“Expect away, Délin. I am under no obligation to offer you and your horse-lovers shelter.” He paused and glanced sharply at the others. “Nor these other unsavoury folk you have brought with you. Why do I sense something amiss with them?”
“Amiss? There is nothing amiss here but your discourtesy.”
“No, I think there is,” Celsingrid said, his voice thick and menacing. He stood up and stepped down the two steps at the foot of his chair, his footfalls hard and daunting. He walked towards Ifferon and stared into his eyes. “What’s a cleric doing in my keep?”
“He is a former-cleric,” Délin explained. “He is important to me.”
“As an execution before your people in Ciligarad, perhaps? If I hadn’t known better, I’d say you were friends with this man.”
“And what if he is?” Ifferon asked, holding back his anger.
“I do not think religion is of question here,” Délin said, impatience rising in his voice.
“Oh, but it is, Trueblade,” Celsingrid said, moving on to Yavün. “Another cleric by the looks of him. Do you mock me with your clerics, Trueblade? I thought you were of Corrias.”
“I am.”
“Then you seek the wrong company,” Celsingrid scolded. He went to Herr’Don next and inspected his swords and royal attire. “Ah, now, who’s this? The infamous Herr’Don, dark horse of the Court of Boror? What’s a Bororian prince doing in Arlin, and in my city? Trueblade, I am ashamed to be your kin!”
He went finally to Thalla, and after a quick glance at her regalia his eyes flickered even more fiercely than before. “A Magus!” he shouted. “A Magus! You bring a Magus to me? Trueblade, you are a fool to come here with such mockery of my rules. None of true virtue in Arlin permit a Magus to travel with them, and yet a newly appointed Lord brings one before me, a Lord of many years, and you bring also two clerics and the Bororian King’s outcast. Trueblade, be gone with you! I want none of your horse stain in here or in my lands. What would the people say if I were to be caught mixing with the likes?”
“They would say well with him,” Délin replied. “And I would too. Celsingrid, you are wise, I doubt that not, especially since I know you were an Ardúnar.”
“Since I am an Ardúnar,” Celsingrid corrected. “That title has not left me since I took the title Lord.”
“Arlin is on the brink of darkness!” Délin admonished. “Boror is already under attack, and if they fall, we fall too, for who will aid us then?”
“We need no aid from them, nor do we need aid from anyone else! Calnibur is being fortified, as you can see, unless you are blind, and that is something I wonder of you more and more. No one shall pass these walls if they are unwelcome.”
“You say that as though an attack would come numbered but a dozen!” Délin said.
“A dozen?” Celsingrid said, turning to face the knight, his face alight with fury and frustration. “Is that all you think we can manage? Is that all you think we can fight? Surely we are not knights, no, Délin, but our soldiers are not so blind and hapless that they cannot even battle a measly dozen!”
“Calnibur will fall,” Délin said. “It will fall like many towns and cities in Arlin, if we do not band together.”
“And what? Consort with the likes of these? Magi and Bororians? Our enemy!”
“They are not our enemy,” Délin said.
“Well, they are not our friends, and have not been since the Dark Age.”
“We can change that, Celsingrid, ere the coming of another Dark Age. I think it is time we did.”
“No, we can’t, and we won’t. If I have to, I shall fight hand-to-hand with Agon ere I’m caught fighting side-by-side with Bororians. And a Magus! You bring evil here greater than that which you say is in the south. Indeed, are you a northerner or a southerner, Trueblade?”
“A northerner,” Délin replied. “As you well know. But long have I realised that there is something amiss with our policies. Those in south Arlin have come to realise that the old hatred of Boror is spent, and that the wise move on.”
“Then move on, Trueblade, if you deem yourself wise!” Celsingrid spat, defiling the words with his voice.
“Borders and boundaries are the domain of limited minds,” Délin said. “The Shadow knows no boundaries, north or south.”
“Out of here, Trueblade! You’ve seen the last of your days in Calnibur. My people won’t want you back when they hear of this. And hope for your sake that the people of Ciligarad don’t vote you out, Lord!”
