Honor of Men


Tyrin walked down the long, dusty road, walking stick thudding periodically against the dirt. The hot sun beat down on him, shedding its heat onto his back. Tyrin ignored it, as he had for years. His lean body had taken a lot in its twenty-four years of life, and the sun wasn't much compared to a bandit's knife in your side. Or a Trollocs. His camouflage cloak billowed out behind him as he strode into the oncoming wind.

He was close to the border of Andor, had been for three days, and would be for another few weeks. He wasn't planning on joining the big road to Caemlyn until he was within a two days walk to the city. Queen Elayne had sent for him, but he had lost his horse by Garens Wall. He would have to wait until he came to Murandy before getting a new one, for there weren't many villages on the Ghealdanin side of the border.

It was three years after Tarmon Gai'don, the Last Battle. The world was still attempting to re-shape itself from the catastrophic clash. Rand had succeeded, as the prophecies said, but he had died in the process. Tyrin grimaced at the thought, for he had like Rand. Although Rand hadn't paid much attention to him, he was one of the few who actually fought at Shayol Ghul. He shook his head and continued walking.

It was a grueling task, walking from Ghealdan to the capital of Andor, but he had to do it. The message from Elayne had been urgent. She was a good friend. They had met in the middle of battle, and he saved her life three times at least. Over the years, they had become incredibly close. He was glad for it. The only reason he wasn't killed around Almoth Plain and Toman Head was it would anger the Queen when she heard the news, and they were not going to have the armies of two nations march in and attack.

The sun was red in the sky when he finally settled in for the night, against a tree. He ate a few pieces of meat from his pack and a half of an orange. This autumn was oddly hot. He was pretty sure it was mid September, but maybe more towards October. Time went by without much meaning for him, and traveling warrior. But what did it matter? He would send a message pigeon to Caemlyn as soon as he reached the nearest village. Elayne could make a gateway and he'd be in Caemlyn in about a day at least. Content with his new plan, he drifted off to sleep.

Sixteen pairs of eyes watched Tyrin as he slept, but none of the owners could touch him. "You are sure this is him?" one of the Eelfinn asked. A male, his short red hair shadowed by their realm. He was willowy and tall, and pale leather straps crossed its chest. A black kilt hid some of his legs, and his face was that of a fox's turned human. An Aelfinn female grinned at him.

"Yes, this is the one. He will come to us soon. Along with another." She had light bronze armor on, and her face was incredibly snake-like. "We will be ready."

"How long?" snarled a third. An Eelfinn female. "The dragons are getting restless. And so are we." The Aelfinn continued to smile.

"He will come soon enough. The High Aelfinn Council has seen this, all of us. It will not be too late." The eight High Eelfinn looked slightly worried and twitchy, but finally, the first one that had spoken responded, "You'd better not be wrong. The rest of your Council and mine agree. If he is too late, we will make sure you die the worst way possible, Shahyun." He snarled. Like most ├ćelfinn (Eye-eel-fin), she recoiled slightly upon hearing her name. None were comfortable with it being spoken aloud.

The Eelfinn allowed a slight smile to play across his features. Scoring a hit had certainly made him feel better after realizing an Aelfinn had found the man before he had. He turned away and his smile vanished, replaced by envy and a grimace. "Come." He said, and the rest of the High Council followed, leaving the Aelfinn High Council behind. "We have some work to do."