Chapter 7
Sealed Words of Warning
Captain Andrew Rede strode through the orderly troll camp, inspecting the arrangement of tents, cooking stations and horse pickets. At his side, shadowing the taller man was his Right Lieutenant, Lynden Bryce, a spare man of middle years, red hair sprinkled liberally with grey and a deep half- moon scar tracing the cheek bone below his left eye. The ladies apparently found him quite handsome. Scars on a troll seemed to excite women rather than repulse them, Andrew observed, and Lyndon was unusually successful with the ladies.
"Sir, you really need to see this" he said, shoving the orders at Andrew. He studiously ignored it, lengthening his stride to avoid eye contact with the parchment being waved energetically under his nose.
"Good news will wait and bad news will never go away. Surely this can wait until I have completed my nightly rounds? Or at least retrieved a plate of food?"
"I'm afraid not, Sir, you need to see this, right now!" Lyndon grabbed Andrew's arm and pulled him to a halt, hauling him around to face the shorter man.
Thrusting the sheet in front of his face, Andrew took it and studied the closure for a moment. A green wax seal had been pressed onto the parchment, the imprint in the shape of a wing with seven rings dangling from the feathered tips. He turned the parchment over to find that his name was inscribed on the surface.
He slid his thumb under the fold and broke the seal, with a huff of annoyance that puffed his mustache. The seal meant nothing to him.
"Where did you get this?" he asked as he unfolded the parchment. It appeared very old and as though it had heard his thoughts, the frail edges crumbled under his touch.
"It was sitting on the mat at the entrance to my tent, when I returned there from visiting the latrine." Lynden said, straight faced.
Andrew looked up at him in surprise. "It was in your tent? Who put it there?"
Lynden's level eye gaze held his green eyed one. "Well that's just it, isn't it? No one saw anyone enter the camp or approach my tent. No one can sneak past a troll patrol, and our unit is the best there is, not to mention that we now number five complete rings. No one can sneak into the middle of one hundred alert trolls without being seen, let alone five hundred."
Andrew's eyes dropped to the parchment in front of him and attempted to read the curly loopy writing.
The script was old world, the phrasing awkward to his tongue.
Pulling Lynden to the side of a supply tent, out of hearing of the others, he read aloud, stumbling over the words.
"Tydes of evyle scoure the earthe yn searche of 'er Pryncesse, yay 'er wysdome and 'er powers of old nay be kerbed. Evyle knockes at yeorr doore! March ere the wyzards keep of olde, for sanctuarye lyes at her feete. Be swyfte and be sure, for tyme ys short. Seeke the Keepers of the Ryngs of Veryty. Be warned nay to tarry."
Andrew turned the parchment over, looking to find a signature but the parchment was unsigned.
He flipped it over again, studying the seal. Something about it nagged at him, sparking a vague memory.
"Come on," he said grabbing Lynden by his shirt sleeve and dragging him back to his own tent. "I think I have seen this symbol before."
He kept a small private collection of history books in his trunk. He was one of the few in the camp that could read and books were rare in the troll cities as no traders came with supplies to sell. If they existed, they were dusty volumes usually kept in the central library or in private collections such as his.
The few books available were highly sought after, extremely expensive and difficult to find. The books in his collection had been passed down to him father to son for many generations. He was not even sure how old some of the books were, but his familiarity with them kept the old world tongue alive at least for his enjoyment. He knew that some of the magistrate's court could also read the old tongue.
Flipping open his trunk, he rummaged through to the bottom and pulled out a faded blue leather bound book entitled "Foundlying Famylyes & Holdyngs" and carried it over to the camp table, pulling out the one lonely camp chair with one foot as he flipped the volume open.
Lynden came to stand by his shoulder as he sat down, already engrossed in searching its faded pages for ... something. What was it that he had seen that reminded him of the seal? It was a book on the estates of the northern troll families and their boarders and numbers of livestock, acres under orchards and such, likely, Andrew mused, in order to calculate the taxes owing to the Arch Mage of the day.
He had wandered to nearly the end of the book when he opened to a page called "Famyly Veryty Holdyngs & Estate" and there, at the top of the leger, was the same image as impressed into the wax seal of the letter in his hand. Andrew placed them side by side. Lynden let out a low whistle. They were identical.
He sat back and pondered the mystery before him. Who had placed the letter in the camp and why? How had they accomplished it? What did it mean, the strange warning contained in it? And how could it be relevant to this day and time? Surely it was a coincidence that they were seeking a princess rumoured to be in the very woods where they were camped and the message also spoke of a princess? How could it be anything else?
He looked up at Lynden. "What are your recommendations?"
Lynden glanced at the prophecy, for he did not know what else to call it and said "I do not see a reason to follow this command, as we have not encountered any unusual evil, nor do we know where this wizards' keep is. It seems suspicious to me to send such a contrived note and not even sign it. For all we know this could be the attempt of the enemies we are seeking to side track us, to send us off on a wild goose chase, while they sneak away with the princess."
Andrew looked at the pictures again. That above all else, convinced him that the message was real, despite the fact that the parchment was fragile beyond belief.
"I disagree. How do you explain that seal and this picture?" he said, gesturing at the book. "Few people can even read and to have the knowledge to reproduce this level of accuracy on parchment this old AND sneak it into the camp, it seems one too many insurmountable obstacles, in my mind."
Andrew pulled at his lower lip, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, as he studied the words again.
"We really don't have any leads as to where to look for this princess in the Weirwood. The prophecy or hint, directs us towards this Wizards' keep and I think I may know where to look for it." He flipped to the end of the book, where a map lay folded in the back. He opened it up to three times the normal page size.
On the map was a sketch of all the towns of the northern kingdom in existence five hundred years ago. The borders had changed over the last half millennium, but still approximated the current boundaries. Located in the very center of the mountainous Mammoth spine range, was a large starred building. Printed beside it were the words "Veryty Keepe".
In the distance, lightning flashed, highlighting the low clouds and thunder rumbled on the wind.
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