ShadowKnight

Chapter Seven

Tarin stood at the edge of the city, his bag slung over his shoulder. From his position on a small hill, he could see the crater near the back of the palace, where the parade grounds had been. Even from here, he could make out the tiny figures of construction workers as they worked to rebuild the wall, and moved dirt to refill the large hole in the ground. They had been at it for several days already, during the course of Tarin's trial, and already the hole in the wall was smaller, and scaffolding bridged the gap in the walkway along the top. Behind Tarin was the central forest, a large mass of trees that was thousands of years old. Tarin had lived beside the forest his entire life, but he never thought that he'd have to live his life inside its borders. A few meters away, a pair of guards stood, watching him. They were to prevent his return to the castle, but mostly, they just watched him.
"You're sure you wouldn't rather take a boat to Elune, or Ainamor?" One said, naming a couple of the mainland countries to the east. "Instead of going in there and facing the elves?"
Tarin tried to smile, but failed. He shrugged at the soldier, a young man-at-arms named George, he worked in the castle as a guard to the royal family. It was pure luck that he had not been caught in the disaster that had torn apart the castle walls, and the royal family.
"I don't speak Elunian," he replied to George. "I'm sure I'll be fine in the forest. I'll head northwest, away from the kingdom. Tell Jim," Tarin hesitated, remembering the conversation from the night before. "If he asks, tell Jim that I'll see him again someday."
"Not on Lollican soil, you won't. Get moving, Sorcerer," the other guard said.
Tarin nodded and glanced at the other man. Older than George, he looked at Tarin with a mixture of anger and mistrust. "Of course, I'm sorry," Tarin apologized. "It's just, he was my best friend. Do you have a best friend?"
"You killed him," the man replied. "He was on that wall, and he was crushed! You should have died instead of him!" Tarin took a step back as the man lunged toward him, spear in hand, but George put a hand on the other soldier's arm and held him back.
"I'm sorry..." Tarin said, backing away further.
"The King should have had you executed..." was the man's reply. Sadly, Tarin stepped into the shade of the trees, glancing back one more time to see the two soldiers still standing at the edge of the forest. Before long, they were out of sight.

Behind Tarin, George heard a soft chuckle, as the soldier beside him, so angry a moment ago, started to laugh. Before George's eyes, the older man transformed into a tall, thin man, who looked about 25, but his elongated, pointed ears showed he was an elf. He tossed George his helmet and took up the spear again.
"Who are you?" George asked.
"My name is Eldrin," the elf replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a banished sorcerer to track."
Shedding the older man's armor to reveal a finely made green tunic and light brown leggings, the Elf looked like some sort of prince to George.
"What do you need a sorcerer for?" He asked.
"My queen plans to start a war, child," Eldrin replied with a condescending pat on the younger man's head. "A war needs powerful soldiers, and weapons." And with that, he entered the trees where Tarin had gone, and George stood alone at the edge of the woods.

