Storm's Clouds, page 28
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
Baxter sheathed his sword, handing Lynette a three-leafed clasp – the one missing from Eirlon’s cloak. “Let’s go. You too, Sharik.”
The elderly mage had backed himself against a row of crates, his face pale as a sheet. “Did you see? Did you know?”
Baxter gripped him by the arm as he led him out. “Come on, Sharik. Maybe Lynette can show you some magic on the way back.”
* * *
“Thank you for all that you have done for us,” Garth said as he hefted his knapsack onto the saddle, securing it in place.
“May th’ winds favor ye on yer way,” Mariory replied. She and Maldouen had come to see them off. The morning sun had not yet cleared the mountains to the east, but the sky was already aglow, the clouds painted in shades of red and orange.
To the north, a thin column of dark smoke could be made out. Maldouen watched it rise. “Tis a dark omen,” he said.
“Some things await the rain to wash them clean,” Garth replied. He knew the remains of the three wraiths would likely smolder for another day or more. Elemental flames could do that. He led his horse towards the stone platform, overlooking the treetops of the valley below. Waya followed.
Maldouen stepped forward, bending low and speaking to Garth in a low voice. “Th’ weight o’ th’ stones ye bear is a heavy one. I’ve ne’er heard tell o’ a human mage who could tamper wi’ such things ‘n yet abide.”
Garth smiled sadly. “Your concern warms me. Sometimes, there is a burden that we each must bear, and a storm which only we can weather. Goodbye, friend Maldouen. May the winds of fate blow happily in your favor.”
Garth and Waya stepped onto the platform, and a mist grew and thickened around them. They slid slowly backwards, off the stone platform, carried by the clouds over the valley. In another moment, they were gliding away, looking back as Mariory waved.
Garth watched Waya gazing back as the giant-sized homestead receded into the distance, as if trying to affix one last image of all he had experienced. “Did you sleep well?” Garth asked.
“Surprisingly, yes. Maybe it was the harp in my room. Better than I had in days. What about you? Did you sleep at all?”
“I returned late and slept uneasily. Troubled dreams. Troubled voices in my mind. I still have business which awaits me. But not until after we get you back where you belong.”
“No one would believe if I told them,” Waya said, looking back as the giants’ home receded into the distance. “Any of this.”
“Some experiences have to be lived to be understood.”
The cloud carried Garth and Waya towards the east, the treetops passing swiftly below. At first, Waya had assumed the giants would merely send them back down the mountain slope, the same way they had come. But a stiff breeze had picked up, sending their patch of cloud to the northeast. They were accelerating, as mountain peaks swept by to the south, the forested hills traversing swiftly beneath.
“I thought they were going to send us back down the mountain,” Waya said.
“They were,” Garth replied.
Waya studied Garth’s features, realizing the mage was focused on the landscape ahead. Looking forward, into the distance, Waya could see the forest giving way to the grassy plains of Tsien. Far beyond, on the horizon, he could make out the peaks of the Apyahu Mountains. The wind was carrying them fast, and high – far faster than any horse could have galloped. “It’s taking us to Tsien?” he asked.
Garth nodded. “To the edge of the grasslands.”
The landscape continued to sweep away beneath them, as the minutes sped past. Waya was dizzy from the speed. As they approached the grasslands, the cloud began to descend, the ground growing closer, individual tree tops visible as they sped by below. Waya wished there was something he could grab onto. He gripped the reins of his horse tighter, hoping his anxiety wouldn’t spook the animal.
The ground sped past beneath them until finally, at the edge of the forestline, they slowed, and the cloud set them down on the edge of the grassy plains – near a small brook. The cloud thinned, dispersed, and Waya found himself standing on solid ground once more.
Garth checked their saddle bags, drawing his sword out from across his knapsack where it had been wrapped and secured. He buckled its straps to his belt once more. Taking the reins of his horse, he lead it towards the little brook. “We’ll rest here, a little longer,” Garth told him. “Have you thought about your decisions?”
“My decisions?” asked Waya.
“You had two of them to make. Whether you are ready to return to Tsien. And in what form you would prefer to live under.”
