Alliances
Baron scarcely slept, spending most of the night and early morning hours crafting his pendant for Ariadra, his head now aching in protest. But as he lay there awake, the sound of something close by grabbed his attention. It was the light tap of a sword against the side of the building and the sound of twisting leather. Was someone outside? Dressing quickly and stepping outside, he was more than a little bit surprised to find Sheabor standing there waiting for something.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” Sheabor said.
“I wasn't asleep. Is everything alright?”
“Yes. I just wanted to ask you a few questions. Can we take a walk?”
Baron nodded and the pair moved off toward the center of town, the streets empty at this predawn hour. Baron had never seen it so silent and beautiful. It truly would sadden his heart to leave this place.
“Have you thought about what you and your brother are going to do once you leave Ogrindal?” Sheabor asked.
Baron shrugged his shoulders.
“We probably don't have much choice but to return home to Suriya.”
“I'd have thought you'd be more eager to return,” Sheabor said. “The battle there destroyed many of the buildings. With your new ability, you could greatly aid in the reconstruction.”
Baron hadn't considered that. He nodded slowly but could see in Sheabor's eyes that he was still holding something back.
“It's hard to sit back in a fishing village when there's a war coming,” Baron replied.
Sheabor smiled.
“You could be of great assistance to the plan that Aravas and I have begun,” Sheabor said. “In fact, part of the reason we’ve now made the decision to move forward is because we were hoping that you would lend your hand to the project. Without you and your brother, I don’t think we could finish in time.”
Baron was taken aback.
“Count me in,” he responded. “Whatever you need, I’m in all the way. That goes for Blair too.”
Sheabor chuckled, knowing that Baron probably could beg, bribe, or antagonize his brother into doing just about anything he wanted.
“Thank you,” Sheabor responded, with a hand on Baron's shoulder. “For the first time in a long time, we can dare to hope for the best. But if you wouldn’t mind, I need to find Aravas.”
“Of course.”
Then Sheabor swiftly departed. Everything was now set, the plan fully in motion. As he sped away from Baron, his heart was pounding in his chest. With Baron and Blair involved, Sheabor could leave the project in the hands of Aravas, slipping away to find Durian and Pallin, sailing to the Banished Lands. Though he told himself again and again that Cora had surely already been rescued long ago by the resistance, the thought of her languishing in a dungeon was more than he could bear. He needed to know for certain she was safe.
Meanwhile, Baron wandered slowly about the city, newly waking to life, his head in a daze from so much happening in such short time. In the town square, where Baron ended up, large rocks were scattered about the grasses. Placing his hand on the nearest one, he ran his fingertips over the cold, smooth surface, seeing if any change came over him.
It was a strange feeling. When he made contact with the stone, suddenly he could feel his own heart beating, sending blood through all his veins. Concentrating on his fingertips, a strange sensation exerted from his heart, down through his arms and into the stone, which subtly began to swirl and liquefy. It was tiring but also exhilarating.
Baron tried submerging his fingertips beneath the stone, which formed indentations but wouldn't pierce to let his hand through. The stone became almost stretchy, easy to push at first but growing quickly more difficult and then impossible at a certain point. Remembering the sight of his hands submerged inside the Soul Stone, he couldn't discover the means to replicate the effect.
Instead, he decided to try something new and with a smile began to mold the stone in front of him into the shape of a throne. Though the going was slow, he managed to fashion a comfortable chair, and sat triumphantly upon it. As he scanned the crows, he saw Blair ambling about nearby.
“Blair, come here,” Baron said.
“What have you done?” Blair asked.
“Pretty neat, huh?”
“That's just what the people of Ogrindal want in their town square...a throne to remember Baron by.”
Baron chuckled.
“Help me put it back to normal then.”
Baron touched the stone, which began to subtly swirl around his palms. Approaching warily, Blair placed his own hands near Baron's and closed his eyes.
“Do you feel it?”
Blair said nothing but continued concentrating until, at length, he opened his eyes wide in wonder.
“I can feel it!” he exclaimed.
Just then, Estrien walked by them without seeming to take notice.
“Estrien, look!” Baron exclaimed.
She turned to him with a distant expression, but quickly saw what Baron and Blair were doing.
“That’s good, Baron,” she said. “Your power is already growing. But you need more training. For now, you can only manipulate a small portion of a weaker stone. Stones like the Shade Stone of Sheabor’s hammer you won’t be able to even weaken, much less mold like the masters of the First Age could do.”
As she was still speaking, Straiah came up behind her and touched her on the elbow. Startled, Estrien turned quickly round, taking a step away from him. Baron was struck by the interaction but Estrien hurried away and Straiah wandered off without even saying hello.
Sheabor and Aravas appeared on the scene, the town square slowly filling up. King Froamb entered with the elders of Ogrindal and waited for many minutes as the rest arrived. Baron began to search for Ariadra who was undoubtedly with her father. At length, Sheabor stepped up onto a small hill where he could address the crowd, Aravas beside him.
