Ferral's Deathmarch Army

by Tod Langley

22

  The Royal Family

  Cairn surveyed the area, as well. The city had not changed. He was sure the people had not changed either. Cairn grimaced at the thought of how difficult the challenges ahead would be.

  But who would have thought the Atlunam would ever have accepted me, Cairn remembered.

  There were certain past events that Cairn did not want to be reminded of, especially by those they journeyed to meet. If Cairn could have stayed hidden among the trees and waited for Kristian’s return, he would have.

  A slight breeze caught Cairn’s attention and he breathed it in. He closed his eyes and tried to put his anxiety aside, for the sake of what had to be done. It was too hard.

  “Oh, Cairn,” Julia chided him, “you never were any good around others. You were always too shy.”

  Cairn sighed, Julia is right. I’ve never been comfortable around others.

  “How did you ever find the courage to talk to me?” Julia teased.

  “I knew you were my love, the first day I saw you … even though we were only children. You were beautiful, and I didn’t want to share you with anyone else. It gave me the strength to make you my friend … and then my love,” Cairn told Julia.

  “You always made me smile, Cairn,” Julia reminded him. “You always thought I was beautiful. But look at what that brute did to my special dress!” The immediate image of Julia lying bleeding on the road next to him changed the moment. The memories always seemed to haunt him like that. There was never a good one without it being immediately followed by a terrible reminder of how they had been separated for all time.

  “Do you still remember me, Cairn, after all these years?”

  How could he forget? Cairn would never forget.

  Cairn seems distracted, Kristian thought, but soon the island drew their full attention. It was not much of an island, perhaps a quarter of a mile wide, yet ranking as the one of the most amazing places the young king had ever seen. The island gently sloped upward giving it a commanding view of the entire valley. The trees on the island grew the tallest and thickest within the walled capital, perhaps the oldest trees on the continent. The single structure on the island was constructed in and among the giant trees. The palace of the Atlunam King was majestic, rising three stories high with the upper two floors having decks and balconies wrapped all around it. It did not appear to dominate the hill, or the ancient trees, but share the space with what nature had already put there.

  Mikhal’s nudge brought Kristian back from his thoughts. The cavalier pointed down the road at the gate that lay before them. “I think their king knows we’re coming.” Kristian barely heard Maurin’s moan as he took in the scene ahead of them.

  Kristian judged the size of the crowd to be around seven hundred, including a large contingent of armed hunters. They stood in large linear formations near the road, lining the way the visitors had to go—up to a mile away from the main gate into Jai-Quinn. Gold and blue flags and streamers held high throughout their ranks added life to the otherwise motionless assembly. At the gate, a large group of Atlunam stood waiting.

  Waiting on me, Kristian knew.

  Those formed up outside the wooden gate into Jai-Quinn looked well-trained. Most carried bows and swords. They remained motionless as Kristian and his companions looked down at them.

  “Well, we better not keep them,” Kristian said. The young king straightened out his clothes, brushed the travel dust from his cloak and ran fingers through his hair.

  “One wrong move will kill us all,” Kristian reminded them. Mikhal seemed to have come to the same conclusion, and they both gave Balhir a warning look.

  The moody Holtsman nodded in understanding and turned to give terse orders of restraint to his men.

  Cairn came up to Kristian and pointed, “Those are the House Guard. None are better trained at the bow. Their colored banners represent the family member they have been assigned to protect. Purple are the king’s own bodyguards. The other three, yellow, blue, and green, are most likely for his children.”

  Kristian guessed that the main entourage blocking the entrance to the capital must then be the Royal Family. “So the king himself has heard of us. Is this a good or bad thing?”

  “There is only one way to find out,” Mikhal replied.

  Kristian nodded in agreement and motioned for Hin’cabo to lead the way. The hunter picked up his peace flag and descended the hill walking directly toward the gate. Kristian let out a deep sigh and started down the road toward Jai-Quinn.

  As the party of Erandians and Holtsmen walked toward the awaiting Atlunam, the wall seemed to grow to an incredible height. “I had no idea it was that tall,” Maurin exclaimed.

  What appeared to be only a thirty foot tall obstacle now looked more like fifty or sixty feet. The wood was smooth cut and treated, making it impossible to scale without sharp tools. The wall did not look as though it would easily catch fire either. The top of the wall had crenulations to protect the guards as they shot their arrows down at invaders.

  Kristian stopped for a moment as he noticed the House Guards for the first time. Kristian thought the expert hunters looked fierce in their mottled grey and green clothes. He figured that the colors provided camouflage to hide them in the woods, their preferred battle ground. All of them had a specially crafted ash bow slung behind them with an array of arrows. They also carried a short sword and hunting knife attached to their belts, their ability to remain as still as statues impressed him most. They looked ready for any fight, with their fists clenched and arms slightly flexed in front of them. As Kristian walked by, they continued to look straight ahead, unmoving, but ready to strike.

