by Reja Emran
~ Chapter Seven ~
Cyrillon crouched behind a tree, straining to perceive any sounds of an enemy. Pressing the side of his face on the wet ground, the hunter attempted to listen to nearby footsteps but none were to be heard. With the passing of time even the ground shivered in terror and that concealed the warning of an approaching adversary. Nevertheless, Cyrillon pushed the side of his head closer to the cold ground and focused his concentration but his efforts were futile.
After a while, Cyrillon stood up and ventured further into the narrow strait between the dense woodland where the only sound heard was the sighing of the leaves. Then he stopped. A twig cracked and he could hear the flow of a cape on the dry grass. “Who is there?” Cyrillon asked, his deep voice menacing but soft as he fingered the hilt of his blade.
On receiving no answer, he positioned himself in a shadowed corner and lifted his sword in wait. Something rustled behind a towering bush and then stepped out a tall, lean figure; its brown cape whipping the sides of his long legs revealing a thick belt on which was attached a sharp scimitar. In its hand was a bow, apparently one of the crafts from Tyrendale and a quiver of arrows could be seen on his back. Cyrillon was mildly surprised at the bow so like his own but he eyed the figure with suspicion, not fooled by the attire of an Elentian. In these times one could not be careful enough.
Cyrillon immediately took action and stepped out, placing the blade of his sword on the figure’s slender neck.
“Cyrillon?” inquired the figure, a startling edge to his masculine voice as he voiced the name with uncertainty. The muscles under the garment tensed.
“Who are you?” demanded Cyrillon, keeping his tone steady as he felt that this voice was of a friend.
“Remove the sword and I will show myself in the moonlit ground,” replied the figure, “I give you my word.”
Cyrillon hesitated slightly but removed the sword and shifted a step back. The figure treaded towards the pale moonlight and recognition streaked the Elentian’s face as he saw a young man of his own age, his dark hair loosely braided and tucked behind his ears scraping the shoulder.
“Eurofir? Is it you?” asked Cyrillon, his eyes shining with pleasure as he eyed the man before him.
“Yes, my friend. It has been a long time since we have met.” Eurofir then advanced and the two embraced, exchanging warm greetings. The two had been inseparable friends from childhood and none knew to what place or lineage they belonged and therefore Eurofir bore proudly the name of Eurofir Mint’Aril given to him by his caretakers Helene Collin and Boris Jacana Collin who had given the Elentian a home and a life. Eurofir had recently disappeared for a few months to run an errand of King Luminon and now he had returned with no expression to reveal any of his previous engagements.
“What are you doing in Sevin Jungle?”
Eurofir glanced at the surroundings warily and with discomfort, “I came in search of you.”
“I was sent to assist the Guardian. When I arrived she was deeply wounded by the Fire Guardian. I have disposed of that beast.” Cyrillon’s voice had dropped to a low tone.
“Is she alright?” asked Eurofir in alarm as he too had close ties of friendship with the Water Guardian. Cyrillon nodded and signaled Eurofir to come into the shadows where they would be concealed as the enemy had spies in the form of every beast. Cyrillon was particularly apprehensive, or rather disturbed by a black crow that was peering directly at him through the web of branches. However luck was with them as they remained concealed but if anyone looked closer, the moonlight filtering through the branches would reveal their faces and identities.
“What is wrong Eurofir?” Cyrillon had noticed the anxiety and panic on his friend’s face and knew that the Elentian had not come for some petty reason.
“We must leave. I came to warn you.” The man’s voice was tight and his mouth was grim.
“What about the firestone? The letter from Sacred Glove told of it being nearby.”
“We will send the Annoxonum. There is greater danger elsewhere. I have foreseen dark shapes advancing the borders of Sacred Glove. I have informed the leaders of Tyrendale and the Annoxonum will be aided by a phoenix and a few archers according to Queen Arean. After all, I believe it is her task to retrieve it and redeem herself.” Eurofir said and noticing the raised eyebrow of his friend he added hastily, “I am aware of the situation Cyrillon. Don’t look at me like that. It is time to return to Tyrendale for a while. Aniah must lay low especially after the attempt to attack her.”
