The Twins (34 page)

Eyeing the scene closely, Baladar emerged from the single door which opened in the sealed gates of Pardatha. Behind him, he saw three others follow, one on a dapple pony, an Elf from the looks of him, a religious leader in his white robes of office and a woman warrior, strikingly beautiful even from this distance. He inched Kraft forward until he was directly above them, though remaining still within the cover of the trees.

He watched them talk for a few minutes but he was unable to determine the course of the conversations. Shortly, though, his skin tingled and his concern mounted when he saw four of the intruders surround Baladar and cut him off from the rest of his friends. At the same time, they drew their blades from beneath their robes, as he feared. Before he had time to react, a ball of fire burst from the hand of the speaker and toppled the white robed rider.

At the sight of this treachery, he spoke softly in Kraft’s ear and instantly the stallion charged down the hill. When he reached the soft ground of the plain, he leapt from his saddle and sunk his right hand deep into the soil, searching for something familiar, something recognizable. Almost immediately, as if the earth was waiting for an invitation, a soft root comfortingly encircled his wrist, speaking to him in wordless images, and he concentrated with all his power.

Just as Robyn reached the bottom of the crest, Filaree swung her horse hard around, knocking into the robed rider before her, trying to grab the hilt of his sword before he could regain his seat. Elion immediately slid from his pony’s back and rushed under the belly of the other rider’s mount while he was distracted, making it impossible for him to strike at the Elf with his sword, while he attempted to upset the big steed from below. He trusted in his size and quickness to avoid serious injury.

Meanwhile, Baladar was being led away at sword point by the master of the group. No one had yet to see Robyn enter the fray, as he was still some distance away from them. None doubted for a moment that these henchmen of the Dark Lord would strike to kill if and when they could. Robyn sensed the tangle of vines permeating the soil of the plains upon which they were engaged in this melee. They had been planted purposefully, he perceived, and he would now make good use of them.

The fabric weaves of its own will
, he mused as his thoughts merged with the coursing energy beneath the ground.

Baladar was about to make a desperate attempt to save himself, knowing that he would be better off dead than a prisoner of Colton’s, when the earth erupted wildly under his feet. Roots and vines sprang up from the ground everywhere, violently wrapping themselves around the legs of the horses carrying the emissaries of evil, and reaching up to the riders themselves with a speed that defied belief. The cloaked rider nearest to the Prince did not bother to wait for any of his associates. He had not yet been entangled by the vegetation, and he spurred his mount violently, causing him to lurch forward. Together, they bounded across the field, racing for the safety of the enemy lines and disappearing into its darkness.

Elion felt the tubers slithering all around him now, but none touched his body. Still, he was unable from his position on the ground to chase the unholy messenger, and he watched helpless as he drew near to the masses assembled across the plain. Filaree embraced the opportunity this surprising turn of events created, and she sent the half-human she was jostling with falling to the ground, whereupon he was immediately blanketed by the wriggling and straining shoots. As she watched, they pulled him through the soft earth, encircling him in a living cocoon instantly and completely, until his body was thoroughly covered with dirt and grass. She could see his mouth open and from the blackness therein, he was barely able to let a final howl escape his parched and reddened lips before it filled with earth. In less than a minute more, he had vanished completely beneath the surface.

Filaree turned to the others who also stood mystified, dodging needlessly the writhing and thrashing vines which attached themselves only to the servants of their dark enemy, leaving them to gape in wonder. Baladar sat astride Porta, aghast at the final throes of his former captor, as the thrashing roots and convulsing filaments dragged both him and his violent steed into the bowels of the earth.

When all were gone but the one who fled at the onset, as quickly as they sprang from the soil, the vines and roots disappeared beneath the plain once more, and Baladar, Elion and Filaree stood near one another mystified. Elion’s pony was close by and they could see Nico wandering back to join them from perhaps ten yards away. All that remained of the harbingers was a red cloak lying by Elion’s feet and one lone sword nearer to Baladar, which Filaree rushed to retrieve.

