The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2)

by R. G. Triplett

  ROARRAHHH!

  The mouths of the dragons opened in mirrored fury, and the green, all-consuming fire erupted from within their venomous bowels. Like a rogue wave upon the unsuspecting shoreline, their anger was relentlessly and finally unleashed upon the last remaining cavalrymen of the Citadel.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "THIS REALLY IS A PIECE of horse dung, isn't it?" a young guardsmen said to his fellow man-at-arms. "It's not balanced at all ... in fact, it feels like there is a sack of rocks tied to the pointed end of this useless blade!"

  "I say that we take it to the smithy and have him melt it down into a pretty pair of prison irons!" the other guardsmen mused. "I for one wouldn't be caught dead with this gaudy old relic."

  Cal sat locked inside the iron-barred hold on the eastern wall of the colony outpost, listening to the taunts and jests of the guardsmen. Though they mocked Gwarwyn, he paid them little mind, for his thoughts were focused on replaying the events that had landed him here. The injustice of the moment had triggered something deep and primal inside his heart, and his actions against Pyrrhus had felt true and sure. When he had swung his blade and defended the lady, the consequence of such an action had not mattered in the slightest. But now … now, here behind the bars of this crude prison hold, his heart was filled with shame and guilt.

  What if she didn't get away? What if ... what if I just made things worse for her? Please protect her. His thoughts turned to prayers as he sat powerlessly in the cell.

  Just then the lock clicked and clanked as the latch released its iron hold on the prison door, and Cal looked up from his defeated posture to see the governor himself standing in the doorway.

  "You made quite a scene today, groomsman," Seig seethed. "You nearly killed one of my best knights, and in case you have not noticed ... I do not have very many knights to spare."

  Cal sat silently, afraid that if he were to speak he might evoke an even greater wrath than he was already due.

  "Tell me, groomsman," Seig paused for effect, running his tongue over his teeth in disgust. "The Wreather woman, how is it that she knew what name to call you by? How is it that a scout, such as yourself, would fail to report the discovery of a native Wreather?"

  "I ... I was afraid-"

  "How is it, groomsman, that you would risk the safety and the strength of this colony and its holy assignment for the selfish secret of a woman?" Seig shouted his questions, punctuating them with a pounding fist on the timber wall.

  Cal stood to his feet to face his accuser. "No sir, I risked no such thing. I feared ... I feared for the well being of that woman, because I hoped to win her trust and learn more about this wilderness. But it was the cruelty of that knight of yours that I could not let go unopposed."

  "And who has given you the authority to oppose anything, groomsman?" Seig snarled, his eyes bulging with untempered fury.

  "What authority could be needed to defend life, to protect the innocent?" Cal said indignantly.

  "My authority!" he bellowed. "Mine! When your defense of it weakens my ability to carry out the very will of his Brightness himself, then you shall have no such authority!" Seig stopped his shouting for a moment and looked Cal up and down. "I do not think I can trust your judgment to ... to run rogue within my walls for another moment," Seig decided.

  Cal shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh, both for the single-mindedness of this man towering before him and for his own rashness that had landed him inside this prison hold.

  "I can no longer trust you to keep the primacy of our mission in the forefront of your mind," Seig rendered his judgment.

  "Governor," Cal pleaded. "You saw what Pyrrhus was going to do to her. How can any servant of the Citadel be expected to allow such actions?"

  "You assaulted and maimed one of my men, one of the Citadel's men, and you risked the peace of this outpost for your own selfish agenda," he continued without so much as acknowledging Cal's words. "When our ship sets sail in three days time, you, groomsman, will be aboard it, and it will return with the groomsman I should have chosen to begin with."

  "Governor, no, please! Who will see to the horses in the meantime?" Cal's voice became desperate. "Please, sir, I will accept a fair punishment, but do not shame me so!"

  "You have already done the shaming, groomsman," Seig said as he eyed Cal with furious disappointment. "I am simply seeing to it that your shame is no longer able to spread through my colony, and you should be grateful that your dignity is all I am stripping from you, instead of your own arm or your own life." Seig looked around the small holding cell and a satisfied smirk crept across his bearded face. "Take a good look around you. This is the last of the Wreath that you will ever see." And with that, the door was slammed shut and locked behind him.

