by B A Fleming
The baron and his daughter made their way on foot down the main cobblestone path to the courtyard. He had accepted that of all in this keep his daughter knew the wild lands of the west the best after the scouts that had also been assigned to the party.
After two days of argument and loud discussion between the Baron and his children it had become clear to all members of the Catheridge household that his daughter would not relent on her wishes to join the group. He now led Thais across the cobblestones to her horse and stood hugging her tightly before she easily climbed upon her steed that had been held by one of the stable boys.
The soldiers had gathered with their horses, whispering, laughing nervously, kissing their beloveds for the final time
as many of them expected never to return. Baron Archivy had hand picked the cavalry of soldiers, based on a mix of skilled swordsmen and archers, four scouts and the royal party they would follow.
It would be two weeks’ ride to Tharkomad, where the party could gather fresh supplies and learn more of the path up into the mountains. The whole area was considered an outpost of the kingdom, a hostile land that bordered the western part of the valley with the only known trails into the outside world.
The party consisted of Dralan, Casperi, Thais, Nathe, Denue and twelve of the most experienced soldiers of the duchy. All were dressed in plain clothes and adorned to resemble mercenaries. Merlane had expressed concern of the lack of experience left to defend Catheridge Castle. Master of the Guard, Norman, would remain in charge and Baron Archivy had managed to convince several of the retired sergeants to take over senior roles for the time the party was away.
Merlane looked at Baron Archivy.
“I would have preferred more time for the soldiers to prepare for this journey my liege. I fear that some of them would have benefitted from better diet and training, amongst other things.”
“You seem to live in the what could have been, rather than is the what is and what can be, old friend.”
The Priest Nolan and Merlane stood either side of the Baron as the party formed up. He walked over to his son and then back to his daughter, sharing deeply concerned embraces with both from upon their mounts.
“We will be fine, father,” Prince Casperi stated, as if trying to reassure him.
“I know you both will my son. It is time for me to step back now, to allow you both to find your own paths. To become a memory of your childhood. I love you both and look forward to hearing of your stories upon your return.”
Casperi smiled and hugged him again. He stepped back and gave a slight royal bow, smiled again and walked off to his horse. Thais looked across to her father again and smiled to him.
Baron Archivy stepped back as Swordmaster Nathe called out orders for the column to move out. Casperi and Thais mounted their horses, riding in the van behind Nathe and Denue. Dralan and Renual followed with the twelve handpicked soldiers and a baggage train of four horses that made up the rear guard.
They slowly moved out at first, everyone waving quietly to loved ones as the horses sped up to a canter exiting through the gates of the castle of Catheridge and then turning north to head west into the Trolls lands.
Chapter 5
The column rode as hard as they could, cutting through outcrops of trees and large boulders, skipping along natural pathways, all trying to outrun, or in some cases, avoid the trolls that thundered down the hill towards them.
A small community of trolls occupied and area of a roughly rectangular area covering several leagues in each direction from the base of the valley walls. The Trolls had always lived in the valley although legends told over time that their numbers had dwindled with the settlement of humans.
More than twice the height of humans, the tendered to feed on wood animals and the occasional grangols. Their thick torso and upper body always seemed to be somewhat out of balance with their more boney legs. Their faces resembled those of old men whose noses had been smashed in, even as trollings. Older male trolls grew fangs from their bottom jaw. Their deep brown skin enabled them to blend easily into the deep forest that covered much of their territory.
Nathe rode towards the legs of a troll, ducking a large log it swung just above his bowed head. The rider next to him was not so lucky, taking the full force of the blow. If that didn’t kill him, then slamming against a rocky outcrop over ten feet away surely did.
As the weapon connected the troll moved his balance to his other foot and deftly picked up the rider less horse, stopping to swallow it in three gruesome bites. The troll threw the saddle offhandedly to its right, licked its lips whilst crunching the last of the animals’ bones and then turned to pursue more of the invaders.
Nathe had given the order not to harm the trolls, but just to avoid any attack unless absolutely necessary. The grassy lands below their forest extended down within a half days’ ride of Catheridge Castle and an unspoken truce had been formed for the past twenty years, each combatant avoiding the other where possible.
The party rode hard through the grasslands for a full hour beyond the troll ambush, before slackening the pace entering some trees.
They brought the horses down to a canter as the animals breathed heavily along the last of the plains before entering the forest. The thick woodland would hide them, as the trolls rarely ventured beyond their own lands.
They stopped and dismounted, the lather of sweat evident on all of their steeds. They walked the mostly spooked horses until they reached then next clearing, then staked them out and commenced making camp. The run across the trolls’ plains had lost three horses and two men, with one horse carrying two of the men now looking to be on the verge of exhaustion.
The trail rose at a moderate ascent as the party climbed up along a ridge. Although not to the same height as the cliff walls that lined the valley, this particular set of hills were the first to gather snow in early winter, with the sparse ridges much easier to travel through than the impenetrable forests that covered most of this district.
