Chapter Twenty-six
Robyn rode Kraft with a new determination, crouching low on his back and anxious to cross the hills of Delphan as quickly as possible. Horse and rider were as one, streaking over the knolls, deftly evading the low growing brush and rocky protuberances. Robyn wanted to reach the flat clearing south of the hills by the second day. He planned to camp just beyond the southernmost rise and head for Pardatha early in the morning of the third. He had overcome the horrible feelings that had invaded his body and soul, and he was now ready and eager to reach his destination. If there was anything that he could do to prevent the death of another of the great trees, he would do it.
As he rode, he thought back on the years he spent perfecting his art, learning all that he could in anticipation of the days ahead. He always knew that he would play a part in the events that would mold the future, and his father made certain that nothing interfered with his development. He, too, recognized his son’s special role and always attempted to provide him with an environment wherein he could develop unhindered. They both paid the price of those choices, though now Robyn knew that all the sacrifice was necessary and had only served to make him stronger.
He could not allow the trees to perish, not just his own Promanthea, but all the rest as well! The planet would shrivel up and die without the Lalas. If the boy he was called upon to train was the boy of legend, then it would be possible to alter the recent course of history if he prepared him properly, if he guided him well, if he protected him along the way. Baladar beckoned and Robyn would fulfill his obligation gladly. He rode and rode, head down, legs tight to Kraft’s side, horse and rider bolting through the hills at a death defying pace.
By nightfall, he had covered more ground than even he had expected and although he was tired, he felt better as he neared his destination. Robyn dismounted and sat down behind a rather large hillock that afforded him shelter from the night winds that swept across the hills. Kraft remained close by, nibbling on the scattered clumps of grass that sprouted haphazardly all around.
Animals took care of their needs simply and instinctively, and Kraft was no different in that respect. He would eat until he was full and rest until he was refreshed. Robyn, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated. He was a well disciplined wielder of the earth magic, but he was also highly emotional and moved by passions and feelings. His sensitivity is what made him the unique individual that he was. It enhanced his power and allowed him to intuit much about his enemies and his allies, and it put him in touch with the pain and suffering as well as the pleasure and joy of the earth. He could feel death approaching and that always troubled him, and he was moved as well by the hatching of a bird, or even by the emergence of a new blade of grass.
His awareness came with a price and Promanthea had taught him how to deal with the flood of emotions that engulfed him daily. The Lalas taught his Chosen how to assimilate the movements and changes in the earth, and how to convert the raw energy created into a tool of power. He also instructed him in the methods of calming the storms, easing the transitions resulting from growth and movement as well as from death and disintegration.
Robyn became a master at manipulating the forces of nature in a positive way. He was incapable of abusing his understanding by aiding the side of darkness. Although he understood that death was a necessary part of life, he believed that it should come naturally and that no one had the right to take it from someone or something, unless it was in self defense. He was more than capable of inflicting harm on another if that person threatened the balance that he intuitively felt in all living things, and the one power that threatened it the most was Colton dar Agonthea, the Great Destroyer.
Robyn did not need to think about Colton to know that he had to be stopped. He felt it in his heart. He felt the wrongness of him, the evil that emanated from all of his actions and the negativity in all that he did and stood for, and Robyn was ready to begin the process of stopping him, a process that he knew he could not complete alone. The ‘calling’ renewed his hope.
He yearned for the day to come, the moment when he could put all of his years of learning and training into play, into the quest for the First, for the Gem of Eternity, for the key to the death of the trees and the means of halting the disintegration that had accelerated in the past few tiels and that was now spiraling almost out of control. And that day, that longed for day, was fast approaching.
As soon as he closed his eyes, he was asleep.
The morning brought with it a strong northeast wind and a cloud strewn sky. The air was heavier, and Robyn sensed something foreign, almost alien in the breeze. It troubled him and urged him onward. Yet, he kept feeling as if he was traveling away from danger, not into it. He mounted Kraft once again and together they made their way south, hoping to ride without interruption until night approached once more and the Delphan hills were fully behind them. But, this nagging sense would not leave him and he could not ignore it. As he rode, Robyn attempted to analyze the emotions and to understand the signs. It felt to him as if Promanthea was beckoning to him, and yet he would have surely known for certain if that had been the case.
