The Call of Agon: Book One of The Children of Telm Read online

  The stray Bull-men were slain or chased away, and Ifferon lifted Yavün up by the hand and brought him to the others. They gathered around the leading knight, who wore silver plate armour and a cloak of velvet blue. He rode up to them and shook his head.

  “Archery is a cowardly way of battle,” he chastised, looking at Thalla sharply before turning around and circling them on his horse. “The sword is the way and always has been.” The other knights murmured in agreement and then bowed, as if in prayer.

  “Who are you?” Herr’Don asked.

  “Who I am matters not,” the knight said. “Who are you?”

  “I am Herr’Don the Great, Prince of—”

  “Yes, yes, I know you,” the knight interrupted. He stopped his horse and climbed down with a clang. He sheathed his sword and took off his plumed helmet, revealing a tight white haircut and beard, and careful blue eyes bearing solemn wisdom.

  Herr’Don’s mouth dropped, and he gulped before speaking. “Trueblade,” he said.

  “Yes, yes,” the knight said quickly. “Délin Trueblade is my knightly name, appointed to me in the name of the Lady Issarí, though Délin De’Marius is the name which Arlin, our Motherland, has given me. I am the Seventy-seventh Keeper of the Lake, and newly-appointed Lord of Ciligarad near Loch Nirigán, where lies our good Lady, fair and bright.” He then looked from Herr’Don, who remained in stunned silence, to the others. “Now, tell me, Herr’Don—who are your wandering companions?”

  “Oh,” Herr’Don said, regaining his wits. “This—”

  “Yavün Arri is my name,” Yavün said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “I’m a poet and newly-minted adventurer.”

  Délin did not shake his hand, but stared at the youth for a moment. Yavün retracted his hand and stepped back, embarrassed.

  “You were the one who was injured,” the knight said. “How is your wound?”

  “Oh, just some bruises. I’ll be fine.”

  “Hmm, good. But you look like a cleric to me,” the knight said with a hint of contempt. “A cleric of Olagh, if I know his seal.” He turned to Ifferon. “And you,” he said sharply. “Another one! Herr’Don, what is your game?”

  “None, good sir,” Herr’Don replied. “I am merely passing through Arlin with my companions. We came from Larksong, which was attacked by ships from the South—from Nahlin, Trueblade. I brought these two here through Ardún-Fé, where we met Melgalés and my beloved—”

  “Melgalés?” Délin quizzed. “I have not seen or heard from him in a long time. Arlin has grown weary of magic, knowing well what it does to the short-lived Aelora in the North, and Melgalés is a queer sort, one of those Ardúnari if I remember well. The last female knight we had in our Order was an Ardúnar. Beléin was her name, though she met her end in the Dungeons of Ardún-Fé when she tried to liberate the Damned Lands. I warned her against it, knowing well the evil that dwells there, but she was, Ardúnar or not, as stubborn as a Moln, and so she wandered off alone. Some madness beset her ere she made her journey, there is no doubt, but what madness beset you to think of travelling that land?”

  “Melgalés is a Magus,” Herr’Don said. “Well ... he was ...” Thalla looked away, tears forming quickly in her eyes.

  “Was?” the knight asked. “Do not say that ill has become of him!”

  “Aye, it has though,” Herr’Don replied. “And strangely too, for he knew those lands well, and he was well-accustomed to battle and flight. Some strange evil beset us from the outset, and, indeed, it forced us to travel through Ardún-Fé, and here to Arlin.”

  “Yes, yes, a queer force is abroad,” Délin observed. “And, indeed, a queer company is abroad here too, it seems, for it has been some time since we saw a group like yours in Arlin.”

  “Sire,” a voice came from behind them. A knight rode up to him and glanced at Ifferon and the others before returning his honoured stare to Trueblade. “Our band has tracked down the nearby Shoradoni camp and laid waste to it. It smokes now, in the name of the Lady Issarí and Lord Corrias.”

