Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

  "You must learn to exercise a firmer hand, Alcesidas, else Magan Hammermaster make Gwyn prince in your stead," Kal said and exchanged amused smiles with King Magan. He stood and leapt over the wagon's side to the ground. "Now, Alcesidas, if your carter can bring the wagon closer to Dhu's perch, it will save us some lifting." Kal walked to where he wanted the wagon to be unladen. The draught horses shied from the great bird, stamping their feet and shaking their manes, but the driver managed to calm the team by soothing word and expert touch, and shortly succeeded in drawing the wagon up to where Kal stood waiting.

  Kal grunted with exertion as he pulled first one and then the second carcass off the wagon and onto the ground but a few yards from where Dhu roosted impassively on his perch. "By the avalynn, Alcesidas, we needed not two tunnel wolves. Dhu may be a large bird, but there is flesh enough here to sate the night drake for a fortnight."

  "For that, you may thank Gwyn. For no sooner had Galli and Lencaymon sighted a pack of tunnel wolves than did Gwyn let loose, twice, in quick succession, making his mark both times. So were two wolves killed."

  "Ah, well, 'tis better too much than too little."

  Relieved of its burden, the wagon moved off, and Kal knelt beside the dead wolves.

  "He will eat what I have prepared—in this manner, meat in the pelt—so long as it is fresh and from my hand. Thus does he learn what he is to hunt on his own," Kal said to the men gathered close by. "Granted, in the past it has usually been smaller game—rabbit, hare, fox, and the like. Though he will hunt deer upon occasion."

  Now he gestured to the black carcasses and summoned Dhu. The fellhawk hopped down from its perch and across the grass, still leashed to the roost.

  "Come, Dhu, come. Come and feed. It is as fresh as a kill of your own."

  Dhu cocked his head to one side then darted his beak down, plunging it into the neck of a tunnel wolf. He placed a jessed foot upon the carcass and tugged at it, lifting the lifeless head. Kal winced. The wolf's fangs gleamed wicked and sharp, menacing even in death. Pulling against his talons' grip, the fellhawk tore the black pelt, exposing the red flesh of the animal's forequarters, the fatal arrow wound now visible as a circle of black congealed blood. Bobbing, the fellhawk ripped at the meat of the carcass in quick, convulsive motions, gorging himself, his cruel hooked beak becoming crimsoned, wet with blood.

  "It is best this be done when Dhu is hungry," Kal said, "ravenously hungry, as he is now."

  "And what shall we do next, Master Kalaquinn?" asked Meriones, who turned away from the spectacle in distaste.

  "We shall let Dhu have his fill. Leave him 'til the morrow to acquire a taste for wolf's flesh."

  The party withdrew, skirting the training grounds, where hammerson and Holdsman practiced their battle craft, the staggered staccato of sword on sword ringing in the air over the field. Farther away, just on the edge of hearing, were the archery butts. At this distance, each arrow's flight was followed a second later by a gentle whistle and thwack. There were women on the field, too, clothed in simple garb suited to the work of swordplay. A handful of taller women, women of the upperworld, had only recently been introduced to the implements of war, evidenced by the awkwardness with which they wielded the weapons. The hammerdaughters, who tutored and sparred with them, were apparently as adept in the arts of combat as they were in the arts of the hearth and home. There was not the least snicker from the few men who stood by watching the clumsy display of the Holdsfolk, but only a sober silence, broken by the occasional word of encouragement or instruction.

  As Magan Hammermaster passed by, the small knots of people paused in turn from their work, bowing in respect to their king. Each was met with a nod, a smile, or a word of greeting from the monarch. Kal could sense a growing urgency in the realm, heightened here on the training grounds. It was a sense of anticipation, of excitement and apprehension. Kal wondered if it had to do with the recent incursion of Shadahr's forces upon Nua Cearta, or the more recent predations of the tunnel wolves. Perhaps the impending foray that Magan would make into the hammerfolk's homeland under the Burren Mountains weighed on his people. Or perhaps it was a more personal urgency that affected Kal, the growing need he himself felt to be setting out upon the next leg of his own journey, he and his own folk, in their flight from their own homeland.

  Ahead of him, the king had fallen into deep conversation with Alcesidas, and Meriones, left to his own thoughts, had drifted behind the royal pair. Kal hastened his step.

