by Emmet Moss
More disturbing than the encounter in the wood was his long-delayed return to Dragon Mount. For four years he had sent various officers with the recruits, each time finding one trivial reason or another to pass on the important journey. It seemed a lifetime since he had last walked the brightly lit halls of the Silveryn Order stronghold.
He slept poorly that first night and refused to even try on the second. Rubbing his tired eyes, Gavin watched as the column left the rugged foothills and entered the high mountain pass that would lead them to the mysterious Shield and beyond. His return was certain to spark a new debate regarding his future. If he had learned anything from his dealings with mages of the Order, it was that once they had designs on your fate, there was little one could do to break free from their clutches.
Three days into the journey saw the company approach the fabled Shield. The shimmering wall of magic ensured the safety and privacy of the Order. Cast twenty years after the treachery at Magnach, and the subsequent murder of the king, the mages had erected the barrier with the promise of only a temporary separation from the rest of the kingdom. The years slipped into decades and the Shield had become as permanent a fixture in the land as the continued growth of the Aeldenwood.
A long-robed figure greeted them from the inside of the glowing crystalline energy field. Words carried through the barrier as if it did not even exist. Gavin noticed the look of surprise written plainly across the mage’s features. Smiling, Gavin disembarked from his mount and embraced the man.
“It’s good to see you, Andros,” he said as the shocked mage held him tightly.
“I thought we would never meet again,” the mage responded warmly. “It has been a long time for you. And it’s Tel’Andros now, Silvares.”
“A mere blink of an eye to a man of your esteemed prowess,” Gavin said. “And it’s Silveron now, Tel’Andros, Silvares no longer.”
“You left behind your name?” Tel’Andros expressed with alarm as they turned to address the soldiers.
“If you claim to be my friend, then leave it be. I was serious when I told Ir’Wolien that I would play no part in his elaborate schemes. We can discuss this later,” Gavin warned.
“Understood, but you would do well to curb your tongue. There are many who retain the ill will birthed by your departure. The First will want to see you once word reaches the Koriani barracks. Her reaction will be… unpredictable, I’m sure,” Tel’Andros answered with a hint of concern in his voice.
Gavin watched as the mage invoked a spell that would allow the passage of the Fey’Derin through the shimmering wall of energy. The chant was spoken in a language few had heard before — the old tongue. The dialect was nearly extinct in the world of Kal Maran. The dark years of rampant pillaging, unrest, and destruction, had cost the people of Caledun dearly. Recorded histories of the time were scarce, and the Order had always lamented the loss of knowledge suffered after the Shattering. In many ways, they sought to protect the knowledge that remained.
With the spell completed, the Fey’Derin company passed into a region unchanged for over two centuries. It was a vision of the old world; peaceful, untamed, and pure. The lush, green foliage was more vibrant, and the sky above was a piercing blue unlike any the soldiers had seen before. Even the air felt different, consuming the place with an otherworldly presence.
“You have grown since we last met, Gavin,” Tel’Andros said, the column slowly winding its way up the steeper trails of the Erienn range.
“It has been a long time, if we are to count by the years of the Order,”
Gavin replied. “You, on the other hand, look exactly the same.”
The mage looked thoughtful for a moment as he chronicled the elapsed time. “Seven years, nearly eight, have passed in the greater world. You were a scrawny youth who thought himself a man,” Tel’Andros laughed.
“How fares the Order?” A sad look from the mage caused Gavin to pause. “What has happened?”
“Recently, the Gath struck us a terrible blow. Ir’Roland and his novices were slaughtered near the edge of the Shield,” Tel’Andros replied mournfully.
Aware of the Order’s many struggles, Gavin was certain that such a tragedy was unprecedented. “But why were they outside the protection of the Shield? Ir’Roland should have known better.”
“The Shield was breached.”
“How?!” Gavin exclaimed.
