by Lee C Conley
He leafed through a large open book on the table.
‘The College,’ said Arnulf to himself.
The pages were full of drawings of limbs and bones with text written in a spidery script. The sketches and diagrams were incredible, like none he had ever seen. Fascinating yet disturbing to look upon. The innards of men depicted on paper.
He had seen the dusty old skeletal remains of ancient men, long dead, laid in the holy places and Arnulf had seen battle. He knew men were made of hearts and lungs and a belly of guts. He had seen them spilled and pierced amongst the battlefield dead. These drawings were chillingly reminiscent of those bloody memories.
He flicked to the last page, marked by a faded green ribbon. These pictures were different, strange symbols and glyphs. He shuddered to look upon them. Strangely he felt he had seen them before although he knew he never had. His eyes were drawn to an old parchment unrolled beneath the great tome. It was full of strange markings and glyphs.
The last pages of the book seemed to be devoted to strange religious rites and practices. Many of the writings he could not read, written in a strange foreign hand, but he could make out the spidery notes scrawled beside them. Strange statements and chilling translations, all too fragmented to make any sense. He shuddered, closing the great book.
‘Arnulf, you should see this,’ said Hafgan, appearing behind him. He stopped as he entered and stared at the rich furnishings.
‘Uh, but I think this beats mine,’ said Hafgan with a bewildered look. ‘What is this?’ he muttered.
Arnulf turned to the big warrior.
‘Looks like College men, Haf,’ answered Arnulf. ‘But the gods know what they’re doing up here. What did you find?’
Hafgan’s eyes ran over the table. Then he said, ‘The other tent has many books and papers. But not like this. It is plainer. Perhaps you should look, none of the others can make much of it and I have no eye for script either.’
Arnulf smiled. ‘I only know a little, old friend, but show me.’
The other tent was indeed much plainer. A simple cot adorned one side and another table. But, unlike the other tent, it had little decoration other than a pile of furs on the floor at the foot of the cot.
There were shelves full of scrolls and books here also and a fine large chest. Arnulf opened the chest. He saw just clothes and personal belongings. He reached inside and plucked out a feather brooch, a symbol of the College.
‘The College indeed,’ he muttered.
Hafgan eyed the brooch in his lord’s hand and nodded a silent agreement.
He made his way to the table and looked at the scrolls left out. Unrolling and scanning each one in turn.
‘They’re maps. I think it’s the ruins and here about. Have they been mapping the ruin? Sounds like the sort of pointless study the College would undertake.’
Hafgan grunted humorously.
The great hound joined them. It padded in and lay down on the furs, watching them with curious eyes.
A foul stench pervaded his nostrils.
‘That smell,’ said Fergus as he ducked into the marquee’s main entrance. ‘This whole place stinks of death.’ Fergus blinked as his eyes adjusted and found Arnulf. ‘Find anything?’ he asked.
Arnulf tossed the brooch over.
‘College,’ exclaimed Fergus. ‘What in the gods are they doing up here?’
Arnulf shrugged and shook his head.
‘Still no sign of the folk here?’ asked Fergus.
‘Nobody here. It’s deserted,’ said Arnulf.
‘Well, we found some,’ said Fergus grinning through his red platted beard.
Lowering the parchment he held, Arnulf threw him an enquiring glance.
‘Come,’ beckoned Fergus.
Arnulf placed the parchment down on the table and followed Fergus outside, trailed by Hafgan and the hound.
‘I sent some of the boys up there to look around,’ said Fergus, pointing to a bluff rising from the scattered masonry a hundred or so paces away. ‘They found something you might be interested in.’
‘What?’
Fergus shrugged.
‘Have they found Darek?’ demanded Arnulf.
Fergus didn’t reply and continued towards the outcrop, picking his way through strewn rocks.
Arnulf cursed his old friend under his breath, damn Fergus and his taxing humour.
Fergus obviously hearing, turned and flashed him a grin, and then said, ‘Not sure Arnulf, I haven’t seen it, could be. But I don’t think so from what they said. Come see for yourself.’
