“He’s just a—”
“A cleric? I think not. I know a cleric when I see one, and he is an impostor.”
“I know, but he has admitted it. He is but an adventurous youth.” The memory of the spirits speaking through Yavün whispered in his mind.
“I can tell you one thing, Ifferon, and that is that he is anything but an adventurous youth. He is much more and much less, and if you have any kind of sense in you, you will see this, and you will not let him fool you with his innocence. For that matter, I suggest you keep a wary eye on this prince. He has a good heart, that is plain, but he is prone to strange behaviour. His father, who I am in good trust with, would not have him in his court to save the embarrassment. He is very much a rogue, Ifferon, and he will lead you astray ere a safe haven.”
“Unlike this safe haven?” Ifferon remarked, feeling almost like a child wanting to defy a parent. “I am being wary, but I will not abandon them, for they have stuck with me through this recent darkness. I admit that there is something strange about Herr’Don, but he does indeed have a good heart, and I trust in that more than—”
“More than me, you mean,” Teron said.
“That is not what I meant.”
“Do not lie to me, Ifferon. Every time I approach you, you cringe and back away, as if I were the Adversary. I give you good counsel, for, in truth, I am concerned about you; for you see, I was trusted with a special charge, and to that charge I have not failed, until today. Hearken, Ifferon, for I tell you the truth. I am loyal to my word, and your doubts of this are putting you in more danger than you know.”
“I will take your counsel, Teron, and I will bear it ever in my mind, but I will not wander on my own. Herr’Don has promised to lead us to Ardún-Fé, where—”
“Ardún-Fé!” Teron gasped, as if the words were blasphemy to his ears. “You spout more madness by the minute, Ifferon. Do not tell me that a lettered man like you knows nothing of the horrors of that place. It reeks of evil, Ifferon! It may be called the Haven of Light in Old Arlinaic, but that name was appointed for the time when the Aelora lived there. They have long fled the place, and the festers of their magic have become a great magnet for evil things. It is a cursed land, Ifferon, and all who wander there are taken by its curse.”
“We will not be alone. There are two Magi, and one is an Ardúnar!”
“Ha! The Ardúnari,” Teron scoffed, the wrinkles in his face contorting to mimic his disgust. “They are a council of fools, believing they have discovered immortality and the Stone of the Wise. They know nothing of this world, Ifferon, nothing of the powers that are now set in motion. They are misguided by their pride and have long abandoned their role as Wardens of the Light. They will be of no aid to you, and if they would have you wander in Ardún-Fé, then that is proof alone of their madness. Hearken, Ifferon, for you are being led astray. You have wandered this world before and have tired of its frailty, and now you wish to wander it again? Then go wander and lose yourself in the darkness, for I grow tired of your childishness. Forty years! Forty years and you are still naïve. No, I shall not tire my breath with giving heedless counsel, but I have a message here that I would have you deliver to Melgalés, and I warn you, Ifferon, only he should open it.”
“How do you know his name?”
“Belnavar spoke of him to me earlier today. Herr’Don and Belnavar are trusted friends, both would-be Knights of Boror in the style of the Knights of Issarí in Arlin, and both are well-known to Melgalés. Oh, do not get caught up in his role as one of the Ardúnari. That is but a rumour that he likes to feed his hungry pride with, and there is no truth in any of it. Trust instead that he is a Magus, and in his skill therewith I do not doubt. He is older than he appears, but not as old as he claims, and he has a brother who has followed suit and spread some rumours of his own, though he himself has vanished into foreign lands. I will tell you one thing, Ifferon: that he is indeed cunning, so you are well not to play tricks with him. This message is for him and him alone. When he receives it he may then share what is contained therein. If you must wander to Ardún-Fé, then wander, but whatever you do, make sure he receives this message when you meet him, and make sure you do not lose it.” With that he took a small letter from his pocket and handed it to Ifferon. The envelope was stamped with a Seal of Olagh containing the name Mehlalesh, and it was stamped with two smaller seals, both black, faded and difficult to read.
