Epilogue

Notes from the Author

Today I’ve written, and posted, the final chapters in Zentara’s Journey plus answers to a questionnaire that the creator of the project asked us to complete. The Travelling Artists’ Guild has been an extremely fun and useful project and challenge, and I have thoroughly enjoyed the journey. Some of the participants are choosing to continue and I thought long and hard about doing so. One part of me aches to do so, as I’ve made friends along the way and will miss the debates, discussions and support of those within the group.

But there comes a time when such projects become confining, when there is a need to depart gracefully and say farewell. And this I have done – well, maybe not gracefully, but you get the picture, lol. For me the project was about combining visual art and writing. Being able to do both was something I’d failed at before. During the last year, however, I have managed to do so. In fact, if anything, my visual creativity has blossomed.

As has my writing. Zentara’s journey may be finished within the parameters of the Guild. But her journey is not over. I plan to retell it, remake it and write her story in a different way and with different perspectives. No longer will it be limited to Zentara’s view of the world. Other characters need to have their say. And they will.

That is, at least, the plan. Whether or not it ever comes to fruition is another matter altogether, lol. But the seeds and the desire are there. I’m off to begin that part of the journey now.

And should you wish to see a hint, or aren’t satisfied with “An Ending”, here is an alternative, in Zentara’s own words:

An ending (2)

Autumn came and the leaves turned. Alvin Copse glistened yellow, red and gold in the sunlight as I strode toward what I’d once regarded as the hidden door. Placing my hands upon the symbols I uttered words in the language of the shay and the door swung open, closing behind me as I entered the Hall.

It was no longer dusty or deserted. Several artists sat at the benches working on carvings, jewellery or paintings whilst in one corner a small group were drinking tea and discussing the latest news.

“It is the mines they work now,” one said, his lavender hair tied back neatly with dark green cord. “No longer wood that they need to build their ships.”

“Poor Targ, some moan at the invasions of the mountains,” remarked another.

“Aye. But unlike us, the Targ get paid for the resources on their lands,” said another as he turned to welcome me. “Your Seeing is complete?” he asked as I approached.

I bent and kissed Harathianti, tousling his deep purple hair. “Aye. Osmenda is looking older every time, his group diminishes by the day. They are only a handful now. All look worn and frazzled and close to death.”

Harathianti nodded. “Sea air does them no good. They were led to their doom. Why they do not return I’ll never understand.”
“Pride,” answered Shyonna. “and fanaticism. They can not let go of their stupid beliefs. Nor do they want to, I fear. Even after you showed them that the Ways of the Forest were still worth fighting for, and proved that the Ancients could help rebuild and protect, they refused to see. I still shudder at how the Bwekhirazii convinced us of the need to flee to the First Place. How we were all so convinced that they were right and honourable and true!”

“Their magic was strong. Their spells and potions had us all in their thrall. If not for Zentara I guess we would all be there still.” Harathianti looked at me, pride and love shining from his pale green eyes.

I smiled. A year ago I never would have envisaged being here, surrounded by shay. It hadn’t been easy but we’d found the knowledge that was required. And brought many shay back home. “Not just me, remember! Without Grunthrin, Isolda and Ferantu I’d have never discovered the Tower and the powers within. But I’m so glad I did.”

“As are we all,” replied Harathianti. And everyone laughed as he whisked me off my feet and tossed me in the air before holding me close. “Zentara Braveheart, I do believe it’s time to dance beneath the trees…”

“Agreed, husband, agreed.” And everybody cheered.

An Ending

I gave my art and quest notes to the Mistess of Treasures during the Guild ritual to welcome home those who had been questing throughout the year. She thanked me, as she had the other artists, and handed my gifts to one of the Keepers who would carry my offerings to the vaults, to be recorded and stored. My doll, too, would go with them, as a reminder of the artist who had gathered the materials and the information. My year had come to an end; my quest closed.

And yet, I wondered if it was indeed complete. I made my way to the Hall of the Shay and stood within the dusty room, noting the carvings of leaf and tree that decorated the high ceiling. This Hall was a testament, a witness, to the shay artists who had come before me. It stood empty, deserted. And that saddened me.

