I left Lateriel on foot for the fort of Wisternis on a clear spring morning that began with a chill in the air, but rapidly became warm. The trail from the Sanctuary winds about twenty miles through the forest and is generally free from danger. The early hours of my walk were uneventful and I saw no other travelers.
Most trees in our region have begun to leaf out, but are still allowing a great deal of sunlight to reach the ground. A number of smaller plants take full advantage of this time and are already in bloom, setting small fruits or seeds that will soon be scattered, lying dormant in the ground litter until the next spring. I am not an expert on flowers, but I was able to recognize the most eye-catching ones: white snowstars, blue bees' bonnets, and the yellow raniscus. I also saw some of the small beasts that dine on such fare rooting about for early pickings off the trail. Very often it seemed they were so engaged in their meal-finding that my appearance was a total surprise.
After a few hours I was startled in the same manner. I began to eat my lunch while walking, and got to thinking about foraging for berries later in the season. Then it occurred to me I was not paying attention to the trail. I looked up suddenly to find myself just ten feet from a lone faehund, a hunting hound of the Dream Realm. I recognized it instantly, remembering a delightful description penned by Scholar Kilarnivir himself, who celebrated "the sparkling insouciance of the faehunden, all brown of coat and white of underbelly."[1]
I blinked several times and stared at the animal. Its brown fur sparkled with flashes of pearlescent light when it turned away and sneezed. My initial reaction was joy, I thought it was a wonderful omen to see at the beginning of my first journey. And then the faehund rushed in and quickly and expertly stole the sourbread I was eating. I was so enraptured I failed to snatch away my hand. The faehund moved quickly, almost vanishing and reappearing behind me. It swallowed its prize as it stared back and licked its lips, most likely considering a second foray.
As I recovered I recalled that faehunden are very rarely seen alone, and are often hunting companions of other faekind. I struggled to close the flap of my pack as I turned to scan the trees for small faerine creatures, like sprites or faeries or their truly malevolent cousins, the goberies. I could see none. The woods were strangely silent though, the birdsong had stopped and it felt as if even the breeze had abandoned me.
The faehund seemed to shimmer and dart around me, and it looked far down the trail as if it heard something I could not. It looked back at me menacingly, and I wondered for an instant if it would take the rest of my food. Perhaps this was not a good omen after all. I had several days' worth of dried meat and cheese and was certain the faehund could smell them. I struggled again for the flap of my pack, this time hoping to extract a sufficiently large offering of the meat. I put my other hand on the mace in my belt. I did not want to harm the animal, but I could not let it harm me.
And then the faehund slipped away and began to run from the trail. As I strained to perceive what distracted it I thought I heard a hunting horn. Knowing I lacked the guile to hide from the fae-kind, I decided it was unwise to dally. I increased my pace toward Wisternis, wondering what the faekind would demand if I had to barter for my freedom.One does not need to be an Ensilite scholar to know it is best to avoid them at all costs. Everyone has heard the stories about how capricious and inscrutable they can be.
I made good time with this motivation driving me, and arrived at Wisternis before the evening meal.
Wisternis is the only settlement within 50 miles of Lateriel and is therefore a convenient resting place for Ensilites who must travel to Diriline, Glinuin, or even the city of Ilgamir for supplies. I can write a good deal of its description from my own visits there, as well as from the accounts of numerous residents of Lateriel.
The fort of Wisternis overlooks a busy crossing of the meandering River Matyres, which winds through this part of The Wild from its origination in the Talas Mountains that lie to the South. The river is not overly broad but the current in spring can be treacherous. The ford at Wisternis is by far the safest for several miles in each direction.
The road that crosses the Matyres runs another 50 miles to the east, passing through Glinuin before ending at the Yotnirine Lands, which are populated entirely by giants. In the northwest direction this road serves as the main north-south artery through the western side of The Wild. It passes through Diriline first and a succession of hamlets and small towns before it ends at the northern coastline. In the southern direction the same road reaches all the way to the foothills of the Talas Mountains.
Wisternis itself is a settlement of roughly two hundred souls, all elves, mostly young men and women who volunteer to guard the crossing and the local roads. They receive food and lodging and some pay in return for their service, as well as occasional opportunities for adventure. They train to be expert shots with their longbows and are acclaimed for their bravery. A temple of the martial deity Andar, often acclaimed as the father of the elves, is the only religious establishment in the settlement.
