LXIV. Having let the old smuggler off to his adventures—though at the time unbeknownst to them—, Edwald and his fellowship spent the rest of the night in the stables of a humble inn by the river bank, just outside of the city of Berecy. There they lay to sleep upon the wheaten beds sharing rooms with hacks and pigs. Come the morning, before they left, Sir Antuel stole some food from the inn’s stores and, once they all ate, they made their way to the north. This time, they walked the road, for now they had come to the land of Cadia, where Tyén the Just was lord, and though it was still within the Black Griffin’s reach, he had less sway in that domain. Nevertheless, they remained wanted men, and they would still be in danger if they dared use their names.

Regardless of their worries, they followed the path north, until Berecy appeared as it was before; a distant star on the skyline behind. Before them, there was long countryside covered with snow white and grey that stretched ever forwards beyond the eye. To the east the land sloped gently down until it met with the edge of the Mallen Sea, while to the west the ground slanted ever upwards turning into the tall Aden Hills*(1) afar. Aside from Sir Antuel and Sir Hans, Edwald had never been to the Cadia before, and though he had toured all throughout the Realm, he found this land to be unlike any other other he had set eyes upon. The air was fairer there and filled with humming sounds as of songs from the past, since many great myths began in those parts that told the names of heroes meant to last. Yet it seemed to him that a shadow had taken hold of that region, for the farers on the road often spoke of news from the north that boded the portents of war.

-“Aye, sadly ‘tis as ‘twas feared,” said one walking past them, “Kylasyam has fallen to the Black Knight and his henchmen. If he goes on like this, he’ll fight all the way south to Ronnos and then the lord up in Fyore will have to declare war and surely death will follow, like a sickness o’er the land it shall spread, claiming the lives of all.”

The news of this troubled Edwald greatly, but now he was not alone in his concern; Hank was fearful too. In his mind the thought distressed him that had they not gone down the quest to find Sir Antuel, they might have reached Carédock before he mustered so many to his cause. This he kept to himself, for long was still the path ahead and little would his worries bring if he then shared them with the rest. So, on they fared to the north, with the sun rising and setting twice to their right and left, and often there were other sounds in the wind, like the loud whistles of owls or eagles, although all around them no birds could be seen. Asadue kept his mind cool as to where these wails might come from, while Sir Hans was prone to jest that it might be the croons of wraiths that sang to them beyond the grave.

Nevertheless they meandered on the way ahead until they came to a crossroad that forked the thoroughfare in two. On one sign, which pointed to the north, it was carved ‘Myrlost 60 miles’ and on the other, which aimed to the west, was read ‘Elorio’s Tomb 5 miles’. Upon reading this, Sir Antuel was overtook by a great longing, for ever was his wont to visit that site whenever he fared by those parts.

-“Of old I would often go to that place to pay my respect to the dead.” Sir Antuel said, with sparkles glinting in his eyes, “The Tomb of Elorio lies four hours to the west. I say we must travel thither first, before we go any further away.”

-“Whatever for, young lord?” asked Hank, quite irked to hear what Sir Antuel proposed, “Lord Tyén is north from here, not west. We have no time to honour the dead.”

-“There are still about three days of journey ahead.” Sir Antuel said, “What harm is there in drifting off for a few hours to the west?”

-“To you this might be just a nice staunter, with little but your own fate at stake,” Hank said, with frowned brown and grinding teeth “We’ve been on the run for over a month now since we left Fyore. You have been sleeping for the most parts, but while you dreamt among the elves, we had to fight and smuggle our way to find you. So do not tell me you want to lead us astray, now that this quest so near its end.”

-“Hank is right, my liege,” Sir Hans said, regrettable siding with him, “Mayhaps there is little harm in going that way, but the sooner we get you to Myrlost the faster you’ll be safe.”

-“‘Twill be no waste of time, I assure you, Sirs,” Sir Antuel pressed on much to Hank’s distaste, “We’ve been on the run for about five days now, and some of us have grown tired. Up there in the tomb, we might find rest. Besides, our provisions are running short and up there in the tomb, there is warden that has large stores of supplies where we can replenish our own.”

Edwald found that there was much sense to what he said, for the provisions the elves had given them were only meant for a week and since much of them consisted merely of bread and greens, they often ate more than what they were due.

-“If Sir Antuel means what he says, then I don’t see the harm in it,” Edwald said, “for it is true that we are in need of food. The elves might have thought it enough for the five of us to live off leaves, fruits and bread, but, truth be said, I crave for some real meat.”

-“And yet, we’ve had it worse,” argued Hank, “For three days we’ve managed with whatever nature put before our path. I am sure there must be some wildlife in these lands loitering about.”

-“Not in the cadia, Sir” said the young Antuel, “As you surely have seen, there are no shires here, neither beavers nor deer prancing around. Most cities lie by the sea, so the people in these parts live off only fish. If we travel by the shore, we might have luck finding some food in the local inns, but yet again we would risk being seen or, what’s worse, mayhaps a wary eye could ask our names or where we are from.”

-“I stand with him,” said Edwald, “But you needn’t worry, my good Hank. It will only be for few hours, and as soon as Sir Antuel has paid his respects and we have refilled our supplies, we’ll be on our way to Myrlost.” Edwald looked long at him, and Hank gazed back at him, and read through his eyes that their minds were troubled by the same, and that he did not wish to abandon their true quest.

-“Alright, we’ll have it your way, young lord,” Hank said, “But we must not tarry there long, the sooner we deliver you to lord Tyén, the better it will be for us.”

-“‘Tis settled then. We go west.” Edwald said and these very words he would later regret.

