The Journey West

by E J Gilmour

  ‘I am an Ecorian, not an Astarian,’ replied Eben.

  ‘This indeed is something we did not expect,’ murmured Mostyn. His dark sunken eyes stared at Eben for a long moment. ‘He has taken our flame from us, and in doing so he has revealed a deep secret. Fiora’s Bridge may yet be crossed. I believe we should follow him to Everdon.’ The wizards all whispered among themselves.

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean? What is Fiora’s Bridge?’ asked Eben, looking up at the many wizards. They all had their eyes fixed on him.

  ‘It would not be wise for me to tell you what I may or may not know about such things,’ said Mostyn. ‘In time you will find the truth for yourself, and hopefully the truth will save us all. It is agreed among us; we will follow you to Everdon and help you fight the Prince of Shadows. Tomorrow we will come down from the Tower of Fire and march toward Everdon. Know this Ecorian: we will not belong to any army or work under any leader.’

  Eben was amazed by what he had witnessed. Shortly after this he departed and made his way back down the Fire Steps.

  **

  The sun was shining once again and the storm clouds had passed into the west, leaving a bright blue sky above. Eben could see the small camp set at the base of the Fire Steps. He slowly navigated his way down toward his friends.

  ‘Will the Fire Order join us?’ asked Red as Eben arrived at the base of the steps.

  ‘Yes, they will come down tomorrow and follow us to Everdon.’

  Chiara walked over and nodded. ‘This is a blessing. I feared that they would reject your request. Only once in all of history has the Fire Order come down from the Tower of Fire and that was to help one of your ancestors.’

  ‘They almost refused. There are things they know that I do not understand? They speak of something called Fiora’s Bridge. Do you know what Fiora’s Bridge is?’

  ‘I do know a little about Fiora’s Bridge. When men and mer first came to Veredor the Astarian Fiora wanted our races to become a part of the fabric of this world as the Astarians were. She could not complete her plan because Veredor rejected us. We could not form a relationship with Veredor. The Astarians thought the reason for this was a fault in our nature. The quest to find an answer became known as Fiora’s Bridge. Fiora’s Bridge was never crossed. Men and mer have always remained guests in Veredor.’

  ‘What does this have to do with me?’

  ‘Fiora’s Bridge is important to the story of men and mer in Veredor.’ She paused for a moment and stared into Eben’s eyes. She often seemed to know much more than she would say. ‘Two and a half thousand years have passed since the Forgotten Age and much knowledge has been lost. Why Veredor rejected us remains a mystery. I do not know what would have happened if our race had crossed Fiora’s Bridge. This is all I can tell you.’

  **

  They collected their horses and camped for a night in the moorlands. Chiara led them away from the Old Guardian Mountains toward the southwest.

  ‘We will make for the Forest of Sorrows. There we will come again to the highway. The highway will take us through the forest to the town of Marraw in Everdon,’ said Chiara. ‘The Irvarian army have already left Elcalee and will be taking the main road south. Meara and the other Irilians will have already made their way south ahead of us. They will be waiting for us to join them somewhere near Marraw.’

  They came out of the moorlands and into lush grasslands that seemed to grow greener and brighter the further they travelled south. They moved quickly throughout the day. As the night approached they could see the northern border of the Forest of Sorrows. Chiara led them up to the edge of the forest, and they followed the line of trees westward. The forest was predominantly made up of tall alder trees which grew closely together. Toward the end of the day they set up camp just beyond the edge of the forest.

  Eben and Stella gathered some wood for the fire as Red was busy preparing a meal. Chiara sat away from the campsite meditating as she usually did around sunset.

  ‘Today is the seventh day of summer,’ said Eben with a smile.

  ‘Is it significant for some reason?’ asked Stella, glancing in his direction as she picked up some dry sticks and branches.

  ‘It’s my nineteenth birthday,’ said Eben, having just realised.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ said Stella happily.

  ‘Did I hear it’s your birthday?’ called out Red from the campsite.

  ‘Nineteen today,’ repeated Stella.

