Prologue
In the elvish kingdom of Lishea, long ago . . .
A golden elf boy knelt at the sill of a triangular window. From blue eyes, he watched the vast land his home and surrounding city rested on. Young Alwyn Gryffith, as he was called, waited for the arrival of his tutor, Master Imbli. In the meantime, the warm summer day seized Alwyn’s attention from such care.
The boy sighed heavily, grown bored with his study of the terrain. He was convinced he would wait forever. He waited an eternity already. Another sigh escaped Alwyn. Though his tutor often arrived late, this instance was especially upsetting.
Blinking at the bright scene, Alwyn knew he did not honestly desire the lessons. Facing such torment, which lay in the stacks of books piled on tables behind him, he thought better of the present. After all, it afforded him rare time to do as he wanted. His features brightened at the idea of carrying out his own plans.
Alwyn turned his small face to watch the griffins frolic on the ground below and in the air above his window. His pointed ears picked out every cry and call of the creatures that appeared a mix of bird and cat. Usually, the griffins excited him. However, today he felt displeased.
Alwyn blinked into the azure sky beyond the griffins. He folded his hands, one over the other, and rested his chin on top. Contentedly stationed like a statue, Alwyn fell into day dreams of the future. Majestic images filled his head. He longed for the freedom his older brothers enjoyed. Drysten and Vwynne were allowed so much more. They practiced their battle skill, wooed the maids, and enjoyed the revelry only adults were granted.
Young Alwyn’s heart skipped, hoping his brothers would steal him away, as they often did on an unpredictable whim. Alwyn pictured their smiling faces, bursting through the tightly closed door in the wall behind. He felt their mischief infect him.
The boy turned to look at the door expectantly. If Drysten or Vwynne came, they would take him to the Krævenmoor Forest where they found his pet, or south to the king’s court at Amanliss for a dizzying good time sure to last days. A smile brightened his lustrous face. He knew they would come any moment.
At the palace of the king, he might see mighty Gargan soldiers. Perhaps, he might see the infant prince, soon to be born to the king. His heart pounded excitedly. Another more important person waited for him there. Prince Angwin’s son Deiniol was just his age, and in for any mischievous game they could create.
Alwyn’s mind wandered from the palace at Amanliss to Deiniol’s mother. He pictured Princess Abheamh clearly. Her features shamed every flower he could think of. Alwyn blinked his eyes clear of the foolish musings and tried to forget the royal family. Though he longed to escape among them, he knew that would not happen for some time.
Setting his mouth in a sad flat line, Alwyn lowered his eyes from the door. He turned back to the window and set his gaze on the distant forest beyond the city. His brothers were not coming to rescue him. Disappointment crushed him. He rubbed his fingers on the cold stone to forget the escape. Even a cruise on the Western Chessneigh River would have been enough, but it was useless to hope for.
A warm breeze rolled into the stone room and Alwyn’s fingers stopped their motion over the rough rock. The air rustled his hair, as if the hand of a loving grandfather tousled it. Then, all stilled. The sun ducked behind a cluster of blanket roll clouds. Alwyn strained all his senses to catch what niggled at the back of his neck, as it did before trouble. Holding his breath, he squinted at the sky. Another breeze rolled in, but this time it carried a voice.
The ghostly sound filled the open window, echoing on the inner walls. Someone whispered nearby, but what they said remained a mystery. Alwyn pursed his lips and listened harder. The sun returned brighter. Alwyn rubbed his eyes and leaned further out the window. Set with determination, his features glowed like a diamond before a fire, enhanced by the light of the day. Perched half out the window, Alwyn remained motionless, not realizing the humorous scene he created.
At Alwyn’s elbow, a young specimen of a fox eared monkey man rolled a tiny ball between its large flatfeet. Unlike his more serious counterpart, the animal held an expression of contentment and actively played, little concerned by the world around him. His strange small mouth, cut into the bottom of a short tan velvet snout, curled in the corners, as if smiling.
The fox ear raised his large dark-honey colored eyes to the elf, stretched out before him. A whimsical expression of deviltry scrunched his soft features. He looked to the ball on the stones. An ear flicked up and he licked the top row of sharp teeth in his mouth. The fox ear picked up his treasure, handling it with ardor. Scrunching his fingertips on the surface, he looked again to the elf boy and suddenly pitched the toy at his arm.
