Waremasu nodded.
The angel sheathed his sword in one swift movement and concealed his arm, and then before Caedmon’s eyes, the stranger vanished from sight. A rush of wind swirled around the guardian, and he was flabbergasted by the stranger’s sudden disappearance. He did not understand what had just happened and could not fathom the stranger’s intentions.
Caedmon became concerned about the stranger. The man’s attire was odd, and he had never seen a sword such as his before. He hesitated as he wondered who the man was and where he hailed from. Perhaps the man was a Falcarna wizard, he thought. The most disconcerting characteristic was the shroud of darkness hiding the man’s face, a magic he had not seen before. He knew he must get back to Faolan’s group as soon as possible. He sprinted toward the east without knowing where the nameless stranger had gone, but he did not dare risk leaving his companions alone for too long.
◆◆◆
Kellen kept the group moving as Caedmon had instructed. They were still moving east toward Odemar and nearing the edge of the Mythios Woods.
“Why did Caedmon stop?” Faolan asked his father. He was growing concerned about Caedmon’s prolonged absence.
“He wished to rest for a moment,” Kellen said.
“Then why did we not stop as well?”
“It is best we keep moving, son. We still have a long way to go, and Caedmon can take care of himself.”
Faolan looked behind the wagon for any sign of the old wolf, but instead he caught sight of a lone figure following them. He was curious at the individual’s sudden presence.
“Father, someone is following us,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Kellen looked back and saw the stranger, the same one Caedmon had stopped to confront. He thought for a moment; Caedmon’s absence would make it safe to presume the stranger was a threat.
“Leith, we must move faster,” Kellen urged the healer.
Leith turned around and glanced back at the stranger. “What? Because of him?”
“Just do it!” Kellen commanded.
“Fine.” The healer frowned and snapped the reins. The horses neighed, and the wagon’s speed increased.
“What is the matter?” Treasach asked as they started moving faster.
“We must make distance between ourselves and that man,” Kellen shouted as the horses began to gallop.
“Why?” Gavina shouted in response.
“Do you see Caedmon?” Kellen yelled.
“No,” the prince shouted over the loud hoofbeats of the horses and creaking wagon.
Kellen made a suggestive expression at them.
“Oh . . .” Treasach understood. “Right.”
“Is Caedmon in trouble?” Aili yelled.
“Should we not go back and help him?” Gavina asked.
“It is too dangerous,” Kellen said. “If the stranger bested Caedmon in a fight, then we could not stand up against him either. I want to make sure Caedmon is uninjured as well, but we must keep the girl safe. It is what Caedmon would want.”
The others understood the retired general’s reasoning. The primary mission was to protect the girl and to get her to the Four Trials. They could only hope Caedmon was safe and uninjured.
“Pick up the pace, Leith,” Faolan said.
Leith snapped the reins again.
Everyone kept pace with the wagon as they increased speed. Kellen glanced back over his shoulder and noticed the stranger growing distant and finally fading from view. The Mythios Woods thinned and blended into grassland as the group raced out onto the open plains of Gathian.
“You truly believe that man to be dangerous?” Treasach asked Kellen.
“Caedmon was supposed to confront the man, and he should have returned first. I am not sure what happened to him, but we should err on the side of caution,” Kellen said.
“What if he hurt Caedmon?” Aili shouted.
“Do not worry. No man could manage to kill Caedmon. I am sure he is fine,” Kellen assured the others, though he had his doubts.
He wondered why the old guardian had not returned before the stranger reappeared. Perhaps the wolf had deemed him not a threat and allowed him to pass, though would Caedmon not have rejoined them before the odd traveler reappeared? Kellen was unsure, but he thought it was best they keep their distance from the man. Just a little farther and they would be far enough away from the stranger to no longer need to worry about the situation. He began to calm and think more sensibly and wondered if he had acted too rashly. Perhaps the man was just a traveler from a land unknown to him. Maybe his time as a scout had clouded his sound judgment. Had he become too wary of unfamiliar things?
He noticed the sun nearing the horizon as the clouds were painted a vibrant red and orange. The sky was beginning to grow dark, and the moon was beginning to shine. He glanced over his shoulder and could no longer see the stranger. He finally relaxed and looked up to the sky once more and saw dark clouds building in the distance.
“Slow your horses!” he shouted.
Everyone followed the order and slowed to a walk.
“Should we make camp tonight?” Gavina asked.
“No. We will continue riding until we reach Odemar. We must maintain our distance from the stranger, and Caedmon said he would meet us there. We will reach Odemar by noon if we continue through the night.” Kellen looked to his son. “Do you agree, Faolan?”
He did not wish to overrule Faolan’s position as leader but knew they should continue. He believed his son was capable of making sound decisions, but he wanted to urge him in the direction he knew was correct.
“Yes, Father,” agreed Faolan, although the young guardian was understandably unsure which course of action they should take.
Faolan had no previous experience giving orders or commanding others. He did not believe the mission to Mor had given him much experience at all. In fact, he was having trouble remembering a time when he had actually given an order. As he thought about it, he decided he would take charge and fill the role he had been given. He would no longer sit back and wait for someone else to make the decisions when the king had appointed him the leader. He sat up straight and mimicked his father’s attentiveness.
