by Damien Black
‘Yes,’ sighed Horskram again. ‘Freidheim is in many ways a good and just liege – far better than most. But his royal seat is a long way from here. Not even the most powerful of monarchs can effectively rule their entire realm. And that means that here the Wolding barons are the law.’
Adelko fell into a gloomy silence. He thought of his master’s story two nights ago, of how Mammon had been tempted into evil by the Fallen Archangel, then corrupted everyone else around him. In his mind’s eye he saw a never-ending chain of human iniquity, stretching down through the ages, each link a vicious cycle of selfishness and suffering. Surely this couldn’t be what the Almighty had intended for His most precious creation? But then, if He hadn’t intended it, why had He made mankind so fallible, so flawed?
The thought depressed him, and for a long while he stared blankly around the shattered priory as the rain outside pressed down relentlessly. He could sense there were no real ghosts here, but it still felt haunted. He almost wished they were back underneath the chestnut tree again.
Presently they settled down to sleep. The rain had not abated, but the charred walls of the priory shielded them from the worst of it. Deprived of proper rest for three nights, Adelko soon drifted off into slumber, only to be disturbed by frightful dreams again.
With a start he woke up, to find his master also sitting bolt upright on his pallet. Then he heard it. He felt his insides churn as he recognised the awful sound immediately.
It was much louder than it had been the previous two nights – he could now discern it had an avian quality to it, but there was something else too: its timbre was tinged with a peculiar buzzing that reminded him of angry hornets. He felt himself break out into a cold sweat. Horskram glanced over at him sharply, indicating that he should make no movement while putting a finger to his lips for silence.
For what seemed like an interminable length of time they sat stock still, while the buzzing screech continued at unnaturally regular intervals. It could almost have been music, albeit of the most ghastly kind – perhaps this was what they listened to in Gehenna, the novice thought with a shudder. At one point it grew louder, and Adelko would have put his hands over his ears had he not been petrified.
Then abruptly it began to recede until they could hear it no more. Horskram bade them wait a while longer, before going outside to check on their horses, which were tethered to a tree. Now the noise had stopped they could be heard whinnying and stamping frenziedly. Presently his master returned, and gradually the clamour of their terrified steeds subsided.
‘Try and get some more rest if you can,’ he said. ‘If we ride hard enough tomorrow we should reach Landebert’s farm by nightfall. I’m beginning to think that nights spent in the open wilderness are no longer conducive to our safety.’
The old monk’s voice was even, but Adelko could hear the tension in it. For once he did as he was told without asking any more questions – the way he saw it, the less he knew about what was making that awful noise the better.
The next day it rained harder than it had done since they left Ulfang. Horskram pushed them on relentlessly, and Adelko soon lost track of the number of twists and turns they took as he guided them expertly across the harsh hill-lands. They passed through several more villages, although the inclement weather meant that this time not a soul was to be seen.
Around noon they passed a castle to the east, belonging to a Wolding baron. It was a squat ugly thing built of dark grey stone, and looked nothing like the elegant structures Adelko had read about. With its rudely crenelated turrets and glaring embrasures the young monk thought it looked more like a prison. Which it probably was, for more than one unfortunate inhabitant.
His mentor offered no words of introduction, but spurred his steed onwards through the torrential rain.
A little later, glancing over to his right, Adelko thought he could see another corpse swinging from a tree crowning a hill in the middle distance. Beyond that the Hyrkrainian Mountains were etched on the horizon; a looming presence, their giddy blue-grey tops were wreathed in mist.
Adelko supposed the Gigants would be up there gnashing their teeth at the weather’s hostility, stirring up the North Wind to greater fury with their mighty provocations. Sometimes in their anger the ancient brutes were known to take up boulders and hurl them, causing ruinous avalanches and destroying the mountain communities huddled fearfully against the lower flanks of the ranges. Luckily the adjoining Highlands where he’d grown up weren’t part of the mountain ranges proper; his people had been spared the depredations of those gargantuan monsters, who preferred to dwell in the loftiest peaks.
