Knights of Aralia Book II: Evil Rising

Chapter IV: Departure (Part I)

The next day came with birds soaring high and hopeful prospects for the two expeditions: one headed for Hengoroth and the other for the distant shores of the Far South. Both missions were of vital importance, and the winds indicated that both would be off to a flying start. Fordain and Evander had arrived slightly ahead of the others, having paid an early morning visit to the Aralian bathhouse, and so had everything loaded on board the ship with time to spare. As they paced the waterfront awaiting the rest of their party, Evander suddenly stopped.

“Oy! Look who it is.”

He pointed toward the curious spectacle of Lord Pélégor walking briskly along the waterfront. Trailing behind him as usual was his loyal helper Norgil, whom he hoped to take on as his understudy.

Every Council member of Aralia had the right to take on an understudy, whom he would train to take his place on the Council in his absence—with the rest of the Council’s approval, of course. Fordain had met Norgil once, and did not get the impression that he was all that bright. That someone so seemingly incompetent would ever be allowed to partake in the Council seemed highly unlikely, yet Pélégor insisted on dragging him around everywhere nonetheless. It was just one more mark against the Daglandic knight in Fordain’s book.

“What a strange pair they are,” remarked Evander. “Why would Pélégor want such a foolish understudy as Norgil, any’ow?”

“I don’t know, mate. I suppose he just wants someone that’ll do what he says without making much of a fuss.”

They continued watching as Pélégor spoke to the captain of one of the ships with curt hand gestures, indicating his impatience. The captain nodded a couple of times wearily, then accepted some sort of parcel from him, saluted, and took off for his ship as quickly as he could. Pélégor turned away sharply and continued past the docks, Norgil following obediently.

“Cor! ‘Ere ‘e comes!”

To Fordain’s surprise and horror, the duo was making straight for him and Evander. The latter had conveniently positioned himself a little behind Fordain, leaving him exposed. It was already too late to turn away and pretend he hadn’t noticed them, so he braced himself for the awkward exchange that was no doubt to come.

Lord Pélégor stopped abruptly before him and smiled one of those chilling smiles of his.

“Well well, Lieutenant, off on your first mission already. I wish you well, young knights.”

He offered his hand to Fordain, who hesitantly shook it and replied, “Thank you, sir.”

“I do look forward to receiving your first report from the mainland. No doubt you’ll find some interesting happenings there.”

“With any luck, sir, there won’t be anything too exciting happening yet.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” said Pélégor. “We wouldn’t want you getting caught up in anything too big to handle, now would we?” He chuckled.

“I’ve no fear for myself, sir. Only for the future of the West.”

“Yes, of course,” said Pélégor with another smirk. “Well, I leave you to your duties then, just as we must attend to ours.” He turned to his lackey. “Come, Norgil.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Norgil with a compliant bow, and they were off again in the direction of the Tower.

“Now what doest s’pose that was about?” asked Evander.

“I’m sure I’ve no idea.”

Fordain watched them go in genuine wonder. It was hardly in Pélégor’s character to be so sociable. He wanted to believe the knight was being sincere, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Either way it made him uneasy, and he tried to erase it from his mind as the rest of their friends approached.

“What did he want?” asked Dèscar.

“To wish us well, apparently,” replied Fordain. “At any rate, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be rushing for South Point with Lord Tullius’s lot?”

“Tullius had some last-minute business with the Council. We thought we’d take the opportunity to say a proper goodbye to the rest of you for now. May both our voyages come to gratifying conclusions, whatever those may be.”

“Good luck, Dèscar. With the wind at our backs, I suppose we’ll be seeing each other again in a month or so.”

“I certainly hope so,” replied the Cairagan. He looked out to sea, then back to his friend. “Well, until then, look after yourself.” He made a parting salute and walked off. His place was soon taken by Lampolo and Julius.

“Feels good to be off to sea again,” spoke the latter, sniffing the salty air. “It’s been a while, I must say, eh Lamp?”

“Sure has,” concurred the younger brother. “Anyway, we’ll have plenty of it on the way down there, long as the journey is. Should be quite an adventure, though likely not as thrillin’ as yours, Fordain.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Ours is a simple diplomatic mission from what I can tell. I don’t think it will be all that exciting, especially if this war fails to develop as expected.”

“Either way, I reckon it’ll be a long time afore we meets again,” said Julius. “You’ll beat us back here though, I reckon.”

“Too bad, that,” said Lampolo with a sigh. “Wish we were all off together, just like the old days. Ah, well. Can’t be ‘elped. See ya’ round, mate!” Thus, with a wave and a quick embrace from Lampolo, they too were off. Gone to join Dèscar in their quest to see Lord Tullius safely installed as commander in the Far South.

Fordain sighed. Theo had bid his adieux the night before, and so would not be stopping by again. He cast one final look at his departing companions before turning his thoughts toward his own mission, which lay to the north. He would miss the charming effervescence of the two brothers on this one, as well as the stoic companionship of Dèscar. But he would simply have to make do. The knights he had left were counting on him to bring them through, and he had no intention of letting them down.