  "My apologies, Master Meriones," Kal said, as he drew abreast of the hammerson bard. "I do not wish to disturb your reverie. However . . ."

  "Hmm?" Meriones glance up at Kal. "Ah, my lord Hordanu."

  "May I have a word with you? I would seek your guidance, your counsel."

  "Of course, of course. I am ever at your service." The bard bowed his head ever so slightly, his stony expression unchanged. "In fact, it has been upon my mind to speak with you myself."

  "Perhaps now is the opportune moment?"

  "Yes, perhaps." Meriones shifted his gaze to the king ahead of him. "Let us first beg our leave of Magan Hammermaster. My lord!" Meriones hailed the king, who turned to look at them. "My lord, by your leave, Master Kalaquinn and I will part company with you and make our own way back to Sterentref."

  The king did not bother to reply, but simply lifted his hand in recognition of the bard and returned to his conversation with his son.

  "Hmm." Meriones stopped walking. "My lord the king makes preparation to leave Nua Cearta," he said in a low voice. "It sits heavy with him." Kal had grown accustomed to the small bard's impassive nature. It was the man's tone, now, that disconcerted him. There was much weight in what the bard said, and much more, Kal knew, in what remained yet unspoken.

  Meriones pointed to a side path just ahead of where they stood that veered away into the shaded depths of a small wood. "Come, let us walk this way," he said.

  The two men walked in silence, their path leading them through a stand of sizable oaks and beech, until they came to a wrought-iron bench set beside the footpath.

  "Let us rest awhile, Master Kalaquinn," the small bard said as he drew his robes up behind his knees and sat. He gestured for Kal to take a seat beside him. "Come, come, my lord Hordanu. What then is this matter which you wish to discuss with me?"

  "You are familiar with the ancient texts, are you not, Meriones? With the Criochoran, and the Master Legendary?"

  The small bard shifted in his seat and raised an eyebrow.

  "Yes, yes," Kal said, flustered, "Of course you are—"

  "Peace, my young Hordanu." Meriones placed his hand on Kal's arm, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight smile. "Yes, I am quite familiar with these ancient texts. Our forebears brought copies of these from our Burren Mountain homeland. These form the larger part of the trove entrusted to the bard of the hammerfolk, these along with the Riddle Scrolls, with which you are now familiar." He patted Kal's arm, then withdrew his hand. " 'Tis the Chronicles of the Harmonic Age to which I have been more recently introduced, since your most unexpected but welcome arrival in Nua Cearta. These I have studied with great interest in light of recent events."

  "And what do you make of recent events? Wilum spent much time trying to ferret up some meaning from the ancient prophecies. He said that much of their content had come to pass with the invasion of Lammermorn and the fall of the Great Glence. I think, however, that much of what he knew was lost with his passing before he could tell it to me."

  "Come, come, Master Kalaquinn. You do yourself a disservice. You possess a far deeper knowledge than you would admit even to yourself. Such is evident to me from our conversations, and from the prophecy contained in your own Lay of Investiture."

  "And that is itself dark to me as well."

  "These are dark days for Ahn Norvys. Ferabek's arm is long. It reaches even into the sheltered peace of this mountain realm of ours." Meriones fell silent for a moment, then looked up at a sparrow that had alighted in the tree
beneath which they sat and had begun to sing. "Ah, yes!" he said. "Look you, Master Kalaquinn, how this little minstrel calls us to be mindful of the true nature of things—no matter how dark be the days, there is ever hope. This is the larger meaning of events, both in their presaging and in their fulfillment. Indeed, hope often shines brightest and strongest when matters seem the darkest. So did you sing in your own Lay. 'Yet hope! For hope is life's bequest, emboldening the meekest breast,' and 'A tristful heart doth hope emboss with mettle when all seemeth loss.' Very seldom do we grasp the full significance of matters as they are unfolding, and seldom even in their completion. This we do know, in truth, both of us, that we must never lose hope, otherwise we forsake that which surely is, in favour of that which is not."

  "You begin to sound like Master Wilum," Kal said.

  "Which I take as a great compliment." The bird flitted away into the branches of another tree, and Meriones returned his full attention to Kal. "However, unless I am mistaken, 'tis not the prophecies of the ancient texts alone that trouble you, my lord Hordanu."

