Shadows of Foreverby Bryce V. Giroux |
Table of Contents Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 appeared in issue 199. |
| part 7 |
* * *
Léod was awakened shortly before dawn by a knocking on his chamber door; the Lady Éua had been gracious enough to give him and Morgan rooms in the palace for the night. The Elder stumbled wearily to the door and opened it a crack; he was wearing his nightshirt, and felt awkward greeting anyone in that manner. Morgan’s tender face looked back from the other side. His skin was pale, and eyes were sunken. Léod doubted if the lad had slept at all that night.
“Yes, Morgan? Why do you disturb me at this hour?”
“Master Léod, I have some news — some disturbing news. May I come in?”
Léod quickly opened the door, and then closed it fast once Morgan entered. “What’s wrong, young one?”
“The guards just told me — Giric has come to the city, along with a Smith and his apprentice.”
“Giric, Colban and Padraig are here? What of Mairghraed?”
“Who, Master?”
“Mairghraed is the butcher’s daughter. She was with the Smith’s apprentice.”
“There was no girl, Master Léod. There were simply the three.”
“By Pitair’s Anvil, where are they?”
“They’ve been taken to the infirmary. They are being treated for their wounds.”
Léod hurriedly dressed. “Take me there.”
* * *
Padraig was sound asleep in the infirmary when he was shaken awake. The first thing he saw when he awoke was Léod’s worried face looking down at him.
“Padraig, lad, it’s good to see you,” Léod whispered.
“Léod, where am I?” Padraig’s head swam as he struggled to grasp his surroundings.
“You’re in Éuarægh, in the infirmary. Dear Padraig, what happened to Mairghraed?”
Immediately Padraig began to cry; the only word he managed to get out was, “Dead.”
Léod scooped the youth into his arms, as he too grew teary-eyed. “Oh, sweet Mairghraed. She may now rest with her father.”
“Master Aodh is dead too?”
“Yes, he is,” Léod sniffed. “Those bastard Visharians killed him. They’re responsible for the loss of the Nins too; they and their god Talin.”
“Nin Colaim is dead?”
Léod nodded slowly. “Yes, he is, lad. The tempest which the Visharians call Talin struck them down.” He leaned close and whispered, “I have a plan to stop them.”
“How will you do that?” Padraig’s eyes grew wide.
“Not here. Not now.”
Morgan stepped forward, as if on cue.
“Oh yes, Padraig, this is Morgan. He guided me here.” Morgan bowed his head. “I only wish he’d been with you and Mairghraed...” Léod’s voice trailed off.
“Master Léod,” Morgan began, placing his hand gently on Léod’s shoulder, “Lady Éua will see you shortly.”
Léod patted the young man’s hand. “Thank you, Morgan.”
Morgan regarded Padraig. “The Lady wishes to speak with you as well, Smith’s Apprentice.”
Padraig struggled to stand, yet every bone in his body ached.
“Let him rest, Morgan,” Léod said.
Padraig forced himself up. “I’m all right, Master. I must speak with the Lady.”
Léod looked at him with a soft smile. “You deserve it.”
* * *
Padraig and Léod stood just outside the oak doors that led to the Lady’s audience chamber. Padraig’s gut was full of butterflies, and from the look of Léod, he felt the same.
There was a flourish of trumpets inside, and two large pikemen pulled open the doors.
“Presenting Master Léod, village Elder of Glærn, and Padraig, Smith’s Apprentice of Glærn.”
The two took their mark and stepped into the brightly lit chamber. Padraig noted a dozen guards, Morgan among them, and a panel of Elders — he recognized them as the Grand Order of Smiths — seated at the far end. Seated at the center of the table was the fairest matriarch he had seen. This, he knew, must be Lady Éua.
The first Smith stood and identified himself as Grand Master Aymer Hammerhard. He stood one and a half times as tall as Padraig. A neatly braided gray beard dangled to his chest, yet on his head, he had no hair at all. “What news do you bring of Glærn, Master Léod?”
“Ships came to shore. We thought it Nin Colaim and the other gods that had returned. We were wrong. A force of men from a place they call Visharia landed and claimed this land theirs.”
