~Dilora~

 

Andor, and Caemlyn, lay behind them now, the gates dwindling in distant memory as the future drew them on. Open fields grew more crowded, as stands of trees worked into small forests, meandering rivers and roads the head to Lugard. Murandy. The journey had passed relatively peacefully, punctuated by birdsong and other frivolous niceties that jarred with her second morning head of the week. She really shouldn’t try to out-drink people younger than her. Dilora had a good capacity for ale, but it didn’t match her younger companion, even when she had a stomach full of good stew and sweet pastry. Wanting to make sure the lad was well fed for at least some of his life, Dilora had always laid on a large meal at the end of each day. Usually it would be a pot of stew, or chops or steaks from the haunch of venison she had served with good baked potatoes, but tonight Dilora had taken the liberty of setting the lad a task. Giving him line and bait, she had sent him to the edge of a relatively slow-flowing river and hopefully they could have some tasty baked trout. He would be back soon, and they could complete their journey over the border into Murandy before nightfall, setting up camp within the forested boundaries to ride to Lugard the following day. It wouldn’t take them long: Murandy was not an overly large land, after all.

 

Giving the reins a little more encouragement, Dilora let the sun beat down, and considered what lay ahead. Murandy, with its fine laces and types of beer, not to mention the many feuds and difficulties to give it a bit of variety, would be a good place for her to pick up more supplies. Whether or not the lad would find out what he needed to was another thing entirely, but Dilora trusted to hope and the Light that it would be. He had proved himself useful around the wagon, fixing her scabbard and doing a few other chores here and there, and when he had offered to cook for her one night she had nearly fallen off her seat! He had a good heart, that one, and she wished him well. When their paths went down separate roads, Dilora knew she would remember him fondly.

 

A figure came loping up from the horizon, a bundle slung over his back so she knew he had been successful. Whether he had caught fish or a suntan … well then, that was something she’d have to ask him when he got a little closer. For now, Dilora settled for a lazy wave as his figure became recognisable as Esyndor, and she adjusted the hat she wore so the sunlight wasn’t and intensely painful to her delicate head.

Esyndor had been greatly relieved to have something to do , even if it was fishing. The trip from Caemlyn to Lugard had been one of the most relaxed times he could remember, and it was beginning to grind on him not having anything to do. There were numerous little chores, but not anything to occupy most of his time. Listening to Dilora's stories of her travels, and what Murandy was like had been his primary activity.

 

Fishing ... he had never really cared much for fishing, even if he had done it a lot in days long past. A good excuse to escape work and do nothing. Odd that he so looked forward to fishing now as something to do. But it was indeed a more active activity here. The fishing hole was almost swarming with fish. He shook his head, oddly disappointed. Too easy. It looked like they would be eating extremely well again today. Esy thought for sure he would explode from the sheer amount of food Dilora made him eat. She never cramed the food down his throat, but that look she gave him when he thought he'd had enough ... better to kick a mule than to disobey the look.

 

In a short while, Esy was headed back to the wagon, the half dozen trout he had caught dangling from a cord thrown over his shoulder, already cleaned and gutted. Once within sight of the wagon, he saw Dilora nursing a morning head. He shook his head laughing softly. She'd won the drinking game last night out of sheer stubborness. He just knew when to quit. One single morning head in his life had been enough for him to know that he never wanted to repeat the experience.

 

Determined to rub it in a little, he put on his most winning smile and cheerfully greeted her as he approached. "Wonderful sunny day, isn't it?"

~Dilora~

 

“Oh, you’re cheerful.” Dilora did not look up; that would involve looking towards the sun, and she didn’t want to chance it. The road was bumpy enough that she just wanted to park up and get back into bed with some herbal drink, forgetting the rest of the day. The sun wheeled its course across the sky and was starting to fall by the time Esyndor came back to her, but he still commented how wonderful a day it was. If she had a way to view the world without the glare she would’ve been a little happier, but there was naught to be done about it now. It was good to see him smile though, even the pain-filled part of Dilora recognised that it had been too long since such an expression crossed those features. He looked relaxed. “You’re right though, it is a nice sunny day. I could send you looking for wild berries if you fancy being out in it a bit more?”

