5 years later, the 81st year of the age of Arnaud.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as the templar and his grey horse plodded across slick cobblestones with a large brown dog padding behind them. Rain pattered with a soft plink against Markos's helmet as he rode through the storm. The chill of the rain clashed with the warmth of the summer's day, creating a haze. The forest thinned out on either side of the king's road. Instead of mountains, dark titled roofs form steepled peaks. Slivers of smoke trailed from the chimneys with a promise of respite.
Beyond the calming thrum and splashing of the rain was the whistling of the wind through the trees, somewhere was the gently chime from the village. No voices nor birds greeted him. In the shadow of civilization, the absence reminded him of how lonely the road had been. He glanced skyward, trying to gauge the time through the dark grey showers. 'I have a few hours until nightfall. I hope it let's up soon.'
Markos didn't relish the task, he was to locate a missing ember and return her to the temple. There had been some speculation on the events surrounding her disappearance. He followed his instinct, pursuing the ember's path like the afterglow of a fleeting firefly. They had taught him that much. The path had grown dimmer but he knew he was on the right track. It was pouring and even embers needed to eat and sleep, even if they could endure the most frigid environments.
Tantalizing scents of burning oak and baking bread cut through the damp. It reminded him that he hadn't eaten a warm meal at an inn in months. It had been just as long as he'd slept on a bed. He continued through the rain, noting when the cobblestone gave way to thick muddied ruts before returning to stone again.
The town was more of a waystation with its small stone cottages, The heartstone lamps dimly illuminated the growing darkness as he approached. He saw a pair of figures on the road in front of him. There was a familiar pull. A dappled grey mare led by a figure wearing a heavy brown cloak drenched with rain walked deeper into the town. Its head tipped down and its rider seemed to murmur something lost to the drum of the rain.
At Markos's left was a faded rectangular sign bearing the image of a raven and a wine bottle, denoting a place that sold wine. He hoped that it had open rooms or at least an empty stable. He dismounted from his horse, sinking into thick mud. Behind him was a low warning growl, his dog's heckles were up indicating that a magic user was nearby. The temple dogs were bred to sniff out magic.
He slowly led his warder into the stables, preferring to get the beast out of the rain. The dog continued to fuss as he stepped into the dry stables. The owner of the dapple mare was soothing it inside of a stall. He glanced around and found no other soul. The dog whined at the doorway and the templar continued, leading the steed into a stall and getting it settled.
He heard a whispering and felt a brush of warmed that disappeared as soon as it began.
"What a lovely day for a ride?" A feminine voice greeted him from the other stall. The figure turning and pulling down her drenched hood as she shook rain from her raven black hair. Her comely, freckled face was tanned from prolonged time in the fields. Her eyes were a deep green that reminded him of an elder pine.
"That cloak didn't do much good if you are soaked through," Markos replied amiably enough. His dog continued to whine. He got his horse put to rights. He felt the prickling at the edge of his senses.
"You're right. Poor choice on my part," she lingered against the edge of the partition. He felt her eyes on him as he tended his horse. Once the saddle was off, he checked the trough to ensure there was water and hay. "Did you need help, Sir Knight? As you can see, farrier have departed," She pressed closer with a playful tone in her voice. "Unless you weren't taught such common things?"
"A proper knight should be able to tend his own horse." He shook his head as he turned to face her. Behind his visor, his expression was concealed. It gave him time to consider his options. He knew something was amiss. It wasn't the ember he was seeking, it was something else. "You would do to keep better company."
A loud crack deafened him as lightning struck somewhere outside, leaving the air charge and thunder rumbling in its wake. She was beside him and touching his hand before he could object. "It's still nice to have help every now and then. I can tend to him, surely, you have matters to attend to?" There was a ripple in the air, in the dim light and at close quarters, her eyes seemed a lighter shade of blue for a second as she peered into his helmet. The illusion settled as her fingers lingered over his, gently taking the reins from his gloved fingers. "What should I call you, sir?"
A delicate perfume of dewy, sensuous flowers tickled his nose, sparking his memory and making his heart ache. He grabbed her wrist, not enough to hurt her. Maraium was magebane, it grounded magic like a post would ground lightning. Desire gnawed at his heart as the weight of expectation grew— he wanted to see past the illusion. All these years, all this time, would this be her?
"Sir Markos Louvel, of the Order of the Holy Sword, m'lady." He steadied his voice and waited. He had to know.
Cyan mist rolled softly back from her slender wrist and along the length of her body as the illusion parted. The slender point of her ears were clear, mundanely hidden in an elaborate braid of raven black hair and her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue that only happened on a perfect clear day. These eyes he remembered so clearly and wondering if he was going to die. A wisp of wind and a distant memory, yet, she was real and in his hands. The spell had transformed her into a plain human girl but she was anything but. Had she dyed it?
"So you've caught me then, Sir Markos Louvel?" Curiosity burned in her eyes as she stared up at him. "Whatever shall you do with me?"
"It's rude to ask a name but not give yours," Markos calmly replied. She was not his quarry. He could pretend that he never saw her. Caelyn had taught him that they didn't need to kill every elf they came across. They needed allies to get the knowledge they needed to save the world. He'd always hoped that he'd find her again. "Shouldn't you tell me your name now?"
"Shouldn't you remove your helmet first? That's also polite." She laughed lightly.
"Excuse me, I can't use an illusion to mask my true face," Markos replied dryly. "Shall I take it off so you can bewitch me next?"
"Sir Markos, are you afraid of me?" She paused and looked at her hand. "My, is that why your hand is trembling? You've grounded me for the moment, or has the quality of maraium lessened? Shall I lift your visor for you then?" She grinned as her hand touched the side of his visor. "Unlike you, I've to worry about strange men attempting to claim elven maidens like something out of a Nan's tale, stealing cloaks and knickers."
Markos had so many things that he wanted to say. He wasn't sure where to start. Her perfume was clearer now that she was in front of him, he recognized the scent of those particular flowers— tuberoses were what they were called. They grew all over the temple gardens throughout the kingdom and mocked him every time he smelled them. She was mocking him now, though he was relieved more than annoyed.
"Worry?" He took her wrist and twisted it away from his helmet. Her smile didn't fade. His ears were hot as his patience slipped. "Your name. Now."
A clattering of a wooden bucket on hard damp stones crashed behind him. His dog howled as Markos felt a sharp prickling of heat against the back of his name. 'Damn! I didn't sense them.'
"What are you doing to her?" A concerned male voice called from the door.
Markos could draw his sword to face this new apostate but he ran the risk of hurting the elf. He weighed his options— he was wearing full armor. He had to play up like he didn't know he was facing another mage or that he was doing what he was suppose to be doing as a templar. "The business of the Holy Sword. Fetch irons."
Markos felt the sensation of weightlessness as a pit opened up beneath him. He had miscalculated, while he was impervious to magic, the ground was not. He reached out to take hold of anything as he fell and dragged the elf with him. Above him he heard surprised shouting, snarling, and the whinnying of horses.
The reins slipped from her hand. She struggled, trying to escape Markos's grip as they fell. "I can't brace us if you don't let me go!"