Tarin wandered aimlessly for several hours, heading in as straight a line as he could. It was dim under the trees, with most of the sunlight filtered through the dense, green leaves of summer. What was left pooled in golden puddles on the leaf strewn ground, and it was quiet, every sound including Tarin's own footsteps was muffled.
For the first hour, Tarin saw no signs of animals, but then he began to make out a track here, a flash of fur there. As the creatures of the forest became more accustomed to his presence in their forest, they began showing themselves more and more. A squirrel darting across his path. It was here that Tarin stopped for a drink and a bit of lunch from the rations he'd been provided. The food was dry, and tasteless, but he ate the meal without complaining. Besides, there was no one to complain to.
After the short meal, Tarin kept walking, driven by some instinct that kept him going forward. Eventually, the sun went down and the moon rose, but he still did not stop. Conjuring a small orb of light with a thought, he used it to light the way. He wasn't sure where he was going yet, but something drove him forward, not letting him rest. The sound of the leaves under his soft leather boots taunted him with the cracking sound of his new name. Trékon, Trékon. The name cracked like a tree branch breaking. Wait. He turned, hearing the sound of an actual branch snapping.
"Who's there?" Tarin said, taking the orb of pale pink light in his hand, he held it high, searching the darkened trees, but the area outside the dim light was impossible to make out, and the shadows shifted uncertainly as he waved it around.
When no one replied, Tarin snuffed the light and drew his sword, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness. There! His night vision slowly began to let the soft moonlight filtering through the leaves light it up as bright as day, and he could make out the figure of a dear, it's eyes reflecting the faint light as it looked back at him disinterestedly. Tarin sheathed his sword and relaxed, deciding not to cast the light spell again. If he got lost... so be it. He had no destination, and nowhere to return to. He was already lost. 
Tarin continued to walk through the dark trees until the moon went down, and even his sharp night vision became uncertain. He was exhausted, and hungry, but he still could not stop. He couldn't figure out why, until his foot slipped on a piece of shale, covered in dead leaves. Dropping his pack, he fell feet first into a deep depression in the ground. He hit the ground on his back with a heavy thump. Rolling to his feet with a groan, he heard a clatter as his pack hurtled down the cliffs after him, its contents spilling all over the depression, which was more like a small canyon lined with cliffs. The cliffs were about 15 or 20 feet high where he fell, onto a patch of thick grass, which grew all around the bottom of the canyon. At one end, a small waterfall flowed down over the rocks and into a small pool, which then formed a stream cutting through the center, but it was what was growing across the stream from Tarin that caught his eye as he looked around him.
Across the stream was a stand of narrow-trunked trees that reflected the starlight, so their leaves cast light instead of shadows. They resembled aspens, with the tight clustering of trunks, and round leaves that shook in the faint breeze. They sounded like a thousand small bells, chiming faintly. Tarin forgot his things as he wandered beneath the trees in awe.
He'd heard of the silver trees before, Ella had told him that the elves had cultivated them in an attempt to appease a ruthless tyrant who loved silver above all. Ella didn't know whether the tyrant had been human or elf, or even from Lollica, but he had ordered that the elves chop the trees down to create a massive throne for him, which he set up in his great hall of stone. He even burned the silver wood, which burned with a strange, black flame that suited his black heart. Eventually, the elves had stood up to him, banishing him from Lollica, but the silver trees had all been lost.
Except, here they were, lost in a little gully in the forest. Tarin gazed up at the steep cliffs, wondering how he would get back out, but his stomach rumbled, and the urge to continue walking was gone, so he tracked down his bedroll and spread it out on the grass, too tired to worry about anything else.
Tarin fell asleep quickly, but his dreams were troubled. Again and again, he saw the walls crumble, and heard the bang of the chamberlain's iron shod cane on the marble floor. A strange blond man he'd never seen before grinned at him from where he sat on the branch of a tree, his blue eyes cruel and cold. Tarin turned toward him, but the man had become an owl, and the owl simply hooted at him, before flying low over Tarin's head. Tarin ducked to avoid the owl's talons, and woke up from where he lay, curled up in a tight ball on his bedroll.
The sun was high in the sky, and Tarin could feel it on his back and shoulders, encouraging him to go back to sleep, but instead Tarin pushed himself to his feet, stretching out muscles stiff from sleeping on the ground. He gathered up his scattered things into a neat pile, before rummaging around for some food. He found some of the hard flatbread that was a staple for the academy recruits, and some dried fruit. He sat on a rock and looked at his situation. He would need to escape eventually, to hunt and gather supplies for his campsite. The cliffs were steep, and relatively high and smooth, but Tarin he figured he could possibly climb them. Possibly.
Dusting the crumbs off his hands, he stepped forward to tackle the wall.

He slipped down the cliff face, scraping his hands again. Tarin glanced at them and noticed a little bit of blood welling up on his palm. Rubbing his hands on his tunic, he stared at the cliffs. He'd been attempting to climb them for over an hour, but he simply couldn't get a good hand hold. The only way out of this hole was if he had wings.
"Who you?" Asked a strange voice that sounded like a flute. Tarin turned to see a large horned owl perched in one of the silver trees. It's feathers were dark grey, almost black, except the tufts on its head, which were pure white. It also had white feathers like eyebrows above its eyes, which were big and blue. The owl stared at him, and Tarin stared back, the cliff face forgotten for now. "Who you?" The owl asked again.
"I'm Tarin," Tarin replied, before he remembered that his name had been changed. "I-I mean—" he stopped. What did his name matter to an owl?
The two continued to stare at each other for a little while, until Tarin could not fight the urge to blink any longer, and the owl flew up, and out of the gully again. Tarin watched it go, a little sadly, when the owl appeared again, and kicked a length of rope down one of the cliffs. Tarin ran over, and tested the rope, which was strong, and tied to something on the top. Anxiously, he gripped the rope with both hands and climbed up the wall, half expecting it to release and drop him back into the gully at any second, but it didn't and he soon reached the top, where he noticed that the rope was tied securely to a wide tree trunk. There was no sign of the owl as Tarin looked around, but then, out of the shadows between the trees, stepped a man in a dark coat. His hood was down, and his hair was white, but he looked to be about 40. He was thin, and a little on the short side, like Tarin himself. Tarin got the feeling that he'd seen this man somewhere before.
"I know you," Tarin said.
"Yes," The man said, "We have met before, a couple times. I'd been trying to keep an eye on you, but when they started to track me—" He stopped, listening for something. "You weren't followed into the forest, were you?" 
"No, I don't think so. The guards who led me to the border never entered the woods." Tarin said, thinking back to the day before.
"Good, we can't be discovered. With that, the man turned back into an owl, and flew into the gully. Tarin scrambled back down the rope after him, his cut hands stinging.
The man was already sitting beside the fireplace, stoking a fire with a long, green branch when Tarin reached the ground.
"What happened at the castle was no accident," the man said as Tarin came to sit across the fire from him. "Someone caused you to lose control. You must not let that happen again."
"Who would want me to lose control?"
"Someone who wanted to drive you into the forest. Someone who desires your power. They've been hunting me for years... but they will never get my son."
"Who's your son?" Tarin asked curiously.
"You are," The man replied.