"There must be reason for your presence here. Out with it! What are you doing here?" Voravia shouted. The day had been a long and fruitless one; she was not interested in listening to the whining of these idiots.
The larger of the two stepped forward nervously.
"Ve haf sum trubbl, M'ladji. A mon come into th cavs, the outr ones on rood to mntns. Ve was vurkin. Ve catched he and vas to goin’ kil him as you has ordrd. But he thrud us away vith gret strong, too strong for us. He thrud us around like ve was nutin. Ve ran away, he did not chase us, he runnd avay too, but I see hims go. He run to cave hole and onto rood. I not follow in light but get Ort and come tell you." He was down on his knees, cowering now, pushing backwards against the wall.
Voravia listened quietly, fists clenching ever tighter as the creature mumbled his story. She turned to look at the being, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. A malevolent hum filled the air. The men could feel the tension; they held their breaths, waiting.
"Describe this man," she asked calmly though clenching her teeth viciously. She turned away from the being, glanced out the window on the far side of the room and watched as the clouds blew violently from the sea across her land. She loved that sight and felt a rushing sensation, as though she was a part of the flight.
"Oh, yus, he be tall, great strung, hair be long with great white strek, but face be yung not old like hair," the fawning creature mumbled with his face now touching the floor.
She turned back to look at him.
"Get up, you fool. Get out of my sight! You are only spared your worthless life because I have no time to deal with you now. Be gone!" she shouted again, waving her hand toward the chamber door in dismissal.
She turned away from the little beings tumbling over each other to escape her wrath; they fully realized their good fortune.
She looked out of the window again.
Who is this man of power? What does this mean, this stranger? I must investigate this. There may be a problem.
"Wait!" Voravia turned, her face ashen with creases of white forming around her mouth from the tension. "Find him," she hissed, "I want you to follow him, find out where he's headed and report back to me!"
Something jogged a memory, telling her she already knew where he was going even if he had no idea. She now remembered she had read about him in the scrolls. She recognized this man apparently was too powerful for a single group of her people.
No man would normally have the kind of strength her minions were describing. Could this man be a part of the sense of mystery lingering in the air? Baalsa'n is probably causing some – but other things obviously not from that source are randomly happening.
If this man is so powerful, could he be a part of the legendary elements of the Ahar'n? Could he be a real part of something that isn't only a legend? How could he have lived so long? If so, can he and these things be related to the Ahar'n? The stories of the Guardian are as old as Narhtrae. And what is this amulet and what power does it possess? Could this man actually be the Guardian of the Ahar'n? I can't believe that is true. There has to be another explanation.
But this is a part of the mystique of the Ahar'n and its strange magic. A human is chosen; someone destined to become a warrior. The Ahar'n reaches out and shapes the one selected, enhancing powers already possessed, shapes this person into something more powerful. That new “superman” is created to protect the Ahar'n from falling into wrong hands.
Strangely, the protector always ended by becoming the same man as those others from the past regardless of who he was before.
It was unknown whether a female ever held the position, by the time the protector became a warrior, it was always a man
Voravia, reviewing the information her people had given her, knew the only way to stop this man was to kill him. If this intruder was the Guardian to be, he had to be killed before he acquired the Ahar'n. If he gained the Ahar'n before he could be killed, the powers from the Ahar'n would protect him, in turn, from any harm. He would be almost immortal.
Oh, this will be almost too easy. I shouldn't panic. I probably have plenty of time.
Her plan took shape quickly. She began to relax a bit and her anger left her as she prepared to leave the castle to execute this plan, gathering items needed to make a transformation of her own. Her guards would report soon enough on the whereabouts of this Guardian. She would come face to face with the problem.
Later, in the morning, her scout returned. He rushed to tell her what he had discovered.
“Mistress, Hes going to Vranila River Valley, to moutns,” he huffed out breathlessly. “I follows for while but come backs to reports.”
She was almost smiling as she strode down the hallway, shouting orders as she floated pass her servants.
"Ready my horse! Get me these herbs!" she railed, throwing her list at one of her people, flailing her arms about as she moved, "Stand extra guards at the gates!"
"I'll be gone a day or two. Keep yourselves out of trouble!" she said forcefully to Mord and Kesk who scrambled along just behind her as she flew along.
They stopped, of course, as she burst into her chambers. No one went there without her permission. She began tossing various things into a small bag, muttering to herself.
"Can't let him slip by me; must finish him before he becomes too powerful. "
The Ahar'n must be mine! Baalsa'n has no claim on it. I have my own plans for my world – this world. Why should I let him destroy it?
"Mord! Bring my horse around. I'm ready!" she shouted out at her servant still standing in front of the chamber door.
He scampered away and she walked to the window, noticing the great clouds gathering on the shoreline waiting to plow across the land.
Strange, that's the first time I've noticed them gathered so tightly. Is this some sort of change? Who can be doing this? And why?
Mord knocked softly on her door. She ripped it open and he jumped back several feet, almost falling backwards in his retreat.
"Your horse is ready, my lady," he mumbled and bowed to the floor, crawling backwards.
She rushed past him, descended the back stairs, and broke through the entrance to the stables. The horse, her best, was indeed waiting. Grabbing the reins, she vaulted into the saddle.
"Remember, I'll be back in a few days. I want nothing to go wrong here or heads will roll."
She snatched the reins, wheeled the animal toward the great gate, and galloped off without looking back.
The servants, watching her disappear, could hear her laughing loudly as she rode furiously into the night.
TREACHERY