A Paladin's Journey Ch. 20

Wherever they had come from, there was now a war to be fought, and Eames could no longer spare the time and resources to search for arohim. With Vesovar gone, Ironshire would surely be next, and then Maralon. He would need to request reinforcements from the Dawnguard, which would raise questions that he would be hard-pressed to answer to the Council's satisfaction. The High Council had never approved of his desire to capture and study arohim, despite it being the most logical way to learn about them, and when they discovered that Eames had been focusing his attention on that over the protection of his region from darkspawn, his leadership suitability would likely be brought into question. With a grimace, he realised he had crumpled the paper in his fist. Opening his hand, he did his best to smooth the slip out.

So close. Another week and I would have had something, I know it! Latham had been effective in his execution of Eames' orders. Hundreds of houses had been turned out, and hundreds of people questioned, which had led to more questioning. The servants of the arohim had been so clever at hiding their presence that Eames would have believed there were none in Maralon if he didn't know better. The discovery of the hidden tunnels beneath the city had been the most promising news in weeks, but so far nothing else had been revealed apart from some ancient symbols scrawled on the walls; old runes used by the arohim. Eames had teams working down there in shifts, day and night, knocking down walls and dredging the sewers. Any day now, Eames would find what he was looking for; a secret lair under the city, probably abandoned, but full of arohim paraphernalia and knowledge. That was what Eames really wanted; the knowledge to destroy the disgusting creatures utterly, and with that knowledge he would surely be risen to the High Seat of the Heralds of Dawn.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he returned to his bedchamber and began to dress. Frustration boiled in him, threatening to crack his composure, but he stuffed it down. Time, he reminded himself. And patience. Time and patience.

***

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20.2: Vayani

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"Where is this place?" Elaina asked, staring around at the endless dunes baking beneath a merciless sun. Her normally large eyes were narrowed to slits against the light reflecting off the nearly white sand. She did not bother to manifest clothes; she would not burn here, in amathani, nor feel the heat. Smythe had not gone to that extent when he'd created this place from memory.

"The Sands of Nazar," he told his former par'vala. "I was thinking about Aran when I fell asleep, and the East."

"This is indeed east," she replied softly as she spun in a full circle. The desert landscape was uninterrupted as far as the eye could see, and its borders were much further. "Very far to the east."

"Change it if you wish, lass. There are some pleasant oases scattered about the Sands you might appreciate." The thought of watching Elaina bathe in a pond shaded by trees and lush grasses stirred his ardour, but he ignored it, for now.

Her shoulder-length hair swung slightly as she shook her head. "No, it is fine. You have been here before. I remember you telling me about it."

"A long time ago," he replied. "A foolish youth on a foolish task."

She chuckled. "You told me that, too, though you never said why it was foolish, or why you were." She stepped up to him and put her arms around his middle, burying her cheek into his chest. He stroked her hair fondly until she pulled away again. "I don't suppose you will tell me now?"

Smythe grinned. "It is a story of such grandeur and scale that we would run out of time tonight, I fear," he said pompously, making Elaina scoff lightheartedly. "But I tell you this: Once all this is done, and we are relaxing together in a world at peace again, I will regale you with the full account of my adventures as a young Paladin. How does that take you?" He held out his hand, and Elaina took it.

"Agreed," she said happily. "I'll bet you did something embarrassing," she added slyly. "And that's why you haven't told me." Her proximity to the truth made Smythe clear his throat surreptitiously.

"Yes, well," he said. "You will have to wait and find out, no?" He chatted with her a little longer as they waited for Aran and Amina to arrive, but they did not come. Their absence meant little, though it had been a week now since all four of them had been together. Smythe wished he could shake the feeling that something big was happening, but then, something big was always happening these days. He and Elaina talked for a while, and he was happy to hear that she had taken another meldin in this young man that had saved her life, Noah. Smythe shared in her happiness and congratulated her. He was glad she had an extra pair of eyes to watch her back with Aran off doing Aros knows what.

