“Elmer, I think I will take my chances,” Engelmann said with a bit of his characteristic temerity back in his voice. “Jhames has ships that need to set sail, and if these sticks make him feel better about it, well … who am I to stand in his way? Besides,” Engelmann paused to scratch his mossy beard, “I have a message I think he will want to hear.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michael busied himself with his final preparations, greeting the day with a wide-eyed vigor before the first flames of amber began to lick the sky. His excitement overwhelmed whatever weariness he might have had at the lack of sleep from the night before. His last few hours had been a flurry of arrangements and goodbyes as he readied himself for the adventure he was about to embark upon.
His father spoke of pride and honor, and his mother lavished him with the worried fussing and kisses that all mothers are inclined to pour upon their children, regardless of their age. Though she told Michael she was happy for him, the truth was that his mother had not known the taste or sound of real happiness for nearly twenty years. She did her best to buoy his excitement, though Michael knew it was mostly an act. With his leather pack stuffed tightly and his farewell embraces made, Michael briskly walked through the alleys and streets of Westriver in pursuit of his newly appointed destiny.
He was but half a league to the Kings’ Gate when the silver sky rang with the unfamiliar tone of an unfamiliar horn. Long and round did the earthen notes ring in the pre-amber dawn, and at first Michael was startled by their strange sound. Here in the walled city, the only sounds that were permitted to ring out like this were the short, bright notes of the Capital guard’s brass, and of course the ominous notes that came from Priests’ long golden trumpets, signaling the unwelcome news of the felled branches.
Michael stopped to listen, not sure whose pursed lips and bellowed breath birthed the foreign sound. The last thing he wanted on this day, of all days, was an uprising from a desperate band of outliers or some sort of skirmish that would require him to ready more horses and delay or possibly abandon his new assignment altogether.
The strange horns rang out again; their unusual sound bounced and echoed off the stone-paved streets of the walled city. This time, in answer to their call, the short, bright blast of the watchman’s brass welcomed the foreign sound with a tone of expectancy.
“The woodcutters!” Michael exclaimed with a sudden realization. “Thank the THREE who is SEVEN they have arrived!” Michael instinctively reached up towards his collar, looking for his sacred flint, which for the whole of his life had made its home fastened securely around his neck. This time, just like the last few dozen times in the past several months, he had to remind himself that it was no longer here; it was safe in Cal’s keeping. Michael hurried off, his feet animated all the more by renewed excitement. A tale or two about his dearly missed friend would hopefully soon follow his greeting of the woodcutters.
It was here, at this time of day, that one of the most awe-inspiring treasures of all of Haven was on full display. The “melding of the fires,” as Engelmann would call it, where the bright silver of the evening’s flames mingled in stunning perfection with the warming shades of morning’s amber, was a breathtaking sight to behold.
Cal used to call it the “intertwingling”. Of course Michael would not-so-graciously remind him that “intertwingling” wasn’t even a real word, but that never seemed to deter Cal.
“Some kinds of beauty cannot be merely defined by real words,” he would say in mock offense. “No, brother, beauty like this must inspire language anew.”
This beauty, however one would describe it, had gone long unnoticed in the greying twilight of the tree, and so it was that one of the greatest of all travesties unfolded daily in the great city of Haven. The evil dark had won an inconspicuous victory, for what could be a more crippling strike than for beauty to show herself in all her revealed glory, and yet go completely disregarded by minds too fixated on the lesser preoccupations and worrisome troubles of their days?
As Michael paused his hurried pace for a moment, he watched the unassuming glory of the mingling light. He wondered how he had spent so much of his life not ever noticing, much less caring about, the beauty that still shined through the chaos. His newfound awe mixed equally with disappointment in himself, and he realized it was rather odd for him to even recognize this haunting regret. The days since he had come under the tutelage of Engelmann had brought all kinds of new revelations into the forefront of his consciousness.
I shall miss this intertwingling of Cal’s, he told himself. For I fear that we will be too far across the Dark Sea and too busy in our assignment to appreciate moments such as this one.
