The last fifteen years had been a great period of openness and racial harmony that was unprecedented in recent memory. The leaders of various human-like races had always known and worked with each other, but the common citizens had remained fearful and distrustful of outsiders. Great progress had been made by opening travel routes and encouraging trade. Exchange programs were supported where citizens from one race would work for a year in the cities of another race. Not only did this promote understanding, but it helped expand and disseminate knowledge of the physical world. Military cooperation was common as well, and the mermen, humans, elves, gnomes and dwarves all effectively had one large and coordinated fighting force.
He sensed a familiar life-force as the figure who had engineered much of the closer connections of the world entered the room. Derlin had become the first non-elf ever to marry an elven princess. Elves and humans did sometimes marry, and throughout the years, many more had joined themselves together for a much shorter time than eternity. Unfortunately, the offending elves and their offspring were often ostracized and removed from elven society, left abandoned to wander the world and find haven in one of the more accepting villages or cities. One man could not unseat a cultural tradition, but Derlin’s acceptance by the elven nation was a huge step forward. Calm, understanding and intelligent, Derlin was gradually winning over even his staunchest critics. Today, however, Derlin looked flustered and unsettled.
“Your majesty,” Derlin said breathlessly, bowing as he entered. Dalin nodded in acknowledgment and Derlin began his message. “I have just received an urgent pigeon from Yvonne requesting that Valena, Lily and I meet her and Tarthur in Deguz as soon as possible. They believe that Tarthur may be in danger.”
King Dalin was surprised at the urgency in Derlin’s voice. He must have run to see Dalin immediately after receiving the pigeon. “You may journey to meet him, but if there is danger, I would rather Valena and Lily stay here. We can protect them.” Dalin was, of course, aware of the recent events concerning the reappearance of the Shade of Tivu. One of the new openness initiatives involved connecting the elven spy network with that operated by King Garkin. This had proved to be a major boon for Dalin, as the elven network was old and unreliable.
“I was hoping we could all go, your majesty. You were a valuable companion on our journey once before.” It was all too true. Dalin yearned to travel freely in the world again, but his responsibilities weighed him down. Glancing down at the work spread on his massive desk as if to physically remind himself of the fact, he saw the tasks he had for the morning. He had to approve the selection of applicants for a group of five elves that were to go to Treshin to train in healing arts, find some money in his budget to buy new bowstring wax for the outpost on the northern front, and decide which three trees to allow the construction of new houses in. Although he knew he could leave the work to others, he didn’t trust that they would do it the way he wanted it done.
“I’m sorry, Derlin, but I am needed here.” Dalin turned his back to Derlin, once again looking out at his city. “You are a powerful man now. You have not needed my protection for some time.”
Dalin could tell Derlin was crestfallen, and the room was silent for a minute. The subtle smell of the multitude of colorful and fruity flowers placed in his office filled Dalin’s consciousness. Valena personally arranged the flowers each week, transporting them live from small hideaways in the forest.
Derlin spoke again. “There is one more thing. Yvonne was attacked. Her attacker was strong, but Yvonne managed to escape from her.”
“Her?” Dalin asked, mildly surprised.
“Her attacker was a dark elf,” Derlin said without emotion.
A barely perceptible shock rippled through Dalin, his back still turned to Derlin. “That is impossible.” This could not be!
“Whether you say it’s impossible or not, it happened,” Derlin replied. “Yvonne would not lie.”
King Dalin seemed to have collected himself, and then responded. “Give me some time to think about this matter and see if I may find someone able to govern if I were to leave. Go pack your things and I will let you know by nightfall.”
Derlin left the elf king to his musings, silently exiting the room without noticing the mixture of anguish, excitement, hope, and guilt struggling to control Dalin’s soul.
***********************
Yvonne and Alahim set out the next day from Krendon. Baron Morty had lent her eight of his personal guards, which was a generous gesture. He only had a dozen and the unidentified assailant was still at large. Each guard had his own horse and Yvonne and Alahim shared one. They were well-stocked with provisions. The horses’ saddlebags carried dried meats, wine, cheese, bread, and water, and a bedroll for the night was strapped across the back of the saddle. They also had their weapons. Yvonne carried her short sword at her left side and had her crossbow as well. She usually wore the bow slung over her shoulder, but since Alahim was riding with her, she fastened the bow to her horse’s right flank. Although she had always been familiar with men’s weapons, she had taken a liking to the crossbow the first time she had fired one. With practice, she had developed a rapid shot that was also rather accurate. She kept a small, flat, dagger pressed tightly against the inside of her left thigh and there was one throwing knife in each of her riding boots. Alahim, for his part, was only allowed one small dagger that he kept strapped to his waist.
Their horse was Wendimede, a deep brown stallion with a black mane. Yvonne exercised her nearly every day, and she was a strong and swift galloper. The baron’s men had good horses as well, although none could outrun Wendimede in an all-out sprint.
