Keys of Awakening
Escape

They made good progress for a time, but were forced to slow down again when they reached a second stretch of wooded hills.

Here, mostly walking their horses, they journeyed towards the band of daylight visible in the south and picked their way as best they could through the twilit undergrowth, avoiding the denser tracts of forest.

For a while, Illiom kept turning to glance back at Varadon’s Keep. She eventually stopped looking, for it was not only becoming more difficult to see, but she felt increasingly depressed about what was happening back there.

Iod was descending low in the west and shone briefly upon them. Argolan turned them towards the setting sun and they pressed on until well after the God’s light had been reduced to a luminous band of russet and the rest of the world had darkened into night. Only then did she call a stop.

They lit no fires and ate a cold dinner before retiring to their bedrolls, hastily donning their oiled skins as the sky opened up to drench them with a torrential downpour that persisted deep into the night.

Sometime during the night, Illiom was roused by such a feeling of foreboding that she pulled her bedroll right up against Tarmel’s. She lay as close to her Rider as possible without touching him, grateful for his proximity.

When she awoke sometime later, it was to find his arm draped over her. A tide of emotions engulfed her and she nearly wept for them and for what was befalling their world. She swallowed her grief and settled back into a fitful slumber, until the first feeble light that passed for dawn beneath the wretched cloud began to claim the thin band of free sky in the east.

A few hours after dawn they came within sight of the road that connected Kuon to Setavan and approached it cautiously but found no invading army waiting for them. Nevertheless, they crossed the road silently and hurriedly and pressed on into the west.

A league or so later they broke out from the woods as these yielded to a sparser landscape. Soon afterwards even the hills that had hampered their progress gradually eased into flat land, enabling them to move more quickly.

Illiom was heartened to see that although the dark cloud still hovered over Varadon’s Keep, the sky towards both west and south was clear, and any grey clouds that were present heralded only rain, not evil.

Now, at last, they could give their horses free rein, spurring them into a trot and then quickening to a full canter.

Black Lightning responded eagerly and his silver mane rippled as he gathered speed.

Illiom became so entranced by her mount’s grace and power that all her fear of riding left her. She discovered a rhythm with her steed that made her feel at one with the horse, as if they were a single creature. She revelled in this connection, one that she had not experienced with Calm.

They rode steadily through the day, heading towards the edge of the cloud, looking forward to coming out from under its heavy influence. As they came within reach of Middle Road, Argolan sent Grifor to scout ahead. When she returned, Illiom needed only a glance to know that something was wrong.

Grifor spoke in soft tones as she rejoined them.

“The enemy is ahead,” she said. “A stream of warriors, all heading south.”

“Irrsche’s fetid breath …” Angar swore softly.

Argolan frowned, clearly disappointed by the report. She looked westward, her expression distant. “I wonder why they are pushing south in such a hurry …”

She remained pensive for a few moments, and then her eyes brightened once more. She looked up at the sky.

“How far are we from the road?”

“About half a league.”

The Shieldarm nodded.

“Very well, we will stop right here and wait for nightfall. Hopefully, the invaders will also stop for the night. When they do, we will find a way to cross.”

“If I may,” Keilon Var said, stepping forward. “I believe that now I could be of some assistance.”

Keilon moistened his lips and passed a hand through his unruly hair. He turned to Grifor. “Were the soldiers mounted?”

The Rider shook her head.

“No, they were on foot. At intervals there were also creatures like the ones who attacked us near the ruins of Tevlas.”

“Are they animals or human?” Keilon probed.

“Monsters,” Argolan replied evenly. “Not sure I can tell you either way … they look like beasts, but there is something disturbingly human about them as well.”

“They do wield weapons,” Tarmel added, “and they know how to use them …”

Keilon considered this.

“That’s good,” he replied, his expression musing, calculating.

“Good?!” growled Scald. “What is so good about clawed monsters who can use weapons?”

Keilon turned to face him.

“The higher their intelligence, the easier they will be to control. Contrary to what you might expect, humans are more easily fooled than animals. Marba, the power of illusion, works best with people. For of all the creatures in Âtras, we are the ones who have the least investment in seeing what is real. Given half a chance we always favour illusion over reality. Animals are the exact opposite.”

Argolan looked dubious.

