The Eye of Marud

[Flaer]

The wind was in the north at dawn and in the old trees and rustling willows whose canopy had grown thin as a green sheet, thrown over the tree boughs, up and down the sandy banks of the river Orwin. Noisome hubbub wafted over the water from the dirt streets that wound around the tree trunks, and the huts and stone-bottomed shacks among the trees.

Even in the center of town, the timberland was so dense that buildings appeared more like fallen birdhouses than human dwellings.

Renwil picked his way down the crowded track along the riverbank, the weighty haft of his broken halberd bumping rhythmically against his left hip. The wind tossed his damp, wispy black hair and when he shook it out of his eyes, the three young men he had humiliated the night before spotted him a stone's throw away and started elbowing through the crowd, shouting over the heads of the fishmongers and hand-carts and pointing at Renwil through the trees, down the narrow dirt track. The leader ran ahead, sword drawn, with a ferocious gleam under his dark brow.

"Well I guess I had it coming," Renwil grumbled, breaking into a run.

Somewhere further up the river bank, on top of a thatched roof, an archer crouched with her foot braced on the stone chimney. Her bowstring snapped taut, and an arrow tore sparking along the stone skirt of the wooden buildings along the riverbank, a foot from Renwil, who threw up his arms to shield his head.

The center of town was busy as a city market this time of day. Beyond the thin edges of the crowd, villagers fished on the riverbank or washed their clothes in the pools that formed where boulders interrupted the smooth sand and moss of the riverbank. No one seemed to notice the arrow fired into their midst.

Renwil turned around, to push his way through the crowd, and ran straight into a mule and cart. Ducking around the frightened beast, he managed to trip over a stack of wooden crates, and scrambled to his feet on the other side of a spooked mule and the disarray of spilled apples, in the street.

He took off running down the riverbank, weaving among the trees. The leader spotted him first, and took off sprinting through the shallows. Renwil drew his halbard and warded off a blow just as the leader reached him, but the young man was too quick on his follow up and put a gash down Renwil's tunic, bruising but not severing his arm—his mail shirt stopped the blade.

The two staggered onto the sand, slick with damp moss. The young bachelor came in for another blow, and his sword left a deep notch in the wooden handle of Renwil's halberd. Renwil bellowed in pain as the blow shook his hands, but the top third of the sword-blade snapped off as it snagged on the metal tang of his halberd's haft. Renwil narrowly dodged the length of steel that spun end over end and nicked his right ear.

"Will somebody call the guards?" Renwil's voice rose to a squeak.

The boy stared dumbly at his sundered blade and Renwil shoved him back with the heel of his boot so hard the boy tumbled into the shallows. Another arrow buried itself in the sand next to Renwil's foot.

"Here come his friends," Renwil muttered and spun around to meet them, swinging his halberd in a wide arc. Even with the bottom half of its handle missing, the weapon had a surprising reach, and the two youngsters leapt back barely avoiding the axe-head. One skidded onto his rear end and his friend helped him up, his sword raised to guard him. Renwil finally spotted the archer, clambering down from the roof, bow slung over her shoulder.

One of the narrow fishing canoes had drifted close to the shore and a figure onboard beckoned to Renwil from the shade of a small fabric canopy. The silhouetted figure was almost too big for the canoe, and Renwil could just make out the glimmer of silk robes, draped over the huge figure. Glancing behind him, the approaching archer and the two swordsmen made up Renwil's mind for him.

Finally someone called for the guard.

Renwil waded past the sopping wet bachelor, who was still fishing his sword out of the shallow water and clambered aboard the canoe, rocking it so badly that a moment of nausea rose over him.

The archer splashed to a halt in the shallows, a stones throw downstream of the others. Lifting her bow awkwardly above the water, she picked off the floundering warrior before he could wade after Renwil's canoe. The other two looked around bewildered and fled back up the riverbank in a panic, covering their heads. Only then did Renwil see the archer's face, which was green—or at least, it seemed green, or looked green, before she vanished up the riverbank.

A quiet voice, deep and airy as forge bellows came out of the shade under the fabric canopy. "I probably should not get involved, but three to one is not a fair fight."

"Four," Renwil said, collapsing into the canoe. After a few breaths, he sat up, shielding his face to ward off arrows from the shore, but no feathered shafts appeared. Renwil found himself far out on the water, at the swift-moving current near the middle of the river, where the shattered cobalt water had washed them a hundred yards downstream and around a bend.

"They won't catch us," said the voice. "The river Orwin moves faster than anything on two feet."

For the first time, Renwil looked closely at the hulking figure behind him in the boat. He was a dwarf, and the dwarf reclined in a wooden seat facing Renwil. Even hunched, his head scraped the cotton canopy.

"I guess they won't," Renwil said gazing back up the river.

The dwarf gazed steadily ahead, scanning the riverbank on either side.

"I don't think I properly thanked you," Renwil winced as he fingered his shoulder.

"Are you wounded?"

"No. I was armored. But I'll have to get this repaired." Loose rings of chainmail fell off inside his sleeve, and Renwil felt for the rip in his armor.

"Why bother," said the dwarf.

