Duvodas
New Member
For those who have not read the previous two chapters, I recommend you to do so.
This chapter follows the events preceding Dedan's and Valanus' exploits, though they do not appear here. Enjoy it.
One last note: the chapter is not finished, the remaining part I will post soon.
Chapter 3: “Riddles of the Khar”
“Well done, Kenan,” the old man said while contemplating with a meticulous look the sight being bore by his elderly eyes. “It was a swift, yet essential victory for us.”
Kenan turned around just to see a soft-featured old man with a smile on his face, staring at him. The elder’s voice had taken him by surprise as he dispatched one of his officers who had reported the losses.
The Deltorian captain smiled too, articulating no word, for he had never found the right words to start a conversation with in the presence of the old man.
“It is the fight alone that pleases you, not the victory, isn’t it?” the old man asked, now looking at the black mask of the night.
Having the elder started the conversation; Kenan suddenly felt the words flowing out of his throat.
“Where did you come from,” his baffled voice resonated in the air, but the old man’s silence told him that he would not answer his question.
Instead, he decided to answer his.
“Indeed,” he said, “I am strategist, a warrior of the sword, a servant of the lord of the High Hills. Men like me do not enjoy victories. My mission is to fight the enemy until my heart gives up or my hands cannot bear a weapon anymore.”
“Then your mission will last short, my dear Kenan, for you will not hold too long before the steel of the foes rip you heart.”
Kenan glanced at the elder standing beside him, the moonlight, now getting everywhere since clouds had been occulting the moon, scattered through his white tunic rapidly, and shone upon his bold head, which radiated sparks of light as it if were a polished silver helmet, his white, long beard, falling on his breast. The old man did not wear any shoes, which had always puzzled everybody. His age was a mystery, and Kenan had sometimes brooded about it, finding no clue that could reveal it, however, he had never dared to ask him. Nevertheless, in his green eyes he could always see the flashes of youth.
The old man’s words had touched his heart deeply and hurt his self-pride.
“So be it!” he snapped. “Fate will decide whether I would die by the sword of the enemy or by the slight touch of the death as it sees that my old body will no longer respond to the commands of my head.”
The old man remained silent for a moment, staring at the nothingness ahead as the clouds again swallowed up the moonshine and left darkness and desolation.
“I apologize for my pessimistic behavior,” he said softly, his friendly voice soothing Kenan’s suddenly anger. “However, my mission here, which is greatly different from yours, is to offer my help to those who don’t need it, for their blind eyes cannot see that they need more than just help, and to tell the truth to those who do not want to hear it, for it is a constant delight to those who love her.”
Kenan, calmed now by the elder’s words, stared at him in confusion.
“What sort of spell did you cast on me?” he asked, surprised by the softness of his voice.
“I did not cast any spell on you, Kenan. It is your heart, who listens to the voice of wisdom and it’s clever enough to notice when a man’s soul is overwhelmed by despair, who has mitigated you rage.”
Now uncertainty filled the captain’s perplexed features.
“After almost twenty years of knowing you,” he said, “you still are a riddle to me, Khar. One I will never solve.”
“And you will not,” the Khar restated. His feet moved forward, and he walked.
Kenan felt as if an unseen hand pushed him forward towards the Khar, and he walked alongside him without saying a word, expecting the old man to break the uneasiness as he always did.
“This place fills my soul with sorrow,” the Khar suddenly said and his voice sadness dwelt. “The blood of good men was spilled in this fight, and now the soil absorbs it. Today many women won’t see their sons or their husbands come back home. Soon despair will spread through this land, filling with misery the hearts of young men and women who do not know the fury of war,” he stamped his shoeless foot on the ground and led the soil spread through his foot and nails, and he felt the ground’s lament as he closed his eyes.
“This is only the beginning,” he said, a tear ran upon his cheek and he sighed.
“Somehow your behavior tells me that this battle was nothing compared to what is approaching,” Kenan said as he watched the Khar’s face, covered by the black veil of the night.
“I would not say it was a battle, but a skirmish,” the Khar’s voice sounded strong again. “These men were just the vanguard of an army that is coming to conquer this land… and the world. The real battle has yet to be fought.”
Kenan’s face darkened as he heard the Khar’s words.
“What have you seen, old man?” he seemed calm as he spoke, but his voice showed the opposite.
The Khar smiled, he had been expecting this question.
“I’ve seen it all, and yet nothing,” he answered.
“Your words are a puzzle, Khar.”
“One you will never solve as well.”
Kenan said nothing; instead, he bowed his head back and forth, a smile softening his features.
“Isn’t truth a beauty?”
A smile also embellished the Khar’s face, but then he was serious again.
“You need to train and prepare as much men for this war as you can,” he said, “There would be no mercy among the enemy. They bring death and desolation to every place they go, and they are each day closer to us.”
“How much close?” Kenan questioned the Khar.
