by C. J. Aaron
Andr paced in front of the group, eyeing them with an irritated scowl.
“Your technical skills are sound. They would be the pride and joy among nearly any house or guard I’ve encountered,” Andr admitted. A few boisterous cheers erupted from the Vigil, though most viewed him suspiciously, awaiting his next words.
“What you lack is true experience,” Andr grumbled. “You’ve yet to see bloodshed. Yet to be tested under true battle conditions.”
The cheers were replaced by groans as the Vigil protested the perceived slight.
“Who here is considered the best swordsman?” Andr asked.
The name, Nielix, resounded from several among the Vigil. Ryl could see the confidence swell in the man as he puffed his chest up at the recognition.
“Ah, Nielix, it is then,” Andr said calmly. “Care to give the children a show they won't soon forget?”
Nielix responded with a guttural growl as he confidently strode forward. He whipped his dulled training sword from its scabbard swinging it around in a fluid, well-rehearsed flourish. He stopped halfway between Andr and the assembled Vigil, waiting impatiently for the mercenary to continue.
Andr approached slowly, pausing a few meters before the eagerly waiting Vigil.
“Watch now, for this will undoubtedly be a lesson for all,” Andr announced to the gathered soldiers. “Nielix, I want you to attack me. Hold nothing back. Fight as if your life depends on it.”
Andr purposefully slid his sword from its scabbard before tossing it to his off hand. He let the tip of the blade sink toward the ground. Nielix seized the opportunity to strike—stepping forward, swinging his sword in a dramatic loop as he began his attack.
Andr darted ahead before the blow could strike home, and his dominant right hand, now empty, pounded into the side of Nielix's face. The overconfident fighter stumbled a few paces to the side before collapsing to the ground, skidding to stop on the hard-packed earth. There was a stunned gasp from the assembled soldiers.
“You worthless scum,” Nielix spat. He was on his feet in an instant. The incensed Vigil dabbed his left hand at his face, retrieving a small smear of blood.
The sight of the crimson on his hand ignited a burning anger that drove him into a frenzy.
“I was right about you,” Nielix cursed. “You fight like a dog. You are nothing more than a faithless mercenary selling your loyalty for gold.”
“Aye, I am a mercenary,” Andr responded calmly, though his words carried a resounding force. “Though you would do well not to challenge my sense of loyalty.”
Andr passed his training sword back to his dominant right hand, flexing the grip as he took ahold of the blade.
“There’s nothing fair in a sword fight,” he continued. “This isn’t a competition. A sword fight is life or death. You may be the most technically skilled fighter, but if all it takes is a simple ruse to trip you up, you’re no better than a child. Isn’t that right, Dav?”
Andr leaned to the side, looking past Nielix, inclining his head slightly as he posed the question. Nielix pivoted his head looking for the object of Andr’s question.
The space behind him was empty. Recognition dawned across the man’s face as he realized the folly of his action.
Too late.
As soon as his head turned, Andr surged forward for the second time. The open palm of his left hand connected with the right side of Nielix’s face with a deafening slap that resounded through the training area. The soldier spun round off-balance.
“Hm, killed by a simple ruse,” Andr confirmed. “Again.”
As Nielix regained his footing, his already seething anger boiled over. The enraged guard screamed as he charged, launching into an overhand chop that would have spelled death, even with the dulled blade. Andr casually sidestepped the attack, slapping the flat side of his sword into Nielix’s shin. The Vigil stumbled forward awkwardly, losing his grip on his blade as it planted itself in the ground. He slid to a stop a few meters from where Ryl and Kaep stood watching.
Before he could rise, Andr stood over him, the tip of his sword gently resting on the back of Nielix’s neck.
“Never let your emotions overpower your rationality,” Andr announced loud enough for those assembled. “You’re dead. Again.”
Andr knelt down beside the prostrated body of Nielix.
