A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One
Page 12
Chapter Seven
The next night, they had gathered on the deck near the wheelhouse, supping on hot loaves of bread and beef. They had sailed nearly out of the territory of Elfwhere now and as the trees thinned, dark mountains appeared far in the distant east, the moonlight catching their soaring peaks. Harquinn would still be several days away but Hagan found himself anxious. He dreaded the council’s request and yet a fire had been ignited within him. He yearned for a new cause. His life needed reason again.
D’Pharin looked at his brother and shook his head.
“What is it?” Hagan asked, placing his plate on the deck.
“Well, I don’t know if I am the only one but I’ve had the strangest dreams the last few nights. Not really nightmares but very weird.” D’Pharin said, staring at his boots.
“Trust me.” Hagan replied. “You’re not the only one. I dream of people that I have never seen before yet, they seem to know me. The same woman follows me, never speaking. She seems familiar.” He told no one of his dream of the Wind. He was still sorting that one out.
“I dream of storms.” Windenn said quietly.
“Storms?” Gorin asked, his interest suddenly piqued.
“Dark and distant storms. Deep, rumbling thunder rolling across the world. The sky churning like a black snake. I always wake before it reaches its full fury. I never see the rain ... ” Her voice seemed strange and faraway.
“The High Elves see power in dreams. Learn to decipher them and you know yourself.” Shindire suddenly added. The others eyed her curiously as she continued writing in her large journal, her eyes never leaving the page.
Vasp cleared his throat and stood, stretching his back.
“Very true, Graelund. Dreams can be interpreted in so many ways. How can one be sure they have deciphered the correct meaning? Is a dream of flying a need for freedom and joy or a dream of escape from some sense of peril?”
“I see your point, brother. You know of the many schools across the sea where this study is taught. Dreamlore has been researched for thousands of years. I am certain that our people have narrowed down the possibilities by now.” she said, eyes still on her writing.
“We need not close our minds to all other avenues, correct?” Vasparian asked.
Her eyes suddenly met his, unmoving. With that look she seemed to say ‘you dare question me?’ She returned her attention to the journal, her quill scratching away.
“These dreams, Woodwarden ... ” Gorin said. “Do they frighten you?”
“I ... not really. They captivate me and hold me fast. No matter how I struggle, I cannot take my eyes from the sky. It commands my attention.”
“Very foreboding, Woodwarden.” said the Troll, searching her face.
“Indeed.” Shindire added and rose to her feet. She returned her porcelain dish to the wooden tray that had served them and departed, journal under one arm.
“Young Marindel, are you up to a little Elven night-fishing?” Vasparian asked D’Pharin.
“Sounds fun. Show me the way, General.”
The two of them waved their farewells and made their way to the stern. They soon had long wooden poles baited and the lines cast overboard. The others could see their silhouettes as they reclined amidst coils of rope and conversed.
“Hmmm, we must discuss this secret of yours, Windenn. What is happening?” Gorin asked with concern.
She remained silent for a moment, her eyes closed.
“Let’s leave her be for now, Gorin. This is obviously difficult for her. I cannot imagine what is going through her head right now.” Hagan said.
“No, no. I‘ll try.” she said softly.
“When did you first become aware of this thing inside of you?” Gorin asked.
“It’s not a thing, Grimandin. It’s magic. I‘m certain. I‘ve pieced together all of my thoughts and memories from the recent past and the only possible answer is this; S’darin’s blood entered my system and started a change.”
“But everyone knows it takes years, sometimes decades for magic to make itself visible.” Hagan said.
“The Wisp, Hagan. From what ye’ve told me, her birds tore into me. Something of the Wisp dwells inside of me as well. S’darin is here.” She laid a palm on her chest. “And the Wisp is here. Those combined powers have done this t’me. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. From what I know of history and legend, this sort of thing has never happened. I am the first.”
“Hmmm, it makes sense, yes. How can you be so calm and unafraid? No one can know where this will lead. What if you are not strong enough to contain such power?” the Troll asked.
“Then I die.”
They all sat silently for a moment, staring up at the night sky.
“I don’t want anyone else to know except D’Pharin. He should be told. It isn’t right to keep this from him.” said Windenn with another glance at the two fishermen. She wondered if they would all make it out of this. Some dark finale awaited them, somehow she knew, and harm would come to one or more of them. She knew.
“Vasparian can also be trusted. If he gives his word it is as iron. He will not break it.” Hagan said.
“Then he is the last. Our High Elven companion has yet to gain my trust and at this time, I would rather she not know our secret. My secret. Agreed?”
Gorin and Hagan nodded. Hagan stood, clapping her affectionately on the back.
“I’ll fill those two in. Who knows, maybe I’ll catch a cinderfin. If so, you’ll have to help me reel it in.” He laughed at Gorin as he strode off toward the stern.
“Hmmm. If you catch one, I’ll be glad to help.” the Troll said with a grin. They both knew this to be unlikely, the cinderfin being largely a saltwater fish and fairly scarce in recent years. They commonly grew to a size that would dwarf their present craft; even Gorin could never land the beast.
Windenn soon sensed the Stone Troll’s eyes searching her face. His concern was evident.
“Relax, Grimandin. I don’t think I’d be given this gift, if it were simply plannin’ t’destroy me.” she said.
“It’s a gift then, is it? Hmmm, I am not so sure.”
“All I ask it that ye stop worryin’. Everything will turn out fine.” She tapped him in the chest with the back of her hand. He was currently having a hard time seeing her as a war buddy and not a helpless child. She had changed. He wondered how much of Windenn was left in there. Perhaps he was being overly dramatic.
