by Jon Kiln
The rough men on both sides chuckled. Even some of the Guardsmen behind Berengar gave a light laugh.
Berengar looked back over his shoulder as he rode into the canyon slowly. “I surely will. For my King, my kingdom, and because you asked so nicely, sir.”
The men from both groups laughed heartedly. The fellow pulled his hood up and gave a surer salute. The Captain returned it.
As he heard the wagons closer to the rear, crunching against the hard, gritty ground and echoing off the walls around them, Berengar chose wider paths around boulders to give better passage to the wheels. Even having to cross deeper in the cold, wet creek at the bed of the canyon, he selected the wider path for the company each time.
Belsh returned to the front and Berengar sent him back again with names for scouts to ride ahead of the group deeper into the canyon. After a few moments, the men rode past and vanished into the mists ahead.
Belsh returned to the Captain’s side. “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“The provision masters said that they will prepare meals once you inform them of our mid afternoon stop.”
Berengar smiled and leaned over to Nisero. “You think they are hoping to remind me that we are supposed to stop and eat?”
“I would expect as much from the provision masters.”
Belsh spoke to the Captain again. “The scholars also asked if they could do a survey of the rocks at some point during the journey.”
“Belsh, I think the company is asking you to bring messages to me on their behalf so that they do not have to ask me themselves. I’ll send permission back to the scholars and sages when we break for a midday meal. They don’t need to know any sooner than that.”
“You are a benevolent ruler,” Nisero said.
“I assume you would be the jester in this imaginary kingdom.”
“I will keep my eyes open for a better candidate for the job,” Nisero declared, “but until then, I am at your service, as always.”
At midday, Berengar sent Nisero forward to check on the scouts and Belsh back to pass orders for a stop. The whole affair took far longer than the Captain liked with such a large group, but he settled in and tried to make the most of the time to rest.
After they ate, Berengar sent Belsh to rally the group to prepare to ride again. He watched the scholars work their way down slowly from the caves higher on the opposing wall.
“Do we have any idea what the state of the barbarian tribes beyond the river are?” Nisero asked.
Berengar shrugged his broad shoulders. “I did not know the conditions of Patron’s Hill and Darkenhauls before we passed through them. I fear the western border has been as neglected as the western towns with the focus on war over the past few years.”
“At least it was neglected long before that too,” Nisero said, “so maybe not much has changed.”
“My wife used to say the only thing that is constant in life is change,” Berengar remembered.
Nisero took to his feet and stretched his back. “That sounds both like a contradiction and very true at the same time.”
“Most of Ari’s wisdom turned out to be that way. I did not see the scouts return with you. Is all well, Lieutenant?”
“They took provisions with them when they rode out and are staying ahead to keep our way clear and safe.”
“Very good. Let’s get this group moving again.”
They rode for a few more hours and Berengar heard the roar of the waterfall. The creek deepened into a river and poured over the end of the canyon ahead of them.
As they reached the end, Berengar saw his men waiting at the top of a wooden structure at the edge of the cliff. The Captain pulled up and saw the corkscrew bridge spiraling down a central column beside the waterfall. It led all the way down to the bank of a wider river below. The bridge across the river under them had been rebuilt as well.
To the right, Berengar saw the thin ledge that led down the rock face which he and Nisero had used on their last journey when this corkscrew bridge did not exist.
They led the campaign down, but spread the men and equipment out so that the entire weight would not be on the structure at once. The railings were high on the outside edge and along the central core so that the trough inside was protected. The inside wooden floor was textured, but still slippery in spots from the effects of the nearby moisture off the waterfall. The wear on the wood told Berengar the rebuilt corkscrew was years old.
The horses were less than sure, so Berengar ordered the men and attendants on the wagons to walk beside the animals in guiding them down.
“I’m not sure when the kingdom found time to rebuild this structure.”
Nisero heard the rattle of others that had entered the corkscrew nearer the top. “Forseth mentioned seeing to it on our return trip from the castle. Maybe he made good on that. It would have had to have happened before the start of the war, obviously, with Forseth being dead then and resources being diverted elsewhere.”
They reached the bottom and walked their horses out on solid, stony ground again near the bank of the river. The ice was thin and sparse, but it was still cold. The bridge was also rebuilt and solid. It was wider than the trough of the corkscrew. Berengar remembered his and Nisero’s fateful, ill-advised crossing on the ice after Solag had broken down the bridge to foil their pursuit.
“That had been one stupid move after another.”
Nisero sniffed. “I would ask you what you were talking about, but I think I know.”
Berengar turned to watch the progress of the others in the screw, but he spotted a long series of buildings near the base of the waterfall. Three mill wheels turned in the falling water. Thick moss grew over the soaked roofs of the buildings so near the falls.
“By the gods, they rebuilt those too,” Berengar exclaimed.
“What is it, Captain?”
Berengar walked his horse toward them without answering. A regular army fighter stepped out with a man in a leather apron behind him. The soldier saluted and both Berengar and Nisero returned it.
