The Exiled King

Chapter 8 - A Brewing Storm

The quiet rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds greeted the three travellers upon entry to the Ahyeld forest. Sunlight flitted through the bright green leaves, casting shadowy patterns upon the mossy forest floor. A pale glimmer of light suffused the entire forest, illuminating the emerald leaves and vines, giving it an airy feeling. Had they not been in such a hurry, the trio might have stopped to appreciate the view.

They travelled north and the nearest town was Doxford - three days' ride from the Throeyns territory. The Ahyeld forest wrapped around the north and north-western sides of Sanobar, protecting the inner kingdom. Travelling through it was the only way to make it to the northern mountains - and beyond those, the coastline bordering the Great Sea, which stretched between Sanobar and Silvardor, the home of the elves.

Having searched the saddle bags the first evening into their travels, they discovered only enough food packed for one person for one day. Divided in three rations, it lasted one meal. Though the forest was teeming with life in the warm spring weather, none of them knew how to hunt - a practice forbidden to anyone but the lord of the lands, and they had been unable to secure any food. Thankfully the lush forest had no shortage of streams and the trio found themselves not lacking water.

"Our only solution," Leus said, "Is to ride as fast as we can to Doxford. We can go for a few days without food - we have plenty of water, after all. It's not going to be comfortable, but no one ever said being a fugitive would be fun."

Lirya and Jason nodded and they picked up the pace.

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As the sun set on the third day of travel, the three weary fugitives rode into Doxford. A mid-sized town, it had a stone wall surrounding the entirety of the town and a large wooden gate that could be closed, allowing some protection in the case of an attack. The wall was crumbling in disrepair, for it had been built in the early days and remained as more a symbolic relic than a true protective gate.

A little way into the town and a haze of smoke clouded the air, livestock wandered freely and people moved about. As the town nearest the northern mountains, it was a bustling center of commerce. Since the treaty of peace was negotiated between humans and elves, an uneasy and fragile friendship had built up between the two races - and elves often frequented the coastal towns of Sanobar. At the market in the center of the town, elven vendors sold their wares next to human ones and although most areas of Sanobar harbored prejudices against elves, the northern towns had relaxed those old traditions.

Leus guided Lirya and Jason through the crowd and led them to a corner of the town, where a row of taverns and inns and other houses of ill-repute stood. Tucked in between a brothel and a tavern was a dingy little inn. A wooden sign with cracked paint and a vague visage of a pig with wings dubbed the place 'The Flying Pig'.

"I'm sorry I have to bring you to this place, Lirya," Leus apologized, "But I'm afraid our funds don't stretch much farther than that until we sell the horses."

She shrugged, "I'm so tired now that I couldn't care less if I was sleeping on the dirt floor as long as it's warm and safe."

Jason nodded, "I feel the same. This place seems safe enough... How much money do we have?"

Leus opened a small pouch by his waist and drew out a small quantity of coins minted in bronze, silver and gold. He counted ten bronze coins, four silver and a single gold coin.

Leus sighed, "We only have one gold gylin and not a single iron damaii to our name. It won't take us far..."

"Not far?!" Jason exclaimed, "Most people never have more than bronze brynus and silver seguns in their entire lives! At most, a decent inn might charge two silver for a night per person, but a gylin is worth fifteen seguns!"