“Yes indeed, you did. Our new friends were of great help in closing the Noban gates. One was damaged in the battle and we could not budge it. Their arrival was quite serendipitous,” Baladar remarked.
“How long must I wait to be introduced then, so that I can offer my gratitude as well?” he asked, extending his gaze toward the three newcomers. “I am Robyn dar Tamarand, Chosen of Promanthea. It is my pleasure to meet you,” he said, as he reached his open hand to Cairn, the eldest and closest of the group, and then to Tomas and Preston in turn.
“I am Cairn of Thermaye, teacher, this is Preston of the Thorndar Dwarves, and this is Tomas, Chosen of Ormachon, the heir of Gwendolen,” he said portentously, introducing him in this fashion for the first time.
“Brother to the heir, you meant to say, I believe,” Baladar interrupted.
“No, Lord Baladar. I said exactly what I meant to say. Tomas is the elder, if only by minutes. He is the true heir,” Cairn replied boldly.
“Is this true, Tomas? How can this be? Are you certain?” he asked.
“I was raised by Trevor and Safira, and they told me of my birthright. Ormachon has reinforced that knowledge in his own way. But, as there is no Gwendolen any longer, there is no longer a crown to be worn. I would prefer just being called Tomas’, if no one objects. I never knew my real mother and father, although I knew of them always. But, I do believe that my brother, Davmiran as you call him, would have been the one to assume the throne, not me,” Tomas said humbly.
Robyn addressed the group.
“A Chosen never lies, as you all know, so we will no longer need to question the statements just made. This young man is correct, regardless, in his assessments. We need not settle issues regarding the ascension at this moment. We have other more pressing matters to deal with,” Robyn pressed, wishing to reserve these deliberations for another, more private opportunity.
“I would not normally question a Chosen under any other circumstances, Robyn…” Baladar began, “… but this subject concerns us all here, nay, everyone, everywhere so deeply that to avoid suspicion and doubt, I feel compelled to ask for more information. Forgive me, Robyn. Forgive me Tomas. I mean no disrespect. I do not doubt your words, but what proof do we have. The only ones present at the birth are dead. We cannot afford to win a war and then find ourselves confronted by a divided countryside. I apologize for dwelling upon these issues, but I was entrusted with the job of educating and training the ‘heir of Gwendolen’, and I must know just what I am to do now,” he remarked, though he had to admit that he was mesmerized by the boy’s gaze.
If he did not believe he had an obligation to ask these difficult questions, he would not have. Sitting beside this beautiful boy, Baladar disliked the role he assumed, and it felt wrong to doubt his words. He was emotionally and physically moved by his very presence. The boy radiated power and a wholesome, healthy essence. Being in his presence made him feel alive and rejuvenated. He wanted so much to believe everything he was being told.
“The Tomes of Caradon allude to what could be interpreted to be two rings, one gold and one silver. They speak ambiguously about the heir, and they are characteristically unclear and obscure in their way. If there are two rings, then perhaps there are two heirs,” Mistress Marna said.
Cairn was not disturbed by the council’s reluctance to immediately accept the truth of the words he spoke. These were such important matters, that it was their responsibility to question everyone and everything. Rather than being upset, he was smiling slightly as he looked at Tomas.
“I think Mistress Marna has made a valid point,” Cairn commented, and Baladar nodded his head in agreement. “The purpose of my trip here was to educate the heir. And you, Filaree, and you Robyn, were also summoned in order to educate and teach the heir. Can we not do that whether there are two heirs or one? Need we even answer all of these questions here and now?” Cairn asked.
“He may be right. Perhaps there can be two. In fact, there have been Kingdoms ruled by twins before,” Pertar remarked.
Tomas was sitting and listening to all of this, and he understood the concerns of the councilors as well as Cairn did. It did not disturb him at all. Robyn seemed to be more defensive than even Tomas himself was.
“The Tomes have always been obscure. It has been left to us to interpret them. Two rings or one ring that changes color? No one had been able to determine the answer to that. Tomas? Can you enlighten us?” Robyn asked.
The young boy slipped his graceful hand inside his tunic and removed a silver ring that shone with the intensity of the sun.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” he asked, wide-eyed. “This is the ring of which you speak. And Baladar has its twin, the golden one. I am, you have said, identical to my brother in all obvious aspects of my appearance, yet my eyes are green and his are blue. These two rings…” he pulled the chain over his head and placed it on the table before him “… are identical, despite their color.”
