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The sun had risen, and the hills slowly began to grow bigger as the grey stallion swallowed up the miles with its po
werful, thundering hooves.
The
grassy fields disappeared behind them as they travelled further west, and Villid’s mind wandered to the previous night, before the Tyrans had arrived at the inn. He was sure he had had a dream that had felt strangely real... one that involved his
Elf companion, Aya...
Aya... the name echoed in his mind as he felt her slender arms clutch tightly round his waist. He was sure he had felt something last night, as if she had been watching him.
He shook his head impatiently – there were other things to worry about now. His thoughts moved to the Tyrans – he had recognised a few of them from training or from the alehouse. They had said they had recognised Tyran script on his signature. He felt foolish. His signature must have been blatantly obvious against the small, simple human symbols.
Acotas suddenly stumbled mid-gallop as the path beneath them turned into ugly, sharp stones. The horse slowed to a trot, puffing heavily, white steam blowing from his silk nose. Villid patted the horse’s neck gently, and looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone following them; the powerful stallion had covered stretches of miles that a normal horse could not. Villid heaved a sigh of relief. He
felt Aya leaning against his back, and wondered if she had fallen asleep.
The path they had followed had disappeared, and in front of them were cobbled stones. Ahead were grey-blue hills, the beginning of the mountain range marked on the map. The sun was rising behind them, in the east – so they were heading in the right direction.
He examined the map again, where the blotchy red line stood out clearly on the parchment. They would soon be entering the mountain range. Where exactly was Maajin sending them? And how did he know to send them there? Did he have a Seeing ability?
A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over Villid as he thought of the Tyran Seer, who even now lay in the broken Elf tower, his death as unceremonious as the E
lves. He would know what to do now, were he here. Villid thought about Aya’s
Elf Seer – was she still alive, in hiding? Or had the Tyrans finally found her? He looked at the map again. The temple where Aya had wanted to go wasn’t marked on it. He felt a stab of guilt. They had probably travelled further away from the temple than ever. But the mage had saved them. The Tyrans had strong ties with the mages, and had allied in the war with the Darkma. If this mage was on their side, they were surely safe.
The stallion was struggling along the uneven pathway, which was becoming more and more steep with each step. Eventually Villid slid off Acotas, and glanced at Aya, who
was indeed asleep. He rested her against the horse’s back, and then pulled the reins, leading them up the hill. They had entered the mountains, where they climbed further, past boulders and patches of grass, which Acotas would occasionally sniff, before moving on. The sun rose behind them, beating hot sunlight onto their necks. The mountain path became more and more narrow; as if it was more of a crack in the rock than a path. They struggled for another hour through the thin pathway; Villid hoped it would soon open out to a wider path, as narrow passageways often do. But just as it became so narrow that Villid contemplated turning back, a small signpost caught his eye. It was dusty and weatherworn, built clumsily between two large rocks. It pointed to the right, where the path continued up between two cliffs, where small stones and pebbles fell gently down, as if someone had only just ran up it.
Different symbols were written in lines down the post, in different shapes and sizes. Villid recognised the third line down – Tyran script, scratched into the wooden surface:
sanctuary lies here
.
Villid stared at it for a full minute, wondering what to do. Did the other languages on the signpost say the same thing? Was it a message to all the races?
“Aya,” he whispered, shaking the Elf awake. Aya woke with a panicked jump, saw Villid, and relaxed.
“Read this,” he beckoned, waving a hand to the post. Aya rubbed her eyes and frowned at it. “The fourth is
Elven script,” she answered his question before he asked it. “Sanctuary lies here,” she read aloud.
“The same message in each language,” said Villid thoughtfully.
Aya looked round her. “Where are we?” she asked, straining her neck to peer up to the long cliffs above them.
“In the hills,” Villid replied, and showed her on the old map. They had travelled west from Millnock into the mountain range. “Close to where the mage told us to go.”
The pathway to the right looked too narrow to fit the stallion through. Villid edged up to it, seeing if it was possible to pursue. Yet as he approached it, it didn’t seem to get any closer. He took several steps, then turned and saw that Acotas and Aya were exactly the same distance away as before.
He frowned slightly. “How..?” he said.
