Dreams of Giants -- Chapter 7, Part 2

The room looked slightly hazy through his tears. The single bed was made with neatly folded sheets, and on the wall a single painting hung. The painting was of a sunset with all different hues and colors. It was a bright and welcoming painting, but the sight of it only added to the empty feeling in Panatar's stomach. A sharp pain throbbed in his chest. Father was dead. Dead! He swallowed, tasting the salt of his tears.

From the first day that he could walk, Father had raised him. Blurred memories of being dragged through the marketplace of Vileri as he struggled to keep up with Father's brisk pace filled his head. He remembered the visit to the stables when Father had bought him his own pony and taught him how to ride. He remembered Father's hand guiding his own as he learned to throw knives, and the assuring smile that hung on Father's lips when Panatar had first succeeded in throwing him. That memory was only two years old and was fresh in his mind.

The window revealed a rising sun to the East. Balarin had brought him here after showing him Father's dead body. An array of scratches showed that whoever had killed father was undoubtedly scathed in Father's attempt to defend himself. But the knife wound in Father's chest was fatal. What uncaring monster had driven that blade through the skin of an honest man? Whoever the assassin had been, he deserved to die. And Panatar would be the one to do it, even if he died in the process. Of this he was certain.

The rising sun illuminated the green landscape of Kavaria's country. Horses brayed without restraint, perhaps mourning the death of Father. But perhaps they were singing the praise of the assassin.

The question still remained: why had his father been killed? Sense dictated that it had been one of Galdiff's cronies. If that was the case, though, it would mean that he hadn't disappeared after he had murdered Joriah. Why would someone hang around the scene of a crime they had just committed? Unless they knew Father planned on investigating. Word of Joriah's death was apparently not meant to travel.

But, Panatar thought, the assassin hadn't bargained on Cimrial bringing his son along for the ride or he too would be dead. It was suddenly clear what he needed to do.

The Monastry of Kavaria lay ten miles to the South. The high priest needed to know that Galdiff had the key. So, after a sleepless night and an exhausting day before that, Panatar exited the room, and walked across to the stables. His tired legs could hold out another hour, perhaps.

He climbed wearily onto the horse. The same horse that Father had given him over eight years before. When he had bought it for Panatar, Father had named it Lierna, after the great steed of legend who had carried Dirlan the Powerful to seventeen victories two centuries before. The horse had not brought him the luck of Dirlan yet, but Panatar knew that Lierna would carry him to victory. He believed in fate.

When Balarin had read his fortune she had revealed little about his fate. Her words were infuriating to a certain extent.

"Your fate is not set in stone," she had said, "it is governed by your choices. No, don't interrupt me." She had then gone on to merely give him several vague and obtuse tips. "The old bald man with the walking stick who you will meet in the not too distant future is on your side. I advise against underestimating him, for he does not take kindly to patronisation. Your enemy, too, is far more dangerous than his physical size suggests.

"On another note entirely, remember that there are far more dangerous weapons than the sword or gun. While the sword can pierce flesh and bone, the most powerful weapons can pierce even hope itself."

The words echoed through Panatar's head as he galloped towards The Library of Kavaria upon the back of Lierna. His eyes begged to close, but he stayed awake. For the sake of Joriah. For the sake of Father. For the sake of Kavaria. For the sake of revenge.

He felt his knuckles turn white as he gripped the reins. Lierna galloped through the green meadows.