Baladar too, removed the ring he held from around his neck, and then he walked to Tomas’ side and placed it next to the other one on the thick, stone slab. They were as similar as two separate objects could be, and Tomas’ comments were finding interested ears.
“Robyn? Please look at them with your own eyes and tell us all if you see any differences between the two other than the color,” Tomas requested.
Robyn lifted them both, placing one in each palm, and then he examined them closely. The inscriptions inside were as identical as possible. The weight, the size and the width were all the same.
“Twins, they are!” he concluded, and he put them back down on the table.
“Your point is well taken, Tomas,” Baladar remarked, satisfied and greatly relieved. “I am convinced!” Baladar said decidedly. “If you, Tomas, tell me that you believe that you and your brother both share equally the birthright of the Gwendolen’s, then I will accept your word for it and I will speak of this no more,” he said, and the others all vigorously nodded their agreement.
“Baladar, members of the council,” Tomas addressed the table. “I have always known who I was and where I came from. And I knew that I was not like the other children with whom I came into contact. My aunt and uncle never concealed the truth from me, but they were never comfortable talking to me about my future. Ormachon taught me other things, but he too was vague and secretive regarding what life had in store for me. I have felt my brother’s presence every day of my life, and I feel now as if I have known him forever. I would give my life for his, without hesitating. My love for him is as great as any love I know,” Tomas said compellingly, moving one or two of the assembly to tears.
“You need not fear that he and I will ever disagree. We were born of the same purpose and we share in the same power. I am hopeful that his teachers can help him to fulfill his destiny,” he said, looking intensely at the three travelers. “I will aid them in any way that I can. And perhaps they can aid me as well. There is much I do not know,” Tomas said with such tenderness and feeling, that no one could possibly doubt his sincerity.
Filaree pounded her fist upon the table.
“Well spoken, Tomas. We need have no further discussions about this matter now. We could neither add to nor enhance your eloquence,” she said and bowed her head. “Gentlemen and ladies, if you will, can we now get back to the urgent situation at hand? We have a war to win!” she concluded, as the group sat reassured and ready to plan its next move.
Chapter Fifty-two
The Trolls had become increasingly more aggressive during the past few hours, sending forays of armored soldiers to the wall where the missiles were relentlessly pounding away. They were protected by other Trolls in tough leather armor, who held panels of protective shielding above them. When they reached the walls, they used picks and hooks to gouge the stones loose from the foundation.
The constant pummeling by the rocks was having its effect, and the thick wall was wearing down in the one area that the Trolls focused so intensely upon. The defenders were able to scatter the enemy time after time, but as soon as they retreated, the big catapults began to fire their projectiles once again. It was a never ending cycle and Grogan was unsure what was doing the most damage at this point.
Originally, he had almost welcomed the Trolls and their picks, thinking it was the better alternative, but when he saw how easily they seemed to remove the loose stones from the barraged walls, his opinion changed. The wall was giving way and he seemed unable to prevent it. As each of the fires in the city was brought under control one by one, it was only a matter of moments before a new conflagration flared up. This unremitting bombardment was wearing everyone out, and even though they were barely fighting, the effort to extinguish the numerous fires and to deflect the constant battery of stones and shafts, so soon after an exhausting battle, was almost too much to maintain.
Baladar rode down to the gates with Filaree, Cairn and Robyn at his side. Tomas and Preston remained behind with Elion so that they could talk and so that Tomas could learn more about his brother from the young Elf who was the last to have seen him. On their way to the battlements, the amount of damage they saw the city had sustained shocked them. Fires burnt everywhere, and the townsfolk were running from here to there, passing water in chains and dousing whatever they could. Some of the buildings were already burned to the ground, while others were beyond saving and were being left to burn out by themselves.
“Our stock of water must be running low. The wells are not limitless,” Baladar noted with concern.
“Have we no means of replenishing the supply?” Filaree inquired.
“It will do so by itself in time, Lady, but we must begin to ration it now before it runs out. I will instruct the city master to organize a plan to restrict any unnecessary use,” he responded, making one of numerous mental notes as he rode.
As the four of them drew closer to the gates, they heard the incessant pounding and they saw the heavy, stone projectiles arch through the air as they flew toward the city.
“The situation is far worse than I expected, Baladar,” Robyn commented while scanning the area. “The gates remain intact, though,” he noticed with a thankfull sigh.
“Thanks to Tomas and good timing,” Cairn said.
“Thanks to you too, Cairn!” Filaree interjected.
“We have only a few more hours of daylight. When night comes, it will be even harder to impede their progress. We can barely stop them now!” Baladar commented, observing the worsening situation as they neared the front.
