Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1)

by Nicolae Ovidiu Baiculescu

  Henek would hate this place. I smiled, thinking how much my brother hated spiders.

  Though, I immediately had to smear my bemused expression from my face as a very long, red-eyed snake, coloured in sections of white, yellow and blue, hissed and crossed the path just in front of my legs. Its disgusting dark forked tongue flicked about his snout as it moved every foliage it slithered against vigorously, making me rush towards Naghnatë. Without giving it a second thought, nor taking my eyes from where the snake was headed, I found myself almost touching the witch’s cloak. My fear made her snort at me, though I did not mind. For the rest of our march, I walked closer to her.

  We had only taken a couple of small breaks to slake our thirst, since the slow progression through the dense brushwood was not as demanding for our legs as it was for our fears and worries. I could only imagine what she was afraid of, given her lack of words.

  What at first had seemed an undistinguishable cacophony of noises, had gradually become a more distinguished pattern of chants and calls of the various birds and animals that were living inside the greenery. They echoed and bounced back from everywhere around us; some were gentle and soft, pleasant to the ears, whilst others were as threatening and piercing as whistles in the eardrums.

  Having to circumvent the river on its uplifted left-side bank, we ended up in front of a more opened space. Here, the thick, tall, oak trees that darkened the forest behind, made way for denser patches of smaller shrubs and thick, plump-leafed plants. The sun was warming the terrain, making it the perfect spot to take another break.

  “Here, drink!” Naghnatë passed me her waterskin.

  Its rich scented plant brew was very bitter. I thanked her nonetheless, reminding myself to skip an upcoming invite.

  “Where are we now?” I enquired, mimicking her attentive scrutiny of the horizon.

  “We should be right next to the external walls, the southern edge,” she replied, “and there should be a tall tower somewhere here.”

  “What happens when we get there? What should I do?” I was worried that without Nuuk’s sceptre to protect me I’d be as good as dead in the hands of the wizard’s disciples.

  “I’ll tell you when we get there, until then, all you can do is walk and be quiet.”

  It did not sound promising. Even if I acquiesced for the moment, I was still struggling to keep at bay the many questions that ran through my mind.

  We kept inside the shade of the forest’s edge, where the hushing waters of the river muffled our steps and the big trees and plants provided perfect cover from the wide opening on our left.

  When I considered myself accustomed to the sight and noises of the awkward lizards, insects, birds and other unknown creatures, a thick shadow crossed the entire area of the forest. I knew I had to be still, but my heart pounded hard.

  For a blink of an eye we were eclipsed by complete darkness as a giant dragon glided through the opening with a whistling sound that made the entire forest tremor. It was huge and very fast, making the smallest of efforts to travel through the tepid air. It had arrived from our right and crossed the forest towards the west. The white beast must’ve been three times, if not four, the bulk of Ghaeloden, and to me the red dragon was inexplicably big. I dared not move nor speak and coerced myself from thinking; an impossible endeavour for my distressed mind.

  Bitterly, I considered how little Winterhorn would help around the citadel where Drakhahouls and Gholaks roamed freely and everywhere around us a wizard, a dragon, an acolyte or something else would be ready to give an unfriendly welcome to the trespassers or the wielders of magic. I slowly patted my bag and clutched my fingers when I found the bundle the wrapped cloth made of my dagger. It gave me a sense of acceptance and serenity.

  These are no bears. I should’ve never agreed to this. The thought revived my memories of the dead people in Sallncoln, crudely piled in the market’s buildings with their broken limbs and blood-smudged, livid bodies; a relentless thought I had to force away by blinking repeatedly until it let space for another, more sweltering memory; Elmira.

  Where could she have possibly gone? Could she have fled back to her village with her mother? It did not make much sense as what little they had made for themselves in the long years in Sallncoln remained at their house.

