Chapter Eight
Prisoners
THE THUNDERING HOOVES of three manned horses pounded apart the silence of night, as Aranwold rode hard, Torius and Goodman close behind. They rode hard upon a forest path, tall dark trees haunting either side of the path. The broad path disappeared beyond a bend, which they turned through, revealing another broad turn, following it they exited the forest thick into a moonlit opening of grassland. As they hurtled onward, they past a small, shimmering lake. Its surface was sleek as glass in the stillness, and Torius glimpsed a bulbous shape upon its surface. He looked harder and saw that it was gone. Leaving it behind as an eye trick of darkness, he looked forward to ensure his path. In front of him, Aranwold's steed kicked dust in the air which rose thick like smoke. But then, Torius heard a dreadful screech behind him, an inhuman cry that cut through the din of horses' hooves. He saw Aranwold turn to look behind, not slowing down. But Torius saw Aranwold's eyes widen in amazement as he looked up, and behind Torius, and Aranwold ducked down further upon his horse's back, hastening his speed. Before Torius could understand, Goodman passed him up with speed, and another horrific cry sounded. Torius looked behind him and his hands clenched tight his reigns in shock.
First he saw a large, round, shining head with three terrific white round eyes, extended from a shimmering spiked body and spread wings. It was a hundred paces behind the three, but was soaring through the air, gaining upon them. It opened its black mouth and again cried it's ghoulish cry, white eyes flared.
"Ride, Torius! Ride!” an anxious Goodman upon a horse afront him yelled, and Torius heeled his horse, which grunted and ran even faster. Torius faced straight ahead, concentrating on outrunning the flying creature.
He leaned forward, urging his horse to ride faster, soon side by side with Goodman and Aranwold.
Torius heard smooth wings cutting the air only ten paces behind him, and he turned glance to see three great, angry white eyes glaring back. Seconds later the monster caught up, and was soaring directly above the three, and Torius looked up, the moon visible through it's limpid body. The beast arched its neck to see it's prey, and extended four shining clawed legs upon them. "Ready yourselves!” Torius yelled to the others, who looked at him and looked up with Torius. Torius heard the singing of weapons drawn sharply from scabbards, and he too grasped his great sword from his back, the other hand holding the reigns. He lent and turned his horse back and to the side of the path, just as the beast descended, barely missing the attack, crystallic claws grasping empty air where he just was. He brought his sword in an upward thrust, scoring a hit upon the monster. He saw that he had impaled the monster, and triumphantly drew his sword out of the beast, what let out an angry scream. Its flight path wavered a little bit, but alas, the beast was still flying! Had he not wounded it?
The shimmering surface of the beast was visibly rippling, and smoothed out again in watery depth. Torius swept his weapon upon the beast, and scored another hit. Liquid splashed his face from the wound, and he saw the beast swoop upward. Some of the liquid got in Torius' mouth, and he tasted it: water! How can that be?
He saw Goodman lag behind, looking up, poleax aimed upward in one hand's grasp. With a grunt he heaved the weapon high up into the air. With a gushing sound it crashed against the beast's limpid body. But it did not stick, and clattered uselessly to the ground. Torius looked: still, the beast as alive as ever, was soaring through the air. "Do not use your weapons, they are useless against it!” Aranwold shouted, and casting away his sword from his hand, reaching into his belt, then withdrew his hand which was turned into a fist, clutching something. Still holding the reigns with one hand, he brought his other closed hand in front of his face, and narrowed his eyes, concentrating, in magic spell. Torius still held his sword, preparing to hit again at the seemingly unkillable creature. The creature was soaring down with speed, diving ferociously toward the riding Aranwold!
Torius raised his great sword toward the creature, ready to impale it. Not an arms length away from Torius’ sword tip the creature was, when a brilliant white flash emitted from Aranwold's raised hand. A blinding beam struck the creature, whose water body illuminated inside and outside with twisting, leaping lightning. The beast's eyes disappeared from his face, and with a final dying screech, it's body melted mid-air into a mass of water, which with a great splash, hit the ground. The creature was gone.
"Stop!” Aranwold commanded, and Torius and Goodman reined their horses to a halt. Aranwold circled back to face the other two knights, who both looked perplexed and anxious.
"What in Do'Ladon was that!?", Goodman yelled.
"Moon Spirit," Aranwold began to say to them, learnedly. "Hunters of the night. They take on physical composed forms, such as dirt, fire, and," he pointed at a distant, wide glistening wet patch on the ground where the creature morphed and crashed, "Water."
Seeing Torius and Goodman turn to view their surroundings, Aranwold continued further. "They are rare to encounter. In fact, there are very few sightings in Windpass Isles."
Aranwold furrowed his brow in thought, as if learning from his own words. "In fact," he started, even more curiously, "They originate only from the lands of Gaedia...
"...How did it get here?"
Torius heard a rustle of low grass behind him, and he turned, seeing a shadowed human figure approaching. "Who goes there?” he demanded of the person. The person did not respond, but continued to approach. A padding of hooves to his sides was Goodman and Aranwold flanking him, also examining the person.
"What?” Aranwold gasped. "It's one of them!" He pulled his shining Fire dagger from his side, and shouted, "Get him!"
Torius swung off of his horse, and he and Goodman charged upon the individual, weaponless and on foot. But when he looked again, there were two-dozen men, who materialized from the hiding dark. Before he could act he was swarmed by the black-armored warriors, and wrestled down. Grunting a struggling, he saw the same dark individual approach him, and saw too that he was not armored like the others, but wore a robe, in wizard’s wear.
"May be my summoned Moon Spirit could not take you down, but this will," said the wizard, and he raised his hands, which briefly glowed, and then emitted a green fog, which washed over Torius, who instantly fell into deep, magic sleep.
"But I just don't understand." Seften shook his head, lost. Paetoric's and Rhoin’s explanation, to Seften, lead to nothing. "How come Father?"