There were grumbles from the panel. Lady Éua remained silent.
“What of Moradon?” Aymer asked.
Léod looked warily at Padraig.
Padraig felt his skin go cold and his mouth go dry. He tried to whisper something.
“What was that?” Aymer asked.
“Lost,” Padraig repeated.
The panel roared in anger. The guards shouted. Lady Éua sat quietly. Giric lowered his head. Padraig shrank in his skin.
“Silence,” the lady stated. “Padraig, Smith’s Apprentice of Glærn” — her voice was soothing and warmed Padraig from within — “you say the sword is lost?”
Padraig nodded.
“Where was the sword lost?”
“Within Shadowood, m’lady.”
The panel grumbled, but before they could say more, the Lady raised her hand in silence. The panel hushed. “This was foretold: ‘When the gods pass from this world, so too shall Moradon.’ What shall we do with you, Smith’s Apprentice?”
“Name him.” Padraig turned and saw Giric, who he recognized as the unconscious soldier in the cart, leaning wearily at the door and smiling at him.
The panel roared in disapproval. Aymer Hammerhard threw his hands up in fury. “How does he deserve a name?”
Lady Éua turned to Aymer. “He protected that which means so much to us from those who meant to destroy us. He has fulfilled the prophecy of Moradon.”
The panel again went silent.
Again, Lady Éua raised her hand to silence the panel. “By what name shall the apprentice be known?”
A silence fell over the panel until “Padraig the Tiger” was called out. Padraig turned and saw Colban standing in the wings, beyond the guards.
Lady Éua smiled. “From this point, the boy-now-man shall be called Padraig the Tiger. For your efforts, Padraig the Tiger, what do you ask of us?”
Padraig thought hard then said, “A sword.”
“It will be done.”
“I wish it to be forged by my own hands, on the Sacred Anvil.”
The panel gasped. “This is an outrage!” Aymer shouted. “No one has the right to use the Sacred Anvil; especially this boy.” The panel cheered in agreement.
“This boy is now a man. Further, for his deeds and his loss, he deserves vengeance.”
The panel grumbled. “We shall allow it if the lady insists.”
“I do insist.”
He hung his head low, “Then we shall grant him rights to the Anvil. For one day only.”
“This is all I ask,” Padraig said.
Aymer sat and waved his hand at Padraig. “We shall get you when it’s time.”
Padraig bowed, as did Léod. The two turned and left the audience chamber. “I’m proud of you, lad,” Léod said. “You deserve all that you have received.”
Colban came through another door, which Padraig assumed led to the gallery. “Congratulations on your name, Padraig the Tiger.”
“Where did you come up with the name Tiger?” Padraig asked.
“When I saw you fight those Visharians, and the bandits. You were ferocious, like a tiger. I thought it suitable for you. I also think it’s what Mairghraed would have picked.”
Padraig’s eyes quickly darted to the floor. A memory of Mairghraed’s sweet face flooded his mind, then the last image he had of her, blood pouring from her mouth, skin pale, and eyes flat, replaced her smile.
The three walked quietly back to their chambers. Padraig shut the door behind him; alone, he slumped to the floor. Face buried in his hands he whispered, “Mairgie, I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. It was entirely my fault.”
Padraig, don’t cry. I am with you. I will always be with you.
Padraig looked up. Sitting on the bed was Mairghraed’s ghostly image. Flames wreathed her hair, and an aura shone about her. “Mairgie, you’re here!”
Not quite, Paddie. I’m with you in the next world.
“I miss you so much, Mairgie.”
I miss you, as well. I have something important for you to do, Padraig.
“What is it?”
The sword you’ll forge-name it after me, and I will always be with you.
“I will, Mairgie. I will,” he repeated until he fell to sleep.
* * *
Tarn Frogfoot walked across Glærn’s market square, glancing uneasily at the path that led to the beach. He’d done well enough keeping his company in order; if the other two dozen captains on their way in from the ships would do the same was difficult to say. He’d been at the Battle of the Green Warrens and saw how some of the companies behaved.
