yzday, 29th of Octavius, 11th Year of the Stringless Era

  After the storm had passed, they had continued their journey without interruption. By the end of the second day, they had crossed into the border of Akayan. A rectangular stone was the only reason they even knew they had changed countries. The two nations had no quarrels.

  They made it to the major town of Devri, restocked on some supplies, then continued further down the road.

  “We take this left,” Romas informed them.

  They were over two hours out from Devri. The walking hours of the day were nearing their end. The waxing crescent of the moon showed lightly in the dimming sky.

  Turning the cart was not an easy endeavour. They had the luxury of marching down a road that connected two capitals so far. Certainly, it was the least used of the major roads that lead out of Kumsyurt, but it was still a major road.

  This new path they embarked on only led to offside villages and the fortress-monastery of the Order of the Elephant’s Strength. Important enough locations to lay the foundations of a road, yes, but not enough to assure that road was always in the best condition. It was clearly designed for adequate usage by a donkey-drawn carriage over an elephant.

  Subra lead carefully, breaking off branches that hung too low for her liking with her trunk. At the back, the Dragonhoard party lifted and repositioned the cart a few centimetres at the time so it took the corner better. Then, they had to hold onto the cart so it didn’t roll down the slope and poke the elephant’s hindquarters.

  It was exhausting and annoying work, but ultimately they managed to get onto the jungle path.

  “There’s a resting spot right behind the foliage,” Romas told them. “We’ll stop there for the day. We should arrive in the afternoon tomorrow.”

  “As you say,” Oras responded.

  “Hihihi…” The giggling echoed unnaturally in the jungle. Immediately, the group went for their weapons. Though their wounds had been reduced to itching scabs already, they would not underestimate the fae that had carved them. The cart continued to roll until they hit the described spot.

  A simple advance revealed a large, manmade clearing. The ground had been flattened years ago. Tree roots had reclaimed some of that level, but not enough to make it anything less than an optimal camping spot. A wooden structure in the middle offered protection for a campfire and those that would sit around it.

  What was out of place was the metre-tall mushroom that had sprouted in the middle of it all and the green-eyed fairy that sat on it. The androgynous creature had hazel brown hair. Its legs swayed back and forth, dangling over the edge of the mushroom. “You are funny, with your struggles and your roads. Just fly!” the fairy said.

  “We can’t,” Oras pointed out. “I suppose that is easily forgotten.”

  “Ooooh, yeah, that!” The fae hit the top of its head in a gesture of stupidity. “Sorry, you’re so fragile and stuff.”

  The leader of the party nodded. “In our own ways, though we did take out four of your kind two days ago.”

  “Yeah and I am all alone so I won’t get myself stabbed! It feels awful!”

  “I imagine so, we do not like getting stabbed either.”

  “Urgh, no, not the stabbing.” The Lesser Fae waved off, “That’s barely an inconvenience. I am talking about getting sent back to Fae Realm. It’s so disorienting. Everything goes into colour and then time passes and poooooof your favourite birthmark is now under your hair! Ever experienced that?”

  “Can’t say I have,” Oras said.

  “You are so interestingly steady!” It continued to babble on. “Yet you age! Oh, you mortals with your contradictions.”

  Oras just observed the smirking fairy. It was unnervingly static in its movements. Every repetition of the swinging legs came with a smooth precision that was neither mechanical nor biological. It was something other,

  ‘Another may possess another knowledge,’ he thought. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Maybe, what will I get in return?”

  Oras considered, then answered. “You owe us already for the entertainment of this conversation.”

  Humming, the Lesser Fae finally stopped moving. Very slowly, the smile dropping, it nodded. “I suppose I do. What do you wish to know then?”

  “Do you know about a blue dragon that travelled around these lands around 17 years ago?”

  “Nope,” the fairy answered immediately. “No clue whatsoever.”

  Oras sighed, that was as expected. “Then what is your purpose here? Are you with Lord Maplewine?”

  “Just watching and I suppose so, technically, though not really.”

  “You can take it at its word,” Romas weighed in. “If the fairy wished to attack us, it wouldn’t come seated on a mushroom. It will sit and observe until it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

  “Yup, yup,” the fairy said.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Since they had no further questions, they ignored its existence while they made their camp.

  ________________________________________________________________

  Ryzday, 29th of Octavius, 11th Year of the Stringless Era

  They had their rest, then set off for the final day of travelling. Oras simultaneously felt a bit saddened that they wouldn’t be able to travel with the wise elder for longer and relieved that he could get back to his endeavours soon. Knowledge was almost as valuable as gold, but he preferred hoarding the latter. It was in his scales.

  The fortress-monastery came into sight a couple of hours into their journey. It was located on the crest of a hill. Its surrounding lands had been cleared, revealing a rocky cliffside that had been turned into a quarry to erect the cobblestone structure that now proudly oversaw this bit of jungle. The road led up to it in an almost straight line, the gap in the canopy showing everything.

  “And there you are, young rival mine!”

  Everyone in the travel group instinctively knew who the haughty voice belonged to. Oras did not need to ask Romas, just step ahead of Subra. The elephant had stopped this time, refusing to trample over the man that had manifested on the road.

  Though he was still androgynous, his features were tilted towards the male enough to make the call for certain. He was a skinny creature, his smooth chest proudly displayed through a V-shaped gap in his gold-trimmed, red robe. A headband beset with red and green maple leaves wrapped around his temples, covered partly by his parted bangs.

  He had brown eyes, that stared with equal parts annoyance, arrogance and disappointment at the group. Blue, translucent wings fluttered as he hovered to the back of the procession. A full chalice in his hand was raised in toast towards Romas. “Egg Speaker, you have finally arrived.”

