Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild

by Peter Plasse

  “You know where the food stores are in the catacombs. And those of the armaments.” He smiled. “You spelled them.

  “One question, though, before you leave. Do you have any thought as to the cause of this mysterious waning of the magic?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  “All right, go then.”

  Paulimas quickly embraced the Princess that he had bounced on his knee when she was a little girl, and took the hand of Jared in his own. “It appears we will not be able to speak about this new weaponry,” he said, “but as soon as time affords … ”

  “Of course.”

  He left without another word.

  “If I might speak, My King.”

  “Of course, Jared.”

  “As you know, Sire, books have always been an illegal thing here in Ravenwild, since long before any of us was born. But know that my father dedicated his life to collecting these illegal things, and with his passing, I took them all and went to the woods to live. My reasons were somewhat different than those of the Princess but … Well, anyway, I have dedicated much of my life to committing the words of some of them to memory. One was on Prophecy, and if I may quote it.”

  He closed his eyes. He went back in time.

  “'There will come a dark time when the Trolls will be led by one with a heart as black as the darkest night. Under his command they will subjugate the Gnomes. The Gnomes will then fight with them as the only means to their survival. Together, then, they will try to eliminate every remaining Human, Elf, and Dwarf from our world, and they will never stop until this they have done. Nothing done by those that survive the first assault will matter, except to forestall the inevitable, for the force that hunts them will be too great. The final attack will come in the spring after the fall of the Great Wall. Left to themselves, all will perish.

  “But from beyond the stars there will arrive a lost girl, on the verge of womanhood, in the great reaches of the Ravenwild forests, who can be their savior if she is herself first saved. She will travel to the Enchanted Northland, spelled since the time of the Great War by twelve great wizards, whose bones will have long since turned to dust, but whose sorcery will never weaken nor fail. There she will match wits with the Dukkar, a creature given life from lifelessness by the power of those same twelve wizards, and if successful, she will come to possess a talisman that will give her more power than has ever been seen on this world, since even before the Great War.

  “If she fails, all is lost.

  “But if she prevails, and masters the eight commandments of the Bindu-ward art of magic and spell under the watchful eye of the Dukkar, she will then journey to the Lost City of Elves. There she will learn to draw upon the power of the earth, the sun, the wind, and water. Stronger and stronger she will become, and as her powers grow, magic will begin to fail.

  “She will be recognized by those who save her by the blood-red gemstone that she wears on her neck, on the finest of golden chain. It will be in the shape of a heart, and two serpents will wrestle at its center. Take great care with this precious stone, for it will be how she finds her way home.’”

  “You never said that other part,” said Diana.

  Jared nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

  “Well,” said Rolan. “Let’s hope it lasts until our fine wizards are able to repair the breach in the Great Wall. Before it fails to the point that they are unable.”

  Forrester and Orie studied the tracks, Orie down on one knee and Forrester standing beside him with his huge arms folded across his chest, ever scanning the forest around them for signs of danger.

  They had been running all day, trying desperately to close the distance between themselves and Jacqueline. Far off to the south they could hear Wolves howling back and forth. Lots of Wolves. It sounded like hundreds of them. “These are obviously her tracks,” said Orie. “And these are the tracks of a cat. Do you suppose it’s possible that a cat came with her? And these … are Wolf tracks. You would think that they were chasing her, but there’s no way she could outrun them. What do you make of that, Forrester?”

  “I can’t say. But I do know this. We are dead meat if they catch us. Well, at least I am. They eat Trolls, you know, and although I could handle one of them, maybe two or three, from the sounds of it, there are way more than a few of them.”

  Orie quickly spread the map in front of them. “She’s close!” he said. “Come on. If we hurry, we can catch her.”

  They raced ahead, all the while the howls of the Wolves to the south of them drawing closer.

  “We’re not going to make it,” called out Forrester. “We’re going to have to climb a tree pretty soon.”

  “We’ll make it,” panted Orie. He picked up the pace double-time. His breathing was ragged. His chest felt like it was on fire. His legs were turning to mush. He stumbled and fell, picking himself up as quickly as he had fallen, and continued to run. They entered a clearing. There she was! Straight-ahead, about a hundred yards. He was about to yell for her when he heard the growl, a death growl, coming from somewhere off to their right. Then they heard another, off to their left from behind a large bush with leaves as red as blood. Forrester drew his sword as the Wolves sprang at him from each side.

  “Jacqueline !” Orie screamed. “Jacqueline, help!”

  “Orie?” Jacqueline shrieked back. She thought as hard as she had ever thought anything, forcing her thoughts out, reaching towards Brutus and begging him to stop the attack. “Brutus, it’s my brother!” she screamed in her mind, closing her eyes and clenching her fists.

  At the last second, Jacqueline’s frantic thoughts crashed into his consciousness. He had already started his lunge, but he was able to push off harder with one of his back paws than the other and sailed wide to the right in mid-leap, at the same time ordering Stefen to abort the assault.

