The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2)

by R. G. Triplett

  The two of them walked into the trees, beyond the reach of the watch fires. Cal told Yasen of the old tower and of the mysterious woman from Dardanos it once held prisoner. He spoke of the green-eyed raven assault that had almost taken his life, but he chose to not yet tell his friend of Illium and the hidden markings.

  "They have green eyes you say? The ravens?" Yasen asked curiously as his mind flooded with the images of the demon bear that had claimed both his horse, Philip, and his eye.

  "Aye, the very same," Cal replied. "Astyræ said that they are her ravens—the sorceress I mean—and that there are very few who still inhabit the Wreath who are not also servants of this Raven Queen."

  "Is that why this pretty prisoner of yours was locked in the tower?" Yasen asked. "Because she does not serve the sorceress?"

  Cal thought about it for a moment before he responded. "I do not know why it was that she was imprisoned, but I know that there is no love in her eyes for the likes of Nogcwren."

  Yasen and Cal stopped when they came within sight of the large chestnut horse and the two shadowed figures standing nearby. Yasen could see plain enough the glowing magic of her two-toned eyes, resplendent there in the dark cover of the trees. "What in the damnable dark kind of magic is she?" he asked as a nervous sweat began to form upon his brow.

  "She ... well …" Cal had thought long how he would try to explain her magic to his friend, but his words were interrupted before he could even begin.

  "How do you know that she isn't the sorceress herself?" Yasen huffed with suspicion.

  "Yasen?" A worried and confused look washed over the groomsman. "She is not-" Cal tried to settle the chieftain with a steadying hand, but Yasen brushed it away.

  "You may be brave, Cal, and you may be a part of some sort of story that I don't fully understand, but beware, brother, that you don't become a fool, or a pawn, or ... or worse."

  "I am no sorceress," Astyræ said slowly as she walked towards them. Her eyes flamed with passionate outrage at the accusation, and their violet and yellow hues burned bright in the darkness.

  "Cal!" Yasen said as he grabbed the shoulders of his friend and spun him around, forcing Cal to look him in his eye. "We have both seen that kind of yellow before, on the isle! That witch ..."

  "Astyræ is not a witch," Cal said firmly, doing his best to bring calm to the storm of unease that had blown in upon the tree line. "But there is some kind of magic in her."

  "But the yellow!" Yasen demanded, pointing at her face.

  Cal stepped between Yasen and Astyræ with deliberate confidence. "I trust the violet, Yasen, more than I fear the yellow. Regardless, she and her life are still of great value to the THREE who is SEVEN, and you know just as well as any that I could not leave her to rot away in the dark of any tower," Cal said.

  Yasen stared at his friend, breathing deeply through his nose so as to calm his concern. There was something about the groomsman's voice and posture, here in this very moment, that reminded Yasen of that night back at the Gnarly Knob, when Cal had first revealed the armor of the Poets and had dared to tell Yasen a piece of his story. He was less a groomsman and more a hero in those moments, and here again his brash confidence was enough to convince the seasoned woodcutter.

  "Aye, I do know that," Yasen replied with a smile and a brotherly, albeit gruff, pat on the shoulders. "I'm just protective of you is all."

  Cal nodded, then reached towards Astyræ and beckoned her to come closer.

  "My lady," Yasen greeted her. "I apologize for my rudeness. My name is-"

  "I know who you are, woodcutter," Astyræ interrupted him with a smile. "For good-heartedness often needs no introduction; it wins over trust by its posture alone."

  "Well then," Yasen said with a bit of surprise and hint of a laugh to his words. "I see now all the more reason why Cal would not have left you to the irons of a prison."

  "Besides, no Sprite would befriend the ill-hearted, and I trust his judgment implicitly," she said with a playful smile and a deep humility. The blue-winged sentinel hovered near Astyræ's shoulder, still watching over his charge. He beamed under the radiance of such a compliment and his azure wings woke the dark forest with a gentle glow.

  "I have many questions to ask you, my lady," Yasen said politely, "but now is not the hour. Although I wish you a safe place to make your rest this dark night, I do not trust the stronghold of my fellow countrymen to offer you such a sanctuary."