  ‘We should celebrate,’ said Red. He fumbled about in his backpack and drew out a small metal flask. ‘This is a bottle of rare Silvorian rum that I was given by the palace staff in Faircastle. I was keeping it for after our victory, but since it’s your birthday I think we should have a drink now.’ Red poured four cups as Chiara returned to the camp.

  ‘No rum for me, Red,’ said Chiara as she glanced at the edge of the Forest of Sorrows. ‘Tonight should be calm indeed.’

  Red proceeded to kindle the fire. They sat around the campfire as Red started cooking another mushroom stew. The night grew dark and Eben sipped at his rum and looked into the flames dancing over the coals. The soft sound of singing filled his ears.

  Eben stood up and looked toward the forest. A voice was softly singing in the distance. Red and Stella got to their feet and also looked toward the forest edge.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ asked Eben, peering toward the edge of the forest. The woman’s voice was gentle and soft.

  ‘What’s she singing about?’ asked Red.

  ‘I can’t make out the words,’ answered Stella. They listened for a few moments longer.

  ‘She sings from her heart,’ said Chiara, who hadn’t stood up. She remained seated calmly by the campfire. They looked down at her and waited for an explanation. She glanced up at them for a moment as the singing continued. Her eyes then looked back toward the flames. Eben turned and looked back to the forest. The beautiful voice was fading into the distance and finally disappeared.

  ‘She is called the Maiden of Sorrows,’ said Chiara, not lifting her eyes away from the fire.

  ‘Who is she?’ asked Eben, sitting down again by the fire.

  ‘No one has ever seen her. All those who try to follow the voice never find her. The story of her origins has been told for many generations.’

  ‘Can you tell us the story, Chiara?’ asked Eben.

  Chiara’s eyes watched the flickering flames. ‘Many centuries ago she was once the daughter of a farmer who lived in the grasslands to the north of the forest. Her beauty was said to be so great that many men from distant lands came to court her. Their hopes were all in vain because she dearly loved another. She had given her heart to a shepherd’s son from these northern grasslands. Her father agreed to the marriage and organised a wedding. Before the wedding had occurred a baron from the south came to visit the fair maiden; he had heard the legend of her enchanting beauty. Upon seeing her he instantly wanted to take her as his wife. He asked the farmer to abandon the wedding and allow him to marry her.’

  ‘The farmer refused because he knew his daughter’s love for the shepherd’s son was true. The Baron was angered by the farmer’s decision but appeared to accept his will. His only request was that he could attend the wedding, and the farmer could not refuse a nobleman such a request. And so the wedding proceeded in a glade deep in the forest.’

  Chiara paused for a few moments and stared up at the bright stars above. ‘Out of envy and desire the Baron had secretly plotted to take over the wedding. He brought with him a troop of guardsmen and had the shepherd’s son dragged away. He attempted to marry the farmer’s daughter there and then. She would not light wedding candles with him. When he threatened to kill the shepherd’s son, her true love, she agreed to marry the Baron, but only on any other day apart from the day she intended to marry her true love. The Baron agreed, and she was taken in a carriage away through the forest.’

  ‘On the way south she learned they intended to kill her true love. She leapt from the carriage and
escaped into the woods. She was pursued by the soldiers of the Baron. She made her way back through the forest to the glade. When she arrived her heart broke. Her true love lay murdered in the grass. She wept tears of such sorrow that have rarely been seen in Veredor. From that day on she was never seen again. Her voice is sometimes heard singing at night deep in the forest as we heard tonight. That is why the forest is called the Forest of Sorrows.’

  ‘Why then is the song so beautiful?’ asked Red.

  Chiara glanced up from the fire. ‘Because her sorrow was turned into joy,’ she answered.

  ‘But how?’ asked Red.

  Chiara looked across at Red for a moment in silence. She seemed to be pondering the best way to answer his question. ‘This is a deep mystery, Red. Even the wisest in Veredor do not know how to answer your question.’

