Irobu's Odyssey of Deceit Chapter 6: Bonding

            For Mteule’s sake! How long can that knight blather on about his stupid life for? Irobu bemoaned, pacing around the raised platform in the Sodality’s great hall. Surprisingly, the spacious chamber had only grown darker overnight, since one of the two chandeliers had gone out and years’ worth of soot blocked the windows.

            For quite some time I’d imagine. He seemed like a chatty fellow. We may as well use this time productively though. Remember not to mention me, or ho— Thrun advised.

            No matter how many times you call me a fool I’m not one. I know what to say and what not to say without your constant suggestions, Irobu rebuffed.

            Several minutes later, Master Palus’ soot-encrusted door creaked open. Ser Griffiths exited and gruffly informed Irobu that it was her turn for an interview. She proceeded past the knight and started climbing the staircase, which, like the rest of the castle, was poorly lit. Once at the top of the dim stairwell, Irobu plodded through a passageway lined with locked doors and went up another staircase. Much to Irobu’s surprise, glowing, golden crystals illuminated this second staircase.

They have access to glowing crystals? Irobu puzzled. Why do they bother with the torches and chandeliers?

They did use to work for the Mages of Qert, Thrun answered.

After several flights, the stairs led to a large vestibule, which was furnished with plush golden chairs and a statue of a snake entwined with a dragon. The same golden crystals illuminated the room, casting light on portraits that hung on the walls. Men and women dressed in golden cloaks filled the garish frames, standing in commanding and heroic poses. On the far side of the room was a door, above which elegant lettering spelled out: “Grandmaster’s Quarters”.

I can certainly appreciate their fondness for gold, Thrun remarked as Irobu surveyed the room. And their respect for past leaders.

Really? Palus should sell this stuff to pay to clean this archaic castle, Irobu thought while crossing the gaudy room. Maybe then he could attract members who weren’t idiots. She knocked heavily on what she presumed was Master Palus’ door

~

“Irobu look lively,” Ser Griffiths’ harsh whisper broke through the daydream.

Irobu blinked several times as she regained her bearings. She was on the edge of the Old Road; the sloping foothills of the Imperators were on her left and the gloomy forests of the Whispering Woods were on her right. Overhead, the sun sparkled brilliantly, although the dense canopy prevented the majority of the rays from shining down onto the travelers below. Their squad had formed a line with Harold at the head, followed by Swift, Irobu, and apparently Ser Griffiths at the rear. All the new recruits were conspicuously wearing the golden cloaks of the Sodality.

“We’re almost at the spot of the most recent caravan attack,” Ser Griffiths informed Irobu, pointing farther up the road. Following his finger, she made out the wreckage of several wagons; their splintered frames and cargo littered the right side of the road. Birds were squawking close by. “Stay back while we investigate,” Ser Griffiths commanded as he walked around Irobu. Swift and Harold had their weapons in hand and were watching the debris closely. Irobu’s gaze lingered on the slender elf for a moment before she processed Ser Griffiths’ words.

“Not so fast, Griffiths. I want to see the scene before that oaf disturbs it,” Irobu whispered back, pointing at Harold.

“Passersby and animals already disturbed the area. Besides, I have his control ring,” Ser Griffiths reminded, flashing the bronze band on his finger.

“I’m a part of this squad and won’t be relegated to the sidelines. You already wouldn’t let me take watch. If it makes you feel better, O courageous knight, know that I won’t cast anything unless absolutely necessary,” Irobu stated firmly to Ser Griffiths’ back.

Turning back around, he glowered at the shorter Sanusite. “And you would do well to remember that Master Palus put me in charge. Bah, we’re only wasting time at this point. Whatever attacked is probably long gone. Stay in front of me. Harold and Swift go forward; we’ll be right behind,” Ser Griffiths ordered quietly. The rest of the company nodded.

Harold bounded over to the remains of the caravan while Swift nocked an arrow and stayed several paces behind. Vigilantly, she scanned the path and the surrounding woods as Harold stomped around the perimeter of the wreckage. Irobu and Ser Griffiths hustled to join the rest of the quartet and subsequently took cover behind nearby tree trunks. A tense minute elapsed as the four Sodality members maintained their vigil around the scene of the attack.