Michael could hear the loud clamor of pounding hooves and snorting horses as the company of woodcutters approached from the North. They came to a halt just outside the Kings’ Bridge, and Michael thought they appeared like giants atop their mounts. Their beards and furs made them seem like something from another world altogether, far removed from the sophisticated and largely clean-shaven populace of Haven.
In what seemed like perfectly orchestrated timing, the huge, iron portcullis of the Kings’ Gate woke to life; its reverberation could be felt all the way on the opposite side of the river. Michael watched as the knights, mounted atop their destriers, led the company of the volunteer men-at-arms across the Kings’ Bridge to meet the arriving contingent of woodcutters. He couldn’t keep the anticipation from welling up in his chest as he watched the brave guardsmen file out in practiced columns of regimented order. Michael ran as fast as he could towards his newly-arrived brothers, not wanting to miss out on this momentous union, nor to be seen as one who was less than committed by arriving late to the parade of men bound for Abondale.
The two gathered groups of men stood in perfect juxtaposition. Those who were trained by the Citadel stood at resolute attention, their green and silver ablaze in precise uniformity, while the burly men of the North each wore his personality in furs and helm. The northmen did not stand at trained attention, nor did they salute those with whom they had not yet bled; no, each man in the company of woodcutters showed his silent respect for the moment in the way he saw fit.
The line of men-at-arms split as a tall man, one head and shoulders above the rest of those in his command, walked proudly through the ranks of what was obviously his company. His great, black cape was fastened to his green chest guard by two silver trees, one representing the tree of Haven, and the other the new colony across the Dark Sea.
“Welcome, my brothers,” the tall, dark-haired man said to the company of woodcutters. “I am glad for your arrival, for we have much ahead of us. Which of you is Yasen? The one they call the North Wolf?”
“I am Yasen,” Goran said in an exaggerated bow. “I am the North Wolf.”
The men of the North broke the silent tension of the serious moment with a gale of laughter. Yasen dismounted his horse and made his way over to the tall man. “Please forgive Goran here, for the THREE who is SEVEN chose to weave all of his wits into the fabric of his hair, so as you can see, he is a bit … witless,” Yasen apologized as he pointed to the shiny, bald spot atop Goran’s thick head.
“I am Yasen, chief to these woodcutters, and humble servant to our Priest King,” he said, extending out his arm in a gesture of friendship.
The dark-haired man stared at Yasen, face unmoved, as if the silent gears of his mind were debating whether to reprimand or befriend this barbaric northman. Finally something seemed to settle in his mood, so the governor took Yasen’s arm in his own and forced a rather uneasy smile as he let out a bellowing laugh. “Welcome Yasen, welcome to Haven; though I regretfully must say that we won’t be here long enough for you to enjoy its full hospitality. I am Seig, governor of the first colony, and I am pleased to finally meet you.”
“That’s just as well, Governor, for I am not sure how long the hospitality of your city would last with the likes of these fine men running loose within its walls,” Yasen joked in
a half-serious tone.
“Come, Yasen, let me introduce you to my captain of the guard,” Seig said, motioning to a man a dozen or so years his junior. The captain came forward, extending a slim arm out to Yasen. His thin jaw was steeled with the responsibility of his newly acquired office, his nerves robbing the moment of any possible joy. His thick, silver-colored hair gleamed in the light of the amber tree, and Yasen could not help but be mildly amused at the pretty face of this new captain of the guard. Though winsome features such as his may have earned him favor in the courts of the Citadel and perhaps with the women of Haven, Yasen could tell that the officer was not nearly as confident as he looked when it came to the prospects of the rough, arduous affairs of exploration and battle.
Yasen shook arms with the young man, bridling his hesitation and amusement.
“Captain Tahd here has served me loyally for nearly seven years as one of my brightest lieutenants in the Capital guard.”
“I trust that your men, bald or otherwise, will do their best to offer a bit more respect to their new governor,” Tahd suggested to Yasen.