The town's only other building of note is the recently erected Hall of the Gartree Collective, which belongs to a famous union of skilled woodworkers. It is an elegant two-story building with a beautiful entry door of solid oak. The Collective only accepts skilled craftsmen as apprentices; they serve for several years before becoming masters who are eligible to work on the Collective's most extravagant commissions. Until that time, the apprentices generally repair, decorate, and construct buildings for less ambitious customers and, when work is scarce, hone their skills by improving both the Temple of Andar and the garrison.
Members of the Collective make up the bulk of the townspeople in Wisternis. There are just a few additional establishments, namely a handful of taverns and the sturdy blacksmith Wurlel May. The blacksmith is fully employed with work from both the garrison and the Collective, alternately making hinges, weapons, nails, and arrowheads, all in the course of a week's work. The taverns that currently operate in Wisternis are The Fearless Cauldron, The Voracious Lord, and The Ambling Snail.
Acolyte Ulis of Lateriel, who returned from Wisternis just as I was preparing to travel, advised me to dine at the tavern known as The Voracious Lord. He told me the clerics of Andar preferred to drink there and it had decent food. He thought I would like that establishment much better than The Fearless Cauldron, which catered to the garrison scouts and was consequently often rowdy and loud. He also said The Ambling Snail was mostly patronized by the woodworkers and had regular arm-wrestling contests, which did not appeal to me either.
Perhaps I have led too sheltered a life, but I was skeptical any elves could be so boisterous as to disrupt an entire village. I was proven wrong. As I approached Wisternis, I heard the singing at The Fearless Cauldron from some three hundred yards away. The smell of beer that reached nearly as far suggested the tavern is likely better known for its bar than its kitchen. The Cauldron's patrons began shouting bawdy songs as I passed, and I could still hear them from inside The Voracious Lord, another hundred feet away.
The Voracious Lord was nothing like what its sign suggested. The image of a fat human nobleman sprawling in his cushioned chair at a table full of meats and pies hung above the front door. Inside, spartan benches with no backs, simple tables, and an earthen floor framed a slightly off-kilter bar. It seemed all the greybeards in town were arranged here in groups of three and more, holding dented metal steins and eating from chipped but serviceable ceramic plates.
It was easy to recognize the men and women of the Temple of Andar, as they all wore bright cerulean and yellow robes. There were easily a dozen of them scattered about the room, mostly nursing drinks and chatting with each other. I asked a young woman from the kitchen for the most filling meal available, and advice on which patrons would be the most friendly conversationalists for a young student like myself. She pointed to a table of three blue-clad elders and promised to bring me a large bowl of elk stew and bread.
The three Andarians introduced themselves as I ate: the somewhat fidgety Brother Jolos, who appeared the youngest of the three and still had a military bearing; the small and engaging Sister Tynatel, who wore a delightfully loud multicolored beanie; and the clearly elderly but hale Brother Barelisser, who was remarkably tall for an elf, nearly six foot by my reckoning. They immediately asked my opinion on the day's weather. My brief answer instigated a vigorous discussion about how warm it truly was compared to past springs and whether the temperatures of the last week portended a rise in the river, and by how much. Hungry after losing the majority of my midday meal to the faehund, I chose to listen as I filled my stomach.
As I soaked up the last bits of stew with the bread, Jolos asked what news I could share. After informing him our own Acolyte Ulis returned safely from Wisternis before I departed Lateriel, I said our acolytes yesterday saw the first buds of the wild apple trees beginning to form. I also mentioned our leader, the Scholar Hagarian, would likely visit Wisternis after the crescent moon to meet with the Gartree Collective about enlarging our library.
I then shared my experience with the faehund. My new companions listened with unfeigned curiosity. They agreed it was odd the faehund was alone, and concluded I must have heard the horn of a fae-kind hunting party. Tynatel and Barelisser eventually convinced a skeptical Jolos my encounter was solid evidence of an incursion from the Dream Worlds. By their estimation the last agreed occurrence had been nearly five years prior, when sprites stalked a scouts' hunting party for over a mile, creating distractions to allow each other to steal the scouts' arrows from their quivers and attempt to purloin more valuable items, like coin purses and jewelry.