The ball merely bounced off Alwyn’s arm. It rolled back to the fox ear’s feet and stood still, taunting him with its failure. Not one to give up, the little creature kicked the ball toward his companion and continued to pitch and kick several times. Then, the animal stilled.
The fox ear eyed Alwyn, assessing him for a moment. His round shinning gaze lowered to the ball, now resting against the elf’s side. Jumping to his feet, he grinned, scooped up the ball and jumped onto Alwyn’ s back.
“Let’s play,” the hairy little creature crooned. He pitched the ball at Alwyn’s head, striking him only hard enough to displace a few strands of blonde hair. The ball flew back into his waiting hands. The fox ear looked at it with a sullen expression, as his ears drooped.
“No, Krieb.” Alwyn said, without moving or acknowledging the blow. Then, he added in a weighty sigh, “Not now. I’m listening.”
Krieb eyed him again. Jumping down from Alwyn’s back, he peered over the edge of the sill. His ears lifted high to catch the sound of the voices his friend heard. However, they wafted too far in the distance below. His coppery gaze peered hard at the knot of men and elves gathered there, creating a terrible distraction that cut off his play. Suddenly, another idea struck him.
“Imbli not come today,” Krieb calculatingly said. “We should go with the brothers,” he suggested.
Alwyn shrugged and slid back inside. He folded his hands on the stone sill and concentrated on the scenery, like an old man, who reflected on many lost days. Studying the bright blue coat of the sky, Alwyn wondered where his life led. Seeing his brothers at work often brought up such thoughts, and each time they grew more tender.
The boy breathed the fresh air deep. The silence pressed in around him again. Instead of daydreaming, he should study the tutor’s old manuscript, like the good pupil his family thought him. Alwyn looked to the two desks where he usually worked, his smaller desk pressed to the Tutor’s larger workplace. His small mouth curled down.
Setting his chin in his hands, he restlessly settled in the window again. Clouds rolled, shifted and changed shape. Slowly his eyes lowered to the moors and dales, edged by dark forests. The rolling hills looked like emerald wool blankets in their summer grasses.
The boy’s eyes lowered further below, drawn by the sound of clashing metal. He leaned over the sill again and watched the half armored guards practice. Among them he saw his strong older brothers. Alwyn wished he could join, but the specter of studies trapped him in the tower only in sight.
On the packed earth yards below his perch, Alwyn’s siblings danced like mystical beings, drawn from dreams. The presence of Vwyne and Drysten renewed his dreaming. He imagined a story about himself, told along with the legends the Lishean people shared in the dining hall at dusk. He heard the voice of his tutor speak, begging him to relinquish fantasy and settle down to his lesson. Alwyn sighed. He sat there a mere boy in need of schooling and guidance. If he wanted to be the hero he dreamed, he must first be the son of a powerful lord and king’s senator. He needed to discipline himself.
Deep in his thoughts, Alwyn did not see the door to the room open behind him. An old man dragged his black clad body through the opening. Lifting his thick white brows, he briefly assessed Alwyn, smiling with amused regret. He shook his snowy head and then gave the door a swift push and watched for the boy’s reaction with a grin.
Alwyn turned with a start, woken sharply from his musings. His dreams fell away like scattered embers in a fire. He quickly climbed down from his roost and showed no reaction when Krieb tucked himself tight to his neck and took hold of his hair by the fistful. Instead, he stepped toward the boy and his pet.
“Ah, Alwyn boy,” the tutor said, smiling down at him.
“Alwyn boy, Alwyn boy,” Krieb repeated, skittering into retreat inside of Alwyn’s coat.
“Master Imbli,” Alwyn said in his little voice, greeting him in return.
Master Imbli stood tall over the boy. He was no more than a strange weathered old man, dressed in black robes. His vocation was his only connection to the world. He was an apparition of an ancient time. Alwyn respected him enough, but only took lessons from him at his father’s request. He was uncertain such a man could teach him anything.
Turning on his feet, Alwyn sat in his chair, playing at the well-behaved student. Then, Krieb scrambled down his arm and into the papers and books, distracting him from his wary watch of Master Imbli.