Hmmm. I have to stop this or I’ll drive myself mad!
Together they sat and talked for hours, long into the night concerning many things. Hagan did catch a fish but only a suntail, not a cinderfin.
Two days later, Gorin was up just before the sun, munching a crust of bread and watching the southern horizon. His eyes could barely discern rolling hills that eventually led to Harquinn. They would soon leave the river and make the remainder of the journey on foot. Something troubled him. He could not yet see it, but his nostrils picked up the faint odor of smoke. Something burned to the so
uth. He held his worry and trudged to the bow.
One of the Elven deckhands met him there, two mugs of dark tea in his hands and offered the Troll one of them. He graciously accepted, the warmth of the drink soothing his throat, comforting his belly.
The Elf looked to the south with concern, his brows narrowing as he contemplated something.
“Hmmm, you smell it as well ... ” Gorin said.
“Yes. Something is not right in the hills.” the Elf replied as he leaned against the rail. Nothing on two legs had the senses of an Elf, Gorin knew, and his worry grew.
“What do you gather from this, friend?” asked Gorin, draining his mug of all but the dregs.
“I cannot be certain.” his companion answered and Gorin knew the Elf was hiding something. He chose not to press the matter. Together, they would find out soon enough.
Gorin sensed a presence behind him and turned. Shindire leaned there against the wheelhouse. Her dark hair had been pulled tight and piled atop her head, fastened with a thin silver chain. Her icy blue eyes met his and held them momentarily and he could see that she knew what awaited them as well. She smirked and continued to scribble in her book. Gorin had the sudden urge to snatch the thing and pore over it, learning all of her dark secrets. He turned away from her, feeling suddenly embarrassed.
He felt the need to wake the others, but resisted it. Let them have their rest.
Roughly an hour later, the others joined him, scratching heads and yawning, squinting their eyes against the bright dawn light. Vasparian said his hellos and marched off to the captain’s quarters. The others gathered round and pulled up barrels and crates to sit upon. A quick breakfast was had by all, consisting of fish from the night before and dried fruit from the boat stores.
“How much longer, Gorin?” D’Pharin asked groggily.
“We will go ashore within the next hour. From there, roughly a few hour’s march, I would say.”
“Harquinn lies just beyond those hills, brother.” Hagan added with a smile. Vast, deep green mounds covered the horizon, dotted sporadically with small trees and wildflowers. Like gentle waves, they slowly faded at the edges, giving way to lush vales hidden in shadow. Were it not for the hills, the grand city of Harquinn would be within plain sight. Hagan could remember every detail as if he had left just yesterday. The people of that fair city had a love for the color purple and it showed in nearly every aspect of their surroundings but most visibly in the great cloth awnings that sheltered nearly every door and window.
Most buildings within the city were of stone; the yellowish stone quarried nearby in Phaest and beautifully wrought. The most important buildings, schools, temples and government structures were all domes and high arches whereas the lesser structures tended toward the blockier styles. Together, the two manners of architecture meshed like a masterpiece.
He had missed that city from the morning he had ridden away and given up the heroic life. He did not want to be a hero but he realized that he wanted to be something.
Scant moments passed and he glanced up to the Harquinn hills again, his eyes searching for her high towers. There appeared to be a dusky haze over the area and he thought he could see faint trails of smoke in the distance, drifting toward the sky.
What?
Harquinn burned!
“What in hell?” he shouted and spun to face those around him.
“Do you see that? The city’s on fire!” he shouted.
D’Pharin ran to the rail with Windenn, shielding his eyes with one hand. He turned to Hagan with a puzzled expression.
“How can that be?” he asked.
“This is not right. Something is not right.” Windenn murmured, finger to her lips.
“Hmmm, yes. I sensed as much earlier but could not be sure. Something is amiss within the city. It seems that fires burn throughout. I cannot imagine why. No force could have reached Harquinn this quickly. Surely they would have met resistance in Mon Glaemen and Chur Linse. This is strange.” the Troll said.
Moments later, they all stood upon the banks of the river, checking their supplies. The smell of smoke was now very obvious.
The boat continued on to the south and was soon out of sight around a bend.
Shindire strolled up, her eyes buried in her books, showing no outward concern.
“Why must Man destroy Man? They know little but destruction. That which they create lasts for but a blink of an eye.” she stated simply.
Hagan glared at her through his brows. He had had nearly enough of her condescension. High Elf? Hardly. Luckily, she had nothing more to say, simply walking there among them as they neared Harquinn.
What had happened? In Hagan’s absence, what had changed? Gorin was right. It could not be an attack. What then?
The march to the city seemed to go on forever. The group could barely contain themselves, the anticipation had grown so intense. They needed to know. Hagan had set out first, slowly pulling away until he was some distance from the rest of them. Shindire brought up the rear, seeming much too calm. What was it with her?
He had covered nearly half the distance when they reached the rolling hills, slowing a bit. His eyes never left the horizon as the others caught up to him.
“The smell is horrible. What has happened?” D’Pharin questioned just behind him.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.” the Woodwarden added.
“Hmmm. Rest assured, friends, the council still retains control. Let there be no doubt.” Gorin explained.
“I agree.” Vasp said, his face all too serious. “Had Councilcrane fallen, we of Elfwhere would have had news long ago. Mournenhile could not march across the land unnoticed. The fires that now rage, burn from within. This is some sort of inner turmoil. It has been building for many years and now ... ”
The others turned to look at him but none spoke. They were all in agreement. Some sort of conflict had erupted inside of the city and they traveled toward it.
