Jaegar came forward as the others stood back, mute. After a prolonged hesitation, he said, somewhat apologetically, “My Lord, we have searched the area for the sage—she is nowhere to be found.”
King Pallan boomed, “What?”
Jaegar’s timidness grew. He pleaded, “My Lord—what I say is true. The men and I have scoured the grounds looking for the woman; but we have uncovered nothing. No clues. No signs as to where she may have gone.”
“What did she do—vanish into thin air?”
Jaegar put his head down submissively, in light embarrassment.
King Pallan quipped, “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He made a smirk and then grinned at his confused head soldier. Placing his hand on Jaegar’s shoulder, he urged gently, “Come. Let us go. I think we have had enough confusion for one day—enough subterfuge.”
Jaegar raised his head and laughed to himself. “Yes, My Lord.”
“Tell the regiment we are leaving within the hour. I want to be at a restful place—new campgrounds—before the sun sets.”
Jaegar grew more alert. “Yes, My Lord. I shall notify them straightaway.”
The Paladians set out once again for a new place to call home, a campsite under the stars and beneath the canopy of trees that was far enough away from the ruins, and closer, perhaps, in the finest degree to Vadaal and its mysterious castle, housing the Eye of Kotar’ray. Unfortunately, the search for the new campsite took longer than was desired, as several places that presented themselves as potential sites were deemed either too small or too rocky. It was within the last vestiges of day, as the forest dimmed rapidly from a deep red to a sooty black, that the wanderers came upon a section of land that, although somewhat hilly, was thinner in trees and had only a collection of bushes. It was here that King Pallan commanded them to set up camp. As the people unburdened themselves of their baggage, the sky grew dark and the stars shone once again, twinkling high overhead as a silvery moon drifted into prominence.
The next day came and a tired camp woke, wearily. The task of completing the new campsite was readily before all minds. Unusually, King Pallan rose early and began surveying the wilderness environing the camp. He took with him Garan and Jaegar. Jardarah was busy directing the setup of the camp, assigning soldiers to the various watches.
King Pallan, Jaegar, and Garan came by a brook; the small stream ran lengthwise to the new campgrounds, in much the same way another rivulet had run to the old campsite, before they had made temporary lodgings of the ruins, now charred from the inside out.
“Curious—a brook. Much like the one that ran past the old campsite.”
Jaegar finished, “By your old escape, My Lord.”
King Pallan stopped and grinned. “Yes … my old sanctuary.”
“Perhaps you will find a new one, My Lord.”
King Pallan looked around slowly. “Perhaps, Jaegar … it is quite beautiful here. In these mountains.”
Jaegar and Garan began to scan their surroundings, as their king had previously done.
The area seemed deserted—completely. There were no signs of anyone other than their resourceful people, some distance behind them. In the trees, birds chirped and sang echoing songs, which interleaved ever so gently with the rustling of the brook. There was a tranquillity to the scene that seemed to drown out the senseless uproar of the prosaic realities of life, of the looming threat of night. Here, among the woodlands, at a semihigh elevation, was a world both pristine and untouched. The troubles of the past could be thwarted—driven away by good word or deed, one could be led to believe, in a truer contemplation of the cathedral of nature.
King Pallan soon said, “I think we shall stay here for a while—until the time we must go.”
Jaegar asked, “To where, My Lord?”
King Pallan did not answer him; his eyes were on the mountains, the trees, and the brightening sky. He took a step forward and squinted at something.
“What is it, My Lord? What do you see?” Jaegar came to his side, as did a silent Garan.
King Pallan squinted a bit harder and shook his head. “I am not sure, Jaegar. Something flashing in the water, catching the rays of the morning sun.”
“Shall we go and investigate?”
King Pallan did not acknowledge Jaegar for almost half a minute. He then answered, “Perhaps we should … come, let us see what it is. We have some time to spare before the morning meal.” He added in a graver tone, “And then, there is work to be done. The setting up of our new camp.”