“So you are saying that because we reason, that makes us easier to fool?”

Keilon allowed himself a small smile.

“Yes,” he conceded, “that pretty much sums it up.”

“Fine, then,” Argolan concluded. “My decision stands. We will camp, eat, and snatch what sleep we can. When Sudra sets we will scout the road and see what hand fate has in store for us.”

Someone comes.

Instantly alarmed, Illiom jumped to her feet.

Those around her looked at her questioningly. Argolan stood up slowly.

“Illiom, what is the matter?”

She raised a hand to forestall her.

Who is it? she asked her owl.

I know not, answered Who.

Show me, then.

When he did so, Illiom frowned. It looked like a child, riding on the back of a Surmur steed.

Recognition made her smile.

“Dreel?”

Kassargan let out a strangled sound.

“Oh no!” she whispered. “Not again … I should have had him shackled in the dungeons before we left.”

Illiom watched Dreel riding towards them. Whatever history Kassargan and Dreel had, she liked the dwarf.

At Argolan’s command, Grifor and Zoran moved to intercept him and steer him towards their camp.

When they returned with the dwarf, Kassargan did not interact with him, ignoring him completely.

“Ah, at last!” he said, as soon as he came within hearing range. “We are reunited! Things are as they should’ve been from the ...”

“Still your voice!” Argolan commanded. “As you are here now, I see no other option but to allow you to come with us. But I warn you ... if you do anything at all to jeopardise the success of our mission, I will tie you to a tree and leave you there until something decides to eat you. Is that clear?”

Dreel looked at Argolan with an injured expression.

“Understood,” he responded. “Now, can someone help me get off this beast?”

“No,” Argolan said. “The first thing you will do is learn to speak softly. We are within a stone’s throw of Middle Road and Ollord’s army so, unless you want me to tie you to a tree right here and now, you will lower your voice and preferably not speak at all.”

“My lips are sealed,” Dreel responded, in an exaggeratedly soft whisper.

“Time to go,” Tarmel shook her gently.

Illiom opened her eyes.

She felt sluggish and awakened slowly.

They gathered as quietly as they could and, following Argolan’s example, they drank from their waterskins and listened as the Shieldarm softly issued instructions.

“Unfortunately the natural cloud cover in the west has largely dispersed but Sudra is about to set. We have a narrow window between now and the sunrise – less than an hour – and in that time we must complete this crossing undetected. As soon as Sudra sets I will send Grifor on a final scout around and, all being favourable, we will proceed. Keilon, stay close to me in case your skills are needed.”

Illiom sent a thought into the night. Who responded instantly.

“Argolan,” she said, moistening lips suddenly gone dry. “Would it not be safer to send my owl as scout?”

The Shieldarm stared at her blankly for a moment before nodding.

“Yes, of course, it would be quicker and he does have the advantage of stealth as well as a greater height … very well, I have no objection.”

“So we are going to put our lives in the hands of an owl?” Malco demanded.

“Wings,” Sereth said.

Malco looked at him as if Sereth had lost his mind.

“What?”

“Owls do not have hands, so …”

“Enough!” Argolan commanded tersely. “This is not the time for jests or arguments. We will make use of Illiom’s owl. He has served us well once before.”

She turned to Illiom.

“Is the owl ready?”

Illiom confirmed with a nod and then closed her eyes.

Fly high, she instructed. I do not want anything happening to you.

And just like that, Illiom became airborne.

Through her owl’s eyes, she flew over the bare and shadowed landscape. She passed a group gathered in a huddle within the confines of a depression and it was a few heartbeats before she recognised her own party. On she flew, into the night, towards the band of silver light that lit the horizon where Sudra was setting.

In the darkness of the land beneath her, the fires of the enemy encampments came into view first, followed soon afterwards by the straight, dark band that could only be Middle Road. Illiom saw nothing moving on the road, and all of the enemy’s encampments had been set a reasonable distance from it. She realised that even the invading horde did not care for the touch of power that coursed through the old road.

Who flew on and Illiom was able to mark the positions of the encampments and the distances between them. Unfortunately, these were many and were all set quite close together; so close, in fact, that she could not imagine how they would be able to sneak past them without being spotted.

