The sun had just dipped below the horizon when two guards came to relieve Laarvel and Aarvin’s post. It was a great effort to raise his head at the commotion, but it was worth it when he saw Laarvel send them away. He even managed a weak smile. There was at least one dwarf who cared enough for him to stay until his journey was completely finished.
Bindaar’s chin had nearly fallen back to his chest when an even greater commotion grabbed his attention. Doentaat charged through the gates with a canteen of water. He raced straight past Laarvel and Aarvin and up to the Sacred Pine. Neither of the guards attempted to subdue him. Instead they simply watched him tend to his friend.
It almost felt like a dream as Doentaat dumped water on his hand and splashed it all over Bindaar’s face. His tongue darted out of his mouth desperately trying to sop up some of the moisture. Then the mouth of the canteen was at his lips and Doentaat was helping him tilt his head back to drink.
“Stupid oaf,” Doentaat scolded as Bindaar drank. “I be so sorry I left ye alone this morning. I be wishing I could be taking it all back.”
Bindaar continued to drink as Doentaat rubbed his head with his free hand. As focused as he was at getting the cool water into his belly, Bindaar was acutely aware what a big risk his old friend was taking. If any dwarf had a mind to rat Doentaat out to Ahm, his old house mate would be strung up to it as soon as Bindaar’s carcass was taken down.
“Thanks, me friend,” Bindaar did his best to smile through the pain as he whispered all rough and gravelly, “but ye shouldn’t be risking your own hide for the sake of mine. Me crimes ain’t on account of ye, and ye shouldn’t be paying for them.”
Doentaat’s eyes welled up, “Ye can be shutting your gob of that nonsense. This be all my fault, and I ain’t leaving your side. Ahm be damned.”
Doentaat wrapped his arms around Bindaar, buried his head in his chest and wept. Bindaar leaned his head down until it was resting atop Doentaat’s, and he wept too. Before long, Laarvel and Aarvin were wrapped up in the mess, sobbing along with them. Sadly, for Bindaar, it was the most love anyone had ever shown him, and it would be the last thing he would ever know.
Chapter 7
The Court of Yfregeof
Sunlight poured in through the window, less than gently tugging at Maelich’s eyelids. He was slightly disoriented as the world came into focus around him. The window letting in all of that light was monstrous, double-pained and lightly etched with two fallon. It looked south down the mountain. The view it offered was like nothing Maelich had ever seen. The world stretched out before him, sprawling out, rolling toward a slight, green smudge on the horizon. That had to be the Sobbing Forest. He suddenly remembered how he had gotten there. Everything flooded in. All of the events at the temple, Ymitoth crumbling before him but not before Kallum, the Lord, had spoken to him. He couldn’t try to think of that just yet. Other questions needed his attention. Where was he? Where was Ymitoth, and where were Perrin and Jom? He climbed out of the bed he was in and went to the window. Even those would have to wait a bit. That view simply refused to release his gaze.
Once Maelich was finally able to grab control of himself, he turned to find a door and found something quite a bit more interesting to him, a looking glass. Perched atop a terribly fancy chest of drawers was a giant mirror. He had never seen one before. Ymitoth had described them to him when he had discovered his blurry reflection in Yester’s Pond, but he had never actually seen one. Ymitoth said to him at that time, “Don’t be looking too long, lad. Ye can’t be getting a good look at ye self unless ye see it in a looking glass. That be what ye really look like.” He was absolutely right. Maelich had never seen himself before. Now he did, and he was pleased with what he saw.
His hair was long and golden. It draped over his shoulders, framing his face on its way down. His eyes were big and as blue as the sparkling waters of Yester’s Pond. As he looked in his own eyes he noticed how deep they were as well. He toyed with the idea that he could see into his own soul through this magic glass. What would he find if he looked hard enough? His skin was smooth and tightly wrapped around high cheek bones and a strong chin. Gazing at himself, he thought he was quite handsome compared to other men he’d seen. Did other people see him in that way, or was he pleasing only to himself? He wrinkled up his nose and raised his eyebrows, then toyed with other faces as he giggled, forgetting about all of the heavy business weighing on him. He stood there making ridiculous faces at himself until the door to the room swung slowly open.