Renwil looked up. "What do you mean?"

The dwarf said, "May as well throw it out, and buy some mail that will stand the test of time."

"I'm not throwing this out," said Renwil. "I paid good money for this shirt."

"And a lot of good it's done you," said the dwarf.

"Yeah," Renwil said. "It actually has done me a lot of good. It saved my arm, for one thing, not to mention my life."

The dwarf shrugged. "I meant no offense," he said.

"Mind your own business next time," Renwil said.

The dwarf rowed in silence for a while.

"I shouldn't be rude to you," Renwil said after a while. "You saved my life."

The dwarf grunted, and eyed him curiously. "Humor me then. Do you always dress in armor, or did you expect a fight?"

Renwil shook his head. "I didn't expect a fight. I have to wear this thing. If I don't wear it, I have to carry it. I can't afford a horse. I could barely afford to get drunk last night."

The dwarf nodded. "Some might say your poverty is a blessing in disguise. Today it saved your life."

"I don't think I properly introduced myself," Renwil said. "I'm Renwil."

"I'm Yazeg," said the dwarf.

"Where are you from, Yazeg?" Renwil said.

"Dorannon," he said.

"You're a long way from home," Renwil said. He squinted at the shadowed dwarf. "Dorannon is far away," Renwil went on. "I've never met someone who's seen it, let alone someone who comes from there."

"And where are you from, Renwil?" Yazeg said.

Renwil gestured vaguely to the woods, or maybe to the whole kingdom of Ede.

"Here," Renwil said.

Yazeg grunted in a friendly sort of way.

Renwil noted that beneath his silk robes, Yazeg also wore a mail shirt, which jingled as he calmly adjusted their course with an oar in each hand.

Renwil spread his hands wide. "You saved my life. Can I buy you a drink?"

"At the inn?" The dwarf grinned.

"Oh yeah." Renwil frowned, and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.

"Those men would kill you on sight, although you did a number on their leader. Did I imagine it, or did you break the tip off his sword?" Yazeg said.

"I did," Renwil said. "And it nicked me."

"They probably blame you for the arrow, too," Yazeg said.

"The what?"

"Didn't you notice," Yazeg said. "One of the men lay dying, as you swam away. The shaft of an arrow stuck straight up out of the water, like a catlily."

"The archer," Renwil said.

"Hmm?" Yazeg continued rowing.

"There was an archer—I thought she was on their side. She shot at me when I ran. Why would she shoot one of them?" Renwil said.

Yazeg shrugged.

"Well nevermind drinks at the inn," Renwil said. "Hang on—I've got some of the knife-shoes' herb," he said. "Do you smoke?"

The dwarf raised one bushy eyebrow.

"I do smoke," he said.

"Then here you go." Renwil dug the herbs out of his bag and unwrapped them. "Help yourself."

The dwarf obliged, rocking the boat as he leaned forward and took the opened package of waxed parchment. A pungent smell lingered in the air between them as the dwarf stuffed the herb into a pipe with a thumb that was almost too big to fit.

For a while, the two rode in silence, breathing in the fresh air, and the scent of herbs, the flowers in their blossoming on the riverbank, and the cool breeze they stirred up by their own passage down the swiftness of the current.

The pale blue of morningtide had matured into a vibrant, cobalt sky, and clouds roared on a brisk wind over the sun-dappled fishing shacks along the riverbank, and the leafy green canopy above. Birds dove under the canopy in blurs of cry and hue.

The townsfolk of Orwin were up early, treading the dirt-packed roads, clad in faded tunics with flashes of color—feathers in caps, the glint of mail under a tunic, the flash of rings on fingers, at ease in the shadow of the forest, in the crisp wind, engaged in the quiet labors of their town: to catch enough fish, and forage enough herbs to whet the appetites of southbound merchant-barges.

The temperature rose steadily until the canopy and the sky beyond melded together in a haze of verdant hue, and the last of the shacks were left behind. Deer grazed cautiously between shafts of green sunlight in glades beneath the trees.

When the last of the herb had turned to ash, the old dwarf smiled and handed the pipe back to Renwil. "You'd better stay with my company today," he said thoughtfully. "We have a camp on the outskirts of town, and I believe my companion Elaine has begun to roast a deer over the fire.

Renwil took the pipe back from Yazeg. The dwarf's hand lingered in the air between them.

"What do you say?" Yazeg said. "It's no palace, but you'd be safe."

"At your camp?" Renwil said.

"You got a better idea?"

"No," Renwil said.

"Then we'd better hoof it," said the dwarf. "It's a long walk to camp, and we've got to stow the boat."

After a moment's pause, Renwil clasped for the dwarf's outstretched hand. Yazeg grinned.

---

"I thought dwarves didn't like boats," Renwil remarked as Yazeg heaved the canoe's keel another length up the riverbank. Both were still breathing hard. "Something about their density."

"There's nothing… about a boat's density… that bothers me, Renwil." He let the boat drop onto the sun-baked riverbank. The weighty prow kicked up a cloud of sand.

"Well that's all I have to say about that." Renwil leaped over the gunwale onto the dry sand and old leaves, and collapsed with a delighted sigh, spreading his arms wide on the ground.

