After a pleasantly filling breakfast, Rogar asked Neilkot for more advice, especially concerning what to carry. He also asked permission to sleep before lunch so that his head would be fresher, after the early morning trial. Neilkot acquiesced and supported Rogar’s request.
While Rogar went to his room to pack up and rest, Neilkot walked down to the tower hall where he met with a hooded visitor. This person had a dignified posture and yet the face was covered by the shadow of the hood. Neilkot didn’t seem to mind; in fact he was quite familiar with the cloaked figure.
- Please watch over them and keep them safe. There is much they must learn on this short outing, and it would be better if you would only interfere as a last resort.
The figure nodded.
- As for the guide, we should expect Swallow to arrive after lunch.
- Indeed. I should make my way then. – said the elegantly spoken voice. – I expect them to be safe at least until Lüil town, where they should leave their horses at the services of Gwenson’s Inn, so that they may be returned to Triadinma within the week. My cousin will take the horses gladly, but Swallow must carry a token from you, so that there is no doubt they’ve completed the first stage of the trip and so that my cousin knows they’re the true travelers sent by you.
- Agreed. As always you have my deepest thanks. May the light guide and protect you in these dark times, old friend.
They both bowed.
Neilkot handed on an envelope to the hooded figure and that person walked out quietly.
Later on, when Rogar awoke from his rest he enjoyed the sound of chirping sparrows by the window. However, as he remembered that task that lay ahead of him a knot close on his gut and pleasant sounds from the world around him were shut out. Yet he was resolute not to fail his master, and he would see to it that the letter would be quickly delivered, so that he could return to Neilkot’s tower.
Bucling his mantle under his backpack, he gazed one last time around the small room for anything that could prove useful, just in case.
Triadinma’s noon bells echoed on Molluir hill and Rogar reassured himself that Neilkot had given him sufficient advice. The time to step outside the tower would inevitably come and he didn’t want any scorn directed at him from arriving late at the lunch table. So he took a last look at his small room and cherished window, where he’ often fallen asleep stargazing, and quietly closed the door – praying for a safe return.
Rogar returned to the kitchen in a somber mood but made a point not to complain about anything. Neilkot noticed his pupil was tense but trying to be strong. He understood the young boy’s turmoil. However if Rogar was to become a strong wizard he couldn’t keep on hiding behind the comfortable walls of the tower.
Wrungloth, the region containing Triade and Western Navangor, was at risk, he thought. Several had foreseen the Marzolk menace as a threat to the very existence of Triade. He had agreed but many wanted to aid the neighboring Gohruir country.
It was up to each and every Triadin citizen to stand for their own freedom and the subsistence of their own collective home. In all its many centuries this had been one of the few times there had been differing views amongst Triadins on an affair concerning other nations.
The wisdom of the elves and the dragons had helped humans understand that rushing into battle just because someone said they should was not the best option, especially considering the many losses for either side. But the humans had argued that what was moving their view was not a hot headed whim but rather concern over the growing dangers in neighboring lands.
Awengoil had sent word, later on, that the dark cloud of Marzolk was much wider and its aim was far from the vast libraries and luxurious markets from Gohruir. They had stated that the Marzolk were indeed after the unique alliance between Men, Elves and Dragons; their blood, but mostly their enslavement. For the power they could provide that southern nation was far too great to ignore or not to conquer.
Neilkot shook his head when he realized that he had been mumbling his thoughts in front of his pupil.
Rogar was looking at him quizzically but looked back at his bowl, diving into his own thoughts.
When the awkwardly silent meal ended, Rogar stood up and collected the dishes while Neilkot still dwelled in his issues.
He walked out with a basin to do the dishes but returned immediately after, accompanied by none other than the Swallow.
Neilkot shouted in joy, jumping out of the table to greet the person Rogar almost absolutely ignored was standing next to him.
- Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?! Let me look at you. You seem to have grown stronger in the past few months!
The black haired young man shrugged his shoulders and laughed lightly, showing Rogar a voice of a man who couldn’t be much older than him, not by three years. He seriously doubted this could be his guide and assumed he was one of those pupils who would come in the middle of the summer season to learn about history or basic ward spells for their families or county’s farms.
- Oh, Swallow! It certainly is a pleasure to see you again! If only you’d arrived earlier you could have joined our oatmeal honey lunch. Come now, sit by the fire with me and tell me of the North.
They both moved towards the fireplace while Rogar felt slightly neglected. He decided to resume his cleaning duties and walked outside, down to the stream by the tower to fetch the water needed to boil and wash his share.
- … And when you return you shall share all the news you can, if you please. – That was all that Rogar could hear when he came back, half limping under the wight of the full basin.
