Thick twisted timbers, cut from the edge of the nearby forest, outlined the shops and houses of Rumaldo. Solid architectural designs with subtle details and changes to color tones gave the city a sense of strength and prosperity without glitter and glamour.
Thorik led his group along the brick streets in search of final provisions for their trek past the Mythical Forest, across the Kiri Desert and through the O’Sid Fields. The evening light had faded and lanterns had been lit. Pubs and shops lined the main street all the way to the very north end of town where it abruptly ended, marked by two tall twisted leafless trees.
“The entrance to the Mythical Forest,” Santorray said. “Not a place you want to venture from the main road.”
“Yes, I know,” Thorik replied. “I was captured by the Myth’Unday once.”
Crossing his arms, Santorray looked down at the Num. “Not possible. No Num or human has lived to tell about it, once captured.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” Thorik smirked at the comment. “We’ll need to leave first thing in the morning.”
“We don’t have that option,” Santorray said. “The captain’s side trip to the city of Thasque to sell his goods has cost us valuable time.”
Thorik adjusted his pack. “It’s his ship. Be thankful he came to Rumaldo to drop us off.”
“He has foolishly allowed the Southwind military time to travel north. We must leave immediately to avoid being here when they arrive, if they haven’t already.”
Fir Brimmelle had kept quiet long enough. He didn’t like the creature’s attitude toward his Sec and needed to make a point of it. “Now you listen here, don’t you start telling us what to do.” His nose was in the air and his tone condescending. “We don’t need your help, so either fall in line or leave.”
The Blothrud lunged at the Fir with both hands out and ready to grab the Num. Teeth showing, he growled hard enough to make Brimmelle’s knees buckle from fear, as the Num fell to the ground. “Don’t ever talk down to me, Num. I’m trying to save your pathetic life.”
“Save?” The question came from a slight distance.
A large group of humans had stepped out of a pub to witness the Blothrud in their city. It was uncommon to see Ov’Unday in town and rare to see a Del’Unday.
The man near the center, who had spoken up, continued. “We would all be better off without your kind. Words of saving our people have only led to battles which caused us to suffer.”
“Perhaps we should leave,” Grewen said calmly.
Santorray stepped toward the group of men. “And I suppose humans had nothing to do with the battles of this land.”
“Only to fight for the survival of our kind.” He then pointed at Grewen. “And his kind.”
“Santorray, don’t waste your time.” Thorik stepped out in front of him.
“Santorray?” the crowd gasped. Whispering bled through the group.
The Blothrud stood up tall and straight. He knew the stories of his past had been salted with half-truths and outright lies.
“We heard you were dead, killed in Southwind,” said one man.
“I get that a lot.”
“You’re a murderer. You’ve taken part in many battles against us, killing our people and destroying our cities,” said another man.
Santorray flexed his massive muscles and pounded his fist into an open palm. “Who’s to say I’m not here to take out yours right now.”
Thorik waved his hands in front of the Blothrud. “No, wait! Don’t let them provoke you.”
The first man stepped forward, waving his finger at the Blothrud. “You’re as bad as Ambrosius and Darkmere. They’ve destroyed this kingdom.”
Thorik spun around on the balls of his feet to face the man who had just spoke. “How dare you talk ill of such a great man. Ambrosius sacrificed his life to save you, your family, and your city.”
“He’s dead? That calls for a drink. No more bloodshed.”
Thorik was aghast. “How can you say that after everything he’s done for you?”
“He’s never done anything to help me or my family,” the man replied.
Fists tight to his side, Thorik stepped closer to the man. “Just because you don’t know of what he’s done for you, doesn’t mean it hasn’t been done.”
“What has that old diplomat ever done for us, aside from launching a civil war that broke our people?”
“He prevented Darkmere from ruling and destroying your lands. He founded the Grand Council to establish peace among different cultures. He sacrificed his life to save you!” Thorik screamed, his fists now up by his sides.
The crowd stepped back from the Num. Unknown to Thorik, Santorray had stepped up behind him, ready to attack the crowd.
Thorik’s face was flush with anger and his hands shook with rage. “He gave up everything for you to have the ability to sit in your pubs and drink your life away while complaining about him and others who have fought for you.” Never before had he been so angry at someone he didn’t even know.
Fearing the long reach of the Blothrud, the men quietly backed off and grumbled to one another, returning to their pubs for safety.
Santorray lowered his arms to his sides. “You’ve done well, Sec.” He then walked back to the rest of the group.
Thorik stood silently, shaking with frustration. These people didn’t understand how wrong they were. They didn’t know the full story, yet they had already made their judgment. If they had known Ambrosius the way he had, they wouldn’t believe the lies being told. The man should have been honored, not ridiculed. If Thorik hadn’t condemned him to death, others might have discovered this truth.
