The Rising Sun

The Rising Sun

The first rays of dawn filtered through the dense clouds that had long accompanied Carlia’s ride. As the storm broke, a fiery sunrise illuminated the eastern sky, bathing the sprawling grasslands in hues of gold and copper. The world seemed to awaken in perfect harmony as ShadowMare, her hooves barely disturbing the surface of the now-calm river, galloped northward with unyielding speed. The mist hung low over the water, swirling in delicate eddies around them, as if the river itself recognized the power of this pair and respectfully parted in their wake.

Carlia breathed deeply, taking in the beauty of the morning—a stark contrast to the violent storm of the night before. The rolling grasslands to the east seemed endless, a sea of golden waves, while the dark expanse of the western forests loomed mysterious, their depths untouched by the dawn. The forest clung to its shadows as if resisting the light. Fish, startled by ShadowMare’s swift movements across the water, leaped from the river, their silver bodies momentarily catching the morning sun before disappearing into the depths again.

“I didn’t think anything could make this place more beautiful,” Carlia said aloud, her voice swallowed by the vastness of the landscape. ShadowMare’s ears twitched, a subtle acknowledgment of Carlia’s words. Carlia found herself smiling, an odd, comforting feeling settling over her as she rode. It was as if she wasn’t alone anymore—ShadowMare was more than just a steed; she was a companion, one who understood without words.

By noon, the mist had lifted, and the river ran clear beneath them. Ahead, to the east, Carlia spotted a faint, dusty path weaving along the edge of the grasslands, the Merchant’s Road. She knew the road led to towns and villages, places where they could not go unnoticed if they continued to gallop openly along the river.

“Let’s take the road,” Carlia whispered, leaning forward to pat ShadowMare’s sleek neck. “We’ll attract less attention that way.”

As if understanding perfectly, ShadowMare veered to the east, her hooves now thundering across the dirt road instead of the water’s surface. Carlia could feel the shift beneath her—the road had its own rhythm, and ShadowMare danced effortlessly with it, her movements never faltering. They passed caravans and fellow travelers, each one turning in astonishment to watch the black mare and her rider blur past them. Carlia couldn’t help but laugh, a sound of pure exhilaration bubbling up within her. There was no fear in their ride, only the joy of speed and freedom.

“Did you see their faces?” she called to ShadowMare, her laughter rising. “They looked like they’d seen a ghost!” ShadowMare’s ears flicked back as if she, too, found the reactions amusing. The Bard of Shaalizar was known for her wit and charm, and it seemed fitting now that even the moments of surprise and curiosity from those they passed only added to the lightness of their ride.

By mid-afternoon, the landscape began to change. The road gently descended into a wide valley, and Carlia could see farmland stretching for miles ahead. Crops were ripening in the fields, and the smell of fresh-tilled earth hung in the warm air. A village came into view, nestled between the grasslands and the river, small but bustling with activity.

Carlia took in the scene before her, speaking aloud to ShadowMare as she had grown accustomed to during their journey. “It’s a farming town,” she observed, pointing to the fields where workers were gathering the last of the season’s harvest. “Fishing too,” she continued, noticing the small boats tied along the riverbank. “And over there, see? A lumber mill—those ships out there must be built by that little shipwright’s shop.”

ShadowMare slowed as they approached the outskirts of the town, her pace more measured now. The village wasn’t large—perhaps a thousand people—but it was well-kept. Sturdy wooden buildings lined the main street, with the largest structure in the center being a massive tavern. “The Rugged Mule Tavern,” Carlia muttered to herself, the scent of cooked meats wafting out from the open doors and windows, making her stomach rumble. She also noted the barracks nearby, clearly built for the town’s modest militia, but it seemed peaceful here. A hardworking town, content with its simple life.

Children darted in and out of the streets, playing games and chasing one another. Several times, ShadowMare stopped abruptly, careful not to hurt anyone as the children ran in front of them, oblivious to the imposing presence of the black mare. Their laughter echoed through the streets, drawing the attention of townsfolk who stopped to stare at the strange pair approaching.

They were drawing attention, but not the kind Carlia had feared. Instead of suspicion, there was curiosity in the eyes of the villagers. Perhaps it was ShadowMare’s unusual grace, or the aura of Carlia herself, the famed Bard of Shaalizar, though they likely didn’t know who she was. It didn’t matter. They were seen, acknowledged, and accepted in this peaceful place.

ShadowMare came to a stop near the horse rail outside the tavern, her large frame dwarfing the other horses tied nearby. Carlia sat still for a moment, the weight of the journey finally catching up with her. The exhaustion settled into her bones, and she realized just how sore she had become from the hours of hard riding.

“I need to rest,” she said softly to ShadowMare, more for herself than the mare.

ShadowMare snorted in response, her eyes following Carlia as the rider slid off the saddle and landed on the ground with a wince. Carlia stretched, feeling the tension in her muscles, her legs stiff and aching. She glanced back at ShadowMare. “You’ll be okay here for a bit, right?”

The black mare nodded—well, it was more of a dip of the head, but the intention was clear. Then, to Carlia’s surprise, ShadowMare gestured toward the door of the tavern with her head, almost as if she were urging Carlia to go inside.

A smile tugged at Carlia’s lips. “Guess you know what I need better than I do.” She gave ShadowMare a final pat before turning toward the immense building before her. The sounds of people eating, talking, and laughing spilled out from the open windows. Somewhere deep within, she heard the faint plucking of a lute, a tune that seemed to carry with it a promise of warmth and comfort.

