Chapter 24
Alban and Onyx couldn't quite understand why Demyan was so eager to continue
adventuring, and were befuddled by his temporary moments of daydreaming, not to
mention the wide grin on his face.
They had traveled north to the borders of Frostreach, and the weather was
already starting to cool, yet the young man seemed even more energetic than
when he aided the dwarf at the forge to create the elaborate headpiece.
They were less than a sunset away from Chillpath, the winding mountain road
that served both as a border into Frostreach and as the last traveler's rest
before reaching the frozen lands, and the young man was already up and about,
while the others were still trying to wake up.
"Come on, you two, wake up!" Demyan almost shouted, as he waited for
a kettle of herbal tea, made from Alban's teachings on wild roots, leaves and
berries, to settle. He had already heated up pieces of bread and iron rations,
of which he had taken his share.
Alban rose out of his tent and stretched. "Ugh… don't you ever get
tired?" he asked, scratching the fuzz on his face. "It's been almost
a week since you came to us, and for the past four days, you've been more
energetic than Berevor Blazefoot…"
Berevor was known as the first trail-blazer to map the lands of Medierth, and
had been known to be exceptionally quick on his feet. Some believed that the
Planar of the Winds, Ornad, had enchanted his boots with such a powerful
manaweave that the ranger never tired, no matter how far he walked or how high
he climbed. Berevor was successful in his ordeal, but died months after his
travels ended, as his legs could no longer hold him up, age being the one thing
Ornad had not protected the human from. It was his efforts that led to the
diplomatic negociations between the denizens of Frostreach and the elves of the
Emerald Sea, as well as the identification of
the nearly hundreds of tribes living in and around the Shimmering Sands.
Demyan had removed his mask to make it easier to travel incognito, but his wide
smile hadn't left him since that night where he had given Karyana the tiara.
Every night since then, the two have been spending their dreams in each others
arms, reminiscing of their times as children while basking in the eternal
daybreak of their own dreamplane, watching Chime and Bell frolic in the field
that had changed as their nights went on. Calm fields and mild winds changed
like the seasons, adding new colors and experiences as both painted their own
experiences in the lushness of the dreamscape, like two artists creating
through mutual inspiration.
The single apple tree was now a brimming orchard, with different trees bearing
fruit than one or the other had not tasted before. Wild flowers and foliage had
grown, shaping new fields and creating new scents. Every night led to new
dreams, new experiences, and an ever-deeper understanding of one another.
Onyx had woken up and walked over to the now-steaming kettle before pulling it
off the fire. "Daydreaming again, boy? Seems like Prolectae has been
visiting your nights…" the dwarf added with a deep chuckle as he poured
himself a tin cup full of scalding hot tea.
Demyan shook his head lightly. "I'm sorry. You were saying?" he
asked, before picking up his own cup, which the dwarven smith had filled. The
smell of wild-berries, mint leaves and wild roots kept reminding him of his
wonder-filled nights.
"Oh, nothing." The dwarf concluded before pulling the heavy iron pan
off the fire. "Looks like you're learning to be quite the talented
wanderer."
Even Alban had noticed how quickly the young man was learning the trades of the
traveler. What had taken the ranger weeks to learn, the young man had learned
in days. Though his knowledge of what mushrooms were edible, what roots could
be used and how to hunt were still hardly enough to be up the Academia's
standards as a full-fledged ranger, Demyan was picking up tricks and hints at
surprising speed.
"Oh… um, thank you." the young Magelord answered. "I guess I'm
learning from the best…"
Alban let out a sigh. "Don't flatter us so much, boy." he answered.
"Onyx and I have been traveling together for more than a year now. From
Zerethil Keep to the Bejeweled
City, we-"
Demyan cocked an eyebrow. "The what?"
"The Jewel beyond Weepfall… you haven't heard of it?" the ranger
asked before pulling out his great-sword to examine it for any signs of rust or
dullness.
The young man tried to look as pensive as he could while the two explained to
him where and what the City was. Truth is, he already knew. The Viceroy's
uncle, once removed, was the former ruler of the city, and as a boy, he had
often seen the richly-ornate carriages arrive from Citadel's port, welcomed by
dozens of aristocrats and servants. However, the only personal experience he
had before of ever seeing one of the Bejemi �" the race of humans living inside
or in the vicinity of the City �" was when the youngest daughter of the ruler,
still as a child, was sent to Citadel for sanctuary before the War of the
Diamond Throne began.
It was during that war that Alban and Onyx, along with their comrades,
participated in a last-ditch effort to break the blockade and free the City,
but it was said that, during that time, the Bejem were looking high and low for
the said daughter, who was the last to take the throne. Lady Xera was the child
in question. Although she was perhaps a year younger than Demyan was, the
rebellious young woman that he last saw, with her light brown hair cut just
inches from her shoulders, with oak-bark brown eyes, was not the kind of person
to privilege the life of a noble. In fact, she had often spent her time in
Citadel among the lower caste, aiding those in need while hiding from her
suitors and handmaids.
