By morning, little had changed. Elowyn could not resist peeking out the back door just long enough to see a massive swirl of white. Beyond that, she could see nothing ... not earth, nor sky, nor trees, nor even the lofty mountain peaks in the distance. In all truth, the sight was terrifying to Elowyn who had never encountered any storm like this in Tyroc.
Morganne, anxious though she was to get to her shop, knew it would be foolish to try when even the locals dared not venture out. She busied herself by doing chores around the tavern and reading Gareth’s tome by the fire. Morganne was surprised when Bane asked her to read aloud from it while he played quietly with Adelin, but she happily complied with his request. Elowyn tried to stay busy as well, only to find that her mind was so restless she had a difficult time focusing on any task she undertook. Like others around her, she discovered that staring into the hypnotic flames of the fire and listening to Morganne’s soft voice as she read were the only things that soothed her.
Elowyn began to believe that the storm would never pass. It raged on for two days and nights before the snows tapered off and the heavy clouds dissolved into a dazzling, crisp blue sky with a cold white sun blazing at the center of it. When they finally emerged from the tavern, the snow was up to Elowyn’s chest in most places and well over her head where it had drifted against walls and crested over the tops of hills. Everything flashed and sparkled so brightly that she had to squint and shield her eyes. The intense whiteness was unbearably painful. Elowyn had never seen so much snow, and she gaped in wonder at how Minhaven had been transformed almost beyond recognition.
Many days would pass before the main streets would be clear enough for horses and carts. But it was confirmed on the first day that the southern road was now impassable. The village would spend the remainder of winter cut off from the rest of the world. Whatever they had in store would have to sustain them until the spring thaw came.
Cailean and his father appeared at the tavern just before nightfall, red with cold and covered in snow. Their cottage was much closer to the mountain, and the weight of the snow had collapsed their roof, nearly trapping them inside. They told a harrowing tale of how they had been forced to dig their way out and wade through a waist-high blanket of snow to get to the edge of town. The monks would take them in, as they had so many others, until Cailean and his father could return to repair their roof. Though Cailean was visibly spent, and his fingers and feet had been damaged by the cold, his eyes were filled with exuberance as he beamed across the room at Elowyn. She smiled back, glancing away when she felt her face growing hot under the intensity of his gaze. She did not understand why her heartbeat quickened as if she were running at full speed through the wood. Nor did she understand why her stomach began to flutter. But she knew that the thought of Cailean staying close by with the monks pleased her greatly.
Even affectionate thoughts of Cailean were not enough to alleviate her worries about what might be happening in the mountains. Every day at sunrise, Elowyn stepped out the little door at the back of the tavern, just as she had on the morning the Kinship left. She looked up at the pristine, snowcapped mountain peaks with hope that she would soon hear the soft clomp of hooves through snow, or the jingle of metal armor and weapons. She stared at the base of the pass until her eyes began to play games with her and she could not discern the sight of drifting snow from the far off movement of a company of men. Wyman followed her one morning and stood quietly at her side, his vision spanning across the open field of smooth, untouched snow.
“They will return,” he said in a reassuring voice. “Glak is no fool, and he knows the mountains well.”
“Do you really think they could have survived that storm?” she whispered, wanting an honest answer even though she feared it.
“If he found the Mountain’s favor, it is possible they have survived. He has found it more times than any man I know.”
As it turned out, Wyman was correct. Nearly a week after the storm had ended, the Kinship appeared just as the last rays of daylight began to wane. On their previous return, they had sped across the field and given a grand showing at the Winter Festival. This time, their arrival went largely unnoticed. The horses stumbled slowly through the high snow with riders hunched over low in their saddles. Faces were hidden from the frigid wind in the hoods of cloaks, leather gloved hands were tucked in close to bodies. Behind the horses were tied primitive looking round bronze shields that glided perfectly across the surface of the snow. They were loaded with what Elowyn presumed to be spoils from battle. Without being able to examine them more closely, she could not be sure, but they looked very much like the shields used by the beasts in her dream. A sickening knot formed in her stomach as she watched the Kinship’s painfully slow progression across the field. Wyman also watched with a concerned eye, gathering together all the hands he could get as the bedraggled group grew nearer.
“Put your cloaks and boots on, quickly,” he instructed.
Elowyn and Morganne did as they were told and followed Wyman out into the wind. Thus began what seemed like an endless process of helping the frozen men down from their mounts, unloading their gear, and unsaddling and caring for their horses, some of whom had been driven beyond exhaustion. The men had fared no better. Many of them slid from their saddles and fell into the snow, unable to stand on their own legs without assistance. Others tried to help un-strap gear and tack, but their fingers were so numb they were really more of a hindrance than help. None of them spoke, not even Glak, who refused to go inside until the last of his men had been ushered in and the last horse had been securely stabled.
Wyman closed his doors for the night, focusing his efforts on making sure each member of the Kinship was warm, dry, and comfortable. Glak managed to tell Wyman in a low, hoarse voice, “The fight was ours.” Little more was said. Each man’s focus at that moment was on bringing the life blood back into his limbs. Elowyn brought the men hot, sweetened broth from the kitchen, but was warned to give them nothing more until they were sufficiently warmed. Morganne found blankets and wraps to cover the men while their wet clothes were dried by the fire.
