Drops from the Kingdom
The Silver Arrow
Copyright © 2014 Larry Itejere
The sound of soldiers and their horses could be heard around camp as tents were set up for the night. Nearly eight thousand men moved about, carrying out their varying tasks as lights from the campfires lit the area. In the midst of the sea of people, a man in his thirties which was close to his middle years, stepped out of his tent and into the cold winter’s night. Resting on the man’s chest was an amulet that he tucked underneath his garment the jewel of the one endowed with the power of an Anamerian. Outside, the steady snowflakes that had fallen during their journey had stopped, leaving a white blanket over the area. With a quick glance at his surroundings, the Anamerian made his way to the back of his tent, staying close to the edge. He stopped a quarter of the way to the back, poured out the contents in his cup, and then shook his hand in a whipping motion, clearing out the remaining drops. Satisfied that the cup was clean enough, he made his way back to the front of his tent. On opposite sides of his entrance, two guards were sitting on the ground with their legs crossed, unperturbed by the chilly night, even though one could see that their clothing provided no protection from the cold.
These guards were Ackalans, which means “Guardians,” and no ordinary men. The Anamerian lifted his tent flap and walked inside, aware that the Ackalans were watching, even though no heads were raised. They sat there like statues, unruffled by the wind or cold.
Inside the Anamerian’s tent was a small, ornate table that stood two feet from the ground. On top of the table was an ink jar with a feathered pen. Beside the jar was an open scroll of paper with a small clay oil lamp next to it.