“How is the Arch Wizard anyway?” Scab asked as he wiped his finger on his pants. “Haven’t heard much news from the east, besides the attack on Helm’s Reach.”
Walter gasped, visions and thoughts dashed away upon the rocks of the present. “Huh?” His guts felt like they dropped into his toes. “There was an attack?” he croaked.
Grimbald’s face turned a ghastly hue and he stepped closer. “Go on.”
“You didn’t hear?” Scab wiped his hands on his pants, fingers catching on a hole. “Don’t worry, friends! It was just a small attack I’ve been told, warded off by your lady’s magnificent fighting prowess.”
“So the city’s alright? Casualties? Is Nyset alright?” Walter hadn’t realized what he’d done until he saw Scab’s big bloodshot eyes widen. His hand was balled around Scab’s crusty collar, his eye hissing with Dragon fire.
“I-I don’t know. If you kill me now, the men will abandon you. Might be better to wait until after the battle, eh?”
A strong hand gripped Walter’s shoulder. “Hands off the boss would you, fire boy?” Wart, Scab’s second scowled, more scars than undamaged flesh pinching together on his cheeks.
Walter swallowed. Get yourself together. “Sorry Scab, think I’m just a bit nervous about this fight. Not sure why, though. Don’t even know if there will be a fight, do we?”
“Not a problem.” Scab brushed himself off and a made a point of straightening his rumpled lapels. “Glad to hear you’re starting to accept that you can’t control everything. Makes life much easier, trust my word on that.” Scab let out a sigh. “Might want to learn to control your emotions a bit better, might get you into trouble someday.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Walter turned around to see Grimbald had loosened the strap on Corpsemaker, one hand hanging onto its haft over his back. It was nice to know someone was there to watch out for him. Walter shot him a grateful nod and he nodded back in understanding.
“Well, just wanted to say good morning to you all. I’ll be on my way, have some things to tend to. Should be ready to depart in twenty minutes or so. Finally, get to do what you dragged us all the here for, eh? You’ll see the band here is worth the hefty cost.” He bobbed his eyebrows up.
“No doubt. I’ve seen them against a few Death Spawn we encountered on our way here, remember?”
“Mhm. Yes, yes I do. I’ve got to be going now. Time doesn’t stop for anyone, not even dual-wielders.” Scab winked and stumbled off, almost tripping on someone’s bag. He slapped a man on the ass as he departed.
“Shit, he’s a crazy bastard that one,” Grimbald said.
“Yeah. You think you’re ready for another battle?” Walter asked. Damn it, why do you keep asking that?
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Grimbald grunted, his hand brushing the Donkey’s mane.
Walter blew out his cheeks, his hand rubbing at the gnarled flesh on his stump. “Need to meditate, really need to get my head right. I’ll be back before we leave.”
“Enjoy. Try not to stumble on any Blood Eater graves this time, would you?” Grimbald said.
“Blood Eater graves?” Walter asked, scratching his head.
“Last time you went off from camp to meditate, you found Blood Eaters killing some farmers, remember? Or do I have it wrong?”
Walter nodded. “No, no. You have it right. Can’t think right.” He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, heavy with wet and sticking to his soddened shirt. “I’ll do my best.” He smiled and started off. He tried to blink the mist clinging to his ruined eye socket, but the eyelids only twitched against the balled up skin pulled over it.
Walter worked his way from the campsite and onto a patch of ferns coated in fluffy layers of fog. A few trees loomed beyond the ferns rasping against his boots, darkening the thickening wood beyond. The sun had been obfuscated by greasy sheets of cloud and mist draping above the trees. His boots squelched through mud, threatening to be sucked off of his feet with every step. Roots snagged at his ankles as if the forest were trying to snare him and make him food for the wolves. He reached the edge of the fern patch, making his way into the icy air of the wood. The difference was stark out of the bleak sun. He found a nice looking boulder after a few minutes, the din of the campsite thankfully swallowed by the forest.