Finally, Ser Griffiths whistled. “Alright, looks clear. Swift and Harold, keep guard while…Irobu and I see what happened here. Got it?” Ser Griffiths asked.

“Yeah,” Harold and Swift each replied from their posts; Harold was on the Whispering Woods side of the caravan while Swift stood in the road. Satisfied, Irobu and Ser Griffiths turned their attention to the caravan.

A large pool of dried blood marked the start of the wreck. What remained of the caravan was cast about in an expansive debris field; broken spokes and wagon wheels were interspersed with burlap sacks and numerous glinting swords. Many of the sacks were empty, although a small flock of birds was fighting over the last few. Irobu studied the scene carefully as she walked beside the detritus.

Well this does seem to be the caravan Palus mentioned. No sign of corpses, but there are a few drops of blood scattered around in addition to the larger pools, Irobu noted. And didn’t Palus say that the caravan had seeds, weapons and armor?

That he did. I know this is a savage land filled with simpletons, but what kind of bandits wouldn’t take the swords too? They left behind at least 30 blades, Thrun added.

So they wanted armor and already have better weapons, Irobu reasoned, returning to the pool of blood. Crouching beside the pool, Ser Griffiths was intently examining large scuff marks that went from the dried blood into the Whispering Woods.

“Gather round, everyone,” Ser Griffiths requested. Harold and Swift converged on the former paladin as he rose to his feet. “Looks like the culprits aren’t bandits or animals. My guess is slavers. They killed the lead horses to make the caravan stop, then nabbed the crew in the aftermath. They must be short on food too if they dragged away the horse carcasses,” Ser Griffiths pieced together.

“If they’re dragging a horse then their hideout can’t be too far,” Irobu broke in. “We could probably find it by nightfall.”

“I saw tracks too. Leading into forest,” Harold announced.

“He speaks truly,” Swift confirmed. “They’ll be trivially easy to follow.”

“Hmmm,” Ser Griffiths considered. He glanced up at the sky and into the forest on the right. “Fine. The sooner we find the camp the better the chances are we can free the survivors,” Ser Griffiths declared as he laid a hand over the cornucopia insignia on his warhammer. “Buain guide us,” he prayed. “Stick to the same order and stay quiet. That means you Harold. No stomping around. The last thing we want to do in the Whispering Woods is attract attention.”

The other recruits nodded and fell in line. Harold led the procession; his eyes were downcast while he focused on following the slavers’ trail. Swift was next, she still had an arrow nocked on her bow and was vigilantly checking their surroundings. Irobu was behind the elf and Ser Griffiths behind her.

What had been a thin mist on the edge of the road rapidly thickened as the party ventured deeper into the Whispering Woods. Weaving between tree trunks, the limited visibility forced the squad to stick close together. Irobu began to shiver; the dense tree cover perpetually blocked the warming rays of the sun. Apart from the occasional bird call or rustling of leaves, the forest was silent. Still onward they traveled. Offering solace from the boredom, daydreams crept back into Irobu’s mind during the monotonous trek.

~

The door to the Grandmaster’s quarters squeaked open and out popped Master Palus’ wrinkled face.

“Ah, Miss Vikria, do come in,” the Grandmaster directed, opening the door fully. While peppering Irobu about her stay in the castle thus far, Master Palus led the way up an additional series of steps. Irobu held her tongue and politely answered his questions. “Almost there. The Grandmaster’s quarters are at the top of the second spire of the castle; it’s a marvelous view of the city. Perhaps it will improve your opinion of the place.”

A short while later, Master Palus and Irobu entered into the Grandmaster’s chambers proper. Larger than the vestibule below, this room featured a conical ceiling some six meters above. Bookshelves, wardrobes, tables, rusted chests, and a cluttered bed furnished the chamber. Irobu glimpsed that one of the besieged tables appeared almost clear; only a hefty golden tome resided on top of it. Two chairs were squeezed into this lone sanctuary from the clutter. Faint sunlight shone through glass doors three meters above the floor, which connected to a wooden walkway that ringed the chamber. Irobu briefly wondered how one would reach the walkway before she saw a ladder between the supporting beams of the platform.

“I apologize that it’s a bit messy, I know that the boys already ‘ave too much on their plate to clean up my mess too. Now where did I put my quill…” the old man trailed off as he rooted around his piles of belongings.

‘A bit messy’ is an understatement, Irobu thought. No wonder he can’t get anything done.