Aya’s eyes suddenly opened wide in shock, as Villid felt something whistle past his left ear. An arrow shot past them all; Acotas gave a startled whinny, and the arrow hit the rock behind Aya. Villid swivelled round.
“That was a warning shot,” he muttered, unsheathing his axe and sword from his back. “Show yourself!” he bellowed.
As if emerging from the rock itself, two young human men appeared down the narrow pathway. The first was dressed in a tunic patched together with different brightly coloured pieces of fabric, clutching a bow, with arrows strapped to his back. The second was dressed less flamboyantly, and held a simple sword in his hand.
“Lower your weapons, traveller,” said the first human. Villid hesitated, and then allowed his arms to drop slowly to his sides, though ready to raise them again if necessary. The human lowered his bow too, and the man behind him did the same. “Who goes there?” he asked.
“Maajin sent us!” cried Aya. “The mage!”
The humans glanced at each other. The first muttered something, and the second gave a swift nod and disappeared into the rock behind them. The brightly-dressed human turned back to them, and then did something strange – he bowed, his curled hair almost touching his knees.
“Welcome, travellers,” he said, raising and flashing a wide smile, “to Fort Valour.”
The ground suddenly shook, and an ear-splitting cracking noise echoed through the cliffs. Aya clutched at Acotas’ reins as the ground rattled, pebbles rolling down the cliffs around them as if the mountain was about to collapse. The humans didn’t move, but gave another low bow, as the narrow pathway suddenly widened. With another rumbling crack, the narrow rock path opened, revealing an unbelievable sight before their eyes.
A huge wooden drawbridge sat before them, wide enough for six or seven horses to walk along side by side; pearly white towers were built into the cliffs on either side of the drawbridge, each with a yellow and red flag perched on top. The mountain had opened to reveal a huge, hidden fortress.
“A castle!” breathed Aya in awe.
“A city,” the human corrected her. “Did Maajin not tell you?”
“We were stuck for time,” Villid said, as they crossed the drawbridge. Their boots clumped on the heavy wood. Aya looked up. The cliffs towered above them still, and the blue sky was scattered with clouds. It would be impossible for anyone to catch even a glimpse of the hidden city unless they flew directly above it.
“Fort Valour is guarded by magic of the
five
mage lords themselves. No one can enter unless they are accompanied by them, or have been sent, as you have. That way, we know you are not here to attack. Maajin must trust you, Tyran.”
Villid stared in surprise. The human’s smile answered the question before it reached his lips.
“All kinds of people are welcome here,” he explained. They had now crossed the drawbridge and it began to slowly close behind them with the clunks and groans of wood grating against metal. They had entered a sort of town square, surrounded by tall wooden houses, and small stone pillars in the centre. It was like nothing either of them had seen before. It wasn’t quite like Millnock, the human village, nor the dusty pathways surrounded by stone towers like in Xentar, nor, of course, like the modest tree-houses that Aya was used to.
“My name is Percival,” said the more flamboyantly dressed human. “Firstly, the stable is this way,” he guided them to a road on the left. Past a large stone building and several market stalls were a row of grand stables. Acotas trotted inside obediently and started to feast on the hay laid inside. A middle-aged human man appeared, stroking his long beard.
“Fine stallion you have there,” he said, eyeing Acotas, and glancing at Aya before frowning up at Villid. “He can stay here, for a price.”
Villid thrust his fist into his tunic pocket and pulled out a handful of gold coins. The stable man’s eyes widened as he accepted the money.
“I’ll see he’s given the best stable at once, sir,” he stammered, and hurried away.
“How much did you give him?” Aya asked. Villid shrugged. “Enough, it seems,” he said.
Percival gave a small smile. “Some humans settle here, but their hunger for gold doesn’t waver,” he mused. “The stable keeper, Jerem, is harmless enough, though. If you plan on staying in human inns, that gold will be useful to you. Do tell me, where did you come across such a fortune?”
The question took them by surprise; Villid instinctively gripped his dagger as he frowned down at the expectant human. Percival realised that he wasn’t going to get an
answer, and gave another blank smile. Aya didn’t like his smile. His mouth protruded upwards in a wide grimace, but his eyes didn’t change.