“I don’t suppose you have brought my relief or supplies,” the soldier said hopefully.
“I’m leading another mission,” Berengar answered. “I was not aware you were stationed here.”
“Nearly four years now.”
“Do you know of the war going on in the east?” Nisero asked the soldier.
“We get some news,” he said. “At its beginning, we were given the order to hold position until further notice. That had more to do with the attempt on the King than the war though. I think they forgot us after that. Supplies ceased after that point as well.”
“What have you done for food?” Captain Berengar wondered.
“We traded our wares with Darkenhauls for a while. Finished products for crops and raw material. As their burden on the food supply increased, we started trading with peoples across the bridge.”
Berengar looked to the west. “You are trading weapons with the barbarians?”
The man in the apron spoke up. “We stopped making weapons and have held the ones we have in storage until we get orders. We are trading plowshares, harnesses, and tools for food and material. It has kept us at peace with people across the river and has kept us fed.”
“The rest of the unit is out on a trade now,” the soldier added. “I would have kept them in, if I knew you were coming.”
Berengar shook his head. “No need. We are passing through and we have no orders or further news. I will ask the King myself upon my return. I’m sure whatever weapons you have are of good quality and could be put to use in the current growing conflict.”
The man in the apron sighed. “Growing conflict? Still?”
“I’m afraid so,” the Captain replied. “I’m sorry you have been forgotten out here on the edge of the kingdom.”
“We are fine,” the soldier said stoically. “I feel bad that I am living here in relative quiet comfort while my brot
hers in arms battle for the kingdom in my place.”
Nisero nodded his approval at the man’s words.
The first of the Elite Guard had arrived and gathered behind them between the screw and the bridge.
“You have nothing to feel bad about, soldier,” Berengar reassured him. “If you are supplying the needs of the people to our west and thus avoiding conflict on our western border, then you are doing far more for the good of the kingdom than you could possibly imagine. Hopefully, we can put a rest to the other conflicts soon, and see you returned to your families after this long tour of service.”
The man in the apron said, “If your mission can rest a conflict, I wish you well. As for me, I do feel better forging tools and farming equipment than endless weapons as before.”
“Understandably,” Berengar said. “We wish you well in your mission too, gentlemen.”
As the wagons reached the bottom and saw to checking over their horses’ harnesses, Berengar reformed the company and saw them across the bridge before taking the afternoon meal.
Berengar pointed to the north. “I believe that is near where we pulled out of the river and were taken in by the barbarian family in the foothills.”
“Do you care to check in on them?” Nisero asked.
“Not even a little bit do I want that, Lieutenant.”
Nisero laughed. “You don’t think they would be happy to see us?”
“As I recall, the girls’ brothers were serving in Solag’s army and we tied them up before our bloody escape from their ambush camp.”
“It could have gone far worse for them,” Nisero said. “I do hope her family is benefiting from the farming equipment supplied by the mill and smith at the base of the waterfall.”
“They have not burned the bridge or torn down the screw again. That is a good sign.”
“Her brothers were not among the bodies of the men in our final battle with Solag,” Nisero recalled. “I hope they returned home to their father after our encounter.”
“I’d rather leave their story to hope than to hunt them down and know for sure.”
“As you wish, Captain.”
The scouts returned and reported a good position within riding distance for the night’s camp.
Berengar had the company gather and they pressed westward. As the ridge rose in the distance, he realized that men had chosen the plateau on top as the site.
“I do not care to sleep atop the Way of Blood tonight.” Berengar did not believe in curses and only somewhat believed in ghosts, but he did not want to go about tempting either one when not needed.
Nisero concurred.
“Send the orders,” Berengar commanded. “We will camp in the fields near the road on the far side. Set a few men upon the ridge to stand watch over the entire area. Pick men who do not know the history of the place. I want them alert, but not clouded with fear or superstition.”
“Yes, sir. Does Stoleck know where his grandfather was killed?”
“He does, I’m sure, but it was not here. Stoleck the elder fell in battle to Zulag before we reached the Way of Blood. Stoleck is good on a watch. He has a good mind like his grandfather. Give him the choice of whether he wants to take the ridge or the road beyond. I’m fine with him leading either position.”
Nisero nodded. “He will select the ridge. I know without asking.”
The Captain smiled. “Probably. Ask anyway. The conquest will mean more, if he chooses it.”
Chapter 6: Writing on the Wall
They worked their way through the plains until it connected with the pass hugging the walls of the Blue Mountains. They stopped on the wider platforms for meals and camp as they pushed their way deeper through the mountains.
They soon came upon the gray village cut into the rocky valley. A few of the men made to stop at the broken well to refill water skins, but Berengar shouted the men back to guard the flanks and rear of the party as they passed.
“Stay tight and keep moving,” Berengar warned. “We are not stopping here.”
He looked from side to side, but saw no movement. He still did not trust that the strange inhabitants of this dead village were gone. He thought maybe they might be holding back from a well-armed party.
