Arlon gulped. “Well, I…I respect you. Absolutely. I certainly do that. But, no? No. I do not fear you. I am your friend.”
Mogg released the reins with his right hand and placed his palm above Arlon’s heart. “May peace reign between us, my friend.”
Oh wow.
Wow. This is really happening.
We’re making real progress up here, he thought. Then a sobering realization hit him. This might be the beginning of a new relationship—a new friendship—between our Five Civilized Kingdoms and the Therion. Imagine that! The Vice and the Kray. Together. Wow. Mother would never believe it!
Arlon returned the gesture with his left hand (albeit with a little difficulty as he fought to control the horse and keep Mae’Lee balanced). “Uh, your enemies are now my enemies. My friend.”
“My friend.”
Paymer drew up on the opposite side of Tempest. “So, just what do these fever-killing flowers look like?”
“You mean the Arriphyll?” Arlon teased.
“Yes, the Arriphyll,” Paymer replied with a touch of sarcasm. “Sorry, pal, but I spend most of my time studying magic, not plantany.”
“Botany.”
“Whatever.”
Oddly enough, Mogg was scanning the skies and peering out along the dark horizon. “I do not see the Arriphyll,” he eventually answered. “We need more moonslight. Paymer.”
“What do you mean you can’t see the flowers?” Paymer asked. “I can barely see the trees. And there’s a whole forest of them in every direction. Even if all three moons were full tonight, which they aren’t, you’re telling me that you could see and identify a certain flower while sitting on a big horse in the middle of the night?”
Mogg didn’t back down. “If the Arriphyll were closer, we would see them. The Plains of Gilmoth are drawing near.”
“The Plains of Gilmoth. I know that I’ve heard of this place,” Paymer mumbled. “There’s something else…or someone else who lives there. Besides the Skree and all. Someone…bad I think.”
“You know of the Magici Dyad?” Mogg asked with a fair amount of surprise.
“Well, I’ve never heard of that…at least I don’t think I have. But I remember a legend or something about an evil place or an evil person in Gilmoth. Maybe a woman? An old woman? I mean, really old.”
Mogg nodded. “Two women. It is said that they are older than the trees. It is no legend. They dwell near the parting of the three rivers.”
Paymer frowned. “Hold on, you’re talking like you’ve met them or something.”
Mogg stared straight ahead.
“Wait…you’ve actually met them?”
“It is…well-spoken.”
_____________________________________
As the chilly hours passed, the steep incline emptied into a broad valley, overly crowded with tall, dry grasses and dotted with occasional prickly shrubs. (Hort’s mischievous horse seemed to have a knack for ramming the young man’s leg into as many of them as possible.) They all stopped at a tiny creek to water the horses before ascending a wide ridge.
Trilyra took a long drink herself before glancing back over her shoulder. The canvas of the eastern sky was just beginning to be painted with deep purple and rich crimson hues all along the horizon.
“Sun’s coming up soon,” she called out.
Mogg looked east with obvious concern. “Time is running out.”
“Running out? For Mae’Lee?” Hort asked nervously.
“For the Arriphyll,” Mogg replied. “Hurry.”
He scooped up the reins and kicked Tempest’s sides, sending the two-headed horse almost charging up the slope. The others, one by one, rushed to fall in line behind him. Arlon steadied Mae’Lee as he struggled to keep up with the pack but ultimately fell into last place.
He heard Trilyra’s voice first.
“Oh, myyyyyyy,” she said, carrying out the final syllable until her breath failed.
Paymer was two seconds behind her.
“Whoa. Whoa. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Hort conquered the ridge eventually.
“Is that…really…real?”
Mogg brought Tempest to a feisty, snorting stop. “It is. Hort. Welcome to the Plains of Gilmoth.”
Arlon clutched the reins, hunkered forward, and made a final push to break over the top of the ridge. As he came to an awestruck stop, what he witnessed easily rivaled the shock and wonder he experienced when first catching sight of the massive waterfall at Lamillar. He wanted to laugh and shout and dance and cry for joy all at the same time. He hoped that Mae’Lee was seeing it, too. If not, he knew it would be almost impossible to describe the beauty of the scene to her when she recovered.
