Song of Echoes

by R. E. Palmer

  ‘Me?’ His scalp prickled. ‘But I was only a baby.’

  ‘We didn’t know for sure, but we weren’t going to just sit on our hands. The milk from our cows dried up and then the hens stopped laying. Marshall Stokes rallied the few reserves we had in the village, and we went into the forest to confront them. But if we’d had a dozen men, we‘d have struggled.’ His eyes passed across the table. ‘We drove them out, somehow, but at a cost.’

  Toryn frowned. ‘Why haven’t you mentioned this before? Surely, it’s a story we should all be told. It’s not like anything happens here to celebrate.’

  ‘Celebrate?’ Hamar bit his lip. ‘Wasn’t much to celebrate. Besides, we didn’t want to spread panic. When I say, reserves, we’re talking farmers with scythes, clubs and the odd sword. We told the village we’d chased a stray boar away.’

  ‘Oh, the boar story. Then Stokes wasn’t gored to death. And the others also?’

  Hamar nodded. ‘Four in all. But not by a boar’ — he whispered — ‘a droog. Whoever watched us, had command of a droog and that’s no pet dog I can tell you. I can count on the fingers of one hand the men I’ve known take down one of those vile creatures. And that was five Archonians against the same slippery worm.’ His nose wrinkled. ‘The poor soul who survived, swore the stench of the foul beast never left him.’ He shook his head. ‘Such a damn shame. Stokes and the other men didn’t stand a chance. And, your dad didn’t injure his leg on the farm.’

  Toryn gaped at his father. ‘You as well? Who were they?’

  Andryn’s face paled. ‘Can’t be sure. I can still see them though. A few brawny ruffians showed up. We could have handled them were it not for this other fellow and his droog.’ He shuddered. ‘A shadowy figure, tall and gangly. Moved all fast and jerky, not natural like. Seen nothing like it in all my days, or since. But it had power, immense power — you need that to handle a droog. But for some reason they didn’t seem keen to stay around to fight long. Just as we thought we were all done for, they withdrew and the dread beast went with them. If they hadn’t, I doubt any of us would have made it home. But they went all the same, must have gone after your father, we suspect north. And after a few months we assumed—’

  They jumped as the door burst open. Elrik and two others collapsed in a tangle on the mat, laughing. Elrik clambered to his feet. ‘Sorry, didn’t get a chance to knock before these fools fell over.’ He brushed down his shirt. ‘We’re off to the tavern to celebrate our last night.’ He glanced at the pieces of the shattered mug on the floor, then to Toryn. ‘You coming?’

  Andryn answered for him. ‘You carry on, lads. He’s finishing his packing. He’ll join you later.’

  ‘We’ll head north.’ Hamar stuffed the last of his supplies in a rucksack. He buttoned his coat and threw the strap over his shoulder. ‘We’ll stay off the roads, stick to the woods for cover where we can. I reckon we’ll be a good five leagues away before the Archon’s men find out you’re missing.’

  Toryn snatched his rucksack from the table. ‘I should be going south! Where all the able men are going. It’s my duty.’

  Andryn helped Toryn lift his bag on to his back. ‘I know it’s hard, son. But trust us, it will be for the best.’

  Toryn turned. ‘Trust you? After you’ve kept all this from me until now.’

  Andryn placed his hands on Toryn’s shoulders. ‘Please, for your mother’s sake.’

  Toryn took a breath. ‘Why north?’

  ‘The knights won’t want to venture too far out of their way. They’ll have other settlements to visit. Once done, they’ll be escorting the recruits south.’

  Toryn checked his straps. ‘I can go by myself. Hamar shouldn’t be on the road at his age.’

  Andryn patted Hamar’s shoulder. ‘Nonsense. It’s best he goes with you. He knows the way and can show you how to survive in the wilds.’ He picked up the sword, wrapped it in cloth and held it out to Toryn. ‘Keep this concealed for now.’ He stood back. ‘I only wish I could go with you, but I’d only slow you down with this leg. Even Hamar can outpace me these days.’

  Miram came in from the kitchen. ‘I’ve packed some food for the start. Are you sure you won’t need pots and pans?’

  Hamar tugged at his beard. ‘No, we’ll travel as light as we can.’

