LXVIII. Having abandoned the disgraced knight for good, Edwald, Asadue and Sir Antuel rode in haste for a day. On their way to Fyore there had been only a frost and scattered snows here in there about the road. But in the Cadia, the breath from the north covered the fields with a thick, white cloak. The storm which drumming thud had betoned the clash of swords had long sundered and it became only a distant pulse. Still, quaint sounds could be heard in the wind, like a far off shriek that forbode a pending doom to their ears. The dreadful whistle had returned and though it was loud and deep, they feared it would soon turn low and dull.

Perhaps the Night Ernes were not on their heels that day nor anywhere near the road as they cantered to the north. Nevertheless, were they not so nigh their goal, those black assassins would have certainly followed their trot. And the thread of having them tracking their trail in the shadows of their back, was a growing fear that took hold in their minds.

At any rate, such worries did not slow their stride, and past the breaking of the first morning lights, they could discern the shades of walls and towers rising tall before their eyes. At the foot of a hill lay a city of stone so white, it seemed as if it grew from the snow on the ground. It was not as large as Fyore or Hebrom, and yet many sprawling folks dwelt therein and, in earlier times, many more would come from every corner of the Realm to make pilgrimage. But as the old man in the tomb had forewarned, they had forgotten to keep up with this wont. So what once was a place of ever open doors was now a cage where strangers were frowned upon.

The city in question was Cadar, whence the land of the Cadia took its name, and it was but a town that was the shreshold of a much older and holier site that lay in the top of the hill, at which base Cadar was formed. For over centuries, Myrlost had always been a shrine of great standing in the High Men’s lore and it was only reachable through the city that was built below its shade. Time and the ever turning wheel of fates had not changed either city’s shape and both looked just as grand as they had been in earlier days.

-“Against all odds, we are at last come to Myrlost, the most holy of sites in the Realm of Men.” Sir Antuel said overcome by the feeling that now they were safe. “I am sure that henceforth we can trust that all shall be well and my kinsman, Lord Tyen will treat us with proper care.”

But his words were said an hour too late, for though Edwald was glad they had finally reached the gates, his wounds from the duel had taken a heavy toll in his health, and lacking the will to keep his eyes straight, he fell from his horse as one of ailing strength. Sir Antuel who had been riding on the same horse as Edwald, got on his feet and rushed to help his pupil in need. In the quiet wind of that morrow, the sentries at the gates noticed the sound of Edwald’s fall and far from showing neither pity nor concern for the man that now lay dumb before their doorstep; instead, they questioned the farers with a wary tone.

-“Who goes there? What business do you have here?” asked the chief among them.

-“I am Sir Antuel Sovarós,” the young lord said, fearing no longer to use his name, “These men have protected me on the journey. That man is Master Asadue and this ailing other is Lord Elbracht of Keor and he has taken many a deadly wounds of late. Pray, open the gates for us, so we can tend to his wounds.”

Without a second thought and surprised to see the heir of Lord Hadril alive and well, the sentries opened the gates in haste. As they came inside all sentries knelt to him and the chief among them stepped forth and said:

-“Sad have been the days in Cadar of late, yet the hour of your arrival gladdens the hearts of all men. It’s been two months since we received word of your family’s early doom and now your uncle, Lord Carathuel rules the kingdom from your brother’s throne, though I do not know whether he is aware you are still alive, I dare say he would not be glad to find out.”

-“All this, I know.” Sir Antuel replied, “We’ve been on the run and through much peril on the road. We were careful not to use our names, lest my uncle should discover there is another claimant to his throne. All shall be explained in good time, but for now, needs must that I meet with my kinsman, Tyén Lord of Myrlost.”

Taking his words to heart, the chief sentry fetched a third horse for Sir Antuel and led him and his party to see the lord.

The city of Cadar had merely a narrow street which crossed from south to north. A path from the middle thereof swerved to a long upwards road cleft out of the rock where two hillsides met. The ascent was crooked and sheer and the lane was so strait, it was hard for their horses to keep a hasty pace. All the while, Edwald’s sigh grew heavy and dull and after each turn it seemed as if he would fall into the cliffs of the sloped road.

At the top of the hill, disguised as another peak, was the shrine of Myrlost, its walls were sharp and smooth like polished stone, the roof was obsidian and it was arranged like angled arches thrusting heavenswards. To Asadue it was evident that the temple was not the work of human hands, for every buttress and parapet was made with great subtlety and skill, as if meant to endure the cruel pass of time. Yet not even that ancient place was exempt of neglect; the walls and lower arms of the fane had long fallen into disrepair and, without the minds of the wrights that brought it about, much of the knowledge about its design had been lost to man. Nevertheless, upon the outer ruins of the temple, a castle had been built and though of lesser majesty than the shrine, beneath which shadow it stood, it seemed to match the former in width.

The path became a little broader as they reached the top and through a small gatehouse they came to the inner court; there the air was thin and quiet like a tomb, safe for a pulse every now and then that thumped from within the sealed doors of the shrine.

Upon their arrival, a party of servants fetched a litter for Edwald and with the utmost care they took him inside a sickhouse near the main keep. There Edwald tarried for two days with little recollection of what had transpired. He stood in the brink of death. He had lost much blood in the fight and a day of traveling on mount had not given him enough time to scar. But Asadue was there with him and his mastery in the healing arts assisted by the aid of the castle surgeons proved enough to save his life.

