Wilbur

Thralin seemed to be the least affected of all, noted Wilbur from the little window in the cottage. He moved around helping the tired White Capes, passing along water, helping set up tents and so forth.

But it was Sir Triston that helped most. It was because of his monstrous alchemy that the Greenlits had scattered away  their tired minds, moments of respite. He had asked no questions beyond affiliation to the King; Wilbur had assumed he knew more than he let on.

But how can he know so much? He lives in a secluded hut in the middle of a forest no one dares enter.

Sir Triston was building a wall around the tents with his alchemy as Wilbur watched in awe. He placed his hands on the ground as section upon section of stone wall with spikes erected itself from the ground. From time to time he moved to change to a more favourable spot. To conjure such volumes of stone seemed beyond human to Wilbur.

He didn't get the title of the strongest man for naught.

Sir Florent groaned. His face had turned blue of exhaustion, head high with fever. Ray replaced swab after swab of cloth, that was dipped in cold water, on his forehead.

Only if we had a better healer, mused Wilbur as he recalled how the doctor of Andlenore had declared he was too old for any sort of travel.

As Sir Triston turned to return to the cottage after constructing the perimeter around the little settlement, changing hues of the sky welcomed dawn. His broad forehead now had beads of sweat, but his eyes with a sharpness Wilbur had only ever seen in a few men. He looked about five and fifty years of age, but had he shaved his unkempt brown beard or at least trimmed it, he would have projected himself a tone younger. He wiped his forehead with a cloth he produced from one of the numerous pockets in his scholar's robes, his hands gloved.

"Concluding from the efforts you have taken in your journey here, is it safe to assume you need something of me?" inquired Sir Triston looking outside at the White Capes that were now settling down in their tents.

Wilbur had revived his voice, "Indeed Sir Triston. We have an offer for you."

Sir Triston looked at Wilbur with his sharp eyes that betrayed he already knew what the offer was. He took the chair opposite. Wilbur saw no point in lengthening the conversation.

"We would take it as a sign of great honour if you would accept our invitation into The Order of The White Capes. I assume you already know who we serve and where our purpose lies?"

"That I know of. And it is an honour to receive such an invitation but I must humbly refuse," said Sir Triston. As Wilbur had expected, Sir Triston had his answer long ready. Still he could not help but contemplate the fact that his journey here, endangering the lives of his fellow mates, had all been for naught.

Just as Wilbur was about to push forward his offer a second time, Sir Triston provided an answer that supplied ample meaning to both, "But I do offer you refuge here as long as you so require. I admire your ideals and purpose, who would not? You are close to God himself!"

Wilbur instinctively asked, "Then Sir, why not join with the faith? It will prove to be a great boost to both the common followers and warriors."

Sir Triston developed a distant look in his eyes as his right hand moved towards his beard, "I long chose the life of seclusion. I no longer wish to involve myself with the world outside. There is much to learn, so much that I conclude I know nothing at all. We look for marvels, we attempt to create marvels yet we fail to see those that lie all around us, for we have not the eyes to look."

Sir Triston's thought reminded Wilbur of his mother he had seen a few instants ago, courtesy to the Greenlits. In fact nothing at all depends on the yield, little Willi. Her words echoed through him a second time. He was grateful they did.

"I understand Sir Triston," said Wilbur. He took a deep breath as he realised his purpose of the journey through Greenseed had finally come to some conclusion.

He relaxed a bit to look around the cottage. It was bigger than it seemed from the outside. It had windows that showed a little clearing where the tents lay and the forest of Greenseed beyond. The sky was turning red as sun chose to welcome the dawn of a new day. To his left lay Sir Florent on the single bed, still high with fever. Ray stood at his constant service. The cottage seemed to have more rooms than one, and an opening like a backyard, much of which Wilbur couldn't see from his spot. Wilbur realised all if it must have been made from alchemy.

Sir Triston seemed to sense his curiosity as he offered to make some breakfast. Only then did Wilbur realise he was starved, not that it concerned him. He accepted the offer nonetheless.

****