Manorborn: The Battles Between

Chapter 1 - The Reading of the Letter

Chapter 5

Two days later found Jaryd on another world, in a forest as dark as night. He was on the back of a huge, powerful, silver-gray wolf and racing through the trees at full speed as he kept looking around him from left to right, then behind him and above him. His staff was on his back, but he bore no other weapon. His face was tense, wary, and with good reason.

He was being hunted.

For the last hour, he had tried to evade his pursuer. But he has hampered by a lack of knowledge about the forest, and could only move where the great boles of mighty trees allowed him to do.

It was not an effective strategy to elude one's hunter.

He could hear his pursuer behind him, closing in quickly. The pads of feet were soft, but still audible to his ears, especially as they were heightened by his connection to the wolf beneath him, as was his sense of smell and sight. As this was the case, he sensed the black form an instant before it struck him from a mighty leap that carried it over the bole of a huge dead tree on the ground. A thought, a press of his knees, and the wolf suddenly shifted to the left, dodging the attack as a snarl sounded in his ears, and the huge, lean form thudded to the earth a mere paw's breadth to his right.

*That was close!"

"Too close! Move faster!"

*I intend to!*

Behind them, mocking laughter came from their pursuer.

"Close, Manorborn! I almost had you! You know you cannot escape me!"

"I'm going to try!" Jaryd muttered, leaning closer to his wolf's neck as he urged the mighty beast on to greater efforts. "Come, Silvernight, you know you can do it! Run!"

With a snarl and a yip, Silvernight, a wolf of the Wolf riders put on a burst of speed that made him a blur of gray as he sped through the forest. When a Great Wolf ran at full sprint, few in the world could match them for endurance or speed.

But some could.

Jaryd felt it an instant before the huge panther struck; a rush of displaced air, a sense of impending strike. A moment later, Silvernight was knocked to the ground as Jaryd tumbled off his back and rolled along the grass for a few feet before coming to a stop on his back.

He barely had a chance to realize what had happened before his pursuer, the one on the panther's back, was on him, straddling his chest, a gleaming knife pressed against his throat. Eyes as black as the blackest night held his, silver iris gazing down into his gray ones, as full lips curved in a playfully triumphant smile.

"OH dear, Jaryd Manorborn, the Heir is struck down by a mere girl. What will people think?"

The voice was playfully teasing, not mocking, but definitely letting him know who it was who had beaten him.

And the blade was still against his throat, with just enough pressure to remind him that it was there.

"They will say that, Oriana, daughter of King Alor, King of the Lothians of Lotha forest, is no mere slip of a girl, but a warrior true and cunning."

Jaryd's smile was warm, and as equally playful as that of the girl, the Princess, who held him down and held a knife to his throat.

"But would my captor please remove the knife from my throat?"

A flick and flash of silver, and the blade was in its sheath at her side. Oriana was clad in the black leather armour of her people, a design that allowed for suppleness and silence of movement, but could turn the strikes of many a blade. It was black, as was her skin, and her hair. Indeed, the only part of her not black as midnight were the silver irises in her eyes, and they were all the more entrancing for being so bright and deep against the ebony of her skin. She was a captivating and beautiful young woman, and over the last few weeks, Jaryd had learned she could be a great friend, counselor and confidant. Though he had his brothers, father, his teachers Melchior and Gideon, and the great dragon Gilgamel to seek counsel with, when it came to matters of a personal nature, he found himself turning to Oriana more and more.

"Come, Manorborn," the Princess of Lotha rose to her feet, " stand up and let us talk. This was enjoyable, but I know you well enough to know you did not come here simply to experience defeat at my hand."

Oriana spoke lightly as she offered a hand to help Jaryd rise from the ground, but she knew him well, and knew he was troubled. Since he had rescued her, the princess had felt drawn to the tall, often somber young manling, and his musings of late suggested he was struggling with something weighty.

"Come and sit with me."

Oriana moved to sit with her back against a mighty tree, easily large enough that ten men holding hands could not surround it fully. She whistled, and her panther came over to lay next to her, receiving a scratch between his eyes that elicited a contented purr as he lay there. From the saddle on its back, she drew a skin full of drink and offered it to Jaryd as he took a seat next to her.

"My thanks."

Jaryd took a long drink from the skin, then passed it back to the princess. Leaning his head back against the smooth bark of the tree, he let his eyes gaze upward though they saw nothing, as he pondered a task he had been given at the Battle of the Vale, just a few short weeks ago. A man known to many as the Ancient had revealed his true name to Jaryd and given him a letter, a letter that he said would explain all that had transpired and why the Ancient had done what he had done. Jaryd knew he was expected to read the document, and had it with him even then. Indeed it had not left his side since he had been given it.

Yet, he was hesitant to read it, for he feared what he would learn of one who he counted friend despite only knowing him a short time. The man he knew had been noble, giving, self-sacrificing, wise and had given good counsel. The LIght of the Maker had been strong in him.

Did he dare read something that could make his opinions and thoughts of the Ancient change? Would he be able to live with what he learned?

A small hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts, drew his attention to the beautiful girl next to him.

"What weighs your mind so, my Lord Manorborn?"

"The Ancient. At the Battle of the Vale, he gave me a letter, a letter he said would explain why he had done what he had done."

Jaryd drew forth the envelope from a satchel under his cloak. Holding it up, he noticed how plain the envelope seemed, how simple and non-descript. Yet, it contained information that could permanently alter his opinion of one he counted as a great man and amazing friend.

"He asked me to read it, meant for me to do so. Yet, I am worried that what I read will lessen my opinion of him, make him less than he was. I do not want that to happen.But..." He sighed softly, closing his eyes for a moment, "...I gave my word to read it, and I do not want to break trust."

"Nor should you."

Oriana's smile was sure, her voice confident, as she spoke. Slender fingers drew Jaryd's face back to hers, so he was looking into her eyes as she spoke.

"What the Ancient was, who he was, will not change if you read this letter, or if you do not. His legacy is sure and true. We know of his workings and his sacrifice, and he is honoured for all. The letter will not alter what he has done, so do not fear such things. He gave you a gift, the gift of knowing who he really was. No one else received this, only you."

She lay a hand on his cheek, cupping it gently, as she smiled at him softly.

"He WANTED you to know the truth. Do not deny him his last wish, Jaryd. Learn who he was, learn of him and, perhaps, learn from him still."

Her worlds were sure, her counsel good, and the Heir of the Manor pondered them for a few moments, then smiled slightly and nodded.

"You are wise, Oriana, and I think I need to listen to what you have said."

"Then do not wait, my Lord. Read the letter."

Nodding, Jaryd settled himself in the grass and against the tree. He took a deep breath, let it out...

...and opened the letter.