by Edward Cox
Gripped in Redheart’s hand, the talisman grew warm when she walked in a north-easterly direction. But if she turned aside, deviated from a north-eastern path even by a little, it grew decidedly cool. For two days Redheart had been following the talisman’s warmth. She trusted that it was leading her true, even if it had been a gift from an untrustworthy source.
The Great Forest covered hundreds of hectares, and Elander could have been taken in any direction. When his trail had disappeared, the Knights of Boska had become utterly lost. That had been the moment when Abildan appeared to the company.
They had all heard tell of the feliwyrd, the cat-people who were bred for dealing death. None of the knights had trusted Abildan - especially Üban who had fought against the feliwyrd in her youth – but Vladisal had recognised the need to form an alliance, however uneasy. Abildan was on a mission to assassinate Dun-Wyrd. She and the knights shared a common enemy. But even with Abildan’s tracking skills, and her knowledge of the Bone Shaker’s magic, the alliance was still not a strong enough force. If Dun-Wyrd’s sorceries were to be defeated then reinforcements were needed, and fast.
Redheart stared at the leaf talisman.
Legends spoke of a mighty and ancient race that inhabited the Great Forest. The Forest Dwellers, many called them, but their true name was the Ulyyn. Stories of the Ulyyn were recorded in the most ancient of tomes, but it was said that even the earliest accounts had been centuries old by the time they were written down. The leaf talisman was supposedly an artefact of the Ulyyn, some kind of friendship token. Not only would it lead Redheart to this fabled race, but also grant her one favour from them. Or so Abildan had said…
She curled her fingers around the talisman.
Through all her time as a knight, Redheart had seen the very best and worst that the world had to offer; but these were strange days indeed, no matter how glorious the sun made them seem. She could not blame Vladisal for trusting Abildan – what other choice did she have? But her friend and captain blamed no one but herself for Elander’s plight. She was desperate – as they all were – and the almost pleading expression that Vladisal had worn when they parted company two days ago was burned into Redheart’s memory.
She would not let her friend down.
With a fresh surge of determination, Redheart got to her feet and shouldered her pack. The instant she faced northeast, the leaf talisman grew warm in her hand.
She prayed that all Abildan had said would prove to be true, that this intricately made artefact would lead her to the Ulyyn. For without their help, the Knights of Boska could not hope to overcome the power of Dun-Wyrd. The trouble was, no one knew for certain that the Forest Dwellers still existed.
Five
The Shelter of Daylight
The Knights of Boska made a simple camp beneath a cloudless blue sky.
Each woman gave silent thanks to the Mother for the arrival of a new sun. The morning light chased shadows into retreat, but not memories of the night before. Some sat around campfires, breakfasting on sparse meals; others cleaned armour or honed weapons or sharpened arrowheads. But they did not speak or jest among themselves. The aftermath of the fight lingered in the air, as palpable as the stink of Dun-Wyrd’s tree-demons.
Vladisal did not sit with her women.
In silent contemplation, she stood over the fresh graves of Sir Theodora and Sir Brennik. The final resting place of these two brave knights was marked by their swords, stabbed into the ground like headstones.
Guilt was a difficult creature to ignore. There was honour in the way Theodora and Brennik had lived and died, but they had lands back in Boska, families who would deserve explanations when the company returned home. What would Vladisal tell them? That they fought bravely? That their deaths were a sacrifice their captain had been prepared to make if it led to Elander’s rescue?
Weariness bit into Vladisal.
“We all mourn the dead, lass,” Üban said, coming alongside her. “But now you should rest and get something to eat.”
“I am not hungry,” Vladisal replied.
“Nor are the women, but they do as they must to keep up their strength.”
Although Üban’s tone was calm, Vladisal could sense the irritation simmering under the surface, and she knew the old knight still rankled from their earlier discussions. But it wasn’t just her. Vladisal could sense it in Luca and Dief, too; an uncertainty that shrouded their faces each time their captain gave an order. A seed of disparity was growing within the company.
