When Górin was finally called up to the dais, his back gave a sting of soreness, and he twisted it out with a sidestep before making his way to the speaker’s place before the king. Lárn leaned back on the bench and watched the scene before him.
Lord Gráðír needed no precious stones or metals to mark him as a king of men. Even sitting, he was taller than most, and nearly as broad as one and a half men. From his head flowed a hay bale of golden hair, long and wild. His beard was just as golden and wild, and because of these two things, he was often called “The Sun King,” by those who knew him. Such a title was well-enjoyed by him, and he made purpose to live up to such a name. In the years gone by since his father’s death, Gráðír had rarely been idle in his plots of securing the wealth and protection of the people of his lands. Though most of his men kept their dealings in the heartlands of Þérge, he had a fondness for the lands west of the Nahtkroinen, as it was where his line had first settled upon returning to Þérge from west over the mountains. That fact alone was enough for some to be cautious of his loyalty, but his generous actions usually tempered any fears.
It was no secret that Gráðír had just as much Síarner blood within him as Þérgic blood. Yet, as he himself put it, “Síarner blood, but it flows through a Þérgic heart.” Even this, he claimed, gave more validity to his birth. For his mother, the queen Roƕen, was born of Síarn, but much of her blood in turn came from those Þérgics who fled over the mountains during the plague and intermingled their families with the highlanders of that land. No noble Síarner, man or woman, would dare to mix blood with the Þérgics, so for all of Gráðír’s honest claims of royal Þérgic lineage, his Siarner lineage was so low as to not even be recorded.
As the ranger stepped up to the dais and lowered his heads before the king, the Sun King began to speak before Górin had even reached the lowest extent of his bow.
“Another one has come to answer the call, I see!” his voice sounded like a roll of thunder as it echoed throughout the hall. The king smiled and gave a short gesture with his hand, signalling Górin to rise.
“I am Górin of Dormedon, my lord.”
“You are well met, Górin of Dormedon,” Gráðír replied, “I trust that the Lord Moth has been clear in what it is that will be requested of you?”
“Only partially, my lord,” Górin said, “A campaign into lands beset by blight, keeping the guide and guard of a witch appointed to perform some manner of ritual within.”
The king nodded. From a cup upon a nearby table, he took a drink before he spoke. His massive hand nearly wrapped all the way around the thing. “The instruction that the lords received was to send men who have shown both skill and competence. This is no hasty rounding of a militia nor is it a trimming of the unneeded corps. Even because of the task at hand, veterans could not be relied on, if only for their age. We knew this to be a task for rangers of quality.” He paused to nod at Górin and then to Lárn.
Górin smiled and nodded, but he forced himself to do so. The only times one spoke such as this was to bolster another’s mood in preparation for some ill news.
“You flatter me, my lord,” he said, “But I must wonder as to the nature of this venture. When I asked Lord Moth of the reason behind the summons, he confessed that he too was unaware.”
“That,” Gráðír said, leaning forward in his chair, “is something that I would normally not spend the time explaining to each and every man that answered the summons. The witches can tell the full story-” At this, he suddenly stumbled over his words and paused. His expression suddenly lost its mirth.
“Actually, that is not wholly accurate. There are further details which I have explicitly for you, Górin of Dormedon.” He gave a quick look in Lárn’s direction. “I will explain the story to you, and your companion may listen, but as for the further details, I would ask for your ears alone to hear.”
Lárn straightened in his chair. “Certainly, lord.”
“Right then,” the king said. “It was one season ago that I was awoken to learn that a messenger had come to deliver summons to me. The elder seer of Elbregn wished to speak with me, on purpose of great significance, I was informed. I came quickly to the temple, high atop the holy hill, and greeted into the walled courtyards by the old man. ‘In a dream five branches since, I was beheld to a vision unexpected and unlike what had been within my consideration of late,’ he said to me, ‘Within the halls of the Dark Lady, I was taken to a clear well into which I gazed and saw many flickering lights beneath the still water. In time, they took the form and appearance of this world, and I made to look out upon Þérge and her fair people. The Dark Lady then bade me to ponder the affliction which has beset our land, and she asked me of my history.’
“The elder thus brought me within the temple and before his altar, upon which he had placed many objects. Wood, blood, bones, candles, and a linen bundle I saw there, amidst many pages of spells and sigils. ‘As I relayed so to her,’ he went on, ‘I saw such things as I described them appear to me through the well, reflected upon the water’s surface. I beheld this land from its formation up until the moment at which I laid my head down to sleep. Anything beyond that would rely upon my magic, which in turn, drew power from her, meaning that she was already aware of what I might foresee.’ At this, the elder seer gathered the tools spread about, and laid them in a proper fashion. ‘The Dark Lady said nothing, but silently took me to a glade, many miles wide. Moonlight illuminated all, and in the center of the glade was a single Stékkr tree. She told me thus to come to that same tree upon my awakening, and share my flames with it, performing my divination in whatever way suited me. Upon awakening, I went to follow the order. After the tree she showed me was located among the many, I laid a gyromancy circle around its trunk. The knowledge I received then has consumed my mind since.’