Hours passed and Hagan finally climbed the last of the hills. As he trudged up the grassy slope, the hard and choking air biting his lungs, the full view of the city suddenly stretched out below him. It was much as he remembered it, vast and intricately built but large plumes of smoke rose from various sections of the city. Harquinn was hidden in haze, preventing him from making out details. The cause of the fires still was not evident. One thing was certain, no dark armies had camped outside of her walls. The city was not under siege.
Far above everything, the great spires of the Hall of Councilcrane soared, their foreign architecture standing out starkly against the browns and purples of the other buildings that surrounded it.
D’Pharin called up to him as he began to climb.
“What do you see, Hagan? What is it?”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s happening inside. Harquinn is at war with itself. Dammit, it was only a matter of time, I suppose.”
In moments, the others joined him. Together they stood for some time gazing down upon their destination with a strange feeling of uncertainty.
“So this is Harquinn.” Shindire said, her journal at her side for once. “I
nteresting ... ”
No one responded. Instead, Hagan led them down the far side of the hill and into the lush valley that cradled the city. Gorin gradually moved up alongside of him, a subtle smile on his stony face.
“What?” Hagan asked
“Hmmm. Nothing, my friend. I am pleased that my task has neared completion. That is all.”
“Right, only several days later than the council had requested.” Hagan remarked, raising an eyebrow.
“Ah, that is true. It is my hope that my tardiness may be overlooked. Many thought it an impossible thing to return Lord Hagan Marindel to Harquinn, home of the Battle of the Black Sun.” Gorin said.
“There you go with that ‘Lord’ garbage again.” said Hagan with a shake of his head.
“That is something you should get used to, friend. Within Harquinn, you are a hero, a defender. Be prepared, Hagan. You will see much here that may prove uncomfortable.” Gorin said.
Hagan only grumbled.
“I can’t say that I look forward to it.” he managed.
Gorin simply laughed and fell back to join the others. He and Vasp struck up a conversation concerning wizards and magic in general, producing many a glance from the Woodwarden.
Inside, Windenn hoped to learn something from the council simply by observation. She felt the need to gain every ounce of knowledge that she could gather while still retaining her secrets. She knew as all others did that a novice wizard was a target. Many would want her blood once her secret was revealed. To become strong enough to defend herself would be her immediate goal.
“Something troubles you, Woodwarden. It is written all over your face. Care to share your thoughts?”
It was Shindire who strode up beside her, sly smile on her face.
“I’m worried about what will greet us in Harquinn. Something is not right.” Windenn replied.
“Very interesting. A lie, but interesting nonetheless.” she said in a biting tone. She stared intensely at Windenn, who matched her gaze.
“What?”
“Do not be offended, girl. It is a gift, my ability to discern lie from truth. Perhaps it is simply intuition. Nevertheless, you were lying. I can see it in your eyes. It is not Harquinn that concerns you, of that I am certain.”
“Go away, Shindire.” Windenn whispered through gritted teeth.
Shindire smiled, bowed sarcastically and fell back.
Vasparian had caught most of the conversation and felt it his responsibility to ease Windenn’s mind. He slowed, allowing her to catch up to him. They walked for a moment in silence, their eyes on the grey forms of the towers of Harquinn. They would be inside the walls within the hour.
“Do not allow her to anger you. It is her way of testing all of us. High Elves consider themselves above everything else, but they secretly want to be part of our worlds. This, they would never admit to, of course. She waits for us to prove our worthiness.” he said with a laugh.
“She showed no concern or sadness when her manservant was killed. Do you remember?” Windenn said with a quick look over her shoulder.
“She dares not show emotion. It could be seen as a weakness.”
“That’s ridiculous. How can they be so different from you? How did that happen? Those of Elfwhere are the most precious of peoples. I have never seen more kindness and compassion than within your forest home. Her home must be without heart indeed.”
“Not all of her people act as she does. Give it time. She may surprise you.”
“I doubt it.” Windenn remarked.
Vasp smiled.
“Don’t give up on her yet, Windenn.” he said.
Once again, they were silent for a time. To the south, dim in the distance, a long line of wagons was becoming visible. Most likely merchants and traders making their way from Pinaven Lake with massive loads of merchandise to sell. Regardless of the inner war, they continued their business. The smell of coin outweighed the risk. Their animals kicked up clouds of dust that eventually added to the thickness of the smoky air.
At the opposite end of the city, a group of what seemed to be soldiers made their way to the northern gates. Metal glistened in the murky light as they snaked toward the walls.
“Strange ... ” Vasparian remarked and quickly walked up to join Hagan, Windenn on his heels.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Harquinn has no army to speak of. Unless things have changed in recent times.” Vasp said.
“It has been scant weeks since my departure. At that time, Harquinn’s soldiers numbered very few indeed. It seems that the old debate has become far more.” Gorin added, his dark eyes squinting, attempting to count the distant figures.
“There are hundreds.” Shindire said, eyes on her journal.
“Yes.” Vasp agreed. Only one of Elven descent could have counted them from their vantage-point.
“Might I suggest that we enter the city from the south?” D’Pharin said.
“Hmmm. I concur.” Gorin agreed with a laugh.
“All we must do is to reach the council.” Hagan said, instinctively gripping his sword hilt.
“Wait.”
Windenn grasped Gorin at the elbow, pulling him back. Her eyes held intense fear suddenly and the Troll turned to her.
“Woodwarden? Windenn?” he said.
