Grogan and his men slid the locking mechanisms into place, carefully and diligently set the seals that secured them and then took up their watch beside the Noban gates.
Chapter Thirty-six
By the time the dawn drew, Robyn was already up and atop Kraft and ready for the final leg of his journey. He would be approaching Pardatha directly from the north, thereby avoiding the swamps that edged the great forest. The air was cool for this time of year and the sky was streaked with long, grey clouds. Shadows roamed around the ground like great, hulking monsters chasing each other across the fields.
The air smelled oddly pungent, and with each breath he took his nose became more and more irritated, until he finally had to wrap a scarf around his face to filter his intake. His eyes began to tear and sting, and he thought that he could see a faint smoke hanging in the air around him. Robyn rode as fast as he could, covering ground swifter than most on the back of his stallion. The smoke grew more abundant and the acrid odor increased with each passing hour.
As he neared Pardatha, he was bothered by the fact that he saw no activity on the outskirts of the city. He would have expected to see the signs of commerce, of trade, of visitors and travelers. But instead, all was quiet and still. No smoke swirled from the chimneys of the scattered farm houses he passed and no animals grazed in the corrals. He passed no one on the way toward the city, and even though he was not traveling a beaten path, he could see the thoroughfares in the distance and they were still and abandoned.
His instincts told him to skirt the woods and not to gallop headlong into the unknown, and Robyn always trusted his instincts. Kraft was expressing some discomfort now due to the heaviness of the air, and Robyn spied a small pond fed by a clear, flowing stream issuing from a rocky hill to its west. It was surrounded by a knoll of thick, leafy trees. He led his steed in that direction and allowed him to drink from the pure waters for a time while he dismounted. Robyn tried to identify the odor that was in the air everywhere, but he could not place it. It had the taste of carbon, but it was more rancid and not pure at all. The air left an oily residue all over him and he was becoming more and more troubled by it.
Robyn sat for a moment and dug his long fingers into the soft soil surrounding the pond. He reached for contact, and when he found what he was looking for, he relaxed and let his mind open up to the floes. Not in words, but through feelings did the images manifest themselves. At first he did not know what he was sensing, but the pictures grew clearer in his mind’s eye as the moments passed. He dug his hand deeper into the ground, trying to reach a clearer source. A soft root twirled itself around his wrist with a comforting squeeze, and the previously confusing impressions became vivid images. He was astonished at the sheer size of the enemy’s forces. The picture he received was neither steady nor systematic. Rather, he caught glimpses of beasts and pack animals, soldiers and slaves, siege engines and wagons, one after another, until they flooded his brain.
Robyn recoiled violently from the next image, but not soon enough to avoid being struck by the stench of the Dark Lord and the vision of his hideous expression of glee with which he led his forces. He saw Colton turn with a start, perhaps sensing the intrusion, and the image in Robyn’s mind rapidly changed. He now saw huge, belching beasts, spreading a thick, acrid smoke everywhere, and he saw that the fires scattered all over the massive camp were emitting greasy fumes from the carcasses of the burning animals spitted over the flames.
Briefly, he saw a group of riders mounted on black steeds with cloven hooves, with hoods hiding their darkened faces, traveling separately from all the rest. They were moving in unison, and they were carrying a black banner with a red sun on its surface. They were not with the rest of the army but quite some distance from it, heading somewhere away from the main contingent. He could see the swords glinting at their belts beneath their crimson cloaks.
The entire scene was horrific, one image was worse than the next! Robyn realized that he was marching into the middle of the tempest, and he only hoped that he was not too late, that he would be able to reach Pardatha before the enemy arrived at its gates. He withdrew his hand from the earth having seen enough, and then he washed it briefly in the cool water of the pond, splashing some of the fresh liquid into his face as well. The air hung with the rotten stench and his eyes watered still. Robyn whistled and Kraft responded immediately, nudging him under the arm, as anxious as he was to leave this place.
