We Solemn Few

Chapter Eight : A Greater Game

Maverick Teshor kept an unsteady hand upon the hilt of his sword as he rode steadily forth, trying - and failing - to shake the feeling that something was off, that something was wrong, though he had no idea of what. His horse, a large mare with a dark brown coat of fur spotted with black, trotted in front of those of his companions, steadily lead them along the dirt road towards to Regnora, but it was an effort for the guardsman not to turn his horse right back around and speed back to his hometown. The effort had to be doubled when he thought about Zenrin and how he hadn't even given him a goodbye. If he didn't know better, he'd have suspected the boy hadn't even been home.

He shook his head and sighed, thinking it was better to focus on the task at hand; a Hallowed Representative had sent for them for some reason or another, and he was intent on determining why before he arrived. He had tried presenting the thought to the pair that rode at his flank, but Anora - in her endless efforts to maintain her uptight indifference, he figured - had merely turned up her nose and Dren offered little more than a shrug, though he said he'd think on it. That was nearly an hour ago, he realized, and not a peep from Dren since, he realized with another breath. Seems I am the only one concerned, perhaps I should shove these thoughts aside for good. Though he thought that, he didn't commit, and found himself lost in his theories as the sun beat down upon their backs and cool wind brushed over them. At least the weather is prime for riding. At least there is that much.

Another quart-hour - perhaps a half, he wasn't too keen on time whilst riding - the slow and aged, yet collected voice of Anora suddenly spoke up, almost giving Maverick's heart a jump. "We-..." worry with realization laced her tone, and a thought came to Maverick, or began to. It came in pieces, "...we're all-..." her tone seemed to switch suddenly, her odd halt saying she meant to say something else entirely, though she continued on with a different thought, "...leaving the town to burn, aren't we?"

Maverick came to a sudden halt, forcing his horse to do so with a sharp tug on his reins. He noticed Dren did the same, the mayor speaking before he had the chance, "To burn?" His voice was slow, though stern, and his eyes were wide, "What do you mean, 'to burn'? Why would our leaving be related to something that extreme?"

She shuddered a sigh, allowing her shoulders to relax, if only slightly, "I know you two weren't present for the Starsayer's- for Il'ric's saying the other day, however I was and he spoke of ghorahk and green-black flame. It was the first time I've ever heard Il'ric fearful."

"You can't seriously-" Dren began, but Maverick cut him off with a much sterner tone, "What did he say, Anora? What did the damn fool say? Did he say when?"

"No-..." her eyes were wide, though it was as if she feared him, now, "No, no... he didn't give a time, Maverick. But think about it, you scornful ox, just think! Il'ric was invited with us, wasn't he?"

"That would mean-" Maverick began, though Dren spoke up this time, "...he knew it was soon... Scorn me, he knew!" Anora only nodded, though shame was plastered on her face, "What do we do? We're nearly a halfday gone! Even in a full sprint, it'll be dark by the time we return, and that's assuming they haven't struck by then!" Anora shrugged, parted her lips as to speak, but no sound came.

Maverick took a deep breath, pondering. Il'ric stayed back, but why? He couldn't be- no, not Il'ric. Gods, please not Il'ric. He shuddered another breath, Zenrin, my boy, stay safe. "We continue on to Rendora," he said finally, shame now coating his face in place of Anora's.

"But-" Dren began to protest but Maverick lifted a hand, silencing him, "Regardless of if Il'ric remained behind or not, the seal on our letters were that of the Hallow, not out of Mjunik. If anyone is pulling strings, it has to be them." Dren gave a huff, but slowly nodded.