  The peaceful night went on. They sat around the fire and rested. Eben listened until late, but the voice of the maiden did not return. The following morning they were greeted with a clear blue sky and a warm summer sun. They packed up their camp quickly and continued following the northern edge of the Forest of Sorrows.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Forest of Sorrows was enchantingly beautiful and full of life. To a traveller it seemed more like a garden than a natural forest. It rose like a lone sanctuary from the wide grasslands that covered the south of Irvaria. The forest was made up of a diverse selection of trees: alders and silver birches in the north, and further south the clusters of alders gave way to beautiful old beeches. Toward the southern border pockets of oaks towered high above all the other trees, and groups of linden trees filled splendid groves. The woodsmen of the forest were a solitary folk and kept to themselves in the deep glades and small valleys, preferring the peaceful solitude of the deep forest.

  **

  By noon they came upon the main highway. Chiara looked down at the road for a little while before they proceeded south into the forest.

  ‘The Irilians have already passed this way. The Fiorian Acartor is with them.’

  ‘You can see that from these tracks?’ asked Red, staring down at the faint tracks.

  ‘Yes, Fiorians are trained to remember the unique tracks of horses and men,’ she said. ‘We should come to the other side of the forest by nightfall. There we can stay in a small village in the hills on the southern side.’

  They turned south and rode onward into the woods. The forest was full of life. Birds could be heard singing in all directions. They rode for several hours, and around the middle of the afternoon the company came to a place where the forest fell eerily silent. Chiara stopped her horse and stared ahead. Her bright blue eyes were scanning the canopy.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Eben softly, halting his horse beside her. He looked ahead to see what she was looking at. She watched in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Skathean Vultures,’ she murmured. ‘They’re spying on us.’ Eben strained his eyes; he couldn’t see anything at first. He looked from tree to tree. Suddenly two large black vultures revealed themselves as they leapt into the air from the canopy. They ascended quickly. ‘We can be sure the enemy knows our movements now.’

  ‘Do you think the Skatheans have entered Everdon?’ asked Eben, his eyes watched the vultures fly away and out of sight.

  ‘No, I doubt it. The Brigades of the Sunset Hills keep any enemies from crossing in the north, and the Grey Pass is well guarded by an Everdonian fortress. Everdon is not yet afflicted by the Skatheans, but they can still use their spies.’

  They rode on and as the day was nearing its end they came to the southern border of the forest. The trees gave way to grasslands that stretched out toward a line of short hills several miles to the south.

  ‘The village of Dunefort is not far from here,’ said Chiara. ‘We can stay in the village inn for the night.’

  They rode onward and followed the road across the grasslands. Thousands of flowers grew on the sides of the road. Eben caught sight of several brightly coloured butterflies hovering above the meadows. After a few minutes they came to a crossroads. The road that led east and west appeared more of a dirt track than a well-travelled road. A single old willow tree rose up beside the crossroads, and a crystal clear stream flowed by. Chiara stopped her horse and examined the ground for tracks.

  ‘The Irilians have taken the road west from here and are being led by Acartor. There are also others traveling with them. They met here at these crossroads. Acartor has left an indicator for us to follow.’

  Red’s eyes searched the ground for the indicator that Acartor had left.

  ‘See those stones just off the road. They have been placed there deliberately to tell me that our friends have gone to Eaglemere. Sir Evander of Eaglemere has always been a friend to the Fiorian Order. He is a strong and noble knight, one of the few remaining honourable nobles living in Everdon.’

  Red stared down at the stones; his eyes revealed his confusion, and he shook his head in disbelief. The stones did not seem significant; they certainly didn’t look like they had been placed there deliberately. Chiara turned her horse toward the east and the others followed as she galloped away.

  **

  As the sun was setting the road turned sharply to the south and they found themselves riding through the hills in the soft golden light of the early evening. Chiara galloped ahead as she wanted to arrive at Eaglemere before nightfall. The way led them through several rocky valleys and followed the base of a large treeless hill. They passed a final corner; a long lake was revealed. The lake was about two hundred yards wide and at least a thousand yards in length. It filled the entire base of the shallow valley and was fed by a small waterfall on the far side. The road followed the northern shore and led to a small stone castle which was built on a craggy outcrop beside the lake. The castle had only a single watchtower and was encircled by a short outer wall.

