“I'm sure you're right,” the lord replied with a slight smile. “We did just manage to defeat him, I suppose.”
“We did,” the bard said, “and if we have to, we'll be able to do it again.”
For several minutes, the band was enveloped in silence as each rode along through the forest shades wrapped in their own thoughts. This was suddenly broken by Sarena, who turned to her apprentice with a wide smile on her face.
“I think, my dear, it might be best if you were to take my armor,” she said.
“I couldn't do that,” Gwendolyn replied. “You need it. Especially under the circumstances.”
“I don't think I do,” the elder sorceress asserted. “Although my love and I were more than happy to rush to your rescue, we intend to stay out of this conflict as much as possible and only get directly involved where a ready avenue of escape is always available.”
“Mmmm,” Tealor said, shaking his head. “I'm not sure about that myself, my dear. Although I certainly want to protect Gwendolyn as much as possible, I don't...”
“I appreciate your concern, my heart,” his wife replied with a sweet smile, “but you have nothing to fear. If the need arises, I can make use of my talents well away from the fray. I have no intention of getting within the reach of our enemies and, I think you'll agree, that's easier to do in battles between armies than it is in small skirmishes.”
“We need to get Gwendolyn her own suit of armor,” Darian suggested.
“They're not exactly easy to get,” Tealor replied.
“No,” Ian agreed, “but they're not impossible to get, either.”
“By all means, we should attempt to get another,” Sarena replied. “Until then, however, Gwendolyn can use mine.”
“I suppose you’re right, dearest,” Tealor replied, rubbing his hand across his chin, “but, from now on, I want you to stay completely out of the fighting – no matter what happens.”
“Your wish is my command, my lord and champion,” she said with a nod. “I want you to put it on as soon as we reach camp, Gwendolyn.”
“Alright,” the maiden sighed, “but I still don't feel good about it.”
“Well, sweet child,” her teacher replied, “you should also consider the fact that you're not as skilled with defensive magic as I am at the moment. Although, I have to admit, I was almost amazed by the amount of destruction you managed to do.”
“You taught me that spell months ago,” Gwendolyn pointed out.
“I did,” Sarena replied, “but I've never seen you use it with such devastating results.”
“I think part of it was the ring,” the maiden replied, glancing down at the ruby held in the band of gold on her hand.
“I'm sure part of it was,” the elder sorceress nodded. “However, it's obvious that your power is growing. You should use some of the other spells I taught you a bit more. When you began your training, you were much more interested in using magic to defend rather than destroy.”
“I still am,” the maiden replied. “It's just that the fire spells are much easier for me to learn for some reason.”
“I understand, but part of increasing your own skill is practicing things that are difficult.”
“I will.”
“For instance,” Sarena said with a smile, “you should also learn to do things like this. Come here for a moment, my bold Telian.”
Darian immediately answered this summons, riding up to the side of the beautiful sorceress. Sarena sat for several moments chanting in a sing-song voice before reaching out and touching the young knight's armor. Instantly, the hole in the side of his breastplate sealed itself.
“Do you think you could do that?” the teacher asked her pupil.
“I think so,” Gwendolyn replied.
“I'm glad to hear it,” Ian said, drawing his hat carefully from his pack as he spoke, before handing it to the maiden. “Because I'm afraid this still has an arrow hole in it.”
The young sorceress took the article in her hand and chanted her own similar, but distinct, incantation over it. Arcane power flowed through her body, completely restoring the hat to its former glory.
“Thank you, my dear!” the dwarf exclaimed, taking it from her outstretched hand and placing it on his quite contented head. “I was beginning to miss it.”
“I'm very happy to have been of help,” Gwendolyn replied with a smile.
As the conversation turned to the more mundane topics of the beauty of the surrounding landscape, the probable outcome of the current conflict, and what their next course of action should be, the mind of the young Telian began to wander. It struck him as very fortunate, and likely due to the intervention of the Eilian, that the unicorn had shown up when he had. Whether or not he had saved Darian's life again, he had certainly done a great deal to help them win the battle.
It also struck the knight as odd to keep referring to the unicorn, even in his own mind, as he, him, or the unicorn. Obviously he had a name. Maybe it was even a name Darian would be able to pronounce. Of course, how would the unicorn tell him what it was? Maybe he could just go through the alphabet, letter by letter, and the unicorn could nod when he said the right one. On the other hand, he might not be able to spell it. Darian had no idea whether or not unicorns could learn to read and write.
It could be embarrassing for him if Darian broached the subject and the unicorn didn't know how to spell his own name. He would have to ask Erana about it when she wasn't busy talking to Kilren, as she was at the moment. She would almost certainly know if unicorns were generally literate or not.
As the young knight gazed at the couple, he considered the fact that, even in the midst of their current hardships, they seemed to be very happy. They were chatting away, Erana imitating Sarena by referring to Kilren as my love, my heart, my champion, and one time as my sweet fool. For his part, the lieutenant was pretending to be annoyed and warning her, in no uncertain terms, that didn't really seem certain at all, that once their engagement was official, she would have to treat him with a great deal more respect. In reply, she playfully swore to do so, if he ever managed to get her father's permission to marry her.