  They would never figure out why he didn’t. Or perhaps couldn’t. They would never know that his last private thoughts, as Forrester’s great sword slammed into the back of his neck, were how this solitary Troll in his forest represented many meals for his mate, and his pups yet unborn, and how this is what Wolves just did, they put themselves in harm’s way for the ones they loved. It was a question of honor.

  Jacqueline, Cinnamon, and Brutus all felt the blow as if it had struck them. Jacqueline felt as though she had been knocked right off her feet, and for a few seconds, found it difficult to breathe. Then she heard Stefen’s voice come to her in her mind, as if he were calling to her from a great distance. “Jacqueline. You were right, I am sorry, you were right, I should … ” Then it winked out, like a light when the switch is flipped, and he was gone … The pain she felt in her neck was replaced with a different one that coursed through her all the way to her very core as she stood, trembling violently, and searched for him in her mind’s eye.

  There was nothing. Nothing at all. He was gone.

  At the same time, Orie was sprinting towards her, his unseen form leaving a wake of faint footprints and disturbed forest floor debris. Brutus, while he could not see him, could see this. And he could smell him. Realizing there was nothing he could do for his packmate, who lay dying in front of him, he raced after the phantom that was headed straight for Jacqueline. He tore after it, closing the gap in seconds. Forrester, knowing he would never be able to be able to get there in time, threw his sword. It left his hand in a flash and was about to find its mark when Brutus altered his path of travel; enough such that it whizzed by him. It barely grazed his flank, burying itself in the ground where it wavered harmlessly back and forth. Out of the corner of his eye, Orie saw the Wolf’s approach and threw himself on his sister, turning at the last second to face the beast, his sword out with blade up. Fangs bared in a death snarl, Brutus cleared the last twenty feet in a great leap, determined to tear this abomination from his charge. It was a blur, faster than could be followed by the human eye. Jacqueline felt the weight of her brother upon her, and she smelled him. Her thoughts were
faster. Once again she reached out to Brutus with her mind, thinking, “No, Brutus. It’s my brother!”

  Too late to stop himself in the middle of his jump, the huge animal landed on top of both of them, knocking the wind out of Orie, who crumpled.

  Forrester ran and retrieved his sword. Ripping it out of the ground, he prepared to do battle with the Wolf, who faced him with the same snarl that moments before had been directed at Orie’s invisible presence. They circled each other warily as hundreds of Wolves, led by Roly and the others, came tearing into the valley. “Jacqueline,” panted Orie, on his hands and knees and struggling to catch his breath, “He’s … with me … … He’s my friend.”

  “Call them off, Brutus,” she called to him. “He is with my brother! He is his friend!”

  Still the Wolves charged forward, running full-speed, with their tongues hanging out and spittle flying from their mouths.

  “Brutus! Call them off!”

  The horses, all five of them, had mysteriously disappeared. Gracie was particularly distraught. They tracked them for hours, but were forced to call off the search when they noticed dozens of Troll footprints on the same trail. All agreed they were fresh.

  Forced into making a very difficult decision, they turned about and headed south on foot, towards Jacqueline.

  “Still not there?” she asked Ryan, who was once again trying to see if he could locate Stephanie’s dot on the maps spread out in front of him on the forest floor of their campsite.

  “Still not there,” he echoed. “But wait, here’s something. Look here.”

  She walked the few steps between them and tried to focus on the map in the scant light of the newly risen Inam'Ra spring moons. “See,” he said, pointing with the tip of his dagger. “That has to be Orie and Forrester. They’re okay, Grace. I know it. I can feel it. And look, they’re with Jacqueline. See, they’re right on the border of Ravenwild. This is crazy! I have, like, no idea how she did it, but it looks like Jacqueline hung in there until they could get to her!”

  In their excitement they hugged wildly, jumping up and down while embracing, like fourth-graders at a birthday party.

  Erik strode back into camp carrying the hindquarters of a small deer.

  “You guys look like you’re in a good mood.” He grinned. “How come? It isn’t because of this.” He picked the hindquarters up a bit off of his shoulders.

  “No, definitely not because of that,” said Gracie, wrinkling up her nose, “but thank you. I don’t mean to seem unappreciative, but I’m so sick of deer meat I could die. No, Orie’s dot, and Forrester’s, have reappeared on the map, and it looks like they and Jacqueline are together.”

  Erik hung the rack of meat on a broken-off branch of one of the pines and walked over for a look.

  “Fantastic,” he said. “Fantastic,” he repeated for emphasis. “Where’s Daria?”

  Ryan nodded off to his left. “Down by the stream washing up.”

  “Well, that is good news,” said Erik. “Great news.” He walked off to check on Daria.

  “And look here,” Ryan said, “Mr. and Mrs. Strong are on the move too. Remember, dots have appeared and disappeared on these things since we got here. I’m sure she’s all right, Grace. I’m sure of it.”

  Erik found Daria by the edge of the small stream where she sat staring blankly into the clear water. He could tell she had been crying.

  “How are you doing?” he asked gently.

  “All right,” she sighed. “It’s... it's that I find myself constantly wishing … you know … ” She lowered her head and began to cry softly again.

