Chapter 34
Rwiordes sat there awkwardly in Krin
Gul’s tent. The jovial fellow sat across
from him with a patient smile on his face.
Rwiordes was uncertain of what to tell the antlered man. That he was trustworthy, he did not doubt,
but Rwiordes knew his story would not be easy to believe. He spent a few more moments in casual
examination of his host’s quarters. Most
of the furniture consisted of comfortable, multicolored pillows piled about in
chaotic luxury. A large chest sat in one
corner of the tent, presumably filled with the leader of the Solar Festival’s
clothing and belongings.
At last he summoned the courage to
begin. He started rather hesitantly at
first, but quickly resumed his natural manner of composed speaking.
“Well, let’s see. This may sound rather far fetched, but I
assure you that it’s true. The whole
world is in terrible danger.”
Krin Gul attempted to suppress a look
of doubt, but Rwiordes could still discern it.
“Yes, I know it sounds absurdly
impossible, but it’s true. A powerful
demon has entered this world with the intent to destroy everything.”
Krin Gul simply nodded and urged him
to continue, “Go on,” he said with little emotion.
“Okay, sure. Where to begin?’
Rwiordes asked.
“Start at the beginning,” the bearded
pilgrim advised him.
Rwiordes was about to launch into the
tale of how Perilisk, Hertrid, and he had had accidentally summoned the fiend
into the world, when another pilgrim stuck his head into the tent.
“Krin Gul,” said the pilgrim, “Excuse
me, sir, but I think you had better come here.”
“What is it lad?”
“There are a couple of horsemen
here. They say they’re looking for
Rwiordes, claim he’s a fugitive, guilty of the most heinous of crimes.”
Krin Gul glanced at Rwiordes and then back to the
young man, “Did you tell him that Rwiordes is here?”
“No, sir. We told them nothing. We told them they would have to talk to you.”
“Good, tell them I’ll be there
momentarily, if you would.”
“Of course, Krin Gul,” responded the
pilgrim, who then promptly disappeared about the task.
Krin Gul addressed Rwiordes, “Who are
these men?”
“They are the Demon’s men. I escaped from them last night.”
The Solar Pilgrim nodded. “Very well. We shall finish our
conversation later, then. If you will
excuse me.”
Rwiordes nodded with gratitude and
relief. “Thank you,” he said.
Krin Gul got up and exited the
tent. Rwiordes went up to the entrance
flap and listened as best he could. He
strained to hear Krin Gul’s voice.
“Well hullo, and welcome to the Solar
Pilgrimage Festival,” said the old fellow, “I am Krin Gul, the head pilgrim.”
Rwiordes could just barely make out
the other fellow’s words, “Good day, pilgrim.
We’re searching for an escaped criminal, a fellow by the name of
Rwiordes. Has he crossed your path?”
Rwiordes grew nervous. What if Krin Gul decided to give him
away. There would be nothing he could do
about it.
“No sir, we have seen no one suspicious
about. An escaped criminal eh? What’s this fellow done, anyway?”
There was a pause. The rogue apparently had to think for a
moment.
Rwiordes heard the fellow’s gruff
voice, “He destroyed Coertol City.”
“He what?” exclaimed Krin Gul in
disbelief.
“It’s true. I saw it myself. He is a powerful sorcerer. He must be brought in for justice.”
He must be brought in so the Demon
doesn’t kill us, Rwiordes interpreted his words. They must have been terrified when they found
him missing. There was no way they would
return to the Demon without him, he knew.
It would be certain death for them.
Even they had realized that. His
thoughts caused him to miss Krin Gul’s comments. He returned his attention to his
eavesdropping.
“Well, if you do see him please detain
him for us. You will be richly
rewarded.”
“If we see him, you can count on us
to help,” Krin Gul assured him.
Apparently he was leading them to the
perimeter of the camp, as their voices then became more and more muffled and,
eventually, impossible to hear.
It sounded to Rwiordes like Krin Gul
was getting rid of them. However,
suspicion reared its head. Perhaps, he
thought, Krin Gul wanted him to think he was leading them away when he was
telling them about him even then. He
shook with nervousness. Still, there was
nothing for it. He would have to wait.
After several minutes that seemed far
longer to Rwiordes, Krin Gul returned.
Alone. Rwiordes sighed audibly
with relief.
