The Revenge of the Elves (24 page)

They walked to the desk that stood in front of a high wall of books and sat beside one another. They often sat here while she read to him. The pair of chairs was always there for them. Aliya’s voice was melodious and sweet and when she read, it sounded to him like singing.

“You cannot help him now, Aliya,” Bristar said again, taking her hand in his own and squeezing it.

“Tell me, husband?” she asked, staring at him. “What can our people do to help in areas where we can still be effective? We must assist where we can. We must act.”

“Tamarand is in peril. Phero arrived here before the sun rose. I met with him an hour or so ago, as soon as I was told of his presence. You left me sleeping, and I assumed you decided to take an early morning walk,” he explained why he had not told her of the Chosen’s visit sooner. His features hardened as he spoke. “It seems Caeltin has bred an army of warriors once again, though this time they are foot soldiers. The Chosen believe he will send it to conquer the Baron’s city. Liam has seen them. The army is vast.”

“He wishes to flush out Robyn, Chosen of Promanthea, I suspect,” Aliya replied. “He accompanies the heir. What better way to sunder the companionship?” Robyn dar Tamarand was the focus again. So much wove around him and so few knew who he really was.

“And to hamper the quest,” Bristar concurred.

“Exactly! Therefore, we must help in any way we can,” she said without hesitation. It became even more paramount to her once she realized what Caeltin was planning.

“Our city is secure again. The mountain breathes in harmony with Crispen, and the beast is dead. Phero and Relamon agree with my assessment that we are safe here for the time being. What matters most is that the boy be free to move about the land and find the First!” Bristar summed things up.

“Has he what he requires?” Aliya asked.

“Not yet, though Phero has reason to believe the 11th shard is secure, and that he will have it soon,” Bristar replied.

“That is good news indeed,” she sighed with relief. Without the tools, the quest would be futile. “Does he know where the boy is?”

“If he does, he didn’t tell me,” Bristar said. “And if the Chosen and their trees do not know, perhaps Caeltin does not either.”

“Thus, he attacks Tamarand in hopes of discovering where they are, as I suspected.”

“The Baron and his son have never been on the best of terms, or so speak the rumors. The Avalain Princess might have been a better choice for that,” Bristar said.

“I’ve never put much value on such talk. It can be so hurtful.”
What will they say of me when they find out? What will he say? My son…
She blinked away the fear. “Do we really know Robyn? Has he confided in you on his visits here? The responsibilities of the bond weigh heavily upon them all.” Robyn was a mysterious man indeed, even more so than any of the other Chosen she had conversed with in the past. “Besides, rumor has it that Avalain glows with a strange power. Have you not heard?”

“Yes, in fact Phero confirmed it. And it’s true as well that Talamar is no more! The city has been destroyed and those who survived have flocked to Avalain. Soon after their arrival there, this force descended upon the city.”

An entire city destroyed, wiped from the earth like a chalk mark from a slate. “The Chosen do not know the origin of this force?” Aliya asked. The Chosen knew less and less these days.

“No. Phero claims they do not, though I suspect they have some idea,” Bristar replied. “His behavior is strange to me.” Uncertain, unsure. More circumspect than ever. “The Chosen don’t lie, but they don’t tell us everything either.”

“How odd,” Aliya contemplated. “It can’t be Premoran’s work. Does it protect the city?”

“He believes so.”

“Thus Tamarand is the target,” Aliya concluded with certainty. “We must help.”

“I have ordered the mobilization already. The men will be prepared to march by morning. We can’t allow Caeltin to endanger the Quest. What point to everything else if we do? What point to Beolan’s…”

“You have made the right choice, Bristar. The Gem must be found or the rest will be for naught,” she agreed, cutting him short. All else will be for naught. Beolan. Her son’s efforts. Her son.

“Come. You should address the troops. They will benefit from your gentle touch as always. It is hard to send them off again into harm’s way,” Bristar said. They returned so recently from Seramour bearing their dead. The pyres were not even cool on the mountainside.

“I will do what I can,” she replied. She agreed with his decision, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
I will tell him as soon as he returns. Yes. Right away. He’ll understand. He’ll forgive me. But what if he doesn’t come back? What then?