Walter sat down on it cross-legged and closed his eyes, resting his hands on his knees. He shivered now that he wasn’t moving. He opened himself to the Dragon, just a sliver of its fire burned in his chest, enough to make him warm as if he were sitting beside a tavern’s hearth. The little things made a world of difference. He slowed his breath, swallowed it deep in his chest. The sounds of the world died away and with it, thoughts came.
How would they pay Scab?
How was Grimbald holding up after the death of his father? He was so quiet now, brooding and closed up.
Did he have to kill Juzo? Juzo had left him no choice, no choice at all. He might have been able to heal Grimbald, might have been able to do something differently. But why am I torturing myself with these questions? These are merely what is within, he answered himself. This is why you’re doing this. You must be empty to fight true. He thought maybe he could have hit them both with air and thrown them against the back of the Hissing Gooseberry tavern. Maybe he could’ve practiced his aim with shooting fucking fire out of his eye before using it against Juzo.
If only he had tried to cultivate the ability he knew was there when he was younger, all of this might have never happened. Maybe he could still smile at his mother, feel his Dad’s touch. This path is dark and leads to nowhere. He brought his attention to his breath. All that remains is… the breath. He sat there breathing for a while, ten minutes maybe.
Sounds came from beyond the forest, men squabbling maybe. Fighting over what, though? And why here the opposite way from the camp? Walter opened his eyes and attentively listened.
“Damn it,” a voice sounding much like Scab’s carried over the trees.
Walter slowly drew to a crouch. He felt for weapons he thought should be on his hips, remembering that he had all the weapons he’d ever need locked in his chest. He stalked towards the voices, doing his best to avoid stepping on twigs that would give him away. Pine needles ground like sand under his boots.
“This is all you’ll be getting. Your job’s easy, you fucking leech,” a voice dry as old leather snapped.
“This wasn’t what we agreed too. There’s—” the voice trailed off, muffled.
“This is all you’re getting!” the voice returned.
Walter could see the figures now, two men standing on a narrow strip of dirt worn down over the years, likely a goat path. They were far away and obscured by plants, but, as sure as he was missing his arm, he saw Scab there, standing with his distinctive swagger. What was this? Had some things to tend to, did he?
Walter was tempted to interrupt but had to get closer to hear everything. What he heard before were shouts, given the distance. Scab seemed to be shaking his head and stalked off down the goat path, his stride determined. Walter cut a path through the trees, aiming to cut him off as he made his way presumably back to camp. Scab seemed to pause as Walter thrashed through the thicket, likely expecting a bear given all the noise.
“Scab? Hey Scab, Walter!” He waved through the trees
Scab sheathed his half-drawn sword, eyes squinting. “By the Phoenix, you’re going to give me a heart attack my man! Never know where those damned Death Spawn will turn up, do you?”
“Sorry about that.” Walter forced a smile. He had to assume the best of people, but could a man in his line of work be trusted? He’d proved himself trustworthy so far. The past wasn’t always a good predictor of the future. Walter brushed around a bush, needles jabbing at his neck and cheeks. He nearly stepped on a Sand Buckeye, letting out a breath of relief as he lunged around its giant maw. He stepped onto the goat path, glad to be in a place where he could see more than five feet.
“What brings you to the forest?” Scab a
sked, gesturing up to the trees, mist glistening from his inflamed skin.
“Just came to find some peace before we head off,” Walter started to cross his arms, but forced them down at his sides. “And yourself?”
“Just taking in my daily constitutional. It’s not easy to look this good all the time, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” Walter nodded. “Who was that you were talking to?”
“You heard that?” Scab’s eye twitched. “I… was hoping that would be a surprise,” he peered down at his boots. “I was trying to get us a shipment of elixir beans. I thought it would be nice little something to give the men, improving morale and all of that nonsense.” He laughed.
“Really? Some elixir would be great right about now. Starting to get headaches from not having it, I think…” Walter imagined that wonderful aroma touching his nose.
