Exiled

by Blake Arthur Peel

  As we step out of the portcullis, the noise of the city envelops us. Hammers pounding, saws sawing, people everywhere working and talking. These are their homes, I think looking out over the enormous cavern. They're not going to be happy about picking up and leaving it behind.

  Already, missives are being sent out, criers declaring to the populace of the Protector' decision.

  "I need to go to the Cabal," Zara says, pausing on the road leading into the city. "There are hundreds of books and scrolls there that may be important in the coming days. I'll need to comb through them to see what should be packed." She glances over at me and gives me a rueful grin. "I won't put you through the torture of helping me look through dusty old books."

  Letting out a relieved breath, I return her smile. "Thank you."

  “Well, I suppose I’d better start packing,” Talon says with a grunt. “We’ve got another long journey in front of us, and I plan on riding comfortably in the back of a wagon the whole way.”

  “I’d better go with him,” I say, glancing over at him. “He might need me to lend a hand.”

  “Hah!” Talon laughs. “Now you’re getting it!”

  Zara rolls her eyes, then stands on her tiptoes, giving me a quick peck on the lips. “See you soon.”

  TALON AND I SPEND THE next hour gathering our things in our living quarters, packing them away in our bags and setting them by the door. Before long, the city becomes a madhouse, with armed soldiers in the streets attempting to control the crowds.

  As I had feared, the majority of the people are not too happy about abandoning their city. Protesters gather outside the Citadel as Nightingale leaders attempt to placate them, shouting to be heard over the crowds. It takes a few hours, but eventually the necessary preparations begin to be made. Wagons are pulled into the streets and loaded with grain, barley and all manner of provisions that have been brought out from the depths of the fortress.

  The two of us, who have grown accustomed to constant labor, aid in the preparations in any way that we can, though mostly it involves us loading wagons and herding large amounts of people.

  I do most of the work. Talon merely stands around and cracks jokes.

  It takes two full days to completely prepare the city for evacuation, but eventually we start gathering everyone in the courtyard behind the great doors. Cold air blows into our faces from the outside, the heavy clouds hanging low.

  As promised, Talon has planted himself firmly in the back of a wagon, claiming that his wounded arm would make it too difficult to ride. Sitting beside him is a nurse by the name of Sybil, who had taken care of him in the aftermath of the siege. The two of them sit close to one another under a blanket, Talon whispering to her and making her giggle.

  Zara and I sit atop horses near the head of the massive crowd of people.

  She looks absolutely radiant, sitting straight-backed in her saddle clutching the reins. The hood of her mage robes is pulled up and her chestnut hair falls down delicately around her neck, framing her face. On her hands she wears rabbit fur-lined gloves, and her feet are covered by knee-high doeskin boots, which rest gracefully in the stirrups.

  She glances at me with her beautiful dark eyes and smiles bashfully. "What are you staring at, Owyn Lund?"

  Glancing away, I can feel my own cheeks flushing. "Sorry – it's nothing."

  "What?" She presses, nudging her horse to step closer to mine. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

  "No," I reply awkwardly. "It's not that."

  "Then what is it?"

  I sigh. "You're just... I think you're pretty, Zara. You look rather fetching sitting on that mare."

  Her abashed expression turns into a look of amusement. "I do seem to have mastered the equestrian arts, haven't I?"

  "Huh?"

  "Horses," she replies with a small laugh. "I've gotten good at riding them."

  "Oh," I mutter, feeling foolish. "Yeah, you've come a long way."

  She flicks the reins, riding forward to where Xander Thel and the other leaders are clustered at the mouth of the cavern. Looking over her shoulder, she remarks, "You don't look half bad yourself, ranger boy."

  Bemused, I follow her, pulling my horse to a stop with the others at the head of the enormous caravan. Around Thel are Barus, Sturgis, Elias and Tamara, as well as a handful of other high-ranking Nightingales. They all wear grim expressions and ride upon their own horses.