“I'd mind what you say about the skills of those children,” Andr whispered to the downed Vigil. “I've personally witnessed that boy decimate a scout of forty Horde. Harriers, you call them, and he’s only had an afternoon of training. Tell me, what have you done?”
Andr rose to his feet, stepping to the side, sliding his sword back into its sheath. He wrenched the blade Nielix had left imbedded in the ground out with one hand, offering the other to the soldier who remained prostrate on the ground.
“You are superbly talented, but equally foolish,” Andr admitted. “You’ve misplaced your anger. Some day you may need to use those skills against an adversary whose sole intent is teaching you one lesson, and that lesson is death.”
Andr glanced at Ryl, giving him a subtle smirk and wink, before assisting Nielix back to his feet. The soldier accepted his training sword from Andr before slinking back to the group. His face was a wash of anger and embarrassment.
Ryl glanced over at Kaep, suppressing the urge to laugh as he saw the look on her face. Her attempt at hiding her amusement had failed miserably!
Chapter 33
Ryl and Kaep waited patiently as the Vigil completed their early morning practice. Andr casually approached from inside the training ground, stopping as he leaned against its walled perimeter.
“Did you children enjoy yourselves?” the mercenary asked with a smile.
“Immensely. Thank you,” Kaep admonished.
“The patrol’s assembling at the gate,” Andr replied. “It’s time to go.”
Andr vaulted over the top of the stone wall, joining the pair outside the training grounds. They walked together along the outer alley toward the entrance tunnel to the city. Vim was coming to life as the morning sun crested over the jagged peaks of the Haven Mountains to the east. The streets were filling with citizens moving about in all manner of tasks as they began their days. Children chased each other in hurried games as they rushed toward the schoolhouse. The air was filled with the savory scents of freshly baked bread, carried on the wind from the large bakery on the side of the central square.
Ryl looked up in awe as they ascended the stone stairs to the tunnel. This marked his first time heading in this direction. The yawning mouth of the entrance was carved to look like a great forest, no doubt symbolic of the forest that defended the wall of their home.
He had no recollection of his first journey through the entrance tunnel. His body was far too fevered at that point to have recalled many lucid thoughts. Ryl shuddered at the stream of disjointed images that flashed through his head. His mind was still laboring to sort the truth from the fiction. The pain, however, required no deliberation.
That agony was all too real.
Paasek greeted them at the peak of the stairs. The councilor wore a massive greatsword strapped to his back. Unlike their first meeting and their conversation from earlier in the morning, he wore the telltale cloak of the phrenics, though his hood was lowered, still resting on the back of his neck. He smiled as he noted their approach.
Behind him was the squad of Vigil assigned to escort their party to the prophet. Ryl was surprised to see that Nielix was among those assembled for the trek. His burning glare met Ryl's for an instant before he averted his eyes, avoiding looking at the phrenics as though they were invisible.
With the arrival of Ryl, Andr and Kaep, the procession moved out. Ahead, Ryl could see the massive gate blocking their path through the tunnel. The gate’s similarities to the Pining Gate, the only means of egress from The Stocks, were chilling.
Instead of continuing forward to the gate, the group turned right from the main tunnel, exiting through a large door
way carved into the wall. The door opened with a loud metallic pop of the hinges, followed by a groan as the door swung inward. Half of the Vigil’s twenty soldier squad continued forward, while the second half paused, following behind the phrenics and Andr. Nielix was in the rear group; Ryl could feel the daggers of his pointed stare boring into his back.
The narrow corridor in which they travelled was flanked on either side by several sets of closed doors. The dim light from a few small lanterns illuminated the infrequently used hall. The air inside was heavy, carrying the musty hint of mildew. After a distance of a few hundred meters the hallway ended abruptly in a solid metal door. Ryl heard the clatter of keys and the groan of the hinges as it too protested its opening. Beyond the door he could see nothing but darkness.
Paasek leaned in close speaking in low tones.