“From the bundle, the seer withdrew a wreath woven of broken twigs and branches. ‘This,’ he said, presenting it to me, ‘is what I have produced from my visions upon returning to this place. In my haze, I gathered the fallen splinters of Stékkr and twisted them together. As I did so, I was beset by a thousand images and ten thousand voices. I heard not their words, but the echoes of words spoken long ago. I need not recount all that was said, but I tell you this plainly, my lord. Through careful tending and careful kindling, a brand of Stékkr can be brought to the hearts of the lands most diseased by the necromancer’s foul poison, and there, it can burn it away from within.’
“I was given to doubt this claim, for similar things had been suggested in the past. From the mouths of faithless citizens, one might think a thing to be a blasphemy, yet from the mouth of the elder seer, there is trust to be had. He proceeded to recount to me the many other rituals he had performed in the days following, measuring consequence and effect of how such a campaign might go about. He consulted with the elder witch who, in her own turn, began to formulate rituals of her own. In the end, he proclaimed, the two of them bore a plan that would spark the quick decline of the cursed necromancer’s machinations which stain this fair land.
“Everything else, you have likely already been told. Concerning the basics of your missions, I mean.” Gráðír concluded. He paused and folded his hands together.
The two men gave an acknowledgement, and Gráðír went to consult scattered pages upon the table beside him. After a moment, he looked back to the room before him. “This, I feel, is where I would ask for the privacy of this room.” He raised his voice so that all present could hear. Coming from the throat of Gráðír, it was likely that even those outside the hall heard him clearly. “I request all but Górin of Dormedon to leave this hall until our private discussion has concluded and Nédd comes to fetch you.”
Many footsteps and shuffles resounded throughout the hall as a crowd of men headed towards the front door. Soon, all that had not moved and remained in the hall were Górin, Gráðír, and Nédd, who sat in a cushioned chair not far from the dais. He was cunningly-armed and brightly-adorned, though his eyes were deep and dark. Casually, he reached down by his chair, and drew into his lap a large crossbow that cradled a heavy bolt. When Gráðír looked towards him and nodded, the man placed a hand upon his chest and slowly bent his head in reply, but said nothing. Placing his hands down upon the crossbow, he set his eyes on Górin and watched.
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Having the hall to themselves, the king continued.
“You know Kaðrosedd, yes? The old city near the northern border of Nahtkroínen?” Gráðír’s smile melded into a flat shadow of a grin, his gaze hard but forgiving. “That is one of the destinations which was decided to be one of the sites where a witch would burn a brand. In ordinary times, this choice would be made, and that would be it, but it is with some concern that we place it amongst the list.”
“In what way might that be?” Górin asked, “I heard no mention of it from Lord Moth.”
“Woodsmen of my realm speak ill of that place.” Gráðír’s voice was low and the smile had faded. “Kaðrosedd has given little trouble to them in years past, though its close location to deep blight has made it ill-suited for permanent settlement. A traveler’s outpost and a place to rest for the night, and little more.” Gráðír went to take another drink from his cup, but he found that it was empty. He shook his head and gave a dry chuckle, though no smile was upon his face.
“These recent seasons have been…unusual, I am told,” he went on, placing the cup back on the table, “The rangers who patrol those lands have found some evidence of independent travelers making residence in the ruined town.”
“Trespassers?” Górin asked, just as confused as before. “What makes their presence so concerning to you?” He considered the lands that Gráðír spoke of. Unless there were some furtive settlement hidden away in the trees of Nahtkroínen, it was a strange route to take, unless one were on a lord’s business. The Silver Hills wound much, and though a straighter path as the crow flew, it was many times longer as the wolf ran. Kaðrosedd would have been a fine rest stop in better days, but now, the main roads between cities were much safer and quicker.
"It isn't the trespassing itself which gives cause for concern," Gráðír resumed. "Upon the return from their most recent venture, some four or five branches ago, the group of rangers brought word of hastily-made encampments they found in the town. One place, the leader of the band told me, looked nearly as tended to as a home that you might find here in Elbregn. They did not investigate the whole town, for they needed to return swiftly and tend to the afflicitons some were facing, but of what they could make sense of, he was disturbed in such ways that prompted an early return from their hunt and an immediate report to both me and the elder seer.”
“I don’t understand,” Górin said, “The elder seer?”
Gráðír cleared his throat. “Devices of strange and unknown purpose were found. Tools of divination, diagrams of seeking, vessels of scrying, these things they estimated, but they were unlike any others they had witnessed the seers of Elbregn or any other order use.” At this, Gráðír lowered his voice to such a whisper that Górin had to lean towards the king to hear him.
“They spoke with the seers' order and presented their findings, to the best description of what they could recall, for they did not even dare to touch such things without the proper handling tools.”
“A wise choice, even concerning seers who act in good faith,” Górin said, shrugging.
