Lost

“Ah, brother Renfrid, welcome! Have a seat and join me for the meal.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Renfrid felt overwhelmed by the splendor of the knight commander’s private chamber. A lavishly laid table awaited him, its centerpiece: a whole roasted boar. This made him feel even more anxious, as the charging wild boar was the sigil of his house.

Is it simply a coincidence or something deliberate? – he thought.

He sat at the table and helped himself to a partridge roast.

“I have heard you’ve become acquainted with father Kragavald, our venerable guest from the Holy Inquisition, have you not?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I’m surprised to see a youth getting along with… pardon my choice of words, an old-timer.”

“Oh, father Kragavald is not that old. He isn’t even sixty.”

“Really? His life must have truly been rough on him.”

De Montfort laughed a jovial, belly laugh. In response, a nervous, croaky giggle came out of Renfrid’s throat.

“Tell me, what makes you two get along so well?”

“I’m…” – inventing lies wasn’t exactly Renfrid’s forte, but he still tried his best – “listening to the stories of his youth.”

“Are you? That’s interesting. It does make sense, though, that a young knight would be interested in tales of his adventurous days… But that’s not what I summoned you for. I wanted to talk about today’s war council.”

Renfrid thanked his lucky stars that the topic of Kragavald was over.

“I’m all ears, Your Excellency.”

Before speaking, de Montfort took a large bite of the roasted boar. Renfrid gulped with anxiety.

“Since we have already polished all strategic details, I think it is high time to discuss how we will actually capture Einhart. And on that note, I would fancy hearing your opinion, since you are the only person in this castle who has managed to accomplish such a feat.”

“I’m flattered, Your Excellency.”

“Could you please retell your ambush for Einhart to me, brother Renfrid?”

The knight commander poured his guest some wine.

“Of course... With some help from the local villagers, we located Einhart’s supply stash near the village of Askelynn, at the northern border of Rataï province. It was an unexpected discovery, since he was known to keep his depots away from settlements.

We set the ambush on that spot and concealed our presence using catharite. We also tipped our bolts with it so they couldn’t be deflected with telekinesis. We waited for a couple of days. When Einhart finally appeared, he only had four bodyguards with him. We tried peppering them with bolts, but we only managed to kill two sorcerers of his vanguard. Einhart and the remaining two sorcerers dodged the barrage and tried to flee, but my men cut off his escape.”

Renfrid felt more and more joy, seeing how attentively the knight commander listened to his story. It flattered him more than any honor possible. He continued his story with increasing passion:

“A long and bloody melee ensued. While we were able to hack the other two with our swords, Einhart posed a greater danger. He killed fourteen of my men before he was overrun.”

“Weren’t your men carrying catharite? How could it be that they were not immune to his spells?”

“While catharite dissipates incoming fireballs, it doesn’t stop a thrown log…”

“I see…”

“Besides, Einhart was using a quarterstaff to shatter the catharite gorgets, rendering them useless. I would advise to keep the catharite under the armor, not over it, as it is quite brittle.”

“A sound advice, indeed. Thank you for your insights.”

“It’s an honor, Your Excellency.”

“Thank you for keeping me company. Now, shall we go to the council chamber?”

“Of course.”

They both rose from the table and de Montfort invited the young knight to go hand in hand with him. Renfrid obliged, almost shaking with excitement. He felt more important and appreciated than ever.

“Actually, Your Excellency, there’s one more thing I wanted to talk about…”

***

He dreamed about the snowy wasteland again. Now that he was getting closer to the tomb of Halandir, the jagged peak seemed to be haunting his dreams ever more.

He made his way into the cave, paying little attention to the sharp icicles hanging over his head. He lit a magic light in his hand to see the way. Pale glow danced on the icy walls in a thousand reflections.

The path became steeper and on his left a black gaping void opened. His light could not reach the bottom of the abyss. Still, he pressed on.

While the cave was warmer than the raging blizzard outside, a different kind of cold emerged out of the dark and gently rubbed against him like a cat demanding attention. The goal of his quest was close.

