Through the Dark Wood

by Geno Allen

  He and Raim Sabbar walked to the mouth of the cave where they began to have, what seemed to Zam, a rather animated discussion. Zam could make out very little of what was said.

  “Dragons,” Griss said at one point followed by several less-comprehendible words. Raim Sabbar’s reply was more difficult to understand. “Noralie,” Zam thought he said, followed by something that sounded like “Bondur.” And Zam was fairly certain Raim Sabbar had ended that sentence with, “it is the safest way.” The friends disagreed on some point and that made Zam both curious and uncomfortable.

  Putting it from his mind, he took a bite of food. Even cold, it was delicious. Raim Sabbar had been right about Griss’ cooking. Zam enjoyed every bite, and when he was finished, he took a moment to admire again the dagger he'd been given and to wonder at the history it held. He traced with his finger the images etched into it.

  A master craftsman had obviously made the blade. As he gazed at the dragon slayer upon the blade, an odd thought struck Zam. He reached into his satchel, pulled out the dragon scale, and gently ran the blade along its edge. A thin sliver peeled away from the body of the scale easier than shaving the bark from a dry twig.

  Curiosity rose up. He sheathed the dagger and tried the same thing with the remains of his sword. A dull scraping sound was his only reward, and for considerably more effort. He put away the sword and scale and looked again at the symbol on the dagger. “This image is no ornament. It is instruction. This blade is meant to kill dragons.”

  Zam heard the shuffling of footsteps and when he looked up his new friends were rejoining him. They seemed to have come to terms regarding their dispute.

  Griss heard Zam’s musing and responded as he took his place beside Raim Sabbar. “It is to aid in killing dragons, and only at greatest need. It once had a companion. The purpose of that blade was the slaying of dragons. The dagger is a lesser tool, though forged in the same manner and given the same marking as its kin.”

  Zam looked again at the sheathed blade and a story ran through his mind. He quietly said, “It was forged by the Brother Kings.”

  Raim Sabbar sat back on his haunches and Griss took a seat beside him. They looked at Zam wondering how he could have known.

  “It was,” Raim Sabbar said with a quizzical tone. “How did you know?”

  “I don't know. I was aware they slew dragons, and forged blades to do so, but I just looked at this blade and knew. ”

  Raim Sabbar cocked his head. “It belonged to one of their captains. It was forged years after their battle with Mim when another dragon began plaguing villages in Southern Darlandis. After that, it seemed more and more dragons came out of hiding. Not often by human terms, but nine different dragons abandoning their hiding places and walking abroad without fear in less than one hundred years—to a Tal’kyon that was alarming.”

  Zam somehow knew the things Raim Sabbar described. He didn't speak of it just yet, but he knew and was now more ready than ever to ask questions. He decided to start with the question that seemed most puzzling to him.

  “Raim Sabbar, you said you learned of me and the peril I faced from Master Corwise.” He turned to Griss. “But we’ve never met, so I can’t help but wonder… how do you know me?”

  Griss nodded. “A fair question—and you may simply call me Griss—even Raim Sabbar has yet to hear the answer to your question in its entirety. Where to begin?” He looked toward the fire then back to Zam. “I will, in seasons, patrol the borders of Darlandis to aid travelers who have wandered from safety into this dark land. I provide them what help I can, if they will accept, and set them on a safer course. This last year has been one such season.

  “Several months ago, while scouting around the eastern end of Rendift, I crested a low hill looking down into a shallow valley, and I spied an elder gentleman of very nearly my stature, clad as a warrior. He was making his way through a low, black fog with sword in hand. It seemed he had been slashing at the fog, which receded and dissipated only moments after I noted it. Something about that black mist boded ill and caused me to fear.”

  Raim Sabbar interjected. “That, young Windwater, is a rare thing. Griss Corwise is most brave in the face of all manner of peril.”

  Griss looked at Raim Sabbar as if to say Thank you, but you are interrupting.

  Raim Sabbar smiled and motioned for him to continue.

