Knights of Aralia Book I: Remnants of Light

Chapter III-Conversations in the Moonlight

As he followed the old, half-overgrown dirt path, Fordain remained alert for any ambuscades that might be awaiting him. The Primus Emprius did not know he was coming after them, but they probably kept a watch posted anyway. More dangerous still were the Noronir tribes who were allied to them, which became more abundant the farther south he went. They knew the land as well as he, and would most assuredly report him if they spotted him. It would not do to start out his quest to rescue Amon by becoming a captive himself. And so he kept one sharp eye on the trees around him and another on the road scanning for tracks in the dirt.

They were not hard to follow, and each intersecting path brought with it more wheel ruts and hoof marks. It was as though they were converging from all over to form one large convoy. Or else several convoys had come this same way at some point in the past. He took to following the hoof prints as closely as he could with his own horse, just so that anyone following behind might not mark his presence separately from the others: an old scouting trick passed down from his grandfather, who had served in the Imperial cavalry long ago.

There were points where the trail led through a village, at which time Fordain had to make a wide arc around through the forest. Any Noronir villages left functioning in this region had to be completely loyal to the Primus Emprius, and thus had to be avoided at all costs.

Eventually he came to a larger, wider road running east-to-west that allowed for the passage of a sizable troop with relative ease. It had been laid by Imperial soldiers for quick movement across the land during the days of military conquest long ago. In the past fifty years it had become less used, except for the occasional patrol on its way to or from a faraway post on the Gathorian border. More recently, of course, it had become a highway for rebel forces.

After several hours of travel, Fordain felt a steady hunger gnawing at him which soon became impossible to ignore. It occurred to him then that he had not eaten anything since the middle of the previous day. Solus seemed content with travelling on, but posed no objection when Fordain chose to pause at the side of the road and dismount for a bit. He rummaged around in the satchel for something that might sate his appetite.

There was not a lot there—a bread loaf with the healthy texture of wood and a wedge of extremely aged cheese that he had found beneath the rubble of the local baker’s. But then, he supposed he had been lucky to find even that much in a thoroughly fire-scoured village. They were neither of them too bad once he had brushed the ash off of them. He supplemented them with some of the more durable vegetables from his family’s subsistence garden. Fortunately, he always had been a light eater. It was a pity he did not possess a bow, or else he would have tried his hand at hunting. Then again, a cooking fire would probably attract attention. So, he satisfied himself with his simple fare while Solus took to nibbling at the tall, weedy grasses that grew by the roadside. As soon as he had finished his modest repast, he mounted up and carried on.

By the time evening fell, he had not yet caught up to the caravan. Evidently they were capable of travelling faster than he’d thought, even with their heavy cargoes. So, as he had gone a whole day without much rest, he decided to fetch up in a little clearing just a short way off the main trail and sleep beneath the boughs and birds of the nighttime forest.

He started by tying Solus to a tree, then divested himself of the javelins. He kept his dagger close at hand as he lay back beneath a nearby tree and did his best to doze off. Tempting though it was, he once more decided not to light a campfire so as to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

It was kind of exciting, he had to admit, being out on the open road like this. He had run many miles in his brief career as tribal messenger, but always at the end of those runs he had turned around and come back to Rodinia. This time there would be no turning back. This time he was setting off on a true adventure that would bring him to paths unfamiliar to his feet or Solus’s hoofs.

It was the middle of spring, and all sorts of creatures were alive and frolicking under the constant vigil of the stars and moonlight, but it didn’t bother him too much. He had spent many nights beneath the open sky since his earliest days, and knew that nothing larger than a wolf roamed these woods. And even they were becoming scarce in this region. Besides, his trusty steed Solus would wake and alert him if anything came too near.

With that consoling thought, he said a prayer to the all-powerful Arden, to whom he and his people had always been fiercely devoted, then managed to settle into a decent night’s rest, ready to tackle whatever further challenges fortune might send his way.

