CHAPTER 21: THOSE WHO FOLLOW HIM

They were all sitting before the fire breaking their fast when they heard the tell tale sound of hooves trotting up the canyon toward them. Runner stood, sniffing the wind, ears pricked. Instinctively, Jarren and Tia readied their bows, moving toward the mouth of the concave. Drogan and Faldrek followed, unsheathing their swords, and motioning Marek, Kendrick, and Kieran to ready the horses in the event they may have to flee. Jarren and Tia both knelt, leaning close to the canyon wall with arrows ready, when around a bend rode a company of Haira'hem. The lead most rider held his hands up, palms outward as a sign of peace. Jarren lowered his bow, motioning for Tia to do the same. 

"Be ready," he looked at Drogan and Faldrek. "Just to be sure." Then he walked out to the center of the canyon in full view of the approaching riders. "Hail, Haira'hem!" he called. "Where do your loyalties lie?"

"We are Haira'hem, "Those Who Follow Him", in your tongue, their leader shouted back. "We are those who still live by our namesake! We come in peace!"

"We encountered Haira'hem yesterday who were not friendly!" Jarren shouted.

"We saw the dead!" The Haira'hem leader called. "We found others who now join them!"

"How many are you?"

"We are seven, with another seven behind." He lowered the scarf from his face, bidding the others to do the same. "May we enter your camp?"

"You may," Jarren answered. 

The seven Haira'hem dismounted and walked the remaining distance to the camp, leading their horses behind. The horses were a bit shorter and slimmer than those of the companion's, bred for speed and long distance runs. They shied upon first catching the wolf's scent, and upon first sight, but the seven men were able to calm them. Still, they were skittish, so Jarren bid Runner to keep his distance, having him stay near the inner wall. The Haira'hem smiled as they entered the camp, quickly moving to warm themselves by the fire, and rubbing their hands together and hugging themselves for warmth. They were a dark skinned people, with dark hair, some wearing beards, while others, like their leader, kept their face shaven. 

"I am Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam," the leader said after a moment, looking at each of the companions. "You may call me, Ayen," he smiled. Ayen was tall, nearly as tall as Jarren, and when he lowered his hood he revealed long dark brown hair woven, at random it seemed, with braids each affixed with a silver bead. He wore three braids on the right side, with two on the left, and two braids traveling down his back. His eyes, the color of his brown skin, gave him a kind appearance and his features were strong and commanding.

"Will you drink water with us?" Drogan asked.

"I appreciate that you show respect to our culture," Ayen smiled. "But under the circumstances, I believe we would prefer something warmer, such as tea."

"Ayen son of Haimek son of Jaruun of the Tribe of the Horse," Jarren said. "I regret we have no tea."

"Ah, you understand our language," Ayen said. "No worry. We bring tea with us. All we require is your fire to warm the water." As they set a small pot of water with tea leaves over the fire, they each exchanged names. "Jarren," Ayen said upon hearing Jarren's name. "The one they call Traveler?"

"Yes," Jarren answered with a nod.

"I am most pleased to meet you," the Haira'hem smiled. "Even among us, your name is legend. It is said you are a man of great honor as well as valor."

"You are too kind, Ayen." Jarren shook his head. "I am simply a man, like any other. I do not take pride in all that I have done."

"I understand," Ayen nodded.

"Where do you travel?" Tia asked.

"Interesting you should ask," Ayen answered. "We are searching, actually."

"What do you seek?" Kendrick asked.

"Interesting you should ask as well, Kendrick," Ayen laughed. "We search for you."

"For me?" Kendrick asked. The others looked on in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You are Kendrick the priest, are you not?" Ayen asked. "Are you and your companions carrying a certain item of historical nature and extreme importance to our hopeful victory in this war and this Long Winter?"

"What makes you assume we carry anything of importance?" Jarren asked, and moved his hand instinctively to his sword. Drogan and Faldrek also loosened their blades an inch from their scabbards.

"Peace, Traveler." Ayen put his hands up, and pointed toward the Haira'hem horses. "Our weapons are with our mounts. We are friends here, I assure you."

