The Arkanist

The Blade That Was Lost

The Blade That Was Lost

When Jakn finally peeled his eyes ajar, they did not see trees or leaves. Instead, he saw a river.

         The waters were icy as they shimmering silver in the grey light of morning, the sun cradled in the lofty arms of the misty clouds. A wind blew along the currents and the waters froze at the banks where rocks and stones rested in a dull and grim concession. Drifting along the grey-grass fields before him a smoky fog walked, curling over his legs as he saw his body lay on a slight hillock. Vena rested beside him, her eyes closed and her mouth pursed tightly.

         They slept almost in the middle nowhere, the leagues of dead countryside rolling on endlessly. At their backs were the thin borders of the Aden, leading into its dense and wild heart. Jakn followed the path of the winding river as it slithered west to the Stormfather, presumably. In the hazy distance, there was a dark form that rose like a curtain behind the horizon, and extended out for leagues upon leagues. So, therefore, Jakn knew the river to be Khalas-Daer, unless there was another band of water that ran beside it. Yet on the map Aredis had given him, the great western river was the only one.

         A mile or so off his seat, the remains of an old stone road climbed a slight rocky ridge, bordered by walls of cobble that had crumbled. Jakn thought the rode to lead to Talienn, the capital city of Albain, yet it was more a large town than a city.  However, it had become besieged by Imperial forces, for the rulers of Albain were allies with Ardinell and Centh, yet their people had arisen against them and declared their fealty to the Emperor, or new High King after the Fall. Since the times of the Anturan, the province has been ruled with civil conflict and war, a ravaged and beleaguered landscape caught between Antur and Edelh.

         Jakn knew they had to be careful where they walked, for many an Anturan officer patrolled these lands, especially now. The wind began to whip when he peered off at a band of mounted soldiers racing along the road, banners flapping and horns blaring. It was then he caught the faint smoke clouds and fumes of a town close by.

         He tapped his pocket to see if he’d kept his coin purse, but it wasn’t there, only empty linen. He cursed as Vena woke and scratched her head at her surroundings. Jakn filled her in, yet didn’t understand either how they’d made it there. He motioned towards the town and they started off in its general direction, their legs tired and heavy; although, Vena’s more than Jakn’s. She walked with a heavy and profound limp, balancing her weight with her left leg for her injured left. She had no clue of how she’d received the injury, but knew well enough that she couldn’t walk normally on it. So with that, Jakn leaned Vena onto his shoulder and they hobbled toward the village, a dirt track cut into the grass before them.

         The track bore them to a small town called Evenshir, or so the post before the gates said. Evenshir was a grim town, built in the early years of the Anturan Empire by the commonwealth. All of wood and old cobble it was built, with large brick chimneys that breathed out dark clouds of smoke every second. The gates were small and modest with feeble writhing torches posted to iron mantles and a dirt track that wound through the gathered structures.

         A bakery, an inn, a forge, a church, a farm, a hall, a tinker’s shop, a merchant’s shop, a stable near the rear and a small group of homes rose from planks and logs of wood and thatch and stone, all with the same look and all grim and drear. Their signs groaned in the winds and their walls creaked as they met the gusts with open arms, shielding the scarce townspeople inside. As Jakn passed a farm, the crops shriveled and frozen in snow, the flaked began to fall fresh from the dark clouds above, they reached the stables, where passing through he caught a sign posted on a wood plank that said, travel to Vintil: five lire; travel to Talienn: seven lire; travel to Tur-Atarn: fifteen lire.