“Come, companions. We are unwelcome here,” Délin said. “Aid is not offered when aid is needed. So too shall be the fate of this land. I pray that the people may survive long enough to escape. Calnibur will fall, Celsingrid.” He paused as they neared the door. “Calnibur will fall, and the Knights of Issarí won’t be here to help you out if you banish me from this land.”
“We need you not, Trueblade, nor your Knights,” Celsingrid snarled, but they left the chambers and closed the door behind them. The guard quickly returned to his work at the side of the building, but rumour and gossip spread more swiftly. Many worried eyes stared after them as they left the city.
* * *
“Banished?” Brégest asked. “Surely not! I told you these Bororians were plagued. They bring illness and darkness from their proximity to Telarym.”
“He did not know they were all of Boror,” Délin said. “He is just stubborn and old-fashioned in his outlook. A true northerner, if ever there was one. But he is a fool, despite my call on his wisdom, which did naught to appease him. I can feel the darkness already. It will not be long now. But come, we must find rest elsewhere.”
The company passed through the gate. Bringrid stepped forward and bowed. “Hómadín Lamon Délin! My blessings go with you.”
“And mine with you,” Délin said. “Bringrid, if Calnibur is attacked, make sure the people escape. Take them into the mountains.
“But the Gormoloks—”
“They are less of a threat than what we face from Nahlin,” Délin said. “We know these mountains better than the hordes of Agon do, so maybe the land itself will be our fortress if our walls are too weak. Keep your eyes keen, and may Corrias and the Lady send good tidings. Hómadés dú.”
Bringrid bowed again and returned to his guard, standing still like a statue. The moon still shone, though it seemed duller now. Délin suggested that they might find lodging at one of the mills surrounding Calnibur, but many of the farmers scoffed and turned them away. One old woman let them stay, but was mocked by her neighbours, who neighed and called her “horse-lover” in spiteful tongues.
They collapsed upon straw beds within the mill, and night passed quickly in the contentedness of sleep. They were awoken bright and early the following morning, and the day was kind to them, for the sun kept a steady watch and seemed to lead the way. Soon it was in the west, the direction they were heading. The land was flat and empty, though the Many Mountains stood still to their right, a great wall of grey that reminded Ifferon of their journey through the Cliffhills. These were far more monstrous in size, but Ifferon took comfort in their distance, knowing he would not be crossing them today. After a time the sun began to fade, hiding behind one large peak that seemed to loom out of the range to the west like a solitary fang, piercing the growing dusk.
They came to Ciligarad before nightfall. It stood in stark contrast to the old, feeble structure of Calnibur, for there was a great stone gate, gleaming in the glow of twilight, and when they entered into the city itself they saw many small round houses, larger round stores, and two great round buildings that stood in full majesty at the centre, their domed roofs reaching up into the sky like the bosom of the earth. All the while there was the sound of water nearby, for Ciligarad was on the brink of Loch Nirigán, with all of its buildings facing in that direction, so that when morning came, the villagers would see the lake in all its glistening glory before any other sight that day, and likewise at night was it a final sight that brought gre
at comfort after a long day of labour.
“I must take the trainees to their camp and then tend to the horses, sire. I bid you all a good evening,” Brégest said, bowing slightly. The others knights did likewise.
“We will talk soon, Brother,” Délin said. They left the company then, though Délin remained, for he wanted to show them around his city.
“Why are all the buildings round?” Yavün asked. “I have not seen such a sight in any of the towns I’ve been to.”
“Where have you been, boy?” Herr’Don jeered. “Surely Larksong alone does not count.”
“The buildings are round,” Délin said, ignoring Herr’Don’s comments, “in honour of the lake, which is also round, or close enough. Indeed, that is why our armour bears so many circles. The circle with the large letter ‘I’ in the middle is our symbol for the Lady Issarí, Goddess of the Wave.”
“What about the tree?” Yavün asked. “The one on your right shoulder, the one that curls here and there.”
“That is the Great Tree, Corria, from which Corrias gets his name. Beneath it is my motto in Old Arlinaic, which translates as: Truth is found on both sides of the Blade.”
