by Rex Hazelton
The loud knocking returned, whereupon, Illumanor finally said, “Come in.”
Rawn, the Candle Maker who had escorted Jeaf away from the king's banquet, entered the room with the bard following close behind. Catching the fading remnants of Illumanor's magic, the minstrel tilted his head downward. The broad-brimmed hat he wore cast a shadow over his face, a shadow the light of his piercing blue eyes cut through as they squinted with the effort they expended in deciphering what he felt.
He's trying to read the Master Candle Maker's mind, Jeaf reasoned. I need to be on guard with this one. Who knows what other powers he could possess?
A frown crossed Illumanor's face as he spoke his greeting. “Alynd, it's good to see you.”
He knows what the minstrel is trying to do, the young Woodswane surmised.
Gesturing towards Jeaf, he added, “This young man says your music has some interesting side effects. What brings you here my old friend?” The Master Candle Maker gave the bard's escort an angry glance before he approached Alynd and embraced him.
“I'm sorry to impose on matters that I know must be very important.” The bard bowed respectfully as he spoke. “Master, the Society of Truth has heard about Aryl's letter and is now busy looking for Jeaf. If you had not taken him away from the king's celebration when you did, he might already have been taken to their Hall of Inquisition.”
“Alynd, you needn't worry. He's safe here.”
“That may be true, but I come bearing more bad news.” The bard lifted his head, revealing his boyish features and his blue-colored, almond-shaped eyes. “Koyer fears Aryl may be a Fane J'Shrym. Even now he is sending his White Guard to question him on this matter. Both you and I know, even if he can't prove this, Aryl and Elamor's lives are in jeopardy.” Looking at Jeaf, he added, “Young Oakenfel must leave tonight, if he is to reach his parents before it is too late.”
No! No! No! Jeaf, you mustn't go. You mustn't risk your life. You're not ready. Stay with us. Illumanor appeared agitated as he hastily replied, “We can send another, for I don't want to risk Jeaf's life.”
“Sir, another shall not go in my place, nor would I stay to protect my life or gain the whole of the Eyrie of the Eagle as my prize for not leaving.”
“If you'll go, there is no time to delay. We must leave now!” the bard explained.
“Will you be going with me?” Jeaf puzzled aloud.
“Why of course! I wouldn't let a Fane J'Shrym make this journey alone.” The minstrel's eyes seemed to cast off blue light as he spoke.
Hearing the bard address him as a Fane J'Shrym, caught Jeaf off guard. But when he looked to Illumanor for input, the great man lowered his head in resignation before nodding it to assuage any fears the young Woodswane had.
Realizing his mind was made up, Illumanor, who now clutched his medallion with both hands, said, “Jeaf, promise you'll return as soon as you can.” You must come back. For what good will the hammer's power be without the candle's light to guide it.
Jeaf, who was deeply troubled by the minstrel's news, answered, “I know not what the future holds, so I cannot make a promise on such short notice. But I will tell you this... I will not forget the words you have spoken this night. I shall give them much thought before I choose the path I will trod in the coming days. But this I do want you to know. I not only have the blood of a Candle Maker flowing through my veins, but I also have the blood of the Woodswane, and the Woodswane are not easily controlled and don't like to hide behind walls.”
A smile crossed the bard's smooth face when he felt Jeaf's Powers of Intuition reaching out to examine him. The images of stars shining through the boughs of a vast greenwood and snow on pine needles filled the young man's mind before he, once again, addressed the disgruntled Master Candle Maker. “Having said this, to help you understand my mind, I also want you to know that I value your friendship. I will not forget the deep waters I've sensed within your soul. They are good waters. Please remember me, for I will remember you and hope we will meet again.”
“Your mother has trained you well, young Oakenfel. Your answer is wise and gives me hope.” Turning to Rawn, Illumanor added, “As soon as Jeaf is ready, take he and Alynd to the passageway that runs down through the heart of the mountain.”
“I'm ready now!”
“I know the way to the tunnel.” Blue light shown from the minstrel's eyes as he asked, “Shall we depart?”
