Date: Sat, 24 Nov 2012 12:38:51 -0500
From: Alek Wise <alekwise84 (at) gmail (dot) com>
Subject: Of Bones and Blood Chapter 5

Of Bones and Blood

An original work of fiction by Alek Wise. Any characters resembling real
people in this work are pure coincidence, as are any events or situations
relating to real life. Please feel free to comment (constructive, positive
comments only please. Negative comments will be disregarded) at your
leisure by emailing me directly at alekwise84 (at) gmail (dot) com. Enjoy!


Chapter Five
Riders from M'Lora


Brande Tholwilde had been woken much too early. The door of his bedchamber
had been thrown open harshly and his brother rushed past the accompanying
guards to cross the threshold in frenzy. Clearly alarmed by the intrusion,
Brande bolted upright in his bed.

"The Council you so nobly serve is directing riders from M'Lora to my
court!" Talis yelled as he marched to a nearby window where he planted his
palms firmly upon the rough, stone sill. "They will no doubt arrive soon,"
he finished in a more tolerant tone as he gazed onto the waking
mountainsides beyond the city that dove steeply toward the banks of the
Naga River.

Brande yawned and began to stretch. He clearly did not share his brother's
dislike regarding the Council's decision. Brande placed one foot on the
cold, stone floor and quickly drew it away as though he were a duckling
taking his first winter swim.

"This is ridiculous." Talis spat as he turned to cast a glare at his
brother.

"Why, brother, have you resigned yourself to stress?" Brande asked groggily
as he climbed reluctantly from his warm bed and stood on his toes. He held
his arms high and stretched his aching muscles. Talis paid him no attention
and instead instructed the guards to wait outside the bedchamber.

"The dove arrived this morning," Talis answered in a grave tone that was
laced with mild aggravation. He continued to speak once the large oak door
had been securely closed. "The Council sends word that Southland has
fallen." Talis did not look at his brother while he spoke. He knew the
expression Brande would wear. Instead, he began pacing as he spoke. "Riders
from M'Lora have been instructed to trek the mountain pass beyond the Dead
Road. Their destination is now the mountain prison. They will bring
darkness upon us, brother. It may follow them in or it may drive them out,
but rest assured the lurking evils will find us by the prodding hands of
the Gael N'Aem." Talis then turned to look at Brande with folded arms.

Brande had been struggling not only to absorb his brother's ill news but
also to thrust himself into a pair of leggings. He fought with his clothing
for some time before finally settling into his garb. Talis had since
returned to the window.

"We must send word," Brande began. "Recall all those deployed to offer aide
to Southland and-"

"It is already done, brother," Talis snapped under his breath. "Our fastest
riders and several doves were dispatched at dawn." Brande nodded and rubbed
his brow.

"I must know the details of this situation. Roan Vyce has no doubt heard
from his brother in the south." Brande was going to speak again, but
instead paused to study his brother for a moment. Then, "What troubles
you?" he inquired as Talis gazed through the window.  "You consider defying
the Council?" It was a statement of revelation more than a question, a
statement that earned Brande a sigh from his brother. "You would turn them
out into the Myst?"

"I think only of the safety of our people," Talis rationalized.

"Talis," Brande stepped closer to his brother and placed a hand on his
shoulder. "I know your burden. I feel it as well, but do not make the same
mistakes Father made. We have proven our devotion and hold a seat on the
Council. That is far more than he accomplished. Do not destroy the bonds we
have created." Talis turned to face Brande and he set his jaw as he stared
into his brother's eyes. Brande continued, "If the darkness continues to
rise, we may require help to survive."

"The Gael N'Aem? You would turn to the wizards of M'Lora for aide?" Talis
said in a shaken tone.

"If the need arises. Who better to defend us?" Brande stated plainly.

"Where were the Gael N'Aem during the Great War, Brande?" He held his arms
wide to punctuate his query. "Where were they when innocent blood was
spilling into the streets and the rivers ran black with the foul taint of
evil?"

"Rebuilding a broken order--"

"Yes," Talis muttered with a gloss of disappointment on his face. "That is
what they would have us believe. I wish only that I could understand the
faith you have in their ways." Brande did not appreciate his brother's
tone, nor did he favor being spoken over.

