The Twins (28 page)

Filaree thrust her head into the cool liquid of the lake and let it wash away the sweat and remaining fear.

We are safe and Pardatha is just across the water now
, she thought and sighed with relief.

Clenching Trojan’s reins and making certain that Cameron’s head remained above the water, she led the exhausted horses toward the distant shore.

Chapter Thirty

Elion mounted the spotted pony that had always been his choice when he had an errand to run or a task to complete, and he smiled to himself at the coincidence. Fate was playing with the pieces of his life once more, for out of all the ponies in the stables, his father had chosen this one for this particular journey, his favorite. He was the one meant to bear this message, and all of the signs reinforced his belief in that regard. The fabric wove of its own will, he mused.

The scroll with the dispatch for Baladar was safely tucked away in the saddlebags as his father promised earlier, and all of the provisions that he would need were packed carefully and stowed in the satchels attached to the saddle. He bid a mental farewell to his home and his parents, regretting the scanty amount of time he was able to spend in Seramour, but knowing that what he was doing was the only thing to do. The guards were atop their ponies and already prepared to depart. He led the way onto the large platform nearest to him and the all others followed behind. The captain beckoned to the sentries and moments later the platform began to descend.

Once it had reached the ground and they all disembarked, the lift rose quickly back up. Elion shivered briefly, knowing that what he was about to do could not be undone, and hoping at the same time that his parents would understand his actions.

“Captain, follow me,” he ordered. “I know the way to where I must enter the woods. I was there just a short while ago and the memory of my path is still fresh upon me,” he stated ominously.

The party of fifteen armed, Elfin fighters and one troubled Elfin Prince galloped off, out of the shelter of the woods and onto the hills which were now shrouded in darkness.

Elion wanted to travel with as much speed as possible for a number of reasons. He hoped to get as far away from Seramour as he could before his father discovered his ruse and sent someone after him, or even worse, came for him himself. He also hoped to escape the wolves this time, or at least he hoped to have the upper hand in the next confrontation with them. Unlike before, this group was well prepared to protect itself.

They charged down the hill and broke into a full gallop once they reached the flat terrain at the bottom. Elion led the way, dashing across the very spot where he was so recently rescued by Treestar. His sharp hearing picked up the cries of the wolves in the distance, but they instilled no fear in his heart this time. He thought only of reaching Baladar and Pardatha, and of imparting the news to him about the boy he stole right out from under his nose. The brigade made remarkably good time. They raised a thick cloud of dust as they flew across the plains, which obscured whatever remaining visibility the moon had previously provided.

By the time the tree line was in sight at the far edge of the plain, the angered wolves were nipping at the hocks of the ponies’ legs, attempting to cripple them and tumble the animals along with their riders. Captain Perian drew his long, slim blade out of its sheath. Holding it high in the air, he leaned halfway to the ground with his pony galloping at full speed, and while hanging from one stirrup he slashed at the oncoming wolf causing it to cry out in pain. It retreated yelping, with a huge gash across its snout. Another enraged member of the pack came upon him on the opposite side, and the accomplished rider swung himself over the pommel and repeated his amazing acrobatics, sending another beast scampering away with blood pouring from its neck. The other riders, though neither as gracefully nor as deadly as their captain, fended off attack after attack while inflicting crippling wounds on the maddened brutes until the remaining ones began to give up, tired and hurting from their numerous cuts and bruises. The bodies of their dead littered the plains.

The party entered the woods unharmed though fatigued from the fight. Once under the cover of the trees, Elion pulled up and let his pony rest.

“You are quite the rider, Perian. That was indeed an exhibition out there!” Elion said with sincerity.

“Thank you, my Prince. I have always found fighting to be best accomplished while astride my pony. He knows my body language, and he would never see me unseated,” he replied proudly.

“You made that perfectly clear this evening. I think that you could have kept the wolves at bay singlehandedly,” he said as he slid from his saddle to the soft, mossy ground. “You will have another opportunity to hone your skills on your return, for I must depart on my own now. Thank you, Perian. I am in your debt,” he said before turning to the others. “Each of you, I thank with all my heart. First speed and may the Gem of Eternity light your way home,” Elion said earnestly. “Please, tell my father that I will send news as soon as I am able. And Perian, tell him for me that I am grateful for the opportunity to carry his message to Baladar under the circumstances. He will understand my meaning,” he said seriously.

