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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 2: On The Road Again
Anardan the Forestman sat on a log by the campfire with Elacil, his longtime friend and companion. He sipped on a mug of watery broth as he listened to Fraun Jerlock give the orders to move out.
“Well,” Anardan said, “Time to move out again. I’ll get the rest of our company marshaled.”
He quaffed the rest of the broth in one gulp and tossed the mug into his pack. He then headed to the section of camp where his company was camped, finding them mostly ready.
“The call went out, it’s time to move! Let’s go!”
Elacil came up and handed Anardan his pack, along with a bundle of five score arrows.
“Here, make sure the lads have plenty of ammunition before we set out.”
Anardan distributed ammunition and then waited for further orders.
It had been a long time since Trevelayn had joined the army of the Bulls and left his king and country to learn more of the then defunct kingdom. In that long and harrowing time, he had made new friends, fought along side them, and stuck with them through good and bad. He was now Trevelayn Morches, Brigadier of the Dark Forest, Brigadier of the Bull Army, and Mercenary of the Black Shields. He had come a long way from humble beginnings as a peasant boy in a Crusader hamlet.
In front of him, on his light and portable wooden desk, overlaid with rough canvas, were his belongings. His old saber, polished some months ago at Delvarden Gard, his Falcon uniform, and countless other attire and trinkets. He was packed up. He was ready to leave for the ancient fortress he had first seen at the peak of the Fell War, before he had met the ranger Fraun Jerlock and the Bull Dordrot, before he had encountered the murderous Sheath. Before he had seen glory.
King Radjar Kath, son of Fallmir, and Master of the Throne of Hemlock, pushed away the canvas flaps of Trevelayn’s tent.
“Are you ready to go, Trevelayn?” he asked, looking firm.
Trevelayn looked back, somewhat mournfully.
“Your Majesty, in all my days with these Bulls, I have ne’er seen so much nobility and gallantry. These men...their struggle resembles our own. Yet their eyes have seen far more bloodshed than the people of the Dark Forest...and their backs have felt the blows of oppression more than we have e’er.”
Radjar nodded.
“If your Majesty wills it, I wish to stay with these men.”
A sad, yet defiant, look came upon Radjar’s face, and his eyes gleamed with a light that Trevelayn knew not.
“Trevelayn...as of this day...I name you the Emissary to Bull Isle from Hemlock.”
Trevelayn began to bow solemnly, but Radjar stopped him, and gave him a firm embrace.
“Don’t go get yourself killed,” he quipped, and left.
Radjar held the reigns to his horse, his long garnet hair whipping behind him as he rode to the head of the column. Dust kicked up from the long caravan as the bedraggled but victorious allied troops marched restlessly towards home. At the lead column, Bjarn, Gonderin, Gladwheel and several other Forestmen, as well as Vos and Craft, were in the hold of a large wagon, painted green and gilded with recently acquired Classic treasure. Rosa was riding a horse just ahead of it, and Reno drove it on, the petite and lovely Shainya plodded down next to him. Radjar shot a smile at the raffish young troubadour, and Reno winked back with his good eye.
Radjar steadily rode up next to Rosa, then deftly turned his head towards her with a cheery look.
“Well, my fair lessemoune,” he grinned, slipping the Classic word for lady off his tongue, “Are you ready to go back home?”
Rosa, uncharacteristically, blushed and chuckled slightly. “Well, it depends if their is a home still to go to.”
“You could always come with me...we could watch the Druids replant the forest...see the emerald trees rise up again from the ashes, and gallop along the free and open plain...drink the diamond waters of the Hemlock River.”
Rosa laughed.
“You poetic pansy!” she cried, nudging him with her shoulder.
“Haha,” laughed Radjar, nudging her back, “Or do you prefer to smell the acrid odor of the razed trees? And wallow in the mud of the riverbank?” he joshed.
The two laughed hysterically. Rosa had never had such a good time. As their laughter died away they both sank into their own separate thoughts. Rosa, still blushing from her recent giggling, rebuked herself.
Be careful, Rosa, many a man uses merriment to get what they really want.
She inwardly countered, Don’t be a fool, Radjar’s not like those ogres in Denderham. Not all men are evil.
But many other men are. It was a man who started this entire war.
That’s blowing things out of proportion, BloodVaine and his allies were less than human. Radjar isn’t remotely like them. He is brave and loyal and kind, and understands my pain. He is different.
“Rosa? Did you hear me?”
Rosa pulled herself from her inward debate and turned toward Radjar.
“Oh, sorry, I was thinking.…”
“Well,” Radjar smiled, “So was I. The caravan is will reach the Forestmen border soon. Where are you bound?”
“I...don’t know,” admitted Rosa, “After I escaped with Bjarn and the others to Fell Isle I just followed them around, and events drew me along until this tyco war ended. This had been the first time I’ve had the chance to choose my own path.”
“You are always welcome at the Hemlock Stronghold.” whispered Radjar quietly.
Rosa smiled. “I know...but I wonder if I should leave Bjarn now.”
“He has the care of Reno, Shainya and Voolmark...I think he will do fine. However I know how you feel, I feel slightly guilty myself leaving him. But I do have my own kingdom to repair.”
“Of course…”
They said nothing for a few minutes, then Rosa asked, “Will you settle down then, now that the war is over? You have never stayed in one place, even during and after the Fell War. You are the King of the Dark Forest, and kings don’t usually wander about.”
Radjar grimaced. “I hate sitting in stuffy rooms, entertaining guests and looking regal. But yes, you are right, I should stop this wandering. The Dark Foresters need me, especially now that half our kingdom has been razed.”
Rosa nodded. “I fear all of the Forestdweller Factions will have to retreat to Fell Isle until the forests regrow, and that will take a generation.”
There was great sadness in her voice.
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