The wind swept through Oracus's hair as he walked towards the Old Mill Inn. It was cooler now, and dusk was settling over Thessley as he stepped through the shadows of the shops around him. In the daytime, the village was bustling with people, but at night it appeared abandoned. The only sign of life was the faint sound of music coming from the inn and the light than shone out of its windows.
As Oracus neared, the volume of the music increased, and the loud, drunken talk of men became audible from inside. The inn looked particularly old and haunting in the evening; the ivy growing on its face appeared black in the darkness and the windows were smeared dirt and grime.
When Oracus reached the door, the wind rattled the sign above and made him look up; it was swinging on its rusty metal arm and creaking. It was so filthy that The Old Mill was barely legible, and the picture of what Oracus knew to be a white windmill was lost behind the dry moss.
Without waiting, Oracus pushed open the wooden door and stepped inside. He stood in the entryway momentarily and looked around. The bar was directly opposite him and almost the length of the room, and to its left was a staircase that led to the upper floors. In front of the bar, tables and chairs occupied by men and women and their tankards were scattered about the room. And in the corner, almost hidden from view, a jolly fat man wearing a purple gown was playing a lute, the origin of the music that Oracus had heard from outside.
It appeared that Garrin had not yet arrived so Oracus ordered two tankards of ale from the barmaid and found a table near the door. At the table next to him, he realised a group of drunken men were sitting around an older man who was telling them a story. The old man's name was Elnir, and he was known as the village crackpot who told tales to earn the coin that would pay for his ale. Whenever Oracus heard mention of his name, it was usually followed by laughs and insults, but Oracus had always been interested in farfetched stories and never quite understood what was so terrible about an old man's vivid imagination. For what it was worth, he wished he could properly hear the story Elnir was telling now, but even when he leaned back in his chair, he only heard something about Riders and the icy lands in the south.
Oracus was just wondering how far to the south the icy lands might be, or if they even existed, when Garrin entered the inn. When he spotted Oracus, he made his way over and lowered himself into a vacant chair. Oracus pushed a tankard towards him and he took a quick sip. "Thank you," he said. "I've needed a drink all day."
Oracus took a gulp of his own ale and wiped the froth from his upper lip with his sleeve. "I hope you're not hurting too much from practise earlier," he teased.
"A few scratches and bruises but nothing too painful," Garrin answered. "I should be able to get out of bed in the morning, at least."
"What time are you leaving tomorrow?"
"Before daylight," Garrin groaned. "It'll take over a day to reach the first destination, so I need to set off as early as possible."
"And where is your first destination?" Oracus asked.
Garrin frowned, "I've only just got here and you're asking me about work already? You know I can't say anything."
"I just don't understand why trading is so secretive. And the less you tell me, the more I want to know!"
"It isn't the trading I can't tell you about, it's the places I go to and the people I meet. Pharia is a big place and Thessley is a very little village within it. Being secretive is what keeps it safe, you know that."
"I've wanted to know about the rest of Pharia my whole life, but nobody will say anything. I honestly don't know who knows about it and who doesn't." Oracus rolled his eyes impatiently. "Now my best friend is a tradesman and I still don't get told anything!"
"And I'm not going to," Garrin said sternly.
"You won't even tell me about the Riders and the icy lands to the south?" Oracus tried.
Garrin almost choked on his ale at Oracus's words. "Where did you hear that?" he asked, his eyes widening.
"And come to think of it, I heard something when I was younger about Pharia having a King too. Do you know anything about him?"
"Don't be so loud!" Garrin hissed, glancing over his shoulder to check that nobody was listening. "It's the King that we're keeping this village a secret from."
"So there is a King?" Oracus said with surprise. "And what about the Riders and the icy lands?"
"I don't know who told you this, Oracus, but you need to forget it."
"Forget it? How do you expect me to do that?"
"I don't know, but you shouldn't know anything about it. I could get into serious trouble if someone found out that you know."