Barelisser then paused, and looked about, and lowered his voice. He said clerics at the Temple of Andar were currently debating the origin and significance of a recent disturbance. The scouts who followed the river south yesterday claimed to have chased a shimmering ball for nearly two miles as it floated in the air, never allowing them to come close but never entirely escaping them. Determined to stop it, one scout shot an arrow directly into it, at which point it disappeared with a pop and dropped an object. The scouts retrieved a damaged shortbow of mysterious design, and the garrison commander brought it to the temple for further investigation.
Intrigued, I asked Jolos if the Andarians were able to identify it. He indicated they had not, as they were clerics dedicated to the healing arts and deep meditation and had no learning or magic for such a task. He asked if I could examine the shortbow. I instantly agreed, telling him that while I was not an expert on weapons, I had studied many unusual locations, including the Dream Realms. I also had magical abilities suitable for investigation of such arcane items. I went on to explain I was on my first wandering, retracing the steps of a famous Ensilite scholar. Perhaps I could recall something from his Journals that might be helpful.
The three Andarians were grateful and enthusiastically bought me two rounds of the local ale. It was darker than the brews we enjoy at Lateriel but paired well with the stew. During the conversation that followed I asked about the state of the road to the northwest, which I would take next. Sister Tynatel promised to introduce me to the garrison commander, who is the best source on such matters.
As darkness fell I became tired and thanked the three clerics for their company. I paid the innkeeper, a solemn women named Ylarisa, a silver piece and asked for a room of my own facing away from the Fearless Cauldron, which I could still hear. I was not surprised to see the room had just a bed and small table, and no fireplace. Fortunately I chose to travel with a warm blanket in addition to my bedroll. I retrieved it from my pack and made myself comfortable.
Ironically, on my first day of wandering I barely have the energy to make a note in my Journal. I thought it best to dedicate time every night to writing, so I could consider the whole of the day's events and compose a thoughtful passage or two. But now fatigue has convinced me to write sparingly so I may close my eyes sooner. Perhaps I can take some time in the morning to review what I have written and make some additions.
Perhaps I should also have stopped after one round of ale. I will have to see how I feel in the morning.
The sun is rising on a bitterly cold morning with a stiff northern breeze that constantly rattles the sign outside the tavern. I am choosing to stay in bed until the air warms some more, snacking on cheese and thinking about yesterday's journal entry. Fortunately my head is clear, I had no hangover from last night's ale.
I fell asleep thinking of the shimmering ball that lured the scouts through the forest. I do not recall finding accounts of such manifestations in the library at Lateriel. How it could match the scouts' pace, and why was it dismissed with nothing more than an arrow? Who or what could have been inside it? And why did it drop a shortbow?
The story seems fantastic, and I fear it may not be accurate. After all, I heard it secondhand, which raises the possibility details were lost or changed. This is not to denigrate Barelisser, of course. It is just likely that in recounting the story to me he unwittingly altered it. He undoubtedly tried to visualize what was described to him, using his own understanding of the words he heard. And in the translation from their words to his mind, the image of the shimmering ball changed...and then it changed again as I tried to picture what he described to me. Such are the imperfections of our minds and our words.
Stories about Ensil repeatedly caution us to beware information of uncertain origins. When the deity Andar flew into a rage over news of a treachous attack on Lenois of Ilgamir, it was Ensil who questioned the messenger, revealing the man was not a witness to the alleged incident. Ensil traveled with Andar to Ilgamir where they learned Lenois was unharmed. Ensil soon determined the rumor's origin: Lenois had taken ill to his bed for a few days after having harsh words with his nephew. Both stories flew about the city until someone combined them, and then the fiction that Lenois was attacked by his nephew began to spread rapidly.
The Scholar Hagarian at Lateriel calls the study of such matters metaphysics. He wrote a lengthy tome that examines Ensil's actions in the story of Lenois in minute detail, explaining the principles and logic behind every interrogation and argument Ensil made. I must confess I find it hard to stay awake when I read Hagarian's Treatise On The Rumors About Lenois. It is, in my opinion, an excellent remedy for insomnia. Still, Hagarian's exposition reinforces and proves the necessity of Ensil's first lesson: always seek the most direct source of the information that concerns you.
Briefly overwhelmed by the memory of Hagarian's dense prose, I set down my quill and began to meditate upon Ensil's other lessons regarding the investigation of things. Proceed deliberately. Question precisely. Record observations with care. Do not rush to conclusions.