Waya inhaled deeply, trying to organize his thoughts. He hadn’t really thought about any of this. He had somehow expected to have more time. To be able to sort through his feelings and possibilities. It had all happened so quickly. “I don’t know what to think,” Waya said.
Garth removed the bit from his horse’s mouth, hanging the bridle from the branch of a tree. He led the horse to where it could graze near the edge of the brook, whispering soothing words to the animal who snorted his appreciation.
Garth sat down a short distance away on a large, flat stone near the edge of the water. “This is not a small matter. I will give you until midday to think through your decisions.”
“Shouldn’t we be traveling while the sun is high?”
“Ordinarily, I would agree. But I need you to think this through. A spell of making will take some amount of time and focus to prepare.”
Garth crossed his legs, his arms stretched out across his knees, his eyes closing in what Waya recognized as a meditative trance. He had seen Adsila’s mother, Yona, enter a similar, reflective state when contemplating the treatment for an ill patient.
What was he to do? Did he even know? It had all happened so fast.
* * *
“It must have been quite the fright,” Lord Lestin said. “You’re lucky to have escaped with your life.”
“Quite right,” added Lord Maidoc. “The princess always did make me nervous. No commoner was meant to wield such power. The truth of the bloodline comes out.”
Lord Bleddyn was basking in the sympathy of his fellow council members as they slowly made their way to the Fae Council chamber. The story of his survival, from a near certain brush with death at the hands of Princess Elise, had already been making the rounds. Everyone had come to console him regarding his harrowing escape.
“Must have cracked under the pressure of her father’s illness,” Lord Lestin said.
“Her adopted father,” added Lord Maidoc. “She was never a proper noblefae.”
Lord Terrwyn banged his gavel twice. “The Council of the Arche-Fae shall now come to order.” Lord Bleddyn moved to take his seat. He surveyed the Council room. Lord Heddwyn was perhaps the most distraught – both from the illness of the king and the apparent breakdown and disappearance of the princess. Hopefully, Heddwyn would just sit the proceedings out. Lord Maidoc and Lord Lestin had been the first to express sympathy for Lord Bleddyn. They would almost certainly agree to the measures he would now propose, as would Lord Arwel – who had earlier protested the royals and their over-reaching grabs for power. To think that the Royal Guard had maintained reserves?! There would be some reorganizing when he was in charge.
“Is there a motion to accept the minutes from the last Council meeting?” Lord Terrwyn said.
“I move to accept the minutes from the last Council meeting,” Lord Lestin said.
“I second that motion,” replied Lord Maidoc.
“All in favor of the motion to accept the meeting minutes, say ‘Aye,’” said Lord Terrwyn. “All opposed, say ‘Nay.’ The motion passes.”
Lord Bleddyn stood up. “My fellow Council members, as we are all aware, with the king’s illness, the spell of concealment which has protected the Feyfell is failing. Therefore, I move that in the absence of a king, we should mobilize the Fae Council Garrison to patrol and protect the borders of the kingdom.”
“Shouldn’t we be sending search parties out to apprehend Princess Elise?” Lord Arwel asked.
“I can assure you the Garrison is sparing no effort to locate the murderous princess,” Lord Bleddyn replied. “As liaison to the Fae Council Garrison, I spoke with General Arthus on the topic earlier today.”
“It’s just so tragic,” said Lord Heddwyn.
“I second the motion,” said Lord Maidoc. “I second the motion to mobilize the Fae Council Garrison to patrol and protect the frontiers of the Fae Kingdom.”
“All in favor of the motion, say ‘Aye,’” Lord Terrwyn responded. There was a universal chorus of “Ayes” across the room, although some were said more slowly and with more reluctance. “All opposed, say ‘Nay.’ The motion passes.”
* * *
“What do you mean you’re here to relieve us?” replied Captain Iolyn.
“By order of General Arthus and the Arche-Fae Council,” said the young officer, the buttons on his red uniform shiny and polished.
