Chapter 3: Across Windy Fields

Saul inhaled deeply, and gratefully, wrinkling his nose as he stretched; a first in many long hours. It was extraordinarily odd, he thought, that time was easier spent fighting evil, as opposed to packing for long journeys. He yawned; noting absently that dawn was descending. Though the first shafts of sunlight were only just hitting the grass, the rogue encampment was already abuzz with activity.

He was tired of packing; bored half to death of the contents of his pack, which he thought he must have checked a hundred and one times. He wanted to be on his way in the worst way possible, and yet, he knew that he would not be permitted to leave until the sorceress so desired.

He scowled. The idea of him waiting patiently, or impatiently, for that matter, for another was laughable. He had never been one to draw plans; he was a man of action. Several moments later, Saul came to realise that his scowl had further deepened; Akara had known that he was not a patient person. Yet, she had been persistant in her requests, beseeching him to aid the young sorceress however possible, and insisting that he allow her to accompany him in his journey against hell itself.

He'd agreed, reluctantly, at first. The High Priestess was a woman that he'd held in reverence; he'd looked up to her as a role model, a leader in times such as these. Besides, he'd sworn fealty to her. To break such a bond would bring much dishonour to his kinsmen—a thing he could not risk. He did not usually show it beneath his handsome, carefree exterior, but Master Saul Vyreant was fiercely proud of his heritage and of his people.

Eventually, however, Saul had decided that he would rather enjoy her company. Something in her laughing eyes told him all that he needed to know of her—that he could trust her. She rewarded his faith with faith of her own; she trusted him, as he did her.

Try as he might, Saul simply could not understand his newfound care for the young sorceress. Something in her eyes and the way she moved drew him to her; he found himself wanting to make her laugh whenever possible. He enjoyed her smiles, as he enjoyed her words; as much as he denied it, Saul knew that he was a man smitten.

He'd supposed that it was merely infatuation. There were few women who'd succeeded in catching his attention, such as the sorceress had. His interest in her served only to intensify his infatuation; what did this woman have, that ensnared him so easily? It was all but a mystery to him—one which needed solving.

Crossing his arms, he glanced back and forth about the encampment. She was nowhere to be seen. For a moment or two, he considered leaving without her; but was almost instantly pulled back to reality by his conscious mind. Cordelia would skewer him alive.

Having spent the last two days in her company, he'd come to realise several things about her; things he'd found amusing in many, many ways. She owned a flute; and she played beautifully. Being a self-proclaimed klutz, she tripped, often, over loose stones, or a rogue roots. She enjoyed talking; of herself, and of others. She appreciated jokes, and laughed as a man would—loudly, blisfully ignorant of her laugh which carried through the entire encampment. Like every other woman, she adored gowns and dresses of various materials and designs. Unlike every other woman, she enjoyed the taste of meat, and often preferred it to wilted salads and oatmeal.

And obviously, Saul thought with a grimace, she was one to plan ahead of every single thing. It seemed, also, that she was one to be obssessive over the most dreary, minute details.

He'd termed it simply—Cordelia suffered from the obssessive compulsive disorder.

He knew that her pack had been filled to the brim with various coloured potions; the blues slightly outnumbering the red, which, in turn, were larger in number than all others. Various lengths of bandages had been rolled into empty compartments, in between a large tome of portal-casting scrolls.

If he hadn't known any better, Saul would've thought that the sorceress was stocking up for an audience with the Lord of Terror himself.

Several minutes passed; many of the rogues had now left for patrol. Though the evil had been driven from the moors and plains with Blood Raven's passing, it had been agreed upon that constant patrols would be sent out daily to scout the area.

Just in case.

Saul laced his fingers together, enjoying the stretching exercise for a moment or two; and then did a double take. The Captain of the Rogues was making her way towards him, her lips stretched taut into a thin line. It was all he could do to avoid hopping to Gheed's; she could not tolerate the man.

"Good morning, Kashya." In complete contrast, he smiled; brightly. Somehow, he knew it would irritate her.

He was right. Her lips thinned further—and in addition to that, she narrowed her eyes.

When she said nothing, however, Saul cleared his throat. He unlaced his fingers. "Anything on your mind?"

She seemed to regard him calculatively; her teal eyes studying, first, his boots; and then, as though appraising his equipment, his gloves; his vambraces, his body-armor, and then, finally, his visage. She nodded stiffly. "Be careful out there."

Saul grinned; he was aware that it was a grin most impish. "Are you worried for me, then? I always thought you'd prefer me dead."

"Don't be stupid." Kashya snapped. She was scowling now.