Edwald came back into his senses on the noon of the tenth day of the second moon. It was the third year in the reign of Medrios II. Now he found himself bedridden in foreign lands and he had been given the proper care of a welcome guest. For the first time in over two months, since he had left his home of Ceor, he felt safe and calm. After such tiresome a journey, his stay in Myrlost was to him like a well diserved break from a troubled quest that had worn out much his strengths.

He looked about and Sir Antuel was nowhere to be found, yet Master Asadue sat quietly by his bedside. In the two days that had past he had not lost his pupil from his sight and to see him now regain his wits seemed like a blessing to his heart.

-“At last, my pupil, you open your eyes once more!” the tutor said, holding back tears of joy, “I put all my toil and soul in taking caring of your wounds, but Sir Frann’s blade cut to deep, so all that was left to do was to trust my hopes unto the Gods. Do you feel any pain?”

-“Barely,” Edwald said amazed at his own good health, “The wounds do ache in my flesh. But, nothing I can’t cope with.” He looked around the room and found both men had been left alone.

-“Where are we and why isn’t Sir Antuel with us?” Edwald asked.

-“Sir Antuel is now with his own blood, Lord Tyén of Sovarós. We are in his halls. We are safe here in Myrlost, I take it there are no foes in his court. So at last, you can take solace on the fact that you have fulfilled the oath you swore to the Lady Aléndra back in Fyore.”

-“I am glad to hear.” he replied, though there was some sorrow still in his tone, “But our task is not yet done. Though, Sir Frann was wrong to have betrayed us, there is truth in what he spoke. Where one oath ends another begins, and he was right to say that our true quest should not have been delayed thus far. Until my brother’s threat in the north is not dealt with, this cannot be the end for either of us. I must speak with Lord Tyén. Mayhaps he can be of help in the path ahead.”

-“He already awaits you.” Asadue said, “And I am afraid to say, he has learnt of your brother too. He knows he is the Black Knight the common folk talk about and also the nature of the quest at hand.”

-“Who has told him of this?” Edwald asked outraged.

-“‘Twas Sir Antuel,” Asadue was sad to report, “I do not doubt he loves you well, for all the things you have done for him. Yet, when asked what our business in Thindur was, Sir Antuel could not bear to neither lie nor keep the truth from his kinsman.”

-“Well, it would become known, any way.” Edwald admitted, “I would have like better to keep these things to ourselves. But yet again, with the Oakenjaw in my holding, I could not have hid the matter even if I willed it. Let us not keep his lordship waiting.”

As one awaking from a lazy nap, Edwald sprang up from his bed without pain or second thought. Asadue noted it was is if he had not been hurt at all, for though his wounds were fresh and bare for the eye to see, he had the mood and stew of one who was fully healed. Wasting no time for pain or ache, Edwald put on his garbs again and left the sickhouse for good. On his way out, the surgeons that had tended him the days before startled at the view of him walking sound and hale again.

They came through the castle’s main keep to the great hall, where Sir Antuel enjoyed a mid-day meal with his kin in blood, the Lord Tyén Sovarós. It was the first time Edwald had ever met with him. Like the men of his breed, his heir was blond, though he kept it trimmed and short unalike the noble-born wont. Beneath his hook-shape nose there was a golden moustache he was very proud of, and his eyes were grey and dark as the clouds of a gathering storm. The blood of the griffin ran thick in his veins, for he was tall and strapping like a hero of old, yet his speech had a soothing tone, becoming of his lordly post.

Sir Antuel stood up from his chair at once, and glad to see Edwald hale and sound, he rushed to embrace him.

-“The Gods must truly love you,” he said, “The surgeons said you would not last another day, even Master Asadue thought your wounds to be beyond his skills to tend. But it seems the fates have something great in store for you, since against the Wielder of Truth, death had no chance to avail. Are you quite well? Or do your wounds cause you much pain?”

-“I am quite alright,” Edwald replied, “The cuts still afflict some ache in the flesh. Yet nothing, I can’t cope with. I am afraid the treason of Sir Frann is a far more hurting sore to heal.”

-“Let us forget about him for the time being. It’ll do us no good to pain ourselves with such rueful thoughts.” Sir Edwald said, “I don’t believe you two have met before. Lord Elbracht, allow me to introduce you to Tyén, son of Tuar, of house Sovarós, Lord of Myrlost and the Cadia, by whose grace we’ve been welcomed here today.”

-“My Lord.” Edwald said respectfully, “I am most grateful to you for taking us in at such dire an hour. I am not sure if you are aware, but we share some common blood, you and I.”

-“I am aware of that,” Lord Tyén said, his voice soft like a breeze, yet deep like rumble, “Though our lines are manyfold removed, it is not unkown to me that our houses once were close as one. My great-great-grandmother was a sister to one of your grand-sires. And yet, these bonds in blood did not seem to mean much to your father, Lord Elreck, as he took this city during his war, two years ago. The men of my kin are not quick to forget when many wrongs have been done against our own. Still, I hold you no grudges for the sins of your sire, since so far, you haven’t proven to have bequeathed his ire. My cousin, here, has told me a great deal of your journey. And for all the perils you have come to endure in keeping your word to the Lady Aléndra in Fyore, I am likewise grateful to you for delievering your oath. Join us now for luncheon. We have much to discuss.”

