Drogan awoke as Halin stood over him, lifting him to a sitting position. The back of his head throbbed painfully, and he winced as Halin moved hairs aside examining where he had been hit by a rider's sword pommel. Rodrik sat on the ground nearby, his head in his hands, as the temple behind him was now nothing more than smoldering ash. People stood about, talking about what had just happened; disbelief, worry, or anger on their faces. Still feeling groggy after being awakened from unconsciousness, Drogan shook his head to clear it. "How's Rodrik's daughter?" he asked, as the big bearded man helped him to his feet.
"They took her," he replied.
"What?" Drogan exclaimed. "Why? She was no threat to them!"
"She threw a mug at the man you were speaking with," Halin replied. "Hit him square in the face with it." Drogan looked at the tall, curly haired man in disbelief, and then to Rodrick, who still sat with his head buried in his hands.
"Oh no." Drogan turned to jog toward The White Swan as Halin called after him.
"Where are you going?"
Drogan stopped and turned. "I'm following them back to Grey Home!" he called back. Rodrick then stood and walked toward him, with Halin following behind.
"What can you do, Drogan?" the tall, balding man asked.
"I'm not certain, Rodrick," he replied. "I can try and get to the bottom of this, however. Perhaps I can ask for Annyaa's release. Andorin and I have— had the same captain." He turned and ran to the tavern and inn to get his travel pack. He would take his armor and sword as well. He was no longer a soldier, but he believed he would gain some respect from his old captain if he wore them. It was worth a try at least. He gathered his things from the inn and entered the stables to retrieve his horse. Halin was there, saddling his horse for him. He had a travel pack and a bow slung over his broad shoulder, was wearing tight fitting brown pants and a grey shirt laced up at the neck and chest.
"I'm going with you, Drogan," The black bearded hunter said. "You could use a traveling companion, and I can shoot a rabbit or two when we stop to make camp."
"I hope to travel quickly, Halin."
"They have a two hour head start on you, Drogan. And I don't believe it would be wise to be seen by them. That fellow you talked to would likely kill you, from the look in his eyes. Best to stay behind them and wait until we get to Grey Home before they know you followed." Drogan could not dispute Halin's council. He was right. And he knew Andorin well enough to know he would jump at the chance to attack him. He wanted to travel quickly, but knew he needed to stay out of sight. Some company while traveling would be nice as well.
"You're right, Halin." Drogan put his hand on the big man's shoulder. "I'd welcome your company and help."
"I would go with you as well, Drogan," Rodrick said as he walked in behind them. His voice shook. "I want to get my daughter back, but I'm old and—I'm afraid I'd slow you down too much. I haven't the energy like Halin here does anymore." He carried with him a pack which he explained held some fruit, bread, and cheese, and handed it to Halin. "Please bring Annyaa back, Drogan."
"I will do what I can, Rodrick. At the moment, I'm not certain what I can do, but I hope I can convince Captain Breyan of her release." He pulled himself onto the black charger's back as Halin mounted a bay colored horse.
"Keep a fire burning for us Rodrick," Halin used the old adage, meaning they would return soon, as they rode out of the stable.
"Drogan, Halin—" The tall, thin, balding man looked up at them. He had tears in his eyes. "Thank you both." Drogan nodded to the man, and then nudged his horse forward, Halin following close behind.
