CHAPTER ONE
The wheels of the cart turned, and whipped up mud on the dirty country lane. It was a blatantly hot day, the humidity and the heat hung together like a blanket in the air. A single man sat on top of the cart, with a single old horse who looked about as tired and old as it's owner. Jodnab was an old man by anyone's standards, eighty three with a clean-shaved face that has cracked and wrinkled in the trials of the elements, with a shock of grizzled white hair sticking out from under his straw hat. He sat there, tiredly looking into space, not really thinking of anything yet at the same time absorbed with that lack of thought. It was too hot to think. He was going in to town, to take some of his grain to the mill, and the barley, of course, to the brewery. Everybody at that age retired and had their kids take care of them, but Jodnab's wife had passed away long ago, and he never really recovered from that. He had no children to take care of him, so he was on his own.
Suddenly a big brown haze attracted his attention to the side of the road. Jodnab had never seen anything of such a pure hazel-brown color, and it seemed to shine in that pale way that the eyes of a dog in the dark. His cart pushed closer to the unknown brown object, and soon enough, he saw it move. It was then that he came to realize, this was a horse, and the most magnificent horse he'd ever seen. It was completely colored in that hazel-brown color like it's just been dipped in a bucket of paint. Jodnab stopped his cart, and got off. "Who would leave such a dazzling horse to it's own in the wilderness," he thought. The horse sensed his approach, and turned away from the small patch of grass it was feeding on to face him. A small white oval patch appeared on it's forhead, which seemed to resemble a third eye in the shade of the trees.
Upon reaching the horse, he realized it still had it's reigns, but no saddle. The reigns were apparently cut in half, both ends dangling uselessly and dragging on the ground with every movement the horse made. The owner was nowhere in sight, but while looking around for one, Jodnab found yet another colored patch, this one an electric blue lying on the ground on the other side of the road, in a ditch with the pointy branches of shrubs poking it. There was no mistaking the color - it was a cloak of a Vaelic Guard. The peace keepers, the military, and the heroes, all rolled into one. He had known that color from the time he was a little boy, looking up to the warriors passing through the village; on their horses, with their long, blue cloaks flailing in the wind. Before he knew it, he was looking down on the cloak lying in front of him. He suddenly realized, that partially hidden by the bushes was a man, still attached to the cloak, obviously critically injured. He bled from his shoulder through the large slash in his chainmail, although it was covered in a makeshift bandage; his face showed many bruises and cuts. His chest still pulsated with the sign of life, and although his breathing was erratic, it was also there. He was unconcious, mumbling to himself, words a lowly farmer could never make out.
Jodnab knew his duty as a citizen of Andien. He remembered the long paper he was read on becoming of age, stating the responsibilities and the rights of the adult. "Any citizen must always help a Vaelic Guard in need," that's what one of the rules was that he swore to obey, yet now, the first time he had ever seen an opportunity to put it into practice he was struggling to reach a decision. He COULD help this man, but should he die while in his cart, nobody would look the same way at him again. On the other hand was his oath to the state. He didn't have long to think, and if Jodnab could be described in one word, it would be quick. He had made up his mind to pick up the stranger, and bring him to town at the fastest pace possible. "It's my duty to protect the protectors when they're in their most vulnurable," he thought bravely.
He lifted the man onto his shoulders, but struggled all the way. He was known as the strongest farmer in the district, but the large muscular body of the man seemed so heavy and solid that lifting would take all his strength. Finally, he managed to place them an on his cart, next to the many bushels of wheat. The horse which he just remembered before he was about to leave was obviously belonging to the wounded stranger, so he decided to take it along, tying what was left of the reigns to the back of his cart, and pushing fourth. He didn't go five feet on his cart before he couldn't help looking back at his cargo. There were many interesting things to be seen there, on the chest of the man. His cloak was tied to the front of his breastplate, on a large circular pin, with the row of seven notches in it, five of which were filled with expensive jeweled stones. His father had tought him to tell the rank of a Vaelic Guard by the amount of stones, and this one was a Commander. Around his neck was a peculiar amulet - a prism-shaped clear emerald, with a gold cap on top, and a ring of gold which held the stone on the fine gold chain.
As he sat there, mesmerized, he didn't even notice the first signs of civilization around him. Two farmer boys were playing in a small meadow behind a large, smokey workshop, the one of Holwan the town blacksmith. The children didn't seem to notice him, after all, he was just another farmer's cart driving into the town. Little did they know of what was inside. Soon, Jodnab pulled up in front of a large, sprawling house with a sign swaying the what little wind there was just above the door, announcing an inn. He dismounted from his cart, and ran into the inn. The innkeeper sat there behind a table, standing up on the farmer's rushed entry.
