“There was a sudden call, and the gates gave a mighty groan. It was as if a giant gripped it and peeled it from its hinges, the metal shrieking and the wood cracking. Then the bandits spilled in, hollering and grabbing everyone they could.” Dogan said. “Our men tried to put up a fight, but we had no weapons ready…”
Seraphine set her soaking wet boots next to the fireplace while Dogan recounted the bandits’ attack on their settlement. All three sat around the crackling hearth in the upstairs living quarters, the old man having placed fresh blankets and towels out for them.
“I was standing right next to the gate, having come out of my door at the noise. They grabbed me first and pulled me out and…into the brush…before rushing into…my home…and they grabbed my wife Nadine and Lorie, my daughter…”
Dogan paused to take a drink from his mug, his hands shaking. The tea he prepared comprised peppermint, lemon, and a couple of spices. It was a pleasant and warming drink and a stark contrast to everyone’s darkened mood.
“By this time, the sky was already black as pitch. I could not see from outside the gate, but I heard them call for the lantern and the screams from our people. Axor, as he named himself, threatened our lives if we did not surrender…our gold, food…and women. I hazard Elyon had barricaded his building, and they could not gain entry.”
Dogan sobbed for a few moments. Seraphine placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Roderick listened silently, his arms crossed.
“There was a massive flash of light in the west. A moment later, the first clap of thunder hit us as if the heavens had exploded…The rain came next, and then the winds…With it, there was another explosion from within the camp. The bandits who held me rushed inside, but all was carnage. Axor and all the men near him…and several of our people lay dead…The rest were rising back to their feet…and have done little more than what you see now. The bandits fled when their own refused to obey…”
“Is there anything we can do? Maybe my music could help.” Seraphine asked.
“I wish it were so, but even Elyon, our cleric whom you met…tried to pray to Almathien…A few of them started to come around, but he had seen the lantern…the sickness soon overtook him…”
Dogan paused once more to compose himself. Holy healing seemed to help, she thought, but we need someone fresh and soon.
“I tried to bring my family and some of the others indoors, but they simply milled about until they opened the door and returned to the center. I felt relieved they were spared from being ravaged…I can’t leave them…but I won’t stand by while they wander until they die.”
“We can head to the closest town or village and have them send a priest. Is there a place nearby that might have a temple or chapel? We marched with a caravan from Tunstead on their way to Heathe, but both towns are a week’s travel from here.”
“I would greatly appreciate that…Pelavora would be your best bet. It’s only a few days’ hike from here, I guess. I would lend you our horses, but they bolted during the raid and the storm. Anyway, I’m going to go back down and let you get settled. You two have been through a lot as well and need to get out of those wet clothes.”
Roderick watched as the man went down the steps before turning to her.
“I’ll go down and sit with him a bit. Place your armor and clothes on the table over there, and I’ll see to them.”
Without another word, the warrior stood and followed after the man. She rose and unfastened the straps of her leather armor, shrugging her way out of the tangle of leather and straps. The set always had a faint odor of pond water and old animal, but the heavy rain truly brought out the rankness. Seraphine placed them on the table, then changed out of her travel clothes. She hung her cloak, pants, and tunic on the backs of two chairs in the room’s center. She did the same with the spare clothes in her pack. Seraphine toweled the remaining dampness from her body and hair before taking one of the rough, scratchy blankets and draping it across her back. She loosened its hem, letting it slide off her shoulders. She sat back down by the fireplace, revealing as much of her naked body as she felt comfortable with. Below, muffled by the floor and the crackle of the fire, the two men talked downstairs. She listened for a moment, but her mind kept wandering. Taking in the radiant warmth against her skin, she thought back to the city of Larkinth. The siege and the seemingly endless battles. To Emerson. To Drelk. The broken crown they possessed once gave its wearer supernatural knowledge, insight, and charisma, but at an unknown price. Now, this mysterious lantern surfaced. She still did not know what the source of these dark relics were, but the clues were now bringing them to Pelavor Bay. Even the storm last night seemed to blow in from that direction.