As the two men were leaving the room, Illumanor, looking upon the one he believed was destined to become the Hammer Bearer, was already making plans in the light of the revelation that shone upon his dearest hopes. Calling for the elders and the most noteworthy scholars to assemble that very night, he busied himself by going to the archives to pull out all the manuscripts he recalled had anything to do with the subject of the Hammer of Power.
Lights went on all over the School of the Candle. The academy was bursting into life. Many of the king's guests, walking the streets of the grand fortress, while the feast continued on late into the night, took note of this unusual activity, wondering what emergency had taken place behind the school's hallowed walls. Unfortunately, this activity also caught the attention of a tall man with a milky-white face, a man dressed in a bluish-gray cloak. Leering out from under his hood, he turned to the others- those who were dressed as he was- and gave orders for them to leave the fortress and descend the King's Way.
Chapter 7: The Race Home
Alynd and Jeaf ran down the school's corridors. Coming to a garden, rushing past a cadre of artistically-shaped plants and a shallow pool of shimmering water, they opened a heavy wooden door hidden behind a large stone laying near the back of the courtyard, a door that looked like it was covering a cellar. Slipping into a dark passageway, once the door was shut, the two men were enveloped in utter darkness. Startled by this, Jeaf was returning for a torch when a soft amber glow filled the tunnel. Turning to find the source of this light was coming from a tiny golden sphere Alynd was lifting out of a leather pouch fastened to his belt, Jeaf hurried to catch up with the bard.
“Do you have another?” Jeaf inquired.
“Yes,” the sound small stones make when they strike one another was heard when Alynd shook the pouch, “but their magic won't work for you.” After winking at the young Woodswane, the lithely built bard took off as quick as a field mouse slipping into its burrow and descended on a spiral staircase cut into hard stone.
Reflecting the sphere's glow, glistening threads woven into Alynd's garments sent delicate tendrils of light streaming behind him. Down, down, down they went into the belly of the rock upon whose crown the Eyrie of the Eagle was perched. Speeding along, the two men met other passageways intersecting their own. More than once, they came to places where the tunnel forked and went off in different directions. Each time Alynd chose the way they would go, without the slightest hesitation. Because of the confidence the bard displayed in making such swift decisions, Jeaf figured Alynd had been in the passageways before, at least, he hoped he had.
After some time, the bard slipped effortlessly through a fissure in the tunnel's wall, a fissure nature had chiseled out of the cold stone. And as he disappeared, the light went with him.
Darkness followed.
Now blind, the young Woodswane frantically scrambled forward. Sliding his hands along the rock wall, he eventually found the opening the bard had disappeared into. For an uneasy moment, he stood there trying to decide whether it was wise to leave the manmade tunnels to follow Alynd, a person he realized he didn't really know. Then memories of the vision, that accompanied the minstrel's song, returned, pulling on him, encouraging him to squeeze into the fissure. But as this was happening, Jeaf felt something else pushing on him, trying to keep him from entering the crack, a presence whose identity eluded the young Woodswane's probing intuition. One moment it was swirling about his head, feeling like heavy cob webs had fallen upon him and the next it was gone.
After some uncertainty, Jeaf resolved to follow the author of the sw
eet music he had heard in the Eagle King's Great Hall and ignore the resistance he felt. Stepping into the jagged fissure, he pressed on as quickly as he could, hoping to catch sight of the sphere's amber light. But try as he might, he couldn't shake off the blindness afflicting him. In time, the crack narrowed, and continued to do so as he moved forward, until Jeaf thought he might be stuck, a prospect that was unnerving.
It was while he was considering the terrifying ramifications of this possibility when he felt something brush over his shoulder and then rush about his head. The presence had returned and a quivering voice was heard. “Turn back before it is too late!”
“Burn it to ashes!” Jeaf cursed. And as he did, the specter struck. Pangs of pain hit his head like blows delivered by angry fists. Confused and dazed, the young Woodswane tried to clear his mind, shaking his head like he was a punch-drunk fighter. Still, his wits shunned him. In their place, fear came to stand, fear that tormented his soul, mocking his frailty, and telling him he was stuck like a bug in a spider's trap, pinched between two unrelenting walls of granite.