"Looking for a room, are you, Jodnab?" He asked in a calm, surprised voice. Jodnab had never had a room at his inn.
"Come look at what I've found on the side of the road!" Jodnab blurted out quickly, and rushed out again before the other could mutter a reply. The fat figure of the innkeeper soon appeared out the door, his blubber dancing about as he walked. Immediately on seeing the limp figure of the wounded stranger, he hollered for his stableboys to help Jodnab carry the body into one of the vacant rooms. He also remembered well the oath he made when he became an adult, to help a Vaeltic Guard. In less than an hour, the village doctor was there, along with a few curious citizens, the innkeeper, and the farmer, all staring down on the prostrate figure lying on the bed. Even though he had been changed into a pair of pajamas, his powerful figure still dominated the room. No one dared to speak, and finally the doctor broke the silence.
"He's suffered quite a bit. He bled from that cut on his arm for the whole night, and he was evidently beat up pretty bad before. He'll live, but he neds his rest." The doctor delivered his diagnosis, and everything was silent once again. Suddenly, the injured man began to mutter even more, as if in a deep delirium. His eyes popped open, and he stared in surprise at the small group of people in front of him. The innkeeper spoke up first, "Dear sir, my name is Garroth, and I run the inn you're staying in. This man," gesturing slightly at Jodnab, "found you on the side of the road, and brought you straight here. Whoever attacked you is gone, and you're among the faithful people of Norlad. Perhaps you could tell us what happened to you?"
It was quite a while before the stranger spoke. His sharp grey eyes seemed to absorb everything in the room, until he was satisfied he was safe. "I'm a Commander the Vaelic Guard. I was attacked by brigands while making my way from an ally, and now woke up here. Because of my buisness in this region, I cannot reveal anything more. I thank you for your hospitality, and assure you that this kind act will not go unrewarded. Now, I must get back to the Keep-" before he could move a foot, he collapsed back to the pillow, and did not attempt to get back up.
"Your ribs sustained quite a beating," the doctor said in a lecturing voice, "it will be a while before you're able to get back on your horse and ride away."
The man's face contorted into a feature of defiance, but he didn't try to get up again. He knew plenty well it was fruitless, and all he would do was inflict pain on himself. Finally, his face clouded over with an expression of acute resignation, and he spoke up again. "So, where am I? Liador? Morath? Dolyn?"
"This is the village of Filban. We're simple village folk, and want no trouble," the farmer answered him in a suspicious voice. There was something he just didn't get about the man. He was obviously an Vaelic Guard as he said, but that didn't shield him from being evil. The strange amulet kept coming back to his mind, but he couldn't quite realize why. He seemed to know where he'd seen it before, but it felt like it was tied to a rod sticking out from the back of his head, and every time he turned to get it, it turned back with him. Then there was the angle of the brigands. Why would brigands attack an Vaelic military officer? No crook would want that kind of trouble. And why would a simple criminal leave him to be after he'd injured him, to bear witness against his crooked deed? And then, the most obvious thing - the bandage used to tie his shoulder wound. It was a rich, silky fabric of an orange color, none of which was worn by the man. Then, he must've torn it from his assailant, but a simple brigand would never waste money on an expensive cloak, especially of such a bright and bold color; they don't usually like to stand out. And what did they rob him for? His expensive studded sword, his horse, and his strange amulet were not taken, what then could've been the motivation for this assault if not for robbery? He knew that the others in the room were also a trifle wary of the newcomer, but none of them dared say anything to a man in command of their own protectors.
"Ah, Filban," he stared out of the big, bay window across from him. It showed him a panoramic view of most of the village. "It seems so much like my home village, Rudarlin. Haven't seen it for years-" he trailed off. His eyes grew distant, his expression elsewhere. He saw the suspicious peeks they gave him. They may have been simple villagers, but they weren't fools. They realized his story didn't add up. But, once you tell it, you can't just recant it and make up a new one. It was the best one he could conjure up at the moment's notice, though it was a bad one. Flashes of memories of the night before still haunted him. The dark night, clear sky, with the big, pale orb, the moon, sitting there peacully, looking down on him. Riders from behind, stalking and chasing him, then finally striking him, and finally, the face of someone he knew, someone he couldn't quite identify, tying the bandage around his wound, then running off. It was all so confusing for him, because he'd been in battles plenty of times before, never, however, was he attacked in so furiously a manner down a quiet road. Luckily he was able to hide in the ditch from the antagonists, but he couldn't remember thinking of the ditch, or even seeing it. Right about when the sword struck his arm, and the beating that followed did the memory end. He remembered only blackness up until the milky memory of his unknown friend helping him with the bandage.
