by J. W. Webb
Corin’s face is deathly pale—gone is the warm peaceful feeling, replaced by trepidation and worry.
“I do not understand,” he croaks up at the shifting entity in the sky. “My father died long ago, and who is this Undeyna person?” He feels lost, weighed down by something he cannot comprehend. “Why am I stalked by otherworldly beings?” Corin asks, then dares a bigger question.
“Who am I?”
“These answers shall you find in the months ahead. Perhaps.”
There is kindness in her voice; it is something he hadn’t expected. Kindness laced with sadness, the ageless sorrow of an immortal doomed to watch the Weaver’s dance—to see things of beauty fade to ruin.
“I knew one like you once when I wore a mortal guise. Erun Cade I loved for a time, though he knew it not.”
Corin made to speak, but the goddess’s face hardened and she addressed them all.
“Peril paves your road. Yet friends you have and more shall meet, before the war commences. We are at the quickening again. The pendulum swings wide; Golganak wakens, thus Callanak too.
“Sword and spear will play their part. Seek the sword at rainbow’s end when the time is right. In Laras Lassladan can it be found, within the caves of morning.
“Old Night is waking, shaking his bonds, and gathering his sundered limbs. He knows his window of chance draws nigh. Our brother the Huntsman rides out laughing, on this the eve of war.…”
The towering image of Elanion is fading. The stars shine through her raiment. Her essence still fills the night sky, but even as they watch with crooked necks, it disperses like smoke on a windy morning.
She speaks a final time.
“Go forth with Our blessing. Bleyne I give you, for his destiny lies alongside yours. Go, my children. Our love goes with you…”
The voice trails off far beyond the trees. The Goddess fades to smoke and mist then is gone. Only her eyes remain. They flicker twice then vanish too. Then the spell breaks and the forest breathes once more.
***
Corin’s mind was racing. Was he some kind of freak? He wondered if the goddess had spoken similarly to the others. Judging by their expressions, it seemed likely.
Galed was pale and troubled, even Roman looked decidedly glum. Only the Queen appeared infused, vindicated by what she had heard. Corin scratched his ear and yawned. He could only take so much of this weirdness and was feeling hungry and grumpy again.
Vervandi broke the silence with a brisk clap. She beckoned the travelers follow. Corin blinked up at the stars.
More bloody walking. He felt sluggish and befuddled, like he was awakening from a deep sleep. And perhaps he was.
“Come,” Vervandi urged them again. “There is some way to go before you can rest. It is not wise for mortals to remain too long in Valen-Durrannin. Bleyne has scouted the forest for footpads. He will await us near the northern fringes. Once there, you can rest. We must make haste! It is some miles off and the night is passing!”
The companions shook themselves into weary motion. Galed groaned noisily at the thought of walking again. The ethereal presence of Elanion had left them all stunned and speechless. They felt exhausted, worn out by the rigors of their day. Even Ariane failed to stifle a yawn. Bleary-eyed they shambled into motion, following the willowy redhead into the gloom.
Vervandi led them through the stones, thankfully motionless and grey, out into the glade beyond. Once there, they joined another path beneath the trees. All was silent save the distant hooting of another owl. Night deepened in the Forest of Dreams.
Queen Ariane walked in silence, her thoughts solid on the journey ahead. Behind her, Roman’s strong face was set with resignation. He fingered his sword hilt and glowered up at the trees. The Queen’s champion was eager to leave this forest with its mysteries and strange beings. Tomorrow they’d return to the lands of men. Not before time, he thought. Galed shuffled and groaned behind him, somehow still keeping to his feet.
Last came Corin an Fol, wrapped in gloom, his heart full of foreboding. He didn’t understand many of the Goddess’s words, but that seemed to be the norm of late. Hints and innuendoes. His mind felt like a witch’s kettle, cloudy, churning, and full of nasty things.
He scratched the vivid scar on his brow. It was itching again. Elanion’s words echoed through the tired corridors of his mind. He thought about Vervandi, half hidden in the gloom ahead.
