The Light of Endura Page 15

  Filby sat up all night with worry. Ethreal seemed to respond to the herbs, although Filby was not sure if her reaction was a good sign. She tossed continuously, and muttered to herself in the night, and her fever returned. He dabbed her forehead and felt helpless and waited for the sun. At first light, Filby and La Bont gently laid Ethreal into the back of the buckboard, and the old draft horse plodded east toward the rising sun.

  ANCIENT LANDS

  “I t is a land of mystery and a land of magic,” said Andreg. “Filled with unusual beasts and beings.” The vast forests of the west lay behind them—the last of the wild rivers, the last of the tall trees, and the last closed-in sky obscured by forest leaves. A cluster of cedar groves stretched out at their backs, cradling a wide yellow sun, while the path became bordered by bayberry and brambles and a few brittle and sunbaked tumbleweeds. Before them, they could see the land stretching out in a vast plain of canyons and flat, dry calderas bounded by the limitless sky.

  They soon came upon a well-worn cobblestone road heading east through a steep-sided gully, brown and sere hills rising up on either side. Andreg raised his hand above his eyes to block out the sun. “This road leads to the fortress city of Andioch . . . we will be welcome there.”

  “If any remain within the walls,” said Aerol. “Many have fled these lands.”

  Andreg rose up on Ethreal’s white stallion and looked east. Sun and shadows played off red rock walls as he passed through the ravine, the sound of hooves reverberating in the dry desert air. “If any still remain in these lands, it will be those within the stone walls of Andioch. They are the descendants of the Ancients, and they would part with their land dearly.”

  Trader had never been beyond the border of the great forest. He did not speak, content to ride along on his wild-bred mount and observe the land. The road emerged from the shallow canyon, the folded earth descending before him in a network of rounded, brown hills and flat-topped mesas. The cobblestone way pointed through a clay-colored desert of rising dust and packed dirt, then disappeared behind a sharp butte where a blue and white sky marked the eastern horizon. Trader’s steed seemed content among the tumbleweeds and desiccated rocks and weathered cobblestones. It had been bred in the lands of the south, where dry deserts and thin canyons were commonplace.

  Not so for the other two steeds. They were accustomed to green pastures and flowing rivers, and so they struggled, a light froth rising from beneath the saddles and leather straps. The sun peaked at midday, appearing and disappearing behind white clouds that formed long, vaporous streaks in the distant heights. Soon the road dipped into an ankle-deep river that trickled over a bed of scoured rock, where the horses drank greedily, and the riders dismounted to fill canteens and splash some trail dust from their faces. “I don’t remember the last time I saw a blue sky like that,” said Trader, squinting up at the sun. He tipped his canteen and a stream of clear water washed over his head.

  “But even here the days grow short,” said Andreg. He watched Ethreal’s white stallion gulp down water from the rock bed. “The sun already descends to the west, and daybreak is not three hours past.”

  “Look though,” called Aerol, pointing to the east. “The Painted Canyons—Andioch lies just beyond. We will surely make it by nightfall if we set a steady pace.”

  The clop of horseshoes on cobblestones filled the still air, until the call of a hawk far above rose in a sharp cry then slowly faded over arid hills. The three remained silent as they rode on, descending into a wide basin, and at the far side they could see the jagged walls of canyons bounding the eastern horizon like brown and broken teeth piercing the sky. Dust devils and tumbleweeds blew in a sultry wind to the north, where dark sand bordered the road and beyond stretched nothing but brittle weeds; to the south, a shimmering wall of moisture hung like a curtain on a bleak expanse of sunbaked dirt.

  They reached the far side of the basin, where the sun disappeared behind rusty canyon walls. The path was squeezed thin between sheer cliffs off either shoulder, and shadows rose in fissures where sunlight reflected at odd angles. Looming ahead, rock-cut pillars formed a facade along the cliffs; rough-hewn faces of men adorned by crowns appeared, and a half-finished carving of a king sitting on his throne, all rising up as tall as the canyon itself.

