by Dan Gillis
Like earlier in their journey, time was of the greatest import. Yet there always seemed to be something to thwart her. First it had been mud and now thick grass, springy saplings and brambles. So once again, the only way to travel was within the cart. Firah felt sorry for the horses that were treading through the foliage with great difficulty. Even their tall legs would stumble occasionally, which worried Zyr. He seemed to fear that their legs could snap in twain within hidden rabbit burrows. Despite his miraculous abilities in healing, he confessed that he had not the skill to heal animals. He said it had something to do with understanding anatomy, whatever that was.
The length of the journey was uncertain. Zyr had said that the Halls lay within the great forest, and they should be able to reach its location before nightfall. Yet the condition of the trails and the undergrowth might complicate their progress. On more than one occasion, Zyr and Shien laboured to remove large fallen timbers. Hours were now melding into some obscurity of time. She decided to distract herself with thoughts of the bundle and its secrets, which lay wrapped within a blanket beside her. Her hand went to the woolen material even as she checked to see what Shien was up to. He was busily writing with that utmost look of concentration she had seen on him. His brow was creased even as his eyes scanned the small journal.
Firah turned back to the hidden items. She had kept the contents strictly to herself, though deep within she felt the monk suspected. ‘Then again,’ she thought ruefully,‘ what does he not suspect?’ She remembered the incident when he revealed his knowledge of her thievery. Seeing the skills he possessed since the incident with the grey men, was it any wonder that he saw her coming that stormy night? She laughed at her past ignorance, and a little on her current cache. Time would tell whether others would find her out; for now she endeavoured to keep her hidden items secret to avoid unnecessary questions she had no answers to. Twice she had felt a power rise within her, and she could not determine how it had happened. She leaned back and considered each event carefully. The power had come from within … first outside Khyvla when Shien had annoyed her to point of fury. Second and more recently when the man clad in grey had humiliated her and threatened her with death on the ridge above the White Guard camp. In both cases, she could not adequately handle the anger which coursed through her veins. Yet there was something else too …
Her hand went to her breast where the small brooch was secured. It felt warm under her fingertips. ‘Each time …’ she thought within herself. She pressed her fingers down upon the jewel and thought further back. Something within her memory suggested a clue. She thought of when she had come into possession of the jewel when … the Thrushtals! They had done something that one morning with the brooch, connected it to her somehow. She looked to Zyr and watched as he concentrated upon the road. She desperately wanted to ask about the brooch. Though he had said that he could not help her understand its workings, other questions remained unanswered. When and where did he find it? Finally, she could resist no longer.
“Zyr, I was wondering something. Where did you find this brooch you, er … gave to me?”
The waggon stopped rolling and, for a moment, Firah wondered if she had offended the monk. He was silent for a time. Then slowly he turned his blue eyes upon her and spoke quietly.
“It is interesting that you ask that.” His face was strangely calm and free of emotion, but she detected something just below the surface. It was a hidden sorrow. “I found the brooch some miles from here. In …” he pondered for an instant, “that direction.” Firah did not bother to look to which way he indicated. To her, the forest had swallowed them whole and it would not matter where they were pointed at the moment. There were leagues of trees and brush in every direction.
“You mean you just found it lying around somewhere? That doesn’t make sense.” She looked back to him and raised an eyebrow. He turned himself toward her completely. She could sense more than a simple answer coming - sometimes he was like the old Tohm, long-winded.
“I was looking for someone and came across a series of mountain homesteads. All the buildings had been burnt to the ground and every living thing massacred beyond recognition.”
Firah’s face dropped in shock. She had not expected this response.
“As I searched one husk of a residence for any clues, I came across it. I knew there was something special about it so …”
His voice trailed off, a small smile masking that feeling she had detected. He was covering something too painful to speak of. Somehow in the explanation, he had only given half the truth. Well, no matter - it was his life, and the brooch was hers. She looked down to it and rubbed the gilded brambles which surrounded the gem. It was a moment before she realized they were still stationary. She looked up and saw that Zyr continued to look at her. His hand rubbed the short goatee upon his face as he looked at her. He appeared quite intent on something as he sat deep in thought.
“Is there something wrong, Zyr?” she asked quietly.
His eyes suddenly focused and he smiled again. There was something new behind the smile which replaced the old feeling.
“No … just a thought.” He turned himself and snapped the reins. The waggon lurched and Shien cursed out loudly, as Firah watched him scribble his writing stick roughly across the page. With an annoyed look, he settled back to writing. Firah puzzled just how he could write anything with the swaying and jolting of the waggon, but she left him in peace. He seemed quite intent on the task. As they rolled along, she considered what she had heard. The brooch mystery was solved somewhat. Though she did not know the whole story, what she had heard would suffice for the present. She quietly prayed for a break in their forest trek, so that she could inspect her new acquisitions. She waited impatiently as the foliage continued to part before the plodding beasts as the hours rolled on.