"Do not cast disapproving visages as me, my brother," Brande said boldly as
he pointed a stern finger toward his brother. "You speak of the needless
spilling of blood and tainted waters when only one day past you beheaded a
starving man and tossed his corpse into the Naga." Talis looked away from
his brother, his gaze settled on the stone floor as Brande's words lashed
at him. He held his tongue despite his want to defend his actions. "The
barbaric punishments must cease," Brande ordered, "lest you wish our
Council seat vacated!" Talis looked at Brande, who wore a mask of
resolution that Talis rarely saw on him. Having heard enough from his
brother, Talis marched calmly to the door of the bedchamber.

Brande tried to contain the disappointment he felt toward his brother. He
remembered a time when he and his brother were not burdened with the trials
of maintaining peace. Their father tended such matters while they had spent
their days wandering the Mysts, against parental advisement of course, and
jesting with the townspeople who spared them the time. Brande remembered a
time of innocence before the stain of spilled blood had tainted his
brother's heart and mind. He wished for that time to return to them so they
might leave the madness of court duties to those who truly welcome such
torture.

"I will afford the riders shelter for two nights," Talis declared as he
turned one last time, "one when they pass through and the other for their
return journey. That is all. I sincerely hope your faith in the Gael N'Aem
is not sorely misplaced, Councilor."

The door slammed solidly shut behind Talis, which drew a breeze as cold as
Talis' words into the bedchamber. Brande could feel the tremors caused by
Talis' childlike stomping as he marched down the corridor. He was left with
consuming thoughts and growing fears.

He turned to the window for consolation and fresh, chilling air. There he
gazed onto a waking city. The brilliant light of the morning sun was
chasing the mist from the rooftops, and the dew-covered mountainsides
beyond the city walls glimmered like precious jewels. Merchants were
arriving with trade goods and the townspeople had begun to step from their
homes onto the cobblestone streets. It was a refreshing vision, and he was
thankful the bloodied court square was not within sight.

Brande's brief moment of peace and clarity was shattered when he heard the
muted cries of the city guards as they undoubtedly chased another of Talis'
criminals through the winding streets. He closed his eyes and
sighed. Frustration brought wrinkles to the surface of his forehead.

"I pray you are stealthy," Brande mumbled as he thought of the trails
awaiting the fugitive should he be caught. The townspeople below either did
not hear the guard's cries or did not care. Brande expected they were
likely numb to the exclamations of his brother's minions.

Brande turned, rubbed his brow and attempted to prepare himself for a truly
long day. He adjusted his clothing and calmed his racing thoughts before
finally exiting the bedchamber.

...

Lanse sat motionless beside Adoran, who lay unconscious on a cot in the
great court of Brandyshire. Wounded from the farthest stretches of
Brandyshire had been brought to the court for healing. Lanse had been at
Adoran's side since he and a guard carried him from the inn. Lanse waited
patiently for any indication that the Gael N'Aem would wake. Adoran had
slept for hours without offering the slightest indication that he might
stir, and Lanse began to wonder if he would see Adoran wake at all. Lanse
sat playing with his hands in silence. The bustling of the healers and the
injured that surrounded them added to his distaste for the situation.

To elevate matters to a higher level of disturbance, Lanse noticed the
twins had disappeared as the last of the wolves were defeated. Their
whereabouts remained a mystery to everyone. Lanse pondered their role in
recent events. He suspected the twins were either tracking any remaining
wolves or were leading them far from Adoran's location. Regardless, Lord
Plaseharold had dispatched all remaining court guards to the walls of the
city. There they remained on constant watch. Archers and swordsmen roamed
the streets of the city on patrol, and townspeople with healing experience
were called to the court to help tend to the wounded.

Lanse reflected on the perfection that defined his days in Southland before
the winter storms arrived. He puzzled over the changes he had undergone and
the challenges he would no doubt face in the future. A hint of amusement
struck him when he realized how easily one could be torn from an ideal life
only to be tossed into a chaotic nightmare, but that amusement faded
instantly.

Events from the previous night began playing in his mind. The haunting
image of the dark beast lurked in his memory. Before them had towered a
terrible, unnatural sight, and Adoran had assumed a defensive stance
against the encroaching evil. He recalled the heinous expression on the
beast and the sudden burst of light, heat and sheer force that both saved
them and pulled Adoran into the deepest of slumbers.

Lanse let his eyes rest on Adoran at last. The Gael N'Aem's face grew paler
with each passing hour. Lanse wondered if the powerful, handsome being
before him would succumb to a terror of his own design, and he further
wondered why he, himself, had not endured similar consequences.