He blinked several times at the Captain, his expression lingering between amusement and sheepish apology. "I'll be careful." He said, finally. "Anything in general I should be watching out for?"

Kashya placed both hands upon her waist. She was about to speak; the words were on the tip of her tongue when she was interrupted. "That Cord—"

"Alright! We can go now!"

Saul shut his eyes. Suddenly, he was very aware of the irony of the whole situation.

When he'd dared to open his eyes once more, he'd almost laughed; Cordelia stood a little ways distance from Kashya, her hands wrapped firmly about her staff. She was pale with shock—clearly, she had not expected company. Beneath the shadows of her jade-coloured cloak, delicate, interlocking chains of silver formed the armor protecting her abdomen. No doubt Charsi had taken it upon her to outfit their latest ally.

"Tia-aldyn Cordelia." Kashya spoke first, breaking the chilly silence with her cool, laconic tenor.

Saul was too pre-occupied to wonder at the significance of Tia-aldyn; he was attempting, however futilely, to stem a flow of amused chuckles. The Captain of the Rogues was the only one who'd, aside from Blood Raven, inspired such fear in the sorceress.

Cordelia paled; perhaps it was the Captain's spine-chilling tone, or perhaps it was simply the manner in which she was greeted. She offered the weakest of smiles, inclining her head ever-so-slightly. "Captain Kashya."

The silence endured; unbroken, for several long minutes—and shortly after, even Saul began to feel uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

"Well, I suppose we'd best be on our way, then." He said, his voice oddly jaunty. "Come on, Cordy."

As Kashya gave him a withering glare, as though it were his fault that their conversation had been interrupted, Cordelia nodded fervently; bowing quickly towards the Captain, she reached over into Warriv's caravan, extracting her pack. With a toss of her hair, and the swish of her cloak, she'd disappeared behind the high wall that splitted the encampment from moor beyond.

Faced with one not so unlike Blood Raven, Saul found that he could manage only a feeble smile; he was mildly aware that he needed to leave the presence of the Captain. She seemed quite ready to pummel him to the ground. "Well, goodbye, Kashya!"

She did not call out to him as he darted behind the wall—for which he was grateful. Somehow, he did not think that she had anything pleasant to say to him.

Cordelia stood upon the path, her staff held rigidly in one hand. She wrinkled her nose, rubbing gently at her knee as the other strode to her side, grinning. "I don't know what I did to her, to make her hate me so." She muttered glumly. "I even fell, running from her. How often does that happen to adults?"

Saul chuckled, rolling his shoulders back into an easy shrug. "That's the way she is, Cordy. She doesn't hate you." He stepped lightly onto the pathway. "Come, we should be on our way. Your knee does not ail you?"

"No. Let's go."

They walked in silence for a several long minutes, the sorceress occasionally tripping on bits of uneven ground. More than once, Saul had to reach out, and, in the nick of time, grasp her arm firmly to keep her from falling. They'd laughed it off afterwards.

"How was she like when you first arrived?" The sorceress said, much later, as she hurried along beside the druid; one step of his was equivalent to two of hers.

Saul smiled. "Like this. In fact, she was a right nightmare to me." They had long since passed Flavie's post, and had entered into the now-deserted plains. He found himself relaxing just a touch; there were no demons to be found.

"Worse than this?"

"Much worse. Honestly, this is one time where a blood-bond with the rogues' blacksmith does no good."

Cordelia blinked. "Oh!" She said, surprised. "You're related to Charsi?"

"She's my favourite cousin. Her father was my mother's youngest brother. They made their home within the monastery, you see. She takes after my uncle, I think." Saul grinned. "He was a blacksmith, too—and a right good one. He could fashion almost anything, with that hammer of his."

"She doesn't speak much of her past, though. I'd attribute it to the early loss of her parents." He paused, frowning just a touch. They'd arrived at a fork in the path of the plains just beyond the moor. "The rogues took her in as one of their own, and she was raised there. My parents loved Charsi; they would've taken her in. If only we'd have found out sooner."

"Charsi mentioned—" Cordelia began, rather uncomfortably, as though discussing others' past affairs was something of a great taboo. "—that she had barbarian blood in her. I'd have thought that she came from Harrogath."

Saul chuckled softly. "My mother's family—that is to say, Charsi's father and our grandfather, made the great crossing from Harrogath to here. They'd been commissioned to craft the weapons of the royal guards of Entsteig. The price that the King was willing to pay was worth a steady income of over five years. They would be fools to ignore such a commission."

"Charsi's father met her mother here in Entsteig, then?"

"In the monastery. My aunt was a fine rogue warrior." He smiled. "That same year, during the spring, my mother journeyed from Harrogath with our grandmother, for my uncle was to wed."

