“Bah. I am getting old, my good knight. I’ve accomplished all I can, I feel, in my life …”
Jaegar retorted with marked surprise on his face, “But you are only a young man, My Lord. You—”
“Young? I am nearly thrice the baedellan harvests your subordinate’s elder. I am tired—and worn out. Defeated. I feel I have little more to offer. I can’t go on.”
Jaegar’s countenance was filled with disappointment and disagreement. “You must go on, sire. We’ve only just begun our journey. We are all counting on you; need you. We must find the Kaiper Stone of Ayren.”
“And then? What shall we do to find this mystical stone? Hmm? Shall we travel this whole world to uncover where it is hiding? Will it please these sky lords, the Denaveive that have doomed my kingdom, if we retrieve it?”
“Perhaps, sire.”
King Pallan turned away angrily and stared off at the trees. “I miss gavan … playing with my survey instruments. I miss Jaid and Barrow, the castle and all its comforts. Its lively staff …”
Jaegar came alongside him. Looking in the direction King Pallan was gazing off at, he commented, “We all do, My Lord.”
King Pallan sighed softly.
Jaegar vacantly looked at the trees his king was observing. “Those shall be forever lost, if we—you—My Lord, do not seek to recover them. To fulfil the obligation of the Mysterious Ones, the Denaveive.”
King Pallan snarled faintly and turned his head slightly from Jaegar. “I grow weary of being king …”
Jaegar checked an involuntary simper. “My Lord—sire—a usurper has taken possession of your hereditary throne. The people despise this impostor from the west; they miss their true king. King Pallan … the Third.”
Again, King Pallan sighed faintly.
“We have come a great distance—yet, we have just begun. Simply wishing for change isn’t strong enough; there must be follow-through. Commitment …” Jaegar began to walk away.
“Wait.”
Jaegar stopped. “Yes, My Lord?”
King Pallan said in a tone just above a whisper, “Tell them they’re right …”
Jaegar strained to hear what was said. “Tell whom, My Lord? I did not hear all that you commanded.”
King Pallan gazed into the distance a few moments longer. In a somewhat louder tone of voice, he said, “Tell them they are right; the scribes. That we should head for the grasslands, and not tarry here.”
A smile crept over Jaegar’s face very slowly. “Yes, My Lord; I shall tell them at once.” He left.
King Pallan remained viewing the forest with a seeming air of despair and unbridled anticipation.
By late morning, the Paladians had broken camp and were starting through the forest once more by the direction of Percival. Conrad stressed to King Pallan, Jaegar, and Jardarah that he and his dog had been to the Jynip Grasslands before, and that the hound knew the shortest way there from their present location.
Jaegar pulled out his map. King Pallan took notice.
“The map—have you checked it?”
Jaegar scanned it for a few seconds as they were walking. “I have, My Lord.”
“And?”
“It is quite wrong.” Jaegar turned to King Pallan and noted, “Conrad was right.”
Jardarah wiggled his head to see past Jaegar and catch sight of King Pallan’s reaction.
Their king made a faint smile of apparent satisfaction.
The expeditionaries hiked hill and crossed stream; navigated innumerable natural forest paths; watched the sun trace a burning arc in the sky and set; braved the cover of darkness, with its implicit promise of the renewal of day; hunted and gathered; broke camp once more and in short time began to see a thinning of the trees, a lessening of the eye-popping vividness of the forest’s foliage.
Jardarah remarked, “Look, sire; the trees seem to be spreading out.”
Jaegar added in a moment, “I agree, My Lord. The woodland appears to be growing less dense …”
King Pallan looked quickly around them, up at the sky. “Perhaps we are, indeed, heading to the grasslands.”
Percival scuttled down a large fallen tree, hopped off, and then, without warning, sprinted for a low rise in the forest floor. Conrad, with much exertion, started after the dog, his armour clanging away.
There was some laughter in the camp at the sight of them.
Jardarah said loudly, “Look, sire; the dog is on the move!”
King Pallan, keeping the same steady pace, began to chuckle. “Indeed, it is; we shall see where it is going.”