"Speak then, Ayen," Jarren said. "What makes you assume anything?" He looked upon the men with suspicion.

"Well, to begin," Ayen said. "Your hands on your hilts betray your thoughts quite clearly that I may be correct." He smiled. "But aside from that, I have quite a story for you."



Ayen woke from a restless sleep, sitting up in his bedroll and rubbing his face. He stood and walked to the opening of his tent and lifted the flap, gazing at the tents outside. His tribe slept, most of them. A few were awake, sentries posted around the perimeter who always kept a sharp eye for danger, and candle light from within one tent or another proved someone else may be having a sleepless night. There was an occasional snicker from a horse, or the low quiet words of those who kept watch, but for the most part, it was a still and quiet night. He wrapped his robes about himself to ward off the cold, and stepped outside to take a walk. He passed the chieftain's tent. The snores from within told Ayen his father was sleeping soundly. He chuckled, wondering how his father's snores failed to wake the entire tribe. He was stopped at the perimeter by a sentry.

"What brings you out into the night, Ayen?" he asked.

"I could not sleep," he answered. "I thought perhaps a walk would help. I will not go far."

"I should go with you. The son of a chieftain should not walk away from his tribe, alone at night."

"I will be fine," he smiled. "Besides, what sort of chieftain will I be some day if people believe I am afraid of the night? I will be fine, I assure you."

"Take my spear then, Ayen. There is often danger in the sands, be it man or beast." He handed the spear to Ayen, who took it with a nod of thanks. The moon was high in the night sky, casting its light upon the sands below which shimmered like a multitude of tiny stars. Ayen wondered if this is what it was like to walk in the heavens, with stars glistening beneath his feet. He walked into the dunes in the distance, climbing one small hill and then another. He let his mind remain clear, not thinking on anything in particular, just enjoying the walk. He descended another dune and was just beginning his ascent of another when a sudden light cast his shadow on the sands before him. He turned quickly, spear leveled, to defend himself if necessary. Before him stood a man glowing in clothes of light, with armor that appeared as translucent gold.

"Rest your spear, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam," the man said. "I come in peace."

"Who— who are you?" Ayen asked. 

"My name is Gaulin," he answered. "A drayan, who comes to you with a mission from the One God."

"I believe you are who you say, Gaulin." Ayen took a step back. "But I do not consider myself worthy of such."

"Would you, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam, deny the One God what he commands of you?" The drayan's voice grew stern.

"I— I would not." Ayen shook his head. "For— forgive me, Gaulin."

"I am not the one whom you should beg forgiveness!" Gaulin said, but then softened his voice. "You are a Haira'hem. 'Those Who Follow Him.' And you are one who still lives by that creed. A war has come, and as a soldier of Jandrous and the One God, you have been given a mission of great importance. Will you hear what the One God commands of you?"

"Of course," Ayen stood tall. "What does he want of me?"

"Kendrick, a priest from Danir, in Rylos will soon enter the Barren Wastes. He travels through the Axeweavers with friends, carrying an item of great importance, a sword that when placed in the hands of its rightful owner will determine the outcome of this war. You are to take your best warriors and protect him, and escort him to the Valley of Dragons. Fourteen of you will ride at their sides and fight and die for them."

"Thirteen of my tribe's best warriors? And myself?" Ayen asked. "This will not be easy for me to accomplish, even being the chieftain's son."

"You must," Gaulin said. "The sword must reach the Valley of Dragons and be handed over to he who will wield it."

"What is this sword, drayan?" Ayen asked.

"The Sword That Slew Him, The Bleeding Blade."

"The Sword of Jandrous?" Ayen's question was a whisper; his eyes grew wide with shock. "And this sword will be handed over to— ?"

"Jandrous, The One True King, son of the One God," Gaulin said. Ayen dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Do not kneel before me, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam. I am only the messenger sent to deliver this mission to you."

"I do not kneel before you, Gaulin. I kneel before the One God, who is beside you, behind you, and above you, who is in the sands at our feet and the air that surrounds us, and the sky above. I kneel before the One God as his soldier. I will do as he commands of me, even if it leads to my own death, for I know that in death I will only meet him in the heavens to live eternal. I am blessed that he has chosen me in this cause."

