by Jack Conner
He sucked in a breath and entered the tent. Once again, he had to adjust to the darkness.
Before him, he heard a stirring.
“Brother?” came a voice. But the voice was strange. It too was sibilant and unnatural, made of hisses and clicks.
Something large and multi-legged approached him from the shadows.
“Tiron?” it said.
He threw back his head and screamed.
Chapter 14
King Alathon, though still grieving for Lorivanneth, flung himself into motion, and before long the twenty riders were assembling with their mounts in the courtyard before his Palace. Baleron and Rolenya returned to their suite to pack, Baleron using the clothes and supplies the Elves have gifted him.
Shortly Feren arrived, looking tired and angry, his eyes red, and his father went with him.
“It is time,” Alathon said. “I wish you were not parting with us under such circumstances, but it cannot be helped.”
Rolenya went to the king and embraced him. Her eyes were wet as she withdrew. “I am so sorry for your loss, Uncle. I would that I could have gotten to know Lorivanneth better—far better. She seemed so sweet, and brilliant.” She sighed, as if lamenting the relationship that could have been.
Feren’s eyes darted from her to Baleron, and there seemed to be something he wanted to say, but instead he reined it in, and Baleron was glad. Whatever it had been, Baleron was sure that it wouldn’t have been pleasant.
“You will have to be careful,” Alathon told them as he escorted them downstairs and toward the grand doors fronting the courtyard. “Remember, this is a hidden city, and there are no obvious paths to it or from it. When you leave the Encompassing Mountains and enter the forest, you will not find clear routes. Feren knows the paths to take, though, and Captain Laithan knows them as well, if not better, than Feren.”
“You favor him too much, Father,” Feren said.
“That may be. Nevertheless, Laithan knows the ways—at least, to a certain point. Few of my people have ventured very far in these latter days, preferring to safeguard the peace and secrecy of Ivenien. Only Calendil and his Riders have gone any distance. They have helped keep our maps up to date and plot out which countries and kingdoms are still extant, and which have fallen into ruin and despair, or which are overrun. There are too many of these latter, I am afraid. The War may have ended in our favor, but that only means we were not destroyed. But at the end of it, it was—and remains—the people of the Crescent that are under siege, and not the hordes of Oslog.”
They reached the courtyard and met Captain Laithan and his nineteen soldiers. All wore riding clothes, not uniforms, and their eyes blazed with wrath, as if keen to avenge their fallen lady. Captain Laithan’s blazed most of all. He was tall and dark-haired, with gray eyes and a strong face.
“My lords, we are ready,” he said, bowing to the king and prince. He and all the other soldiers stood beside their mounts, and other steeds had been brought for Baleron and Rolenya. Feren’s grand white stallion had been brought forth, as well, golden ribbons woven in its mane. An elegant blanket draped the back of the horse, but neither Feren nor any of the others used a saddle. Baleron would have asked for one, but he knew the Elves would not keep such things around since they had no use to the Eld.
“I know you will keep my son and guests safe,” Alathon told Laithan. “I wish you didn’t have to leave in such haste, but I see nothing else for it. Once you’re far enough away, you can rest. Then you needn’t worry that your going forth will alert any spies drawn here by Tiron’s tale.”
“We will see it done, Father,” Feren said, leaping up to the back of his steed, which neighed in greeting. He patted its flank absently.
Baleron helped Rolenya astride the white mare that had been brought for her, then awkwardly scrambled onto the back of his own steed, a chestnut stallion. It would have been difficult enough with two hands, but with one hand, a hook and no stirrups he was only lucky not to completely embarrass himself. As it was, he was sure he came close enough. Alathon was pretending not to notice, Baleron saw when he was finally astride, and Feren was openly smirking. Rolenya was smiling slightly, but fondness glimmered in her eyes, which removed any sting.
“I will not belabor your departure with a long speech,” Alathon said. “Also, I would not repeat your mission to all ears, for, though I trust all my people, this task will best be accomplished in stealth and secrecy. May the Omkar bless your going, and bless even more your eventual success.”
“Thank you,” Baleron said.
At that, Captain Laithan swung astride his mount, and all the other soldiers followed suit. “Attention!” he said, and they all formed up behind him. Feren, Baleron and Rolenya positioned themselves out beside him. “My Lord, do we have permission to leave the city?”
“Permission granted,” said Alathon. “And may you return swiftly, and after great luck in your quest.”
Laithan bowed his head, then said, “Ride!”
He rode forward, away from the Palace, and all the other riders did likewise. Baleron turned once to see that Alathon was already looking away, gazing with great sadness in the direction of the Library, where the body of his daughter still lay, waiting on those who would prepare it for the pyre, which was the Elvish custom. Baleron silently wished him well, and sent out a prayer for the soul of Lorivanneth. I am sorry I brought this upon you, and the others, he sent. I am sorry that once again I’ve brought ruin to good people. His Doom might have been removed, but that did not mean that doom had stopped following him.
And of late, it had picked up its pace.
