The Twins (24 page)

“Have everyone ready in thirty minutes. I will meet you there as soon as I can find Jerial. I must ask him something before we depart. Captain, do you know where he may be?” he asked.

“You will probably find him behind the Waverly Inn tossing horseshoes,” the guard replied.

“Thank you. If my father should inquire as to my whereabouts, please tell him I went in search of Jerial,” Elion said, not wishing to lie any more than he had to as he rushed out of the quarters. Yelling back over his shoulder he said, “Hurry now, thirty minutes, no more! We have no time to waste,” and then he was gone.

Elion knew now that he would conveniently be “unable” to find Jerial, and that rather than waste any more precious time searching for him, he would be forced to take his place and carry the message to Baladar in his stead. By the time his parents found out, he would be well on his way back to Pardatha.

Chapter Twenty-five

Baladar left the comfort of his study, distraught and overwhelmed with concern. He was blessed with the responsibility of caring for the heir, and in so short a time he had already failed to live up to that responsibility.
I should never have left him here alone with that rogue in the castle. What was I thinking?

He was distraught and frustrated. The boy had been there for merely six days, his teachers must be only just nearing Pardatha and Baladar was beside himself with worry.
Perhaps I should visit Calista again. She may know where he’s gone.

Just as quickly as it came to him, he disposed of that idea, remembering her last words to him and accepting that the task of locating Davmiran rested upon his shoulders. As he neared the main hallway, he espied an unfamiliar cat rolling head first all over a worn, green shawl on the floor. He loved animals, and at first, habit urged him to pet the feline, but he reminded himself of the pressing matters which required all of his attentions, and so he turned and headed down the stairway toward the doors, making a mental note to tell the housemaids to be more thorough in the future and not leave old garments lying around littering the floors.

I must go outside, sit outside for a while. There has to be some evidence remaining that will aid my search. He could not have just vanished into thin air.

Baladar emerged from the castle only to find himself staring at the paved courtyard, not really knowing where to begin. He walked to the Noban gate and surveyed the landscape beyond it. There were so many hoof marks, footprints and wagon wheel impressions in the soft ground alongside the roadway that he could not distinguish one from another. He did not even know if the boy was carried or dragged out of his house.

No one actually saw him depart, and Baladar had already discretely questioned anyone who he thought might have been in a position to witness a leave taking at that moment in time. But, as his guard related to him, the castle garrison was reluctant to observe the arrogant young lord’s departure after the events of the previous evening. They would not take it upon themselves to insult a foreign Lord and countermand the direct orders Kettin gave them the previous evening. None save a few even knew of the boy’s existence, which made Baladar’s inquiries more difficult.

The nurses saw nothing, as they retired early the previous evening, having no idea that anything untoward had even occurred concerning the visiting Duke’s son. Dalek alas, was dead and whatever knowledge he may have gained, died with him. No one else knew the young man was in the castle! In his attempt to protect the boy, Baladar had possibly sealed his doom and with it the future of the entire world.

He left the path beyond the gate and wandered into the tall grass, looking for a sign, looking for anything that might shed some light upon the disappearance of the boy. To the east, he had noticed fresh tracks which could only have been the marks left by Kettin and his band of ‘thieves’ as they stole away, leaving only death and disaster behind them.

Baladar regretted the very moment he saw that young nobleman’s face, the arrogant son of the Duke of Talamar. He knew it meant trouble, finding him in his home, interrupting his important work, just when he was beginning to believe that the encroaching darkness could be stopped, that there was hope for the world, his world and the one that his beloved wife cherished so much. He had failed them all!

What hurt him the deepest was that he failed Briland. He believed that if he could help forestall or prevent the death of a single Lalas, then his wife’s life work would be redeemed. She was taken so soon, before they had a chance to grow old together, before they had the time to relax in each other’s love. Their lives were always filled with commitments and responsibilities. Rarely could they just spend time in each other’s arms, enjoying only the companionship and love they so deeply felt for one another.

Baladar began this descent into depression again, this free fall from the edge once more, after having spent so many agonizing days and nights learning to overcome it. He felt it overtaking him, the hollow feeling, the all-encompassing sadness, and he could do nothing to prevent it. The appearance of the boy, of the heir of legend, provided him with a purpose once again. The future beckoned to him, it seemed to call him directly by his name, and he welcomed the challenge of teaching the boy and of taking part in the future struggle that would inevitably take place, that was already taking place all over the land. But, as he searched the tall grasses for a clue as to the whereabouts of Davmiran, he felt his heart breaking once again.

Briland. Briland. What have I done? I have lost the two people most dear and most important to me. What must I do now to redeem myself? I fear I cannot go on like this. If only I can find a sign, some reason to believe that the boy is alive still, then I can still hope, but how could a defenseless boy, invisible to all human kind by my own doing, and unconscious, unaware of the very world around him, how could this helpless child survive? I have not only let him be stolen right from under me, I may have killed him just as if I thrust a blade through his heart myself!

There were no words to express the pain that he felt at that moment, but the world was becoming accustomed to such anguish and despondency, and each man or woman who succumbed fed the fires of the black hope that raged within the heart of Colton dar Agonthea, a cold, barren, evil hope for the dissolution of the world, for the end of the trees and verily the end of life itself.

During his reverie, he had wandered westward beyond the road. Baladar was so overcome with despair that he almost walked by without noticing the flattened turf at his feet. He glanced downward and he saw what appeared to be a path of broken blades of grass leading to the edge of the woods. Something had been dragged from here to there and he bent cautiously to examine the marks that were left. His heart skipped a beat as he immediately sensed that this could be the evidence he was searching for. But, how could he be sure?

