image [https://i.imgur.com/vxTC3od.png]
CHAPTER V:
The Pilgrim's Paradox
Evening,
20, Flamestar 1011,
The Age of Night
30 Days until the Night of the Moon
Nur-Surra, Sultanate of Nur (Sovereign Territory)
The great dusk red was dipping below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of scarlet, orange, and purple. The desert town of Nur-Surra was a picturesque sight with its gold, antiquated walls, narrow alleyways, and tall palm trees swaying in the breeze. A lone fountain stood in the center of the town square, its water sparkling in the golden light of the setting star. Just outside the walls of the town, the private mercenary company belonging to the Prince of Rajar gathered around the unlikely trio. Íbolín, Dathan, and Nedraj were rummaging through their possessions. Their armor and weapons clanking softly as they readied themselves for the journey ahead. The sound of their preparations mingled with the gentle trickle of water from the fountain. As the star sank lower, the sky darkened to a deep blue, and the stars began to appear like a thousand tiny diamonds, governed only by the great red star, the Flamestar. The dune sea beyond the town stretched out like an endless ocean, its rolling hills glowing with an otherworldly light. It was a moment of serene beauty, yet tinged with a sense of foreboding as the trio knew the dangers that lay ahead.
The hot Nur star nearly reached its resting place as the vapored sands glistened in the twilight. It was only possible to traverse the Great Nabi Desert by night, especially during the summer. Íbolín secured the leather saddle and baggage to the camel, his eyes darting towards the band of mercenaries that his benefactor had employed for their task. He looked like he was simply daydreaming, but he was inspecting their weapons, armor, and equipment. He cinched up his cloak and heavy robe, which was Ishran in origin, handwoven by a tribeslen who had lived in those frozen mountains his entire life. It was patterned and threaded, but incredibly thick and dense. Designed for extreme temperatures. He noticed that many of Nedraj’s company were heavily armored. The mercenaries were a mix of Nur and Rajari fighters. Íbolín peered over to Nedraj, who was flipping through a small tome. He wore very expensive, but appropriate robes that were thick, wrapping around him up to his neck and mouth. His fine, jeweled turban rested above a pair of leather-strapped goggles that were fastened to his face. They were a luxury item, a recent, northern invention. Íbolín’s gaze returned to the company who guarded him.
"Some of these Rajari will desert, or die," he whispered to Dathan, his tone sure, but tinged with light concern. “The Nur may be more lionhearted because they know the land…”
Dathan nodded in agreement. "Aye, noticed that meself. But wha' can honestly we do about it?"
"I don't know," Íbolín replied with a heavy sigh. "We just have to hope that 'the prince' has a plan."
Dathan raised an eyebrow. "You trust him at all?"
Íbolín hesitated before answering. Then scoffed in resolve. "No. I don't. But we don’t have a choice. We’re in too deep and he’s right, we need his help. There’s… something to this scheme of his. I’ve already deducted as much… He wouldn’t be so confident… if he wasn’t… prepared.”
“Ugh… this tavern stay ran up quite a larger tab than I was expecting. That Alemar fellow, goodness… what a guzzler, what a mooch.” Said Nedraj, as he went through his ledger.
Just then, he looked up from the tome and met Íbolín's gaze, gathering they were discussing him. He grinned facetiously, then jabbed defensively. "Is there a reason you stare, Hellflayer? Are you looking for someone in the sands, Íbolín? Do you see a mirage already? Tell me. Is it… your wolen, Síbela, perhaps?”
Íbolín's jaw clenched ever so slightly, and he resisted the urge to lash out at Nedraj. He knew he was a crude, pompous jester. He was trying to get under his skin. But Íbolín was far too experienced in this. "Only preparing how best to conduct our business, good prince…” he said.
“Of course, I jest, I jest.” Said Nedraj, blinking rapidly in a faux-courtesy.
Dathan chuckled. "Don't worry, Master Ithandacar. We'll make it through this desert, even if we have to suffer a little heat."
Nedraj chuckled too. "Oh, don't you worry about the heat. I always have a few tricks up my sleeve. And who knows, maybe I can conjure up a better, sexier, mirage of Síbela for you, Íbolín. I’m sure she’s hard to remember."
