by Robert Day
Kalandar nodded with a brief smile. “Yes, we received word three days hence by pigeon, plus the Lorewielders sent notes along the Essence flows to our Druids, but these came only five days ago. They warned the threat of the Demons was returning, and that we should prepare for the worst and make ready for deployment of men at the possible call from the Astral City.” Kalandar frowned again, showing his feeling towards this, but it passed quickly. “But still it did not help our sentries. By the time we could alert them, these Shadowspawn already wiped them out. Forty two warriors, dead.” There was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice and Andrak could tell what had caused it. As a long- lived race, Elves were naturally less likely to produce offspring, with few females having more than one child in their lifetimes. Such losses would be considered catastrophic in terms of their numbers. Although Lloreander was big, there was no hustle normally associated with thriving communities, leading Andrak to estimate their numbers could not be more than four or five thousand.
"What action is being taken?"
The elf Prince sighed. "Not enough, my friend. Not enough. Although we seem free to go about our day-to-day business, none have made it alive to the border of our lands."
Andrak was shocked. He had not realized the threat was so great. “Then what do you think your parents will decide?” Kalandar was the Elf Prince after all, so he should have some idea as to what the outcome of the meeting would be. “Ka’Varal seemed to think it would take some time for the Demons to build their numbers, something to do with the power of the Portals requiring time to stabilize. The more powerful the Demon coming through, the greater the chance of being vaporized. I never really followed it-”
He had taken several steps before realizing Kalandar had stopped, and was regarding him with a strange expression, almost one of stunned surprise. “Ka'Varel? You have spoken with the Kay'taari?”
“Yes. He and his companion, Tyrun the Urak’Hai, were bringing my sister and I to Lloreander. He was injured during a raid and taken by Tyrun to be healed.” He spoke of the attack at the Arkanth ranges, which led to the tale about his encounter with the Goth and his meeting with Janantar, right down to their fight with the Demon. Kalandar listened with a thoughtful frown throughout, asking some questions about the Goth and the Demon.
“You have my condolences for the kidnapping of your sister. If Janantar cannot fulfill his vow to assist you in finding her, I am sure some others can be persuaded to aid you in your cause. Such injustice cannot be left unpunished. The matter of Ka'Varel, however, will no doubt weigh upon this night's meeting. We know Ka’Varel, though under a different name, for he has visited us some few times over the years. He has shown us much about ourselves as a race: our background and heritage. Such a powerful and wise companion will be missed in times to come, I fear. We can only pray he is safe, now.”
Andrak could only agree. Despite the old man's eccentric ways and enigmatic choice of words, he had found himself beginning to trust and like him.
“But we will find out soon enough what affect these happenings will have on our decision. Come; tell me about yourself, Andrak of Thorhus. Long has it been since we have had one from Ariakus here in Lloreander. The meeting is not for some time yet.”
Ashaella had mentioned the meeting was at Darksdawn, or Dusk, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen below. He followed the Prince and they spoke at length as he took in the wonders of the Elf city. Often the Elf would introduce him to those who walked past or point out something of interest, while Andrak found himself telling about the recent events in his life. The tournament was prevalent, and Kalandar showed much interest in it, asking about many of the contestants. Andrak could not remember a great many of them in detail, but he knew enough about the young man Valdieron and his Barbarian friend, Thorgast, to appease the Elf Prince's curiosity.
When he came to mention the death of Llewellyn, however, Kalandar's moment of shock turned into stony silence for the remainder of their wandering, making Andrak wonder if he had said something wrong. Llewellyn had once been from Lloreander, he knew, but he did not think the Bard was an outlaw or anything along those lines. It was not until after they had taken some food in an arched recess inside one bole, Kalandar told him the meeting would be starting soon.
The great hall, to Andrak's dismay, was amongst the highest branches of the Elvin Treecity, bringing back his feeling of vertigo tenfold as they climbed to reach it. These fears soon passed, however, as he found the hall not a conventional hall, but a thing of splendor and grandeur.