The motionless body of Bishop Anwel lay nearest to Elion and he immediately moved to him and bent down in an attempt to assess the damage. He realized almost immediately, having spent many long days assisting his mother with the sick and injured, that the good Bishop would not recover from this wound. His breath came in short gasps and bright red blood issued from his nose and mouth. His entire robe was saturated and stained a deep red.

Baladar, having leapt from Porta’s back, approached his friend next and pressed his head to the chest of the dying man. His eyes were already closed and he could no longer speak.

“There is nothing we can do for him now, but we cannot leave him here,” he said. “Elion, assist me.” Together they lifted the dying man onto Porta’s back, laying him carefully over the horse’s withers, and then Baladar mounted behind him.

Filaree spoke next, her protective instincts at play instantly. “We must hasten back to the city. Surely Colton will retaliate as soon as he discovers what has transpired.”

She signaled for Nico.

“Did I really see what I thought I did?” Elion asked as he prepared to return to the city.

“If you did not, then where did our enemies disappear to?” Baladar responded, as surprised by what had just occurred as the young Prince was.

“Let us not dwell for too long upon our good fortune just yet,” Filaree cautioned. “They could have been just an appetizer for what lives under this plain and we may still be their main course,” she said. “Let us make for the gates as quickly as we can.”

As she said that, she saw another rider approaching at great speed from the hills to the north. Raising the sword she recovered from the ground, she prepared to meet this new intruder head on.

“Baladar! Elion! Go! I’ll hold him off.”

Elion had no intention of leaving the Lady alone, and he slapped Porta on his rump, sending the horse, its rider and the now unconscious Bishop on their way to the city gates. He rushed to Filaree’s side and as the rider neared, Filaree urged Nico forward with her sword raised and ready, not willing to give this new enemy an opportunity to strike first.

“Stop!” he yelled. “I am a friend. You have no reason to fear me. I saw what was happening from the hills above and I did what I could to assist you,” he remarked in a voice that could only have been speaking the truth. “I am Robyn dar Tamarand, and I have been summoned here to Pardatha by its noble Lord, Baladar. I expected to arrive under different circumstances, though,” he said. “But, we really should not be wasting time talking with the enemy yonder amassing,” he continued, and he pointed to the valley to the south.

Baladar turned Porta around and trotted back to the group. He stood still for a moment and faced Robyn.

“You look very much like your father, Robyn dar Tamarand. I am Baladar, and it was I who bid you come here. But now, I could not agree with you more regarding our priorities,” and he directed his horse toward the city gates.

Across the valley, they could clearly see the dust rising as the enemy’s forces were obviously mobilizing and making their way toward them at considerable speed.

Elion took the lead on his small but deceptively fast pony, and the others followed. From atop the crenellated battlement, the guards saw them approaching and hurried to open the small portal through which they could reenter the city. The door swung wide and they burst through, while the guards speedily sealed the opening behind them.

Once the stable hands and guards reached them in order to assist the critically injured Bishop, they gathered together to rehash the events of the past hour. Cameron rushed to his Lady’s side before anyone else had the opportunity, in order to make sure she was safe and unhurt.

“My Lady? I should have been beside you. I watched the entire atrocity from the battlements. Is the Bishop dead?”

“No Cameron, but I fear that it is just a matter of time for him. His wounds are surely critical. He saved my life! I owe him a great debt.”

“We all do, my Lady,” he said, head bowed.

Baladar turned to Robyn and said, “Your timing could not have been better, my friend.”
 

“I did not plan to arrive just when I did. Things seem to happen as they should sometimes, though I was too late for the good Bishop. But, I am afraid I must bring you more difficult news on top of the tragic events that just occurred. While I was on route here, another great Lalas departed forever from our midst. I was just barely recovering from the throes of its demise, when my father, the Duke Calipee, contacted me to inform me that the mountain Trolls were on the march in the direction of Pardatha, in great numbers. I rode as fast as I could to warn you, but it seems that they will only add to the strength of the formidable forces already encamped upon your doorstep,” Robyn said, his eyes dark.

