Arnoan woke, blinking at the confusing yellow light streaming into his wool tent from the entrance. Slowly, he rubbed his eyes in weariness, but as the memories of past events started to flood his mind again, he quickly snapped himself out of his lethargy. Springing up from his stout pallet, he immediately checked for his bow and knife, which he had laid near it. Both were where he had left them last night, with absolutely no discrepancies around the tent.
He roused his senses by taking a small skin of water and splashing a little of the cool liquid on his face, and then promptly crawled out of the cramped space.
'Good morning,' said Freor at the fire cooking breakfast, noticeably more jovial than the other night. Arnoan did not reply, still in thought. The smell of food from Freor's pan was enough to stir him though.
Freor handed him a plate of leftover beef stew which, which Arnoan wolfed down. He had not realized he was hungry until a moment ago, still thinking of what had happened such a short time ago.
His uncle wasn't as impatient as Arnoan at his food, so Arnoan dug through the packs Freor had brought with him, to occupy his time. Though he knew Freor had probably packed and checked them before he started breakfast, Arnoan could not find it in his heart to trust him more than half-heartedly. Through the examination, Freor said nothing and calmly continued to eat his breakfast.
As Freor finally began to look like he had finished, Arnoan stopped his inspection and asked, 'So, what now? Where do we go? What about my mother?'
'For now, we head towards the province of Denrodal, where King Liorian rules the four provinces which make up Durandor,' replied Freor, eyes drawn in thought 'as for the other matters; we will have to decide it on the road.'
'Why there of all places? We have to go north, straight through the desert for twenty-five leagues! The desert is impassable to us; we won't have enough water to make the cross' argued Arnoan. He had gone to the capital city of Durandor only once before, as passengers of a travelling merchant convoy to trade goods there in the spring. They had gone across the desert, since it was the fastest way, but even on well-supplied convoy, the journey had been made difficult with no water sources once they entered the desert.
Arnoan did not relish going back into the desert once more, especially if they were as ill-equipped and as desperate as this. He still remembered the ultra dry winds, the hot sand under soled shoes and the pinching clouds of sand tormenting him all the way.
'I have other ways to get water. As for why, we'll be safer close to the capital, with more of the King's soldiers around us, and our pursuers will not expect us to go through the desert. Plus the unrest in Aallane does not make me relish the thought of going up the mountain passes toward the east,' added Freor, always composed and logical as was his trait in stressful and frustrating situations.
Arnoan was forced to agree to Freor's logic, even in his ignorant state. He didn't know much about the lands beyond his home, but what his uncle was saying made sense. Where else could they go, where they would not be hunted down? He just didn't want to go through the desert for any reason and he was more used to the mountains.
Freor agreed with Arnoan that they would buy some horses first, at the town of Traem which was just up the valley, so to brave the desert. Traem was the closest town to their home, and Arnoan had gone there with Freor many times to buy supplies for the farm. It was a small settlement, unaccustomed to much excitement, but it was important enough that the yearly iron caravans from the mountains passed through on their way to Dorimune. Usually, the iron convoys brought supplies and news as well as iron, and traded with Traem for other goods. It was because of this that the town was as prosperous as it ever had been in the past.
They started their trek after packing up camp, dousing and covering the fire with dirt. In only an hour did buildings with thatched roofs appear into their line of sight, and other human activity became apparent. It was bigger than last time, with a few more new buildings but with tiled roofs instead of thatch. The compacted dirt path started to turn into a newly tiled road as they reached the outer buildings of Traem. It seemed the sturdy people who lived here had indeed done some nice work after the last time he visited. They had been planning to erect a few structures and make a few roads, but Arnoan had never expected them finished so quickly.
More people also walked along the streets, so Arnoan guessed that the new buildings were houses. Freor had brought nearly all the things they would need in his pack, and soon enough, Arnoan was equipped for the desert.
They made their way up the valley, sticking to the stream which eventually became a river.
As they reached the small town, they saw no signs of any of their pursuers, to their relief, and quickly proceeded to the local stables.
The man who owned the stables knew Freor, which helped their cause considerably. Freor didn't have time to haggle.
Freor addressed the shop keeper. 'Hello, Bernie! How is business going?' greeted Freor.
The man called Bernie gave an equally hearty greeting. 'Freor! I haven't seen you for a long time! Where have you been? Business with the horses has been slow, since we're so isolated, you see, but the bean business is going great! We're selling to the army, you see. Very good business, very good,' huffed Bernie.
Freor then became serious. 'Okay, Bernie. We're in a spot of trouble, and we need your best horses quickly. And tack. We'll pay whatever you want, but I won't be able to give you the pleasure of haggling,' he said.
'Anything for you, Freor, though I am disappointed that you're not going to haggle. Haven't had a good haggle for a long time,' replied Bernie before leading two roan horses out of the stables.
'They're the best I got. They're faithful, hardy and can handle the desert. I'll be sorry to let 'em leave. For you, the price is a hundred gold Iorads,' said Bernie.
'Thanks, Bernie. You've helped me out of a very tight spot. I'll owe you anything for this,' replied Freor before drawing a surprising amount of money from his purse.
