“I don’t believe this!” Drummon fumed. “What about his pets. Do they stay too?”
“If Kristoph wishes.” Mora replied, leaving it clear in her tone there would be no argument in this. She turned to Rauph and offered the smile of an animal about to eat its young. “Let us get you and your slaves inside, get you cleaned up and then you can tell us where you have been these last few years.” Rauph looked up, his eyes taking in the palace as if he were in a dream and he did not believe what he was seeing.
“Welcome home son.” Mora announced. “Welcome home.”
* * * * * *
Scrave stood at the outskirts of Catterick and looked around him in disgust. What in the world was he doing back here? He hadn’t liked the place the last time he visited and definitely had no desire to stay. He swung his arms about to fight off the chill in the air and rolled his neck, trying to iron out the kinks from being shrunk so small and then reverting to normal size, much to the disappointment of a hungry rat that had stalked him for the length of the sewer tunnel he had taken to freedom.
So what was he going to do now? What way was he going to go? Scrave took in the shining palace at the centre of the city, then the docks far below and the harbour where boats gently bobbed on a surface silvered by the clouds above. He could try the docks, although he would need some funds to obtain passage but passage to where? He looked about, taking in the paths leading away and the milestones at the side of the road giving the distance to exotic locales that the Elf had no desire to see. The green tinge from his eye made everything look surreal as if he were in some nightmare from a fairy tale gone horribly wrong.
“Go North.” Scrave felt the words like fire ants crawling across his brain. He looked about searching for the voice that had given him the instruction, knowing even as he did so that it was all in his mind. Go North. How ridiculous! What was North anyway? Something hopefully more exotic and warmer than Catterick at least... He paused, suddenly remembering the volcano he had been trapped in. Okay, maybe not too warm! The Elf wandered over to the worn milestone and pulled back the grass at its base to reveal the place furthest from the top. Al Mashmaah.
It sounded exotic alright. Maybe even a little bit warm. He shrugged his shoulders. Okay, he would head North and see what Al Mashmaah had to offer. He had nothing else pressing to do after all!
He would just follow the funny voice in his head and see where it took him and afterwards, he would consider if maybe, just maybe, he was going ever so slightly insane.
Chapter Thirteen
Kerian looked down at a weathered milestone sitting at a jaunty angle on the edge of the trail and tried to make out the eroded letters upon its surface. Failing to comprehend the names mounted on the back of Toledo, he swung himself from the saddle and dropped to the ground. Holding his back and stretching to ease the stiffness from his journey, the weary rider bent to brush the surface of the stone and tried to discern the faded words.
“Al Mashmaah.” He shook his head, trying to visualise a map of the world and realised he had no idea where he was. Toledo nosed closer, checking to see if his rider was hiding anything edible and pushing him with his head, annoyed at the lack of attention shown.
“Just where are you taking me, oh knowledgeable guide?” Kerian asked. “And how far away is this Al Mashmaah?”
“Away from it all.” Octavian snapped, his mood still sour, despite the time they had spent on the road together. “Just like you wanted. You will know when we get to our destination because at that point our arrangement will be at an end and I will be taking my leave.”
Kerian looked at his guide’s sulky demeanour and decided enough was enough. They were travelling into territory that was alien to him, a region of unknown dangers and he was not going to do this with someone whose loyalty was questionable at best. Dusk was drawing in and it was time to address Octavian’s childish attitude so that future days on the road would not be as morose as this last one had been. He looked at the sky above, reckoning they had an hour before night fell, then cast his eye about for a defensive position where they could camp. A ruined watchtower on a nearby hill seemed to fit the bill perfectly.
“Okay,” he opened, faking another stretch. “I’m getting tired and I’m hungry. Why don’t we make camp for the night in that ruin over there? You take the horses and I will hunt down a feast fit for a king. No one ever goes hungry when Kerian Denaris oversees the menu.” Octavian shrugged in a non-committal way and glanced towards the pale semi-circle of the moon appearing as light started to leach slowly from the sky.
