The Temple

by Cameron Mitchell

“We found him,” Halas announced when they had returned to the room. Garek and Des looked up. They had been playing with a deck of cards they’d found somewhere. Halas noticed that more than half the deck was missing. There was a plate of chicken on the floor.

  “Good,” Desmond said. He licked the tip of his finger and flipped a card up, sticking it to his forehead. “Garek and I figured you’d been captured. We were about to mount a rescue operation. As you can clearly see.” The card fell off and fluttered into his lap. He frowned.

  “Where does this man live?” Garek asked, ignoring Des completely.

  “172 Kingston,” Halas said, as if that meant anything.

  “It’s just a short walk,” Aeon added.

  “Should we go now? The sun is setting.”

  “We shall try,” said the prince.

  Earlsfort continued to impress Halas. The house of Jaden Harves reminded him of Conroy’s, as had the information directory, but much larger, and grander. Rows of wooden pillars lined the drive, leading up to two great stone doors. Halas was cold. His friends had all stripped off their uniform shirts, and Halas could see mounds of gooseflesh on Garek’s arms. Desmond alone had had the foresight to wear layers during the battle, a light cotton tunic and black trousers that ended at the knees. Without his uniform, he looked colder than the rest, nearly shivering. It had been warm the previous night, but now a chill breeze twisted through the streets.

  Halas took the brass knocker and brought it down three times. There was an echo inside the house, and then silence. Halas, suddenly sure that they had the wrong address, thought the silence would never end, but then the doors opened with a bit of a creak. A gnome stood before them, wearing a very loud green suit.

  “Who’s this then?” he asked, squinting and standing on his toes, inspecting Halas closely. “No solicitors!”

  Before he could shut the door, Halas grabbed the edge and stepped forward. “We aren’t selling anything,” he said. “But we need to see Jaden Harves.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Halas Duer. My father is Halbrick Duer; he and Mister Harves served together in the army.”

  “Hang on a moment.”

  The gnome shut the door. Halas could hear his footsteps for a few moments, and then things were silent again. He looked between Garek and Des. Garek was chewing on his lower lip. What if they did have the wrong house? What if Harves didn’t wish to see them? What if Harves was working for the queen? Not long after that thought came, Garek said it aloud.

  “What if Jaden Harves works for the queen?”

  Halas shook his head. Aloud, it seemed silly. “Father told us to see him. If Father thinks he’s safe, then he’s safe.”

  “But Father didn’t know things would be this bad,” Garek said.

  “Didn’t he?”

  Garek frowned. “What are you on about?”

  “Forget it. Father would not send us into enemy hands. He knows his friends.”

  “You said they served together,” Aeon mused. “But under whom? My mother and father have kept separate courts for longer than I have been alive.”

  Garek ignored the prince. “We should go.”

  “But we came all this way,” Desmond argued. “It hasn’t been all that long.”

  “It’s a big house, Garek,” Halas said, but he wasn’t sure he believed himself anymore. Garek’s angst was beginning to spread. “He’ll come.”

  “And what if he doesn’t?”

  “He will,” Desmond said. “I promise.”

  That, Halas found he could believe. “If we’re going to trust him, then we must trust him. Aeon, tell him your entire story, all right? Leave nothing out.”

  “I was planning on that. We cannot lie to this man. If he is to help us, then he must trust us. Tormod taught me that.”

  They must have waited for several minutes, watching the sun sink steadily into the horizon. Sudden rain fell for a brief instant before stopping. Back home, the rain had come gradually, but here Halas was already starting to see an uncertain state of mind in the weather patterns. Rain was just as fitful in Earlsfort as it had been on the Inigo, and it was always powerful. A while after the rain stopped, the door opened, and the gnome returned. “Come on in! Make yourselves comfortable.”

  They did, settling in a room filled with bright red sofas. Earlsfort was a strange place. “Would you like something to drink? Eat?” They declined.

  They didn’t have to wait long for Jaden Harves to arrive.