 

She grinned to let him know it was a joke. It was getting too close to the end of the day too quickly for her to let him go off by himself. Dilora had promised to take him to Murandy, and it wouldn’t do to drop him off outside and forget about him. Not if she wanted to find out some more about the Murandian lace, and possibly get a bale of it to take with her. She could be a mobile seamstress for a little while, if her needlework weren’t so very poor. Gesturing for Esyndor to put his catch in the shade somewhere in the wagon until they stopped, Dilora patted the seat beside her and got him to sit for a while as they crossed the border into Murandy. If they stopped for one night before riding on to Lugard it wouldn’t take too much of their time, no matter how Esyndor seemed to be champing at the bit to get there. He had listened attentively to every story she had offered, even to the slightly off-colour tavern songs she knew, no doubt hoping there would be some clue in the lyrics about how to find such and such a nobleman or woman. Anything to find out what happened to his family. Dilora could appreciate that.

 

They rode in silence for a little while, seeing more and more forested areas that gave way to little towns, bright curtains at the windows and plumes of smoke billowing from chimneys from hearth and hob alike. Dappled sunlight filtered through the boughs of the canopy above them, making shadows dance in patterns both simplistic and complex at the same time. Sunlight is not really subject to prediction, after all, other than it should rise in the morning and set in the evening. A question that had been burning in her mind since she had first learned of his intention to go to Murandy with her finally got the better of her cautious tongue, probably something to do with the morning-head that hadn’t left her all day, and she asked him.

 

“What’ll you do when you find out?”

He didn't know how to answer that question, though it was something he thought about often. During the last year he had tried very hard to wear himself completely out every day. He dreamed less during the night that way. He only had two dreams, which constantly repeated themselves. The first was of the day when he had come home to find his life destroyed. The other was what he would do to the person responsable. The second scared him far worse than the first.

 

The silence stretched into minutes as Esy thought about it. Really, what could he hope to do? Especially against a noble? "I guess ... I'm not sure. It would depend on what I find out wouldn't it?" His nightmares were far more detailed, but they weren't something he cared to reveal to anyone. He didn't even want to admit them to himself.

 

He knew his answer wasn't very convincing. Who would spend a year searching without knowing something of what they'd do? He decided to shift the focus a little. "What would you do? If you were in my position?"

~Dilora~

 

Dilora sat back in the wagon seat and regarded him levelly. It wasn’t her situation to be giving him advice on, but from the earnest look in his eyes the least she could do was try to help him. Light, it would have been easier with a tankard in hand. And she too let the moments drag out as long as she could before answering – the last thing she wanted to do was give him advice he would either not want or follow into danger or certain death. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, and fumbled around in her belt pouch for a boiled sweet; those always helped her to think. Sucking it helped to clear her mind and she didn’t notice the trees starting to give way to main roads. Distant villages were becoming closer and closer, and soon they would be out of the other side of it, and a step closer to Lugard. Finally, she spoke.

 

“I would, if I were in your shoes, be very careful about who I trusted, and who I told. There are people in this world that do bad things for little or no reason, as I think you’ve found out in the course of your life. You don’t know them, so until you do don’t trust them.” She gave a short laugh, and smiled at him. “Of course, like now for example, you can trust me. There are always exceptions to the rules.”

 

Esy nodded thoughtfully. He knew all to well about those who would walk all over him for the slightest gain. He’d been imprisoned twice because of such people. He’d learned quickly to not trust anyone but his world had shrunk considerably. Another minute of silence stretched between them.

 

It’s lonely. Not knowing or trusting anyone. Everything seems … empty. Sometimes I worry more about what is happening to me than what I’ll do to …“ He trailed off, not sure where to go. “I don’t like what I’m becoming. But it’s kept me alive.” He took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the wagon. “Light I wish this could just be over.”

 

“You know as well as I do that it won’t go away. I will be getting some message birds soon, so please write to me from time to time and let me know how you’re getting on. Should you find anything out that leads to your goal, I hope you’ll at least remember me and not get yourself needlessly killed – there is no point in sacrificing yourself to fulfil this goal because that is not what your family would have wanted.” She gently patted his hand and shook her head from side to side. “I’m not a mother, but if I was, the last thing I’d want is a son of mine going off on some foolhardy quest if he was not going to come out of it the other side alive. Have your revenge, but live well afterwards.”

 

She looked at him, both knowing and hating how preachy she sounded. Shaking her head regardless of the morning-after pains, Dilora calmly tried to put into words what she feared the most would happen.

