Thrain, part 17: Sister?
Thrain makes a shocking discovery
Thrain had recovered his composure. He stood now on the rear ramparts, looking over the men as they filed out of the back gate that morning. There was a calm he well enjoyed at this time most days. The sun’s fire fell across the trees and grass like a warm blanket instead of the harsher intensity of the afternoon. His astrologers told him the evening sun was identical in all but positioning to the morning, that the rays could not be told apart. His heart said otherwise, and this morning's rising light quieted the murmurs in his chest.
“The sun rises.” Haverth’s gruff voice blew away his respite.
“May it blind our enemies.” He turned away from the rolling hills and faced the General.
“Why not have killed her?” The question further removed him from tranquility.
“I believe that she will remain useful to us. If not for information, then in being traded for a piece of the Trigrynt.”
“A priestess that important to them?”
“Perhaps. If not, we will take the relic as planned.” No need to kill more than he had to. “Having multiple plans gives us options.”
The beard held up under the furious onslaught provoked by that answer. “Multiple introduces confusion. And if it fails, time is wasted. It was you who told me it had to be by the Solstice.”
“So it will be. We have made better time than we anticipated.”
“Time that saves more of our men, should we use it. Unless saving prisoners is our game now.”
Thrain locked his eyes to Haverth’s, andhe slowly adjusted the black cuffs on his jacket. He let a smile touch his face, but it was not a kind one.
The general glared, but broke the stare first by dipping his head down. “I guess then, you have some plan, Lord Thrain.” He raised his fist in salute, and turned to leave. “The sun shines.”
Thrain returned the gesture. “May it brighten our path.”
Unable to find his peace again, he abandoned the rampart, and the keep itself, then found Serbus in the stall. Water and food had been given to him, but as usual the midnight Aennuin would not let others saddle him. While he refused to look at Thrain, and again would not eat the chestnut offered him, he allowed Thrain to harness him. He rode then only to catch the main group, and made his way to his carriage.
He noted the shrewd eyes of Adalyn, who had been watching the general, but now switched to him as he neared. That was irksome. Likely, she had seen Haverth’s distaste of him, and gleaned something of their animosity. She was bound to her horse, and gagged with fresh Snouf, but perhaps he ought to blindfold her as well.
Reaching the carriage, he let the reins drop, and then while it trundled along he placed a foot upon the running board and stepped up. Opening the door, he entered.
He sat down, and for a moment strange lethargy filled him. He folded his hands in front of him, and thought of many things, though none of them with clarity. At length, he reached to the shelf again, and passing his hand over the Rune-etched metal he let Weave flow into it, and the lock turned.
He drew out the same book he had before, but this time he turned to a less-handled page. In droning and rather self-important fashion, the historian who had recorded interactions between Haelstra and Jarda revealed themself to be religious. Tedious and seemingly irrelevant, he had never read it but the once, his first time through. Now, he scanned it with new knowledge.
And there it was. In all his years of scanning economic, military, and traveling paths, he had never once thought to wonder if an entirely arbitrary need for travel could motivate people.
The Order of Aaltir, knowing their great blessing from Him, therefore sought His voice and wonder, insomuch that early ritual practice of the Thrice-blessed journey; the Old Runes of the western city (known in these times as Syvalastra), the Old Runes of the eastern city (known in these times as Ildris), and the most ancient abandoned Runes of the southern desolation; was inducted formally into creed. All those who wear the sacred robes and seek to carry truth must take that journey, and hear His voice from the old and ancient paths.
Normal travel, and all economic routes preferred a northern passage or southern passage through large cities when traveling between the nation capitals. Yet for those on a pilgrimage, the direct and less-trodden path would both save time, and offer more wilderness. If the heavy-handed hinting from the priestly historian was any tell, such a path brought one much closer to Aaltir than passing through cities with comforts and distractions would.
The Redhma passed through [town], and likely any pilgrimage would too.
Leaning back, he rubbed his temples and sank into thought. It was far from definitive proof, but it now made it impossible to ignore the similarities. Adalyn might have had a sister.
After many more minutes scouring the map, the book, and fighting now to disprove this notion, he succeeded only in cementing it further in his mind. All facts he knew aligned with each new aspect he discovered. Her appearance matched too, as far as age and a number of physical factors went. The time had not given him any better idea what to do with that information though, and at last he rolled the map away, and went to replace the book.
Pushing it gently into the shelf, he looked at the much older and sinister looking tome beside it. Within that book was the entire reason for this campaign, this mad dash to retrieve all three pieces of the Trigrynt. Now it had a whole new potential meaning. He closed the shelf door and ensured it locked. Adalyn could become far more useful than he ever thought possible, when he succeeded.
She would understand, and perhaps could make Haelstra understand, when he brought her sister back to life.
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"She would understand, and perhaps could make Haelstra understand, when he brought her sister back to life."
OPE okay now