“It is much to ask of them so soon after the last battle,” Elsinestra said, as she contemplated her husband’s words. Seramour was still rebuilding. The people were tired, war-weary. The towers rose outside the windows, almost complete and a slight bit taller than the ones Caeltin destroyed. In defiance, they pierced the cloud cover and reached toward the sun.

“Is it too much, do you think?” King Treestar asked his wife, considering all the city had just endured.

“No. No longer. But it will be hard. Still, what choice do we have? If the alternative endangers the Quest, then there is no question at all. And surely it does!” She knew they could never sit idly by while another ally was threatened. And all of life was now allied against the Dark One. There was no way for any to escape him short of victory.

“The pressure upon Robyn will be enormous,” Treestar said. He rubbed his eyes. His vision was blurred.

“As it certainly must have been upon our sons when Seramour was under siege,” Elsinestra commented. The strongest rise up in times of need and he was strong. “Others came to our aid then.”

“What must our children have been thinking?” he wondered aloud. “Did they even know what we were going through here, do you suppose?”

“News traveled everywhere. Nary even the most remote of villages on the mainland had not heard of the attack upon Seramour,” Elsinestra replied. “But on the isles, perhaps Fallean was spared at least. When he hears of his cousin…”

Adain’s death would shake him. They were the best of friends. “It must have been painful for them to be apart from us during such a time,” the King continued, though in his heart he was relieved they weren’t present when the danger seemed the most grave. The selfishness of it bothered him, but he couldn’t deny it.

“Was it not just as hard for you and for me?” she reminded him.

“It was difficult, but it was also a relief not to have them here when the question of our survival was upon everyone’s lips. During my most troubled hours, I found solace in knowing that if we should perish, they would still survive.” His temple throbbed. He needed sleep.

“And Baron Calipee must now harbor those same thoughts,” Elsinestra said. She looked out across the treetops as if she was trying to see all the way to Tamarand. “You know Robyn as well as anyone. How is it, do you suppose, that he allowed such rumors to circulate about him for such a long time? I found him to be sensitive and genuine, yet his reputation would have us all believe he is selfish and cold hearted.”

“He had many obstacles to overcome after his mother died,” Treestar replied. “And not being Promanthea’s first choice must have been arduous for his people to accept.” They’d learned so much about this powerful Chosen during the siege of Seramour.

“More so for him, I suspect,” the Queen replied.

A weight to bear upon his shoulders always, like a child’s discovery that it was unplanned or unwanted. “He loves his father dearly. The image portrayed to outsiders merely afforded him the freedom to do what he felt was necessary. “

“What will Robyn do now?” Elsinestra asked. “Though Tamarand is a fortified city, how can it withstand an onslaught from Sedahar?”

“He will suffer,” Treestar admitted. “I trust he and his friends understand completely how vital Davmiran’s safety is. And he will do what he must. And so must we.” He was tired. His head hurt.

“I agree,” she replied. “Though it will test our people’s temerity once again, it’s vital we lend whatever support we can. I only hope our soldiers see it the same way that we do.”

“They will,” Treestar said. “They’re good men.” After all they’ve been through. Ten thousand dead.

“They emulate you, my dear,” Elsinestra said with a sweet smile.

“And you as well,” he returned the compliment.

“When must they leave?”

“As soon as possible.” It was important they got there in advance of Caeltin’s forces, so they could help defend the city. From what Liam reported, the enemy’s numbers were staggering. “If they do not march immediately, they may arrive to find only the ruins of Tamarand. Besides, our defenses are once more intact. We shall seal the lifts after they depart, and then wait for news. I do not anticipate another attack from the skies so soon after the failure of the previous one. Liam saw no evidence of anything other than a ground force being prepared. We should be safe here at least,” Treestar said. His hand was trembling. Some wine would help, he thought. It would relax him.

“I have no sense of safety since Davmiran left,” Elsinestra replied. The memory of the heir’s presence brought her hope even now, but she felt no refuge in the world any longer.

“It was just a feeling, my dear. His presence calmed you, but until he finds the Gem, none of us are truly secure. Remember that while he was here, Seramour came closer to defeat than ever before.” He wiped his brow with the back of his scarred hand, burnt badly during the fires that raged in the streets. Seramour was on the brink of collapse when they were rescued by Premoran and the others.

“Yet I was so hopeful in his presence,” she recalled. “It has colored my memory.”

“Are you not hopeful now?” Treestar asked, concerned.

