Chương 102: Chapter 8: Gathering Storm - Part I

Havlar POV"And when he has heard everything… the King will decide what must be done." The words follow them from the Grove. Neither Father Aldren nor Marcus Wycliffe looks back as they cross the gardens toward the old estate gates. The white robes of the priest disappear first beneath the orchard trees, followed a few moments later by the dark cloak bearing the royal crest. Their escort falls in behind them with practiced discipline until only the quiet sounds of the Grove remain.

For several heartbeats, no one moves. The Silverwood whispers softly overhead while afternoon sunlight filters through its broad canopy, as though nothing of consequence has just occurred beneath its branches. Children laugh somewhere beyond the vegetable gardens. Someone draws water from the old well. Yet the conversation that has unfolded moments earlier ensures nothing remains ordinary for very long. I watch the empty garden path where the royal delegation disappears. Marcus Wycliffe worries me.

Father Aldren arrives seeking answers. That much I understand. Priests have always viewed the unknown with suspicion until they can place it neatly inside scripture or history. His questions are careful, scholarly even. Dangerous in their own way, but predictable. Marcus asks almost none. Instead, he looks at Garrick. One captain, one ritual, three hundred guards. The calculation takes him only moments. That is the difference between scholars and statesmen. One seeks understanding, the other measures opportunity.

I have seen that look before. Not often, but enough. Years ago, a minor noble from the southern marches visited Fallowspire while surveying trade routes through the eastern forests. Most men admire the river or discuss tariffs. He spent an entire afternoon studying our grain stores instead. At the time I thought the man is unusually interested in agriculture. Six months later he attempted to purchase half the surrounding farmland through contracts signed by merchants who have never set foot within the city.

Marcus carries that same habit. He does not merely observe the world, he weighs it, measures it, calculates what it could become and today he looks upon Kaelen's Grove as though he is already imagining what a kingdom might build around it. A quiet sigh escapes me. The Grove has become too important. Not simply because of the Silverwood or Heartwoods or whatever the sacred trees in the grove are called. It is Garrick. One honest answer, offered without the slightest thought of politics, changes everything.

Communion, the word itself means little. Its consequence means everything. For centuries the world has accepted mana as a gift of birth, fortune, or extraordinary discipline. Noble houses trace bloodlines through generations searching for children who awaken to it naturally. Wealthy families pay fortunes to tutors in the hope that one gifted heir might emerge. Now an ordinary captain stands before a royal envoy and calmly explained that he possesses mana because the Grove welcomed him.

Whether Marcus believes every detail hardly matters. He believes enough. I rub a hand across my face. The King's court will not ignore this. Neither will the Church nor will the nobility. The moment Marcus finishes his report, every ambitious lord in the Kingdom of Valedorn will ask the same question. Can the Grove do it again? The answer scarcely matters. The question alone reshapes the months ahead. Behind me, leaves rustle softly. I turn. Kaelen still stands beneath the Silverwood with Garrick beside him.

Lorcan remains near one of the younger Heartwoods, absently rubbing the wrists where the manacles rested earlier that afternoon. Elyrion leans upon his weathered staff exactly as he has throughout the inspection, his calm expression giving away nothing. Four people.

In the span of less than a week they somehow manage to introduce another surviving druid, awaken my captain to mana, and convince both the Church and the Crown that my city now possesses something capable of altering the balance of power across the entire continent. I almost laugh at. Instead, I shake my head. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"Start at the beginning." None of them speaks. I fold my arms.

"I spend the last several hours preventing Father Aldren from declaring half of you heretics while Marcus quietly calculates how many knights your Grove might produce." My gaze moves from Kaelen to Garrick, then to Lorcan, and finally to Elyrion.

"Meanwhile, sometime during the past few days, a young elf arrives at my gates, another druid appears, my captain awakens to mana..." My eyes settle on Garrick for a brief moment.

