“Come. You should address the troops. They will benefit from your gentle touch as always. It is hard to send them off again into harm’s way,” Bristar said. They returned so recently from Seramour bearing their dead. The pyres were not even cool on the mountainside.
“I will do what I can,” she replied. She agreed with his decision, but her thoughts were elsewhere. I will tell him as soon as he returns. Yes. Right away. He’ll understand. He’ll forgive me. But what if he doesn’t come back? What then?
“It is much to ask of them so soon after the last battle,” Elsinestra said, as she contemplated her husband’s words. Seramour was still rebuilding. The people were tired, war-weary. The towers rose outside the windows, almost complete and a slight bit taller than the ones Caeltin destroyed. In defiance, they pierced the cloud cover and reached toward the sun.
“Is it too much, do you think?” King Treestar asked his wife, considering all the city had just endured.
“No. No longer. But it will be hard. Still, what choice do we have? If the alternative endangers the Quest, then there is no question at all. And surely it does!” She knew they could never sit idly by while another ally was threatened. And all of life was now allied against the Dark One. There was no way for any to escape him short of victory.
“The pressure upon Robyn will be enormous,” Treestar said. He rubbed his eyes. His vision was blurred.
“As it certainly must have been upon our sons when Seramour was under siege,” Elsinestra commented. The strongest rise up in times of need and he was strong. “Others came to our aid then.”
“What must our children have been thinking?” he wondered aloud. “Did they even know what we were going through here, do you suppose?”
“News traveled everywhere. Nary even the most remote of villages on the mainland had not heard of the attack upon Seramour,” Elsinestra replied. “But on the isles, perhaps Fallean was spared at least. When he hears of his cousin…”
Adain’s death would shake him. They were the best of friends. “It must have been painful for them to be apart from us during such a time,” the King continued, though in his heart he was relieved they weren’t present when the danger seemed the most grave. The selfishness of it bothered him, but he couldn’t deny it.
“Was it not just as hard for you and for me?” she reminded him.
“It was difficult, but it was also a relief not to have them here when the question of our survival was upon everyone’s lips. During my most troubled hours, I found solace in knowing that if we should perish, they would still survive.” His temple throbbed. He needed sleep.
“And Baron Calipee must now harbor those same thoughts,” Elsinestra said. She looked out across the treetops as if she was trying to see all the way to Tamarand. “You know Robyn as well as anyone. How is it, do you suppose, that he allowed such rumors to circulate about him for such a long time? I found him to be sensitive and genuine, yet his reputation would have us all believe he is selfish and cold hearted.”
“He had many obstacles to overcome after his mother died,” Treestar replied. “And not being Promanthea’s first choice must have been arduous for his people to accept.” They’d learned so much about this powerful Chosen during the siege of Seramour.
“More so for him, I suspect,” the Queen replied.
A weight to bear upon his shoulders always, like a child’s discovery that it was unplanned or unwanted. “He loves his father dearly. The image portrayed to outsiders merely afforded him the freedom to do what he felt was necessary. “
“What will Robyn do now?” Elsinestra asked. “Though Tamarand is a fortified city, how can it withstand an onslaught from Sedahar?”
“He will suffer,” Treestar admitted. “I trust he and his friends understand completely how vital Davmiran’s safety is. And he will do what he must. And so must we.” He was tired. His head hurt.
“I agree,” she replied. “Though it will test our people’s temerity once again, it’s vital we lend whatever support we can. I only hope our soldiers see it the same way that we do.”
“They will,” Treestar said. “They’re good men.” After all they’ve been through. Ten thousand dead.
“They emulate you, my dear,” Elsinestra said with a sweet smile.
“And you as well,” he returned the compliment.
“When must they leave?”
“As soon as possible.” It was important they got there in advance of Caeltin’s forces, so they could help defend the city. From what Liam reported, the enemy’s numbers were staggering. “If they do not march immediately, they may arrive to find only the ruins of Tamarand. Besides, our defenses are once more intact. We shall seal the lifts after they depart, and then wait for news. I do not anticipate another attack from the skies so soon after the failure of the previous one. Liam saw no evidence of anything other than a ground force being prepared. We should be safe here at least,” Treestar said. His hand was trembling. Some wine would help, he thought. It would relax him.
“I have no sense of safety since Davmiran left,” Elsinestra replied. The memory of the heir’s presence brought her hope even now, but she felt no refuge in the world any longer.
“It was just a feeling, my dear. His presence calmed you, but until he finds the Gem, none of us are truly secure. Remember that while he was here, Seramour came closer to defeat than ever before.” He wiped his brow with the back of his scarred hand, burnt badly during the fires that raged in the streets. Seramour was on the brink of collapse when they were rescued by Premoran and the others.
“Yet I was so hopeful in his presence,” she recalled. “It has colored my memory.”
“Are you not hopeful now?” Treestar asked, concerned.
“Yes, but I’m tired, my husband,” Elsinestra sighed. She stood beside Treestar and laid her head upon his shoulder. “I miss our children.”
