Quietly he located Jorda and hastily grabbed his reins. He snuck back into the thick of the woods leading his pony as silently as he could, and when he found the path once more, he leapt atop him and left caution to the wind, riding with an abandon like never before. His chest was pounding and his heart felt as if it had been seized by another’s fist and it was being ripped from his body. The wind assailed his face and the branches attacked his limbs as he plummeted headlong through the trees, disregarding the discomfort and the pain.
“Pardatha, Pardatha,” he repeated to himself like a mantra, driving him forward as he raced through the forest.
Chapter Thirty-one
Baladar returned to his chambers, elated at his discovery yet concerned that he had become once again the victim of such violent and uncontrollable mood swings. He attributed them to the changes transforming the entire planet, the tumultuous forces affecting the weave. Everyone was suffering from the clash between the light and the dark, between good and evil and right and wrong. Everyone and everything. He understood that throughout time, this same war has been waged with perhaps only a respite here and there when the opposing forces were depleted and needed to rebuild, or when a temporary victory elevated one side over the other. But now, in this time, the battle had taken on a different shade. The trees themselves were dying. The entire balance was shifting, and Baladar was terribly disturbed by the new and deadly direction in which he perceived it was now leaning.
Baladar absolutely believed that the Dark Lord could be defeated and that peace could prevail, if not eternally, then for many lifetimes. He, like Cairn, understood that one side helped to define and clarify the other, that the darkness made the light all that much brighter, that an evil action stood out more clearly in juxtaposition to a noble act. But nothing other than the demise of Colton could balance the disappearance of the Lalas from the earth. And if one occurred without the other, then the entire future would be changed forever.
If the Lalas prevailed and the Gem of Eternity continued to nourish the world, then there would be a future full of promise for all to participate in. If the Dark Lord triumphed then there would be no future for any living thing, and a new reality would succeed the existing one. He feared that the loss of both forces would leave a void unlike any other that followed a period of great change and upheaval, and he knew that he could not let that happen, but in order to have a chance to prevent it, he needed to locate Davmiran.
From his desk, he removed a tiny box that was tucked into the back of a small drawer on the side. It was not unique in appearance but made simply out of a common wood and unadorned. After opening the lid, he removed three feathers from a bunch that lay inside, bound together by a silk thread. Baladar walked over to the same table that he first laid Davmiran upon when Dalek brought him to this room.
He has precipitated so many changes already.
Baladar carefully placed one of the feathers in the middle of the table and then he put the other two aside for the moment. Removing four of his precious gems from the pouch at his waist, he placed them in a square around the single feather. Concentrating intently, he closed his eyes and drew the power out from the stones. The black one sparkled first, sending a stream of jet black light upward, about two feet above the table. Next, the ruby stone flared, sending its own tendril out and up, merging with the already steady surge emanating from the black jewel. The blue and green stones erupted simultaneously, blazing with their own colors, and they too joined their floes with the others. Once they had all blended together, a meshed dome of white light hovered over the lone feather on the table, completely encasing it in the mesmerizing glow. Baladar was pleased as he opened his eyes and spoke the words of power:
“Felacpor tendil esti acqualto. Emerate bo minca stor.”
The feather rose gracefully into the vortex of light and seemed to expand from all of its surfaces, as if it was imploding and turning inside out on itself, while growing in size at the same time. Baladar watched closely as his messenger took shape. Soon, a dove-grey bird about the size of a pigeon stood in the middle of the circle of light, turning its head this way and that. He extended his hand into the light and reached for the bird. Gently, he placed it in a small cage on the floor under the table. He repeated this process with the other two feathers, until there were two more birds of equal size and color in the cage beside the first one.
“Termina porte,” Baladar uttered, and the stones’ light died instantly.
After returning the gems to his pouch, he lifted the cage atop the wooden slab and examined his handiwork. The birds cooed calmly, pecked at the cage and walked in circles, examining their surroundings.
Baladar took a piece of parchment and a pen from the desk, dipped the tip into the inkwell and wrote out the brief note that these messengers would carry for him. Simply, he asked if anyone had any knowledge regarding the disappearance of a young, blonde haired boy from Pardatha. He wrote that the youth was suffering from a rare and unusual illness, rendering him unconscious, and that his only cure lay in Pardatha. Baladar made it perfectly clear that the young man was important to him and that he wished him returned. He advised the recipient that the bird would carry whatever answer was offered back to Pardatha for them.
He was reluctant to be more specific in the event that the message was intercepted. It was bad enough that Dav was missing. He did not need to broadcast to anyone just how important his disappearance really was. Neither did he need to alert anyone other than the designated recipient that he in fact did not have any idea where the heir was, should the message fall into the wrong hands. He suspected that whoever did find him, would shortly recognize his special qualities independent of Baladar’s inquiry, and if they did not know what he was talking about, the inquiry was innocent enough not to cause undue alarm or curiosity.