“Yes. Either that or pretty ribbons. I thought the elixir would be more welcome with my men, however.”
“Ribbons?” Walter asked.
“Mm. Ribbons. I heard a story of a former mercenary leader who discovered that by giving his men little strips of colored cloth as rewards for acts of valor, they would be much more likely to do the irrational, save a dying man under the hail of arrow fire for example. Of course,” Scab flamboyantly waved, “these only have value if they’re scarcely given, add some type of ceremony with it to make it feel more important… and then one man fights like five. Truly maximizes the man’s utility, don’t you think?”
Walter shook his head, but he had to admit he thought the idea might work. “You are a bastard, a clever one, though. When is the elixir arriving then?”
Scab swallowed. “Just after the battle at the Great Retreat, so he assured me.”
Something about this story didn’t add up. He had to keep digging. “But why meet out here? Strange place to discuss food, don’t you think?”
“Well, the merchant didn’t feel safe around all my men. Understandable, isn’t it?”
Maybe. “But aren’t merchants used to dealing with all sorts?”
“In the confines of the city, around city guards, yes of course, but not unprotected,” Scab shrugged. “We should be on our way, according to my scouts the Death Spawn have just engaged their walls.”
Walter nodded. “Let’s go then.” They started moving down the path towards the camp. “It’s strange. I’ve never heard a merchant scream so harshly at a potential customer as that man did. He must not like making money, surprised you gave him your business.”
“These are desperate times and one must capitalize on rare opportunities, my good man.” Scab put his arms behind his back.
“Rare opportunities?” Walter scoffed. “Didn’t sound like any business dealings I’ve ever had.”
“Yes, rare opportunities.” Scab stopped. “Do you see any other elixir merchants out here?” Walter carried on along the path and Scab jogged to catch up. “I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t trust me, Walter. Is there something you’d like to say? Accuse me of? Have I given you any reasons to doubt my loyalty?” Scab’s sing-song tones became edged with violence.
“No,” Walter said. “But don’t give me one. Your reticence is… alarming.”
Scab let out a great belly laugh. “Reticence? This conversation is starting to smell like a turd. My friend, you’ll thank me when the beans come in. Can we not leave it at that? Can you not let it go?” Scab pleaded.
Maybe he was right. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it wasn’t. For now, Walter didn’t have much of a choice. He needed Scab and his crew. “Alright. Let’s go kill some Death Spawn. Try to stay alive, will you?” Walter grinned at him, letting his tensions ease. There was something about marching to where you knew the enemy was that made him feel like he was sticking his neck under a guillotine.
Chapter 13
The Great Tree
“A lesson for those who do not believe in the gods: a lack of belief doesn’t make them any less real.” -The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
The shrieking of Cerumal that would have cut the air fell short, dampened like a whisper across the expansive bog. The Great Tree loomed like a giant of lore over the forest, giving the regular trees the appearance of being mere blades of grass. It was as wide as the Midgaard palace at its base and fanned out at its apex with a series of limbs clawing at the sky, each big as the largest of trees studding the forest. In its center burned a roaring fire, known as the Elder’s Fire, casting the tree limbs at its apex in a grim glow. The limbs at the top curved back into the Great Tree, forming a dome of leaves below the Elder’s Fire. Hundreds of shadowy figures milled about a curving edge at the top, the size of ants at this distance.
A silky blanket of fog lazed over the Great Tree’s massive roots, which traveled for miles underground. Huts as big as Nobel’s houses spiraled up and around the tree’s trunk, connected by bridges and climbing vines. The huts were supported by rickety looking scaffolding, seemingly constructed by a blind man, Walter thought.
