Bastion of Sun

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Reborn

Balder walked along the white, outer stone wall examining Queenstown's burgeoning defenses.

He was doing his rounds as he always did each morning, but today it was merely a distraction. As usual, a flock of people trailed him as he moved—advisors, masons-in-training, woodworkers, a blacksmith and a few messengers to relay important information to Karil if need be. He always had a thousand things to say, but today, Balder was silent as he marched with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning. He admired the smooth seamless joints and was impressed by the plane of the long horizontal course. It would be a strong wall—perhaps the best he'd ever made. He felt pride swelling in his chest, but his fear was sharper, louder. Time was running thin... Balder glanced up. The Forest of Aenor was dark today and looked like sinister storm clouds with its canopy shrouded in mist that poured from its maw.

Balder was shook from his reverie as a servant brought forth a sample of mortar on a wooden plate. As customary, Balder rubbed the mortar between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its grittiness, then sniffed it. At last he put his tongue to it, tasting. "Too much lime," he said aloud at last. "This city will last for ages. We can't have water and wind stripping it down before its time." And he gave instructions to add more white clay to the mortar. But his words were absent, his mind troubled—when, over the shoulders of his entourage, he saw a peculiar figure sitting on a stone bench.

"That'll do for now," Balder announced, spirits lifting. "Same time same place tomorrow and don't dawdle." Each glanced at one another, looking slightly confused at the sudden dismissal. But upon hearing his kind, curt tone, they left silently to see to their duties.

Balder's attention was no longer on his attendants. He neared and sat at Finn's side.

Reaver Finn was silent as usual; his dour mood was an ever-present raincloud floating over his head. As soon as Balder sat at Finn's side, he felt stares. Men and women passed furtive glances towards him as he sat next to the brooding Reaver. The people of Queenstown feared Reaver Finn and Balder couldn't blame them. The darkness in Finn's eyes and the way he moved about the camp like a shadow didn't make the Reaver seem the friendly sort. He half-expected Reaver Finn to comment on the stares but he didn't. Instead the man sat with his hands folded neatly upon his scarlet robes, which were still dirty as if they hadn't been washed since the day he arrived in that wagon from Farbs—a wagon filled with a chest of gold that gave them the means to build their city and wage war on the foul Dryan.

Finn's blue eyes gazed into the unknown. Balder coughed and settled back, pretending to watch the nothingness as well.

"You aren't as clever as you look," Finn said suddenly, feigning interest in a group of elves who were stoking a large kiln and feeding in white-stone bricks that made a marblesque finish. That clay was a rare find with both beauty and strength—a mason's dream.

"Hmm? Not clever? How so?"

"Sitting next to me marks you both fool and outcast."

"Ah," he nodded, as if thoughtful and unaware of this.

"Master Architect and fallen Reaver, sitting side-by-side," Finn explained more slowly. "Surely you see their gazes, unless you're merely a blind fool."

Balder shrugged, throwing his hands behind his head and leaning back against a vine-covered wall. Already life began to crawl over those newly finished constructs—lichen along the benches, vines along the nearby fountain, moss between the stones and grotto. Verdant moss crawled up an unfinished square-faced building that would soon become town hall—each flora in vivid hues of blue, red and green. Whether it was the elves' work or the close proximity to the Forest of Aenor, Balder wasn't certain, but nature followed the budding city like a lover, giving it a sense of vitality and animation. He enjoyed it and it seemed to mimic the life of those who inhabited the camp.