Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,14
like to fancy you’ll meet an elf someday, but I’m betting you won’t, and that sooner we’ll both be hanged for treason.”
“Have you ever heard of the Spirited Winds?” asked Adacon in a last attempt to pique Erguile’s interest.
“No, I haven’t,” responded Erguile, “and magic is a myth if you ask me, along with the rest of it. Only thing I can count on as being real is the danger in those woods.” There was a moment of silence, and Adacon appeared saddened by Erguile’s skeptical response.
“I’ll collect arrows from the slain guards. We have enough bows and quivers lying about for their purpose. We’ll take their broadswords, too,” Adacon said, changing the subject. “In my haste I never replaced this shoddy blade,” he went on, waving his old sword in the air. He looked with sadness at his steel friend, recalling their time together. Erguile wandered off, looking around the guard tower for anything useful, as Adacon knelt to the earth, and placed his old blade, dulled to an almost round edge, on the soil.
“May another find you; one as young and brash as I was—I can’t use you anymore—thanks…” Adacon whispered, staring at the blade with a head full of memories; he’d only been a boy when he first stole the sword and started practicing with it—not fully aware as to why he was doing so. It all made sense now, Adacon realized, and a single tear rolled down his cheek, as Erguile called out from tower ladder.
“What is it? Find something?”
“No, it’s nothing,” Adacon replied, and he brushed his cheek and stood to join his new friend.
There was no trace of any more sentries; it seemed they had gone as quickly as they had come. All of them had disappeared into the Red Forest to hunt the fleeing slaves. They hadn’t taken any time to heed to their fallen brethren’s gear, leaving everything behind. And so the two slaves went about taking the weapons left around the farm that they deemed suitable for their journey. By the guard post they found leather satchels in which they stored as much food as they could find—mostly corn and hardened bread. There were flasks of water on the slain guards as well, which Adacon and Erguile fastened to their newly stolen leather belts.
They decided not to check the restricted building for goods, as the smell was worse than ever, and they feared for what they might see. Adacon removed breastplates from two guards and wore one himself, then gave the other to Erguile. The quiver on Adacon’s back was stocked to the brim with arrows. Erguile chose to carry two broadswords instead of a bow and quiver. Adacon had tried to convince him to take one, but Erguile argued his ineffectiveness with the weapon. At last the two marched to the gate, and toward the wilderness beyond.
* * *
“Can you fight?” asked Erguile in a smug tone.
“As a boy I practiced many long and hard hours with the sword I left back there.”
“Good. And I reckon that was a poor question anyway, seeing as you killed all the guards… But me, I can really fight—was born with it in my blood. I may pay homage to you, Adacon, but I shall always be the greater swordsman,” Erguile boasted.
“Fight as valiantly as you can, but at least you’ll have others now, if only me, fighting alongside you—for your life, and its freedom,” he replied, feeling satisfied to be in the company of one so confident as Erguile.
“You surprise me boy. All the times I had seen you go to and fro on the farm, looking like a weakling. And all the times I had wondered when a rebellion would start. I marvel that fate decided it is you who should start it. And know that I don’t agree with those who say fate is the great ruling God of our world—I believe we forge our own path in life,” Erguile said. They walked through the gate and onto the tree-lined path. Adacon decided to prepare Erguile for what was about to come; meeting Krem.
Adacon explained about the dune house and its odd inhabitant who seemed at times crazier than wise, but more often just the opposite. He told Erguile just how shockingly old the little man claimed to be; how he said to have lived many of Adacon’s lives. He did not mention Krem’s door sign, if only to avoid hearing skepticism about what Molto could be, and what the Spirited