by Tonke Dragt
He had found the Vorgóta Gong.
The gong was made of bronze, grown dull over the centuries it had hung there. Beneath it was a polished stone with letters carved into it; he made out the word VORGÓTA. Across the stone lay a staff – the mallet for beating the gong.
Tiuri knelt down to pick it up; it was heavy, almost impossible to lift. Then he stood, swaying. Twice he tried – and twice he failed – to raise it high, breaking out in a sweat at the thought he might lack the strength to complete his mission after enduring so much. The third time, he managed to lift the mallet up, and, though it only brushed against the gong, it still conjured forth a sound: a deep boom, an ominous drone, which echoed before dying away, as if the rock walls had voices and were responding – voices that reverberated around the rocky vaults, in a dreamy singing tone.
Something began to vibrate inside Tiuri, too, and without hesitation he swung the mallet back and hit the gong as hard as he could. A booming, penetrating, almost deafening sound rang out… and was repeated by hundreds of echoes.
Tiuri cringed away from the sound, as pain shot through him and the arrow in his wound seemed to twist around. Strange shadows danced before his eyes, surrounding him, grabbing at him…
When he came to, he was lying on the ground. He gazed up at the roof, where the shadows were still dancing, patches of black, as if the echoes of the gong, still buzzing and vibrating, had taken on a life of their own. But then he saw that they were just bats, flying around anxiously, startled by the noise.
Piak should have taken this path, he thought. I cannot hit the gong again…
The gong… it had been hung so that people would hear it for miles around, if the Kingdom of Unauwen were threatened from the east. One bang of the gong would surely not be enough! He sat up and carefully touched his wound. His fingers came away wet with blood. Then he desperately struggled to his feet and would surely have fallen again if he had not had the mallet for support.
Then he stood before the gong once more, leaning on the mallet and praying for strength. Let me hit it enough times, he thought, before I fall and cannot stand up.
Again he raised the mallet and let it fall. He did not wait, but struck again – and again!
The blows boomed, one after the other, beating against his temples, singing in his ears – and each blow was a stab of pain. The rocks quivered, the air vibrated, the ground shook. Then everything around him seemed to collapse, burying him in darkness.
Piak heard the sound of the gong. He was already a long way down the other path, which also led west, but not to the gong. First he heard one crash and then many more, one after another, strong and clear. Echoes came from all around, and he couldn’t work out quite where the sound was coming from. Immediately he retraced his steps, running, racing, and, as he darted along, the echoes died away. The way back seemed endless, and then he had to follow the entire length of Tiuri’s path, too.
Panting, he finally entered the amazing halls – which were now filled with absolute silence. He found the gong, but Tiuri was not there. A mallet lay on the ground; he picked it up and headed onwards and outside.
In front of him, a weathered stone staircase led down to a road. The day was already drawing to a close and there was no one around. He studied the mallet and noted there was blood on it, and his throat clenched in fear. Where was Tiuri?
Then he saw a man walking along the road, who paused briefly when he spotted Piak and then quickly started climbing the stairs. Piak grasped the mallet more tightly, but the man did not look hostile. He was tall and blond, with a friendly face.
“Are you Piak?” he asked, when he was almost at the top of the steps.
“Yes…” said Piak, still rather suspicious of him.
“Then I got here in time,” said the man. “I am Wila, the forester of Vorgóta. Your friend asked me to come and meet you.”
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Piak. “Where is he? How is he doing?”
“I shall take you to him,” said the man.
But Piak backed away. The forester did not appear to be dangerous, but how could he be sure?
“I understand,” said Wila. “But I have nothing that would convince you I am to be trusted. All I can say is this: Eviellan is my enemy, and the gong has awoken us all. Just listen!”
Now Piak could hear voices shouting in the distance, and the sound of hoofs somewhere nearby.
“Some are coming now, and others will arrive later,” said the forester. “Sir Tiuri called them and he sent me here.”
