Chương 100: Chapter 7: Unwelcome Eyes- Part I

The walk to the keep is short but it feels much longer. Neither Garrick nor I speak after leaving the watchtower. The summons lingers in my thoughts with every step through Fallowspire's streets. Havlar rarely calls without warning, and when he does, it is almost never for anything pleasant. The guards stationed outside the council chamber straighten as we approach. One of them reaches for the door. Before he can announce us, voices spill through the heavy oak.

"... there has been a misunderstanding." Havlar. The response comes immediately, sharp enough to cut through stone.

"There is no misunderstanding, City Lord Havlar. Harboring practitioners of forbidden arts is a crime against both Crown and Faith." Another voice joins them, older and steadier.

"Father Aldren, perhaps allowing Lord Havlar to finish his explanation would serve everyone present." An unfamiliar man. I exchange a brief glance with Garrick before pushing the door open. The conversation stops. Every head in the chamber turns toward us. Havlar stands beside the council table, one hand resting against its polished edge, his patience visibly wearing thin. Opposite him stands a man in immaculate travelling clothes bearing the royal crest stitched across the breast of his dark cloak, a royal envoy.

His posture is relaxed, but his eyes move constantly, studying every face in the room with practiced precision. Beside him, stands a priest. White robes trimmed with silver hang almost perfectly despite the days of travel they undoubtedly endured. The holy sun embroidered across his chest gleams in the afternoon light pouring through the chamber windows. His expression carries the quiet certainty of a man accustomed to having every order obeyed without question.

Between them stands Lorcan or rather, he stands exactly where two city guards have placed him. Iron manacles encircle his wrists. One guard is already fumbling with the lock while the other keeps an uncertain hand upon the young druid's shoulder, looking more embarrassed than threatening. Beside him stands Elyrion, one hand resting lightly upon the same weathered travelling staff he had carried when we first met outside the Grove.

His silver-blond hair catches the afternoon light as his gaze drifts calmly across the chamber. Despite Lorcan's manacles, there is no alarm upon his face. He simply watches the exchange in silence, patient as ever, as though trusting the matter will resolve itself before words become necessary.

"Lorcan?" The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it. The younger druid turns toward me, relief briefly crossing his face before it settles back into careful restraint.

"I assure you," Havlar says, looking toward us with no small amount of relief, "the matter is already being resolved." Father Aldren's gaze sweeps briefly across the two of us before returning to Lorcan.

"So." He folds his hands within the sleeves of his robes.

"This is not the druid."

"No," Havlar replies, his patience beginning to wear thin.

"It never was." The guard finally frees the second manacle from Lorcan's wrist. The young druid rubs at the reddened skin but says nothing. Beside him, Elyrion rests both hands upon the top of his weathered travelling staff. His calm expression never falters, though his eyes briefly settle upon Lorcan's wrists before returning to the discussion unfolding around them.

"My apologies," the envoy says, inclining his head toward Lorcan.

"It appears there has indeed been a misunderstanding."

"It was hardly unavoidable," Havlar answers before Lorcan can respond.

"Had Father Aldren chosen to ask a single question before ordering my guards to place the boy in irons, we might have spared ourselves this spectacle." Father Aldren remains unmoved.

"The Crown's report stated that a druid had taken residence within Fallowspire."

"It did."

"We encountered an elf carrying druidic implements along with a young druid, scarcely a hundred paces from your keep."

"He offered no resistance," Havlar said.

"No," Father Aldren acknowledged without hesitation. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"He admitted to being a druid."

"Yes." The priest spread his hands slightly.

"Then my actions were entirely appropriate." Havlar's jaw tightened.

"You arrested a traveler who had committed no crime."

"I detained a practitioner of forbidden magic until his identity could be confirmed."

"The distinction is rather important."

"It is," Father Aldren replied.

"Especially when the safety of the realm may depend upon it." The envoy raises a hand before either man can continue.

"Gentlemen." His voice remains remarkably calm.

"I believe the matter has already been resolved." He turns toward Lorcan.

"You have my apologies for the inconvenience." Lorcan inclines his head politely.

"I understand why you acted as you did." Father Aldren studies him for a moment.

"You bear remarkably little resentment." Lorcan offers the faintest smile.

"I've learned that resentment rarely improves a journey." Something about the answer seems to catch the priest off guard. Only briefly. Then his attention shifts elsewhere.

"Regardless," the envoy continues, "our purpose remains unchanged." His eyes settle upon Havlar.

