Page 28 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter One

Welborn

T here was no avoiding it, Welborn Larokson was absolutely going to barf.

It was a bit ironic given he had spent months at sea.

Despite the warnings from the worldly sailors of Port Vurbali, Welborn had handled the treacherous waters of the Grey Depths with little trouble.

No matter how much the ship had swayed, no matter how much the waters had tossed and turned, Welborn’s stomach had been more than agreeable.

Even in the middle of a storm, Welborn had handled his faculties with all the grace and patience of any cleric.

So, why must it be a box of metal that ruins my constitution, All Seer?

Welborn pressed his gloved hand to his stomach, sinking deeper into the passenger seat of the train.

Behind the round frames of his glasses, yellow eyes stared out the window, trying to find something in the desolate landscape to make a suitable horizon.

It was a trick his father had taught him when Welborn was younger and it typically worked, but a train was vastly different than a ship .

The harsh landscape was vastly different from the Chroma Coast of Welborn’s youth.

Instead of the aquamarine waters, pink tinted sand, and bright flowers, the Vyrthsalins wilderness had been a bit shocking.

Deep greenery as far as the eye could see, overcast, and dreary without a bit of sun.

That had quickly changed over the course of the trip.

If Welborn were to describe it to his father, he would have most certainly said it was dry and dusty.

Far in the distance were long plateaus of golden-orange with sparse sharp, dry-looking plants.

It was beautiful and, ordinarily, Welborn’s curious mind would urge his fingers to dig out his sketchbook from his pack.

Perhaps sketch a few of the local flora and fauna, or write down notes to be explored later.

However, if Welborn dared move his hand from his abdomen, there would be no holding back his simple breakfast of dried fruit, nuts, and questionable stale bread.

Maybe stop looking at the moving world.

Welborn turned his gaze forward. The small corridor cabin was humble, meant for folks traveling with little but the clothes on their back.

Simple, plain wooden interior with matching benches that did little for Welborn’s behind.

He supposed he should have been thankful that he hadn’t had to travel on foot but having both his feet firmly planted on the ground was, well, grounding .

At least he didn’t have to worry if the world was going to spin every time he took a step.

He supposed he looked a little out of place.

Most of the passengers on the train were dressed in simple traveler’s clothes.

Welborn wasn’t anywhere close to being wealthy, but he was clearly someone who had—at least once—had access to a bit of gold.

His clothing wasn’t as worn or hard-traveled as the other passengers; not a sign of a torn sleeve or straggly thread .

Beneath the black vestments was a breastplate made of decent metal.

Welborn had saved every bit of coin he could get his hands on and promptly gave every piece to the blacksmith along the Chroma Coast. The satyr woman had been more than fair, creating armor that had served Welborn through his growth spurt.

His father, Larok, was a broad orc man whom Welborn remembered following around their humble home at a young age.

He could easily lift Welborn’s mother with one arm and his brother with the other.

Welborn would wrap his thin arms around Larok’s neck, and his father would carry his family down to their dining table for breakfast. His father’s booming resonance would enrapture Welborn with stories of their family’s history.

His mother’s melodic voice would intertwine as she would reach across their humble table.

Her gentle hands would ruffle his dark brown hair, affection shining in her dark brown eyes.

Boone was a hard act to follow. He was everything Welborn had admired in their father growing up.

And despite sharing different mothers, Boone never made Welborn feel less than just because his ancestry was mixed.

If anything, it was their ten year age difference that made things a bit more challenging.

A ten year old could hardly play with a newborn and a twenty year old had little in common with a ten year old.

Yet, Boone was a dedicated family man, through and through.

When he had decided to strike it out on his own, Boone had promised to send coin home.

It was that same gold that had afforded their family to move to Port Vurbali.

That had paid for Welborn’s tutor, and had given him access to the All Seer Temple in the Blessed District.

A combination of Boone’s hard work, gold, and luck had given Welborn the opportunity to be one of the few clerics chosen by the All Seer Temple.

The Scribe—the highest ranking cleric of the All Seer in all of the continent of Auslon—had chosen him to expand the All Seer’s message.

To help the High Cleric, Gnaul Swath, open a new temple to the All Seer.

The fact that Boone happened to be in the same city that Welborn was headed to, well, that had been a bonus.

Beneath the awful churning of his stomach and the vague taste of bile at the back of his throat, Welborn was excited to see his brother.

His letters were never really detailed—Welborn had long figured out that Boone’s priority had been to make sure he and his father were taken care of.

Outside of a few vague references, Welborn wasn’t certain what his brother had been up to.

Boone lived in Irongarde, the second largest city in all of Vyrthsalis.

As the name suggested, the city was founded as a mining town that quickly blossomed into a prosperity.

Over the last few decades the city had created it’s railroad system, allowing travelers all over the world to seek their fortunes.

Boone had been no different, though Welborn wasn’t certain if his older brother had meant to stay in Irongarde as long as he had.

I wonder if I could persuade Boone to go back with me and visit Father once I’ve settled into the sanctum?

