Elfborn: The Quest

On the Road to Tanais

A look up at the gray and heavy sky made the slender Elfborn shiver almost instinctively. 'I think a better question is:'

"Do you think we'll avoid a second set of blizzards like those that hit us back in October before we reach Tanais?"

Lash glanced over at Sir Samial, who had asked the question. The stocky Gabrialite was looking towards Frederik, even as he pulled his cloak tighter about his body against the cold wind that was stirring out of the southeast, blowing almost directly into their faces. The knights in Frederik's escort, directly behind them, had already dropped their visors for some protection against it, the pennants attached to the lead knights' lances, held at a perfect 90-degree angle, cracking sharply in the wind.

Abruptly, a thin smile touching his lips, Lash looked out into the gray that surrounded them in a dense blanket. Of course the fools would have to wear their full armor, though the caravan was only moving from one point to another in secured territory. 'So much weight is placed on appearance with this lot, it's going to be interesting to see if they fight as hard as they work to look like they can!' the Hybernian knight mused with a silent chuckle.

Lash himself wore what he had since joining the militant Order of St. Michael; the black tunic and breeches, together with matching black boots, symbolically representing the black robes of the Jebusin. On top of that he wore a thick coat, also of black wool, and a waterproof cloak which, for once, he wore with the hood up. After all, he didn't want to look too out of place.

They would have left the camp with a flowery set of speeches as well as fanfare from Frederik's trumpeters, but the weather put a damper on such things. The Germansic king had to make due with riding at the head of the column, pennant bearers directly behind him with their small flags of red, the black eagle of Germanse boldly displayed on them.

Behind the small knot of knights that held the dubious honor, as far as Lash was concerned, of marching at the head of the column came the knights of the Quest army itself. They rode four abreast on the narrow road, filling it to overflowing, their shields with family heraldry painted on the flat metal, held in one arm, lance in the other. Even Lash had to admit it was an impressive sight. Too bad there wasn't anybody nearby that could appreciate it. Unless, of course, one took into account the knights' own need to look at themselves and compare with their neighbors as to their appearance.

That elicited another sigh from the lean young man. He had neither armor nor shield, content to ride in comfort on Deoban's back instead of carrying arms against a foe that was still a good month's travel away. Nor did he concern himself with appearance. Considering the reception he had been getting from the Lord Commanders and the king himself over the past two weeks, he wasn't even surprised when they didn't comment on his lack of armor or weapons. After formal greetings, he had simply taken his place beside Sir Hephestus.

Eyes narrowing, Lash pushed the thoughts of knights, kings and all things Evindelian that he didn't understand and concentrated on trying to pierce the heavy fog that lay about them even as the heavens opened their gates and poured even more cold and lashing rain onto their heads. Such a fog, combined with cold rain, was unheard of in the Black Hills. Although, in his travels, Lash had heard that Brighton suffered such things. Being close to the Straits most likely accounted for that.

Those thoughts naturally led Lash to ponder the fate of Master de Whittier and the rest of his friends and comrades in King's Grove. The tiny Askantian hamlet seemed so far away now, though it wasn't more than three months since he had left it. And Ben Abriel, his father's castle in the Black Hills seemed even further removed than that, a whole different lifetime than the one he was now living.