Fergus was following, what seemed to be, a travelled path leading up to the outcrop, winding its way through the ancient crumbling walls and stones. Arnulf followed him, still trailed by the hound and the ever near Hafgan, who eyed the surrounding rocks suspiciously as he past amongst them.
‘Here, Arnulf, the first one,’ said Fergus.
As Arnulf moved closer, he saw a man sprawled on the floor. The man was dead and naked, all but a dirty cloth undergarment.
‘Is he yours?’ asked Fergus.
Hafgan kicked the corpse over, unleashing a cloud of flies and a terrible stench of rot.
‘No,’ said Arnulf, covering his nose with his hand. ‘You said the first one? There’s more?’
‘Aye, there’s more,’ replied Fergus. ‘I only saw this one before I came to show you, but my men said there is another.’
Arnulf cast another disgusted look at the sprawled corpse. The man’s skull had been caved in by a mighty blow from an edged weapon, nearly cleaving his head in two. He moved onwards, leaving the flies to settle once more.
As he walked, Hafgan felt a crunch beneath his feet. The others turned at the sound. The big warrior plucked the mangled, twisted remains of an old lantern from his boot. Hafgan shrugged and casting it aside, he followed his lord as they approached the looming hill ahead.
The hill, composed of earth over huge boulders that thrust from an outcrop of bedrock, now rose up high in front of them as they drew closer. The trail Fergus followed seemed to wind up around the side of the outcrop. Arnulf presumed it led to the summit.
There, at the foot of the outcrop, amongst the tall grass, lay another body. This one face up, its eyes and mouth buzzed with a miasma of flies. The corpse’s leg had been hewn off and laid a few paces away. It looked as if the man had clawed himself onwards to where he now rested and had rolled over to lie facing upwards as he died.
Fergus threw an enquiring glance at Arnulf, who shook his head.
‘Who are they all?’ said Fergus.
‘These men have been dead maybe a week or more,’ said Hafgan.
‘Aye,’ said Arnulf. ‘And going on the marquee back there, I’d say the College have had a hand in all this.’
Fergus stroked his beard thoughtfully, then said, ‘What in the gods are the College doing up here? And without our leave. My father must hear of this.’
Arnulf eyed the path hewn into the rock itself, in comparison to the rough track they had followed to the outcrop, this carved walkway seemed as ancient as the crumbling ruin surrounding them.
‘What do you think is at the top?’ said Arnulf.
‘Let’s find out. These men seemed to have died getting here,’ said Fergus.
They ascended. The path carved from the hillside rounded a corner near the hills summit. It opened up from the carved path into a similarly fashioned square cut room. The room was open to the darkening sky and only enclosed by the outcrops of bedrock on three sides, the fourth was open and looked out over the ruins below.
The first thing Arnulf’s eyes fell upon was a huge cylinder of burnished bronze set into a wooden frame. A pedestal carved from a single stone sat in the middle of the room.
Arnulf approached the cylinder and ran his hand across the smooth surface.
‘Crone’s sight! What is this thing?’ said Arnulf, awed by the strange cylinder.
Fergus studied it a moment, and then said, ‘Is it a bracer? Belonging
to some giant perhaps? Gods it’s huge.’
‘I’ve seen the Teliks with armour of bronze like that over their arms…Vambrace, I think they call them,’ replied Arnulf. ‘It can’t be though… giants?’
‘There are old tales of giants but…’ Fergus trailed off.
Hafgan chuckled. Both lords swung round to face him.
‘I believe, lords, this is a bell. I have seen them at Arn and another at Peren, in the sea tower.’
‘I have heard of the bell at Peren,’ said Arnulf. ‘If I had known it was like this, I would have gone to see it long before now.’
‘They are only to be rung in warning. Few these days have ever seen one or heard one toll,’ said Hafgan.
‘Yet, we did,’ said Arnulf with grim expression.
Fergus rapped the cylinder with the pommel of his sword. A deep chime, almost seeming to shake the very rock, rang out and rolled across the ruins below.
‘Ha, I couldn’t wait any longer. It appears we have found your bell, Arnulf,’ laughed Fergus. He raised his hand to strike the bell again when Hafgan seized his arm.