“The women are troubled,” Vladisal said. “And it is more than the dark magic of last night that unsettles them.”
Üban scratched at the unruly mop of her hair. “They are beginning to wonder what we are doing, Vlad. Each of them would gladly give their life to see Elander returned to Mayland Castle, but… look at them. They are forced to make camp as though simple foresters. They wear no surcoats, no house colours to be proud of, and carry no helm or shield.”
“The forest is a difficult ground to navigate,” Vladisal said. “Abildan said our colours would attract attention. Helms would impede our awareness, and the shields would be too cumbersome-”
“Aye – Abildan said …” Although Üban whispered, her tone cut Vladisal to silence. “These women should not be tending armour and weapons themselves, Vladisal. Their squires should be here, ensuring their masters are rested and fit for the battles to come. Yet we have left them camped on the outskirts of the Great Forest, idle and alone, as they wait for our return. And all because Abildan said? It is madness. These knights have been stripped of pride.”
Vladisal glared at her. “They question my leadership?”
“No, lass!” Üban snapped. “But in this matter they wonder at your judgement, as well they should.”
Honest, dependable Üban - she was nothing if not the voice of truth. Ever since the party had ridden from Mayland Castle, Vladisal had been blinkered by her determination to save Elander, to act for what she thought was the greater good. Perhaps the moment called for a little reason.
“Speak plainly, old woman,” Vladisal said. “My trust in Abildan is questionable, yes?”
“I understand how you feel, Vlad, but I, perhaps best of all, know what kind of animal the feliwyrd is. She cannot be trusted. The women fear you do not see the mockery she makes of us. Abildan comes and goes as she pleases, and only the hells know what secrets she keeps.”
Vladisal looked to where she had last seen Abildan, sitting upon a fallen tree at the edge of the camp. The feliwyrd had again disappeared, leaving behind her sabre, crossbow and baldric of bolts.
“All will be well when Redheart returns.”
“Redheart?” Üban chuckled sourly. “I dread to think what kind of trouble she has been sent into. It doesn’t sit well with me, Vlad.”
“She will return.”
“It’s a fool’s errand! That feliwyrd gives her some simple token, a talisman she says will bring the Forest Dwellers running to our aid, and…” She shook her head. “Redheart’s quest is nothing more that hoping on myth and lore and fairy tales. And all the while little Elander is lost, leagues from home, in the clutches of a Bone Shaker.”
Vladisal swung on the old knight, fury beating at her temples. “I will do all I can to see Elander safe. I will cut every tree in the Great Forest to the ground if need be.”
“Then think! Abildan is Dun-Wyrd’s countrywoman. Her kind is bred to show fealty to the Bone Shakers. So why would the Bone Shakers send her here to kill one of their own? What is it that Abildan had not told us?”
Vladisal turned away. She closed her eyes and prayed for calm, for wisdom.
“Before we left Mayland,” she said with sad composure, “I swore an oath to our Duchess that I would bring her son home by any means necessary – we all did, Üban. Even you cannot deny that we need Abildan’s help. She may keep her secrets, but while her foe is our foe she is not entirely untrustworthy.”
“No?” Üban’s face grew dark, as if re
membering some past evil. “The blood of the feliwyrd runs colder than you could possibly imagine, Vladisal, and they have no need for alliances. Abildan would not be among us, she would not have shown herself, unless we serve some purpose to her quest that we do not yet know. Remember that, lass.”
Üban walked away. Vladisal watched after her for a while, before gazing down at the graves of Sir Brennik and Sir Theodora.
Did this situation carry no wrong or right solution? Üban, as always, spoke only the truth as she saw it. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was time for Abildan to give the women of Boska some straight answers.
Six
Sacrifice
The stupidity of knights was both a source of irritation and much amusement for Abildan. They lived by such strict and confining codes of conduct that she wondered how they did not choke on their own self-righteousness.
