This is just a quick note before I head down to supper. Dad surprised me by stopping for the night in Shadyborough. I thought the plan was to continue east on the Lyssander-Paladine road. From once we were across the border, I was going to catch a ship to Carabos, and Dad was going to go on north to Tungahl Hill and visit Lydia and Gavin. I was napping in the back of the cart when I felt us change direction, and the ground underneath us changed from the heavy thud of packed earth to the quick, sharp sound of paved stone.
The road was narrower, and the hedges that grew along each side, like a green wall, were small and well kept. We were entering a shire. Dad said we were taking a detour, and staying with old friends. I guessed then that we were going to visit the Bolfins.
The Bolfins are old family friends, and they own an inn in Shadyborough called the Mountain Ash. They did a lot of business with my father during the lean years when my father had just started up the shop in Lyssander and we were struggling under the label of an “ethnic” store. We owe them a lot.
The Boflins have visited us before in Lyssander, but I’ve never been out to visit them. I’m really excited to be here. The town was a lot different than I expected, though. For the most part, Litihia is a human kingdom. Lyssander, for example, is almost completely a human city, although there are a few Dwarven and Gnomish expatriots in the city. There aren’t any communities of the other peoples here. Except in Shadyborough. The city is almost totally a Halfling shire, and the unofficial capital of the Halflings on the Grand Island.
It is an interesting place, so far. Almost every available surface is given over to farming. I even saw a few houses with corn growing on the roof! The other strange thing, to me, is that most buildings are built on half scale, although mostly they are the same sort of style as a human city. Dad said that Humans and Halflings are probably the most closely related of the five peoples. It was a strange feeling for me, though. It was the first time I’ve ever really felt tall.
Once we got to the town walls, which couldn’t have been five feet high, we had to wait while the guards asked us questions. Through the little towers, I could see a great big, grassy hill, dotted with oak trees. Dad told me that it was fake, that the Halflings had raised it on the spot when they settled here. There were lots of other carts waiting outside the gate, as well. At first, I thought this was just because it was getting dark. Most towns are shut at sundown to keep marauders, goblins, or other night-dwelling monsters out. Not that there’s much of that around here, though. When we got through the gate, I saw it was because they were setting up some sort of festival! Along each side of the road, little tents were being raised, and tables were being set up on the lawn of the village green.
Inside, I could see that Dad was right about the hill. It was actually the central structure of the town. The road wound around it, and it was covered in doors and windows. What I had taken in the fading sunset to be retaining walls for the road were actually the walls to people’s houses. Eventually, we got to the inn, a free standing stone building on the other side of the hill. It really didn’t match the other buildings. It had three doors of different sizes, and the the windows didn’t match. Dad said that the Inn was older was a ruin of the previous age, and that it was built for lots of different sized people. Oh, that’s the call for supper. More later.
Shadyborough 16/06/06 21:00
Travel Musings 16/06/06 14:00
I’m still on the cart. I’m here in the back with my luggage and the itchy, itchy hay. I don’t even know why we have all this hay. I suppose it is to feed the horses, but we gave them oats when we stopped for lunch. I don’t even know the name of the town, if it had one. It wasn’t much to look at. There was just a general store, a tavern, and a little church at a crossroad. We ate at the tavern, again, without a name that I could see. It seemed like it was the only place around for miles. It was dark, dirty and the other eaters, locals, I guess, stared at us the whole time. Dad watched the cart through the dusty little window. I mostly stared at my plate. We’re still in Lithia, and we will be until tomorrow night, at least. Our red hair marks us as Hydraali, so maybe that was why they stared. Or we could have simply been ‘outsiders.’ I don’t know. It seems strange to me that there could be a place like this less than seven hours ride from home.
It is starting to sink in that I’m not going to see Lyssander again for a long time. Probably a year at least. Of course, I might wash out. I don’t even want to think about that, though. I didn’t really understand what was happening when we left our home in Hydraal. It felt like a grand adventure, sailing away with danger at our backs, like in the stories my grandfather used to tell in front of the fire. He had been somewhat of a hero in his day, and had fought orcs and goblins in the mountains. He left home with little more than the close on his back, but returned with a young bride, and enough treasure to keep our family comfortable and to start his own business. I think he was glad when that Dad chose to follow him as a merchant and not a warrior, but he never stopped looking out at the mountains.
His shield and spear hung over the fireplace when I was a child, and they were among the few things we carried with us when fled. Dad refused to leave it behind for the orcs to use. He keeps it in his office at home, now. It is beautiful, carved of dark wood and strange, white metal that doesn’t bear a scratch, even after years of use. He told me many things about the weapon but the only one that I believe for certain is that his spear is a weapon of magic. There was talk of burying the spear with my grandfather when he died, but it had a mighty reputation, and in those days it was feared it would only be an invitation to grave robbers. I was devastated that we had to abandon his grave. Its still up there in the abandoned capital, assuredly left abandoned and untended by the Orcs. I could hardly be parted from the stone when we fled, but everyone said that it was a goodness that he didn’t have to evacuate. I sometimes think that he would have strapped on that old shield, and ran the other way, towards the army that he had fought time and again in his youth.
