by Ivan Hladni
"Who is the Gray one?" asked Dion. "And I didn't have a chance to ask you - how did you get out of the village?"
"The Gray is a servant of Chaos," replied Daedar, but Arnos corrected him at once by adding "Supposedly."
Daedar coughed.
"I was in the water for far too long," he said to himself before continuing to answer his grandson's other question.
"The earth elemental saved me from the village. The Gray fled before the elemental after it threw his boar over one of the houses, but then he ordered everyone to attack the two of us. We tried to fight them but there were too many so we fled into the river and let it take us downstream. It's good that I didn't use the elemental to harvest corn last year," he added jokingly.
"He got me out of the water and carried me most of the way here, and now that I'm here I need to show you where you need to go to get help from the gods. Hand me the satchel with the maps."
"Uh," replied Dion and looked at his father who gestured with his head for Dion to speak out and so he did.
"I lost them. I dropped them in the river."
He stopped breathing while he waited for his grandfather's reaction.
"Now your father will have to draw them again. If he even remembers them."
"He remembers," answered Arnos. "But there is someone here even better at mapmaking who also knows what was on them." He looked towards his wife when he finished speaking and Daedar looked at Odea.
"You told her?" he asked curiously while Odea smiled somewhat shyly.
"I did. I wanted to make sure there was someone of trust who could tell Dion of your inheritance if something happened to you or me."
"I am glad, son. You never showed me that you cared much about it."
Kerkio pushed himself off the wall. Several loud voices were outside the house and then someone knocked loudly and so forcefully that the doors swung open. Several legionaries from Echa stood in front of the door and the first among them stared now at the tip of Kerkio's drawn sword.
"Lord Arnos, you have been summoned to the council," the legionary spoke over Kerkio's blade, and then stepped back, bowed to Arnos and left Kerkio an angry look before he and the others left.
"Since you're all on your feet, let me join you," said Daedar. He tried getting up but it was harder than he thought it would be and Arnos reacted quickly.
"Father, why don't you help Odea make new maps for Dion. I would like to give them to him tonight after the council."
"You know what? I don't mind that at all," said Daedar. He took his chair and carried it to the table. "I won't mind a little more of that cherry you offered earlier," he told Odea, and she poured some to both of them.
"Dion. Kerkio. Come with me," Arnos called them and was already out of the house when he finished speaking. Dion ran out after Kerkio and his father.
For a city that now housed refugees from several neighboring cities and villages, Echa looked dark and empty.
"What part of day is it?" he asked both men as they followed the road along the Eastern Wall on their way to the citadel.
"It'll be midnight soon, son. You had a good nap."
"Take the second hallway left," said the same legionary who was at the door earlier when they reached the entrance to the citadel. "The council is being held in the first kitchen."
The kitchen was a long tunnel that ended in a large fireplace, slightly wider and taller than the rest of the kitchen. Thirty old men sat on two low benches next to the massive wooden tables that stretched along both sides of the kitchen. The middle of the kitchen, where the roof was tallest, served as the aisle. There were two extremely wide steps on the opposite end of the kitchen that led to the fireplace carved into the wall of the citadel. A strong fire burned in the fireplace and its flames frequently licked the protective grill inside the chimney placed there to cook anyone who would try to sneak into the citadel.
Taren was the only one not sitting on one of the benches. He stood on the step nearer the fireplace and watched the entrance to see who came to attend the council.
"We are all here now," he said when Arnos, Dion and Kerkio arrived. He moved to the head of the table on his right where Eblon from Doros sat. He was the only one who was allowed to eat, having just arrived from battle.
Arnos sat Dion and Kerkio near the entrance and then went to join Taren.
"It went bad in Doros," were the first words spoken by Taren at the council. "Most of the survivors are non-fighting people. There are few who can still fight and Eblon is convinced that the situation is ill-boding."
Eblon pushed away his bowl and turned to face the men at the tables.
"Someone is playing with us," he said. "I am convinced that we were allowed to reach Echa after Doros fell."
"That's what I would do in their place," said Arnos and the eyes of the room shifted to him. "They've increased the number of mouths we have to feed before they besiege us and that is what they are coming to do as we speak here. Someone has taught us a lesson that might very well be the last lesson of our lives if we do not act with haste."
Arnos's words struck most of the gathered. Many voices rose in shouts and murmurs, but Arnos quieted them so that he could continue.
"Our legion is lost," he said and the only sound after that was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace.
"Our Trees are lost and these events are obviously linked somehow. I believe the war in Syevnor was initiated only as a first step meant to weaken us here because they knew we would send help to Syevnor. The second step was to take control of the Trees and the third step is what we are going through right now. I don't know who or even how someone could take over the Trees in such a manner, but that shouldn't be our primary concern. A noose is coming to tighten around our necks and we have food for two weeks at the most. Perhaps a month, if we take starvation and casualties into account."
"The king will help," shouted one of the men and then almost all of the others confirmed the same thing.
"He will," yelled Taren to quiet the men. "If Tialoch still stands."
The room was once again silenced.