“Grimandin, I ... we cannot go there. Something is wrong. Something dark.” she whispered these words, concealing them from Shindire as best she could.
“There is nothing to fear, Woodwarden. Davaris waits for us within Councilkeep. Civil war or no, Davaris still holds control of Harquinn without doubt. We will be protected.”
“Something is warning me, Grimandin. The voice sounds true.” Windenn pleaded. “The voice in here.” She pushed her temple with a finger.
“Woodwarden, you yourself admit that this is new to you. How can you be certain what any of it means? Perhaps it is just a warning to be careful. A sense of danger but nothing specific.”
“I ... ” she started.
“Stick with me. I would never let anything harm you.”
This seemed to calm her somewhat but she did not release his arm. Instead, she allowed him to pull her along beside him. She had trusted him so many times in the past. She could trust him once more.
But the voice. So definite. Intense. What was it?
She traveled this way, her fingers white as they dug into Gorin’s flesh until they joined the merchant train as it moved along Harquinn’s southern road. The smell of fish reached them, coupled with perfumes and oils brought from some island in the Slatebreaker Sea, they surmised. The traders were comprised of odd-seeming peoples of foreign descent, dark of skin and sharp of feature. Their voices were high and their speech was very alien and came out in short, quick bursts. How they understood each other was a mystery to them.
Several bright wooden coaches bounced along behind them, painted with arcane symbols and perched dragons. Dreamsin
gers most likely, D’Pharin thought. A city the size of Harquinn would attract many with their particular gift. He wondered why they traveled here with the obvious turmoil that raged within the city. The promise of gold was worth the risk, he guessed. As he gazed around him, he suddenly realized how far from Lauden he had come. In mere days he had seen sights that his friends back home would never believe. Would he return to tell the tale? Was there anything for him to return to?
Directly in front of him, Gorin was all smiles as he trudged along within the caravan. He had been successful, proven himself. Then, abruptly, he found himself saddened. What now? This quest had been so important to him and it was at an end. He dreaded returning to Rathnok now and wasn’t sure why. He had become part of something important. Something that could change the face of Kirkaldin. Had he made a difference? Bringing Hagan back to Harquinn was a great thing. If anyone could face down the armies of Mournenhile, it was Hagan Marindel.
Gorin wanted to stay. He wanted to remain part of history. He did not wish to leave this group but knew that the elders of his home wanted his immediate return. He had other responsibilities that could not be discarded. His face grew long at the thought of leaving the others. Hagan, D’Pharin, Vasp and especially Windenn. He had not realized how much he had missed her company until now. He must stop this. To think of defying the elders! He would not dare. A Stone Troll did not disobey an elder.
Upon reaching the southern gates, they discovered how far into utter chaos Harquinn had fallen. Several guards bearing long golden shields argued with a group of Dreamsingers, their faces contorted in anger and frustration. Something was strange about their uniforms as if they had been hastily put together. This was not the proper uniform for a city guard, Hagan knew. These men had been recently put in place and obviously were unaccustomed to such work. Eventually, the Dreamsingers in their painted coaches were led through and into the city and the rest of the caravan poured through the gates unhindered. The guards had evidently given up on keeping the order and did not so much as glance in their direction as they passed.
For the most part, Harquinn was much as Hagan remembered. The towering buildings dotted with balconies and high walkways of stone still stood proudly against the sky and of course every window bore the purple awning. All around, however, confused people milled about, some running and others sticking to the alleyways. D’Pharin and Windenn narrowly missed being knocked to the ground by a fleeing group of youngsters clutching a leather sack and soon pursued by a large merchantman gripping a wooden club in his fist. His lush, purple surcoat had become most disheveled as he chased the boys and he tried to straighten it, coming to a stop in front of Hagan’s group.
“Damned thieves! How can a decent man make a living in this place? There is no law! You all saw that, didn’t you?” he screamed out, yet no one in the crowd looked his way. Ignored, he shook his head and mumbled something about moving his business into the north. “What happened to that accursed council of ours, eh?”
Hagan moved up to the man cautiously.
“Excuse me, sir? What has happened here in the city?” he said and the man turned to him, face red with exertion.
“Happened? Those in power are having an argument, can’t you see? Why, it seems no one agrees-“ The man paused then, spittle on his lower lip and did a double take.
“Hey, aren’t you-? No… yes, yes, Lord Hagan! It is you, isn’t it? Oh, Wind! Lord Hagan Marindel once again in Harquinn!” he yelled to everyone that could hear. Hagan held out his hands in an attempt to quiet the man.
“Sir, please. Do not draw attention.”
“Everyone! Lord Hagan Marindel has returned!” he shouted and every head turned. “No more civil war, right? You’ve come to straighten them out, right? This is a glorious day indeed! Must go home and tell the wife, yes!” With that he scuffled off through the growing mass of people that had begun to gather.
Hagan could only sigh and put his face in his hand. All around him, people stared and talked amongst themselves, pointing in his direction.
“Wind, let’s get the hell out of here.” he groaned as someone stroked his back, wanting nothing more than to touch him.
“So be it, Hagan.” Gorin agreed. “We shall cut through Marindel Square.”
“Cut through what?” D’Pharin asked.
“Oh, my apologies. I had forgotten, yes. They renamed the old Cathedral Square after Hagan had left for Lauden. There are many things in this place with your family name, inns and taverns, why there is even a brothel on the east side tha-“
“Alright, Gorin! Let’s get moving.” Hagan growled.