A wooden stairway gave way to a flat wooden floor, lighter in color than the rest, almost a pale gold and polished smooth. Overhanging branches arched down to create walls, interwoven with twisted pillars of silver, gold and marble reaching into the leafage. The four corners of the rectangular area were secured against great boles, lined with silver and artfully molded to create a natural transition between crafted and natural wood. Natural vine and rope was entwined with silver and gold for strength and aesthetic beauty.
At the very center of the hall a circular platform was set, bathed in pale light from glowing spheres, hung from the canopy above in netted bags of silver, fifteen feet from the floor. Twin thrones were situated side by side amid the glow, both of a white metal crafted to make them appear large. Thin metal folds stretched far to make them, but still they had the appearance of strength. Dark padding covered the seat and armrests of both, one golden and the other a pale blue like a clear morning.
Two lines of standing figures flanked the twin thrones. To one side, Elvin men and women in thin white robes stood silently. To Andrak they had the appearance of any other Elf he had seen, but there was about them an aura of peace that made him suddenly more at ease. None were armed, and there were six males and six females of varying age, the oldest having the whitest hair he had ever seen and a lined face marking him as old even by Elf standards, while another young female looking no older than he. He blinked at this when he realized this young female was Ashaellarinar.
The other group of figures was dressed in fine clothing, all of light material and predominantly neutral colors, yellows, greens and blues. The females wore flowing dresses with lace hems while the men had high collars and sleeves emblazoned with symbols, all in fine thread of gold or silver. What Andrak noted first was their age. All were obviously old as Elves go, with lines around the eyes or mouth or the stripes of white or grey in the hair. They muttered amongst themselves softly, seemingly worried given their expressions and hushed tone. There were seven in total, four males and three females.
If the standing figures looked authoritative and lordly, the two seated were like roses between thorns. His eyes were immediately drawn to the woman, lithe and alluring in a dress of shifting silver scales, while a white shawl encircled her shoulders. Still, it did nothing to hide the curve of her figure, nor the striking features of her face. Slender with high, pronounced cheekbones, full mouth and large, wide eyes, she was both exotic and ravishing. Andrak thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
The man was similarly handsome, though imposing. There was the likeness with Kalandar: strong jaw and dark eyes plus the long raven dark hair held back by a silver braid. He wore a shirt of semi transparent green silk, long of sleeve but not hiding a muscular torso and arms. A belt of vine held up trousers of white, striped with silver. At his side rested a long sword, an Al’katar as both Kalandar and Janantar owned, though this one appeared longer, with a hilt in the form of a leaping panther. On looking between man and weapon, there was no doubting the weapon belonged to him, or he to it.
Feeling a little uncomfortable in his seemingly plain clothing, Andrak tried to keep his head raised and mouth moist as he followed Kalandar into the hall. All beauty was beyond him now as he tried to recall what little he knew of the Elvin people. Of all things, he did not wish to make a fool out of himself in front of these two rulers, though he added Ashaella also. Casting a brief glance to where she stood with the other white
- robed figures, she was studying the two seated figures intently, her beautifully pale face set with worry.
“Mother! Father!” Kalandar addressed his parents almost off handedly, turning side on to sweep his arm to take in Andrak. “I present to you Prince Andrak of the Family Temorial, Son of Dhoric, King of Ariakus.” Andrak could not help but notice the Elf Prince's sudden smile as if he found humor in the introduction. He found the Prince enigmatic since his sudden quiet after mention of Llewellyn earlier, though he could not help but like him.
“Andrak, may I present to you Mayeserana, Mother of Lloreander and Solantholas, Guardian of the Sylvaen.”
These titles were new to Andrak, and he was glad for the protection of a single knee bow as he knelt before the two leaders. The Sylvaen piqued his interest, and he wondered if it were some title. He moved one hand to knuckle his forehead while the other palmed the hilt of his sword, something he had read about some years back. It was something Jeran the Errant, Adventurer and Poet, had done in one of his stories upon finally meeting the Elvin Lords.
