This is a continuation from my previous two ‘Serein’ posts:
2
Thorn
The village of Copse lay just a mile ahead by Thorn’s reckoning as he emerged from the forest’s edge, glimpsing the small town from his perch on one of the sloping foothills that ran down to its border and the large lake it was built beside.
Taking off his woven leather jacket and folding it up carefully in his satchel, Thorn stretched out in the early morning sun, unaccustomed to needing only a linen shirt this time of year compared to the harsh snows that would still be blowing back north. The wild forest he had been wandering through for the past few days now gave way to cultivated pastures and Thorn casually walked amongst the cattle that grazed on the grasses. He hopped a few fences and plucked an apple from an orchard tree to serve as his breakfast.
I suppose this would be considered stealing for me now, Thought Thorn, crunching the sweet fruit between his teeth. Far north on the imposing Serpent’s Back Mountains the orc communities that called the region home relied on a collective system wherein everyone labored in some way for the shared benefit of the entire community. I’ll have to stop thinking like an orc all the time if I’m going to get anywhere in this world. He reminded himself. But by all measures of culture and experience he was an orc. The only life he’d ever known was the one he’d had in Scalesong village as the adopted son of Wicker, the town Ritualist. Here in the countries of men, his orcish upbringing would only alienate him from those he interacted with.
Thorn No-Tusks they’d called him in Scalesong, a permanent reminder of his elven looks and what separated him from the rest of his peers. He’d never met his elven parents or learned the story of why he had come to be raised in the remote orc communities of the upper north, nevertheless, the name was not malicious and Thorn often wore it with pride. His memories of home were mostly pleasant yet as his denmates had matured and taken up positions within the community he realized that any official place among them would have to be on the margins. Being passed over for village Ritualist, after training so hard under Wicker, had been the final straw. Best not to dwell, He thought, All of that is in the past.
The disparate farms and fields gradually grew closer together until Thorn found himself strolling the main road into Copse. In actuality it was the only road. Copse consisted of a town square with a few simple buildings on either side of it, connected to the path Thorn had taken. To the right of the square the street transformed quickly into a dock that extended out onto the lake. A few small boats and canoes bobbed gently at the end of the boardwalk and the water’s surface glinted in the morning sun.
Already, the heat of the day was getting to Thorn and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the light. He was of average height and slim build, and the linen shirt worn over his tan olive skin hid the intricate ritual scarring that marked him as an orc-kin and a magic user back home. With another hand he reached up and tucked his wild brown hair behind the points of his ears.
As the town square came fully into view, Thorn saw his first people of the day. A few folks milling about the street chatted and conducted business but many gathered around an odd carved statue of a woman erected in the center of the square, bowing at its feet and taking turns to touch it. Not like any ritual I’ve ever seen. Thorn thought to himself, but continued on into town.
The further he went into the village center the more people noticed him. At first it was just children pointing and whispering, but many adults also stopped and gawked at him, unblinking. Normally, Thorn would have tried to pay them no mind. However, these stares were different from the looks he’d received by occasional visitors to Scalesong, amazed at the idea of an elf among orcs. These looks in Copse were not curious but hard and unwelcoming. Thorn got the impression he might get this treatment as an outsider in a strange town like Copse regardless of what he looked like. Unsettled by the hostile reception, Thorn ducked into the nearest building, a modest looking tavern with a faded sign depicting a black and white animal guzzling a tankard that read, ‘The Badger’s Pint.’
After his eyes had adjusted to the shaded interior of the inn, Thorn made his way to the bar where an older gentleman in a loose shirt and jerkin cleaned a row of pewter mugs.
“Uh, one of your ales. Whatever most people around here are drinking.” Thorn said propping an elbow up on the varnished wood. The bartender looked up from his mugs with a raised eyebrow before nodding out to the tables and chairs around him, “Have a seat. I’ll bring it out to you.”
Thorn turned out to the rest of the tavern and leant his back up against the bar. The Badger’s Pint was sparsely populated in the morning hours but still many of the tables and benches were filled with a few groups of fishermen and farmers. All of whom had turned to stare at Thorn in the same unnerving way as outside. Thorn pretended to observe the dust specks floating in through the windows.
