“We found him in the Plains of Eridúl amidst the dead. There was an escort, and it seems they were slain by dark forces.”
“Dark forces that have evaded our sight, it seems,” Geldirana said, the worry evident in her voice. “We have kept a watch on Nahragor and saw naught of any stirring.”
“Yet your watch extends not to Tol-Úmari, where the greater danger to the Al-Ferian lies, for that is near their border, and they must pass it to come into Telarym. It would surprise me little to know that a fellness came from there in the dark stretches of the night.”
“Yet it surprises you that such a fellness would leave this boy unharmed.”
“Yes, yes, I cannot hide that,” Délin admitted.
“There is little you can hide from me, Trueblade,” the Way-thane said. “I am Alar Ardúnar, and this is my time. Wisdom tells me that the shadow of doom is upon this boy, though he has yet evaded death, and this confounds me. Why have you brought him here?”
“Where else is there to go?” Délin asked. “Where would you bid me take him?”
“Anywhere but our camp,” she said. “I sense a power within him, as if the magics of a thousand Aelora had been concentrated into one person, one vessel. He is dangerous, and he will attract danger. There is wisdom and brooding in his eyes, and a power I have not the will or heart to look upon, for the eyes of an Ardúnar see things others do not—yet there are things even I cannot see behind the shadows of his mind.”
“Be that as it may,” Délin replied, “he is but a child. A child not of my race, nor one that speaks my tongue, and perhaps he has the power of the Aelora in him, and perhaps there is a doom upon him that none but the wise can foresee—but he is still a child, young and innocent, and who are we, old and guilty, to pass judgement?”
“We are the wise,” she said. “And I was chosen not for mercy. I will not ignore the shadow that lies upon him like a cloak. Those who wear the vestures of darkness, knowing not that they wear them, are still fated to an evil fate, and I will not have this Al-Ferian child bring ruin upon us all.”
“Then what is your ruling?”
“He cannot stay here. Not even overnight, for who are we to know that day will come if doom comes the quicker?”
“The hopeful,” Délin replied.
“I have spent my hope,” she said. “And the Garigút keep no large store of it. Not even the hope of Trueblade is enough to change this matter. The child must go, but I will not have you go with him, for I foresee that you will be needed ere the end, and so I shall send a scout with the boy on horseback, and they will go to Boror and take house in one of our haven-huts.”
Délin shook his head. “Stubborn you are, yet I am moreso. I will not be parted from the boy now, nor ever while there is life yet flowing in my veins.”
“How rousing,” Geldirana said. “Do you think I have compassion for you? I would sooner slay you now so that your oath is kept and the boy removed from here, but wisdom stays my hand.”
“Wisdom stays your hand so that compassion may yet rule,” Délin said. “But the wisdom you speak of our parting is a cruel wisdom, and if I must choose between it and compassion then I choose the latter.”
“You already have,” the Way-thane said, “for if you had chosen wisdom you would have seen that the choice of compassion was the choice of doom, and you shall feel the pain of parting whether you will it or not. But come, I shall speak no more on this matter. The boy will go and you will stay, and what little wisdom you have left would bid you not object.”
“Then that wisdom is forfeit, and I miss it not while there is love. Perhaps you would know it still if Ifferon had not broken your heart, but that is not for me to repair.” He turned and left the chamber, ushering Théos ahead of him, who had kept in silence throughout the proceedings, oblivious to what had happened and what was yet to come.
If Délin had turned back he would have seen the shattering of a soul, would have witnessed long-withheld tears upon Geldirana’s face. She sat in soundless grief for a time, and there were none to succour her or provide solace in the stillness of the chamber and the sorrows of her mind.
* * *
Ifferon collapsed upon a hard wooden chair within his quarters, yet he did not feel it, for his mind was elsewhere. He sighed deeply, and it was as the wail of the wind in a storm, haunting and unsettling.
“The Way-thane is really something,” Herr’Don said. “I’d hate to be her partner for fear of being burned to a crisp.”
