The Call of Agon: Book One of The Children of Telm

by Dean F. Wilson

  “Leave not your foul domain!” he called, and the great shadow that it cast before it seemed to grow less daunting—but it did not fade. “This is the Haven of Light and I am a Warden thereof. You cannot harm, you cannot kill, no! You have no law to leave your prison here. I am an Ardúnar and I command your obedience!”

  The creature froze, as if considering this, but then a great and ancient hunger overcame its fear and it lunged forth. Thalla drew her bow and before the Karisgor could reach the Warden an arrow stabbed its wilting hide, and then another until the creature withdrew.

  “Kill the beast!” Herr’Don shouted. “Let the land suffer it no more!” He jumped into the flaying waters with sword unleashed. A great frenzy came over him, and he hacked at the creature with all his might and madness. But the figure was tall and broad and repelled his force, knocking him back and parrying his deadly blows.

  Ifferon struggled with his fear. From the corner of his eye he could see a fallen sword by the broken tree trunk, but in full view lay the horror of the Karisgor coupled with the unleashed terrors of his imagination. He froze and saw that Yavün had found the rusted sword and was advancing on the beast, struggling with the rising waters. The stableboy reached its flank and then threw the blade forth, but it struck the thick hide and broke, and the Karisgor turned and knocked him back into the pool. Yavün struggled to escape the mire as the creature loomed near, but neither Herr’Don’s blows nor Thalla’s arrows could draw its gaze.

  Then Melgalés rushed before it and pushed Yavün back into the wading waters. “You cannot harm him, no! By the Law of the Light I command you kneel before me, Beast of the Bog!” he cried. He thrust forth his hands, and a great cry came from the wounded creature. A stream of blood leaked from it to the Warden’s hands, and now each arrow forced a scream of pain from the Karisgor. “Go to the Halls. Yes, go to Halés!” Melgalés called. A final drive of Herr’Don’s blade ended the creature’s life. It groaned into the air, lumbered there for a moment, and then came crashing down into the murk below.

  * * *

  “Oh, how battle shall weary us all, for I am worn,” Melgalés said, faltering and stooping heavily upon a nearby rock. He waited there, his eyes set gravely upon the dour soil beneath, and then he turned to the others with a face of cold memory. “The Karisgors are wild creatures,” he began. “Foul as they are old and twisted, yes, for they were once spirits of the wood, but when the demon-hordes of Molok took the Harwood Forest and turned it into the Rotwood they fell into ruin and began feeding off the life that strayed here. And so wanderers were consumed by these beasts, embedded in their hide in states of eternal agony. With each new body they grew stronger and darker, so to weaken them I can but drain them of their failing life. Thus have I sucked the blood from its being, but it does not go to me. No, it goes to the earth, which has long lived in torment here. Alas, for with each drop from it must come a wisp of light from me, and so dull am I now, dull and old.”

  Thalla ran to him and grabbed his arm, as if supporting a falling pillar. Herr’Don pulled Yavün from the waters before putting his sword away, and then he came to Ifferon and placed a firm hand upon his shoulder. “Do not weigh yourself down with fear or torture. You have much strength that you do not yet know, but you will find it ere the end.” And then he went to Thalla and Melgalés, and Yavün stepped before Ifferon.

  “I’m drowned,” he said. “I’ll die of cold now rather than at the hands of a monster.” He looked up at Ifferon. “You look ill. Come, let us sit and rejoice in our victory!”

  “Our victory it was not,” Herr’Don said. “For my blade was useless here, and that is a first!”

  “We would all be dead were it not for you, Melgalés,” Thalla said.

  The Warden looked at her. “Praise won’t replace the loss I have sustained, no. We must rest quickly and move on. I had hoped not to encounter anything here so far from Arlin, and yet, I felt somewhat weakened before this battle. How strange, yes, how very strange.”

  “I’ll light a fire,” Herr’Don said.

  “One to replace me?” Melgalés said, smiling weakly. “Not here, no. We are in the open. Let us hide in the Rotwood and warm in there.”

  “I do not wish to set the wood ablaze.”

