Chapter 19
The Ithon
Cedric was quick to turn back towards the Ithon and spurred his horse through the forest, his mind still chilled by the masked man. Cedric made headway for only a few minutes before he realized he had lost his companions, for the forest was so dense that a man could not see but ten feet in front of him. He turned his horse in a circle, his eyes hoping to catch sight of his missing friends, while his steed became entangled and tripped on the uneven floor of the forest. Cedric’s horse threw his master from his back and bolted deeper into the woods, panting heavily from fear.
Suddenly Cedric felt completely alone, he called out to his companions and heard only distant voices in response. The sounds of the forest were made known to him, all manner of foul and evil things seemed to call out to him. The tangled vines and branches of the woods appeared to creep towards him, like a predator slowly stalking its prey. Cedric was panicking, panting as he called out to his friends and tripped over the ground. “Aderyn! Beorn! Where are you!?” He cried as he stumbled through the forest which now seemed to close in on him from all sides. He heard a rustling in the nearby underbrush and drew his blade, and dig his feet into the ground as he prepared his defense.
Out from the bushes, Eadwine poked his head out and sighed, relieved at finding Cedric. “Finally found you, we thought we’d lost you to that group of savages chasing us.”
Cedric sheathed his blade and caught his breath as Eadwine helped him to his feet.
“Come now to the clearing; we must find a path through this maze,” Eadwine said as he cut through the thick branches back towards his fellow companions.
They reached a small clearing, where the party gathered and planned their next step. The day had only just now begun, and time for traveling could not be wasted. Leopold climbed a nearby tree, surveying the miles of wooded land that stood in their path to the north, back towards the clear hills he saw no sign of the bandits. Back towards the north, Leopold caught sight of white stone columns, breaking out from the tree line, undoubtedly a marker of ancient ruins.
“Is it some ghost that pursues us!? A cursed spirit brought forth by Azrael!?” Gaspar shouted as he paced throughout the clearing, he was breathing heavy, about to collapse from the anxiety of the past days.
Alfnod found a seat on a flat rock, pulled out his pipe, and began to smoke. His face and voice were like a cold hardened stone as spoke; his mind searched for their next move. “Calm yourself, wizard, they did not follow us in; it would be near impossible for them to cover so much land.” He blew out an enormous cloud of smoke and leaned back. “He is no more a spirit than myself, and steel will work on him like any other man.”
“We should push back towards the hills; our horses will be downright useless in here,” Beorn spoke up, propping his back against a tree as he sharpened his heavy axe. “I would rather take my chances with some foolhardy bandits than whatever unknown things await us deeper in the Ithon. There are tales from my traveling days, of standing wolves and tribes of the Unseen Ones, they would not take kindly to us entering their territory.”
Alfnod devised a strategy as he rubbed his temple, his pipe creating billows of smoke from his mouth. “No Beorn, if we turn back now we’ll be in the same situation as before. They outnumber us, it would be an assured death to go back and an uncertain end if we press forward, so I vote we move through the Ithon. There are villages and roads to the north of this forest, under rule of House Sodeer, if we can make it through this patch of untamed land we can find shelter and possibly more support for our growing cause there.”
“I caught sight of nothing for miles, save some strange column protruding from the forest’s height, could it be a sign of a settlement, perhaps a southern town of House Sodeer?” Leopold spoke, as he stood on the edge of the clearing, peering into the forest, listening to the sounds of chirping birds.
Aderyn spoke, as she remembered the tales of history once recited to her by Cedric. “No, it is a ruin of the Lusani elves who once ruled here, before migration of the Unseen.” Cedric nodded with approval as Aderyn smiled, for he had forgotten that bit of history.
Cedric knew his vote would carry the most weight, and ultimately would decide the group’s path. He took each of their opinions on the matter and chose the path he thought would be safest. “I say we move further through the Ithon, if not only for a few days. That way we should be able to throw off that masked rider and his thugs, and we’ll be on a straight path to Prav. We can make it to those ruins if we ride till dusk, and we’ll have a nice dry spot for camp.”
