11 - The Olyar Clan
Tariel
“Cassian!”
The name was shouted out quite loudly. One of the warriors dismounted and then looked up at the mercenary, who was still holding the elf close. A good dozen men on horseback surrounded them.
“May the heavens bear witness… The oracles had foretold the return of a stormbird! My brother… Welcome back to our lands. Who is this elf accompanying you?”
“I’m glad to see you again, Rhazek, my brother.”
Cassian smiled as he dismounted, which the man named Rhazek was observing with curiosity before turning his gaze to Tariel, who felt strangely alone on his horse.
The two men embraced briefly, before the mercenary added, “I knew I’d find you thanks to your gift.
Let me introduce you to Tariel. As for the reason I’ve come to your territory… Phineas Morgraves.”
Rhazek’s expression darkened with a mix of intrigue and concern, which unsettled the elf.
“Cassian, what have you done? Did you provoke him?”
“Let’s just say we had a few… disagreements. And I reduced part of his army to ashes with my… traveling companion. Tariel, right here.”
“You… what?”
The elf swallowed slowly, wincing as his throat clicked loudly, then dismounted. However, he didn’t move far from his mount, ready to flee if necessary, while casting an uncertain glance at Rhazek.
His skin was the color of lively, sunbaked earth.
Tall, with a lean and wiry build, he did not possess the Guards of the Star’s massive frame, but rather lean muscles that seemed sculpted for endurance.
His features were angular, dominated by high cheekbones and an aquiline nose that gave him the air of a nocturnal bird of prey, and his eyes—black and piercing as obsidian—shone with an intimidating intelligence.
Long, jet-black hair—smooth and thick—fell to his shoulder blades.
It was partially gathered into a few thin braids at the sides, adorned with carved bone beads and small stormbird feathers that fluttered at the slightest breeze.
Tariel felt uneasy—it was written all over his face and in the way he twisted the hem of his sleeves, betraying a fear that oozed from every pore of his skin.
Slowly, his gaze drifted downward, continuing his silent inspection, two men’s voices fading into a distant murmur as his heart pounded in his ears.
The man—Rhazek—wore a tunic of supple hide that looked weathered by years of travel, and braided leather armbands engraved with symbols the elf did not recognize, much to his displeasure. Hanging from his braided rope belt were pouches and two light daggers with bone hilts, which made him wince.
It was too much. Too many people, too many strangers…
There was no way for him to know if this Rhazek—so tall and intimidating—was going to attack him, just as the Morgraves had.
He, who knew so much about everything, had never in his life heard of such a people.
“Savage” was the word that came to mind at that moment…
but were they really savage, if they knew Cassian?
And besides—since when had Cassian become a point of reference for Tariel?!
He was only half-listening to what was being said, too busy staring at Rhazek, when the mercenary’s muttered words prompted him to look up.
“I’m… I’m going to fall…”
“What? My brother?!”
Cassian collapsed suddenly, caught just in time by Rhazek, who was clearly leading this group.
“A healer! He needs a healer, now!”
Cassian had lost consciousness.
Again.
Tariel’s heart was pounding against his chest, and yet he stood frozen, overcome with distress. His thoughts were spiraling as he stared at his companion’s motionless body.
By the stars, Cassian… Why keep doing this to me? Can’t you stay awake for more than two seconds?!
Once again, he didn’t know what to do. He felt helpless.
His lips parted slightly, his breath trembling; his face was so tense that one might have thought he was holding his breath.
They hurriedly lifted Cassian’s body and hoisted him onto a mount. Rhazek then turned to the elf, his eyes full of tension. This time, the mercenary’s friend addressed him directly.
“What happened?!”
He didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to be alone, nor did he want to speak to this man he didn’t know—a man who, at the slightest misstep, could potentially lock him up.
Again.
A silence fell as Tariel tried to compose himself, seeking comfort from his horse by caressing its soft fur.
He eventually cleared his throat, weighing his words carefully.
“Cassian and I crossed paths during our respective journeys, just a few weeks ago. After traveling together through the lands of Morgraves for a while, we ran into… Phineas Morgraves and his army. A confrontation ensued. Apparently, that man wanted Cassian’s powers—I guess he wanted…
an alliance? Some sort of collaboration. As for me…”
The elf paused, nervously bringing a hand to his ear, before continuing, choosing to omit certain details.