"Of course," Gaulin smiled. "Now go, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam. There is little time to waste. Just as we know that there are those who would give the sword to Jandrous, there are others who know as well; those who would seek to stop them." And just as he appeared, he was suddenly gone, and the light with him. Ayen found himself standing in the dark with the sound of running feet approaching.

"What has happened, Ayen?" The sentry who loaned him his spear approached. "I saw a strange light. Are you alright?"

"I am fine, Mubar." Ayen said. "I have been given a mission of great importance. I need warriors. You are my first choice."



"Convincing the tribe elders and my father the chieftain of my story was no easy task, and without Mubar's witness to a strange light, I do not think they would have believed me. But as you can see, in the end they believed, and here we are today."

"I had intended to keep our journey as secret as possible," Jarren said. "With fourteen more of us, I'm not so sure we can hide our movements as well. We need not be detected by eyes unfriendly."

"This is true, Traveler." Ayen nodded. "But do you not believe the One God knows best? Just as Gaulin the drayan said, there are those who would seek to stop you. If the drayan know that Jandrous walks the lands, we must assume the drayan'os do as well. We can be sure Belkarus has sent others who's mission would be to capture the sword, or Jandrous himself. The sword will need all the protection we can give it."

"Of course I believe the One God knows best," Jarren said. He walked near the fire and accepted a small cup filled with the warm tea. "But my point stands. How can we move undetected with so many of us now?"

"Ah, but Traveler," Ayen smiled. "Now you can send out forward and rear scouts, and perhaps to our flanks as well. If there is danger, now perhaps you can have fair warning and either prepare for it, or avoid it all together."

"What he says is true, Jarren." Drogan said. Faldrek and Tia both nodded in agreement. Jarren looked to Kendrick.

"What do you think, Kendrick?" Jarren asked the priest. 

"I must believe that Ayen speaks the truth," Kendrick said. "I think we should accept them."

"Then it is decided," Jarren said. He pulled the wrapped sword of Jandrous from his shoulder and handed it to Kendrick. "Perhaps this is the One God's way of assuring that you hold the sword, and that you are the one who places it in Jandrous's hands."

"Are you sure, Jarren?" Kendrick asked uncertainly. "But are you not better able to protect it than I?"

"Twice the blade has been in danger while in my possession. Once in Ravenhold, and again here in the Barren Wastes. In Ravenhold I at least had the sense to get it away from the battle while I yet fought, but here I rode blindly with it into danger that could have been avoided. You will be protected as you carry it. My duty, I believe, is to fight to protect it. If I die while it is in my possession, I cannot." 

"But when I left with the sword, and you had to come after me, did I not place the sword in danger as well?" Kendrick was still uncertain.

"Yes, Kendrick," Jarren nodded. "You did. However, you thought only of the mission. You knew the sword must go east, and you did what you believed right, while my stubbornness was preventing that."

"But the sword was first placed into your hands, Jarren." Kendrick shook his head.

"Perhaps," said Tia. "But then if it had not been given to Jarren in Rosenguarde, it would still be there. And with Rosenguarde perhaps still under siege, how could you enter her walls to retrieve it yourself?" Jarren nodded in agreement. 

"It is decided," The Hunter said. "You were the one visited by Gaulin. You carry the sword." 

A short time later, Runner's ears stood up, and then they heard the sound of horses approaching. The rest of Ayen's men were riding near. Jarren and Ayen, with Drogan following, walked out into the pass to meet them. Those Who Follow Him had joined their cause.

*******************************************************************

On a makeshift litter, the skraeg pulled the dragon's head behind them. They complained repeatedly that the head could bring wolves upon them, but Andorin cared not. 

