His efforts to conceal from the rest of the world his land’s prosperity and relative contentment were painstaking and a constant strain upon his powers. But he remained ever vigilant, never letting his guard down. He fortified the city over the years by painstakingly constructing an exterior wall of the strongest stone, quarried nearby, and an inner wall surrounding the castle that was twenty feet thick, and able to withstand even the fiercest of assaults.
Unlike most cities, the gates of Pardatha were hewn from the Elfin tree, the Noban, the wood of which was given to the city as a gift from Lormarion, the kingdom of the Southern Elves, some fifty tiels ago. The timber of this tree was harder than stone and had to be carved with special tools by skilled craftsmen. The great planks were preserved by Baladar’s predecessors and only utilized when the outer walls to the city were completed, sealing it with a magnificent gateway that when closed, was virtually impenetrable. The inner wall, too, was secured by the sculpted Noban, carved with Elfin runes and characters from Lormarion’s glorious past, its awesome strength disguised by its sheer beauty and delicate gracefulness.
Even in these times of relative peace and prosperity, the battlements were manned and kept in the best of repair. Baladar’s armies were well trained and equipped, regardless of the apparent safety that prevailed throughout his land, for every time a Lalas died, the people of Pardatha were sorrowfully and painfully reminded of the creeping danger. And, Baladar would never forget the ultimate price that his wife paid for being intimately connected to the changes occurring all around them.
He made certain that there was room inside the outer wall for most of the city folk to gather in times of trouble. The storerooms and cellars were always prepared and well stocked, for Baladar would not leave a single person or even a helpless animal outside of his circle of protection if circumstances required it. The city could endure a siege of many months, and its battlements could withstand the onslaught of a formidable army.
The Thorndars protected Pardatha against a direct attack from the south, and the city abutted the very base of one of the tallest peaks in the massive range. The outermost wall itself was built right into the mountain, and thereby provided Pardatha with one perfectly secure boundary. Baladar had the lands surrounding the northern and northwestern most approaches to the city cleared and leveled, allowing his scouts to see the approach of any force well in advance of its arrival at Pardatha’s gates from their vantage points atop the high towers built for just this purpose.
Baladar, being the practical man that he was, made sure that the fertile ground was utilized for grazing and planting. He also made certain that the fields that were cultivated thereon would pose a substantial obstacle to any advancing army. Cloudberry bushes flourished there; incredibly thick and dense and covered with sharp thorns. Bergenbane vines, the fruit of which was used for medicinal purposes, grew in compact, winding clumps tangling around the feet and hooves of anything that tried to walk over them, and low growing Rasteria bloomed in abundance, whose sweet-smelling flowers attracted the dangerous Tsenso bee, which, when disturbed, stung in fierce and furious waves, but whose honey was sweeter than that of any other drawn from flowers in the land.
The eastern front was shielded by the forbidding Spiritwood which grew high on the crest overlooking the dry river bed below. The dense foliage made it difficult for a force of any strength, transporting wagons and the machinery of battle, to easily navigate through to the city. Baladar fortified outposts at the eastern most edge of the forest, and he created a network wherein messages and information could securely be passed back and forth between the city and the front. It would be difficult for any sizable army to advance unseen against Pardatha from that position.
The only remaining direct approach to the city was through the gorge, and unfortunately, there was little he could do to prevent an attack from thence. A former river bed, the valley to the southwest was wide and barren. It ran almost to the gates of Pardatha themselves, the city being perched on a bluff above it. He could only hope that due to the fact that it was so exposed, nothing other than a massive force would dare advance through it, knowing they would be seen long before they reached the city gates.
Prior to the demise of his beloved, the work of protecting Pardatha from the envious eyes of its would be enemies was effortlessly carried out by Briland. She was a true beauty, in body, mind and spirit. Her blood could be traced directly back to the High King Breardan, and his beautiful and mysterious Queen Lanatrae. The Tomes devote chapters to the glories of the reign of the High King. During his time, the Lalas trees were everywhere, and accounts of his Queen’s close relations to the one who chose her, provided numerous and uplifting stories that are told to children today at bedtime, and during times of crisis. They still comforted the people of the kingdom, probably more so than ever these days, with their accounts of the beauty of the High Queen, and her soft touch and healing nature.
The Tomes recount her miraculous ability to transport herself instantly to the bedside of the seriously ill and dying. Lanatrae was said to be able to heal with her touch. More than one story recounted the words of the healed on the brink of death as remembering a vague image of Lana’s body taking on the sinuous simulacrum of her tree, her arms like soft, leaf laden branches as they enveloped them and brought them back from the very edge of eternity to the healthy impermanence of life.
The domain of the High King Breardan was seemingly limitless. He ruled over most of the known world, with harmony and gentleness. Yet no one ever doubted his strength, as was most needfully demonstrated during the bitter battles precipitated by the marauding Trolls toward the end of his fifth tiel. Rarely though did anyone or anything threaten the peace of Gwendolen in those days.