  "The prisoners will be marched at the head of the column," Sturgis says stiffly to Thel. "That way we'll be able to keep an eye on them. When we arrive at the Heartlands, they will be given over to King Aethelgar as a sign of good faith."

  "Excellent," the Protector replies. "Good work, captain."

  He turns, staring out at the huddled masses of people from atop his war horse. Most are bundled up in layers of clothing, clustered around their wagons and holding on to their young children. Most of all, they look frightened, unsure about what is to come.

  No doubt sensing this fear, Thel urges his horse forward to face the remnants of his people.

  "Free men and women of Dunmar City," he shouts, addressing the crowd. The cavern immediately falls silent, the people hanging on his every word. "Today is an important day, a historic day for our people. Our actions today may indeed decide the fate of the entire human race."

  He pauses, as if considering his words, then continues with his speech. In his crisp military coat, he looks like the ideal image of a heroic soldier. "As many of you may know, our ancient enemy has once again come to threaten us all. I do not speak of Aethelgar or the legions of Tarsynium. No, I speak of the demonic threat of the evil R'Laar."

  Whispering voices begin to fill the cave.

  He raises his hand to quiet them. "If we hope to survive the coming war, we must unite with our human enemies. Old alliances must be repaired, and new alliances must be forged." Again, he hesitates, as if the words he is about to say pain him greatly. "I have failed you as your Protector," he continues. "Many of us have lost loved ones and now, because of my decision, every one of us has lost our home. But I swear before the Light that I act in the best interest of our people. I will continue to serve the cause of the Nightingales until my dying day!"

  Nobody shouts or boos. The crowds are as quiet as a tomb.

  "Let us venture out into the cold of winter and create for ourselves a new future. Let us fight the oldest war humanity has ever faced and let us finally win! Onward, fellow Nightingales. Onward, to our destiny!"

  With that, he turns around and begins riding his horse out of the cavern and into the misty vale beyond. After a moment, the residents of Dunmar City begin heading out in droves, reminding me of a massive herd of cattle. Wagon wheels creak and horses whinny as the exodus begins, leaving behind the broken ghost of a city beneath the mountain.

  I ride beside Zara near the head of the column, but neither of us feels like talking. Above, white flakes begin to fall on our heads in greater amounts than ever before.

  Winter, it seems, has finally arrived.

  Chapter Three

  Zara

  Snow continues to fall from the skies as we descend from out of the mountains, blanketing our clothing in fluffy white flakes but melting as soon as it lands on the ground. The enormous caravan, several thousand strong, moves at a glacial pace along the narrow trails, animals bleating and wagon wheels grinding as we make our way into the Heartlands.

  We manage to make our way through the deepest parts of the Ironbacks on the first day, setting up camp in the hinterlands and resting for the night. In the morning, we are right back at it, moving down into the basin of Tarsynium itself.

  At the behest of Protector Thel, we give the city of Omkirk a wide berth, skirting along the edges of civilization and keeping to the wilderness.

  Even so, an open movement of thousands of Nightingales does not go unnoticed.

  Travelers on the road flee before our army, even though most of the people travelling with us are women and small children. Word will surel
y start to spread that the Nightingales are on the move and making straight for the center of the kingdom.

  Owyn and I ride together for most of the journey, chatting amiably as our horses move through the wintery wilderness. With him riding beside me, I can’t help but feel joyful despite the dire circumstances of this exodus. Our friendship, which has blossomed into something of a courtship – though we still haven’t really defined the nature of our romantic relationship – has been a much-needed spot of light in a world full of danger and death. When I’m with him I feel more optimistic about the future, as if in the end, the Light will prevail and everything will be alright.

  I want him to meet my father and siblings, I think to myself, glancing over at him out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps when this is all over, we can travel together to Green Harbor and spend some time together by the Loch.

  The thought makes my heart smile.