  [Lord Maplewine]

  “Lore Maplewine,” the old Monk responded, his voice an even landscape of patience and self-control. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “I have learned of your unfortunate affliction. Ageing… yuk!” the low-ranking fae noble retched in disgust. “Your inability to stave it off puts me in a rather difficult position.” He took a sip from his chalice, humming at the taste of the red liquid inside. “What do you think I will look like when the people learn that I have no mortal rival? Oh, I will be the laughing stock of the court of Zhweygn for half a moon cycle!”

  “That is your issue to solve,” Romas remarked bluntly.

  “And I am solving it.” Lord Maplewine crossed his arms. The liquid in his chalice should have spilled, but stopped at the rim of the cup without care for gravity. “By telling you to solve it for me.”

  “You have bothered me for many years.”

  “Bothered you! How uncouth. You insulted my wine. I sent minions to keep you on your toes. A perfectly proportional response.”

  “It was spoiled.”

  “There you go again, Egg Speaker!” Lord Maplewine threw his hands up into the air. This time some of the liquid did escape, but all splashed back into the chalice as he lowered his arms. “Truly, you are an obstinate man. You then!” The fae pointed at Oras. “I sense you are the leader of your little trio of bodyguards! Solve the conundrum for us.”

  Oras looked to the old Monk, who followed the situation stoically, then back to the low-ranking fae lord. ‘It is only appropriate that the young ones take the burdens the old can no longer carry,’ he thought. “If it is a fashionable rivalry you need, we can take over the part.”

  The suggestion hung in the air for a few seconds. “You?” Lord Maplewine hovered closer, arms once again crossed. “Who even are you?”

  “Oras Gohrman. These are Theria and Celia, my first wife and my second wife to be. We form the Dragonhoard party.”

  The fairy’s eyebrows wandered ever closer, inspecting each of them. “Okay?” he said, confused. “And you think you will make for fashionable rivals… why?”

  “We kinda killed your subjects?” Theria threw in. She may not have expected Oras to choose this route, but she always had his back.

  “As his bodyguards.” Lord Maplewine pointed at Romas. “You have as little slighted me as I have targeted you. You’re just… around. Did you topple any mossy stones lately? Drank any of my wine? Seen Herthia naked?”

  “No,” Oras responded.

  “Then what in the Seasons makes you think you lot have the right to be my rival?” Lord Maplewine hovered away, his haughty tone strained with annoyance. “It took many years of friendship for the slight of the Egg Speaker to mean anything! Urgh, you mortals, do you think this is some kind of game? I can’t just make some trio of random adventurers my rivals! Think about how that would look at court.”

  ‘I am starting to dislike fairies,’ Oras thought. “That was my suggestion, then.”

  “And it was awful!” the low-fae lord remarked.

  Celia had enough of listening to the arrogant babbling. “My Master has at least tried. You are a useless moron, hovering about, drinking bad wine, and making your problem that of everyone else.”

  “...Those are fighting words,” Lord Maplewine growled.

  Oras immediately charged. There was a subtle change in the air, a difference between an arrogant fae lord speaking and him attacking.

  Swinging his cup, Lord Maplewine created a torrent of the purple-red liquid within. It could have easily been woven into some kind of attack. Instead, it was woven into a flood of patterns that surrounded him as he flourished and danced, distancing himself from the group.

  “Fighting words were spoken and a fight you will get! Try your first blows, ‘adventurers’!” the fae lord declared.

  Unperturbed by the flow of wine around him, Oras bridged the remaining distance. Metal-clad, his fist cut through the air. His fist made impact on the flying fairy’s midriff and then…

  It didn’t.

  The scent of summer flowers and wine barrels filled the air. The satisfying, tactile feedback of the punch was whisked away. Lord Maplewine giggled, his haughty demeanour penetrated by that capricious, careless whimsiness that his kind was known for. “Ohh well, seems like I didn’t want that one to hit me,” he joked.

  Twirling to the side, Lord Maplewine dodged the bladed uppercut effortlessly. Celia quietly landed on her feet, prowling around the fae lord, looking for her next opportunity to strike.

  “You lot are cute,” Lord Maplewine mocked and raised his chalice. The toast was carefully calculated. An arrow hit the golden goblet, bouncing off. “So much energy, so little skill.”

  The low-ranked fae lord commanded all of the wine around him back into his goblet. It was way too much to fit into a container of that size. In this one case, reality seemed to agree with Oras’ estimation.

  Lord Maplewine thrust the overflowing chalice forwards. Wine flew out in a bolt, striking Celia in the chest. The kinetic force forced her off the road, sending her gracelessly flying into the underbrush.

  “That’s a proper attack!” the fairy boasted.

  Celia re-emerged from the underbrush, to the yawning of Lord Maplewine.

  “And just like that, I am bored,” he declared, flicking another arrow shot at him aside. “Stop that, I am leaving anyhow. Nothing left for me to do here… Romas, I will revisit this issue another time. As for these… green-eared younglings, I suggest you get some better minions. Bye!”

  Just like that, Lord Maplewine used his chalice to cut a gate of red light into the air. He stepped through. It closed.

  ‘That’s it?’ Oras found himself thinking. He did not understand fairies at all.

  Living with that confusion was easy. Helping Celia back on the road was harder. The blonde had been harshly struck in the midsection. Her skin, despite feeling like skin should, had cracked like porcelain. It would mend itself over the coming days, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “Consider that a valuable lesson,” Romas remarked. “Some opponents are fought better by word than blade.”