The second day was spent in much the same way as the first: no sign of the Primus Emprius except for their horse and wagon tracks along the road, and infrequent stops throughout. Over the course of the pursuit, he also began to notice a steady, subtle change in the direction of the road. He did not at first feel it, but come evening, he noted that the sun was now setting directly behind him, and not a bit off to his right as before. They were on a course moving directly east. Wherever they were going, it was a long way from Rodinia.

Also making themselves apparent were the numerous insects flitting about in the cool damp of the woods. It had not rained for days now, yet somehow it was moist enough for the obnoxious creatures to swarm within the tiniest patch of shade. Occasionally he spotted one zip across his field of vision and made a motion to shoo it away, but for the most part his exposed skin was marred from the bites of largely invisible perpetrators. He remembered a woman in his village who used to concoct a special oil that would keep such pests away. He and Amon had used it on a number of forays into the woods as youngsters, and he wished with all his might that he could recall the formula now. Mud would always work, but it was far too dry for that at present. Fortunately, the bites were not constant, and after a couple of hours they tended to itch less. And throughout it all, he had his mission to divert his attention from the nuisance.

With the second day of pursuit coming to a close as the stars descended to earth, he was about to quit for the night when he heard a faint noise from up ahead. It was rather muffled and indistinct above the swaying of the leaves in the night breeze, but his excellent hearing picked it up. It could not simply be in his head. He decided to press on a little farther to investigate.

The sound grew louder and more distinct as he continued. Through the trees he began to see a glowing light like that of a campfire against the night sky, or rather several campfires. He began to hear voices as well. They seemed to be either quite annoyed or quite excited about something. But most importantly, their dialects were Imperial. He had found them at last!

He stopped at once, not wishing to continue over the next rise for fear of being spotted by sentries. Instead, he dismounted and led Solus off into the brambles and bushes. The good horse followed him willingly, taking some nips at passing plants as he went. Fordain came around to a small break in the leaves, which served as a window into the activity going on beyond. He peered through the opening and patted Solus’s muzzle with delight.

“We’ve found them, boy!” he whispered excitedly, and the horse grunted softly.

Beyond lay a vast clearing, the road continuing straight eastward through the woods on the other side. In this clearing were gathered all the wagons and soldiers of the Primus Emprius so far assembled. There had definitely been a few additions to the caravan. From the five that had been present when his home was raided, Fordain counted a total of eleven carts, arranged loosely in a wide ring around the edge of the clearing. In the middle of the ring stood tents and tied up horses. Soldiers sat around talking about the events of the day or the results of their latest raid on some loyalist homestead to the south. It was all despicable, but at the same time, rather amazing to young Fordain as he looked on from the cover of the bushes. How would he ever find his brother in the midst of this? How would he know which wagon to search in when they all looked the same? He then noticed a group of individuals without uniforms in a little cluster on the edge of the encampment.

At first he thought they might be collaborators like the ones from his village, but then he noticed that they did not look particularly pleased with the whole affair. These, Fordain realized, were prisoners. They were some distance from him, but he could tell they were not his fellow Rodinians. As one shifted position, he noticed how they were chained together by the wrists. The ropes they had used on Rodinia’s surviving loyalists must have been a temporary measure until they could get them chained. He blew a frustrated sigh. Cutting chains would be a lot harder than cutting rope with his little blade, however sharp.

It seemed strange to him that the Primus Emprius would ever let them out of the wagons. If they did not want any attempts to escape, why would they even offer the temptation? He concluded that perhaps their wagons were too full of stolen treasures to house prisoners anymore. After all, why take up valuable cargo space with cargo that could propel itself?

Seeing how evidently inattentive the guards were at this point, it occurred to him that he might ask one of the captives for himself. All he had to do was work his way around to one of the outer clusters and move quietly up to them. Surely as miserable as they were, they would be willing to tell him what he wanted to know. He looked around to find a suitable target. There! Just a short distance around to the right was a small group gathered about a half-shrunken pond. They appeared to be only loosely watched by their two overseers, and so he had a better chance of pulling off his scheme unseen.

