Trying Out Tolkien Part IV

I can’t tell anymore if this is still Tolkien-esque, it reminds me more of David Edding and his series of the Belgariad. But we’ll see, if you can’t tell, I’m really enjoying myself (fantasy has always been such a fun thing to write) Anyways, enjoy

Description: What will the caravan hold for Evan?

Evan stepped into the van, feeling both the strange sensation of nervous excitement and a looming fear of discovery. He exhibited neither. Walking into the dark interior, he squinted to see ahead. Attempting to ignore  his fleeting sense of urgency, he could make out a table with several men lounging about. Smoke floated lazily up to the ceiling and swirled around with no real intent. The air seemed hot and burdened. Candles reduced themselves to a hazy reminder of light while the eyes of men glinted in the darkness, observing their new companion.

The young boy, merely a child in their eyes, looked scrawny. Although he exerted an air of confidence, any thief, traveler or stranger worth a damn knew fear when he saw it. Feeling a pang of pity, the man closest to the stranger clapped a hand out in front for a brief introduction.

“The name’s Talano, kid.”

The apprentice panicked. He had not picked out a fake name to use yet, but in the interest of keeping up his front, he searched his mind and quickly spat out

“Jeron”

He could have kicked himself. The larger man raised no eyebrows, he supposed it was normal for names to be abnormal when you travelled with a caravan. Walking to the back and sitting down, he made no sounds and blended into the background. It was only hours later, as he drifted off into an uneasy slumber that he realized one of the men smoking stared straight at him with a contemplative look on his face.

The caravans movements jostled him into the world of the living, both the steady clops of horse hooves as well as the absence of smoke as  the men operated as one unit shaking up awake. He clutched the arms of the chair he sat in with a white knuckled grip. The last time that he had travelled in a caravan was so many years ago, he barely remembered them at all. As he stretched his arms and looked around, he soon began to believe he was the only one still sleeping. Chagrined, he made to stand, until a steady hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Steady. They don’t need all of us working a shift, the next time will be yours just as well”

Slowly turning his head, he saw the eyes of the man staring at him from yesterday. Dressed in a heavy cloak, the mans face was covered in more shadow than light, and his hand was like a vice.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of acquaintance” the stranger smoothly continued, “I’m Ipsil, trader in cloths and spices.”

“Jeron” said Evan again, feeling a bit of familiarity rise as he said the name for a second time, reaffirming its place as his identity, “Just a traveler” he added hastily, seeing the eyebrows raise on Ipsil’s face.

“One is so rarely just a traveler these days” the man mused, sitting down next to him, “Especially one so young and tasked. You seem troubled, friend. Surely there is something you wish to unload?”

“No, nothing” he said stiffly, “I am nothing more than a sole traveller, intent of seeing the world”

“Strange. From what you carry in both your cloak and on your belt, I’d say otherwise”

Evan was quick to the jump. Years of training should have done their work as he swiftly unsheathed his sword to threaten the other man. But before he could make the move, he felt a sudden wash of calm settle over him and found it difficult, no – impossible to move. Ipsil continued to observe him, and leaned forward with a pleasant voice.

“You didn’t think you could just threaten me, did you? No, Evan, we have many things to discuss, and I have no intention of being interrupted for any of it”

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