“Well, I don’t know if I would trust that too much, but I will do my best to see to it that they swing their axes when the time comes,” Yasen replied, attempting to break the uncomfortable tension between himself and this silver-haired, little man.
“What are our orders, Governor?” Yasen asked Seig. “Do we plan to ride to Abondale immediately or are there other agendas that I am unaware of? For I have a company of restless axes and restless men, and I would so like to unleash their restlessness upon the forests of the Western Wreath, as soon as we can manage.”
“Well said, Yasen,” Seig clapped him on the back approvingly. “This kind of eagerness is just what our colony will need. Perhaps you are the right man for the position after all. Huh!” Seig looked through the ranks of guardsmen and woodcutters until he found the man he was looking for.
“Armas!” Seig shouted out. “Could you join us, Captain?”
Armas, who had been waiting, mounted upon his white courser, rode over to the small council that stood just outside the entrance to the Kings’ Bridge. With a smoothness of practiced familiarity, Armas dismounted and greeted the gathered group of men.
“Yasen,” Armas said, clasping arms with the northman. “It is good to see you here, friend. I trust that Hollis sent us his best men?”
“He did indeed. Captain, is it? When last we spoke just a few days ago, you were but a lowly lieutenant,” Yasen said with a wink and a smile.
“A report if you please, Captain,” Seig interrupted him. “Are we ready to depart for Abondale?”
“I have received word this morning from Carina the shipwright. The Arborists did indeed deliver the gilded branches, and even now she and her men are working to properly secure them to the two ships.”
“What of supplies and provisions?” asked Seig.
“Already on board, Governor,” Armas told them.
“Tell me, have you heard from the mastersmith about sending us smithy of our own?” Seig asked. “For we have eager—rather, restless axes that will need a great deal of attention.” He nodded in acknowledgment to Yasen.
“We have,” Armas announced. “One has already been sent to Abondale to see to it that all of his materials are properly stowed aboard the Resolve. “Armas looked down at the bound ledger he had been carrying with him. “It says here that his name is …” Armas searched amidst the pen marks and scribbled accountings, “Wielund, and it would seem as though he has been the prize apprentice to the mastersmith for these last four years.”
“Very good, Armas,” Seig commended. “I am sure your friend Yasen here, and all of his fine woodcutters, will be relieved to know this Wielund.” His tone underscored a hint of sarcasm in reference to the northmen, but he kept it veiled with the polished expression on his countenance.
“It is not just my men and I who will be glad to have him. It shall be all of Haven! For once those branches burn up, it might be his skill alone that keeps your great city’s fire alive.” Yasen spoke the truth with little disguise or care for the politics behind his words.
Tahd’s face bunched together in an obvious display of dislike for the woodcutter who spoke his mind so freely. Armas, doing his best to not sink the expedition before they had even set sail, called over to Michael, who had been busy searching for a way to make himself look useful while the officers held conference.
The groomsman ran over right away, taking his place amidst the small council. Armas address the gathered men. “This here is Michael, he will be your groomsman for the first colony, and has proven—”
“My apologies,” interrupted Yasen, holding up his hand, “but we have a groomsman. He is a brave man, and he is quite familiar with our methods, not to mention our horses. If it is just the same with you, Governor, I would prefer it if he is the one tending to our mounts and our beasts of burden.”
“Oh? I was not informed that Hollis would be sending one of his groomsmen along with his North Wolf across the sea,” Armas said, puzzled. “Perhaps, then, Michael here will just tend to the destriers of the knights and the mounts of the officers.”
Michael did his best to keep his appearance unmoved by this unfolding of circumstances, but the sinking feeling of impending disappointment weakened his confidence.
“Don’t be a fool, Armas,” Tahd said disrespectfully. “You of all people know the limited space we have aboard these two ships already. Look at those ledgers of yours and tell us if we have supplies or space enough for an extra member of this party?”