  Cal collapsed in defeat on the cold, stone floor of the cell. "What have I done?" he cried out loud, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "Please, forgive me," he prayed. "Please ... I was only trying to help her." Cal's heart sank as the sound of the governor's voice faded with each and every angry step he took towards his quarters on the eastern wall of the stronghold. "What have I done?" he cried over and over again in the dark solitude of his cell.

  "I saw what you did," a gruff voice whispered. "There is no need to ask forgiveness for your actions, brother. The bastard had it coming if you ask me."

  Cal's eyes were wet with the tears of hopelessness as he looked up to see Yasen peering in from the other side of the small, barred window.

  "But they are going to send me back to Haven," Cal explained. "How am I supposed to seek the light? How am I supposed to follow the call of the THREE who is SEVEN and honor the will of the Poets ... and how am I ... I don't know." Cal knelt, pinned to the floor of his cell, feeling a weight of defeat that he had never known before. "How am I going to do any of it locked in here, let alone exiled back to where I started? I cannot go back!"

  "Do you not think that our Great Father foreknew the deeds that would culminate in this moment?" A tiny yet powerfully bright voice added itself to the conversation. "And yet, Bright Fame, still it was your hands that held the torch, it was your heart He called forth, and it is you to whom He has given the beautiful and terrible gift of the dawn's blade."

  "And He is probably regretting those decisions at this very moment," Cal responded dejectedly.

  "And that," Deryn said as he left the hidden confines of Yasen's wolf fur and flew into the tiny prison hold. "That is where you are most certainly mistaken, my friend. For there is not a trace of regret in the heart of our Great Father, though many of His children have caused pain with their folly. He alone knows the paths of His purposes, and it very well may be that yours runs wholly through the walls of this very prison."

  Cal's eyes welled again with the tears of desperation, but his heart knew that what the Sprite spoke was indeed true.

  "I am sorry," Cal said to the both of them. "I don't know what came over me out there."

  "Oh trust me ... I do," Yasen said with a knowing smirk. "Beauty like hers is worth a thousand nights in a thousand prison holds, and to defend it from the likes of that bullish ass of a knight ... well, all the more reason you have nothing to regret."

  "But what about her? Astyræ?" Cal asked him. "Is she alright? Did she-"

  "She is alright for the moment," Yasen interrupted him. "As far as I know she is safe enough. I sent Goran to look after her."

  Cal exhaled for what seemed like the first time since he was dragged away from the square, and relief washed over him in the most holy of ways.

  "Yasen, Deryn," Cal said as he regained his composure. "I cannot go back to Haven! I cannot go back on the ship ... not when I am so close, not when Shaimira is still out there."

  "Shaimira?" Yasen said, a bit confused. "I thought her name was Astyræ?"

  "No brother ... Shaimira is not a woman," Cal told him as he searched the face of his Sprite guardian for approval. Deryn nodded his agreement, and Cal began to whisper of all the things he had found in th
e tower of Enguerrand. He spoke of Illium and the tree men, of the markings and the hidden word and the northward arrow.

  "I am just a woodcutter, one with only one eye at that," Yasen said in response to the tale. "But even I can see that there is indeed a greater magic at work in this world. Perhaps this light, Illium's light, is really there to be found." He ran his hand over his tired face and rubbed the tension from his eye, but for those who would care to look, there was something indeed awake in him. "It may still all be nothing more than old Poet lore, but perhaps … perhaps it may be something more than just flints and fire knights, huh?"

  "Help me, Yasen," Cal appealed, sensing the spark that was igniting in the heart of the mighty North Wolf. "Reason with the governor. Make him reconsider, will you?"

  "I doubt that man has ever reconsidered anything," Yasen replied with a sullen expression. "But I will see to it that you are not aboard that ship when it sails for Haven."

