Chapter Two

Guards, open the gate!” The King yelled up. The men at the gate nodded and the portcullis rose, while the drawbridge fell on the other side. The King was out first, on a deep chestnut war horse, so named Farstrider for his endurance, an odd quality for a war horse, but he had been well breed and trained with care. He was quickly followed by Horse Master Equenso on a lean ivory horse named Fleetfoot, so named for his speed. Harel followed up, on a horse nearly as old as he, but fit despite its age, of the name Laymet, after the famed historian of the Kings family.

            But speed and endurance weren’t going to do it for this hunt. They needed an idea of where they were headed, so the only thing to do was begin in town. Disguised as another trio of travelers, the two rode quickly down the road from the castle, to the town segment nearby, and proceeded to navigate the busy streets as the spring day drew on. It had been a very long time indeed that the King had been to the Altar.

After much negotiating, they managed to make it out of the Central City and to the town that rings it. There, the horses were able to show their true potential, eating away at the road, out of the town and into the plains that surrounded it. Before long, they crested a hill, and the closest village was seen. Small by the standards of the castle city itself, it was there they saw the spire that marked their heading. The party arrived at the front of the Altar of the Weshru faith, and paused to catch their breath and gaze around.

Though there was a main Temple in the Central City, this was where The High Priestess had left from, having taken the three customary days of fasting and prayer. The King knew no more than that. What he needed to know was where it was she had gone to, or rather, what route she had traveled. There was no one better for that information than the Priest.

            “Welcome travelers! The Holy Mother shelters all, and her Daughter makes peace with you. Please, come inside.” Announced the man outside the altar as the three dismounted.  He was dressed coolly, if lavishly, and was marked by his headgear as the Keeper, the right hand man of the Priest, who presided over the location itself, making sure the Altar was kept in running order, and ready for travelers. He made sure it adhered to the codes of the faith, and was well stocked and kept clean.

            “Thank you Keeper, but we must speak to the Priest, quickly,” Equenso said as they stepped inside, “Urgent business.” The Keeper nodded in understanding, slightly hurt that he could not be directly of service, and wary of what this “business” was, but prepared to do what he could for the faith and its followers. Harel knew the look well, as they were led to the chamber where the Priest was, at the altar itself, he spoke up.

            “How long have you been of the faith, Keeper?” The King, still in disguise, smiled and nodded, imperceptible to anyone else but Harel, appreciating the old man’s company for the hundredth time; the Keeper was more than happy to hold on a conversation, and their voices became distant as the King and Horse Master entered the inner sanctum. There before them was a carving of the Holy Mother, Merlai, and her Daughter, Marli. They hung above the altar, where the Priest stood praying. As they drew closer, the Priest stopped praying, and drew a sign over his head, before turning around.

            “Good day, travelers. The Holy Mother blesses you as you step into her Altar, and her Daughter washes away all fear and pain. What can I do for you?”

            He was an aging gentleman, no older than seventy, in a long ivory, cream, and blue robe, with a deep blue pendant at the center, and a cream and blue covering on his head. He smiled to the two men, and bowed.

            “I see the King before me, and cannot recall the last time he graced the Altar with his presence. Was it two years ago now? My memory fails me on occasion, these days.” The King smiled, keeping the disguises flaws in mind for future enhancements.

            “It was, Sir Priest,” The King replied, throwing back his hood, “but that is not why we have come. Is there somewhere else we can speak?”

            “All words can be said before the Altar,” the Priest replied, “but there is a small confessions room to the side…..”

            “Which would do nicely,” the Horse Master said with a nod. The Priest nodded back, and he led them to the right, to a small room, covered by a heavy curtain. When they were all comfortably seated, the Priest took out his glasses and put them on.

            “Now, what can I do for the two of you this good morning?”

            “We wish to know the path the High Priestess took to reach Ojrelo.”