Together, they moved through the crowd into an alley. They made their way quickly across the stone roadways and were soon out of the busy gateway. Try as he might, Hagan, could not hide himself well. At nearly every turn, he was recognized, starting a new commotion and adding to his aggravation. Customers stepped out of shops and stood on the street watching as he walked by. They looked as if they had seen the Wind himself strolling down the lane. Hagan wanted nothing more than to hide his face but there was nowhere to go. Moments later, they emerged from a dim alleyway into what had now been named Marindel Square and Hagan froze, staring up above him.
“Wind ... “ he whispered and the others followed his gaze.
There in the center of the square, towering over all that had gathered there, stood an enormous statue. It was solid bronze by the look of it and rose to the height of the nearest buildings, casting grey shadows nearly to Hagan’s feet. Two figures loomed there, locked in mortal battle, one holding the other to the ground at the point of his blade.
“Hagan ... ” D’Pharin whispered. “Is that you?”
Hagan shook his head, unblinking.
“Wind, what is this?” he finally uttered. “That is not how it was. Gorin, what the hell is this?”
“Hmmm. It is as the people remember it, Hagan. You defeated Malhain that day at the edge of a blade. This is Harquinn’s representation of that fateful day.”
“But ... look how huge I seem next to Malhain-“
“They flatter you. The statues physical size symbolizes your undeniable victory. Do not concern yourself with details, my friend.”
Hagan shook his head in disgust.
“It’s wrong. I-“ Hagan’s voice faded into silence as a crowd moved toward him, some glancing from his face to the statue high above.
People began calling his name and pointing, their eyes wide with joy. Some even wept.
This cannot be real.
Stop this.
“Lord Hagan. Is it you? Is it truly you?” one cried out, brushing his cheek.
“Lord Marindel has returned!” another shouted from a distance.
He stared at their faces, his mouth hanging open in shock. Gorin held the growing throng at bay, his great arms outstretched.
“Hmmm, please my good people. Lord Hagan has important matters to attend. Councilcrane awaits.” he announced with pride.
With this, an audible hush fell over the crowd, low whispers springing up everywhere. They stepped back, allowing Hagan some room to move forward.
“What’s happening, Gorin?” he asked.
“At the mention of the council, they seemed almost frightened.” Vasparian offered from the rear.
“I told ye. Something is wrong here.” Windenn added as she reached for Gorin’s support.
The sound of hooves on stone abruptly filled the square. Several soldiers entered the area, helmets glistening in the sun. Hagan immediately noticed the lack of the crane on their breastplates as had been in the past. The balance of power had indeed shifted. The soldiers roughly moved their horses through the crowd, knocking people aside and stopped before Hagan. The foremost glanced down his nose at him and sneered.
“This is not Hagan Marindel.” he spat. “Look at him. Does this look like a hero to you?”
Hagan took a step forward in defiance.
“Hagan ... ” Gorin warned. He t
hen addressed the soldier.
“Sir, it seems you are mistaken. For this is Lord Hagan Marindel, Defender of Harquinn and Hero of the Black Sun. Far from the west I have brought him at the will of the council. He has earned your respect, now pay it.”
The soldier’s response was cut short as a new rider entered the square and quickly maneuvered his steed toward them. A few short whispers and the lead soldiers demeanor changed, his face draining of color.
“Lord Hagan,” the newcomer said. “Your presence is requested at Councilkeep. Welcome back to Harquinn, my Lord and I apologize for the pup.” He nodded toward the now shrinking soldier to his left.
He stared at the ground, avoiding their eyes.
“I am truly sorry, my Lord. I ... I didn’t know ...” he muttered.
“Now you do.” Hagan answered and followed the others across the square and up a narrow street, the others just behind him.
“He nearly soiled himself, did you see that?” D’Pharin asked excitedly. “Hagan, this is wonderful. Look at everything that honors you. Street names, statues-Look there, Marindel Inn! And whose likeness is painted on the sign? You! A little more muscular than the real thing but it’s supposed to be you, right?”
Hagan could not help but smile at his brother’s attitude. D’Pharn would probably enjoy this were their roles reversed. Hagan, however, had never felt more out of place.
As they traveled toward Councilkeep, a large group of people accompanied them, kept at a distance by the armed men. Vendors were already working the crowd, selling anything with Hagan’s name or likeness. It was an odd feeling.
The one thing that did not bother him was the young children. They pointed and imitated his fighting style with wooden swords and shields. An older blonde boy had assumed Hagan’s role and the others pretended to be the Pith. It was all rather amusing.
Several large pieces of fruit suddenly sailed in Hagan’s direction, the nearest narrowly missing his head.
“Go back into hiding, Marindel! It’s your fault that the dark one has returned. You’ll bring it down on us again!” someone shouted.
The soldiers barked commands and the offender was gathered up and escorted off of the street.
Hagan turned to the Troll.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“Hmmm, along with the many admirers you have attained, there are those who believe your presence will only bring down Mournenhile’s wrath once more.” said Gorin.
“That’s ridiculous.” Hagan replied.
“Indeed. It is a strange belief and I am unsure as to where it began. Of course, the residents of Harquinn are aware of Mournenhile’s forces massing in the east. It seems to suit their theory, eh?” he said with a grin in his direction.
“Wind ... ” Hagan said, rubbing his temples with one hand.
They rounded a sharp corner and stood near the great stone wall that surrounded the wizard’s castle. The immense iron gate was shut and locked, barring their way. Odd, Hagan thought. This place was always open to everyone. A symbol of hospitality. Now secured against outsiders.
