"Ryce´s Journey, Chapter 2" by Andrew C. Euston

Ryce’s Journey

-       Chapter -

2

Ryce’s battered body tumbled limply onto a decently prepared bed.  The woman who had taken him from the street pulled away the hood that had prevented her from viewing Ryce’s face.  She drew in a sharp breath as she quickly recognized him as a Dark Elf.  She had never actually seen a Dark Elf and only knew of them through stories of Imperial campaigns against their armies.  Faced with a new dilemma, the woman didn’t move and watched Ryce lie on the bed and stare blankly at the inn’s wooden ceiling.  Taking the woman completely by surprise, Ryce turned his head and looked directly into her face.  “Free,” he whispered, barely mustering the strength for a faint smile.  “I’m…free…” his eyes slowly closed as the muscles in his face relaxed.  She drew closer to Ryce, fearing that he had died before she could discern what his trouble had been.  Her worry for the mysterious Dark Elf subsided when she saw his chest faintly rising and falling.  He would live but she would have to tend to his wounds.

Lying on his back as he was before he had lost consciousness, Ryce stared longingly into the sky that existed only in his subconscious.  He could feel himself free now, free and utterly alone.  Though his pain was great, the soil of the field in his dream world served to sooth his torn heart.  The form of Tiberius, Ryce’s true father, materialized at his side.  Tiberius sighed deeply as he too turned his head to the calm night sky.  Both father and son drew in the imaginary cool night air in slow breaths.  Ryce turned to his father, “I did it,” his eyes sparkled, reflecting the stars above him.

“I know, son, I know,” Tiberius looked back down at his son.  “The world is yours now Ryce.  Now you must forge a path of your own.”  Tiberius pulled his sword from its scabbard and drove it into the ground next to Ryce.  “I can not tell you where to go, the choice must be your own.”  Saying this, Tiberius faded away, seemingly melting away into the sky leaving only his sword behind.

Ryce woke suddenly in the same bed he had fallen unconscious in.  He now wore only the breeches had had on under his armor.  Bandages covered the wounds he had received in battle.  The two places on his back where he had been shot were treated and dressed as well.  Pulling himself from the warmth and safety of his blankets, Ryce placed both feet onto the cold oaken floorboards.  His new suit of armor sat at the end of the bed with his sword leaning against the bed’s footboard.  Looking about his new surroundings, Ryce was surprised to find the woman who had saved him sound asleep in an enormous and comfortable looking chair.  He took the chance to study his rescuer.  She wore her bronze hued hair in a ponytail that trailed down between her shoulder blades.  She had a dark complexion and was nestled in one side of the soft chair.  Her clothes appeared plain enough but Ryce noted that on the floor beside the big fluffy chair was a pair of short swords.  She was ready for a fight, Ryce surmised, perhaps I was saved for a purpose.  “I guess I owe you my life,” Ryce whispered, his eyes not moving from the sleeping woman.  Looking into her peaceful face, he was reminded of the numerous men he had killed during his escape.  It was my life or theirs, it had to be that way, Ryce reminded himself.  The thought of such needless loss still staggered his mind.  Sluggishly, the woman’s eyes began to open.  She yawned loudly and stretched a single arm into the air.  Her eyes opened wide unexpectedly and darted about the room.  Finding Ryce seated on the edge of his bed peering at her, she threw her arms over the right side of the cozy chair making grabbing motions where she had expected her swords to be.  Finding nothing, she slowly turned her head back to Ryce, figuring that he would already be next to her with his sword at her throat.  Still sitting exactly where she had left him, Ryce motioned to her left.  “Your swords are on that side.”

“Yes, well,” she smirked nervously, “I suppose that means I don’t need them.”  She stood up and straitened the wrinkles from her clothing.

“You, for reasons I cannot fathom, managed to save me from a frenzied mob of thugs and the wounds they gave me,” Ryce said, looking at a bandaged gash in his arm.  He turned his head sharply back to the woman, his eyes meeting hers.  “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” She asked.

“Why did you put yourself at risk like that for someone who you have never met before?” Ryce replied.  He ran a hand through his long white hair.  “A Dark Elf at that.  Tell me, why would you save a Dark Elf?” Ryce questioned.

“What the hell are you asking me things like that for?” her face grew serious as her mind went over the reasons why she had saved him.  “I did it because I knew how you felt.”

“How could you know what I was feeling?” Ryce added.

“I could see it in your face.  You were betrayed and hunted, that much I could see in your eyes,” painful memories returned to her as she spoke.  Waving her hand to dismiss them and change the subject to something less painful, she smiled at Ryce.  “Enough about what happened.  I’ve been curious about you ever since I found you last night.  Tell me about yourself.”

