Saga of the Old City

Chapter 26

Patchwall, the month called Brightleaf by elvenkind, was half gone. The first faint pigments of autumn were beginning to paint the green of Adri’s forest giants in gold, scarlet, and russet. It was time to go, and Gord felt a poignancy he had never experienced in similar situations; before now, departure had simply meant he would be placing his boots beneath a new pallet.

Gord tried to identify the reason for his feelings. Did he feel that moving away from this place near the Blemu Hills would finally separate him from Evaleigh? No, that thought was foolish, he decided, for by now she was surely wedded and dwelling far to the north in her new archbaronial state. Then was it because he had grown unusually fond of the woodsfolk? This was quite possible; Gord admired their friendliness, their comradeship, and their fighting skill, and he was still flushed with pride for the small part he had played in the victory at Woodford. One hates to leave the scene of a success, he reasoned, and this last adventure had certainly been a success for him.

Chert felt no such pangs, even though he was leaving the area he knew as home. The big man was whistling merrily as he readied his gear for the journey. But, after all, this was special for him. The giant had never ventured more than a league or two beyond the timberland, and the prospect of a journey into the outside world excited him. Besides, he and Gord were going with Gellor and Curley Greenleaf, bound for the royal court at Rel Mord-great doings indeed!

As Gellor had confidently predicted, the survivors of the Battle at Woodford did indeed hear news that the Grand Marshal of Aerdy had turned his army back toward its starting point, Edgefield-even though the invaders technically had been victorious in the battle. The retreat was an understandable decision; not only was the Overking’s host no longer fit to conduct a long campaign, but the Nyrondel force in and around Knurl would most certainly be alerted and on guard against an attempt to advance farther. With two such marks against him, Grand Marshal Dreek had little choice other than to turn back and face the wrath of Ivid.

In a way, Gord felt sorry for the soldiers of the retreating army. Many of the woodsfolk immediately opted to follow the enemy on its long trek eastward to harass its columns and exact further vengeance for the invasion of their forest. With them went the elves, for they too sought to deliver a lesson to the trespassers that would be long remembered.

Those who remained searched for wounded, cared for their dead, and gathered the spoils of what was a true victory from the field abandoned by the Aerdians. A few prisoners were rounded up from their hiding places in the nearby woods. Renegade woodsmen were given swift justice. Mercenaries were warned and set free, warned to get far away as quickly as they could. A handful of guardsmen, most of whom were Knights of the Malachite Throne, were taken prisoner, and a great debate as to their fate eventually ended in a decision to ransom them, with the money gained thus to be divided among the families of those woodsfolk killed in the fighting.

A week after the great combat, Gord found it difficult to believe such a battle had been fought at the ford. Only the marks of the spells’ destructive forces could be seen, and even these were already being covered by the rampant verdure.

The contingent from Stalker’s warband was burdened with its share of spoils when it began its march homeward, and it took several days longer to return than the march to the battlefield had required. Even with clerical and druidical healing, wounds were evident and painful. Stalker himself had been so badly hurt that Gord marveled he was able to be up and around in only a few days, let alone able to lead the return of his warband.

But lead he did, and eventually the survivors were safely within the precincts of their community, and life returned to the routine. Save for the trophies displayed on log walls and fireplace stones, and the recounting of deeds told at gatherings, Woodford was again nothing more than a convenient place to cross the Harp River, and hunting, foresting, and mundane concerns of life within the Adri Forest were again paramount.

After making his address to the veterans of the battle, Gellor went on some sort of mission, as was his wont. Gord had now grown used to his sudden leave-taking and equally abrupt reappearances. Knowing that he would return in good time, Gord took the opportunity to stay with the woodsmen for a while and learn more of the ways of these people and their environment. He occasionally enjoyed the company of his great barbarian friend, but Chert was not around too much, since he and Wren were keeping company.

Curley Greenleaf soon returned to the place, however, and he often had time to spend with the young thief. Gord found this a most acceptable substitute, for the druid informed him not only of the forest but of his persuasion as well. The idea that all things were a necessary part of life troubled Gord, but he found that he had to agree with many of the plump fellow’s arguments. Without light, who could understand darkness, and vice versa. Thus, badness enabled the concept of good to be understood, and the cycle of birth and death, growth and decay, and each other pair of opposites were all part of a wheel that must forever turn if living things were to exist.

