So more Eelistle? He's the elf guy from the first, third, and fourth prompt.
Actually, I'm sure he's the only elf I've written about.
This one's a little long. Okay, it's a lot long (that is what long's all about, you know). Here' the thing. It's in first person this time. Hope you like it. Brayden is actually conscious for this one. Not sure if that is completely good or not. . .
By the way the, deadline for this two week's
Summer Writing Camp is July 31st. That happens to be this Friday, people. I really hope you get to join, because- because-
Dragons!
You know you want to. :D Though you should at least hop on over to Rachel's blog @
Secret Scribblings and read her take on it. I happen to think it's quite fabulous.
I sip my water. We sit outside the café under the
canopy
“We need to get
to Tenerath,” Brayden says around his sandwich.
I don’t prod him to explain. Three tables down there’s
a girl. Dark skinned and short, who seems like she’s listening to every word we
say. It wouldn’t matter anyhow. Brayden would only elaborate when he wishes
too.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns at me. “You’ve hardly said a
word since we arrived.”
I consider telling him about the girl. But he will
only push it aside as paranoia. So I settle for the second truth. “I hate the
city.” My voice sounds surprisingly composed and void of emotion. But in
reality this whole place has me on edge. There’s so much noise. So many people.
So much—
City.
Brayden swallows and shrugs. He already knows about my
abhorrence for all places over populated. “Garath’s men won’t be leaving us
alone anytime soon.” Brayden takes a long drink from his mug. “So as soon as we
can find fast transportation, we’ll get out of here.”
I nod. “What do you have in mind?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Preferably a dragon.”
A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I see.
And is dragon flying another one of your assorted arcane abilities?”
“How hard can it be?” Brayden clasps his hands behind
his head. “We’re on a budget and a tight schedule. I’d rather not rob some
corrupt lord and buy a dragon within the same town.”
I settle my hands on the table. “Translation: you do
not know how to fly a dragon.”
Brayden rolls his eyes and hunches back over the table
like he’s sharing a secret. “That’s a minor inconvenience which will soon be
resolved after purchasing said dragon.”
“Of course.” I sit back but don’t let my smirk
fade. Brayden ignores me.
“We should split up.” He darts a look around the
market square. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”
My chest tightens. Since
Brayden has gotten better, I’ve allowed him to take the lead, just like old
times. I’m not exactly good with people. Brayden pretends to be oblivious to
the pensive look that has stolen my smirk, but the gleam in his eye gives him
away.
“Um, ma’am?” I say to the lady in charge of the
stable.
She continues to scold one of her stable hands about
overfeeding the ponies.
“Ma’am?” This time I tap her shoulder.
She whirls on me fast. But as soon as she looks me up,
all the way up, she steps back. “Aye, sar? What coulds I be doin’ fer ye?” Her
accent's more atrocious than the kids I spoke to earlier.
“Ma’am, uh,” I stammer. “I wondered if you might have
a, maybe.” I shift under her gawking stare. “A dragon. For sale?”
“No, sar. Not ‘ere.” Her face still shows surprise,
but her voice is as easy as a brook at sunset.
“Do you- might you know-“
She points to a man at a booth across the wide square
and her confidence returns. “Mastar Tidlar knows just en ‘bout all the bisness
that goes ‘round. Ye could ask ‘im?” She turns it into a question to make it
gentler.
“Yes. Right.” I bow of my head. “Thank you . . . ma’am.”
Only Brayden has ever heard me speak without stumbling over myself. Not even Cordon
could get that.
She nods and covers her smile.
The man at the booth has weasel eyes and a kept,
pointy beard. He sits with his feet kicked up on his booth and relates some
story to two other men. I have a strong suspicion that his name is not strictly
Mastar Tidlar, but in truth Master Tidler. Well, Tidler.
“Sir?” I step up to the booth.
The two men beside me balk before reacting more ethically.
“Yes, my good man?” Finally! Someone who can speak properly.
Tidler’s unfazed expression at my appearance puts me a little more at ease
myself.
“I was, well- Someone informed me you knew about the
business exchanges in this town?”
“They were correct.” Tidler twirls a charcoal pencil
between his fingers. He has a certain charisma that inclines others to like
him, yet he studies me just as much as I do him. “Is there something you are looking
for?”
I open my mouth. If asked, this man would give away
information concerning me and Brayden. For a high price of course. And with me
being so recognizable. . .
I force myself to smile back at him. “Do you know of
the best inn around?” I breathe so as not to stammer. “I have some business in
town and I could be here some time.”
Tidler rubs his chin. “Any preferences you have?”
“Some place that will give me a good cut rate. Uh, a
nice bed.” Now I make stuff up and hope he doesn’t see through me. “I will
probably be around for a week and I am a bit particular about my rest. So,
nothing rowdy.”
Tidler smiles understandingly. “Of course. Rocker’s is
the best place. It’s a nice cozy part of town and he has grand food.” He sets his
feet on the ground and leans forward. “If you go down Lion’s Tail street down
here?” He points down a cobbled street that branches off from the square.
I nod.
“Then take a right at the bakery. Crumb Shop is its
name. Keep going and Rocker’s Inn will be to the left.”
“Right. Then left. Thank you sir.” I bow my head.
“Pleasure.” He kicks his feet back onto the table.
I walk down Lion’s Tail.