Imbli patted Alwyn lightly on the head, passing him to gain his workplace. After setting his worn leather case on his desk, he looked to the young boy who sat dejectedly waiting for him to begin. Alwyn had the mind of his forebears. In the least, he felt grateful for that much. However, he doubted his time would prove well spent in the end. Master Alwyn ranked the third in the line and not likely to take over any landholdings in Etiona, not to mention how unlikely his dreams of heroism were to ever come true. More than likely, he would die penniless on the field at one of his brother’s commands.
Smiling warmly, Imbli apologized, “Sorry I’m late, young master. I did not mean to keep you waiting this long. Your father kept my ear for some time, I’m afraid.”
Krieb trilled and crooned, tossing papers and other objects from Alwyn’s cluttered desk.
“Stop it,” Alwyn said, picking the ornery animal up and stuffing him inside his coat again. “Be quiet.”
Krieb looked up to him, sticking his tongue out. He disappeared in all but a restless lump beneath Alwyn’s arm. Then, he settled and a small sigh was heard.
Imbli moved around the room, gathering papers and a book. Eventually, he found his seat opposite Alwyn, behind stacked paper and books. He sat. Then, he turned his withered features toward the child again. His cloudy eyes studied the contrasting bright ones across from him with wonderment.
Imbli smiled slightly, mourning the loss of his youth and enjoying the vision of it. He knowingly asked, “Dreaming again?”
“Aye,” Alwyn replied simply.
The old man nodded, “indeed. Let us turn to more important matters then. Shall we?” He rustled through the papers on his desk.
“I have been doing something important,” the child told his tutor. His brows knitted in frustration at his dreams called unimportant. “I was thinking,” he added and then paused. “I’m going to be a great hero someday—a warrior like my brothers.”
“Is that so, Master Alwyn?” The old man spoke, half interested in what the child said.
The lessons Imbli prepared the night before eluded him in the mess he also left himself. Continuing to search the desk, a deep furrow formed in his brow. He felt the child’s eyes on him and it made the search all the more desperate. Alwyn was quite clever. The display he made for the boy must make him think his tutor a complete imbecile. Imbli’s face tightened at the thought.
At last, Imbli found his lesson book buried at the bottom of his research papers, with pages sticking out every which way. He smiled triumphantly and held it up to show.
Imbli smiled at his student, “There it is.”
Alwyn frowned at him unimpressed. He said nothing.
“What was it you said? Oh, aye, well—when you are grown, you will assuredly wish you were a boy again.” He paused to measure the affect of his words. Alwyn pouted at him disdainfully. “We will now turn our thoughts to our lesson like a good lad, eh.” He passed the other manuscript he brought to the boy.
“I will be like them,” the boy insistently muttered like a threat. He refused to take up the large manuscript “I’ll be the greatest hero anyone has ever known. I’ll be great enough to marry a princess like Vwyne.” He paused looking confused. “Can one marry a baby?”
“Marriage is it?” The tutor questioned with feigned sincerity.
Imbli nodded his aged head, chuckling with delight. His dark eyes looked over the book he held out with astonishing rigidity. The little princess his pupil spoke of was not a baby, though still a child. Already, the young girl was fated to marry an elven warrior already grown. Imbli thought young Alwyn quite lucky to not suffer the fate of his brother or the princess.
“You are too young to worry over that, young master,” he crooned gently. “Look here and do your work, as I asked.”
Dejected, Alwyn took the book still hovering before him. After setting the heavy manuscript on his cluttered desk, he opened to the first marked page. His sullen expression softened with concentration. Alwyn studied the page, marred by writing and drawings.
Alwyn felt maddening restlessness leap inside his stomach. He wanted to jump from his chair and escape the room, to turn his attention to other better things. With a yearning heart, Alwyn listened to that need, which claimed Master Imbli’s lessons a waste of his time. He should join his brothers in the practice yard and train for the wars to come.
Alwyn heard the clanging metal outside, beckoning him from school. He looked to the window. Instead of reading aloud, he could slay a dragon from Gregynsfirth Island or battle enemy invaders from evil Sylian. A smile brightened his features.
In the meanderings of his thoughts, Alwyn refused to cave to Master. Imbli and begin the lesson. Turning back to the horrid book set out before him, Alwyn set his chin and mimicked his father’s way of staring down adversaries. He stared at his tutor for several tense moments, watching him scribble in another book. Alwyn fidgeted in his seat, annoyed that his tutor ignored him and annoyed at each lost moment.
“I do not hear you,” Master Imbli said without looking up.
Alwyn’s reticence made no difference to such an old man. He merely waited patiently, marking notes in the margin of another book. The room fell heavily silent around them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alwyn cross his arms. It made him smile inside, but he continued to ignore him, carefully disguising his reactions with his concentration on his work.
“Alwyn,” the old man said after another long silent moment.
Alwyn eyed him without answer. His small mouth hung partially open, as he lifted his chin to see over the pile of work between him and the tutor. Master Imbli quit his work and looked at him sternly. Alwyn shut his mouth and crossed his arms with a harrumph, refusing to fall to intimidation.
The weak sound did little to accomplish his goal. Alwyn tried to hold Master Imbli’s gaze, but the penetrating eyes of the elder bore into him worse than his father’s.
“When you are a man in command of an army, then you may give the orders, young master. But, today you are in my command,” Master Imbli said. “Read the marked passage. I will not ask again.”
Disappointed, Alwyn settled into his lesson. His young eyes turned to the page he had stared at only a moment ago in refusal. This time, he read the elvish runes scrawled in neat lines, running the entire page.
Master Imbli smiled approvingly, listening to the small voice that fought to speak impossibly large words. Putting quill and ink to paper, he assured himself that Alwyn would quickly learn that only his compliance would make the lessons pass quicker. He smiled slightly. His hand scribbled some letters. Then, he paused and looked up, just seeing the boy before him. Imbli drew a deep breath. He scrubbed his chin with a gnarled hand and he looked away with dread.
Time would indeed pass quickly now, as the lesson continued to other things. The boy would indeed go to the practice fields as he told his tutor. After that, Alwyn faced only death and his youthful dreams would die with him.
A rap on the door roused Master Imbli from his thoughts. He called to the creator and the heavy door opened to allow a young man inside. The sallow servant scuffed across to Imbli’s chair.
“Lord Gryffith has requested, Master Alwyn’s presence in the entrance hall. The guests have arrived,” the reedy elf told Imbli.
Imbli’s eyes rolled to the boy and he drew a deep breath. It irritated him at how easily they interrupted the boy’s studies, as if it were so unimportant. Alwyn looked back at him, blue eyes full of hope for release. Imbli smiled and chuckled.
“Yes, of course,” Master Imbli said. The lesson could wait.
“I will return, Master Imbli,” Alwyn told him.
“I will see you tomorrow, young master,” Imbli said, knowing better.
The servant led the boy from the room. Imbli looked over the half finished lesson on Alwyn’s table. His letters improved and that brought joy back to the tutor.
On the stairs leading down from Master Imbli’s tower, Alwyn could already hear the bustle in the rest of the castle. His father had mentioned the arrival of an important guest several days ago. Alwyn had not thought much of the warning. He accompanied his father on many outings that brought him into contact with supposedly important people. Yet, Alwyn never clearly saw what was so important in them.
Passing a window, Alwyn’s attention was captured by the lengthened day. The practice yard stood empty, having been full of soldiers moments before. His eyes searched for his older brothers, but they were gone also. Alwyn scowled.
The servant led Alwyn across the courtyard to the main keep where the Gryffith family resided. The boy’s eyes scanned the expanse from this vantage, still seeing only the occasional hurried servant. He thought the guest more annoying than important for disrupting not only his tutor, but also the guard. Alwyn’s expression turned stern.
At last entering the entrance hall of the main keep, Alwyn saw his father speaking with a splendidly dressed lady and a priest. His father bowed to something between them. Alwyn approached the group, and from behind the lady’s skirts, a small girl was revealed. Of any present, she appeared to be the finest.
The little girl’s eyes shifted to him. The cool sapphires sparkled as she assessed him expressionlessly. Her small mouth was drawn in a flat line, but it seemed she frowned instead. Alwyn gave her a small smile. She was prettier than any of his mother’s maids and it made him curious.
“Ah, Alwyn,” Lord Gryffith discovered his son had come. “Your highness, this is my third son, Alwyn.”
