The Barrow

by Mark Smylie

  He did not see the ghostly figure, hooded, horn-masked, standing behind him in the flickering shadows against the wall, watching him.

  Erim reappeared from through the dark opening behind the great bronze plate, and grabbed Stjepan by the shoulder.

  “Come on, they’re already through to the next chamber!” she said to him.

  Reluctantly Stjepan nodded and then followed her through the archway. They found themselves in a narrow passage like so many others that they had seen in the barrow. The walls were decorated with bas-relief carvings and mosaics inlaid in the stone, a series of scenes depicting the terrible wonders worked by a horn-masked magician. They could hear Godewyn and Caider and Too Tall cheering in the distance, and picked up their pace a bit.

  Within moments they emerged into a long chamber of rough-hewn stone walls and a low, corbel-arched ceiling. Deep arched crevices were set in the sides of the chamber, and both the crevices and the perimeter of the packed earth floor of the chamber were lined with urns and chests filled with coins, artifacts, and small statues and figurines, all glistening in the lamplight with gold and silver and copper and sparkling gems; laughing, Godewyn, Caider Ross and Too Tall were sifting the treasure with their hands, picking up whole handfuls of coins to let them rain from their fingers. Leigh was slowly moving deeper into the chamber, his eyes darting this way and that, taking it all in.

  “Now this is what I call grave-robbing!” Godewyn crowed.

  “Here, Gilgwyr isn’t with us . . .” Stjepan started to say, and then he trailed off as he saw what was in the middle of the room.

  Arduin stood stock still at the foot of a long waist-high bier of rock and stone, staring down at the body that lay upon it. The body was dressed in a long, black robe, its dried and desiccated hands clasped over its chest as though in prayer; a long, pointed bronze mask, with a pair of gazelle horns spiraling up from its forehead lay upon the body’s face and head. The mask’s eyeholes had an evil, slanted cast to them, and opened onto blackness. Ornate circular patterns swirled and wove their way along the edges of the mask and were echoed in gold thread patterns embroidered into the body’s robe. The robe had a collar of tufted horse hair, surrounding the head like a black fan, and a chain of gold and bronze discs inlaid with silver symbols was slipped over the collar and around the body’s neck, almost like a noble’s chain of office.

  And lying upon the body was a sword with bared blade, its hilt resting under the corpse’s clasped hands.

  It was a magnificent-looking weapon, gleaming in the lamplight as though freshly cleaned, a sword fit for kings. The sword was of an older Bronze Age style, almost certainly made when armor was first transitioning from mail and leather to plate, and it showed in the shape of the blade. The length of watered steel was double-edged and broad and while largely straight it tapered to a sharp point, a reflection of the shift from slashing with a blade against mail or unarmored opponents, and stabbing with the point. Its curved quillons were shorter than on most contemporary sword styles, and the hilt was short, suitable for use in one hand. The sword’s quillons and large round wheel pommel were inlaid with swirling, intertwined designs in silver and gold, but the grip of the hilt was wrapped in a fine black leather that did not look as if it had aged a day from when it was placed in the barrow.

  “We keep whatever we can carry out, right, and a partial share of the sword’s price if it sold, as agreed, yeah?” Godewyn said to Stjepan. He laughed, staring at the wealth and treasure on display in the room. “Oh, Black-Heart, I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said or thought about your Athairi hide.”

  Ignoring Godewyn’s good cheer, Arduin finally spoke softly. “Gladringer, sword of the High Kings! The sword that killed Githwaine, the last Worm King . . . King of Heaven, we make history, this day!” he said, his voice quivering with emotion. “One of the greatest heirlooms of the Middle Kingdoms, lost since the Black Day Battle, lies before us . . . oh, King of Heaven, our thanks!”

  Erim moved up to stand by Arduin, eyeing the body on the bier. “He doesn’t seem so frightening, lying here. He just seems . . . dead,” she said.

  “With a wizard of the Nameless Cults, telling the dead from the living could well be a problem,” Leigh said quietly.