And then I laughed, recognizing I am already rushing to a conclusion by assuming the people here will beg my assistance on the matter of the shimmering ball. Me, a poor young acolyte they just met who admitted to being spooked by a faehund, yet purports to be learned on matters concerning otherworldly realms. I dressed after eating some dried apple, folded and packed my blanket, shouldered the pack, and proceeded through the crisp morning air to the Temple of Andar. As I walked I took a silent vow to be deliberate and to avoid presumption today.
The temple of Andar is easily spotted from any location in Wisternis, a long low building surrounded by lovely shade gardens, sheltering under the ancient oak tree at the heart of the settlement. A hospital for wounded scouts sits next to it, staffed by the brothers and sisters of Andar. Thanks to the Gartree Collective, portions of both buildings have some impressive decorative flourishes. A wide wooden arch shelters the entryway to the hospital, and its supporting pillars are carved to appear as if they are covered with flowering vines. The temple is entirely covered in new wooden shingles that resemble fat birch leaves.
I discovered Brother Barelisser near some impressive brassfire shrubs that stood over six feet high on the leftmost edge of the front garden. Their dense network of crimson leaves formed a small alcove ideal for quiet conversations. He was talking with a scout who handed him the wooden likeness of a sitting rabbit. The young lady quickly departed as I approached. Barelisser said she was an accomplished carver who made several animal statuettes for him. He likes to hide them among the plants, moving them periodically for the amusement of those who enjoy the garden.
To save Barelisser's knees, as I could see they clearly pain him, I volunteered to place the wooden rabbit for him. He insisted it be tucked under the soft ferny leaves of the ransicus plants, where their tightly curled yellow flowers could flutter in the breeze just inches from the statuette's nose. As he turned away I looked for the other wooden figures. All I could see was a weathered raven, its head cocked with a twig in its mouth, sheltered under a short table that held a pot full of mint. A pile of colored rocks was placed precisely on the ground nearby in a way that created the illusion they caught the bird's eye.
Barelisser limped as we walked through the main door of the temple and I asked if his legs bothered him often. This was when I learned he was approaching his 800th year. I said I wanted to buy him a meal and a drink before I left Wisternis, so I could write his biography in my Journal. He was skeptical anyone would be interested in his life story, but said he was more than willing to enjoy a meal at my expense.
As we walked Barelisser said he wished to introduce me to the High Priest, to secure his approval for an inspection of the mysterious shortbow. Barelisser disclosed there were some individuals in Wisternis, whom he should not name, who thought the bow had a religious significance and should not even be touched by mortals. Barelisser thought it unlikely the High Priest shared this view, but wanted to avoid controversy.
Then he leaned in closer and told me there was something I should know. He began to whisper that High Priest Jahurlador Niliriel was a 'city elf' from Ilgamir who had not lived up to anyone's expectations. It had been nearly a year since he arrived, and he had not yet taken meals in the temple hall. He managed the place well enough and was generally polite, but was rarely seen outside his rooms and had visited the hospital only once. Rumors were rampant did not even know the names of all the people he led. I wanted to ask questions but before I could open my mouth we reached the High Priest's door and Barelisser knocked loudly.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Jahurlador answered his own door and stood at its threshold. He was alone, a tall, lean man with an olive complexion and wavy brown shoulder-length hair, clearly a high elf. On his forehead he wore a thin silver diadem with a cerulean stone that matched his robes. His demeanor was cordial but distracted, and he stared at the floor as Barelisser announced I was an acolyte of Ensil who was willing to investigate the mysterious shortbow. As I stepped forward to introduce myself Jahurlador seemed on the verge of turning his attention elsewhere. Slightly flustered, I stumbled through a little prepared speech, thanking the Andarians for their hospitality and sharing warm regards from Lateriel.
Strangely, my nervousness seemed to stir something in him. Jahurlador's face softened and as I finished my monologue he made eye contact for the first time; it was almost as if he had awakened from a trance. He thanked me for agreeing to delay my wandering to assist the temple. He claimed to have a personal interest in the shortbow and bade me use whatever magical abilities I had to discover its provenance or even repair it. He then clasped my hand and gave me a blessing. The change in his demeanor was so sudden I was caught off guard, but managed to thank him for his generosity before he bowed and turned away, apologizing for his inability to invite us into his chambers.
Barelisser was stunned. He managed to hide it while Jahurlador's door was open, but grabbed my shoulder as soon as we were alone in the hallway. He told me the High Priest had not shown interest in the shortbow beyond accepting it from the garrison commander last night. Barelisser then began to hypothesize how I had triggered such a reaction. Perhaps it was my youth, or the fact I was a traveller, or a worshipper of Ensil. Or my bumbling speech...or a dozen other things, perhaps even that I wore the color grey.