  "Well then, where should we put her?" Wielund blurted out.

  "She is not ours to put anyplace," Cal retorted, a bit annoyed at the lack of hospitality in his friend's tone.

  Astyræ smiled appreciatively at the groomsman, then looked away; overcome by his kindness. She was not quite sure what to do with the way in which he so wished to protect her. "Do not worry over me, Calarmindon Bright Fame. I have met enough of the fearful and the ferocious alike, and somehow I have still lived to tell about it. But you and your friend the woodcutter are probably right, and I will heed your warning and stay away from your colony for now. Though ... may I ask that you help me find a safe enough place?" She glanced back at him with her last words, and her face betrayed her fear.

  "My lady, there is a small cave not fifty paces in that direction," Yasen said as he pointed north. "Perhaps you might make your rest in the safety of its stone walls until the morning?"

  Cal looked at her, his expression communicating his concern without the need for words.

  "I'll be alright until morning, groomsman. Perhaps a torch and a bit of something to eat will make my rest all the more ... restful?"

  "I do not wish to find you crying over the darkness again when I return, my lady," he said quietly.

  She thought for a moment before answering. "If I know you plan to return … then I won't find the darkness nearly as terrifying as it once was."

  Her candid answer warmed his heart, and he knew she meant her words. "Alright then," Cal said in reply. He reached into his pack and dug out his water skin, a few links of dried sausage, and half a loaf of bread. "Stay here until the woodcutters leave the tree line at day's end, then make your way to the cave and wait for me there until morning."

  "You are too kind, groomsman," she said with a sweet smile. "I am grateful for such care given on my behalf."

  Cal still wore his concern upon his face, and though he knew she would be much safer here, he did not wholly like the idea of leaving this mysteriously beautiful woman all alone. "Perhaps ..." he started as he looked pleadingly into the eyes of his winged guardian. "I mean, would you, Deryn ... would you stay with her, at least until morning?"

  Deryn understood the meaning of his friend's request, and so it was with great reluctance that he flew towards the soft, pearl face of the Wreather woman and kindly spoke. "I cannot stay, my lady. And though you ..." his voice trailed off as he searched his Sprite heart for the right words. "Though I very much wish I could protect you, dear sister, here in the darkness, I have been charged by Iolanthe herself to watch over the groomsman."

  "It is quite alright, dear Sprite," she said, slightly embarrassed. "You have already—all of you— shown more than enough hospitality to me."

  "Do not mistake our hospitality for complete selflessness, lady Astyræ." Yasen told her. "You could be of great help to us as well, for there is much we do not know about this strange and foreign land, and I would rather you share its secrets freely ... that is, before one of my brothers gives you cause to wish our colony ill will."

  "Ill will?" Wielund blurted out. "If it wasn't for Cal and me she would be still crying her eyes out behind those iron walls."

  "Wielund!" Cal said, a bit angrily.

  "You are right, smithy," she said kindly. "And I do owe my thanks to you three for my liberation."

  "You owe us nothing," Cal insisted. "Your secrets are yours to keep for as long as you wish, and not one of us will bother to press them from you." He gave Wielund and Yasen a convincing glare as he spoke the words.

  "All the same,"
she said softly, turning her enchanting eyes back to him. "When you come for me tomorrow, I will tell you what you wish to know."

  "Will you tell me who you are? And how your eyes can carry both colors in them?" he asked her.

  "I will, Calarmindon Bright Fame. I will tell you my story," she said as she nodded her head reluctantly.

  Cal's breath caught a little at the promise. "I will be honored to hear it."

  "Very well then," Yasen agreed. "And let us agree that no one here will speak a word of her to any of Seig's men until we have had the proper time to think on all that this might mean."

  "Alright then," Wielund submitted sheepishly.

  Deryn flew to this mysterious woman who carried in her eyes the traits and traces of both the familiar and the unknown. "Lady Astyræ, though I cannot say whether or not the darkness will be kind to you, I do feel in my bones that our stories are indeed woven together. So take heart this long night, and pray for dawn."

