After fire comes smoke and steam. For long after midnight, the streets of Elbregn had been loud and lit as much as day, yet as the sun begun to rise, everything had long gone still and quiet. All apprehensions of the rain aside, the light shower that had come upon Brannaht had admittedly been a good sowing for the fog that crept along the land as the hidden sun gave a subtle light to the first day of Leaffall. The night’s revelry had made for a late laying and a late rising, and none expected otherwise of any but the guardsmen. As it was, Elbregn lay in shadows and silence. Upon this first dawn of the season, even by the first light's rays, many shadows crept in silence from the heart of the city to its gates, where just beyond a congregation of robed men and women awaited, reins of horses in hand and travel packs laden amply. To the southern gate of the city, three men stepped onward together from the barracks whence they came. Equipped with coat and staff, bow and satchel, they carried upon their backs all that they had brought with them to the city.
Dákk grumbled in the rear of the line that the three men proceeded in. He had foregone the burning, the drinking, the feasting, not to mention the dancing, though it was not without an effort on his part to convince Górin that just one drink would not ruin his ability to be up before the sun. It was with just as much grumbling that he went to sleep, mocking Górin’s retorts that one drink would lead to another and the main concern would be that Handor would not be down before the sun, should he be handed an empty cup.
In the middle of the line walked Handor who, though he did much to hide it from the others, was enduring a heavy aching in his head. For unlike Dákk who had openly announced his intentions and been sternly admonished by Górin, Handor had waited until the others had long gone to sleep before exiting the guards’ house and spending some time amongst the people of Elbregn. They waved their brands, sipped sweet wines, and pranced about the grounds. Even in his sour mood that the aching put him in, Handor at least took some comfort and pride in the fact that he had managed to do all of these things and still manage to be awoken in the same bed as the one he had pretended to sleep in, when dusk came. While he first took pride in this, he soon came to think on the matter and felt rather disappointed in that very same fact.
At the lead of the line walked Górin who, of the three, had not been awoken by the guardsman that roused all of the slumbering rangers from their respite. It had not been a still night for him, despite his early lodging. The words of Gráðír confounded him, the hints of Jads unnerved him, and the words of Jynge followed him into his sleep. Many times, he started awake in the night, thinking his neighbors were kicking or talking in their sleep, but as he lay there in the dark, the echoes of what he had learned since coming to Elbregn resounded back to him with a terrible clarity and clamor.
When the three reached the gates, they were greeted with the sight of a huge crowd of seers, witches, steeds, rangers, guardians, guardsmen, family, friends, onlookers, and practically everyone else imaginable. Despite the masses, it was not long before they found Jynge and Troíde who were preparing themselves near the outskirts of the crowd. The young witch sat atop a speckled mare, upon a saddle of many lightly-filled pouches, while the lady of House Elórdn examined and adjusted the ropes upon a more heavily-laden jack.
“It is a great comfort to me that you have not changed your mind in acting as my guide,” Jynge said as the three rangers approached. She bowed her head slightly and paused before speaking again. “I do not mean to give the thought that I had doubted your sincerity, but rather, I think of the journey that lays ahead and a black fear creeps at the borders of my mind. I would need the aid of rangers to survey the land wither my responsibilities lead me, and had you changed your minds since last night, I would not be able to depart until a substitute were found.” Jynge wore none of the vestments she was adorned in upon the morning of Brannaht. Rather she, like every other of her convent who was in preparation to depart, wore only plain travelling clothes, a wimple wrapped tightly over her head, and about it all, a thin leather cloak.
Górin lowered his head in reply. "I am a man of lord Móð's ranger corps, and to desert she who I have given my word for would be to desert the honors I take in service to my king. Even then, to protect the land and those that seek to live peacefully upon it, such is a goal I would be loathe to abandon. I would be remiss were I to balk at the task ahead and leave such a role open to some who might not have been specifically requested.” At this, Troíde raised an eyebrow and stepped around from where she had been checking the fastenings upon the jack’s saddle.
"You speak as though there is honor in the matter," she said, turning her head to the side, "It is foreboding business that leads us to our endpoint." Troíde was dressed similarly, though the cloak of her own was lined with pale threads, sewn into shapes marking the sign of Elórdn. The crimson ravens called loudly in the four directions, and their forms upon the cloak were finely-sewn.
“I did not make mention of honor in such a way,” Górin replied, “But I hold truth to my words, whether spoken in knowledge or in ignorance of a task.”
Troíde looked slowly around the congregation. Whether Górin had spoken with truth behind his words or not, she knew that many of the other personal guards could not utter those same words with truth. The rangers were summoned for their skills in ensuring the witch's navigation and safety within wilderness. Those chosen as personal guardians were selected for little other reason than to fell any living thing which tried to harm them. She just wished that more consideration had been given in the regards to their moralities and motives.
