CHAPTER 6

New Friends

The road—if he could call it a road— to the footbridge was hard-baked by the seemingly ever-present sun, and the thick afternoon air lay still and heavy. Gialyn blinked away the dusty pollen as he eyed the early shoots of lemon grass that made a border around the adjacent fields. Their flowers stood tall in the roadside battle for the sun's light, in contrast to the short-cropped grass of the king's pastureland, which lay beyond the colourful boundary. Silky dogwood grew along the boundary, too. Their green-topped leaves with silver bellies flickered in the high sun. White blossoms hung in clusters, dancing at the faintest breeze as if poked by an invisible finger. Apart from the heat, it was a grand day for a walk... if a walk was all it was. But Gialyn knew he wouldn't be coming back this way. At least not while the spring flowers bloomed.

The path rose in a gentle incline as it turned slowly north towards the fork in the road—the place where Gialyn and his father had arranged to meet the Tanners. The track was never busy at this time of day. Indeed, it was not particularly busy at any time.

A horse and cart, now a hundred paces ahead, had thrown up a thin cloud of dust that still lingered where Gialyn and his father now walked. It was the one disturbance in an otherwise tranquil scene. And yet neither the noise of the horse's footfalls nor the clattering of cart wheels was heard above the Geddy River as it surged—still fat with the spring melt—down through the weirs of the Alber canal scarcely ten feet to their right.

A pale mist twisted airily above water. The indiscernible breeze caught the vapours, lightening the heavy air around it with a moist vapour. Gialyn was grateful for the cool spray—brief though it was.

Any other day, he would be happy to take in the view. Today, though, he was low, depressed, and too miserable to pay the Geddy its well-earned admiration. Today, the vale seemed to taunt him. As if to say, "Look what you will be missing, you fool!"

Gialyn turned away from view and fixed his eye on the distant horizon. The sight of it was nothing new or unusual. But somehow the sight of it left him feeling cold inside. The hills, valleys, and meadows—once a familiar backdrop—seemed strangely alien. Looking at them now made his palms sweat and his stomach churn, forcing him to catch a breath. Why should the view make him feel such dread? Was it a fear of the unknown?

Again, he turned away.

The state of Gialyn's backpack was doing nothing to ease his present mood, either. Do we really need all this? Twisting from side to side, he hitched it up, adjusted the straps, twisting his neck and shoulders to find comfort, but couldn't make it balance nicely on his back. Finally, he pushed his thumbs under the shoulder straps and let it be.

Daric eyed his struggle. "You should have tied the bedroll to the bottom, like I said."

Gods, that is all I need. Barely ten minutes in and he's already picking fault. He sighed under his breath, giving his pack another tug up his shoulder.

"Don't fuss with it now," Daric said. "You can fix it when we get to the footbridge. We should have some time. Likely as not, the girl will be late."

"I doubt it." Gialyn turned away from his father, mumbling a curse that Daric couldn't hear—he hoped.

"What makes you say that?"

"She is the only one who wants to come on this trip."

The pain in his shoulders must have distracted Gialyn as he had resolved to stay silent for a while after his father's jibe about the bedroll. He saw Daric raise his eyebrows and then sarcastically mimic him by shuffling his pack from left to right, smiling as he did so. Gods, this is just...

Gialyn ignored the taunt. Instead, he looked down at the water still cascading by and wondered what it would be like to go for a swim. How were they going to walk all the way to Bailryn in this heat? Surely they could have taken horses some of the way. The thought of riding made his shoulder ache more, and he pulled the pack one last time. No, leave it alone, he'll only—

"What do you think about that?" His father interrupted his thought.

"Think about what?" Gialyn asked. He renewed his grip on his pack, wondering if his father was talking about that or about Elspeth. He hoped he was talking about his backpack.

"About spending nigh on six weeks with that girl you like. Maybe longer."

Gialyn felt a weight of dread fill his gut; if there was one thing he hated, it was talking to his father about personal feelings. It just... wasn't right, somehow. Yes, Daric knew how he felt about Elspeth—it was hardly a secret; half the town knew, probably Elspeth, too—but did they have to talk about it? Why the sudden interest? Had his mother mentioned something?