He’d read in Celestian’s Compendium of Creatures Ancient and Strange how the Almighty had fashioned them from the flesh of Aurgelmir, Father of Gigants, a first attempt at creating a race in His image. The experiment had gone awry, for though somewhat more intelligent than their near-mindless forebear the Gigants were brutish, slow creatures, incapable of self-improvement. Other tomes told how Reus had created the world when he squeezed the Great World Serpent and the Father of Gigants together, wrapping the latter around the former to stop them destroying the firmament in their mindless rage. And so the Gigants were like living rock and earth, being made of the same substance as the bones of the world. Being unwilling to extinguish any species He had made, Reus had permitted them to live, sending them to the remotest corners of the world that had spawned them. But the Gigants had quickly grown jealous of their successors, and coming down from the mountain fastnesses they had preyed on mankind, smashing his fledgling communities in the Dawn of Time. That was until the coming of the Elder Wizards, who had slain most of their race and enslaved the rest.
Since those days the few remaining Gigants had fled back into the mountains – although some loremasters including Celestian claimed that a handful had chosen to dive into the deep oceans and take refuge beneath the waves, where the Seakindred and Tritons were too busy warring against one another to bother with them.
It was well past nightfall when they reached Landebert’s homestead, for the downpour had churned up the muddy hill roads, making swift progress difficult.
As they drew nearer Adelko could see it was a low but sturdy dwelling made of large stones pack tightly together. Unusually for a crofter’s hut, the roof was also tiled in stone. Probably a former outpost or barracks for that region’s warlike soldiery, he supposed. Its present occupant had converted it into the epicentre of a small farm. In the light of Horskram’s lantern Adelko could discern a wooden enclosure surrounding it, although it was too dark to see any crops.
A rude gate barred the way in. Lifting the latch Horskram rode inside the enclosure with Adelko close behind. Since dusk a foreboding sense of unease had begun to grow steadily within him again; humble as it was, the crofter’s stout dwelling looked like an appealing place of refuge.
The hut had a single low door made of oak. The two monks were just dismounting when it was flung open to reveal a wizened figure silhouetted against the bright light that now spilled from the hut.
‘Who goes there?!’ came a rasping voice. ‘Don’t be thinking to trouble me on this evil night – I enjoy the lord’s protection and my dues are all paid up till summer!’
Adelko squinted against the glare at the crofter standing in the doorway. He was very short, even for men of those parts, and bow-legged. Dressed in rude peasant clothes, he also wore a loose cloth cap several sizes too big for him. This, together with his gimlet eyes and snaggle-toothed mouth, gave him a comical appearance. His back was hunched and crooked, not uncommon among those who tilled the land for a living. In one hand he held a lantern, in the other he clutched a pitchfork. He hardly looked fearsome, but all the same Adelko decided to conceal his mirth.
‘Landebert, have no fear,’ cried Horskram above the pelting rain. ‘It is no brigand who comes to trouble you this inclement night, but an old friend seeking shelter!’
The crofter craned his head forwards, looking even funnier as his puzz
led face turned to one of recognition.
‘Why Horskram!’ he exclaimed with a gap-toothed grin. ‘I haven’t seen you in a twelvemonth at least! A cursed night is this for a reunion of old friends, but I shall be glad to have you under my roof all the same! Come, let’s get your horses tethered, and then we’ll get us inside and have some nice warm pottage!’
Horskram nodded and gestured at Adelko. ‘This is Adelko of Narvik, a novice of Ulfang seconded to me. I hope you have enough for three.’
‘Why of course, anything for my friends from the chapter!’ beamed the crofter. ‘A pleasure to meet ye, young sir. Now come, let’s see to your horses and be getting inside!’
They tethered their rouncies to an ash tree before hurrying indoors. The stench of sweaty animals greeted Adelko as they entered the hut’s cramped precinct. Landebert had brought all his livestock inside to shelter them from the weather and provide extra warmth, and more than half the hut was given over to a riotous gaggle of pigs, chickens, hens and geese. In one corner a lone goat sulked quietly.