“Yes, but an unfortunate one,” Gráðír replied. “The ways in which they described their findings gave the seers some vague idea of what purpose such a site could serve, but no clear answer could be guessed at, even to this day.” The king slowed his words and gave Górin a remorseful look.
“Such an answer might be more easily obtained were the seers to be in posession of such objects?” Górin suggested.
“Yes,” the high king slowly put a hand to his chin and scratched at his sun-colored beard. “Ordinarily, such findings would not hold any major significance to the seers, or myself, or even a passing ranger. However, of what little could be gathered from the many markings and diagrams, the rangers found this.” His voice lowered once more, so much so that Górin now had to take a step forwards to hear the dark murmuring. “The name Tawirragh and his sigils were inscribed amongst many circles, surrounding icons of things we do not name.”
Górin said nothing, and made no expression. A great weight settled in his body, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as though he might begin to sway where he stood. He blinked once. Then lowered his brow.
“Perhaps it might be nothing to worry about, after all,” Gráðír went on, returning to his normal tone, “But Kaðrosedd...The necromancer's signs...Why?” He leaned forward in his chair and looked directly into Górin’s eyes, his face flattening to match Górin’s. “The elder seer has made it undeniably clear that he wishes for an artifact from the place of ritual, at the soonest possible occasion.” No one could have mistaken it for a question.
Górin long considered many words before he chose which to utter. “Where can I find find this site they happened upon?”
A faint smile came through the thick beard of the king. He searched through the piles upon the table, and collected a thick roll of pages, bound in a tight cord and locked with a red wax. This, he presented to the ranger.
“The accounts of each man upon that journey you will find within, as well as some things from the elder seer which may help you in your search. All of the necessary information for what we request should be sufficiently contained there, and if not,” this time, his smile was plain as midday, “Lord Moth has given good credence to your skill in discovering lost things.”
Górin examined the roll. No seal or symbol was impressed upon the wax, and the leaves themselves were of unremarkable quality. Though the proposed task intrigued him, he did not yet fully rejoice in the thought of actually going on such a mission.
“Of those that found this place,” he said, turning the roll over in his hands, “Where are they now? You said that some of them required a swift return because of some affliction?”
Gráðír's smile faded, but his voice remained casual. "Too much of the blight, I would guess. They might have trod a bit too close to a Veil," he said with another mirthless chuckle, “Other things are well enough, you can be assured. They entered into the city, suffered a few minor illnesses, but with the protections given to them, they left with nothing worse than a dizziness of the senses, and they bear no lasting effects or ailments to this day.” Gráðír’s voice sounded almost rehearsed, but for all of it, he seemed sincere to Górin. “Actually, those accounts you now hold were only truly made some time after their return to Elbregn, for there was indeed some doubt cast as to their accuracy in recalling the events while in such a state. As for their present whereabouts, I do not know. They belong in the employ of a subject's ranger corps.
“With that knowledge given to you, Górin of Dormedon,” Gráðír began after a pause, “What say you to this request of mine? You are free to decline with no penalty or punishment, but of those sought for this mission, you are chief among them.”
Górin forced a wry smile and felt ill as he spoke. “It shall be done, my lord,” he said, tucking the roll into his belt. The high king gave order for Nédd to retrieve those waiting outside, and it was not long before the hall looked and felt nearly the same as it had only a short while ago. While this occured, Gráðír continued to speak.
“You shall be accompanied by two others. They are skilled in their own ways, though you will be leader of this endeavor. They too have been carefully selected, with talents that will compliment your own. Dákk and Handor are their names.” Gráðír stopped for a moment, as though considering his next words, “Some witches in this campaign have taken on a personal guardian to join them, particularly those who are to venture into lands where…Another blade might be appreciated. As said before, subtlety and as little risk of disease to the travelers is desired over a band of protectors, but nothing can be guaranteed, especially in some regions. The witch you shall guide has selected one whose family has long been close to her's, and with whom she shares a deep friendship. The...Elórdn family, actually.” He paused and Górin raised an eyebrow. “Her guardian is one of the pitiable ladies of that doomed house. She is a good lady. Though she may be cold in spirit, she is not wicked, if you take my meaning. Troíde is her name.”
“I see.” Górin said, “And the witch whom I am to escort?”
“That will be Jynge,” Gráðír replied, frowning. “A bit young, but it is my understanding that the elder witch chose her for this task only after much consideration out of all the witches in the convent. It seems that talent of performing such rituals was given priority moreso than capability of making the journey.” His face took on a grave expression. “That is why I ask to place my trust within you, as I do to every other who has answered these summons. Please Górin, keep her safe. Lead her well along a quiet path through the dark.”
“I will do what you ask, to the best of my ability,” Górin bowed his head once again. “My skill is envied by many in my corp, and I shall spare none of that skill in guiding the witch to and from her destination. I have keen eyes for tracking and learning the minds of both beasts and men, based on their marks. As long as I can be sure that Jynge is in the safe hands of my companions, I shall search the grounds of Kaðrosedd and find by what purpose the tresspassers made camp there.”
King Gráðír smiled, and gave Górin his leave.