Iolyn glanced over the written orders, then glanced up at the dozen soldiers from the Fae Council Garrison who stood behind the young lieutenant. Iolyn handed the papers back to the lieutenant. “We are the Royal Guard,” Iolyn answered. “We are sworn to protect the king of the Feyfell, and only the king may relieve us from that responsibility. Not General Arthus, and not the Fae Council. And this, in case you hadn’t noticed, is the Royal Estate. It is one thing to tell us to withdraw the Royal Guard from the Feygate and the other frontiers of the land. It is quite another to try and relieve us from our responsibility to the king.”
“We have our orders,” the young lieutenant repeated. The Garrison members accompanying him looked back and forth nervously.
Iolyn raised his hand, motioning for his guardsmen to respond. From the forest and underbrush, a dozen fae archers emerged from either side, their bows already armed with arrows as they stepped out from the camouflage spells which had concealed them from view. Each was wearing their green, field uniforms, which could almost blend with their surroundings even without the aid of a spell.
Although their bows were not yet raised, the implied threat was clear. Captain Iolyn took a step towards the Fae Garrison lieutenant, standing toe to toe with the young officer.
“You tell General Arthus to stick to his parades. None but the king has the authority to relieve us from our responsibilities as the Royal Guard. We will not be withdrawing from the Royal Estate and Manor.”
The young lieutenant stepped backwards. Iolyn could see his hands trembling. The lieutenant turned and withdrew, taking his Garrison soldiers with him.
Owain stepped forward from another concealment spell on Iolyn’s left. “We have news from our scouts at the frontier.”
Iolyn continued to watch the retreat of the Garrison soldiers. “What do they report?”
“There is a small army making camp, just across from our northeastern frontier, near the town of Amsford. They estimate there are at least five thousand men encamped on the northern side of the River Liore.”
“Five thousand? From Lotaria?” Iolyn turned to look at Owain.
“No sir. These are northern tribesmen and mercenaries, from Ikzhan.”
“Send out the word to begin mobilizing our reserves on a select basis. Quietly. We need to remain discrete, avoiding the attention of the Fae Council. Prioritize the archers and cavalry regiments. The reservists are to assemble at the pre-assigned meeting points and await further orders. We will not let the Feyfell fall because some novice wants to play soldier.”
“There is more news,” Owain said, inhaling sharply.
“Whereabouts this time?”
“Our scouts in the city of Glysing have observed soldiers from Lotaria crossing the River Liore by boat. Only small numbers at a time. But on a steady, ongoing basis. They appear to be mapping out the terrain.”
Iolyn shook his head. “I wish there was more we could do than just observe and wait. Unfortunately, if we take action to intercept them now, we would be tipping our hand to the Fae Council. We are neither as blind nor as powerless as they believe us to be. We’ll need to keep a low profile for the time being.”
“What about the Council?”
“Despite my distaste for those over-stuffed shirts, we need a friend on the Council. It can’t be avoided. We can’t just wait for them to come to their senses. We need someone on the inside.”
* * *
Eirlon coughed, wiping the dried blood from his lip. His head was still pounding, but he could feel something wet and cold brushing against his forehead. “Is he coming to?” he heard a voice ask.
“Yes, I think he’ll be alright.” A woman’s voice, but in a lower register. An older woman perhaps?
Eirlon opened his eyes, looking up to see two gnomes leaning over him – one male, the other female. “Where am I?” he asked. He could make out a rock-hewn ceiling overhead, as his eyes slowly came into focus.
“You’re in the mines of Pastino,” the male gnome said. His beard was grey. He was younger than Eirlon, but his eyes were duller. He wore a grey, ragged looking shirt, with a loose-fitting cap on his head.
“You took quite the beating. We didn’t know if you were going to make it,” the female gnome said. She had grey hair, pulled back into a bun, and wore a dark dress – which had once been black, but which had since faded to grey. She was doing her best, it seemed to Eirlon, to put on a cheerful disposition. But the many lines on her face bore testimony to a life of toil and misery.
“You’ll be happy to know they had to take half-price for you,” the male gnome added.
“Togi!” the woman scolded.
“Well, it’s true.”
“Who are you?” Eirlon asked, reaching up to feel his head. It was throbbing.
“I’m Togillano, Togi for short,” the male gnome replied. “I’m the foreman over the gnomes here.”
