Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  “W-We have to hide,” John panicked, attempting to take the lead. “This way!”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Syrena said.

  “Why not?”

  “Swamps,” Hudson answered for the witch.

  “Then what do we do?!”

  “We need to get to the other side of that river, mate.”

  “The river?!”

  “Stonewalkers hate water,” Syrena answered for the thief.

  The ground started shaking; the stonewalker was charging towards them on all fours. Its movement was slower, but every leap brought it a good five feet closer. John felt his heart skip a beat, knowing there was no outrunning the giant stone beast.

  At that moment, a leaf fell suddenly from above and landed on Hudson’s shoulder. When they looked up, they saw the nameless man climbing the old cypress tree like his life depended on it, and his shrieking monkey was oddly clinging onto his shoulders for dear life.

  The thief smirked. “Climb!” he said.

  “Are you insane?!” John shouted, but Hudson had his hand on a branch already.

  “Will you for once in your life, mate, listen to the thief?!”

  And so they climbed… For the first time, John was moving faster than both Hudson and Syrena. Years of practice, climbing trees and cottages with Mister Beckwit as a child, were now being put to good use. For a moment, Hudson even had a smirk on his face; he tried to hide it, but the thief was intrigued by the farmer’s climbing skills. The thought even crossed his mind that John could have done well had he resorted to a life of thievery instead of a farmer’s life.

  There’s potential there, no doubt. If only the mate wasn’t so bloody reckless.

  They climbed until they were at a safe height, safe enough at least to be out of the stonewalker’s grasp. The creature was dangerously near; they didn’t even have to look down to know it. It was charging towards the tree and was not slowing down.

  “Hold on to something!” Hudson shouted. The thief and the witch locked arms with one another and gripped the nearest branch with their other arm. And John had no option but to lie on his belly and wrap himself around the wood like a monkey.

  He closed his eyes. Here it comes, John…

  The stonewalker smashed against the tree, and the impact shook every branch violently.

  John stumbled, lost his grip, and fell… He swung his arms in the air and managed to snatch a branch at the last opportune moment, hanging dangerously low. He could see the giant beast below him, watching him, almost savoring him. A mere second felt like a minute.

  You’re done for… You bloody idiot, what did you get yourself into…?

  With a roar, the stonewalker reached up, determined to kill; its rough hand brushed against the heel of John’s boot. But then John felt a hand grip him suddenly by the forearm.

  “Come on, you clumsy bastard, reach up!” Hudson said, and then gave a strong pull. John swung his other arm up for Syrena, and then the thief and the witch pulled him back up together. The stonewalker shrieked furiously and smashed against the tree again. John was panting and sweating, ruffled after having stared death right in the eye, and looking down wasn’t helping the ache in his belly.

  “We’re trapped,” Syrena spoke under her breath.

  “Keep climbing!” the thief gave her a push, hoisting the witch onto the nearest branch. The trunk of the tree was about three feet wide, but it was no match for the strength of the stonewalker. With every impact, the tree was loosening its clasp with the earth. “Climb! Climb!” Hudson kept shouting.

  One last time, the stonewalker struck the tree, this time taking a few steps back for a stronger impact. There was the loud sound of wood snapping, before the tree itself began to tremble where it stood. John, Hudson, and Syrena stared at one another. Even the nameless man looked down at them in shock, as the tree swayed gently from side to side. The roots gave in… The hundred foot tall tree had come to its end…

  “Brace yourselves, mates,” Hudson said, wrapping his arms around the tree’s trunk.

  The tree began to tilt. The three misfits held on for dear life as they watched the world slanting bit by bit. To John, it was terrifying and thrilling all at once. He realized then what Hudson’s plan had been all along. The tree fell, the sound of the impact echoing for miles around, and there it laid on its side over then river, creating a bridge from one side to the other.

  You’re welcome, the thief thought. “Run! Head to the other side!”

  The three of them hopped to their feet over the fallen tree and rushed across the river as quick as they could without slipping. The massive trunk felt steady enough, but hopping over every oversized branch along the way was proving challenging.

  Behind them, the stonewalker roared angrily, unwilling to step near the water.

