by Levi Samuel
Fender’s Spear was much larger than he remembered. Everything looked new and a steady flow of city guards wandered the street in their red and black tabards, depicting a broken spear against a round shield. Making his way down the street, now paved with brick, opposed to the dirt he’d last seen, Ravion found the keep at the city’s center.
One of the guards, standing outside the door recognized him and snapped to attention.
“Stand down, I’m not the lord any longer.” Ravion assured, smiling at the hulking brute, wearing chainmail under his tabard and a thick, redwood spear in his right hand.
Making his way through the arched entryway, he was both surprised and impressed. Many of the inner guards were composed of the mul’daron. It made perfect sense, he just hadn’t expected it.
Continuing on, he found the throne room.
Twin rays of sunlight beamed through the overhead windows, lighting the large, castle-like chamber. The red carpet lining the center of the room was splayed out and inviting.
Stepping onto the liner, his boots were muffled by the thick padding. Approaching the throne, he fell in love all over again. The platinum haired woman sitting upon it at the far end, was just as stunning as the first time he’d seen her. To his surprise, she held a small child in her arms, nursing him. The boy couldn’t have been more than a year old.
“My Lady, Senaria. I humbly ask your forgiveness for my absence. And I swear by all that I am, that I will never leave you like that again.”
Senaria smiled, seeing her lost lover approach. Standing, she met him at the base of the dais.
“Ravion. I thought I’d never see you again.” She hugged him as best she could, protecting the child. “I’d like you to meet your son, Rylan.”
Ravion looked intently at the child. He could see the blue glow radiating from him. His short hair was blond-tinged red and his puffy little cheeks contained a few light freckles. “He’s perfect!” Ravion kissed her forehead.
“Now, you’d better have one hell of a story to tell me.” She playfully bumped him with her shoulder.
“Let’s just say, with everything I’ve been through, I’m a changed man. And if you’ll have me, I’d be honored if you would become my wife.”
“This isn’t some ploy to retake the throne, is it?” She smiled and kissed him passionately.
“No ploys, My Lady. In fact, if you can spare the trip, I have a larger throne to claim.”
“But you just got back?” Senaria asked, concerned that he was going to leave right away.
“Yes. And I must journey again. But I won’t go without you. You have my word on that. However long it takes, I’ll be by your side.”
Senaria stared into him for a long moment. She knew she could trust him. He’d proven that time and again. But there was something different about him, something hidden beneath the surface.
“Give me a week to make arrangements. At that point, we can go wherever you need.”
“Thank you, my love.”
The morning light was just cresting the tree tops when Demetrix drew the unique arrow from his enchanted quiver. Twisting it between his thumb and forefinger, he nocked it to the string and drew. Aiming into the sky, his fingers released and the thin shaft took to the sky. It flew up, past the clouds, little more than a speck in the distance. Yet he knew where it was going.
Slinging his bow, he broke into a sprint, charging after the slender object. He ran through bushes and thorns, meadows, and bogs. No matter how fast or slow he ran, the arrow always seemed to be just within sight.
Leaping over a deep ravine, Demetrix darted through a patch of thick trees he couldn’t remember seeing before. That was odd. There’s not a single tree I haven’t memorized in this forest. Marbayne was his home and it was his duty to know every square inch of it. Yet here he was, in the center of a patch of some of the largest trees he’d ever seen. Even the great trees of Myrkwood were dwarfed by these giants.
Slowing to a stop, he saw the arrow lodged firmly in the ground at the center of the clearing. He clearly wasn’t in Marbayne anymore. But where was he? He didn’t remember passing a portal, but something mystical had to have happened.
A calm voice echoed over the clearing. “I see you’re finally ready.”
Demetrix spun around, seeing the man Kashien had introduced him to. More than that, several others stood on each side, wearing matching cloaks with the same hedge maze looking symbol at the broach.
“What is all of this?” Demetrix asked, confused by the cloaked figures, the massive trees, the strange arrow, and everything else unknown about the situation.
“We are the horators. Archers of Celnuntos and guardians of the realm. Very few ever learn of our existence. Fewer yet are invited to our ranks. Tell me, if you were surrounded by enemies and you were down to one arrow, how would you survive?”
Demetirx thought about the question for a moment before answering. “If I didn’t have any other weapons on me, I’d stab with the arrow and use my bow as a staff until I had no other choice. I’d then look for a dead limb hanging from a tree, or some kind of trigger I could possibly shoot that would take out more than one. If none of that was present, I’d select the meanest opponent on the field and put my arrow straight through his eye. The rest I’d fight off with my bow. At least until I could take one of their weapons.” Demetrix played with the sword at his side, recalling how he’d gotten the blemished weapon.
“Very well. A decision has been made.”
The other horators walked into the tree line and disappeared.
“What? Where are you going?” Demetrix searched but couldn’t find them.
The last remaining figure dropped his hood, revealing the grizzled face of an elderly myrkalfar. “They’re returning to their duties. When a new horator is selected, it’s our job to be present. But don’t worry, if you ever need them, they’ll return. Just as you’ll answer if they need you.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m planning to go through a portal and into another world. I’m not sure answering a courier missive is going to be the easiest thing to accomplish.”