The company trotted through the wide, beauteous lanes of the city, with graceful towers and soaring domes looming out of the greenery all around them. Word had gone out, or, more likely, the King had sent the word out to certain people, and Elf maidens scampered from limb to limb overhead, showering the company with flower petals. Where they touched Baleron, he felt lighter, cleaner, and his energy was restored.
“A traditional farewell for soldiers going off to war,” Captain Laithan said, seeing Baleron’s expression.
“It’s a good one.”
Most of the city still slept, but word of the murders was spreading among those who were awake to hear it just the same, and lights sprang from the windows of house after house as Baleron’s company passed it. Or was it his company? It seemed like Feren was in nominal charge. If so, Baleron wouldn’t grudge him.
The company reached the gates of the city, which to the south comprised a high, elaborate archway leading into one of the mountains—a cave. There bastions were set into the stone, manned by many guards, and they threw open the gate and waved the company through, then closed it after them. Captain Laithan ordered everyone to light their lanterns, then led the way through the otherwise dark halls, what appeared to be a veritable maze of caverns—or perhaps not so veritable.
“This place was designed as a labyrinth,” Laithan said. “In the unlikely event that someone found there way into these halls, they would not have found their way out again. And we have certain … traps they would not have found pleasant.”
Baleron tried not to imagine the nature of those traps. Elves were generally merciful and kind, but they had not won so many wars against the Enemy (or at least survived them) by being weak of stomach or afraid to shed blood. On the contrary, they were terrible in their wrath and their warriors were justly feared.
After two or three hours—it was difficult to tell in this endless darkness—Laithan brought the company to a section of the outer wall which glowed faintly in the shape of a large door. He spoke a word and the door opened outward—two doors, actually, both of heavy stone. Yet they moved swiftly and without sound.
The company emerged onto a promontory overlooking a lush forest, only lightly dusted with snow. Laithan spoke another word, and the door closed behind them. If Feren knew any of the passwords, he let his captain speak them in his stead. Baleron wondered if he did know them, or
if perhaps he’d been taught them and forgotten them in his indolence and triviality.
Laithan led down into the forest, and the company threaded their way through the trees. It was still night, and the forest was dark. The company had doused their lanterns to avoid being seen, but this meant that Baleron was almost completely blind. He knew the Elves, and presumably their steeds, could see better in the dark than he, but even they must be hard-pressed to plow forward through this blackness. He perceived no trail but only followed the horse ahead of him—or let his horse follow it, anyway. Baleron’s eyes were all but useless.
After several hours of this, dawn began to touch the sky to the east, turning the trees red in that direction. By then the restorative the Elf maidens had given Baleron had worn off, and the Elves looked wearied, too.
“Let us rest for a while,” Feren told Laithan, who nodded.
“We will break for four hours,” Laithan said. “We will sleep in shifts so that we will always have a watch.”
“Perhaps not,” said Baleron. “I will keep watch while the rest of you sleep. All of you, get some rest. You included, Captain, Prince.”
“But you need sleep more than we, surely,” said Feren. “You are mortal.”
Baleron allowed himself a tired smile. “That may be so, but I would have you all fresh and ready, in case there is trouble. And I have more recent experience in war than any of you, I would guess—and a good amount of it, at that. I’ve learned to sleep on the back of a horse. Though, truth be told, that was in a saddle. Sleeping bareback is going to be a new experience, but I’m up to the task. Or at least my spirit is,” he added ruefully.
“You can stay awake for four more hours?” Laithan said. When Baleron nodded, the captain said, “Very well. Then sleep we all shall!”
So it was. The Elves stretched themselves out on the grass near the bank of a stream and slept, deeply and instantly, even Rolenya. Baleron longed to finish what they had begun earlier, but now was not the time. He only hoped that whatever had almost reignited between them had not died for good in the wake of the tragedy. He ruminated on it as the others slept, and oft his glance strayed to the fair, perfect face of Rolenya, resting under the shade of a tree.
When Baleron judged that four hours had elapsed, he woke the company, and they resumed their march. True to his word, he slept on the back of his steed, and if he woke several times, starting to find himself slipping sideways on the back of the horse, no one else commented upon it, though Laithan looked upon him with a new respect. When he’d rested enough, Baleron managed to stay upright in much better fashion, and he was glad for the presence of the sun. At least he could see now.
The day passed, and they camped by night in a narrow ravine. They ate but made no fires, and they slept away the dark hours in shifts. Baleron allowed himself to get some sleep this time. Before turning in, he glanced to Rolenya to see her watching the stars.
“What’s on your mind?”
She shook her head and lowered her gaze. “Nothing.”
But he could see that something was. “What is it?” he asked, more quietly.
With worry on her face, she drew him away, under the tangled roots of a tree that climbed the small cliff-face. There she paused and gripped his hand, as if to steady herself. That alarmed him as much as anything else had.
“Well?” he pressed.
“It’s … well, perhaps it’s nothing, but I’ve learned how to use some of my abilities since I’ve been gone …”
He thought he understood. “You looked at the stars and you had a vision, is that it?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “None of the other Elves seem to have shared it.”