“Anywho, Cassian was weakened by a poison and we got locked away in a creepy dungeon. We managed to escape, barely, but he was still weakened, and all of this took place, um… very recently. Today, we’re on the run.
They found us one day—or maybe two days?
—ago, and we had to fight. While the poison is now out of his system, he wasn’t in any condition to expend that much energy, but… ”
Tariel hesitated before blurting out, consumed by guilt, “It was necessary to get to you in one piece.”
When he had finished speaking, the elf looked up at Rhazek, gazing at him with a determination that outweighed the fear visible in his eyes.
“I don’t want to be separated from Cassian. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to go with him.”
The warrior, imposing in stature, listened to him intently before casting a worried glance at his unconscious friend.
“I had no intention of separating you. Cassian is at home, with the clan… Are you injured? We have a camp a little further up the hill. It’s only a few minutes away. You need to rest, eat, and freshen up.”
As he spoke, Rhazek hoisted Cassian onto his own mount with the help of another man with bronze-colored skin before mounting his own horse, continuing as he did so.
“Judging by the look on your faces, a good night’s sleep wouldn’t hurt—we’re on the border between Morgraves and Veylaris, but you’re safe here. ”
He then addressed his men in a foreign language, in a commanding but non-aggressive tone. The mercenary, whose build was so different from Rhazek’s, seemed almost lifeless. His exhausted appearance was worrisome.
“Follow us.”
Well, that wasn’t scary at all.
Pfft. Yeah, right.
He heard a whistle, and the horses set off at a gallop toward the camp, the horde surrounding the elf. In the distance, the storm rumbled.
“Let’s hurry. We need to find shelter as soon as possible.”
Tariel nodded, without saying a word to the… clan leader? King? General? He had no idea. And to tell the truth, he didn’t care. For now, it was Cassian’s condition that worried him. That, and…
“Brynjar,” he said mentally, “I have a question for you. It’s very important. Take your time answering. Do you understand?”
“Of course, my Master,” replied the golem’s voice in his mind.
“Brynjar… Among the soldiers who captured us yesterday, and those who attacked us today… did you, too, sense the Shadow?”
A long silence followed his question as Tariel galloped toward the camp.
He hadn’t told anyone about his suspicions. He hadn’t even had time to dwell on it himself, amid all the other urgent matters.
But he knew.
He knew that something was wrong. He was almost certain that a Shadow of Nythral had been following him since he left.
Their illusions were perfect, except to mages powerful enough…
or capable of replicating them, and he had sensed that magic, so close to him, during the first clash with the Morgraves.
Was he being spied on by his own kingdom? Or was he simply paranoid?
He hoped Brynjar had an answer for him.
The horde’s increased pace brought them to their destination sooner than expected, where a few women had come out of the camps, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and caution. The horses slowed down on their own, as if they already knew the place.
Tariel dismounted, hoping it would be for the last time that day. He thanked the mare with a kiss on the snout, then let her dissipate into the air to join his other familiars.
The Olyar camp had a rugged charm, resembling a small nomadic village… which was probably exactly what it was. Perhaps he should have paid more attention in his history and geography classes.
Rhazek’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Tariel, this is my wife, Seris. You’ll be safe here. “
The elf turned his head to see the woman being introduced to him. She stepped forward with a confident stride, her face painted with symbolic markings, her lips black, a fierce gleam in her eyes. Long, deep-black hair cascaded down to her lower back.
“Nice to—”
“Cassian? What’s he doing here?! Rhazek, don’t tell me that—”
“He’s not dead. Just exhausted and drained of his strength.”
Tariel didn’t have time to get a word in.
Seris’s reaction—vivid and decisive—had been quicker. He couldn’t blame her: he shared her concern, even if he didn’t show it. His face, marked by fatigue and anxiety, was enough to betray what he was keeping to himself.
However, the elf was well-mannered, and this… clan seemed to welcome him despite his race. The least he could do was introduce himself politely… “Etiquette, Tariel!” growled a voice in his mind, his father’s words echoing back like an unpleasant reverberation.
“Despite the circumstances, I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Seris. I sincerely thank you for welcoming us so generously. I am indebted to you.”
He bowed slightly, one hand pressed against his heart. He knew how to be impeccable when he wanted to be. After all, he represented his people; he had to be diplomatic… as long as no one tried to imprison or kill him, at least.