“It was because of our disunity that we nearly lost our lands to the forces of Malfur. Let the Night Wanderers be a lesson that what could not have been accomplished on our own has now been accomplished through our unity. Ogrindal has waited twelve hundred years to free their ancestors from the Soul Stone. But in one simple act, Estrien of Melanor and Aravas, Keeper of the East Wind were able to do what none in twelve centuries could accomplish.
Melanor has already committed its forces to the coming battle. Forthura has done the same. With Ogrindal, Kester, and the Bearoc, we will have an alliance of six peoples, each with their own unique strength to share.
We will build an alliance city at the crossroads where the lands of Kester, the Horctura, and the Bearoc meet, northwest of the forest of Thay Iphilus, on the far side of the Ruhkan Mountains. There, we will unite our strength against Corcoran and will gather our forces to meet the coming darkness. The two Builders, Baron and Blair, will be the chief architects, using their growing powers to craft a city in the ancient fashion, strong and impenetrable.”
Blair shot a scrutinizing look to Baron who only smiled.
“I will accompany you,” Gwaren said. “With anyone from Ogrindal who wishes to join me.”
With Gwaren's declaration, the people of Ogrindal erupted into conversation and murmuring. Baron glanced to the Whinden, who visibly showed his displeasure. Baron caught sight of Straiah wandering close by, not seeming to be paying any attention to the happenings in the town square.
“Is everything okay?” Baron asked, walking up to him.
“Yes,” Straiah answered. “It's a private matter.”
Just then, King Froamb ambled up, placing his hand on Straiah's shoulder.
“So,” King Froamb began. “What do you think of your friend’s grand endeavor?”
“If the location they’ve selected is central and defensible, then the idea is perfect,” Straiah answered. “The first days will be difficult. I’m sure we’ll receive significant harassment from the barbarians and the Dungeon Core still at large.”
His statement brought a somewhat
troubled look from King Froamb.
“What is it?” Straiah questioned.
“There’s something strange happening in the barbarian lands,” Froamb answered. “Even though absent from the throne, I still receive reports of the kingdom. Over the past week, our skirmishers have reported that some of the smaller barbarian tribes seem to have disappeared. They've either moved or been wiped out completely, which would be uncommon for the Horctura to kill their own kind rather than enslave them. The barbarian cities seem to be on heightened alert. You wouldn’t expect it. Perhaps they think Forthura will invade, but we’ve shown no sign of aggression.”
That was a strange report. Baron didn't know what to think of it. The largest two tribes had sided with Malfur and with them defeated, a struggle for power would ultimately ensue for years to come. Sheabor and Aravas came and joined the group and Blair wandered up as well.
“Are you ready for this new adventure?” Aravas asked Baron.
“Absolutely.”
Aravas smiled.
“Aravas,” Estrien began from behind Baron, who hadn't noticed her arrival. “Baron and Blair must receive more training in Melanor before construction on the city can begin.”
“Time is key,” Aravas replied. “Melanor is too far, and their methods too slow. They will receive their training elsewhere.”
Estrien gave him a questioning look. Where else in the world could they receive that kind of training? Perhaps Aravas would somehow try and train them himself.
“They will receive their training at the Illian city,” Aravas continued. “It is close, and it will give them what they need.”
Estrien's face went white, staring at him with unbelieving eyes. That was the city Dahlgrin had told them of earlier, that perished suddenly during the earthquake at the end of the Great War when a piece of the mountain fell upon the city. That place was like a living graveyard of her kinsmen.
“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Blair questioned.
“The danger will aid you,” Aravas responded. “The gifts of the First Age are instinctual, just as when your brother fell from the ledge, his gift manifesting suddenly to save his life. The dangers of the Illian city will help your gifts to forge themselves through fire.”
But as they still spoke, they heard horses and commotion coming from the western end of town. The conversations slowly dwindled, and suddenly, a dozen men appeared on horseback, escorted by the Forest Guard.
“Those are men of Kester!” King Froamb exclaimed.
The group rode into the midst of the assembly and addressed them all.
“A war party of the Bearoc has passed from the lands of Aeleos and come into this kingdom. I am Bowen, captain of the northern skirmishers of Kester, sent out to track them. You are, all of you, in grave danger.”
Stillguard
Durian and Pallin floated leisurely down the river, Pallin navigating their course, and Durian using the time to fashion fishing poles and gear. Pallin was much more cautious to changes now, watchful for the appearance of any rapids, which forced them the hardship of walking around rather than facing the wrath of the river. Some of their provisions had been soaked beyond recovery, so Durian caught what fish he could to make up the difference.
“Pallin, tell me about the Bearoc.”
Pallin looked at him with intrigue. It was quite a large question.
“You haven't mentioned anything about them at all in your tales of the old world,” Durian continued. “Where were they during the Great War? What did they do afterward?”
“Before I tell you what they did, I will tell you who they are,” Pallin began. “Though their name sounds fearsome, in the old tongue, the word Bearoc means 'Watcher', and that's what they are, the watchers of the world. They dwell in an island kingdom far to the north, in the lands called Aeleos. Their lands are a true marvel to behold, though none will they permit to cross their borders, except for perhaps a Keeper of the Wind. Faigean, my brother, went to dwell with them long ago.