Indeed, no self-respecting leader would let their chambers devolve like so, Thrun agreed.

While Palus continued his search, Irobu wandered over to one of the bookcases and started reading the titles of the aged books. Many were cracked or faded beyond readability, but she was able to discern several of them: “Sermons and Rituals of Aonachd”, “Tudur Fowther: a Biography”, “Ancient Peoples of Eberucis and Elsewhere”, “Bennion’s Treatise on Turbulent Magic Streams”.

Turbulent magic streams? That’s child’s play, Thrun scoffed. The Nzank were—

“I’m ready,” Master Palus called to Irobu across the untidy chamber.

Save your bragging for later, Irobu dismissed, taking a seat in the wooden chair across from the ancient Sanusite. She noticed Master Palus had opened the golden tome, and had placed a vial, a mug, and an inkwell beside the gaudy book. The vial contained an opaque, white liquid.

“Don’t fret, I’ll explain what these are for after your interview,” Master Palus assured her when he saw Irobu staring at the mysterious glass container. “Nevertheless, we should cut to the chase. So who are you Irobu? What drove you here?”

Irobu took a deep breath. “I am Irobu Vikria, daughter of Vikria Daudi and Nyo Sefu. I have several brothers and sisters—like all the proper mining families of Gargam. The lot of us toiled underground, where we harvested ore to make our magnificent machines with Hekal’s divine blessing. Truly one of the most important jobs a Sanusite could hope to have, apart from the priesthood of course. Without ore, everything would screech to a halt: harvesters, railcars, printing presses, I could go on believe me.

“Regardless, our family was renowned for being the best harvesting crew in Gargam. Hekal smiled upon us. My father Vikria had a knack for finding veins of ore, and we would work tirelessly until every lode was extracted. Since the mines were the lifeblood of Gargam, our family was significantly influential—enough to get me into Gargam Academy. A decent school amongst our people, it’s surely leagues better than anything on this side of the Imperators. I split my time between the mines and my studies for several years,” Irobu concluded.

“Spoken with all the arrogance and self-aggrandizement of a true Sanusite,” the old man chuckled while taking notes. “It sounds that the Sanusites are still beholden to Hekal at any rate. We may ‘ave underestimated ‘im. But I digress. Why did you leave Gargam and the Sanusites?”

Irobu proceeded to tell a more detailed version of the events that forced her from Gargam, leaving out the portion about finding Thrun’s rectangular prism and her escape from Hekal’s library.

“I see,” Master Palus remarked, rapidly scratching his quill across the page. “So you seek shelter here, and a home free from persecution until you return to the Sanusites. Tell me, does your magic produce additional unwanted effects?”

“Unfortunately it does.”

“A pity, I know those dangers all too well,” the aged Sanusite stated wistfully. Several seconds later he added, “Ser Griffiths’ concerns were justified, for it is theorized a single mishap birthed the Spellmarsh. With that in mind, never cast spells in Duncaster, and only cast spells when absolutely necessary to save your squad or your mission. Ser Griffiths and Swift will likely protest even then, since they ‘ave suffered first-hand from magic users and their disastrous legacies. Win them over with your restraint and caution, no matter how inferior you may think they are,” Master Palus advised with a knowing wink. With that said, the old man asked Irobu a few more questions about her travels and then declared that the interview was over. Irobu rose to her feet but Master Palus immediately beckoned her to sit back down.

“Not so fast, young lady. While the interview is done, our business is not,” he instructed. Irobu reluctantly obliged and sat back down across from the Grandmaster. “The other reason I requested your presence was because, frankly, you’re also a Sanusite. And a faithful Sanusite at that.”

“Of course I am, as are all proper Sanusites,” Irobu agreed flatly.

“Which means that you were anointed as a child, yes? The priests still carry out that ceremony at age three?” Master Palus quizzed as he watched Irobu carefully.

Irobu met the elder Sanusite’s dark eyed stare. “Correct,” she replied. “I had my communion with the great Hekal and drank from His holy font.”

“And do you know what that communion entails?”

“I thought the interrogation was finished,” Irobu responded gruffly.