Cordelia sighed quietly, her lips curling just a touch. "How beautiful."

"Indeed." His eyes were twinkling as he spoke. "Since it was at their wedding ceremony, that my mother met my father."

"How did Charsi's parents know your father?"

Saul chuckled softly. "He was a bard. My father was a free spirit; as was his father, and all the men and women of his walk. He excelled in music—and he'd lent his harp in service to Charsi's parents for their wedding."

"But—" She frowned slightly; apparently, something was amiss in his tale. "—Don't your kinsmen; druids—don't they make their home within the shades of Scosglen? How come your father was so far from your ancestral home?"

"I have underestimated the expanse of your knowledge." Saul smirked. "My grandfather—that is to say, my father's father was the leader of one of the many clans within the druid clans of Scosglen; the Crëthe Daiore. The Daiore are the only druid clan to have ever journeyed, as a whole, across the realms; through Westmarch and Khanduras, through the great Aranoch Deserts. We have settled here, in Entsteig, far from our ancestral home."

"Why?" The sorceress seemed insatiable for information; the story of his past.

He was rather amused at her enthusiasm, though he did not quite put it into words. Instead, he chose to shrug, before stretching his arms out above his head. "My grandfather believed that our druid clans; our magic, and our bonds with nature should be shared within the other kingdoms, with those truly worthy of the love of the wilds—with those worthy of guarding the wilds against all that is evil. The Daiore left Scosglen with the blessings of the other druid clans. We do not guard the secrets of our magic zealously, Cordelia. We opt to share."

She was silent for a moment. Then, in a rather confirmatory tone, she spoke—"You have barbarian blood in you, then?"

"You have a lot of questions, don't you?" The druid watched her for a moment or two. He was found himself smiling at her seemingly endless tirade of questions. An opportunity to tease her had risen; he was not fool enough to question, nor ignore it. He grinned. "But yes, I have barbarian blood in me from my mother's side. However, I am quite clearly my father's son—I was born with his love for nature within my veins. Therefore, I am what I am."

She chuckled helplessly, rubbing at the back of her head with a rather sheepish smile on her face. "I'm sorry if I'd annoyed you with my questions, Saul—that's just the way I am, I guess. Too, too inquisitive for my own good." She paused briefly. "Its quite alright, if you don't want to tell me. I just—I suppose, I just want to know; to learn everything of this place and its people. It is all such interesting history. I wish I had access to the ancient monastery library."

Saul smirked, and poked her easily with his staff. "Don't apologise. I share this trait of yours—I enjoy hearing of others, and speaking of myself."

"I know. You speak of nothing else."

"I do!" He reached out with his staff to poke at her ribs; she jumped lightly aside, laughing hard.

They took the left turn, for the right led, beyond a doubt, to the burial grounds. Whilst it could not be denied that no more than wild hares and squirrels now haunted it, neither of them were very much inclined to visit such a place again very soon.

The sorceress was silent, now. She seemed somewhat afflicted by Charsi's tale. Saul was not much surprised by this; many were surprised, when confronted with the hidden past beneath the rogue blacksmith's kindly smile. It was not until they'd reached the rather-pebbly entrance to the Stony Fields that he'd extracted a question from the dark of his mind.

"What did Kashya call you again? Tia-aldyn—?" He queried, lifting a casual brow. It had struck a chord of curiousity within him.

Cordelia frowned. "It is a name that is used where I come from." She said. However, when she gave no further sign of wanting to elaborate, he gave it up as a bad job. Perhaps she saw the look upon his face, for she smiled, shaking her crimson head. "It's nothing bad."

They travelled steadily through the rocky plains. Cordelia had taken to mapping, roughly, the lay of the land; she did this quickly, in the rare instances where demons were few. For most part, she'd allowed Saul to take the lead in the heat of the battle. Every once in a while, however, she would lift her staff, and murmur quiet incantations under her breath, sending flaming orbs of crimson fire barrelling towards the evil ones; as they made contact with their quarry, these fireballs would explode—bursting forth into a shower of coal-hot, orange stars that the druid thought he could enjoy, no matter how heated the battles were.

The morning sun had long since lost its chill by the time Cordelia's map of the Stony Fields was half-complete. It was late—perhaps five hours past noon.

He was exhausted.

As they sat amidst an outcropping of boulders and rocks, Saul surveyed the surrounding area wearily; the numerous battles he'd fought in the duration of the morning had left him bloodied and bruised. He sported several deep cuts along the length of his arms, and a hideous gash had been raked along the side of his cheek—the handiwork of a corrupted rogue archer.