She opened her mouth to respond, but Jynge’s words sounded out first.
“It is well that a love of the land is foremost in their hearts, and such causes are noble in their own right,” she said to her guardian, “But not all valor needs song or speech to be remembered. Memory runs deep within these lands, just as it does throughout all the hearts of the Dair. If a good deed is unsung tomorrow, then perhaps it is to be felt the day after. Those who perished by the necromancer’s foul designs came to death unfairly and unjustly. Yet a valourous thing has arisen from the places in which their cadavers were burnt.”
In time, the arrivals of rangers from the city slowed as nearly all were accounted for, and the talk between the parties ebbed as heads turned towards where a separate congregation had gathered. At the center stood the two elders, each accompanied by their attendants. The elder witch hung her head low, bearing an expression of deep regret and sorrow, for she saw not the ends of journeys, but only the present situation in which they found themselves. Many spells and charms she had placed upon each witch set to depart, but even assurances granted by her power could not stop doubt from insidiously giving premonition to her thoughts.
Beside her stood the elder seer, motionless and bearing a hard and contemplataive expression. It was as though, out of the many possibilities he foresaw in his scrying, he was so far unsure of which future may come to pass. It was easy to lay the blame upon the seers' Order when any mishap came about, but one often neglected to think of the tragedies and disasters that would have come about, had a seer not been listened to. Their divination and scrying was as much laying a trail through a pitch-dark forest as it was emerging from the other side. One possibility foretold is fair, but all possibilities foretold is a feat beyond the dair. Much like the Stékkr that ignited against the deep shadows, a single possibility can grow forwards and backwards in time to a new paradigm of prosperity and serenity.
Neither spoke much unless a witch approached them. It was no ritual or blessing that she recieved, for all had been said and done, and things were now in their hands. To the elder seer, she bent her head and he placed a gnarled finger upon the middle of her brow and one on each eyelid. To the elder witch, she was taken in arm and embraced tightly. For some, the elder witch placed woven cords around their necks, some twisted from many fibers of root and vine, and others bearing words and images carved into wooden discs. When Jynge had dismounted from the mare and made her way alone to the elder witch, the crone cast her veil over her face and wept softly. For long she held and spoke to the young witch, and about her neck she placed a long jute rope, looped twice over itself, and linked with small iron rings through which carven sticks were held. Many words the two said to each other before Jynge returned to her companions. When she joined with them once again, the white mask was upon her face, and her voice quivered dryly from beneath.
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“Well then,” she said with some effort, though her tone was still made hollow from beneath the mask, “We shall soon be off, if there is nothing else you require here.”
By that time, groups were beginning to set out. Whenever one broke ground, each remaining participant would look in their direction for a time and wave them off, sending farewells and words of good luck. No great speech or sermon was given by either of the elders, as each watched solemly as the witch and her companions began their journey. Some groups went off together, having a common direction for a distance, but others went alone.
When all farewells had been said, the five set forth from Elbregn as the dawn turned from dark blue to pale, and then to mist-enshrouded grey. Like many others, they took the southernly road, first crossing the deep valley and fording the Hús below. Many others also took this first path, but the company was not shared for long. At the far side of the valley, overlooking the dark outline of Elbregn beyond the tall ring of Stékkr, many splits were made. The guide and guard of Jynge was accompanied by two other parties who also had a common southeasterly direction to begin with, though they planned to diverge from it soon. Though the early morning warned for rain, none came but the grey mist remained for long. All through the first day, little was said, for there was little debate or question as to whither each member of the party wished to go, and none were in particularly jolly moods. While in the realms of Gráðír and county Elbregn, farmland surrounded them for some miles, though even that soon gave way to empty grassland. Not long after midday, the road they trod upon curved sharply south, winding back down as the land descended towards the realms of Dormedon and the fields surrounding it. It was there that the first of their companion groups departed and left them to progress into the wilderness. For they still had some ways to go in a westerly march, utilizing the road to its fullest potential, while the remaining two groups had no such luxury within the rolling grassland and shrubland and woodland that would need to be first traversed through.