As cloaks and armor fell away, it was apparent that none had gone unscathed in the fight. All had bandaged wounds that needed to be cleaned and re-wrapped. Some were more seriously hurt than others, but at least everyone was accounted for. Morganne, Elowyn, and Wyman did what they could while one of the young stable hands went to fetch a healer.
The mysterious shield bundles, still securely covered, were brought into the back storage room, where Wyman could keep them under lock and key. Only one bundle he instructed his helpers to leave out in the snow behind the stable, but he did not give an explanation as to why. Elowyn was left wondering what had happened in the mountains, and what treasure was so important that the Kinship risked their lives to bring it back to Minhaven in such weather. But the men were not yet ready to tell their tales. Elowyn did not know if they kept their silence because they had encountered more horrors like those at Solis, or because their bodies had been nearly broken by the punishing weather, and every ounce of strength they had was focused on their physical recovery.
By the next morning, it was obvious which men needed better medical attention. They were taken to the monks where they could receive more serious care. Those who remained were in better spirits, having slept the night indoors with the uncertainty of battle behind them. Elowyn searched their expressions for any sign that would bring her comfort while she waited impatiently for answers. In spite of their apparent victory, the mood in the tavern was subdued and pensive.
Idna made a large kettle of porridge for the men, and Morganne and Elowyn helped Wyman serve it out. Glak tried to lighten the mood, filling the tavern with his booming voice as he praised his men for a job well done. Elowyn expected that he would tell the tale of their adventure for Wyman’s sake, but he did not. Conversation was soft and sparse through the whole of the meal. When everyone had finished, Glak called upon a small handful of men to help him sort th
rough the bundles, telling the others to join their friends and families and take a well-deserved rest. Two of the men he sent to fetch his brother, Grindan, as well as Lucan the Merchant and Brant the Guard.
When they all arrived, Glak finally asked Wyman to open the storage room where the shield bundles had been stashed. Elowyn and Morganne followed quietly, hoping that so long as they stayed out of the way, they would not be dismissed. They watched with anticipation as Wyman pulled out his key and slid it into the lock. The key turned, and with a few creaks and groans the wooden door opened stiffly on its hinges. The corridor instantly filled with a foul odor that turned everyone’s stomachs. Wyman, Morganne, and the three men from the village all covered their faces with their sleeves. Glak and his men grimaced, but stood firm.
“The beasts, their lair, and all that they touch reeks of this same stench,” Glak said with disgust. “Much would I give to never again breathe in their filth, but I fear that I shall encounter it many times more before I see the last of their kind.”
Elowyn stood paralyzed, staring with a far off gaze into the direction of the open doorway. Pale morning light was filtering down through a canopy of green leaves far above her. A great weight had thrust itself upon her back, crushing her and forcing her face down into the muddy earth. She gasped desperately for air, struggling to break free but unable to move. Hot, rank smelling breath dampened her neck as a huge set of sharp teeth tightened around it. Her stomach churned and she barely suppressed a gag. Time seemed to stand still while the cold seeped through her clothing and the wet mud caked thickly onto her face. Her heart pounded so loudly that she could hear nothing else. All she could do was wait in breathless terror for the powerful jaws gripping her neck to snap shut.
In that moment, so far as Elowyn knew, she was not standing in a dark corridor facing a dusty tavern store room. She was back in the woodlands of Tyroc, struggling for her life. Einar’s name formed on her lips, but the only sound that emerged from her throat was a barely audible gurgle.
The men had already moved into the room and began to untie the bundles. Only Morganne had noticed her sister’s pallid complexion and terrified stare. She grasped Elowyn’s arm and pulled her further down the corridor.
“Whatever is wrong with you?” Morganne asked in a sharp whisper that betrayed her anxiety.
Elowyn’s gaze returned to the present, but the color did not come back into her cheeks. Her eyes glittered with the sort of tears brought on by a bad fright. “That smell,” she responded. “The hound that attacked me smelled just like that, only stronger.”
They looked at each other in silent understanding of what that meant. There was no doubt now that these new beasts were somehow connected to the Hounds and to Braeden. The sisters might have escaped their mother when they fled Tyroc, but Braeden’s influence seemed to reach farther than they would ever be able to run.
‘If you can bear it,” Morganne whispered, “we had best see what those bundles contain.” Elowyn agreed, though her limbs trembled and she had to hold onto Morganne to steady herself. At first, there was not much of interest. The men sifted through bundle after bundle of various weapons, armor, and battle gear that had been taken from slain beasts.