Íbolín gritted his teeth and turned away, silently cursing. He ruminated. He knew that the Prince had a good lock on them, and he was beginning to embolden. How he had hoped for a quick and successful journey to their destination, so he would never have to spend another moment with him. Yet so it was, he was bound to the prince of Rajar, once again going to the Alnujum.
As they stood, Dathan and Nedraj were parallel but apart, with their eyes fixed on the stars, both began to chart their course. “Certainly, it’s simple, we just follow the trajectory of the Flame Star, where it goes, should lead us westward.”
Nedraj scoffed, and adjusted his goggles and turban. “That’s so crude. Really? So boneheaded. That is how you found and passed into the Alnujum? It must have taken you two extra weeks. No. We should follow the Cobalt cluster, right… there. Based upon today's date, and these astronomical charts, It will lead us to the valley far faster.”
“…Son” Said Dathan, trying to swallow his pride. “I have been navigating Etria by the stars since before you were born.”
Nedraj looked amused, and got an inch from his face.
“And where did you learn these navigation practices? Hmm? What credentials do you have? I follow the science, Alemar. The science.”
Íbolín remained quiet, carefully listening to their exchange.
Nedraj then playfully taunted Dathan, "What's the matter, old len? Cat got your tongue? Was it the big word? Science?"
Íbolín interjected, "Dathan’s just cautious, he prefers his old ways. It’s a conservative plan. But… have it your way, it’s your party."
"Too conservative if you ask me," Nedraj lightly sneered, before turning his attention back to him. "I must be frank, I… don't like how this… arrangement has begun, Íbolín. Are we… having second thoughts? If you are, it’s no matter! I could easily… turn you both in, and make twice what I paid for you."
Íbolín stiffened, but smirked. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, which was a standard-issue steel sword that once belonged to a run-of-the mill Fioran soldier.
“I will be cleaning out the Den of Glory and Excellence. With or without you, Hellflayer.”
"I’m still here aren’t I? If I wanted to leave, I promise you, I would walk away" Íbolín barked back.
Shink. Íbolín brandished an inch of the steel from his scabbard.
“And there isn’t a damn thing you could do to stop me.”
Dathan tried to calm the tension. "Come on. Let’s just… calm down. You’re right Íbolín, we will follow the Prince’s orders. We're all here for different reasons. But we have a common goal, don't we? The Den of Glory and Excellence. Heh-heh, If you ask me… we have a real chance here, lads."
Nedraj rolled his eyes. "Common goal? Close, but not quite, Dathan. Perhaps I should explain. As far as I can detect, from your mannerisms, your actions, your words… both you and Messer Ithandacar are still deluded by the ravings of that lunatic. Perhaps these Nur fools have gotten into you with their incessant calls to prayer and false piety, covering their insatiable greed.”
The two len stood with their arms crossed. Íbolín, the shorter len, looked up to his companion, the tall and mustached Dathan Alemar, and shook his head.
“If I am correct… and by my calculations… I AM… I’m afraid… you will be quite disappointed when we breach the den. But, I am also a realist, and, a len of my word. I will share half for your service….” Said Nedraj.
“Minus… THE TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOUR FENRARII YOU SPENT IN OF MY MONEY!” He yelled.
The party all stood still. His many mercenaries froze, and the two Fiorans stopped cautiously.
“And uh… which lunatic would you be referring to, Lord Prince?” Asked Dathan.
“Mobit!” Said Nedraj, condescendingly. “The prophet, Mobit of course. Who wrote that old rag you fill your head with! The Lyric of Yol. ”
“You would dare blaspheme the prophet?” Said Dathan indignantly. “And the words of Yol?! You had best repent young len!”
“Ho-ho, I do dare, Sir Dathan… crown Knight of Mystalbion. Ha!” Said Nedraj, his playfulness becoming more serious, but dismissive.
“Mystalbion has no crown. Everyone knows this.” He continued, sharply amused. “That wet, mossy rock is a patchwork of huts and ruins. It’s had no king since King Zar’Kanth, when the First Empire fell. I know you’re just one of those tribal pretenders, embroiled forever in territorial conflict. It is why that dark island is virtually useless to the rest of the world.”
Nedraj locked eyes with Dathan.
“They do make good mirrors… though, eh Dathan?”
Dathan seemed to balk at the statement, but Íbolín spoke up, grinning a toothy smile. "And how would you know that?"
Nedraj stared blankly.
“Because the Lyric of Yol records-” He tried to quip quickly before embarrassing himself.