“If that is your wish.” He replied. “I’ll get the fire started, see to the horses and prepare the area like the good little guide I am.”
“I shouldn’t be too long.” Kerian smiled back, ignoring the sarcastic comment from his companion. “Just prepare yourself to be amazed.”
* * * * * *
The tower turned out to be more ruined than Kerian had realised. The wall facing the road was largely intact, but the rear of the structure had crumbled away years before, exposing rotten beams and the skeletal remains of a spiral staircase that no sane individual would consider climbing. Tumbled examples of moss-covered stonework littered the ground, amidst spindly bushes and gnarled trees that had sprouted across the ruin as nature slowly reclaimed the site.
Despite these inherent difficulties, Octavian had done a masterful job of clearing an area for their sleeping rolls and had assembled a fire pit that cast flickering orange light up the inside of the derelict building. The hobbled horses stood near to hand, munching on a pile of undergrowth that their guide had pulled from the wreckage and Kerian had to admit he was quite satisfied at their choice of camp, despite the fact there was no roof to the building. As long as it did not rain, there could even be the opportunity for a good night’s rest.
“You are absolutely correct.” Octavian remarked, looking at the spit turning over the fire. “I am definitely amazed.” Kerian felt his face flush as he continued rapidly turning the spit over the flickering flame as if his life depended on it. Smoke rose from the charred, emaciated rabbit he had managed to stun accidentally with a rock thrown at its head, it’s spindly form a meagre mouthful for one grown man, let alone two.
“Was it already dying?” Octavian laughed. “I can only imagine it must have seen you coming and staggered out of the brush.” He crossed his eyes and pretended to hop over to Kerian in a last gasp fashion. “Oh, please Mr Kerian sir, please bash my brains in and make it quick so I don’t suffer.” He collapsed onto the bedrolls rolling in laughter, jerking his legs in the air and sticking his tongue out in a comical way. Kerian found he laughed as well and discovered the sound a pleasing one. It had been a long time since he had heard anyone laugh, let alone himself?”
“I would be more worried about which part you get?” Kerian smiled. “And I think because I am the chef and the mighty hunter, I should have the top end.”
“Luckily for you I thought to get some supplies.” Octavian replied walking over to their belongings and rifling through a saddlebag. The gypsy pulled out a squashed loaf of bread and a couple of root vegetables, holding them aloft like prize treasures. Then he paused and returned to the pack and retrieved a wineskin.
“We can make a good stew and have a drink at the same time!” he smiled. A long, lingering howl cut the air, causing Kerian to pause in turning the spit, the smile melting from his face. His free hand reached for a sword, only to realise once again that he had no weapon to use.
“It’s only wolves.” Octavian remarked. “Haven’t you ever heard wolves howling at the moon before?”
“Oh, I have heard wolves.” Kerian replied. “I have also heard and seen much worse. When I travelled upon the El Defensor I saw Scintarns.”
“What’s a Scintarn?” Octavian asked, kneeling down beside the fire pit and dropping a pan over the flame as he deftly peeled and chopped the vegetables. Kerian stared into space remembering the huge black hounds tha
t prowled the wreckage in the ship’s graveyard.
“Trust me you never want to find out.”
“You have never told me of this El Defensor. It is a grand name for a small fishing boat is it not?”
“The El Defensor is a Galleon, a huge ship.” Kerian replied. “Not the little ship I sailed into Wellruff aboard. We became separated and I have been trying to catch up ever since.”
“If such a vessel had been nearby, I would have heard of it.” Octavian responded. “Wellruff is a hive of gossip. It would have been on everyone’s lips if a ship that large had sailed through.” He looked over at Kerian who was still gazing sadly into space.
“There is someone special to you on that ship, yes?” Octavian watched as Kerian slowly nodded his head. “Do you love her?”