“There's more than one entrance to Vim,” he explained. “This leads to the forest several miles from our main entrance. I have to warn you, the next mile or so under the mountain will be narrow. The cramped confines are disconcerting to most and in the absence of light it can be treacherous. After the stairs, the path is flat, so footing won't be an issue for long.”
The Vigil in the lead quickly lit and distributed several torches throughout the group before the party began their slow descent into the blackness of the tunnel. Ryl lost track of the number of stairs they'd descended. Their pace was sluggish. The only sounds of the group's passage were the shuffle of feet along the stone floor. The air in the tunnel grew heavier the further down they ventured, thick with moisture. The walls of stone glistened in the flickering light from the torches.
Their speed increased as they reached the end of the staircase. The path they now followed continued on straight, following a natural seam in the stone. The walls had been smoothed over the ages, maintaining a moderately uniform width though the ceiling was undisturbed, left to its natural rocky appearance.
Onward they traveled through the belly of the mountain. The journey into the darkness no doubt lasted far shorter than it had felt, and ended as abruptly as it had started. The Vigil in the lead of the patrol called a halt to the procession, and the jingle of keys signaled the unlocking and opening of a second heavy door.
The light that spilled into the tunnel was blinding. It took a matter of moments for his eyes to adjust, though the Vigil seemed to take considerably longer. Their party stalled as their vision corrected.
Leaving the dark confines of the tunnel, their passage led through a large cave before exiting to a spacious clearing. Tall grasses and wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, fenced in by the arboreal wall of the forest. To the right, along the western edge of the opening, the remnants of an ancient structure lay in a state of disrepair. Nestled in the corner only a few meters from the wall of the mountain and trees, its timber walls and roof had long since collapsed, disintegrating into mounds of earth. The short, stone foundation stood out above the wild grasses, with several stone pillars marking the corners where a fence had once stood.
The forest that surrounded them sent Ryl's heart racing. Though the call was nothing more than a lingering trace, he could feel the hint of the Erlyn in its trees. He was curious to see what would happen were he to attempt to connect with the forest. He quieted the impulse, fearful of the effect it would have on his strength. The thought of ascending the stairs at the culmination of their journey was daunting.
Away from the confines of the city and back into the light of the day, the attitude of their escort had taken a noticeable turn. The Vigil joked amongst themselves as they made their way from the clearing, joining a small path leading into the forest. Andr stepped close to Ryl as they reclaimed their order in the slow procession.
“They have no fear. They've never experienced anything worthy of that sentiment,” Andr whispered. “You know the death that lurks outside the boundaries of the forest. While there is no sign, or hint of danger, you must always keep your wits about you.”
Ryl surveyed the woods that surrounded the path. The eerie silence and calm was familiar.
“Always keep your guard up,” Andr concluded his lecture.
Ryl cracked a small smile as he nodded in acknowledgement.
“How are you holding up?” Andr asked changing the subject.
“I feel strong today,” Ryl responded confidently. The walk had so far produced no ill effects and for that, he was pleasantly surprised. There was still an unknown distance ahead of them, as well as the return trip home. The day was still young. Even if they were to pause for a rest, he saw no reason why they wouldn’t be able to make the return trip to Vim before nightfall.
“Please let me know if that changes,” the mercenary said thoughtfully. “Though I prefer not to do it again, I’ll carry you back home again if I have to.”
Andr flashed him a devious smile before falling back into line behind the phrenics. The procession marched in single file along the winding paths of the forest. Ryl was confident that they’d entered the woods traveling in a southerly direction. However, the twisting paths they’d followed since then exited both right and left onto various crisscrossing trails throughout the woods. His sense of direction was hopelessly confused. The dappled patches of light that worked their way downward through the trees did little to assist.
After an hour of steady, yet sluggish travel, the group paused along the bank of a small stream that bisected their path. The soldiers of the Vigil filled water skins, before lounging carefree among the trees. The sound of their laughter echoed through the surrounding woods. Kaep stood on the opposite bank of the stream, her eyes scanning the forest with cautious intent. Ryl took up rest, leaning his back against the rough bark of a slender tree.