“Where is he?” cried Piak, whose instincts told him he could trust the man. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’m about to explain,” said the forester. “When we heard the gong, my friends and I, who live nearby, naturally ran straight here. We know where the gong is, even though we’d never entered the cave ourselves. It’s a kind of holy sanctuary, you see; no one ever goes in there. When we got here, your friend was sprawled on the ground, in front of the gong, with the mallet still in his hand. I’m sure you can imagine just how shocked we all were! We carried him out here, loosened his clothes, and brought him round with a little brandy. Luckily, my friend Markon always carries some with him.”
“And then?” asked Piak.
“Then he told us… that Eviellan is coming over the mountains…” The forester paused before continuing, “What a brave young man! He sat here, as white as a sheet, but his eyes were gleaming – no, they were glowing – as he told us that we must make ready to resist the invasion and… well, of course, you know all about that already…”
Piak’s doubts had vanished. “Please, take me to him,” he said. “Where is he?”
“In Anto the shepherd’s hut. Come with me. No, leave the mallet here. We’ll put it back with the gong.” Wila the forester went and did just that, and on his return he said, “That mallet has not been touched in human memory, and the words on the stone threaten anyone who beats the gong for no good reason.”
He walked down to the road with Piak; it was the big road down from the mountains.
“Tell me more,” said Piak.
“Well, my friends Markon, Anto and I were the first ones to arrive,” said the forester, as they headed westwards. “But soon more people who had heard the gong came. Most of them are already heading up into the mountains to start making barricades. Markon the hunter has nocked his sharpest arrow for the wretch who shot Sir Tiuri. He came across him earlier this afternoon and was already suspicious when the man ran away from him, and…”
“Oh, so that’s why he disappeared so quickly,” said Piak. “And what about Tiuri?”
“In the midst of all the excitement, your friend fainted again, and of course we couldn’t leave him there. So we carried him to Anto’s hut, because he lives closest.”
Piak started walking faster and asked anxiously, “How is Tiuri?”
“We laid him on the bed, but none of us dared to pull out the arrow… Oh, don’t be concerned. There is a good physician in Vorgóta. The knight is weak with pain and loss of blood, but he came round soon enough to start asking about you – which is why I returned to the gong.” The forester gave Piak an encouraging nod. “We’re nearly there,” he said.
It couldn’t be close enough for Piak, but they still had to walk quite a way, along a stream and through a wood. They came across a group of men who were armed with pitchforks and scythes; the advance guard of Unauwen’s army was already on the move.
“The gong must have been heard in the castle, too,” said Wila. “The men of Vorgóta will already be on their way. Luckily, a knight is currently visiting the lady down at the castle. I saw him riding out when I went to meet you.”
Finally, they saw Anto the shepherd’s hut. A soldier stood outside with a fine white horse.
Piak began to run; what he’d heard hadn’t eased his fears for Tiuri’s well-being. Pushing open the door, he entered the cabin.
A number of people were inside, but he paid no attention to any of th
em. All he saw was Tiuri lying on the bed, with a tall, dark-haired man sitting beside him.
Tiuri’s face was pale and still, as if he were asleep. He was asleep, wasn’t he? He surely wasn’t…
“Tiuri!” whispered Piak.
His friend’s eyelids trembled and then opened. “Tiuri!” said Piak again and he was not ashamed of his tears.
“Everything is going to be fine,” said the dark-haired man, as he stood up.
Now Piak realized who he was. With surprise, and happiness, he recognized Sir Ardian, the toll master of the Rainbow River. Tiuri and Piak had met him the previous year, first fearing him as an opponent, then trusting him as a friend.
The knight laid his hand on Piak’s shoulder. “I have removed the rest of the arrow,” he said, “and now all he needs is rest.” He leant over Tiuri again and gave him something to drink from a cup. “Now you’ll forget your pain and enjoy some peace,” he said. “Close your eyes and sleep!”
His melodious voice made the words sound like a friendly command that must be obeyed. Tiuri did so, his face relaxing.
Sir Ardian looked down at him. Then he beckoned Piak and took him outside.
“Well, it seems the two of you are destined for great things,” he said, looking at him with a searching gaze. “This is the second time you have come from the east with news for King Unauwen.”
