Chapter Thirty-Three Point Seven: Anticipated Arrival

  Selriph’s estoc and dagger hung comfortably by his belt, the texture of fresh clothes and the minty sting of the herbs clinging to his skin like a soothing embrace. His shoulders and arms felt light despite the weight he carried down the flight of stairs: the bucket and the remnants of the cleaning supplies.

  As he found himself at the landing, the scene that greeted him was markedly different from the one he had left a mere half hour ago. Faint light filtered through the windows, the tavern dimmed, and only a handful of patrons remained, likely those with lodging arrangements on the floor he had just left.

  That’s curious … the sun had barely set. Is the normality different here…?

  Selriph jerked to a halt as a figure came into view, almost colliding with the items held out in front of him; a young woman, about Relia’s age, hands full of empty mugs.

  “Pardon me! I didn’t notice.” Selriph said, his voice intoned with embarrassment.

  The young woman smiled at Selriph with a rehearsed expression of hospitality. “Dun worry about it; this place is pretty when it ain’t filled with chatter,” the last of her words left her as the maroon hair disappeared behind the counter.

  Selriph moved over to the counter, the ginger-bearded man turning to see the basket and bucket settled on the wooden surface.

  “There we are, now you didn’t look like you crawled out of some hole in the forest,” as he grabbed the basket.

  “Find a seat, Calli will be out with your grub in a minute,” as the innkeeper too moved to the hanging curtain.

  Selriph felt the words forming in his mouth before he hesitated, glancing behind him. The speckled dots of figures in the tavern greeted his sight.

  Damn… it is unlikely this ‘Tol’ is here if most of the Patrons left…

  By the time the youth turned back, the innkeeper had disappeared from view.

  Selriph let out a silent sigh as he turned, spotting an empty corner in the tavern. The closest person being someone in a tunic, sleeveless, suggesting he was a labourer or a farmer, half-shaven.

  But it wasn’t the relative solitude of the corner that drew Selriph there, as his feet unconsciously brought him there; it was the person sitting next to the man.

  A boy, no older than the day his family forced him out of the Daryth estate, his head buried in a worn leather book. Its title was faded and indistinguishable from a distance, but it unmistakably bore the cross of Meteon, god of light.

  Is he actually able to read common script? Out here? Holy text, no less?

  Selriph saw a subtle flash in the man’s eyebrow as he noticed Selriph’s gaze. Instantly, Selriph snapped his head to his left—to the inconspicuous corner he’d been making a beeline for, effectively averting the man’s eyes.

  Selriph’s gaze was fixed on the wall, as if held by invisible chains. A wave of embarrassment fluttered in his chest as he settled into the chair, his eyes still riveted to the wall.

  He swore he could feel it—the investigative gaze of the man, no doubt wondering why Selriph’s eyes had lingered on his son.

  Or perhaps it was just his imagination; it was just as likely the man had turned his attention back to his half-consumed drink.

  No use drawing scrutiny. After the meal, should just get a good night’s sleep and—

  Cluk Cluk Cluk

  Selriph jolted out of his seat, the wood scraping in a high pitch as a figure came into view; the young server Calli, tray in hand.

  “By Dova! I know the black moon is nearly upon us, but you don’t gotta act like I’m some ghast!” Her tone was incredulous as she settled the food on the table. The sweet and savoury scent of stewed beef, with two pieces of bread sticking out of the bowl, immediately calmed the boy.

  “Apologies! Got a lot on my mind.” Selriph’s hands held up awkwardly in a placating gesture.

  The young woman’s expression revealed a neutral facade. “Eh, you ain’t the only one. Folks on edge, at least until Aedan comes,” her voice intoned with the slightest hint of admiration, met with a confused twitch in Selriph’s eyebrow.

  Aedan…?

  Calli turned and trotted back before Selriph could voice his question. He could almost imagine a cheerful spring in her step, likely fuelled by thoughts of this ‘Aedan.’

  Then again, perhaps the youth was just overthinking it.

  Selriph buried the query and turned his attention to the scrumptious meal before him, his stomach turning in anticipation. His fingers felt the smooth wood in his hand as he scooped up a hearty serving of the hearty, rich, earthy stew.

  The taste was exquisite, at least in Selriph’s eyes, easily on par with the cuisine back at the Daryth estate. His culinary experience muted the undercurrent of murmurs from the boyish voice coming from behind him.

  However, the mention of that name again acted as an abrupt break to Selriph’s brief moment of tasteful respite. His attention now tuned like an invisible hawk to the conversation that stirred behind him.

  “Father, it’s already sundown, shouldn’t Aedan be here now…?” the soft voice tinged with worry.

  “Worry not, Eilan; perhaps he is off dealing with the angered spirit of the forest.” His voice was laced with a fatherly smoothness.

  “You are right, father, he must have gotten Uncle Tol’s letter.” his voice was calming.