The Trolls lands ran a section of upper ridges and small valleys along the northern wall of the center part of the kingdom. This current truce was brokered by Baron Achivys’ father when he was young, and the Baron would leave a flock of goats for the Trolls on a yearly basis as a sign of friendship between the two species.
They followed the path along the rise until the path seemed to vanish into nothing in front of them. A waterfall toppled off the other side of a large gorge that ran half a league either side of them in each direction.
Dralan looked up the steep cliff walls that towered above them, seeing the waterfall stumble half way down the cliff face. This river was fed by the Mountains of Sart, and the impassable wall laid between them.
The forest was thick on the other side of the gorge, except where the river, some fifty feet across, ran down a small valley from the surrounding mountains. Had a bridge been constructed, another two days ride would bring them to the dragons’ den.
The trail they had been following lead off onto a smaller path in the direction away from the wall along through the meadow towards a stand of woods.
The Barons’ woodsman, Curran, and two trackers had forged the trail ahead, and had selected an easily defendable campsite to stopover.
Curran appeared from the shadows of the trees. He was a tall man, solid in build, having trained as part of the royal guard with his childhood friend, Nathe. Currans’ love of nature had gotten Nathe and several other boys in trouble more than once, as he was famous for leading his boyhood friends off into day long adventures, even when all knew chores waited for them back with their families, smirking as he watched their bewilderment sometimes over hours, before leading them back to the beltings they would receive from their fuming parents.
His skills for tracking beasts of all natures and reading the emotions of the forest had saved many more than others had claimed he had lost. Curran appeared in small valley villages without notice, and soldiers throughout the western valley had gotten to recogni
ze the Catheridge woodsman and his second, Dwane.
Dwane, a dark haired, brown eyed man five years younger than him, and married to the sister of Curran, were brothers to the royal baker of Catheridge. Where Curran was a swordsman, Dwane, shorter, thinner and faster, was well thought of as an archer. He was the only one to get close to the skills of the young princess, Thais.
His parents seemed darker than others of Catheridge, and were part of the logger community that had settled in Catheridge three generations before.
Casperi and Thais, used to riding long distances, enjoyed the trail, although Renual could now feel the soreness in his legs, almost twice as much pain as when he had been on the horse. He gently walked across to where a fire was being made for a brew of strong tea, his horse staring at him in expectation of feed and water. Although growing up around horses, he had had little time for riding them.
For the humans, the bread would still be fresh enough to eat, with the remaining fresh fruits. More than one of the party was not looking forward to the rations of beans, nuts and dried fruits in the days to come before they reached open farmlands again.
“You’d better attend to your horse first young squire, or you’ll never get up,” remarked Denue.
Renual looked in pain, and annoyed at the extra task. All the others were attending to their horses, as he turned to Casperi who handed him some cut grass. He indicated that he would share his water bucket with his boyhood friend once his horse had finished drinking its contents.
The column remounted after the break. The soreness in tired legs had dissipated quite a bit in the hour in between, although all those not used to endless days of riding expected just as much pain by the end of the day.
Casperi yawned and wished that he were back in his own bed in Catheridge Castle. He had enjoyed the occasional hunting trip and overnight camp, even mostly comfortable staying on straw pallets at the inns along the roads between Catheridge and Bhagshau, or Caitawalaan, but this daily ret upon the hard ground was making him tired.
The fatigue of the first few days of constant travelling had, like many, started sapping the energy out of him. He rose, seeing light outside, to find Nathe manning the fire and Curran organizing the changing of the guard. Those on dawn patrol would be afforded with another hours’ rest before the company moved out for the day.
Casperi found Thais already awake and preparing her saddles. She filled her quiver with yard shafts. These were long, steel headed shafts that, if shot correctly, could pierce the armor of most soldiers. She had made the arrows herself after spending many months with the Royal Fletcher in the City of the Lake to learn the craft.
There may have been no love lost between the Baron of the City of the Lake and the King in Bhagshau, but all royal families of the realm used the same craftsman to make their arrows and train their armory stewards. Thais had spent many hours with several of the armory stewards per month hunting pocock birds, as their feathers had the best
shape to give the arrow the right balance of speed and direction.
Curran, Nathe and Denue discussed plans as Casperi moved over to join them. The morning scouts were worth their weight in gold and had found several shortcuts on the path in addition to many edible berries to supplement the rations.
The first few days had left nearly all the men weary as they approached the Seven Stairs of Death. Based on the various legends and rumors they all felt that life was about to become a lot harder.
They were camped atop a bluff, and the Seven Stairs of Death was a place of myth. More than a few had passed along the trail and not survived as creatures within its dark forests surprised and frightened many travelers.
Although not the only route to Tharkomad, this path would cut a week in travel time and also mask the expedition somewhat from the watchful eyes of the kingdom. From the bluff the party could see a fair portion of the Tharkomad duchy. This sort of vista would vanish within an hour of their next ride.