"I doubt she will notice. She is always too busy with her—"

What am I doing? Bad enough he wants to talk at all, but not this, not Elspeth... Please, gods, no! Gialyn glanced nervously to his side, wondering if his father would continue.

"You will be sharing a camp for most of the summer, there will be no escaping. You had best figure a way to deal with her—and quick—before it turns into a problem."

"What do you mean, 'deal with it?'" Gialyn asked. Then, once again, immediately wondered why he hadn't kept his mouth shut.

Daric put a hand on Gialyn's shoulder and moved closer. With a half-smile on his face, he spoke, "Decide how you're going to treat her beforehand. I would go for the practical approach if I were you. Keep everything simple: if you need to ask her something, then ask her as though she were a work mate; if you need to tell her something, just come out and say it, as though you were talking to Meric or one of your other friends."

Daric squeezed Gialyn's shoulder; his expression took a more serious tone. "Whatever you do, do not react to her moods. You know what she's like, as bad as her father at taking offence. I promise you, whatever is causing her mood; chances are it will have nothing whatsoever to do with you. But she will be after someone to blame. Women are like that. Learn how to bite your lip. You know what I mean." He patted Gialyn on his shoulder and straightened up.

"Oh." Gialyn was surprised he was listening to his father. And more surprised that Daric seemed to be making sense. "I... I will try that, thank you," he said. But didn't want to. Gods, he'll be talking to me about where babies come from next! Stop agreeing with him.

Daric pulled up at his straps and put a little bounce in his step. He seemed pleased that he had had his little talk. Perhaps he thought that was one less problem to worry about—at least for now.

"By the gods, I remember when I met your mother. I'm surprised she didn't run at the sight of me." Daric laughed so hard his backpack shook. He grinned while slowly shaking his head. Amused, it seemed, at his recollections.

Gialyn wondered whether he should ask the obvious question. He balanced his curiosity with the anguish of holding one of those conversations with his father. After some apprehensive pondering, his curiosity got the better of him. "Why, what did you do that was so bad?"

"What didn't I do? I was such a foolish, hard-headed young man back in those days; I thought I knew everything." Daric shook his head again and smiled as he gazed along the path. "Let me put it simply, without too many details." He shot a wry, sideways glance at Gialyn, apparently mindful that his son was fishing for controversy—and he was right, of course. "You should approach love with three simple rules: never lie, never pretend, and most importantly, never presume!"

Gialyn was puzzled. "What do you mean by 'presume'?"

His father suddenly grew a little flushed and fidgety, perhaps realizing he had opened the door to an awkward subject and had stuck his big foot right through the gap. Serves him right.

"Well... uh... without being too blunt," Daric said. "'Never presume' means to be respectful and wait, or even ask permission."

"Oh!" Gialyn felt a hot flush rising from his neck. And at the same time, his mouth felt as dry as the road. Oh no... Gods, get me out of this, quickly!

He answered his father with a simple "I see" and quickly looked over at the river... at the sky... at his feet, and the bush drooping sidelong against the edge of the path—anywhere but at Daric.

Daric opened his mouth to continue. But, thankfully, his attention was drawn towards something he had seen further along the road.

"Is that... Grady up there?" Daric asked, cupping his hands around his eyes to get a clearer view.

Gialyn creased his eyes and then—after silently praising the gods for the timely change of subject—he laughed. "Yes, I think it is. Come to say good-bye. That's good of him."

 "He's not come to say good-bye. There's a backpack on the ground next to him." Daric stood, one fist on his hip, and rubbing his chin with the other hand. "Where is he going?"

The crease of a smile curled Gialyn's lip. He knew the reason Grady had his pack with him—at least he hoped he did. Please, gods, let him be coming! Please, gods, let him be coming!

The thought kept repeating as they made their way to the fork in the road. If nothing else, Grady's presence would keep his father off his back. No more awkward talks... hopefully.

*  *  *

Daric picked up his step. What was his friend doing here? That's a stupid question; you know well and good why he's here; he thought

The cart that had been ahead of them had stopped by the side of the road. The driver was standing by the wheel on the far side, mallet in one hand, scratching his head with the other. He looked puzzled and in a dim mood.

Daric gave him a nod. "Is everything all right?"