When she had first approached Vladisal and her women, they had been camped at the southern edge of the Great Forest. They had travelled with a retinue of squires, who pampered to their every request, and tended their steeds. Garish surcoats had covered their immaculate armour, dazzling blues and reds – the colours of their cherished House Mayland. The weapons they carried were burdensome; their helms and shields ridiculously ornamented. They were like ignorant children who believed that no enemy could best their courage, for they were knights, women of Boska.
To see them now so deluded and stripped of pretence – indeed, to be the very cause of their discontent – pleased Abildan greatly. It was a lesson they were long overdue in the learning.
The feliwyrd was now a small way from the camp, following a narrow deer trail, over-grown and little-used for some time, by the looks of things. She navigated her path with cautious steps, her hand resting upon a hemp cloth sack tucked into her belt.
Ever alert to the sounds and scents around her, she could still smell the knights from the trail. The gentle breeze that rustled through the forest carried smoke from their campfires, and it was tinged with sweat and fear. Yet, the further down the trail Abildan walked, the more these aromas were clouded by the smell of something other, something inhuman - less foul than tree-demons, but far more intelligent.
Focussing her every sense, she continued on slowly.
The knights could never comprehend Abildan’s reasons and actions. They clutched so fiercely to their ideals of chivalry that they had lost all appreciation for the simpler things in life - like the thrill of the hunt, for example. Though, Abildan had to admit, that old ox, Sir Üban, had the look - and the scars - of a predator. The aging fool was so long in the tooth, so full of superstition, Abildan could barely breathe without her watching. Why Vladisal kept her around when all she did was complain and argue was beyond the feliwyrd. She would have to keep an eye on that one.
The tiniest of vibrations rose up through the ground, tingling against the pads of Abildan’s bare feet.
She stopped.
The vibration was accompanied by a faint clicking sound. The ears of a human would not be able to distinguish the sound from the wash of the forest, but Abildan heard it, and she knew what it came from.
With a smile, she continued along the trail.
Perhaps it was the hypocrisy of the knights that irritated her the most. They talked of duty, boasted of honour, yet in return for their dedication and fealty, they expected favour and coin from their noble masters. Abildan wondered where the chivalry of knights would be if they were stripped of their rewards. No such favours were offered by the masters of the feliwyrd.
Exacting duty, the principles of loyalty - the Boskan knights understood so little in their primitive ways. The nature of pragmatism, achieving one’s goal no matter the cost, was a concept wasted on their small minds. If Vladisal’s friend, Sir Redheart, was successful in bringing the Ulyyn and the knights returned Elander to his mother, safe and well, they would all be hailed as heroes in their homeland.
As for Abildan and the quest to kill Dun-Wyrd, her masters fully expected her to die in the process of this mission. Within the scheme of things, it was an insignificant price for them to pay.
She froze.
Slowly, Abildan slipped the sack from her belt. She placed it between her pointed teeth. Sharp claws slid from the ends of her fingers and toes.
The Knights of Boska were always looking to Abildan, expecting her to provide answers to questions, yet they rarely listened to her advice as though every word she spoke was a lie. They buried their dead, not burned them. They had been warned of the infectious nature of Dun-Wyrd’s magic, but did not check to see if any of them had been stung by tree-demons, as Abildan suggested. They clung to honesty and openness as if the existence of the world depended on it, yet they could not see beyond their pride.
Knights were hypocrites, one and all! And Abildan knew that there were secrets hiding in their ranks, especially from their captain Vladisal. They blamed Abildan for their discontent, yet it was more a product of their captain’s manufacture.
And that was the most amusing aspect concerning the stupidity of these knights: while their captain was so lost and confused, while squabbles among them were so easy to manipulate, Abildan would undoubtedly find opportunity to leave the Great Forest alive.
The ground vibrated. Clicks filled the feliwyrd’s ears.
Claws sharp, she leapt forward.
A section of the trail floor flipped open like a trapdoor. A mass of legs, fangs, and a black, bloated body, sprang from a dark hole to meet the assassin. The spider was big, its body the size of Abildan’s torso. And it was strong, quick as light.