“More than words can say.” Kerian replied, a lump forming in his throat. “I would do anything for her and that is why I must catch up with those traders. They hold the means for me to track the ship and I will get it back.” Kerian’s face suddenly hardened as the warrior within him came to the fore. He blinked, then turned to Octavian, taking in the man’s flushed face and realised he had probably embarrassed his companion by confessing something so personal.
“Enough about Me.” He remarked, cutting the meat from the rabbit and dropping it into the pan with the sizzling vegetables. “What about my enigmatic travelling companion Octavian? Do you have any family to speak of and more importantly how do they put up with you?”
“I have a wife Ana and a four-year-old daughter Iolander. They are far away from here.” Octavian forced a smile as he poured a generous portion of wine into the pan and threw in a handful of red and orange spices. “They put up with me because I am an incredible cook.” He lifted the spoon and sniffed at the stew.
“When did you last see them?” Kerian questioned, interested in this turn of conversation.
“About a year ago.” Octavian replied, a tinge of sadness to his voice. “I had to leave them for their own protection.” He paused swallowing hard. “I have been trying to get enough money to go back to them but life is always putting obstacles in my way.”
“Like my amazing rabbit stew.” Kerian joked, taking the spoon away from Octavian and sniffing it himself before letting the lumpy mess slop back down. “I bet you would do anything for them too.”
“I already have.” Octavian replied, his hand drifting to his pocket and touching it for reassurance.
“Are they in the direction we are travelling? Maybe we could call and say hello?”
“I would not be welcome if they were.” Octavian replied. “I have not secured enough funds yet and would only put them in jeopardy.”
Kerian turned to his companion not sure how to take the reply and smiled.
“Maybe when this is all over, we can go and see them together.” He remarked. “If all goes well maybe I can help you with your shortfall.”
“I doubt it.” Octavian replied. “You have nothing of value that would help.”
“I don’t know.” Kerian smiled. “A minute ago, I had an anorexic rabbit on a stick. Now I have a stew. It is strange how life provides. You just have to have a little faith. Now whilst we wait for the stew, why don’t you pour me some wine and tell me where we are going.”
Wine in hand, the two men settled down nearer to the fire, the flickering flames casting shadows all around them. Another mournful howl echoed around the distant hills as Octavian leaned forward and poked at the fire with a stick.
“The whispering sands of the Vaarseeti desert are a perilous place to find yourself.” Octavian began. “I have travelled three deserts in my lifetime and know the code that a traveller requesting aid is rarely turned away in such hostile environments but this is not true in the Vaarseeti.” Kerian huddled a blanket around his shoulders suddenly feeling cold.
“The sands flow like liquid silver under the full moon and the winds ring trail bells topping poles set every five hundred yards to mark the caravan route that has been travelled for centuries. They say the route twists and turns, meandering like a slow river from one oasis to another, avoiding sinking sands and perilous wastelands. If someone asks for aid in this desert you need to turn away, for offering aid here is a weakness and it will ultimately cause your doom. You just have to stick to the trail, accept the rules and prepare to leave the Vaarseeti a changed man. The same can’t be said for the Provan Legion.”
“The Provan Legion.” Kerian raised an eyebrow. “I have heard of them but I thought it was a fantasy, a legend?”
“Oh no, the story of the Legion is real enough.” Octavian continued. “One thousand men went into the Vaarseeti and thought they could set off across the sands and cross the desert without following the trail. One thousand soldiers and all of their supplies disappeared without a trace searching for the lost city of Tahl Avan where they encase the dead in solid gold. Not a single survivor was found; the Legion lost, consumed by the whispering sands.”
“Why whispering sands?” Kerian asked, trying to suppress the feeling of supernatural chills across his body.
“Well.” Octavian hunched nearer to the fire. “They say when the winds blow just right the sand whispers the calls of the legion, still searching for each other to this day.” He cracked a smile. “You will see soon enough. I would hate to spoil the surprise. The stew looks about ready now.” They served the stew into bowls and ate slowly. Octavian grinning at the supernatural tale and Kerian thinking about a thousand troops lost in the desert. Kerian broke the silence first.
