Chapter VI
It was with the fires of the newly risen sun in their eyes and the pounding of hooves on the grass that Saeran, Lark, Hesio, and Hathien awoke from their weary slumber. Hesio rose first, grabbing at the sheathed sword that lay by his side as he stood. “Riders,” the tall warrior muttered as he squinted into the west, where the noise came from. “They’ll be here soon.”
Lark pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his sore red eyes as he yawned. Fighting creatures from children’s storybooks was hard work, he had found. “What are you on about?” he asked Hesio through another yawn. “What’s that noise?”
Hesio rolled his eyes. “Riders, you fool,” he said. “You don’t know the sound of hooves? They’re hostile, from the way they’re galloping here to catch us, which won’t take long.” He paused, feeling the hilt of his longsword. “Well, elf? What are you waiting for? Grab your bow, and be ready for a fight! All of you, get your weapons,” he said, turning to the others, who were still in the process of waking up.
Saeran grabbed his shortsword, Lark his bow. Hesio drew his longsword, with its blade pulsing crimson, watching the riders as they drew ever closer. “Is that a banner?” Hesio asked no one in particular. It was, a huge square of fluttering blue canvas, depicting a rose floating in a pool of water.
“Riverthorn,” Saeran answered, “an island in the Merripond. I pass through it every time I go to Valdi, a resting place.”
“Have they ever done this before?” Hesio asked. “Stopped you before you even come to the city?”
Saeran shook his head, but the hoof-beats became so loud at that point that talking became impossible. Coming to a halt not ten feet away from Hesio, who stood in front of the others with his sword held in both hands, were twenty riders on massive destriers. Knights in full steel plate held drawn longswords in their gauntleted hands, along with a squire in mail for each of them, one of who was holding up the banner.
One of the knights lifted the visor on his helmet, revealing a face lined with wrinkles and bearing the scars of past struggles. It was a young face, despite this, the man being only in his middle thirties, Saeran guessed. “This is land belonging to Riverthorn, travellers,” he declared. “State your business in Her Grace’s lands immediately, or I shall have you leave them.”
“How is our business any business of yours?” Hesio asked defensively, holding his weapon in a threatening manner. “We’ve got as much a right to be here as anyone, you filthy highwayman!”
“I should make you eat that disrespectful tongue of yours,” the knight—who, judging by his full, shining steel plate that bore not a speck of rust or damage, was not a highwayman—replied.
“We’re just passing through, sir,” Saeran said, interrupting before Hesio had a chance to do anymore damage. “We’ll only be in Riverthorn a night, at the most, before we leave again.”
“I shall have to get your names, as well as your destination,” the mounted knight responded. “By order of the Queen, I am not permitted to let anyone pass through Riverthorn without knowing their true intentions.”
“Leave us be, knight, and we’ll do the same for you,” Hesio said.
“Hesio!” Hathien snapped at him. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, Hathien,” he snapped right back. “This man has stopped us on the road and held us here without even giving us a reason. By the Gods, I won’t let him hassle us for nothing!”
Bristling with sudden anger for the man’s stubbornness, the knight resolved to ignore him as best he could. “Your names, sir,” he asked of Saeran, who seemed the most sensible of the bunch.
“Saeran Randsly,” Saeran replied, “and this is my cousin Drennan. The lady is Hathien Nerid, the elf is Lark Elford, and he is Hesio Arishan.” He pointed to each of his friends in turn as he introduced them.
“And your destination, Master Randsly?” the knight asked.
“Valdi, sir.”
The knight’s eyes flared so suddenly that Saeran began to question whether or not he’d really seen it. A sudden intake of breath, though, was all Hesio needed to hear to know something was wrong. “Have you not heard? Valdi was burned to the ground weeks ago. By demons, some might say.”
Drennan drew a ragged breath, obviously attempting to hold back tears. “We know that, sir. It was Drennan here who escaped the village before it was destroyed. He told me what had happened, and we’re going to see if there are any others who survived the flames.”
“We did not know that there were any survivors,” the knight said solemnly. “Although, if this boy made it out alive, who is to say there were not others like him?” With a sudden grimace, he removed his steel helm and scratched his chin roughly, holding the cap in the crook of his arm. “These things make the skin raw,” he complained quietly.
“Well, I suppose I ought to take you to Riverthorn to see the Queen. Her Grace has been hunting down these demons that burned your village, though with little success up to now. With your help, though, we may be able to get a little farther along,” he said, placing the helmet back on. “I am Irilden, Captain of the Queen’s Guardsmen. These are my fellows, as well as their squires. If you would be so kind as to follow us to Riverthorn, I will present you to Her Grace immediately.”