Armas glanced over the accounts, but he well knew that the ships were already loaded beyond their capacity. With so much riding on this assignment, the Citadel had made sure the first colony would have everything it could possibly need to succeed in the wilderness of the Western Wreath. The leather-bound parchments told the tale of ships packed to their bursting point, filled with forty horses, seven teams of oxen, barrels of salt-meat and casks of ale, salt and flour for bread, vats of fresh water, crates of spikes and tools, and nearly one hundred bales of alfalfa and hay for the animals. On top of that, they were transporting all the provisions the men would need: sleep rolls, clothing, armor, blades, boots, and the like.
Tahd took the ledger out of Armas’ hands and briefly searched the pages. “Between all of the cargo listed here and the additional bulk of the smithy and all of his tools, not to mention the significant size and girth of these forty woodcutters, it will be an act of the THREE who is SEVEN if the ships are even seaworthy,” Tahd said pretentiously as he handed the ledger back to Armas.
Seig weighed out the possibilities, not sure whether giving Yasen his way would produce a camaraderie of shared vision, or if sticking to his original plan would reinforce the obedience he required. All eyes were on the governor, awaiting his decision on a groomsman for the colony. “Well, one thing is for certain—Captain Tahd is right, we barely have provision and room enough for the one groomsman, so setting sail with two of them is out of the question.”
“If I may, Governor,” Yasen said in his most respectful tone of voice. “Our groomsman has also become quite proficient with an axe. Not only would he be responsible for the health and well-being of the colony’s mounts, but he can also add to the timber yield of the woodcutters.” He turned to face Michael, and seeing the barely-hidden disappointment written on the young man’s face, he spoke a great kindness over him. “I do not mean you any ill will, groomsman. If Armas here thinks so highly of you, then I am sure you are worthy of the assignment, and I hope you will forgive my insistence in the matter.”
“We do not have time for pleasantries and placations, woodcutter!” Tahd retorted loudly, attempting to brandish his newly acquired authority.
“I’ll presume you are confused, Captain,” Yasen retorted with a steel edge to his voice. “What we do not have time to do is disrespect the brave and the willing; few enough as it is have volunteered their lives for so perilous a cause.”
Armas placed his hand on the shoulder of the young groomsman and interrupted the collision of wills that threatened the unity of the first colony here on the shores of her motherland. There was a weighty sense of knowing that hung there in the air between Armas and the disappointed groomsman. You were right all along, Engelmann, weren’t you? Armas thought to himself.
“Governor, have you come to a decision on this matter? For I fear that if we tarry here any longer, we will not arrive in Abondale in time enough for the plans that our Priest King has already put into motion,” Armas said with an imploring look to his former captain.
Michael mustered his courage and addressed the men of the council. “It would be a great honor to serve as groomsman to the first colony, but that honor is always second to the task at hand.”
Armas squeezed Michael’s shoulder in a moment of brotherly pride. “The guard is indeed lucky to have a groomsman with your wisdom, Michael. It seems that Engelmann has been teaching you well.”
“Engelmann?” Tahd asked, disgusted at the mention of the old Arborist’s name. “Governor, if I may have a word with you in private.”
Seig and Tahd walked just a few paces away from the rest of the small conference that was taking place there just outside the entrance to the Kings’ Bridge. The company of woodcutters and the small platoon of knights and men-at-arms watched as captain and governor whispered words that were sure to have a lasting effect on their ranks. The captain, upon conclusion of his conversation with Seig, did not return to the small council, but rather made his way deliberately over to his guardsmen, gave them a command, and then mounted his horse in preparation for their immediate departure.
Seig walked over to Armas, Michael, and Yasen and gave his decision to the three men. “We will take your man, Yasen. Though I am sure you are brave and a competent groomsman, Michael, there is no place for the Poet-like influence of Engelmann the delusional,” he said with exaggerated disdain, “on the shadowed shores of the Wreath.” His words hummed with the anger of offense. “Our victory will come by striking the dark with our unflinching resolve, not by chasing after the fables and fictions that your teacher has filled your mind with.” Seig ran his hand through his closely trimmed beard. “I am sorry, lad, you will not be coming with us.” The governor then saluted his men, walked over to his large, white destrier, and mounted the huge horse in a single, fluid motion.
The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) Page 33