Jaegar muttered, “Could be some plant, or a mushroom.”
Jardarah agreed, “Aye—there’s no a’tellin’ where that dog is off to.”
King Pallan livened his pace a bit; he appeared anxious to see what had gotten the dog’s attention.
In short time, perhaps no more than a minute, there were several exclamations from the group. “Look! The grasslands!”
King Pallan ran to see it for himself, his two lead soldiers trailing him due to the ungainliness and weight of their suits.
A woman pointed to the end of the forest. “Look, sire. It opens to an immense field of grain.”
The Paladian monarch ran near her and squinted with all his might at where she was pointing. He very shortly cracked a smile and then grinned widely. “Yes, Catryn; I can see. We have made it.”
Moments afterward, Jaegar and Jardarah came clanging up. “Sire! Look!”
King Pallan gazed hard at the end of the woodland with seeming joy. He soon shouted to the rest of the group to head for the field as fast as they could. “We are done and out of these woods! Make for the field; make for the field!”
The group of Paladians, the whole of the expeditionary force, entered the vast field of standing grain within minutes. Behind them, looming like living towers of wood and bark, were trees with creeping undergrowth.
The Resh Woodlands began to shrink in size as the group headed on a southwesterly course through the standing grain, which waved gently in the breezes. When they stopped occasionally to eat some of the wild grain, they placed what could be carried in canisters and pouches for later sustenance. Owing to the direness of King Pallan’s defeat and subsequent flight from the castle, none of the expeditionaries was blessed with a horse. As such, their progress was slow. Moreover, the land, though cresting and falling in gentle arcs, was mostly flat, offering no place to seek cover, to retreat to, in case of attack. If ambushed, the Paladians would have to defend themselves in the open. Consequently, everyone stayed alert.
Kae’lem was many miles away, and although it did not lie on a direct course to Erros, there was the fear that perhaps an advance force was waiting for them in the self-governing (politically neutral) village. Within a day, the group had made it to the Brook of Taron. Crossing this small stream, the assemblage of warriors and officials, their wives and children, headed down the gently sloping Hadeyan pasturelands, a large tract of land and part of the Jynip Grasslands, that was once used by the Hadeyans, a people who had been wiped out by the Xovan Coalition, an alliance of barbarian races, with Hojiri at the lead, who had rampaged many centuries before. Vestiges of their civilization could still be seen in places, from old wells to stone buildings that had been torn down and eroded by the winds and rains, the biting snows.
The Jynip Grasslands continued to stretch on, from horizon to horizon. At the faintest edge, toward the extreme west, was the silhouette of distant mountains. Truly a no-man’s-land, the gigantic menagerie of meadows and empty fields, with green-stemmed targan flowers (with exquisite violet petals), seemed to sprout everywhere. Wild horses flew in trains, transversely to the Paladian group’s path, in wanderlust for greener pastures, crystal pools of life-giving water. The meadow hawks, of large span, with tapering wings and gloomy black and yellow hues, drifted overhead catching thermals and grouped in flocks at sporadic intervals, as they scanned the terrain like sentinels for hapless prey, an unfortunate traveller down
on their luck.
The days wore on. How many in the group wished they had but a ramshackle cart pulled by a sickly mule or a ruddy horse long past its prime to ride on, to ease the arduousness of the journey to the faraway settlement, a village renowned for its craftsmen, one they hoped could bring them closer to the stone and—at this juncture—better and more adequate supplies. The Paladians were eager to reach it and trade with its denizens.
A streak of good fortune came their way in the form of the weather; for most of the journey, the sky was largely cloudless. On a few brief occasions, a downpour soaked the thirsty ground with much-needed rainwater. At these times, the group huddled together under makeshift tents and other barriers to battle the raging elements. After the rains had passed, the sky would open into bright sunshine—at other times, into billowy, ground-hugging clouds of white and grey that floated, majestically, over the hills, intermittently revealing splotches of azure. Only very slowly did Kae’lem manifest itself from this bucolic wonderland, which sat like an ocean between distant cultures.
