Chapter 30
It took four days for Tolian and her
companions to travel through the Great Western Marshes (or so they were
referred to by the Lormians; it should be noted that the inhabitants of
Threasia called them the Great Eastern Marshes). By day they journeyed in silent consideration
of their grim surroundings, for marshes in the latter days of autumn are quiet
places where one can easily become hypnotized by the scenery. At night they were escorted by the
Will-o-the-Wisps, who lit their way if they did some travelling by night or
cavorted and performed for them if they rested by their camp fire. The little light beings delighted in Tolian’s
presence, that much was obvious. They
clearly held her in the highest regard.
It seemed to pain them when the sun returned and they were forced to
leave her side.
It was noon when they stepped from
the marsh. Tolian was quite astounded by
the abrupt manner in which the swamp land ended and the tall pine forest
began. Almost as if a line had been
drawn the terrain changed and the air at last was clear of the fetid marsh odors. The road began to gradually climb its way
over hills covered with tall evergreens.
“Well, thank heavens!” proclaimed
Findelbres. “We’re finally free of those
little glowing monsters. I never did
trust them, you know.”
“I thought they were cute,” Brythia
said.
“Cute? Those little cuties have led thousands to
their deaths.”
“I do not begrudge them that. They too have a right to survive,” responded
the druidess with philosophical insight.
“They are merely defending their homes from invasion and providing
nutrition for the living creatures of the swamps.”
Tolian kept her thoughts to herself,
but listened with interest as her companions debated. Brythia then noticed the position of the sun
and excused herself to perform her druidic salute to the life-giving solar
fire. Kilfrie sat next to her, but was,
of course, unable to recite the words or make the gestures, required. The sun shone off her sleek black coat.
The next two weeks they traveled far
through the countryside of Threasia.
Forests, fields and rocky grassland took their turns as the
terrain. More often then not a stiff
wind blew out of the North, making their journey cold and difficult. Tolian hardly noticed the cold. She was well protected from its icy spears by
the magick of her armor, as well as her absolute absorption into herself. Visions of the Moonsword drew her
onward. Its power seemed to pull her
like a lodestone. She could feel herself
getting closer and closer to it. It
called to her. Through every fiber of
her being she knew that it was her destiny to wield that lunar metal as a
mighty sword against the coming darkness.
So wrapped in her thoughts was she that she barely spoke to her
companions. At night she could not truly
sleep due to her yearning for the mystic weapon of ancient, lunar power. She woke her companions early every morning
and urged them on to greater speed.
Brythia was getting worried about
her, she knew that. But even the
druidess’ love did not stave off the powerful pull of the Moonstone, created by
the ingenuity of the great Brythic.
Brythia for her part tried to understand, as Tolian endeavored to
explain the situation to her. But it was
difficult for her to verbalize the pull the artifact had upon her. She only knew that it was vital that she find
it as soon as possible.
They had passed a few small hamlets
and farmhouses as they rode, but they kept well clear of such places. Tolian did not particularly want to interact
with other people, in general, in her current form, and they thought it best to
avoid all eyes for the security of the expedition. They had too great a respect for the Demon’s
power and reach.
Tolian led them off the main road
that they had been traveling along onto to a narrow trail that was clearly not
well used. The faerie horses had no
difficulty with the poor condition of the trail, however. Brythia and Findelbres looked at each other
but said nothing. They were certain that
Tolian knew where she was leading them.
The forest about them looked especially dark and overgrown. It had a forbidding air to it that spoke
directly to the emotions. Its message
was clear, come no further. Stay
out. Go away.
Tolian paid no heed, but kept riding
forward.
“We’re close now,” she announced.
“I know,” said Brythia.
“How do you know?” Findelbres asked
with unease and reluctance evident on his face.
“Do you feel a strong urge to leave
this forest?” the druidess asked.
“Well, now that you mention it, yes,”
answered the faerie.
“That’s a druidic spell of the same
sort we use to keep interlopers out of the Haunted Mountains. It must have been cast by Brythic a thousand
years ago. What power he must have had.”
“Come,” called Tolian. She did not wait to see if the others obeyed
her. She turned and continued down the trail. She could hear Brythia and
Findelbres’ horses behind her.
Without warning an icy wind rushed
over the forest, bringing a snow squall in its wake. The drop in temperature was impossibly sudden. Snow blew through the trees straight at
them. The wind blew harder and
harder. Within five minutes a full-fledged
blizzard raged around them. Or at them,
thought Tolian. She was not about to
allow a mere weather condition to hold her back now. She could feel the moon energy radiating from
a nearby source. She was charged and
vitalized by its power already. The
heavy snow was piling up around her, but she paid it no heed. She urged Whisper on to a gallop, but even
that mighty horse of the Faerie Queen’s could not easily make its way through
the treacherous blizzard. She kicked and
kicked, striving to get more from the tiring animal. She had forgotten about her friends, she had
forgotten everything. Only finding her
Moonsword mattered now.
She dismounted and struggled forward
with all of her strength. The twirling
snow stung her eyes. She could see
nothing. It did not matter for she did
not need to see. She could feel the
power of the Moonstone more clearly than she had ever seen anything with her
eyes.
At last she came to a stone wall
about ten feet high, with a large wooden gate.
It was locked. She was about to
use her great strength to push it open, when she heard Brythia’s cry in the
distance behind her. It was amazing the
wind of the storm did not it drown out.
“Tolian! Help!”
Tolian paused for only a moment. She looked at the gate.
“I’ll be right back,” she assured the
wooden structure.
