Song of Echoes

by R. E. Palmer

‘Meet who?’

  ‘The Archon.’

  Hamar chuckled. ‘Me? Meet the Archon? The likes of you and me wouldn’t get anywhere near the man. No, I must have said I saw him once.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Ah yes, now I come to think of it, I did, but only from a distance, mind. Tall he is, slender, and has the baldest, shiniest head you’ll ever see. He wore a great long, blue cloak, the color of the sky — or, so it would be if only these damned clouds found some other land to smother. I tell you this, even from a bowshot away, you could feel his power. Not that a mere arrow could wound the man — wouldn’t touch him.’ He grinned. ‘Tombold. There’s a man who has a few stories to tell.’

  Toryn laughed. ‘More than you? Surely not.’

  Hamar examined his pipe. ‘Good old Tom. We shared a few hairy moments together. I wonder what he’s up to these days? He’s a year or two younger than me, brought up on a vineyard on the plains of Gwelayn. What he didn’t know about grapes wasn’t worth knowing. And a tough man if ever I saw one. Tough, but the kindest man you’d ever meet.’

  Toryn cleared his throat. ‘The Archon?’

  ‘Ah yes! Tom once told me a story that from anyone else’s lips I wouldn’t have believed.’ Hamar’s eyes widened. ‘Tombold was on duty at the Lower Gate when the Archon came to check on the new defenses under construction. Anyways, they were half-way along the pass when a platform collapsed and all these rocks came tumbling down. Tombold jumped clear but several were injured, two really bad.’ Hamar jabbed his pipe at Toryn. ‘But not our man, oh no. Not one of them rocks landed anywhere near him. Tom reckoned he spied something over the Archon, like a shield — yes, that was the word he used, a glimmering shield conjured up from thin air. The rocks bounced right off the air over his head. Ha! Not one touched him.’

  Toryn whistled. ‘Some story.’

  ‘The absolute truth. He’s a powerful man, and one we’re lucky to have on our side.’ Hamar sucked on his pipe and let the smoke escape from the side of his mouth, through his whiskers. ‘I tell you, lad, iron and stone alone aren’t enough to hold back the enemy.’ He put down his pipe and folded his arms. ‘As long as that man is in Archonholm, we have nothing to fear.’

  Hamar nodded to the trees. ‘They won’t like this one bit. Should be the start of their growing season.’

  Toryn’s legs grew heavy with the mud clinging to his boots. He stopped and scraped them against a wheel on the cart. ‘You’re right there, Hammy. Certainly is another chilly morning.’

  ‘There you go, even you’ve noticed. Spring should have brought out the blossoms by now, yet there’re few buds blooming.’

  Toryn untied Ned and handed the reins to Jerrum. ‘Take him to the bottom field but him bring back here by noon.’ Jerrum nodded and led the horse away. Hamar pulled the first rail from the back of the cart, keeping his eye on Jerrum. ‘He’s a good lad, strong, eager to please, but don’t seem able to think for himself. He’ll have to buck up if you join the Archonian Guard.’

  Toryn took hold of the other end. ‘Join? I’d never make it passed the trial.’

  They hoisted the wood onto their shoulders. Hamar grunted as he took the weight. ‘Strength and size aren’t everything, you know.’

  ‘So, I’ll pass by using my head? Since when did they need clever men?’ He held up a hand. ‘Sorry, Hamar, I didn’t mean no offence.’

  ‘None taken.’ He patted the plank. ‘Let’s nail this into place, eh? It’s getting heavy.’ He caught Toryn’s eye. ‘Who knows what they look for these days. They might need you with your—’

  ‘Hammer and nails? I don’t think so. I’ll be stuck here building fences for the rest of my life.’ Toryn gritted his teeth and aimed his blow. He cursed as he missed, bending the head of the nail. He glared at Hamar. ‘And I can’t even do this right.’

  ‘Never mind. Pull it out and use another.’

  He took a nail from his pocket. ‘I don’t have the right blood in my veins for farming.’ He stopped. ‘But that’s the problem. I haven’t. No one knows what trade my folks had, that is, my actual mother and father.’ He placed the nail into position, withdrew the hammer and mis-hit it once more. ‘Well, I guess they didn’t build fences.’

  Hamar sighed. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, lad.’

  Toryn did not hear him. He muttered. ‘Or have a drop of good blood in their veins, leaving a baby in a barn to fend for itself.’

