“You can’t,” Father Moram said, but he kept his distance, reluctant to intervene. “This is a sacred place, a temple to one of the Nine Valiants and the man closest to Aedon in life.” The priest rubbed his hands together in agitation.
“He wasn’t a man. He was elf-kind, as I am. Besides, I have his permission.”
The priest looked at her as if she were mad.
“I dreamed of him,” Blayde said, “a true dream. Not once, but many times. He called me to this place and showed me his tomb. When I lifted the sword—I don’t know exactly how to explain it—he took me to another place, the place where he is. He told me what I must do, and I intend to honor him.”
Father Moram shook his head, uncertain.
“Come now, Father. You’re supposed to be a man of faith; now’s your chance to demonstrate a little. The armor and sword were meant for me. This is why I came here.”
The lid was still ajar and the skull of Sir Veryan Emrallt gazed up at her from the confines of the tomb. The air inside the vault was cool against her skin, the stone cold and hard against her bare feet.
“And what about you,” Father Moram asked Rayzer. “Why did you come?”
Rayzer looked at the priest as if the answer to his question were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I came with her,” Rayzer nodded his head at Blayde. “Where she goes, I go.”
“Help me,” Blayde said to Rayzer. “We don’t have much time.”
Rayzer quirked his lips and said, “I hope your sainted knight didn’t pick you just because you would fit into his armor.”
“Shut up,” Blayde gave her brother a sideways look, “and make yourself useful.”
She pulled on a woolen garment and hose, the legs and sleeves of which were chainmail with small golden links, and over this donned a short, sleeveless tunic of charcoal gray. She pulled on a pair of boots, the tough leather still supple, and they fit as if they had been made for her. Rayzer slid a two-piece steel collar, flanged in the middle, around her neck. He then placed a cuirass, embossed with a heron in flight, with five-lamed pauldrons, over her chest and shoulders, securing it to the back and around her arms with leather straps. Below this went six-lamed tassets, strapped to the cuirass, then greaves of green-tinted steel over her legs, and vambraces, similarly embossed, over her forearms. She buckled a belt around her waist and slid the knight’s sword into the empty scabbard that hung from it, then pulled on a pair of leather gloves. Lastly, she picked up the knight’s barbute helm, tucking it under one arm.
Thus attired, Blayde stepped from behind the shadow of the knight’s tomb and stood gleaming in the candlelight. She turned and put her shoulder to the lid of the tomb, sliding it back into place with a gentle thump. The stone did not seem so heavy as before. Blayde felt strength flowing in her veins. She felt power in her hands, in her arms and her legs. The sword at her waist began to vibrate as she laid her fingers across the pommel. The sensation made her smile. Perhaps for the first time in her life she felt complete. Blayde turned back to face the priest once more.
“These gifts were not meant to be hidden in the dark. You have power too, Father. You can heal people. You can call lightning down from the sky. I have seen what the Priests of Aedon can do. You should use your gifts, use the Enuran’s grace and Aedon’s might as it was intended, to help others.”
Father Moram pursed his lips. “All I have done I have done out of loyalty to my lord, to my church, and to the people of Nachtwald.”
“Loyalty is fine, but they also need your strength. If Baron Cedric can’t accept the church and your order as it is, then he is a fool and doesn’t deserve your loyalty. What about Aedon? What about your loyalty to him?”
Blayde clapped Rayzer on the shoulder and the two went to the stairs and up into the chapel once more. Blayde went to the doors of the church and looked out into the afternoon. Dark clouds roiled overhead, threatening rain. Behind her, she heard the grinding of stone as the altar closed, and then Father Moram appeared beside her.
“What do you mean to do?” the priest asked.
“I mean to fight,” Blayde said. “I mean to fight for Nachtwald and its people, and I mean to protect the Golden Phial. What about you, Father? What are you going to do?”
Father Moram chewed his lip, gazing up at the sky. He stood motionless for a long time. Then he sighed and turned away, calling to one of his acolytes. “Bring me my hammer.”