Dathan smiled too.
“..Ah-hah… I see what you’re doing. You are a clever one, aren’t you Hellflayer.”
“So… this moves us on to a big len conversation. A teaching moment for you both. And I will be your instructor!” Said the Prince, giddy.
“The Lyric of Yol, while being mostly insane ramblings, does record some historical events and actors… so sure… it has some value… but you know that it is mostly unscientific drivel.”
Nedraj continued to pace, looking at his feet, musing.
“Further, the so-called-prophet, Mobit, has done irreparable damage! Surely you can see this. The Lyric, the creation myth itself, has inspired war after war. Practically everyone in Etria looks to it for their nationalistic pride.”
“He writes that document, just has to let you know how creative and smarter than everyone else he is… and boom! What do you know? Wars and rumors of wars! We’re this tribe, they’re that tribe, our patron was this ancestor, no! Ours was this ancestor!”
Nedraj stopped and leaned over with his hands on his hips.
“Don’t you see how dangerous that document is? How dangerous Mobit and his religion is?”
Íbolín put his hand to his chin, thinking deeply.
“I’m not sayin’ I believe it either.” Said Íbolín. “But don’t be a hypocrite. It has value because people believe in it. Strongly.”
Dathan said a small prayer under his breath and glanced at both of them.
“Frankly, I find both of your unbelief… uncomfortable.” He said. “But I’ll ask you, prince, the same thing I asked Master Ithandacar. If you don’t believe… why would you believe the Sultans would have anything mythical of value there?
Nedraj smirked. "Because there is certainly a heap there, mythical or not, Mystalbion Knight-Len! I promise you that! The gold couriers have been carrying bullion there for ages. I’ve seen it myself!"
Íbolín narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust Nedraj, and he knew there was more to his motivations than he let on. But he also knew he had no choice but to follow him, at least for now. He and Dathan looked at one another.
“Curious.” Said Íbolín. “You see… must I remind you, good prince. Uh. I’ve been inside.”
“We’ve” Corrected Dathan.
“We’ve been inside.” Said Íbolín, amused. “I don’t see how anyone could get in there after bypassing the gate. It was… so dark.”
Nedraj raspberried with his mouth.
“You had best thank the mercies of the Sultan for the Hamyir that day.” He said, enacting the scene with his hands. "Had you stumbled in any further, you would have been lost forever."
Dathan and Íbolín looked at one another again.
“And, how do you know that?”
Nedraj rolled his eyes.
“Ugh… you are so boring Íbolín Ithandacar.”
He reached into his thick robes and pulled out an old script of Nur papyri. It was extremely old and looked as if it was ripped from a tome. It contained a detailed map of the Alnujum, with illustrations and inscriptions. Nedraj waved it in front of their faces.
“And?” Said Íbolín. “I can’t read Nur.”
“When discussing antiquity their name is pronounced Noor actually. and… I can.”
He rolled it up quickly and tucked it in his cloak, and marched off exaggeratedly, toward his beast.
“I know what I’m doing, thaaaank you.” He said.
Dathan and Íbolín exchanged a knowing glance, a silent communication that spoke volumes. Íbolín's eyes sparkled with a glint of hope as he leaned in towards Dathan, his voice low and hushed. "See, I told you," he whispered. "He does have knowledge that we don't."
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Íbolín's heart pounded with excitement as he listened to Nedraj's words. A feeling he had not experienced in a long time began to stir within him. It was a mix of anticipation and anxiety, a heady combination that made him feel alive. He felt a sudden surge of confidence, a sense that maybe, just maybe, they could pull it off. He couldn't help but salivate slightly, his mouth watering at the thought of what lay ahead. The thought of all his dreams finally coming true was almost too much to bear. He could feel his pulse quicken with every passing moment, his eyes flickering with the fierce determination he once had…
But he had to control it this time. He knew who he once was… he knew what he had done, harnessing that feeling… The flaming wake of crime he had left behind him, the mountain of corpses…
He could feel his pulse quicken with every passing moment, his eyes flickering with the fierce determination he once had. But he had to control it this time. He knew who he once was… thriving on that tinge of resentment, even hatred. It field him as he committed countless atrocities during the revolutionary war. He couldn't let his desire for revenge consume him again, not after he had spent years trying to outrun his past. He had left behind a flaming wake of crime and a mountain of corpses.
