Warwielder - Book 1 of The Evernoth Odyssey

Chapter 14 - A Place to Go. A Place to Be.

Marschal dismounted from his horse and guided it to a small stream. When he reached the shore, he crouched down to scoop up a handful of water and placed it between his lips. At the same time, Penelope also took her opportunity to lap up the stream water beside her rider.

Penelope wasn't the name Marschal would've given her but it was a gift from one of Juren's friends. It also didn't seem right for Marschal to change her name so he decided to let it stick. Now he couldn't imagine her as anything but Penelope.

After slurping on another handful of water, Marschal then moved to pour another cupping of water over his head to douse his hair. The Paravellan sprayed water all around him as he shook his mop of wet hair.

Feeling refreshed from the shower, Marschal gazed up at the trees surrounding him. Strings of sunlight seeped through the green canopy and illuminated the scene like a brightly striped curtain. The trees near the shore reminded Marschal of sentinels guarding the whispering stream under their watch. Marschal also observed the shrubs and smaller plants huddled beneath the tree's shade, fostering an interesting contrast between the golden rays of sunshine and the dim umbrella of branches and leaves above. A symphony of bird life and other woodland sounds lulled Marschal into closing his eyelids while taking in a deep breath of the cool gentle air. Then he sighed, contentedly.

"So..." said a familiar voice.

Marschal suddenly jumped up from his spot and whipped around to face the stranger behind him. After stumbling with the knife on his belt, Marschal was eventually able to draw it and hold it up awkwardly at the hooded elf.

"You finally decided to move on," said the elf, unperturbed by the weapon pointed towards him.

"I..." Marschal struggled to think as he spoke. He was alone. With no help. Where did the hooded elf come from? What was his name again? Why was he here? How could he have been so careless? It was all Marschal could do to not appear helpless. "I haven't decided anything," he answered with a confidence he didn't feel.

The hooded elf looked down at the knife in Marschal's hand. Then his glance shifted to over Marschal's shoulder. "Curious. A sword strapped to your back and you reach for your smaller weapon."

Marschal glimpsed the Warwielder on his back before answering. "It's less heavy."

A short silence passed before the elf offered up a gesture that was a blend between a nod and a shrug. Then he looked up ahead and across the stream. "You're heading north-east."

"I...suppose I am.''

"Ciper is a little southward than where you're heading."

"I'm not heading to Ciper," replied Marschal, warily.

"Then where are you heading?"

"Not Ciper," Marschal answered with a shrug.

"You can put that knife down. I'm not going to hurt you."

With his face flushed with embarrassment, Marschal glanced down at the awkward weapon in his hand. The elf insisted he meant no harm. For the most part, Marschal believed him. If the elf wanted him dead, he could have killed the Paravellan right there. But he didn't kill him. Perhaps that was a good sign. However, Marschal didn't want to be too careless. It was clear to him that the elf had an agenda. What would happen if he kept refusing this trip to Ciper?

He lowered his blade and began to guide his horse away from the stream. "Why do you want me in Ciper anyway, elf? And why me of all people?"

"I told you my name is Tronus. And I've already answered those questions."