Chapter 28: Freedom, Judgment and Combat

"Well, done, my son!" the voice of Joy resounded in greeting. His eyes are the eyes that every man, having not seen, has known all of his life. From them and to them are all things. These are the originals of the Pools of Peace. These are fire and water, judgement and mercy. They are those eyes from which men flee or for which men seek - with a thirst that no other spring can quench.

Taril crested the Hill of the Portals. He smiled beneath the sun of Joy's approval, for it is to bask in that approval that we are made. If the King's Heart flowers took all the works of evil from Taril's soul, the King's approval removed all shadow of condemnation or sense of failure.

"My Master, until you told me otherwise, I did not feel I had done well. I felt as if I had made a mistake. Hector, on the other hand," said Taril squeezing the legs of the little fellow on his shoulders, "did absurdly well."

"He did, Knight of My Wounds. Small Prince," said Joy speaking to Hector, "the small prophetess, Jenna, inquired after your gift. Now I tell you: it is your gift to walk where others have not walked and to break dark places. Is it a good gift, Hector?"

Hector nodded, smiling very broadly. He pointed to the sky, "I eat dat!"

Everyone laughed. "The two things are one, Hector. They are one inside of you," Joy said.

"Joy," Meda spoke, "will you please tell each of us our stories? I would gladly let the others share mine, and I would joyfully hear theirs. There are many things about all of this that I find puzzling."

Jaffar, who had earlier reached the hill's peak, and Noma were each eager as well. John clapped his hands and Hector had to be put down so that he could dance. Nalitha stood quietly by the sleeping form of the woman on the High Portal, smiling contentedly. There are joys too deep and subtle for words to use, find or express. Such was Nalitha's joy at being home. She had no need to hear or speak, only to be in the presence of her king.

"Meda, Daughter of My Song, your thought is beautiful and wise. But the time and place of telling stories is not yet. Tasks remain. Two of my children pray in distant Grenwilde. You must go in answer." His gaze lingered on their faces, "Taril, combat calls for your strong arms. Your sons, Nalitha, have great need of you and your prayers. And your husband has long pined for his wife."

There is no question that Nalitha and Taril were joyful to be home, but at hearing that they must leave again, their joy was not mixed with regret. For the Joy of Loridan is ever patterned upon the deeds of its King. He, who for the joy set before him, laid aside his glory and dove into the darkness of the lower worlds.

The King now walked across to the High Portal. All the citizens of Loridan knelt down. From tiny Hector to giant Noma they were all the subjects of the Great King. They loved him with a righteous love, deep and strong. Its only measuring line being the greater love he had for them.

And now, a new citizen of Loridan was being born.

Taking the slumbering woman by the hand, Joy gazed down at her sleeping face. "My little lamb, I say to you arise," his voice was inexpressibly tender and powerful. A man hearing that voice would respond though death and darkness interposed all their powers. What are such things? Cobwebs and shadows. The Sun of Righteousness rises with healing in his wings and all darkness disappears.

The woman _

's eyes opened and what an awakening was there! But among the many inexpressible beauties that surrounded the bewildered woman, there was none half so beautiful as the face that bent over her. In that face all beauty found its natural home. Life flowed into her, a life immortal, beautiful and strong.

~ ~ ~

Jaomin soared across the lowering grey skies of storm clouds sealed in the Lands of Desolation. The youngest son of Jessef Bindaved could see the oasis of Og the Destroyer, and on its shores the dreaded town of Darga Dran. The whole place swarmed like a hornet's nest: desigarg everywhere.

A feast for this sword, Jaomin thought. But even as he drew the sword, a check came into his spirit. He would not destroy these creatures, foul as they were, in their own home.

He did not re-sheath his sword, for at that moment he saw the one he sought. Stories of Targa Gamarad preceded him; he was hard to miss. And here, before Jaomin's eyes, he stood out in stark singularity. The Over-General had caused a large circular jetty to be built on the shore of the oasis, there he squatted: a frog on his lily pad. He was clearly visible.

For his part, he had seen the White Rider seconds before that fearsome being had seen him. "Guards!" he growled. Ten gargs standing along the shore began to run towards the toad. But suddenly, one pointed into the sky and screamed.

As one, the ten guards looked, turned tail and ran full tilt away from their lord and master, leaving him to his fate. There was not a desigarg in their number - or in Darga Dran for that matter - with the reckless courage needed to stand before the White Rider.

"Cowards!" bellowed the Over-General. "I will eat you slowly while you scream. You are all known to me!"

The threat was, of course, a simple statement of the toad's actual intention. Yet it did not slow the guards in the least. They had all seen the White Rider's power at the fatal Battle of the Western Hills, and they knew the toad's life was not worth a ten second purchase price.

Turning his awkward form towards the shore, Gamarad gathered himself to attempt a desperate leap to safety. Too late. Like a steel door Sky-rider dropped between the toad and any possible escape. Flame kindled in the winged horse's eyes. Here, again, was a foe he remembered.

"Easy boy," Jaomin murmured. Then turning his attention to the toad, he yelled, "What have you done to my brother! Tell me now and tell me how to free him or I promise you that you will die where you squat."

Gamarad had flattened his body preparing to spring. In this attitude he remained, looking for any sign of his adversary being inattentive or off his guard. What he saw gave him a glimmer of hope. The boy's arm was obviously injured. On the other hand, that horse! What eyes it had. Again, the toad tasted the dinner he most despised: his own unpalatable fear.

He recognized the boy, of course. He knew before he could see his face that this was the scourge laid upon the Horde, the White Rider. Now, seeing his features, the toad recognized instantly that this was the boy depicted in the image crystal. Even in his fear, he marvelled that the Demiurge had failed to know or understand. This was the king. The brother was a mere imitation, an approximation of the likeness in the crystal. Here was the image of David.

Even as he thought these things the Demiurge tasted his thoughts. The Prince of Night quickly spoke into the toad's brain, ripping control away from his servant.

"Your brother has a great privilege, boy. He is made like myself. He is a servant of the thoughts of the Prince of Night. He walks beneath the power of the crystal star, the far-seeing star whose horizon always beckons."

Jaomin pointed the sword at the creature's leg, searing light shot from the blade. If Gamarad's leg had boiled in the past it now burned. Instantly, when the sword moved, the toad flicked its tongue at its foe. But Logos was the teacher of Jaomin's hand. For the second time in his existence, Gamarad's tongue met the blade of truth. To such a creature, forged in evil, his own fear tasted good by comparison.

The toad reeled in its mangled tongue before it was at liberty to howl out in pain. Its leg shook convulsively. Jaomin's heart was actually moved to pity it. In view of all the pain it had gleefully inflicted on others, little did it deserve pity.

The Creator spoke to Jaomin's mind. Point the sword at the toad again. He did so. A shaft of searing light shot directly into the toad's being. Smoke rose billowing in all directions; an unspeakable stench and a roaring howl rose with it.

Twenty seconds later, the great toad was no more. Where it had been there sat a small, harmless amphibian, perhaps two and a half inches in length. Beside it lay a stone crystal.

~ ~ ~

Jenna felt as if she had walked forever in darkness. It wasn't much fun, but her heart lightened whenever she remembered that this was a Quest. She was just like Meda now. When she thought of that, she smiled.

Still, though she had obeyed, she had discovered nothing. 'Rise, walk and discover.' Those were Joy's words. But what did she need to discover?

"Darkness is the place of his dwelling, beneath the Single Star."

The words came to her very clearly. Of course, the single silver star! She remembered now; that was what Melchizedek had told her too. Knowing what she was looking for did not make things one bit less dark than before, but it gave her hope and that is better than a light.

"Show me the star, Joy."

Those things that have had brightness but turn from their appointed places lose their radiance. Though to themselves they still seem glorious, they are turned to dust and ashes. The chamber in which Jenna had been walking was within the sphere of disobedience, within the very palm of the Dark Lord's hand. Here, in perfect security, the child of righteousness had walked, completely proof against his deceptions.

It was his voice that bid her sleep, turn back and despair. To none of these things had the princess of Loridan submitted. She walked in the recesses of the crystal at peace.

As she prayed the star was revealed to her, in all its self-appointed splendour. Across the ceiling, spanning the whole chamber, a pale silver light shone forth, like the phosphorescent excrement of some cave creature. It was not a brightness that could be seen save in total darkness. Its points touched the floor at six places in the cave, and opened like funnels towards the apex of the roof. On the floor, in the exact centre of the chamber, below the middle of the star and on a raised circular dias, lay a creature apparently asleep. The Dias was of the same glowing material as the roof.

Timidly, little Jenna walked towards the sleeping creature.

~ ~ ~

The three brothers, accompanied by Lieutenant Philomen, walked into the circle of the firelight. Sitting on a fallen trunk by the fire it had made, its enormous shadow hurled into the night behind it, sat the image of Telliam Bindaved.