The great hall of Myrlost was not like the audience chamber of any other castle in the realm. The walls were tall and ceiling high, but there was neither dais nor high chair and though richly adorned with panoplies and tapestries of heroes and their lore, it was not meant to stage the lord above his court. Instead, Lord Tyén sat on a common chair that made his guests feel they were the same as him.

On the table, there were meals of all hues and taste. There was beef, geese, pork, duck, salmon, pike and venison; a quite a good deal of mutton was served as well, yet for obvious reasons, Edwald had no appetite to take anything from that plate. Nevertheless, it had been well over a fortnight since he had had a proper meal, so he first ate thrice the share of a grown man before he could speak again.

-“I take it the winter season has not been fair to you on this trip,” Lord Tyén said, “Not even in the summer do many crops grow by these parts of the realm. So feel free to feast on however many plates you will until you are sated.”

-“It has truly been long since last we’ve sat at such full a table,” Edwald was sad to say, “Alas, it feels wrong that we should eat so blithely in times such as these, when the righteous die so that others may eat from banquets that should be rather held for them.”

-“You must be speaking of Sir Hans Woodmot.” Lord Tyén replied, “My cousin has told me all about the manner in which he passed; I, too, grieve for him. But is it not the pith of chivalry, that one as brave as him, should lay down their life so the less fortunate may enjoy the fruits of their sacrifice? Let us feast on his memory instead. It should not be said that he did not live up to his name.” He said now raising his cup.

“Farewell noble sir,

Sir Hans ‘Sword of the Realm’,

Let no man forget,

Though your blade did fall before the end,

No knight has met more valiant a death!

Crus’duinessé, Sir Hans,

Crus’duinessé, farewell!”

Once the homage was paid, Edwald could continue to eat without further regret, and he delighted in the taste of all that was put on his plate. Yet, before desert, a many great things remained to be said.

-“First and foremost,” Lord Tyén said, “While you lay sick and bedridden, Sir Antuel has told much about your journey, although, I must admit, there was something I could not wholly grasp. Perhaps you can fill in the holes in his telling. I hear you have been given a sword unlike any ever forged by the smiths of our lore. My cousin tells me it has the power to reveal the truth behind any lie of one’s foe, but that same power renders its wielder unable to device any deceit of their own. Is there any truth to what he reports?”

Without a second thought, Edwald drew out his swords and finding no ill intent in his words, he handed it over to his host.

-“I call it Oakenjaw,” He said, “But the smiths by whose secrets it was forged have given it another name which better befits its purpose. Dwarves call it Súnthaz, which in the common tongue means ‘Sooth’.”

-“Dwarves, you say?” Asked Lord Tyén as one who would not believe what he had heard, “What dealings have you with such a quaint folk?”

-“None of my doing,” Edwald replied, “I did not seek out the dwarves, neither did they me, but just like the wind veers an oarless ship, the fates have made a pawn of me and led my path to them.”

-“Then, I dare say the fates have not been kind to you in every regard.” Lord Tyén said, “For are they not also at fault that you wound up in Fyore at the mercy of Lord Carathuel the Fraud?”

-“Aye, that is, indeed, so.” Edwald said, “When I heard the news of Lord Hadril’s death and of his family as well, it came of my own will that I should pay them my respects. There I met with Lord Carathuel and he offered me friendship with mellow words. Had it not been for this sword, I had fallen for his cunning. Yet, I cannot say that our stay therein was not without its gains, for there the Lady Aléndra came to me, and from her, I learnt that Sir Antuel might still live. So, were it not for the fates’ turn of events, I would never had partaken in the quest that brought him safe to you.

“It was by this power, that I was also shown the truth behind Lord Hadril’s death, and if Sir Antuel has told you anything about our stay as his guests, you will know that he is no longer a friend, and what’s more, he has no right to sit the throne he has usurped. I would gladly have changed the course of events and kept on my word to follow my true quest. But had these things not been in the will of the fates, we would not be meeting here today and none could have guessed that the Black Griffin had betrayed his own.”

-“It is such a sad thing that kin should turn against kin for wealth and titles.” Lord Tyén was sorry to admit, “Though we grew up together, I was never fond of him in my youth. As a child he would rather spend his time among our sires, learning the schemes and games of court than playing in the yard or training with sword along with me and the boys. As we aged old and each of us was sent to distant posts, the rift between our bonds grew wide and cold, and whereas, my cousins and I would rejoice in each other companies on holidays, he was always keen to keep by his own, counting the days until we were apart once more.

“It is no uncommon thing for a healthy flock to have a black sheep every once in a while, but Carathuel was no meek sheep. From the very start he was always shy to jest about with us, and in his mind was prone to dwell on dark thoughts that should had warned us then, he had set on an evil goal. I remember a time in Elsarmas, two years ago, when he inquired about the line of succession and how many heirs should die before he could ascend the Grayth-throne. Yet never could I have foreseen that he would act upon such a dreadful notion.

“This he did not dare ask to my face, indeed, it was as if the fates ordained that I should drop an ear when made his inquiries. At once, I rushed to find Lord Hadril and tell him whereof I had just heard. Yet, ever a man who above all put family-bonds first, he refused to make much of what I told him to beware.

-“‘Carathuel is our blood, cousin Tyén,’ he said, ‘He might not be either the most loving cousin or the most caring friend, but he remains our kin, nonetheless. If we can’t trust in our own, what better are we than the common folk?’

