by R. E. Palmer
For days, the sounds of hammers tapping, and ropes straining had filled the city as engineers repaired and tested the ancient trebuchets. In the squares and every free space, her reserves honed their skills under the watchful eye of Gundrul, Ruan and Roold from the mines. All around the city, people bustled, preparing for the days ahead, and oddly, it gave them hope. They were not powerless. They could make a stand against the evil seeking to take their realm.
Elodi walked to the window. Outside, the quiet courtyard belied their situation. The watches on the pass, roads and seas maintained their vigil. Nothing could move within twenty leagues of Calerdorn without the knowledge of her scouts, but still Elodi remained uneasy. Aldorman’s account of his encounter at the edge of Durran Wood gnawed at her insides. While the city stood a fighting chance against conventional weapons, what could they do against the dark forces sighted at the wood? And what had become of Uleva?
A tap at the door drew her back from the window. Bardon? No, of course not; the entire length of the Five Realms lay between them. Her guard called through. ‘Ma’am, the Chief Advisor wishes to see you. Shall I grant him entry?’
‘Please send him through.’ Elodi adjusted her nightgown as she listened to the guard speak to Wendel before the door opened.
Her advisor shuffled in, carrying all his sixty years of service on his shoulders. ‘Apologies for the interruption at such a late hour, ma’am.’
Elodi led him to the table. ‘No need, I doubt I will sleep this side of dawn.’ She picked up a bottle. ‘Would you care for a glass of wine?’ She grinned. ‘Just a little something I brought back from Archonholm.’
Wendel lowered his tired bones onto a chair. ‘You carry on, ma’am, but I’ll decline. I don’t think my old head would forgive me come the morning.’
She lifted a jug and poured Wendel a glass of water. ‘So, what brings you here at this hour? I don’t think I can take any more bad news, well, not until daybreak, if it has to be the case.’
Wendel took the glass. ‘I cannot be sure if it’s good or bad, but I have spent the last two hours talking… perhaps talking is the wrong word, no, listening to our mystery man in the cells.’
Elodi sat. ‘I trust he has eaten well.’
‘That he has, ma’am.’
‘And the guards are treating him with respect?’
Wendel drained his glass. ‘Yes, if reluctantly at first.’
‘At first? What has changed?’
‘Well, ma’am. The Head Warden is an old Archonian, and he believes Dohl may also have served in his youth.’
‘What makes him think that?’
Wendel frowned. ‘Something Dohl has been muttering on about. The warden wouldn’t give me the full story, but when pressed, he said it relates to a pledge known only to those who’ve taken it, and he wasn’t prepared to break that oath.’
‘Well, I admire the warden’s loyalty. And as for Dohl, it sounds feasible. Many men would have served from this region. That may explain his longevity in such poor conditions.’
Wendel nodded. ‘I’ll give him that. But while Dohl appears better physically, he’s still muddled in the head.’ He leaned back and massaged his neck. ‘I found a way to influence his thoughts without having to ask a direct question. He continues to talk to himself, but I believe he’s aware of more than we suspect. It’s as if another lives inside his head, and dear old Dohl reads these thoughts like a book.’ He smiled as if pleased with his tactic. ‘I plant a word or two in his mind, and, within a minute, he comes across it, and then off he goes. The words pour out as if recited from a scroll. Quite revealing.’
Elodi leaned forward. ‘To what end?’
‘As we suspected, Uleva left the wood voluntarily, if earlier than planned, but not directly due to your incursion.’
Her shoulders dropped. ‘And I thought we’d achieved at least a minor victory.’
‘Well, thankfully they’ve gone.’ Wendel stroked his chin. ‘My clerks have combed the archives to find mention of this Uleva, but as yet have found nothing.’
‘Ah!’ Elodi straightened. ‘Now you mention it. Bardon… Lord Broon, informed me of missing scrolls in Archonholm relating to the time of the Archon’s victory.’
‘You refer to the Lost Years, ma’am?’