“Surely, Prince Elion, I will do as you wish. And First speed to you too. May the Gem of Eternity guide you on your journey. Farewell!” he said, saluting the Elf Lord.

The group of fifteen followed their leader to the wood’s edge, and with a final salute they broke through the trees one behind the other, and disappeared across the Plain of the Wolves. Elion watched as they faded into the darkness and he was not surprised that the beasts made no new effort to attack them. They had enough of Elfin warriors for one day. He smiled to himself and walked his pony deeper into the shelter of the forest.

Elion wanted to get to Pardatha as soon as he possibly could, and without the burden of his previous companion, he was able to travel quickly. He decided to follow the line of trees eastward and thus avoid anyone his father may dispatch to find him and bring him back to Seramour. He knew that it would take him dangerously close to the outskirts of Sedahar, but he believed that a single Elf on a small pony could easily avoid the eyes of the Dark One. Once he reached the ridge above the Valley of the Spirits, the barren and desolate river bed, he could remain in the shelter of the trees while traveling northeast to Pardatha.

His father, if he did send a search party after him, would not look for him near the Dark Lord’s domain, and he was determined not to be waylaid on his way toward making right what he felt he had done wrong. Jorda, his pony, was strong and healthy and could ride straight through the night. What took him three days to travel before would take him no more than one and one half days this time.

The young elf took a deep drink from his pouch and allowed the Lalas leaf mixture to circulate throughout his body. He then offered a diluted mixture of the same liquid to his pony, who lapped it up enthusiastically. It provided both travelers with the sustenance they required to complete the journey. Climbing atop Jorda, he directed the animal down the narrow pathway through the trees. Once the trail widened, Elion encouraged his pony to ride faster and he guided him carefully and avoided the low hanging branches. He made excellent speed, covering many miles in only a few hours.

The sky was brightening in the east, and Elion needed to dismount not only to relieve Jorda for at least a moment, but also to stretch his legs and refresh himself. The woods narrowed at this point, forming a funnel of dense trees and brush. To the west was the wide open area he sought, lower in altitude than the woods, and parched and desolate, not succoring to any traveler. The once raging river dried up hundreds of tiels ago and left this barren gully behind; a wasteland that lead directly to Sedahar.

Elion preferred the warmth and shelter of the forest to the exposure of the range, even though he knew that he could travel much faster in the open. Stealth was almost as important to him as speed, for if he was caught by any unfriendly aggressor then his efforts would all be for naught. Suddenly, his ears picked up a faint sound which he ignored at first, it was so slight. When it persisted and grew louder, Elion walked toward the source, westward. He let Jorda graze for the moment and he crept to the outer trees, making sure that he concealed his movements from whomever or whatever was out there. The sounds were increasing in volume as he neared the edge of the tree wall, and he hid behind a large bush wherefrom he could observe the range below. The sun was just over the eastern horizon, rising above the treetops, and the gorge was fully exposed.

To his utter shock and dismay, he saw what appeared to be a black swarm in the distance, coming closer to where he now was by the second. He could not believe his eyes as he continued to witness the horrifying picture unfold before him. An army, larger than any he had ever seen before, was massing and preparing to move up the valley toward Pardatha. He still could not make out the banners that fluttered in the morning breeze, but he knew in his heart that it was not a friendly force. Elion watched in awe with his sharp, Elfin eyes locked upon the advance guard. When he could finally see the flag clearly, he wretched in revulsion. Before him flew the colors of Caeltin D’Are Agenathea, a burning red sun on a black background!

Elion sat stunned, his eyes transfixed upon the moving mass, and he attempted to remain calm. He surveyed what he saw, making mental notes of the numbers and makeup of the invaders, until he could keep count no longer. He was about to sneak back to Jorda when his heart froze. Amidst the advancing army were beasts, the likes of which he could not have envisioned in his worst nightmare. They were huge and their skin shone green in the dawn light, lizard like and terrifying in appearance. Every few moments, one of these horrendous freaks of nature would raise its ugly head and belch flames into the slowly brightening sky.

Elion stood near the edge of the wooded enclosure, lost in a ghastly reverie. He had heard about the hell hounds of Sedahar and he remembered being told of the ugly, stone eating beasts that Colton cherished, but he never believed that they were real. He thought they were merely legends, designed to frighten young children like the tales about the ghosts in the valley of the dead. More frightening even than the beasts themselves were their riders, red cloaked men with long arms, gloved hands and eyes as dead as the city of Odelot. Even from this distance, from the safety of his hiding place, he felt their eyes boring holes deep into his very soul, and he felt vulnerable and exposed; naked before these beasts from the underworld.

