Age of shadows, p.1
Age of Shadows, page 1
Age
of
Shadows
Song of Echoes
Book Two
R.E. PALMER
FrontRunner Publications
Copyright © 2021 R.E. Palmer
All rights reserved.
www.FrontRunnerBooks.com
Cover art by Kentaro Kanamoto
www.kentarokanamoto.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A huge thanks to Erin Kahn, Amanda Brand and Janet Allmey for being my valuable beta-readers for this project. It's very easy to get caught up in your own work, so it's vital to get feedback from others.
So, thanks to you all!
I very much appreciate your time and effort :0)
MAP OF THE FIVE REALMS
A large version of the map on the following pages
is available to download and print at
FrontRunnerBooks.com
1. ABANDON HOPE
Hope writhed, tugging with surprising strength, desperate to free her hand from Toryn’s grip. ‘I won’t take another step closer.’ He let go, unwilling to risk causing harm. She sagged to her knees, sobbing into her hands. ‘I won’t. I can’t. Please don’t make me.’ Her shoulders shook. ‘I can’t go.’
Toryn slumped beside her on the grass verge. ‘It’s the quickest route to Archonholm.’ He looked to the dark trees of the Foranfae Forest just a hundred paces from them. ‘We don’t have to go any nearer. The road skirts the border. Besides, no one can enter. We’re safe if we stay on this road. I promise.’
But Hope refused to listen. She turned and crawled up the bank, muttering under her breath. Toryn sighed. What other options lay open to him? He could hardly drag Hope the remaining leagues alongside a forest she so obviously feared. He stood on the edge of the Great Northwest Road and looked south. If they took the route, they would be in Archonholm in three days at most; the only other way was through the Menon Hills, which would easily add two, possibly three more days. Only the previous day he had felt confident about addressing the Archon with Hope by his side. She had made a full recovery from the incident on the ridge, hearing nothing more of the voice that had caused her so much pain. And Toryn hoped, being in the presence of the powerful Archon would bring the wise and coherent Hope back to the fore. But his raised spirits took a knock as she had quickly reverted to the muddled, old woman as they had trekked farther into the ward of Holm. And, as the road drew closer to the forest, her initial anxiety had transformed to the numbing fear now wracking her body.
Toryn surveyed the gnarled trunks and twisted branches of the Foranfae. The forest had dominated the region for as long as any could remember, yet, as Hamar was fond of saying, while few scrolls in the annals spoke of its history, it did not stop people speculating on what strange beings possibly lurked beneath her dark canopy. Not that anyone needed to read of its power from a dusty parchment — all who spent the briefest of moments close to its green border could sense this was no ordinary forest. The Archon may have forbidden entry by law, but it did not require the pain of death to deter trespassers: only the foolish, or those caring not for their sanity would dare to venture under her boughs. Of those known to have entered, the few returning to tell the tale, had no tale to tell, as none had any memory of their time inside, or for that matter, their own name or life before their intrusion. Whatever lay within would remain a mystery until Foranfae decided to give up her secrets, or an unforeseen catastrophe leveled the forest.
While Toryn was no fool, his curiosity led his feet back to the road and over the other side. He took a few paces onto the grass to take a closer look, trusting his gut would soon warn him of imminent danger. He stared into the gloom between the tree trunks, hoping the low, evening sun would allow him to see a little farther inside. His scalp tingled. He blinked, unsure if his eyes deceived him. At the edge of his vision, a tall, shadowy figure stared back. But when Toryn looked again, it had gone. He turned his head to look from the corner of his eye. There it was again. It moved among the trees, darting from one to the next with unnatural speed, making its way towards the edge, always watching but evading Toryn’s effort to fix it in his sight. Wherever the figure moved, the branches swayed despite the still evening. Toryn instinctively crouched. The trees appeared to grow taller, their branches twisting towards him, their thin twigs reaching out, groping the air, sensing someone drew near. Hope screamed. She stood at his side staring, wide-eyed at the trees. He spun back. But the figure had gone, and the trees stood motionless, appearing oblivious to their presence as a typical forest should.