Then he started to ask questions. Piak answered, finding it easy to tell the knight everything he needed to know.
Then Sir Ardian said, “I shall take command of all the able-bodied men I can gather. Messengers are already on their way to the king, the crown prince and the paladins at the Rainbow River. You have nothing else to worry about now.”
“What about Tiuri?” asked Piak.
“His wound is not life-threatening, but beating the gong did make it worse.”
“I wish I could have done it!” said Piak. “I thought he had the easier path.”
“Such things are a matter of destiny,” said Sir Ardian. “Tiuri is young and healthy and is sure to recover quickly. And I believe that you need some sleep, too, not to mention a good meal.” He turned to a bearded man who had come out of the cabin, together with Wila the forester.
“Anto,” he said. “Let me introduce you to your new guest. His name is Piak.”
The bearded man bowed and said, “Sir Tiuri and Piak will be the most honoured visitors ever to sleep under my humble roof.”
“I shall see you later,” said Sir Ardian.
Then he rode away on his white horse.
“Lord Ardian of the Toll, Knight of the Rainbow Shield,” said Wila the forester. “There’s not another man like him in the kingdom, except for the crown prince, but he is, of course, the son of a king.”
“He is skilled in combat and knows the wisdom of books,” said Anto the shepherd. “He can defeat the enemy in battle, but also knows how to heal wounds. A true knight! Now come with me, Piak. Welcome to my home.”
5 ECHOES
The night was full of sounds – many people had heeded the call of the gong. Piak woke whenever he heard someone passing by, and then he would quietly get up to take a look at Tiuri, even though Anto, his host, had told him that was not necessary, as he was sitting at Tiuri’s bedside. But Tiuri went on sleeping until Sir Ardian returned the following morning.
The knight examined Tiuri and did not seem dissatisfied. Then he turned to Piak and said, “The two of you need to leave this place, especially Tiuri! When the battle begins, this house will most probably be in the middle of the fighting. I don’t think it would do any harm to have Tiuri taken to the Castle of Vorgóta today. Anto can get hold of a cart and the lady of the castle is expecting you.”
Piak nodded. “And I’m sure you’re staying up here,” he said.
“Yes,” said Sir Ardian. “The barricades are almost ready and my army is growing by the hour.”
He looked at Tiuri, who was now wide awake and who said in a whisper, “I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do.”
“Your job is done,” said Ardian. “But Piak still has work to do. He must take care of you and ensure that you do not move until the physician declares you healed. Goodbye for now to you both, and may the heavens bless you.”
Piak accompanied him outside, where his men were waiting. “Sir knight,” he said, “I wish you the very, very best.”
“Thank you,” said Sir Ardian. “I have placed a guard by the gong. When the attack begins, you will hear it. It will sound twice. Farewell.”
Later that day Tiuri and Piak set off in a covered cart for the Castle of Vorgóta. Anto sat up front; he was driving very carefully, so that Tiuri would be troubled as little as possible by the jolting of the cart.
The young knight managed well at first, but after a couple of hours Piak asked if the cart could stop for a moment. The wound had opened up and needed to be bandaged again. Then they travelled onwards, even more slowly.
Piak looked in concern at the flush on his friend’s cheeks, which had been so pale before. Tiuri’s face was glowing. Tiuri did not notice, though; he just frowned as if he could hear something that was disturbing him.
What Tiuri could hear was the Vorgóta Gong: bronze crashes reverberating from wall to wall – over mountains and valleys, through the trembling air. Echoes sounded, fading into the distance, dimmer and dimmer, but still audible. Then they rebounded, coming closer and closer; the sound clattered all around, metal on metal. It boomed inside his head!
He looked at Piak and stuttered, “The gong, the Vorgóta Gong… Make it stop!”
“It has stopped, Tiuri,” said Piak quietly. “It’s other sounds that you can hear. Are you awake? Lie still. There’s nothing to worry about.”