“May the sun always caress the leaves that shade you from the Dark.” Its origin was unknown to Andrak, but also originated from the readings of Jeran. It was difficult to know its meaning, for how can leaves provide shade from the Dark, but there was a faint surprised murmuring from the gathered Elves, which he hoped was a good sign. When he raised his gaze to meet the two Elvin Rulers, he found they were both smiling down at him.
“Rise, Andrak son of Dhoric.” The Elf queen’s purring words were more than a match for her beauty. “There is no need for such obeisance between us. Ever are we honored to meet one of your linage. Rise and be at your ease, for none should remain heavy of heart here of all places.”
“My thanks, Lady Mayeserana, and truly are your words, for what ills could I bring that could remain in such a wondrous place.” He was somewhat pleased with this eloquent response and almost grinned foolishly. There was no pushing aside his worries however, for every moment that passed, Kitara seemed ever distant to him, like a fading dream.
Solantholas shifted on his throne, commanding Andrak’s gaze with his presence. “One of the warnings we have received concerning the Shadowspawn was from your father.” The Elf’s smile had faded at the mention of the Shadowspawn. His voice was dulcet yet strong, obviously used to command. "Perhaps you can tell us a bit more about why you come to be here in Lloreander."
Andrak nodded. “Regarding the Shadowspawn, you probably know as much as I, Lord Solantholas. I am here in Lloreander at the behest of Ka'Varel.”
The mention of Ka'Varel brought more soft murmuring from both the Elders and the white robed Elves, probably the Druids, he decided. Solantholas also turned to his wife with a worried frown before turning back to Andrak.
“It has been many years since Ka'Varel has appeared here in Lloreander. He is ever welcome, yet acts more of late like a prophet, it seems. During his last visit, fifty-seven years ago, he warned Demons would return, amongst other things. It seems he was right, and not only concerning that. Where is he now, Andrak? His knowledge would be of great value in the times to come.”
“I know not where he is, or even if he lives. He was injured when last I saw him.” Andrak briefly told about the fight with the kidnappers and the loss of Kitara, then spoke of his fight with the Goth leading to his meeting with Janantar. This time there were no questions, only worried frowns from the two Elvin leaders.
“You have my condolences for your loss, Andrak.” Mayeserana gave a comforting smile; though wan, her eyes looking close to tears. She gave a glance to the gathered Druids. “Perhaps we can be of some assistance in finding her.” There was something in her tone that told Andrak she was not speaking of conventional means.
“Can you tell us anything about the Shadowspawn, Prince Andrak?" Solantholas’ concern for his people's predicament was obviously strong on his mind. "From the messages, we were told the threat could be here within a year, and we have seen evidence of this already. Are the other realms gathering for war? Can we destroy these Portals? We do not even know where they are all located.” It was close to desperation from the Elf leader, his voice tense with concern. Andrak could understand what frustration he must be feeling, as he had similar feelings with regards to Kitara.
“A young warrior has spoken of one in Tyr, inside a cave system in the Dragonwing Mountains.” Valdieron had spoken of this after Ka'Varel had drawn a diagram of the Portals and their Seals. "It was a Portal unknown by the Astral City, who knew the location of seven of these Portals and have them guarded closely. How many others there were, even Ka'Varel had not known, but had guessed there could be as many as a dozen of them." He described the dark Portal and Dragon Seal to Solantholas, and was shocked when the Elf's face grew ashen. Both the Druids and Elders began arguing softly amongst themselves.
“The Glade!”
Mayeserana turned at her partner's words. “The glade?” There was doubt in her thoughtful reiteration. “It is possible. Only we of the Sylvaen have even seen it. Not even the Lorewielders or Ka'Varel himself has ever witnessed it.”
Solantholas turned to the Druids who had gathered closer to each other, whispering anxiously among themselves. “Clovinius, is it possible the Glade was once, or still is, one of these Portals? The description is too close for one who has never been to the Glade.”
A tall Druid stepped forward from beside Ashaella, Andrak's gaze skipping from him to her quickly. Her slender face was set in a grim expression as her eyes followed Clovinius. The Druid had long snowy hair, marking him as old, though his face was still handsome and stern. His eyes were like a dew covered field at sunrise, and they regarded Solantholas pensively.