“The Gath must have been assisted, but no one will even entertain the thought that someone could be behind the attacks. It was the third time, in the last year no less, that evidence has proven the Shield is failing,” Tel’Andros finished.
“And Ir’Wolien? How did he take the news?”
“His granddaughter was among the novices, a talented young girl who had all the makings of a master,” the mage shook his head sadly. “The Archmagus wanted revenge, but the Koriani had no luck tracking the raiding party. Deowyn was recalled before the creatures could be overtaken. The First feared an ambush.”
“She may have been correct,” Gavin speculated. “This only increases my need to speak with Ir’Wolien,” Gavin said, catching the gleam in the mage’s eye. “Don’t get excited, old friend, I have no intention of returning. This is but a temporary stay.”
“Brynne isn’t going to like it…”
“Leave her out of this,” Gavin replied harshly.
Tel’Andros was silent as they continued on the path the Dragon Mount.
High, white stone balconies shone brightly as the Fey’Derin arrived at the base of the Dragon Mount citadel. Robed men and women walked across spectacular arched bridges spanning the cliffs and canyons of the mountainside. Vast open windows were clearly visible on all sides of the lofty stone peaks.
The main gate of the citadel was flanked by two natural waterfalls, their light spray landing refreshingly upon the wearied travelers. Bider watched in awe as a small collection of brown-robed children sat in one of the fountain pools near the entrance. The six children floated peacefully above the surface, their eyes tightly closed in concentration, and their robes barely an inch from the water. At the pool’s edge, a middle-aged woman spoke quietly to the students, observing each child’s every move.
The front courtyard served as more than just a showpiece. The young scout noticed with some trepidation that the number of Koriani, the Order’s elite soldiers pacing the walls and higher balconies, had been doubled. The sentries were wary, their bodies taut and their senses heightened. Recent events had put the guards on edge. Not one of the soldiers had turned to follow their arrival. The Koriani had eyes only for the wilderness beyond their home. An uncomfortable omen, Bider decided, as he dismounted and stood at attention with the rest of the company.
“Bider, you have command of the Eagles and the new recruits while I’m gone,” Sergeant Ethan Shade ordered as the men awaited Captain Silveron. The commander was busy greeting a group of mages excited by his return.
“Pardon me, sir?” Bider stammered as the enormity of the sergeant’s statement settled over him.
“You have command. Get the men settled and have all the recruits report to Kaleris Square on the morrow. The Captain, Sergeant Rockfar, and I, have been summoned to meet with members of the Council later today. It seems the Captain carries some weight here, although I can’t understand why,” Ethan muttered.
The tradition had always been that no Fey’Derin soldier could enter the citadel proper. The men had always been billeted near the entrance to Dragon Mount, just as they would be on this visit. For an invitation to be issued to Captain Silveron revealed an elevated status rare among outsiders.
Bider snapped to attention. “Aye, sir. I’ll look after the men and have everyone ready and accounted for. When can we expect your return?” he asked before the hawk-nosed man could slip away.
“I’ll be there for the ceremony, as of course will Sergeant Rockfar,” Ethan replied. “His m
en will want to know that he’ll be present for the casting,” with a smile, he gripped the scout on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Bider, but watch Orn, will you? Keep him out of the drink. The last thing Captain Silveron wants to hear is that Surefoot has embarrassed himself and the company.”
“Yes, sir,” Bider replied hesitantly.
Under normal circumstances, a member of the Order or a distinguished guest would have to book an appointment with the Archmagus Ir’Wolien far in advance. Gavin suspected that his presence at Dragon Mount would command the greatest of attention, and Ir’Wolien would be forced to grant him an audience. Pushing open the ornate silver doors to the elder mage’s audience chamber, Gavin’s expectations were confirmed. He had only to endure a few hours of waiting time before being admitted.
The chamber itself was beautiful. A high vaulted ceiling reached far overhead with intricate columns flanking a carpeted path leading to a raised marble dais. The wall behind the large ebony desk and silver backed chair was constructed entirely of majestic windows.