Once they were married, they would probably be just as happy as Sarena and Tealor. Or at least almost as happy. It was hard to imagine anyone else being quite as happy as the two of them. Before long, they would be even happier and he would be an uncle. Well, not really an uncle, but it would basically amount to the same thing. Then he'd be an uncle again after Kilren and Erana got married. When, as Kilren put it, In the fullness of time, after nature has taken its course they had a baby. He always seemed to get sweaty when he said it for some reason.
Really, in the long run, he would probably have to make the transition from uncle to father himself. It was almost his responsibility to all of Areon as a Telian Knight. Not that Lord Andor had ever gotten married, but there was some reason behind that. Darian didn't know what it was but, from what little he knew, he was afraid it was a sad story so he never asked about it.
Either way, he would probably need to get married and have children someday. At least, the book said it was a good idea. Lord Andor had basically inherited him as a foster grandson. The Eilian could certainly do the same for Darian, but he could see some advantages to being married. For one thing, the book said that after you had a wife you shouldn't be nearly as gallant to other women. That would make a lot of social situations easier on him.
The difficult part, of course, would be finding the right girl. Obviously, he would want someone who could fight by his side, who understood what it meant to be a Telian Knight, and who's company he enjoyed. In all honesty, it would probably be best to marry a girl like Sarena, or Erana, or even Gwendolyn, for that matter.
As the young man's mind wandered in this vein, his eyes wandered to the beautiful young sorceress. She and Gregor had somehow ended up riding side by side at the head of their small column of cavalry. The young lord was saying things that Darian couldn't make out but, judging from her s
omewhat excessive giggling and laughter, whatever is was must have been very funny. He also thought that she looked as if she were blushing again, or that she had been, or, at the very least, that she was about to be.
It was still there, although he couldn't tell exactly what it was. There was just something about Gregor that made Darian uneasy. It was almost as if he seemed treacherous somehow. Well, maybe treacherous wasn't the right word, but the young knight was positive that he shouldn't be left alone with Gwendolyn. He just wasn't sure why he was sure that was the case.
For the remainder of the journey, Darian rode on one side of Gwendolyn, while Gregor rode on the other. The three of them discussed a number of topics, but none of them seemed as amusing as whatever the maiden and the lord had been talking about before the knight had joined them. At least, Gregor didn't manage to say anything that made Darian want to laugh a great deal.
Just before the sun set, the band reached the refugee's temporary encampment. All things considered, it was a rather pleasant sight. King Illfas had sent a number of large tents, a generous supply of provisions, and an additional escort to the exiles. He had ordered his men to lead the group along a circuitous path toward the capital, keeping them well away from the enemy at all times. The king also requested that Lord Andor, along with the forces that were with him, would make their way to a relatively nearby rendezvous point. These journeys would begin early the following morning. For the moment, the party had time for both food and rest.
The first thing Darian and Gwendolyn attended to was finding their respective parents and assuring them that they were both safe and sound. The knight's parents seemed both pleased and relieved, although Garik was somewhat annoyed by the idea that he had missed two relatively major battles. The maiden's parents were ecstatic, both of them shedding tears of joy at the sight of their daughter. Darian recounted the major events of the battles explaining that Gwendolyn was obviously becoming more and more powerful and that, since the Eilian were clearly watching over her, they had nothing to worry about. Although they seemed unconvinced, they did appear to take some comfort from the young knight's assurances.
Having taken care of this necessity, they made their way to the fire around which the rest of their friends had gathered. Sarena rose from where she was sitting at the side of her husband and insisted that Gwendolyn slip into the armor that had formally served to protect the elder sorceress. The maiden nodded in consent before taking the offered garment from Sarena's hands and heading into a nearby thicket. She emerged, minutes later, wearing what appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary dress.
“Well,” she said with a smile, “how do I look?”
“Beautiful,” Darian immediately replied.
“Breathtaking,” Gregor said at the same moment.
“You are a vision of loveliness that I can scarcely believe is real,” Garik asserted, leaping to his feet, making his way to the young lady, and offering her his arm. “May I escort you to the fireside, my lady?”
“I suppose,” she laughed, taking his arm. “I don't know what the fuss is about, though. It's just a suit of armor.”
As she said this, she ran her hand down her side revealing the joined links of chain-mail that the dress was, in reality, made of.
“No,” Garik replied, shaking his head. “No, my lady, it is, in fact, magical armor. I don't think I've ever seen you more suitably attired.”
“You know,” Kilren said, turning to look at Darian, “in some ways, your brother is really mature for his age.”
“Mmmm hmmm” the knight replied, slowly nodding his head.
The thought had suddenly occurred to him that it might not be a good idea to leave Garik alone with Gwendolyn, either. Also, he had to spend more time thinking about the language of gallantry. Breathtaking was clearly better than beautiful. Although, he had no idea why he cared either way.
For several minutes, the weary companions sprawled around the fire, enjoying the fine fare King Illfas had sent for them. For days, they had pushed themselves on with little food and less rest. A hot meal, coupled with the idea of a good night's sleep, seemed to act as a sedative, lulling the companions into a contented silence. This was broken at last, however, by a question the young lord put to the bard.