Alfnod finished off his leaf and stood up. “You heard him, mount up we move through the Ithon.” He spoke bluntly, the rider had unsettled his calm demeanor and he wished to put as much distance between them as possible.
Beorn merely grunted and prepared his gear that he had laid on the ground. It unsettled him to descend further into the unknown wilderness. In the Ithon, there were no men or elves that dwelled in the forest, for fear of Trundor’s beasts, who stalked and hunted throughout the land.
Each rode slowly, for their horses were untrained for the rough and uneven terrain of the forest. Cedric rode on the back of Aderyn’s horse, as they had not found his since it ran. They passed by small babbling creeks on their way, passing by swathes of woodland and glades.
They came to rest at dusk at the ruins Leopold had spotted in his report. There they found ruins of an ancient forum, overrun by vines and broken apart by trees that sprang up from holes in the stone flooring. Around them, bits and pieces of fallen statues made their resting place on the white stone, the visages of elven beauty had been cracked and faded.
The night’s sky was clear and filled with flickering stars as the group lit their campfire and rested in the ruins of a forgotten kingdom. The forest around them grew silent, the chirping of birds and other sounds of nature had become muffled. Only one sound could be fully heard, and fully known, the screeches of the Griffin, which had made its nest in the nearby trees.
“We should name it,” Eadwine spoke up, he was starved for idle conversation as he tossed bits of twigs and leaves into the fire.
“The griffin?” Cedric asked.
“No, this fellow.” Eadwine sarcastically said as he lifted the bust of an elven ruler, before throwing it behind him, smashing it to bits. “Of course, the Griffin.”
“Shadow, since the thing never bothers leaving us.” Beorn muffled from under his pillow.
“Jarrick,” Cedric whispered.
“What does that mean?” Eadwine inquired.
“It was the name of the first guardian of Orford; my great grandfather called it that when it first came to nest in that patch of forest. I suppose this one is that last of its line, so it’s rather fitting.” Eadwine shrugged in agreement and drifted off to sleep, the rest soon followed, save Cedric and Leopold.
The pair chose a silent company to that of conversation for what seemed like the longest time until Cedric finally raised his voice to speak. “You know now is a good time for that story.”
“What story?” Leopold said as he was stretching and arched his back.
“Why you’re here with us, why you decided to help in the first place.” Cedric pressed, he was staring up at the stars
Leopold took a long pause and then began. “I suppose you might have a right to know. I was traveling not…agh!”
Cedric looked to Leopold and recoiled in horror, on his neck and back was the visage of a massive gray wolf, ripped into his spinal cord and snapping his neck with ferocious power. Leopold was dead before Cedric could draw his blade, his spine was untouched by sheer luck, and blood was rushing from his exposed neck. The wolf snarled through its blood-soaked fangs and fur as he approached Cedric, all the while other wolves jumped from the shadows. Cedric screamed for his companions.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Cedric shouted as the first wolf launched towards his throat. With his blade, Cedric pierced long ways down the wolf’s mouth, tearing through its
heart. He struggled to remove his blade as another came forward, only to be cut down by Beorn, who sliced its head in two with a swing of his axe. His other companions too joined the fray, slicing and stabbing at the pack of ravenous wolves. The other wolves did not wish to die as their kin, and with their fangs still showing, retreated into the shadow of the forest. Leopold jumped up from the ground and clutched at his exposed neck with his black gloves that dampened with his blood.
“What in the name of the gods was that? Are we cursed by bad luck or has Crassus Baal come to torment us,” Leopold screamed as he taunted his blade towards the forest, throwing curses at the pack of wolves. “I mean this is just ridiculous!” Leopold continued his plethora of muttered swears.
