the gulf.”

“If I had a bow, I could hunt some game for us,” Don said, pretending to loose an arrow into the brush.

“How far is the nearest town or village?” Shalnark asked Dusk.

“Riverhill is still closer than any other settlement, but I did see a tower of smoke rising to the northwest. Smoke towers sometimes mean leftover fish bones.”

“Sounds like a camp or perhaps a small hamlet. May be worth a short detour. I could try to swipe some food for us.”

Don shook his head. “We can at least try to acquire food honestly before resorting to banditry. I may be fleeing the law, but I am no highwayman.”

Shalnark rolled his eyes. “Very well. Then I will allow you to take the lead, but I am not above robbing them if they refuse to feed us.”

“Dusk, fly ahead and scout the area. I would hate to be riding into danger.”

Dusk tilted his head and took off from Don’s shoulder into the air. As he flew forward, Don and Shalnark steered their horses off the road and into the woods toward the direction Dusk flew. A few minutes passed before Dusk returned.

“I did not see a village, but I did see a wooden nest with wheels. I could smell bread within.”

Don turned to Shalnark and sported a childlike openmouthed smile. He turned back to Dusk. “What kind of bread?” His mouth began to drool.

“What does that matter?” Shalnark asked. “Were there any people nearby?”

“Only one human, but I think he is dead.”

“Was he attacked?” Shalnark asked.

“Yes. By a tree,” Dusk said, tilting his head left and right.

“A . . . tree?” Shalnark asked.

Don’s gaze darted from tree to tree. He stared at their limbs and jumped at the sight of movement as the wind brushed them from side to side.

“The tree fell on him and killed him,” Dusk said. He pecked lightly on Don’s head.

“Oh, good. You had me scared for a moment. The last thing we need right now is a murderous timberman,” Don said, sighing.

“Regardless of what killed him, a dead man is easier to rob,” Shalnark said coldly.

The pair rode ahead through the wood, guided by Dusk. As they approached the site of the smoke, Don saw large scars and burns embedded deep within the surrounding trees. Keeping his wits about him, he proceeded forward but didn’t mention his suspicions.

Don emerged from the tree line into a recent campsite. A lone red carriage sat abandoned next to a fallen tree. The tree’s base was nearly completely split and burned as if it had been struck by lightning. The smoke column originated from this. Don turned his gaze to the sky, only to see clear blue with small white clouds scattered throughout. It had rained recently as it often did in this part of the world, but Don could not recall hearing thunder these last few days.

Under the tree’s fallen trunk was the poor soul Dusk had mentioned. He was a young brown-haired, pale-skinned human man dressed in an ordinary white tunic with brown trousers and a dark green robe over his shoulders. He lay facedown in the mud with the trunk of the tree resting across his legs.

Shalnark dismounted his horse and began to examine the carriage while Don went to investigate the owner. He knelt down and placed a hand on his back to check for breath. A weak rise and fall permeated the man’s back. This man was alive.

“Shalnark, wait. This man is still alive.”

Shalnark poked his head out of the back of the carriage, wearing brass-rimmed glasses on his eyes. “How nice for him. Too bad he’s going to wake up to an empty camp and a tree trunk on his legs.”

“We can’t plunder his campsite while he still breathes. Come help me lift this tree off of him.”

Shalnark sighed and hopped out of the carriage. He grasped on to one end of the tree next to the man’s legs while Don grabbed the other side. The tree trunk was a thick, dense, wet hunk of wood. No matter how hard the stout men pulled, the tree would not budge.

“I think I saw a spade in the carriage. Let’s try digging him out,” Shalnark suggested.

“Good thinking,” Don replied, patting him on the back.

Shalnark took the spade from the carriage and dug his way around the man’s legs to create some space. Once enough ground was moved, Don gently maneuvered the legs out from under the tree and dragged the man from under it. He turned him onto his back.

“There, we saved his life. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to help myself to my reward,” Shalnark said, strolling back to the carriage.

Don did not try to stop him. Instead, he kept his attention on the man’s legs. The right one was only scraped and bruised, but the left was clearly fractured. Don was no surgeon, but he did know how to fashion a decent splint. He placed two sturdy branches on the sides of the leg and tied them with his kelpie hair rope. When he pulled the line tight, he heard a popping sound in the man’s knee. The resulting pain shot the man awake in a screaming panic.

“Ah, what in the bloody flaming Hells? My legs!”

Don’s eyes widened. “Ah! You’re awake. Good to see you still have spirit in you.”

“Who . . . What happened?” the man asked weakly.

“From the looks of things, that tree there got struck by lightning and fell on you. Quite an odd occurrence if you ask me,” Don said, rubbing his chin.

“I suppose I have you to thank for saving me,” the man grunted as he struggled to drag himself to a seated position against the fallen tree. “My name is Phillip. Phillip Tropollo.”

“I am Don of the Traveler Clan. That man over there is Shalnark.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Mr. Traveler.” Phillip glanced down to Don’s belt and gasped. “That rope . . . what is it made of?”

Don was shocked. “Oh! You have a keen eye. This rope was spun from the ever-growing hair of a kelpie. Iron-forged blades will find it quite difficult to cut through. Only a silver blade will cut it true.” Don handed the rope to Phillip.

“Extraordinary.” Phillip admired the stoutness of the gray-colored rope. “Is this truly from the realm of the fairies?”

“You know of Alfhiem?”

“I’ve read the legends of another world that exists between the trees ruled by immortal fairies. It is said to be the original homeworld of the fair-folk.”