To one side of the room a fire was burning low in the stove. Next to it was a pile of firewood, from which the crofter pulled a couple of hefty pieces to throw on the blaze. The hut’s single window was directly opposite the hearth, battened down with thick wooden shutters. Though rude and smelly, the hut was also warm and dry, and for the first time in a while Adelko began to feel safe again.
‘Now then sirs, sit yourselves down by the fire,’ said Landebert in a cheerful voice as he busied himself with preparing a vegetable broth in an iron pot hanging above the hearth. ‘I’ve no ale to offer ye, but y’can ‘ave some goats’ milk while ye wait. Here…’
Reaching for a gourd he filled two earthenware cups and handed them to the monks. Adelko sipped his gratefully as he sat on a stool proffered by the kindly crofter. Outside he could hear the rain splashing thickly against the hut, but as the increasing blaze began to warm his bones and dry his sodden clothes he felt something akin to cheer return to him.
Landebert and Horskram busied themselves with small talk. The crofter was soon complaining liberally about the rapacity of the local lord, who had raised his seasonal dues twice in the past six months. From their conversation Adelko learned that Landebert was lucky enough to own his farmstead, which his grandfather had purchased cheaply after the Red Plague decimated the local population, rendering able-bodied labourers in ready demand. But far from being exempt from tithes thanks to their nominally free status, Landebert and his ilk were obliged to pay protection money to their local overlords. Thinking on his master’s tale of the perfect who had dared to defy his, Adelko felt no need to ask what would happen to those who didn’t pay.
Horskram could offer little more than sympathy. ‘The Wolding barons are a weed in the King’s fair garden,’ he said sadly. ‘As a man of the cloth it is not for me to advocate bloodshed, but I often wonder if it would not have been better if Freidheim had gone to war with them as well as the rebellious Southrons.’
‘You’re forgettin’ that it’s the Woldin’ barons wot helped him win the war against the Southrons,’ replied the shrewd crofter from where he stood hunched over the pot.
Horskram snorted. ‘So they like to say – they almost turned up too late to be of any use, if I remember rightly. But then that is typical of them – always quick to help themselves and slow to help others! But no, after two gruelling wars Freidheim wanted peace at any cost.’
‘Aye, and it’s a cost borne by us, the poorer folk of Brenning!’ said the crofter, shaking his head. Horskram did not disagree.
Observing his host over his cup of goats milk, Adelko sensed a peculiar unease about him. Something else besides the Wolding barons was troubling him.
His mentor clearly felt the same. ‘And what other news of these parts, Landebert?’ he asked pointedly.
‘Aye, well,’ rejoined the crofter uneasily. ‘This is your line of work, Master Horskram, so perhaps you can tell me more of what I’ve been hearing lately. People round ‘ere say there’s been... unnatural goings on. Old Yurgen, wot owns the next plot of free land, about a mile from ‘ere, was in bed just t’other night when suddenly he wakes up in a cold sweat. Hears a terrible sound, like nothing he’s ever ‘eard before. His wife, Kresta, she’s sittin’ bolt upright in bed next to ‘im, an’ she’s shaking like a leaf. Reus be praised, Master Horskram, ain’t nothin’ in the world ever scared that woman in ‘er life, not that I’ve ever seen anyways!’
Horskram frowned as the crofter went on with his story.
‘He calms ‘er down and they both goes back to sleep. Next mornin’ when he goes out to tend his flock o’ sheep, Almighty strike me down but if they ‘aven’t all gone blind overnight! Now I ask you master monk, what’s that all about? Smells like witchcraft to me, and no mistake!’
Horskram stared keenly into the crofter’s anxious face.
‘When did this occur?’ he asked sharply.
‘Well, I ‘eard it from Yurgen’s son, Yurik, who came by yesterday afternoon, so that would make it two nights ago. Somethin’ on your mind, Master Horskram?’ he added, eyeing the old monk keenly. His weather-beaten face looked strange in the shadows cast by the fire.
Horskram paused and shook his head. ‘No... no. Give me directions to Yurgen’s farmstead before we leave tomorrow. If it’s only a mile away it will do no harm to look in on his holding and put a blessing on it. I am sorry to learn of his plight.’