He was not going to allow anything to delay his journey now. By tomorrow evening he would be at the gates of Pardatha, or so he hoped. As the afternoon approached, the feeling was growing stronger and stronger and he was barely able to think about anything else. He decided to stop for a short while, sit peacefully and try to figure out what was happening. Once on the ground, he pressed his hands to the earth, attempting to learn from the soil what he was unable to decipher from the air. And then it came to him quickly. His father was trying to get a message to him and he was using the branch that Promanthea had given him. Now he understood why he kept feeling that his tree was beckoning in some way.
Robyn closed his eyes and hummed a deep, melodious hum that normally would bring him into harmony with his own tree, but instead he focused upon the polished token that he had given to his father. He knew the message must be urgent or the Baron would not have tried to reach him. He had informed his father about how incredibly tiring the process was for him and how much energy it required. Yet he beckoned nevertheless and so Robyn hurried to answer the call. Soon, he could almost see the face of the man who was contacting him. The image was blurry, but in his mind’s eye it steadily grew clearer.
The voice came to him from within and was not audible to anyone or thing but Robyn.
Robyn? Robyn? Can you hear me, son?
Yes, I am here. I can hear you.
The mountain Trolls are on the march south. My scouts reported to me a short while ago. A massive army has descended from their city of Toth, in the hills, armed to the teeth. They carry the banners of Colton amidst their own. They are not marching to Concordia, but toward the Thorndars. I can only suspect that they are heading to Pardatha, or thereabouts. I have sent scouts to track them and report back to me on their progress.
Robyn took a moment to ponder this new and disturbing information.
The Baron, too, paused for a moment and then he asked,
Are you safe, my son?
Yes, father; I am well I have made good time, I will arrive at my destination tomorrow sometime. Have no fear for me. All is well.
Robyn was weakening swiftly from the contact, but he needed desperately to ask one question.
Did you know that another tree had died?
Yes, Robyn, we all felt it. I thank the First it was not yours. I was unsure until this moment. The skies have not yet cleared of the storm clouds that followed upon its demise. Neither has the Sirceloc ceased to churn. But, we carry on. We keep our heads up, and pray for the day when the trees will sprout anew. Our hopes and prayers are with you, too, my son.
I must break this off, father. I must preserve my strength. Do not give in to the darkness. Allow it not to reach your heart. Be forever strong. I love you!
he said and then he collapsed to the earth.
Robyn awoke sometime later to the feeling of Kraft’s cold nose nuzzling him. He was tired and his head was aching, but he knew that he would recover soon enough. His loyal horse was persistent and would not allow him to fall back asleep. That he recognized, and he was instantly angry with himself for succumbing to his drowsiness to begin with.
The information that his father imparted to him was disturbing. If the Trolls were marching, then others must be mobilizing too. Colton was on the move and the timing of these events could not be coincidental. He had to reach Pardatha and warn them. He had to reach the heir!
Robyn forced himself to rise and climb atop Kraft once more. There was now a new danger driving him forward. The luxury of time, though scant even in the beginning, was now gone completely. He would not be able to rest again until he was within the gates of Pardatha at Baladar’s side.
Chapter Twenty-seven
There was great turmoil on the ground below her window. She could hear the commotion all around her, from within the fortress and from without. Massive clouds of billowing black smoke rose from the deep tunnel domes into the air, darkening it and making the early morning seem like dusk. The underground air vents were spewing out all manner of pollution, for underneath them the engines of war were working at a mind blurring speed. The very stones of Sedahar vibrated incessantly, pulsing with power as if alive.
Peering out of the small window, Trialla was able to see row upon row of the Dark Lord’s minions gathering in the fields beneath her tower room. Something serious was happening and she wanted to know what. She stuck her crooked nose through the slats covering the single opening in the side of the wall, and then she peered down to the left as far as she was able to see. Everywhere her vision could reach she saw the troops assembling. There were thousands of Orcs; great, hairless animals with black, beady eyes and dark scaly skin, all fronted by fat bellies that made them appear as if they were leaning forward as they walked. Marching to the beat of a heavy drum, shaking the ground with each step, they gathered behind a group of at least twenty, one-eyed giants the height of each being four times that of the Orcs. The monstrous creatures carried clubs tipped with metal spikes, and giant war hammers hung from belts that looked like raw animal entrails. Craning her neck to look to the right, she was astonished at how far the hordes of fighters stretched. The grounds surrounding Sedahar were teeming with activity in every direction. The ground looked like a seething mass of black insects, swarming purposefully toward their queen.
Trialla screeched with glee and she jumped up and down with excitement at the assembly below. “Let me out of here! Let me go with you! I can help too. Please, someone, release me!”
