by Pemry Janes
“At least you did not lose anybody else in the attempt, Captain Slyvair.” Senan Aldhoub shook his head before giving Lord Hooghturen a hard look. “Now, I have funerals to organize. I hope I have allayed all your concerns?”
The Irelian nobleman looked at the camp, at Slyvair, and his eyes roamed over Leraine, then studied Rock for a moment before peering past them. At what, she could not say. Perhaps the Woudanesee, though it could not be seen from here. Perhaps he was afraid they’d been followed and he was looking for elves.
“Very well, as long as you do not try to make any more forts on my lands, I will leave you to your business. Though you should leave dealing with elves to me and my men, as we have the experience needed when you deal with those creatures. I advise you, master dwarf, to pay your toll next time. You will find your travels to be much safer.”
He did not say his farewells, and gave not so much as a nod before turning his back to them all and walking back to his horse. Soon, the nobleman and his retinue rode off heading east.
“I don’t pay for nothing, longleg.” The murmured words were in Senan Aldhoub’s own language, Leraine doubted she was supposed to have heard them.
***
There had been four funeral pyres, one each for Marko and the two drivers, and the fourth for the elves. It had taken them all day to gather the wood needed, and the fires had burned all night. The next morning, Eurik had buried the ashes of that fourth pyre without ceremony while the others’ remains were collected. They would be brought with them to be handed over to their families.
Nashri’s remains, however, were to be treated differently. Ghajir had explained the customs to him. Dwarves didn’t burn their dead; they buried the corpses whole in the ground. Though they did take the precaution of using a coffin that it couldn’t escape from, should the worst happen. The other matter, the reason Ghajir had approached him, was the headstone.
It looked back at him now as Eurik scrutinized his work. He’d never actually done something like this, but he was happy with the results. He’d pulled the stone up from deep within the earth, hard granite that would last a long time. And he had sculpted it in Nashri’s image. He had given the statue Nashri’s armor and bow, had given it his face and height.
Now this stone memory marked and guarded the spot Nashri’s body had been buried. He could still sense the coffin beneath his feet, an almost-square box without lid or seam. Should some demon ever find its way to his remains, he would be trapped in that box forever.
“Very good work, I say.” Ghajir scrutinized some detail on the statue’s belt. “If his family decides to retrieve his body, I have no doubt that they will want to bring this memory back as well.”
“You could have simply asked me to. There was no need for another contract.”
Ghajir turned his dark eyes on Eurik. “Of course there was. This certainly wasn’t covered in the original agreement. You don’t simply ask for something like this; it must be done right.”
With nothing to say, Eurik only nodded before making his way to the waiting wagon. Ghajir moved to another where he would take the reins himself. Eurik slipped Misthell’s baldric on and let his weight settle on his back.
The wagon began to move, but his eyes lingered on the clearing, on the statue he’d erected there.
Chapter 11
A Role to Play
Two weeks it took them, two weeks where nobody could let their guard down, two weeks where the memory of the elves’ attack hung over them all like a dark cloud, two weeks to reach the small town of Vindalen where Eurik would part ways with the caravan.
“I hold our contract fulfilled,” Ghajir said as he handed over the metal plate.
Eurik inclined his head; Silver Fang had coached him on this. “I hold our contract fulfilled.”
The dwarf nodded repeated the ritual with Silver Fang, though he didn’t leave right after. “You are certain I can’t entice you to another contract?”
She shook her head, bestowing a small smile on the dwarf. “Yes, Eurik has a need for answers and I am curious as well. We will try to enter Vanha Forest.”
“Better be careful.” Gerd sat on his horse nearby, not wearing his helmet for the first time in two weeks. “Never heard of the Immortal hurting anybody he didn’t want to see, but those down-heads sometimes wander east.”
“We will make sure to stay well away from the Woudanesee.” Eurik still looked like he couldn’t decide between crying or punching something when the subject of elves came up.
Gerd’s horse was restless and he had to rein it in. “See that you do. And good luck to you.” The other mercenaries added their own well wishes.
“Yes.” Slyvair’s voice rumbled like far-off thunder. “May you find what you seek.” With those words he spurred his horse and rode away to the head of the caravan.
His men followed, though Perun shouted something as he rode off on his pony. It was in Irelian of course, and Eurik found his pronunciation impenetrable. “What did he say?”
“That is between me and the boy,” Silver Fang said before Misthell could say anything. She looked up at the sun hanging high in the sky. “Come, I do not think we will make it all the way to the forest, but we should be able to reach the Elodrada before nightfall.”
The wagons rattled as they set off, driving onward to the village before them. Some of the drivers waved as they passed, and Eurik returned the gesture. “Should we camp so close to the river?”
“Look around you. Can you see what is different?”
Frowning, he did so. Like almost every settlement he’d seen so far, it had fortifications. This one had an earthen wall covered in grass with a stockade on top. The timbers it was made from were square and looked worn. There was a ditch, but the bridge over it couldn’t be raised.
