‘And brought shame and ridicule upon your family name?’ spat The Baron.
‘What is family honor beside the life of you nephew?’
‘Nephew!? The boy is barely human by any reasonable measurement of the facts.’
Veronique’s tone dropped to a low whisper, but there was a current of iron resolve running through the timbre of her voice, ‘Sigourd is the heir to the throne of Corrinth Vardis, and your ordained blood sire. It would serve you well to remember that.’
‘Yes, a tragic inconvenience,’ remarked The Baron casually.
The note of desperation once more entered the lady’s voice and she began to pace again, wringing her fingers as she spoke, ‘We must make amends. Before it all comes out. We must tell the truth to The Regent and to Sigourd, we could--’
In an instant, Mortaron had crossed the small space to where his sister paced and roughly took hold of his her, his grip like a ring of iron manacled about Veronique’s slender arm. The gentle breeze that had stirred the leaves on the hedgerows died suddenly, as if even the elements themselves were fearful of engendering the ire of a man as intimidating as The Baron Mortaron. All was quiet as he spoke in a tone as hard as the iron grip with which he held the lady, ‘Know this, my patience has limits. If you attempt to break the vow of silence you swore to, and endanger the good name of our family then you test my will at your peril, sister. Rest assured I do not lack the courage of my convictions on so grave a matter.’
With that Mortaron released his sister and swept from the small clearing, leaving Veronique in alone with her tears at the centre of the Governor’s Maze.
The dragon boat slid through the shallows of the far shore, crunching softly into the black sand it came suddenly to rest.
Sigourd had summoned the boatman with a jet black pebble of obsidian, cast into the water, and sure enough the dragon had appeared from the mists. The boatman had ferried Sigourd and his companion across the still waters without comment. The young lord now turned to face the sombre looking and mysterious pilot of the boat, regarding him cryptically for a few moments. The boatman made no indication that he was aware of the scrutiny of the young lord, the deep shadows under his large hood hiding whatever expression his face might have been wearing.
‘Come, lets waste no time,’ said Jonn Grumble from the front of the boat.
Sigourd hesitated a moment longer, as if he thought to speak on something. His next movement was a whispering blur as he drew his sword from its scabbard and in one fluid movement spun toward the boatman, bringing the blade around and down in a wide arc. There was a quiet metallic ‘thunk’, and the heavy chain that tethered the boatman to his oar clattered to the deck.
‘No man should serve as slave to another,’ Sigourd said. The boatman didn’t so much as raise his head to acknowledge His new found freedom.
‘Huh,’ tutted Jonn Grumble, ‘ungrateful sod.’
He and Sigourd turned to step off the boat, when suddenly the skeletally thin hand of the boatman shot out to take hold of Sigourd’s wrist. The young lord turned back suddenly to see that the boatman was looking straight at him, and for the first time he could make out the twinkle of dark eyes under that deep hood. A voice, like the whispering of the wind through a dead forest gusted out of the darkness from all around them, ‘Heed me young wolf lord. Through mist and spray God’s anvil looms, the currents speed to certain doom. Hold your line and set your eye, through danger’s veil you’re sure destined to fly...’
With his cryptic message delivered, the boatman released Sigourd and lowered his head once more, the twinkling light fading from beneath his hood.
Somewhat unnerved by the vague undercurrent of menace in the whispers, the adventurers turned and jumped from the dragon boat, the darkly glowing water of the lake splashing between their long strides as they marched onto shore.
With a protracted scraping, the boatman used his single long oar to push the small vessel away from the black sands. Slowly the dragon boat and the mysterious oarsman floated away on the currents of the lake, fading steadily back into the mists that hung thick about the water’s surface.
Sigourd and Jonn Grumble watched the boatman disappear, before turning and trudging back up the towards the great fissure that would lead them to the surface.