He divested himself of his javelins and worked his way around to the group, treading lightly to avoid snapping any twigs or rustling too many branches. They seemed preoccupied with other activities, but one could never be too cautious. Eventually he managed to get close enough to the water’s edge to get a clearer view of the captives. He regarded his surroundings carefully, trying to spot a good target for his inquiries. With only seven prisoners in the group, he was not long in finding one.

On the outer fringes, away from the others, sat a girl about his age with straight, presumably blonde hair. Her outfit did not exactly bespeak a maiden dragged away from her home on a hot summer night, but rather a traveller of some status on a long-distance journey. She wore knee-high boots of quality brown leather, a pair of tight-knit travelling breeches, a long-sleeved white linen shirt with buttons up the centre, and a fine blue sash wrapped about her waist. A pair of leather gauntlets lay on the grass beside her, as she was washing her hands. She would have to do.

He crept over to the shrub nearest the water’s edge.

“Hello there,” he spoke in a half whisper. She looked around. “Over here!”

She caught a glimpse of him, then looked back over her shoulder to the guards and the other captives. Once assured they were not looking her way, she turned toward him. Even by the moonlight Fordain could see that she was very pretty. Her eyes were a vibrant blue and her hair the golden hue of wheat upon a bright, sunny day. She had a fair complexion, though tinged with sun, and a look of deep kindness and gentility shone in her eyes that surpassed even his mother’s. She asked at once in a voice as soft and warm as a summer breeze, “Who are you?”

“I...I am Fordain Abendroth,” replied Fordain, recovering his senses.

“Are you a farm labourer?”

“Of sorts.”

What an odd question! thought Fordain.

“Ah. So that’s why you’re...”

Fordain gave her a quizzical look.

She sighed. “Naked.”

“What?” Fordain looked himself over for a second. He had quite forgotten that his lack of garments was considered unusual by some people. The Noronir had always foregone clothing as a way of strengthening their spiritual bonds with the Arden and the earth in which they toiled every day. They and their slave ancestors were descended from hardy tribesmen who had inhabited these lands since long before the Imperial conquests, none of whom had worn so much as a leaf. But this might be a bit much to explain right now, so he merely shrugged. “Not really. I was just born this way.”

She smiled. “Fair enough. Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my brother. His name is Amon. Do you know him?”

“No,” she replied. “But then, we don’t know much about our fellow captives, save those to whom we are bound.”

A dead end. But while he was here, he might as well learn as much as possible from the lovely maiden. “Do you know where they are taking you?”

“I know as much as you do about that. But I would imagine to some sort of central gathering point, wherever that may be. They don’t go out of their way to talk to us much about their plans. Not politely, anyway.” She paused. “You’re the first decent Imperial I’ve met on this journey. At least, without his wrists shackled.”

“You’re not an Imperial?” He could not hide the surprise in his voice.

“No, I am not. I come from the land of Hengoroth, far away to the west. I have never ventured beyond its borders until now. And now, of course, I’ve gone farther than ever I intended to.”

“You come from Hengoroth!” exclaimed Fordain, doubly excited. “Yet, you’re not of the Draga.” He had heard of Hengoroth. It was a vast land of mostly open farmland and rolling hills toward the northern end and flat, scrubby plains to the south. As far as he could recall, however, the only inhabitants native to the land were the ancient Flamewings and their smaller, more humanlike cousins, the Draga.

“There are many Human families like mine in Hengoroth,” explained the girl. “Most are descended from the Oostervelders who settled there many generations ago. My own was actually among the first. We’ve lived on the same estate for over five hundred years now.”

“Estate!” said Fordain, completely side-tracked by the fascinating conversation. “You must be very rich.”

She smiled, a tad embarrassed. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Is that why the Primus Emprius captured you? As some sort of ransom?”

“I don’t think so. I was caught far away from our home, and they seemed in too great a hurry to look around much. And my dress could hardly give away my station.”

Could have fooled me! thought Fordain before pursuing another line. “Have you ever seen a Flamewing?”

She shook her head. “No. To tell you the truth, their kind are extremely rare in the world nowadays. It’s been said that no Flamewings exist in Hengoroth anymore. They were almost completely destroyed during a great civil war long ago. What remains of them is said to have scattered either to the High North or the Far South.”