“Yes, but I’m tired, my husband,” Elsinestra sighed. She stood beside Treestar and laid her head upon his shoulder. “I miss our children.”

“They will come home to us when they can,” he sought to comfort her. “But I miss them too,” he admitted. “Come. The men take solace in your presence and your strength. Accompany me to their quarters. They must begin their preparations.” His voice wavered and he stumbled slightly as he walked to the door. Something pounded in his head. A tiny blood vessel burst in his eye.

“Once again,” Elsinestra said. She was looking the other way. She didn’t notice.

“Once again,” the King repeated.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Maringar and Beolan rode together on the back of the troll’s horse, straddling a saddle as broad as an armchair. The elf held the reins, and the dwarf sat behind him clutching the stiff, tall back. The animal kicked and shied until it grew accustomed to Beolan’s gentle directions. It was unused to verbal commands, as the scars upon its sides testified to. Before they mounted, they bathed it as best as they could in the waters that had pooled around them everywhere, but even the clear, cold water from the heavy rains could not eliminate the stench of its previous rider. They removed the spikes from the stirrups as well as the sharp points from underneath the reins. They fed it whatever they could spare from their remaining provisions, and it ate greedily of the grains.

The water settled into the cracks and crevices, making a dangerous and swampy morass out of the terrain. Fortunately, the rain had stopped. Still, the journey wouldn’t be easy.

“Let’s go, boy. Easy now,” Beolan said, urging the horse forward.

“Since when do trolls travel on horseback?” Maringar asked, bouncing along behind him.

“Since Caeltin decided they should cover more ground than was possible on foot,” Beolan replied. “Very few beasts would carry them. They must have beaten this one into submission.” Cruelty of this type went against his nature.

“I don’t think the two of us together weigh what that one over there did,” Maringar replied, pointing to the bloated corpse lying pooled in its own black blood. “Were they here to prevent us from getting to Odelot, do you think?”

“Either that, or they were traveling for other purposes and caught our scent along the way.”

“To find what we’re going there to find?” Maringar asked.

“What else would anyone go all the way to the dead city for? I just hope we’re not too late.” Without the key, the map would be vulnerable. That’s what his father told him. If they failed, the consequences would be dire. They had already been delayed far too long. He pressed his heels into the animal’s belly and it leapt ahead.

“Too late for what, Beolan?” Maringar asked. “I still don’t know exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Neither do I. No one does it seems, not even the Wizard. But my father is confident we’ll figure out what to do with the key once we get there.” He hoped that would be the case. He’d heard tales of Odelot his entire life but he never imagined going there himself. The dead city was not a place people envisioned traveling to. It was a blight upon the earth, a victim with open wounds.

“Where do we bloody begin?” Maringar wondered.

The earth drew in the water with a ravenous thirst and the countless pools of dirty brown liquid disappeared into holes that pockmarked the surface. As it drained, the ground moaned in response, sucking in the liquid. The sound frightened the already skittish horse and it rose up on its powerful hind legs. Maringar slid half off the saddle and grabbed Beolan’s shirt so he wouldn’t fall, while Beolan calmed the skittish animal and led him to higher ground. They reached a ridge that was more stable above the plain and continued along it. Maringar’s legs weren’t long enough to encircle the horse’s mid-section, and he held on tight to Beolan. Up here they could make up some of the time lost on the soggy plain.

“The Tomes didn’t provide any more information, and neither did Premoran. It’s an odd shaped implement though, and it won’t fit in just any lock,” Beolan picked up where he left off. The key was never far from his mind. “Hold on. We’ve got to move now.” He leaned forward and said something in the horse’s ear.

“Had it not glowed as it did, I may not have found it to begin with, there was so much chaos after the Armadiel died,” Maringar recalled. “It almost slipped into the chasm with him. I grabbed it at the last moment.”

“Maybe it’ll glow again when we get closer to the right place,” Beolan suggested.

“That’s what I was hoping. Odelot’s big, isn’t it?. We could wander around for a long time searching.” He yelled so Beolan could hear him. The wind lashed at his face.

Beolan yelled back, “We don’t know who carries the map now.” Bristar knew so little, only what Premoran told him, and he’d shared that conversation with Beolan already. It wasn’t encouraging. “Keep your head low and lean into me.” He slapped the reins on the destrier’s neck and it galloped even faster.