Having determined a new aim, the fellowship left the crossroad and turned left. Before them the hills seemed to grow taller, the skies closer and the road smaller. As they went up the slopes thither, their ears popped and the air grew thinner and turning on their back they could see the land beneath; form above it appeared as long stretch of land that spread north and south between hills and sea. The view was took their breath, but the wind claimed their ears, for then they heard another whistling sound that rang shrill and yet not as loud as before, so they quickly dismissed it as a crow’s song. Nevertheless the whistle lowered in tone, like a rolling wind blew past them, until it stopped.

Upon the fourth hour they came to a flattened top among peaks of hills higher still. There was a quiet that deafened all, like the silence of an empty hall. On the rim of the cliffs south and north grew evergreens that circled the summit, which in itself, was made of many levels, one over the other, arranged like gardens where roses, once fair and strong, were now dry and withered and uncared for. Though it was cool up there, it was not quite as chilly as it had been below, for this place was a holy shrine to which, folks say, the weather was most kind. Upon the loftiest level, there rose a huge, black stone that had been fashioned after a king of old. His beard was long, his eyes were wise, and his hands rested on a mighty brand. His brow was crowned with many jewels and his hairs so long were a cloak upon his robes. The stone stood upon a plinth whereon runes were carved that read:

Tomb's engraving [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/928675464401281116/1127611146069876776/Tombs_engraving.jpeg]

The inscription on the plinth said in the Old Tongue of Men:

Elōrio Aðer

Regs Aredūn

In the common tongue, this means ‘Elorio, the Father, King of the High Men’ and though it might seemed hard to understand in its original tongue—since the pass of times has made fool of most of us to this day and age—all five men of the fellowship could make sense of what was writ. Upon reading this, Sir Antuel was overcome by a deep respect, for not just him, but his family as a whole had great admiration for that king of yore.

-“There are many lords that wore the Crown of Men, yet none of them was more deserving of it than Elorio the first.” he said; his eyes filled with both awe and regret, “No doubt, there are fewer still living now that can compare to one so great. Here I used to come many times when I was young. In those days, my house was revered by all, for there was a king among our own. So far, two Sovarós have taken on his name, that last of whom is remembered only in shame. It’s been over sixteen years since the day my Sire was crowned King of Men. He was the third of that name and though many thought that he would honour so noble an epithet, time has proved him otherwise unworthy of his namesake. Elorio ‘the Unfortune’ they now call him, and after his death, our house has waned in pride of late. Alas for him, for those that take their own lives are said to be disgraced.”

Edwald took a long glance at Sir Antuel and he felt pity towards him, yet being grown wise with the years and having learnt from the hardships he had come to face in those days, he found new words to ease the young man’s heartache.

-“Have a look at him,” he said turning his eyes to the stone-carved man, “Do you think that, in life, he had no regrets? King Elorio might have been mighty and sage, but even he was not free of mistakes. While he won wars where fame he gained, he could have done much to prevent them in the first place. Not least of all to say are the many sons he gave birth to. Twenty princes he Sired, all of whom fought for the throne after his death bringing the whole realm into disarray. By the end, only seven were left and though they founded the great houses we know today, I am sure he rued not choosing a single heir, by whose ascent much mayhem we could have been spared. So, you see, no man is without his flaws, your Sire no less. So, let’s pray that the Gods welcome him in their halls, in spite of his sins and wrongs.”

And so the two men knelt before that awesome black stone and prayed in silence, each by his own, and as they finished, they heard words uttered in a throaty voice wise and old. “Who goes there?” the wind spoke, and wonderstruck both men stood up, for it seemed that their prayers had been hearkened by none other than the king of carven stone. Yet, soon they realised that the voice belonged to an elderly ailing man that stepped forth from behind the shadow of statue and for moment every one thought it could be a ghost, he was pale like milk and his frail hair, even whiter still, were folded the neck and his beard ashen-grey was so long that rested upon his chest. He wore a black coat that made him look as some priest of sorts. “Who goes there that is come to this fane?” his tone was deep and low and rang as one who was sage in lore.

-“You must be the warden,” said Sir Antuel coming back to his senses, “We do not mean no ill, we just wished to pray in here.”

-“No one comes by these parts any more,” said the warden, sad to admit, “These days, men seem to have forgotten the histories and now don’t care to remember the old. Only petty lords come by from time to time, but even then they come don’t come with honest hearts. Some come asking the Gods’ favour other’s demand blessings, yet few no come that seek penance and fewer still that offer prayers. What’s is it your after? Is it Fortune, favour, or else to steel from the altar? If that’s what you seek, you’ll find no gold here!”

-“We are neither after favour nor gold,” Edwald said, “‘Tis only solace what we are looking for. Do you mean to say we cannot find that here? Is this no longer a shrine, where the young come for the counsel of the old? If that is so, then we better leave and be on our way, it’s growing late at any rate.”

-“Nay, do not be so hasty,” the old man said, “I did not mean to be rude, ‘tis only seemed a bit odd that common folk would come all they way up to the top, for even the few who do rarely visit in the time of the year. But, by all means stay if your intent is sincere.”As he said this, he was already turning back to take his leave, yet Oakenjaw burned yet again in his sheath, and Edwald was compelled to state what the truth was for the going thither.

-“Wait, my goodman,” he said, “There is something else we would ask. Truth be said, we have been wandering for days, and it’s been quite some time since we last had a proper meal. We did not come to steal, yet if it wouldn’t be much, we could do with some food for now and the path ahead.” Upon hearing this, the old man changed his face; his brow was frowned and he shook his head.

-“I should have known that you did not come to pray, but to ask for something instead,” he said, “If food it is you want, you should leave all this place, for the what’s kept in my stores is only meant for offerings and to keep myself hale.”

