“No. I thought no one knew.”
His father smiled. “I do, now. Hundreds of years before Deismaar, this land was settled by our ancestors, the Mhora.
It was a wild and fair land, and the forests around Bevaldruor covered all of it, from the Stonebyrn to the Maesil. Elves lived here, and goblins in the north, but the Mhora drove out the goblins, and this became their land. This tree was old even then, and each Mhor came here to swear his oath of loyalty before Reynir and Anduiras, the ancient gods.
“After Deismaar, Prince Raedan returned to speak his oaths beneath the tree. Raedan had been close by Roele and Haelyn when they battled Azrai’s champions, and like many who survived that dreadful battle, Raedan had been infused with the remnants of the divine power. When his blood fell on the roots of this ancient oak and he spoke his oath, something miraculous happened. The Mhor and Mhoried became linked, joined by a drop of blood that carried the power of the gods themselves.” Daeric paused, his eyes fixed on events far beyond Gaelin’s knowledge. “This is the blood that runs in your veins, Gaelin.”
Gaelin discovered the abbey itself had almost faded away.
The open fields and hillsides gleamed as far as he could see.
Two shining silver rivers traced the borders of the land, each a hundred miles away, and to the north, dark, forbidding mountains raised fierce stone battlements over the forested foothills. “I will take the oaths tomorrow,” he said.
“I know,” Daeric said. “And now you know why the Mhors come here to speak the oaths of service.” With a smile, he began to fade away, his form becoming translucent. “Rule well, Mhor Gaelin,” he said, and then he was gone.
Gaelin’s eyes snapped open, and he stared up into the darkness of his chamber. The last slivers of moonlight were stretching across the floor of the room. He quietly rose and moved over to peer out the window, into the night. His window looked over a rooftop and down into the Court of the Oak, and he gazed at the tree, his thoughts still and deep, before returning to bed.
He woke in the cold darkness before dawn and dressed himself. After a cold breakfast in the hostel’s refectory, he went to the inner courtyard, where Iviena waited, attended by a pair of lesser priests. He found his own entourage in attendance – Erin, Bull, Boeric, and Niesa stood back respectfully, witnessing the event.
The ceremony was swift. Iviena led him through the oaths, first in Old Andu, then again in the modern dialect. As he spoke the words, Gaelin found that a strange, otherworldly vision came over him. He vividly imagined the ancient scene of Mhor Raedan touching the Oak with his bloodied hand, and the Oak stirring with the land’s acknowledgement of the Mhoried blood. At the end of the invocation, Iviena offered Gaelin a dagger, holding it across her palm. He took the weapon and cut his hand. Stepping forward to touch his bloodied hand to the smooth old bark, he spoke the words of his oath as the first rays of the sun set the Oak’s leaves to a brilliant, burning scarlet. With that, the oath was finished, and Gaelin was Mhor.
An hour after sunrise, the companions were on their way again, riding west from the abbey toward the Ceried estate.
The entourage surrounding Gaelin was growing. On Iviena’s insistence, the dour Brother Superior Huire had joined his party – ostensibly to provide spiritual guidance in Gaelin’s hour of need and maintain a representative of the Temple of Haelyn in the Mhor’s court. Gaelin guessed Huire was assigned to report his plans and situation to the high prefect at the earliest opportunity, but he accepted the gaunt monk into his confidence. Four Haelynite soldiers templar accompanied the priest.
Count Baesil’s castle and lands were located in the western reaches of the province of Byrnnor, and no major roads crossed this region. They traveled from village to village along muddy cart tracks and overgrown paths. Most people here were still in their homes and continued their daily work, watching over rolling fields of grain and corn or tending sheep on green hillsides.
The fine weather faded through the day as a leaden overcast darkened the sky, threatening rain. The wind turned to the north and cooled noticeably, and by the time they halted to water the horses and eat a scanty lunch from their packs, Gaelin’s face was red with windburn. While they ate, he motioned for Erin to join him on a lichen-frosted boulder, a short distance from the others. “I saw my father again last night,” he said quietly.
Erin bit into a small green apple and gave him a thoughtful look. “Go on,” she said.
“We were standing in the Court of the Oak. He showed me how the Oak was named, hundreds of years ago.” He paused, then turned to the bard. “Am I losing my mind? Or is my father’s spirit still watching over me?”
“The Mhor Daeric perished with Mhoried in great danger,” Erin said. “Perhaps he watches over you, hoping to see you restored to your rightful place, and the enemies of the land defeated.” She shrugged, and took another bite of her apple.
“And even if you’re imagining these meetings, what does it matter? You are as sane as I am, or just about anyone I know, for that matter. At worst this is your own way of saying goodbye to your father.”
They sat a while in a companionable silence. They had stopped by an abandoned farmhouse, its roof long since gone. The fields were strewn with boulders and the remnants of an old stone wall. Gaelin stood, stretched, and brushed off his breeches.
Erin started to stand as well, but she suddenly stopped and cocked her head. Then she scrambled for her horse. “Riders coming!” she cried. There was a moment of blank confusion, as some of the Haelynites looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Gaelin dropped his food and ran for Blackbrand. In one smooth motion, he pulled himself into the saddle.
At the top of the hill, Boeric was standing watch. He leaped to his feet and zigzagged down the grassy slope. “Ghoerans, just behind us, and coming fast!” he yelled.
“How many?” Gaelin called.
“Too many to fight, that’s for sure,” Boeric replied. He hauled himself into his saddle and seized the reins. His placid expression was gone, replaced by a bright-eyed alertness.
Gaelin glanced around. Most of the party was mounted again. “We’ll try to outrun them!” he said. “After me!” He kicked his heels into Blackbrand’s flanks and let the stallion have his head. Mud and turf flying from his hooves, the horse b roke into a strong gallop down the rutted cart track. In ones and twos, the others followed, spurring their own steeds after him. In a matter of moments, they were strung out over a couple of hundred yards of countryside, each rider coaxing the best speed he could from his animal. Blackbrand outpaced the others, and Gaelin stood in his stirrups to look over his shoulder.
Black-clad cavalrymen swept through the old homestead, in hot pursuit. The trailing riders, a pair of Huire’s guardsmen, were only a hundred yards or so ahead of the Ghoerans, but they seemed to be holding their lead. Some of the Ghoerans were firing after the Haelynites, but their bolts flew wide of the mark.
Gaelin turned back to mind his own path. If the Ghoerans had been riding hard all morning to catch up to them, they might not be able to sustain this pace for long, especially since Gaelin and his band had just rested their horses. “Keep up the pace!” he called. “We’ll wear them down!”
Blackbrand’s hooves thundered beneath him. The track wound over several shallow hills, then plunged into a dense thicket, the trees pressing close in a dark tunnel. Gaelin risked another backward glance. Some of the Ghoerans were falling out of the race, but a few still clung doggedly to their trail, whipping their horses like madmen.
They burst from the copse into an open field, horses foaming at the mouth. The lead Ghoerans finally began to fall back. One persistent fellow stayed with them for another mile, but eventually he too dropped out, shaking his fist as his horse pulled up limping. Gaelin slowed his own pace and settled into an easy canter for another couple of miles, the rest of the Mhoriens following suit. Finally they turned off the road, finding another track leading in the general direction in which they wanted to travel.