The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3

by R. G. Triplett

  “Thank you,” Cal told Sendoa, his eyes welling at the struggle he could feel that Farran was enduring.

  “Luken is fast, and his family knows Aysa well enough,” he assured him. “They will be here shortly, but I cannot permit you to wait.”

  “But-” Cal tried to protest.

  “You are still a stranger to our people, and we still have laws we must abide by,” the officer said sternly. “Your horse-”

  “He is more than just a horse!” Cal shot back, fear and anger boiling over. “He is my friend, my family.”

  Sendoa took a deep breath to quiet his own outrage over the lack of understanding and respect from this young man from Haven. “Your … friend,” he said with steeled diplomacy, “is in the best hands he could possibly be in, stranger. And thank the Giver of Light that it was my watch at the pass this day, and not Zuzen’s, for you are also in the best hands that you could possibly be in.”

  “I’m not leaving him,” Cal said, tears beginning to spill over in defiance.

  “Cal,” Astyræ said as she knelt and placed her hands upon his shoulders. “We are still strangers here, Cal, and they are not some wandering tribe or band of peasants huddled in the Greywood,” she reasoned sweetly with him. “We need to trust them. We need to go with them.”

  “But, my lady!” he tried.

  “They have sent for a healer, and the sooner we meet the lord of this realm, and gain their favor,” she said, her voice more firm now, “the sooner you will be able to go back to him.”

  Cal looked deep into her eyes, considering the wisdom of her words, and then down to his suffering friend. “They are sending someone for you, boy,” he cooed as he stroked Farran’s face. “I have to go. I don’t want to, but I have to … and as soon as I can, I will find you.”

  Cal kissed his horse between his weary, sickly eyes, and Farran sighed his gurgled understanding. The groomsman stood to his feet, wiping his face with his hand. “Alright, keeper,” he agreed quietly, “take me to your lord, then.”

  Sendoa examined him and nodded his agreement. “To the Palladium,” he ordered his men.

  The guardians resumed their march, and Cal and Astyræ followed their escort deeper, past rows of stone-carved houses and gardens, shops and stables, until at last they stood before an elevated stone building, whose many carved columns supported an open-air colonnade. Pools of reflecting water surrounded the Palladium, ushering all who would need approach this house of wisdom and law towards the massive set of steps that led to its only entrance.

  Atop the steps, centered between two massive, copper braziers, stood a woman in white flowing garments. The wind caught the wing-like sleeves of her gown and fanned her dark-brown hair, which cascaded down her shoulder. A crown of gilded ram’s horns, with a single sapphire set in woven silver, adorned her brow.

  “Weary travelers,” she welcomed in gracious authority. “I am Johanna, Lord of the hidden realm, granddaughter of King Julen, and Queen of the Amaians.” She met each of their gazes with her own, her strength and compassion unveiled for all to see. “Welcome to Shaimira.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They were escorted inside the Palladium, past ornately carved columns and flowing fabrics. Dozens of leaders and lawmakers moved throughout the annex, all busy about their duties here in this place.

  She led them to a large hall. Row after row of wooden tables and woven tapestries lined its perimeter, and at the very center of the room was a massive, brick lined hearth whose coals and embers lit the chamber in welcoming warmth.

  In the corner of the hall was a high seat. Though the chair was humbly carved and upholstered in sheep wools, it held authority over all who took court here. Behind the queen’s chair was a statue carved in white stone, the likeness of a mighty horse, with massive wings that appeared to nearly take the relic of stone to flight.

  Johanna approached the dais, bowed her head before the carved image, and took her seat, inviting these strangers to stand before her.

  Sendoa had gently placed the birdcage that held Deryn captive down upon the table nearest Cal and Astyræ. Flanking the seat of power were two pairs of the lord’s guardians, whose white capes were broached with the same sapphire jewel that adorned the Queen’s horned crown.

  Sendoa tilted his head as he bowed before her, and at her bidding he told her all that he had learned from these strangers. He spoke of who they claimed to be and of the fallen, wounded horse.