The network of communication created by the trees and the Chosen was sturdy and comprehensive. It was even rumored that somewhere, known only by the great council and the Lalas, the high ones, including Lanatrae and Breardan, met and planned the course of events to come. The contemplation of these council meetings invoked images of mystery, beauty and power in the mind of each person and being devoted to the light, while it precipitated immeasurable fear in the hearts of the disruptive and the evil.
Alas, though, those times are long past, he thought sadly.
Baladar shrugged and brushed his hand over his brow to settle his thoughts on the hopes of today, rather than upon the glories of the past. The boy needed to be trained, educated, loved and nurtured. He needed to be prepared. And he would be, he averred. Baladar knew that the time was ripe and the boy would be everything and more than he and the world had hoped for. If he should fail in his teachings, or if the boy should fail in his future quests, the world was doomed and dissolution was inevitable. The boy was given unto Baladar to train and to protect. This vast responsibility weighed heavily upon his shoulders, but he accepted this charge with pride and gratitude. He would see it through to the end, at the expense of his own life if need be.
Baladar walked across the softly lit room to the darkness of the sheltered alcove at the far side of his work table. The chamber in which he worked was at the very top of the castle. Octagonal in shape, the windows, edged in stone and clear as could be, surrounded him. The sun shone through them from many angles, glittering and sparkling upon the furniture and implements that filled it. From here he could see as far as anyone on earth without the aid of either any instrument or of magic. The majestic Thorndar mountains to the south glimmered in the distance. The snow capping their summits looked like icing upon an enormous cake.
Baladar removed from the ornate wooden cabinet in the alcove a round piece of what looked like burnished stone. Moving across the chamber, back to his large desk that occupied a prominent place in the center of the room, he cleared off a space upon its smooth surface. He placed this object in the middle of the work space and walked around and took his seat. The stone shimmered as if made of liquid within its sharply defined borders. Baladar placed his palms upon the center of the stone an
d closed his eyes. The designs in the stone swirled and spun as Baladar hummed.
In fact, this object was not a stone at all. What Baladar was working with was a disk-shaped piece of Briland’s deceased Lalas. Briland had left this to Baladar after her death. With it, Baladar was able to gaze almost anywhere on earth. All he needed to do was concentrate and mentally request a location. He neither had to have been to the place previously, nor did the disk require an image in his mind in order to locate the spot. All that was necessary was that at one time a Lalas had been in the vicinity of the desired location and that Baladar knew approximately where he wished the disk to search. If he could provide the disk with rough coordinates, an idea of the location he sought, it utilized his thoughts and intuitions, as well as its own special ‘instincts,’ and provided him with images almost instantaneously.
At this time, Baladar was seeking out the origin of the boy’s casting. If he could find the place from whence he came, he might be able to determine if his casting was observed by the enemy. The dilemma was how to instruct the disk and how to accurately guide it to a location that Baladar did not yet know even remotely. He concentrated on a point south of the mountains, for he knew that the boy had come from somewhere in the immense southern regions of Gwendolen. He had to be more precise than that though if he wished to find anything of use to him, the area he was searching was so vast.
Suddenly and abruptly he stopped and thrust the disk into his inside pocket. He strode across the floor and threw the door to the chamber open.
“Dalek! Come here quickly. And bring the boy!” he shouted to his aide on guard outside the room.
“Yes, my Lord,” Dalek responded, a bit startled by his liege Lord’s animated behavior. “At once, my Lord!” he answered as he leaped down the winding staircase to the room below where the boy was sleeping.
Baladar hastened back to the table with the disk and smiled to himself.
If the traces are still fresh on the boy I may yet be able to locate the casting ground. Oh, I hope that they have not yet bathed him. These doting nursemaids of mine, they probably couldn’t resist immersing him in water as soon as they got their motherly hands upon him.
Baladar paced while he awaited his aide’s return.
Dalek entered the room where the boy lay sleeping, and told the attending women of his Lord’s orders. With sighs and tsks, they handed the prostrate youth over to the soldier, whose large and awkward hands received their portentous bundle with some discomfort. Hastily retreating from the room, Dalek began the ascent to Baladar’s study once again. He tripped over the corner of a soiled, green cloak the meddling women had apparently wrapped the boy in to keep him warm in the chilly castle. Dalek grabbed at his feet, not wishing to disturb the youth, but also unwilling to delay in fulfilling his lordship’s orders, and pulled the cape from under his boots. Balling it up without taking even a moment to glance upon it, he tossed it into a corner, out of sight behind a large piece of oaken furniture.
As rapidly as he could, Dalek bounded up the stairs and into the room, carrying the boy as awkwardly as anyone could imagine, his arms outstretched in front of him as if he were holding a snake at bay and out of striking distance, straining under the weight.
“I have done as you asked, Sir, as fast as I could. Is there anything else you require?” he appealed, panting as he thrust the child into Baladar’s waiting arms.
“No, not now. I appreciate your haste, though, Dalek. Wait outside. I may need you later.”
“Yes, my Lord.” He bowed as he returned to his post outside the door, relieved that he no longer had the burden of the child in his arms, and anxious to take up his post once again outside the room.
Dalek was a country boy at heart and though he was as loyal to Baladar as any man could be, he was still unaccustomed to the use of magic. As uncomfortable as it made him, he nevertheless trusted his Lord implicitly. But, he still preferred not to be in his company when he wielded his power.
