"Sparhawk, do you know why we have invited you to the Council today?"
"No."
"We require you to go on a diplomatic mission for the College. This is no ordinary task however; it concerns you personally."
"How so, Maester Toren?"
"It concerns your old friend, Gerra of Molthal."
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“The past was always there, lived inside of you, and it helped to make you who you were. But it had to be placed in perspective. The past could not dominate the future.” - Barbara Taylor Bradford
He feared this day would come.
He knew he couldn't run away from his past forever. He knew his past is what made him who he is today. But
Gerra. To think he was still on his road to 'fix the world' and conquer nations that, in his eyes, were unjust. It surprised Sparhawk,
unsurprisingly.
Using Nemesis was out of the question, as it would draw far too much attention to himself. Instead, he had to go on horseback. He was provided with enough dried meats and water to supply him for a long journey, as did Alistair. But despite this, they still had to take many breaks to smaller
villages and
towns to refill on supplies. He knew he could likely summon up some water or the like, but he wanted to save his energy, for the beating sun tired him, and the long travel fatigued him.
And if that weren't enough, the council decided that taking
Alistair Wren along with him was a good idea. They believed that, since he wanted to travel the world, it would do him some good to on a diplomatic mission to
Amol Kalit, and would perhaps gain him some practical experience. Of course, Sparhawk liked the young man, but he wasn't sure he'd like what he'd find in the desert. Finding out about his past wasn't something he wanted either...
Each night, he had nightmares about that faithful day. The dream that never ends. Living through it night after night, the screams never seeming to find an end, a bombarding of his mind. Every night, he'd make camp with his small tent, sweat staining the cloth pillow he used to comfort himself. Alistair had brought his own equipment on his horse, setting up next to him each night, comforting him in the morning after his nightmares.
They'd been travelling for about a month when they'd made it near where the encampment was meant to be. Sparhawk had to barter for several different maps, with no singular trader having a completely accurate map to where he needed to be. When he'd seen smoke in the sky, he knew they'd come close.
To confirm his suspicions, he summoned a small Sparhawk bird, and inhabited it for a short time. It was a skill he picked up whilst studying to be a Professor at the college, using the skills of familiar magic to take advantage of such a skill.
As the bird flew over, he saw the large encampment; very fit for war,
sand-elves seemingly everywhere, with slaves and nobles mixed in. He noticed the large amount of weapons they had, along with very large animals being fitted for battle. It seemed like he'd come very prepared, and had won the support of others in Amol Kalit.
As the bird flew round and returned to him, he decided it best to setup his own small tent, just outside of their encampment. He created a small fire, as the evening had hit, and he didn't want to find himself freezing to death. As his horse rest on the ground, and the smoke from his fire rose in the sky, he thought of what could happen next. Alistair sat next to him, bringing out a tome of
College Magic, and a small book on Amol Kalit history.
Death is all that could come of this.