  “Something about the man felt as though I had met him before, though I could not recall having done so. I thought if I was in fear, perhaps he would be as well. So I ran to see whether he required aid. He looked hard at me, and under his gaze I suddenly feared for my life. This man….” He shook his head. “Had my life been in danger, I could not have fought him, not even if all my desires were bent upon it. There was something about him that struck me with awe.

  “A moment more and his look softened. He said, ‘Grisskatrok Corwise, though you despise that name’—and it is true, I do—‘as you prefer, I will simply call you Griss.’ Well, I was dumbfounded! But he went on. ‘You have seen and dealt much death in your time, and many have lost their lives at your hand. In recent years you have endeavored to preserve life whenever and wherever possible.’ It was as if he had peered into my soul.

  “Old pain made my eyes well with tears… it broke something in me, ‘You do not feel you can ever make right your wrongs, Griss, but you will.'” Griss looked at Raim Sabbar, knowing he would understand the depth of such a statement.

  Raim Sabbar smiled warmly at his friend as he wiped his eyes.

  “He then placed a hand upon my shoulder, strengthening me and said, ‘Your aid is needed, Master Corwise, though not by me.’” Griss got a faraway look and sat quiet for a moment as he recalled the conversation. He turned to Zam with a new intensity. “That is when he said a young warrior needed my help, or would soon. He obviously meant you, Zam. Then he bade me travel to the narrow path where Winding Hill meets and traverses the wall of Ellerion and from there to make my way to the edge of Darlandis. He told me it was imperative that I lay a trap there for a villain I would never meet. Then I must press northward with great haste to find my Tal’kyon friend, for his help would be needed as well.”

  Griss shook his head again. “I was overwhelmed with all he had said, even to knowing that a Tal'kyon had befriended me. That, and the thought of the journey ahead, sent my mind spinning. I knew the commission was from Elyon himself. It rang true to my heart.” He smiled at something he found amusing. “I did not think to ask your name or his. I bowed to leave and set about my quest, but as I did the stranger said, ‘Fare you well, Griss Corwise, faithful and humble servant. When you find Zam Windwater, tell him Graffeon says well done.'” Griss paused, then put a hand on Zam’s shoulder. “'Then tell him to take courage, for his quest is not yet complete.'”

  Excitement shot through Zam. “I knew it was Graffeon from the first mention!”

  “It was an Argolen,” Raim Sabbar said. “Like my old friend Angeon. The black fog was all that remained of a Seritheen he’d obviously dispatched.” He turned to Zam. “And you knew this Argolen? That is a rare friendship, Windwater.”

  Zam was struck by Raim Sabbar's awed tone. “Argolen?” he asked. “He was a messenger.”

  “Yes. Argolen. Messenger. Messenger. Argolen. They are messengers of Elyon, as in the tale of Rivelin’s First.”

  “I don't believe I've heard that tale, though I have heard of a King Rivelin. Rivelin’s First what?”

  Raim Sabbar chuckled. “His first—first real battle, first glimpse of a Seritheen, first witnessing of an Argolen... perhaps, his first hearing from Elyon. The writer likely found it too long a title to list all the firsts and thus simply called it ‘Rivelin’s First.’ It is a good tale. Would you care to hear it?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What of you, Griss? Would you care to—” Raim Sabbar caught himself. “I’m sorry, my friend. Was your tale complete? Have I pressed on when remaining would have served the moment better? Do you wish to continue?”
<
br />   Griss smiled. “You ask many questions, Raim Sabbar my friend. I have shared all I desired to share for now. Aside from that, I know your way. You wish to educate Zam and will return to my tale when you may speak more privately. Share, Raim Sabbar, for though I know of Rivelin, I do not believe I've heard this tale either.”

  Raim Sabbar stood, taking the posture of a grand orator, or as close to such a posture as a Tal’kyon may come. He cleared his throat and began.

  “Rivelin’s First....

  When Rivelin did meet the beast

  upon his battle first,

  He learned of all the foes on earth

  that Seritheen are worst,

  For blade nor bow nor flame nor cold

  could stop the creature’s onslaught,

  But valiantly, the youngling king,

  on and on he fought.