Five of Baron Morty’s men had grown up in Krendon. There was Mik, the leader, as well as Aevan, Jaag, Zak, and Grags. There were the twins, Kris and Jon from Breswick, and Ziam, an exchange soldier from Tealsburg. The nobles had recently started a custom where they sent out a few of their soldiers to serve under other nobles for a period of a year or two. Although this had been less successful than other exchange programs due to competing nobles’ interests, it had still strengthened ties between leaders around the world.
They rode their horses hard throughout the first day, staying in a gallop all day long and only stopping long enough to water the horses and grab a quick bite to eat. There was no obvious sign of their attacker, but the roads were well traveled and many travelers preferred to make their way in covered wagons or with cloaks drawn tightly around their faces.
Their journey would be split into three legs. Yvonne hoped to make it to Tealsburg in six days. From there it would be eight days to Treshin and then just three to Deguz.
That night they made camp in a grove of trees right off the King’s Highway. Yvonne didn’t get much sleep. She kept looking anxiously at every shadow, even though the soldiers were taking turns at guard. Her near-paranoid searches were in vain, however, for their pursuer was still far away.
The pursuer was waiting confidently in the vicinity of Krendon, cool and relaxed. She was not troubled by the distance that her prey had been able to create between them. She was only interested to see where her quarry would decide to go. She did not feel them slipping away, for her steed traveled with a swiftness that could far outmatch any other creature in the Lands of Daranor.
***********************
Tarthur helped Zelin down from the wagon as Addyean unhitched the horses and gave them over to the stablehand in charge of the library stables. Certainly, most buildings in Deguz did not have their own stables attached. A few of the major inns had them, and for the most part travelers used either one of those or one of the three public stables. However, since the library had become so popular and attracted travelers from all over the world, one of the recent additions was the magnificent stables. Visiting scholars were allowed to keep their horses there free of charge, and other visitors had to pay only a nominal fee.
The horses looked like they would very much enjoy their time there. They had not been driven particularly
hard, although they had walked across nearly the entire Lands of Daranor. Tarthur, Zelin and Addyean had kept up their pace through a stop in the healing spring of Treshin, although they stayed there for only one night. Three days later, they were in Deguz.
The town was a sort of sleepy seaside community, founded centuries earlier by the legendary artist of the same name. It was said that he could create things by simply envisioning them in his mind, and he worked in any medium. If he sculpted a flower of stone, when the sun came out the flower would burst into bloom. The legend of the town’s founding said that he simply painted a canvas with an image of what he believed a town should look like. The buildings all sprung into place, yet there were no people. For although he could create objects and non-human life with his brush, the artist could not create humans. Humans eventually found and colonized the city. As the buildings were already perfectly formed, the residents of Deguz were known to frequently brag that their city had always been—and still was—far ahead of the rest of the world, especially in its architecture.
Tarthur wasn’t sure about the legend. It seemed like every town had some kind of dubious claim to fame, and as they frequently contradicted each other, he was certain that they couldn’t all be true. Seeing the legends that had grown up about him since his defeat of the Death Lord Darhyn had helped to show Tarthur just how much truth most legends contained. He would be a much richer man if he had a gold piece for every time he met someone who disbelieved his identity. “You can’t be him,” they’d say, “I’m sure he was a head or so taller.” Again, he would hear something like, “You can’t be him, because he’s always riding on a winged unicorn that can raise the dead.” One time, he had almost been chased out of the village of Ruf by an angry mob who insisted that in order to prove that he was the great Tarthur of Krendon, he should sprout his wings and then shoot fire from his eyes, as “everyone knows” that’s how the Great Hero defeated Darhyn in the War of the Orb.
Tarthur could not, in fact, grow wings or shoot fire from his eyes. He had never even seen a unicorn, let alone a flying one. And unfortunately, nothing but the direct intervention of the Creator himself could raise someone from the dead. However, legends did often have at least a kernel of truth. He had not technically raised the Merwizard Tustor back to life—he had just called his soul back into his body before it had had a chance to enter the Eternal Vale. He had flown with Wind Yan, and he did shoot fire from his fingertips. It was just that the truth was frequently too much for the common people to understand; it was usually easier to just make up something plausible. Unfortunately, one could not successfully act on half-truths. That was sometimes more dangerous than not acting at all.
As they walked up to the front of the library, Tarthur couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. He looked over at Addyean, and he could see in his eyes that he felt it too. Tarthur was about to suggest that they enter around the back instead when Artholeus burst out of the front. “Zelin, my friend!” he called out enthusiastically, bounding down the stairs to embrace the trio. This was no easy feat, for Artholeus was nearing seventy himself. Although seventy years was not old for a wizard like Zelin, this was longer than most ordinary men lived.
“Welcome!” he called out again, before the travelers had been able to respond. “Come in, come in, we have much to discuss.” Tarthur hurriedly glanced around him, in case he could spy anyone watching them. He saw many people, but none of them looked suspicious. The large oaken door to the library clicked shut behind them, and Tarthur thought no more about it.
Artholeus led them through many twists and turns and into his private office. Tarthur had seen most of the library before, but he had never been in the director’s office. The room felt warm and soft. The wood was worn and polished. It looked like the kind of place one could leave for years, and then return and find it undisturbed and feel like you’d never left.
