"Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us."
-Jane Roberts
There was a blinding flash of light when Morenth opened his eyes again. Shadows played across his vision in frantic fits of motion, breaking up the unbearable brightness. There were also voices. Low, indistinct voices that seemed to come to him from miles away.
Something metallic was pressed to his lips followed by a foul liquid running down his throat. He would have fought, but his body wouldn't heed him. It lay useless against the dark magic that had invaded his body. Instead, he tried to cough up whatever rank concoction was being forced on him. His body racked with the effort but managed a few weak heaves and a measure of the disgusting liquid was expelled from his stomach.
He felt something press against his shoulder. It was warm and vaguely familiar.
"Morenth, stop!" one of the voices commanded, rising above the others. "Please stop fighting us. We're trying to help you," the voice begged. The raw emotion behind the plea caused Morenth to take pause. It had been a long while, almost a decade in fact, since anyone had spoken like that to him; like someone truly cared for his well being.
With a rough sigh his body sagged against whatever was propping him up, and the fight rushed out of him. He accepted another draw of the foul smelling drought without complaint, despite it being the most vile thing he'd ever tasted. Even worse than the fried goat bladder he'd eaten while among the hill tribes of Dem'roth in the frozen north.
Slowly, his eyes began to adjust to the light and was greeted by the rotting teeth of a wide smiling old codger. Morenth fought to keep his last pull of what he presumed was medicine form spraying everywhere as he recoiled in surprise. A large hand cupped the old man's head and lightly shoved it out of Morenth's field of view.
"Bah! What're ye tryin' ta do? Knock 'em back out with shock?" came a second voice that made Morenth sigh in resignation, "If Ay woke up ta yer mug, Ay'd beat ye senseless Ay would." The declaration was followed by a pair of girlish giggles before they could be hidden by faux coughing.
Morenth strained to move his eyes and take in his surroundings. He lay in a wagon bed bundled up in layers of wool blankets that left him feeling uncomfortably warm in the direct sunlight. His respite however, came in the form of a gentle breeze that carried the smell of grass and the leftover chill of the mountains it passed through on its journey south. The wagon itself was packed with refugees, both children and adults, who stared at him with looks ranging from curiosity to apprehension. Many looked away or started praying when Morenth's sight fell upon them. Their fear stung the paladin, but it was and old sting. A familiar pain that was easily pushed aside but not so easily forgotten.
Riegar was busy discussing something with the old codger he'd taken aside, but he took a moment to flash Morenth a toothy grin and a nod of acknowledgment before returning to what looked like an argument of some kind.
"...Morenth?" Twilight began, stepping into his view. A wave of relief washed over Morenth at the sight of her. She was whole and unharmed, if a little travel worn. "How are you feeling?" she asked, rubbing her foreleg nervously with a hoof.
Morenth looked down at himself for a moment then back up to the cloudless sky. "Alive," he managed to reply quietly, his throat dry and puffy from weeks of fever, "...and a little numb."
Her strained smile became a true one as she wrapped her hooves around him in a hug that reminded the paladin that despite his muscles being numb and useless he could still feel pain. His shoulder felt like it was being dipped in acid, but he grunted and endured it. That didn't stop him from letting out a sigh of relief when Twilight released him and the numbness settled back in.
"How long have I been out?" Morenth asked, trying to keep his mind away from the absurd idea that the embrace was worth the pain it brought.
"It's been two weeks and three days, almost half the journey," Twilight said distantly, her eyes fixed on the western horizon where their destination lay, "You've been under doctor Bailin's care the entire trip." She motioned to the old man currently in a heated debate with Riegar.
Bailin looked away from his discussion and scratched his balding head in irritation. "I already told you, Lady Sparkle. I'm not a doctor. I'm an apothecary, an herbalist, a druid if you're feeling dramatic."
Twilight scoffed, "But you're still basically a doctor. Perhaps not a surgical doctor, but at least a medical one. Apothecaries were charlatans that believed in bleeding and leaches." The note of disdain was strong in her voice.
Bailin was looking a little red in the face. "Lady Sparkle, bleeding was debunked by the apothecary guild decades ago," he said with indignation, "And there are no marshlands in the Grey Flats to procure leaches from. Everyone knows that."
"Only decades?!" Twilight looked about to explode, but Morenth needed answers, and as entertaining as the exchange was, it wasn't getting him any closer to them.