Rhoin took several ponderous steps toward Seften. "He once served in the royal military. The agreement between him and Lord DeKade," he gestured to Paetoric.
"As Paetoric overheard from the royal messenger, he would leave to tend to his family, to raise his sons, and that he would be recalled to duty if it deemed necessary." He said conclusively, "He made an agreement with Lord DeKade, and he is fulfilling it."
Seften again shook his head, but said nothing in argument. He walked over to his scythe, which was leaning in the corner of the farmhouse front room, and picked it up, still facing the corner.
"He will be alright," Paetoric said reassuringly, supporting Rhoin's comments. "He is serving as a Castle Blacksmith. He won't serve the dangers of combat."
Rhoin added to Paetoric's, "Besides, it is not that he is entering something critical, such as war – it is just protocol."
Seften turned around to face him, holding his scythe down in one hand. "How do you know?” he questioned accusingly. "How do you know it will not lead to worse things than that?" He sneered, "What experience have you on this subject? You haven't even been around for the past, what is it? Four years?"
Rhoin stared back at his brother. He replied with nothing, but looked upon Seften silently.
So followed an uncomfortable moment of silence with no words to break it. But just before anyone could think of what to say, Rhoin then spoke.
"I am not here to argue. I'm not here to fight with my brothers." Seften looked away. "An
d I cannot stay to see you through this change in life." He peered at Seften, who then looked back up at him, and said, "Everything will be alright. Father will be alright."
Rhoin rose from the wooden chair he was seated in, and walked with smoothened movement over to the exit of the home. But just at the threshold, he paused, and turned around. "Paetoric, don't go back to find Father - leave him to come back to you. It shouldn't be long.
"For now, live and work with Seften, on the farm. I'll check on Father." Seften and Paetoric both nodded to Rhoin, and bid him goodbye. He slipped out of the doorway and was gone.
-
Torius awoke to the sound of approaching, echoing footsteps. Still dazed, it took a moment to recollect the recent events and his present environment. He was on a stone floor, in a dark room, with crude walls. He was shut into the room with a steel gate door. Was he in prison?
The footsteps of several unidentified men halted at the outside of the steel gate door, and heavy keys jingled. "This is the prisoner so called for?” came a dark voice. Prisoner? Torius attempted to rise to his feet, but was arrested by heavy shackles he had not yet seen around his ankles and wrists, and he thudded back upon the hard stone ground.
He heard the heavy lock within the door disengage, and the door creaked open. Torius stared boldly up at the oncomers. First came through the door was a short, grungy and heavyset guard in a squalid set of partial leather armor, bearing a blazing torch, and a sneer on his face which appeared to be an ugly permanency. "This is him, M'Lord," grunted the guard, examining the chained Torius. "And he's come awake!" Next stepped through a familiar figure - the wizard from last night!
"After what we're gonna do to him, he'll wish he stayed asleep," said the wizard sinisterly from underneath his hood. These were his enemies, Torius saw.
"Who are you?” Torius growled.
"I am Korchloc," the wizard replied. "But more importantly," the wizard glided forward a step, pointing a hostile finger at Torius, "Who, are you?"
Torius looked upon the wizard, still not able to discern his facial features in the shadow of his hood. The dirty guard beside the wizard belted out a harsh chuckle. "Korchloc...” Torius said aloud, contemplating the name.
"Where are Goodman and Aranwold?” Torius demanded of the wizard.
Korchloc looked down at Torius questioningly, and then realizing whom Torius was talking about, smiled beneath his hood. "Oh - we have them, too," he answered lightly, though the words were noticeably wicked. "Where am I?” Torius nodded up at the dungeon room, eyes not leaving Korchloc.
"You are a prisoner," another voice, calm but stern and emanating with power, seared into the prison chamber from its doorway. "Under His Highness King Edwalen."
A third, tall, cloaked figure entered through the doorway. Korchloc and the guard stepped out of the man's path as he made his way into the room toward Torius.
"King Edwalen?” Torius’ eyes narrowed at the man. As the guard's torchlight washed over the man, his figure was in plain view. He wore a long, blue cloak, with gold designs embroidered into it. His facial features likewise to his voice, revealed to be gaunt, stern, and cold.
"I am Lord Syndirin, Arbiter of King Edwalen of Gaedia," he looked down upon Torius, chained to the ground. "And you are my prisoner." He smiled adversely and contently at Torius, whose expression remained the same, enmitious glare back.
"Gaedia!” Torius spat. "What ever happened to the Treaty with Windpass Isles, the terms of peace?" he questioned, shaking the chains gathered in his strong fists in front of him.
The next words seeped from Syndirin's voice like poison. "You will find very much that the terms have changed, knight."
Again, the sordid guard holding the torch let out another obnoxious, snorting laugh, from behind Syndirin. Torius felt very much like clouting the brute on his ugly head. Syndirin raised his hand, and flicked it to the guard behind him, who immediately shut his toothy mouth.
Only his mouth twisted up into an ugly grin, and he turned, jostled the torch into a wall holder, and ran to the opposite wall of the room. He grabbed a lever sticking out from the wall, and heaved it downward.
Torius heard the chains binding him sliding on the ground. He looked at them, and saw them being drawn across the walls, in directions away from him. At the end of the chains, were magic metal spiders whose iron legs clawed across the wall, towing the chains. The chains were drawn tight as the spiders stopped still again, clamped to the wall, Torius’ arms drawn to their full length by the shackles.
"The spiders can keep going until their prisoner's arms are torn from their sockets," Syndirin remarked indifferently at Torius, and again he waved to the guard, who lowered the lever another notch. The metal spiders came to life, and slowly traversed the wall. At the point when Torius’ arms were strainingly drawn by the chains, the spiders froze, and clamped again to the wall.
Beads of sweat lined Torius’ brow. He glared up at Syndirin. "King Rophulus shall here about this, Syndirin!"
