Late in the day, a cloaked figure in earthy colors led a horse by the reins. A line of children followed him and a toddler rode on the horse in the arms of a young girl with messy brown hair and freckles on her nose. For leagues he and the children had traveled the Morglade with the younger ones taking turns on the horse. They were arriving at the point where the rocky barren terrain of the Morglade was breaking, and where green grasses were growing once more. Trees and saplings were appearing in their view as the land seemed to be awakening under their feet.
Approaching a thicket of trees overgrown with red berry moss, the cloaked man suddenly halted. He carefully let the toddler down and then assisted the girl. He then turned to the oldest of the children, a boy, close to eleven years, with sandy blond hair, and offered a rolled parchment from under his cloak without saying a word. The brown-haired girl, barefooted and in dirty rags for clothes, opened her mouth, warily, and asked, “What does it say, sir? We cannot read.”
The cloaked man placed his hand to his throat and shook his head. The boy said, “He cannot speak.” The boy took the rolled parchment and then the mute-man pointed in direction of the trees within the red berry moss. The boy said, “he means for us to go now—alone.” After the children understood, the boy led them. But after walking for a moment in the light woods, the girl with freckles turned back. The cloaked man and the horse were already gone as if they vanished.
Under a canopy of red berry moss, a clearing was discovered with a lonely wooden cottage and fenced yard. An elderly woman in a shroud—ragged, stringy, and nearly white—was feeding a pair of pigs from a bowl. After the children came to the fence line, the shrouded woman turned with surprise. Her eyes gleamed in a soft blue on her old, weathered face. The older boy reached over the fence, holding the parchment. The woman remained silent as she read it, glancing back and forth from the parchment to the children. When she was finished, she tore the parchment to pieces and let the fragments fall across the yard. “Children,” said the old woman, warmly smiling with gentle eyes. “You’re tired, aren’t you? And hungry? You must be. Very well, let’s go inside, shall we?”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Back in the Morglade, the lord master was waiting on a high crag, staring northeast in direction of the capital as the sun was sinking down again and the cold shadows were returning to the rocky hills. He stood with in an unbreakable stance, his hand on the pommel, silvery cape blowing in the wind. Before long, the colors dulled around him and a shadowy figure emerged in the air in front of him. The shadow announced, “I have returned!” its voice echoing over the hills.
Elliot said, “The children are still missing. But we will find them.”
Sha-rhom-de said, “Oh… no matter.”
“No matter?” Elliot raised his voice.
“Yes,” answered the shadow. “There are greater matters to attend now. More crucial—more dire—ones more suited for the legion to deal with. Call your captains, lord master, and ready your horses, you leave at daybreak.”
Elliot said, “I nearly executed those children and by the queen’s command.”
“And now you needn’t do so,” said Sha-rhom-dee.
Elliot looked away from the shadow and lowered his head, rubbing it. He heard the whisper in his mind return. See how they treat you… They care nothing about you… forget them… forget the queen…
“Lord master, you seemed vexed by something,” said Sha-rhom-de. “Are you well? You seem strangely disposed. Lost in thought. I shall remind you, Sir Elliot, you have the queen’s love, always. You are her champion. But if you wish to no longer lead the legion, as you swore to, I shall pass the message to the queen. Perhaps your love for her has faded.”
Elliot focused and then kneeled to the hovering shadow man. “Never. I live for the queen.”
“How grand,” said the shadow, grinning. “I shall tell her, sir. She loves to hear it.”