The driver shook his head and made a face that said no, everything was not all right. "The cotter pin is split. Nothing I can do here. I'll just shore it up. I will have to go back and fetch Gobin to fix it."

"He was at the canal half an hour ago, shoeing one of the pit ponies."

"Oh, thank you... Daric, is it?"

"Yes, Daric Re'adh."

Daric made the customary shallow bow.

"Harnon Gaulman." The cart man put his hand to his chest and returned Daric's greeting. "The canal, you say. Good, at least I do not have to walk all the way back to Albergeddy."

Daric nodded again. "Glad to help, friend."

He waved Gialyn on, and they continued up the gentle incline to where the Alber Road met the Baralan Trail.

Grady was standing on the fork in the road. His hands were behind his back, and he was grinning quite brazenly; Daric thought.

"And what is all this?" Daric asked, pointing at the pack resting against the back of Grady's legs. "Are you coming all the way to Bailryn? Or just taking a few days off?"

Grady chortled. "Ah, so you figured me out. You didn't think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you? And yes, I'm going all the way."

"You can't just pick up and go," Daric said.

Although he had to admit, the thought of another adult joining their group made his heart jump with relief—he had had doubts whether or not he could manage three children by himself... more than doubts; the thought had terrified him.

He continued; "But what about work? Your home! What abo—"

"Slow down," Grady interrupted, waving his hand in front of him. "I have it all under control. The new man, Arlen, is staying at my house and taking on some of my shifts at the canal. He was more than happy to help. Good man, that Arlen.

"I have cleared it with Tanner," Grady continued. "He was more than happy... 'An extra escort won't hurt.' " Grady did a fair impression of the emissary. "And he's paying me, too. It is all arranged, Daric; you have no cause to worry about me."

Grady folded his arms, as if waiting for a response. He looked nervous.

"If you're sure," Daric said.

Grady's smile faded. Sighing, he said, "To be honest, friend, I need a change. Things have gone a bit... stale... of late. Too much like one long day running into another. Why not take a trip, get away for a few months? I thought..." Again, he waited.

Daric wondered why; it wasn't as if Grady needed his permission to join them.

Nevertheless... "It is all right with you, isn't it?" Grady asked.

"Are you joking? I would have paid you myself if I had the money." Daric leaned forward and shook Grady by his shoulders, sure that the wide grin on his face would tell his friend exactly what he thought. "I think it wi—"

CRACK!

Daric spun towards the noise, instinctively placing his hand on the hilt of his dagger. He released the blade immediately, though; they weren't under attack.

SNAP!

The cart began to list to the right. Daric watched as Harnon slipped on the incline, almost falling into the river. The cart man gathered himself and ran to the front. The frantically began to loosen the harness before the cart slipped down the bank and took the horse with it into the river.

"Help! Help me!" the cart man cried.

Daric, Grady, and Gialyn were halfway there when another crack left the cart tilting dangerously towards the river.

Daric pointed to the horse. "Help him with the strapping, Gialyn."

The horse was panicking. Eyes bulging; the animal whickered frantically, pulling its harness tighter and tighter. Daric doubted his son would get close enough to put a hand on him, never mind untie the harness.

"With any luck, he'll snap it," Harnon shouted. Clearly, the cart man had had the same thought.

Daric and Grady ran to the far side, between the cart and the river bank. The horse kicked out with its hind legs, scraping the broken wheel against the hard ground. Spokes shattered and splintered, and with each snap, the cart tilted more towards the steep drop into the rushing weirs of the Geddy River.

Daric and Grady braced up against the cart on either side of the wheel that had broken. "You get ready to jump," Daric shouted.

Grady nodded as he dug his feet into what remained of the gap between the cart and the bank.

Daric could hear the water gushing through the weir; he knew what was going to happen if the horse didn't calm down. The poor thing would follow the cart down the bank, and there would be no saving the horse... not in that current. "Gods, why haven't you got that bloody horse free yet?"

He grabbed the spokes. Grady took hold on the other side of the wheel, and both men heaved with all their might. It had little effect; the wheel slid closer and closer to the edge.

Suddenly the cart stopped sliding and lifted away from them. Daric and Grady tumbled to the ground as the broken wheel spun free. Quickly, they got to their feet. Daric's jaw dropped at the sight of Gialyn's giant standing at the rear of the cart.