But it’s a different world, now. And no one quite knows how different, yet. The War left a big mess, but a lot of opportunity as well. At the Battle of World Spine mountains, far to the east, Lord Hattori, the Eternal, Divine Emperor, fought Molem, patron deity of the Dwarven people. They wrestled without weapons, and the result of their hand-to-hand combat carved out giant new passes and deep ravines. Explorers went through after the Gods sealed the Enemy away, and discovered a whole continent of undiscovered civilizations beyond them! It was the first sign of the new age, so the third-age calendar is usually started from the year of that battle, which is, actually, the year I was born. I don’t know if this new world is one where there can still be adventurers like my grandfather, but I hope so. The stories I hear of the lost continent: Animal Spirits and Holy Warriors, Islands on the backs of giant turtles! It’s enough to make my feet itch to follow Grandfather. Someday I will be a wizard. Then maybe I shall see the world he did.
Sixteenth Birthday 16/06/06 10:45
My name is Lizzeth Vernes, and today is my sixteenth birthday. I feel like I’ve spent my whole life waiting for this day. When Lydia turned sixteen, Daddy threw her a big party, with fancy clothes and food and all that. I was seven, and I was allowed to stay up and watch the fireworks he had arranged. Seeing those magic fires scorch the sky is one of my happiest childhood memories. Ever since, some small part of me has been counting down to when the party would be for me.
Of course, that was back in the good times. Or maybe I, with the thinking of a child, simply didn’t know the dangers of the world. I was raised on the stories of my grandfather, Joachim Vernes. In his youth, he wandered traveled the world seeking his fortune, and I thrilled to his tales of death-defying escapes and epic battles with the forces of darkness. But in the year that he died, the Orcs came in force out of the Icy Mountains. Having lost their patron deity in the war between the Gods that ended the Second Age, they descended into bloodthirsty savagery. Killing everything in their path, they marched on the coastal countries. They trampled the walls of Hydraal Towne to sand, but we, and many others, escaped by the sea. It was days before we were out of sight of the great fires they built of the palaces. I was eleven years old.
Things were more difficult when we finally dropped anchor in the port city of Lyssander. The Lithians were cold to us, and the journey had left us nearly penniless. But Dad dug in, and we all helped. He always says that a merchant makes profit, not excuses. I thought he was a wizard, that he could pull gold form the air. And it seemed like he could. Times were hard, but gradually they got better. We opened a new shop, and if it wasn’t quite as successful as the one Grandfather started in Hydraal, then we still lived comfortably enough. The news stayed dark, however.
Lithia was not content to let the Orcs work their way south. A long war of attrition was fought along the borders. The Orcs had lost their once great tactical minds, but though their movements were scattered, they seemed to have an inexhaustible pool of troops. The End of the Second Age had left deep scars of distrust between the Five Peoples. Aside from an honor guard of Halfling Shadow Warriors; who are a separate corps of the Lithian army, no support came from the East. The Dwarves didn’t send any shieldbearers, and the gnomes didn’t send any mages. The people of the Western Plains were on their own. The war dragged on for years, and it was always the Hydrians who were called to the front first.
Dad was too old to fight, but they took him anyway, at the point of a spear. I remember running crying after the conscript wagon. I was shouting and crying. I hated the Lithians then. I hoped something horrible would happen to them. It was then that the first strange thing happened. Something bit one of the oxen, I think, and it went wild. the cart crashed and one of the drivers was killed. He was flung off and broke his neck. Dad’s leg got broken, and so he was forced to stay behind. I was thirteen. Everyone said what a strange event it was.
I didn’t say a thing.
But I’ll write it here, what I’ve never said to anyone. Somehow, from ten paces away, I slapped the oxen. I wanted it to happen, and it did. It felt like, I don’t know, reaching out with a hand I don’t have. It’s hard to explain. But I was sure, as I still am, that I was responsible for that man’s death.
Dad’s leg didn’t completely heal well, and we couldn’t afford to have it blessed at the temple. To this day he still walks with a limp. He stayed home through the war. I remember that our house was strained then, always fearing the dark influences or suspicion. More strange events began to occur. Grandmother feared the neighbors would report us as magicians, and that the Witch-finders would come to cut out our tongues.
But as I was saying, at home, there were strange lights, and strains of music, and sometimes the plates would jump, or the doors would slam in empty rooms on still days. Momma thought the house was haunted, and called in a priest. When he finally came, a pale man in dark robes who looked more at his own nose than at us, he said he could find no presence here, and a few other things about Hydrians that I won’t repeat here. We thanked the cleric coldly and watched him go. But Grandmother watched me instead. I think that even then she knew. That was last year.
I don’t know how she convinced my father, but it was a long argument. It must have been months, but in the end, she had her way. I was to be sent away to school. Up to now, I had been taught in the town schools, or by my mother and grandmother when we traveled down the shore. I sat so often in Father’s shop that I was practically an apprentice. I was perfectly happy with my education, and I said so.
“Ah,” but my grandmother had said. “This is a different education. You’ll be going to wizardry school.” This took me by surprise. That was when I became certain that she knew I was the cause of the strange lights and noises. Like I wrote above, Lithians don’t like mages, and ones found are considered witches here. Needless to say, I took to the idea immediately. So my sixteenth birthday party was a going away party. They made some secret of where I was really going, of course. They said I was going to live with my Sister and her husband.
Today I’m sixteen, and I’m sitting on the back of a cart filled with hay, headed for the Mage’s city of Carbein, in far distant Carabos.