  “How is it that Illium’s kind, Aius’ daughter, and a Sprite brought back from beyond the grave have made their way to my kingdom?” she said, her eyes examining their intentions. “How have you come beyond the hidden pass and into the Itxaro?”

  “Please, Lord Johanna,” Cal said, his cheeks stained with tears. “My friend … my horse, is badly hurt. I need your help, please. May I go to him?” he asked, not bothering to answer her questions.

  “Cal, is it?” she said, compassion not altogether lost amidst her sternness. “It has been a very long time since we have had strangers in our midst. And it has been even longer since an equine creature has graced our presence. I, too, wish nothing more than for your friend to heal fully. But as the Lord and protector of my people, my duty first is not to the glories of our people’s past, but to their future. And if I am to look brightly upon their future, I must first determine if there is an enemy or a threat that has found its way into our kingdom.”

  “Of course … thank you, Lady Johanna,” he said, remembering his place. “We are no enemy, I assure you.” Cal’s voice still carried his worry. He looked to Astyræ and then again to his winged guardian, determining that he had little to hide and that truth and speed might get him to Farran all the sooner.

  “I sailed across the Dark Sea, leaving the colony of my people for but one reason … to seek the light,” he said. “When Deryn and I found Astyræ prisoner in that tower, I saw the markings of our long-lost king etched upon the same prison wall. One word was there, and I knew that my quest for the new light of the THREE who is SEVEN would lead me to follow in his footsteps.”

  Johanna listened intently; her wonder at the bright, magical threads still woven through this ever-darkening world could not be hidden from her face. “And what was this word, light seeker?” she asked him quietly.

  “Shaimira,” Cal replied. “I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

  Johanna smiled deeply, and she exhaled a sigh of satisfaction at Cal’s story of Illium. Then she turned her attention to the golden-haired woman who stood next to him. “And you, Princess Astyræ?” She spoke the title with honor, bringing the attention of the room to the exiled royalty of Dardanos. “What is it that you seek here?”

  Cal turned his head to look at Astyræ. Although he knew of her past, he had never paid much attention to her nobility. He felt somehow surprised to hear her addressed in so formal a way.

  “I seek revenge,” Astyræ said coldly. “I seek justice, and the destruction of that evil woman and all her kind.” Her violet-eyes burned with hatred for the Sorceress. “I want my people back, I want my city returned to life … and I want my father… if he is yet somewhere, to be found.”

  “Yet you align yourself with this light seeker, who has made no mention of the Sorceress?” Johanna asked.

  “My grandfather told me stories of your people, of a hidden strength and a growing rebellion,” Astyræ told her. “He said that one day, you would be strong enough to stand against her.” She looked at Cal, her affection for him clear on her face. “Cal is seeking a new light, and that seeking has led me back to the hope I have held onto since I was a little girl. If his light wipes out her darkness, then I will follow him as long as I may.”

  The Queen thought on her words, measuring Astyræ’s intentions. The hall was quiet, save for the pop and crackle of the burning coals in the hearth behind them, and although the mood was deep, there was little malice to be felt.

  “And you, fruit of the forgotten trees?” She turned finally to face the sm
all, caged Sprite. “What is it that you seek?”

  Deryn bowed in exaggerated reverence, used to the pomp and circumstance of royalty, for he had spent most of his bright days in the court of another queen. “Queen Johanna, I am here as but a guardian and a servant to my own Queen; Iolanthe of the Sprites, Lord of Islwyn, the grove under the mountain.” Deryn stood tall in his prison, pride and love beaming from his glowing face. “Calarmindon Bright Fame was given to me as my charge, to watch over and aid him in his seeking. For the darkness that has befallen Aiénor is driven by a magic more ancient and much deeper than mere dragons and ravens. True victory shall come only at the hand of our Great Father.”

  “Calarmindon Bright Fame, is it?” she said as she glanced back to Cal, speaking with both respect and a touch of amusement. He nodded to her and she tilted her head in acknowledgement.

  Then she looked back to the Sprite. “So … you believe that your charge is seeking a light that will be the weapon we use to defeat her evil, once and for all?” Johanna asked.

