Rowan jumped down from her horse with an exclamation, and ran through the mist. Hathunor became clear as she approached him, his fangs exposed in a wide grin. Rowan laughed in delight as as he scooped her up into his huge arms. She wrapped her own arms around his thick neck, careful to avoid his spikes. By the time Hathunor set her on the ground, the rest of the companions were patting him on the back and shoulders as they exchanged greetings. The big Saa Raken grinned happily down at them all, his spiked crest heavy with moisture.
Rowan closed her eyes in relief as the tight band of worry that had been around her chest faded.
“What happened?” asked Nathel in excitement.
Hathunor cast an arm back the way he had come, encompassing the mist behind, and rumbled, “Hathunor lead little brothers very far. They not see Hathunor. They followed for long time.”
Torrin nodded from horseback, a rare smile on his face. “Thank you, Hathunor. I’m glad you are back with us.”
Hathunor clapped a large clawed fist to his chest and nodded his head.
“You must have led them away for a long time, Hathunor. It has been almost three days since we entered the marshes,” said Rowan.
Hathunor nodded, pleased. “Little brothers followed Hathunor two days. Then Hathunor make little brothers lost.”
Nathel snickered. “Well done. Let’s hope they spend a while bumbling around in this Erys-forsaken mist.”
“Little brothers find way soon but not too soon,” rumbled Hathunor.
“Won’t they be able to follow your trail to us?” asked Dalemar.
Hathunor shook his head, water droplets flying from his crest. “Hathunor travel here in wet.”
“You waded through the ponds?” Torrin looked surprised as Hathunor nodded, fangs flashing.
Rowan looked closely at the Saa Raken and shook her head in wonder; he looked as fresh as always.
“Do you think we can make it to the edge of the marshes before the Raken pick up our original trail?” Rowan asked.
Torrin nodded. “We have to be getting close to the edge.” He turned to look a question at Arynilas.
The Tynithian pointed at the ground. “The way underfoot has been gradually getting harder. It will not be long before we see the end of the bog lands.”
As the companions neared the edge of the bog lands, Rowan felt as though they were stepping from an enchanted realm of stillness into a perilous world of turmoil. Like Arynilas said, time had seemed to move differently in the bog lands, as if the world beyond had simply ceased to exist.
Hathunor and the Tynithian ranged ahead, scouting. The giant Saa Raken took particular delight in resuming his scouting duties. His long-limbed body was loose and relaxed as he moved, disappearing into the vegetation. Rowan steered her horse around a clump of bushes and looked back at the expanse of twisting trees. She thought about the giant Aroran they had seen and almost wondered if it had been a dream, a hallucination brought on by the monotony of the bogs.
The soggy, hummocky ground was finally hardening and the sucking mud gave way to long stretches of grass-covered earth. They encountered water less frequently; the trees grew much taller and straighter, and as clumps of dense vegetation thinned they could see further into the distance.
Now that they no longer had to move in single file, Rowan found herself riding beside Torrin. “How far is it to Pellaris?” she asked.
“About seven days, six if we hurry.”
“What will you and the others do once we have reached King Cerebus?”
Torrin glanced over at her and a frown creased his brow. It was a while before he answered. “We will do whatever Cerebus requires of us. Though I don’t know what use five extra swords will be against a Raken horde.”
“You do not give yourselves enough credit,” Rowan said quietly.
“What of you? What will your course be after you deliver your message to the king? Will you return to Myris Dar?”
Now it was Rowan’s turn to frown. She had not thought beyond her goal of getting to Pellaris.
Before she could answer, Torrin spoke again, his tone regretful. “There is no need for you to go to Pellaris itself. Dalemar and the rest of us know the message. We can deliver it to the King.”
Rowan shook her head. “No. I am honour bound. Truthfully, the message is only half of my mission. Dell’s role of emissary and ambassador for my people fell to me when he died. Reaching King Cerebus and delivering the message is the priority, but once that is accomplished, the responsibility of representing my people will begin. Though to be honest, I’m not certain I know how to fulfill that role.”