“A worthy motto, Trueblade” Herr’Don said. “And a worthy title. I have a motto myself,” he added, stepping forward and puffing his chest. He brushed a lock of hair from his face with a great gloved hand. “Though I do not have my coat of arms with me, for I don’t often carry my shield. My motto, in the Common Tongue, is: Honour is found in greatness and glory.” Ifferon knew that if Herr’Don did have his shield with the coat of arms with him he would have made them all sit and look at each figure, at each motif and motto, and would have told his lineage and family history there and then, making special care to note from where his greatness stems from.
“I don’t have a motto yet,” Yavün said, frowning. “Do you have a motto, Thalla?”
“No, not yet,” she said, smiling softly.
“Ifferon?”
He shook his head.
“I know Ifferon’s motto,” Herr’Don said, clapping his hands together and laughing heartily. “Run while you can!”
Ifferon smiled, though his thoughts were troubled. He felt like a coward for running so much, yet he knew no other way. He was no warrior any more, that he knew. He was not a knight or a swordsman or a prince, and he had no motto that spoke of valour or battle. Was he the son of a god, no matter how far down the line? If gods had fears and doubts, for many said they did not, then perhaps he was, for he was the child of uncertainty, as were all people in Iraldas now, with dark hands knocking at their doors.
“I think Ifferon’s motto is in the making,” Délin said, noting his anxiety. “Not yet fully realised, as it were. Soon, my friend. Soon.”
“I bet it will be something like: courage in a candle flame,” Yavün said.
“I like that,” Thalla said, smiling at him.
“I like that too,” Ifferon said.
“Ah, yes, yes—the single flame that starts a fire,” Délin added.
Herr’Don clapped his hands together briefly, and for a moment he looked like an eager child with gleeful eyes. “A worthy motto,” he said, “for a worthy man.”
* * *
Soon they came to a lake-side chamber in the Academy of Knights which led into Délin’s personal abode. It was dim, lit only by three candles and the reflections from the lake, and the wind was unbridled there, for the doors that opened to the lake were both unlatched. The air was cool, yet not cold enough to chill them, and the dullness of the room did not disquiet their minds. The main entrance was on the far side of the two open doors, though there was also another door, now closed, on the left, which led to Délin’s quarters. The room was sparse, save a long ornately-adorned chair by the right-hand wall, with a coat of arms above, depicting two lions, one black, one white, on either side of an upright sword, and below this Délin’s motto in the ornate script of Old Arlinaic. There was also a small mirror with a slender candle on either side of the left-hand door, and finally a pile of books on old myths and tales from ancient Arlin, all of them thoroughly leafed through.
“Do you read in the dark?” Thalla asked.
“Dark?” Délin quizzed. “There is light from the lake here, and it grows stronger at night, when it is needed.”
“Is it the moon’s reflection?” Yavün wondered. “What happens when the moon is not out?”
“Ah, it is not just the moon that shines here, young Yavün, for the Lady radiates a most blessed and splendid light. Oft do I go out to the Lake and sit and pray to her, and there is more comfort there than any light a candle makes.”
“Can we meet her?” Yavün asked.
Herr’Don looked at him sharply. “Do not be disrespectful, Yavün. That is too haughty a request to make of our friend. Even the Great do not ask such.”
“It is fair to ask,” Délin said, “but I am afraid I cannot grant the request, for it is not mine to grant. We will indeed come to the Lake later to ask and pray for counsel. Whether we meet her or not, I cannot tell. Indeed, I have met her but once in my lifetime so far, and that was many years ago now, but such meetings last lifetimes, and she has ever been in my thoughts and dreams since.”
“This room is quite empty,” Herr’Don noted. “Hardly fitting for a Lord of the Land.”
“Ah, but it is, Herr’Don,” Délin said. “It is much more fitting than great tapestries and paintings and gold linen and regal rugs. Those things serve naught but as a statement of wealth and power, and they are but statements, for the real power is found inside, through prayer, and the real wealth in contemplation, as our good friend Ifferon undoubtedly knows. Gold rings and lavish curtains would only serve to distract me from my work, so I decreed that my appointment as Lord of Ciligarad would not betray my oaths—thus, my room and supplies are the same as all knights, though I requested a room closer to the Lake, my one true luxury.