Above the rust-colored wall could be seen the thin and tapering towers of Councilkeep, seeming very out of place among the lesser buildings at its feet. Some ancient method of construction must have been utilized, for it appeared like no other structure in Kirkaldin, sharp, concave angles and nearly organic textures all along its face. The windows appeared as tiny black eyes across the upper reaches of the castle. Hagan knew that within the tallest of towers, near its tip, was the council’s inner chamber. That place that most never visited and Hagan only once, just before the Battle of the Black Sun. If his summons was truly important, that is where they would lead him.
“Gatekeeper!” their escort called out and immediately the gates slid open slowly with a loud and grating sound.
“I was not aware of your impending arrival and am unsure of the council’s wishes. You may follow me, Lord. The others must remain outside.”
“I see. The hospitality of Harquinn has certainly changed. Without the aid of those that you see here, I would not have made it this far. No, they will accompany me. They will remain by my side.” he said firmly.
The captain held his eyes momentarily, judging Hagan’s resolve and then nodded.
“It will be as you say. In this situation, my orders are to allow only you inside but ... after all, you are Lord Hagan Marindel. If the council has summoned you, as you say, it must be urgent.” he said with respect and led the group through the wall.
Inside, a winding stone path led away to both sides, finding its way around and between the tall, dark hedges that had been planted there. Armed guards stood at the ready at regular intervals as they made their way toward the main entrance.
The council has never used soldiers in the past. I do not like this.
The others were silent as they walked, taking in the majestic oddity that was Councilkeep. Shindire wrote feverishly in her journal as she walked, eyes darting from paper to the towers overhead. Even she could not hide her complete awe.
Something appeared strange and out of place as they reached the massive twin doors of the castle. Hagan recalled them as they were on his last visit, great oaken doors carved by the Elves of Greymander many years in the past. A brilliant ivory crane had adorned each, standing two times the height of Gorin and surrounded by scenes of woodland paradise. A gift from before the division of the races.
This was gone.
In their place stood rigid pieces of iron, somewhat reddish with rust and completely devoid of design or character. At chest level, the captain of the guard placed his outstretched hand on the metal surface and it glowed a pale yellow color. A moment passed and a loud click came from somewhere deep inside.
The doors swung inward.
Inside, the castle seemed radically different to Hagan. Once bright and airy, now the inner hall was dark and filled with a harsh-smelling smoke that drifted as they passed. The walls had once been a shining white, now turned to grey. Hagan wondered if they had been intentionally painted or had been gradually soiled by the presence of this wretched smoke.
Once they all had gathered within the inner hall, the doors once again swung shut, casting them in further darkness.
“Hagan ... ” Windenn called, her voice quivering with fear.
“Relax, Windenn. We’ll see the council soon and get some answers.” he answered.
The captain dismissed the few soldiers that had accompanied him inside and turned to them, his face stern.
“If you will follow me ... ” he said formally.
Down several long corridors they walked, the presence of the smoke never ceasing and soon even Hagan had become lost. He assumed they were somewhere near the kitchens but could not be sure. Suddenly, their escort halted in front of them and turned.
“Continue to the end of this hall. There, someone will lead you to the council.” He then stepped to his left and vanished into the shadows. Some hidden passage or secret door, they presumed.
“Gorin, this is not how I remember this place.” Hagan said softly.
“Nor I, my friend. In such short time, to have changed so much. It seems ... impossible.” the troubled Troll answered.
Vasparian moved up to them, his eyes on the distant hall.
“What choice have we, then? Even I cannot recall the way back. Some enchantment is in this place. My sense of direction is completely gone.”
“The council will help us, right?” D’Pharin asked. “I mean, Davaris can be trusted, can’t he?”
“No one can be trusted in this place.” Windenn snapped, her eyes moist and wide.
“I actually agree with the Woodwarden.” Shindire added, her journal for once at her side and her face showing concern.
“Come on. Davaris will explain this. Stay strong everyone.” Hagan said and led them down the hallway.
He nearly ran into the sentry that awaited them, so dark was his clothing. He pulled up short and straightened himself.
“I am Hagan Marindel of Lauden, here at the request of Councilcrane. These are my companions.”
The sentry made no sound, simply stepping slowly to one side and waving his arm in a wide arc overhead. Before them materialized a circular stone doorway.
Hagan glanced at the sentry warily and then stepped through. Once inside, it was as if a veil had been lifted from their eyes and they were at once blinded by a bright light. Their eyes soon adjusted and they found that they stood at the top of several short steps and at the far end of Councilcrane’s famed dining hall. Odd, thought Hagan, the dining hall is located high in the central tower and we took no stairs. Seated about the enormous table were many robed figures, some hooded, some not. Eight steps led down from where they stood and many other circular doorways led out of the room at different points along the walls.
Hagan surveyed those that were seated below. He thought he recognized a few of the mages but Davaris was not present. His mind began to race through the possibilities.
He should be here.
What has happened?
He who sat at the High Seat of the table, with crimson robe and hair of obsidian, spoke.
“Come, Lord Marindel. Join us. We have prepared a feast to welcome your return.” he said, his voice reverberating throughout the huge room.
Hagan hesitated, his sword arm twitching with nervous anticipation. He did not know this man. He certainly would not trust him.
“Where is Davaris, Crest of Councilcrane?” he asked.
“Davaris has been called away. Affairs outside of Harquinn have required his presence. He has sent his apologies for having missed your arrival. I am Khienen. I hold the Crest in his stead.”
