The Twins (35 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

Calyx, Tomas, Preston and Cairn walked single file in that order through the pass in the Thorndar’s that would eventually lead them to Pardatha. The sheer cliffs protected them and shielded them from any outside intervention. The only fear that Cairn harbored was that they could not fight easily if attacked from either the front or the back, but he relaxed in the knowledge that only one warrior at a time could engage them, and Calyx would be a match for anyone approaching from the front. He, Cairn, would defend the rear should the need arise. The pass was so narrow and deep that the sky was merely a sliver of blue high above their heads.

Cairn glanced upward as shadows obscured their way, and he noticed that the heavens had turned grey and dimmed. A chill crawled up his arm and he shrugged it off like one would an annoying insect, and continued on his way. Calyx growled with apprehension as he too moved cautiously forward. Tomas sang softly to himself as if he hadn’t a care in the world and Preston joined him, mimicking him as they walked, their youthful voices echoing against the forbidding cliffs.

The path wound precariously, getting steeper and steeper with each step. It remained narrow and tight for quite some time, rising higher and higher until it widened a bit and finally leveled off. The air was thick with dust and Cairn covered his mouth and nose with a scarf, signaling Tomas and Preston to do the same before their lungs became clogged with the floating detritus. The two boys followed his direction, and then they continued on.

They walked in silence for some time except for the singing of the young ones, and soon they found themselves standing in a circular landing, high up in the cliffs. Two alleyways led off from the space, one spiraling downward and one angling upward. Cairn pointed to the path that descended from where they stood, and Calyx headed immediately for the narrow entryway.

“We will come out from this pass high over the southern hills of Pardatha. The walls of the city are built into the cliffs and we cannot enter from the heights. We must wind our way down to the plain and then walk to the gates. Pardatha has few means of access,” Cairn related.

Tomas looked at him head askew, as if he did not understand what Cairn was saying.

“We cannot enter that way, Cairn. The gates are closed by now,” Tomas said matter-of-factly.

Cairn looked at him, eyes wide, his sharp features creased in wonder.

“Do you know this, Tomas? Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes. I am certain. I can ‘smell’ the enemy. We are too late,” he said calmly as if he was merely commenting on something as simple as the approach of a rain storm.

Calyx sniffed the air with his broad nose and it was clear that he too literally smelled an alien presence.

“Too late?” Cairn asked. “Too late for what? What are you saying Tomas? What has happened?”

Preston stood close to the others, hovering over Tomas awaiting the boy’s answer.

“The gates are closed and Colton dar Agonthea, the Evil One, approaches,” Tomas replied with his eyes half closed and his brow furrowed.. “He believes that my brother is in the city,” he said.

Cairn was confused and he was thinking so quickly now that he could barely form the words he needed to say.

“Your brother? Who is your brother? Why would the Dark Lord seek him out? Tomas! You must answer me!” he pleaded, grabbing the boys arm and turning him so that they were face to face.

“My brother is the heir of Gwendolen, as am I,” he said composed, with little emotion. “He does not know that I exist. No one knows I exist now except Ormachon and you three,” he said as if this news was unimportant.

Cairn stood transfixed. He was clearly finding it difficult to respond to the boy’s remarks, and he was unable to absorb all of what was being said.

“What are you saying? Please, Tomas, explain yourself!” Cairn finally demanded, not understanding fully what was being revealed to him.

Tomas looked out over the mountains and spoke, his eyes squinting and his head tilted as if he was telling a story about someone else.

“I was born to King Garold and Queen Lewellyn, but I was sick and I was sent away. They never knew me. They thought that I died. The trees brought me up, and I was given unto the care of my aunt Safira and uncle Trevor near where Ormachon grew. They knew the danger in raising me, but they did so willingly,” he said, turning his gentle eyes first to Cairn and then to Preston as he spoke.

“I was told who I was when I was very young, and I knew that I had a brother, a twin.” Tomas squinted once more, and then he looked in the direction of Pardatha. He turned back to face Cairn after only a moment and then he continued on with his story.

“When you arrived, I could see what was going to happen. When you were able to find me, I realized that the Dark One would be there soon too; that Colton’s scavengers could not be far behind.” He pursed his lips and let his head loll for an instant, obviously remembering what befell his adopted family. “It was fated to be that way. I wish that I could have done something to help, but we knew all along that when the time came, I would be unable to prevent what was to be,” he continued, lifting his head nobly. “I was trained by them all, by Ormachon and by Trevor. By Safira too. My aunt and uncle were not as they seemed, Cairn,” he said knowingly and with great pride, his beautiful eyes sparkling with the words.

Cairn allowed the silence to hang upon the air before breaking it, realizing how much it spoke.

“You are the twin brother of the boy I was summoned to help, the one cast to Baladar? Is that what you are telling me?” Cairn inquired, mystified, staring at Tomas.

“Yes,” he replied, needing to say no more.

