When Twins War: Book I

Chapter Seven

The next morning, after breakfast, the company of Outlanders began their journey on horseback out of Restom. A mist hung over the city, suppressing the sound of the horse's hooves on the cobbled road. Every now and again a merchant, cart, or fellow traveller would appear in the thick mist as they headed towards the eastern gate. They were mostly ignored as everyone began their business for the day. Bells were ringing from many corners of the city signalling the port being opened and they saw the East Gate ahead of them.

Tarkanyon could feel a growing sense of foreboding as they neared it. Outlanders were gifted with a peculiar, almost prophetic, sense. They could sense danger before it occurred, which greatly aided them in battle. But this sense could sometimes be more intense in some of them. In the rare case, it was very prevalent, and those were the kinds of people who wrote the books Luillan liked to read.

Feeling uncomfortable with a growing premonition that was unusual for him, he looked around to see what the others were doing. Turrik was playing with a dagger in his hands, observing it keenly.

"Is that from one of the three from yesterday?" he asked.

"Indeed," Turrik replied. "From the table where you and Chrisolian were sitting."

"Can you decipher where it comes from?" Poiternium asked.

"I do not recognise anything of it," Turrik replied. "It is of a shape and form I believe none of us have seen before."

Tarkanyon let off a small cry and stopped. The rest of the party quickly formed a circular formation. After a few moments, Chrisolian rubbed his beard and looked at Tarkanyon carefully.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

Tarkanyon sighed. "There are some horsemen on the other side of this wall, waiting for us."

"Foré horsemen, no doubt," Chrisolian stated. "But why such a cry, Tarkanyon?"

"Yes. Foré horsemen. It must be this mist, it has me on edge."

Drius grunted. "I was hoping for some more action," he said.

But that wasn't the reason for Tarkanyon's outburst. Something about Restom's walls became a foreshadow for something else. There would be a battle here, a battle that would decide many outcomes. He knew that someone of considerable importance would find their end here. When he thought deeper of it, a distant feeling of nausea overcame him for just an instant, and was gone.

He didn't like this at all. So much so, he was grateful to see twenty men approach them on horseback.

"Twenty," muttered Drius, pulling his horse next to Tarkanyon. "That's a fair number."

"Too much. They will slow us down," grumbled Tarkanyon, looking toward them.

"Well, I suppose we couldn't have expected less," Turrik said with his mouth full of apple, cutting it with the dagger he was playing with. Chrisolian was at the rear, and he let off a loud sniff and sigh. So the king decided to send a dragoon to the villages with them, then? The Foré dragoon formed a V-Formation and the horseman in the front – seemingly their captain - gave a slow nod to Tarkanyon. They were dressed in the familiar black Foré uniform, tight jackets buttoned up all the way to their necks.

"Captain Altana," said the captain coarsely. He did not reach out his arm to shake hands, nor give a bow of any sort. He merely looked at them. His long, black hair was pasted firmly on his skull, combed back, wet and dirty. His eyes had a hint of green and blue, and a small stripe of a beard shaped as a long upside-down triangle had located itself down his chin.

Tarkanyon kept on riding past them. "Yes, we have met before."

Altana huffed and signalled to his men to fall in. They came up the rear quietly. Altana pushed his horse forward and rode next to Tarkanyon.