Still, if Lady Xera was younger than he was, and had been placed on the throne
to show that the bloodline had not been severed, Demyan wondered if he should
not do the same, to show the people of Citadel, if not all of Medierth, that
the late Magelord had passed on his responsibilities �" and powers �" to him.
"So, that's what the City is." Onyx concluded, though the young man
had not listened to a word, his thoughts spiraling in every direction.
"I see. It sounds like quite the place to visit." Demyan added before
taking a sip of his tea. "Now, once we reach Frostreach, where should we
go?"
Alban pulled out a makeshift map from his travel pack and examined it.
"Well, once we get past Chillpath, we'll have to take a cart north. It
should take a tenday or so before reaching the location of Korgan's temple. I
don't know where that cranky friar is, but I'm not too thrilled of going on
that blasted pilgrimage."
Onyx let out a sigh. "I'm not too fond of the location, but I'm sure the
priesthood of Raemu will want all the help they can get. Building a temple in
such a location is not exactly an easy task."
Demyan rubbed his chin. "Well, there must be some reason… where exactly is
it?"
Alban pointed to a city marker on the map. "It's east of Bolestra. Biggest
trade city in that part of Frostreach. I heard that some members of the
Academia and scholars of the Order are working on protecting the population
from the Dun-elves in the area. That Shrine… wouldn't be surprised if they made
it into a fortress."
The young man examined the map. Even though the trade-city of Bolestra was
almost a month of road away from Citadel, the diplomatic factor, along with the
possible alliance of the northern tribes would be beneficial to everyone.
"Don't forget that Baratus' old man's the one who runs the tribe's
council." Onyx commented. "Bet he's as proud as a peacock to see his
son help turn the tides in that blasted war…"
That remark startled Demyan. "R-really? I didn't know you had such… famous
comrades."
Onyx winced. "You weren't listening to what we were saying, were
you…" he gruffly added.
Demyan got up then grabbed his mask from his travel bag. "Hmm… I think I
might have to part company with you two."
Alban cocked an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
"No, it's not that. I just feel like… there's somewhere else I should
go." the young man answered, looking to the north-west.
Onyx frowned. "And where in Medierth is that supposed to be?" the
burly dwarf added.
The young man turned to look at the two. "Citadel."
----
Allision looked back at Karyana with a bit of concern. "Are you serious
about this?" she asked, even as the young woman packed her travel bags.
"It's not like Ravenhold is a day's walk from here."
Karyana picked up a canteen of water and attached it to her travel bag.
"If my parents are still alive, then they probably still live there."
she answered.
"Do you even understand the possible outcomes?" the young priestess
added. "What if they left? Or what if they…"
The black-haired young woman shook her head. "I don't want to think of
that idea." was all she said, though the feeling of dread at the
possibility of never seeing her parents again was lingering in her mind.
"Shouldn't you take Bell
and Chime with you, then? I think it would be better if you at least had some
company…" the red-haired young lass responded before handing Karyana an
extra pouch, which she quickly added to her belt.
Karyana let out a sigh, but it was hard to tell if it was of frustration or relief.
"Have you even seen the two for the past three days?"
Allision thought for a moment. Her friend had a point: both fuzzy little
creatures had up and vanished. The children had even looked around Warmcreek to
find the two tiny, winged beasts, but to no avail. "I don't really
understand why they would leave you, though."
Karyana knew quite well why, and it was apparent by the finely crafted sword
than rested on the side of her bed. On the night when the two little rascals
'vanished', Demyan and her had met anew in their dreamscape, but this time, it
was not a matter of two lovers meeting; it was more like two friends parting
ways.
Demyan had discarded his traveler's clothes for a more refined set of garbs
that made him look like an up-and-coming aristocrat. Dusting browns and faded
whites had become lavender blues and darker tones of purple �" color tones that
were meant for nobles. The rough and messy haircut had been washed and properly
cut, and the mild stubble had been shaved clean. Still, the one thing that
Karyana recognized was the young man's mask, and a moment of sadness in his
eyes.
The dreamscape had also changed. Instead of the lush and colorful fields, the
Plane now rested inside what seemed like a throne room. However, as lit and
elegant the halls were, it was empty of people, except for Demyan, Karyana, Bell and Chime.
The tone was almost more solemn. Demyan had much to do, even after returning to
Citadel, as he needed to not only make the Viceroy understand his ideas, but to
make the people know that the Magelord was back. Karyana herself was also less
inclined to talk.