  And it sent a relief into John’s chest, knowing they were safe at last.

  “Hurry now, mate,” Hudson said. “We need t-”

  But he couldn’t finish… A sharp arrow flew suddenly into Hudson’s chest and ripped through to his back. Syrena and John went silent.

  Hudson fell back with a groan and nearly slipped into the river, but John managed to grab hold of him just in time. “No! Hudson!” he cried. “Stay with me… Hudson!”

  The thief gasped for air and looked down…

  The arrow was close to his heart, he knew. Dangerously close.

  It sent shivers throughout his entire body…

  Standing just feet away on the tree’s trunk was the nameless man, grinning as he held his bow in his hands. His monkey was hissing at them as it perched itself on its master’s shoulder and wrapped its tail around his neck. “Thought you was finished with me?!” the vile man shouted.

  Syrena felt the rage return to her chest and her auburn eyes glistened sharply.

  “Have you any idea who I am?!” the nameless man went on like a madman.

  John held Hudson tightly in both arms, panicking, shivering with him. While the arrow was holding most of the blood in, Hudson was wheezing for air, looking vulnerable for the first time since they met.

  “Y-You’re all right. You’re all right, it’s nothing,” John whispered, again and again, more to himself than to the thief. “It’s nothing… Just a scratch…”

  The nameless man pulled out another arrow.

  “This is it, lads!” he spat on the river. “I’ll let you choose your own deaths.”

  The thief’s eyes were alarmingly red. He was looking up at John and could see the terror in his naïve gaze. He tried to say something… Anything… But he could hardly breathe, let alone speak…

  Silently, he cursed himself for following John when he should have walked away.

  He cursed himself for caring, for thinking he could somehow make it work.

  Every second felt like an hour… Every breath felt like his last…

  Though a life of thievery was a life that would surely end with a violent death, Hudson had never envisioned it would end this way. He imagined a more grandiose death, perhaps in the middle of a battle, surrounded by a thousand enemies that were there for the mere purpose of watching him dying.

  You stupid idiot… You stupid fucking idiot… Why were you not more careful?

  The blood stained him, trickled down his chest and arms, ripped the warmth right out of him.

  In those last moments, a hundred questions raced through his mind.

  Is this really your end…? An arrow through the chest, shot by an unnamed bandit with awful breath and a false sense of authority? One simple arrow…? Not even a dozen arrows…? If Hudson were being honest with himself, he would have preferred to die by the stonewalker’s fist. At the very least, it would have made for a damn good story.

  He gasped again, the sharp pain stinging him with every inhale. He would always pride himself in his courage. Only now, Hudson felt scared and uneasy, and ashamed for feeling scared and uneasy. The last thing he saw was Syrena standing over him with her arm held out in front of her. He f
elt the warmth of the fire hit his face; he watched as the flames shot directly at the man that had wounded him.

  The look on Syrena’s face wasn’t just of rage, it was of passion.

  Hudson could even swear he saw the hint of a tear there.

  It was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and gave in to the pain.

  Not a bad last image, he pondered. Farewell, my dear Syrena of Morganna… You beautiful, vicious, magnificent thing, you…

  At that moment, everything went black. But he could still hear the shrieks of the monkey and the nameless man as they became engulfed in flames from head to toe.

  “Hudson?! Stay with us!” John Huxley tried to lift his unconscious ally, when he heard another roar coming from behind. The stonewalker was sniffing around the edge of the river, as if confronting its fear of the water. It lifted one of its fists and placed it on the trunk of the broken cypress tree.

  No… No, no, no, please don’t, John’s face hardened.

  The tree shook, and the water splashed against it and sprinkled over the stonewalker’s feet. It roared again, this time more cowardly, and ran back into the trees like a frightened dog. But its prying had done its horrid deed… The tree began rolling out of place, shifting with the river’s current.