Only one man seemed to pay him no heed, a sullen looking young patron with sandy hair in green armor. He sat as though half asleep, his chin resting on large arms folded across the table and his chair disappearing under an impressive frame. He looked a little worse for wear with a pair of black eyes and a split lip, but still, he had been the only one not to glare at Thorn as he entered and the elf thought he might as well try his luck at this table.
Thorn approached the knight and pulled out the chair across from him. Old wood creaked as Thorn positioned himself, stirring the young man from his dozing. Looking up through the blond hair that crowded his forehead the knight’s eyes slowly blinked open.
“Huh? Sorry, were you sitting here?” The man mumbled halfheartedly while attempting to clear the mess of empty stew bowls and mugs he had accumulated around him. He spoke Barter, the tongue of traders. Thorn had interacted with merchants over the years along the mountains and found it was the common speech for most men.
“No, no, it’s fine, I just saw an empty seat and took it.” Thorn replied and unhooked his satchel from his shoulder. He took out a few scrolls and smoothed them against his side of the table. Minor ritual instructions, a letter from Wicker, a letter from Meridian... Thorn still did not have the heart to read that one. He rifled through them before pulling out the map he had been using since leaving Scalesong.
“Are you from this area?” He asked the knight who was now preoccupied brushing crumbs off his emerald breastplate. The man scoffed.
“This place? Are you kidding me? I’m not even supposed to be here!” He whinged and drank the last dregs of an empty glass.
“Well I only ask because I’m heading south through here and I seem to have traveled beyond my own maps. I was wondering if you were familiar with the region?” Thorn explained.
The knight sighed, reached down to his side and lifted up the chain mail that covered his stomach to reveal, tucked against his waist, a crumpled piece of parchment. He unfolded the paper and passed it to Thorn who examined it. Between sweat stains and singed corners, Thorn could see it was a well made chart of the surrounding country. Based on his own knowledge and the marking of Copse on the map, he seemed to be in a border town between the nations of Tallias and Ria.
“This is great, thanks for letting me take a look.”
“Eh, keep it. You’re going south? I’m heading back the other direction anyway.”
“Oh, well can I trade you something for it?”
Thorn looked back into his bag at which point the bartender arrived with his ale. The man set it down and waited expectantly. “That’s right! A trade for the ale as well.” Thorn remembered, pulling out a half loaf of sweet bread he’d carried in his pack to offer. The innkeeper eyed him silently and shook his head.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, elf, but here in Copse it’s still copper and silver rotes if you want to buy something.”
“Money? I don’t have any, but if you’ll look-”
“You don’t have any coin? Then what am I wasting my time on you for?” The bartender reached for the mug.
“He’s a friend of mine. Your hospitality to paladins can extend to him too.” The knight interrupted, placing a large hand around the cup. The innkeeper hesitated before finally releasing the ale and reluctantly returning to the bar.
“Thanks for that.” Thorn said, sipping the drink. It was weak and watery by his standards but still refreshing after having walked all morning.
“Don’t mention it. They shouldn’t charge for this stuff anyway.”
Thorn laughed and reached out his hand, “My name’s Thorn.”
“Duncan. And hey, don’t be embarrassed. Not having money is a problem I deal with too.” The knight stretched in his chair.
“It’s not that I don’t have money, I’ve just never needed it. Where I come from everything is either shared or traded for.” Thorn said before asking, “Are you really a paladin?”
With that question, Duncan became visibly uncomfortable and sat forward, motioning for Thorn to lean in. “Uh, not really. The thing is… I used to be. Or at least I used to be training to be one. It’s just that when you’re out alone in the world, being a paladin can have its perks in the right areas.” Duncan gestured to the bowls and cups around him.
“Isn’t that sort of sacrilegious?” Thorn asked and offered Duncan a sip of his ale.
“You’re damn right it is,” Duncan replied, pointing to a green and gold amulet that hung around his neck, “But recently, he hasn’t been doing a very good job looking out for me so the task has fallen to myself.”
“Hey, I understand.” said Thorn, “When I left Scalesong, I thought I’d visit the Mages’ College. I’ve been practicing magic my whole life and thought I could do something with it but it was terrible there. So cold and rigid. They didn’t want to use magic to help people, just control and study them. It made my skin crawl.”
“Where’s Scalesong?” Duncan asked.
“Along the Serpent’s Back Mountains. North of here. Very north of here. An orc village. That’s where I was raised.” Thorn answered. It felt good to finally tell all this to someone new and to hear about them in return.