  Miram patted the package. ‘Oh, and there’s a flask of your father’s liquor, but be sure to keep Hamar away from it. It’s in case of an emergency…’ she turned away.

  Toryn stood by the door and turned to his parents. They had taken him in, despite knowing the truth about his father, and brought him up as their own. His jaw softened. ‘I’m sure we’ll be back before long.’ But he caught a look between Andryn and Hamar. He frowned. ‘We will, won’t we?’

  Andryn bit his lip. ‘It might be a while yet, son. The Archon’s men don’t take kindly to deserters.’

  ‘Deserter? But I’d go if I could.’

  ‘I know, Toryn, I know. But they will see you as a deserter all the same. They’d throw you in Archonholm’s dungeon for a few years and then put you through the training. But I fear they’d discover your father’s… secret before long, and then who knows what they’d do if the Archon thinks you pose a threat.’

  Toryn tugged the sword under his arm. ‘Still can’t think how I could be thought of as dangerous.’

  Andryn sighed. ‘We can’t take that risk. It’s not just about you. If the Archon finds out we’ve been harboring you, we could all suffer. But if you disappear, they’ll suspect you wanted to avoid service and took flight. It won’t look anything out of the ordinary.’

  Hamar turned to the door. ‘It’ll blow over. We’ll be gone a few months and by then they’ll be another crisis to keep the guards busy.’

  Miram straightened Toryn’s coat and brushed down his shoulders. ‘Keep him out of harm’s way, Hamar. Be sure to bring him back fit and well.’

  ‘As soon as I can, next spring maybe. But don’t you worry. I know a settlement about a three-week hike from here. It’s well off the beaten track and it’ll have been years since any soldiers would have visited. I know a few people there and they’d welcome two men with our skills.’ He laughed. ‘And don’t you worry, Miram. They’re fond of their food and ale. He won’t go hungry’ — he nudged Toryn — ‘or thirsty.’

  Andryn opened the door. ‘You best be making tracks before Elrik comes back.’

  Toryn peered outside. ‘He won’t be able to stand by this time of the evening, let alone find his way here.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘I’m going to miss him.’

  Hamar pulled on the other strap of his rucksack. ‘You’ll see him again, some day. Come on, we’ll walk by night and find a spot in woodlands to sleep during the day.’ He checked the sky. ‘The moon won’t be up for a few hours yet, even if it could break through the clouds. It will slow us down, but it’ll also mean we can’t be seen.’

  Andryn grasped Toryn’s arms and looked him in the eye. ‘I wish it hadn’t come to this, son. We wanted to tell you, but—’

  ‘I think I understand.’ He embraced Andryn. ‘Thanks… for everything. I know I haven’t always appreciated your help. But I’ll be back, and I’ll finally see parts of the land beyond this place.’

  He let go as Miram took his hand. ‘I won’t come outside. I’ll only alert the entire village if I start to…’

  Toryn hugged her. ‘I’ll be fine. See you in the spring.’ He released her, stood back and smiled. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ He turned to Hamar. ‘Are we ready?’

  Hamar winked at Toryn. ‘Still have my old map?’ Toryn nodded. The old man tried to laugh. ‘Then best bring it along. Just in case.’

  7. in the Shadow of the Gate

  The South Gate of Archonholm groaned as it swung inwards. Elodi tugged at her cloak as the morning mist billowed through the archway set in the thick walls of the citadel. Despite the chill of the early hour, she was grateful for the day to visit the Archon’s new tower had finally arrived. For a week Elodi had ha
d little to do other than consult with Bardon and Wendel on matters concerning their northern realms. She had briefly met the old lords of Kernlow and Galabrant but had been reluctant to spend time in their company. They appreciated little of the pressing matters of the day, preferring instead to tell tales of the daring deeds of their youth, avoiding any conflict that would disrupt their comfortable lives. Elodi had yearned to take out her sword and test her skills against the best of Archonholm, but Wendel advised her it would be frowned upon. Apparently, in this part of the world, women did not challenge the sword masters of the citadel to a duel.