  Hearing that, Caider Ross and Too Tall immediately stopped fussing with coins and treasure. Godewyn got up and turned to the body, considering it more carefully now with a frown. He dismissed it with a silent bah, but still stepped a bit closer to the bier.

  Stjepan began to make a slow pass around the stone bier, his stern gaze taking in the body and its sword through narrowed eyes. “There’s something wrong here,” he said.

  “What, like we’re no longer poor?” said Godewyn, laughing.

  Leigh began to mirror Stjepan as he walked around the bier, one of them on each side of the bier, circling it. Arduin took a deep breath, and drew himself up straight as Godewyn reached out to touch the sword.

  “Wait! Don’t touch it!” hissed Stjepan, raising his hand in warning.

  “Indeed. Do not touch it,” said Arduin in a voice of cold authority. “Such a sword as this should not be in base hands such as yours. I will take possession of it until we return to Therapoli.”

  Godewyn whirled toward Arduin, looking at him suspiciously. “I knew it. I knew you would try to exert a noble’s privilege at some point. You mean to cheat us,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Show us. Show us the World. Open our eyes, and let us see what is hidden,” whispered Stjepan as he circled the bier.

  “I have been crowned a Champion at tournament by the High King himself. You impugn my honor at your peril,” Arduin said calmly. “Whatever deal you made with the Athairi about the treasure here will stand, I care nothing about the coins and trinkets in this wretched place. Keep what you want. But that sword will not be sold for mere profit, not by you nor by me.”

  “Brave of you to put your claim upon this sword without your remaining knight and squire to back you, here under the cold ground,” Godewyn said with a malevolent grin.

  Caider and Too Tall glanced at each other and then at Godewyn. Hands were going to hilts and weapons were being loosed in scabbards by everyone in the chamber save Stjepan and Leigh, who were solely focused on the body and sword. “Show us. Show us the World. Open our eyes, and let us see what is hidden!” said Stjepan and Leigh together, their voices louder. The sword’s surface shimmered as runes and symbols materialized upon it, including a pattern that almost looked like a twisting snake wrapping itself around the blade.

  “That sword belongs to neither of us,” Arduin said, chin held high. “I do not claim it for myself, but in the name of Awain Gauwes Urfortian, High King of the Middle Kingdoms, King of Atallica, Seated King of the Sun Court, to whom it belongs by right and whom my father serves as a sworn vassal. We have found the sword of the High Kings by the will of the King of Heaven, and He is present, here, in this chamber. Do you seriously think I am afraid of you, even should all of you stand against me?”

  “No one said you were a smart man,” Godewyn said, and his hand started to move on his hilt, only to find Stjepan’s hand grabbing his arm and holding it in place.

  “If he wants this sword, let him have it,” Stjepan said. “It’s a fake.”

  Everyone in the chamber turned in surprise to look at the sword lying on the body. Seeing the enchantments exposed upon the blade, Caider Ross and Too Tall drew back, while Erim and Godewyn stepped forward, frowning and craning their necks to see the runes and patterns.

  “You lie!” exclaimed Arduin.

  “To what possible purpose, my Lord?” Stjepan asked with disappointment and exasperation. “It’s all very convincing, yes; this barrow, this body, this sword. But there is no enchantment upon this blade that I can see except a glamour overlaying a Curse.” He wearily indicated the sword on the body. “I will not be the man to touch it, and suggest that no one else should either. But if you want it, my Lord, take it, and pray that Leigh’s amu
let protects you.”

  “But . . . but the rest of this looks real enough!” Godewyn said, looking nervously around at the grave goods scattered about the burial chamber.

  “And so it is, I would think,” Stjepan said, glancing around. “Great wealth there is here, indeed, so you are no longer a poor man, Godewyn Red-Hand. Congratulations. But all the coins and treasure in this room are but a fucking pittance compared to the worth of the real Gladringer.”

  Erim stood straight and scratched her head. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she said. “Then whose body is this? Is this Azharad? Is this the Sorcerer King of the Bale Mole?”

  “I don’t know,” said Stjepan, running his hand through his hair before waving his hand to take in the whole of the chamber. “I mean, it’s a corpse, like any other after centuries in a barrow. Despite the trappings, I’m not sure anything here says one way or the other . . .”

