VALKOS' KEEP: Annals of Yri

Chapter Three

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Again, she fell into her pattern of night travel. She got far enough away from the Chamvarran outpost so no one would follow her, then she bunkered down to rest for the day. Rising at dusk, she traveled for eight hours over the rough terrain. Once the sun rose, Yri slowed to a less brisk pace. As her heartbeat slowed, she searched for a suitable sleeping arrangement. Protected and hidden, she would hunt and forage for her meal. Most mornings she caught a rabbit or other small woodland creature of some kind. In addition, plucked gooseberries and hardtack from the outpost graced her mealtimes. After her fire was laid to rest, she did the same for herself. Sleeping lightly during the brightest hours of the day, once the chatter of songbirds dimmed into the lullabies of crickets, she awoke and began her trek again.

Nine nights, she spent like this, walking, eating, sleeping.

When she arrived in the Chamvarran port town, Caralis, she paid a merchant handsomely for one of his employees to sail her on his fastest clipper to Bosona across the Lion's Mouth Bay. The greedy man had doubled his price, but when Yri had fingered the hilt of her hunting knife, he'd relented.

At first, the sailors had estimated the trip to take roughly five days. The travel winds blew from the southwest in the rainy season, and it would simply take longer than normal.

At least, that's what they said at first.

After an hour or two on the water, the winds changed. The sails billowed with air, and they shot forward. Six knots, the sailors cried in surprise. The fastest they'd seen in their lives!

Yri sent up a quick prayer to Ela, the goddess of the wind. She promised to light a taper for her at the temple at home when all was said and done.

Two days at sea, instead of five, saving Yri valuable time.

They docked at Bosona, and Yri paid the men again for their services. She departed quickly after, boots stepping purposefully west; her destination so much closer than before.

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Five days. Five laborious days traveling across the hilly, Iaposian landscape. Limestone houses cut into the seaside mountains blocked many routes, and Yri veered off course many times to not be seen by the locals.

Finally, she reached the port town Ambracia, the last Chamvarran port south of the isthmus.

With a sigh of relief, Yri readjusted her pack and continued her hike to the cliffside port town.

The bustling streets of the small port town of Chamvar were plain and simple, but the brightly-colored cloth of the people brought an energy not unfitting for the town. Noting the different trade signs swinging from limestone-wash storefronts, Yri found her way through the winding whitewashed streets of Ambracia to the nearest tavern. Ignoring the pointed stairs and hissing whispers, Yri ducked low to enter the bustling tavern.

The evening supper crowd was a jovial group. Good nature jesting, cries for refills, and aromatic fare brought the atmosphere of the tavern to a bubbling energy. In too good of a mood to notice her, Yri picked up their mixed conversations easily.

"In the harvest season--"

"Damn rebels--"

"Marta, you know, she--"

"And then we slashed its wings like this!"

The conversation and wild gesturing snatched Yri's attention, a hound on the scent. Nodding at the shaking barmaid that had approached her asking if she'd like a table tonight, Yri followed her, conveniently, to a spot nearby the scented prey.

Giving her order to the young girl in a low tone, she turned her body ever so slightly and cocked her head towards her neighbors' conversation.

"So theres I was, Bacchis on the ground, spear just out of reach, Simo gods knows where, and little ol' me with just my hunting knife."

"Lies! He had his long sword on 'im!" Interjected a portly, sweaty man.

"Shut up, Petrus. I's tellin' the tale," the weasley storyteller chided his table mate. The portly one made no more comment, but pouted and sipped his drink.

"The dragon was trying to fly away, you see, 'cause its great wings was a flappin' and a flappin', but we's grounded it."

The others at the table nodded solemnly, hands sagely scratching beards; wise philosophers discussing the meaning of existence. Yri's heart was pounding in her throat.

"I distracts it, I makes some noise and gets away from Bacchis so's he can gets the spear handy like. Just when I think I's done fore, and the dragon's rearin' up to pounce, Bacchis stands to his feets and roars like a bear and stabs the thing rights in the belly."

The men at the table exclaimed with awe as Yri's stomach dropped to her feet.

"Well, the beast makes the biggest roar you's ever did heard and swipes its tails at us and knocks us both clean off our feets. Next thing we knows, we's lookin' up at stars and starved as demons we was."

"So, you didn't get eaten?" Asked a different member of the group. The weasley one gave him a withering stare.

"Does I's look eaten, Gripus?"

Bashfully, the man denied the fact. The weasley one signed, then continued,

"It takes us, what, a day to climb back down the cliff and four days goin' 'round the inlet to get back? Is that right, Bacchis?" Another weasley man at the table, similar in feature to the original nodded soberly,

"Aye, and we's on the rebel's side of the isle as well." He shook his head, "Evil storms a-brewin' in these coasts, lads."

"But-" the original weasel man held up a finger as he leaned down below the table to rifle through his pack, "we's did get a souvenir, in case the unbeliever doubts our tale." Unfurling, he dangled a raggedy piece of black leather from his hand. Yri's eyes honed in on the piece of leather and everything stopped. The tavern customers slowed to a crawl, their chuckles and hoots and hollers warping into demonic laughter, the movement of ever being in the business slowed down and analyzed for threat or information.

Then, a fire surged through her veins, and she pushed forcefully away from the table, startling her neighbors into staring at her towering over them. Pushing her way to the door, she quickly looked back at the men's table. They were still staring slack-jawed at her, but all she had eyes for was the piece of black leather still dangling, forgotten, in the weasel man's hand. Turning, she let the tavern door swing shut behind her, and she vanished into the night.

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