by Levi Samuel
“All you had to do was ask. We would have gladly shown you the path hours ago. After all, maintaining our allegiance with The Order is of the utmost importance, now more so than ever. Even if it is to help a half-breed such as you.” The tone shifted to distaste toward the end.
Krenin watched a band of alfar step into view. He didn't recognize the face, but the armor danced into his memory. This was the alfar that he'd met with Malakai. The black leather scales weren't an easy detail to forget. “So you show me way across?”
Jaklus smiled. “Not exactly. Your build is incapable of keeping up with us and we don't have time to wait for you.”
“But you have time to watch me for hours?”
“Details.” The myrkalfar captain gestured dismissively. “Your friend Ravion has made quite the name for himself. And in doing so, he has strengthened our borders. Your border wardens have expanded their territory, and forced the orc pigs into our traps. The few that have escaped traveled east into the wildlands of Vale. For the first time since the orc wars ended, our borders are secure on the south face. Your friend has single-handedly been responsible for that. That alone is why I'm going to help you.”
“So Ravion secure the borders? Good for him. Glad he doing something in my absence.” Krenin smiled, feeling his lips stretch around his small tusks. He watched the alfar captain nod to one of the others. It was dressed differently. He couldn’t be certain if it was male or female. They all looked weak and feminine. The fact the alfar worn no armor and was seemingly unarmed didn’t help. Krenin listened to the alfar chant some strange words. An orange glow expanded and wrapped around both him and the caster, swallowing the pair. Krenin’s stomach churn as if his insides were being twisted. The forest disappeared from sight, replaced by an open field on the outskirts of a fairly large city. He recognized it at once. This was Fender's Spear. Though it wasn't as run down as remembered. The buildings were patched and clean. The wood planks along the siding had been secured or replaced. For the first time in as long as he could recall, the city was clean. The broken wagons were gone. Actual shops and vendor stands were in their place. It was a city to be proud of.
“Go to the civil hall. You'll find Ravion there.” The alfar disappeared in the same glow of orange.
Ink rolled from the tip of the feathered quill, soaking into the fibers of the rough parchment. A single candle rested in its holder, dimly illuminating the newly constructed room. The walls were made of polished cherry and were lined with shelves of books, stands, and tapestries. It was a bit more extravagant than he needed, but the architect insisted. A heavy knock echoed from the other side of the door. Ravion flipped the page, shuffling several others over the top. Resting the quill in its silver holder, he interlocked his fingers and placed his elbows on the desk. "Enter."
The door creaked open revealing a skinny man clad in the silver and blue tabard of Shadgull. He stepped in and bowed deeply. "Lord Ravion, I bring word from Lord Erik De Leon of Shadgull. He seeks audience with the Lords of Dalmoura in regard to his father's murder."
Ravion stood, approaching the messenger. "When does he desire this audience?”
“The next full moon, My Lord. In two weeks’ time.”
Ravion stopped in front of the man. “Please inform your master of my deepest condolences. The news of Remle's passing was unfortunate. He was a good man. One whom I held the highest respect for. Sadly, I will not be able to attend. Pressing matters of state have occupied my time of late, and I'll be unavailable at the time of your lord's gathering. Perhaps I can meet with him when I pass through Shadgull in the next few days. Otherwise, it'll have to wait until I return.”
The messenger nodded, taking a step back. “Understood, My Lord. I shall inform him of your reply, upon my return.” He paused, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the dimly lit study. Finding his words, he continued. “My master also wished me to extend his condolences to you in regard to the loss of your friend, Malakai. He has offered to host a grand celebration in his honor, if you so desired. Additionally, it seems Master Gareth and Master Kane have both have vanished without trace. My lord was wondering if you've heard from them. Their absence has been noticed.”
Ravion shook his head. “No, thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Malakai's loss is regrettable. Though his memory will live on. As for Gareth, sadly I've not. I haven't seen him since the Dreu War. It's been over a year now. I question his fate, but the old cuss is too damned stubborn to die.” Ravion chuckled, silently hoping his friend was okay. “Kane on the other hand had some business up north. That's part of what keeps me from joining Erik."