“It is no surprise that whatever evil lurks on this planet will now answer the summons of the Lord of Darkness. We are besieged by an enemy as great as any that has ever been assembled here,” Baladar said with sadness and concern permeating his voice. “First, I lost Dalek my trusted aide, to treachery. And today, the Bishop has fallen as well. His hours are numbered, I fear. The battle has not yet begun and sadness and loss already engulf us all,” Baladar sighed.

“We will prevail!” Filaree interjected, the eternal optimist. “The Evil One does not have the will to suffer personal defeats. We must damage him again and again, until he is so frustrated that he wastes his strengths and we can penetrate his weaknesses,” she assessed, ever the strategist.

Robyn could not help but be struck by the tenacity of this beautiful woman. He admired her steadfastness, even in the face of treachery and death. Prince Elion meanwhile was looking at Robyn, wondering how this handsome young Lord had done what he had just done out on the plains.

“With all the excitement around us, I did not introduce myself. I am Elion, Prince of Lormarion, son of Treestar, King of the Southern Elves. I humbly thank you for saving our lives,” he said, and he bowed deeply to Robyn.

“Greetings, Prince. But please, you have no reason to pay fealty to me. I did what I had to do and I had plenty of help. I have learned many tricks from my friend, Promanthea, the noble Lalas whom I honor and respect and with whom I share a sacred bond,” he said humbly. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing the legendary heights of Seramour, but I have been told by your cousin in the west, Alemar of Eleutheria, that it rivals in beauty the ice castles of their own realm,” he responded.

Elion was surprised and thoroughly impressed, to hear that this human had knowledge of, let alone a personal relationship with any one from that part of the world. He was an extraordinary newcomer to this recently assembled group.

“Your experience in that matter may be greater than my own, Robyn dar Tamarand,” Elion answered.

“Perhaps so, although I claim no great understanding of their culture. I have just been fortunate to have been an invited guest a number of times,” Robyn replied.

Filaree watched Robyn closely, attempting to assess the man who harbored so many strange secrets and powers. He was too good looking to be a fighter, with his raven hair still shining despite the grime and wear of conflict. He had no apparent battle scars, and he carried himself with a delicacy that belied his abilities it seemed.

“You appear not to be the Robyn dar Tamarand that rumor has depicted you to be,” she said boldly, yet with a questioning tone.

“You mince no words, Lady Filaree. And you, my Lady, seem to be every inch the warrior rumor has depicted you to be!” he responded.

She blushed at the compliment and immediately regretted both her new coloration as well as her previous slight.

“I take no offense in your comments, Filaree Par D’Avalain. My reputation has not been a good one. But alas, we sometimes suffer the pain of untruth in order to take refuge within it. It has served me well to appear to be other than I am,” Robyn answered.

“I harbor secrets too, and I fear you may be correct, sir. It would be nice if I could play the delicate maiden now and again,” she laughed, regaining her composure.

“It would become you as well as does the warrior Queen, I am sure,” he answered with no sarcasm in his voice.

Filaree blushed again and turned her face away from Robyn in order to avoid having him see how thoroughly his presence was affecting her.

“You will surely cause her head to swell if you keep complimenting her so, Chosen. And now that we have all gotten acquainted with one another, I think it is time to be moving on. The war council must convene again immediately if we wish to prepare for the battle which will most certainly be upon us shortly,” Baladar interrupted without any hint of malice.

