“I’ll speak with Aysa right away,” Sendoa agreed. He searched her eyes for any remaining unspoken requests, and seeing none, he made leave to be about the city’s defenses.
“Navid,” she said, now turning her attention to her other commander.
“I have two thousand mounted Ramsguard at the ready, my Queen,” the shorter, dark-haired warrior said, his breastplate adorned at its center with a massive, silver ram’s head.
“Ride quickly then and secure our fortifications at the base of the mountain,” she ordered.
“Yes, my Queen,” his deep voice answered in reply. “With both the river and the mountains between us and them, we should be able to give them quite a fight.”
“Let’s pray so, commander,” she replied with a bow of her own, dismissing him to his duties.
Johanna then turned to the two gruff northmen standing to the side of her council. “We will need all the bravery and all the strength of citizens and strangers alike, men of Haven,” she said in a carefully measured tone. “Cal invited you to the war council, and I trusted his judgment. But the question is, do you fight for Shaimira or for yourselves?”
“We fight against the darkness, Queen Johanna,” Goran said respectfully. “If Cal is fighting for Shaimira, then we are with you. But where? Where will you want us? Yes, we offer our bravery and our strength, but more importantly, our axes!”
She stood still, silent with his question hanging there between them. “Wherever you would be willing,” her face filled with a sad kindness as she spoke, “to fight this battle with us, I would be grateful.”
Goran looked to Gvidus and nodded his satisfaction with her request. “My Lady, we are not many, but we have felled tens of thousands of trees. Our swing is true, and these green-eyed devils still owe us all a debt.”
“Oh?” she said, confused at this revelation.
“Aye!” Goran agreed. “Back across the Dark Sea … they ambushed our camp and murdered our brothers.”
“And not one of us has forgotten that night,” Gvidus said.
“Thank you,” she said, the weight of their commitment overwhelming her stoic gaze with tears of gratitude. “I will see to it that the armorist gets you all anything you need.”
“Aye, that would do nicely,” Goran replied. “Being that the trees we have been fighting these days on the Wreath … well … they don’t do much fighting back.”
She smiled, the levity a welcomed guest in so tense a house. She turned and nodded to one of her attendants, giving the order for the assistance.
The two woodcutters crossed their arms over their massive chests and gave their salute as they left the Palladium to inform the rest of their brothers.
“And what about me?” Cal asked as the great hall had emptied of all, save the council and the queen. “Where would you have me fight?”
She looked at this blonde-haired stranger from across the leagues of dark waters, the one who had found his way into the heart of their hidden city by means of hallowed legend. “Cal … the Anahiera has chosen you, but for what I cannot say.”
“What do you mean?” Cal said, his words guarded.
“You are not mine to command, son of Haven. Go where the spirit of the Giver of Light leads you.”
Cal thought on her words, a mix of relief and duty washing over him as he stood in this secret, holy place. “I have been searching for this place since the moment my feet set upon the shores of these darkened wilderlands. How could I dare not defend the very thing that I have sought?”
Johanna smiled at the passion of this young warrior, grateful for his convictions. “Thank you, Cal, but if I am not mistaken,” she said as she walked closer to him, placing her hand upon his strong shoulder, “it is not this place that you have been led to seek. Why would the Anahiera, lord of the horses, salvation to Asier himself, reveal himself to one who had already fought and found his prize?”
Cal shook his head in disbelief, stunned by both the wisdom and authority of this woman of Shaimira.
“Seek the light, Cal,” she told him, patting his shoulder as she walked past him towards her next task of importance. “And may it truly be a salvation to us all.”
He smiled his understanding, and without looking back, he walked towards the dancing, linen curtains of the Palladium in search of his friends. He walked down the great steps and past the reflecting pools of the portico, and there, waiting for him near a pair of braziers, he saw Astyræ.
“Well … what did she say? What is to be done now?” the violet-eyed woman asked earnestly.