  As the day drags on, the bumpy hills of the hinterlands give way to the rolling fields of the Heartlands. The sea of grass, once so vibrant and green, has turned a dull brown color, adding to the drabness of the world around us. Still we press on, keeping to the less travelled roads and pushing forward late into the afternoon.

  The two thousand rangers, led by Tamara Moyle, eventually break off from the main group of the Nightingales and head due south for the sprawling forest known as the Ashwood. Elias goes with them to stand trial before the council of the Wardens, likely for his involvement with the rebels and for the perceived infringements of his oath. After saying a gruff, if not hasty goodbye to Owyn, he rides away, his whole demeanor as grim and stoic as ever.

  Owyn, falling into one of his brooding moods, decides to go off on a scouting trip with a few of the Nightingale soldiers. He squeezes my hand and promises to be back before nightfall.

  Taking this time to do some reading, I attempt to pull out a book from my saddle bag and study while riding. The task proves more difficult than I could have anticipated, however, and I quickly give up and put it away.

  In the back of the wagon ahead of me, the Cabal mage Ignus sits with his nose buried in a book. A thick woolen cap covers his head, and a patchy blanket is draped over his shoulders.

  On a sudden impulse, I nudge my horse a little faster to catch up with the wagon, getting the old mage’s attention.

  “Zara Dennell,” he says with a small smile, looking up from his book. “How are you faring on this cold, wet day?”

  “Well enough,” I reply, shifting in my saddle to get more comfortable. “Though, I was hoping that it would be a little bit warmer when we got out of the mountains.”

  He chuckles, scratching his stubble-covered chin. “I suppose it is, though when you spend the entire day outside, the cold has a way of seeping into your bones.” He leans forward, pitching his voice to a not-so-quiet whisper. “It gets worse the older you get.”

  I smile, grateful for a pleasant conversation to pass the time. “What is that you’re reading?” I ask, gesturing to the book in his hand.

  “This old thing?” He runs a gnarled hand over the worn cover of the book. “It’s an old journal of mine from long ago. I look back on them from time to time, remembering experiences from my past. It was a much simpler time, then...”

  A distant look enters his eyes, like he has become temporarily lost in his own memories. Then he shakes his head, as if to clear the thoughts away.

  “At the Academy, they would often teach us about the importance of keeping a journal,” I remark. “I’ll admit, I never really got into the habit.”

  “Keeping records is one of the most important things we can do in this life,” he replies, glancing wistfully out at the countryside around us. “They help us to remember the lessons we learn in life. The ancient philosophers said it best: when you fail to learn from the past, you are doomed to repeat it.”

  A silence falls between us as he stares out at the plains.

  Hesitating for just an instant, I ask him a question that I have been meaning to ask for the last few days. “Ignus... why did you decide to support us in leaving Dunmar City? It seemed to me that the room was split, and that you were the deciding vote. Shouldn’t you have more cause than most to hate King Aethelgar?”

  I wince as soon as the words leave my mouth. Stupid, Zara. That couldn’t have been more tactless.

  Again, he looks down at his weathered journal, but he does not look the least bit offended by my question. Instead, he appears to be contemplative. “It is true, my two closest friends in the world were killed by that monster, and I suppose I will never truly forgive him. But in that meeting room, it simply felt like the right thing to do.” He looks up, and for a moment it seems that his hooded grey eyes are peering straight through me. “The older I become, Zara, the more I realize that some things in life are more important than revenge. You have given me no reason not to trust you. If this demonic threat is truly as great as you say it is, then we would be foolish not to leave Dunmar City.”

  I nod, finding that his words resonate with me. It is a noble thing, I think to myself as I ride, to put others above your own wants and desires. Would that more people were like Ignus the mage.

  We spend some more time chatting amiably with one another as we sojourn on, turning to more pleasant topics like magic and the various spells he has learned in his years of study. Eventually, though, he turns back to his reading, and I find myself riding alone, with only my own thoughts to keep me company.

  Daylight begins to grow dim, and still we ride forward through the deserted grass fields. Eventually, the scouts return to the front of the caravan, bringing news of their ride.