“Then we must go back to her. She needs to be moved.” Cyrillon sped back to the river side, camouflaging in the swaying shadows of the trees along with Eurofir. As they ran, something followed; it was as if a dark shape was watching them, watching every move.
The crow had sighted them in their careless haste and now fluttered through the night to report to its master, The One who owned the Dark realms; the one known as the Shadow.
Cyrillon flipped to the side and motioned for Eurofir who cast a glance at the Guardian sleeping soundly, her feathery lashes in stark contrast with her flawless complexion. “She has gained a peaceful radiance over the year she has been away. It is good to see her again.”
Cyrillon did not reply but wore a small smile as he placed Aniah’s weapons into her belt, “Go ahead slowly and take Khazdul, I’ll be coming.” Eurofir nodded and moved forward, tightening the hold on his bow as his lavender eyes scanned the perimeter for any sign of danger.
Cyrillon gently prodded Aniah awake, lifting her back from the ground. She opened her eyes wearily and jumped as she could smell a cold breath wash over her face. Aniah’s eyes snapped open and traveled to Cyrillon’s face searchingly, “What has happened?”
“We must leave” he replied, taking her gloved hand to help her up. “Do not ask questions now.”
The two then walked on the same trail Eurofir had taken and in the matter of minutes, they neared the Elentian. “Guardian Aniah,” nodded Eurofir in greeting.
Aniah gave a short bow of greeting in return but her face was etched an urgent expression as she saw alarm cloud Cyrillon’s features who stood apart eyeing the woods. A howl of the wolves intensified the tension between the trio and all stiffened visibly, clamminess settling around them.
“We must proceed,” Aniah said mellifluously, “If I am not mistaken then the howls belong to the wolves of darkness, they will tear out the flesh of any aligned with good. It is rare that they emerge from the woods. I wonder what has caused them to reveal themselves openly.”
“We shall think of this some other time Aniah. For now it is best if we make haste.” Cyrillon moved towards them with long strides, his eyes glimmering with anxiety at the Guardian’s condition.
The three companions then disappeared into the dark mass of the forests to camouflage against the trees and strode towards the foothills where Eurofir had tethered his horse with Khazdul.
As they approached, the two horses stood amid the expanse of dewy grass, grazing on the long plants. One was Khazdul and the other was the steed Glider, a moon-horse with the fine mane of beige, the ends of its hair silvering in the moonlight.
Eurofir mounted Glider swiftly as Cyrillon hoisted Aniah on Khazdul before he climbed on the stallion. The two horses then sped into the heavy folds of darkness, their hooves thundering as the two galloped alongside streams and down steep slopes with their riders staring defiantly at the sooty darkness that engulfed the path.
The horses darted over ridges bordered by willow trees and along the road hidden to all but the Elentian folk and the nobles of Sacred Glove as they had constructed this enchanted road known as the Path of Manos. Aniah glanced at the rotten leaves that had been strewed across the cracks in the path and regretted the sight for it was just one example of how an exquisite structure had deteriorated with time.
On the path the horses suddenly reared high drawing a gasp from Aniah and muttered curses from the two Elentian folk. They gazed ahead of them a
nd noticed a thin trembling figure all alone with mist surrounding it. Approaching cautiously, the company noticed a peddler with a supply of goods barring their path. Eurofir flared and trotted forward followed by Khazdul.
“Man, move out of my way!” demanded Eurofir angrily with a toss of his head. “You are not supposed to be on this road.”
“I am merely earning a living, young Master. Glory to the Light! What beauty walks this earth?” The last part was addressed to the Guardian and the man gave her a thin nasty grin and a scrutinizing look. He passed a hand over his oily hair and twirled the ends of his long mustache. His eyes were gazing at the sparkling jewel studded ring which was borne by the Guardian. He did not seem to recognize what it meant.
Cyrillon noticed the way the dealer watched Aniah’s ring with special interest and jumping down his stallion; he seized the man by the collar of his long coat and hauled him towards his face with flaming grey eyes. “Apologize.”