He reflected back on the Green Warrens. It was the fairest of all the plains lands, even by Endrovan standards. He’d played there as a child, before. Was it in his tenth incarnation? Perhaps it was the eleventh, it was hard to keep track any longer. To come back, and to fight the war on the same fields he fought imaginary dragons saddened him. The Endrovan people, his people, had always been peaceful. It wasn’t fair they had to side with the Visharians in their quest to conquer the world. It wasn’t fair Tarn’s eighteenth through twenty-third, and present incarnation, should have to fight along side such brash warriors as his Visharian kinsmen.
Most of all, he hoped Captain Temmit Lionhead didn’t show. Temmit was solely responsible for the Kindarin Massacre, which cost the lives of a thousand innocent villagers, and two dozen of Temmit’s own pikemen. His forces pressed on to Kindarin Keep where they successfully butchered every man, woman and child. Negren Zenria had praised Temmit for his victory and claimed the “curs of Kindar” had stolen sacred lands from the Empire of Visharia, which made all Kindarins guilty of attempted genocide against the Visharians.
Negren Zenria was a most persuasive speaker. Any war crime committed by the enemy was an atrocious act and the offenders didn’t even deserve a proper burial. The Negren overlooked those same crimes often committed by the Visharian forces.
Tarn leaned heavily on his spear as the first of the new companies came up the path. He immediately recognized the silver eagle on a black field banner as that of Captain Zellik Silvereagle; Silvereagle Company antics were renowned across the Empire.
The next four standards were unknown to him. Then came what he feared: a flag-bearer carrying a standard depicting a lion holding a spear in its paws, and behind him a mounted captain who was unmistakably Temmit.
“Tarn, you devil, what are you doing here?” Temmit called from his steed.
“Same thing as you, Temmit: expanding the Empire for the glory of Negren Zenria.”
Temmit dismounted and extended his hand to Tarn, who cautiously gripped Temmit’s forearm. “What’s the situation here? What are we looking at?”
“Well, these Ægrinians, as they call themselves, seem to be taking to the situation all too well. We had a bit of a disturbance the other day, but Norin Wynrich handled it. The Elder seems to have disappeared as well. We figure he’s either in hiding, or gone to search out some help.
“More disturbing, though, is that there’s been some reference to a sacred sword their god, Nin Colaim, used to carry. No one seems to know where it went.”
“What’s so special about this sword?”
“These people believe it’s a sign of their salvation from oppression. They could be extremely dangerous if it got into their king’s hands.”
“How is that so?”
“They would follow him to the end. We could only win through bloody means.”
“So why have none gone searching for the sword?”
“Norin Wynrich has other things on his mind.” Tarn glanced at the Norin’s tent. “Ever since he saw the Book of Talin in the Ægrin temple, he’s been preoccupied with teaching these people respect for the Hand of Talin.”
Temmit looked at Tarn sidelong.
“He mentioned something about these beasts not respecting the Word of Talin. They were apparently storing the book improperly; I don’t know. I can’t keep up with all the priests and their rules anymore. So, what brings you here?”
Temmit chuckled and slapped Tarn on the back. “The chance to conquer a new land, my friend, is what brings me here. So, what excitement is there to be had around here?”
* * *
Norin Wynrich struggled to stay awake as he lay on Elia’s lap, and she ran her long fingers through his hair. “These people bore me,” he huffed. “One minor brawl and the rest seem almost accepting of us. They are nothing like the Kindarin.” He chuckled. “They were valiant people; worthy of their extinction.”
There came a rattle at his door. He sat up quickly and combed his fingers through his hair. “Enter.” He coughed.
Laotious entered, battered and bruised.
Wynrich couldn’t help but laugh at his sorry sight. “What happened to you?”
Laotious just bowed, “Nothing, Norin.”
Tao entered immediately behind, beaming with glee. Laotious cringed at Tao’s presence. “Norin,” Tao said, “the other companies have arrived. Four in all, with two dozen more expected next week. The supply ships with the Messatulan workers have also arrived, and we can begin work immediately on the fortress.”
The news that twelve more armies were due to arrive soon delighted Wynrich. “Good news, Tao. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, Norin. With the new populations that have arrived, there is little room for them.”
“What is your plan?”
“I would like permission to displace the local citizens. There are at least three score homes here, enough for our troops. The Messatulans can use the stables.”