‘Stay your hand, lord,’ rasped Hafgan.
A flicker of anger showed on Fergus’s face before he forced a smile. ‘You forget yourself, friend Haf,’ he said through his clenched grin, a sharp look in his eye.
‘I am sorry, Fergus…lord. But you just announced our presence to any foes who might still be lurking in wait for us.’
They locked eyes for an awkward moment as Hafgan released his arm and stepped back.
It was then the two men noticed Arnulf. He stood at the open side of the room looking out into the ruin. A low wall of old piled stone was all that separated him from the steep drop below.
‘What is it, Arnulf?’ asked Fergus, joining him at the low wall. Fergus immediately noted the marquee, now clearly visible amongst the tangle of ruined stone below.
‘What is that?’ said Arnulf, pointing out over the ruins. His gaze drawn by the circling of Rhann and crows over the shadowy silhouettes of stone in the fading dusk light. Silhouettes, of what looked like monoliths, rising from the crown of a circular hill.
‘An old circle?’ said Fergus.
‘Have you ever seen one so huge?’ replied Arnulf.
‘Perhaps part of the ruin, or a strange gathering of stones. Well they do say there were giants in these passes, a giant’s hall perhaps?’ said Fergus with a grin.
Watching the dark shapes circle in the distance, Arnulf stretched a hand out to lean on the carved wall of the hillside. He recoiled suddenly. A crimson ichor glistened on his hand.
‘Blood,’ he said.
They had not noticed in the dim light, but now their attention was drawn to the walls and the floor. There was blood splashed about, on the floor and walls around them. A grisly handprint here and there, one smeared the wall, as its maker had lent out a supporting hand upon the cold stone, perhaps his last steps.
‘Come, let us leave this place,’ said Arnulf with a frown. ‘There are no more answers here.’
‘Yet, more questions,’ muttered Hafgan, as he turned to carefully pick his way back along the winding path to below.
They were greeted at the bottom by two of Fergus’s warriors. The two shield-maidens, bearing flaming torches in the growing darkness, stood over the corpse at the foot of the outcrop, their faces grim.
Hafgan followed the two lords as they made their way back carefully to the enclosure of the marquee, escorted by the two warriors. He continued to scan the dark surroundings with suspicion as he walked. He had a strange feeling of being watched, it was an unsettling feeling. Why had Fergus rung that bell? It was foolish.
Hafgan suddenly sensed movement to his left. He whirled to meet it, sword in hand. The hound appeared from the dark undergrowth, cowering low. It growled up at him, baring yellow teeth.
‘Damn dog,’ muttered Hafgan, lowering his weapon as the hound backed away.
‘Ha! Snuck up on you, Haf,’ laughed Fergus.
The big warrior grunted and watched as the great hound slunk after Arnulf.
The shadows of derelict walls loomed up in their path as they picked their way through rubble, back to the marquee. Smoke from spluttering torches swirled about them and spiralled off into the evening sky. The hound padded at Arnulf’s side.
Hafgan was bemused by Arnulf’s strange new companion. He wondered what his lord would do with the beast if it continued to follow him.
The hound suddenly cowered again, low to the floor, its hackles raised. Growling at the shadows, it backed off and hid amongst the rubble behind Arnulf.
Hafgan stared into the darkness as Arnulf tried to coax the beast out. It finally emerged, looking about warily.
‘Ha, the beast is afraid of shadows,’ laughed Fergus, and slapping Hafgan on the back, said, ‘Will teach the damn thing to have startled you, Haf.’
Hafgan grunted and continued staring at the shadows amongst which the hound had perceived a threat. There was nothing.
The hound began barking suddenly and bolted. Startled, Hafgan turned as the hound fled. He caught the flicker of movement in the edge of his vision while his head was turned.
He wheeled and side stepped as a dark shape plunged past, missing him by a hand’s width. His axe flashed into his left hand, and he struck the lunging shape in a swift arcing motion as it flew past.
A dark figure sprawled on the floor. Quickly recovering, it loped off on all fours before Hafgan could swing a killing blow.
The figure wheeled and stood facing them.
Hafgan drew his sword with his free right hand, his axe still hung in his left, its head bloodied.
