Shadow of the West

[Novnarwen]

For a moment, he had hesitated. Had the Emissary failed him? Instantly, he regretted questioning the Emissary’s power. He was not an ordinary man. In truth, he was far from it. Of course he would come. They were together on this.

He found himself wandering in the dark garden of the Palace. No one could be seen, there was utter silence. It was almost unbearable; the dark and the silence, but most of all the waiting. Already, he had been out here for hours. Worst of all was that he had promised Tarkan to be back within a few hours. Was he waiting for him? What if suspected something? He could only pray that he would be able to come up with a good excuse. Hopefully, the Prince's servant had arrived at Tarkan's residence and confirmed the meeting with Zamara. If not, if having failed convincing Nadda that Tarkan had a genuine wish of seeing Zamara, waiting here would be pointless.

Time went on. The moon was being stingy; the small portion of light it cast, wasn't enough for Pelin to keep him occupied with anything. He sat motionless in the dark, tired. Almost sleeping, he heard and recognized the voice that was coming from behind.

“Lord,” Pelin said silently, turning to the shadow. Bowing lightly, he told the tall figure about the meeting.

“Has it been confirmed?”

“Yes!” he hesitated. “Well… only by the priestess. I’m heading back to the Priest now. He’s hopefully been contacted by now, and then the meeting is confirmed.”

“Where, again?”

“Not decided,” Pelin said quickly.

There was silence for a moment.

“How do you expect me to locate Tarkan and Zamara then?”

“Find someone who can follow Tarkan, and me.”

With these words, the meeting had ended, and Pelin, obsessed with getting off and away, had run all the way back to Tarkan’s apartments.

Descending the stairs, he found his way back to the room he had been dismissed from just half an hour earlier. The sensation of having succeeded, finally being in control, was exhilarating.

“Pelin! We must go! Run through this tunnel! Hurry! Hurry!”

He watched the priest motioning him over. Ignoring him, he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was this moment he had looked forwards to, imagined, for so long. He could not believe he was standing here, in front of the Priest, the man who had always treated him unjustly, the man who had been treacherous, the man who had turned into a traitor of the King. Surely, he would pay. He himself would get his reward; his devotion and sacrifices would not have been wasted. The Lord Ashnaz would see to that.