The old man was about to leave once more, but though the sword would force Edwald to tell no lies, it had no power over his boldness to restrain his fiery heart.

-“You seem to be a man of the cloth,” he said, “if that is true, then you should not forget the tenets of your faith. ‘Should one come seeking to be fed, thou must give him honey and bread’ so say the holy texts. Will you send us away, even when we have neither of them? Do you not fear the Gods that you would risk to invite their rage?”

The warden looked both annoyed in disturbed, for what Edwald had said was true enough.

-“You needn’t recite holy scripture to me,” he said, “For I know the canon law better than most. But, I see what you mean. So I will not let the hungry starve in here. Yo may come with me and I will give you food, yet as soon as your fed, you better leave this shrine and do not return lest with a humbler heart.”

Mayhaps it was pity what moved him first, but most likely it was Edwald’s bold words that convinced him to lend them help. The old warden led him and his men to a lower terrace behind the statue. There near a cliff and before the trees stood a house with walls and roofs of stone and thatch. Inside there was large hall that bore the semblance of a chapel rather than a home. The floor was made of the mountains rock, so it was cold and covered with moss, and the windows seemed like cracks on the wall. Asadue thought the house to be a forgotten place, for, aside from the old warden, no other man had often been there.

The old man led the way, and timber in hands, he lit an open hearth, which smoke streamed upwards and out through a hole in the ceiling. All five men took a seat about the hearth, and though the warden was stubborn and stiff, he kept his word and made a stew for his guests. In this poor abodes and eating this humble soup, Sir Antuel remembered his time with the goodwoman Eridda, and her kindness dwindled his heart into sadness and remorse.

-“I thank you for the stew, wise warden,” he said, “But I don’t think I have an appetite just yet.”

-“Weren’t you hungry, or was that another lie?” asked the old man.

-“Nay, I am starving, as my friend said before,” he replied, “It’s just that this all reminds me of a woman we met some days ago. She had little to give and yet he offered us food and repose. She was kind as a saint and lent us her aid when others would not.”

-“She sounds like a good maid,” the old man said, “I hope the Gods reward her with a kind fate.”

-“Sometimes the Gods are cruel with the generous and fair,” Sir Antuel said rather grimly, “she was a slave, as if a life in chains had not been enough, her helping heart might have led her down a crueller fate, one which from among all men all but her deserve.”

-“I never thought it wise to mingle with slaves,” said the warden, “For we have been raised to think of them as lesser men, yet let us pray for her, anyways. She might be far from the reach of our help, though both freemen and slaves are all the same never out of the Gods’ grace.”

Though still troubled by what might become of Eridda, Sir Antuel found the old man’s words easing enough to calm his regrets, so he ate his whole share and thanked him for the stew again. Nevertheless, his sadness would thrive one more time after hearing whereof they would speak next. Edwald looked about the empty home and wondered how the shrine might have been before in the days when men would come and pay their respect to the king of yore.

-“I heard stories about Elorio the Father when I was young,” Edwald said, “But aside from the wars that followed his death, I fail to recall why his tomb is here in the Cadia and not up in the holy sepulchre of Culgarost.”

-“Scholars mind for little save the greater histories, whereas only the most faithful care for the tales of kings and heroes once they have passed.” The old man said, “Still we, men of the cloth, believe this to be true; that just like from birth there is much to be learnt from death. Everyone is right when they say that Belyus the Shepherd was the first of the great kings of old, but Elorio I was likewise worthy of that epithet. He might have been the last of the Argaeron, the mightiest dynasty of yore, yet it would be wrong to say that in him was lessened the value of his stock. His sway saw the realm grow and prosper making it even the spite and envy of the Nulves in their fabled kingdoms to the west and north, half a world away. He fought the first of many wars against the Buram Folk*(2) and built the first long roads that bind the cities of men to this age. A mighty warrior though he was, he never was short of time to mind for the faith and many temples he raised to honour the Gods in gratitude for their grace.

“In every corner of the Realm, both low and high born alike knew his name, for he grew to be the first king to have visited all the kingdoms of men during his reign. Yet of all the places whitherto he’d travel, he’d show up most often in this fane, since in olden days, this was the site where ‘Nahas the Soothsayer’*(3) would come to pray and met with angels heaven-sent. To that saint he felt so akin that he asked the Sagrary if he could break the wont of kings and be buried here. And yet his wishes were ignored when he slept to awake no more. The histories would tell us that as soon as he passed already the seeds of the Kin Strife*(4) had been sewn and that his first-born son wasted no time in claiming the throne as his own only to be challenged by eight of his brethren; past a year another eleven of his blood went to lay claim upon the throne, and the rest is writ in detail on the pages of our lore.

“Nevertheless, there is much more to his death that has been left untold. According to some, who in life were close to him, it was said that he intended for his youngest born to succeed him right after his death, so that his reign may be as long as his had been. As a token of his will, he took a rose and called forth a herald whom he ordered to give the flower unto his heir once he lay cold on his bed. Yet it wasn’t until nigh the Kin Strife’s end, when only seven of his sons remained, that his dying wish came to be known. Alas, then it was too late, for by that time his youngest born was already dead and what once had been a blissful Realm was now in disarray. This they all agreed; that too much blood was shed and some dared say that kingdoms would never be as blessed again as they had been under their father’s reign. So, they all swore that after the passing of each king a conlave must needs be convened to crown a new monarch among them and thereon those born of their own. Thus was made the wont of electing the King of Men, at the cost of tears and blood.

“Past many moon-turns, Elorio’s last will was finally fulfilled and his remains were moved from the undercroft beneath Culgarost to the top of this hill and thitertofore his grave was made a shrine where faithful would come to pray and mourn. In the years to come, many went to say that both pain and struggle could have been spared if we had given flowers the same worth as swords’, so it became customary to those who travel hither to plant a rose near his tomb as a token of remorse for the things that could have been, had we cared for the value of blooms.”

