The Quest for the Lost Shards of Power

by F M Andrews

  That evening everyone had crowded into the common room of the inn and now, as he watched those oh so familiar faces in the warm lamp light, eyes wide in horror, hands covering their mouths in shock as Fenrick told the tale of the outpost battle, he wondered if life would ever be the same for him again.

  The next morning it did not take long for the knights to pack up the things they had left behind in the village and for Errin to organize someone to look after her house and garden. Arranging for another healer to step in while she was away was also not a problem. Over the years she had trained many who had felt the calling and, although most had dispersed back to their own regions, one unwitting man had fallen prey to Tobrrin’s daughter’s many charms and had stayed close by, in the next village in fact. It was just a matter of asking him to help with the more serious cases while less urgent problems could be seen by Werrin’s mum who had also had a little training from Errin. Werrin had begged to come along but Errin had been firm saying, “Your mum needs a helping hand around the farm now that she has to be the healer whilst I am away.”

  Werrin had come to help Turrin saddle his horse and when all was ready and Turrin was about to mount there was a moment of awkwardness between them. “It’s not fair you get to go on all the adventures,” Warren mumbled scuffing the ground with his toe.

  “Tell you what,” Turrin said nudging him. “I’ll see if I can bring you back something special from the palace.”

  Werrin’s eyes lit up. “See if you can get me a sword.”

  Turrin rolled his eyes. “Is that all! Would you like me to get you a princess too?”

  Werrin pretended to think about this for a moment. “Only if she is pretty.”

  Turrin punched him lightly in the arm, mounted, and tried to think of something clever to say in farewell but, in the end, all he could come up with was, “See you later, then.”

  The call had come to form up and ride, and in no time they were on their way to Hope.

  Chapter Six

  The journey went by so swiftly that it seemed to take no time at all, but looking back at all the new impressions Turrin experienced, it felt as if there were enough to fill up any lifetime. Each village they passed through was so welcoming and every one of them wanted to hold a feast in their honour. If the prince had agreed to this their journey would have taken several moons. Prince Dissan, [CL7]was proficient at politely and diplomatically expressing their need for haste [CL8]but even so, it soon became clear that it would just be easier, all round, to camp on the road between villages rather than cause unnecessary fuss.

  Before, when Turrin had travelled around Feld with his parents, he had been too young to really understand its geography. This time he found himself marvelling at the impossibly huge forests and the vast plains full of neatly fenced fields with little villages dotted throughout. As they drew closer and closer to the immense mountain range, he had difficulty believing that they were actually real. They seemed so sharp and defined. The tops were white with snow and their feet looked folded and wrinkled where water had carved out valleys. The closer they came the taller the mountains seemed, until one evening, as they camped in their shadow, they had filled up the entire sky.

  The road could be seen snaking and zigzagging its way up the side until it was lost behind a jutting ridge. It would be a long slow climb. They camped early that night so that they would begin the climb fresh and rested. By now they had fallen into a familiar routine of setting up the camp and all knew their roles. Tonight Surrin was on cooking duty and Turrin noticed that Prince Dissan had offered to help. It had become such a familiar tableau that no one even commented on it anymore. Turrin thought that this would be one of the enduring images of the trip, Surrin and The Prince, their heads close together, peeling potatoes or chopping carrots ready for the big simmering pot suspended over the glowing camp fire.

  Autumn was coming to a close now, the first snows were not far off and they had to hurry to reach the pass before they came. The wind was bitter and the higher they climbed the stronger it became, whipping around ridges, picking up snow and funnelling down the valleys. Heads hang low, eyes concentrating only on the next step ahead, all taking slow, even breaths as the air had become increasingly thinner. At the lunch stop Turrin stared out across the plain and forests spread out like a colourful map on a table before him. He had known Upper Hull was out there but he could not imagine where it could be. The world he was looking out on was so small, so far away and yet they had only been halfway to the pass. He remembered that as far as he could see, in both directions, the mountain range continued to the horizon. Their size was beyond his comprehension and he could only imagine the hardship the guardians must have suffered to bring all this within the safety of the boundary. Only the wealth of the fertile plains beyond would have made the nearly impossible task worth the hardship and sacrifice.