‘By the gods,’ gasped Fergus. ‘Olad?’
The warrior Olad stood before them. His stance, slightly hunched. His face slightly lowered but with glinting eyes glaring up at them. Fergus’s two guards leapt to flank their lord, levelling their spears with shields raised.
‘Olad,’ bellowed Fergus.
There was no reply. Shadows danced across Olad’s features in the flickering torchlight. A sick smile spread across the warrior’s face. Blood seemed to be trickling down off one hand, Hafgan’s strike had been swift, but Olad seemed not to have even noticed the wound. He stood staring. And then, he lunged.
Deftly avoiding the spear of the first woman, Olad crashed against her shield, with what must have been great strength, as she was sent sprawling to the floor.
Olad then seized the spear shaft of the other woman, closed, and struck her down with his other fist before she had time to react. She was no match for such blinding speed.
Arnulf watched in horror as the events unfolded. Fergus seemed frozen is disbelief as the warrior Olad now stood before him.
Hafgan leapt forward as soon as Olad had initially lunged, pushing past Arnulf, he threw himself at the crazed warrior just as he took down the second of Fergus’s guardswomen. Hafgan struck hard with the pommel of his sword, aiming for the warrior’s head. Olad was knocked senseless by the mighty blow and fell to the floor.
Blinking, Fergus turned to Hafgan. He said nothing for a moment, and then said, ‘Haf, by the gods, I don’t even know how that happened.’
‘So fast…,’ muttered Arnulf, trailing off as he stared at the limp figure of Olad in disbelief. ‘I barely had time to raise my axe.’
‘You have my thanks, Haf,’ said Fergus.
Hafgan hooked his axe back into his belt and helped the two women to their feet. They were not wounded but for a few bruises.
The ferocity and unnerving malice of the sudden attack imposed a short silence upon them.
The hound reappeared and slunk about sniffing the air cautiously. It emitted a low growl as it sniffed at the unconscious warrior.
‘I have never seen someone move so fast,’ said Arnulf, still looking at the senseless warrior. ‘And you, Haf, well done. That was swift thinking. You didn’t kill him?’
‘No, lord, I didn’t kill him,’ replied Hafgan. He then grunted, adding, e He H�
�I could have hit him with the other end. But we need answers.’
Arnulf nodded. ‘Answers,’ he repeated. ‘Indeed, Haf. Such a blow could have killed him. You judged well.’
‘If it hadn’t have felled him, I would have indeed killed him, lord,’ replied Hafgan.
Arnulf grimaced and nodded.
Carrying the unconscious form of the warrior Olad, they returned to the marquee compound. Arnulf could see the other warriors had lit torches. The ruddy firelight flickered amongst the ruins nearby as the warriors cautiously searched about the compound and stood sentry, vigilantly watching the darkness.
After depositing the unconscious warrior in the marquee and seeing that he was restrained and put under a suitable guard, Hafgan went to find Arnulf. He found his lord, talking with Fergus outside the marquee. Hafgan heard the conversation rising heatedly as they discussed their next course of action.
‘The Rhann were circling something,’ said Arnulf.
‘Perhaps? And then again, perhaps not, Arnulf,’ said Fergus.
‘We should take a look. There could be more.’
‘You plan to go up there in the dark. After that,’ said Fergus, gesturing at the now bound and guarded form of Olad. ‘It’s foolish.’
‘I do,’ replied Arnulf.
‘The men do not want to linger here at night. We should make for the low lands and make camp.’
‘Stay then, old friend. I will take some men to look. It will not take long. Some will need to stay here and watch our crazed friend.’
‘He must have followed us up here,’ said Fergus looking back into the marquee.
‘Aye, I felt watchful eyes upon me out in the ruins,’ said Arnulf, his voice low. ‘He was hunting us, hunting you, perhaps?’ He paused. ‘Something is very wrong here. What happened to him? I must know. Stay if you will.’
Fergus sighed angrily and said, ‘No, I will join you. I will not have it said that Fergus baulked at the darkness of the high passes. Besides, I would see this giant’s hall we saw from the high overlook. But it could wait till morning.’