He gazed at Adoran's resting eyes and felt the seed of fear sprout deep in
his mind. He feared a future he may be forced to face without Adoran at his
side. Lanse began to wonder if the twins would aid him still? He feared the
horrors waiting in the growing darkness. The idea of riding with a Gael
N'Aem had, at first, terrified him. Since that day however, he had found
protection and an unexpected sense of comfort in a stranger.

Lanse leaned in closely to the cot that held Adoran and let his hand rest
delicately on the naked skin of Adoran's forearm. In a soft voice he
queried, "Why do you sleep?"

"Two horses wait in the court stables," said an unexpected voice in a stern
timbre. Lanse stood abruptly and pulled away from Adoran in a frantic
manner as if he had been scorched by flames. He turned to find a man in his
early twenties standing patiently behind him. His hair was wildly curled
and he wore the robes of a Lord. Lanse took a moment to steady his
still-racing heart and rid himself of a panicked expression. "It's likely
that the beasts you ride are the reason the wolves found you. If the
stories I hear bare truth then they will continue to track you as long as
you ride them. My horses will carry you swiftly to the City of Smiles, and
hopefully they will also mask your trail."

"Thank you," Lanse responded kindly with a nod.

"How is he?" Lord Plaseharold asked as he motioned toward Adoran.

"He sleeps still," was Lanse's mild response. "The healers can do nothing."

"I suspected as much," Plaseharold admitted in a mild tone. "Trust that he
will wake soon," he told Lanse confidently. "He is nothing if not
stubborn. I will see you both to the gates when he rises." Lanse watched as
Plaseharold walked quietly away and disappeared into the mass of
townspeople that occupied the court.

Lanse sighed and closed his eyes tightly. He took his seat once again and
rested his head in his hands. He wanted badly to sleep but his mind raced
with thoughts, and an unforeseen concern for Adoran grew by the hour and
would allow him no peace. He longed for a warm, sunny day on the beaches of
Southland, for cool surf and coarse sand and for a time before magic and
dark terrors.

Lanse found the strength to open his eyes again. When he glanced up he
found a young girl clothed in blue standing over Adoran. She looked
curiously at Adoran's face and then her eyes scanned over his chest and
abdomen, and then his legs and feet. Her calculated movements caught
Lanse's undivided attention. She inspected the underside of Adoran's arms
and then felt his forehead for a moment. Lanse considered questioning her
but thought better of it suddenly.

"He will wake soon," the girl said confidently, suddenly, as she tended to
Adoran.

She appeared no older than Lanse. Her sleeves were rolled almost to her
shoulders and blood stains tinted her pale skin nearly as high. Her auburn
hair flowed from her head as molten metal might from a smithy's fire. Her
blue eyes danced in the dull light of the court and around each slender
wrist she wore a golden, lattice tatto. Her expression was plain and
utterly innocent.

"How do you know this?" he finally managed. The girl walked around Adoran's
cot and stood next to Lanse.

"He bears no physical wounds," she answered plainly, sweetly. "He is not at
risk of bleeding to death, nor does he appear malnourished. There are no
bruises or broken bones to speak of and no lumps on the head." Her
childlike observations brought the beginnings of a smile to Lanse's
lips. It was nice to hear something positive even if it seemed far from
possible.

Still, Lanse regarded the girl with curiosity and more than a bit of
caution. If he did not know better he would have thought her tattoos seemed
to revolve, to move across the surface of her skin as if they crawled
around her wrists. He resigned such notions to a sleepless night and dim
lighting.

"How does a girl so young become an expert in healing?" he queried. The
girl perked her eyebrows and thought briefly about his question.

"How does one so broken find solace in a stranger?" Lanse wore a look of
shock and confusion.

"I—No. I— " Lanse fought for a complete thought but the young girl
was quick to cut his chain on nonsensical words.

"See?" She motioned with a nod of her head to Adoran. "He wakes."

Lanse looked to Adoran. His eyes had begun to flutter open and then tightly
seal shut again. He cleared his throat and tried to breathe deeply but
began a coughing fit instead. Lanse turned back to the girl only to fine
she had gone. He stood as tall as he could manage and looked around the
large hall. He saw many women dressed as the girl who had just spoken to
him, but none with her young figure or fiery hair.

"Fates," Lanse thought. "My mind must be growing weak."

"What is the day?" Adoran inquired softly through clenched teeth.