Jaegar and Garan responded, “Aye, My Lord.”
The three of them walked some distance to the glinting object in the stream. Coming alongside the object on the bank of the brook, King Pallan said, “One of us will need to wade into the stream to get a better look.”
Jaegar forthwith volunteered, “I shall go, My Lord.” He then remarked in jest, “It is just water.”
King Pallan and Garan smiled.
Jaegar entered the brook gingerly and waded out to the shimmering object, which seemed lodged between some reeds and a rock. In a short while, he said, with a turn of his head back to his comrades, “The stream is quite shallow.”
King Pallan turned to Garan, who turned likewise to him. King Pallan shrugged—the signal for the two of them to follow Jaegar.
Jaegar came by the object and began to peer down at it. He was startled when his lord and Garan appeared next to him. “I thought—”
King Pallan put his hand on Jaegar’s right shoulder. “It is alright. The stream is shallower than we had both expected. Garan and I decided to follow you. Now, what have you found?”
Jaegar stared at the flashy object a few moments longer, his king’s hand resting on his shoulder. He stooped and examined it minutely. Garan and King Pallan watched him from above. He commented after a short while, “It appears metal—almost like a blade.” He looked up at his king. “Permission to remove it from the brook bed, sire.”
King Pallan responded a second afterward, “I permit it.”
Jaegar made a quick nod and then, with a careful pull, freed the object from the stream bed. It was a dagger …
The gently running water of the stream sounded for a brief while as the stunned men examined the weapon.
Jaegar noted strongly, “It is a dagger … of unknown manufacture. I have not seen anything like it before.” He studied the knife for a time longer and stood up, continuing to run his curious eyes over it.
“Let me have a closer look.” King Pallan stood near the knife and began to squint at it. He remarked, “It has—just visible—writings on the blade, above the cutting edge of the knife.”
Jaegar took another hard look at it. “You are right, sire! It indeed has some inscriptions on it. But I cannot make out what they say …”
Garan urged, “Let me have a look.”
King Pallan reassured Jaegar. “Let him take a look; it is all right.”
Jaegar dipped his head briskly to King Pallan. “Yes, My Lord.” He handed the high-chromed dagger with dark wooden handle to the Kae’lem mercenary, who took it up carefully.
Jaegar and King Pallan waited for his response; Garan inspected the weapon with an uncanny eye.
Jaegar complained, “How can the dagger’s blade have such a high polish? Being in the brook.”
King Pallan chimed in. “Yes, one would think that by now, the blade would have corroded. That implies either that it has not been in the brook for very long or that the blade—its metal—is able to resist decay.” He paused reflectively. “But that is impossible.”
Garan answered immediately afterwards, “Not necessarily …”
King Pallan shot back, “What do you mean?”
Garan formed a reply a few seconds later. “Able to resist decay.”
Jaegar said with annoyance, “But Paladia has no such metallurgy—all of our metal corrodes, eventually. The dagger’s placement in the stream must be of recent occurrence.”
“Paladia has no such metallurgy … as you have
noted, Jaegar. That does not mean that others do not have such prowess in forging and protecting metals.”
Jaegar and King Pallan looked at Garan with large eyes.
Before long, Garan muttered, as if to himself, “I have seen something close to this before … but where?” He handled the dagger for a few seconds more, studying it intensely, and gave the knife back to an eager Jaegar.
King Pallan prodded Garan, “You said that others may have such prowess in the fashioning of metal—have you encountered this before, in your work?”
Garan said stoically, “My work is soldiery; my office, the field of battle. In my many days as a mercenary, I have encountered many a strange thing—many a strange people—but this reminds me of something.”
“The dagger?”
Garan nodded vaguely to King Pallan. “Yes … of a people I once encountered. Briefly …”
King Pallan’s manifest curiosity intensified. “And, who were they?”
Garan replied moments afterward, “The Sandessaan.”
Jaegar shuddered. “The Sandessaan?”
King Pallan remarked abruptly, “They are just a fable—to frighten little children—they do not exist.”