  ‘Don’t be judging them too harsh, Tor’ — Hamar glanced over his shoulder — ‘desperate people do desperate things in desperate times.’

  Toryn struck the nail, and this time hit the head. His words struck home in time to the hammer. ‘But to… abandon… a baby!’ He stepped back. ‘How can you know they were desperate? They didn’t hang around long enough for anyone to find out.’ He pulled two nails from his pocket and placed one in his mouth. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Perhaps I should try my hand as a tailor, or baker, or even a jester? I have to be good at something.’

  Hamar stretched out his back. ‘Pass me the flask, lad. Watching you work has given me a thirst.’

  Toryn laid down the hammer and handed the water to Hamar. He recognized the expression on the old man’s face. ‘You going to tell me one of your tales now?’

  ‘Well? Do you need cheering up?’

  Toryn nodded and smiled. ‘Go on. Tell me that story about the Amayan warriors.’ He knew how much Hamar loved the myth.

  The old man’s eyes wandered to the trees. ‘Best fighters who ever lived. Saw one beat four guards in the time it takes to nock and aim an arrow. And not your infantry guards like me. No, these were proper knights, the Knights of the Archon.”

  ‘Just the four?’ Toryn recalled it was three the last time Hamar told the story.

  ‘Yes, four. Sure, they weren’t the First Horse lads of Archonholm, but these knights are still not to be messed with.’ He frowned. ‘Or was it five? I can’t remember.’ Hamar took a gulp from the flask and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Anyways, it was more than should have been possible. Witnessed it with my own eyes. We were in Broon, or was it Galabrant? But that bit doesn’t matter, the important part is’ — he scratched his head — ‘remind me, Tor, where do I start with this tale?’

  Toryn took the flask from Hamar. ‘The captain challenged them to a duel for the best place in the stables.’

  Hamar frowned. ‘Stables? Don’t remember it being about stables, but they do love their horses, mind. But again, that’s not the story. The Amayans were deadly. Fight for anyone who pays and pays well. But you need to be wealthy, corrupt, or both to afford them. You have to pay a handsome sum before they’ll even consider taking up your cause, I tell you.’ Hamar rubbed his lower back and groaned. ‘Stables? No, I think it might have been a disputed boundary in the east.’

  Toryn passed the water back to Hamar. ‘You said they could handle a sword better than any guard.’

  ‘Swords, bows, spears, you name it, nicely balanced, you see. But that’s not all.’ He winked at Toryn as a smile spread across his lips. ‘And…’ He beamed.

  For a moment, Toryn saw how Hamar must have looked as a young man. ‘And… what?’

  ’I can’t recall the duel, but I can remember their faces. Some called them She-Devils, but they were more like goddesses’ — he whistled — ‘you should see their faces. Beautiful, perhaps descended from the Three Maidens before they fell.’ Hamar’s eyes glazed.

  ‘No, surely not.’

  Hamar chuckled. ‘Well, of course not, but they could be with their long hair flowing down to the small of their backs. Some as red as a sunset, others flaxen like corn, or black as a night sky. And how they could nock an arrow with’ — he cupped his hands in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow — ‘like this, I don’t know. And their legs. Long legs that go right up to their… saddles.’ Hamar smirked as handed the flask back to Toryn. ‘And you should hear the stories other lads tell…’ He pulled out the next plank. ‘Well, never you mind. We’ll have Jerrum back b
efore long, and we won’t have emptied the cart.’

  Toryn nudged Hamar’s shoulder as he took hold of the plank. ‘You, old dog.’

  Hamar let out a long sigh. ‘I wonder what happened to them. Can’t be many left these days, they’d be as old as me and would struggle to mount their horses, let alone ride ‘em. Shame. If we only had fifty, we could open the gate and give those rascals on the other side a fright.’ He chuckled. ‘And I’d give my right arm to meet them again.'

  Toryn watched his face. He must have told his Amayan stories so often, he believed them to be real. But he said nothing. Many of Hamar’s memories were clearly tall tales men told to pass the time. What purpose would it serve to deny them to a man in his last years?

  ‘Hey!’

  Hamar turned. ‘What’s got him all flustered?’ Toryn turned to see his friend, Elrik, run as best he could in the mud towards them. He waved his arms, but they could not hear his words. Elrik scrambled up the ridge and fell panting to his knees.