  “No, I do not,” Deryn said with all sincerity. “This light is not a weapon, Queen Johanna.”

  “If you are speaking in riddles, master Sprite, I shall warn you that I do not enjoy them.” She gazed at him directly, “Speak plainly.”

  “The light is our victory,” Deryn obliged. “The heart of our Great Father is not a trinket or a tool to use as we see fit. Rather, it is the very firmament our dying world will be rebuilt upon. In that light, darkness cannot exist. And evil? Evil will find no welcome.”

  She thought long on the Sprite’s words. When she had finally finished pondering on all that these strangers had told her, she whispered a command to her guard. He walked over to the cage of the Sprite, his bearded face betraying no thought or emotion. He placed his hand upon the cage and turned to face his queen.

  “Wait, my Queen!” Cal blurted out, nervous that this guard meant to harm Deryn. “Please.”

  She ignored Cal and nodded her approval to the guardsman. Both Cal and Astyræ held their breath, fearful of what injustice may befall them all. Then the guard took a small, silver key from the leather pouch upon his braided belt. He placed the key in the small, inset lock upon the cage, and with a quick turn of his gloved hand, he released the mechanism and set the Sprite free.

  The door swung open and Deryn stood there, proud and noble, one hand upon the hilt of his tiny blue blade, and the other crossing his chest. Cal and Astyræ breathed a sigh of relief as they listened to the queen speak.

  “My people came here to escape the tyranny and malice of one who dared to name herself ruler of these lands. We forsook our homes, our great city, our pride, and our strength to crawl through the bowels of the mountain and begin again here.” She told them as she, too, rose to her feet. “For over a hundred years in this blessed valley, we have built up a strength to withstand the bite of evil. My father died knowing that his people were safe, protected and at the ready to fight any who would threaten our strength, our peace, or our freedom.”

  “And yet, we have existed to be a refuge for any that the Giver of Light might lead to our door,” she continued. “Hundreds, over the decades, have found and made this place their home, too. There are those from both of your cities that have found refuge amongst us here. But never once, in all my days, did I dare to dream that I might behold the fabled fruit of forgotten beauty … here in these hopeful halls of ours.” She walked over to the stone table to give her hand to the Sprite.

  “Please, receive my welcome, and please, forgive my prudence at your arrival. Captain, release them from their bonds.” She looked each of the travelers in the eyes. “For you are no longer strangers to Shaimira. You are our honored guests. And never again, dear Sprite, will I subdue you within the confines of a cage.”

  Deryn bowed in reverence as he spoke. “Thank you, Queen Johanna. If it pleases you,” he said as he looked over to Cal, “my friend would dearly like to tend to his horse.”

  Cal smiled a weary smile at the request of his Sprite guardian, and the queen could not help but understand the affection that passed between them at this simple gesture. “Very well,” she told them. “My guards will take you to the home of the healer that Sendoa summoned on your behalf. May your feet swiftly lead you to your equine friends, and may the Giver of Light grant Aysa the strength to mend every wound.”

  “Thank you,” Cal said. “We are honored to be your guests here and hope to learn much about your people soon. My friends will stay here and heed your counsel for as long as you like. But yes … for now I am quite grateful to be off to tend to Farran.”

  She nodded to her guard, and without further conversation Cal left, off in a hurry to see about his horse. The room was still in the wake of his leaving, and long moments passed as she considered all that she had been told by this unexpected group of travelers. Finally, she broke the silence. “Tell me then, daughter of Aius, what news can you give me of the Sorceress?”

  Astyræ spoke of the desolation of the Wreath. She told her of the marching of great armies through the north, and of the hunting for the hidden refuge of Shaimira.

  “And what of this new colony of Illium’s kind?” the queen asked her. “It is absurd to think that she would allow such an outpost to thrive upon these shores.”

  “I would say,” Astyræ replied as she considered the words of the queen, “that it is only a matter of time before she insists that the Tree Men accept her as their Queen.”

