Author's Note This is the second part of chapter four. This passes the 11k mark, and if you are still completley bewildered just let me know and I will PM you everything so you can work out what is going on. Also, on the website I will keep 'The Immortals' as to not confuse you, but I thought of a new title: "Vagabond". Do you like it?
Chapter Four Part II
“I could have, yes.”
Aedomir studied the horse a little longer, and at length said, “This… connection… describe it to me more.”
“Very impressive,” Aedomir mocked. He studied the horse a little longer and at length said, “Why did you call for him?”
Seridon raised his hand to the steed’s saddle, and then reached out for the tanned leather sack alongside it. He unattached it and lifted it to the ground. “You don’t think I would have come unprepared do you?”
“I don’t know what to think right now,” said Aedomir. “Are you telling me all you summoned your horse for, was to get a weathered down sack?”
Slowly, Seridon’s head turned to Aedomir. “Well, I did fear for Rothorn, and no I did want the sack, but the contents.” He dug his hands in, and produced a roll of parchment. “Here,” he said, throwing it up to Aedomir.
The parchment was a map, drawn on by a very accurate hand. It outlined every border of the Tagrum Islands. Aedomir slipped his eyes back to Seridon, and sighed. “What use is a map, if we don’t know where we are?” he murmured.
“Every use. Now, take a look around. What do you see?” Seridon gestured about him, eyes still locked with Aedomir’s. “Look, a stream, running into a cluster of trees. There aren’t many of them, so it will not appear on the map.”
“The stream runs from the mountains,” Aedomir said. “But as do all.” Looking up, he noticed the fog lifting, revealing ranks of mountains. Swiftly, he counted the visible summits, doubtful of anymore behind them. “I make seven, agreed?”
“My eyes deceive me I am afraid, but seven it shall be!” Seridon stepped towards Aedomir and squinted at the map. “It seems that the peaks of Naragai match our surroundings.”
“But where is Lake Amplitudo? Greatest of Tagrum Monti? If we are at Naragai, then surely the lake should be over there.” He pointed out past the stream, into a fog-clad horizon. Seridon stood up, and gazed across the landscape. Aedomir promptly joined him.
“Let us wait for a moment, until the midday sun clears the air a little,” Seridon said, and sat back onto the log. Again, Aedomir followed, perching himself by the fire. Perhaps he should have relit it after all.
And so they sat in silence like waning candles. Aedomir felt obliged to break it, and risked a long hard glance upon Seridon. “What do we— I do now?”
“Well, I might have thought you would like to see your old comrades again.”
“That’s all I would have, if I have anything, so if they are alive then that will be my road.”
“I am coming with you, of course.”
Aedomir studied Seridon carefully, looking him from top to toe. “Very well, but do not hinder me. You risk plenty, if you truly have claimed one of my rider’s souls.”
Seridon hung his head in a bitter shame. “You must understand that… That it was not my malice that struck him down, it was not—”
“Right, I forgot, a shadow took you…” Aedomir interrupted coldly. Seridon went to protest, but Aedomir’s chilling eyes made him keep quiet. Like a sudden tree spout, Aedomir arose. “I am not waiting about any longer, let us go now.”
Upon Aedomir’s bidding, Seridon too stood up and swiftly hurried to his horse, who feasted upon the fresh grass contently. The fog had lifted slightly, and the great lake had been revealed in its absence.
Aedomir walked, and Seridon refused to take to his steed without Aedomir’s accompaniment, and beckoned Rothorn to follow casually behind. To Seridon, it was a mystery how it was that Aedomir knew where his riders dwelt, but yet he did, and marched on towards his target rarely consulting the map.
The travel waned on in a new seclusion, where Aedomir would seldom confide in Seridon his feelings and thoughts. Only when Seridon should ask would Aedomir deliver a prompt and blunt answer. One thousands years of mystery had finally begun to sink in, and as his years in exile had taught him, he must help himself, for no-one else shall.
Occasionally, he would retire and level up with Rothorn. Then his eyes would befall upon him, and memories of his own steed, now somewhat reminiscent in ash and earth, would be wrought. The thought would be discarded at once.
Exhaustion swept across Aedomir like a veil of fog. Sleep was not the problem, sickness was. His emotions, he could not present to Seridon. Death lingered obdurately at the back of his mind, every now and then poisoning his fresh thoughts. Looking about him, he would see dotted rain, hazy mist and weathered plants. The world was not much different, or here at least. Past the fog lay a land of hidden mystery. Once a great jewel of fire may now be merely a dwindling spark, devouring rotten wood and drifting past the sea into a nomadic realm. And that was him; lost.
He remembered those years when he was alone, condemned to travel the wilderness in solitude. Fighting, he would strive to free himself from the wild seas of daily life. Then, at age 34, his heart was found. Scattered citizens of the empire found him, and Aedomir promised he would forge them into a sword. For five mighty years did his blade fight with theirs, and did his horse ride valiantly. But he knew it could never survive. Up until the conquest only scattered hordes of Kalbarcs would cluster into Aedomir’s path. Then his men were broken. He fled to the falls, and the touch upon the water sent him to the future.
That was all he knew. But he sought so much more.
Aedomir sighed and began to loath the cold silence that reigned. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a more vivid colour strike into sight.
Red… red blood. He looked at Seridon’s left sleeve. It dangled helplessly, and it was stained with an eminent crimson. “Seridon!” He shouted. Startled, Seridon sprung round and reached for his sword. “That blood… on your sleeve.”
“Oh,” he glanced down and jerked it a bit, yet refusing to reveal his hand. “It’s nothing, I just cut myself—”
“While shaving?” Aedomir mocked. “Give my your hand, what have you—”
“Come on,” Seridon interrupted coldly, and gestured with his other hand to the looming fog.
Aedomir’s impatience shimmered from his face. He lurched at Seridon before he had chance to react. Careful to take the arm, he grabbed it and pulled Seridon towards him. Seridon tried to protest, but Aedomir had already tugged back the overall and was inspecting the soggy crimson.
Looking down, Aedomir saw that Seridon’s hand bathed in a dark red pool. Where the Cresta had once been, a torn cloth soaked in the cerise liquid. He peered up at Seridon and glared at him coldly in the eyes.
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