“Don’t be foolish. We send our messages tied around an arrow and fired into your vicinity. And did you really think we weren’t already aware of your intentions? That’s part of why you were chosen. At this point in time Celnuntos does not have any followers in Irayth. Yet his domains are present. Once you’ve been trained in the ways of the horator, you’re free to travel to any land you choose, so long as you uphold the sacred duties you agree to at the time of your naming.”
“What sort of duties are we talking about?”
“We protect nature from unnatural forces. Demons, rampant magi— the occasional dragon trying to claim territory. Simple stuff most days.”
“We’ll, if you’re going to train me to stand up to creatures like those, I’ll need all the help I can get when I return to Irayth.”
“Excellent, but be warned. That realm has not felt the presence of another god for many thousands of years. By accepting this mantle, there are those that will hunt you. It’ll be your job to survive, and to train a new horator before your passing.”
“Okay. How do I do that?”
The sea breeze splashed gently against his face from the bow. Ravion held the amulet, feeling the energy within guide his way. Seeing land just ahead, he signaled the navigator.
The ship groaned from the adjusted tiller and altered course to make port on the large, forested continent.
Ravion was surprised by how easily the mul’daron had taken to the sea. He guessed none of them had sailed before, but with a little guidance they seemed to pick it up fairly quick. It also helped to have a few trained sailors available to show them the ropes. But in the six months they’d been on the ocean, most could find themselves extremely cramped within the tar and wooden confines of a ship. He needed to wake Senaria. They’d be landing soon and he wanted to make sure she was ready for the last leg of the journey.
Quickly making his w
ay to the hold, he rounded the corner and entered the private quarters. Slowly opening the door, he peeked in, seeing Senaria, peacefully asleep upon the bed. Their infant son was curled up comfortably beside her. Stepping into the room, he closed the door and approached. “Senaria, we’re here.”
Her eyes slowly opened, staring up at him. Careful to keep from waking the baby, she smiled. “Where’s here?”
“Coriath”
“Isn’t that just a big swamp?”
“It has a large swamp, yes. But that’s just to throw trespassers off. In reality, the majority of the continent is a dense jungle. Our destination is a little over a week by horseback.”
“How about by wagon back?” Senaria asked, clearly tired of the constant travel.
They’d gone from ship to wagon, from wagon to ship, and back again more times than she could count. If this was the final transition, she’d gladly thank any of the gods that would take the time to listen.
Ravion chuckled at her statement. Leaning over, he kissed her. “By wagon, my love, we’re looking at about a week and a half. I know you’re tired of all the travel. I promise, this will be over very soon. I won’t ask you to stay in Dranar permanently, as I know you have responsibilities to attend. But there are some things I’m going to have to do to restore my people. That may take a few months, but we can leave whenever you desire.”
“My husband, the thoughtful thinker.” Senaria smiled and sat up, hoping Rylan wouldn’t wake just yet. “So long as you’re by my side and my people are taken care of, I don’t care where we go or what we do. My responsibilities in Krondar were little more than a gift from you. Having managed them to the best of my ability, I don’t believe they require my attention any longer.”
“Whatever you decide, you have my support.” Ravion carefully picked up Rylan, cradling him in his arms. He was already getting so big. “We should prepare the wagon and make sure the horses are ready to go.”
Senaria took the child and kissed her husband once again, “Go. See to it. The quicker we get there, the better.”
Ravion left the private quarters and found the stable near the back of the hold. The horses had been well groomed and fed the duration of the trip. He felt a little bad they couldn’t exercise in the crowded confines of the ship, but it was for their own good. Horses and ships didn’t generally mix well.
A human boy, barely old enough to be called a man stepped from the adjoining room and approached Ravion. “What can I do for you, My Lord?”
“We’re making port soon. Will you see to it that the horses are harnessed and ready for travel?”
“Aye, My Lord.”
“I also need the wagon stocked with feed and water. We have a little over a week’s travel and I’d like to avoid having to resupply before reaching our destination if I can help it.”
“I will be done, My Lord.”
Ravion handed him a gold coin for his trouble. Climbing the ladder to the deck, he could see the large land mass much more vividly than before. She was beautiful in a way only nature could provide. They were approaching a long, wooden pier spanning out into the depths. That was good. It meant they didn’t have to risk running the ship aground.
“Prepare to dock, port side!” The navigator called to the crew.
Men and mul’daron rushed to prepare the ship. The sails dropped, being folded up and stored away until their next use. Floating in on momentum alone, the ship rocked gently toward its destination. Two of the mul’daron sailors tossed mooring ropes to the pier and tied them off, pulling any slack they offered. She groaned to a slow and steady halt, secured by the thick ropes.
A mild warmth had settled over the jungle city. It was eerily quiet save for the guards and horses, which didn’t seem to care how much noise they made. A thin blanket of fog floated through the air, restricting vision to more than about half sight.