-“And yet, all flowers in the gardens are withered and dead, and all that is left to see are stems and thorns” Edwald said, “Why do no roses grow anymore?”

-“well, until some years ago this fane was filled with them,” the old man replied, “The small folk even called it ‘Redtop’, for the gardens here above seemed to glow like crimson embers under the sun from down below, while all the other hills were covered with snow. Yet time proved to be unfair to this place, as the fates were unkind to those who bore that king’s name, which, it is said, has a power of itself that can inspire the hearts of men. That was true for the man buried here, but the fame of the first dwindled with the fate of the third. King Elorio III forever tainted his own legacy and that of his namesake when he chose to be the master of his own death.

“The Unfortunate was surely a troubled soul, and day and night I pray for the Gods to forgive him for his trespasses. But prayers alone cannot restore his name, for in deSiring to ignore the legacy of such a haunted man, men have forgotten the memory of those that ruled under the same name. And thus ever fewer faithful find their way to this fane so it has became a forlorn place and the roses that here once bloomed tall and fair have turned into barren stems that now serve only as ghosts of a previous age. ‘Tis a sorry thing, indeed, that what in other days were gardens of red and green are today but crofts of withered herbs and weed.”

An echoing shadow seemed to pass by as the old man said this and the winds turned grim and chill, for his sad telling had some power still like a doleful spell that shrunk the hearts of those who would hear it. And the tale smote Sir Antuel most of all, for it told also of one who had been of his kin. Just like it had happened to Edwald many times already, it appeared that after the story the wraith of his father had been evoked and came to torment him with dark memories of his own. As one who had been annoyed by a cruel joke, he could bear to hear no more and stormed out of the hall.

Edwald knew what troubled his soul, for just like him, he too had wrestled with similar thoughts. So he followed him out of the house and found him weeping all alone.

-“I know these things might be hard to hear, especially when it cuts so close to the bone” he told him, “But you needn’t let these stories harrow you now, when little can you do to change the way in which the unfolded. I too lost a father and his spirit still visits me from time to time.”

-“You speak as one who knows my struggle,” said Sir Antuel hiding his tears from him, “Yet, from Harport to Beltos the whole realm knows your father despised you. You wouldn’t know what it is to loose one who is so dear to you and that he died by his own hand, no less. So spare me your pity; I have no use for it!”

Sir Antuel’s answer was proud and loud, so that other men inside the house also heard him. Edwald was certainly taken aback by the young lord’s rudeness, but he did not leave his side.

-“Aye, my father famously had no love for me, and if he did he never cared to show it. But he was my Sire nonetheless and I remained faithful to him until the very end. So, do not presume that I do not your pain, for though I may not have experienced a father's love, I do know what it's like to long for it. Many times I fathomed my father being kind to me, calling me to fight on his side, and ever was my goal to make him proud. Alas, every pursuit failed utterly, and more I tried, the more he came to hate me. So, you see, the fates favoured you on that regard, for what a bliss it must be to have a loving Sire.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Sir Antuel was moved by this confession and for a moment seemed to forget his pain, and so Edwald spoke again.

-“Why don’t you tell me about your father?” he asked, “Mayhaps, instead of tormenting yourself with the manner of his death, it’ll you do good to remember his life.”

-“Where should I start? Tales of his kindness might be too many to talk about, for by the time he Sired me, he was already an old man.” Sir Antuel said, as if looking through the archives of his mind, “Well, I should begin by saying that he was not born as Elorio, that was his regnal name, but within our walls in the halls of the Gryphnest, we would call him by birth-name Cyén.

“Although the throne took the best of him, he was as good a father as any. He would read me and my brothers bedtimes stories of heroes of old such as those of Aurio I and the hedge knight, Sir Humfrey the fair, and even the tales of the Seven Beasts and also some songs of the Ennard Race. In truth, I never enjoyed them as much as my brothers, but to hear his voice before sleep always set the mood of my dreams and even now that I am a man grown, there is little I would not give up to listen to his voice before I go to bed. Sometimes he would take us for a hunt in the woods and open fields, and against what people said about him later in his reign, he knew his way about sword and ax and would prey on boars and wolves up to three fold his size. There was might in his arm and shrewdness in his eyes, for he could spot any wild predators that were miles afar, beyond the common sight.

“Now, because he was the king, we often moved from Fyore to Culgarost and then to Fyore again, yet there was a seldom a time when we would not travel to Nalas for Elsarmas, as it is our wont. The memories of those holidays, I treasure most of all, for it was then when my father was in his best spirit and he would jest and merry make from dusk until dawn. For the most part of his time on the throne, it seemed as he would grow to be a good king, and that given time he would restore the realm’s wealth and pay the crown’s debt, that is until your father, lord Elreck, took up arms against him and declared war.” Upon saying this, a shadow took hold of him again, yet as if lighting a candle to battle off the shade, Edwald spoke again.

-“What about this fane?” he asked, “You said you used to come to these parts, whenever you visited lord Tyén. Would your father travel with you?”

-“Aye,” he replied, “He would come too, and taught me to respect the holiness of this tomb. Like myself, he had great admiration for Elorio I, and so was admiration for that man, that he chose to take on his name in the hopes to do great things for the realm. Alas, in the end, the fates proved him unfit for that task, since when the test became to hard, he deemed it best to take his own life. I always knew was not meant to wear the crown; I saw his struggle as he grew old and every day he would gain more and more enemies—your father not least among that lot. His brother, lord Jaerech, the Old Gold Crow, insisted it was that there was no greater honour than to have one of our on sit the throne. But I dare say, he might have been better off, had he just remained the Lord of Fyore.

