Disclaimer: Welcome to the realm of FanFiction!
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The exhausted man with the equally exhausted horse wandered through the muddy roads of the Renegade Kingdom. He was bloody and bruised, and almost collapsing with the effort it took to keep moving,
"A little farther," he murmured to his horse. He was almost delirious with fever as well. "Soon, soon."
The horse whickered weakly, and nudged her master. He looked in the direction the horse sent him. Through the drizzling rain and mist he saw a small shelter. To one that had been sleeping anywhere, the tiny shack looked like a palace.
"Thank you, Sky," the man mumbled through chattering teeth. He tied the horse under an overhang that was supporting the tiny shack. He dragged her load inside and pillowed his head on them. In a heartbeat, he was in a dreamless sleep.
A few hours later, the traveler was still lying in his own puddle on the center of the floor, asleep. The man who had walked through the door looked at the sleeper with disgust. This had been his home, his haven. Now another man's presence and his horse tainted it.
He walked around the man carefully, doing his best not to disturb him. He rummaged through a bundle that was not being used as a pillow. He found many riches; gems and jewels, and bright gold rings.
"Why, this man is rich enough to be a King!" the shack's owner murmured to himself. The next item he pulled out of the bag accentuated this statement. He pulled out a small ring that bore the seal of Wythin. "A Wyth!" he exclaimed softly. Then he pulled out a crown.
"So he is a king!" the man smiled, he would extract a hefty fee for using his home.
Over the next few days, the man tended the King until he awoke. The first words out of his parched throat came with a wild-eyed look.
"Shari! Selena, Michel," the King coughed, "Mirian." Then he fell back against the floor. His eyes slowly focused, "Who are you?" he rasped. His wide eyes took in the man standing above him, the sword resting against the wall, the black cloak shrouding the chair. His eyes darted back to the sword; it bore the crest of the Kalid-Na'in.
The King closed his eyes and remembered the legends that his tutor had told him. He remembered the tales of the Kalid-Na-in, the most fearsome type of warriors, all of them swords for hire. "Oh, Sky, what have I done?" he thought to himself.
"King of Wythin, why are you in my home, my haven?" The warrior spoke softly, dangerously.
"I am here because I was a weary traveler, lost in his path. My feet led me here, as did my horse." The king struggled sit up, conscious of the warrior watching his every move dispassionately. "I hope that I have not offended you in any way, warrior of the renowned Kalid-Na'in. How can I repay you?"
The warrior smiled hungrily, " You cannot repay me by the riches you carry alone, but by blood as well. I would have your life in payment."
The King blanched and said, voice trembling, "Please, do not take my life from me! I have a wife, and three children waiting for me at home! In addition, I have a country to rule, and my son is not yet old enough to do so in my place. Please, spare my life, ask anything but that, anything." The King paled even more as he realized the words he had just spoken.
The warrior's teeth glinted in the dying sunlight. "What do you hold most dear to your heart, oh King?" "My children, great warrior, my children are what I hold closest and most dear to my heart." The King thought of his children, his two daughters and his young son. He loved them all dearly, and would not willingly part with any of them.
"Tell me about them," said the warrior of the Kalid-Na'in as he seated himself next to the sickly King. "Start with the oldest."
"Why do you want to know?" The King's voice quavered with relief.
"Never mind that, just tell me." The warrior's voice was as hard and as sharp as the sword that he wielded.
"I shall start with the eldest," whispered the King. He continued with a nod from the warrior, "She is called Mirian. She is a quiet child. In the Month of the Harvest, she will be six. She has hair like the night-of-no-moon. Her eyes are as the mist that shrouds the sea in the mornings; grey and opaque, always seeming to hide something. She is solemn and older in mind than in body. Her laugh, oh her laugh is like the sun coming out on a cloudy day, as is her smile. She has the grace of the deer in the fields, and their same fleet-footedness. Mirian is my oldest child.
