by A. J. Cronin
~-~~-~
Although the sun is hidden by the clouds, making tracking it near impossible, by Leon’s reckoning after only two hours of travel he comes to the first signs of true civilization: houses of brick and stone, farms and paved roads. At a three-way crossroad, he is forced to stop. Many of the people are indoors on account of the rain, however hospitality would be lacking even in the summer. Shutters are closed against the stranger at first sight of him with each house he comes near, except one. An older woman steps out from her home, standing under the awning of her porch.
“Lost?” she asks.
“Which road will take me to Elenesia?” inquires Leon.
“The one to your left, good sir. It is not far.”
“Thank you.”
Leon starts to follow the woman’s instruction, but she calls after him.
“A word of caution, good sir: whatever it is that you have come for, do not tarry long in Elenesia.”
“I have only come bearing a message,” he says without bothering to face her.
“Deliver it, and then ride home with all haste. As is the nature of Lions, they roam about, seeking whom they might devour... but I do not need to tell you, of all people, do I?”
Leon twists in his saddle to look to the old woman, but she is gone. He starts to go to her house, but he seems to hear Cain’s voice in his mind. A voice from years past, warning him of what would happen if son crossed father again. Leon trots back to the roads, taking the left most as the woman told him.
The population increases the further along he travels, and so too does the quality of construction, the mud brick homes giving way to exquisite houses and mansions and stores built from rare varieties of stone and other exotic materials. These streets too are closed against Leon. If not for the smoke from chimneys and the light that peers out from behind the shutters, one might think this city deserted. He soon passes through a thick wall which divides this apparent lower class from the even larger and more ornate houses and shops which reside within Elenesia proper. Leon is struck by the lack of any sort of gate with which to bar passage into the city, the wall apparently doing little more than marking the city limit.
His mind ticks with all the tactical mistakes in the city design. He fantasizes about how easy it would be to take the city, about hoisting the banner of Valachia high above it. He shakes these thoughts out. They are not his, but his father’s. He tries to see Elenesia through the eyes of one who has not lived in Valachia his whole life. It is quaint, not without its charms, but he does not care for the overall architecture. Perhaps, he thinks, the marble which forms many of the Valachian buildings has wormed its way into his blood, making him partial to it even in light of his hatred for his own kingdom. All things considered, Elenesia is the most developed kingdom which rests outside Valachian influence he has yet seen. Which is actually not saying much, as the few places Leon has seen were small, insignificant towns at best, hovels belonging to barbarian heathens at worst.
The Elenesian palace now comes into his view, set in the center of the city. Unlike the city, devoid of people, the palace is well guarded, with patrols going their rounds and two fairly large guards at the entrance. Leon is stopped by these two as he nears them.
“What business have you here?” the larger of the two guards asks hoarsely.
“I am a messenger from Valachia,” Leon answers, not risking to reveal his true identity again.
The guards eye him harshly, looking to one another, then back.
“Give the message to us, and we will give it to our king.”
“I am to deliver it personally.”
Leon dismounts, standing nearly a foot taller than the guards. They pretend to not notice his intimidating stature, instead turning their eyes to a more manageable threat: Lionkiller, which Leon holds in his left hand.
“Surrender your weapon, and we shall escort you to our king.”
Leon obliges by handing over Lionkiller with false submissiveness. The guards then wheel around, leading into the palace. A darkness grips at Leon’s heart, his task now about to be completed, he cares not to drink in the splendor of the palace. Inside, they come to an open plaza, where countless powerful men and beautiful women are gathered, jovial of speech and light hearted. Could it possibly enter their darkest dreams what manner of man has just walked into their midst? Leon thinks to himself. Servants move in and out of the gathered with food and drink. A glint of detest arises in Leon in response to how these people carry themselves with their wantonness; shades of his father’s attitudes concerning those people and faiths outside of Valachian territory. This thought, however, Leon does not try to chase away.
The guards bring Leon to the king, a young, suave man, eating with his many wives and concubines. The sight of this little king does little to change Leon’s opinion, and makes his task somewhat easier, much to the Valachian prince’s chagrin.
“Your Highness, a messenger from Valachia,” speaks the previously mute guard, introducing Leon.
The whole of the palace becomes quiet as a crypt, all eyes gawking at Leon and their king.
“What have you for the King of Elenesia?” asks the closest and most beautiful of the queens.
“Only this,” Leon says, reaching into his coat and taking out the sealed parchment.
The Elenesian queen reaches out for it, but Leon ignores her totally, handing it to the king, who takes it reluctantly. The queen sneers at Leon for his disrespect of her. His task finished, Leon wrenches back possession of Lionkiller and storms out of the palace before the scroll can be opened. The words of the old woman at the crossroad repeating over and over in his ears. He mounts his animal, whipping at the reins. The days of rationing his horse’s strength pays off, the horse barreling at full speed out of the city, past the houses and shops and back to that single road to the west. He does not even look twice as he passes the homes at the crossroad.