The old monk fell silent, staring distractedly into the fire. Landebert eyed him for a second or two before replying, ‘Well, thank you master monk, in truth that’s what I was hopin’ you’d say.’
Landebert turned back to his cooking, humming an awkward tune to himself.
When the pottage was served the crofter pulled up a third stool and sat down to join his guests. Though it was plain fare, the old farmer had packed each of their bowls with a generous helping of turnips and swedes, and Adelko gulped the meal down greedily.
As they ate Landebert scrutinised them over slurping spoonfuls.
‘So, where are you travelling to this time, sirs, if ye don’t mind my askin’ that is?’ he asked abruptly.
Without looking up from his bowl Horskram replied: ‘We are travelling south, to the King’s Dominions. I have not ventured there for a while, but I recently heard a rumour that one of his castellans has a daughter who has begun to dabble in black magic.’
The wizened crofter gaped upon hearing this, and promptly made the sign. ‘Bless me, but that is an evil piece of news! In the heart of the kingdom, of all places! Whose daughter would that be then – and I thought the nobles round ‘ere were bad enough!’
‘If you don’t mind,’ replied Horskram, taking another spoonful of pottage and measuring his words, ‘I would prefer not to disclose that. She is innocent until proven guilty, and it may well be nothing more than a pernicious rumour started by one of her father’s rivals at court.’
‘Well,’ replied the crofter, ‘I’m sure you know best, Master Horskram, and will get to the bottom of it one way or t’other. I still ‘aven’t forgotten the day when you delivered my humble home from those fiendish air spirits all those years ago... I’ve never been able to repay you since.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Horskram with a kindly smile as he finished his pottage. ‘You repay me every time you give me food and shelter. And in any case an Argolian neither demands nor expects payment for sending the Aethi or any other spirit back to the Other Side where it belongs. Now, if you’ll – ’
With an awful clarity it came tearing across the wilderness – an infernal cry of reckless malice, half buzzing, half birdcall. Adelko felt his blood run cold. His master stood up immediately, his body tensing visibly. A look of dread twisted the crofter’s face. Again they heard it, and then again. It was growing steadily louder. Landebert’s sequestered animals began to panic, their fearful screams mingling with the horrid sound.
Shrugging off his paralysis of fear, Horskram looked over
sharply at his novice.
‘Adelko!’ he cried. ‘Bring out your scripture book, quickly! We must put a Psalm of Protection on this house now!’
Fumbling in the folds of his damp habit with trembling hands Adelko did as he was told. Horskram had already begun pacing around the cramped hut, feverishly reciting scripture from memory and splashing the interior at regular intervals with holy water.
Shakily locating the correct page, Adelko reached for his own phial and followed suit. His end of the room was the enclosure where the terrified animals were now running amok. He had to fight to keep his footing among them but he was grateful for the cacophony, which at least did something to drown out the far less natural sound closing on them. Landebert, unsteeled by years of spiritual devotion, fell to the floor moaning, his hands clamped firmly to his ears as his body convulsed spasmodically.
No sooner had the monks finished sanctifying the hut when the screeching noise suddenly stopped. The animals crowded in Landebert’s makeshift pen continued their frightful clamour – all except the goat, which remained strangely serene and seemed completely untroubled.
Both monks stood still, trying to discern any new sound over the din. Adelko felt his chest heaving with ragged gasps. The air suddenly seemed leaden. Panic welled up in him, which he controlled with an effort.
Now he could make it out – a low buzzing hum, similar yet different to the terrible cry and steadily growing louder. It rose to a whining pitch where it was clearly audible above everything else, then ceased – just as the roof above them shook with a low thunk. Stone dust descended through the wooden rafters and fell about them in scattered showers.
Both monks turned to look up at the ceiling as the thing now perched on the roof gave vent to a sound Adelko felt sure he would remember for the rest of his days.
At this proximity it was almost unbearable. Adelko dropped his circifix and phial as he clasped his hands to his ears and fell to his knees. He was trembling feverishly. Landebert was now writhing around, gripped by some awful agony of the mind, while his fowl pecked each other’s eyes out in a mad frenzy.