Syndirin's smile slid from his expression. He stepped closer to Torius, looking down into his glowering face, and said, "That is Lord Syndirin to you, knight. And your King shall hear nothing of this. He is a land away from us."
Torius accounted the situation, calculating. He was bound and could not run, he was at the mercy of this man. Maybe he could draw information of this man with more questions.
"What do you want from me?” he demanded up at Syndirin.
"Firstly, an answer to my initial question that you were asked. Who are you?"
Torius paused before responding, eyeing the slovenly guard still clutching the lever. "I am Torius Me'Aer. I am of the Windpass Isles military. I -” He stopped speaking with teeth partially open in harsh expression. But was he about to tell too much?
"Go on!” urged Syndirin. "Or the spiders shall." Syndirin's hand began to rise, and seeing this, Torius continued, glaring up at Syndirin.
"I am a Knight of The -," again he paused. Should he tell the truth or tell a lie? Syndirin's hand was still poised halfway up. "I am a Knight of The - Castle." He lied. "I am under His Lordship DeKade." He saw Syndirin's eye twinkle avidly when he told of his untruly high Knighthood rank.
Syndirin's hand lowered to his side, the guard's leering eyes following it like a dog being commanded. Syndirin gestured with a small wave of bony hands, and the guard - with a disappointed sneer on his face - threw the lever all the way up, and the spiders crawled back toward Torius, the chains slackening and clinking to the ground.
The spiders clamped into the wall, Torius’ agonized arms dropped heavily to the ground, his shoulders left in throbbing pain from their menace. He showed no appearance of his agony for his enemies to see, for it would become both his weakness and their strength.
"Knight of The Castle," Syndirin echoed with shady smile, "protector of the Royalty's castle."
"That's right," Torius said, looking Syndirin directly in the eye. "And soon that royalty will wonder where it's knight went - my trail is traced to here, and," he managing his own vicious smile back, "You will feel his justice, be it by a law or a sword."
The twinkle in Syndirin's eyes deadened, and he raised his staff at Torius, his eyes aflare. A black jet shot from the staff, hitting Torius’ body with a Pain spell.
Torius writhed in agony as an invisible burning pain wrecked his insides horribly. After a blinding moment, it suddenly disappeared, and he flattened on his back to the ground, panting and sweating.
"Feel my justice, knight!” Syndirin seared at Torius, enflamed. "Know that you are at my complete mercy, and that it is I that decides whether you live, die, or suffer!"
Again he shot a wicked Pain spell at Torius, who again twisted and toiled upon the ground by the overwhelming pain.
The second Pain spell wore off, and Torius was heaving for breath, small trickles of blood seeping from his nose, mouth and ears
. His wrists were gouged in his struggles against the shackles and they, too, were bleeding.
Syndirin, satisfied with Torius’ pain, seemed to pacify. In steadied, fiendish voice, he said, "Tonight will be a painful night indeed - but that all depends on how well you cooperate.
"Now first," he raised his staff to Torius again, ready to strike him with another spell, "Let us begin with some information on the Windpass Royal Treasure!"
Rhoin was traveling quickly through the woods at a half-run, half to him but a speed equal to the average man's full run. He had acquired vital information, information of a new enemy of Windpass Isles, and he had to consult this with his Master.
Rhoin seldom spoke with the Master - rarely now, that his basic apprenticeshipping was over and no longer under direct teachings of him. Last he spoke with the ancient wood elf was more than a year prior.
Rhoin was concentrating his powers, enhancing his awareness with it, so as to sense near entities - he had to make haste and needed to avoid possible conflicts.
In the middle of a leap over a bramble of brush, he sensed someone near, and prepared to land out of the leap with a silent halt. He clarified the vision - a large beast. It was hungry, and so must be hunting. It was a fast type of animal, Rhoin could interpret from seeing it's animal mind. Best not to try to outrun, Rhoin decided, so as not to be discovered and pursued by it.
Without further delay, as Rhoin felt it's presence drawing nearer, he conducted a simple Fear spell—simple, for a concentrated one was intended to effect man's mind, and the concentrated form would drive a beast's small animal mind insane. Gently he located the animal mind in space—in front and a little to the left of him, past the small hill before him. He generated the Fear curse upon it—it was always more effective when you put a mental picture along with the curse—and so Rhoin thought a picture of the dangerous beast being chased by a large dragon, and threw it along with the curse, upon the animal mind.
A terrific howling scream resounded throughout the forest, and Rhoin heard a distant crash of a large beast smashing into a tree. Rhoin darted up the hill to observe the effect of his Fear spell. He ducked out of view when he saw a grotesque, three-winged creature hurtling through the air in full force, as if fleeing an invisible foe. It disappeared into the distant night sky. Did he conduct a too-powerful curse on the poor beast?
Dropping the contemplation as unimportant, Rhoin again made his way forward in his swift, wood-Elvin run.
Dawn was breaking, and Rhoin finally made it to his destination. He reached a meadow in the center of thick wood, hidden from humankind or any kind. Intendedly so, by the wood-Elvin inhabitants.
In the center was an impressive temple, built of rock, wood and gold, a deep temple with only two levels. The temple had the apparency of being deserted, only Rhoin knew better, as he approached it in a respective walk, instead of his hastily run. He approached the front entrance, and stood before it.
After some minutes, a wood-Elvin guardian spoke from a hidden spot. "Who goes there?” came a voice from the doorway, ghostly, for the speaker was disguised from view.
"Rhoin Me'Aer, brother of the Odenshinaro sect under our Master Odenshinaro," Rhoin replied.
"And what is your purpose for being here?” again the voice demanded from the dark entrance. Rhoin could feel the wood-Elvin guardian trying to perceive Rhoin's thoughts. Rhoin did not resist the sorcery, though he easily could, for he was trained in the same magic. He, too, sensed a second wood-elf hidden to his right, with a poised weapon.