Incredible.
Absolutely…incredible.
It appeared that a wide, black river snaked through the darkness, highlighted on either side with a sea of soft shades of brilliant periwinkle blue. The immediate banks of the pitch black void were almost bluish-white with radiant light which gently faded away the further they regressed outward from the shore.
“It looks like two streams of blue fire. This may be the most amazing thing I have ever seen,” Arlon mumbled.
“It is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Paymer added. “And I’ve seen some pretty freaky things.”
“The blue glow is from the Arriphyll,” Mogg announced.
Hort thrust his finger out and pointed just over the twitching ears of his horse. “Wait…are you saying that all that blue stuff down there…is flowers?”
“It is,” Mogg replied, just before gazing up into the heavens. “If only Megga, Messo, and Mikko were brighter, then the Arriphyll would be even more of a delight.”
Hort positioned his horse closer to Tempest. “What do you mean by that?”
“The Arriphyll open and glow only in the moonslight, Hort. The brighter the moons, the brighter the Arriphyll.”
Arlon stared through the thinning layer of clouds at the three partial moons. “What did you call the moons, Mogg?”
The Therion directed everyone’s attention to them one at a time, beginning with the largest. “Megga…Messo…Mikko.”
“Interesting,” Arlon said. “The Vice also have names for them.” He pointed. “Patir…Mana…Ago. I’ve been told that in the old tongue they mean father, mother, child…or son. Something like that.”
“What of the stars?” Mogg inquired. “Do the Vice also name the stars that fill the heavens?”
“We do. And the constellations. The Omada.” It didn’t take long for him to figure out that Mogg was at a loss. “The Omada are…are groups of stars. Some of them make a picture or a shape. Or, at least, they’re supposed to. I don’t see it in a lot of them.”
“I don’t either,” Paymer quipped.
“All of this celestial talk is very interesting,” Trilyra declared. “And informative. But, the sun is rising, and Mogg said that we were running out of time. I suggest we ride down into the plain, for Mae’Lee’s sake.”
Arlon reached around and patted the Princess’ shoulder as Mogg kicked his heels, leading the charge downhill. “Don’t worry, Mae’Lee. You’ll be fine by morning.”
It sounded good.
But his trembling lips had far more confidence than his troubled heart.
CHAPTER 28
Hort meandered in amazement through the field of glowing blue flowers with his hands stretched out on either side. The luminescent bulbs, some as big as apples and most rising waist-high, bounced gently and silently off of his thrilled fingers. No one could actually see the flowing water of the nearby river, but the lapping of its regular waves was hard to miss.
Hort slowed to a stop and knelt to examine a particularly large bulb. The haunting blue glow lit up his wide-eyed face as he inched closer and closer. “They kinda look like a tall hat. Or maybe a bell.” He pushed on it and rolled it around a bit. “Yeah, a bell. A blue bell.” He glanced over. “You guys really need to come and see this.”
&n
bsp; “All in good time, my friend,” Arlon replied, doing his best to hold still. “First things first.”
Paymer and Trilyra were scurrying about him on either side, engaged in the awkward business of unstrapping Mae’Lee from her piggybacked perch. Mogg patiently waited to assist in hoisting her down.
“Arlon. Move your arms up,” Trilyra urged.
“So, Mogg,” Arlon called out over his right shoulder. “Now that we’re here…what are we supposed to do with the flowers? And how quick does it start curing the fever?”
“Hort!” Mogg hollered. “Gather dry branches. As many as you can carry. Get a fire burning!” He lowered his voice and stepped closer to Arlon. “We must pick the Arriphyll while the light of the moons is upon them, my friend. Then boil the flowers. The young woman must drink it.”
“Great. That sounds easy enough.”
“If it is not already too late.”
“Alright,” Trilyra called out. “She’s coming down. You guys ready?”
Paymer and Mogg shifted into position. “Let her down,” Paymer said.
