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Dismounting and striding to the front line of his army, Shegrimoth surveyed the scene before him; his cruel features twisted in a sneer as he considered his next move. Like a giant statue carved from gleaming black onyx, his only movement was the steady rise and fall of his massive chest and the constant twitching of his tail. Surrounded by dozens of magicians, he barked his orders at them, commanding that they commence the bombardment. Almost as one the men of magic raised their arms and began to chant the words of the spell signalling the doom of Kaldshard.
Within moments, firebombs were raining down on the mountainside with unimaginable force, exploding against its age old granite in pyrotechnic display. For a short time, there were few visible signs of the effect they were having. But gradually the rock began to burst, sending hundreds of razor-edged shards flying in all directions, their spinning shapes capable of cutting to ribbons any of the defenders had they been foolish enough to appear.
Once the attack began, the soldiers at Kawuhl’s command found themselves trapped, unable to do anything but seek refuge deep in the caves, as they waited and hoped that the onslaught would cease before it brought the whole mountain down around them. The sound of the explosions carried far into the caves, terrifying the children as dust and fragments fell about them. Each hammer blow magnified in the enclosed space, as the caves and passages boomed and echoed to the sound.
Shaken by the forces unleashed upon it, groaning as if alive and in pain, the mountain began to respond. Deep in its heart, cracks began to appear in the ground near the Glomers’ labyrinth of fire, spilling forth molten rock that began to ooze and spread out towards their settlement. Fleeing their homes, the Glomers ran towards the slowly advancing lava in a desperate bid to save them; yet despite their skills and immunity to fire, the little men were unable to check the glowing tide. With this new and increasing threat behind them and the massed armies of the Dark One before them, the defenders’ time was rapidly running out.
Outside, the effort of keeping up the constant barrage began to tell on Shegrimoth’s magicians, tiring them as they fought without respite to maintain the unending stream of firebombs raining down. One by one they collapsed with exhaustion, till only a few remained standing, and their efforts were beginning to fail. Calling a halt, the demon lord studied the mountain as the dust settled. Gaping holes, carved into its sides by the explosions, had created openings leading directly into some of the lower passages. Now was the time to force its defenders from their hiding places, to chase them into the open where he could attack them with his waiting army.
Ordering his men forward, Shegrimoth strode towards the mountain, his cloven feet like those of a goat giving him remarkable agility as he bounded up the rocky slopes. Pausing before the nearest cavern entrance, he spoke the words of a spell, and threw a bolt of lightning into its gaping mouth. Crackling and charging the air, it raced to where the nearest soldiers waited, exploding about them in a shower of sparks, striking them with its charge and hurling them from their feet, stunned and dazed. He repeated the spell, this time causing dozens of the lightning charges to seek out the waiting men, creating panic as more and more of the defenders fell to his attack.
Kawuhl and Narg, frustrated by the casualties being inflicted without their own men having chance to fight back, looked to Randufil for permission to leave the caves and carry the battle to Shegrimoth. Faced with no real choice, the king gave the order, and entrusting Caslan to Ichabod’s care led the charge with Toldran and Kawuhl flanking him, and his eldest son, Feldric hard on their heels. If the Dark One restarted the bombardment his men would have no better chance remaining where they were.
Pouring from the many openings that now led to the outside, Caregorons, Jelvoans, Antalekis and elves all prepared to do battle on the mountainside. Ichabod and his fellow magician reached the main entrance in time to see the waiting hordes below, and before Kawuhl’s men had reached them, used their magic to force many of them to withdraw. With the opposing forces out in the open, Shegrimoth was content to let the battle be waged hand to hand, knowing that he had vastly superior numbers of men, and having no concern for their survival.
Having the initial advantage of higher ground, Kawuhl’s men began to drive the attackers back from Kaldshard, gradually pushing the fight onto the level ground of the plains. Casualties mounted, at an alarming rate on both sides, yet the skill of the Jelvoans inflicted greater numbers amongst the attackers. The air rang to the sound of steel on steel as the battle raged; the cries of the injured and dying drowned by the clash of weapons.
Tormented by wraiths and ghouls who scratched and bit, yet whose lack of substance offered no target against which to inflict injury, harried by screaming apparitions that suddenly appeared then vanished before their eyes, the soldiers of the path of light began to lose ground.