He signed the paper and sealed it with his ring, pressing it into the wax he dripped upon it. He repeated this exercise two more times and then slipped each rolled up piece into a small, leather tube, closed the end and strapped it around each bird’s left leg, before returning it to the enclosure. Once the final bird was tagged, he held it up in front of his eyes and silently imparted to it the destination he envisioned. Again, he repeated this process with the remaining two.
When he was certain that each bird knew where its special target was, he reached for the first one and released it out the large window overlooking the courtyard. The small bird immediately flew off in the direction he had implanted in its tiny brain, and he watched as long as he could until it was visible no longer.
“First speed!” he said aloud as he lost the small messenger in the clouds.
Baladar hoped with all his heart that his analysis of the events of that miserable day were accurate, and that one of the birds would return with news of Davmiran. But, he would soon know for certain when and if any of them came back with the answer he craved. He reached for the next bird and was in the process of releasing it when he was startled by a strenuous pounding on the door to the study.
“My Lord! May I enter?” Grogan asked.
“Give me a minute if you will, Grogan,” he answered, and he hastily placed the bird back in its cage. After he put the cage back under the table and out of sight, he closed the window. “You may enter, Grogan,” he said as he moved to the doorway to release the latch.
The Master at Arms was clearly anxious to impart what information he had to his Lord, and he barely hesitated before speaking.
“My Lord! A rider has been seen galloping toward the gates. His mount is no more than a pony, but he travels with the speed of a stallion,” Grogan said.
“Is he alone? Are there others following him or is he escorting anyone?” Baladar asked, hoping for a minute that Davmiran was being returned to him, that the nightmare would be over.
“No, my Lord. I mean, yes, sir. He is alone. None follow him and he is not escorting anyone. Shall I send some guards to intercept him?” his loyal Master at Arms inquired.
&nbs
p; “He is on a pony, you said?” Baladar questioned, disappointed at the answer but now his interest was piqued.
“Yes, a dapple, and he is quite small himself. An Elf, perhaps,” Grogan responded.
“Let him approach unmolested, Grogan. A single Elf on a pony cannot do us very much harm,” he concluded, not wishing to frighten him off by sending out an armed escort for him.
“As you wish, Lord Baladar,” his guard answered.
“I wish to question him as soon as he is within the city gates,” Baladar instructed the soldier.
He was hoping that the arrival of an Elf in such a hurried manner would shed some light upon the strange events of the past days.
It could not be mere coincidence that brings an Elf to the gates of the city so soon after the boy’s disappearance. Elves riding into Pardatha are strange occurrences indeed and two in so short a span of time are truly unusual, he reasoned, hardly able to contain his eagerness to talk to this visitor.
Baladar walked to the broad, leaded windows and gazed out over the city. He watched the guards assemble and calmly march toward the city wall, the Ghost tower and the Noban gate, where all visitors entered from. He was fatigued from the prior exercise, as he was every time he wielded his magic. Both his mind and his body were weary. But he was relieved that the messengers were prepared and ready to go on their journey as soon as he could release them. Perhaps this Elfin rider had some news that would brighten this day as well, he thought.
Baladar was a good man and he watched the people of his city go about their daily business in the streets below, wondering what it would be like not to bear the burdens of leadership that he had always borne. He felt so alone. He longed for Briland’s presence and he missed her warmth, her smile, her beauty and her overwhelming goodness, so much so that it hurt him.
Davmiran could have been our son. He could have been the child we never had. Now, he belongs to no one, adrift in a hostile world, and his fate is unknown.
The nagging feeling that he was at fault persisted, even though he was rejuvenated by his recent discoveries. He needed to know for certain where the heir was. Baladar required more than hope to sustain him now.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a group of riders escorting a black and white pony with an unmistakably Elfin rider on its back, approaching the castle walls. As they drew near, Baladar could see that the rider was flushed and drenched in sweat, and that his pony was frothing at the mouth and dripping with perspiration as well. Yet, he noticed that this did not deter the young Elf from proceeding forward at a pace that clearly indicated how anxious he was to arrive at his destination.
What news could this visitor be bringing me? Baladar wondered anxiously. An Elf arriving from the south? He experienced a fleeting feeling of encouragement that lifted his spirits if only for a moment. Could it be that my theories are correct? Could he be bringing me news of Davmiran?
When the group disappeared into the castle proper, Baladar moved to the large chair in the corner of the room and sat down to wait. Shortly, he heard a knocking on the heavy door.
“My Lord? May I enter?” Grogan asked.
“Enter!”
Grogan walked to where Baladar was sitting and removed his helmet. He bowed his head slightly.
“The rider is Prince Elion, the son of Treestar, King of Lormarion. He says that he has urgent news for you that he cannot impart to anyone else. He wishes to speak to you immediately.”
“Bring him in, Grogan. I, too, am anxious to speak with the young Elfin Lord,” Baladar responded.
“As you wish, Lord Baladar,” he answered, and he turned to carry out his instructions.
As he entered the room, Baladar could see that the young Elf was still perspiring profusely and clearly out of breath. It was obvious to him that he wasted no time coming here. He could barely stand up, and his clothing was stained with the evidence of a long, hard ride through a wooded area. He bowed deeply, despite his fatigue, and he waited for Baladar to speak first. His manners were excellent and even under the circumstances, he maintained his dignity.