But there was the harsh reality.
Suddenly, the ghastly voice of his mentor filled his mind… “No one gets away with anything. Not really. There is always payment due, Íbolín. It will be collected, in this life… or the next.”
At the time, he rejected it… but now, all these years later… he learned the hard way.
As Íbolín tried to push away the haunting voice of his mentor, memories of his past crimes flashed before his eyes. The blood, the screams, the pain he had caused. It was a part of him he could never fully escape from, no matter how much he tried to atone for his sins. The weight of his past was heavy on his shoulders. His most vivid tortures came during the night, as he dreamt. The voice of another teacher, a wolen, who now echoed in his mind.
“Every soldier has nightmares, Íbolín.”
As these thoughts flooded his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if he truly deserved the potential success that lay ahead of him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He had to focus on the present and the future, not the past. The mission at hand was too important to let his guilt consume him. He had to use his past as a lesson, a reminder to never let his guard down and to always be cautious… and yes… prove everyone wrong.
Indeed, Dathan was right. Despite the Prince’s insufferable attitude, The thought of success was tantalizing, like a sweet fruit once again, just within his grasp. It could change everything, give him the power and wealth he had always desired. He couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of achieving his dreams, but he knew he had to be careful. The road to success was never easy, and he couldn't let his guard down, even for a moment.
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Dathan forged ahead into the Great Nabi Desert until the town of Nur-Surra was just a fading vapor on the horizon, leading the group into the sands as the great red star slowly disappeared beneath the horizon, painting the sky with a fiery orange hue that gradually gave way to the deepening shades of the night. As they marched on, their shadows stretched out before them like vast, black giants cast against the towering dunes, illuminated only by the shimmering blanket of stars above. His sturdy, black leather boots were sinking into the soft sand with each step. The glow of his torch flickered through the darkness, revealing the way ahead, though it was mostly so he could see what was around his immediate vicinity. The light from the stars, and the foremost Flame Star was plenty. It was the greatest light they would see in the night sky for the next 30 days, until the Moon would show itself. Íbolín followed closely behind, his eyes scanning the vast dune sea for any signs of danger. Nedraj brought up the rear, his sharp eyes scanning the sky for the Cobalt cluster.
image [https://i.imgur.com/GZFBxEq.jpg]
The night was still, except for the soft crunch of sand beneath their feet and the occasional whistle of the desert wind. Above them, the arm of the heavens stretched out, a sea of stars twinkling against the inky blackness of the sky. It was as if they were traveling through an endless void, the only illumination coming from the celestial bodies above.
As they marched forward, the landscape around them began to shift. The dunes became steeper, the wind stronger, and the temperature colder. Íbolín shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him, feeling the chill seep into his bones. Yet, despite the harsh conditions, he couldn't help but feel exhilarated by the journey once more.
As the night wore on, the wind grew stronger and more biting, forcing the trio to wrap their cloaks tightly around themselves. The sand shifted underfoot, making their progress slow and treacherous, but they pressed on, determined to reach their destination. The stars continued to twinkle above them, casting an otherworldly glow across the shifting landscape.
Íbolín' and his portion of the company took their final watch, the first signs of dawn began to appear on the horizon, the temperature suddenly shifted, and he felt the chill begin to dissipate. The frigid night was giving way to the blazing heat of the day, and they knew they needed to find a place to rest before the star reached its zenith. He removed his heavy Ishran cloak and quickly folded it up, then secured it onto his beast of burden. As he did, he revealed the sturdy leather belt at his waist, which held his sword firmly in place. With a practiced motion, he untied his dark hair, and it cascaded down his shoulders in thick waves. Small braids, wrapped in delicate silver rings, extended from some of the locks, glinting in the starlight. Despite the harsh conditions of the desert, Íbolín maintained his relaxed, calm demeanor… an exterior that covered a deep reservoir of ferocity.
Dathan was a natural, albeit amateur tracker. He was nowhere near the prowess of a Drümmargian pathfinder. Nevertheless, he led them to a sheltered spot in the shade of a towering dune, where they set up camp. They built a fire to keep warm, cooking a meager meal of dried rations and water, and settled in to rest before the harsh desert star became too much to bear.