"Who can guarantee that Tialoch wasn't attacked through its Tree? We have witnessed three cities attacked that way. Why not four? Why not all of them?"
"That's a risk we need to accept," said Arnos to stop the panic from spreading. "My son has already offered to go to Tialoch and seek the king's aid."
"He cannot go alone," replied Taren. "We cannot leave the fate of the city to one man. Better to send a larger group to reduce the risk of failure if one or two men get into trouble along the way."
Arnos didn't like the idea and his face clearly showed it.
"If you wish," continued Taren and looked at Arnos, "your son may go as part of the group we are going to send."
"No. Dion won't go with you."
"As you wish," replied Taren and then turned to speak to the room.
"I need ten volunteers. Good riders. Who is going?"
It didn't take long for some men to volunteer themselves, others their sons.
"We will go out in the morning to give the riders a chance to break through to the forest."
"We go in the morning," shouted some of the men. "A bloody plan," shouted others.
"Wait!" Arnos calmed them once more. "Haven't you noticed that the Village outside is intact and that we saw barely any sign or movement ever since Doros came? Either they are hiding their movement in the shadows of the houses or they are using them to hide in. Those houses are the best possible trap for our riders. I am for burning down the Village."
The kitchen exploded from the roars.
"Calm down!" shouted Taren and the men quieted down significantly but not completely.
"We have lost both bridges," continued Arnos. "The Village is useless to us now and gives shelter only to our besiegers. If we torch it, we will kill at least a few of them, but we will create havoc in their lines and give our men a better chance of breaking out of the siege."
"What if no one's there? You'll burn my house down for nothing!" cried an angry older man to the left of Arnos.
Arnos laughed.
"If only we were so lucky," he answered the old man.
"I'd like nothing more than to burn your house down for nothing and have our messengers reach the king without losing a single strand of hair from their heads." He stopped for a moment.
"The owners shall be recompensed. If we survive."
"The fires will only draw their attention and by morning the fires will die down," said someone from Arnos's right.
"Yes," he answered the young man who had volunteered earlier. "That's why we should not wait until morning. Darkness is as much on their side as it is on ours and the same goes for the fog that has already set in. Fire is our advantage now. It will be too late in the morning."
"Show hands," said Taren, himself raising his hand.
"For Arnos's plan."
A few hands went up, but a lot of them waited until the old man whose house was about to be burned down raised his.
"Done," confirmed Taren.
"The messengers leave in a day's part. Say your farewells and meet me at the gate."
Ten men left the kitchen and Dion saw then that Arnos whispered something to Taren and Taren shrugged first but then nodded affirmatively.
"We are finished here," said Arnos when he returned to where Kerkio and Dion were sitting.
"I plan on sending Dion to Tialoch," said Arnos to Kerkio when they exited the citadel and passed its guards. He exhaled and stopped, but kept looking at Kerkio. He did not know how to begin his next sentence.
"I am sure that you wouldn't mind getting out of this situation and going home to Tialoch," said Arnos but it was meant more as a question.
"If it is so, Odea and I would be grateful to have you escort Dion to your parents."
"Of course I'll go with him, especially back home to my parents. Lanika and Teikos will gladly have him for as long as it takes."
"I owe you. Request anything of me," said Arnos, but Kerkio seemed shocked at the proposition and shook his head at once.
"Nonsense," he replied. "It's smarter to tell me if you want us to go with Taren's riders or if you have something else planned for the two of us. Is someone else coming with us?"
"Just you two. You should depart at the same time as Taren's riders, but not in the same group, and certainly not on horses. You'll be harder to see and hear when you're on your own two feet. I'll make sure that we create enough noise in front of the gate so that you two can reach the bank of the Naumona. Follow it north until you reach the first trees of Wissa. You should be safe there and what you do after that is up to you."
Kerkio spread his arms then and lowered his eyes to show that he was without armor or weapons. "I'd like something for the road."
"Guards," he called the men guarding the citadel entrance and one came closer.
"Take him to the armory. Give him a legionary's set."
"A spear at least, a small shield," thought Kerkio out loud as he followed the guard back into the citadel.
"The cloak won't be of the same color you earned recently," yelled Arnos to Kerkio, "but I hope that blue won't be a problem for you?"
"As long as no one important sees me wearing it, it should be fine," replied Kerkio with a smile and entered the citadel.
"Let's go home," said Arnos to his son.
"Why would he have a problem wearing the colors of the South legion?" asked Dion.
"He does not have a problem. We were just joking about the King's legion and their imaginary elite status."
"Kerkio is in the King's legion?" asked Dion with almost childish surprise.
"That's why he went to see your grandfather in Lorei - to tell him he finally got accepted into the King's legion. I only found out recently when he stopped by the house on his way to Lorei. You had already gone."
Dion thought for a moment.
"Why would Kerkio go brag to my grandfather?"
"Kerkio and Daedar have known each other since Kerkio was a small boy. Kerkio is very attached to your grandfather and the opposite is true also, but now we have other things to discuss, and very little time. Get in."
