SquidgeWorld Archive

Micah hesitated at the edge of the water. There was a stone path between two parts of the waterfall that lead across the Dar Melossa River. He gazed around, looking for some sign or symbol marking this momentous occasion in his journey. There was nothing but grass and river and rocks and trees. Heavy clouds were rolling across the sky, promising snow later. He had not seen any elk, and hardly any rabbits. Birds had been few and far between. Perhaps that was a sign by itself?

On this side, he was still in Sethya. The other side of the river did not look any different. It was all green grass, forest, rock, and mountains. Big, heavy clouds had been rolling slowly over the sky all day, threatening rain and snow. The night would be bitterly cold, and surely there would be snow tomorrow. Up here in the high country, 'summer' was more a memory than an actual season.

On the Sethyan side of Dar Melossa River, he had the opportunity to turn back. Pretend it was nothing more than a temper tantrum. He could go back to D'Ambreaux and grumble, play like he'd just been angry and upset. He would have to submit to his grandfather's drunken lectures, and his uncle's lascivious teasing. Some would harass him, and others would no doubt be disappointed. He could handle the harassment- he certainly had practice.

But he knew that this was his chance to stand up to the debauchery and lies. This was his chance to be counted as a man, face the adversity and take a stand against it. Somebody had to do something. Someone with backbone and background, who wouldn't be ignored as just another whiny peasant or petulant knight looking for better pay. They couldn't go on like this!

Micah groaned, stepping back from the edge of the Melossa. All the way here he had been so determined. The phantom of Master Edmor's granddaughter, muddy and half naked, haunted him. He knew that going to Lyotia, asking the King of Lyo to intervene was right. No one inside D'Ambreaux would help; if you weren't a victim then you were involved.

It had to be Lyo. Going to the Sethyan royal palace in Dara Ellon to ask for help wasn't stupid- it was suicide. It was offering yourself to the Dark Prince face to face. That wasn't something he was interested in doing. He had met the Dark Prince once, a few years ago during the Tithing, and he had no intentions of getting close to that demon again.

Kyribe, Micah's horse, stomped impatiently in the grass nearby breaking his train of thought. Micah glanced back at the forest behind them and frowned. He had felt a presence watching them for a few days now, and he knew it made Kyribe nervous. He was concerned about who or what it might be. It had caused them to press on when he would have liked to stop awhile and rest.

Now here they were, half way to his goal, and he was hesitating. Micah sighed with irritation. Either he had to accept his decision and push on, or give up and return to D'Ambreaux and the humiliation that surely awaited him.

'Focus', he told himself. He turned back towards the river, taking half a step closer. What was holding him back?

A deep rumbling in the mountains far to the north, where the clouds were the darkest, echoed down the valley, and across the river. Micah listened, craving a sign.

The sound of the water rushing was all around him. The deep rumble of the thunder was barely discernible right here, but he heard it. He almost felt it in his bones. Old Jehan told him it was his Clansen senses, the 'morudai' in him. Was that the reason then, why he felt the presence of the stag before he actually saw it?

Over the river, across the meadow, there, just on the edge of the Lyotian forest stood a huge elk buck with an antler rack larger than he had ever seen before. It paused, sniffing the air cautiously, before taking a few steps further out from the trees.

Kyribe nudged Micah's shoulder, and Micah glanced at him briefly. The horse was watching the elk, his stance one of pure tension. The wind whipped around them, bringing the scent of fresh rain, brisk and cold.

Micah was stepping onto the stone path to cross the river without realizing he was moving. His horse was a step behind him. They reached the bank, stepping on to Lyotian ground without fanfare. Micah patted Kyribe's sweat-flecked neck in reassurance, for both of them.

The elk watched them a moment longer. The thunder came again, louder and stronger this time. It made Micah grimace. It was going to be a cold, wet ride down the mountainside towards the first Lyotian city of Mesrev. If they were lucky, they would reach it by tomorrow afternoon.

Micah walked around to Kyribe's left side, and swung up easily into the saddle. He took the reins and shook them out. Kyribe picked his way through the rocks as they left the river behind them. The stag watched them for several heartbeats, and then with a powerful burst of energy, he wheeled around, and disappeared into the forest.

Kyribe paused, watching. They continued to move forward, heading for where the king of the forest had gone. When they reached where he had stood, Micah glanced at the ground looking for the mark of his hooves. There were none.

He frowned, jumping down from the saddle. His horse huffed, shaking his head repeatedly. There was no track upon the ground where the elk had stood or walked. The knee-high field grass was not broken nor showed any sign of the passage of the stag.

A prickling uneasiness settled between Micah's shoulder blades as he stared at the forest looming before him.

'There's your sign, *shaed*. Satisfied?' He thought mockingly.