“I'm sorry for disturbing you.”
“No need for apologies. I am happy now. Agur has told me he is quite happy here.”
“Oh,” Sheabor responded. “Well that's good to hear.”
“Horses are like women. What they say, they say with their manner and their eyes – not with words.”
“Oh,” was all Sheabor replied.
Jaithur smiled.
“You mentioned earlier that the Jedra pride themselves on being informed.”
Jaithur nodded.
“How current is your information on the happenings of the fortress K'venneh? I need to know when they make a move the moment they make it...before if possible.”
Jaithur pondered.
“I'm very certain that Kester is mustering forces to make a move against us. Honestly, I'm surprised they haven't done so already. We've weakened our position by splitting our forces, and it's only a matter of time before they come. I need to know when the attack will come before they leave the city.”
“That should be possible. We have men loyal to the Jedra throughout the kingdom of Kester.”
“Should be isn't good enough. Also, I need two of my men smuggled out of this city bound for the borderlands of Aeleos. I need them brought undetected by the forces of Kester.”
“Two of your men?” Jaithur questioned. “Would that happen to be the twin Builders I've heard so much about?”
Sheabor nodded.
“My son will see to it personally.”
Sorren gave Sheabor a bow.
“As for your other concern. You will know the very moment Commander Rovak wakens to the thought of laying siege to this city.”
“I appreciate it,” Sheabor said with a bow. “I am in your debt.”
“Which is where all men should be,” Jaithur returned with a lower bow.
Sheabor smiled, suspecting that being in Jaithur's debt was something he would pay for for years to come. But he didn't care. If Jaithur could deliver on his promise, Sheabor would pay any price. Everything was now set. Sheabor returned to the council tent ecstatic. The plan to unite the continent might somehow work. He stood there staring at the map, making sure every detail was solidly set in his mind. Some time later, the tent flap opened, revealing Baron now standing before him.
“Good, Baron,” Sheabor said. “I was just wanting to speak to you. I have a very important mission for you and your brother.”
“I need to go to Eulsiphion,” Baron cut in.
“Eulsiphion?” said Sheabor, raising his eyes and giving Baron his full attention.
“King Euthor has left something very important there for us to find, just like he left on the island of sands. I'm convinced we'll need it to win this war.”
Sheabor looked at him pensively.
“Baron, we have more pressing matters to attend to. Can't this wait?”
“No. It can't.”
Sheabor sighed.
“This doesn't have anything to do with Ariadra's long absence, does it?”
“No,” Baron said but hesitated and paced a bit back and forth before continuing.
“Don't you remember when we first met you and Straiah in Thob Forest, how amazed and surprised you both were to find that Eulsiphion was still standing? And remember how Malfur exposed a hidden passageway that no one had known existed? Eulsiphion was the city King Euthor ruled from before the Great War. There could be incredible things hidden there.”
Sheabor was intrigued at the prospect but it was still a secondary concern to what he was planning. But Baron seemed intent.
“Alright Baron,” Sheabor concluded, knowing that Blair could probably manage what Sheabor needed on his own without Baron. “You can leave with the next convoy.”
“I'd like to go sooner than that.”
“Baron, I don't have extra men to escort you. We're very shorthanded.”
“I'll be fine on my own.”
Sheabor clenched his jaw. Baron suspected Sheabor was piecing the truth together, that Baron really was more interested in stopping by Ogrindal than he was about arriving at Eulsiphion.
“Maybe one of the Jedra can accompany you. I don't like the idea of you traveling on your own.”
“Blair traversed the whole of Kester by himself. I'm not asking you to understand it. I'm just asking you to trust me.”
Sheabor breathed in deep and then smiled with a shake of his head.
“Alright. But you better find something amazing down there.”
Baron smiled and sighed in relief. Then he departed. He stepped out into the crisp air. He was finally taking his life back into his own hands.
The Awakening
Ariadra stood high atop a windy cliff as distant, murky clouds hovered over the line of trees. Bursts of lighting were erupting from the shapeless mass, though they came soundless in the great divide. Far below her was a green forest, stretching on a far as her eyes could see. The trees were undulating as one in the wind, more like a field of wheat on the open plain than the thick verdure of the forest.
The motion of the trees was mesmerizing, and she found herself moving in tandem, swaying back and forth. But though the whole world was undulating, something in the forest was stationary. She couldn't make out its form but knew somehow it was there.
Ariadra felt something begin to grip her and tug her toward the edge of the cliff. She resisted, but her feet slid along the edge of the pebbled cleft. Her heart beat wildly as the force grew stronger, till her feet were right at the edge. She cried out as one last forceful pull tugged her over. Then she was falling.
Ariadra awoke with a start to the sound of a crackling fire. She blinked her eyes open, surprised to find herself back home, lying near the heat of her fireplace. Her father was nearby, his gaze fixed intently on her.
“Father?”
“Yes, Ariadra. You're home.”
“But, how did I...”
“Dahlgrin brought you. Said you fainted.”
