Chapter 48: The Herd of Aelwyn

The journey resumed under a sky brushed with streaks of orange and pink as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The blood of battle had dried, and the tense edges of adrenaline had dulled, leaving only the comforting rhythm of hooves against dirt and snow. Dorian rode with Selyse again, though he had grown comfortable enough to lean back slightly, letting the gentle sway of the horse relax him.

Tache, ever the storyteller when not swinging blades, launched into another of his embellished tales—a harrowing escape from a collapsing fort, flames licking at his heels as he carried a wounded ally on each shoulder. His dramatic gestures made Selyse roll her eyes, though the faintest curve of a smile betrayed her amusement. Ralnor, as always, listened in stoic silence, occasionally grunting in what might have been agreement—or boredom.

When Tache finished with a flourish, Dorian chuckled softly. “Good story,” he said, “but let me tell you one you’ve never heard.”

The three knights turned their attention to him, intrigued.

Dorian’s smile softened as his fingers idly strummed his lute. “It’s about my hometown—Suntails Hollow. A small, bright place tucked between golden fields and a sky that always seemed too big for such a little village.” His voice grew wistful. “And about my best friends—Lucas, Ryssa, and Bogo.”

He painted vivid pictures with his words: Lucas, with his relentless determination and dry humor; Ryssa, sharp-minded and fierce, hiding her insecurities beneath layers of strength; and Bogo, the ever-curious tinkerer whose inventions often worked… but not without a few unexpected surprises. As he spoke, the warmth of his memories wrapped around him like a familiar cloak.

“They were more than friends,” Dorian said quietly. “They were my roots. Seeing you three—it makes me miss them.”

Selyse glanced at him, her expression softer than usual. “Is that Lucas’ training method working out?” she asked, her voice casual but edged with curiosity.

Dorian’s face lit up. “Oh, it works. Better than we ever expected. It even opened something in him—not aura like we know it,” he added quickly, sensing their interest. “It’s… different. He describes it as an energy, swirling in his stomach like a ball. When he channels it, his attacks can create something like an energy blade. He even joked that if he practiced enough, he could form a sword aura with a leaf.”

Tache snorted. “Yeah, sure. A leaf.”

Ralnor, however, tilted his head slightly. “We’ve never been to Longzhi,” he said thoughtfully, referencing the distant eastern continent known for its rich, exclusive magical traditions. “Magic’s different there. Aura too.”

Dorian nodded, then remembered something. “Oh! One of the esquires I met in Svalen mentioned the Twelve Church is developing equipment that stores magical energy. They say even someone without aura can produce aura effects if they wear it.”

The reaction was immediate—and unsettling.

Tache’s easygoing smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, serious expression Dorian had never seen before. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening with restrained anger. Even Selyse’s posture stiffened, her playful demeanor gone in an instant. Ralnor’s face was unreadable behind his helmet, but his silence spoke volumes.

Tache’s voice was low, almost a growl. “We don’t talk about the Twelve. Be it their gods or their church.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Dorian, sensing he’d touched something raw, quickly raised his hands in apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced a laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I guess even a bard knows when to shut up.”

Tache’s glare softened slightly, but the shadows lingered in his eyes. The awkward silence that followed was filled only by the rhythmic beat of hooves against the snow-dusted ground.

Luckily, their journey soon led them to an open field nestled between snowy hills. A small, pristine lake reflected the evening light like a sheet of molten gold. The landscape was breathtaking—wild, untamed, and beautiful in the way only the north could be.

Ralnor broke the silence with a simple statement. “We’re here.”

Dorian’s breath caught as he took in the sight. “Is there anywhere in the north that isn’t beautiful?” he murmured.

Selyse smirked, her tension easing slightly. “We’re blessed with great scenery,” she said. “But cursed with the nobles who lead us.” She gestured toward the open field. “Welcome to Aelwyn’s Herd.”

Dorian tilted his head. “Where’s Aelwyn? Is he the one who owns the herd?”

Tache chuckled, his good humor returning. “Aelwyn isn’t a person, bard. He’s the horse—the leader of the herd.”