Carlia’s legs felt heavy as she climbed the steps of the Rugged Mule Tavern. Her body begged for rest, but her spirit was lifted by the simple joy of a good meal and music. As she reached the top step, she paused for a moment, looking back at ShadowMare, who stood watching her from the rail, calm and vigilant.

With a final deep breath, Carlia stepped inside, letting the warmth of the tavern embrace her.

Carlia paused inside the doorway of the Rugged Mule Tavern, letting the warm air and rich smells wash over her like a soothing tide. After the relentless storm and long ride, the massive main floor before her was a welcome change. The tavern was bustling but far from full, with only about a quarter of its chairs occupied by locals sharing hearty meals with family and friends. It felt like the heart of the town, a place where everyone gathered to eat, relax, and unwind after a day’s work.

The bar ran the length of the room, a polished wooden counter manned by three bartenders and a team of at least ten bar girls, all moving with practiced efficiency. Along the back wall, the open kitchen buzzed with activity. Cooks worked around enormous iron stoves and grills, steam rising from bubbling pots, and the savory scent of steaks searing over hanging fires filled the air. At least twenty-five people were working there, preparing meals with a precision that hinted at years of routine.

To her right, the innkeeper’s desk and offices flanked a grand carpeted staircase leading to the second-floor balcony that ran along the walls. Carlia figured the sleeping rooms were up there, available for weary travelers like herself. She smiled—Bingo. She had found exactly what she needed.

In the center of the room stretched a sea of large round tables, each surrounded by twelve chairs. The room could easily accommodate over four hundred patrons, but tonight, only about a hundred townsfolk occupied the space. They ate with the ease of familiarity, enjoying their meals with quiet conversation and laughter.

Carlia’s gaze drifted to the corner, where a small stage sat beneath the staircase, partly hidden but close to the warmth of the kitchen fires. Two young performers, a man and a woman, stood tuning their instruments—a guitar, a banjo, a lute, tom drums, a fiddle, and, intriguingly, a saxophone. The woman, a dark-haired beauty in colorful stage clothes, noticed Carlia and offered a warm smile. Carlia returned it with a slight nod, appreciating the welcoming gesture.

She made her way across the room toward the innkeeper’s desk. As she approached, the elderly innkeeper, a human named Ozfel, looked up from his ledger. His long grey beard and well-worn but formal suit gave him the appearance of a dignified host. His eyes sparkled with warmth and professionalism.

“Welcome, traveler,” Ozfel greeted with a friendly smile. “You’re just in time. Dinner service is well underway—steak and taters with corn and gravy. Apple pie for dessert, if that’s to your liking. And if steak’s not your thing, we’ve got fish on offer too. Surf or turf, we aim to please here in Morning Vale.”

Carlia nodded, exhaustion settling into her bones now that she was off ShadowMare’s back. “That all sounds perfect,” she replied. “I’d like a room for the night, with dinner sent up. Steak is fine.”

Ozfel gave a satisfied nod and began flipping through a register. “You’ll like it here. The Rugged Mule’s been serving travelers for decades. We make sure folks are well-fed and well-rested.” He made a small note in his ledger, then looked up. “You’ll be in room twelve. Top of the stairs, second door on the right.”

Carlia handed over the appropriate coin, and Ozfel slid her a brass key. She lingered a moment, curiosity tugging at her. “Who are the musicians?” she asked, glancing back toward the stage.

Ozfel followed her gaze and smiled. “Ah, those would be the Sampson Twins—local kids from Carl’s Hollow, about fifty miles upriver as the crow flies. They’re good with the strings and the saxophone too. They’ll be in town all week.”

Carlia thanked him and slipped the key into her pocket. “I’ll excuse myself then. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course. Dinner will be up shortly. Rest well, traveler,” Ozfel said with a respectful nod.

Carlia turned away from the desk, her limbs heavy with fatigue. The sounds of the bustling tavern surrounded her—the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation, and the soft strumming of instruments as the Sampson Twins began a light tune. It was a place full of life, warmth, and good food, but all Carlia wanted now was sleep.

She climbed the carpeted stairs, her feet dragging slightly with each step. When she reached the second floor, she found room twelve and slid the key into the lock. The door swung open with a faint creak, revealing a simple but comfortable room. The bed looked soft and inviting, with clean linens folded back neatly.

Carlia stripped off her travel gear, shrugging out of her cloak and unfastening the leather straps of her boots. She dropped her belongings by the door, leaving her sword and pack within easy reach, and stretched out her aching muscles. With a groan of relief, she pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed.

The mattress welcomed her like an old friend, soft and supportive in all the right places. She felt herself sinking into it, the exhaustion of the journey catching up with her all at once. The scent of the tavern kitchen drifted in through the window—a comforting aroma of cooking fires and warm food—but her eyelids were already heavy.

As she drifted off, she felt a flicker of gratitude for the peace she had found here, if only for a night. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the strains of the Sampson Twins' music mingled with the hum of the tavern below, creating a lullaby of warmth and contentment.

Carlia's last thought before sleep claimed her was simple: Alden.

And with that, the Bard of Shaalizar slept, her dreams filled with melodies and whispers of the road still to come.

The Rugged Mule Tavern

The Ballad of Carlia Havannah