BLUMIU'S PROFILE

Grey and Garland Theofoar had been sent out to Herron Pass and surrounding areas the day after the attack, a three days ride with no trace of the prince fallen from the high road. This left the Queen in despair, but as Garland had put it, gave some hope of the young heir’s survival. Grey could not disagree, but being whisked away without evidence was too fanciful to put hopes in.

Even so, these last few years had put considerable strain on Grey at this point. Sleep was tiresome and the days past without fruit for his labor. Even his betrothal to Cecilie had been delayed on account of time away, but out of some madness of her own, she remained patient. And here it was now, this letter left on his desk without messenger.

“To Bergho by steed, continue hence to find thy Prince.” It read in Olde Dalorian, writing only learned would understand.

The young prince. It need not say more. Grey bolted out his office for the nearest envoy. His feet had to be restrained from carrying him straight to his manteen while his mind instructed him the proper course. This was urgent, dire, and he felt time of the most essence.

“Sellen!” Grey called to a fellow knight, engaged in conversation through an open door.

“Yes?” he replied, noting the urgency in Grey’s voice.

“Who’s the envoy?”

“I believe Gwendle. Last I saw she was by the commissary—”

Grey was already gone before Sellen could finish.

Even with hope literally in his grasp, something did not sit well with him. Not that a furtive letter speaking of the prince was clue enough, but the timing as well.

The commissary hall held few during the hour save those taking a spell from their duties. It did not take long before Grey’s sharp eye found Gwendle engaged with an official, parting a message before heading on.

He waited about shortly before urgency overtook him and thought to politely as possible interrupt, but thankfully she broke away just as he approached.

“Gwendle.” Grey addressed, catching her attention.

“Ah, Ser Patrick. How can I help you?” asked the freckled dame.

“A letter was left for me earlier. I need know who delivered it.”

The girl thought a moment, nudging a finger beneath her lip. “Hm, all I can recall Ser is that it was already left to be delivered. No one made mention of the deliverer.”

It seemed a small chance then that anything amiss could be learned. Just as easy to pay a currier or merchant to deliver it without knowing. The trail of the recipient ended cold, all there left to do was follow the trail they left him.

“Grey!” he heard called out as he hurried to the stables.

Upon looking back, Garland headed his way. Impeccable timing, this man had.

Before Garland could put in a word, Grey was quick with the tongue. “I’ve a lead on the prince.” he whispered to his friend.

It was all that need be said for Garland to freeze in his tracks, his face stripped off character before the shock released him. “How?”

“I cannot explain now, but here.” Grey passed on the letter to which Garland examined it quickly before closing it.

“You will go alone.” he confirmed first with his steely blue eyes.

Grey nodded. “Too little time to make a plan. See what you can learn of this letter. If I can send word, I shall. If you don’t hear from me in reasonable time, you know what need be done.”
Garland withheld his hesitance, understanding the risk to not outweigh his comrade’s skill. “I will speak to Cecielle for you then.”

And then there was that matter. Without a word Grey smiled, patting Garland on his pauldron and continued on.

The two men understood one another well; howbeit it was through the sword of rivalry, Grey could find no other more worthy of trust and respect he had earned at his age. They knew one another through their fathers growing up, possibly would have been good friends if Garland had not spent so much time in study. That was the kind of person he was though and earned where he stood.

Grey mounted his faithful Sauren and raced from Nuefrost from the east passage. Directly overhead as he came into the pale morning light hissed and roared the engines of an air-car. A trade type from its bulky body and yellow sails.

Bergho was a bordering town between the realms of Nuefraust and Midwan. Formerly the main route of trade ten years before Veronica Hope was built. A question arose from this because what the letter said and the different between Veronica Hope and Bergho. Bergho had no air cars or aerial transports.

Since the Unified Pact, the Huema kingdoms formed a treaty with the Aerolite of Gale and Ariem of Aludra. Benefiting greatly from Gale, their advancements and understanding in mechanization were beyond them. Veronica stemmed from this while Bergho was faded from memory.

Arriving at a pasture known as a marker three miles of Bergho, he felt this good a place as any for an encounter. The fold was empty just a ways down into the stony plain, while a shack and old stone remnant of the past scattered to the right of the path. Traveling light, he wore a blue vest with chain links worked beneath the fabric and an old pair of leather trousers and boots. The only real armor he allowed himself was for his shield-arm. Cloaked over by a thick fur cape to protect from the wintry heights.