  There had never been a single occasion where either her or her mother had been gone for more than half a day. And I did not want to believe that she would have left without at least saying something to me. Not without a proper goodbye. The memory disturbed me and I had to force my way out of its tight grasp. Luckily, Naghnatë decided to talk again.

  “That was Sereri-the-White! The oldest Drakhahoul in Arkhanthï and none other than Ghaeloden’s mother. She is one of the most vicious and heartless of all dragons!” the witch whispered with a cold tone.

  I had no time to voice my amazement.

  “And that is the external wall!” The witch pointed far ahead to our right, where a tall, white stonewall, yellowed with age, was covering the horizon, maybe half a mile distant.

  “Why the need for two rows of walls?” I asked marvelling at the size and spread of the tall structure.

  “Wizard’s insecurity I suppose. The first row, which was built during the construction of the castle itself, protects the citadel quite tightly and it is not as high as the one you see before you. This is the second row, and was only added some two hundred years ago. Once Felduror had freed the Gholaks from the pits of hell and pledged their allegiance to him; they had to be kept at bay somehow. And this represents his solution of preventing such a devastating disease as the orcs from spreading and eating everything they get their hands on. It took a long time to get them to behave, far too long for the profit he’s gained from their service. And if you ask me, I’d say it won’t be too long before they revolt, given their idleness.”

  I could almost give weight to the hate in her voice when talking about Gholaks.

  “Are there many behind the walls?” I asked trying to understand more.

  “They were once as numerous as grass blades in the fields and grains of sand in a desert. Though, many years have passed and if their missions and raids have spared them, their own boredom and inclination for picking fights has more than halved their numbers. Yet, there are still too many. Even if there was only one left, that would still mean one too many!” She spat her disgust.

  Before I put my next question she replied, almost anticipating it.

  “We will not be seen by them, do not worry about Gholaks,” she continued. “They’re big and stupid and slow. With that said, I hope you won’t try and wait for their blades to cross your flesh, they are still dangerous if allowed the opportunity. Either way, there are only four gates on the external walls and only one on the internal ones. But we won’t go through a door, not today. We’ll have to use a dirtier entrance.”

  “The sewers?” I instantly thought of the castle’s draining arrangements and loathed envisioning a long and arduous crawl, on my knees and hands, through the dirt of the orcs, rainwater and mud.

  “That would work as well, still, not that. Something else,” the witch said weakly.

  She continued talking, though suddenly her words lost clarity. I could not concentrate on what she was saying anymore, lost in my own thoughts and concerns. A dark sense of nervousness grew inside me, mingling with my own beliefs.

  Every time I thought about the many ends that I could possibly meet, I had to find a good reason to keep going. And it worked; I felt like I was not being egged on by the dragon, the imp and the witch’s opinions. I had my own reasons to continue on this journey and put myself in danger. Alas now, wanting to prove myself to the villagers and shed light on what had happened to us, with very little, if not any, chance of succeeding, seemed like a very silly and childish idea.

  The pitiable cripple wanting to save a village?

  The vision made me bitterly laugh at myself at how pathetic it felt to be me. I had no doubt it had been the sight of the whi
te dragoness that triggered the sense of fear and muddled my thoughts, yet I could not escape it. Once it had reached inside my core, it clung to my bones and flesh, rending the reason that made me reach so far seem less ardent than before.

  Finding myself in the shadows of a castle that secluded throngs of angry Gholaks and hosted the biggest dragoness alive, not to mention the many acolytes or the mad wizard, definitely did not help. My determination gave way to fear, making any attempt of retrieval seem absurd. I was inexplicably torn and felt uncertain of what was the right thing to do. If fear wasn’t enough to make me run away, the memory of my family almost made my body instantly turn the way I have come. The sensation made me quiver and my eyes started collecting tears at each corner. Between sighs and gulps I let myself be lulled by images of the sunny landscape that led my way back to Sallncoln, shutting my eyes completely while tartly smiling as the sweet sensation stunned me. Even if I had to walk for weeks or maybe months from these unknown lands, I was sure the thought of being headed back would suffice to motivate and sustain the long and arduous journey. I would reach home, I would find Elmira, I would be with my family and I would make the most of my remaining years in peace, cherishing every moment together. Perhaps Felduror would not care to come that far from his castle. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to grow old and have a family of my own.

  “This is not my fight! I have nothing to do with this,” I kept repeating to myself.

  I could feel Naghnatë’s shadow moving closer towards me behind my closed eyes. Her cold, thin fingers softly grabbed my blistered hands and, with the gesture, she shook me from my reminiscences. She forced me to open my eyes, her expression sad yet her eyes were filled with unexpected kindness and compassion. I could tell she felt sorry for me. The feeling that I didn’t think her capable of, only made me comprehend how little I knew about the old woman I was standing face to face with.

  “I have no right to ask you to be part of any of this!” she spoke slowly and softly. “I can only imagine what you must be feeling right now as I have long forgotten what was like to have family or a friend. There were times when I thought I would go mad by the solitude and started talking with my own plants and dead animals.” She smiled weakly and briefly and moved her eyes on the soft terrain underneath our feet, while squeezing my hands. “If you care about your friends and family, your loved ones, or those still have yet to come and find, even for just a moment, what true friendship and love means, then I say we should put an end to any doubt these lands can cast upon our unknown futures. I need you! I cannot do this alone, but I need you to believe in yourself like I do.”

  I had difficulty choosing from my many concerns and knew how stupid they would sound to her. A fouler idea insinuated itself in my mind like a cold draught of air finding its way between the smallest fissures of a door.

  What if all the danger and threat that Felduror posed to mankind and other magical creatures was only Naghnatë’s deception? What if she wanted the tokens for herself? The thought seemed so plausible that it made me flinch and pull my hands away from hers.

  As if she had read my face, she took a step back and said, “I cannot ask you to come with me, only help me free Nuuk. I know he’ll help me find the tokens. That’s the only thing I ask of you and then I shall take you home.” Her pleading eyes met mine.

  My cheeks were drying out in the soft breeze, that picked up in the warm forest and I could feel my tears’ trail pinching on them. I lingered before I carefully chose how to formulate my reply. Although I would disappoint her and the dragon, and especially the imp, I wanted to go back home; the dreadful sensation of homesickness was manifesting itself violently and I knew I had to go.

  Though I did not have time to phrase my words.

  “Pick up your knife!” she said curtly.

  I did not expect her brusque demand to disturb me that much. Still, I obeyed. Her acrid, commanding tone permitted me to feel less guilty about abandoning her. So I dropped my bag and picked the bundled knife.

  “There it is!” I lifted it up, still unseen behind its cloth.

  “Take it out entirely and hold it as you would if you had to use it!”

  I tensely flung the cloth on my bag and raised from my kneeling position, grabbing Winterhorn in my right hand, just as she asked.

  A hint of dizziness accompanied me on my way up, though I blamed it on having lifted myself too fast. Determined it was the right moment to tell her about my parting, I took another deep breath.

  Yet as the air entered my throat, it felt uncommonly colder than the warmth that pervaded the wet forest. My sight seemed to perceive brighter colours and my ears could hear more. I looked about me, trying to understand what was wrong, the blade of my knife sparkling sharply in the sunlight. It felt oddly cleansing to feel my hand perfectly match the soft, brown horn-handle, almost as if it had been made for the shape of my fingers. The blisters of my right hand that had bothered me for the entire journey, dulled their intensity to an almost imperceptible itch. I naively smiled at how the feeling had triggered my entire body to perceive the knife’s vibrant existence; its glowing blade as if lit from within, its uncommon subtlety for the size it had and its peculiar odour of stag’s hide and raw iron.

  When I finally freed my eyes from Winterhorn, I turned towards Naghnatë.

  “You were saying?” She looked at me, tilting her head to the left.

  “I am not sure what I was saying, or doing!” I admitted, not without a good measure of confusion.