The man sitting behind the writing desk was elderly, and unlike many of the mages who walked the corridors of the vast mountain complex, his age showed. Ir’Wolien had been the head of the Council for the entirety of Gavin’s life, and many decades before. His hair was entirely white, and his face sported a thin white beard that drooped far below his chin. He was dressed in the ceremonial garb of his office, a green and silver robe that conveyed both wisdom and grace.
Bowing low at the foot of the raised platform, Gavin met the man’s stony stare with confidence. “It’s good to see you, Ir’Wolien.”
“It has been a long time by your standards, Silvares,” the man replied, inclining his head towards the young mercenary.
“It’s Silveron now, Archmagus. When I left the mountain, I left my old name behind,” Gavin said.
“Nonsense, you are Silvares. I’ll not be party to such a ruse,” the mage replied.
Ignoring the slight, Gavin attempted to change the subject in hopes of avoiding a confrontation. Speaking with Ir’Wolien had never been an easy task.
“Something occurred in the Aeldenwood. I am confident you may be able to shed light upon it,” Gavin began.
“Now what seems to be the problem? Did the trees convey their sadness again and unsettle your brooding heart?” the older man asked with an unmistakable mocking tone.
“I saw something,” Gavin said through clenched teeth.
“And what did you see, Silvares? Did the shadows scare you as they did when you were a child? You know there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t hear of what your mind ‘saw’ in the Aeldenwood.”
“It was an Earth Fiend.”
“An Earth Fiend?” Ir’Wolien took a sharp breath in surprise. His face clouded over and the dismissive attitude was instantly gone. “You were attacked then?” the Archmage questioned.
“It was an assassin from the Guild,” Gavin answered.
“Then it is as we first believed…” Ir’Wolien exclaimed. “The wood was reacting to the threat of the assassin…protecting you… You have made powerful enemies while in the world. It goes without saying, then, that you have also made powerful friends, no?”
With that comment, Gavin realized that little had changed in the years since his departure. His carefully contained rage rushed to the fore. With a snarl, he answered, “You’re twisting this event into one that benefits your own, Archmagus. I can see the look in your eyes. I will not be used!” Gavin countered.
“For once, Silvares, think of how important your life is, think of what you might mean to the land. That the wood reacted as it did reveals the stirrings of long dormant Gorimm powers.”
“That’s the problem, Ir’Wolien, you lie to yourself every time you speak those words. The Order wasn’t thinking of the land, they were thinking of the power and influence they would command if the plans of the Council came to fruition. My life and the results of your lust for power had no bearing on your discussions —”
“It is my duty to keep the Order strong, fool!” the old man snapped. “Why is it so wrong that we look to benefit from the situation? Why is it so wrong to wish for a strengthening of the Order? If you are handed an advantage on the battlefield, do you opt to throw it away on account of the moralities involved? I should think not!”
“My men have free will. You strove to take mine away from me, to subvert a child!” Gavin yelled.
“I merely wanted to shape your future, to guide you in making the right decisions. I offered you knowledge, and I —”
“That knowledge spelled your doom,” the soldier interrupted. “Could it not be that the gods were pulling strings, advocating on behalf of free will by allowing my access to the Hall of Records? There are so many ifs that I care not to explore what may have been. I chose to leave because there was a world that offered me a chance at a life unhindered by your expectations.”
“It is your duty!” Ir’Wolien replied defiantly.
“We both know it also belongs to another. That he is beyond your power to influence only strengthens my resolve to bring about change by following the rightful laws of the land,” Gavin shouted.
“Laws made by bloodthirsty fools who tore a kingdom apart and murdered a great king? Have you truly strayed so far from the path we once taught you?” A long silence stretched out between the two men after the question was posed. “Why have you returned home, Gavin? Is it only to renew an argument already years old, or to torment an old man who wishes his people not fall into obscurity?”