‘Or the Age of Shadows, as they call it in Broon.’ She smiled. ‘Yes, I do prefer their name. But that’s beside the point. Do we also have a gap in our records, Wendel? I’ve never had cause to delve so far back.’
He nodded. ‘You have to consider the devastation wrought by the struggle. When the Golesh ships extended their raids up both our coastlines, it stretched resources to breaking point. Possibly half of all people in the realm perished. Of those surviving the battles, we know from word of mouth, famine, disease, and sadly, despair, struck down many. I’m amazed we have any records from those dark times at all, and those written, make for disturbing reading.’ Wendel’s nose wrinkled. ‘Not recommended if you’re in need of a good night’s sleep, ma’am.’
‘Then I will forgo the pleasure, it’s been too long since I’ve had an undisturbed night.’ She remembered the reason for her question. ‘Then am I to assume if this Uleva creature is a survivor from the Lost Years, we are unlikely to find any mentioned of her in the scrolls?’
Wendel grunted. ‘That would also be my belief, but I shall continue to search all the same.’
Elodi stared down at her wine. ‘Worrying indeed if this creature has endured from those times. She would be at least three hundred years old, and I should imagine she has not been idle in that time.’ Elodi lifted her glass and took a sip; it suddenly did not taste so good. ‘Does Dohl speak of where she may have gone?’
Wendel sighed. ‘He talks of a stronghold in the east but hasn’t revealed the exact location. However, I’m not sure we can trust everything this man has to say.’ He scratched his head. ‘I believe what we witnessed in his cell yesterday before he collapsed, was a rare moment of clarity. He may have lived here once, but there’s no mention of him in the records. Although, it’s quite possible, Dohl, is a nickname from his days as a guardsman, or he’s forgotten the name given at birth and made up a new one.’
Elodi finished her wine. ‘I think we can forgive him that, Wendel. He must be eighty if he’s a day.’
He chuckled. ‘If there was a shred of truth to his latest stories, he’d be a lot older, ma’am.’ Wendel rolled his eyes. ‘He’d be well past three-hundred to be precise.’
‘Three hundred?’
‘He talks of fighting in the battles alongside the Archon. Makes for an interesting, if far-fetched tale.’
She almost dropped her glass. For a moment, Elodi wanted to believe him. She would dearly love to hear a moral-raising story from the Archon’s last stand. But she knew in her heart that was not going to happen. She sat back. ‘Oh, the poor man. He must be repeating the stories from his mother’s knee.’
‘We can’t blame him, ma’am. Most likely a strategy to keep the madness at bay.’
Elodi stood, walked to the window, and spoke to her reflection. ‘We have to find a better place for him, Wendel. Father spoke of the incursions into Durran Wood he had sanctioned. But he lost too many men, and eventually he forbade entry. The missing would have been presumed dead, but that may not have been the case for all of them. Dohl must have been one of those lost.’ She turned to her advisor. ‘This man deserves our gratitude. He must have been in that dreadful place close to fifty years, it’s no wonder he’s as muddle-headed as he is.’
Wendel groaned as he rose from his chair. ‘I’ll see what I can do, ma’am, but I think it’s wise to keep him under lock and key.’
She walked with him to the door. ‘Thank you, Wendel.’ She turned the handle. ‘We’ll review the situation come—’ Her guard almost ran into them.
He pulled up sharp. ‘Ma’am. You asked to be kept informed of the prisoner’s well-being.’ The guard gestured to a wide-eyed warden behind. ‘This man says he’s taken a turn
for the worst.’
Elodi groaned. She addressed the warden. ‘In what way?’
The warden straightened, trying to regain his breath. ‘The prisoner’s broken free of his chains, ma’am. He’s yelling, cursing and hurling himself against the walls of his cell. He sounds in great pain. But that’s not all.’ He glanced from Wendel and back to Elodi. ‘Ma’am, I don’t know how to say this but… the prisoner no longer looks like the man we chained up.’
