Aglanthol 1 - The Legend of Khaalindaan - 3. Chapter 3

The day convinced Qildor that Magath was right. He had only found and spoken to peasants. The men were not qualified to guard the frontier.

‘We must send here trained warriors. Else the Khalindash will soon conquer the land,’ Qildor thought. He was scowling.

He rode back to Tanmil, absorbed in his thoughts. Dusk had come when he arrived. The street was empty and the village looked deserted. Qildor arrived at Magath’s house. He dismounted and led his horse into the stable. He hesitated for a moment or two, wondering if he should really enter the house. Rational thinking told him to leave instantly, his gut feeling, however, urged him to stay. Finally, Qildor opened the door of the house. Magath wasn’t around. Qildor felt disappointed. He bit his lip.

“I’m longing for a peasant. I’m a fool. This can only end up in disaster,” Qildor said to himself. ‘It has not even begun,’ a voice in his head responded.

The door opened and interrupted his thoughts. Qildor turned around abruptly. Magath stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a green cotton shirt and earth-brown pants. He held a loaf of bread in his hands.

“Just got this from Gwyn in exchange for a rabbit. Gwyn lives in the next house. She’s a widow,” Magath explained.

Qildor smiled at him. Magath looked at him for a moment before a small smile came to his lips as well.

“Excellent,” Qildor said cheerfully. A voice in his head asked where his improper jolliness came from. Qildor ignored it.

“I cooked a rabbit stew,” Magath said. “The pot is outside on a fire.”

“Excellent,” Qildor repeated, feeling foolish at his lack of words.

Magath smiled.

“I go and get the pot,” he said, and then turned and left the house.

Qildor cleared his throat and looked around. He spotted two wooden chairs and a wooden table. Qildor sat down and gazed into the room. He had never eaten a rabbit stew with a peasant.

Magath came back and placed the pot on the table. He also put a jug of water, the loaf of bread, a knife and two wooden spoons on it. Qildor watched him. Finally, Magath sat down. They exchanged a brief look and then started to eat. They did not speak for some time.

“You were right,” Qildor said finally. “I met only peasants. They are not qualified to guard the frontier.

Magath smiled. He licked his spoon before he replied.

“So what will you do now?” he asked.

“Send trained warriors here,” Qildor replied. “Else the Khalindash will conquer the land.”

Magath nodded.

“They won’t come back in winter. The snowfalls are heavy. But they’ll be back in spring. They’ll go for the cattle,” he said.

“So we must drive them out of the country in spring,” Qildor replied. “We’ll build a fortress, a base camp, whatever.”

“You can’t do this in winter,” Magath said.

“In spring then,” Qildor replied. “We’ll be here before they come and steal the cattle.”

Qildor paused, thinking.

“I don’t really believe the animals are all they want. I rather believe they want to conquer the country and bring the Aglanthol down.”

Magath gave a laugh.

“What?” Qildor asked.

“The Khalindash are warriors, yes. But they are way too few to bring down the kingdom of Aglanthol,” he said. “Yes, they steal the cattle. But this is not what they are really after.”

“What are they after then?” Qildor asked, slightly puzzled.

“Norlorn’s sword,” Magath said.

Qildor looked at him in bewilderment.

“Norlorn’s sword?” he asked.

“Yes, they want to release the spirit of Khaalindaan. This would in fact give them immeasurable power.”

“What are you talking about?” Qildor asked in confusion.

“Have you not heard of it?” Magath asked, giving Qildor a stunned look.

“Explain it to me,” Qildor said. He cut another slice of bread.

“Khaalindaan was a powerful wizard. He was banned by Norlorn, the wizard of the Aglanthol. The Clan of Aglanthol became great and powerful. The kingdom flourished. But this will all come to an end when Norlorn’s sword is removed from the ground. Then Khaalindaan’s spirit will be released and the wizard will be seeking revenge,” Magath told him.

Qildor felt fascinated. Yet he shook his head and gave a laugh.

“A folk tale, Magath, just some ancient lore,” he said.

Magath looked at Qildor seriously. Qildor fell silent.

“Norlorn drove the sword in the ground. The place was kept secret and only the wise men knew where to find it. Many have searched for it, but no one has found it,” Magath said.

