The vision was terrifying.
Cal saw legion after legion of a Nocturnal army, carrying banners of black with a white raven. He saw the machines of war they transported, and the murderous clouds of green-eyed ravens above them.
“What does it mean?” he shouted against the rush of wind and the sound of their marching, though none save Uriel could hear him. “Where is this army going?”
Do you not guess, Calarmindon Bright Fame?
“Not here!?” he shouted in reply. “Not Shaimira! They will never find it!”
The vision shifted from the marching armies of darkness to the winged, twin terrors of the sky. Cal’s mouth went dry and his blood went cold as the serpents barred their blood-stained fangs in greedy anticipation.
“What in the name of the THREE who is SEVEN!?” Cal shouted in awe. As he spoke, the vision vanished. His arms recoiled reflexively and his breath rushed in like a desperate, crashing wave.
“Cal?” Deryn asked worriedly “What is it? What did you see?”
Cal whirled around, his eyes frantically taking in the hidden realm: every home and market, every garden and every citizen. “I saw them, Deryn,” he whispered, unnerved and shaken. “They were countless. I saw them marching. I saw… the dragons.”
“What do you mean? Where did you see them?” his Sprite friend asked.
“I am not sure,” Cal told him, his face wrinkled in uncertainty. “Uriel?” Cal turned again to the winged horse at his side. “Will you show me? Please, I have to know.”
Uriel bowed his white head, and Cal understood the invitation that had been granted him. He reached his hand for the white mane of the horse and with a strong grip he swung himself atop the back of the lord of horses.
“Cal?” Deryn whispered.
“Warn them,” he said with dire gravity. “Please … make sure they are ready!”
With that, Uriel shot up into the air with a blast of wind from his mighty wings. His white feathers beat against the dark sky as Cal clung to his majestic mane. The horse flew higher and higher, gaining speed as he went. The walls of the Itxaro climbed high in the northern lands of the Wreath, and so it was with great labor that Uriel fought to soar above and beyond their encircling crown. The air about them turned colder and colder with each pounding of his wings, and by the time Cal had crested over the great heights of the hallowed range, he could see the snow-covered stone along its rocky peaks.
“Uriel!” Cal shouted in wonderment. “This is amazing!” His elation momentarily eclipsed the worry that had sent him into the heavens of Aiénor. “I’ve never in all my days dreamed I would see the world from this vantage.”
Uriel snorted his understanding and then banked to his left, eastward and away from the Itxaro. “Where are you taking me?” Cal shouted into the rushing wind, but even as he spoke, he could see the River Argiñe coming into view, past the Falls of Ammon, near the bank where Cal had crossed.
Uriel continued along the river’s edge, deeper into the forest lands. They came upon an outcropping of stone and dense forest, and Cal saw a small village, a cluster of huts, that still smoldered in the aftermath of a recent desolation.
The winged horse circled the ruined clearing three times before he deemed it safe to land. “Why have you brought me here, Uriel?” Cal asked, confused at what seemed like a detour to more pressing things.
Look, Calarmindon Bright Fame. See the answer to your unasked riddle.
Cal didn’t understand, but he looked nonetheless. As he took in the sight of this ravaged place, a haunting doom pressed in all about him. Homes and small animal pens stood burnt in the wake of green fire. Ten, maybe twelve bodies lay scattered, pierced with dozens of raven-fletched arrows.
A haunting feeling washed over him as he stared at the familiar image. It was just like that day when he had first come across the empty outlier’s village just beyond the gates of Piney Creek. “The arrows,” he said, looking back at the white horse. “They are the same here as they were across the sea! The very same arrows that pierced my brothers in the north!”
Uriel snorted his own anger and disgust.
“It is the same enemy? All of this death and destruction has all been her doing?” Cal asked.
There has always only ever been one enemy, though she has worn many faces. And her deeds have always born her ravenous mark.