'No need, old friend. But be sure to bring souvenirs from the capital,' said Bernie.
'You know where we're going?' Arnoan blurted surprised.
'Well, you are geared for the desert. You are crossing the desert aren't you? The only thing on the other side of the desert is the capital,' said Bernie scratching at his beard, puzzled at Arnoan's confusion.
Freor laughed lightly. 'Youngsters these days. Bernie, would you mind not to disclose where we're going to anyone,' said Freor, serious again.
'Of course, Freor,' replied Bernie.
'Good. We have to leave now Bernie, we've have some important business elsewhere. It's been nice to see you again,' said Freor.
'Come back again, will ya' Freor? You won't leave me hanging like last time again?,' said Bernie.
Freor said his farewells to Bernie before leading Arnoan away, lecturing him about keeping himself inconspicuous and unsurprised about anything that should happen.
'If it were soldiers that were questioning us or making statements of our business, any hint of surprise or confusion they would pounce on immediately. Don't do as you did at Bernie's shop again or we both may lose our heads,' said Freor.
After disguising themselves somewhat, the two made their way to other shops which sold desert equipment, finding the dealers much less forgiving than Bernie.
When they were done buying Arnoan's pack, Freor found his purse filled with silver and gold Iorads a lot less bulky than before.
They left the town in a rush, in fear of the soldiers and the man. As they rode, Arnoan questioned Freor on a few more subjects, though Freor was not willing to reveal much.
'Who was that man back at the house?' asked Arnoan after they had rode for an hour or so.
Freor waited a few seconds before answering. Probably checking whether or not to tell me, Arnoan thought angrily.
He started slowly, composing his reply. 'He is one of Draemor's apprentices, I suppose. After his ascension to power in the Empire of Rael in the east about two-hundred years before, Draemor needed help if he was to direct his newfound armies.'
'He trusted no one but himself, but he was willing to trust people like himself, but only if he could bend them to his will. So, he searched far and wide for children with a special innate Ability that he could make his trusted subordinates, especially Taron children though he found none after the Cleansing.'
'Since they were children from the age of six to twelve, they knew no better, and he trained them to obey his every command, going so far to bind them to him with a special type of magic.'
'He needed their consent first to make it work, and he knew that people who were older would be wiser than these younger kids. Many candidates died, but he replaced them with many more.'
'Up until now, there are I think, seven remaining from the original twenty.'
'When they first revealed themselves, they were officially called 'The First Order of Draemor', though that eventually disintegrated into 'The Seven of the New Council' when about thirteen were killed in the battles for control over the lands of Liamor, Daolicia and Delagore, about a hundred years ago.'
'That is the story of that man and his brood. If I can recall exactly, their names should be Toramel, Diiaral, Liaane, Telandra, Plion, Vorvordis and, the most powerful of them all, Drael, though nobody knows where he comes from.'
After this, Arnoan could wring no more answers from his tight lipped mouth.
'I have over-talked my limits, Arnoan. I promised your parents to protect you from potentially dangerous information, as you well know' was all he said.
They stopped at the mouth of the valley near dusk, and set up camp. Arnoan retrieved the food they had bought from the town out of his pack, and struck up a merry fire, while Freor prepared the camp.
Arnoan carried two small logs to provide seats for them both, and disguised the camp, so they could at least rest in peace.
As the first stars appeared, they ate their dinner and then sighed their contentment.
But Arnoan was still curious about many things that Freor had said. He had an ambition for learning all the knowledge that the world could give him and would not be thwarted by Freor.
Arnoan again questioned Freor, and Freor, seeing that Arnoan wasn't going to give up, answered a few more.
'Who is Draemor?,' he asked.
'Draemor was an only child and a powerful student in the arcane arts. He came from a family of aristocrats, who were quite delighted he had the innate power that marked him as a wielder of the Ability.'
'He was taken by the Ilia Tramarii of the Taron, to their academy in Delagore, when Emperor Illyrian still ruled Ioradas. Not many people know what the Ilia Tramarii were, but they were the power which opposed Draemor during the war. I might tell you what they are later.'
'He quickly rose through the ranks because of his rare Ability to excel at everything. But his ambition to learn everything of sorcery, of its powers, secrets and of its affiliation with other races, was said by some to be dangerous in a student like him.'
'But they did not act when the suspicion came and, by treachery, he got hold of one of the alien artefacts which he used to destroy the Taron and their school.'
'Not one of the Taron survived his slaughter, and many of their human students were killed, save for the seven who joined him to form the Old Council of Ioradas.'
'Then, they took control of Ioradas by convincing the people against Illyrian. They hired preachers, spread spies, corrupted many politicians and important people by blackmail or bribes, and used false information to rile the people against Illryian.'
'You know what happened afterwards.'
Arnoan started to ask more, but again Freor raised his hand and said 'It's late. Time for you and me to go to bed, I'd say.'
Arnoan unwillingly obliged and proceeded into his tent to sleep, while Freor sat on his log, staring at the fire, for a minute before hoisting himself up to get to tend to the horses and get to bed, dousing the fire as he fled into the night.