"The 38th day of the 9th month," Lanse answered as he turned back to
Adoran. With a helpful hand, Lanse aided Adoran so that he could sit
upright on the makeshift cot where he lay. Adoran looked around the court
as his eyes swirled with fatigue and weakness. "Fires broke out in several
areas. The wolves toppled lamps and lanterns as they pillaged. Our inn was
among those that burned. Though, you did a fair amount of damage as well."
He watched as Adoran processed the information and turned to look at him
questioningly. "You were out for many hours," he added. "I was beginning to
fear the worst."

"We are not safe here," Adoran managed. He appeared to disregard Lanse's
last comment. "We must leave." Adoran gazed absently amid the court as he
spoke. Lanse shook an unspoken notion from his mind and presented Adoran
with a cup containing a cold, cloudy liquid.

"Drink this," Lanse instructed. Adoran lifted the small, clay cup to his
nose and sniffed cautiously. His face contorted into an odd expression and
he shied away from the cup before throwing Lanse a look of
disapproval. Nonetheless, he brought the cup to his lips and began
guardedly sipping the liquid it contained.

"Tea the healers left for you hours ago," Lanse explained. "It should work
as well cold as hot."

Adoran looked carefully at Lanse and then grinned despite his wearied
state.

"I suspect heat would only amplify its odor," Adoran said softly. Several
minutes passed as he sipped the disgusting liquid but eventually he managed
to finish the tea. He was sitting taller and, Fates be kind, looked pinker
amid the cheeks and eyes. Adoran had downed nearly half of the bitter
liquid when Lanse interrupted the silence and his thoughts.

"What happened?" Adoran turned to look at Lanse. "Last night I thought I
was going to die," Lanse managed after a moment. "At first I thought the
wolf would be my end but then I felt your power. I felt terrible pain but I
bear no injury to prove it." Lanse swallowed hard and then laughed
uncomfortably. "And I thought you were going to die as well." Adoran was
silent for a few moments. He searched in his empty cup for an answer.

"I was foolish," Adoran answered as he continued to play with the cup he
held. "The darkness holds many terrible horrors. When I faced the wolf I
reacted hastily...recklessly. If I had been fully rested or born anew..."
Adoran sighed heavily and placed the cup gently on the stone floor beside
his cot. Lanse wore a perplexed expression.

"Born anew?" Lanse questioned.

 "We must leave soon," Adoran responded in a more determined tone. Lanse
sensed he was purposefully steering the conversation astray. "We must reach
the City of Smiles." Lanse's curiosity remained peaked. He wanted
desperately to know more about the events that had caused Adoran's
condition but he sensed Adoran's unsettledness and thought it best to let
the topic rest.

"Plaseharold has horses waiting in the stables to carry us from
Brandyshire," Lanse began after clearing his throat. "He believes your
companions are the reason we were attacked and recommends other means of
travel."

"I fear he may be correct. The twins have distanced themselves from
Brandyshire. Their presence in my mind is faint. Come," he said as he swung
his legs slowly from the cot, "we must ride."

"You must rest," Lanse instructed. "You are in no condition to travel."

"Rest will not cure my ills," Adoran responded in a bleak tone. "I require
healing beyond the capabilities of common medicine."

"I do not understand," Lanse said with a furrowed brow.

"I brought this condition upon myself," Adoran explained. "The cure lies
not within these walls. Go to the stables and ensure the horses are
ready. My strength returns. I will follow in a moment." Lanse hesitated. He
wore a look of disapproval. "Go," Adoran repeated weakly. Lanse turned,
against his better judgment, and set out to find the horses Lord
Plaseharold had promised to them.

...

"May I enter?" Sha asked of Roan as she stood patiently waiting at the
threshold of his bedchamber.

"Of course," Roan answered as he returned the truthstone to the jeweled
case. A wave of his hand saw the case securely locked.

"The Chief Councilor has dispatched aide to Brandyshire. A dove arrived
this morning and its message is dated 09-38-021."

Roan turned to regard Sha in disbelief. His hands fell to his sides.

"They have attacked Brandyshire? How many have fallen?"

"It is unknown. Lord Plaseharold's message was brief." Sha approached the
foot of the bed and sat delicately upon it with a soft sigh. "The King
sends word as well. He travels from the Jade City as we speak and will
arrive in the coming days." Sha swallowed and then hesitantly stated, "I
fear your brother and his charge may not last the distance to this city."

"We must trust that we are in our rightful places." Roan tried to remain
confident, but his assurances were transparent at best. Sha thought his
resolve admirable, but secretly she hoped his youth and naivety would not
betray him. Roan continued, "Adoran will arrive with the young Lord and the
riders will inspect the prison. We will know the truth of things before the
moon is spent."

