The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2)

by R. G. Triplett

  "Cal?" Deryn whispered in his ear. "There is a dark evil that has emerged here. We must leave now."

  "The Sprite speaks the truth," Astyræ whispered, her eyes still locked on the forest.

  "Do you see the green lights?" Wielund said as he peered closer. 'Tiny little specks of green ... there must be hundreds of little glowing lights."

  "Cal?" Astyræ whimpered.

  Deryn's wings grew brighter, summoning the whole of his small albeit fearsome power for what he knew could become a deadly fight. "Cal, we must leave now," he demanded.

  Cal nodded his understanding and reached for Astyræ's hand, pulling the frightened young woman closer towards him and the horses.

  "What in the name of the THREE who is SEVEN are those lights?" Wielund exclaimed. The smithy then turned to see the terrified look on Astyræ's face. Her soft, pale coloring had turned a sickly, ashen color there in the light of his torch, and a sense of dread had overtaken her features.

  "They are not lights," Astyræ said quietly. "They are eyes."

  The four of them began to retreat back to the bank of the forest pool. Slowly and deliberately they moved towards their mounts while the hundreds of pairs of tiny green eyes stared back at them, menacing and unblinking.

  Cal unsheathed Gwarwyn, preparing himself for whatever new monsters these were that lived here in this cathedral of ancient trees. The rusted blade of the dragon slayer caught the light of Wielund's torch, and as it did the violet gems and silver leaves that had begun to reappear on the hilt of the fabled sword woke to life. The sword reflected the torch's fire into the trees ahead of them, and in an instant a cacophony of sickening caws and rustling branches erupted from amidst the enormous pines.

  "Ravens!" Cal shouted to his friends.

  "Her ravens," Astyræ whispered in a hopelessly frightened voice.

  Cal held his sword high, ready to do his worst, the blade alive with the light of both the torch's reflection and the unknown power within. Suddenly, a violent mass of swirling aggravation shot toward the darkened sky, cutting through limbs and branches as the host of green-eyed birds fled in an explosion of angry protests and dark feathers. Cal met the frightened eyes of Astyræ, searching her panicked face for some sort of understanding.

  "They did not attack, why did they not attack us?" he asked her, confused by the turn of events.

  "I do not know, Cal," she said after a deep, self-steadying breath.

  "Well, I for one do not want to wait around for them to regain their courage," Wielund said as he put his foot atop the stones that guarded the bank of the pool.

  "The smithy is right," Astyræ said. "You must go ... go before her nocturnal servants return in force."

  Cal looked out into the massive wilderness that lay before them. The only visible lights were Wielund's torch and Deryn's wings. Concern colored his face, though not for his own safety. "But what of you, my lady? Will you go back to your people? And if so, how will you see enough to find your way?"

  "I do not think they will have me back, groomsman," she replied.

  "Well then, she should come with us," Wielund said, obviously in a hurry to be back behind the safety of the colony's stronghold. "I am sure the governor will have many questions he would like to ask her."

  Cal studied her face, asking questions without uttering a single word. He did not wholly like this idea, but something instinctual did not want to leave this beautiful, violet-eyed woman to fend for herself in the green-eyed darkness all alone.

  "Alright then," she said as she nodded to them.

  "Cal, I fear we must leave now, and with great haste," Deryn said as he flew back to them, sword ablaze in a wash of protective blue.

  The three of them, Cal, Wielund, and Astyræ, climbed over the rocky outcropping and back down again to the other side of the pool. By the time they had reached their horses, the nerves of the large chestnut had become agitated beyond Wielund's ability to manage. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flared, and a foam of sweat appeared at the edge of her saddle.

  "There is no way she is going to let me ride her!" Wielund pleaded. "She has gone mad!"

  "She is not mad, smithy," Cal said, a bit annoyed at the ignorance of his friend. He grabbed the chestnut's reigns and tried to sooth her fears. "She is just frightened."

