Page 23 of Knight from the Ashes (Crown and Crest 1)
The man we’ve been waiting for must be nearing his eightieth year, and he reeks of drink. If he was truly tending a sick mother, then I’m a gnome.
He gives us a friendly grin when we meet him, smiling with all five of his teeth.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, boys,” he says as we begin to load onto the barge.
The long, flat vessel is only large enough to transport a few wagons each trip, and the first few crossings end up taking most of the day.
The barge is fitted with an ancient Vallen propulsion apparatus that wheezes and sputters as its gears turn the massive paddle in the rear of the barge. Its bronze casing is dull and dented, and it’s smudged with black oil. It was likely crafted before humans ever stepped foot in Caldenbauer.
Bartholomew catches me frowning at it, and he leans close. “I shudder to think how many energy crystals the captain goes through in a week—not that he didn’t charge us enough to replace them.”
I nod, not entirely at ease with the High Vale elves’ creations. Many have been banned since King Telgin’s time, including the armored, weapon-wielding golems that once guarded their cities. The forbidden contraptions were melted down long ago by order of the king, and now the elves use the rare, magically conductive talvernum metal to create the charmed trinkets and jewelry they sell.
As we slowly float across the long, wide river, the conversation turns to last month’s joust. I stare across the water at the Dorian mountain range as it steadily rises in the distance, thinking of the task ahead of me, making a mental list of all I must accomplish before I may return to Cabaranth.
We’re just making the last crossing—trying to ignore the potent fragrance of the sun-warmed cheese as it mingles with the burnt scent of sludge that at one time might have been oil—when one of the circling vultures grows brave.
Hector hollers as the bird swoops low, knocking him off balance as it passes.
Spooked chickens begin to squawk, disliking the sudden appearance of the massive scavenger.
“Lousy vulture stole my pocket pie,” Hector says, astonished. “Right from my hand. Did you see it?”
I’m about to answer when a man who boarded the barge on this last crossing steps forward. He tilts his face toward the sky, and his large rack of antlers tilts back, nearly gouging my shoulder as he passes. “Magnificent creatures,” the Woodmore elf says. “I’ve never seen so many gathered together. What do you think has drawn them?”
“Our supplies,” I say tonelessly.
The elf meets my eyes. “They’re rather pungent, aren’t they?”
I nod, cursing myself for agreeing to take the cheese with us.
“I’m Pranmore.” He offers a friendly hand. “From Dulane, on my way to the Furlaskin Ruins.”
“Henrik,” I say brusquely.
He gestures toward the wagons. “What is all this?”
“Supplies for the northernmost guard post.”
“Are you in charge?”
“Yes,” I answer, not feeling up to making small talk.
“That’s quite an honor.”
Apparently, he’s easily impressed.
I give him another curt nod, hoping he’ll move on soon.
“Henrik is a man of few words,” Bartholomew says, joining the conversation. “But don’t let his humble silence fool you—he was hand-selected for the task by the king himself.”
A task usually given to an aging knight who fancies an outing.
But my mission isn’t merely a supply run since King Algernon wants me to check on the situation with the aynauths once I reach the guard post—at least that’s how I’m trying to convince myself the assignment isn’t a step in the wrong direction.
I think back to the men’s discussion about the creatures.
Simon said the aynauths moved lower before. Perhaps it’s a normal migratory pattern? Even though humans have been here for several hundred years, there’s still plenty we don’t know about the land.