The last thing before they bid themselves a fond farewell, in the hopes of
meeting when their own goals �" Karyana's search for her parents and Demyan's
moment to ascend to his role as Citadel's ruler -, the two exchanged parting
gifts. While Bell
and Chime mewed with melancholy as the young woman gaved both of them a goodbye
hug, Demyan unclasped Eclipse's scabbard and handed the sheathed sword to her.
"Hey, I'm asking you a question!" Allision retorted, snapping the
black-haired young woman back to reality.
"Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind." Karyana politely answered.
"Well, don't fret so much. We all have important things to do, whether for
ourselves or for others. On my end, I received a message from the Order of
Raemu." the red-haired priestess said, pulling out a scroll from inside
her sleeve. "It looks like they need a cleric of every order to travel to
Bolestra. Apparently, they are building an immense temple there, and it seems
that I've been summoned to go there."
The blue-eyed mageling cocked an eyebrow. "Bolestra?"
"Not sure where it is, but I hear that they organized a caravan from
Ravenhold to Bolestra." Allision answered after taking a moment to examine
the scroll's contents. "I'm sure we can travel together… that is, if you
don't mind me coming along."
Karyana strapped her sword to her side. "Are you sure you can do this? I
don't remember priestesses being taught how to fight."
Allision frowned. "Very funny. Just because I'm not the same person,
doesn't mean I can't fight. Besides, I've been practicing my own magic…"
The black-haired woman closed her eyes, letting out a sigh. Sure, the priestess
had tried to learn how to manaweave on her own, but the results had been far
from stable. In fact, she wondered if her friend's weaving abilities were not
influenced by her previous dark elf past, as the spells were disorderly and
conjured unexpected results.
She remembered something that happened a few days ago, on the day before Bell and Chime
'vanished'. Allision had tried to create a small ball of fire, just enough to
light the bread stove. The first attempt barely made a spark, while the second
attempt ended up burning the loaf one of the villagers had placed in it, as the
flames had burst out of the stove's entry point. Had the blast been any
stronger, the village would have ended up without a working stove until a new
one was built.
"Well, you did say it before… as long as I don't hurt you, you won't hurt
me, right?" Karyana concluded.
"Right. Now, I already asked a merchant to take us along."
the priestess added. "He's going back to Ravenhold, so I asked him if he
had space for a few travelers."
Before Karyana could ask who it was, a loud knock came at the shrine's door.
"Oy, lassie! Ya be ready soon? Dun wan ta leave yous be'ind!"
While Allision walked over to the door, Karyana let out a sigh. She recognized
that broken speech, and could see, from the now-opened doorway, the burly
merchant who seemed to have lost a few stones worth of flesh around his waist,
making him look less like a walking half-man, half-slime and more like an obese
man.
"Tarolon…" the black-haired woman uttered, the man's name found somewhere in her unsteady memories.
Looking away from Allision's generous bosom, the merchant bent his fat neck to
the side and took a glance at Karyana. "Why, I be… Aven't seen ya'n… two
weeks? Two tendays, maybe? 'ow'd you get up ,ere?"
Allision turned towards her friend. "You know him?"
"Surely she know me." Tarolon answered before Karyana could.
"Still got that dress to barter… hope you got some coin, or at least a
little extra ta pay wit!"
---
Eredric let out a tired sigh as he examined the meager crops of his fields.
"Ravenhold isn't the place to farm…" he said to himself, resting his
weary hands on the handle of his tilling fork.
He had thought that for years, and now, it was his turn to wonder if leaving
Warmcreek was a good idea. The man, now in his late forties, was trying as best
as he could to scrape food from the seeds he and Aylin had sown, as her store
had been sold a few years ago to compensate for the poor marker of brews and
ointments.
The woman, who had long given up on the idea of bearing a child, had lost
herself in her work until she couldn't keep her shaking hands from spilling
vial contents or making measurement mistakes. In the end, as her shop was no
longer profitable, she decided to mend her motherly soul by teaching the local
children.
Though Eredric's brother had died, leaving them with his estate, there was hardly
anything left for them to cling to in the military city. "I wonder if
anyone still remembers us in Warmcreek…" he wondered, too lost in thoughts
to notice the roll of carriage wheels closing in on the property.
Aylin rested on her cedar rocking-chair, looking down at the basket of tangled
wool strings and knitting needles. Her golden hair was now tainted with grey
and age showed on her tired face. Looking at the caravan, she slowly lifted
herself up.
"Evenin' ma'am!" Tarolon answered, looking as if his travels had
emptied his stomach, as his traits, while still burly, seemed less filled with
blubber.
"Good day, Tarolon." Ailyn replied. "I'm afraid we don't have
anything to sell this month."