The trail of twenty horses on the road to Grey Home was not difficult to find, and they appeared to be traveling at a trot. Drogan and Halin rode at a Canter, hoping to lessen the distance between them and the riders by no more than an hour, and hoped they could gain enough ground that they could see their campfires when they stopped to make camp. Before nightfall they would not want to be any closer than an hour behind, as Drogan thought there may be a rider or two riding behind as a rear guard. He wondered how Andorin had gained command of a twenty horse troop as well, but such was life in the army. Things had a tendency to change quickly, and he couldn't deny Andorin was a good rider. The both of them had participated in cavalry charges against the Haira'hem from time to time in one campaign or another. This latest operation for Andorin could very well be one mission, to travel to the outlying villages of Grey Home to seize the priests; as he said. But it made no sense to Drogan. He could not believe Duke Nordhelm would give such an order. And if he had given the order, was it sent down from the king of Erinor himself? He thought of his friend Faldrek, a follower of Jandrous. How would he fare through this? Faldrek was never one to shun duty, but this was against his very beliefs, and against the duke's beliefs as well—or so he thought. No, this had to be a mistake. One he hoped to get to the bottom of in Grey Home, and hopefully return to Misting Hill with both Annyaa and the priest they arrested. Halin could not believe the events that occurred earlier that day either, and they both wondered at the suddenness of them. The priests of Jandrous were well respected by most in all of Erinor, as well as in the kingdoms of Rylos, and Kyrolis to the north. They talked amongst each other, both shaking their heads in wonder at the strange order from the Duke. Drogan thought he was beginning a new chapter in life, leaving life as a soldier in Grey Home to work at his father's forge in Misting Hill. He had not even been in the village a full day, having arrived only the evening before, and now he found himself on the road back to the grey walled city. He once again thought of what Faldrek often said— "Sometimes it seems we choose our own paths to tread, but perhaps our paths are chosen for us." He wasn't so certain he believed that. He preferred to think he had control of his own destiny. "I'm a blacksmith," he said aloud.
"What was that you said, Drogan?" Halin looked over at him questioningly.
"Nothing, Halin. I was just thinking aloud."
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"So—where are you traveling, Kendrick?" Kieran asked the day after the storm. As he lay in bed the night before, he told Kieran what he believed the sudden sound was; the horn of Gaulin, calling the Drayan to war. He was pleased to learn she knew of the prophecies of Jandrous, and the two talked long into the night. She insisted a few times that he should get some rest, but after hearing the horn, he had a renewed energy and it was quite some time before he grew tired again. He learned that Broan was planning on taking his merchant boat down the river to Seaport if the storm eased up, and Kieran would be going with him.
"To Seaport as well, actually," Kendrick replied as he looked out the window. The storm had blown over sometime during the night, and although the landscape was white with a heavy snow, the clouds had passed as well, and the sun shone bright. Looking outside, he could not keep himself from marveling at the beauty that nearly killed him the night before. "I'm to deliver a letter to the High Priest there."
"You could travel with us, Kendrick," she replied with a smile. "I'm certain Broan would be willing to grant you passage on his boat."
"Would he?" Kendrick asked. "That would be wonderful! I've seen nothing but bad weather, and have gotten nothing but wet, saddle sore, and nearly frozen to death, all since leaving Danir!"
"Maybe the One God is trying to tell you something," Kieran replied with a chuckle.
"What do you suppose that is?" the young priest asked, looking puzzled.
"That perhaps you're not meant to travel," she laughed, a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. He laughed with her, as she rose from the small round table where she had been sitting, to join him at the window. The sun shone like gold in her reddish brown hair, and looking at her, Kendrick knew she would make a wonderful friend. She was caring, he had found out the night before, a bit pushy in an older sister sort of way, as he had also found out the night before when he got out of bed. It seemed she had a fun loving spirit, and she and the two men had saved his and his horse's lives, which of course was a deciding factor in his liking of her. "It's wonderful to see the sun shining after the storm we had yesterday. Do you really believe we are entering into the Long Winter?"
"I do," Kendrick said as he ran a hand through his short dark hair. "Donnagan seems to think so anyway— and that was before the blizzard hit. I wonder what he thinks now? And I sure can't think of any other explanation for the horn call we heard last night. No one would have been out in that storm just to blow on a horn."
"I'm very frightened," Kieran said.
"As am I," he agreed. "I've been scared senseless since I first read that letter. Even more so, now that I'm seeing things happen with my own eyes—and ears." There was a knock at the door and when Kieran answered it, a tall, broad shouldered man entered. He wore a short beard, and black leggings and shirt, and wore heavy boots. His long dark hair was pulled back and tied, and he looked at Kendrick with black eyes under a heavy brow. He seemed to peer down over a hawk nose at Kendrick as though studying the young man in white robes. He placed his thumbs through the top of a thick belt at his waist.
"So our frozen find has awakened?" He asked with a smile. "You have some lungs in that chest for us to have heard you in that white beast last night. It's good to see you on your feet. That shows me you have heart."
"I want to thank you for your help," Kendrick said. "I was certain my days were over."
