The Quest for the Lost Shards of Power Page 3

  The prince bowed in the saddle.

  “Your offer is most kind. We have been on the road for a long time now and although we are nearly at our destination, a night to refresh and enjoy your wonderful hospitality would be much appreciated. I will have to decline the kind offer of your home as I always stay with my men. I hope that will not be inconvenient for you?” He looked inquiringly at the mayor, who hastily nodded. “I have heard much about your famous mead and the promises of an evening’s entertainment from the famed bard Fenrick is an unlooked for bonus,” the prince added, smiling at Fenrick.

  As the knights rode out to the camp site at the river, the village went into a spin. Would there be enough food? Was it of good enough quality? Who would serve them? Where would they sit?

  Fenrick looked on with gentle amusement, and then judging the moment before true panic set in, raised his hand and asked for quiet.

  “I know the prince well, and he will not want any special treatment. He will probably donate some of his food to the feast and I am sure he would appreciate it if he and his knights were treated just the same as everyone else.”

  All stared at Fenrick as if he had suddenly grown two heads.

  “It's true. I have travelled with the prince on several occasions, and this is what he prefers.”

  People looked at on another questioningly, but eventually they shrugged and slowly drifted off to go back to whatever chore they had been doing before the men had rode in.

  Preparations continued through the late afternoon and although the boys would love to have been watching over the knight’s camp, they had not been quick enough to disappear and had been collared onto several chores. As a result, they were kept busy right up until twilight gave way to the star-filled, black velvet sky.

  A messenger was sent to the knights that the feast was about to begin and in quick order they strolled up looking scrubbed and refreshed and happy.

  This was the signal for the beast that had been slowly roasting all afternoon to be taken off the spit and carried to the table for carving. The rest of the food soon followed and in no time the tables were groaning under the weight of freshly baked breads, roast vegetables, pies, cheeses, pickles and fruit. At long last the mead was tapped and the villagers cheered as Errin ceremoniously offered the first cup to the prince.

  Soon everyone was eating and drinking, gentle banter was exchanged and several toasts made as the fire settled down to glowing embers. When all had had their fill and the trenchers were collected, the people settled down comfortably and a sense of expectation filled the air as Fenrick strolled out into the centre with his lute and stool.

  At first he played a few cheerful songs that everyone knew and could sing along to. Then, as the night grew cooler and the villages gathered closer to the fire, wrapped in shawls or blankets, he strummed the chords that always announced the beginning of a saga.

  Fenrick could make his lute sing and with just a few notes he had set the scene. “Tonight I am going to tell you a love story. It is a story set in another time; nevertheless, it will never grow old. It will endure forever simply because it is a true tale of courage and bravery.”

  Looking at the faces that surrounded the fire he could see the firelight reflected in shining eyes and knew that they were full of anticipation for his next words.

  He strummed a few more bars and then, in a quiet voice, he started to weave his tale, capturing the imagination and awe of all those present, his lute gently singing in the background.

  He began by painting a picture of their world, two thousand turns ago, where benevolent mages ruled and magic created wealth, health and happiness. Where there were no boundaries and anyone could roam anywhere they wished, across the whole wide world. Into this setting he added two star-crossed lovers, trapped in a tangle of forbidden love. Rill, who was an immensely talented mage and Ssan, a blocker so powerful that she could prevent the effects of magic for many leagues around her. Next Fenrick carefully explained that in those times, blockers were shunned, often banned to a far-flung outpost where they would not be able to affect the Madge’s magic. Taunting his audience, the bard took them through the poignant ups and downs of Rill and Ssan’s affair. He made his audience feel the joy of new-found love and the agony of the impossible choice Rill had had to make between love and his magical calling. He pulled on their heart strings mercilessly until, finally, he led them to the heart lifting conclusion as Rill gave up his magic and his world for the woman he loved. Courageously, they left their lives behind to go and live in the small community of banished blockers, on a distant peninsula called Feld.

  Fenrick played a string of uplifting notes that soared up into the heavens, dancing skywards together with the glowing sparks from the fire. Several eyes surrounding him were now moist with unshed tears.

  But the bard was not finished with them just yet. Next he presented them with a truly confronting image as he escorted them all to the place of nightmares, bringing life to the tragic consequences of all the Madge’s excesses. He explained that for every spell ever cast, small motes of magic always escaped into the world and over thousands of turns there were so many of these that they began to collide, join together and form small, wild magic storms. These storms grew and grew, destroying all in their path, ravaging the world they lived in, and sadly, there was absolutely nothing the mages could do to stop it.

  Fenrick’s music was now fast and discordant, putting everyone on edge, making them all experience the turbulence and terror these storms produced.

  Artfully, he brought his audience back to Rill and Ssan who were living happily with their two children, protected from the storms in the community of blockers, before he sent them down the road of despair once more. Rill was not to escape his fate and, when the mages begged for his help, he was honour-bound to go.

  Fenrick’s rendition of the couple’s last farewell brought many to tears, causing a flurry of handkerchiefs to be employed and when he later revealed the moment that Rill was overpowered by a raging wild magic storm and swept away, people unashamedly began to weep. The bard did not help matters at all, as he played a slow, sad dirge.

