Eryshae

ε૨ყรɦαε

Vael

The Druid rode beside Sam like he belonged there.

Vael's grip on her reins tightened, her knuckles pale against the leather. From her vantage behind them, she watched the slow, rhythmic sway of the donkey beside Sam's mount, the way the Druid's presence seemed to cast a stillness over the air. No threat, no flare of magic. But it was the quiet that worried her most.

Druids were rarely still unless they chose to be.

She studied him; his weathered hands, the tattered hem of his moss-wrapped cloak, the carved staff strapped to his back. All looked like they could belong to one of her people, a clansman of the Eryshae; his coloration, his craft. But that meant nothing. Druids answered to no nation. They walked through them. Born from all Ten, shaped by none. Their loyalty was older, colder. They held life in one hand and destruction in the other, and they did not always announce which hand they'd raised until it was too late to stop them.

Her heart beat faster as she watched the two ride together in easy rhythm. Sam sat tall in the saddle, relaxed on the surface; but she knew him better than most. The lines of tension in his jaw, the tilt of his head, the way his eyes kept flicking to the Druid's periphery; he was reading him, calculating.

Good. He should. But why was the Druid here? Why now? She considered the implications. If he was Eryshae, this could be an attempt at a silent blessing, a protective gesture toward the title of Vice-Chief. That was the generous interpretation.

But if he wasn't...

She straightened slightly in the saddle, her jaw tightening. If that Druid laid so much as a finger on Sam with ill intent;

Consequences be damned.

Vael drew in a slow breath through her nose, forcing the warmth of the rising sun to steady her. She couldn't risk this mission; not with the balance between the cities already hanging by a thread. One misstep here could be read as insult. A defensive action misread as aggression. An overstep interpreted as guilt.

Still.

If he hurt Sam, she would burn every pretense of courtesy to the ground. She gathered herself, preparing to nudge her raccoon forward; ready to insert herself between Sam and the Druid if need be. She reached for the reins with intention, her mind already composing the exact tone she would use to disarm or defend.

A gloved hand touched her arm. "Don't do anything rash, Princess." Vael turned. Commander Sidney Toya's voice was low, calm. Her expression unreadable. "Vice-Chief Sam is safe," Sidney added quietly. "He's in our hands." Vael met her eyes. For a moment, silence passed between them; sharp and mutual.

Then Vael exhaled, just once, through her nose. She gave the smallest of nods and reined her mount back in. The Druid continued riding beside Sam, talking now in low tones she couldn't quite hear. But her gaze didn't leave him. Not once. And if the Druid did move against Sam, there would be no warnings. No words. Just action, and absolute destruction of his Grove.

Vael's attention had not strayed from the Druid since the moment he appeared. But now; his head turned slightly, just enough to glance back across the column of riders, and his gaze settled directly on her. It was not the sweeping glance of a stranger taking stock of the curious. It was precise. Intentional. Knowing.

His donkey slowed to allow her to draw closer, and when she did not immediately respond, he lifted a hand; not a beckon, not quite; but a subtle gesture of invitation. "I see you watching, Princess," the Druid said, his voice rough like wind through dry leaves, yet warm in a strange, familiar way. "Why don't you come join us, rather than fret from behind like a storm cloud chasing sun?"

Vael hesitated for only a breath, then clicked her tongue against her teeth and urged her raccoon forward. Sidney's eyes flicked toward her; watching, but allowing. The Druid, Magnolia, smiled beneath a hood shadowed with strands of moss and carved bone. "That's better," he said, voice low, as she reached Sam's other side. "Now we have balance. One of the trunk," he gestured to Sam. "One of the branches," his eyes flicked to her, knowing far too much. "And one of the roots."

Sam shot her a sidelong glance, brows raised; clearly confused but not yet unsettled. Not like Vael was, with her every instinct at high alert and yet… some part of her drawn to the uncanny serenity rolling off the man. There was something in his presence; like the smell of ancient soil after a storm. Something timeless. "I had a dream," Magnolia said softly, eyes ahead now, one hand loosely holding his reins. "A simple one. I was to be on this road at this hour. I would know what to do when I saw it."