Roderick’s heavy steps brought her mind back to the present. She pulled up the edges of the blanket to cover herself as he approached. Not that she feared his advances, but did so rather out of respect for the warrior. They had a moment about a year ago where she thought he would finally take her as his. Despite his cold exterior, she would have accepted him then and even now. The top of the gray-haired head bobbed up the stairs, followed by the tired, bearded face. The hem of the blanket slipped from her shoulder, but she continued to watch him climb the stairs. His deep blue eyes looked her over before nodding.
“Kick your feet out towards the fire. It’ll help keep any illness from settling in your head and chest.” Roderick said.
His gruff voice now sounded thoroughly exhausted. She did so as he walked past, the older warrior beginning to unhook and shift out of his armor and chainmail. After a long moment, he shuffled over, pushing the chairs with their clothes draped closer. He sat at the opposite end of the hearth, a blanket wrapped around his waist as he warmed his naked upper body in the heat of the fireplace. His sword was just to the left of his hip. His shoulders, chest, and arms were massive, but what was even more impressive were the scars. The casual observer would have wondered if, as a warrior, he ever took the time to parry or evade any attack. From the smallest nick to the largest, ripping gash, his chest, shoulders, and back were a topographical map of battles long past. There were times Seraphine wondered if it was secretly a map, each battle revealing hints to an ancient treasure.
“I’m at a loss for words.” He said.
Seraphine stifled back a chuckle as he stretched his bare legs towards the fire. Despite the seriousness of the day’s events, her eyes tried to search out his with a look of incredulity. His eyes remained shut, however, a testament to how tired he was.
“I’m…I’m sorry, but even you have to admit…” She said before relenting, “I as well. We had been hearing for the last couple of years about smugglers dealing with objects like Drelk’s crown. I never thought we would actually find one.”
“Dogan recommended we seek out Captain Irvette Lira, of the Silver Drake, when we reach Pelavora,” Roderick replied, still sitting upright with his eyes closed. “Said she was a good sort, known for chasing down pirates and smugglers in the bay and coastal regions. Also said she deals with these sorts of relics and would know where to direct us next.”
“Smugglers and pirates in Pelavor Bay…Pelavora.” Seraphine said, “I wonder what sort of town we are heading into. I hope it’s nothing like…”
Seraphine looked over at the warrior, but his chin was resting on his chest. His breathing slowed, and the pace steadied. His left hand rested on the sword and scabbard next to him. She knew that at a word or sudden sound, the warrior would be on his feet, sword at the ready. She shifted back slightly and drew her feet in to rub them. Lying on her side, she adjusted her weapon. She used a corner of the blanket as a pillow, fanning her hair out to dry. Sleep did not hesitate, but took her as soon as her eyes closed and her head bumped heavily into her makeshift pillow.
*
The wagon bumped along the road once more. Elec’s father held the reins this time, Mother sitting next to him, her arm in his. Elec sat on the other side of the bench, writing in his journal. They had stopped briefly at the beach, the three of them recounting Elec’s findings. Elec and his father grabbed the tarp from the wagon, wrapped up, and collected the body of the fallen sailor. Elec’s pack rested next to the covered, dead man’s head. It sat much fuller than before, repacked with two changes of clothes, fresh potions, ten days of travel rations, parchment, extra styluses with tips, and a bed and shelter roll. His father advised him to add five flasks of oil with wicks. For easy light, heat, and incendiary weapons when needed.
The wheels hit the telltale bump as soon as the wagon passed between the first couple of houses on either side of the road. The hard pack trail gave way to cobbled streets. While there was evidence of the storm here as well, the damage was minimal. The high cliffs of our lands to the north must’ve shielded them, he thought. I guess that’s the price of such picturesque views. A couple of moments later, they pulled up to one of the few stonework buildings in the meager town square: Hinterson’s Vale’s Town Hall. Mother took the reins as Father hopped down. Elec stowed his journal in his pack before joining him.
Approaching the mayor’s office, Elec looked upon the quiet bustle of Hinterson’s Vale. Townsfolk conversed in passing, children played with sticks and pot lids, merchants barked from their stalls, and sailors chuckled between themselves as they headed to a beer garden. The thought of leaving this behind in the near future still eluded him.