Cairn paused for a moment, trying to incorporate all that had just been revealed to him, and he stood, shaking his head in wonder. He contemplated this amazing turn of events for a while longer, making a few abortive attempts to say something, but stopping himself each time before any words were uttered. Finally, Cairn broke his own unintentional silence.

“Why did you not tell me this? Why wait until now?” he asked.

“I believed this knowledge would influence how you treated me. I did not wish to affect the weave,” he answered, jaw set and eyes bright.

“Did you say before that your brother is not in Pardatha?” Cairn asked, overwhelmed by this entire discussion.

“Yes, I did. He is not there. I do not know why or where he is right now, but he is safe, I can feel it.”

No one doubted the boy’s proclamation.

“Pardatha is under attack, or will be soon. Colton seeks my brother. He believes that if he kills or captures him, then he will be free to ravish our world, that nothing else can prevent him from spurring on the dissolution he craves. He knows nothing of me,” he replied, so nonchalantly it seemed almost impossible. “He has never seen either of us,” he continued.

“And yet, knowing the Evil One is here, you still follow me willingly to the gates of the city?” Cairn asked, awestruck by the boy’s courage.

“Of course! It is my time!” he answered, gazing at Cairn with the innocence of a child to whom any other choice would be incomprehensible.

His green eyes were open wide and stared completely guileless. Preston stood nearby watching closely and listening intently to everything being said.

“I knew there was something special about you,” he interrupted, walking right next to Tomas. “I have a good sense about things like that. My father always told me that I was too sensitive, that I read into things and thought that I understood people when I really didn’t. He was wrong! I knew you were different, and I knew that I had to join you on your journey. It doesn’t surprise me that you are the heir, or whatever you say you are,” Preston remarked, glad to have become such good friends with Tomas on his own accord.

“I, too, have no doubt you are what you claim to be. I am actually relieved to know now,” Cairn remarked, shifting his position so that he was once more in the forefront of the group. “But, this changes so much. How can I let you risk your life so easily, knowing what I know?” Cairn asked, perplexed and consumed with doubts that had not plagued him before.

He looked hard at Tomas with a quizzical eye.

“You cannot stop me, Cairn. It is my fate and you know it. We are all meant to be here. You, Preston,” he pointed to the Dwarf, “and you too,” he said to Cairn and Calyx. “Besides, nothing has changed. We are all no different than we were five minutes ago. Is my life more valuable now? If I had died yesterday before you ever knew what my lineage was, would the results have been any different than if I should die tomorrow?” Tomas questioned Cairn as if he were the elder of the two. “If Colton walks away from Pardatha victorious, my brother will not even have a chance. The others he needs are in the city already. They cannot perish here before they even overtake my brother,” the boy replied.

“And I, as your guardian, am left to decide what is best for you and the world?” Cairn asked rhetorically, feeling the weight of these decisions upon him. “I have a new responsibility, Tomas! Knowledge begets duty. The effects upon our world would be equally bad if you should perish, regardless of what I may know or not know. But the effect upon me, now that I know who you are and why we have come together, would be devastating if I did not do all that was in my power to protect you.”

The scholarly man’s yellow eyes blazed with passion. Calyx stood dutifully behind him, his saucer like orbs never resting for a moment while his broad nose flared as he took in all of the scents around them, remaining ever vigilant and protective.

Tomas looked upon his human friend with understanding and compassion, appearing childlike and vulnerable to Cairn. He could not imagine any harm coming to him and the very thought of it sent chills down his spine.

Tomas kicked the dry ground with his toe, sending small, swirling clouds of dust into the air around him. He watched them rise and dissipate before he spoke again.

Turning to his friend, he said in a quiet and fateful tone, “The die is cast, Cairn. We can control some things, but others are meant to be, and however we may attempt to change them would be to no avail. No, Cairn, your knowledge of my heritage changes nothing! You know what is best, as do I. You have always known what was best for me from the very first moment we met. There is no altering what must be. You can only hope to guide the floes and influence them when possible. The fabric weaves of its own will. Haven’t you always said that?” he asked stern-faced.

Cairn was silent. So much was happening so fast. He knew in his heart that Tomas was correct and that he could not protect him from his fate, whatever that might be. In so doing, he could be sealing it himself for all he knew. He would have to be reasonable, and yet he would have to let his heart guide him as well. All of the logic and ethics and metaphysics he devoted his life to studying heretofore was useless to him now. He knew that he had to allow this seemingly vulnerable, young man to walk into the midst of the maelstrom, come what may. He accepted that. He would not stop him, but he would do all in his power to protect him from harm.

Tomas looked deeply into Cairn’s eyes for just a moment, then he abruptly turned, stepped in front of the elder man and led the way down the narrow, winding path toward Pardatha. Cairn, Calyx and Preston followed closely behind, each consumed by the moment, yet drawn persuasively and inevitably toward the future.