Master Palus chuckled. “You remind me of my father—always very direct. Anyways, yes, it’s over. I ask these questions so that you understand what I must do. Drinking from the font establishes a link between you and ‘ekal, it’s ‘ow you hear his sermons every morning,” he told Irobu, who was tapping her foot and looking through the glass doors overhead. “Some of ‘ekal’s ichor stays in your blood, which is why the connection can last for a lifetime. What many don’t know ‘owever, is that the connection goes both ways. ‘Ekal can ‘ear into your mind, and even feel your senses if he so chooses.”

So He did hear my prayers, and waited till the last minute to intervene as a test of my faith, Irobu posited.

What are you on about? I intervened to show you the spell, and then you cast it. Hekal played no part. At the end of the day he cares only about the power that your belief provides; he doesn’t care about you.

“As I mentioned yesterday, your squad is the best ‘ope we have for restoring the Sodality to what it once was. Knowing ‘ow…jealous ‘ekal can be, I figure it best we don’t take any chances in regards to ‘is interference,” Master Palus proceeded delicately.

“What are you suggesting?” Irobu questioned defensively.

“I’m suggesting that we break your bond with ‘ekal to keep the Sodality’s activities from being disturbed—merely as a precaution. You’d drink this ‘ere vial and cough up the ichor shortly thereafter. The break would be temporary of course, I’m sure the bond can be reestablished once you return to Gargam and clear your family’s name. This is our last shot before the Sodality crumbles. I don’t want a legion of Chombo mucking up our plans,” the elder Sanusite concluded.

Cough up… Irobu flashed back to when she was trapped in the air bubble. She recalled how her life had streamed before her eyes and how she had subsequently hacked up a black liquid.

You! You cursed demon, you broke my bond with Hekal! That means…He must never have spoken to me in the cave! You impersonated Him so I’d cast the stone removal spell and listen to your selfish plan to leave Gargam! Irobu snarled, clenching her fists. You made me, ME, break a Commandment!

First off, I’m a God-King, not a demon. Moving on, Hekal and I aren’t exactly fond of each other; breaking the bond was the right decision for both of us. Had Hekal sensed my presence in you, his priests would have hunted you relentlessly. He would have tortured you to death to rid the world of me. As for pretending to be Hekal, that I will confess to. It was the only way to save both of our lives.

Why does Hekal hate you so—no. How can I trust anything you say? You manipulated me to leave my home and impersonated Hekal! You’re using me for your own ends, and ruining my life in the process!

Would you rather have died? That was the alternative. Like I said, I didn’t choose to inhabit you; it was a cruel twist of fate. Misleading you was the only way to get you to leave Gargam. Seeing how important your family is to you, I knew it would be nigh on impossible to use logic to make you to leave them behind. Remember the lies Hekal has fed you. His lies about creating the world, his lies about your ancestors inhabiting the Ugboku, and the countless other lies you have been fed over your seventeen years. Your life was built on lies; I’m merely exposing its rotten foundation.

Maybe I should have died rather than spread your heresy. The foundation of my life was fine until you rotted it with your corruption. Truly absurd! In one breath you admit to lying, and in the next you accuse Hekal of sinking to your level.

Ask Palus then if you doubt me, you stubborn fool.

“Miss Vikria, are you alright? Did something I say offend?” Master Palus inquired concernedly. Irobu realized her face was contorted into a snarl. “That’s the second time I’ve caught you staring into space since we met…”

We’ll finish this discussion later, demon, Irobu fumed. She took a deep breath and relaxed her visage.

“I’m fine. You’re sure the bond can be reestablished?” Irobu questioned the worried looking Master Palus.

“I’m not entirely sure. My father only tried the removal with me, never the reverse. But I don’t see why the bond couldn’t be reestablished if ‘ekal so desires,” Master Palus admitted.

“Fine. Pass the vial here. I’ll drink it in my chambers,” she relented while rising to her feet.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option. I need to make sure the ichor leaves you. Sit back down; the process won’t take too long,” the elder Sanusite gently countered.

Irobu looked over at the door, then at the vial and at Master Palus. With a sigh, she sat down. How am I going to explain this one? Irobu wondered. I suppose I could claim it was from a mishap. Irobu held out her hands; Master Palus placed the vial in one and the mug in the other.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said. Raising the vial to her lips, Irobu swiftly downed its contents. The white liquid was thick and bitter; she successfully stifled a gag and washed it down with the beer in the mug. Master Palus watched her intently as the minutes ticked by. Irobu watched him in turn, while trying not to appear shaken by the scrutiny.