Dorian’s eyes followed where Tache pointed. Among the grazing horses stood a creature unlike any other. A majestic white stallion, its coat shimmering like fresh snow under the dying light, its mane rippling like silver silk in the breeze. Its presence commanded respect, not just from the other horses but from the land itself. The stallion’s eyes, deep and intelligent, met Dorian’s for a fleeting moment.

It was as if the very world had paused to honor him.

A surge of inspiration hit Dorian like a wave. Without thinking, he pulled out his flute and began to play.

The melody was soft at first, a gentle whisper that floated on the wind. But it grew, swelling with each breath, weaving through the air like a living thing. Notes danced across the field, wrapping around the horses, drawing their attention. Heads lifted. Ears twitched.

And then Aelwyn—the great white stallion—moved.

Graceful and powerful, the horse approached, his steps light yet deliberate. The entire herd followed, drawn to the music as if enchanted.

Dorian played on, his heart swelling with awe. The song wasn’t just for Aelwyn. It was because of him—a tribute to the wild beauty of the north, the untamed spirit of the land, and the unspoken bond between man and beast.

When the final note faded, silence settled over the clearing.

Then, as if acknowledging the bard’s gift, Aelwyn bowed his head slightly before turning back to his herd.

Dorian lowered his flute, breathless.

“Well,” Tache said softly, breaking the silence. “Looks like you’ve got a way with more than just people.”

Selyse chuckled. “Maybe he doesn’t need a horse after all. He could just sing one into following him.”

Dorian grinned, his heart still racing. “Or maybe I’ve just met the first creature more majestic than myself.”

The laughter that followed was genuine, the tension from earlier forgotten—at least for now.

But the shadows of the past never truly stayed buried. And the road ahead still held many stories to tell.

The golden hue of the setting sun bathed the clearing in warm tones, casting long shadows from the sparse trees surrounding the serene lake. The herd of majestic horses, led by the regal Aelwyn, grazed peacefully in the distance, their silhouettes framed by the fiery horizon.

Dorian stretched, slinging his lute over his shoulder. “Why not pick a horse now?” he asked, his eager eyes still drawn to the elegant forms of the herd. The bard’s enthusiasm was infectious, his voice filled with that familiar spark of curiosity and excitement.

Tache shook his head, his usual grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s evening. Let Aelwyn and his herd rest. We’ll have better luck in the morning.” His tone was light, but there was a subtle weight behind his words, a tension that hadn’t entirely dissipated since their earlier conversation about the Twelve Church.

Ralnor, ever the man of few words, simply stood, brushing dust from his armor. “Hunting,” he grunted, his massive shield left resting against a nearby tree as he strapped a smaller knife to his belt.

Dorian perked up. “I’ll come with you.”

Ralnor gave a brief nod. “Let’s go.”

As the two disappeared into the tree line, their footsteps fading into the hush of the forest, Selyse remained by the dwindling firelight. She watched the retreating figures for a moment before shifting her gaze to Tache, who was busy adjusting the straps on his gear, avoiding her eyes with deliberate casualness.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her voice carrying just enough concern to make it clear she wasn’t referring to their recent battle.

Tache flashed his signature grin, the one that usually disarmed tension. “What are you talking about?”

Selyse didn’t smile back. “The bard… talking about the church.”

For a fleeting second, Tache’s smile faltered. A shadow passed through his eyes, quick but undeniable. He shrugged, attempting to play it off. “I’m okay, I guess.”

Selyse didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press—not yet. She knew Tache well enough to recognize the walls he built around certain subjects, and the scars he carried weren’t just on his skin.

“He doesn’t know,” she said quietly, poking at the fire with a stick, watching embers flare briefly. “I don’t think we’ll lash out like that again.”

Tache didn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifted toward the forest where Dorian and Ralnor had vanished, then back to the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes like distant memories flickering just out of reach.

Then, with a forced cheeriness, he clapped his hands together. “Hey, look at that—we forgot to tell Ralnor to grab firewood.”

He stood quickly, dusting off his pants. “Guess I’ll go gather some.”

Selyse opened her mouth as if to say more but then stopped herself, exhaling softly. She knew better. Tache would talk when he was ready—or maybe he never would. Either way, pushing wouldn’t help.

She watched him disappear into the growing darkness, the crackling fire the only thing left to fill the silence.