Lord of Nature

Clear skies followed them as they traveled, accompanied by a light breeze, and the warm sun. Around them, the forest of oaks and elms faded, replaced by a series of towering pines, rich with bright red needles, and thick brown trunks. A heavy carpet of moss coated the forest floor, filled with deer tracks and animal dens.

Despite the scenery, neither Cyrus nor Berrodin spoke very much. Their hard stares remained fixed at the ground, while their supplies dwindled down to two strips of jerky, and half a roll. Cyrus' stomach rumbled as he stared at the pack, bouncing from Starvhost side, and he regretted not eating more while in the village.

Berrodin mumbled something beneath his breath, then broke into a fit of coughs, which he covered with his bloodstained sleeve. His leg cracked as he slumped against the donkey's back, like a stone being broken in two. 

Cyrus winced. "Are you going to be alright?"

Berrodin took a haggard breath, his eyes fluttering as he clutched the rope. "I'll be fine. I'm certain it will pass in a week or so. When we reach Galeden, I'll find an alchemist. One of their potions will set me straight."

As they spoke, they came across a fork in the road, splitting to the west and the north. An old redwood sign stood in the middle, cloaked in ivy. Cyrus used a stick to move it away, and squinted his eyes. 

'Galeden or Faldersel?' 

Cyrus glanced at Berrodin. "Faldersel… That's one of the kingdoms further north, along the coast, isn't it? Some of the villagers mentioned it when they were talking about where I might have come from."

"Yes. It's a merchant kingdom, with one of the largest harbors in Delahost," Berrodin said, straightening his back. "If you can't find any hints about your past in Galeden, then I advise you to go there next."

"I'll keep that in mind," Cyrus said. He pulled on Starvhost's reins, guiding him down the road towards Galeden. 

The clop of donkey hooves echoed through the forest, filling the silence until Cyrus finally spoke. 

"By the way, you called me a warlock earlier. Do you know a lot about magic?"

Berrodin shook his head. "I'm afraid not. The things I know are from the stories passed down from generation to generation. Tales and legends of powerful warlocks, with the capability to bring entire kingdoms down with a flick of their wrist. They're dangerous, often driven mad by the power they wield. It's why the nine human kingdoms banned the practice of magic within their territories."

"Have you ever heard of a warlock being able to hear voices?" Cyrus asked. He recalled the woman's voice, and the whispers calling out to him. 

Berrodin frowned. "No… Then again, I'm certain the stories don't tell everything. Why do you ask? Have you started hearing voices?"

"I was just curious," Cyrus said. He gripped his pendant, pressing the tree into his palm, and took a deep breath. "Do the Dilthanes have a way to determine if someone can use magic without seeing them do it?"

"I don't believe so," Berrodin said. He rubbed his chin. "But it might be wise to keep your face and hair covered. If they were the reason you ended up losing your memories and washing ashore, then they might be looking for you."

"I hadn't thought about that," Cyrus said. He raised his hood, making certain it covered his amber hair. 

Hours later, as the last rays of sunlight were fading behind the distant mountains, the forest of pines fell away to a field of wheat and corn. Beyond, the high stone walls of Galeden rose from the ground, casting a shadow over the clattering carriages and wagons waiting to get in. 

"Wait. Stop here," Berrodin said, guiding Starvhost off the road. 

"What is it?"

"I'm afraid it's time we parted ways," Berrodin said, stretching out his hand. "Help me down."

"Are you certain?" Cyrus asked. "We can go a bit further together."

"No, it'll be better this way," Berrodin said. He took Cyrus's arms, and swung off Starvhost, his leg cracking as he landed. With a grimace, he straightened his back, and shook his foot. "There. That's better. I was getting a bit stiff from all the riding anyway."

"Will you be able to make it into the kingdom on your own?"

"You've no need to worry. I'm not so weak that I can't make it a couple steps on my own," Berrodin said, chuckling. "It's you we need to worry about."