  Selriph’s spoon paused mid-scoop as he heard the other name of interest,

  “Right, my little one, he will be here before midnight. He always does…” his voice trailing off.

  Tol? Angered Spirit? Midnight?

  Selriph’s mind raced, calculating the days since his escape from the cursed templar compound.

  Four… five? Days in the ratways… Mikus’s feast… then another week since then…

  Selriph gazed towards the counter, looking for any sign of the current date. There, plastered on wood just past the stair landing.

  The 23rd of the 10th month of the year, Luminárias…

  Tomorrow, the 24th, would be the night of the lunar eclipse between Raclune and Threxia.

  Curses, this is why the stablehand asked for more coin…

  A chill ran down Selriph’s spine as realisation dawned on him. This event, one that occurred thrice a cycle, would merely be a spectacle in the starlit sky for the residents of Caer Eldralis—the city walls and concentration of holy servants a more than sufficient deterrent to its adverse effects.

  But here? In the wilderness, the magical disturbance caused by the event in the heavens could drive wildlife into a frenzy, perhaps even riled spirits. If the tomes in the library were to be believed.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The fact that this anticipated arrival is coming to ‘deal’ with this, the mention of spirits out here…

  Selriph knew it likely meant that ‘Aedan’ was some sort of person who specialised in the holy arts or light magic, forces that could act to repel any spirits that would wander into the village.

  A templar? A priest? A holy knight…? If they spot me.

  Selriph reached into his pouch, hastily pulling out his patchwork map.

  The sight that greeted him was not what he wanted. If his own notes were to be believed, the distance between Fallbrook and the mining towns flanking the mountain range was over a day’s ride away.

  Damn, I had forgotten about it! If I camp out there during the eclipse…

  Selriph stared at the map, his mind conjuring up possibilities to his predicament. The arrival of this Aedan, the possibility of staying in town without riling suspicion. His thoughts churned, mirrored in the circular movements of his spoon in the remnants of his meal.

  I have the coin, the inn should be safe… the issue is this, Aedan, if they somehow…

  The last mouthfuls of stew-covered bread slid down his throat, and with it, a sense of calm washed over the boy, cutting through the fog of speculation in his mind.

  What is wrong with me? All I have to do is simply lie low in the room when this knight-person arrives.

  As the wave of clarity washed through his mind, he closed his eyes, reaching out with his arcane senses. He felt the veil of coldness that blanketed his skin—the passive effects of the pendant and his suppress aura spell making his signature all but unnoticeable.

  Good, with this, even if this Aedan is anything like Varos, I should be safe. All I have to—

  Selriph’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt, like a graceful dancer abruptly tripping clumsily in their well-rehearsed routine.

  A presence both familiar and alien registered with him. It was akin to the holy energy of the Inquisitors, a low hum, but distinct: calmer, without their usual sharp edge, and far more mellow.

  Coming from his left.

  Selriph opened his eyes and turned, his hand ready to draw his blade in a heartbeat. As the muscles in his neck responded to his will, he expected a towering figure to come into view, clad in holy garments, weapons drawn, and with interrogative words on the threshold of their lips.

  But the expected sight did not come.

  Instead, what greeted him was the boy, curiosity painted in his eyes, staring at Selriph’s armament, the holy tome held in his arms.

  “Mister… you wouldn’t happen to know where Knight Aedan is…?”

  Selriph simply stared back at the kid, his mind in a state of nonplussed bewilderment from the unexpected query.

  “Sorry bout interrupting your meal. My boy here is just too excited tonight,” the bearded man said, his low voice.

  “It is no trouble. I can tell he isn’t the only person anticipating this person’s arrival,” as Selriph looked at the boy, attempting to inflect reassurance in his voice.

  “He walks like Aedan! Blade looks almost like his, thought he might know his where-abouts.” the young boy protested.

  Selriph didn’t miss the subtle difference in the boy’s speech compared to his father, perhaps influenced by whatever text he was reading or in an attempt at a refined accent, perhaps trying to emulate this mysterious person of anticipated arrival.

  “Eilan, not all swords are like that. The blade he has is thinner, probably swings it differently than Aedan.”

  Selriph could not help but silently refute the remark in his head:

  No less deadly though…

  Selriph cleared his throat as curiosity once more came to bear on his lips.

  “I…” he paused as he’d realised he didn’t have a name to address the man before him.

  “Apologies, we have not been properly acquainted. You are…?

  “See, he speaks just like Aedan after the third time he came back!” the boy intoned excitedly, eyes glancing up from his book.

  When did I even revert back to my High Eldeitian tongue?

  The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, a gesture of placation rather than outright reprimand.

  “Name’s Caddock. This here is my tatterbox boy, Eilan.”

  “Name is… Sel” His voice betrayed the slightest hint of hesitancy.

  “Interesting, probably tied with Tol for the shortest name here in Fallbrook.”