“They will come home to us when they can,” he sought to comfort her. “But I miss them too,” he admitted. “Come. The men take solace in your presence and your strength. Accompany me to their quarters. They must begin their preparations.” His voice wavered and he stumbled slightly as he walked to the door. Something pounded in his head. A tiny blood vessel burst in his eye.
“Once again,” Elsinestra said. She was looking the other way. She didn’t notice.
“Once again,” the King repeated.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Maringar and Beolan rode together on the back of the troll’s horse, straddling a saddle as broad as an armchair. The elf held the reins, and the dwarf sat behind him clutching the stiff, tall back. The animal kicked and shied until it grew accustomed to Beolan’s gentle directions. It was unused to verbal commands, as the scars upon its sides testified to. Before they mounted, they bathed it as best as they could in the waters that had pooled around them everywhere, but even the clear, cold water from the heavy rains could not eliminate the stench of its previous rider. They removed the spikes from the stirrups as well as the sharp points from underneath the reins. They fed it whatever they could spare from their remaining provisions, and it ate greedily of the grains.
The water settled into the cracks and crevices, making a dangerous and swampy morass out of the terrain. Fortunately, the rain had stopped. Still, the journey wouldn’t be easy.
“Let’s go, boy. Easy now,” Beolan said, urging the horse forward.
“Since when do trolls travel on horseback?” Maringar asked, bouncing along behind him.
“Since Caeltin decided they should cover more ground than was possible on foot,” Beolan replied. “Very few beasts would carry them. They must have beaten this one into submission.” Cruelty of this type went against his nature.
“I don’t think the two of us together weigh what that one over there did,” Maringar replied, pointing to the bloated corpse lying pooled in its own black blood. “Were they here to prevent us from getting to Odelot, do you think?”
“Either that, or they were traveling for other purpo
ses and caught our scent along the way.”
“To find what we’re going there to find?” Maringar asked.
“What else would anyone go all the way to the dead city for? I just hope we’re not too late.” Without the key, the map would be vulnerable. That’s what his father told him. If they failed, the consequences would be dire. They had already been delayed far too long. He pressed his heels into the animal’s belly and it leapt ahead.
“Too late for what, Beolan?” Maringar asked. “I still don’t know exactly what we’re looking for.”
“Neither do I. No one does it seems, not even the Wizard. But my father is confident we’ll figure out what to do with the key once we get there.” He hoped that would be the case. He’d heard tales of Odelot his entire life but he never imagined going there himself. The dead city was not a place people envisioned traveling to. It was a blight upon the earth, a victim with open wounds.
“Where do we bloody begin?” Maringar wondered.
The earth drew in the water with a ravenous thirst and the countless pools of dirty brown liquid disappeared into holes that pockmarked the surface. As it drained, the ground moaned in response, sucking in the liquid. The sound frightened the already skittish horse and it rose up on its powerful hind legs. Maringar slid half off the saddle and grabbed Beolan’s shirt so he wouldn’t fall, while Beolan calmed the skittish animal and led him to higher ground. They reached a ridge that was more stable above the plain and continued along it. Maringar’s legs weren’t long enough to encircle the horse’s mid-section, and he held on tight to Beolan. Up here they could make up some of the time lost on the soggy plain.
“The Tomes didn’t provide any more information, and neither did Premoran. It’s an odd shaped implement though, and it won’t fit in just any lock,” Beolan picked up where he left off. The key was never far from his mind. “Hold on. We’ve got to move now.” He leaned forward and said something in the horse’s ear.
“Had it not glowed as it did, I may not have found it to begin with, there was so much chaos after the Armadiel died,” Maringar recalled. “It almost slipped into the chasm with him. I grabbed it at the last moment.”
“Maybe it’ll glow again when we get closer to the right place,” Beolan suggested.
“That’s what I was hoping. Odelot’s big, isn’t it?. We could wander around for a long time searching.” He yelled so Beolan could hear him. The wind lashed at his face.
Beolan yelled back, “We don’t know who carries the map now.” Bristar knew so little, only what Premoran told him, and he’d shared that conversation with Beolan already. It wasn’t encouraging. “Keep your head low and lean into me.” He slapped the reins on the destrier’s neck and it galloped even faster.
“Maybe the sister from Parth still has it,” Maringar said as soon as they slowed down around a rock bend and he could speak again. “She should be easy to recognize.”
“Before we left Crispen, the last information my father received was confusing. Though the map did leave Parth in the hands of two of the sisters, he was led to believe they may no longer have it in their possession.”
“I remember his concern when that message reached him. I always thought the Chosen knew everything,” Maringar said. “Couldn’t they have helped a little more?”
“At one time, I believe they did. But, no longer. As the trees die, they learn of things more slowly, if at all.” He directed the horse up a small hill, toward a copse of dry grass.
“If at all,” Maringar repeated. “It’s a different world, my friend. When I was younger, I never dreamed a Chosen of the trees would have difficulty with anything. Now I worry for their safety!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Maringar. Those that have died have done so by their own volition, though none of us know the real reasons. No Lalas has yet been challenged by an enemy directly.” No Lalas that he knew of.
“I wonder how long it’ll be before even that happens,” Maringar said.
