The one-armed knight and the wounded guardsman rode in through the gates, past the soul-chilling eyes of the twin dragons, and right into the heart of the square. Seig moved to greet them, looking to impress his new mistress with the obedience of his underlings.
“My Queen,” Pyrrhus said without so much as an acknowledgment of the governor that stood before him. “We have found them!”
“Well done, Pyrrhus,” she said, not wholly trusting his words. “And where would you say that they are? For that matter, where is the rest of your scouting party? I do hope the North Wolf was not harmed on your journey?”
“We tracked them north, a few days’ ride through the Greywood and all the way to the banks of the Argiñe,” he said proudly.
“And…” she said, imploring him to continue.
“I rode as fast as I could to come and report to you, my Queen,” he replied.
“What did they tell you when you confronted them?” Seig asked. “Did they fight?”
“No, they—" Pyrrhus stumbled over his words, understanding now the folly of his ways. “We did not confront them, sir.”
“So, you didn’t actually find them?” she asked, her gaze narrowing as the ink marks on her arms swirled and writhed in agitation.
“No, we didn’t see them, but we know where they are headed. Yasen and the rest of my men are tracking them as we speak!” he said excitedly, hoping his enthusiasm would convince all who listened.
“And where, pray tell, is that?” she said coldly.
“North, along the river,” he said proudly.
“Let me understand you correctly,” Seig interrupted. “You were given a command to find the woodcutters, so they would lead us to the hidden city of Shaimira. And instead, you felt the need to ride home to tell us that you found their tracks?” He stepped down from his platform and strode angrily over to the fire knight before he placed a massive finger in the center of his chest.
“What happens when those tracks disappear, and there is no trace or trail left to find them?” the governor screamed in frustration.
Pyrrhus searched his mind, desperate for anything to appease their anger, furious at himself for not seeing the folly of his actions. “There is only one place where it could be, only one place a city could hide!” he argued back desperately.
“And where is that?” the Raven Queen growled. As she did, the attention of the twin dragons was piqued, and they unfurled their massive necks and narrowed their malevolent gaze upon the man in question.
“The mountains! I am unsure of their name … but that is surely the only place it could be,” he reasoned.
“Do you not think that my faithful Raven soldiers have not searched the Itxaro before?” she hissed as she spoke. “I have combed every step on the face of them, and my twins have circled their highlands, without sight of even the smallest moving creature!” Her voice was now fully enraged. “And still they are hidden!”
Pyrrhus stumbled backwards to the ground against the force of her rage.
“They are north, I know it. The girl, she said she saw Cal, and that the woodcutters were following him,” He blurted out. “Yasen is tracking them as we speak, and I know that he will find them and give them over to you: the woodcutters, that damned groomsman, and the whole hidden city!”
Her chest rose and fell, heaving against the wrath inside her, her yellow eyes ablaze in frustrated fury.
“Angrah and Abaddon,” she said with utter coolness to her voice. “Find the North Wolf and aid him in his search. Prepare a place for my army to gather.” Her stare went through the very heart of Pyrrhus. “If the fire knight is correct, then we will scour every inch of those damned mountains, or we will raze them to the ground. And if he is wrong, he will experience the very meaning of his name before all of my kingdom.”
With a bow of their heads, the twin dragons roared and then shot high into the darkened sky in obedience to their queen.
“Durai, prepare my Nocturnal army,” she ordered. “If these Tree Men have found Shaimira, then its people will most certainly be expecting us. Let’s drive these rats from their holes and be done with these vermin once and for all.”
“As you command,” Durai said.
“Pyrrhus, there is one thing that I am quite unclear about,” Seig said as the fire knight rose to his knees and began to dust himself off. “How is it that your guardsman over there was wounded and then mended again?” he continued. “Those bandages don’t resemble any from our stores.”
“The woman who told us of the woodcutters,” Pyrrhus said. “She told us what we needed to know, after a great deal of persuasion, she then saw to the mending.”
“And were these people enlightened?” Seig asked. “Did they serve our Queen?”
“No, Governor,” Pyrrhus said, lowering his eyes and bracing for what would come next.
“And you didn’t think to bring them?” he pressed.
“No, Governor.”
“My Queen, what say you in this matter?” Seig asked.
“I would say that you need a more competent captain to do your bidding,” she said almost without thought as her attention had shifted. “This dog of yours is better suited in a kennel than on the field of battle.”
Pyrrhus’ eyes went wide in disbelief at the very thought. “I have served you well!” he protested. “I have lost my arm for you, Governor, surely that has to count for something.” His voice had turned to a desperate growl. “I deserve to be on the field of battle, with you and my men. You need my sword!”
Seig nodded his head as the fire knight groveled. The displeasure the queen felt towards Pyrrhus was undeniable, though obedience and loyalty had served him well so far. “I do not need your sword Pyrrhus, for there is an army of swords gathering as we speak,” he said coldly. “Neither do I need your command. No longer will you be captain to me, and no longer will these men be in your company, for you have none.”
Pyrrhus’ face went crestfallen; he could not fully understand what he had done to deserve this disfavor.