  Still the road descended into the rugged terrain. No more hawks circled above, but black crows called from the cliffs and jagged rocks. It was a land of perpetual shadow, a thin trench of sky overhead bounded by the long canyon wall—the sun always just out of reach, its rays flirting here and there with cracks and crevasses, changing the colors of the rocks into rusty brown, volcanic black, and the dingy orange hue of exposed iron ore. Caves appeared, high up on the cliffs, fronted by pillars carved of stone. And the pillars took the form of different animals and birds of the desert, and princes and kings wearing long robes.

  “Are those temples?” asked Trader, looking up at the seemingly impossible handiwork.

  “An ancient religious sect once inhabited those caves, at the very dawn of mankind,” answered Andreg. “They believed in seclusion, and peace, and harmony with nature, and refused to kill even the smallest insect. Their food came completely from plants, and they believed in nonviolence and preserving life. These other carvings are from throughout time, dating back to the first age of darkness and the land of the Five Kingdoms. This was the gateway to the Kingdom of the Ancients, and these were the kings and queens and princess of bygone ages who ruled over that land, now all but forgotten and left to crumble into the dust of time.”

  The mouth of the canyon suddenly opened up upon a baked desert, where Trader gazed out to the east. At the far horizon, he could see what looked like a flat-topped mountain or plateau. As he neared, the mountain began to transform. City walls rose out of an endlessly flat landscape, but these were not the graceful walls of Bridgehaven or villages to the west; these were thick and drab and cumbersome, made of massive stones wide as two wagons afield. Almost nothing could be seen of the city, for the walls rose above all rooftops and buildings—even steeples were hidden behind the fortified stone and mortar. Only one tower poked into view, a gray-stoned keep topped by square battlements. The top of the wall itself was a parapet of high merlons and low embrasures, the only cracks in the solid stone a dozen thin windows, arrow loops, facing the arid plain.

  Two watchtowers flanked the incoming road. A wide moat was cut before the door, and a heavy oak drawbridge stood sealed as Trader, Aerol, and Andreg approached. They stopped at the moat and craned their necks at the high wall. A guard atop the ramparts hailed them, and Aerol began to speak but was interrupted. “We know who you are,” called the guard. “And we know of your mission.”

  The drawbridge opened to the sound of cumbersome chains, and the three rode slowly and solemnly into the ancient city of Andioch. At first glance, the city seemed not much different than the outside: buildings fashioned out of thick stone, streets of dirt or cobblestone, many dun and dreary brick walls. A well-dressed squire approached as the gate clattered shut behind. “Welcome,” he said, removing a feathered cap and bowing low. “Someone will tend to the horses.”

  The three dismounted, whereupon a young stable boy led the mounts away. “There is someone here you know,” said the squire, turning aside.

  Filby walked up to the group, looking newly bathed and dressed in bright clean clothes.

  “Wonders of the Ancients!” gasped Andreg.

  “Two travelers on the same path?” said Aerol, as he flashed Andreg a glance.

  “Ethreal is here as well,” said Filby. He shook everyone’s hand and they all held smiles mixed with surprise and disbelief. “She’s in the healer’s chambers. I’m told she will be fine.” Filby was overjoyed but not surprised, for he had already been briefed of their coming by the riders and scouts of the ancient city.

  “God help them if they are trying to keep her in bed,” said Aerol.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Filby waved a hand. “Come on,
I’ll take you there.” He gave a quick recounting as they walked. He had told the story so many times to various officials within Andioch that it seemed like reading from a script.

  The healer’s chambers were clean and well kept. Two beds extended from the far wall, Ethreal propped up in one of them, her eyes closed. Fresh, white bandages wrapped her leg and shoulder, but the splint no longer encumbered her arm. The healer looked up from his work and nodded. “She’s lucky. She almost lost her leg to the green scourge.” He took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I wanted to amputate but this one wouldn’t let me,” he sighed, motioning to Filby. The healer shook his head and picked up a jar of herbs. “He sat by her side day and night with a dagger in his hand to make sure no one touched her leg with a saw. So we treated her wound with a poultice and some herbs, and she was lucky. We saved her leg.”

