hackles, and steady menacing growl was enough to cause the hungry, and disheveled folk, to give the group a wide berth.
A few groups of people cheered their passage, as if they were some great heroes coming to save them from the approaching Valleyan and Seaward hordes. More than once Vaegon, or Hyden, or both of them, had to talk Urp down from his fearful and excited state.
Hyden felt sorry for the brave wolf. Urp had limped the entire way, from the camp to the city, without slowing them, or making a sound of pain or protest. Sore and tired, there was no doubt he was intimidated by the masses, and all their strange scents. Vaegon had commented that the wolf had watched over them intently the whole time they had rested, and hadn’t slept much. Hyden reminded himself to make sure that ample food was provided for Urp, and that there was a quiet place for the animal to rest.
Drick had been correct. When they passed under a slightly smaller, older, yet no less formidable looking wall a short while later, the space beyond it was far less crowded than the outer city. There were plenty of people, and wagons spread around the cobbled streets, but it was obvious by the quality of the clothes that people wore, and the possessions piled into the carts, that these were a different class of refugees.
The sun was gone now, but its rays still touched the tips of the mountains, leaving them looking like some golden bronze crown over Queen Willa’s palace.
Hyden struggled to read aloud a street sign, advertising fresh baked goods, and the best cheese in the world. Vaegon prodded, and helped him through the words. Over the last few weeks, he had been learning, but hadn’t gotten far. Writing was even harder for him. He could spell out his elven friend’s name in the dirt, Talon’s, and Mikahl’s as well, but he had come to the conclusion that without parchment, ink, and quills, he would get nowhere, fast. He would surely be able to find those items, and a few books here. The idea of looking for a place to purchase them, in this mass of people and buildings, so crowded in together, was daunting. He was discouraged, and overwhelmed by it all, but he was still determined to learn as much as he could about everything that he could. Learning to read and write was the obvious first step.
The color of the sky reminded him of his dream from the night before. A glance at Urp’s soft white coat brought forth the image of the White Goddess, pleading for him to respond to her call.
“Do you know of a temple called Whitten Loch?” Hyden asked Drick, as they closed in on yet another gated wall.
“I know of Whitten Loch, yes,” Drick answered. “But to call it a temple, is to call a single dying tree a forest. It’s a swan shelter, and a small filthy one at that. It sits along the elevated rim of the lake’s retaining wall, at its westernmost end.”
“Whitten Loch means White Lake,” Vaegon said, matter-of-factly.
“I wouldn’t know what it means,” shrugged Drick. “But you’re about to see it for yourself.”
Unlike the other gates that they had come to, the one before them was closed. The wall, some twenty feet tall, covered in vines, and moldy growth, had a single row of arrow slits up high, and a wicked looking, spiked iron overhang, running along its top.
Before Hyden could study it further, a gruff voice spoke out to them.
“You’re expected,” the gatekeeper said, while eyeing Urp cautiously.
He let out a loud whistle, aiming his head up towards someone unseen on the wall. From deep within the stonework, came the sound of rattling chains. Slowly, the ironbound gates began to creep open, and beyond them, Hyden saw all the splendor of the world revealed before him.
In the foreground, was a fountain lake. Around it, stretching a way to either side, into the dusky night, was a well tended forested park. It was illuminated by lanterns, hanging from evenly spaced poles, along white marble tiled pathways, that wound through the trees, around manicured gardens, and perfectly trimmed shrubberies. Beds of multicolored flowers were scattered here and there among private benches and open plots of lush trimmed grass.
Beyond the lake, and reflecting dizzily on the surface of the rippling water, was the palace of Xwarda: a castle of white marble blocks that thrust up out of the earth and looked like a growth of crystal shards. The glittering stained glass panels were brilliantly backlit. The scenes that each of them depicted were clear, vivid, and at least forty feet tall. Hyden recognized a few of them, from stories he had heard Berda, and more recently Vaegon, and King Aldar tell.
There was the wizard, Dahg Mahn, surrounded by all of his animals on a battlefield, across from a horde of monsters. Another panel showed the forging of the Hammer of Doon and Mikahl’s sword. Two dwarves, with faces aglow with dragon’s fire, were hammering away at the creations. A wizard and a group of elves, hovered around behind them, while a long-haired giant watched over them all, with his huge muscled arms folded across his chest.
Another depiction showed a trio of dragons. One was a bluish-green color, another white as snow, and the third was a dark, ruby red. They were circling in flight around what Hyden thought was the Summer’s Day Spire. The center depiction was of a golden armored warrior fighting a horde of dark and familiar looking creatures. A hellcat, and what might have been one of the bat-like creatures that had killed Grrr, and a dozen other crimson- eyed things with fangs and claws faced down the hero.
“Pavreal,” Hyden mouthed in awe.
Another depiction showed a mountain split in two and legions of ax and hammer wielding dwarves racing out to meet a mass of greenish skinned, trolls.
The rest of the scenes, thirteen in all, were no less spectacular. Hyden figured that if one of the panels was laid on the ground, it would be twenty paces wide and just as tall. He figured that only the greatest magic could have created such a wonder.
Below the row of monumental masterpieces, were several under-lit peaked archways, which were divided by great spiraling columns. Under each archway was a set of curtained window walls, save for the center arch. Under it was a widening ornate marble stairway, and the castle’s grand entry doors.
Above the row of glittering stained glass portrayals were half a hundred, relatively normal sized windows, reaching up the smooth marble walls in symmetrical rows. Each window was shaped as a perfect miniature of the grand arches below.
Vaegon was speechless. Even with magic, it must have taken a thousand years to build this place. He was certain that only the long-lived elves could have accomplished such a feat. The way the lake reflected the stained glass, like a shimmering sheet of jewels, the way the towers rose up out of the reflected light into the darkness, only to be haloed by their liquid bronze rooftops; the way the white marble absorbed, and reflected the kaleidoscope of color, and glazed it across its own surface like a sheen of oil polish – those were details he would have thought to be beyond the creative ability of humans. Yet here it was before him.
Urp had taken off at a dead run towards the lake, and was now lapping at the water greedily. The swans Drick had spoken of, took to flight in a noisy, honking procession, and the emotional depth of their protest at the wolf brought Hyden out of his daze of awe. Then, the sound of the gates booming closed behind him drowned it all out.
He searched the shoreline, and saw the modest square building that Drick had called a swan shelter. The ranger was absolutely right with his assessment. It looked nothing like a temple. It looked more like a solid block of marble, which had been left over from the construction of the palace. If there were any doors, windows, or features whatsoever, they had to be on the side of it that faced the lake and the palace entryway, because all Hyden could see was smooth weathered stone.
Two of the swans Urp had unsettled, glided out of the gloom, and back into the torch light. They landed in the lake with a graceful splash, and then swam towards the structure. They came to a ramp-like rise, and waggled out of the water, seemingly up into the far side of the place. Hyden was just about to spur his mount over to investigate further, when the swiftly growing sound of hoof beats approaching on one of the tiled stone paths, filled the night.
An ornately garbed troop of suspicious looking soldiers, all sporting the Witch Queen’s Blacksword emblem, came riding up out of the darkness, and met them. A nod of understanding passed between Drick and the commander of the twelve man detachment, that set off alarms in the minds of both Hyden and Vaegon. The men behind the commander were darting their eyes this way and that nervously, which only served to raise the two companions’ level of suspicion. Hyden instinctually called out to Talon to help keep an eye on them.
“These men will escort you two the rest of the way,” Drick said, with a halfhearted smile. “Luck and leisure