“You will do fine.” There was amusement in Torrin’s voice and Rowan glanced over at him curiously.
Torrin returned her gaze and one of his eyebrows rose. “You truly do not know?”
“Know what?”
“There is no role of emissary for you to fulfill. You simply are the emissary of Myris Dar. It is in everything you do and say, how you speak to people and the bearing with which you conduct yourself. We have been traveling with you for a long time, Rowan, and I have seen the emissary many times.”
Rowan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well I suppose my people are known for their martial skills. Perhaps I can represent Myrians through my sword. I could help defend the city.”
Torrin’s expression darkened and he turned to look ahead. His posture remained relaxed but his jaw tensed.
The silence stretched. Rowan reined her horse to the right to avoid a broken stump and she switched the rein to her other hand. “There is of course still the Slayer to be found. Who knows, maybe I can help find him.”
Torrin nodded. “Dalemar hopes to find information pertaining to the Slayer in the Library of Pellaris. It seems like a small chance.”
Rowan had often thought of the man that they must find. It was unlikely that King Cerebus would know who the Slayer was. With nothing to go on, they have to search through dusty old books, not likely to be a promising venture.
“We will miss you when you decide to go home,” Torrin said quietly. “I will miss you. It has been an honour to travel with you and fight by your side.” His voice was gruff.
Rowan caught her breath as a pang of sorrow rose in her chest at the thought of being apart from this stern warrior whose quiet strength had slowly and gently surrounded her – a shield between her and the world.
Rowan frowned, shaken. “I shall miss you all as well.”
Part II
Pellar
Torrin kicked Black into a lope across an open expanse of rolling parkland, toward a large stand of trees. Although Arynilas had scanned the surrounding woodland before they headed out into the open, Torrin checked again to the sides of the wide opening. The transition here was gradual, unlike the border along the Klyssen Plains, where the bog lands sat like a fence along the horizon.
He slowed Black as they reached the trees, turning to scan behind as the rest of the company made it into the forest. All was quiet. The calm of the bog lands, it seemed, extended into Pellar’s parklands as well. They had not run into Raken and Torrin dared to hope they wouldn’t catch them before they reached King Cerebus.
He urged his horse further into the trees, wending around the large trunks. Pellaris was only a few days away. The fortress city and capital of Pellar was the center of civilized Eryos and it glowed like a beacon in his mind’s eye.
He could see the city perched high on its promontory. It commanded unobstructed views of everything around it. To the west, the parkland continued until it reached the cold moors of Tabor. To the east, Krang in its mountain vastness sat huddled like a gray wall upon the horizon. And to the north, the Eryos Ocean surged against the foot of a sheer cliff upon which the citadel was built.
Torrin sighed. Despite himself, he longed to see the city again; though it would bring back more than he wanted to remember. Years had past since he had last walked its narrow, teeming streets. Emma had walked beside him, her hand in his as they searched
for a birthday present for their older daughter, Arial. They had left soon after on their fated trip to Klyssen. Torrin pushed the memory aside.
Rowan moved abreast of him, her big grey stallion walking easily on a loose rein through the red and gold leaves covering the ground. Torrin frowned. Rowan had withdrawn from them a little as the goal of her mission drew nearer. He would gladly shoulder the weight she carried, but she would never let others bear the responsibility for the Message. Erys willing, they would not be too late.
They came to another clearing. The temperature was dropping and the last of the evening sun just touched the uppermost branches of the surrounding trees; dead leaves drifted softly down, carried on a light breeze. Torrin reined in his horse. “This looks like a good place to camp for the night.” He stepped down from Black.
Torrin stopped Borlin as he was reaching down to pick up a branch for firewood. “No more fires now, Borlin. We are getting too close.”
“Aye, tis true.” Looking crestfallen, Borlin opened his saddlebags for some trail rations.
