Again, he made Molgrimin frown in confusion. Then the moinguir remembered, and he grinned at his own ignorance. Symbolism. Of course. They were speaking after their strange tradition, and words didn’t mean what they seemed to mean. Maybe now he’d be able to see some sense in what was being said.
“Truly, wizard? Or perhaps it is you who will come to some revelations. How is it that Nathelion has gotten you so convinced? How can he so easily toy with your mind? These ideas must have been yours to begin with.” Arisfae turned his smile to Nathan. “You are so cruel, Nathelion, to keep this charade up. When are you planning to tell them? Never? Surely, you cannot mean to keep this up forever. I guess you’ll sneak away one day.”
“Silence,” Nathelion said.
“Why is he so perturbed, wizard? Do you not wonder?” The bard chuckled. “Am I getting close to something?”
Alwarul sighed. “Nathelion no doubt grows as tired as I of your prater. It is simply no use to attempt to convince you; the world you think to know is all that your mind will permit. Unfortunately, there may yet come a time when you shall bear witness to things that raze your illusions, and with them, your safety. Unless you wisely decide to part from us.”
“It is verily as Alwarul says.” Nathelion straightened. “I do grow weary of your ignorance, Arisfae. Spare your breath for when you will...gasp upon realizing the truth.”
“My, my.” The bard laughed now. “I feel rather alone before the duo that you two make. These misunderstandings run deep! I must commend you, Nathelion. You have truly managed to fool this poor old man quite thoroughly, though I doubt if it makes you feel very good about yourself.”
“I can quite assure you, bard,” the wizard said, “the amusement is ours and the only misunderstandings here are your own.”
Molgrimin shook his head at the task of interpreting all that. He thought he had understood some of the exchange, however: Arisfae seemed to be commending Nathan’s courage, while Alwarul had praised the bard’s clear-sightedness, and there was much agreement on their happy understanding with each other. He was growing awfully lightheaded from trying to follow their conversation, though, and he began to feel a need for sleep. “I am going to awake,” he yawned, and he got up from the ground to seek a better spot farther down. He smiled when he felt their eyes on him, knowing that he must have impressed them with his quick adoption of symbolism. He hadn’t learned it all yet, of course, but when he lay down next to a large rock (it was small), he was very satisfied with his rapid progress. Damn it, it must’ve been symbolism that caused all those misunderstandings when I was questing... He smiled at the thought of how long he’d been ignorant. When sleep claimed him, however, his dreams held no such amusement.
In his dream, he was alone, still among the dark stones of the Hills. His companions were gone, and their fire was extinguished. Cold winds stirred the ashes. But those winds carried something that told him that he was not fully alone, that there was something...waiting for him. It bid him rise.
He frowned when he spotted a passage that he had not seen before and the cave that gaped at its end. He couldn’t say why he walked closer when the dream had the tint of a nightmare. He knew that he should run.
He heard the heavy, beastly breathing echo through the dark tunnel when he entered, walking to where shadows were broken apart and brought together. Somehow, he could still see, and he knew that the bones he trod over belonged to other warriors who had failed what he was failing as well. And yet it was not in him to balk.
The tunnel took him to a wide cavern that reeked of death and blood, and when he stepped into it, the bear was there to greet him. It stood in the darkness, the weight of muscle and fat making it as indomitable as the rocks, looming like a giant over him. The mere sight of its size took his breath away.
The beast’s deep, blood-red eyes regarded him hungrily, and Molgrimin could feel its amusement over the fact that he had found his way here. Fear began to pulse through his heart despite all his determination.
“I do not obey you, moinguir,” the bear said, its voice so strange and powerful, like a great spell echoing in his mind. “I do not obey anyone. I never have throughout the eons. My wrath is always unchecked.”
“Ye will obey me,” Molgrimin said quietly, and he knew that it would have to be true even as he uttered the words.
The bear chuckled and said in its dark voice, “I have wandered with warriors who could shape the lands and forge kingdoms with their steel, champions who lived unchallenged until finally great death was theirs — when their bodies were torn asunder and they fell in battle, as it must always be. Yet I have never been led. How do you think to command me? Have you found your twin?”