Toryn took Hope’s hand. ‘Come on. Perhaps it’s best we take the longer route after all.'
◆◆◆
Toryn bolted upright. Sweat poured from his brow despite the cool dawn. He turned to Hope — her blanket lay empty at his side. Believing she must have gone to the stream to fill the flask, he stood and surveyed the valley to the south. If they made good progress, they could expect to cross the Menon Bridge and be in Archonholm by nightfall. Their five-day trek through the hills had thankfully been uneventful, and Hope had grown happier as the route brought them to the Menon Hills, placing the slopes between them and the forest.
He climbed a little way up the slope, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Archon’s banner. But the hills at the southern edge of the range were taller, thus obscuring the tower bearing his banner.
Archonholm. All his life, he had heard stories of its grandeur. Hamar had always spoken in a rare respectful way of the city. And of the Archon, he would have no bad word uttered against him. But while Hamar had sworn the Archonian Oath to sacrifice his life, if necessary for the honor and defense of the realms, he had never gotten within a bow shot of their leader. If all went to plan, Toryn would soon find himself face-to-face with the great man. He had rehearsed his speech a hundred times ready for the first guards they encountered. But as much as he had tried, he still struggled to find the right words to say to the Archon. But Toryn hoped the man would appreciate the importance of his message concerning the fate of the Singing Stone in the Wend Gap. His palms stung at the memory, but it seemed a long time since he and Hamar had made the grim discovery in the ruined cave.
Toryn strolled a little up the side of the valley to the nearby trees. He listened to the birds singing as he gathered twigs for their breakfast fire. In a way, he was pleased they had taken this route. He had also felt uneasy so close to the forest, but it had a different feel to Wyke Wood, and he could not fathom his reaction. His stomach had not recoiled as it had in the presence of Uldrak and Uleva, but he knew for sure he would not walk willingly into Foranfae. Despite Hamar’s tendency to embellish his stories with weird and wonderful details with each telling, Toryn believed every word his old friend had spoken of the forest.
The flint sparked and lit the dry grass. Toryn placed the sticks over the flames and listened to the satisfying crackle. He pulled a rabbit from his rucksack and glanced towards the bend in the valley, expecting to see Hope return any moment. But this morning, he would have breakfast well underway, so at least she would have no reason to complain until midday when her empty stomach would start to grumble. After many weeks on the road together, he now appreciated how she kept going — she ate more than he would have expected for a small woman.
Toryn spiked the skinned rabbit on a sharpened stick and propped it over the fire. He wiped his hands on the damp grass and stood waiting for Hope. But still, she failed to show. He turned the rabbit over to cook the other side, then walked down the valley to the rocky outcrop where the stream flowed. He rounded the bend but found no sign. Something was wrong. Toryn ran back to their campsite to find the flask sitting beside her blanket. Where had she gone? No footprints marked her departure, but she could easily have walked from their site and leave no footprints on the thick, damp grass.
The smell of burning flesh drew his attention. Toryn decided to sit and finish preparing breakfast. Perhaps Hope had wandered into the nearby woods for privacy, and the aroma of a cooked rabbit would soon entice her back. But a nagging doubt gnawed at his stomach. In all their time together, she had never left him. Even in her most obstinate and bewildered state, she had stayed close by, appearing keen to keep her eyes on him.
Toryn tore off a strip of meat and chewed, constantly checking up and down the valley. What now? It had never crossed his mind Hope would vanish. Was she in peril? Hope had saved him from an unspeakable fate at the hands of Uleva; he should now, at the very least, look for her. But what of events in the wider world? Was there war in the north? Here in Holm, there were no signs of conflict. He had seen little activity on the main road. Had the Golesh breached the Caerwal Gate, thousands of reserves would be rushing south to defend the realm. Or if things had gone terribly wrong, he would be evading a rampant enemy surging north.