“I never despised my uncle, yet I do blame him for compelling my father into thinking that it was his duty to ascend the throne for the sake of extolling the House of Sovarós. Had he not been so keen to sway him to act thus, I might still have a father and one less to mourn.”

-“You shouldn’t saddle yourself with these thoughts,” Edwald said, “For to draw from this pain may lead you down a rueful road. We did not wake you up from elven dreams only for you to sink back into an even wider sea of laments.”

-“I see what you mean,” Sir Antuel said, “Still my heart cannot fully heal when tales of my father’s death find their way to me.”

-“I am afraid you must learn to live with it,” Edwald was sorry to reply, “For the path ahead is still long and however tragic was the manner of his death, people will never forget a King of Men. Take solace in the good memories you had with him and let his poor soul rest. But the hour grows late and the sun has set. For now, let us go inside; we still have some days of travel ahead, so it will be best for us to gather our strengths. If you will, on the morrow we may pray for the dead and pay our respects to both Elorios, the first and third.”

Presently, both Sir Antuel and Edwald got back inside the house and found that the old man had already gone into his rooms to rest. Sir Hans and Asadue were asleep too, and they had taken the banks around the hearth as beds to sleep upon. Yet, unlike his fellow men, he was still awake, keeping the fire hot, and his eyes were fixed on its flames, but his mind was somewhere else.

-“Why haven’t you gone to bed?” Edwald asked.

-“Someone has to keep the watch,” he replied, “Even in this fane, we don’t know if there are wary eyes lurking about.”

-“Did you not hear what the old man said?” Sir Antuel said, “No one comes here nowadays, I am sure we’ll be safe for the night.”

-“Nevertheless, at least one of us should be alert,” Hank said, “We will not be safe until we get you to lord Tyén. There our paths shall part. We only do this because master Edwald here gave his word to your sister. Once we’ve have delivered we must go on with another quest.”

-“What quest?” Sir Antuel asked, “I thought you would stay with me until the end to see my family avenged.”

-“Nay, Sir,” Hank replied, “We have another business to attend, and thereof we should not speak, for it was commissioned by the King himself.”

-“There is no need of secrecy with him,” Edwald disagreed, “We’ve been through much pain with Sir Antuel to not give him our trust; He deserves to know.” Edwald then turned to the young lord and said, “I am sure that by now you have heard the news of that a Black Knight has gone rogue and has gathered an army in the north.”

-“Of course, that is all what the common folk gossip about,” he said, “But what is him to you?”

-“The man in question is my brother, Caredóck the Younger,” Edwald said, “He has forsaken his vouths as a man of the cloth and has fled the Fold of Sheeps and now trains other men like him on how to wield the sword. We know little on what his intent might be, but this much is clear, he does not mean well and has already caused too much havoc. Our goal is to go to him and if there is any sense still left to him, mayhaps he will listen to me and return to the Fold.” With this he meant to say to bring him back home to Ceor, though he spoke so vaguely as to not let Hank know that he did not will to take him back to the Cloister in Culgarost.

-“Your brother, the monk?” Sir Antuel asked perplexed, “The same that tried to kill the king?”

-“Aye, the very same,” Edwald answered, yet at hearing this he knew that what he said was not true, for his brother had told him back in Culgarost his actual target when he went to visit him in the King’s Pound, so his sword ached again from within its sheath and compelled him to say the truth, “Though, that is what has been told about him, nothing can be further from the truth. His blade was not meant for the king, but its aim was rather another man, the one who wished him sentenced to die. His true intent was to kill his advisor, Lord Osguald Guelmo, yet this tale must be spared for another day, for much is still at stake and many things must yet come to pass before we can trouble ourselves with these matters.”

Hank had not heard this before, neither was he willing to accept it; he was having naught of it.

-“What’s this?” he said, “Do you mean to excuse your brother’s deeds by staining the honour of such a noble man, or has your boldness grown so wild that you do not care to spit lies about lord Guelmo?”

-“Do you question my honour, Sir?” daringly, Edwald asked back, “Have you forgotten that I cannot tell lies? Besides, what’s in it for you that you defend such a man?”

-“Nay, I have not forgotten the curse of your brand,” Hank replied, “Yet, Lord Guelmo has been nothing but loyal to my king, and for you to say such vile thing against him fills me with doubts, we could better do without. So cut off the plots and mysteries, enough with you suspicions and former quarrels, that sort of things have led us down troubles many times already. So put all that nonsense aside.”

-“But I wish to know,” Sir Antuel protested, “All these dealings of yours must have root, and if they are reason you we have crossed paths, I want to know that too.”

-“Hank speaks the truth,” Edwald said, “Not all questions can be answered in a single night. On the morrow after we have honoured the dead, we shall be on our way. We can talk some more once we have delivered to your kinsman lord Tyén.”

Upon saying this, Edwald and Sir Antuel went to sleep, yet not Master Hank, he remained awake, keeping the fire alight. In the gloom, naught but the wind could be heard and even among the chilling breeze another sound he discerned like a distant whisper low and deep, which he remembered to have heard before as they made their way to the top of the hill. Nevertheless, he did not let the wintry song beguile his eyes, which he kept wide opened and wary all through the night.

Come the morrow, neither winds blew nor birds tuned their songs, for the air in the fane was still and a haze covered painted the garden and hilltops all about them of white and grey. All seemed dead, yet amidst the silence, there was a sound to be heard that raised Edwald and his fellowship from their slumber. It was a hawking dirge like the croon of an old raven. The song came from no crow outside, but rather from someone inside. Soon, a door was open at one end of the hall, out thence came the old man and he hacked and rasped and croaked as he went.