  Cal smiled at the scene unfolding before him, and at the protective heart of Deryn. "I will find you come morning, my lady."

  Her gaze moved from the blue-winged Sprite to the eyes of the groomsman, and a soft, kind smile spread across her lips.

  DING. DING. DING. The sound of the iron bell called the men of the colony back to the stronghold, signaling the end of the work day.

  "Come on now, scouting partner," Cal said playfully to Wielund. "The bell is ringing, and we still have a long day left, you and me."

  "A long day?" Wielund whined.

  "Aye, horses to groom and shoes to make," Cal replied as they turned to mount their horses and make their leave.

  Yasen stood there for moment, silently staring at this mysterious Wreather woman. His face was wrinkled in contemplative concern and his lone, uncovered eye betrayed his sense of worry.

  "What troubles you so, mighty woodcutter?" she asked him sincerely.

  Yasen took a deep breath, searching his mind for the words to make sense of and articulate his foggy dread. "It is hard to say exactly, though I cannot help but feel as if something dark closes in upon us all."

  "Of course you feel it. It is this place, woodcutter," Astyræ said, devoid of emotion. "It is this very land that we stand upon—all of it, from trees to towers, soil and salt—it all serves in subjection to her nocturnal will."

  "And you?" Yasen asked pointedly. "Are you also a slave?"

  She looked to her slender, pearl-colored hands and she picked at her fingernail in nervous contemplation. "Not wholly. And although I am afraid of the darkness, I do not ... I will not serve its master."

  Yasen stared at her for a long moment. "I owe my life to that groomsman," he finally said, surprising her with the emotion in his voice. "I would not take kindly to anyone who would seek to manipulate his heart for their own gain."

  She considered her reply carefully. "He is lucky then. For a true friend is a rare find in these darkened days, and I can see how much you wish to protect his heart," she said, meeting his stare with her own. "I promise you that although I have only known him a short while … I feel compelled to protect it as well."

  "Very well, then," Yasen told her. He turned and mounted his large, black Friesian, whose long mane and lean legs made the woodcutter appear as more a king of the forest than a servant of the axe. "Please do not wander far from safety. You may know this land better than I, but we both know there may well be treacheries still afoot in its shadows." He rode off towards the high palisade walls of the colony's stronghold, leaving her standing in the cover of the trees, watching and waiting for her moment to run to the safety of the cavern.

  Chapter Sixteen

  STEAM ROLLED AND SWIRLED, DANCING upon the heavy cold air as it rose from the two wooden flagons of hot mulled wine. The tense, fearful mood of the guardsmen positioned along the Northern Wall was not abated much by the scent of the drink, though perhaps it gave them a momentary reason to think of something other than their impending deaths. Many of the men had engaged in minor skirmishes throughout their military careers, but none had ever engaged in war. Their experiences were tame and nearly juvenile compared to the coming battle with this great, looming enemy that lay in siege just beyond the dying reaches of the amber light. Every soldier knew that this green-eyed army with its earth-shaking monsters and its mysterious un-light was something to truly fear.

  Armas walked the battlements with a deliberate stride, doing his best to look each one of his men in the eye. There was no sense in pretending that he did not feel the suffocating weight of the impending assault just as much as any of them, but with each steeled glance and each silent nod of his helm he conveyed to his men that although he too was afraid, he was still here. And more than that, he silently but deliberately showed them that he was proud of them for being here too.

  "There you are," Armas said with a kind, concerned smile to the curly-haired barmaid turned watchman.

  Keily peeled her eyes away from the green-lit shadows that she had so intently been observing for the last handful of hours. She turned to see her friend, Captain Armas, standing there with two flagons of something steaming hot and sweet-smelling. A sad smile crept across her tired face as she spoke to him. "Is that for me? Did you walk past all of these men of yours to bring this to me?"

  "Yes, my lady, I did indeed. Here ... I can't vouch for its taste, but it is warm enough to revive those bones of yours." Armas smiled as he handed her the piping hot flagon of mulled wine.

  "Thank you, Captain," she said gratefully as her slender fingers wrapped themselves greedily around the warm flagon.

