This was Lady Miren’s true end game, realized Leta. Her aunt was trying to discredit both Leta and High Lord Valerius so that the throne did not remain in the hands of House Benisor. The gods wanted someone they could control sitting on the throne, someone who would be complacent about the Blackheart and not demand a cure.
This couldn’t be allowed to happen. But as long as Lady Miren continued to fulfill the secret whims of the Calabanesi, Leta would find her efforts thwarted at every turn. She had to draw Lady Miren out of the shadows and discredit her work. To do that, Leta would have to exploit Lady Miren’s weaknesses and use her own tricks against her. Without asking her father for leave, Leta sprung from her seat and hurried toward the door.
“Leta, wait, stop!” Her father’s words were less a command and more a plea.
Leta spun on her heels and met her father’s tired and rheumy eyes. The instinct to quail before his gaze was gone. “You can’t stop me, Father.”
“Please, don’t do anything foolish. Not now, not while my hold on power is so tenuous.”
“Our hold on power, Father,” said Leta, correcting her father. “Our hold on power is tenuous, and it will cease to exist altogether if I don’t do what is necessary.”
“And what’s that?”
“I will do what House Benisor has always done when someone tries to usurp our monopoly on prophesy,” said Leta. “I will discredit this Gray Prophet by proving to the world that they are insane.”
CHAPTER
IX
THE NORTHERN ADOR
Departing from Cesca proved more difficult than Emethius anticipated. Foolishly, he expected the ancient road that once led through the Great Northern Ador to still be intact. After wasting half the morning searching for a trailhead, Emethius finally succumbed to the truth; the forest had swallowed the road ages ago. They would have to forge their own path forward.
Emethius and Malrich set out into the forest, heading in a southwesterly direction. If the old map Emethius had in his possession was accurate, they were only ten days out from Cesca. They needed only to follow the curve of the mountains south until they ran into the Puttdale River. The river would lead them the rest of the way to their destination.
They were close, but Emethius knew they couldn’t take this final leg of the journey lightly. The gods forbid mortals to enter the Great Northern Ador, and here Emethius and Malrich were, traipsing about as if they were on a nature hike. His mind wandered to the yellow-eyed Watchers they had lost at the crossing of Lake Iora. We haven’t seen the last of the Perim Lu, Emethius concluded, as they ventured deeper and deeper into the forbidden forest.
These truly were virgin lands, untouched for over a thousand years by mortal hands. The trees grew thick, one nearly atop another. Their trunks were knotted. Their ancient roots delved to depths unknown. Only thin slivers of sunlight reached the forest floor.
“Dark, cold, and damp,” were the words Malrich used to describe the forest as he shivered beneath his cloak.
Haunted and watched, Emethius added in his own head. He couldn’t shake the sensation that they were not alone.
Little was heard of living things, and nothing was ever seen. The rare croak of a toad, the distant warble of a bird, the quick rustle of dead leaves — those were the only signs of life within the ancient forest, and even then, the sounds felt distant and faint.
“Ghosts and shadows,” muttered Malrich, whenever they heard a distant sign of life.
The first day passed like this, then the second, and the third.
Malrich took first watch on their fourth night in the forest. He was supposed to rouse Emethius at midnight so they could switch shifts. Instead, Emethius awoke to searing heat wafting against the exposed flesh of his face. The camp fire was raging almost out of control, and Emethius had to scurry backward to keep from being burned. Inexplicably, Malrich’s boots were sitting atop the blazing stack of wood. Emethius frantically yanked the boots off the fire before they were engulfed in flames.
“Gods help me, Mal. What are you doing?”
Malrich didn’t reply.
It took Emethius a moment to locate his friend. Malrich was standing just beyond the reach of the firelight with his back turned to the fire. He was staring out into the depths of the woods with an almost palsied look on his face.
“What are you doing?” hissed Emethius, as he rushed to Malrich’s side.