He rides thus for some hours, eventually slowing to a pace much kinder for the horse when it appears that he is not being followed. The full force of the rain seems to retaliate against the previous peace as the day wanes. Not wanting to remain in these lands a moment longer than he needs to, Leon resolves to ride through the night.
~-~~-~
At around midnight, thunder begins to roll across the east, lightning reflecting off the rain and creating the illusion of two different worlds occupying the same place. He raises his head up to the sky.
“What must I do? What can I do?”
He hopes for some sort if answer, but only receives the continual sound of the elements.
“What hope is there?” he whispers, his heart defeated.
~-~~-~
The night slogs along endlessly, Leon feeling the strong pull of sleep. He skirts the edge of horrible reality and the sweet emptiness of dreams, even into the new dawn. The sun finally shows its true power, banishing the storms to oblivion and rejuvenating the Valachian prince as it climbs to its rightful place at the top of the world. To his surprise, Leon has come to the tree and the fount that had protected him three days previous. He stops, resting under the tree, letting the horse do as it wishes after its hard labor. The horse drinks from the spring, ignoring the many pools of rainwater.
“We are almost home, friend,” Leon says to the animal, petting it as it laps the spring water.
Leon rests for half an hour, stretching his tired muscles.
When back on the road, Leon constantly is checking over his shoulder, part of him still expecting to be followed, or rather hunted. Before the ending of the day he arrives at the river and the east entrance to Valachia. The bridge is already down, with no sign of the eastern guard at its post.
Entering the city he also finds the Dread Knight buildings, the shops and homes all completely empty. He rides forward, contemplating the possible reasons for the lack of people. Reaching the center of Valachia, the answer is thrown hard into his face with a vengeance.
At the fountain, the prince finds the largest
crowd he has ever seen, a sea of loud talking Valachians standing about while eagerly keeping their eyes upon the western road. An old man hears the sound of clacking hooves upon the road and, twirling about to them, discovers Cain’s son mounted on powerful steed.
“Prince Alastor! You are home again!”
“What is going on here?” Leon asks forcefully.
“It is most fortunate you should be here now, for your father also is to arrive at any moment with our triumphant soldiers!”
“Triumphant soldiers? What are you talking about, old man?”
“Oh, yes... you left on your errand before he departed. Well, Cain took the army to one of the western kingdoms and broke them in less than three days. Not a single one of our men perished, and the opposition lost only fifty.”
Leon is dumbstruck by this. Before he can continue questioning, a cheer explodes from the far end of the crowd, the old man spinning back to see what has caused the commotion. From atop his animal Leon can see all too clearly: Cain riding in from the west, leading the Dread Knights and behind them the regular army. The procession comes finally to the fountain, and then moves north to the castle. Leon can only watch from the edge of the gathered, unseen, the dark foreboding that had been in his heart finally making its reason for existing apparent.
“Cain! Cain! Cain!” the majority of the people shout, along with other praises lost in their dissonance.
The few who are motionless and quiet seem to have their eyes drawn to Leon as he sits upon his horse, and his eyes to theirs. The Guardian race files overhead, throwing streamers, paper rain and carrying banners. One however, not flying, spots Leon and pushes his way through the crowd to the prince.
“Master Leon, it is good to see you are safe,” he says, standing nearly tall enough to speak face to face with Leon.
“Hello, Uri’el,” Leon responds a bit dryly.
“Why did you not tell me or my wife that you were departing?”
“Father sent me out in a hurry, not allowing me the luxury of farewells.”
“I see. What did he send you to do?” Uri’el asks, his tone almost accusing.
Leon lowers his eyes, hesitating.
“He sent me east, to Elenesia, to deliver a scroll.”
Uri’el’s expression changes, every good feeling that might have existed has been sent far, far away.
“I see. I suppose you will want to meet with Elizabetha and Charlotte after informing your father of your success?”
“I get the distinct impression that father will not care that I have come home with my task done,” Leon says, still stunned by the gathered mass before him.
“Well... after you have seen your mother and sister, please do come to my home. There is something I need to discuss with you.”
Leon nods to Uri’el, staring at the tail end of the procession.
“What do you know of this?” Leon asks, gesturing to his father, referring to the battle Cain was in.
“What I want to discuss with you involves this as well, but is best left to speech in private.”
“I will see you as soon as I can then.”
As Uri’el readies to fly away, he spies Lionkiller laying across Leon’s lap.
“Lionkiller? I thought that sword was destroyed.”
“Charlotte saved it from the furnace.”
“Quite brave of her. Did it see any use?” Uri’el asks, though his tone is more revealing of his knowledge than he tries to let on.
“It did.”
“Tell me of that when we meet.”
With the slightest of bows, Uri’el leaves, flying to a tall spire near the west end of the kingdom center.
The castle road is packed, impossible for Leon to get through on foot, let alone on horseback. He backtracks to the eastern road, finding a small alleyway which winds north behind shops and inns and smithies. He comes to a stable with all but one of the stalls full. A young woman is tending to a recently born pony. The clacking hooves of Leon’s animal echoes loudly through the alleyway, catching the attention of the stable girl.
