Cyrus stretched out a tentative hand, then dropped it. 'I'd better talk to Sylven first. He'll probably want to know about this.'
Enjoying the warmth of the sun, he dug into the meal, the rich taste of salted meats and vegetables leaving him wanting more after the past few weeks of stone-like jerky. After finishing his meal, he wandered the courtyard for a bit before retiring to a nook set between the oaks roots.
…
"Hey, it's time to get up."
Cyrus jolted awake as someone kicked his boot. Squinting, he found Sylven squatting in front of him, his arms supported by his knees. After making sure he was awake, the young man stood, and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
"After resting for three days, I didn't think I'd find you outside sleeping," Sylven said. He grinned. "Aren't you sick of it?"
"I wouldn't call being unconscious resting exactly," Cyrus said. He rolled his neck, trying to free himself of a kink. "Why did you wake me anyway?"
"I told you earlier, right? We need to meet with Lord Verihos now, to see if we can get passage to the Cilthrin shores," Sylven said. He held out his hand, helping Cyrus to his feet. "There's a rumor that the harbor will be closed soon, or at least more heavily watched, due to the stone plague. Because of that, a lot of the ships are in a hurry to leave."
"I see. Do I need to bring anything?" Cyrus asked. He dusted off his trousers as Sylven led the way back inside.
"We're just going there to meet with him, so no," Sylven said. "Though you might want to wear your cloak. I doubt anyone will be looking for you, but it'd be wise to be careful."
Cyrus ran upstairs to grab it, before making his way back down to the foyer. There, Lewn waited for them at the front door, his clothes straightened, and glasses perched on his nose. A leather pack hung from his shoulder, a gap in the top revealing an array of vials.
"Are you ready to go?" Lewn asked. When Cyrus nodded, he smiled. "Good. I have a carriage waiting for us outside. It will take us to the Lord's manor, but we'll have to pass by the temple along the way. Sylven mentioned a bit of an altercation with the followers of Dilthane. Will that be alright?"
"I doubt it'll be a problem," Cyrus said. "The sooner we do this, the better though."
"Right," Lewn said. He opened the door, and glanced back at Arthur, who stood off to the side. "Let my wife know we'll be back later. Before dark, if possible."
Arthur nodded, and Lewn led Cyrus and Sylven to a wooden carriage, harnessed to two black spotted horses. A middle aged man opened the door for them as they approached. He stood an inch shorter than Cyrus, and the dark hair upon his lip was thick and bushy.
"To Lord Verihos's manor, Willard. As quick as you can."
"Of course, Master Lewn," Willard said, bowing his head, and revealing a cowlick amidst the brown tufts.
Then, the door was shut, and the clatter of hooves sounded as the carriage lurched forward. Cyrus leaned back in his seat beside Sylven and stared out the window as the houses and stores passed. Waves of heat rose from the clay shingled roofs, while wooden signs creaked in the wind.
While he admired the stone work, he noticed a group of men with light blond hair, similar to Sylven's. The style of clothing they wore also differed, as it consisted of more woolen fabric, compared to the more common cotton or linens.
"Those men are probably from Railvyn," Sylven said, noting Cyrus's gaze. "Their land lies farther north, on a frozen island amidst the Arcoldian seas. You won't often see them this far south."
"Is that where you came from?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven shook his head. "No, but my father did. However, he died when I was still young, so I've never been there."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Cyrus said.
Sylven waved his hand, dismissing the matter. As the wagon bounced over a rough patch of stone, Cyrus glanced at the approaching temple, and its oddly shaped dome roof. The shape appeared unnatural, as though it should cave in at any moment.
"Do you know how they did that?" Cyrus eventually asked, trying to change the subject.
"It's supposedly all thanks to the rings that make up the dome," Lewn said, jumping in. "Each one is pushing against the next, creating a support system without using a central pillar."
Sylven leaned forward. "If you think that's impressive, you should see the main temples, built in Tulmuth. I've heard stories of domes ten times that size, built from thick sheets of bronze in the shape of scales."
"He's right," Lewn said. "Though the priest's of Dilthane minds are twisted, their architecture rivals even that of the Ashveil."
"Is that so?" Cyrus asked. He glanced back out the window, watching the temple slide past. Beneath the archways, he spotted a man dressed in a black tunic, with a sword strapped to his waist. His gnarled hand rested on its obsidian pommel, and an amethyst ring flickered in the sunlight.
"Who is that?"
Sylven looked out the window, and frowned. "A knight of the Dilthane Order. There aren't many of them, but those who gain such a title are far stronger than your average knight. It's been a long time since I've seen one. They don't usually come this far from the main temple."
Sylven sat back. "If there's one here, we really don't have the time to waste. I hope Lord Verihos will be able to get us a boat, both for our sake, and the kingdoms."
,,,
Ten minutes later, a dark shadow fell over the carriage, blocking out the sun.
"Ah, looks like we're there," Lewn said. He grabbed his pack as they pulled up to a dark stone manor, three stories high, and set along the edge of the kingdom. The road stretched past it, down to the harbor, which bustled with merchant ships and barges.
As the carriage creaked to a stop, the driver hopped down, and opened the door with a bow. Neatly trimmed cypress trees lined the stone pathway leading to the doors, with hedges placed evenly along the sides, creating a welcoming aura.
"Shall I remain here, Master Lewn?" Willard asked.
Lewn nodded. "Yes. I doubt we'll take too long. This should just be a meeting so the Lord can meet Cyrus and Sylven."
"I understand," Willard said. He climbed back onto the carriage, and snapped the reins, guiding the horses towards a safer spot, beneath a willow tree.
"Are we properly dressed for this?" Cyrus asked, gazing up at the looming walls, chiseled with precision and care. His chest tightened as Sylven shrugged.
The walkway led them to a set of stairs, which sat beneath a circular glass window. A large man stood behind the clear pane glass. His keen eyes narrowed as he rubbed his black beard, before turning away.