Garan corrected him firmly. “No, My Lord, they are not fable meant to frighten little children. They exist. I have encountered them before. Thankfully, briefly. They are not to be underestimated—to be avoided at all costs.”
Holding the dagger loosely, Jaegar said, “They are wanderers—the children’s stories say. Opportunistic nomads.”
Garan dipped his head gradually to Jaegar. “They are very dangerous, a superstitious people. The dagger reminds me of their handiwork.”
Jaegar scoffed, “I am sure Rodderick will be able to ascertain the origin of the knife. As for the Sandessaan being actually real … that is better left to stories.”
King Pallan echoed his general sentiment. “Rodderick is best at telling such stuff. If anyone in our company can determine who made the knife, and how old it potentially is, he is the man who can do so. Come, let us return to the camp and give him the knife. Alas, my belly aches for nourishment …”
Jaegar began to smile; he then chuckled. Garan did nearly the same.
The three men returned to the camp, which by now was bustling with activity. Most had awakened and were either fetching materials with which to prepare the morning meal or setting up additional tents. Soldiers were amassing in groups for patrols, which would defend the camp’s perimeter. Jardarah was seen talking with several soldiers about the placement of a small fort near the camp’s edge, toward the northwest.
Garan and Jaegar followed King Pallan through the camp as they headed for the regiment’s in-house expert on all instruments of battle, an experienced and particularly shrewd man when it came to the artifacts of war. Interestingly, he had acquired such breath of knowledge and experience at a young age. The man was no more than thirty-five.
King Pallan came before Rodderick, who was seated on a wooden stump, sharpening an arrow. The man took notice of his king standing by and made a motion to stand, but his king waved him off.
“Be seated.”
Rodderick replied, “Aye, My Lord. What brings you to my humble place?”
King Pallan declared, “A conundrum. Something that may be of interest to you …”
Rodderick placed the arrow he was sharpening alongside him. “Oh?”
King Pallan cracked a grin and handed the young man the dagger they had discovered lodged in the stream.
Rodderick’s eyes immediately lit up. His sallow complexion grew light fuchsia. “Aye, what have you here, My Lord?” He began inspecting it straightaway.
“We found it in the stream, over yonder—Jaegar, Garan, and I. What do you make of it?”
Rodderick did not answer for many moments. As he rotated the dagger so that King Pallan, Jaegar, and Garan could see the broad side of its blade, he noted with subtle curiosity, “You will note the writings above the blade’s cutting edge; they are difficult to see, but their light-indigo hue is readily apparent from certain viewing angles, with sufficient light.”
“Yes, we have already seen that. What do you think it says?” King Pallan observed his top weapons expert with subdued anticipation.
Rodderick turned the dagger over several times as his steady eye interrogated each glyph of the unknown language. He soon commented, “I am not sure; they appear similar to the writings we saw in the ruins.”
“Are they the same?” King Pallan took a step nearer to Rodderick, his countenance displaying puzzlement and greater intrigue.
Rodderick scanned the blade once again, his eye seeming to bounce off each letter or symbol on the blade’s metal. “Impossible to tell. We are without linguist. They do, however, to my untrained eye, appear similar. Only way to be certain is to return to the ruins and examine the writings in the corridors, comparing them to the inscriptions on the blade of the dagger. A painstaking and error-prone process, to be sure. Moreover, even if the writings on the blade and in the ruins were written by the same people, the language itself may have drifted over time—meaning, none of us could decide, conclusively, if they were written by the same people, perhaps at different times in their civilization. There are so many different peoples, cultures, in this world, My Lord …”
King Pallan seemed disappointed. He replied in a low tone of voice a moment afterward, “Yes, I know.”
There was an interlude of silence, in which Rodderick, a man brilliant beyond his years, inquisitive beyond all telling, appeared to inspect the knife in a new light. Perhaps he saw something indistinct that had risen to the surface—something previously hidden under the chrome veneer of the dagger’s flashing blade. Whatever it was that pulled him back to the dagger, he announced moments later with strange firmness, “The weapon is of extreme age.”