"My purpose is to consult with my Master Odenshinaro, and to forward vital information I have discovered."
There was a moment of silence, Rhoin still feeling the wood-Elvin guard reading into his thoughts. "Proceed, human," the voice premised. Rhoin felt uncomfortable at being termed human. Though he was, this was a secret civilization of wood elves with whom he was taken in as a member.
Ignoring the disaffected thoughts he detected from the hidden elves, Rhoin proceeded beyond the wooden portal of the ancient looking small temple.
Though he knew full well of the enchantment before him, he still stopped to observe the appearance of the inside. It was dark, dumpy, and only a sole torch upon the dusty walls, lighting an empty, unkempt room, which appeared quite small. He smiled at the thought of how many humans were turned away from the Master's temple by the illusion.
Then, he closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. It had to be empty and serine, or else the illusion would blind the true view of the scene. After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes.
The temple was now deeper and broad, and was now in a wide room, with two tall torches on either side of the room, magic white flames endlessly glowing. The floor was a soft wood, and a thick wool carpet traced a path across the floor to another wooden portal in front of him. He continued forward, sensing now a powerful entity was aware of his presence. He knew that powerful entity: it was Master Odenshinaro. He was through the portal before him.
Rhoin slowed his footsteps, respective to the honorable space he was about to enter. He entered the room, and slowly knelt on the wooden floor, across the room from a figure positioned upon the ground. He withdrew his weapons from his sides and back, and laid them to the side. He felt a powerful observation upon him as he was doing this Elvin custom.
Rhoin looked up at the figure. In grand robes and light, wood made-made armor, as well like Rhoin with equally grand weapons laid to his side, sat positioned an ancient wood elf, looking into Rhoin's eyes. Rhoin felt understood, as the powerful wood elf sensed his troubled thoughts, about the black knights he met in the woods that night. About his brothers, his father. A feeling of peace purged Rhoin's thoughts, and he knew that the Master was about to speak.
"I, too, have seen these warriors, these mysterious enemies," came the soft, serine voice, which seemed to have behind it the hardiness of an ancient warrior, of the Master. Rhoin did not utter words, but still had confused thoughts in his mind. He sensed with clarity that the Master was lacking understanding, too.
"Rhoin," the Master cut through Rhoin's thoughts.
Rhoin straightened up in his kneeling position, peering toward the Master. "Anything, Oh Master Odenshinaro," he replied with sincerity, knowing something was being requested of him.
For a moment the Master's eyes twinkled with a respect Rhoin still didn't comprehend. Then the wood-made Master spoke.
"Reports from some scouts show that these enemies sail across the sea at the dead of night, landing on the northern shores of Windpass Isles, where humans hold domain, near their hamlet known as Hunter’s Grove." Rhoin noted the mention of humans, but did not feel the disrespect that was intended of the previous mention by the outside wood made guards. The Master truly viewed Rhoin as a wood elf. But not taking up this brief but perceivable thought, the Master continued.
"Being that you are human in form," the Master's eyes again showed a moment of true respect, as though reassuring Rhoin, "You are chosen to pass through the human domains, follow the enemies upon their own ship, to their own land. And find their true intention. Once you have discovered their truth, then return.
"Your party will include two human followers. Tthey must know the land well and have the ability to guide you to where you need to go. You must choose this team by the following day, and leave that night in proceeding with this mission."
With deepest honor and respect, Rhoin accepted formally this order with a low bow, until his head touched the floor. He slowly rose again upright upon his knees, facing the Master. "As you request, my true Master - my will is yours."
The made master looked upon Rhoin, as he bowed once more, belted his weapons to his side, and arose to his feet. Rhoin stepped backward of the room—by doing so not turning his back to the Master—and as soon as he reached the doorway, turned, and left the Master's presence. With an insuppressible feeling of pride, Rhoin sensed a slight peace in the Master, a peace Rhoin permitted
by accepting this mission. The Master trusted him.
Rhoin's made level focus diminished with troubled thoughts. As he walked through the grand temple, the enchanted illusion enveloped the true appearance of the room—Rhoin's lack of concentration allowed it, though still he did not seem to notice that he walked through a dank dusty room with a rotted out floor—the illusion—as he headed to the exit.
Rhoin focused his energies, taking deep breaths of the cool, forest air, concentrating with closed eyes. He placed his fisted hands against each other before his chest and, articulating magic words, generating the spell of Swift Body. He released the spell, and his body filled with a feeling as if light as a cloud. The leaves below his feet crackled, as his body no longer displaced its full weight upon the ground.
It was a long lasting spell, a spell learned in the Odenshinaro Brotherhood teachings. Rhoin took to the spell well, making common use of it in his travels.
Rhoin pushed forward, and with little effort, bolted faster than any common beast could in that forest. Swerving around a few trees, he kicked off into the air, hurtling over a pit in the ground. He jumped farther than intended, and was speeding toward a tree. He pivoted, and kicked off of the tree, darting himself toward the ground, whence he landed lightly, and continued on.
Thoughts were racing through his head as fast as he traveled. Two humans? Who would he take? He frowned in thought as the ground rose in front of him in a hill, which did not hinder his great speed. Who did he know? Surely he was human, but did not live with humans since a young age! And even then, did not travel much.
The hill climaxed, and dipped sharply from under him, at which point he leapt into the air, the ground descending below him.
His family. But Father was gone! The thought made him frown darker still, as the wind cut around his soaring body. Maybe his brothers knew someone who could help him?
His feet hit the ground and he took off again tirelessly at the magic enhanced speed. The forest cleared off, and a dirt road steered out of Rhoin's path to the left and right. Rhoin turned sharply, his magically lighter self then sliding a distance, to follow the road. He continued on, dust clouding in his wake.
Down!