Alwyn’s mouth popped open in delighted surprise. Of course she was so pretty. She was the daughter of Abheamh. He felt foolish thinking important guests were always adults, not a child like himself. He bowed deeply with the respect he was taught to display. When he straightened, the little girl’s expression had warmed. His eyes flicked to those of the Priest standing guard beside her. His severe features struck Alwyn’s insides cold.
Boots scuffed on the floor of the hall through the arch. Alwyn’s eyes shifted to see who was arriving now, forgetting the shaven headed man. His second eldest brother, Drysten, stood in his finest clothes, a ceremonial blade on his hip.
“Vwyne has just left father,” Drysten said to the Lord. He smiled at Alwyn and winked before quickly turning to the little girl and bowing. “I apologize, princess. Welcome to Wogan.”
The princess inclined her copper head to him, but still did not speak.
Alwyn stared at her, wishing to hear if she had a voice at all.
“Alwyn,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Would you be so kind as to escort her highness and Gramelle to your mother’s chambers? I think the ladies will be more comfortable there while I discuss the terms of the betrothal with Heimvlet.”
Alwyn nodded to his father. He wondered what a betrothal was, but quickly forgot the word. He approached the ladies and bowed his golden head to them. The priest watched him closely, like Master Imbli.
“Please to follow me, your highness,” Alwyn said.
“You are most gracious, Master Gryffith,” the girl at last spoke.
Alwyn looked up at her shocked. She even smiled.
The finely dressed lady, he guessed was Gramelle chuckled warmly, “she hasn’t spoken since we left Emrys. I thought she’d turned mute.”
The priest raised an eyebrow and gritted his teeth, peering through the boy in what seemed anger.
“No doubt she wishes to be with her mother and father, and witness the birth of the new heir,” Lord Gryffith said warmly. The princess looked up at him with shining eyes. He felt his heart sink. It was a difficult thing to match a mere babe to a nearly grown man, even if it was his most honorable son. “Lead the way, Alwyn,” he dismissed them.
**********************
A guard in well used half plate scuttled across the rainy bailey from the gate bridge to the entrance of Wogan keep. Years had passed since the Princess’s visit and her match to the eldest son of the Gryffith Lord. However, the scene had changed little around the souls who populated it.
Nearly a man, Alwyn coldly watched from beneath his helmet. Sword practice had finally ended, and he was in search of sustenance to fill his more than empty belly. His stomach growled in approval of the thought. Somehow, he knew the movement of that guard meant he would not be eating too soon. The silver sky darkened and he looked up at the mantle. A quick thought, and he turned his steps toward the gate bridge.
Alwyn’s step quickened, he unlaced the half plate and dumped his helmet in the arms of a guard, “send it to the armory.”
“Yes, Master Gryffith,” the man bowed his head.
Alwyn gave a crooked smile and charged down the gate bridge incline. If he meant to eat, or have time on his own, he had to avoid the messengers before his father sent for him.
Stepping through the streets of the city of Wogan, Alwyn made his way to the town center and his favorite supplier of baked goods. His soggy head lifted and he squinted at the congregation. The voice of a human spoke in the common language, muffled under the rain and din of the city’s activities.
Alwyn inched closer. Any number of things could be happening in the square, one of which he was sure of. Since he could remember, the humans had been coming to Etiona, selling the populace of a distant island for work slaves. The crowd parted to let him pass. The citizens were familiar with the third son of their lord. He spent a great deal of time out among them, escaping his privileged duties and creating problems for his father.
Standing to the side of the square’s center, he watched a man stalk back and forth in rich vibrant satiny robes, beneath a canvas roof. He was a Sylian trader, just as Alwyn thought he would be. His accent was clear now, and his garb and gold was ever more apparent. Behind him, several wretched creatures languished on the wet stone, draped in chains and rags.
Alwyn frowned. Since the humans had come to his province, they had brought a terrible institution with them. It was all the lord could do to prevent such things without causing unrest. Alwyn cared little for peace at this price, and stepped up onto the dais.
The man fell silent, regarding him with surprise. The crowd also was silent and the surrounding square stilled. Only the rain dare make a sound.
“What mean you by selling these Gargans here?” Alwyn asked.
