Landmoor

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Quickly!” Tiryn said.

  Allavin nearly stumbled through a juniper shrub and managed to keep his footing in the slick mud on the other side. With Tiryn next to him, he plunged into a narrow gully and started up the opposite slope, clutching the cedar roots as handholds and tearing his fingertips on witch-thorn. His hands stung and burned. Allavin hoisted himself and risked another look backwards. One of the Shae scouts was twenty paces back, bounding over rocks and shrubs. Then blue light exploded, blinding Allavin with its startling heat and fire. When the spots cleared from his eyes, the Shae was dead, smoldering with a charred scorchburn through him.

  “Shenalle protect us from the Firekin,” Tiryn prayed in a frantic voice, scrambling up the slopes with naked fear blazing in his eyes. “Shenalle protect us and keep us. Shenalle bring peace to the troubled…”

  Allavin Devers grabbed Tiryn’s arm and pulled him up the slope. He started for the ring of trees, but he was alone. Tiryn had spun around and raised the trembling bow. “Keasorn guide my arrow. Keasorn give me courage to strike my enemy.”

  “Tiryn, run!”

  “Vannier grant me luck. Vannier give me cunning.”

  “Run!”

  Allavin saw the black shadow across the gully. With a look of determination on his face, Tiryn let the steel-tipped shafts loose, one after the other, a trained and deliberate motion from quiver to string. Allavin watched the arrows warp left and right of the shadow and clatter against the wet bark of the twisting vine maple. The shadow raised its arms. Allavin dove clear as the blue light lit the sky like a thousand searing candles. Before he could loose another arrow, Tiryn screamed as the bolt of blue light struck his chest, lifting him with its blazing fury and tossed him against a stand of prickle-vine. The magic seared through his chest, leaving a smoking gap and his face transfixed with terror.

  Allavin Devers scrambled through the brush, keeping low to the ground. He dodged around trees and stands of juniper, trying to get clear of the forest. He heard nothing, but he knew he was being followed. The black shadow was hunting him. Wrenching his sword from its sheath, he thrashed at the low-hanging boughs and cut away the vines that tried to snare him. The entire scouting party was dead. A Shae scouting party!

  The mud tugged at his ankles, clumping on his boots and slowing his escape. It was lighter ahead, meaning he was close to the edge of the woods. He stumbled through the maze of cedar and sedge. Something black pricked his side vision and he changed directions, trying to outdistance it. Huffing with exhaustion, he risked a look behind. The light gave the shadow a form – the form of a man draped in midnight colors. A Sleepwalker. It must be a Sleepwalker! Allavin’s heart thundered in his chest. He turned back again, too late. A tree sent sparks of light and pain into his eyes. Blood gushed from his broken nose, and the pain rocked his body. Pushing away, he staggered for the sound of a stream somewhere in the thick folds of the Wood. His broken nose throbbed in agony, sickening him.

  Crushing a stand of reeds, Allavin stumbled down a deep inlet and splashed into a pond of quicksand hidden there. The gritty waters immersed him, a smothering bath of sand and shallows. He tried to swim free of it, but the sinking pull dragged him slowly down into the sinkhole. Allavin thrashed upwards, trying to get a last mouthful of air, but he swallowed blood and sand. No! his mind shrieked. He could feel his lungs screaming for air. He was going to die. The thought haunted him in a rush.

  The black shadow watched him struggle in vain from the lip of the rise. Just beyond the rows of gnarled cedar, the fortress of Landmoor began flickering awake with torchlight as night and mist descended over the moors.

  II

  It was just before dusk when the Council sentries came to arrest Thealos Quickfellow. Both sentries wore the sharp, green and gold colored uniform of the Council Elder of Vannier. They had swords belted to their waists, but the weapons looked more ceremonial and polished than the clean, practical kind that Shae soldiers carried. They arrived at the Quickfellow manor and sternly demanded that Thealos accompany them to meet with Council Elder Nordain. Sorrel treated the sentries with cool disdain, as was her inclination, but Thealos had been expecting this. Leaving his room, he looked at Sorrel calmly, seeing the disquiet in his mother’s face.

  “You’ve done enough to shame us already, Thealos,” she said in a low voice. “You know what you must do now.”