"And now?" Sam asked, cautious but respectful. "You've seen it?" The Druid's smile crept back, faint and sharp. He turned slightly toward Sam, eyes narrowing. "It's clear," he said, "that I am to train this young lad in our ways." Vael's eyes widened slightly, and Sam let out a quiet huff of disbelief; but Magnolia kept speaking.

"Especially," the Druid murmured, reaching out to motion subtly toward Sam's right arm, "before this runs rampant." He didn't touch it; just gestured toward the faint, vine-like patterns glowing beneath the skin, that ethereal bioluminescence pulsing slowly beneath Sam's sleeve. The markings that had begun appearing.

"You need help, boy," Magnolia continued, matter-of-fact. "You don't know what you're feeding. And you wouldn't want to hurt your lady, now would you?" Vael stiffened. Sam did too, but more from the shot of heat that climbed up his neck than anything else. "I would never;"

"She is in danger," Magnolia cut in gently. "Perhaps not yet in the way you think, but your roots are already intertwined. Better to train with care than to snap them by accident." Vael spoke then, voice sharp and steady. "What do you know about him?" Magnolia looked at her, and his eyes were ancient. Not wise in the soft way of lorekeepers or priests. Old. Like soil remembers blood, like forests remember fire.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I know what calls," he said simply. "And what answers." Then he looked ahead again, letting the silence settle. Only the soft sound of paws and donkey steps on the road filled the space between them. "I will teach him," Magnolia added after a moment. "And he will either learn discipline… or disaster."

Vael's breath came slow, steady; but her heart beat like a drum beneath her ribs. And Sam… Sam said nothing. Not yet.

Vael straightened in her saddle, the subtle tension in her spine blooming into something firmer; measured, official. She reined her raccoon slightly ahead of Sam and Magnolia, her voice cool, authoritative.

"We are on a vital mission," she said, loud enough for only the three of them to hear. "To the city of Emberhold, on behalf of the Eryshae Tribe. Our success; or failure; may determine whether our people have food for winter. Medicine for the sick. Peace with our neighbors. This is not the time for unscheduled… detours."

Magnolia didn't flinch. He didn't even look offended. His smile only deepened, eyes twinkling with something between amusement and pity, as if he were a great stone watching a child try to command the tide. He nodded slowly, as if agreeing with the weather. "Ah, yes. The usual," he said, half to himself. "Food. Money. Trade. Things to weigh and measure in the sun."

Then he turned his head toward her, just slightly. "I'm not stopping your mission, Princess. I'll be tagging along. Quiet-like. And helping your man." Vael opened her mouth to argue; but Magnolia was already looking away again. His presence was hard to pin down; neither deferential nor rude. Just… inevitable.

Sam let out a breath, uncertain, eyes flicking between the two of them. But the Druid turned his focus to him now, as if the rest of the world had faded to fog around them. "Now," Magnolia said, in that same soft tone that somehow sliced through armor, "when did the light start showing in your veins, lad?"

Sam tensed. His gaze dropped to his forearm, sleeve pulled halfway up his wrist where the faint bioluminescent vines curled like living runes beneath the skin. He hesitated. Vael, watching him from the corner of her eye, felt the deep stirrings of fear; not for their mission, not for the Druid's strange boldness; but for Sam. For what he might say next.

Vael leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening around the reins. She could feel the answer perched on the edge of his tongue; something vulnerable, something dangerous. Her heartbeat quickened, her instincts screaming caution, even as her gut screamed protection.

Before Sam could speak, a low voice cut through the moment like the snap of a taut bowstring. "Princess," Commander Sidney said from behind, her voice low but crisp. "Cardinal Serene Liri requests your presence. She's waiting just ahead.

Vael blinked, torn for the briefest second between her obligation and her instinct to stay; to keep eyes on the Druid. But she knew Sidney too well; the commander wouldn't interrupt lightly. Still, Vael hesitated.

Vael held Sidney's gaze for another heartbeat… then turned her head, slowly, to Magnolia. The Druid met her eyes. He gave her a subtle nod of respect; as if to say, go ahead, Princess. This won't take long. Vael's jaw tightened, but she gave Sam one final, lingering look full of longing and protectiveness, then nudged her raccoon forward and rode ahead toward the Cardinal's retinue, her posture straight, her mind a storm.