They found only Odea in the kitchen and Dion's eyes immediately spotted the standard that was leaned against the wall next to the book case. It was the black battle standard of the legion.
"Grandfather went to sleep," she whispered and Dion sneaked to the fireplace to warm himself.
"I have prepared everything you asked for," she whispered to Arnos when he joined her at the table. She pointed to the chest on the table and then to the floor beneath the battle standard at the small bundle of hay.
"We drew your father's maps and I also prepared the newest maps of the southern counties that king Valan had ordered. I thought Dion could take them to him since it's obvious that I won't be able to send them to him any time soon."
"Dion, come sit with me at the table," his father called him, trying not to be too loud.
"When does he leave?" Odea whispered into Arnos's ear.
"In one part," he whispered back, but then he moved too much in the chair and the leg of the chair scraped the wooden floor. He shut his eyes and waited for some kind of reaction, but he sighed with relief when it was clear that Daedar was still asleep.
Dion took the hot mug of milk he found on the table. He warmed his hands on it more than he drank from it. Arnos pulled the chest closer to him and placed his hand on top of it, but did not open the lid. He looked down at the floor next to the table and Dion began wondering what was happening. Finally, Arnos started speaking.
"I've never hid things from you, nor would I like for you to hide things from me."
The words left his mouth slowly and loudly enough so that no word failed to reach Dion's ears.
"But," he continued and raised his eyes to meet his son's, "there is one thing and only one thing that your grandfather, your mother and I have kept from you."
Dion glanced briefly at his mother who stood by Arnos's side. She pointed with her head to tell him to pay attention to his father and her eyes told him that this was something serious. He became nervous in a heartbeat and his eyes started flying over his father's lips, trying to pull words out between them ahead of their time.
"I thought that twenty two years would be enough to prepare myself for this speech, but here I am, and I still don't know where to start."
He removed his hand from the lid and then presented a small leather pouch, no bigger than a thumb. He unfastened the lace that held the pouch closed and took a small bronze key out it. He placed the key in the chest's keyhole and turned it slowly until the lock clicked.
"You were supposed to receive this piece of family inheritance as a gift and a duty for your twenty second birthday, for your first adult birthday, but yesterday's events managed to change even that."
He lifted the lid and put his hand inside the chest. He took out a branch slightly longer than the palm of his hand and several waxed scrolls tied with red linen.
After the scrolls he took out three small glass bottles, about as long and as wide as a finger, corked and waxed to protect their content. They contained some kind of a bluish-white liquid, but Dion stopped caring about them quickly. His father placed a Tree acorn on the table next to them. He moved in his chair from surprise, and kept staring at the acorn so intently that he failed to notice several more acorns that Arnos took out of the chest.
"This is the family heirloom that your grandfather and I haven't told you about. He has his reasons and I simply wanted to respect tradition. The contents were richer in the past, but what is in here has been passed on through generations to sons or daughters of age in the hope that they would take care of what was given to them."
"Ah! Not without me!" shouted grandfather when he opened the door of the other room and then moved quicker than a wounded old man should and sat on Dion's left.
Dion looked away from his present. He looked at his fat
her first, then at his grandfather.
"Where did you get all this?" he asked.
Arnos smiled loudly and his white teeth glistened for a moment between bushy brown mustaches and beard.
"We can tell you two stories," said Arnos and immediately looked at his father who did exactly what Arnos expected - he frowned. "One story was told to me by your grandfather and the other I think is far more likely and believable."
"I like your father's story more," said Odea to Arnos and patted his shoulder.
"I know, I know," he smiled, but started telling his own story first nevertheless.
"The most plausible story is that our ancestors simply had the opportunity and the knowledge necessary to collect the acorns of the Great Oaks before others knew of them and what they were for. Besides, there might have been more Great Oaks in the past and with more acorns on them. It is obvious that there were more types of acorns on the Trees in the past since we haven't found anything like them on the ones in Aelan. These aren't acorns that open Paths to other locations and there are even some whose runes we cannot read."
Dion looked at the acorns in renewed wonder but dared not touch them. It was a greater gift than he could have ever imagined receiving.
"I personally am thrilled that we have these two acorns," continued Arnos. He took two acorns from the pile and brought them closer to the light of the candle that was on the table. These acorns were slightly larger than the other acorns in the chest. He rotated them in his hand and looked at their runes to make sure he picked the right ones.
He placed them back onto the table, pulled the opened chest closer to himself and then reached to get some hay from the floor. He started packing a fistful of hay into the chest, slowly and carefully. Dion followed every move his hands made.
"Wait. Just one more moment of patience," said Arnos, but he himself couldn't wait any longer.
He threw away the excess hay when the bottom of the chest was covered in a thick enough layer and then he took one of the acorns and struck it against the edge of the table. Dion shook his head and looked at his father as if it was his head that Arnos had hit the edge of the table with, but the acorn was undamaged. Arnos laid the acorn into the chest, took the other large acorn from the table and then repeated the same thing with that acorn - knocked with it against the edge of the table and then placed it into the chest.
