Kaliam nodded. Sir Tobias went to the head of the table and stood proudly between Aelic and Kaliam.
“Sir Rogan,” Kaliam said. “You have come to Alleble from the ruins of Mithegard. And like the city of Seven Towers, you are rebuilt, a new servant of King Eliam. Stand and join the twelve!”
A massive Glimpse warrior stood and without a word lumbered over to Kaliam. He bowed to his commander and took his place on Kaliam’s left side. Sir Rogan was tall, and his aged leather armor could not contain his broad shoulders. He had long blond hair that fell like a cape behind his head. And his beard was just a thin goatee. Sir Rogan remained silent, but his intelligent green eyes scanned the hall restlessly. He seemed anxious as he fingered the edge of a great battleaxe at his side.
“Lady Merewen,” said Kaliam as he looked to the back of the hall where stood a form all in gray, nearly blending into the shadows. “You will travel with us to Yewland, for we have need of brave hearts such as yours.”
At first, the figure did not move. Then, slowly, Lady Merewen came forward and stood before Kaliam. Antoinette could not see her face for Lady Merewen’s head was bowed and covered by a deep hood.
“M’lord,” Lady Merewen said quietly, “you are gracious to speak to your servant with such kindness. My heart is filled with gratitude and yearns to serve the King if only in some small way. But among the Guard and the honored knights of this land? Surely there are many others more deserving and . . .” Her voice became only a whisper. “And more worthy.”
Kaliam smiled kindly and gently pushed back her hood. Lady Merewen’s hair was pure silver, but not the brittle gray of age, for it was like woven silk. And she wore it tied back in many intricate braids. A silver circlet with a single blue gem rested on her forehead above wet eyes. Antoinette marveled at her, for she was beautiful and queenly, but forlorn and sad like a queen in mourning.
“Lady Merewen,” Kaliam said, and he lifted her chin until she looked at him. “Dwell not in dreary chambers of the past. For behold! You are not what you once were! You have crossed over from death into life. You have bravely forsaken The Betrayer and embraced the one true King of all The Realm. And it is he who now embraces you, Lady Merewen. Not one of us is worthy, and yet he calls us. King Eliam has called you, and so be glad. And let your sword join our number.”
Lady Merewen smiled, and it seemed to Antoinette that it was a smile suddenly unburdened of a thousand cares. And if ever Antoinette had a doubt about the King she served, it was erased in that moment. Lady Merewen stood proudly among the others near the Sentinel’s side.
“Sir Oswyn, come join us on our mission,” Kaliam said. “And bring with you your healing salves and knowledge of herbs, minerals, and curatives.”
“Hail Kaliam!” Sir Oswyn’s rich, musical voice sang out. He rose and flung back the dark bangs of his thick mane. “Hail, and well-met! Indeed I will bring all of my special mixtures—some for healing as you say, but others for inflicting! Ha-ha! I have some new flavors that I should like to test if a willing enemy should be so bold as to ask.”
Sir Oswyn marched up to join the others, and Antoinette noticed a small lute bouncing on his back as he walked. Does he sing as he rides into battle? Antoinette wondered.
“Sir Gabriel,” Kaliam continued, “thank you for agreeing to be Alleble’s ambassador, for this journey may depend entirely upon shrewd negotiations. Yewland’s ruler has made claims which need answering, and I can think of no one better to answer than you.”
“Sentinel Kaliam,” said a thin-caped Glimpse, “with such flattering words you could easily fill the negotiator’s role. Queen Illaria is known to enjoy such quips that cater to her vanity. Nonetheless, I will not mince words with her. Something is amiss in Yewland, and her judgments of late have gone awry. The truth . . .” He patted scrolls that stuck out all along the seam of his waist belt. “The truth is what she needs. And in the King’s name, I, Gabriel, will bring her the truth.”
Sir Gabriel was noticeably older than the others. Lengthy waves of gray hair framed his long face. And unlike Sir Oswyn, whose wrinkles seemed to come from excessive humor, Sir Gabriel wore the care lines and heavy creases of much toil in thought. His beard dangled over his breastplate like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. But his age did not imply weakness. Hale and experienced, he seemed to Antoinette more like an old tree that had endured countless storms and stood defiantly on a hill waiting for more. And he wore, tucked into his belt among the parchments, two long fighting knives.