Aside from the old shepherd there was none else until descending midway down the mountain where Bergho rested. From here he had eye-level view of the magnificent silver thrones whose peaks shine like polished steel in the golden light. He wondered if all he beheld now would be choked out with black towers of smoke, the steam of ammunition ships and echoes of steel and battle-cries. Even though beauty was before him, Grey knew such things had come to pass before his time.
“By which way ye go, noble one?” Grey suddenly heard.

Startled, he nearly went for his dagger. Catching the figure of a man in his peripheral, it was hard to hide his alarm at being snuck up on at such close range. His manteen stood firm, snorting in contention at his master’s riling. Grey clenched down hard on his teeth as he faced the stranger.

“Was I to me you here?” he snapped.

The man held his peace, holding out an extended hand. Between his fingers was another slip of paper similar in off-tone color to the one found on his desk. There was no doubt, but…
Grey examined the man further for a moment. He did not recognize him of course, but bore all the features of a Nuefrolian from his keen, thin shaped nose and dulling beryl hairs of his head; countenance was unmistakable of a mountain dweller from his blistered cheeks from the north winds, wool attire that carried the scent of salt ore. A young miner, perhaps. However, his eyes stayed fixed upon Grey before he noticed they had not blinked.

Unsure what to make of it as he sensed no threat of danger, he steered his manteen closer. This was only a messenger paid coin for their part. “Let’s have it then.” Grey muttered, his left eye still locked with the strange fellow. As started to snatch away the letter, the image of Cecilie’s eerie old dolls in her mother’s house came to mind. It then became obvious to Grey once he paid closer attention. Trained in magik artes to combat Isalme’s knights, squires are taught to sense the life force of all things in order to measure levels of exposure to the abyss. This man had none.

It was too late to let go now. In a moment’s breath, Grey saw the thin glimmer of a string snap from the man’s index.

“Ho!” he shouted to his steed, but in vain. In a vaporous cloud the man was consumed and the force of the trap bomb lifted even Sauren from his hooves. He had just enough time to free his right leg and roll clear of the large animal, saving him from a crushed leg. He felt no real harm done. He’d been through worst blasts in his experiences. He had a permanent reminder, after all.

Quick to his feet, Grey steadied himself on knee and threw back his cloak as his broadsword sung into the highland air. White drags of steamy breath pumped from his lungs. The only movements before him were that of Sauren dragging himself to his feet, also relatively unharmed and the powdery smoke lifting into the air. That wasn’t meant to kill him, but what was coming next may well be.

His ear caught wind as it cut through the air, its steel vibrating a low pitch as it quickened toward the back of Grey’s head. Spinning about, he guarded what vital parts he could with his shield-arm and struck forth with the flat of the blade. The object struck and ricochet off, now leaving seconds before Grey expected the actual assault. He felt the heat within his tight grip as the blade began to hum louder as it coursed to the tip.

As the fire splintered forth from his sword, he plunged the blade into the ground. He felt the solid earth splinter and melt away and heat writhe about him in a ring of scorching fire. He heard someone cry out, licked by the flames before they could pause their strike. Behind! Grey drew his dagger dagger in a flash in a whirl of black ash as he came face to face with the attacker.

Clad in strange, black garbs from head to toe, he was able to lock gaze with the shocked assassin. Bright green eyes flashed as his dagger sought a place in his throat. To Grey’s astonishment, the blade was caught just before piercing through fabric between the palms of the masked assailant’s hands. Quickly letting go as a swift boot was about to be planted in his gut, Grey reach back for the grip of his blade and sent it splintering with earth and fire in hopes to catch them before getting to their feet.

Again they proved too fast. Another plume of white smoke erupted where they crouched and a gust of wind sent heat and debris back into Grey’s face. Keeping his foot planted as he retreated back, he knew it was over as he cursed beneath his breath. It was a brief distraction, but enough for the assassin to make their escape. At least this was twice they had failed in their objective.

Grey stood before the deep gash in the road and inhaled deep of the scorched soil. Only the peaceful howl of a mountain breeze that cooled his sudden exertion. He brushed back his disheveled length of hair and searched about for his mount. Ran off down the path more than likely. It wasn’t going anywhere he wasn’t. Sheathing his arms, Grey searched about the ground for the letter lost in the fray. He did happen upon a star shaped object lodged in the pasture fence.

Same as what was left behind Herron Pass. He glanced over at what had been the puppeteer body of the poor soul. Nothing left but tatters and blasted dirt. Someone got to the messenger first; it made little sense to attack him upon following direction. Now he knew two forces were at work here besides his own.