The shortbow was extraordinary and unlike anything I had seen before. It obviously belonged to someone of great importance or wealth. It was pitch black and made from a large animal's horns, nearly three and a half feet in length. Fine engravings filigreed with silver ran its entire length and looked like stylized tree branches and fruits. There were a handful of strange symbols, either a runic language or religious glyphs, carved into the wood to blend in with the decorations. Unfortunately, the grip and arrow rest seemed to have melted in some manner, making the bow difficult to grip and it nearly impossible to nock an arrow.
I asked if anyone at the temple recognized the carvings on the shortbow. Barelisser said nobody claimed familiarity with either the symbols or the decorations. Even the material of the bow was puzzling, as the overall shape and color of the horns were unfamiliar. The garrison commander said she had heard hobgoblin tribes in the Talas Mountains use the horns of giant goats to make bows, but also noted they favored imagery of the moon rather than the forest.
After making notes on the proportions and condition of the bow, I began an incantation to detect whether it was enchanted. I gently picked it up as I felt my eyes take on a familiar steeliness. People say my eyes glow with a bright grey light when I use magic, and that my pupils disappear entirely. I heard Barelisser take in a sharp breath when he saw them transform.
As I turned the bow in my hands I could see no innate magical essence. It was simply a strange, beautiful weapon. But there was a trace of something, a glimmer around the grip that suggested something damaged it with magic. Given the grip's melted state, I thought it likely fire or some caustic substance was involved.
I paused at this point to make drawings, paying close attention to the bow's various markings and decorations. A picture is much better than memory alone, and I already knew the bow would haunt my thoughts for many days to come. The mystery of the thing...it practically demanded I learn its truths: who owned it, who made it, what damaged it, and how it came to fall in the forest near Wisternis.
In time I turned to the bow again to study its damaged areas. My ability to magically mend items is unusually effective, even among the acolytes of Ensil. I am uncertain why. All I know is that if I can picture a damaged item in my mind and imagine it being damaged, I can almost always restore it. But this time, looking at the bow, I could not see an angle or plane that could be rebonded or reconstituted.
Against my better judgement I attempted to mend the shortbow anyway. This time I warned Barelisser I was about to use magic. He nodded and quickly shifted his gaze away from my eyes, and began staring at the bow.
I reached out with my mind, pushing deeper and deeper into the grip to find the point where the damage could be undone. But the more I probed, the more I felt uneasy. The grip had a number of layers, pieces of horn wrapped and bonded to each other in ways that were difficult to distinguish from the damage they had sustained. As I delved into the material further my uncertainty grew until I found it difficult to stay focused. After a few minutes I began to imagine my intense concentration was peeling a layer of the horn away instead of bonding it. I closed my eyes and set the bow down immediately.
A faint cloud of black smoke curled off the grip and dissolved as it drifted upwards. Barelisser saw it too and took a step back. We both held our breaths, but nothing else happened. The bow looked unchanged.
After completing my notes, I wrote a short letter to Jahurlador, thanking him for allowing me to see the bow and sharing my findings. I noted the bow was mundane, not enchanted, but had been damaged by magic. I also explained I made drawings and intended to research its symbols and runes as I traveled. I would update him if I learned anything significant. I folded the letter and gave it to Barelisser as I explained to him what I found.
Barelisser brought me to Sister Tynatel, who was working at the temple hospital, and abruptly rushed off. Watching him, Tynatel remarked the only thing known to get the old man moving so fast was a juicy new piece of information. Upon learning I had given him a letter for Jahurlador, Tynatel asked if I sealed it. I indicated I had not, and she lamented the entire temple would likely be familiar with its contents by dinnertime. I said Barelisser had been present for my entire investigation, and the letter contained nothing beyond what he saw with his own eyes.
We began walking to the garrison, and Tynatel sighed and explained that Barelisser was a lovely man and an excellent gardener, but not steeped in the ways of the temple. Most of the temple clerics and orderlies were healers or longtime soldiers and guards who knew the value of discretion. Barelisser was a lifelong traveler who, until recently, had never been a member of a communal order. The previous High Priest had discreetly asked both Jolos and Tynatel to counsel Barelisser to be more circumspect in his storytelling.