"His Majesty received several reports describing a druid living within Fallowspire. We have merely come to determine whether those reports are accurate."

"They are." The words leave my mouth before Havlar can answer. Every eye in the chamber turns toward me.

"I am the druid you came looking for." Silence follows. Father Aldren studies me far more carefully than he had Lorcan. Not with hostility but rather with scrutiny. As though weighing every detail against something only he can see. Havlar steps forward before the priest can speak.

"Grovekeeper Kaelen arrived in Fallowspire several weeks ago with the survivors of Blackthorn after their village was destroyed. He asked for nothing. He demanded nothing. He simply wished to keep his people alive." The envoy listens without interruption.

"So, I granted them sanctuary." Havlar's voice grows firmer.

"Since then, he has helped purify our water, restored exhausted farmland, expanded our food supply and helped transform a starving settlement into one capable of standing on its own." He gestures toward the window overlooking the city beyond.

"Everything you have seen since entering our gates exists in no small part because of him." The chamber grows quiet once more. Even Father Aldren says nothing. For several long moments, he simply studies me. Then, his gaze moves on. It drifts past me, past Lorcan, past Elyrion. Until it settles upon Garrick. The priest's brow furrows ever so slightly.

"I wasn't informed," he says slowly, "that Fallowspire employed a knight." Silence hangs over the chamber. Havlar blinks, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

"A knight?" Father Aldren inclines his head toward Garrick.

"The gentleman standing beside your Grovekeeper." Havlar studies Garrick for a long moment before shaking his head.

"No. That is Captain Garrick. He commands Fallowspire's town watch." Father Aldren does not look away from Garrick.

"Captain? There is mana flowing through him." The envoy's attention sharpens immediately. Havlar's eyes move between the priest and Garrick, his confusion only deepening.

"I'm afraid you've lost me, Father."

"A knight is one who has awakened to mana," Father Aldren replies evenly.

"Whether by birth, blessing or long years of disciplined cultivation, the result is unmistakable." His gaze never leaves Garrick.

"And Captain Garrick possesses it." Garrick shifts his weight uncomfortably beneath the sudden attention.

"I think..." He hesitates.

"... there's been a misunderstanding."

"Oh?"

"I've never been a knight." Father Aldren raises an eyebrow.

"No?" Garrick shakes his head.

"Until recently, I couldn't even sense mana." The priest's expression hardens with interest.

"And yet you can now."

"Yes."

"How?" For a heartbeat, Garrick simply stands there. I know that look. He isn't weighing what to say. He's searching for the simplest answer. And that, more than anything, worries me.

"It happened a few days ago." He nods toward me.

"Kaelen brought me into the Grove." Every instinct in my body tells me where this conversation is heading. I open my mouth to try to stop him but it is too late.

"There was a ritual." His voice remains completely matter-of-fact.

"When it ended..." He glances down at his own hands.

"... I could feel mana." The chamber falls utterly silent. Father Aldren studies Garrick as though seeing him for the first time.

"A ritual."

"Yes."

"Performed by the Grovekeeper?" Garrick nods.

"The Grove did most of it." My stomach sinks. I slowly turn toward him. Only then does Garrick meet my eyes. The realization strikes him almost immediately. His shoulders stiffen. He knows, he has said far more than he should have. Father Aldren notices none of it or perhaps he notices everything.

"The Grove," he repeats quietly. His voice has changed. Gone is the accusation that colored every question until now. In its place rests something infinitely more dangerous. Interest, measured and intense. He turns to face me.

"What exactly, is this Grove?" Every eye in the chamber settles upon me once again. I choose my next words carefully.

"It is my sacred place."

"A place where druids live?"

"A place where life grows." The priest studies my face.

"And this ritual..."

"It cannot simply be performed upon anyone?" I hesitate. Only briefly, it is too late to stop it now.

"No." His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"I see." Whether he truly does, I cannot tell. He turns toward the envoy.

"I believe we should inspect it ourselves." The envoy remains silent for a moment before looking toward Havlar.

"Would that be acceptable, my lord?" Havlar doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks at me. The decision is mine. I already know refusing would accomplish nothing except confirm every suspicion Father Aldren already carries. I let out a slow breath. I meet the priest's gaze.

"If seeing the Grove will settle the matter then I'll take you there." Without another word, Father Aldren turns toward the chamber doors. The envoy follows a step behind him. Havlar watches them leave before letting out a long, weary sigh.

"I have a feeling this day is only just beginning." I can't bring myself to disagree.