  “Leigh, enchanter, Magister, what do you think about this?” Godewyn asked.

  Leigh stood frozen, staring down at the body and the sword. “I’m afraid my student is correct,” he said quietly.

  “This can’t be happening! Gilgwyr, you’re not buying this, are you?” Godewyn said. He looked around, confused and frowning. “Where in the Six Hells is Gilgwyr?”

  Stjepan stepped into the empty, round, high-domed chamber, followed by Godewyn and Erim. The single lantern that they had left behind still guttered in place, casting light and shadows across the rough-hewn walls and the crevices of the coffered dome ceiling. It was now truly empty once again; there was no sign of Gilgwyr. Only a few abandoned bags of tools and equipment.

  “I don’t understand,” said Stjepan. “This is the last place I remember seeing him.” He started walking the flat, packed earth, looking at the shoe and boot prints in the dirt.

  “What? Did he just leave?” asked Erim.

  Stjepan, Godewyn, and Erim emerged back into the outer entrance chamber. The sunlight filtering down into the entrance passage was no longer at a morning angle. Silhouetted up the exit shaft, Pallas Quinn sat against a wall. He almost looked like he was asleep. Godewyn started to walk up to him.

  “Here, Handsome, has Gilgwyr come through here?” he asked as he put his hand on Handsome’s shoulder, and Handsome Pallas Quinn’s not-so-handsome head tipped back, revealing that his throat has been cut from ear to ear and that there was blood soaking the front of his clothes. Godewyn jumped back with a start. “Gah! King of Heaven!” he blurted as he stumbled back to the opposite wall and slumped down in a squat, his hands on his head, staring bleakly at Handsome’s body. “King of Heaven, not another one!” he growled, growing angry. “That’s Gilgwyr’s signature cut! I’ve felt his dagger on my neck often enough to know. I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill that bastard . . . what’s he playing at?”

  As Stjepan crouched by Pallas Quinn to inspect the cut and his body, Erim made a quick run up the passage toward the exit, scanning the ground for tracks. Godewyn, watching as Stjepan gingerly probed Handsome, grew still.

  “Maybe I should be asking what you’re playing at,” Godewyn said.

  Stjepan looked Godewyn in the eyes. “I did not take us into the tomb with the false sword,” he said quietly. “You’re the one who rushed headlong on, all eager to prove me wrong, leaving Gilgwyr behind. There’s nothing here that says for sure this was Gilgwyr’s doing, though I’ll grant you it looks bad for him. Whatever his part in this, we really do have to find Gilgwyr now; he’s either in danger, or is a danger to the rest of us.”

  Erim returned from the top of the passage, and crouched to look at Pallas Quinn’s low boots. “Our tracks coming in, one set of tracks leading out and then back in, but judging by his boots I think that was Pallas. But what if . . . what if Gilgwyr was the Hidden Magician who was in our tent?” she said.

  Godewyn’s face was filled with fear and loathing. “Gilgwyr was a Hidden Magician? One of Nymarga’s Cult is amongst us? The Lion of Vengeance aid me, a Red Veil upon the sun, do I grow tired of this!” he snarled and stood up, looming large in the entrance passage. “Too many secrets, Black-Heart, too many fucking secrets! You should have told us you’d had a visitor! I’m going to get the last of my crew and we’re gonna tear this place apart, if I have to knock down every door in it! If he’s in here, we’ll find him!”

  Stjepan stood and looked up at Godewyn. “We don’t know that Gilgwyr was in our tent as a Hidden Magician. That could have been any of us, even you, any of us save Erim and myself, but of course you only have our word on that, just as we only have your word and reputation that you are not one of the Nameless yourself,” he said. “That’s always the problem with looking for the Nameless, and making assumptions about who is or is not one of the Nameless. Make such an assumption, and it’s not long before the innocent are getting lynched while the Nameless stand right beside you laughing. Once you’ve rejoined your crew, stay together as a group! No man should ever be alone within the barrow! If you have to, travel in pairs or threes, but I would split up only as a last resort. Erim and I will search outside in case he covered his tracks . . .”

