9th Day of Fireseek, 565 CY
Earldom of Farlyow, Furyondy
(About 60 miles SSW of the Brass Dragon Inn)
Waiting for Aslan...
It seemed like some kind of existential waiting game for Elrohir. He tapped his foot, looking around him at the gently rolling plains all around him. Most of the grass was dead of course, but a few hardy winter shrubs, coated with a light frost, could be seen persevering in the winter chill. It was cold enough for his breath to come out in little puffs of steam. Elrohir had traveled long enough and far enough not to be bothered by the cold, but he still was not overly fond of it. At least there was no wind to make things worse. He eyed the tall ridge about a hundred yards away to the north. Beyond it was the cave that had been the lair of the blue dragon Sandcats, and hopefully of his offspring Bellicose as well.
What in the name of Bifrost is taking them so long? The ranger couldn't get it. He, Aslan and Tojo had assembled outside the Brass Dragon Inn, all equipped and ready to go. Aslan had teleported here with Elrohir, said, "I'll be right back," and vanished. He should have returned with Tojo within a few seconds, but it was now well over two minutes. Various scenarios ran through Elrohir's mind, none of them pleasant, and most of them involving some kind of ambush at the inn.
Nodyath? No, he has to be dead.
Well, what then? Elrohir was starting to consider what his options were when Aslan suddenly reappeared before him, with Tojo.
And Tadoa.
The ranger blinked at the elf. What the-? He glanced back up at Aslan and Tojo. Both the paladin and the samurai were staring at him with a knowing look.
Elrohir sighed inwardly. Everyone apparently knew what was going on but him. Story of my life, he thought sourly. He eyed the child again, noting that he was fully suited up for battle or exploration, as needed. Then he saw the dried tear tracks on the elf's face. Tad had been crying recently.
Ahhh. Wescene. Elrohir's face softened. Now I understand. He looked the child in the eye and gave him a slight nod. No one can break your heart with such exquisite skill like an elf, young man. Believe me, I know. The ranger shook his head before memories could claim him and pointed towards the ridge. "Let's get going, people. We've got work to do."
He strode off, the others silently following behind him.
The ridge was somewhat taller than it looked, as well as more rugged. Elrohir grunted as he almost twisted an ankle on a small outcropping of rock. "We're not that far from the Brass Dragon, but you'd never know it from this," he gestured around him.
"Earthquake," came the voice of Tojo behind him.
Elrohir turned to look at him.
The samurai also indicated the surrounding terrain. "Negacha Province, in Nippon. Powerfur earthquake, many years ago. Rand rook much rike this," he indicated, then eyed his party leader with even more seriousness than he usually displayed. "Dao Rung. Evir spirit." He then continued his ascent without further comment.
Elrohir and Aslan looked at each other, shrugged and continued on as well.
Just before Elrohir reached the crest of the ridge, he stopped. His eyes picked up a very faint stream of rising smoke ahead. From his estimate, there was probably a fire going at the mouth of the cave entrance. The ranger held up his hand to stop the others and informed them.
"Aslan," he asked the paladin. "Can you scout out ahead in fly-form?"
His friend shook his head and with a sad smile and tapped his helm. "Sorry, Elrohir. I've got nothing left."
Elrohir nodded acknowledgement and considered. "All right. Let me go first." He slowly walked up to the top of the ridge and looked.
There were six armored men at the mouth of the cave. Mercenaries most likely, if Elrohir's experience with them were any indication. Two crossbowman, clad in leather armor, were hunched over a campfire upon which small some animal was roasting on a spit. A man in scale mail and carrying a sword was sitting up against the rock face, apparently asleep. A spear and a small metal shield lay beside him. Of three other men similarly equipped, two were sharpening their swords.
The sixth man was looking directly at Elrohir. A few brief words and gestures from him notified his fellow warriors, although he needed a spear poke to awaken his slumbering companion.
Elrohir raised his right hand in a gesture on friendship, or at least non-violence. "Sellswords, I think," he told the others. "Come on, let's go. Cool heads, people."
They moved slowly down the ridge and crossed the thirty yards or so to the cave mouth. By then all six men were waiting for them, their weapons in hand but not raised. The one who had spotted Elrohir seemed to be the leader. He held his spear upright, awaiting them. As the ranger and his companions came within ten feet or so, he inclined his spear forward and said "Stop where you are. State your business."
"We seek no argument with you or your men." Elrohir indicated the cave mouth. "We seek to enter this place."
The man shook his head. "Without authorization, none may pass."
Elrohir frowned. "Authorization? From whom, and on what grounds?"
The mercenary tightened his grip on his spear. "From the Earl of Farlyow, ruler of this land," he stated officiously. With a nod of his head, he indicated to his right. A flagpole was jammed into a cleft in the rock. A banner hung limply from the pole, but in the breezeless air, its display could not be made out. With an expression of disgust, one of the sellswords went over to the flag and held it open. It displayed a gray field with a white stripe running from upper left to lower right.
Elrohir looked back at Aslan, who nodded to him. "That is the Earl's standard, Elrohir."
The ranger was'nt convinced yet. He turned back to the mercenary leader. "Why does the Earl restrict passage, and not use his own men to do so?"
"That is his concern, not yours," he replied. The sellsword's expression was starting to show signs of irritation. "Since you obviously have no permission from him, you must leave this area. Now."
The ranger took a deep breath, then decided to try another track. Pointing again at the cave, he asked "Do you know this was once the lair of the dragon Sandcats?"
The warrior nodded. "This I know."
Elrohir allowed himself to puff up a little. "We are the slayers of Sandcats! His head adorns the wall in our inn, the Brass Dragon, twenty leagues to the north!"