As the Flamestar once again rose higher in the sky, returning to its white incandescence, they settled in for a long day's rest, seeking refuge from the searing heat beneath the scant shade of the dune, with some hours being worse than others. They dozed and passed the time quietly, conserving their energy for the next day’s journey. The vast dunes stretched out before them and seemed to go on forever. a daunting and unforgiving landscape that demanded respect and caution. But for Íbolín, the thrill of the adventure was worth the risk.
When the night came again, Dathan led the way through the increasingly treacherous terrain, with Nedraj at his side, scanning the starry sky for any signs of the Cobalt cluster. The wind whipped sand into their faces, forcing them to hunch down and shield their eyes with their arms. Íbolín felt his feet sinking into the soft sand with every step, the exertion causing sweat to bead on his forehead even in the freezing temperatures. He kept his head down and followed Dathan, his thoughts consumed with the task at hand.
Later that night, when they had stopped for a break, Nedraj began to open his mouth.
Nedraj leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Dathan. "You know what's even more dangerous than The Lyric of Yol? It's these so-called 'supplemental oral traditions' of you southerners. The Nur-Yidi.”
He scoffed.
“It’s just as ridiculous as the Lyric And it shows its Lyban hand far more than the Lyric of Yol, you must concede that."
“So you do acknowledge there’s something… divine about the Lyric, eh?” Dathan bristled at the comment before clearing his throat. "The Nur-Yidi means-”
“The Whispers of the Noor, if you want to take it to it’s most base translation. - I’M - AWARE, Messer… ‘Crown Knight of Mystalbion’.”
Dathan smiled, unbothered by the Prince’s arrogance.
“Then, you would know that it contains the teachings and wisdom of Mobit’s disciples and descendants, compiled into one. Our ancestors. It helps us understand the Lyric. You northerners would perhaps have more faith if you had included it in your liturgy."
Nedraj rolled his eyes. "Oh please, spare me the sanctimonious platitudes. It’s all GARBAGE! It’s not REEEAL! The Nur-Yidi is just a mishmash of superstitions and nonsensical beliefs. It's probably more dangerous than The Lyric of Yol, if that's even possible."
Dathan frowned. "How can you say that? The Nur-Yidi is a major part of our faith. It further shines light on our beliefs. Even if you don’t share them, you should respect that many do. So in that sense, it is real."
Nedraj shook his head. "All I know is that I've seen the damage your religion can do. The Lyric of Yol has caused countless wars and atrocities. The Nur-Yidi makes things even worse."
Nedraj started to yell his frustrations in the vast expanse of nothingness.
“Especially…!”
“In a backwards, filthy, sandy… er… NASTY… er…”
“IMBECILIC… FILLED WITH GOAT SHIT…
DESERT! LIKE THIS ONE!!!”
His voice echoed as it clanged against the scarred mountain range that they straddled.
Some of the men looked up. Íbolín raised his eyebrows, but still kept pace, walking aside his camel. Not sure what to make of it.
“Are you done?” Dathan was not even offended anymore, in fact he was still slightly amused. "You simply don't understand, Nedraj. Following Yol is about finding our purpose in this intricate tapestry called life. It's about connecting with something greater than ourselves, the highest standard."
Nedraj snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it. From where I'm standing, your religion seems to be more trouble than it's worth. Perhaps Yol should show himself, then."
Íbolín was triggered by his statement… in an instant in his mind’s eye, he was whisked away, an adolescent… sitting in a green forest… talking with… someone.
“Well, let me see Yol then.” He said as a youth, “...I ain’t believing it ‘til I see it.”
His words bounced around his mind, and his head dropped in shame at the flash of memory.
Dathan, who had been listening silently, spoke up. "Come on, Íbolín, speak up. Tell him of your experiences. Tell him of the existence of beings beyond this world."
Íbolín sighed, knowing that Dathan had a point. "...I have seen things… heard things… that I cannot explain," he admitted. "However, I concur with the Prince that these texts are… powerful, and are even often used for dark purposes. Yet, I do personally believe they hold value because they serve as guiding principles for many people. Nevertheless, that does not mean I must blindly accept everything in the Nur-Yidi or The Lyric of Yol. Dathan is right… there is truth in them. All truth though? I can’t say I’m convinced."
Nedraj chuckled. "Not a believer, eh? Good. The caravan’s intelligence and problem solving alacrity just increased by five.”
The Prince inhaled deeply with satisfaction.