The change in the land as they moved from city to farm to wilderness was both frequent and sudden. It would not be for long that such things happened, but with regards to what value the wild lands held, it gave Górin some sense of comfort. He had had enough of Elbregn for the time, and it was nice to be out upon the uncarven ground once again. Though the same sentiment might not have been held by the other rangers, there was nonetheless a commonality in their minds that put them to ease much more quickly than those whom they guided. To the witches and Troíde, the journey was less pleasant. Jynge had little joy for riding, but she had even less for walking, and after half a dozen stops when she mounted or dismounted the mare, complaining of tiredness or soreness, she eventually climbed up once again, and did not ask to stop until it was wholly agreed by all of the party that a rest was needed. Górin wondered about her fortitude. The mare seemed healthy and strong enough to make the journey (and could likely even comfortably carry a pack or two, he bitterly thought), but it was only the Jynge's numerous cloth pouches and lightly-filled satchels that she bore. While he had little doubt that the journey could be made by the witch, he had no certainty that it would be easy on her part. Would she require many days to rest once they arrived at High Ridge? Then again at Kaðrosedd? He worried not for Troíde, who seemed to tire even more slowly than the mare, or at least gave less indication thereof.
By the second day, the land had become wild once again, and the pace of the party slackened considerably. It was not such that treachery of footing or need of alternate passage was a case, but moreso that a clean and proper path was required for the beasts of burden to traverse. Górin and his companions would split when the way became unsure, and they scouted the land before them for some time until such a route was found.
The further the party ventured into the wilds of Þérge, the less often they found the time or heart to talk amongst themselves. For the first two days, they rested with some frequency, but they were seldom in close company with one another except to discuss the journey ahead. Only Jynge and the other witch consistently remained by each other’s side during moments of respite. In isolation they sat, solemnly watching the others and conversing in hushed tones. Górin observed them keenly, but only furtively. Many times, he thought to take her aside and discuss plainly the concerns at Kaðrosedd, but the opportunity never came at a fair time.
Shortly after dawn on the third day, they passed by the trees to which Nahtkroínen’s furthest influence reached. They were not within the realm of Nahtkroínen, not even close, but the tall and sharp pines that spotted the landscape before them now grew in such ways that were found seldom elsewhere in Vilgen. So far, the pines of the mainlands were thick, green, and bore leaves of firm springiness; the markings of a high Leafsway. Here, the faint shadow of the forest reached the pines enough to alter their forms into something else, even from so far away. Not so green were their leaves, but grey, and such things were long and terribly sharp at their points. Much like the Stékkr and their powers of healing, the dark trees of Nahtkroínen had powers of their own. It was a realm of omen and mystery, and when the plague had come to Þerge, the forest had soon become a realm of dread.
Here, when the first of the pale pines were approached, the leader of the other group announced their impending divergence from the path. Northeast they were to go, traveling upwards along the lands that ran parallel to the old road of Joriff. It was not a warm departure, but nor was it particularly cold. Of all involved, only Jynge and the other witch seemed to hold any traces of sentiment for one of the other party, but it was not unexpected. Out of all of those gathered upon this campaign, only the witches and a small handful of rangers seemed to have friendship prior to the gathering. Even Troíde, whose house was supposedly so close to Jynge’s, had spoken to her little thus far. Actually, of all that traveled in the combined force, she had spoken openly the least and eaten in isolation the most. At all other times, she walked alongside the woman she was duty-bound to guard; on her left walked the mare upon which Jynge rode, and on her right trod the jack. Aside from cursory talk with Górin about their location and upcoming routes he meant to take, Troíde had seemingly left all of her willingness to talk back in Elbregn. It was not until the others were leaving that she appeared to have been freed of the hesitation.
“How much longer do you suppose until we reach the Silver Hills?” she asked him once their former companions were small against the distant land, and speaking to him for the first time that day. After the departure, the five that remained had sat down for a short rest and a meal. Dákk and Handor spoke together as usual while Jynge ate alone. Troíde had been doing the same until curiosity overcame her and she walked over to where Górin sat and stared at the southeastern horizon.
“Not three days, if my estimate is correct,” he quietly replied, not moving his head to look at her. His gaze remained fixed at the land many miles off. Just as they had been getting their rations divided up, he had noticed a dark spot in the distant clouds, some angle away from their path. It might have been a storm, but that did nothing to lessen his dislike of it. He cleared his throat and went on.
“Our pace has been nearly half of what it should be, but now that those idiots are gone, we'll be much quicker.” He made a noise as though ready to say something further, but the words were caught in his throat and he did not attempt to utter them again.
Troíde sighed. “Those clouds,” she said, giving Górin a small surprise as he did not think that anyone else had spotted them. “Do you think we'll be rained upon?”
"I'd need some time to tell," Górin replied in a low voice, "We certainly won't be anywhere near it by the end of today, unless a sudden wind comes upon us. If it is still there, I will try to make some judgment of its direction and speed."
"I like the look of them not at all. I would hate to be caught in a thunderstorm out in these wilds."
So would I, he thought.