“Well I’ll be, dwarves selling maps, witches on the road, and now elves as orcs.”
Thorn ignored the comment and returned the question to Duncan, “Where are you from?”
“I’m from inside Tallias, a small place called Lone-Tree on the eastern plains. A lot different than this marshy swamp, that’s for sure. But I haven’t been back there in a long time. Not since I went to The Peak to train…” Duncan’s voice trailed off and his eyes shifted from Thorn to the tavern entrance as the doors swung open.
Thorn turned in his seat to follow Duncan’s gaze and saw silhouetted in the doorway a tall imposing woman. She had a serious, pinched face and surveyed the Badger’s Pint Inn under sharp brows. Her dark hair was held back in a tight knot and she wore armor very similar in make to Duncan, but rather than leafgreen metal with gold detailing, she was dressed in shiny steel with red cloth underneath the plates. Her suit was also in markedly better shape than the one worn by Duncan who was presently trying to make himself appear as small and inconspicuous as possible. Not easy for a man of his size.
“Is she kin to you?” Thorn whispered to Duncan.
“Ah, not really, her name is Nyla Vorentis. She was a few years ahead of me at the academy,” He replied, burying his head in his hands. “And of course she’s here… Just my luck.”
“Innkeeper.” Nyla snapped with a voice accustomed to giving orders, “I have a horse outside. See that it’s fed and watered.” The paladin tossed a coin towards the bartender who caught it and hurried to the door.
“Go easy on me,” The bartender said to her as he shuffled out of the inn, “I’ve already had one of your kind outstay his welcome.” He jerked his thumb back to Duncan and Thorn before disappearing out into the street. Nyla Vorentis’ eyes shifted to their table and she strode towards them.
“She’s coming over.” Thorn nudged Duncan’s shoulder. Duncan just groaned to himself, his voice muffled by his palms.
“Duncan Sephry,” Nyla said, standing over them, hands on hips. “How’s life on the road treating you? Last I heard you were a minstrel doing children’s shows in Temaril.”
Duncan lifted his head up from the table and gave a patronizing smile, “Oh I’m doing just fine Nyla. I didn’t know you cared enough to keep tabs on me.”
“The Peak has ways of following up on its former students. You’d know that if you’d ever bothered to go to class.” She smarmed.
“I did go to class!” Duncan replied, indignant. Other patrons in the tavern were looking up from their drinks and taking note of the two bickering knights. Thorn shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Nyla towered over both of them and Thorn now had a chance to study her uniform up close. Like Duncan, Nyla also wore an amulet around her neck, but instead of hanging loosely, hers was fastened to the top of her chestplate. The amulet itself was different, too. Duncan’s was green and gold with three vertical lines branching up from the center and sides of a circular rune. Nyla’s had a similar looking rune as well but with lines extending out from it, almost like wings, and it matched the red and silver of her armor.
“And for your information, I am not a minstrel. Thorn here is a wizard and I’m escorting him on some very important business.” Duncan lied, pointing at his elven companion.
Nyla glanced at Thorn, barely acknowledging him before returning to Duncan, “Well good for you. I’m on my first assignment, heading to a shrine in Caspan. An envoy is coming later to speak to the Emperor himself, can you believe it? I’ll be serving with Miralda Twice-Slain. The Miralda Twice-Slain.”
“I thought Caspan didn’t trust paladins from The Peak?”
“They don’t, but we have to provide counsel and urge peace,” Nyla rolled her eyes, “Emperor Draken has been preparing for war with Tallias, if you can call it that. This country is in such a state that Caspan would be performing a mercy kill, if nothing else.” She sniffed at the inn folk with disdain.
“It sounds like you’d enjoy that.” Thorn chimed in. It angered him, this casual talk of war and violence. Nyla turned and placed both her hands flat on the table between them.
“Let me give you some advice, both of you,” She said coldly, “Get out of here. Far out. You’re not cut out for this kind of world,” She pointed at Duncan, “It’s why you never made paladin. What was it they used to call you?”
“Nyla, don’t-”
“That’s right, The Never-Knight. Take care Duncan.” Nyla punctuated her final words by pounding the table with her fist. She turned and walked out the door brushing past a now seething bartender who had been standing in the doorway, unnoticed, for the past few minutes.
“What’s this about you not being a paladin?” He asked.