Iron of the Innocent: The Dark Judge (Vol 1)

Chapter 9: The Vision

274 I.C.
Sacren
Solorn Kingdom
Melsian Province
Vaxtin Outpost

Rich, fresh air drifted around the small room with the movement of the gentle, cool breeze. There was one window and it had been opened. The shutters were pushed as far as they would go, and the warm mid-morning sunshine filled the room with its light. Golden sun beams flowed across the stone floor and moved slowly with the rotation of Sacren. There was not a cloud in the sky.

The room was simple. There was a chest-of-drawers, a cabinet, wardrobe, chest, two chairs, a small desk, and a bed all built from the fragrant wood of the trees of HartingForest. Some would argue that the name was actually Solorn Forest, but the community of halflings that lived in the northwest part of the forest had been there longer than the human civilization that sprung up. It was the halflings that took in the wandering humans so long ago.

Like humans and other races with a wide variety of builds and coloring, halflings and gnomes were actually varieties of the dwarf race. The dwarves were the largest, the halflings smaller, and gnomes the smallest, each with their own body types. But call a halfling or a gnome a dwarf and the offending party would be brought down and beaten until they recanted of the heresy. They had their own ideas of their identity.

The bed's linens were a lighter color with one pillow, which was common in a medical facility. There was one oil lamp and a candle, but they were only lit during the hours of the night or when the clouds swallowed the sun in their gray embrace. The clerics and nurses always prescribed plenty of fresh air and sunshine. On a small table next to the bed, a cup and flagon containing fresh water were placed within reach of the patient.

Dreydan Ruin had been unconscious when he was brought to the military medical team. And he remained so without change. Those who attended him were not sure why he would not wake up. While the team attended to the wagoner, he could not tell them how long Dreydan had been in his condition, only that the soldier was delivered to him that way. He could not explain why Dreydan's rescuer asked him to bring the fallen soldier to Vaxtin.

Bartholomew and Ahna had been the only ones to survive the attack on the wagon. His other two hired men, as the wagoner described, died valiantly in the defense of the wagon and their charge. When he described the dark riders who confronted him on the road eyebrows lifted. Whispers of concern and words of disbelief and scorn could be heard. A lot of what he described was steeped in myth. Men could not see without eyes, nor could a man survive or ride horses engulfed in flame.

"I know what I saw!" Bartholomew said with reddened cheeks and a pointed finger. "Believe me or not. That is your own choice."

"Weren't you hit on the head?" one man had asked.

"It was dark and stormy. How could you really see the men's faces?" a woman asked.

The wagoner was about to lose his temper further with them, but shaking his head he simply had no words to respond. There was no way to force them to believe. He spent the night recuperating, and the next morning, despite how he felt he decided to continue his trip home even with his numerous wounds.

The poison had made Bartholomew sick too, but he would not stay there. He did so against the clerics' protests and recommendation, but he was ready to get back to his family. His spirit was chilled and he felt an impending darkness just out of sight. He wanted to get as far away as he could and be with those he loved. Ahna went with him to fulfill her duty.

Dreydan was unconscious on his back, and he did not move until the nurses turned him at regular intervals. Without warning, the soldier drew in a deep breath and then another. His muscles tensed across his broad chest. He lifted his arms out to each side and started a full body stretch, his limbs trembling, reaching up high above his head and turning to each side, then returned to his back with a deep exhale.