After an hours struggling back through the narrow tunnels, the pair emerged from the mountainside once more, and back into the darkness of night where the stars glittered brilliantly overhead. They blanketed the heavens like shattered crystal. But there was no moon to light the way.
‘We will continue in the direction we were traveling,’ said Sigourd. ‘We have to come down from these mountains, beyond which lies a valley. Within that valley, at the foot of a jagged peak we will find Isolde.’
‘Sounds a touch vague, I guess your vision couldn’t have helped being a bit more on the specific side?’ said Jonn Grumble.
Sigourd shrugged, ‘The vision was specific enough. When I lay eyes on the peak I saw in the dreamscape, I’ll know we’ve arrived at our intended destination, and there, I will have the answers I seek.’
Together, the pair began the long descent into the valley below them. The barren and snow swept wastes of the Ash’harad turning into a white wonderland of snow drifts and deep gorges, before the color once more began to return to the landscape. The rich, dark greens of forests the like of which neither man had ever seen before. Trees that were meters across, and many hundreds of feet high soared into the sky like towering monoliths, their branches thick and full with dense foliage that seemed too thickly arranged for the weak sunlight to penetrate.
Far below the forest canopy, a kingdom of shadows reigned. From the darkness the sounds of mysterious creatures squawking and growling at the pair of travelers as they made their careful way between the boles of the giant trees. The noisy attention from the indigenous population was almost constant, but the creatures of that perpetual chorus were careful to never reveal themselves, choosing instead to stay within the comforting embrace of the morass of shadows.
Hiking for several more days, always in the direction of the rising sun, Sigourd finally came across the thing he’d seen in his underwater dream within a dream. The jagged peak, soaring into the sky to meet the descending darkness of night. Behind it there hung a cream colored moon that shone brightly. It hung low in the sky so that its light cast the jagged peak in silhouette just as it had done in Sigourd’s vision.
‘That’s it, that’s where we’ll find Isolde,’ whispered Sigourd as he stared up at the soaring outcrop of rock before him. To see in the flesh, looming so mightily the thing that would point Sigourd in the direction of his beloved Isolde, filled him with a feeling of immense hope. For soon he would have an answer as to her fate. But it also filled him with dark concern, because he dared not think upon what other morbid truths might prove to be at the conclusion of his journey. Up to this point, he had only considered that Isolde would be being held hostage, awaiting patiently her rescue.
Now, in sight of the jagged peak that served as herald to the final leg of his journey, Sigourd allowed himself to consider the other possibility. That perhaps he would arrive too late, only to discover that his beloved had been dead all along.
Sigourd shook the dismal thought from his head, and pressed on toward that soaring peak.
Huron had waited patiently near the opening of the cave mouth into which the Prince Regent and his two companions had disappeared. He’d considered following them into the heart of the mountain, but when they had left the majority of their provisions and equipment near the opening, Huron though it better to wait them out realizing that they would undoubtedly return in due course.
For many hours, the knight had sat quietly in his hidden place, observing the entrance to the cave with keen interest, as the mountain winds whipped the snow about him. Occasionally he would hear the distant squawking of his war hawk as the creature circled high overhead. He had tasked the hawk with delivering a message to the garrison of me
n at arms he’d requisitioned from the city of Yarneth Vardis. The hawk had returned three days ago with a note from the city’s watch commander. With no great ceremony, the man had written back, explaining that he had dispatched a cavalry company to rendezvous with Huron forth with. By the knights estimation, the riders would make quick going through the mountain passes.
Huron had watched with interest as the wild man re-emerged from the cave entrance shortly after he’d disappeared into it. He stayed only briefly on the face of the mountain before some urgent matter gave him cause to dash back into that cave with all haste.
Huron had watched with even greater interest when hours later, the young lord and the wild man had re-emerged together, looking much the worse for wear, and begun to head away from the cave mouth, following the pass down the other side of the mountain.
Apparently their elderly friend had either elected to remain within the cave system, or had met his end down there.