"Well," the broad shouldered man chuckled, "the way you were screaming, even the Drayan above had to have heard you!" He walked up to the young priest and slapped him hard on the shoulder. "But you're welcome no less, friend."
"Kendrick is traveling to Seaport, Broan." Kieran stepped forward, looking up at the powerful looking man. "He's on a mission from his High Priest.
"Is that so?" the big, heavy-browed man asked. "What can you do?"
"Uh— I'm not really certain, to be honest," Kendrick answered. "I've never been on a boat on the river before. But I can work, if need be. And I can pay you as well."
"We'll talk about payment later; whether in work or coin," Broan said, and then looked down at Kieran. "We leave in an hour. The sooner we can reach warmer climates in the south, the better." He nodded to Kendrick, and turned for the door.
An hour later, Kendrick, with Kieran walking beside him, led the grey horse across a wooden dock and onto a flat bottomed boat. There were fourteen men besides Broan, all looking over cargo, and checking the rudders and oars, and moving about doing this and that. Although the sun was shining brightly, the wind blowing from the north was very cold and Kendrick held his traveler's cloak tight against his chest. Broan, now wearing an ankle length red coat, stood on the deck shouting orders loudly to his men, and sometimes stopping to look at the river with a smile. "Come on, men!" he was shouting. "Let's get a move on! This is the life is it not? We've got a long trip to make and coins in our pockets at the end! We'll be working in shifts on this trip. Seven of you working while the other seven rest. We'll be in Seaport in no time! The finest ales and the finest fish are waiting! Silks and shells, and an assortment of wares to be bought and sold there!" Kieran looked at Kendrick with a smile.
"He's always at his best at the beginning of a trip," she chuckled. "Don't be fooled by his joyfulness of the moment, however. He's a stern, hard man when the need arises." Noticing Kendrick's questioning look, she continued. "Bandits—thieves, sometimes attack merchant boats on the river, to steal their cargo. And the river can be dangerous by itself at times; especially when the weather's bad. But don't worry," she continued. "Broan has never lost cargo to thieves. He's a kind, good man, but not one to anger. He expects his men to be the same."
When everyone was aboard and cargo secured, Broan untied the ropes holding the boat in place, and six of his men manned the oars while another worked the rudder steering the boat away from the river bank and into the currents. The other seven men stepped into a cabin in the middle of the boat where they would rest until their shift. The vessel moved quickly in the fast moving current and Kendrick could tell right away he was going to reach Seaport much faster now than if he were riding. He silently thanked the One God. He had seen hardship on this journey, but he had also been blessed with shelter twice, rescued from a blizzard, and now he found himself on a boat that would take him to his destination sooner. Kendrick sat on a wooden crate and searched his pack for The Teachings, and began to read aloud while the men worked. Broan eyed him for a short while and then sat next to Kendrick as he read. After a moment he stood and smiled. He patted the young priest on the back and said, "It seems we've found your duty for this trip. You can read from that book to my men as they work." He eyed a few of them. "Some of you might learn something!" he said, and then walked to the front of the ship watching the waters and the banks, and occasionally glancing at the sky for signs of weather. Kendrick continued to read as Kieran came and sat nearby, listening intently as he spoke each word in The Teachings with so much passion, so much hope, that it seemed his entire being was poured into the words themselves, pulled back out through his lungs, and then breathed out through his mouth. It seemed to Kieran that he loved every word, hoped in them, and tried to instill the same hope and same belief in those he read to. No one spoke as he read; they simply pulled the oars. Kieran sat and listened quietly. Broan stood at the front, watching the river ahead of them, sometimes nodding as he listened. Kendrick read for a couple hours and then helped Kieran as she cooked some stew, deciding he would help her in her duties as well. Living in the temple, he took his share of kitchen duty, cleaning, and just about any other chore that needed done. He would do the same on the boat.
The other voice he heard the night before, other than Broan's and Kieran's, belonged to a man who would be working the rudder during the second shift. Kendrick thanked him for his help, and the man nodded with a smile. His name was Durinald, a bearded man wearing brown leggings and boots and a white shirt. He had a touch of grey in his blond hair and beard though he appeared yet young. He wasn't a follower of Jandrous, he told Kendrick, but he liked the story and appreciated the reading. Kendrick learned they would reach Ulrich that night, a trip that would have taken him another two days by horse, and he was amazed how quickly they traveled upon the swift moving river. They would stop there only to take on a bit more cargo, and would continue following the river overnight.