“She has grown bitter,” Ifferon said, shaking his head. “Yet I am he who planted the seeds of that bitterness, and long have they been watered o’er these ten years with the nourishment of anger, and so have they ripened as bitter fruit upon a tree of thorns, so grown to keep hands that may hurt from plucking them again. Cold hands like mine.”
“Perhaps that’s the better match,” Herr’Don said. “Keep your cold hands and she can keep her hot ones, and you can both temper each other.”
“There is little that will temper her,” Délin said, entering the room in an angry stride with Théos. “That little is love, and it will need to be a lot ere the fires of her wrath are quelled.”
“Without a doubt!” Herr’Don replied. “Ah, but one glance from the eyes of Herr’Don the Great could do the quelling.”
“Why did she call you back?” Ifferon asked Délin.
“To ask too much of me,” the knight responded.
Herr’Don raised an eyebrow. “She wanted to bed you?”
“No! Dearest me, no!” Délin said, and he laughed. Then his face became grim again and his voice solemn. “No, she asks that I send Théos away while I continue on our journey.”
“Ah,” Herr’Don said, biting his lip.
“Did she say why?” Ifferon asked.
“Yes, yes, but I do not believe it,” Délin replied. “And will not add credence to it by repeating it here.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Herr’Don said. “Siege is no place for a boy.”
“There are no places for children now,” Délin said. “The world is shattered, and all countries are beset with war, and it feels as though there is naught I can do to save them.”
“What will you do about Théos?” Ifferon asked.
“I do not know. I am reluctant to leave him, yet I know that I must forge on, and in forging on I cannot bring him with me. Thus it seems that Geldirana speaks true, and I shall now feel the pain of parting whether I will it or not. He will go back to Boror.”
“A wise choice,” Herr’Don said.
“Yes, I think it is best for all,” Ifferon added, and he hoped his words were reassuring, yet felt little comfort of his own.
“Where are the others?” Délin asked. It seemed that he had only now realised that Thalla and Elithéa were not in the room.
“They have other quarters,” Herr’Don said. “The Garigút do not see much difference between man and woman, but they know that others do, so they have divided us so. But come, let us change quickly, for the night is already late, and I think that the Garigút will not tarry with the summons for supper.”
* * *
And they did not, for soon the summons was given and the company rejoined in the main chamber, where was set a large table with many wooden platters of food: roast chicken, skewed boar, stale bread, and salted nuts. And there were many jugs of drink: ale, wine, water, and milk, and a chalice of dawnwater in the centre of the table.
“Join us,” Geldirana said. Her chair was now at the head of the table, where she sat in a new dress, plain and black. Her hair was tied back, and there was a black flower, a nahilar, within it; the flower was like a black claw, for its petals bent inwards like fingers. Indeed, Ifferon thought at first that there was a spider in her hair, weaving webs amidst the golden flame.
They were guided to their seats, but none would begin the feast until Geldirana gave the nod. “It is good to see you all in better shape. Telarym has not been kind to you. Let now that cruelty be addres
sed. We shall talk as we feast.” She beckoned to Galon and he brought her the chalice from the centre of the table. She supped from it and passed it around. “May this dispel all evils.”
They drank in turn, silent as they enacted this ancient Garigút custom, but when the chalice had passed from Délin to Théos there was tension, for the boy merely looked into the cup and would not partake of it.
“He drinks not,” Geldirana observed. “Who of fair company refuses the dawnwater of the Garigút, and who of wisdom would refuse it in the company of the Way-thane?”
“Drink,” Délin urged, and he made a drinking gesture with his hand.
“Adala,” Elithéa said, and the boy looked at her and shook his head.
“Bhasa,” he said. “Adalim hanta bhasa!”
“He says he drinks only water,” Elithéa explained.
“Then he refuses a courtesy that is not lightly given,” Geldirana said. “Is there any reason why the dawnwater of the Garigút is unfit for him? Do the Al-Ferian drink only unconsecrated water?”