Once in the saddle again, he rode cautiously, hugging the tree line and looking out for danger. A flock of birds sprang out of the trees before them, as the sound of horns blowing in the distance pierced the relative silence of the afternoon. He continued to ride, getting closer and closer to his destination, while becoming more and more anxious with each mile that he covered.
Ahead, rising above the treetops in the distance, he could see the temple mount extending high up over the city, the distinctive oval edifice silhouetted in the sun. Very soon now he would be in Pardatha, and he pressed forward with determination, riding Kraft hard. Robyn could see the walls to the city outlined beyond the plains, and as he drew closer, still within the cover of the woods, he saw the same detachment of riders on their coal black mounts with the cloven hooves approaching the gates.
He dismounted, led Kraft to a sheltered area overlooking the valley across from which this abhorrent group was riding, and he observed with growing concern the developments below. Instead of the hideous raven banner with the burning sun, they carried a white flag of truce, obviously looking to parlay with the leaders of the city. But, it occurred to Robyn, that when he saw them previously they were carrying swords beneath their cloaks! Something was amiss here. Riders looking to confer did so unarmed, unless some sort of treachery was afoot.
The rules of war were clearly written, however unusual, and all nations abided by them. But Colton dar Agonthea was a pariah, a being who always distanced himself from society and one who placed himself beyond the law. Robyn believed that he would behave no differently here and now than ever before. If the leaders of Pardatha, Baladar and his ministers, underestimated the unscrupulousness of the Dark Lord, then they may just fall into his trap.
Robyn watched, all his senses sharp, from his perch above the city, and he waited for the meeting to begin. His eyes scanned the surrounding countryside and finally came to rest upon the city once more. He noticed with surprise that the massive gates of Pardatha were shut tight, something he had never seen here before. The battlements were heavily manned, and he could see armed soldiers peering through the crenellated towers. He sat pensively on Kraft’s sturdy back, awaiting the next development in the macabre drama about to unfold below him.
Chapter Thirty-seven
The bevy of crimson Mages approached the shuttered gates of Pardatha, displaying the white flag of truce. They all had heavy cowls covering their heads and shadowing their faces, and their steeds were identical in size and color, snorting and steaming as they pranced in place, leaving deep cleavages in the soft, vine covered soil upon which they walked. The guards on the battlements locked the visors down on their helmets and leaned over the high, stone walls.
One of the riders broke from the group and trotted right up to the wall, dropping the hood from his head to reveal a hairless pate and a ghostly white face. His lips were blood red as if painted onto his skin and his eyes were like solid black orbs, lifeless and forsaken. His voice chilled the very bones of the guards.
“We come at the bequest of our Lord and Master, Colton dar Agonthea, King of Sedahar, Emperor of the Southlands, and Liege Lord of the Forgotten Realms. We ask on his behalf for a parlay with your leader, Baladar of Pardatha. We come unarmed and our Master wishes us to express that he wants to avoid a long and costly war, and he hopes that Baladar wants the same. He asks that we speak directly with your Lord and convey his special messages,” he said in a voice hollow and dead, as the Pardathan guards looked on in horror. “Tell Baladar that we await him on the plain,” the rider concluded, and
then he turned his mount around to return to the assembled group.
The lieutenant on watch, the highest ranking of the guards who heard this diatribe, gave orders for the others to remain steadfast and observe the movements of these messengers of death, while he ran to the bell tower to advise Lord Baladar of the arrival of the Dark Lord’s emissaries.
Elion heard the bell chime three times, and immediately jumped up from his pallet and dressed as quickly as he could. With a regretfull glance, he left his dagger on the table next to his bow and quiver, and headed for the door. Filaree too heard the bell and she sprang up from her slumber as well, already prepared to depart, leaving her weapons behind, though feeling quite naked without them. As they emerged from their chambers, they met in the broad hallway and descended the stairway together on their way to the courtyard to meet Baladar and the others.