“Well first off, you have my thanks for saving me.  It isn’t very often that I have the honor of being saved.  My name is Ryce Drenoth, I am a swordsman in training,” Ryce explained.  “I was chased off my farm in the village of Grantz when the town was destroyed and I was forced to take up the sword.”  Ryce turned his gaze to his equipment.  “What about you?” he asked, eagerly awaiting her reply.

“Brenna,” she said sheepishly.  “I’m a soldier for hire.”

“A mercenary?” Ryce wondered out loud.

“Yes, you could say that.  These days I move from area to area taking jobs as I find them.  I had come to Tourent after hearing about the Knights Guild and the troubles to the south.”  She allowed herself to sink back into the soft chair.  “Some nasty things are happening in the south, as you must already know.”

“Yes, I know exactly what is going on there,” Ryce said.  Out of subjects to comfortably speak of, both Ryce and Brenna looked at everything from the floor to the room’s single window, pretending to be in deep thought.  “About repaying you,” Ryce spoke out, breaking the silence.  “I don’t have any money.  I only have two possessions now, my sword and armor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brenna said, waving a hand in the air.

“No, I really am in your debt.  There has to be something I can do,” Ryce stated firmly.  Moments of quiet passed while Brenna put great consideration into her answer.  Ryce’s deep blue eyes dug deeply into her, attempting to comprehend her motives.

“In my line of work, well, you see,” Brenna stammered, words tumbling from her mouth like driftwood over a waterfall.  “I feel like you and I have much in common.  Being a mercenary, not many people give off that impression.”

“Thanks,” Ryce mumbled sarcastically.

“Err, what I meant is that…” she looked at the ceiling and rubbed her fingers together, a bead of sweat forming at her brow.  Ryce was fast growing tired of the hesitations.  “Seeing as you are training in sword fighting, would you consider joining me in some mercenary work?”  Every muscle in her body tensed.  Ryce had not seen the question coming and immediately began to work on an answer.  Weighing the possibilities, Ryce decided that the freelance work would be a good way to work off his recent loss.  He thought again of Elene.  He couldn’t believe that she had betrayed him, after everything they had been through.  Ryce let out a short sigh, which Brenna mistook as a “no”.  Negative thoughts began filtering into her mind.  “Its ok,” Brenna whimpered, attempting to regain her lost composure. “It was merely a suggestion.”

“Yes, I will accompany you,” Ryce said, standing slowly with a smile gracing the corners of his mouth.  Some of his enthusiasm had returned with the prospect of employment.  Brenna couldn’t believe her ears.  She shot from the armchair threw her slender arms around Ryce.  Of all the things Ryce had expected her to do, this was not one.  “I…um…” Ryce had no idea what to do; he froze in place while memories he had hoped to seal away seeping into his mind.  Brenna, realizing that she had overstepped a hidden boundary, let go and moved backwards a step.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that traveling all over the region alone is almost too much for me,” Brenna apologized.  “You see, I haven’t had any company…”

“I understand,” Ryce politely interrupted.  He was just a little unnerved at the ease in which Brenna placed her trust in him but was none the less pleased that he would be working in an environment where who he was would be of little importance.  Ryce liked the idea that he would be able to freely choose where he went and most importantly, he could have a much needed and very welcome change of company.

A few hours after their talk, Ryce and Brenna checked out of the inn and traveled, following Brenna’s lead, into the heart of Tourent.  Brenna had donned her armor before heading out of the inn.  The armor consisted of tiny, lightweight steel plates that provided decent protection while affording her graceful figure complete range of motion.  Intricately designed guards for the arms and legs each ended in a pair of thick leather boots and a matching pair of gloves that appeared to have seen heavy use.  Ryce noted how well the armor fit her, conforming to every curve of her body, giving him the impression that the suit had been tailor-made specifically for her.  Ryce, despite warnings from Brenna, wore his cloak with the hood down.  “I want my enemies to know that I still live,” Ryce explained.  “They would not dare attack us in broad daylight and if they do,” his cloak brushed to one side as he moved his arm to the shoulder where the handle of his sword stood out in the unrelenting morning sunlight, “I plan to be ready for anything.”