  “Lamar í Lamon! Good, Brégest,” Trueblade said, and he turned and mounted his horse, which neighed and bore him to the edge of the clearing, where Herr’Don stood, staring at his idol.

  Herr’Don walked up to join him, but Trueblade drew his sword quickly and held it before the advancing prince, barring his path.

  “I will lead,” the knight said. “You are in Arlin now, and by Arlin’s rules you shall obey, Herr’Don of Boror.” He sheathed his sword again and rode on towards his fellow knights. He turned and beckoned. “Come, I shall bring you to the closest town for food and rest, for ne’er do the Knights of Issarí let the lost wander and the hungry starve.”

  * * *

  They followed, by foot, for there were no other horses, and the current steeds were already carrying enough with the heavy armour of the knights. The company did not complain, however, not even Herr’Don, who was silently nursing his battered ego.

  After a time, Délin asked Herr’Don to join him at the front of the group, and the prince did not need to hear the command a second time; he trotted up like a loyal horse of his own.

  “So, Herr’Don,” the knight said. “What is your true business here in Arlin?”

  “As I said before, we are but passing through.”

  “On your way where, I wonder?”

  “Back to Boror, if we can.”

  “It seems a queer game to come from Boror into Arlin only to go back to Boror again. Not even a Dolmor map gives such poor directions. Are you certain there is no other reason, Herr’Don?”

  “Well,” Herr’Don started, his voice low, “Melgalés felt very strongly about getting us out of Boror.”

  “Even if it meant travelling to Ardún-Fé?”

  “Yes, very much so. I think he was actually going to lead us into Arlin, and possibly up to Caelün, for he has—sorry, had—many Aelora friends, and through Ardún-Fé is the fastest route. I doubt he anticipated what followed at all.”

  “How seemingly unwise of him,” Délin said, “knowing what those lands are like, and what queer tools of divination he has at his disposal. Some great fear must have moved him to consider such a reckless retreat to our lands.”

  “Well it would have taken at least two weeks to travel the line of the Border where the Wall of Atel-Aher blocks our way. Enemy forces ravage Boror as we speak, so Ardún-Fé was but one choice of many evils, though the swiftest at that.”

  “You know that truth is a virtue here,” Délin said. “And I am loyal to it. But I do not believe you are.”

  Herr’Don was taken aback. He had no words to parry Délin’s, so he kept the shield of silence.

  “The cleric,” Délin continued, “the real one, the one with his hair cut to the skull. What is he doing here? I thought I heard you call him by a familiar name, but I thought my ears were deceiving me.”

  “Ah,” Herr’Don said. “I guess our purpose is made clearer.”

  “Not really, but your companions are. Is that really Ifferon? Is that really him?”

  “Yes, that’s him all right,” Herr’Don said. “Not quite what I expected from the tales, but with most of the Children of Telm long dead now I guess he’s the best we’ve got.”

  “Better than Herr’Don?”

  “Hardly,” the prince scoffed. “Better at reading from the Olaghris, perhaps.”

  The knight tutted and shook his head.

  “My apologies,” Herr’Don said. “I keep forgetting what land I’m in. Next I’ll be uttering spells from a Magus-tome.”

  “You are lucky you walk with me then,” Délin said, and Herr’Don did not deny it, “for I am more broad of mind than many of my fellows on these things. I met Melgalés once here in Arlin. I do not know why he came here, nor what he finds in magic, for even the Aelora can barely tame it. I respect him, but I do not like his art. Yet you speak with great defence for this Magus.”

  “Aye, but I must, Trueblade, for I trusted greatly in his ski
ll, and am not but a little disturbed by his death, which seemed so sudden. My faith in him also comes from faith in my good lady Thalla.”

  “Ah, so this is where that river of magic runs!” the knight said. “Love is a great temptress and a hindrance to proper sight in darkened times.”

  “Perhaps,” Herr’Don acknowledged. “But I think it offers the light of hope to stay that darkness. Have you not desired love?”