“Not all have the same gifts, and with my training in the Sisterhood my own abilities have been sharpened. Focused. And you know now that I am … not exactly like the others.”
He couldn’t disguise the awe he felt. “You are part divine …” My beloved, my angel, my goddess.
“Yes. But even so, it could be that I’m seeing something that’s not there. I could be entirely wrong.”
“Never mind that, what do you see?”
She hesitated, then came out with it. “Something dire waits for us on the road tomorrow. I saw that much clearly. The rest of it …”
“Yes?”
“It was just impressions, Baleron. Flashes. I saw a flash of teeth, like the fangs of a serpent, another of blood.” She shrugged helplessly. “That’s all I know—if I even know that. I’m not sure, really. I’ve only had a few minor visions, and those were under guided meditation and study.”
“Visions are useless without giving some way to avoid the catastrophes they show.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She dropped his hand and stared at the ground.
He squeezed her shoulder. In a lower tone of voice, he said, “I didn’t know you had visions.”
She looked up. “I never did, before.”
He studied her face for a long time. The wind stirred her hair and made the gnarled tree over their heads creak and grind.
Finally, he said, “That’s the other reason you stayed away, isn’t it? Because you wanted to learn … well, yourself. I guess you never got the chance before. You were raised thinking you were human.” He snorted. “I still can’t believe Father let that happen! But he loved you too much to allow you to think of him as anything other than your real father.”
“Yes, and I loved him, and still do, though he is gone. He was a good man, if harsh, and I do not blame him for what he did. But … yes, it has made it doubly important for me to learn what the Elves had to teach me—and still do.”
“You will go back to them, then—when this is all over.” He did not make it a question, but he did try to hide the hurt the idea caused him.
She swallowed but did not answer.
He had trouble sleeping that night.
They traveled all the next day without encountering anything dangerous, vision of doom or no, but Baleron could not put it out of his mind. They continued through a broad forest, at last emerging onto rolling hills dotted with juts of gleaming white limestone. Ancient obelisks thrust up on some of the taller hills, remnants of a long-vanished race or culture. When Baleron asked about it, the Elves named the lost race the Forgotten People, or Gelenda’het. They appeared to have been some sort of gnome-like creature. Baleron had heard many legends about “little people”, legends that were not about the Dwarves, and wondered if these Gelenda’het could be them.
In any case, it gave him something to do as they passed through the undulating green countryside. At last, toward sundown, the land dropped away before them into a broad valley cut down the middle by a glittering blue river—the Huginind River, if Baleron was correct. The Huginind flowed all the way to the sea. A sizeable city of domes and towers sprawled along the river. The company stopped on rise and Baleron and Feren rode forward to observe the walled city.
“That will be Yavlock,” Feren said.
“Good.” Yavlock was said to be one of the jewels of the kingdom of Galador, before it was overrun.
Baleron studied the town, looking for activity. He noticed several trails of smoke, and some movement, but not as much as he would have expected for so large a city. Perhaps they were still living in a state of siege, if only in their minds.
Rolenya and Laithan rode forward to join them.
“What do you see?” Rolenya said, then saw the city for herself. “Good, then we’ve come to it.”
They had discussed their route before, agreeing that the Yavlar Valley was the perfect place to join the progress of the Huginind. It ended in the delta of Thanonen, where stood Arthamir, one of the prominent Ivaeronian cities. There were well-traveled roads from Thanonen to the Ivaeronian castles in the mountains along the Oslogon border where the Swords of the Sun were kept. None knew if there was one in Arthamir, but it was possible, as it was ruled by Glorion, who would have been the heir of the House of Ivaeron if he had not spoken against the Oath they’d taken and been p
ut aside.
“We will go into town, sleep for the night and resupply,” said Feren. “Then follow the Huginind as planned to Arthamir.”
Baleron frowned. “I mislike the lack of activity. Something feels off about Yavlock. Have you any news from them?”
Laithan shook his head. “We only know that Galador was hit hard during the war, or perhaps just after—our records are unclear on that. Many of their people abandoned their settlements to the south and fled north. Yavlock is one of their southernmost settlements—founded on the site of an ancient city—so I wouldn’t have been surprised to find it abandoned, but it appears that not everyone fled.”
Baleron remembered Rolenya’s vision of disaster. He thought about mentioning it, but she had no record of visions, and therefore no record of correct visions. Without that there was little hope of being taken seriously. The sentiment amounted to little more than I have a bad feeling.
“This is the way we had planned,” Feren reminded him, seeing his hesitation. “Yavlock is our best hope of acquiring boats for the journey to Arthamir. It’s the first city after the Great Falls of Ithon and the largest one between here and the coast.”
“Very well,” Baleron said. “But we should be on our guard.”
For some reason, that irritated Feren. His nostrils flared, and he said, “Listen, mortal. Do you think us stupid? Do you think us not already on our guard since the moment you stepped foot in our realm? Do you think us not on our guard after my sister was murdered—by your friend?”
“That is not called for,” Laithan said.
“Isn’t it?” said Feren. To Baleron, he said, “Yes, in answer to your point, mortal. We are on our guard. Against you.”