  “What wood? The trees are all dead there. Nothing lives within, and, as such, is a perfect place to spend the night. I do not fear the dead.”

  And so they limped and dragged their tired bodies to the realm of the Rotwood, a harrowing mass of wooden needles rising into the sky, like the hair of the earth standing on end. There was little foliage on these trees, and what was there was either half-eaten by mite or covered in mould. The trunks reeked, flaking away like dead skin, and everywhere beneath each footfall lay a sharp crunch. The air was thin, and what little of it there was carried the fetor of decay.

  “I’d rather not breathe at all,” Yavün said.

  Herr’Don smirked. “That can be arranged.”

  “Don’t bicker in my presence,” Melgalés said sharply before the stableboy could respond. “I could hear you two children at it all day on your way here.”

  “A wizard’s ear,” Herr’Don said, smiling.

  “I wish,” Thalla said. “I could only feel you moaning.”

  “Moaning?” Herr’Don scoffed. “Hardly. What is there for the Great to complain about?” He grinned broadly and wrapped his arm around her. “I’m the jolliest man alive!”

  Melgalés shook his head, the beaded braids clattering off one another. “Then get me the boat to Halés!” he joked.

  “Again,” Herr’Don replied. “That can be arranged.”

  “The way I’m feeling, I don’t doubt it, no.”

  “Still—you’re doing well for an old man.”

  “I should be the only one to call myself old!” Melgalés said, partly in admonishment, but mostly as banter. “It’s one of the few privileges for those seasoned in life.”

  “How old are you?” Ifferon asked eventually.

  “Oh, that would be telling too much, my dear Ifferon, yes. Let’s just say I’ve had more than my fair share of the air around here.”

  “You can have mine if you want with the stench of this place,” Herr’Don said.

  “I might take it just to keep you silent!” Melgalés grumbled.

  The prince gestured dismissively and wandered ahead.

  “Are we looking for a specific area or just wandering for the sake of it?” Thalla asked. “I have been through here yesterday. The trees only get murkier the further you go.”

  “True, yes, but there’s an open space just a little further that has a nice feel about it, yes, quite nice. The air is far fairer there, at least.” By now Melgalés had regained that distant ring to his tone, that sense of otherworldly command—but he still limped and straggled behind with Thalla’s aid. The raven sat silently on his shoulder.

  “Will you tell us what the message said?” Yavün inquired, watching his footfalls when no one else wanted to see what was being crunched beneath their feet.

  “Oh, aren’t you the prying sort?” the Warden replied.

  Ifferon glanced at the stableboy and smiled.

  “Well, it’s just my nature,” Yavün said, looking up like a pup whose name had just been called. “I know you’re going to tell us at some stage. It’s your nature.”

  “Ah, yes, but I’m the only one who knows when, and that, my young friend, is something for an old man like me to savour.” He gave a quick wink of his eye, and Ifferon caught the sight of the stars within exploding like a supernova.

  “I was told a lot about you,” Ifferon said after a time. “About the Ardúnari.” A sharp silence fell upon the others, beheading their voice.

  Melgalés turned slightly but did not alter his pace. “Teron has a lot to tell, doesn’t he? He’s quite the one for talking, quite the one. He has his weaknesses though, and perhaps talking is one of them, hmm.”

  “He told me the Ardúnari had discovered the Stone of the Wise.�
��

  “We did, yes, but we had to find it within ourselves ere we found its matching location in Iraldas. The inner begets the outer, as they say, and let me tell you something, dear Ifferon: they are wise enough to keep their identity secret. Ah, we are not all that wise, Ifferon, are we, no?” He shook his head sadly; a lonely bead dropped from a braid. “But where was I? Dearest me, I’ll forget my own age if I’m not careful, and it’s never wise to forget your age, lest you think yourself young enough to do things you shouldn’t. Old men break bones easily, I tell you, yes. Olagh bless! A tangent is a hard thing to shake, but let’s do so now. We were talking of the Stone. Yes, the Stone. Finding it, of course, was no easy task—one that only a few here could be truly successful in.”