Instinctively, Rhoin rolled to the side, out of the path of an arrow, which thudded into a tree near him. He skidded to a stop, and turned to face the attackers, drawing his deadly Elvin blade for battle. But all he saw was the long, narrow cloud of dust that was his running path, and the quiet trees forming the sides of the dirt road.
The quiet. It was too much. Something was wrong.
Be calm, Rhoin thought to himself. He focused. He detected simple, enemy minds along the forest edge and up in the trees. Who were they?
Rhoin kicked straight up, shooting with enchanted momentum into the air, three arrows striking the ground he stood upon a half-second before. He looked down below, as he started descending, for any enemies. They were well hidden, and he still did not see them as he landed.
"I am not here for a fight!” Rhoin called out, upon landing. He had his attention on his Master's mission. He could not be deterred.
"Then drop your weapons, and come easy!” cried a harsh, commanding voice from the wood. Rhoin looked in the direction of the voice’s origin, not seeing anything in the dark.
"I will not do such bidding for cowards who dare not show faces!” Rhoin said back, blade still battle ready.
In answer, another arrow streamed forward, to which Rhoin detected beforehand and craftily dodged, it missing harmlessly. Rhoin dared to close his eyes for a moment to concentrate, to locate his enemies spiritually, when he could not physically.
One was not ten paces in front and to the right of him—another directly above him in the tree. And another one close to him. Rhoin sensed almost a dozen men!
"Thieves," Rhoin muttered under his breath, as he concluded to launch in attack upon his hidden foes. "Worthless bandits!” Rhoin called out to his hidden foes. He loathed bandits—taking innocent lives for unearned money and goods. And in that moment the calm concentration indoctrinate of the Odenshinaro kind was subverted by his human-side emotions, the loathing of thieves. He darted toward the tree where he sensed his first enemy. He rolled beside it, dodging a slashing knife which swung out behind it, and slashed backward, laying open his enemy with his keen blade. With a bloody gasp, the figure crumpled to the ground. Rhoin kicked up off the ground, slashing again upward toward the second enemy, intending to slice his neck but taking his head and arm with it, which fell gruesomely from their places and bounced dead upon the tree trunks, falling to the ground below.
Still rising upward in magical speed, blade drawn, Rhoin grabbed onto a large branch with his free hand to swing out of the target of four spraying arrows.
His direction was now downward, and as he plummeted to the ground below he closed his eyes for an instant and concentrated, locating his next targets. For what was a fraction of a second later he opened his eyes and drew his blade back. As he hit the ground he rolled with the same speed generated from the fall, and another deadly arrow pinned the spot where he had landed barely a moment before. As he sprung forward from his roll he brought his sword around in a slash and struck true another thief who with a muffled cry fell backward lifeless from a deep wound in his chest.
"Are you all so willing to die tonight?" Rhoin said fiercely to the remaining thieves, still hiding in the dark. Both to Rhoin's disappointment and content, he heard several pairs of hasty retreating footfalls becoming distant into the night forest.
Another brief moment of concentration with closed eyes revealed no remaining foes.
It was not the practice of an Odenshinaro warrior to fight such pointless battles for self-defense. Rhoin recalled this principle and felt a small twinge of regret. This was definitely a poor demonstration of an Odenshinaro. "Well," he thought aloud to himself, "Nor is it the practice to let oneself be killed."
Satisfying himself with this conclusion, he again took off, the Swift Body spell still affecting him great speed.
The night’s blackness had surrendered to the first signs of dawn, a dark blue color creeping along the sky’s eastern horizon, a horizon that Rhoin could only see jagged slivers of through the thick forest he was traversing.
A couple hours later, the sun rose fully, and Rhoin was near Seften’s farm. To the small wheat field half mowed he did not see Seften; the remaining surroundings did not reveal Paetoric. With that, Rhoin entered the small, rough wooden structure to see Paetoric and Seften leaning over a table, conspiring below hearing level, when they noticed Rhoin’s entrance, and looked up at him. Rhoin, not knowing what to say, strode slowly over to the table and sat down, his blade at his side thudding against his chair.
“How is Father?” Paetoric asked hopefully. But Rhoin indeed did not know. He heaved a sigh, seeming to contemplate the surface of the table.
“Father seems alright,” answered Rhoin, unknowingly, still looking down.
“Is that…blood?” Paetoric asked, and Seften looked up, startled. Rhoin reached up and wiped his face clean of dried blood speckles, looking at his now soiled hand. “Aye, it is,” Rhoin answered. “But not my own. I got in a fight in my travels here. Thieves. Worry not, as I am fine, and definitely more alive than the most of them.”
Before Paetoric and Seften could ask further questions of this, Rhoin interjected. “I need your help,” he began. Paetoric and Seften awaited further words of Rhoin, in serious tone. “Do you know of a guide that could lead me to Northern Windpass Isles, to the hamlet of Hunter’s Grove?” he inquired.
Paetoric and Seften looked at each other, then looked back at Rhoin. “Other than ourselves, no,” said Seften. Paetoric shrugged in agreement.
Rhoin nodded solemnly, again contemplating the surface of the rather plain, rough- sawn table. He had to find human guides by the end of this night. It was but morning, but why waste the hours of an entire day looking,
when there was nowhere else to look? He knew that he had already determined what he was to do. He looked up at Paetoric and Seften. “I need you two to guide me as far as Hunter’s Grove. When we get there, you are to travel directly back to the farm. Understand?” he said.
Paetoric and Seften, looking puzzled, shook their heads. “No,” Seften answered, “but I’ve a feeling that you aren’t going to inform me in the near future as to why you need to be lead to that rather insignificant hamlet?” he ended, pointedly.
Rhoin shook his head. “Pack lightly but preparedly,” was his only response.