The surrounding marchers kept their distance as best they could from this repulsive group, out of fear no doubt. He counted thirteen of them in all. The riders sat far back on the haunches of the beasts, and it soon became apparent as to why. After each belch of fire, a stream of steam shot up from behind the animals head, perhaps ten feet in the air, sizzling as it rose, and then dissipating after a few moments.

He attempted to count the numbers and study the enemy, but the advancing army was far too large for that. It seemed to be endless as it swarmed into the valley, blackening the ground with its presence. He made a mental note of what he could; Trolls, Orcs, Giants, those hell hounds and their dark, blood-red riders. Elion had seen enough and the urgency he felt before was magnified a thousand fold by his observations. He had to get to Lord Baladar now without another moment’s hesitation! The city must be warned, and his journey suddenly took on a new and vital significance.

Quietly he located Jorda and hastily grabbed his reins. He snuck back into the thick of the woods leading his pony as silently as he could, and when he found the path once more, he leapt atop him and left caution to the wind, riding with an abandon like never before. His chest was pounding and his heart felt as if it had been seized by another’s fist and it was being ripped from his body. The wind assailed his face and the branches attacked his limbs as he plummeted headlong through the trees, disregarding the discomfort and the pain.

“Pardatha, Pardatha,” he repeated to himself like a mantra, driving him forward as he raced through the forest.

Chapter Thirty-one

Baladar returned to his chambers, elated at his discovery yet concerned that he had become once again the victim of such violent and uncontrollable mood swings. He attributed them to the changes transforming the entire planet, the tumultuous forces affecting the weave. Everyone was suffering from the clash between the light and the dark, between good and evil and right and wrong. Everyone and everything. He understood that throughout time, this same war has been waged with perhaps only a respite here and there when the opposing forces were depleted and needed to rebuild, or when a temporary victory elevated one side over the other. But now, in this time, the battle had taken on a different shade. The trees themselves were dying. The entire balance was shifting, and Baladar was terribly disturbed by the new and deadly direction in which he perceived it was now leaning.

Baladar absolutely believed that the Dark Lord could be defeated and that peace could prevail, if not eternally, then for many lifetimes. He, like Cairn, understood that one side helped to define and clarify the other, that the darkness made the light all that much brighter, that an evil action stood out more clearly in juxtaposition to a noble act. But nothing other than the demise of Colton could balance the disappearance of the Lalas from the earth. And if one occurred without the other, then the entire future would be changed forever.

If the Lalas prevailed and the Gem of Eternity continued to nourish the world, then there would be a future full of promise for all to participate in. If the Dark Lord triumphed then there would be no future for any living thing, and a new reality would succeed the existing one. He feared that the loss of both forces would leave a void unlike any other that followed a period of great change and upheaval, and he knew that he could not let that happen, but in order to have a chance to prevent it, he needed to locate Davmiran.

From his desk, he removed a tiny box that was tucked into the back of a small drawer on the side. It was not unique in appearance but made simply out of a common wood and unadorned. After opening the lid, he removed three feathers from a bunch that lay inside, bound together by a silk thread. Baladar walked over to the same table that he first laid Davmiran upon when Dalek brought him to this room.

He has precipitated so many changes already.

Baladar carefully placed one of the feathers in the middle of the table and then he put the other two aside for the moment. Removing four of his precious gems from the pouch at his waist, he placed them in a square around the single feather. Concentrating intently, he closed his eyes and drew the power out from the stones. The black one sparkled first, sending a stream of jet black light upward, about two feet above the table. Next, the ruby stone flared, sending its own tendril out and up, merging with the already steady surge emanating from the black jewel. The blue and green stones erupted simultaneously, blazing with their own colors, and they too joined their floes with the others. Once they had all blended together, a meshed dome of white light hovered over the lone feather on the table, completely encasing it in the mesmerizing glow. Baladar was pleased as he opened his eyes and spoke the words of power:

“
Felacpor tendil esti acqualto. Emerate bo minca stor.
”

The feather rose gracefully into the vortex of light and seemed to expand from all of its surfaces, as if it was imploding and turning inside out on itself, while growing in size at the same time. Baladar watched closely as his messenger took shape. Soon, a dove-grey bird about the size of a pigeon stood in the middle of the circle of light, turning its head this way and that. He extended his hand into the light and reached for the bird. Gently, he placed it in a small cage on the floor under the table. He repeated this process with the other two feathers, until there were two more birds of equal size and color in the cage beside the first one.

