by Emmet Moss
“I’m not sure I’d have believed my tale had I been in your position, Master Praxxus. It hardly seems fair to put the blame on anyone but the Gath,” added Alessan, a poor attempt at sympathy crossing his tired face.
“You know you could never be a businessman, Alessan,” Corian said.
“How do you mean, sir?”
“You’re too damn honest and too damn nice,” Corian replied. “My business associates would have found every way to blame me for this catastrophe, and yet here you sit, cold and hungry, remaining a gentleman. There would be a knife in my back and foreign hands deep in my pockets before my contacts would have shown me such undeserved kindness.”
“My mother would demand no less, Master Praxxus,” Alessan shrugged, somewhat embarrassed by the kind words.
“Well you do her proud, lad, you do her proud.”
“You know she doesn’t hate you,” Alessan added after a moment of reflection. “It’s just that she changed so much after my father passed, and I think she’s afraid to lose anyone else.”
“Oh, I understand. Inigan is my daughter, and yet to her I was never really much of a father. I bought her things and kept her fed and sheltered, but I don’t know anything about her. What she likes, what she dreams of, who she really is. It’s a regret I’ve always had and have always said I would repair,” Corian finished quietly.
“How old is she?” Alessan asked.
“Well, she would be nearing her twentieth summer I think, but finding her to wish her well is another problem in itself,” Corian responded. “Was he a good man, your father?” the merchant asked boldly.
“That he was,” Alessan smiled warmly. “You know, he never once acted like I was a ba’caech. He would take me out with him to cut wood, to show me the Lumber camps, and was always so proud to tell the men that I was his son. When I was with him, no one treated me like a disappointment.”
“He was well respected then?”
“In Briar there are only a few traits that define a man’s worth; strength and stamina. My father was a champion in both,” Alessan answered proudly. “Every Festival of Mach’nach —”
“Mach’nach? Hmm, like the old seat of power for Caledun.” Corian struggled with the unfamiliar word.
“The Festival of Midsummer’s Eve,” Alessan explained. “The Guild would hold various contests of strength, and Kayla and I would watch father win every year. He was proud, but never boastful of his accomplishments. I’m sure he learned that from my mother,” Alessan added. “She was proud in her own way I guess, but didn’t enjoy all the attention.”
“Well it sounds like he was a good man and you’re much the better to have spent time with him,” Corian mused.
“Aye, he was the best,” Alessan whispered. Awash with a sudden flood of poignant memories, Alessan and Corian sat quietly with only the sound of the Aeldenwood’s many creatures breaking the stillness.
With the darkness still upon them, Corian struggled to his feet. Alessan followed suit, and after a brief discussion as to which direction they should head, the two exhausted men embarked on the next leg of their journey. The woods remained quiet as the two travelers headed in what they hoped was a southerly direction. Their earlier flight had taken them far from the familiarity of the King’s Road. At least by heading south they knew that each step could only bring them closer to escaping the tangled undergrowth of the Aeldenwood.
For the better part of that long night, everything proceeded as planned. The two travelers even came across a much needed cache of wild mushrooms. Ignoring the thin layer of dirt that covered the stalks, Alessan devoured his portion with unmatched zeal. As he contently licked his fingers, he swore it was the best meal of his entire life. Corian also showed no hesitation even though the wealthy merchant was accustomed to far superior fare. At that moment, within the eerie splendour of the Great Wood, no better feast could have been offered.
It was after their meagre meal that an incredible realization struck the young man from Briar. Alessan had inexplicably become captivated by the strange forest. He was well aware of its horrors, but now it was its haunting beauty that had revealed itself. He found it a shame to have lived so close to such a mysterious place without ever having sought its hidden treasures. He found himself imagining a time when the forest trails were defended by the tree tenders of old, the long vanished Gorimm.
The Aeldenwood was said to have been a fantastical place of light, music, and beauty. For it to have fallen into such darkness pulled at Alessan’s heart and his memories of those brief meetings with the stranger C’Aelis suddenly rushed to the fore. If they met again, he was determined to ask the Gorimm the many questions that riddled his mind.
As faint tendrils of light harkened the coming dawn, Alessan and Corian found themselves confronted by an interesting quandary. Somehow throughout the night, the two had wandered across an old trail. In front of them now lay two choices: a partially overgrown road branching off to their left and an equally unattractive path to the right. Still muddled after their harrowing escape, both men had little confidence in either of the two directions. With the heavy forest covering overhead blocking out the sky, determining where the sun rose was impossible. Their choice would be based on a whim and nothing more.
In the end Corian determined, in his mind at least, that the path to the left bore some signs of fresh passage and deemed it in their best interest to follow it. Alessan shrugged and followed as either choice was preferable to returning the way they had come. After a brief stop to harvest a small patch of edible roots, they trekked onward with their spirits higher than expected after all that had transpired.
It was midmorning when they came across the first corpse. With his heart pounding, Alessan bent down to examine the body of a young Sylvani soldier. The mercenary lay face down on the edge of the narrow road, his limbs bent in unnatural positions. Carefully rolling the body over, Alessan frowned at the lack of noticeable injury. A small amount of blood had splattered over the man’s uniform, but only the twisted shape of his neck could explain his demise. With weapons missing, including his scabbard, Alessan wondered what might have befallen the man.