Sir Gabriel stood next to Sir Tobias, and they shared a quiet word. It seemed they’d had a friendship prior to being called as members of the twelve who would travel to Yewland.
“We stand now as eleven,” Kaliam said to the crowded hall. “The Twelfth Knight is a place of honor on all such missions as this. And I must say that the first time King Eliam called one from the Mirror Realm and named him Twelfth Knight, I was doubtful that he would live up to that calling. Nay, he surpassed it even! For who shall forget Sir Aidan, Knight of the Dawn?!”
Some in the gathered crowd cheered and some raised their goblets in reverent silence.
“So today,” Kaliam continued, “we name another Twelfth Knight from the Mirror Realm. She is Antoinette Lynn Reed. Antoinette, come forward and prepare your heart for the good confession.”
What is this? Antoinette wondered. Aidan hadn’t told her anything about a confession. She stood before Kaliam and looked questioningly into his eyes.
“Nock!” Kaliam gestured and the Glimpse archer came forward. His sandy brown hair was drawn back, and this time he wore a gold circlet above his arched brows and keen eyes. He handed a long bundle to Kaliam.
“Antoinette,” Kaliam said as he unwrapped the bundle, “this sword is Thil Galel, the Daughter of Light, so named by your Glimpse twin, Lady Gwenne. It was by her own request that—should you become the Twelfth Knight—you use her sword on our mission.”
He held the sword aloft. Torchlight gleamed off the keen double edge of the marvelous blade. Its winged silver crossguard curved slightly above the weapon’s ivory grip. And as Kaliam slashed the blade down through the air, it made an odd half-musical metallic hum.
“This blade will be yours to wield, but tonight it will be symbolic of the step of faith you are about to take. Please kneel before me.”
Antoinette knelt, and as she did so, it seemed the torchlight dimmed so that merely a small circle of light around Kaliam and herself remained.
“Antoinette, you have been called to be a valorous Knight for the Kingdom of Alleble. This is no small responsibility. And though by right of the passing of three tests, you have been found worthy, we require of you this confession. Do you, Antoinette, confess allegiance and absolute loyalty to the one true King, the provider of all that is just and good? Even were the hordes of darkness to assail you in hopeless demand of your life—even then do you swear devotion forever to the King?”
Kaliam lowered his voice so that only Antoinette could hear. “Think deeply on this, for nothing binds you to this choice. King Eliam will never force anyone to follow him. And even now, after all that you have been through, even now, you are free to choose. If you say nay, we will bear you no ill will and you will be returned swiftly to your realm. Another will be called, and you will carry on your life in much the same way as you ever did. Only reply aye if it is spoken with the deepest voice of your heart.”
Even were the hordes of darkness to assail you . . .
Antoinette stared into the eyes of the other warriors called by the King. There was great courage in those eyes. And Antoinette knew she would need such courage. This was not a trivial decision.
When Antoinette looked at Lady Merewen, she saw courage, but also there glimmered a desperate cry of thankfulness. And glad tears streaked down her face. It seemed to Antoinette that Lady Merewen was one who once had no hope but had been given hope anew, one who had nearly perished but had been rescued at the brink, one who had belonged to no one but had been
adopted into the most loving of families. That’s like me, Antoinette thought.
Antoinette looked into Kaliam’s eyes and in a strangely confident voice answered, “Aye!”
“Then by the heartfelt confession of your lips,” announced Kaliam as he gently tapped Antoinette’s shoulders with the blade called Thil Galel, “I dub thee Lady Antoinette, Swordmaiden of Alleble and servant of King Eliam the Everlasting!”
After the deafening cheers died down, the celebration began. It carried on long after the twelve had left to prepare for their journey.
18
ON RAVEN’S WINGS
Antoinette lay on her bed in her chambers with Brindle curled up beside her. She stared out the window at the distant realm bathed in silver light from the waxing crescent moon. She held the photograph of Robby. “Where are you?” she whispered.
Her eyes drifted to the distant west and the jagged black peaks of The Prince’s Crown. Antoinette shivered at the possibility that Robby was there.
Antoinette fell into a fitful sleep, not sure of what the morning would bring.
Antoinette could see a long pile of rocks heaped as a cairn. A raven stirred upon a sword hilt that had been driven into the frozen ground.
The black bird croaked harshly and then took to the air. Soaring into the cloud-smothered night sky, it floated above a wasteland of endless gray stone draped by miserable scabs of crusty snow.
The broken land rose into black ridges and severe mountains. Two peaks, taller and more jagged than the rest, pierced the lowest clouds like fangs. At the foot of these, as if thrust up through the world’s stony armor, was a dark fortress.
Bastions, turrets, keeps, and strongholds––all irregular and rigid––fitted together diabolically like the gears of a torturing device.
Rising above all was a high tower, wreathed in sharp points of stone like a vine of thorns.
Into the topmost chamber of this tower, the raven flew. It landed on the sill of an open window. Inside was a tall warrior clad in black armor, except for a red inverted crown emblazoned upon his breastplate. The knight was ghostly pale and wore his long, dark hair swept back from his face and tied behind his head. His coal-black eyes flashed red for an instant as he stared down at an object in his hands.
Carefully, as if a father was laying his child to rest, the warrior placed the object into a sturdy chest of black marble. He looked up at the raven and smiled.
The raven jerked free of the window sill, into the night, and dove downward to an iron door ajar at the base of a keep.
It entered through a narrow opening and flew down a winding, torchlit passage. Finally, the raven emerged from the tunnel and perched on a wide chandelier in the midst of a vast chamber hall. Far below, teeming like a pit of black snakes, were ranks of soldiers. Rank upon rank of soldiers in dark armor. They filled the hall till it seemed there was nothing else. They were endless. Armed with spear, axe, blade, and bow, like a great thicket of brambles.
Arrows pierced the air, clanged off the chandelier. The raven flew again, swooshing back up the passage and through the narrow opening of the iron door. Between darkened dwellings, it careened through side streets and raced toward the enormous castle keep at the base of the tower of thorns. The black bird glided over a balcony high on its wall.
There was a feast within, a gathering, at a long, dark table with eleven chairs. The same warrior from the tower was at the head of the table. He raised a silver goblet. Ten other pale knights, grim and doughty, stood and raised their drinks. Their eyes flashed red as they all drank. But when they were finished drinking, their eyes flashed blue.
Antoinette gasped for breath, and started to fall . . .
19
FINDING A PATH
IN THE DARK
Lady Antoinette!” called a voice. “Lady Antoinette!” There was a sharp knock on the chamber door. “It is Lady Merewen.”
Antoinette struggled to wake up. She rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up in bed.
“Lady Antoinette,” Lady Merewen called. “We leave within the hour! May I come in?”
“It was a dream,” Antoinette said, relieved as she went to open the door.
“Lady Merewen, is it morning already?”
“No, the other knights have been restless and could not sleep. We are preparing to leave. I have been sent to help you with your armor, and Aelic is packing your steed. You must hurry.”
“Okay, hold your horses,” Antoinette said sleepily.
There was a silence, and then Lady Merewen explained, “We are not riding horses, Lady Antoinette. Our unicorns are more fleet-footed!”
Lady Merewen helped Antoinette quickly dress. They threw a few personal belongings into a satchel. Then, Antoinette patted the sleeping Brindle lightly on the head. “You’ll be much safer here,” she said.
In only moments, Lady Merewen was hurrying down the stairway to the main gatehouse. “Hurry, Lady Antoinette. Kaliam grows anxious about the situation in Yewland, and he is ready to leave.”
“Has something changed?” Antoinette asked.
“Not long ago, a message arrived from Queen Illaria. It was ripe with veiled threats about dissolving our alliance. That would be a terrible loss to The Realm, to say nothing of the blow it would deal to Alleble’s armies—Yewland’s archers are unsurpassed.”
“And this is all because someone pretending to be an ambassador from Alleble is ruining things over there?”
“An imposter, yes,” Lady Merewen replied. “He has somehow convinced the Queen that Alleble requires tribute in gold—and Blackwood weaponry. The latter is more dear to them and most painfully would that be paid. It is Yewland’s custom to gather timber only from limbs and trees that have fallen—and given the strength of those towering trees, that does not happen that often. Every bow, shaft, or staff made from the Blackwood is coveted throughout The Realm. Now it seems that the first messenger we sent to Yewland to warn them of the imposter has not returned, and Kaliam fears he is in the hands of our enemy. We must go now before the situation worsens beyond repair.”
“How can Paragor get away with this?” Antoinette asked, following Lady Merewen. “Wouldn’t the Queen be able to tell if this ambassador is really from Alleble? I mean, the eyes would give him away, right?”
“That has been so in the past,” Lady Merewen replied. “But there was one other among the Prince’s legions, whose eyes showed blue for a time though all the while his heart was red.”
“Acsriot?”
“You know of his deeds then?” Lady Merewen asked.
Antoinette nodded solemnly. Aidan had told her a little about Acsriot’s betrayal.
“To this day,” Lady Merewen explained, “no one knows how he was able to mask his eyes. But one thing is certain . . . we cannot afford to be fooled again.”
Antoinette wondered about the knights in her dream. Their eyes had changed color after they drank from the goblets. But remembering her promise to Kaliam, she did not speak of her dream.
“If he flees . . . ,” Tobias said as he hunched over a map in the gatehouse. The other eleven knights gathered round. “If the imposter flees Yewland, he will no doubt take the main road out and head northwest, skirting the Endurel River. So I propose we take the trade route ourselves and then strike east just before Zin Lake.”
“You seem so certain,” said Kaliam.
“It is an elementary matter,” Tobias replied. He straightened and gestured as if drawing a picture in the air. Antoinette thought he liked having an audience. “It is very possible that we will snare the imposter while he is still in Yewland. But if he is from Paragory as we suspect, then the western road will be his only escape.”
“What of the Blackwood?” Mallik asked. “Could he not strike a straighter path by cutting across the Blackwood?”
No one answered. A cold wind whipped through the gate, and the torches flickered. The hair on Antoinette’s arms stood up.
Finally, Nock spoke up. “If the imposter is foolish eno
ugh to venture into the Blackwood, then we will lose any opportunity to question him. He will not return.”
“What do you mean?” Mallik laughed nervously. “It is merely a patch of woods.”
“Nay, my hammer-wielding friend,” said Nock, clapping Mallik on the shoulder. “That is no simple grove of trees. The Blackwood is the oldest forest in The Realm. It is said that before the first scroll of Alleble was written, King Eliam buried seven powerful ancient enemies there—the Seven Sleepers they were called. It is only the great dark roots of the blackwood trees that keep them from returning.”
“Seven Sleepers?” Mallik scoffed. “You have been listening to too many harvest tales! Next you’ll be spouting off about the Wyrm Lord!”
“Laugh if you wish, Mallik,” Nock said. “But as for me, I would rather wrestle a dragon than go into the Blackwood—especially at night.”
“Seven Sleepers or not,” Kaliam said, “there are other foul things in the Blackwood, that is to be sure. Sir Tobias is right. If our imposter flees, he will strike the main road and run full into our snare. We will travel that way. Your steeds are saddled, ample provisions for the journey to Yewland are packed, and you have your weapons. Let us ride hard now. If we reach the ruins of Torin’s Vale by daybreak, we will rest there for a short while. Then southwest following the road until it turns east before Zin Lake. May King Eliam’s power fill us on this bold venture, for The Realm grows a more dangerous place with each passing day.”
20
MIDNIGHT RIDE
The rush of the falling water filled the night with its steady hypnotic song. A light mist from six of the seven fountains fell upon the twelve as they rode past. Torchbearing guards saluted and raised the first and second gates. Led by Kaliam, the travelers passed beyond the safety of Alleble’s grand walls and into the silent, waiting night.
Antoinette’s thoughts lingered on the cold, dry stone of the seventh fountain. The vision she’d had there would not soon leave her thoughts. The fountain still seemed to call to her from the shadows.