* * *
“Where are your men?” Herr’Don asked.
Belnavar turned to him and grinned. “You think I ran off and let them fight without me? Nay, Herr’Don, nay. The minstrel, Edican, has decided to head back to my home town, and Velis and Clannil have gone to your father to report on the state of the Beach.”
“I thought you had long ceased to communicate with my father,” Herr’Don said. He shunned the whispers of disappointment that hid in the dark places of his mind.
“I have, and as you can see, I didn’t go to him myself. Velis was adamant that the King should know that Larksong has fallen. This could spell a very dark time for Boror, Herr’Don. Until now only the Forts at the borders have been attacked, and all of our ports have repelled the dark ships before—but we have never seen such an attack as this. Our ballista fell within minutes, as did half my men. If it were not for the songs of Edican, the rest would have broken well before I called our retreat. Herr’Don, I do not understand what has prompted this attack—but I know that you do.”
“I have only rumours to work with.”
“Nay! I have only rumours to work with, but you are a prince, and the Court is ripe with news from all over Boror. The King did not send you to Larksong, Herr’Don, and I know this. You brought the Fifth Regiment down on some other information. I could warrant a guess it has something to do with this mistress of yours and her mentor.”
“Boror is close to collapsing,” Herr’Don said. “The King is not a military man. Nor are his advisers, and this has led him to ignore the threat of Agon. Like you, I did not expect such a large attack, but Master Melgalés did give me warning. Now my entire regiment is dead, and there is a vast hole in our defences. We cannot pull our men from the Forts to attempt to regain Larksong, and our armies are scattered. The Garigút have all but abandoned us, but I have heard rumour that they have travelled to Telarym and are planning to lay siege to Nahragor. This sounds like a desperate plan to bring the battle to Nahlin so we can regroup, but it is a dangerous plan that may work to Agon’s advantage.
“But I believe you can help greatly here. I would do this myself if I did not have other things to attend to. I propose that you travel to Telarym to ensure the Garigút are aware of how Boror is faring, for we may need them more than the Black Bastion needs destruction.”
“And what if the Garigút are not in Telarym?” Belnavar asked.
“They will be. It is not likely for them to leave Boror without a good reason.”
“The good reason is that our kingdom is falling apart!” There was a hint of desperation in Belnavar’s voice that Herr’Don had not heard before.
“They are loyal, Belnavar, I assure you. Their leader, Geldirana, is not only a great strategist—she is a great warrior as well. If it were not for my father’s distrust of them, they would have come before the Court to speak more openly of their plan.”
“You learned of this from Melgalés, didn’t you?”
“You are truly impossible, Belnavar,” Herr’Don said with a smile. “Yes, he told me that the Garigút were planning an attack, but he would say no more when I questioned him. He is trustworthy. He predicted the attack on Boror, so I am sure he has his sources.”
“Whether his sources are trustworthy or not is what bothers me,” Belnavar said, “but nonetheless, I will carry out your plan. I will travel with Teron to Madenahan so that he may rest safely ere I head into the wastes of Telarym.”
* * *
Dawn broke over the crescent of the hills, and thin fingers of light caressed the land, sending the shadow
s fleeing from their fiery touch. Yavün awoke to find he was with new company, Ifferon and Teron wearing sullen masks on one side, and Herr’Don and Belnavar smiling broadly on the other.
By the time he had wiped the sleep from his eyes he found that they were leaving. “Take good care of Ifferon, won’t you?” Belnavar said to him, giving a nod. “Or I’ll have Herr’Don enact his favourite pastime. Come, Teron. Madenahan is still many days away at the swiftest of paces.”
“I’m an old man, Belnavar,” Teron grumbled. “We shall travel at my pace.”
* * *
And so the two guests departed almost as quickly as they had come, and Ifferon stood despondently, as if a great cloud had risen above his head during the night, dropped a great thunder of rain, and left to seek a new victim. On several occasions he was forced to test if he had dreamed that Teron had been there, but always it was proved by the presence of the letter in his pocket with the Scroll.