The night rolled in, and they wrapped themselves in their cloaks as a bitter chill descended on them. The plains of Gathian were high in altitude, and its nights could be bitterly cold. The night would not pass quickly, and they were still many hours from Odemar.
Chapter 16
“The Old Man”
“Be wary of those who walk in the void between benevolence and malevolence, for their unpredictability shall decide the fates during fateless times.”
The Ikalreev Prophecies 9:5–6
Zauvek hobbled down the road with a dreary look surrounding him. His weathered skin was heavy on his weary face. His wrinkles were set deep, and his skin was coarse. A dead expression accompanied his distant gaze, and his wiry locks hung before his face as an incomplete veil. His long white hair swung freely back and forth as it oscillated with each footstep taken. At that moment, anyone laying their eyes on the lone wanderer would have believed him callous, forlorn, and unloved.
Ferns covered the understory of the redwood forest to either side of him. Hardly any light from the sun made its way past the dense canopy. The forest was dim, though the sky above was still bright with the sun’s rays. The tall tree trucks were extremely thick and limited his visual distance.
The level path below his feet opened wide into a forked intersection, and three separate paths lay before him.
He grumbled, “Which way, Waremasu?”
His old eyes searched the area and he noticed an X carved into the bark of a tree. He moved closer, and on further examination, he found the other two markings. His old mind understood, and without question he followed the instructions. He read the stone sign for the southeastern road.
“Odemar,” he grumbled again with disdain on his tongue. “The prideful dwarfs.”
Oh, how he wished he could just unveil
his mighty wings and fly to his destination yet he knew it would do him no good. His wings were no longer as those above, as the pure ones. His wings would not grant him flight even if he wished it. So his dreary walk continued with the aid of his staff, and the long minutes passed as his one-two-three gait continued. His wiry hair swung like a pendulum before his face. His old eyes looked up, and he took note of the clouds beginning to gather overhead. His surroundings grew darker by the minute, and soon he could no longer see anything past the tree lines as the forest deepened in shadow, and the first drops of rain began to fall. The rain was soft at first, but it intensified until his visibility shrank to only a few feet. The drenching rain matted his hair and weighed down his black cloak. His naked feet began to splash through deepening puddles of water.
Oh, how his misery grew! He knew no force of benevolence watched over him. He was on his own, and the only one who cared for his life was himself.
His spite strengthened as thoughts rolled over in his mind, time and time again. Why should I aid Razbijen? Oblivion sounds better than the believable alternative . . . pain, suffering without relinquish.
As his mind churned in turmoil, his heart began to ail him. Pain exploded within his chest, and he stopped dead in his tracks. His free hand clutched his chest, and his eyes widened from the pain’s severity. His legs weakened, and he collapsed onto his knees. His mouth erupted, spraying blood into the air. He doubled over onto his hands as his eyes glazed over. Blood streamed from his lips, and mud enveloped his wrinkled old hands. After a few minutes, air once again rushed into his lungs as the pain began to subside. His eyes refocused, and his mind grew aware of his surroundings once more.
A slow maniacal laugh grew from his blood-coated lips. “Oblivion versus an eternally dying heart. Who would dare choose the latter? Old fool!”
He spat. “How do you think Razbijen will defeat what is to come without my aid!” His laugh filled the chilling air. “The First Seal is only the beginning. Without me he will fail.” He briefly grew quiet before roaring, “What reason do I have to aid him?”
He waited for an answer as the rain fell, though no answer came. The soft pitter-patter of the rain was broken only by his rising laughter.
“Then I will do as I please,” he whispered.
He lifted himself off the ground with the aid of his staff. The rain grew harder, and his visibility diminished even more. His cloak was heavy, and his staff was slick. His hands were coated in a thin layer of mud, and his feet sank into the deepening mud with every step forward. He continued onward, and the minutes faded into hours. The faint light of the sun faded into the darkness of night, and his thoughts of turmoil remained.
In the middle of the night, he found himself at the edge of the Mythios Woods. He glanced around for Waremasu’s next instruction. It took him several moments of searching, but he found it. The directional marker was an arrow carved into the trunk of a tree, and it pointed north. He hesitated as he remembered that the guards at Lesley had informed him this Faolan character was traveling to the dwarven lands, but the dwarven lands lay due east. He was unsure of the marker, but he figured Waremasu would not lead him astray.
“To the north?” Zauvek questioned.
◆◆◆
Caedmon ran as quickly as his legs would carry him. His speed was fueled by the thought of Ireli in her vulnerable state, and he was worried about the stranger’s intentions. The forest began to thin, and soon he arrived at its edge, as well as the edge of the forest elf kingdom. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he stopped. Caedmon saw a carving in the bark of a redwood. The marking was an arrow that pointed toward the east. He moved closer and inspected the marking. He laid his hand on the tree and closed his eyes. There was a moment of silence, and then he reopened his eyes, which now glowed a bright green.
Caedmon’s voice commanded, “Tell me, friend, who harmed you?”