One by one, the villagers in the room left, each making a clumsy excuse, clumsier thanthe man before him. Soon, there was only one left, a lad of maybe sixteen, standing there, observing him curiously. When he saw the stranger's head turn towards him, he quickly turned his attention to the window, hoping the man didn't see the move. "What's your name, boy?" Suddenly asked the stranger.
The lad stammered, and finally managed to mumble out, "M-my name i-is Korr," it seemed awkward and short to him, so he added on, "what's yours?" The question seemed odd, and as soon as it came out, he could imagine the man becoming agitated at being questioned. To his surprise, he answered.
"My name? You may call me whatever you wish. My true name isn't important, at least not yet, and not here. Tell me, how long are we from the nearest city?" The question was more of a brushoff from Korr's inquiry, but it had value in it. He wanted to know how far he must go before he reached a fortress of the Vaelic Guard, where he could let loose this halo of mystery and be frank. After all, military matters weren't for civilians.
"A good ten miles, sir. It's a city called Moros. Oh, how big it is! The streets are lined with peddlers and buyers, the houses nearly stacked on one another, the cobbled streets..." he realized he was trailing off, so he forced his mouth shut. This man was a Vaelic Guard. He probably knew all about the city, of it's size, of it's streets, and of the cobbled lanes. For yet another time during the short interview, he could feel his face turning red. He could only imagine what he looked like. Beet-red cheeks, bulging eyes- the thought was humorous. He laughed slightly at the image in his mind. The stranger stared at him for a few moments, and then seemed to share his thoughts of the beet-red face and gave a little snicker.
"In the middle of nowhere, huh? Well, that's just as well. The last thing I need is a city full of people, any of which might be-" he broke off. The sentence seemed to be aimed more to himself than to Korr. "Listen, Korr was it? I want you to do me a little service. You see, I'm waiting for a friend of mine here soon, so if you see any strangers while I'm cooped up in this bed, just drop everything and tell me. Understand?" Korr nodded. "Look sharp, lad, and you may just find a hansome little reward in your hands for it." The stranger rolled over on his bed to face the wall, and with a grumbled goodbye, he indicated the interview was over.
The wheels of the cart turned, and whipped up mud on the dirty country lane. It was a blatantly hot day, the humidity and the heat hung together like a blanket in the air. A single man sat on top of the cart, with a single old horse who looked about as tired and old as it's owner. Jodnab was an old man by anyone's standards, eighty three with a clean-shaved face that has cracked and wrinkled in the trials of the elements, with a shock of grizzled white hair sticking out from under his straw hat. He sat there, tiredly looking into space, not really thinking of anything yet at the same time absorbed with that lack of thought. It was too hot to think. He was going in to town, to take some of his grain to the mill, and the barley, of course, to the brewery. Everybody at that age retired and had their kids take care of them, but Jodnab's wife had passed away long ago, and he never really recovered from that. He had no children to take care of him, so he was on his own.
Suddenly a big brown haze attracted his attention to the side of the road. Jodnab had never seen anything of such a pure hazel-brown color, and it seemed to shine in that pale way that the eyes of a dog in the dark. His cart pushed closer to the unknown brown object, and soon enough, he saw it move. It was then that he came to realize, this was a horse, and the most magnificent horse he'd ever seen. It was completely colored in that hazel-brown color like it's just been dipped in a bucket of paint. Jodnab stopped his cart, and got off. "Who would leave such a dazzling horse to it's own in the wilderness," he thought. The horse sensed his approach, and turned away from the small patch of grass it was feeding on to face him. A small white oval patch appeared on it's forhead, which seemed to resemble a third eye in the shade of the trees.
Upon reaching the horse, he realized it still had it's reigns, but no saddle. The reigns were apparently cut in half, both ends dangling uselessly and dragging on the ground with every movement the horse made. The owner was nowhere in sight, but while looking around for one, Jodnab found yet another colored patch, this one an electric blue lying on the ground on the other side of the road, in a ditch with the pointy branches of shrubs poking it. There was no mistaking the color - it was a cloak of a Vaelic Guard. The peace keepers, the military, and the heroes, all rolled into one. He had known that color from the time he was a little boy, looking up to the warriors passing through the village; on their horses, with their long, blue cloaks flailing in the wind. Before he knew it, he was looking down on the cloak lying in front of him. He suddenly realized, that partially hidden by the bushes was a man, still attached to the cloak, obviously critically injured. He bled from his shoulder through the large slash in his chainmail, although it was covered in a makeshift bandage; his face showed many bruises and cuts. His chest still pulsated with the sign of life, and although his breathing was erratic, it was also there. He was unconcious, mumbling to himself, words a lowly farmer could never make out.