Corian cleared his throat and Alessan looked upward. The merchant was staring into the large branches bent over the woodland trail. There, high in the tree, were the dangling outlines of a bow and quiver. Upon further examination, a sword hilt could also be seen jutting above the side of the nearest branch.
“The man fell?” Alessan asked.
“Aye, and a shame at that,” Corian nodded. “He must have scampered up to hide from any pursuers. To have survived the battle only to…” the last words were left carefully unspoken.
“Could the Gath be nearby?”
“A question we should do our best to leave unanswered. But look, he’s of a size with you, albeit heavier.” Corian motioned towards the soldier. “Where he is now, he can’t possibly be in need.”
“You’re right,” Alessan said reluctantly.
As Corian stripped the body bare, Alessan clambered nimbly into the overhead branches to reclaim the lost weaponry. He could still do little to shake the feeling that somehow he was stealing, an inappropriate act to be sure. Corian wouldn’t hear of it, and knowing full well that the equipment would be useful, Alessan donned the armour. The leggings were somewhat long and the chest covering was a tad loose even after much tightening and fidgeting by both men, but an improvement it was.
Standing awkwardly in the trappings of the Sylvani, Alessan was surprised when Corian passed him his ornate gold dagger.
“I don’t want to hear it, Alessan,” the merchant cut off any objections. “You have an empty scabbard at your side. Just hold on to it until it’s needed,” he added.
Alessan slipped the weapon into his belt, the blade sliding in as if made for the scabbard. As his hand brushed the hilt a slight shiver traveled through his body, the sensation l
ifting the hairs on the back of his neck. He tried to shake the chill, and yet for long moments afterwards a curious feeling settled over him. Something hovered on the edge of his thoughts, yet he could not discern what.
The discovery of more corpses interrupted the strange moment. Only a few paces further lay the mangled bodies of two soldiers and a woman. The evidence suggested that the two mercenaries didn’t die without a fight. Black blood lay pooling on the ground nearby, a sure sign that at least some Gath had been present. Although covered in blood, he recognized the face of Aliana, the woman he had visited not long after joining the merchant train. Gently brushing the dark hair away from her face, he closed her sightless eyes and wept.
With care, Corian and Alessan moved the bodies off the old path and into the denser underbrush, hoping that by doing so they would be left undisturbed. Little more could be done for the slain. Their weapons were broken, their armour shredded, and apart from a small sack of coins Corian pilfered from one of the men, nothing of value remained. With heavy hearts and ever more wary of the direction they had chosen to follow, the two companions trudged onward.
Night fell once more and the two men found some measure of comfort on a makeshift bed of underbrush and leaves. Their stomachs were empty, but with the foreboding darkness already upon them, they had little choice but to rest without food. Alessan closed his eyes and sleep overtook his tired body.
The oft comforting Aeldenwood of his dreams had been usurped. Instead of the expansive woods and familiar cottage, he stood in a large chamber with rough stone walls, wet and clammy to the touch. An ornate stone basin stood in the middle of the cavernous space. Carved into the outer lip was a mosaic of intertwined creatures, some common, others mythical. Even with the limited light of only a few torches fixed to the outer walls, he could see that the blue water was crystal clear.
Walking towards the low pool, Alessan drew a finger lightly across the liquid surface. The water was cool to the touch, and when peering downward he was rewarded with a curious reflection. It was him, of that there was no doubt, but the face of the man who stared back was different; it was hardened and tinged with a certain poignancy.
His hair was pulled tightly into a braid, and there was a slight shadow of a beard on his cheeks. A long scar ran along the edge of his chin, the prominent mark dark and red. His neck also showed signs of injury, with the mottled look of a recent burn like a fiery rash on his pale skin. Unconsciously raising his hand to gingerly trace the scar, Alessan was astonished by what he saw. His arm, lifeless and withered since birth, showed clear signs of healing and growth.
He spent a long moment staring at the limb, slowly turning it around and flexing it with a strength he had never felt before. His clothes, he also realized, were very different. He was dressed in peculiar hunting garb crafted from an unknown fabric. The outerwear seemed melded completely with his body, so fluidly did the fabric grip his skin. Fascinated by such a wondrous dream, Alessan was reluctant to turn away from the watery mirror.
Without warning, a sudden shift in the air threw him to the ground. Sprawled awkwardly on the floor, he looked back towards the basin. On the far side of the chamber stood a group of men, each clutching identical metal rods in their hands. There were other shapes hiding in the shadows behind the men who were in the midst of a heated argument. Alessan’s gaze was fixed on a tall man standing on the edge of the small gathering.
He was nondescript in build, with a lean physique visible under his loose flowing black robe. The fabric was expensive and ceremonial, a design not common to any faction in Kal Maran, at least not one Alessan had ever seen before. He sported a long, oily mustache and his shoulder length black hair hung limply behind his ears. His eyes were bright blue and had an alarming air of pure haunting malice. The man suddenly cocked his head and turned to look directly where Alessan was struggling to his feet. With a shining glow surrounding him, the man snarled and lunged forward.