There was some sort of castle made from stone sitting on a hill to his left away from the town, but he saw nobody standing on its wall. The only guards he saw were standing at the gate and seemed mostly concerned with the caravan.
There were some people working in the fields around them, but there was something different about them. He realized they weren’t looking at the travelers passing them by. When they’d gotten near villages in the Scindian Range everybody had looked—they kept an eye on the caravan. Here, their presence didn’t raise an eyebrow.
“There is no fear here.”
Silver Fang chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that, but they aren’t expecting an attack at any moment. If they do not expect attack, I don’t think we should either. At least on this side of the river.”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful,” Eurik said.
She snorted and started walking. “Of course not. I’m always careful.”
The road had become stone again about a day ago, but now they left it and followed a path winding its way south through the fields of ripening barley, green cabbages, and other crops Eurik didn’t recognize. He’d probably read about them, but that wasn’t the same, he’d discovered. Many of the fields had a tree or two on one end and all had hedges made from thorny shrubbery if the road got even near their borders.
The path they were on was sandy and ran a little lower than the fields around them as the wear and tear of countless feet, hooves, and wheels had worn it away. It eventually led them past the fields and into a forest. Somewhere in the distance, Eurik could hear the steady tattoo of an axe biting into a tree trunk and his nose caught a whiff of burning wood.
Through the trees, there was the occasional glimpse of a dwelling: squat, small affairs surrounded by other structures and fenced-off fields. They had to move off the road to let a wagon pass that was going back to Vindalen, and the driver ticked his floppy cap as he drove past. His wagon was filled with blackened logs, charcoal.
On they walked, the sounds of woodcutting disappearing behind them as the sun began to lose strength. The path narrowed, and grass grew in between the ruts, which turned shallow before they disappeared altogether. The forest didn’t get quiet; bird
s sang among the leaves rustling in the wind. Their own gear creaked and tinkled in time with their step.
When they reached the Elodrada at last, it looked different. Here, it wasn’t so wide or as deep as it was further west, and the occasional boulder stuck out of the water. On the other side, tall grass rippled like waves on the ocean with solitary trees dotting the landscape. Their trunks were twisted, their leaves dark.
Beyond that was a green haze on the horizon with the Wall towering above it all. “Vanha Forest,” Silver Fang said. Her eyes swept up and down the stream.
“You think I will get my answers there?”
“I think that will depend on your questions.”
“And whether or not the Immortal will see us,” Eurik said.
They made camp away from the river, their meal nowhere near as tasty as he had grown used to in traveling with the caravan. But that thought only led to Ceran, which led to his failure. So he ate without tasting and concentrated on tomorrow and its possibilities. If he did get his answers, what then?
Surprised, Eurik found that he wasn’t certain. Going back home should be the obvious answer, and yet . . . he looked at his friend, and the forest around them. He wasn’t sure he was ready.
***
“How’s the water?” Misthell rested atop the bundle Eurik held above his head. His pack, his boots, and his clothes were all kept well away from the rushing water that pushed against his legs.
“Not too cold,” he said as he took another careful step. Earth chiri could only offer some assistance in this situation, the river washing away the energy the moment his foot lost contact with the bottom. He didn’t dare to turn to see how Silver Fang was doing but asked, “How are you doing?”
Her bundle was heavier than his. For one, he wasn’t wearing any armor. “Do not worry about me, Rock.” He had offered to carry some of it, but her only answer was a look that had grown uncomfortable quickly.
Nodding, he continued, moving from one boulder sticking out of the water to the next. They offered some support and shelter against the currents. Muscles burning, shivering from the cool water, they reached the other side. But when he set his foot down among the grass, it sank into the ground; murky water oozed between his toes.
“Don’t you dare to put me down here,” the living sword said.
He pulled his foot back, but his next attempt found little better footing. “I won’t. Wish I didn’t have to put my own feet down.”
Silver Fang joined him with little more luck. “Now we know why nobody lives here. It’s a moor,” she said. She looked toward the horizon. “From here to Vanha Forest, I fear.”
Eurik shook his head in disbelief. “You didn’t know about this?”
“This is far from home and I’ve never traveled in this region. You didn’t either, and you’ve boasted frequently of how you grew up in a library.” She sighed, then nodded toward Vanha Forest. “Come, might as well keep going. It would take even longer to get back and around this.”
They went on, feet sinking into the soft, wet soil while insects hummed and buzzed around them. A bird twittered at one point; it sounded as if wanted to warn them away. “I somehow doubt everybody who goes to see the Immortal takes this route.”
“They probably go south on the Road until they can approach Vanha Forest from the east.”
Tracing that path out in his head, Eurik nodded. “This is quicker.” It was also tiring; there was no earth chiri to strengthen his body and the ground only let go of his feet reluctantly.
“I begin to have my doubts,” Silver Fang said, staggering as the ground kept a stubborn hold on her left foot.
It took hours, and the sun had passed its highest point and was dipping down the horizon when they came across another stream. The other bank was wet clay that gave their feet and lower legs a thick coat of gray paste, but then they found solid ground. Every step left a clear footprint on the warm grass.
