He heard Baladar say gravely, “Grogan, attend me. The Dark Lord is on the march with all his minions, it seems, and Pardatha I fear, is his destination!” as the door closed behind him.
Elion followed the page down the long hallway, thinking about his mother and father and hoping that they would be proud of him. When and if he saw them again, he would explain why he had to make this journey, why he had to be the one and not Jerial whom his father had designated to be the messenger. He wanted them to know and he prayed that they would understand. He thought of Davmiran, and despite all of his previous concerns, despite the impending onslaught, despite the thought of the Lord of Darkness himself advancing upon him, a smile crossed his lips and lingered there for just long enough to make him feel better.
Chapter Thirty-two
As soon as Elion left the room, Baladar took the first step on that long, dreaded walk down the path of no return, the road that would lead to death and captivity or victory and jubilation. He gathered his ministers together and gave the orders that would change the lives of his people forever, come good or come evil.
The plans were well laid and well-rehearsed, and like clockwork, they were carried out. His officers were skillfully organized and thus the word went out quickly to all the citizens of Pardatha, as well as to the surrounding towns and villages.
The bell tower in the main square of the city rang ceaselessly for one full hour, signaling the most dour of circumstances, and its warning was echoed by all the bells erected in the surrounding countryside for just this purpose; to signal an imminent invasion by a foreign force. Immediately, the citizenry began to mobilize. The herds were gathered, the horses were corralled and the children were sent home from their schools.
All of the men, women and children living outside the walls of Pardatha gathered their essential belongings and began to assemble in the main square of the city to await instructions as to where they would be domiciled. The men and boys of age reported to the headquarters of the Master at Arms and began to receive their instructions regarding the particular role they each would play in the defense of the city. The women who were trained in battle, those who were not raising children and those who were not with child, reported as well to Grogan and his lieutenants. Weapons were dispersed, responsibilities were explained and everyone rose to the call.
During times of peace, the city’s population was approximately thirty thousand civilians and half again as many soldiers. Within two days, the numbers would swell to one hundred thousand. Of the sixty five thousand some odd refugees, thirty thousand would be armed and ready to fight to the end to defend Pardatha, their families and their lifestyles.
The citizens of the smaller towns and villages dotting the countryside that lay in the path of the approaching invaders would all take refuge in Pardatha, lending their support as well as straining the city’s resources. It had been tiels since Pardatha was the target of aggression. But, with the trees dying all around, the people were not surprised that their safety was now in jeopardy. The darkness was bound to reach out to them, they reasoned, and they were grateful that it had been held at bay for as long as it had been.
Pardathans were sturdy folk, hard-nosed and tough; hardy workers too. They would not surrender their city easily to any threat, and that could be seen in the way that they mobilized, in the manner that they dealt with the call to arms, in the determination that they expressed as they rallied their forces.
Whosoever attacked Pardatha attacked a people united, a city committed to its own preservation, to the preservation of a lifestyle of service and sacrifice for the greater good. They believed that their leader, Baladar, was a good man, and that he would advise them well and honestly. Although fear snuck up on some, it remained for the most part under the surface, and the people were not willing to let it overtake them.
They held their heads high even in the face of separation, as fathers bade farewell to wives and children, as children said their goodbyes to their families, and as familial units were sundered by the approach of the invaders. But, like a well-rehearsed play, the participants all knew their lines and where they were to go to next.
There was so much activity in the city that it was dizzying. People and wagons were rushing from one end to the other. Troops were gathering and battalions were forming from within, as well as entering, already formed, from the outskirts. The nearby towns were evacuated and the citizenry made its solemn way to the safety of Pardatha. Animals bellowed, horses whinnied, people shouted and children cried.
Constantly now the horns would blow, announcing the arrival of a small army from the north, a battalion from the west, a tribe of woodsmen from the hills to the east, a troop of soldiers from across the lake, and the people of Pardatha would take note of who came to take refuge and to lend their support. The winds of war were blowing steadily through the city, the machinery was churning, and everyone, young and old, rich and poor, strong and weak, would soon be caught up in the maelstrom.
Baladar sent his scouts out to gather as much advance information as they could and he awaited news from the scouts already in place. He had the fields cleared of useful crops and the storerooms stocked to the bursting point. The battlements were manned, the towers attended and the gates would very soon be closed. Pardatha would be sealed tight and no one would be able to enter or leave unless they were opened from within, or until they crumbled in the face of an onslaught from without. The siege of Pardatha was about to begin.
Baladar walked out onto the ramparts and surveyed, sad-eyed, the preparations that were going on all over the city. He climbed the catwalk of narrow stone stairs that led to the top of the Ghost Tower. The turret was dark and musty, and cobwebbed from lack of traffic. He brushed the invisible strands from before his eyes as he ascended to the top. Adjacent to the Noban gates in the very center of the city’s walls, the Ghost tower provided him with a clear view down the valley to the south.
The tower was so named by his predecessor after the death of his nephew, a young boy he loved dearly. He perished prematurely while playing atop it, and it was believed that the innocent child’s spirit walked its stones still. The boy, Cotwald, mysteriously fell two hundred feet to the ground over the crenellated side, and few chose to venture up there at all anymore since that day. Baladar had planned to tear it down and to reconstruct it, if only to ease his soldiers’ minds when need required them to be atop it. But he never had the time, and need surely beckoned him now.
The darkness of the tower steps abruptly ended as he climbed the remaining few stone treads and emerged into the bright sunlight. Surveying the surrounding land from this vantage point, he was able to see far into the distance. Despite the impressive height of the tower, the mighty Thorndars dwarfed it in comparison, rising behind the city and shrouded in a thick mist.
He envisioned what would take place shortly and he shuddered in anticipation. Baladar knew that the impending confrontation was necessary and that there was no alternative to what was about to unfold beneath these mighty walls. If Pardatha fell, then it would only be a matter of time before Avalain, Talamar, Concordia and all the other cities and counties followed suit. But, if Davmiran survived then hope would survive. This he alone knew, and if Colton was attacking Pardatha in order to capture the heir of Gwendolen, then he would be disappointed if and when he broke through the defenses of the city. Thus, even in victory the Dark One would lose.
It saddened Baladar that so many innocent people would have to give their lives in order for the Lord of Darkness to find out that he was mistaken, that he misread the signs and that his efforts were for naught. Baladar grieved at the thought that his beautiful city, along with the noble citizens who honored him with their service and fidelity, would have to suffer so, would have to sacrifice so much. But, the heir must survive and there was still a fighting chance that he would.
He looked out across the flattened lands southward, visualizing the Dark Lord’s approach, knowing that if he arrived en masse then Pardatha could not hold out against him forever. He allowed his gaze to linger for just a moment, and he pictured his young charge innocent and unaware in Seramour, and then he turned away and descended the steep stairway once again, heading for the temple mount, the highest natural point of land in the city, where he would establish his war council and wait out the arrival of his nemesis.
Chapter Thirty-three
The horses were floundering in the churning water. Filaree’s arm felt as if it was breaking as she held Cameron’s lifeless head above the waves, reaching precariously across the span between Nico and Trojan and attempting to lay it high on his stallion’s neck. A thick fog was settling in all around them and she could barely see which direction they were going. What she had so desperately sought as their salvation from the Trolls just a short while ago, was now killing them. The lake was growing more active, more violent with each minute, and Nico and Trojan were straining to keep their own heads up and out of the water. She could sense the fatigue that was setting in upon them all. Nico was gasping for breath, snorting and wheezing, and Trojan was struggling to keep even with her.
“It cannot end here,” she said aloud. “We have come so far and we have so much work to do. Keep going, Nico. Don’t give up!” she said, and she slid from her saddle into the seething waters of the lake, holding on to her mare’s reins and Trojan’s as well with one tired arm and leading them forward as she desperately pulled through the water with her other arm.
By this time, the mists had grown so thick that she could barely see Cameron’s face behind her, and she was weakening quickly. She scanned the wall of vapor before her with her burning eyes, searching for something to rest upon, something solid that she could grasp, but she could see nothing other than mist and the endless blue-green of the swirling water.
Finally, she could go on no longer and her exhaustion was growing too difficult to fight. She had swallowed too much water and her lungs hurt from choking and coughing, while her eyes were stinging from the constant splash of the cold liquid. Trojan was no more than a head sticking out of the blackness, and tears began to flow uncontrollably when she realized that she could no longer see Cameron at all. She would not give up though, and as she fought to stay above the surge with every ounce of energy she could muster, a large wave rushed over them, sending them all thrashing forward, but instead of drowning in the surge as she now feared, they rose to the top of it. Another wave came immediately behind the last one and they rode this one too like pieces of driftwood on the tide, ending up countless feet further ahead.
Filaree thought she could hear a woman singing, but she had taken in so much water and was so fatigued, that she was uncertain whether it was her imagination or not. Again a wave carried them forward and with it the singing was clearer now; a beautiful, high pitched voice, melodious and rich. She coughed and spit and thrashed still, reaching once more for Trojan, forcing the tired horse’s head up and watching as Cameron’s still body broke through the water. Another wave caught them and propelled them ahead, and the voice grew louder with each surge of water.