Molgrimin frowned. “I never had a twin.”
“Indeed,” the bear replied. “Can you find him?”
The mockery stung him in a harsh way, and he growled with anger. “Ye will obey me, beast.” He was not my twin...
The bear chuckled again. “You cannot threaten me, moinguir.” Its gaze locked on him, hard and piercing, and blood started to well up from a wound between its eyes. “You cannot slay me,” it said grimly. “You have not found your twin.”
Molgrimin roared, roared for the blood that the bear had spilled, roared as he charged to his death.
“He was my little brother!”
29
Symbolism
The next day, Conrad found that he was weary, having had little sleep. The Hills often appeared calm, but now they seemed too calm. Goats could usually be spotted throughout the days, climbing upon some cliffs from which they would look upon the passersby below. Or a great cat would be heard snarling distantly, its loud scream perhaps echoing down one passage or another. Yet the sounds that had met them in their first day had been strange to the place that Conrad knew. And the thing they had seen...
Tim hadn’t been the first to spot it. Conrad had watched it in silence as it had soared majestically across the sky, a shadow that seemed to be of an impossible size for anything made to fly. He had known at once that it was no eagle, though its great wings had reminded him of one. Yet what had it been? Would he acknowledge that it had seemed to have... He couldn’t believe he was thinking it, but it had seemed to have had four legs.
Such fool thoughts were with him when they rode again in the morning and in the day, away from the Razor Heights and farther into the Savage Hills. He rode first, thankful that the others would not be able to see his concern. He could not let go of the image of that creature even though it had been little but a dark silhouette against the clouds. He had seen all kinds of wild predators in his time. But this thing, whatever it had been, had been the strangest. He was sure that it was a predator, and he could not shake the feeling that they had been...fortunate when it had passed from sight.
Worse, it made him remember Haeigwyn’s words, and he could hear the man cackling madly in his memory. “You are a sensible man, Conrad, and your mind shall know my words for madness,” the wretched leper had said. “Yet your heart shall be filled with fear and uncertainty as you embark upon your journey, and then you will reluctantly come to consider what I have told you — until your resolve against these delusions is brought to pieces.”
No doubt, the man would laugh his sickly heart to a stop in that tower if he knew what thoughts occupied Conrad’s mind now. Yet he could not let go of his words and the warning that the living corpse of his friend had spoken: “Karnc knows that you will be coming.”
His only relief from the sense of foreboding that Haeigwyn had managed to instill in him lay in the sheer ridiculousness of his account. Of course there wasn’t a bloody moose that walked about as a man and stalked down scouts. Gods, but he could smile at that, at least.
Yet as he looked upon the cliffs and the high ledges above them, at the outcrops of stones and brown, frozen tufts of grass, no longer did he know what he sought. Regardless of what it was, he found nothing save silent ghosts that stirred the trees and the bushes, whispering of empt
iness and abandonment.
He felt watched.
Always in those silent passages of granite and dead vegetation, he felt watched, as if some observers followed their slow advance from the heights and from the many shadows among the rocks. It was driving him mad. For he knew the dangers of the Hills, the beasts that lurked here and the savages who would often try to pass into the Harp.
The barbarians were able to conceal themselves among the craggy rocks, but they were no specters for all that. If they were following the party even half as incessantly as he imagined, he’d have spotted them. He should’ve been able to put the idea out of his head, he knew — yet the invisible eyes would not leave him.
The others didn’t show it if they felt the same. Perhaps they discarded the sense as the nerves of one visiting the Hills for the first time, or perhaps they simply didn’t share his madness — not having listened to Haeigwyn’s rants. They talked with each other instead, and Conrad only occasionally found himself listening in on them when he managed to ignore his own misgivings out of sheer frustration.
“Now, great Chosen One, when is it that you will slay this sinister goddess who threatens the world?” the bard asked of Nightshadow, having harassed him with similar questions for some time. “I just want to know so I don’t miss it.”