“Thank you, My Lord. I'll be sure to inform my master of this knowledge. I wish you good fortune in your endeavors.”
Ravion nodded. "Thank you, messenger. Be sure to replenish your rations and seek lodging for the evening. You may return to your master in the morning." He extended his fist dropping a handful of silver into the man's palm.
The messenger bowed and backed out of the room, refusing to turn his back until he was out of sight. Waiting for the door to latch, Ravion returned to his desk and uncovered his document. Quickly finishing the missive, he rolled the parchment and blobbed the sealing wax over the lip. Firmly pressing his stamp into the cooling puddle he waited, letting it solidify. Removing the tool he inspected the seal, ensuring the raven perched atop the wolf's head was clearly visible. Tucking the scroll into his vest, Ravion turned to leave.
Reaching the door, another knock echoed. He pulled the ornate, wooden barrier toward him, stunned to find a half-orc upon the other side. “Krenin, my friend. I'm happy to see you. We were worried something had happened.” Placing his hand on the half-orc's shoulder, Ravion invited him in. “I was just getting ready to leave, but I can spare a few moments for returning friends.”
“Seems much changed since I left.” Krenin stepped into the room, looking for a chair large enough for his frame. Not seeing one, he parted his feet enough to stand comfortably.
“Much indeed, though not all has been good. I’m sorry to inform you, but we lost Malakai during the Dreu War. But his death was not in vain. He ensured my survival and managed toppled a dreu city in the process.”
Krenin stared at the perfectly seated floor boards. Their intricate grains ran the length of the room, creating an enticing pattern in the wood. It was a comfort from the cut of the words, deeper than any blade could reach. “Malakai a good friend and brother. I'll miss him.”
“As will I, my friend. As will I. I wish I had time to hear all about your endeavors. Unfortunately, I'm running a bit behind schedule. I would have a task of you, if you're so inclined.”
“What you need?”
“I have a caravan leaving for Marbayne in the morning. Would you do me the favor of ensuring it arrives unmolested? There's a fair amount of information contained in the cargo that I can't risk falling into the wrong hands. I'd feel much better about it if you were to accompany it.”
“If it means I don't have to walk home.” Krenin gave a toothy smile.
“I don't foresee that being a problem. If all goes according to plan I'll be there in about a week. I'll bring you up to date on everything when I arrive. Feel free to make yourself at home. I, unfortunately, have to run.”
“Travel well. See you in a week.”
Ravion extended his hand feeling the half-orc lock his meaty grip around his forearm. Pulling him close, they exchanged a brotherly hug and parted. “I'm glad you're home.” Ravion spun around and headed for the door.
The golden fields danced in the evening air. Ravion could see the forested mountains in the distance. Ensuring he wasn't followed, he darted across the open and took cover in a rocky outcropping. Studying the rocks he located the hidden trail. Quickly navigating the narrow ridge, Ravion stepped onto the overlook and took position in the center of an odd formation. He could see the spires of the reconstructed keep towering above the sparse trees and jutting stone. Had he not known what to look for they would have blend
ed perfectly into their surroundings.
The moon reached its peak height, beaming its glowing white onto the outstretched ledge. Ravion watched it inch ever closer to its mark, reflecting off the glossy finish of the polished stones, propped in a ring at the center of the rise. The individual beams launched from one to the next, encompassing him. Moving into position, Ravion’s body interrupted the pattern and sent a single beam of focused light into the darkened ravine. The reflected moonlight burned bright, revealing the correct path as if it was the only possible option in the maze of trails. At a near run, careful to reach the ground before the light faded, Ravion stepped onto the grassy landscape amazed at the elegance of the sight before him.
The huge fortress grounds stood radiantly in the moonlight just outside an equally large cavern. Ravion approached, making sure he was clearly visible. There was little worry they'd mistake him for an intruder, but there was no sense in taking unneeded risks.