“Pardon me, my good man,” the trader grinned at him from beneath a ridiculous moustache. He folded his hands together, attempting to quickly assess the worth of the strange young man. “May I interest you in one of our fine cows?”
“I don’t see any cows, sir,” Alwyn said with sarcasm.
“A bull perhaps,” the man suggested, raising an eyebrow. His mood was turning sour.
“Are you selling cattle, trader?”
“Merchant Bantle,” the man corrected. “My boy.”
The crowd gasped at the slight given their lord’s son. They could not expect more, since Alwyn had yet to reveal himself to the stranger.
“Has anyone purchased your cattle?” Alwyn asked.
“Can I ask what purpose you have in disrupting the sale of my goods, boy?” Bantle sneered. “If you are not interested, I ask that you take leave of my stage.”
“I do not need to state the purpose of my disrupting your revolting display,” Alwyn challenged. “And, a merchant will not ask me to take leave of my father’s square.”
The merchant gasped. He eyed Alwyn from head to toe. No one would have suspected a sodden street rat to be a lord’s son. He set his mouth tightly with distaste. It was preposterous.
Alwyn faced the chained creatures. Their pitiful state turned his stomach.
“You are selling Gargans to Elves,” Alwyn stated. “What is the likelihood you will unload one today?”
“I sell to whoever is buying,” Bantle responded.
Alwyn took a pouch from beneath his leather jerkin. He stepped to the man, weighing it in his hand.
“Take this and never return,” he shoved the purse into Bantle’s hands. “Or I will have you executed myself.” Bantle eyed him nervously. “It will more than cover your trouble for coming to Etiona. In my father’s province, the Gargan are free. Leave them here and take your wretched selves home where you belong.”
“You may be a Lord’s son, but there are laws against this,” Bantle informed Alwyn.
“Leave their papers with the guard, or I’ll arrest you.”
Alwyn smiled at the man, and then patted his shoulder. He stepped forward and faced his father’s waiting people.
“Good people of Wogan, Etiona,” Alwyn said. “My father has declared the sale of any people to be illegal in his province. This includes the Gargan.” The people cheered him. He looked back to the merchant. Bantle appeared shocked by their reaction. Alwyn hoped the human had not thought elves changed their ways so quickly. “Go about your business and my father asks that you do not do business with criminals such as Merchant Bantle. But, my father is not without forgiveness. If this man will take the gold I have given him, and release the Gargan’s into my care, I will see that no charges shall be levied against him. Nor shall any charges be made against anyone who purchased a slave from Bantle. I shall pay you the price you paid and take the Gargan into my personal care for a full pardon.”
Bantle’s anger flamed in his eyes. He sucked a deep breath in through his nose.
“You play a dangerous game, Gryffith,” Bantle told Alwyn.
“No, I believe it is you who plays a dangerous game, Merchant Bantle,” Alwyn told him.
The Merchant jerked his arm and his guards brought the Gargans to their feet. “My father makes the laws in Etiona, not you.”
“You may take my stock, but that will not stop other traders from selling what your people demand,” Bantle said.
Before Alwyn could respond, a voice carried over the square calling to him. Alwyn looked to see one of his father’s guards motioning to him. Alwyn darted from the dais to join the man.
“Lord Gryffith must see you right away,” the guard said. “It’s about your brothers.”
Alwyn stared into the stony face of the guard. Neither the rain or the cracks of his age could hide his care. Alwyn’s mouth pulled into a frown and his heart dropped into his stomach like a rock.
“See that the Gargans are taken to the castle, Carn,” Alwyn said. “Then let the merchant go.”
“As you wish, Master Gryffith,” Carn said. “Your da isn’t going to like that you’ve done this again. It’s causing him a great deal of trouble in the senate.”
“If trouble will make them see the error of their ways, then it is worth the expense,” Alwyn said. His eyes went to where the merchant’s guards led the slaves toward them, still shackled like animals. “I had better see what news the messengers have brought of Vwyne and Drysten. Perhaps they’ve stalled the Pymman advance on the Peninsula. I would hate to miss a summer in Amanliss with Caasi.”
“Take care you do not get too close to your brothers intended, Master Alwyn,” the soldier smiled at him. “Let childhood fancies be a thing of the past.”
