The Pilgrim- Interlude 1

Author's notes-

It's been a while, and I apologise for that. Real life and Writer's Block hit be at the same time, and its killed my writing recently. However, here's a short little interlude between Chapters, and hopefully we'll be right back on track from now on! I hope you enjoy, rip it to shreds! 

There was almost no interval between the rustle of the keys and the cell door slamming open. The prisoner glanced up, putting his quill to rest. He was a thin, frail man, reasonably young. His hair fell down in a greasy, white mop.

There was the shuffling of leather, cloth and metal as two guards strode in. They turned sharply, flanked the door and slammed the ends of their polearms into the stone floor. Between them, a man walked in lightly. He was thin, his face showing the light contours of middle-age. His black hair was perched on his head, not a stray strand poking out. His clothes were impeccably clean and straight, finely tailored silk and cloth, embellished with silver adornments.

He cleared his throat, before speaking in a clear, monotonous tone;

“Farren.”

The prisoner held his gaze, reclining in his chair. It squeaked, softly. He remained silent.

The man, slightly perturbed, continued, producing a letter with a flourish;

“We received this from our informer in Boros. From the Cadavers rest, specifically” A distasteful flash broke his composure for a moment as he mentioned the prison. “They quite recently found the boy’s cell vacant, utterly deprived of any visible damage. The boy is missing, and five searches of the wastes have yet to find him.”

He paused a moment, expecting response. Hearing none, he hurriedly withdrew another sheet from his coat. He folded it out, holding it before the prisoner.

“As you yourself have stated, in order to have you’re sentence shortened you have agreed to cooperating with us as necessary in matters concerning The Boy.”

He straightened, looking down at the prisoner with a gaze that demanded a response. After a moment, Farren leaned forward onto the desk with a prolonged sigh. He began toying with his quill, spinning it between his fingertips.

“Is that all, then?” He said, listlessly.
The man spluttered.

“Is that all? Are you quite mad? This is of vital importance, and as you yourself have stated, failure to comply with our terms will result in---“

Farren waved his hand dismissively.

“All right, I see this is quite important to you. Quite disappointing, you understand. My first visit in some time and it’s over something as trivial as him”. He looked at the floor glumly.

The man tucked the papers away, looking at Farren with a patient look, as one speaks to a child.

“Well then? Out with it! Where is he, how did he escape and where is he going?”
Farren looked at him disinterestedly.

“Mm. Quite a mystery. Unfortunately, I’m no fortune teller or a pellar.”

“Surely you know something!”
“Mm. Well, as for how he escaped, that’s to be expected. His kind are an unpredictable sort, no two the same. I did warn you. Stone isn’t enough to keep a Kindreth. You ought to have made an exception with that magic taboo you’re people have.” He flicked the quill into the air, balancing it on his index finger.

“We—I’m not--- That isn’t---- Where is he, then?” The man had lost a good deal of ground, and was struggling to regain composure. One of the guards coughed, a sonorous sound in his golden helmet, which was hooked like a beak.

“Where is he... you Oerion do get worked up over these things, don’t you? Very scared of what you can’t stab, or gut, or hang, or burn, or drown, or…” Farren paused, waiting for the reaction. He received burning silence. Farren sighed again, twirling the quill slowly, now.

“No fun, are you? Well, it’s possible he’s performed a form of teleportation, whether intentional or not. Now that he’s free he’ll likely be heading towards the nearest source of Kindreth Magic. That being other Kindreth. Kindreth, especially young ones, are quite drawn towards one another, you see”.
He paused. His visitor had simmered down slightly.

“Since you folk have likely killed any Kindreth in the Frigid (Probably why the place is so insufferably lifeless and dreary), that would mean the nearest would be…”

His eyes glazed in thought.

“The Mountains of Izalea, I suppose. The place is bustling with Kindreth. North of Saldea, East of the Prison, several hundred miles of ice and sorrow between.”
“I know precisely where it is, thank-you very much”

Farren looked over at a sundial on the wall, constructed from strategically placed scratches.

“Pilgrims should be there at this time of the year”.

The visitor peered over at the sundial, then quickly withdrew so as to avoid any sign of being impressed.

“Is that quite it?” Farren had resumed his writing.

“Yes--- that ought to do. You’d best pray this gets cleared up relatively quickly. The higher administration are very… dislodged, for lack of a better word”

Farren chuckled.

“How peculiar you Oerion are…”

“You’re cooperation is appreciated”.

The quill stopped.

“Hm? Oh, I don’t see the harm. However much you try… however much you deceive yourself…”

He smiled, as if in memory.

“You’re still chasing a God.”

The cell door closed on a twisted, knowing grin.