Several long moments later, he grunted; there were no demons to be found within close range of them. Not as far as his eyes could see. He sank down onto cold, hard stone, wincing as his tired limbs found respite.

Cordelia eyed him dubiously for a moment. She, too, bore scars from the skirmishes, though they were far less, in number and in magnitude, when compared to that of the druid's. She lowered herself roughly onto the ground directly before the boulder upon which he sat.

"Hold out your arm." She said; swiftly, she reached into the depths of her pack, withdrawing a roll of bandages, and several identical crystal phials—all held within them crimson potions of restoration.

He lifted a brow. "Beg pardon?"

The sorceress motioned impatiently towards his weapon arm. "Hold out your arm."

He watched, curious, as she cleaned his wounds with a cooling, silvery liquid. When she dabbed at the cuts with a herb-infused strip of cloth, he'd yelped in pain. If she hadn't been holding his arm steady, he was almost sure that he would've yanked it away.

When she began to bind his arms carefully with bandages, he found himself gazing quietly into her eyes. It was highly unusual for him to be silent, even when tired from excessive combat; yet, he found that he could not quite control his desire to stare at her. She seemed oblivious to his gaze; or otherwise, was intent upon ignoring it. A moment later, she'd announced that she was done—after which she'd pulled the stopper off a phial of potion.

"Drink. It will heal your minor injuries, cuts, and bruises." She said, holding the phial towards him.

Saul wrinkled his nose, but downed the potion in two quick swallows. Perhaps it was his state of perpetual exhaustion, but the sorceress seemed unlike her usual self. This one seemed more tense, somehow. More cross, and less ready to laugh.

She watched him solemnly. "You should begin to feel better within two minutes."

Saul nodded obediently; already, he could feel the potion working its magic. His rib-cage, which, hitherto had been home to a dull, throbbing ache no longer bothered him. He found that he could flex his muscles without wincing.

Emboldened, he grinned.

He watched as she dabbed impatiently at her forehead with cloth—there rested a minor, bleeding cut. He smirked; she was wincing, for the herb infusion that soaked her washcloth was lethal in its own way—he'd felt its sting before.

She'd realised, by then, that he was watching her. With a frown, she lifted her eyes to his; grey met blue as the latter flashed—they were irate. "What?" She snapped.

Saul blinked several times. He had not thought that she would've held such a tone within her throat; the tone most often adopted by the Rogues' Captain. "Nothing." He said, finally. He'd decided against testing her patience.

They sat in silence for several long, terse moments, in which the druid gazed quietly about—he did not whistle the tune within his head, he did not speak. Truth be told, he was not very much afraid of invoking Cordelia's wrath; rather, he felt that she deserved a few moments' peace. She took his silence with rather an appeased humor, and did not once again bark at him.

Finally, she spoke, and, although her words were crisp and slightly frosty, she seemed less ready to bite. "Shall we keep moving?"

Saul nodded, jumping lightly to his feet. "I forgot to ask earlier. Have we found the waypoint?"

She lifted a brow towards him. "Waypoint?"

He stared at her for a moment. "And I should be assuming that you have no idea of what I speak."

"Obviously." She replied wearily. "How do these waypoints look? What is their function..?"

Saul sighed quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Let's see. Well—" He paused momentarily, as though deep in thought. "—The mages of these lands; our ancestors, if you will, had them designed years and years ago. They served but a single purpose; to reduce the troubles of travelling."

The sorceress heaved a faint sigh. "How so?"

"Magic." He replied simply. "I do not know the exact mechanics of the waypoints' magic. If you wish, you may attempt to understand it when we return. That is your area of expertise, I believe."

Cordelia simply stared blankly about them for a moment or two; she bit down, hard, upon her lower lip, as though deep in thought. "It sounds much like teleportation." Her voice was low as she spoke.

"It probably is a form of teleportation magic." Saul agreed.

She scratched impatiently at the tip of her nose. "Will you know the waypoint when you see it?"

"Probably."

"Good. Let's keep going." She seemed impatient to once more be on the move, and, as she got to her feet, the druid smirked; she seemed much less clumsy than before. He'd said about as much to her, though the smirk of amusement was absent.

She'd given him a hard look, but had chosen to remain silent. Instead, they made their way further into the fields. Demons were few in numbers now, and only occasionally, did the lone blue carver threaten their passage. This was easily remedied by a single stroke of the druid's staff—the demons were none too brilliant.

Night fell swiftly as the winds began to howl. It was raining now, the crystalline droplets accompanied with various degrees of thundering booms and lightning flashes. Visibility was low.