Father led the way into the building. They entered the small foyer, the room similar in size to the one in their home. Benches lined the perimeter, and a large mural took up most of the north-side wall. It depicted the seven original founders of the settlement, his parents and uncle standing with Sarron Kelthas, Daryl Raelbur the First, Tharrik Ironhewer, and Lerenya Vaul. A young man at the desk on the other side of the room looked up at them, a little perturbed.
“Can I help you?” The young man asked.
Elec recognized the young man as the son of one of his friends, Moise, who worked as a grain miller. He reckoned he should’ve visited the miller more often, but he and his wife had five other children besides Jeriah, several more afterwards, and not a moment to spare for their childhood friend.
“We are here to see the mayor,” Elec said, “Please let him know we have arrived, Jeriah.”
“And you are…”
Elec’s father stepped over to the large mural on the wall and pointed to the fifth figure of the seven depicted.
“That is who I am,” Father said, grinning.
Jeriah’s face dropped almost immediately, the recognition setting in.
“Master Miraelavar!” Jeriah exclaimed, scrambling up from the desk. “Yes, just one moment.”
As the young man disappeared into the main office, Elec’s father continued to stare at the mural.
“I hate coming here…this painting. You see the seven of us here. Standing tall and smiling. While it was the best idea we ever had, a lot of misfortune had brought us here to begin with. Most of it was our own doing. While I do not regret the life we have made here for you and the rest of us, there was so much that we could’ve done better. Been better. There were fifteen in our group at one…”
Jeriah returned, saying, “Mr. Glenway will see you now…and sorry about before.”
Father placed a reassuring hand on the young man’s shoulder as they walked past and entered the main office. The mayor, an older Half-elf named Edrick Glenway, stood before a slightly cluttered desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment as the pair entered. His sharp blue eyes glanced up, and he offered a welcoming nod as he turned his attention to them.
“Ah, Masters Runand and Elesandar,” He said nervously, while giving extra attention to the younger. “Good to see you both. I haven’t seen much of you since the last time you won the Equinox Dance Laurels. You were just high enough to my shoulder back then. How is your uncle Kaiyalth? Any chance he and his family will be in town? What brings you in today?”
Elec’s eyes widened, embarrassed by the older man’s use of his full forename. Father chuckled and nodded to Elec. As instructed, Elec stepped forward and gave his account of the morning’s events. He withheld mention of the relics or the Silent Ones, as both the sailor and his father recommended. Glenway leaned back to rest against his desk, a frown crossing his face as he looked to Father.
“A shipwreck? Here? That’s rare, seeing the last one was nearly three hundred years ago. You said there was one survivor?”
“Yes. A sailor. He didn’t give me his name, but he seemed stable when I left him. Lily is tending to him now.”
“Did the sailor mention the name of the ship or its purpose?”
Elec shook his head, feigning uncertainty. Glenway stroked his chin.
“He was too weak to say much. I didn’t press him, figuring his recovery was the priority.”
The mayor nodded slowly.
“You did the right thing. And the wreckage? Anything of concern there?”
“Just a ruin of a vessel. It’s scattered across the beach and half-submerged. I didn’t stay too long once I confirmed there were no other survivors.”
Glenway sighed.
“Unfortunate. I’ll send a few of the dockworkers to investigate further, maybe recover something of value or identify the ship. Thank you for stepping in, Elesandar. You’ve done more than most would.”
He paused, his gaze lingering.
“Anything else I should know about?”
Elec hesitated for the briefest of moments but maintained his composure.
“No, sir. That’s all I can report for now.”
“Very well,” Glenway said, pushing off his desk. “You’ve done well. Let me know if you hear anything more from the sailor. In the meantime, I’ll start arranging for a formal inquiry.”
With a polite nod, Elec and his father excused themselves and left the office. Father gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The weight of what Elec withheld felt tangible, but he knew the importance of keeping secret the artifacts and the truth about the Silent Ones hidden for now. Omitting the finer details would cause a longer wait for the correct officials and diminish the chance of alerting the Silent Ones. They hoped.
