Mogg motioned to an attendant. “I will have one of our men bring you food. Once we leave the city, your hunger will return. You need to eat before we depart.”
Arlon nodded. “Yes, your Excellency.”
Paymer elbowed him. “Oh, I, I mean, it is well-spoken,” Arlon stammered. “And thank you.”
Mogg resumed walking and they followed. “Have my people shown you your horses?”
Trilyra quickened her pace. “It is an ill thought, your Excellency,” she replied rather clumsily.
“Then it will be my privilege,” he said. “My people are gathering your belongings at this moment and will bring them to be loaded onto your horses with our supplies. They will also provide a change of clothing…more suitable for travel through the land of the Kray.”
The entire procession of men and animals before them halted to allow the Vish’tar and his honored guests to pass through. He led them a bit further to a pair of smaller corrals Arlon hadn’t noticed before.
The first was occupied with five gorgeous horses. The second one stopped Arlon dead in his tracks. “Is that what I think it is?” he muttered.
Trilyra stared hard. “I must be dreaming.”
“Oh, my!” Mae’Lee gasped.
Mogg glanced back at the group of motionless, awe-struck visitors. “Come closer,” he beckoned. “Let me introduce you to Tempest…the envy of the six Kla’aven of the Kray.” Mogg whistled and the magnificent steed snorted and pounded its way over to the closest fence rail in a furious display. With each step, a rippling wave flowed across the powerful muscles just below its shimmering gray hide.
“Whoa…what am I looking at? Is that one or two horses?” Paymer asked.
Arlon hadn’t been this astonished since he stood before the Dragon almost two weeks earlier.
Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Mother will never believe this story.
He rested a slow hand on Paymer’s shoulder. “You were right on both accounts, my friend. It is one horse. And it is two horses.”
Trilyra worked her way between the boys. “Correction my Soterian friend. It is one horse…one horse with two heads!”
“A two-headed horse?!” Mae’Lee exclaimed. “What?!”
Hort looked like he was on the verge of fainting. “I wanna wake up now, please.”
Tempest reared up and tossed its twin heads from side to side, billowing out its long, black manes in a mesmerizing dance. The ground shook with the force of the impact of its massive front legs as they crashed back down.
Paymer whistled low and long. “Man, oh man! I thought that the magician back at Karaval couldn’t be topped. But, but this—this—is wow. I’ve seen a two-headed snake once, but this, this is really just…wow.”
“Tempest was birthed five years ago,” Mogg beamed while reclining against the rails. “Right after I won my right as Vish’tar of the Mage. He was a gift from the Kla’aven Skree.”
“He is quite a gift,” Trilyra said, approaching carefully.
Mogg ran his proud hand along one of the horse’s necks. “I called him Tempest because of the way his hide moves and flows as he runs. In my youth, it reminded me of the rolling clouds on a stormy day. He has fought in many battles. Tempest has visited vengeance upon our enemies when there was not a weapon in my hand. His heavy hooves have succeeded when my javelins have failed.” Mogg pushed away from the fence. “Come. There is much to do. By the Red Leaf, we depart Lamillar within the hour.”
_____________________________________
The expanding train of warriors, horses, wagons, and Dunamai snaked past the multitudes of concerned onlookers along the outskirts of the hidden city. From his new perch seated atop a wide-backed steed, Arlon glanced around.
Why are we going deeper and deeper into this cave?
He struggled to rotate around in his saddle-of-sorts and concentrated towards the rear. The huge waterfall was growing smaller by the second.
“Hey Paymer,” he called out in hushed tones. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
Arlon managed to encourage his horse to move closer to his friend. “Aren’t we going in the wrong direction? The way out is the other way.”
“I’m pretty sure the Kray know how to get out of their own city, pal,” Paymer smirked.
Arlon stared at the white paint covering the left side of his friend’s face. “I guess you’re right, my fellow Kray warrior,” he replied.