  "That makes two men of yours now, huh?" Armas said gently as he sipped his mulled wine. "Your father and your uncle … I am sorry. I know you must miss them." The moment was quiet between them; the weight of loss hung heavily there in the cold, darkened air of the morning. She looked at him and nodded almost imperceptibly, acknowledging his kindness. "Are you ... are you alright, Keily?" he said with great compassion in his tired eyes

  "Three," she said matter-of-factly.

  "Three?" Armas asked.

  "Aye ... three," she said sweetly. "Two of my men have fallen to whatever damned hell that is out there, but three, three of my men have dared to bravely defy the threats of darkness."

  "I suppose they have," Armas said slowly, with a pang of gratitude quickening his heart.

  "And I will do likewise, Captain," she said stoically. "We all have our losses and our reasons to fight. If I'm going to face that damned green fire again, and whatever those monsters are … I'm going to look them square in the face when they come for me."

  "Well," Armas wiped the spiced froth from his greying stubble, "I do not know if the direction our eyes are pointed will do us any good when they finally attack … but I understand the sentiment," he said pointedly, looking out at the hazy green mist below.

  Keily took a sip of the steaming drink and felt the warmth instantly return to her cold face. "Thank you for looking after me, Armas. Yasen would be grateful."

  Armas exhaled a disappointed whisper as a look of understanding passed over his features. "Three."

  They let the silence hang between them for a moment, for neither could think of anything appropriate to say. Finally Keily spoke. "I don't understand," she said. "Why not just attack us? Why all this waiting? With fire like that … that evil abomination of a flame ... why wouldn't they dispatch their fury and be done with us already?"

  "So quick to wish for death?" Armas said to her quietly. "There may still be reasons enough to hope for life."

  She shook her head, unsure what to make of it all. "I'm merely stating the facts, Captain. They can light our woodcutters afire, and hurl their lifeless, bleeding bodies at our walls and our citizens, but not a single line of their formation has moved a step towards our defenses. What are they waiting for?"

  "Lieutenant Marcum believes that perhaps they are wanting to draw us out onto the field of battle in the outlands, just beyond the wall," Armas told her. "And many of my men
are ready to do such brash deeds. Some of the citizens here believe that this enemy is merely waiting us out, hoping our resources will fail and we will then be too weak to defend the city."

  "What about you? What do you think their reason is for holding back their attack?" she asked him.

  Armas looked out into the shadow-covered lands, now pocked with the sickly green flames of the besieging enemy. "I do not think that they are able to," he told her.

  "Not able to?" she asked.

  "Something has to be keeping them at bay—but they are ready. I can feel it in my bones. Mark my words, my lady, when they are no longer restrained, they will descend with ravenous fury upon us all."

  "Are you afraid, Captain?" Keily asked him while the steam of her drink wisped around her worried face.

  "I am ... I am most certainly afraid," Armas took a long draught of his hot, mulled wine, letting the transparent honestly linger there in the foggy morning air. "Come then ... it is time you got some rest. I must insist."

  "Don't trouble yourself with worry over me, Captain. You have plenty of others to worry about, and I still have some fight in me yet," she said with a hint of her old playfulness.

  "Oh, I do not doubt that the fight is still there, my lady, though I would feel better knowing that you are indeed rested enough to know how to use it when the time comes," he said with a tired smile.

  Keily stared at this captain of the Capital guard. His kindness towards her was somehow unexpected. Although she was certainly used to the attentions of men who flirted or groped their way in search of something for themselves, Armas was different. His concern seemed genuine.

  "Have you heard any word of the colony?" she asked him, her thoughts drifting now to Yasen.

  "I have not, nor has the Citadel. Not to my knowledge, anyway. No word of timber, or of your North Wolf, my lady," he teased.

  Keily's face flushed as her thoughts betrayed her innocent question. She nodded to him, a bit embarrassed, and then began to take her leave from the lookout post there atop the battlements. Armas watched her walk away, amazed at the vast amounts of both beauty and bravery that lived inside this tavern-maiden of Piney Creek. With each sip he took of his steaming drink, he could not help but feel a pang of jealousy for his friend on the Wreath.