"Michel is the middle child. He is the Heir to the Throne of Wythin. His temperament is like that of the summer birds- happy and carefree. His fifth name day passed in the Month of the Flowers. His hair is like the flax that our weavers use. His eyes hold the light of a thousand blue skies. He has a quick mind, and learns things easily, which is helpful if he is to be king. He is quick to laugh, and he loves the complexities of the world. He constantly wonders why things happen as they do." The King smiled fondly, " He is never satisfied with a simple answer. He loves his pony and the outdoors. He is Michel, my second child and only son.
"The third child, and the youngest, is Selena." The King paused and smiled, "She is the light of my life. She had just been born before I left two years ago. The first day of the Flower Month is when she came into this world. She will grow into a beautiful woman when she is older. Hair the color of the golden sun crowns her head. Her laughing blue eyes held love for me the first time that I held her. She is a happy child, and in the first days when she was born she would just giggle. She is my third and youngest child, my darling Selena." The King's eyes were suffused with love as he thought of his children, and of Selena in particular.
"May I inquire as to what your wife is like?" The warrior broke the King's reverie with softly spoken words.
"My wife, my beloved, my Queen. Her name is Shari. My people, oh my people love her. She was once one of them, but chance and love brought us together. Her hair is like sunlight dancing down her back. Oh, Shari! Her eyes are like that of Michel, bluer than one thousand skies. She has the finest embroidery in the Three Kingdoms, her stitches neat and small, her pictures coming to life with a magic of their own. She loves our children as I do: more than anything in the world. She is my one true love, my Shari."
The warrior sat in silence beside the King, taking in the King's words. He knew now what the King's payment would have to be.
"You shall leave with your life to go home to see your children and your wife," she King looked up at the warrior's flat voice. "At a time of my choosing, I will exact my payment. Be ready. You have one day to pack up your belongings and leave here. I will direct you to the nearest town."
"What is the payment to be?" The King asked in trepidation.
"Your eldest child, your daughter, Mirian." The warrior stood with catlike ease and walked over to his sword.
"No!" The King was aghast; not one of his children!
"Would you rather it be your life?" Asked the warrior calmly, fingering his naked blade with one calloused finger.
The King sighed, and thought of his dilemma. The warrior observed stoically, his blade hungry for it's next meal.
"No," murmured the King with a sad heart, "It could not be so. You shall have your payment at the time of your choosing." Wearily, he hauled himself to his feet. He swayed, once upright, and brushed a hand across his eyes, wiping away the moisture that gathered there. He picked up one bag at a time, carrying them out to his horse.
The mare whickered at him when she saw him, and he patted her affectionately. Bag by bag, he loaded the mare. He wiped a lock of sweaty, blond hair out of his eyes before he led the mare over to a rock and mounted her.
"Great Warrior of the Kalid-Na'in, will you show me now the way to the nearest town?" The king called out formally, allowing what strength he did have to influence his words.
"I am ready, King of the Wyth." The warrior strode into the afternoon sunlight and whistled piercingly. A great stallion pranced up, his hooves kicking up great clods of earth. "Before you leave my haven and reenter the world, King, I must have your word that you will abide by our bargain."
"What would you swear on, warrior?" Fierce blue eyes met bitter black eyes.
"I would have you swear on your name and mine." The warrior spit on his palm and held it out. "Swear on the name of Thayer the Mercenary of the Kalid-Na'in and the name of King Wraithlin of Wythin."
The King spit on his own palm and held it out. "I do so swear." The two men shook hands; the warrior and the king.
The warrior led the horse of the King into the nearest village, one so small it did not even have a name. The King thanked the warrior in a subdued manner and spurred his horse westward, toward his homeland and his family.
The warrior watched the King canter off to the west. He sat perched on his great stallion until he could no longer see the King. Then, in one fluid motion, he set his horse on a northward course and headed for the capital of Tarran, and his own home.
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A/N: I'm back! After a ...what? couple of hours? (More like a day...heehee) Sorry that I'm not using any of your ideas for a sequel, but give me some time. I'll work on it. Promise. :o)
Okie dokie...this is loosely connected to "Runner of Syrlan". Same continent, a few mentions of Syrlan...but new plots, new characters, new (odd) romance...plus some of our old favorites from before.
Tell me what you think...please!!!