Chapter Forty

Colton arranged his attack in such a manner so as to exhaust the defenses of the city quickly by forcing them to repel the vast numbers of Orcs continually, for hours at a time. He had no doubt that those who fought for him would do so until the end, for they knew that retreat was a far worse option than death. Pressing the Ore army forward was a battalion of Trolls, their hated rivals, as anxious to slaughter them as those in the city itself. Colton cared not about how many he lost in the battle. He was concerned only with victory, and these initial skirmishes were designed merely to test the city’s defenses and to weaken them. Each and every one of the Orcs could perish for all he cared. Their lives were meaningless to him. All life was meaningless to him, even his own, making him the most dangerous of enemies.

Wave upon wave of dark-skinned beasts threw themselves against the stone walls of the city, only to fall beneath the weight of the boulders cast down upon them from above. Those behind them climbed atop their dead and dying brethren and continued their assault, mindless and frenzied. The soldiers of Pardatha worked tirelessly, changing shifts only when absolutely necessary, and the people of the city provided a new and continuous supply of missiles, quarried from the hard rock of the Thorndars. A chain of supply was established from one end of Pardatha to the other, originating in the caves at the south of the city and terminating at the battlements surrounding the gates. The mountains offered a limitless stock to the fighters atop the walls, and the Orcs fell by the thousands beneath the weight of the peaks’ issue. Colton drove them forward nevertheless, sending them to certain doom, and they obeyed him, never questioning, never hesitating.

The mound of the dead and dying grew higher and higher, and Grogan became concerned that the ever increasing piles would eventually provide a platform upon which the beasts could climb and ultimately scale the walls. He instructed the archers to send arrows tipped with a hemp, saturated with oil and set ablaze, into the growing heaps beneath them. The rough rags of the deceased and injured Orcs caught afire quickly, and the bowmen used their long bows to send the arrows deep into the mass below. The fires spread surely, igniting the corpses from the bottom and emanating outward and upward, consuming not only those already dead, but all of the others who had scaled the piles in order to reach the walls and hack away at the stones with their clubs and axes.

The blaze grew to an enormous size, roaring and igniting the now darkening sky, enveloping the battlefield in an oily stench that even those high above could barely tolerate. But the city’s defenses were effective, and although the multitudes that Colton saw fit to waste upon the walls in this manner seemed inexhaustible, the fervor with which the fat and ugly Orcs initially attacked Pardatha had now died down somewhat. They continued to climb upon the broken backs of their brothers, and their incredible stupidity kept them from assessing the consequences soon enough to prevent them from suffering the same fate.

The piles of the dead and dying grew larger by the hour, but they kept coming. The embers glowed a sickening red, and the heat was so intense that even as they neared the walls, some burst into flame spontaneously and ran around in circles, howling in pain. It was a bizarre and gruesome scene beneath the great, stone walls of Pardatha that evening.

As the sun set over the city for the first time since the attack began, the fires illuminated the night, and they burned so bright that they rivaled the light that came before, in an eerie and disorienting fashion. Baladar walked the length of the battlements, feeling the heat wafting over him, speaking words of encouragement to the determined defenders and all the time assessing the extent of the damage they were inflicting upon the enemy. The waste of life sickened him, yet he knew that he could not allow anyone garrisoned within Pardatha to feel anything other than revulsion for the attackers. Battles such as this required a steadfastness and fortitude on the part of his warriors in the face of these overwhelming numerical handicaps.

Baladar knew that these minor victories so early on meant nothing in the scope of things, but they did serve to raise the spirits of his people, if only for a short while. He knew that this one barrage was but the first wave in an endless ocean of assaults yet to come. In his heart of hearts, Baladar grieved for his people, for the illusion of victory they perceived, for the superhuman efforts they put forth while not understanding the ultimate futility of them. The one seed of hope that germinated in his heart was born of Davmiran’s ability to survive despite the fate of Pardatha. Upon this, Baladar took nourishment and found reason to go on, to continue to fight against all the overwhelming odds and to maintain his sanity in the midst of this macabre dance of death.

Colton turned his back in disgust upon the efforts of his lackeys, and he rode his horse to the shelter of the tents, never once thinking to call an end to this extravagant waste of life, but rather insisting that it continue long into the night, knowing that his supply of bodies was almost endless. Unlike Baladar, he cared nothing for the feelings of those who fought for him. They were mere sparks to him used to ignite the fire and soon to die after their simple task was accomplished. All life was expendable to him. All life had to end, and the greater the tragedy, the greater the triumph.

Tomorrow he would have his men clear the battlefield of the dead if the fires did not do it for him first, and then he would attack once again with other men and other monsters. He would repeat this process until the city of Pardatha could fight no longer, and then he would find the boy. If Baladar was telling the truth and the heir was elsewhere, he would raze the city to the ground and adorn the rubble with the heads of Baladar and his councilors. There was no escaping Colton dar Agonthea, death bringer!

This boy was yet untrained, helpless and impotent, and as long as he found him before he attained his powers, before he realized his potential, there would be no stopping the Evil One either. The darkness would prevail, smothering all life, hastening the demise, and the sweet smell of victory would be his to savor eternally.