On matters affecting the woodlands, however, the druid was not so neutral. Gord laughed at this, for the young adventurer had an idea that despite everyone’s protests, each had some particular point of view that was held above all others as the ultimate value or truth. Some sought order, others espoused total freedom for the individual. There were groups proclaiming that weal must be brought to all, while their opposites said the strongest must always prevail.

Greenleaf’s moral and ethical views had their strengths, but Gord also noted weaknesses. He was wise enough not to point them out again after doing so once, for the heated debate that followed was quite enough for a lifetime as far as Gord was concerned. Thereafter, he kept such thoughts and opinions to himself. All said and done, the world seemed a place where man and deity put forth laws and ideas, dogma and lore to explain that which simply was. The whys and wherefores of it all were inexplicable to Gord, and as long as he managed to feel good and prosper, he was satisfied enough. If one day he was enlightened as to the mysteries of the multiverse, so much the better-but meanwhile, there was life to live.

Information from Curley regarding the arcane business of invocation of unknown forces and energies interested Gord far more than talk of world-views and philosophies. His days as a student had gained him much knowledge in many fields, but he knew very little of spell-casting and associated arts. While Curley Greenleaf did not actually instruct him in the secrets of druidical dweomercrafting, he did explain much of the theory and practice of the arts and disciplines involved not only with his, but also clerical and magical spells as well.

Gord thought that such lore would be most useful in understanding the workings of magical protections and devices, as well as to measure the potential of an adversary. He candidly told Curley this, and the druid laughed and accepted this observation, for his own philosophy and theology demanded such. Knowledge was part of the necessary whole, after all.

So the days rolled into weeks, and then Gellor returned again. He came to see his friends, and for no other purpose, he said. After the battle he had gone to the Blemu Hills, where King Archbold held court in Dunstan’s castle. Afterward, with all necessary business there accomplished, he had paid his respects to the Gnomeking in the Flinty Hills once again, and then come back to this place in the Adri.

Gellor asked if Gord still cared to accompany him to Rel Mord as the two had once planned. Gord eagerly accepted the invitation, although he subsequently had mild reservations about leaving. Chert, by now, also was desirous of broadening his horizons, for he and the amazonian Wren had come to a parting of the ways, mainly due to the mighty-thewed barbarian’s lack of interest in family life. The situation was uncomfortable, and a trip to a distant place was indeed a bright prospect under such circumstances.

Gord thought the idea of a group journey to Rel Mord grand, as did Curley Greenleaf, who planned on traveling in that direction anyway, having druidical business of some sort in the distant Celadon Forest west and south of Nyrond’s capital city.

So, after the rough farewells and rude adieus customary to a leave-taking between forest folk, the four adventurers rode out of Stalker’s thorp. Gord and Gellor still had the horses they had received from Dunstan. Greenleaf and the big barbarian were mounted on steeds of questionable worth, but ones that could be traded for more suitable animals at Innspa.

Gord wore a shirt of mail of such fine workmanship and lightness that it was undetectable beneath his outer garments. Greenleaf said it was chainmail of elfin make, and Gord was fortunate that he was of a size to be able to don it. The armor had come to him as his part of the spoils of war, just as had Chert’s broadsword, shield, helmet, and mount. The four stayed only briefly within the town of Innspa, and with new horses under their companions, Gord and Gellor rode slightly ahead of the barbarian and the druid on the long highway running westward to Rel Mord. As the Flinty Hills slowly became a dim line on the horizon to his rear, Gord spoke to his companion.

“If you should ever see Evaleigh again in your travels, Gellor, will you tell her that I helped to assure the safety of her father’s fiefdom… and that of her husband’s palatine barony as well?”

The one-eyed man looked at his young friend for a long moment, weighing the statement. “Yes, Gord, I will assuredly tell your Evaleigh that, should a private moment to do so ever present itself.”

Satisfied, Gord nodded and rode on, whistling a little tune.

