Boltor scrambled down the causeway and entered a doorway of the dungeon, scurrying down flights of stairs. Finally, he raced down the corridor to Talibor’s cell. He so bent himself on his task that he could hardly open the lock, fumbling the keys around gracelessly. The cell door swung open at last, clanging against the iron bars, and the prisoner glanced up at the intruder. The blazing blue eyes met Boltor’s in surprise and anticipation. Boltor strode to his side and unlocked the cuffs around his wrists. Talibor grimaced, let his arms fall at last to his side, rubbed his writs, soothing the pain from them. His shoulders burned and his arms felt like a deadweight hanging from them. “Did you find them?” Talibor asked and Boltor stopped in his tracks. Boltor closed his eyes, recalling the vision of the forms swinging in the breeze. He sighed hoplessly and turned to Talibor.
“He executed them. They hang from the northern tower.” He bit his lip and swallowed rising sobs.
Talibor glanced away and the passion in his eyes died. His blue eyes searched back and forth and a heavy breath took him. “Come, my lord. We must ride to war,” Boltor urged. The confidence in Boltor’s voice surprised him. He looked back to find a resolute statue standing in the cell doorway. Talibor nodded, and a grim smile replaced his somber lips.
“We shall not let their sacrifice be in vain, and we shall not let harm come to any more innocents. My men are loyal to me and will follow us to war,” Talibor proclaimed, setting his right hand on Boltor’s left shoulder. Boltor repeated the gesture. “Let us send the invaders back to the mountains!” Boltor nodded and smiled. They departed the cell and Boltor retrieved Talibor’s sword. When it came into Talibor’s sight, he inhaled sharply and addressed the sword, as if a long-forgotten friend, “Last I saw you, we played with children. Now let us show our true might to the enemy.” He drew the blade out of its sheath and held it aloft, gazing upon the shining blade. “Yes, that we will.” He replaced it in the cover and fastened it to his belt, thanking Boltor.
The two men strode out the doorway and into the crowds filling the causeway. The two men broke through the waves of people like a new blade through cloth. Upon reaching the guild, they confronted the senior officer, pulling him off to the side. A quick debate ensued in hushed tones and, after a few words, the man nodded and left the room.
Talibor turned to Boltor, “Now we shall see the muster of the Imperial Army, ere the sounding of the battle call, and the true heart of our noble empire.”
“Will not the emperor hear this call?” Boltor wondered.
Talibor shot him a sideways glance and nodded his head. “The emperor sees and hears everything, if you remember his last public address.” A smile crossed his face, drawing a chuckle from Boltor. “This time, I am the enforcer behind his claim. He will here this!” A moment later, a loud, drawn out horn blast sounded from the twin pipes of Haran Tol. Everyone in the streets turned to the guild and barracks and stared. Chatter and voices became silent as the long note shook the stones of the causeway itself.
Afar in the fortress, the emperor looked up in astonishment. A frown crossed his old wrinkled face and he erupted from the throne, demanding Plianth and his guards. Still the note bellowed across the city, waking soldiers from sleep and interrupting training. Like zombies on a mission, they swiftly adorned their armor and grabbed their weapons. They began to filter into line, ready for battle. Soon, after horses emerged from the stables, lead by the stablehands for Talibor, Boltor, and the other Captains. They mounted and Talibor urged his steed in front of the assembling army. He lifted his sword high in the air, and everyone grew silent. Only the soft theme of marching feet played in the air, as soldiers still filed into formation in the courtyard of the guild itself, and civilians retreated from the main causeway. Talibor’s strong voice rang freely in the fresh, clear air.
“If you have not heard the rumor of war yet, I will tell you now. It is no rumor! An invasion of our beloved empire has begun by a force of unknown magnitudes in the northern Plains of Raida. We shall march for Harken and war!” The men gave a shout and Talibor turned his horse and held his beaming sword high, leading the soldiers down the causeway and out of the city. Civilians backed off to the side, watching the sudden processional march in front of them. Boltor hung back to bring up the rear. Already, along the lower levels, the cavalry battalions formed ranks and marched out of the city, awaiting the command of the Captain. Talibor rode proudly in front of the army, holding Ashton’s banner high as he wound down the causeway. The sun sank lower in the sky, illuminating the city with fiery oranges as it set. Each stone gleamed in the slanted evening rays. Talibor basked in the final moments of daylight and hoped to assemble his forces outside the city by nightfall, pondering the ever-darkening night growing in the future.
Boltor watched the soldiers march out of the guild entrance, following their leader without question. A sudden patter of feet above him drew his attention as a squadron of the Imperial Guard, accompanied by the dark-cloaked Plianth, marched towards him. They plowed through the bystanders and faced Boltor. “By order of the emperor, you are to cease your actions and return these men to the barracks!” snapped Plianth.