“Ah… what a relief. The mighty Hellflayer has some sense after all. All those rumors that your fervent fanaticism inspired your frenzies on the fields of war."
"I may not be a believer, but that doesn't mean I can't question and seek understanding," Íbolín replied, his voice firm. "And my encounters with beings from… Luminaris only strengthened my… intrigue as they confirmed the existence of… something beyond our own world."
Nedraj raised an eyebrow, losing the respect he had just conjured up for him. "Beings from Luminaris? You mean to tell me that you have met beings from beyond the stars?"
"Yes, I have," Íbolín said, his tone unwavering. "And they were unlike anything I have ever seen or heard of before. They had knowledge and abilities that surpassed our own, but… they spoke in riddles.”
“I’m sorry to say, you just revealed you don’t have the brain I thought you did, Hellflayer.” Nedraj shook his head, clearly skeptical. "I find it hard to believe that you had such encounters with beings from other worlds."
Íbolín bristles at the comment. "Believe what you want, but my experiences, as inexplicable as they are to me, were real."
He lifted his sheathed sword from his hip.
“I would not be able to do what I have done with the sword had I not been taught by a ghost, sweet prince.”
Nedraj glanced at him… and couldn’t help but feel… some unnerve at his defiant skepticism, but he always glossed that feeling over and doubled down.
“For what it’s worth, prince… I think that bright Luminaris, and the dark Umbraneth, whatever they are… are realms where your magic comes from… whatever it is, dimensions, realms, heavenly places… whatever you want to call them.” Íbolín continued.
“Well… you may be onto something there, Hellflayer…”
The conversation then turned to other matters, but Íbolín couldn’t shake the feeling that Nedraj would never truly understand or accept his or Dathan’s complicated range of beliefs.
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As the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the temperature suddenly spiked, rising from freezing to sweltering in a matter of hours. The sudden heat was almost unbearable, and they were forced to stop and take shelter under another small sanctuary of shadow provided by a nearby outcropping of rocks. They huddled together, panting and sweating as they waited for the Flamestar to fully rise and the temperature to stabilize. Íbolín felt his tongue swell in his mouth and his skin begin to blister under the intense heat. He longed for the coolness of the desert night once again.
image [https://i.imgur.com/1ivBSNs.jpg]
“It’s begun.” He said to Dathan, who was sweating himself, as the stubble that he usually kept well now began to cover his face. “Who’s… genius idea… was to undertake this… in the middle of Flame Star?” Said Dathan, glaring at Prince Nedraj.
After several hours of waiting, the star finally crested the horizon and the temperature began to level off. Dathan signaled for them to continue, and they set off once more, trudging through the unrelenting heat. Every step was a struggle, and Íbolín felt as though his feet were being baked from the inside out. He was grateful for the occasional gusts of wind that provided a brief respite from the oppressive heat. After several more hours of walking, Dathan finally called a halt to their journey, and they set up camp in the shade of another rock formation. They were all exhausted and dehydrated, and Íbolín couldn’t wait to collapse onto his bedroll and rest.
As the Flamestar once more continued its relentless ascent, the heat became almost unbearable, and the group was forced to take an emergency break.
“Where’s that… magic… you promised… prince?” Said Íbolín, panting.
Nedraj's eyes flashed toward him, and with slow determination, he reached into his pack and withdrew a small skin pouch with a strange tribal embroidery, and filled with a strange, shimmering powder. He muttered a few words under his breath and then tossed the bag onto the sand in front of them. To everyone's amazement, the pouch sunk into the sand, and a pool began to emerge. A sudden gust of cool, refreshing wind swept over them in all directions from where the bubbling waters were forming, carrying with it the sweet scent of jasmine. The sand beneath their feet began to shimmer and pulse with a pale blue light, and the temperature dropped rapidly.
Dathan and Íbolín exchanged stunned looks as they realized what Nedraj had done. An oasis of still, clear waters had instantly burst forth from the sands. Fronds and palms emerged and unfurled around them, creating a verdant haven in the midst of the arid desert. The sight was nothing short of miraculous. Nedraj, with a grin of satisfaction, watched as his companions gaped at the sudden transformation. They could hardly believe that he had conjured a flourishing oasis from seemingly nothing. Thirsty and weary from their travels, Dathan, Íbolín, and the rest of the group eagerly approached the clear waters, eager to quench their thirst. All of the len began to lap up the water. After, they all laid out their cloth and bedrolls and sat at recline, finding respite in the shade of the conjured palms. For his mercenaries and sycophants; Nedraj's extraordinary abilities had not only revitalized their spirits but also provided a sanctuary in the inhospitable landscape, reaffirming their faith in his mystical talents and leadership. Even for his two newest servants. It strengthened their resolve to face the challenges that lay ahead.
