Whispers Of Peace And War

9

9

There were far more Traal patrolling outside the standing stones that Mythrd had seen the night before. Though they continued to move, making counting them difficult, it seemed more than clear. Other Traal had joined their kin. Every so often, some sound, or smell, caused many of their misshapen heads to rise to the sky and they would run in the same direction, only to return moments later, some with blood upon their teeth-packed muzzles.

Mythrd prayed that only animals suffered whatever fate the Traal had inflicted upon them, but he had no way of knowing for certain. The people of Yrstl would follow the commands of the Constable, and stay within the village at night, but others travelled the lands of Iibar all the time. Travellers that did not know of this fresh, growing infestation of fierce, deadly creatures.

Despite her dislike, hatred, of the Gaeradine, Abbot Llwnthrn had bound Agarang's chest with bandages, causing the man to groan in his unconscious state. The elder woman continued to make Mythrd wonder about her. At once looking after Agarang, the next moment flying into a fury at barbarian Gaeradine. Striking out at Gythryn for defying her, and then showing care by wanting to take them all home.

Of course, Kaninzir did not help matters. Treating everything the Abbot said and did with undisguised amusement. Scoffing at her faith. Teasing her at every opportunity. The worst he did was to mention the past, to the Abbot or near her. Each time, her grey eyes would blaze and she would harangue the old man, or sit, glaring at him.

As he had done many times since uncovering the dirt on the monoliths, Mythrd returned to the one that had only ancient words written upon it. Gythryn appeared fascinated with the third monolith. The one that held images of people. She would stand, looking at the carvings and then practice swinging her sword. Mythrd knew, now, that those pictures did not represent dancing, but fighting. Like a book of sword techniques wrought in stone.

His monolith, as he liked to think of it, had nothing that he could understand as easy as Gythryn understood the pictures upon 'her' stone. It remained unreadable to him. It felt more than a little infuriating and he wished he had learned to read. At least, in that way, he would have some notion of how this ancient language worked, some place from which he could find a common ground.

"Teach me to read this. Please." As Kaninzir passed by, on one of his regular strolls around the stones, Mythrd tried to catch his arm. "I don't know why, but I think if I can read this, things would become clear. I don't know what things, but ... things."

"'Things' will become clear if you have faith." The old man patted Mythrd on the shoulder and looked about to continue his stroll. He stopped and nodded towards the monolith and then jerked his head towards the Abbot. "The Guardians, for all the good in their hearts, are a jealous species. They cannot stand to come second in people's hearts. They would never make you choose to follow them, but making that choice unveils many things hidden from those who follow other faiths."

"Can the Abbot read this writing? She looked like she could." Biting his lip as he thought, Mythrd looked at the Abbot. "But, she's a Priest of the Patrons. How can she read this, if the Patrons are foremost in her heart?"

"How indeed?" Kaninzir moved away, leaning upon his staff. He seemed a little more frail than before, but then, the old man had exerted himself much since the night before.

To keep his mind from the expanding pack of Traal outside the stones, Mythrd had used the long branch, that Kaninzir had brought with the rest of the wood, and more of the dwindling clumps of grass, to clear away the remainder of the dirt upon the monoliths. Now, they stood with all their markings revealed and those markings, the carvings, had captured Mythrd's imagination.