“But you can fight, I will grant you that,” Seig offered. “Now, pick yourself up, and either hide in the kennels like the mongrel you have become, or grab your sword and fall in rank.”
“Men!” Seig shouted proudly as he turned to address the rest of the men of Haven. “We will join our queen and bring forth a new victory for all of Aiénor!”
The men let out a nervous cheer, not sure where their loyalties were best placed, afraid to be found on the wrong side of the Sorceress’ wrath. They took up their swords and spears and fell into formation with the whole of the Nocturnal army.
And so it was that with a loud blast of a deep horn, the thousands in the company of the Ravens began their march northward to unleash their might upon the city of Shaimira.
Chapter Thirty
“Dragons?” Cal asked without prompting. “What dragons are you talking about?”
The queen did not change her stare, but looked straight at the road ahead as they walked and spoke. “The Sorceress, or the Raven Queen as she calls herself … she has dragons, Cal.”
“I… I didn’t…” he tried to reason aloud.
“It has never been about the size of her armies, nor the strength of Aerebus; rather it has always been her dragons that have caused cities to lay down their banners without so much as a single loosed arrow or drawn blade.
“Dragons,” Cal said again. “How are we to withstand dragons?”
“For over a hundred years my people have been hidden from her ever searching eyes. The Itxaro Mountains have encircled us and have kept our secret safe,” she continued. “But if they flew over the peaks of our shield, and glimpsed our city and its people,” she turned to meet his gaze, “it would bring ruin upon us.”
“That’s why, isn’t it?” Cal asked, the picture of doom coming into focus for him. “That’s why it matters if we were followed.”
“The Pass of Kemen could be held indefinitely, by less than a hundred men, if need
be,” she told him as they approached the streets of the city. “The bodies of our enemy would pile so high that the pass would be dammed. But, if an assault came from the sky, where would we run, Cal? Where would the thousands of my people flee?”
He thought about this beautiful refuge in the mountains, about its strengths and its people, and he understood the peril ahead.
“If I’ve brought this upon you—” he tried to apologize before she could chastise him, but she cut him off with her own question.
“What did you say to me, when you came running up to the gate, before the woodcutters were given passage?” she asked him.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he said, confused.
“You were afraid,” she told him as they walked between the mirrored reflecting pools in the garden of the Palladium. “You were afraid, I could see it all over your face. Panic, fear, desperation.” She turned to meet his eyes. “But why?”
Cal was silent for a moment; the dread he had felt had all but been eclipsed with the joyful reunion of the woodcutters.
“What words did you try to tell me?” she pressed him.
“Not to open the gate,” he told her.
“Why?” she asked again. “What cause of fear would you have had at that moment? You were grieving at the mourning trees moments ago, and then you came forth, adorned in mail, demanding that I stay the opening of the portcullis?” She narrowed her gaze. “Why?”
“Because the winged horse gave me a warning,” he said, his eyes searching hers for meaning.
She breathed a steadying breath, exhaling anger and wonder both in the same moment. She turned, and without a word climbed the steps of the Palladium with great haste.
Cal watched as she went, unsure what had angered her so. “Is that all you wanted from me?” he called as she continued up the steps and past the curtained entryway. He shook his head in confusion, and then followed after her. “Lady Johanna?” he shouted for her again. “What is the matter?”
Her guards swung open the doors to the great hall, the light of the hearth revealing her already gathered council. She strode deliberately past them, marched right up to the dais, and fixed her attention on the massive, carved image of a horse in flight.
“The winged horse?” she asked him, her voice cold with distrust. “I don’t rightly care if you are the very son of Illium himself, statues of stone do not speak to the living.”
He looked up at the statue as if he were seeing it for the very first time. His eyes went wide as the likeness of the image registered. “Uriel.”
“What did you say?” the queen asked.
“It does have a great likeness to him,” Cal mused.
She stood there for a moment, considering the implications of his words. “A likeness? Do you even know what this is?”
Cal looked to her, waiting for her to go on.
“This is the Anahiera, the salvation of my people, creature of legend,” she told him as she looked reverently up at the great statue. “The beast who bore away my great grandfather’s grandfather from the cruel slavers in the south to our home north of the Falls of Ammon.”
She turned her gaze to meet his own. “None, save our first king, has ever seen the Anahiera before.”
“I don’t know about all of that, my Lady,” he said quite apologetically. “But as I was in the Weeping Wood, a white horse, with great feathered wings just like this, came to me.”
A collective gasp could be heard by all who were gathered, and Cal looked about, nearly forgetting that they were not alone. “His name is Uriel, and he warned me of a great evil that is coming for this place,” he told them all. “When I heard the horns of your people… I feared the doom was upon us.”
“He spoke to you?” she asked with guarded wonder.
Cal thought as to how he would try to explain the nearly unbelievable ways in which all manner of creatures had spoken to him. “Yes, though not in the way you might think.”
“This is madness!” came the exasperated shout of an elder councilman. “This stranger has been here for only a few days and is already exploiting our lineage to turn our sympathies!”
The offended grumble of the gathered council members began in response.