The man’s large nose twitched as was released and upon seeing a muscle flex in Cyrillon’s hard jaw, he immediately muttered a low apology that did not meet his eyes as he gazed intently at the Guardian. His eyes swept over her as he stared at the beautiful jewel she wore on her finger. This would give great sums of money for many were willing to buy pure silver items. The smiled to himself thinking of all the riches he would enjoy if he laid hands on that intricate ring. Giving him a bitter look of contempt, Aniah turned her head sideways and stared at the road behind without purpose which drew a chuckle from the dark eyed fellow.
The peddler then brandished two bottles of ale and waved them before the two men before him as Eurofir had also dismounted in anger. “May I interest you young Masters in any golden ale? I make it myself on my farm and it is very good indeed if I should say so myself.” Then noticing their hard expressions he made yet another feeble attempt to convince them to buy a packet of cards that had been brought from the western lands, three shining scarves which supposedly bore great importance in history and a golden goblet studded with gems which was imported across the vast seas. However throughout his dealings his eyes never lost sight of the jewel. It was an unnatural gem within the intricate carvings of silver and he wondered of the woman who bore it.
“Nothing then, Masters. Very well…be on your way then and farewell,” muttered the man with frustration as he placed his possessions in a trunk and moved to the road sides. He passed a quick glance over the trio, his gaze lingering at the beautiful woman who sat over the brown stallion with an indifferent air. He wondered who she was so far from the shelter of the city and also wondered more of the handsome men who accompanied her. Maybe they were Shadow servers. The man shuddered, his heavy shoulders falling with a sigh. That name was one he feared greatly and in this night, it should not have even been thought of. Shaking his head and wetting his parched lips, determination soared through him to be acquainted with this woman, at least know who she was. Perhaps she could allow him to travel with them as his own horse had deserted him or at least give him a place in the city they were heading towards. It may too be filled with greater riches than what she wore. His eyes twinkled with greed.
As the two men mounted on their respective steeds, Eurofir passed a sour look at the small fellow who stood on the green sides and this was returned with a mottled grin. Khazdul followed behind Glider in a single file but before they departed the company heard the man shuffling, and murmuring of the ring in a melodious voice.
‘This is but small a wonder, weighty in its sparkling hue. How I wonder whether the beauty of the ring will shine with me and make me a happy rich man that I ought to be.
What small a wonder, what a beautiful gem. Will it come in my worn hands or will it remain on the woman so grand. I want the ring and riches beyond it; I want to sing of the riches of the kings.
Gold coins will be at my feet while feathers will be tucked in my hair. Perhaps this road will take me to a palace or maybe to a gold rush but wherever I will go I will make the jewel a part of me’
Aniah bit her tongue suppressing the curses which were collecting for the Guardians were restrained by the old codes to use harsh language unless it was absolutely necessary. She itched to reach out and slap his face. And slap it hard.
“My Lady, Forgive my insolence. I only meant to be friendly and I assure you that all I require is the kindness from you to allow me to accompany you. It is just a tiny request.” The scrawny man approached tentatively as Eurofir had turned and placed a hand on his bow. He reached the Guardian and placed a hand on her own which were rested on Khazdul. She grimaced and moved her fingers away but he tightened his hold on them feeling the cool metal under his bruised fingertips.
“Please My Lady!” whined the peddler, tightening his grasp more till Aniah took in a sharp breath as she felt the ring sliding down. The jewel that she had treasured for so long would not be stolen with ease.
“Let go of my hand thief!” snapped Aniah though gritted teeth, “Do you even know what this ring even signifies?”
“Tell me man, are you really a dealer as you say or a robber?” hissed Eurofir and he saw a flame lighten in the eyes of his friend.
“I am no robber! I am a poor man and if this lady is so arrogant to help me then I best be on my way.” The peddler grumbled and passed angry looks at the Guardian who was oblivious to his gaze. His eyes again went to the ring but he caught the other fellow on the russet stallion watching him. The man with the grey eyes, eyes which were rare.