  “Desired, yes, but sought, no. I am a knight, Herr’Don. Love, marriage and children are not within my duty, and my duties are many in these dark days. This is partly why you are not a knight, Herr’Don, even if you hailed from Arlin, for you do not have the discipline for our world. Do not take that as a dismissal of your character, of course, for I know that you are a knight in your own way—of Boror, that is, and I do not blame you your oddities, knowing well your kin.”

  “I could say the same for Arlin!” Herr’Don said with a chuckle. “After all, we both share the same heritage. I would that both lands were still one now, for we would both be the better for it.”

  “True as my name,” Délin said, growing solemn.

  * * *

  Silence took them then and cradled them in its all-encompassing grasp. They covered many miles at a gentle pace, though the company who were not riding soon grew tired, for the ground was uneven and did not bear their feet kindly, no matter how fair the wood appeared.

  “We shall rest here for the night,” Délin said, nearing a clearing that Ifferon suspected they had rested in the night before. Délin dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree, and the other knights followed suit.

  “What about other Shoradoni?” Thalla asked.

  “Surely you can turn them into toads!” the knight said, smiling. “You are a Magus after all, are you not? Last I heard, Melgalés did not take students.”

  “I do not have a Beldarian yet,” she said. “I am still an Apprentice—and toads would be a little out of my reach, even then.” Ifferon wondered if she felt like turning the knight into one anyway.

  “What does that mean now that Melgalés is gone?” Délin asked. “Will you get a new mentor, a new Master Magus?” Thalla did not answer, but turned away, so he returned to the original subject. “The Bull-men have been rounded up and slaughtered. If any survived long enough to flee, and I doubt any have in this vicinity, then you can rest assured that they will not be bothering us this eve. The Shoradoni know well to fear the Knights of Issarí.”

  * * *

  They sat in a small cluster away from the main group of knights, who continued to give them troubled stares and anxious glances, as if they felt that their very presence was a threat to them or their country. Herr’Don sat close to Thalla, his arm around her, though she still seemed far away. Ifferon sat across with Yavün, whom he saw staring at the woman from time to time.

  There was a bout of whispers from the knights and then Trueblade came over with a clang of his armour. “It would seem we only have these rations, for we did not expect so many.”

  “You were expecting us?” Ifferon asked.

  “Yes, yes, indeed. Scouts from Mariar spotted you at Tol-Timíl a night back, so we stayed here in Alimstal. We suspected you would come here, being the closest to that tower. And lo, here you are! We did not need to be Magi for that prophecy.” He paused to hand them each a small cloth bag of food. Ifferon stared at it for a moment; it was brown and plain, and by the feel of it contained little more than dry biscuits. He did not like the look or feel of rations, for they were always a symbol of war. “We keep a watch on any who enter our land,” Trueblade continued. “And Bororians coming through Ardún-Fé is news enough for us.”

  “I suppose it is,” Ifferon acknowledged.

  “I did not like that tower,” Herr’Don said. “It gave me a strange feeling.”

  “Yes, yes, Tol-Timíl is a queer place,” Délin said. “The Knights of Issarí held it and guarded the land from Ardún-Fé, back in elder days. It has long been in ruin. Yet something still lingers there that repels the evil of the Damned Lands, some spirit that dwells there still, all eyes and ever watchful. It has meant that few creatures from Ardún-Fé ever come near Arlin. Likewise with the Shoradoni of Alimstal and even our people, who speak of the Tower-ghost and other such tales.”

  “I think I know why so few dare approach the Tower,” Herr’Don said. “We discovered a Kalakrán beneath its foundations, and I’m not entirely sure that chance guided our discovery.”

