"By the Gods, boy, if you cost us that horse, I'll take it out o' yer hide."
Treyon just hung there limply, knowing the brigand didn't make idle threats.
The two turned their attention back to the horse, Caith keeping a tight hand on the boy's shirt. The bandit waited patiently, knowing the brothers would spring their trap with perfect timing.
And so it would have been, if not for their target. As one, the two men flicked out their loops of tough woven rope, their hands steady, their aim true, both lassos flaring out to settle around the neck of their quarry.
Or would have, if the horse hadn't danced out of the way of the snares with a graceful ease, as if it had known exactly where they were all the while. Treyon exhaled in relief. Caith, noticing the boy's reaction, cuffed him again.
The horse neighed, the noise sounding like laughter in the silence, then turned and slowly trotted off through the trees.
Caith stood up, grimacing, and called out "By the Hells, I want that horse! Toren, Soren, take two men and run it down, damn it. Don't come back without it." Another fool's errand to send them off on, just like finding the boy, he thought.
The twins stood, one of them pointing to two other men, and the foursome set out after the shrinking white figure. Caith put his back against a tree as he waited with the last two bandits. He looked around, then snorted, "Don't know why that horse is here when our own horses wouldn'a come in. Haunted forest, my arse."
One of the other men, a newer arrival whom Treyon didn't know, spoke up, "Maybe it's a Companion."
"Oh? Is it? Where's the bleedin' Herald? Hells, no," Caith snorted again, "Just got a little more horse sense than usual. Living in the wild'll do that to an animal sometimes. What better place for a horse to live than here, eh?"
"Breeze's dying down." the other bandit remarked.
Treyon had been standing as well, pulled to his feet when Caith had risen. Looking around, he also noticed the lack of wind. Which made what else he saw even more unusual, easily passing into terrifying.
With barely a rustle, the trees around the bandits were slowly bending their branches down toward each of the men's heads. Treyon remained motionless, not wanting to attract any attention to himself. Caith and his men continued their idle conversation, unaware of the movement until Caith looked again at Treyon.
"Here now, what are you lookin—" His voice trailed off as he followed Treyon's gaze to the surrounding foliage, which quivered, then suddenly lashed out.
Caith, his reflexes quicker than the other two, released Treyon and dove to the ground, thinking to find safety there. When he hit the ground, thick roots erupted all around him, completely wrapping his body in brown tendrils and drawing him slowly underground, his screaming face the last thing to vanish.
The other men, caught completely by surprise, fared just as badly. One never got a chance to move, impaled by a thick limb that burst from his stomach like a third arm. The other managed to get his dagger out before several tree branches wrapped around his neck and jerked him, struggling and strangling, into its leaves, his knife arm flailing uselessly as he disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, the dagger skittered down the tree trunk and fell to the ground underneath it.
Treyon watched all this without moving, without even blinking. He just stood there, until the screams finished echoing through the woods. Finally, all was silent again, the only sign of disturbance being the impaled bandit's body still standing grotesquely upright. Treyon straightened up and took a hesitant step forward, then another, then another, and took off again, running through the forest until his legs would carry him no farther. Sinking to the ground under another large tree, heedless of the cursed forest and what might happen to him, Treyon fell asleep almost before he hit the ground.
The cracks and pops of a fire slowly woke Treyon. The first sensation he had was of pleasant warmth surrounding him. The second was the unmistakable smell of something cooking, making his stomach clench with hunger.
Treyon slowly blinked the last bits of sleep away, aware that he was still tired, but too concerned with trying to figure out where he was to rest any more. He flexed his hand slowly, feeling the mat of dry grasses he was laying on. Overhead, a canopy of trees blocked out the sky.
Meaning I'm still in the forest, Treyon thought. Moving his head slowly to the side, he looked first at the trees which surrounded him, trees that grew so close together they made natural walls encircling the small clearing, although here and there small gaps of darkness showed through. Treyon shuddered as he remembered the attack of the forest again.