Corin shook his head and focused on the moonlit path. He felt alone, haunted by shadows that stalked his every move. Like a drunken fool Corin watched the swaying hips of the tall woman in the gloom. Strangely, he drew no pleasure from the sight.
It was quite late when they topped a round hill, its green dome high above the trees. Strewn about its northern base was a tumbled cluster of rocks marking the entrance to a large cave. They clambered down, Galed stumbling and falling twice.
Bleyne awaited them at the entrance to the cave mouth. He stood impassive and unmoving, his silhouette casting long shadows in the moonlight.
“Here we are at last,” announced Vervandi. “These caves are sacred to the Goddess. No evil will come to this place. Rest for what is left of the night. Sleep without dreaming. There is fire for warmth, and Bleyne will have prepared a meal.”
This last proved true, for the smell of roasting meat had greeted them at the cave’s mouth. Corin felt his stomach rumble. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The thought of hot food revived his flagging spirits greatly.
Once inside, they gaped at the beauty surrounding them. The cavern was huge. Moonlight flickered off its many walls, revealing hidden passages leading deep beneath the forest floor.
Weird twisted stalactites reached down like frozen lovers to the waiting stalagmites below. Water chimed out of the darkness within. Ahead lay a deep pool. Its crystal depth reflected starlight from a hole in the cavern above.
Corin shook his head in wonder, his hunger and weariness forgotten for the moment. He thought he heard soft music emanating from somewhere below. It sounded like a harp. Perhaps it was the running water. He couldn’t be sure.
“Where is this place?” he asked Vervandi. “I’ve not heard of it before.”
“It is called Caromanya. The Cave of Wonders, in your tongue,” she replied. “It is a place of peace and contemplation. Come. Time to eat!”
She led them to where the archer sat roasting a large deer on a spit. He nodded curtly before cutting them tender chunks with his hunting knife. The meat was flavored with wild garlic and rosemary, and they consumed it with enthusiasm.
Finally sated, they tossed their green cloaks on the cave floor and made ready for welcome sleep. Behind them Bleyne’s fire roared and flickered, casting wondrous shadows on the cavern walls.
Corin yawned and stretched. He shut his eyes then opened them again. His restless gaze fell on Vervandi. He studied that beautiful face as the firelight burnished her hair. She caught his gaze and smiled. But there was sadness in her eyes, and Corin turned away, unsure as what to think.
Who are you, Vervandi? Why have you returned after all this time?
The fire flickered and crackled, and the weird harp-song sound of water echoed in the distance. Corin rolled deeper into Tamersane’s cloak, mercifully dry. Vervandi was talking to the Queen.
Vervandi. The name meant nothing to him yet was so familiar. Another riddle, but he was too tired to dwell on it. Corin felt sleep steal upon him. He glanced one last time at the copper-haired woman whispering to the young Queen.
In the morning Vervandi was gone.
Chapter 15: The Valley
The girl stood naked and shivering by the door. He glanced her way, his hooded eyes taking in her pale breasts and sliding down to briefly acknowledge the dark thatch nestled between her thighs.
She was raven haired and perhaps nineteen. He didn’t know her name—not that that was relevant. The parents had been taken by Perani for questioning. Once proud nobles, they would be Groil feed now.
His Groil, a
gift from the Dog Lord himself. More had arrived last night with more still promised, though he’d sent three score up north to scan the wilderness and sniff out any sign of Ariane san Kelwyn. No word on that yet, and almost a week had passed.
That little bitch-minx alone thwarted his authority. He’d chosen this girl partially because her dark hair and eyes reminded him of the Queen, and he’d had her locks cropped to shoulder length, in Ariane’s boyish style. Later, when he was plowing her, Caswallon would scrape her back bloody with his sharp nails and bite her flesh—his need for the Queen bad.
It was a power thing, control, as if by hurting this creature he could somehow undermine his enemy. He’d let the girl go when spent, send her out broken and bleeding to walk the streets alone, prey to whatever predators lurked out there. And there were many.
She wouldn’t last long, poor thing. Kella City was a place of terror now. Perani’s secret police arrested any with the faintest hint of loyalism. Perani was proving an asset, efficient and reliable.
