The Rise of the Wyrm Lord (The Door Within Trilogy Book 2)
The Rise of the Wyrm Lord: Chapter 21

Moved by a chilling breeze, the mist reached for the ankles of their steeds, and all sounds were muted. Even the clip-clop of their unicorns sounded muffled and distant.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” Antoinette whispered to Aelic.

“I feel it also. It is like the memories of the fallen watch us from the shadows.”

“It must be the dark windows,” she replied. “Or maybe it’s those twisted clusters of trees—there must be a thousand places here where someone could hide!”

“That is precisely why our Sentinel led us here. Come morning, we will be forced to ride in the open, but we should remain hidden while we may.”

“Still, this place gives me the creeps!” she said.

The twelve continued through the valley in silence until they came to a large stone wall. In the center was a huge arched gateway.

“This is Torin’s Keep,” Kaliam announced as he halted the team. “There were once magnificent tall doors of rich mahogany here—doors that opened to welcome the weary and bid them rest in the golden firelight of Torin’s hospitality. These same doors closed to shut out the night, and no evil could pass them by force, or so the tales tell.”

Antoinette imagined reclining in a great golden hall while dark stealthy creatures scratched at the powerful doors but could not get in.

“Nonetheless, even Torin’s Gate could not stay the passing of time,” Kaliam continued. “Still, we will rest here until the sun rises. We have made excellent time, my good knights, better even than I had hoped. Unburden your steeds, and let us kindle some small golden light to take the chill from the air. Torin’s Keep will be glad once more.”

The unicorns grazed in the tall grasses outside the keep. They seemed the least affected by the eerie surroundings of Torin’s Vale. Farix volunteered for the first watch, and he patrolled the shadows around the perimeter of the camp. But inside Torin’s Keep there was indeed cheery golden light rekindled. Eleven of the twelve knights gathered around a small but happy fire. They feasted on roasted beef and wedges from an aged wheel of cheese. Spirits were high, and they forgot for a time the dangerous nature of their mission.

“Do you remember that time, Kaliam,” Mallik called across the fire, “when we camped near the Cold River? Sir Aidan woke us all with the fear that the enemy had found us!”

Kaliam smiled, and the firelight flickered in his dark eyes.

“Aye, no one could forget,” said Nock, slapping Mallik on the back and sitting beside his burly friend. “Aidan saw the lantern spiders and took them for torches!”

“Lantern spiders?” Antoinette thought aloud, remembering the message Aidan had asked her to deliver to Kaliam.

“Yes, m’lady,” Nock replied. “They spin great domes of—”

“Oh, do not tell that story again,” pleaded Aelic. “You forget it was not me!”

Kaliam laughed. “It seems, Aelic, that you are always quick to point out Aidan’s foibles were not you, but not so fast to deny his talents.”

Aelic grinned. “Would it not be foolish of me to do otherwise?”

Everyone laughed in agreement.

“What of the lantern spiders?” Antoinette asked.

“I would not want Sir Aidan thinking ill of me. You will have to replace that story out from him. It is you who told me he asked us not to tell of that event,” Kaliam said. “You won’t hear it from me.”

“Yes, I can understand why a young knight would not want a lady to hear that story,” Nock said.

“Nor an old knight for that matter,” said Oswyn with a sly look toward Sir Gabriel. Sir Gabriel didn’t even look up from the scrolls.

“I know!” Mallik announced. “What about the time when we surprised Sir Aidan as he refreshed the dragon pens?”

“Oh, no,” Aelic muttered.

“Did Aidan request we not tell this story?” Kaliam asked Antoinette.

“Say yes!” Aelic whispered urgently to her.

Antoinette smiled gleefully at Aelic, then turned to Kaliam. “Oh, no. He only mentioned the lantern spiders.”

Kaliam laughed. “Then I think we should.”

“So there he was,” Mallik began, “the Twelfth Knight-to-be, wearing a brand-new tunic and clean armor.”

Nock laughed. “You can always tell a beginner in the pens! Ha!”

“Indeed,” answered Mallik, and he turned to Antoinette. “For the dragon pens are fouled beyond words. Those who have had the misfortune of cleaning those pens know better than to wear anything clean!”

Beginning to imagine the events that followed, Antoinette put a hand to her lips.

“Oh, how Sir Aidan’s armor gleamed, a crisp tunic, new breeches—”

“Oh, do go on,” said Sir Tobias rather abruptly as he rubbed the tip of a long finger along the bridge of his nose. “You have already told us this part.”

“Give him time. One must have patience for a story well told,” Sir Oswyn said.

Antoinette felt uncomfortable, and for a moment she thought Sir Tobias would grow angry. But the aloof expression on his narrow face suddenly cracked into a grin and he laughed. “Well-met, herb-meister,” he said. “Forgive my rudeness, Sir Mallik. It is just that I have not heard this tale, and I am dying to know what could be more embarrassing than mistaking lantern spiders for soldiers’ torches.”