  He gasped as he tried to speak. ‘The rumors… they’re true. The knights… they’re coming. They’ll be here this evening!’

  Toryn gasped. ‘So soon?’

  Hamar wiped the mud from his hands. ‘Well, this will have to wait now. We’ll leave the cart here, save Ned’s legs ,eh.’ He straightened his back and brushed down his shirt. ‘Best be making tracks. Can’t be late for their arrival.’

  Elrik recovered his breath. ‘Will there be a feast tonight? I know it’s the tradition, but with food being scarce and that.’

  Hamar nodded as he invited Toryn to lead them down the slope. ‘Of course. And no matter how hard times get, we still need our traditions.’

  Elrik shrugged. ‘But why? Nothing ever changes.’

  ‘Keeps us on the straight and narrow, lad. Without them, we’re as bad as the dark creatures roaming the wilds.’ Hamar stopped at the edge of the field. He tried to laugh. ‘But there won’t be much on our plates. The knights will get the bigger portions. We’ll just have to listen to the speeches and chew slowly.’

  Preparations for the visit were well underway by the time Toryn had washed, changed into his best clothes, and made his way to the village hall. He glanced up at the tattered bunting crisscrossing the square, guessing the same flags had greeted visiting knights in Hamar’s day. Beneath, dozens of children ferried long trestle tables from the store to the hall, skillfully dodging half a dozen women sweeping the cobbles. At the far end, the mayor lowered the frayed colors of Midwyche while his deputy unfolded the flag reserved for special occasions.

  ‘Toryn! Over here.’ His mother pushed through the gathering crowd. ‘About time. I was getting worried.’ Miram licked her thumb and wiped it across his cheek. ‘Still can’t trust you to wash your face properly, and yet tomorrow you could be...’

  ‘Don’t worry, mother.’ He took her hand. ‘If I’m chosen, I’ll be fine.’ But Toryn could tell she fought to hold back the tears.

  She whispered. ‘I know it’s your duty to go, but’ — she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear — ‘since the day I first held you in my arms, I’ve dreaded this moment.’

  Toryn stiffened as a firm hand slapped his back. He turned as Elrik beamed at Miram. ‘Don’t he scrub up well?’ He grabbed Toryn’s shoulders. ‘And feel those muscles. Must be from shoveling dung all day.’

  Toryn winced as Elrik’s hands easily wrapped around his upper arms. But he laughed, twisted out of Elrik’s grip and grabbed the blacksmith’s wrists. ‘And how are these weak arms going to swing a proper weapon when you have to put away your toy hammer?’

  ‘They’re here!’ The crowd turned to the boy standing on the nearby roof. He pointed. ‘I can see the spear tips.’

  Toryn searched the crowd. ‘Where’s father?’

  Miram bustled around him, straightening his shirt. ‘He’s checking the final preparations for the feast.’

  ‘Feast?’ Toryn scoffed. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’ The boy scrambled from the roof and joined the end of the line. Toryn’s heart pounded against the thin cloth of his shirt. He was eight years old when the knights had last come, but he could remember their glistening helmets and breastplates as if it were yesterday.

  Miram tucked at his sleeve. ‘Your father’s here.’ Toryn turned to see his red face as he limped to join them.

  Andryn nodded to Toryn and took Miram’s hand. ‘Everything’s ready.’ Her relief could be heard by the whole square as the thunder of the heavy horses clattered across the bridge. Six plumes of the riders came into view. Toryn held his breath as the first pair entered the square. But as they drew closer, he could not help noticing they did not seem as grand as he had remembered. The dented armor looked dull, the cloth of their banner faded and ragged, and the riders’ faces dirty and unkempt. But their appearance did not appear to bother Hamar. The old guard struggled to hold back his tears as he stood to attention with his chest puffed out and shoulders held back.

  ‘Water!’ The captain bellowed at a young boy as he slid from his steaming beast. ‘Where’s the water for the horses, lad?’ The boy twisted away, burying his face in his father’s cloak. The rider removed his gloves and ruffled the hair of the youngster. ‘My horse may be clever, young fellow, but he can’t work the pump with his tired hooves.’

  The boy’s father rested his hands on the little one’s shoulders. ‘Apologies, sir. He’s a little over-awed by your arrival.’

  The captain grinned at the boy. ‘Can’t blame you, I was no doubt the same at your age.’

  A knight laughed. ‘And that was a very long time ago.’