  Erik approached her and put his arm around her large shoulders. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

  “You know,” said Titan Mobst, wiping the sweat from his neck, “with all of that pig iron in there, it’s going to take a lot more work than we thought to drag her to the launch point.”

  After setting one of the last blocks of iron down below, Saviar Murlis took a long pull from the flask of ale handed to him by one of the crew.

  The cavern in which the great ship silently rested was a study in effort. Tools lay scattered all about as though the victims of massive winds from a huge storm. Ladders were perched everywhere at odd angles, having been used and set quickly aside to allow for the next task at hand. Barrels, rigging, weapons, and all manner of construction gear were strewn all about.

  “How much longer?” he asked.

  Titan continued to wipe himself down. The small bit of cloth he was using was way too small to remove any significant amount of the grime from the smelter, causing his skin to look more like the bark of a tree affected by the blight than the skin of a Gnome. “Hard to say,” he said. He nodded towards the ship where the workers had assembled on deck, one of them manning the helm and another sliding down a rope to call commands to him to turn the tiller right and left to be sure that it functioned properly. The rest of them busied themselves coiling ropes, loading weapons, stowing barrels, sweeping, polishing, fastening, and making all of the last minute preparations for the imminent launch. There was not an idle pair of hands among them. “Good lads,” he grunted. “They make us proud this day.”

  Saviar returned his grunt in kind. “She needs a name,” he said, looking on the great ship.

  “Already taken care of.”

  He called for the help of four of them. As one, they lifted up a broad, thick, iron plate that they all helped fasten to the stern.

  But for the strict code of quiet under which they operated on this clandestine mission of hope, there would have undoubtedly been a raucous cheer of some sort. Under the circumstances, they had to settle for smiles and handshakes all around as they stood and admired the work that had occupied Titan Mobst for the last several days, the name of their about to be christened vessel:

  Mexyl Wyn

  “Let them chew on that as we sail away from them,” he said. “The ones we have not managed to kill.”

  They walked in single file, Captain Pilrick in the lead. He was followed by Oddwaddle, who shuffled along with that strange gait by which he had garnered his name. Jessica and Blake were next, followed by Gall, who had been careful to position himself in between them and Jebwickett, who brought up the rear. They had been marching west for days now, headed towards the northeast border of Vultura and hoping to rendezvous with one of the clans where they might glean some news as to the whereabouts of Stephanie and of the war. Every evening had brought them rest and a meal of fresh meat, thanks to the hunting talents of Blake, as well as a chance for Jessica to sit alone with Jebwickett and try to pick away at the layers of hate in which he kept himself so tightly wrapped.

  As the second spring-moon began to peek its way over the distant horizon,

  the captain called a halt to the day’s march and ordered everybody to be about the business of setting up camp for the night. Around a fire, they sat in silence and chewed the time away.

  “Jebwickett,” said the captain, “You will take first watch. I will take second. Oddwaddle, you will relieve me.”

  Blake and Jessica busied themselves with dragging windblowns, pieces of brush, small boulders, and any other form of debris that would provide protection from the chill that might soon be upon them.

  “Feels like it’s going to be warmer tonight,” said Blake.

  “Mmmm,” answered Jessica. “I’m just happy that I don’t have to clean up after them anymore.”

  She approached the captain, already rolled up in his bedroll and starting to drift off. “Captain Pilrick,” she said softly, “permission to sit with Jebwickett for a bit.”

  The captain had noticed these meetings between them for the last several nights, and being an intelligent Gnome, had a pretty good idea what she was trying to do.

  “Permission granted,” he said in a weary voice. He rolled away from her.

  She stood to leave and he rolled back, propping himself up one elbow. “You know, you’re not going to fix him.”

  She nodded.
“Probably not,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep trying.”

  He sighed. “Very well. Carry on.”

  Blake continued to work on their temporary camp. “I’m going to speak with Jebwickett,” she said.

  Shoving a pile of leaves into one of the crevices, he said, “Go for it. But keep your sword at the ready. I can’t afford to lose you.”

  She smiled.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “We both know what he’s capable of. I think what you’re doing is admirable, but … ”

  “But what?”

  “What’s that old saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions …”

  “And polished with sad regrets,” she finished for him.

  “You got it,” he said, reaching for another branch. “Be careful.”

  “May I sit with you?” she asked Jebwickett.

  “I suppose.”

  They sat together, neither speaking for a while. She reached over to hike his coat a little further up on his neck against the breeze, and he stiffened. Tonight, unlike the night before, and the night before that, his hand did not drop to his sword.

  “You know, Jebwickett,” she began, “you’re just a boy.”

  “I am not a boy,” he snapped. “I am a soldier. I am a soldier in service to my Emperor, Leopold Malance Venomisis. We might not seem it to you, but we are an army, and an army needs discipline. I am in charge of that. I am the discipline

  officer.” He turned to face her with a haughty smile.

  “I want you to tell me about the day that Gall’s mother was killed.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” he said. “I don’t have to.”

  “I think you do. I think you want to talk about that a lot.”

  “What makes you so smart?” He looked at her suspiciously.