Their puzzling path grew even stranger and quite a bit narrower. The fearsome convoy entered a constricted, torch lit passageway that veered to the right and slightly uphill for a quarter-mile or more. It didn’t take long for the already humid air to become saturated with the choking blend of smoke mixed with the sweaty aroma of man and burdened beast. Arlon tried to speak a couple of times, but the steady clomping of hundreds of horse hooves reverberating along the rocky tunnel drowned out any chance for meaningful conversation. Rays of flickering light began to cast shifting shadows all around them.
The sun! Finally…we are getting close to an exit.
Less than a minute later, Arlon raised his hands to shield his squinting eyes as he broke out of the cave and into the harsh blast of late-morning sunlight. A huge smile spread across his face. The air was better, the light was better, and for the first time since leaving Karaval…his spirits were better.
“What do you think those mouth-things are, pal?” Paymer asked, nodding towards a pair of warriors attending to a cart loaded with Bloodtip Falcons.
Arlon studied the small tubes that seemed to rest along the entire width of their bottom lips. The curious devices were held in place by thin straps that wrapped around their shaggy heads.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe some kind of musical instrument?”
Paymer raised his eyebrows. “These Kray don’t really strike me as the musical-sort of people, my friend. I think they would rather play with spears than drums or trumpets.”
“Look!” Arlon urged with sudden excitement as he coaxed his horse to a standstill. “Over there! The cage is open. They are letting the falcon’s loose!”
Paymer couldn’t hide his grin. “Whoa…would you look at that!”
The first of the majestic creatures waddled into the open and stretched out its golden brown wings. Every feather on its slender form seemed to bristle upward as it shook with the delight of freedom. Two quick shrills filled the air.
FWEEEE! FWEEEE!
The Bloodtip instantly launched into the air with a furious rush of pure power as the next one exited the cart. Arlon squinted over at Paymer. “Did the bird make those sounds?!”
Paymer shook his head and pointed at the warriors. “No. I don’t think so. I think it was them.”
One of the Kray adjusted the strange tube along his lips before obviously blowing into it.
FWEEEEEEEE! FWEEEEEEEE!
The second falcon sailed upward in a thrilling display of strength and speed. Its gliding shadow passed right over Arlon as it joined its circling companion high in the sky.
Trilyra drew alongside them on her muscular Palomino and eased it to a full stop. Hort tried to follow, but he couldn’t seem to get his horse to cooperate.
“Did you see that?” she asked. “They are actually commanding their falcons with those lip-whistle-things or whatever you call them.” Trilyra stared straight up and shaded her eyes. “That’s pretty smart for a bunch of forest devils,” she whispered in admiration.
TOOOWEEEE!
TOOOWEEEEEEEE!
FWEE!
The two birds spiraled higher and began a level flight out ahead of the convoy as a third falcon ascended with a series of rapid, whooshing flaps.
The Princess doubled back on her dappled steed and peered skyward. “Just lovely and graceful animals, aren’t they?”
A few moments later, another voice snapped everyone’s gaze back down below. “The Kylldor’s obedience exceeds that of many of my men,” Mogg noted as he trotted atop a feis
ty, snorting Tempest. The horses’ heads bobbed and thrashed from side to side. He yanked back on the thick reins. “If only my warriors were as swift in their duties.”
Interesting, Arlon thought as he studied the Therion leader. Mogg has the same white paint covering his own Dunamai birthmark. That’s strange.
“Do the Kylldor serve as scouts…your Excellency?” Trilyra asked.
“It is well-spoken, woman of the south,” he answered as Tempest stomped in place and flared his double set of moist nostrils. “But the Kylldor are skillful warriors as well. They fill the chests of our enemies with dread.”
Trilyra brushed a lock of strawberry-blonde hair out of her eyes and looked away. “I am truly sorry that I shot one of your Kylldors, your Excellency.”
Mogg hunkered forward and patted heartily on one of Tempest’s necks. “Even though you used a dishonorable weapon of the Vice, the past is forgiven.” He jerked the reins to the side. Tempest stamped a few times and veered off to the left. “To speak of this again is an ill thought. Come. We have far to go. And Kurric and I have a difficult parting.”