  ‘Alright, that will do. We have important business at hand.’ The captain removed his helmet and ran a scarred hand through his matted, black hair. Grime from the road clung to a face lined by many years of service. For a moment, his gray eyes appeared not to see what lay before them. He blinked and spoke to Toryn. ‘Seen any aralaks around these parts, lad?’

  Toryn laughed. ‘Aralaks?’ He glanced to Miram. ‘I… I thought they were all trapped in the gorge.’

  The captain’s half-smile faded. ‘Still, never hurts to keep your eyes peeled. We can’t keep ‘em fenced in forever.’ He grimaced. ‘Nasty creatures. Keep well away, well out of spitting distance. And be wary of their spindly legs. You don’t want all eight of ‘em wrapped around you at once.’ Again, his eyes glazed. ‘Never live to tell the tale. Horrible way to go.’

  4. a Cause for Celebration

  Toryn had rarely seen the hall look finer. Bunting hung from the eaves concealing parts of the roof badly in need of repair, and the low light of the flickering lanterns hid much of the neglected woodwork from prying eyes. Yet, despite Toryn’s trepidation, his spirit rose as he entered. The smell of the lamps and murmur of the gathering villagers took him back to the mid-winter celebrations of his younger days. But back then, his belly had been smaller and easier to fill — tonight, he suspected his stomach would still be rumbling come the end of the function.

  All but the youngest of the villagers sat at six long tables, but only the head table laid out for their guests of honor had a cloth of white linen. At the back, the children sat crossed-legged on a large mat, trying to sit still and silent as they anticipated their supper. Toryn wished he could join them and be blissfully unaware of the importance of the occasion.

  Elrik waved from the far table. Toryn turned away from the children and squeezed through the narrow gaps to sit opposite his friend. Elrik beamed and drained his cup. ‘Just think, this time next week we could be seven days away from this place.’

  Toryn nodded at Elrik’s empty cup. ‘Might have been wise to have saved some of that wine, I don’t think we’ll get another.’

  Elrik laughed. ‘Who cares? Once we’re guardsmen’ — he nodded at the head table — ‘we’ll get all the ale and wine we can handle, not to mention—’

  ‘We have to pass the trial first.’

  ‘We’ll do it with our eyes shut, although I’m not so sure about the rest of the lads.
’

  Toryn sloshed the dark wine around the bottom of his cup. ‘Hamar says it’s not all ale, women and glory, especially if we find ourselves on the Nordruuk border.’

  Elrik’s shoulders dropped. ‘I know, he’s told me about the life, but anything has to be better than living in this village.’ He lowered his voice as a weaver caught his eye. ‘Nothing ever happens, same day every day, except on a rare holiday when nothing happens twice over.’

  Toryn tried to laugh. ‘But you may find a day when you’d welcome nothing happening.’

  All heads turned as Marshall Drakelow entered. He paused at the entrance and peered over his shoulder. He cleared his throat. ‘All stand for the Knights of the Archon.’ The villagers obliged. Drakelow stepped aside as the captain led in his men. Toryn watched the six stride into the hall. They wore tabards and clothes that had seen better days, but they walked straight-backed and proud as they took their positions at the head table.

  The captain held up his hands. ‘Please be seated.’

  Elrik leaned over. ‘Imagine. You and me on the road south, seeing all the places we’ve only heard about in stories. And Archonholm? As tall and as strong as a mountain, Hamar says.’

  ‘And not forgetting the training. There’ll be no ale and maidens before we’ve finished that.’

  ‘Yes, and the training.’ Elrik swished his hand across the table. ‘We’ll be unbeatable, champions of the Five Realms.’

  Toryn studied the men at the head table. Despite the shabby state of their clothes, they appeared strong and battle-hardened. If an Amayan warrior had taken down just one, it would still be an impressive feat. He glanced over to Hamar, who beamed ear-to-ear at the head table.

  Marshal Drakelow stood. The room fell silent. He turned to the head table. ‘On behalf of the village of Midwyche and the Ward of Darrow, I welcome you to share our humble supper.’ He raised his cup to the knights. ‘Let’s drink a toast to the fine, brave men who keep our lands safe and free.’ The room stood and waited for the captain to speak. He said nothing, but they took his nod as a sign to drink. Toryn eyed the wine barely covering the bottom of his cup. He joined the villagers in the toast. ‘To the Knights of the Archon.’