36. Wherever You Go…
For five days Toryn trudged on after Hope. They had squeezed through a border fence the day after evading Uleva’s men at the lake, leading Toryn to suspect they had to be in Noor. If right, at Hope’s pace of an impressive twelve leagues a day, they would cross the border into Darrow before long. Hope led him in a mostly straight line, through woods, shallow streams and across the odd deserted road. To the relief of Toryn, the only time she deviated from her course was to avoid a marsh swarming with hornrasps. Thankfully, they were rare in Darrow, but Toryn still carried the scar from an encounter one summer when he stumbled upon a nest while playing with Elrik. The vicious insect, the size of his thumb, had latched onto his arm and it had taken several swipes to dislodge, but not before it had sunk its large sting into his flesh. Toryn kept a wary eye on the angry swarm as they had circled the marsh; one sting caused excruciating, but short-lived pain, two resulted in an unpleasant illness, whereas three or more inflicted an agonizing, drawn-out death.
Hope barely spoke to him, being content to mutter under her breath as if having an argument with herself. Toryn soon learned they moved quicker if he kept his thoughts to himself. But he did not mind. He saw more of the land with Hope preferring to travel by day. Despite the fog in his head concealing his memories of home, Toryn could still picture Hamar’s map as if under the bedsheets with his candle. He tried to work out their position based on the shape of the mountains, but the squiggly lines in his drawing looked nothing like the real range. The peaks of the mighty Kolossos had gradually dropped below the horizon to their rear and left, meaning they headed south and slightly west. They walked up and down gentle hills, through green valleys with slow, wending rivers heading out to the sea. Toryn wondered if that was Hope’s destination. Hamar’s stories of the seas had both scared and intrigued him; how could so much water exist in one place?
Hope did not seem as concerned as Hamar in taking routes close to villages and farms, but as yet they had remained unseen. At one point, as they had crossed a high ridge, Toryn thought he saw towers on the horizon. The two tall structures pointed to the restless sky, but as much as he stared, he could not be sure if it was a city, or a trick of the light. If Hamar’s map was accurate, it could be Seransea, which confirmed his belief they were in Noor. But as the name hinted, Seransea sat on the coast, and try as he might, he could not spy the sea beyond. He had asked Hope about their location, and tried again to find out their destination, but she would reply with a shrug, wherever you go, there you are.
The day before, they had passed a small village with the familiar appearance of one of the many abandoned settlements in the area. Despite the setting sun, the chimneys remained free of smoke, and no inhabitants returned from the fields. Toryn longed for the smell of freshly-baked bread and a hunk of cheese that might help to bring back his memory, but even if the place had been bustling with activity, he doubted Hope would have tolerated a diversion.
The liquid in the flask had kept him going, but he knew his health worsened, and Hope’s drink would not last much longer. The coldness had crept up his spine, and now it hurt to take a deep breath. Occasionally, Hope had stopped and studied his face, but she would shake her head, turn away and increase her pace.
As for his guide, she seemed as skilled in the craft of survival as Hamar. How long had she roamed the lands? Hamar had said wykes lived longer than most, but had she spent all her life in the wilds? He wondered if she had known his father, but how could he ask if he did not know the man’s name, and she supposedly did not know her own? The markings on her hands must be those of a wyke. Hope obviously had power. It was no small trick to evade the eyes of their pursuers, and, when he thought back to his rescue from the camp, the Ruuk had laid where they had fallen as if Hope had put a spell on them. The night had been cold, yet none had slept around the fire as he would have expected.
Toryn looked to the horizon. He wondered how many days lay between him and his village. Had news of Hamar’s death reached the farm? Would his parents assume he had also perished? But even if the news of the fall of the mines had made it to the backwater of Midwyche, would any know he and Hamar had been involved? He kept his arms wrapped around his middle as Hope trudged ceaselessly onwards. When she had shown him what she deemed important, he could always head back east and search for Caranach’s peak; surely, he would soon recognize the face of the mountain he had grown up longing to visit. Once he lined up the crags he knew so well, he could use the rock face like the stars to navigate home. He would have some explaining to do for Marshal Drakelow’s benefit, but he hoped his account would convince the man to send word of the troubles in the north onto Archonholm.