Yazeg grunted, and went about unloading the canoe. The cargo was wrapped in a cloth bundle at the bottom of the canoe. The bundle clanked noisily until Yazeg clamped it beneath his arm and set off trotting up the riverbank, into the forest, his silk robes billowing behind him.

Renwil got up and followed the dwarf, eying the trees warily.

By now the heat of the day was thick in the air, and insects flew frantically. Renwil swatted the bugs until his hair fell in his eyes. Then he raked his hair off his damp forehead, and the bugs came in for a free swing.

The dwarf seemed oblivious to the insects, and walked unbothered through the thick underbrush, his measured stride unbroken, his hands clasped firmly on the bundle under his right arm, and the weighty machete in his left. Mosquitos landed on his bald head, the mosquitos didn't seem to bite.

"It's not far," Yazeg called over his shoulder.

"I'm alright," Renwil said. "I can go a lot farther today."

"No need," said Yazeg. "We're here."

It turned out that Yazeg's party was bivouacked in a shallow basin, dotted with small, flat boulders, patches of tall grass, and a singular tree which grew at the top of a large rock formation at the center of camp.

Yazeg led Renwil down between a pair of tents, and past the ashes of a bonfire, where a well-cooked deer carcass hung on a spit.

At the center of camp, the pile of boulders formed a generous overhang. A woman with long braids stood in the shade, listening to a debate between two figures in the shade of the rocky overhang. A faded breastplate hung from her hand, and a polishing cloth from the other.

"That's Orison and Kazamir," said Yazeg pointing past the woman.

Renwil nodded, marking the two figures in the shade of the outcrop. The two figures—the dwarf and the man—quit arguing as Yazeg approached.

"And who's she?" Renwil said, but Yazeg ignored him, and the woman ignored them, scouring her breastplate with a handful of yellow sand.

Orison was a serene, old man, dressed in a long green traveller's cloak, and shaking his head wearily over a map that was pinned down onto a makeshift table built from an upturned barrel and a few lengths of fresh-sawn lumber. Kazimir stood up from the log where he'd been resting and embraced Yazeg solemnly.

When the two dwarfs parted, Kazimir turned to face Renwil. "What's this?"

"Call me Renwil." Renwil shook his hand.

Yazeg stepped into the shade and patted Orison on the shoulder by way of a greeting. The old man lifted his eyes and gazed curiously at Renwil. His eyes were so pale that they appeared white in the shade of the outcropping, and Renwil almost took him for blind.

"What brings you here, Renwil?" The old man asked softly. There was an undercurrent of command in his voice, like lightning tracing silent lines in the sky before thunder.

Renwil answered quickly, and no thunder came. "Yazeg saved my life, about an hour ago. He said I had better stay here tonight in case I get attacked in my room at the inn."

Yazeg nodded slowly. "Three men came after him in the street, and an elvish archer fired on him from the rooftops."

Kazimir—the other dwarf—grunted. "Did you know the men?"

"Yes." Renwil nodded.

"Why did they attack you?"

"I spilled their leader's drink last night, when he tried to take my seat."

"Renwil is being humble," Yazeg said. "Their leader had a black eye and a broken rib."

Orison acknowledged the praise but made no comment, looking instead to Renwil.

Renwil shrugged. "I don't like bullies."

Orison and Kazimir shared a look.

Then Kazimir said, "What about the elf?"

"The archer. No, I didn't know her. Lucky for me she was a bad shot."

Yazeg shook his head. "We know that elf. She's—"

Orison raised a hand to silence the two dwarves. After a moment, he smiled kindly at Renwil. "Will you be staying, Renwil? You're welcome to."

Renwil said nothing for a moment. He could feel the woman's eyes on him. "Are you going to tell me about the elf that tried to kill me if I do?"

Yazeg opened his mouth to speak, but the dwarf glanced at Orison and closed it again without speaking.

Orison chewed his lip thoughtfully and then spoke. "The elf was a companion of Yazeg's a few years ago, before their company disbanded. She only reappeared this month, and today was the second time we've seen here. As far as we can tell, she's a bandit.

"I thought she was dead," said Yazeg flatly.

"What are you doing in Orwin?" Renwil turned back to Orison.

"Passing through."

Rewil nodded. "May I ask you a question about what you just said?"

Orison spread his hands.

"Is that just a nice way of saying it's none of my business?"

A grin splashed across the old man's face.

There was a loud clang behind them. The woman had finished polishing her breastplate and hung it from a wooden post to dry. She was not smiling. "Your lighthearted demeanor won't impress him. We'll tell you more if you earn our trust. For now, consider yourself lucky to be here at all. That said, welcome. I'm Elaine." She shook his hand briefly, then sat down next to Kazamir around the map table.

Orison nodded his approval. "I understand you've made some enemies in town, Renwil. Why don't you travel with us until you're safely out of town and we can go our separate ways. If, by chance, we find ourselves together for longer than that, I'll tell you some more about our business. In the meantime, Yazeg and Elaine are to keep an eye on you."

Renwil considered this. After a moment, he nodded twice, offered his hand, and Orison took it.