"How many are left?" He interjected as firmly as he could given his condition.
Twilight looked abashed at her display and brought the volume of her voice under control. "four-hundred and twenty-seven civilians, as well as eighty of the guard made it out of Hollodrum."
Morenth dropped his gaze. "So few..." he muttered distantly.
Wynn took the moment of pause to jump in. "That's still five-hundred and seven people that would be dead now if it weren't for you, lord paladin," she said hurriedly as if afraid to be contradicted, then added in a whisper Morenth almost missed, "Myself as well."
The paladin winced at the grateful look she gave him. "There were more than four-thousand men, women, and children in Hollodrum. Only an eighth of them are in this world now." He gazed across the open plain at the smoke rising from the east. "That's maybe three-thousand undead now running wild across the Eastern Dales if you count the ones slain in combat. They may not be able to cross the Grey Flats but the Bloodwood runs long, north and south, maybe two-hundred leagues and borders the woodlands surrounding Midrasis on the southern coast," Morenth explained, drawing worried looks from around the wagon. "Like it or not, this is not the last we've seen of this horde. If we're lucky, Midrasis will take the threat seriously and launch a force to retake Hollodrum within a fortnight, if not..."
He stopped mid sentence as his body racked with a fit of wheezing followed by painfully ragged coughs. afterwards he felt to weary to continue, and by the faces of the refugees that overheard told him he'd already said too much.
Twilight glanced around nervously at the atmosphere settling over the refugees. "Uh, I'm not very familiar with the geography of Soulis, or its cities," she began, attempting to change the topic before the mood soured, "Could someone explain what kind of place Midrasis is?"
Morenth tried to shift himself toward her but found himself too weak. Cursing himself silently, he settled for tilting his head in her direction. "Midrasis is one of the largest free cities in Soulis, and the second largest port in the southern seas next to Kaldoon..." he explained, struggling for breath, "It also houses the most active black-market on the southern or western coasts, so it tends to attract the a lot of shady vessels of... questionable business..."
Wynn looked on with worry as the paladin paused to catch his breath again and decided to take over. "Midrasis itself is effectively a small country all its own. Most of the towns in the surrounding country side look to it for protection and trade, but it comes at the price of subservience."
Twilight frowned in thought. "Okay, wait a moment, I'm confused. Both Morenth and Riegar mentioned that a High King rules over Soulis. Why do Kaldoon and Midrasis sound like kingdoms of their own?"
"Because they are, well, technically Kaldoon is a duchy and Midrasis is a free city," Morenth answered, sitting up a little straighter. The 'medicine' he'd been forced to drink must have been working. "High King Braxus IV is the descendant of the original King Braxus who united all the lands of Soulis under one banner. However, the treaty was signed under duress as it was a time of great turmoil. A necromancer by the name of Val'goroth rose to power and marshaled an army so vast, that none in Soulis could challenge him."
"Necro...mancer? Like as in a mage with power over death?" Twilight asked, looking a little sick.
Morenth managed a nod. "Yes, and undeath as well. Fearing domination and possible extermination, the various nations of Soulis accepted the terms of King Braxus and became vassal states. This was the beginning of the Unification War, in which Braxus united the armies of all nations and placed them under the command of the White Council to wage a twenty year war against Val'goroth."
Twilight rubbed her chin with a hoof, adopting the same look she had on the morning before Hollodrum fell. Endless curiosity. "Why would he give the armies to the church after he took so much trouble to unite them?" A fair question.
"The original Braxus was a devout man," the paladin lectured, glad to have a topic of discussion in an area of academics he was well acquainted with, "He believed that only the church had the right to wage war against the darker forces, and that putting himself in charge would eventually splinter the combined armies allegiance in prolonged warfare. It is by his actions that the Order is as strong as it is today. Both the office of High King and the church have been closely tied to each other ever since. But that's just glossing over the events that led to-"
Morenth stopped mid sentence, realizing he was rambling on about history like he used to do when he was a child. When he got like this the other kids at the orphanage would tune him out and ignore him. Even Fythe would only pretend to listen. Fythe knew his lessons, but he'd never possessed a passion for it like Morenth had. Nobody did.
"And then?" Twilight asked with baited breath, startling him from his thoughts. Her eyes were wide and intent with focus as if her mind was devouring every word he said.