  Kal shifted on the bench, then stood and paced across the path, his hands clenched behind his back. "You are shrewd, Master Meriones." Kal chuckled to himself and turned to look at the small bard. "As I revisited the Cave of the Hourglass, I read again an inscription carved over the entrance. 'Tis written in Old Arvonian. I do not know why it has unsettled me, but it has."

  Meriones nodded, his eyes closed. " 'O Son of Prophecy,' " he said, " 'know surely that thy quest shall not be satisfied nor brought to end—' "

  "You know it?"

  Meriones looked up at Kal. "Prince Alcesidas mentioned to me that you were disquieted by the inscription. I, too, have visited the Cave of the Hourglass—" The bard lifted a hand to forestall any questions. "I assure you, it was only out of necessity that I did breech the hallowed boundaries of the Hordanu's Enclosure, an act for which I crave and humbly beg your forgiveness, my lord Myghternos Hordanu."

  Kal smiled at the small man's deference. "There is no need for forgiveness, Master Meriones," he said. "The times are such that some ancient traditions must naturally yield to necessity. As Master Wilum himself said about the Enclosure, 'There comes a time when you have to bend the rules to serve the common good.' "

  "I trespassed there only in an attempt to untangle what meaning I could of the events that have overtaken all of us," Meriones said. "For what affects you, affects all of us, all peoples of Ahn Norvys. 'Tis in my heart that you may play a larger role in this than you or I suspect. Indeed, it may be, given the events foretold in the ancient writings, which do now seem to be fulfilled in the destruction of the Great Glence, that these are the times of the last days spoken of by Hedric in the Criochoran. Moreover, it occurs to me that you yourself may be the 'Son of Prophecy' spoken of in the Cave inscription."

  "Me?"

  Meriones nodded.

  "The Son of Prophecy?"

  "Certainly, it lies well within the realm of possibility that such is the case. Perceive it in the light of your own Lay of Investiture, for that, indeed, sheds more light on the matters at hand than do the ancient texts. If we do in fact stand upon the very threshold of the last days, as it would appear we do, then you are a young anuas of inestimable importance in the grand scheme of things. Here, look at this. I have had it written down for you." Meriones produced, from among the folds of his robe, a parchment carefully folded in quarters. "Set down at the moment of its recitation by one of my scribes. Selvyn, be he hight—but that matters not." He waved his empty hand as he offered Kal the parchment in his other. "Here, read again. Your own words tell of the events as they are, a recounting of events as a fulfillment of prophecy, and more importantly they speak of what it is that you must next do . . . ." Kal looked up sharply. Meriones continued as he also stood. "That is to journey. 'Tis this that puts me in mind of the possibility of your being the subject of the inscription, the Son of Prophecy himself."

  "The Son of Prophecy . . ." Kal held the folded page without opening it. "But what—how do you arrive at this conclusion?"

  "Possible conclusion," Meriones corrected Kal as he held his hand out in invitation for the two to continue along the path. "Your own Lay of Investiture, despite its many riddling lines, makes this much obvious—these are the direst days to visit Ahn Norvys in ages, possibly the direst since Ardiel banished Tardroch at Velinthas. Yet in the teeth of these dark events, that are the consummation of much that has been foretold, you are the hope that Wuldor, in his wisdom, has chosen to give us, and you are the fruit that will nourish hope in these most desperate times. You are Hordanu. As such, you are, in truth, the Son of Prophecy, Kalaquinn."

  "But the inscription speaks of the Son of Prophecy as one of royal blood."

  "Ah, but is it the blood or the heart of which is spoken? 'Great woes by thine own kingly heart shall be endured, amidst the time-lost realms, far from the fields of 'pressed and joyless Arvon,' " Meriones quoted as he stopped walking to face Kal, placing a hand on his arm again. "And yours is a kingly heart, Master Kalaquinn, kingly in grace and graciousness, as I have witnessed. Furthermore, it will needs be kingly in courage to undertake the venture that must be undertaken, and undertaken soon."

  "But, Master Meriones, would not Starigan more likely be the Son of Prophecy, he having a kingly heart?"