Kneeling on the forest floor, Firah slowly unfolded the blanket and looked down upon the grey cloak in which the items were wrapped. Checking for the tenth time to see if she was alone, the girl carefully opened the cloak. She was filled with a certain amount of trepidation, for the previous owner had suddenly disappeared without a living trace. All that remained were the items before her. Checking about her one last time, she proceeded to focus on the task of determining the value of the articles she had won. Within the grey cloak lay the man’s clothes which were coloured in different shades of forest. Her attacker must have had amazing skills in the wild. She looked to the belt which contained a few vials of different substances, some sweet and others foul to the senses. She determined not to touch anything she was unsure of until she could ascertain what it was. There was a flint and striker which she presumed were for starting fires. Next, she studied a sturdy dagger with a gilded hilt and fine steel blade. It was a finely crafted weapon with intricate etching and design work. Since she had misplaced her dagger, she had felt somewhat ‘naked’ without a weapon. She tucked the new dagger into her own belt and patted it reassuringly. Next she located the purse, which caused her to giggle with glee. She tossed it ceremonially in the air and caught it lightly. There were generous amounts of coins within this man’s purse. ‘Perhaps there will be chance to spend it,’ she pondered greedily. Laughing softly, she attached the purse to her belt. All of the pleasure in discovery had driven the horrid thoughts of the experience and how close she had come to death from her mind.
Firah had been attempting to deal with each article patiently, like a studious appraiser of rare items. Yet her eyes kept drifting to the large ornate bow which rested beneath the clothes. The quiver and the grey fletched arrows also lay nearby along with an arm guard and other equipment. The first thing that struck her was her connection to the items. As she slid her hand gently over the bow’s smooth surface, something connected deep within her soul. It was a strange feeling, like she had always belonged to the sleek weapon. It felt like an extension of her hands even as they caressed the intricate woodwork. Her breath came short and she flushed at the elegant beauty of the ranger’s weapon. Sh
e slowly folded her fingers around the grip and hoisted the weapon as she stood. It was light and easily handled, yet there was nothing faulty in its structure. Even as it rested, it seemed to burn with kindled energy, which longed to be released. The long wooden arms curved eloquently and extended many spans from the grip. Without a thought, she stepped into a relaxed stance, her feet squarely balanced between the ball and heel. Then drawing the bow up, her fingers curled around the arrow nock upon the slender bowstring. She knew what was next: she would draw the bow … anchor it to her chin … it was all so clear. She pulled against the string as her mind came into harmony guided by hidden memories.
The string creaked slightly under her grip, and then stopped.
All the fantasy within her mind fell away sharply and reality stayed her as stubbornly as the bowstring. She frowned and pulled hard upon the light yet sturdy string. It moved ever so slightly toward her face. She growled and exerted her muscles to move, willing the bowstring to obey her command. It did not. Firah grew more exasperated with every passing second. She tried everything she could think of but it served her little. The stubborn bow would not relent to its inferior master. Determined, Firah sat upon the ground and placed her feet upon the wood while gripping the bowstring in both hands. Instincts she never knew screamed out at her at the defilement and atrocity against the sacred weapon. Firah did not care. She was determined to master this weapon in whatever means served her. Stretching backward, she pushed outward with her feet gritting her teeth in the exertion.
As the string began to move, she was elated. It slowly slid backward, resisting her every effort with great force. Yet it was moving. The girl summoned all her strength even as the cord began to bite into her tender fingers. All at once, the tension ceased and Firah was thrown backward with the sudden release of pressure. Screaming, she was hurled harshly across the ground as the bowstring snapped angrily in protest of the unnatural draw. Firah tumbled through the high grass wildly while her body struck against roots and stones. When she came to rest, she slowly lifted bloody fingers into her vision. She was shocked, angry and in pain. Standing up gingerly, she rebuked the malicious bow as it lay several feet away. “Oh, you are going to regret that!” she shouted angrily. She stomped toward the weapon in a fury, clenching her damaged hand. She gripped the bow and lifted it close to her face, which was screwed up in a furious temper. “So I wonder what you will fetch in the next market we come across, hmm? That will suit you! I hope you end up rotting in some dusty cellar!” She threw it upon the clothes and cloak and speedily wrapped the articles together. With a scowl she set her bleeding fingers in her mouth, slumped the bulging blankets over her shoulder and angrily stalked off toward camp.
Zyr stood motionless in front of the stone pillar. It was carved deeply with runes and glyphs which had been eroded somewhat with age. Shien concluded that the worn post had likely stood for hundreds of years, perhaps more. It stood three feet tall and had been located just off the trail within the dense brush. Firah waited with him several paces back from the monk, who had become particularly quiet over the last hour before arriving at the stone. Shien was not sure what purpose the old weathered stone served, for he could hardly decipher the runes and glyphs. They were writings of ancient power, and yet the stone looked unassuming within the green shroud. It could have only been found by those who sought for it.
Zyr slowly raised a hand and touched the cold stone. Observing the gesture, Shien mused what it would be like to return home. His thoughts drifted to Vyn-Shi, across the barren wastelands to the glistening coasts and breath of the oceans. The memory was almost enough to draw forth longing tears.
Finally the former Master broke the silent moment. “This is a stone from the first seal of the Halls.” Zyr’s face was turned from them, and his voice sounded distant. “The power which was channeled from the Servant’s Scepter to the seals has long been forgotten.”