-“Good morrow, I would like to say,” Edwald said, “Yet it appears you have not slept very well.”

-“Never mind my cough, Sirs” the old man groaned, “‘Tis not odd for one of my age. I have been like for over a fortnight already, but I can cope. Anyhow, it seems, you’ll be leaving now. I have fed you, as I said I would, and I’ll give you some more food for your path ahead. Then you shall be on your way.”

-“Our business here is not quite finished yet,” Edwald implied, “There is something else, we wish to do before we go. We would like to plant a rose before the tomb as it had been the wont of old. Are there any seeds about we can use?”

-“Well, of course!” The old man said, amazed by what he had just heard, “I’d never thought I’d live to see the young keep on the wont of the old. But as the proverb goes, ‘hope is the last thing to be lost’, so I have always kept with me a seed from the last crop, which latest flower to be sewn died so many years ago.” Shortly, he took a pendent from his neck which contained the last seed of the last rose, and with his eyes welling up, he gave it unto the Edwald’s hands. “When you plant this on the ground, remember the histories of the man, and pray that the old will not only live in the past, but that should guide the young from beyond the grave up a more righteous path.”

The old man kept his word and gave the fellowship food from his own stores, which were not as plentiful as they had thought, since folks did not care to visit the fane any more, so had both their offerings and supplies for its warden run short. Then they went up to the topmost terrace of the hill and sowed the last seed at the feet of the old king’s tomb. A silent prayer followed and in the warden’s face it could be seen that he was pleased.

-“May the rose you have sown be the first of a thriving croft.” he was glad to say, but then his speech was cut short, for a heavy cough took hold of him again that seemed like the croak of a hungry crow. His face turned pale, his eyes went red and he quivered until his legs betrayed him. As he fell to his knees, Edwald rushed to shoulder him.

-“Good warden, what is the matter?” he asked in distressed.

-“Nothing, young man,” the warden said, “‘Tis only the price of dotage; I might be learned and seasoned, but I am longer young and hale. You needn’t worry about me, for it is not uncommon for one of my age to get a cough every now and then.”

Regardless of what he said, Edwald told his mentor to come and judge for himself, since he was not only sage in lore and tales, but in medicine as well. He took his hands upon his and then he touched his forehead, and found them to be fire-hot, which was odd for one so old.

-“This is no common cough,” he said, “This is Winter Flu, and in elder men it can be deadly if not given proper care.”

-“Can we help him?” Edwald asked.

-“It is hard to say,” he replied, “He should be abed for a few days, but even then he might not outlast the pain. Still, I know a remedy that might keep him hale, yet to brew an antidote, I will need herbs and at least two days.”

In his journeys, Edwald had been faced with many a daring choice, yet until this moment, he had never thought that helping an elderly man, would come at a greater cost. He knew that the long road before him was still long and the sooner he delivered Sir Antuel to his kinsman in Myrlost, the sooner he would take on his other quest and confront his brother in the north, yet something ached within him that compelled him to stay. This time it was not the sword but rather the pity in his heart, what kept him from leaving that man alone.

-“Very well, we will do what we can. We are staying,” he said to his comrades, and those words felt like a vivid rod on Hank’s bare side, for first he had complained against travelling to the tomb, and now he was being told they should tarry there longer still and delay the task at hand.

-“Stay?” he said, with frowned brow and fasten fists, “I though we had been through this before. We have wasted too much time here already, and we could have been nigh Cadar by this hour. Now is the time to go on.”

-“So you mean to say we shoud leave and forsake this old man to die here?” asked Edwald daringly. “Have you no pity? Have you no honour? This man helped us when he could have not; he gave us food, though his stores are short, he offered us care and roof, and now we should leave him all alone when he needs us the most?”

-“His life is in the Gods’ hands. For all we know; he should have been dead by now.” Hank uncouthly replied, “Besides there are more pressing matters at hand. Why should we delay our quest for the sake of one man? If not today, he’ll surely die within the night.”

-“I took you for a knight,” Edwald said back, “But if you haven’t any chivalry in your heart, what better are you than common lout?”

-“You dare question my honour?” Hank raged out, “You of all people should not lecture me on these matters. You who refused to kneel before your king, you who rebelled along with your wretched father against the one before him? It’s you who have no honour, ever since we left Keor, many times you’ve led us astray. First, when you took us to the dwarves, second when you pledged an oath to lady Aléndra and third when you led us to the elves, and last when you agreed to come to this fane, all without a second thought to delay your real quest. I came to you in the king’s name, and thus far, you have done nothing but neglect the task he trusted onto you, and even that he did with grace, for had he done as others advised him, he would have condemned your brother to death.”

-“I gave the king my word,” Edwald said, trying his best to not fall for Hank’s tease, “And I will deliver. But now is not the time for your complaints. Our quest can wait, yet this man cannot. So you can either crawl back to Culgarost having failed to see your job done or you can stay with us and see this man gained some health again.”

Begrudgingly, Hank gave in to Edwald, nevertheless, by this point, his patience was wearing out and should there be another hindrance to their quest, he could not tell if he’d be able to stand another excuse from him. It is important to say that what he said was true enough; though fates had turned so many times already, he never foresaw that their true endeavour would be postponed to this extent, yet if he were to part from Edwald’s side, there would be nowhere else to go but back to the capital, and the thought of him coming to his king without having fulfilled his task was much worse than staying for a few more days in that shrine.

Having resolved to stay, Edwald and Asadue shouldered the old man back inside the house and laid him to rest upon his bed. But his flu only worsened, he tried to fight off his cough to no avail; he rasped and croaked again and again, until it seemed that he would choke out his lungs.

