“That sounds really noble,” Ahleage said, looking at the rest of his companions out of the corner of his eye, “but as you can see, our work came to an abrupt end”—Ahleage nodded at Melias’ body—“and we’re going in different directions. Did your god tell you that?”
The man frowned. “Saint Cuthbert made it plain that there would be difficulties along this path, but I know his will is for me to bring us all together, so I hope you will reconsider. You must reconsider.”
Shanhaevel glanced at the others in turn, and when he caught Ahleage’s eye, the young man brought his hand to one side of his face to hide it from the stranger, then made a crazed look back at the elf. Shanhaevel had to keep from cracking a grin, but then he shrugged. Maybe this gets me more time with Shirral, he thought.
“You seem sincere,” the druid said, “but we have no idea if you’re telling the truth or not. Regardless, we don’t even know your name.”
The man started then shook his head in embarrassment. “By Cuthbert, I’m sorry! I am Sir Govin Dahna, knight of Saint Cuthbert. You can call me Govin. If there is a man of the church back in that town, I will go before him and allow him to conduct his test of truth on me to prove to you I am what and who I say I am.”
“All right, then, Govin,” Shanhaevel said, pointing from person to person. “That’s Elmo, over there’s Draga, there’s Shirral, that’s Ahleage, and I’m Shanhaevel—not Shadowspawn,” the elf said, throwing a look toward Ahleage. “The unlucky soul on the back of the horse was Melias.”
“Yes, that is one of your names, Shanhaevel. You go by another, however. Faldurios su wel elmirel dwa sulis min anweilios su Shantirel Galaerivel, magiost.”
Shanhaevel’s eyes widened as he stared at the man before him. Govin had used the elf’s own tongue—Some who know you well name you Shantirel Galaerivel, mage.
Shirral was staring open-mouthed at first the knight, then at Shanhaevel.
“Kilieria su delmeir, Kahvlirae,” Shanhaevel finally replied, bowing slightly. You speak the truth, noble knight. “Your dreams seem to tell you much about us.”
Ahleage shook his head, exasperated. “What in the nine hells did he just say to you?”
“He told me some things that only the people of the Welkwood should know, and he named me as a wizard.”
Despite the discomfiture of this man knowing so much about him, Shanhaevel was beginning to warm to the knight. It was strange. He somehow felt… right—yes that was it, right—with Govin here. That’s as odd a thing as you have ever thought, Shantirel Galaerivel.
Sir Govin bowed his head. “Forgive me. I did not mean to put you on guard. I only wish to prove that I am legitimate. This is a lot to accept, I realize. Perhaps I should withdraw and let you discuss things for a bit in private.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Elmo said. He had that look on his face that had convinced Shanhaevel there was more to him than his story told. “You must be tired after riding here all the way from…”
“From Dyvers. I rode here from Dyvers.”
“Yes, a long journey, indeed. Our unfortunate companion, here, Melias, needs a proper burial. We were hoping to get him back to Hommlet, but the day grows late. We should make camp and discuss this further. You are welcome to join us.”
“I accept your invitation,” the knight said with a small, appreciative bow.
10
It was nightfall by the time the group set up camp. They pitched their meager shelters and built a small fire in a secluded spot a fair distance away from the moathouse, on some high ground that was dryer than the surrounding marsh.
Everyone had gathered around the fire, and was consuming a fine stew of rabbit meat. Shanhaevel had just finished telling Sir Govin the tale of their exploration of the moathouse and of Melias’ death. By mutual agreement with Elmo during a private conversation earlier, he left out many of the significant details of Lareth and the things they had found in his chambers. There was an expectant silence now, as everyone watched the knight while he ate, waiting for him to respond in some manner to the story.
Govin was wolfing down spoonfuls of stew, seemingly unconcerned that everyone was studying him. Finally, he sopped the last drops of broth up with bread and set the bowl aside. He leaned back against a tree and steepled his fingers.
Shanhaevel stole a glance in Shirral’s direction. She had said little to him since their conversation before. Now, she had her head bowed slightly and was absently biting her lower lip, staring at nothing.
“I see now why I was sent here,” Govin began. “Your task is not yet completed, yet your perseverance has faded away.” He leaned forward again, warming to his speech. “This Melias—may his spirit rest—was the guiding hand. He brought you together, and he had the drive to see this through. Now that he is gone I have been sent, not by a mere lord, by no king or viscount, but by a power far stronger and more enduring.”
Ahleage coughed at this point, and when Shanhaevel looked over, he could see derision written on the man’s face.
“Perhaps,” Ahleage said, “but I don’t follow your god, so what’s he want with me? I don’t know that strange dreams really provide a good enough reason for me—probably not for my friend Draga here, either.”
Draga merely shrugged and went back to whittling on a piece of branch.
“Of course not,” Govin replied. “Not everyone hears or recognizes the call of Cuthbert. You need your own reasons for choosing your way. I can’t give you what you want out of this, but I believe it will come to you, nonetheless. Success lies down this path, should we choose to follow it.”
“Sir Govin,” Shanhaevel said, folding his fingers together and leaning forward, “if everything you say is true, it would seem that something fairly profound will come of it. Why do you think Cuthbert wants you to lead us?”
It was a leading question, Shanhaevel knew, but he wanted to see just how much the knight might know about what was going on.
“I did not come here to lead you. That is not my place. You are already companions, having learned to rely on one another before my arrival. It is plain to me that I can only ask to join you, not presume to lead you.
“To answer your question, though, I cannot say in certain terms what will come of this, but I believe I have part of the answer. It is a poem, something else that came to me in a dream, though I do not know what it means, yet. Here it is.”