  “Teron tried, I assume?” Ifferon asked. He had almost forgotten his intended question with the wandering ways of Melgalés’ thought.

  “Oh, yes, most definitely—he tried. He even attended the Council where the Ardúnari were selected. Rejection like that doesn’t go down well for some people, no.”

  “Why was he not selected? He seems to have his wisdom.”

  “He’s not quite who he wants people to believe he is. No, his reasons for attending the Council were the reason of his rejection. See, he didn’t quite take to old age like my fellow brethren, so his lust for the Elixir of Life showed us plainly that he was most unfit for it. It’s not that I don’t respect him, dear Ifferon, but I certainly don’t trust him, no. But ... neither do you, now, do you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “To me, yes,” the Warden said. “And to Teron too, no doubt. I’m sure he was well aware of your recoil. Ah, here we are, yes! Fresh and fitting. I think some warmth and food will do us all some good.”

  “Hear, hear to that!” Herr’Don said, grabbing Thalla by the waist.

  * * *

  Before long there was a fire going, not just in the earth but in their hearts as well. They forgot the horrors of the morning—mostly—and were deep in the throng of heroic tales that mainly came from Herr’Don’s mouth, all of which were duly corrected with major factual additions from Thalla.

  “... and all of them fled as soon as they saw me.”

  Yavün resisted the urge to comment there.

  “Well, that’s not entirely true, is it, Herr’Don?” Thalla asked. “Do you not remember that one thief who hid behind the curtains?”

  “It was his fault, you know. My foot just happened to be in the wrong place at the—”

  “I think I know where this goes,” Melgalés said, laughing. “Or where Herr’Don goes.”

  Yavün sat silently, echoing the deep and tense silence of Ifferon—but it was not for want of words, but rather, no words seemed quite fitting. The air crackled with the fire, and some strange note rang in his heart. He stared across the flame, watching the shadows dance across Thalla’s face, vanishing into her smile. She caught his gaze and he turned away.

  * * *

  The fire died, and with it went their conversation. Thalla decided to turn in early and Herr’Don joined her. Yavün sat silently at one end of the camp, with Melgalés and Ifferon on the other.

  “You’ve been too silent, Ifferon,” the Warden said. “It’s not good for you, no. Expression helps us come to terms with our fears and doubts.”

  “It’s hard to express in these foreign lands, with these people I barely know.”

  “True, yes, but do not let these circumstances weigh you down. The day will be much brighter than the night. And are there not ways to bring some light into the darkness too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This,” Melgalés said, extending his hand, “is an Ilokrán.” In his palm sat a black stone, shaped almost like a teardrop, but with a large hole in the centre, surrounded by several gold markings, all exerting a strange energy. It glowed in the last remaining embers of the fire. “A Shadowstone, one of the few things that can actually repel the Shadows and their masters—the Molokrán—though, dare I say, you’d do better to run from the latter than try to face them with a piece of rock, no matter what I tell you! Don’t pretend I haven’t noticed your fear before now, no. I know you have encountered the Shadows, but you have not yet met their masters, and I very much hope you never do!

  “There are two types of Ilokrán, the smaller variety like the one I have here, which are the weaker type, and then there are the much larger rings of stones that can be found in Telarym—the Greater Ilokrán. You see, the Taarí of Telarym have spent most of their history fighting off the Shadow Hosts, their main defence being these stones, which they left at various places in their land. Anyone who enters a ring of Shadowstones will come to no harm by the Molokrán, for they cannot pass beyond them like we can. There is strong magic at work within them, magic from when the land was first created by the Elad Éni, older than the gods we worship.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Ifferon asked.

  Melgalés looked down and shook his head. “Because my heart tells me that you will—”

  But Melgalés stood up suddenly, drawing his sword, which rang like the piercing tone of an alarm bell. “Awake! Awake!” he cried to the others, but his voice was dimmed by the darkness and the black shadows that were lurking by the trees. “Stalkers of the Night,” he shouted. “Begone, the lot of you!”