  He stared at her and then followed the sentries without a word to her.

  The streets of Avisahn were empty for the most part. The heavily wooded grounds of the Quickfellow manor fell behind them and the horses’ hooves clacked against the smooth paving stones of the main city road. From his vantage near the window of the carriage, Thealos could see the tall spire of the Temple of Keasorn rising in the center of the beautiful city like a mountain amidst of sea of slate-shingled manors and gilded churchyards. The carriage picked up speed as they started down the slope of the wooded foothills towards the center of Avisahn. But that majestic temple was not his destination. The Shae had three gods: Keasorn, Shenalle, and Vannier. Thealos’ family worshipped the third, as was customary among trading families. These deities had their own High Council with a stern Council Elder to rebuke the wayward young. An ironic smile twisted Thealos’ mouth. He knew what he was doing went well beyond wayward young.

  It was dark by the time the sentries escorted Thealos into the keeping chamber of the High Council of Vannier. Though its dome couldn’t rival the spire of Keasorn’s temple, Vannier’s temple was just as opulent and situated closer to the docks near Barters Row. It had always reminded Thealos of a giant eggshell. He watched the two sentries take taciturn positions by the entry door after shutting and locking it. Turning, he stared blankly at the double doors leading into the High Council chamber. He’d been here four times in the last year. Each time, the Council Elder had tried coaxing him into obeying his parents’ wishes or repenting some foolish childhood thought. Thealos wasn’t expecting any coaxing this time. He’d get a stern warning and a few threats to unman him. Thealos swallowed, preparing himself for it. His eyes bored into the double doors, wondering who had been gathered to witness this meeting. Would Correl be there? He’d been gone all afternoon, and Thealos wondered where his father was. Trying a last-minute bribe probably. The fluted scrollwork of the door shone with a heavy waxed polish. It was an immaculate design and finish, stained a rich auburn, and revealed the symbol of the god Vannier – entwining crescents facing opposite ways. Looking closely at the trim edges, he saw little gouges in the wood. He wanted to click his tongue, but he’d run out of spit along the way. Instead, he sighed nervously. No, this wasn’t the first time he had been summoned to speak to Nordain. But it was the first time he’d been summoned anywhere under guard.

  “Sit down, Quickfellow,” one of the sentries said, a disdainful clip to his voice. They both regarded Thealos with open animosity. They should, after all. According to the customs of his people, he was practically anathema just being there. Was it only a formality now? A foregone conclusion in everyone’s mind?

  Thealos regarded them coolly and then began to pace the keeping chamber. He was never one for sitting quietly for long bouts of time, and he walked in a short circle, thinking about what he would tell the Council Elder when he was brought in to speak to him. He was expecting another censure, that unless he followed the Shae customs as he ought, he would be banished from Avisahn and attainted from his family name. From that moment on, he would be Thealos Kil-Quickfellow. Being a Kilshae was enough of a threat to bully most from abandoning the Shae homeland. But Thealos thought that if he could show Nordain that he wasn’t frightened of it, perhaps he could convince him to change his mind or at least open it a little. Was that asking too much?

  Knowing Nordain as he did, it probably was.

  “You might as well sit down,” the taller sentry said. They were both shorter than Thealos, though wider around the chest. The sentry who addressed him had crisp blue eyes and a narrow face. “Elder Nordain will call for
you soon enough.”

  “Am I breaking a rule of Forbiddance by standing?” The last thing he needed was advice from the very men who would be called to escort him out of the city into exile. It would be done hours before dawn, before the city had awakened to witness the shame of it. Avisahn didn’t want its dirty linens wagging in the streets for all to see.

  “Don’t mind him,” the other sentry said. “We’ll see how proud he stands when the Elder finishes with him. I’ve seen lads two Silvan years older than him weeping like babies when it’s over.” He gave Thealos a challenging glare.

