The Eye of The Storm

Chapter 11

Towards Philippopolis

Aella and Thoren were attempting to meet secretly, though it was proving difficult. Her father had interrupted them twice, and now insisted that Aella ride with him on his horse and let her mother ride Oak alone. Thaumas was determined to make sure they were apart and in doing so was impeding her plans. Thoren's presence was even coming between Aella and her father. As they rode together during daylight, her hands clasped around the thick heavy armor of his midsection, there was complete and utter silence.

Because it was challenging to meet during the daytime, Aella and Thoren were forced to rendezvous after dark. Aella disliked lying to her father, and especially disliked being with Thoren in the night, but it was the only option she had left.

Thoren seemed to be enjoying the entire mission much more than she. After-all, he not only got to spend time with her, but they were unattended and thus less time was spent rethinking how to phrase things in front of onlookers. When they snuck off into the night, it felt as though they where the only two left in the aftermath of the storm. The words flowed freely from Thoren's mind. He thought back to the other soldiers who had been jostling him around ever since they had seen him paying more attention to the king's daughter. He was glad he didn't have to feel their icy stares slice through his back every time he spoke to the girl.

On the first night, Aella questioned Thoren and found that he knew as much about the storm as she did, which was disheartening to her. By the fourth night they met in a nearby forest that was close to where they had set up the tents for the time being. Thoren came carrying a dirty brown satchel that looked worn and old- the leather was peeling off the corners of the bag and it was missing a piece of strap so that he held it by the body.

Aella was sitting cross-legged underneath a pine tree. When Thoren arrived she stood, brushing the dirt and fallen needles from her lap.

"Any news?" She asked, not bothering  to greet him. They mostly spoke informally to one another now.

"Indeed I do." He replied, but made no move to reveal the contents of the satchel. He seemed to be thinking hard about something.

"Well... are you going to tell me?" She asked, a bit afraid that he wasn't going to share what he had discovered with her.

"Yes, but I'm afraid it's going to confuse you as much as it confuses me." He said, sitting down on the ground and putting the bag in front of him. "Don't get too hopeful."

He cleared his throat and continued.

"My father keeps this satchel with him at all times. I know because he won't so much let me lay a finger on it. It would be very hard to get, but once he falls asleep he is not easily woken." Aella recalled the time when she had "broken" into Thoren's tent and seen the snoring mass that was the general's body.

"Anyhow, the contents were mixed. There was a stack of letters--"

"Can I see them?" She interrupted, her eyes wide with curiosity. She wanted to rip them out of his grasp.

Thoren resigned and handed them over to her hungry hands. "Careful!" He exclaimed. "We want to make sure these are in the same condition when I return them so that my father doesn't know I took them in the first place."

She began to removed a bundle of papers more delicately now, and noted the various dates. The key to good detective work was knowing what was important. The parchment crinkled underneath her fingers, and the ink was faint.

"The last letter is from June 1st 1359," Aella observed, squinting at the cursive scrawl which was barely visible under the low light reflecting off the clouds. "That must have been near the date that the storm was put upon Thrace."