"But-"
"Please don't beg me, Oracus. As a friend I'm asking you to let this lie." Garrin shook his head anxiously. "If I could tell you then I would. But I can't."
Oracus struggled to hide his disappointment and he looked away from Garrin. He took a gulp of his ale and wondered why it was so important for Garrin to hold his tongue, and why it was necessary to keep Thessley a secret from the King of Pharia.
There was an awkward silence between the pair for a while, in which time Garrin bought two more tankards of ale. During sips, Oracus glanced at his friend and noticed an expression of concern on his face. He looked tired too, like their earlier altercation had drained him of energy.
Suddenly, there was a bustle from the table beside them as Elnir finished telling the story to his group of rowdy listeners. There was a scraping of chair legs as the men stood and drained their tankards. Then they all stumbled from the inn, leaving Elnir by himself at his table. The old man held a half-full flagon of ale in one hand and a smoking pipe in the other, while the breast pocket of his dungarees held more silver than Oracus would know what to do with.
Forgetting about the awkwardness between them, Oracus leaned towards Garrin and lowered his voice, "Do you know anything about the stories that Elnir tells?"
Garrin appeared to become even more concerned. "I wouldn't pay attention to him," he replied. "He's a strange man who takes coin from curious people and tells them nonsense."
"You think he speaks nonsense?" Oracus pressed.
"I think he has told the stories so many times before that he believes them himself."
"But it was Elnir who I heard talking of Riders and the icy lands to the south, Garrin. Obviously not everything he speaks is a lie."
Garrin's eyes narrowed and he suddenly became very serious. "You're stepping over the line, Oracus. I asked you before not to pursue this subject but you can't help yourself." He pushed his chair back and stood up, much to Oracus's surprise. "I can't be with you when you're being like this."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes," he said bluntly. "I'll see you again when I'm home in a few weeks."
"Alright, I'm sorry!" Oracus protested. "You don't have to go."
Garrin waved his hand dismissively and moved towards the door of the inn. "Goodbye, Oracus. Enjoy your ale." And with the slam of the door behind him, he was gone.
Oracus's first thought was to follow Garrin out into the night. He felt guilty for pressing his friend for answers, and he knew he needed to apologise properly. He rose from his chair and started towards the door, but a gruff noise from behind him caught his attention. Turning around, he saw that Elnir was snoozing in his chair with his bushy white beard resting on his chest. Every time he exhaled a breath, a firm grunt swiftly followed.
In that moment, intrigue overpowered guilt, and Oracus decided not to chase Garrin. Instead, he approached Elnir and dropped noisily into the seat opposite him. "Excuse me, sir," he said loudly.
Elnir awoke with a start and his tired grey eyes took an age to adjust to Oracus's face. "What do you want?" he barked aggressively, dragging his flagon towards him as if concerned Oracus was trying to steal it. "You could kill an old man startling him like that!"
"Sorry, sir. But I was wondering if you could tell me a tale about life outside this village?" Oracus asked politely.
"You woke me to ask me that?"
"It's just that there are rumours of unusual things outside Thessley and nobody I ask seems to know anything about them."
"That's because there is nothing to know, boy. Now leave me alone!" Elnir demanded.
"I've heard you know a lot," Oracus persuaded. "And I'll pay you too, of course." He pulled a small bag of coins out his pocket and dropped it with a clunk on the table.
Elnir eyed the bag greedily but reluctantly snapped his gaze away. "I don't take money from inquisitive boys," he said forcefully.
"I'm not a boy, sir. I work for my money and I'm happy to pay to hear your stories. I assure you I'm just like any other curious listener."
Oracus pushed the money bag closer to Elnir and let him ponder for a moment. Then the old man snatched up the bag from the table and stuffed it into his already laden breast pocket. "What would you like to know?" he enquired in a much friendlier tone.
"I would like to hear about the King, sir," Oracus replied.