Who continued to fly northwards for a while and then turned around and flew back. It was a way towards the south of their position that she marked the widest gap between encampments. Unfortunately it was between a human and a Kresh camp.

Illiom shook herself from her link and became once more present to her companions. They were all watching her, Undina with a great eagerness in her large eyes, some of the others looked more uncertain.

She told them what she had seen.

“We should avoid the Kresh,” Argolan stated, and turned to look at Keilon. “It looks like we are going to need your assistance after all.”

The conjurer nodded.

“What about sentries?” Argolan asked, turning back to Illiom. “Did you see any patrolling the road?”

“I saw nothing on the road.”

“Good. Keilon, what will you be doing, exactly?”

The conjurer, his head tilted to one side, took a moment to consider before replying.

“I will create an illusion.”

“An illusion of … what?”

“An illusion of nothing.”

Argolan’s impatient silence compelled the young conjurer to elaborate.

“An illusion that will inform any straying eyes to see exactly what they expect to see ... nothing.”

“So you will make us invisible,” Scald summarised bluntly.

Keilon Var shook his head.

“Nothing of the sort, I will only be altering the perception of any onlookers …”

“What if a Kresh comes along?” asked Malco.

“Then I might have a challenge on my hands …”

“And while you face your challenge, we could be dealing with fangs tearing at our throats!” Malco snapped back.

Keilon looked at the Blade without rancour.

“Not much more I can say about creatures I have never seen …”

“All right, all right,” Argolan cut in testily. “We must go now. Dawn is nearing and we want to be well clear of Middle Road by the time the sky lightens.”

They approached the road and, at a signal from Argolan, Keilon created his illusion.

“Done,” he confirmed softly.

Illiom did not notice any change whatsoever and even Argolan looked around herself dubiously.

“Are you sure?” Elan asked.

“Of course I am sure,” Keilon answered, betraying a measure of annoyance in his tone. “Do you think I get to perform at a Varagan Draal without confidence in what I do?”

“Everyone ready?” the Shieldarm spoke decidedly.

She was about to give the signal to move forward when Keilon stopped her with a gesture and a word.

“Wait.”

He took a step forward.

“Change of plan. The power in the road seems to be interfering with my ability to do what I had originally intended. So you will have to make your way across one at a time. It is the best way I can think of to screen you completely.”

“What about the horses?” Argolan asked. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“One person and one horse, then,” Keilon replied.

“What about the pack horses?” countered Dreel.

The conjurer released a long sigh.

“Fine!” he hissed, clearly becoming frustrated. “One person and two horses – I can handle that! It is still better than seventeen humans and twenty five horses all crossing at the same time!”

Painstakingly, one at a time – the Chosen with just one mount, the Riders with two – they began to cross the wretched road. They went as quietly as possible, but while the road itself muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves, the terrain on either side did not.

More than half their number had made it across. Angar had crossed and Undina was preparing to do so when Who reached for Illiom again. Without a comment the owl showed her a Kroeni patrol approaching south along the road, heading directly towards where the tribal girl stood quietly.

The two Kroeni ambled along, in no particular hurry.

Undina turned cautiously to look back towards the others. Keilon nodded encouragingly, beckoning her forward, but Illiom was not sure the young tribal girl could even see him in the darkness.

The patrol drew closer.

It was clear to Illiom that Undina was petrified. The temptation to call out to her, to warn her, was overwhelming.

Just then, there was a blur of movement over the soldiers’ heads. The two ducked instinctively and turned to look behind them, away from Undina. One cursed, even as the other laughed, pointing up at the night sky.

It was just enough respite for Undina to hurry across and disappear into shadowed safety.

The two men resumed patrolling, completely oblivious to those hiding in the shadows only a few spans from the road’s edge.

Illiom led Black Lightning onto the road and again felt the power of the ancient highway flow into her legs and tingle up her spine. She made the crossing without incident and soon they were all gathered a way west of the road and Illiom found she could breathe easily once more.

Argolan pressed them onward. They were still too close to the road and she was clearly eager to put as much distance between them and the invaders as possible.

“There is an old road that still links Middle Road to Illseed,” Kassargan informed the Shieldarm. “When we reach it we will travel faster.”

“Really?” Pell exclaimed. “That sounds like a place we should be moving away from, not moving towards ...”

