Chapter 32
Rwiordes awoke in a thicket of thorn
bushes. The bitter wind rushed over him
with icy fierceness. At first he could
not remember where he was or why, for that matter, he was there in the first
place. He was clenched into as tight a
ball as he could manage.
He listened as the cold blew over him in the great northern gale. It howled as it bit at the wide grassy fields
of the region. He allowed his eyes to
open and take in the brightness of the day.
Then he remembered where he was.
He moaned as the uncomfortableness of
his immediate position in the thorn bushes impinged itself upon his
consciousness.
Even so he did not hasten to remove himself from their prickly embrace
immediately. He had not been captured
yet, he would not allow haste to undo him at this point. He crept up towards the edge of the thorny
thicket, a standard landmark of the northern sheep country. He surveyed the vast expanse of grasslands to
the North. The wind greeted him harshly,
nibbling cruelly at his nose and ears.
There was no one in sight in that direction. A small shepherd’s cottage stood, barely
discernible towards the East, but no one appeared to yet be up and
stirring. Rwiordes fought his way back
through the hedge to see view the southern vista. A modest estate stretched out on the
southeastern border to the field, nearly a mile away. To the southwest the grassy terrain rolled
without landmark of note. It was rather
open terrain for Rwiordes liking.
He determined to hug the line of the
thorn hedge and make his way along it, heading roughly west. He did have a destination in his mind. Even as he ran in blind fury to be away from
his captors and the monster that they served, he had begun to form a plan. It had been there, really, as the smallest
seed of an idea after the night the Champion bested the Demon’s
werewolves. He certainly wasn’t entirely
clear the details, or even the objectives of his plan. Rwiordes knew was that his only hope of
truly escaping the Demon was to seek out the only person that the fiend seemed
to fear, the Druidic Champion.
The Demon in Hertrid’s body was
headed southwest to Lorm, that was where Rwiordes needed to get to then, but
somehow, he had to get there first. And
he had to get there without getting caught.
The particulars of his plan were definitely lacking, to be sure. Rwiordes only knew that he had to try and
warn the Champion.
He followed the thorn hedge until it
ended several miles across the field. It
ended abruptly along its border with a small grove of beech trees. Cautiously he made his way through the trees,
peering discretely through the branches.
He was startled to see an encampment of some kind. His first thought (or rather fear) was that
this was a contingent of the Demon’s force sent to find him. This notion was quickly eased as he saw the
festive colors and the relatively small numbers of the tents. There were no more than two dozen large tents
arranged in an unorganized manner. As
Rwiordes examined the campsite the aroma of cooked food wafted to his
nostrils. Oatmeal. Hot Coffee.
His stomach growled.
At last some of the people came into
Rwiordes’ view. They were dressed in
thick coats of bright colors and they laughed and cavorted with gusto. They did not appear suspicious to his astute examination. Their food smelled awfully good. Perhaps they would be kind enough to share a
little sustenance with a fellow traveler.
It was worth an attempt in any case.
He stepped out of the grove and
walked towards the encampment. He forced
himself to adopt a casual appearance. He
whistled a cheerful little tune.
“Good morning!” he called out towards
the camp.
Several of the people turned towards
him.
“Good Morning, yourself and well met!”
answered a cordial gentleman. “Welcome
to the Solar Pilgrimage Festival.”
The Solar Pilgrimage Festival. That explained a great deal. Every year the religious sect known as the
Solar Pilgrims began its southern trek from Gestoia upon the Autumnal Equinox. They led a semi-nomadic existence,
alternating between their travels and the joyous revelry which accompanies
them. They moved ever southward until
the spring Equinox when they began their return to the northern climes. They are universally welcomed, for it is
claimed that those who rendered aid to the Solar Pilgrims will receive the
blessings of the Sun in exchange for their kindness. In fact, the pilgrims were supplied wholly
from the stores of the wealthiest families in the land.
“Pilgrims,” said Rwiordes, “I fear I
have no alms nor charity to give to you.
For, I am, myself, a lonely wanderer.”
He certainly had no intention of
mentioning the Demon or his association with that monstrous fiend. No, he had determined that the only person he
should truly reveal himself to would be the Champion.
“Whither dost thou wander, friend?”
asked another of the jolly pilgrims, a young man in his twenties, dressed in
bright orange and yellow.
“I am journeying to Lorm on
business,” answered Rwiordes.
“An odd business, that, then. For you have no bags or packs, and your
clothing is torn.”
“Yes, my business is of an urgent
nature, which has required me to forgo the regular conveniences of travel,”
replied Rwiordes.
The first pilgrim spoke, “We shall
pass through Lorm eventually, why don’t you join the Solar Pilgrimage Festival,
and travel with us for a while?”
“You are too kind good pilgrim, but
as I have said, my mission is an urgent one.”
“Ah, but not too urgent for
breakfast, then?”
“No, not too urgent for breakfast.”
A young, red-headed woman dressed in
red and the young man grabbed his hands and directed him through the festival
tents. The tents were made of only the
most brilliant of fabrics in the brightest of colors. Countless banners and streamers blew on the
cold wind. The pilgrims wore clothing
colored in the same hues as the tents.
Rwiordes noticed how clearly his own black raiment contrasted with his
surroundings. The two youthful revelers
led him into a large tent where hot food was being served. The smell of the cooking seemed impossibly
powerful to his nostrils. His mouth
watered.
“Please help yourself,” said the
girl.
“Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the Sun.”
The youths made certain of his
comfort and then excused themselves. Rwiordes
ate hungrily. The food was delicious. Most likely was catered by a local nobleman’s
staff. Whenever the Solar pilgrimage
Festival passed through a region it was the custom for the local gentry to
provide as much hospitality to the indigent revellers as possible. Rwiordes alternated between sipping his hot
coffee and warmed spiced wine once he had finished his meal.
“Hullo there!”
Rwiordes looked up to see a large man
enter the tent. He was white haired and
bearded, wearing furs dyed red and green.
Out of his hat projected two antlers of moderate size. His cheeks were bright red, and in his eye a
mischievous twinkle gleamed. He smiled
as he saw Rwiordes. The jolly old
pilgrim walked over to him.
“Greetings, friend,” he said. “Welcome to the Solar Pilgrimage
Festival. I am Krin Gul, the Chief
Pilgrim, if you will.”
The old fellow extended his hand in a
warm greeting. His handshake was firm.
“It’s a true honor to meet you, sir,”
Rwiordes said humbly, “I am a simple traveller, and I do keenly appreciate your
hospitality.
“You are welcome to it. Have you no name, friend?”
“I do, but I dare not reveal it to
you lest I should injure one of us by doing so.”
“Spoken like a man with enemies hot
on his trail,” laughed Krin Gul shrewdly.
Rwiordes was taken aback by his
astuteness.
“Ah, don’t worry yourself,” said the
old man, “You’re safe among friends here I assure you. I understand that you need to get to Lorm as
quickly as possible, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s vital.”
“Vital, eh?”, laughed Krin Gul. “Only the Sun in his journey is vital my
friend. All else stands in no
consequence.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you
understood what’s going on.”
“Well, then perhaps you should make
me understand. Perhaps I can help you.”
Rwiordes considered this for a
moment. The jolly old fellow took his
hesitation as a willingness to explain.
“Come, sir, to my tent. There we can talk in private.”
It was as the aged pilgrim said this
that Rwiordes finally noticed that the antlers on Krin Gul’s head projected not
from his hat, but from his very scalp.
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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