Cirion wasn’t likely to arrive first, however, for his mercenaries couldn’t take Lorian’s shortcut, which shaved two days off the eight-day trip to Castle Darlonon. Lorian’s family controlled that area, his estate in its center, and the elf sent a messenger to warn of wayward humans matching a certain description. Cirion, and anyone associated with him, weren’t welcome in the elven woods, where borders had been tightened in advance of war. He could try anyway, but elves appeared to be far less amused by smart talking rogues than humans were. Since only the queen knew they’d visit Lorian’s estate, they’d spend one day there, still arriving at Darlonon a day before expected. It gave them time to learn self-defense, at least.
For the first day, they rode in silence through open fields and peaceful autumn foliage, reflecting on the situation and what might be happening back on Earth in their absence. The days on Honyn seemed shorter, the nights longer – and the season happened to be the same – but Ryan’s friends could have sworn this day in the saddle lasted forever. At times only the frequent moaning broke the quiet.
“Oh man,” said Eric during a break, standing beside the horse and holding onto the saddle to keep from crumpling to the ground. “My legs are rubber. I would’ve thought all the martial arts would’ve had me in better shape. How am I supposed to fight anything when I can’t even stand?”
“Nothing prepares you for so much riding except riding. You’ll limber up after a few more days, Eric,” Ryan advised. Despite his experience, his legs hurt, too, but he refused to admit it.
“I seriously doubt that.”
Lorian asked. “Is that your real name? Eric?”
The rogue nodded. “Yes. I guess we had better tell you our names to avoid confusion.”
The elf suggested, “On the contrary, you should use your assumed names, and only those, in case someone overhears you. And if no one else knows your real names, we can’t use them by accident.”
“Good point,” agreed Eric, wincing.
The cobblestone roads near Olliana soon gave way to dirt as they pushed hard across rolling hills and wooded trails. Their band of armor-clad elves and humans attracted no attention until stopping at a roadside inn for the night. Firelight shone through ground floor windows, two chimneys pumping smoke into the starry sky. As Ryan looked for constellations he knew wouldn’t be there, he thought the stars shone brighter, whether from the lack of city lights and haze or just proximity. Among the stars drifted three moons, the best evidence they weren’t on Earth so far, the impossibility of faking that sinking in. He took a deep breath, noticing the fresh air. Everything seemed more natural, from the unprocessed foods to the handmade garments, though the lack of modern accommodations, especially toiletries, almost negated any pleasure derived from that naturalness. The idea of spending twelve days on the quest frustrated him, for that was two weeks of knowing nothing about Daniel.
As they filed into the inn, the elves stabling the horses, Ryan secured four of the bedrooms for the four elves and four champions, as they’d be sleeping two to a room. In doing so, he flashed more gold – courtesy of the court – than the innkeepers probably saw in a year. Eric quietly suggested more discretion. The innkeepers were quick to realize their identities. Korrin’s golden armor and Soliander’s staff didn’t help.
They gathered for a meager dinner in the inn’s cramped common room, pushing two well-worn corner tables together for a meal of day-old bread, slightly stale ale, and tough beef, with apologies from their hosts. Ryan hadn’t eaten such poor fare since he’d tried cooking for himself on a few misguided occasions, but he expected it would get worse once camping. The generous tip he gave was more charity than deserved, but the owners looked like they needed a break. He asked that they not be disturbed and got his wish.
Lorian had introduced his three elven companions along the way, but only one, Morven, chose to speak with them. At one hundred fifty years old, he was still a teenager among elves, making Ryan wonder if it was awful to be a teenager for so many decades. Tall and skinny, he showed none of the awkwardness of human teens, being all grace if not poise, brown hair flowing freely to his waist and sometimes across his delicate features, hiding shy green eyes. He spoke quietly if at all, as if unsure of himself, but his words nonetheless conveyed conviction in his thoughts. The elf’s specialty was archery, yet another skill they lacked, and the knight wondered just how many skills the champions had that they didn’t. If Morven and other elves didn’t come with them, they’d never succeed or see Earth again.
While the others made small talk, Ryan pulled out the vellum scroll the real Soliander had written about their previous time here, unfurling the painted case to see a scribe’s bold and elegant script. After skimming a few lines in the dim lantern light, he whistled and said, “Listen to this.”
At the time of our summoning by the King of Alunia’s arch-wizard, Aurilon, the dragons of Honyn were rampaging. Under the leadership of Nir’lion, the dragon horde had laid waste to hundreds of towns across Alunia and the neighboring lands, with Alunia suffering the worst. No village was too small to escape their fiery breath, no town too sacred, no outpost too remote. Castles, temples, schools, homes, and farms were equal targets under their wrath, and the only reprieve came when they had gorged themselves on humans, dwarves, and elves so fully that they could not continue for a time.
“They eat people?” Anna asked.
Ryan nodded slowly, thinking he’d always avoided swimming in shark-infested waters or