"If wolves come, I'm certain you can deal with them," he told them. "It is soldiers from Rylos, and perhaps elves from the Mistwood we should be wary of. Perhaps even Haira'hem. But wolves should not be a problem. Besides, there's a great big dragon carcass we left behind that should keep them occupied for some time." He kept the skraeg moving, mostly at night, through the Borderwood. His thoughts rested mainly on his quest for a command in Belkarus's army, hoping the dragon's head would purchase favor. It would make a great trophy for a wall in his throne room perhaps. He could imagine a great skull behind a throne, striking terror and demanding respect by all who would come to pay homage to the dark armored lord. Despite the honors he believed he might gain from the dragon's head, he refused to look at it. The great beast's last words echoed in his head every time he laid eyes upon it. "Where, human, will you go?" he heard over and over in his mind. He had the skraeg wrap the head in furs to cover it. But it was still there, and he still heard the words. He almost felt guilty. He could not stop thinking of the dragon, of Annyaa, or the priest he killed, or burning the temple in Misting Hill, and even the young soldier from Drogan's squad he killed while fighting Haira'hem. He hated Drogan. It was jealousy, he knew, that fueled the hate. Drogan was respected by many, not only in his own squad, but by other squads from other companies. Captains and commanders all respected him. Even some in Andorin's own squad had respected him. He was an honorable man, a great soldier, and a great leader. Andorin preferred to gain respect through fear. In combat he was deadly. And off the field of combat he was not one to be trifled with. He was quick to anger, and very slow to forget a spite. And Drogan spited him just because of who and what he was. And somehow, Andorin even felt guilty of his hate for Drogan. He shook his head, angry at himself, and disgusted by the guilt he felt. He should have killed him a long time ago. If not for him, he would likely still have Annyaa and the priest and the riders that were with him. But Drogan pursued him relentlessly, and in the end caught up to him just outside of Ravenhold. He was hoping the skraeg that ambushed his pursuers would be the end of Drogan. But as he watched just out of sight and bleeding from an arrow wound, Drogan and those with him were reinforced by others, including a massive wolf, and the skraeg were defeated. Andorin supposed it should not matter any longer. He had skraeg with him now, and a dragon's head to present to Belkarus. He could still buy his way into Belkarus's favor with that. He would have his command or die trying. But— "Where, human, will you go?" repeated in his mind once more. "Why should I even care, dragon?" he thought. "I intend to make my name known and remembered in this life. I have no cares about what comes after." Or did he? Again he shook his head angrily, gritting his teeth. He looked over his shoulder at the skraeg behind him, as the slowly pulled the litter behind. 

"Put your backs into it!" he yelled at them. "I would like to find Belkarus before this war is over!" A few of them glared back at him, but he dismissed it and turned away. They would kill him if they knew he had lied to them. But they did not have to know, and once they found the army it would no longer matter. So Andorin rode on while the skraeg behind him dragged the litter through the snow.

***************************************************************

While the siege was lifted in Rosenguarde, countless villagers were allowed inside the walls of the great city, and Erinor's capital was crowded with people and livestock. King Erehk, standing atop the wall as the snow fell around him, knew the skraeg would return, and used the time to bolster his defenses. More catapults were built, and more men were trained to fight. Yet as time went on, the skraeg failed to return. He sent his best scouts into the mountains and into the Griffinwood, men well skilled in remaining undetected, and each one returned with news that there were no skraeg in the immediate areas surrounding Rosenguarde. It was a griffin rider named Hardis who brought the news that the majority of the skraeg that besieged Rosenguarde were now marching on E'eldaduranus. It appeared, with their numbers bolstered, the elven city would be a sweeter treat. Ravenhold had fallen to the skraeg, and the survivors were now in the elven city where they had hoped to find safety, as entry into Rosenguarde was cut off at the time. It would be only a matter of time before the skraeg returned if Elven Home fell. The king found himself torn. He could ride to the defense of the elves, a long time ally, or he could remain in Rosenguarde and build his own strength. He knew Grey Home was under siege as well. Should he ride with his army there, break the siege, and then join his forces with Duke Nordhelm's before marching to the aid of E'eldaduranus? By then it could easily be too late to aid the elves. Grey Home was strong, as well defended as Rosenguarde. The city to the south could hold against attackers for a long time if need be. He beat his fist atop the wall, angry, feeling that his hands were tied. Any decision could be the wrong one. 