Boltor looked at the steward with disgust and shook his head. “I serve Ashton alone! Be that obeying or defying the emperor, I will hold to it.”
“Guards, seize him!” Plianth ordered and the guards stepped forward. Boltor pulled his lance from its holster and pointed its blunt end at Plianth. “If I followed the emperor’s example, I’d use the other end,” he replied and urged his horse forward with a grunt. The steed leapt through the guards, knocking them to the ground and Boltor pinned Plianth to the ground with the lance. He issued a war cry and the garrisoned soldiers taking their formation stopped, and quickly surrounded the guards at spear-point. The guards dropped their weapons at Boltor’s command.
Boltor looked to the guards. “You must protect this city while we are gone—from outside and within.” He glanced to Plianth and spat. With a sudden twitch and jerk, he knocked the consciousness from the steward and ordered his men to proceed down the causeway. The soldiers formed up and began marching down the causeway again. Boltor turned to see Talibor and the head of the army approaching the main gates and several units already waiting outside the wall. The remaining soldiers marched out of the guild and joined the ranks marching downward. Boltor looked around him and then set his steed on their flanks. The banner of Ashton, pinned to his lance, fluttered brightly in the breeze and the incessant stomp of marching feet echoed a joyous melody in his ears along the city walls and buildings.
~¤~
“What do you need of us, my lord?” Fiora wondered aloud.
“You two must undertake a mission for me—for Ashton.” Valimor paused, searching the faces of the siblings for any sign of approval. “It is of utmost importance.”
“What is it?” Falcor asked bluntly, his face falling into that blank stare which had come with his years of serving in the army. Suddenly, Valimor reached into a leather bag the two had not noticed and pulled a small, bound book out. Setting it lightly on the table he beckoned them over. “This is your grandfather’s personal journal. I had been studying it to learn how better to manage the affairs of the city—to glean whatever I could from his wisdom. I started reading only when his rule of the city began, but this afternoon something inside me told me to look back at some of the first entries,” Valimor stated simply. When no one bothered to interrupt him after a slight pause, he continued. “You know your grandfather was neither born in this city, nor even in Ashton, right?” The two nodded. “He always told me he came from the mountains to the north.”
“Same here,” Falcor said, picking up the scent of something important.
“In here, he begins writing only after he came here, but he mentions something curious about his homeland. Listen.” Valimor picked up the journal and began reading.
A hard day today: I laid some ancient demons to rest—hopefully never to rise again. They have plagued me since I left. I cannot allow my father and uncle any chance of regaining them. But, the weapons are buried now—to be forgotten in the western earth from my blood. I shall begin anew—burying the old self with the weapons. I am no longer Madai, Prince of the Masoks. He is dead. I am now Harken. I will travel eastward and become part of the people here. Perhaps I shall travel to Caida, it is in the mountains—something I shall never be able to live without. This will be the last entry and I shall not look back. Tomorrow I will forget everything: the Healer here says he will give me a root to help me start over—says it will wipe my memory clean. It is for the best, I think. Tomorrow, I shall be Harken. Tomorrow will be truly new.
When Valimor finished, the three sat in a momentary silence. When no one ventured to speak, he began again, “This is a side of your grandfather I never knew? Did you?”
Falcor shook his head vehemently. “No, he never mentioned his past, now that I think about it.” He scowled in thought and stroked his rough stubbly chin. “Masoks, he said…Prince of the Masoks. What are they?” he wondered.
“I was hoping that perhaps you could tell me,” Valimor replied.
“He said he would never be able to live without the mountains…what do you suppose that means?” Fiora inquired passively. Suddenly Falcor’s eyes lit up.
“Do you suppose he could have come from the northern mountains—that he and this army the messenger mentioned could be from the same place?” he suggested. Fiora glanced at Falcor uneasily.
“What then do these weapons have to do with our grandfather and his father?” she asked. Then epiphany dawned on her. “What if our great-grandfather is behind this army? Suppose he knows his son took the weapons here and wants them back?” A cold look came into Valimor’s eyes as she spoke.
“That is what I was wondering—that is why I need you two,” he stated simply. “You two must find these weapons before the enemy does.”
“But why us?” Falcor asked, chewing on his lower lip.
“He said my blood in reference to the secret of these weapons—it implies only a direct descendent could use them, don’t you think?” Valimor answered. Falcor nodded his head.
“I will prepare my unit at dawn…” he began, but Valimor cut him off.
“If these weapons are of any importance, the enemy will be seeking them as well. If they have attacked Pretan as we assume, they will not encounter any resistance until they come here. They will be able to search at their leisure for the weapons before they attack. Time is of the essence, my friends. You must leave tonight—both of you. Alone,” he finished. Fiora stared at him suspiciously, a frown coming to her face. Falcor pondered the idea carefully.
