by Emmet Moss
“Excellent, move us out. We have a long ride home,” the captain said as he staggered through the crowd. The assembled soldiers parted like a sea of tall grass in the prairies of the Drayenmark holdings. Gripping the reins of his horse tightly in one hand, Gavin pulled himself into the saddle. Without a glance behind at his fallen challengers, Brynne, Tel’Andros, or the lanky Orn, Gavin rode away towards the gate.
As the Fey’Derin wound their way through the town, they spoke only in hushed whispers. With a final look and wave towards the wounded but still breathing Orn Surefoot, Bider paused to dig into one of the saddle bags before he himself joined the slow moving column that made its way down the cobblestone road and into the wilderness.
With a smile, he hefted the silver flask high in the air and called out to his friend. “I’ll return it when you arrive at Galen’hide!”
Soon after, Bider exited the gates of Dragon Mount with the rest of the Fey’Derin company. He desperately hoped to see the old scout once more.
The esteemed Duke of Telmire, Lord Kirion Wales, had at one time predicted that the waystation for weary travelers known as the Crossroads would become one of the greatest cities of Caledun. Less than two decades would pass before the first cities of his nation succumbed to the advance of the Aeldenwood.
—Tel’Arena, ‘The Fall of Farraine’
Chapter XX
The Crossroads, Aeldenwood
Alessan spent the better part of the morning gathering his courage for the inevitable conversation with Corian Praxxus. No matter how often he played out the imagined dialogue in his head, he knew his words would be met with sarcasm and derision. Corian loved money, and the trip through the Aeldenwood meant increased profit. For the boisterous master merchant, that was reason enough to risk the dangers of the dark wood.
And so Alessan found himself in Corian’s opulent quarters. Truthfully, he welcomed the break from his duties working around the caravan’s foul smelling and ornery mules. The merchant’s space was a veritable palace compared to the cramped carts and worn pallets used by the teamsters. Beautiful draperies covered the large windows, lush gold-trimmed cushions adorned two large sofas, and the flatware that balanced precariously upon a beautiful wooden table was of pure silver. The total value of Corian Praxxus’ carriage alone could very well finance a lesser merchant’s train in its entirety.
Alessan ignored his plush surroundings and focused instead on the work ahead. Corian’s accounting records were quite lackluster in certain aspects, something Alessan found very odd knowing his employer’s eye for each and every detail concerning his business ventures. It was apparent that the previous manager of the man’s affairs had done a poor job. This might explain the current absence of both Vellix and Valorius, the two retainers Alessan had embarrassed when leaving for Glenvale the previous autumn.
“How go the figures, boy?” asked the large man as he maneuvered his enormous girth through the small entryway.
“Well, I’ve managed to clean up the latest batch of records you passed my way, but there remains some inventory inconsistencies between your master copies and those submitted by the Fisherman’s Bottle in the Haig. And that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the three companies you deal with in Relabeng,” Alessan paused as he searched briefly through a pile of red-marked parchments. Holding up a long piece of paper carefully crisscrossed with a myriad of newly inked red numbers, he passed it to Corian. “Ah, here it is. Miner’s Pick, Gidion Hall, and the Farmer’s Market. Something just doesn’t add up…”
Scanning the page with narrowed eyes, the big man shifted his weight and sat down heavily on the nearest sofa. “Bah, I always expect some skimming off the top, you know,” he growled. “But these numbers are obscene. There will be some hard questions asked to certain men I trust, and by Arne their answers better be to my liking.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Alessan said quietly.
“Don’t you apologize, young Oakleaf! There’s no shame in being an honest man, although in a trade that employs few of them, we had best keep you my secret,” Corian laughed.
“Well, that’s all I can look at this afternoon, Master Praxxus. Fingus will have my hide if I haven’t returned for my shift with the reins. He’s good-natured as long as he’s had his afternoon nap,” Alessan began organizing the dozens of scattered documents.