“However,” the elder said as if he had been interrupted by the soldier, “the Deltorians need to unify in order to fight this war, for they cannot fight it alone.”
“Unify?” Kenan asked in amazement. “That is just ridiculous! Deltorians have never been unified, not since the time of the Great King; he was the only one who did such a thing, and there has not been other Great King since.”
“That does not mean that there can’t be other one. The Deltorians are the only people who can save this world from the menace of the Black Knights, for they are the descendants of the Great King and in their veins his blood flows.”
“We can be all you want, but we are not sorcerers. If the army that you are describing is real then we are all lost.”
“Not if the Great King comes back to life.”
Kenan chuckled. “Khar, have you lost your senses? Where are you getting this stupidity from?”
A moment of silence followed.
“I apologize, Khar,” said the captain realizing that he had gone too far. “I wonder from time to time if I should cut my tongue, sometimes it can be as sharp as steel.”
The elder bent to the ground and collected a small amount of soil in his hands, and then he straightened, letting the earth fall from his hands like a waterfall.
“Words can’t be as sharp as the ones that come from your heart; however those you said came rather from your mind, therefore I shall forgive you.”
Kenan nodded in agreement but said nothing.
“Remember this, captain: Faith is the last thing a man should lose,” the Khar looked deep into Kenan’s black eyes and saw his frightened, yet confused soul struggling inside.
Kenan shivered.
“I haven’t lost my faith,” he hurried to said, “I’m just being realistic.” “Reality is merely an illusion.”
Kenan frowned. “Old times are things of the past and written as legends. Nobody has been able to find neither the Sword of Flame nor the Shield of Deltor, we don’t even know if they really existed.”
“They do exist, Kenan,” the Khar said. “They have been waiting for the right one for ages, waiting for the Great King to bear them in battle one more time.”
“Once more you puzzle me, old man.”
“No as much as I puzzle myself.”
Kenan sighed and lost himself in thought.
“You do not believe me, do you?” the Khar asked him.
“I’m not sure, Khar, I’m sorry; what you say confuses my mind.”
“That’s why men like you do not understand my words, since in order to understand them you have to believe me,” he said, keeping his voice soft and firm.
“Maybe I cannot understand your words, but I can understand that what you’re saying is senseless!”
The Khar looked at the Deltorian, finding on his gaze the uncertainty of his troubled soul.
“Then I have nothing else to do but to whish you farewell, my friend. We shall meet again, sooner than you think,” and he walked away, leaving Kenan alone with his thoughts.
“Farewell, old man,” Kenan whispered but the Khar was already gone.
This chapter follows the events preceding Dedan's and Valanus' exploits, though they do not appear here. Enjoy it.
One last note: the chapter is not finished, the remaining part I will post soon.
Chapter 3: “Riddles of the Khar”
“Well done, Kenan,” the old man said while contemplating with a meticulous look the sight being bore by his elderly eyes. “It was a swift, yet essential victory for us.”
Kenan turned around just to see a soft-featured old man with a smile on his face, staring at him. The elder’s voice had taken him by surprise as he dispatched one of his officers who had reported the losses.
The Deltorian captain smiled too, articulating no word, for he had never found the right words to start a conversation with in the presence of the old man.
“It is the fight alone that pleases you, not the victory, isn’t it?” the old man asked, now looking at the black mask of the night.
Having the elder started the conversation; Kenan suddenly felt the words flowing out of his throat.
“Where did you come from,” his baffled voice resonated in the air, but the old man’s silence told him that he would not answer his question.
Instead, he decided to answer his.
“Indeed,” he said, “I am strategist, a warrior of the sword, a servant of the lord of the High Hills. Men like me do not enjoy victories. My mission is to fight the enemy until my heart gives up or my hands cannot bear a weapon anymore.”
“Then your mission will last short, my dear Kenan, for you will not hold too long before the steel of the foes rip you heart.”
Kenan glanced at the elder standing beside him, the moonlight, now getting everywhere since clouds had been occulting the moon, scattered through his white tunic rapidly, and shone upon his bold head, which radiated sparks of light as it if were a polished silver helmet, his white, long beard, falling on his breast. The old man did not wear any shoes, which had always puzzled everybody. His age was a mystery, and Kenan had sometimes brooded about it, finding no clue that could reveal it, however, he had never dared to ask him. Nevertheless, in his green eyes he could always see the flashes of youth.
The old man’s words had touched his heart deeply and hurt his self-pride.
“So be it!” he snapped. “Fate will decide whether I would die by the sword of the enemy or by the slight touch of the death as it sees that my old body will no longer respond to the commands of my head.”
The old man remained silent for a moment, staring at the nothingness ahead as the clouds again swallowed up the moonshine and left darkness and desolation.
“I apologize for my pessimistic behavior,” he said softly, his friendly voice soothing Kenan’s suddenly anger. “However, my mission here, which is greatly different from yours, is to offer my help to those who don’t need it, for their blind eyes cannot see that they need more than just help, and to tell the truth to those who do not want to hear it, for it is a constant delight to those who love her.”