Although she screamed as loud as she could, her words were drowned out by the din created by the activity below. A heavy pounding on the earth that actually sent vibrations up even to her prison cell, caused her to look toward the far side of the plain. A massive group of Trolls, ugly and huge, beat upon the ground with their clubs, chanting something in a cryptic, guttural language she could not understand. There must have been five hundred of them, each carrying a large stick as big as the trunk of a small tree with a spiked ball attached to the end of a chain hanging from it. Some had knives in their belts, while others had axes and hammers.
Ogres, covered with studded black hides and even larger than the Orcs, converged behind them, occasionally thrashing their hated cousins with their clubs, making sure the smaller and weaker Orcs kept their distance. They snorted and belched, laughing uncontrollably at times, with their hideous faces contorted in grotesque smiles, unable to control their excitement. Every once in a while one would strike another unsuspecting companion a serious blow and then lean back upon his fat heels and cackle in glee.
The troops were working themselves into a blood frenzy and they had not even departed for the north. If not for the presence of their master, they would have turned upon one another soon enough, and an unstoppable slaughter would have ensued. But, amidst all of the groups rose Colton’s banner, a fiery red sun on a stark, black background, unifying all the disparate combatants and binding them with fear and hideous promises.
There were other creatures Trialla could not identify: Green, slimy human-like things with bulging eyes and packs strapped to their backs which caused them to bend over under the weight. For every fifty of these, there was one guard atop a horse-like animal, though the beast was stouter than a common horse and hairless. The riders smacked their whips and kept their captives in line, riding up and down their ranks, not hesitating to mete out punishment for sluggishness or reluctance.
Great pig-like beasts pulled wagons full of supplies, each ridden by a grotesque aberration of nature, a being with three arms, one protruding from the middle of its chest allowing it to hold the reins and still have two arms free. Battalions of tall, thin archers, more human than the rest, lined up behind an even taller leader, thin as a rail, skeletal even, who carried a long bow across his back, and a satchel filled with arrows tipped in black.
Trialla’s one remaining hawk-like eye gleefully took in everyone and everything. Horns were sounding and drums were beating in a tumultuous cacophony of sounds, and in the midst of the seeming turmoil sat Colton dar Agonthea, Lord of Darkness, Emperor of Evil, Death Bringer and Vanguard of Dissolution, atop his prancing, silver steed Necro, majestically gazing from left to right and turning his horse in a tight circle, observing with satisfaction all the aspects of the assemblage. The seeming chaos was evolving into an organized machine, clearly capable of wreaking havoc upon whatever stood in its path, and it was not even nearly complete! Additional groups were forming all around the main entourage, raising banners and chanting in various tongues.
As Colton’s cold, black eyes looked upon specific groups of fighters, they would immediately fall to the ground and bow down prostrate, foreheads to earth, in total silence until he lifted his red gloved hand. They would then let out a resounding cheer, weapons banging into the hard earth or clashing against one another, in an effort to make the loudest noise and salute their master with their frenzied support. Colton let his regal and domineering gaze move from company to company, thus honoring each and every unit and receiving their homage in return.
The reverence which the masses of warriors heaped upon their leader was total, and each and every participant, whether man or beast, was prepared and eager to begin its march toward total annihilation if that was what was in store. Their mindless energy was being focused upon one objective, and Colton was directing it with the precision of the master that he was.
Colton had spent centuries preparing for this moment and now it was finally upon him. He was seething with satisfaction, knowing now where he would strike first by virtue of the witch’s discovery. Once the heir was captured, it was only a matter of time before the entire world would fall to his advances. The end was in sight and he could barely contain himself. He could almost taste the final victory, almost visualize the collapse, the slide into oblivion, the great dissolution. The Lalas were weak already, almost incapable of preventing his onslaught once the boy was under his control. He had come so close one time before, only to watch him slip through his hands at the very last moment. But not this time. Nothing could stop him now!
Sedahar itself had taken on an ominous hue, changing dramatically with its master’s mood. The spires topping the towers appeared more pointed and deadlier, the doorways like hungry, gaping mouths and the foundation stone dripped with a reddish perspiration oozing from its seams under the hot sun.
Trialla had worked herself into a furor, frustrated by her imprisonment and unable to accept being left behind, and she was willing to risk anything at this point to be heard.
“Let me out!” she screeched. “I belong with you! I found the boy! Let me out of here! Please, you cannot leave me behind,” she wailed, but no one could hear.
With what power she could still muster, she conjured a small ball of fire in the corner of her cell, nearest to the opening in the wall. Using her fist, she smashed the stool that was her single piece of furniture and then she tossed the broken bits of wood into the flame.