Two images flashed within his mind. The first image was of the stranger, and the second image was of the stranger’s katana carving the arrow into the tree. He was unsure why the man would create the carving and hesitated for a moment as his thoughts raced in circles.
He tried to understand. Does someone follow you?
He looked down the path toward the west. He did not know about the man’s true intentions, but he decided it would be best to try and slow anyone who might be following them. The demon could have allies or influences on this world. He looked back at the tree, and the green glow bathing his eyes intensified.
“Aid me and deceive whoever follows,” he commanded.
The carving bent to his will, and the magic changed the arrow’s direction. The bark shifted and rotated counterclockwise until the arrow pointed to the northern sky.
He turned around and spoke to the grass. “Lie down, little ones. Mislead those who follow.”
The grass blades folded over in two parallel lines, as if wagon wheels had rolled over them. The tracks extended northeast into the plains of Gathian.
“Thank you,” he said.
He closed his eyes and then reopened them. The green glow from the Ikalreev magic was gone, but its influence remained on the tree and grass. The stranger’s actions had confused him, and he wondered what followed in his wake. The old guardian delved into his thoughts as he began moving east, breaking into a run. The day’s light had begun to fade, and dark clouds trailed behind him.
◆◆◆
The thick clouds kept the moonlight from reaching the world, leaving it nearly as dark as a cave. Zauvek glanced once more at the arrow that was carved into the tree and noticed the pressed wagon tracks leading north.
A despondent sigh slipped from his lips. “Very well, Waremasu. I hope you know where you are going.”
Zauvek walked north and followed the wagon’s tracks. The night wore on, and lightning grew in the distance. At first, it was simply a small flash every now and then, but soon thunder began to accompany the flashes of light. The winds grew stronger and flowed over the grasslands in heavy gusts, causing the grass to mimic the waves of an ocean. Wave after wave of flowing grass rushed past his unwavering form. He stood as if he was a pillar, unswayed by the elements about him, yet his hair clung to his face in the strong winds, and his soaked cloak weighed heavily on his old body.
A bolt of forked lightning struck the world not far to the northwest. A bellowing roar of thunder rushed over the grasslands. He failed to either notice or care. His mind was set on one thing: finding the elf named Faolan so he might lead Zauvek to Razbijen. As the winds roared and the lightning struck the world around him with great ferocity, his eyes glanced down toward the tracks. He paused. The tracks were gone, and the numerous grass blades had unbent. He slowly comprehended the deceptive magic as he glanced back from where he had come, only to realize the full length of the wagon tracks had vanished. He looked around and found himself foolish.
He roared in bone-chilling frustration. “Who dares deceive me? The great Zauvek made a fool by world-born trickery!”
He would not let this deception go lightly. He straightened himself and stood tall as his heavy cloak unrolled and extended to its intended height. His joints popped, and his muscles ached. He held his staff as if a weapon and no longer a walking aid. He turned around and began trudging the distance back to the road. His speed was much faster and fueled by his growing ire. His blood boiled at the thought of being fooled by a lowly mortal for he knew Waremasu would not create such deception against him. The storm raged on and followed him back to the road. It was not long before he found himself standing before the carved arrow once more.
He looked at the arrow, which now pointed east, and then at the area where the false tracks had once been. The evidence lay before him, and he realized Waremasu had left him this sign pointing east, and another traveler had used some type of magic to alter its appearance. His stance shifted, and his face grew rigid as he looked toward the east and down the length of the road.
He grumbled in
anger. “Pray I do not find you, deceiver. Only the righteous ones can save you from me.”
The pain in his joints had grown, and fatigue set into his ailing form. He hunched over once more and placed a portion of his weight back on his staff, and then he began his long trek across the plains of Gathian. The sun would rise in a few hours’ time, but for now, he continued forward in the dark and in the heavy rain, determined to find the one who had deceived him.
Chapter 17
“The Half-Dragon”
“The third mage shall be known as the half-dragon. Blessed with the breath of his kin. The fire within shall be lit by the deaths of his brothers.”
The Ikalreev Prophecies 12:1–3
The sun rose, and rain began to fall on Faolan’s group. Strong winds blew harsh rains across their partially shielded faces. An occasional lightning bolt struck the ground and spooked the horses. At about the time the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the group finally reached Odemar. Treasach and Kellen rode at the front and were greeted by a pair of dwarven warriors, who were rather unfriendly. The two hefty figures were adorned in heavy battle dress and fearsome armor. One carried a large war hammer and the other a heavy battle-ax.
“Halt! Who goes there?” The dwarf with the war hammer motioned for them to stop.
Kellen and Treasach reined in their horses, and the others followed suit. Kellen was about to speak but was cut short by Faolan, who had managed to dismount the wagon’s front bench and pass in between his father and the prince.
“My name is Faolan. We are here to aid the dwarf king Kvaran against the dragon attacks on his people.”
The dwarfs burst into laughter. “Help us? No dwarf needs the help of an elf.”
“Yet a messenger sent by your king has requested our assistance. Do you wish to refuse King Zael’s gracious aid and call your king a liar?” He questioned them strongly.
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