“Greetings, Prince Elion. Sit, rest. You have traveled long and hard, as is evident. Can I offer you some wine or cider?” he asked, after sliding a comfortably cushioned chair toward the tired Elf.
“A mug of cider would be nice right now, your lordship. Thank you,” Elion said politely, while wiping the perspiration from his brow.
Baladar walked to the side of the room and filled two glasses with warm cider from a pitcher on the serving table. He handed one to Elion who was still standing, and then he returned to his own chair.
“Please, sit. You look exhausted. What brings you here in such haste?” he asked, attempting to take the edge of discomfort off of the young man.
Elion sat in the high backed chair facing Baladar. The light from the afternoon sun was streaming through the large windows, illuminating the Elfin Prince in a curiously portentous manner.
“I have two things to tell you, your lordship,” he began, not knowing which tale was the more important of the two.
“Please, call me Baladar and I will call you Elion. There is no need for formality here,” Baladar said, attempting to relax the young visitor as best as he could.
“Thank you, your Lord… I mean, Baladar,” the Elf said humbly, staring at the carpet beneath his feet. “I was on my way to Pardatha to bring you news of a former prisoner of yours…” he began, looking sheepishly now at the anxious Lord before him. Baladar felt the blood rush to his head and he literally had to fight off a wave of dizziness in order to concentrate.
“Tell me, my friend. I must know of this!” Baladar said with an urgent tone, and thus Elion continued.
“I found him outside of your walls when I was returning to my homeland from my uncle’s in the north. He was unconscious and his hands and feet were bound. I thought that he was abandoned and that he would surely have died out there, all alone and unaware. I could not wake him up so I dragged him away into the woods…”
Baladar could barely contain the excitement and relief that the young Elf’s words elicited in him.
“… in order to help him,” he continued, believing that he still needed to apologize for his actions.
“Is he safe now? Where did you take him?” Baladar asked sitting back, attempting to conceal his intense interest.
“I transported him back to Lormarion, my homeland, and he rests now with my mother and father in Seramour,” he replied.
Baladar stood up and walked over to Elion. The Elfin Prince assumed that he would now feel the wrath of his misdeed, and he bent his head in anticipation and shame. Upon reaching his side, the Lord of Pardatha placed his hand fondly upon Elion’s shoulder and spoke to him gently.
“You cannot imagine how grateful I am to you for saving the life of this youth, he whom I call Davmiran.”
Elion lifted his head, and with an amazed look upon his face, he listened to the tale that Baladar then told.
“He was kidnapped from my very home while I was on a vital mission outside the gates. My first at arms was killed in the process, and when I returned I could find neither hide nor hair of him. He is a very special boy, you know?” Baladar remarked in a questioning tone of voice.
“Yes, sir, I found that out. Just looking into his eyes made me feel different,” he said remembering the youth’s blank gaze poignantly. “Why would anyone have abandoned him that way?”
“In order to protect him, I placed a strong spell upon him. Although the intention of the kidnapper was certainly to bring him back home with him, my conjuring caused him to leave him alone and helpless outside the gates of the city. It is more than fortunate that you happened along at such an opportune moment.”
Elion wondered about the timing himself.
“I have only just prepared messages of inquiry to send to your father and uncle, and to your western kin as well. His absence has caused me much worry. This boy means a lot to me, to us all!” Baladar remarked.
“So, tell me?” Baladar asked. “You were in the woods beyond the grassy fields. And then what did you see?” he asked Elion, interested in knowing everything.
“I saw a group of soldiers accompany a young nobleman out of the gates. The boy was laying across a horse, but I did not know that at first. He was covered with a blanket. As soon as they passed through the gate, they seemed to forget all about him, and his horse wandered off alone toward where I was standing. He fell from the animal, and then I saw that it was a boy after all, and when the soldiers were out of sight, I went to assist him. He was unconscious but his eyes were partially open. They were so blue,” Elion said, looking now at no one, caught in the vision of that moment. “I lifted him onto my cape and dragged him into the woods. I could not awaken him, but I was able to force some nourishment down his throat.”
Baladar was becoming more and more impressed with this young, Elfin Prince as he continued to tell his story.
“Was he injured at all?” he asked.
“He did not appear to be so. Anyway, I helped him to drink a little, I made a portage with some branches and my cape and then I dragged him to Lormarion,” he said nonchalantly.
“You carried him all the way to Lormarion by yourself?”
“Well, I did not carry him exactly. I pulled him,” he answered.
“You encountered no one on the way? No person saw you? No one molested you?” he questioned.
“Not a single person. I kept us well hidden and I did not travel a frequented path. I know the woods well. I ran into some trouble just before I got home, though, and if it was not for my father, we would not have made it. The wolves attacked us on the plains beneath Seramour, and I fought them off until my father and some Elfin warriors came to our aid. I really do not remember much from that point on, until I found myself beneath my parent’s roof,” he concluded.
The Twins Page 28