Seeing him, the mul'daron guards snapped to attention and offered a silent salute. They returned to their ease once he passed.
Ravion nodded, acknowledging each one. They were loyal to Senaria. That alone meant they had his respect. Marching toward the entrance with purpose, he stepped into the courtyard. Several stone runs were lined with food of various color and shape. It was unlikely enough to sustain their full number, but it would at least supplement them until the fields were ready for harvest. Making his way along the stone walkway, Ravion watched the heavy, reinforced wooden doors swing open. There was no denying they'd done wonders for the place. Nearly all the rotten wood had been replaced. The moss had been scraped from the stone, leaving an ashy tone behind. Even the damaged walls had been restacked and mortared into place. This keep may as well have been a different construct from the first time he'd seen it.
Ravion stepped through the doors, remembering the face of each guard he passed. Entering the common room he turned and marched toward the stairway running beside the grand hall. He was not here for ceremony. There was no sense in taking the long way around. Cresting the top, he followed the balcony and came to another, smaller set of stairs. A guard stood posted on each side of the closed door. “Is she in?”
“Yes, My Lord. She's expecting you.”
Ravion pulled the brass ring, opening the decorated barrier. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and smiled at the figure across the room. Senaria stared out the large, open window overlooking the courtyard, grounds, and cavern beyond.
Ravion strode past the polished table running the length of the room. Its chairs were pushed in neatly, showing no one had used it recently. The room was empty and barren, save for the table in the center and the pair of them. He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and laying his chin on her shoulder. “Have I told you I missed you?”
“Every time we're apart.” Senaria gently touched his cheek. Spinning in his embrace, she threw her arms over his neck and passionately kissed his lips. Breaking away, she stared deep into his eyes, feeling lost in their pensive gaze. "I'm glad you've come. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me." Senaria joked, keeping her arms locked around him.
“Never. Nothing in this realm could ever make me forget about you.”
“Good! I'd hate to have to march to the ends of Ur just to remind you.” She smiled and kissed him again. “I have a gift for you.”
“Oh?” Ravion released her and took a step back. “It seems great minds think alike. I've also come bearing gift.”
“Really? Well, you first.”
Ravion reached beneath his vest and retrieved a red leather tube. Handing it to her, he waited as she removed the end cap and the parchment within. “The deed to this keep and the one thousand acres it rests upon has been put in your name. You're officially a landowner.”
She read over the stacked parchment, reviewing each one as if it was the key to her future. Rolling it, Senaria tucked it back into the tube and threw her arms around him once again, hugging tight. “Thank you. I can't begin to explain what this means for us.” Kissing him passionately, she smiled her love for the man before her. “Are you ready for my gift?”
He couldn't help but find comfort in her expression. Her every action brought him joy. “Is it a turnip? You know how much I love those.” Ravion involuntarily wrinkled his nose at the thought.
Senaria chuckled. “No silly, it's not a turnip. You hate turnips.” She marched past him to the head of the table, guiding him by his arm. Reaching beneath the thick, wooden top, she pulled a hidden lever. The table clicked and a drawer popped out of the perfectly matched wood grain. Pulling the compartment open, Senaria reached inside and grabbed a dirty, bloodstained leather satchel. Handing it to him, she waited for him to inspect it.
Ravion glanced over the bag. It was caked in mud, showing it hadn't been opened recently. Where the mud wasn't pressed into the seams he could see a mixture of black and red stains. “Awe, beautiful. You shouldn't have. It's even my favorite color.” He smiled, taunting her.
“Very funny, asshole. Open it.”
Ravion found the wooden clevis. Flipping the button through the slit, he pulled the flap open and looked inside. The caked mud broke away, falling to the wooden floor. A shimmering black book rested inside, unnaturally clean despite the filth of its container. He pulled it free, inspecting the exterior. Not so much as a speck of dirt clung to the radiating cover or pressed, yellow pages.