            The Priest nodded, a wary look coming into his eyes, as the High Priestess was a treasure of the faith…and a personal sore spot. Only a woman could rise to be the Highest among them, and the Priest, known to those in town as Priest Janeson, had worked hard to be here, in Jetril, the root and heart of the faith. Yet he could never reach the pinnacle, never take the final step. Still, he looked after the High Priestess, old enough to be his granddaughter, with much affection. The King, as it were, had been almost like an Uncle to her. She had been up to the Castle many times before, to meet guests and such, and had been well received. It had been the Queen, Gods keep her soul, which had taken to her the most; after she departed from this world, the relationship between the King and the High Priestess had become strong, if strained.

            She had reminded him, at first, very much of his wife. So, for a solid length of time, the two had not met face-to-face. What he needed most was the presence of a woman, and that was what he denied. The High Priestess had soon come to him, asking what she had done to fall out of his favor. Since then, he had made trips to see her regularly. This was worried the Priest so much. The King had a pained look about him, and it warned him that something was wrong.

            “Has there been any news?” The town had been abuzz with the news of a messenger, early this morning, but there had not been much speculation as to why.

            “You are aware that a message reached the King this morning?” Equenso asked of the Priest.

            “Yes…..”

            “There was a second one, a messenger from Ojrelo, informing us that the High Priestess….”

            “Had not yet reached Ojrelo,” The King finished, having heard the Horse Master waver in his speech. “We need to know what could be holding her up.” The Priest dabbed at the sweat beading on his forehead and nodded, before standing.

            “I will be right back, please, stay here.” Janeson left the room, and Equenso looked to his King as the curtain closed.

            “Where do you think he has gone?” The King smiled grimly.

            “I’d rather not say, but if we are in luck, to get a map.”  As it so happened, Janeson entered, holding a scroll. He laid it out on the table and sat down.

            “This map is from the library, buried beneath the Altar,” he then pointed to a section in an archaic language. “This is what, now, Jetril is; this is an ancient map, the only one consulted for this kind of pilgrimage. The only way for her to travel is along this road here, what is now called the River Road, and passes through Garsen, then over these mountains here, the Palstrom range, and down into the valley. From here, she would have to buy passage aboard a vessel to get into Ojrelo’s borders. Then over the hills and plains of the western side of Ojrelo, out of the ports she had arrived, before reaching the city itself.”

            “That’s a long way to travel.” Equenso replied with a whistle.

            “Well, Sir, they don’t call it a pilgrimage for nothing.” Janeson said, trying to lighten the mood. It failed.

            “Where along here could something go wrong?” The King asked, and Janeson’s face fell. He analyzed the map, the reason for their visit now becoming apparent.

            “There are reports of Dire Wolves in the ranges, and bandits along the river road. And as hard as Ojrelo tries, there are still pirates that lay waste to the Gulf….” Janeson sighed. “In truth, I do not know where to start you.” He looked between the two, who had risen from the map to look at him. “I am the head priest here. It was rather obvious once you started asking the right questions…” He took his glasses off to rub his eyes. “I pray she is safe, and simply resting, or helping those in need.”

            “Amen,” Equenso replied.

            “We appreciate the amount you have been able to tell us.” The King said, trying to smile through the pain and worry. “But We must ask one more thing.”

            “Certainly,” Janeson said, “Anything I can do to aid you.”

            “Is there a second map we may be able to have?” Janeson thought for a moment.

            “I am afraid not….however, there is a more recent copy in another town, one of the smaller temples found a eager young boy with a gift for cartography. I can send a request for it to be sent here.” Janeson trailed off a little at the end.

            “How long will it take?” Equenso asked.

            “At least a fortnight,” Janeson said with a sigh, “which may be too long.” The King nodded and put a hand on Equenso’s shoulder, for the man was glaring at the ceiling in frustration. The fires of the hunt and the passion had subsided within the King when he had entered the Altar and began to think about what was going on, as a King should. Equenso, however, had been less prone to thought. He was good with horses: people, not so much.

            “It is not as if we could have gone out now,” he said as the other man looked down again. “We have called the council to deal with our…other issue, and a search party will need to be made up.” He bowed to Janeson, who returned the gesture, and smiled.

            “May the Holy Mother watch over you and her Daughter aid you in these dark matters,” Janeson intoned. “Amen,” the three said together.