  Farran's ears shot straight to attention, and Cal sensed the alert nervousness of the well-muscled courser. The large chestnut neighed and snorted as she pulled at her ties, blatantly frightened and ready to run as fast as her legs would carry her. The dark sky above them began to grow somehow darker, thick with the weight of a black heaviness. As their eyes strained to focus on the strange cloud, they heard the sounds of wings upon the wind. Suddenly, they saw a mass of black bodies and tiny green eyes moving with ravenous intent towards the horses.

  The chestnut reared back and snapped the rope that secured her to the tree before her, ready to flee. Cal reached quickly and grabbed at the flailing rope as he struggled and strained against the nervous strength of the terrified chestnut. "Easy girl!" he shouted through the commotion of the moment. "Easy now!"

  I am going to need you to listen, to trust me if we are all going to make it out of here in one unbroken piece. Cal spoke the words only in his mind and in just the briefest of moments, but he knew that somehow the horse could feel his thoughts. The mare ceased her rearing all at once, eyeing Cal with a wary gaze, her breath coming in deep heaves of panic and exhaustion.

  "Cal!" Deryn shouted to him. "Now! We must ride now!"

  Cal looked back behind him. The green-eyed birds circled above the massive canopy of pine and oaks, collecting themselves for what he knew would be a violent attack. He had to get them to safety, but there was no way that the smithy would be able to ride the frightened horse.

  The birds stared greedily at them with their sickly green eyes as they taunted them with the sound of murderous caws.

  "Why are they circling us?" Wielund screamed against the noise.

  "Fear!" Astyræ shouted back. "It is always fear that makes the easiest of prey!"

  "Astyræ, Wielund! Come now!" Cal said as he gestured for them to mount his own horse, Farran. Cal looked the grey courser in the eyes as a trust-filled understanding, a confident knowing, passed between the two of them. "Quickly!" Cal shouted as the soul-chilling caws of the ravens droned in the dark air of the wilderness. Wielund leapt into the saddle in a hurried, fearful heap, while Cal took the golden-haired Astyræ by the waist and helped her atop his large, swift horse, there behind the wild-eyed smithy.

  "Ride!" Cal shouted to them. "Ride now!"

  "Cal! I don't know the way back!" Wielund shouted.

  "Trust Farran. He knows it well enough," Cal said as he released the iron grey courser and clicked his mouth, signaling his command to run. Farran snorted his response, then took off with great speed back towards the road they had first come by. Just then the cyclone of ravens broke their dizzying pattern and began climbing once again, higher and higher into the black sky above them until even their fierce, green eyes were out of sight.

  Cal held tightly to the lead of the large, frightened chestnut. "Come on now, girl! I am going to need you to trust me, we don't have much time!"

  The horse's eyes were wide in horror. Cal's mind flooded with the memories of a time long past, and there in the midst of this ravenous assault, with the wild fury of the horse's fearful snorting beside him, the groomsman began to sing. His voice cut through the ugly clamor of the chaos around him like a silver-colored current of cold, rushing water. No words were sung, rather his voice carried the haunting sounds and notes that came from somewhere beyond his own strength.

  Deryn, his friend and guardian, had taken a position directly behind the singing groomsman. His tiny, blue sword was drawn in defiant bravery, willing to defend this seeker of the light—with his life, if he must. When Cal's song found the maddened horse's ears, peace began to wash away her maniacal fear. The large beast breathed heavy in the aftermath of such a frenzy,
but her eyes had calmed enough for the groomsman to know that she would indeed now listen to his words.

  "We must ride now, girl. It is not safe here anymore and if you trust me enough to carry me back, I will reward your confidence well," Cal whispered. He felt the horse agree to the terms, and he moved to the side to mount the saddle of his only means of escape. As he did, the sight he caught from the corner of his eye made his heart sink in defeat. The mass of birds was crashing once again through the canopy of the mighty forest, and this time it did not seem as if they intended to merely instill fear.

  "Cal!" Deryn said with a nervous gulp.

  The hurling flock of ravens was mere paces from where he stood. Their sickened, angry voices defiled the ears of their prey, cawing in chaotic chorus that there was no time to flee and nowhere to run. All that Cal could do now was to draw his blade alongside his blue-winged protector and hope.