She leapt through the deep snow back
to her friends. They had not progressed
anywhere near as well as she had. She
first reached Brythia who had been either blown or thrown form her horse. Tolian scooped her beloved into her arms and
paying no attention to the fierce blizzard ran her to the gate with her
impossible speed. She then reached
Findelbres, Kilfrie and each of the horses one by one. When she had retrieved each of her friends,
who could not even stand up at that point, she examined the gate again. She delivered a mighty blow with her fist and
the gate flew apart before her.
She gasped when she looked
inside. A large garden stretched out
before her, flourishing in warmth and sunshine.
She looked back and, sure enough, the snow still came down with savage
force. She carried her friends inside to
recover. It was mind-boggling. A wide variety of crops and summer flowers
grew there. The air was warm and the sun
shone down brightly within the walls.
Red, yellow, pink and purple blossoms were in abundance. Bees buzzed about, pollinating the myriad
blooms. They sat there and recovered
themselves.
“This isn’t possible,” observed
Brythia.
“No, everything’s possible,” noted
Findelbres, “but this is very unlikely.”
Once everyone seemed to have gotten
the chill out of themselves and rested for a moment, Tolian’s urgency
returned. There was a humble farmhouse
across from the garden. If it were, in
fact, summer, it would have struck Tolian as being normal. But it was nearly December, now, and although
the area was not known for severe winters, there was no explaining the phenomena
they were experiencing.
“It’s here,” said Tolian, “My sword
is in that house.”
They left their horses and walked
down the walkway toward the house.
Tolian was bursting with excitement.
Brythia and Kilfrie were nervous.
Even Findelbres seemed quite curious.
The front door was plain with no window.
Tolian stared at it.
“I suppose we should knock?” said
Findelbres.
“But...,” Tolian mumbled.
“Please, for a prince you have no
manners at all,” commented the elf. He
knocked loudly on the door.
They waited for a few minutes,
straining to hear any sounds from inside.
Tolian felt foolish for standing there.
The Moonsword was her destiny and she was not going to wait for someone
to let her in to get it. Just then,
however, sounds of hurried footsteps could be heard from inside. The door knob turned, the portal opened. Standing before them was a man who appeared
to be in his mid-fifties. His hair and
beard were brown, but with sufficient grey to add dignity to his bearing. He wore a plain purple robe and a circlet of
silver upon his brow.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a
friendly manner.
Brythia gasped, “Davlin? What are you doing here?”
“I live here, child,” he
answered. “Wait, I know you, don’t
I? You’re Brythia, of course.”
He looked over at Tolian, “And this
must be Prince Tolian.”
Davlin shook his head sadly, “It’s
such a tragedy that they felt they had to do that to you, son. Such a waste of energy.”
Davlin’s words stunned Tolian, “What?”
“Nothing,” Brythia assured him. “He’s mad.
He has no idea what he’s talking about.”
Findelbres nodded politely at the
fellow, “Hello, nice to meet you and all.”
He turned to Brythia, “Well, this is awkward, where do you know this
gentleman from?”
“From the Order,” she answered.
“From the Order?” Tolian
repeated. “Then you have the
Moonstone? I am the Champion. I have come to retrieve it.”
Davlin smiled most graciously, “Yes,
well ah, perhaps we should sit down and discuss the matter. It is a delicate subject, I’m sure you will all
agree.”
Something about the surroundings and
the mysterious man’s demeanor was not right, Tolian was certain of that
much. Still she allowed Davlin to lead
them to a quaint sitting room with rustic, but comfortable chairs.
“Can I offer you some wine, your
journey here could not have been an easy one,” offered their mysterious host.
“Yes please,” chimed in Findelbres.
Tolian shot him a look of
displeasure. She got right to business, “You
claim that we have something to discuss.
Let us get on with it, I have
gone through much to get the sword.”
“The sword?” asked Davlin.
Brythia explained, “As you know the
Moonstone is malleable, to Tolian it appears as a sword in her visions. There are only two questions that we need to
discuss, and we have already asked them.
What are you, an outcast of the Druidic Order, doing here? And, where is
the Moonstone?”
“Let us keep one thing clear,” said
Davlin, “I left the Order of my own freewill, I am not an outcast, as you put
it. Now, let me ask you one question
before I answer your two. Have you told
Tolian about the controversy regarding the Prophecy, yet?”
“Controversy?” asked Tolian.
Brythia reassured him, “There is no
controversy, except in Davlin’s mind.”
“Not entirely true,” the renegade
druid countered. “The High Council took
the wrong translation of the Prophecy when they made their original plan two
hundred years ago. I had advised Magara
of this. The official interpretation is
flawed.”
Davlin looked with kindly eyes on
Tolian, “I’m afraid you were transformed for no good reason.”
Panic stabbed at Tolian, “What are
you talking about? I am the Champion.”
“No,” answered Davlin, “You are not
the Champion. You are some poor man that
was changed into a woman for no justifiable reason. The High Council was wrong—the Champion was
not supposed to be a person.”
He stood and offered Tolian a large
glass of wine. She took it in her
trembling hand.
Davlin called into the next room, “Come
out and meet some friends of our cause, Champion.”
Out stepped a silver humanoid
creature about four feet tall. It radiated incredible power from its slim form. Its head was bald and pointed, its features
were quite rudimentary. It wore no
clothes and possessed no sexual organs.
It bowed to them.
Davlin beamed. “May I present to you, the
Champion! The Moonstone was supposed to
be the Championa all along, Brythic was very clear about that if you consider
the proper translation of the Prophecy.
When the Druids would not listen to me, I realized that it was up to me
to find the Moonstone, and use my will to form it into the Champion.”
Tolian swallowed her wine in one quick
gulp.
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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