“It is just another ruin,” Kassargan explained. “We will not go as far as Illseed itself, but once we gain the road we could follow it for a distance, until we are ready to head directly north into the Altran foothills …”

“Pell has a point,” Argolan commented. “The ruins are coming to life. Do we really want to risk an encounter with more Kresh?”

“I will scry to make sure that the way is clear.”

“No, Kassargan, you should not,” Illiom said. “This is something that Who can do just as easily. Your skills must be saved for other things that he cannot do …”

“Good point,” Argolan agreed.

So Who was sent to find the road ahead, and the party climbed onto their horses and pressed across the barren Iolan landscape, as the eastern sky brightened with Iod’s nascent light.

They reached the road to Illseed late that afternoon. The sky had remained clear and the air was cool. They followed the road for as long as Iod shone in the west, but when the God set and the cold night touched them with icy fingers, Argolan called a halt.

They camped a short distance to the north of the road.

Grifor and Tarmel took first watch and Zoran built a small, smokeless fire with dry dung that had been stowed away for fuel.

The rest of the Riders fell into their usual, easy routine of setting up camp. The horses were unsaddled and allowed to roam but the nearby grass was dry and tough and they foraged for something to nibble without enthusiasm. Angar and Mist eventually resorted to feeding them oats sprinkled with salt.

Illiom was struggling with a knot in the rope that secured her bedroll to the saddle, when Keilon came up behind her.

“Do you need a hand with that?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“No, unless you have a knot-loosening spell you can teach me. Tarmel did show me how to tie these but I seem to get them wrong more often than not.”

“I fear that my skills do not extend to such arcane mysteries,” Keilon quipped. “My preferred solution with knots involves a sharp knife.”

Illiom grinned.

“Then unless you have some rope to replace mine I must decline your offer.”

She paused and half-turned towards him.

“That was really well done, back there on Middle Road,” she said. “I have no idea how we might have got across without being discovered, had you not been there …” She shuddered. “I hate to think what could have happened to us then.”

Keilon smiled magnanimously.

“It was nothing. Besides, I really could not allow anything unpleasant to happen ... especially to you.”

Illiom felt a sudden unease. She quickly turned back to her bedroll, making no comment, but she could still feel his eyes upon her.

“Anyway,” he said after a few moments, “I am glad that our paths have crossed once more and I, for one, look forward to sharing this journey with you, Illiom.”

With that, Keilon placed a hand on her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and then walked away.

Illiom glanced after him, for some reason glad that Tarmel had not witnessed this interaction.

Having set up for the night, Illiom walked over to where her companions were gathered around the fire. She waited with them while Pell finished preparing one of his inimitable stews.

Elan handed her a steaming bowl, and Illiom was just about to take her first mouthful when a scream tore right through her.

She jumped to her feet, dropping her bowl.

Angar, Mist, and Pell leapt up in response, blades flashing.

Put the fire out! Who’s voice warned her.

“The fire …!” she said, scrambling forward, scooping up handfuls of sandy soil to douse the flames. Her companions stared at her in confusion, but a moment later joined her in her task.

Soon they were shrouded in darkness, except for Sudra’s glow as she rose above the wretched cloud in the east.

“Illiom …?” Argolan’s voice was so soft that Illiom thought she might have imagined it.

She did not know what the problem was, so she did not answer.

Their weapons drawn, the Riders surrounded the cluster of travellers and faced the surrounding darkness, bracing themselves for whatever might come at them from out of the night.

Nothing did.

Who? Illiom asked, and her eyes opened to the owl’s vision so suddenly that she almost lost her balance. He was looking up towards the night sky where, through his enhanced sight, she saw a swarm of dark shadows flitting across the background of stars.

An icy finger drew terror up through her spine.

Although she could not make them out with any certainty, she knew what they were. Through Who’s eyes she saw, flying across the moon’s silver glow, the same monstrous winged creatures that had attacked Varadon’s Keep.

She pointed towards Sudra for her companions’ benefit. They stood thus, staring overhead until only the stars remained.

“They are making for Varadon’s Keep,” Malco said.

His words were met by silence.

They ate a quiet meal by the tenuous glow of Illiom’s werelight. She kept it burning softly, and only when it was required, and all the while Who kept watch over the skies.