“But why?” Cal said as he walked to each one of the mangled and massacred bodies that lay strewn and blood-soaked on the chilled ground. “What did these people have? How could they have possibly drawn the attention of the Sorceress?”
Uriel did not answer him, but stood erect, his blue eyes blazing with a luminous intensity as he watched.
“They are nothing to her! Not a threat, no great riches or power or strength—” Cal’s words caught in his throat as he recognized the face of one of the slain. “I … I know this one.” He turned to meet Uriel’s gaze as he knelt beside the bolt-ridden body of the young girl. “I know her face.”
His hand reached out to brush the dirt and the hair from her face. “Delilah,” he whispered sorrowfully. “Dear girl … why would they—” Cal stopped mid-sentence as an avalanche of understanding washed over him. “She knew which way we went!” Cal looked frantically back again to Uriel. “Goran said he had met someone who had seen us! No!” Cal brushed his hands through his golden hair. “Oh Delilah … what have you done?”
A monster does not care for the means by which he hunts his prey.
Uriel’s solemn voice felt heavy in Cal’s mind. His eyes went wide as he guessed closely at the turn of events that befell these innocents. “They must have tracked the woodcutters here, and then… then murdered these people until they told them where they had sent the men from Haven.”
You are not far from the truth, Calarmindon Bright Fame.
Cal surveyed the darkened forest about them, and the nape of his neck prickled as his nerves sensed they were not alone. “Do you feel that?” he asked the winged horse.
Uriel stamped his hooves upon the blood-sodden dirt and snorted his agitation.
Just beyond the small, broken barn, in the thick of the trees, appeared a half-dozen pairs of green, glowing eyes. “There!” Cal said as he drew Gwarwyn from its sheath. “In the forest.”
The sound of feet upon leaves and the snapping of broken twigs rang loudly in the unsettling quiet of these violated homes. A growl could be heard as the green eyes began to move closer towards them. Cal whirled his head about, making sure that they were not about to be taken unawares. For the moment, the immediate danger was the pack fanning out before them.
“Timber wolves,” he said, his words dripping with vengeance, fear all but fleeing as he remembered Farran. “You will meet no mercy here,” he growled into the darkness.
Calarmindon. Why do you wrestle with the tail of the serpent whilst the head pursues?
“They killed my friend!” he shouted at the encroaching timber wolves. “They killed Farran because we dared to protect that little girl, and now they’ve killed her too.”
These wolves will not decide the outcome of this war, Bright Fame. Not unless you give them the opportunity to.
Cal held his blade out before him, his grip resolved and his muscles ready to strike. “You would just have me leave them? No justice for Farran? For Delilah?”
The enemy is not far, and guesses all the more closely at Shaimira’s hiding place. You asked to see for yourself this enemy that we fight. Do not waste your time on such mongrels, for their master is nearly upon us.
Cal looked at the wolf pack, his teeth gritted in revenge, but the words of the winged horse found their mark on his heart. With a great sigh of resignation, he sheathed the blade of the dragon slayer and mounted Uriel. “Let’s be gone then!”
The lord of horses took to the air in a great gust of power and might. They flew above the tops of the mighty oaks and soldier pines, following the path of destruction and disregard that the army of Nogcwren had carved against the for
est. When the bank of the river Argiñe came into view, the sight of Cal’s horrific vision came into full focus. There, thousands upon thousands of Nocturnals waited in anticipation as others of their kind fell into formation to cross the ancient redstone bridge of Asier.
Horns blew their sickly, ominous notes, and both the banners and the green light of the torches flickered in the wake of the cold winds. “What in the damnable dark?” Cal whispered against the rushing wind. “The dragons?”
There, on the north bank of the Argiñe, the twin dragons stood watch over the crossing army. Each of their massive, green eyes peered into the lands about them, relentlessly searching for signs of their enemies.
“We have got to warn them,” Cal whispered to Uriel. “Come on … faster, my friend.”