Isolda joined me, her arm going about my shoulders. “You are still staying here?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I replied. “For now, at least. Now I know what my father is I have no desire to meet him. And yet…”

“You feel the need to aid your people,” she continued for me.

I nodded. “There is still much to discover, we both know that. And Grunthrin is eager to try out the Pathways.”

“We all are,” replied Isolda. “But if you stay here, I understand that too. You belong, as you never have elsewhere.”

We stood quietly for several moments before Isolda announced “I’m going to visit Ferantu. It’s long past time for me to speak with him, to get to know him better. Will you come with me?”

I hesitated. The desire to stay here, safe within these walls, was strong. And yet…

“When will you leave?” I asked.

“In a few days. There is no hurry,” she answered.

I nodded. “Then I will think on it, and let you know before you go.”

“Let’s go have some tea,” Isolda suggested. I smiled, nodded and walked with her to her caravan, happy to be with her, the knowledge of my birth now secure. My quest accomplished.

Research and a dream

The next few days and weeks seemed to pass quickly and I felt content. I met with Grunthrin and Isolda virtually every day, either over meals or relaxing in one of the many courtyards and gardens that filled the spaces between halls and corridors. Our conversations drew us all closer and as the days drifted into weeks I began to realise how much I loved them and all the other artists within the Guild Halls. My shyness, and my desire to seek the shadows, disappeared: here, within the Guild, there was no need to hide. Many here had sought sanctuary or come to find themselves within the security and peace of the Guild. I was not alone and was accepted.

My research led me to delve deep within the archives of the library, with the assistance of Kymara, the chief librarian. Between us we unearthed ever dustier tomes and scrolls until finally we discovered information about the Pathways and how they had been used extensively in what many termed the Golden Days long before the Wars had savaged the land. I learned too of the old religions, of times when the Ancient Trees were known to far more than to the shay and those who resided within the forests. But it was within the Hall of the Shay that I learned the secrets of the symbols and confirmed what we had thought: that amongst them was one on Shianti Island, and another beneath Tadhi Hallim. Of the others I learned that one was on the Isles of the Nerian. They were the First People, according to another shay scroll that I found amongst the dusty cupboards. That scroll had been well read, if the marks of dirty fingers and drips of candle wax were any guide. It had been stuffed deep, though, as if to be hidden from prying eyes or a cursory search.

And I knew, upon reading, where the shay had gone. That night, in my bed in Alvin Copse, I dreamed of shay meditating beneath three stone pillars, the wind whipping their hair as one shay spoke of the true born, the pure. He stood tall for a shay: wild pink hair fell about his shoulders, his green eyes bright with a fanaticism that made him appear insane. His voice boomed the madness of his beliefs and stirred the surrounding shay to chant his name. Osmenda. Osmenda. Osmenda.

I awoke and knew it was no ordinary dream. Osmenda, my father, was a fanatic. Insane. And in that moment my decision was made.

Taking stock

There were things I wished to do, I decided, whilst I groomed and fed Ghost the next morning. One was to look through my notes and sketches that I had made on my journey, to put them into some sort of order; another was to do some art. The latter had been sorely neglected in the last few days and weeks. It was something I felt an urge to do: to create, to have art worthy of giving to the Guild. I also wanted – no, needed, I realised – to think on my months away and to take stock of where I stood.

How did I feel now? I mused. Was I at a point where I knew who I was? In some ways I realised that yes, at least in part. I was more shay than human, I knew now. I’d come a long way since the day I entered the Guild Halls for the first time. I knew my origins – my grandparents were alive and I knew them both. But there was still a huge gap. My mother, Jameela. What had she been like? I had accounts from Isolda of her birth, and from Ferantu of her death. But what about her life in between? If I could find my father would he tell me? Would he even want to talk to me?

But first I had to find him. If he still lived. If any of the shay who had left Whittan Forest lived. My quest wasn’t over yet. If I wanted to find my father, that was. Did I? Now that I knew, had some idea, of what he was? He hadn’t sounded as if he wanted me or would welcome me. And what else did I want? To learn more of the shay, certainly. To discover more about my inherited magic, or talent, or whatever it was that lurked within me.