  That night, they struggled up to the shelter at the pass, arriving after dark so tired that they just managed to take off their boots before falling into their sleeping rolls. In the morning Turrin stumbled out of bed and wandered outside to relieve himself, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had only gone a few paces before he was stopped in his tracks, eyes wide and jaw slack. It was as if overnight, while he slept, he had been transported into another world. Yes, it was the same rising sun that he saw every day of his life, but now it was emerging out of the sea! At least that was what Turrin had assumed this vast tract of water was. They had crossed the mountains and now he was looking down on the Bay of Ssan with the Feld Peninsula jutting out into the ocean beyond.

  The land that butted up against the shimmering sea was green with large rivers flowing through it. It was also immense, almost as large as the plains he had left behind on the other side of the mountains.

  He knew from sitting through several long boring history lessons Rarrin had tried to enlighten him with, that the guardian outpost and boundary had started in this bay. It had spread outward from there, first claiming the whole of the peninsula and then slowly expanding until it had become the vast land that it was today. To stand here and actually see it, to understand how big it was, made him appreciate anew the accomplishment of their forbearers.

  Fenrick silently come up beside him and in a quiet reverent voice had pointed out the landmarks. “You can just make out Aslit Island over there, although it looks as if it is attached to the peninsula,” he said, shielding his eyes from the glare of the rising sun with one hand and pointing with the other. “That is the Swalt and over there is the Vec,” he murmured, pointing at the two largest rivers before turning to point off to one side. “That is Lake Palef, on whose shores Ssan set up the first guardian headquarters all those thousands of turns ago. It is the capital city of Hope now. See that smudge on the bank nearest us?”

  Turrin squinted, then nodded. “I think I can.”

  Fenrick nodded. “That is where we are heading. To the city of Hope, to see the king.”

  They stood side by side quietly enjoying the morning until the spell was broken by a large group of rowdy knights barrelling past, on the way to tend the horses and pack mules.

  It only took five more sunrises to reach their destination. It was very early in the morning of the fifth day when they crested a low rise to be greeted with a field of cloud spread out below them like a lake of cotton wool. It felt as if you could step off the hill and walk across it to the hills on the other side but as they stood looking, the sun rose higher, burning off the mist, gradually revealing a forest of beautiful spires and towers that seemed to float on a sea of translucent white. It was so beautiful that no one wanted to break the spell, and so they stood quietly watching as a gentle wind awoke and wisps of white were teased and torn, tantalizingly revealing glimpses of the sparkling city beneath[CL9].

  All the roads leading into Hope were lined with green trees and throughout the city green spaces were dotted in stark contrast to the rich red, orange and golden hues of the delicate buildings that surrounded them. The cit
y faced the lake and close to shore a flotilla of sailing boats bobbed at anchor. Some huge four-mast cargo ships, swift passenger ships and other smaller runabout craft completed the picture.

  From the hilltop, Hope had seemed so peaceful but as they drew closer it was plain to see that it was thronged with people, wagons and horses scurrying about, all with unknown, important business, all totally absorbed with their own mission. It looked like a giant maze and he wondered how everyone knew where they were going. The houses were joined together and there did not seem to be any farming within the city limits. At first this was a quandary for Turrin: how did all those people get food? But as they came closer to the city itself they began to encounter wagons loaded with all manner of goods, from, chickens in cages to boxes of beans, all destined for the market square.

  “You had better close that mouth of yours boy, you don’t want to catch lake flies with it now, do you?” Hexrick chuckled as he rode past with a wink.

  Turrin snapped his mouth shut and followed on behind as they joined the throng making its way into the beautiful city of Hope.