Jaegar challenged him. “How can you be sure?”
Rodderick grinned faintly and handed Jaegar the knife. “The wood of the handle, of terebeth tree, if I am not mistaken, has aged greatly. The grains and texture speak of it.”
Jaegar inspected the dagger anew. He vented, “So?” He gave the artifact back to Rodderick.
“That implies, Jaegar, that either the weapon—its blade—is of great age or that a new handle or replacement handle was attached to the dagger. In either case, one or both elements were made long ago, by an unknown people. If for the case of the blade—that is quite beyond Paladian techniques. If for the handle, perhaps the weapon’s user had discovered a handle carved—quite expertly, I might add—from the wood of a terebeth tree, which as you know, can live for several thousand years. It would of course be a great coincidence for the weapon’s brandisher to happen upon a handle that so excellently fits the blade, wouldn’t you agree?”
Jaegar grumbled. “I suppose.”
King Pallan said, “If the wood of the handle is indeed that of the terebeth tree, then what would rule out the possibility that the blade is of recent forging, and the handle as well. As you say, the terebeth tree lives for countless centuries.”
Rodderick agreed, “A point to consider, sire; however, the wood of the handle shows signs of petrification. And, for a terebeth tree-sourced handle, that would indicate extreme age.”
King Pallan put his hand to his mouth lightly, lowering his head. He swung in one direction and then another. “The two must be of the same origin—the blade of the dagger and the handle.”
Rodderick nodded to him.
“If truly so … they must be very old.”
Rodderick bobbed his head. “It would seem so, My Lord.”
“If old, how is it that the blade has not undergone tarnish? The metal weakened?”
Rodderick replied, “Techniques unknown to us, sire—the two may be related—the ruins and the blade.”
King Pallan responded, “Yes …”
Jaegar joined in. “The dagger was somewhat close to the ruins … perhaps they are from the same people.”
Rodderick reminde
d him, “The inscriptions do appear similar; but I cannot be sure.”
King Pallan thought to himself for a moment. “Garan, you did mention the Sandessaan as a possible employer of the dagger.”
Garan replied in a lower tone of voice, “Yes, sire.”
King Pallan came by him. “And you had indicated, to me and Jaegar, that you had encountered these people before, in your work.”
Rodderick raised his chin in evident surprise as his eyes widened a degree.
Garan nodded just visibly in response to the statement. “Yes, sire. I did.”
King Pallan concluded, “Then, if the blade is very old, and the ruins, which we torched, are likewise old, it is possible, since you hinted to us at the brook that the blade reminded you of their—oh, what was it that you said? Handiwork—that is what it was. The origin of the two may be Sandessaan?”
Rodderick, Jaegar, and King Pallan looked at Garan, who stood steady. He nodded very slowly and replied, “That is possible, My Lord.”
Jaegar remarked out loud with wonder and alarm, “Could it be—that of Sandessaan Wanderer?”
King Pallan came nearer to Garan. “Are we in any immediate danger?”
Garan bent his head toward the ground for a few seconds; he then raised it. “I do not think so …” His voice conveyed indecision.
King Pallan asked again, “Are we in danger, remaining here?” His expression hinted, strongly, at Garan’s certainty of his words. He awaited the soldier of fortune’s answer.
“I do not believe so—for the time being.”
“For the time being … what brings you to those words?” King Pallan’s gaze on the mercenary intensified.
Garan swallowed once. “I have seen no evidence of their recent activity.”
Jaegar came over to King Pallan and said, “Yes, that makes sense, My Lord; nor have I. Not that I would know, specifically, what their activity would appear like, My Lord, but I have not seen any signs that anyone has been in the general area—other than the woman Evidynd—for quite some time. Perhaps, a long time …”
King Pallan mumbled, “Yes, there is the matter of that woman …” He then asked Rodderick, “You know of the Sandessaan from fable?”
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