“Thank you, father,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Tohrnan nodded with a smile.
“He's quite a zealous fellow, I must say,” Tohrnan chuckled. “We almost couldn't make him understand.”
Ariadra laughed tearfully.
“How was he?” Ariadra asked. “Were you able to comfort him?”
“Oh. Well, he's a rational, sensible man. He could see that there wasn't another way.”
“But he must have been so broken hearted!” she said with a pained sigh. “What did you tell him?”
Tohrnan flushed a bit red and and he stumbled over a reply. He was still holding something back from her and the thought made her heart race. And the sounds of Aerova's sobbing still came from the other room, testifying that something more had transpired. But what? Something in her father's manner was protective and overshadowing, as though he sought to keep her here confined, away from Aerova and away from the outside world.
“I think I'll go for a walk,” Ariadra decided, taking a step for the door.
But he moved to his right to waylay her.
“Why not stay home? It's cold out. And your sister may need you when she finally settles down.”
Suddenly, she didn't trust a word that came from his lips. She knew his first priority was to protect her, that he would lie if he had to to keep her from doing something dangerous. Ariadra felt a terrible fear for Baron's safety. What if something really had happened to Baron and her father just wasn't telling her? She could see more than fear in his eyes. There was guilt as well.
“Father, what have you done?” she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment, his countenance darkening almost to anger.
“I've done what any father would do. I've protected you and the man you love from certain death. You can hate me if you wish. But I'd do it again without a second thought. One day, when you become a parent, you'll understand.”
Ariadra's mind raced. What had they told Baron? Her imagination filled with dark possibilities. Had they told him she had died? Or perhaps that she'd never arrived to Ogrindal in the first place? Whatever it was, she was sure it was driving Baron wild with anxiety.
“I want to hear it from Aerova,” she said turning to throw open her sister's door.
“No!” Tohrnan cried and rushed to forestall her.
He arrived just as she was opening the door and slammed it back shut. But Ariadra slid her hand over to his without him realizing, softening the wood beneath it and burying it within the door.
“I'm sorry father,” she said and took a step back.
With a look of great surprise, Tohrnan glanced over to see his hand half sunk in a now solid door. Then turning back to her, he stared at her in deep despair, which almost made Ariadra's heart go out to him.
“Please don't do this.”
“I've no choice, father,” she said. “I can't live like this anymore. I won't live as a prisoner here while my friends risk their lives for the fate of our world. And I won't let the man I love live with whatever lie you've told him about me.”
Tohrnan struggled angrily against his shackle.
“Tell Aerova...” Ariadra said but couldn't continue, her jaw clenched and her eyes blurring with tears.
She couldn't form the words. The wound was still too fresh. She couldn't forgive her sister for going along with their father's plan, whatever it may have been. Then turning, she grabbed as many water skins as she could find and a coat, and sped out the front door. Ariadra fled from her family home with all speed, making swiftly for the front of the city.
She didn't have a plan but she didn't care. All her thoughts were on Baron. Was he lying alone in the forest, shot through with arrows, waiting for the end? Or had he really been turned away unharmed, though broken hearted, by whatever her father and sister had told him? All the gates to the city were under guard, as well as the gap in the main wall. And she didn't have any rope to climb down with. How would she escape?
Ariadra kept from the main roads and ran in the shadows of the buildings. The light of the moon was bright in the night sky, which would make any attempt more difficult. As she crept to the front of the city, she made for the furthest corner until, passing the last of the buildings, she found herself in the open and sprinting to the wall. There was no one yet in sight, but the Forest Guard patrolled the top of the wall.
Reaching the wall, she turned, pressing her back against the wall and peering outward, and running the palms of her hands along the smooth surface. Then closing her eyes, she let her Woodlander ability flow into the wall, searching desperately for any weaknesses. Though the gap in the wall had been the only breach, the rest of the wall had sustained heavy damage.
Slowly, Ariadra slid with her back against the wall, her palms pressed into it. But the wall was impenetrable to her ability, which caused a streak of panic. To her surprise, the panic seemed to heighten her ability, which flowed even further into the hardened wood of the First Age. But she couldn't manipulate it no matter how hard she tried.
Sliding down further, the gap in the wall only a hundred paces away came into view. Ariadra could see one of the guards, but he hadn't seemed to notice her yet, for the firelight of his nearby torch kept his vision from seeing far in the darkness. But she dare not come much closer. Ariadra was losing heart and tears again began to fill her eyes.
So heading back the other direction, her hand slid over a place where an impact had internally splintered the wood within. She couldn't feel it from the outside, but it had clearly taken the blow of a weighty object. Ariadra focused. She could feel the wood responding to her touch, but its toughness was still more than she could manage and she couldn't break through the surface.
Just then, footsteps turned her attention to her left where a figure was approaching out of the darkness. Ariadra's heart raced and her fingertips suddenly plunged within the wood of the wall. But the figure was finally revealed, and Ariadra's sister stepped forward, her eyes red with tears. Ariadra was speechless.
“I don't blame you for mother dying,” Aerova said with a pained look. “I did but now I don't.”