  Aerol walked over and touched Ethreal’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Has she been awake?”

  “She has,” said the healer. “In and out—enough to eat and drink. She will fully recover, but she will need a cane I’m afraid, and will always walk with a limp. Her shoulder wound should heal properly however, and her broken arm was all but mended by the time she arrived. She just needs to use her arm carefully for a while—no lifting of swords or strenuous journeys. She should stay with us in Andioch for at least another month.” He wiped his hands on a white cloth and tossed it aside. “If you will excuse me—I have a poultice to attend to. Feel free to find me if you have any questions.”

  The squire appeared at the door and bowed, flourishing his feathered hat. “We have prepared some chambers, gentlemen. If you will follow me.”

  Night had already fallen as the squire led them across the square. Torches burned along the battlements and atop watchtowers, flaming their sparks into the night. They passed a series of dark alleyways, then a blacksmith’s bellows casting embers into the central square. The squire opened a wide door leading into the main hall, where they climbed a thin stairway made of stone bounded by stone walls. A long, dark hallway waited at the top, torches lining one wall and heavy oak doors along the other. The squire walked along, creaking open three heavy doors. “Gentlemen,” he said, extending his arm toward the rooms. “Dinner is served in the main hall in one hour. You are expected.” He bowed and left.

  Trader walked into his chamber and was a bit surprised. Despite the austere stone walls and cold, hard floors, the room managed to seem quite comfortable. A hearth at the far wall held a modest fire, and one torch near the door added a warm glow to the space. A featherbed on an oak frame was tucked underneath a window which looked out over the central square. Trader could see a line of torches lighting the parapet like so many fireflies against a dark night. A rough-hewn wooden table stood by the fire, and a wooden chair, and a bowl of fruit sat in the middle of the table next to a full wash basin. Trader wondered where, in this desolate land, the people were able to acquire fruit, and he wondered if he and his companions were being given special treatment.

  A clean set of clothes had been laid out on the bed, but Trader was barely finished changing and washing the trail dust from his limbs when the squire returned. Andreg and Aerol were standing behind him. Trader threw his wash towel on the bed and fell in line, before they were led down the stone stairway to the main dining hall. A long oak table held many men, the leaders of the city, thought Trader, judging from their ornate clothes, and they were mingling and talking—passing wine jugs about and plates of food. Three empty seats stood at the end, where a flaming hearth encompassed the entire far wall. Filby was already seated there, but he was dwarfed by the man at the front of the table. The head man, Aerol guessed, bedecked in a shawl made of fine fur with a round medallion dangling from a heavy silver chain.

  The squire motioned toward the empty seats, and the three took their chairs. “Lord Pergrin,” announced the squire. “These are the travelers Aerol and Andreg and–”

  “I know of them,” said Pergrin, waving his hand dismissively. “They have traveled far.” He motioned to a platter of sliced venison. “Please.” A pitcher made its way down the table, and Andreg filled his cup with red wine. “Our city is besieged,” said Pergrin, “but our stores still hold for the moment.”

  “Where do you get your supplies?” asked Trader. “The fruit?”

  “A few intrepid merchants still traveled the main road not two weeks ago, even in these dark days, but I fear we have seen the last of anything so perishable as fruit.” Pergrin filled his glass with red wine and eyed his visitors. “You are the Watcher, come from the Quiet Lands. Alas, our Watcher has been dead these many months. His duties took him far from the walls of Andioch, and the evil roads afield were his undoing.”

  “What word of the villages to the east and the high fells?” asked Andreg, leaning forward with his hands on the oak table.

  “Carathia was sacked some three months ago . . . Iron Forge burned this last year, and the others upcountry, we have received no word for these many weeks.”

  “Yet you stand strong,” said Aerol. A log crackled in the hearth, and the fire wrought shadows on cold stone walls. Filby shifted in his seat, feeling warm and safe yet listening with a certain trepidation about the road east.