  Understanding fell upon Cal in such a way that its gravity robbed the hopeful moment of any possible joy. "Are you saying-"

  "Aye. Quiet now! Not another word about it," Yasen interrupted him, afraid of the listening ears of the nearby guardsmen. "Perhaps your Sprite friend here is right. This prison might be the very gift of rest you'll need to prepare yourself for your journey north."

  Cal nodded his understanding, and there was a mix of hope and sorrow and a healthy measure of trepidation in his dark eyes. "Things won't be much the same anymore, will they?"

  "The same?" Deryn asked. "I don't think that was ever the intention of our Great Father, was it?" Deryn replied. "For if it was, the great tree would still burn its immortal flames, and I would still be locked away in the bowels of the Hilgari, and you … well, you would not be here now, would you?"

  "But there is so much that is now unknown," Cal said. "This wilderness is not familiar to me yet, and at least ... at least I could count on these timber walls to provide some sort of safety and respite from the search," Cal said anxiously. "But now ..."

  "Only scared men long for what they have always known," Deryn postulated aloud.

  "Maybe you're right then, I suppose," Cal replied with amusement.

  "I should hope I am, my friend," Deryn said warmly as he came to rest upon Cal's shoulder. "But do not be afraid, Calarmindon Bright Fame, you are still and will always be in good company."

  Cal chuckled to himself, finding the presence of laughter in the midst of such uncertainty oddly appropriate, though completely unexpected.

  "It is the best that I can offer you, brother," Yasen said. "Rest while you can, and then, when the time comes, find that violet-eyed woman of yours, and make your way north." Yasen looked to his left and then again to his right, worried still that the intention of his plans would become known to the guardsmen. "Find this Shaimira ... it very well might be the only guardian of real hope for us all."

  Cal rose to his feet to clasp hands with his friend through the vertical, iron bars that held him captive. "I am sorry for all of this. It was never my intention to cause such a mess for you, or Pyrrhus even ... or for me." A weight came over his face; not one of sorrow, but rather of great responsibility. "I am thankful for your help, regardless. You are a true and brave friend, Yasen, and even if you only have one eye left ... I am glad that it still watches out for me."

  "Aye, I'll watch out for you alright!" Yasen said. "Though I don't know which of the bears we have met is the more frightening of the two; the green-eyed demon one of the northern territory, or this pompous governor of ours." He laughed a satisfied laugh. "Ah ... they are probably equally as terrible. Rest well, brother, but stay ready ... I'll come for you soon."

  The excitement of the evening had finally died down as the night patrol had returned to the colony's stronghold unsuccessfully. The guardsmen, eager to please their governor, had resolved to redouble their efforts after a flagon or two of hot, mulled wine and a bit of sleep to warm the body and sharpen the eyes.

  Rest, however, did not come easy for Astyræ. At the urgent bidding of the woodcutter she had fled with reckless haste into the darkness of the Wreath. With nothing but a small, meager torch, she ran towards the narrow cave just beyond the line of trees. Every creaking branch, every caw of bird and every howl of wilderwolf sent a chill of fear reverberating through her body, for she knew that she was indeed being hunted.

  It did not take her long to find her dark sanctuary there, hidden in the midst of the massive trees. Her breath came in desperate gasps, and the exhaled wisps of exhausted fear billowed in the cold as she entered the cave. She mustered her resolve, focusing her violet eyes to peer through the darkness by the failing light of the last burning embers of her torch. She looked at the stone formations by the flickering torchlight, and she noticed an outcropping of rock that stood not too far within the bowels of this hiding place. She hurried in, glancing behind her again and again with dread that her pursuers would indeed find her and drag her back to the tree men's outpost. She crouched low behind the jutted rock, hidden so as to keep from sight of the cave's entrance and yet still keep an eye and an ear on any who may enter.

  She glanced up from her hiding place and saw the light of the torch illuminating the interior of the cave, and knew that if anyone should be nearby, they would see the glow and, in fact, find her. So it was with a single sob and a deliberate burst of force that she flung the torch to the ground and buried the last bit of her remaining light under the dirt of the earthen floor. The deep blackness engulfed her then, and the waves of overwhelming emotion crashed fearful and silent upon her dirt-smudged cheeks. Her heart raced and her body shook as she waited for her fate to come and find her inside the cavern.

