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

  “Then move on, Trueblade, if you deem yourself wise!” Celsingrid spat, defiling the words with his voice.

  “Borders and boundaries are the domain of limited minds,” Délin said. “The Shadow knows no boundaries, north or south. Evil does not ask our names ere it turns to slay us.”

  “And Lord Celsingrid of Calnibur does not ask you to stay any longer. Out of here, Trueblade! You’ve seen the last of your days in Calnibur. My people won’t want you back when they hear of this. And hope for your sake that the people of Ciligarad don’t vote you out, Lord!”

  “Come, companions, come, we are unwelcome here,” Délin said. “Aid is not offered when aid is needed. So too shall be the fate of this land. I pray that the people may survive long enough to escape. Calnibur will fall, Celsingrid.” He paused as they neared the door. “Calnibur will fall, and the Knights of Issarí won’t be here to help you out if you banish me from this land.”

  “We need you not, Trueblade, nor your Knights,” Celsingrid snarled, but they left the chambers and closed the door behind them. The guard quickly returned to his work at the side of the building, but rumour and gossip spread more swiftly. Many worried eyes stared after them as they left the city.

  * * *

  “Banished?” Brégest asked. “Surely not! I told you these Bororians were plagued. They bring illness and darkness from their proximity to Telarym.”

  “He did not know they were all of Boror,” Délin said. “He is just stubborn and old-fashioned in his outlook. A true northerner, if ever there was one. But he is a fool, despite my call on his wisdom, which did naught to appease him. I can feel the darkness already. It will not be long now. But come, we must find rest elsewhere.”

  The company passed through the gate. Bringrid stepped forward and bowed. “Hómadín Lamon Délin! My blessings go with you.”

  “And mine with you,” Délin said. “Bringrid, if Calnibur is attacked, make sure the people escape. Take them into the mountains.

  “But the Gormoloks—”

  “They are less of a threat than what we face from Nahlin,” Délin said. “We know these mountains better than the hordes of Agon do, so maybe the land itself will be our fortress if our walls are too weak. Keep your eyes keen, and may Corrias and the Lady send good tidings. Hómadés dú.”

  Bringrid bowed again and returned to his guard, standing still like a statue. The moon still shone, though it seemed duller now. Délin suggested that they might find lodging at one of the mills surrounding Calnibur, but many of the farmers scoffed and turned them away. One old woman let them stay, but was mocked by her neighbours, who neighed and called her “horse-lover” in spiteful tongues.

  They collapsed upon stray beds within the mill, and night passed quickly in the contentedness of sleep. They were awoken bright and early the following morning by Délin, Brégest, and the other knights. The sun had awoken much earlier and had since shaken off the remnants of a sleepy nightfall, for it was beaming down on them through the open windows of the mill in all its glory. Ifferon squinted in the golden sunlight, for even though the cloister of the monastery was open to many a morning sky, he rarely made use of it, fearing there was something sinister watching him behind the shadow of the sun.

  The day was kind to them, for the sun kept a steady watch and seemed to lead the way. Soon it was in the west, the direction they were heading. The land was flat and empty, though the Many Mountains stood still to their right, a great wall of grey that reminded Ifferon of their journey through the Cliffhills. These were far more monstrous in size, but Ifferon took comfort in their distance, knowing he would not be crossing them today. After a time the sun began to fade, hiding behind one large peak that seemed to loom out of the range to the west like a solitary fang, piercing the growing dusk.

  They came to Ciligarad before nightfall. It stood in stark contrast to the old, feeble structure of Calnibur, for there was a great stone gate, gleaming in the glow of twilight, and when they entered into the city itself they saw many small round houses, larger round stores, and two great round buildings that stood in full majesty at the centre, their domed roofs reaching up into the sky like the bosom of the earth. All the while there was the sound of water nearby, for Ciligarad was on the brink of Loch Nirigán, with all of its buildings facing in that direction, so that when morning came, the villagers would see the lake in all its glistening glory before any other sight that day, and likewise at night was it a final sight that brought great comfort after a long day of labour.

