Propelled by the need to act, he almost sprang from his bed, throwing his covers to the side. Though the horrible images of his dreams still rested firmly in his consciousness, as did the hideousness of his mother’s transformation, their hope-draining effect no longer grasped him. Rather, he was driven, as he donned his traveling clothes, by a resolution that he would never see the day his sister and Liani became captive to anything other than their own desires. As soon as his feet hit the floor, Xunmerco sensed the change. The great wolf lifted its head attentively and wagged its tail excitedly.
“This is going to be a great day, my friend,” said Rony.
Xunmerco responded with a short but excited snort.
“Indeed, we have a long journey a head of us. Are you fit to travel?” he asked.
The great wolf responded with another short snort even more excited than the last.
“Good, because we have a longer journey ahead of us than any of us realizes,” he said as he squatted down to scratch under the wolf’s large neck. “And I will need all of your strength, my friend.”
In response, Xunmerco licked his face nuzzling closer to him.
“Thank you, Mercy. You are nothing but amazing,” Rony said as he offered on last scratch behind the great beast’s ear. “Now, let us get ready. We have a long way to march, and not much time,” he said as he stood.
After fastening his various blades, his long sword onto his black leather belt, his long dagger to his outer left thigh, and his small knife to the outside of his left boot, he picked up his bow. Long has it been in his possession. It has felled many prey under his masterful direction, but it has also saved the lives of many close to him. It did, after all, save his sister from certain death while suspended above the endless cavern in the goblin’s cave. He silently wondered if it would, as it had so many times in the past, be equipped for the challenge. No longer was he hunting squirrels, rabbits, foxes, bears, and the other beasts of the forests. No. Now he was hunting a greater foe than any he had faced before, a foe not of this world, a foe bent upon his destruction, a foe that knew no fear and one that would not run. Yet, in spite of his questions and doubts, his bow had to be ready. He had to be ready. For there was no choice, nor room for failure, nor room for errant shots. This time, he thought, this time he would not miss.
He found both of his sisters still sleeping and woke them with a single statement, “Come,” he said to them as their eyes adjusted to the still dark room, “It is time. We make for Pretago Cor.”
“What?” asked Zyndalia rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“We must go. There is not much time,” he said as he turned and started to walk out of their room and give them time to gather their belongings.
Both of the women looked at each other suspiciously, not because of any deception he may be plotting, but because he was not a creature of random and quick change, even when he was still very young, Zyndalia had known him to be a creature of habit and routine. Convincing him to alter his routines, even in the slightest way, often took much more effort that was worth it. So, seeing him change this drastically with apparently no intervention whatsoever, caused them both to pause. “Ronialdin,” said Zyndalia, “What happened?”
“Does it matter,” he said, his back still turned toward them.
“You know that it does,” answered Liani.
He sighed as he turned. He knew he would have to tell them what he saw last night, the totality of his dreams, but he had hoped it would be after they had left. He was not worried about what he saw, nor whether they would believe him. He knew what he saw was real and he knew they would see what he said as truth. But what worried him were the implications of their confirmation. What would it mean for them, for him, for Avendia? Prolonging such a discussion was giving him a reprieve from the soul shattering responsibility he was beginning to feel. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the visit from Michael, or perhaps Xunmerco’s persona and positive demeanor was asserting itself more though their bond than usual, but either way, his habit of accepting more responsibility than what he should had not yet landed fully upon his mind. However, if they confirmed what he felt, as he suspected they would, somewhere within him acknowledged the potential for his overdeveloped sense of responsibility to again dominate. And while he had gotten used to it over the years, he was rather enjoying his light-hearted steps.
“I had a dream,” he said, taking two short steps and sitting down on the edge of the bed. What followed was a very detailed retelling of every detail he could remember from his dreams including the scene where both Zyndalia and Liani were marched as captives. He was careful to reproduced his story in full, taking time to explain every detail so much so that when he spoke of the walk with his father through the woods, his eyes glistened marvelously. Both women felt his emotions as their own, but only Liani’s eyes reflected his tears. They sat silently throughout his soliloquy, even the part involving Michael, and did not speak until he finished completely.
“I do not know what to say,” said Zyndalia after a moment of thunder deafening silence.
“There is not much to say, I guess,” said Rony. “Apparently I have, we all have, been called into this conflict between powers greater than anything we have ever dreamed, powers that are strong enough to enslave the entirety of the land, and if we do not stand against this evil, what I saw will come to pass.”
“I have felt something growing within me for a long time. As if it has been trying to guide me, call me to it. And when I fought the demon with Graloralynn, it felt as if I was home, if that makes any sense,” said Liani.
“It does. As terrible as the white rage is, it does feel like all purpose aligns and everything makes sense,” answered Rony.
“Then we should waste no more time here speaking of things we can no longer avoid. Give us a few minutes and we will be ready to leave,” said Zyndalia.
“Thank you,” said Rony as he stood up to leave. “And Zyn,” he continued.