  "Deryn!" Cal shouted. "What do we do?" The green-eyed ravens were nearly upon them, and the storm emanating from the multitude of wings raged against their determined faces. The taunting caws of the carrion fowl mocked their perilous outnumbering, and Cal and Deryn braced themselves for a wave of sharp talons and biting beaks.

  Suddenly, unexpected and unannounced, the piercing screech of an Owele radiated from somewhere high in the ancient branches of the mighty forest. The sound of the holy bird of prey silenced the murderous mouths of the vile ravens with immediate authority. In an instant, the raven formation broke, and the wave of their assault spiraled out into a chaotic, angered squall of black-feathered protests.

  "The Oweles are here with us?" Cal asked in a breathless whisper.

  Deryn looked back to his friend, his glow of blue awash with the hues of relief. "Yes, it would seem so, and I, for one, owe them a debt of gratitude."

  "Were you worried?" Cal asked him, his chest still rising hard and his hands still shaking with the tremors of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins.

  Deryn thought on the question for a moment as an empty silence filled the darkness around them. Finally, he let heart find his tongue again. "Not for me, Bright Fame. Not for me," he said.

  "For me, then?" Cal asked playfully, his confidence returning. "You were worried for me, weren't you?"

  "For Aiénor," Deryn said gravely. "I was worried for Aiénor, Cal. If you were to have perished, or been carried off on the wings of that ... that abomination ... who then, Calarmindon Bright Fame, would have been left to seek the light before the darkness consumes us all?"

  Cal looked back to the tower that loomed oddly out of place here in this ancient, overgrown forest. He thought of Illium the light seeker, the long-forgotten markings, and the beautiful prisoner with the violet eyes. He rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as a deep awareness of his purpose here on the Wreath filled his thoughts.

  "Thank you, Deryn," Cal said with kindness in his dark eyes. "Thank you for your blade, and thank you for your heart. I do not know where I would be without either of them."

  Deryn bowed formally. "It is both my assignment and my honor."

  "Come on then, let us go see about finding Farran, and hope he still has a rider or two upon his back," Cal said with a wink and wry smile.

  Cal mounted the large chestnut without any protest, for she had given him her trust. As they took off in a burst of speed after Wielund and Astyræ, the mare set leaves and dirt clods to flight in the wake of her powerful hooves. Cal rode hard, but the journey was not wearisome for him. It was as if he was made to ride, and as he did, he felt the expressed pleasure of the THREE who is SEVEN with every surefooted stride that this horse took. He did not come across anyone or any light until he reached a small clearing near the edge of the forest. There, sitting with worried eyes and weary expressions, his friends were resting their tired legs and waiting for him.

  "Oh!" Wielund exclaimed as he reached down inside his shirt to fish out the flint that hung around his neck. "Thank the THREE who is SEVEN you are alive! I thought you were a goner for certain, and here ... here you are, not even a scratch on you!"

  Astyræ gave Cal a smile that would have made him stand against a thousand ravens a thousand times a day for the gift of her happiness as such. She stood, brushing absently at the leaves and twigs that clung to her dress, and moved towards him. "What about the Sprite? Is he ... is he alright?"

  "I am indeed, lady Astyræ," Deryn replied, peeking out from inside Cal's cloak. "And I am most grateful for your concern."

  "What did they want with you?" Wielund blurted out. The intensity of this day was beyond his capacity to comprehend. "What were they after? I have never seen ravens—nor any beast for that matter—with eyes like that. Something in me says that their presence here cannot be good at all."

  "They are her ravens," Astyræ said without hesitation.

  "Are they after you?" Cal asked her.

  "I cannot say one way or the other," Astyræ answered him, but her expression betrayed a knowledge, a saddened story, that she had clearly not yet shared with them.

  Cal looked at her and shook his head disapprovingly at her guardedness. "Then what can you say, my lady?" His curt words were a mixture of concern and annoyance all at the same time.

  Astyræ flinched at his tone of voice and stepped back from him, averting her gaze to the Sprite. Deryn returned her stare, letting out a rather large sigh for such a small figure.