Arlon twisted in the saddle and helped ease the Princess into their waiting arms.
“Tie her legs together,” Mogg directed.
“I’m already on it!” Trilyra rang out.
Arlon slid down and hit the ground hard. He stretched. It felt so good. “What do you want me to do?”
“Pick the Arriphyll. And put them in a metal bowl. With water.”
“I’ve got the bowl,” Trilyra’s voice resounded out from the far side. “I think.”
Arlon wasted no time plucking several of the fattest, brightest bulbs he could get his hands on. He rather expected their eerie blue light to immediately begin to fade when he snapped them from their thick stems. It didn’t.
“How long will they glow?” he asked.
“A long time.”
Mogg finished strapping Mae’Lee’s legs together. “Where is the fire?”
“I’m working on it,” Hort protested from somewhere out in the dark distance. “It takes time.”
Trilyra hurried back with the bowl and Paymer emptied the remainder of his water pouch into it. Mogg carefully transported the sloshing container over to Arlon and pointed. “Crush the flowers into the water. Small pieces. Trilyra…assist Hort with the fire.”
“I’m on it.”
Arlon twisted, crushed and mashed the bulbs, releasing jagged pieces of velvety petals. The glowing fragments dropped into the water, instantly transforming the bland bowl into something resembling a truly magical blue potion.
“Excellent. Arlon. More.” Mogg raised his head. “How is the fire?”
“It’ll be ready when you are,” came Trilyra’s confident reply.
Mogg covered the bowl with his hand. “It is enough. Come.”
_____________________________________
The modest fire had the blue pot bubbling and broiling in under five minutes. Arlon hunkered over and peered down into the steaming cauldron. The glowing flower fragments were jostling about violently and many were almost dissolving away.
“Hey pal,” Paymer said. “Check out your hands!”
Arlon raised them aloft and discovered that his palms and fingers were coated in an electric blue afterglow. Wait a minute…this gives me an idea. He reached up and deliberately wiped two of his glowing fingertips across his cheek, just below his right eye. He repeated the action with his other hand on the opposite side.
“How does it look?” he asked, showcasing four blue cheek stripes.
“Do you really wanna know?” Trilyra teased.
“Be nice. Does it look good?”
Hort jumped up. “Do it to me.”
“Come on Hort,” she said. “Don’t encourage him.”
Arlon smiled as he applied his careful artistic touches to his first eager customer. “We might have really stumbled on to something here, my friend. If we bring this back to our cities…we could make a fortune! I bet we would be the talk of the town.”
Trilyra shook her head. “Or the embarrassment of the town.”
Arlon added a few more bright blue streaks to his own cheeks. “That is just jealousy speaking. Plain and simple.”
“That is common sense speaking,” she countered.
Paymer’s eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. “Wait! Wait! I wonder if I could somehow use that stuff in a magic act?!”
“Yeah,” Trilyra sneered. “Try it and watch the audience disappear.”
“Oh, don’t listen to the Scoffer of the South,” Arlon cautioned. “I’ve heard she could put out a forest fire with a single, ice-cold stare.”
Everyone chuckled, more or less, and Arlon glanced off to the brilliant eastern sky. The cloudless dawn was nearly upon them, and that fact concerned him greatly. There was no telling how many Skree fisherman or merchants might take to the river once the sun broke over the tree-lined horizon.
“How much longer?” he asked.
Mogg squinted. “A little while.”
“The sun is almost up.”
“Even the Vish’tar of the Kla’aven Mage cannot change that.”
“Should we move to better cover?”
Mogg stirred the pot with a short stick. “It is an ill thought. The young woman needs to drink the Arriphyll now.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“As Trilyra says, ‘I’m on it’.” Arlon rushed over and dug a cup out of his bulging saddlebag. He returned and dipped it into the boiling bowl.
“Add cool water from your pouch,” Mogg said. “Do not burn the young woman.”
Arlon nodded and followed orders. “Good idea.”
“Careful,” Mogg said. “Not too much cool.”