  “I must take the trainees to their camp and then tend to the horses, sire. I bid you all a good evening,” Brégest said, bowing slightly. The others knights did likewise.

  “We will talk soon, Brother,” Délin said. They left the company then, though Délin remained, for he wanted to show them around his city.

  “Why are all the buildings round?” Yavün asked. “I have not seen such a sight in any of the towns I’ve been to.”

  “Where have you been, boy?” Herr’Don jeered. “Surely Larksong alone does not count.”

  “The buildings are round,” Délin said, ignoring Herr’Don’s comments, “in honour of the lake, which is also round, or close enough. Indeed, that is why our armour bears so many circles. The circle with the large letter ‘I’ in the middle is our symbol for the Lady Issarí, Goddess of the Wave.”

  “What about the tree?” Yavün asked. “The one on your right shoulder, the one that curls here and there.”

  “That is the Great Tree, Corria, from which Corrias gets his name. Beneath it is my motto in Old Arlinaic: Marius alorod abidedél de’Délin ba—that is, Truth is found on both sides of the Blade.”

  “A worthy motto,” Herr’Don said.

  “So your name means Blade?” Yavün inquired.

  “Yes,” Délin said. “Well, The Blade, more rightly. Dél is Blade in Old Arlinaic, but Délin is The Blade. Délin De’Marius, The Blade of Truth.”

  “Trueblade,” Herr’Don observed, and he smiled. “A worthy title.”

  “I have not heard so much Arlinaic before,” Yavün said, smiling broadly as if words were children’s toys or chocolate treats. “It is very strange, yet somewhat familiar; I can see some similarities between it and the Bororian tongue.”

  “It is where Bororian stems from,” the knight stated, “though neither of them are spoken much these days. Old Arlinaic has gone with Atel-Aher into legends, and into the memory of those few who look past the myths.”

  “I have a motto myself,” Herr’Don said, stepping forward and puffing his chest. He brushed a lock of hair from his face with a great gloved hand. “Though I do not have my coat of arms with me, for I don’t often carry my shield. My motto is: Pereshî alorned ö-bôrkedï bwî bôrperesh bêor—Honour is found in greatness and glory. That is Bororian, of course, for I do not know enough of Old Arlinaic to translate accurately.” Ifferon knew that if Herr’Don did have his shield with the coat of arms with him he would have made them all sit and look at each figure, at each motif and motto, and would have told his lineage and family history there and then, making special care to note from where his greatness stems from.

  “I don’t have a motto yet,” Yavün said, frowning. “Do you have a motto, Thalla?”

  “No, not yet,” she said, smiling softly.

  “Ifferon?”

  He shook his head.

  “I know Ifferon’s motto,” Herr’Don said, clapping his hands together and laughing heartily. “Run while you can!”

  Ifferon smiled, though his thoughts were troubled. He felt like a coward for running so much, yet he knew no other way. He was no warrior any more, that he knew. He was not a knight or a swordsman or a prince, and he had no motto that spoke of valour or battle. Was he the son of a god, no matter how far down the line? If gods had fears and doubts, for many said they did not, then perhaps he was, for he was the child of uncertainty, as were all people in Iraldas now, with dark hands knocking at their doors.

  “I think Ifferon’s mott
o is in the making,” Délin said, noting his anxiety. “Not yet fully realised, as it were. Soon, my friend. Soon.”

  “I bet it will be something like: courage in a candle flame,” Yavün said.

  “I like that,” Thalla said, smiling at him.

  “I like that too,” Ifferon said.

  “Ah, yes, yes—the single flame that starts a fire,” Délin added.

  Herr’Don clapped his hands together briefly, and for a moment he looked like an eager child with gleeful eyes. “A worthy motto,” he said, “for a worthy man.”