Gorin nudged Hagan from behind, pressing him forward. Against instinct, Hagan descended the steps to the dining hall floor, his eyes moving to the shadowy figures in the doorways to the opposite sides of the room. He felt incredibly vulnerable here and looked up to Gorin for reassurance. The Stone Troll showed no sign of doubt as he met Hagan’s gaze. He simply nodded and motioned to the table with a broad smile.
Hagan took the near-dozen steps to the center of the room, always conscious of his companions whereabouts. D’Pharin held close to his side with Windenn now holding his arm. Vasparian and Shindire stood together several paces away with Gorin moving to exchange greetings with the robed speaker.
“We extend thanks to the council for its gracious hospitality.” he said, dropping to one knee beside Khienen.
“Rise, Gorin Grimandin. You have done well in your task. Very well. Please take your seat among us and rest. It has been a hard journey, I am sure.” Khienen said.
“Hmmm, your kindness is appreciated, Khienen. Come, friends. Be seated.” Gorin said and dropped into a chair to Khienen’s left. The others reluctantly joined him, seating themselves close together at the opposite side. Khienen motioned to one of the doorways and several serving girls descended into the room bearing large silver trays overloaded with food and drink. The rich smell of seasoned beef filled the air and a slight aroma of wine. They soon deposited their burden in front of those seated there and took their places at either end of the great table.
Roasted fowl, ham, spicy potatoes and amberfruit steamed there before them and their hunger overwhelmed their senses. Against their better judgment, they ate heartily, some of them even having second servings. Hagan half-expected to collapse from some hidden poison but no such thing occurred. All was silent while they ate, but as they leaned back in the chairs, their appetites satisfied, Khienen began.
“So, Lord Marindel, tell us how you fared on your journey from distant Lauden. We did not expect so many guests to accompany you. How did you come to gather such a group.” he said with an almost arrogant tone.
“The tale is far less exciting than you may think ... ” Hagan said simply. The other robed figures looked to Khienen as if Hagan had somehow wronged him.
“Indulge us. How did you encounter the fair Woodwarden, for instance?” Khienen pressed.
Windenn stiffened in her seat to Hagan’s left and met his eyes. She was near tears, her hand gripping her goblet until her fingers were white.
“If you please, Khienen. I am certain that I was summoned here for something more important. Can we not get to the heart of it? How soon do you expect Davaris to return?” Hagan asked.
“Oh, I do apologize, Lord Hagan. I am sure you have far more important things to concern yourself with.” he stood abruptly, his scarlet robes whipping out about his legs. One hand smoothed the hair from his eyes as he began to slowly move around the table toward them.
Gorin fidgeted, unsure of what to do at this point. His eyes jumped from face to face, searching the council members for some sort of clue. This was not how it was supposed to be. Where was Davaris?
“Well now. Let us speak at length about your old friend Davaris, shall we? Your trusting ally through all of these long years since the Battle of the Black Sun. Too trusting if the truth be known. This civil war was largely his fault, you know.”
“We all met many days ago, high in the tower of the Crane. A very special meeting, you see, for we had uncovered a secret. A secret we had long expected, although some wagered it would never come. A secret of enormous power. Power not known since the time of S’Darin. We sensed it, you see. Power that strong cannot exist on Kirkaldin without the knowledge of Councilcrane.”
He said that name with utter disgust as he rounded the head of the table and came to their side. He had passed behind Vasparian before he spoke again.
“This was a power we needed. Knowledge has always been our goal, since the founding of the council. Alas, this was not a power easily attained. One could not simply rush in and take it by force. A certain degree of stealth would be required. Understand, none outside of the council knew of this plan.”
This brought smiles to the other mages gathered there. Hagan began to quickly form a plan of escape. This was a trap. It had to be. He and his friends had been fooled.
Khienen stopped directly behind Windenn, staring down at the back of her head in a way that angered Hagan. He stretched his arms out and placed his pale hands on her shoulders. Windenn bit her lip in revulsion as he kneaded the skin there.
“You see, Lord Hagan, the Stone Troll’s task seemed straight-forward. Find Harquinn’s wayward son and return him here. Our prophets were privy to information that none other could know, however. They had foreseen the events of the near future. We knew the chain of events that would deliver this power into our hands.”
Hagan gripped the edge of the table and made ready to rise.
Even if I die here, I will not let this bastard go on much longer.
“What are you talking about, Khienen? I have no hidden power. What is it that you wanted me for? Davaris would never have taken part in anything deceitful. I would say your prophets were wrong for I possess nothing of the power you speak. I cannot believe that Davaris would go along with you-“
“Davaris did not know, you fool!” Khienen shouted and Windenn let out a yelp as he dug his fingers into her flesh.
”Let go of her, Khienen. I warn you.” Hagan said through gritted teeth.
“Warn me? Remember where you are, hero. Those seated here possess magic that most cannot imagine, but I know that you can. You have seen it in full display upon the fields of battle. Do not make empty threats, Hagan. You and your friends have no hope.”
“If it’s me that you want, then let the others go. I - “ Hagan started.
“You still do not understand, do you? It is not you that we wanted. We sent the Troll on his quest because it had been foreseen that the Woodwarden would eventually join you. The visions of the prophets proved true. Thus, without his knowledge, Gorin Grimandin brought this lovely woman into our hands. She is the one we have sought and through your little group of travelers, we have claimed her. She is the one. She is the power.”
The others stared at him, mouths hanging open. It was all too much to digest a
t once.
Windenn shook her head slowly.
“You know? You know about me?” she whispered, tears dropping from her cheeks.
“Indeed, child. Your buried powers will aid in the coming of the east.” Khienen said, almost gently as he played in her hair.
