A Paladin's War Ch. 08

"I should say so," Smythe remarked, eyeing Aran's exposed skin above the water's surface. "Quite an ordeal, I reckon. I'm guessing you only told me less than half of it, too."

He was right. Aran had glossed over a lot of the dreams - what he could remember of them, anyway - because he didn't think anyone else needed to hear every detail. What had happened had happened for him and his meldin, no one else. He had no issue with Smythe knowing, but perhaps the man had enough on his mind, at present.

As if that thought were a premonition, Smythe's jovial spirit slipped into sobriety, and he stared inwardly, as if recalling unpleasant things.

"What is it, my friend?" Aran asked gently. "I've not seen you so vexed since you had to choose between Elaina and Amina at our last meeting." The jibe did nothing for the man's mood, however.

"I'm barely keeping it all together," Smythe admitted with a grimace. He looked to the side, to the edge of the pool on his left. Figures appeared there as Smythe created who he wanted Aran to see. Two Eryn'elda materialised first, popping into existence. A man and a woman, both tall and of regal bearing. He was fit and powerful, she a little shorter, lush and soft, the most well-curved Elf Aran had ever seen. Both were remarkable, radiating wisdom.

"Andil and Elessir," Smythe said, gesturing to them with his pipe. "The Lord and Lady of Ildernass. They brought an army of twenty-thousand Elves." Aran said nothing, and Smythe continued. "Captain Rothgar," he said as a barrel-chested Dwarf appeared next to Andil and Elessir, armoured in plate. His yellow beard was in two long, banded braids that hung to his waist. "Arrived a few days back with ten thousand drengr. Is under orders from his king to assist me in whatever I require, but his love for Elves is about as extensive as my knowledge of farming, and the Elves return the sentiment.

"Andil and Elessir have been compliant enough, but they're old, Aran, and much cleverer than I. Without being able to use my vala, I'm stretched thin keeping things peaceful."

Aran frowned. "How so?"

Smythe shifted his position a little before answering. "I arranged a meeting a couple days ago, between the Elves, Dwarves and the Humans from the Chapel. You know, the ones we rounded up? The refugees and the recruits from the Herald army?" When Aran nodded quickly, he went on. "The Elves and Humans get along fine; they've fought together before, they know one another. The Dwarves, though, well they don't seem to trust anyone. Each party was supposed to bring only ten soldiers to the meeting. The Elves kept their word. Rothgar brought a hundred. It was a close-run thing, Aran, but I managed to keep it from turning into a bloodbath. Since then, neither party will agree to meet."

Aran sighed. It was too much to hope that everything would go as smoothly as they wanted. "And what did Rothgar have to say for himself?" He looked over the Dwarf again, standing by the water, unmoving. Smythe had made him with a hard expression, dark eyes like obsidian beads in his face. Aran imagined the fellow wore that expression a lot of the time, in reality.

Smythe growled. "He said 'assisting me in whatever way I require' does not mean setting up his men like sheep to a slaughter. I swear I nearly throttled the man, truces be damned." After a moment, he asked, "Sure I can't use my vala?"

Aran shook his head, though he wished he didn't have to. "We need to think about the future. One day, these people may need to exist without us again, and they must remember working together with us, but not because of us." That was one thing that had become apparent from his memories of centuries gone.

Smythe shook his head ruefully, but then nodded. "As you say, lad. I'm not sure what I'll do once the full force of Dwarves arrives. And then there's your Ash'goth."

"It will be well, my friend," Aran assured him. "Keep the faith." Wanting to change the subject a little, he asked if Smythe had met with Amina or Elaina recently. Aran was happy to hear that he had, and the two men spent the next little while discussing events as told by the other two arohim. Aran's mind spun as he learned what Amina and Elaina had been up to.

Elaina attacking Vesovar with the Dwarves was one thing, but her being affected by his gar'ji dreams were perhaps even more dire. His stomach twisted at the thought of her suddenly rendered unable to defend herself as a result of his actions. He'd had no way of knowing his meldin would be affected, but still... To hear Amina's report of his other meldin experiencing the same thing - to a lesser extent, thankfully - was no easier to hear. He had much to answer for next time he had them all together. Perhaps there would be a few more scars adorning him, after that. He wouldn't be able to blame them for it, either.

At least Elaina had a meldin of her own, someone to watch her back - Aran was glad for the news she had taken another - and he looked forward to meeting the man.

Amina leaving the Temple to chase after Sara was a surprise, but Aran couldn't imagine the Priestess taking Sara's abandonment of her duties lightly. He wouldn't be in Sara's shoes right now for all the gold in Sarresh. He was glad to hear, however, that another young arohim had been gathered, and at full strength, thanks to Sara. That presented its own dangers, but Amina was more than capable of handling him.

After a while, Aran could hardly summon further surprise, for each piece of news was as great or greater than the next. Elaina had faced Maharad while he occupied Burin's body? Before she'd gone off to save Noah's family, and then discovered yet another arohim? "And you say they'll write stories about me?" he scoffed. "At this rate, I'll not make the histories at all. And rightfully so!"

Smythe grinned around his pipestem. "She's a great woman, to be sure. She feels well?" He was asking about Aran's sense of her through the melda.

"Yes," Aran replied. "At least, she is not injured or pained enough that I can feel it at this distance."

Smythe nodded, as if that were good enough. "She is alive," he said. "We are all alive. That is a bloody miracle in itself, if you ask me."

Aran had to agree with his logic. "I know where he is," he told Smythe suddenly, with no warning. "I've seen the city he holds, in the far north."

Smythe frowned. "Maloth?" he asked quietly, his dark eyes fixed on Aran's face.

Aran nodded slowly. "I found a place - a world, maybe - between this plane and the real world, like a reflection. I was able to go places, see things. It was like a grand copy of the world we live in, but without the people."

"And what did you see?" The question was hesitant, as if he didn't want to know, but couldn't help but ask.

"I went out over the Wild Sea," Aran began. "I flew, like we can here, but it wasn't the same. First, I saw where the Ash'goth were camped in the east, then I went to the Chapel. It was all real, or at least an accurate reflection. I saw the watchtowers there, Henley. They would not have been there from my own recollection."

Smythe nodded as he listened, the clouds of smoke around him increasing as he puffed on his pipe. Aran gave his best summary of the city he'd seen, including sensing Maloth's presence. Smythe murmured something to himself, but Aran didn't catch it.

"If you say he is there, lad," Smythe said once Aran finished. "Then he is there. It is good news, I think. It means there is an entire ocean between him and us, at least for now."

"Yes," Aran agreed. "We have time. Some, anyway."

Smythe leaned forward, then, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I believe I have just had an idea, my friend. One that will solve our problems in the Emerin."

He began to divulge his idea, and Aran found himself smiling, too.

***

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT

***