  * * *

  Soon they came to a lake-side chamber in the Academy of Knights which led into Délin’s personal abode. It was dim, lit only by three candles and the reflections from the lake, and the wind was unbridled there, for the doors that opened to the lake were both unlatched. The air was cool, yet not cold enough to chill them, and the dullness of the room did not disquiet their minds. The main entrance was on the far side of the two open doors, though there was also another door, now closed, on the left, which led to Délin’s quarters. The room was sparse, save a long ornately-adorned chair by the right-hand wall, with a coat of arms above, depicting two lions, one black, one white, on either side of an upright sword, and below this Délin’s motto in the ornate script of Old Arlinaic. There was also a small mirror with a slender candle on either side of the left-hand door, and finally a pile of books on old myths and tales from ancient Arlin, all of them thoroughly leafed through.

  “Do you read in the dark?” Thalla asked.

  “Dark?” Délin quizzed. “There is light from the lake here, and it grows stronger at night, when it is needed.”

  “Is it the moon’s reflection?” Yavün wondered. “What happens when the moon is not out?”

  “Ah, it is not just the moon that shines here, young Yavün, for the Lady radiates a most blessed and splendid light. Oft do I go out to the Lake and sit and pray to her, and there is more comfort there than any light a candle makes.”

  “Can we meet her?” Yavün asked.

  Herr’Don looked at him sharply. “Do not be disrespectful, Yavün. That is too haughty a request to make of our friend. Even the Great do not ask such.”

  “It is fair to ask,” Délin said, “but I am afraid I cannot grant the request, for it is not mine to grant. We will indeed come to the Lake later to ask and pray for counsel. Whether we meet her or not, I cannot tell. Indeed, I have met her but once in my lifetime so far, and that was many years ago now, but such meetings last lifetimes, and she has ever been in my thoughts and dreams since.”

  “This room is quite empty,” Herr’Don noted. “Hardly fitting for a Lord of the Land.”

  “Ah, but it is, Herr’Don,” Délin said. “It is much more fitting than great tapestries and paintings and gold linen and regal rugs. Those things serve naught but as a statement of wealth and power, and they are but statements, for the real power is found inside, through prayer, and the real wealth in contemplation, as our good friend Ifferon undoubtedly knows. Gold rings and lavish curtains would only serve to distract me from my work, so I decreed that my appointment as Lord of Ciligarad would not betray my oaths—thus, my room and supplies are the same as all knights, though I requested a room closer to the Lake, my one true luxury.

  “Indeed, our armour, weapons, and even our horses, are our most prized possessions, though I would have them called gifts, for I have learned that that which you can possess, can possess you. We spend a long time learning to avoid the temptations of the rich and the royal, for it can be easy to walk those roads, and dark they are when fully trod.

  “One of our Order, indeed one of the two founders, went down that road, and he was dubbed a Black Brother, or a Knight of the Night, for he prayed to the shadow, and darkness was his consort. His name was Narsí, and he created the Order with another called Alégrid, though it is right to say that the latter was the true founder, for even then Narsí expressed the wrong reasons for wanting the Order of the Knights of Issarí. His reason was control, and, I dare say, he had a fair bit of that in his time, for he was charismatic, and he appealed to many impressionable folk, including Alégrid himself, who was eventually betrayed by Narsí. They brought their students together, here at the site of Ciligarad, though it was called Niribur then, after the Lake. And so they formed this Order, though Alégrid alone did the work, writing up the charter, decreeing the oaths, even making the plans for the Academy here, and helping in the building of it. Narsí was too busy with the Lake itself, for he sat there day and night, to pray, he oft said to Alégrid and his kin, though we know now that such was not the case. He was staring in the Lake, at his own reflection, growing ever more enamoured by that which he saw, little knowing, however, that the beauty there was the Lady Issarí, not his mirrored self. When the other knights began to pester him to do some work, he grew angry, telling them that he was above them all, that there would be no Order without him, that, indeed, he alone was Lord Knight, Keeper of the Lake and of all Arlin! Alégrid did not stand for this, instantly banishing him from the Order and all its lands. Narsí was furious, and he broke into the Academy one night and set it on fire, killing two guards in the process, before finally leaving Niribur and taking a boat across the Lake. He was never seen since, though there are many reported sightings of a man hanging over the side of a boat, staring at his reflection in the water, and one such report came with the news that he had fallen overboard and had drowned, or, as some darker tales set it, had been pulled into the depths.

