Silverwood, Silverwood, Silverwood… The name undulated against Dale’s mind in a faint, but angry, echo.
Merdigen gazed about the chamber as if looking for ghosts. “You hear that? The guardians know the name. Indeed, they know it all too well.”
Dale shuddered, but Merdigen plunged right back into his story. “Noble and silent was Theanduris Silverwood as he glided to the king’s side. He bristled with power, his robes flowing behind him. Black uniformed guards surrounded him.”
“Weapons?” Dale asked.
“They had many weapons,” Merdigen replied, looking annoyed by the interruption.
“No, I mean were the guards Weapons, er, what we call Weapons? They guard the king. Mostly.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, I’ve heard them referred to as such, though back then we knew them as Black Shields, an order of warriors created after the war and new to us. We did not know at the time if they were guarding Theanduris or if they were protecting others from Theanduris. Later we discovered it was a little of both.
“Tucked beneath his arm was a leather-bound book, quite ordinary really, except that we mages, who valued knowledge above all else, and who had seen neither page nor parchment, book nor scroll for so long, stared in wonder at it. Theanduris ignored our interest and would not share its contents with us. I came to understand later that this book was the journal in which he documented the building of the wall, perhaps including notes about the spells cast for the binding. This is the book I told the Garth fellow about.”
“Ah,” Dale said. “But you never saw the actual contents?”
“Only blank pages, I’m afraid, and those on a visit during an otherwise benign conversation. Theanduris indicated what information it held, but that’s all I ever saw or heard of it.”
And this was all, Dale thought, with apprehension, they were basing their hopes on, that the book might solve the mysteries of the wall. If it could even be found.
Before Merdigen continued with his tale, a mug of frothy ale appeared in his hand. First he sipped cautiously from it, then he took great gulps. “Aaah, that’s good. Throat is getting dry with all this talking.” He took a few more swigs before setting aside the mug and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Where was I?” he muttered.
“Theanduris and his book.”
“Yes, yes. Well, Theanduris obviously did not think much of us, young whelp that he was, only a hundred years old or so.”
“Only?”
“Working the art can sometimes extend the years,” Merdigen replied. “When my companions and I were placed in exile, we were well past a hundred years old. This is why we are known for our wisdom: all those years of learning, research, and knowledge.”
“Like Eletians,” Dale said.
“No, no.” Merdigen chuckled. “The lifetimes of Eletians are without end. The same cannot be said about great mages.” As if this was nothing out of the ordinary, he went on with his tale. “And so we considered Theanduris a young whelp. His age, as well as his haughty demeanor, put us off.” Merdigen flung his hand out and from a ball of light grew the figure of a man with a beard of steel gray and wearing long white robes. He loomed over them, his expression arrogant as he gazed down at them.
“No doubt he regarded us as without honor for having chosen exile over participation in the war, though that exile had been no easy thing to endure. In truth, many a time I had considered abandoning my principles and sending a message to the king to tell him I would join the fray—just to be among human beings again—but I could not betray my beliefs.
“And so Theanduris put before us a choice: to become keepers of the towers or to return to our order’s lodge in the mountains. We should know, he added, that we’d be left to ourselves if we returned to the mountains, and should not expect the king’s protection. Well, we never had a king’s protection before, so the words meant nothing to us. Little did we understand the significance of his comment.” Merdigen frowned and the menacing image of Theanduris disappeared with a poof. “If we decided to become guardians of the towers, it would be for all time.”
“I can see what choice you made,” Dale said.
Merdigen raised a snowy eyebrow and gazed hard at her. “Can you now? Would it surprise you if I told you we chose to return home before we made our final decision? I will not forget the knowing gleam in Theanduris’ eyes when we told him of our plan to return to the mountains, and immediately I grew suspicious that there was something he was not telling us. But I let it pass, for the eagles arrived to once again carry us back to the Wingsong Mountains.
“When we arrived, we found our lodge burned to the ground. Odd and angry symbols had been scrawled on signposts and stuck around the borders of our land, along with wards against evil. The rotting carcasses of animals were hung amid the remains of our lodge. It was clear its burning had been no accident. Some among us burst into tears, remembering the vast library it once housed—all that knowledge burned to ashes. And it had long been our home.
“A few of us walked to a nearby village for help. The folk there had always been friendly to us. We purchased their goods, hired their people to do jobs around the lodge and work our land, taught their children to read, and had any number of beneficial interactions with them. Yet when we arrived, people ran into their houses and slammed their doors shut. We could not coax anyone to help us, and a man who had been a stablehand at the lodge as a boy, and who was now a man grown old, met us with a pitchfork and demanded we remove our dirty, evil selves from the village and never return. Bewildered, we walked back to the remains of our lodge where our brothers and sisters were knocking down the signposts. The carcasses were long gone, thank the heavens.