-“I will need thyme and lawnweed,” Asadue said, “Both are common in these parts. They will only ease the nose and throat; such things are enough to heal a child, but the flu is stronger in so old a man. To treat him, I will need Marigold, an allay weed that only grows in the south. I always carry some of it with me, should the need arise, yet for the antidote, I will have to fuse it with bramble and mushrooms. Fetch some of them from the rose gardens, and ready a cauldron upon the hearth.”

Under Asadue’s lead, the fellowship did all what he bid, and more to help the old man. They kept him warm, they cooked him meals and eased his pain with flowers and weeds. But the cure was far from over, almost half a day passed for Asadue to cut, dry and grind the ingredients and a few hours more to brew them and even then the remedy was still in its earliest stage. Sir Antuel and Edwald most of all were worried for the old man’s health, whereas Hank was restless; in his eyes they were tempting time by playing as healers and the more he tried to speed up the process the more he grew impatient. All the while, the warden only seemed to worsen; past a day he began to claim to see visions of his youth, and in his delirium, he thought himself a figure of his own tales, fancying himself a hero of the elder days.

Come the morrow, Asadue mistook the old man as a corpse, for his skin was white as bone, his lips were blue and his eye sockets were grey like stone. But before he could pronounce him dead, he coughed again, though Hank said it had not been him; he wished his fellow men to mistake him for a croaking crow. Nevertheless, he rasped again and this time, they could discern he had not given off his last breath yet. Master Hank was annoyed that this was the case, and kept himself from offering any more help. Hereon, he left the gods decide the old man’s fate. But Edwald and the others were not so loth to give their best and kept on helping Asadue prepare the antidote for the ailing sage.

Some accounts differ when the mood in the fellowship is examined. Sir Antuel did not mention any particular feud between Hank and Edwald, although he does imply that some among the party were reluctant to aid the old warden when his health failed him. The young Sovarós did understand their doubts, however, for this delay meant that he would have to wait a longer while before he could meet with his kinsman in Myrlost, yet neither was he willing to leave the man who had offered them help to die alone in that forlorn place. Without a doubt, he had a great deal of pity towards the old man, for in his mind, he saw this as way to compensate for his guilt in not being able to help the goodwoman Eridda during their time in Fitz—a mistake he was not eager to make twice.

Regarding Sir Hans’ heart, little to nothing is said, since whatsoever he might have felt on this matter he neither care to share with his comrades nor would he have the time to write it down. Howbeit, thanks to his lengthy memoirs, there is much more to know about Asadue’s thoughts on this instance. Chiefly, he gives us a long account concerning the old man’s symptoms and the sickness itself. But when it comes to own mind, he too is at odds with his own feelings. On the one hand, he and Sir Antuel shared a similar sentiment towards the old warden that respects their time with the goodwoman Eridda. He went as far to say:

“It seems the histories have a cruel way of repeating themselves,” he noted, “It had been over four days since we left the town of Fitz, and in our short time there, I grew to have a better appreciation of a mother’s undying faith. Despite the cruel turn of events, the goodwife Eridda found enough solace in what little hope remained to her to reunite with her family again. With the utmost regret, I dare say she never lived to see that hope fulfilled, yet neither do I belive that she rued giving us her help, for so unyealding was her hope that she did not waver to trust the fates. Surely, before the end, she believed that in rendering us her aid, she would have a role to play in a quest that might usher in brighter days ahead for slaves, though her faith and kindness might have cost her her life.

“However unfortunate her death, had it not been for her, we might never have crossed the Nullen Lake, and sooner than late, a wary eye would have taken us back to Fyore in chains. To this day, it pains me to say that I could find a way to repay her kindness. But, through her courage, I have learnt to treasure even the humblest acts of good faith. Furthermore, it seems the Gods were keen to put my heart to the test, for when the time came for us to travel to Elorio’s Tomb, we received a similar charity from the warden of that fane. By the time we met him he was already a seasoned man with a larger story to tell than his humble looks conveyed. Oddly enough, in all our time with him, he never told us his name, though I suspect that perhaps it might have been Elorio, judging by the fervour in his tales, since he talked of him as if he were the old king himself.

“Regardless of his anonymity, and even though my dearest pupil first appealed to his conscience, he did not shy away from offering us his helping hand and gave us both food and roof whereunder to rest for the night. It wasn’t until after such humble yet generous gesture, that his health failed him and he fell to his knees as one mortally stricken. Despite the fact that we had a direr quest at hand and we were still some days away from our goal, we would not make the same mistake twice and leave this man to die alone, lest the guilt should haunt us that we left both the goodwoman Eridda and him to suffer a fate that could otherwise have been availed.”

However noble his intent, Asadue took great pride in his own knowledge, boasting that whereas most physicians would lack the lore and sagacity to cure the old warden, he had been schooled in the city of Thardys, and in its fabled Library he was taught the many uses of the Marigold Flower. Mayhaps it is to harsh to say, considering the life of a man was at stake, yet it would not be wrong to believe that the Hazagodian wished to prove himself before the eyes of his fellow men by means of taking on the task of improving the old man’s health. Some historians are bold enough to state that Asadue even prayed for a little harm to come their way, so he could put his faculties to the test.

These claims, however, were made many years after these tales came to an end by people who might have had prejudice for Mentor Asadue. In truth none of these assertions are backed either in the Hazagodian’s journals or in any of the memoirs of the parties involved. All accounts safe Sir Antuel’s concur withal, that Master Hank remained at odds with Edwald and his mentor following their decision to help the old warden of the tomb. He saw with spiteful eyes as the antidote was being prepared, and had nothing to say but complaints.