At one point Undina approached the werelight and reached towards it with a tentative hand. The Pelonui’s brown eyes were as wide as Illiom had ever seen them, and the tattoos on her brow blazed like silver fire as her fingers closed around the light, trying to grasp it. Of course Undina’s hand clutched only air, but as she did so the werelight enveloped her fingers, until it seemed that it was the tribal’s own fist that was glowing.

Later, Illiom lay in her bedroll watching the night sky for what felt like half the night, looking for signs of the winged creatures. Eventually, reality and dreams merged so completely that she no longer knew which was which.

Argolan allowed them to sleep in a little later the next morning. The air was brisk and Iod was just breaking out above the cloud in the east. The camp was stirring with unhurried activity.

Mist prepared breakfast, cooking up the same kind of oats he had fed to the horses. Angar ladled the porridge into bowls and Grifor added a dollop of treacle to each. The gruel attracted a bout of snide comments, but Mist sat impervious, giving his bowl of food his undivided attention.

Illiom, sitting on her bedroll, gazed absently at the flat expanse of land around them. She noticed Sereth sitting with Dreel, engrossed in an exchange she could not quite hear. She felt glad to see that someone at least was befriending the dwarf.

Azulya walked over and, without a word, sat down beside her. Illiom looked into her eyes and smiled.

The Kroeni’s appearance wavered in that moment – the first time Illiom had had a glimpse of her true form since the Virupa camp. It was good to see the real Azulya and not the simulacrum induced by the moss. Illiom was about to remark on it when Kassargan walked up behind them.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not!” both Illiom and Azulya intoned in unison.

The descrier smiled in response.

“How are you this morning?” she asked Illiom. “You have seemed quite weary of late.”

“Better,” Illiom replied. “A little more rested, I think. Glad to be away from the Keep, glad to be gone from … all that is happening there.”

“Yes, it was becoming very difficult to watch such a great kingdom unravel …”

Kassargan turned her head slightly.

“And you, Azulya?”

“I am preoccupied ...” the Kroeni woman answered promptly, “... still trying to understand our role.” She waved a hand indicating the direction they had recently come from. “I am still worrying about the decisions we have had to make …”

“Decisions?” Illiom asked.

Azulya gave a little, mirthless laugh.

“Well, I suppose ‘decisions’ is not the correct term for what we have been doing … it has been more a case of being buffeted by the winds of change into directions not necessarily of our own choosing …”

She shook her head.

It was disconcerting, Illiom thought, trying to relate to two Kassargans at once.

“I am concerned about what the final outcome will be for all of us, for Albradan, for Theregon …” Azulya said.

“For Âtras?” the Iolan suggested.

“Although … we do now have all the Keys,” Illiom reminded them.

Azulya nodded, but her smile remained sad.

“That we have. And yet …”

She shook her head again and sighed.

She turned to look at the darkness still dominating in the eastern reaches.

Illiom followed her gaze and felt the weight of the Kroeni’s concern. But it was Kassargan who gave voice to it.

“It is hard to withstand all the suffering. I too have been thinking of little else … the hardest thing to come to terms with is the purpose that evil serves. When I think of the taint, of the thousands already dead …” She shook her head. “I ask myself why it needed to happen in the first place. Does it serve an end, and if so, what is that end?”

The faces of Eranel, Wind, and Sestel rose up among a score of others, and Illiom was speechless before so much tragedy.

Azulya must have seen the grief rising within Illiom, for she rested a hand upon her arm.

“That evil could serve any purpose whatsoever seems so utterly beyond comprehension,” she said. “Not only is it heartless – that is immediately obvious to anyone – but it is also completely mindless. The destructive waves that emanate from evil are indiscriminate. They reap havoc, they maim, slay and destroy and refuse to be in any way accountable. It is terrifying because it is beyond the mind’s ability to understand. And yet …”

Illiom looked at her Kroeni friend – waiting for her to complete the sentence.

“And yet what?” she asked, when Azulya remained quiet.

The Kroeni’s expression grew distant and glazed.

“I have been thinking quite a lot about my Key … about Union,” she said at last. “I believe that I am finally starting to understand something that has been eluding me …”

She put her half-finished bowl of porridge on the ground, while Illiom took another mouthful of hers.