Terrified by this proposition, the young Woodswane cried out for his companion. “ALYND!”
Barely able to move, he tried forcing his arm downward, hoping to reach the pouch that held the light blue candle. As he strained to do this, he began sobbing. But the rock, tearing at his hand was not responsible for his tears, rather, the chastening presence that continued swirling around his head, dispensing its magic as it did, was the culprit. Finally, grasping the candle with only his finger tips, his mind shouted, Mother, can you hear me? I need your help! But it was no use, the unlit candle lay mute in his bruised and bleeding hand.
Then the disembodied voice spoke once more. “You're lost, lost and forgotten. You've been led into a snare: deceived, blind and alone. You'll die here, do you know that? You'll die of thirst, or worse.”
Could Alynd have deceived me? Has he led me into a trap? Why did I rush out so quickly? Why didn't I listen to Illumanor?
“You are lost and forgotten. Not even your mother or father cares for you. How could they, if they allowed you to fall into this snare?”
If the threatening voice hadn't spoken out again, Jeaf might have been completely undone, but, this time, the specter's voice came like a slap in the face, a slap that awakened the young Woodswane to the task at hand. Angered by the spirit's violation, enraged it had tried to discredit his parents' love for him, Jeaf gathered his strength and bulled his way through the bottleneck, cutting the flesh on his arms as he did. Then suddenly, magically, wonderfully he was once again bathed in the soft, amber light radiating out from the golden sphere Alynd held aloft, a light that revealed the lines of concern etching their way across the bard's face.
“What just happened!?” Jeaf spat out while Alynd examined the cuts on his arms.
“I had no idea that one of Ab'Don's evil spirits was hiding in the fissure, not until it was too late He was, no doubt, stationed here to keep an eye on those using the tunnels.” Leaning forward and blowing his breath through the amber light radiating out of the tiny sphere, Alynd sent a golden mist to fall on the young Woodswane's injured arms, a welcome mist whose warmth was spiced with healing power. “His magic dimmed my light and muted my voice, so you could neither see nor hear me. I'm glad you made it through. If we had to return and go the other way, there is a good chance we would have been intercepted by the Soldiers of Truth. But no one knows the way we are about to take except me and the Candle Makers, and the evil spirit won't have time to report our whereabouts before we are gone. Still, we must hurry if we are to escape!”
“Alynd!” Jeaf had an idea come suddenly to mind. “I know how we can contact my parents hear and now!” Lifting Illumanor's candle, the young Woodswane spoke a Word of Power. Instantly, the wick burst into flame. “This flame possesses a magic that will allow me to speak to my mother's mind.” In his haste to return home, Jeaf had forgotten about the blue candle. Fortunately, his battle with the specter caused him to remember it was at hand
Mother! Can you hear me? Jeaf projected his thoughts into the tiny flame. But try as he might, there was no reply.
“Something must be blocking its magic.” The minstrel, seeing Jeaf's consternation, placed his hand on the young Woodswane's shoulder as he spoke. “Come! We must not delay any longer. No doubt, Koyer's evil plans are already in full swing.”
Alynd moved off into the dark, slipping downward through the stone, dropping through a chimney-like opening. Pushing his back against one side of the fissure, while using his hands to support himself on the other side, the young Woodswane followed. The two men worked their way down to where the crack's angle of descent permitted them, once again, to stand upon their feet.
In a little while, they entered an enlarged portion of the fissure where Jeaf made a remarkable discovery. The amber light didn't cast any shadows. Though Alynd's body was between the young Woodswane and the source of the illumination, there wasn't a trace of a shadow seen trailing the bard, nor any on the fissure's walls, nor was there one behind Jeaf. It was as if they were moving through a pool of light that wrapped itself around them like water. Impressed by the magic the bard wielded, Jeaf thought, This fellow is getting more interesting all the time.