Malrich still didn’t respond, and Emethius had to snap his fingers in front of Malrich’s eyes to get his attention. Malrich blinked at Emethius with surprise. “I thought I heard a horn,” said Malrich, his voice oddly distant. “There were lights in the forest.”
“Horns and lights?”
Malrich shook his head, his face showing a degree of embarrassment. “It was nothing. Glowworms, most likely. It’s a little early in the season for them, but that’s probably what it was. I’m sure I just imagined the horn.” As if to prove his point, he stuck a finger in his ear to clear out the wax.
“What about your boots? Why did you put them on the fire?”
“My toes were cold,” said Malrich as he mindlessly stamped at the bed of needles beneath his bare feet.
And your mind is half-mad with exhaustion, thought Emethius, finishing Malrich’s sentence in his head. The journey through the desolate forest was taking a toll on both their sanity. Emethius took over watch detail for the remainder of the night. He heard no horns, he saw no lights.
Mist began to materialize just before dawn, creeping along the forest floor like reaching tentacles. By the time they finally packed camp and set out, the fog had reduced visibility to a few dozen feet. The mountains that had been so clear the day before vanished from sight. The sun became a dim sphere in the sky.
Using the sun’s pale gleam to get their bearings, they hiked south. The fog seemed to thicken as the day wore on. Emethius tried to keep from jumping to conclusion, but it was hard not to draw parallels between this fog and the fog that had dogged their progress in the Veren Downs.
Malrich came to the same conclusion. “First lights in the forest and now this fog. Those yellow-eyed bastards could be standing a hundred feet from us and we would never know it.” He readjusted his pack and grunted unhappily.
Around midday their progress was blocked by an unexpected obstacle. Cutting through the forest was a thirty foot wall made of weathered stone. It ran in a straight line, running off in either direction as far as the eye could see. Although its battlements were worn and crumbling, its base was sturdy and acted as an insurmountable barrier to the south.
“Did you know about this?” asked Malrich. He kicked the base of a stone turret that sprouted from the face of the wall. He seemed to be considering if there were enough cracks in the stonework to scale the wall.
“It was on a few of the maps I examined,” said Emethius. “This wall marks the northern border of Cella.”
Malrich hurled a rock over the wall. It landed with a muted thud on the other side. “I don’t think we’ll be climbing over.”
“No,” agreed Emethius. “We will have to find a break in the wall.”
Malrich smacked his palm against the wall as they walked, finding a new thing to curse with each thwack. “Damn this wall.” Thwack. “Damn the Cul.” Thwack. “Damn those yellow-eyed Watchers and the gods they serve.” Thwack.
Emethius understood his friend’s frustration. Any progress that wasn’t southernly in direction didn’t feel like progress now that they were close to Bi Ache.
“Why did the Cella build a wall in the middle of the forest?” asked Malrich as the day wore on and they continued to find no break in the wall.
“It may not be as deep as it seems. The city of Bi Ache was built atop a great hill, and they raised the Tower of Red Guard on its peak. From the tower’s observatory, Atimir could see for leagues upon leagues in all directions. This wall supposedly marks the northern limits of his vision. Even on a clear day, one can only see so far. I’d wager we’re no more than
fifteen leagues from Bi Ache.”
That seemed to brighten Malrich’s spirits a bit, at least enough to get him to stop smacking the wall.
It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that they found an opening in the wall. Emethius had imagined any number of reasons why there would be a break in the wall — none of them matched what they found. A road cut straight through the wall, complete with an abandoned gatehouse to guard the open portal. The road was made of carefully laid red brick. Miraculously, the forest did not encroach on the path. It was all terribly eerie. The Cella Empire had fallen over a thousand years earlier. Anything neglected for so long should have been in complete disarray, yet the road remained pristine, seemingly untouched by time.
“If this is in fact the highway of Atimir, we’re in luck. This road once linked Cesca to Bi Ache,” said Emethius.
Malrich shifted uneasily. “Nothing about this feels right. An unnatural force has kept this road clear. None save the gods have such power.”
“Or the Perim Lu,” said Emethius.