I felt it. Within this place, within Alvin Copse, it stirred. I needed a teacher. Ferantu had taught me some of what I needed, as had Anshiana-kuftir. And I had learned much from the scrolls and books within Ferantu’s home. But there were gaps in my knowledge. The Tower of Knowledge was where I needed to go. But where was that? Did I need the Pathways to find my way there?

At that thought, I realised I needed to go. The meeting with Grunthrin and Isolda that had been arranged last night was scheduled for just after breakfast. My stomach and the sun rising above the walls surrounding the copse told me that the time had come to eat. So I patted Ghost, gave him a hug and made my way toward the dining hall within the Guild, my mind still whirring with plans and ideas and thoughts of who  was I, unbeckoned, yet there. Always there.

Returning to the Guild

We set off early the next morning. The sun had only just risen as we rode out of the tavern’s stable yard and headed northwest along the main road toward Kerriton and the Guild Halls. It would take us all day and most of the evening but all of us wanted to reach the Guild that day with no more overnight stops. Our pace was as brisk as the horses permitted without tiring them too much. Isolda’s mare, Silva, named for the silver streaks on her head and in her mane, was heavily built, a plodder more used to pulling the caravan than riding with someone on her back. Yet she had stamina and strength, and her strides were bigger than those of Ghost or of Grunthrin’s much smaller dark grey stallion, Greth. It was a Targ word, meaning ‘grey one’. A handsome horse, despite his size, but well-suited to the owner.

Our lunch stop was brief but we had a couple of other quick breaks to stretch our legs and let the horses rest, eat and drink. After each stop the horses seemed to pick up their pace and we made good time. Even so, it was almost dark by the time we reached the bridge crossing the River Skarl. I glanced across to the river opposite the harbour where I’d halted on my way out from the Guild to draw. There was a dark ship moored there now, a new jetty and signs of building. Stopping to look closer, I asked Grunthrin what the strange boat was.

“A new-fangled thing,” he gruffed. “Driven by coal, they say. And made of iron!”

“Iron? Surely it would be too heavy to float?” I stared at it in amazement. “How does it work? There aren’t any masts! Just a sort of chimney?”

The Targ shrugged. “Sailed – or smoked or whatever – all the way around the coast from Rokmuth and into the estuary here. So obviously the weight is not a problem. Quite a sight it was, black smoke, or steam, or whatever billowing into the sky. Or so they say. Haven’t seen it move yet myself. But caused quite a stir, I can tell you. No one been talking of much else. And after the shock and the awe our local engineers flocked to see it. They’re almost killing each other in the race to learn its secrets and build their own. In the meantime the Traggeni are building jetties and shipyards. Seems they bought the land, so no one can stop them.”

“An iron ship!!! Seems impossible,” I exclaimed as we turned away and resumed our journey across the crowded bridge and along the road that, even at this time of night, was busy with merchants and travellers. I’d almost forgotten how noisy Kerriton and the surrounding area was, and was relieved once we’d left the worst of the bustle behind.

It was fully dark by the time we reached the Guild Halls. Torches stood either side of the archway that led into the stable yard, with more lighting the stables and the route to the Halls. We were all tired and parted company quickly, having made arrangements to meet up on the morrow.

Isolda headed toward her caravan that stood in a quiet corner of the yard whilst Grunthrin handed Greth’s reins to one of the stable lads who emerged on hearing our arrival. The Targ waved me goodnight as Ghost headed toward Alvin Copse and I smiled as we passed through the gateway and along the track to the shay quarters, as I now thought of them. It felt like home and that night, having settled Ghost and eaten a quick supper, I slept better than I had done for a long, long time.

Travelling on

“I need to return to my workshop, to make copies of the Key,” Grunthrin declared as we finished breakfast. “And someone needs to search the Guild library, see if we can find any references to other Pathways. Perhaps you could do that, Zentara?” I nodded. It sounded a good idea. I also felt a need to return to the Guild. To rest. To take stock of all that had happened. “At some point it may be worth talking to Ferantu again, too,” added Grunthrin, frowning. “His mysteries and secrets annoy me.”

“Could it have been him you sensed following you yesterday?” queried Isolda.

