Illara Chronicles: Swordplay

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The road to Havenhill felt short. Kelith missed the place more than he'd let himself feel until now, he was properly giddy for it. He piled that eager anticipation high, to cover over the question that twisted like a knife in the back of his mind. How long can this last? Can we really rest easy, or will we be pulled back into line of fire, to face the impossible? 

Kelith was just losing his grip on an optimistic disposition when he saw it; untended and spindly stalks of lavender sprouted near the rotting wooden posts that once supported the gate to Havenhill, holding them upright.  In place of the gate stood a pair of weary guards, in piecemeal metal armor; stripping off scarves and fur-lined hats as hot daylight cut through the early morning grey. Brylan and Halick, an old man and his adult nephew stood sleepily at attention.

Their disappointing reaction time, and disorganized shuffle as they approached with narrowed eyes and unsteady hands on dulling weapons felt familiar. Even from a distance Kelith felt at ease. It warmed his heart to see their practiced inquiries and harsh protective demeanors fall away into wide eyes, warm greetings, and claps on the back as they recognized the young men and Aelandra; returning home.

The warm emotions of homecoming were so impressive, Kelith felt as though Kendreth and Tal might race with tripping, shoving, and unburdened laughter to The Last Watch for the mornings sparring, like they'd always done before.

But for all the relief brought on by a safe return, that playful spirit never surfaced. The void that it left lead Kelith to how different things were, and it wasn't Havenhill that had changed. Sprig fluttered freely at Keliths side, in all of her otherworldly splendor. Kendreth lead Enya, his winged horse without reigns. Aelandra was stronger and more hardened than a blacksmith and Taldren had an edge sharper than any carousing rapscallion. Young women that had pined for Kendreth stared daggers at the royal blonde that clung to his arm, though, in her dirty and tattered dress she didn't seem so royal now. Perhaps lingering grief had taken the light from Hadlynns eyes, as Kendreth lead her through the crowd. Keliths stomach still knotted when he recalled Weldrens final moments. He was glad that Hadlynn had been spared that memory.

 Much of the colour left the princesses delicate features, and following her eyeline Kelith learned it was not a tired lingering hurt, but a new pain. Unfamiliar faces lined the road, frightened and gaunt. There were shanties propped up in the green fields, and new cloth shelters leaning against the towns homes and shops.

These were the once proud people of Havenhelm, now wayward and begging for refuge. It seemed many had found it, as Kelith could have guessed - around the hearth of The Laughing Lion. Ryisha backed out of the heavy double doors with a tray full of bowls, their contents steaming in the cool air. Her chestnut hair was cut short and tied back tightly, the tray was empty in just moments, and the ever high spirited server stopped a moment to sigh. Kelith noted greying circles under her brown eyes as they watered when they found her old friends.

His embrace with Ryisha began a day of hugs and grateful exclamations, as many from the most obscure neighbor to very treasured family members savored the groups safe return. Keliths mother brimmed with pride, his father caught them all up on the refugees that have been streaming in. Dax asked every question about his brothers time on the road, and he wasn't the only curious one.

The Inn was packed wall to sturdy oak wall with townsfolk, heavy with questions and hungry to compare truth with the circulating rumors. At his feet were a dozen wide eyed children, eager to know how a REAL adventure measured up to their games of make-believe. Kelith could see himself amongst them, his heart hammering against a book clutched to his skinny chest - hoping to learn that all of the stories are true.

Kelith found himself recounting aloud how Kendreth rescued the princess from a dragon that attacked her palace. Where Kendreth slew one cultist Kelith called it three. He left out the truth of how he'd never forget the rotten stink of charred bodies. How just the memory of the screams still curdled his blood.