Baladar received the boy lovingly. It was with much sentiment that he carried the unnamed and helpless youth across the room. The boy’s head rested peacefully on Baladar’s shoulder, and he misted over with emotion. His almost navy blue eyes were clear as crystal and wide open, though empty of any awareness. The thick, long, blonde hair was matted against his skull. Baladar wiped a single tear from his cheek as his thoughts skidded between the sorrow at the absence of his wife and his joy at having the young man in his presence. He felt the true weight of the boy for the first time, in all senses, and he was precipitously aware of it.
Setting the boy down softly upon the grand work table in the center of the room, he gazed upon him attentively. He was quite tall for his age, though thin and pale from his past ordeal, and his skin was almost translucent. Carefully he placed two large, sausage-shaped satin pillows on either side of the boy so that he would not fall. As he pushed the support snugly into his body, he noticed a crude bracelet around his wrist and pondered briefly on its origin and meaning. It was clearly not of appreciable value, at least in a monetary sense, so he was certain that it bore some other significance. Before Baladar had an opportunity to closely examine the trinket, a sense of power emanating from the disk in the confines of his cloak distracted him.
He reached inside another pocket and removed a modest suede pouch. Loosening the drawstring, he took from it four small stones, one ruby red, one sapphire blue, the third a deep, deep green and the fourth as black as night. From his right hand, he removed the large gold signet ring he always wore on his index finger. It bore the seal of state, and had been passed from generation to generation, from leader to leader, during the ceremony of succession. Although the ceremony was public, the secret of the ring was conveyed in a very private ceremony, or rather, ritual at which only the privileged few were welcome. Pushing up his tunic, he carefully placed the ring on the tender belly of the boy.
Reciting the words of power taught him that fateful night, Baladar concentrated on the rune carved into the ring. The carving abruptly came to life, and hovered over the adolescent child. Baladar took each of the four stones and placed them singly in a corner of the table. The rune image appeared to solidify about two feet above the boy, and as if tiny spiders had escaped from each corner of it to spin a web to the stones, solid looking lines reached out to each of the four corner gems. Upon touching the stone, the web like strings blazed with the full color of the gem to which it had attached itself.
The wide-eyed yet unconscious boy was totally oblivious to the vivid colors swirling and sparking all around him. Baladar removed the warm disk from his cloak and placed it on the table just outside the sphere of power encircling him. As if the Lalas disk inhaled a full and deep breath, the colors began to twirl together and merge into one as they headed for the polished instrument. Baladar, beginning to feel the effects of these exertions on his person, sat himself down at the foot of the table. He gazed as intensely as he could at the disk.
An image formed above it as if a miniature play was being enacted before his eyes. In a trance-like state, Baladar witnessed the last moments of Mira’s efforts. He felt the intense rush of sentiment and his body stiffened in response. He instinctively recognized the enormous sacrifice she had made and he perceived, as if he had been present in real time at the scene of this heroic deed, her great sorrow in the leave-taking, as well as the tremendous joy she experienced at the seeming success of her casting. Warm feelings of elation and relief washed over him as he experienced her final emotions.
Without warning, Baladar recoiled from the sickening touch of evil. He felt the hot breath of the vicious enemy upon his face as he leapt out of the nearby trees. The darkened skin and muscular appearance he’d chosen that day only enhanced his unholy aura. His long, pointed fingers grasped with a lustful and desperate urgency at the boy. Baladar witnessed the boy’s disappearance and he saw the agony on the distorted face of the Evil One as he recognized that the boy was gone from his reach. He swayed in his seat as the flood o
f anger permeated his soul and the sickening sensations infiltrated his consciousness. Girding his mind, he shielded himself from the emotional onslaught and continued to observe the final moments of the casting.
The hordes of animal-like beings swarmed out from the nearby trees and surrounded the Evil One, though not too closely, in considerable fear of his wrath. They were accustomed to his arbitrary lashing out, and none wished to be too near if he was not successful. As Colton dar Agonthea, one of the most reluctantly uttered names of legend, realized that he had lost the boy, his mouth, dripping with venomous saliva, opened in a constricted circle and he let out a wail of agony that hurt Baladar’s ears.
Baladar realized that Mira was more successful than she had ever dreamed she could have been at her life work. There was no sense of a trail and no trace of a direction. The boy was so safely and solidly cast by Mira that no other man or god could have done better. Colton struck repeatedly at the stone statue that was once Mira, and disregarding the gashes that the stone left in his arms and fingers, he continued until black blood flowed from his body in a steady stream, covering the statue with its putrid essence.
The statue reddened with heat and burned the gore off of itself in a sizzle of vapor; a fitting final slap in Colton’s face. The plaint that emanated from Colton’s mouth continued for quite some time. The gathering armies of his subjugated mutants fell to the ground and covered their heads with their arms. When the Evil One became silent, he turned abruptly from the stone statue, closed his blood red eyes and rose two feet off of the earth, suspended in the air. As if in a trance, he glided over his prone minions and retreated into the darkness of the forest.
The Twins Page 3