The Lord of Pardatha was shocked by the carnage he witnessed. It occurred so quickly and it was so extensive that he feared the coming hours. He saw the dead and the dying everywhere, victims of both the fires and the deadly missiles dropping out of the skies. He was determined to find a way to stop this bloodshed and to end the fighting.
“The condition is far graver than I suspected, friends,” Robyn said. “If this continues unabated, either the city will be a mass of charred ruins, or the walls will crumble upon us… or both!” he reasoned.
“Is there nothing you can do to aid us this time?” Baladar inquired, agitated and desperate.
“I only wish that there was. Without my full strength, anything I attempted to do could hurt us as easily as it could help. I am not presently strong enough to control the power. My senses are not receptive now. An incursion of force such as I experienced before has left me numb somewhat still. I am afraid this will last for a while. It would be reckless and irresponsible for me to try now, though I am tempted nonetheless,” Robyn replied. “It is possible that my efforts would aide the enemy more than they would help us. I cannot take that risk,” he concluded reluctantly.
“I cannot simply watch as my people die and the city is reduced to ruin! There must be something we can do,” Baladar lamented, growing more and more worried as they rode on.
“These invaders are possessed by the same evil that drives Colton dar Agonthea. They cannot distinguish good from bad and right from wrong. The only thing that they will respond to is fear. Pain will not even deter them from their path. Their master drives them ceaselessly toward the void, and he promises them freedom when they reach it. They are blinded by his vision,” Cairn commented.
“Each missile strike emboldens them. Each fire that breaks out gives them more courage. They see that we are suffering and they believe that we are helpless to prevent it. They can taste victory and it is driving them wild!” Filaree remarked.
Baladar listened intently to what Robyn, Cairn and Filaree had all just said. He agreed with them in their assessments, and a plan began to take shape in his mind. He was so saddened and frustrated by how seriously damaged the city was and by how many good citizens had lost their lives already, that he could barely look upon the havoc any longer. It broke his heart and devastated his soul.
As he wandered the rubble strewn streets, he felt impotent and helpless. Women and children too were falling under the weight of the stones and succumbing to the rampant fires. This battle would spare no one. He dared not contemplate what a total breach of the walls would unleash upon the innocent citizens of Pardatha. Baladar looked from side to side as if in a dream, powerless to aid the suffering, and a little part of him died with each tragedy he was forced to pass by.
He thought of his wife, of Briland, and of how much this city meant to her, how fully and totally she loved the people of Pardatha and he could not bear witnessing the havoc and waste for another moment. The beauty she had helped to create was being systematically decimated, and Baladar began to see the assault on his adored city as an assault on the very memory of Briland herself. He had to stop it somehow!
They had all reached the gates by this time and they dismounted, ready to ascend the battlements and to survey the plains below. Filaree, Robyn and Cairn stood by the horses, talking in a small group.
“You said something a moment ago that might help us,” Robyn blurted out, gaining their attention immediately. “You said that the only thing that they respond to is fear. If we can frighten them, if we can determine a way to undermine their confidence and to raise the specter of doubt in their minds, perhaps we can at least stop their advance. Fear motivates them more than most anything else,” he concluded.
“Without the guidance of the Dark Lord, they will be vulnerable,” Cairn agreed.
“What weapons have we in Pardatha that can have such an effect?” Filaree inquired, shaking her head.
Cairn, Robyn and Filaree were so deep in conversation that they did not notice Baladar as he slipped away. Rather than climbing the battlements to survey the battlefield, he discretely walked toward the shelter of the gate house, scurrying inside before anyone saw where he went. He was confident that the group he left behind would do whatever they could, even in his absence.
Baladar was growing more and more disturbed by the developing situations around him. He knew that there was little he could do from within the city walls, and he was not going to send any more of his soldiers to a certain death outside the gates. The mountain Trolls had planned their attack very well, and these powerful shooting machines that they must have carted all the way from the northern hills at great physical expense, were neither anticipated nor easy to defend against.
He had underestimated the strength of this enemy, thinking that once they had stopped Colton himself, if only temporarily, they would have a respite from the tragedy of war. He miscalculated, and in his exuberance over their previous victory, he convinced himself that he neglected to keep a vigilant enough watch, and therefore he blamed himself. Now, citizens of his city were dying and there was no positive end in sight.
If he could sneak out of the city unseen and covertly make his way to Everclear, then he could try to enlist the aid of Calista, the Lady of the Island. Surely she would understand his need and the need of his people, and perhaps she could help in some way. The last time that he visited her, he was filled with great hope and expectation. The young heir was beneath his roof and he had summoned those who would begin the process of educating him and training him. Now the situation was quite different, and he refused to allow himself to despair before he attempted all that he could to help his people.