“It might have been.” I considered for a moment or two, continuing “There was something familiar about the person I sensed. My first thought had been that it was Thorne. There were three horses in the temple stable with Ghost – two were cart horses, but the third was obviously ridden by someone from the temple and I could only think that person would be Thorne. I keep worrying, wondering, why the priestesses hadn’t had him, or someone else, follow me…”

“That surprises me too,” answered Grunthin, concern etched into his face. “Maybe someone did. If so I guess Ferantu took care of them. He did write ‘we’ were watching you.” The Targ shrugged. “No point in worrying. There’s been no-one else arriving in Skarlton. I asked last night,” he said gruffly as Isolda raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, didn’t want any surprises whilst we slept. And I checked again this morning. No one has seen anyone arrive, or leave, apart from local folk going about their daily business.”

Yet Ferantu had been there, within the tavern yard and the stables, and had not been seen. He was shay, as was I. In the shadows we could both move freely and invisibly should we wish. I wondered how many others had that skill. But I kept my thoughts to myself and prepared to leave for the Guild, packing my shay cloak and choosing instead to wear my older hooded one.

An hour or so later and we were all on the road leading north from Skarlton. It felt good to be travelling with companions. The sun shone, the birds sang and the road was relatively well paved. To our east lay Skarl Marsh, just far enough distant that we didn’t get bothered by the mists that forever swirled above and around it. We could hear the occasional Marsh Greybirds cawing and at one point saw a large flock of them spiralling in the sky above stunted trees that grew between the road and the marsh. Searching for prey, Grunthrin said, or more likely for carcasses. Scavengers, the large Greybirds had black beaks that could tear apart dead, or dying, livestock and were disliked by farmers and ranchers alike. Yet they served a purpose, nonetheless, cleansing the land of corpses. Even so I was glad when the flock flew east and out of sight.

We rode steadily but didn’t push ourselves or our horses, stopping once by the side of the road for a lunch of cooked meats, bread, cheese and fruits. There were other travellers on the road, mostly farmers, traders and local folk journeying between hamlets or heading to or from markets in either Corim or Kerriton. All strangers as far as I was concerned but none seemed threatening and a few even exchanged greetings, although many seemed wary and hurried past. I suspected that Targs and Zigandi were not normally seen on that road and couldn’t blame the locals for their frowns and scowls.

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the Three Ways Tavern, a large inn where several routes met, and we decided to stay there for the night. Once we’d seen to our horses and taken belongings to our rooms I went back outside for a quick look around.

The main road led northeast toward Kerriton, whilst the northwestern road met the High Road at the hamlet of Roham although most people travelling in that direction were heading to Corim or beyond. The third ‘way’ that the inn derived its name from was a trackway winding past farmsteads, through farmland and into the marsh, but it wasn’t big enough to be marked on any maps. Partially surrounding the tavern was Skarlways, a small hamlet consisting of a few cottages, a forge, one small shop and several deserted and semi-derelict buildings.

“Used to be a busy place, this,” Grunthrin remarked as he joined me. “Was a major trading centre, they say, for Maris Hemp and thatching materials plus marsh herbs. Like so many, it suffered after the High Road was built. Now no-one trades here. Just a halt for people like us.”

I nodded. “Seems the Wars changed much.”

“They did indeed,” answered Grunthrin. “Caused much grief and suffering too. Anyway, I’m hungry – let’s go get some dinner!”

Morning discussion

I showed the note to Grunthrin and Isolda at breakfast. The Targ harrumphed and swore. “Typical Shay. Mysterious and secretive – why didn’t he just come and talk to us, rather than leave a note. And where is this Tower of Knowledge? Why not tell us, eh?”

“Agreed. Annoying. Shows he cares though and isn’t a threat. I had wondered,” Isolda remarked.

“You and me both,” I replied.

We sat in a small private dining room as we ate the freshly baked bread, eggs, ham and fried potatoes. Isolda poured the tea, sipping it slowly as she read the note once more. “Beautiful,” I heard her mutter and grinned. Grunthrin glanced across at her, frowning, then prodded me to reveal more details of everything that had happened, and Isolda asked me more about Ferantu and Yasmina. It was my grandmother, after some thought, who asked if I believed the priestess had used some sort of power over me as the note implied. I nodded, aware that Isolda had once been the victim of Anshiana-kuftir and thus knew how such spells could work, and told her my conclusions. That I was certain that Yasmina had held sway over me, and that I had wondered if the Ancient Beings were behind it all. Before seeing the note, that is. Now, I felt that Ferantu was telling the truth. And that perhaps not all Ancients were the same.