  His skin dark and his head bald, Jaden Harves was an impressive man. Though his body was lean, Halas could tell that it was not weak. His brown eyes told Halas that he was not to be trifled with, even though the man himself likely had no idea he was giving such a message. He beamed down at them and extended a hand, pointing with a single finger.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said, “let me guess. You and you, you’re Halbrick’s boys.”

  He pointed at Halas and Garek. Garek grinned. “We are,” he said. “We’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

  “Bah, you’re lyin. Ole Halbrick never reminisces.”

  “Oh not at all, he spoke very fondly of you.”

  Why is he lying? Halas had never heard the name ‘Jaden Harves’ in his life, at least not before he left on the Blade. Had Garek? Had he and their father actually talked, been friendly with one another? Still, it seemed to please their host. Jaden eagerly shook hands with all four friends, introducing himself to Des and Prince Aeon. “A prince?” he said. “In my humble home? I think you should explain yourselves. Tom, please fetch us some tea. And by the gods, get them some clothing.”

  “Right away, sir,” said the gnome, hurrying out.

  “I do beg your pardon boys, my liege. You all must be terribly cold.”

  Halas was shivering, but he fought it down. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

  “In fact, come with me. You all could do with a good bath, I think. I’ll have them drawn up. Tom!” he called, leaving the room. Halas glanced at his friends. Again, Garek shrugged.

  “I like him,” he said.

  There were three washrooms in the manor. Halas waited outside Desmond’s door. Desmond finished quickly, and when Halas went in he’d found the bath freshly redrawn. He nodded thanks and quickly undressed, slipping into the basin. It was wonderful. Halas never wanted to leave, but he found himself compelled to after only a few minutes. He wanted to explain himself to this man Harves. He felt exposed. He wanted to know if Harves could be trusted.

  Jaden Harves waited patiently for them to finish. He had laid out towels and large, ill-fitting robes. Jaden and Tom lived alone, and as such there were no clothes on the estate that would fit their guests. He poured tea and handed out squares of sweet bread before he allowed them to speak. And then they did.

  “My father is King Melick,” Prince Aeon began, “and my mother, Queen Anaua. They have been fighting over Cordalis for the better part of my life now. Cordalis, and myself. I’ve lived with my father for as long as I can remember. Recently, however, he decided that I was in danger.” He sneered. “In danger, from my own mother. Ha! However foolish it was, he was convinced. So he sent me away. He booked passage with The Wandering Blade, a surprise voyage for Captain Brennus and the crew, who were none too pleased.

  “But they had no choice, and soon we set out.”

  From there, Halas took over, detailing from the time Garek had been drafted to their escape at the docks. At times, Garek and Des would interject, making the story sound much more exciting than it actually was, but Halas did nothing to correct them. Let them exaggerate, he thought. Neither he nor Des said anything of the forest. Through it all, Jaden Harves sat quietly, watching and listening. His tea was untouched when the account had finished.

  “Well,” he said after a while, “that certainly is an interesting tale. Are you all right?”

  “For the most part,” Garek responded.

  “And you’re wanted by the law.”

  “Yes, sir.”

 
; “Hm.”

  “Sir,” Halas said, “we don’t mean to bring down any trouble on you. We just need help. We’re in a bad way, and we are unsure of how to proceed. Please, do what little you are comfortable with and we will be on our way as soon as we are able.”

  “There was never a doubt in my mind that I would help you,” said Jaden. “Anything for Halbrick. He’s saved my life too many times to count, and he’s a dear friend besides. I don’t know what I would do with myself if I tossed his boys out in their time of need. I’ll show you to your room. Tom, cook us up a supper please. Come along, boys.”

  Even the guest bedroom reminded Halas of Conroy’s manor. It made him sad to think of home. He shouldn’t have volunteered to come on this journey.

  But then, what would have happened to Garek?