Drewth walked down a dimly torch-lit corridor quickly, despite the lightweight enchanted but still encumbering armor, which he bore lightly upon his brawny body. He reached a spiral of maroon carpeted stone steps, and with the same speed ascended them, this spiral staircase better lit with abundant wall sconces, magically aflame. He turned into another plane corridor as the last one, but this one ended in a long high room with a grand but unpolished marble table, though this room was as well dimly lit, partly due to the desolation of it being a seldom used room of the castle, partly due to the occupant’s secretiveness within it. For at the end of the marble table stood Syndirin, the King’s Arbiter, bony tall body blanketed with a rich blue Wizard’s robe, turning an empty jeweled wine glass slowly in his thin hands.
Drewth paused before the doorway. “You summoned, M’Lord?” said Drewth to the Wizard, who seemed far away in thoughts.
Syndirin, after a couple slow revolutions of the royal wine glass in his hand, replied boringly, “Indeed, I did summon you, Drewth,” another slow, thoughtful revolution of the glass, “ome over here, and be seated.” With that, Drewth approached and sat upon a high-backed chair with thin gilded designs, eyes not leaving his Lord.
“What is your purpose in life, Drewth?” Syndirin questioned, slowly.
Drewth resisted fidgeting, trying to understand and answer the question, but being rather obviously confused, he replied, “What do you mean, M’Lord?”
Syndirin’s thin shoulders beneath the grand robe bobbed slightly as he silently chuckled. He turned with a sigh, setting down the empty jeweled glass, and sat upon a chair, bent over the cold marble table. He crossed his skeletal hands upon the table, staring over them at Drewth. “What do you wish to accomplish?” he questioned.
“What is your dream, your goal?” he demanded further.
Drewth seemed rather abashed but cleared his throat and swallowed, “To—to serve the Kingdom, and his Lordship Syndirin, M’Lord,” he began, uneasily. “To uphold my honor as the Arbiter’s Second and to do whatever my duties require of me, M’Lord!”
Syndirin’s eyebrows lowered, as he seemed to be contemplating Drewth, trying to read something that Drewth could not determine what.
“What if I,” began Syndirin, pausing slightly to find the right words, “Could give you power?” he finished.
Drewth peered upon Syndirin questioningly. “I know not what you mean, M’Lord?”
Syndirin uncrossed his hands and stood up, slowly rising to his full height. He looked down upon Drewth, and glanced at the corridor leading into the room, seeing that it was providing no eavesdropping, and looked again down upon Drewth. “Those with power are destined to rule, Drewth. I am of powerful magic and soon you shall rise with such power, being it your potential.
"Drewth. Do you understand the opportunity, the destiny for the both of us?” Syndirin uttered.
Drewth only looked upon Syndirin, dumfounded, and so Syndirin continued. “The Gods can rule as they are of power. We are of power, too – why cannot we ourselves rule lands? Why cannot we, so close to Kingship ourselves, ourselves be the Kingship? And beyond?
“I ask of you to contemplate these thoughts that I have contemplated, and to join me in my actions to fulfill what is destined for Gaedia. Drewth, be home now and speak no word of our meeting, else I declare you a liar to those you would tell, and defame and depower you.
"Yet I trust you, Drewth, not to tell anyone. Come, now, dream as I dream of being true Kings of Gaedia, and taking this Kingdom with us to power! Drewth, what say you?” he demanded earnestly, slamming his fist upon the table, the abandoned empty wine glass falling over from the shock of the strike.
Drewth was completely stunned. These were communications and contemplations he had never dreamt of, which seemed so wild but righteous, new ideas that churned in his mind to the effect of him being speechless.
“Leave now, and do as I say, of forgetting this meeting until we meet again. And then meeting again you shall answer me, yay or nay, at which point I will either allow you to stand by me or dispatch of you forever.”
Drewth rose, almost swaying in baffled ponderings. He wordlessly, without his usual standards of courtesy toward Lord Syndirin, turned and left the room, his own blue Arbiter’s Second cloak sweeping behind him down the exiting corridor.
Rhoin had changed out of his Elvin battle outfit into a more admissible set of human clothing, borrowed from Seften, to blend in more, serving the purpose of having been on his mission. His walk was still skillfully controlled and balanced as a Wood Elf, which would arouse suspicion; however as he traveled with his two brothers, it went beyond notice.
“What is it like, being among Elves?” Seften suddenly asked.
“Wood Elves,” Rhoin corrected Seften, and proceeded to explain as he had explained to Paetoric the morning after the battle with the rouges. All the long, Seften silently listened, taking in all of the data. After Rhoin had finished, Seften proceeded with his own statement on the subject.
“So secret is the existence of these Wood Elves that it is known only as a myth. I have heard from my customers of those who had set out to search for Wood Elves either never to return or return unsuccessful.”
Rhoin instructed, “And so it should remain secret. However I find it incorrect to keep secrets from my brothers, to the same degree that I believe you should keep the secrets of mine from others. Tell no one.” Seften and Paetoric both acknowledged Rhoin’s words.
For days the three traveled, stopping at several inns, for which Paetoric paid for with his money pieces he received from his father Gyle before he was inducted back into Royal service. Finally they were but few miles from the hamlet of Hunter’s Grove, and Rhoin began stirring the thoughts in his head, how to turn his brother’s away from him before he reached the dangerous part of his mission, searching out and infiltrating the enemy’s ship, for he was trained in stealth and assassination, whereas his brothers were definitely nothing more than smithy and basic farming.
Seften must have detected Rhoin’s contemplations for he spoke up. “Rhoin,” said he. “Soon you will have us depart?”
Rhoin nodded. “Yes, brother,” and hesitatingly, “I am on somewhat of a dangerous task, for which I have training to manage, and for which you two do not. I am nearer to danger than you think, and so that is why I ask you two to turn away, when I do ask. I can tell you no more of this task.".
Seften and Paetoric made no attempt to interrogate Rhoin.
The trees on either side of the barely visible road grew thicker and closer as they proceeded, and the road became more visible and solid. The path elevated, and then dipped away to reveal the small structures of Hunter’s Grove hamlet.