As we reached the garrison's buildings, Tynatel added Barelisser clearly understood the need for discretion and was remorseful when his stories caused problems. She added it seemed a compulsion though, something he struggled to control. Most temple folk were adept at responding to Barelisser's tales with gentle questioning about the origins and potential impact of his news. The rest of the town was another matter entirely, however.
The scouts' garrison sits on the east edge of Wisternis, close to the ford over the river, and consists of two buildings. The smaller one-story wooden structure, well-shaded by trees, is where the commander and deputy commander live and work. It also has a room at its front that can serve as a guard post to monitor the ford. The larger two-story barracks and mess hall abuts a clearing along the river where scouts can practice with their weaponry. Tynatel told me they often have archery contests there, inviting other denizens of Wisternis to participate.
We found the deputy commander, Larisa Milandis, as she was finishing breakfast in the office she shared with the commander. She was smartly dressed in green and brown leathers, with an ornate amulet depicting the leafy bow of Andar hanging conspicuously on a gold chain around her neck. Her blond hair was cut short and she wore a green headband that matched the one worn by the rank and file scouts. Her muscular build reminded me more of a swordmaster than an archer, and her demeanor was confident and assured.
Our conversation started well enough, with Milandis confirming the road to the northwest was quiet. She mentioned some unusually capable bandits were plaguing the eastern road and Commander Miriel Segrole had taken her best scouts out to search for their encampments. They would likely not return for several days. Nonetheless Milandis intended to send a regular patrol on the northwestern road tomorrow morning and offered that I could travel with it. She said she heard of my faehund sighting and would understand if I had concerns about traveling alone.
Sister Tynatel and I exchanged a knowing glance at this point, which Milandis noticed. She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, then calmly stated that as the deputy commander of the garrison, it was her responsibility to know of new arrivals to Wisternis. Many people saw me at the Voracious Lord yesterday, and some were curious enough to learn and share my business here. Milandis said she had no issue with traveling scholars.
She then turned to Tynatel, saying that while she did not normally care to know the temple's business, she was aware and disappointed the High Priest was allowing outsiders to handle the recovered shortbow. With her voice becoming more stern, she requested the temple return the bow to the garrison. Then she addressed me, saying it was obvious the bow belonged to a champion of Andar and there was no need to study it. She pointedly asked what I learned from inspecting it.
I replied that it was a weapon of great beauty, that it was not enchanted, at which she huffed dismissively, and that it had sustained magical damage that may have rendered it unusable. I said I did not recognize the symbols carved into the bow but would attempt to learn more about them as my travels permitted.
Milandis scoffed, saying the symbols were clearly of the god Andar and no mortal being could or should attempt to understand them, least of all a bookish Ensilite like me. She grasped the amulet of Andar that hung from her neck and showed it to me, reminding me there were prophesies that Andar's champion would return to reassert the dominion of the elves over the entire continent of Yrinoth. As Milandis looked down at her amulet I snuck a glance at Tynatel, who now stood with folded arms and a deep frown on her face.
Milandis explained in detail how the shortbow clearly copied Andar's famed longbow, using the image on her amulet to make her points. After repeating her demand for the shortbow, she informed me the scouts should have the opportunity to see and revere it every day. Even more importantly, she said, the scouts should also be the ones to give it to Andar's champion whenever they came to recover it.
She then reminded me a patrol would depart in the morning. From her tone I could tell she expected me to leave Wisternis with it. Before either Tynatel or I could reply, Milandis left the room.
As we left the building, Tynatel seemed overcome with frustration. She clenched and unclenched her small hands; several times she began to speak and stopped. As she struggled for words she guided me to the brassfire alcove in the temple garden so we could speak privately. It was mid-afternoon and a handful of people were visible nearby. I watched each one of them briefly, looking for signs they might be watching me. As far as I could tell, none seemed to be that interested.
At the alcove, Tynatel motioned me to sit with her on a bench and began with an apology. She believed that if her good friend Commander Segrole had seen us, we would have had a very different meeting. Segrole was the one who brought the bow to the temple and requested assistance, and would have been eager to hear about my findings, not hostile to them. Tynatel thought Milandis had been unnecessarily rude.
Furthermore, this was not the first time Milandis had behaved condescendingly to people in Wisternis. She lamented neither of the two city elves in their midst, Jahurlador and Milandis, understood the ways of those who lived in the forest. I asked if she could elaborate and she sighed, bowing her head enough to touch her wrinkled hands, which now grasped each other firmly, and peering intently at the ground.