Kenan, calmed now by the elder’s words, stared at him in confusion.
“What sort of spell did you cast on me?” he asked, surprised by the softness of his voice.
“I did not cast any spell on you, Kenan. It is your heart, who listens to the voice of wisdom and it’s clever enough to notice when a man’s soul is overwhelmed by despair, who has mitigated you rage.”
Now uncertainty filled the captain’s perplexed features.
“After almost twenty years of knowing you,” he said, “you still are a riddle to me, Khar. One I will never solve.”
“And you will not,” the Khar restated. His feet moved forward, and he walked.
Kenan felt as if an unseen hand pushed him forward towards the Khar, and he walked alongside him without saying a word, expecting the old man to break the uneasiness as he always did.
“This place fills my soul with sorrow,” the Khar suddenly said and his voice sadness dwelt. “The blood of good men was spilled in this fight, and now the soil absorbs it. Today many women won’t see their sons or their husbands come back home. Soon despair will spread through this land, filling with misery the hearts of young men and women who do not know the fury of war,” he stamped his shoeless foot on the ground and led the soil spread through his foot and nails, and he felt the ground’s lament as he closed his eyes.
“This is only the beginning,” he said, a tear ran upon his cheek and he sighed.
“Somehow your behavior tells me that this battle was nothing compared to what is approaching,” Kenan said as he watched the Khar’s face, covered by the black veil of the night.
“I would not say it was a battle, but a skirmish,” the Khar’s voice sounded strong again. “These men were just the vanguard of an army that is coming to conquer this land… and the world. The real battle has yet to be fought.”
Kenan’s face darkened as he heard the Khar’s words.
“What have you seen, old man?” he seemed calm as he spoke, but his voice showed the opposite.
The Khar smiled, he had been expecting this question.
“I’ve seen it all, and yet nothing,” he answered.
“Your words are a puzzle, Khar.”
“One you will never solve as well.”
Kenan said nothing; instead, he bowed his head back and forth, a smile softening his features.
“Isn’t truth a beauty?”
A smile also embellished the Khar’s face, but then he was serious again.
“You need to train and prepare as much men for this war as you can,” he said, “There would be no mercy among the enemy. They bring death and desolation to every place they go, and they are each day closer to us.”
“How much close?” Kenan questioned the Khar.
“However,” the elder said as if he had been interrupted by the soldier, “the Deltorians need to unify in order to fight this war, for they cannot fight it alone.”
“Unify?” Kenan asked in amazement. “That is just ridiculous! Deltorians have never been unified, not since the time of the Great King; he was the only one who did such a thing, and there has not been other Great King since.”
“That does not mean that there can’t be other one. The Deltorians are the only people who can save this world from the menace of the Black Knights, for they are the descendants of the Great King and in their veins his blood flows.”
“We can be all you want, but we are not sorcerers. If the army that you are describing is real then we are all lost.”
“Not if the Great King comes back to life.”
Kenan chuckled. “Khar, have you lost your senses? Where are you getting this stupidity from?”
A moment of silence followed.
“I apologize, Khar,” said the captain realizing that he had gone too far. “I wonder from time to time if I should cut my tongue, sometimes it can be as sharp as steel.”
The elder bent to the ground and collected a small amount of soil in his hands, and then he straightened, letting the earth fall from his hands like a waterfall.
“Words can’t be as sharp as the ones that come from your heart; however those you said came rather from your mind, therefore I shall forgive you.”
Kenan nodded in agreement but said nothing.
“Remember this, captain: Faith is the last thing a man should lose,” the Khar looked deep into Kenan’s black eyes and saw his frightened, yet confused soul struggling inside.
Kenan shivered.
“I haven’t lost my faith,” he hurried to said, “I’m just being realistic.” “Reality is merely an illusion.”
Kenan frowned. “Old times are things of the past and written as legends. Nobody has been able to find neither the Sword of Flame nor the Shield of Deltor, we don’t even know if they really existed.”
“They do exist, Kenan,” the Khar said. “They have been waiting for the right one for ages, waiting for the Great King to bear them in battle one more time.”
“Once more you puzzle me, old man.”
“No as much as I puzzle myself.”
Kenan sighed and lost himself in thought.
“You do not believe me, do you?” the Khar asked him.
“I’m not sure, Khar, I’m sorry; what you say confuses my mind.”
“That’s why men like you do not understand my words, since in order to understand them you have to believe me,” he said, keeping his voice soft and firm.
“Maybe I cannot understand your words, but I can understand that what you’re saying is senseless!”
The Khar looked at the Deltorian, finding on his gaze the uncertainty of his troubled soul.
“Then I have nothing else to do but to whish you farewell, my friend. We shall meet again, sooner than you think,” and he walked away, leaving Kenan alone with his thoughts.
“Farewell, old man,” Kenan whispered but the Khar was already gone.
