The Twins

by Gary Alan Wassner

  “I must gather my men and move them into the city, my Lady,” Parsifal said, his eyes still on the ground before Filaree. “The danger is far from past,” he commented, his eyes dark with concern.

  “Rise, dear Parsifal, your timing could not have been better. We owe you our lives,” Filaree said, extending her hand to him.

  As he rose, he looked upon the fair maiden, and then said with heartfelt honesty, “My life will forever be fuller knowing that I helped you in your time of need, my Princess.” His brilliant, blue eyes glowed with admiration. “The knights of Avalain live for such service, Lady Filaree,” Parsifal said humbly. “But, please, we must seek the protection of Pardatha. The mountain Trolls will be upon us shortly. They cannot be more than a half a day behind us now,” he commented. “We rode before them the entire way to Pardatha,” he explained, and Filaree and Elion looked upon one another with renewed consternation.

  “Gather the troops, Sir Parsifal. I will signal the Master at Arms to allow us to enter. Quickly now, if the gates are to open for us, we cannot endanger the city,” she said, rushed, and then she turned with Elion at her side to see to the opening of the Noban gate.

  Baladar and Grogan had already prepared the way for the releasing of the seals, and as Filaree and Elion approached the heavy wooden doors, the apparently seamless center gained new definition as it loosened, a long, thin line appearing down the middle, and the heavy doors slowly gave way, revealing a scorched and dirtied courtyard beyond. The Valkor had wreaked their damage upon the noble entryway, scarring it deeply, and the bottom of one gate dug far into the paved court beyond as it sluggishly moved, slightly askew. There would be time to repair, it, Grogan thought as the triumphant Elfin Prince and the beautiful Lady from Avalain approached.

  The two warriors entered to the deafening cheers of the soldiers and city dwellers surrounding them. But, it was a bittersweet victory, short lived at best and overshadowed by the death of Cameron. As they walked down the broad avenue, past the rows of applauding people, they both maintained the confident smiles and walked the walk of victory, befitting their rank, but their hearts were sick with grief for their fallen comrade, and the cautious words of Parsifal resounded in their ears. Another battle was soon to begin, even before the anguish and sorrow of this one had even had a chance to dissipate.

  With heads held high, Filaree and Elion made their way to the end of the avenue where Baladar, Grogan and the others waited, unaware still of the newest threat and yet jubilant therefore over the recent victory. Robyn was conspicuously absent from the group of councilors, causing their hearts to skip a beat. They were both unwilling to accept another grievous loss at this time.

  Elion wasted no words, making his inquiries as soon as he reached Baladar’s side.

  “What news of Robyn dar Tamarand? Is he well?” he asked, as the two exhausted fighters stared intensely at the Lord of the city, waiting on edge for his answer.

  “Fear not, he is well. He is merely fatigued after his efforts. He sleeps soundly in his chambers in the castle,” Baladar answered.

  “And the ring?” Elion whispered.

  “I wear it still around my neck.”

  Behind them, to the overwhelming delight of the crowd, Parsifal, the noble knight of Avalain, led his heroic men through the gates and into the shelter of the city. When the last man was safely inside, Grogan attempted to close the gates to the city of Pardatha once more, but he was not surprised to discover that although one slowly swung shut, the other was mired in the earth, far too heavy to lift and force any further. The perfect symmetry the Elfin craftsmanship had created that made them swing freely upon their invisible hinges, had been disturbed slightly by the previous barrage. As the mechanism ground to a halt, the great gate remained open on one side, the angle of the planes clearly aslant. The people were so overjoyed at the unexpectedly splendid outcome of the day, that they barely noticed the problem.

  Grogan immediately began to organize a crew of craftsmen to repair the damage, but the urgency was not upon him as it had been of late. Jubilant over the recent victory, he allowed himself to relax, not yet feeling threatened by the impending prospect of an imminent onslaught. After all, the damage was not serious and it would not take long to right the problem. Besides, the craftsmen would now have time to clean and polish the outside as well, eliminating the despicable signs of the Dark Lord’s aborted effort to destroy his beloved city.