Krin Gul said nothing at first. He stared at Rwiordes face, carefully examining
his eyes. The old man scratched his
head, “Well, I don’t know how it could be true, but it seems to me that you’re
both telling me the truth. You really
did destroy Coertol City, didn’t you?”
Rwiordes swallowed hard. His guilt exploded out of him. He sobbed, “Yes, yes...I did. Oh, God.
I didn’t know. How, could I
know?”
“Tell me quickly your tale,” he said
with uncharacteristic horror and impatience in his voice.
Rwiordes told the Solar Pilgrim the
whole tale from Perilisk’s possession to his own escape, as well as he knew of the Druidic Champion and his plan
to get to Lorm to find her and warn her, if possible, of the imminent attack.
Krin Gul said nothing as Rwiordes
spoke in a distant numbness of the events that he had been witness to. At length he spoke:
“Believe it or not, I am not
unfamiliar with the Druidic Prophecy. I
fear I had dismissed it as allegory, however.
I never truly believed that such a chain of events was possible. So, you say that the Demon himself has
learned of the Prophecy from the druid he had captured, and launched an
unpredicted attack on Lorm? And that
Prince Tolian of Lorm is the Champion, and he, er she has no idea that Lorm is
in any immediate danger?”
Krin Gul sat with his brow knot in
deep concentration. At last he spoke
again, “It appears that we must find a way to get you to Lorm as soon as is
possible.”
For two days more the Solar
Pilgrimage Festival remained camped where Rwiordes had found them. He kept badgering Krin Gul regarding the
urgency of his quest, and his need for haste.
The old pilgrim assured him (patiently, each time) that he would see to
it that Rwiordes would get to Lorm before the Demon did. But, he repeatedly reminded him, discretion
should be used. There was certainly a
chance that the men who had come looking for him were keeping an eye on the
festival camp, just in case. Rwiordes
accepted this advice, until his impatience bubbled over again.
But, at length, the Solar Pilgrimage
Festival broke camp and resumed their Southward journey. Rwiordes found the reveling pilgrims set
about the task of packing up and moving along with the same level of jollity as
they did their partying and cavorting.
For, to them all things done under the bright eye of the sun, were
equally worthy of joy. Each pilgrim had
his or her job, and they had practiced enough to be extremely proficient and
speedy in their work. In fact, the
entire camp was broken down, and a mile had already been marched, by the time
an hour had passed. Rwiordes was,
frankly, amazed.
As the Solar Pilgrims walked they
sang various carols celebrating the glories of the Sun, with quaint pastoral
melodies, and voices lifting into the sublimest of harmonies. These people were truly happy. At times as they walked, Rwiordes entertained
the notion of simply remaining with the Solar Pilgrims. Not far into his daydream he would remember
the burning nightmare of Coertol City, and banish such frivolous thoughts in
his remorse.
Usually the pilgrims travelled with a
relaxed pace, but Krin Gul was not about to forget the importance of Rwiordes’
mission (even without his constant reminders).
They marched across the countryside.
Whenever they would pass the lands of a wealthy nobleman they would
avail themselves of their host’s generosity to refill their supplies. Krin Gul issued warnings of the Demon to all
they encountered. The warnings were well
heeded, for everyone knew and respected the affable old pilgrim.
After weeks of travelling in this
manner, Rwiordes again spoke to Krin Gul:
“I truly appreciate your help, Krin
Gul, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make better time than the
Demon’s army. I’m just going to have to find some other means of getting to
Lorm.”
Krin Gul shook his head, familiar
with Rwiordes’ fits of nervousness, “Look, my friend, relax. I promised you I’d get you to Lorm and I
shall. Tomorrow we shall come to the
house of a friend of mine, the Baron of Hurndel. He has allies that will aid us in our
mission. I promise you. Just wait.”
Just wait, thought Rwiordes; he had
heard that dozens of times already.
Still, he once again settled himself to accept Krin Gul’s word. What other choice did he have? Without the help of the Solar Pilgrimage
Festival, he realized, he would have died of exposure to the elements by now.
He relented once again, “Of course, I
am sorry to keep being such a nuisance to you.”
The antlered elder laughed, “Not at all. Your impetuousness is a virtue we of the
Pilgrimage are apt to forget. We are
used to moving with the righteous course of the Sun, in his own gradual
journey. You keep right on pestering
me. It does my old soul some good.”