  Protector Thel finally calls for a halt, declaring that we will set up camp here. While no threats currently surround us, we are a day’s ride from Tarsys, and should venture no further until we send a missive to the king. As before, the wagons are pulled together and tents begin to be set up. The several hundred prisoners who marched with us are corralled into an area away from the main body of people, chained to stakes in the ground and put under heavy guard.

  Owyn finally returns as I dismount, seeming much better now that he has had a chance to ride and clear his head. He had been gone for a few hours, scouting the perimeter in search of any threats to our safety.

  Together, we go to find Talon and set up our own sleeping arrangements.

  As campfires begin to be lit and cooking pots set to boil, the three of us are summoned to the command tent, to confer with the Nightingale leaders. Sitting in a circle of chairs in the relative privacy of the tent, we begin with the discussion.

  "I've said it before and I'll say it again," Barus says sourly, crossing his arms in front of him. "This is a fool's errand, Protector. We've gathered our people together and led them out here into the open, like lambs to the slaughter."

  Sturgis does not say anything, but judging by his dark expression, he appears to be in agreement with the bearded general.

  "Your concern is noted, Barus," the Protector replies, leaning forward in his chair and rubbing his eyes wearily. "However, I must reiterate that this is the only move we could have made. You yourself have experienced the destructive power of these demons – if we do not unite with the people of Tarsynium they will crush us all when the Arc fails."

  "Aye," Barus replies, still looking defiant. "They are a mighty foe. But I do not trust Aethelgar to keep his word. He will stab us in the back the minute we let our guard down."

  Protector Thel considers this for a moment, then nods, giving the general a wry smile. "Then we will not let our guard down. Phillip!"

  A young messenger boy rushes into the tent. "Yes, lord Protector?"

  "Send word to the captain of tonight's guard," he replies, leaning back in his seat. "Tell him to divide his forces and begin digging picket lines. I want fortifications prepared all through the night. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, lord Protector."

  He quickly vanishes into the camp.

  "It's not perfect," the Protector says
after a moment, "but it's a start. We'll make sure to shore up our position here so that we will not be easily assaulted. Now, for the matter at hand: our next steps."

  "We are far from any town or settlement in the heartlands," says one of the scouts from the far side of the circle. His hair is jet black and he has a puckered scar on his cheek. "If we travel any farther inland, we will be within striking distance of Tarsys."

  "Then this is where we will make our semi-permanent home," the Protector replies.

  Scribes on the fringes of the tent scribble down notes.

  "We need to secure communication from the other groups of Nightingales scattered over the kingdom," one of the leaders speaks up. "They'll want to join us here and bring any supplies they can with them."

  "Indeed," Protector Thel replies, motioning for the scribes.

  "What of the prisoners?" Owyn asks. "They are a drain on our resources, and every guard we station to watch over them is one that cannot watch for signs of attack."

  "I agree with the ranger boy," Barus replies gruffly. "We should be rid of them as soon as possible."

  "We will pen a missive to the king and send it to the city tomorrow," the Protector says after a brief moment of thought. "Then, we will turn the prisoners loose to return to Tarsys as a sign of good faith. That should send the proper message that we are interested in peace."

  "I still think we should put them all to the sword," Barus grumbles, but the Protector ignores him.

  Seeing my opportunity, I look at the Nightingale leader and open my mouth. "I plan on sending a letter myself to the Conclave, Protector. With any luck, they will pressure the king politically to make peace with us. They understand the situation with the Arc better than anyone else in the kingdom."

  "Excellent," he replies, giving me a small nod of approval. "Any help we can get from the mages will be most appreciated."

  With that, we delve into more mundane discussion about the organization of the camp – which teams will be in charge of which chore, how supplies are to be regulated, and so forth. During the whole meeting, I can't help but have a troublesome thought nagging in the back of my mind. So much hinges on our ability to make the king listen. How is it that one man can have so much power over the lives of everyone in the kingdom?