  “Well, I can tell you what I felt like you were about to say if you want,” she did not wait for my reply to continue her reprimand. “You were about to leave me, weren’t you? I saw those little eyes skulking deep in your skull with shame, you cannot fool me.”

  “I was indeed.” I was startled. “Why is my knife able to change my mind? I was sure I wanted to leave, and now, now I don’t!”

  “These lands are enchanted, there are many ways the wizard protects his secrecy. Luckily for me, I am a witch, and for you, well you can draw your strength and wits from your knife. It is a magical item, Lorian, your mind’s lucidity can hardly falter once you’re holding it! I hope you didn’t think that the knife was only good for hunting?” She chuckled with relief as she approached.

  I clutched my fingers around the handle as tight as I could.

  “It must be the case. This warm air must be filled with poisonous magic, otherwise I cannot explain what got into me. All I wanted to do was to go home! I mean, I still miss home, but what about Nuuk? I’m sure he wouldn’t have left me to rot in here.” I tried to justify where my confusion came from, although I had a good idea that she had suspected it all along.

  “It is indeed! I should’ve known better and told you to hold tight on the knife before.” She turned and looked around. “This is a cursed place and I doubt Felduror will show anything less devious from now on!”

  We both looked at the wall.

  “Luckily, you were strong enough not to need any magical items about you, for otherwise we would’ve been doomed for good.” I felt assured by her presence.

  She turned towards me with a sly grin. Her hand was holding the left side of her long cloak as if she intended to reveal something beneath her countless layers of clothing. I thought I had glimpsed a bulge protruding from one of her inner pockets but then she stopped abruptly, letting the cloak flap back and cover her again.

  She tightened the thin wool-strap she was using as cincture and looked at me. “Very true! We’re lucky I’m more experienced than you, and much older.”

  “I’m good to go and I will be sure to keep the knife to hand in case I lose myself again!” I nodded my readiness and my forced laugh made her smile too.

  “Remind me to find you a proper sheath. I can’t stand you with that sharp, naked-blade on your belt!”

  I knew she liked to have the last word, so I gladly bowed and picked up my step.

  We were ready to move on.

  Divided

 
; Lorian / Nuuk

  That must’ve been the longest half mile I’ve ever had to walk!

  What had seemed to be less than a mile had taken us more than an hour and half to cross before we arrived safely at the base of the walls. Not only did we have to stay very silent, but in some sections of our expedition, we had to crouch as the forest turned into a stout thicket of spiked-bushes with very little shelter. The small shrubs burst to life from a thick, foul-smelling bed of wet and dead leaves that wafted visibly into the air with a greenish hue. The horrible smell was so pungent and nauseating, that I barely kept my breakfast down, especially when I had to dip both of my hands in the murky blanket of rotten leaves in an attempt to hide, when the witch had thought she had heard a noise.

  The racket of what ensued behind the walls had become clearer as we approached, dashing our hopes of finding no guards. Judging by the frightening and boisterous yells and howls, we arrived at the sad conclusion that there must be hundreds of Gholaks on the other side. Surprisingly, holding Winterhorn did not lessen my alarm.

  We had long decided not to speak unless necessary and we were silently catching our breath and recovering our strength in the shade of a tall and broad oak, which had grown in solitude right against the wall. Its height almost reached a third of the way up the wall and I was astounded to see its massive scale suddenly appear tiny in comparison to the giant stonework.

  It must’ve taken ages to build. I conveyed my astonishment as I let my back rest on a flat-shaped rock, which stood high enough for me to avoid laying on the malodourous ground.

  If I had grown somewhat accustomed to the fetid smell of dead leaves that covered the ground, I was unpleasantly surprised at the fouler stench of the orcs. Between a stomach cramp and another I had only to admit to the witch’s words when, on more than one occasions, she had defined the Gholaks as pigs. Yet pigs’ odour seemed like dried summer-flowers in comparison.