“Leon!” she shouts with a smile. “I was worried when they came for your horse but would not tell me what they intended to do with it.”
“Father simply sent me on an errand. Nothing more.”
Leon dismounts, handing the reins to her. She looks into the animal’s eyes, scratching it behind the ears, petting its neck.
“He is very tired. How far did you go?”
“A city-kingdom called Elenesia.”
“In the east?”
“Yes.”
“He seems sad, but still proud. Just like his rider.”
Leon smiles, but has no response to that attempt at making him feel better.
“Take good care of him for me. He deserves a nice, long rest.”
“Like I would do any less than give my best care?”
“Of course not.”
Leon leaves the alley, going back to the fountain. A full celebration has broken out, loud music can be heard coming from all along the northern road. Crestfallen, he veers away from that road, ducking into an old, abandoned cathedral on the corner of the southern road.
The old religious building is dark and musty, moisture hanging heavy in the air with that disgusting smell that accompanies. The pews have begun to rot, the rugs and tapestries fallen apart, eaten by bugs and decayed by time. At the rear of the cathedral a spiral stair descends deep into the earth; at its bottom Leon comes to a tight, cramped, twisting tunnel. There is no fire to light the tunnels, but there is a bluish-green luminescent mineral within the walls offering some, however small, degree of light to travel by. He navigates the tunnel for some time before coming into a beautiful grotto, humongous in size and scope. The luminous minerals grow in abundance here, and an underground waterfall pours into a deep pool.
At the far end of the luminous grotto is a staircase hewn from the stone. Leon ascends these stairs, coming to a door presumably made of marble. A secret latch within the door unlocks it, allowing him to push it open. He has to lean into the door with his shoulder, but eventually the door gives, revealing the inside of the keep which stands beside the castle. Leon steps inside, closing the secret door behind him until he can hear the lock catch.
Although Leon can hear the boisterous celebration outside, the keep itself is quiet, without any living soul to be seen, despite being lit by carefully tended lamps and candles. He walks up the spiral stair to the fifth floor, where the keep and the castle are connected by a wide hall. He stops for a moment, looking out the windows to the court outside and the growing celebration. Cain drinks wine while a number of young women dance around him. Then their clothes start falling off to the cheers of those gathered. With a snort of disgust the prince turns away, hands balled into excruciatingly tight fists.
His gloves rip when they can bare his wrath no longer.
The castle too, Leon discovers, is rather empty, which he prefers, as it allows him to move freely within the corridors. He walks slowly through the castle, prolonging as best he can the necessity for talking. He eventually makes for the gardens, where he finds his mother and sister tending the night plants together. Charlotte sees him first, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. As much as he likes being home, he cannot even fake a smile, let alone hug his own sister back.
“What is wrong?” his sister asks.
“Nothing, I am just tired,” he answers. Lying to Charlotte has become far too easy for him over the years. He hands Lionkiller to her.
“Did you have to use it?”
“Yes.”
Charlotte looks into her brother’s eyes.
“Except this time, it was not against unruly animals, was it?”
“No.”
She lowers her eyes. Knowing that her brother has taken a human life almost makes her sick to her stomach, but she knows that if he did, it was warranted.
“What do you want me to do with Lionkiller?” she asks.
“Hide it again. Who knows if or when I will have to use it next.”
Charlotte nods sadly, taking the sword reluctantly.
“Go tell mother about your trip to Elenesia. She has been worried by it since you left, though of course she never said so.”
When Charlotte leaves, Leon’s mother beckons to him. Elizabetha is an elegant woman, fair haired and kind faced, but she is frail, appearing to suffer from some hidden sickness. She sits upon a stone bench set before a small, artificial waterfall. Leon sits beside his mother.
“Hello, son.”
“Mother.”
“Continuing to do your father’s bidding?”
“I suppose.”
“Did you know he was to go to war the very same day he sent you away?”
“No.”
Elizabetha sighs, her suspicions about her husband confirmed.
“He sent you away so that you would not interfere. Most bold of him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Why indeed, Leon.”
“You say that as though I should know.”
A moment passes as Elizabetha looks into Leon’s eyes, peering into his soul.
“It could not have been easy for you to take the lives of those pirates, even if they might have deserved it.”
“How did you know about that!?”
Elizabetha giggles at her son’s shock.
“Dear Leon, I see and hear much more than you or your father will ever know.”
“And here I thought father was the cryptic one.”
Another laugh from her.
“Are you not supposed to meet with Uri’el?” she asks from out of nowhere.
“I am. I will not ask how you knew that as well.”
“Well, you will not think me wicked for knowing this. Uri’el visited not long before you came to let me know you were home.”
“Seeing as you knew about the pirates, I do not suppose there is any point in recounting the rest of my trip, is there?”
“I would not keep Uri’el waiting, Leon, as he has been waiting for three days to speak with you.”
“What about father? Last I checked, he was not privy to second sight, and might want to know how the trip fared.”