When they reached the river-bordered city of Ulrich, night had fallen and the coldness of the day was increased. Kendrick contemplated staying in the cabins, but wanted to at least catch a glimpse of the city, so he stayed out. He wrapped his cloak tight about himself and stood on deck, with Kieran beside him, as men brought wooden crates and barrels aboard. He noticed a glow against the night sky, somewhere distant in the city, and a dock hand, noticing his curious gaze answered his questioning look. "Temple's burning down." He mentioned. By the time anyone could gather to help put out the fire, it was too great." Kendrick, concerned for his fellow brothers asked about the priests there, if anyone was injured.
"The news I heard wasn't good, priest," the man answered. "From what I understand all the priests were inside—and none came out." Kendrick looked stricken and the man continued. "Sorry to be the bearer of ill news, friend." Kendrick merely nodded and looked toward the glow. Surely someone had to survive—a full temple of priests; all burned in a fire? Kieran noticed his stricken look and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"How could they all have died?" Kendrick asked. "Surely there must be some survivors." But the man shook his head.
"I heard the doors had been chained shut, so even if they tried to get out, they couldn't." The man said. Kendricks eyes widened at this addition to the news.
"Surely not!" Kendrick exclaimed.
"I'm afraid so." The man answered grimly, and then turned to load more barrels onto the boat. Was this the beginning of the Great Hunting, when followers of Jandrous, would be hunted down and persecuted? Why else would someone attempt to murder an entire temple of priests? He knew in his heart it must be. He entered the boat's cabin, sat upon a small cot, and buried his face in his hands. He was not ready for this. Horrible things were beginning to happen.
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Mounted travel in the Forever Lands had Jarren, Tia, and Marek out of the woods in little time. Jarren and Marek both rode upon chestnut colored horses, while Tia'ialla rode upon the antlered roa'an. The big wolf walked or trotted alongside, sometimes running, depending on the gait of the horses. Before night fell they were on the forest's border, and made camp not far from where Jarren had first encountered Marek. The tall woodsman and the elven woman talked often amongst each other, sometimes in the native tongue of the E'eldradin, often laughing together at an inside joke. Marek, now dressed in dark brown leggings and boots, and a green shirt and cloak similar to Jarren's, asked them once, "Are you two—uh—romantic?" This brought laughter from Tia as she examined the string of a longbow, and Jarren explained they were very close. But more as a brother and sister would be close, nothing more. "She is my e'eldsian," he said with a smile and a wink at Tia. "My e'eld, or elven, sister."
"I am betrothed to Lian'asuran," the elven woman continued. "He is a son of Grea'oran, and currently commands the border guard in the south, our first line of defense against attack from Taurians from the Kylerian Island."
The three of them talked about the Long Winter and the Great Hunting, and also about the horn call they heard the night before. Jarren and Tia wondered how the war to surely come would play out; what kings and kingdoms would stand for Jandrous, and what kings and kingdoms would stand against him. How would anyone know who Jandrous was if he knew not himself? If Jandrous was returning as a mortal once again, what would happen if he were killed? They talked about so many things that even Marek, a middle aged man who had joined the priesthood when he was young, could not find answers for. His only certainty was that Jandrous was returning as the One True King. However, the mortal world would have to decide one way or another if he would rule or not. Would man, elf, dwarf, and others accept him as king? Or would they give in during the coming war, and allow themselves to be ruled by darkness? They all agreed the latter would be the easier choice in the long run, but they hoped that they, and all the people, would have the strength and courage to make the more difficult of the choices.
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That same night, far across the plains of Erinor to the south, Drogan and Halin brought their horses to a halt. They saw the faint glow of a campfire in the distance but far enough away from the main road, that if Halin had not looked to their left at just the right moment they would have ridden ahead of the mounted soldiers. It seemed the terrain sloped down just a bit there and perhaps Andorin and his riders were hoping they were concealed. "Is that them?" Halin asked.