The path quickly turned into a stony, treacherous, steep incline as the horses, and men, slipped and slid down the thin trail that wound along the edge of a steep cliff. The going would be very slow, and the thick forest could be seen hundreds of feet below. All knew that there were new dangers lurking there, if they made it that far.
The Seven Stairs of Death were named so, as they looked like a distant staircase from the Castle of Tharkomad. There were still many wild and unfamiliar valleys through the western part of the kingdom, and more often than not, the native inhabitants kept them that way.
“Keep your eyes open through these lands,” advised Curran.
He had passed through this trail less than a year before. “Whilst it’s not the trolls’ lands, there is still plenty of menace ahead of us, and some challenges too I would suggest. It will be equally important that we maintain ourselves to the path, as I’ve heard strange noises of those that drift from it.”
He shot a wry grin across the space to the younger members of the party, Casperi, Thais and Renual. The woodsman had been gone for several hours previously and the group had become to feel that they were stumbling blindly into all sorts of horrors.
Upon his return; along with the trailblazers the tension seemed to ease somewhat, even though he was yet to explain what he saw during his absence. Once the horses had been rested, they were tied end to end. The thick forest was dark and easy for anyone of the party to quickly become lost in.
“I followed some tracks for an hour or so that crossed our trail several times. I’ve circled you all, without even a glance from you. We need to become more aware because there are dangers lurking. They are watching us. The question is whether they are more scared of us than we would be of them,” he advised Nathe, Denue, Casperi and Dralan.
Curran had suggested a small but flatter area an hour above the heavy woods as the first campsite of the trail down the steep and dangerous hillside. Large rocky outcrops would provide better guard points, although in the tricky terrain, someone who knew the area could easily move around without being noticed.
One of the soldiers wandered into the forest in the early morning to gather firewood. Returning with the rising sun he stumbled forward, towards the camp, slowly measuring each step, his sword ready for any to oppose him. He lunged at Thais as she exited her tent.
She rolled back, to the right of her tent, as he continued his attack towards her. She seemed slowed in her actions even though she was much more nimble than him on any given day. Dralan called out to the others, who quickly exited their tents to see the fray.
“He’s possessed or something?” yelled Denue through tired eyes, as several men grabbed the soldier from behind and wrestled him to the ground. They removed all his weapons and tied his hands behind his back with a native vine that grew between stone outcrops.
After five more minutes he lay in front of them soundlessly kicking and frothing at the mouth.
Casperi reached his sisters’ side and she held his arm as she sat, slightly embarrassed but more shocked at the sudden attack.
“He’s in some sort of trance,” observed Nathe.
“Just what we need,” spat another soldier standing near them.
“You think magic?” asked Dralan joining in the overheard conversation.
“Something of the sort,” observed Nathe.
Casperi and Thais came over to the group now gathering around the soldier, whose distorted face stared viciously at them.
“It could be some sort of weed,” offered Curran.” But none that I’ve encountered before.”
The party all looked at each other.
“So, what do we do?” the obvious question had now been asked.
“We could leave him here, but he’s bound to be eaten, or even worse, escape his bonds and come after us,” replied Curran.
“Let’s take breakfast, and then we can decide,” advised Nathe. Two guards were set and the others dispersed to go about their business.
“You know we’re going to have to kill him,” said Curr
an to Nathe.
“Yes, I know. It’s the only solution. If anything, he has gotten worse during the past hour.”
“I’ll put him to the sword once the party moves out,” offered Curran.
“Thank you,” agreed Nathe. “He was a fine young soldier. It’s a shame he had to come to this end.”
“Well, he reminds us that there are a more dangers than just those we can see here.”
*****
The party sat still, hidden in the shadows on the edge of the clearing. Several men had heard sounds in the
darkness and two scouts were sent forward to circle back and seek signs of a possible ambush. The sun was high over the trees, hopefully making their outline hard to distinguish in the thick green darkness of the grove where they waited.
All the men moved towards their horses to mount and move out. Almost half were astride when the arrows started flying and Casperi just managed to raise his shield in time as a quill pitched into it.
Thais wasn’t as lucky as an arrow brushed her left arm leaving a small wound. Two men were felled by the arrows, then attackers dropped from the trees, knocking some of those mounted out of their saddles.
“Ride fast, and don’t stop!” yelled Nathe, as everyone set forward into a gallop. The forest quickly gathered about them as those left alive took off. A creature jumped out in front of him drawing its bow.
Nathe was tossed over his horse’s head, and he tucked in his shoulder as he rolled and hit the ground, using the momentum to propel him into a running position, where he was able to draw his sword and slice the bowman almost in two. He looked around and gathered his horse.
Casperi’s eyes tried to re-adjust to the changing darkness of the woods, and he hoped that his horse could see better than he could. He had watched Dralan, Denue and Thais ride off at an angle. The trees seemed to rush up towards him and he spent several minutes ducking and weaving, mostly in sheer hope of not being dismounted.