Someone below will see the smoke, and let me out
, she hoped with delirious desperation, her twisted mind carelessly miscalculating the risks and thoroughly misjudging her captor.
He has forgotten that lam up here with all that is happening. This will remind him and he will send someone to release me. I will ride to Pardatha by his side! I will be his Queen!
If no one noticed the smoke and flames, she might very well burn in her own fire and die by her own hand. But she could not conceive of the possibility that Colton would let that happen, after all that she had done for him. She was the one who found the heir! Trialla, no one else. At that moment, the chance she took was worth it, for life had no further meaning for her if Colton left her behind. She would rather be dead than discarded and forgotten again.
The fire was building quickly as the dry straw burst into flame, and the wood promptly followed suit. She added to the fire her worn blanket and whatever other scraps she could hastily gather that would burn brightly and with as much smoke as possible.
Shortly, the smoke was surging out of the window with considerable velocity, and the flames were licking the sides of the room, leaping from the one opening in bursts of red light.
He will soon see that I am in danger up here and then he will send someone to rescue me.
She pressed against the doorway and covered her nose and mouth with her filthy shawl. She was coughing violently now as the room was filling with acrid fumes.
“Any moment now. He will see me,” she spoke aloud as she clasped the bars of the window and burned her hands from the heat. She did not even feel the pain; she was too caught up in her longing and delusions.
Some of them are looking this way. He will be next
, she thought expectantly, not realizing that her fingers were scorched and the hem of her gown was smoldering.
The fire could now be clearly observed from below, as the tall turret stood out starkly against the cloudy sky. She watched in anxious anticipation and waited for her Lord to notice her peril. A crooked smile crossed her lips as Colton gazed from his vantage point atop Necro at the high tower window above.
Finally! He will see me now!
Her eye was locked upon Colton in rabid expectation of his redeeming glance when he simply bent his head back and laughed a diabolic laugh. He briefly caught her eye with his own and held her gaze for just an instant, and her very being was sundered. She had been betrayed. To Trialla’s outrage and dismay, he spurred his horse slightly and Necro leapt forward, the troops making way for him as quickly as possible.
Colton rode away from the castle, not bothering to even look back, howling with delight as he went to examine the contingent of ebon magicians gathering at the rear of the massed army. His enhanced sense of hearing discerned the pathetic screams of the old woman as she burned to death in her cramped cell, and he enjoyed the harrowing sounds immensely. He particularly relished the moment she realized that he was not interested in her fate, and then the final, deranged howl of recognition the old witch released from the depths of her disfigured soul.
They are all fools, these humans. Even those with power; no matter how strong or meager. I have no more need for you, witch!
Soon, all that was left of Trialla the Sorceress, was a smoldering pile of ashes on a soiled floor in a dismal cell high in the tower of castle Sedahar.
This is shaping up to be a wonderful day
, he thought, as he rode to greet the necromancers who had assembled to pay tribute to their father and master.
Colton’s prized possessions, his scarlet sorcerers, all bowed low, prostrating themselves before him, with their crimson capes covering them from head to toe and not daring to look at Colton until he gave them permission. This group of thirteen was his special weapon, trained and nurtured almost from birth by Colton himself. Next to each one stood a Valkor, enormous next to the humans, with its eyes shielded and its body harnessed.
The sorcerers would travel behind the troops atop the beasts, not wasting their power until the back of the enemy was broken and it was time for the final advance. His red mages would enter the castle keep just before he would, preparing all who were left alive inside for Colton’s arrival. It would be a beautiful experience, and he could barely contain his excitement. With these images fresh in his mind he turned away from this group, sat regally atop his horse and addressed the entire mass of warriors surrounding him.
“In one hour, we will ride to Pardatha!” he shouted, his black blade unsheathed now and raised high in the air.
The thousands gathered around him responded by stomping their feet, banging their shields, whistling, yelling, making as much noise as they could muster and causing the very hills around them to echo with the terrifying sound.
When they settled down, he said, “Our victory there will mark the beginning of the war that will bring us salvation!”
Again, the troops burst into cheers.
“Once we have begun our advance, let no creature stand in our way! Tomorrow belongs to us!” Colton proclaimed with supreme confidence, though what he really meant was that soon tomorrow would come no more.
He slid his sword back into the jeweled scabbard on his belt, pulled hard on Necro’s reins causing the silver stallion to rear up and kick his front hooves in the air, and then he cantered off to the front of the savage multitude, more ready than ever before to lead his army northward.