  As they approached two large reinforced wooden gates opened. They followed Chiara into a small lantern lit courtyard. Meara stood across the far side of the courtyard with Arlen, Baftel, Cassiel, and an old man with long white hair and white eyebrows who Eben rightly assumed was Sir Evander. Acartor was also with them, and beside him stood the two rugged Tabarian knights: Sir Tierran and Sir Cian, who were at the council in Faircastle. Eben remembered that they had defended him against King Lenard and had said they would help him claim the Sapphire Throne if he wished to. Both the Tabarian Knights bowed to Eben as he rode into the courtyard; Eben nodded and acknowledged the Tabarians. There were also several Everdonian guardsmen who stood guard at the edges of the courtyard.

  ‘Welcome, my dear leader and friends,’ said Acartor warmly. ‘Was your mission to the Tower of Fire a success?’

  ‘We have good news,’ said Chiara as she dismounted. ‘The Fire Order will all come south to help us in Everdon.’

  ‘This is welcome news. Your mission was successful indeed,’ said Acartor.

  ‘Eben Ecorian is to thank for this,’ said Chiara.

  ‘He truly is the Ecorian Emperor,’ said Sir Tierran, his voice deep and rough. ‘This is to be expected. The Ecorians have always commanded such respect.’

  ‘The presence of the Fire Order will remove any advantage the Zyranians could have given the Prince of Shadows,’ said the Irilian Arlen.

  ‘But the real problem is not the Zyranians,’ said Acartor. ‘We must develop a clear plan to defeat the Prince of Shadows himself. No amount of wizards will help us if we fail to deal with him. Astarians are indeed powerful, and the Prince of Shadows is the strongest of all the Astarians. Not only is he a great warrior, he also has powers far beyond even the greatest wizard. We must plan to fight our way through the enemy army and deliver Eben directly to the Prince of Shadows. Then the Ecorian can finish this war once and for all.’

  ‘Sir Evander, I would like to introduce you to Eben Ecorian, Sir Red of Ortaria, and Lady Stella his wife,’ said Chiara.

  Sir Evander bowed slightly and smiled. Eben realised how exceptionally old he actua
lly was. His face was extremely wrinkled and his hair as white as snow. Sir Evander stood tall and proud and hadn’t lost any of his knightly nobility with the progression of age.

  ‘You are all welcome here at Eaglemere,’ said Sir Evander.

  ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ said Red. Sir Evander nodded and then glanced across to Eben.

  ‘I knew your father, Eben Ecorian. Elons was a brave and noble man. He visited Eaglemere once when he was traveling through Everdon. You look a lot like your father. I heard the sad news that he was lost to the enemy. I am sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Evander. My hope is to honour his memory.’

  **

  Eaglemere was an austere castle. Sir Evander led them all up into a large chamber in the upper level. The room was empty apart from a long wooden command table. The floor was covered in slate tiles and there were no windows at all. Several lanterns and candles lit the room. Acartor and Sir Evander took seats and indicated for the entire company to sit down.

  ‘I should inform everyone why we must have this meeting at Eaglemere and not at Marraw,’ said Acartor, glancing across at Eben for a moment. ‘After you left Faircastle King Lenard threatened to end all alliances with Irvaria because Princess Apherah abruptly swore an oath to never marry him in front of all the envoys. King Lenard became furious and blamed you, Eben Ecorian, for all his misfortunes. Apherah apparently made no secret of her affection for you when she confronted King Lenard with her poorly timed declaration. King Edric almost had King Lenard banished from Faircastle because of his furious response. Regrettably Princess Apherah is not as discreet as she is beautiful.’

  ‘Fortunately I managed to calm King Lenard’s anger,’ continued Acartor. ‘He has agreed to wait until after the war to deal with his courtship problems. Unfortunately Princess Apherah rejection of him has made him even more interested in winning her hand in marriage. Thankfully everything is again proceeding as we planned; although I believe Eben should avoid King Lenard until the tensions have diminished. King Edric and the Irvarian army are marching south. They are camped north of the Forest of Sorrows as we speak. When they pass the crossroads tomorrow we will meet with the army. The main Everdonian army waits to the north of Lucaria. Within a week the two armies will merge into one and prepare for war.’