“I see. We make no judgements here at Fort Valour. Praise be to the Dragonstone that you were lucky enough to find yourselves here.”
Villid released his grip on his daggers, though making up his mind that he didn’t trust this human guard any further than he could throw
him. “Dragonstone?” he asked.
Percival beckoned them away from the stables. “Many live here – cast-offs, freedom fighters, asylum seekers – we ask no questions, make no judgements, just provide food and shelter or even a new home for anyone and everyone whom the mages trust.
As long as you
follow the rules, you are welcome here.”
As they walked, people flowed past them, going about their business. Aya and Villid looked in surprise – not only humans filtered past them, but noble-looking winged creatures too. “Knabi,” Aya whispered.
“Indeed,” said Percival, hearing her. “This part of Fort Valour is mostly occupied by humans, but you’ll see as you venture deeper into the city that there are also other creatures here, from all parts of Theldiniya. Vrana from the mountains, Tyrans from the north, yes,
Elves too.”
“Elves!” Aya was unable to hide her astonished gasp. Villid watched her, his heart starting to pound in his chest.
“Of course,” said Percival. “Many
Elves were born here, and join the good fight.”
Aya could feel her hands shaking, and clutched at her tunic. She felt fear mingled with relief. For so long, she had been taught that the only
Elves left were the ones who lived in her village. After the attack, she had believed that she was one of the only o
nes left. But now… in Fort Valour, all this time, lived
Elves, her brethren. She had to find them.
Immersed in thoughts, Aya barely noticed as Percival guided them back to the town square and to the stone pillars, where there was a statue carved from marble, in the shape of a roaring dragon.
“Although we come from different places and may believe different things, the Dragons remain true,” Percival explained. “It’s due to the Dragons’ power that magic exists in this world, harvests flourish yearly, and the evil Darkma haven’t conquered Theldiniya.”
The Dragonstone was a beautiful statue, twelve or thirteen feet high, etched with intricate detail, each scale on the dragon’s skin carefully carved, it
s huge jaw agape and showing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Several humans knelt before it, muttering to themselves. “Prayers,” said Percival. “are a powerful thing. Elf, human… it doesn’t matter who you are. Everyone can use the Dragonstone to pray to their Dragon gods,” he turned to them. “You may stay here as long as you like, but it is a rule that everyone here prays at the Stone morning and night, and also trains every day. There are training grounds in the south-west and
north-east of the town.”
“Fort Valour is fighting the Darkma, too?” Villid asked. “I had no idea anyone but the Tyrans were involved in the Red Wars.”
“Not fighting, exactly,” Percival replied. “Fort Valour is a city for those seeking a home, not to join an army. It is essential that those who live here train and pray daily. One day, the mages will lead us in battle against the Darkma, and rid Theldiniya of evil forever. So as the scrolls have foretold.”
“The scrolls of Atharron?” Aya asked, before she could stop herself. The scrolls they had taken from the thieves, that the human man had bought from them… surely they couldn’t be the same?
“Atharron?” said Percival in surprise. “The mages’ homeland?”
Aya realised she had said something wrong; she looked down, feeling foolish, and hoped that this human man wouldn’t ask her any more questions.
“My companion is tired,” Villid said briskly, resting a warm hand on Aya’s shoulder. “We’ve travelled a long way. Is there somewhere we can rest?”
Percival frowned at them both. “There’s an inn that way,” he said, pointing further down the town square. “The gold you carry should be sufficient for a few nights’ stay. Don’t forget to pray before you sleep.”
Without thanking him, Villid led Aya along the town square and past the Dragonstone. He could feel Percival’s eyes burning into his back as they hurried between people until they were sure they were out of his sight.
“I’m sorry,” Aya said quietly, when Villid didn’t speak to her. “Just… everything seems to strange.”
“I wouldn’t mention the scrolls we found, if I were you,” Villid said. “They were stolen, remember? Who knows where they were stolen from – possibly here. If that man thinks we had anything to do with that, we’ll outstay our welcome quickly.”
“Were they really legends on the scrolls, do you think?” Aya asked, as they struggled through a thick crowd hustling to buy from the market stalls.