Chapter Thirty-Six: Entreaty
As the pale morning rays filtered into the woody, cold interior of the house, Selriph’s gaze finally could make out the features of the father and son in full; their faces painted with relief. Caddock held his son in a protective, yet relaxed embrace, while Eilan clutched the tome in one hand, muttering prayers under his breath.
In the other, he held the amulet, the artefact that brought about his salvation, Caddock staring at it with inquisitive eyes.
Selriph almost swore the night’s harrowing ordeal had aged the man’s bearded visage by at least ten years, though it was likely just the result of the poor light, sheer exhaustion, and lingering stress from the night’s events.
Inevitably, the man before him turned to Selriph, the anticipated questions clearly etched on his face. They wanted to know how Selriph had stopped the wraiths’ frenzied bid for Eilan, the role of the amulet around Eilan’s neck, and, most importantly, the nature of Selriph’s magical abilities.
Alright... just got to give a convincing story...
Then the words came, finally breaking the silence.
“Thank you. You saved us,” the bearded man said with a smile.
Selriph’s reply came, rehearsed. “The amu—”
Selriph froze, not out of hesitation, but confusion at the unexpected statement of gratitude.
“Pardon…?” Selriph uttered, as if trying to confirm if he had misheard.
The bewildered look on Selriph’s face seemed to spread like a contagion as the father and son mirrored his expression, confused for an entirely different reason.
Selriph cleared his throat before answering. “You’re welcome. And apologies, I was expecting … a different question.”
“What else would we need to ask?” Caddock’s voice now also intoned in confusion.
“The amulet? How did I know what to do? Why did I even come here?” Selriph’s voice came as if reciting an encyclopaedic fact.
The answer did not come from the man, but from the boy next to him.
“It is blessed with the grace of the Five, yes? You are a servant of the light, just like Aedan; you help us, protect us.”
They think I am a—
Selriph barely restrained the urge for his facial muscles to further contort into further surprise, instead slowing his breathing—attempting to maintain a neutral, unperturbed facade.
“Yes, you are incredibly well-learned, young Eilan. I assume that is brother Aedan’s work.” Selriph’s reply came calmly, almost slightly mechanical.
The boy kept his head down, a slight flush of embarrassment creeping up his face. “Yes, although...” his face saddened slightly, “he broke his promise... if you weren’t here...”
Caddock placed a comforting hand on Eilan’s head, stroking the boy’s smooth brown hair. “It’s okay, son... It’s over. When Aedan comes, I’ll give him a? dressing down.” His voice was a mix of comfort and gentle humour.
Selriph slowly rose, patting the dust off his garments. “I shall take my leave. However, Caddock, if I may?” Selriph’s question met the man’s gaze, receiving a silent nod to proceed.
“Please do not mention the details to your fellow villagers. I need to be... discrete. I hope you understand.” The request came formally, fully painted in Selriph’s high Eldeitian accent.
Caddock hesitated for a moment before understandingly nodding at the request.
“Of course, servant of the light, I won’t prattle more than I need to.”
Selriph resisted the urge to further impose restrictions on what information the duo could divulge, lest he rile their suspicions.
Instead, he turned back towards the door, drawing his parrying dagger from his belt, ready to pry the boards barring the door loose.
To the waiting town beyond.
[A few hours later]
Selriph awoke from his slumber, the roof truss greeting him, roused by the growing bustle of the village’s post black-moon activities.
His head felt as though a hammer had struck it multiple times, a result of the sleep deprivation. Next to him, the candle clock lay, its flame just about to melt through the wax embedded with a nail, set to awaken him at the predetermined time—an hour before noon.
Argh … damn. Have to go … before that stablehand decides to forcefully remove Emmett and Nightwind.
In stark contrast to his movements the previous night, Selriph moved with lethargic, slothful gestures as he gathered his belongings: his tome and patchwork map tucked away in his satchel, along with the rest of his supplies. The estoc and parrying dagger hung on his belt, completing the tableau of a solitary adventurer about to brave the wilds.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Selriph glanced around the room. Its state was almost like the way he first entered—save for the rough ruffles in the hay-filled mattress and the slightly misplaced chair.
For a brief moment, he felt a pang of reluctance to leave this humble shelter—after all, his trek tonight would once again find him in the wilderness, with no settlement until after he had crossed the Greyspire Mountains.
He buried the thought, instead conjuring the image of Captain Thorne, draped in his blackguard uniform, charred and battered, his face bearing grievous burn marks. The sight gave him an odd mix of urgency and retributive satisfaction, tinged with regret at not being able to end him during their fateful encounter.
The click of the door punctuated the thought as he closed it behind him. He gripped the cold key in his hand, descending the stairs to the main tavern below.
The sight that greeted him was unexpected. Even after the harrowing events of last night, the tavern was alive with its midday buzz—a brief recess between tending to fields, practicing their trades, and other daily village toils. The scent of stew, toasted pastry, and pottage, mixed with the acidic tinge of unwashed bodies, filled the room.
With it came the expected currents of speculation regarding the commotion caused by the wraiths last night.