Ariadra's mouth was gaping but she said nothing and Aerova looked up from the ground and into her sister's eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply, finding her courage.
“I pretended to be you in the forest. I'm so sorry. I hope one day you'll forgive me.”
Suddenly, Ariadra understood it all...what had caused Baron to leave after coming so far to see her. Aerova had told him to go, that there wasn't a future for them. Aerova's eyes were pleading for forgiveness, but she didn't dare ask. Instead, they turned to resolve.
“I'm going to help you,” Aerova said.
Then she walked to the wall, closing her eyes and letting whatever ability she had flow from her fingertips. Ariadra could feel her control on the wood grow and she plunged her fingertips even further into the wall, at length pulling with all her might until a narrow crack appeared, barely wide enough for either of them to fit through. Overjoyed, Ariadra squeezed her body through, emerging into the clearing on the other side. Taking a step forward, suddenly, Aerova appeared behind her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
But Aerova only offered a warm smile. Then she suddenly sprinted away through the clearing. Ariadra opened her mouth for a shout, nearly calling out after her, but placed both hands over her own mouth and only watched her sister depart into darkness. Then Ariadra set off in the opposite direction.
Distress
Sheabor was in a haze of grief, neither eating nor sleeping, nor was he accepting visitors. He sat on the ground of the council tent, hammer in his hand, reading over and over the poem etched into its side. The poem had always been meaningful to him, but now it tore at his heart like never before.
Dismissing hours as they pass
Soft upon the windswept grass.
The hopes of men have come to naught;
Nothing fair for eyes or thought.
For Sheyla lies on golden plain,
Of Cavanah, the fairest slain;
Who met her last and final day
When all was brought to disarray.
Of gladful things now nevermore;
Now bitter wind, now salty shore.
The peaceful world bound to unrest
And darkness looming in the west.
The world and all its light shall fade.
I'll stay with her beneath the shade
And wait until the world's remade...
His eyes blurred as he read the poem, he now a prisoner to the same despair that inspired the words inscribed in stone before him.
“How did you do it?” he muttered to the clenched hammer in his hands. “How did you move on knowing it was your life that should have been taken?”
Blair had spoken to Sheabor about the visions he'd had in the Illian city, how Sheyla had gone away to the outlying cities while King Euthor stay behind, fulfilling his duty to his late father. Euthor should have been the one to go but instead his wife was slain. He alone knew the grief Sheabor now carried.
Sheabor clenched the hammer in his hand in a way he never before had, the only thing that gave him a glimmer of hope. Blair had formed a connection with King Euthor...had encountered him in the Illian city. What if Sheabor could do the same? King Euthor was the only one who could help him now.
And so, arising, he left the council tent that morning, bound for the cache of documents from the monastery of Kester. As he walked the lanes of the city, a half dozen persons nearby stopped what they were doing and each gave him a low bow. Sheabor couldn't bring himself to meet their gaze and he stumbled forward like a drunkard, his joints stiff from sitting in the dirt.
Sheabor arrived at the tent and entered, the chest of documents in the far corner, burgeoning with scattered parchments. Both Baron and Blair had rifled through them, and neither had laid them to rest in any order. Sheabor took the first document he found in hand. It was a historical record. He cast it behind him and found another. This too was nothing more than an account of the formation of an early alliance between two ruling factions of the House, Forthura. Sheabor snarled in discouragement and crumpled the document in his hand, tossing it behind him.
But then he saw something else. It was written on a different kind of paper, smoother and less coarse than the standard parchment. And the lettering was very fine, not the hurried script of an over-tired scribe. It was one of the poems of King Euthor...the poem about a mystical island, where he and his wife, Sheyla, had disappeared from prying eyes to steal what hours they could from duty and care.
Sheabor read it, his heart burning. This was the poem that had inspired Blair on a dangerous adventure, leaving without a fool's chance, but finding the island nonetheless. The poem was beautiful. How had Sheabor not seen this before? He had been so busy. He just hadn't taken the time.
He perused the documents more thoughtfully now, reading them each slowly, one by one, not caring if it was a dry history of the happenings just after the Great War. He wanted to know it all. This was the time in which King Euthor lived. Only Euthor knew the burden Sheabor now carried. King Euthor had found a way to move on from his grief. He alone could guide Sheabor. Blair had found a connection to him. Perhaps Sheabor could also. He didn't know how. But it was the only thing that gave him hope...
Meanwhile, Estrien was on a quest to find Durian, having searched for him all the previous day without success. Estrien tried to remember the last thing he'd said...something about having a visit to make that was long overdue. What had he meant? It seemed as though he had disappeared. Estrien inquired everywhere but no one had seen or heard from Durian since their meeting in the council tent the night before.
Nothing was making any sense. Durian had arrived suddenly and without warning, only to vanish as quickly as he'd come. Estrien didn't know what to make of it. In her heart, she desperately wanted to go to Sheabor...tell him that what Durian had told them couldn't be true. But why would Durian lie to them? He had been frustrated with Sheabor yes, but could mere discontent have inspired such an awful fable?