As Nedraj reclined in an opulent velvet chair by the tranquil waters, he decided to indulge in the luxuries befitting his mystical prowess. With a wave of his hand and a few arcane words, platters laden with an array of succulent fruits and fine wine materialized before his servants. Their eyes widened in awe at the lavish spread conjured by their enigmatic master.
Nedraj, with an air of nonchalance, gestured for the servants to partake in what he had magically summoned. They hesitated for a moment, then gratefully began to indulge, savoring the taste of the delectable fruits and the rich aroma of the wine. Dathan and Íbolín remained standing to the side. They were the last to approach the feast.
"Enjoy yourselves, my servants!" he loudly announced to the company, looking slightly winded. Dathan stood with his arms crossed. He slowly approached Nedraj.
“That is quite the spell.”
Nedraj sharply looked at Dathan. His eyes widening and smiling, pleased with himself.
"...I learned it from an old cave-dwelling wolen in the Qamadi mountains, em… that is, the range where the Madrasa is. That powder is not cheap, but it should give us a couple of hours to rejuvenate ourselves."
The group was feeling lighter by the minute as they all settled down in the shade by the bubbling brook. Nedraj had waved his hand and long tarps and cloths extended from his Camel’s saddle like a ribbon that never ended. He continued to channel this power as it created a beautiful camp of perfectly pitched velvet tents. A strange quietness fell over the company, but eventually, they all applauded. Everyone was enjoying the reprieve from the blistering heat. As they rested, Nedraj explained the intricacies of the spell to his companions who were interested who listened with rapt attention.
Íbolín was impressed, but reservedly so. He had never seen magic used in such a practical way before… after all, he told Nedraj. He had only seen it used by Venganzi to destroy len on the battlefield. Yet, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps there was more to it than destruction. Nedraj looked over at him and smirked triumphantly as he sat in his amethyst colored chair, and clapped his hands, as four poor Rajari souls of the mercenary company lifted it, bringing it toward Íbolín, who was standing, looking with disgust.
Nedraj couldn't help but chuckle at Íbolín's reluctance towards magic. He found it amusing how, after so many advancements in science and arcana, so many were still stubborn in their beliefs.
“We all spin a web of contradiction, don’t we, Hellflayer?” He said. “You’re skeptical, like me. Admirable. You’re skeptical of the old len’s religion… good. But… there is such a thing as being… too skeptical.”
Nedraj pulled a ripe fruit, looking as if it was ready to burst any moment, and took a bite, its juices spilling down its side.
“Why don’t I demonstrate in a more practical way? Magic. Astronomy. Geometry. Alchemy. Herbology. Science. These govern the universe, not your sky-daddy. You would do well to learn these arts.”
With a wave of his hand, Nedraj conjured a small orb of blue light. He closed his eyes and began to chant in a language that none of his companions could understand. As he did so, the orb grew in size until it was the size of a melon. Suddenly, the orb burst, and a cool mist descended upon the group.
At first, Íbolín was hesitant to walk into the mist, but the coolness was too tempting to resist. As he entered, he felt a sudden relief from the oppressive heat. The others followed suit, and soon, they were all engulfed in the cool mist.
Nedraj smiled at their surprised expressions.
“It’s as I told you, Ithandacar. I am destiny, looking right at you.”
“Don’t be too skeptical…”
----------------------------------------
The days continued, and they kept carrying on. Íbolín, who, though he despised magic, would always take time to learn something new. He despised magic because of his vendetta, but still, he knew he had to address what he witnessed. The flames of the campfire flickered and danced as the mercenary company sat around it, taking a much-needed rest after a long day of marching through the unforgiving desert. Dathan and Nedraj were quietly discussing their next direction, while Íbolín sat brooding, his thoughts consumed by the conversation he knew he had to have.
"Nedraj," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The prince pretended not to hear.
“Nedraj, I...I need to ask you something."