"... and apparently everyone decides these are details I can safely learn alongside the King's representatives." A long silence follows. Then, despite everything, the corner of Garrick's mouth twitches.

"So," I say evenly.

"Start at the beginning." For a moment, no one answers. The Silverwood whispers quietly above us while a cool breeze stirs the surrounding leaves. Somewhere beyond the Grove, I hear the faint clatter of wooden wheels crossing the eastern district. Life moves on with remarkable indifference to the fact that the King himself is about to take an interest in my city. Kaelen glances briefly toward Garrick before looking back at me.

"It began a few evenings ago." I nod once.

"After you returned from Greenhollow?"

"Yes. A city guard interrupted our evening meal. He said a traveler had arrived asking specifically for the Grovekeeper."

"A traveler," I repeat. Kaelen nods.

"He wouldn't explain why he'd come. Only that I'd want to hear what he had to say." I look past him toward the young elf standing quietly beneath the Heartwood.

"Elyrion." He gestures towards him. The elf inclines his head politely.

"Yes." I study him for a moment.

"When my guards informed me, an elf had entered the city, I assumed coincidence."

"It wasn't." I murmur.

"Clearly, it wasn't." Kaelen continues.

"I met him at the garden gate. He introduced himself and asked if we could speak privately."

"You agreed."

"I did."

"You trusted a complete stranger?" Kaelen smiles faintly.

"Not immediately." That answer earns the smallest nod from me.

"Go on."

"He told me he had sensed the awakening of a Heartwood." That gives me pause.

"He sensed a tree sprouting from outside the city?"

"Far beyond it." I glance toward Elyrion again.

"You can do that?"

"It is uncommon," the elf replies calmly.

"But not impossible." I file the answer away. Another question for another day.

"And?" Kaelen looks toward Lorcan.

"He wasn't alone." My attention shifts to the younger druid. Lorcan straightens almost instinctively.

"I imagine," I say dryly, "this is the point where my understanding of recent events begins to deteriorate." To my surprise, the corner of Elyrion's mouth lifts almost imperceptibly.

"I expect pretty much," he says. Even Garrick lets out a quiet breath that sounds suspiciously like suppressed laughter. I ignore all three of them.

"Lorcan." The young druid meets my gaze.

"You were travelling with Elyrion."

"Yes."

"You've already admitted to being a druid."

"I have."

"And Father Aldren managed to arrest the wrong one." Lorcan looks faintly embarrassed.

"Yes." I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"At least something about this story remains straightforward." A short silence follows before Kaelen continues.

"Lorcan's Circle was destroyed many years ago." The amusement disappears immediately. I lower my hand.

"... Another one."

"Yes." I study the young druid more carefully. He carries himself with the quiet composure of someone who has lived beside grief for a very long time.

"How many survivors?" Lorcan's answer comes without hesitation.

"One." The word settles heavily over the Grove. I let out a slow breath.

"So, there are now two surviving druids." Kaelen shakes his head.

"Yes, but there are also three." I blink.

"Three?" He gestures gently.

"Myself, Lorcan…" He looks toward Elyrion.

"Elyrion isn't a druid but he has spent much of his life searching for the surviving Groves. The third druid is Aibell, she is a druid apprentice." I look between the three of them. Not long ago I believed most of the druids had vanished from history. Now one arrives seeking refuge, another arrives seeking answers. An elf appears who somehow knows where forgotten Groves awaken and a human is training to become a druid. The world seems determined to grow larger every week. I fold my arms once more.

"So." I look directly at Kaelen, "An elf arrives at your gate, he brings another surviving druid, that druid asks to remain. So naturally..." I gesture toward the Silverwood surrounding us.

"... you tell him yes." Kaelen smiles.

"I did."

"I suspected as much." For the first time since the royal delegation departed, I feel some of the weight in my shoulders ease. The situation hasn't improved but I finally understand the beginning of it. Unfortunately, I have the distinct feeling the beginning is going to prove far simpler than everything that comes after.