Cal looked about at the hustle and urgency all around them, of those making preparations to hide and of those readying themselves to fight. He saw warrior upon warrior in the bright blue and the horned helm of the city, kissing their loved ones goodbye and then hurrying towards the gathering ranks near the pass.
“Cal?” she asked him.
His eyes swept over the action of the moment before they found hers again.
“War, my lady,” he told her as he reached up to caress her pearl-soft cheek. “They are preparing to ride to war.”
“War?” she said, her brow furrowed in concern and confusion. “Against the Sorceress and her army? Against her dragons?”
“Yes.” Cal said, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek bone.
“But, the dragons!” She pushed his hand from her face.
“Astyræ,” Cal said, trying to calm her.
“Did you not hear what I said, groomsman?” her voice bordering on belligerence. “She has a pair of fire-breathing winged serpents! What army in all of this damned, darkened world can stand against dragons?”
“Astyræ,” Cal said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her focus back from the edge of despair. “They all know about the dragons.”
“Then why?!” she exclaimed, unbelieving. “Why would she send her people to certain slaughter? Not one city in all the lands has withstood—"
“To save them, my lady,” Cal said, interrupting her.
The horns of the guardians rang out as the host began their march out beyond the Pass of Kemen. Sendoa’s men donned their horned helms and brandished both bow and spear as the blue standard of this hopeful people whipped and danced in the chilled breeze.
“Where are they headed?” Astyræ asked as she watched them march in solemn formation.
“To the base of the mountains,” Cal said as he pointed south of the lone gate. “Just on the other side of these rocky walls. They will take the passage out to the falls and pray the river gives them shielding enough ‘til they can fortify in the foothills at the base.”
The sound of another horn blast rang out, though it seemed to come not from the gathered host before them but rather to the east. “What in the damnable dark?” Cal said as he took in the unfathomable sight before him.
“What are they doing?” she asked in confused wonder.
“They are Navid's men,” came the answering authority from behind them.
They both startled at the sound of the unlooked for voice. “Queen Johanna?” Cal exclaimed at the sight of this woman who had abandoned her linens and gowns for mail and metal and the horned helm of her people.
Astyræ bowed her head as she caught her breath, but the queen felt no offense at their words. “These are the Ramsguard. My ancestors’ pride was in horses and chariots, and in their day, the Asierians had no equal. But horses cannot ascend the mountain, lest the road is made before them.”
“Ascend the mountain?” Cal asked aloud.
“The ram needs no road or cut path to find its way, and so we have never had to risk such signs of our whereabouts upon these hallowed hills. For it is the Ramsguard alone that has been able to traverse the rocky ascent up and over the Itxaro Mountains.”
“And you?” Cal asked as he saw her guards, adorned in white, mounted upon the armored rams of Navid's company. “Will you ascend the walls, too?”
She placed her golden helm upon her head, sister to the crown she wore mo
ments earlier. “No, son of Haven, I will ride with the host of Sendoa and your woodcutter brothers.” She smiled and motioned with her head towards the approaching woodcutters. “I must go now, the elders are seeing to it that our people will be hidden, and the pass shut against the Raveness.” She mounted a mighty, grey-wooled ram. The sharpened points of its horns were dipped in metal, and its breast was armored in the same gilded fashion of the queen who rode him.
“Seek the light, dear Cal, and may the Anahiera watch over you as you do.” She nodded her head towards her captain and without further word, the queen of Shaimira rode off to join the host of her warriors.
“So will you too be joining us, then?” came the jovial words of Alon.
“Of course he will be joining us!” Oren said as he smacked his brother upside his large head. “I don’t think he fancies a long, bumpy climb on the backside of one of those lesser beasts.”
“Ah, good,” Alon said. “We did just find you, you know. We don’t mean to be losing you again already.”
Cal smiled and put his hands upon the shoulders of these brothers, but there was a pause to his reply and a weight in his stare that caught Goran’s attention.
