But something internally rallied against just quitting, giving up everything. But he had already lost what mattered, his heart battled. Yes, but how did he really know unless he lived on and found out? He didn't know for sure that he lost his familiar, his rational mind countered, and he would never know if he perished tonight. The light had given him a bit of hope, and sometimes a tiny amount is better than none at all.
His lips parted, cracking painfully from the cold, and he heard a moan come from them, a moan that was supposed to be a cry for help. There was nothing he could do. The light stopped. They had heard him! Hushed whispering drifted down to his position and his relief was replaced by the fear that perhaps he had spooked them.
Again he tried to call to them; his limbs were so numb by now and again a low sound erupted from his frozen lips. The whispering grew more fevered. Like an eye, the light now cast out into the darkness in a sweeping motion, searching for the source of the sound.
Marcius let loose a sigh of relief when the light came to rest on his beleaguered form.
"By the Gods, is that a person?" the gentle voice called out in amazement, "We have to help him!"
"Careful, might be one of their traps. They're clever like that," again the gruff one interjected.
"Nonsense, Torbad. We would be lower than rats if we left this person out in this cold. Come, we'll just set up camp near here."
"Bah, you're too soft. I don't like it. We're still too close to the forest."
"Torbad, do as he says. Start breaking down, I'll help David with this fellow," Marcius finally heard the third voice, a quiet one used to having his orders followed. There was a grunt and a grumble, but the movement could be heard leading away. The light moved closer, causing Marcius to shut his eyes.
There was a brief shuffling and suddenly two pairs of strong arms were grabbing under his pits and legs, lifting him easily as the gentle glow of a fire could be seen flickering into life a dozen yards away. Marcius couldn't get a good look at his rescuers, catching brief glimpses of metal, leather, and skin here and there between the dancing of the lantern light.
"So, got a name?" the one who he identified as David asked, grunting a bit.
"M-m-Mar-Marcius." He couldn't stop shivering.
"Marcius, huh? Well, it's nice to. . . by Avalene's mercy, Lenard, he has the shakes!"
"I felt that. Let us hurry up and get him undressed and into something warmer or it'll be the death of him."
They gently set Marcius down in range of the fire and finally something clicked. The crisp efficient way they moved and the speed at which the camp was set up should have given away that these men were from the military. Only now, bathed in the orange glow of the fire, could Marcius see the weapons they wore, along with armor, which showed signs of recent use. Emblazoned on upper right area of their chest plates was the Morlian three-headed lion.
What were soldiers of the Morlian army doing on a desolate shore? The question was one Marcius had to leave unanswered as the spasms rocking his body only got worse. David, blowing a blonde strand of hair away from his face, started pulling off Marcius's wet clothing, ignoring the sickening squelches they made. He worked with single-minded ruthlessness, and before long, Marcius was unclothed in all his glory.
Marcius figured he should be embarrassed, but he wasn't in any condition to do anything. The third man, Lenard, threw over a fur blanket that David caught without even looking back. "Alright, we have to warm you up," he said, wrapping the blanket around Marcius. "You were at Dryken's door there, lad. Hey, Lenard, make something warm for him will yo-"
David was cut off by a tin mug being thrust in his face. "Way ahead of you." Gentle bits of steam wafted off it alluringly. The man took the proffered drink and held it up to Marcius, now snugly wrapped up, gently easing the apprentice's fingers around the cup. He would have dropped it without assistance. The first sip was tentative, but the liquid was warm and tangy, blazing a trail of heat down his throat that erupted into a sunburst in his stomach that drove the shivers back to the recesses they came from.
"Thanks," Marcius said after a few minutes passed. His voice sounded alien in his head, "What is it?"
"Ialre tea. Straight from my mother's garden," Lenard responded.
Marcius never heard of such a brew, but nodded his head in thanks anyway. He took another sip, delighting in the taste and the way is seemed to spread through his body. "I owe you all. Thank you."
"You're lucky we got here when we did," David said, his brown eyes serious as he plopped down, unbuckling his armor with a slight sigh of relief, "Any longer and the shivers would have gotten hold of you and the damage might have been permanent."