Walk normal. Not too fast. When I’m out of sight, I double back down a side
alley.
“I couldn’t find a dragon for sale.” Brayden joins me
as I walk back the café.
“Clearly,” I say. “Or else you would have one with
you.”
Brayden smirks. “Your sarcasm’s still weak, but we’ll
work on it.”
I roll my eyes and fight down my own smirk.
The crowd practically parts for us as we make our way
through.
Brayden frowns. “This is ridiculous. How are we
supposed to hide with you around?”
I don’t point out how he included me then excluded me
all in a single since.
“If you’re with me you’ve got to do something about
all- all-“
“All what?” I ask with a tone of seriousness.
“This!” He
gestures to me up and down. “You’re too tall.” Now he waves me away like a fly.
“You stick out like a tower in the plains.”
“What exactly do you suggest I do? I am not going to
chop off my knees.”
“I don’t know! Stoop a little. Cut your hair!” He puts
a hand on his chin and looks at me again. “And do something about those ears.”
“I am not chopping them off either.”
A voice behind us calls out, “Freak!”
A few other snickers and insults join it, but not
many. Brayden throws a death glare over his shoulder as I rub the back of my neck.
I can’t hide in the human’s realm. At home, I was invisible. I both cherished
it and hated it. Now I miss it like the memory of water in a desert.
“No matter,” Brayden steps into the café. “We’ve got
to out of this town tonight with or without fast transportation.
The place is packed with dinnertime guest. We stand
off in a corner because there’s no place to sit. Brayden orders us some farven
juice.
“Eelistle,” he says quietly after the server delivers
our drinks, “You know I would have no one else with me on this journey. No
matter how much you stick out.”
I nod. How do I respond to those words exactly? Or is
a response even required of me?
Brayden snort-laughs to himself. “Sometimes it’s even
advantageous. Most people find you intimidating.”
I stare at him. Me? Intimidating? Brayden laughs even
louder now. We’ve known each other too long for him not to know what I’m
thinking.
“Good sirs?” A young woman stands nearby, the one who
listened to our lunch conversation. She bows with flourish and grins. Brayden
looks impressed. I am not.
“I’ve heard you were unsuccessful on your dragon hunt.”
“Um. How did you know this?” I hear myself respond
first.
She looks at me. “People hear things.”
Well, that is most comforting.
“I have a dragon you can buy,” she says brightly.
“Really?” Brayden’s eyes dance. “How fast does he fly?”
“She,” the female says. “Fire Flicker’s the fastest
you’ll ever see.”
“How much for her?” Brayden says.
“Ten lens.”
“Ten?” Brayden’s voice only remains tempered because
she’s attractive.
“Yes.” Now she grins even wider. “Five for her and
five for her driver.”
“Driver?”
“Flicker and I’ve flown many people, and I’m sure we
can be of good service to you.”
“No,” I say.
Brayden looks at me.
“We can’t have another life to. . .” I crinkle my nose
while finding the right words, “be responsible for. Besides we have no thought
to where we may go or what danger--.”
“I know precisely where we’re going, Eelistle,”
Brayden says firmly.
“Yes, but. . .” I sigh. “We need to travel freely,” I
insist. “Having a beast of our own is efficient, but another person in the
party becomes another liability. She will only slow us—“
“Excuse your elvishness,” the girl says, “I am capable
of taking care of myself and I am certainly not a liability.”
I bow curtly to the female. “Apologies my lady. I
meant no offense. It is clear from your, um, physique, posture, and excellent blade,”
I nod to her sword in its sheath, “that you are a good warrior—“
“My physique!” The woman clenches her fists and
glances at Brayden.
Brayden shrugs. “Don’t take it lightly. He knows swordsmanship
when he sees it.”
“I merely mean.” I take a breath before beginning
again. “That we must move fast and I, um, do not know how long your services
will be needed. Certainly, you do not wish to be in tow for long.”
The woman crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll leave
when I see fit, if that’s what bothers you. But as you said yourself, I may be
more useful than simply steering your ‘fast transportation.’”
Brayden laughs loudly and jabs my arm. “She’s got
spunk.”
We both glare at him. Standing close to her, I stick
out even more. We’re complete opposites. My skin is pale like the moon and my
hair, just as pale, hangs loosely behind my back. She is dark like the night
and her hair, just as dark, is bound up in various braids and a scarf.
Brayden gazes at us with amusement, like life is a
game. Like he is a king and not an
exiled prince with a price on his head.
“She comes with us,” he says.
She smirks at me in triumph and I simply look away.
“Ayvie,” she says.
Brayden introduces himself and his “sulky friend.”
They chat as we exit the café. Ayvie asks where
Brayden “got” me. Of course, he launches into an untold version of how we met
and somehow makes a twist in which he can appear heroic. This is why I can’t
stand girls amongst our company. Brayden flirts with them while I take the
serious matters seriously. Speaking of which.
“We have to make a stop by Rocker’s Inn,” I blurt.
“Eelistle,” Brayden says patronizingly, “we’re
leaving. We have a dragon and lucky for you someone who knows how to fly one.”
“Trust me,” I say. “I think it will be worth our while
to pay the owner a three days’ worth stay.”
"Why?" Ayvie says in annoyance.
But Brayden nods. “I see.
Excellent plan.”
