The next day, they made their way back out of the valley into the open desert; the valley walls were too steep to walk over and the treacherous path slowed them down somewhat with their horses.
As they left the valley's entrance in the afternoon, they checked their filled water skins ready for the desert, ate what they could and continued on, turning north towards the great capital Dorimune, situated at the border, defended by the vast plain of the Dividing Desert to the south.
After walking for about five leagues in four hours before the heat crippled them and the horses, forcing them to find shelter in the unforgiving desert plain before marching another three leagues until giving up for the day.
'We're not going to get anywhere with this blasted sun searing our backs!,' said Arnoan, on the first night 'It would take months. I'd rather go face that sorcerer and his soldiers than enduring this slow torture.'
They both resolved then to travel in the night, and sleeping in the day in their tents, finding whatever shelter they could find.
In the first few days, they were undisturbed by thoughts of their enemies, concentrating of only leaving the arid, sandy wasteland of the Dividing.
But when Freor brought news of a pursuing battalion of soldiers about ten leagues behind on the fourth day, after scouting behind the desert at night, they started to worry.
'We'll be able to make it to the capital before being overtaken. We're the ones who have horses. Right, uncle?'
Freor gave a non-committal grunt while continuing onwards, which did not do much to sooth Arnoan's fears.
On the fifth day, they did not fare so well. The water in two of the water skins became foul, and they could not bear to drink it, so they disposed of the water.
The soldiers were also beginning to catch up, being driven on in a forced march, even though carrying their armour and gear and travelling on foot.
What Arnoan thought peculiar was how they got enough water to sate the thirst of so many soldiers, but he tried not to think about that. It led to thoughts about the sorcerer and his power, which had so brutally destroyed his home.
They hurried even quicker after that, travelling at a trot until their horses could not take anymore and then walking on their feet, leading the horses until they recovered. They continued this cycle with more haste, trying to keep their advantage of greater distance to its full extent.
But whoever was leading the soldiers must have caught a whiff of what they were doing, because the soldiers hurried even faster and went on the march even longer.
Not even Royal soldiers could last that long, thought Arnoan gloomily, tiring as he travelled longer and faster, driven by his determination not to be caught by the soldiers at their heels. It might have been a forced march, with these soldiers just having more stamina from extensive training, but Arnoan doubted it. Nobody could keep up at that pace for that long unless they were very motivated.
In a week, they had travelled about twenty leagues, but the soldiers had caught up and marched at least two leagues behind them. They could see the distant glinting, armoured figures trekking at a quick pace behind them in the open desert, which seemed to have no end even as they neared their destination.
Freor did not plan to stop after nightfall; the soldiers would still be marching despite the risk of some breaking legs on the rough terrain and with the pace the battalion were travelling at, Freor supposed that they would be caught in little more than a day.
If they could reach the border patrols of the capital city, they would be safe from Draemor as they dealt with the threat themselves. At least for a few weeks, thought Arnoan miserably, then we would certainly be on the run again.
After three hours of the chase, they finally encountered semi-arid land, the mark that the provincial border was close. Before the desert, Arnoan had never really appreciated green plants and animals, but now that had all changed.
With a cry of joy, he said 'We've nearly made it, Freor! Just a few more leagues!.'
There were plants all around now, the desert already forgotten in the land as well as the duo's minds. They were re-energized by the excitement of finally arriving to safety, and to be out of the desert at last.
'The soldiers are about two miles behind,' said Freor, returning from his brief survey of the area. 'They are going faster than we are on these tired horses, and if we don't make it fast to a border patrol, we will be overtaken.'
They continued for half an hour more, the capital Dorimune stood out in the landscape on an upraised hill, the sun illuminating its outer defensive wall of guard towers and battlements.
The land around it had been cleared at least to half a mile, as if they were expecting a great attack.
The soldiers behind them ground to a halt, knowing that they had lost the race, and turned to leave in the opposite direction.
But the guards from the battlements had seen them, and a detachment of cavalry was sent from the outer gates to give chase.
Soldiers, armoured in pure white armour and adorned with blue capes, rode past on their horses, ignoring them completely. They headed towards the soldiers of Draemor, who were exposed in the open and started to retreat to a more defendable position.
A tall man on a white horse approached them from the gates, with two soldiers accompanying him. His armour was decorated with three plumes and a star on the left of his chest, indicating rank.
A sword was sheathed at his side as well as a knife, and his armour was white tinged with blue, but was slightly battered as if fighting had occurred. Some kind of different alloy, thought Arnoan. The last time he had come here, the armour had been different and the men wearing them more carefree.
The soldier had a kind of stressful yet sad look in his eye, like he had been given an impossible job that he knew he would fail at.