Their lands were once mountainous, but through the centuries they've toppled them, demolishing whole ranges to rubble to fashion a vast capital of islands and bridges, spanning hundreds of leagues – an artificial archipelago like nothing the world has ever seen. Their lands are a paradise of stone and water, with estuaries and coral reefs running beneath the long bridges leading from island to island, exotic fish and creatures mingling there.
“I can see why they don't leave much,” Durian commented.
Pallin smiled and nodded.
“Corcoran knew they would not be easily drawn into battle. He knew also that their eyes were ever on the west. Though he and his followers had traveled further than their gaze could reach, they would be seen long before they made their attack on the Three Houses. That is why Corcoran traveled far to the south and attacked from the deep woods between the lands of Forthura and Kester.
By the time the giants had mustered a force to aid the Houses, it was too late. Corcoran's campaign had been swift. The great cyclone was formed and the world was forever changed. The Bearoc made a vow that day to never allow the return of Corcoran. From their high towers, they vigilantly watch the west. But Corcoran, it seems, has again outwitted them.
At the end of the Great War, the Bearoc returned to their homelands of Aeleos, and began construction immediately of a great watchtower, as far west as could be built, a league offshore upon which an Athel stone was taken and set. From this high tower, the Banished Lands were still in view. They could see the fighting and the chaos between the forces of Corcoran and the House of Cavanah, trapped along with them.
For years they could see happenings there from across the growing sea. But as time moved on, it began to shrink from view. And after many generations passed, the Banished Lands drifted beyond their sight, far to the west across a broad ocean. None could know that the spirit of Corcoran was somehow still alive, unlocking the mysteries of the deep places of the world and moving an entire continent.”
Durian couldn't believe it, having heard stories of giants as a child, but always counting them a myth. To hear what their kingdom really was like and who they really were was captivating beyond words. The thought that he might actually meet a giant one day was almost more than he could fathom.
“So you think the giants have no idea that forces from the Banished Lands have come to our continent?” Durian asked.
“It is the same as before,” Pallin said with a sigh. “Though if Sheabor and the others still live, Aravas will make it of first importance to alert the lands of Aeleos. The Bearoc will be among our strongest allies.”
“I'll say. What could stand up to an army of giants?”
“Though towering and strong, their numbers aren't nearly as great. They live in stasis with the world around them, neither growing nor diminishing over the centuries. I would guess that not more than one thousand of them are alive in any generation.”
Durian was mesmerized by Pallin's words. What an amazing place the lands of Aeleos must be.
“We are nearing the edge of the forest now,” Pallin declared. “From here, the river will bring us past the town of Stillguard.”
Durian smiled at the name, the town where his friend, the monk, was born.
“Will we stay in town or camp in the wild?”
“We will camp at the edge of the forest tonight.”
They reached the edge of the forest just before dusk, a town coming into view far below, aglow with fires in many windows, and thin bands of smoke rising to the darkening sky. The river flowed down toward the grassy basin and into the town of Stillguard, powering a large water wheel at the edge of town. Durian could hear the muffled sounds of chickens and the neighing of a horse across the dim ether as the first evening star was just sparkling in the sky.
“Durian, help me make camp before nightfall,” Pallin urged.
Durian retreated back to their boat and helped drag it from the river, carrying it a considerable distance upstream before finding a level spot to ma
ke camp. Durian gathered wood while Pallin built a ring of stones and soon they had a warm fire lit, Durian preparing fish for their supper.
After supper, the two reclined by the fire. But Durian arose before long and traveled to the edge of the forest to gaze at the town of Stillguard. It was beautiful in the distance, with tiny dotted lights that filled the broad basin with a mellow glow. Pallin came up and gazed with him in silence.
“How will we travel around the city?” Durian questioned. “The river flows straight into it.”
“Have no fear,” Pallin said.
A chilling breeze blew up from the valley and Durian covered up his arms, but couldn't quite keep the chill out. He returned to camp and to their warm fire, and soon found himself drifting off to sleep.
Durian was awoken in the morning by the light sound of metal clanging against metal. The fire next to them had died, but for a small ribbon of smoke still rising. He heard a footstep just beside him and shot up, startled to see a man clad in full armor standing near him and others prowling about their boat and belongings. Pallin was still asleep on the other side of the ashes. At length, Pallin awoke as well. Who were these men?
“Carver, what have you?” asked a man on the horse.
“Poachers, sir,” said the soldier nearest Durian, and kicked at the bones of the fish they had eaten for dinner.
“Take them,” said the horseman.
And before another word was said, the soldiers grabbed both Durian and Pallin and bound their hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” Pallin demanded.
“Quiet,” said one of the soldiers.
The soldiers quickly disarmed them, and found the Shade Stone weapon that Pallin still carried from the tomb of Sheyla. It was the mace with the Candlewood handle and spiked head of Shade Stone. The soldiers marveled at it for many moments, clearly having never seen anything like it.
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