“I certainly hope you are correct,” Brenna said, shooting an occasional glance at nearby shadow strewn buildings.  Coming before a monumental gate within the city that was guarded by, from what Ryce could see, six knights.  Brenna presented a handful of documents to a knight and was waved through.  All eyes were on Ryce as he passed the gate.  The light reflecting from the golden statues of knights that stood at the entrance of a grand marble hall assaulted Ryce’s eyes.  The luminous guardians stood and watched, unmoving and silent, from their posts as they had since the day they were created.  Even the walls that surround the district were marked with coats of arms and banners.  Brenna tugged forcefully at Ryce’s shoulder to get him moving again.  “We can’t dawdle, Ryce.”

“Yeah…” Ryce replied, barely able to pull his gaze from the majestic statues.

The few knights that marched through the hallway grimaced at the sight of two mercenaries walking freely through their sacred halls.  Brenna halted in front of a broad door.  “Take a seat, I should be right out,” Brenna stated, readying herself for her meeting with the officer that waited beyond the door.  Not waiting for Ryce to seat himself, Brenna opened the door that stood before her and entered.  Catching glares from all directions, Ryce simply crossed his arms and leaned against the smoothed stone walls of the gaudy fortress.  Leaning against that wall, Ryce lost himself in thought.  Why had he joined Brenna?  Why hadn’t she just left him for dead?  It would have been much more convenient for her to ignore him.  He paused suddenly and placed a hand over his face.  The cool metal of his gauntlet brushing against his skin reminded him that not only was he still alive, he had to continue living even if he was now alone.  He chuckled lightly, half at himself and half to keep from sinking deeper into depression.  Minutes passed as though they were days.  Time itself seemed to slow.  Knights walked past him, traveling to destinations unknown, the expressions they wore on their faces painfully clear to Ryce.  He studied them, watching every movement, facial and bodily.  Both the silence and Ryce’s concentration were shattered when Brenna opened the door and shut again with more force than required.

“Well?” Ryce inquired.  Brenna turned to him with eyes sharper than daggers.  She thrust a handful of papers into his hands as though they were host to a plague.

“I am done here,” Brenna hissed, storming down the hallway.  At first inspection, the papers appeared to be mission orders.  We have a mission, Ryce thought, My first mission.  Ryce wondered why Brenna was so infuriated.  Slowly, as to not incur any sort of wrath on Brenna’s part, Ryce followed her out of the Knight’s Hall and past the great arched gateway.

Within an hour’s time, Brenna had stormed her way back to the room at the inn and packed up what few belongings she traveled with.  Ryce could do nothing but follow her.  He had no money and kept what little he had on his person at all times.  Getting ever the more curious about his first mission, Ryce somehow managed to keep himself quiet until they had departed from Tourent.  As they walked along the rocky bluffs to the west of Tourent Ryce couldn’t stop himself from asking their purpose.  “So…” he crossed his arms and stared off into the bay, eyes scanning the breaking waves for assistance in the awkward conversation.  Fresh sea air filled their lungs while the gulls called above.  Brenna looked into Ryce’s eyes.  He had been eagerly following her for some time now and she figured that he should at least know what they would be doing.

“We have been asked to head west and find out what became of an expeditionary unit.  They aren’t telling us why the unit was sent out but odds are it has something to do with the evil from the south.”

“Why did they try to keep something so obvious hidden from us?”

“How should I know?  Those pompous ‘holier than thou’ knights are always attempting to pull the wool over our eyes,” Brenna spat.  “A bunch of fools in armor sending us to find their drunken comrades.”  Brenna had almost forgotten that Ryce had joined with her only a day prior.  She stopped herself and gave thought to why she had just thoroughly opened her mind to him.  Watching him as he picked up a smooth stone from the ground and hurled it into the air.  It sailed gracefully before hitting the turbulent ocean waters with a faint ker-plunk.

“I suppose so,” Ryce said with a sigh.  He looked over the steep cliff to the rocks below, interested in every part that made the shore.  He had never been to an ocean and his tumultuous stay in Tourent had not spared him the time to actually view the full splendor of the sea.  “As a child I had wished so hard to become a knight.  Everything about them excited me to no end.  I wanted to take part in the camaraderie, the daring rescues, and most of all the respect.  Its funny, in a sad way, to think of how wrong I was.”

“Don’t think of it like that, Ryce.  You had the right idea; it is only that these men have been influenced by greed.  Greed spawned cowardice in their hearts and spoiled an age old tradition.”  Both Brenna and Ryce took one last look out into the bay before setting out.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ryce smiled.

“Yes, now that I think about it, the sea can be such a beautiful thing.”  Brenna had looked upon the shining ocean thousands of times but this seemed different.  The sight of the endless expanse of water always made her feel lonely and hopeless.  She turned again to Ryce and wondered if it was his presence that brought about the change in her.  “We should get moving, shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Ryce tore his eyes away from the breaking waves, “you’re right.  If we don’t head out now we’ll end up sitting around here forever.”