Mallik smiled. “Aidan was supposed to be working. But Sir Aidan was anything but working. Daydreaming, I would say.”

“Or knight-dreaming,” said Tal, laughing at his own joke. “He was so lost in thought we could have marched right in front of him, and I doubt he would have noticed.”

“It was Farix’s idea to gather the rest of us, and hide behind the pen where Sir Aidan sat upon the fence wasting the night away.”

“It is true,” Nock said, smiling. “Farix had noticed that the king’s largest dragon, Spryvern—”

“Not Spryvern the longtail! Why, he is the best-trained dragon in The Realm,” Sir Oswyn said.

“Do not spoil the tale, now, Os,” said Kaliam.

“So,” Mallik continued, almost whispering, “Spryvern was sleeping in the pen next to the one Sir Aidan was supposed to be cleaning. And as it happens, Farix is good friends with Spryvern’s trainer. So there sat Sir Aidan, lost in thought. Oblivious to us all. Sitting right above the pen he would soon wish he had cleaned!

“Now, Farix asked, ‘Have you seen the dragon’s new trick?’ None of us had, of course. Quickly, Farix made three short whistles. That dragon jumped to its feet, made three loud screeches, and cracked its long tail like a whip!”

“Sir Aidan was so startled, he fell right off the fence!” Mallik bellowed. “He landed, ha! He landed face-first in the dragon pen! The poor fellow was so covered in dragon scat you could hardly tell who he was!”

Lady Merewen put a hand to her lips and laughed. Tobias rocked and nearly fell over. Kaliam tried to remain stoic, but he too broke down. Sensitive to Aelic beside her, Antoinette did everything she could to hold in the hysterical laughs that were bubbling up inside her, but it didn’t work.

“You know,” Aelic said finally, “it is kind of funny. Just remember—”

“I know,” Antoinette interrupted. “It wasn’t you!” And with that a new round of merriment began.

The laughter, like the fire, eventually died down. Everyone engaged in conversation, everyone except Sir Rogan and Sir Gabriel.

Sir Rogan, an empty dish and a wooden spoon in his hands, leaned forward, gazing into the fire. His long blond hair draped over his face, but his eyes gleamed.

“One piece of gold for your thoughts, Sir Rogan!” bellowed Mallik.

Sir Rogan straightened slightly, his eyes narrowed and focused for a moment on Mallik. “Hrmff,” he grunted, and then he returned to staring at the fire.

Mallik smiled grimly. “Ah, I know what consumes your thoughts, axe-wielder. The burden of the fight to come mingles with the memory of battles past, does it not? We are brothers in that respect, for we all lost those dear to us in the fight at Mithegard.”

Sir Rogan looked up once more from the fire. His eyes were glassy, but his jaw was set, and there seemed an air about him—a mixture of steely determination and barely restrained wrath.

“Let it not gnaw at your mind, my friend,” said Mallik. “Vengeance, the thirst for blood, is the province of the enemy. But justice is of our King. We will seek peace, but be ever ready to deliver justice.”

Sir Rogan nodded, and it seemed to the others that a bond had just been forged between axe and hammer.

“I don’t think I’d want to be a Paragor Knight caught between those two,” Antoinette whispered to Aelic.

“Nor I,” Aelic replied. “Sir Mallik is unassailable when he swings that hammer of his, just as Sir Rogan with his broad-bladed axe. No, indeed, I would not like to face either upon the field of battle. Nor Sir Gabriel and his long knives—what say you to that, Sir Gabriel?”

Sir Gabriel did not answer. He sat on a wide log across the fire from Aelic and scrutinized the scroll he had spread on his lap. There were several scrolls lying unbound at his side.

Aelic looked at Antoinette and shrugged.

But Sir Gabriel’s inattention did not bypass Sir Oswyn, who had been inconspicuously watching Sir Gabriel for some time. “Gabriel,” he called out. But when Sir Gabriel did not respond, Sir Oswyn prodded him softly with a stick. “Gabriel!”

“What is it?”

“You have done nothing but devour those scrolls since we arrived in Torin’s Vale, when you ought to be devouring meat, bread, and cheese to keep your strength up!” Sir Oswyn said.

“He is right, Sir Gabriel,” Nock said, offering a huge crust of bread. “We will not likely have another occasion to stop and eat before Yewland.”

Sir Gabriel looked up disdainfully. “No, thank you, Master Bowman. I have fed from the wisdom of King Eliam, and that is enough.”

“Surely it is not the plan of King Eliam that you feed only your mind with his word, while starving the body, Sir Gabriel,” Sir Oswyn said.

Sir Gabriel frowned and returned to the scrolls before him, but before he could begin reading, Sir Oswyn once again poked him with a stick.

“Stop that!” Sir Gabriel said, becoming annoyed.