Valiantly they fought against their human enemies, hour upon hour they kept up the fight, but gradually and relentlessly the demon forces of Shegrimoth began to wear them down. No army could have given better account of itself. Men and elves, Caregorons, Jelvoans, and Antalekis, old friends, new allies, all hacked and parried their way across the plains. Drenched in the blood of their enemies, their swords dripping gore, they fought on. Yet slowly and inexorably their numbers diminished, as one by one they were steadily slaughtered, defeated by the sheer size of the enemy’s army, not by its skill.
Not once did the Dark One raise his own hands in combat as he watched his fiendish army at work. Untouched and untouchable, he stood to one side, all the time his gleaming red eyes scanning the battlefield as if searching for something or someone. When he was unable to find whatever he searched for, he moved away, forcing his way through the clashing throng of men, as once again he headed for the entrance to Kaldshard’s interior, his purpose unclear.
It was the women and children, and those too infirm to fight, who remained within the mountain, and the little Glomers who continued to battle against what had become a torrent of lava, threatening to engulf their settlement. Of the other mountain dwellers who knew nothing of such happenings, they found their lives and homes suddenly shattered, forcing them to leave the caves and passages that they inhabited, and make for the surface. Although the firebomb attack had ended, it had badly damaged the mountain, causing it to continue heaving and growling as its hollow, rocky shell began to crumble, slowly falling in on itself.
In his cavern, Vorcan heard the battle commence, and felt the mountain protest at the savage beating to which it was being subjected. For a time the dragon considered abandoning his home, yet he felt the need to remain, knowing he had nowhere to go, or reason to survive. He knew he would never return to his own world, or again meet with his own kind, yet he felt a sorrow that he was unable to help in the battle. He could only respond to one person, and Adam Goodchild was no longer there to call him.
Lost in thought and with the rumble of the dying mountain drowning out all other sounds, Vorcan failed to hear his name being called. Only on the third time of calling did he register that someone summoned him, and that could only be one person, the Guardian of the Crystal. Shaking himself from his gloomy thoughts as excitement coursed through his mighty frame, Vorcan left his cavern and almost ran to where his secret exit permitted him to leave Mount Kaldshard on its eastern side, the side hidden from the attackers.
Leaping from the rocky shelf beyond the cave entrance, the mighty dragon beat his wings hard and flew high into the deep blue sky. Searching around, knowing that his master was close at hand, it horrified him to see the damage already inflicted on Kaldshard. Great rock falls had exposed cracks in its granite flanks from which poured glowing magma, bright in the dim light. As he circled above the mountain, he could hear the rumble as it shifted and cracked; see the tiny swarms of men as they fought their war on its rocky slopes.
“Come Vorcan,” the voice summoned, but he could see no sign of Adam.
“Here on the peak,” it called, yet still he saw nothing.
Diving at the rocky spear of the mountain top, he suddenly spied a shrivelled black creature clad only in a loin cloth that hopped and gyrated, all the time waving its misshapen arms at him, calling him to it. Whatever the creature was, it bore no resemblance to the Adam he had known, yet there was no mistaking the call that commanded him. Flapping his huge wings, Vorcan finally managed to gain a foothold on the rocky peak, and in an instant the creature was on his back, ordering him high into the sky, but not before he had seen it stoop and retrieve the golden sword that had lain at its feet.
Twice the dragon tried to speak with the creature, yet each time his questions went unanswered; the only words he got from it were to fly down the mountain to where Shegrimoth hurried towards the caves. Whatever the reason for his rider’s action, Vorcan could sense the urgency in his demands, knowing he had to reach Shegrimoth before the demon gained the entrance to Kaldshard.
Fearful of what his rider intended, yet unable to ignore its orders, Vorcan complied. Once above the mass of men locked in combat on the mountain slopes, the creature raised the golden sword, and uttering six words swung its blade in a wide arc sending a torrent of fiery light down among the fighting men. In an instant, hundreds of Shegrimoth’s men simply vanished from the face of the world, yet the defenders remained untouched by this awesome display.
Seeing his magic so easily destroyed; Shegrimoth searched the sky for the source of its destruction. Spying the dragon high above, he hurled bolt after bolt of energy at it. Crackling and filling the air with a myriad of bright colours his weapons arced towards Vorcan, yet none reached its target. It was as if the dragon was shielded from his power.