  Simultaneously, a flood of questions entered the periphery of his attention, like a crowded market stall with a flood of interested patrons.

  And like the over-flooded merchant, he had to prioritise the first in line:

  “So Caddock, who is this Aedan?” his voice was brief.

  Both father and son showed a flicker of surprise at the query. “Ah, not from around these parts, Fallbrook local through and through, never forgot his roots even after becoming a Holy Knight.”

  A Holy Knight… of course.

  A surge of recognition hit Selriph: they were speaking of another of Eldeitia’s militant orders, devotees of Aurelion, god of war.

  Even though the Templars were renowned for their steadfast commitment to Vireon’s realm of justice, the Holy Knights of Aurelion displayed no less devotion to the pantheon.

  “When is he due to come?” Selriph’s voice was unconcealed with weighted curiosity.

  It wasn’t the man who answered, “He always comes the night before the moon. He is just late, probably plasating that spirit, right, Daddy?”

  “Placating”, Selriph mouthed silently under his breath.

  The man’s voice remained low as it attempted to portray assuredness. “Yes, he has never been late; he will come, midnight latest. Probably slowed by something.”

  Midnight, then I’d better make myself scarce soon. But first…

  “What could possibly slow him down? Is the mountain pass causing trouble?” Selriph feigned curiosity in his voice, trying to hide that he’d already overheard fragments of their discussion.

  “Apparently, the spirits are riled up in the forest. Tol’s been raising a fuss about it; he can’t get his people through the pass safely,” he replied, his tone straightforward and unconcerned.

  “Isn’t going through the pass a little roundabout? Wouldn’t they dig through the mountains to make it easier to send the goods eastwards?” Selriph asked, curious yet firm.

  He knew it was a possibility; after all, funnelling the spoils of the mines through the mountain pass could easily be circumvented by a sect of holy-sanctioned earth mages boring their way to the other side of the mountain range, a meagre investment of labour and talent in the grand apparatus of Eldeitia.

  It was to that hope that Selriph clung, that perhaps this could be his alternative route.

  “Ha, you know quite something for someone your age. Too bad, they don’t got that option anymore.”

  “Pardon...?”

  “Old mine’s shut, caved in. New ones just came alive. Who knows how long they’re gonna take to get to the other side? Been giving Tol and his friends a real headache.”

  Selriph felt his flicker of hope dashed as the words left the man’s mouth; this was not the answer he’d been hoping for.

  “I see.” His voice was brief, an attempt to conceal his disappointment.

  “Why, thinking of helping them for quick coin? Could always use a pair of hands.” Selriph detected an almost faint attempt to be cheery, as if trying to peddle the idea to the boy.

  “No, I have somewhere to be. I just wondered if…” Selriph’s voice trailed off as he stopped himself from divulging too much.

  Selriph feigned a cough before his last query left his mouth. “So what of this Black Moon? I assume this Aedan fellow comes back for that?”

  The boy’s voice replied in an instant, enthusiasm brimming. “He protects us! Makes the bad ones go away!!”

  Selriph’s facade remained calm, inquisitive. “What kind of spirits?”

  “The scary kind that suck you dry. Don’t stand a chance out here since old man Juzak passed. Need someone with a holy blessing to fight them off.”

  Despite the man’s vague and crude description, Selriph could roughly deduce that the “spirits” he referred to were likely Darkmoon Wraiths, haunted entities that stir during events like the Raclune-Threxia eclipse.

  He could already see the words of warning before the man’s mouth opened.

  “Come tomorrow, just stay indoors, not a single light, be quiet, let Aedan do the rest. Done this about ten times now. Never once been wrong.” While his eyes were fixed on Selriph, his words and the comforting touch on the boy’s back were clearly intended for his son.

  “That was exactly what I planned to do, if there is nothing else…” Selriph slowly rose from his seat, a forced smile of politeness on his face.

  “Why the rush, boy? Night is young, and I can tell my little one needs a stand-in until Aedan arrives.” The boy’s expression subtly lit up at his father’s suggestion.

  “By midnight, yes? Apologies, I’ve been... on the road for a while. Need some rest.” A genuine wave of tiredness washed through his voice, stemming both from disappointment and fatigue.

  Selriph caught the drooping visage of Eilan as he turned towards the stairs.

  The runaway youth knew he had to excuse himself before the Holy Knight arrived. He had already risked too much by introducing himself to the man and his son. He wanted to avoid anyone recognising his face, however slight the chance.

  Damn, it had to be a holy knight. If only he just wouldn’t show up.

  Of course, Selriph knew that was an insensible thought; after all, without a holy knight, who would protect the town during tomorrow’s lunar eclipse?

  A chuckle escaped him as he briefly entertained the notion that he would be the one who would have to take responsibility.

  As he turned the key to his room, he couldn’t know how chillingly prophetic his lighthearted musing would turn out to be.