The merchant shook his head before removing his cap, exposing the bare patch on
top of his head. "Twasn't lookin' to trade, my dear." he commented,
his fat mustache covering his smile. "Ya know me title, right? 'Peddler
o'smiles'?"
Eredric walked back from the field as Aylin let out a sigh. "If you're
here just to make me lose my time, I assure you that-"
Tarolon shook his head so much, his neck fat swung. "Nadda chance. You and
your hubby'll want what I'm caterin'! Found'ya some nice lil' 'ands, fresh from
the 'Creek!"
Eredric never knew if the merchant was talking about 'ands' as hands �" his way
of speaking about farming hands to help him with the crops - or errands.
"You went all the way to Warmcreek just to find more workers? We barely
can manage with the bad weather, and those crops don't-"
"I ain't talkin' bout workin' 'ands." the obese merchant answered.
"I been caterin' two charmin' lasses, one who wan'ed ta see ya two. Don'
suppose ya can take'em in for a night?"
Eredric let out a sigh. "I suppose so, but you owe us for this!"
Tarolon took out a hefty pouch and threw it, which the aging farmer caught.
"Fo' ya troubles." He commented, then turned to look behind him.
"Ah'right, lassies. Weh'come 'ome!"
Ailyn cocked an eyebrow as she noticed a young , fiery-haired, half-elf
priestess, wearing the garbs of Prolectae, step out from the back of the
caravan, followed by another young woman who stayed in the shadows, partially
out of sight.
"Hello, young lady." Eredric
politely spoke, tipping his work hat. "I'm afraid we don't have much to
offer, but-"
Allision shook her head. "Actually, I'm here to bring you a present, on
behalf of my Order." she replied. "There is… someone I want you to
meet."
The young priestess motioned to her companion to come closer. It took a moment
for the seemingly shy young woman to approach the old couple. However, as soon
as she was in view, both the farmer and his wife gasped, eyes wide.
Ailyn rose her right hand to her mouth, barely covering it. "H-how… a-are
you…" she stammered, unsure if what her eyes were lying to her.
Eredric had trouble looking away, as the young woman, dressed an emerald robe
that clung to her body, looked hauntingly familiar. The meek stance she had,
even with the sword attached to her side, as well as the cascading locks of
ink-black hair… and those eyes, as glistening as blue glass, even as they
welled with tears.
"M…mommy? Daddy?" Karyana spoke, her hands slowly reaching out.
"It's me…"
The couple, teary-eyed, took a step closer, but it was Ailyn who took the
initiative, brushing a thin finger against the girl's cheek.
"K-Kary…" she managed to utter, before the girl slowly nodded.
Eredric's weariness faded from his face as his eyes shimmered with renewed
life. "M-my… oh, Planars be blessed!" he finally let out, embracing
both his wife and his daughter in a heartfelt embrace.
Allision looked at the reunited family and wiped a tear from her eye. Tarolon
looked back from the family to the priestess. "Guess I fin'ly earned me
name… 'Peddler o'smiles!'", he said, before pulling his cap over his face
like a handkerchief, blowing his nose is in before wiping his eyes with his
sleeve.
The young priestess took a quick glance around. "Prolectae looks over
families and guides the lost back home… but it looks like this home still needs
mending." she murmured before walking over to the three.
Karyana turned her head towards Allision, then back to the two. "Oh, um,
Mother, Father… I want you to meet Allision… she's the one who helped me find
you."
The young woman's parents broke from the embrace and looked at the young
priestess with relief. "Bless the All-Mother. You have no idea how much
this means to us…" Ailyn commented.
Eredric made a wrinkled smile. "I wish there was some way we could thank
you…"
The half-elf woman made a warm smile. "It's been years since you were
apart. I was on my way to Bolestra, but… I think I will stay and help, for a
while. I'm sure my Order will understand…"
----
The Viceroy waved his hand over the looking-glass, making the reflection fade
just as Karyana and her parents, followed by Allision and Tarolon, walked back
into their modest home in Ravenhold.
"A child raised by mortals, blessed by the Planars, supposedly shattered
in mind and soul, then rewoven as a whole…" he uttered, his voice having a
mysterious echo in it.
A dark form, shrouded in a cloak smeared with blood, stepped out of the
shadows, a crooked hand holding the noble like a puppet attached to unseen
strings. Both its voice and the aged aristocrat echoed in the almost empty
room.
"Her blood will be the finest of wines." the crimson shade spoke.
"I will force her hand. Then, I will break her, and watch her dance like a
hapless marionette…"
Looking at the barely responding body of the Viceroy, the grim puppeteer yanked
hard on the strings, causing neck and limbs to snap away from the body, blood
spraying the looking glass.
"Her suffering… will be the end of all Planars." the shrouded form
concluded, fading into the shadows, leaving the gruesome sight of the
dismembered Viceroy for all to discover.
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