Enraged by his inability to force the creature from the sky, the Dark One shouted an incantation and summoned greater energies to his aid, aiming the weapons of his black magic at the hovering dragon. The air echoed to the sound of thunder as the beast’s demon fire surrounded Vorcan, yet again to be denied as it was turned harmlessly away. Realization was quick to dawn on Shegrimoth, that he faced an adversary of great ability was obvious, possibly even stronger than he, since even his most powerful magic had no effect against him, yet the knowledge brought no fear.
Watching the conflict between the dragon’s rider and Shegrimoth created uncertainty amongst the Dark One’s troops, as doubts about their master’s power to overcome the creature began to grow. Only the mindless living among his forces stood firm, as those imbued with life through his powers began to shrink back from around him. Summoning all his energies, the Dark One even began to lose control over the minds of his minions, as he directed his efforts at the dragon and its rider. Now beyond doubt, he knew that the Guardian rode the dragon, and recognized at last how he had failed to be warned of his presence. Adam Goodchild had suppressed his good side to give free rein to the beast within, effectively hiding himself from Shegrimoth’s awareness.
Reaching this conclusion only caused Shegrimoth to question why it was that Adam still chose to defeat him. If they both followed the dark path, then what reason did he have to destroy him, yet in the instant the question formed in his mind so too did its answer. There was no room for both of them, this was a battle not only for Falgorin, but for the ultimate goal of supremacy, the same goal he aspired to, and he was not willing to let it go too easily.
Whilst Shegrimoth remained locked in combat with Adam, his forces began to flee the battle field. No longer controlled by him, the undead fled across the Ruhlish Plains. Having no loyalty to the Dark One, the Phyrith appeared, and seizing the opportunity, reclaimed his lost souls, returning with them to their rightful place, whilst the wraiths and ghouls winked out of existence as the demon lord’s magic began to fail.
Suddenly Shegrimoth saw his plans begin to fall apart as the evil lessened; Kaldshard no longer mattered to him any more than the need to destroy Falgorin. He had to flee this world so that he could make new plans, replenish his strength, recruit new disciples. He was not yet ready for defeat.
Seeing the army begin to flee, his rider ordered Vorcan to follow them across the plains, leaving Shegrimoth to wait, since that which he sought had been found. Whatever his master had in mind, he did not intend that what remained of the Dark One’s forces should survive this day. As the men raced across the cold sands of the plains, the dragon flew high above them, then once more its rider spoke the six words and poured destruction down on their heads. Transfixed in a matter of seconds, and turned to cinder, every fleeing figure became a motionless statue on the spot on which it stood. Nothing moved as Vorcan wheeled round to return to Kaldshard.
The destruction of his mighty army had happened so swiftly, that Shegrimoth barely had time to register the fact. No longer succoured by the evil hordes, the demon lord felt his power waning. Without waiting to see what would happen next, he summoned what energy remained, and casting a spell, rose high in the sky, unchallenged by the Guardian as he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke and a shriek of demonic laughter. The battle was over, but the price had been high, for all around lay the bodies of the dead and dying.
Within minutes of Shegrimoth’s departure from the world of Falgorin, changes began to occur as the Dark One’s magic relinquished its hold. The dimensional gateways he had forced into being began to close, returning the two blue suns that had dominated the skies over the world to their true locations. Plunged into darkness, the world held its breath until once more Pallos and Meerah began to ascend over their respective hemispheres, the warmth of the sun melting the ice and snow as it rose in the sky above the Ruhlish Plains.
The Guardian’s last act before he and Vorcan the dragon departed the scene was to cast a spell over the magical Mount Kaldshard, healing the wounds that Shegrimoth’s magicians had caused it. With one final circle over the site of what had promised to be the greatest battle of all time, the twisted creature atop the dragon’s shoulders gazed down in awe at the destruction he had wreaked upon the thousands of bodies, and shed tears of bitter recrimination for what had transpired.
Turning the dragon away, the pair headed south, the dragon still unsure of his rider’s intent. Not knowing their destination, Vorcan resolved to remain silent, waiting on his master’s word. Unhurried and without magic, he flew on into a bright summer day, certain that whilst the battle for the people of Falgorin had been won, it had hardly begun for Adam Goodchild.