  And as Kristian got even closer to the gate, he could see it was half closed. Is this a sign that they will let us in? Or is it simply to ensure that the guards can get the Royal Family out of harm’s way quickly … in case they decide to kill us, Kristian asked himself.

  Then Kristian saw the Atlunam King. His face was wrinkled and his flowing blue robes hung from his too thin frame; his hair was so fine that Kristian could not tell if it was blonde or white. The king stood among an entourage of the Atlunam noblemen waiting for their arrival. The fiercest hunters Kristian had seen yet flanked the Atlunam king. Their bows were out and ready and their determined looks suggested the personal guards would not allow any altercations to be started by Kristian or his party.

  Three young adults, presumably the king’s children, stood with their father. A man, a younger woman, and a teenage boy gathered around the king and the personal guards. They wore varying colors of the forest, in shades of green and light brown. The royal heirs wore similar shirts and pants, their honor and rank differentiated only by a colored silk sash around their waist. All of them had straight golden hair and blue eyes.

  All of Kristian’s companions turned to stare at the king’s daughter. She had long golden hair and a slender form. Her bright blue eyes sparkled in the sun, and her soft skin showed no sign of blemishes. The woman looked at each of Kristian’s men with curiosity.

  Then the oldest son stepped forward just as Kristian and his party came before the king. His long hair was tied back at the neck and he had a neatly trimmed beard that surrounded his mouth and chin. To the Erandian King’s surprise, he did not address Kristian but stepped directly in front of Hin’cabo. Even in the sing-song language of the Atlunam, Kristian could tell the words dripped with anger. Hin’cabo stiffened, raising his chin a bit, as he replied back in a tone and manner much calmer than the Atlunam prince.

  Hin’cabo turned then to speak with Cairn, but the Atlunam prince cut him short. “You are not welcome,” the prince said, haltingly in the Erinian language. “You brought our enemies here under a banner of peace, when we know that they have slaughtered hundreds of our people in the last few weeks. It seems that the warning you received on the plains was not enough. You should have been killed the first time you tried to enter our lands, King Kristian.”

  “Ye
t, they were not,” the king interrupted. “They were not killed and for good reason.” He stepped past his guards despite the looks of concern from his children.

  “I am Gun-Surow, King of the Atlunam people. I am not happy that you have brought these foul people into our land, young King Kristian. I am curious enough, however, to overlook it for the moment. There are many evil things happening beyond the walls of our forest. I must know what is out there.”

  “You already know, Father,” his eldest son exclaimed. “The Holtsmen raided our villages and killed our people!”

  “Enough, Te,” The king ordered. Kristian looked back at Balhir to make sure he remembered his promise. The Holtsman looked very nervous.

  “I assure you, Gun-Surow, that whatever else has happened between your people and the Holtsmen, they are not responsible for the attacks in the west,” Kristian said.

  “And that is why I allowed you to come here.” The old king turned and started through the open gate. Kristian waited a few moments before leading his men after the Atlunam leader. Kristian noticed that the king’s sons stared at him, as if greeting and making Kristian feel welcome were beneath them. The king’s daughter behaved different. She looked intently at each of them, especially Cairn, and kept a slight smile on her face.

  Kristian discovered the view from inside the walls was even more magnificent than what they had seen from the hill. The areas that had been blocked from their view by trees now opened up into beautiful, wide boulevards that branched in different directions from the main gate. Homes hid under the large branches near the shaded glens. The soft, yellow glow of lanterns hung from the lower branches making the scene complete. Kristian could not imagine a more peaceful place. Many people walked by dressed in the common attire of the forest people, simple tunics and pants or dresses in the various colors of the forest. Many of them stopped to bow to their king as he passed and to stare at those that trailed behind him.

  Kristian and his companions passed quickly through the first small village, Gun-Surow leading them further down into the valley. Soon, they came to the waters of the dark blue river that flowed southward. There, Kristian came upon another village. This village stretched out before them, larger than any of the others Kristian had seen. In the center of the town, a small, white marble pavilion dominated an open air market. Roses spiraled up around the smooth marble columns toward the top where hand-sculpted, exotic birds spread their wings in flight. A young couple walked up the few steps of the pavilion and sat down on the marble bench inside. They sat there contemplating the serene environment and the beauty of the water and the bridge that crossed over it.

  “This is Kal Tai Gu, River of the Snow Mountains,” Gun-Surow proclaimed as they started across. “And this bridge is the oldest bridge we know of in the lands. The wood was taken from a single, great Silver Dukai tree. The story goes that the tree was the strongest and biggest Dukai tree throughout our kingdom. When it was cut down, the color of the wood quickly changed from its shimmering brilliance to blood red.” Gun-Surow turned back and looked beyond Kristian to his children.

  “That is when our people were reminded of their place in the grand scheme of all life. We had been wanderers for over two hundred years until we found this valley. We cultivated it, built in it, and used it, just like we had always done. We had never given a thought to what we were doing to the land, what we were doing to ourselves.

