Chapter 37
It had originally been Tolian’s plan
to avoid Lorm on their journey towards the Northern kingdoms. But that had changed now. She constantly urged her companions on to
greater speed, as they rushed towards her native land. They rode eighteen hours a day at the fastest
gallop the faerie horses could muster.
It was hardest on poor Kilfrie, who did her best to keep up, but by the
end of each day spent a couple of hours panting and trying to catch her breath
before she could settle down to sleep.
Findelbres and Brythia were exhausted too, of course, but they made no
comment or complaint, for they knew the urgency of their purpose. The miles rolled beneath them, but Tolian
paid no head to their surroundings, her concentration was centered on her home,
her family.
Not long after they had cleared the
marsh once again and had made some progress into Lormian territory, Kilfrie’s
legs gave out
from under her. She tumbled and sprawled. She was unable to lift herself up on her. Tolian
stopped Whisper, dismounted and rushed back towards the druidess in the panther’s
body. She lifted the cat up with the
tenderness a dear friend affords another and laid the exhausted cat across Whisper’s saddle.
“Do you think you can stay up there,
Kilfrie?” she asked.
She looked into Kilfrie’s eyes and
heard her answer within her mind, “I’ll try,” came the fatigued reply.
Tolian slapped the horse on the rump
to send the mare off and running. It was
a sight indeed, a panther riding upon the back of the great faerie horse. Then she, herself, began to run and quickly
overtook her three friends on horseback and once again led the way.
They raced from Threasia, across the
countryside of Lorm, far quicker than any previous travelers ever had. As Tolian recognized more and more of the
landmarks of her own familiar kingdom new thoughts moved in her mind. She was not preoccupied with her
transformation or any of the embarrassment or shame that had been attached to
it. No, what she felt now was fear. Not fear for herself, but fear for every
hamlet that they passed, for every child that played in the evergreens. She felt deeply afraid for her father, for
Lorm. Every second they spent resting
she begrudged, it was wasted time to her.
She worried that some innocent life would be lost with every moment they
dallied.
As they passed through the more
settled areas of Lorm they raised great commotion. They galloped wildly through the Town of
Reavinworl, leaving the townsfolk wide-eyed and dumb at the sight of the
wolf-skinned beauty dashing before the three riders on their fantastic
steeds. For many years after it was not
uncommon to hear the folk at the local pub relating the mysterious
happenstance.
Tolian did not care what anyone
thought now. The only thing that
mattered to her was getting to the Palace in time to warn her father, to call
the defenses, to stop that hellish monster from getting into Lorm. The closer they got to their goal, the more
relief Tolian felt, as there appeared no signs of worry upon the people. Her hasty examinations of the startled
countenances that they encountered, revealed only of the peoples’ current
surprise, no fears of war were there expressed.
They had not the look of a beleaguered, war-weary people, no lines of
refugees or injured were present anywhere.
The Kingdom, at least it’s bustling central towns showed no signs of
conflict or invasion. This good news did
nothing, however to slow Tolian’s determined velocity.
When at last the fortified towers of
the palace came into view, and still no signs of warfare could be discerned, a
powerful sense of relief found its way into Tolian’s heart. Lorm was safe, for the time being
anyway. She had arrived in time to
prevent the Demon’s conquest of her home.
Her fear had been the engine of their trek across Threasia and
Lorm. It had served its purpose
well. For what is fear if not an
internal energy designed to bring us toward some action or avert us from a
perceived disaster? She had arrived at
her destination before her adversary and now a methodical calm took hold of
her. Plans and strategies of defence
replaced the worrisome urgency that had driven them forward.
Tolian was surprised to see that some
preparations for war were already underway.
The hamlets which were positioned within a distance of five miles were deserted. No signs of violence could be seen, nor of a
hasty desertion. The buildings and homes had the appearance of
being carefully closed and secured. The
orders had been given for evacuation, and the villagers and townsfolk had been
presumably summoned into the protection of the palace’s walls to prepare for a
siege. Tolian doubted that her father could have evacuated his subjects so
soon. Even if her uncle had managed to
send warning so quickly, she suspected that it was unlikely that such a degree
of preparedness could be so achieved in such a short time. Her uncle would not have known that the Demon
was heading towards Lorm
so soon. The prophecy indicated that the fiend would still
be occupied with the Northern Kingdoms for some time. Even her warnings to him did not seem to
indicate or warrant such preparations.
Perhaps their scouts had perceived some sign of the coming siege, or
refugees from some war torn land had given voice to the timely warning. She was quite piqued with curiosity.
There had not been time for any of those possibilities. Refugees do not travel so quickly, and in peacetime. Lorm has few scouting patrols.
Seeing that nearly everthing was in
readiness, and few strategic preparations remained to be done, Tolian slowed
her pace and allowed her companions to catch
up to her. She turned and faced them
with enthusiasm.