Barely able to believe the speed with which the war had been ended, King Randufil stood surrounded by the bodies of his men, weeping openly as he searched about him for signs of those he knew and loved. Suddenly Kawuhl stood before him, bloodied yet unbowed, as the pair embraced. It was long moments before either moved or spoke, yet both needed to voice the thoughts that raced through their minds. They had both seen the dragon, witnessed its rider defeat the Dark One and his army, yet neither could speak the name of their saviour, afraid to admit that it had been the Chosen One, Guardian of the Crystal, the man they knew as Adam Goodchild.
As they faced each other, their silence conveying as much as any words could, they turned to matters of more immediate consequence. There was no sign of Prince Feldric or King Toldran with those wandering aimlessly about now that the fighting had ceased, and both were almost too afraid to search for them among the fallen.
Calling their names and getting no response, the king feared for his son’s life. He had been with Feldric as they had emerged from the caves, but in the heat of the battle had soon lost sight of him. Now he was frantic to find the boy, bitterly regretting his decision to allow him to join in the fight, more mindful than ever of the loss of his wife and daughter. It was the general who found King Toldran’s lifeless form, struck down by a sword blow that had almost cleaved his body in two.
Calling together the uninjured men, Kawuhl had them begin a systematic search for Feldric. Dozens of the little Glomers soon joined the search, as did the old sorcerer Ichabod and a tearful Caslan. Nobody spoke as they went about their grisly task, taking the injured men aside so that the few Healers left could begin their work of trying to ease the pain and suffering. It took until Pallos had almost sunk below the horizon before they were sure that Feldric’s body was not among those on the plain.
Beyond words or tears, King Randufil and his youngest son returned to the caverns below Kaldshard, unable to share their grief, they clung to one another in silence. Ichabod watched them go, feeling helpless as he turned back to where Kawuhl waited and spoke to the Jelvoan, his words full of bitterness.
“Why did it have to come to this?” he asked, not really expecting any answer.
For a moment the general didn’t reply, his sadness clear in his eyes as he looked at the rows of dead bodies. “I wish I knew the answer to that,” he growled, “why did it have to be the king’s son that died, hadn’t he given enough to this accursed war?”
“Perhaps there’s a reason for the suffering we must endure, but if so I’m afraid it escapes me,” offered the old man.
Kawuhl made to move away, then turning back to face Ichabod added. “It makes it worse for the king that not only has he lost his queen, and two of his children, but he hasn’t even the small comfort of being able to give their bodies a decent burial.”
That fact hadn’t escaped Ichabod’s attention, and the disappearance of Feldric’s body troubled him as much as the young prince’s death. He too had seen Vorcan and his rider, and like Kawuhl and Randufil, was loath to admit that it had been Adam, yet he was unable to deny the certainty that only one being could command the dragon. There were more mysteries remaining than had been resolved by the ending of the war against Shegrimoth, who although banished from Falgorin had not been destroyed.
Perhaps time would reveal the answers to some of these; but for the present, there was much to do and many decisions to be made about the future of the war’s survivors.
After a restless night, it was with heavy hearts and much sadness that the new day was greeted. The elven leaders insisted on burying their dead in the time-honoured traditions of their people. Soon after their work was done, they paid their respects to the grieving king and set out to return to Ashtirian. For the Jelvoans and the few Antaleki survivors the numbers of their dead were too great for them to be buried so it was agreed that they should all be cremated.
The Glomer elders offering to assist in transporting the bodies suggested that they be taken into the labyrinth where they could be dealt with. It was unwelcome work, yet none shirked the task, unwilling to leave their fallen comrades on the sands of the Ruhlish, near to the statue-like forms of their enemies. Burying the body of King Toldran on the south side of the mountain according to Antalek custom, with the feet pointing towards the land of his birth, his countrymen formed an honour guard as it was laid to rest.
Although they had no reason to remain in Kaldshard, there was even less to draw them away, and with King Randufil withdrawing into himself, taking little food and speaking only rarely, the survivors lacked motivation. For a time, Kawuhl was content to let matters rest, allowing the wounded to recover, yet he soon became agitated by the inactivity. His approaches to the king had resolved nothing, with Randufil telling him to do whatever he saw fit. Whilst he could understand the reasons for the king’s state of mind, he hated to see him sink into the morass of despair that presently gripped him. Resolving to try and change matters, he went in search of Ichabod, unable to consult the king’s Healer, Barshivor who had been injured in the war, and was still too unwell to assist him.