“What do you know about the Gates of Death, Ian?” Gregor asked, as he sat gazing into the fire.
“A fair amount,” the dwarf replied, taking a draw from his pipe. “Why do you ask?”
“I'm just curious,” he said. “The Gates of Death are actually the doors of Havlas, “The Place of Forgetting”. Is that right?”
“It is, lad,” the bard nodded.
“Havlas is where souls who are bound to Areon and can't reach the Halls of Kaldor go, correct?”
“Yes.”
“That's what I had heard,” Gregor replied, growing silent for nearly a minute before he spoke again. “Is there any way to pull a soul from Havlas? Any way to raise someone who's soul has been trapped there from the dead?”
“None,” the bard replied, shaking his head. “Once a soul enters Havlas, it will remain there until the end of all things.”
“I see,” the young lord nodded, pausing again for several seconds before continuing. “What if the doors where opened somehow?”
“They can't be,” Ian explained. “Winrall, the first and greatest of the Eilian, and Theolan the father of man and the lord of magic created and sealed Havlas using both divine and arcane power. Only the Eilian can open the doors, and I'm very certain they never will.”
“Why not?”
“The souls trapped in Havlas remember nothing,” Ian replied. “They long for the peace of Kaldor, but can't reach it. As long as they remain in the Place of Forgetting, they don't know who they are, what they're searching for, why they can't find it, or how long they've been suffering. If the gates were opened, some might make their way back to Areon. They would remember who they were, that they were tapped here, and they would realize what Havlas was. They would wander the world as formless spirits until time ends or until they returned to Havlas.”
“But once they were free,” Gregor asked, his eyes locked on those of the bard, “could they be raised from the dead?”
“Perhaps,” the dwarf speculated. “but as I said, the doors of Havlas will never be opened.”
“So, there's no chance that Gwendolyn actually is the key that can open them?”
“None that I can see,” Ian replied, shaking his head.
“She can't be,” Darian interjected. “In order to open the gates of death, you would have to be able to wield the divine power. She can't.”
“You would need both,” Gregor corrected. “Isn't that right, Ian? Since the gates were sealed using both the arcane and divine power you would need to use both to open them, right?”
“I have no idea,” the dwarf admitted. “But you seem more than just a little interested in the subject.”
“I am,” the young lord replied, turning his gaze back to the fire. “I believe the souls of my parents are trapped in Havlas.”
“I didn't know your parents had passed on,” Ian said. “I'm sorry to hear it, lad, but you can’t be sure their spirits haven’t gone to the Halls of Kaldor.”
“I suppose, I can't,” Gregor said shaking his head. “However, the high priests of Winkar were unable raise them from the dead. They believe it’s because their souls are trapped in Havlas.”
“Winkar?” Ian asked.
“A kingdom far to the north,” Gregor replied with half a smile. “The kingdom I come from.”
“Winkar,” the bard repeated thoughtfully. “Just north of Farrenveil?”
“The same.”
“I know its name,” Ian nodded, “but little more.”
“My parents were nobles,” the young lord explained. “I believe they were murdered using The Blade of Loss.”
“That's bad,” Garik said, letting out a long whistle.
“You know of it?” Gregor asked.
&nbs
p; “I read about it days ago,” the boy replied, “in the library of Mikral. It couldn't have been The Blade of Loss, though, it's been missing for more than a thousand years. At least, that's what The Artifacts of Dallenmar claimed.”
“It was right,” Ian added. “In fact, most historians agree that it was destroyed.”
“I saw it,” the young lord said, once again gazing at the little blaze. “I happened to be walking through the hall when... When it happened. I thought I heard a muffled scream coming from their room and rushed inside. A man in gray clothing, his face covered, was standing over my mother's body with a short-sword of black metal in his hands.
“He instantly rushed at me, but I managed to draw my own blade before he could strike. The hand-guard of his weapon looked like the hand of skeleton, its fingers fully extended. The pommel looked like a human heart.”
“That's basically what it looked like,” Garik replied.
“I didn't think anything of it at the time,” Gregor continued. “Before we had traded ten blows, the guards were rushing in our direction. The assassin dove through one of their windows and made his escape. It wasn't until after the high priest failed to raise them from the dead that I began thinking about the short-sword.”
“Your parents must have been nobles of some importance,” the bard speculated.
“They were.”
“Perhaps the king and queen?” Ian asked, taking a draw from his pipe.
“Perhaps,” Gregor said with a sigh, “but more importantly, they were my mother and father.”
“Of course.”
“Three nights later, the assassin tried to kill me using the same weapon. He would have managed it, had it not been for the grace of the Eilian. As you can imagine, I hadn’t been sleeping easily. I was having a nightmare and awoke suddenly with the conviction that I wasn't alone. I leapt from my bed, drew my blade, and headed into a patch of moonlight that was coming through the window. He sprang at me from the darkness, nearly slicing into my face in his first attack.”
“That's all it would have taken,” Garik asserted.
The Lords of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 3) Page 13