“No … I don’t think he is coming with us, brothers,” Goran said, with no malice to his words.
“What?” Oren said, incredulous at the very thought.
“Goran, Gvidus … brothers,” Cal said, meeting their eyes and pleading with his own for them to understand. “I have got to find it! That is why I am here. That is why I sailed across the world.”
“The light? Illium’s light?” Goran asked.
“Aye,” Cal said. “Though it’s not Illium’s light. He was just the first one to choose to go seek after it. It’s His light, the THREE who is SEVEN. And that, my friend, is the only thing that will ever truly dispel this damned darkness.”
“Is that why your horse up and sprouted wings then?” asked Gvidus.
Cal looked back toward Uriel, his eyes still filled with wonder at this magnificent beast before him. “He is not—”
“I know, I know,” Gvidus said, his hands raised in mock surrender. “He is not your horse.”
“No, he isn’t,” Cal said, the weight of the moment resting on his earnest brow. “But you are my brothers, and her soldiers are countless. So please, be safe. When this is all said and done, when the Sorceress and her foul beasts have finally been felled…” Cal trailed off, emotion catching his voice.
“And the new light shines?” Goran added gently.
“Yes,” Cal said, his eyes welling with compassion for these men of the North. “When the new light shines, I would very much like to see you in it.”
“Alright!” Alon said as he honked his nose into a kerchief. “Enough of that already, you’re gonna make my brother start weeping like a little babe.”
Oren punched his large brother in the shoulder, wiping away a rogue tear that caught in his bright eyes.
“Goran?” Astyræ said as she looked up at the mountain of a man.
“Aye?” he replied.
“Thank you. Thank you all for protecting me, I know what it must have cost you to do so.” She stepped up on the tips of her toes to plant a soft kiss on his bearded cheek.
Goran’s bushy eyebrows went high, and the points of his cheeks flushed a bright red. “Oh … I … I mean,” he stammered, caught off guard by this display of affection. “You are most welcome, lass.”
“What about me?” Oren said. “I protected you too!”
Goran smacked him on the back of his large head. “Come on, brothers,” he said with a wink to the violet-eyed lady. “Let’s make sure our axes are extra sharp today. We’ve got to show these mountain people that we Northmen can do more than fell timber!”
“Aye!” came the collective cheer of the thirty or so woodcutters as they raised their fists high in the air and then strode off towards the host of Shaimira.
“Cal!” Goran shouted back over his shoulder. “Find it … and find it soon, brother.”
Cal nodded, crossing his arm over the feathered armor of Terriah that he had found so long ago in the mountain halls of Petros. He watched as the woodcutters disappeared into the throngs around them, then eased his arm around Astyræ’s waist as they walked toward the winged horse.
“And what about you?” he asked her as he moved to cinch the leather straps of Farran’s old saddle around the flank of Uriel. “Will you ride to war? Or will you stay here and see to the people of Shaimira?
“Is that it?” she asked him, offended at his assumption. “Is that what you expect of me? To fight or to hide?”
“What else would you do?” Cal said, unsure of her offense.
“I have come this far, groomsman, because of you, because of your search for this light of yours. So if Uriel can bear me … well, I would like to continue my journey with you.” She offered her hand towards the lord of horses, hoping to receive his blessing.
Uriel snorted his agreement and placed his soft, pink nose in the palm of her slender hand.
“Besides, the blade and the bow have only just now found their way back together. Perhaps it is for reasons yet unknown to us. I would hate to be the cause of their separation again.”
Cal stopped what he was doing and turned to meet her violet stare. He smiled, his eyes filled with gratitude for her companionship and her fearless spirit. “Alright then,” he said as he leaned in and kissed her strongly before he donned his feathered helm. “Our journey, my lady… seems to have only just now begun.”