Without a word, Uriel banked southward, back over the forest, so the distance and the trees would hide his passage. His mighty wings beat harder and harder against the sky and soon, when he felt that they had climbed high enough, he made his way northward again towards the hidden kingdom.
“What will they do if they track them to the entrance at the falls?” Cal asked worriedly. Uriel did not answer him, though Cal’s own imagination gave him a sickening idea of the disaster that would befall his friends if indeed the Raven army and the winged serpents were to find the hidden stronghold.
“Uriel!” Cal said, inspiration and determination now clear in the light of imminent war. “Please, take me to the Palladium, show yourself to the Lord of the hidden realm, and help me persuade them.”
Persuade them of what? What do you hope to accomplish, Calarmindon?
“For the queen to lead her people from behind those walls … and to ride out to open war,” he said resolutely.
The request hung there in the silent, cold air between them as Uriel crested the peaks of the Itxaro Mountains.
Very well. Now hold tightly, this will not be the easiest of descents.
Cal dug his hands into the luminous, white mane of the mighty horse as Uriel brought his wings tight to his frame. The cold rush of air bit and stung his face, his blonde hair whipping in the wake of such speed, as the winged creature shot like an arrow from the bow of a hurried hunter. As they descended faster and faster into the sanctuary of the encircling mountains, the ground began to race towards them, and horns began to ring out. Cal could barely hear them for the roar of the wind in his ears. “Uriel?” he shouted in fear.
Trust in me, Calarmindon Bright Fame. You need not worry.
With these words, he unfurled his magnificent wings and caught the air in the grip of his strength. Uriel circled three times around the great heart of this hidden city; drawing all who had eyes to see that the Anahiera had returned.
Torches were lit, and braziers burned brighter as the Amaian people poured out of their homes to see this beast of legend with their very own eyes. “Well,” Cal said with laughter in his voice as he did his best to swallow back the stomach that had crept its way into his throat not moments before. “You do have a way of drawing a crowd, don’t you?”
The queen approaches. Do not tarry or muddle your words, for this is the moment of action, lest great evil befall us all.
Cal saw Johanna, her councilmen, and the Queensguard alike come running past the muslin curtains that whipped in the wake of Uriel’s wings. People gathered by the thousands, surrounding the reflecting pools of the Palladium with awestruck faces.
“Cal!” he heard Astyræ shout as she nudged and wormed her way through the gathering throng towards him.
He smiled as his eyes caught her own. “I’m alright!” he shouted back to her.
Cal threw his leg up and over the back of the great horse and slid down his soft, white flank, somewhat relieved to be back on solid ground again. He placed a hand on the neck of his new friend, patting him affectionately.
“Lord Johanna,” Cal said, tilting his head in the manner of the Amaian to show reverence before their lord. “This is Uriel, Lord of the Anahiera.” A collective gasp rang out from the masses surrounding them. Then, almost as if they had practiced their whole lives for this moment, the people of Shaimira knelt in unison at the sight of legend come to life.
Johanna would not meet the gaze of the horse as she spoke. “Lord Uriel, we are not worthy of such a moment as this one. Whatever you ask of me, it will be granted freely, and with great honor.”
Uriel snorted his understanding, and bowed his own majestic head in acceptance of her offer.
“All hail Uriel! Lord of the Anahiera!” shouted the voice of the herald. The people responded with great exuberance, tears filling their eyes as their smiles displayed their wonder.
“Hail Uriel!” came the collective voice.
“Queen Johanna,” Cal said, walking hurriedly towards her. “I must speak with you now.”
“Can it not wait a moment?” she said as her eyes drank in the sight of the winged horse. “We are in the presence of splendor!”
“My lord!” Cal persisted. “It cannot. What I have to ask of you must be heard this moment!”
Uriel snorted, agitated by the lack of attention to the urgency of their message. He reared up, hooves pumping the air and eyes a bit wild, punctuating Cal’s insistent tone.
A murmur of voices rolled through the ranks of the people, and Johanna blinked as if warding away a deep and magical sleep.