“Not too much cool. Got it.”
Trilyra and Paymer scrambled over to the Princess and assisted by supporting her head and carefully cracking her mouth open.
“Wow, she is really, really hot,” Paymer noted.
“Well,” Arlon said as he knelt beside her. “Hopefully this will take care of all that.” He eased the lip of the very warm cup to her mouth and tipped it forward ever so slowly. “How much?”
Mogg looked up. “All. And then…all again.”
“You got it. I’ll give her the whole river and every blue bulb out here if that’s what it takes.”
“Is she swallowing?” Trilyra asked. “I can’t tell.”
Paymer rested a few fingers against her throat. “Uh, yep. Yeah. She’s swallowing.”
“Slow down,” Trilyra insisted. “Don’t strangle the girl.”
“I know, I know. Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt her.”
“Let her breathe.”
“I am.”
Hort wandered over. “How’s it going?”
“First. Cup. Is. Just. A-bout. Done. Right. A-bout. Now.” Arlon handed him the empty vessel. “Fill it up, Hort. Round two.” He stared over at Mogg. “Two cups, right?”
“Two cups.”
Hort returned and mixed in a shot or two of cooler water. Arlon sloshed it around before pressing it to her moist lips.
“We’re almost done, Mae’Lee. I hope this tastes good. Does it taste good, Mogg?”
“Very bitter.”
“Okay, then. Well, it might be bitter,” he whispered, “but it will make you better. Bitter. Better. Got it? Isn’t that funny?”
Trilyra rolled her blue-green eyes. “Oh, gimme a break! That…that was actually pretty terrible.”
“Hey, listen! I’m trying to keep things positive. And upbeat.” He lowered the cup to let her breathe.
“You’re gonna save her with that good medicine and then kill her with your bad jokes. Or whatever you want to call what you just did there.”
“I call it…being a good friend.”
“And I call it torture. How much to go?”
“A few more sips.”
Trilyra looked over at Mogg. “How long until we should see some improvement?”
“By midday,” he said
. “The young woman should sleep.”
“Okay,” Arlon announced. “And. I’m. Done. Right. Now.”
Mogg jumped up and immediately kicked out the fire. “Hurry. Get to the horses. Hort...gather a few more Arriphyll. We may need them later. But now, we must find shelter in the forest at once. We will wait there for the young woman to wake up. If all is well, we remain until dark before heading north and east.”
Arlon rose to his feet and stretched. “And what if all is not well? What if she is not recovering?”
“Then we ride west. In the daylight.”
“West? Don’t you mean north?”
“West.”
CHAPTER 29
It was impossible to sleep.
It was also impossible to wait.
Arlon hovered close to Mae’Lee, watching every rise and fall of her chest, constantly scanning her peaceful face for a sign. Any sign. Anything to give him the slightest glimmer of confidence in her recovery.
He had lost track of how many times he had checked and rechecked the temperature of her hot forehead. But the dawn had arrived long before and now the sun was reaching its zenith straight overhead. As the day had grown brighter, everyone’s hope had gradually dimmed.
Arlon noticed that Mogg seemed concerned.
Even a hot and satisfying mid-morning meal, compliments of Trilyra’s dishonorable bow, failed to improve spirits much.
Mogg wandered back from a short scouting trip and looked over at Arlon. “Has the young woman improved?”
Arlon just shook his head.
He wanted to throw up.
Mogg’s urgency was readily apparent. He kicked Hort and Paymer’s feet and kept his voice low. “Wake up. It is time to ride west. We will not have the cover of darkness, but the young woman will not survive until nightfall.”
Trilyra began to pack up their supplies as the boys clambered to their feet. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“West.”
“Yes, we know that…but where?”
“Not where,” he replied, looking towards the river. “Who.”
_____________________________________
A handful of small boats dotted the smooth, shimmering surface of the river as Mogg led them a bit further north to secure the cover of the oak forest. He glanced back over his shoulder.
The Dragon Wrath: Book Two of the Arlon Prophecies Page 17