“Eat up, Master Ifferon,” Herr’Don said, handing him a bowl of oats drowned in dawnwater. “The Cliffhills are our road today, and I can assure you, we will find no food there. Rocks and more rocks, and unless you’re a Moln, I doubt that will appease your appetite.”
“There’s something odd,” Yavün said, still looking to the door.
Herr’Don glanced at him quickly, as if to silence him, but then turned away and looked towards the window. “Is it not good to see Belnavar again?”
“Him, yes, but I do not trust this head-cleric.”
“What about you, Master Ifferon? Do you trust him?” Herr’Don asked.
“No, but that is just the way he is. You cannot be sure if he is helping or hindering.”
“He’s in my father’s Court,” the prince said. “He’s the Royal Cleric of Olagh.”
“He never mentioned that.”
“No, he wouldn’t, would he? He likes to play mind games with his cloak of mystery. It’s the same with everyone in the Court. They’re all too busy toying with the world that they completely ignore the truth of our situation. Even a tyranny would be better than this apathy from them.”
“Do you desire the throne?” Yavün asked.
Herr’Don paused, letting the oats drip from his spoon. “No, not with a Court like that.”
“But you could change the Court.”
“It’s too late for that. The nobles will not budge even if I brought a sword to their throats. So long as they are safe within the castle, they do not think of the dangers outside.”
“So you do desire the throne,” Yavün said. “But that is not the only thing that has been bothering you all these years, is it? Yesterday, in the hills, the Spectres did something that I did not know they could. They used me, because my guard was down. But I saw things, saw images in my mind. There was a house, a house burning with a strong red fire, and there were screams coming from the house—they were screaming at you, Herr’Don.”
“Do not talk of this with me, Yavün, I warn you!” the swordsman shouted, banging the table with his fist. “You are but a child to my eyes, and if you would play with a sword, I assure you, you will get hurt. Eat up quickly and let us begin our march. Perhaps some walking will wake you from your reverie.”
The tension hung like looming Spectres above their heads. The sun’s fingers reached into the murky darkness of the hut, but only Ifferon sat facing it, letting the light wash away the stains of the night. Herr’Don and Yavün sat in a silent glare, challenging each other with their eyes until they had broken their fast and packed their things. The chests were almost bare by the time they had finished, but Herr’Don assured them that these would be needed to get to Ardún-Fé.
Thus the three stood like statues before the door of the Garigút hut, silhouettes against the rising sun. Herr’Don took a deep breath and made a joyous sigh. “Now to see one of the many wonders of our world,” he said. “The Cliffhills await.”
V – THE VALLEY OF STONE
They began their journey towards the Cliffhills with a hint of excitement, but after Herr’Don told them what lay ahead, their enthusiasm quickly turned to melancholy, like a man turns to rock under the endless glare of a Gorgon.
It would be a long downhill trek before they reached the mouth of the Cliffhills, and then it would consume them for a total of four days if they kept their pace, or it would cage them completely if they wandered and the rocks led them astray. Herr’Don described it to them in great and yawning detail. Two great cliffs of stone stood on either side like monstrous shoulders—or huge gaping jaws. Every so often a peak could be seen, tall and bladed like a granite tooth stabbing the sky. And boulders of all sizes lay everywhere, balancing on beams of sand and dust, waiting for a weary footfall. Slabs of stone stood like great monoliths, the earth praising the heavens above, and all the while a new rock formation would mimic an old one and shove a large stony doubt into the mind of a careless traveller.
But Ifferon concentrated on the thinning grass beneath him. They had already travelled over an hour, and it was light travel compared to the day before—a welcome change, but Ifferon knew well that Herr’Don was not exaggerating about the journey that awaited them in the Cliffhills, nor the troubles and terrors of Ardún-Fé. On many occasions he felt himself drift off into a dark trail of thought, getting lost there for a moment until Herr’Don drew him back like the unsheathing of his sword.