The paladin stared at his companion in bewilderment. This was supposed to be the moment where her interest would wane in favor of other subjects. Instead, she sat there on her haunches waiting with barely contained excitement as she silently urged him to continue. "Uh, well you see-"
"What do ye mean twenty?! That's robbery tha' is!" Riegar shouted suddenly, cowing old Bailin with the volume of his voice. The smith grabbed the apothecary by the collar of his dirty robes and muttered something into the old man's ear with a sinister glare.
Bailin went white as a sheet, and might as well have been just that in the Riegar's vice-like grip. "I-I'm s-sorry," the apothecary pleaded, "B-but I can't recoup my losses a-any other w-way!"
"Ye might want to talk less Bailin," Riegar muttered darkly, "So we won't see the forked tongue behind yer teeth."
With a concerted effort Morenth shifted himself to face the angry smith. "What's this about smith? You shouldn't waste your energy on pointless arguments."
Riegar took one more look at Bailin and scoffed. "Bah! ain't none o' yer concern knight. Just need five minutes alone to straighten this rat out."
"W-what?" the apothecary sputtered, wincing as the blacksmith popped his knuckles, "Surely there's no need for violence! I-okay fine, I'll drop the price to ten pieces of silver!"
Riegar pretended not to hear the old man and cocked back one of his massive fists. "Obviously, ye need a lesson in honest trade, rat," the smith intoned, dragging Bailin close to his face by the collar, "And don't call me Shirley."
"Wait!" Twilight cried as the smith's poised fist was wrapped in a sheath of pink magic, "Riegar, don't you think you should at least explain why you need to inflict bodily harm on doctor Bailin here."
"Apothecary!" Bailin corrected with a squeak.
"Bah!" Riegar tensed, tugging at his arm for a few seconds before giving up with a roll of his eyes. "Oh, fine," he finally relented, extending his finger from his balled fist to point accusingly at the apothecary, "This rat-" He emphasized his point by shaking Bailin in his grip. "-wants ta charge a king's ransom fer the paltry healing salves he's been rubbin' on the knight's bandages. Twenty silver pieces!"
Against the front of the wagon, Morenth's even expression changed into the ghost of a smirk. "I seem to remember a certain smith who did the same thing upon my arrival to Hollodrum," the paladin said, trying and failing to shrug helplessly, "Truly a frightfully recurring trait shared by blacksmiths and doctors the world over."
Flushing in a mix of embarrassment and frustration, Riegar begrudgingly released the old apothecary and turned to face Morenth. "Ay'm not like this rat," he argued, shooting another look over his shoulder at Bailin, "Every copper knut ye gave me went ta materials, as well as a sir charge fer clearin' me schedule of other orders. Oh, speakin' o' which." The smith reached into his apron pockets and withdrew a handful of copper coins. "here's the coin ye gave me to mend yer armor," he said in an apologetic tone as he scratched his nose, "Never did get 'round ta that..."
Morenth looked at the sum collected in the armorers cupped hand and cocked an eyebrow. "This isn't what you charged me. I distinctly remember paying you more than forty silver coins for your work. Work, I have yet to see."
"Bah! Then work's what ye'll see knight," Riegar proclaimed, his grimace changing suddenly into a wide, toothy smile, "Little missy, if ye'll be so kind as to show me costumer that Riegar is a man o' his word."
By the time Morenth managed to shift his head back over to Twilight her horn was already alight, lifting up an equine shaped leather harness from beside what was left of his discarded armor. The craftsmanship was beautiful, but what drew the paladin's eye was the bright metal back plate and star shaped clasp affixed to the dark cowl. Twilight was proudly displaying the armor to him when she caught his fixed interest. "Riegar, I've been meaning to ask, what kind of metal is this? I mean, it looks like silver, but wouldn't that be too soft of a metal to use for armor?"
"Alirium," Morenth said before the smith could respond. He couldn't stop the slight twinge of wonder in his voice as he examined the piece. "Also known as 'spell steel' or 'true silver'. It's far more durable than mundane metals and can be permanently enchanted by mages without the degradation such spells normally yield in ordinary materials. My own sword, Dawnbringer, was forged of the same metal." The paladin's eyes searched Riegar, trying to find if he missed something about the unassuming blacksmith. "How did you come across such a thing, and why part with it for so little?" Morenth looked over the harness floating in front of him with suspicion. "And how did you make this in a day? I highly doubt you get many three foot tall unicorn costumers."