"What would you have me do?" he asked the One God. "Give me the power to do so, and I'll push your enemies into the sea. But right now I know not what to do! A great army is coming this way. And it will devour us all like a great wave. Do I sit within my city waiting for it to come crashing upon the walls, or do I ride out in force to meet it?" And then he had his answer. Waiting within Rosenguarde was only delaying what was possibly the inevitable. He had never waited on an enemy before. He always rode out in force to meet them. Why should he wait now? If he marched to Grey Home he could end the siege there, if in fact they were still under siege, and then join forces and march toward E'eldaduranus from there. Grey Home was closer to the elven city than Rosenguarde. He already expected help from Flame Wind. He could send riders telling them to join with him elsewhere. Soldiers from New Blade and Last Home were likely already aiding Grey Home, if not on the march. It suddenly made sense to King Erehk; The attacks in Erinor were only meant to slow them down or perhaps open a door for the rest of Belkarus's army. The storms that had forced the skraeg to leave the siege had foiled any hopes of taking the great city of Rosenguarde, and the enemy had been halted just as much as the defenders had been. "Oh they're going to find themselves in a dire situation now," he said. "If the elves can hold long enough for us to come to their aid, their attackers are going to rue the day when we arrive." 

That very day another griffin rider landed at Rosenguarde. The fighting in the Griffinwood had already begun. For seven days before the rider had left, the elves struggled against the attackers. The elves were laying traps and ambushes for the enemy, and although they were slowed, they still advanced closer toward the great city. Erehk learned that Grey Home was no longer under siege either, and just as had happened at Rosenguarde, those attackers turned into the Griffinwood to attack from the south as the skraeg moved in from the north. Duke Nordhelm had given chase shortly after. He meant to trap his enemy between his army and the elves if King Erehk could do the same from the north.

"Tell your people that I am coming," Erehk said. "They must hold out until we can arrive. And send word to Nordhelm to slow his foe as much as he can before we can meet."

"The entire e'eld nation gives you thanks, King Erehk," the griffin rider said. "I will spread the word." He turned from Erehk and climbed atop his griffin's back. "There's more. There was a report that another rider witnessed a large force leaving the Forever Lands, traveling east."

"Friend or foe?" Erehk asked.

"E'eldradin, King Erehk." The rider smiled. "With dwarves and taurians. The rider spoke to Prince Lian'asuran, himself. He leads the army alongside his father, and the Border Guard ride with him. They expect to be reinforced by soldiers from Kyrolis."

"That is good news indeed," Erehk said as the griffin leapt to the air. Taurians alongside the e'eldradin and dwarves. They would be welcome allies indeed. Erehk could see the noose tightening around Belkarus's throat. But first he and his allies had to turn the tide in the Griffinwood, and time was as much an enemy as Belkarus and his armies. If they could all come together they could move in force against the enemy before they reached the Axeweavers, and hopefully drive them back into the Shadowlands. Perhaps Rylos could hold them long enough. The kingdom had a strong army, and even outnumbered, would be a force to be reckoned with in the mountain passes Belkarus would have to travel. Likely they were already engaging in skirmishes, as Belkarus would want to test their defenses before arriving in full force or sending a portion of his army. And what of the E'eldhiavan, elves from the Mistwood? Were they joined with Rylos, or were they fighting their own battle? He had heard news of a dragon attack against the E'eldhiavan. Black dragons had swooped down from above destroying much and killing many before white dragons arrived and drove the blacks off. But after receiving that news, Erehk had heard nothing else. He was sure word would come from Rylos or the Mistwood by griffin rider before long, but was no less irritated by the lack of news so far. He thought of Jarren, and the Sword of Jandrous. Where was The Hunter? Was the sword safe with him? Was he in Ravenhold when the skraeg attacked there? "Are you alive old friend?" He had traveled to Ravenhold with Greandor, Rosenguarde's high priest. Was Greandor alive? How did he fare? He shook his head once more, to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to worry. He had preparations to make, a city to secure, and an army to mobilize and muster.

©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010