“Sorry to disturb ye, milord,” Ymitoth said with a bow as he crossed the threshold into Maelich’s room. “Did ye sleep well?”
“I suppose I did,” Maelich began. “I guess I’d be none the wiser if I hadn’t”
“Maelich, listen to your voice and the way ye be talking. Ye sound different,” Ymitoth said with an odd look of surprise.
“I guess I do,” Maelich made a face like he had just had a taste of some spoiled tubberslat. “What do you suppose that is all about?”
“I be at a loss milord,” Ymitoth shrugged.
“Father, please stop referring to me as your lord. In my heart and in my mind there is nothing different between us,” Maelich sighed as he put a hand on Ymitoth’s shoulder.
“I be sorry milord, but no matter how hard I be trying, I can’t be seeing ye as nothing less now,” the humbled father replied.
“Father,” Maelich began, “I am not yet ready to be free from your wise tutelage. I still need you to guide me. Everything I’ve seen since I left our hut has me confused and unsure. I’m starting to understand my importance in our world, but I still haven’t an answer as to why I am so important. You know more about me than I do, and I need to draw from your understanding in order to form my own. No matter how you see me now, understand that you raised me and much of what I am, if not all, is directly because of you.”
Ymitoth looked to the ground and slowly shook his head with tears threatening. “Milord,” he paused and corrected himself, “Son, there be many reasons for me feelings right at this moment. Most, I be guessing, be because of what I seen last night in the temple, but some because I be knowing that ye be leaving me. And I be knowing I ain’t your father. I be wishing that I was, son, but I ain’t. Ye be a god, Maelich. Your story be written in the book. How can a mere man like me be presuming to teach a god anything?”
“Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth, father?” Maelich’s tone was almost pleading. “How can you presume to teach a god? What do I know but what I have learned from you? You taught me all I know, and you raised me to be what I am. If you revere me as a god now, it’s because of your teaching that I am. What would I be if left to raise myself but a rotting carcass? Now, if you won’t oblige me in my request, then I will command it. Furthermore, if you insist on forcing me to lay commands down to you, I have this one. Don’t ever question your importance in my life. You are my teacher, my mentor, my father, and my hero. Nothing, not you, nor my destiny, nor Kallum will ever change that. Do you understand me?”
Ymitoth lost a tear down his cheek that had been teetering at the edge of his lower eyelid, as he smiled and embraced Maelich, “Aye, son, I be understanding ye, even with all your funny talk.”
After the embrace, Maelich glanced quickly around the room and asked, “How did I get here, and how did you come to live in such a magnificent palace? We’re in a tower, aren’t we? How high up are we?” Maelich paused long enough to raise an eyebrow before adding, “This place seems way too fancy to be home to the grizzled warrior who trained me in the ways of the blade.”
Ymitoth chuckled as he scanned the room before agreeing, “Aye, these walls always seemed they had a mind to crush me down to nothing, like they might be crushing the wind right out of me chest.” The old warrior’s smile fled in favor of something a bit more nostalgic, “How’d ye get here, though? That be what ye be wanting to know. A couple of guards came round and roused me. Ye were sleeping so sound, I ordered them not to wake ye. They
be the ones what brung ye here.”
Maelich beamed, as he looked around the room again, “That explains that, but it doesn’t explain how the mightiest swordsman in all the land grew out of this opulence. I mean, you were made for the trail. You could track a fallon with nothing more than a nicked leg for miles through heavy brush. How does that come from this?”
Ymitoth shrugged, “I be the eldest son of a second son. Me father, Ymantl, was brother to the king. Being the second son, he didn’t earn the same attention from his father that his brother, the future king, received. Being left to his own devices, he found he was quite a bit fonder of the knights, hunters, smiths, and stable boys than any of them powdered and pampered types what liked to hang around the courtyards. Ye think I be handy with a blade, lad? I’ll tell ye, me father had no equal, trained by the finest of Havenstahl’s guards. I ain’t had no chance of ever warming the throne with me own rump, so he trained me in all of the same.”
“So, you’re a prince?” Maelich asked before confirming his own question, “You’re a prince of Havenstahl, the greatest city of men. You are royalty.”