Aderyn rushed to his side with a clean rag and applied pressure to the spurting wound. “You’ll be alright Leopold, just keep this on.”
Leopold winched in pain, like that of a pouting child with a fresh scrape. “Oh all right enough of that!” He grabbed the rag violently from Aderyn’s hand, brushing off the act of kindness. “No time for the while I gut every one of those bastards!” He screamed in a great huff at the silent forest.
“Quiet Leopold,” Alfnod said as he listened to the sounds of the woods.
“No! I swear I shall gut and hide every one of…” Leopold was cut off.
“Shut up!” Alfnod shouted, raising his hand towards his elven friend for quiet. His pointed ears twitched as he focused on a single sound coming from the forest. It was heavy breathing of some animal, wounded severely, but still in the realm of the living. “Come on!” Alfnod ordered, his companions followed him into the forest towards the source of the strange noise, there was no sign of the wolves.
Upon a grassy knoll, they found a strange creature, breathing heavy from wolf bites and tears in his flesh. It was majestic and mysterious, its horns were curved once round, and his face and legs were that of a ram, and his body was of a man, though it was covered in fur. His yellow beady eyes were only half open; his vision was weak from his wounds. At his side, he clutched a large gash in his side, were blood rushed out like a running river. His weapon was an archaic thing, a stone club carved with many symbols known only to his kin. His belt was adorned with many brightly painted smooth stones and appeared in the same reverence of precious stones to the kings of men. His tail was limp upon the ground, near lifeless, like that of his body.
“Quickly, we’ll take him back to the camp and bind his wounds,” Aderyn said as she lifted his arm to her shoulder, and began dragging him back.
“We should leave him; those wolves are drawn to the scent of his blood,” Eadwine interjected as he held his bow drawn, gazing out into the dark forest.
Aderyn was resolute in her stance on the satyr. “No, the scent of blood is already overwhelming from Leopold, it would have no use to leave this satyr to die.” And so, the Unseen One was taken back to the camp, and his wounds were bound. He spoke no words before collapsing into a deep sleep, clearly exhausted from his injuries.
No visions came to the Seer that night, and all he saw in his dreams were blinding darkness.
The morning sun broke from the veil of the tree line and greeted the ones sleeping on the ancient ruins. Cedric was staring at their guest as he stirred from his healing rest, for this was the first time in many generations that the forested folk of Trundor had met with man. The satyr spoke coldly, though politely, a simple thank you or yes was all they could get from him as they ate their breakfast. He made no attempt to move or get up, for he knew his hosts would not let him leave just yet. They had removed his club, and he was not given a knife to take his meal. His eyes had grown wide in his healing, and they were darting in each direction, taking in the faces of each of his saviors.
“Who are you?” Cedric asked he grew impatient of the polite but empty answers that satyr had given. The satyr did not respond; rather he continued to eat his breakfast using only his fingers as utensils. “Why are you here? What brings you this far west in the Ithon, I thought your folk lived in the thick woods to the east?” Again, he did not respond; he did not even look to face Cedric. Cedric grew angry; his face became red hot as he drew his blade on the satyr’s neck, who jumped back in fear. “You shall answer me wild thing, or I shall do away with you like the wolves. My companion near died because of you, you led those wolves here, by ill intention or accident I do not know. I only know you shall answer me or die!”
The satyr raised his hands in submission and began to speak. “I am Pike, son of Halke, Lord of the Folk of the Forest. I was passing through the eastern paths of the forest when my party was attacked by the same wolf pack that killed your friend, of which I am truly sorry.” The satyr’s eyes grew mournful as he thought back to his former companions. “My friends were slaughtered too by those wild beasts. We were sent south by my father to parley with the one your people call the Lord of Suthon, the forest far south of here. I cannot mention more of my mission, for it is of utmost importance to the welfare of my kingdom.”
Cedric sheathed his blade and helped the satyr to his feet. “Go then Pike, leave us and return to your father.” Cedric was through with the situation, and he wished to drop the matter entirely.