  When at last his efforts spent,

  his cunning at its end,

  An Argolen was, by Elyon,

  sent to the matter tend.

  The foe’s blade plunged toward the heart

  of our youngling king;

  Not blade to flesh, but blade to blade,

  the clashing sound did ring,

  Upon the strike a light shone forth

  which drove the creature back;

  The onslaught of the Argolen

  shamed the Seritheen’s attack.

  With every clash a blinding light

  sprang from within the blade.

  The weakness of this shadow beast

  the blazing light betrayed.

  The Argolen then raised the sword

  and struck the creature down,

  And all that did remain of it:

  black fog upon the ground.

  In wisps of vapor flickering

  and fleeting in its haze,

  That Seritheen, by Elyon,

  saw the end to all its days.

  Now Rivelin the battle watched,

  from his place upon the ground

  As clashing swords like lightning struck,

  yet rest he finally found,

  For when the battle met its end,

  the Argolen came near

  And helped the good King Rivelin up,

  ere he disappeared,

  But ere he went this last he said, from Elyon to Rivelin,

  ‘This now I speak to you to give

  your heart a time of ease,

  Keep hope in me in every battle

  and your land will keep its peace.’”

  Raim Sabbar bowed his head then looked at his companions, awaiting their response.

  Zam applauded. “That’s a wonderful tale!”

  Raim Sabbar smiled. “The Argolen was my friend Angeon, but that was before we met upon the fields of Adeen during Rivelin’s War.”

  Griss smiled and feigned offense. “You have never before shared that tale with me.”

  “It never came up. Thirteen years of friendship is a short time to share thousands of years worth of stories.”

  A jovial look passed between them and Zam asked, “Raim Sabbar, how old are you?”

  “That, Windwater, is harder to answer than you might guess.” Raim Sabbar looked to the ceiling and squinted, trying to put it together. “You see, from my first recollection, it was not a Tal’kyon custom to count the years as they passed. It was not until I first befriended a man that I learned some beings did. I suppose it is because their time is so fleeting upon this earth that men feel they must number each year as it passes, giving them something of worth they may store up.” He paused, catching himself rambling. “I am off again, aren’t I?”

  Zam nodded, and Griss looked amused.

  “To the point... upon befriending Melfall the woodsman, I began taking note and have lived one thousand seven hundred and eighty three years since that time. I am certain there were several hundreds of years before that, as I was the last of my kind to awaken.” He paused. “Perhaps that is why I am one of the last still awake.” His gaze shifted to some distant place before he regained himself. “But enough on that for now... have you thought of other questions for us?”

  “I have.”

  Zam and his new friends talked for hours. He was thankful to learn he had been asleep only one day. He had assumed the cave must have been Raim Sabbar’s home, but learned it was instead one of many outposts that Raim Sabbar and Griss used when traveling: a cave in the wall of Ellerion once belonging to a dragon Raim Sabbar had battled and defeated.

  He was given a brief history of his new friends. How Raim Sabbar had taken Griss under his wing. “Metaphorically… and literally on occasion.” He was told how Raim Sabbar helped Griss learn to survive Darlandis, and when Zam asked what had brought Griss to Darlandis there was a grim change in the kind man's demeanor.

  “I apologize, Zam, but that is a story for another time.”

  Raim Sabbar took up the conversation and led it in an altogether different direction.

  There is something of sadness in them both. I wonder whether that is what makes their bond so great.

  Soon Zam learned the nature of the two friends’ earlier discussion. An apologetic look came over Raim Sabbar. “We understand you are on a quest, and we both had a feeling you were making for the Pass of Ellerion, the breach in the great rock wall. We are very near it, but I feel a detour must be made which may aid you greatly in your quest.”

  Griss interjected, “I felt that haste must be your aim. And as the Argolen said you would need my help, I desired to move at whatever pace you set.”

  The mention of his quest struck him, and suddenly Raine and the Coriaeran standard sprung to the front of his mind. He had lost sight of the need for haste as he sat and talked with these new friends. What am I doing? I don't have time for stories. I must get to Raine before it is too late! Griss was still talking, but Zam did not hear. Instead he stood and interrupted, his tone suddenly frantic. “Haste… yes... necessity dictates that… that I take no more time away from my quest. I have waited here perhaps too long. I thank you both for your kindness, and for the food, and for bringing me closer to the Pass of Ellerion, but I must be on my way.” Sorrow shone on Zam's face as he realized he had taken his eyes off the goal and that could mean dire consequences for Raine.

  Raim Sabbar saw his fear and felt for him. He spoke in a calming tone. “Haste, young one, is not always the answer, even when speed is a necessity. Is your errand such that you cannot spare an extra day? Two at the most?”

  Griss saw the battle on Zam’s face. He wanted to leave, but did not know the wisest course of action. “Zam, you have asked us many questions, but we have asked you few. We know not the aim of your quest, though I have determined to aid you whatever it may be. The wisest course may be found when we have heard your intent.”

  Zam nodded. “I am on a rescue mission. The granddaughter of Galwen—one who is like a father to me—is to be sold as a slave to men of Coriaer if I do not reach the slave market east of Valkiliar by early fall.” He faltered a moment, feeling the sting of an untruth. “More likely by mid-fall, but I fear that I shall fail her and bring greater sorrow upon that family. They have lost two men already.”

  Raim Sabbar spoke. “And gained one it seems.” His meaning struck Zam’s heart. “Few men will take to heart the sorrows of another as deeply as you obviously have, Zam, to travel these woods. Now I understand your haste.”

  “As do I,” Griss said. “Though you run toward danger you do not know. I am now more inclined to follow Raim Sabbar’s plan, but not for a two-day delay. More than likely we’ll need ten days.”

  Zam was astounded. “Do you not understand what I said? She is in danger! I have been sent to save her.”

  Griss replied, “You spoke truth—it rang true in your eyes—when you said mid-fall. Zam, your errand is grave. Anyone could see that. And your haste is warranted, but over-haste in this would be folly. The road between the Pass of Ellerion and the Great Bridge is far more perilous than any you have yet traveled. Had
you planned on turning north or south once through the pass, that would have been one thing, but the eastern road runs through the Darkling Wood and that is a place only for shadow beasts, dragons, grimmals and the like. It is not to be traveled by men.”

  Zam looked at Raim Sabbar. “You are a dragon foe. You could come with us.”

  “That is true, Windwater. There is little a dragon, or any beast, could do to harm me, but Griss is right. Dark creatures are so populous along that road that I could scarce protect you. In the past when Elyon has called me along that path I have not once allowed Griss to follow. I believe I know the aim of his counsel. You would do well to listen.”

  Zam wanted to argue, but after a moment he slumped back to the ground.

  Griss began again. “North of here are the ruins of Vandaris, one of the kingly outposts of old. Raim Sabbar has told me of friends there who might be willing to aid you. When we’re finished there, we would set out farther north until Rendift begins to bend westward. There, a shallow valley leads away east until it meets the plains of Vendill. When we reach the plains we would turn south away from the Lost Hills until we meet forest again. From there it is five days’ march to the Great Bridge, and you will be well on your way to Valkiliar.”

  Zam wanted to take the fastest route. But if the fastest route leads to nearly certain death, even with the help of these two, how can that be wise? As before, a hint of a whisper traveled through his mind. Travel north, young one. The cave fell away and in his mind’s eye Zam saw constellations turn in the sky—months passed. His gaze lowered to earth and Raine still stood, untouched, in the courtyard he'd painted. The vision sank into his heart. There is time. And with that thought, lighter thoughts followed.

  Raim Sabbar saw in Zam’s countenance that the quarrel was ending. “Windwater? You are decided then?”

  A solemn yet resolute smile crept across his face. “I did hope to see those ruins,” he said calmly. “When can we leave?”