  At the end of the wide avenue, the councilors could hear the echoes of laughter and joy as they resounded off of the Noban wood of the one closed portal into the depths of the city.

  “We must talk, Baladar,” Filaree said gravely. She took his arm, noticing with deep concern the exposed entrance to Pardatha.

  “The day’s travails are not over!” she continued, and Baladar looked upon her saddened face with a renewed uneasiness as they walked through the scorched and debris strewn streets of the mighty city.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Colton witnessed the energy taking shape before him. He could feel its approach, and although he endeavored to neutralize it, the intensity with which it moved caused him great concern. He sought to shield himself from the might of the incursion, encircling himself in a field of force, but the wave of power struck with such suddenness and potency that his efforts were unsuccessful.

  The Chosen! he thought to himself, as he felt the swell engulfing him, making him sway in his saddle and burning his skin.

  He fought to keep his seat, to not fall to the ground before his armies. From deep within himself he generated a dark power, forcing the flood of energy out of his body and soul. The onslaught of white light encased him in a liquid-like cocoon, covering him from head to toe. He knew that his power was greater than its, but he was nevertheless temporarily immobilized. He was frozen in place, as wave upon wave of emotions flooded over him and through him, bleaching the blackness of his soul, challenging his essence with the mesmerizing spell of blissful eternity.

  He staggered dangerously under the weight of the barrage, violated by what would have generated blessed ecstasy in one whose heart was pure. The light surrounding him was so bright that those encircling him cowered before it and thought that their master had surely been annihilated, concealed as he was within its boundaries. During that one split second in time, the void collided with the very spark of life itself, and Colton was brought to his knees for the first time, if only for an instant. He withdrew into the emptiness of the nothingness defensively, seeking the strength and refuge that he understood, and he focused all his power upon the intrusive flow of energy.

  The explosion was so massive that the very ground shook, scattering everything around him and creating a deep crater into which he and his horse tumbled. Streaks of horrifying, yellow light shot out in all directions, sending ripples of raw force through the air and out across his troops, strewing dirt and debris everywhere. From the smoking depths, Colton the death bringer, the omnipotent leader, emerged, shaken but free of the excruciatingly painful light once more. He had been taken so completely off guard by the assault, not having had enough time to prepare a suitable defense, not having expected an onslaught of this type and strength, that all he could do was benignly watch what presently occurred, impotent as the living barrier of trees sprang up before him, severing him from his front lines almost before he could fully comprehend what was happening.

  The pain he felt now was a mere annoyance compared to how furious he was with himself for being such a fool. He should have known that the despicable servant of the trees would attempt to thwart him in such a manner. Weakness was not a state he was accustomed to, and he raged with a frustration he had yet to experience in all his countless tiels.

  Colton never conversed meaningfully with anyone. He had no friends and no lovers. His was a solitary life befitting the Lord of Darkness, the prophet of dissolution. When he raved, he raved alone, and when he rejoiced, then too he did it in solitude. He craved darkness and silence and death, and anyone
or anything that disrupted his ability to advance toward his desired end unhindered, he despised. Those who assisted him, he saw as merely a means to his coveted end. Thus, his satisfactions were few, and his endless life was a constant struggle against the very forces that kept the planet alive.

  Colton dar Agonthea really sought dissolution as an alternative to this eternal journey that others called life. He wanted it all to end, and he wanted to finally free his tortured soul. He barely remembered his early days, his thoughts were so consumed with what he perceived to be the approaching end, the demise of the One Tree, the First. Whenever the power that the Lalas represented, that they manifested and transmitted, that they shared with the living of the earth, whenever that power touched his heart, he felt the searing pain all over again, and he hated them even more. He was so far removed from the clean and pure, from the healthy, that he literally writhed in agony when he encountered anything as natural and vital as what he just felt spreading across the gorge.