  It was curious how Jaden Harves treated his gnome. In Cordalis, they were servants, property made to cook and clean. Just like children and dogs, gnomes were not to be mistreated, but their place in society was unmistakable. Tom was different. Jaden asked him to prepare food and the like, yes, but he never once ordered. He was kind, and thanked Tom for everything. He spoke to the gnome as a friend. Halas thought it odd. He reflected on it while watching Tom cook a small roast. Along with it were a dozen different fruits, most of which Halas had never heard of. He was especially fond of the banana and the mango. The pineapple, he found, was not very good at all.

  Something came over him, and he found himself asking Jaden if he had any potatoes. “I’ve not had any since before leaving home,” he explained. Jaden laughed.

  “I’ll do you one better—these are sweet potatoes.”

  And Tom the gnome entered, carrying a bowl full. Halas tried them, but found that they were far too sweet, as the name would imply. He much preferred the normal stuff.

  Garek, however, loved them.

  Night fell. The four friends retired to the rooms Harves had laid out for them. Halas pulled the covers up to his chest, and very nearly fell asleep. He roused himself completely when a shadow appeared in his doorway. It quickly disappeared. Halas rose and followed.

  The person descended down the spiral staircase and turned a corner. Halas kept low, suspicious. Who would be creeping about at such a late hour? As he moved down the stairs, he heard a crash, and froze. Then Aeon cursed. Halas hurried the rest of the way, turned the corner, and saw the prince.

  Aeon had wrapped a cloak around himself. The boy knelt on the tile floors, stuffing something back into his pack, which he’d evidently dropped.

  “What are you doing?”

  Prince Aeon didn’t look up. “I am leaving. I wanted to start before I fell asleep.”

  “What? Where? Why? You cannot leave now!”

  “Why not? I’ve still business, up north.”

  “Business? What business? Please, my lord, tell me. What are you on about?”

  “Halas,” said the prince, finally looking up, “I think we are past ‘my lord,’ don’t you?”

  “Well, what business?”

  Aeon stood and slung his pack. “I’ve business in the mountains. My father did not send me away only to keep me safe. He sent me on a mission. You have heard of the Temple of my namesake, I am sure. I must go there and stop a great atrocity from taking place.”

  “What atrocity?”

  “Someone seeks to destroy the Temple, and the wards within it. Without that Temple, the Burning Desert will no longer contain the Ifrinn.”

  “Ifrinn?”

  “Some people call them Infernals: the demons that Aeon the Great gave his life to defeat. Many years ago, my father saw it in a dream. When he awoke, he was ill, and blathered about three from another world and a half-Infernal.” He scoffed again. “Another world. Why would someone leave their world for this? I would gladly forsake this world for another.”

  “Would that we could.”

  Aeon snorted. “It took many days for him to be well again, and when he was, he remembered nothing of the dream, not until very recently. He told me that if I should fail, I should seek out the Shifters, for it is often said that they are not from this world, and that they will be able to fulfill his dream. But first I must go north, and do what I can.”

  “Why do you go alone? Surely you cannot do this by yourself.”

  “Tormod and my father both gave explicit instructions for me not to trust anyone.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  He smiled thinly. “I’m making an exception.”

  Halas smiled back. It had been seconds, but he knew what he had to do. He understood now what drove his father through life, that strong sense of purpose Halbrick had found. Now Halas had purpose as well. He had to help the prince. “I won’t let you do it, you know,” he said. “You cannot go alone.”

  “I have to, Halas.”

  “No, no you don’t. You have friends. I will go with you. We will go with you. Please, Aeon, do not do this alone.”

  “I have to!”

  “If you leave tonight, I will go straight to Garek and Des, and we will follow. We’re going with you; it’s just a matter of how you like your company.”

  “What if they do not come with us?” Aeon asked.

  “They may not, but that won’t stop me from doing it. Besides, they will. Well, Desmond will. Garek may not like it. Perhaps it would be better for him to stay here anyway.” But in his heart, he knew his brother would be with them for the trip.

  The four friends sat around a small table, with Jaden Harves and Tom. They’d slept long into the day, and awoken to find fresh clothes, purchased that morning. Harves had also found several maps of the area around Earlsfort and the area around the Frigid Peaks. “Where is the Temple?” he asked.

