1 Chapter 1 - Part 1

//This is a slow burn book that focuses on characters above all! Enjoy!

Ermos

"Faster, Pash! Use those legs of yours!" Ermos shouted.

For the third time that month, gambling had left Ermos completely naked. He rode away on his treasured white stallion while his apprentice struggled to keep up on foot.

They set off side by side. Pash ran on the tips of his toes, a monstrous backpack strapped to his shoulders, his arms pumping back and forth.

It took less than a moment for his naked master to leave him in the dust, but he was a diligent pupil, and he struggled onwards, red-faced and panting, running in his very upright manner, bringing his knees high with each stride.

When they reached the first bend in the winding country road that connected Duskvale and Bonefort, Ermos pulled tight the reins of his horse and brought the animal to a halt, allowing Pash due time to catch up.

His loyal apprentice had fallen rather far behind. His backpack was even bigger than he was. In it, he carried everything he and his master owned. It was meant to be training for the armour that he one day sought to wear in battle, but the weight of it had long since tripled that.

He came staggering over uneven cobblestone, metal pans clanging together with each step he took.

"Do… Do you think… they noticed us..?" Pash asked through ragged breath as he rested with his hands on his knees.

Ermos could only shrug at that. "It doesn't matter either way. They've told me I'm not allowed back." He was feeling incredibly bitter about the whole thing. "I need clothes."

Pash dropped his backpack to the floor with an audible thud and he rooted through the back pocket for a fresh set of robes for his master. "Here," he said.

Ermos grabbed them wordlessly and went into the long roadside grass to change. Being summer as it was, the wild grass had grown even higher than a man. It would not take much to get lost in it. He shrugged his robe over his shoulders and folded it at the chest. Every motion was an effort. With his sombre mood, he had not the energy for even the simplest of tasks.

A drunken song was being sung in the distance. With each passing moment, it grew louder and louder as the drunkard grew closer to them. With a curse, Ermos started to dress himself a little faster, wishing that they had travelled a little further away. It was not long until the nuisance made himself known.

"Oh my, oh my indeed. What a fine horse you have there, lad. Yours is it?" The drunk slurred, stopping to chat a short distance away from where Ermos was dressing. Ermos quickly finished by tying his cloth belt tight around his waist and shoving his sword through it.

"It's mine," Ermos said, emerging from the grass, giving the drunk quite a start. Pash had been patiently holding his master's sandals. He handed them to him when he neared.

"Oh, that makes more sense to me," the drunk said, recovering from his surprise, "such a fine animal couldn't belong to a youngster. Tell me, good sir, could I perhaps interest you in a trade? I've gone and got myself too drunk. I fear the walk home will be the death of me. But with a good horse between my legs, why, it'd be over in no time."

Ermos looked him up and down as he slid his sandals onto his feet. The man was old and his face as red as a cherry, a drunkard by habit it seemed. His clothes were not that of a wealthy man, and they were rather soiled still. "You can not match its worth," Ermos said dismissively, eager to be on his way.

"Ah, I wouldn't be so sure," the man said. He spoke with a confidence that made Ermos pause. Pash was glaring at the drunk with an aggressiveness, warning away the nuisance from his master. The drunk crouched down to the surface of the road, running his hand through the loose stones.

Then he stood up, cleared his throat and reached deep into his sleeves. When he uncurled his clenched fists, he revealed two ordinary road stones. "Magic stones!" He declared with a wide trader's smile.

Ermos paused, transfixed. His face fell into seriousness. With a finger on his chin, he thought very carefully. "These wouldn't be similar to magic beans, would they?" He asked slowly, not allowing himself to get too excited too quickly.

The drunkard tutted at that, as though the very thought insulted him. "No! This here is grey gold! A foreigner gave them to me, a Sunlander, and I had it checked with a priest. These are what he claimed them to be: keys to the Stone Tree! Imagine the wealth that sits inside! It would be enough to set a man up for centuries," he illustrated his words with a point of his finger. There, in the distance, loomed the highest point in all of the Slash, a towering stone relic from the age of the Teachers. Wherever one went, it would always be there, quietly watching.

He held Ermos' attention entirely, but Ermos did not let the interest show on his face. "Why have you not made use of them?" He asked calmly.

"I planned to," the drunkard insisted, his sly grin growing with each passing second, "but then I thought about it a little more. What good is a little wealth if I'm dead? I've no skill with the sword, no armour to protect me. But for a chevalar like yourself… it might be a different story."

"It might be," Ermos agreed lightly.

"…You have no interest in them then?" The man asked, seeming disappointed by Ermos' lack of reaction. "Very well." He slid them back into his sleeve.

"I did not say that," Ermos said, holding a hand up to slow him. The man paused. Ermos' hand went to his chin again, and he made a show of deep thought, though he had already made his decision. "…You have a deal."

Two plain stones were placed in his hand as a result of those words. A few minutes later, he had lost his horse as well. He was left standing in the middle of the road, hands by his side, far poorer than when had set out that morning, but, for the first time in a while, he had a degree of hope.