As he looked more closely, he saw the small footprints of a child perhaps, or an Elf in the soft soil beneath the grass. Someone had surely been there recently and whomever it was pulled something through the tall grass. Baladar was down on his hands and knees searching the area for a sure sign of Davmiran, a piece of cloth, a lost shoe, a button or a clasp; something that would certify that he was there.

He followed the path toward the forest and he became more and more convinced that whoever was there had discovered the prostrate boy and spirited him away into the woods by dragging him across the field. The footprints were made by a soft soled shoe, not the boot of a soldier. And although they were small in size, they were deep and solidly planted. A child could not have carried the boy that long a distance. It must have been an Elf or a Dwarf. Neither race frequented these areas and Baladar wondered immediately what could have brought one to these woods just in time to find Davmiran lying in the tall reeds.

Baladar walked close to the fringe of trees edging the field. Crouching in order to see if any other prints joined the ones he had already observed, he saw something that instantaneously swelled his heart with joy immeasurable; the woven bracelet that Davmiran was wearing when Baladar first examined him was lying on the ground in plain sight! He picked it up tenderly and placed it safely in his pocket.

So! The tale has not ended here.
He lifted his head and laughed aloud.

Strange coincidences seemed to follow the charmed youth around, Baladar ruminated, and he seriously contemplated the possibility that it was mere chance that brought a distant visitor to these parts at such an opportune moment. He quickly relinquished that idea in favor of one that seemed to govern most circumstances surrounding the heir, both in legend and in life; fate led the stranger here at precisely the correct hour, on exactly the correct day, in order to rescue the boy from certain death.

The fabric wove of its own will. And Baladar realized almost simultaneously, that only a person of another race, an Elf or a Dwarf or, the First forbid, a Troll, would have been able to see him, now that he was certain it was the boy’s impression he was tracking in the grass. The spell that he cast only made Davmiran invisible to humans! That would explain why he was abandoned so close to the gates of the city and why he was so soon forgotten by those whose purpose was to apprehend him in the first place. The two questions that Baladar chose not to grapple with during the midst of these other issues were how did Kettin know that the boy was in Pardatha, and on whose behalf did he attempt to kidnap him. The contemplation of those would have to wait for another time and another day.

As he examined the tracks more closely, he became convinced that the footprints definitely did not belong to a Troll. They were too small and light, and besides, Trolls never wore shoes upon their calloused feet. If it had been a Troll’s footprint, he would have seen the clumsy scuff marks of a six toed beast, not the cautious signature of a clearly intelligent observer. A Dwarf’s boots would have been heavier and broader, metal soled like a shod horse.

The marks would have been closer together and deeper still, as the dwarves had strong and short legs, and never wore soft shoes. Baladar knew he had to be careful not to impose his hopes upon the circumstances. Yet, his reasoning seemed accurate, and although he wished with all his heart that it was an Elf who found Davmiran, he also believed that, after examining the evidence, it was the most reasonable conclusion to draw.

“Perhaps the spark of hope remains lit still,” he said aloud.

If the boy had to disappear at all, Baladar reasoned, he preferred that he ended up in the able hands of an Elf. The Elves were a good and noble race, and although they kept their distance from the world of men, they served the light without compromise. Their love of the trees was second to none and they would never do anything to harm one of the Chosen, or one such as Davmiran!

Baladar was growing more confident with each passing moment, and the depression that threatened to cripple him just a short while ago was once more placed in abeyance and forced below the surface. He reasoned that if an Elf discovered this unusual boy, he would have attempted to aid him, and when he could not awaken him himself, he would have gone in search of help. An Elf would not have approached the gates of Pardatha on his own under these circumstances. How could he have known that the boy was not ejected intentionally from the castle, but kidnaped by a rogue? It would have been foolish of him to return the unconscious youth to a city where it appeared he was clearly unwanted.

To the north was Crispen and to the south lay Lormarion. Those were the two nearby kingdoms wherein the Elves thrived in numbers, where the Elfin civilizations matured and grew in wealth and stature. The people of the northern Elfin nations rarely traveled out of their own realms. It was highly unlikely that one of their kind would have been so far south for any reason whatsoever. They had little in common with their mountain and southern kin, and they rarely interacted these days as far as he knew.

Baladar rejoiced in his conclusions, as he found either choice to be far better than he could have dreamed about just a short while earlier. He was already formulating a plan of action that he would initiate upon his return to the castle. He would contact Treestar, the King of the Southern Elves, a man he had met once many tiels ago. Although of different races, he and Treestar had much in common, he remembered. The two kingdoms had always respected one another’s differences and had remained friends and allies for centuries, although contact between them was infrequent.

He would also send inquiries to Bristar, the leader of the northern clans, a more reclusive and secretive Elf, less trusting than his southern brother if the tales he had heard were accurate. A message would go out to Eleutheria as well, that distant mountain kingdom buried in snow all the year long, in the remote event that perhaps they had some knowledge that would assist him now.

He could not risk ignoring a single possibility, no matter how unlikely. But, he now had no doubt that he would locate the boy yet, and then he could arrange for his return to Pardatha. His schooling would have to begin a bit later than he had planned, but it would begin! He realized that he was taking a lot for granted here, that he was assuming much and that he really knew very little. But he was not plagued by concern any longer. His fear and discouragement gave way to promise, and in his heart of hearts he knew that Davmiran was safe.

From the depths of despair to the dizzying heights of hope unencumbered! I am like a child at the window of a sweet shop, not knowing whether the treats will be available to me or locked away forever behind an impenetrable door. I would have thought that I would have learned some lessons by now! Briland, forgive me. Oh, to be human, all too human.

Purposefully he made his way back to the castle, calculating his next moves while he walked down the very path created by the boy’s untimely departure.