Just as Emethius was about to step out onto the road, Malrich grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down into cover behind a tree. “Look now and be still. The way is watched!” He pointed to the far side of the road. A figure cloaked in a gray robe was standing just to the right of the gatehouse, its frame partially concealed by the mist. The figure stood as still as a statue, its gaze fixed directly upon them.
Emethius and Malrich froze in place and waited. The figure didn’t budge. “I think we’ve been tricked,” said Emethius, after several minutes had passed. He leapt to his feet and tentatively approached the figure. The figure made no motion to advance or flee; Emethius wasn’t surprised. “It’s a stone sentinel,” called Emethius, feeling a genuine sense of relief. “Come and have a look. Had we arrived from any direction we would have thought we were being watched.”
Between the distance and the fog, the statue looked very lifelike. The sentinel had four faces, one pointing in each of the cardinal directions.
Malrich chuckled and rapped his knuckle against the statue’s stone head. “That was unnerving. I was certain those yellow-eyed bastards had finally caught up with us.”
“I had the same fear,” responded Emethius. There was a disturbing familiarity about the stone sentinel — a hooded cloak that fell to the ankles, a sash that ran from shoulder to waist. This is the same attire worn by the Watchers. He decided to keep the observation to himself.
They followed the road south for the remainder of the day. The road was flat, level, and straight, and they more than made up for the lost time they spent finding a way past the wall. Still, Emethius couldn’t shake his unease. The heavy fog showed no sign of subsiding. Every league or two they came upon another statue; each was identical to the rest. At first, they grew alert with every nearing shadow, but eventually they became used to the figures in the mist. That, in and of itself, bothered Emethius. The statues are lulling us into complacency.
“It’s disconcerting to think that we wouldn’t know foe from stone within this forest,” said Malrich as they passed the sixth statue in as many hours.
“Then let’s pray we don’t find any foes upon our path,” said Emethius. But even as he said this he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was only brief, and when he looked askance he saw nothing but the shadowed form of a stone sentinel.
“Curse this fog,” Malrich muttered to himself.
When they were too exhausted to walk any farther, they cut into the forest, and set up camp for the night. The fog seemed to thicken, if that were at all possible, dousing everything in a fine layer of dew. Try as he might, Malrich couldn’t get a fire going. Even under his heavy fox fur cloak, Emethius found himself shivering.
Malrich volunteered to take the first watch. He was supposed to rouse Emethius around midnight, but he must have fallen asleep on the job, because when Emethius finally did wake up the sky had softened to a light shade of gray. It’s almost dawn, realized Emethius, as he blinked in disbelief.
Emethius’s eyes wandered to the pile of pine needles Malrich had settled atop the previous night. Malrich’s sleeproll was there. Malrich was not. A cold panic entered Emethius’s heart.
“Malrich?”
Va-roommmm! A horn sounded in the distance, blasting a single long and melancholy note.
Emethius sat bolt upright, all of his senses immediately alert. The faint scent of smoke struck his nose, and the forest seemed to crackle, like the sound of ice melting in a frozen bay. He drew his sword, and called again in a hissing whisper. “Malrich, where are you?”
A twig cracked to the east, followed by the rustle of leaves. Footsteps. The gods help me.
Emethius tried not panic. He silently drew his sword and crept after the noise. The fog was the thickest he had ever encountered, and it was difficult to perceive distance. Sometimes the footsteps were merely the quietest of rustles far off in the distance, at other times it sounded like the culprit was only a few feet in front of him.
The fog swirled and momentarily abated, revealing a figure kneeling in the center of a clearing. Relief washed over Emethius; it was Malrich. Malrich appeared to be praying with his shoulders slumped forward and his elbows resting on a stump.
“Malrich,” hissed Emethius. Malrich didn’t move.
With fresh panic rising, Emethius plowed through the dense fog. His mind could hardly perceive what he was seeing. Malrich’s legs were tied at the ankles, and to Emethius’s horror, an ax handle jutted skyward from where Malrich’s head should be. The ax-head was sunk into the stump, its rusty steel face lay flush with Malrich’s severed neck. Malrich’s head was laying face down in a knotted tangle of roots.