  “Here,” Aeon said, putting a finger on the map. “Beyond the Stoneacre Crags, in what they call the Arctic Wasteland. Tormod…Tormod once told me that the wasteland is miles of empty tundra, and that the Temple will be easy to spot from anywhere past the crags.”

  “That’s about as far north as it gets, my lord,” Jaden said.

  “Yes. I imagine my namesake wanted it that way.”

  “I hear the crags are dangerous. Miles deep, some, and just as far across. The stories tell of terrible beasts that live at the depths, creatures that feed off the very darkness.”

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” said Des. “Terrible beasts and eternal darkness are some of our specialties, right Halas?”

  He nudged Halas with his elbow. Halas grinned, but in his mind he was frantically trying to rid himself of images of a bloodthirsty great wolf, mysterious cabins, and buzzing lights that somehow took pleasure in pain. Bastards.

  Meanwhile, Desmond continued. “I assume you won’t be going with us?”

  “I am sorry, but no. I am old, and cannot go traipsing across Aelborough, even with company such as yourselves and a mission so important. Besides,” he grinned, “someone has to throw the soldiers off your trail. However, I will do whatever I may that will make your journey easier. You’ll all have horses, maps, fine weapons, and as much food as you can carry. I am preparing a cover for you as well, most likely with a caravan. With,” he added, “your leave of course, my lord.”

  Aeon nodded. “A good idea.”

  They spent a week with Jaden Harves, studying geography and even a little weapons training. True to his word, Harves had horses to spare for them. He led Halas to his: an old brown gelding named Owain. Owain took a handful of oats from Halas’ hand and nuzzled his shoulder affectionately. “He’s real good with people,” Harves said. For Des he had a brown and white paint horse, and a young mare for Garek. To Aeon he gave a magnificent white stallion. Aeon stroked the horse’s muzzle; the horse neighed.

  Jaden Harves taught them to ride as best as he could. Halas and Garek had been taught as children, and remembered much. Aeon was an accomplished rider. He claimed to have even competed in tournaments. Halas remembered one such event in the previous year, held at the fairgrounds north of Cordalis. He did not remember t
he prince participating.

  Desmond, however, was lousy. The Duer brothers laughed at Des as he took one embarrassing fall after another; they felt it sweet comeuppance for his cooking prowess. “If a grizzled old man like me can learn to ride in just a few days,” Jaden said, “so can you. Just keep at it.”

  Desmond complained, but he kept at it. Halas, Garek, and Aeon led him around the grounds, and once he began to show proficiency in actually staying on the horse, their rides spread to the surrounding town.

  One afternoon, when Halas, Garek, and Des were out riding, they came upon a group of children playing in an alley. The children had sticks in their hands, and were engaged in a series of mock sword-fights. Halas slowed Owain to a walk and then stopped.

  Aelborough had no shortage of great heroes, and all children dreamed of them, of being Aeon the Great or a member of the Candlewood Trio or even Onath Cullough. They played in the dirt with their sticks and rocks and pretended they were legends. In their minds they fought wars, slew dragons, scaled high peaks, all while being sorcerers and warriors of great repute. Halas had seen it before, even participated in the game times without number, but now it was painful to watch. The children thought nothing of pretending to kill each other, but to Halas, it was too much like the things he’d witnessed on The Wandering Blade. He looked away. Garek looked on with his brother, hands on his thighs. Desmond watched them solemnly.

  The children saw the horses and instantly brightened. Suddenly, the brave warriors had their cavalry. Shouting, cheering, they ran toward the horses. Halas forced a smile and rode away, and the children gave chase, laughter filling the streets.

  Halas had no interest in playing. He wasted no time in leading Desmond and Garek away. When the children had been left behind, he could not help but sigh. He felt deeply saddened.

  “Those children…” he whispered.

  The day had been sunny and bright, but now it began to rain, pounding down on their heads. “I know,” said Desmond. “I understand.”

  “Perhaps we should visit the dock,” said Garek. “Just to see.”