The knight continued to trail the pair once they had reached the valley beyond the Ash’harad, and had gazed on in awe at his surroundings. Never in all his many crusades had he visited a land so humbling by virtue of its scale.
CHAPTER 14
Emergence...
The two dozen pod like structures clung to the sides of the massive trees like over-large beads of sap, or tears. Except that these tears were large enough to house entire families, and were connected throughout the forest canopy via a series of walkways and gantries that seemed to grow between the pods in a strangely organic fashion. Sigourd and Jonn Grumble had stumbled upon a village suspended many meters above the forest floor, where the dwellings appeared to be formed of some kind of living substance, pale gray and porous like bone. It almost seemed to glow softly in the afternoon light.
Truly, the eyes of Sigourd and Jonn Grumble had been opened to such miraculous sights since they had begun their crossing of the Ash’harad, and Sigourd could not now doubt, after all he’d borne witness to, that the Eastern Fringes beyond the mountain ranges were a place of divine magic and wonderment.
The pair had decided to conceal themselves near the outskirts of the strange village so that they might better observe the comings and goings of its inhabitants.
The people of the village did indeed live amongst the trees, and moved along the walkways and strange connectors of the pods with an almost feline grace, their rangy limbs moving with a measured poise. Aside from their distinctive ambulation, they possessed a certain animal quality about the eyes and mouth. They had a look like the cats that prowled around the palace, or wolves perhaps. It was not Sigourd’s opinion that they were not human, but certainly, they were like no species of man he’d encountered before.
But the one thing Sigourd did note about this community, is that they were just that. Husbands and wives walked together, children played and ran between the precarious pods, while still others went about the daily routine of any normal village person.
‘They’re a pretty looking bunch alright,’ whispered Jonn Grumble from beside Sigourd. ‘If they’re the one’s ‘ave kidnapped your bird, then how shall we go about looking for her?’
‘We’ll wait and watch. When night falls we shall move in closer to see what we can learn of these people from up close.’
Jonn Grumble nodded, and began to quietly lay down his pack, fluffing it up as if it were a pillow, ‘Might as well have a bit of a kip in that case.’
The wild man’s head was asleep almost before it hit the sack, and he slept soundly enough while Sigourd kept watch on the strange village.
Jonn Grumble awoke with a start. Night had fallen and the stars were visible in places between patches of cloud that hung in the sky like bad omens. Looking to his left, he saw that Sigourd had not moved from his place, his attention still fixed upon the village and its inhabitants.
‘I’ve seen her, moving between the dwellings near the rear of the village,’ said Sigourd without ever taking his eyes off the pods looming before him. Jonn Grumble rolled over so that he could sit up and peered out from their hiding place in the tall grass, ‘How many were with her?’ he asked.
‘Only two others, they walked together into that...whatever that is,’ said Sigourd, indicating one of the strange tear like structures. Jonn Grumble allowed his eyes to follow the direction Sigourd had indicated, toward a pod hanging amongst a cluster of the large trees. There seemed to be only two walkways connecting it to the rest of the network, one leading away east, the other leading to the north where it disappeared amongst more of the pods.
Jonn Grumble took a moment to survey the network of dwellings nearest the one where Isolde was supposed to be kept. His keen eyes searched for a place where they might gain access to the village in the least obtrusive manner possible. Finally, he saw something that they might be able to use to their advantage, a matted area of thick foliage that would allow them to climb most of the way up to Isolde’s pod while remaining hidden from view.
He saw that Sigourd had seen the opportunity too, and a feral grin split his face as he looked at the young lord, ‘Last one up that tree buys the beers at the Dirty Dog.’
His smile was returned by Sigourd, and together they carefully broke cover and made their way across the shadowed forest floor toward the cluster of giant trees.
They were careful to stay well within the shadows, avoiding the pools of light cast by strange orbs that hung down from the trees on thick vines, their bulbous ends like the glowing protuberances of fireflies in the dark. In the quiet darkness, the entire place had taken on an otherworldly aspect.