  “That is also my thought,” she said in agreement. “I am grateful that the Giver of Light has granted us these mountains of hope, to keep us safe and to shield us from her lust.”

  “And how is it, Queen Johanna, that her dragons have never espied this place?” Astyræ asked. “In all their ravenous searching, have they never turned their attention to these mountains?”

  “These mountains are larger than one would think, stretching leagues into the north. And they are more and more inhospitable the higher they climb into the cold air,” the queen answered. “Our hidden city is but a torch hidden beneath a stone cleft. The light cannot reach the sky above.”

  “Queen Johanna,” Deryn said as he flitted up to meet her gaze. “If I may be so bold as to speak … do not put your trust in these mountains alone, for though they have been your cleft to rest in, they are not your salvation.”

  She listened to the words of the magical creature, and although she wished him to be wrong, she did not disregard his winged wisdom.

  “Your strength has been preserved, and it has grown and flourished here, but only at the will of our Great Father.” Deryn continued. “Do not forget that it has been preserved for a purpose.”

  “I hear your warning, master Sprite, and I will consider it with due gravity,” she told them. “But while we have these mountains to hope in, they will afford you and your friends the rest you will need. So please, accept my hospitality and rest easy.”

  The queen nodded at her attendant, a tall dark-haired young man whose beard had just begun to come in, and gave her command. “Alexio here will see to it that you have what you need: clothing, food and drink, but most importantly… rest.”

  “Yes, Lord Johanna,” Astyræ said gratefully. “Thank you.”

  “He will see to it that there is room enough for Cal as well,” she continued. “Now, go, and I will find you on the morrow.”

  With that, the young attendant led the lady and the Sprite out, beyond the flowing curtains and down the stone steps, past the portico and into the heart of this strange and beautiful city.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The remnant followed in the footsteps of the giant, Vŏlker, though Georgina had eagerly ridden upon his right shoulder. The winding, mountain road turned to the northeast until a massive grey-stoned keep halted their passage.

  The stronghold spanned the breadth of the roadway, and its walls seemed to be carved right out of the mighty mountains that stood high on either side. At the very center of the façade stood an enormous portc
ullis. The black iron of the gate was pocked and aged, but with no sign of rust or decay. It stood taller than four grown men, while walls bereft of banners and pageantry, rose over a hundred hands high into the cold, blowing night.

  “What in the damnable dark is this place?” Portus asked aloud.

  “It looks as if it grew right out of the mountainside!” Georgina exclaimed.

  “Vŏlker?” Michael said warily. “What is this place? I have never heard of castles in the mountains, nor of anything of much significance out beyond the walls of our city.”

  “Never heard of castles in the mountains?” Vŏlker said, beside himself with amazement at the notion. “This is the most famous of all the mountain castles!” His large hand made a great show of display. “Well,” he said, scratching his head as he thought longer on his own words, “that might not be rightly true; though it is the most important one to me, it is.”

  “Why is that, master giant?” Celrod said with great interest.

  “Well … this is me home!” Vŏlker told them with a sad smile. “This was me and me HlÍf’s home.”

  Georgina patted his scarred, bearded cheek, doing her little girl best to soothe his grieving heart. “Does it have a name? This place, I mean?”

  “It looks as if it has been here for ages,” Timorets said in wide-eyed wonder.

  “Have you ever in all your days seen such a design?” Celrod marveled.

  “Aye,” Vŏlker answered. “Halvard it is called, the Guardian of the Rock… that is what me father said it means.” He surveyed the keep he had spent all of his life taking great care of.

  “Did you build it?” Georgina asked innocently.

  “No, girl!” he said with a deep, echoing laugh. “Mågąn have not the skill for such finery, ha. No … Halvard was built by the king of long ago.”

  “The king?” Michael asked. “Which king do you mean?”

  “Ha!” the giant said with comedic disdain in his voice. “The first king! The only king that Vŏlker and me father ever served. Æðelric was his name, the high king of Terriah he was called.” He spoke with a reverent whisper. “His sons, Faramund and Ermendrud, Vŏlker had little love for. But Æðelric was a good king … was friend to Mågąn.”