Riegar grinned and puffed out his chest with swelling pride. "Ha! Ain't nothin' a combination o' inspiration, obsession, and a callin' in o' a few favors couldn't fix. Had ta get the tanner's help fer the vest itself. It was originally a doublet bein' made fer a wealthy merchants son before sickness took 'em, but the size was just right fer me designs. As fer the alirium, Ay had a bit stashed away in the back o' me shed in case o' a rainy day."
With a click of his tongue Morenth adopted a plaintive scowl and was about to grill the smith further when Twilight broke the silence with unconstrained enthusiasm. "Alirium? At what temperature does it become malleable? Oh, also is it an alloy of some kind or is it a new mineral compound? Has anyone experimented with its unique properties to absorb magic, and if so have they determined the source of the phenomenon?" she asked in rapid succession, looking around her for something before adopting a pout, "Oh drat! I forgot I don't have anything to take notes on... or with."
Beside her Wynn perked up and placed a hand on the suddenly depressed unicorn. "If you need something to write with, I think I saw some quills among the supplies in the wagon behind us," she said quietly, "And if we look hard enough I'm sure we can find some scrolls or parchment."
"Oh, and I can mix together some ink from the local plants if you'd like, Lady Sparkle," added a relieved looking Bailin, "I'll go out and do just that."
Riegar's hand shot out and grabbed the back of the apothecary's robe as he turned to leave, hauling him back around to face the angry smith. "And where do ye think yer goin', rat? We still have an issue ta resolve."
"Yes, we do," said Morenth evenly, drawing more panic out of old herbalist, "The issue of your payment."
"What?!" Riegar exclaimed in surprise, releasing Bailin from his grasp who slumped to the bed of the wagon out of sheer relief, "Ye mean ta tell me yer gonna pay this rat after he tried to wriggle twenty silver outta ye?!"
Morenth sighed with as a sudden wave of exhaustion overcame him. "If that is the price of his service, then yes, I will pay him every copper knut he deems necessary. There is no crime saying he can't raise his price as the need for his services increase" the paladin explained, still trying to lift so much as a finger and failing, "What do you merchants call it again? Oh yes, a sellers market." Having said his piece, he fumbled weakly under the wool blankets for his coin purse and found it missing. "Uh, where is my coin purse?"
"It's with yer things in the pile over there," Riegar grumbled, pointing to a heap consisting of the paladin's leather harness, crusader's long coat, and pack. With another glow of her horn, Twilight levitated a jingling purse from within the pack and floated it over to the herbalist. The smith took that time to snort, make his way to the end of the wagon, and hop off to join the groups of other refugees walking beside the caravan.
After a happy Bailin counted out twenty silver coins he held out the purse for Twilight who levitated it out of his hand and placed it back in Morenth's pack with noticeably little jingle. The paladin sighed again and mentally made his checklist of things to do once they reached Kaldoon one item longer.
"If we're quick, we may catch sir Riegar while he's still in the mood to talk," Wynn said in a hushed whisper to Twilight, pulling the paladin away from his thoughts of the future, "And I think doctor Bailin meant what he said about mixing together some ink."
Twilight looked hesitant for a moment and looked over at him with an expression of worry. "I don't know... I mean, I want to know more about alirium, but Morenth just woke up, and doctor Bailin will be away gathering ingredients for a while. I can't just leave him here alone."
Morenth worked quickly to force down more emotions bubbling to the surface at Twilight's display of concern for him. He still wasn't used to anyone showing more than passing interest in his presence outside of their obligations to his position as a paladin of the Order.
"I'm fine," he managed to say before adding, "I could use a little time to myself to organize my thoughts."
It took a moment for Twilight to decide but after a few minutes she nodded. "Alright, but don't push yourself," she began before looking at the paladin with a cocked eyebrow, "I mean it, don't do anything that may cause you to relapse. That means keep your heart rate down, so don't try getting up and walking around just yet."
The paladin kept the wry grin off his face. He couldn't even sit up straight, let alone stand. "Go on Twilight, I'll be here."
After watching his companion hop off the tail gate with Wynn, Morenth went to work on rehabilitating his body, starting with his furthest extremities.
He spent the next several hours thinking the same thing over and over to coax his body into obeying him. 'Wiggle your big toe.'