Small settlements spread farther north and around the Great Tree, making up the whole of the Great Retreat. It was the linchpin of their community. They met here to trade, socialize with other settlements, and debate the decrees of the Elders. Walter’s mother had told him they were a quiet sort of people. It was considered offensive to pry into another man’s business, yet storytelling was encouraged during their communal meals. The strangest thing he remembered his mother, Isabelle, telling him was how both men and women alike would roam the forest shirtless, their bare breasts exposed to the forest’s barbs. At any other time, he would have laughed at that thought, maybe his loins would have swelled at the prospect of seeing such a varied assortment of breasts all at once. The dark shadows at the tree’s base gibbered only death, shattering potential fantasies and sending Walter starkly into the moment.
A few foot bridges led to the Great Tree’s base, keeping one’s boots from the bubbling bog below. It would serve well to slow potential attackers as it appeared to be doing so now. Torches burned along the bridges behind cascading layers of fog, glimmering with amber halos. The torches blinked with the silhouettes of Death Spawn darting past.
It was mid-afternoon, Walter knew, but the sky was so heavy with black clouds it could have been near sunset. The treetops of the parting forest behind the Great Tree were so mired in fog, it was impossible to tell where they had ended and the sky began. Dead vines hung like corpses from the forest’s edge, invading all but the Great Tree’s domain. Botanists never discovered what it was about the area that had stopped the invasive species, wilting over the bog. It was the only place that had. The creeping vines were a persistent nuisance for farmers on either side of the realm. There was a new invasive species the Great Tree had to contend with now, one whose roots were in the Shadow Realm. This species knew nothing of quarter, mercy, and did not take prisoners.
Walter’s boot thumped onto the footbridge above the bog, making the blisters on his heels scream with protest. The water was speckled with bright pink flowers emerging from their lily pad hosts. A frog chirped and leaped into the dark water, frantically swimming away. That frog was perhaps one of the wisest creatures here, Walter thought.
“Death Spawn,” Walter hissed, his heart jumping at finally catching clear sight of them as a curtain of fog slipped away. Small fires burned like angry sores along the Great Tree’s roots, wide as houses rising out of the water. Some spots were blackened as if the fires had been burning for days now. Maybe they had. Everything was slick with wet and would be difficult to burn.
“Biggest tree I’ve ever seen. Just wow… stunning,” Grimbald said. “Would have been nice to get here without having to go to battle to see it, though. Maybe without Death Spawn.”
“When this is all over Grim, you and I are going to do some traveling,” Walter said, staring as the Death Spawn fanned out from the bridges and into the bog. The water was black between the lily pads and reached up to their demon’s hips in some places.
“When this
is all over,” Grimbald repeated. “If we manage to get out this alive, we’ll travel alright.” He winced with an unseen pain.
“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Scab asked, his hands planted on his hips.
“Who?” Walter asked.
“The Death Spawn and whoever is on top of that enormous tree.” Scab gestured.
“The Great Tree,” Walter said. It was his first time seeing the place where his mother was raised. It would have been nice to be here with her, he thought with a hard sniff.
Scab started biting one of his jaundiced nails. “Don’t see what’s so great about it. Long way to climb to go home.”
“A defensible position,” Grimbald added. “Can shoot, throw rocks and whatever else from above.”
“As long as your enemies don’t have fire,” Scab countered.
“Tough to light things that are wet, though, as we know from trying to start campfires last night,” Grimbald said.
“Ha! I knew there were some brains between all those muscles.” Scab slapped Grimbald on the back, making him flinch.
Grimbald grunted and regarded Scab flatly. A corner of his lip twitched up giving him the look Walter recognized as a volcano being tempted to blow.
“What happened with the both of you? You used to enjoy a bit of fun.” Scab looked from Walter to Grimbald, a pleased grin pasted on his cracked lips.
Walter looked away from Scab and set his gaze on the Death Spawn at the Great Tree’s base. “Maybe they’re waiting for something, but what? Looks like we might’ve arrived after an attack had been warded off, judging by the fires… or an attack about to start.” Walter peered back down the path they came in on, seeing heads bobbing along the narrow road. Some mercenaries had ventured into the forest lining the bog to try to get a good look at what lay beyond. “All this for a fucking tree?” someone said. “Unbelievable…”
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 26