_____________________________________
The formidable procession meandered northward through the dense forest for over an hour without any sign of easing up. The distinct raging of Lamillar’s waterfall faded to a dim memory by the time the bearable heat of midday arrived. Arlon was once again impressed with the Kray’s ability to move so quietly while in such large numbers.
“Hey Paymer,” he said discreetly.
The freckled Oranian rolled his head to the side. “You called?”
Arlon pointed ahead. “Why do you think Mogg painted his own Dunamai mark white like that?”
Paymer eased his horse closer. “Well, that’s a good question. Maybe as a sign of unity with his troops? I don’t know. I’m sure there’s a reason.”
Arlon surveyed the huge, menacing convoy. “I’m not so sure the Sevasti in Alaithia will appreciate us showing up at the Firebridge with hundreds of Therion warriors carrying javelins,” he said.
“I was just thinking the same thing, pal. I was just thinking the same thing.”
Mogg assumed the lead position at the front of the pack and insisted that the visiting Vice relocate directly behind him. He shot his right arm straight out to the side and then brought it overhead. The quiet procession halted at once.
“Kurric, my brother,” Mogg called out.
The trusted warrior galloped to the front and brought his horse nose to noses with Tempest. “It is well-spoken, my Vish’tar. What is your will?”
“It is my will that our warriors turn west,” Mogg said softly. “You and I and the Vice will continue north.”
Kurric pushed up higher off of his horse and made several wide gestures to the double column of fighters stretching far into the distance. Seconds later the primitive regiment peeled westward and disappeared into what seemed an impenetrable thicket. Even the Bloodtip Falcons altered course and were soon obscured by a wall of thick trees off to the left. Mogg led his much smaller detachment along a grassy ridge and halted in a rocky clearing a few hundred yards further along.
Kurric scanned hastily in all directions before glancing over. “What is wrong, my Vish’tar? What do you see?”
Mogg dismounted silently and motioned for his fellow warrior to do the same. Kurric tossed his leg over, slid to the ground and jogged over to the expressionless face of his young leader.
“Do you sense trouble, my Vish’tar?”
Mogg wagged his head with sorrow in his eyes. “Only the trouble that burns within my chest.”
Kurric frowned. “What trouble do you speak of?”
Mogg laid his right hand above Kurric’s heart. “May peace reign between us, my brother.”
Kurric was clearly lost as he returned the gesture slowly. “Your enemies are my enemies, my brother.”
Mogg reached up and clutched his friend’s meaty shoulders. “Guard our people well, my trusted advisor. By the Red Leaf, may the safety of Lamillar and all of our Kla’aven be your continual and honorable burden.”
Kurric furrowed his brow even further and spread his hands out. “What are you saying, my Vish’tar? It is an ill thought. You speak as if you wish for me to leave you.”
“It pains me for us to be separated,” Mogg replied, lowering his arms. “And the sorrow I feel in departing our Kla’aven threatens to crush my heart into dust.” Mogg hesitated but never took his eyes off of Kurric. “But I must journey with the Vice…alone.”
“My Vish’tar,” Kurric protested. “My place is forever at your side.”
“Your place is defending our people,” Mogg countered firmly. “My place is meeting with the Northern Elders. Our people are suffering. If this beast can be overcome, I must gain the wisdom to fight on behalf of the Kray.”
Kurric’s fallen expression admitted defeat. “But…when will you return, my Vish’tar?”
Mogg raised his right hand and slid it past the long, black locks of hair that framed his serious face. “It is to be decided, my brother. Such answers belong to the will of the Zho.”
Kurric nodded. “And none can resist His will,” he mumbled.
Mogg trudged back towards a much more mild-mannered Tempest and climbed aboard. He snagged the reins and gazed over at Kurric a final time. “Far yet near, my brother.”
Kurric placed a closed fist over his chest.
“Far yet near, my Vish’tar.”
CHAPTER 24
Two things threatened to lull Arlon to sleep in their lonely trek through the heart of dangerous territory: first, the comfort of the gentle rocking of his horse, and second, the discomfort of complete silence. From Mogg guiding them at the front of the pack, to Trilyra taking up the rear guard, it seemed that none dared to speak.