“East?” D’Pharin asked.
“Mournenhile ... ” Vasparian hissed, more to himself than those present.
In the shadows of a distant doorway, a darkness unfolded itself and began to descend. Its wing-cloaked form silently reached the dining floor and it waited just inside the shadow, the torchlight barely reaching its tattered ancient flesh.
“What?” Hagan asked.
Vasparian stood, pushing his chair back. The council members rose quickly as well, as the tension broke.
“They’ve turned to Mournenhile.” Vasp said with anger.
Hagan jumped to his feet, his sword in hand.
“That’s why Davaris is missing. He would never have joined Mournenhile. What did you do? Is he dead? “ He paused momentarily. “No, he was far too strong for any of you. I know he’s still alive but if I get to you first, you will not be for much longer.”
Hagan shouted and leapt across the space between he and Khienen. Inside, he knew the attack was futile. His sword against a roomful of mages would prove useless. Like a sparrow shot in midflight, he hit an invisible barrier and dropped to the floor, stunned.
Khienen wrapped an arm around Windenn’s slender neck and dragged her backward from the table. She let out a scream and fought to free herself. The dining hall soon exploded into action, Hagan’s party doing its best to rescue Windenn while the mages hurled ebon flame against them.
Gorin had still not risen from his seat. He sat motionless in disbelief and wiped moisture from his rough cheeks.
I have caused this.
It was my quest that allowed this to happen.
How could I have led these good people into the claws of darkness? How is this possible?
Oh, Windenn.
“NO!” he screamed and with all of his strength he tossed the enormous dining table over on its side, splitting it in two and sending a deep tremor through the floor. Violently he brought both mighty fists down upon it and its center disintegrated, large chunks of stone flying in all directions. The combatants halted, staring at the enraged Troll. Nothing in Kirkaldin could command attention like the wrath of a Stone Troll.
Gorin lifted his chair overhead and hurled it at a group of mages, dropping several of them where they stood. With an animalistic howl, he vaulted the remains of the table and threw himself into Khienen. The red-robed wizard coughed loudly as he was brought suddenly to the floor. Windenn fell to her side a few paces away, her breathing fast and heavy.
Immediately a dark shadow fell upon them and skeletal hands gripped Gorin’s broad shoulders, steam rising from the points of contact. The pain was intense and the Troll had no choice but to release his hold on Khienen. He was all but paralyzed by the surge of evil that enveloped his being.
“No!” Gorin yelled. “I will kill him. Betrayer! Traitor to the realm! He must be destroyed!”
“Woodwarden!” he cried.
The pain was too great. Gorin fell to his knees and slowly managed to spin and face his attacker. The Inquitis eyes held his gaze completely, digging its way into his mind. Working its way around his will where it would assume control.
Gorin began to weaken and he knew he hadn’t much time. Then, the eyes of the Inquitis bulged, its mouth gaping wide in shock. Its yellowish eyeballs swelled as it screamed and its hands went to its face, releasing Gorin. With an audible pop, its eyes ruptured, the greenish fluid oozing between its skinless fingers. It fell to the floor, its dark blood covering its now ruined features.
“What in the deep?” Gorin gasped. He pushed himself across the floor away from it in horror. He wasn’t sure what had saved him but he would not question it at the moment. All about the room fire shot and danced and miraculously his companions remained unscathed. He knew however that this battle was hopeless. He spun quickly to search for Windenn and found her gone. So, too, was Khienen.
“No ... ” he whispered. He managed to stand, his shoulders screaming in torment.
“Hagan! Hagan, get out! We cannot win this!” he shouted above the crackle of sorcery.
Hagan searched for Gorin and finally found him. He saw the Troll motioning for the doorway through which they had entered. Hagan paused, pleading with the Troll to join them. He knew Gorin would try to save Windenn. When it came to honor, a Troll could never be swayed.
“Gorin!” Hagan uselessly called as mage’s flame crackled just to his left.
“Go!” the Troll screamed and lumbered out of sight into the shadows.
Hagan grabbed Vasp by the shoulder.
“We’ve got to run! D’Pharin, let’s go!”
Shindire had already reached the doorway and awaited them, slim blood-covered dagger in hand. Together, they exited the hall and ran down the dark corridor, hurtling past the lone sentry that stood there. He did not pursue them, only remained at his post. They could feel the floor rumbling under their feet as they ran and Hagan assumed the cause centered around their Troll friend. Somewhere, Gorin fought on.
Please make it out alive, Gorin.
They met no resistance on their way to the front gates. They passed groups of soldiers who seemed unaware of the situation within the keep. They simply cast puzzled looks in their direction as they ran past. At the iron gates, they stopped, the gates being locked in place. Slowly, the gatekeeper came into sight.
“Going so soon, Lord?” he asked.
“Uh, yes. The council has sent us on an important errand and cannot be kept waiting. Hurry and let us through.” D’Pharin answered.
The gate was quickly opened and they stepped through into the streets of Harquinn. They were unsure of where to run. If the council had turned to Mournenhile, then who else in Harquinn had joined them?
“One of your party has gone missing?” a voice came from just around the curve of the stone wall. Several soldiers rounded the curve and approached them, at the forefront being the captain that had led them here.
Hagan hesitated.
“It is as we feared. We have suspected turmoil within the council for some time now. This proves it. Davaris bade us watch the keep and so we have.” the captain added.
“Davaris? Is he - “ Hagan asked.
“Oh, yes. He lives. I must take you to him. These men can be trusted. Come, we must move quickly lest Khienen send the dogs after you.”