But Tiuri turned away and peered out at the sky through the back of the cart. The sun would go down soon, and in the reddish clouds he saw flames and smoke. When he closed his eyes again, it was as if he were in the heart of a scorching fire. He heard the crashing gong and an oncoming army in the sound of wheels and horses’ hoofs. Tiuri was fighting in the battle. Again he raised his sword to kill a man, and again he felt only disgust for himself.
Perhaps they were not just fever dreams, but echoes of a real fight that was taking place at the same moment, far from the Vorgóta Gong, in the Kingdom of Dagonaut on the other side of the mountains.
There, between the Green and the Black Rivers, a horn rang out, the silver horn of Sir Ristridin. He had entered the forest with Tiuri’s father; they had heard the sound of battle from afar. The first skirmish took place at the bend in the Green River where Tiuri and his friends had fled into Tehalon’s territory.
“For the Lord of Mistrinaut!” cried Ristridin, throwing himself into the fray, side by side with Tiuri the Valiant. Red Riders had almost entirely encircled Lord Rafox and his men, and it was looking bad for them, even though they were bravely defending themselves. The help came just in time.
The Red Riders were quickly routed; they spread in every direction, fleeing the fury of the knights, startled by the sound of the horn.
“Ristridin has returned!” they cried. “Ristridin of the South!”
The knight heard their words and knew they would be back with more men. Other horns sounded from the direction of the Tarnburg, challenging his own. But there was enough time to tend to the wounded and to prepare the uninjured men to fight again. There was little chance to talk, but Lord Rafox was able to give Sir Tiuri the good news that his son had escaped and travelled to the west with Piak.
“If everything went as planned,” he said, “they are now in the Kingdom of Unauwen.”
Yes, they were indeed in the Kingdom of Unauwen, at the Castle of Vorgóta. Piak was sitting beside Tiuri’s bed. His friend looked at him with wild eyes. He kept talking about the gong, asking for his sword and trying to sit up, so Piak had to hold on to him.
“It’s your move,” whispered Tiuri. “Quiet!” he said in a tortured voice. “How can I play chess if that gong keeps sounding?”
The Battle between the Rivers, the Green and the Black… on one side the forces of the Tarnburg, on the other side three of Dagonaut’s best knights: Ristridin, Rafox and Tiuri the Valiant. But Eviellan’s men outnumbered them by far, and more were arriving every minute. The forest to the south of the Black River was full of soldiers – there must have been thousands of them.
Ristridin led Dagonaut’s men, because he knew his way around the forest. However, they could do little more than weaken their enemy, hindering him and slowing his movements. And the moment came when their situation seemed hopeless. They had pressed on, been driven back, advanced and been attacked once more. Many of them were wounded or dead, and the remaining men were at risk of being encircled by the Red Riders again.
Then suddenly Men in Green leapt from the trees and threw themselves into the fight, bringing death and destruction to the men of Eviellan!
In a brief pause for breath, Ristridin, Tiuri and Rafox came together; they leant on their swords and Ristridin said, “Now we must try to take the High Bridge and destroy it. Then the link between the Tarnburg and the Road of Ambuscade will be broken.”
They advanced again, this time with the Men in Green. A day later they had captured the watchtower, which gave them a view of the bridge.
Blood-red banners flew on the towers of the Tarnburg, and armies rode over the bridge, armies of Red Riders. The Black Knight led them; the attack had begun in earnest! Eviellan was marching unopposed along the Road of Ambuscade to the pass.
Not all of the men followed their king; many stayed on the other side of the Black River to guard the area around the Tarnburg. And others launched a new attack against Ristridin and his men.
Again the silver horn rang out, and the Men in Green beat their drums. The Master of the Wild Wood joined the knights and, step by step, they fought their way along the Black River to the west. They could no longer stop the army that had headed into the mountains – the knights of King Unauwen would have to do that. But they could attempt to cross the High Bridge and conquer the Tarnburg. More creeping through prickly bushes… more weapons clashing in the wilderness… whinnying horses, cries and groans… But the High Bridge was still in the hands of the enemy. More Red Riders crossing the bridge… The sound of drums… more drums… louder, threatening, frightening…