  “Then we cut down the great Dukai tree. It caused a profound change in all of us. We became one with the valley and the surrounding forest. We would kill or cut down only what was needed for survival. And where we had scarred the earth we rebuilt it, nurtured it. The Atlunam are now one with the forest.”

  “Awfully good at killing people for being tree-lovers,” Balhir said under his breath.

  “So,” Gun-Surow continued ignoring the Holtsman, “you can see why it is hard for us to accept strangers. We cannot bear to see strangers in our land that do not know our ways and will not respect our customs.”

  “I respect you and your customs, Your Highness,” Kristian said. “We did not come here to change your ways. We came …” A wave of the king’s hand cut him off.

  “We will talk of such matters later. I do not wish my people or my children,” Gun-Surow looked at his daughter, “to hear troubling news from outsiders.” He raised his hands gesturing at the beautiful surroundings. “For now, please enjoy the scenery and try to understand our ‘Taquai Daiwela’, our life’s work.”

  Mikhal noticed the Atlunam Taquai Daiwela more than any of the others. He saw how well the Atlunam maintained the walks and gardens—how healthy the grass and trees were—how clean the water in the ponds and fountains was. Everywhere he looked the cavalier saw evidence of how hard these people had worked to create a paradise.

  As they walked further along, the path improved. By the time they reached the third settlement, it was significantly wider. They stepped onto a smooth, flagstone walkway that showed no signs of wear.

  Toward late afternoon, Kristian and Mikhal had already passed the place where the blue and green rivers met. The color of the water turned a murky green for a while and then gradually became clearer. A few waterfalls and moss covered rocks set in the middle of the river helped clean out the mud and sediment brought down from the northeast. Low overhanging branches from trees on the banks formed a sort of tunnel at one point where the river narrowed. From the vines of the trees, shiny green leaves and small white blossoms hung down in the water making a screen.

  Mikhal noted the way pairs of Atlunam gathered in this place. Older couples relaxed everywhere. They sat on the grass near the bank, dangling their feet into the cool waters and enjoying each other’s company. Younger lovers held hands or smiled at each other.

  Mikhal felt more at home here than at any other place he had visited since leaving Erand. He could not imagine any place more peaceful than where he was standing. There can be no better Heavenly Garden on Earth than the one I see now.

  The king interrupted his thoughts. “And where are you from?” Gun-Surow asked, looking directly at Mikhal.

  “I’m from a small village called Hiefort, Sire. It’s a day’s journey from the capital of Erand.”

  “You do not look like an Erandian. What is your lineage? What do you know of your ancestors?” Gun-Surow pressed.

  “Mine? Very little. They’ve always been farmers from the northeastern part of Erand. At least, that is what I was told.” Mikhal’s voice faltered as he remembered his recent dreams. What if they were more than dreams? What if they were a part of his life and not another’s?

  “You are troubled. It is plain to see that there is Atlunam blood in your veins. Though it is odd for someone to leave the safety of our woods, it is not unheard of,” Gun-Surow admitted.

  Mikhal stared at him dumbfounded.

  As Mikhal wondered at the king’s interest in him, they came to a large gate. It was an ornamental wooden portal, nothing more than the frame for a gate, signifying the entrance into another part of the capital. Beyond, the land sloped downward into a bowl no more than a half mile in diameter. The river they had followed dropped through a series of rocky ledges and finally into a pool at the bottom of the depression. The river split around an island before continuing south through the small valley.

  As they passed under the gate, the king bowed and said to them in a formal gesture of welcome, “I am Gun-Surow. Welcome to my home, Jai-Quinn.” He gestured with his hand indicating that everything inside the small valley was his.

  Mikhal stepped forward along with Maurin. They gawked at the beauty they saw. The flagstone road they walked on now paralleled the river ledges very close as it led down into the smaller valley. It disappeared underneath a large copse of trees before reappearing at the water’s edge. A bridge similar to the one they had crossed earlier provided access to the island, which was not large; mainly a modest hill that the river had to bypass. Massive trees covered the island, taller than any th
ey had seen throughout the capital. The green foliage hid most of the land opposite the bridge, only the top-most floors of a grand house peeked out just above the tree line.

  Delicately designed to enhance the beauty of the surrounding trees, the palace of the Atlunam King was simple, yet elegant. In some places, they could see the branches of magnificent trees climbing out from within the palace. It amazed Kristian when he learned that not a single tree had been cut when the Atlunam constructed the massive home.

  “We will meet in my council room in one hour,” Gun-Surow said. “You will be given some food and fresh water to clean up with. Make sure they clean up.” He nodded toward Balhir and his men, who glared back at the Atlunam king. “A messenger will come for you when I am ready. And do not bring the Holtsmen with you.”

  “They are here because they pledged to help me. I will not show disrespect to them by leaving them behind,” Kristian replied.

  Gun-Surow hesitated, and then the king responded as if annoyed by the whole matter, “Bring a few, if it pleases you, but do not bring weapons.”

  Mikhal thought Kristian was about to say something that would make matters worse and placed a hand on his shoulder. Kristian looked at him and then nodded in agreement.