Frustrated, Gavin shook his head and took a step forward. “I needed information and some counsel, Ir’Wolien, and knew nowhere else to turn.”
“Then ask of me what you will. I don’t care to argue with you anymore,” the mage sighed heavily. “We are both stubborn men, more alike than you would care to admit, Silvares,” he added.
“I spoke with Tel’Andros this morning and he mentioned the recent tragedy that befell the Order. I need to know if the Aeldenwood is safe,” Gavin asked.
“He was a good man, a strong ally, and an even better friend,” Ir’Wolien bowed his head. “Did you know that Ir’Roland was one of your few supporters when you appeared before the Council those many years ago? He saw merit in your words.”
“I never knew…”
“That is because you rarely listened. But why do you ask about the forest? Do you plan to visit that dreaded place?” the Archmage asked.
“I believe something has changed in the forest,” Gavin said. “My dreams, as well as the appearance of the Earth Fiend, have led me to believe that the answers I seek may be found within the Great Wood.”
Ir’Wolien raised himself from his chair and clasped his arms behind his back. Turning to look out of the beautifully crafted window and into the valley below, he took his time before answering. “The Gath roam in ever-increasing numbers. They seem more intelligent, even organized. I am beginning to wonder where some of my old colleagues have gone and fear the troubles they may have awoken.”
“The Fallen?” Gavin whispered.
“Yes. The renegades have proven themselves to be more powerful than we anticipated, and perhaps now they tamper with the forces of evil that inhabit the Aeldenwood. Only a few of us know what transpired at the time of the Gorath ‘ni D’eralok and the warnings of the wood infecting the land. The Fallen may be unwilling pawns in a greater plan.”
“Then all the more reason for me to journey there,” Gavin answered with conviction. “But I need to know what precautions to take,” he pressed.
“A night or two at the south watchtower will be safe enough. I will send Tel’Andros with you,” Ir’Wolien immediately raised a hand to stop the retort set to fly from Gavin’s mouth. “And don’t argue with me. I need no spy to inform me of your plans. I could read your thoughts well when you were a child, Gavin. Don’t presume that I cannot re
ad you as easily right now.”
“Thank you, Ir’Wolien. Tel’Andros’ presence will be tolerated for the time being, but please don’t attempt to renew the games of old. Remember, I deduced your plans once before,” Gavin smirked. “And don’t be so quick to assume I won’t uncover any new ones.”
Giving a slight bow to the Archmage, Gavin turned and made his way towards the chamber’s exit. The massive stone doors boomed and echoed in the cavernous hall as he pushed them open. Passing into the corridor beyond, Ir’Wolien called out with a question that almost caused him to stumble.
“Have you spoken with Brynne?” Ir’Wolien called out.
Gavin continued his march away in silence.
The leader of the Silveryn Order chuckled and yelled one last parting shot of advice as Gavin strode quickly down the long hall. “My daughter will be displeased that you haven’t sought her out. Be smart, young Silvares, and find her before she deems it time she found you.”
After extensive research and first hand observation (often in fear of losing my own life), I can now effectively prove the existence of fourteen distinct clans among the goblin tribes of the Wilds. Why scholars believed for so long that only eight existed remains a mystery.
—Callum Andware ‘Savages in the Frontier’
Chapter XVIII
Lok’Dal hie, The Wilds
With a sickening thud, Leoric felt the club connect with his exposed midsection. Bracing himself against the pain, his body sagged in the arms of his captors.
Sabak! Gulok! One of the jailers roared.
Spitting blood in reply, Leoric struggled to stand, his strength faltering. At his feet, partially shielded by his solid frame, lay the quivering form of a young girl. Even through his swollen eyes, he met her terrified stare with what he hoped was a reassuring one of his own. Already, her left cheek had reddened, the result of a heavy-handed blow from one of the goblin guards standing beside them.