"Must be," Drogan replied. "But we can't be sure. Could be someone else entirely, a merchant perhaps, someone simply traveling through the area." He shrugged his shoulders. "We're not going to know for sure unless we get a look at them. Let's get our horses off the road as well. I'm going to try and get a closer look."
"Are you sure that's wise, Drogan?" Halin asked.
"Perhaps not. Andorin will likely have some of them watching their perimeter. I would have to avoid them somehow, and for all we know they may have already seen us. We won't know unless we try, and we won't know for certain if it's them, either." Halin nodded in agreement, and they led their horses a short distance back the way they came. Drogan handed his horse's reins to Halin and was going to leave unarmed, but Halin handed him a long knife, which he slipped into his belt. "It's going to take me some time. They're about a mile or so from us, but I need to travel slowly and quietly. If Andorin has sentries posted, I should be able to judge how far apart they are and slip through—if I see one. They'll likely be staying low, not to be seen in the moonlight. Maybe I can gather some information on what this all about."
"I think I should be the one to go, Drogan. If you're captured, or worse, who will ask your captain to grant her release? You are known there, I'm just a man from a village." Drogan knew the big man was right. "I'm a hunter by trade, Drogan," the big man continued. "I can be just as silent, if not more so, than you." Finally, Drogan nodded and handed the knife back to Halin.
"If you see a sentry," he said, "sneak away from them to an area you're certain they can't see you. If another one is not in your sight, make your entry there. Get close enough so you can see that Annyaa is alright, but do not try to get close enough to hear them speaking unless you are certain you can do it safely." Halin nodded, and then turned and walked away at a low crouch. The big bearded man, accustomed to stalking game, was uncannily quiet for his size, as he walked toward the encampment in the distance. Staying low, he moved silently, always watching, looking for any sign that a sentry was near. He was within a hundred yards of the camp when he encountered a sentry, no further than fifty feet ahead and to his right. He froze suddenly in mid-step when the soldier rose from a crouch, watching the sentry for any sign that he had been seen. It appeared as though the guard was looking just to his right. Halin hardly breathed, willing the man to turn away just for a moment so he could cut to the left and hopefully out of sight. Long moments passed, and neither moved, until finally the man felt the need to stretch his legs. He turned and walked a few yards to the left, and as he walked Halin matched his every stride, and every step as he walked the other direction. He wanted his footfalls to sound like the soldiers footfalls. He watched the other man as he stepped away, glancing as well to his other side to be sure he was not seen by another. The soldier stopped walking but was not looking in his direction, so Halin slowly stepped away until he felt somewhat secure and out of site. He looked ahead again toward the camp. Directly ahead of him were the horses, all grouped together. If he could get to those horses without spooking them he could use them for cover, hiding among them as he sought a closer look at the soldiers' camp. Waiting a moment to check his surroundings once more before he moved again, he took a long and quiet deep breath, exhaled slowly, and moved toward the horses, still crouching and still moving silently. He slowed his pace to one step every several seconds, stopping if a horse looking his direction snorted or let out a blow, and he would wait, and move again when he was certain the horses were calm and no one was coming near. It seemed to take forever in Halin's mind to finally reach them and move among them without frightening the mounts. Once, a couple of the horses snorted loudly and he froze, as still as stone, when he thought someone was coming near. A soldier in the camp looked up and then walked toward the horses for a moment, and then when he was certain everything was in order, he turned and walked back to the fire. Peeking from underneath the horses' bodies he counted sixteen men, not including the priest or Annyaa, and knew that only four men were spaced around the perimeter. He was relieved a bit with this knowledge, knowing the way back would be much easier. He should be able to avoid the earlier sentry by a much wider distance, he thought. He noticed the priest, and Annyaa, sitting close together, both with their hands and feet bound. They were dirty, and Annyaa's hair was in tangles, but from where he watched they seemed none the worse for wear. The priest began speaking suddenly, either too himself, or to Annyaa. Halin could not be sure, as he appeared to be speaking softly. "I told you to keep your mouth shut, priest!" one of the soldiers yelled. Walking over to them, he kicked the priest hard in the face, sending him falling backwards onto his bound hands.
"Leave him alone!" Annyaa cried out. "He is only praying!"
"Would you like a boot to the face as well, tavern girl?" the man asked, standing threateningly in front of her.