It wasn’t that anyone had been told to stay quiet. It just…happened. And the longer that silence ruled, the tighter its grip became. Arlon wrestled and struggled with the situation. The inquisitive and imaginative Soterian had so many questions for their latest addition, but the unspoken tension in the air seemed impenetrable.
Maybe when we stop, he said to himself. We can talk then. I hope.
He had glanced back at Mae’Lee several times as the hours of travel wore on. More often than not, he would catch her beautiful brown eyes plunged into sadness. Or perhaps even fear. When she noticed him looking, the Princess always brightened up with a forced grin or a pleasant nod, but he knew better. Nearly two weeks away from her royal family and her royal comforts were, no doubt, taking their toll on the delicate young woman. Arlon couldn’t begin to imagine the rage and desperation that must have filled the hearts and minds of her powerful parents back in the powerful Kingdom of Avdira.
Arlon pictured her stately father riding alongside him, decked out in a glorious suit of gleaming armor atop a decorated steed.
“I promise you,” Arlon said inwardly, “I will return your daughter to you without harm.”
Leandros didn’t even bother to offer a courtesy glance. His dark eyes were unblinking and unflinching. “And I can promise you, Arlon of Soteria, that I will lay waste to your precious capital if your promise goes unfulfilled.”
“She came of her own free will,” Arlon replied.
Leandros finally glowered over at him. “And if you truly cared about Mae’Lee, you should have brought her to me! To her father! Do you honestly imagine you can protect her better than I?”
Arlon stared into his lap and toyed with the small knot woven into the horse’s reins. He could feel the heat rising in his neck and face. “I’m sorry. But, but I do care about her, your Highness.”
Leandros kicked his heels into his horse’s side and began to veer away into the woods. “Then bring her home to me, young Dunamai, or you will not have a home to return to.”
Arlon stared off after him for a few tense moments, until a new, kinder voice barged into his imagination from the opposite side.
“Better than riding in a slave cart
, my boy. Don’t you think?”
That voice! Kash?!
An excited Arlon flung his blond head over to the right. The grinning form of his bearded friend met his expectant gaze. Kash looked exactly like the last time Arlon had seen him standing on the auction block.
“Kash!” he cried out in his mind.
“Oh, so you remember my name,” the older man chuckled. “I would have supposed that an important Dunamai such as yourself on a very important mission would have forgotten an old, dried-up blooddrake such as myself.”
Arlon almost laughed as a huge smile rose into his cheeks. “What? Forget you? I think about you all the time.”
Kash glanced over his shoulder at Mae’Lee. He leaned closer and kept his voice low. “Probably not as much as you think about that beautiful young Princess back there. Of course, who could blame—”
Arlon blushed. “Would you be serious and listen to me? I have so many questions.”
Kash rolled his eyes. “Questions, you say? Questions? Ah, so then I do have the right Arlon of Soteria riding next to me. It was difficult to tell…with all of your Therion attire, and that face paint.”
“Very funny.”
Kash rubbed his beard. “You, my boy, have no lack of questions like that young man over there has no lack of freckles.”
“Kash, please. I need to know.” Arlon paused. “Am I—are we—doing the right thing?”
It was Kash’s turn to pause. “What does your heart tell you?”
Arlon’s mind raced. “I, I don’t know! We are being led by a Therion king through the Therion Wilds on our way to a mysterious fortress in the far north that may not be able to help us, or maybe won’t even accept us at all! You ask me what my heart tells me? My heart tells me that this is crazy!”
Kash turned his head and pierced right through Arlon with a pair of very discerning eyes. “You are greatly mistaken, Chosen Child of Soteria. You are confusing foolishness with danger. Your path is dangerous, my boy, but it is by no means crazy.”
Arlon couldn’t deny the wisdom of the old man’s simple admonition. He clamped his eyes shut and mulled it over for several seconds. A new, booming voice intruded into his thoughts.
The Dragon Wrath: Book Two of the Arlon Prophecies Page 13