“
Termina porte,
” Baladar uttered, and the stones’ light died instantly.

After returning the gems to his pouch, he lifted the cage atop the wooden slab and examined his handiwork. The birds cooed calmly, pecked at the cage and walked in circles, examining their surroundings.

Baladar took a piece of parchment and a pen from the desk, dipped the tip into the inkwell and wrote out the brief note that these messengers would carry for him. Simply, he asked if anyone had any knowledge regarding the disappearance of a young, blonde haired boy from Pardatha. He wrote that the youth was suffering from a rare and unusual illness, rendering him unconscious, and that his only cure lay in Pardatha. Baladar made it perfectly clear that the young man was important to him and that he wished him returned. He advised the recipient that the bird would carry whatever answer was offered back to Pardatha for them.

He was reluctant to be more specific in the event that the message was intercepted. It was bad enough that Dav was missing. He did not need to broadcast to anyone just how important his disappearance really was. Neither did he need to alert anyone other than the designated recipient that he in fact did not have any idea where the heir was, should the message fall into the wrong hands. He suspected that whoever did find him, would shortly recognize his special qualities independent of Baladar’s inquiry, and if they did not know what he was talking about, the inquiry was innocent enough not to cause undue alarm or curiosity.

He signed the paper and sealed it with his ring, pressing it into the wax he dripped upon it. He repeated this exercise two more times and then slipped each rolled up piece into a small, leather tube, closed the end and strapped it around each bird’s left leg, before returning it to the enclosure. Once the final bird was tagged, he held it up in front of his eyes and silently imparted to it the destination he envisioned. Again, he repeated this process with the remaining two.

When he was certain that each bird knew where its special target was, he reached for the first one and released it out the large window overlooking the courtyard. The small bird immediately flew off in the direction he had implanted in its tiny brain, and he watched as long as he could until it was visible no longer.

“First speed!” he said aloud as he lost the small messenger in the clouds.

Baladar hoped with all his heart that his analysis of the events of that miserable day were accurate, and that one of the birds would return with news of Davmiran. But, he would soon know for certain when and if any of them came back with the answer he craved. He reached for the next bird and was in the process of releasing it when he was startled by a strenuous pounding on the door to the study.

“My Lord! May I enter?” Grogan asked.

“Give me a minute if you will, Grogan,” he answered, and he hastily placed the bird back in its cage. After he put the cage back under the table and out of sight, he closed the window. “You may enter, Grogan,” he said as he moved to the doorway to release the latch.

The Master at Arms was clearly anxious to impart what information he had to his Lord, and he barely hesitated before speaking.

“My Lord! A rider has been seen galloping toward the gates. His mount is no more than a pony, but he travels with the speed of a stallion,” Grogan said.

“Is he alone? Are there others following him or is he escorting anyone?” Baladar asked, hoping for a minute that Davmiran was being returned to him, that the nightmare would be over.

“No, my Lord. I mean, yes, sir. He is alone. None follow him and he is not escorting anyone. Shall I send some guards to intercept him?” his loyal Master at Arms inquired.

“He is on a pony, you said?” Baladar questioned, disappointed at the answer but now his interest was piqued.

“Yes, a dapple, and he is quite small himself. An Elf, perhaps,” Grogan responded.

“Let him approach unmolested, Grogan. A single Elf on a pony cannot do us very much harm,” he concluded, not wishing to frighten him off by sending out an armed escort for him.

“As you wish, Lord Baladar,” his guard answered.

“I wish to question him as soon as he is within the city gates,” Baladar instructed the soldier.

He was hoping that the arrival of an Elf in such a hurried manner would shed some light upon the strange events of the past days.

It could not be mere coincidence that brings an Elf to the gates of the city so soon after the boy’s disappearance. Elves riding into Pardatha are strange occurrences indeed and two in so short a span of time are truly unusual
, he reasoned, hardly able to contain his eagerness to talk to this visitor.

Baladar walked to the broad, leaded windows and gazed out over the city. He watched the guards assemble and calmly march toward the city wall, the Ghost tower and the Noban gate, where all visitors entered from. He was fatigued from the prior exercise, as he was every time he wielded his magic. Both his mind and his body were weary. But he was relieved that the messengers were prepared and ready to go on their journey as soon as he could release them. Perhaps this Elfin rider had some news that would brighten this day as well, he thought.