“Johanna!” Cal said with greater authority than he held.
“Speak then, man of Haven,” Johanna said, taken aback. “What is so urgent that you have to tell?”
“Not here,” he said, surveying the masses about them. “We must speak privately.”
She nodded to her Mezulari, and the Queensguard formed a column and escorted Johanna and Cal up the granite stairs and into the cover of the portico.
“Tell me, Cal,” she said with less formality here in the cover of the Palladium. “The Anahiera has chosen you as his rider. Why?”
“My lord,” he said as he swallowed back his nerves. “The Raven Army approaches. They are gathering on the North bank of the river as we speak, thousands upon thousands of them, gathering for war.”
“The woodcutters,” Johanna said solemnly after a moment to take in his report. “She followed them, didn’t she?”
“It seems so. And soon enough those dragons might rain fire down upon this place, turning these mountain walls into a hearth to cook us all in,” Cal told her.
“Is this why the Anahiera brought you to me?” she said, wounded. “To foretell our certain death?”
“No, my Queen,” Cal said with compassion in his eyes. “The Sorceress only guesses at the location of the hidden realm. But she will certainly find it once she finds the gate beyond the falls. It is certain that her scouts and her spies are growing closer to finding it with each passing moment.”
“What would you have me do?” Johanna asked earnestly.
“We must ready the army of Shaimira and meet them out beyond the Pass of Kemen,” Cal said definitively. “We will draw them away from the passage under the mountain and the gate at the falls. If we ride east and then north, we can meet them in the shadow of the mountains.”
“You would have my people leave this stronghold that they have carved out with their own hands?” she asked incredulously. “And for what? To march to their death, to declare war upon the Sorceress herself?”
“Did not your grandfather, faced with the very same fate, abandon the city of their home and lead his people to safety? Even at the protest of those he labored to save?” Cal countered. “If you stay here, this very stronghold will be the ruin of all who abide in it.” Cal took the queen gently by the shoulders as he spoke.
Her guards reached for their spears and pointed the ornately carved blades at a dozen spots on Cal’s body. Johanna raised her hand slightly, signaling them to wait.
“Ride out to meet her, draw her attention away,” Cal continued, paying no mind to the guards. “Those too weak, or too young to fight, might remain hidden here behind the s
afety of these walls, and Shaimira could remain secret.”
Tension hung there between them as she measured the words of this stranger from across the dark waters of the Itsaso. His hands still rested upon her, and one word from her could end his life in an instant. She considered his plan, the arrival of the Anahiera, and her love for her people. But mostly she thought about her grandfather, Julen, and what bravery he had shown to lead his people far from their home, with naught but hope that they could make for themselves a new one amidst these high mountains.
“Mezulari,” she ordered her captain. “Have your men lower their spears, and bring to me Commanders Navid and Sendoa; we must prepare for war.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The war council of the queen convened within the great hall of Shaimira.
Cal watched the brave woman as she rose from her high seat, there upon the dais of the great hall, resolute in what she must do now for the safety of her people. She strode past the line of guards and councilmen, taking the hands of her commanders one by one and blessing each in turn with words of her confidence.
Sendoa, with his horned helm under his left arm, gladly took the hands of the queen, bowing his head in both obedience and awe. “I have a thousand bowmen at the ready, and another five hundred spears waiting for you, my Queen.”
“Very good, commander,” she said with a sad smile. “And see to it that the supplies and the stores are ready as well.”
“Of course,” he said with a bow. “Garaile will see to it that the caches of supplies and weapons will be made ready along the battlefield.”
“Thank you, Sendoa,” she said, dismissing him to be about his assignment.
He turned to leave the great hall when she called out to him one last time. “Commander!” Her voice was both embarrassed at her forgetfulness and saddened at the need to speak her request.
“Yes, my Queen?” the keeper of the pass replied.
“Please see to it that the healers are made ready, and that they have as many to help as they can find,” Johanna ordered.
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 23