Heading away from the ocean, Ryce and Brenna re-entered the great forests that spanned the majority of the continent.  As anticipated, the pair easily found traces that the knights had passed by at some point.  At one point in their short travel they came upon a campfire that had seen activity in the past few hours.  Brenna decided that using the prepared camp would save much-needed time.  Lying down to rest, Brenna glanced over at Ryce who was unarmored and slumped lazily against the moss-covered trunk of a nearby tree.   His eyes shone brilliantly in the moonlight as he looked to the stars.  Her mind traced over the events of the last few days and questions arose that she had failed to answer.  Why did she ask him to travel with her in the first place?  It seemed, at this point in her life, an incredibly risky and unprofessional choice.  Why had she helped him?  She looked again into his shimmering blue eyes and found the reason exactly where she had left it the last time the questions had come to her.  Though she wouldn’t show any of her true feelings externally, she could instantly tell only by looking into his eyes that Ryce was a good person.  The eyes are, as she had been raised to believe, the windows to the soul.

Ryce quietly leaned against the tree’s welcoming bark as he stared wide-eyed into the star lit night.  A crackle sounded from the underbrush not far from the camp.  Ryce ceased all noise, even his own breathing.  Beginning to doubt that he had heard the noise in the first place, he slowly rose from the tree.  His eyes darted suddenly to a small hunched figure that had emerged from the darkness.  Cloaked in midnight shadows, the figure shambled forward favoring one leg while dragging the other limply.  Slowly drawing his sword, Ryce stood his ground.  “Brenna,” Ryce whispered in an attempt to rouse Brenna from her sleep.  “Brenna,” his voice grew in urgency, “get up, Brenna.”

Brenna’s eyes slowly opened as she rolled to one side.  “Huh?” she mumbled, “It Isn’t morning yet.  What are you doing?”  Ryce motioned to the figure with his sword.  Though Brenna couldn’t see a thing in the gloom of the night, Ryce’s elven vision could now make out the shadowy newcomer.  It was a Dwarf and from what Ryce could see, it was seriously injured.

“Lad, if ye be fixin’ for a fight me axe’ll be more than willin’ to accommodate!” the Dwarf spoke with a stubbornness born of desperation.  Staring wild-eyed, the ragged Dwarf painstakingly raised his axe and moved with all of the speed his wounds would allow him.  Brenna had, in a split-second, thrown off her blankets and stood ready for battle, if by battle one were referring to a good long nap.  She stood in her nightwear with both of her swords ready for any opponent.  The Dwarf did not even make it into the perimeter of the camp before falling face first into the dirt.  Both mercenaries relaxed their battle-readied muscles and lowered their weapons.

Like a child forced to perform an unwise dare, Ryce moved ever so carefully to the side of the face down dwarven soldier.  Ryce, shaken a bit by the unusual dwarf, overturned the stout and battered form.  The dwarf’s eyes, still barely open, hung like crescent moons against his aged, dirt caked features.  Ryce backed away a step as the dwarf placed his hand under the heavily damaged armor that had once protected his chest and produced an amulet.  Shining beautifully in his blood soaked hand lay an amulet carved in the perfect likeness of a shield bathed in flame.  “Take it lad…” blood oozed from his mouth hampering his speech.

“We have to get him back to the city,” Brenna spoke under her breath to Ryce.  “He might no make it through the night.”

“Yer damn right I won’t be makin’ it through the night!” the dwarf managed.  “Now take me pendant an’ be out of this place,” his outburst was lacking energy, his eyelids were beginning to droop, and his voice was growing more faint by the second.

A grim look masking his usually pleasant features, Ryce nodded to the mortally wounded dwarf and sullenly took the pendant.  The dwarf watched Ryce sternly as he put the pendant around his own neck.  Releasing a great heaving sigh and closing his eyes, the dwarf spoke one last time, “Boy,” his voice now barely a whisper, “Ye best be takin’ good care o’ me pendant.  Its magic be strong, maybe too strong for one o’ yer kind.  I trust ye be usin’ it well.”

“I shall keep it safe,” Ryce said, gripping the amulet in his left hand.  The dwarf, now content in his passing, cracked a wide toothy smile before drawing his final breath.  Ryce stepped away from the now still body and looked back to Brenna.  “We need to leave here, sooner than later.”

“I…” she looked from Ryce to the lifeless dwarf, “We need to confirm the whereabouts of the other scouts.”