  It took all his concentration to remember to keep his mouth closed as sight after amazing sight made him gape anew. Three- and four-storied buildings faced the wide boulevard on which two wagons could travel side by side in the one direction and two in the other, separated by an island in the middle, planted with beautiful shade trees. There were squares, glimpsed down side streets, with fountains playing in their centres. The buildings were all crafted with artistic tile work on their facades and intricate rooflines. Each door was an individual and some were truly spectacular. Turrin had never seen so much glass. Everywhere he looked he saw windows reflecting the sun, creating an aura of lightness that made the buildings themselves seem less solid somehow.

  However, it was the people who were the most fascinating. Everyone was dressed in rich colours, in garments that looked warm, practical but also stylish. Looking at the faces, he saw all ages, some attractive, some not, but no one seemed unhappy or upset. There was a constant buzz of conversation and the closer they got to the market square the louder it became. It was organized chaos, with everyone knowing their own steps to the dance. From the outside it was totally bewildering.

  Of course the prince and his knights returning with a captured troll, no less, caused a huge stir and soon the streets were lined with people cheering and children running alongside. There was a festive air to it all and Turrin could not help but smile. It was a real hero’s welcome.

  Afterward, Turrin could not say how long they travelled through the streets of the city as it acquired a dream-like quality and he felt as if time was taking a different path, neither slower nor faster, just different.

  Eventually the party reached a huge pair of gates, inset into a gracious arched portal. Once they passed through the shadow it cast, the crowds disappeared, left behind as if the open gates were in themselves a barrier to anyone other than their party.

  They were in a huge, paved square, two sides of which was made up of a high, thick wall. The third side was occupied by a two-storied building, possibly the stables and guard house, but on the fourth side there was the most amazing building Turrin had ever seen. In a day of marvels, this was by far the most astounding. It was at least five stories high, with too many windows and doors to even begin to count. It had glowing, limestone pillars that ran along its façade, but the building itself was made of a rich red brick with golden window frames and pointing. The roof was also a golden colour but the surprising thing was that, although it was so vast, it still felt welcoming and almost homely.

  The troop came to a halt at the prince’s command and everyone wearily dismounted. They were home. For a few moments it was as if they were in a quiet bubble, men smiled at each other, each smile conveying so much:

  We made it – but others did not.

  Home at last – a warm bed tonight.

  So tired – can finally have a good rest.

  There were a few back slaps, some men gave their horses the last of their treats and then the bubble burst.

  Grooms appeared out of nowhere to take the horses and unpack the wagons. Women and children spilled out of a nearby wing and raced across the yard, each homing in on their very own special person. Many children were hoisted on shoulders and arms flung around wives, each couple had eyes only for each other.

  Turrin noticed that Dissan had intercepted several of the woman and had guided them to a quiet place away from the rest. It was a sombre group, and soon tears were being caught in white handkerchiefs. He was gentle with them and Turrin guessed that he was explaining the valour of their dead loved ones. He must also have been explaining how the grateful kingdom would reward them for their sacrifice, because gradually there were achingly, sad smiles amongst the tears and finally, arm in arm they returned to the barracks. Turrin had been told that there would be full funerals for the men later.

  Looking around it appeared as if everyone had a place to be. The young, single men were heading off to their barracks, the married men were making their way towards the married quarters, surrounded by their families and Dissan was deep in conversation with a group of distinguished looking gentleman. Even the horses were being led away by groomsmen to the stables. Turrin felt lost. For so long he had been part of this group, he had felt a real sense of belonging, and now it was all disintegrating in front of his eyes. The sudden realization that he was very far from home, in unfamiliar surroundings, feeling very small and useless, hit him painfully hard just below his stomach and then travelled as a lump, up into his throat. Tears prickled the back of his eyes and he felt his chin begin to wobble. At this moment he would have swapped all the excitement and adventure he thought he had always longed for to be back in upper Hull, back where he felt safe and loved.