Emethius’s skin went pale as he held up the head for inspection. The face of Lithius Lunen sneered back at him. “No,” was all Emethius could manage. “No, no, no...”
His father’s lips parted. “The Shadow creeps as it ever does, Son, and here you are marching happily alongside it.” He laughed. “Can you feel the taint coursing through your blood, perverting everything you do?”
Emethius threw the head off into the woods and bent over gasping for breath. “An apparition, that’s all it is. It’s this forest. It’s not real.”
Va-room! Va-roommmm! The blast of the horn sounded again, this time to the south.
Emethius looked in the direction of the horn only to spot another stump and another decapitated body. He frantically thumbed at the hash marks in his vambrace, hoping to rub out all evidence of his sins. He could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate. “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”
“Whoa, you all right, mate?” cried a familiar voice.
Emethius awoke to find Malrich holding his shoulders. Night was still upon them, and a small fire was crackling at their feet.
“You were sleepwalking,” said Malrich, his face pursed with concern.
“Sleepwalking?”
“You nearly walked into the fire.” Malrich pointed to Emethius’s hand. “Your thumb, Emethius, it’s bleeding.”
Emethius looked down; his thumb was a bloody mess, and his nail was only hanging on by a shred of flesh. His vambrace was streaked with blood. He tucked his thumb into the hem of his cloak and looked about himself in wonder. This could still be a dream. How could he ever know for certain? His eyes settled dubiously on the fire. “Where did the fire come from, Mal?”
“I finally found some dry brush.” Malrich was looking at him queerly. “Emethius...”
Emethius checked Malrich over from head to foot, his mind still not trusting his eyes. Seeing nothing out of place, he finally accepted this reality as the truth. “Something’s going on, Mal.”
“Horns?”
Emethius nodded. “In my dreams, at least. I followed them into the forest until I found a stump. My father was there. His head spoke to me...” Emethius let the words die in his throat. The story sounded even crazier when he said it out loud.
Malrich laid an u
nderstanding hand on Emethius’s shoulder. “When I heard them last night, they led me to my son’s body roasting in a fire.” He shook his head. “There’s something in this forest, Emethius, and it somehow knows our greatest failings. It’s fucking with our heads.” He pulled out a length of rope. “I think it would be wise if we tied our wrists together. That way one of us can’t go wandering off in the middle of the night without the other waking up. Not that I’d go walking off on purpose, or anything, its just that... you know.”
Emethius did. They spent the remainder of the night huddled together with their backs pressed against a tree. Not trusting themselves, they set their blades just out of reach on the opposite side of the fire.
Twice during the night Emethius heard the sad wail of a horn, once to the east, a second time to the south. Each time, Emethius pinched himself to guarantee he was still awake. I’m just imagining things, he reassured himself. He let the fire die down to embers, just in case.
• • •
The next morning they trudged back to the road feeling bone-tired.
“My neck is sore, my legs ache to the bone, and I feel like I didn’t get a wink of sleep,” complained Malrich, as he lifted himself out of a ditch and up onto the level plane of the road.
Emethius joined him on the road, but froze mid-stride.
“What is it?”
Emethius could only point. There was a stone sentinel where there had not been one the night before. It stood some twenty paces down the road in the direction they had come from the previous night. Or did we come from the other way? Emethius suddenly felt turned around, and he had to check the sun to make sure he had his bearings straight.
“We must have missed it last night,” said Emethius. “The fog was thick, and our eyes were tired.”
“No, I don’t think that’s the case,” said Malrich. Suddenly, his sword was drawn and he marched straight toward the stone sentinel yelling brazenly. “You’ve haunted us long enough, you yellow-eyed demon. Look at me!”
The sentinel’s four-sided face turned, the foremost mask settling upon Malrich. The figure wore a cloak designed to resemble stone, but there was no hiding the shifting yellow eyes; they stood in stark contrast to the gray markings of the mask.
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