“Ah, I can appreciate your work ethic, lad. Very commendable indeed,” Corian answered. “We should arrive at the Crossroads this evening, and if time permits, you are welcome to dine late with me along with my aides.”
Catching the panicked look that briefly flashed across Alessan’s features, the merchant reached out to steady the young man. “Alessan? What is it?”
Shaking free from the merchant’s grasp, Alessan tried to pass off the slip, but Corian would have none of it.
“There’s something you aren’t telling me, Alessan Oakleaf, something that is obviously weighing on your mind. Now out with it.”
“I’m not sure it’ll do much good, sir. I think —”
“Enough!” Corian interrupted. “I said out with it.”
“Well… it concerns the events at the Lumber household.” Alessan began cautiously.
It was now the merchant’s turn to turn pale. Leaning back heavily into the plush pillows on his seat, Corian met Alessan’s searching gaze.
“Go on, lad.”
Clearing his throat, Alessan stammered over his first few words. “Well, you should know that I had a visitor the other night after we called a halt to the evening.”
“On the King’s Road, or at the homestead?”
“Here in the Aeldenwood. On the road, I mean.” Alessan clarified. Knowing full well how foolish his next words would sound, he nevertheless pressed on. “The man who visited me was the very same man who saved our lives in the wood that day. I believe he is of the Gorimm race.”
“I know not what you speak of,” Corian answered brusquely.
“But you do, sir!” Alessan exclaimed. “C’Aelis came to deliver a warning. Even now as we approach the Crossroads, so too does a large group of Gath. If we cannot turn the train northward, we will be overrun!”
“Madness! You speak madness, Alessan.”
“He spoke to you, Master Praxxus. He told me so.” Alessan continued desperately.
Corian Praxxus surged to his feet, his face a bright scarlet red. Alessan retreated against the rear wall of the carriage. The dangerous tint in Corian’s eyes terrified him.
“Don’t presume to tell me what I have done, or what has happened to me!” Corian shouted.
“We have to turn the train around,” Alessan said, cowering before the large man.
“We will do no such thing! Our profits lie to the south, and it is to the south we shall continue.”
“Inigan.” Alessan whispered quietly. “Inigan…”
For a brief moment, as his words pierced the red mist of rage that surrounded Corian, Alessan was sure he would be struck. With a look of murderous anger, the merchant raised a clenched fist. “How do you know that name?”
“C’Aelis told me.”
Corian’s eyes opened wide with shock, and as quickly as his temper had flared so too did all the menace retire, leaving in its wake the pale face of a tired and distraught man. He slumped back into his seat, his hand reaching for a goblet of wine. Clutching the glass, he downed the drink in one smooth gulp. Wiping a hand across his fleshy lips, he finally looked towards Alessan.
“Sir?” Alessan prompted.
“Inigan is my daughter,” Corian offered sadly.
“I’m sorry. I meant you no disrespect. It’s just that C’Aelis warned me that our time was short. I couldn’t remain silent.”
Corian shook his head, “We will speak of this further, Alessan, but I need some time to think. We will camp at the Crossroads tomorrow evening and
then, after consulting the Sylvani, I’ll make a decision.” He raised his hands quickly in an effort to ward off any protests before speaking with finality. “The decision is mine to make and I’ll hear no more from you. You’ve made your thoughts on the matter clear. Understood?”
Alessan nodded in agreement.
“And you will breathe no word about what has transpired here. Friendship will not save you if you do, lad,” Corian finished and turned away.
As Alessan left the carriage, he stole a final glance inside and saw the merchant from Innes Vale deep in thought as he gazed longingly out one of the side windows.
The Crossroads appeared suddenly out of the mid-morning gloom. A thick fog swirled around the caravan as the partially ruined buildings materialized from the mist like a ghostly mirage.
It was larger than Alessan had at first imagined. The Black Boar was Briar’s only inn, and yet here in the middle of the Aeldenwood, he made out the remains of two large inns in close proximity. The sagging buildings, albeit in terrible disrepair, still managed to dominate the trading stopover. Combined with a number of old shops and taverns, Alessan marveled at the size of the waystation.