  He’s mocking my youth, Thealos thought and tried not to smile. What an idiot. Thealos then ignored them, focusing his thoughts on what would happen beyond the sculpted doorway. The gnawing considerations infuriated him. Correl didn’t understand. Neither did Sorrel. How could they? They had both followed the proper paths of the Shae all their lives. They were content to spin out their days in Avisahn even though the Shae had once controlled the entire valley. Did they even know what he was going through? Could they know? Thealos clenched his fists, pacing swiftly. It was time to leave Avisahn. Not for the rest of his life. Not until the gods returned with Safehome and made the world new again. Only for a season or two. Why? How could he explain it? A feeling – a prompting. A whisper from the gods? Or maybe from his own mind, desperately hungering for what lay beyond the borders of the Shae kingdom. For knowledge, not just history lessons. For a chance to wear a sword and not only as a decoration like the two sentries did. But if Nordain banished Thealos from Avisahn, he would never be able to return. Was a little freedom truly worth risking that?

  The council door opened.

  “Thealos of the house of Quickfellow,” the robed attendant said. He stared at the young Shae with emotionless eyes. As if the young Shae were a rock or a pond – some unliving thing.

  “I am Thealos.”

  “The Council Elders will now see you.”

  Elders? Thealos thought in confusion. He was expecting to see Nordain and his priests, certainly not the Council Elders of Shenalle or Keasorn too. Thealos nodded and followed the attendant into the chamber. He was greeted with the flavored scent of spice candles, a musky smell that always made him think of Nordain. He saw the fat Elder sitting in the cushioned armchair behind a wide desk. Two thick candles illuminated the polished desk inset with streaks of blue marble. A sheaf of papers sat arranged before him along with a tall chalice of spiced wine, the Elder’s favorite drink. He was a big man, for a Shae, with curling ash-blond hair that was cut above the frill of his shirt. He was already balding, but his face was smooth except for a single pockmark on his right cheek. His eyes were gray and fierce. A platter sat just within arm’s reach, and his belly showed his weakness for the delights of the baking guilds assembled there.

  Entering the council chamber, Thealos saw the witnesses assembled in the stuffed chairs around the room. He recognized the Council Elder of Shenalle, Trinton by name, and two captains from the Legion Army of Avisahn were obviously representing Keasorn. There were other witnesses too. His eyes quickly scanned those assembled, one from each section of society. There were more than enough already to banish him tonight. His blood went cold. Nordain obviously wanted an audience.

  “Greet the Council Elder, Thealos,” Correl whispered from behind him. Thealos felt his father’s tight grip on his arm.

  He twisted free of his father’s grasp and gave him a challenging look. “I’ve been here before, Correl,” he said, seething, uncomfortable with the stares pricking him.

  “Be seated, Thestyr,” Nordain said, casually waving Correl away. “You’re his Correl, but I’d like to speak to your son for a moment. Yes, your seat…over there. Very good. Come in, Thealos.”

  Thealos took a deep breath and approached the table. He dropped to one knee, bowed his head and then rose. “I come as summoned, Council Elder.”

  “Oh, I do appreciate your obedience,” Nordain said with a mocking smile. He sipped from the silver chalice and regarded Thealos coolly. “Do I understand correctly that you have not chosen your calling yet?”

  Thealos was forced to stand in the center of the hall, all eyes upon him. That was intimidating enough. He could feel the intensity of their eyes, so he stared down at the floor to steel his courage. Nordain would not make him cry. No matter what happened. He quelled the trembling in his stomach so his voice wouldn’t falter. Nordain would try and trick him with his words if he could. He always did. “No, I don’t think you do, Elder Nordain.”

  “Then you have decided?” He sounded amused. “Which of our three gods will you serve then?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think you really understand what my calling is.”

  “Ahh, your ‘true’ calling. This…calling of yours is the one we’ve spoken of before?” Thealos nodded. “And you feel – what, inspired that you should leave the home of the Shae to wander about aimlessly with the humans in the valley?”

  Thealos’ stomach twisted with frustration. Nordain was trying to belittle his feelings again. He gave the Council Elder an arch look. “Didn’t this entire valley once belong to the Shae, Elder Nordain? From the Ravenstone to the Kingshadow and down to the sea. Am I wrong? Then how can you say I’m leaving my homeland?”

  Nordain’s gray eyes crackled with fury. His voice was controlled. “How old are you, Thealos?”