But what of Hope? Would she come with him? Perhaps she could help bring on the crop through the cold spring. He shivered, trying to picture the farm, but the memory eluded him. If his strange illness worsened, would he recognize the mountain?
Hope suddenly stopped. Toryn looked up, surprised to find the light fading. She pointed to a line of scrub. ‘We’ll sleep there tonight.’
Toryn stared. He had spent the day watching her back, but now she faced him he swore she had changed. The deep creases on her forehead and the lines around her eyes had softened, and possibly she stood a little taller.
Hoped glared back. ‘What you gawping at?’
‘There’s something different about you.’
‘Ha! You’re right there. My stomach is emptier than it was this morning.’
Toryn laughed. ‘And mine.’ He took off his pack and set off to find suitable twigs for the fire. He called back over his shoulder. ‘Have you remembered where you’re supposed to be taking me yet?’
He jumped as she arrived at his side. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Who knows, eh? If you have the will, there’s a way.’
Toryn clutched his stomach. ‘Then could you heal this chill in me? It’s getting worse.’
‘No.’
‘But you said—?’
‘If you have the will.’ She shrugged. ‘And I don’t, because there isn’t a way.’
‘But isn’t that the other way around to what…? Never mind.’ He went back to collecting fuel, hoping a good fire would warm his bones.
37. a Warrior Returns
Dohl’s agonizing cries reached Elodi as she and Wendel turned into the corridor leading to his cell. The warden and three prison guards with swords drawn formed a line in front of the door. He held up his flaming torch as they approached, yelling above the din. ‘Ma’am, I suggest you stay back.’ He pointed to cracks in the door. ‘I’m not sure how much longer it will hold?’
A puffing Wendel caught up. ‘He’s right, ma’am. I would advise you leave right away and put more doors between you and Dohl until the guards have him properly restrained.’
Elodi placed a hand on her sword. ‘I won’t hear of it. The man is in obvious distress. He needs to be calmed down, not threatened.’ More footsteps rang through the corridor as Ruan and a dozen of his spearmen ran to their aid. Elodi held up her hand, bringing them to an abrupt halt. She called down to the warden. ‘Stand down. Bring your men here.’ The warden glanced to Ruan, then Wendel. Elodi bellowed, surprised at the power in her voice. ‘Do as I command, warden! This man will not respond well to a show of force.’
‘Ma’am?’ Wendel took her arm. ‘Ma’am, are you sure?’
She glared at her advisor and spoke through a tight jaw. ‘Let go. This is not the time, Wendel.’ She turned back to Ruan. ‘Position half your men at the other end of the corridor, and the rest block th
is exit.’ Then to Wendel. ‘You can either come with me, or remain with Ruan.’ She lifted a torch from its bracket on the wall. ‘But I shall approach the man, regardless.’
Wendel stiffened. ‘Then I shall come with you, ma’am, but with some reservations.’
‘Duly noted, Wendel, and’ — she rested her hand on his forearm — ‘thank you.’ Elodi spun back towards the cell as Dohl’s cries tore at her heart. She raised her voice for all to hear. ‘I believe this man will respond better if he doesn’t feel threatened. It’s no more than he deserves.’ The door cracked, spitting splinters across the floor.
The approaching warden stopped and glanced back. He wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘He’s nearly through, ma’am. I cannot vouch for your safety if he breaks out.’ He nodded to Ruan’s men taking up their positions. ‘And if he has the strength to smash through that door, I’m not sure we have enough men to contain him.’
‘Your concerns have also been noted, Warden.’ She held firm. ‘I take responsibility from here. Put out the torches so he can’t see the guards.’ Elodi lifted her own above her head. ‘I want him to see only me.’ She took a step forward. ‘Position your men behind Ruan’s and await further instruction.’
Ruan stepped forward. ‘Lady Harlyn? May I accompany you to the cell?’