The blademaster answered very stiffly, with a sharp undertone of anger in his voice, “Soon as we find her.”
“You don’t know when, and you don’t know how...?” the singer asked. “You are beginning to seem such a poor Chosen One.”
Conrad wasn’t sure what that was about, but the singer was clearly passing his time mocking Nathelion for Alwarul’s description of him. Nightshadow didn’t hold to the madman’s convictions, of course, but he seemed to play along with the role as a kindness to the old man. Therein lay the bard’s humor, no doubt, since he could pry and pry and the blademaster would need to answer in some way that satisfied the old lunatic’s delusions. Nathelion didn’t seem to appreciate the singer’s joke, and his vexation was becoming increasingly clear. If it came to a fight between them, Conrad wouldn’t bet a rotten egg on the bard’s chances against the duelist of Savu. Luckily for the singer, Nathelion seemed very slow to violence.
“So, how did it first become clear to you that you were chosen?” Arisfae continued. “Was there a booming voice in the sky that informed you? Or did you have some mighty, recurring visions that compelled you to abandon your old life? Perhaps it was just a strong, intangible feeling that drove you without you knowing why?”
Nightshadow didn’t answer. The bard seemed oblivious. If he succeeded in rousing Nightshadow’s aggression, Conrad figured that they would at least have another spare horse.
They reached the Shattered Spear around midday, the mighty and broken peak rising higher than the other hills around it, showing them that they had made good progress. They stayed briefly there, eating small portions of their supplies without the need for a fire, and then they continued onwards, swifter still. He didn’t like delaying here. As soon as he was out of his saddle and no longer on his way, the unseen eyes seemed to grow in number until he couldn’t bear to remain at any one place. He almost felt hounded by them, even when he knew that they were not there at all. He soon forgot that unease, however, when he saw smoke ahead. He cursed silently.
“What is it?” Tim asked before he too saw the plumes that climbed towards the sky. “Barbarians?”
“You’ll find few natural fires in the Hills, I’m afraid,” Conrad said. “They are right in our path.”
The others rode up. “What do we do, then?” Nathelion asked.
“We let the Chosen One deal with them,” Arisfae quipped too loudly.
“You better shut up now, singer,” Conrad snarled. “Sounds tend to carry here. Make sure it’s not your dying screams the cliffs pick up.”
“You are certain that these are the clansmen?” Alwarul asked.
“They bloody wouldn’t be scouts,” Conrad answered. “Hopefully, it is just a small band.” They were more likely to make fire when they were many, though. If there were barbarians along their route, as he had hoped there wouldn’t be... “We ride around,” he decided, “and hope that there are no more of them.”
“Ride around?” Arisfae asked with disappointment. “Why do we not slay them? You can’t sing of someone hiding from his enemies.”
“We ride around them,” Conrad repeated. He didn’t want these delays, but in order to go unnoticed in the passages, they would need to make a long path around the encampment lest sounds betray their presence.
“Very well,” Alwarul said, correcting the grip on his staff. “Let us try to avoid these clansmen.” He almost sounded reluctant.
They rode on through the passage and turned southwest, passing over stony ground where the sounds of the hooves grew painfully sharp to his ears. The smoke placed the fires far enough away to let them continue without risking detection, though, and they soon left those gray plumes behind. The darkness was heavy around them by then, and their progress not at all as he would have wished. The late hour demanded that they make camp. Conrad soon picked a spot above one of the passages, one well hidden by any who would pass below.
He decided against a fire despite how uncomfortable it made him at the thought of the eyes watching. Without the light from a proper fire, the darkness was impervious, and the shadows became like pitch upon the ground and the mountainous slopes.
They huddled among the stones and ate quietly, though the dwarf sat farther away up the slope, speaking with Tim. Conrad grimaced at that. His squire seemed to have become far too influenced by their companions, like were they making him their bloody disciple. He imagined that he’d have to beat it out of him once they were free of Alwarul’s madness if the boy was ever to become a knight. Timothy was able enough with the sword and a good rider as well. He’d also gotten his first kill now and, with it, a sense for real battle, if not a taste. This spoke well for him. His inclination to dream of magic and monsters, however, did not. I thought I had taught him better. Knights do not fight dragons.
