Read Online Dragon Choir by Benjamin Descovich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Benjamin Descovich
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memories.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rum Hill
Elrin woke the
next morning to the sun rising over the sea. He had walked through
the night to get there, trudging on until the moon set and fatigue
forced him to rest. In the darkness he hadn’t noticed how close he
was.
Cane fields
filed off beside the worn road, which stretched on to Rum Hill. The
port town was a shamble of buildings strewn around a small harbour.
The town centre nestled against the foot of a grassy hill that
rolled up and out into the ocean, ending in a sheer headland. Elrin
drank in the view of the sheltered bay and breathed in the sweet
scent of molasses.
At the edge of
the town people were busy. Teams of mules turned cane mills and
workers hovered over steaming segmented vats, cooking down cane
juice into rich brown syrup. In the town centre bunkhouses,
storehouses and distilleries lent on each other in a patchwork of
repair and extension; the structures were opportunistic like the
people on the streets. Elrin avoided the drunkards begging favours
and promising friendship, blushed past the barely draped welcome
girls, and made haste to the dockyards.
Elrin knew the
border towns were under Jandan control, but there was no sign of it
through Rum Hill. There were no lawmen or town guards, unless they
were in the pubs and pleasure houses. Elrin’s mother had likened
the border towns to poor orphans abandoned by Jando. His father
said they had the best and the worst of everything in equal
measure. Honest folk with character and spirit worked to feed their
families and shady malefactors schemed and skimmed from the unwary.
Border towns were places to right wrongs and sing songs; heroes
could rise and make things right.
The main road
curved around the base of Rum Hill and descended upon the docks.
The bay bloomed into a vast ocean, more expansive than he ever
imagined possible. As a boy running about Calimska, he thought the
Lake of Tears was the sea. His father’s stories of the open ocean
were incomprehensible until now.
The morning
sun skimmed across a horizon without end. The cool kiss of the
ocean breeze tasted of salt and filled his mind with the romance of
what he could be. He hadn’t lost everything; he had his father’s
dagger and a quest. There was a life of adventure ahead where he
could be a hero and save his father. It was as clear as the summer
sky.
He walked on
in the sunshine and convinced himself that the dead letter against
him was just part of the adventure. It was another verse for the
bards to sing. There was no better tale to tell than one of
adversity overcome.
The bounce in
his step petered out; a niggling doubt lodged in his mind like a
stone stuck in his boot. The bounty hunters who chased him into the
forest were just a taste of the sorts that would spill his blood,
and they were so well-equipped. Elrin began to question how a
dagger alone would serve as an adequate defence in all situations.
He would have to get awfully close to an enemy to strike. If only
he had a sword ... if only he knew how to use a sword. Elrin
polished the shine in the situation, picking up his step again; his
father started out with a dagger and his wits, he could too.
Elrin rested
his palm on the dagger’s black jewelled pommel. The bedtime tales
of his father’s adventures were all he really knew of battle.
Fighting off goblins and giants to take their ill-gotten treasure.
Saving villagers from raiding orcs and recovering the plunder to
give to the poor. Something within the dagger reached out to him
with comfort, making the tales of his father possible for him too.
He was destined for adventure and could learn on his travels; he
didn’t need to waste his years polishing someone else’s steel, he’d
sharpen his own.
“ Watch where you’re goin’ son!” A wiry man grabbed Elrin’s arm
and pulled him back. A stack of planks glanced past Elrin’s head as
a gantry crane moved to load a cart
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rum Hill
Elrin woke the
next morning to the sun rising over the sea. He had walked through
the night to get there, trudging on until the moon set and fatigue
forced him to rest. In the darkness he hadn’t noticed how close he
was.
Cane fields
filed off beside the worn road, which stretched on to Rum Hill. The
port town was a shamble of buildings strewn around a small harbour.
The town centre nestled against the foot of a grassy hill that
rolled up and out into the ocean, ending in a sheer headland. Elrin
drank in the view of the sheltered bay and breathed in the sweet
scent of molasses.
At the edge of
the town people were busy. Teams of mules turned cane mills and
workers hovered over steaming segmented vats, cooking down cane
juice into rich brown syrup. In the town centre bunkhouses,
storehouses and distilleries lent on each other in a patchwork of
repair and extension; the structures were opportunistic like the
people on the streets. Elrin avoided the drunkards begging favours
and promising friendship, blushed past the barely draped welcome
girls, and made haste to the dockyards.
Elrin knew the
border towns were under Jandan control, but there was no sign of it
through Rum Hill. There were no lawmen or town guards, unless they
were in the pubs and pleasure houses. Elrin’s mother had likened
the border towns to poor orphans abandoned by Jando. His father
said they had the best and the worst of everything in equal
measure. Honest folk with character and spirit worked to feed their
families and shady malefactors schemed and skimmed from the unwary.
Border towns were places to right wrongs and sing songs; heroes
could rise and make things right.
The main road
curved around the base of Rum Hill and descended upon the docks.
The bay bloomed into a vast ocean, more expansive than he ever
imagined possible. As a boy running about Calimska, he thought the
Lake of Tears was the sea. His father’s stories of the open ocean
were incomprehensible until now.
The morning
sun skimmed across a horizon without end. The cool kiss of the
ocean breeze tasted of salt and filled his mind with the romance of
what he could be. He hadn’t lost everything; he had his father’s
dagger and a quest. There was a life of adventure ahead where he
could be a hero and save his father. It was as clear as the summer
sky.
He walked on
in the sunshine and convinced himself that the dead letter against
him was just part of the adventure. It was another verse for the
bards to sing. There was no better tale to tell than one of
adversity overcome.
The bounce in
his step petered out; a niggling doubt lodged in his mind like a
stone stuck in his boot. The bounty hunters who chased him into the
forest were just a taste of the sorts that would spill his blood,
and they were so well-equipped. Elrin began to question how a
dagger alone would serve as an adequate defence in all situations.
He would have to get awfully close to an enemy to strike. If only
he had a sword ... if only he knew how to use a sword. Elrin
polished the shine in the situation, picking up his step again; his
father started out with a dagger and his wits, he could too.
Elrin rested
his palm on the dagger’s black jewelled pommel. The bedtime tales
of his father’s adventures were all he really knew of battle.
Fighting off goblins and giants to take their ill-gotten treasure.
Saving villagers from raiding orcs and recovering the plunder to
give to the poor. Something within the dagger reached out to him
with comfort, making the tales of his father possible for him too.
He was destined for adventure and could learn on his travels; he
didn’t need to waste his years polishing someone else’s steel, he’d
sharpen his own.
“ Watch where you’re goin’ son!” A wiry man grabbed Elrin’s arm
and pulled him back. A stack of planks glanced past Elrin’s head as
a gantry crane moved to load a cart
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