Together, they walked across the courtyard toward the road to the mount. The grooms brought out fresh horses for them to ride to the crest and their own were taken to the stables to be brushed and fed and bedded down for the night. Kraft whinnied farewell to Robyn and Nico did the same to Filaree. Porta threw his head high in the air and shook his mane back and forth before he too headed for his stall, while Elion’s small pony followed proudly behind his larger cousins.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Colton was enraged. Those within his immediate reach fell to the ground, prostrate, and buried their heads in their arms. He ranted and raved for quite some time, spitting out venomous rhetoric, lashing out with words and more at the remaining red guards. The one emissary who had survived would have been better off had he suffocated quickly under the plains of Pardatha. He now hung from his heels, spitted from one end of his body to the other by a barbed, black shaft, as an example to everyone else of what becomes of those who fail him.

“You lie, Baladar!” he bellowed in anger. “I know you lie. The boy is in the city. That wretched witch saw him. She would not have dared to deceive me. I will bring her back from the dead and look through her own eyes if I must! And a Chosen! A Chosen in Pardatha! He will regret ever having entered that doomed city, whomever he might be! The Lalas cannot protect him here,” he fumed.

“You would never give the boy up voluntarily, Baladar, and that fool of a Duke’s son, Kettin Dumas, saw him in the city. I felt it. The residue of power was upon him,” Colton raved. “He is in the city somewhere and I will find him! Nothing can hide him from me.”

He worked himself into an absolute frenzy, sending streaks of raw power arching across the heads of his terrified disciples, singeing trees and blackening rocks. He was so infuriated that he could barely contain his outbursts and he caused the very earth to tremble under his feet. His face was a contorted mass of veins that pulsated through his almost translucent skin. The seductive good looks had given way to his true form; a monstrous beast, scarred and taloned, the previous facade totally abandoned in his rage.

“Rise! Rise I say!” he shouted, sending volleys of sound rebounding all over the huge camp. “We will tear the walls of Pardatha down, rock by rock. I will find the boy. He is mine! I will find him and I will destroy him if I must. Those pathetic idiots can keep me from him no longer!”

The noise was deafening as the army of Colton dar Agonthea, death bringer, prophet of doom, harbinger of dissolution, mobilized. The dust rose so high and thick from the frenetic movement of this massive gathering that it obscured what sun was left in the sky. The heavens grew dark and bleak, and a biting wind began to blow. From the temple mount, within the solemn oval of the war council, Lord Baladar, Lady Filaree, Prince Elion, Robyn dar Tamarand, Grogan and the other councilors, generals and warriors, could see the clouds of dust rising ominously from the gorge.

They had deployed the forces of the city atop the battlements. Hundreds of tons of boulders set twenty paces apart from one another, lay waiting to be thrown over the sides. Hot oil steamed in vast cauldrons, ready to be heaved onto the heads of any who tried to scale the walls. Archers with bucklers and crossbows lined the ramparts, pointing their razor sharp shafts through the narrow slits of the crenellated walls. Massive basins of flaming liquid stood next to the countless bowmen, who each carried long, tightly strung weapons atop the fortifications, prepared to rain fiery arrows down upon the attackers. Funnels carefully and strategically tunneled into the solid stone of the surface would direct the oil onto the heads of those below.

Swordsmen, some with two handed swords of heavy steel and others wielding lighter sabers sharpened on both sides, stood side by side with strong armed fighters holding long spears of light weight wood, tipped with fine points of razor sharp stone. They faced the oncoming enemy undaunted, ready to give their lives to protect the city and their families from the evil approaching.

From their vantage point atop the temple mount, the highest natural point in Pardatha, the valiant leaders of the opposition could see the opposing army advancing, seemingly limitless in size, led by thirteen fire spouting Valkor with sorcerers astride each. The minions of the Dark Lord spread out behind them, blackening the earth with their numbers. Baladar watched pensive from his chair, as did all of the others. Elion and Robyn had both had first-hand experience with regard to this army, witnessing its composition from a closer range. They provided what details they could to the council as it massed beneath the walls of the fair city. No one else spoke whilst the enemy advanced, and each member of the war tribunal absorbed in his or her own fashion, the scene that was unfolding before them.