Calista was his one, last hope. He declined to accept her final admonition to him not to return the last time he left her. Baladar believed in his heart that she would allow him entry onto the island, that this noble woman would not refuse his plea. His entreaty was based upon dire need, and he believed that she could not but understand that and respond. Calista appeared to him to be the only source of light capable of blotting out the darkness that now mortally threatened the very future of Pardatha.
He perceived the golden ring, hot beneath his shirt, as if it was speaking to him in a language he did not understand. So much had occurred these past few days that it was hard to absorb it all. He felt at times as if he was riding a wave on the ocean of life that was growing with each passing moment, gaining in size and strength, knowing that he was but a passenger, subject to its building and breaking. He needed now to take action in order to assist his people, and he could not allow himself to simply be tossed and turned aimlessly upon the waters.
He could sit no longer in the city and watch as it slowly crumbled, dashing the hopes and prayers of every good and decent living being as it fell to pieces. If there was any chance of halting the enemy’s progress, he had to grasp for it now. It was his responsibility!
How I wish Briland were here to help guide me on this difficult path
, he thought as he hastened down the dark corridor.
No one saw him as he donned a plain, grey cloak he found amongst the guard’s belongings. His dagger was at his belt, and he raised the simple hood over his head, concealing his features. He could not ride out of the city from this place, as his movement would surely be noticed. But Baladar knew more about Pardatha than anyone, and he remembered how Briland would sneak out to commune with Snihso, her tree, whenever she could not use the Noban gates for one reason or another.
He had to double back on his previous path toward the stock yards, northeast of the city. There, he remembered a small tunnel that opened to the outside from within a shrine that had been out of use for tiels. His wife, Briland, had used this hidden portal to surreptitiously exit from the city if the need arose. He had accompanied his wife through this passageway once, on a beautiful, star filled evening, and he remembered fondly how they emerged from the tunnel arm in arm, the brilliant canopy above lighting their way, and walked together to the clearing where Snihso grew. He remembered watching her that evening as she climbed into the arms of the tree she loved so dearly.
She was so beautiful, he recalled, her image vivid in his mind’s eye. She had always wanted him to understand, as best as one who was not chosen could, the relationship she had with her tree, and she pleaded with him to join her at times, even if it meant that he just sat in the background and watched or read or thought. Briland was so concerned that he not be jealous of Snihso and that the three of them live in harmony as much as that was possible. Her tree seemed to understand, and it allowed for this singular relationship, this sharing, to continue, something which was so unusual for a Lalas, knowing in its own intuitive way that the bond of love between Briland and Baladar was a very special one.
These memories flashed through his mind as he made his way to the old building that housed the ancient, out of use shrine. The people were rushing back and forth, some panic-stricken, some determined, yet all looking to help as best as they could nevertheless. He brushed past them all, his head bowed and his features concealed, until he found the isolated, abandoned building that he sought. After he discreetly entered through the decayed doorway, he moved quickly to the back of the room and pushed a dust strewn table and a broken and discarded statuette out of the way. A worn tapestry hung from one corner on the wall behind the abandoned podium and he walked toward it. A mouse scurried across the floor, leaving a long, thin trail in the dust, but Baladar barely noticed it, caught between his determination and reverie. He reached for the cloth and anxiously pushed it to the side, looking for the area in the wall upon which he had to press to release the latch. The particles clouded the air from the worn ornament and he fanned his hand in order to see.
Baladar ran his fingers down the rough wall, feeling for the slight indentation that he sought. When he found it, he depressed it slightly and the doorway revealed itself. He needed to put all of his weight against it in order for it to give way, as the hinges were rusted and old and it had not been used for so long. It creaked open and a gust of damp, musty air wafted over him.
When he was safely inside the tunnel, he reached to the left, remembering the hollow in the wall where Briland always kept an unused torch in the event she forgot to carry one with her. He smiled a sad smile as his fingers discovered what he had hoped they would, and he struck a small flint he had in his pocket against the stone wall and lit the light. The dry cloth burst into flame and then settled down to a deep, amber glow. Anxiously, he pushed the heavy door shut and walked down the pathway.
The tunnel lead directly under the thick wall of the city and eventually terminated in the woods beyond the plains. It would not take him too long to reach the end and he did not anticipate that anything would disturb his progress down here. He jogged carefully, as the years had deposited more debris upon the floor than had been there previously.