  “Hold on!” Syrena said as she crouched down next to John and Hudson and wrapped her arms around both of them. The nameless man slipped, pulling his sharp-fanged monkey along with him; both his screams and the flames were silenced by the water as the river swallowed them both whole. The trunk was dragged away by the current, drifting the farmer and the witch away from the land and leading them towards an impending waterfall…

  John felt helpless and unsettled. It was as if a part of him was lost when Hudson closed his eyes, when his friend closed his eyes…

  “What do we do?!” he asked Syrena, pleading to her like a frightened child.

  The witch was struggling to keep her balance as she stood on the moving trunk and watched at what lay ahead. “I-I don’t know,” she panicked.

  They looked at one another. Perhaps there was nothing else to do.

  Their options had run short and without their cunning thief, so had their ideas. They could have jumped, but there was no way they could swim through the vicious current and drag Hudson’s unconscious body safely away.

  “Damn it all to hells…”

  Syrena bent to her knees again on the wide trunk and hugged both of her companions. If she knew the Woodlands, she knew that the impending drop led them to a cluster of sharp rocks at the very bottom. And if the fall didn’t kill them, the rocks were likely to finish the deed…

  As if reading her thoughts, John said nothing and simply closed his eyes.

  May the gods be with us, he thought to himself.

  They fell…

  XIII

  Small Minds

  Count Raoul Jacquin was as corrupt and boorish as Lady Brunylda Clark had predicted, though she at the very least expected him to be slightly good-looking. Instead, what she saw before her was a stocky red-faced man with uneven teeth and a balding head. He had a round shriveled nose, eyes grey like mist, and he kept his hair long at the sides and back, which was not at all a good look for him.

  I do hope he wears a hat upon occasion, the Lady thought to herself. If only to hide that glistening red scalp.

  And she was right; it did shine quite a bit, despite the dim lighting in the room. It was as if all of the hair from his scalp had given up and the rest of his body decided to catch up. He had refused to meet with the Lady Treasurer and the newly appointed Lord Regent, putting the blame on a busy schedule, and instead had them meet in his private suite at the Emerald Rose saloon.

  Lady Brunylda knew that Kahrran men had the tendency to be classless and vile in nature, but what came next was a spit on their faces, to say the least. When they entered the room, they felt the odor itch at their noses instantly, like that of feet and sweat blending awfully with cheap perfume. The count was lying nude inside a tub made of grey marble, with a thin layer of foamy soap that was dispersed so unevenly that most of his body was exposed. He sat there with a grin on his face, as if it gave him pleasure to see their unpleasant reactions. There was a young woman dressed in revealing robes massaging his thick shoulders, and though she tried to keep a straight face she could not hide her discomfort when the count looked the other way.

  Poor girl, the Lady pondered. You couldn’t pay me enough coin to hold back the vomit.

  “Well, well, well… Sir Darryk Clark of Roquefort,” Count Jacquin grinned as the woman behind him held up a spittoon for him. “Or shall I call you Lord Darryk Clark now?”

  “Sir Darryk will do. It is a pleasure to have you here, Count Jacquin.”

  “Please, please, have a seat. Make yourself at home,” the count spit onto the vase, after which the woman set it back down next to the tub. “And what is this? You’ve brought an entourage, I see.”

  The Lady gave no curtsy, only a head nod and a forced smile.

  “Lady Brunylda Clark, Treasurer of Val Havyn,” she introduced herself.

  Meanwhile, the woman in the revealing robes began pouring two goblets of wine, all the while gawking at the Lady Treasurer as if she hadn’t been in the presence of a woman with so much power before.

  “Another Clark, eh?” the count chuckled and wiped a bit of slobber from his scruffy chin. “I sure hope it’s by blood and not marriage. A young lord like you ought to be shagging someone a bit more like this one.” He placed his wet hand on the robed woman’s posterior; she hardly winced, as if she was used to it.

  Lady Brunylda scowled and felt a grumbling in her stomach.

  Whatever she’s getting paid, it can’t possibly be enough…

  “The Lady Brunylda’s a distant relative, nothing more,” Darryk said, keeping his calm character quite well, taking the goblet and sipping from it scarcely. It wasn’t yet mid-day, but the count appeared to already be in the midst of inebriation. Perhaps it would prove easier to negotiate with him in such state, perhaps more difficult. It all depended on the Clarks’ demeanor.