“So you expect us to keep up, with you riding and us on foot?” Hesio asked with a suspicious raise of the eyebrow. “Because I surely won’t run alongside you like some bloody dog!”
“We shall walk with our horses if it would make you feel better,” Irilden said.
“Thank you, sir,” Saeran said, again not wishing for Hesio to make things even worse. Watching the knights dismount from their powerful destriers, Saeran moved to where Hesio, who was still fuming for what seemed to be no reason, stood. “What is the matter with you?” he asked, reiterating Hathien’s question.
The warrior shrugged, grinding his teeth together angrily. “I don’t know, Saeran,” he replied quietly, below the hearing of Irilden and the others in his company. “Something about these men doesn’t feel right.”
“They’re only going to escort us to Riverthorn to see the Queen, Hesio,” Saeran said. “Maybe she can help us catch those who burned Valdi. I’d think you would be a little more excited about that, if only for Drennan and my sakes.”
“I don’t like knights,” Hesio admitted. “They claim to be chivalrous and strong and good, to support the weak and poor. Then they go off on the whim of a Queen or a King, burning villages and brutally murdering the smallfolk. I wouldn’t trust this man any farther than I could throw him, steel armor and all.”
“You’re too hard on them, Hesio,” Hathien said. “Those knights that you speak of so fondly, they’re just over-proud swordsmen with a title. A real knight fights for the weak and defends the helpless. There’s an order of holy knights in Virynon, and I’ve heard tell that they leave a pot of gold in every village they pass through.”
“And where does that gold go? The village leaders, whose pockets are swollen with money they squeezed from their people. Eventually the money trickles up the hierarchy, to land in the coffers of the King.” He sighed. “Girl, you need to get away from your nurse’s stories, and get back into the real world. Not everything’s as pure and innocent as you think.”
Hathien frowned, unable to think of a clever reply.
There became fewer and fewer trees as they walked over the earth that was still damp from morning’s dew. The light of the sun grew stronger, slowly burning away the memories of the Darkmeadow Forest as hours passed. Still they walked, until there loomed in the distance the small, blue outline of the Whitevale Mountains, which Saeran had gone around countless times before on his way to Valdi.
If William and Drennan’s family were truly dead, all of them slain by the black-robed men, then this might be the last time he would cross those mountains and go to Valdi. What point would there be? What happens to Drennan, then? Saeran wondered. He could come to live in Rosehollow, but his life would be forever altered, and not for the better. Would he even want to live at all after taking such news?
It wasn’t long after the Whitevales appeared that Saeran began seeing signs of the river around him. The grass grew longer and greener; there were flowers that blossomed in abundance. He could even hear the flow of rushing water over the din that their procession made.
Riverthorn was an island in the mighty Merripond River, a fertile prize that had been captured centuries ago by an exiled lord of Mastilian to the north. He had built a fortress to withstand the onslaught of countless enemies, a stronghold in the river whose tall grey walls were becoming visible. Even having been built so long ago, those walls were still enough to make all but the most determined of enemies think twice. Saeran shuddered as a sudden image of falling from the top of the walls struck him.
They soon arrived at a narrow wooden bridge that stretched across the Merripond, the only entrance to the island from the west. It was small enough that it need only take a few torches to send it up in flames, cutting off access from raiders. Unfortunately, this made it unbelievably inconvenient for armies returning home to meet their families, as only a few men could walk across at once, and even fewer mounted men. With Saeran and his friends in the middle of the press of horses and knights, it took far too long to cross into the city.
The guards at the gate apparently recognized Irilden, and allowed them to enter the city without too much difficulty. Now they walked through the thronging mass of people, residents and visitors to the city alike. In the distance they could see the fort, a stone motte-and-bailey fortification, where the Queen would be holding court. As they passed through the city, Irilden and his other knights mounted their horses again, so as to make even the most courageous of bandits think twice. They rode in a small circle around the five newcomers to the city.
Looking beside him, Saeran saw Hathien with her nose in the air, sniffing the familiar odour of freshly baked bread. They were in the market now, and they saw and heard the sights and sounds of Rosehollow there, if many times louder. Merchants were hawking their goods to passers-by, making bold claims that their wares were better than the next shops’, though they were ignored by those who had enough money not to buy from street vendors. There were carts laden with fruits and treats, stalls filled to bursting with all other sorts of food.