“Here we are,” said Rhoin. At this, all stopped in their tracks. Paetoric and Seften were waiting unwillingly to be dismissed by Rhoin, yet instead, Rhoin decided otherwise. “But,” Rhoin began, “Travel with me into this town,”—he indicated it—“and we shall have one more company before we split ways.”
The brothers plodded down the descending dusty road, except for Rhoin, who naturally maintained his light footing. As they proceeded, the small structures became more identifiable.
There was a small brown church with barely two floors and a stout steeple topped with a rusty cross, a few small houses here and there with thatched roofs, sometimes tile roofs, a
few scattered trees about, and the hamlet surrounded by either hills or forest, seeming to limit the occupation from expanding outward, but yet it never would, being a rather unpopulated hamlet. And there, almost across from the church, was a tavern with a small second floor that was probably rooms for travelers to rent.
The three entered the Hunter’s Grove hamlet and walked into the tavern’s small, rickety double doors, to be greeted by dim lighting, scattered thick wooden round tables with empty chairs save a few, and a tall bartender with black hair and dark eyes, polishing out glass tumblers behind his counter. Rhoin, through his Spiritual sense, detected something subtly enigmatic about this bartender, despite the bartender’s simplified appearance, but heeding no signs of his suspicion, proceeded to the polished, but badly lit, bar. He scraped up a stool and sat upon it, his brothers doing like-wise.
“What can I do you for?” asked the bartender cheerily, a cheer not reflected in the tavern environment.
Rhoin again paid no notice but remained suspect. “Just travelers on our way,” replied Rhoin. Rhoin sensed mischief behind him, but heard neither sound nor movement. It was very skillfully quiet and unnoticeable, Rhoin noted.
Rhoin watched the bartender for his indications of happenings behind Rhoin, such as eye movement, but the bartender gave no such indication. Rhoin concentrated for a moment, pretending to close his eyes in a tired sigh, and sensed a presence drawing closer behind him, not in danger, but in that same “innocent” mischief.
Rhoin turned and clutched a sly hand that was reaching for his knife hidden on his belt, and turned further to face the covert thief. It was a young, tall boy, again with long black hair and dark eyes, features showing him to be the son of the bartender. Being caught in the act as he was, his face was calm and cheerful like the bartender, showing no guilt, as if his thwarted crime did not exist or could never be proven.
“Bring a stealing hand near me and you will lose it, thief,” Rhoin warned aloud.
But the thief blinked and showed an innocently confused expression, replying craftily, “I know not what troubles you, traveler, but I assure you it is nothing of me.” Rhoin let go the boy’s hand, and they boy proceeded to reach it by Rhoin toward his father, the bartender, who then handed him a rag innocently and still cheerfully. The boy clutched the rag, smiled at Rhoin amicably and said, “I wish you safe travels, and you are welcome back to the Hunter’s Grove tavern any time.” The boy walked off, and began wiping a table with the rag. The bartender seemed to heed no notice of the boy’s prevented thievery, setting three tumblers down before the three brothers, and filling them with creamy country ale.
Rhoin drank some of the cool, bittersweet ale, and set his tumbler down. It was soon time to dismiss his brothers and continue his perilous mission on his own. He and his two brothers drank the ale in silence, until Rhoin spoke up. “I now must dismiss of you two, Paetoric and Seften. I thank you for taking me in and helping me, as brothers would; but now it will be too dangerous a journey and I will not put you two in such danger.”
Paetoric and Seften stared glumly at the polished counter, as if contemplating their dim reflections upon its glossy surface. “It was nice seeing you again, brother,” said Seften. “And I shall remember to keep my promise of keeping your secret,” he added.
“Aye, and I thank you. Now goodbye, and I shall come back when I am finished. Wish me luck, aye?” And to that, Paetoric and Seften raised their tumblers to Rhoin, finishing the remaining contents off to the toast.
“Good luck, brother!” they hailed to Rhoin as he left the lonely tavern out the door with his own pack slung upon his back.
Rhoin had traveled out of the town, up a hill, and when he passed it’s crest and descended it, out of the village’s view, he bore off into the thickening wood, and changed into his Wood-Elvin attire, discarding his human clothing. Equipping himself with an arsenal of Elvin assassination weaponry, he proceeded onward, staying to the wood for camouflage.
Proceeding northward in silence and alertness, he soon smelled open water – he was nearing the coastline. He now became more silent, more alert, and kept his mind open to detect nearby enemies.
For long minutes he continued onward stealthily, footing like that of a silent forest predator, sneaking up upon an enemy he as of yet had not seen.
He reached the end of the wood, the ground dipping abruptly into a rocky coastline. This must be the location that Master Odenshinaro had indicated. It seemed secluded enough a shoreline and location that it would be unnoticed at nighttime – the enemy must be arriving at night- time, then. Rhoin noted that the sun was descending now, and it was but a few hours until the daylight surrendered to the horizon, so he concluded that he would simply have to await the nightfall. He sat down and began his Elvin meditation spell, to recollect his focus and power in the Spirit Element.
The sun descended, until the sky was painted first a lustrous yellow-gold, and then a blood red, to a deep blue hue and then a dead black. Rhoin expanded his sphere of awareness to take in any who may draw by. He sensed someone from behind, approaching. He concentrated – it was a secretive pace, as if that someone did not want to be discovered. He watched that someone’s mind – it was definitely not someone he had met before. Twisted thoughts – it was definitely someone with ill intentions. Then two other minds came into his perceptions, traveling behind this first person, but at a careful distance. They were following this first person. He concentrated again – Oh, no, it was Seften and Paetoric! What were they doing?
Rhoin opened his eyes and turned around without making a sound even of broken twig or cracking leaf, and inspected the darkness. He could see the figure about a hundred paces away, bearing a torch. He could see that he was dressed in a black hooded cloak, stalking hurriedly but secretively toward the coastline, and judging by his path, would pass right by Rhoin. Rhoin crouched behind brush and waited.