Shalnark finished packing his saddlebags with whatever he could carry from Phillip’s cart. He called out to Don, “Come on, wizard. We’ve done our good deed for the day and have wasted enough time here. I’ve restocked our food bags with enough bread to get us to the next town.”

“Shalnark, please. Show some flaming restraint!” Don snapped.

“No, it’s quite all right.” Phillip struggled to stand and lean against the trunk. “The least I can do to repay you is feed you.”

“See? He’s fine. Now let’s get going. We are on a tight schedule.”

Phillip squinted toward the front of his carriage. “By any chance, have you seen my horses?” Phillip asked.

Don and Shalnark scanned the area around them. There were hoof prints in the soft dirt galloping toward the tree line.

“Dusk, see if you can spot them.”

Dusk cawed in response and flew into the woods, following the tracks.

“Interesting . . .” Phillip gushed. “That was no regular raven, was it? That was an animal guardian.”

Don turned and tilted his head toward his new friend. “You are no mere traveler, are you, Mr. Tropollo?” Don concluded.

“Neither are you, Don. It’s clear to me that you are an evoker. A magician born with the gift of invoking the power of Beyonders. Can you self-summon as well?”

Don’s face brightened with excitement. Finally, he had some intellectual company that understood magic.

“Ah, yes! I am quite practiced as a portal magician. I have not practiced the art of summoning others much. Dusk is the only creature I have ever summoned, and that was quite the ordeal to accomplish.”

“Is he a familiar?”

“Indeed! I taught myself how to summon him, how to bind him to my service, and how to form a familiarization link with him.”

“You taught yourself? That’s quite impressive. Evocation is likely one of the most challenging gifts to master, save divination, of course.”

“What about you? You are clearly educated on how magic works. What are your gifts?”

“Today, wizard!” Shalnark interrupted. “Get on your horse, and let’s go!”

Don was having so much fun discussing magic with his like-minded new friend, he had forgotten Shalnark was even there.

“Well, we can’t abandon Mr. Tropollo out here in his condition without a horse!” Don snapped back.

“Toss him over your saddle or something. Or have you forgotten that we need to reach Boukua before the Azure Moon?”

“You’re en route to the famous Festival of the Azure Moon in Boukua?” Phillip asked, intrigued.

“Indeed, we are! I’ve wanted to attend the festival since I was a young boy.”

“You don’t have much time then. Have you already acquired a ship?”

Don and Shalnark looked toward each other for answers.

“Not quite yet,” Don said. “We are just focused on getting to Port Lood without starving to death first.”

“I know a merchant there who owes me a debt. I’m heading in that direction as well, so I can procure you passage across the Gulf of Avelorn while I am there.”

Don gave the brightest smile back at Shalnark. The skeptical rogue only winced in response.

“Wonderful! It was surely fate that brought us together this day! Once Dusk finds your horses, we can travel together as a convoy.”

Dusk soon fluttered back to Don’s shoulder. He lightly pecked his master’s temple.

“It’s all right, Dusk. You may speak. He knows what you are.”

“Oh, lovely. I found your horses grazing in a meadow nearby.”

“Thank you, Dusk. That would’ve been a terrible ordeal to find them on my own.”

Dusk gave a bow with his wings outstretched.

“Shalnark, help me round up these horses for Phillip. We can depart as soon as the carriage is fit for travel.”

Shalnark sighed and dismounted his horse.

“We will return shortly, my new friend,” Don reassured him.

Phillip nodded as he made himself comfortable against the tree trunk.

Dusk led the way. Don and Shalnark followed. There were not many tracks for them to follow since the ground was so dry. Shalnark remained silent with his gaze turned forward. Don despised silence.

“Well, how about that? A single act of kindness has solved all of our problems!”

“You may be smart, Don, but you are also quite foolish. Sure this Phillip is gonna keep us fed and procure us a ship, but at what cost?”

“He said it was free.”

“Don, what people say and what they intend are not always the same thing. How do we know this man won’t just turn us in to the church the second he finds out we are outlaws?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Don said, disregarding him.

“How can you possibly know that, though? You don’t know anything about this man. While you were courting this man with magical toys, I was gathering more information from his belongings.” Shalnark brandished the golden charm around his neck. “I nabbed this from that Holy Knight back in Riverhill. I found one just like it among Phillip’s belongings. In addition to that, I found several books marked with the triangle symbol of the Church of the Holy Trinity. I may not be able to read your empirical language very well yet, but I know a devotee when I see one.”

“Then we simply must keep our status as outlaws a secret until we are safely on the boat to Galatea.”

“I don’t know, Don. It may be too risky to keep him with us. We can always find our own ship when we get to Port Lood and leave this church lacky on the road.”

“Well, I think he is trustworthy,” Don rebuked.

“You brought me along on this stupid journey to help guide you through a harsh world that you truly do not fully understand. Those were your words. I may not be from this continent, but people never change. Everyone lies. Everyone dies. Those who lie best die last. If you insist on taking this man with us, you better learn how to lie better. Start with keeping your identity as a magician secret.”

Don nodded but did not respond. Shalnark was right. Perhaps he should have just left Phillip under that tree and took what he needed from him. Though that would be the most beneficial thing to do, Don could never allow himself to sink that low. Trilla taught him to be Seelie. All mischief must be paid for with kindness. This act of kindness was merely a means to help repay the debt to the universe after the havoc he raised in Riverhill. Don would never expect Shalnark to understand.