Grunthrin admitted he’d also been thinking along those lines. “Although I still doubt Ferantu’s intentions – he let you walk into harm, with no warning. You’re right to be wary of him. He seems so under the sway of this Life-Giver, so dependent upon her, that he probably has no choice. As for Yasmina, she is indeed a threat. That she almost succeeded in making you enter the Pathway without any thought for your safety is beyond doubt. A dangerous woman, indeed.”

Nodding agreement, my hand went to the Ekchuan pendant and I turned to Isolda. “Did I mention that your pendant tried to warn me?” I asked her. “Which begs another question – do the Zigandi have magic of their own?”

Isolda hesitated for a few seconds before she replied, “Yes, you did say. It was how I knew there was a problem. See,” she drew a matching pendant from beneath her top “they are aligned. Both pendants were made from the same lump of clay, shaped and fired at the same time. They are a pair, linked. If we have Shay origins, something I was partly aware of, I suspect that it’s their magic, passed down through generations. But it’s something that no one outside of the clan Elders and clan Chief is permitted to know. That includes you, Grunthrin, and you, too Zentara.” I nodded, not surprised that the Elders knew things the rest of the Zigandi didn’t. Their Gatherings had always been shrouded in secrecy, hidden from view from the rest of us. It was one of the things that had always irked Carney. Now, of course, he too would learn those secrets and I wondered if he would uphold the traditions and how he’d use that knowledge. Isolda continued “Though in the circumstances I can’t see how I can not tell you. I assume I can trust you both not to say anything?”

We both nodded as Isolda slipped her pendant back beneath her blouse. Amongst us there was, and had to be, complete trust. What my grandmother had told us confirmed what Ferantu had taught me: that magic wasn’t limited to the Shay. The more I discovered, the more convinced I was that there was even more to this Power that as yet I’d not unearthed. Ferantu was right. I needed to find out more. And work out exactly what I could do to protect myself and my friends if the need arose.

The Note

“You showed sense. As I thought you would. Anshey du Khull has been twisted, used and made mad by the priestesses – or it could be the other way around. Her fervour is like a drug, Her Being turned to ways that harm and infest and manipulate the Forest within her reach as no other can. You needed to see, to feel what She and Shay like Yasmina are capable of, to understand the threat. It is not from outside, as the so-called prophecy states, but from within. When you eventually find the ones you seek, you need to be able to recognise the risks. I am pleased and relieved that Anshiana-kuftir and An Feppia judged you correctly. They both saw your strengths. Find the Tower of Knowledge and learn to use your Powers fully.

You were never in danger, by the way – we were keeping watch. Trust your friends. Isolda is even more beautiful than I remembered her. As for the Targ, he seems to have your best interests at heart. I will return happier knowing that they are with you. Go with care, grand-daughter. F.”

After re-reading the note, I turned my attention to Ghost. He seemed content, rested after his hard ride and unperturbed by the fact that the note had been left entangled in his mane for me to find. That Ghost had not feared Ferantu, and had indeed trusted my grandfather and allowed him to hide the note as he had, comforted me.

One thing I had learned: Ghost would never let anyone he feared or distrusted anywhere near him. Back in An Reviniba I’d had to see to Ghost personally. Although he let Thorne within a reasonable distance I recalled how Ghost had been on edge whenever he approached too close. At the time I’d ignored the unease that Ghost had obviously felt. As I’d ignored other things that hadn’t felt right. The Power around that temple I now knew had been so strong that it had blinded me. I stroked Ghost, telling him that in future I’d take more notice of his judgement. A nudge of the head and a few whuffs were enough for me to know that he understood.