  “If you find the bastard, he’s mine,” Godewyn drew his sword. “I don’t care if he’s one of the Nameless or not. I know he did Handsome, so I’m going to fucking kill him.” He turned and clambered back down into the barrow proper.

  Stjepan and Erim sprinted outside.

  The body of Pallas Quinn slumped to the ground.

  Erim exited the barrow, her rapier at the ready, followed swiftly by an armed Stjepan. She made a quick circle, surveying the hillside around them, but there was no immediate sign of Gilgwyr. She started back down the stairs set in the hill at a swift pace, and as she approached the camp she could see Arduin’s young squire and his now last remaining knight standing watch around Annwyn’s tent. She began waving her arms at them.

  In a few moments she had reached their tents and lines, Stjepan right behind her. Sir Colin had half crossed the camp to greet them, and sensing trouble he had slipped his sallet onto his head and unshouldered his greatsword, and left Wilhem Price behind at the Ladies’ Tent as a last line of defense. “What’s the matter?” he asked with no small amount of suspicion. He held his greatsword at the ready. “What’s going on?”

  “Have you seen Gilgwyr? Has anyone left the barrow?” Erim asked.

  “No, I haven’t seen Master Gilgwyr,” said Sir Colin, shaking his head. “The only person we saw leave the barrow looked like one of the Danians we hired on back at Woat’s Inn. And he turned around and went right back inside. That was maybe an hour or two ago, there was a lot of dust coming out of the ground at the time. But we haven’t exactly been watching up the hill every minute.”

  “A lot’s happened since then,” said Stjepan as Erim jogged off to the side to retrieve a composite horn bow and full quiver. “I regret to have to tell you that Sir Helgi is dead, he fell victim to a foul enchantment, a curse triggered within the barrow. So you are the last of his knights, Sir Colin.” Colin looked grim and ash-faced, but just nodded. “And the man left as our rearguard, the one that you saw from Godewyn’s crew, he has been murdered, his throat cut by parties unknown, though suspicion falls on Master Gilgwyr.”

  Sir Colin tightened the grip on his greatsword and took a subtle half-step back from the two of them, but not so subtle that they did not see it.

  “Aye,” Stjepan said, nodding his head to acknowledge the motion and what it implied. “Allow no one near the Ladies’ Tent until Lord Arduin has returned, especially not Master Gilgwyr. Nor us. We’ll circle the camp and the barrow and look to see if he might have slipped out while you weren’t looking, but I fear our search will be fruitless and that he is still inside the barrow somewhere.”

  “Then go with the King of Heaven, Black-Heart,” Sir Colin said, a slight challenge in his eyes as he backed away toward the tent.

  “If you say so, Sir Colin,” said Stjepan with a nod, and he and Erim turned back toward the barrow. “Well,” he said to
her with a sigh. “Where do you want to start?”

  A stone door fell down with a thud, revealing yet another passage.

  “Gilgwyr! Come out, come out, Gilgwyr!” Godewyn yelled as he moved swiftly through the archway, a heavy broadsword in his right hand. Caider Ross and Too Tall followed, their weapons glinting in their lamplight, followed by Arduin, his war sword held before him. Leigh trailed behind, looking out of sorts, distracted, confused. They practically ran down the stone passage until they reached an intersection. Stone passageways split off to their left and right through corbelled stone arches, and in front of them the passage became a steep stone stairwell that angled down into the depths of the earth.

  They stopped, their lanterns casting light in each direction but providing no illumination. “Gilgwyr, you bastard, where are you?” Godewyn cried, mopping the sweat from his brow.

  Caider frowned and stepped a couple of feet into the passageway on their left. He could see it dead-end and branch left to stairs leading down, and right to stairs leading up. “More stairs over here, chief,” he said over his shoulder. “Up and down. This is starting to get tricky.”

  “This is pointless,” hissed Arduin. “This is almost a maze, and we are in danger of becoming lost. If Master Gilgwyr is hiding himself somewhere, we will not find him simply running around like this.”