The old sorcerer kept himself apart most of the time, preferring to hide away in a cavern beyond the Glomers’ settlement. When Kawuhl arrived, it surprised him to see that Ichabod wasn’t alone; Prince Caslan was sitting talking to the old man. Wary of announcing his true reasons for seeking out Ichabod in front of the boy, Kawuhl greeted the pair as if their meeting had been one of chance.
His arrival had apparently interrupted a discussion that at first both seemed unwilling to continue. Sensing this, the Jelvoan made to leave, apologizing for his presence, but Caslan called him back saying that it was he who should apologize.
“I’m sorry General Kawuhl, you should be here to hear what we were saying, I’m sure that you of all people will share our concern for my father.”
“Indeed I do Your Highness, in truth it was the very reason that I came to see Ichabod, to ask if he had any suggestions that might help the king.”
Ichabod and Caslan exchanged glances, and for a moment, Kawuhl felt that he had missed something, and then the old man spoke.
“It isn’t me that has the answers, and although the prince may have, we were trying to decide what we should tell the king about them.”
“Surely if you have any suggestions, they should be made known to His Highness,” said Kawuhl.
“Perhaps,” replied Ichabod, “then again, perhaps you should hear what it is that Caslan has been telling me before you decide what should be said to the king.”
More than a little confused now, Kawuhl looked from Caslan to Ichabod as if expecting to find an explanation in their expressions, only to be disappointed by what he saw. Finally, it was the prince who came to his rescue.
“General, I will tell you all that I’ve told Ichabod, but caution you that you may find what I say difficult to accept. That I am certain of what I say is one thing, but I will understand if you are of different mind. I cannot prove any of it...yet; but in time all will be proven.
Since I haven’t heard one mention of his name since he saved us, I will say it now. It was Adam that rode on the dragon’s back as I am sure we all know, and it was he who prevented Shegrimoth from destroying this mountain and all of our people. There can be no doubt that magic as powerful as was used to restore Kaldshard could only be wielded by someone of Adam’s ability.”
As he spoke, Ichabod, who had already heard the story, couldn’t prevent himself from nodding in agreement; he knew such work could only have been at the hand of Adam, no matter the form he had appeared in. Kawuhl, less well-versed in the art of magic, had to concede that whoever it was that rode the dragon had been a powerful magician, and by his actions had shown himself to be on the side of good.
“I see from your expressions that you both know that what I have said so far makes sense,” said Caslan.
“Even were I to agree, I fail to see how it changes matters now,” replied Kawuhl, his voice conveying scepticism.
“Just so,” shot back the prince, “but consider this. What if I were to tell you that the reason we were unable to find Feldric’s body is because Adam has taken it to where he might bring it back to life?”
Kawuhl opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, the expression on his face one of complete astonishment. Words failed him. On the one hand he wanted to believe what the prince had just told him, and on the other came the thought that it may just be that the youngster was falsely keeping his dead brother alive in his own mind. Whichever it was, he was going to have to choose his words carefully, to try and understand what lay behind the prince’s claim.
Deliberately keeping his tone non-committal, he asked Prince Caslan to explain how Adam had managed to retrieve Feldric’s body, and how he came to know about it. The answer was brief and not particularly informative, yet Caslan felt it adequate and it carried much conviction.
“When it went dark, Adam flew down and lifted Feldric onto Vorcan’s back, that’s what he told me.”
Realizing that Kawuhl was floundering, Ichabod decided it was time for him to speak up.
“General, from what the prince has been able to tell me, just after Adam departed, and I think we must agree that it was he that drove off Shegrimoth, he spoke to Caslan...”
“But how?” interrupted Kawuhl, “he never left the dragon.”
“Ah yes, but we know that Adam and a number of others including the dragon and Quilvar share the ability to speak to each other with their minds. Apparently young Caslan has the same skill, and it was by this means that Adam spoke to him,” explained the sorcerer.
“So where is he and where has he taken Prince Feldric?” demanded the Jelvoan.
“I don’t know where he has taken my brother,” answered the prince, “but he has gone with Vorcan to fetch my mother and sister.”
Further revelations such as these completely threw the general. He’d decided like the king that the two Caregoron women had died at the hands of the Ghyyrox, yet here was the youngest member of the family happily saying that they still lived and were to be reunited with the king.