  Ifferon turned to see a shimmer of blackness charge at him, but Melgalés shoved his hand forth, holding the Ilokrán before the creature. It flinched and backed away. “I hold the Stone of the Shield, foul beasts. You cannot approach, no!”

  “We hold your heart in our fists,” Yavün said in a leeching voice. He sat up, his eyes wide, his mouth open and his hands held aloft, as if he was frozen in a moment where he tried to halt the invasive shadow.

  Melgalés turned sharply. “Leave the boy!” he cried. “Leave him now or face my wrath!”

  “Your fire is dwindling, Mehlalesh!” the voice through Yavün spoke.

  “Awake!” Melgalés cried again, this time more fiercely. Herr’Don stirred suddenly, as if from a gripping nightmare. Immediately he unleashed his sword, stabbing the night with its sheen. Thalla twitched in her sleep, but she did not awake, as if the shadows were keeping her in the deep dungeons of slumber.

  “The night has no power over the light!” the Warden shouted. “Flee into the darkness where it comforts you! I am the conclusion of your comfort!”

  “You are worn, Magus. We wear you down with every word ...”

  “I command the words, so I command you! Take flight or I shall unveil my true nature as an Ardúnar.”

  “Your light is fading,” Yavün said as the shadows advanced again. Melgalés shoved the Ilokrán forth and the invisible barrier it created pushed the shadows back. But it was weakening.

  “Wake her from her sleep!” Melgalés called. Ifferon shook off his terror and began to shake Thalla from the clutches of dream, but Yavün grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Herr’Don saw this and struck the stableboy in the face with the pommel of his sword, knocking him to the ground. Melgalés turned as Thalla awoke. “Get everyone. We go north!”

  * * *

  They ran, Herr’Don carrying Yavün, Thalla and Ifferon at the lead, and Melgalés in the rear, still brandishing the Ilokrán as their last line of diminishing defence. As they ran the air grew thinner and the trees seemed to grow closer together, reaching in to choke them. All the while a fleet of blackness shot past on either side in the trees, racing around to cage them.

  There was a groan in the ground, low but audible, a creaking moan that rose around them. “Keep your pace!” Melgalés cried, but already the frenzied flight was beginning to tire him. The earthly groan grew louder and suddenly the group found themselves in another open clearing, surrounded on all sides by the hounding shadows.

  “Ready yourselves,” Herr’Don said, waving his sword before him like a flag of war. “We cannot see them, but we can feel them.”

  “Wardens should be able to see them!” Melgalés said
in frustration. “Something blocks my sight.”

  “Ifferon!” Herr’Don called. “Tell us where they advance.”

  “They do not,” Ifferon said. “They linger by the edge, as if waiting for something.”

  There was a crash, as if trees were being uprooted somewhere nearby.

  “Karisgors!” Herr’Don cried. “They are forcing us into an arena!”

  “Can you drain them, Melgalés?” Thalla asked.

  “No,” he said solemnly. “I am too weak.”

  Herr’Don gave the cleric his spare sword, which was heavy to hold. Another thundering roar bellowed out from the heart of the forest, and then there was the sound of collapsing trees. The party huddled together in the centre of the clearing, their weapons held forth, their eyes straining against the blackness.

  “Do not give in to fear,” Melgalés said. He grabbed Ifferon by the hand, giving him the Ilokrán. “Now you must shine, Ifferon, yes. Shine and lead the company forth. Press against the darkness to the north. I shall keep this evil here.”

  “No!” Thalla cried, and she fawned his arm. “We’re not leaving without you.”

  Melgalés said nothing, but gave a slight nod to Herr’Don. “Keep her safe,” he said. Then he stepped forward, raising his sword into the sky, where it shone like a beacon. The raven upon his shoulder screeched loudly, flapping its wings and readying itself against the darkness.

  For a moment the company stood frozen, but Herr’Don grabbed Ifferon by the shoulder. “Come, my friend. There is little we can do. Lead us forth with your sight and stone.”

  “We can’t leave him, Herr’Don,” Thalla wailed.

  “We can,” he said, dragging her away.

  * * *