The ship left the docks shortly thereafter, severing the very last physical link any of them would have with Aralia for a long time to come. They soon drifted past the lighthouse on Lone Isle, which marked the northernmost reaches of Aralia, and out into the open Sea of Alenius. Fordain watched his adopted home grow smaller and smaller on the horizon as he fiddled about with the trusty sling he had carried around since before coming to Aralia and fell into reminiscing.

His father had taught him and his brother how to make and use a sling when he was very young, and though his father could have no doubt made one much better, he nevertheless treasured this one. For he had fashioned it himself out of some scrap leather from the ruins of his village, making it one of the few remaining tangible ties he had with his former life. And it had more than once come in handy in battles and contests alike. It might not match the range of a bow, but it suited him to a tee.

He looked up to find that Aralia had become a mere speck in the distance. He watched until it disappeared entirely from view. Then they were alone on the wide blue-green sea.

It was not a particularly memorable journey. The sea remained calm, and while some clouds hinted at a storm later in the day, the morning remained undisturbed. All the Aralians could do was tend their horses and speculate about what they imagined the overland journey would be like, as well as what they might encounter along the way. It was pure guesswork, of course. None of them really knew what awaited them on the mainland, nor how high their odds of running into the rumoured Aylarine war bands were. Three of their number had never even been to Hengoroth. And even those who had grown up there had not seen its shores for some time. Things had changed in the last couple years, and there was no telling what might come about on their journey into the unknown. Still, there was no fear in their minds: only wonder.

By the eve of the second day, they had come within sight of land—the eastern shore of Hengoroth. They drifted along the coast a while until they came to a bustling port city called Halferon. Here they landed and took up residence for the night. They did not bother to stay at an inn, but remained on board the vessel before setting off the next morning.

After a decent night’s rest, the horses were unloaded, as well as the supplies for the overland journey, which the party hoped to restock at a few points along the way. Then, with everything ready, they bad goodbye to their ship and her crew. After this last parting, the seven young knights set off down the road north toward the Elder’s Tower, which lay many miles and many days away near the southern fork of the Great River.

They avoided using any of the supposedly contested main roads, as advised by Lord Elezier. Not that there were many major routes to avoid: the Draga were not as fond of roadbuilding as their Imperial allies. This made for a longer journey, but in several ways a more pleasant one. On this circuitous path they were able to see more of the countryside and the glimpses of traditional rural Drakonic life it offered. There were quaint farmhouses of wood and thatch, a few very traditional homesteads built of stone to resemble caves, and fields full of animals or crops tended by unclothed farmhands. Most were Draga, but a few were Human, and all looked upon the riders with some degree of suspicion or fear as they passed. Occasionally an exuberant hatchling would approach the knights full of wonder, but they were immediately hauled back by their elders until the armed strangers were long past.

“Why do they recoil?” asked Evander. “We’re not Aylar.”

“It appears that strangers of any sort are not a welcome sight here these days,” said Morgan.

“Can you blame them?” spoke Fordain. “The Westerveld has been hit harder than any other region by the raids.”

“Where are Hengoroth’s armies when they’re needed?” asked Béragon bitterly. “What do the people pay them for if not to defend their lives and property?”

“Haven’t you heard, brother?” explained Wavae. “The Draga have decided they don’t need an army if they ignore the rest of the world.”

“I think it has more to do with the fact that they can’t patrol such a large area with so few cavalry,” explained Morgan. “But yes, that is a factor too.”

“That was their excuse two years ago,” muttered Béragon bitterly, referring to the time when his family’s ancestral estate had been destroyed during an uprising of labourers. The homestead lay about a hundred miles to the northeast, in fact. It was all char and rubble now, of course, and would hardly be worth a visit even if it were on their route. Béragon and Wavae did rather regret the fact that the home of Darion Drakozier, a kindly old Draga veteran who had been to them what Lord Maritius had been to the rest, was not on their road either. But, perhaps on the way back they could stop by if there was time. Setting all such wistful musings aside, they continued northward across the plain.

As the day came to a close, Elagor paused to examine some ruins in the distance.

“Odd bit of work there. What do you suppose it was?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Fordain, squinting to make it out better. “A fortress of some kind?”

“Too small,” remarked Béragon. “But too big to be an outpost either.”

“Who says it’s anything to do with war?” inquired Ingred.

“No one, yet,” answered Fordain. “But it looks like our road is curving towards it, so we may get a closer look.”

And so they did.

Soon enough, the road they were on passed by a hill to the left and a smaller trail leading in the direction of the old structure on the right. They stopped at the trail fork, and Fordain motioned toward the hill.

“It’s getting late. I think we should fetch up there for the night. It’ll give us a better view of our surroundings, and we can tie our mounts to the trees on top.”

“Fine by me,” said Béragon. “I’m saddle sore from all this riding.”