“Little did my noble cousin know that those words would turn to ashes in his tongue. Come the yuletide of last year, I received word that the family would meet again in Nalas as it was our wont. I made my way thither a few days before the moon’s turn and upon the fortnight the dreadful news were made known that Lord Hadril and his convoy were butchered on the road, and though a tragedy to most, I had my own qualms about the nature of this mishap. In my mind there was an evil thought that crawled its way to my heart; I feared that the Black Griffin might have aught to do with the death of my beloved cousin. Yet, it wasn’t until he claimed the Grayth-throne for his own that I dared to speak aloud of these dark thoughts. And what is most dreadful, all lords and noblemen in Fyore seem to have acknowledged him as their lord.”

-“In Fyore, indeed, it looks like he only has allies at court,” Edwald said, “But, surely, there must be some who renounce him from abroad.”

-“How I wish it were so.” Said Lord Tyén, in a sad tone, “Alas, where the thistle has taken hold, only bad weeds grow tall. I do not know how long he’s been up to the spreading of his lies, but it seems his schemes and designs have been years in the making; who knows how many lords and liegemen of noble stock his cunning tongue has bought? Even if I were to say a word, who is to say that anyone shall stand against him?”

-“They shall stand behind Lord Hadril’s rightful heir.” Edwald was proud to reply, “Sir Antuel has a better claim than Lord Carathuel. His right to rule is based on the lie that all other heirs are dead, yet here is Sir Antuel, alive and well. Once we make known to the world that he is not dead, there will be enough leal men that should rise against the pretender and back Sir Antuel’s claim. There is no time for sloth. You must gather you bannermen and put out the word that Lord Hadril’s rightful heir shall claim his brother’s throne.”

-“Aye, when this is made known, the web of lies, Lord Carathuel has so masterfully woven, will be untangled by its own.” Lord Tyén was loath to respond, “But there is another matter must needs we discuss. As my cousin has told me, you should be aware of everything there is to know about the thread the Black Knight poses in the north. Is it not true that this rogue monk is no other than your brother, Sir Carédock of Keor?”

Edwald hoped Lord Tyén would not speak of the matter, yet when asked, he was not slow to answer.

-“Sir Antuel says the truth.” He admitted with a heavy heart, “He is the true reason why I left Keor, and though the fates willed it that I should swerve from my intended goal, my real quest was always to sway him against carrying on with these bloody revolts and compel his mind to forsake the sword. The King, himself, deemed me best suited for this task. For, since he is my brother, there is no other to whom he’d lend his ear and open his heart.”

-“I take it; Sir Frann of Velour was the emissary who brought to you this errand.” Lord Tyén was quick to ask, “And yet he was the one, by whose blades your wounds have scarred. How come then that he turned against you, at the last?”

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-“Sir Frann…” he muttered grinding his teeth. “He is a knight only by name, yet lacks the principles of all those, who are styled the same as him. Of all the men that have served under my lead, none has been more devoid of chivalry or common sense. In our journey, he was always keen to remind us of our true quest, pressing upon us that we should better foreswear our oath to the Lady Aléndra and mind only for the Black Knight’s northern threat. Had we had it his way, we would not meet here today, and in everyone’s mind, Sir Antuel would have remained dead. How I wish this would not have been the case! But close before the end, he could not see beyond the feeling that we had neglected the King’s request, and thought it best to betray us instead. He is the reason why Sir Hans is no dead, and when our paths met once again, I could not restrain myself from clashing against his blade.”

-“I see…” Lord Tyén said. “I am very greatful for keeoing your pledge to Lady Aléndra, even when so much else is at stake. Nonetheless, I cannot say that had I been in your place, I would have done the same. By no means, do I condone Sir Frann’s betrayal, yet I will admit that the danger the Black Knight poses is not to be taken lightly.”

Upon saying this, Lord Tyén handed Oakenjaw back over to its rightful owner and left his desert half finished.

-“Follow me.” He said unto his cousin, Master Asadue and Edwald, as he stood from his chair.

Taller than three of them, Lord Tyén led his guests to a chamber next to the great hall. Its tall walls were filled with maps and charts of the realm, where every city and burg was marked out with their respecting names. Some maps were old like the Realm itself, showing states that had long changed of shape or else had altogethered ceased to exist by the cruel shift of fates. Others were older still, with names writ in the tongue of the Elder Days. And quite a few seemed to be drafted in haste, upon which confuscating traces had been drawn to mark the trail of armies in every corner of the land.

In his youth, Edwald would delight in maps of every kind; so much so that the cartographers in his court fondly thought of him as one of their own. As he entered the room, he felt like a child again, amusing his eyes with each and every single chart. But by far the most captiving map was painted on the ground and it was so large it covered the whole floor. There were seas to the south and the east, mountains to the north and west, woods scattered across vast kingdoms all throughout and stones in the shapes of knights and towers that marked armies and strongholds of every rulling house, each distinguished by their sigils. Edwald looked about the entire map, scanning every road and river, every country and state before setting his eyes on the northern regions of Thindur. There he saw black figurines fashioned in the likeness of black horsemen and towers posted all along the lower parts of the River Dúnk, and he knew at once the threat they posed.