“That’s…odd,” Master Palus finally broke the silence after about ten minutes. “Magical potions don’t expire, and this should ‘ave been more than enough for someone your size,” he mulled. “And you’re sure you were anointed?”

“Yes I am. Perhaps the connection was severed during a spellcasting mishap. I did pass out several times while casting spells,” Irobu suggested, trying her best to keep cool.

“That might do it…” Master Palus considered as he looked over Irobu anew. “‘ave you been hearing ‘ekal’s sermons? Be truthful now.”

Irobu paused a moment. “Not since I left Gargam,” she divulged.

“None at all?” Master Palus cocked an eyebrow.

Irobu glanced at the stone floor. “None,” she repeated softly.

“In that case, it would appear that your bond ‘as been broken somehow,” the old Sanusite reasoned. Irobu stood. “Before you leave ‘owever, I do have other questions about Gargam and the Sanusites if you’d be so kind. News from the Sanusites is always ‘ard to come by; you’re such an isolated people.”

“Fine,” Irobu replied curtly, staying on her feet.

You truly plan to answer his questions? We still don’t know his mot—

As far as I know, he hasn’t lied to me, nor tried to trick me. Silence, demon.

“What inventions are now commonplace? ‘As ‘ekal been able to sustain them all?” Master Palus inquired as he opened a small brown notebook.

“Railcars, printing presses, clocks, lights. Bundukis too. Of course He’s sustained all the inventions; there aren’t any crystal shortages—unlike before the Holy Revolution.”

Master Palus scribbled away in the compact book. He requested technical details about the newest machines, details which Irobu was unable to provide. “How about the Mechanist Council? Does it still exist? Who leads it?” the elder Sanusite needled.

“Yes it does. Those three govern the Sanusites as the great Hekal wills. Councilman Senai leads the Council,” Irobu said as she edged closer to the staircase down the tower.

“Three? The Council always ‘ad five members…and Senai? Surely not Dula Senai?” Master Palus looked up from his paper.

“Councilor Dula Senai leads the council. Blind and old,” Irobu confirmed.

“That’s remarkable. Councilman Dula Senai led the council when my family left. And you’ve seen ‘im? ‘E makes appearances in public?”

“I saw him at a harvest festival in Sanusi once. Looked like a normal, old, blind man from afar.”

“If that’s true that would make ‘im…one hundred and forty years old,” Master Palus stated incredulously.

Senai lived for over 100 years? Hekal does reward and care about his faithful servants. He’ll care for me again once I banish this demon and repent for his sins, Irobu smiled, tuning out Thrun’s ensuing rant.

“I have but one more question for the moment. ‘Ave you visited ‘ekal’s Sanctum? Do you know what is being built in the Expanse?”

“Only Hekal’s priests are allowed into the Expanse, so I’ve never seen Hekal’s Sanctum nor know what is being built there,” Irobu answered. Delicately, she stepped over the last books between her and the exit.

“Thank you for your answers, Miss Vikria. I always appreciate news from what was once home. Best of luck on your first mission; you’re free to go,” Master Palus declared while looking at the sky through the glass doors.

Irobu opened Palus’ door and saw the staircase leading down, but she lingered in the doorframe and turned around. “May I ask you a question in return, Master Palus?” Irobu broached carefully.

Master Palus blinked. “What’s that now?” he blurted. “Ah, I suppose I did ask a great many of you. Go ahead,” he allowed.

“Who…inhabited the ruins in the Ugboku Jungle?”

“The Ugboku Jungle, eh? That’s an odd question. I would have thought your ‘Gargam Academy’ would cover such a topic if it were as grand as you claimed,” the old man chuckled.

“Forget I asked,” Irobu muttered. She turned to leave once more.

“Now, now, I was only joking. A cat-like race once lived there that called themselves the Tloach, if old Qertisian sources and the archeological reports of Tudur Fowther are to be trusted. The ‘cat-people’ if you will, ‘ave been gone for a great while. That jungle is a nasty place; ‘ard to believe anyone would choose to live there. Does that ‘elp?”

“That raises more questions than answers, but thank you,” Irobu nodded and hustled out of Palus’ chaotic chambers.