Struck by the fury written across the man’s features, Alessan stumbled backward, his arms coming up in a vain effort to protect himself. In the back of his mind, a warning screamed that his attempt was useless as he knew there was little he could do against the attacker. Heeding the small voice, a wordless scream bubbled on the edge of his lips. As he scrambled backwards, he felt his grip on the dream slipping. His body was suddenly floating through the floor as a terrifying scream erupted from his throat…
Alessan awoke with a start. For the rest of the evening, sleep remained elusive.
Four days after their harrowing escape from the slaughter at the Crossroads, Alessan and Corian crossed an old stone bridge and noticed a definite widening of the road. Worn and cracked cobblestones covered the area, and a healthy growth of grass and weeds jutted out from in between a number of the weathered stones. It was obvious that the old road had seen little in the way of traffic for many years.
The two men had survived on good fortune and the ability to uncover edible mushrooms and herbs. With bodies nourished, their pace quickened and their steps were now more confident and purposeful. For the first time since the Crossroads, they spoke of things other than that sad event. Corian happily regaled Alessan with whimsical stories of his youth in the mountainous countryside of Innes Vale.
With slight trepidation, the two men pushed onward and as they topped a small rise they looked down on a wonderfully startling discovery - the ruins of what appeared to be an ancient city. Partially crumbling structures with rooftops that had succumbed to the elements, teetered precariously throughout the scene below. In what was once the city center sat the remnants of a large keep, its walls still solid and strong. Hundreds of trees grew in the middle of open plazas, their branches penetrating inside the buildings standing in their path. Many of the large fountains were empty of water and were instead overgrown with flowers and plants. Roads, houses, and walls sprawled over an immense area, the size of which astounded Alessan. To see so many buildings hidden within the depths of the Aeldenwood was incredible. From their vantage point on the hill, the ruins appeared to be deserted.
As they approached the gate, both men strained their eyes in the hopes of detecting any danger before it landed upon them. Alessan noticed that the walls and buildings showed no signs of damage other than the wear of time. Fire had not forced the people of the ruined city to flee, nor did any evidence point towards an invading army. The walls were cracked at their foundations by the growth of a number of huge trees, but were still in surprisingly good repair. As they carefully picked their way forward, Alessan could see some of the leafy boughs of the Aeldenwood growing directly through the rooftops of many buildings, most notably through the top of a tall tower. Fascinated, Corian and Alessan arrived at the bottom of the small rise with mouths agape.
At first, the unnatural stillness of the place was almost unbearable. The oppressive silence, so rare for a place that had once housed thousands of people, was distressing. As the travelers walked slowly up the widening path and under the cracked stone archway into the city, an intense feeling of loneliness filled their hearts.
Alessan craned his neck and stared upward as they passed under the wall, his eyes registering every detail. Large tarnished hinges, remnants of rotten timber that formed a decaying gate and colossal rusted chains dangling eerily in the wind, all lent the archway an air of somber sadness.
For the first time since passing under the shadowy boughs of the great forest, Alessan could finally look up and see the sky. Encouraged in spite of an ominous patch of blackened storm clouds, his spirits were lifted. A rumbling of thunder cut their exploration short and they were forced to seek shelter in a small house whose roof sagged deeply, but remained relatively intact.
Large drops of rain soon followed, and after a quick search of the deserted premises that successfully provided a battered and blackened iron pot, Corian set it outside in the hopes of collecting fresh rainwater. Although the two men had eaten relatively well, they
had found little in the way of water besides a few stagnant pools. Although winter certainly raged outside the borders of the Aeldenwood, spring-like conditions dominated within. Alessan was aware that their survival had been quite dependent on the temperate climate, for without adequate supplies and shelter, the winter cold would surely have finished what the Gath had initiated.
The interior of the house had been picked completely bare. Outside of a few pieces of old furniture and shelving, there was little of value within the home. The prior occupants had taken most of their belongings with them. Corian did however find a battered tinderbox and flint that had both men eagerly anticipating a warm meal and fire to ward off the damp chill of the coming evening.
As the storm grew in intensity, Alessan climbed up to the partially collapsed upper floor and for a long time simply let his eyes wash over the incredible landscape before him. The hazy outline of the keep was still visible through the downpour, and he could barely contain his excitement to explore such a place. For the first time in days, his thoughts were not about danger and death, but of mystery and treasure.
Corian joined him and passed along a cup of rainwater that Alessan received with gratitude. Surrounded by the soothing pitter patter of the falling rain, both men sat quietly and said nothing. For another day, the unlikely pair had found a way to survive.
“You know, lad, I think these ruins can be none other than those of Old Telmire,” Corian pondered later that night as they lay huddled near the small fire they had succeeded in lighting.
“It’s unbelievable,” Alessan answered.
“I’m almost certain, but having never visited prior to its demise, I can’t really be sure.”
“We may be able to find proof tomorrow morning,” Alessan said. “If the weather eases up, I’d like to continue our search and head to the keep.”