Captain Berengar reached the western edge of the village first and looked over the drop off into a pit filled with darkened and broken bones. He could not tell ancient bones from new additions. He also could not tell if the pit were any more full than his last time through.
Berengar went slowly along the pass leading out of the ruins. After a while, Nisero and Belsh rejoined him at the front. He looked back to see the wagons and the rear guards exiting up along the pass out of the village. The eyes of most seemed fixed upon the mass of bones below.
“Was there any sign of trouble?” Berengar inquired of his second-in-command.
Belsh pointed down at the bones. “You mean a sign other than that?”
Berengar ignored the boy’s comment and Nisero answered the Captain. “We seem to be clear, but we’ll keep men at the rear as we continue onward.”
They traveled for a few more days, making camp where they found flat ground wide enough.
After the midday meal a couple of days further on, they came upon the alkaline lake filled with the crystallized, bleached husks of fallen trees. Berengar looked about, spotting a few petrified birds and the fossilized statues of other creatures that had wandered out onto the surface to be overtaken by the deadly salts. As the wind shifted, the fumes off the putrid lake assailed his nostrils and burned his eyes.
Berengar blinked and turned away as the trail turned to bring the collapsing wall of the castle into view. He heard the muttering and awestruck whispers of the men behind him. The Captain’s eyes traveled up a hazy slope of a mountain behind the far wall of an abandoned castle. The horn of rock cut off on a severe, jagged angle near its tilted peak creating an uneven drop off. Berengar imagined Solag’s wounded body tumbling down that face to the distant rocks below as she had stepped off to avoid one last thrust of the Captain’s sword.
“I might have taken her prisoner,” Berengar whispered.
“Captain?”
Berengar shook his head and the Lieutenant did not press him for a response.
The Captain eyed the ledges and outcroppings that marked the far face of the horn where she had fallen, but her body was not found. They had not climbed down to look, but he wondered if her weathered bones might not be perched on one of those ledges.
Berengar had himself jumped from more than a few cliff faces in daring escapes. He wondered if he could have caught one of those landings and worked himself away to safety after his enemy had left the scene. He supposed those rocky spits were much farther down and far less hospitable than they appeared from this distance.
They rounded the stone bridge and crossed to the fallen gate of the castle. Beyond the opening, Berengar could see that the grasses inside had browned and patches of dead, gray ground showed between. He wondered if that was seasonal or if the decay of this ruin was advancing.
Before he had time to follow that train of thought for long, his attention was drawn to markings all along and up and down the outside wall of the castle. Much of the scrawling was foreign. The black and white paints boasted at least four languages that Berengar could identify. He knew enough to recognize the characters in these tongues, but not enough to translate them. He made a note to ask the scholars for translations once they were settled in.
The writings that were in the standard script used by the kingdom was clear enough even where the spelling of the writers was lacking. “We will rise against our oppressors.” “King Ramael and his bloody warriors will fall.” “The bones of Berengar will be broken.” “Solag will eat the children of Ramael.” “Solag lives.” “Solag son of Zulag reigns.” “Solag, daughter of the Moon, rises upon the wind.” “Solag is forever.”
Other scratchings were far less eloquent and far more vulgar, but the sentiment against the King, the ki
ngdom, and even Berengar continued as did the praise and near prophetic declarations of Solag.
“I do not appear to be popular among visitors to the castle,” Berengar noted.
“Popular, yes,” Nisero said, “but perhaps not beloved, no. Should I be insulted that I have been left out of the curses?”
“I would not take it personally. Maybe they got around to cursing your name inside.”
As they entered the grounds of the abandoned castle, rubble formed a battered slope against a collapsed wall, which was below the hill in which Berengar had chased Solag in their final battle.
A bird of prey flew out from a broad nest in the open window near the apex of the castle. That was the same spot where the cage that had contained Arianne had hung, when she was a captive of Solag. The bird circled overhead and then sailed out between the mountains.
There was more graffiti along the inner surface of the wall and along the stone of the castle structure itself. Some of the markings were so high that the writers would have hung out the windows by ropes. That level of dedication to writing a curse about a man showed great commitment and depth of feeling, Berengar thought.
Berengar and the King were mentioned often within the castle as well, including calls for acts of torture that the Captain did not think were physically possible. The magic power and resurrection of Solag were declared with equal certainty. There appeared to be lists of names of men that gave up their lives in battle here. Berengar thought it was likely these were the names of fallen bandits as opposed to the ancient knights of Faithcore. There was still no mention of Nisero that Berengar could see.
“They did not seem to have room to curse you here either,” he said.
“Perhaps they just needed a bigger castle for all they had to say,” Nisero said.
“I still want to look inside. I’ll add a bit about you, if we find none.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have the men set camp here in the main ground of the keep.” Berengar gestured at the open space. “I want guards on the bridge leading in and the opening in the back that leads down to the narrow ledge. Do you remember the spot?”