Stepping from the simple coach wagon, Ravion held the amulet up once again, ensuring they were at the right place. He’d never been to Dranar before, and while she was beautiful, he expected there to be something more. Perhaps a living city. This place seemed abandoned and dead. The buildings and roads were grand in all ways, but the jungle had begun to slowly devour it. Vines clung to the sides of walls, and thick roots had cracked some of the elegant streets. Still, considering how long it’d been abandoned, she showed remarkable resilience. Stepping onto the city street for the first time, Ravion turned and extended his hand, awaiting Senaria.
She stepped down beside her husband and they walked into the city together.
Two of the mul’daron guards stayed with the wagon, while the rest followed after the pair.
Reaching the city center, guided by the mystical amulet, Ravion looked up at the massive palace. It was larger than he could have imagined. And from the way the back side was set into the earth, it was probably still larger yet.
Climbing the numerous, perfectly white steps, Ravion reached the unguarded doors. Giving a firm shove, they swung open with relative ease, allowing dust and stair air to interact with the sunlight. Turning to Senaria, he could hardly contain his excitement, “Do you wish to stay here? I don’t know what’s down there and I don’t think Rylan needs to be breathing all this dust.”
“He’s survived six and a half months at sea, with several one to two week intervals in a wagon. I don’t think a little dust is going to hurt him.” She marched past her husband and made way into the palace.
The polished marble floors were lined in thick layers of dust. Several stained overhead windows allowed the light to faintly penetrate, leaving a dull hue over the massive entryway.
Ravion signaled the guards to remain. Stepping inside, he shut the door. He didn’t need the amulet to know which direction to go anymore. He could feel it within himself. No sooner than he stepped into the corridor, leading deeper into the grand structure, the ceiling and walls flared to life.
Magically hovering sconces floated harmlessly near the walls, their brilliant flames danced in a nonexistent breeze, illuminating the towering hallways and gargantuan rooms. The ceilings appeared as the night sky, revealing thousands of speckled stars and swirling clouds of purple and blue.
Making their way deeper, Ravion glanced up, realizing he hadn’t seen any windows for quite some time. He guessed they’d reached the underground portion, but it didn’t feel as such. If anything, it felt as if they were floating far above the ground, closer to the stars displayed overhead than originally perceived.
Finding the door he’d been searching for, Ravion grabbed the platinum ring on the polished oaken barricade and pulled it toward him. To his surprise, the room was already lit. All the others had waited until he stepped into them before they flared to life. But this one waited prematurely. Sharing a cautious glance with Senaria, they carefully entered the chamber.
Making their way along the magnificent corridor, they could see the vast opening up ahead.
Ravion kept watch on the murder holes in the wall. All it would take was one missed ambush and it would all be over. Finally, he reached the end, staring in wonder at the magnificence around him. The walls and high vaulted ceiling were covered in hundreds of thousands of runes, each one telling their own story.
He couldn’t recognize them all, but he understood most of their meaning. As best he could tell, one had but simply touch the rune to experience the story they told. It was a mystical picture book, using memories as the story. He smiled at the concept. What better way to preserve the past, than by saving it for the future?
The side walls were lined by huge statues, spanning up the ceiling joists. He’d seen those statues a few times before but never really understood them until now. The faces were in constant flux, shifting from one to another in the blink of an eye. But it wasn’t until he saw Meaius’s face that he realized the twelve statues were a warning to the enemies of all.
Lost in the decorative surroundings, he hadn’t noticed the centerpiece of the room was missing. The dais was there, trimmed in th
e blood red carpet leading up to it. But the throne was missing. He could still feel the presence calling to him. But it wasn’t in this room.
Senaria stared intently at the runes lining the walls. Running her finger over one, she was taken back, feeling the memories of the event settle into her mind as if she were present during their happening. But more importantly, it showed her this room.
Turning toward the dais, she marched past Ravion. “This way.”
Ravion followed, curious as to what she was doing.
Senaria reached the rear wall, finding the pattern she’d seen in the vision. Quickly tracing it out with her free hand, the wall began to vibrate and suddenly, it slid open, revealing another door.
Smiling at his bride, Ravion walked past and approached the door. Easily, he pushed it open, revealing another, equally decorated, yet much smaller chamber. In the center sat the throne, an elderly figure resting atop it. Stepping in, Ravion noticed the twelve dalari standing around the edge of the room.
Many of them were younger than him. But they wore the same, matching armor, each one with a trident carved into the collar. Suddenly he knew who these men were. Or at least who their ancestors were. Returning his attention to the man upon the throne, he looked familiar. Approaching, he studied his face.
“Ravion, my old friend. I’m glad you finally made it.” His voice was weak and hoarse from disuse.
“Kashien? What happened? You got old.” Ravion was taken back at how aged the dalari prince, or emperor now, appeared. He felt like he’d just seen him less than a year ago. But the man before him was ancient.
Kashien nodded. “I’ve been waiting here, for you, for nearly twelve thousand years.”
Kashien weakly removed the crown from his head and pulled himself to his feet. “Take your throne. I’ve one last gift to offer.”
The elder dalari slowly made his way from the ornate chair, his feeble form unable to do so quickly. Turning around, he waited for Ravion to take a seat.