“No,” Elithéa replied. “They drink anything they can, and freely partake of the liquor of other peoples. I know not why he refuses the chalice.”
“So the dog is not thirsty,” Aralus said. “Let him go without.”
“It is a great honour to receive this libation,” Délin said, “and I shall drink for him to retain the honour if your grace will allow me.”
“Granted,” the Way-thane said, and Délin took the chalice again and drank a second draught. When he had finished he passed it on to Herr’Don.
“Don’t worry,” Herr’Don said, “I never refuse free liquor, and dawnwater is one of the best. Good for all things.”
“Like scaring away the Spectres,” Geldirana said, staring at Théos as she spoke. “They are a force who would not touch or partake of it, for it is the water of dawn’s embrace, kissed by the sun and consecrated by the moon, into which is then crumbled the remnants of Lesser Ilokrán. But let us speak no more of this, for there are many more things we must discuss.”
And so their feast began, and Geldirana spoke as they ate. At times she said naught and they ate with the hunger of wolves, and at others they all stopped to listen, bar Herr’Don, who nibbled throughout her discourse.
“Nahragor is the fortress of the Molokrán,” Geldirana said. “It is the Gate of Nahlin, the barrier of our armies and the breaker of our spirits. But the Molokrán are asleep, and the Lichelord is abroad. Barriers may be broken, and spirits may be kindled. Thus lies our window of opportunity, for now is the Passing of the High. In this transition between Shadowlord and Shadowlord, we have hope. For Nahragor is the fortress of the Molokrán for good reason, for it is the home of the second Alar Kalakrán, the first being in Tol-Úmari. These were the original two, and all others were made in likeness, to mimic them. Should one be destroyed, then the Molokrán would be weakened beyond measure, for all but the remaining Alar Kalakrán would cease to work, forcing the Molokrán to reside in Tol-Úmari alone, never able to travel freely and swiftly across Iraldas as they have unto now.
“But unlike the other Kalakrán, these cannot be destroyed by mortal hands alone. Even the powers of the Ardúnari are not yet strong enough to bring them to ruin. Only the Last Words will do. Only Telm’s dying breath is potent enough to topple this Crypt, and only those who carry the blood of Telm may speak these words of ending. Thus is it your task, Ifferon, to venture into Nahragor itself, as even Melgalés desired, for it was this mission that he knew you must complete, this action that would turn the tides in our favour, and this commitment that would unleash your potential as Telm Incarnate to bring an end to Agon’s war upon Iraldas.
“Thus we have espied a secret entrance into Nahragor which they use to send out scouts and emissaries, and this lies nigh unto the Dark Forest of Idor-Hol, which poses a danger unto itself, yet also provides for some cover. We shall send a small party with you there and you shall come into the Black Bastion with ease. The Siege shall begin as you depart, and thus we will prove a distraction from the secret ways, for we shall avert their gaze with catapult and petard, and they shall know the might of the Garigút as we break their doors down.
“And now at last you may know why I wear black this night. I bear the cloth of mourning, for there will be great loss on the morrow, and the land shall be spilled with the blood of my people. Their last sights in Iraldas will be of darkness and evil, and it shall ever haunt them in the Halls of Halés when they rejoin their mothers and their fathers. I wear this now in grief, yet on the morrow I shall be in white, for then there shall be no time for sorrow, and I must reveal myself in vestures fitting.”
“What about the Call of Agon?” Herr’Don asked. “Is there nothing we can do to stop it?”
“Until we know who is doing the calling and where, there is little that can be done,” Geldirana responded. “But the destruction of a Kalakrán might just be enough to distract anyone who dares attempt to free Agon from his chains. If a Summoner lies in Nahragor, as my spies have told me, then perhaps he will think twice when the Kalakrán is in ruins.”
“So we get entangled in an Ardúnari mission instead,” Herr’Don said, shaking his head. “Of course you would want us to destroy a Kalakrán when you face that which crawls out of it.”