“I heard him clear enough!” Cal demanded, his conviction silencing the din. “He spoke of a great doom for this place, of an evil crashing in upon it.” Cal sighed his own exasperation.
“The Anahiera just so happened to find you, there among the sleeping sons of Haven, and chose to speak to you? A foreigner?” came the reply of the long, white-haired councilman. “I find that rather impossible to believe!”
A roar of agreement erupted yet again, but Johanna just watched the exchange unfold before her.
He looked at the queen longingly, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I sailed across the black waters of the Dark Sea and forsook the walls of our colony, all because the impossible was told to me,” Cal said, ignoring the grumbling council members and aiming his words towards the heart of the queen.
“It was Oweles that first whispered the quest to my heart. Since then, I’ve found Poets living in ancient halls and Sprites thriving beneath the mountains. I have encountered witches, and monsters, shadow cats, green-eyed ravens and timber wolves.” As he spoke, his mind replayed each impossibility of his journey over again.
“I found the name of this city, this very place, carved into the stone wall of a tower in the middle of the vast wilderness, and unknowingly rescued a princess from its prison. My very eyes are clouded over because the White Stag himself wanted me to see the path that led here.” Cal turned and looked to the gathered council.
“So, it did not alarm me to find that Aiénor was still filled with mysteries and magic that I had not yet imagined to exist in this world. And when the winged horse spoke to me there in the forest, I did not doubt his words, nor question why he chose to speak them to me. “
“My Queen,” the elder pleaded. “You can’t possibly begin to believe these … these fantasies of this stranger! We have been safe here for over a hundred years, hidden from the sight and the reach of the Sorceress! Why would we listen to these absurd tales? And besides, who here has even heard of such things as Oweles?” he mocked.
The rumble of agreement was less boisterous now, though a few did lend their voice to the elder’s.
“Councilman Iker,” the queen said with a tone that signaled his time for speaking had indeed come to an end. “Just because we have never heard of such things or of such creatures does not in fact mean that they do not exist. There is much in this world that I myself have not yet begun to imagine.”
Cal breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see that she did not wholly discount him.
“As for the Anahiera,” she continued, “though I do not understand why he would show himself to you and not one of our own kind, I do not mistrust his warning. If it is as you say it is, Cal, then peril must be nigh. For Asier himself believed that the Anahiera came for the purpose of salvation alone. Perhaps such a warning, no matter how it was given, is a mercy we should not be so quick to discredit.”
A rumbling of whispers echoed through the great hall as the men and women of the council began to consider the queen’s words.
“Lady Johanna?” Cal leaned in to address her more privately. “What would you have of me and my friends? If the Sorceress and her dragons are to come, we will assist you in defending this place.” The desire to help welled up in his chest as he spoke to her.
“I do not know why the Anahiera chose you, dear Cal, but if you will choose us … salvation might find us yet,” she said, kindness returning to her eyes. “Now go, and see to it that your friends are well fed and well rested. We might call upon your strengths soon enough.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Much time had passed as the council of Shaimira debated their recourse and defenses. Cal relished in the shared moments with his woodcutter brothers, and strength gradually returned to each of them as they rested and refuel
ed together. Cal was grateful for the return of his comrades, but was continually unsettled in the wake of his encounter with the Anahiera.
He sat with Deryn near the mirrored pools of the Palladium, considering how they could possibly help the people of Shaimira. Without warning, a snort and then a stamp sounded as Uriel folded his mighty, feathered wings against his luminously white body. The sight of the winged horse caused Cal’s heart to leap to his throat.
“Bless our Great Father,” Deryn said in wonder. “It is one of the Tarrthála!”
“You know of these creatures?” Cal said as they walked closer to the magnificent beast.
“Yes, in tale only though,” Deryn replied as he flitted next to his friend. “A gift from our Great Father.”
“His name is Uriel,” Cal told his companion.
Deryn did not seem surprised by this revelation, for he knew Cal and his quest; both seemed to summon all manners of intervention, divine or otherwise. “Uriel,” Deryn said in reverent wonder.
The two friends approached the majestic creature, Cal’s hand upturned and out before him, inviting the horse to receive him as a friend. Uriel bowed his head to meet Cal’s hand, his thick, white mane so lustrous that the firelight of the braziers reflected in its sheen.
“Hello there,” Cal spoke kindly as he began to stroke the soft, white neck. “It is good to see you again, Uriel. Though I will say, your presence here has caused quite a commotion.”
“Hail Tarrthála, lord of horses,” Deryn said in a show of reverence. “Cén fáth a bhfuil marcaí mór an aeir á lorg anseo?” he continued in his native tongue.
Cal’s hand stopped just behind the white ear of the great horse, his fingers finding a familiar spot upon the throatlatch, and his own skin connected with Uriel’s. In an instant, a vision arrested his sight and his movement. Cal’s clouded eyes blazed white and his body went completely rigid.
Deryn shouted, worried at first for his friend. But as he stared into the bright light flooding from the eyes of Calarmindon Bright Fame, he calmed himself and allowed the lord of horses to speak to him.
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 22