“The barbarians...” Nathelion said at last, breaking their frail silence. “If they are as many as word has it—”
“If they are, then we would be very unlucky to have them in our way,” Conrad replied without letting the man finish. Haeigwyn did not mention barbarians on our route, he thought before chastising himself. Pick and choose from a madman’s ramblings, will you? “They would be able to cover the whole stretch we are attempting to move along if they were here in such numbers. Usually, they have one or two large encampments and then hundreds of small groups spread around them, giving them eyes everywhere.”
“Oh, what a precarious situation, then,” Arisfae mused. “Do we need to slay anyone who spots us?”
Undoubtedly, Conrad thought grimly. There was no running from the savages once they saw you. They’d alert their kin and hound you down like dogs in the Hills, taking from your corpse whatever there was of value. That included your head if you were an important enemy, and they’d then make it a trophy to win recognition among their fellows. Conrad had seen many a friend from the Order decorating the barbarians’ campsites like grim totems.
“I do see the beginnings of a song.” Arisfae smiled at the silence that settled. Then he turned to Nightshadow with a smirk. “Perhaps the Chosen One will smite our foes with the power of Hyahiera?” The man spoke as if he had no clue of the blademaster’s prowess, which, perhaps, he did not. Conrad didn’t care about the singer’s confusion, though, only his idiocy.
“We will avoid confronting the savages as much as possible. If we manage to get through the Hills without encountering danger, then there’s your song.” He decided to speak with Tim of the risks instead of bandying words with the fool. He would have to prepare the boy for an encounter with the barbarians and tell him what tactics to expect. And more than anything, he had to make sure Tim knew not to hesitate. Hesitate, run, and you were dead. They’d be like sta
rved wolves getting the taste of the hunt. When Conrad turned to look for his squire, Tim was gone, and the moinguir — Mollwyn, was it? — sat alone upon the dark slope.
He frowned, but he wouldn’t shout here. Instead, he climbed up to the dwarf and asked him in a quieter tone, “Where’s Tim?”
Mollwyn thought a moment and then he pointed into the darkness to one side, down a shadowy passage. “He went that way. Said he wouldn’t see to the horses.”
Conrad blinked in surprise. “What?”
“I said, he went that way, and he mentioned that he wouldn’t see to the horses.”
It sounded completely unlike Tim. Had he suddenly gone rebellious? What had the dwarf put into him? Conrad smiled through his teeth at the moinguir. “He went that way?”
“Aye, that he did,” Mollwyn confirmed.
By the hells, then what is the brat up to? Walking away in the bloody Hills! Conrad turned and stalked after his squire with angry steps. The Savage Hills were always dangerous, and by night, any number of perils could sneak up on the unaware.
He climbed down the passage that Mollwyn had pointed out, and everywhere, there were shadows and deeper shadows, with rocks rising cold and thick around him. “Tim,” he snarled silently into the darkness. “Tim!”
Only silence met his calls, and sighing winds that gusted among the cliffs. He started to feel the eyes on him again, and he realized that he had gone far from camp. He couldn’t see the dwarf anymore or the stones where the others were eating. His view was obscured by the twisting passage and its rising blocks of stone. Conrad cursed softly, suddenly feeling very intensely watched — from the shadows, from all around — and the hairs of his neck rose as a cold shower of apprehension washed over him. “Tim!” he growled, louder now, but there was still no answer. Damn the boy! He couldn’t walk back without him.
He continued carefully down the passage. Was there something there? His hand itched for the sword even though he always made it a habit not to unsheathe the weapon unless he intended to use it. Yet the eyes kept following him. “Tim?” he whispered, peering about in darkness. Then he heard something. It was a soft clatter of rocks by one of the stones to the side. He turned towards the sound at once and tried to see anything that could have caused it, but the murkiness made everything unclear.
The Unchosen: Book One of The Queen Beyond Page 30