“Now you see our predicament,” said Ichabod, “the news that Caslan has would be the best that King Randufil could hear, yet I must confess my uncertainty about telling him.”
“As indeed I do,” said the General. “If what the prince says is true then it’s the best news we have all had in many a long day, but if it turns out to be false, raising such hopes in the king’s mind would be devastating.”
“What hopes?” a voice asked, as they all turned to see that King Randufil had joined them without them seeing or hearing him arrive.
“I asked what hopes?” repeated Randufil.
“Your Highness,” both Ichabod and Kawuhl started, but the soldier gave way for the old man to explain.
“Sire, it is a matter that may give great hope, yet were it to prove false...”
“So I understand, yet you still haven’t explained; for the third time of asking, what hopes?” demanded the king, his voice suddenly commanding as if his patience was being tried.
“Very well Sire. It would seem that Adam has spoken to Prince Caslan telling him that he has taken the body of Prince Feldric to a place where he might be restored.” Getting no immediate response, the old man ploughed on, suddenly determined to get the whole story told. “He is at present on his way to fetch Queen Jessima and Princess Esperia from the island where they were held captive.”
“Is he bringing them here?” asked the king, his tone betraying no more emotion than if he had been discussing the impending visit of friends.
“No father, he said we should return to Meriandor,” said Caslan quietly, his small voice almost lost in the echoes of the cave.
“Meriandor,” whispered the king, “but there is no Meriandor,” and he turned and walked away, the tears running down his cheeks.
Caslan got up and hurried after his father, leaving Ichabod and Kawuhl to dwell on what had happened. They didn’t know what to believe, but both were sure that the king had rejected his son’s words.
Nothing further was said that day about Adam or the other members of the royal family, but the next morning found the king with a new determination. Whatever had passed through his mind, he had at last decided that he could no longer sit around in Kaldshard.
Calling together Ichabod and Kawuhl, and with his son close at hand, King Randufil sought their opinions on what they should do. Many of the Caregorons who had joined their march to Kaldshard had already departed, determined to start their lives where they had left them, yet they all knew that it would be many years before anything like their previous existence could be restored, if ever.
As the four gathered to discuss their futures, the king addressed them with solemn words.
“Before the battle I had little hope that any of us would survive to be standing here. Sadly, we have seen the loss of the lives of many of our countrymen, and our allies, and the destruction of our homes and lands. We cannot begin to know how others have fared, yet it seems certain that like our own country, much of Mandax and Antalek will have been laid waste. There are few Antaleki people in our group and no Mandaxons, yet we must hope that some survived.
“I have grown weary of the struggle and losing not only my wife and daughter but also my eldest son, has left me sad and I regret, bitter. I no longer have the will to lead, nor do I feel I have the right to expect others to follow. My kingdom no longer exists, and for this reason I give you your freedom to travel to wherever you choose. Friends Kawuhl and Ichabod, you have been loyal to me and my family for long years and I thank you for that, but the time is right for you to go your own ways.”
Barely had the words left his lips before both the Jelvoan and the sorcerer were clamouring to be heard. Needless to say, it was the strident tones of the general that prevailed.
“Sire, with the respect and love that I hold for you, and despite the difference in our stations, I will not even listen to such foolishness. Were you to make it an order, it would be one that I would willingly disobey. Whatever lies in store for the Caregoron Royal Family, be it sadly just yourself and Prince Caslan, I intend that my place be at your side.”
“Well said,” added Ichabod, “I too will stay with you, besides who but Your Highness would have an old magician like me around?”
“But...,” managed the king before he was interrupted.
“But nothing,” replied the old man, “fiddle and blast Randufil, we’ve come this far together and we shall stay together, and that’s an end to it.”
The king smiled, pleased at their determination, but he still had something to say. “Very well, but WE have no home to go to, the castle and city were destroyed.”
“Then we shall have to rebuild them,” quipped Caslan, getting in on the conversation, “after all we must be where Adam will find us when he returns.”
Ichabod and Kawuhl exchanged worried glances when the young prince mentioned Adam’s name, but the king appeared not to hear.
When Kawuhl took the news to the people that King Randufil intended returning to Meriandor, it delighted the Caregorons. Expecting that his countrymen would be returning to Jelvoa, when many of them begged permission to return with them to Meriandor, it surprised the general. Pleased that they wished to join him, the king bid them welcome, yet thoughts of the destruction of the city of Meriandor troubled him, because he knew he could offer them no certain future.