At long last, they emerged from the crevice and out in the night air. Once Alynd placed the tiny sphere back into the pouch hanging from his belt, the darkness quickly wrapped its robe of protection around them. As Jeaf's eyes adjusted to this change, he noticed how they were not far from the granite spire's base. After scrambling down a portion of rock, they hung from a narrow ledge and dropped into an alleyway running behind a row of buildings that stood close to wall of stone. Hurrying past the structures, the men fled along a side street that paralleled River Road.
“We need to stay off the main highway as long as possible,” Alynd explained as they hurried along hidden by the darkest parts of the road.
“Why don't we find some horses?” Jeaf spoke in hushed tones as if he were afraid the night was listening to their conversation.
“Horses will only draw attention,” the bard explained. “We have a better chance of getting out of the city unnoticed if we travel by foot. Besides, Koyer's spies will be keeping an eye on the stables.”
Sensing the young Woodswane's concern, Alynd added, “Don't worry! We have time to make this trip by foot, if we hurry.”
After giving Jeaf's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the minstrel took off in a trot. The young Woodswane fell in beside him. Locking themselves into a rhythm of motion, one Jeaf felt they could sustain for a very long time, the two men slipped through the night, looking like nothing more than fleeing shadows. Only the muted thud of the larger shadow's boots, striking the ground, left any evidence of their passing.
Finally, the side roads, they had been using, poured out onto River Road. Once on the main highway, the minstrel picked up the pace. This left Jeaf laboring for air but did not affect the bard in the least. Pushing the young Woodswane as hard as he could, without totally fatiguing him, Alynd knew they were vulnerable as long as they were still in Eagle's Vale.
In time, Jeaf acclimated himself to the demands of the race. An athlete competing in a contest would say he had caught his second wind.
Thangmor's arms, laying on the either side of them, had dropped nearly to the level of the valley's floor, signaling River Road would soon be changing directions and head south. This marked the end of Eagle's Vale. Buoyed by the thought he and Alynd had escaped the Society of Truth's grasp, Jeaf felt renewed strength coursing through his youthful body.
Once the turn had been negotiated, a turn that paralleled the course of the Eyrie River, Alynd returned to their original pace. Encouraging his young companion onward, he said, “It won't be long before we reach the forest, can you keep going?”
“Sir, I shall do whatever it takes to reach my parents in time.”
So, the two night shadows passed by field and farm house, moving ever silently towards the safe
ty of the greenwood. The surging river, flowing just a little way off to their left, soothed Jeaf's fears. He knew the little sound he made- for Alynd didn't make any noise whatsoever- would be lost in the river's din. Yet, not long afterwards a disturbing clamor filtered out from the water's tumult. It was the sound rock and gravel make when furious hooves toss them about like chaff in the wind.
“Horses are following us!” Alynd's clarion voice gave the warning.
Off they went, fueled by adrenaline that impending danger extracted from them.
Alynd's speed taxed the young Woodswane's to the limit. Only sheer determination enabled him to keep up with the man who seemed to be carried along more by the wind currents plunging out of Thangmor's heights then by the strength of his legs.
After an arduous sprint, the unbroken darkness spreading out before them told the two men the forest's edge was drawing near, and with it, their salvation.
Though the horses sounded perilously close, Jeaf thought, If I can keep going just a little longer and reach the forest, they'll never catch a Woodswane beneath the boughs of oak and pine. But his hope was to no avail, for the horsemen quickly closed the gap and were, even now, passing them just as the two men were on the brink of success.
Seeing how close the greenwood was, Jeaf felt like a swimmer who, after diving into a pool of water, becomes entangled in the branches of a submerged tree, branches that keep him from resurfacing. Struggling to break free from the dead tree's spindly fingers, the swimmer, just inches away from gulping in the life sustaining air, blowing across the river's undulating skin, is denied the prize. But an inch was as good as a mile, unless, of course, the branch breaks.
Soon, the horsemen surrounded them entirely, cutting off all hope of escape.
A score of the Society's soldiers dismounted, all with swords drawn. Without asking the two men to return to the Eyrie of the Eagle for questioning, they came at them brandishing their blades. The young Woodswane, responding to his father's training, had his own sword out in a flash. Looking over at Alynd, he saw the minstrel was already wielding a long-knife of his own. Then, before a word was uttered, the fight broke out!