  “You know very well how old I am. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

  “This isn’t a debate. I expect you to answer the questions I pose you. Obedience is the First Order, not a Rule of Forbiddance. Now, do I ask too much to have you give me your age?”

  “Tomorrow, I earn the age of seven Silvan years.” Oh, the debate was only beginning!

  “And what do Shae youths do at such a distinguished age?” Nordain prodded. “What is the tradition of our people?”

  “We are told by the Council Elders that we must tithe one Silvan year to the service of the gods. To whichever god we choose.”

  Nordain took a sip from the wine chalice. He rubbed the lip of the cup with his thumb as he contemplated. “That is correct. And after that you have your entire life to waste or flitter away as you choose, Thealos. You know we live much longer than our human neighbors in Dos-Aralon. And if you so desire, you could waste thirty of their lifetimes pursuing your own selfish ends.” Each word stung as he spoke. “Can you please explain to me why you cannot fulfill such a token responsibility then? To give back one-seventh of what you’ve already been given, not to mention the dozens more you have ahead of you. I tell you, young man, that if you despise our ways this much, that you cannot bring yourself to make even a paltry offering…you do not deserve to associate with those who have and those who do.” The gray eyes flashed menacingly. “Please, do share with us what gives a lad of your limited age and experience the wisdom to know what it best for you, when hundreds, even thousands of your forebears have done what is expected with willing and grateful hearts.” He shrugged with the incomprehensibility of it. “Do you feel the length of service is too long? One Silvan year. That is all, and then you have your entire life to yourself. Or are you afraid you may learn something? That you might learn to forget your own selfishness and be of service or betterment to the Shae? Is that what you fear, Thealos?”

  “May I answer yet?” Thealos asked, wrestling with his anger.

  “Yes, you may. I expect to hear an answer from you. I want to know what gives you the right to abandon our traditions.”

  Thealos swallowed. “Council Elder, my deepest fear is that our traditions are destroying us as a people. In Vannier’s name, let me finish!” he said when he saw Nordain open his mouth. “For once, listen to me. Truly listen. Our people once controlled this valley. But we have given it over to Dos-Aralon. They have taken it away from us, piece by piece. We may control the trade along the Trident River. We may barter with the humans and reap their riches. But there will come a time when they will cross the river. We must start pre
paring for it, Elder. My calling is to go among them, to understand their ways, to try and teach them ours like was done when the Shae first came to this world. I love our people.” He felt tears start to choke him and quickly cleared his throat to stifle them. “More than you will ever know. I love my family and I know my choice is hurting them deeply. But I’m convinced of this, Elder Nordain. If we do not take sides this time, the Shae will lose to whoever wins. Dos-Aralon used to be our ally. Now we only sell them weapons and food. But the Bandit Rebellion is getting stronger. It’s worn on long enough – and you can’t deny that it’s affected us. It’s barely safe to trade in Sol any more. This is our chance to change what will become of our people in the future! And I tell you, Elder Nordain, that I am also convinced the reckoning will happen before one Silvan year is through. I’m hearing talk of war in the Shoreland by summer. We cannot stand by while it happens without us – again.”

  Nordain smoldered. Thealos saw it in his eyes that he didn’t believe him. Nordain set the goblet down and folded his arms imperiously. “Are you privy to the secret council of King Silverborne? Do you discuss war tactics with the Legion Army commanders? If it is war you crave so much, choose Keasorn as your calling and join the Shae army. We know what’s going on in the valley better than you think. If we got involved in every little…”

  “But we won’t fight in this conflict either,” Thealos tried to say, clenching his teeth. “We haven’t since the Purge Wars, and the humans mock us for our weakness.”

  “And how do you know so much about the Bandit Rebellion? We have watchposts along the Kingshadow still. If there was anything to concern us in the Shoreland, our scouts will tell us. What is the source of your knowledge? Isn’t this just gossip you’ve heard in alley taverns across the river? Ah, you didn’t know that I knew about that?” he said triumphantly, seeing Thealos flinch. “Your speech was noble and brave. But the truth, Thealos? The truth is that you tire of the Rules of Forbiddance. You feel tethered by our customs and you seek to spoil yourself with the gratification’s of Dos-Aralon. As a barter’s son, you’ve been exposed to their life. It’s tainting you.”