  As Fenrick looked around the fire, he took in the distraught faces, each intent on his next words and noted that even the so-called hardened knights were looking slightly anxious.

  The true stories were always the most moving and this one was about their history and it affected everyone listening.

  Moving his focus back to Ssan, Fenrick highlighted her plight. Suddenly Feld was a place of sanctuary from the storms and its inhabitants were having to deal with a huge influx of desperate refugees. They were simply running out of room, and yet they could not turn people away as it would mean certain death. It was Ssan who came up with the solution. She organised the blockers, now called guardians, to form a barrier across the top of the peninsula, effectively preventing any wild magic storms from entering Feld. Fenrick told of the guardians’ sacrifices, of how they had to give up their homes and their families to form the boundary, pointing out the irony that the shunned had now become the saviours. They saved thousands of lives and they were the true heroes of Feld, he concluded, playing a rousing triumphant, march before he brought the music and the tone down again and whispered.

  “But this was not the end.”

  Everyone leaned in, hanging on his every word.

  “One day, a young, battered man slipped across the boundary and came to knock on Ssan’s door. He was tired and haggard with a long, matted beard but still Ssan instantly knew exactly who he was and with a joyous scream she flew into the young man’s arms, tears flowing, her whole body shaking, for before her, stood none other than her long-lost husband, Rill.”

  A beautiful, uplifting series of notes made each and every person’s heart soar.

  “He had been swept up by the storm, made ten years younger, stripped of his magic, turned into a guardian and then dumped a thousand leagues away. It had taken him two turns to walk back to Feld, back to Ssan and h
is family. He had endured unimaginable hardships and terrifying challenges but there was never any doubt that he would make it home because, as we all know, even the impossible can be made possible with the power of love.”

  The pure music from Fenrick's lute swelled, soaring heavenward filling the village green with delight, Fenrick's voice weaving through it to draw the tale to its conclusion.

  Tonight I have told you a love story, a love story that is all the more powerful because it is true.

  This is a tale of your ancestors and the sacrifices they made to create this haven we call Feld. It is important to remember them and to never take our brave guardians, who protect our boundary every day, for granted.

  Eyes were damp but faces were radiant, hearts had been uplifted, this was their history, this was the real personal heroism behind the dry facts. It made each person remember that they were only alive today because of the amazing selflessness, foresight and courage of a handful of brave people two thousand turns ago.

  It was easy to get caught up in the day-to-day challenges and forget that their place in the world would be swept away in an instant if it weren’t for the guardian barrier that protected them from the ravages of the wild magic that still howled outside it.

  The barrier had grown and Feld had expanded with it, as more and more guardians were born, and over the generations their talent had also grown in a very unexpected way. It had started when a few guardians who found that they could sense what the others were feeling. This ability progressed with each new generation until today they could mind talk over great distances. A very useful skill when you cannot leave your post or you will create a break in the barrier.

  Feld had survived and even prospered; it had grown into five provinces, Ssan, Rick, Rrin, Rill and Tex, each named after heroes of the past, each with their own character, but decedents of Rill and Ssan were still regarded as royalty and they still took on the role of protection and government. Although they never called themselves king or queen, the people had, and over the years the title became accepted. Prince Dissan was their latest descendent, and next in line for the throne.

  Turrin stole a peep at the prince as he sat, elbows on knees, staring into the fire, his ale cup completely forgotten, and it was obvious that his thoughts were far away. These were his ancestors brought to life as never before. Was he wondering if he would have been as courageous and insightful if the burden had fallen on him? Or was he hoping that he would never have to find out?

  Fenrick, the consummate bard that he was, allowed his audience a few moments of contemplation, quietly strumming a series of spine tingling minor chords and then, judging the instant superbly, launched into a totally irreverent drinking song that soon had everyone singing along.

  The dancing followed and a great time was had by all. It would be a harvest feast to be remembered for generations.

  As the night wore on, children began to fall asleep, curled up in parents’ laps or in jumbled heaps on the blanket-covered straw. Several of the young unmarried men and women quietly slipped into the night, observed by their elders who nodded knowingly at each other, wondering how many marriages there would be during the winter to come.

  Werrin caught Turrin's eye, gesturing that they should follow and spy on these couples. It was traditionally really good sport, but Turrin was feeling too comfortable and sleepy to be bothered and he just shook his head. Werrin can't have been too enthusiastic himself because he just shrugged and turned his attention back to a huge slab of bread and cheese he must have stolen from somewhere. That boy was always hungry!

  In the warm red glow of the embers, Fenrick's face was serene. He was playing requests now, the tone of the evening was definitely slowing down and Turrin, unable to fight it anymore, finally gave in to sleep, curling up in his blanket and the last thing he heard was Fenrick's lute singing a gentle lullaby.

  #

  Turrin slept late the next morning, the excitement of the day before had finally caught up with him. The sun was well up by the time the bustling activity of the communal morning breakfast woke him. The tables were once again being loaded with food, this time with freshly baked bread, fruit and jugs of milk. There was a pleasant low murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional groan from the few that had overindulged the night before. These groans were usually accompanied by a short unsympathetic laugh from those who had to be up at the first sign of dawn to prepare the food.