Sha nodded slighted but kept her eyes trained on the floor. "I fear the
truth, Roan," she said hesitantly as she rubbed a dull pain from her
knuckles, "and the coming darkness. I fear these attacks are merely an
overture to a lurking cataclysm."

Roan sat next to Sha and adjusted his mouth while he thought. The two of
them looked out the window of Roan's bedchamber at a brilliant sky set
ablaze by a falling sun. "I do as well."

...

The tall wooden doors of the small court swung open with great protest. The
Gael N'Aem who crossed the threshold were remarkably dressed, even for
riding sentries. Two stood stall, their muscular frames and square jaws
were accented only by the Temple robes they wore. The third wore an
identical robe, but stood several hands shorter and appeared several years
younger than the other two. Their party seemed, according to the betraying
thoughts of Talis, a cruel joke tailored by the Fates themselves.

Talis stood over a young man who lay crouched on the floor. The young man
bled from his mouth and a vibrant purple coloring swelled around his right
eye. His tattered clothing and unkempt appearance shouted his social class
to all who dared look upon his form. Talis towered over the disheveled
youth and kept a boot pinned harshly to the boy's shoulder to assert his
dominance. He had been interrogating the boy before the Gael N'Aem
arrived. If the expressions on their faces were any indication, the sight
clearly troubled the Gael N'Aem.

"Rides from M'Lora, my Lord," one of the Lord's guards spoke loudly from
beyond the threshold.

"Leave them and return to your post," Talis barked in annoyance.

 "What crime has befallen this boy?" the oldest of the three asked in a
husky voice without delay. The wizard appeared no older than Talis, but he
was clearly seasoned by the weather of the Great Kingdom. His lack of
patience shined brilliantly in his assertive tone.

"He was caught stealing a dove from the King's riders," Talis
explained. "His sentence is pending." Talis looked at the young man on the
floor, who appeared to shrink further into the stone to escape the horrible
gaze of Lord Tholwilde. A wide grin spread across Talis' bristled face.

"This boy is no thief," the youngest Gael N'Aem spoke with unexpected
confidence. "He is no criminal."

Talis appeared taken aback by the bold statement. He cocked his head and
pointed an accusing finger at the youngest of the three. He seemed to
stutter over a thought, obviously weaving a display of his authority.

"You would enter my court," he began arrogantly, "and question my
judgment?" His tone was lined with cynicism and overconfidence.

The second of the three was quick to defend the youngest. "It is written
plainly upon him, your Lord."

"His mind does not lie to us," the youngest added while looking into Talis'
chilling eyes.

Talis removed his boot from the young man's shoulder, but was smart enough
to rethink challenging the three Gael N'Aem whose abilities, truth be told,
frightened him to his bones. He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice from
an unnoticed visitor cut him off before he could further humiliate himself.

"You will have to forgive my brother," Brande said as he strode into the
court from a side entry. The redness in his cheeks shouted that he was
obviously mortified. "He is not often presented with the opportunity to
leave Mystvale, or to entertain such honored guests."

The three watched carefully as Brande walked to stand near his
brother. Talis glared at him. Heat rose to his face and settled in his
cheeks and forehead.

"The Gael N'Aem are truthseers, brother," Brande explained. "The
accusations placed against this boy must be erroneous—the accuser's
motives obviously questionable." He starred into his brother's eyes. Tallis
craved to lash out, to reprimand Brande for mocking him in his court. Talis
thought better of it, however. He buried his burning anger deep within him
and remained as calm as the situation would allow on the surface.

"It had escaped my notice that the Gael N'Aem catered to common thieves. If
it is to his kind your affection and attention are so preferable, then you
will see that he follows you from my gates when you depart." Talis spat
upon the disheveled boy and marched confidently from the court. "You will
leave at dawn," he stated firmly before disappearing from the threshold.

Brande starred at the closed doors through which Talis had exited. He
sighed and rubbed his forehead to ease his embarrassment. Brande longed for
the City of Smiles, for the Council of Eight, where the burden of family
never surfaced—where Talis remained hidden from the world.

"There, my friend," the elder of the three Gael N'Aem finally broke the
silence. "Your brother has a role to perform in this grand tale just as you
do."

"Just as we all do," the second eldest spoke and stepped forward. He
offered a smile and an outstretched hand. Brande shook it and returned his
smile with some effort.

