by S. Nileson
“I have very strict orders to bring you to Fort Pax as soon as I can. Do not make this hard on both of us.”
“Are your orders to bring me there alive and well?”
“Yes. But I tend to occasionally forget some of the details.”
“Then this would be a good time to prove it. I will head back to the cabin. You can come if you want.” Archer steered his mount towards the hermit’s cabin and urged the steed to gallop as quickly as he could.
The woman looked at Balta and said, “Is he always this stubborn?”
“At least since I have known him.”
Puffing in frustration she turned her mount and followed Archer to the cabin.
6
Keshish, the hermit who had cared for Archer and Balta, laid perfectly still on the ground, soiled with his blood, while the wooden cabin burned behind him under the darkness of night.
Unmounting his steed in a hurry, Archer tripped and fell on his shoulder. He ran towards the man, ignoring the pain from the fall, and held his head to see if he was still among the living. Keshish was barely alive.
“What happened? Who did this?”
“The Gallecian patrol. They came with no warning and burnt my hut. I tried to stop them…I tried to stop them.” The man coughed. “I have one last request, Archer.”
“Anything!” Tears started dripping from Archer’s cheeks.
“Go to Katabasis Keep and seek out the Countess. Ask her ‘When is a tree not a tree?’.”
Archer thought the man delirious, but did not have the heart to tell him so. Swiftly, he decided to do as the man requested regardless of his doubt. “Anything else?”
“You and Balta have been like sons to me. Take care of one another no matter what.” The man smiled then collapsed.
It was a great shock to take, for just two days ago no thought of change existed within Archer’s clear mind. He was content with his simple life.
After Keshish’s death, Balta and the cloaked woman came.
“What happened?” Balta asked, shocked by what he saw. He stood there watching the cabin burn then took note of the figure in Archer’s hands. Once his mind cleared and he saw that it was Keshish in Archer’s embrace, he fell on his knees and stared at the grim sight.
“The Gallecians came back.”
“Is he dead?”
Archer remained silent. He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath and stood up. “We must go to Katabasis.”
“Katabasis?”
“His last words.” He looked at the mysterious woman and said, “I will go to Katabasis now.”
“We must go to Fort Pax. My orders…”
“Damn your Fort Pax and your orders. It’s Keshish’s will that binds me. Stop me if you can.” He started to walk away, resisting every urge to stay behind and give Keshish’s the proper burial he deserved. Perhaps his soul would rest in peace if his last wish was fulfilled, Archer thought.
Balta stood up and halted Archer with his right hand, putting no strength into the effort and having Archer pause by his own volition. “Wait!” He looked at the woman and said, “It would be wise not to go alone.”
The woman removed her hood, revealing trimmed chestnut hair perfectly matching her bronzed skin. Her eyes were grey and her gaze was sharp, conveying a strong sense of intellect and cunning. “I, Ascilla of the Ichneumon Order, will help you reach Katabasis if you promise to come to Fort Pax once your business is done.” She then removed her cloak and revealed a set of dusty white wings.
Momentarily Archer and Balta had their minds taken off of Keshish’s death. It was the first time any of them had seen a Walkyrien. Both had heard stories of the winged Alvian dragon-slayers, but words have a way of falling short when describing the incredible.
“You’re a Walkyrien!” asked Archer.
Ascilla nodded. “I am indeed. Now let’s go. There is little time to waste. I take it you’re men too proud to break your oaths.” She put on her cloak again and gracefully, in one fluid motion, rode her steed. “Come, we must not tarry.”
Archer and Balta obliged, a little less gracefully than their companion. And the three made for Katabasis Keep, where the Countess Ganis ruled. When the others were not looking, Archer let his tears flow freely.
Chapter 3: To Bloody Path
‘Guide he who asks about trees the way you would guide your own, and when you deem him prepared point him to where Pax dwells strongest.’ Letters of Sol: Emperor to Countess
1
Long before she joined the Ichneumon Order, Ascilla was a pathfinder. Instead of leading a solitary life as most pathfinders did, Ascilla cared for two orphans whom she raised as her very own. She was not much older than them, perhaps by some seven years or so - it was a difficult thing to estimate the age of folk where she was as there was no necessity for citizens to register themselves, and orphans, being naturally obscure of past, were almost never registered – and to the orphans she was much like an older, caring sister, and sometimes a mother.