  Colton watched the trees spring up before him. He witnessed the effects of the Lalas’ power, the power of life itself, as it bloomed and grew, feeding upon all of the forces of creation that lay dormant and heretofore inert in the depths of the earth. The writhing mass of new life spread out in both directions, obscuring the city from his view and keeping him from the bulk of his horde, draining him, weakening him. The vast army he lost on the other side was insignificant. He gave it no thought. More would follow him. The world was full of those who could be tempted by his promises or intimidated by his threats. There were countless others that found it easier to give in than to fight for concepts such as honor and integrity. He saw no virtue in such ideas, and his only regrets were that his power was being challenged and that the heir was still free.

  He was momentarily stunned by the strength of the light and the vitality of the power, and he suffered like a child whose breath has been taken from it by a sharp blow to the stomach. Weakened, he turned his back upon the battlefield, unwilling to let those subordinates who still remained within view witness him in this state. He rode his horse in silence, toward the distant mountains and the solitude they could provide him, knowing that he could always reassemble the army he now no longer had the desire to lead.

  Colton dar Agonthea was too proud to continue fighting when he had been opposed so effectively. He had lost face and he could not tolerate that. The trees’ reach was still long, and he had not originally anticipated a Chosen to be among the defenders of Pardatha. His body was fatigued and he wished only to be gone from this cursed city for a while, to rest and to regain his strength. The mountain Trolls would be arriving soon, bringing with them another wave of death and destruction. When he originally summoned them, he had hoped they would arrive during the heat of battle, adding their strength to his own assault. Colton was pleased that they did not, as they too would have been caught on the field when the power struck.

  Let them do what they can for me in my absence now, he thought coldly. Pardatha’s victory will be short lived.

  The Dark Lord would remember this day until the sands in the hourglass of time themselves ceased to fall. For him, the true battle had only just begun, but now he was tired and his energy was spent. He would find another way of stopping the boy, in another place and at another moment, he thought as he rode toward the Thorndars looming before him. This was but a minor victory for the enemy, no matter how deeply it disturbed him now. The trees were dying nevertheless, and his season was coming. Nothing that occurred here would change that. As he inconspicuously slipped away, he transformed himself once more.

  The dust from the battlefield had settled, leaving what would appear to anyone watching as a thoroughly harmless, solitary old man in worn clothing, sitting hunched over upon a listless, grey pack horse, walking aimlessly up the beaten path into the hills in search of nothing more than a safe haven in the mountains.

  Leaderless, his vast army was in total disarray. Stricken by panic and self-interest, the various elements sought what protection they could find, either by grouping together in their haste to run away, or by leaving alone and surreptitiously. They were all suddenly bereft of a reason for being there, and the confusion and fear that such serious doubt instilled within them caused all of them, even those whose mental abilities were only slightly higher than the four legged beasts that accompanied them to battle, to seek refuge elsewhere, to hide their heads in fear and shame.

  They ran, disorganized and self-absorbed, in all directions, escaping from their master’s disgrace, a disheveled mob of anguished failures, no longer bound together by their common terror. And the trees sprouted and bloomed behind them, the mix of sublime fragrances filling the air and overpowering the stench of battle, while their succulent foliage blanketed over the carnage of war.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  The ground trembled under Cairn’s feet. He stopped mid-stride and tried to determine from whence the quake originated. Calyx stood on his hind legs, extending his body its full ten feet in height, and sniffed the air. His red eyes shimmered and his coat changed color in the wind, from silver to copper, to blue. Tomas paid the disturbance no mind, as if he did not notice the ground shaking at all, and Preston followed his lead.

  The quaking stopped as quickly as it began, and the group continued on its journey to Pardatha. The pass through the mountains was narrow and winding, the walls on either side rising steeply into the air, exposing merely a crack of sky far above. They had been traveling for quite some time now, and Cairn assured the boys that they were close to the end of their travels.