A glint caught Hathien’s eye, and she looked over just in time to see two fully grown, wealthy women fighting over a ruby-encrusted necklace like little girls. Each pulling with as much strength as their muscles could muster, the necklace soon snapped, sending ruby links flying into the crowd. As the red-faced merchant grew even redder with blinding rage, Saeran saw children as well as their parents getting down on their hands and knees to scratch around in the dirt for a gem that could feed them for weeks. With grubby children running underfoot, Irilden cursed as he skillfully manoeuvred his mount around the scampering children.
The tall knight sighed audibly when they arrived in a more civilized neighbourhood, where the shops were inside and no children played games in the street. The obstacles in the street grew steadily less as they approached the fort, with only those higher—or those who think they’re higher—on the social hierarchy believing they have business with the Queen. Here the people wore finer clothes, rich silks and velvets of every colour, as well as fine gold and silver jewellery. Saeran chuckled as he saw Hathien, who had never known such luxury, watching them with unhidden envy.
They arrived at the fort with the bright sun reaching its noonday peak. Again, they were allowed entry untroubled because of Irilden’s high status with the Queen. Entering into a wide stone courtyard, with vibrant gardens and gushing fountains scattered all throughout, they were immediately assaulted by a dozen servants with a barrage of questions. “Can we take your horses?” “Who are those strangers?”
The noise of all the voices combined with the clangour of men in full armour dismounting was more than Irilden could handle in his already irritated state. “Be silent!” the knight shouted, startling the servants into silence. “You,” he pointed to one, a tall, lanky boy with uncombed brown hair and a dusting of hair on his upper lip, “take our horses to the stables, now. Do not tarry on your way, and see that they are properly washed and fed. The rest of you can shove off!”
The servants leapt to do what they were told, scrambling off in all different directions. “It’s the same thing every time someone new comes to the castle,” Irilden muttered, shaking his head. “Men, you’ve my leave to return to the barracks. You’re done for the day.” Smiling, the other knights made their way towards a stone building in the corner of the fort. “Now, you five can follow me inside. Her Grace should be holding court now, and I will bring you to her afterwards.”
And so it was that they followed a knight they had just met into a castle that none of them had ever been inside of, in the hopes of meeting a queen that only two of them had ever even heard of. It was an odd day, Saeran thought, but no odder than their recent escapades in the Darkmeadows. Suddenly he was reminded of the old nurse’s stories that Hesio had mentioned earlier in the day, in which the hero and his friends always saved the day, conquering over insurmountable odds and enemies. He had always loved those stories, thinking of them in the same way that Hathien had spoken of knights earlier. Now they seemed a childish fancy. His own story, the story of real life, felt drab and dreary and tragic in comparison.
His mood suddenly darker, Saeran could understand Drennan’s escape from reality. He now realized that his young cousin hadn’t said a word that whole day, or for the past few days. The boy had lost his whole family, his home, everything he knew that was in Valdi.
They arrived in silence at a long hall, which was nearly empty of people. Those who were there were wealthy folk in long robes and long, angry faces. Obviously irritated at being addressed last, they each waited their turn, listening in as the Queen heard the tales of farmers whose crop was trampled by knights, of cobblers whose business had been stolen by foreigners, of peasants so indebted to creditors that they needed sanctuary from the violent hands and clubs of the collectors. In turn the Queen doled out compensation, apologies, and rebuke, always doing what she thought best for her people.
Though they waited for what must have been an hour, for Saeran it seemed to go by in an instant, his attention wholly fixed upon the woman who was Queen of Riverthorn. Silky blond hair fell from her head down past her shoulders to be hidden by the extravagant chair she sat in, framing her round pale face. Entranced by the plump, scarlet lips that moved with each proclamation, Saeran hardly noticed the time go by. She was gorgeous, more beautiful even than Hathien. Thinking this, Saeran’s face suddenly turned quite red.
“I have some guests that you may wish to speak with, Your Grace,” Irilden suddenly said, breaking Saeran out of his trance. “This is Saeran Randsly and his cousin Drennan, who is of Valdi.”
“Valdi, the village that was burned?” she asked, though it was apparent from the obvious excitement on her face that she already knew the answer. When Irilden nodded, she went on, “I’m glad to hear it! Not that I’m glad Valdi was burned, or anything…just that you survived it.”
“I understand,” Drennan said, breaking his sullen silence suddenly.
“Thank goodness,” the Queen said. Then she stood, moving towards the group of strangers in her throne room. “I am Rivatha, Queen of Riverthorn, as you’ve probably guessed. I’m sure my parents thought they were terribly clever, naming me Rivatha and living in Riverthorn,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, introduce yourselves, if you please.”
“I am Saeran Randsly, Your Grace.”
Rivatha’s face suddenly turned in a grimace. “Please, just Rivatha. You are honoured guests now, we don’t need the title.”