Seeing the sadness amongst the Antaleki survivors distressed the king, since he knew that their future would be even less certain, with their monarch and both barons dead. Determined to offer what little encouragement he could, he suggested that rather than return direct to Antalek, they might journey with his people as far as Meriandor, then if they wished, they could travel on from there. This would give them the chance to consider the matter, and perhaps on the way they might hear news of their country.
Preparations for their departure began in earnest, and although they would be leaving the relative comfort and safety of the mountain retreat, everyone was looking forward to the day when they reached Meriandor. One of the biggest problems facing them on the journey would be the shortage of horses and wagons. The Glomers, keen as ever to assist, soon solved the problems of the wagons by setting about repairing the damage to those they had brought with them, and constructing several new ones from their precious store of materials.
Since none roamed the plains, horses were less easily found, but they had enough to pull the wagons, leaving sufficient free for the king and some of the soldiers to ride, allowing them to keep charge of the column en route. They hoped to find fresh horses in some of the towns on the way, which prompted thoughts of Corindell. Although no one spoke of the beleaguered city, it was on the minds of several, not least of all King Randufil’s.
When it finally came time to leave Mount Kaldshard, loaded down with whatever foodstuffs, blankets and water the Glomers could spare, it was a sad occasion, with the little forgemasters wishing them safe journey as one group of Jelvoans headed north and the others joined the main body heading south back to Caregoron. It was a much reduced column that marched into the still hot Ruhlish that evening, yet there was about it a determination and for most a sense of going home.
With no reason for haste, they travelled by night through the plains, resting during daylight hours, all pleased to see Pallos high above them despite the heat. Beyond the sands of the Ruhlish lay the lush grasslands of Caregoron, a sight more welcome than most they could desire.
Although Corindell had been on the king’s mind ever since they had left the mountain, it was Ichabod who finally dared to raise the question of whether or not they should visit the city.
“I’ve been thinking of little else,” explained the king, “I suppose it’s only the fear of what we might find there that has prevented me from suggesting it.”
“I think we should Your Majesty,” said Ichabod, “after all we have to find out, better we see for ourselves. Perhaps some survived the plague.”
“Let us hope so, old friend; yes we shall pay a call on Corindell.”
Despite the ordeals of the Ruhlish, it was an excited caravan that finally crossed its borders into the land of Caregoron. At the outskirts of the first village they came to, Kawuhl sent some of his men riding ahead to scout around for signs that it was still inhabited. They returned a short time later to report that no one occupied the few houses, and that there was no sign that anyone had been there in recent days. Disheartened at finding nothing, they moved on, telling themselves that finding people in the first village they came to would have been too much to hope for.
Although the second and third villages that they came to were little more than hamlets, when the soldiers reported the same result, they found keeping that thought going increasingly difficult. Their next stop was near a small town, larger than any seen so far, so it was with fresh hopes that the scouts were sent forward. They hadn’t been gone long before one of the men raced back, to inform the general that people were living in the town, and that hearing the news that the king was alive and waiting on the outskirts, begged him to join them.
And so they entered the little town of Narlon, a motley gathering of people, with little to separate the nobility from the commoner. Finding that other Caregorons still lived and were trying to restore their shattered lives provided them with a great boost to morale. After the harsh plains crossing, they needed no second invitation to take their ease, as the townspeople welcomed them with open arms, sharing their homes and food with the hundreds of refugees.
Too small to have its own government, the town of Narlon looked to its Elders for guidance, since the conflict, quite literally the oldest inhabitant. Ovchin welcomed the king and his son, telling them to treat his home as their own for as long as they wished to remain in the town. In his eightieth year, the old man, a farmer, still tended his small flock of sheep, and insisted on laying on a feast in their honour, ordering his son Vordal, to butcher a lamb for the table.
Ruanne, the king’s cook wasted no time in joining in the meal’s preparation, pleased to be able to return to the work she loved best. That evening, Randufil and Caslan, joined by Ichabod, Kawuhl, Barshivor, now fully recovered, Ovchin and his son, together with some of the local dignitaries all sat down to the finest meal they had tasted in a long while. At last it felt as though they were coming home, as though Caregoron could be restored as long as its people all worked together.