On the noon of the next day, while Asadue brew his cure in the cauldron and Sir Hans and his liege-lord were in charge of tending the ailing priest on his bed, Master Hank was outside, refusing to partake in their efforts. Instead, he would keep the watch hunting with his eyes any strange figures that might lurk about. At least that is what he wished to think, since, as the old man had said before, no one came to that fane anymore.

Edwald, ever willing to keep his fellowship together went to him in the hopes to make amends.

-“It will all be over soon,” he said, “Master Asadue is certain, the antidote will be finished in a few hours and then we shall be on our way. So you needn’t worry for long.”

Hank did not respond, but Edwald pressed on.

-“I know we have not seen eye to eye lately,” he said, “Yet, I gave you my word and I intend to keep it.”

-“Natheless, you act as if your deeds were of no consequence,” Hank finally replied, “Many times we have gone astray and still you show no sign of regret for delaying our real quest. Have you been so deaf on the way that you have not heard the cost of our delay? From Belém to hither parts all what folks talk about is of the Black Knight’s exploits in the north, and while we play at being healers, your brother remains on the loose, winning city after city to his cause and he only seems to grow stronger by the day.”

Edwald, who knew these things very well and had wrestled with the fact of his brother’s hands being tainted with innocent blood, could not help but turn sour.

-“Do not presume that I do not struggle with these thoughts.” He said, “I still have ears and, yes, the gossip of the small folk every time cuts to the bone. None more than I wish for this tragedy to have never occurred, but if the Gods so chose that we should first overcome the hardships that they have placed before us, who am I to invite their wrath by ignoring their signs?”

-“So this is your excuse for shrugging off the King’s command?” Hank protested, “There is nothing divine in meddling in the affairs of this kingdom when another, more pending task is at hand. We shouldn’t have visited the dwarves nor should we have gone to Fyore, for had we kept a straight course, by now the job would have long been done. But, nay, you wished to indulge in matters that do not concern you. It was not your place to stand against lord Carathuel, who at the time was our host and bore no ill will against us. It was not your place to pledge your sword to his wife, lady Aléndra, when only gossip and the witchcraft of the sword were proof enough for you to take on a new goal. And certainly, it was not your place to drag us down this side-quest of yours and keep you from carrying out your true oath. Now, your brother roams free wreaking havoc wherever he goes.”

-“Aye, you are right,” Edwald gave in at last, rage taking the better of him, “There are many things I should have done otherwise. We should have neither gone to Fyore nor taken a stand on the matters of the Sovarós. I shouldn’t gave sworn an oath to lady Aléndra nor should I have kept that word.” Then his sword ached again, forcing him to tell even more regrets, that until that point he had quietly been mustered in his heart, “But there is more I should not have done. I should not have answered the King’s call after the civil war in Keor, for had I stayed home, I would have Carédock still among my own. I should not have knelt to the King, when I could have joined my brother’s efforts in killing lord Guelmo instead, and above all else, I should not have abandoned him in Culgarost. Yet the fates were cruel to put my soul to the test and though many times I lied to keep the honour of my family name and mine own, I doubt any other man would not have done the same in my stead.”

-“It takes a bold man to dare think ill of the crown, but it takes a fool one to speak of it aloud as you have.” Hank said daringly, “I will not stand one, even such high-born as you, to dare utter insolence against the King. But I gave my word to His Grace that I will see this task fulfilled. I will forget that you have just said these things and also that you have delayed our quest to see the old warden healed, if you swear to me now that you will let not let another sidetrack drift you off the right path and honour your word in bringing brother back Carédock to the Fold of Sheep.”

Here it is important to note that in choosing the word Fold, Edwald would have otherwise agreed to this promise, for he put much meaning to the phrasing of that oath, so it would not go against the pledge he had made to his mother in Ceor. Then, he had sworn to her that he would bring his brother safe and sound back home—which in his mind was just another term for ‘the Family Fold’. But much to his misfortune, Master Hank spoke again, this time being more precise.

-“Promise me this, Elbracht,” he said, being bold enough to use his true name, which bothered Edwald furthermore, “Promise that you will stay true to your word and bring Carédock back to Culgarost, so that even now, the king can have some pity for him and let him live out the remain of his days in the sanctity of the cloister.”

Edwald did not wish to give a straight answer, and his heart was at odds with itself, for though his thoughts were entangled by a web of things to say, so as to outsmart his fellow man with words, the sword blazing within its sheath took hold of his mouth and spoke through him.

-“I cannot promise you this,” he said, “For I am bound by another oath which I pledged to my mother long before you came to Keor. I swore that would do anything within my power to bring Carédock back to the fold of our home. It was never my intent to take him to Culgarost, and I am sorry that you have been led to believe this lie. But had I told you the truth before hand, you would not have helped me thus far.”

To Master Hank, these words felt like a dagger stabbed to the heart and like a broken dam that could not withhold the rushing waters of a river, his patience had run out. Edwald expected to see him react beyond wrath, but Hank surprised him with an unsettling calm.

-“At last you have shown your true colours,” he said, “I should have known that you are not worthy of my trust, for not even a magic sword can turn a liar into a man of his word. I will consider our bond dissolved and I will take my leave to Culgarost, since I can only count with you as a foe. The King will know about this treachery of yours and I promise you, when all has passed and the Black Knight is defeated, your brother will suffer most of all.”

And so Sir Frann, whom thenceforth no longer called himself Master Hank, forsook the fellowship and after this ominous farewell, little did Edwald know that his one-time ally would turn on his own. As he left that fane of old, Edwald could hear another whistle in the air, almost as the quiet bark of a fox that forebode a forthcoming peril from afar. Much like the first time, he paid little mind to it, though he would come to regret later on not heeding the signs from the start.

----------------------------------------

Tomb of Elorio I [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/928675464401281116/1127610910752649326/Tomb_of_Elorio_I.jpeg]