“Caeltin is surely mad, but is he that mad, do you think?” Beolan asked. The ground was slippery and the ledge they walked on was too tight to chance moving any faster. Stones fell down it with each step.
“Me? What do I know? You’re more familiar with his ways than I ever was. I barely left the Thorndars until a short time ago. When he attacked Pardatha, we organized a war party and marched to Baladar’s aid. That was the first time I’d been in that city in years!” he explained.
“Honestly, Maringar, I think it’s possible he’s that mad!” Beolan said. “Damn, this is treacherous. How long have we been riding already?”
“The sun’s coming down. Five hours maybe.”
They trotted eastward through scrub and brush for another hour, until the terrain changed. The wet soil dried up the further away from the river they rode, and the surface became sandy and soft. The dull browns of the damp earth gave way to pale grays and tans. They shielded their eyes from the blowing dirt.
“Do you smell the sea?” Beolan asked, raising his nose up in the air.
“I don’t smell anything but this filthy horse,” Maringar replied. He hated riding on any animal’s back, least of all a warhorse that once belonged to a mountain troll.
“What choice do we have? We’d never get there on foot.”
“You said you smelled the sea? Are we really that near to it?” Maringar asked.
“The scent is unmistakable. We can’t be far away.” The ground gave way under the animal’s hooves and it was hard to navigate as it became dryer and dryer. Beolan searched the scrub for better terrain.
“I hate water.” The thought of it made his stomach turn. “I used to sit up nights above lake Tamaran. Sometimes the water looked like you could walk on it,” Maringar recalled.
“Weren’t you easy prey for the Selgays, perched up there like that?”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Beolan,” Maringar said, and he leaned in close to the elf’s ear. “The birds are really very friendly,” he whispered.
“Maybe to you they are!” Beolan replied. “I know what they did to Caeltin’s army on the plains of Pardatha. I wouldn’t call that friendly.”
“As long as I wasn’t near a nest or one of their eyries, I was safe. In fact, they rescued my little brother Preston, did they not?”
“So I heard. I wish I’d been there to witness it,” Beolan replied. “But he was with Tomas after all.” A bit further and they could trot again. He led them to a more solid area.
“It’s strange how things work out sometimes. Preston never felt he belonged anywhere, he never thought he fit in. His destiny always lay elsewhere,” Maringar said. “He was so much taller than any dwarf ever was. To refer to him as my little brother is very funny. He’s half again my height.”
“Had Preston not run away, he wouldn’t have met Tomas. And, had you not kidded him for so long, he might not have run away,” Beolan summarized.
“That makes me feel much better,” Maringar laughed. “Had I not been so mean to my brother, he might have led an ordinary dwarf’s life!” Laughing hurt his wounds almost as much as riding, but it was worth it. He pressed his hand to his side and winced. The leather was damp.
“As ordinary as yours?” Beolan asked. Another hundred yards or so. They were going slow. Too slow.
“What could be more normal for a mountain dwarf than riding upon the back of a troll’s horse, behind an elf, on the way to the dead city of Odelot?” Maringar kidded. The wind picked up and particles of fine sand were flying into their faces. The weather was changing. “I think I smell the water now,” Maringar agreed. “What’s the plan once we get there?”
Beolan rose up in the saddle. “Talk to me then. I see a tower,” he said as the horse broke into a canter.
Chapter Thirty
“I can’t turn my head away, yet the sight of this makes me ill,” Tamara forced the words. Her stomach churned. Emmeline advised all the sisters of things like this. But it seemed unlikely she’d encounter one herself, and she shrugged th
e warnings off. She thought it was just talk, like the stories they told during the long winter nights in the Tower to amuse each other.
“It’s best if you don’t gaze upon it for too long,” Harlan warned.
“Why? What will happen?” Conrad asked. He stepped closer to Tamara.
“You’ll start to forget,” he replied.
“Forget what?” Conrad was growing impatient. Harlan spoke in circles and getting answers from him required more questions than he wanted to ask.
“Forget everything!” Harlan said.
“You seem to remember things quite well. How do you know this?” he snapped. Tamara swayed back and forth.
“How could I know what I have forgotten? There must be many things.” Conrad’s question confused him. “What a silly thing to ask. If I’ve already lost the memory, how am I supposed to know about it still?”
“You were the one who warned us in the first place,” Conrad said, frustrated by Harlan’s meaningless rambling. He spoke like a child. Or an adult with a limited mind.
“Well, I suppose that I did,” he said. “It robs you of your memories, the Darkening. I know I had more before I stumbled into it. But, of course, now I can’t remember what they were.”
That told them nothing. “Don’t stare at it, Tamara,” Conrad warned her. “Look away.” Whatever it was, he didn’t want Tamara hurt by it.
She turned her head toward him but kept glancing back at it every few moments. Finally, he stepped between her and the darkness.
“The best nuts are there,” Harlan pointed into the shadow. When he mentioned the nuts, his fear evaporated.
“I thought you said no one could enter that area?” Tamara asked. His comment surprised her. “How do you know if you can’t go in there?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” he replied, lying badly, looking away from her as he spoke. “I meant no one should enter.”
The Revenge of the Elves Page 25