  “Well, in that case,” the count glanced at Brunylda. “I may just ask for a few minutes alone with the Lady Treasurer, after we discuss business… I’ve never shagged a Clark woman before. Always wondered what that’d be like.”

  The Lady’s reaction was mild; a subtle exhale through the nose and a minor tilt of the head, nothing more. Her eyes, however, spoke very differently… If one could somehow say ‘Fuck yourself’ through a stare, that would have been it.

  “We are here to propose a negotiation, Count Jacquin,” Darryk said, hoping to ease the tension in the room and shift the conversation back to business.

  The count, however, appeared distracted and uninterested. “What kind of name is Brunylda anyway?” he chuckled sloppily. “It’s not really a name fit for nobility, is it? Lacks the class. I once met a tavern dancer with a more elegant name than that.”

  There was a short silence, unfamiliar to the count. It appeared to have caused him a touch of discomfort, as if he was accustomed to having servants laugh along with his remarks.

  “As you might know,” Darryk cleared his throat. “His majesty, King Rowan, has left Val Havyn in order to march with his troop to the southern shores.”

  “Aye,” the count spat to the side, hoping to hit the spittoon and missing. “It’s all the gossip these days, the missing princess. I’ve a wager that she’ll turn up dead before autumn, in fact.”

  “A wager?” Lady Brunylda spoke again. “You disappoint me, Count Jacquin… Betting money on the death of the future queen? I’ve known peasants to do that, certainly, but it seems a bit low for a count.”

  “She isn’t my future queen,” the count chuckled. “And I didn’t bet money. Lord Helmuth Larrehly of Raven’s Keep is a dear friend of mine. If the girl dies, I gain one of his estates. Always wanted an estate north of Kahrr. Land’s more fruitful up there. I plan on starting my own vineyard. Lad
y Clark, you look like a woman of proper taste. Have you ever tried Kahrran wine?”

  “I sure have,” the Lady gave him a nod, straight-faced and calm. “I’m afraid it’s shit… I prefer something with a bit more bite.”

  Count Jacquin’s grin lost some of its flare, as if he was playing a game of Mercy and the Lady was suddenly in the lead. “Yes, well, we’re all entitled to our opinions, however wrong they are,” he said.

  The Lady grinned genuinely for the first time since arriving.

  Go on, you bald bastard. You’re not the only one who can play this game. Where’s your smart mouth now?

  “Back to the matter of discussion,” Darryk interrupted the sudden silence again. “I’m afraid Val Havyn is a bit short of soldiers at the moment. We’ve enough guards to keep the palace safe, only we’ve resorted to hiring a few inexperienced men to patrol the city streets. I’m sure we both know the implications that can bring should an unprecedented incident occur. Therefo-”

  “All right, all right,” the count interrupted and chugged more of his wine, as if he had been challenged by the Lady on his ability to hold himself sober. “You aren’t the first man to beg for help and you won’t be the last, Sir Darryk. You want able-bodied men from Kahrr to come serve you, I see. But let’s talk of your end of the negotiation, shall we?”

  Sir Darryk glanced at Lady Brunylda, as if handing her the reins.

  The Lady snapped her fingers and the robed woman answered the gesture by heading towards the door. “With the possibility of an impending war,” Brunylda began, “I’m afraid our funds are rather delicate for the time being. Not to say we haven’t friends in high places. We can offer the basic necessities for any soldiers you can send. Food, lodging, weapons, armor, you name it… all the while, we can provide payment for your services in portions.”

  At that very moment, the door creaked open and a girl no older than seventeen walked in. She carried a thick brown book under one arm and a leather bag with ink and quills in the other. She was dressed in an auburn red dress that was not nearly as elegant as Lady Brunylda’s, but still quite nice. Her brown hair was mostly loose over her shoulders, with two neat braids running along the sides of her head and tied neatly behind her. There was a thin layer of powder on her cheeks and she wore a silver necklace with a ruby that she had borrowed from the Lady Treasurer. Overall a decent-looking young woman, only she looked about as uncomfortable and timid as a lost child; her hands shook as she took a seat and placed the thick book on her lap.