  A group of energized children ran past, screaming with delight as they chased a dog away from the tables. Life was getting back to normal. There was no sign of the prince and his men but Turrin assumed that they would be packing up their camp in preparation for leaving soon after the morning meal.

  Yawning, he stretched and then, scratching his head, he wandered off in the direction of the long drops. The day had dawned with another cloudless blue sky, the sun already burning off the slight autumn dew that glistened on the grass and a zephyr of a breeze was stirring the golden leaves. Turrin smiled; all in all it would be a pleasant ride back to the farm.

  When he returned to the village green a hand full of knights were strolling up the rise, bare-headed and fresh-faced, Turrin wondered if they had had a wash in the river already.

  Thinking of washing made him realize that he had not seen Errin this morning; she always made him have a wash before eating. She would probably be with Fenrick, deep in conversation about things that Turrin could only guess about. But as he scanned the familiar faces he found neither Fenrick’s nor Errin’s amongst them.

  His search was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a galloping horse approaching at speed. Everyone knew that it was just plain stupid to gallop a horse anywhere near the village – lives could be lost that way – but the rider showed no sign of slowing down and people quickly grabbed children and belongings and jumped off the road, swearing abuse at the rider.

  The rider appeared to be heading to the prince’s encampment and nothing was going to stop him. Turrin could see now that it was Jevrrin, a guardian whose family lived in the next village. He must have been visiting home for the harvest feast. Turrin caught a glimpse of his face as he passed and saw such a look of determination and panic there that it made his heart race.

  This was not a good omen.

  Spotting the prince, who was talking to a group of his men outside his tent, the rider raced toward him, almost jumping out of the saddle before the unfortunate beast had skidded to a halt. At the last moment he remembered whom he was addressing and knelt in the dust before the surprised looking prince, breathing heavily.

  The prince took one look at the man’s face and reaching for his elbow, gently elevated him to his feet.

  “Tell me your news; it looks dire, but catch your breath first. Here have a drink.” The prince held out the cup he had been drinking from.

  The man grasped it in both hands and downed the contents in one gulp, wiping the spillage from his chin with the back of his hand.

  “Sire.” He stopped and visibly calmed himself. “Sire, there has been a call for help from the barrier. One of our guardians is under attack and fears for her life. She sent out a cry at dawn and we know she is still alive but we do not know how much longer she will last. Something or someone that can live in the wild magic has found a way through the barrier and is viciously attacking her. We have another guardian racing to cover her post in the hope that there will be no gap if she should,” he paused and took a shaking breath, “if she should die, but we need your knight’s protection now.”

  Chapter Three

  Surrin screamed.

  The pain was excruciating.

  There had been a brief moment when her attackers’ attention had been elsewhere and, in desperation, she had tried to take advantage of this to crawl away, anywhere that they would not notice her again for a while. Disastrously, the act of just moving her arm had caused the ends of her broken bones to grate and she had been unable to stifle the scream.

  She closed her eyes and panted,
focusing on overcoming the waves of nausea that threatened, knowing that her cry would have drawn the evil beasts’ attention back squarely to her. She tried to make herself as small as possible, clinging onto the tiny hope that the one shout for help that she had managed to send out mind-to-mind had been received and that someone was coming to save her. She had only managed one frantic call before a particularly savage blow to her head had disabled all such communication, but she knew that even if she had been heard and someone had set out immediately, it would be at least a day before they could reach her. She was on her own.

  She tried not to moan as another wave of nauseating pain and despair wracked her body, but she dared a peep from between half-closed eyelids at the scene before her. It was hard to believe that it was real. The fire the beasts had built using wood from the chicken coop sent flames high into the sky, painting the boiling, oncoming storm clouds the colour of old blood. Sparks danced and flew as the wind gusts caught them and sent them spinning. The beasts sat around the fire, grotesque silhouettes gnawing on bones that were all that was left of her faithful dog, Reina. Dear, brave Renia who had given her life so that Surrin could live. These beasts’ language seemed to be a mixture of grunts and obscene gestures punctuated by bursts of hideous laughter. Their huge shaggy shadows, flickering in the firelight, were almost as grotesque as the beasts themselves and Surrin involuntarily shrunk back as one of them nearly fell across her leg. She knew she was not going to escape, her scream had seen to that, and now all the eyes were turned in her direction, eyes filled with a hunger and a lust that would not be denied.

  It had started as such a beautiful autumn day, full of crisp sunshine with the slightly tannin smell of fallen leaves lacing the air. There was also the scent of rain in the wind but, as yet, the storm was just a dark smudge on the horizon. It was a warm day with a pleasant heavy stillness that often precedes a storm where the colours seem so much richer and deeper. Surrin had hummed to herself as she had gone about her morning duties of feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs. Today she had decided that she should pick the last of the apples to go into the winter storage and that maybe sometime soon she should brave the bees and collect some of their wonderfully fragrant honey to top up the jar in the kitchen.