Kellanved's Reach

Dancer made a display of tossing the coin far off into the tall grasses. The kids ran off, kicking and piling on to each other.

‘They’ll search for ever,’ Kellanved opined.

‘Yes, they will,’ Dancer agreed, and he showed Kellanved the coin still cupped in his palm.

Kellanved smiled appreciatively. ‘I’m not the only one with tricks, hmm?’

The old man tipped his head. ‘You want a boat, sors?’

‘We wish to cross,’ answered Kellanved.

The oldster nodded and motioned that they should follow.

The boat proved to be a leaky punt that the old fellow pushed off the strand then invited them to enter. Dancer stepped in gingerly, fearful that his foot might go right through the rotten planks. Water sloshed, filling the bottom. Kellanved rather daintily set himself down on a plank seat. The boatman set his two oars into their locks and heaved.

They barely made any headway from the shore. The boatman motioned a clawed hand to Dancer and indicated a wooden cup floating at his feet. ‘Gotta bail.’

Dancer picked up the pathetic piece of carved wood and examined it incredulously. ‘With this?’

The boatman spat over the side. ‘What you do is you dip it into the water and throw it over.’

Dancer gritted his teeth against saying anything more – and making things worse – and started bailing.

‘You city folk,’ the boatman sniggered. ‘Don’t know nothing.’

Kellanved swept an arm to the west. ‘So tell me, O stalwart wise man of the river, salt of the earth, what lies to the west?’

The boatman hawked up a mass of phlegm and spat over the side once more. ‘The rest of the damned country, that’s what.’ And he shook his head at the astounding depth of their ignorance.

Kellanved and Dancer exchanged quizzical looks and were quiet for the remainder of the trip.

When they reached the north shore, Dancer tossed the man the silver Hengan round and the fellow grunted, unimpressed, though it was no doubt ten times anything he had ever been paid. Then Kellanved pointed his walking stick west and they set off, the mage swinging his stick, Dancer shaking his head.

After a time Kellanved observed, ‘I do enjoy these earthy conversations with the local worthies, don’t you? So very edifying.’

‘They say wisdom comes from the country,’ Dancer offered, ‘but frankly I don’t see it.’ He motioned to the plain of the Seti grasslands ahead; rolling hill after rolling hill, the sun lowering towards them. ‘Could be all the way to Quon. Even beyond the coast.’

The mage pursed his wrinkled lips. ‘True … however, there is one particular feature ahead. One legendary for its religious and mystical importance …’

Dancer nodded. ‘Ah, the Idryn Falls.’

‘And the Escarpment,’ Kellanved added. ‘Where legend has it Burn herself sleeps.’ He jiggled the mottled pale brown point in his hand. ‘This appeared in Heng after all. Nearby.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, if it proves to be a false lead, then perhaps we shall have to take to the Warrens after all.’

Dancer nodded his assent as they walked.

The evening darkened into a deep purple. The insects of the night began chirping and bats flew overhead. Kellanved was waving his stick through the grasses, but suddenly he pointed it to the north. ‘Am I mistaken, or is that a light glimmering there?’

Dancer rubbed his chin, and noticed the stubble growing. ‘Must be a wayside stop along the trader road.’

Kellanved’s thick black brows rose in delight. ‘A stop? Perchance an inn? Excellent!’

Dancer sighed; he’d been hoping to keep Kellanved away from people, for the most part. Trouble seemed to follow him round like, well, like his own shadow. ‘Very well. This one night.’

The little mage headed off. ‘Come, come. Let us sit at the fire and hear the travellers’ news, yes? News perhaps of how a certain terrifying mage haunted Heng!’

Dancer winced, following. ‘Please don’t try to bring that up.’

Kellanved did try to bring it up, several times. Dancer, however, interrupted each time to ask of Tali, Kan, or Unta. It occurred to him that the mage had had a good idea in catching up on happenings around the continent. Nom Purge, for example, appeared close to overrunning Quon Tali – an astounding development in their decades of intermittent hostilities. But that news was two weeks old.

Most of what preoccupied the travellers and inhabitants was local: dark scandals and wild rumours. As was the case everywhere, no doubt.

One moment of the evening struck Dancer; when talk came round to news of the nearby mines at the Escarpment, Kellanved actually started, as if shocked by something. Then he stared off into the distance for a time, thinking perhaps, and grinned wickedly.

All this told Dancer that he was scheming again – as usual.

The next day they set out west along the trader road. The poetry of this amused Dancer. Not so long ago he had come up this very road heading east, to Heng, an unproven ambitious youth. And now … well, he was still a youth, but only in years.