Ambrosius had been like a father to Thorik. He had taken the Num under his wing and inspired him to be more than he thought he could be. The old E’rudite had trusted the Num to use his judgment, while guiding him when he veered off course. Ambrosius was a mentor that few fathers could aspire to become.
Grewen stepped up behind Thorik. “You have to let this go. It’s been months. Ambrosius is gone. You made the right choice, but you have to move on.”
Thorik turned and pounded his fist hard into Grewen’s massive leg. He then hit a second time, a third, and then a blur of quick shots as he vented his frustration. His knuckles became bloody from hitting the hard thick skin of the Mognin. “I can’t forget what I’ve done. I see it every night in my dreams and it drags me down in the days. It fills me with anger and regret.”
Grewen looked down at the Num. “No, don’t ever forget. You can’t learn if you forget. You can’t teach others if you recall only the good times. But you do need to forgive yourself, little man. Regret and anger will only compound themselves and make things worse.”
Three more punches into Grewen’s leg hit hard, before Thorik broke down and wrapped his arms around the giant’s leg. Tears streamed down his face as he gasped for breath from his own personal pain. “I miss him so much, Grewen. So very much.”
“I know. We all do.” Grewen patted Thorik on the back. “But it is time to free your heart from hate, including the hate you feel for yourself. It is time to move on.”
Santorray interrupted their conversation. “Moving on is exactly what we need to do right now.” He was pointing down the main street while talking.
A distant group of torches and flags headed their way, behind merchants and customers who filled the street. The holders of the flags could not be seen from their position behind the locals, but the colors of the flags were distinctly Southwind as they popped up and down from their Faralope mounts.
“Lucian has caught up with us,” Santorray said. “No time for supplies, we need to head out of town right now.”
“Through the Mythical Forest at night? I don’t like the sound of that. Can’t we hide in town until they leave?” Brimmelle asked.
“Do you really think the locals will cover for us?” Santorray responded sarcastically.
“Not after the greeting you and Thorik gave,” Brimmelle spit back.
“We’ll be safe if we stay on the road. Hopefully Lucian isn’t aware of that fact.”
Thorik wiped his eyes dry and regained his composure. “Santorray’s right, we need to escape immediately. Onto the River-Green road, everyone.”
The four Nums led the charge out of town; quickly passing between the two large twisted trees. Under the natural arch, caused by the limbs from each tree intertwining, a sudden chill befell them. A background moan could be heard from the tree trunks and distant screams from deep in the forest could be heard.
“Are you sure it’s Lucian? We could be running from nothing,” Brimmelle said.
Grewen followed the Nums under the arch, but couldn’t hear the odd sounds that they did. “It’s a risk either way.” He reached up and softly touched the limbs of the arch.
Santorray watched the group’s back, standing on the edge of the city with his nose high in the air, sniffing. He inhaled the smells from Rumaldo and its citizens, before taking in a familiar smell. “It’s him. He’s here. I can smell his stench a mile away. We need to hurry.”
But it was too late.
A horn sounded and the hooves of the Faralopes began to charge forward. Locals had provided Lucian with descriptions of the party who had just passed through.
“Grab the older Nums,” Santorray yelled, racing under the arch, scooping up Gluic, who immediately became limp in his arms.
Grewen lifted Brimmelle and awkwardly ran out from under the arch onto the River-Green road, which cut directly through the center of the Mythical Forest.
Thorik and Avanda easily outran the Mognin and Blothrud, leading the charge down the road.
Lucian emerged from the crowded street to see the criminals escape. “They’re heading for the forest. Quickly men, seize them!”
Forty riders tore through the city’s street after the prison escapees, knocking locals out of their way. Banners high, the horn sounded again, this time with more energy.
“I want the Blothrud alive. I wish to kill him with my own blade. Kill the rest if you must, burn the forest if you have to, but do not fail me,” Lucian shouted as he and the riders reached the tree arch.
Deep voices came from the two trees. “Burn us?” The ground began to rumble and the limbs swayed violently. “Threats against the Myths, do we hear?”
Fear struck all men and beast as they entered the archway. Myth’Unday whispering and shouting came from all directions as the men looked for a source. The ground bucked as roots raised up and wrapped around the Faralope’s legs, tripping them and knocking off their riders. Those who could escape did so, back toward the safety of the city.
Chaos filled the archway. With Faralopes bucking and their riders in fear of what they were hearing, Lucian rode up to one of the trees and stabbed his torch into an open knothole.
The dry old wood quickly caught on fire as an earsplitting scream came forth. Fire erupted up the trunk to the arch.