“Bah,” Ymitoth scoffed, “I be a soldier and I ain’t never been nothing more. Yfregeof, he’d been the prince. His father, me uncle Yfrahnu, was king until he and me father were betrayed. Now, Yfregeof be the king, and I still ain’t nothing but a soldier. That’s all I be wanting to be. I be seeing what that throne will do to a man. There be coward’s blood flowing through the veins of me cousin, the king.”
“The king of the greatest city of men is a coward? How can that be?”
“It ain’t nothing but who ye be born to what makes ye a king. It ain’t no feat of greatness, just blood. Whose blood ye got in your veins, that be what make ye a king.”
Maelich’s eyes squinted slightly, “I am truly unable to imagine a man who deserves your jealousy.”
“I ain’t jealous of the man,” Ymitoth rolled his eyes, “but I ain’t carrying no love around for him either. He’s lucky me blade never made its way into his chest. I told ye that his and me father had been betrayed. Them two had gone to negotiate new trade with that bastard, Ahm. Well, it weren’t no negotiation, it weren’t nothing more than an ambush. He ate them, alive if ye believe the stories. All of Havenstahl, me more than any, wished our new king to be mounting an assault on Maomnosett. What that giant did been an act of war. Yfregeof, the great king,” Ymitoth spat on the ground, “cowered on his new throne. Well, the people were having none of it. They formed up a council to dethrone the gutless waste and put me at the head of it.”
“How is it that he still breathes and still wears the crown?”
“The lord, Kallum, called me to a greater purpose, raising the savior of Ouloos and teaching him to be a warrior and a man.”
Maelich sat down on the bed and scanned the room again, his head slightly shaking back and forth as it moved from wall to ceiling to wall and then back to Ymitoth, “So, that’s how it ends. You left to raise me, and the effort perished?”
“Perished?” Ymitoth’s left eye squinted a bit as he shrugged, “No. Ain’t nothing perished. All them same ones what thought my rump right for that throne still be wanting to see me upon it. Soldiers ain’t leaders, though. Me cousin did a right fine job of keeping all the swords what mattered fat and happy. He’s always done right by his generals. The ones what followed me, they still be wanting to see a crown sitting on this old head of mine.”
“And you don’t want that?” Maelich hardly paused before adding, “No. The greatest sword in all the land would lose his mind trapped in a throne room.”
“Aye,” Ymitoth chuckled, “your words be true. Still, Yfregeof be a weary, distrustful man. He be seeing all men as a threat to his throne. That be making him dangerous.”
“Well, I’m not afraid.”
“And ye shouldn’t be,” Ymitoth replied quickly. “Ain’t a man alive I’d rather have at me back in battle. Ye should be wary, though. Even the frailest of creatures can be fierce when backed against the wall. He’ll be complaining ye be too young to take the trials. I be fearing what fate he might be having in store for ye.”
Maelich stood and lifted his chin, “I’m ready for whatever task he has in store. Nothing will stop me.”
“Ye’re a brave lad, Maelich, but ye ain’t seen much of the world yet. And ye ain’t faced one so wily and cunning as the king. I ain’t a lick of trust in me for the man,” Ymitoth paused for a moment, a faraway look settling into his eyes. He shook it off and continued, “Ain’t nothing can be done about that. Ye be needing to take the trial, and the king be the one handing them out.”
The old soldier turned toward a wardrobe against the wall opposite the window. The wood was stained a rich mahogany. A black pattern adorned the edges, curving tightly and coming to points before forming the rack of a fallon at the top. Both doors had large diamond shapes carved in their middles with smaller diamond shapes surrounding them. The door pulls were stretched diamonds, like pointy tear drops of polished prang. Ymitoth opened both doors wide and rummaged around a bit. When he returned to Maelich, his arms were full of fine fabric, all bright colors like the fancy folk wear.
“Ye can put these on,” Ymitoth instructed as he laid the pile of clothing on the bed next to Maelich.
Maelich’s mind turned circles trying to keep up with all of what Ymitoth had to say. He barely noticed how nervous the old man seemed. Now that was a switch. Ymitoth had nerves of steel. He would face down a pack of Amatilazo alone with nothing but his two fists and a scowl to defend himself, and there would be no evidence of nerves on his face. Yet, the great warrior certainly appeared out of sorts.