He was sure it was the same man they had seen following them along the path the Albergeddy Green two days earlier... there couldn't be two men that big in Ealdihain.

The giant's face was expressionless, as though the weight of a cart full of raw pig iron was nothing to him. He simply nodded at the two of them. Daric and Grady looked to each other with disbelieving smiles.

Then Daric noticed the giant's companion—the older man with the staff—walk casually past the cart and stop by the horse's right flank.

Up close, the other man didn't seem as old as he had done from a distance. Indeed, Daric wondered why he needed a staff... certainly not as an aid. Maybe he was a wizard?

No, there are no wizards. Stop thinking nonsense; he's just a peculiar old—or not so old—man.

 The... wizard... laid his hand gently along the horse's neck, whispering quietly as he moved forward. He passed his staff to Gialyn, then laid both hands on either side of the horse's head. Slowly, the old man moved closer until his brow touched the horse's nose. All the fear appeared to flow out of the animal. It whickered and seemed to relax. Its eyes blinked; its breathing levelled to a steady blowing. The animal was exhausted, but Daric knew the danger was over, somehow.

The older man looked to his giant friend and pointed towards the verge on the other side of the road. Slowly, the older man led the horse and cart away from the riverbank, while the giant followed, carrying the cart as if it were a wheelbarrow.

"You can unhitch him now," the older one said when the giant put the back end of the cart down.

"Thank you, sir, thank you." Harnon bowed almost to his knees as he moved to unhitch the harness. "Harmon Gaulman is my name, sir. I'm in your debt. If there is anything—"

"No need for debts, sir. It was our pleasure to help. This is my friend, Arfael"—he gestured towards the giant—"and I am Olam."

Arfael bowed to Harmon. But doubled up, he was still taller than the cart man.

Harnon nervously bowed back. "He's a handy one to have around."

Olam laughed. "Yes, I suppose he is at that."

Arfael smiled, showing two rows of almost dog-like teeth: the front teeth looked normal enough, but the rest were definitely... well, dog-like.

Daric turned to Grady and wondered if he looked as dumbfounded as his friend. He had never seen the like. Who was he? What was he?

Olam turned and started to walk towards Daric and the others. "Hello, my friends, I'm Olam, and this is my travelling companion, Arfael." He bowed deeply with his open hand placed on his chest. "Good that you were here. I feared we would be too late. If you hadn't stopped it sliding..."

Arfael lumbered up beside Olam.

"Gods, it is him. It's the giant," Gialyn muttered. Then put a hand over his mouth and swallowed hard. Clearly, he hadn't meant anyone to hear his thoughts.

Daric returned their bow. "I think the thanks should be all yours; that cart was going, nothing we could have done about it."

He looked over the two men....

Arfael was huge, and not just because he was likely eight-foot tall. The light-brown linen cape he wore barely reached around his immense shoulders. He had arms the thickness of Daric's legs, hands the size of coal shovels, and his fingers were the thickness of pan handles. The giant leaned forward and looked down on Daric from inside his hood. His cat-like eyes, protruding jaw, and flat nose, made for curious features. And yet the big man was not ugly. In fact, he had a striking look about him. Yes; striking was a good word for him. But clearly, he was no Surabhan.

Daric tried not to stare. He quickly turned his gaze back to the older man.

Olam was more common in appearance, but only in so much as he looked Aleracian... or maybe Eurmacian; he was no Surabhan, but not... strange, either. Daric wondered if the older man—how old is he?—might be a teacher, or perhaps a man of letters. He certainly spoke well enough to be a scholar of some sort. Olam held himself proud. He was tall—if he was Eurmacian—even slouching against his long wooden staff. The wizard was clean-shaven and had smartly combed golden hair—long, with just a touch of grey at the temple, kept back in a ponytail by a thin leather tie.

Yes, Olam certainly had the air of an older man, but his face put him at Daric's age, if that. The cut and style of his clothing led Daric to conclude he was no labourer, miner, or farmer—those were the common trades in Ealdihain. Otherwise, he looked quite average, especially when compared to his friend.

However, he did have a strange sense of calm about him. As though he had travelled far, seen much, and had come away the wiser for it.