-“These pawns represent Sir Carédock’s horde and every burg and town they hold.” Lord Tyén said, “He first conquered the burg of Rynast, and by the manner of his siege, they said he came from the east, but it is believed he had gathered his troops further north—or so I’m told. We know not what his intentions are, yet we do know what kind of men are under his command. The Buram Folk fights for the Black Knight.”

-“The Buram Folk?” Edwald asked buffled at mention of that race. “What dealings could those tribesmen have brawling so far from their homeland?”

-“We do not know,” answered Lord Tyén, “But somehow, they have fooled the watch of the Northern March and found their way through the Pass of Hel to hither lands.”

-“Do we know for sure that this horde is what you claim to be?” Master Asadue asked boldly, also puzzled by their presence in the region. “What sources have brought this news to you?”

-“Only the accounts of those who have fled the north and have sought for refuge under my protection.” Lord Tyén answered, “They speak of pale skinned men, clad in iron from neck to toes, wielding moon-shaped swords and talking in many a queer tongue. Now there are only two peoples on earth blades of that sword. One lives in the far south, beyond the Great Sea, over never-ending dunes and shores of hot blazing sun. Their skin is tanned like gold, so it cannot be that folk—to which I assume you belong. So considering the odds, I am left to suppose it must be the other race whereof the refugees have told.

“Whatever common cause these ancient foes might have found with Sir Carédock, I know not. Yet this much is clear. They are well trained in the arts of war and every footman fights with double the strength of our own. Their number is also unkown to us, for they say that with each man that falls two more replace his post.”

-“Do we know where they are stationed at?” Edwald was swift to ask.

-“If reports are to be believed, they must have made camp somewhere near the burg of Cyllas, north of the River Dúnk.”

-“Are there any news from the capital?” Edwald asked the obvious.

-“Sadly, it appears to be so.” Lord Tyén said with eyes closed and there was regret in his tone. “A week ago, Lord Carathuel spoke in Fyore, he said he had the King’s leave to wage war against the Buram horde in the north, asking all his bannermen to attend this call. I have been loath to respond, fearing that in doing thus, I would acknowledge him as the rightful heir to Grayth-throne. Yet whereas, I have been slow, many other liegemen have already marched for Fyore. So, you see, my lord Elbracht, even if I were to spread the words of the things you have previously told me, I do not believe many men will pay much heed to the claims, in these times of war.”

Edwald pondered long on what he was told. He looked at the map and saw there were enemies to the west and north. On the one hand, there was Lord Carathuel in Fyore, mustering all Graythmen to his call, and though his father was possessed of great skill in warcraft to humble the Griffin’s force in his rebellion, two years ago, Thindur’s armies remained one of the largest in the kingdoms and whatever power his magic blade might hold, it would not be sharp enough on its own against a sea of spears and swords. On the other hand, there was the Buram horde, the riding wildlings and all, an ancient foe against which the realm a hundred battles had fought. Compared to such a wanton peril, his claims of wile and betrayal, could well seem like a child’s joke to the wary eyes of the mighty and strong. Yet the latter of these foes he knew better than the former and if there was still any love between him and his brother, perhaps the hope of a truce was worth the bother.

-“Regardless of all the wrongs he has done, Sir Carédock remains my blood.” Edwald said with grit in his tongue, “I am sure that if given the chance, the Black Knight might turn his cloak and come back to our fold. Even now, I have hope that he has not forgot the nature of our bond and that when he sees me, I might be able to tender his heart.”

-“You mean to put your head in a dragon’s mouth?” asked Sir Antuel noting on the madness of his intent. “Brother or not, you cannot deny the cruelty of all the Black Knight has wrought. Mayhaps his heart is already rotten and his soul devoid of any love. He has shown the world what he’s capable of, who is to say his men will not have you slain before you can even reach his ear?”

-“With enough men I can get his attention.” Edwald proposed, “It needn’t be a large force, only a small throng and a respectable banner will do, for the Black Knight to ease his sword.”

-“Even then, it is very unlikely his host would not see you as a foe.” Sir Antuel said, tears of fear welling his eyes.

-“Sir Antuel is right.” Asadue said sharing in his fright. “You cannot deny the shadow of his evil deeds has stretched too far. He might be your brother, but think twice when you talk about your bond, for there might still be bad blood between you both. Did you not tell me a year ago in Culgarost that you felt he resented you for betraying his trust? What if he has not forgot? Would you still put your life at stake, in the hope that you two can talk?”

His mentor’s words cut deep in Edwald’s bones. He had given many a long hour of thought to the very things whereof he spoke, yet he his mind was not short of resolve that his was he right choice.

-“He holds me grudges, for sure.” He said, “Nevertheless, I have known him since the day he was born. Carédock might have been bequeathed our father’s temper, but our common blood runs as thick as ever. In our youth, hot with wrath, I plugged out his eye, and upon the third day we played together in the castle yard. If he could forgive that mortal prank, there is no doubt, he will endulge in a peaceful chat.”

-“These are different times.” Sir Antuel complained, taking Edwald by the shoulders and startling at him with stressful eyes. “Now, it seems the righteous fall whilst the wicked rise. I have already lost Sir Hans, do not let me loose you too!”

-“You are very kind,” Edwald replied, holding back his arms, “But though with you I have fulfilled one task, there is yet another oath I am still to carry out. Since the day I left my home in the South, ‘twas the King’s command that I should talk some sense into my brother’s mind, and despite all the things which have come to pass, to this pledge my honour remains bound. I will take my leave upon the second night and with your lordship’s blessing I shall require a company of horsemen.”