The pair rejoined his mother at the wagon. They rode the short distance to the Temple of Almathien, a broad building devoted to the god of Hope and Renewal. The structure displayed four tiny towers, which made Elec think it was a miniature castle when he was younger. She entered briefly and returned with the priest and a handful of clerics who quickly took the wrapped body into the temple. When the procession ended, she silently hopped back onto the wagon. Father then directed it closer to the docks, stopping by a pleasant, slightly leaning three-story building. The sign hanging near the door bore a circular painting of a ship sailing in front of a full moon, with the title “Westwind Inn” inscribed in flowing text below. Father nudged Elec’s shoulder.
“Head to the harbormaster and find out when the next ship is heading for the mainland. Your mother and I have some business to attend to now that you are leaving. We will meet up here at the inn for lunch.”
“What if the ship isn’t leaving today?” Elec asked, “Do we go back home and I wait?”
“Son, this is an adventure, not a vacation. You only come home when you have completed it or when things get so bad that you need to flee. If you return to our lands now, a few days will go by, and something new will crop up. Something pressing. Then you delay further. And further still. Eventually, the urgency fades, and the sown evil comes to fruition. The easily thwarted problem becomes a war that must be stopped at all costs. No, you have to get out there; stay at inns, camp outside, meet new people, and make new friends. Maybe meet a young lady or two.” Father said, punching his son’s shoulder lightly while Mother gave her husband a sharp glance. “Anyway, we’ll wait for you here once your preparations are complete.”
Elec’s mother took the reins and flicked them, the wagon rolling onward towards the laborers’ section of town, the pair exchanging sharp but light-hearted words. Elec walked through the bustling market square, the clinking of coins and murmurs of haggling filling the air. He stopped at Brienne’s Goods, a quaint shop he frequented, run by the young, curvy Halfling woman of the same name. Everything from mundane tools to adventuring essentials filled the shelves. While they were childhood friends, they never spent much time together, only crossing paths through mutual friends. Despite the missed opportunities, he found her attractive and wished he had the chance to spend time alone with her.
“Ga’day, Elec,” Brienne greeted warmly as he entered, standing on her stool behind the counter to meet his eye level. “What can I help ye with today? Break somebody’s bowstring again?”
“Very funny, ‘Brina,’ and it was a fishing line last time. Actually, I’m looking for a small chest with a lock,” Elec said, “Something sturdy but portable.”
“Sturdy and portable…” She said, giving him an incredulous look. “Is young ‘Sandra’ finally venturing forth from his ranch, proper? Leaving Ol’ Hintersonville, are ya?”
He chuckled at her teasing.
“I am, finally,” Elec said. “Though I am kinda sad to be going.”
“That’s understandable. So many of our friends have already gone before us, leaving folks behind. A few to the world beyond, even before we were old enough to begin to make our own choices. It’s the gravity of it all resting on ye now. Hard as it may seem, don’t be troubled too much, or you’ll miss out on life’s mysteries. Oh, cousin Holly wrote me, by the way. Said to say ‘Hello’ to you the next time you stop in. She’s still wondering when you’ll get accepted to Cyrndor.”
Elec’s smile dropped a little, and he felt heat creeping into his face as he heard the distinct way she said ‘Hello.’
“You can tell her I said ‘Hello’ as well and miss her, too. I’m beginning to think the college won’t ever accept me on account of my heritage, though.”
He felt a pang in his heart as the words left his lips. Did they know about my father’s history, he thought, is that why they refuse our appeals?
“That’s too bad, but you are finally getting off the island for once.”
Brienne hopped down, disappearing momentarily into a back room before returning with a small wooden chest reinforced with iron bands. A polished brass lock and matching key dangle from a chain around the handle.
“This one’s solid,” she said, placing it on the counter. “Perfect for keeping valuables safe, and not too heavy if ye carry it around. Ten gold pieces for the lot.” She said.
Elec examined the chest, testing the lock’s mechanism and the sturdiness of the wood.
“This is perfect, Brienne, and more than worth the gold.” Elec said. “You can put it towards my father’s account.”
“Ooooo! Shoveled a couple extra piles, have ye?” Brienne said, bringing out a ledger from under the counter.
