"What are you doing, Master Myrel?" Sylven asked, strolling across the room. Cyrus peeked his head out and scanned the air. After a moment, he hesitantly followed Sylven over.
"I believe I may have narrowed down the A;tier's kingdom," Myrel said, grabbing a stick of charcoal, and pushing down the map of Arkendol. Flipping through the books remaining on the desk, he created a spider web of lines across the parchment, running all the way from the city of Galeden, past the mountain range, through the sea, until finally he stopped along the western shore, deep within the Arkenthell mountains.
Tapping that spot, he glanced at Cyrus and Sylven. "Here. This is it. Somewhere within this mountain range lies the kingdom of Cirven'hold, where you'll find the Altier. Hopefully, they'll have the answers you seek."
"How long will it take to get there?" Cyrus asked, eyeing the map. The web of charcoal appeared to follow the main roads and sea routes, before leaving the last bit of humanity behind in a kingdom known as Cilthrin. After that, it faded into the mountains.
"About four and a half months, if you were to walk the entire way," Myrel said. He clapped his hands. "Depending on the weather and if you're able to purchase a horse or not, it could change by a few weeks."
Cyrus frowned. "That's still quite the distance."
"That it is," Myrel said. He tugged on his beard. "It'll be dangerous as well. I fear the stone plague is only the beginning of what is yet to come. Do you still wish to go? You're more than welcome to stay here, and continue learning about your magic."
Cyrus gazed at the map, the sweet melody of the woman's voice echoing in the back of his mind. If there was any chance of regaining his memories, he knew it would be there, with the Altier.
"I have to know," Cyrus said, lowering his head. "I have to know who I am, and why I have this magic. I've come too far, done too much, to just let it go like this."
"I see…" Myrel said. He smiled, and squeezed Cyrus's shoulder. "Very well then. It'd be wise to leave sooner than later, before the season's change, and you find yourself traveling in the dead of winter. I'll have Sylven prepare a pack for you."
Sylven cleared his throat. "Actually, Master Myrel… would you mind if joined Cyrus on his journey? He'll need someone who knows the land, and the people. His loss of memories would be the least of his worries should he get lost."
Myrel furrowed his brow. "Are you certain? You still have much to learn here."
"I am," Sylven said. "I'll be back before the summer of next year, and it'll be a good chance to test my current knowledge. It'll benefit me just as much as him."
"You have a point," Myrel said, pursing his lips. "Alright, Sylven. You're free to travel with him. I suppose it'll be better this way. Your first stop is in Neirport, where you go to meet Lewn. He still owes me a favor. I'll send word ahead of time, asking him to prepare a ship to take you to the Kingdom of Cilthrin."
"When do we leave?" Cyrus asked, stepping to the side as Myrel rolled up the map, and bound it with a thread.
"Tonight," Sylven said. He crossed his arms. "Galeden has placed a curfew for the past few weeks, and it'll be better to leave before they lift it. Less people to see us leaving, and all that, you know."
Cyrus took a shuddering breath. "Gods above. I can't believe I'm finally leaving."
As darkness shrouded the city, Cyrus double checked his belongings, before draping his cloak around his shoulders, and making his way downstairs. Sylven waited beside the door, speaking in a hushed tone to Myrel.
There were two packs beside his feet, along with a pair of waterskins, and some cooking utensils. As he glanced at Cyrus, the candle light bounced off the silver pommel of a short sword, sheathed in black leather, and strapped to his hip. He wore dark clothes, hidden by a black cloak.
Cyrus set his belongings on the table, and gestured towards the sword. "Will I need one of those?"
Sylven shrugged. "It might help, but we'll have to wait until we reach Neirport to buy one. I doubt any blacksmith in Mourtop would be selling swords."
Cyrus frowned. "Mourtop? Why are we going there?"
"I planned to purchase horses and more supplies there," Sylven said. He studied Cyrus. "Why? You look wary."
Cyrus shook his head. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I overheard some men in the tavern when I first got here. They spoke of a missing caravan, which had yet to make it to Galeden. Supposedly, it passed through Mourtop, or was going to, when they lost contact."
"Odd. I haven't heard of anything happening there. At least, nothing related to magic, or the stone plague" Myrel said. He stared hard at the floor. "It worries me that I don't know what's going on. It'd be wise for the two of you to stay on guard. These lands were dangerous enough long before all that's happening now."
"We'll stay safe, Master. You needn't fret," Sylven said, tapping the pommel of his sword. "We'll keep to the main roads, and take the pass through the mountains. If all goes well, we'll reach Neirport in three weeks, and send word back."
Myrel nodded, and gripped Sylven's shoulder. "I trust that you will. Just know the place won't be the same without you. And Cyrus, although our time together was short, I enjoyed having you here. You've progressed much faster than I thought you would. It makes me glad. Keep practicing what I taught you, and I'm certain your magic will come naturally in no time."
"Of course," Cyrus said, straightening his back. "Take care, Myrel."
"Very well then, you best be off," Myrel said. He handed Cyrus his pack and belongings, and opened the door.
A chill hung in the air, and the stars sparkled overhead, gleaming brilliantly in the black sky. Cyrus pulled his cloak tighter, and glanced over his shoulder. He was surprised to find the building to appear run down, with cracks in the walls, and gaping holes in the roof. Several of the windows appeared broken as well, though Cyrus knew they weren't.
'Magic is incredible,' he thought, waving farewell to Myrel, who remained at the door. The old man returned the gesture, before slipping back inside, and shutting the door with a thump. Thrown into darkness, the two were off, dashing through the shadows, and ducking away from any open windows.
Once again, Cyrus was impressed by Sylven's grace, as the young man made no sound through the alleys, and nimbly kept away from any puddles or debris that might create a noise. In contrast, his own heavy footfalls seemed to fall with a thump, and his breath came out in gasping pants.
As they neared the marketplace, Cyrus slowed to a stop, taken aback by the vines draped between the roofs, and moss covered steps. The stores and stalls were all dark, their crooked doors creaking in the wind, and their windows shattered, the glass crunching beneath his boots.
"What are you doing?" Sylven hissed, gesturing Cyrus over. "We need to pass through here in order to get to the main gate."
Cyrus forced himself to breath, and loosened his clenched fists. With a slight nod, he followed Sylven down the cracked steps. Trees and shrubs lined their path, while curtains of ivy snapped in the wind like emerald banners.
Overhead, the large pine swayed, its branches creating a canopy of needles over the entire market. Every time it moved, the ground groaned, threatening to give away as the roots swelled beneath.
As he gazed up at the tree, Cyrus nearly ran into Sylven, who had suddenly stopped. Ahead, the faint glow of a lantern bobbed in the darkness, accompanied by the clink of chainmail. "Guards! Get down," Sylven said. He grabbed Cyrus's arm, and yanked him into the bushes.