Abbalar Tales ~ 8

 Abbalar Tales ~ 8 Meyam 

By Len Morgan

Six hours later, Aldor was riding in a sou-easterly direction, through the forests of Llandor.   The road was wide enough to allow three to ride abreast, or for two riders in opposition to pass without breaking stride.  The trees were gradually encroaching on the road, and the sky was almost completely hidden, by the verdant canopy, allowing only sporadic beams of light to relieve the otherwise constant gloom.   It was a secondary road, not a main road; Wizomi had chosen it specifically because it was little used.   He was therefore unlikely to be passed, or seen by over-many travellers.   There were blind turns that made speed impossible.   He, therefore, rode at an easy canter and, after a few painful clashes, he learned to keep his head low, to avoid overhanging branches, and his eyes set firmly on the road ahead.

 Wizomi had informed him, the journey would take two weeks.   He had been given a list of safe Inns and private residences where he would be welcome.

"Though you may have to sing for your supper," Wizomi had warned him.

"Huh!" Genna smirked "So you've not heard him sing yet?"

 Wizomi just smiled and handed him a letter of introduction: To Whom It May Concern…  

Genna suggested "if you're not able to reach one of those safe houses, camp some way off the road.  You won't know how close the 'dog soldiers' are to you, or even if they have passed you in the night, so be cautious and don't take any risks, I want you to return safely in one piece!"  

He smiled warmly recalling that precious memory.   She had changed a lot in the nine short weeks they had been together, then he realised, so had he.   She had metamorphosed, from a gangly, flat chested, spindly-legged girl, into a well rounded desirable and quite beautiful, 'very beautiful woman' he thought.   What is more, she knew exactly the effect she was having on the men around her and used her newfound magic to devastating effect.   She had also grown several inches taller than him in that time, 'best not be too long away’ he thought 'or she will outgrow me altogether.'    He smiled inwardly fingering a medallion, on a chain; she hung it around his neck as a parting gift before kissing him goodbye.   On later examination he found it to be a thin flat sheathed blade.

"You can use it for cutting paper, rope and string," she had told him tearfully.  

If he’d read the map correctly, there would be a small side track to his left, about a mile ahead, it should take him to the first safe house on Wizomi's list.   He had not ridden any real distance for some time and was becoming distinctly saddle sore.

.-…-. 

Aldor had left several hours before Genna took centre stage, for the first time, to tell a new story.   It was one they had all laboured to perfect.   Later, when questioned, they both maintained Aldor had returned to Pylodor that morning.   A trip he had been planning for weeks.

Wizomi was of the weirding caste, which naturally made him a good storyteller, he had no fear of the Huren singly or collectively.   He could weave spells that would entrance, enchant, confuse, or kill.   He could bind the most discriminating minds and make them totally believe in whatever he wished them to believe.  His magic was not limited to the secrets of his caste; he had the knowledge, to employ subliminal suggestion, to bind normal humans to his will.   Consequently, when the Huren left, at his instigation, they split their force.   Five were heading for Pylodor, the others for Hartwell, in the feudal Meyam states.   Before they left town, Jazim carefully scrutinised all the citizens she met in the town but found no familiar faces.

Wizomi smiled 'funny stuff magic,' he thought, 'the smaller the spell the more potent its action…'

'For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,' a voice in his mind replied, 'what news Wiz?'

'Aldor is on his way along the old road Orden.  The hounds have taken the main road with extra mounts, so it will be a close-run thing.   The boy has an excellent mind for one so young.   He is arrogant, self-centred, and his hormones still rule his mind.   In other words, he is just a normal fifteen year old but, with training, he will make an extraordinary co-ordinator.'

'Well, you have done your part Wiz, do I detect a note of affection?'

Wizomi just smiled but said nothing.

 

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan