Illara Chronicles: Swordplay

Courage

It was never difficult to mend hurt feelings with Taldren. The two of them had been friends for nearly two decades and slept under the same roof for the better part of this year, they knew how to make a wrong right and it wasn't hard to find time to talk. This morning Kelith made rice porridge, that was ideally just milk and sugar. Over that they agreed that their adventure would begin tomorrow - and set off to get everything they'd need and pay for it with funds earned, and not reclaimed from the guard that'd beaten Droop. 

The afternoon was spent talking prices with vendors and checking supplies off the list for their journey. Traveling The Glade was dangerous, but hopefully less so if you were completely prepared, and he finally had it all. Rope, dreid rations, bedrolls...he checked the list to it's end, crumpled it and stuffed it into a shallow vest pocket. He'd spend this last evening here working at The Lion, and explaining to Claudia...saying goodbye to his family, but that was hours from now, he reasoned, so he headed out to the Greenwood and spent those hours in a book.

Now he sat with his legs crossed and his back straight against the gnarled white trunk of a tree. The red orange light filtering through the ink black canopy of leaves told Ke'lith that dusk had come quickly. He wiped a sweaty hand on his breeches, closed his eyes and drew a deep breath to steady his pounding heart. Then he smiled, placed a dull grey leaf between the final pages and slowly, almost painfully clothed the leather bound novel that sat in his lap.

He lingered a while. The sun was setting but still there was birdsong, mingling with the strong winds and early stirrings of creatures fond of the dark. He listened for the howl of wolves but heard none. He'd never heard wolves. Tracing the soft imprint of a mountain, on the books cover with his forefinger, he thought about far away places, where you had to be brave.

The Last Light was about a knight Faisure Armhalt, who pledged himself to a king and lost everything for it. He left his love to fight a war he didn't believe in, against the elves, and his friends. For Kelith and Taldren it was a cautionary tale, that drove them to keep out from under the thumb of a ruler. To keep from making swearing in to a guild, like The Bladeward.

In time Kelith began packing up his small library of books, which varied size and colour. He wrapped them in a too small wax canvas, and stowed them at the base of the tree where the live roots had partially raised an adjacent stump, creating a convenient nook. He kept The Last Light in his satchel though, to share a section with Taldren.

Standing and stretching the lethargy out of his limbs he adjusted the strap that fastened a weary cracked leather scabbard to his hip and slung a warped bow beside its empty quiver on his shoulder. Then, he began the leisurely trek towards home slowing often, stopping occasionally to admire the forest. Tall blades of grass poked up in the spaces between tangled white roots that concealed much of the ground. He had slowed to a distracted stumble, gathering up two narrow sticks and appraising them as to which was straighter when the pained gurgling cry reached his ears. He followed the sound deeper into the forrest.

It's definitely some kind of animal, in pain.

The bellowing kept on, pulling him through the trees until it was joined with the sound of laughter, and speech. "Oh! Right in the throat! I'm next let me try one."

The trees gave way so that Kelith could see three young looking men, gathering and throwing stones. One of them had a wooden bow on his shoulder and quiver of arrows strapped to their hip. Their target was a large stag, tied to one of the wider trunks. There was an arrow lodged deeply in its hip, and another clear through a front leg. The creature looked pitiful as it struggled against its bindings, blood running from its mouth. It let out another desperate pained bellow, as another stone was pitched into its belly. Between the sorrow in the eyes of the animal, and the vicious cackling of them men it felt as though roles had been reversed. They had become the beasts.