Vael rode forward, her raccoon's paws crunching softly against the sun-dried road as the chatter of the Druid faded behind her. She didn't look back, though every fiber of her being wanted to. Magnolia's presence stirred a deep unease in her; Druids were always like that. Mysterious. Unpredictable. Capable of tending seedlings or splitting mountains with the same unblinking calm.

Inside, the scent of lavender and parchment enveloped her. Cardinal Serene Liri sat amidst plush cushions, an open folio in her lap. Her robes were green now with veins of gold embroidery, her hair bound in silver-threaded cords. She looked up and offered a gentle smile as Vael entered and sat across from her.

"Your Highness," Liri said smoothly, voice as polished as water over stone. "You look troubled." Vael smoothed her tunic and squared her shoulders. "A Druid has joined our escort. He's riding with Sam." Liri's smile didn't falter. "Yes. I saw." Vael's gaze sharpened. "You knew?"

"I had a feeling, and based on his appearance," the Cardinal replied, closing her folio. "Magnolia is not one of ours, but his presence is... auspicious. The old ways rarely explain themselves before they unfold."

"That doesn't answer why he's here now," Vael said, her voice low. "Or why he claims to be training Sam."

"Perhaps," Liri said softly, "because it is time someone did." Vael's expression hardened. "With respect, this is a mission, not a picnic. We're not here to indulge omens or initiate apprenticeships on a whim." Liri studied her, eyes wise and unreadable. "And yet the vines glow beneath his skin, Princess. That isn't whimsy. That's awakening. The earth has its own timing, regardless of treaties and trade agreements."

Vael felt her pulse quicken. "If Magnolia tries to use Sam;"

"Then you'll do what you must," Liri interrupted, not unkindly. "And so will I. But for now, let the forest speak. You and I were ordered by your father to help lead this." Vael didn't reply. She stared out the narrow window, where Sam rode ahead, Magnolia beside him, calm as the wind. "You love him," Liri said gently. Vael's lips parted, but no words came. Liri smiled, serene. "Then trust the rhythm of what is blooming."

The carriage rocked gently as it moved, the thick velvet curtains drawn partway open to let in slivers of the gray morning light. Across from Princess Vael, Cardinal Serene Liri sat with her hands folded in her lap, the gold of her rings catching a muted gleam.

"Back to the matter at hand, you requested my presence, Cardinal," Vael said evenly. Liri offered a shallow nod. "I did. There are matters we must address before we reach Emberhold." Vael met her gaze steadily, waiting.

Liri continued. "The city of Emberhold is not what it once was. It is older now; older, and hungrier. The Court speaks of diplomacy, but every word there is weighed for advantage. Every step is observed. And they will see this convoy as more than a gesture of goodwill. They will dissect it. Search for fault lines."

Vael inclined her head slightly. "Then we will give them no weakness to find, Uncle Farouq is family." The Cardinal's gaze lingered on her a moment too long. "Let us hope so." A beat passed. The rhythmic clatter of paws and wheels filled the space.

Then, carefully, Liri added, "your… Sam. He is young. And; new." Vael's jaw tensed, though her tone remained level. "He was chosen by my father."

"Chosen, yes," Liri said. "But can he lead in a city that thrives on deception and taxation? On diplomacy layered six words deep?" Vael's eyes narrowed slightly. "He has proven capable thus far. And his loyalty is beyond question."

"Loyalty is a virtue," Liri said, "but Vice-Chief Farouq does not trade in it. They trade in leverage. In subtlety. I ask not to insult, Princess, but to prepare. If Vice-Chief Sam falters under the scrutiny of Emberhold, it will not be he alone who bears the cost. It is our oldest city and Ichi is only the capital because the oldest Eryshae Guardian willed it so with your first ancestor."

Vael's spine straightened. "I am aware of the stakes." A faint smile tugged at the corner of the Cardinal's lips, though it held no warmth. "Good. Then perhaps we will present a united front."

"We must," Vael said, the edge of steel in her voice not fully sheathed. Serene inclined her head again, this time more deeply. "Then let us hope the Court is wise enough to believe what it sees." Vael turned her gaze toward the window. Beyond the distant line of trees, a faint glimmer of mist hung in the air; the first whisper of Emberhold on the horizon.