“It is possible. That the Glade is magical has been certified, though Arcane in nature and beyond even our understanding. That it is of Kay'taari construction is also likely, though I had always felt it to be a malevolent place.”
Solantholas was thoughtful for a time and a tense silence descended upon the hall. A quick glance told Andrak that whatever place this Glade was, it was more than likely one of the Portals, which meant it was probably the source of the Shadowspawn.
“Kalandar!” The Prince jerked to attention, an almost feverish gleam in his eyes as if he knew what it was he was about to be asked. “Gather fifty of the Wish'kara and scout the Glade. If there are Shadowspawn there, do not engage them unless it is certain you can overwhelm them. Clovinius, is there any chance of creating a barrier to keep the Shadowspawn from using this Portal if it is opened?”
The snow haired Druid shook his head ruefully. “Nothing of power or permanence. We can set up wards and try to strengthen the Seal, but if it is already destroyed, we will not be able to hold it for long. Anything seeking entry will tear through our wards like a child through a spider's web.”
“Then send who you must with Kalandar. I want any threat disposed of, or at least identified. Do not risk yourselves against overwhelming numbers. We can send a larger force if necessary.” Andrak guessed the Elf leader was not keen to send a larger force in case it was an ambush or similar trap, so it surprised him Kalandar had been assigned to lead them.
“If I may, Majesty, I would like to accompany these scouts.”
Solantholas' stern gaze turned on him, dark blue eyes studying. “If there are Shadowspawn, the fighting may be furious and deadly.” He raised his hand in placation as Andrak began to say he was no coward. “I do not doubt your bravery or skill with the Blade, Son of Dhoric. Reaching the glade will require speed and stealth, and although I have heard you move well for a Kahara, you will only hold up any progress. Not by much, mind, but enough to make some difference, which could be costly. Also, I would not have you put in danger on your first day in Lloreander. Already our hospitality has been marred with the welcome you received at the hands of the Shadowspawn.”
Andrak accepted the ruling with a grudging nod, though he knew it was both true and necessary. He did not even know if he was capable of figh
ting, let alone running whatever distance it was to this glade. As if to taunt him, he barely stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and thought he saw the Elf ruler turn a wry smile his way, though fleeting.
Kalandar was away already, while both Elders and Druids began to disperse, still joined together in hushed and urgent conversation. A moment of alienation seized Andrak as he wondered now what was needed of him, but a white clad woman approached him, by the looks a servant, as she greeted him and asked him to follow her to his new lodgings. Distracted, he followed her soft footsteps, hardly seeing where it was she was leading him, through leafy hallways and across narrow spans. They did descend, however, something he was dimly glad of, but by the time the young elf stopped at a different hollowed bole and indicating it was where he could rest, he was anxiously wondering what this scouting group would uncover.
Feelings of pending doom weighed at him as he entered with soft thanks to the young woman. A narrow bed dominated the room with its scant furnishings, onto which he dropped with a sigh, suddenly feeling the tiredness of the previous night catching up to him again. Slowly he drifted into sleep, but what dreams he had were not pleasing, and most involved Kitara. Tossing and turning, he did not see the Elvin scouting party leave Lloreander on silent feet, armed and tense, nor did he see or could have seen the shadowy form who flitted from the dark recesses of an arched tree and set off after them, as silent as the faint wind.
Chapter 18
The parched, sun baked land of the Urak’Hai stretched around the small line of caravans, desolate and unforgiving. The creaking of leather and the rattle of steel combined with the continual clatter of heavily shod hooves, to carry like alarm bells through the silent, almost barren terrain. Shallow rises and hollows swallowed or muffled some of these sounds, but still a whisper seemed to carry many miles.
Braced against the constant jostling of the rough wagon beneath him, Kylaran warily watched the surrounding lands, long since given up cursing the harshness of the road or the unforgiving wooden bench beneath him. Occasionally, he would glance at one of King Dhoric's mounted soldiers and rue having never really learned how to ride. He had little skill there, which forced him to have to ride in one of the wagons.