They spoke no words on that short journey but they felt a kinship that they could not explain, a bond between the two of them that developed the instant that they met and would henceforth remain between them always, Filaree smiled at Elion and he bowed his head in return, embarrassed but grateful for the closeness. Together they crossed the cobblestone courtyard and walked to the designated meeting place to await the arrival of Bishop Anwel and Baladar.
When the bell tolled, Baladar was already standing at the wide window, staring down at the plains stretching out before the closed gates of his beloved city. He was dressed in a simple tunic of white wool, with the crest of Pardatha embroidered in gold upon its chest. A brown leather belt cinched his waist, unadorned, and a cape of a darker brown velvet was draped over his shoulders. He took his large signet ring from the strong box on the shelf and placed it on the index finger of his right hand. The gold ring still hung from the chain beneath his shirt, and he felt its heat as he walked to the door. He carried no weapons when he left the study for the courtyard to meet the others. The Bishop was waiting at the bottom of the tower steps for him when he emerged from the shelter of the doorway. Together, they walked the short distance to where Grogan and the guards readied the horses.
“Greetings, Lady Filaree, Prince Elion,” the Bishop said as he saw them standing by the guards. “It seems our ‘friend’ wasted no time in dispatching his messengers. I assume we must meet with them for the sake of propriety, if nothing more,” he continued.
“I have seen the Dark Lord, your eminence, and it is not propriety he admires, I can assure you,” Elion replied.
“What good can possibly come of this meeting? Do you think that he has any interest in a peaceful solution here? For that matter, do we? How can we ever be at peace with him? We are like oil and water, and the only way to deal with him is to burn him off of our surface. We cannot live side by side with Colton dar Agonthea!” Filaree spit the words.
“We must meet nevertheless, and hear what he has to say,” Baladar spoke, his voice calm.. “Perhaps we will learn something about his intentions. At least we will have the satisfaction of telling his couriers that the heir is not in the city. They will not want to bring him back that news! How he reacts to that information will determine what we do next. It is beyond expectation that he will turn around and go home. However he ultimately responds, we will feel the brunt of his furor in the short term, of that I am sure.”
“May the First guide us through these dark days,” the Bishop said, as the guard helped him onto the back of his horse.
“Indeed! We could use the aid of the Lalas now. We have no Chosen in Pardatha any more,” Baladar noted with a certain melancholy, reminding himself of just how dear his wife, the last one, was to him.
“We can fight just as well without the trees to aid us…” Filaree commented proudly, “… if we must,” she concluded.
“I fear that today we must!” Elion said gravely. “If Caeltin has to leave here empty handed, it will be at this city’s expense,” he said as he pulled himself atop his pony. “What I am concerned about is treachery! I saw his army. I witnessed the horrors that he has created and nurtured to serve him. An enemy such as this will not behave as we would.”
“We must be vigilant, but we cannot sacrifice our values because our enemy has none!” the Bishop replied.
“Enough talk now, my friends,” Baladar chimed in. “We must not keep our guests waiting. Let us get on with this ‘parlay’, but keep your eyes open, all of you! Pray for the best, but expect the worst,” he said and he spurred his stallion ahead, crossing the threshold of the castle with his friends close behind.
The people of the city were lined up on either side of the avenue that lead from the castle to the Noban gates. They were solemn and looked up at the riders with hope and expectation in their eyes. Silently they each raised their right fist, one by one, as a sign of solidarity and fealty to their Lord, and he nodded in acknowledgment, feeling a deep respect and affection for them all as he rode past. The golden ring pulsated beneath his tunic and gave him courage as he marched through the city streets.
Everyone was captivated by the gravity of the moment, and the riders continued on in silence until they reached the sealed gates. The shadow of the Ghost Tower stretched out beyond the walls, creating an ominous, darkened swath of ground upon which the enemy’s entourage assembled.