Jodnab knew his duty as a citizen of Andien. He remembered the long paper he was read on becoming of age, stating the responsibilities and the rights of the adult. "Any citizen must always help a Vaelic Guard in need," that's what one of the rules was that he swore to obey, yet now, the first time he had ever seen an opportunity to put it into practice he was struggling to reach a decision. He COULD help this man, but should he die while in his cart, nobody would look the same way at him again. On the other hand was his oath to the state. He didn't have long to think, and if Jodnab could be described in one word, it would be quick. He had made up his mind to pick up the stranger, and bring him to town at the fastest pace possible. "It's my duty to protect the protectors when they're in their most vulnurable," he thought bravely.
He lifted the man onto his shoulders, but struggled all the way. He was known as the strongest farmer in the district, but the large muscular body of the man seemed so heavy and solid that lifting would take all his strength. Finally, he managed to place them an on his cart, next to the many bushels of wheat. The horse which he just remembered before he was about to leave was obviously belonging to the wounded stranger, so he decided to take it along, tying what was left of the reigns to the back of his cart, and pushing fourth. He didn't go five feet on his cart before he couldn't help looking back at his cargo. There were many interesting things to be seen there, on the chest of the man. His cloak was tied to the front of his breastplate, on a large circular pin, with the row of seven notches in it, five of which were filled with expensive jeweled stones. His father had tought him to tell the rank of a Vaelic Guard by the amount of stones, and this one was a Commander. Around his neck was a peculiar amulet - a prism-shaped clear emerald, with a gold cap on top, and a ring of gold which held the stone on the fine gold chain.
As he sat there, mesmerized, he didn't even notice the first signs of civilization around him. Two farmer boys were playing in a small meadow behind a large, smokey workshop, the one of Holwan the town blacksmith. The children didn't seem to notice him, after all, he was just another farmer's cart driving into the town. Little did they know of what was inside. Soon, Jodnab pulled up in front of a large, sprawling house with a sign swaying the what little wind there was just above the door, announcing an inn. He dismounted from his cart, and ran into the inn. The innkeeper sat there behind a table, standing up on the farmer's rushed entry.
"Looking for a room, are you, Jodnab?" He asked in a calm, surprised voice. Jodnab had never had a room at his inn.
"Come look at what I've found on the side of the road!" Jodnab blurted out quickly, and rushed out again before the other could mutter a reply. The fat figure of the innkeeper soon appeared out the door, his blubber dancing about as he walked. Immediately on seeing the limp figure of the wounded stranger, he hollered for his stableboys to help Jodnab carry the body into one of the vacant rooms. He also remembered well the oath he made when he became an adult, to help a Vaeltic Guard. In less than an hour, the village doctor was there, along with a few curious citizens, the innkeeper, and the farmer, all staring down on the prostrate figure lying on the bed. Even though he had been changed into a pair of pajamas, his powerful figure still dominated the room. No one dared to speak, and finally the doctor broke the silence.
"He's suffered quite a bit. He bled from that cut on his arm for the whole night, and he was evidently beat up pretty bad before. He'll live, but he neds his rest." The doctor delivered his diagnosis, and everything was silent once again. Suddenly, the injured man began to mutter even more, as if in a deep delirium. His eyes popped open, and he stared in surprise at the small group of people in front of him. The innkeeper spoke up first, "Dear sir, my name is Garroth, and I run the inn you're staying in. This man," gesturing slightly at Jodnab, "found you on the side of the road, and brought you straight here. Whoever attacked you is gone, and you're among the faithful people of Norlad. Perhaps you could tell us what happened to you?"
It was quite a while before the stranger spoke. His sharp grey eyes seemed to absorb everything in the room, until he was satisfied he was safe. "I'm a Commander the Vaelic Guard. I was attacked by brigands while making my way from an ally, and now woke up here. Because of my buisness in this region, I cannot reveal anything more. I thank you for your hospitality, and assure you that this kind act will not go unrewarded. Now, I must get back to the Keep-" before he could move a foot, he collapsed back to the pillow, and did not attempt to get back up.
"Your ribs sustained quite a beating," the doctor said in a lecturing voice, "it will be a while before you're able to get back on your horse and ride away."