Alwyn scoffed, “What are you insinuating?”
“Many of us remember how quickly you became friends with her highness, and many remember what ill ease it put your father and her guardian priest at.”
“She is my friend, Carn,” Alwyn said with a slanted grin.
Carn nodded.
“Off with you, before Lord Gryffith has my head for dallying,” Carn changed the dubious subject.
Alwyn hurried up the street toward the gate bridge.
“Master Gryffith,” a voice stalled him.
Alwyn stopped and faced a familiar man leading a shackled gargan toward him.
“Is it true what you say,” the man asked. “A pardon and the price I paid.”
Alwyn looked up at the giant of a Gargan. He had never seen the like of him before. His dark eyes bored into Alwyn with pride. There was something about this one that made him feel unsettled.
“Mister Darcour,” Alwyn acknowledged the horse farmer. His stallions and mares had supplied many of the Etionan soldiers. “You know this is not the way.”
“I had hoped to free him on my lands, and ask for his help at the farm in return,” Darcour explained.
“And you think you would have gotten it?” Alwyn said. Darcour said nothing. Alwyn half watched the gargan observing them. His immensity left him nervous. “Indeed, I will offer you as much as you paid for him and a pardon, in exchange for him and his papers.” Darcour nodded and pulled a folded paper from beneath his cloak. He handed that over with a key and the chain that bound the gargan to Alwyn. “You have done the right thing, Mister Darcour. I will see if I can find some laborers to help at your farm.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Master Gryffith,” Darcour bowed his head. “And your forgiveness.”
“We live in harsh times,” Alwyn said. “It is the least I can do for my father’s subjects.”
Darcour nodded and then stepped back across the street.
Alwyn looked up at the gargan. He stared down at him like a statue.
“That’s a bit unnerving, mate,” Alwyn said. “Let’s see those wrists,” he lifted the thick forearms of the silent gargan.
Alwyn’s eyes took in the marred flesh. Burns. His teeth gritted with disgust. All too often the Gargan was tortured to teach them control.
“Do you speak elvish? Common?” Alwyn asked, unlocking the restraints. He knelt and worked the key on the ankle bindings also.
The gargan did not respond. Alwyn looked at the paper Darcour gave him.
“They call you Glennan?” Alwyn asked.
Glennan’s eyes sparked alive.
“Come with me if you’re hungry. They only take gold around here, and I don’t wager you have any.” the stony expression was like a wall to Alwyn’s words. “But, you are free to do as you choose now, Glennan.”
Alwyn stepped away, hoping the gargan would follow. Glennan’s bare feet padded the wet stones behind him. Alwyn smiled content with their progress so far.
Alwyn entered the bailey with his new shadow close by. He saw his father standing in the rain with a guard to either side. The water from the sky hid the tears running down his cheeks from his reddened eyes. Alwyn’s heart skipped.
“Vwyne and Drysten were lost to us at the battle to secure the peninsula. Amanliss was lost,” Lord Gryffith said. “You begin your training in the morning, General.” The words were mechanical.
“Father,” Alwyn breathed.
“The king wishes his messenger to return with your acceptance of his niece’s hand in marriage.”
Alwyn stammered. He felt his body leave him. In one moment, he was now his father’s heir, the future Prince of the kingdom and the commander of the Etionan army.
“What do you mean, they’re lost,” Alwyn asked. He needed to deny the obvious.
“Go to your mother,” Lord Gryffith told him. His lips trembled with pain. “We will discuss the matter of the gargans another day.”
“What do you mean they’re lost?” Alwyn insisted. He watched his father walk away, giving no answer.
Alwyn fell to his knees on the muddy ground.
A large hand clasped his shoulder.
“It is wise to abide your father,” a deep voice rumbled. “You are the son of a lord, by what I have seen. Take to your feet. Do not let the soldiers see you mourn here. Not like this,” the gargan continued.
Alwyn looked up to him. The dark eyes brought him sense in the confusion. He had offered him a meal, and his father had ordered him to his mother’s side.
Alwyn’s head swam as he regained his feet and led Glennan out of the rain. He felt nothing, numb inside a cloak of sorrow.
Sta.sh
, but it's still me.)
dA Love 
you're welcome! She's so cute!