The man was ten paces away now, and Rhoin could see by the facial features and clothing that this man was definitely not of Windpass Isles. He could also see a bulge of a protruding sword hilt beneath his cloak. This man was armed.
The man passed by without seeing Rhoin, only a few paces away from Rhoin, on the other side of the brush that Rhoin was behind, and continued out of the dark wood into the pale moonlit rocky coast.
Then, anxiously, he listened to the cracking of twigs and scraping of hands and knees on dirt, and muffled hearing-level complaints and counter complaints and clattering weapons of his two brothers, following the man! How they had gone unnoticed was a mystery to Rhoin, but seeing their faces come into view, he could see their anxious yet excited expressions.
He silently crept around the brush to behind his two brothers, and quickly put his hands over their mouths, muffling their protest until he hushed them and identified himself, and then let go of their mouths, pushing them closer to the ground to be out of any view of the man with the torch.
“Rhoin, that man – he looks and stinks like one of those brigands who attacked me that time!” said Paetoric in whisper. “We followed him, and he did not notice! Just like the good old games we used to play of ‘Thief Around The Town’!” Seften was grinning boyishly, clutching his scythe.
“That was very dangerous – I need you two to head back now! This is the enemy, and more may be coming!” Rhoin demanded in rebuke.
But he hushed them, and all crouched lower, as a dark ship with black sails, apparently having materialized from the darkness, cut through the water silently to the shore, where the cloaked man awaited. Rhoin noted to himself that somehow he had to sneak aboard that ship and follow the enemies back to their origin, as Master Odenshinaro instructed. The ship slowed, and threw out two anchors to keep the ship from crashing to the shore, steadying the ship a few paces from the rocky shoreline. A ladder lowered over the side, and the man with the torch stayed upon the rocky coast. Two other lightly armored men – their armor was completely black – c
limbed down the ladder and waded through the seawater up the steep coast. The three men began conversing silently to each other, and the cloaked man raised his torch so as to light their surroundings. Then all three men started heading away from the coast – directly toward the hiding place of Rhoin and his brothers!
Rhoin thought quickly. He concentrated briefly with eyes closed, searching for the three men’s minds. He could not concentrate on all three at once; they were each complicated human minds, not simple animal minds, and his ability was not developed sufficiently. So he picked the man with the torch. He generated a Fear spell, and put a mental picture with it of possibly being discovered. He threw the spell into the man’s mind, and opened up his eyes to watch the effect.
The man staggered back, eyes wide open in anxiety, and he gulped. The two armored men looked down upon him, questioningly. Rhoin heard the man utter that he feared the possibility of having been followed, and the two armored men drew daggers and peered into the dark forest in which the three brothers had been hiding. This is not the effect that Rhoin had intended!
The two armored men stalked into the wood, searching for such possible followers, and the cloaked man had his sword drawn, but was much more in fear and lagged behind, being still under the effect of Rhoin’s Fear spell. Rhoin did not have time to meddle with sorcery to turn the soldiers away, but drew two wicked curved knives, preparing for battle.
A half dozen more armed soldiers, having noticed the activities of the other two armored soldiers, scrambled down the ladder on their ship’s side and crashed through the water with swords drawn, up the coast. Rhoin cursed silently – this was getting out of hand, and he would have to safeguard his brothers.
He turned to his brothers and whispered, “Turn and run, you two, to safety! A battle is about to begin that I cannot keep you safe from!”
But his brothers only clutched their weapons that they had brought with them—Paetoric his mysterious halberd and Seften his wickedly bladed scythe. Their looks, initially excitement, then worry, now were grave. “We are not leaving,” retorted Seften.
“We will fight together!” Paetoric declared.
“Who goes there?” demanded a close, bulky armored man into the darkness, in the direction of the three brothers. He had heard their voices.
Clutching his large dagger in a gauntleted hand, he approached the source of the voices. “Out with yeh, ‘fore we consider you enemies and have to kill yeh!” he warned.
Rhoin had no choice but to surrender. They were now too close to outrun, and Rhoin could not keep his brothers safe while fighting eight armed soldiers. If he was to fight, he might live or die, but his brothers definitely would be killed.
He arose into view of the soldier, the torchlight exposing him completely. “I shall come easy, for I desire no battle,” he said, yielding. He demanded the same of Paetoric and Seften. “Why are you doing this?” Paetoric demanded. “You can fight, I’ve seen you! You fight like a devil!”
“But I cannot keep you safe. Do as I do, and live,” he said, and below the hearing level of the approaching enemies coming to take them, he whispered, “I’ll figure a way out of this,” as a sword point was directed but inches from his neck by the cloaked man, who still was slightly trembling.
Paetoric and Seften reluctantly, but without resistance, gave up their weapons. Their hands were bound by rope behind their backs, including Rhoin, as they were taken aboard the black ship at sword’s point as prisoners of the unknown enemy. The ship’s anchors were drawn, and the ship sailed away in the night sea breeze.
The three brothers were locked in a small prison cell in the belly of the ship, for what must have been seven days. They were completely disarmed, and had so much trouble finding all of Rhoin’s concealed weapons that they ordered him to strip and gave him a smelly set of sackcloth pants and a huge stained shirt to wear instead. Food was fed into a slot under the bars—behind which the party was imprisoned—twice daily, a miserable gruel and gruel-sogged bread that left them helplessly hungry despite forcing the terrible foods down. Despite any protests or demands for answers from the guard who regularily brought their food were answered by either a grunt, indifferent silence, or kicking the pan of food under the door so that the wretched contents spilt over the prison floor. Rhoin had searched the walls for weak points, and gave several unsuccessful attempts at picking the lock, which ended up being an enchanted lock that Energy shocked Rhoin severely to the point where he was unconscious for several hours. They were prisoners to an unknown enemy.
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