“Jake may be right – this time,” Harold conceded. “These places are rumoured to harbour elves; they guard their forests zealously.”
“Elves?” Linaera asked. (She hadn’t been taught about them yet. Later, she would wonder why.)
“Supernatural creatures of the forest,” Harold elaborated helpfully. “They are said to possess super human speed, strength, and an aptitude for magic.”
“We’re exposed in the valley,” she pointed out. Why do they not see it?
They had neared the beginning of the valley. The trees beckoned: why, they were perfectly harmless, were they not?
“I would take a little cold weather over elves any day…”
“I don’t know, I’m tempted to go with Linaera over this…”
Pause.
“Linaera, this is madness: they are elves… with deadly swords and…”
But Linaera was no longer listening. Could not listen.
It was the voice, and the pull. The two pillars. The voice cooed; the pull, did of course, pull.
Linaera, Linaera, it urged. Come to me...
She vaguely heard Stella call her name; the rest of the party shouted gibberish. She ignored them all. She watched her feet: they were moving seemingly of their own accord, seemingly beyond her control.
The voice kept calling; no one else could hear it.
Don’t be afraid… (Why should she be afraid? She was not.)
She ploughed on. She was oblivious to everything. She did not know why the colours had become sharper than cold steel; or why the light seemed brighter than a thousand suns; or even – the most important thing – why she should care.
She came to a halt; she gasped.
She had arrived in a clearing.
The sky had been a grey blanket of monotony; now it held palaver to the nobles of the sun. The trees had seemed dark, forbidding; now they were ancient servants. Where there had been empty space, stood a tree.
Or at least, she thought it was a tree. It had branches, after all: thick and mighty things, their skin weathered by age. It had leaves, and bark, and everything a tree should have. It was massive – huge, stupefyingly tall, towering over its measly companions – but it appeared to be nothing more than a tree.
Then it moved.
There was no tightening of the muscle; no intake of breath. The movement occurred in a blur.
Eyes looked at her.
They were old eyes, eyes that have seen many things but do not tell many stories; they were also dark eyes, striking eyes, the slits of an ancient creature. And a deadly one.
Yet they were amused.
Hello, dear mages, it said. (Or was it a he?)
Linaera’s reply was puzzling: Hello, Ancient One.
Ancient One? Where did that come from? she wondered.
She continued: I’m sorry, but what are you?
The being laughed. It came like a rumble of distant rivers… or a cascading of rocks. Linaera hoped it was a normal laugh: the thing people do when they are entertained, not the malicious cackle of madmen.
I am a Wose.
“I can’t believe it,” came Harold’s awed exclaim.
A Wose? Linaera asked stupidly.
We are tasked as the guardians of nature, to protect life from the dangers that inhabit this world. The one you are journeying to meet.
It continued: I have called you here in order to present a warning. Your foe is dangerous: powerful beyond natural scope, driven mad by long-ago crimes. He can control the weather – something which you have already experienced, I believe.
We suspect his identity, but we are not sure. If our suspicions are correct, however, then he had someone precious taken away from him. Keep this in mind, as it may turn out to be a more powerful weapon than any magic.
Harold asked: I do not understand. How do you know this, Ancient One?
We are the guardians of nature. It is our duty to know such things. Ask no more; time is passing. You must reach him soon, I fear. He may not even be the greatest threat in these dark times. So I say: GO!
Harold persisted. Very well, Ancient One. But I have a question: what is your name?
I am Thuruntel, Arch Guardian of the Northern Forests and its Protectorates. It will be night soon. I say one last time: GO!
The party turned to leave. Their expressions were awestruck; their expressions were entranced. They moved like marionettes, with slow, unconscious precision.
All but Linaera. She was confused. Why had the Wose called to her, of all people? It wasn’t like she was the smartest (Harold probably was), or the strongest (Damon probably was), or anything else for that matter.
But still she obeyed.
Linaera? Thuruntel asked.
Linaera turned.
Yes?
You possess many questions, I see. I cannot answer them now – but in your time of greatest desperation, when all seems lost and forgotten, remember this:
“When the person you trust most, has betrayed you.
“When the dead walk again,
“And when the world itself has turned against you;
“Remember that your kin,
“Are the ones who will help you.”
Linaera became even more confused.
But I still do not—
You cannot understand it now. You will, when the time is right. Leave, your friends await you.
A force overcame Linaera. It was a supernatural energy, the manifestation of a being well beyond her understanding. She was compressed; stretched; and pulled away.
***
Faint grey light shone over the landscape, like Death’s Depression. The trees seemed like alien creatures, bizarre growths of gnarled branches and slowly dancing leaves. The atmosphere was forbidding – what dangers awaited them?
The others seemed occupied by their experience, one which already felt like a dream from another world, or a shadow of impossibility.
“What was that thing Harold?” Stella questioned.