  "If you tell me your story, it might just be that I could help you," Cal offered.

  She scowled and spun around, turning her back to him and giving her attention to Farran, who stood close behind. "I doubt that the Raven Queen is after me, groomsman. She already has possession of what she wanted from my family." She gently stroked the mane of the silver courser as she answered. Though her hands were kind and soft, her words were cold and hardened with a pointed hatred and a deep regret.

  "What did she take from you?" Cal asked as he put a hand on her shoulder.

  "What she touches ... what she takes, will never be good again. Once she has had her way, there is nothing left but darkness." She rested her head lightly on Farran, blinking away tears. "No matter how good they might have once been before." Her whispered sadness hung heavy in the air as the band of explorers quietly weighed her words.

  "Did she take someone?" Cal said as he finally realized what it was that she was trying not to say.

  She turned back to him, her hand on Farran's neck, with an unreadable expression on her face. "Him. She took him from me, she took him from all of us. Now he is just as possessed as one of her damned ravens." Her eyes locked on something in the distance as her heart felt the weight of her pain. "Then again … it was my fault, after all."

  "I … I don't know-" Cal started to press her further, but the heavy hand of his tiny, winged friend stayed his words.

  Astyræ wiped a single tear from her soft, pearl cheek and straightened the bodice of her dress, collecting her emotions before they took her over.

  "A-hem," Wielund interjected as he made a show of clearing his throat. "I don't mean to be crass, but can the two of you continue whatever this is after we are safely behind the walls of the colony? It seems to me that this story is going to take much longer than I feel safe about, and besides, who knows what other frightful creatures are roaming about in this darkness while we stand here just talking?"

  "He is right. The Wreath is full of her nocturnal slaves, both men and beasts alike. And I can say for certain that the presence of yourselves and your tree men has not gone unnoticed," Astyræ said, seeming grateful for the change in subject.

  "You mean our colony?" Wielund asked. "But-"

  "We need to warn the woodcutters," Cal said. "I need to tell Yasen."

  "You do not!" Wielund said in a condescending tone of voice. "What you need to do is to tell the captain or the governor! Don't you go interrupting the woodcutters with matters meant for the guardsmen. Our city needs this timber, and the woodcutters are the only ones that are going to get it for them."

/>   Cal stared, dumbfounded, at the smithy. Even with all the mysteries and magic that they had encountered this day, he could not seem to understand or grasp the gravity of the moment. "Very well then," Cal agreed, shaking off his frustration with his companions. "Astyræ, will you ride back with us? I can't leave you out here alone with this … this sorceress and her green-eyed evils lurking about." He looked at her with a sincere softness. "And I would very much like to help you, whether you believe me quite yet or not."

  She thought about it for a moment, looking into the thick darkness of the wilderness before them, and then back again to her rescuers. "Very well," Astyræ said as an energy came back into her eyes. "I will go to the stronghold of the tree men, as long as I get to ride with you, groomsman. That smithy friend of yours is absolutely uncouth in the saddle."

  Cal let out a goodhearted laugh, one long overdue here in the shadows of the Wreath. "Done and done, my lady! You will ride with me, and I will keep you safe along the journey."

  The lot of them rode off through the wilderness, urgency compelling them as they retraced their steps back towards the colony on the shores of the Western Wreath. With all of the excitement and dangers, the new possibilities and strange curiosities, none thought to wonder about the screech of the Owele that had rescued Cal and Deryn from the ravenous horde. But there, perched high in the cathedrals of soldier pines, the violet eyes of a watcher looked on with great anticipation.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ENGELMANN MADE HIS WAY AS fast as his old, spruce legs would take him. There was a fire burning in his chest now, and it propelled him with great swiftness down the winding, stone streets of the inner Capital, past the courtyard of the Citadel, all the way to the portcullis of the Kings' Gate. The gate warden was still a tree-fearing man, and he did not for one moment question the passage of the mysteriously powerful Arborist upon the Kings' Bridge. And so it was with relatively great ease that Engelmann the hopeful stepped once again onto the humble streets of Westriver.