“Ye truly have no idea.”
Laughing, he shook his head as he signed the ledger before securing the chest in his pack.
“Thanks again, Brienne,” He said, heading for the door.
“Anytime, Elec. Stay safe and come back with some good tales.”
The harbormaster’s office was a modest wooden structure overlooking the docks. Inside, the air smelled faintly of salt, aged wood, and pipe-weed. Behind a cluttered desk sat Old Hamish, a grizzled Human with a weathered face and a pipe clamped between his teeth. He glanced up as Elec entered, eyes narrowing as he puffed out a cloud of smoke.
“Afternoon, lad. You’re Runand’s boy, right? What brings you here?” Hamish said, his voice rough but not unfriendly.
Elec stepped forward, keeping his tone casual, saying.
“I am looking for passage to Valais proper and…well, my father wants me to fetch some ancient tomes from across the bay…Seems to think it’s time I had an adventure away from the ranch.”
Hamish nodded, his expression thoughtful. He took a long drag from the stem and let out a couple of puffs of pleasant, aromatic smoke as he chuckled.
“So the lad wants to spread his wings, eh? Well, let’s see what we’ve got.”
He pulled a thick registry book from a nearby shelf and flipped through its pages.
“Hmm…Most of the ships that come through here are traders or fishermen, but let’s see… Ah, here we go. The Sea Sprinter will leave for the mainland in two days. Captain Jorn’s a good man, and he’s taken passengers before.”
“Two days? That should work perfectly. Do I need to speak to the captain directly?”
“Wouldn’t hurt. He’s down at the docks, overseeing the loading of his cargo. Big, stout fellow with a red beard. You can’t miss him. Just let him know I sent you, and he’ll likely give you a fair deal for passage.”
“Thank you, Hamish. I’ll go find him now.”
As Elec turned to leave, the harbor master called after him.
“Safe travels, lad. And don’t forget where you came from, eh?”
“I won’t,” Elec said over his shoulder.
He made his way to the bustling docks, where sailors and dockhands were busy loading crates and barrels onto various ships. Amid the commotion, he spotted a towering man with a bushy red beard barking orders to a group of workers. Elec approached, and the captain watched him with hard eyes as he made his proposal.
“Miraelavar…Harbormaster Hamish said to look for me?” Jorn said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hmm. Passage to the mainland…”
Elec dipped his head in respect.
“Yes, Captain. I have the task of consulting historical documents on the mainland. My parents possess an extensive collection of ancient tomes and are ever looking for new volumes to add to it…That and my father thought it’d be an excellent opportunity for me to get off the island for a bit and see the world. I was hoping to arrange passage on your ship, the Sea Sprinter.”
Jorn stroked his beard for an exceptionally long moment, his gaze scanning Elec from head to toe. The moment lasted much longer than he liked, as the captain didn’t seem too eager for him to board.
“Expanding the library, eh? A rather mundane task, though I can’t say that it’s a hard one.” He said, gesturing toward the crates being loaded onto the ship. “Seems more like your parents are trying to get you out of their hair for a while, Elec…We’re running rather tight quarters and don’t think we can manage a passenger…but I may take you on provided you’re willing to pull your weight aboard.”
“Of course, Captain. I’m no stranger to hard work. My parents and I are ranchers.”
Jorn smirked, crossing his arms. Again, the captain regarded him with a long stretch of silence.
“Good answer…Rancher. I’ll need five silver for the berth and meals…and you’ll help with the ropes and sails and anything else needed. We leave in two days. First light. Be here on time, or we sail without you.”
“I’ll be here.”
He reached for his coin pouch, but Jorn held up a hand.
“Pay my first mate when you board, lad. Until then, keep your head down and your nose clean. The docks can be a bit of a rough place for a…a rancher, especially with word of some new shipwreck spreading.”
Elec inclined his head again.
“Understood. Thank you, Captain Jorn.”