The boy smiled and ran off.
“I suppose if I’m going to break the baron’s laws, I might as well start now. Portia is right and I have ignored my responsibilities for too long. Whatever happens, I’m going to try to help you. I see Aedon’s light in your eyes, and I feel his strength surrounding you.”
“If laws don’t benefit the people they’re made for, then they should be changed,” Blayde said. “And I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Father. In all likelihood, we’ll all be dead by morning and no one will know or care about what we have done.”
Chapter 20
Blayde marched across the open square with Rayzer beside her. Father Moram followed, carrying with him a square-headed war hammer with a three-foot-long haft, etched with runes and symbols. The priest gripped the handle in both hands, gazing at the weapon as thought it were an old lover with whom he had become estranged.
Dark clouds gathered above them and the wind began to rise. The storm was almost upon them. Blayde considered what to do next. Where should she begin? How should she prepare? In her dream, Sir Veryan had hinted that there were traitors in Nachtwald, enemies masquerading as friends. Her first thought had been the Briar Knights, of course, but that was just wishful thinking. Regardless she meant to find out and set things right if she could. And she had to do it before the war began.
She went first to the city wall and climbed up onto the narrow walkway to look out across the burned fields of the Barleyrow. The orcs had not been idle since the attack on Southside. More of their number had come and they had dug ditches at the edge of the fields, lined them with sharpened stakes. She could hear the sounds of industry, hammers banging and saws at work. The orcs were building weapons of war. She could see a few of them, and goblins too, standing along the tree line. They appeared to be waiting for something, night perhaps, or the arrival of their remaining forces. The day was waning and when the darkness came, so would the orcs.
Blayde went down again, ignoring the stares and curious glances she received from men on the wall. More than once she heard the name “Veryan” whispered in reverence.
“They’ll attack soon,” Blayde said to the soldiers. “So, you damn well better prepare yourselves. My guess is they’ll come at nightfall. And there are more on the way—lots more.”
The soldiers looked in the direction of Arrom’s Rock, then back at Blayde. They were afraid and none wanted to believe her. Blayde didn’t have time to convince them or to console. She was barely out of her bed and already she was out of time. She left them to ponder their situation.
Together Blayde, Rayzer, and Father Moram marched up the street to the gates of the castle. The Briar Knights would be in the great hall or in the keep, plotting and scheming with Sirs Eris and Ardunn. But there was no more time for talk. As soon as it was fully dark, the orcs would come, and this time they would not stop until Nachtwald was in ruins and the Golden Phial was theirs.
“I have to see the Briar Knights,” Blayde told Father Moram. “Sir Veryan warned me that not all who appear to serve Nachtwald are true.
“That can’t be so,” Father Moram argued. “I know everyone here, and I would swear that none are false.”
“It’s possible they may be hidden in some way, behind some sort of glamour or other spell, or a fetch of some kind. If I’m right, do you think you could use Aedon’s power to remove the spell?”
“With His help I might, but I have not wielded Aedon’s power in a very long time. I’m a bit rusty you might say.”
“Faith,” Blayde said, “remember?
It won’t work unless you believe it will. Isn’t that what your brethren would say?”
Father Moram laughed. “To think that I, of all people, should be lectured on the importance of faith by a wood elf of the Rowanin who doesn’t even believe in Aedon or the Enuran.”
“Who says I don’t believe? I believe in a great many things, old gods and new, and I believe in Aedon Arturas, that he was a god among men. Sir Veryan believed in him and so do I.”
She laid a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “I do not know where the power that the Priests of Aedon wield comes from, and it doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is that you have to believe. You have to remember who you are and use that strength to help us and to help the people of Nachtwald.”
As they neared the castle gates, Blayde noticed they were being followed. She looked over her shoulder to see a number of townsfolk following at a discreet distance. Most carried bags and other assorted goods and sundries. There were a few guardsmen among the crowd as well. More were joining their ranks with each passing moment. From doorways and windows, people stared. Some pointed or waved. Some just balked, mouths hanging open in astonishment, with bewildered looks on their faces.