The only opening was a small break on the opposite wall of trees, past the fire in the middle of the room and the cloaked form crouched in front of it.
Treyon gasped in surprise, for his bandit-trained senses hadn't noticed the figure until just a few seconds ago. Sitting upright, he tensed to bolt for the small exit. A few steps and a dive and he would be free.
"Finally awake, I see?" the indistinct shape said in a clear, gentle voice, still facing away from him. "If you wish to leave, by all means, there is no one here to stop you. Of course, there is no one here who wishes you harm, either."
Treyon flattened himself against the tree wall, his eyes still upon the figure who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The bandit part of his mind was still screaming that this was a trap. The being continued, apparently unmindful of Treyon's fear.
"Of course, I'd rather you stayed a bit and dined with me. It has been far too long since a stranger found his way to my doorstep, such as it is. And it would be a shame to waste most of this stew."
At the mention of food the rich stew smell floated into Treyon's nose again, reminding him how painfully hungry he was. It had been so long, if ever, since he had eaten a meal that was more than scraps and leavings from the brigands. The part of his mind that was still wary of a trap was quickly being overpowered by the demands of his stomach, but, Treyon thought, if—whatever it is—had wanted to, it could have done anything to me while I slept. I should have woken up bound or held somehow. Hells, even if this is a trap, it'll be worth it for a full stomach.
Summoning up the scraps of manners he knew, gained mainly from watching the bandits beg and scrape to Ke'noran, Treyon got up from the bed of grass and stood. "Can I have some food, then?"
The figure turned toward him, pushing back its hood and Treyon saw a man, his face unlined yet somehow looking very old, framed by a mane of fine silver hair. The ageless face smiled gently, and the man extended an already full wooden bowl. "Of course, child."
Snatching it away, Treyon hunched over the bowl protectively and tried to scoop out a handful, only to yelp in pain as he burned his fingers. The man winced as Treyon blew on his injured hand and held out a spoon-shaped piece of wood, not carved, but looking like it had been naturally formed. "Try this."
Gingerly Treyon took the spoon, scooped up some of the stew and blew on it for a few seconds, then popped it into his mouth. Chewing fast, he sucked in air to further cool the hot food. All the while, his arm was curled protectively around the comfortably warm bowl.
The stranger said nothing, just watched him eat and refilled his bowl when it was held out. After Treyon had finished his third helping, he belched and asked for something to drink, receiving another bowl already filled with clear spring water.
His stomach full and ready to face whatever was asked of him, knowing it would be easier to take if he was prepared, Treyon squared his shoulders and looked at the man. "What do you want?"
The man looked up from stacking the bowls in a corner, the question clear from the expression on his face.
Treyon continued, "For the food and shelter. Work, or anything else you want. It's all right, I'm used to it. Just tell me."
The man's head lowered again, his shoulders shaking silently. Treyon thought he might have been laughing, but when he raised his head again the tears on his cheeks gleamed in the firelight. "By the Gods, boy, you're only twelve or thirteen at the m
ost. What has been done to you?" Taking a deep breath, he wiped his face. "I don't ask anything of you other than your company." Seeing the look on Treyon's face, he added hastily, "Just talk, that's all."
"Oh." The word turned into a yawn as his comfortably full stomach and the warmth of the fire made Treyon sleepy.
"Why don't you rest some more, and we can talk in the morning." The man said quietly. Treyon found himself growing sleepy just listening, but he wasn't convinced of his safety quite yet.
"What about the trees?" he mumbled as his eyelids drooped.
"Nothing will harm you, not while you're with me." the man replied, turning back to the fire.
Feeling he had nothing to lose anyway, and now wanting to sleep more than he ever had in his life, Treyon crawled over to the grass mats and was soon curled up, breathing rhythmically in slumber.
The stranger stood, stretched, and walked to the wall near the small opening. He looked back to ensure that the boy was sleeping soundly. Satisfied, he walked straight through the trees, his body encountering no resistance from the wood. Once outside, he looked up through a break in the trees at a small patch of night sky.