He’d had his doubts about the veteran general initially. But the man was greedy and a social climber. He’d do well in Caswallon’s world, until he became expendable and met an untimely end. Keep them close, and never trust them.
Caswallon turned his attention to the hearth, which even now crackled and hissed like a grouchy hound. It was here that the Dog Lord chose to appear before him. Three times the old one had come—each visit leaving Caswallon edgy and covered in sweat.
The Dog Lord was evil incarnate. But the gift of power came with a price. No matter. He was more than willing to pay. Caswallon was their ally now (the word servant had been used, but he’d brushed that aside).
They needed a clever mortal with spell craft to help enable their return to power in these lands once theirs. In return Caswallon would be given knowledge and power beyond mortal ken as well as the gift of immortality were he to prove useful enough. There was much to be gained by this ghastly union.
Caswallon allowed himself a thin smile. Rael Hakkenon had the boy to play with, and his sub-contractor Hagan of Morwella would soon apprehend Ariane and the others, should they miraculously evade his Groil hounds, which of course they wouldn’t.
All was going to plan. He would have Ariane brought before him, whipped and servile. She would be his puppet, his toy. His smile deepened, anticipating that future joy. He turned to the girl.
“Come here.” She shuffled across, her eyes glazed as deer brought low by archer’s arrow. Caswallon thrust his left hand up under her chin, forcing her head back, whilst his right slid down her belly and eased into the soft flesh between her thighs. She said nothing—even her breathing hardly changed. She was like a dead thing. Caswallon scowled.
“Your parents dared challenge my authority,” he told her, lowering his left hand to squeeze a breast. “They were spies for Kelwyn.” He lied. “After long torture they told all. Now their bodies are Groil feed, the bones crunched and gnawed and the marrows sucked clean.” Still she didn’t respond.
Patience exhausted, Caswallon struck her hard across the cheek, sending her sprawling on her face. He took her then, hard and fast from behind, and once done hurled her out the door. The bitch had given him scant pleasure. It had been like shafting a corpse.
He called out and the retainer came—the new retainer, the old (human) one having been eaten. This Groil had arrived with the new batch. Like Drol it had a brittle command of words, but unlike Two-Heads, this one had certain special qualities.
Flail, Caswallon called this current favorite (Drol having been demoted to second Groil, and not happy about it), though he had no idea if the creature had a name. Flail was bright for a Groil. It could speak in longer grunts than Drol and was dependable.
Unusually (even for a Groil) Flail had six arms and four legs. A large belt housed the six serrated blades clanking at its waist. Another interesting feature was the third eye in the back of Flail’s hairless head. Even with its slow brain the creature missed little.
Caswallon addressed his retainer.
“Cast that pitiful creature out on the streets. Do not touch her, leave her to the night. And summon Perani. I would speak with him!”
Flail nodded stiffly, saluted with all six claws and then shuffled and stooped out the door and commenced clonking and scraping back down the stairs.
Caswallon leaned back in his chair, he opened a flask of brandy and took a long pull. It would soon be time to summon the Dog Lord, and he’d prefer not be sober.
***
They awoke refreshed, as bright fingers of sunlight filtered into the cave from without, warming their limbs and banishing sleep. Roman rubbed his eyes and grinned. The cut on the side of his face was starting to mend. He felt good this morning and was more than ready for the day ahead.
“Well, I don’t know what the rest of you think,” he announced after dunking his bearded face in the cool, clear water of the pool. “I’ll be glad to leave this forest. However, I cannot say that I relish the thought of visiting Crenna overmuch.”
“Good luck with that,” said Corin. He had no wish to travel within a hundred miles of that cursed island—the occupants having murdered his kin. He balked at the thought of the Queen’s journeying there. “Bad idea, I think,” he said. “Goddess’s advice bit dodgy in that area.” Roman nodded and looked thoughtful. Corin, feeling awkward, stared at the cave entrance.
It’s not my concern. Once I’ve been paid, I’ll slip away.