EvenSong
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The exhausted man with the equally exhausted horse wandered through the muddy roads of the Renegade Kingdom. He was bloody and bruised, and almost collapsing with the effort it took to keep moving,
"A little farther," he murmured to his horse. He was almost delirious with fever as well. "Soon, soon."
The horse whickered weakly, and nudged her master. He looked in the direction the horse sent him. Through the drizzling rain and mist he saw a small shelter. To one that had been sleeping anywhere, the tiny shack looked like a palace.
"Thank you, Sky," the man mumbled through chattering teeth. He tied the horse under an overhang that was supporting the tiny shack. He dragged her load inside and pillowed his head on them. In a heartbeat, he was in a dreamless sleep.
A few hours later, the traveler was still lying in his own puddle on the center of the floor, asleep. The man who had walked through the door looked at the sleeper with disgust. This had been his home, his haven. Now another man's presence and his horse tainted it.
He walked around the man carefully, doing his best not to disturb him. He rummaged through a bundle that was not being used as a pillow. He found many riches; gems and jewels, and bright gold rings.
"Why, this man is rich enough to be a King!" the shack's owner murmured to himself. The next item he pulled out of the bag accentuated this statement. He pulled out a small ring that bore the seal of Wythin. "A Wyth!" he exclaimed softly. Then he pulled out a crown.
"So he is a king!" the man smiled, he would extract a hefty fee for using his home.
Over the next few days, the man tended the King until he awoke. The first words out of his parched throat came with a wild-eyed look.
"Shari! Selena, Michel," the King coughed, "Mirian." Then he fell back against the floor. His eyes slowly focused, "Who are you?" he rasped. His wide eyes took in the man standing above him, the sword resting against the wall, the black cloak shrouding the chair. His eyes darted back to the sword; it bore the crest of the Kalid-Na'in.
The King closed his eyes and remembered the legends that his tutor had told him. He remembered the tales of the Kalid-Na-in, the most fearsome type of warriors, all of them swords for hire. "Oh, Sky, what have I done?" he thought to himself.
"King of Wythin, why are you in my home, my haven?" The warrior spoke softly, dangerously.
"I am here because I was a weary traveler, lost in his path. My feet led me here, as did my horse." The king struggled sit up, conscious of the warrior watching his every move dispassionately. "I hope that I have not offended you in any way, warrior of the renowned Kalid-Na'in. How can I repay you?"
The warrior smiled hungrily, " You cannot repay me by the riches you carry alone, but by blood as well. I would have your life in payment."
The King blanched and said, voice trembling, "Please, do not take my life from me! I have a wife, and three children waiting for me at home! In addition, I have a country to rule, and my son is not yet old enough to do so in my place. Please, spare my life, ask anything but that, anything." The King paled even more as he realized the words he had just spoken.
The warrior's teeth glinted in the dying sunlight. "What do you hold most dear to your heart, oh King?" "My children, great warrior, my children are what I hold closest and most dear to my heart." The King thought of his children, his two daughters and his young son. He loved them all dearly, and would not willingly part with any of them.
"Tell me about them," said the warrior of the Kalid-Na'in as he seated himself next to the sickly King. "Start with the oldest."
"Why do you want to know?" The King's voice quavered with relief.
"Never mind that, just tell me." The warrior's voice was as hard and as sharp as the sword that he wielded.
"I shall start with the eldest," whispered the King. He continued with a nod from the warrior, "She is called Mirian. She is a quiet child. In the Month of the Harvest, she will be six. She has hair like the night-of-no-moon. Her eyes are as the mist that shrouds the sea in the mornings; grey and opaque, always seeming to hide something. She is solemn and older in mind than in body. Her laugh, oh her laugh is like the sun coming out on a cloudy day, as is her smile. She has the grace of the deer in the fields, and their same fleet-footedness. Mirian is my oldest child.