"Over thirty years in the forest now, and I'm still finding boys in trouble."
Treyon awoke to dappled sunlight streaming in through the small gaps in the trees. He blinked several times, unsure if he was awake or still dreaming. When no coarse shouts or heavy kicks jerked him out of bed, he relaxed a bit, remembering where he was.
Breathing deeply, Treyon felt the bite of the crisp morning air on his face. The rest of his body, however, was comfortably warm, mostly because of the gray woolen cloak covering him. Throwing it aside, Treyon got up and stretched, trying to get moving before the cold could soak into his bones. He walked toward the opening to the small tree-shelter and crawled out, freezing in place as soon as he was outside.
Directly in front of him, the white horse was grazing contentedly. Even though Treyon thought he hadn't made a sound, the horse raised its head and looked at him. Caught in its gaze as he had been the day before, Treyon felt like the animal was reading his mind. He didn't move a muscle, content to hold its eyes with his own steady stare. He felt proud that he wasn't compelled to look away in fear or submission. It was almost as if the horse were evaluating him, and apparently liking what it saw.
The horse looked beyond him for a moment, then neighed, wheeled around, and cantered off through the woods again, only this time with no bandits in pursuit.
A noise behind him made Treyon whirl in a defensive crouch before he could stop himself. The silver-haired man held his hand up in a calm gesture. "Good morning."
Straightening, Treyon mentally cursed his reflexes. "Hello."
The man gestured toward the horse's retreating back. "What do you think of her?"
Treyon turned to look at the horse again. "She's beautiful. Yours?"
"Not exactly. We're very good friends, though."
"I'd give anything to ride something like that."
"Well, I don't know. You'd have to ask her. Her name's Yfandes."
Treyon looked up at the man who had come up beside him, and was now watching him without a trace of humor on his face, as if talking to horses was something he did every day. Not knowing quite how to respond, Treyon kept silent. There was a not-quite-awkward silence for a few seconds until the man spoke again, "Are you hungry? I'm afraid all I can offer is more of the same as last night, if you don't mind."
The memory of the savory vegetable stew brought a smile to Treyon's face, "Fine, if you have enough."
"Always." The man started to go inside, then paused, "I'm sorry. I've fed and sheltered you and I don't even know your name."
Treyon paused before heading back into the shelter. "It's Treyon."
The man nodded. "And you can call me Van."
Treyon's head snapped up. "As in Vanyel Demonsbane?"
The man smiled as if he heard that question a lot.
"The name is similar, but the Herald-Mage Vanyel has been dead for over thirty years. He died around here, as a matter of fact."
"You know of him?"
Van grinned. "Bits and pieces I've heard here and there. After all, I haven't lived my whole life here. Come inside and I'll tell you more over a hot meal."
Treyon hurriedly scooted through the break in the trees. Van started to follow, but stopped for a moment as a familiar voice carried clearly in his mind.
:Don't embellish too much while telling your "bits and pieces" now.:
:'Fandes, I'm shocked you would even accuse me doing something like that. If he wanted embellishment, he should talk to Stefen. But I do think he should get his information straight from the "legend's" mouth, don't you?:
:As long as I get to correct you on parts you may be a bit fuzzy on. Deal?:
Van smiled. :Deal. Except I wish I had his gift with children. He's much better with them than I am.:
:Well, dear, if wishes were Companions, then everybody would have one. You'll just have to make do.:
:Yes, yes, but... I have the feeling that this boy is a harbinger of something evil to come. You sensed him, didn't you?:
:Of course. Why do you think I went after him?:
:All right, all right, Van grinned again, Pardon me for trying to figure out your mind.:
Van could almost see Yfandes' smile. :Over five decades together and you're still learning, dear. Are you going in? That boy needs to talk:
:Right away. Keep watch for anything unusual, particularly from the North. This may take a while.:
Understood.:
"...and that was how Vanyel earned the name "Shadow-Stalker." Van leaned back against the wood of the shelter, watching Treyon finish the last of his meal.