“It is as it said; the Wose are an ancient breed, stories of which exist long in the throes of history. They look like trees; some say they are a hybrid between animal and plant, a fusion of the different forces of nature. They are neither. They are spirits incarnate – more similar to the Fae.”
Jake was quick to reply. “Fascinating. But the thing and its cryptic messages has lost us time already.”
He was about to say more, but then the monsters came.
***
They were flying monsters, the vanguard of the Dead. Their wings were long, leathery; their forms were tall, inhuman; their eyes glew. It was a supernatural glow, the mirrors of fear, the windows into darkness.
They circled. Then they landed, slowly and casually.
The party stood hidden. They lay under the bushes – they were tall, overgrown things. Fortune still favoured them.
The monster looked around; their gazes were greedy, questioning.
“Damn mole lied. There’s nothing here,” the leader said. It was taller than the others, its teeth longer, sharper, bloodier.
“I can’t see zilch either. Bah! Lies, I tell you,” another one said. It was smaller than the speaker: but its eyes were just as hungry. “Let’s go back to Master. I’m hungry.”
Linaera’s flesh crawled.
“Will Master be pleased to learn we have not found anything?” another creature asked.
“Master can go fly himself. There’s nothing here,” the leader replied.
And so the monsters made their leave.
***
“It can’t be real!”
“But it is.”
“It can’t!”
Stella and Harold argued; Sasha seemed unperturbed.
“What were they, anyway?”
“Dragethir,” Harold filled in. “Commonly referred to as dark scouts, for necromancers use them as such. They are fast, easy to summon, and still plenty deadly. They could certainly have been the end of us, had they taken us by surprise.”
“What about the mole?”
SEVENTEEN
The world that Linaera awoke to was white. But not the white of snow, or of merry festivals and singing children: this was the charm of thick, vaporous fog.
She groaned.
“Damn this accursed weather.”
Perrien seemed unsurprised.
“Winter is approaching, Linaera.”
“But does it have to be now? It’s freezing!”
“Come, we are almost there. Then we shall find out what happened, and finish this wretched quest,” Jake muttered.
The party got out of their sleep sacks. They invariably cursed whenever their feet got caught up in the under-bush or slipped over icy tree roots.
The party remained quiet. There were no jokes; no friendly jibes.
Linaera remembered, quite sadly, how she had asked the potential traitor to give themselves up, promising forgiveness instead of vengeance.
No one had raised hand. No one had spoken up. The quiet had remained still, and foreboding. She guessed the mole would eventually come to a gruesome end.
Harold and Perrien, however, kept them steadily busy. They were determined to reach their destination, the cold – which had pervaded through the philistine fog with icy, greedy fingers – be damned.
And so they saddled the horses, despite their ungrateful whinnies; and so they packed up all their food, all their belongings; and so they left that little spot in the woods, heading towards God-knows-what.
***
They trotted, they cantered; and at times they even galloped, so great was their restlessness. They had barely a pause in between – and even then it was solely the horse’s reprieve.
Linaera was vaguely worried about her horse, Dacresh. His steps had become heavier, she could feel, and his breaths more laboured. She knew that had they kept the same pace throughout the entire journey, he would’ve been dead.
It almost made her glad their destination was close.
The fog too, had been most uncomfortable. It seemed to swirl and eddie, advance and thicken: it seemed... almost alive. Unnatural. It was very much as if someone was controlling it.
She remembered what the Wose, Thuruntel, had said: He can control the weather...
She shivered, and this time not because of the cold.
A suspicion had turned itself into theory.
Could we have been attacked by a necromancer in that valley?
Thuruntel had hinted as much.
It was a difficult thought, for two reasons: it made Linaera skittish to think that the fog (which had long since obscured the previously majestic peaks surrounding them) was watching her. Worse, however, was the fact that they could do it in the first place. Magics that altered the weather were powerful things... and rarely permitted. They screwed with the natural environment; their meddling had caused many a loss of good harvest.
What if we’re riding to our deaths?
The thought was morbid, terrifying. Even so, Linaera had not fully comprehended the dangers such power and ability could cause: after all, if the necromancer was mad (as it seemed very much that he – or they – were), then perhaps they desired the death of everyone in Arachadia.
Perhaps they would simply freeze Arachadia to death.
Of course, such a theory was improbable. If Linaera had made that observation, she would also have realised that their own mages would certainly be able to counteract it... wouldn’t they?
Fortunately, Linaera made no such philosophical musings. Her sole concern lay on what dangers awaited her, and her party. (Her practical nature sometimes surprised her: whereas her friend Mark and many of the other mages pondered the origin of magic, or other such things, she did not. Her interest lay not on what magic was – which, indeed, may never be answered – but on what magic could do.)
Her thoughts came to Jake. He had suggested they go through the swamp; he had driven them to camp in that infested cave. He had even urged they leave the forest, right when those... Dragethir? Had flown in.
Don’t be ridiculous, Linaera, she thought. He’s just a poor orphan boy with an attitude problem.