“I have often asked myself why evil exists in the first place, and I have never come up with a satisfying answer besides what the Roonhian’ka say concerning the balance between opposites. Well, my Key has already opened a door, one that I have not been aware of before. Do you know what I am beginning to see as the only true difference between good and evil?” she asked.

Illiom shook her head.

“It is just that good unites and evil separates.”

Illiom, her mouth busy with breakfast, arched her eyebrows at the Kroeni. The other continued.

“And do you know what? I have a nagging suspicion that both ultimately serve the same purpose.”

Illiom could not hide her incredulity, but Azulya continued on, dauntless.

“Think about it. The experience of union shows us what we have, while the experience of separation shows us what we have not. Unity is a merger, the many become one. Separation hides a longing for union. So, in the end, both are about union.”

Illiom frowned.

“What about the longing for revenge or retribution?”

Azulya’s smile faded, her unsettling opal eyes flashing momentarily within the illusion of Kassargan’s face.

“That is not a longing, Illiom. The need for revenge or retribution is a torturous pain, a sickness of a soul that is writhing in agony and wants the one who created the pain to experience it also.”

She laughed in her inimitable rendition of ice chimes.

“But do you not see how even the need for revenge is a yearning for union, the seed of oneness?!”

Illiom still looked puzzled.

“Yes, I can see it!” Kassargan interjected excitedly. “Oh Azulya, it is so true, and so simple!”

And then Illiom saw too, as plainly as the starlit heavens on a crystal clear night.

Azulya smiled and nodded as Kassargan clapped her hands.

“Is there some cause for rejoicing?” asked Malco, coming up behind them.

Azulya nodded.

“Only in the unfolding of our understanding,” she replied.

Malco pulled a doubtful face but instead of replying, the Blade turned his attention to Kassargan.

“Descrier, may I ask a question? Do you place any merit upon dreams?”

Kassargan nodded, her mien turning serious.

“Yes, I do.”

Malco nodded and fell silent for a moment.

“Last night I dreamt that I was dead, that I had been killed,” he said, and waited to see if there was any response. When none came he continued.

“It was not a horrible feeling, for I could still see and breathe and speak.” He became quiet, momentarily lost in remembering. “There was someone else there with me - I think he was meant to be my brother or someone. I do not actually have a brother, but … anyway, I showed him the wounds that had caused my death. He told me not to worry, that the wounds were healing really well. It was all very odd …”

His voice trailed off into uncertainty. Illiom saw that something had been stirred up in the Blade, and that the dream had affected him deeply.

“Was there more?” Kassargan asked.

“Yes, he placed gold coins over my eyes, only I could still see. I could see right through them. Everything acquired a beautiful golden hue. The last thing I remember was that I got up and walked out into the street and the whole world had become golden to me.”

He talked about the dream as though it had been real, and Illiom supposed that, for him, it had been.

Kassargan did not respond immediately and, before she could, they heard Argolan’s voice urging them to make ready to set out for the day’s ride.

“Death in a dream portends a great change – for is that not what death is? I have no doubt that it is a very significant dream, Malco,” she said, as she rose to her feet. “Perhaps you would do well to ask Draca Abdora when we see her. I do sense a deeper meaning - coins are often placed on the eyes of the dead, although they are rarely gold. But I am sorry, explaining your dream is beyond my ability. Maybe the Draca will know.”

Somewhat disappointed with the descrier’s response, but also validated, Malco agreed that he would do so.

Then they were off, swept up in the flurry of preparations.

For the next three days they made slow headway. At first, they continued to follow the road that led towards Illseed, but they abandoned it after a dozen or so leagues when it veered towards the southwest, away from their intended destination.

From that point on they aimed directly north.

Once again, with no roads to follow, they navigated by Iod’s light. The dry grasslands became increasingly verdant the further they went, and they were rained on incessantly for a full day and a half before the downpour abated to an intermittent drizzle. The travellers’ spirits remained high, however, for the cloud that had oppressed them was now far behind them, stored in the place of unpleasant memories.

Unfortunately it was recalled briefly each morning when Iod’s orb arose to tinge the noxious cloud with an angry red glow.

The land gave way to hills, the first they had seen in quite some time. Trees began to populate the landscape in ever growing numbers, and soon entire tracts of forest could be seen claiming the lands ahead.