With the horses seen to, the companions gathered together while they ate. The trees had already become ghostly poles against the surrounding darkness.
Torrin leaned back against his saddle and brought his knees up. Rowan passed along a cloth bag of nuts, and he murmured his thanks.
She turned to the Rith. “Have you been to the great library?”
Dalemar shook his head. “No, I have never been to Pellaris, but I’ve heard the city’s library has the largest and most extensive collection in all of Eryos, with the exception perhaps of the Rith city of Tirynus.”
Rowan turned back to Torrin. “Are you and Nathel are the only ones who have been to Pellaris?”
“Yes, though we have not been back for over seven years.”
Rowan’s green eyes clouded in sympathy, then steadied. “Tell me about Pellaris. What is the city like?”
How to describe the most magnificent, most terrible place in all of Eryos? Nathel saved him the trouble. There was pride in his brother’s voice as he spoke. “It is the largest city in the north. Dendor in the south matches it in size but I do not believe Pellaris is matched in splendour by any other city in Eryos. The city is built on a large promontory that juts out. Cliffs – three hundred paces high protect it from invasion from the sea to the north, and a great wall, seven men high and twelve paces deep, protects the city’s southern flanks. Pellaris’s keep is perched on the very edge of the cliff. Part of it was carved from the stone itself centuries ago and the view of the water and the great harbour below is spectacular from its upper levels.”
“If there are such high cliffs, how do you reach the harbour?” asked Rowan.
“A great stair carved through the stone allows access. Most of Tabor’s trade comes through Pellaris harbour and it can be a busy place through the shipping season. The tides on the north coast are exceedingly high, especially when the moons are full. A unique floating wharf system, devised during the reign of Cerebus’s grandfather, allows the ships moored there to rise and fall with the water level. A pair of gigantic bronze rings slide up and down poles set into the stone of the cliff.”
Rowan nodded. “And the library?”
Nathel shrugged. He was never much for books.
Torrin tossed the bag of nuts to Borlin. “The library is located across from the great Temple. It is the third largest building in Pellaris after Temple of Erys and it houses an enormous collection of books and scrolls.”
“If the Priesthood had had their way, they would have made their temple larger than the keep itself,” said Nathel sarcastically.
“The Priesthood?” echoed Rowan.
“The Priesthood of Erys.” Torrin shook his head in disgust. “They have become very powerful in Pellar and Tabor over the last hundred years. Their wealth comes from taking food and money from the poor in the guise of spiritual redemption and guidance. Their power comes from political maneuvering and manipulation of the king’s generosity.”
“This priesthood – they are like monks, but you don’t approve of them?” Rowan asked.
“No,” said Torrin flatly, “I do not. King Cerebus, unlike his father before him, is a generous man. He believes a king’s responsibility, aside from protecting the kingdom, should be to guide his people with tolerance for individual rights. Cerebus, though he is a decorated warrior, will try peaceful means to end conflicts before reaching for the sword. The priesthood uses every chance it gets to take advantage of that generosity and plot against him. They know just how hard to push before backing down to avoid pitting themselves directly against the king. Power is what motivates the Priesthood and little else. Their spiritual goals are a crutch and a pretext to keep them above reproof.”
Torrin felt Rowan studying him and he turned to meet her gaze.
“They can’t all be corrupt,” she said. “Surely a little of what likely began as a noble faith yet remains?”
Torrin shook his head.
Rowan broke eye contact and was turning away when Torrin reached out and stopped her with a hand on her arm. He held her gaze for a moment. “You will need to be very careful around them.”
“That’s putting it lightly!” said Nathel.
Rowan looked from one brother to the other. “Why?”
“The Priesthood would like women to do little more than bear children,” said Nathel. “It has made the repression of women its philosophy in the name of Erys. Even thoughtless men such as us can see it.”
Rowan frowned. “I don’t understand. Erys is the Goddess. How could a group proclaiming to worship her get away with repressing women?”
