Glyph

Chapter 12

Dirk woke up in darkness. While he had napped, night had fallen, and he was alone in the gardens with no idea where he was. He lay silently, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the moon.

Slowly, they did, and he got up, stretching. He tried to remember what the path he had gone down looked like.

It curved to the right, he thought hesitantly. No, defininitely the right.

Confidently, he began walking forward. When he reached the point where he thought the trail turned, he did as well. Nothing happened.

Recalling the path as he could, he began to feel more confident in his powers of memory.

Left this time, he thought.

He walked straight into thin whippy tree branches. What the- he slapped his arms around, trying to protect his face from their stinging atacks. Stumbling away from the plant, he tripped and almost fell on the dirt beneath him. His progress towards the ground was halted by a log of some sort. His breath was knocked out of him in a whoosh.

Panting, he didn't move. That had not gone as planned. His only consolation was the abscence of witnesses. Feeling his face, he felt thin shallow cuts streaking his face. Not too bad. He wasn;t hurt, but for his pride. He had lost a fight with a plant.

Pushing on the log, he stood up. Squinting, he thought he saw the path keeping straight. Following it with his head down and eyes only looking for the silvery tan of the path, he walked until he made it out of the maze of greenery. He only made two more mistakes and they weren't nearly as embarrassing as the first.

When he was out he breathed a sigh of relief. Nearby, torchlight spilled from an open passage.

Now he knew where he was. He took the passage and walked along the well-lit corridor, finding his way back to his room. 

As he walked, his thoughts turned unbidden to the conversation held by Cynric and Gilthas in the hall right before the council meeting.

Gilthas had acted like he was the heir, but he hadn't stayed for Cynric's reply due to fear of being caught eavesdropping.

Toriath's bones! He knew he should've stayed. He couldn't do anything about it now, of course.

He remembered suddenly he had never told Brooke what happened like he said he would. h esmacked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. He had been so busy after and since, the thought had been driven clean out of his head and he had no doubt the same had happened to Brooke. What would she have said? Probably the same he was saying to himself.

 Was he the heir? At the time, he had been so sure, now it seemed a childish and stupid assumption. 

But he felt so sure he was the heir. It may seem silly to put so much trust in feelings, but there it was. He simply had to be the heir.

Pushing it from his mind, he arrived at his room. Wincing at the creak of his door, puncuated by the sharp squeak of the hinges, he peered inside. It seemed much the same as when he had left it.

Walking into the dark room, he nearly slipped on something covering the stone in his doorway. Picking it up and pulling it out from under his boot, he was rewarded with the feel of paper. Squinting at it in the dim wavering light of the hallway torches proved fruitless.

Closing his door quickly, he lit candles impatiently with a spark from flint and steel. Looking at it in the bright formed light he was able to make out the imprint of his boot, along with bold handwriting detailing a draft. His heart sinking, he read,