Grabbing thick bundles of the greenery, they started to scrub it all away. Afterward, Eurik didn’t bother with his boots when he redressed and neither did Silver Fang. Twilight had set in and Vanha Forest was hard to spot now, so they camped in place around a meager campfire.
The next morning, he saw it right away. It was hard to miss. The trees of Vanha Forest rose up and up, and they not only dwarfed their scrawnier cousins Eurik and Silver Fang had passed yesterday, but even the trees of the Woudanesee.
When they got closer, the trees looked more like towers to Eurik, straight trunks covered in reddish bark that were devoid of branches for the first dozen paces, after which it looked more like trees growing out from the tree rather than branches.
“I have heard that these trees were made by him,” Silver Fang said. “That they will not grow anywhere else.”
“Then what about the tale of Belije?” Misthell’s voice was clear. “He stole a Rott Ruus sapling and it grew. Grew so fast and got so big, it lifted the entire town into the sky. For thirty years, they did not need to fear attack from man or elf.”
Silver Fang frowned. “I have never heard of this Belije or a town in a tree. Where is it?”
“Well, eventually the Immortal found out and he wasn’t pleased. As punishment, he bespelled the tree and made it move into the Woudanesee. Nobody ever heard of the village or its inhabitants ever again. The story never says what the village is called, though it was somewhere in the Neisham Hills. We might have passed it on our trek.”
“Or it never happened,” Silver Fang said.
Misthell could not shrug, but made an attempt at it anyway by twisting his blade in the scabbard. “Who knows? I only know the tale.”
“The Immortal would know,” Eurik said. “We won’t find out what he does and does not know by staying here.”
They rounded the tree and found a game trail that wound its way into the forest, but they didn’t get far before Eurik stopped abruptly.
Silver Fang was behind him and stopped as well. “What is it?”
“Something’s off.” His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what his senses were telling him. “The earth chiri, it is . . . shifting. Not here, but I can feel it moving around us.”
“And it normally does not move?”
“No.” He sighed in frustration. “It’s the way it moves. There are ripples and streams, that’s normal, but this feels like . . . like . . . It is as if we are walking on a street and the stones are rearranged around us by an invisible force. I can’t tell where we are.”
“For days they wandered among the trees,” Misthell recited in a hushed tone. “The path turned left, left, and left again, yet never did it cross itself. They forged ahead, with the sun on their right at every turn, but only needed three steps back to leave the forest.”
Silver Fang looked up. “I do not see the sun and no moss grows on any of these trees. We will have to trust that the Immortal will see us. Or let us go if he does not.” She did not look any happier than Eurik felt about those options.
Whatever magic affected the forest, it didn’t disturb the creatures calling it home. A bird chirped, something rushed through the ferns as they walked deeper into the woods, and Eurik got a glimpse of a red-furred chipmunk scrambling up a tree trunk.
It looked like an ordinary forest, sounded like it, smelled like it, but his other sense told him something very different. Pressure built up behind his eyes as his brain futilely tried to make sense of the nonsensical.
Rounding another tree, Eurik found himself standing at the edge of a large clearing dominated by a sprawling house of cut stone. Chickens clucked so loudly he wondered how he couldn’t have heard them sooner, while smoke drifted up from two of the five chimneys; he hadn’t smelled that a moment ago, either.
The house didn’t look like any other Eurik had come across in his travels so far, though there were elements that did look familiar. The roof, for example, looked like the ones he had seen yesterday in Vindalen, slanted and covered in dark roof tiles that reflected the light of the sett
ing sun as it filtered through the trees.
There were a few smaller trees on his right, ripening apples hanging from their branches. A long-tailed carrier-swift squawked as it approached the house and flew into a hole underneath the roof.
Someone got up from a crouch in the stick-fenced garden, rubbing the dirt off his hands before raising one in greeting. “Hello there,” the man called out as he approached them. He was small, only slightly taller than Ghajir, and he had a dark complexion. The man’s dress was familiar enough; Eurik had seen its like plenty yesterday when they’d passed the fields.
This was not the person he expected to find. Patheos, his sesin . . . both wore their age, and he could see wisdom in their eyes. But this man looked so ordinary. He wasn’t much older than Eurik and there was no ageless look in his eyes. It should be there, because this had to be the Immortal; he didn’t see anybody else and he was the only person who lived in Vanha Forest. Eurik bowed to him. “It is an honor to meet you.” Next to him, Silver Fang echoed his greeting.
“You took an interesting route to reach me.” He smiled as he confirmed his identity. His hands rested on his back.
“It looked smarter on the map,” Silver Fang said with a note of chagrin.
“And yet most people don’t go traipsing through the fen to reach me. But that,” he continued, the amusement gone from his expression, “is not the sole reason that got you admitted to my little getaway.” The Immortal’s eyes rested on Misthell and he held his right hand out. “May I?”
Eurik only hesitated for a moment before drawing Misthell and handing it over. “Do you recognize it?”
“I do.” He held it up and examined the markings on the blade. “One of my better failures, but a failure nonetheless.”