“What’s going on?” Blayde asked Father Moram, slowing her pace and looking around.
“Sir Ardunn has ordered everyone into the castle. He means to pull our forces back from the city walls before the orcs arrive.”
“That’s a mistake,” Blayde said, irritation written across her features. “The city must be defended. We can’t allow them to just march in without a fight!”
“Why are they all staring?” Rayzer eyed the growing crowd with concern.
“It’s the armor,” Father Moram said. “They’ve all seen it. Not the actual armor, mind you, but drawings and paintings—I have a few in the church—and they’ve heard stories of Sir Veryan as well. Blayde looks like him now. Is it any wonder they stare?”
A low growl rumbled in Rayzer’s chest and he moved closer to his sister, casting cautious glances over his shoulder.
The castle gate stood open and two men dressed in the purple and gold of Nachtwald stood on the drawbridge with long pikes in their hands and grim looks on their faces. Blayde could hear the murmur of conversation at her back. She could smell the fear and desperation that clung to these people like a wet cloth. A light rain began to fall and her breath was a ghostly cloud in the cool air.
“Father,” a man whispered close at hand. “What’s happening? Where are you going, Father?”
“We need you, Father,” said a woman’s voice. “There are enemies outside the walls and night is coming. What are we to do?”
“Father, it’s Sir Veryan reborn. Is it a miracle, father?”
“Hush now,” Father Moram said, not unkindly. “The miracle is yet to come.”
Blayde paused. She turned to face the crowd that was gathering at the foot of the bridge, her back straight and her hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Good people of Nachtwald.” Blayde felt absurd and out of her depth. “I have seen a vision. I have seen the destruction of your city—”
Barely had the words left her lips than people began to shout and scream. They grew angry, fear plain on their faces.
“Wait!” Father Moram said. “Wait! You must not panic.” The priest raised his hand, palm turned toward his parishioners, motioning slowly, as if by the gesture he could force back their fears and bring calm. Surprisingly, it worked. Blayde realized, perhaps for the first time, just how much the people of Nachtwald trusted this Priest of Aedon.
“The wood elves are here to help us. They are our friends, and they have come to fight for us, to ensure this vision of the future never becomes reality.”
“I’m sorry.” Blayde felt foolish. “I did not mean to frighten you. I only meant to warn you that trouble is indeed close at hand. My brother Rayzer and I are committed to doing all we can to defend Nachtwald.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rayzer whispered close to Blayde’s ear.
“I’m helping, so you’re helping,” Blayde whispered back, giving her brother a sharp look.
“Good people. Baron Cedric may be injured, but he has many brave soldiers in his service. And he has all of you. Together we can withstand this evil, but it will take all of us—every man, woman, and child—to defend these walls. Do not abandon your city. The walls must be defended! We must resist our foes every step of the way and make them pay for every inch of this hallowed ground. Do not listen to words of fear and desperation. We need you to be brave. I need you to be brave. For the sake of your neighbors, your friends, your families, we must hold together. We must be steadfast and true. Together we, all of us, will prevail.”
Blayde found that she was breathing heavily and that she was keenly aware of the eyes upon her. She glanced at her brother.
“Nice speech,” Rayzer said without much conviction. “Can we go now?”
Blayde turned her back on the crowd and approached the two men on guard. The two were watching the proceedings with a mixture of curiosity and alarm. One of the men was rather lean, with a mop of dark hair, while the other was short and stout with straw-colored hair and pale eyes.
“We need to see Sir Ardunn and Sir Eris immediately.”
The dark-haired man addressed her. “The knights are in council, my lady—er, I mean, sir, I mean—”
“And we would like to join them in their council. There is an army of orcs and goblins surrounding the city, and soon they will come knocking at the gate. When they do, we will need every sword and every strong arm able to wield one. And if you don’t let us in, there will be two less men to fight in the coming battle.”