When life was good and work abundant she would come back to her small room, a home to the orphans and herself, with food and drink and sometimes even new clothes to replace the rags they wore; for they only seldom got new clothes and often the shirt or pants they replaced had been worn beyond recognition.
When the Emperor and his Peacekeepers won their war against the Gallecian Council, peace spread within Nosgard and the need for pathfinders was all but gone. In time their clothes turned to rags, all three of them, and then even the food and drink grew scarce. That was when Ascilla had her back to the wall. And that was when she was sought by the Ichneumon Order, as one suspecting to be capable of surviving the metamorphosis into which she was made a Walkyrien; to be a winged slayer of dragons and a pathfinder no more. When the time came and she was approached, the Order gave her the privilege of one wish which they would grant, and she asked for the orphans to be cared for until they were old enough to care for themselves. In return the Ichneumon Order demanded her loyalty and to dedicate what was left of her life for their service, or until it was no longer needed.
So Ascilla, being once a pathfinder, guided Archer and Balta through a safe and hidden path that led straight to Katabasis Keep. Without her aid they would have been spotted by Gallecian patrols a dozen-fold or more, assuming that they managed to escape each encounter. Archer had no memory of ever travelling as far from the hermit’s cabin as he had with Ascilla, yet little did he know how familiar he was once was with these lands.
Katabasis Keep, the fief of Countess Ganis where she studied and brutally trained her disciples, was not considered a large keep by Nosgardian standards, but it had by far the most terrifying of reputations, for it was known throughout the lands as the place where the dead walked and incorporeal souls wandered. That, of course, was a rumor spread by the disciples to protect the land from bandits and looters. The truth was far more terrifying to be conveyed through mere words.
But the rumor was easy to spread, for those who managed to look upon the land where Katabasis stood saw nothing by rotted forests and pestilent-ridden grounds where the dead lay unburied and scavenged by vultures and many different types of carrion insects, some common and others not. From a distance it seemed to the unlucky traveler as if the very keep emanated a pulsing sickness that enveloped the land.
Archer approached the gates, followed by Balta and guided by the fearless Ascilla, his heart throbbing with every step and each beat grew stronger than the one before it. Each step taken incited an internal battle within him against the urge to turn around and run as fast as his bony legs managed. Yet he kept following Ascilla, thinking as little as he could about the dreadful aura surrounding him. Then they reached the first set of gates and saw Ganis’ infamous Deadguard protecting the opened entrance. The two iron-clad guards stood in perfect stillness, so still that the crows stood on them as if they were inanimate statues of ancient times.
Archer’s fear made it difficult for him to approach. His feet felt heavy
to his command.
“You wanted to come to Katabasis and I brought you here as promised,” Ascilla said. She stepped close to the Draugr and looked curiously into the eye-sockets of their helmets. Archer held his breath as he watched the Walkyrien get dangerously close to the unknown figure, absent any indication of fear.
Archer forced himself to swallow, hoping that it would bring him some relief and the will to proceed, and said, “I have to deliver Keshish’s message.” The announcement gave him courage and allowed him to walk past the two guards and even nearer to the keep itself.
The two still guards allowed them passage and the travelers walked on the cobbled path leading them into the keep through a black steel gate which provided entrance into the moss-covered walls of Katabasis.
At the gate a freshly made corpse hung, its smell still faint. Yet other smells prevailed, that of death and untamed wilderness. It was a strange place for those who grew in a forest or within the walls of a civilized city. Archer did not remember much of the known world which he had once known so well, yet he strongly felt that Katabasis Keep was far more intimidating than any other place in Nosgard. He was surprised at how little the dreadful sight affected Ascilla, and impressed by Balta’s composure. The only one who seemed to disappoint Archer was himself.
Another set of guards awaited them by the second gate. Equally still as the first two and just as dreadful.
“They decorate their walls with hung corpses and desecrated ones encased in tombs of iron,” Balta said. His face grew red with anger and his fists, hanging by his sides, clenched. It appeared to Archer that his companion was more distraught by the disrespect shown to the dead than by fear.