            “Thank you,” the King said. He and Equenso turned to leave, but Janeson had one last comment.

            “I know not of your…other issues, but remember that we are here, and ready to aid you, should you need it.” The King smiled.

            “Again, we thank you.” Janeson bowed again, and the two men walked out of the side room, to see Karslin and the Keeper still in animated discussion, no doubt reminiscing.

            “Come Karslin, our work here is done,” the King called to him after a time, knowing how the older man loved to talk with a ready companion. They continued on outside and got the horses ready. Already saddled up when Karslin came out, the King laughed.

            “Did you enjoy yourself?” Karlin replied in kind, climbing onto the old horse that had been his charge for the journey.

            “Far more than you did, I’m sure,” he replied, “I most definitely will be back here soon.” The King smiled at him, and they set off for the castle. “Did you find anything useful?” Karslin asked as they reached a stretch of road free of traffic.

            “We did,” the King replied, “but it may take too much time. We will need your help to devise a backup plan.” Karslin nodded.

            “Always at the service of the crown,” Karslin said, with a mock flourish from the saddle. The King laughed, and they rode on. It was well past midday by that point, and most people were working, so the roads were clear…for the most part. The main road, as always, was crowded, but not clogged, so they made it back long before the sun began its descent. Equenso called up to the gate, and they were soon let in. Guided to the stables by him, they dismounted and took of their disguises.

            “I will have them taken care of, and then come to you if you wish.” The King smiled.

            “Attentive as usual. Yes, it would please us if you attended to us after the animals have been well feed.”

            “It will be done, my liege,” Equenso said, taking the reins, and leading them away. For their part, the horses looked happy to be getting food.

            “Come,” the King said to Harel, “it’s about time we ate. And We wish you to join us.” Harel smiled, and nodded.

            “As Your Highness wishes,” and the King sighed as they entered the castle.

            “Again with the formalities?” He asked, making good pace to the hall.

            As always,” Harel replied smiling,” one never knows who is watching, or who is listening.” And it was at that very moment that Scribe master Pohlt happened upon them.

            “You give me such a large amount of messages, and then steal away the man responsible for the fastest mode of transporting them…” he grumbled, well humored, and sighed, “well, now that he is back, the rest can be dispersed.” The King’s rich laughter filled the hall.

            “Done already? We knew our faith in you was not mislaid. You will find him in his rightful domain.”

            “Ecxellent,” Pohlt intoned, “I will gather them and the messengers.”

            “We hope they find safe passage to their destinations, and are read with haste.”

            “I have little doubt that they will.” Pohlt called to them as he hurried down the hall. The King and Karslin continued on, into the main hall, the throne at the far end of it. The King nodded to the guards on the way, and they saluted him, with a fist across their chests, and bowed head. Soon, they had reached the small hall that adjoined the main, and then to a room where private discussions and meals could be held. The King had a made a small revision to the room, allowing it to open onto, if one opened a few doors, the courtyard.

            It was a well kept section of patio, overlooking the courtyard like a balcony. There was a round table set there, big enough to house seven chairs, yet still intimate. There was much shade, and a pleasant breeze. Servants stood at its entrance, and as the King approached, they perked up.

            “We shall dine here,” The King said, and the servants around him jumped to send call for the chef to bring food. It was a custom to keep meals on hand at all hours of the day, for all nobles in residence, and any visitors, were to be treated. It was a matter of moments after they sat down that drinks were brought to them.

            “So,” The King asked as they sat and watched the clouds. “Have you put any thought into our task for you?” Karslin nodded.

            “I have not as of yet, as nothing has struck me as something that would work.”

            “We are confident that you will,” the King replied, and soon the food was brought out, and the conversation turned to simpler matters.

 

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            The gates of Fyrle stood before the man, two Guardians of the Peace watching from their posts.  The man stood off to the side of the road, watching the bustle of the day’s rabble coming and going from the river city. A major trading nation, Fyrle had the best of both worlds: a capital on the river, and several towns to gather supplies and bring it there. Said supplies were shipped down to Jetril, the Gulf, and to the east. From Jetril, a path was taken to supply the lower westend of the continent.