"Would it make you feel like a man?" The young, brown haired woman, asked defiantly, anger on her fire lit features. "And less of a boy?"
"Curse it, Annyaa! Keep that sharp tongue of yours to yourself!" Halin shouted in his mind. The soldier looked as though he were going to backhand the woman, and she just stared at him in defiance, as though daring him to do so.
"Leave her be," Andorin said as he poked at the fire. "She'll be off our hands soon enough."
"Why did we bring her in the first place?" the soldier turned and asked the dark haired sergeant.
"Because I was angry!" Andorin shouted. "The wench hit me in the face with a blasted mug! I took her out of spite! We're getting good money for the 'white robe,' perhaps we can get something for her as well. Any more questions?"
"I can think of far better things to do than sell her off to those red robed priests of Xandrous," the other soldier replied with a smirk.
"I mean, soldier, to make some coin off that little wench. As well, I mean to gain favor with Lord Belkarus' commanders. I tire of being a sergeant in Grey Home. I deserve greater rank. You touch her, in any way, and I will kill you where you stand. Is that understood?" The man stared hard at Andorin for a long moment and the other soldiers were turning to watch. Halin was certain a fight was about to erupt between the two. Andorin stood and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, waiting. "Well?" he asked. After another long moment, the soldier relaxed and walked back to the fire to sit down, and Andorin knelt by the fire again, poking at it with a stick.
"I'm sorry, Andorin." The soldier said as he sat.
"No need to apologize." Andorin said calmly. "Apologies are for cowards and weaklings." And suddenly, with lightning speed, he drew his sword and leaped across the fire at the sitting soldier, driving his blade through the mans body. "And I," he screamed. "I will not have cowards and weaklings under my command!" He looked at the other soldiers, as if daring one of them to say something against him. Not one spoke. Annyaa cried out and looked away, turning to bury her face in the priest's chest as he spoke softly to her. Halin could see she was crying. He felt bad for her, and he wished he could walk into the camp and take her out. He waited a little longer, to see if he could gain some more information, but none was coming. The camp was quiet. Finally, he turned to head back.
"So they're deserters," Drogan said when Halin told him all that happened in the camp. "Traitors. And Halin means to make a profit off of Annyaa and the priest." He gritted his teeth. "That dog!"
"It seems clear,"Halin said, "they're not returning to Grey Home. It was all a lie. But why? And what do we do now?"
"I'm not certain." Drogan shook his head; angry—disgusted. "We cannot just ride in there ourselves and attempt a rescue. We'll continue following them. I don't think Andorin lied about other priests; he wants them as well, I gather. There's a village north of Grey Home, where I suspect they'll attempt to take another. When we near Grey Home, we will go there, and I'll tell captain Breyan what has happened. They should be looking for the deserters by now—and we will know where they are heading. We should be able to gather some help."
"Surely they will not take Annyaa and the priest with them into the village." Halin said. "Perhaps they'll leave them under guard of a few soldiers as the majority of them ride in."
"That's possible, yes. But if we attempt a rescue, we're likely to have them on our trail soon enough. And if we fail— well, you've witnessed Andorin's wickedness yourself. We'll need help." Halin nodded reluctantly, wanting to help the priest and the daughter of his close friend, but understanding Drogan was right. The night was cold, but they made camp without a fire, not wanting to risk being discovered. Drogan took first watch while Halen slept, and gazed toward the glow of a fire in the distance. Annyaa was there, and he wondered why he was so quick to go chasing after her. He didn't regret the decision, he wanted to help in any way he could, but thought that perhaps his decision was a bit rash. Andorin was there as well. He had known, or at least suspected, Andorin's wickedness for some time now. That man's heart was as black as they came, he now knew for certain, and although it appeared the black haired soldier wanted no physical harm to come to the young woman, Drogan still feared for her. He shook his head— fear for her? I knew her as a child, five years younger than myself and she grated on my nerves! What is wrong with me? Perhaps I should have let Halin take first watch. It seems I need a bit more sleep. There was no turning back now. He had made his decision and would follow it through to the end. He felt it was the right thing to do, and should at least try to help her. He reminded himself he was hoping to help the arrested priest, just as he was Annyaa. Would he do the same if it had been any other woman from Misting Hill? "Of course I would—I think."