The prince started to slip a grin… it was as if he knew it was coming. Perhaps it was his latent Venganzi heritage, as they were said to have a sixth sense related to identifying emotions and thoughts.
Nedraj looked up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh... what is it, Hellflayer?"
Íbolín hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with his need for knowledge. "I...I was wondering if...if you could teach me some magic. Like the oasis. Something cooling."
Nedraj looked up, triumphantly. "You?" he asked sarcastically. "The Hellflayer?
The len who hates magic more than anyone?"
Íbolín raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What's that? I thought you despised magic, Hellflayer."
“All-I’ve-Seen-Is-Destruction.” Said Nedraj, mockingly imitating.
Íbolín was unphased, knowing he had no right to be offended. "That is all I’ve seen and I do have reservations. But...I also know the importance of being prepared.”
Dathan looked over at Íbolín, concern etched on his face. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.
“I mean… it’s like… the gift isn’t it? Isn’t that technically magic?” He asked at a dull whisper.
“...Sort of. Eh… perhaps.” Said Dathan.
Íbolín turned back to face the prince and nodded resolutely.
"I'm sure," he said. "I'll do what it takes to learn."
Nedraj studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Very well," he said, jovially. "I'll teach you. Come see me at first light tomorrow.”
The next morning as the dawn came, Íbolín approached Nedraj as he was instructed. He casually mentioned a similar technique he had learned to create a magical shield that could protect them from the Flamestar's rays. Ibolin listened intently, taking mental notes on the incantations and hand gestures.
Once they were on their feet again and marching, Íbolín decided to try out the new technique. He closed his eyes and focused his energy, repeating the incantations under his breath and making the necessary hand gestures. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, expecting to see a magical shield protecting him from the blaze of the Flamestar. The day went on and on, and Íbolín never felt a difference… in fact… he was beet red from the star's light, and his skin and lips were chapped, miserably. When he came to Nedraj’s tent, he and many in his company doubled over in laughter.
"What's so funny?" Ibolin asked, feeling foolish.
Nedraj continued to laugh. "I take it you’ve realized that shield doesn't exist, you gullible fool. I just made that up to see if you would fall for it. And you didn’t disappoint!"
Íbolín scowled, feeling embarrassed.
Nedraj wiped the tears from his eyes. "Where's the fun in that?" he asked, grinning mischievously. As the laughter died down, Íbolín's scowl deepened into a furious glare. "You tricked me!" he growled, drawing his sword and pointing it at Nedraj. "I don’t think you understand. I am the Hellflayer, feared by many. You will show me the respect I deserve, or suffer the consequences."
Nedraj's eyes widened with fear as he cowered before Íbolín's sword. "Please, my lord," he stammered. "I did not mean to offend you. I apologize for my foolish prank. Please… spare me."
Íbolín hesitated for a moment, his anger still boiling beneath the surface. But he knew that he couldn't afford to lose Nedraj's knowledge and expertise in magic. Slowly, he sheathed his sword and said in a low voice, "You will teach me magic, and you will do it with the respect and seriousness that I deserve. Or else, I will not hesitate to teach you a lesson or two."
Nedraj's guards huddled around him, equally terrified at the sight of the Hellflayer's blade, which reflected the flames in his green eyes, which looked like that of a tiger. Nedraj himself looked nervous, but he tried to hide it with a smirk, fearing he would lose the band’s confidence. "Oh.. I’m… I'm shaking in my boots," he said sarcastically. "Fine, I'll teach you something. Let’s… go outside."
As Nedraj began to instruct Íbolín in the basics of magic, the mercenaries looked on with caution. However, this turned to amazement and quickly turned to amusement as Íbolín did not struggle to master the simplest of spells. With sheer will, he shocked them all.
Nedraj was impressed. "And that… is a simple water conjuring spell. If you say the incantation as I’ve instructed you… it should conjure cold.”
The prince adjusted his posture, still traumatized from what took place. “Y-you're a natural, Lord Íbolín," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "There must be magic in your bloodline… the ley lines seem to honor you and bend to your will… But maybe you should stick to the sword."
With a nod, Íbolín turned and strode away from the campfire, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what else he could learn. Meanwhile, Nedraj returned to his tent and slumped back against his chair, his heart still racing. He knew that he had to tread carefully around Íbolín. Neither he nor his personal guards muttered another word that night.