Saul found himself glancing furtively around him. From time to time, he would find himself quite unable to see his companion, and his heart would still.

It was one of those moments; she was nowhere to be seen. He stiffened.

A moment or two later, however, he felt her bump heavily against him; the wind, no doubt, had swept her off her feet for the umpteenth time. He grunted, pulling her close against him. She was shivering.

"Oh, this is ridiculous—" The druid muttered irritably under his breath. The elements seemed determined to halt their progress. To one such as him, that was unnaceptable. After all, his kind were one with the elements. He was one with the elements.

He was mildly aware that she'd fallen away from him; perhaps her legs, frozen from the cold, had given way. Regardless of his concern of her, Saul lifted his staff, holding it horizontally before him with both hands. He ploughed his way through the winds, grimly gritting his teeth; he, too, was freezing.

"Daughters of the winds! I beseech thee, calm thyselves!"

The winds tugged at his rain-soaked clothes, causing even his heavy cloak to billow about behind him. Shaking his head, the druid lifted his head—and his grip upon his staff was hard, as he raised his voice to the heavens once more.

"Calm thyselves! I am one of your kin; sworn to protect all that falls within Nature for all of my life. I beseech thee, calm thyselves! Allow me passage across your fields!"

Lightning flashed within the skies; electric yellow against the prussian blue surface of the night sky. Within seconds, the soft, echoing rumble of thunder followed. The rain was not repelled.

The druid, however, was not to be thwarted. If anything, his hold of his staff tightened; a sign of his unwavering determination. He called out once more.

"Hear me now! Calm thyselves and allow me passage!"

And, just like that, as quickly as it had begun, the winds calmed; the thunder silenced itself, and the lightning ceased to make its presence known. The rain remained—though in amounts negligable, when compared to its prior storm.

Saul stood silent, save for the gentle panting that seemed almost uncontrollable to him. The energy that had been taken to appease the wilds was magnanimous in size, and he felt rather more exhausted than he'd felt before the earlier break.

"S—Saul?"

He inhaled sharply as the name, diminished in importance in his attempt at saving themselves from the bitter cold, arose once more. Cordelia.

He turned. "Cordy!"

She sat huddled, on her knees upon the ground, her trembling hands wrapped firmly about her waist. Tears of fright had come into those pallid orbs; her hair was dishevelled, and dirt had made its way onto her face.

It was a true sign of how much he cared for her, at that moment, that he did not laugh at her appearance.

Even as he moved to scoop her gently into his arms, Saul knew that there was little chance of them finding their way to the waypoint without help. The darkness was simply too—there was no other way to put it, but, dark.

Cordelia stirred feebly within his arms. "What h—happens n—now?" She murmured.

"You're less tetchy when you're cold." Despite the precariousness of their situation, Saul found himself smirking.

She sneezed in reply.

The druid laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head; then re-adjusted his hold of her and whistled—the soft, slow tune that so very often came into his head.

Help was on its way.

The hawk soared through the skies, flapping her wings effortlessly from time to time. She scoured the lands beneath her, jade-coloured orbs wary.

She could hear the call.

Her kind rarely heard such calls these days; the land was corrupted—tainted with the blood of innocents. Tainted with the evil of hellspawn.

She'd fought against the call, at first. Ignoring the hauntingly enchanting notes rustling within the leaves, she'd sat huddled upon her nest; unwilling to heed the call of her summoner. She'd long since given up hope of fighting, and winning against the darkness. To aid in battle against such demons surely wagered naught but death.

As the seconds progressed, it became all too clear to her that her summoner would not relent; the druid that called her to aid possessed strength—great strength. She felt it within her breast, and such power tickled at her feathers. It was several minutes later that she unwillingly took flight, hoping against all hope never to catch sign of her summoner.

The magic drew closer, and closer, and closer. She could feel the call—the haunting tune, piercing into the very heart of her airborne soul.

Yes, her summoner was nigh.

Author's Note: Augh, there goes another chapter. I'm sorry that this one took so long! I've been plagued with tons of schoolwork, and problems; so much so that I totally got caught in a fit of writer's block. AND, I've had to go write for a competition, in which I used Saul and Cordy as my characters. I love them just too, too much.

As always, thanks go out to:

The Phrenologikal Cat: Yes! I am totally in love with Saul as well. Don't worry, though. You may share him!

Ophelion: Hee, I totally understand where you're coming from. Sometimes, chapters with all talk can get boring. I hope I've incorporated enough action in this chapter for your taste—also, there's more than meets the eye when it comes to both of them. You just have to keep reading to find out!

Thanks again, people. Keep reading and keep reviewing! Signing out for now!