Suddenly, his foot slipped on the icy floor and he plunged into the sightless chasm, trying desperately to hang onto anything… but it was in vain.

He felt something cold clamping on his wrists and he was flung from his dream. Feeling dirty water in his lungs, he erupted into violent coughing. When he finally came back to his senses, he realized he was sitting on a rocky riverbank, with his hands shackled and his magic… gone. He tried tearing off the shackles, but his strength had deserted him. He could only pommel them against the rocks helplessly.

“You’re wasting your time, sorcerer.” – a cold voice said.

When Katnir looked around, he saw the battlesister he fought. Her coat and armor were dripping wet, as was his cloak. She held his sword pointed at him. He was at her mercy.

You’ve got to be kidding me…

“Get up. We’re getting into the forest before your friend shows up.”

She slapped him with the flat of the sword. If catharite didn’t make him so tired and powerless, he would long have wrestled his sword from her and made a run for it.

It took him more effort than expected just to stand up. He felt heavy and as if terribly, terribly hungover. He figured the shackles must have been laced with catharite. On the brighter side, he was uninjured. At least, not seriously. He could not say the same about the battlesister. She seemed to limp a bit and he caught a glimpse of bandages under her leather armor. There was more red on them than white.

***

They made it about four miles into the woods before dusk caught them. Satine kept the sorcerer on a rope. They gathered some wood for a bonfire and then she ordered him to light it up. Satine almost chuckled watching him try to use flint and steel.

“Not so smart without your powers, aren’t you?”

“I wonder how you would fare should you be as crippled as I am.”

“Thankfully, I am not.”

“How come your bloodlust has turned to mockery?”

“Why do you think I don’t want to kill you anymore?”

“You could have easily finished me off at the shore.”

“I’d gladly have rid the world of you, but you’re worth more to us alive.”

“How so?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“God damn, don’t they teach manners in the monastery?”

“Will you just shut up and go to sleep?”

“Right…” – the sorcerer laid down on a patch of moss and turned away. – “Wake me up when it’s my watch.”

“Oh no no, I will not give you a chance to kill me in my sleep.”

“Would you rather be sleep-deprived tomorrow so I can kill you while you’re awake?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself, princess. Goodnight.”

“Princess”. He called me a “princess”! What nerve! He’s completely unbothered I could just kill him. Although, he is right about my fatigue. If we don’t find civilization tomorrow, I’ll be in deep trouble.

She made sure that the sorcerer was not watching, and checked her bandages. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but she had still lost a lot of blood while pulling a sharp piece of log from under her ribs.

The silence of night was disturbed by a distant howling of wolves.

Not good.

In terms of defense, she only had the sorcerer’s sword and two daggers. Taking a quick glance at the sword, she noticed it had an etching of a rose on either side, with strange symbols running down the stalk.

A protective spell of some kind? No, I’m not going to risk it. The last thing I need is hurting my hand on thorns springing from the handle.

She settled for her dagger. Not the best defense against local predators, but it would have to do. She cut a hazel branch and tied the dagger on its end. With that improvised spear she felt a bit safer.

She had no idea where exactly they were. North of the rope bridge Moza turned north-east, towards Rataï province. Before the river reached it, however, it was intercepted by the Myrna river, and both flowed west, towards Inelin. It was not far from the fork of those rivers where Lynette was killed.

We must be close to that place… – Satine thought. – Sonia said it’s quite remote.

She had already had some doubts about keeping the sorcerer alive, but now she realized it would be practically impossible to drag him out of the woods on her own. She had spared him so far, partially because of her vows, and partially due to her conviction of him being one of the Einhart’s lot already waning. He was annoying, yes, but he didn’t fit the bill of a murderous rogue spellcaster. Nevertheless, caution was the name of the game.

Satine looked at the sorcerer, as if afraid he would hear her thoughts. Only his back was visible in the glow of the bonfire. He was fast asleep. Satine felt a little frustrated he could be so relaxed while she was lost in her thoughts. One thing in particular couldn’t leave her mind: