The roof crumbled instantly at the beast’s touch and they sailed down into the gaping hole. Light pulsed all around as they fell. Power. She swelled with pride. He will love me. He will honor me. Exhilaration like never before. Her eyes raked the platform rising up to meet her. The map? Where? Must grab it. Bring it back to him. Sparks flew everywhere, blinding her.
She pulled on the reins and tried to slow her fall. The animal arched its neck and jerked back, trying to decelerate in the limited space, puffing out the skin between its clawed arms and legs. But they kept falling. The well sucked them in.
Where? Where is it? Should have reached the platform by now. A vortex of hot air caught them and she swayed. What’s happening? Shouldn’t be this way. She couldn’t see. She yanked harder on the reins but something was pulling at them. Her clothes, her hair, her skin were being drawn into the pit.
Can’t be! her mind screamed. The platform? Where’s the platform? The map?
She leaned to the right, searching. She pointed her finger and wild sorcery sprang from its tip, arcing ahead into the darkness. No! she shrieked. Emptiness lay before her. An endless, colorless hole. Where? The Daemon’s chest… he promised. The beast twisted furiously, fighting the forward motion. The air was noxious. She couldn’t breathe. She pointed her finger again. White fire spurted ahead and the chamber erupted into flame.
Heat scalded the beast’s underbelly and singed its face. It tossed its head wildly, screeching and clawing the blazing air, writhing in pain and fear. Moira’s leg slipped. She reached for the reins but they were ablaze. Her hands blistered as she slid from the burning saddle. The monster hit the rock wall and careened off the fiery surface. She shrieked madly as it smacked into her and dragged her down.
Chapter Fifty-one
Eleutheria glittered like a jewel in the afternoon sunlight. The thick ice reflected the rays and bathed the land in a myriad of rainbow colors. Eighty foot walls, frozen harder than stone, gleamed above the treetops that flanked them on all sides. They garrisoned the city like never before.
The army of the Ice Kingdom had marched to Tamarand’s aid more than two weeks ago, but the people felt secure. King Whitestar and his Queen were more public than ever since the tragic days almost a year ago. Kalon’s death changed them both, and the victory in the woods of Lormarion in which he played such a vital part made the memory of his misdeeds less poignant. His sins were forgiven, overshadowed by his accomplishments, the most endearing of which was saving the life of his half-sister, Alemar.
Alemar attained a god-like status after saving the city, planting the seeds from the Caves of Carloman and thwarting the Dark One’s plans. She led Iscaron’s army into the woods of Lormarion and vanquished the army Caeltin sent to topple the tree city of Seramour. Her deeds were already legends. The King was loved again, and even his reclusive Queen was forgiven her odd tempers in the wake of her son’s demise. The succession was secure despite the death of Kalon, the male heir. Not a living soul in Eleutheria doubted Alemar’s right to the throne. They awaited her triumphant return behind closed gates and frozen ramparts, while their army fought another war.
A horse and rider appeared on the edge of a farmer’s field. He stepped from his house and stared. The army had been gone for many days already and he wondered why a warrior would be returning alone to Eleutheria. Maybe he was injured? But he knew the army had healers of its own. Maybe he was a deserter? But why would a deserter return still in uniform? What would he do in the city with all the other soldiers gone? He watched him lead his mount across the field, toward the wall of trees that protected Eleutheria.
The soldier was tall and lean. He sat straight in the saddle, formal, stiff even. The farmer walked across the yard and through the field of new winter wheat. The rider’s face was expressionless. No lines of fatigue. No signs of injury or pain. Blank. He wondered what had happened to him. As he got closer, the farmer thought maybe the soldier couldn’t see him or didn’t hear well. The soldier’s head never turned, never looked his way.
He walked up to him and bid him hello. The soldier stared but said nothing. He looked right through him. His eyes were empty. The farmer’s skin chilled and he dropped his eyes. He wanted to turn and run but he held his ground. There was something familiar about him. He walked back to his house and watched as the warrior disappeared behind the wall of trees.
In the pale light of the woods, the strange elfin soldier removed a burnished magenta stone from his saddlebag and placed it on his horse’s withers. With the edge of his sleeve, he rubbed it quickly until the image formed on its surface.
Bone-chilling, the frigid water swirled around the horse’s hocks, but the big animal didn’t mind. Vapor rose from its warm legs as they stepped from pool to pool between the boulders scattered in the shallow stream. The Elfin rider’s feet dangled in the freezing water, no more aware of the cold than his mount. Silandre’s peak rose in the distance, snow-capped and stark, its caves peaceful once more, its rock silent. The horseman raised his head and stared at the walls of Crispen looming in the distance. He spotted the main gates and pulled on the reins. The horse snorted steam and turned in their direction.
The elf stopped behind a large tree. His eyes glazed, his naked fingers unaffected by the cold. From a pouch he drew a polished stone and balanced it atop the pommel of his saddle. With the tail of his shirt, he rubbed it vigorously and waited for the face to appear.
The massive Noban sheltered him. The scars in its trunk were scarcely visible beneath the new growth and the charred bark lay in small piles on the ground. Birds chirped in the boughs overhead. Animals scurried across the lush grasses. The woods of Lormarion were alive again. The lone guard patrolling the ground completed his rounds an hour ago and wouldn’t be returning soon. The Elf stepped out from behind the tree. He stared into the treetops, blank-eyed, passionless. He located the outline of the lift and led his horse to a spot directly beneath it.
Dropping the reins, he removed a glossy magenta rock from his saddlebag and held it in front of his unblinking eyes. He exhaled heavily on its surface, clouding it with hot breath, and watched as the image took shape.
Chapter Fifty-two
Fallean burst through the trapdoor in the floor leading to the Chamber of the Roots. Kerrigan sprang from his chair and dove out of his way. The side table caught him in the shoulder and he winced. Fallean’s face was frenzied and his words came in fits and spurts. His skin was flushed and his eyes were rabid.
“What happened?” Kerrigan lifted himself from the floor and rubbed his bruised shoulder. He reached out to Fallean but his friend recoiled and pulled away.
“I have to leave!” Fallean shivered. “There’s no time. Please, Kerrigan,” he pleaded, “Let me out of here. I’ve got to tell the others.” He pushed away from him toward the opposite door.
“What happened?” Kerrigan unlatched the door, fumbling with the key, his fingers jittery.
Fallean’s skin was pasty. He was breathing in fits and starts. “I’ll tell you upstairs. I can only say it once.” He rushed past him, slamming his hands into the door and shoving it open.
The door smacked the wall and Caryssa reached for her knife. Lana and Megan jumped up, knocking the table over, and Jeremy lurched to his feet, his chair flying backward. Fallean rushed in with Kerrigan close behind.
“Gather your things. We’re going,” Fallean shouted.
Caryssa recognized the urgency and prepared to leave.
“What happened?” Lana asked. She walked out from behind the fallen table toward Fallean.
He backed away. He didn’t want anyone touching him. He felt unclean. “The trees let me in,” he took a deep breath and calmed himself. Lana tried to approach him again and he raised his hand in front of her. “Don’t. Not now.” His voice was stern, definite, and she didn’t move any further. “I found out more than I expected.” His skin went white again, just as it was regaining its color. “The youngling’s in danger.” He choked on the words.
>
“Danger?” Jeremy asked. “What kind of danger?”
“There’s… something… in… the… water.” He struggled to say it. “I felt it. I tasted it.” His face contorted. He turned on Kerrigan. “You knew, didn’t you?” He whirled around to Megan. “And so did you? Why didn’t you tell me?” His shoulders slumped. He didn’t understand. “There is something abominable waiting for the youngling’s roots to reach the Chamber. It will destroy it if we don’t get to it first and warn it.”
Kerrigan sat down on the floor hard, his back up against the wall. “You’re certain?” he asked, his face ashen.
“They’re reaching out to the youngling. They’re calling to it even as the threat grows. I heard them. I saw them.” Fallean stared at his feet. “And I watched the poison spread through the water.”
“Could it be a premonition?” Lana asked, uncertain. She kept her distance.
Megan walked to her side, still red-faced. “Could it?” she repeated, cautious. “Kerrigan felt something, but he wasn’t sure what it was. I… I…” she stammered. “I didn’t think he should tell you. I didn’t want you to worry before you went down. I thought you might change your mind. We needed help Fallean. I was so grateful when you showed up…” Her face darkened with shame and she turned to the window. “You saw the wolves. You can’t imagine what it’s been like here.”
Fallean regretted being so sharp with them. He was tired. He wasn’t himself. He looked at Kerrigan and knew he understood.
“We haven’t told anyone.” Kerrigan spoke so softly they could hardly hear him. “Those of us here are the only ones who know.”
“So it’s true,” Jeremy said. He was quiet up until then. “The waters are infected.”
“If what you saw is real, then the Lalas must see it too.” Kerrigan said what the others were afraid to.
“But they behaved as if they didn’t. They continued to call out to the youngling even as the corruption approached,” Fallean replied. “Why would they do that?” The trees let him in. They accepted him. If they wanted to keep this secret, they would have refused me entry.
“If the Dark One knows of the Chamber, then he knows how to interfere with the song, with their ability to share. With so many Lalas dead and with him poisoning the waters, it’s no wonder the trees aren’t in touch with things as they were,” Megan said. “Kerrigan was worried,” she leaned toward him. “He knew something was wrong, but he never imagined this.”
“The threat is real,” Fallean insisted, his voice hushed.
“Then the Lalas must know it too!” Kerrigan asserted. “I never thought…”
“If they do,” Lana’s voice was calm, “then they can’t help themselves. They wouldn’t willingly betray one of their own. I must believe that. Perhaps it’s impossible for them to conceal the youngling, and they know it. They can’t protect it as in the past, so they’re calling out to it, hoping they can share their song before the Dark One can do any serious harm to it!”
“Wishful thinking,” Megan scowled. “But how will we ever know?”
“We have to warn it. We have to go to Pardatha and I have to talk to it.” He’d never spoken with a Lalas. There were none in Lormarion. Fallean wondered if he could even communicate with it, if the youngling would accept him. He had to try. “If its roots reach the Chamber…” He didn’t need to say anymore.
Lana wasn’t satisfied. She frowned and shook her head. “Is it possible they’re choosing to die because they’ve realized their existence might be a threat to each other or to the youngling?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“May the First protect us,” Jeremy blurted out.
“And if they can’t help but lead Caeltin to the youngling, then might they not also lead him to the First, if they have any sense of where it is?” Lana stepped forward.
“They feared this from the start!” Kerrigan exclaimed. “The youngling hadn’t even sprouted when the first tree died.” His eyes lit with an awful recognition. His face aghast, his words came slowly. “If Colton’s able to infiltrate the waters, then he’s able to learn what they know. If they’re linked to the First as they are to one another, then he could find it through them!”
“So they’re strategically removing themselves to prevent his success,” Caryssa added. Battle tactics she understood all too well.
“As he gets closer, they move away in the only way they can,” Lana said. “And more and more are dying.”
Fallean paced the floor while they talked. They had to do something to help. He could never forget what he saw, what he experienced in the Chamber of the Roots. It was awful. “I saw the young tree’s roots reaching out for the waters. It’s already started.” He drew himself up tall. “We can’t let it talk to the others. We have to stop it. If the Lalas must die to protect the First from being revealed so be it,” his voice was solemn. “But let the youngling survive. It’s our only hope.” Why would the Lalas risk its life? They see it. They must see it. He didn’t wait to hear anymore. “We have to go. We’re standing here talking and the roots are getting closer.” He moved toward the door.
“Jeremy, come with me,” Megan ordered. She grabbed his arm and dragged him along with her. “Well get your provisions ready. We’ll meet you by the gate. You’ll need warmer clothes, too, if you’re going north. Kerrigan, you get the horses. Twenty minutes, no more.”
Kerrigan didn’t move. “No. Not yet.” He was rooted to his spot on the floor.
“What…” Megan started to speak.
He turned to Fallean. “Did they offer you any of the water?” he asked. Fallean looked at him curiously. “The trees. Did they offer you any water from the well?”
“No,” Fallean replied. “But I left quickly.”
“I’ll go back down. If I can retrieve some, it’ll help you on your journey. In case…” He was pensive, nervous.
Fallean knew they were healing waters. His mother brought barrels of it back to Seramour after each visit. Kerrigan wanted to help. He felt guilty. This was his opportunity, even though it frightened him to return to the wells. “Go Kerrigan,” he said. “We’ll wait for you at the gates.” He reached for his arm and squeezed it. “Good luck.”
Megan arrived carrying a satchel over her shoulders and pulling a mule with full saddle bags draped over its back. Jeremy came from the opposite road leading three horses, saddled, bridled and chomping at their bits. Fallean stood with Lana and Caryssa, waiting.
“Put these on,” Megan ordered, her arms outstretched. “The leathers are as light as any cloth but they’ll protect you and keep you warm, and the capes will conceal you from prying eyes.”
“Kerrigan’s not back yet,” Caryssa said, her eyes on the main road. “We should go.”
Fallean paced the ground. “Yes,” he replied, his head down.
“Another moment,” Lana laid her hand on his arm. “Just another moment.”
“There he is,” Jeremy called out. He let go of the horse’s reins. Kerrigan was running down the road with his arm in the air.
“He’s got it. He’s got the water.”
“I’m not too late,” he said, breathless. “Here, take it.” He handed Fallean a flask. “Now go. Go!”
The song of the Lalas followed them out the gates and down the path. They turned their horses into the woods and spurred them on. A short way down the road, the music began to fade. Soon it stopped.
“We have company,” Caryssa said, drawing her bow and setting an arrow to the string. The howling of the wolves drowned out her words.
Chapter Fifty-three
The plains of Tamarand were replete with enemy troops. The soldiers of Sedahar turned the green fields gray. Like an endless swarm of insects, they flooded the horizon from east to west. They stood in silence, black daggers high in the air, waiting, waiting. Empty eyed, pale skinned, hideous creatures. The stone walls of Concordia provided little comfort for the armies and the people behind them.
Perched high above the other structures,
Baron Calipee stood upon the main bulwark of the city’s defensive perimeter. From the castellated battlement he watched both the city and the countryside. Dustin stood to his right and the captains of the elfin armies of Eleutheria, Crispen and Lormarion flanked him on the left. Warriors lined the walls, crammed tight together, shifting their legs, grumbling, laughing, cursing, some frightened, some bold, all anxious. Nervous energy rippled through the ranks, feeding on itself, spreading like a wave across a shore. The banners of the Three Kingdoms snapped in the wind, right in front of Tamarand’s own.
Light weight bows and silver tipped arrows identified the elfin archers of Lormarion, the first lines along the walls on the high parapets. Two rows of heavily armored Crispen warriors hefting longer range weapons stood behind them, backed by the soldiers of Eleutheria, their huge whip-ended siege bows and white feathered arrows at the ready.
The army of Tamarand, well trained and well equipped, spread out along the lower crenelated defenses. Foot soldiers backed the archers of Concordia; large muscular men with long, thin spears weighted at the ends. They could hurl them great distances with tremendous accuracy from the tops of the high walls surrounding the city.
Bubbling iron cauldrons of hot oil steamed up and down the ramparts, kept ready by the intense fires burning beneath them. Fed by pipes and hydraulics, once emptied upon the enemy’s heads they replenished themselves quickly, reaching a scalding temperature in a short time. Small catapults filled with sharp-edged rocks dotted the ramparts behind the assembled troops, flanked by high piles of more. Men wearing deerskin gloves held notched and hardened wood pokers, and they crouched low behind the indented walls, ready to push the siege ladders off when raised against them. Swordsmen filled the remaining spaces, poised to fight if the walls were breached and all other defenses failed.
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