A smirk appeared on the mercenary's face. "You own that inn?"
"We do."
"I have been to the Brass Dragon since the death of the dragon. Several times." The voice of the sellsword was icy. "There is no dragon head there."
Elrohir bit his lip, immediately realizing his mistake. The general public was not allowed inside the Tall Tales Room. He glanced over at Aslan, who gave him a wry look of reproach, then stepped forward himself. "Greetings, good sir. I am Aslan, paladin of Odin. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
The warrior looked wary but answered. "Beckett. Lieutenant Beckett."
"Lieutenant Beckett, upon my honor I tell you that we do speak the truth. We are indeed the slayers of Sandcats, but his head resides in a private room, away from the prying eyes of those who would pilfer it. However, this is not relevant. We shall obtain authorization from the Earl, and then return. Where may we find his residence?"
The lieutenant looked skeptical, but answered, pointing with his spear in the direction they had come from. "The Earl holds court in his castle. Ten leagues or so, that way."
"Thank you," Elrohir ground out. He spun around and headed off, the others following.
Aslan was the last to leave, nodding and smiling. As he turned away, Beckett said, "You keep strange company, paladin of Odin."
The other three stopped.
More precisely, Tojo stopped, and Elrohir and Tadoa stopped because of this.
Oh no, the ranger thought. He knew that the samurai, while generally the most placid person he had ever known, brooked no insults to his honor. Tojo slowly turned around to face the mercenaries again. Elrohir quickly tried to think of something to diffuse the situation but couldn't. The jibe had not been pointed enough for Tojo to take immediate action, but he was peering intently at the sellsword leader now, waiting. All it would take would be one more remark from Beckett, and there was going to be a bloodbath.
There was an eerie silence. Suddenly, Tadoa put his hands on his hips and jeered at the men. "So, you think an elf warrior is strange, do you?"
The mercenaries stared at the child for a moment, and then burst into laughter.
Tadoa gave them a wave of angry dismissal, and then purposefully began to stomp away from them, saying in his most childlike voice "Let's go! These humans wouldn't know a true fighter if he handed all their heads back to them in a basket!"
The others followed, ignoring the continuing laughter behind them. One of the sellswords was imitating Tadoa now, drawing fresh gales of merriment. The sound grew dim and faded as they crested the ridge again, now heading south.
Aslan and Elrohir exchanged smiles. Aslan made sure Tojo was in the rear and couldn't hear, then casually caught up to the elf, placed his hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Smart thinking, Tad."
The child's face flushed with pride, but he tried to act nonchalant. "I have my moments," he said with a grin.
That night, the four of them sat around their campfire. Tojo sat serenely as always, but Tadoa's eyes glazed over as he tried to follow the political discourse between Elrohir and Aslan.
The ranger shook his head. "I'm sorry, Aslan, but I still don't get it. Baron Chartrain I know. Who is this Earl of Farlyow, and how can this be his land? I thought all the lands of Furyondy near the Nyr Dyv belonged to the Baron!"
The paladin sighed. "The nobility of Furyondy are not as we knew them back home, Elrohir," he explained patiently. "Here, a title means little while status and position mean all. This kingdom is divided into several domains, each ruled by one of the seven nobles that comprise the Noble Council. Baron Chartrain, the man who gave us the title to our land, is one of those nobles, yet he is no lesser a ruler than the Counts and Dukes that also serve on the Council."
Elrohir shook his head. "Then what's the point of having a title in the first place?"
"I don't know, Elrohir," Aslan said, a little irritated. "I'm sure there's some reason to it, but I don't know it. In any case," he continued, "there are many lesser nobles throughout the kingdom, each serving the Noble Councilman of where they dwell, regardless of their title. These lesser nobles belong to the Knightly Conclave, a body that advises the Council. This Earl of Farlyow is a member of the Conclave."
The ranger still looked as if he were trying to get a handle on the whole thing. "So, where are we now? The Earldom of Farlyow, or the Barony of Willip?"
"Both," was the response. "The former resides within the latter. As far as we're concerned, it's the Earl we have to deal with."
Elrohir looked thoughtful. "I wonder why he's doing this?"
Aslan shrugged. "I don't know, but we should by tomorrow night. Any other questions?" he asked his companion with a tired grin.
Elrohir returned the grin. "One. Are you going to tell me what happened between you and Argo in Willip?"
The paladin shook his head. "I'm sorry, Elrohir. If he wants to tell you when he gets back, that's up to him. All I'll say is that it was just Argo being Argo."
Elrohir's chuckle was interrupted by Tadoa's voice. "There are people out there."
The three adults slowly rose to their feet. They followed the elf's outstretched arm but could see no one in the darkness beyond the reach of their fire's light.
"There are three of them," the child said, somewhat proud of being the party's sole source of information at the moment. "They're all in armor-chainmail I think- and carrying weapons. They're skirting us."
"Do you think they're trying to set up an ambush?" asked Elrohir.
Tadoa continued to stare out into the darkness. "No, I don't think so. They're moving on. They're headed north, towards the cave." He glanced back at the ranger. "I wonder if they have authorization?"
"Not our concern," responded Aslan, sitting down again. "Come on people, let's set some watches and get some sleep. We need to make some good time tomorrow."
It was decided that Tojo would take the first watch. While Elrohir and Aslan began to remove their armor, Tadoa laid down. Although he did not sleep as much as a human did, from long association with them he had assumed their habits. Behind closed eyelids, he continually replayed the events of the day. His actions with the mercenaries brought a smile to his lips, while the face of Wescene, gently but sadly telling him that there was already someone special in her life, elicited only grief.
Yet it was still her face that he chose to keep in mind.