With the glowing baubles hanging from the trees, their hazy light illuminating the darkness as opposed to scouring it away, images came to Sigourd’s mind of underwater dwellings where brightly colored shoals of fish would trawl the depths, their natural luminescence bringing vibrant color and dappled light to their surroundings. Sigourd could not but help marvel at the serene tranquility, the perfect stillness and peace that seemed to permeate this wondrous place. He had expected to find perhaps a city under the reign of a brutal tyrant or a nest of thieves and vagabonds. Not this mysterious woodland paradise.
For Jonn Grumble, having spent most of his life in the Velvet Forests climbing between the boles of mighty oaks, it was no effort at all to scale trees, even trees as huge as these. For his own part, Sigourd’s natural athleticism made the task only slightly more challenging than his companion was finding it. Together he and Jonn Grumble made steady progress climbing the thick foliage that wound its way up and around the trunks of the titanic trees. Nevertheless, despite their skill and tenacity, it took them twenty minutes to reach the lower levels of the forest canopy, where most of the pods were situated. Shortly, they found themselves clambering up and onto a landing of sorts, that skirted the perimeter of the pod.
Standing now upon the landing, both men were able to stand and examine the pods from close up. Down on the ground, some forty or fifty feet below, the pods had not seemed so terribly large. But here, standing before them, their size was more readily apparent. They were easily the match in scale for the homestead of any noble of Corrinth Vardis. Sigourd estimated that they were voluminous enough to hold several large chambers stacked upon two or even three floors by the comparisons of human design.
Jonn Grumble took a moment to look out over the edge of the landing. The forest floor below had been completely lost to darkness, and he breathed deeply to steady his nerves at finding himself so high.
They were surrounded on all sides by branches thickly coated with pine needles, as well as the ubiquitous pods that clung to the trunks of those trees like over large fruit, the pale substance of their construction giving of a soft glow in the light of the luminous hanging bulbs.
Sigourd tapped Jonn Grumble upon the shoulder, snapping the wild man out of his amazed stupor, and gestured that he should follow. Sigourd led him around the landing to the far side of the pod. There in the side of the structure was a spherical opening large enough to admit a large adu
lt male. Across the opening there hung a fine silken substance, like gauze, that Sigourd gently lifted aside so that he might duck inside.
Within, the pod was more of the same porous bone like substance that had comprised the exterior. Something about that strange substance drew Sigourd’s attention. He felt compelled to study it as if it called to him, as if some instinct or deeply buried race memory bade him to connect with it. Sigourd pressed his hand to the wall, and instantly a series of images flashed through his mind’s eye.
His vision was filled with the brilliance of a full moon that hung low and bright in a cloudless sky. He saw Isolde, her face close to his as if they lay in each other’s arms. He saw the face of another. A man with the dress and bearing of a noble, but a face that looked for all the world like it had been hewn from rock.
Sigourd snatched his hand from the bone wall, concerned at the nature of these images that ran so suddenly into his mind. Jonn Grumble approached from behind, the concern evident in his tone.
‘Are ‘ya alright? What happened?’ asked the wild man.
‘It’s nothing,’ replied Sigourd perhaps a little too quickly, ‘I’m fine.’
Sigourd moved on down the corridor, skirting the wall as closely as he dared without touching it. Jonn Grumble, his curiosity getting the better of him as it frequently did, cautiously pressed his own palm to the bone wall in the same place that Sigourd had before him. To his surprise, nothing whatsoever happened. Jonn Grumble shrugged to himself before moving off into the gloom to catch up with his friend.
Here inside the pods it was unusually warm, the air heavy with moisture. There was also a peculiar scent about the place, like the inside of an animal’s den. A rich musk that permeated the air and was just shy of pungent. Jonn Grumble sniffed derisively, and whispered ‘They could do with opening a bleedin’ window. Smells like someone forgot to let the cat out.’
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