Sure enough, as the Sun reached its
zenith the next day they came within sight of a large estate, a sprawling of
manor houses, barns, stables and various out-buildings. Krin Gul bade his fellow pilgrims to be about
the work of setting up their camp, while Rwiordes and he walked over to the
estate. As they made their way towards
the Baron of Hurndel’s substantive holdings, Rwiordes noticed that beyond the
Baron’s fields (now, of course, brown and long harvested) began to rise the
foot hills of a mountain range which hung purple in the distance. For some reason, he supposed his
preoccupation with his quest he had failed to notice them before.
They approached the gatehouse; Krin
Gul raised his arms high and shouted, “Hallah, Hallah. The Glory of the Sun be about this
place! Hallah, Hallah!”
The gate keepers rushed out in
evident excitement, their faces bright with smiles, (for it was considered the
best of luck to be the first to see the arrival of the Solar Pilgrimage
Festival in a precinct).
“Greetings, Oh Pilgrims!” they
shouted with glee.
Krin Gul had Rwiordes garbed in the
colorful raiment of the Festival revellers long ago, but Rwiordes was still
surprised by their immediate acceptance of him as a pilgrim. Either they were still too far away for them
to see the grim expression that had characterized his face for so long, or
perhaps the company of the Sun had lightened the hard lines on his countance. As Krin Gul and he neared the gatehouse, even
he was somewhat caught up in the excitement of the gatekeeper’s joy.
A cry went out throughout the estate
that the Solar Pilgrimage Festival had arrived.
Cheers went out, resounding from the many buildings and houses. Children and adults alike came pouring out to
greet them.
“Hallah! Hallah!” shouted the old reveller. He casually indicated for Rwiordes to do
the same. He felt highly self-conscious, but he did
as he was bid.
“Hallah! Hallah!” the newly gathered crowd replied in
return.
They were immediately circled by
dozens of happy, screaming children.
Their parents held themselves back with a bit more restraint. Colorful banners were unfurled from the windows
of the main manor house, obviously the seat of the Baron. The door to that house now opened and the
mighty form of a man emerged first. He
was dressed in fine garments of the richest fabric that robed his proud frame
with dignity. His hair was long and
brown, his beard neatly cropped. He
retained about him a great air of power and authority, most unusual for someone
who could be no older than thirty.
Behind him streamed even more people: his lady, and knights and retainers
each of who bore gifts of various exquisite natures.
Rwiordes felt the inherent irony of
the situation, as it was. These people
looked upon them as bringers of joy and luck.
They brought, instead, black news of an impending doom.
The Baron stepped forward and hugged
the chief pilgrim, “Greetings, Joyous Wanderer.
You bring happiness and blessings.
Your presence here is a welcome thing, as every year.”
Krin Gul’s smile left his face as he
starred into the eyes of the Baron, his brow furrowed as he spoke, “Can we talk
to you a moment alone.”
The nobleman was startled by both the
Solar Pilgrim’s request and his expression, but he understood that a certain
serious was involved in both.
“Yes, surely. Please, come inside.”
The crowd around them had no clear
idea that anything unusual was taking place, their cheers rang out,
gleefully. They entered Hurndel Manor
behind the Baron and followed him directly to the door to his grace’s receiving
parlor. Krin Gul stopped Rwiordes
outside the door.
“Wait here for a moment, if you
would, good Rwiordes. I’ll explain the
situation to the Baron. I think it will
be better.”
Rwiordes saw no point in
arguing. He didn’t particularly wish to
face the Baron of Hurndel, frequent at the Court of the Emperor of Keythion, as
Krin Gul told of the destruction of the largest city in the Empire, and the
part that Rwiordes played therein. They
closed the door and Rwiordes was left with little else to do but take in the
view he had of the Baron’s ancestral home although, as he studied the ancient
vases decoratively displayed, he could not help but strain to catch pieces of
the conversation that went on inside. A
few stray words, nothing more.
They had been in there an inordinate
amount of time.
Such a duration passed that he had to entertain the possibility that
Krin Gul was having difficulty in persuading the noblemen to assist him. Rwiordes had his doubts, in any case. What, beyond providing speedy horses, could
the Baron do to aid his journey to Lorm?
Such aid would not keep the Demon’s forces from destroying or
overwhelming even the famed Lormian army.
Still, it was impossible to doubt the word of Krin Gul. If the old pilgrim said the Baron would be
able to help him, the Baron would help him.
Rwiordes continued in his anxious
vigil.
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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