            The Gulf was hazardous these days, pirates stopping most ships and searching them, looking for anything they happened to need, or could sell. The recent increase in pirate activity had caused a small dilemma where the man was concerned, when one wanted to enter the city unnoticed: the watch had been noticeably stepped up, and security was the name of the game. It helped when one wanted to leave on a ship, though. Ship masters were losing business, so any offer to help fill their pockets was a chance they’d jump at. Or so he figured.

            The day was wearing on, sadly, and he was nowhere near an idea as to how, exactly to get in the city, until, that is, he spied a carriage on its way towards him. It bore, what he believed to be, a royal seal. A slow smile grew on his face, and a plan began to formulate. He walked back onto the road, and as they carriage neared, he swirled his cloak, kicking up a small dust storm. The driver didn’t notice much, and barely paused, before he continued on, driving the horses past the settling dust. To the keen observer, however, the man had disappeared; to a practiced eye, he had bent down and climbed under the carriage. The oldest trick in the book, yes, but it was in the book for a reason.

            Moments later, the carriage cleared the gates, and made a sweeping turn. Down a dark side alley, the man tumbled from underneath the carriage, and as he stood to brush himself of, he smiled. It had been successful after all, and now he was in. Luck had been on his side that the curved sword at his hip had not rattled too much on the stones as to attract attention. There was an old man coming out of his home at the far end of the alley, but the man was certain he had not been seen. Repositioning his bag and cowl, he strode out of the alley, head down, moving towards the dockyard.

            No one stopped him. It was growing late, and most people were inside, or closing shop. Women and men alike were on their way home from the markets, either having bought or sold their products. The smells of cooking food came above the salt air, as a few of the taverns began the evening meals, and some of the smaller family stores stopped for dinner. The man continued on, taking no notice of them, nor them of him, but he did see the armed Guardians patrolling the streets. Luckily, they passed him by, more often than not, and when they did notice him, they nodded, and he nodded, and did not speak.

            Soon he arrived at the harbor, where the sight of many more Guardians, their armor shining in the redish light, and many guards of the royals. They had taken special interest in the running of the ships, as many of the ship masters were aligned with the families over many generations of trading. It made for interesting politics in the harbor towns, or so he heard. All he needed to do was find a simple enough ship, a trading ship, not aligned with any particular family, that didn’t mind a source of income that wasn’t exactly…legitimate.

            “You there,” a guard said, “keep away from the lines.” The man nodded, quelling his rapid heartbeat and stepping away from the lines that trailed to a ship, and shook his head, to remind himself to keep an eye on his surroundings. Reverie and mind walking had been his downfall many a time before. As he strolled along, he happened to spy a modest, if slightly battered, ship. A wiry man, of at least forty years, stood watching, with a rather sour expression, as the crates were being loaded. If he had to guess, this stick of a man was used to larger shipments. This, the man thought to himself, was surely the man he sought. Catching a glimpse of the ships painted name, he strode up. The lean man saw him out of the corner of his eye, looked him over, and his expression turned neutral.

            “And what can I do for you.”

            “I would like to know where you are bound.” The man shifted his weight.

            “And who are you to ask such questions?”

            “A concerned citizen is all.” The man looked him over again, taking in his ragged appearance, and clothes of another city, but decided not to question.

            “South to…” but the man had heard enough.

            “I wish to buy passage upon your vessel.” The lean man raised an eyebrow.

            “The Tradeswind doesn’t take passengers.”

            “I am sure I could make it beneficial to you,” the man replied, and took out a slightly bulging purse. It was his secondary purse; as it were…he had several, as not to have all his money in one place. The lean man looked him over, then glanced in both directions, before taking the purse. No one was the wiser.

            “Welcome aboard. I can give you a hammock in one of the smaller cargo holds.” The lean man said, “Some food will be provided. It is a long voyage. At least a week, supposing we run into no trouble, be it natural, or not.” The man nodded and they shook hands.

            “Much appreciated” he said, and walked onto the gangplank. Not much later, he was well situated in the hammock, his bag close at hand. He closed his eyes, and let the creaking and rocking of the moored boat lull his senses.