The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

could tell by the way Seto looked around; his eyes were heavy with the kind of distrust and scorn often reserved for foreigners. In some ways Ulam could not fault Seto for his behavior, especially considering he was the Head of the Council Guards and it was his duty to protect all of Yawan. He also wondered if salacious rumors had spread while the party was gone, rumors particularly about his wife running off into the desert with a certain Emberi. Gossip spreads in a barracks just as quickly as it does in a tavern. Perhaps he is simply releasing his frustrations less destructively?

“We were caught in an ash storm, dear Husband,” Kona replied while wrapping an arm around Seto, her voice as sweet as honey, “and my new friend Nilawen was badly injured by a wayward stone. We found shelter in some caves near the mountains and when she was healthy and able, we came back.”

Not technically a lie, Ulam thought as he watched the exchange, but also not the complete truth. It does not matter, I suppose.

“Your wife saved my life,” Nilawen added as she pointed to the spot on her head where the stone had struck her. “I am forever in her debt.”

Seto examined Nilawen’s forehead, his expression softening as he watched her trace the mark with a finger. He then looked at each member of the group one more time, asking Mazargo about his role in everything, before returning his attention to his wife. “Very well. I apologize; you know how I fear for the welfare of every denizen in Yawan, yours most of all. Come, tell me more of your journey.”

Seto’s unit accompanied them to Yawan, the scene drawing the interest of every bystander in the area. Farmers, traders, and their families lined the street, the spectacle a welcome break from their monotonous lives. Seto, Kona, and Nilawen acted as the joint marshals of this impromptu parade, with the others lingering in the back. Occasionally Ulam would hear a word or two shared between Seto and Kona, but mostly their conversation was drowned out by the constant hum of the city and the synchronized thudding of boots on the stone pavement. To Ulam’s left Amantius said nothing, his foster-brother’s eyes focused on the lime green cape of the guard in front of him. Meanwhile on his other side was Mazargo, whose head would not stop swiveling.

“Mazargo has not seen Yawan in quite some time,” the Mwai said as he smelled a flower from a drooping vine. “He forgot how colorful this city is.”

Ulam lifted an eyebrow. “Do you not live here?”

“Mazargo’s house is here,” he replied, “but he does not live here. Mazargo is a citizen of the Alakuum, and someday he hopes the entire world.”

He reminds me of myself when I lived in Accaria, Ulam thought, remembering the wanderlust that burned deep in his soul throughout his years in the idyllic island kingdom, except he is surrounded by a sea of ash.

As they approached a fork in the road the column stopped marching, Kona and Seto separating from the group. “This is where we say goodbye,” she said with a bittersweet tone. “Our home is down this road, Tomo’s is the other way. If he asks about my payment tell him I will be around in a few days; I will be trying to make up lost time with my loving husband, as well as attempting to rest.”

Kona then bowed to Mazargo and Ulam, saying her farewells. She hesitated as she turned to Amantius, their gazes conveying very different messages to one another. Ulam could see the sadness in her eyes, as well as the disappointment arising from their unresolved issues. Meanwhile, Amantius’ face was unrelenting in its stoicism, a shield of emotion he harnessed to protect his true feelings. There was so much pressure at that moment that Kona turned away without bowing or speaking, quickly disappearing down a different street with her husband in tow.

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Nilawen said. “They invited me to dinner tonight. Seto, of all people, has an interest in theater.”

In the blink of an eye, Nilawen vanished into the maze of mudbrick homes, chasing after Seto and Kona. With Kona and Nilawen departing, this left Amantius, Ulam, and Mazargo to bring Tomo the entire supply of black dragonroot, which they did with considerable griping. After completing their delivery and enjoying their first homecooked meal in weeks, Ulam turned to Mazargo and said, “I assume you will be returning home soon?”

Mazargo shrugged. “Perhaps. To be honest, Mazargo does not remember where his house is. Yawan is too big of a city for him to remember such things.”

Ulam and Amantius shared a puzzled look. “You do not know where your house is?”

“Remember, friend,” the mage said with a mischievous smile, “Mazargo has a really bad memory.”

An image of a shocked and horrified Mazargo holding the shattered powerstone flashed in Ulam’s mind, and he roared with laughter.

Epilogue

Translating this book was quite difficult, not only because of the events and emotions tied to them, but also many words in this volume have no perfect translation into our modern tongue. For instance, there is no equivalent to Nogoon in our language, and by the time I learned its meaning I had used it a half dozen times. Of course, I could simply replace the pages which bore the word, but paper is not easily accessible when one is traveling upon the high seas.

The route I took from Silverwater to Yawan followed the southern coast of Qerus, passing many of the more industrialized ports on the continent. While to many these metropolises are a thing of marvel, the golden beacon of progress, I find those factory towers spewing black smoke into the sky to be rather repulsive. Sure, there are jobs aplenty in this part of the world, especially for those who have no qualms returning home covered in soot, but I often wonder at what cost. Will we