And yet, her suspicions remained unquelled by her self-assurances.
“Hey, can anyone see that in front of us?” Stella was the speaker.
Linaera looked. And sure enough: there were plumes of smoke in the horizons – and signs of evil.
“What is it?” Harold asked.
“It appears to be a destroyed village,” Perrien replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite certain. But whatever it is, we shall find out soon enough.”
They spurred their horses onto a canter. (Dacresh snorted with derision: he was not pleased by their enthusiasm. Or apprehension.)
The village came into view.
Smoke hung in the air; the smell of burnt flesh was its lover. Fires still burned on the roofs, perhaps destroying more cottages... or digesting more bodies.
The party stood still.
“I do not like this,” Harold proclaimed.
“Neither do I,” Perrien replied. “Come, let us carry on.”
Damon interrupted them.
“There is something... off, about it.”
“I feel it too,” Linaera concurred. “Something unnatural happened here; something that should never have occurred.”
Perrien had no patience for this.
“Enough. We must move – NOW!”
The party became silent. Linaera wondered: Is this affecting him more than he says?
It certainly affected her. She was glad when it slowly disappeared behind them, being once again concealed by the fog of oblivion.
How much they travelled they did not know, for there were no visible landmarks to guide their passage. They had to rely on Perrien’s compass (and keen sense of direction). So it was then of little surprise when they spotted another shadow across the horizon.
Harold groaned. “Not another one!”
“But I’m afraid it is,” Perrien replied. “We must be getting close.”
“No wonder Eiliara was sent here,” Damon thought aloud.
“Something is seriously wrong, indeed, for this to be happening,” Perrien conceded.
“It might not be a necromancer,” Linaera suggested hopelessly.
Jake was on her like a pack of rabid dogs.
“And I’m a pixie. Please, Linaera, what else could be causing this?”
Had Linaera been a calmer, more magisterial figure, she would have avoided the words that came out from her mouth:
“I don’t know. But I’m told the end of the world is not far from here. Who knows what manner of creatures could have gotten here? This could be caused by dragons, or trolls or giants or…” She cut herself off.
“Don’t be naïve Linaera. In any case, we can deal with whatever threat comes our way,” Perrien chided.
Linaera pursed her lips.
***
They moved on. Past the second destroyed village; past the third; past the fourth.
This had once been a thriving valley, no doubt. There was farmland to supply many; sheep still bleated in stupor; and of wood there was no end. There were even mines on some of the mountains – for who knew what riches the earth concealed?
Whoever destroyed it all clearly had no use for them. Linaera wondered at what kind of person their necromancer was – a madman? Or worse, the apotheosis of cruelty?
She suddenly noticed John was grimacing, as if in pain.
“Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She gave him a disapproving look, the look of a mother dealing with an evidently dishonest child.
“Okay, well… my leg still hurts. Stella is a damn good healer, mind you, but constant riding is no good for me.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t think of that. I do wonder though – why is Perrien so desperate to keep us going? Is he that determined to
find this guy?”
“I dunno, he seemed pretty bothered.”
Linaera pondered his words.
“I guess you’re right. We’ll find him eventually though, and then my friend Sasha can kick his butt!”
John considered that with near seriousness.
“Hmmm… well, she is pretty scary. With the crimson hair and everything, like some sort of Angel of Death.”
Linaera laughed.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone call her an Angel of Death. It suits her though.”
“Yeah, it does,” John agreed. They looked at Sasha, who had been riding behind them, a ponderous look on her face.
John suddenly quieted.
“Hey, you don’t suppose you know what those things were talking about, do you?”
“What? The mole?”
“I mean, it was just talk right?”
Linaera winced. “I wish I could be so sure.”
They continued on. More hoof beats. More snorts. By now, Linaera really was tired from all the riding.
It was fortunate then, that they slowed down. (Dacresh bucked again, almost throwing Linaera off. She would have petted him on the neck for his efforts, but she was afraid he might bite off her fingers.)
“The forests are up ahead. We shall stop and rest there – I shall move out, to scout the area for danger. We must also find Aëglith,” Perrien stated.
“Aëglith?” Linaera asked.
Harold filled in.
“There is a town called Aëglith not too far away. It is named after ‘ëglith’, in the Old Language, meaning ‘ice’.
“There, we shall talk to the inhabitants and see if they know anything about what is happening.”
Linaera shook her head at the notion of naming a city by the name of ice. It was surely a testament to the place in which they were.
“I just want to rest,” she admitted.
Finally, the party dismounted. All except Perrien, that is, who rode ahead, scouring for danger.
Linaera felt a pang of worry over him: He’ll be alright. He’s a professional scout.
They were false assurances, of course: they were in the land of necromancers and monsters, after all.
Jake once again intruded her Armageddon of thoughts.
“I plan on investigating those villages. Maybe some clue is hidden among the ruins.”
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