Chewing on Deception

     Draven spent the next few days avoiding the knights until he could put it off no longer. He was taking wood into the dining area when he heard Bard talking to Sir Daivi, one of the knights.

    “Aye, I know a guide.” He said. “One of the best around. He knows these mountains like the back of his hand, ifin anyone can find this castle then he can. Ah, here he is now.” He turned to Draven and gestured him over. “This is Draven, the best tracker around.”

     Draven stepped over and bowed to Sir Daivi. “I am at your service, my lord.” As he stood up he noticed that the knight didn’t take his eyes off of him. He shook it off and nodded to Bard as he pulling his hood further over his face and stepped out into the cold morning air.

     “I’m not a tracker!” He whispered to Bard when he caught him in the kitchen later. “And I don’t know these mountains at all.”

     Bard grinned. “But they don’t need to know that. Here let me show you something.” He took an old book out from under his cloak and set it on the table. He flipped it open to reveal a map of the Melltith Mountains. At the far bottom corner was Nazov. “That Pellaus fellow wasn’t the only one who had an ancestor who kept track of what happened. This map will lead you straight to the castle.”

     Draven picked up the thousand year old map and studied it. “I suppose it can’t be that hard to find.”

     “That’s the spirit!” Bard said cheerfully. “Oh, you should probably know, they believe you’re a mage.”

     The next morning the five knights mounted their chargers and left with much fanfare. Draven followed behind them some distance on his quiet, sure footed, mountain pony. He soon found that the knights were quite terrified of him, believing that he would curse them if they made him angry. Most of this was due to his unwillingness to engage any of them in conversation. None of this bothered him, however, since he preferred to travel on his own. He had found from his travels that while knighthood looked glamorous most knights weren’t very bright.

     It took them six days of steady traveling before they came upon an old village. The stone walls were crumbling and the thatched roofs had all but disintegrated. Draven’s pony snorted and eyeballed the buildings warily.  

     “This looks as good a place as any.” Sir Pellaus declared. “We shall make camp here and depart on the marrow.”

     A shiver ran up Draven’s spine as he scanned the buildings. His eyes came to rest on the charred remains of a wagon that lay on its side next to what used to be the church. “Innocent people died here.” He said. “We should move on.”

     Sir Pellaus opened his mouth to protest but Sir Davai shot him a look. “We should do as the mage says lest he curse us all.” He not so quietly whispered.

     Sir Pellaus grunted. “Very well then, we shall continue on.” He briskly spun his horse around and galloped out of the village.

     Draven scanned the village once more before following them. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach.