Chapter 9: The Three Riders

Captain Telliam bowed from the waist then stood at attention. The king nodded slightly at him, keeping his eyes trained on Telliam's face.

"Captain, you have heard of the destruction of Rama-gil?"

"My Lord, I regret to say that I have."

"It was a terrible thing, Captain. I understand that not a soul escaped. Terrible," the king shook his head. "We find Ourselves, Captain, in a place where We must choose between the lives of Our people and their freedom," he indicated the letter on the table by his side.

"Surrender, Your Majesty?"

The king hesitated, "So it seems, Captain. Gamarad has threatened that he will burn Grenwilde city by city unless we...capitulate to his terms."

The captain stood silently, it was a moment for kings to speak - he thought - not captains.

The king sighed and looked hard at Telliam, "Captain, when the desigarg threatened Sharsta Nal last summer, you rode bravely against them. Did you think that you might die?"

Telliam blinked, not understanding what the question tended towards. "Yes, actually, My King, I thought it only too likely that I might die."

"And the other day, Captain, on the hill when you fought while being so badly out-numbered. Did you believe that you would die then?"

Here Captain Bindaved actually grinned, "Your Majesty, I was sure of it."

He is noble, the king thought, he is loyal. "You would have laid your life down on either of those occasions, or on that night...when we lost the Wall?"

"I am the King's man, Majesty. My life is yours."

The King looked down at the ground. "It's a terrible thing to have men's lives in your hands, Captain."

Captain Bindaved remembered the faces of his own men; faces that had come to him again and again these last nights. "Yes, my Lord."

"It's a terrible thing that men should die for my foolishness."

The captain hesitated, at a loss, "By my King's leave, you have not been foolish, my Lord."

The king sharply expelled his breath, "Captain," he said slapping his hand on the arm of his throne. "You neither know what I am nor what I have been. I say, I have been foolish," He looked at Telliam strangely, "Will...you forgive me for being - foolish?"

"My King? I..." Telliam broke off, truly bewildered. The king was looking at him in such anguish, "What would you have me say, my King?"

"That you forgive me," the King held his gaze levelly towards the captain, searching Telliam's face. Finally, he dropped his eyes. "It is horrible, Captain, to have the deaths of thousands of people on my conscience. So much guilt and no place to find forgiveness."

Telliam stood there miserably; surely it was not his place - a mere captain - to tell the Creator's Anointed where forgiveness could be sought. He looked at the king's downcast figure as he felt within himself the faint stirrings of the Spirit.

"King - my Lord - the Creator has put the mantle of kingship upon your shoulders. Begging my Lord's pardon, that I make so bold as to speak, but you have done what the King of all things requires of you. Let not my Lord reproach himself."

Akinwrath looked up, his eyes seemed devoid of hope. He stared at Telliam: he is a king, thought Akinwrath, and somehow he hated him.

Telliam saw the king's face visibly change.

"Our enemy, Captain, requires an answer to his - terms of peace."

The King's cold voice made Telliam blink.

"I have few men that I can trust. So you," the king took from his table the note he had penned earlier, sealed with the Gryphons of Grenwilde, and handed it to his faithful captain, "will courier this message to the great toad."

"Yes, my King," replied Telliam. He took the note, put it carefully in his pouch, bowed and left.

Long after Telliam left, the king continued to stare vacantly before him. And within, the hollowness of his heart mirrored his gaze.

~ ~ ~

"ike, dis?" asked little Hector, closing his eyes. The two children had drawn aside from their friends and the frantic game of tag they were playing. They were sitting beside the river, their reflections coming back to them, and their toes dappling the water's surface. They loved the way the minnows nibbled at their toes! However, Jenna had a serious purpose; she knew Majesty gave gifts to all his children, and she wondered what Hector's gift might be. She had told Hector about how the Spirit showed her neat things. He said he'd like to, "see 'eat tings too!" So far he had seen four types of food, but Jenna was a patient little instructress:

"Yes, like that," said Jenna. "Now, ask the Spirit of Joy to speak to you."

"'bout what?"

"Well, Hector, let Him decide that. If you wait quietly He'll speak to you,"

Waiting quietly wasn't easy for Hector, but to please Jenna he was willing to try. The little curly haired fellow sat there solemnly for a minute. Then suddenly his eyes burst open, "Apples!" he exclaimed.

"What?" said Jenna

"Apples," Hector repeated and, popping up, he started across the field running, as he always did, on a slight angle.

Jenna shook her head. Maybe Hector had the gift of eating. She rolled over on her stomach and gazed down into the Crystal River. It was teeming with life, and was itself life. She loved to whisper Joy's name as she gazed into His river. She ran her fingers along the surface and then lowered her small brown face into the water.

Oh, how it felt! Liquid thoughts from the throne of the Highest.

She thought about Hector and what it was like to be small. She had been that small once, but that had been far away in some other place. Vaguely she remembered the hard stone streets, the odours, the pangs of hunger. Jenna remembered, for the first time, that she had felt trapped. Why had this come back to her just now?

She looked down into the stream, and suddenly in the depths of its crystal beauty she saw Taril.

Immediately, Jenna stood up, almost as if she'd been hit on the head. She stood there in the field, water dripping down her face and her mouth open. "What Master?" she murmured. She looked back and forth. Where was Cherion? Taril was in trouble!

She looked all around and saw no one but her playmates, running in and out among the Lutetrees. Without another glance, she turned towards the City of the Great King, and took to her heels.

~ ~ ~

Jaomin heard the sound of his brother coughing most of the night. In the morning, Marichael had a high temperature. Despite the fact that he insisted he was fine, his father said that he wouldn't be going anywhere today, and perhaps not for quite awhile. Jaomin bit his tongue; he wouldn't be the one to suggest it. He wouldn't.

His father tramped around the kitchen, stoking the stone oven they had made and making breakfast. Jaomin was quite proud of the chimney, for it was he that had contrived to make a flue that wouldn't leak smoke, using talba gum as mortar. The gum bubbled but seemed almost inflammable.

Beef and eggs for breakfast: lots of good food for a farmer's life. As the beef strips sizzled and the eggs crackled, Jessef superintended, watching their progress with all the close attention of a man who enjoys a good meal.

"Jao," said Jessef, "take this plate in to your brother. I don't think he'll be stirring today. Then get back and eat."

Jaomin took the plate to his brother, "Here's grub, sicky."

Marichael looked up blearily, "So who hit me?"

"Yeah, you look like ya' got beat on the head," Jaomin pointed to the plate. "You want this?"

"No, but maybe later."

Jaomin put it down on the somewhat uneven bedside table, which was actually an upended crate, "Well, I'll let you sleep." He started for the door.

"Wait, look Nimrodius, maybe you should go into town instead of me."

Jaomin suppressed his excitement, but turned to look at his brother, "Uh, but you wanted to go so badly."

Maric smiled crookedly, "And you didn't, I noticed. Dad wants some supplies pretty badly, and I want that letter mailed, so maybe you should go."

Marichael was doing his best to sound casual, but Jaomin knew that he was being very generous, "Thanks," he said smiling, "I'll ask Father if he wants me to. You get some sleep."

"Oh, Jao," Maric said, "I wanted to get one of those crystal things that everyone was playing with back in Cair. Do you think you could get me one?"

Jao stood looking at his brother, "I don't know; do you think Abba'll let you?"

"He will if you don't ask," Maric coughed hard. It sounded like his lungs were planning an escape. "I won't need to borrow money, so I don't think I need permission."

Jao scratched his head, "How much are they?"

Maric shrugged and coughed again, "Almost nothing, I hear. I've got forty mins in my drawer over there. Should be more than enough. Just throw me the small black pouch."

Maric had been so kind, and Jao couldn't see any real harm. After all, Abba had not forbidden them, but no one had wanted to ask if they could get one either. He opened the drawer and threw the bag to his brother, "But I don't know if Abba'll let me go."

Maric scanned the contents of the bag, seemed satisfied and threw it back to his brother, "Ask him. He'll let you if I say I'd rather you went. But, look, bring me back the change. And make sure it's one of those small pocket size crystals, not the big ones. Oh, and mail that letter!"

Jao nodded, and looked at his brother. "Thanks, Maric."

"Yeah, yeah, now let me sleep," said his brother rolling over onto his side. Jaomin went out and closed the door softly.

~ ~ ~

The Knight of the Western Portal, rode up out of the small sheltered glade, and away from the little stream that ran through it. Sky was pleased to be walking across level ground again, and whinnied out his pleasure.

"Better than mountains, isn't it, Sky?" Taril said to his friend.

He scanned his surroundings quickly; he knew he should be near a narrow dirt road. He continued across the broken fields looking around him and at last found what he was looking for. In fact, it appeared just as it had in the Mirror of Visions. He spurred his horse to a gallop, but he had not gone twenty strides, when out of the undergrowth leapt five very formidable looking gargs. Taril reined Sky in and looked down at their hideous human-animal hybrid faces.

"Dismount!" growled a garg whose head looked like a lion's, complete with mane. His companions spread across the road barring the way. With a metallic ringing sound, five evil looking scimitars were pulled from their scabbards. They were already holding their bludgeons. They carried no shields, for desigarg do not believe in defence: only attack.

Taril smiled, ever so slightly; he had no time for delay. "Tempt not my metal," he said very softly. And although the words were quiet, there was something in the way he spoke that froze the desigarg. Their leader surveyed his adversary more carefully; he hesitated one moment. Perhaps he should not bother this particular knight, the thought came to him. However, the garg was practised in dismissing wisdom: a habit that would that day cost him his life.

Screaming at the top of his lungs he launched himself through the air, both his weapons raised and ready to strike. On the instant, his gargs followed him. Had they been humans, they might well have over-powered Taril. For then he would have been bound, by his Oath, not to kill. There was no law defending creatures that had changed their seed.

Faster than thought, Logos cut five arcs through the air. It was all one continuous motion, and it happened so fast, that - for a fraction of a second - it appeared that Taril's enemies had suddenly doubled. However, in the next instant, it was plain that this impression had been created by the halving of their bodies. He had cut them like paper.

Taril did not need to wipe his blade before re-sheathing it. For no unclean thing can cling to Logos nor stand before it. For this is that blade which pierces to the division that lies within a single thing, even separating thought from intention.

The Knight of the Western Portal continued down the path, time was in short supply; he had to find that young man.

~ ~ ~

Jaomin hadn _

't looked for such a ready agreement from his father. Jessef had only thought for a moment and then said it was a good idea. Fearing any alteration to this favourable decision - not that his father was particularly given to change - he moved quickly to get Nina saddled and ready. He couldn't leave, however, without saying goodbye to his father and his brother, and making arrangements for the feeding of his sheep. His father listened; amused at the elaborate rotation of feeding venues Jaomin had worked out for them. He cut the recital short by saying, "You know, this sounds so complicated that I think maybe we should just wait for Marichael to get better, so I don't have to try and remember it all."

After that Jaomin couldn't get away quickly enough. He was told by his father that he had to be back within twelve days, because he simply couldn't be spared any longer; not if they hoped to get the land worked properly. Jaomin, therefore, rode at a good pace, sometimes trotting sometimes cantering, across land to the southeast. He knew that he would have to cross the Wilderness Way if he went this direction. After four and half hours of riding he came to a stream and just beyond the stream lay the highway.

Jaomin turned his horse onto the road, and began travelling due east. Now that his way was certain, his mind began to wander. He thought about home. Not the farm his father, brother and he were carving out of the wilderness, but his real home, the home he had lost. Jaomin had always loved to be home. Home was warm things, comfortable clothes and people you loved. Thinking about it awoke an ache inside him. I'll never be home again. It resounded in his chest with a gaunt echo. It made him hungry for a food he could never have. His thoughts drifted again and he began to think of the mother whom he could remember only as a feeling. Oh how he wished he could see her. She hadn't died, Orun and Sethrim had both told him that. Why had she left? He wondered. Abba wouldn't talk much about it. He hated to ask, because Abba always looked like you'd punched him when you asked.

Creator, Jaomin prayed, where's my mother?

After travelling for three hours, Jaomin camped beside the road for the night. He rose early the following morning, hoping to come to the High Road to Cair Galinal by nightfall, but after nine hours of continuous riding he gave up and camped again.

It turned out that he had camped at a spot not thirty-five minutes from the fork, for the third day of his travels quickly brought him to the place he had been watching for. A wooden sign, with the Gryphon of Grenwilde on its top, announced that here was the division of the ways: to the left, bearing slightly to the north, was the High Road to Cair Galinal. This road he, his father and his brother had fled along seven weeks ago. To the right and running southwest was the South Way leading to West Ganariel. He knew that he still had close to a hundred miles to cover, and hoped to complete the journey in two more days.

He swung Nina's head to the south and started towards the most ancient occupied city in Grenwilde. He thought about all he had learned of Grenwilde's history from his grandfather. He honestly didn't remember much, but he knew that long before Cair had been made the capital, Ganariel had been home to king and court. Where had the capital been before that? Jaomin remembered Grandpa saying that it was up north, somewhere. He couldn't quite remember the actual name, geography not being one of his great interests.

After riding for another three-quarters of an hour, Jaomin came to a particular place in the road. His reverie vanished into alertness. He pulled Nina to a stop. She shook her head in irritation at being reined in so hard. "Sorry," murmured Jaomin, as he inspected his surroundings. What was it about this place? He had the uncanny feeling that he had been here, done this, saw that bush, thought this thought - all before. It flashed on him in an instant: the hill, the road, the steep valley; he remembered the dream. A prickling sensation ran along his spine. But it was different. Of course, he was riding; he was standing where the knight had been. His eyes flashed to his left. There was the tree he had hidden behind in his dream.

What could it mean? The same but not. Had he been there before? Had he incorporated this place into his dream because he had seen it on some trip? Jao knew, however, that he had never been on this road. He sat in the road thinking, looking and listening. He was about to leave, when he heard a sound; it was perfectly identifiable and perfectly ordinary, but under the circumstances it terrified him. It was the sound of horse hooves approaching from behind.

His heart took sudden and complete refuge in his mouth. Where could he go? Panic stricken he looked wildly about. His eyes were drawn to the tree, as if it were a magnet. No! Not there! he thought, but the hooves were coming quickly and he knew that old Nina could never outrun whomever it was that was coming. No time to lose. Without another thought he swung Nina's head around and, climbing the slope, took refuge behind the tree.

~ ~ ~

There are moments in life meant to prepare us for death. Death a step away contains within itself a question: are we ready for the door, which opens only inwards, and has no name? It is a deep treachery to rob a man of these moments. For only then does he truly see into the depths of his own soul, with no word of flattery to stand against what greets him. It is a deeper treachery still, to send a man, all ignorant of the truth, to what must be his death.

Yet the remarkable thing about Telliam's obedience on this day was that it was truly complete. For in the first place, he knew that no matter what the toad promised, he would certainly renege on the promise as soon as he had secured whatever concessions the king was giving him. Still, the king's word, not his reasoning was supreme. Furthermore, he saw that the possibility of his being killed into the bargain was quite strong. Yet he obeyed, for he believed that it was a duty he owed to his king and his country. In addition, if he had known that it was not danger, but certain death, towards which he was riding, he would not have turned around. Perhaps men who obey following this pattern are always ready to meet death.

Captain Telliam Bindaved, still wounded on his arm, wended his way through the forest along the bottom edge of the Western Hills, and rode out into the fields beyond. He rode beneath a white flag, which fluttered intermittently above his head. By the king's order, he went alone and unarmed, carrying in his satchel the letter King Akinwrath had written.

However, when Telliam had travelled a third of the way across the clearing at the foot of the hill, he heard hooves pounding over the turf behind him. Turning in his saddle he saw a knight, whom he did not recognise, bearing down on him. Telliam was a bit perplexed but not afraid. For, first of all, the knight was clearly human. Secondly, the knight carried himself as though he had haste and not hostility on his mind. The captain didn't have long to puzzle about him in any case, for he quickly drew abreast and came to a thundering stop.

"Captain Bindaved, I bring greetings from the King," the man spoke with assurance and strength. Even a quick perusal told Telliam that this was no ordinary man. To begin with, he was not clothed in the armour of Grenwilde: his breast-plate, greaves, gauntlet and helmet appeared to be made of the brightest silver, or of some metal Telliam had never seen; the shield, suspended behind his saddle, was made of the same material and had upon it a red cross-piece and white bird in flight; above his left shoulder a jewelled sword?hilt projected. Even the blue cape he wore was extraordinary; being so beautiful that it seemed to shame the very sky.

But it was the man's bearing that was truly foreign; Telliam was sure that not only had he never seen this man before, but that he had never seen anyone remotely like him: so majestic, lordly and powerful. Telliam found himself lost for words. Finally, he stammered, "Sir, the advantage is yours, I am afraid. May I ask your name - and your country?"

"Taril Tal Lojan," said the knight plainly, bowing slightly, "and this, for the present, is my country."

Telliam frowned. He was sure this knight could not possibly be riding in the service of the king. Yet as he studied his wise, kind and noble face, Telliam could read only truth. "Sir Lojan," Telliam asked at last, "you say the king sent you? How is it that I do not know you - Sir?"

Taril looked at him gravely and then smiled very slightly, "Captain, will it content you if I tell you that I know what you bear in that satchel, and that you have need of my company this day? I promise you that I mean you only good; and will do my best to see that you come to no harm. Finally, on my oath, I come to you in the service of the True King."

The True King? Telliam had heard that name before. Telliam bowed his head towards the knight saying, "I would be greatly honoured to have you as my companion, Sir Taril Tal Lojan. However, my King commands I go alone and unarmed."

"You would refuse my protection?"

"I am a man under authority, Sir Knight. I have no choice."

"Have you asked yourself, Captain Bindaved, why the King sends you without escort and arms to meet your foes?"

Now as he listened, he detected only concern and not subversion or subtlety in the words of the strange knight. Yet Telliam raised his jaw, "I do not question orders, Sir; I obey them."

Taril smiled and nodded his head, "You are a righteous man, Captain; and no righteous man should be called a fool. You have your orders and I have mine. Your king tells you to ride alone and unarmed into the enemy's throat; mine tells me to stick closely to your side. Only ignore me then, Captain, and you will be obeying - as will I."

Telliam looked at him coldly, "Sir, you see I have no sword, and am moreover wounded on my arm. I cannot resist you so you must do as you see fit."

Taril looked away, "I have no desire to humiliate you. However, I will tell you this: you have been betrayed. You carry a ransom not a message to the enemy, Captain Bindaved, and it is not in that satchel but in your veins."

Telliam looked at the man carefully. After several seconds and without speaking a word he urged his horse into motion again, resuming his journey across the fields and towards the enemy's position.

Taril nudged Sky keeping a half-length behind Telliam on his left. Taril watched Telliam's quarter profile, "You don't believe me?"

He didn _

't answer at once, for Telliam was weighing the words of the knight against the events of the last several days: the True King, the blood, Diserac's eyes, the ultimatum, the King's strange words and cold stare. At last Telliam replied, without even a backwards glance, "Perhaps I do, Sir Lojan, but it doesn't make the slightest difference."

Taril smiled. "I didn't think it would," He whispered quietly.

~ ~ ~

It was exactly like the dream! Jaomin closed his eyes and glued himself against the back of the tree, holding Nina's muzzle close to his chest. Then with every ounce of his energy he willed himself not to look. He mustn't look! He mustn't! By a colossal effort he succeeded.

The hooves thudded along the road, louder and louder, building to a crescendo. A sudden burst of fear gripped Jao, for at the last possible second, Nina shied and jerked her head out of his grip and staggered to her left, whinnying in fright. As Jaomin lunged to retrieve her, he heard a harsh cry of surprise and the rider brought his mount to a sudden standstill.

Jaomin whipped his head around and froze in terror. For what met his sight was not the knight he had seen in his dreams. Instead, sitting on a hideous horned beast, sat a vision of pure horror - Jaomin recognised at once that this was a desigarg.