“I’m Hathien Nerid, of Rosehollow Village, like Saeran.”
“Hesio Arishan.”
“And I am Lark Elford, my queen,” the elf said with a flourished bow. Then, going down to one knee, he took Rivatha’s hand and kissed it.
“Please stand, Master Elford,” Rivatha said. “Elford…. Isn’t that the name of the King of Lorbank?”
“Yes indeed, your majesty. I am his son,” Lark said, a touch of pride leaking into his voice, into his mildly arrogant smile.
“Maybe it should be me who is kissing your hand, then,” she said, petting his ego for a moment. “Your father is a wise man. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Lark nodded. “And I you, Your Grace.”
“Now, then. Let’s get to business,” Rivatha said. “If you would follow me.” She walked across the room again, sitting down at the head of the long table beneath the throne, with Irilden taking the chair right next to her. “So, Drennan Randsly, would you tell me your story?”
He did, relaying the same tale that he had told to Saeran in Rosehollow, omitting nothing and changing nothing. When he finished this time, however, there were no tears. Unlike the first telling, when the boy had openly wept until he could weep no more, Drennan’s face was empty of emotion. There were no more tears left inside him; that much was obvious. He was no longer a boy; he was a man who had lost everything.
Rivatha, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her gown, took Drennan’s hands in her own, attempting to comfort the boy whose loss was immeasurable. “I am so sorry, Drennan, for your loss,” she said. Drennan shrugged. “So, it was the cult of Varkanah who did this, as we thought. They had attacked one of the villages at the far edge of my rule not a month ago, and we have been hunting them ever since.
“We should like your help, all of you,” Rivatha said, “in finding this cult. I have heard tell that they take sacrifices for their demon-god, cutting their throats before a representation of the deity, a statue. All we must do is find this statue, and we will find the cult.
“You wish to go to Valdi, no? To search for survivors? It would be to the benefit of Riverthorn and yourselves if you would take the time to search the area for the statue. A small group could doubtless be of much more use than a large contingent of knights.”
Saeran looked at Drennan, who still appeared emotionless. “We will do our best, Your Grace,” he said, “but I don’t know how much use we will be to you. I cannot speak for the others, but all I want in the world is to find this cult, to give them what they deserve for burning Valdi. We are villagers, though, lumberjacks and bakers, and farmers, not rangers.”
“Speak for yourself, Saeran,” said Hesio, silent until that point. “If anyone can help you find this cult, it’d be me. I’ve tracked elves halfway across worlds you’ve never even heard of; I think I can find some murderous priests for you.”
“I am the blood of Lorbank,” Lark proclaimed, “from which the greatest minds of Terrilor have hailed. Mine are a wise people, and strong, and I know I will be of help to you on this task.”
“I don’t know much about fighting, I’ll admit,” Hathien said, “nor am I a hunter nor a ranger. But I will do whatever I can to help you, Drennan. We’ll find the men who burned your home; I swear it.”
Rivatha, sitting at the far end of the table, chuckled, a soft sound that made Saeran suddenly happier than he’d felt in a long time. She put her elbows up on the long table, cradling one fist in the other and resting her head upon them. “Villagers indeed, Saeran Randsly. From what I’ve heard here, there is not a thing that could stop you five from accomplishing your goal. You will find what survivors there are in Valdi, and you will take vengeance on those who burned her. And I will come with you,” she announced.
Irilden suddenly stood, knocking his chair over in the process and wearing a shocked expression. “You cannot, Your Grace,” he stated. “You are the Queen, you must stay here and guide and protect your people.”
Rivatha smiled a gentle, if slightly condescending grin at her faithful knight and servant. “How can I protect them, Sir Knight, if I spend all my time sitting in that old chair while these cultists run rampant through my lands? I will go with Drennan and Saeran and personally see to it that these devil-worshippers are repaid for their transgressions against my people, and against all people.”
“Then I will come with you, Rivatha,” Irilden said. “No harm will come to you while I stand by your side, I swear.”
“It is settled, then!” Rivatha exclaimed. “This is a great task that we are undertaking, you understand. From here on, we seven may be alone in our struggle against an ever-growing enemy. There are more powerful things at work here than men, if what I hear is correct. We will be dealing with vile forces of evil, creatures of shadow and beasts of death. Varkanah has been forgotten by men in recent years, but that does not mean he is not powerful still. It only means he is hungrier for what he needs the most. Blood.” She looked at each of the others individually. “You understand this?”
They all nodded.
“Good. Now, I will arrange for quarters for all of you for tonight. Sleep well, and eat heartily, for in the morning we shall ride for Valdi!”