The fog was so thick that she could not see where they were headed and she had lost all sense of direction by this time. In front of her, silhouetted against the mist, she thought she saw the image of a lady, the profile of a long haired woman suspended in the air, and the singing she heard in her head persisted. Filaree thought she was dreaming, that she was delirious. But the waves kept coming, forcing her and Cameron to the shore and driving them forward, one after the other. Another surge was upon them, this one greater than the last, and it sent them rushing headlong into the mists, when all at once, Filaree felt something brush against her legs. She scraped herself upon it and then was hurled forward once more, swallowing more water, but certain now that what she felt underfoot was solid.
Nico scrambled ashore followed immediately by Trojan with Cameron still atop his back, and Filaree dragged herself onto the rocky beach. She looked back behind her once more and she saw the silhouette of the woman yet, her chin raised upward and her mouth open, and she could hear the singing, the sweet, steady singing, and its crescendo rising and falling with the waves. It was not her imagination! She collapsed upon the hard shore, half on top of Cameron, having not the energy any longer to even check to make sure he was still breathing. She felt his heart beating beneath her head as it rested upon his chest and then she closed her eyes.
When she awoke, she opened her burning eyes, rubbed the sand from her face and tried to focus, not having the strength yet to rise. Through the blur that was her vision, she thought she saw people standing over her, surrounding them, talking, and saying things she could not quite hear. As her eyes cleared, she was able to discern faces hovering above her, asking questions, speaking words. Filaree shook her head and struggled to see through her tired eyes. Someone was moving her off of Cameron, and at first she resisted, striking out, she thought, with her fist. A soothing voice was trying to calm her and she could now make out a word here and there.
As her vision began to clear, she could see that these people were soldiers, that they wore uniforms and had swords at their belts. She struggled to free her arms from whatever was binding them, and the voice spoke more clearly now, into her ear.
“Lady Filaree? Calm down, we are here to help you,” the voice repeated. “Men! Put them on the stretchers. Carefully!” it ordered. “Are you hurt? Can you tell me if you are hurt?” the voice asked.
“I think I am all right,” she responded, not knowing for certain if she was or not.
She could barely feel her legs and her head was pounding.
“Your friend has swallowed too much water. My man here is attempting to revive him,” he said, and she could see a soldier pushing on Cameron’s chest while he held his head up with his open mouth facing the ground. Water was gushing from it onto the sand.
“He is very green in color, my Lady. We will do our best, but he does not look well,” the voice said.
She sat up a little herself and realized that she was being carried down the beach now with Cameron by her side in the soldier’s arms as well.
“He is breathing well,” the soldier said. “He will live,” he repeated to the one who had resuscitated him.
“Where are we?” Filaree asked the one giving the orders.
“In Pardatha, my Lady. You washed up on the shore and our scouts spotted your group. Your horses are yonder, over there,” he pointed somewhere ahead of them.
Filaree remembered very little until the same soldier whose words she first awoke to said, as he pointed to the buildings that were coming into sight ahead, “We will be within the city walls shortly, my Lady. You can relax. You are safe for now.”
She liked not the way he said ‘for now’, but she was too tired to question the meaning thereof. She simply smiled as best as she could and expressed her gratefulness in her weakened state. The guard spoke once more and his voice resounded in her head. “Lord Baladar has been expecting you, and he has asked me to bring you to him at his headquarters on the mount as soon as you are able,” he answered.
“Thank you, thank you. But, we must rest a bit first. I am so pleased to be here at last,” she exclaimed, not comprehending what the guard really said. “Tell your good Lord that Filaree Par D’Avalain and her friend and companion, Cameron D’Ademar are at his service,” she said with enthusiasm, however low in volume. “And that we will be pleased to join him as soon as we are able. Is Cameron breathing steadily now?” she asked with real concern.
“Yes, my Lady, but he does not appear to be well. His breath is strong, but his skin is pallid and sickly looking,” the leader of the guards answered.
“He has been through much in the past few days. He needs to rest. If there is a healer who can provide him with a cup of Lalas leaf tea, I would be eternally grateful?” Filaree asked.
“I will do my best to see that your request is carried out,” the soldier said.
Filaree knew that Cameron’s color had nothing to do with their travails upon the lake. He had been suffering for quite some time now and the longer he remained untreated, the more dangerous his situation became.
“Please, good man, find him a healer quickly,” she said earnestly. “And tell her that we just came from the Winding Woods! The healer must know that. It is vital that she know that!” Filaree insisted.
“Yes, Lady, at once!” he responded, recognizing the urgency in her voice.
She could hear him directing a runner to the castle’s infirmary in order to inform them that a healer would be required immediately.
