Zyrr looked over his shoulder at the oncoming storm. With any luck, he and his wife, Crysta, would arrive before the rain started to fall. Zyrr didn’t like traveling. Aside from the potential dangers, the bumpy roads jarred his horse-drawn cart so much that by the end of a day he was sore from head to toe. Crysta, to her credit, never complained—it wasn’t her way. Yes, she would ask and remind nicely, and persistently, until she got what she wanted. But complain? No.
The trees that lined both sides of the dirt road were thick enough to hide anyone watching them or lying in wait. Keeping a constant eye on their surroundings was draining Zyrr—though he tried not to let his anxiousness show.
Crysta’s sister, Vimea, and her husband, Pendr, lived in Knichka, a town of several thousand people. Pendr was the blacksmith there and from what communication they had received over the years, had done well.
“It’ll be good to visit family,” Zyrr said. He tried to sound carefree. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your sister?”
Crysta looked thoughtful for a moment. “Seven winters.”
“I’m sorry we’ve not been able to visit them sooner.” Zyrr continued to scan the area around them as they traveled.
Crysta patted his hand. “I don’t blame you, husband. You’re simply trying to keep me safe. People say the Howler King was defeated, but there are still peculiar things going on.”
Zyrr had heard of such happenings, but they were usually spoken in hushed tones. Many of the accounts were so gruesome he didn’t repeat them to his wife, though apparently she had heard them none-the-less.
“Let’s talk of happier things,” Zyrr said. “Tell me what you’ve heard about our nephew.”
Before his wife could answer, thunder rumbled menacingly. It was louder and closer than before. Even though it would strain the horses and bounce him around more, Zyrr picked up the pace.
* * *
The town of Knichka was impressive. Unlike in the villages they had passed on the way, these houses were not wood cabins with thatched roofs. No, the buildings here were made from brick, rock, and adobe, with proper slate roofs. For a moment, Zyrr entertained the idea of selling his farm and moving to Knichka. It felt much safer here. But the farm had been owned by his family for generations. He couldn’t leave it.
Crysta was all but bursting with excitement. “Hello, my good man!” she called to the first person she saw when they entered the town. He was getting on in years, as indicated by his hunched shoulders and graying hair. “Can you direct us to the blacksmith’s house?”
He looked at them warily, and appeared to size them up before answering. He gave a curt nod and pointed a gnarled finger toward a white-washed dwelling with a blue slate roof about seven or eight houses down.
“Thank you, kind sir!” Crysta sang out. Zyrr had not seen his wife this happy in quite some time. And why shouldn’t she be? They had lived under the fear of constant attack for years. Though he didn’t feel safe while traveling, she had finally convinced him to make this trip.
The cart was still two houses away when Crysta jumped to the ground and started running. Vimea had stepped out the front door, and within no time, the two sisters were embracing, shedding tears of joy. They chatted so quickly Zyrr wondered if they could even understand what they were saying to each other. He looked at them more closely as they talked. Where Crysta was dark-haired, Vimea’s hair was much lighter. Aside from that, the two could pass for twins.
Zyrr pulled the cart up to the front of the house and saw Pendr for the first time. Vimea’s husband had to be the largest man he had ever seen in his life. Zyrr was no weakling—years of working the land and raising animals had earned him a muscular build. But compared to Pendr, he looked like a child. The blacksmith was at least a head taller, and twice as thick. His arms were as big as Zyrr’s legs, and the term “barrel-chested” was not an exaggeration on this man.