“I can see it … at the far end of that rise. The settlement, I think.”
King Pallan squinted very hard at the low hill covered in waving grass. A footpath could just be made out. “I see, perhaps”—straining harder—“the top of a roof. But I cannot be certain, Jardarah.”
Conrad took up his dog and turned back. “Just a little over that rise, laddie, is the village of Kae’lem.”
King Pallan nodded to him and, to aid his discernment of the tucked-away settlement, placed his curled left hand to his brow.
Hadara hurried to the front of the column. “Sire, sire, it’s been nearly a week and Kae’lem has not presented itself. Save for the soldiers, most of us are exhausted and need significant rest.”
King Pallan pivoted a degree to greet him; he took his hand, which he had been using to block the sun, from his eye. “A fortune day for you, scribe; the village you seek lies just beyond that hill.”
Hadara made a look of disbelief; he then turned to scan the area indicated. “Here? Kae’lem?”
A person walking with a donkey appeared at the top of the rise, on the footpath.
Hadara mumbled something indecipherable.
Conrad announced very loudly, “The village awaits, laddie. Tell your people to be ready.”
King Pallan turned and gestured hastily for the column to stop. He boomed, “Kae’lem lies just over that rise. What we sought for a week over these endless pastures has manifested itself. Be on your guard. Trade with no one until it is clear; we cannot be sure they will receive us.”
Many replies of acknowledgement came back. The group readied itself.
King Pallan motioned to Conrad. “Lead us to it.”
Conrad snapped, “Aye, laddie!” Putting Percival down, he then started for the hill; the man on the footpath made no sign that he was aware of their presence.
As they passed over the berm, the footpath widened dramatically. Immediately in view was a bustling village, with peasants crossing here and there, smoke issuing from thatched buildings. The group of approximately two hundred Paladians attracted little attention from the villagers, who carried on with their tasks in seeming indifference to their unawaited entrance.
King Pallan remarked softly to Jaegar, “Interesting that they are not startled in the least by our presence …”
Jaegar quietly surveyed the villagers for a few moments more. “Indeed, My Lord—perhaps they are used to having groups visit them.”
King Pallan answered just audibly, “Perhaps …”
Jardarah noted with growing concern, “It could be a trap, sire. To lead us into believing that it is customary for them to encounter travellers, to barter with strangers—while a regiment of hostile soldiers lies in wait for us.”
Jaegar turned to King Pallan. “He could be right, sire. I don’t like it … it’s as if they don’t even realize we’re here.”
King Pallan replied, “Would you prefer that the village be empty? But you’re both right … it could be a trap. Have the men quietly draw their swords. Jardarah, bring my quiver.”
“Yes, My Lord; at once.” Jardarah shot for the middle of the column to a soldier bearing many arms, one named Gedarek.
King Pallan glanced quickly back at his troops; they had drawn their swords very cautiously. The rest in the column made anxious surveys of the townspeople, who yet paid little to no attention to them. “Be ready …”
Jaegar replied from the corner of his mouth, “Yes, My Lord. Let them come at us …”
After a short while, as the Paladians approached a market in the street, a group of five men and women came around a building and headed toward them.
An older man dressed in furs announced loudly, “King Pallan, welcome.”
King Pallan made brief pivots to Jardarah and Jaegar; Hadara was at his side, cowering.
“King Pallan, of Paladia, welcome. Welcome to Kae’lem …”
King Pallan raised his clenched hand slowly. The column came to a halt. Tilting his head to the side a degree, with mixed confusion and alarm, he said, “And who have I the privilege of speaking with? How do you know my name?”
The man who had addressed him came before them and said, “I am Delaron.” Gesturing at his various companions, he continued, “These are Hadeth, Jasland, Territh, and Killund.” Each of the men and women made a slight bow as their name was called out.
Jaegar took a step forward. “I am the chief of my king and lord’s army. How is it that you know of My Lord?”
The wind rustled Hadeth’s stringy, red hair; she scrutinized King Pallan with a cautious eye.
Delaron, with large, rounded belly, revealed, “The news has spread of the fall of your king’s kingdom; it is in other hands now.”