“I see,” said Fordain quietly. He had never thought of Flamewings as rare. But then, he had never exactly seen one either. “I never knew of any civil war in Hengoroth.”

“Oh, yes. It was quite an ordeal, from what I’ve been taught. One great battle was fought not that far from my family’s farm. It was long ago, but Hengoroth has not forgotten.” She sighed and paused for a long moment. “Not that it matters much where we’re going.” She glanced back over her shoulder to the other captives. “Wherever that is.”

“No, I suppose not.” It was only now that he noticed there were no chains around her wrist. “Why are you not bound to the others?”

“Oh, they take the chains off every once in a while if we don’t give them too much trouble. It gives us a chance to get the blood up for another go, as they put it. I suppose they think they’re doing us some sort of favour.”

“Aren’t they afraid you’ll escape?” asked Fordain hopefully. Not that Amon would ever be let loose for good behaviour.

“Not at all. They have plenty of guards and patrols around the camp. We wouldn’t get far if we did. And the penalties for trying are enough of a deterrent to keep most from even considering it.”

Fordain regarded her with a clever grin. “Some guards. They didn’t get me. And we’re talking now, are we not?”

She shook her head. “They are out there, I assure you.” She turned at a noise from the overseers, who were waking from their near nap, then back to him. “You’d best be moving on too, if you don’t care to join us permanently.”

“But will we talk again?” asked Fordain, greatly disappointed that their chat had to end.

“I don’t know,” answered the girl, putting her gauntlets back on. “But we’ll get to talk plenty if you end up chained in here with us.”

Fordain turned around to leave, but stopped himself short.

“What’s your name?” he asked hastily before she departed.

“Ingred de Haas,” came her answer, and then she was gone. Returned with the other prisoners to be bound once again and put under close supervision. The very notion made Fordain’s blood boil as he watched them disappear from his view into the flurry of activity beyond. But his fury was tempered by the thought of his new friend.

Ingred. What a lovely name that was! The slight trill of the ‘r’ added a pleasant, subtle charm that suited well its bearer. As he crept away to rejoin his mount, he silently congratulated himself on the success of his little foray.

The following day at sun-up, the enlarged convoy dispersed, going not just one way, but taking two roads out of the clearing. The contingent he decided to track took the main road directly east, continuing its trek toward the ultimate goal. It occurred to Fordain as he travelled along that Solus’s beautiful white coat shone noticeably brightly when struck with direct sunlight. This did not happen frequently in the woods, but enough to make him cautious. This territory was known to be especially friendly to the Primus Emprius, and the risk of being spotted was greater than ever.

Once more he dug into his grandfather’s catalogue of old cavalry tricks. He had Solus take a drink from the watering hole, then roll through the muddy patches around its edge in order to build up a solid coating of muck. The proud stallion was none too pleased at the idea, throwing a mixture of annoyed whinnies and pleading looks at Fordain the whole time. Fordain felt for the horse, and almost stopped at one point. But upon his explaining it in soft, gentle words to the beast, Solus grudgingly accepted the new coating without further fuss. Thereafter Fordain gave himself a dust bath in a drier area so as to keep the insect life at bay. When the two companions were properly covered from head to hoof in soil, Fordain remounted Solus and took off through the woods to catch up to the convoy.

That evening, Fordain did meet and have another conversation with Ingred. This one was of significantly longer duration than the last, for there were even fewer eyes about in the darkness to spot them now. Through it he learned much of her home in Hengoroth and the circumstances of her capture, as well as the inner workings of the Primus Emprius. Evidently she had been on her way to visit a distant relative several hills over from her home when they had come up and taken her captive—hence the travelling gear she wore.

Being from Hengoroth, Ingred did not know much about the Primus Emprius as a whole. Certainly she knew less about it than Fordain, and he decided to fill her in on the details of how they had slowly built up a following large enough to challenge the existing Imperial government for control of the country.

“That is a most ambitious goal for so apparently small a faction,” said Ingred. “How could they possibly hope to win?”