Ariadra thought back. The last thing she remembered was seeing something flash in the forest from the ledge where she and Dahlgrin stood. Then everything went dark. Her memory recalled a time when Baron had told her of an almost identical experience but she didn't understand at the time. Baron had been nervous and wasn't making complete sense. But now the pieces were falling into place.
Her father was still staring at her, his gaze piercing. Ariadra's heart beat quickly, not knowing what had become of Dahlgrin or of their coats and supplies. Dahlgrin must had hid them again and brought her back down from the mountain.
“You were freezing to death when Dahlgrin finally got you home,” Tohrnan said. “I didn't know if we'd ever be able to warm you back up.”
His statements carried a hint of doubt in their tone, clearly disbelieving whatever story Dahlgrin had concocted. It wasn't helping that Ariadra herself had no idea what had happened. Her uncertainty was showing plainly on her face. Tohrnan must have seen that something very significant had taken place, even if he didn't know just what.
“Do you remember what happened?” Tohrnan asked. “Why you fainted?”
Ariadra only shook her head slowly.
“I'm trying to recall the last thing I saw before things went dark,” she said.
Ariadra tried to sit up but her whole body rebelled at the motion. She must have gotten incredibly chilled. It would have taken a long time for Dahlgrin to carry her back down the mountain. She even felt a burning sensation on her side, as though he had to lower her part of the way by rope. Tohrnan simply watched her and Ariadra grew uncomfortable in the silence.
“I honestly don't know what happened,” she said. “I must have fainted while walking down the road. But I'm feeling fine now.”
Tohrnan nodded slowly.
“I've had Dahlgrin reassigned,” he declared.
Anger filled her eyes.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, now fighting through the pain and fatigue and pushing herself up.
“Strange for you to ask such a
question,” Tohrnan replied. “Only last night you told me that seeing him made you feel like a prisoner. I thought you'd be happy. The council is giving you leeway to manage your own affairs.”
Ariadra could see the disapproval painted on her father's face, though it was still difficult to tell just how much he knew or suspected. Ariadra's thoughts raced. Would she be able to try the mountain pass again? At length, Tohrnan let out a sigh and stood to his feet. Ariadra was glad for his departure. But walking a couple of steps, he turned back to her, his eyes stern and angry.
“I'm very disappointed that you would risk Dahlgrin's life so recklessly and selfishly. I thought your mother and I raised you better than that.”
A streak of anger shot through her that he would dare use her mother's memory to reprimand her, and she stood to her feet, gazing at him with eyes of fury. She knew it would only confirm to him that he'd hit the mark with his declaration, but she didn't care. Ariadra was trying to save the life of the man she loved. Why couldn't he see that?
“Why can't you just leave me alone!” she said, brushing past him for her old room.
As she walked, the tears began to flow and she couldn't stop them. She felt so weak and she knew another attempt at escape was now largely impossible. Even if her strength returned, surely her father would have the mountain pass watched, now that he knew for certain what she was up to.
Ariadra slammed the door behind her and turned, collapsing into it and sliding down to the floor as the flood of tears began. It was only a matter of time before Baron came. Her father didn't know him like she did. Ariadra slammed her fist against the wall in bitterness.
But what she felt surprised her. Her hand made contact with the hard wood, but it felt more like clay under the force of her hand and the sound of the impact was dull and muffled. Ariadra pushed herself from the wall and wiped the tears from her eyes, staring at the grain of the wood and running her fingers slowly over it.
In her mind, she almost felt connected to it, but the feeling was so fleeting. She concentrated her thoughts on trying to shift the grain of the wood. But as she did, a wave of fatigue came over her and a chill ran down her spine. She staggered to her bed and wrapped the covers around her, falling fast asleep.
When she awoke, it felt as though she'd been asleep for days. Darkness lingered all around her, with only starlight greeting her through the window of her room. She arose, her strength now returned, and crept from her bed toward the door. Placing her hand on the wood, she felt it in a way she never had before, as though a new sense had been imparted, subtle, but there in the back of her mind.
In the darkness, she could almost see in her mind's eye how the grain of the door flowed, where it knotted and tangled or swirled round in beautiful lines like she'd never imagined. How had this happened? It could only have been the Soul Stone. That's what she had seen flashing in the forest – the same mysterious stone which had awoken Baron's abilities as a Builder. Could it really be true? And if so, why?
She ran her hand along the smooth door. When Baron had touched the Soul Stone, the surface began to swirl and his hands slowly sank into the stone. Could she do the same with wood? Opening the door slowly, she came into the main room where the subtle glow of red embers long untended greeted her from the hearth. It was sometime in the middle of the night and Ariadra crept slowly forward, running her hand along the nearby wall, her new found sense enlivening and thrilling her imagination.
Coming toward the glowing embers, she stopped and pressed both her palms against the nearby wall, closing her eyes and leaning her weight into the wall. In her mind's eye, she saw the grain of the wood moving and conforming to her touch. The small grains were almost like the individual stalks of wheat in a field slightly swaying with the breezes. It reminded her of her vision in the dream, gazing out over the distant forest.
As she stood there concentrating, the surface of the wood gained a texture like clay and she could feel the pressure of her fingertips forming impressions in the wood. But they never broke the surface. Ariadra tried pushing harder with her weight, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. The wood hardened the more she pushed with her own natural strength.