As for what Ferantu had written, how much should I believe? I felt some resentment that he’d let me walk into danger, toward a trap. How close had he been, I wondered? Had he followed me? I considered that option, decided it was certainly possible. I’d been too wrapped up in my own thoughts, my own ideas, to give much thought to anything else. When I’d sent out my senses, they had always been in a specific direction. And when I’d approached the temple I’d sensed no-one. Had they somehow concealed their presence? They must have done. And if they could, so could Ferantu.

Yet I’d had an itch, an inkling, that someone had followed me the last stretch of the journey. Was that deliberate on the part of Ferantu? Or had he let his own ward go, knowing that he no longer needed it? Of course! He’d had to protect his presence from Yasmina and Anshey du Khull too. With the help of Anshiana-kuftir, I was sure. Once we were all safe from the prying of the golden tree he was able to relax.

Relief flooded through me. I was certain now that Ferantu was an ally, not a threat. Hugging Ghost I smiled and relaxed, then headed back to the inn as aromas from the kitchen reminded me that breakfast beckoned.

Catching up

We sat in the small bedchamber where I was to sleep that night. Darkness had fallen long ago and I was tired, but the meal and the pleasure of seeing Grunthrin and Isolda had revived me enough for me to tell my story, albeit glossing over much so that it was a skeleton tale. But one that included all the main events of what had happened since I’d entered Whittan Forest.

Both Isolda and Grunthrin had listened intently. Despite Isolda obviously being intrigued by my meeting with Ferantu and wanting to know more, neither of them had interrupted. They had told me that they wanted to hear the whole tale first and would consider the implications later. I had deliberately refrained from telling them my thoughts as I’d travelled to Skarlton, wanting to hear if their own conclusions concurred with mine. Neither had I told them that I believed I’d been under Yasmina’s power, just saying that I’d felt a growing sense of danger and unease about going through the portal without further knowledge.

Grunthrin now held the key in his hands, examining it closely.

“This is such a valuable find. We lost the originals many years ago,” he commented, his voice as gruff as I remembered.

“Then the Pathways are known?”

“Oh yes. The one at Tadhi Hallim still hums and is guarded, just in case someone works out how to use it.”

“So I would have been safe if I had gone there?”

Grunthrin grunted. “Possibly. Not sure they would have taken kindly to a non-Targ arriving on their own, though. You were right not to risk it. Plus as it is I’m not sure this key would work, with all the cracks and charring.  But I could make a copy,” he muttered thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t be difficult. In fact, I think I should make at least two. Then we have a spare in case it proves difficult to recover once we pass through the portal.”
“You’re sure a copy will work?” I asked, noting the ‘we’ with some pleasure. From what he said he would be coming with me. “Isn’t it imbued with magic somehow?”

Grunthrin shook his head. “No, the magic is in the Pillars of the Pathways, not in the key. At least, that’s how I understand it. As for these symbols, I think there must be books or scrolls in the Guild library that could help us decipher at least some of them. Others we can learn about in the citadel. Although I think Thorne was probably right – this one is, I believe, Shianti Island. There are two ancient towers there, y’know. One in ruins, the other still standing. It’s more than possible they were linked to us in the past. Always have wondered about them.”

Nodding wearily, I glanced at Isolda. She seemed older yet more relaxed than when I’d last seen her.

“You still haven’t told me how you came to be here,” I remarked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

She smiled. “I’m no longer chief,” Isolda announced, putting up her hand to still my gasp. “It’s no surprise to me. Had been coming for months. I think that telling you my secrets cleared my mind, sorted my thoughts and made it easier for me to finally part from the clan. We got as far as Whitmuth before Carney finally made his move. He declared that we should deviate from our normal route, travel down to Avonlea and Cobalton, winter there. Argued that there were new markets to explore. He had mapped it all out. No more, he said, should we stick to the old ways. The younger clan members all agreed. Even a couple of the Elders were swayed by his arguments. I think he’d expected me to object. Instead I told him that was fine by me, but I’d no longer be chief. It was his turn. I was too old and too tired. That surprised everyone, I can tell you.” She grinned broadly, her teeth flashing in the firelight. “I left the next day, headed back to the Guild. Knew I’d be welcomed there. And I was, of course.”

“You look relieved,” I said softly.

Isolda took my hands, nodded. “I am. A weight was lifted from my shoulders that night. Should have made my move years ago. And I have you to thank.”