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He stumbled through a night darkened forest unknown to him, not knowing where he was going or from where he came; he couldn't remember much of anything. He seemed to recall falling from a great hight and plummeting into a river, hitting his head on a rock as he sank beneath the surface, but nothing else. He placed a shaky hand to his scalp and felt the sticky dried blood in his long brown hair. Had he fallen from a tree, or off of a low cliff in the woods? Where were these woods? He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to think, but the pain from the movement drove him to his knees in the damp undergrowth of the forest. He gritted his teeth as stars danced in his vision. He leaned back against a tree, placed his hands on his face, felt his well groomed beard, scratched at the hair above his lips. He looked down at his clothing, a plain brown shirt and leggings, a pair of traveler's boots, also brown, and a plain black belt, or so they looked in the little light available from the moon above. Well, at least he knew he was a common man. He had to find home, where ever home was, and some help. He knew people could lose their memory after a hard blow on the head, and he was certain this had happened to him. The river was to his right, and he would follow it upstream. Perhaps it would lead him out of the woods or to help. "Father, help me," he said. He was calling on the One God, he knew that much. But why did he call him Father just then? He shook his head, perhaps he was thinking of his father as well. Now if he could only remember who is father was, that might help matters as well. It was cold and he shivered, his clothing still wet after finding himself washed up on the banks of the river. What happened to him? Wrapping his powerful arms about himself in an effort to ward off the cold, he regained his footing and began walking—somewhere.
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Lord Belkarus was feeling very impatient. "How long," he asked one of the two priests kneeling before the black steps of this throne, "before I have my walven?"
"My lord," one of them spoke. "It should take days for our brothers and those they took with them to reach Nerak, days more to gather any of the beasts, and then the journey back."
"Nonsense. I want them more quickly. Seek the help of the dragons. Have men build large cages, that could fit one or two of the beasts, and that the dragons could carry." He drummed his fingers on the arms of the throne of bones, and tapped one booted foot upon the stone floor. "I want them here, at least a few, within three days. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," the other red robed priest spoke. "We will see that it is done."
"Now go!" Both priests rose and walked through the great doors. Belkarus would have thought he had all the time in the world, but recently began to feel impatient. He wanted to get on with things. He wanted these great, horned, wolf-like beasts that could smell the stench of good men. They would be an important addition to his forces. Beasts for tracking, they would be. Beasts for hunting and killing. Larger than a horse, these beasts would be great for cavalry units. And the massive, fast moving, powerful and frightening creatures had one more wonderful ability. Like dragons, they could breathe fire. He imagined the fear such creatures would instill in his enemies on the battlefield and could not wait to see one face to face.
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The black dragon looked at the transparent figure of a red robed human standing in the middle of a small pool before him. The glow of the image lit the dark cave's walls and cast shadows of the dragon upon their stone surface. "The walven will not bind easily, human," the dragon sent his thoughts. "They are a strong willed creature. Ferocity and hatred drive them, and they will hate being controlled."
"That is no matter. Lord Belkarus orders it, and so it must be done," the priest said. "However, he wants them sooner than originally planned, and so we need the help of your kind." The priest explained the manner in which they would gather the beasts, binding them, and transporting them in cages the dragons would carry.
"Even I do not relish the thought of carrying an angry walven in a cage below me. What if we refuse?"
"Lord Belkarus orders it, dragon," The priest said.
"We do not follow the orders of men, priest." The dragon let out a low growl, menacingly.
"Perhaps not—but Belkarus follows the will of Xandrous," the red robed man said. "Do you seek to go against his will?" the priest asked harshly. The dragon roared in anger, and threw fire from his throat at the image of the man before him. The flames passed through him without effect.
"Be careful of your tongue if we meet face to face human. I am certain Xandrous would not be angry with me if I sent your pitiful soul to him early—I will gather the aid of some of my kind for this task of your lord. But our help will come at a price. Do not be surprised, fool, if I suddenly decide I want your pitiful life as payment. Tell him we will want e'eld blood."
"I am certain, dragon," the priest replied, "that can be arranged." The image slowly faded and left the dragon in darkness once again. He thought for a while of the joy he would take in feasting upon the pitiful human's bones if the opportunity presented itself.
©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010