  "Well it may be, Kalaquinn. In fact, it may well be Starigan and you both. Often prophecy has a double edge, and can cut both ways." The bard took Kal's elbow and turned him back to the path. "And this brings us to the matter that has been on my heart to discuss with you, Master Kalaquinn. The Lay which is written on the page you hold makes clear the task that must be engaged by you yourself. There is much tangled meaning in your Lay of Investiture, Master Kalaquinn, but this much is immediately clear, and forgive me if I do not put too fine a point on it, my lord Hordanu—the Sacred Fire must be rekindled in the Clanholding of Lammermorn, and while the crown prince of Arvon, first of princes in Ahn Norvys, remains lost, still, you have the Pyx of Roncador, necessary to secure the kindling Spark. To find the prince, this is your first task, then, with him, to journey to the Balk Pit of Uäm. Again, forgive me my bluntness, but it weighs ever heavier upon my heart. Ahn Norvys waits for you to begin your work as its Hordanu. What is at hand, this must be done." Once again, Meriones paused from walking and faced the Holdsman. The small bard's eyes flashed with a passion that Kal had never seen before on the man's usually inscrutable face.

  "You must leave, Master Kalaquinn. At the risk of being impudent, I must tell you, my lord Hordanu, no longer may you remain sequestered in the hidden belly of Folamh. Time will not wait for you. The seasons of the upperworld turn. Your task awaits you to take it up. It behooves me to urge you to embark upon your journey. You must leave, else you stand in default of the demands of your own hordanic lay, which obliges you to make a start on this dire path."

  Kal glanced down at the page in his hand and carefully unfolded it. A flowing script filled the page with the words which had, unbidden, welled from his very being in the great Hall of the Stars. But who was this posturing little man to challenge him like this? Anger bloomed in his chest, hot and suffocating, then passed as quickly. It was true, he knew it. He could not avoid what he knew to be inevitable.

  "I fear you are correct, Meriones, and I thank you. I believe that this is what I myself have been wrestling with of late, and the source of my recent distemper, to which Alcesidas was witness. Your words prick my heart . . . ." Kal's eyes fell to the ground at his feet. He sighed heavily and looked again at the page in his hand. "Yes, Meriones, the time rapidly approaches. Though my heart misgives me, it is strengthened by your counsel. Your words are a goad to my resolve."

  "Then I am well pleased, my lord Myghternos Hordanu."

  "But the task seems so very daunting that it would appear to be without any hope of success."

  "So it would appear, save that you yourself are the very hope of success. 'Now know wherein this hope lies fay—not in t
he Harp, but hands that play; the one who sings, and not the Lay; mark, it is he who sings today, for I Hordanu am.' " Meriones smiled and tapped the parchment in Kal's hand. "Your own words."

  The two began to walk along the path again in thought. The woods thinned and ended, giving onto a broad meadow that bordered the stone dwellings of Sterentref.

  " 'Tis entirely appropriate," Meriones said, breaking the silence as the footpath lead them into the meadow, "that Wuldor would deign to have one so young carry the burden of these times. Yours is a path that is not enviable, Master Kalaquinn. Were I a younger man, I might well throw in my lot with yours, but such is not my state nor my duty. I must stay with the remnant of the hammerfolk here in Nua Cearta, even as Magan Hammermaster strives to bring unity once more to the peoples below the mountains. So you, Master Kalaquinn, must do everything you are able, even to the last ounce of your strength, to make one all the realms of Ahn Norvys. 'Tis within your office and within your power to do so, provided you rely upon the virtue of your office, the strength afforded by Wuldor, and the friend-fast bond of fellowship with those that he has placed in your path, even if they journey with you only a short while."

  "Would that my people could enjoy the security of Nua Cearta," Kal said, "even while I embark upon this next venture. Though Galligaskin informs me of their present comfort and peace among the people of the hammer in this subterranean realm, I sense their restlessness growing as well. In fact, while Galli has suggested that the Holdsfolk remain here, I fear that this is simply not possible." Kal glanced at Meriones, who maintained his customary stony expression. "Not that I question the peerless generosity and kindness of the hammerfolk. No, it is rather that the remnant of Lammermorn must make their own way in Wuldor's providence. You and I, and both of our peoples, have some role to fill in the ensuing months."