Ariadra heard her father stirring in his nearby room, and froze, too enamored with what was happening to risk being interrupted. Soon, silence enveloped his room once more but he'd hear her shuffling about before long if she kept moving. So, placing a log on the embers, she grabbed a nearby blanket and departed quietly from her home.
Outside in the crisp air, the world felt alive in a way it never had before. The first thing she did was walk to the closest tree and place her palms against it. Her touch brought the same sensation back again. She could feel the hardened wood of the inner core and the soft, greenwood near the outer rim.
The greenwood responded much more readily to her touch, being already supple and alive, and she found her fingertips sinking through the bark and into the tree. She wanted to bury her hands full length but worried that doing so might hurt or kill it. So she kept her hands at bay. There was a section where the grains had tangled, forming a knot. Concentrating, she was able to coax the grains back into a proper flow, marveling as she did so.
What an amazing thing to tend to a tree from the inside and out. She could see now how the masters of the First Age had crafted wood harder than iron, imbuing magical properties, like the Candlewood handle of Sheabor's hammer. Thoughts of the old world intrigued her and Ariadra headed off for the older structures of the city, hoping to learn their secrets. What differences would there be between the normal grains of wood in living trees and that of the Woodlanders who had founded the city, Ogrindal long ago?
The council chamber where her father and the other members met was the oldest structure in the city and not terribly far. She soon arrived, walking slowly up to the ornately decorated building where columns of wood carved in flowing detail held up a massive archway. Drawing near and placing her hand on one of the columns, she was shocked to find that the columns hadn't been carved at all, but had been formed that way meticulously into the wood grain itself.
It was incredible. How in the world had they managed such a feat? Ariadra closed her eyes and let her mind's eye wander. The column was dense, its grain so closely layered that she could barely discern the individual lines and patterns. But slowly she saw it in her mind's eye. Instead of flowing only up and down like normal grains of wood, there was a secondary set which flowed horizontally, intersecting the vertical lines in criss-cross fashion, adding a double layer of strength.
Ariadra tried exerting her powers over it, but the grains resisted her touch, moving not the tiniest budge beneath her fingertips. It was amazing. But as she stood there, she got the sudden sensation that she was being watched and pulling her hands away, she glanced about, seeing nothing. None were yet stirring in the midnight watches. She didn't completely believe what her father had told her, that the council was giving her space. He'd told her that Dahlgrin had been reassigned to see what her reaction would be to the news.
Some would still be watching her, perhaps even now. She didn't know who, whether it was by her father's orders or the council, but she couldn't take any chances. She needed a quiet spot to practice this wonderful new thing that had happened to her. The darkness of night was just giving way to the dawn and her father and sister would be up soon. She needed some time to think about what to do next. And so she removed for home.
Tohrnan awoke from a deep slumber. Everything was calm and still, but something indefinable nagged at his mind and drove him from his bed. Whenever he awoke in the night, he always arose to place a log on the hearth, to keep the embers alive until morning. So stepping out from his room, he saw the first faint glow of morning coming in through the window. The fire in front of him was larger than expected, even boasting thin wisps of flame that he stared at curiously.
It was uncommon for Aerova to place a log onto the fire in the night, but perhaps Ariadra. He walked slowly over to their cache of
wood, but something in his periphery caught his attention and he turned. Running his hands against the nearby wall, he traced a pair of distinct hand prints somehow permanently sunk into the hardened wood. The hand prints were smaller than his own and his heart began to beat quickly.
His eyes shot to Ariadra's room. Placing a log onto the fire, he crept slowly to her door and placed his ear against the wood. He discerned nothing. He pushed the door open very slowly, gazing inside to find only an empty bed. Just then, the front door of the home swung slowly open. Ariadra entered, surprise on her face when seeing her father. Tohrnan stepped away from Ariadra's door and Ariadra gazed at him with displeasure.
“Spying on me, father?”
“I'm worried for you, Ariadra.”
Tohrnan glanced to the spot on the wall where Ariadra's hand prints lie. She felt a streak of fear, realizing that she had left such a mark without removing it. Her father was gazing at her for explanation. Ariadra opened her mouth, but had no idea what to say. But turning to close the door behind her, she composed her thoughts.
“Don't you see, father? This is what I've been doing with Dahlgrin. He was there when Baron and Blair discovered their abilities. I asked him to help me develop my own. I wasn't trying to escape from Ogrindal. I was trying to unlock my ability.”
It was a convincing lie, one which Tohrnan seemed to accept.
“That's why I was upset when you said you had Dahlgrin reassigned,” she continued. “I made him promise not to tell anyone what we were up to. And as you can see, we've come a long way.”
Tohrnan was more than a little surprised. He otherwise wouldn't have believed such a tale, but the writing on the wall testified for itself. Her story had the good fortune of also explaining why she had fainted.
Ariadra was pleased. With any luck, such a story would slacken her father's watchful eye. She would spend the next few days recovering her strength and developing her ability, and perhaps once more risk an escape. But was it too late? Was Baron, even now, riding to find her?
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 68