After a long pause, Tynatel conceded she did not know what the high elves understood about Wisternis, and that her accusation was likely unfair to them. Still, she could say their actions were having a negative effect on the community. Nearly all the forest elves in the temple and garrison thought Milandis and Jahurlador did not respect them.
Milandis was too direct and abrasive, displaying fierce devotion to Andar and implying those who disagreed, even clerics of the temple, were somehow deficient or disrespectful of the Protector. Within the garrison the situation was more complicated. Tynatel said Commander Segrole generally welcomed the discipline Milandis demanded of the scouts but often deemed it necessary to counsel the deputy commander to be more empathetic.
Tynatel did not know why Jahurlador isolated himself, refusing to eat and socialize with his subordinates, but it was affecting morale among the temple clerics. They were used to a High Priest who spent his days among them and never closed the door to his quarters. Without his regular presence and guidance uncertainty was brewing, particularly with regard to Milandis and her religious proclamations.
Both situations sounded unfortunate and I told Tynatel as much, offering that she need not apologize for Milandis. While I was surprised the deputy commander dismissed my analysis so casually, I took solace in the fact that others valued it. Even the High Priest, for all his apparent cares and distractions, was interested in my observations. I also offered that perhaps the matter of the shortbow might be enough to move Jahurlador to address the friction between Milandis and the temple. He seemed a thoughtful and learned man.
Tynatel's face suggested she was unconvinced, but she agreed it was possible things could work out for the better. I took the opportunity to change the subject, asking if she would have dinner with Barelisser and I in the evening. I wanted to write about his life and would need her and Jolos to assure he would not lead me off course with any wild stories. She smiled a little and promised to accompany us.
As Tynatel returned to the scouts' hospital to assist with afternoon duties I retired to the Voracious Lord. I had a few hours before sundown and used the time to add to my Journal. Perhaps it is best to write whenever one gets an opportunity, instead of strictly at the end of the day.
The innkeeper Ylarisa makes wonderful teas and is an accomplished herbalist. Somehow this information was unknown not only to myself but to nearly all the denizens of Lateriel who have visited her tavern. My best explanation for the oversight is that for years we have only ordered ale and stronger drinks at the Voracious Lord. When I requested something free of intoxicants she brought me a lovely concoction that smelled of lilac and honey.
It was so rejuvenating I asked to buy some for my travels, and watched as she opened a large cabinet next to the bar that was teeming with jars, drying plants, and bulging bags. She rummaged around for several small packets and quickly filled them from one of the medium jars, asking if I would like any other teas or medicinal compounds. I asked her to for enough dried jayroot and tailfern fronds to make two or three poultices, in case I needed to treat minor cuts or insect bites on the road. After securing the tea and herbs in my pack I gave her another silver coin, to cover both my new purchases and another night at the inn.
Jolos, Barelisser, and Tynatel arrived as the sun was setting and we had a busy meal. Tynatel was clearly in the final stages of rebuking Barelisser for being, as she gently put it, too quick to share stories, with support from Jolos. Barelisser looked miserable but perked up when I reminded him I was buying dinner for all three of them, and I wanted to record his life story.
For over an hour Barelisser spoke and I wrote, pausing for quick bites from my plate whenever Tynatel or Jolos chimed in to ask questions. I had the impression they were very familiar with Barelisser's stories about his travels, but had little knowledge about his relationship with Rosemay and his son Daniel. It also was too clear he still grieved Daniel's death despite the many decades that passed. His stories about visiting Immannis and Talfest and other cities before his marriage were full of color and adventure, while his recollection of wandering The Wild after losing Daniel was notably sparse and gloomy.
When Barelisser was done he became very quiet and began to pick at the remains of his dinner, which had become cold. I felt bad about prompting him to revisit such a painful time in his life and asked if he still wanted me to write all his memories into a biography, or even include it in my Journal. Without wavering he said he still wanted a his entire story written, and asked if I could deliver a copy to his youngest brother in Ilgamir. As for the Journal, he said he wanted his story included there too, to ensure Rosemay and Daniel would not be forgotten.
Everyone at the table became thoughtful at that point. I was aware Ylarisa had been listening to Barelisser, and she expertly chose this moment to break our silence. She offered the old gardener a large mug of warm milk and honey and put a hand on his shoulder, telling him it was a gift for a story well told and a balm for his voice, which had become hoarse from so much speaking. Barelisser looked at Tynatel and said that it was probably best to be silent for a day or so to let it recover.
