Dereek khn
Koavahd Kor
٤ Korunasykli: ٢١ Days after the Red Storm at Westsong
Methias came back to himself but slowly. He felt as if he’d been asleep for days, and even now hadn’t fully returned to wakefulness. Fair enough, had he actually been asleep. But traveling into the sword(?)—into Xecses Merai that-was? No. That was an act of projection.
I used a Walking rite, supported by Calling and Sagacite threads. I shouldn’t feel tired. If anything, I should feel well-rested. My body should’ve kept its natural rhythm without my fool thoughts interrupting it every time I hear a gust of wind.
He shook his head. “Unless I returned too swiftly?”
Sighing, he recited a passage from one of his earliest lessons. “The spirit wears the living body as a man wears a heavy woolen tunic or robe in winter. If he pulls the garment over his head too quickly without taking a beat to be sure? He’s apt to find he’s put it on backward or inside out. So too is it with the walking spirit’s return to the waking body.”
That theory had been espoused off and on for years. He’d never experienced its purported effects, so he’d dismissed it.
“Still… if I fell or raced back into my body, I might be misaligned, I suppose.” He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Not at present, at least.
He made to stand when an echo caught his mind’s ear. It wasn’t a thing he was hearing now. Rather, it was like the ghost of some half-remembered dream. A man—perhaps only a boy—was chanting. It was spoken, not sung, yet it had a rhythm to it that ebbed and flowed like water lapping at the shore.
What do you court when catapults quiet? What do you ask when the arrows aren’t aimed? What do you seek when your sword’s set aside? Why do you fight? Out of fear, or for fame?
There was more, but it was fading. He’d heard it before, he was quite certain. The King of the Dead had long since started sending dreams to him and the rest of his company. Perhaps it was in one of those?
He rose, walking toward the door. It was a simple enough task, even in the dark. He slid the chest he’d placed to block the light from the hall, then made his way out.
The thin scents of torch oil and candle wax mingled to make their familiar perfume. The stone hall was as dim as he’d expected, but it was notably less empty. A man stood directly across from him. He wore a suit of plate and chain covered by the uniform black tabard of the Yebu Ke. Out of the realm’s many military orders, theirs was the closest to the Dereek khnii banner. Only the red tome was missing. The fellow’s halberd rested beside him, against the wall. He must’ve been standing stock still for some time. Methias hadn’t heard even the subtle shift of armor against the wall. Then again, he’d been otherwise occupied, hadn’t he. Well, no matter.
Here was a man Methias could understand. Waleron wasn’t able to think nearly as swiftly or agilely as he was, but his mind worked, or perhaps it would be better to say made him work, in much the same way.
“Waleron?”
The man gave a quiet nod of his head, his short black hair barely twitching. “I have word from… from the Fellhammer.” He mouthed this last word several times as if chewing on it.
Methias waited, letting a few grains of sand drop through his internal hourglass. When it was clear that he would need to move things along manually, he spoke again.
“Walk with me.”
Waleron took up his halberd and fell into step beside him.
“What did Morakogunn say?”
The man held his step for a beat, then answered in an apologetic tone. “Forgive me. I should’ve said.”
“It’s fine. You can say now.” He kept his voice light and unaffected.
“I… he said you’ve a missive. That Dayf… Day… The Ironbane sends word that you’re needed, and soon. That they, that it, or that she is speaking again.”
Methias had been content to walk along and let the man tell it any way he needed to. Now he stopped abruptly and turned to face him.
“Repeat that last part, please. Repeat what Daephone said.”
Waleron did so willingly enough.
“Nothing more? Nothing about what they, it, or she … said?”
Waleron shook his head, face apologetic.
Well, your Ladyship, perhaps you aren’t done sharing secrets after all. He met Waleron’s eyes, confirming he had the man’s attention before speaking anew.
“I’ve instructions for you. Are you ready?”
“I am. What am I meant to do?”
He sounded flat, almost monotone, but Methias knew better than to take that as indifference. This, unless he was very much mistaken, was Waleron’s tone of concentration.
“Find Morakogunn and tell him I’ve left for Yrxa Castle. He’ll want to know I’ve taken someone along. Tell him I’ll have Tharus Ire with me. I’ll send word when there’s word worth sending.”
Waleron nodded slowly.
Not good enough, I’m afraid. Then, aloud, he said, “Repeat what you’re to tell, and to whom you’re to tell it, please?”
Waleron let his eyes slip half-closed, then repeated the message as near to the mark as anyone could hope.
“Good enough. Thank you. Please see that Morakogunn gets the message as soon as you can get it to him.”
A moment later and the man was off on his errand.
It’s not long past noon… Stone in sky, it’s far too early for my day to have been this involved already. He shook his head, chuckling. First Xecses Merai’s talk of the shadowed road, then that strange chant, and now this?
Yrxa Castle was well and truly occupied by the Dereek khnderath, but that didn’t mean it was without very real danger. Blessedly, Daephone was there.
“Well, so be it. Whatever this message portends, either Deaphone’s wisdom or her skill at arms will be a match for it.” If she couldn’t keep the area secure, she would make the decision to withdraw, rather than throw lives away.
His mind began racing through possibilities as to what might really be going on—as to what might have woken it, they, or her up. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’m not likely to figure it out stood here, I suppose. Best I find Tharus, mount up, and ride to her Ladyship’s seat of power.”