-“If you are sure of heart and mind, I’ll be glad to give you as much help as I can.” said Lord Tyén bowing his eyes to Edwald’s valour.

With nothing else to say, and sated from both his large meal share and the heated debate, Edwald took one last glance at the pieces on the map, as if seing not the clay wherewith they were made, but rather the troops they meant to represent, he walked away back into the chamber whence he came and all men gathered there shared mixed looks of dread and respect for all the things he said.

-“The fates often birth spiders and snakes among noblemen,” Lord Tyén is believed to have said, “Yet every so often, they call into the world a champion worthy of acclaim, whom neither from neither fear nor threat they cower away. I believe Lord Elbracht is one of those men. For, though many knights and heroes in my life, I’ve met, few have been as brave as him.”

Asadue was proud to hear those words, as if Edwald were his own blood, yet he could bring himself to applaud his resolve, for fear and doubt took root within him, and the very thought of loosing him to this meaningless war, was voice that whispered dread into his soul.

“Sir Carédock loved his brother beyond what he would show in court.” Asadue noted, “The incident with the butter-knife so many years ago was true enough and when Elbracht was made prisioner in his home, he could see through the lies behind Earldorman Corgann’s words, so much so that he played his part well in General Caradon’s civil war. And while his brethren spent their time in Culgarost, either blithely jousting in the tourn or else scheming with the high-born behind the castle walls, Sir Carédock ventured into the city alleys and slums, and found common cause rather with the downtrodden and low-born, plotting to lord Osguald Guelmo—as Elbracht had me told.

“In all these things, he always had his brother’s best interest in his mind. So it cannot be easily denied that, despite a certain madness in his designs, he would never betray Elbracht’s love, nor turn from his side. It can be said, rather, that seldom has any younger son of a mighty lord shown so much devotion to the elder. Though he always had his brother at the core of his plans, so much work in the dark begs the question: Why is he so keen to deal in the shadows? Could it be that also his business as the Black Knight is merely a mask to raise Lord Elbracht to higher fame and stand, all the while? Should his ways serve as precedent, then this is likely to be true. Still the question remains: what is intent behind all this mayhem? Regardless of my doubts, I still fear for my pupil’s life. For his sake, I hope, Sir Carédock has had a change of heart, lest he would begrudge his brother for leaving him alone in Culgarost, as we left for Keor, so many moons ago.”

All this, Asadue felt must needs be written down on his memoirs as well as their talk later on.

Upon leaving the map’s chamber, Asadue went back to sickhouse, but he could not find him. None of the surjeons had seen him since earlier that day, yet one of the nurses swore, she had spotted a man headed for the ancient shrine not long ago. By her telling, Asadue deduced it must have been Edwald, so without a second thought, he made his way to the inner courtyard, the temple rising tall beyond the clouds above. Night had come before dawn and the wintry breeze swept snow and dust onto the castle walls, like seafoam blowing harshly against a sailing hull. He felt the cold bitting his bones, but the wind was no foe to the temple’s soaring roofs; each lofty buttress, each spire of stone, stood their ground before the raging gusts, as wilful sailor unprovoked by a coming storm.

Beneath the hanging arches of the shrine, the mentor found the student standing on the temple’s treshold. The wax of a thousand candles, melted to the core, had formed a layer of frozen muck that had long hid the cobblestone floor below. Edwald seemed lost of mind as he stood amidst the dark walls, hesitating whether he should go into those ancient halls.

-“What are you doing out here, in the cold?” Asadue asked with a shivering voice, “Your wound may not bother you any more, but until last night you had lost so much blood. Let’s go inside and sit about a warm hearth, so we can talk further more of what you said early on.”

-“There is a pulse that calls me to these halls,” Edwald said, deaf to his mentor’s words. Asadue did not dare the thought that his pupil had lost his head, yet it truly was a quaint thing for him to say.

-“It calls me inside…” Edwald said again. “Don’t you hear it?”

-“‘Tis only the wind…” Asadue replied, as he wrapped himself with his arms. “and ‘tis freezing out here. Let us go inside.”

-“Aye, we must go inside.” Edwald said as he entered into temple, his pace was slow as if were in a trance.

-“Not that way!” Asadue repressed a cry, but the shadows of the doorway had already swallowed Edwald whole, like an easy prey that went willingly into a lion’s mouth.

It certainly seemed that way to him. For Asadue had heard stories of the shrines high up among the Aden Hills. Many times, he stumbled on an old scroll that told of the temple upon which ruins Myrlost was built, and the accounts of that place were enough to make a grown man fear the secrets its walls kept hid. Myrlost was built by the Ennards long before men set foot on hither shores, and in the pages of their lore, it had served as a church to honour their most sacred gods. ‘The Dome of All Saints’ they called it in their tongue and so holy was that site men were forbidden to enter. That all changed after the Great Awakening, yet even though kings and lords often journeyed thither to pray and meditate, there were some few that dared venture inside, reporting—if they ever came back—that only ghosts and fiends dwelt the shrine and no one could ever return thence with his sanity intact.

Master Asadue was well aware of this, but he would not let his beloved pupil go alone either, so gathering his valour he went behind his steps into the dark.