“Uh, servant’s what?” Firah inquired. Both of them had been intent on what the monk was saying but it seemed that neither knew what he spoke of. Zyr turned with a serious expression and continued.
“Forgive me, for I should have considered the both of you. My mind has been caught up with so much of the past that it has slipped from the present. There will be much ahead that will be strange to you. Please be patient with a reminiscent fool.” He shook his head as he finished and looked back to the path which continued on. “The first circle of seals was an early warning system used with the Root to detect potential threats to the Halls. The power was generated through the Servant and the Scepter of Power that he bore. In the instant that enemies crossed through the ring of pillar seals, the Servant would be aware and could have sufficient time to employ an assortment of manoeuvers.” He looked onward as if through the trees, and sighed heavily. Shien knew that there was something within that sigh, but he was more curious about what had been said of the Servant.
“What of this Servant? Was he the lord of the Order? Did he possess the greatest might in war and the mystic arts?” As Shien inquired, Zyr turned back to him. His tone of response was that of an instructor to the pupil, although hardly condescending.
“Not exactly, Shien. The Servant was the keeper of all the arts and yet had mastery over none. While the Scepter afforded great power, the Servant’s will was always guided by complete and utter servitude. Down to the lowliest and most humble, the Servant was beneath them all. He was not the lord, and yet his counsel was sought above all else. The other masters would relent to whatever the Servant wished, knowing that the request was governed by the meekest intentions.” Shien scratched his head and looked puzzled.
“That is a difficult concept to grasp. So what you are saying is that the Servant had no personal agenda, and served those under him wholeheartedly. What of organization and the running of daily affairs? Surely all those things could not be accomplished by one man?”
Zyr laughed softly, and placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“So it seemed at times that he ran the Order. Truly, the governance of the day to day matters was handled by the Council of Masters. Tey’ur filled a Council seat, the master of arms and war. The Council would delegate duties to the younger members, while leaving the Servant time to perform his duties of watchful care over the brothers and sisters of the Order. The Servant was considered the lowest rank, even next to the lowly Initiate.
“I believe the difficult concept lies in the fundamental reason for the Servant. By having the strongest in power serve as the lowest, tyranny and the evils of the heart could scarcely creep in to destroy the whole.” Shien nodded as the monk finished while Firah still looked perplexed. Zyr smiled again and drew his hand away and looked at the stone. “The reason the Order fell was because this detection system failed. While I do not understand exactly how it occurred, I do know that the critical failure began here. They had no warning.”
They stood silently contemplating the past and the many fallen. Shien had learned the tale of the Order and the terrible breaking of its Halls as a youth. It was a story of renown through the land despite its relative young age in history. It was also one of those tales that never grew dull with telling. Always the story maintained its allure and strange enticement as no one knew how the Halls, which had stood for centuries, had fallen in one day to its enemies. Continual recital had inevitably blown the story out of proportion, suggesting an almost innumerable host which had simply overrun the Halls like fire ants upon their prey. Shien knew how badly tales could be misconstrued, and he was grateful to be approaching the Halls to walk through the very site of the strange tale. Firah still carried an intense look of concentration upon her face. Shien suppressed a chuckle. She was very amusing at times.
“If the alarm failed then something must have happened to the Servant!” she blurted out suddenly. Zyr looked to her with a raised eyebrow. She put a hand to her mouth and flushed. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have …”
“It’s quite alright, Firah,” Zyr commented quie
tly. His face was set in a most grave appearance. “You are correct in your assumption, as logic dictates clearly this to be the case. However, the true mystery is related to a key point of understanding. Think it through …” Firah’s brow furrowed in thought. Nothing was spoken for a brief moment.
Shien looked to the stone even as he thought aloud. “The Servant was killed before the attack, inside the Halls…”
Firah gasped and looked suddenly from Shien to Zyr. Shien had also shifted his gaze to the former resident of the Order. He caught a small movement from the monk’s hand. It was clenched tightly. Zyr nodded in answer to his deduction.
“Yes.”
The waggon had been abandoned as soon as the company began to pass through the breached defences of the Broken Halls. Brush had overgrown the rough stone which lay scattered across the forest floor. The hidden stone made traveling quite impossible as most chunks of stone were too great to surpass. The beasts which pulled the waggon were trained to remain close and so they were released so they could graze and move in case of predators. Provisions were packed along with blankets. Shien volunteered to carry these since he insisted on keeping his pack close at hand. As the company walked under the lush green canopy of trees overhead, all creatures seemed silent. The sinking sun cast its rays through the gaps in the vegetation illuminating the hallowed ground in shimmering shafts. Each member strode carefully through the grass and underbrush as Zyr had warned that anything could lie beneath; from uneven stone to old rusted weapons. A wrong step could lead to great difficulty. The monk had stressed that use of the healing arts was a last resort and that prudence and caution were the best remedy of all. As the tall grass parted in front of the monk who led the way, the others followed the trodden path. Everything seemed still as they crossed over the breach in the second wall, crossing the expanse toward the sacred shrine.