Cyrus furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I'm planning on telling the guards what happened. Not everything, mind you. I'll keep quiet about you being a warlock, and all that, but I need to let them know about the boars, and get someone to help me retrieve my wares," Berrodin said, removing his hood. "If they see you enter with me, they'll try to question you as well. Since we don't know who might be looking for you, it'd be best to avoid drawing too much unwanted attention to yourself."

"I suppose that makes sense," Cyrus said. "So this is farewell then?"

"For now, yes, but who knows? We might run into each other again one day," Berrodin said, stretching out his arm. 

Cyrus shook it. "I'm glad I met you."

"Yes, I'm glad to," Berrodin said. "Oh, one last thing."

Berrodin grabbed his coin pouch, and retrieved a handful of coins. "It's not much, but it should cover the cost of a few nights at the Inn, and some food. I hope you'll be able to get a lead on your past before it runs out."

"This is too much," Cyrus said, shaking his head. 

Berrodin grabbed his arm, and twisted it around, forcing the coins into his hand. "No. This is barely enough. You saved my life, Cyrus, and I will never forget that. Be careful on your way."

"I'll do my best," Cyrus said. He flipped his hood up, and waved farewell, before turning to make his way to the gates of Galeden.

The chiseled walls rose higher than the pines, and its towers left Cyrus in awe. A purple banner draped above the iron portcullis, trimmed with gold, and embellished by a black bear emerging from a mountain den. Beneath, a line of citizens and merchants waited to enter, each being checked by a pair of guards.

He spotted the same purple crest on their breastplates as they lazily eye'd a wagon of bright red apples before waving it through. The light of the nearby braziers glinted off their armor, while their pikes slumped against their shoulders. 

The older of the two frowned as Cyrus approached and straightened his back. With a wave, he gestured Cyrus over.

"Don't think I've seen you before," The guard said. He scratched his chin, his brown eyes flicking between Cyrus's hood and his dirt-stained clothes. "What's your name, and reason for entering?"

"Cyrus, and I'm looking for a place to sleep for a few nights," Cyrus said, avoiding the man's eyes. "I'll be on my way soon after."

The guard grunted. "As long as I don't catch you sleeping in the alleys, and asking for handouts. By the halls of Osyras, the last thing we need is another bloody beggar. Also, keep your pockets free of anything that's not yours, else you'll be finding your way to the gallows. You understand?"

"Of course," Cyrus said, showing his hands. 

The guard curled his lip. "Go on then." 

Cyrus gave a slight nod, and slipped through the gate, joining the passage of people. High cobblestone houses lined the street, their walls dotted with shuttered windows, and doors of pine. As the sun fell behind the mountains, candles and lanterns flickered to life, while mothers and wives called their husbands and children home for supper. 

Cyrus kept his head low as passed the houses, his stomach grumbling at the aroma of meat and potatoes, mixed with fresh vegetables, and loaves of bread. Rubbing his sides, he hurried to the tavern, which brimmed with people drunk on mead and beer.

Pushing through them, Cyrus headed towards the counter. A rather tall man stood behind it, his face red as he scrubbed at a particularly sticky spot on the wood. Despite his slim figure, he leaned into his work, polishing away until the spot faded, and he stood with a grin, before noticing Cyrus. 

"Sorry about that. Someone spilled a mug earlier, and the spot has been bothering me ever since. Now then, what can I do for you?" The bartender asked, tucking the dirty rag into his waistband. He stood a good head taller than Cyrus, and watched him with a half arched brow.

"I was hoping for something warm to eat, and a drink," Cyrus said. He glanced around, then pointed towards an empty booth near the fireplace. "I'll be over there."

The man nodded. "That'll be two copper."

Cyrus retrieved the coin, and slid it across the counter. The bartender picked them up, and studied them for a moment before dropping them into the pouch at his side with a clink.

"Very good. I'll have them bring your food to you in a moment." 

Cyrus made his way to the table and slipped into a seat with the fire behind him. A nearby window allowed him to watch the street outside, though it would be difficult for anyone to see his face.