Wynrich nodded. “Do what you must.”
Tao smiled and went out of the tent. Laotious followed closely behind.
Wynrich stood and stretched. “Elia, my dear, thank you for the massage. Now I have other matters to which I must attend.” He tied his sash and left the tent.
The light that met him blinded him temporarily. He squinted through the sun’s rays and surveyed the progress. The sight brought a smile to his lips. The new Messatulan workers were already busy unloading the supplies. The original Messatulans had made quick work of the primary fence and progress on the inner moat was well under way; in just a few more weeks, the village would be a formidable fortress.
Wynrich noticed Tarn and the other captains talking in the market square. He headed toward them, hoping to go unnoticed. Tarn was the first to see the Norin walking toward them. He stood at rigid attention, and the others soon followed.
“Norin Wynrich, how may we serve you?” Tarn saluted Wynrich.
“Stand at ease, Captain. I’m just surveying the progress. I see we have new legions that have joined us.” Wynrich introduced himself to the other captains: Temmit, Zellik, Callo, and Daglow. “When do you think your troops will be ready for battle, Captain Tarn?”
“Norin?” Tarn looked at Wynrich.
“The time’s at hand. We need to teach these dogs to respect us. I would like you to lead two companies up that north road, laying claim to what you can and mapping the whole area.”
Tarn paused for a moment. “I shall, Norin.”
“Leave immediately. Teach these Ægrinians who’s in charge.”
“Yes, Norin.” Tarn turned and marched off to gather his troops.
Temmit stepped forward. “Norin, I’d like to volunteer to accompany Tarn on his mission.”
Wynrich stroked his chin. “Include your troops with Tarn’s.” Then he turned to the other captains. “Take the citizens of this place out of town and take them to the western frontier. Be sure they don’t return.”
The captain, Daglow, he believed, bowed and rapped the other two captains on their chests with a knuckle. Without a word, the three captains turned to form up their troops.
Tarn stood next to Temmit and looked out across their troops. There were five hundred soldiers in total — a valiant force anywhere. He felt uneasy about bringing these forces on the unsuspecting people of this land.
“Captain,” from behind, a voice called. Tarn turned and saw one of the gate guards approaching.
“What is it?”
“A farmer from north of here says he has some important information for you.”
Tarn was confused. Who knew he was here, especially of these Ægrinians? “I will see him.”
Temmit looked at Tarn. Tarn shrugged.
The guard soon returned with a burly man. The man introduced himself as Fearghus.
“How do you know me?” Tarn asked.
“Talin has many agents, Captain Tarn. Not all are Visharians.”
Tarn cringed at that word. “What do you want?”
“It’s not what I want, Tarn. It’s what you’re looking for. Talin knows about the sword. I know where it’s gone.”
Tarn’s eyes widened. “Where is it?”
“That, unfortunately, is easier asked than told. The Smith’s apprentice took it. He and the butcher’s daughter stayed at my farm a few night’s past. They had Moradon with them; I suspect the village Elder gave it to them to take to King Drustan.”
“Who’s Moradon?” Temmit asked.
Fearghus looked at him coolly. “Nin Colaim’s sword, Captain Temmit.” Then, looking back to Tarn he said, “The two youths went into the woods beyond my farm; from there I don’t know where they went.”
“Can you take us to the woods?” Tarn asked, wondering at the same time if he should send this information to the Gavin, or Norin Wynrich, then decided not to.
“Well, no; the woods disappeared just last night.”
“An entire forest just disappeared?”
“Such are the ways of Shadowood.”
“Thank you, Fearghus.” Tarn nodded, and then turned to Temmit. “We need to find where that sword went.”
Tarn turned back to the company and called for his lieutenant. A tall Visharian stepped forward and saluted. “Captain Temmit and I need to make a detour. Take the rest of the company up the road for exploration as per Norin Wynrich’s orders.”
The lieutenant saluted and called the company to attention. The soldiers marched past the gates, to begin mapping the region and quelling the natives as they went.
“So what do we do now?” Temmit asked Tarn.
“Now, we find a moving forest.”
Copyright © 2006 by Bryce V. Giroux
