The Exiled King

Jason fingered the circlet on his forehead, removing it and throwing it far away from him. In a strange defiance of nature’s laws, the circlet immediately circled back and reappeared on his forehead as if it had never been thrown. The magic obviously imbued in the circlet both frightened him and piqued his curiosity.

Magic had been virtually absent in Sanobar since the demon war and many humans still found it difficult to accept it after trade opened up with the elves and they were exposed to the elven lifestyle that had woven magic deep into the society’s everyday life. Even before the demon war, wizards had been few and far between and of those, only a handful possessed any significant amount of power—most notably was Garyth Herus, infamous for causing the demon war and inevitably angering the gods. He was never seen walking amongst the mortals again.

Having been otherwise occupied, Jason had not noticed the new addition to his outfit until a passing remark by Lirya alerted him of his new headgear. It truly felt like a million years had passed since they had left Throeyns castle and everything had begun. He pulled the circlet off his head and held it in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. It did not fly out of his hands this time.

The companions were resting, part ways through the deep valley cut into the border mountains, as if a giant being had dragged a sword tip through the mountain range. Beyond those lay the seaside town of Jaromaen, named after the beloved elven guardian after the demon war, and further still were the raging waters of the Eruen ocean. Although the waters were dangerous, the narrow strait between Sanobar and Silvardor was still a bustling spot of traffic. The steep peaks of the border mountains shielded the waters from the worst of the chilling winds, rendering the strait passable by boat on most days.

<--<< >>-->

Fresh winds blew from the opening of the valley, bringing with it the scent of salt. The wind had noticeably picked up since the companions neared the end of the valley. Below them lay the sprawling seaside port of Jaromaen—where they would catch a ferry to the neighbouring Silvardor to seek answers. The port town, although modest in size, boasted the most foot-traffic in the entire Throeyns territory. Sailors came and went—often arriving with full purses and leaving with them significantly lighter after spending at the numerous taverns, brothels and various other places of entertainment near the docks. Further inland lay the markets and inns dotted around the place, forming a hub of activity. A large wall circled the town, built of sturdy Agvine wood from the elven forests welded together with huge steel spikes. Guards manned the only gateway entry to the town, but security was lax. The guards sat at a little table, drinking and playing games. Some were sprawled in the shadows to take a nap, and a group had gotten hold of a leather ball, which they kicked around.

Joining a stream of travellers entering Jaromaen, the companions made their way into the city. Although Haverik’s long white tresses were hidden under a cloak, the trio drew occasional funny looks—since Cloudfire, the weather had been warming as spring began and no one wore much more than a light cloak to protect themselves from the elements. And of those, fewer still wore the hoods pulled up completely.

“I’m hoping we can buy some dye in the market,” Haverik said, “How much coin do we have?”

Leus pulled out their coin pouch and poured the contents out into his palm. Six bronze brynus tumbled out, as well as a single gold gylin and five silver seguns. The companions had sold the horses for two silver, realising that the plains horses, unaccustomed to the steep mountain terrain, would be unable to cross the border mountains with them.

“Dye?”

Haverik nodded, “For our hair—especially mine. The people here tend to have darker brown hair so all of us stand out—He gestured to his impossibly white hair and to Jason and Leus’s wheat-golden hair—and we need to fix that quickly. If Lord Throeyns asks around here, we don’t want to be easily identified in the crowds.”

They found a stall selling a brown, but rather foul smelling dye, without much trouble and spent one segun to acquire enough for all of them. In one of the many dark and narrow alleys of the city, they used the remains of their water from their rations to mix the dye into their hair. It was a mixture that, when applied, was waterproof but would wear off easily in the sun. It served their purposes just fine because they did not need to hide for a long time—just until they had crossed the borders into Silvardor. Lord Throeyns had no influence there, and neither did any of the other Sanobar nobles. Even the royal family would have to think twice before carelessly provoking the elves. Their fragile peace had to be maintained, but it was easier than ever to break.

Newly sporting an ugly mouse-brown hair colour and stench rivalling that of the stable a few alleys down, Jason asked, “What if Lord Throeyns doesn’t follow us? Do we really have to run like this, with our tail between our legs?”

Must we persist in acting like cowards, fleeing always?

Leus looked at him sharply, “It may not just be Lord Throeyns that could come after us—My father, Lord Ravenstorm, is probably determined to get his heir back at any cost,” He said with a bitter smile.

“So it's your fault that we’re being chased out of Sanobar?!” Jason retorted, “Why did we bring you along anyways?”

“I’m starting to think it was just for the money,” Leus muttered, but louder he said, “I had as much of a part in the plan as you and Lirya had. And I would probably have left anyway—I can’t stand my father!”

Can you truly hate the man who raised you? Jason wondered, his mind wandering to thoughts of his own adopted father and family—they were his reason for living.

Lily and Edmund and father, I miss them… Jason thought, Will I ever see them again?

And to think that of all places we go, it is to the home of those elven bastards. Nothing good will come of this trip, I suspect!

They stopped by a tavern and paid two brynus for refilled waterskins and dried foods for their continued journey before inquiring about the ferry services.

The tavern keeper laughed them off as fools, but told them anyway: “Supposedly there’s a territory-wide ban on travelling out of the kingdom until the end of the month. Someone upset the Lord Throeyns, is all I’m going to say. I pity the poor fellow. Still, for those with urgent business up with them pointy eared folks over there in da elven port, there’s always a way, if ya catch my drift.”

Haverik leaned over the bar table and slid another bronze brynu at the man, asking quietly, “What is this way you speak of?”

The tavern keeper whisked the coin away and told them about a certain person who ran a certain business that would take them over the Silvardor for a certain price and gave them directions to their ship by the docks. The companions thanked the tavern keeper and navigated their way through the narrow alleyways down to the docks. The alleyways were narrow and dark and carried within them a stench that reeked of rotten fish and refuse. The buildings, formerly built of sturdy bricks and stone, had cracked bricks and crumbling walls. Some had wooden boards nailed haphazardly over broken windows and doorways and the houses closest to the docks were built of wood.

Somewhere along the way, the road had turned into wooden planks stretched over open waters that creaked ominously when they walked on them. Underneath them, the seawater lapped at the thick wooden stakes that held up the boardwalk.

Their feet stopped in front of a dilapidated house built on the boardwalk. It was more rough planks than house and looked ready to collapse at any moment, but the dirty and worn cloth screen covering a doorway and the numerous nets and other items of the trade strewn around established it as a dwelling currently inhabited by someone who clearly spent more time at sea than on land—or were too poor to afford a better dwelling. However, the glimmering boat docked outside the house suggested otherwise—it was a fine vessel in immaculate shape and it was obvious at first glance that it was well taken care of.

Someone came out of the house, stooping under the doorway and standing straight. It was an elven lady, dressed in snug purple-dyed leathers and a wide hat with an excessively large feather plume. Countless glittering gold jewellery embellished her fingers and arms. Bejewelled earrings pierced her ears, glittering like stars in the bright afternoon sun. She was conversing with someone else, who stepped into view.

Someone with roughly cut auburn hair, a smattering of new freckles on her face and dusky eyes. Someone who had not changed, but for the clothes—which were a long dark overcoat belted at the waist and lined with silver buttons and green highlights, grey leggings and dark shoes. Her eyes widened in recognition and a smile blossomed on her face.

Lirya.