((Note: italics means thought-speech between sorcerers, :italitcs: means the Drasnian secret language
Also, this story is quite a bit different than the original version was. But I, for one, like it more this way. If you like the original one better then you have my apologies. But I'm not changing it back.
As for the location at this particular point of the story. The Arendish forest, going down to cut across to Prolgu and take underground ways through the mountains. Don't care if they should be able to, I'm making it so.))
Prince Kheldar, more commonly known as Silk, muttered and burrowed even deeper into the thick fur cloak that he had wrapped about himself. His head was wrapped as well, the only thing that protruded was his long, pointed nose. "I still don't understand why these things always have to happen when it's winter," he lamented aloud. "Once, just once, can we be forced to go somewhere when it's bright and sunny out? Polgara does it on purpose, she knows how much I hate the cold."
The man nearest to him, a mountain of a man with red hair and a beard to match, laughed and clapped the small, rat-faced man on the shoulder. "The cold is good for your health, Silk," he rumbled. "You're just upset because Polgara calls and you come running as fast as the rest of us."
"Of course he does," a smiling woman replied from up ahead, turning around to flash her dimples at the two men. Liselle, or Velvet as some still called her, was still considered to be the most beautiful woman in Drasnia. Her figure was the same as it had been when she was twenty, despite the two children that she had born since then. "My Lord Barak, no one with any sort of sense would ignore a summons from Lady Polgara. At least, not if they wanted to keep their head." She gave a laugh and trilled her fingers at her sullen husband. "Don't sulk so, Kheldar, it isn't as though Polgara isn't worth it." A different expression passed across her face and she tilted her head a little to one side. "I wonder if she asked Cyradis to come..."
If anyone could have seen Silk's face, then they would have seen that his expression had changed too. He knew why Liselle was asking after Cyradis, even if none of the others did. "I don't think that Hettar will be coming," he said, ignoring Liselle's question. "He is the King of Algaria now, and that could present problems. As could Adara and all of the children that they are rumored to have."
"Come now, Silk," Barak said, "You cannot honestly think that? If Polgara so much as requested Hettar to come to her house, then he would in a moment. Kings, Queens, and Emperors jump if she snaps her fingers. Even if she says she just wants to lead as normal a life as she can with her children, everyone else will always see her as the powerful woman that she is." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Even Zakath will, after all the time that he spent around her. As would your rat-faced brother, Silk, despite being King of the Murgos."
"True enough, Barak," a young man who was riding on the other side of Silk remarked thoughtfully. "Even people who despise her might just come if she put enough force behind her words." The young man resembled Silk completely, with only one exception, and that was his eyes, which were the same soft brown as his mother's. He tugged at his pointed nose, something he always did while thinking. Several of the girls in the spy university back in Boktor called it a cute habit, which did not bother the young man at all.
"Your Khesan catches on quick," Barak remarked. "Has he ever even met Polgara before?"
"Regretably no," Khesan said, seeming honestly dissapointed. "Mother has told me about her, almost as much as she has told me about the Empress of Mallorea, and I cannot wait to finally meet her and her children. Along with all of the other people who were in my bedtime stories." A sly grin passed across the young man's rat-life face. "And those of their children that they decide to bring along. We're all growing up and, if stories tell true, some of them might be quite pretty."
"Khesan!" Liselle said, trying not to laugh.
"What mother?" the Drasnian objected, his face twisting in an attempt of honest innocence. "I was just making a simple remark."
"He's already corrupt," Barak remarked with a shake of his head. "He truly is your son, Silk."
"Except for the fact that he actually enjoys the snow," Silk muttered, a shudder running through his body. "Completely unnatural."
"Oh get over it all ready, father," Khesan said with a wave of his hand.
"I will get over it when I'm warm again. And after we meet up with Mandorallen and Lelldorin and see exactly how much like them their children are. If Lelldorin brings Areina then it won't be so bad, that girl actually seems to have a brain inside her head. Now Mandorallen... when I last saw his son, Maneik, he was hitting a tree with a stick, claiming he could knock it over. Maybe one of his other children got the brains he never had."
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"Where be our friends?" the large, armor-clad man asked as he watched the horizon. "I could hath sworn that I saw them over the last rise."
"You didn't 'thee' or 'thou' once there, Mandorallen," the small, red-haired man beside him remarked. "I'm proud of you, we might just breed that archaic speech right out of you. And I saw them as well, so they will be along shortly." Lelldorin grinned impetiously at the larger man, practically bouncing in his saddle. "Though I must admit that I am very eager for them to get here. Not once have I journeyed with them without some sort of excitement. Arendia has become boorish for battle lately, and they will find us a way to some excitement." He grinned hopefully, any spark of intelligence that might have lurked in his mind completely extinguished.
"I do hope so, my friend," Mandorallen agreed. "Thy exuberence is most becoming, and refreshing." He clapped the Asturian Arend on his shoulder before raising his voice. "Ciolia! Areina! Our friends doth come, thou shall come back and join with us now."
A hundred or so yards away, in the middle of a snowy field, were two figures on horseback. One was obviously female, despite being clad in clothes that resembled Lelldorin's. Her bright red-gold hair and twinkling green eyes marked her for Lelldorin's daughter, Ariena. She had a longbow strapped across her back, and it was said that she was following her father's footsteps in the matter of shooting a bow. It was also said that she was uncommonly clever for an Arend of any sort. She was the first to come galloping back, laughing as she reined in beside her father. "We were having fun, father," she informed him, motioning at the other young person. "Ciolia was trying to teach me how to joust, a terribly boorish thing by my way of thinking. Just charge at someone else with a long piece of wood and see who strikes closer. I'd rather shoot a bow any day of the week, or even use a sword!"