"Michel is the middle child. He is the Heir to the Throne of Wythin. His temperament is like that of the summer birds- happy and carefree. His fifth name day passed in the Month of the Flowers. His hair is like the flax that our weavers use. His eyes hold the light of a thousand blue skies. He has a quick mind, and learns things easily, which is helpful if he is to be king. He is quick to laugh, and he loves the complexities of the world. He constantly wonders why things happen as they do." The King smiled fondly, " He is never satisfied with a simple answer. He loves his pony and the outdoors. He is Michel, my second child and only son.
"The third child, and the youngest, is Selena." The King paused and smiled, "She is the light of my life. She had just been born before I left two years ago. The first day of the Flower Month is when she came into this world. She will grow into a beautiful woman when she is older. Hair the color of the golden sun crowns her head. Her laughing blue eyes held love for me the first time that I held her. She is a happy child, and in the first days when she was born she would just giggle. She is my third and youngest child, my darling Selena." The King's eyes were suffused with love as he thought of his children, and of Selena in particular.
"May I inquire as to what your wife is like?" The warrior broke the King's reverie with softly spoken words.
"My wife, my beloved, my Queen. Her name is Shari. My people, oh my people love her. She was once one of them, but chance and love brought us together. Her hair is like sunlight dancing down her back. Oh, Shari! Her eyes are like that of Michel, bluer than one thousand skies. She has the finest embroidery in the Three Kingdoms, her stitches neat and small, her pictures coming to life with a magic of their own. She loves our children as I do: more than anything in the world. She is my one true love, my Shari."
The warrior sat in silence beside the King, taking in the King's words. He knew now what the King's payment would have to be.
"You shall leave with your life to go home to see your children and your wife," she King looked up at the warrior's flat voice. "At a time of my choosing, I will exact my payment. Be ready. You have one day to pack up your belongings and leave here. I will direct you to the nearest town."
"What is the payment to be?" The King asked in trepidation.
"Your eldest child, your daughter, Mirian." The warrior stood with catlike ease and walked over to his sword.
"No!" The King was aghast; not one of his children!
"Would you rather it be your life?" Asked the warrior calmly, fingering his naked blade with one calloused finger.
The King sighed, and thought of his dilemma. The warrior observed stoically, his blade hungry for it's next meal.
"No," murmured the King with a sad heart, "It could not be so. You shall have your payment at the time of your choosing." Wearily, he hauled himself to his feet. He swayed, once upright, and brushed a hand across his eyes, wiping away the moisture that gathered there. He picked up one bag at a time, carrying them out to his horse.
The mare whickered at him when she saw him, and he patted her affectionately. Bag by bag, he loaded the mare. He wiped a lock of sweaty, blond hair out of his eyes before he led the mare over to a rock and mounted her.
"Great Warrior of the Kalid-Na'in, will you show me now the way to the nearest town?" The king called out formally, allowing what strength he did have to influence his words.
"I am ready, King of the Wyth." The warrior strode into the afternoon sunlight and whistled piercingly. A great stallion pranced up, his hooves kicking up great clods of earth. "Before you leave my haven and reenter the world, King, I must have your word that you will abide by our bargain."
"What would you swear on, warrior?" Fierce blue eyes met bitter black eyes.
"I would have you swear on your name and mine." The warrior spit on his palm and held it out. "Swear on the name of Thayer the Mercenary of the Kalid-Na'in and the name of King Wraithlin of Wythin."
The King spit on his own palm and held it out. "I do so swear." The two men shook hands; the warrior and the king.
The warrior led the horse of the King into the nearest village, one so small it did not even have a name. The King thanked the warrior in a subdued manner and spurred his horse westward, toward his homeland and his family.
The warrior watched the King canter off to the west. He sat perched on his great stallion until he could no longer see the King. Then, in one fluid motion, he set his horse on a northward course and headed for the capital of Tarran, and his own home.
---
A/N: I'm back! After a ...what? couple of hours? (More like a day...heehee) Sorry that I'm not using any of your ideas for a sequel, but give me some time. I'll work on it. Promise. :o)
Okie dokie...this is loosely connected to "Runner of Syrlan". Same continent, a few mentions of Syrlan...but new plots, new characters, new (odd) romance...plus some of our old favorites from before.
Tell me what you think...please!!!
EvenSong