The stranger nodded quietly and stretched his legs toward the fire. Rogar was busy though, and cared little but for the funnel he needed to pour all the water from the basin into the clay boiling pot he would warm it up in.
When he was finished he struggled to walk up to the fire beside the pair and hung the pot over the fire. He motioned away from them in order to give the privacy but Neilkot called him.
- Rogar, I would like to introduce you to the Swallow, this is your guide to Keylarmir.
Rogar immediately bowed, closing his eyes and breathing in, trying to contain his nerves as the departure approached.
- Pleased to meet you, Rogar – said the young voice – I hope we will arrive at Keylarmir swiftly and safely, so that your mission can be carried out and our nation helped, in this time of sorrow. – Rogar looked up, somewhat surprised at the friendliness in the other one’s voice; he had no answer except a bewildered stare.
The awkward moment was broken be Neilkot’s cough.
He stood up and took his pupil’s shoulders in his hands.
- Now remember my advice and pay heed to the Swallow, please.
His voice was warm with care and that helped Rogar understand that his master had no ill wish upon him.
Rogar bit his lip and turned around quickly, walking up to the door where his backpack lay. He picked it up and asked:
- Shall we leave immediately? – He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice.
The Swallow winked at Neilkot reassuringly, while he stood there realizing he was sending the closest he had ever had to a son off to a heavy ordeal.
- Make sure both of you get to Keylarmir fast and safe, and make sure you return twice as much of it as when you went. May the light guide your steps and may our Father keep you in His grace.
Rogar walked down to the stables, half ignoring the figure walking behind him. He was actually grateful that Neilkot had encouraged the sport of horseback riding, in which he’d been growing confident. He knew he was meaker than most boys his age, but the sport gave him more balance, endurance and made his overall constitution shape up.
Before the previous stage in wizardry training he had been proud to ride with one hand only, which allowed Neilkot to train him with simple spellcasting while in motion.
But the duties at the tower and even the fact the Rogar was fond of Kaze – the grey horse – didn’t affect how uneasy he was outside the protective woods of the tower.
Once they got to the stable the Swallow pulled out a stunning black stallion that impressed Rogar enough to drop Kaze’s reigns. Kaze snorted in amusement which shook him out of his amazement.
In a feat of agility, the Swallow sat on the back of the giant horse, while Rogar got up on Kaze, feeling a little daunted at the difference in horse heights.
- Make sure your belongings are very well fastened, friend, for we shouldn’t take a break before the sun starts to set. – Rogar nodded, checked his knots and buckles and put his winter gloves and scarf on, covering his mouth.
- …ready!
- Hai!! – shouted the Swallow and both horsed sprung to a fast gallop out of the stables, bound north.
Relieved to have a strong wind facing them Rogar didn’t bother to hide his tears and he was resolute not to look back.
____________________________________________________________________________
- How you ever came to be outside of our country is a mystery to me, but even more mysterious than that is how you managed to escape those Gohruirin marauders and make it as far into our forest as you did. – A male voice stated matter of factly somewhere ahead.
- Let this sort of mystery disturb you not, brother, where this one is being taken such puzzles are easily solved. – Stated yet another voice, with an alert ring to its tone.
The makeshift litter where he was being carried jolted he fell back into its center. Murtair had hoped the strangers would not have noticed his subtle escape maneuver. They had outsmarted him and even tied his hands and feet in a tighter knot. Having his hands and feet tied hadn’t been a problem before as he had managed to evade other dire situations.
OK. So now I can’t get out of here. I’ll just slow my breath down and try to feel in which direction I am being taken. So far these people can either fly or they really know this ground because I haven’t felt any imbalance since they’ve put me up here.
I think we’ve been moving for more than three hours except for water stops. I counted two or three streams, where one could have been a lower pass of the first one. Apart from the wind on the nearby trees and the water in these streams I have no idea where I am. Well, there is no point in giving into far now. They haven’t even threatened my life so far, so I shouldn’t let myself lose it just yet.
I should reach back into my memories and try to work out a way to deal with these people and this quiet place.
Outside the limits of his blindfold there was a group of nice rangers and scouts; three of them elves who always remained silent though puzzled and all the more attentive to this new stranger who had somehow crossed the borders of the Mythal.
They could tell that as quietly as the half elf prisoner was behaving, he was clearly still brooding on how to escape their control. They could also tell that he seemed to have very little knowledge of these lands and the extent of Triadin people’s skills.
His skills had been developed on the advantage of his innate agility and clearly keen wits, but he didn’t have self-discipline that could match any of those in the collecting party.
