“I came here to help someone,” Treycore replied, trying to be discreet. He didn’t know this higherling and wasn’t interested in letting him know his business.
“Well, I hope you find them. My name’s Sydar.”
“Treycore.”
Sydar walked to the other side of the room.
“If you’re wondering, I have your sword over here.”
He pulled two of the vines that were part of the wall, reached inside, withdrew Treycore’s sword, and returned it to its owner.
Treycore eyed him suspiciously.
How could this higherling trust him? He could be anyone. He could be dangerous. Surely, he had not survived all these years in the darkest parts of the outerlands by foolishly supplying his potential enemies with weapons.
A nagging anxiousness itched at him, seemingly cautioning him, telling him that there was something horribly wrong with Sydar, with this place.
Sydar opened another part of the wall as he had the one before and pulled out cups and bowls made from what appeared to be dry clay. He dipped the cups into the pail and set them on the table. “Come. Sit down. This is fresh water. It’ll do you good to be hydrated.”
Treycore approached the table slowly, cautiously. He sat in one of the chairs around it.
Sydar took the bowls he’d grabbed to the fireplace and pulling down on a stick, a black slime poured from a hole above it and collected into the bowl. When he’d filled both, he returned to the table and set one before Treycore and eagerly slurped from the other.
Treycore eyed the black goo—bits of white and red floated in it. It looked like the most disgusting thing someone could have released hours after a disagreeable meal. He hesitated.
“It’s very nutritious, I assure you,” Sydar said. “It’s what’s kept me alive this long.”
As suspicious as Treycore was, he had to admit that Sydar had had the chance to kill him, so surely if death was in his plans, he would have done away with him sooner. He would have to trust him… for now.
He winced as he sipped the sludge, which tasted as delicious as it looked.
Sydar sat in a chair across from Treycore. As he set his bowl on the table, he gazed into Treycore’s eyes, as if he was marveling at the higherling’s beauty. And Treycore, being used to that particular gaze, wasn’t surprised.
Sydar continued slurping from his bowl until it was gone.
Treycore didn’t make it halfway before quitting.
“So where are you headed, Treycore?”
“The border. I’m trying to get into the innerlands.”
“Oh, my. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re nearly a week from the border.”
“A week?”
“Yes. I was hunting where I found you, and the only way I could protect you was to bring you with me, and you were unconscious for some time.”
Treycore sighed.
“Why don’t you stay here? Regain your strength. Live here as you please, and when you are ready, then you can re-embark on your journey.”
Treycore didn’t have much choice. Better to be with a higherling who could survive out there than to blaze the trail on his own.
“Thank you,” Treycore said.
“It’s not a problem at all. I’m just glad I found you before one of the nasty monsters that lives out here.”
“I don’t have anything on me, but if there’s something I can do to repay you—”