 

“If you lose yourself to it, you’ll not be the same person afterwards.” Trying to be more brisk and positive, knowing what he really wanted to hear, Dilora smiled. “Make sure you keep your blade sharp, if your course is set, and don’t let it leave your sight. Not many people know I sleep with my knife under my pillow. That’s how come the scabbard was so worn out, oh, thanks for that, by the way. I didn’t offer my gratitude properly at the time, but thank you very much for fixing that. I feel safer knowing that if I do need to draw it if woken rudely from my sleep that it won’t get caught on a loose thread or old bit of leather. That work you’ve done might well just have saved my life one day.”

 

“Tomorrow, we’ll cross into Lugard proper. Tonight, I suggest we bake those fish with a few herbs I’ve got in the back, and then if you fancy some music I think I’ve a flute around somewhere, or I can sing. We’ll make merry – who knows who’ll be drawn to camp!”

Esyndor nodded in thoughtful silence as he listened to Dilora. She was probably right. His mother would have been horrified by what he was doing, by the thought that he might never be coming back. But she wasn’t around anymore. And she never would be.

 

The silence stretched between them as the sun continued its slow descent toward the horizon. Little was said as they set up camp for the night and Esy started the cooking fire. Not until they sat down to watch the fish cook did the conversation resume. “So we’ll enter Lugard tomorrow? And I guess we’ll be headed our separate ways.” Not something he wanted to dwell on much either. “Thank you for taking me all this way. I really wish I could continue on with you. Take you up on that offer and be a traveling smith for a time. But … it would drive me mad not knowing. Even if I end up not being able to do anything, I still need to know.”

 

Esy stared into the coals, poking at them with a stick. The next few days would be interesting. The next chapter in the odd story of his life. A fresh start perhaps, or a dead end. Either way, it would be interesting. Settling into the tree at his back he wondered aloud, “How long do you think I’ll be searching before I find something useful?”

~Dilora~

 

“I don’t think you’ll be waiting long at all.” He probably wouldn’t: Murandy was such a hotbed of scandal and war that it would likely not before some drunken noble spilled this or that tale, and one of them was likely to be of Esyndor’s father or mother. Reaching forward with a split twig, Dilora turned the two parcels of fish baking in the fire; there would be one each with plenty left over. Ideally, if she had been forward thinking enough, Dilora would have made a stand over the fire out of some sturdy twigs with a shelf just over the flames to smoke some more of the fillets – the tarry coating allowed it to last far longer. Still, they would have plenty for breakfast, and the bones she had kept in a little bag to turn into needles for sale. The rest of the fish, the guts, heads and scales, Dilora had put into a canvas sack and would bury it far from camp when she got a chance to. Having done this once or twice before she knew the value of burying waste away from her campsite and had awoken one morning to animals trying to climb the side of her wagon to get to the scraps, scaring Altie in the process.

 

Dilora looked at Esyndor’s earnest young face. She’d be sorry to see him go, but his path lay in a direction different to her own. Light, when did she become so pious? She’d be sounding like an Aes Sedai next, with all this talk of Wheel’s weaving and paths. They talked a little more about what Esyndor could expect in Lugard on their arrival, and Dilora told him a few people to look out for. After that, the fish was ready and they each enjoyed Esyndor’s catch while looking up at the stars. And when the dishes were put washed in water from the stream and put away, she suggested that she get the harp she had in her wagon out and that she would play for him.

 

Sound like liquid silver flowed from the strings as Dilora played, setting it on her lap and picking out the tune to an ancient air. Most people knew the song with different lyrics, but listening to his cause Dilora had found other words that fitted it better, and she would sing them for him now.

 

Stern is the blade that is hidden away

As dangerous in edge as in wit

For every thing is a price to pay

This will end all of it.

 

Remember the things that you hold to so dear

Remember why it is we strive.

The blade may be quenched in blood and in tears

Remember to come out alive.

 

She trailed off, staring into the flames as the last notes faded away. There were more verses to “The Ballad of Esyndor,” but some of them had not yet been written, and some of them would be subject to change with however this mission of his panned out. Dilora was fairly certain he’d be alright in the end: he had the look of a survivor and if he’d coped on the streets earning such a living as he had, he would be alright amidst the intrigues and barely concealed violence of Murandy. As they sought their blankets, she reminded him that if he ever needed her to send a message to her, and she’d be there for him as soon as she could, or would send whatever help she was able. The moon stared down at all impassively, beaming onto the forest floor and lending greater brilliance to the stars. Tomorrow would see them into Lugard if he did not steal away during the night.

 

“Goodnight, Esy,” Dilora called to him, having banked the coals of the fire for morning.