The gates had no doors; they were rather shaped as an abandoned cave of sorts that even memory had forgot. Inside, there were angled pillars and walls that bore the weight of a black stone ceiling. There was neither candle nor torch to light off the shadows all around. Instead there was a faint, luminescent line on the ground that led ever deeper towards the mountain’s heart. In the gloom, Asadue discerned Edwald walking down moist stairs, each step steeper than the last, and he knew his way around that place as if it were his own house. The mentor did not lack the love to follow his pupil down that dreadful path, which soaked floor and sweating walls looked rather like the throat of giant.

As they descended ever deeper into that cavernous aisle, the smouldering line on the ground seemed to slowly give in to the dark, yet even as they left the stairs behind and the walls on each side grew further apart, like a river that split into a thousand outlets or veins that spread into many a branch, the line forked into seven stripes that vanquished off the shadows from the shrine. Their ice-pale glow coloured the walls, ceilings and floor, most were black and leaden, safe a few, clear as crystal under starlight, and the chamber was so vast, it’s corners were beyond the reach of the eye. The masonry was the work of higher minds. For the design was so advanced, it could not be compared to any feat of the human hand.

There were banks on each side, each rising taller than the former. Owing to their large size, Asadue deduced they were not meant for the common man, but the folks that used to sit the benches had long forsaken those lands. In the centre of the chamber were three lofty monoliths that gave the impression to have grown from the ground, as wide, branchless spruces that sprouted in the dark; their coal-black stone shimmered like broken glass and upwards, across their surface ran the glowing lines, almost as if they were bramble creeping through a spire. Three tall chairs were hewn out of them facing a raised plinth.

For a moment, Asadue paused as he looked around that otherworldy hall, for a memory was still fresh within him to have seen a similar fane before.

-“I do not like this place.” He said in a fearful tone, “It reminds me of Locht Nelbáris; of the Wooden-Kings and the elven folk. We should better be off hence, lest we stir up the ghosts that dwell among these walls.”

-“It feels like I have been here before…” Edwald said as he walked towards the middle of the hall. “…many years ago, ere the time I was even born.”

There was little sense to what he spoke.

-“…Ere the time you were born?” Asadue said, baffled by what he had heard. “Don’t you hear the folly in your words? You are not yourself. Perhaps the cold has mazed your thoughts. Come, let us leave, we have had enough of this puzzling talk.”

-“I know it doesn’t make much sense.” Edwald admitted. “Even I don’t fully understand it. Still, hence comes the pulse that calls me. Though I confess it is strange, it does feel as if it wasn’t my first time in this fane. I have memories—not of my own—of when this place rang with chants and prayers and all these benches were filled with souls which echoed songs breathed life into these halls.”

Asadue’s bewilderment could not be more helpless. Every word his pupil said was like the speech of an old man near his last breath.

-“Do you remember what Sir Frann said?” Edwald went again, “He said I had betrayed the King and our quest. I take it, he did not believe in the fates. Yet now, I see I was always meant to come hither. Before I left Keor, the Invisible Hand*(1) laid a path which led to this place.”

Then his sword ached again, glowing pale in its sheath, it whispered unto him the deeper secrets hidden in the fane.

-“The Ennards built this temple to last until the end of days.” Edwald said, “You have taught me they are the keepers of the past, mentor, isn’t that right?”

Asadue nodded carefully. He did not dare speak, for should he talk, he feared it could only worsen his delusion.

-“Nevertheless, this shrine was not made to keep memories.” Edwald was fully submerged into his fantasy, “But rather to see past the morrow, far into distant times ahead. Unlike the elves in Locht Nelbáris, the Nulves that abided these halls toiled to look into the beyond and called in visions from days to come.”

-“How do you know all these things?” Asked Asadue, “You say these thoughts are not of your own. Mayhaps, these notions are all wrong. How do you if it isn’t the cold or the pain your wounds that deceive your judgement?”

-“I have not gone mad.” Edwald’s shout boomed on the walls. “I feel it in my bones. All I have said is true, and what’s more, the sword has told me so. This is an observatory of sorts, a lense to see into future world. But read the warning in the base!”

Asadue looked down to the foot of the altar and lo! There it was, writ in stone, two lines that read in the Nólbic Tongue:

Nulven Inscription [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/928675464401281116/1149722915328245770/WhatsApp_Image_2023-09-08_at_17.06.37.jpeg]

-“To see beyond the morning sun…” Edwald rendered into the Common Tongue, “…You must forfeit some of your own blood.”

Edwald read from the inscription once more and looked as though he could make sense of each single word.

-“I know what must be done.” He said, drawing out his sword, and sliding its blade over his hands palm, he poured some drops of blood onto the plinth of stone.

Asadue did not take it lightly that Edwald would harm himself for this fantasy of his making. He walked up to him, and attempted with no avail to sway him into putting down the blade. But suddenly and without warning, the ground rumbled beneath their feet, as if the smell of blood had woken up a beast, the seven glowing lines forked into a thousand more and from the base of each monolithed came out fog and smoke.

The quake stopped, the air was still and the haze before them both began to glow on its own. Soon, shapes and forms appeared amidst the fog and at once, Asadue understood the truth behind the rumours others had told. The shapes were like ghosts, human-looking from head to toe, yet they had neither flesh nor bones, and glowing pale and cold, they floated aimlessly across the hall. The ‘ghosts’ did not seem to notice either the mentor nor the pupil, and wondering at these visions, Edwald shouted for their heed, though they paid him none.