Alfnod was quick to pull Cedric to the side, and the elf spoke. “Cedric, this beast knows the paths of the forest, with his help we could navigate through the Ithon in less than a week’s travel time, we should not be so fast to dismiss him.
Pike interrupted the two’s private conversation. “My lords, I am truly thankful for your rescue, if it had not been for you I would have surely perished.” He knelt before Cedric, “allow me to repay your service, I shall take you to my father, Halke, and he shall give you many gifts for saving his eldest son, and safe passage through his forest paths.”
Cedric and Alfnod exchanged a look of approval with one another and made silent agreement to honor this pledge.
“Thank you, Pike, we need supplies and rest, I shall honor your pledge,” Cedric said as he shook hands with the satyr, and the group made their way east, further into the forest.
Chapter 20
The Guidemaster Pike
In the group’s days of travel, they passed by paths and roads known only by Trundor’s people. The ways were well hidden, not even the greatest hunters in all the land could track the pathing of a satyr or passing centaur. Pike taught them much about his culture in the way he carried himself. He stood tall and with pride, with his chest extended outward, as any son of a wild king would. He was clever as well, finding abundant hordes of berries and wild mushrooms, knowing which were deadly, even to men and elves. He had been taught well by the shamans and wise of his people, who had lived for many lifetimes in their hidden huts.
Over the days they traveled, Pike was told of Cedric’s cause and quest, and the return of Azrael, or The Cursed One, as he is known to the Unseen Ones. Pike responded with his own people’s tales of Azrael; for in the time of Adalgott Azrael and his servants came to visit the Ithon, and made friendship with the former chiefs of satyrs and centaurs. They each were seduced and empowered by the promises Azrael made to the Folk of the Forest, chiefly, the return of the Lorinian fields to their possession.
For many years, the Unseen fought alongside Azrael’s forces, until the day Azrael began to force the woodland folk to worship his lord Crassus Baal. Some took the blood oath and worshiped their new master. Others, Uthlek the Righteous, head of the centaurs, opposed the conversion. This centaur took his best warriors and went through hamlet after hamlet, slaying all those who betrayed Trundor, until he eventually took up the role of king of the forest. With this slaughter, Azrael was banished from the realm, and his years of diplomacy proved fruitless.
They made good time, and in only a few days they had reached the edge of Pike’s home territory. The landscape changed around them, for the sun became blotted out by the thick bunches of branches from overhead trees, and the sounds of birds had become more primal, it appeared as a land outside of time.
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sp; “Here is the border of my people,” Pike said beaming with pride as he reached towards the dirt, marking the etchings and foot trod paths that made a physical border with the rest of the Ithon. “You will find our land to be prosperous and happy, for we have not dealt with outside threat, nor outsiders in general for many generations. Behold Lord Cedric, you and your company, are the first men to walk in these lands since the time of your Chief King, Adalgott.”
Now through the mess of trees, small hamlets and huts came into view. The wild creatures of the forest were hard at work, bringing back the fruit of their hunt, or tending to household duties; each was abuzz with activity. The villagers stopped and stared at the passing group led by their prince, for many had never laid eyes on man or elf. Little satyr children, with newly sprouted horns, followed them from a distance, exchanging hushed whispers of excitement with one another. It was dusk, as the little light that broke through the tree line had become a fading orange.
Pike led them to a great hut, with many supporting beams and ornate designs on its huge cloth walls. It was the hall of their king, Halke, and had served his many ancestors before him. They were stopped by two chain-clad guards carrying spears, with closed helmets that masked their animalistic features.
“Make way for the son of the king,” Pike bellowed in an authoritative tone as he raised his hand. “I bring Halke dire news from the Suthon, as well as guests from the lands of men.” The guards stepped down and allowed them passage, though they shot angry and distrusting looks at all the prince’s guests.
The Sword to Unite Page 15