There were already three large plush chairs pulled up around Artholeus’s massive desk. Tarthur sank into the velvet padding as Artholeus took a seat in his own chair, facing his visitors. “First of all,” he began, “how was your trip? Wait, I forget myself. May I offer you anything to eat or drink?”
Tarthur smiled. It was inspiring for him to see someone as old as Artholeus who was still able to get so excited over something that he stumbled over his own words. Tarthur and Addyean both looked to Zelin, and the old wizard cleared his throat. “Ahem, well, we have just eaten, but perhaps some warm tea will aid us if we plan to talk long into the night.”
Artholeus nodded and motioned to a servant who was waiting at the door. The young woman rushed out for the kitchen.
“Our trip passed well,” Zelin began, “yet we were full of anticipation for the future. The loss of Yan weighs most heavily on young Tarthur, but I too miss my old friend. I did not think that I would see the opening of the Vale come to pass in my lifetime. Then again, at one point in my life I did not think that I would see the defeat of Darhyn, nor his return.”
Tarthur suddenly realized that Zelin was talking about the first defeat of Darhyn. It was amazing to sit and look at someone who had lived for nearly four hundred years. The first time Darhyn had been defeated, he had possessed a nearly insurmountable advantage. It was only through Darhyn’s tactical blunders and infighting with Queen Marhyn, his sister, that King Hana-Chan had been able to rally his troops for a final victory. Of all the stories in Daranor’s history, Tarthur liked that one the best. Maybe it was because the king’s men banded together and were defiant in the face of near-certain slaughter, but it probably also had a great deal to do with the fact that Tarthur had first met Yvonne at the statue in Tealsburg commemorating Hana-Chan’s victory.
While Tarthur was impressed, Artholeus was ravenously devouring Zelin with his eyes. For the scholar, it was all well and good to posit theories about historical trends and corroborate them with certain pieces of evidence. They used old letters, diaries, records of battles, marriage certificates, tombstone engravings, and anything else that they could find, but the record was always incomplete. Yet here, in this study, was a living, breathing, primary source, the greatest treasure to a historian. If someone wanted to know what life was like two centuries ago, one only had to ask.
“I guess it just goes to show that whatever else we may be, none of us are prophets,” Addyean interjected, speaking for the first time. Tarthur knew that prophecy had always concerned Addyean, ever since King Garkin, drugged and hallucinating, had proclaimed Addyean to be the next king in front of the majority of knights and nobles of the kingdom. That had been fine for a childless king in his thirty-seventh year just going into a major war when everyone had larger things to think about, but as time wore on, Tarthur could sense the prophecy starting to eat at Addyean more and more. King Garkin said nothing, but Tarthur could tell that he was bothered by it as well. Just before his fortieth birthday, King Garkin had given birth to a son by Queen Dalia.
Young Prince Ajani grew strong, and although Addyean liked the boy, when Tarthur saw him regard Addyean, he could see poison in the other’s eyes. Ajani knew full well the whispered stories, and at thirteen, he was far too young to know how to use tact and hide his feelings. Although Addyean had chosen to live in Krendon for other reasons, Tarthur sometimes questioned how much of it was because of that boy.
“Too true, too true,” Artholeus agreed. “Yet, Tivu, or someone, or something pretending to speak for him apparently does have at least some power of prophecy. It could be that this is only a trap, although, I do not see what anyone stands to gain from this.”
“The motives of the evil ones are shrouded in secrecy,” said Zelin. “Yet, our greatest danger lies in that which we understand the least.”
Everyone nodded, thinking silently. Artholeus was the first one to speak. He went to his drawer, removed an aging scroll, and opened it on his desk, holding the ends down with some shiny brass paperweights in the shape of books. “Here is the first stanza:”
When the powers
of life shall be implored
For he that was lost to be restored
Water forged into a gate stronger than steel
To open the way, but One may reveal
A child born, three swords he must wield
“He that was lost,” Tarthur began. “That must refer to Yan!” His pulse quickened and excitement spilled out into his voice.
“It does appear to refer to him,” Artholeus conceded. “Water forged into a gate will be the Wall of Glass that separates the Eternal Vale from the rest of the world.”
“How is glass stronger than steel?” Tarthur questioned.
Zelin spoke, carefully weighing his words. “The gate is strong because only One can enter. It’s not physically strong, but when one tries to pass through, he must first come to terms with his reflection there.”
Tarthur immediately understood. “It’s the mirror that reflects back the true self.”
Zelin nodded. “We do not really know what happens there, as we have never been able to examine someone who has tried to go through and failed. Rather, we have examined them, but they could tell us nothing, as their minds are all gone. I do not think it is so much as seeing all one’s faults that does this, but rather seeing one’s insignificance.”
“We all think that we are special, and losing that can be a huge blow to the mind,” Addyean contributed. “It’s amorality, rather than immorality which is hardest to bear.”
Lands of Daranor: Book 02 - ProphecyQuest Page 5