  He searched the square looking for Errin, the one reliable constant in his life, and spied her deep in conversation with Surrin, the prince and his attendants, but Fenrick was nowhere to be seen. Turrin fought back the tears, appalled at the thought that he might be caught blubbering in front of all these important people. He looked around, desperately trying to focus on something, anything to take his mind off this sudden, unexpected bout of homesickness that was hijacking his soul at this moment. His focus landed on the gate they had passed through, which had been unobtrusively closed behind them. Turrin suspected some kind of mechanical device was used because the gates themselves would have been far too heavy and large for any number of humans to operate. As he was looking to see if he could figure out the mechanism, he noticed that the gates were smoothly and silently opening once again and the attending guards were all standing to attention. It could only be that someone of importance was arriving. Homesickness was now pushed to the back of his mind as his natural, inquisitive nature interceded.

  At first he was disappointed, there was no glittering coaches or shining knights, just a weary band of travellers, dressed in what looked like work clothes, ambling in on mud coated horses. Turrin was just about to seek other distractions when a stately, older man at the front of the group sat up straight and let out a surprisingly loud hoot, kicked his horse into a trot and made a beeline for Dissan.

  “Welcome home, boy, welcome. Had word you were not too far away but didn’t expect you till tomorrow.”

  This must be a noble of some sort Turrin thought as he watched the man dismount and enfold Dissan in a bear hug. Turrin saw the grin of genuine delight split Dissan’s face as he returned the hug. The two parted after several hearty back slaps, just in time before a small body catapulted arrow-like into Dissan, nearly knocking him off his feet. The small figure turned out to be a boy about Turrin’s age who had clamped himself tightly around Dissan’s waist and was hanging on for dear life. Turrin could hear the laughter in Dissan’s voice as he politely asked the older man he had just been hugging who this large boy was and did he think that he might be a thief trying to steal his sword?

  This seemed to be a huge joke as everyone burst i
nto laughter except the boy who disentangled himself from Dissan and promptly stamped their foot, scowling at everybody.

  “I don’t need your sword anymore, Diss, I have my own now.” And with that he reached down and drew a beautifully crafted sword from his scabbard with such a flourish that it knocked his hat off revealing a mass of blond curly hair that had obviously been restrained in a plait at one time but now had well and truly escaped.

  It was a girl! A girl with dirty trousers, riding a horse and carrying a real sword, a girl that obviously knew Dissan very well. Turrin was even more confused and it must have shown on his face because he noticed Errin making her way across the square towards him. She did not make it.

  “Errin, Errin is that really you?” There was a hearty laugh then, “It is you! You don’t look a day older. I can’t believe it. I only sent the invitation to attend court twenty years ago but I am glad you could finally make it.” It was the older gentleman that had hugged Dissan and now he was striding over to Errin, who, Turrin had to admit, looked like a startled rabbit, and swept her off her feet into another rib-crunching embrace.

  “All right, all right, old man, you’ve proved your point, now put me down.” She was smiling as she gently pummelled his arms to emphasize her words and Turrin could see that somewhere back in time they had also known each other quite well.

  “Salassan, may I introduce Turrin,” she said, placing a hand on Turrin’s arm, “and of course you know Fenrick. These are my two travelling companions and heroes of Tanzrin. Turrin,” she said gently, “this is king Salassan and his daughter.” Errin pointed to the young girl now proudly showing Dissan her sword. “Tillissan.”

  Turrin was suddenly flustered. He had been confused about who these strangers were but to find out that they were royalty put a whole new light on it. How to act? Did you kneel or bow? And what did you call them? Your Highness or your Majesty? In his head he thought of the king or princess dressed in their royal regalia, sitting on thrones, in beautiful rooms full of courtiers with musicians playing rousing songs. He had not imagined them to be dressed in muddy clothes that, quite frankly, smelt of shit.