Chapter 25:
The Sapphire Legacy
Stepping through the door of the Blade and Band brought them into a cavernous taproom. The air was thick with the intermingled scents of woodsmoke, spilled ale, and aged timber. Directly ahead, a man so gaunt he looked as if a strong breeze might carry him away stood upon a small dais. Beyond him, the main chamber unfolded. Along the back wall, a long bar was flanked by six barrels, each bearing a different label. The floor was a chaotic sea of round tables and hard-backed wooden chairs, nearly all of them claimed by boisterous patrons.
"They're over there," Cirus murmured, gesturing with his chin toward a shadowed alcove by a window. "Come on."
Wells followed, a fresh wave of apprehension washing over him. As they drew closer, he could make out the four figures at the table: three men and, to his astonishment, a centaur. He was even more taken aback to realize the centaur was female, something he had never before witnessed. Two of the men had meticulously groomed, shoulder-length hair, which stood in stark contrast to the third man’s tangled dark mane and beard.
Cirus offered a polite nod to one of the well-groomed men, whose hair was a shade of blond almost identical to Wells's own. "Elrin," he greeted him. "You assembled the group quickly."
"That I did," the man, Elrin, replied. His voice was surprisingly amiable for a man of his large, powerful build. "Though it wasn't much of an assembly. We were all here already." He rose and procured two chairs from a nearby empty table. "Sit," he invited. "Talk flows better when we're not standing."
Cirus took the seat beside Elrin. Wells sat down cautiously in the chair between Cirus and the man with the unruly hair.
Elrin flagged down a blonde, curvaceous barmaid. "A round of ales on my coin, if you please," he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink. She returned it with one of her own before gliding toward the bar.
"Alright, Wells, Aria," Cirus began, indicating the group. "Allow me to introduce Elrin’s Mercenaries." He pointed to Elrin, to whom Wells gave a hesitant smile and nod. "This is their leader, Elrin Romwell. To your left is his younger brother, Anais Romwell. Flanking him are Soren, and Isena, a distant relation of King Holst. If they agree to our terms, they will be our guard while you train on the Burning Plains."
They all offered Wells warm smiles. Cirus then turned to the mercenaries. "And this is Wells Barlow, great-nephew to Jonas. The kithara on his shoulder is Aria Ashwing."
The centaur, Isena, was the first to speak, her voice a deep, soothing contralto. "It is an honor to meet you, Wells Barlow, and you, Aria Ashwing." Her skin was dark, nearly the shade of Vance's, but her eyes were a startlingly pale blue, and her hair was styled in tight coils. "I knew Jonas for many years. His passing grieved me deeply." She then shifted her gaze to Aria. "And it has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of meeting one of your kind, Kithara."
Aria met her gaze and dipped her head in a gesture of regal acknowledgment.
Soren, the man with the tangled hair, sized them up. "Can't say I ever heard of this Jonas fellow before tonight," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance all the same." Soren extended a hand to Wells, who shook it. There was something in the cast of his eyes and the set of his nose that seemed vaguely familiar. His hair, Wells now saw, was a deep auburn.
"It's good to meet you, too," Wells said, studying him with curiosity. "You look familiar."
Cirus grinned. "Soren is a distant cousin of mine," he explained. "The Crewe family originally hailed from Pelara."
Next, Anais shook Wells's hand. "It's always a pleasure to meet a fellow wizard," he remarked.
"Oh, you're a wizard as well?" Aria asked, her curiosity piqued.
"I can use magic," Anais confirmed, a note of regret in his voice, "but my master passed away before my training was complete."
"Oh," Aria said softly. "I'm sorry."
At that moment, the barmaid returned with a tray laden with tankards foaming with ale. She set one before each of them without a word and departed.
"Excellent timing," Cirus declared, taking a deep swallow. "Now, let us get down to business."
Elrin leaned forward. "Alright, Cirus. What exactly is your proposal?"
"Wells, Aria, and I intend to journey down the Cinian River, past the Snowy Mountains, and out onto the Burning Plains," Cirus began.
Elrin’s eyebrows rose. "That's quite the trip," he said with a low whistle. "How deep into the Plains are you going?"
"Not far, don't worry," Cirus assured him. "We'll remain in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains. It is the ideal place for Wells and Aria to begin working with the more resilient earth we have in Remira when they begin their earth magic training."
"And how long will this training take?" Soren asked. "If it's too long, we may have to decline."
"A few months," Cirus replied.
"A few months?" Isena repeated, setting her tankard down. Her voice was laced with disbelief. "You expect to train him as a wizard in a few months?"
A flicker of annoyance crossed Cirus's face, but his tone remained pleasant. "My dear woman, surely you know the tales of Jonas Barlow."
"Yes," Isena confirmed. "I do."
"Then you know that Jonas was not entirely human. Nor is Wells. And whether by fortune or misfortune, Wells brought some... friends with him when he came to Remira," Cirus explained. "He will only receive the training necessary to learn how to send them home. If he chooses to return to Remira later, I would be more than happy to give him a more complete education." He gave Isena another smile, pleasant but firm.
"Alright, let's not bicker," Anais said placidly. "Elrin, haggling the price is your domain, is it not?"
Wells sighed. A dull throb had started behind his eyes, a nagging, unpleasant pulse that made the tavern's din feel like a physical assault. To distract himself, he began to stroke Aria's head absently. She gave him a questioning look, then nudged his hand indignantly when he stopped. He resumed the petting and, as the conversation lulled, took a deep breath. "Cirus, may Aria and I step outside for a moment?"
His question seemed to startle them all. It was as if they had forgotten he was there—a fair assessment, Wells thought, as he hadn't spoken in several minutes. Cirus cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not." Wells opened his mouth to protest, but Cirus silenced him with a raised hand. "No, listen. I'm saying no because there are warlocks about, trying to capture you."
At this revelation, Soren shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Anais sat bolt upright. "There are warlocks in the area?" Anais asked, his voice low.
Cirus nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so. I had a run-in with a trio of them just a few hours ago," he said. "However, I believe I managed to confuse them. I made them lose our trail."
Anais looked troubled. "Wouldn't it have been safer to make them forget you entirely?"
Cirus took a drink of his ale, his expression unreadable. "It might have been. But had they been captured and questioned, a total memory lapse would have been far more suspicious. The warlocks would know we had been there."
Elrin grinned. "Well, if they've forgotten where you went, then it should be safe enough for Wells and Aria to step outside. Besides," he added, "we're right here. If he stays close, we'll know instantly if he's attacked."
"I suppose so," Cirus conceded, though he sounded uneasy. "Alright, you may go. But stay close to the Blade and Band."
"Thanks," Wells said, quickly sliding out from the table without spilling his ale. With a muttered apology, he pushed past two men, pulled open the heavy door, and stepped out of the inn.
"I do not like being inside," Aria stated.
"You get used to it, believe me," Wells replied. "I just... needed some air."
Aria cocked her head. "Why?"
"It was getting too close in there," he said, sinking onto the porch steps. "I was starting to get a headache. I think the fresh air will help."
The night had fully descended, and the porch was deserted. He could hear the gentle chirping of crickets in the distance—one thing, at least, that was the same in both worlds. His only warning was the creak of the door behind him. He turned just as a fist filled his vision, and the world dissolved into blackness.
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