'You two! Stop there. We have arrows trained on you, so don't get too confident on escape!,' he said roughly, advancing away from his escorts toward them with his hand at the sword hilt.
Freor whispered to Arnoan. 'Do what he says. He is the major who commands this part of the defence, by the rank. I'll do the talking.'
A mile behind him, Arnoan could hear battle being joined.
'Who are you and why have you brought a battalion of Rael soldiers to our gates? Answer truthfully or there will be consequences,' said the major.
'Major, I am sorry about that minor inconvenience, but we really did not mean to bring them along. We're expected by the King and we had to hurry to meet our appointment' Freor explained.
The major raised his eye sceptically. 'Why would an old man and a farm boy have business with the King? Why, to my eyes, you look like one of the apprentices of Draemor in disguise.'
'I am Freor,' said Arnoan's uncle, as if that would change anything.
'So you say you are he? What difference does it make if you can't prove it,' replied the major.
Freor made seemed to concentrate on the man for a second before the most extraordinary thing happened.
The major suddenly went stiff, and saluted. Arnoan did not understand why he had changed all of a sudden. Why the major had said 'so you say you are he…'
'Of course, had I known who you were, I would not have…' blustered the soldier, who seemed to be sweating abnormally. Freor raised his hand to coolly silence him.
'No need to explain yourself to me. You did your duty and that is what matters. It's good to be suspicious, especially in these times'
'Thank you, sir,' said the major relieved, leaving Arnoan completely confused with the whole interaction. 'I'll bring men to escort you to the palace.'
The major proceeded back inside, and as the soldier organised an escort, Arnoan asked angrily 'Who are you? Don't I even get the right to know who I'm travelling with, my supposed uncle?'
'There will be time for this later,' replied Freor curtly. Arnoan did not say any more, extremely annoyed that he knew nothing and that everyone else was party to some secret that seemed to include all but him.
The battle between the Rael soldiers and the Durandor cavalry had ended in victory for the defence forces.
About one quarter of the Rael soldiers had escaped, along with their commander, into a treacherous path leading back to the desert, where the horses could not tread.
The escort arrived, and made a defensive formation around them. The major also accompanied them, Freor asking him about news on the way to the palace.
'Times of late have been dangerous. We can no longer rely on the desert and the troops to provide defence for Dorimune, especially with Draemors cursed apprentices hiding whole battalions from sight,' replied the major, who was named Daniel, to one of Freor's questions.
'I'm afraid that Dorimune will fall at the end of the month, with Draemor gathering his forces and striking where we least expect, especially so far inland of the province.'
Freor was troubled by the news and asked nothing more, though how could it be any of his business whether they were ruled by the King or this 'Draemor', Arnoan was still left in the dark.
The company strode through the city, its widely paved roads hinting signs of neglect. A few stores and houses were abandoned and all the people they saw on the streets were ready for battle, sheathed knives and rusted swords at their waists.
Even though it was still late afternoon and not in the least bit dark, the gates and portcullis closed with a heavy thud.
The presence of the escort immediately cleared the roads, but there were not that many people on them anyway.
Ahead, the plain flag of a large half star, with five smaller stars decorating the other empty side in the formation of that of a semi-circle, could be seen clearing the tops of the high walls of the inner defence.
The smell of smoke and decaying detritus came strongly to Arnoan's nose. Apparently, according to the major, some city buildings had been burnt to the ground when an enemy raid tried to get over the outer defence but only managed to ravage the eastern establishments after an exchange of fire tipped arrows.
After a fifteen minute walk they reached the inner defence and the palace. There was a considerable number of soldiers there, guarding the entry into the courtyard. They were all checked of anything suspicious and their weapons were removed from them.
The major did not come with them, saying that he had to go back to his post, and bid them farewell. The escort followed him.
The defenders at the gate of the courtyard arranged another escort of five soldiers.
Arnoan noticed that these soldiers had white armour adorned with gold filaments, and the blue tinge was stronger in their armour.
Their swords were of fine make, and ceremonially decorated, though Arnoan had the feeling that they quite masterful at using them.
They followed the man who was of the highest rank, a captain, with three plumes and two stars.
They entered the palace by the atrium doors and were led up two flights of stairs to the south wing quarters of the palace, the captain telling them that they would be led shortly to the King Liorian after they had been made presentable.
They were given an hour. Arnoan quickly proceeded into his quarters and peeled off his clothes to jump into the bath.
After bathing, he saw that clothes had been laid out on the bed. He dressed quickly, feeling the drowsy warmth dull him into sleepiness.
Freor strode in, startling him from his reverie. He was dressed in the fine clothes of a nobleman, with a gold embroidered coat and pants.
Arnoan's temper started to heat as he thought about how Freor was still hiding important things from him, but Arnoan clamped down on it quickly.
This is not the time, he thought. Let the old man keep his secrets.