Andr signaled softly to Ryl before tossing him a water skin he pulled from the small pack slung over his shoulder.
“You seem to have forgotten yours, my young friend,” Andr joked.
Ryl chuckled to himself, shaking his head before thanking the thoughtful mercenary and drinking deep. He threw the skin back with slightly more force than necessary. Andr moved off to refill it from the clean water of the stream.
“We aren’t far now,” Paasek intoned, stopping beside where Ryl sat. “Once we ford this stream, it is perhaps another mile before we arrive. You should be able to feel it soon. The remnants of the old woods are still strong here. They still possess a sliver of the energy they once contained.”
“What is the area like?” Ryl asked, his curiosity piqued. “Every location the Erlyn chose to reveal was unique.”
“A fine observation, my friend,” Paasek admitted. “This one is likely no different.”
The phrenic lowered himself into a crouch beside Ryl.
“We call it the Prophet’s Tree,” Paasek began. “There is a large clearing ahead. The earth there rises up into a massive dome. The woods will thin out before clogging into an impassable mass around the border of the clearing. Set on the center of the dome is a tree unlike any we’ve found in the forest, one we’ve only read about in teachings of the phrenics of old. The tree is a willow. Its massive branches stretch down to the ground creating a curtain, concealing the area under her boughs. It’s in that guarded interior, against the knotted base of the trunk, that the prophet comes.”
Paasek finished detailing the area with reverent care. His eyes viewed the surrounding forest with wonder. Ryl understood the feeling all too clearly.
Ryl closed his eyes as he thought for a moment, inhaling a deep breath of the forest air. The hint of the Erlyn that had been present since they exited the mountain had grown subtly. The miniscule changes were so incremental that he had failed to register their increase. The feeling remained distant and faint. Ryl couldn’t help but feel a slight hint of apprehension. There was a peculiar sense of unease he couldn’t quite place. He attributed the feeling to the casual and relaxed attitude of the guards combined with Andr’s warning.
Their brief respite came to an end shorty after. Ryl guessed that the hour had passed midday
as the pillars of light that forced their way through the canopy fell in vertical shafts to the forest floor. The party moved back into their line with the Vigil again taking the lead as well as guarding their rear. They crossed the small stream with ease, hopping across the large, flat stones that jutted from the gurgling water.
True to Paasek’s words, Ryl could feel the sense of the Erlyn growing as they made their way further into the woods. The makeup of the forest had changed after crossing the small stream. The undergrowth thinned substantially, the bushes and brambles remained in scattered, random patches. Ferns and grasses dotted the space between them. Lanky deciduous trees stretched into the sky, their lowest branches still well above their heads. The tall, broad leaved trees were fewer in number and spread out at greater distances.
The terrain had grown increasingly rocky. Scattered throughout the surrounding trees, moss covered boulders of all sizes dotted the forest floor. Just as quickly as the forest cleared, the area closed in, choked by the mass of brambles that were familiar to the Erlyn. The path narrowed as the party squeezed through the undergrowth.
The sensation of the Erlyn grew rapidly as they stepped further into the dense path. As the feeling increased, so too did the curious feeling of apprehension. The light from the clearing ahead spilled into the pathway, illuminating the dim forest. Beyond the silhouettes of the Vigil, Ryl could see the opening, just a few short meters away.
The lead guards ambled further on as they entered the massive clearing. Ryl stepped out of the forest into the warmth of the light. An incredible sight lay before his eyes. The clearing was massive, spreading out in a circle that stretched hundreds of meters in diameter. The ground on all sides angled gently upward to the center, forming the dome on which the impressive tree stood.
The Prophet’s Tree.
The branches of the magnificent willow stretched downward, stopping as they reached the ground. The view of the interior was entirely hidden behind a wall of leaves that shifted slightly as the swirling breeze blew around the tree.