The journey to Rel Mord took just a little over a fortnight to accomplish, for they did not ride hard. During the course of the trip, Gord inquired of Curley Greenleaf as to his mode of transportation. After all, as Curley himself had said on more than one occasion, druids had means of moving about that took only minutes and covered hundreds of leagues.

“There is more to life than earth, tree, and sun, if you will pardon that near blasphemy!” exclaimed the druid. “We do have such ways and means, but druids are human-or partially so, in cases such as myself-and we enjoy good company, too.”

Both of the younger adventurers had to agree to that, as they found the journey most enjoyable, traveling, as they were, in company. Eventually, the four came to the great capital of Nyrond, and outside its walls Curley Greenleaf parted from his friends. He had little love for, and no interest in, the doings of such places of buildings and folk not attuned to Nature. He said he would visit a few small places nearby where the druidical beliefs were still honored, and thereafter use his powers to go swiftly on to the Celadon. He said he would leave word at Woodwych as to his whereabouts, just in case anyone wanted to look him up later. And with that, he left.

Gellor brought Gord and Chert to the Nyrondel Royal Court, where they had an audience with King Archbold. While Gellor was for some reason not mentioned, Gord and Chert were feted properly. Although Gellor never volunteered the information, and Gord never asked, the young thief presumed that Gellor’s value to the king as a diplomat and intermediary would have been seriously compromised if Gellor had been included in the group of celebrities. Anonymity was an ally of one such as Gellor, but Gord and Chert did not need to wear the same cloak.

The celebrated and handsome pair of “heroes from the great battle in the Adri” became desirable guests for the season, and they found themselves responding to a round of invitations to villas and nearby castles that didn’t play itself out until Sunsebb was past and the last chill of Fireseek-month was giving way to the sun’s growing warmth.

When eventually they were no longer novelties for festive display, and the ladies of the court had begun to seek elsewhere for swains, the two were actually glad. It was an exhausting business, this sophisticated routine of banquets, parties, love-making, and intrigue. The barbarian was particularly disgusted with what he referred to as foppery and frippery, stating flatly that this was the reason that his sort were destined to inherit the world. The decadence and soft living of city and town, he proclaimed, would eventually cause the downfall of what these people called civilization, and then true folk would rule a cleaner and more simple Oerth, in which real virtues would be recognized.

While Gord wasn’t ready to agree with his friend as to the merits of what the barbarian held as virtues, Gord wasn’t so certain that the fellow’s predictions about the downfall of the society of kingdom and state would not eventuate. Despite all of his predictions and remonstrances against the lifestyle of Rel Mord, Chert-and Gord, too, for that matter-did enjoy the time, attention, and ministrations of the lovely but fickle ladies of the city.

When, in due course, they were ready to leave, Chert was indifferent as to where they would travel, but Gord decided that he had seen enough of the east to last him for at least some time. The two agreed to head westward toward Woodwych and see if they could pick up some news of Curley Greenleaf. They had known for some time that when they wanted to embark, they would do so without Gellor, for he was involved in more of his own mysterious dealings, and his responsibilities would take him elsewhere.

Gellor gave them his wishes for safe and profitable wayfaring, as well as a map of the territory in which they planned to adventure. Thus equipped, Gord and his great-sized friend set forth again as the month of Coldeven ended and Growfest was being celebrated.

Both young men marveled greatly over the Highbridge, which spanned the Duntide River just below Rel Mord. The way to Woodwych was rather uneventful after that. Both had traveled much in recent months, and familiarity with such a process made the simple matter of going from one place to another less than thrilling. Going as they were through the central portions of the kingdom, there wasn’t even the excitement of an encounter with marauder or monster to enliven things. They did run across some highwaymen, and that brief action broke the monotony, but the brigands soon fled, feeling that the loss of a half-score of their number was sufficient justification for the decision not to press the pair further.

Soon Gord and Chert came to Woodwych, and there they sought out the Chapel of Fharlanghn. There, Gellor had told them, was the place in that town where their friend Curley Greenleaf would leave word as to his whereabouts, whether near or far. Later, both Gord and Chert would look back upon their arrival at the chapel as the beginning of their next great adventure together.