“Yes,” she responded.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“For what?” she asked. But he did not return an answer, rather, he turned slowly and walked out of their room leaving the two women to rise and ready themselves in relative silence. They did not tarry and were ready quickly. When they exited the house, they saw Rony sitting atop a horse with two others prepared for riding.
“Is that,” began Zyndalia, but was prevented from completing her question.
“Yes, it is,” answered Rony.
“But how?” she asked.
“I do not know. I found them grazing not far from here,” he said.
“Were they not scared of Glory, Mercy and Grace?” asked Liani.
“Apparently, they were not. But perhaps that was because the three of them stayed down wind of the horses,” answered Rony. “Well, what are you waiting for? Indigo will not have forgotten how to bear your weight, sister.”
Zyndalia walked slowly up to the small brown mare and affectionately stroked its long nose, “Have you forgotten me my sweet friend? How long has it been?” Hearing her voice, the horse whinnied slightly and nuzzled into Zyndalia’s hand a little more firmly. “I see you have not forgotten me after all,” she said now smiling. Liani approached the other mare, a larger black one and reached toward it with her opened palm.
“Her name is Jinia,” said Rony. “She was my mother’s.”
“It would be an honor to ride her until your mother’s return,” said Liani.
“Thank you for that,” he said prompting her to smile.
Both Zyndalia and Liani fastened their riding packs to their horse’s respective flanks and mounted fluidly. Though the land was still as barren as it had been during their journey home, and the clouds remained just as grey, there was yet warmth in their souls and a lightness to their moods settling them into the first part of their trek. Neither of them had been to the city of Pretago Cor before, but they did know it was a lengthy journey. As such, they thought it better to bolster their s
upplies sooner rather than later.
Much like their journey to their home, the land leading away from it, though in the opposite direction, was just as barren and changed. When the leaves on the trees should have begun reflecting the warm and bright colors of fall, though they still showed signs of the seasonal alteration, they did not imitate the memories driving Zyndalia’s love of the autumnal season. Yes, the air had grown crisp, but unlike the early fall winds of her childhood, this wind had a bite and seemed to penetrate right through their fur-lined, leather cloaks into the deeper layers of their skins. Pulling her cloak more tightly around herself, Zyndalia reached out with her bond to sense Inglorca feasting on a small prey, most likely a rabbit.
She had grown large over this past year, much larger than she would have thought possible. Yet the depth of Inglorca’s physicality was still small when compared to the wolf’s soul and inherent positivity and trust for all things good. Zyn was not sure if this attribute was unique to Inglorca or was a characteristic pervasive to all wolves of her kind. Regardless, she was thankful for it. It had become difficult, to say the least, to trust in the goodness of everything when even the very world around them was growing cold, hard, and indifferent. What she had grown up seeing as bountiful had slowly become the representation of lack. What power was capable of altering the very world and how could they, the three of them, do anything to avert the intentions of such a power? Had it not been for Inglorca’s presence and easy insistence that everything would progress as it should and the powers of plenty would again surge forth to replenish the land, Zyn was not sure she would have had the wherewithal to persist. But persist she did, as did Rony and Liani, toward the end of powers greater than their own understanding.
During the nights, to combat the chilling air, and perhaps its growing effect on their wills, they would sleep close together and close to the glowing embers of a dwindling fire. Though the smoldering embers would provide them with just enough warmth to prevent the need for thicker blankets, it was their bond with the wolves the prevented their decline into the soul-numbing abyss that had plagued them as they searched for their home. And while the strength of the wolves’ presence had always been a focus for each of them, after the night Rony had his dream, they had become a veritable fortress of protection with walls that extended higher than the desolation around them.
With the break of dawn on the fourth day, the three of them stood on the outside of a large wooden gate in a large wooden wall surrounding the city of Rhodendale “Do you remember this gate?” Zyndalia asked Rony.
“No, I do not. But if we expect to resupply, we should at least find a way through it,” he said.
“I suggest speaking with the gate keeper,” said Liani.
“Gatekeeper?” asked Rony.
“Yes. If there is a gate, I am sure there is someone charged with keeping it,” she said as she walked up to the entrance.
“Who seeks entrance?” asked a voice from within. The gate itself stood about three feet taller than the walls, walls they estimated to be about ten feet in height. While the gate was constructed out of wooden planks held together with iron nails and ropes, the walls themselves were little more than trees shaved of their branches bound together by thick twine. The bases of the trunks were inserted into the ground made possible by a trench that had been dug. As far as they could tell, the entire city proper had been surrounded by the wooden wall. There were still small houses and shops on the exterior, but the most of the city was hidden behind the wall.
“We are travelers seeking to resupply and rest for the night,” answered Liani honestly.
“Where are you traveling from?” asked the voice again.
“Our home in the forest three days from here,” she answered again.
“Where will your travels end?” asked the voice.
“They will end when our feet reach our destination,” she answered firmly. “I fail to see the relevance our travels have upon our need to seek rest within your city walls.”