As the caravan approached, even the tall spire of a Church of Arne appeared to tower over the nearby buildings. Fingus cackled like a man possessed as he watched the look of awe on his young riding companion’s face. Alessan was so swept up by the mysteriousness of the moment that he wasn’t bothered one bit.
As night fell, Alessan worked diligently at brushing down the animals and helping to shore up some broken timbers that the men were using as tethering posts for the pack mules and horses. All around him men and women were settling down for a quiet night’s sleep. The pace had been hard over the past week, and although a few small groups drank and talked loudly near newly lit fires, most of the workers preferred to grab what extra rest they could.
Alessan’s attention was only half on the task at hand as he kept constant watch on the foreboding treeline. Beyond the long abandoned structures, the darkness was absolute. His attempt to convince Corian Praxxus to turn the column around had proved to be futile. The Sylvani guard watch had been doubled, but the column wasn’t alerted to the potential of a Gath attack.
Alessan desperately wanted to speak with Corian. Twice that evening he found himself pacing frantically within view of the man’s large wagon. He wanted to plead once again and ask the merchant to flee north. A terrible sinking feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach, and somehow he knew that impending doom awaited the caravan.
Sleep was long in coming, and he tossed restlessly upon his bedroll. It was well past mid of night when he finally succumbed to weariness and nodded off.
Pure dread swept over him before he was even fully awake. Screams and cries of alarm carried from a distance as Alessan struggled into his clothes and woke his sleeping comrades. He could only wonder if the Gath had arrived to claim their harvest. Pausing only long enough to confirm that Fingus had risen from his drunken slumber, Alessan threw a cloak around his thin shoulders and leapt down from the wagon.
A scene of utter chaos greeted him.
Furiously rubbing his tired eyes, he watched as two Sylvani soldiers were brutally torn apart. Two black creatures remained crouched over the still twitching bodies. They were gruesome to behold; their bodies a mass of twisted bone and corded muscles. Their dark skin glistened in the firelight as they fed upon the still warm flesh of the slaughtered mercenaries.
In horror, Alessan realized that Corian’s confidence in the protection the mercenary company could offer had been terribly misguided. In the face of such a ferocious surprise attack, the Sylvani were no better off than the labourers who huddled with fear inside the numerous wagons.
C’Aelis knew. He tried to warn us… Alessan’s terror was overwhelming.
Already veteran soldiers were being overrun, even as the younger recruits fled for their lives. The officers tried to shout their orders over the din, but to no avail. The swarming Gath were everywhere, their talons rending flesh and armour as easily as cutting through dry parchment. Even the most determined of the soldiers could not resist the sheer number of creatures.
Alessan watched with revulsion as the beasts threw themselves brutally upon their prey. Many of the travelers had already dashed into the night, their weapons discarded in flight and comrades quickly forgotten. The bonds of brotherhood could only carry a man so far. The darkness of the dense wood encircling the Crossroads beckoned them all with the slim hope that they might live to see another day.
Many of the creatures had stopped to feed, allowing some of the men from the caravan to evade notice. Fingus mouthed a string of curses as he took in the scene and Alessan doubted if running was even worth the effort. They had invaded foreign territory, and the Aeldenwood, so careful in hiding its dark secrets, was exacting revenge for their arrogance. Corian Praxxus had ignored all warnings and allowed his caravan to continue along the King’s Road. The price for such vanity was now being paid in blood.
“By the gods, boy, it’s as if we’d strayed into a doorway to the Burning Lands.” Fingus said. His wrinkled gaze was frozen and his eyes failed to hide a feeling of utter horror.
As Alessan turned to acknowledge his companion, a spray of blood stung his eyes. In shock, he watched Fingus fall to his knees while clutching his severed neck. Diving hurriedly under the nearest wagon, Alessan closed his eyes as another creature leapt on the driver and pinned him down. He shut his eyes tight and turned away, but could do nothing to block out his friend’s shrieks.