Corin had no intention of boarding Barin’s ship. He’d see them safe from Kashorn Harbor, watch them set sail into the sunset, and then return to Fol with some financial recompense for his efforts. That was all he had promised Silon. But he still felt like a deserter leaving this Queen and her men to deal with Crenise scum.
Roman looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
“Did you say something?” Roman asked.
“I was only thinking out loud.”
“Well there’s certainly plenty to think about, but not before breakfast.”
Corin consented readily to this opinion. He unsheathed Biter, gave it a critical eye, and then ran a whetstone down its steely length. He felt uneasy and edgy. It seemed like betrayal leaving these new companions to their fate.
Bloody Crenna of all places—why didn’t she let that little shite Tarin fester and rot on that island? Morals and valiant deeds—they got you nowhere in this world. Cunning, coin, and an edge with a blade, that was what kept a fellow ahead. Simple, really.
But despite his self-assurance, Corin was confused. The words the Goddess had spoken to him were like flies buzzing in his head. Though he couldn’t really recall what she had said, he felt somehow compelled to continue in this fruitless voyage.
And what would returning promptly to Finnehalle gain him save a good romp with Holly (which was close to reason enough, on reflection).
Still, he was troubled. Corin glanced around for the woman Vervandi, hoping he could question her further and was disappointed when Roman told him she’d departed sometime during the night.
“Some woman, that!” said Roman with a grin. “There’s strangeness about her, though. Rather aloof, don’t you think? What did you say her name was? Oddly I cannot recall it.”
Corin looked up from his sax with a frown. “Vervandi,” he replied and was about to say more when Queen Ariane cut him short.
“She’s a daughter of the Goddess,” she told them, “one of three sisters who call themselves the fates. I am wary of her. She appears a friend, but what her involvement is with our business I do not know. I shied from asking her last night. I’m not sure if we can trust her. She has her father’s blood in her veins, after all.”
“Her father?” Corin was puzzled.
“Oroonin the Crafty.” Ariane’s dark eyes pinned him. Corin felt transparent and ashamed. This Queen was so sharp, perhaps she’d guessed what he’d been thinking just now. She turned away from him, her jet hair glistening with the morning sun.
“Legend
says they are estranged,” Ariane continued, “that Vervandi favors her mother but the other two follow him. The gods have their own quarrels, Corin, just like us, only they sulk for centuries. Oroonin has not spoken to Elanion in uncountable years.”
Both Roman and Corin were captivated by this latest revelation, but knowing whom Vervandi sprang from did little to assure them. Of course, Corin had heard of Oroonin—everyone had. One of the great old gods. He’d even heard somewhere that this Oroonin and the horrible Huntsman were the same entity.
Corin considered that total crap. The Huntsman was a freak. Why would one of the gods, however grumpy, dress up in cloak and silly hat and charge about in the skies curdling milk whilst blowing his horns and wagging his spear about? All a bit unnecessary, in Corin’s opinion.
“Vervandi is wise, however,” continued the Queen, sipping the tea produced by a grinning Galed, who looked almost human again this morning. “I learned much from her concerning our enemy and the ancient evil that aids him, none of it good. It seems we are beset on all sides.” Her shrewd eyes measured Corin thoughtfully for a moment.
“Vervandi mentioned your name more than once, Corin an Fol. Apparently she has watched you with interest for some time. Why would that be, I wonder?”
Corin glanced up from honing Biter again. “I do not know, Queen.” He feigned indifference with a shrug. He wasn’t enjoying this conversation. Such things travelled better on a full stomach. Vervandi? A Fate? This is getting worse. Why would one of the Fates watch over me?
“She informed me that you encountered one of her sisters at the river Fol, some nights ago.” Corin averted her gaze and attacked Biter’s edge with renewed zeal. “Well?” Ariane pressed him.
Corin disguised his growing alarm with an awkward laugh. “How could that foul witch be Vervandi’s sister? She was ancient, a hag!” Even as Corin spoke, the words of the witch at the ford returned to trouble him.
I don’t know what Vervandi sees in you.
“Her name is Skolde,” continued the Queen, measuring his reaction as if weighing his resolve. “She represents the future. Vervandi deals with the present and the girl child Urdei, the past.”