"Sit, false brothers," it commanded. "You have the word of the King; you shall walk from this fire unharmed. You will attempt no treachery here. This I know, for that is not your way. You must practice your deceit out of the presence of your intended victim, having not the courage to face yourselves or me."

Now, upon seeing Telliam's face, each of the men was filled with anguish and fear. There was a power in the voice of the Death Nygrath that made each of the brothers see himself differently. And here the weaving of the Prince of Night must be explained.

As Telliam spoke to his brothers, it was as if every wicked, selfish or unkind thing they had ever thought concerning one another or Telliam was written in large bold letters in the air. As if a hand scrawled it across their faces for all to read. They had not, they knew, betrayed their brother. But as he spoke they could see the seeds of betrayal in their half-formed thoughts and in every unlovely action. If there is a man who has never entertained an unkind thought against his brother, he will be proof against this weaving.

"You, Adran, how do you come to me? Did I grant you leave and safety?"

"My Captain," Adran responded, for he could not call him 'King', "If you require my death of me, here I am. I have never desired your hurt."

"Never?" the Nygrath spoke.

At these words, Adran Philomen remembered a day, two days, no - many days, where careless anger crossed his mind. Where for moments at a time he had looked on his Captain with resentment and jealousy. Now, it is a curious thing that in the actual living of these moments, during only a very few had he been consciously aware of such dark emotions. For over-arching all of these feelings, Adran had felt a loyalty and devotion to Captain Bindaved, which had submerged these base feelings and cast them out. But here, by the Death Nygrath's fire, these thoughts rose up like spectres from their graves and were terrible.

Adran turned red and fell silent.

"Know yourself, Adran Philomen. How have you returned my solicitude and careful attention to you? Why have you joined in thoughts against my blood?"

"Captain, I..."

"Silence! Speak not. I suffer you in my presence by kindness. Do not presume."

Ganarth spoke next, "Brother, whatever wrong any of us might ever have imagined towards you, we have worked no evil against you. I am utterly amazed to find you alive, but more amazed and bewildered by far to hear you accuse me of your death. How do you live and how is it that you think we have killed you?"

"Instead, how is it, Ganarth, that you are unafraid to urge upon me the remembrance of what you have done? Is it not terrible? Should brothers devise one another's hurt? Should they lie in wait against each other, plot, gossip and work for each other's death?"

As he spoke, Ganarth remembered as a boy feeling that he was under Telliam's shadow. He remembered as a soldier feeling passed by and unappreciated. These were not things he had brooded over, the love he had for his brother did not allow them to darken his soul - much. But here, in the half-light, they fell upon him like the Cloak of Annihilation.

"Telliam," Sethrim ventured, "we don't want to fight with you. We want to help you. Will you please give us an account of what - as you understand it - happened? Trust us that we don't know what you mean. We desire only..."

The Nygrath looked at him through the face of Telliam and Sethrim fell silent. Had Sethrim ever 'desired only one' thing? Had he not always desired a thousand things? Why was it that all the wrong things he had ever desired, rose up like a host of demons and slew every good intention? Why had he never done right? So the mind of Sethrim squirmed under condemnation.

Orun did not speak. He had always had an abusive tongue. Every word of it re-visited him now. It was like swallowing nettles. To him, more clearly than the others, he saw what Telliam had become: an instrument of judgement. Did his sword not hurl the judgements of the earth? Did his words and presence not urge the judgement of the soul?

"Speak to us, brother," Ganarth urged. "Tonight we feel very keenly every wrong we know ourselves to have done to you. Personally, I am now aware of wrongs that I had never known existed before. For each of these things, which rise up in my soul, I ask your forgiveness. But among all these things, brother, never did I raise a had against you. Never have I conspired against you. What is it you speak of?"

"Truth," the Death Nygrath intoned. "Of truth I speak. You each had a hand in my downfall. All your works have been shown me during my time in the depths of the world, in the place where the judgements of this world were woven into me. The requirements of perfection were laid upon me. I saw you, Ganarth, council Akinwrath to take my crown. I saw you, Adran, carry a message requiring my death. I heard you, Sethrim and Orun, plotting my demise. I know these things. They are not hidden from me."

Again, as the face of Telliam spoke, the twisted words woke images in the minds of his hearers. They were like men experiencing a dream. During a dream the empty substance of its wanderings seems to be the stuff of reality, but upon waking it is known as false. So, while the Death Nygrath spoke, it was a though each lived the events he spoke of - as if they were thrust into the world he had come to inhabit - but when his voice fell silent a spell was broken.

Ganarth spoke quickly, while his mind was clear. "Brother, listen to me. Adran and I have pieced out what really happened to you. Gamarad, or whatever lies behind him, wanted you. He wanted to do something to you. He demanded that King Akinwrath give you to him. We believe that when you went to the Tower of Grenwilde, you went as a sacrifice, some kind of ransom."

"Look what's happened to you, brother," he continued. "Is this something the Creator would do? Your skin is the skin of a lizard. Your height is that of a giant. Your strength and powers are not found among men. Look what you've become! Is it true what you said about the Wall, Akinwrath and your own brother? Did you murder Jaomin?" Ganarth ended and his question quivered in the air.

The Death Nygrath stood. His towering form stretched beyond the circle of the fire's glow. To his chest he was visible, but beyond that he was shrouded in darkness, as his thoughts were clothed in mystery.

"Jaomin Bindaved I carried off with the whirlwind. The Wall and the false king have been swallowed by the ground. These are not crimes. They are the birth pangs of judgment." There was nothing in the giant's voice but conviction, no anger, and no remorse. "Go your way! Your time for hearing truth is passed. Tomorrow you will bear the consequence of having listened to and obeyed lies. All of Grenwilde is mine by right of birth. This I also learned in the world's heart."

Ganarth had never lacked in courage. As he stood to leave he said these things to the Death Nygrath, "Telliam, my brother who was, I have pity in my heart for what you have become. I have anger for the one who has done this to you. But, I go this night to pray the Creator show upon your body the falsehood of your words. Prince Anakara of Virikria has challenged you to combat. I go to pray for his success, though it tears my soul to do so, for you have lost your way completely. Your words are not from the Creator but the Dark One's twisted thoughts live in you. May the Creator have mercy on your soul," Ganarth concluded sadly.

~ ~ ~

That night, in his tent, Ganarth pulled the dagger from his table and slid it into its sheath. He had not forgotten his oath, although the wisdom of Adran Philomen had prevailed over his anger. "The false king is dead," he murmured. "But a worse thing has come in its place." He put his head on the table and wept for Jaomin and Telliam. His soul had little room to grieve for himself.

In his tent, Prince Crist Anakara prayed for strength, help and justice. He had no doubt about what he had done. Yet, despite the justice of his cause, he could see no way to defeat the creature who had demanded the lives of Jessef's sons.

Sometimes in prayer a strange light seems to bathe the one who prays. Therefore, it did not cause the prince to open his eyes when a soft radiance appeared to fill his tent. But a moment later he was startled by a voice:

"The King hears your voice, faithful Prince."

Looking up, Crist Anakara saw a man quite unlike any he had ever known. The man was tall, lordly and powerful. His glowing armour with the ensign of the cross was strange to him. But it was his face that arrested the prince. Here was august nobility in its finest expression. Yet for all the man's strangeness, there was something familiar about him.

"Do I know you, Knight?"

"You know of me, Crist Anakara. I have been sent to stand proxy for you on the morrow, sent in answer to your prayer for justice and strength. By your leave, I - not you - shall face the creature of darkness."

The prince marvelled that this stranger knew his name, his prayers and seemed - moreover - to know his heart. He also saw at once that if anyone could stand against the monster waiting in the valley, it would be this strange knight.

"I surrender to you my right of combat, Sir Knight, on one condition. That I know your name, your order and the King you serve."

The strange knight, grave though he was, broke into a smile, "I am Taril Tal Lojan, Knight of the Order of Melchizedek. My King you know right well, for it is he to whom you have prayed this night for strength and justice. I serve Joy, Lord of all worlds."

At these words, Prince Anakara rose from prayer, took the hand of knight and then bowed.

"Bow not to me, Crist Anakara," the knight interposed. "I am a fellow servant of yours, worship only Joy."

Though he was tired from watching in prayer and with tension over the day passed and the day coming; yet the prince could not retire to sleep. Instead he spoke to the knight about Jaomin, the brothers and their apparent kinship to the creature in the valley.

"I know the sons of Jessef Bindaved, for their mother is a citizen of my country and we have discussed their lot and place. You were right, Prince, to offer your crown to the young Prince of the Blood, but he will not sit on the throne of this land. That place is for another."

~ ~ ~

The first rays of dawn shone across the top of the hill, leaving the valley still in darkness. In the morning, as in the evening of the day before, the Death Nygrath stood at the foot of the Western Hills. Behind him the last smouldering remains of the incinerated tree sent up wisps of tired looking smoke. His massive sword rested point down and the creature laid his hand on its hilt.

"Prince Crist Anakara, the time of trial has come!"

From the hills the trumpets of Virikria and Grenwilde answered the challenge and the sound of marching could be heard. Soon the entire brow of the hills, which formed a crescent around the valley, was lined with men. Then, from the centre of the group, three men came down the hill towards the nygrath.

The creature recognized Ganarth on the left and the Prince of Virikria on the right, but who was this knight they flanked?

As they reached the foot of the hill a light of recognition came into the tortured features of Telliam Bindaved. Here was the knight who had stood by him on the day of his betrayal!

With respect to Dark Lord himself and to every creature in Telliam's life the Prince of Night had twisted Telliam's memory and understanding. But with respect to Taril Tal Lojan the Dark Lord had not twisted the creature's memory. For it was his intention that they would one day fight side-by-side together against his enemy. How could Nihilos have foreseen that the Knight of Loridan would one day stand as champion of Grenwilde? Until the moment of its actually happening it could not have been foreseen - not by the Dark One, for it lay outside of the weavings of the world of Grenwilde. It was in the book of the Creator of all things, to which Nihilos forever had no access.

"You!" Telliam gasped.

"Telliam Bindaved, know that Prince Anakara has surrendered to me his right of combat. I claim his privilege of proving upon your person the falsehood of your words."

The Death Nygrath had no fear but here again, he showed great regret, "I had no wish to slay Prince Anakara, for he was innocent of my death. But you are more than innocent; you would have prevented my slaughter. Do not beg your death of me."

Taril shook his head, "For me, in this world, there is no death, Telliam. In this world as in Loridan I am immortal. I have walked through the portal that makes me proof against all harm. No evil can befall me in this world. Know this well, Captain Telliam, before you enter combat with me - nothing you do can hurt me at all."

"Why do you call me Captain, Taril Tal Lojan? You know that I am King! Would you truly accept combat with the living judgment of the world? Against you I am bound by no oath. All the power of Armageddon will be used against you."

"I am passed beyond the judgement of this world, Telliam. Your words and your blows pass me by like a harmless breeze."

The giant raised his sword, "This will show the truth or falsehood of your words."

Without another word, the Death Nygrath brought his tremendous blade down upon the knight. Taril made no move to defend himself but stood as still as stone. He received upon his person the full weight of the judgment of the world. The blow was dreadful to hear and behold, the blow would have shattered a mountain. The arms of the Death Nygrath resonated with the shock of their own thrust. And his whole body shook. The two mortals who had accompanied Taril were thrown to the ground by the shock waves of that thrust. The earth staggered, the trees swayed in wind and fire shot up all around the Knight of the Wounds.

Back stepped the Nygrath; one, two, three steps he took. Armageddon continued to vibrate until in a deafening roar it exploded, sending shards of crystal everywhere. Miraculously, not one shard struck home into the body of those present. It was a miracle, but it was part of the act of sacrifice of Taril Tal Lojan. He had taken the whole of judgment upon himself, and none of its results would harm another.

The sword of judgment was no more. Before the Death Nygrath could react or move. The Knight of the Wounds held up his hands towards the creature. Searing light shot from the wounds in his palms, the wounds from which his name derived. The Nygrath opened its mouth in an anguish of self-realization.

"I have been deceived!" it screamed. Staggering, wailing and burning the creature stumbled, knelt and fell prostrate on its back.

Ganarth recovered himself, stood and ran to his fallen brother. "Telliam!" he shouted. The Death Nygrath looked up through dazed eyes. For a moment his lips worked soundlessly at a word. Then he was still.

"No!" Ganarth screamed.

"Step aside, son of Jessef Bindaved," Taril said gently.

Ganarth wheeled and looked in fury at Taril, "Don't come near him!" he bellowed, quickly whipping out his sword. The knight stepped towards the fallen Telliam. With tears of frustration, Ganarth smote the Knight of Loridan. Taril took the blow of Ganarth, the blow of a desperate brother defending his own flesh against imagined wrong. Then calmly he walked to the side of Telliam Bindaved and pulled the petals of the King's Heart from his pouch. But before he could apply them, a wondrous thing happened. Light shone from the Death Nygrath in all directions. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the giant was gone and in its place lay the deathly still form of Telliam Bindaved.