“Indeed, our armour, weapons, and even our horses, are our most prized possessions, though I would have them called gifts, for I have learned that that which you can possess, can possess you. We spend a long time learning to avoid the temptations of the rich and the royal, for it can be easy to walk those roads, and dark they are when fully trod.
“Thus, we have mirrors in all the rooms, to remind us of who we really are, and they are small and are obscured by a candle, to show us that we are not the vast beauty to be found in the Lake, and that service to the Light is our true mission, our true identity here in Arlin.”
Brégest came in quickly and bowed. “Sire, the Lady seems to be moving to the east of the Lake towards the White Land, for her light has passed that way. Many think she has gone to speak with the Aelora there near the border with Caelün, and I think so too, for Wisps of Aelor have been spotted there, flashing like beacons on the shore of the Lake.”
“If that is so, then I take it that news is abroad,” Délin said, “and we would do well to hear it ere the sun rises.”
A rain came suddenly from the skies as they spoke, as if some great god was wailing. It pelted down like boulders, turning the ground tender and toiled. The grass became soggy and the wind began to churn, forcing Délin to close the doors to his sanctuary, which was already soaked on the northern side.
“This is one thing you can count on in Arlin,” he said, his voice strained by the howling of the wind and rain outside. “Rain is as common as grass here. We do not think ill of it, of course, but this sudden torrent gives me a grave feeling, for we know the Lady Issarí is on the move. We should be too, I warrant, whether the weather invites us or not.”
* * *
So they began after a brief meal and a hurried packing of their things. It rained more heavily, the drops plunging on them like rocks, drowning their clothes in mere moments. Rivers of rain ran across the landscape of their faces, down mountainous noses and chasmic mouths. It hung on their eyelids like icicles, stinging and blinding them, and all the while their voices, if ever they had the will to spe
ak, were consumed by the splash and the spray that was about them.
The land around them was reduced to water-mist and mud, which they constantly fell into, even Délin himself, who, given his armour, found it difficult to stand up again. A tension set in on them, and only the gentle hum of Herr’Don lightened the mood, for they were drenched, and Ifferon on several occasions felt his shoes splodge. Yavün and Thalla fell into a pile of mud together, though their laughter told that they were not angry about it. Herr’Don was.
The night grew long and they plodded on through the rain and darkness. The sight of sparkling waters in the dark guided them for a while, and soon they saw a glimmer in the distance, a rippling light upon the surface of Loch Nirigán. The intensity of the knights’ prayers increased the closer they got, and soon they had reached the edge of the shimmering waters.
There the clouds broke and the moon shone directly upon the lake from above. The rain lightened, and the sparkling depths were filled with a white light, pulsating beneath the surface. Délin bowed low, kneeling upon the wet ground.
“Cé hómadín Lamar Issarí! All hail Issarí Lochlamar, the Lady of the Lake!” he said, his voice high and resonating. “Blessed Issarí, reveal to me your will. We have travelled long and hard for your counsel. Guide us through the darkness that fills our bodies and our minds.”
The other knights knelt on either side of Délin, and Ifferon knelt behind him, the others following his lead. He heard the knights whisper prayers to themselves: “Lochlamar! Ardúnlamar! Hómadés dú! Condés al dú!” With that, the glimmer of white light grew brighter, and ripples formed in the lake, centred at first, until finally the luminance ripped apart the water and a giant woman, fair and bright, poured up from its surface. The glint of white silk and jewels filled their eyes, and their jaws dropped as they witnessed the size and stunning beauty of this glistening goddess.
She was three times the size of man, and Ifferon, who had previously felt tall, was dwarfed by her presence. Her dress, white and sparkling, dripped with water and jewels, opals and diamonds. The ends of each sleeve cascaded downwards until they met with the top of the water in three separate strands, and from her shoulders fell a great water, plunging into the basin at her feet like a waterfall. The dazzling white of her garments, or from whatever spirit that was veiled within them, forced the group to blink until finally they saw her face.
The Children of Telm - The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 13