  Hours passed as she sat, crouched in the black darkness, staring at the mouth of the hidden cave. Her mind was nervous, wide-awake and ready to flee or fight at the first sign of trouble.

  Crack. Crunch. Heavy footsteps sounded upon fallen twigs and dead leaves. Astyræ's breath caught in her chest, and she raised the dagger of the woodcutter, ready to make her stand if necessary.

  Crunch. The sound came again, and the beating of her heart began to pound wildly in her ears. She swallowed hard, willing away her fear and praying that it was an animal, or Cal, or anyone but those tree men.

  "My lady?" came a deep, whispered voice. "My lady, are you there, are you safe?"

  She remained quiet, as still as she could will herself to be, for she did not recognize this voice and feared the worst had come for her. She closed her eyes, willing him to leave the cave.

  "My lady, I am a friend of the groomsman ... and Yasen told me that I would find you here." Goran stood and listened to his whispered words bouncing and echoing off the stone cave walls, but no sound save the trickling of water could be heard. He stepped into the cave then, shining his torch around as he searched for the missing woman. "Ah ... blast it all!" he cursed to himself. "What kind of trouble did you get yourself into now, lass?" The large woodcutter spoke into the darkness as he pulled on his beard, surveying the rock by torchlight, hoping that he had found the right cave after all.

  Just as Goran was about to give up, a small whisper stopped him. "Woodcutter ... wait, please," Astyræ begged.

  Goran spun around, thrusting his torch further into the dark, stone hold of the forest cave. The flickering light caught the violet and yellow eyes of the hidden woman as she leaned out from behind her hiding place. The sight of her gave the mountain of a woodcutter a glorious fright. "My lady?" Goran asked timidly. "Who, or should I say, what are you?"

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "ENGELMANN?" CHAIPHUS CURIOUSLY ASKED THE lieutenant as he ran his fingers over his embellished flint in an absent-minded ritual. Satisfaction at hearing this news was dripping from his words.

  "Yes, my Chancellor," the lieutenant responded. "The old Arborist began ranting and shouting his treasonous propaganda there on the streets of Westriver, right in front of the prison hold."

  "Why was I not informed of this earlier?" Chaiph
us demanded sternly, the fleeting glee of Engelmann's arrest fading into the background of power and decorum. "Do you not suppose that the arrest of one of our city's Arborists might have warranted a speedier report?"

  "Yes ... yes, my Chancellor," the lieutenant said, feeling the weight of the scolding. "When the great tree fell, I … well, I thought your office might have more important things to consider than the roster of traitors and rabble-rousers that inhabit the prison holds."

  "Yes, well, indeed my attention has been in great demand as of late. Regardless, lieutenant, the next time the master warden welcomes such a guest to his subterranean abode, I do expect to be informed immediately," the Chancellor insisted. "Now, be off with you."

  "Yes, my lord," he agreed, and with a bowed head and cross-armed salute, the old lieutenant turned on his heels and left the high-walled chambers of the Chancellor's office.

  "Well, perhaps there is a bit of light here in this damnable darkness after all," Chaiphus mused aloud as he poured the steaming hot tea into his silver chalice. "At least my ears will be given respite from all that badgering they have taken as of late from that fool of an Arborist."

  The large, ironbound doors swung open in practiced unison as two green-cloaked guardsmen stood at attention, ushering the Priest King himself into the office of the Chancellor. Chaiphus stood. The smells of strong tea, dried citrus, and baked raisin croquets warmed the cool air of the morning with a hospitality that seemed rather out of place in the midst of the current chaos.

  "Your Brightness," he said with a well-practiced bow. "Would you join me as I break my fast this pleasant morning?" Chaiphus nodded to his arch-backed scribe. Without so much as single word, the old man left to retrieve a second chalice.

  Jhames eyed his old friend quizzically; the curiosity was unable to remain fully hidden beneath the pious posture of the white-bearded Priest King. "Tell me, Chaiphus, what it is that has so brightened your spirit on this dark morning?" Jhames asked.