"Thou hath no taste, Ariena," a hollow-sounding voice remarked. It came from Ciolia, who was clad in a lighter version of Mandorallen's armor. "Jousting is a more noble sport than shooting a bow hath ever been." Ariena and Ciolia were of an age, both being just past sixteen, and had known each other for the majority of their lives.
Areina shrugged good-naturedly, taking no offense at the statement. She truly was an unnatural seeming Arend. "At least I can talk without peppering my speech with flowery phrases. Ah, but look, here comes the reason why we were called away. About time, too, I was getting ready to go hunt down a rabbit for some fun."
"Welcome, my friends!" Mandorallen cried, doing his best to embrace each and every one despite the fact that he was clad in armor and they all on horseback. Tears stood out in his eyes, his voice was choked with emotion. "It hath been far, far too long, and all of thee have children! Growing into fine young men and women if mine eye is correct."
Silk rolled his eyes and caught his son's attention with a flick of his fingers. :Now you will understand why Mandorallen grates on my nerves so. With all his thee and thouing it is a wonder that he ever gets anything all the way out without passing out. Watch now, this must be his son clad so in armor. He is a spitting image of his father.: Aloud, he said, "Good to see you too, Mandorallen and Lelldorin. Ah, if memory serves, then the red-haired imp is Ariena. And this one all suited in armor would be your son, Maneik, correct?"
Ariena's smile widened and she burst out laughing, though her father and Mandorallen wore confused looks. The Mimbre knight opened his mouth to speak, but Ciolia placed a hand on his arm and he quieted. "Prince Kheldar, if I am not mistaken? Thou were just speaking to thy son in that secret language of thine's country, so thou cannot be anyone else. Mandorallen is my father, but I -" With this the figure removed the helmet sitting atop their head, a mass of chestnut brown curls spilling out. "I am a female, Prince Kheldar, and my name is Ciolia."
Liselle smirked at her flushed husband, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder. "Looks as though this young Arend has pulled a trick on you, Kheldar," she remarked, her voice dripping with laughter. "Well done indeed, Ciolia, I must say that, from what I can see of you, you are turning into quite the young woman. Even if you must speak like that."
Ciolia blushed, looking at the group with pale green eyes through lowered lashes. "Thank you, Liselle," she murmured. "Though you of all people know I don't speak like that all of the time." She smiled at the shocked looks coming at her from Barak, Silk, and Khesan. "What? Did Liselle not tell you? Mandorallen is my adopted father, he has raised me since I was ten. I can thee and thou you all until the sun sets, and I could knock any of you off of a horse as well as any young man my age."
Mandorallen smiled proudly at this, more tears shining in his eyes. "It is mine pride and joy that thou calls me 'father'," he said. "She doth be as talented as any boy, and I should not think to trade her for all the stars in the night sky."
"Flowery," Barak snorted, patting his horse on the neck. "But can we be getting along? We can still put several leagues behind us before we have to stop and make camp. And I for once want to get to Prolgu and those warm tunnels as soon as possible." He grinned wickedly at Silk as the rat-faced man glared at him, muttering about the unnaturalness of traveling underground.
"Thy father doth not like to travel underground?" Ciola asked Khesan as she reined her horse in beside his, lapsing back into the speech typical of the Mimbrate Arends. "I hath never done it, but nor hath I heard anyone speak ill of it."
"You've never heard my father," Khesan replied, looking a little dumbstruck as he stared at Ciolia. She was definitely different than any of the buxom blondes back home, and not in a way that seemed bad to his eyes. "He's hated going underground for a very long time now, he's afraid that everything will just collapse and bury him. It got even worse after Relg, the Ulgo, carried him through solid rock to save him from the mad Murgo King, Taur Urgas."
"I did hear stories about that," Ciola admitted, her pale eyes shining. "It would be a great and noble adventure to journey as did our parents. It doth be sad that they did destroy all of the evil before mine time. And yours, of course, dear Khesan." At this she reached over to pat the young man's arm, not noticing how he shivered slightly at her touch. "For I am sure that one such as thee would charge into battle most bravely."
"Hey Silk," Barak remarked, nudging the rat-faced man and pointing over his shoulder with a grin. "Take a look at who Khesan's talking to and getting all puffed up for."
Silk glared at the big man before turning in his saddle to see what Barak was talking about. A sharp gasp gave away exactly what he thought of Khesan at that moment. "Oh no," he said matter-of-factly. "My son cannot possibly be flirting with that girl! She is no doubt as emtpy-headed as her father, no matter that she is not of his blood! Even a Drasnian would lose their mind if they spent six of so years as an adopted child of a Mimbre Arend!"
"Calm yourself, Kheldar," Liselle said sharply, "Khesan can talk with whomever he pleases, and it would not do to offend Ciolia or Mandorallen by telling him that he cannot speak with her. It is completely harmless, and I, for one, am not about to tell our son that he cannot speak with someone merely because his father thinks that they will be a bad influence on them."
"Do you see what I deal with?" Silk lamented to Barak, ignoring the big man's muffled laughs. "Turncoat." Liselle grinned smugly at the little man before falling back to speak with Ariena and Lelldorin. "It's going to be a long trip to the Vale, my big friend, a long trip indeed."
((Alright... feedback highly appreciated. Next chapter will deal with meeting up with Relg, Taiba, Hettar, and finally making it to the Vale.))