One of the elves looked at his tiger companion, walking at a distance and reminded himself of an important tactical lesson: A cat may be surrounded by a pack of dogs but it might still bite and scratch, perhaps even more fiercely because it is outnumbered.
Most of the other collectors kept on their march, not allowing Murtair’s litter to come uneven by an inch. It was of the utmost importance that the prisoner would not have any idea as to where he was going and just as important as that, that he had no idea what kind of terrain they were treading. This would render him much more vulnerable to the hidden dangers of their woods, hills and mountains. And so everybody kept their careful stride quietly, for there was more than a crow’s mile to hike before they could reach camp, deliver their finding and finally break their fast and take their rest from the late shift.
Immerse in somber thoughts of unexpected defeat, Zack realized that the guards around him and even the forest with its creatures had become somewhat tense.
The scouts and rangers there grew quiet and seemed to speak to each other only through their eyes, as if none of them were comfortable enough to utter a single sound.
The complete silence had become so strained that even the wind seemed to have halted, expecting something to happen.
After a while, a large group walked out of the shadows, carrying a litter with a hooded man cuffed on it. The whole camp seemed to hold their breath as the litter was laid down, not too far from one of the bonfires. The wood crackled and the entire forest seemed to breathe again, relieved by the return of its freedom to be…
The hooded man suddenly sprang up from his seeming slumber and tried to make a run towards the emptier side of camp. Zack watched how he tumbled and rolled, trying to escape. It all seemed a little pathetic – though Zack was not amused – yet he had noticed the ability shown by the man in perceiving the strategic way out of the area. He also understood the reason why had been blindfolded and so carefully taken there; which also made him reflect on the reasons why he had received somewhat different treatment. Maybe they didn’t see him as a threat, or maybe he had just given up, after seeing the letter of honor’s seal being broken before he had arrived at Snulkrag.
Now all he knew was that he was in Wrungloth – the Triade country – and he only hoped that the safely kept nation would somehow restore the seal of his letter of honor, so that he could regain his freedom and move on toward his own destiny.
The other man had been swiftly and seemingly effortlessly subdued by two elves that moved both like shadows, quite and smooth, and like panthers, ferocious and precise. The taller elf touched his neck and wrist, causing him to collapse unconscious. They carried him away towards another bonfire. As they passed the bushes’ threshold Zack realized he had been holding his breath and shook his head, readjusting his body so as to not become sore.
After a moment, the elves tending the nearest bonfire stood up and bowed unexpectedly. They walked away and a shadow passed where they had stood, through the invisible side of the tree Zack had been bound to. A second later, a dark blue cloak stood in front of him, its intricate golden embroidery gleaming under the bonfire’s light.
- Are you too weak to stand? – a sober voice asked from the shade of the hood.
- I would if not by the ropes that bind me.
- Let them not assail you any longer, Navangorian. – they loosened immediately as he spoke – and let us make each other’s acquaintance.
Zack stood up slowly and faced the figure.
- I am Merellas, son of Arthelas and Iwainil, keeper of the folk in the southeastern SIlovain Woods, where Rapsengor is no longer and Wrungloth prospers under the Triadin Nation. – He then kept quiet, allowing his words to sink in and waiting for a reply. Zack had been perplexed. The name Merellas was all too familiar to him, though shrowded in distant memories.
- My name is Zack – Zacharya, son of Eastern Navangor and ranger of those lands, sent out to aid in the Gohruirin conflict as the justice in my heart would see fairest. But allow me sir, your name is not unknown to me although it has just been unveiled from my memory.
- And how would you know of me if you’ve never before set foot on these here lands? – The hooded figure hinted a smile in his voice.
- Well, sir, for a good six years I received my best training from a hermit named Nerellas. But it was far north even in Navangorian lands, and even though he mentioned Merellas, Arthelas and Iwainil, those lands are so far away that maybe it’s an entirely different family.
- When did you last hear of this master of yours? – The sober tone had returned to the mysterious figure.
- About six years ago, when I came of age and started scouting the lands of the south, closer to border with Rapsengor. He stated that it was his time to go home. Zack was puzzled.
- … To go home – said the figure to himself – Thank you Zacharya. I must now take you with me, as a citizen of an allied country and an innocent guest of the Silovain woods, you must be apologized to, although regretfully there is nothing I can do to undo what has been done to your letter of honor – and I must also inform you of both the states of the war in Gohruir, our country and your own. But come along, your stomach longs for nourishment and your mind for understanding.
Zack nodded solemnly, but his puzzlement had not diminished. Yet his hunger spoke louder than anything else and his legs responded well to the call of food as he motioned to follow Merellas.