The Pardathan guards who had marshaled by the tower’s base, parted so as to let the riders approach the small door that they would open in order to allow the horses out, one by one. Baladar was to be first, followed by Bishop Anwel, the Lady Filaree and finally Prince Elion. A single horn sounded atop the battlements signaling the start of the meeting, and the heavy latch on the door was sprung, allowing it to open inward.
Baladar emerged into the partial sunlight beyond the walls, and without hesitating, he walked forward with the other three close behind, lining up abreast of one another once they cleared the small passage. They trotted their horses into the middle of the plain, past the cobblestone pathways and paved roads that led out from Pardatha, toward the demonic group standing some hundred yards ahead. The new arrivals remained illuminated by the sunlight in stark contrast to the shrouded assemblage they came out to meet.
Once they were within speaking distance, Baladar wasted no time before beginning the inevitable interaction.
“You have entered our lands uninvited with a substantial armed force behind you. You come to the city in the name of Colton dar Agonthea asking for parlay, but you do not state your reason for invading our country. In good faith, we assemble hear to listen to your ‘requests’, and we expect that you are here in good faith as well,” Baladar said earnestly.
The leader of the group stepped forward on his black steed, emerging menacingly from the shadows. All of his companion’s cowls were up, covering their heads and faces, and as the speaker approached he let his own hood fall back, revealing a cadaverous face, expressionless, with empty eyes and pallid skin. The sunlight upon his skin made him appear almost translucent and hardly alive. They could literally see the liquid coursing through his veins in spastic bursts.
Baladar stepped forward once more on Porta and stood head to tail with this ambassador of evil. He watched him closely and was overwhelmed for a slight moment by the deathly stench of his breath, which issued from his mouth in gasps, through blackened and rotted teeth.
“Our master requests that you surrender unto him the boy that you hold hostage. He claims guardianship of this whelp, and he desires to retrieve that which is rightfully his,” the sickly sweet voice said.
Baladar was offended by the preposterous assertions, but he remained calm expecting no less, and he replied to the leering beast before him.
“First of all, I fail to understand why your esteemed leader believes that he has a claim of any kind to the child. He was sent here for protection and learning. His parents are dead. He is no relation of your master’s.”
“His father, King Garold of Gwendolen, proffered custody upon my Lord on his death bed. I have the contract here. There can be no denying it!” his voice boomed, as he p
ulled a small parchment out from his belt and flicked it open so that Baladar could see the seals and signatures. “Now, please respect the covenant of the father and produce the son for us to take back to our Master,” he said with finality, as he handed the paper to Baladar.
Baladar’s fury rose, knowing that good King Garold would never have given his consent to such a contract of his own free will. He could only imagine the terrible death that the poor man suffered at the hands of Colton and the suffering that he must have endured before he was compelled to place his signature upon that evil piece of parchment. If the inscription was in fact Garold’s, it was coerced out of him and Baladar felt no obligation to honor it.
“I am not sure that I can abide by this document,” he said. “I will need to take it back to my scribes in the city to authenticate the seals and signatures. After all, Garold is no longer here to testify to your claims, and unfortunately he did not die in his sleep, as one as noble as he deserved,” he said, stalling for time in order to absorb the consequences of this unexpected disclosure, while making clear his contempt for the circumstances that surrounded Garold’s demise.
The envoy’s face twisted with impatience, having hoped that no further discussion would have been necessary, and he reacted visibly to Baladar’s subtle allegations.
“You dare to doubt the truth of what my Lord tells you? I demand that you surrender the boy immediately! You have no choice. The signatures are real and the boy belongs to Colton now!”
He spit the words through his rotten teeth and grabbed the parchment from Baladar’s hand.
“He belongs to no one! And, if he was here in Pardatha, I would not surrender him to you or your Master,” Baladar said with a steel hard voice, standing up straight in his stirrups.
The Twins Page 32