"We’ve broken through the collapse of the cavern and found the catacomb deeps. My scouts encountered a few dreu patrols but nothing they couldn't handle. The lines are broken. For the time in my recollection, the dreu are unorganized and without command. I don't know how long it's going to last, but we're doing everything we can to keep them that way. This book was found by one of my patrols. They were near Derkarha when they came upon something unexpected.”
“That’s the dreu capital?”
“Kind of. Think of it as one of three capitals cities.”
“Okay. What’s so unexpected about a book?” Ravion couldn't help but feel like she was keeping something from him. The thought took him back to their first meeting when they didn't trust each other. Unbuckling the leather strap, he flipped past the cover and glanced at the flaky, aged pages. To his surprise, they were completely blank.
“I’m getting to that. This is only part of your gift. I don’t know the importance of the book. But it was rumored Nezial had one like it. If this is the same book, perhaps the second part can shed some light on the subject.” Senaria let out a sharp whistle.
Ravion heard several footsteps echoed off the stone and wood floors, making their way down the hallway. One of the side doors open, revealing a group of mul'daron scouts. Ravion couldn't recall ever meeting this particular unit. The soldiers escorted a bound man into the room. He was broad but the tattered rags clothing him were much too baggy. A brown woolen bag covered his head and judging by the way it clung his face, he was more than likely gagged as well. Despite the loss of weight and obvious physical changes, there was no mistaking that red glow. “Gareth?”
The soldiers brought him to a stop and pulled the bag from his head. A scar ran along the right side if his face. The damaged eye socket was sunken but the wound had healed. They untied his bindings, letting him carry his own weight. Rangar leaned over to the man and spoke just over a whisper. “As promised, you're a free man now.”
Gareth squinted against the overwhelming light. He'd been in darkness so long his eye had trouble adjusting. A muffled voice echoed across the room, too distorted to understand. Despite being disoriented, Gareth felt a comfort that he hadn't expected. He wasn't sure if it was his impending freedom or something else, but for the first time in months, maybe longer, he felt at ease.
“Gareth, what the hell happened to you?” Ravion ran over, inspecting his friend and brother.
“Ravion?” Gareth questioned aloud. “I'll be damned, they were telling the truth. Guess that means I don't have to kill them all now. W
hat if it’s all a game? What if they’re in my mind? Making me see things?”
Senaria approached, laying her hand on Ravion's shoulder. She was careful to keep her love between herself and the wild dreuslayer. There was no telling what he was capable of and she didn't want to risk him lashing out. “He's still got some fight in him. When my men found him he took out nearly thirty before he collapsed without a scratch. I don’t know what he is, but he's got some kind of power I’ve never seen before. The satchel was in his possession. If I had to guess, I’d say he has some answers.”
Ravion was lost in the sight of his friend. He was near a completely different person, yet that vibrant personality still burned bright as ever. Glowing behind that single, unhindered, blue eye. Ravion spun on heel and kissing her as deeply as he could. “You've returned my brother. I'm eternally in your debt.”
Senaria smiled. “You don't own me anything. I love you. I want your happiness, nothing more.”
Ravion returned his focus to Gareth. “I don’t know what you've been through or if you'll even believe what I say. We both know what tricks the dreu can play on a mind. But I promise you this is real. These people are my friends and I hope you can find the truth to that.” Ravion pressed a round token into Gareth's hand.
Gareth closed his hand around the badge feeling the engraved surface of a raised trident. Bringing it to his face he focused, letting his sight adjust to the sigil. Looking over the badge, unique among its kind, he studied the markings recognizing it as Ravion's. His gaze shifted back to the dalari scout.
“I believe you.” Grabbing hold of the smaller man, Gareth pulled him tight.
Chapter XI
The Hawk and the Wyrm
Bits of dust lingered in the air of the neglected council room, displayed only by the beaming sunlight through the stone trimmed windows. The trident engraved wooden table rested in the center of the room, partially obstructed by the dirty, unopened satchel.