“Sir Gabriel,” Sir Oswyn said, “you have great wisdom in lore and diplomacy, but you will eat before we break camp even if I have to feed you myself.”

Sir Gabriel raised one eyebrow, took some food from Nock, and reluctantly began eating while continuing to read the scrolls.

Nock then turned his attention to Antoinette. “Would you like something more to eat?”

“No, thank you,” Antoinette said. She was quiet a moment, but then turned to the archer. “Sir Nock, I guess being from Yewland, you’ve always been pretty good with a bow?”

“Yes,” Nock answered. “My brother Bolt and I were always practicing to see who could shoot the fastest, or the farthest, or the smoothest. I do not recall a time when I did not have a bow nearby. Even as children we carved our bows were carved from blackwood.”

“Blackwood is the best wood?”

“Yes. In fact, my bow was carved from the root of a fallen blackwood. The wood is supple, resilient, and stronger than that of any other bough in The Realm,” he said while handing her his bow. “A Blackwood bow can launch an arrow a great distance and with immense force. Blackwood Arrows fly straighter, penetrate deeper, and do not break.”

Antoinette held the dark bow reverently. “I wish I knew how to shoot,” she said.

“I could show you,” said Aelic.

“Yes, you could, Sir Aelic,” replied Nock with a sly grin. “But then I would have to help Lady Antoinette unlearn all the poor habits you would teach her.”

Insulted, Aelic stood.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Aelic,” said Nock, motioning for Aelic to sit. “Forgive my choice of words. But if mastering a bow is what Lady Antoinette wishes, then she should be tutored by a master of the bow. I would not dare to presume such a stance, if she required a lesson on the sword.”

Aelic nodded. “I’m not that bad,” he grumbled. Nock slapped him on the back, and they laughed.

“Come, Lady Antoinette,” Nock said. “Allow me to reveal to you the art of bow and shaft!”

As they were leaving the camp, a sad melody reached their ears. Antoinette stopped to listen. The singer’s voice was rich and clear, and he strummed his lute as he sang. Sir Oswyn, Antoinette thought. It was in a language Antoinette did not understand, but there was emotion within the melody. Antoinette felt it wash over her and stood transfixed.

Sil Minabryn son’ealyth. Sil pennathar son’bru.
Sil gurethyn mare annocet, m’reavow alas rue.
Nadar gurethyn nal fleurithyn
Sil ridinel sil pereniel, sil guld pur gorithyn.
A, Torin, kae trennethet sila waye?
Sil brun Wyrm ‘ycorason son’grae.
A, Torin son ill Minabryn m’reave’ thei’,
Endurie minabrie bru aelythei.

“It is part of the lay of Torin,” Nock said softly. “The melody is haunting, and to hear Os sing it in the old language . . . nearly breaks my heart.”

Antoinette found herself staring at the opening where Torin’s gate once stood. A cold tear rolled down her cheek. “What is a lay? Do you know what it means?” she asked. “Can you understand the old language? I . . . I’d really like to know what it means.”

“I do not speak the old language,” Nock said. “But a lay is a poem or a song. I can retell the lay, for I too was compelled to discover its meaning. It is a story about these ruins around us. Some call it a legend, for no one really knows who dwelt here or why they dwell here no longer. It tells of Torin, one of King Eliam’s oldest and most trusted servants, and of how he died at the hands of the Wyrm Lord.”

As Nock spoke the words of the lay, Antoinette found that she could no longer see the ruins. In its place stood a white castle manor surrounded by flowering trees and a myriad of living creatures. But the flittering birds and gathering squirrels hastened away suddenly, for something was coming.

The Realm was young and the mountains were new.
The sea birds cried, mourning as they flew.
Even birds on the wing could not escape,
The choice of the firstborn, and the cost of innocent blood.
Oh, Torin, why did you open that door?
The Old Wyrm’s heart was black.
Oh, Torin, the poisoned world weeps
For you and waits for all things to be made new.

When Nock finished, Antoinette looked away. Her wet face glistened, and she hastily wiped her tears. “Was Torin very dear to King Eliam?” she asked.

“Yes,” Nock replied sadly. “But no scroll in Alleble records his tale.”

“The Wyrm Lord killed Torin?” Antoinette asked. “Is that the legend that Sir Gabriel spoke about?”

“Sir Gabriel dismisses Torin’s story as a myth because none of his scrolls contain it. He is one of the wisest in The Realm, but I say he has erred in this judgment. The story goes that when King Eliam went away on a journey, he told Torin not to open the door to anyone until he returned. But the Wyrm Lord in his guile was very persuasive. Torin opened the door, and the Wyrm Lord slew him. How else could The Schism occur? It was innocent blood, I say. When the Wyrm Lord spilled the noble blood of King Eliam’s servant, that is when The Realm divided, or so I believe. There, now, I have spoken too much of your time away. Enough! I promised you a lesson with the bow!”