“Where did you learn to play music? I was impressed with your musical abilities back in Wellruff.”
“I learnt it from my grandfather.” Octavian replied waving a piece of bread in emphasis. “he had a violin that he played so beautifully it could make the hardest man cry, the stubbornest woman to tap her feet to dance and the most restless baby go to sleep. Some even said he could call up a storm with his playing.” Kerian stopped eating, his eyes suddenly intense at the tale.
“What happened to your grandfather?”
“The same thing that happens to everyone eventually. He died.” Octavian stated. “He stupidly picked a fight with a giant grizzly bear in the Forboding forest.”
“And the violin?”
“Passed down from father to son.”
“So your father has it?” Kerian pushed.
“No, he passed it down to his son as he had no skill with music.”
“So you have it.”
“Not anymore.” Octavian revealed. “It’s with my wife and daughter.” He stood up and walked over to Kerian collecting his bowl. It did not take much in the way of perception for Kerian to realise he had pushed a little too far. Something he had said had touched a raw nerve.
“There is a stream a way over beyond the rise. I’m going to clean the bowls and fill our water skins for the long journey ahead. I suggest you settle down and get some rest. Where we are travelling, the going is hard. I would hate to have to leave you behind.”
Kerian watched as Octavian disappeared into the shadows before settling back against his pack and closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of the night around him. The solitude descended upon him like a cloud, bringing dark thoughts at his temporary isolation. He missed the crew of the El Defensor and wondered what night sky they would be looking up at tonight. Closing his eyes, Kerian leaned back and let the sounds of the night embrace him. The hoot of an owl, the whistle of the wind through the gaps in the masonry, low neighs from the horses and the far-off howl of a wolf answered by another much closer to where he lay.
The howls came again closer; somehow more threatening now that he was alone. Kerian reached for a fist-sized stone and palmed it, then huddled down beneath his shield hoping it would serve to protect him if the worst were to happen. He suddenly felt cold and pulled the blanket tighter around him to try and ward off the chill as the sound of the wolves became more aggressive as the two animals located each other
and lay claim to their disputed territory.
Kerian looked up at the ruined spiral staircase climbing towards the heavens and tried to visualize Colette’s bright blue eyes and flirtatious smile looking back at him but even this failed to calm his jitters. He realised that the night was going to be a fitful one and he turned onto his side pulling the blanket up over his head, struggling to put out of his mind the image of one thousand soldiers marching to their doom, dying of thirst, their parched remains being swallowed by sands that whispered in the night. With a sigh he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
A shadow moved on the staircase high above him, a slim delicate form with jet black inky hair, smoky grey eyes and ruby red lips. She lay on the steps, one hand gently cradling her cheek, listening to the wolves fighting in the darkness, a solitary tear tracking down her pale face.
* * * * * *
Miguel Garcia tried to suppress the overwhelming urge to vomit as he stared open-mouthed towards the host of this macabre and terrifying dinner party, he had found himself invited to. He sat within a ruined dining room, the long tables and chairs warped and covered in decades of filth. Vegetation and mould sprouted from the walls, rubbish had collected in the corners and at the far end of the room the ceiling appeared to have collapsed. The whole room sat at a tilt, leaning to starboard, adding a greater sense of surrealism to the nightmare predicament that Miguel, as yet, could see no escape from.
Another spasmodic jerk from crewman Gordon made Miguel wince. Although Gordon had been a mediocre member of the sailing team, he certainly did not deserve the fate befalling him. The buccaneer desperately wanted to shut out the sights and sounds around him but instead fought the need to turn away from the scene being played out before him that apparently none of his other crew appeared to see. He knew with certainty that allowing his disgust to show would seal his own fate, despite the fact that his two lizard henchmen squatted down on either side of him looking distinctly unhappy and as if they were sucking on lemons as the monster sitting before them worked his sorcerous magic.
The Labyris Knight Page 24