“It is all about power,” explained Torrin. “Originally the Priesthood’s views on women were moderate, but when Cerebus was newly crowned he wanted women to have the same rights as men. And they do now in the eyes of the law, thanks to the king, but the Priesthood was sorely threatened. After all, Erys is female; who better to represent her than women? But there have not been priestesses in many generations and the priests, do no want to see women rise again in their ranks. They proclaimed that to truly honour the goddess, women should follow the ways of Erys and be the creators of man. To do this, the Priesthood decided that activities other than child bearing and rearing would distract women from the holiness of Erys’ calling. Women who defied the teaching began to disappear or were excommunicated along with their families.”
“And women stand for this?” Rowan hissed with disgust. “What hope is there for young women, if their prospects for life are already chosen for them? It is unjust. Some of the finest architects, physicians, metal-smiths and soldiers in Myris Dar are women. Women hold many of the highest seats in the great council. Women and men are not the same; it is true. We have different solutions and approaches to all that life offers. A man’s way is not any better than a woman’s way. Our strengths are different but we are each just as capable. People should choose to make of their lives what they will regardless of what is between their legs.”
Torrin raised his eyebrows and studied her.
“It is true, much in Eryos is unjust but it has been that way for hundreds of years,” shrugged Nathel. “Within Pellar, Tabor and Klyssen at least there are laws to protect women from abuse and mistreatment.”
“What good does it do to protect the body when the mind is not free?” Rowan’s voice was quieter, but no less vehement.
Torrin frowned. With a degree of shame, he had to admit that until he had met Rowan, he had never truly seen women as equals in many respects. He suspected most women themselves would be scandalized at the thought of joining the army or knocking on the door of Pellaris’s esteemed physician’s guild and asking to be admitted to study.
Torrin expelled a breath and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Rowan’s role as emissary of Myris Dar was far more complicated and dangerous than he had thought.
The Besieged City
Torrin shifted his position, careful to avoid lifting his head above the crest
of the hill. His view from this high vantage extended over the large plain that spread between the ridge top where they hid and the city of Pellaris.
The late afternoon sun gleamed upon the copper roofs and spires of the city. It looked as large as Torrin remembered, streets crowded with houses and shops marching up the hill towards the citadel – the crown of the city. Flags and pennants snapped atop the towers and battlements in the cold breeze. His gaze slid to the right of the citadel to the pale stone buildings of the great temple square. The grand complex rose above the rest of the city, on the same level with Pellaris keep.
Pellaris looked deceptively peaceful but it was what covered the plain before the city’s gates that held his attention. An enormous army spread across the fields between the city and their hiding spot. Torrin exhaled, his hackles rising as his gaze wandered over the hoard. A vast, black sea of towering bodies stood shoulder to shoulder facing the city. The innumerable host of Raken stood ominously in eerie stillness, as though frozen in time.
Nathel, who lay on his stomach next to Torrin, emitted a long, low whistle and swore softly. The brothers and Arynilas had crawled to the top of the rise to get their first look at the Raken army besieging the city.
Torrin rubbed his gritty eyes with his fingertips. Constant vigilance had been required over the last day and a half to avoid the small groups of the Raken that came and went from this huge army.
Yesterday afternoon their course had merged with the wake of the invasion and the grizzly aftermath of the running battle. Abandoned farms and villages, with household goods strewn about in haste as people fled to the safety of the city, dotted the landscape. They had kept a parallel line, moving from cover to cover.
Looking down at the army before them, Torrin’s heart sank – any reinforcements Cerebus had received would not be enough. No army held within the city could hope to match the sea of black creatures standing before its gates.
Torrin inspected the walls. As far as could tell, the Raken had not succeeded in breaching them. There was evidence of failed attacks – rubble and bodies littered the ground before the city gates. From this distance it was impossible to tell how many of Pellaris’s dead lay among the grim harvest.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 26