“Why alone?” he inquired at last.
“You will travel more swiftly and secretly. And if you gain possession of the weapons, you might not need any other protection; besides, if the army attacks here before Talibor arrives…if Talibor arrives, we will need all the men we can get. I can’t afford to give you any others besides yourself, Falcor,” Valimor replied, sensing the burden he was placing on the man, spoken and unspoken. Falcor nodded again.
“Where is it we are going…all I could tell is that its west of here?”
Valimor nodded his head. “I thought the same. I did some research and found that the colony of Talorn has been known for its Healers in the past, and that many people have gone there to pursue treatment for depression or other mental problems. Some accounts even mentioned a rare treatment for severe cases—a memory wipe.”
“It looks like were going to Talorn. Very well,” Falcor mused, “Fiora, get your pack ready.” Standing, he moved to leave through the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded. He glanced at her and winked.
“I’ll be right back,” he answered and slipped into the night.
Valimor shrugged and bade Fiora to prepare her things and then exited the house as well. She stood, her hands resting on her hips resolutely, for a moment. At last she sighed and shook her head and began gathering the necessary items.
~¤~
Talibor rode ever-closer to the main gates, leading his men to the awaiting plains and the city of
First, his task remained to march to Harken. He told his sub-captain to form the main infantry divisions into ranks two battalions thick, and rode to meet the captains of each of the other divisions. His white steed eagerly jumped forward into a gallop. As he turned to face the city, he found Boltor still riding down the causeway. On his left of the main division, two smaller skirmishing units held parallel formation to his own. To his right, illuminated by the last rays of sunlight, rested three cavalry units and an archer division. Still flowing like a golden river through the gates, spreading out to his determined width, the phalanx units marched. He spurred his steed to gallop towards the skirmishers and called for their captains to accompany him. They urged their horses forward and fell in behind him. He looped behind the main phalanx division, passing behind Boltor just as he exited the city. He gave a heralding cry and Boltor jumped in behind him. Just as with the others, the captains of the cavalry and archer divisions rode out and followed him. He pulled around to the front of the army and turned to face his fellow captains and the city.
Dismounting, he beckoned the others to join him. As the others leapt off their horses, he demonstrated a particular interest in a piece of grass growing in the trampled roadway. He sighed and glanced at his companions, the brave men who would lead each division in the heat of battle.
“Today, I have been many men. I was brother. I was friend. I was prisoner. I was mourner. I was traitor. I was emperor. And I was your Captain. The last is what I still am at this moment, and that I hope to remain. It has been brought to my attention that an invading army has been spotted and is expected to camp in the Northern Plains of Raida until they can prepare an assault on the eastern world. I do not know if they have been camped for some time, or if they march on Pretan yet. If luck befalls us, they have just arrived. They will suspect we remain oblivious to their movements, and this element of surprise may aid us, depending on the size of their army. We shall march to Harken and prepare for war there, along with lord Valimor’s forces. There we shall learn much more and what exactly we must do. So, tell your men our destination and purpose: we march to Harken to face an unknown army bent on the annihilation of our lives and empire. Now go, make camp, but sleep softly. We march at first light.”
All the captains, except Boltor, remounted their steeds and dispersed into the fading sunlight. Boltor remained watching the sunset begin in the west. “Boltor, prepare our men. They must rest well tonight.” Boltor nodded, but remained steadfastly still. Talibor glanced up at the man, dismissing the blades of grass he had been staring at. “Do you need something, my friend?”
“No, my lord. But, might I ask you a question?” Boltor spoke softly and slowly.
“Of course, anything.” Talibor explained.
“Did you truly mourn my loss?” Boltor asked, catching and holding Talibor’s gaze. Talibor rubbed his chin and shifted his weight.
“Yes, I did,” he answered, without faltering his gaze.
“Thanks.” At that, Boltor rose and mounted his horse, a brown stallion. Talibor looked back to the patch of grass. It flourished despite the perils of the road. Perhaps life could only be so much—a wisp of beauty amidst struggle and trial. Then, it would fade as some unfortunate or intentional foot would come and stamp it into the ground. Where could purpose, honor, and glory exist in this scenario? Maybe, he ought to simply enjoy the pleasures life could offer, while they remain fresh and unspoiled. Suddenly he found his mind drifting to the girl he had met in the market outside Harken. He saw her dark eyes and curly black hair…he shook his head, wondering why it was he thought about her. He had rudely embarrassed her in public and left without apology. Finally he banished the thoughts from his mind. Perhaps riding to war was vain and would only hasten more death than delay it. But, perhaps not…
No comments:
Post a Comment