Eventually they had no recourse but to enter these woodlands.

The presence of trees, whilst welcome, also slowed their progress. They walked the horses more often than not and began to feel the rigours of extended travel. Occasionally they stumbled upon animal trails and made use of these wherever possible. On the afternoon of the sixth day since they left the Keep’s caverns, they crested the spine of the hills. Here, from a ridge of jagged crags, they gazed down upon the waters of a river meandering through the woodlands.

“The Mendrond?” asked Mist, addressing no one in particular.

“Or one of its tributaries,” Tarmel commented. “Not very wide, this far upstream.”

“I do believe this marks as good a boundary between Iol and Altra as we are likely to find,” Kassargan proclaimed.

They set up camp some way further down that same slope, less than an hour away from the flowing waters and from the lands of the fabled Altran kingdom.

Once they had dismounted, Illiom walked Black Lightning towards the edge of a meadow of thick, wild grasses and coarse bracken. She released him to wander and graze at will, and then just stood there, gazing at the stretch of land beyond the river.

That night they gathered around an open fire, theirs the only light as far as the eye could see in any direction. They ate their meal of venison and sweet tubers in complete silence. Illiom stared into the impenetrable spread of darkness in the north; the sky was overcast so there was no starlight to lift night’s mantle from the land. Yet, still, she felt the proximity of Altra like a starving woman might respond to the smell of cooking food: her whole body yearned towards it, towards the promise of deep healing that she sensed emanating from that land.

They had escaped from Albradan and from the jaws of Ollord’s horde, but had done so with their bodies alone; their souls were still distressed by the horrors they had seen, still riven by the indiscriminate tragedies that were even now befalling the Albradani people.

She was grateful for the silence; for she had no stomach for light conversation, not when the entire population of a realm was either fleeing or trapped, prey to a brutal fate.

“Would you scry, Kassargan?” Azulya asked of the descrier after they had eaten. “I need to know what is happening in Kuon.”

“And with Prince Vardail, too,” added Argolan.

“I already have,” Kassargan admitted with a sad smile. “Like you, I felt the not knowing unbearable …”

“And?” prompted Sereth.

“The Keep still suffers from constant attacks. Losses are high but Prince Vardail lives, and the Ward is holding back the horde. The battle with the winged creatures has become a daily occurrence …”

“What of the ruins?” Argolan asked. “Did you scry them as well?”

Kassargan turned to face the Shieldarm.

“I did not,” she admitted. “But I will do so now.”

They waited quietly while the descrier slowed her breathing, and her head drooped until her chin rested against her chest.

When she emerged from her scry her mien was drawn and expressionless, her mouth a tight line.

“The ruins are still surrounded,” she told them. “The dead lie thick all around Akta and most are Kresh. The Keep is still holding out against the onslaught …”

Illiom watched Kassargan closely as she reported on these events, and though she could not see any signs of omission, she found herself wondering if the descrier was truly telling them everything that was happening or whether she was sheltering them from something.

Illiom feared that she might be.

The following day they began their descent towards the river. The horses picked their way gingerly down a slope that was completely covered in dense bracken growing right up to the river’s bank. Here they followed its course upstream while the Riders studied the waters for a suitable crossing.

They found one at the next bend, a place that was wide and shallow. The party barely got their feet wet as they rode the horses across, except for Undina who, to no one’s surprise, dismounted to splash through the water.

Illiom rode Black Lightning into the gently flowing river and felt him push against the mild tug of the current.

They were nearing the river’s midpoint when she suddenly experienced a deep feeling of relief and a sense of homecoming.

It seemed to her that this crossing marked an occasion far more momentous than she could ever have anticipated.

Illiom looked at the land stretching away before her; at the lush hills, captivating in their vitality and beauty, and at the bright, clear sky that heralded a cold night ahead. She felt a great burden being lifted from her shoulders and set aside once and for all.

She contemplated her feelings and the changes taking place within her. How could something so oppressive just up and vanish like that? After all, nothing had actually improved. Kuon was still under siege, the dead remained dead, and Ollord was just as intent on spreading destruction wherever he went.

The only real difference was that now they were no longer in either Albradan or Iol.

They were in Altra.

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