“Spirits sounded riled up…” a masculine voice’s remark entered Selriph’s ear.
“Should check on the boy…” came from a feminine voice.
And one remark stood out like a sharp stone on a smooth trail—jaded yet casual gossip: “Caddock forgetting to turn out the light? If only he did that when his missus left him.”
Selriph felt simultaneous relief at the relative lack of attention on him, but also the distaste brought about by the crude remark. He barely kept his facade composed as he paced towards the main counter, where Brynjar stood, wiping wooden mugs with a linen cloth.
The fiery bearded man looked up, a grin of recognition washing across his face. “Ah, Sel,”
Selriph tilted his head, surprised by the unexpected mention of his name in the greeting. “Afternoon, Brynjar. I’m going to set forth. Thanks for the bed and meal.” A light tap of metal sounded as his palm met the counter, revealing a key when he pulled his hand away.
He glanced down at the key, mild puzzlement in his eyes. “Leavin’ already? You still seem a little worse for wear, lad. After what you did last night, you can stay here. On the house. Least we could do.” His eyes then glanced back up at the youth.
“I…” Selriph paused at the offer, the fog of lethargy like an anchor to an invisible chain, which beckoned him back up to the room and bed above.
“I am sorry, I need to be on the road,” his voice plain.
“I see, whereabouts?” the innkeeper asked in a polite tone.
“Pardon…?” Selriph hesitated, less from a reluctance to answer the question, but more from his sheer weariness.
“Whereabouts are you heading?” The repeated question did not come from the innkeeper before him, but from a feminine voice that emerged from the kitchen beyond.
The young server girl, Calli, had her brows furrowed; Selriph couldn’t tell if her expression was one of interrogation or worry. Her hands fidgeted with a stone-like object.
Brynthar turned to his young helper. “Lass. Told ya I’d ask the lad. He—”
“Please, Brynthar, I should ask him. He’s the only one who can.” Her brow relaxed, her face softening into an expression of genuine politeness.
Who can…?
“Fine, but make sure you get back here as soon as you’re done. Spoons and plates don’t clean themselves,” Brynthar remarked, turning back to his work at the counter.
Calli nodded as she came from behind the counter, her face returning to its neutral facade, though marked with a hint of urgency. “There are too many mouths and ears here. Come out back. I have something to ask you,” she said, her statement less a question and more a command, as she gestured to the kitchen beyond the curtain.
Oh... I don’t like where this is going—I am not going to allow myself to be led wayward again.
“I am sorry, but I really must depart... my mount is to be turned out at noon.” Selriph intoned in polite refusal, slowly turning towards the door.
Then he felt it: a hand on his shoulder. Selriph’s hand flew to his estoc as his head spun back, irritation washing through him.
What met him wasn’t what he expected. Calli’s neutral facade crumbled, and through it, even in his current state, he saw the unmistakable expression of worry, perhaps even dread, given away by the shaking and coldness of the hand on his shoulder.
Selriph’s grip on his estoc softened as a single word eluded her mouth.
It wasn’t an order, but a desperate whisper.
“Please.”
The cool, damp air hit Selriph’s nostrils as they emerged from the tavern—the same exit Selriph had taken on his daring escapade. The cool afternoon breeze hit him, carrying the familiar scent of the village. The azure sky, dotted with grey clouds, seemed to frame the interaction that was about to unfold.
Calli turned, her fingers fidgeting with the stone in her hand. Selriph caught faint signs of markings on it, though he couldn’t make out anything discernible.
Then the question came again: “Please, I need to know. Where are you heading?”
This again … should I tell her? But if even one person here knows I am heading eastwards, maybe they could pick up my trail.
Selriph paused, choosing his words meticulously in an effort to avoid suspicion. “I really cannot divulge that. By the Light’s grace.” His voice intoned with full formality, part act, from a long-dormant mask he had nurtured in his past life at the Daryth estate.
Since Caddock and Eilan already have that notion of me, this is the best I can do…
Calli’s expression softened with understanding, and her fingers paused over the stone in her hand at the mention of the divine. However, her posture still retained its urgency.
“I … understand. By the Five’s grace, could you at least indulge—hear this request?”
She paused, as if expecting divine wrath to fall upon her words.
But Selriph simply waited, pausing his reaction until the words eluded her mouth.
“Could you spare a moon’s passing? Not for me, but for a fellow servant of the Five.”
Servant of the Five…?
As she held out the stone to Selriph, a drawing of a sword and shield with a lion carved on it—not artisanal, but far from crude—was visible.
A spark of realisation flashed through Selriph’s mind like a lightning bolt, finally hitting a lone tree on an open plain.
Before him, etched carefully into stone, was the unmistakable likeness of the coat of arms of the Holy Knights of Aurelion.
Then came the heartfelt request. Or, more precisely, her entreaty.
“Please, by Kaelorn’s protective light…” Calli implored, her gaze fixed on him, a raw vulnerability now in full bloom.
Selriph did not need to be a seer to know the next words that would come out of her mouth.
“Could you find Knight Aedan?”
Take the side quest?