Two Southwind riders lit the second tree in flames causing the same effect.
Burning bright and hot, an arch of glowing yellows and reds filled the skyline at the edge of town. The riders quickly made their way underneath and onto the River-Green road.
“Here they come,” Brimmelle said, while holding onto Grewen’s shoulder.
“Get off the road, they won’t follow us into the forest at night,” Thorik ordered.
“There’s a good reason why,” Santorray replied. “I’d rather fight off a legion of Southwind’s finest before taking on the Myth’Unday.”
Thorik considered his suggestion until he turned and saw Lucian and his men racing up to them. “We’ve survived it before. We’ll have to take our chances on doing it a second time.”
Grewen struggled to keep within hearing distance, as he lumbered along. “Thorik, we were on the outskirts of the forest at the time, and we got lucky.”
“We haven’t made it too far into the forest this time either,” Thorik said.
A volley of arrows shot from behind, several sticking into Grewen’s back. The strong legs of the Faralopes closed the gap as the men pulled out swords for the attack.
“We stay and fight,” Santorray ordered.
“Then you fight alone.” Leading the charge, Thorik turned to his right and disappeared into the dark forest. “Quickly, everyone, this way.”
Following Thorik, Avanda jumped off the road behind him. Visibly irritated about the decision, Santorray followed him in as well.
Grewen fell behind, as the military caught up and quickly surrounded him. The giant had slowed to a comfortable walking pace and the riders had a full circle around him.
“Thorik, help!” Brimmelle screamed into the trees. “We’ve been captured.”
Lucian cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted into the forest. “We have your friends. Either you surrender yourself and we let them go, or you hide like cowards and we take them back to the mines in your place.” Panning the dark, he waited for an answer to his bluff. He had no intention of leaving without Santorray.
Protecting Brimmelle from the soldiers, Grewen continued his slow walk down the road, interrupting the circle of riders. They were forced to move with him to keep him inside.
“Hold your ground and stop the Mognin,” Lucian shouted to his men.
The riders came to a complete halt, giving the giant no more path to walk.
Reaching forward, Grewen calmly separated the men and Faralopes in front of him so he could continue on his walk. “Excuse me.” He attempted to peacefully step out of the enclosed ring.
The men swung their swords at his thick arms. Panicking animals made it difficult to aim, let alone stay on their mounts. Nevertheless, a few swipes made their cuts, but did not stop the Mognin from slowly breaching their barrier.
Before the riders could obtain control over the giant again, Grewen stepped off the road to join his friends.
“After him!” Lucian ordered his men, none of which responded. Instead they looked at each other. “I said, go after them. They couldn’t have gone far. Get in there and drag them back out.” No response. “Those that do not obey will go in front of the Matriarch, for it is her order to return these prisoners.”
It was the name of the Matriarch that finally caused them to venture forth, slowly and cautiously, into the dark forest, leaving the safety of the open road.
Lucian held half of his men back. “We’ll wait here, just in case the prisoners try to escape back to the road.” Lucian had no plans of personally entering the deadly forest.
A rider approached Lucian and his men after passing under the burning trees arching the road. It was the Dovenar Knight.
“Asentar!” Lucian shouted to him as he slowly approached. He knew that not even Santorray could stand up against the likes of the knight. “They have taken refuge in the forest. With your skills, you can flush them out so we can capture them.”
The knight said nothing until he had reached Lucian. “You idiot! You burned down the sacred entrance to the Mythical Forest, a landmark that this kingdom promised to keep intact. In return they have allowed us safe travel on the River-Green road. Not only have you jeopardized our trade route, you may have started a war with the Myth’Unday.”
“It’s about time we burn down this entire forest and rid ourselves of these pests. Besides, we shouldn’t be tied to agreements made by those who we no longer follow. Those men died long before we were born and their ways no longer work.”
“The kingdom made a commitment to the Myths to stay out of their land and only use the road for passage. Does honor mean nothing to you?”
“When it serves my purpose.” Lucian stopped as he heard screams of pain from his men within the woods. “And right now my purpose is to retrieve those criminals. So, enter that forest and bring them back to me.”
“I don’t take orders from you. I only agreed to travel with you in hopes of finding Ericc. But if you deviate from my path to Eastland and Corrock, then we part ways. I never consented to hunting escaped c
riminals.”
“These orders come from the Matriarch,” Lucian said with authority. Just mentioning her name struck fear in Lucian’s men.
“The Matriarch does not rule the Dovenar Kingdom or its knights.” Asentar turned his mount around and galloped back to the city.
Chapter 15
Myth’Unday
Sacrifice of Ericc Page 17