“Still, someone ought to take a look at those ruins and make sure there aren’t any Aylar holed up inside.”

“Good idea,” Béragon concurred. “Why don’t you and a couple others go scout them out?”

Fordain was silent for a moment. Though he had intended to volunteer for the task himself anyway, it struck him as just a bit off that Béragon should be the one to make the suggestion. Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement.

“Right. Ingred and Wavae, you two come with me.”

“What?” whined Wavae. “I’m just as saddle sore as Béragon. Care to see my blisters?”

“It’s not that far, and it shouldn’t take long to search. We won’t be more than half an hour.”

“All right,” said Elagor. “But if we haven’t spotted you by then, we’re going in after you.”

“Agreed,” said Morgan.

Fordain gave a sign of approval, and they parted ways. He and his companions trotted over to the ancient, roofless structure. The ivy-strewn grey stone appeared singularly out of place amidst the grassy green fields and hills of Hengoroth. They dismounted in front of the partially intact arched doorway. It was wide enough for two doors to have been attached at one time, and they led the horses through.

The floors were paved with stone, though grasses had taken root in the cracks. To either side stood a row of three thin, ruined columns, and they tied their mounts to the more substantial ones. Beyond this room was another, much broader chamber with even bigger columns lining the sides.

“This doesn’t look like any outpost I’ve ever seen,” remarked Wavae, noting the little alcoves along the walls.

“It’s not,” said Ingred, approaching one alcove. “I think it’s a sanctuary.”

“A sanctuary?” repeated Wavae with uncertainty. “You mean like one of those places where monks gather together to contemplate the Arden?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“But they’re supposed to be sacred, aren’t they? Who would tear it down?”

“Don’t you remember what father told us about the Drakonic Civil War?”

“He told us an awful lot.”

“He said that there was strife among some sects for a long time in Hengoroth. Divergents and Unitarians, he called them. I can’t remember the whole tale, but I know it became very bitter. It was one of the causes of the war, if I’m not mistaken.” She paused and cast her gaze around the desolate interior in the fading light from above. “It seems even holy places were not safe from their embittered zealotry.”

“Then let’s be glad such times are behind us,” said Fordain, who had never heard of Unitarians or Divergents, much less their rivalry. “I think it’s safe to say there’s no one about, probably not for years. But we’d best do one quick circuit before we head back.”

Other than a couple of lizards making homes in the grass, nothing caught their eye in any of the side chambers or corridors during their quick search. Whatever items of value these chambers might have held once had long since fallen prey to treasure hunters. They were more than pleased to get on their horses and leave, abandoning the dusty old rubble to its fate as a feast for the forces of nature and time.

On their return, the others were naturally curious, but Fordain’s simple statement that “There’s naught of interest to see down there,” followed by Wavae’s inquiry about “What’s cooking?” stymied any further questions.

During that first night in Hengoroth, they slept under the stars of an open night sky with Elagor taking the first watch in case of danger. It was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. He thought back to that time when he was very young living to the west of here with a family of Draga. It was they who had given him his sword, his bow, and his surname Vos. He had lain under many a night sky like this in those days, usually in the company of the family’s eldest son Drakor, who was the same age as he and rather like a brother to him. He had spent many nights since then out in nature, of course, but they had been much more lonesome without someone to talk to. Now, with the others asleep, his mind drifted back to those days of his youth long before Aralia, and he wondered for a good long while just what might have become of that family he had once called his own.

He was lucky, really. Every one of his companions had lost their parents in one tragic manner or another. He was the only one who had left his home in search of adventure by choice. And on this glorious night upon the open plains of the Westerveld, he was glad he had.

They made good progress the second morning. A feeling of confidence filled them, even as a light spring rain made some raise their hoods. It stopped around midday, as did the knights. They ate a quick lunch and rested for a bit, then prepared to mount up and continue. Just as Fordain was about to hop into the saddle, however, he heard Elagor speak in a low voice beside him.

“Fordain.”

“What is it?”

“Try not to look conspicuous, but can you see up to that ridgeline over there?”

Fordain pretended to adjust something on his saddle as he looked.

“Not well, but yes.”

“Then you’re probably not the one to ask.”

“Ask what?”

“If you’ve seen what I just saw.”

“And what’s that?” Fordain suddenly grew very serious.

“I think there was someone watching us from up there not a moment ago.”

“Friend or foe?”

“I don’t know. Just thought you ought to be aware. Could’ve just been some farmers, but they didn’t look like Draga to me either way.”

Fordain looked again toward the ridgeline as naturally as possible, but he saw no one there.

“Well, keep an eye out. We’re going to have it at our flank for a little while yet.”

“Aye. Will do.”

So, the two mounted up and continued alongside their companions. Fordain tried to avoid constantly surveying the ridgeline, but he couldn’t help looking now and then. For a couple hours more they rode on, eventually leaving the ridge in question far behind without incident. Fordain felt some relief at first, then Wavae remarked aloud, “Did you see that?”