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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 13: Passing Events
Gonderin marched resolutely down the road that in better times had been paved with cobblestones by the Classics. Now the road was merely a mud track, with ankle-twisting rocks thrown in for good measure. Gonderin’s pace was faster on the shoulder of the road than the road itself. However, Gonderin was glad at least the temperatures had risen somewhat, for he, like all elves, could not stand the cold, especially snow and ice. The early storm that had hit upper Dametreos ended near the LEGOland border and only chilly rain poured from the sky once in a while. Now, however, the sky was merely overcast and nothing fell.
At last Gonderin cleared the final hilltop, and his slanted eyes caught sight of the charred field where the last battle from Dametreos had be fought. The earth, while muddy, still bore the gashes of battle; chariot tracks, holes from catapult shot, and dead grass churned up by thousands of feet. In the background was the Yellow Castle, or rather the Yellowish-Grayish-Brownish Castle, for many of the wall were still stained by blood and dirt alike. As Gonderin approached the gates of Orion four Cavaliers on horseback surrounded him.
“What be your business with Orion?” snapped one, brandishing his lance.
“I am Gonderin, emissary from the Forestmen. I seek council with the Classic Emperor.”
Gonderin handed scrolls confirming his claim to the head Cavalier. He studied the document and then nodded, returned it and said, “You are welcome, Forestman. The Emperor has many tidings to manage as late, Chodan bless his soul, but you may be lucky in your quest.”
Gonderin nodded his thanks and passed through the gates. After ten minutes walk he brandished his documents again and was admitted to the Yellow Castle itself. After showing his documents a third time he was told to wait while someone went off to inform the Emperor of Gonderin’s arrival. While Gonderin was waiting, another man dressed in Black Falcon guard and submitted his own documents. He, too, was told to wait. The man nodded and sat next to Gonderin.
“What business do you have with the Emperor?” queried Gonderin.
“My business is my own, elf, mine and Marquis d’Durlass.”
“Would it have anything to do with your Black Falcons attacking my Forestmen?” asked Gonderin smoothly.
The man stiffened. “You claim there are more raids?”
“I do not claim it, I know it. A pity the Black Falcons have sunk so low as to unlawfully burn, pillage and rape other factions.”
The man’s face went red with anger. “By Chodan, those be not Black Falcons, no matter their garb! The Marquis would never order something so foolhardy!”
“But is not Falconis XXIIX on the throne?” queried Gonderin with arched brows, “But alas, he is young and the Marquis is merely coaching the young King, correct?”
The man nodded tersely.
“The Classic Emperor will see the Forestmen Emissary now.”
Gonderin said good day to the man and exited the small room and into the throne room.
Anardan led Litzcrack into a small chamber where he was told to wait, but Bert was sent back to the dungeons. Anardan left the two guards outside the chamber door and went with Gillert to find Bjarn. He was in the same chamber they had left him, examining a pile of scrolls.
“Sir, the one we identified as leader claims to be of a Black Falcon search party sent to capture the raiders. We brought in a soldier and he seems not to recognize him. I believe you should question him yourself.”
“Alright,” said Bjarn, “Bring him in.”
Litzcrack was brought in by the two guards. Bjarn thought for several moments, then spoke.
“If you are what you claim to be, you will have no objection to answering a few questions?”
“Of course not, my lord.” replied Litzcrack.
“First, why was your so-called ‘search party’ captured in the midst of looting a Forestman camp, and why did some of your soldiers attempt to kill Anardan’s command of Forestmen when they came to check it? When you’ve answered that, kindly explain why your soldier did not recognize you as his leader if he is a member of this so-called search party!”
Litzcrack was uneasy. The harshness of Bjarn was disconcerting and he apparently still viewed him as a deserter. He had made one mistake though.
“Forgive me for saying so, but I believe you are mistaken. I had stated before that I was alone. Anardan will certainly confirm that. The man who was to identify me was one of the deserters. I do not know him at all. I was not involved in the unfortunate incident that befell your camp. Indeed, I would have tried to help defend it had your men not come sooner.”
Bjarn mulled over these facts. The Falcon’s story seemed to make sense, but something about him was disconcerting.
“We can deal with these deserters here. As for you, I will have you deported off Forestman lands. From the border you should be able to make your way back.”
Bjarn paused and rubbed his arm. It was still considerably sore.
“You have gotten yourself mixed up in an unfortunate piece of business. The Falcons have earned themselves a bad name. As they say, one rotten apple spoils the whole bunch. I really do hope that more cordial relationships can be made in the future.”
An hour later, Litzcrack was being led through the forest trail by an armed scout. Bjarn had taken no chances and the rouge’s weapon had been taken from him. Well, that was at least better than his own life.
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