“Go with speed!” she listened to him say.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Filaree said again and then she let her head relax upon the stretcher for the first time since she was placed there.
The soldiers carried them through the massive gates and down the main thoroughfare to the castle itself. She could see activity all around her, soldiers marching, livestock braying and scurrying around, wooden platforms being erected, and horses and tents and weapons everywhere!
“Sir? Can you tell me what is happening here? This is not the serene city I remember,” she asked her attendant, surprised at the goings on.
“You do not know, Lady Filaree?” he questioned, startled by her inquiry.
“I certainly do not! We have been traveling for quite some days and we were well out of touch,” she answered.
“The city prepares for war, my Lady! The Dark Lord marches upon us with a great force behind him, even as we speak!” he said dramatically.
Filaree laid her head back down, stunned by the news.
So soon
, she thought.
The Evil One hopes to capture the boy before he is ready, before we have had an opportunity to train him. Colton wastes no time when he perceives that he is threatened
, Filaree pondered, as they carried her into the courtyard of Baladar’s castle.
This boy must be very powerful to move the Dark Lord to war so shortly after his arrival here
, she concluded.
Filaree bathed and refreshed herself, changed her clothes and then immediately inquired after Cameron. She was told that he was taken to the castle’s healer, Ismaya, Baladar’s own, and that she was welcome to visit him anytime. She wasted not a moment in requesting an escort down the long hall to the infirmaries. The guard knocked upon the door and a small, dark skinned woman opened it.
“Ah, the Lady Filaree,” she said as she spotted the tall, female warrior at the entrance. “Come in. You will be pleased with what you will see,” the old lady said, smiling and nodding her head satisfied.
Filaree saw Cameron sitting up in bed with a nurse along side of him feeding him a porridge of some sort from a spoon. His skin color was back to normal and he greeted her with a smile that spread from ear to ear. Filaree rushed to his side and grabbed his hand, almost upsetting the food tray in her enthusiasm.
“You are well, Cameron!” she exclaimed. “I was so worried. I thought you might be joining Pembar for a moment there,” she said seriously.
“Your instincts were accurate, Lady Filaree,” Ismaya said. “His blood was saturated with that of the trees. A strong brew of Lalas tea was what he required. The trees meant no harm to him. They only wanted him for their own. They recognized a good man when they saw him!” she joked.
Filaree tenderly laid her hand upon his brow. Cameron visibly reddened from her touch, but he looked pleased nonetheless.
“When the Lalas tea had a chance to spread through his veins, the venom, or should I say the serum, retreated in its face. He will be just fine now. But, had he not been treated, his blood would have been saturated past the point of repair. Do you see what accumulated on his bandages over there?” she asked, pointing to some soiled cloth that she had removed from a superficial wound on his leg.
Filaree looked in shock at the bright green liquid that permeated the material. It appeared to her as if she had taken a fresh green reed, broken it and then allowed the juice of the plant to drip onto the cloth.
“That was what his blood looked like?” she inquired, shocked by what she saw.
“Yes, it was. But, no longer. He is as well as ever. They do say that once the trees have entered your system, you are never quite the same again,” Ismaya remarked, and Cameron’s head turned swiftly in her direction. There was a clear look of consternation upon his pale and handsome countenance.
“Oh, not in a bad way,” she explained as she saw the dismayed looks on both Cameron’s and Filaree’s faces. “It is said that trees of the Winding Woods develop their own relationships, much like the Lalas and their Chosen, although not in as sophisticated a manner. They do not choose just anyone to join them,” she said, with her eyebrows raised while glancing at Cameron. “But, you will probably find that out for yourself at some point in time. I only speak from what I have heard,” she concluded, feigning an ignorance of the matter that neither Cameron nor Filaree fully believed.
“Thank you, Ismaya. Whatever you did, he and I are both grateful. How soon before he can rise from his bed? I would like him to accompany me when I meet with Lord Baladar later,” the maiden inquired.
“He is fine! I told you that. He can go with you whenever you like. It is entirely up to him. I know you are both fatigued, but you can rest later if important matters need your immediate attention. It will not harm him,” she responded.
“Well then, Cameron? Are you ready to join me?” Filaree asked.
“I am, my Lady,” he answered and then he rose abruptly from the cot, tossing the covers onto the floor, only to realize that he was not fully and properly dressed. He grabbed at the blanket to cover himself in front of the women and Filaree smiled as Cameron blushed a deep, deep crimson.
“From green to red, Cameron!” she exclaimed laughing. “When you return to your true color, please attend me in the hall,” Filaree said, and she turned and left the room with a grin on her face that spread from ear to ear.