Smythe was considering taking another meldin himself, maybe two. The thought was amusing. Two more meldin to make three when he'd not had even one for decades! What a time this was becoming. He never thought he'd live to see it. Elaina's news about Burin finally coming to his senses was certainly positive, and none too soon. Smythe was shocked to hear that Burin had fallen victim to Maharad for a time, and only some quick thinking from Elaina had saved him. The woman's time in Dun'Arghol had not been easy, thus far. When Smythe asked her if Aran had sensed anything in Burin, she shook her head.

"I do not think he did," she said slowly. "He would not have left the city, otherwise. I think perhaps Maharad acted quickly once Aran left, and Burin was susceptible." Smythe nodded thoughtfully. "So have you left the city yet?"

"Yesterday," Elaina replied. "With a hundred thousand Dwarven drengr."

Smythe's jaw fell open. "A hundred thousand?" When Elaina confirmed it, Smythe grinned like a boy who'd just had his first time with a woman. "Perhaps things are not so dark as we believed. Not quite, anyway."

"We are marching north and will resupply in Vesovar," Elaina said. "I have also asked for a company of ten thousand drengr to come past the Chapel for support. In case you are harried by more darkspawn." Smythe found himself kissing her, her face captured in his hands.

"Thank you, Elaina," he said sincerely. "To be truthful, I did not know how the Chapel was going to survive another attack, even with Solovir and the growing numbers. Solovir says the trees say nothing of more ulunn, but if the creatures are beneath the ground, then perhaps the trees are unaware."

Elaina put her hands over his where they cupped her cheeks. "Hold out until they arrive," she implored him with a sapphire gaze. "Help is coming." She kissed him, this time, and soon their passion overtook them. Following his own earlier suggestion, Smythe changed the setting to an oasis he had visited once, long ago. There, he laid Elaina down on the soft grass and made love to her until it was time to return to the real world.

*

A week after his meeting with Elaina, Smythe stood at his bedroom window on the Chapel's second floor and watched the two shirtless par'vali sparring with their practice blades in the hard-packed circle of earth behind the building. The sound of stick on stout stick echoed around the grounds. Kedron, the shorter of the two, yet a little heavier in the chest and shoulders, easily outclassed Ostin, his less experienced opponent. Despite the chill of the early morning, sweat glistened on their skin and plastered their hair to their heads. Kedron's growth in ability had been significant since arriving at the Chapel - with everything the boy had been through, he'd learned some hard lessons, and he'd put them to good use. Ostin was a good student, too, but he was lagging behind Kedron. It was to be expected, really; Kedron's vala was unlocked, while Ostin's would not be for some time, yet. Smythe found himself wondering about that; since time out of memory, par'vali had been forbidden from prematurely awakening their vala, giving time for the necessary foundations to be laid before they reached their full power. Smythe thought of it like building a strong pipe before the water was allowed to flow, rather than build the pipe around the water; the latter being much more difficult.

Watching Kedron, however, Smythe was wondering if perhaps that rule could be discarded, or at least relaxed. Kedron had had access to his vala before Smythe met him, and his training was progressing swiftly. The lad was growing stronger by the day, and he kept up no matter how hard Smythe pushed him. Smythe pursed his lips as he watched the boys. Should he give young Ostin permission to be with a woman? It would not be difficult to arrange; even with his vala only just emerging, the wiry fair-haired lad was getting plenty of attention around the Chapel. Elsa would happily take on the task, if Smythe asked it of her; his meldin had mentioned several times how handsome she found the lad. Smythe grinned at the thought of Elsa giving Ostin a thorough education in the arts of lovemaking. Wouldn't that be a memorable first time for a young man; an older woman, confident and experienced, showing him the ropes, so to speak.

As if the thought were a summons, Elsa appeared at his side and tucked herself under his arm, wrapping her arms around his middle. Just having left the big bed behind them, she hadn't bothered to clothe herself, and Smythe enjoyed the feel of her lush body pressed against him. She looked down at the training yard with interest as the two shirtless men circled one another, sticks held ready. "How long until they're ready?" She asked softly, kissing him on the chest.

"For what? Real fighting?" When Elsa nodded, he answered. "Soon, for Kedron. He is quick, and clever. Too brave for his own good, too. Another month, maybe two, and he'll be ready to forge his blade. Ostin, however, could be a year or more, yet. A year we don't have." Smythe smoothed his moustaches as he thought again about ancient rules. "Of course, we could expedite his growth, though it violates custom." When Elsa raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he explained.