"Nonetheless, I regret that his display will be the first memory you shall
have of our home." Brande watched the three, but the youngest more than the
others. The youngest had no doubt established a link of some sort with the
injured boy, or young man rather, who still remained curled in a defensive
position on the cold floor.

Brande walked calmly to the young man and crouched beside him. He spoke
softly, "My apologies for my brother's mischarities."

The young man diverted his eyes and tried to right himself, to stand or at
the very least, kneel. He managed only to adjust himself to a semi-sitting
position and even that was only possible with Brande's help. He looked
first to Brande and then to the three Gael N'Aem with reddening eyes.
Stray locks of black hair dangled messily over his eyes. He shook them
aside to reveal the purple bruise on his forehead, and the crimson stain of
blood on his chin and swollen jaw. Brande set his jaw and sighed. His
contempt regarding his brothers actions was no doubt read clearly by the
Gael N'Aem.

"We will see you safely from these walls, traveler," the eldest Gael N'Aem
spoke assuredly. "Then you will be safe from Talis' maddness."

"What is your name, friend?" Brande offered.

"I am no thief." It was a simple, low response.

"Of course," Brande sympathized. "We know that. We also know you are not a
citizen of Mystvale. You are a foreigner here." Brande motioned to his
clothing, his shoes and his unusually vibrant blue eyes. "Tell me, friend,
where do you call home?"

"I am no thief." The young man repeated with some resolve and swallowed
hard.

"What is to become of him?" the youngest asked in regards to the young
man. "Where shall he spend this chilling night?"

"You are welcome to sleep in the court," Brande offered with an
outstretched hand. The young man curled his lips in a revolting fashion,
and then turned his head so that he would not have to look upon any of
them. "Fear not. I may share my brother's blood but I do not share his lust
for cruelty. This is the least I can offer you. You will be safe under my
watch. I cannot guarantee your protection otherwise."

The young man hesitated, but eventually nodded. All the while, he kept his
eyes diverted. "Splendid," Brande said standing and turning back to face
the Gael N'Aem. He adjusted his robes before speaking.

"We have arranged private quarters for each of you. I hope you will find
everything to your liking. Court servants escort you to your chambers and
see that your horses are well fed and tended this night."

"Our sincerest gratitude," the eldest offered. "Our journey has been long,
and I fear times will only grow more difficult. The slightest of comforts
are welcome gifts."

"It is settled, then," Brande stated. "Let us retire. Dawn comes early
these days despite the growing cold."

"Indeed," the eldest confirmed.

"I will see our young friend to his chambers and meet you at the stables at
dawn for your departure." Servants then entered from the same door Brande
had used minutes before. "Sleep easy," Brande said as the Gael N'Aem were
escorted from the hall.

Brande spent several minutes helping the young man to stand. He allowed the
youth to use his shoulder as a crutch while they walked steadily from the
court.

"I am truly sorry," Brande said again as the two navigated various halls to
reach the bedchambers. They eventually stopped at a large oak door. The
young man, still relying on Brande to stand, waited nervously in the
looming silence.

"Here we are," Brande said at last. He helped the young man into the
bedchamber and sat him easily onto the bed. After lighting a nearby lamp
and a few extra candles, Brande walked to the window and drew back the
curtains which hid the moon and a stunning view of the city below. "I can
arrange for you to leave in the morning if you so desire," Brande offered
with a smile as he turned back to the young man. The response was a prompt
nod. "So be it. The Gael N'Aem will escort you safely from Mystvale."

Brande then pointed to the entryway. "The doors of the noble chambers have
a bolt and can be locked from inside. A team of Arishvale oxen could not
break their hinges. Feel free to make use of it." The young man nodded
again and looked about the large room hesitantly. "I have the next room if
you require anything. I'll send a servant with food, fresh clothing and
warm water."

Brande turned and walked to the threshold. "Will you not tell me your
name?" Brande inquired one last time as he look back for a moment. His
black hair and shining blue eyes were a bizarre and utterly beautiful
combination. He knew the young man was not from Mystvale. Brande had dozens
of questions he wanted to ask, but he feared he would only alienate the
young man further. He wanted to know his home, his reason for travel, and
why he had been thought a thief.

When the young man did not respond, Brande turned to leave him for the
night. However, he was halted by an unexpected response.

"Evoran," the young man said softly, timidly. Brande turned to look at him
once again from the entryway with a reassuring smile. "My name is Evoran."