  “The servants of the darkness cannot breach these walls,” replied Pergrin. “Not while an ember of light remains beyond the mountains. If the Light of Endura expires, even these ancient walls will fail, and darkness will prevail again in the land of the kings as it did during the first dark age.” Pergrin’s brow was furrowed with worry and the trials of a city under siege. His long black hair showed streaks of gray in the unsteady glow of the hearth. “Still, our supplies are limited. We gain what we can through hunting and foraging, and what few crops will grow within these walls. Merchants travel this way no longer, and nary a farm has grown crops for nigh on a season.”

  Pergrin paused and took a drink of wine, then waved his glass over the table as if he was waving his hand over the entire land. “The people of these lands fled many months ago, when the evil began to rise from the mountains. Those who lingered are the unfortunate . . . to attempt the dark forest in these harsh times is unwise at best. Those who remain have no recourse but to stand and fight—stand against the evil tide, because the forest portends sure death. Most who have attempted the crossing to the west have failed—only a few survivors have returned, relaying news of the doomed fate of their party. Alas, it is surely worse to the east, for no word has come from the Far Lands in many months.”

  “What do you know of the road onward through these Ancient Lands?” asked Aerol. An oval platter was held before him, silver, stacked high with thinly sliced venison. He lifted the two-pronged fork and skewered a few slices onto his plate before the young steward continued down the table.

  Pergrin lowered his head in dismay. “Burnt offerings,” he muttered, an anger overtaking his dark-brown eyes. “There is nothing left. Wraith have born south over the White Mountains, and an army gathers in the east. Ogres and troggs and halfwraith form a line of defense along the Far Mountains, and I fear you will not make it through. It becomes more guarded with every passing day.” A pitcher of ale worked its way down the table, and Pergrin filled an amber mug. He seemed pained; the wrinkles on his face deepened in the bending firelight. “Halfwraith roam the land during the day, and at night, no one dares venture out—what lurks in the darkness is too terrible to contemplate. Just this past day, one of our riders reported seeing an ogre that bore the mark of Telfgar.”

  “The Ogres of Telfgar?” gasped Andreg. “The power that would be required to set them free!”

  “We know not if the stories are true,” said Pergrin. “The rider was injured, and he succumbed to his wounds before the full report could be given.”

  “The ogres were imprisoned centuries ago, during the first dark age.” A cold shudder crept down to Andreg’s very bones. “If they were ever to be freed . . .”

  Trader slid his plate awa
y. The sliced venison was expertly cooked, but his appetite had disappeared. Filby strained to hear over the background chatter of fifty or so diners sitting at the long table; the clank of pewter plates and metal forks added a constant clatter to the dark hall. A soldier across the table leaned in to hear more of the conversation. Most of the others at the table were talking among themselves, or carving meat; passing wine or drinking ale.

  “We have tried to send relief over the mountains,” said Pergrin, “to restore the Light of old, but none have returned, and our manpower is now so depleted that we cannot afford another attempt. Still, if we could send someone with you to bolster your mission—you may choose among the best of our warriors. We would spare you ten of the Royal Guard to aid in your quest.”

  Aerol sat silent for a moment, his elbows perched on the table and hands crossed before him. “We began this mission with the idea that stealth was the best method, and I think we should stay true to that plan. It has aided us thus far, for there was a group of twenty soldiers on a similar mission to the north who were taken by the enemy. No, if we go unseen, we will have a better chance of success.”

  Trader cleared his throat, feeling the need to interject a bit of diplomacy. “Whatever supplies you could provide, however.”

  “Of course, I will speak to the chamberlain. You shall have what you need.”

  “I think we are short one horse,” suggested Filby.

  “Perhaps two horses,” said Andreg. “My old mount was sturdy enough for the lands to the west, but a faster steed may serve better for what faces us to the east.”

  “Done,” said Pergrin. “Our stables are at your disposal.”