With a yowl of defiance, the feliwyrd sank her claws deep into its bloated mass. Together, they fell back into the dark lair. The trapdoor closed down on them.
Seven
Pride
When Üban had been a young woman, she had travelled to a land called Mya-Siad, a nation built on desert sands and plains of sharp rock far to the east. There, she had fought in a war against a race of magickers called the Wyrd. At that time, Üban had barely finished her novitiate - a young knight ready to take on the world and all it could throw at her. She had heard the stories about the enemy’s powers, but nothing could have prepared her for what she faced in that war.
The Wyrd were evil to the core. The moniker of Bone Shaker suited them well.
Üban felt every winter of her fifty-years down deep in her joints. She walked among the women, pausing here and there to praise bravery and raise spirits. But her efforts were mostly wasted. After the things they had seen last night, it was near impossible to bolster the company’s moral. Each word of encouragement was met by expressions clouded by doubt.
Death was an accepted risk in a knight’s duty, and the Mother only knew that Üban had seen enough of it in her time. Fighting steel with steel was one thing, but to fall beneath the vicious hunger of these tree-demons? The women were experiencing the ghosts of Üban’s youth. Death had risen to mock them all, and its name was Dun-Wyrd.
Her mood sombre, Üban walked to a campfire besides which Dief lay alone upon the ground, curled on her side, snoring.
Üban let her gaze travel over the camp. The five archers sat in a group, tending arrows, talking furtively. Many of the knights sat in their undergarments, cleaning armour. Some, more cautious, remained in their tarnished shells, keeping weapons sharp in preparation for whatever new horrors might spill from the forest. Even Dief, quite possibly the most fearless woman Üban had ever known, slept in her armour, clutching her mighty hammer to her chest. A light sheen of perspiration coated her face and shaven head; her face twitched as though troubled by nightmares.
Üban unbuckled her armour and beside the fire.
For centuries, the Wyrd of Mya-Siad had been trying to cultivate a future where all nations of Earth bowed to their dominance; and for centuries the nations of Earth had fought against them. The Wyrd were famed for their monstrous armies; for using dark magic to merge humans with animals, creating vicious abominations to fight for their
cause. In Mya-Siad, in Üban’s darkest memories, the Wyrd army had carried a very different face to that which stalked the Great Forest.
The foot-soldiers had been the caniwyrd: the sorcerous merging of human and the desert-dog known as hyena. The shortest caniwyrd stood seven feet tall, and a legion of them could march for weeks without supply lines. They found sustenance in all things, from their own bodily waste to the carrion of their dead, whose bodies still lay warm upon the battlefield. On scorching desert plains, beneath a blistering sun, Üban had spent a year fighting the caniwyrd, and she had never known a foe more remorseless and savage.
It had often seemed that the caniwyrd were an unstoppable force, who would continue to fight as long as they drew breath. But they were clumsy in their savagery, lacking the grace and tactics of trained fighting women, and that had been their one weakness. They were fearless but no match for skilled knights. However, the same could not be said for the Wyrd assassins, the warriors merged with mountain cats.
Üban’s thoughts were disturbed when Luca arrived at the fire. Without a word, she unbuckled her armour and sat opposite Üban. She did not make eye contact as she cleaned her armour, or show any sign of wishing to talk. Üban respected Luca’s silence, and gazed across the way, to where Vladisal still stood alone beside the graves of Theodora and Brennik.
The old knight regretted sharing harsh words with Vladisal, but she had to be told straight: Abildan and her kind were not to be trusted.
All those years ago in Mya-Siad, the older knights Üban had fought alongside had a saying: to see a feliwyrd was to see death. They stalked the night, hid in the shadows, and the only sign of their passing was the trail of blood they left behind. Just once Üban had seen a feliwyrd slain. Before it died, it killed four knights with its bare hands. They were cowardly in their ways, silent in their approach, but they were perfectionists in death, and fiercely loyal to their Bone Shaker masters.