The guards exchanged a confused glance.
“She means you,” Rayzer said, his voice surprisingly cheerful. “Because if you don’t let us in, we’re going to kill you and go in anyway.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” Father Moram said, his voice tense.
“Yes, I do,” Rayzer said.
“We only wish to consult with the steward and master-at-arms,” Blayde said, “to contribute our wisdom and experience. Doesn’t that seem appropriate at a time like this?”
“Oy, let them in, you bloody fools!” one of the townsfolk shouted.
The guards looked at each other. The dark-haired man shrugged, and then, very slowly, they each took a step back and gestured for Rayzer, Blayde, and Father Moram to pass.
“As you wish, Father,” said the dark-haired guardsmen, “but be it on your head if there’s trouble.”
“One way or another,” Blayde said as they entered the barbican, “there is definitely going to be trouble.”
* * *
They found the knights gathered in the great hall, along with a large contingent of Nachtwald’s men-at-arms. A fire burned on the hearth and a simple meal of bread, cheese, dried meat, and dark beer was being served. The Briar Knights stood around a brazier, eating and drinking. Sir Ardunn and Sir Eris were next to the fire, talking in low voices. Everyone looked up as Blayde entered the hall with Rayzer beside her. Father Moram was a few steps behind. He slowed his pace, falling back and remaining at one end of the hall, the haft of his war hammer against the floor and his hand resting on the square head.
“Good afternoon, my lords,” Blayde said. “I hope you are all enjoying your feast.”
“Hardly a feast,” Sir Ardunn said, “but if men are about to do battle, I’d rather they did it on a full stomach.”
Blayde looked around at the soldiers. They stared back at her with vacant eyes.
“It’s good to see you on your feet again,” said Sir Ardunn amiably. “We heard you were not well, although the circumstances were rather vague. We’ve plenty to spare if you are hungry.”
Rayzer, requiring no more invitation than that, snatched up half a loaf of warm bread and tore into it.
Sir Eris looked Blayde over slowly, frowning. “That’s fine armor you are wearing. Wherever did you come by it?” He raised a mug of beer and took a
drink.
“It was given to me by Sir Veryan Emrallt. I have this past day been inducted into the Order of the Green Heron.”
Sir Eris choked on his beer. He coughed and wiped a hand across his mouth. “What in Aedon’s name did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re telling us that a man who has been dead for nearly 700 years asked you to join his order, an order that no longer exists, mind you, and then gave you his armor?”
“Well, when you say it like that...” Rayzer said, mouth full as he devoured a last large chunk of bread.
Sir Eris and Sir Ardunn looked at each other. “Surely—” Sir Ardunn began, but Blayde cut him off.
“Along with his sword, yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. They were given to me in a dream.”
“A dream!” Sir Eris balked.
“A true dream, yes. If you will remember my brother, Loth, spoke of it when first we arrived. I have dreams sometimes, that are more than dreams. This was one of those. Believe it or not, as you will, but it is the truth.”
“You will forgive us,” Sir Ardunn said, “if we find your story difficult to believe—”
“I swore to speak the truth,” Blayde said, “and so I am telling you how it happened.”
“Do you take us for fools,” Sir Jon said.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Rayzer asked.
Sir Jon ignored him, his gaze was fixed on Blayde. “The Knights of the Green Heron are no more. They disappeared a long time ago, along with the remnants of the Elathian Empire, and Sir Veryan is little more than a fable.”
“The Knights of the Green Heron are renewed,” Blayde said. “And Sir Veryan is far from a fable.”
“Are we to call you ‘Sir’ then?” Sir Jon snarled the words.
“This is preposterous.” Sir Eris shook his head. “We’ve no time for such nonsense. There is serious business at hand, and—”
At that moment, a pair of young squires came running into the hall. They came up short when they saw Blayde and Rayzer. They hesitated a moment, looking from the two wood elves to Sir Ardunn.
A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1) Page 24