As Estrien ambled slowly through the city, lost in thought, someone approached from an adjoining road. It was Edvin, the young man she'd spoken with previously.
“Lady Estrien,” he said, bowing. “I've just heard the good news.”
Estrien was surprised. Good news had become a stranger to her.
“You've been given command of the alliance city.”
“Oh,” she responded, disappointed. News traveled fast. “Not formally, of course. Only until Sheabor has time to grieve.”
“Yes, that was quite a hard turn,” Edvin corrected. “But we're all relieved that a change has been made.”
Estrien didn't know exactly what to make of his declaration.
“You must understand,” she began slowly. “Whatever decisions I make on Sheabor's behalf will be the decisions I believe Sheabor himself would make, if able.”
Edvin flushed a bit red.
“Yes of course, I understand. You must do what duty commands. As long as we're committed here, we must see to the needs of the city first.”
Edvin gave her a bow and turned to depart. He walked many paces away, but at length turned, and in his countenance, she saw a hint of anger. It made her heart beat fast. So much discontent had been building for so long. The laborers just wanted to go home. She couldn't blame them. Nothing had been done for over a week on the city and without the support of the giants or Kester, what use was an alliance city anyway?
But Estrien couldn't let things crumble. What chance would Straiah and Gwaren have if the alliance fled to the lands of Forthura? They would be hunted on all sides. But could she really force all the laborers and soldiers to stay just to protect the life of one man? She was ashamed to know the answer was yes. Edvin and his band of miscreants would just have to sit tight. But hopefully not for long. Whatever Blair's mission was, it'd be completed soon. After that, she suspected everything would change, though for ill or for better she didn't know.
Estrien still needed to find Durian. If only Blair or Baron were here. They knew him best. She still couldn't explain the look she saw in Durian's eye...the subtle delight in delivering the devastating news of the death of Cora. There were only two options. Either Durian was telling them the truth or he was lying. Though it didn't make sense, she chose for a moment to believe the latter, that he was lying.
If that were true, then only two possibilities remained. Either he was under duress, being forced to lie, or he was willingly trying to undermine the alliance. If the former were true and he was being forced or coerced, he wouldn't take any pleasure in it. And he would be trying with all his might to signal them somehow that he was being manipulated.
But that wasn't the case here, at least as far as she could tell. She had seen a sinister pleasure in his eyes as he delivered the news to Sheabor, which seemed to indicate his lying was deliberate. But how could that be? If only she could find him. Where had he gone? Estrien needed counsel, so she made for the tent of Aravas, who had been remarkably absent despite the turmoil.
She sped through the city, doing her best to look unapproachable, avoiding the glances and bows of those she passed. Before long, she came to the tent of Aravas and was surprised to see him standing outside it, that same distant look still on his face he had worn the day before as he watched Durian walk away. Approaching, she stood by his side.
“It's strange,” he began, “how you can meet someone you're sure you've never met before, yet somehow they feel so familiar.”
Estrien didn't follow.
“The man we spoke with earlier...Durian. He had a manner about him...one which felt familiar to me.”
Estrien had forgotten that Durian and Aravas hadn't ever actually met. Durian and Pallin had fled from Ogrindal before the attack from Malfur. Aravas had come to Ogrindal as Malfur's prisoner. But Estrien didn't know what Aravas was getting at.
“He's a clos
e friend to Baron and Blair,” she offered. “A fellow native of Suriya. They're all somewhat similar.”
“And where is he now?” Aravas questioned.
“That's just the thing. I don't know.”
Aravas' eyes narrowed.
“Has he fled the city?”
The question seemed haunting and ominous. Why would he ask that?
“He could be asleep in a tent somewhere for all I know. The last thing he said was that he had an important visit to make that was long overdue.”
But what could that have meant? Aravas' brow furrowed deeply at the statement.
“What does your heart tell you?” he asked.
Estrien was struck by the question and Aravas turned his gaze to her and was looking expectantly for reply.
“That Durian wasn't being completely honest with us.”
Aravas pondered her reply.
“What cause would he have to lie?”
“That's just it. He wouldn't. It doesn't make sense. I don't buy his story about being angry with Sheabor. Durian knew the dangers of going with Pallin. He's never complained before. But I don't know what's gotten into him. He's a different man than the one I remember.”
Just then, Jaithur approached and the pair gave him their attention.
“I have news for you,” Jaithur said with a bow. “Your compatriot, Durian, took a horse and left the city, claiming to be on an important errand for Estrien of Melanor.”
“What!” Estrien exclaimed.
“He would have gone unnoticed, as I'm sure he intended,” Jaithur continued. “But the Jedra do not let matters of import go unnoticed.”
“We need to have him followed,” Estrien said.
Jaithur let a slow smile creep across his face.
“He made east with all speed toward the barbarian kingdom.”
His words hung in the air. Where in the world was Durian headed? Aravas was silent and Jaithur, though intrigued, had nothing further to add. Estrien began to pace.
The Banished Lands- The Complete Series Page 72
