A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 3 (Part 1 of 2)

Chapter 3

Imlon

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The baggage train lagged behind for a mile or so: the guardsmen were racing ahead in pursuit of the knights.  The carters held their tongues, as did Imlon.  He had no desire to draw the attention of those around him, though he noted their glances.  Even the farmers and hired hands in the fields seemed to look at him in particular.

They came to a crossroads, where the knights, guardsmen and baggage reunited in a winding column.  A winged signpost, inscribed with dedications, stood beside the road.  Lines of chanting soldiers marched back to the fortress and around it toward the western provinces.  Caravans packed high with timbers turned for the rugged dales and moors of eastern Emmares.  Further up the east road, a cowherd waited for the chance to drive cattle southward into the rich pastures of the Heartland Vale.

The column, however, advanced northward, passing on a well-kept highway through the centre of the valley.  Imlon turned to look behind, and the full might of Crown's Fortress came into view: an immense city-like castle of pale red rock, towers and walls piled high on the hills' edge, but filled with buildings of other colours, wood and stone, rising hundreds of feet up and crowned with a thousand banners flying in the breeze - and then it was gone, hidden behind the slopes of the valley.  Imlon took in the scent of grass and corn, and exhaled deeply.

"Tired already, friend?" said one of the carters. 

The astronomer turned, jumping in the saddle.  "Not at all."

Soon afterwards, Imlon noticed another carter muttering with the man who had addressed him, throwing sly glances toward the astronomer.  The carters did not speak to him after that.

They rode on until dusk, ordering tradesmen, travellers and villagers off the road before striking camp at a small fishing settlement.  The guard officers wanted rooms at the inn, but Isendrin declared his intention to sleep alongside the tents of his knights.  The officers were left with no choice but to pitch their own tents around those of the Ship and Rose.

An argument sprang up after dark - two knights and two guardsmen woke the camp with their threats, but they were separated before it came to blows.  Imlon kept well back the next morning as the atmosphere turned dark.  A grim silence hung over the cavalry, those blocking the road scattered more quickly than before, and the carters whispered together. 

The tone lingered over the next days.  On the fourth night Imlon summoned up his courage and went to Isendrin's tent.  After some persuasion the guards admitted him.  Within, the lavishly decorated blue-gold tent was largely bare, and the topics of the brothers' conversation were dull: the camp food, the coming harvest, the weather.  Isendrin was distracted, not to be drawn on most questions.  Imlon had to ask one in particular.

"Do you intend to keep your oath?"

"What oath?" said Isendrin.

"The one you made to Agostes?  Never to return here."

Isendrin paused.  "No."

Imlon left the tent soon after.

They rode on for another day, cantering through a smelly market town as a preacher spoke from a winged memorial.  The cavalry drowned him out, but Imlon heard him finish.

"'Peace has her victory', says his Majesty's proclamation, so let Peace be our rallying cry!  Lay off your fears and cast the shadow from your hearts - the darkness of war has passed over and on."

The postriders would have carried the message to Roethenna and Casa Flow by now, Imlon realised.

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