  Elodi stood tall with Bardon at the head of two lines, proud to wear the burgundy cloak of Harlyn bearing Dorlan’s legendary silver shield. She glanced at Bardon. Despite his stoop and graying hair, he looked a fine sight in his cloak of black, adorned with the white spearhead of Gildorul. He noticed her attention and straightened, managing a slight grin. Behind, the lords of Galabrant and Kernlow, the steward of Farrand, generals of the army, and heads of the many councils of the city waited for the Archon’s arrival. Lord Kernlow coughed, already out of breath from the short stroll to the courtyard; she wondered how the old lord would manage the long walk down the Caerwal Pass. But that he must. The Archon required all to witness the grand opening of his tower; to be absent would be viewed as a sign of disloyalty.

  Elodi turned at the clattering of horses’ hooves on the cobbles. At the far end of the courtyard, the fine riders of the First Horse assembled. She wished for her own horse, Sea Mist, but knew this morning was all about the show of power by the Archon. While he rode in the comfort of his carriage, the representatives would follow on foot.

  Bardon nodded to the rear. The Castellan approached, also on foot. He marched through the lines and stopped at the gate. The plume on his ceremonial helmet drooped under the weight of the dew clinging to the feathers. But the dampness could not reduce the impact of his polished armor and bright red cloak of the Palace Guard draped over his slight frame. He turned and raised his arms with his palms together. The Castellan waited until all eyes rested on him. Then, with a flourish, leaving no doubt of the importance of his role in the occasion, he parted his hands until both arms were level with his shoulders. Elodi glanced to Bardon on her right. He turned to face her and took three steps back and motioned she should do the same. She followed Bardon’s lead. Murmurs passed along the line as the sound of horses echoed through the courtyard.

  ‘Silence!’ The Castellan bellowed. ‘The Archon approaches.’

  Elodi risked a quick glance along the path. A dozen white horses, with heads nodding, trotted towards them through their lines. The detachment of the First Horse was a grand and re-assuring sight. Sitting ramrod straight with their deep blue cloaks resting on their proud horses’ hindquarters, they passed majestically through the lines to the gate, fully aware of the admiring glances drawn their way. Behind, two proud, black horses brought the Archon’s carriage into view.

  Elodi held her breath. The same design of golden boughs and leaves from the door to the Great Hall covered the sides. She edged back as the carriage passed. Elodi peered inside, keen to see the Archon, but could see nothing but a silhouette. The horses halted under the arch. The Castellan stepped up to the door, spoke in a low voice, before returning to his position at the head of the line of representatives. Again, with a wave of his hands worthy of a palace entertainer, he motioned for the two lines to reform behind the carriage.

  A lone trumpet blew from high on the citadel wall and the procession moved forward. Elodi glanced up at the stones above the gate, admiring their pristine condition. Compared to her city, the citadel was new, dating back a mere three hundred years when the Archon moved to strengthen Archonholm’s defenses. Whereas, Calerdorn had endured a thousand years of relentless storms, angered by the walled-city’s resistance. Yet still it stood strong, testament to the builders’ skill at the height of the Seven Realms’ power. Elodi’s gaze dropped to the back of the Archon’s carriage and wondered what the people of that glorious age would make of today’s procession.

  They passed out from under the protection of the walls and onto the narrow and southernmost stretch of land in the realms. Elodi’s stomach churned as she approached the ravine separating them from the giant wall of the Caerwal Mountains. Ahead, the slender bridge stretched out from the sharp edge of the ravine and disappeared into the mist as if leading to an unknown land. Then, as if commanded by the Archon, the mist rose to reveal the lower reaches of the mountains. Elodi’s eyes widened. From her viewpoint at ground level, the dark cliffs appeared to loom twice as high as when she had viewed them from the terrace. She tried to find the top of their peaks amongst the cloud, yet feared she would fall over if she tipped her head back further. But she had no time to take in the view. The front riders of the First Horse reached the bridge. Their powerful beasts trotted confidently in single file up the gentle incline of the narrow pathway. The carriage and the Castellan followed, but Elodi hesitated.

  She chanced a glance over the edge to her left. Bardon grasped her sleeve as she wobbled. He whispered. ‘Here. Take my arm.’

  Elodi stepped onto the bridge. ‘I’m fine.’ She ran her hand along the rail. ‘I appreciate it’s a defensive structure, but you’d think they could have made this a little higher. My father didn’t stand a chance against the gale that night.’ She kept her eyes on the Archon’s carriage, determined not to let the thought of her father’s untimely death bring more tears; she had to stay strong.