The man's face contorted into a feature of defiance, but he didn't try to get up again. He knew plenty well it was fruitless, and all he would do was inflict pain on himself. Finally, his face clouded over with an expression of acute resignation, and he spoke up again. "So, where am I? Liador? Morath? Dolyn?"
"This is the village of Filban. We're simple village folk, and want no trouble," the farmer answered him in a suspicious voice. There was something he just didn't get about the man. He was obviously an Vaelic Guard as he said, but that didn't shield him from being evil. The strange amulet kept coming back to his mind, but he couldn't quite realize why. He seemed to know where he'd seen it before, but it felt like it was tied to a rod sticking out from the back of his head, and every time he turned to get it, it turned back with him. Then there was the angle of the brigands. Why would brigands attack an Vaelic military officer? No crook would want that kind of trouble. And why would a simple criminal leave him to be after he'd injured him, to bear witness against his crooked deed? And then, the most obvious thing - the bandage used to tie his shoulder wound. It was a rich, silky fabric of an orange color, none of which was worn by the man. Then, he must've torn it from his assailant, but a simple brigand would never waste money on an expensive cloak, especially of such a bright and bold color; they don't usually like to stand out. And what did they rob him for? His expensive studded sword, his horse, and his strange amulet were not taken, what then could've been the motivation for this assault if not for robbery? He knew that the others in the room were also a trifle wary of the newcomer, but none of them dared say anything to a man in command of their own protectors.
"Ah, Filban," he stared out of the big, bay window across from him. It showed him a panoramic view of most of the village. "It seems so much like my home village, Rudarlin. Haven't seen it for years-" he trailed off. His eyes grew distant, his expression elsewhere. He saw the suspicious peeks they gave him. They may have been simple villagers, but they weren't fools. They realized his story didn't add up. But, once you tell it, you can't just recant it and make up a new one. It was the best one he could conjure up at the moment's notice, though it was a bad one. Flashes of memories of the night before still haunted him. The dark night, clear sky, with the big, pale orb, the moon, sitting there peacully, looking down on him. Riders from behind, stalking and chasing him, then finally striking him, and finally, the face of someone he knew, someone he couldn't quite identify, tying the bandage around his wound, then running off. It was all so confusing for him, because he'd been in battles plenty of times before, never, however, was he attacked in so furiously a manner down a quiet road. Luckily he was able to hide in the ditch from the antagonists, but he couldn't remember thinking of the ditch, or even seeing it. Right about when the sword struck his arm, and the beating that followed did the memory end. He remembered only blackness up until the milky memory of his unknown friend helping him with the bandage.
One by one, the villagers in the room left, each making a clumsy excuse, clumsier thanthe man before him. Soon, there was only one left, a lad of maybe sixteen, standing there, observing him curiously. When he saw the stranger's head turn towards him, he quickly turned his attention to the window, hoping the man didn't see the move. "What's your name, boy?" Suddenly asked the stranger.
The lad stammered, and finally managed to mumble out, "M-my name i-is Korr," it seemed awkward and short to him, so he added on, "what's yours?" The question seemed odd, and as soon as it came out, he could imagine the man becoming agitated at being questioned. To his surprise, he answered.
"My name? You may call me whatever you wish. My true name isn't important, at least not yet, and not here. Tell me, how long are we from the nearest city?" The question was more of a brushoff from Korr's inquiry, but it had value in it. He wanted to know how far he must go before he reached a fortress of the Vaelic Guard, where he could let loose this halo of mystery and be frank. After all, military matters weren't for civilians.
"A good ten miles, sir. It's a city called Moros. Oh, how big it is! The streets are lined with peddlers and buyers, the houses nearly stacked on one another, the cobbled streets..." he realized he was trailing off, so he forced his mouth shut. This man was a Vaelic Guard. He probably knew all about the city, of it's size, of it's streets, and of the cobbled lanes. For yet another time during the short interview, he could feel his face turning red. He could only imagine what he looked like. Beet-red cheeks, bulging eyes- the thought was humorous. He laughed slightly at the image in his mind. The stranger stared at him for a few moments, and then seemed to share his thoughts of the beet-red face and gave a little snicker.
"In the middle of nowhere, huh? Well, that's just as well. The last thing I need is a city full of people, any of which might be-" he broke off. The sentence seemed to be aimed more to himself than to Korr. "Listen, Korr was it? I want you to do me a little service. You see, I'm waiting for a friend of mine here soon, so if you see any strangers while I'm cooped up in this bed, just drop everything and tell me. Understand?" Korr nodded. "Look sharp, lad, and you may just find a hansome little reward in your hands for it." The stranger rolled over on his bed to face the wall, and with a grumbled goodbye, he indicated the interview was over.