"Ahh, very wise choice, young man! Yes, the King!" He thought for a second, as if wondering where to start. "Do you know of the name Jowra?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Then that is where I'll begin." He took a long glug from his flagon and looked far into the distance. Then his eyes snapped back onto Oracus. "A boy named Jowra lived in a village that was not unlike the one we are in now – it was hidden away in a forest where nobody knew of its existence. One day, however, King Amarad and his men discovered the village and destroyed it, killing every poor soul who lived there. All except one. Somehow, young Jowra escaped, and with his family dead, he journeyed across the land, leaving the ravaged village far behind him. After many weeks of travelling, his feet carried him into the Black Forest, an evil place that brings fear to the heart of every man, even now. Nobody knows for certain what happened to Jowra in that forest, but after entering it a weak boy, he emerged with extraordinary powers. It is said he stole the strength from the trees, but nobody knows for sure."
"What happened to him?" Oracus asked, already bubbling with intrigue and excitement.
"He travelled to King Amarad's city, of course – Melzor," Elnir replied.
"Did he kill King Amarad?" Oracus questioned impatiently.
"That was his intention, but what he hadn't expected was for King Amarad to be as powerful as himself," Elnir said.
"Had King Amarad been to the Black Forest too? Is that where his powers came from?"
"No, no, no. King Amarad had powers of a different kind that he had acquired years before Jowra was even born," Elnir explained. "King Amarad had bonded with a Lavorian, a creature that for centuries had only been spoken of as legend."
"A Lavorian?"
"Yes, a Lavorian. It is a creature that dedicates its life to its Rider," Elnir explained. "No two Lavorians are the same, but they resemble animals that roam freely in the forests, the deserts, the oceans and the sky. A Lavorian's metal armour is impenetrable to any weapon, and unless its Rider is killed, it is almost impossible to harm."
"Are there any Lavorians alive now?" Oracus asked hungrily.
"There are."
"Where are they?"
"There are none that live near Thessley," Elnir answered with a chuckle. "Not that I know of anyway." The old man took another mouthful of ale and some trickled through his beard. "But we have digressed somewhat... I was saying that King Amarad possessed incredible powers because of a Lavorian he had bonded with."
"Does that mean the King was stronger than Jowra?"
"I would say their strengths were very similar. But remember Jowra had the advantage of surprise. He knew he wanted to kill King Amarad, but the King knew nothing of Jowra and his powers from the Black Forest."
"So, what happened?" Oracus asked desperately.
"Well, that's where it gets a little more complicated, but certainly more interesting!" Elnir claimed, leaning forwards and enticing Oracus with a captivating smile. "Jowra moved to Melzor and found himself a job as a guard in King Amarad's palace. He gained knowledge of the King – his routines, his personality, the people he knew, the people he trusted, the powers he had, and the Lavorian he spent so much of his time with. Months had passed by when Jowra, much to his own surprise, was promoted to one of King Amarad's personal guards. Over time, he had become one of the few men the King truly trusted, and the King respected him greatly. Jowra impressed with his words and actions, he never made mistakes, and he began to influence the King's decisions. And the unsuspicious King knew nothing of Jowra's desire for revenge."
Oracus was glued to every word now. "Go on!" he said eagerly.
"On a cold, snowy night in early winter, Jowra informed King Amarad of a group of rebels that were planning an attack on Melzor. Along with himself and Jowra, the King organised some soldiers to intercept the rebels before they reached the city. Beyond the city walls, the King and Jowra separated from the soldiers, and Jowra led the King into a cave where a fight between them ensued. Jowra left King Amarad dead in that cave, and he sealed the entrance so nobody would find his body. Jowra returned to Melzor and claimed he and the King had been ambushed and he had failed to save the King's life."
"So there had never been any rebel soldiers?" Oracus asked.
"None whatsoever," Elnir replied. "And incredibly, King Amarad's death was followed by Jowra being made the new King."
"Wait, what?" Oracus stammered, his mouth gaping.
"King Amarad had no heir, and Jowra was so respected by the people of Melzor that they voted him King."
"The people didn't find out it was Jowra who had killed their King?"