After Ylarisa stepped away, Jolos broached the subject of the shortbow, asking if I could tell him anything about my investigation. I repeated what I shared with Jahuraldor and Milandis, and advised the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the weapon of someone who was quite wealthy or renowned. I was also increasingly convinced I should consult privately with a master of symbols and runes at the Sanctuary in Ilgamir. A scholar of such arcana should recognize the decorations on the shortbow and possibly even be determine who its rightful owner was.
As I spoke I noticed Jolos glancing at the other tavern patrons. I followed his eyes around the room but could not tell if anyone was paying attention to us, though he seemed satisfied we were not being watched. Leaning in towards the middle of the table, Jolos locked eyes with Barelisser and then Tynatel, and began to speak in a quiet voice. He was unwilling to condemn anyone, he said, especially those who worship Andar the Protector, but he was concerned about the Deputy Commander's intentions. He firmly believed there was no reason to assume the shortbow had any connection to the old prophecies about the return of a champion.
Tynatel spoke up at this point, saying she told Jahuraldor about Milandis's demand for the shortbow, saying the High Priest asked only if the deputy commander set a deadline. Tynatel replied she had been given no ultimatums. At that point Jahurlador thanked her politely, frowned, and excused himself, closing the door to his study. He gave no indication about what he intended to do.
During the ensuing discussion, the three clerics agreed Jahurlador was probably not sympathetic to Milandis's beliefs. They were uncertain whether he would return the shortbow to her though. Tynatel seemed the most pessimistic of the three, fearing the High Priest valued his isolation more than the temple's standing. The encounter with Milandis earlier in the day still bothered her, and she told me she was hoping I might stay in Wisternis long enough to prove the deputy commander wrong.
I didn't want to disappoint Tynatel, but I felt it only right to let the three clerics know I intended to leave in the morning. I already delayed my journey by a day, and I doubted I would learn more about the shortbow here. Instead, I promised that if I learned anything notable in Ilgamir, I would return to share it. I could even use it as an excuse to add Eithior to my itinerary. I had not intended to go so far to the southeast, but it seemed an attractive option if I intended to return to Wisternis before heading north.
Barelisser chose to leave the tavern after the debate about Jahuraldor, and Tynatel and Jolos decided to accompany him. It was unfortunate to end the evening on such a gloomy note but the four of us seemed incapable of turning the conversation to brighter topics.
I paid Ylarisa for the cost of the clerics' meals as well as my own. As I turned away, one of the men at the bar, who appeared to be a laborer or carpenter's apprentice, touched my arm. He asked if I was the traveling student from Lateriel. When I confirmed I was, he gave me a sealed letter, saying he was not a man of learning and needed assistance with its contents. I started to break the seal and he stayed my hand, saying it was a deeply private matter and he did not want to discuss it here. I could meet him in the morning outside the tavern to share what the letter actually said.
Intrigued, I promised to see him at daybreak and took the letter to my room. There I was surprised to discover it was actually a direct summons from High Priest Jahurlador. It began with an apology for resorting to subterfuge and revealed the messenger bearing the letter was actually the temple's cook. It continued with a request that I meet Jahuraldor at dawn in the kitchen garden behind the temple. I was to tell nobody about the meeting and do my best to avoid being seen.
I don't recall hearing about any student of Lateriel ever choosing to pause a wandering. Not even Kilarnivir...if anything, the Old Wanderer wrote as if he was eager to move on as soon as he experienced a place and met its inhabitants. It has always been understood that a wandering is a journey, a movement, with the intent to experience the world outside of a sanctuary and record information for the benefit of one's successors.
On the other hand, it would be rude to ignore the request of a high priest. I decided I could justify a few more hours in Wisternis to preserve good relations with the temple and satisfy my curiosity. I composed the biography of Barelisser by candlelight before retiring and made his copies. The work helped to calm my racing thoughts and by the time I finished the second copy I was ready to sleep.
[1] As a side note, for those who may not be familiar with Kilarnivir's writings, this passage appears in the Journal of his third wandering, which happened in the Dream Worlds five centuries before my own existence. Kilarnivir refrained from describing how he entered the world of the fae-kind, saying only that he did not wish to be responsible for any other mortal being's travel there.