Daric looked over the two men with his guardsman's eye. Helpful folk or not, he was not a man to accept strangers easily, no matter how gracious their first encounter may have been... something about the two unsettled him. Most notably their weapons....

"Why are you so at arms?" Daric pointed at the weapons Olam carried. "Sword, knife, bow, axe: are you expecting trouble?"

Olam laughed. "By Ein'laig, no!" he said, taking up the sword and knife by their hilt. The sword was long, and the handle looked too fat for him. The dagger was more a short sword than a simple knife. "These belong to my friend." That explained the oversized hilt. "I carry them in exchange for Arfael carrying my pack. A fair trade, I would say. The bow is mine; the axe is for chopping firewood."

His answer settled Daric a little. But he still wondered about the sword; it was a battle blade, designed cutting through armour. Why would a simple traveller have such a thing?

Olam continued. "No, sir, we are most certainly not looking for trouble. Arfael and I came in the hope of finding travel companions. We heard a group might be journeying east. In my experience, it is always better travelling in a group."

Daric nodded and let some of the stress leave his shoulders. Olam's story seemed believable... it certainly made sense. Still, his surprise at coming across such a man as Arfael had left him... uneasy. He knew nothing of his race—if indeed there were such a people. Maybe it is just him. Perhaps he is Surabhan and just born that way.

But friendly or not, part of him wanted to leave the two strangers to their affairs. And yet, and not for the first time, he could help feeling curious. After all, after what they had just done, they couldn't be that bad.

"I think you mean us," Daric said. "We're travelling to Bailryn for the recruitment festival. My son may wish to apply."

He gestured towards Gialyn, who had barely taken his eyes off Arfael. Daric shot his son a disapproving glance. Shaking his head, he silently mouthed, Stop staring!

"A worthy endeavour, young man," Olam said, nodding approvingly to Gialyn. "Service to your country is an honourable enterprise."

Olam turned his attention back to Daric. "I do not mean to impose on you, sir. I realise it may seem an unusual proposition, but I would appreciate it if you would give some thought to my request. It could be to your advantage; we know the road well and would be glad of the company."

Grady—who had been listening uncharacteristically quietly... and staring at the giant, too—moved up to Daric's side. "Can I... uh... have a word?" he asked. He looked at Olam. "Would you... just a moment?"

"Of course," Olam said, bowing.

The two strangers backed away, out of earshot.

Grady kept an eye of Olam and Arfael as the two stop at the other side of the road. "I'm not sure about this," he said.

Olam and Arfael put their heads together and began to talk quietly to one another. Daric strained to hear what they were saying, but Grady spoke over the top of them.

"They look an odd couple. I know they came to the rescue, but... that... uh... what is his name? Alf—Aufrea...? The big man. I have never seen the like. And I don't mind saying he bothers me. And I'm not convinced about the other one, either. He's far too... I don't know... polite."

"Let's not judge too quickly. Olam is right; it is safer travelling as a group. I think they have proven themselves friendly—strange or not." Daric gave a sideways glance at the giant before continuing. "Let's be honest, would you argue with that... Alfred, is it? He could be a handy one to have around, should we meet any trouble along the road."

"I suppose so. I'd just prefer not to travel with a man who could beat me to a pulp without raising a sweat."

Daric started to laugh, but then heard footsteps. Turning, he saw Elspeth and Ealian wandered up the last few paces to the fork in the road—Elspeth leading, of course.

Elspeth was dressed in her huntress garb: a well-pocketed brown jacket, cut tight to her waist; similar coloured, strong linen breeches with soft leather around the knee; thin blouse and soft leather boots. Her dark hair, tied in a loose braid, hung over her shoulder. She had a good elm bow strapped to her pack and a skinning knife sheathed at her waist. She wasn't wearing the six-knife thigh-garter Daric had her bragging about at the Feast. Maybe she was saving it for when they were out of the valley. But thigh-garter or not, she seemed ready for the trip.

Ealian, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to attend a ball: white frilled shirt, heavy tunic in lush dark blue and silken black breeches. His shin-high soft leather boots were his only item of clothing sensible enough for walking, and Daric didn't think that they would last long.

Elspeth paused for a second as she took in what was a larger than expected group.