"I believe the way King Amarad truly died is still a secret to Jowra's people, even today."
"Is Jowra still the King of Pharia now then?"
"He has been for over sixty years!" Elnir exclaimed. "And unfortunately for us, he is a King who seeks power from wherever it can be obtained. He built an army – a huge, undefeatable army – and he immediately started to take control of other cities in Pharia. He became an unstoppable force and now he rules most of the land. The only places left out of his leadership are Tallarin in the south-east, the Black Forest to the south, and the majority of the Raspian Forest here in the North."
"Why doesn't anyone try to resist him?" Oracus asked.
"He isn't just handed villages and cities and told to enjoy them!" Elnir joked. "But it's difficult to resist a man as powerful as he is. Jowra has everything he needs to rule the land because his power has no limits. When a mere Human kills a Rider, as Jowra had killed King Amarad, he will inherit the dead Rider's powers and also bond with the Rider's Lavorian. The moment King Amarad died, Jowra acquired his incredible powers, in addition to those he already had. And a Lavorian too!"
"But what's the difference between a Human and a Rider?" Oracus asked.
"A Human is what you and I are – just normal folk. But there are also many other creatures in Pharia that are neither Human nor Rider. A Rider is the name given to those, whether Human or otherwise, who have forged a bond with a Lavorian," Elnir explained. "And a Lavorian is ridden by its Rider in battle."
"There are other creatures in Pharia too?" Oracus questioned, feeling more and more shocked.
"Of course! But not in this forest. They're in other areas of Pharia you'll likely never see."
"What types of creatures are they? And can you tell me how a bond is made with a Lavorian too?"
Elnir laughed and then hiccuped. "You paid me to talk of the King, not Lavorians and other creatures. But you should know that boys like you from small, hidden villages in large forests don't ever bond with Lavorians. It's Jowra who decides who becomes a Rider."
Oracus couldn't help but feel slightly downhearted about that. The thought of becoming a Rider was quite an exciting one. Nevertheless, he was determined to get his money's worth from Elnir, so he persevered with his questions. "Is Thessley safe from King Jowra?" he asked, remembering what Garrin had said about keeping the village a secret.
Elnir raised his eyebrows at the question, "We're well hidden and we've been safe here for a very long time. There's no reason why that should change."
"But what if he did find us here?" Oracus pressed.
"Then, quite frankly, we wouldn't stand a chance. Huge cities have surrendered to him before now."
Something about the way Elnir spoke made Oracus shiver, and he felt goosepimples rise on his arms. "There's one thing about King Jowra I don't understand though," he said. "Why does he destroy lives by invading villages and cities when his family were killed during an invasion by King Amarad? Does he not realise he's punishing them in the same way he was punished?"
"That is a very good question," Elnir said, "and unfortunately I don't have an answer for it. Maybe it's psychosis or insanity that drives him to it. Or maybe it's that he wants everyone else to feel a similar pain to what he felt when his family were slaughtered."
"The longer we talk about it, the worse it sounds," Oracus stated.
"You're right. I think now is actually a good place to stop," Elnir said, rubbing his eyes and standing up. "I'm drunk, I'm tired, and I need to sleep."
"But I paid you to tell me," Oracus argued.
"And I've told you more than I intended to," the old man retorted. "You got a great deal more than your little bag of coins was worth."
"Just another few questions?" Oracus pleaded hopefully.
"I bid you goodnight!" Elnir replied with finality. He wobbled slightly as he stepped away from the table, but then limped with purpose to the door and hobbled out into the night without giving Oracus another glance.
Following Elnir's abrupt departure, Oracus stayed seated for a while. He stared down into the dregs of his ale and retold the old man's story to himself several times until even the lute-player had left the inn. Eventually, the tinkle of glasses being cleaned behind the bar snapped him from his thoughts, and after realising that he was the only punter still there, he lifted himself out of his chair and exited the inn himself. Thoughts were still whirring, but he longed for his bed.
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