Toryn finished his meal and chose to wait a while longer. There would be no point in searching for Hope just yet, only for her to stroll back to the very place he had abandoned. If she had not returned by midday, he would walk up to the brow of the hill and look. But which way could she have gone? Perhaps another Singing Stone stood nearby? Hope had spoken of others. She claimed there were once seven, six following the destruction of the stone he and Hamar witnessed. If the remaining six were evenly spread throughout the land, possibly one could be situated in Holm. But if she had answered a call from a stone, why had she not roused him? If she had gone to a Singing Stone protected by the old spells, would he be able to follow?
A plume of smoke rising down the valley caught his eye. Toryn kicke d soil over the hot ashes of his fire, gathered their belongings, and scrambled up to the thick bushes a little way up the hill. Who could be travelling this route when the road lay close by? He retreated farther into the scrub. Did the Archonian Guard patrol the valley as well as the road? He winced as a thorn scratched his neck. It would make sense to watch the valley as fugitives would hardly be rambling along the main routes through Holm. But who were they looking for? His shoulders sagged. What if Hope had gone that way? Had a patrol apprehended her? He had to know. Toryn creeped through the thorny bushes and tramped up the hill. Sweat poured into his eyes and down his back as the sun rose over the valley. He fretted. Only a few weeks back, his clothes from the cell had offered little protection against the cold; now it trapped the heat against his body. But he was reluctant to remove his shirt as the stronger sun in the south had already burned his exposed arms and face.
Toryn left the cover of the bushes and crossed the top of the ridge. He made his way along the opposite slope until he drew level with the smoke. He crawled up to the brow and peered down into the valley. Six men sat around a campfire eating a late breakfast, and judging by their equipment, he guessed they had to be Archonian Guards. But there was no sign of a prisoner — Hope could not have come this way. Toryn turned and sat. To the west, the Menon Hills stretched another league. Between the foothills, fields of wheat and barley shone gold under the morning sun. He could think of no reason why Hope would have chosen to head towards the sea. Surely east was out of the reckoning as it would have been impossible to avoid the Foranfae. Archonholm and the Caerwal Mountains loomed to the south, but why would she continue that way without him. He turned north. Had she fled back from where they had come?
Toryn lay on his back and stared at the sky. His spirits rose as he recognized larks fluttering high above him, enjoying the warm air, singing their lilting song. He listened, remembering Hamar’s assertion they sang without pause, so they did not have to bear the silence while waiting for the Maidens to reply. For a moment, he felt as he had back in the carefree summers of his childhood. Toryn watched the larks, wishing he could join them to bask in the sunshine, blissfully unaware of the troubles besetting the realms. He sat up and found his eyes wandering to the horizon in the west. In four days, he could reach the coast. As a young boy, Hamar’s tales of the Elessyn Sea had filled him with a longing to see the vast, restless waters with waves as high as houses crash against the cliffs.
He was alone. Toryn glanced south. Did he really need to take his message to the Archon? Would it make any difference? If the Golesh broke through the gate, and the Ruuk conquered the north, he may never get the chance to gaze upon the sea again. Toryn stood, took one step down the hill, then stopped. What would Hamar think of him? The old guard devoted most of his life to the service of the Archon and the realms. Toryn imagined Hamar at his side, arms folded, shaking his head in disgust. He heard his gruff voice, Duty, lad, duty.
Toryn turned and walked back up the hill. He had to do his duty and deliver his message, which meant going to Archonholm. He stood at the top of the ridge and surveyed the valley and hills opposite. Where was Hope? Had she said anything over the last few days to reveal her state of mind? But he could recall nothing. The forest had caused her distress, but as soon as they had reached the hills, she had seemed more at ease.
Below, the sound of the guards preparing to leave demanded his attention. Toryn watched as they tied on their sword belts and shouldered their packs. He held his breath, curious to see which direction they would take. He exhaled as they headed north up the valley. Toryn waited until they had rounded the bend and then made his way down the hill. He made his decision — he would go south to Archonholm. If Hope had come this way, then it made sense to follow on after her. If she had gone any other direction, he only had a one in three chance of guessing right and perhaps little chance of finding her even if he chose correctly. Besides, his objective ultimately was to speak to the Archon. As much as it pained him, he accepted his priority was to deliver his message; finding Hope would have to come later. But despite his reasoning, Toryn’s heart and stomach disagreed with his head.
