Lore, Sagas, Short story

The life of a messenger [archive].

The world is never still or simple for those who dare to be a messenger. It is far more than going from here to there with spoken word or sealed letter. It is a world that more people would only glance as we shoot by as quick as an arrow on the backs of horses. Horses bred for a sprint which lasts only until the next stable gives another horse to drum its hooves into the ground and beat its rhythm for urgent words.

It is a world most would not expect. Where thinking about a day in retrospect can bring shivers down your spine for a life time. One where violence and murder looms behind every tree and around ever corner. Where trust is hard to come by given the price which some would and more importantly, could pay for disloyalty. For a flask or a meal, for a good bed and maybe someone to join me, I bring word from one village or city to another. But those that pay and own the horses are those I serve first and foremost.

I know every path and lane, each highway, byway and meandering path which follows the rivers to somewhere and nowhere. It is my job after all, to know the land of Epher. From the banks of ash and mountains of fire to the ponds which exist only after a heavy rain. I should say that the only one by any rights who should or does know more about this land would be my king. But even that I doubt, quietly and to myself of course.

I am a messenger of Epher, the mouthpiece through which kings and lords speak at a distance. I know of things only the throne has knowledge of, and I spread that word when I am told. From noble deaths and claims of power to visits, marriages and caravans of royal wealth, such are the reasons why my occupation is unsafe. Many would like to kill me so they might have a chance to change a message or prevent it from ever seeing light.

I have on more than one occasion, held the very fate of this land between my lips, escaping plotters and assassins with the knowledge of the land I hold and the speed to which I keep the horses. The very lives of those people who watch me ride by at speed, racing the winds as they whip through the treetops, they would be put to an end if I did not complete my work.

And all the while my job is seen as easy to so many. If only they knew of the life of a messenger when far from the villages and cities, on the roads some wish to rule.

 

3 thoughts on “The life of a messenger [archive].”

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