All were armed with shield and sword, some on warhorses, other just standing tall. But, one that came from a lonely corner making his way submissively through the horde. His hair was wavy, his features were smooth, and in his hands, he bore Oakenjaw. Edwald startled at that one wraith, for he knew it was himself. The soldiers were all about him, hands grasping their hilt, yet none of them dared to blow, for a single man was no foe for such a force. He walked among their ranks, looking for the commander.

-“Who among you is the one they called the ‘Black Knight’” He said, too sure of himself. And forth he stepped from among his men, he was slim and tall, armoured from neck to toe. His robes were dark as was his soul, and his head was covered by the hood of a monk.

-“My blood…” He said in an omnious tone, and colder still than the sound of his voice, was the sharp steel of his sword. He swung it swiftly to and fro, slashing Edwald in the arms and torse.

Edwald was distraught by what he saw, for it never occurred to him that his brother would come to hate him so. He saw himself falling numb on his knees, yet even as the Black Knight was about to give his killing blow, he heard a voice coming from behind.

-“No one is allowed to enter this hall!” the voice was Lord Tyén’s, and uttered those words, the vision was removed, the smoke was swept away and the air was still again.

-“Lord Tyén, my lord, Elbracht meant no offence.” Asadue said, bowing his head.

-“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Tyén asked. “There is a reason why candles are lit outside this shrine; so that the living may not disturb the ghosts that linger inside.”

-“This is not a tomb for the dead.” Edwald replied, “These ghosts, you mean are no memory of the past; I saw myself as a wraith, though I am not dead, so they must rather be guests from future times.”

-“There are powers in this fane that are not meant for the human eye.” Lord Tyén asserted, his voice began wroth and booming, but then it softened into a smooth tone. “What you think, you saw was merely the devil’s wile. For so often, do these walls have a way to trick the mind. Leave this place at once! You have seen and said enough for tonight.”

Edwald was short of words. He had much to say in his own defence, yet he did not dare annoy his host. He had met many men of higher birth than him, but he noted that until then, none ever came close to his lordly air.

He and his mentor apologized once again and left the temple bowing their heads. First, they went to the sickhouse, but there the nurses said their rooms had been prepared for them in the main keep. Thither they went, and upon shutting the door behind him, Asadue looked at Edwald as an angered father about to reprehend his spoiled son.

-“What was the meaning of all that nonsense?” he said, his voice filled with anger, “Are you out of your mind? First, Lord Tyén had his healers tend your wounds, and then he invites you to his table. Hell, he even offered you his help in our quest! And now, you walk behind his back and break the sanctity of his shrine. You are lucky; he did not have you thrown into a cell, and yet I suspect we will not be welcome here for much longer. How will he ever forgive us these trespasses?”

-“Do not forget yourself!” Edwald replied, evenly wroth. “You might be my mentor, but I am not a child to be lecture in what I ought do and not do. I couldn’t care less if Lord Tyén took any offence. I had to go into the fane. Were it not for my trespass, I would not have been warned of all that is at stake. You saw it yourself; the wraiths foretold an omen of what lies ahead.”

-“I know not what I saw,” Asadue said, looking stern, “but this much I can tell. We should not have walked into that place. And if there is any worth to what the ghosts there foresaid, then it should be clear that should you carry on with this folly of meeting with your brother, you’d be sealing your own death. At the very least, now we are sure you cannot go to him.”

-“On that regard, my mind has not changed.” Edwald said, “The wraiths of that fane may show me a thousand perils to beware, and yet even if goes against the Gods’ will, no power on earth will stop me from fulfilling my quest.”

-“So you have not just gone mad, but also blind.” The mentor shouted, “You will not meet with your brother, not under my watch. I will not allow it!”

-“I do not need your permission!” Edwald shouted back. “No man will stand in the way of my fate, least of all a free-made slave. All these years you have known my mind, and you have had a say in my plans and designs. Only now, I come to realise that every whisper, every advice that comes out of your mouth has always been mellow words to further your own desires. You swore to me upon a night in Culgarost, that the day would come when my brethren would come willingly to my side, yet ever since that night none of this has come to pass. Why would I believe a man whose foretellings seem to never be right?” and

Asadue stood in silence looking long at pupil; his words were sharp and cold, like the blade of a dagger to the heart. A stream of sadness escaped his eye, the air was hard to breath, and a shiver rolled down his spine. Never in his life, had Edwald spoke to his dear mentor in that wise, yet with Oakenjaw by his side, Asadue knew, his pupil could not have lied.

-“I will do what I must.” Edwald said, “If I am doomed to die at the hand of my own blood, then so be it. I will neither neglect nor foreswear my pledge this time.”

-“Very well. If this is what you will, I shall not hinder your path.” Asadue said with a frozen heart, “But, know that if this is the way you have chosen, I will not be on your side. It only pains me to know that this man you have become is not the man I have ever loved and admired.”

Asadue opened the door, and before leaving the room, he turned on his back and said:

-“Farewell, pupil. I hope, for your own sake, that you know what you are doing. You shall always have a place in my heart, even when your pride has made you so blind.”

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War-map of Thindur [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/928675464401281116/1178380715755307078/WhatsApp_Image_2023-11-26_at_17.58.07.jpeg?ex=6575ef8f&is=65637a8f&hm=19aa345868c3235c42a1b7efdde62bfccf9fe5c361d35792c0777808c1ad8184&]