“Well, the wise men knew of it, apparently,” Qildor said cheerfully.

“The wise men still know where to find the place,” Magath said. His voice was serious and his look was stern.

Qildor felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Where are those wise men then?” he asked finally.

“No one knows,” Magath said. “They are hiding.”

Qildor shifted in his chair.

“Well, the Khalindash then either must capture a wise man or stumble accidentally across the sword,” he said.

“The place is not far from here,” Magath said, lowering his voice.

Qildor gazed at him. A voice in his head warned him. Perhaps the man was a lunatic and maybe he was dangerous. Qildor cut another slice of bread in an attempt to silence his thoughts. Magath watched him.

“How do you know?” Qildor asked finally.

“One of my relatives, a great uncle, was into this secret. He never revealed it, but once he said that the holy place was not far from here,” Magath said.

“He could have made it up,” Qildor replied.

“No,” Magath said angrily. “He was not a liar.”

“Forgive me,” Qildor said compliantly. “I have never heard of this story. It sounds very weird.”

He reached out his hand and touched Magath’s wrist. Magath winced slightly, yet did not reject the touch. He looked at Qildor’s hand on his wrist. Qildor saw him swallow. Then Magath looked up. They exchanged a long look.

“Tell me more of it tomorrow,” Qildor said. “If it were true, how did the Khalindash learn from this story?”

Magath nodded.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, yes,” he said. His voice was dark and soft at the same time.

Qildor felt a shiver run down his spine. It was too late now to turn and run.

~~**~~

Qildor woke up. Magath’s arm was wrapped around his body. Magath was still asleep. Qildor listened to his steady breathing. For a moment he thought of getting up and leaving. The night would fade into a memory. He would forget about Magath and the memory would ultimately fade away also. Qildor brushed the thoughts aside defiantly. No, he did not want this night to sink into oblivion. Quite the opposite. He wanted more of it. He would lead a double life, if he had to.

However, Qildor left Tanmil and returned to the royal court a couple of days later. He had not left Tanmil again in order to seek out men to guard the frontier. He had spent a week, night and day, with Magath. On his departure, Qildor promised to come back very soon. Magath had just nodded. Qildor had seen from his gesture that Magath did not believe him. Qildor did not believe in his own words either, although he tried to convince himself that he was able to find a way to arrange his return.

Qildor rode on. Snow had started to fall. So far, he had not come up with a plan that would work out for sure. Every plan that he thought of was flawed. It would not convince the king.

‘Build a fortress in spring, yes, this plan will convince him,’ Qildor thought. ‘But I cannot wait for spring. I want to see Magath again and soon.’ Qildor rode on. He was scowling.

Four days later he arrived at court and reported to the king. Like he had thought, everybody was sure that the Khalindash would not attack in winter. The threat was not considered a real threat anyway. It was only considered a nuisance. Therefore, the King of Aglanthol and his counsellors did not see a need for immediate action and delayed the development of plans.

Qildor was dissatisfied. He found no excuse to leave court and travel north again. This would have raised only suspicions. Qildor grew increasingly impatient and restless as the days went by and nothing happened.

One evening, he stood by the window of his chamber and gazed out. Heavy rain was falling. It was cold outside. Winter was close. The roads would soon be impassable. The north of the country would soon be snowed under.

Qildor watched a crow. The black bird landed on a window sill. It was the window of the tower. Qildor gazed at the tower for a while. His eyes narrowed. An idea had come to his mind.

“The wise men know that the legend tells the truth,” he said aloud, musing. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued gazing at the tower. “How about I ask this wretch of a wizard to tell me what he knows of Khaalindaan?”

A smile appeared on Qildor’s lip. “His recount might give me a reason to immediately travel north again,” he said. “Hopefully, he’s one of those men who are into the secret.”

Qildor still thought that the story of Khaalindaan was nothing but a myth, a legend, or a folk tale, only told to frighten naughty children. However, if the wise man, that wretch of a wizard, backed Qildor’s request for immediate action…so much the better. The king then would not be able to object to Qildor’s immediate departure.

Qildor smiled again, and then he left his room and headed for the tower.

~~**~~