Chertanne bid her farewell. “Thank you, Lady Khairn. It was a pleasure talking to you. I hope it will be oft repeated.” The Chalaine inclined her head as he rode off to where Athan awaited him.
While the conversation helped her understand him better, his last statement raised questions within her. Why did Eldaloth have the Ha’Ulrich born Aughmerian? Was it a matter of blood or chance? From where she stood, there wasn’t any reasoning in it at all. When the Church had first announced that the Ha’Ulrich was Aughmerian, neither Tolnor nor Rhugoth took it well. The people solaced themselves, however, by convincing themselves that an Aughmerian Ha’Ulrich would be a mighty man of war, just what was needed to counter Mikkik’s forthcoming assault. Even better, his father was the most renowned fighter and warrior of their age.
Her conversation with Gen about the uncertainty of prophecy now rang more true to her than ever. Doom came to the world before she had ever seen or known Chertanne or Gen. Chertanne was selfish and weak, and she desperately loved the man whose destiny it was to destroy her. The only thing she could think to bitterly laugh at amid the wrack of prophecy was that she imagined Mikkik would be just as confused as anyone when he won the coming war without the Ilch’s help and practically without trying. All Mikkik need do now to recapture Ki’Hal was show up.
The Chalaine wiped away tears she didn’t realize she was crying. How did it all go so wrong?
Maewen led them northeast along a slender stream couched in a small depression brimming with ferns and low leafy plants with small white flowers. The soft gurgling of the water calmed the Chalaine’s nerves. Gradually, the density of the trees lessened and their size increased. Maewen mounted her horse and led the group forward at a brisk pace through the easy terrain.
As daylight faded, they encountered a path of paved stones that forked beneath two towering oak trees spreading toward each other to form a natural arch. One fork disappeared south into the forest from which they now emerged, the other veering southeast. The path appeared to stretch north and south as a single road in an empty plain until it bifurcated where they stood. Maewen called for a dismount. As there were no tents, few provisions, and no fire, situating their camp required nothing more than caring for the horses and finding somewhere devoid of roots and rocks to lie down.
The Chalaine fished a hard roll from her saddle bags after checking the animon again. Fenna approached and threw herself down grumpily at her side. The Chalaine steeled herself for another dose of Fenna’s self-pity, but thankfully, the young woman seemed content to smolder while gnawing on a particularly tough morsel of dried meat. Geoff approached, his book, quill, and ink in hand. Fenna turned away, evincing a hurt look from her husband. He controlled his face and strode by them without a word to seek out Maewen, who managed to not appear more annoyed and concerned than usual.
“Maewen,” Geoff entreated her, “may I beg you to tell us more about this place . . . for the record?” Maewen regarded him coldly. The Chalaine quickly stood, Dason following her as she came to Geoff’s side.
“I, too, am curious,” the Chalaine added. “The trees are so beautiful and the breeze so pleasant that this place must have been something out of the common way.”
At the Chalaine’s request, Maewen acquiesced, Geoff flopping open his book and thrusting his quill into the ink bottle.
“We camp beneath the Gate of Three Dreams, for it was said that no matter what path was chosen from here, there awaited a delight in beauty that would linger forever in the dreams of the traveler. The path to the southeast joins the southern fork of the Dunnach River where scented trees line the bank of the wide, clear river. There moose drink the cool water and bear feed on silver fish that leap from the depths.
“The path
While the conversation helped her understand him better, his last statement raised questions within her. Why did Eldaloth have the Ha’Ulrich born Aughmerian? Was it a matter of blood or chance? From where she stood, there wasn’t any reasoning in it at all. When the Church had first announced that the Ha’Ulrich was Aughmerian, neither Tolnor nor Rhugoth took it well. The people solaced themselves, however, by convincing themselves that an Aughmerian Ha’Ulrich would be a mighty man of war, just what was needed to counter Mikkik’s forthcoming assault. Even better, his father was the most renowned fighter and warrior of their age.
Her conversation with Gen about the uncertainty of prophecy now rang more true to her than ever. Doom came to the world before she had ever seen or known Chertanne or Gen. Chertanne was selfish and weak, and she desperately loved the man whose destiny it was to destroy her. The only thing she could think to bitterly laugh at amid the wrack of prophecy was that she imagined Mikkik would be just as confused as anyone when he won the coming war without the Ilch’s help and practically without trying. All Mikkik need do now to recapture Ki’Hal was show up.
The Chalaine wiped away tears she didn’t realize she was crying. How did it all go so wrong?
Maewen led them northeast along a slender stream couched in a small depression brimming with ferns and low leafy plants with small white flowers. The soft gurgling of the water calmed the Chalaine’s nerves. Gradually, the density of the trees lessened and their size increased. Maewen mounted her horse and led the group forward at a brisk pace through the easy terrain.
As daylight faded, they encountered a path of paved stones that forked beneath two towering oak trees spreading toward each other to form a natural arch. One fork disappeared south into the forest from which they now emerged, the other veering southeast. The path appeared to stretch north and south as a single road in an empty plain until it bifurcated where they stood. Maewen called for a dismount. As there were no tents, few provisions, and no fire, situating their camp required nothing more than caring for the horses and finding somewhere devoid of roots and rocks to lie down.
The Chalaine fished a hard roll from her saddle bags after checking the animon again. Fenna approached and threw herself down grumpily at her side. The Chalaine steeled herself for another dose of Fenna’s self-pity, but thankfully, the young woman seemed content to smolder while gnawing on a particularly tough morsel of dried meat. Geoff approached, his book, quill, and ink in hand. Fenna turned away, evincing a hurt look from her husband. He controlled his face and strode by them without a word to seek out Maewen, who managed to not appear more annoyed and concerned than usual.
“Maewen,” Geoff entreated her, “may I beg you to tell us more about this place . . . for the record?” Maewen regarded him coldly. The Chalaine quickly stood, Dason following her as she came to Geoff’s side.
“I, too, am curious,” the Chalaine added. “The trees are so beautiful and the breeze so pleasant that this place must have been something out of the common way.”
At the Chalaine’s request, Maewen acquiesced, Geoff flopping open his book and thrusting his quill into the ink bottle.
“We camp beneath the Gate of Three Dreams, for it was said that no matter what path was chosen from here, there awaited a delight in beauty that would linger forever in the dreams of the traveler. The path to the southeast joins the southern fork of the Dunnach River where scented trees line the bank of the wide, clear river. There moose drink the cool water and bear feed on silver fish that leap from the depths.
“The path
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