2. DIVIDED LOYALTIES
‘That’s absurd!’ Elodi rose from her chair. ‘Bardon sailed barely a week ago, and Broon are announcing his successor?’ She walked to the Great Hall’s large window and looked out onto the bustling city below.
Wendel’s thick eyebrows bunched in the middle as he squinted at the scroll. ‘I’m afraid that is their custom, ma’am, and it’s not for us to question them. Broon’s charter dictates, rightly in my opinion, the realm cannot be leaderless under any circumstances. I can only assume they also have received no word from Lord Broon, and therefore he is in no position to rule. The trials would have started as a precaution as soon as Bardon took command of the Archon’s fleet. But should he return within the year, their laws state he will assume his position without a challenge.’
Elodi groaned. ‘A year? I dearly hope we hear from him long before then.’ She followed the progress of a cart clattering along the road to deliver food and drink to the workers on the plain. She turned back to Wendel. ‘And what do we know of the new lord, this Nordryn fellow?’
Wendel yawned and stretched out his arms. ‘Well apart from the fact his ancestors came from the north, hence his name, we know very little. But we do know he passed the trials as decreed by the Council of Keld, so has proved worthy of taking the title.’ He finished reading the note and let it drop to the table. He drew a breath. ‘Ah. Oh dear.’
Elodi looked up to the ceiling. ‘Oh dear, what?’
His eyes stayed on the paper. ‘And… as is his right as the new Lord Broon, he’s demanding Broon’s spearmen return to Keld immediately.’
‘He’s demanding what!’ Elodi shot up from the window ledge. ‘But surely… he must know we…’ She strode to the table, jabbing her finger at Nordryn’s message. ‘Demand? Or request?’
Wendel pointed to the last line. ‘I’m afraid demand is the actual word he uses, ma’am. And to decline would be taken as an insult and, ultimately, a challenge to his authority.’ He grunted as he stood and held out the paper to Elodi. ‘Despite our current predicament, I believe we have no choice but to comply. I’m sure you don’t want to stoke the embers of the old hostilities. The last thing we need is another unfriendly neighbor in such times.’
Elodi read Nordryn’s words and brought a hand to her mouth. ‘What could have befallen Bardon’s fleet? Why no word? Has he failed, Wendel?’
He gestured to the nearby chair. ‘May I?’
Elodi waved her hand. ‘Of course, and please don’t feel you have to ask my permission every time you want to sit.’
His joints creaked as he lowered himself into the chair. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I find I can think more clearly these days when off my feet.’ He leaned back. ‘As for Lord Broon, or Bardon, as we should officially refer to him as he no longer holds that title now Nordryn—’
‘He’s still Lord Broon to me, but regardless of correct etiquette, what could have happened to the fleet?’
‘Communicating would be a challenge, ma’am. The air is thin above the Caerwals, I’m not sure a bird could negotiate the range easily. And should it try to take the pass, they would make an easy target for the Golesh at the gate. A message sent by sea would take time, and of course, we have no idea if enemy hawks have intervened.’
Elodi snatched up the paper, screwed it into a ball, and hurled it to the floor. ‘And nothing from the Archon! How does he expect me to prepare if he sends no dispatches?’ She glanced to the window as the room darkened. ‘Has he opened the gate, Wendel? Are we victorious, or do we sit here in ignorance of the mortal danger we face if he’s lost the pass?’ Wendel opened his hands with no words to offer. Elodi returned to the window and looked up to the gathering clouds. ‘If the Archon thinks I’m going to risk what small force I have at my disposal to retake the Drunsberg mines, he’d better think again. What’s the point in sacrificing more soldiers? If he’s gained his victory, he can send some of his precious resources to aid us for a change. If he’s suffered a defeat, then what good is there in recapturing the mines? All will eventually be lost if Archonholm has fallen.’ She turned as hail stones hammered against the window. She watched them bounce back from the glass and noted their size; even the weather appeared to have stepped up its campaign to demoralize her people. In no time, the hailstones piled up on the outside ledge, stacking on top of each other as if attempting to shatter the windows and storm the Great Hall.