“Maybe the sister from Parth still has it,” Maringar said as soon as they slowed down around a rock bend and he could speak again. “She should be easy to recognize.”

“Before we left Crispen, the last information my father received was confusing. Though the map did leave Parth in the hands of two of the sisters, he was led to believe they may no longer have it in their possession.”

“I remember his concern when that message reached him. I always thought the Chosen knew everything,” Maringar said. “Couldn’t they have helped a little more?”

“At one time, I believe they did. But, no longer. As the trees die, they learn of things more slowly, if at all.” He directed the horse up a small hill, toward a copse of dry grass.

“If at all,” Maringar repeated. “It’s a different world, my friend. When I was younger, I never dreamed a Chosen of the trees would have difficulty with anything. Now I worry for their safety!”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Maringar. Those that have died have done so by their own volition, though none of us know the real reasons. No Lalas has yet been challenged by an enemy directly.” No Lalas that he knew of.

“I wonder how long it’ll be before even that happens,” Maringar said.

“Caeltin is surely mad, but is he that mad, do you think?” Beolan asked. The ground was slippery and the ledge they walked on was too tight to chance moving any faster. Stones fell down it with each step.

“Me? What do I know? You’re more familiar with his ways than I ever was. I barely left the Thorndars until a short time ago. When he attacked Pardatha, we organized a war party and marched to Baladar’s aid. That was the first time I’d been in that city in years!” he explained.

“Honestly, Maringar, I think it’s possible he’s that mad!” Beolan said. “Damn, this is treacherous. How long have we been riding already?”

“The sun’s coming down. Five hours maybe.”

They trotted eastward through scrub and brush for another hour, until the terrain changed. The wet soil dried up the further away from the river they rode, and the surface became sandy and soft. The dull browns of the damp earth gave way to pale grays and tans. They shielded their eyes from the blowing dirt.

“Do you smell the sea?” Beolan asked, raising his nose up in the air.

“I don’t smell anything but this filthy horse,” Maringar replied. He hated riding on any animal’s back, least of all a warhorse that once belonged to a mountain troll.

“What choice do we have? We’d never get there on foot.”

“You said you smelled the sea? Are we really that near to it?” Maringar asked.

“The scent is unmistakable. We can’t be far away.” The ground gave way under the animal’s hooves and it was hard to navigate as it became dryer and dryer. Beolan searched the scrub for better terrain.

“I hate water.” The thought of it made his stomach turn. “I used to sit up nights above lake Tamaran. Sometimes the water looked like you could walk on it,” Maringar recalled.

“Weren’t you easy prey for the Selgays, perched up there like that?”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Beolan,” Maringar said, and he leaned in close to the elf’s ear. “The birds are really very friendly,” he whispered.

“Maybe to you they are!” Beolan replied. “I know what they did to Caeltin’s army on the plains of Pardatha. I wouldn’t call that friendly.”

“As long as I wasn’t near a nest or one of their eyries, I was safe. In fact, they rescued my little brother Preston, did they not?”

“So I heard. I wish I’d been there to witness it,” Beolan replied. “But he was with Tomas after all.” A bit further and they could trot again. He led them to a more solid area.

“It’s strange how things work out sometimes. Preston never felt he belonged anywhere, he never thought he fit in. His destiny always lay elsewhere,” Maringar said. “He was so much taller than any dwarf ever was. To refer to him as my little brother is very funny. He’s half again my height.”

“Had Preston not run away, he wouldn’t have met Tomas. And, had you not kidded him for so long, he might not have run away,” Beolan summarized.

“That makes me feel much better,” Maringar laughed. “Had I not been so mean to my brother, he might have led an ordinary dwarf’s life!” Laughing hurt his wounds almost as much as riding, but it was worth it. He pressed his hand to his side and winced. The leather was damp.

“As ordinary as yours?” Beolan asked. Another hundred yards or so. They were going slow. Too slow.

“What could be more normal for a mountain dwarf than riding upon the back of a troll’s horse, behind an elf, on the way to the dead city of Odelot?” Maringar kidded. The wind picked up and particles of fine sand were flying into their faces. The weather was changing. “I think I smell the water now,” Maringar agreed. “What’s the plan once we get there?”

Beolan rose up in the saddle. “Talk to me then. I see a tower,” he said as the horse broke into a canter.