She chuckled when he finished. "You arohim are a strange lot, Henley," she said fondly. "So, who would be the lucky girl, then?" Her eyes were fixed on young Ostin, and she sucked in a sharp breath when Kedron gave him a sharp thwack to the ribs when he left himself open for too long. The older boy did not follow up with further strikes, that time; his instruction was to teach Ostin, not break his bones. Even so, an angry red stripe soon appeared across his side from the blow. To Ostin's credit, he hardly flinched. He had taken worse, and would again.

"That I will leave up to you," Smythe told her. "You know everything that happens in this Chapel, and everyone in it by now. Ari relies on you more than anyone to keep this place running smoothly, and he is right to do it. If I decide to allow this, I will let you know, and you can take it from there. If you think it best you do it yourself, you have the option."

Elsa grinned at that, but she shook her head. "As enjoyable as that would be, my love, I think perhaps one or two of the younger girls would be better." Her hand drifted down to cup his groin. "Besides, I have my hands full with you." Smythe barked a laugh and bent his head to kiss her.

"Would that I could let you fill your hands with me all day," he said ruefully as he stared into her eyes. "But I must attend to a few things, I'm afraid." Elsa pouted playfully, but released him, much to his regret. She had her own tasks to attend, also; there was always work to be done at the Chapel, especially with more people arriving by the day.

Dressing quickly and strapping Lightbringer to his back - after the last attack, he wore it always when not in bed or bathing - he gave Elsa one more kiss before leaving their bedroom. The Chapel was all hustle and bustle as per usual, these days, with a small army of women manning the big kitchen to cook the meats brought in by the hunters to keep everyone fed, and people hurrying back and forth on this task or that. Ari shuffled past as Smythe passed through the hallway connecting the front and rear of the building, and the portly man nodded and offered a polite greeting before hurrying on; the man had enough on his plate, and Smythe did not bother to hold him up.

Smythe pushed open the heavy blackwood door and strode down the short path to were Kedron and Ostin were sparring. Ostin had developed a few more red stripes, and to Smythe's surprise, Kedron also wore one across his middle. The two lads stopped and faced Smythe when they saw him coming, each one bowing politely, practice blades held with both hands at the left hip, pointed down and behind them. "What happened there?" Smythe asked wryly, nodding toward Kedron's belly. "Let your guard down?"

"No, Master," Kedron replied quickly, though reluctantly. "He got inside it." Ostin was trying hard to remain stoic, though Smythe caught the ghost of a proud smile on the boy's lips. He let it go. Good for him, scoring a hit on a better fighter. He would need all the confidence he could garner.

"You underestimated your opponent," Smythe corrected sharply. This was one thing he couldn't let go. "Do that in a real fight, and you're dead." Kedron's face coloured in shame, and Smythe left him to simmer in it. Hard lessons were always uncomfortable, but they were the ones best learnt. Ostin's faint smile had grown into a bigger one, and Smythe nipped it in the bud. Confidence was one thing, arrogance another. "Do not let it go to your head, boy," he told Ostin firmly. "Kedron misjudged you and won't make the same mistake again. I expect you'll have even more marks on you after the next session." Ostin's face paled, and he swallowed almost audibly. "That's enough for this morning. Take half an hour and then it's two hours of chores. The men behind the south wall need help clearing fallen trees, and I know two strong par'vali who are perfect for the job." Their faces didn't change, but Smythe saw the dismay in their eyes as they hurried past him and into the Chapel. Typical boys; all they wanted to do was fight. They were too green yet to see the value in character building tasks like wood chopping and digging wells. Not that the Chapel needed wells, but still.