“One can never be too careful now-a-days, what with the Dwarves mobilized and strange creatures about the land,” answered the voice.
“The Dwarves?” asked Rony, “Are their lands not far from here any longer?”
“Indeed, they are. But our scouts have spotted Dwarven parties on the far end of our borders, and some as close as five days from here. What they are up to, we cannot say. But one thing is for sure when speaking of Dwarves,” he answered allowing his implication to remain without voice.
“Oh? And what is that?” asked Zyndalia.
“They cannot be trusted,” said the voice suspiciously.
“Well, you can see we are not Dwarves. So, are we permitted to enter or do we have to find another town more receptive to our coin?” asked Liani growing impatient.
“I did not mean to offend you. But one cannot be too careful these days. Yes, you are permitted to enter. And do not forget to visit the town registrar with your papers of origin,” said the voice.
“Papers of Origin?” asked Rony.
“Yes, your papers of origin, so they can be verified,” answered the voice.
“Yes, of course. We will head there straight away. Thank you for the reminder,” answered Rony, pretending to understand.
“Mind that you do. You do not want to be caught with unverified papers. You might find yourself in the city jail,” warned the voice.
“Yes. Thank you. We will,” he answered again.
“Very well. You may enter,” said the voice.
After a short moment, they heard three distinct clicks followed by what sounded like gears grinding allowing the wooden gate to swing slowly open just far enough for them to enter, their horses in a single file line. One of the most distinct memories both Zyndalia and Ronialdin had regarding their yearly trips to Rhodandale to sell and trade their pelts was the large and vibrant market. Though the city was rather small when compared to other major trade cities, it’s market could hold its own. Perhaps not in physical size, but Rhodandale’s market rivaled all but the largest cities in The Silver Empire in both exchanged commerce and energy. However, because of the profound change the surrounding lands had undergone, they should not have been surprised when they entered and found the market had not been spared from the same desolation. The activity was sparse, as were the penetrating smells of freshly grilled meats and freshly baked breads. The sounds, previously dominated by a symphonic crescendo of the blacksmiths and bards each making, demonstrating, and selling their instruments of battle and music, were muted bordering absent. So were the voices of the chanting of Monks of The Brotherhood whose only purpose was to fill the gaps with a pleasing, auditory melody while the inhabitants and visitors went about the tasks of their days.
Piercing the muted market was a single voice that rang true and clear, “Behold the final days! Behold the plague set upon us by God, the One God, the only God. He has cursed our transgressions and sentenced us to death lest we repent! Search your hearts! Search them and despair for they are lost and never to be recovered. Woe to we who cannot be saved! Woe to the warry travelers, woe to the fathers and mothers, woe to the children for theirs is the day that will never come. Repent! Repent I tell you from your wicked ways! Seek no comfort in whoring or boozing or in lying. Instead seek ye comfort in the knowledge that when you die, you will be saved!”
“This is not how I remember it,” said Zyndalia.
“Nor I,” added Rony.
“I do not like the feel of this place any more than I like the feel of its surrounding land,” said Zyn.
“I agree with you. We should not stay here for longer than is necessary,” confirmed Rony.
“Should we still stay at one of the inns?” asked Liani.
“I do not think that would be wise,” said Zyn. “I think we would be in better company if we spent the night in a cemetery. At least our surroundings would seem more alive.”
“Agreed. Let us get what we need and be on our way,” said Rony.
Though there was no indication beyond the pervasive depression within the city walls that they were possibly in harm’s way, they all agreed to purchase their supplies with what coin they had remaining and set out again before noon. They took care to avoid the roaming city guards lest they be questioned and asked to produce their papers of origin. Though they knew not what they were, nor how to acquire them, they thought it better not to be engaged in that particular line of questioning. The reach of the Stone Keep had grown since they had escaped it, and the longer they remained within its provincial borders, the greater the chance was that word of their identities would have caught up to them. Though they purchased their supplies with little to no resistance or incident, their uneasy feeling continued to grow. Perhaps it was a general effect caused by the compounding consequence of being away from their wolf companions combined with the degradation of the lands they were still within. Perhaps they were experiencing a foreboding caused by the manifestation of one of their newly found abilities. Or perhaps it was just their minds playing tricks on them because of their heightened nervousness based on the events of their recent past. Regardless of the reason, all three of them breathed a much-needed sigh of relief when they exited through the gates quickly and quietly without anyone in pursuit.
Their journey, while wrought with a numbing silence from the lack of most living things, was otherwise nondescript. For all outward appearances, they could have each been traveling separately across the countryside for substantially benign reasons. But the weight each of them was carrying within was enough to bind them together. Though the desperation of purpose was driving them, it was impossible for them to cover large portions of the distance to Pretago Cor. Their horses were affected by the evil energies much more than they or their wolves had been resulting in frequent rests. Nevertheless, they persisted, as did their mounts.
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