Ryce, still sullen from what had just transpired, looked to the bushed from where the dwarf had come from.  It was in an unusually dark place that caused a single icy finger to run down the length of his spine.  He couldn’t explain what had caused the feeling but Ryce knew Brenna was right and that one or both of them would have to investigate the area.  “I will go and explore the area from where he came.”

“What about me, you don’t think that I am qualified to…”

“You aren’t wearing very much,” Ryce interrupted.  A horrifying moment of silence passed by as Brenna realized that she was still barely clothed.  Panicked, Brenna dove behind a nearby tree, feeling her way around it through the blackness of night.

“I’ll wait here and get our things ready for immediate departure,” she meekly explained.

Ryce slowly pushed his way through the thick bushes barring his way, some bearing sweet or poisonous berries, others waiting to silently strike at his unprotected face with hidden thorns.  The faint unpleasant feeling deep in Ryce grew with each step, as he pressed deeper into the thicket.  He reached an opening, yet still hindered by the thick leafy canopy he was unable to discern his surroundings.  His left hand reached to a belt pouch for the tinderbox within as his right hand drew a slender white candle from a second pouch.  He struck at the flint a few times before the candle caught flame and illumined the area.  Now lit by a single candle and aided by Ryce’s keen elven vision, a scene more macabre than any ever beheld by the dark elf lay before him in grisly detail.  Bodies, some unidentifiable, some shorn in two, few completely intact, lay strewn about the clearing Ryce hand entered.  Uncontrollable fear welled up in his chest, its icy maw threatening to consume his mind.

The scouts they had been searching for lay in a number of places.  Their still unknown foes had left them exactly where they had been cut down and didn’t take any notice to the possessions the armed men had been carrying.  Ryce placed his hand on the handle of his sword, undoing the single clasp that ensured it would stay put on his back as he moved about.  Noiselessly, Ryce stepped backward into the bushes.  The mission is over, Ryce thought to himself, eager to return to Brenna.  He didn’t fancy himself a coward but few who come upon such scenes can resist the urge to leave.

Returning to the camp, Ryce explained that the scout party was no more.  The pair traveled back to Tourent, casting many a nervous glance at their backs as they went on their way.  Both felt much better as they passed through the grand gates of Tourent and marched the most direct route to the Red Rose Inn.  Sleep came easily to the travel weary mercenaries.  That night, both Brenna and Ryce dreamt of their childhoods.

Brenna, through her own eyes, relived a single even.  It was pitch black and humid inside of the closet where she hid.  She kept still, fearing that to even breathe would alert the invaders of her presence.  Brenna was but twelve years old and robbers had just murdered her father, a nobleman in Tourent.  Her mother had died in while giving birth and thus had little influence in her life.  She could feel the tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and dampening her soft velvet dress.  Her relationship with her father had been a loving one as he tried to play the role of both parents in order to make up to Brenna.  She could hear the vicious thieves crashing through the Imray estate in search of anything that could be sold or used.  Brenna Imray continued to sit, silently hiding, for two straight days before she gathered enough courage to leave that terrible place.  She promised herself that she would find those men, no matter the time or cost, and teach them what that experience had been like for her.  It had taken her 6 years to find them.   She was not proud of what she had done, just satisfied that her father’s pointless death had been avenged.

In the dream he watched from above as a young Ryce pretended to be a knight with his childhood friend, Donovan.  The two children ran about fighting each other with sticks that, at his age, were a perfect substitute for swords.  Often the boys would even “slay” a tied bundle of hay calling it a dragon, an ogre, or whatever beast they could think of for that day.  His adopted mother sat in her favorite rocking chair on the porch of Ryce’s house, her thick and curly locks of red hair swaying in the summer breeze as she smiled and watched the two innocent boys play.  Ryce’s adopted father went about his daily chores, his thick grayish black beard swaying as he hefted his axe and brought it down on a piece of fire wood, splitting it evenly down the center with a satisfying crack as both halves fell to either side of the tree stump he used.  Ryce felt himself drifting back into consciousness as he caught a familiar figure in the corner of his eye.  It was an unusually tall dark elven man standing, fully armored, in a field just past his home.  The figure nodded and faded away with the world.

He woke lazily from the dream, rolling to his left side and looking out the window into the sunlit sky, admiring the orange and yellow clouds surrounding the horizon.  He wondered what had become of Donovan.  The last time they had spoken was before the attack on their hometown, after that they had been separated.  Rubbing the sleep from his face he yawned abruptly and sat up.  Ryce was startled out of his sleepy state by the sound of hushed sobbing.  Turning to Brenna’s bed, Ryce saw Brenna curled into a ball and weeping softly, the quiet sobs shaking her body.