Casting his vala out a little, Smythe got a feel for what was happening around the Chapel. Kedron and Ostin had headed to their rooms for a quick wash. Smythe wondered if Kedron would choose to spend his half hour eating, or entertaining himself with Lena and Imella, both of whom were in his room waiting for him. Elsa was nearly dressed and ready to begin her day, humming softly as she smoothed her skirts over her ample hips. Out in the grounds and surrounding forest, Smythe felt out far enough to sense a few hunters stalking the woods about a mile out, and closer in, two dozen men worked with axes to break up the largest of the trees that had fallen during the last earthquake. Strangely, Smythe thought more trees had been brought down than what he could sense now, though he must be mistaken, obviously. A two-hundred-year-old oak did not just stand up and replant itself. Beyond the western wall, Induin and Liaren were with Solovir, standing by the wide trunk of a great fig with sprawling branches as thick as a Dwarf. The Alda'rendi had a palm against the trunk and was saying something to the twins, but Smythe could not hear it. The vala's power did not extend so far. Induin and Liaren had spent much time with Solovir since his arrival, and often spoke of the wisdom he imparted to them. They said he was teaching them to better speak to the trees. Smythe felt a responsibility to protect Aran's unborn babes inside the girls' bellies, but he had decided to trust Induin's and Liaren's judgement on the matter and not hover around them too closely.

Within the grounds to the north of the Chapel, men in groups were running drills with sword or spear, axe or bow, watched over by a few fellows Smythe had picked out who had some experience in fighting. As a result, most of those in training could now hold a weapon without being a danger to themselves or those around them. It wasn't much, but it was certainly an improvement. Smythe had just decided to round the building and do a circuit of the drills when the ground fell away beneath his feet, making him stumble before he could catch himself. A deafening roar filled the air as the earth heaved and groaned, a sound like the dying screams of ten thousand Trolls. All around him, Smythe sensed people tumbling to the ground and being tossed up and down by the shaking earth. Out in the forest, trees toppled or lost branches, threatening to crush anyone beneath. Fearing for Induin and Liaren, he felt for them, and was relieved to find them nimbly navigating the chaos with their Elvish agility.

He cursed when he realised there was not much he could to do help anyone; as soon as he pulled someone to their feet they would just fall down again. Please don't let the Chapel collapse, he pleaded to Aros as he watched the big building helplessly. The tremor continued for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a minute or so, before the land grew quiet again. Pained moans were audible, now, drifting from around the grounds and inside the Chapel. Smythe could not sense any major damage, though one of the cisterns at the eastern end of the building was gushing water onto the ground from a long crack that ran up its side. A cry for help brought his attention back to the south, and his vala painted the picture for him as fast as thought. Spinning, he raced off down the grounds; in the forest, two men were pinned under a fallen elm too large to be moved by hand. In seconds, he was over the south wall and flashing through the trees. In the back of his mind, he noted with shock how many trees were down, even as he vaulted them. He skidded to a stop before a tangle of toppled thick-trunked oak and ash and birch, all fallen together in a pile. Ancient roots exposed to the air after centuries beneath the ground spouted water like the valves in the Chapel.

Men clamoured as they tried to chop their way in with axes, but it was useless; they were never going to get to the men trapped in there, at least not in time to save them. Ordering them to stand clear, Smythe pushed his way between the lower branches of a sturdy birch and crouched to get his shoulder under the trunk. With a heave, he hoisted it as high as his arms would allow and pushed it aside. It crashed to the ground a few feet away. Even for Smythe, it had been heavy, and that was the smallest of them. As he moved forward for the next one, it shivered as if alive, then went still. A moment later, the entire pile shuddered and began to move with the creaking of ancient wood and the shuffle of leaves. Biting off an oath, Smythe leaped back as the trees began to right themselves, slowly rising from the ground and settling back into the holes from where they had been disturbed.

"Gods in Heaven!" One of the loggers breathed, his axe forgotten in his hand. "I've never seen anything like it!" Neither had Smythe. Was this Solovir? Did the Alda'rendi have some mystical control over the trees? As if he had heard the thought, Solovir appeared next to Smythe, followed shortly after by the twins. Smythe cast a careful eye over them, but they hardly had a hair out of place. When Solovir saw Smythe glance at him, the Elf shook his head.

"This is not me, friend," he said as he watched the trees thread their roots back into the soil. Where branches had broken off, new shoots sprouted from the trunk, green and healthy. "This power is as old as the mountains. Older." Almost under his breath, he added, "I wondered when she would surface."