  Preston and Tomas had become fast friends, cavorting as teenagers do, playing hide and seek in and out of the boulders and trees that dotted their pathway. Although it was joyous to watch, Cairn urged them forward nevertheless, impatient to get to the city, fearing that what Tomas had previously foreseen had by now come true and that they would arrive at Pardatha in the midst of a battle. He wanted to reach the gates before they were closed and thus locking them out of the one place they so needed to enter. Cairn was also very eager to introduce Tomas, the brother of the heir, to Baladar. These were portentous moments, and it was obvious to Cairn that Tomas had a decisive part to play in the events to come. Even if Tomas was correct and his brother was no longer in the city, he knew that Baladar must meet this young man.

  As the group progressed, the path widened and they could see more and more of the sky. The breeze picked up a bit, bringing with it a wonderful odor that flooded their nostrils, refreshing them and causing them to stop and take notice. Cairn thought it strange at this time of year, as the aroma was clearly originating from flowers and blossoms, and very little bloomed so fragrantly during this season. It was hard to be suspicious of something as splendid as this, so the group just enjoyed their good fortune and continued on their way.

  “The Pardathans were always excellent gardeners and farmers. It seems that they have discovered how to cause things to grow even after their season,” Cairn remarked, though he remained pleasantly mistrustful all the while.

  Tomas glanced at him with that look he had grown accustomed to, the totally innocent and nonchalant child’s stare, and he said the matter-of-fact words that he spoke so naturally, as if everyone should know what he knew.

  “The power is at work here,” he said, and turned to chase Preston down the path.

  Cairn was used to such statements coming from the boy by now, even though it surprised him every time. He simply clarified the obvious. Almost as soon as he verbalized these facts, Cairn knew them to be true. The boy had a remarkable second sight, so astute and yet so guileless. Cairn smiled to himself, aware of how fond he had grown of Tomas in so short a time. Baladar would certainly appreciate the young man’s perspective, and his intuition as well.

  He looked ahead and he saw that the path curved sharply to the right. There was a large patch of sky over the hill, indicating a clearing in the distance. The mountains were thinning and they would soon be out in the open. It wou
ld then be only a short descent to the plains that lay between the Thorndars and the walls of Pardatha, and after they crossed them they would be at their destination.

  Preston ran ahead and Cairn watched as he disappeared around the small bend. Tomas walked beside him and Calyx brought up the rear. As they came to the turn in the trail, Tomas hesitated and looked at Cairn with a questioning eye, as if something was amiss. Calyx bounded in front of them and they could both hear a deep, heavy growl coming from his throat. Cairn inched his way along, carefully keeping Tomas behind him with an outstretched arm. They could hear Preston talking in the near distance and Cairn thought that perhaps he was playing another one of his games. Calyx continued to growl and Tomas became very still and suddenly withdrawn. Cairn looked upon him with alarm. His eyes had a glassy look to them and he seemed unaware, as if he had closed in upon himself and his body had just shut down.

  “Tomas?” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  The boy did not answer and Cairn grew more troubled. Tomas sat down upon the ground as if possessed, appearing to neither see Cairn nor to hear his words. His body seemed to shimmer with a glow like a halo surrounding it, and he looked to be in a trance within the brilliance that encased him.

  Cairn stepped slowly around the corner and he saw Preston conversing with a tired looking, old man who sat around a small fire. He could see his weary horse struggling to keep its head up in the near distance. Calyx was close by, his tail switching back and forth repeatedly, and he was growling from deep within his throat.

  The old man looked at Preston with drained and worn eyes, and he beckoned to him to join him at his side. As Preston moved closer, Calyx sprang between them, prohibiting him from proceeding. Cairn revealed himself at that point and walked cautiously over toward the group.

  “Greetings, old man. What brings you to these parts unaccompanied?” Cairn asked. “These hills are not always so safe when one travels alone.”