'Are you ready, Arnoan?' asked Freor. 'Remember who it is we're meeting. The King Liorian himself, so keep your temper and mind your manners'
As the hour dwindled, four Royal guards arrived at the door of their rooms and said it was time for the meeting.
They were led down the marble corridors of the inner palace, which were slightly congested with civil servants, engineers, overseers and, more so than all the others, grisly soldiers and high-ranking officers of the Durandor military.
They soon converged upon the central corridor which led like a highway to the throne room.
The guard presence was heavy around the entrance, two huge slabs of decorated marble, and it was decreed that all persons meeting the king would have an identification check to enter.
Arnoan fidgeted as blue crystals were given from their escort's pockets over to men equipped in red armour, who seemed to concentrate on it before nodding to the soldiers.
Everything went smoothly, and they were admitted minus the guards. The throne room was as massive as the area their own house occupied. Arnoan looked in awe at the statues and paintings of history which surrounded the room.
Most prominent was the fresco that covered the wall on which the throne was positioned. It showed the battles which led to fall of the old council, battles of thousands of soldiers thrown against each other like water, bloody fights and supreme destruction.
Then Arnoan noticed the king. He was a man in his late thirties, with a tall intimidating build, keen blue eyes, a guarded lined expression and frayed black hair on which the Crown of the Durandor, a simple ring of gold laurels ensconced with a small crystal at the head, rested.
He was garbed in white gilded robes which shone in the sunlight which touched it through one of the high arched windows, metres above their heads.
He sat on a rough marble throne, and looked up as they came in, flicking his gaze at Freor first from the reports he held in his hands. Then he glanced at Arnoan, but the gaze seemed to linger for a while before it turned back to Freor again, who led their strange procession.
Arnoan looked around to see the room completely surrounded by Royal guards, their swords sheathed and their spears butts resting on the floor, but that did not make them look complacent.
All the more deadlier, Arnoan shivered. He felt as if they were sheep that had just wondered into the wolf's lair.
Three figures surrounded the king, equipped in full white-blue officer armour and ceremonial swords. They were soldiers, Arnoan scrutinized, but far from ordinary. Then he saw their rank, five stars surrounding a gold crown.
Major Generals, if Freor's teachings in Continental History had been right. This could not mean good news, for the city and for them.
Freor strode up the steps which led up to the throne until he stood at least three metres from the king. Liorian dismissed the generals, who saluted with a fist to their hearts and took their leave. Arnoan would have expected the grand king of Durandor to be surrounded by a retinue of nobles, not all these men dressed in strange armour which dotted the room. It seemed they had fallen upon hard times, just as the city they ruled.
The King started to talk. 'So old friend, you have come back, as you said you would on my coronation, to our aid. I didn't think you would come, but I am grateful. We will need all the help we can get. The news is grim.'
'I heard. I didn't think Draemor would attack so soon either, but I am not surprised. After the Aollane insurgency, there was no doubt,' replied Freor slowly, as if reluctant to share anything out in the open. 'I have to ask, where are all the nobles? I would have expected all the houses to have arrayed here by now.'
The king dropped the stacked reports on the nearby table at the side of his throne, not bothering to pick up any that fell.
'Well,' began Liorian gradually, shifting on his throne to find a more comfortable stance before watching them cautiously. 'The remainder fled to Aollane after most of the members in their houses died during the war. Most of the youngest were captains among the army, and some were very competent, but that did not stop them dying like flies after Rael… took an interest in assassins.'
'Then most of the minor houses and the bigger houses that had decided that they had enough of me, all fled with some of the army they managed to control. But the Aollane rebellion took them by surprise. No doubt they are dead by now, though I am just a little happy to have some of the houses out of my way. I never really liked their ploys for power. The only houses that decided to stay were naturally those of myself and my wife.'
'It seems a lot has happened that I don't know about,' said Freor thoughtfully, his sharp eyes moving about the room, but at the same time still looking attentively at the king for any sign of discomfort or uneasiness. Arnoan had witnessed firsthand how Freor could make you believe he was doing one thing, but in fact he was doing something else entirely.
'Indeed. Come, I should not be burdening you with this now. I'm forgetting my duty as the host. You haven't changed a bit, Freor. Sorial will be glad to see you again,' said Liorian, motioning at them to come closer, but more at Freor than Arnoan.
'But who is your friend? What have you been doing all these years? Refresh me'
'This is Arnoan, my nephew and as for what I've been doing, I was living in Aollane at the edge of the desert before the rebellion. But before anything else is to be discussed, is there something important that's occurred. Something I might not know about?,' said Freor.
Liorian's face seemed to pale, as a dark shadow crossed his drawn face.
'I'm afraid that Dorimune will be finished at the end of the month and Durandor along with it in a half year.'