It was not long ago, she would rather
have died, than to approach the Palace of Lorm in her feminine shape. Now, she felt no discomfort at the prospects
of seeing her father. She felt
confident, proud to be the Champion. And
yes, proud to be a woman. She could not
say for certain whether it was the druidic sorcery still at work upon her, or
whether she had merely learned to accept the advantages of her
transformation. It did not matter. Lorm was in danger. The World was in danger, and she alone had
the power to save it.
“A Warrior’s Palace to be sure!”
observed Findelbres with admiration.
“It is quite splendid, Tolian,”
agreed Brythia.
Tolian smiled. To her it was simply home.
“Thanks, come on, we’ll take the East
Gate, it should be easier to enter there.”
For Tolian could see that there was a
great bustle of activity at the Main Gate, what with villagers and townsfolk
entering and the soldiers attempting to maintain some semblance of order to the
influx of the masses.
It took almost an hour just to get
through the crowds of people and to the stairs that led to the East Gate,
reserved for the use of the warrior class of Lorm. She had never seen anything of its like
before. It had been many a generation
since anyone had dared launch an attack on the Warrior Kings of the West. Of course, there had been wars in Tolian’s
experience (she had fought in four campaigns herself), but never had the
heartland of Lorm, or its mighty Palace, been tested.
The stairs to the East Gate had fewer
people, but still it was more congested than she had ever seen it. Soldiers of every rank hurried up or down at
a frantic pace. Tolian then realized
that she and her companions were generating a great deal of stares. She realized that while those gazes had
elements of lust at her half-naked female flesh, curiosity regarding her attire
and the strangeness of her friends, mostly there was a great sense of shock
that there were non-warriors utilizing the East Gate. In Lorm, such a thing was unheard of. It occurred to Tolian, that in likelihood, no
woman had ever ascended those steps, since they were built, centuries ago. To her mind, now, that seemed grossly unfair
for she had learned that women can become warriors of at least the quality of
men.
She recognized many faces in the
lines of the warriors. She smiled to
think at what their reaction was going to be once they found out that the woman
they leered at with callous indignation was in fact the same person that had
lead them victoriously into battle.
Finally they stood before the door
warden, who wore an expression of impatient anger, “I’m afraid you can’t come
in this way, Miss. It’s reserved for
soldiers, as in men. And certainly not
foreigners,” he added, looking suspiciously at Findelbres and Brythia.
Tolian stared right into the rude
fellow’s bulging eyes; she recognized him.
“Leethig,” she said, “Get the hell
out of my way. I have business with my
father, the King.”
Those that stood in ear shot turned
dumbfounded. Leethig, the Door Warden,
lost the color from his face. The anger
faded from his eyes and was replaced by wonder.
He stood aside for them to pass.
“Thanks,” said Tolian brightly. “So, how have you been?”
A look of utter horror and confusion
played about the stout fellow’s face.
Tolian did not wait for and answer.
“Come on,” she said to her friends
and then went on her way.
Upon passing through the East Gate
they discovered that the crowds outside the Palace were nothing in comparison
to those that were inside. It took them
literally two hours to cross the half mile distance through the main concourse
to the Royal Chambers. Two Royal
Guardsmen stepped forward to prevent her entrance. She had run out of patience. She concentrated her will and projected it
outward. The guards stood down and made
no attempt to stop them as they passed by and entered the building.
It was quiet. The great antechamber stood impressive, but empty. The familiar smell of the place caught Tolian’s
attention. Why is it, she wondered, that
we don’t notice the usual smells of home while we are there, but leave and
return, and the first impression one
receives is the subtle aroma that we take for granted.
She was lost in that thought when a
familiar voice called out to her. “Ah,
Prince Tolian has returned at last.”
It was old Miderick, the King’s
ever-present advisor. Tolian faced the
ancient man, caught off guard by the fellow’s quick perceptions. Brythia and Findelbres seemed as surprised as
she was. Even Kilfrie raised an eye
brow.
A mischievous twinkle lit the old
fellow’s eye, “We have been expecting you, Your Majesty. Welcome home, and welcome to you as well,” he said, indicating the druidess, the faerie
and the panther.
“I was rather under the impression
that my appearance has changed somewhat since I was last here,” inquired Tolian.
“How in the world did you recognize me?”
“We have been advised that you would
be arriving soon, and in such a condition,” he explained, carefully examining
Tolian’s obvious feminine
charms.
“But who gave you this information?”
asked Tolian still confused by Leethig’s seemingly near omniscience.
“That is not for me to say, my Lord,
or um, Lady. Your father has given
specific instructions that you be sent to him at once. He and the Messenger will explain everything
to you. Go right in.” He gestured towards the door to the Kings’s
study.
Tolian walked towards the door as
instructed.
“The Messenger?” questioned
Findelbres, “Who’s that?”
“I have no idea,” Tolian
replied. She hesitated before the closed
door.
Brythia placed a comforting hand on
her shoulder, “Are you sure, you’re ready to face your father?”
“My father isn’t the problem. I’m a woman now. He’s going to have to get used to the
idea. Besides, he already knows about
me. I’m more concerned with this
Messenger, and how he’s come across his information. Well, let’s go.”
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
No comments:
Post a Comment