“Well,” explained Fordain, recalling everything he knew of recent Imperial politics, “the way I understand it, they have a large portion of seats in the Imperial Senate at present, giving them a legitimate hold in the capital itself. The military might of Emprius has been a bit weakened by the recent war in Norland, and they’ve had a couple legions defect to their side, urged on by leaders looking to usurp the emperor. And they’ve been recruiting heavily from the more desperate elements of Imperial society too. Even some of my fellow Noronir have sided with them, believing it is the only way to throw off Imperial domination of our ancestral lands. If the rebels can cause enough disruption to the current system, they might be able to challenge it for control of the whole peninsula.”

“An interesting concept without doubt. But I’m not sure how the Imperial populace could possibly overlook the raiding of homes and killing of civilians as their primary means of gathering that power.”

Fordain shrugged. “Neither can I. But then, I’m not on their side.”

“You don’t believe that they would restore your people to their former glory like your countrymen, then?”

Fordain shook his head emphatically. “Not at all! Their leaders hold us in contempt every bit as much as the Imperial leaders, whatever they say about us being their oppressed brethren. But as my father always said, we live within the borders of Emprius, and so we are Imperials first. In helping our country defend its principles, we help our people defend theirs.”

Ingred paused a moment before proceeding.

“What do you intend to do if you find your brother?”

“Well, rescue him, of course.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not, I’m sure,” said Fordain, flashing an involuntary smile. “But I will find a way. Whatever it takes, I have to get him out. He’s all that remains of my family now.” He said this with such determination that Ingred did not dare contradict him, but still she remained doubtful.

“And once you have succeeded, what will you do then?”

“I don’t know exactly.” In fact, he hadn’t given the least bit of thought to what he would do after that, but he couldn’t let Ingred know he was completely out of ideas, so he thought quickly. “We’ll get as far away from this lot as we can, of course. And then we’ll go to...to the Island of Aralia!”

“Aralia!” repeated Ingred, wondering if she had heard right.

“Yes,” said Fordain, trying to sound confident, though he himself wondered what had prompted him to say that. “Surely you’ve heard of it?”

As far back as he could remember, he had heard tales of that country many miles away in the Sea of Alenius. It was a place where there lived a noble order of the finest warriors, scholars, and merchants in the West. Ever and anon had his many musings led back to this legendary kingdom where accomplished soldiers and aspirants alike gathered together to serve their king and country—as well as to make a name for themselves—and to uphold the most ancient and revered oath of the Golden Order in defence of Freedom, Truth, Justice, and Honour.

Fordain’s fondest dream, more so even than joining the legions like his forebears, was to join this ancient order of knights, raise his fist to his heart, and repeat the words of that most sacred oath first uttered so long ago by Aralia’s first king, Alenius.

“Of course I have heard the Legends of Aralia,” said Ingred. “My father introduced us to them when we were quite young. ‘Far away in the waters of the Andoran Sea...’”

“‘There is an island,’” Fordain joined her in reciting the first sentence, “‘almost perfectly round but for the peninsula on its southeastern portion, placed between the shores of Emprius and Hengoroth, yet claimed by neither, and this land is called Aralia.’”

“Well, that is something, anyway.”

“Yes,” said Fordain, thoroughly convinced of his plan now. “We’ll make our way to Aralia and seek the help of the knights there. We’ll bring them back here, and with their strength, destroy every last vestige of this whole lot, however formidable they may be. And then...” He paused to search for the right words when Ingred placed a calming hand on his. Looking deep into his eyes, she spoke:

“You have a noble heart, Fordain. There is a certain quality about you that I have never seen before. Do not ask me what it is, but somehow I feel you will succeed, whatever you do.”

Fordain barely heard her above his own quickened heartbeat.

“It’s getting late,” he said abruptly. “Perhaps you should rest now.”

“Perhaps you are right. May we meet again tomorrow.”

“Worry not, Ingred of Hengoroth. I promise we shall.”

And with that, he disappeared again into the trees to find his steed. As he walked away from the encampment, two thoughts weighed heavily on his mind: where to find his brother, and how he would help both Amon and Ingred escape.