He reached out his hand for hers and helped her swing her leg up and over the back of the winged horse. There was just enough room in the dark leather saddle, if she rode close to him, though there was no place to secure her feet.
“Here,” he said as he handed her a small lashing of braided leather. “Tie this about your waist, and then to the back of my belt. The last thing I want is for you to lose your hold, and fall to your death,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh well… that instills me with such confidence, groomsman,” she said nervously as she followed his directions. Just then, a flash of blue light came screaming towards them from the direction of the pass.
“And where do you think you are going?” Deryn scolded.
Cal laughed aloud at the feigned offense of his Sprite guardian. “Nowhere without you, I can see.”
Deryn took in the sight of the two riders upon the back of the ancient horse lord, concern and pride smoldering in his azure eyes.
“If the great Tarrthála will permit me passage, I will ride with you; if none is granted, I will fly beside you,” Deryn said with a bow.
Uriel bowed his head in agreement and spoke without speaking to the three companions.
I will bare you three for as long as my wings will permit it. But though I have been summoned to lend aid to your cause, no secrets or hidden wisdoms have been granted to me to shorten the distance of your journey.
Astyræ’s eyes went wide and her breath caught in her chest as the words of this magical creature permeated the sanctuary of her thoughts. She squeezed Cal in nervous reverence. “Th-thank you…” she swallowed. “Thank you, Uriel.”
Cal reached down and stroked the neck of the mighty, white horse. “But that is where you are wrong, my friend,” he said with an earnest smile. “For the grace that you have already granted us, to ride upon the wings of the lord of horses, has revealed many unlooked for secrets and has imparted wisdom for our decisions.”
The horse snorted his understanding. Cal gestured to his Sprite friend to find his place at the head of the saddle. “Uriel, take us high … we have got to find the light of the THREE who is SEVEN if our friends ever have a hope of surviving this doom.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Astyræ tightened her grip about Cal’s waist, and Cal secured his hold upon the reins. With a blast of power Uriel sprang into a gallop, beating his mighty wings against the cold air.
“Cal?” Astyræ said nervously agains
t the rush of wind.
“Hang on, my lady!” he reassured her as he moved a hand to comfort hers.
The winged horse began his ascent upwards, circling the Palladium of Shaimira. As he did, the marching host of woodcutters and warriors let out a cheer that raised the spirits of all who had found themselves caught in the web of this war. Soon they were climbing higher, up past the roof tops of the hidden houses on the mountainside, and higher still past the watch towers and spires of the Palladium. The air grew colder as they soared up and finally over the peaks of the encircling mountains, until at last the great, darkened expanse of the Wreath opened up before them like a panorama.
“Cal!” Astyræ exclaimed, her fear supplanted quickly by wonder. “It is beautiful! Never in all my days would I have dreamed of seeing this world from such great heights!”
The violet glow of their violet hope seemed to permeate the sky about them, and though they could not take in the full scope of Aiénor’s splendor, their wonder was not diminished.
“How will we know where to look?” she asked him.
“I suppose it will be just like before, when the markings of the White Stag led us to the gates of Shaimira,” Cal shouted back to her. “Though I am not quite sure where we are supposed to begin our search.”
“Cal,” Deryn said gravely. “Look there!” He pointed to the ground ahead of them.
“Dear God!” Astyræ said, her words laden with dread. “There are so many of them. There is no chance that the warriors of Shaimira will stay them! We are outnumbered three, maybe four to one!”
Cal’s stomach churned at the sight of rank after rank of Nocturnal soldiers marching towards the Falls of Amon. Uriel circled high above the gathering forces, beyond the sight of the enemy below.
“There, do you see them?” Cal shouted at his friends. “In the valley below! Its Sendoa's men… marching northward to the base of the mountains.”
“I see them,” Astyræ said worriedly. “Hurry now, good men of Shaimira. This is no time to tarry.”
“Do you see anything else?” Deryn asked his friend. “Do you see any markings?”
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 24