“When we left Minhaven, we were unsure of what awaited us,” Glak said, pulling apart another bundle. “The trails of the lower slopes were already buried in early winter snow, and the direction and smell of the wind told me that more would soon come. I knew that we would need to do our business quickly and get off the mountain. But as we drew closer to where the beasts were camped, we saw that their numbers had increased dramatically. In the past when we had encountered them, they had largely ignored our presence. This time we were immediately challenged, as if they knew our purpose and had been awaiting our arrival. They brought us to battle out in the open, on the steep slopes of the mountain passes, trying to force us over the edges of the cliffs. Their numbers were more than we anticipated, but as you can see, their armor and weaponry are inferior. We brought some of it back for you to examine, Brant. When you have no more use for it, the metal can be smelted down for other purposes.”
Elowyn’s heart quickened as Glak handed Brant a long pike and turned over one of the shields so that she could finally get a good look. It was very much like the ones she had seen in her dream.
Grindan picked up the shield and examined it carefully with a perplexed expression. “This does not only look antiquated, it is. These are not newly made shields. They are old, worn, and made by methods no smith of today would still use. I wonder how the beasts came by these things. Might there be some ancient arsenal tucked away in the caverns of the mountains that has remained hidden over all this time?”
Glak shook his head slowly as his eyes surveyed the odd assortment of metal and blackened leather. “That I do not know. Because of the weather, we did not press too deeply into the caverns. But I can tell you that it was not only this old battle gear that felt out of place. The beasts themselves seemed not to belong of this world, or perhaps not of this time. They were like living relics that had emerged from the far past, dark remnants from the days of the Prophets. And yet they are not to be underestimated. In battle they are fearless, brutal, and resilient. It takes many deft strokes of the sword to kill even one of them. If they were to fall upon us in great numbers, I am not sure how long we could hold out against them, even with our superior weapons and armor. I understand now how it was that Solis was decimated with so few losses on the enemy’s side.”
“How many more of these beasts do you think are still in hiding?” Brant asked.
“There is no way to tell,” Glak replied. “The network of tunnels is deep and endless. There could only be a handful, or more likely, there are still thousands of them, infesting the mountains like vermin.”
There was some treasure, but very little. As Glak had earlier surmised, the beasts did not seem to be seeking riches. A couple of bows that had probably once belonged to victims of the beasts were among the bundles. The strings were ruined, but otherwise they were intact. Elowyn asked timidly what would happen to them, and Brant replied off handedly that the bowyer could have them and do what he pleased with them. They were old and wet, and he doubted they were worth restoring.
When all of the mundane things were finally hauled away, Glak dismissed the rest of his men and dragged forward the last group of bundles. He hesitated, confessing that he was not sure what the presence of these objects in the caves meant. He pulled away the covering, revealing a large pile of books; old, musty, decaying books. They might have already disintegrated were they not completely encased in exceedingly thick, hard leather bindings reinforced with metal and secured with heavy clasps. Morganne gaped, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed with desire. She extended a tentative hand, wanting to touch the books, but unsure if she was allowed.
Morganne shifted her weight restlessly, using all of her strength to maintain her composure and to control her own hands, which kept reaching out involuntarily. The way in which the books were piled onto the shield in such a careless jumble nearly drove her mad. Bent clasps and peeling metal were digging into time worn leather, and covers were damp where snow had melted through the coverings. Rust bled onto crumbling edges of parchment, which by now were probably beginning to stick together.
While the men had a vague sense that their unexpected find was worth salvaging, they had no true grasp of its significance. Morganne did, at least to a certain degree. She knew from her years of studying with Gareth that such extravagant bindings were typically reserved for important spiritual tomes. She had seen similar looking books sitting on high, carefully guarded shelves at the Temple and could only imagine what important wisdom they might contain. Though she had been allowed to read portions of many different books during her studies, she knew that only the highest of the priests were given access to books such as these.
The men viewed the unusual treasure with puzzlement, unsure of what to do with it. Books were not commonplace objects i
n Minhaven. Morganne’s single book had been a curiosity since her arrival. Even the monks had precious few, and they had none so old or valuable as these. They certainly did not seem like objects that the beasts would covet.
“Where did you find them?” Morganne could not help but ask.
“Buried within the mountain,” Glak responded. “We found a shallow room, tucked at the end of a long, narrow passageway. We nearly passed it by, but one of the men noticed that a niche for an oil lamp had been carved into the wall at the entrance and he felt compelled to explore further. When we entered the room, we saw that deep shelves had been hewn into the rock. On them were sealed containers, all filled with books except for one, which held a small stone chest. Inside of it was a bit of splintered wood and a lock of hair. What these things were doing buried in the recesses of the mountain we could only guess, but they had obviously been important to whoever had so carefully laid them there.
We searched in vain for any markings that might tell us who had used that room, for surely it had not been the beasts. The heart of their lair was covered in bones, rotting flesh, and excrement. Their filth had even spread into the underground pools and streams. The smell of those places left us gasping and choking for air. But this room was clean and untouched, free of all signs of their presence. We knew it was unlikely that we would ever reach it again, and that these objects belonged in the hands of men and not the beasts. None of us can read the books, but the monks will know what to do with them.”
Wyman pointed to Morganne and said, “Maybe she can tell us what they are.”
Glak, Brant and Grindan all turned toward her with surprise as though they had forgotten she was even in the room. “You can read?” Glak asked.
Ancient Voices: Into the Depths Page 7