  The mist continued to clear as the bridge dipped gently down to meet the opposite side of the ravine. Ahead, the Lower Gate sealed the head of the pass. It stood over fifty feet tall but appeared an insignificant afterthought, as if hastily rammed into the gap between the sheer cliffs.

  Bardon followed her gaze. ‘That’s to keep us out. They discourage needless visits to the gate.’

  Elodi gawped at the sides of the ominous mountains. ‘It must have taken centuries to form the pass.’

  Bardon sighed. ‘The skills of our ancestors easily surpassed those we possess today.’

  She watched as the carriage came to a halt at the portcullis. The Castellan took up a position in front of the horses. He widened his stance, drew his sword, and held it aloft. ‘Hark! The Archon approaches.’

  A stern face emerged from a small window beside the gate. He turned and yelled. ‘The Archon demands entry to the pass. Raise the gate!’ Immediately, machinery cranked heavy chains, opening the wooden grill. Elodi peered through the gap, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Caerwal Gate, but a stubborn mist still clung to the floor of the pass.

  The Archon’s carriage moved forward as soon as the portcullis had risen above its roof. The First Horse, the Castellan, and the two lines of representatives duly followed. Elodi shivered as she walked into the shadow of the short tunnel.

  On the other side, it remained cold as the mist refused to release its grip on the night air trapped in the narrow pass. She walked on her toes. ‘How far to the gate? I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘Just short of half a league, won’t take long at this pace. Although’ — he checked ahead — ‘I’m in no hurry to see what the Archon’s been up to. I’d be happier if we kept ourselves to ourselves and didn’t poke the enemy.’

  Elodi stared harder but could see no more than thirty paces ahead. Yet despite the mists, she sensed the overbearing weight of the mountains towering overhead. They walked in silence, only the echo of the hooves and clatter of wheels filled the pass. Further down they passed long, shallow ramps rising from the ground on both sides leading to platforms many feet above them. Dark shapes she presumed to be the Archon’s new weapons made their presence known in the mist. Beneath, Elodi marveled at the barracks of hundreds of rooms carved out of the rock to house the soldiers, engineers and builders who constantly crewed the gate.

  Elodi stopped. A short distance ahead, a shadow hung over them: the Caerwal Gate. They must be close. The carriage slowed, drew to one side an
d came to a halt. The Castellan repeated the signal, raising his arms to usher the representatives into two lines on either side of the carriage door. Elodi noticed a low murmur and the odd chink of metal upon metal. She checked the Castellan’s attention lay elsewhere and turned to see row upon straight row of heavily armored knights. So it was true. She knew the number from the tales told to calm frightened children. One thousand elite soldiers stood stiffly guarding the gate as they had done for as long as anyone could remember, always on full alert should the unthinkable happen.

  But it was not the sight of their perfectly lined ranks catching Elodi’s eye. To the right of the formation, the wide base of a round tower slowly revealed itself as the mist relinquished its hold on the stone. Its windowless, smooth walls tapered as it rose from the ground as if sprouting from the rock. Aware the Archon would step out from his carriage any moment, she risked a glance at the gate, willing the air to clear. But as yet only the ancient runners on which the gate would roll, if ever opened, were visible.

  ‘Pray silence for the Archon.’ Elodi jumped as the Castellan bellowed. She jerked back to face the carriage. Two blue-robed men appeared from behind their line. One bent and unfolded a small step below the door. He stood back and nodded to the other who took hold of the handle and opened it. A sandaled foot with long toes stepped out before being covered by the hem of a sky-blue cloak. The tall, thin figure of the Archon descended the two steps and stood a dozen paces from Elodi. His hands rose and removed the large hood. Elodi stifled a gasp. Faint, wavy red markings covered the Archon’s clean-shaven head, glowing like hot coals. His harsh gray eyes turned towards the line of his representatives. Elodi shuddered under his gaze and felt this man intuitively knew everything about her — her doubts, fears, hopes and suspicions laid bare.

  The Archon said nothing; words were unnecessary. All present could sense the contempt he held for the mere representatives of his realms. He gestured to the visibly shaking Castellan to lead him to a dais close to the base of the tower.