"Boy, it sure must have been exciting." Treyon said after he had swallowed the last mouthful. "Riding all over Valdemar, protecting those who needed help, battling evil wherever it appeared."
A wry grin appeared on Van's face. "I don't know. I doubt it was all adventure and romance. I mean, you're from around here, right?" Treyon nodded. "So you know how cold it gets at night, how hard the winters are. I'm sure Vanyel spent many days cold, hungry, and tired while he was protecting those who needed him."
"Yeah, but he was the most powerful magician of all. He leveled armies, battled hundreds of demons at once, cut through mountains like they were soft butter. He could do anything. Why would he be cold and tired when he didn't have to be?"
:Funny, that's what his Companion said more than once.: Yfandes Mindspoke, along with a gentle laugh. Shaking his head at both of them, Van continued.
"Treyon, it wasn't, and still isn't, that easy. Often times Vanyel was probably battling other mages, with power as strong, or even stronger, than his. Sure, he could have used magic to keep himself warm and fed, but that would have been just like sending a signal to the other mages, telling them where he was, like a torch on a dark night."
"Oh. You seem to know a lot about magic." The statement was meant as just that, but Van inferred something more behind it, as did Yfandes, who commented, :The boy's quick.:
"Well, before I settled down here, I picked up some training in it. But times changed, and I ended up here, where I've been ever since."
"Oh." Treyon stared into the fire for a time, then said quietly, "It's too bad Vanyel isn't still around. But that's just wishful thinking, I guess. I mean, why would a legend concern himself with one person?"
Since Treyon was still looking at the fire, he didn't notice Van stiffen at his tone, or the pained expression on his face as he replied.
"Well,. Treyon, I'm sure if Vanyel was still alive, he would still be helping those who needed him."
At those words Treyon looked at the older man sharply. Seizing the moment, Van continued, "Treyon, why were you in the forest?"
After a long silence. "I was running away."
"From whom?"
"Bandits. I was sold to them a long time ago, I don't even know who my mother and father are." Under V
an's level gaze, Treyon felt compelled to tell him as much as he could.
"So you didn't want to be a bandit?"
"No, of course not. Running and hiding all the time, never sure where your next meal is coming from, always in fear of your life." Treyon paused as a thought struck him. "Maybe Vanyel and I had more in common than I thought."
The boy is quick, Van thought as Treyon continued. "But I didn't see any way out of it. I mean, I don't know anything other than banditing. Sure, I could go to a city, but what would I do there but end up stealing to eat again. So I thought banditing was what I was gonna do forever, till Ke'noran came along."
"Ke'noran?"
"Yeah, she's a wicked Woman if'n I ever saw one. Knows lots 'bout magic, too. She took over the group by killing Trold, who'd been the leader. She appeared one night, said she was leading us now, I mean, I was still with them then. Trold got up and started walking toward her, talking 'bout how no woman was taking over his band. She just looked at him, and he started bleedin' everywhere, his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. He ran into the woods, 'n we never saw him again. She's led ever since, and now most of the men actually respect her. Not just because she could kill anyone who opposed her, but she actually made life a bit better for us. We even ate pretty regularly after she took over."
"Did she make you leave?"
"Yeah, but she didn't kick me out or nothing. When she first saw me, it was like she was looking into my head. She always gave me the creeps. Well, one night I had a dream, and in it I was tied to this big rock, and Ke'noran was standing over me with this sharpened stick with strange marks carved on it. She was leaning over me and saying something, bringing the stick closer to my head, and then I woke up. I don't know how to explain it, but I knew that if I stayed there any longer, what I saw was gonna happen to me. So that night I headed for the border, hoping to get to a town or city somewhere. Just as I got out of the mountains, they caught up with me. I ran for the woods, and here I am." Treyon said, omitting the part about the trees.
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