With that, Jorn turned back to his work, barking orders to the crew. Elec returned to the inn. An enormous and unique chandelier dominated the ceiling of the main room. The light fixture had once been the sundial in the middle of the town square. Several typhoons uprooted it from its stone, the winds transporting the piece to different portions of the island each time. The last time it became wedged in the inn’s ceiling, knocking the distinct lean into the structure, where Elec and his family watched the townsfolk take it down and refit it within the establishment. Since then, it has rested there in peace, and the owner renamed the inn from the ‘Restful Inn’ to the ‘Westwind Inn’. Scattered around it were several round tables, each with four to five chairs, many of them occupied. Seated at a table near the center of the room, his parents talked avidly with an older man wearing an apron.
“Elec, there you are,” Father said, motioning for his son. “Elec, this is Daryl, son of Daryl Raelbur…fourth in the line now?”
“Pleasure to meet you again, Master Elec. You weren’t but knee-high to your father last I saw you.”
The man offered a firm handshake, and Elec saw the likeness to the portrait in the town hall. Daryl stood a head shorter than Elec, and his thick frame was rounding. His light brown hair was graying at the temples, and he wore a thick mustache. Otherwise, he was built of sturdy muscle.
“Careful with that kind of talk, though. A title like that will go to his head far too quickly than what’s healthy.” Mother chimed in with a smile.
“Elec is fine, sir,” Elec said, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“So, what is the news, Son?” Father asked.
Elec filled his parents and the innkeeper in on the developments at the docks.
“Captain Jorn…I’m not too familiar with him, but I know he frequents the island. Usually delivering orders of lumber, foodstuffs, and supplies not usually found in these parts.” Father said.
“He usually keeps to the Mariner’s Guildhall,” Daryl said. “His sailors pop in from time to time, but probably find the fare cheaper and the beds free there. Not a bad sort, but can get rowdy as most sailors do. If you’re needing board, speak to my daughter, Dalia. She’ll set you up nicely.”
At the mention of her name, the young lady looked up from her tray of cups and dishes.
“Elec, is it? I take it ye be needing a room.” She said.
The slender, dark-haired girl stood just a little shorter than her father. She effortlessly held the stacked glassware in one hand while wiping down the table next to him with a cloth.
“Yes, Miss Dalia. Just for two nights. Something modest will do.”
She moved to the bar at the far side of the common room and set the tray aside. Elec followed her as she reached under the counter, producing a small ledger.
“Two nights in the sailor’s quarters will be five silver.” She said, licking the tip of the writing stick, “They’re tidy enough, though not as fancy as the merchant’s rooms. Comes with breakfast in the morning…Oh, and Dalia is just fine, Elec.”
Dalia flashed him a wry smile as she flipped through the ledger. Elec found her quite attractive for someone not quite into her twenties, her dark brown hair spilling out from the back of a bonnet.
“Sounds perfect…Dalia.” Elec replied, fishing the coins from his pouch and handing them over.
Dalia wrote his name in the ledger and counted the silver before sliding a key across the counter.
“Room four, up the stairs and to the left. Again, if ye need anything, Elec, I’m right here. Supper’s served in the main room here at sundown, if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Climbing the stairs, he saw other patrons: a Dwarf with a tankard, two sailors playing cards, and a white-bearded Gnome talking to a Half-elf by the hearth. The Gnome, he believed he recognized from ages ago. Dov, Davion, Drake, or something similar, Elec believed his name to be. He met that Gnome when he was just a child. The small man told him fantastical stories of talking plants and animals. Elec remembered pestering his father for the next several months about becoming a druid.
None paid him much mind, more than the usual look or two, though he caught the faintest murmur about the shipwreck as he passed. The room itself was simple but clean: a sturdy bed, a small desk for writing, and a single shuttered window overlooking the murmuring street. Elec set his pack down and took a moment to collect his thoughts. He produced his journal and wrote. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. The wreckage. The survivor. Lily. His parents sorted history with the town and beyond. Despite not having left his hometown, he found everything utterly strange. In a way, he felt a little saddened, as if he were losing out on a new aspect of his island right as he was leaving. He took the artifacts and placed them within the lockbox, securing it with the key. After settling his belongings, Elec headed back down to the inn’s main room.
Next – Chapter 6 – Darkening Morning
Copyright © 4 June 2026 James Christopher Gilliam
All rights reserved.
James C Gilliam 