But Geldirana ignored him. She stood up swiftly and clapped. “The feast is over. Return now to your quarters and dream as fair as you are able, for you shall find that the nearness of Nahragor is a thorn to good dreams. Rest well, and may the blessings of Corrias be upon you, for we will need them ere the end. You will be woken early, and there will be little time then, for we must march. Good night, as far as night is good.”
* * *
And so they left the table and retired to their quarters. Many collapsed into slumber immediately, for their limbs were weary and the feast had contented them beyond measure. The dawnwater also had a somnolent effect, ushering them into the drowsy clutches of sleep.
But neither Délin nor Théos could sleep. They waited at a small wooden table that looked to have been thrown together with scraps of wood. Théos picked at the splinters and Délin stared at the patterns in the grain, as if it were an oracle that might reveal to him some insight into his fears. The night wore on like the subtle erosion of rocks or the less overt attrition of Délin’s troubled mind. Suddenly a pounding came at the door and Délin sighed deeply as he reluctantly answered it. Galon entered with another called Adon, and Délin knew that his parting with Théos had come like a thief in the night.
“A moment,” Délin asked, and he hugged the boy, who knew little of what was transpiring, for he could not tell their tongue. “May Issarí protect you,” the knight said, brushing through Théos’ hair with his hand. “May Corrias guide you.”
Then Galon and Adon took the boy by the shoulders and Théos started to weep, as if suddenly aware of what was happening. He reached out his hands to Délin, but the gesture was not returned, for the knight had not the will for it. He swallowed hard and was glad that there were none else awake to see his sorrow.
And thus was Théos led away in the dark moments of the night, made all the darker for these deeds. Yet nothing else could be done, and Geldirana passed by the quarters and had pity on the knight, but told herself that this parting was but a single tear of the parting that would be faced otherwise. She watched from her vantage at the top of the Old Keep as Galon bid Adon well, and then Adon rode off with Théos on horseback, and they took the unmarked roads to Boror, haste ever guiding them.
* * *
Morning came, but it was not fair, for there was a bitter wind and rain. The Old Keep was battered by the siege of storm, and the Garigút were forced to delay their attack until later that day when the war of weather had been won. Then they were all led up to the garrison on the roof of the Old Keep, where from the battlements they were shown the vast arsenal of the Garigút: dozens of catapults, tens of battering rams, several small ballistae, and three rolling-shields (a
s the Garigút called them). These were large wooden encampments upon wheels, filled with petardiers, sappers and other siege-workers.
“It is time at last,” Geldirana said, and she strode before them with a golden mace in hand. Galon and Geldon brought a bruised shield to her, round and bronze, and half the height of them. She raised the mace and struck upon it; a sound like thunder echoed out into the valley. “Now begins the Siege of the Black Bastion.”
XV – THE SIEGE OF NAHRAGOR
The catapults rolled out, creaking heavily under the weight of monstrous rocks. Men and women alike toiled about them, pushing great timber frames or pulling long, thick ropes. Others brought wagons filled with boulders and smaller rocks, and others yet marched with sword and spear in hand, their feet beating down upon the earth in the tumultuous tune of the war drum.
They stopped as soon as they came to the Ridge of Reaping, for there the Valley of Shadow opened up like the jaws of the earth, with great pointed mountains jutting out like sharpened teeth. Clouds hung like the vestures of dark gods, draping down upon the black mass of Nahragor, which loomed like a second pair of deadly teeth inside the mouth of the Ridge. Black and cruel it was, with spikes and spires rising from its hulk, and amidst its shadow there were subtle lights, dull, yet ever watchful, as if the very building itself was awake, staring out with evil eyes.
The Garigút made camp mere metres away from the halting catapults, hoping to be out of range of returning fire, yet also within distance to see the battlefield and make appropriate orders; or when the time came for Geldirana to lead the force down the Valley and into the madness of Nahlin under the murderous glare of Nahragor.
* * *
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