“Is the mightiest man I have ever known nervous?” Maelich mused.
Ymitoth rolled his eyes and waved the idea off, “I might be trying that if we had time for it, but we ain’t. Now, hush up with them jibes and put your focus to these words what about to come out of me mouth. First, I’ll be presenting ye to Yfregeof as me student and a pledge to ride for the mighty house of Havenstahl. The king will be complaining that ye be too young and not of this house. Pay that no mind. It don’t matter a lick. There be a greater power at work here, and Yfregeof won’t dare be thinking about disobeying the word of Kallum. Even still, he’ll be doing his best to be coming up with a task he ain’t thinking ye can accomplish.” Ymitoth paused and looked deeply into Maelich’s eyes before adding, “Ye can’t be failing, lad, no matter what task that vile coward be laying before ye.”
Maelich dressed as the time to address Yfregeof drew near, and Ymitoth moved onto lighter topics. The room they occupied was part of his quarters. Being an heir to the throne, he made his home within the castle walls. Oftentimes, however, he found himself staying with friends in the city. These quarters were a bit too lavish for his liking. He continued by telling Maelich that Perrin and Jom were being cared for by the family of one of the most trusted warriors in his command, and they would remain there until a proper home could be found for them.
By the time Ymitoth had finished explaining everything to him as best he could, Maelich was dressed. His garb was quite a bit fancier than anything he had ever worn before. Fine, shiny boots hugged his ankles tightly all the way up to his knees where they gave way to pale blue trousers that were soft and snug. They were so light, it felt as if he wore nothing at all. His shirt was pure white, loose fitting with ruffles at the chest and cuff. His jacket was a darker blue, made of a stiffer, more durable fabric. Decorative gold stitching adorned the lapels and cuffs. He looked like a prince, and Ymitoth, looking quite proud, told him so.
As Maelich stood admiring himself, Ymitoth went to the wardrobe and fished something out of the bottom. He emerged carrying a long, rolled up cloth. He gently laid the bundle on the bed and unrolled it. When he finally turned back toward Maelich, his face beamed just as bright as the sunlight glinting off the curvy, prang handle of the sword he held up with both hands.
Maelich failed to suppress a gasp.
Ymito
th’s smile widened as he approached Maelich and bent to one knee, “Son,” he began, holding the shimmering thing up toward Maelich, “I had this sword made for ye by the finest swordsmith in all of Havenstahl. Don’t be letting her shimmering beauty fool ye. She ain’t just a shiny decoration. This dame’s been folded two-hundred-and-fifty times and sharpened ‘til she could split a blade of grass. This blade will never be letting ye down.”
Maelich’s breath caught in his throat as he took the sword and unsheathed it. He had never seen its equal. Not even Ymitoth’s mighty blade stood as great. The light pouring in through the windows radiated off of it as if it were a burning, white-hot blade of fire. He went through a couple of his sword motions as a smile quickly surfaced on his lips. It was perfectly balanced. It felt good in his hands, like it belonged there. He fastened it to his belt and embraced Ymitoth.
“Thank you, father. I will make you proud.”
Then the two men headed down to the throne room where the king held court. Maelich counted the floors as they walked down a grand, spiral staircase. By the time they reached the bottom, he had achieved a count of ten. The stairway let out into a great hallway with paintings of men adorned in garb similar to the fancy clothes Ymitoth had given him. He felt like royalty, and according to Ymitoth, he was. The great hallway seemed to stretch forever before finally cutting to the right and spilling into a gigantic hall. Havenstahl had no shortage of amazing sights, and the king’s throne room was no exception.
The room was one hundred feet deep by seventy-five feet wide. Two thrones sat against the wall opposite the entrance beneath a great emblem that matched the one at the gates of the city exactly. The only difference between the two was the fact that this one was etched in prang rather than iron. A man bearing an uncanny resemblance to Ymitoth sat in the throne toward Maelich’s left. He wore an immense, elaborate crown made of prang and encrusted with all forms of jewels. Maelich reckoned this was Yfregeof. He held a scepter in his hand, as one might expect a king would, and a melancholy look upon his face. In the lesser throne on the right sat an historic beauty. Despite her obvious sadness—she wore a look nothing short of despair—the years had failed to mask the delicate elegance of her features.
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