“Then get gone,” said Cyrillon dryly his hand resting on the hilt of Luminon’s sword as a warning which sent the man scurrying. The horses then darted away with Aniah slightly hesitant of leaving for this man was dangerous and she did not want him to spread the word that the three had been roaming along the road at late night. How he knew of the Path of Manos was troubling but the way he ha studied them was disconcerting for it was rare for a company to be on a road in the late stretches of night. As for the ring, it was a jewel which was borne only by the Guardians. Anyone would know the significance of this jewel, this ring…anyone. She removed the ring from her finger and tied it to a thin chain which hung around her neck to keep it concealed from prying eyes. The Shadow would be aware of a threat rising as it had an unsettled feud with the Elentian folk and it may even discover the new entry into the City of Tyrendale as it had done centuries ago. Lord, please protect these people…protect them till the Shadow is…gone. She blinked fast to avoid tears and stabilized herself with support from Cyrillon’s tense shoulders.
He felt her hand but said nothing as he controlled the galloping stallion. His doubt over the peddler had washed away other difficulties which flooded back and he knew that Aniah was still in peril, although her wound was healing. The poison could still be in her veins. He was still slightly shocked by the anger shown by the Guardian and was afraid that she would reveal her identity to that so-called peddler. But that she was wise enough not to do. Before the two Eurofir cursed himself for delaying their time, blaming the peddler’s actions all on himself. He should have cut open his head and thrown away his brain to be eaten by the crows. Then the Elentian frowned as he remembered that he had noticed several crows watching them form the treetops, their eyes cold and menacing. He knew they were spies of the Shadow and this realization gave him greater speed on the coarse ground.
Along the Path of Manos, Glider blended amongst the trees like a white blur followed by the sturdy Khazdul, who rampaged towards the city of the Elentians, Tyrendocramius. After the crossing of the shallow edges of River Maethel and scurrying across the ravines and dips in the valley, the company neared the looming fortresses and the light specked city not wasting time to admire its splendor.
The three dismounted and walked up the intricate bridge which led to the fortress of the Elentian-lords, their footsteps echoing and mingling with the soft gurgling of the stream below. Eurofir led the rest into the enchanted woods, where on the overhanging branches dozen of gem-like stars could be seen.
These stars were said to be young maidens singing of the old days before the beginning of times and of great nobles of the northern lands. However, in their childhood, Cyrillon and Eurofir had encountered these so-called maidens and with much disappointment found that these were just crystalline lamps filled with the water of the river which twinkled in the moonlight. Cyrillon smiled as he passed the shimmering trees as memories washed over him of the untroubled times he spent in these lands with his friends. He shook his head and strode quickly to catch up with the other two.
They neared an opening and an Elentian-guard approached cautiously but upon seeing Cyrillon, he bent in respect. Cyrillon laid a hand on the guard’s shoulder, instructing the Elentian to rise and greet him as a comrade. He never liked the way the he was treated as if he were a king.
They were taken to the throne of the Royals, situated across the woods. Sinardin sat on a bed touching the forehead of a young woman suffering with a high fever and Luminon stood conversing with apparently the parents of the girl, assuring them of their child’s good health. The queen was adorned in the usual pale blue robes which fell down her ankles and her silver hair were topped with an intricate headdress while in her jeweled hands she held several herbs to concentrate on healing. Luminon had his hair fastened with an ornament and a wiry sash was tightened around his flowing robes of brown. Upon noticing the trio, Luminon bade farewell to the anxious parents and signaled to his wife telling her who had arrived.
“Cyrillon?” asked Sinardin as she rose from the side of the bed, “What is wrong?”
“Your highness, I collected the two and brought them here,” responded Eurofir looking at the moaning girl pitifully.
“The two?” asked Luminon and when he saw Aniah silhouetted in the shadows, “Ah…the Guardian.”
Sinardin called for Aniah and embraced the woman. “You are injured with a deadly poison. You must go and be tended to for I am busy.” Her gaze trailed to the woman who was panting and looking at the Guardian with red puffy eyes, pleading eyes.