Welborn’s musings were short lived as something caught his attention.

In the corner of his vision, a fire helfen woman and a small child sat down beside him.

The journey by train often made passengers restless and many of them had gotten up to stretch their legs.

The helfen woman and child had the same shade of dark brown skin, indicating a familial relationship.

Ember-like glow—freckles, Welborn realized—adorned both their cheeks with matching red braids, the ends gently burning against their shoulders .

He was so distracted by the heat radiating off of mother and child, that Welborn hadn’t realized the woman had been talking to him at first. It was in a language Welborn wasn’t familiar with, deep and thunderous, like the sound of lava against rock.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not native to whatever tongue you’re using,” Welborn said in familiar speech.

It was the universal language, one meant to unite all walks of life.

Welborn wasn’t certain what skilled linguist had a hand in its creation, but the Scribe in Port Vurbali often credited the All Seer’s divine inspiration for it.

Though the origin was shrouded in mystery, the language was easy to teach as well as learn.

Easily adapted into the world, regardless of anyone’s ancestry.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Forgive me, you have similar features to earth helfen. I wrongly assumed we were kin.”

Welborn wasn’t surprised. He had often been mistaken for earth helfen growing up. His mother had been human and her ancestry had gifted Welborn with light green ombre skin. The depth of shades mimicked some of the earth helfen’s ancestry, but Welborn lacked the rock-like skin the earth helfen had.

“It’s understandable,” Welborn said—more apologetic sounding than was probably appropriate. “It happens more often than you think. I’m actually an orc.”

Half orc, Welborn’s mind reminded him, before his father’s voice chimed in. You aren’t half of anything. You’re my son, which makes you an orc. Period.

“Still, it was wrong of me to assume,” the woman said, bowing her head slightly. “I apologize for any trouble I’ve caused you. ”

“Ah, no need to apologize!” Welborn brought his hands up, waving them helplessly. “It was a genuine mistake! Like you said, you thought I was one of your people!”

Yet the traitorous, insecure voice inside Welborn’s mind was quick to point out his faults. Welborn didn’t have the same tusks that his father and brother had. His were smaller, the tips barely brushing against his upper lip. He could easily hide them by shifting his jaw.

“Well, if you are ever a visitor to Dreadflats, you’re more than welcome to stay with my family.” The woman raised a hand, stalling Welborn’s protest. “It’s the least I can do after my error in social graces.”

Reluctantly, Welborn caved, agreeing to the woman’s offer with an awkward smile. He appreciated her kindness, but it didn’t sit right with Welborn to impose on a woman he just met.

“I’m Welborn. Welborn Larokson.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I am Cavila and this is my daughter, Suri,” the woman said, placing a gentle hand upon the child’s head. Suri’s hair flickered, as if the flame recognized the touch. “We’re traveling home. Suri and I were visiting your Uncle Kur’el, weren’t we, Suri?”

Suri was young, perhaps seven or eight if Welborn had to guess by human or orc standards.

Every person’s ancestry was a little different.

Elves lived the longest, goblins the shortest; it stood to good reason that helfen were no different.

There was a youthfulness to Suri that indicated that she still needed her mother to attend to her.

The little girl nodded, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak.

“What brings you this way?” Cavila asked .

Welborn glanced at his outfit again. He suppose the all black getup didn’t really scream cleric—or perhaps it screamed the kind of cleric that worshiped an entirely different god.

The emblem of the All Seer was attached to his collar, the cool stone rested at the base of his throat.

A triangular shaped piece of sea glass strung together with a simple leather cord.

It was a beautiful shade of sapphire, the same blue that was used in the All Seer banner back in Port Vurbali.

At the center of the precious stone was a gaping hole.

It wasn’t ostentatious like some of the other gods symbols, but the All Seer wasn’t about the ornate.

“I’ve been sent on assignment. I’ll be assisting the High Cleric of the All Seer in Irongarde. We’ll be establishing a new temple,” Welborn explained. “I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“The All Seer… that’s one of the newer gods, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The All Seer was officially recognized twenty-years ago on several continents, but they’ve been around for much longer than that.

The All Seer is the god of curiosity, knowledge, teaching, and truths.

” Welborn lifted the emblem, holding it delicately in his gloved hand so Suri could see the sea glass.

“Isn’t that pretty, Suri?” the mother asked.

The little girl nodded, reaching but her mother gently pushed her hands away.

“Not yet, little spark,” Cavila said. “She’s learned a lot, but when she’s excited, she can’t control the flame. We’ve had a few melting accidents over the past few years.”

A bit of smoke escaped Suri’s mouth in a huff before it settled into a disappointed pout.

Cavila apologetically hugged her daughter and as she murmured words of comfort, Welborn’s pointed ears picked up a strange sound.

He slowly turned his head, peering down the long stretch of the cabin past the heads of the other passengers.

What was that? I could have sworn it sounded like—

A loud bang rang out over the sound of the train.

Oh, no.