Minutes passed in silence, just the gentle crackle of the fire to fill the air, along with the sound of rolling waves. Marcius was pleased that warmth had crept back into his extremities and that the shaking was now manageable.
"Care to tell us what're you doing out here?" Torbad broke the silence as he threw in another stick into the fire. The man's distrust was evident in the coal black eyes that hid behind a curtain of stringy filthy brown hair.
Marcius considered the question, and the hypocrisy was blaringly evident. What were they doing out here? His thoughts flickered back to Faerill and his friends, and he made a decision. He would continue on his path, maybe it was all for naught, because if he had lost his familiar. . . Well, the thought was too unbearable to even fathom. Faerill was more than just a familiar, more than just a conduit for his nether manipulation. The tiny wyvrr was a constant friend that shared a bond that could never be replicated.
Marcius tried to remember the events that led him here, but couldn't. His mind was like a flock of birds, diving and weaving, diverging off course. The best he could remember was falling off the ship, though the events that led him there, in that predicament, were frustratingly vague.
Again, he searched his mind, looking for the familiar ball of consciousness that had resided in his head. He forced himself calm down, trying to fight off the vestiges of panic that had caused him to give up in the first place. After several heart dropping moments, he located the faintest wisps of what reminded him of his familiar. It was too weak to contact though their emphatic link. Was it enough to guarantee that the familiar was alive? He wasn't sure, and if the familiar was alive, it wouldn't remain that way long, since Faerill needed blood from Marcius to survive. He had three months to find his familiar; he remembered that much from his training.
Still, the discovery gave Marcius hope. "Boy, did you hear me?" Torbad barked, breaking Marcius from his thoughts.
"Oh, I fell off my ship during a storm." The excuse was weak, but Marcius just had the feeling that normal everyday people wouldn't appreciate his trade, and he was still a bit shocked at his discovery. Still they seemed to buy it. "What about you three?"
"We're soldiers, lad, can't you see?" said David, throwing Marcius a smile that had the apprentice smiling back, albeit weakly.
"We "were" soldiers, you mean," Torbad spit, still eying Marcius with suspicion.
"Torbad. . . " Lenard said, his quiet voice managing to carry an implicit threat.
Marcius studied the three of them, finally really looking at the trio. Their armor was worn, having seen obvious use, yet professional soldiers from Morlian never did such a thing, at least according to the stories he read. That would indicate that they didn't have time to clean their gear. The apprentice finally took in their appearances, about how haggard they looked, how the darkest shadows sank into the pits of their eyes, and yet they were in constant state of alert.
"You're deserters," he said, just as surprised to reach the conclusion as he was to say it out loud.
The look of astonishment, which was quickly replaced by fear and distrust, even from David, was all the confirmation he needed. "Now, that's a bit of a stretch-" David began, before going silent as Lenard raised his hand.
"No sense in lying to the boy, David. He got it right. Smart lad. We," and he gestured to the three of them, "are the only survivors of an ambush."
Marcius gasped. "What happened?"
This time it was Torbad that answered, his voice grave. "Elves, that's what happened, boy."
Yes, Marcius thought, rumors of the beginning war between Morlia and the Selenthia elves had indeed trickled down to the Rhenford. Still he had a difficult time imagining the normally aloof elves fighting, though he could admit his own experience with elves was rather limited to just Ken and brief blurbs in Antaigne's books.
The disbelief must have been evident in his actions. "You ever dealt with elves before?" David asked.
"I'm from Lorinia. I've seen them around."
There was a sharp bit of derisive laughter from the three soldiers, "Well, boy, let me tell you that's a bit different than what we're talking ‘bout. What little bit you've seen is nothing compared the Selenthia elves. Nor have you ever seen them fight," Lenard paused, collecting his thoughts as he stared into the fire.
"It's something else. They aren't mortal, at least in the sense of you and me. I've seen my share of bloodshed and battle, lad. Trust me when I say that nothing a human can do can compare to what elves are capable of. Beautiful they are, but don't let that fool you. Killers they be." The man's eyes glazed over, as if he was looking at something distant.