"What is happening here?" she enquired. Her brow creased and her jaw clenched as she glanced between Daric, Grady, and the two strangers. Shuffling off her pack, she stood with chin raised waiting for an answer.

Grady whistled under his breath. He turned the other way, leaving Daric to deal with her.

Elspeth was an attractive girl; Daric wasn't surprised Gialyn had a crush on her. Tall, slim, with an appealing face; she made a fine figure. Shame about her moods, though. Of all the questions he had asked himself after accepting Theo's offer of work, how he would put up with the girl's attitude was the hardest to answer. In truth, he wasn't sure he could deal with her. Not without a belt and giving her a daily mouthwash with Mairi's rose petal soap. Why did I pack rose petal soap?

Her brother was average. Although his manners were the mirror of Elspeth's—they were twins after all, if not remotely similar in appearance—as he, too, had a reputation for arrogance.

Daric took a few paces towards them while scratching his ear. He creased up his lip and sucked a breath through his teeth. "Well... we seem to have picked up some guests. You know Grady, of course. This is Olam, and the large gentleman is his friend—" Daric paused with hand outstretched, waiting for the big man to fill in the gap.

Olam moved forward. "Arfael," he said. "His name is Arfael."

Olam bowed to Elspeth, then walked purposefully towards her with an outstretched hand.

Elspeth shook his hand politely while turning to Daric. Her eyes wanted more answers

"Don't look at me," Daric said, with his hands raised in the air. "It is a public road, and apparently we are all going the same way."

"If you ask me, this is a bad idea," she whispered.

"We shall see how it goes," Daric said. "Are you and your brother ready?"

"Yes... uh... sorry we're late. Father turned into a wailing old woman and wouldn't let us leave." A disapproving scowl came over her face. "I have never seen him like it. It was pathetic. Gods... it's not as if someone died. We're only going on a trip."

Daric grinned at the thought of tough old Theo blubbering. But he had some sympathy for the man, particularly after the way he felt when leaving Mairi. "One day, you may be glad there is someone who will miss you when you leave."

"I certainly hope not!" Elspeth said. She looked around at the troop and gave a quick nod to Gialyn.

He nodded back as casually as he could. Daric tried not to laugh.

Grady picked up his pack.

Gialyn had finished repositioning his bedroll and was now standing with his pack in front of him.

Ealian waited behind with Elspeth in front—as usual.

They were all ready to go....

For a moment, Daric wondered what to say. The unexpected twists and turns had put him off his plan, so it seemed.

Olam stepped up. "There is a copse of trees four hours down the track. It is a mile past the first ridge, near to the bottom of the Serath'alor Valley." He pointed east, where a low-lying ridge, a part of Speerlag cliff, met the horizon. "If I may suggest, it would be a good place to make first camp. It is by a stream, and there should be plenty of kindling for a nice little fire.

Daric found himself nodding in approval. It seemed Olam wasn't lying about his knowledge of the road. "Well... if no one has any objection or needs to speak for whatever reason... I think we should go with Mr. Olam's idea."

Daric paused and waited for a response.

There was none.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking," he asked Olam, "what is your family name? I think it best if the children... All right, Elspeth, you're not children... if the younger amongst us can address you properly."

"It is O'lamb," Olam said, with a  grin.

"No... I meant your family name, sir, not your given name."

"It is O'lamb," insisted Olam, laughing. "My name is Olam O'lamb. Spelled slightly differently, but sounds the same. Don't ask, my mother was a torturous woman."

"Oh," Daric said.

 Everybody laughed.

"So, my friends, shall we be off?" Olam O'lamb said.

***

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The Dragon Oracles

THE NEW EPIC FANTASY SAGA

A continent on the brink of war. A journey to save a kingdom.

Forced onto a path he does not wish to follow, a young man finds himself the focus of ancient powers.

When Gialyn accompanies his father on a dangerous trek across their homeland, he attracts the gaze of an ancient dragon. The dragon offers Gialyn power, but the price may prove too much to bear. Meanwhile, Brea, the Dragon Guardian, has plans of her own. With the power of her dragon charges, she summons an ancient warrior to aid in their cause. But will this powerful being help them, or add itself to their growing list of enemies?

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