“Foreman?” Eirlon gingerly tried to move each limb in turn, checking to see if anything was broken. It seemed like his head had taken the worst of it. Where had he been? What had he been doing?
“I make sure everyone does their fair share of work and receives their fair share of rations. This is my wife Esmer. She’s also the colony’s nurse, or as close as we have to one.”
Eirlon sat up slowly. He was lying on a cot atop a straw mattress. The room around him had been carved out of the rock, the doorway reinforced with timbers. It was illuminated by a single lantern. There were two other cots in the room – both empty. No sign of a window. “I’m in a mine?”
“You belong to the mining company of Pastino now,” Togi replied. “We all do.”
He had been harnessing his horse. Now he remembered! He must have been ambushed in the stable. By whom? His head still hurt. He couldn’t remember seeing anyone. “There’s a way out of here?” Eirlon asked.
“Only if you die,” Togi replied.
“Togi! You didn’t need to say that.” His wife was on her feet now.
“Well it’s true,” Togi said. “And you had best remember it,” he added, staring at Eirlon. “If anyone goes missing or tries to escape, they take it out on those left behind. It doesn’t matter who you were before you came here, or where you came from. Once you’re here, there’s no escaping. If you don’t believe me, you can go see the bashed-in skulls they left at the entrance to the mine shafts – after the last couple of gnomes tried to escape.” Togi went to the door, then looked back. “You have a couple of hours left before your shift starts. You can catch some rest until then.”
* * *
Onacona awoke from his trance, the vision still shimmering in his mind, the voice resonating in his ears. He blinked repeatedly, drifting back into a conscious state. It was still morning – not quite midday. He inhaled, registering the faint scents of incense hanging about the room, and the fragrance from the last autumn flowers drifting in from the garden. The meditative state often left him briefly disoriented. But today’s vision had been something new, something more intense.
“Atsadi!” he called. “Atsadi! I need to have a message delivered!”
Atsadi hurried into the room, his robe billowing as he rushed. “Yes master?”
Onacona gripped his walking stick as he pulled himself to his feet. He moved slowly, his joints aching as he rose. He was no longer a young man, and the shackles of age could sometimes weigh heavily on him. Today, however, he had no time for the distractions from such minor concerns. “Atsadi, I need you to take down a message. Two messages, in fact. There is a tribe to the north, in need of mediation. The other message will be to the tribal chiefs. We need to call them to reconvene in four days.”
Atsadi watched as Onacona searched across the collection of ceremonial incense sticks, selecting one of the more rare, fragrant varieties. He placed the stick into the bronze censer. The censer had been shaped into the form of a miniature mountain, with slotted holes for the smoke to escape through. He passed his hand over it, and without fire or flint, the incense came alight. Atsadi took a step backwards. He had rarely seen his master invoke elemental magic. He watched Onacona studying the pattern of the smoke as it rose. It passed through the slotted vents in the bronze mountain, curling above it like clouds.
As Onacona passed his hand again over the censer, the smoke began to glow with its own, inner, green-hued light. The wisps curled, flowing like water cascading across rocks in a stream. Curling, recombining, then flowing again. The glow intensified, then faded. But not before Atsadi glimpsed a smoky, coiled pattern in the glowing cloud, and the image of two eyes staring back at him.
“Yes,” said Onacona, as he slowly made his way to the room’s entrance. “These are unusual times. We will be hosting a guest shortly. A guest such as we have not seen . . . not since before this temple was built.” He slid the lightweight door back, stepping outside into the central court and garden.
Atsadi hurriedly gathered parchment and writing utensils from a shelf, before following Onacona outside. “As you wish, master. May I ask what business we should tell the tribal chiefs this meeting is about?”
“A most urgent business,” Onacona replied. “Our reply to Batukhan, and the future of Tsien.” He strode purposefully across the garden’s manicured paths, the sun shining brightly across the branches and foliage. Here and there an evergreen tree or shrub was still a deep green. Most of the plants, however, had already begun to give up their leaves with the approaching winter months. Some were still clinging to their brightly colored fall leaves, while others were already bare.
