Secrets & Treasons

Third Movement | The Heroes of the Standard

Léï 7 Kinlín 1307,

The mist that had invaded the Guardroom was not one that one would readily call "natural". Dozens of brave and valiant warriors, at ease, struggled to renew and opacify it by pulling heavily on their cigars and other big stogies.

The Guard Room was not the quietest, either. In this, it was no exception to the rule. It was the rule, exactly. And for once, Cyd and Bud weren't showing off the amazing feat that had won them the battle against the terrible brigands of the March of the Wind. For if there was a common good in this smoky Guardroom, it was indeed 'feats'. Exploits of all kinds, in all categories, but exploits all the same. So to speak, exploits were legion and if all the assembled warriors had had to recount theirs, this room could have been mistaken for a library where some eccentric storytellers would have tried to instill the wealth of Tales and Legends in furious toddlers caracoling between the aisles overloaded with books too complicated or too dangerous for them.

Childeric had withdrawn to the most secluded corner he could find, hoping to be a little quiet, solitary. But it was an illusion, of course, for the noise was everywhere, surrounding and enveloping its guests with its suffocating embrace. He would have liked so much to retreat from all this turbulence and get out of that smelly room; he couldn't. They were all grounded! Unbelievable, right, heroes on lockdown?! While the leaders and their teams were intensively searching for the eight missing heroes for the start of the quest, the others, heroes designated by the four communities, had to remain confined in this oppressive room. For the good of all. He brooded over this, gnawing at his own brakes. They had been told to rest, that they would not have much rest after the quest had really begun - as if they had not yet understood that it had already begun the day the Volcano went into that frenzy eruption and swallowed a third of the Walk of the Prophecy in less than twenty-four rays. To this day, most of the Walk of the Prophecy, the Walk of the Four, was still engulfed within the dark shadows of the falling ashes.

The eruption of the Sacred Volcano ahhhad happened twenty-one days ago. Each one longer than the next, during which Childeric had not stopped asking himself the one excellent question: where to start? What to look for? What were they supposed to do? Bud snapped him out of it when he sat down beside him.

"You've been looking pretty gloomy lately," he said as a preamble.

"Really? Do I look that dark? I was just thinking about what was waiting for us on the other side of those thick walls."

"I see... I think about it too sometimes but it's so unreal right now, we are being treated like heroes and yet we haven't achieved anything that would allow us to be called so! I wonder how we're going to do it once we're out of this cozy nest..."

"Then you know exactly what I mean," said the elf. "Other matters concern me", he lowered his voice, "we can trust each other, but I couldn't feel the same way about the sidekicks fate had in store for us."

Bud nodded. He had been quietly watching the other "designated heroes" for a few days now, and worry had often taken his breath away. He had always been impartially suspicious of Humans, and what little relationship he had with Lord Arkartin, since they were confined to the Guardroom, had not helped ease his conscience. He found him to be a little false and calculating. The troll hadn't made a particularly good impression on him either. He was undoubtedly a proud warrior, the account of his battles was eloquent to say the least, but could he afford to be so confident, or so unaware, as to turn his back on him in the middle of a battle?

Childeric put his hand on his shoulder, nodding discreetly. Clearly, he had read her mind.

"We shouldn't worry about such things," said Childeric suddenly, "and in the future, I suggest that we assume that fate has chosen the best ones for the quest."