“It’s dangerous to think too deeply about things,” the prince said. “You might discover something you would rather keep buried.”
“Oh, I think I’ve discovered enough of those,” Ifferon replied.
Herr’Don smiled broadly. “Come, Master Ifferon! Walk and pay attention to your feet alone. Or the hills! Stare at them now while they are still fair and green.”
“They’re already fading,” Yavün said. “I mean, below us, as if our very presence is wilting the grasses. It’s not a pleasant sight at all.”
“Ha! It seems your gloom has caught on, Master Ifferon,” Herr’Don said, grabbing Ifferon and Yavün by the shoulders. “The greatest plague of men’s minds is fear, doubt, and despair—and you two are bedridden! Fear not the darkness while the light is still out. Doubt not your safety while you walk in the presence of Herr’Don the Great. Despair not while you still have strength in you.”
The swordsman’s words faded off like the dulling hills, remaining only in the sombre reflection of their minds. A straggle of trees led like breadcrumbs down the slope, until at last the company reached the Stone Mouth, where no birch or elder would go. They passed beneath the great archway and it felt like straying into a distant memory, for the green of old had turned to grey—shrubs of rock, trees of stone, and a perpetual granite flatland, all still and lifeless.
The sleeping fortress of the Cliffhills reared up before them, as if its barren exterior was but a ruse for what lived secretly beneath, like a dormant volcano waiting to give a final cough. The great cliffs rose on either side like the walls of godly houses, and Ifferon noted with exceeding gloom that at any moment they could collapse in on them—a god’s manor swiftly become a man’s tomb.
Yavün attempted to capture the mood of the place in verse before the rocks would rob him of his inspiration:
In the troubled town of old Larksong,
Where all was shone in brightest green,
How I did make a journey long
Through walls of grey and stones serene;
Though little did I know the way
(And almost to my death did stray),
But for the wile of friend unseen
Was I led through the rocky throng
Into a place I’ve never been—
Or perhaps I’ve been here all along!
And so they came to know the great Cliffhills, and it came to know them, for they travelled the entire day, further into the cavernous gape. Soon the grey dulled their senses, and their minds swam in the clouded colour. After a while they became accustomed to it, and their eyes saw subtle hints of blue and green in the pattern
of cracks, grooves and hiding hollows in the walls. The gloaming began its steady advance, marching through the valley in cold pursuit.
The company passed a massive boulder, a great stone remnant from the games of the gods, sitting in the heart of the cool mountainous valley. It was twice the height of man and was marked with strange carvings that resembled some sort of primitive writing. Further on there were many of these boulders strewn about. A monstrous rock stood watch over these like a silent but vigilant mother, and it was not long before the company fell under her sentinel shadow. She protected the stones and guarded the valley. Ifferon did not want to think of what she guarded it from.
They rested at the monolith, where Herr’Don started a fire with what little wood he had scavenged before they entered the Cliffhills, for no trees dared walk those stony paths.
The day wilted, finding no life in the valley to sustain it, and so came the dour of nightfall, where the grey finally faded and another colour set out, a great blackness that stalked from rock to rock and hunted down the nooks and hollows. The fire went steady for some hours and the company shared whispered stories across the flame, but now it too was beginning to dwindle, casting them not only in darkness, but in silence, for they did not talk when the fire went out.
* * *
The next day they set out early after a hasty meal. Time creaked and all was silent in the dreary valley. The day passed like grinding stone, slow and monotonous, churning on in a single endless parade of the emptiness of the earth. The rocks were solemn, heads of stone raised to the sky in prayer. Every so often a crumble could be heard, and the scree from the mountains came tumbling down to base the valley in an unstable fabric. And each of these noises built new fears in the minds and hearts of the wary travellers, for perhaps they were the sound of something hunting them, or the echo of the valley threatening to cave in—and they did not know which was worse.
The Children of Telm - The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 6