Just as I told you, Thrun chimed in during Irobu’s descent from the spire.

There was a kernel of truth among all your lies. So what, Irobu dismissed, still coming to terms with the revelations from the meeting.

That means that Hekal’s priests and Proctor Fassil lied to you and the rest of the Sanusites, Thrun asserted. And, assuming that the Sanusites’ libraries survived this ‘Holy Revolution’ as you call it, their lies were intentional.

You’re so fixated on Hekal’s lies, you overlook your own! Irobu countered angrily, though some part of her was troubled by Thrun’s accusations. To what end? Irobu inquired once her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Why would Hekal or His priests allow such a falsehood to be taught?

Hekal’s warped history says that he created everything, but only took notice of your ancestors once they built the structures in the Ugboku, correct?

Yes.

Claiming your ancestors made these ruins provides a plausible explanation for why Hekal took notice of the Sanusites. Otherwise, one would wonder why Hekal chose to watch over the Sanusites instead of other ‘creations’ of his, say, the mages of Qert or even the savages on the plains. And since they claim Hekal was watching over the Sanusites, it makes sense that he intervened during the crystal shortages, whereas he ignored other civilizations that have had similarly dire crises. It’s all part of their narrative to brainwash the Sanusites.

You’re certainly an expert in brainwashing, demon. Perhaps I’ll ask Palus about the Nzank when I return to find out what you were really like, Irobu considered.

~

Worlds away, Irobu walked into something soft and her reverie was broken. She was clearly in the forest, although the latent mist had turned dark grey. The trunks were also closer together and there was a substantial layer of dead leaves coating the forest floor. Through the gloom, Irobu saw that her nose was practically against a yellow cloaked figure directly in front of her.

“Watch where you’re going,” Swift hissed. Hastily stepping back, Irobu realized she must have walked into the elf. Irobu felt blood rushing to her face. “This is a dangerous area; stay alert.”

Huh? What have you done now? Thrun asked.

Nothing that concerns you.

 “My apologies,” she offered while looking down at the ground.

“Don’t do it again,” Swift snapped and continued towards another dark figure on the edge of the fog. Irobu followed in her footsteps; the heavy footfalls of Ser Griffiths were close behind. Ultimately the team continued their evening march for several more hours until Harold’s hulking form came to a stop.

“Barely see trail,” Harold informed his waiting companions as he squinted down at the ground and rustled the leaves with his feet.

“That’s alright. We’ll camp nearby and take up the search in the morning. The slavers must be right at hand; the trees are getting so close together it would be impossible to drag a horse much farther,” Ser Griffiths hypothesized. He strolled a few paces away from the trail and laid down the bedroll that was tied to his pack.

“Shouldn’t we look for a more secure camp? The slavers might follow the same trail back to the road and come upon us in the middle of the night,” Swift suggested. Harold and Irobu waited by the trail.

“Why would they travel through here at night? Suppose they did. This mist is thick enough that they wouldn’t see us without a torch, and if they have one, we’ll see them coming,” Ser Griffiths reasoned.

“In theory,” Swift answered. “Though I’m not taking any chances of being enslaved again. I’ll sleep in one of the trees.”

“Are you mad, woman? One of the trees? Surely you’ll fall during the night. And how will we wake you when it’s your turn for watch?” Ser Griffiths asked while furrowing his brow, dumbfounded by the strange choice.

“Worry not, I’ll be safer in the trees than you are on the ground,” Swift insisted and approached Ser Griffiths through the deepening darkness. With a powerful jump, she began climbing a nearby tree. “Knock on the trunk when it’s my turn,” she called from a perch on a broad branch.

“You could get lost, you know, or separated from us. What then? You’d be stuck out here,” Ser Griffiths spoke softly to the tangle of branches overhead.

“Harold isn’t the only one who can follow tracks. Goodnight,” the elf’s voice drifted down from above.

Ser Griffiths shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “You two come here, I assume you both aren’t climbing trees. Eat your rations then I’ll take first watch.”

Irobu and Harold followed Ser Griffiths’ voice. They unrolled their bedrolls close to the former paladin, lining up roughly side by side. All three quietly ate bread, honey and dried meat from their packs while listening to distant hoots and howls echoing through the night. Despite the chilly air of the forest, Irobu and Harold, thoroughly drained from the long days of marching, quickly fell asleep.

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