  “Nay, I do not think so either,” Délin said. “But I already know of that Kalakrán, for it was my great-grandfather who led the siege against it, and he was but a newly-minted knight, barely come of age. He was wounded gravely in the battle, and many great men were lost, for a Molokrán had been there the night before, dominating many wandering spirits from Ardún-Fé and making Spectres and Meddlers of them, which defended the Crypt with all their force and might. Danisgrid was my great-grandfather’s name, and he was the High Ardúnar at the time, so he made sure to lay waste to the presence of the Molokrán in Arlin. He ordered the building of Tol-Timíl upon the ruins of the Kalakrán, but there was much trouble in the building, for the foundations were cursed. Later in life he attempted to rid the land of the second Kalakrán here at the Geladilok Mines near Loch Bistír, but he died in the siege. It was my grandfather, Celsinin, who finally destroyed the Geladilok Crypt, and so is it that the Knights of Issarí have kept Arlin free from this scourge, but the very taint of their ruined temples is enough to keep us ever vigilant.”

  “Valour is in your blood,” Herr’Don said, with so much wonder in his voice that he seemed almost like Yavün for a moment. “It seems that you were fated for greatness, just as I was.”

  The knight chuckled. “You cheer even the most solemn of hearts, Herr’Don. Arlin would do well to have you, were it in our reach to knight you.”

  “A kind offer,” Herr’Don replied, attempting to conceal his widening smile. “But I am a knight at heart already.”

  “Without a doubt,” Délin said.

  “Not everyone in Arlin is glad of our coming, it seems,” Thalla commented. “Why do your men stare at us? It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, why do they do that?” Yavün asked.

  “Hmm, why do you stare at them?” Délin quizzed in turn.

  “We do not,” Yavün said with a pout.

  “Then how do you know they are staring?”

  “I can feel their eyes boring into my skin,” Thalla said.

  “They are men deprived of companionship,” Herr’Don told her, grabbing her and pulling her close. “Who wouldn’t stare at you?” With that he gave a curious glance at Yavün which unsettled Ifferon. He hoped Herr’Don had not overheard Thalla’s words from the night before.

  “And what about the rest of us?” Yavün asked.

  “You are a foreign and queer sort,” Délin said. “It would be foreign and queer of us not to stare! But forgive my men, for they are merely curious and, daresay, a little anxious, for these are troubled times, and troubled times bring troubled thoughts and anxious glances. I am sure you understand.”

  They nodded, realising they would also be staring if a band of knights were found wandering the hills of Boror.

  “Eat up and talk amongst yourselves for a time,” Délin said. “I would have my brethren join you, but they are more wary of Bororians than I, being still young in the world. Eat and rest, for we have many a mile yet to travel ere we reach Calnibur.”

  “You are taking us there?” Herr’Don quizzed. “Why not Ciligarad?”

  “Oh, we shall go to my city, do not worry, but Calnibur is much closer, and I would hope that we can acquire more food and horses there for the rest of our journey. The blessings of Corrias and Issarí upon you all! Lamon í Lamar!”

  * * *

  And so they tucked into a dreamless slumber, bar Ifferon, who dreamed strange and unsettling things. Wisps of grey circled about and formed what appeared to be a window or a portal into some
strange world, and he felt as though he was watching some event transpire, as if he were a god upon a throne in the clouds, peering down on the world below, on the people going to and fro, oblivious to the eyes above.

  There was a flicker of a jewel which seemed to rise into the air and then fall again upon a dark and sullied ground, and there it lay in shadow until a searching hand came forth and seized it. The jewel glinted and there were starry eyes within it, peering out, or through, as if it were another portal. Then a fire fumed and flowed like lava, as if beneath the surface of the jewel, and it was borne around the neck of the man who had seized it. There was then a deathly cry, shrill upon the air, and then taken by the wind to lands that no living man has seen.

  And there was a feeling of waiting, of the passing of days and the slow monotonous beating of the heart fulfilling its course. Night followed day that followed night, and stars expired to form new stars, and the sun died each night to be reborn anew in the morning. All the while a man of fire sat waiting, in limbo and solitude, staring out from his fiery prison. He waited for what the gods had planned.