Elion related from memory just how many Giants, Wood Trolls, Orcs and other malevolent hirelings he had counted on his journey to Pardatha. Robyn, too, recounted what he had observed from the cover of the woods. And it seemed currently that the tally was even greater than before, that the multitudes had swelled as they marched, gathering all the forsaken strays they passed along the road to the city. They could all see Colton clearly now, sitting atop his silver steed, a swathe of green space separating him from any other member of his throng, making it easy to spot him amid the black sea of marching marauders.

Elion’s sharp eyes discerned the cadaver of the remaining envoy first, and he said to the group, “Colton spared no time in meting out his punishment, I see.”

Baladar focused his eyes as did the others, and soon enough they all saw the gruesome scene that Elion was referring to. Propped up between two massive steeds was the pierced and spitted body of the still red cloaked member of the ambassador’s party, now both headless and armless.

“He was not happy with the news, I take it,” Baladar remarked.

“Did you ever think he would be?” Filaree asked without expecting an answer.

“It must have infuriated him to find out that he came all of this way to capture someone who is not even here,” Elion said, truly thankful for the first time that he stumbled upon the helpless boy when he did.

“Things are as they should be, Elion,” Baladar remarked, lips pressed together in a straight line.

“Indeed!” Robyn commented. “The heir will live to see another day,” he said solemnly.

“As will we all, sir!” Filaree clenched her fists.

“As will we all!” Robyn repeated, looking at Filaree with respect and friendship.

“My Lord, if I may?” Grogan asked.

“By all means, speak, Master Grogan,” Baladar responded.

“The city is well prepared. No matter what the Evil One throws up against us, we can withstand it…” he said, and then he hesitated for a moment before continuing, “… at least, for a while,” he concluded. “It will not be an easy victory for Colton,” he said with resignation in his voice.

Ever the optimist, Filaree seized the moment.

“It will not be a victory at all, Master at Arms! We have strengths here he knows nothing about!” she said, and she glanced conspicuously from Robyn to Elion. “He believes that the trees have abandoned us here and that we are isolated and alone,” she continued.

“The Lady speaks the truth. But, he must know by now that we have a Chosen amongst us. He witnessed what transpired below as we all did,” Baladar said, capturing Robyn in his gaze.

The Chosen closed his eyes and slowed his breath until he was deep in a trance of thought. All those around the great table looked upon him expectantly. The sun cast shadows across the stone but the scattered rays illuminated his downcast face, bestowing upon his skin a translucent appearance. Finally, Robyn raised his chin and slowly opened his eyes which glowed more beautifully than ever now, and then he began to speak.

“The Lalas will never forsake the earth, not as long as they still live amongst us. Fate has brought me here, as it has you Filaree and you Elion. We were not led to Pardatha to die, but rather to help prepare for the future. I detect the power in the very stones of the city, in the soil upon which it stands and in the gates that seal it from danger. This power will protect us tomorrow as it has today and we will prevail! Pardatha!” Robyn exclaimed, thrusting his right hand high into the air, and the others all stood and cheered along with him, raising a shout that could be heard all around.

“Pardatha! Pardatha!” they all exclaimed in unison, and the chant spread from the guardians on the mount to the soldiers surrounding the obelisks, down to the city streets and up to the battlements.

“Pardatha! Pardatha!” everyone shouted, drowning out momentarily the din of the enemy’s armies, and resounding through the air up and over the city walls until the entire population of the besieged metropolis joined in and the very heavens rang with the heartening cheer.

Colton dar Agonthea ceased his raving for an instant and listened to the reverberating dirge rising above the noise of the battlefield. For just one tiny moment, doubt rose like bitter bile in his throat and he looked around to reassure himself. As the noise died down, he rose up in his saddle and while standing high on his stirrups, he pierced the air with his deep, sonorous voice, shattering the silence.

“Death to Pardatha!” he shouted venomously as his army surged forward all around him, and it would not stop again until it reached the very walls of the city itself.