For a long moment, Alessan awaited his own death. When he finally opened his eyes, he could do little but stare as the monstrous Gath continued to tear through the beleaguered ranks of the Sylvani and merchants alike. He watched as the oft-maligned Captain Pragg valiantly tried to rally a score of recruits near the center of camp. His gravelly voice could clearly be heard above the chilling screams. Against such overwhelming odds, Alessan doubted that much could be done. Would their defense only delay the inevitable?
The Gath continued to show little heed for their own lives as they threw themselves fanatically at the divided ranks of the Sylvani. The soldiers, accustomed to the ordered turmoil of a battlefield, could barely keep their defensive lines in check, let alone attempt any serious push to solidify their position. A multitude of fanged creatures boiled over from the surrounding wood, and as C’Aelis had warned, the denizens of the Aeldenwood showed no mercy for the trespassers of their shadowed realm.
Alessan jumped as another body, this one a young girl of maybe fifteen summers, crashed to the ground. He stared as a lithe and twisted Gath landed heavily on her chest, its claws sinking into her slight shoulders. Already wounded and in near hysterics, she lay paralyzed beneath the beast.
Fighting back his own mounting fear, Alessan imagined his own sister lying helplessly beneath such a creature and found a seed of courage he thought lost to the terror of the night. With a scream of rage, he charged forward. Spying a broken wooden spar from beneath Fingus’ body, he grabbed the makeshift weapon, and ignoring the fiery protests of his crippled arm, swung with all of his might.
With a tremendous thud, the wood cracked across the side of the Gath’s head and knocked the beast to the side. With a deafening shriek of pain, the creature rolled across the forest floor and lay still. Trembling, Alessan took no chances and brought his makeshift weapon down a second time, crushing its skull.
He turned back towards the girl he was trying to save. “It’s all right,” Alessan gasped. “That thing is dead… it can’t hurt you anymore.”
As he approached, the girl began to scream. She tore at her own hair and spun away from his outstretched arms. He watched helplessly as she staggered off into the darkness. Fear had claimed her, body and soul.
He turned back to survey the raging battle and searched for anyone who might be able to provide safety. Aachen Pragg was n
owhere to be seen amongst the surrounded Sylvani, and sadly the crumbling defense of the small pocket of mercenaries buckled under the next wave of attackers. It was only a matter of time before the line would disintegrate and all hope would be lost.
Having little choice but to enter the dark forest, Alessan laboured through the broken-down buildings of the ancient Crossroads. Frantic screams echoed in the night as he limped away. With the ominous treeline mere paces away, a cold chill gripped his heart. Blocking his passage were three Gath feeding on a body.
Crouched over the fallen soldier, the three creatures snapped and fought with each other over the choice portions of their quarry. Alessan couldn’t pull his eyes from the ghastly spectacle and found himself unable to move. As one of the smaller creatures was thrust violently aside by one of its brethren, he stood there helplessly as the beast finally took notice. With a low growl the Gath dropped into a crouch, its sinewy muscles tightening in anticipation.
Valiantly clutching his improvised weapon, Alessan braced himself for the inevitable charge; one he knew would surely overpower his weakened body. As the Gath pounced, its jaws opened wide and delivered an accompanying screech. He closed his eyes and desperately swung the spar with all of his strength. Stumbling as the weapon made no contact, he clenched his teeth and braced for impact.
Opening his eyes, he saw the Gath writhing on the ground at his feet with four blue-shafted arrows embedded in its chest. Spinning around, Alessan caught the quiet hiss of wind as a second flurry of arrows whistled past his ear and struck the remaining creatures. With shrieks of pain, the two Gath lurched forward and collapsed, their blood soon mingling with that of the slain mercenary.
“Arin and Daghan, forward positions! Lorne, remain next to me along with Master Praxxus,” rumbled a deep commanding voice.
“I want Master Oakleaf to stay with me, Caleb,” came a familiar voice, as Corian Praxxus stepped from the shadows of the nearest ruin with a dark look in his eyes. “And give him a decent weapon for Arne’s sake.”