I didn’t know what to say. Yawned instead. Grunthrin harumphed. “We still have much to discuss. Not least being to consider what you’ve told us – raises questions with me, I can tell you. Need to work out what to do next. But all that, I think, can wait until morning. If we sit here any longer you’re going to nod off!”

And so we went to our beds and I slept, long and deep, safe and secure in the knowledge that my grandmother and mentor were close by, protecting me from danger.

Surprises

That night we kept going as long as we could, not stopping until fatigue forced us both to do so. I made a quick camp by the side of the road, half-hidden by bushes but not within the trees themselves. There was a murmuring in the branches that seemed unnatural and I felt antagonism toward me rather than the comforting chatter that I’d previously sensed. After an uncooked meal of bread and dried meat I dozed fitfully, my head on Ghost, his warmth and body protecting me. He was as aware as I was that we might not be safe but whether by luck or with the protection of Ekchua we survived the night unscathed. Long before dawn we broke camp and were on our way once more, taking it slowly in the moonlight, speeding up again as soon as the rising sun gave us enough light to see clearly.

After another full days hard riding with only a few short stops for food and rest I was beginning to think that we’d have to spend another night in the forest. Something I didn’t want to do. For some while I’d been convinced that there was someone behind us, although he or she was a fair distance back. But if we halted now I was sure that they would catch us up and that wasn’t something I looked forward to. So we kept going into the evening and it was with relief that I finally spotted the lights of a farm or woodman’s hut huddled amongst the trees. The old road became less overgrown and signs of habitation grew as we neared the river and the small town beyond. Beginning to feel safe, we slowed down. Ghost, I knew, had pushed himself beyond his limits. He was sweating profusely, his gait becoming more and more plodding and I stopped him, easing off his back gently, my legs and back sore and protesting. Together we walked between what became fields until eventually I could see the old stone bridge ahead. A small figure with a lantern walked toward us and for a moment I felt a pang of fear but as he came closer my heart leaped with joy.

“Grunthrin!!!” I exclaimed. “Oh, how wonderful to see you! I was on my way to the Guild Hall to meet up…”

“A relief to see you safe,” he announced breathlessly. “Your doll had warned us something was wrong. We came as quickly as we could.”
“My doll? ”

He nodded. “The dolls are there for a reason, Zentara. They are a link, we said before you left. She knew you were in danger. But come, come. We have rooms for all of us at the Scarlet Tankard. And a place in the stables for Ghost.”

“Who else is with you?”

Grunthrin grinned but refused to say any more, leading me across the bridge and to the inn where a stable lad took charge of Ghost.

“Give him a lot of care and a good meal,” I asked. “He’s ridden hard and deserves a good rest.” I patted Ghost warmly as he neighed happily and the lad nodded. “Will do,” he replied as Grunthrin hefted my saddlebags onto his shoulder.

Satisfied that Ghost would be well looked after I followed the Targ into the back of the inn and down a short passageway past the kitchen. As the aromas of stew and cooked meats poured out of the open doorway I realised how hungry I was, and my legs almost buckled. With a grunt my mentor slipped his arm around me and led me into the main room of the inn, guiding me toward chairs and table by a roaring fire.

“Sit!” he commanded in his gruff voice. “I’ll go get you some food. We’ll talk once you’ve recovered.”

I nodded, too tired to argue, smiling up at the man with gratitude. He harrumphed then waddled to the bar to order stew and bread and ale whilst I looked around the small inn. There was only one other group of people there, all men, locals I guessed, enjoying some ale and gossip. But as I looked toward the stairs I noticed a woman descending, her face and shoulders shrouded by a large woollen shawl. It was only as she turned and walked toward me that I realised who she was and, despite my fatigue, I jumped up to meet her.

“Isolda! Oh, how wonderful! What are you doing here? With Grunthrin?”

She held my hands and kissed my cheek. “Sit back down, girl! Have you ordered that food for her yet, Grunthrin?” she asked as he wandered back to the table.

He nodded, placing three tankards of ale on the table. “On its way shortly,” he declared. “Now, Zentara, sit back down and relax. You’re safe now, and we have plenty of time to hear your news. Drink, eat and then we’ll talk.”