To the left, a young man in the now familiar garb of Cahrdyarein’s soldiers sat slumping atop a large stone at the base of a staircase hugging the wall. It was clear the guard was asleep, but Keiron didn’t seem too concerned about it. Keiron let go of Jahrra’s hand and marched over, dropping his palm heavily onto the snoozing soldier’s shoulder. The young Resai elf woke with a snort, flailing his arms and legs about as he tried to appear alert.
“Stay up too late last night, Farros? I hear Temper’s Alehouse has extended its hours.”
The soldier, Farros, blinked up at Keiron, his helmet disguising most of his face. He then glanced over at Jahrra before blushing and dropping his head.
“I’m only joking!” Keiron insisted, giving him another good-natured shove. “But truly, if the Crimson King’s men managed to scale the wall on this side of the city, we’d be doomed by now, for they would have slipped right past you.”
Farros kept his head lowered in shame as Jahrra followed after Keiron.
“Is it really acceptable for him to be sleeping while on guard duty like that?” Jahrra asked as they began their ascent up the stairs.
Keiron shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Only those properly trained in combat are given posts on the wall. Those who are just joining ranks, or who are being punished for some infraction, are posted at the base of the stairs.”
“How many sets of stairs are there?” Jahrra asked.
“One for every quarter mile.”
Halfway up the wall, they came upon a narrow stone landing. Keiron stopped and glanced out over the edge, inviting Jahrra to join him.
“And how many miles does the wall cover?” Jahrra asked.
Keiron furrowed his brow in thought. “Just under ten, I believe.”
“So I’m guessing we won’t walk the entire wall.”
Keiron grinned again and shook his head. “Not today.”
They climbed the second set of stairs and breached the top of the wall. The first thing that struck Jahrra was just how wide the space on top was. A black stone road of sorts stretched sixty feet or more between the crenellations, and just as Keiron had promised, pairs of uniformed soldiers walked to and fro, their blue cloaks like banners fluttering behind them. Every hundred feet or so, watchtowers resembling giant rooks from a chess board stood perched on the wall’s edge. Where they stood now, the wall ran east and west, curving around the mountain peak but remaining relatively level from what she could tell.
Keiron reached out a hand and invited Jahrra to peer beyond the opposite edge. Reluctantly, she made her way over, the latest pair of soldiers to walk by eyeing her curiously for only a moment before returning their attentions to their duty.
“Is it safe to be near the edge?” Jahrra whispered.
Keiron only grinned and gave her a small nod. “It’s perfectly safe. Arinel over there informed me the Red Flange retreated behind the far bend in the road shortly after the dragon Jaax blasted them with his fire. They have not spotted them since.”
Telling herself she was just being overly paranoid, Jahrra inched closer to the edge, then gasped when she looked down. The drop had to be at least a hundred feet on the outer side of the wall, if not more.
“Don’t focus on the height,” Keiron chastised. “Look.”
He pointed out over the landscape at the mountains stretching far into the distance, while at the same time placing his free hand just above the small of her back. Jahrra swallowed her nervousness at his forwardness and used the view as a distraction. She could see even more from this location than the fortress the night before.
Once they had their fill of the view, Jahrra and Keiron stepped away from the edge and headed east along the top of the wall. They took their time walking, Keiron describing life in Cahrdyarein, Jahrra telling him a little about her own adventures. She was always careful to keep her details as vague and broad as possible. Keiron had an easy, charismatic nature, and Jahrra felt, on more than one occasion, the desire to pour her heart out to him. But she had made a promise to Jaax, and she was determined to keep it.
A little before noon, the regent’s son led her back to one of the staircases so they could descend into the city once more. They took another small road, this time climbing back uphill. More of the shops and living quarters Jahrra had grown familiar with crowded the roads, but as the peak of the mountain loomed ever nearer, the buildings became less cramped and more spread out. At some point, they crossed the main road that wound around the mountain, and once on the other side, Keiron headed north up a walking path that cut between a collection of small businesses. On the other side, there spread a great field with several fenced off areas. Jahrra’s skin prickled when she recognized the familiar clash of metal and twang of bowstrings. At last, the practice yard!
Men and women, and even some boys and girls, were scattered about the field, taking part in mock battle against one another. Farther down the slope and creeping into a thick copse of trees were the archers, aiming their arrows at hay bales placed strategically between the trunks of the pines.
A cluster of buildings, some more than one or two stories high, nestled snuggly against a slab of granite large enough to dominate the skyline.
“My home is just around the other side of that monolith,” Keiron said with pride.
Jahrra nodded, for she thought she could see the white flash of the waterfall between a collection of granite spires and pines.
“Keiron!” someone roared from the closest practice ring. “Where have you been?”
A Resai elf, taller than Keiron by a head and probably a dozen years or so older, came sauntering over, his chainmail clinking with the rhythm of his steps. He gave off a wave of pent up energy and youthful vigor, and if not for the crooked smile half hidden by his nose guard, Jahrra would have suspected he meant trouble.
The elf came to the edge of the fence and stopped, his eyes widening when he took in Jahrra.
“Well, well, well,” he crooned, turning his aggression down a notch. “I can see you were busy. Though, I must warn you, if you spend all of your time wooing the ladies, you’ll never become skilled enough to beat me!”
“Pendric, I can defeat you in my sleep, with both my legs broken,” Keiron boasted back.
The boisterous Resai elf, Pendric, roared with laughter and slapped the plate armor covering his thigh.
Jahrra jumped at the action, her instincts pushing her into a defensive stance.
“Enough of this banter! Do introduce me to this fine young woman.”
He turned his head and smiled at her, his infectious good humor radiating from him like the heat of the sun.
Jahrra had never received so much attention from young men in her life, and she didn’t know how to compose herself. She wondered if there was something in the air in Cahrdyarein that didn’t affect those in the lower elevations.
“Jahrra, meet Pendric, the most stubborn, and most irritating, captain of the guard you might ever be unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon.”
Jahrra’s eyebrows rose with surprise. This was Morivan’s captain of the guard? But, he was so young! Older than herself and Keiron, yes, but still young. Then, she had to remind herself he was a Resai elf and could very well be fifty. Still, she had a feeling he wasn’t. He acted like a teenage boy: confident, loud and boastful.
Pendric crossed his arms and snorted, the metal of his armor making more noise than the practice field behind him.
“Once she gets to know me, she’ll change her mind,” he drawled.
Pendric swiftly removed his helmet and one of his gauntlets, taking Jahrra’s hand in his.