  “Thus, we have mirrors in all the rooms, to remind us of who we really are, and they are small and are obscured by a candle, to show us that we are not the vast beauty to be found in the Lake, and that service to the Light is our true mission, our true identity here in Arlin.”

  If Yavün had looked at his own reflection he would have seen a face filled with awe. “That is quite a tale!” he said.

  Délin nodded solemnly. “Yes, yes, indeed. And one we oft remind ourselves of in the liturgies of our Order.”

  “I would like to put it into verse someday, if I can.” Ifferon could see that the meter and rhymes were already forming in Yavün’s mind.

  “That has already been done, though you are welcome to make your own,” the knight said. He took a slow, deep breath and began:

  Narsí was taken by the Lake,

  Long before she took him then.

  There was a spell he could not break,

  A whisper there beyond his ken.

  His gaze was fixed—he did not wake

  Once he drank his pride, his poison;

  What he saw, he could not take,

  And so he left this world of Men.

  The Lady knew his great mistake

  And took Narsí into her den.

  Narsí was taken by the Lake,

  Taken each night by her again.

  Brégest came in quickly and bowed. “Sire, the Lady seems to be moving to the east of the Lake towards the White Land, for her light has passed that way. Many think she has gone to speak with the Aelora there near the border with Caelün, and I think so too, for Wisps of Aelor have been spotted there, flashing like beacons on the shore of the Lake.”

  “If that is so, then I take it that news is abroad,” Délin said, “and we would do well to hear it ere the sun rises.”

  A rain came suddenly from the skies as they spoke, as if some great god was wailing. It pelted down like boulders, turning the ground tender and toiled. The grass became soggy and the wind began to churn, forcing Délin to close the doors to his sanctuary, which was already soaked on the northern side.

  “This is one thing you can count on in Arlin,” he said, his voice strained by the howling of the wind and rain outside. “Rain is as common as grass here. We do not think ill of it, of course, but this sudden torrent gives me a grave feeling, for we know the Lady Issarí is on the move. We should be too, I warrant, whether the weather invites us or not.”

  * * *

  So they began after a br
ief meal and a hurried packing of their things. It rained more heavily, the drops plunging on them like rocks, drowning their clothes in mere moments. Rivers of rain ran across the landscape of their faces, down mountainous noses and chasmic mouths. It hung on their eyelids like icicles, stinging and blinding them, and all the while their voices, if ever they had the will to speak, were consumed by the splash and the spray that was about them.

  The land around them was reduced to water-mist and mud, which they constantly fell into, even Délin himself, who, given his armour, found it difficult to stand up again. A tension set in on them, and only the gentle hum of Herr’Don lightened the mood, for they were drenched, and Ifferon on several occasions felt his shoes splodge. Yavün and Thalla fell into a pile of mud together, though their laughter told that they were not angry about it. Herr’Don was.

  The night grew long and they plodded on through the rain and darkness. The sight of sparkling waters in the dark guided them for a while, and soon they saw a glimmer in the distance, a rippling light upon the surface of Loch Nirigán. The intensity of the knights’ prayers increased the closer they got, and soon they had reached the edge of the shimmering waters.

  There the clouds broke and the moon shone directly upon the lake from above. The rain lightened and the sparkling depths were filled with a white light, pulsating beneath the surface. Délin bowed low, kneeling upon the wet ground.

  “Cé hómadín Lamar Issarí! All hail Issarí Lochlamar, the Lady of the Lake!” he said, his voice high and resonating. “Blessed Issarí, reveal to me your will. We have travelled long and hard for your counsel. Guide us through the darkness that fills our bodies and our minds.”

  The other knights knelt on either side of Délin, and Ifferon knelt behind him, the others following his lead. He heard the knights whisper prayers to themselves: “Lochlamar! Ardúnlamar! Hómadés dú! Condés al dú!” With that, the glimmer of white light grew brighter and ripples formed in the lake, centred at first, until finally the luminance ripped apart the water and a giant woman, fair and bright, poured up from its surface. The glint of white silk and jewels filled their eyes, and their jaws dropped as they witnessed the size and stunning beauty of this glistening goddess.