Jaegar made a motion to approach Delaron, but King Pallan checked his hastiness with a blocking arm to the chest. “And what do you know of my kingdom?”
Delaron grinned ever so slightly. “Much, my king; have no trepidation, my vassal lord of the north. We are a peaceful people and have no qualms about your being here.”
Jardarah came up to King Pallan impatiently. Glancing at the Kae’lem villager, he said in an undertone, “Sire, can we trust him?”
King Pallan shifted his black eyes back at Delaron, away from Jardarah. “My men express doubts about your sincerity. What proof can you give us of the genuineness of your hospitality? We are a people on the move and seek only to trade with the villagers here at Kae’lem. We shall be off shortly and shall give you no trouble. Unless you give us trouble …”
Hadeth, Jasland, a young woman with short, dark hair, seemingly in her early twenties, Territh, a late-middle-aged man who gave the impression of working with his hands, and Killund, a handsome, lean, and tall man, perhaps not more than thirty, each turned slightly toward Delaron, who raised his arms and pivoted around slowly, saying, “Why, look around; they are no more frightened of you than a jenup (a type of mule) is of straw. Or the kalland (a form of sheep), the cud …”
King Pallan viewed the Kae’lem delegate with masked suspicion—subtle irritation. “Let us keep the peace between our two peoples; I promise, my people and I will cause you no problem and will be on our way on the morrow.”
Jasland whispered something to Delaron, who grinned just perceptibly. “An acceptable offer—but as I indicated before, you offer us no burden. Kae’lem is a neutral village—we align with no kingdom. And we intend to keep it that way … Now, let us discuss where your people might stay the night.” He gestured for King Pallan and his lead soldiers, Jardarah and Jaegar, as well as the scribes Hadara, Yarek, and Olish, to enter a low building. “Our meeting hall; it also serves as a fine pub!”
King Pallan motioned with his head for his men to follow them into the thatched structure. The remaining soldiers stood guard outside.
The meeting hall had several wooden tables lined with wooden stools. At the far left of the establishment was a bar of sorts with a few stooped-over me
n, sitting on stools, nursing ale. Several men and women were playing flutes, violins, and timbrels in the corner. King Pallan scanned the scene with an air of stoicism.
“Come, my good king—sit.” Delaron gestured for King Pallan to take the head seat at a long wooden table.
The displaced Paladian king responded to Delaron with a slow dip of his head and sat down, somewhat cautiously. He nodded to Jaegar to follow suit, who in turn softly ordered Jardarah to take his seat.
The scribes Olish, Yarek, and Hadara eagerly took their places by their king.
A fireplace at the back and centre of the room cracked and popped amid the music, its large log glowing a dull orange-red, with a white ash crusting.
Hadeth said, “We are aware of your kingdom—and its fall. King Ibren has taken possession of your throne.”
King Pallan responded in a low tone, “I see that news spreads …”
Hadeth narrowed her eyes. “There are rumours that your kingdom is cursed; the Denaveive, as your people call them, have doomed the land. Delaron is more generous than I—some of us don’t want your people here. We do not want Kae’lem cursed.”
Delaron attempted to gently rebuke Hadeth but was cut off by Jasland. “It is true, Delaron; many of us are afraid to have them here.”
Killund, who had been stroking his goatee, remarked, “What can you offer us? We are not exactly in great supply of food and clothing. We are renowned for our metalworking, fashioning of arms.”
King Pallan answered, “That is precisely why we have come here—to better provision ourselves with weapons.”
Killund, with his penetrating pearl-grey eyes, added with remarkable composure, “Neither do we have any qualms with Erros …”
Delaron began to laugh, smiling widely. “Now, now, gentlemen—let us forget any differences in political alignment, and seek what is best, profitable, for our peoples.”
King Pallan smiled shrewdly back at Delaron.
Hadara interceded. “Representatives—I presume that is who you really are—might I suggest that we offer you a trinket or two to show our goodwill. Paladia is rich with minerals and jewels of sundry kinds …”
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