Baladar was a good man and he watched the people of his city go about their daily business in the streets below, wondering what it would be like not to bear the burdens of leadership that he had always borne. He felt so alone. He longed for Briland’s presence and he missed her warmth, her smile, her beauty and her overwhelming goodness, so much so that it hurt him.

Davmiran could have been our son. He could have been the child we never had. Now, he belongs to no one, adrift in a hostile world, and his fate is unknown.

The nagging feeling that he was at fault persisted, even though he was rejuvenated by his recent discoveries. He needed to know for certain where the heir was. Baladar required more than hope to sustain him now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a group of riders escorting a black and white pony with an unmistakably Elfin rider on its back, approaching the castle walls. As they drew near, Baladar could see that the rider was flushed and drenched in sweat, and that his pony was frothing at the mouth and dripping with perspiration as well. Yet, he noticed that this did not deter the young Elf from proceeding forward at a pace that clearly indicated how anxious he was to arrive at his destination.

What news could this visitor be bringing me?
Baladar wondered anxiously.
An Elf arriving from the south?
He experienced a fleeting feeling of encouragement that lifted his spirits if only for a moment.
Could it be that my theories are correct? Could he be bringing me news of Davmiran?

When the group disappeared into the castle proper, Baladar moved to the large chair in the corner of the room and sat down to wait. Shortly, he heard a knocking on the heavy door.

“My Lord? May I enter?” Grogan asked.

“Enter!”

Grogan walked to where Baladar was sitting and removed his helmet. He bowed his head slightly.

“The rider is Prince Elion, the son of Treestar, King of Lormarion. He says that he has urgent news for you that he cannot impart to anyone else. He wishes to speak to you immediately.”

“Bring him in, Grogan. I, too, am anxious to speak with the young Elfin Lord,” Baladar responded.

“As you wish, Lord Baladar,” he answered, and he turned to carry out his instructions.

As he entered the room, Baladar could see that the young Elf was still perspiring profusely and clearly out of breath. It was obvious to him that he wasted no time coming here. He could barely stand up, and his clothing was stained with the evidence of a long, hard ride through a wooded area. He bowed deeply, despite his fatigue, and he waited for Baladar to speak first. His manners were excellent and even under the circumstances, he maintained his dignity.

“Greetings, Prince Elion. Sit, rest. You have traveled long and hard, as is evident. Can I offer you some wine or cider?” he asked, after sliding a comfortably cushioned chair toward the tired Elf.

“A mug of cider would be nice right now, your lordship. Thank you,” Elion said politely, while wiping the perspiration from his brow.

Baladar walked to the side of the room and filled two glasses with warm cider from a pitcher on the serving table. He handed one to Elion who was still standing, and then he returned to his own chair.

“Please, sit. You look exhausted. What brings you here in such haste?” he asked, attempting to take the edge of discomfort off of the young man.

Elion sat in the high backed chair facing Baladar. The light from the afternoon sun was streaming through the large windows, illuminating the Elfin Prince in a curiously portentous manner.

“I have two things to tell you, your lordship,” he began, not knowing which tale was the more important of the two.

“Please, call me Baladar and I will call you Elion. There is no need for formality here,” Baladar said, attempting to relax the young visitor as best as he could.

“Thank you, your Lord… I mean, Baladar,” the Elf said humbly, staring at the carpet beneath his feet. “I was on my way to Pardatha to bring you news of a former prisoner of yours…” he began, looking sheepishly now at the anxious Lord before him. Baladar felt the blood rush to his head and he literally had to fight off a wave of dizziness in order to concentrate.

“Tell me, my friend. I must know of this!” Baladar said with an urgent tone, and thus Elion continued.

“I found him outside of your walls when I was returning to my homeland from my uncle’s in the north. He was unconscious and his hands and feet were bound. I thought that he was abandoned and that he would surely have died out there, all alone and unaware. I could not wake him up so I dragged him away into the woods…”

Baladar could barely contain the excitement and relief that the young Elf’s words elicited in him.

“… in order to help him,” he continued, believing that he still needed to apologize for his actions.

“Is he safe now? Where did you take him?” Baladar asked sitting back, attempting to conceal his intense interest.

“I transported him back to Lormarion, my homeland, and he rests now with my mother and father in Seramour,” he replied.