“These are no dead men,” Ascilla said. “Behold the Deadguard, Ganis’ immortal Draugr.”
“Draugr?” asked Archer. A shrill in his voice gave away his fear which both Balta and Ascilla noticed and gracefully ignored.
“Warriors risen by the dark arts of necromancy. I’m no warlock, wizard or scholar to know the details of their second life, but I know that our best chance of survival is to hope that they’re on our side,” Ascilla answered. She then took a moment to inspect them, hummed and said, “But the little I know about Draugr is that they wear no armor, just the swords they were buried with.”
“Great,” Balta said, hiding his earlier ignorance and assumption that the Draugr were skeletons morbidly displayed. He scratched his head with his right hand and looked at Archer. “Even if we could kill them, there’s all this steel we need to hack through.”
“No need to worry about that,” Ascilla said. “If they start to fight us we’ll be dead regardless of their armor or weapons.”
“Not sure how you feel, Archer, but that’s enough for me to worry,” Balta said. He often used humor to relieve his stress in times of difficulty. It was a habit Archer had noticed early on during their relationship; on the very first week, in fact.
Archer moved closer to examine one of the two guards and jumped back in horror as it moved its head in response, with empty sockets staring straight at him. Along with the jump a small screech escaped Archer.
“Now that’s not embarrassing at all,” Ascilla said, casually chuckling. “Just don’t threaten their master and they’ll remain harmless…except for the smell.”
Archer took a few moments to catch his breath before speaking. “I seek audience with the Countess of Katabasis Keep.”
The golems were unresponsive. When Archer tried to enter, they dropped their spears which clashed and blocked the gate. This position was held for a time before they returned to their original stance and a scrawny skeletal figure covered in ragged robes appeared before them. It raised its skeletal arm and gestured for the adventurers to enter.
As they entered Katabasis it became clear to Archer that life was no longer welcomed in this place. This must be where the condemned spend eternity, Archer thought. The sound of their guide’s feet dragging on the floor growing ever so unbearable. His teeth grazed upon each other with every step.
It was day, but a dark cloud blocked the sun from spreading its shine on Katabasis, making it feel to Archer much like a moonless night. Lit torches hung on rusted iron poles placed along the cobbled path and flickered to have the shadows they cast dancing around the visitors. Then they walked past a small wall hiding the courtyard behind it and saw the space filled with Deadguard standing perfectly still in battle formation, each group of twenty five formed in a square of five rows and five columns.
“Ascilla, what are they doing?” Archer pointed at the Deadguard troop.
“Waiting.” She continued to follow their guide, seeming undisturbed by the strange sights unfolding around her.
“And I thought the stories about this place were exaggerated,” Balta whispered to himself. “Oh how wrong I was.”
“Actually I think you were right,” Archer said, “about the stories being exaggerated. They certainly fall short.”
Balta hummed and released a nervous chuckle which caught Ascilla’s, making her look back at the two with a disapproving frown.
They reached the large wooden gate, with black iron hinges and moss growing where the two doors locked the entrance behind them, which marked the end of their path. The gate opened wide just by the approach of the small group; sending chills up Archer’s spine. They entered and Balta curiously looked around to see who had opened the gate. He found no one, not even one of the lifeless corpse guards, standing by the gate. He too was left unsettled after his discovery.
The structure was riddled with hallways and empty dusty rooms, but echoes signaled more life within the grey walls than it appeared to harbor from outside. The keep sounded fairly busy, to Archer’s delight. Since his second life began, the one with Keshish, Archer always preferred loud places than silent ones. It was not the noise that gave him comfort, but the life which generated the noise. He drew his breaths a little easier now and the dread started to dwindle.
Then again they reached the end of a path, this time the one marked by the corridor, and a red carpet guiding them to the next portion of their brief stroll began. It was a dusty thing, being withered with age and the abuse of the many insects which fed on fabric, but from what remained Archer could tell that it was once a beautiful crimson carpet with gold-trimmed edges. The carpet led to a throne where no king sat, just the Countess of Katabasis who, some say, had more power at her disposal than most other leaders in Nosgard. She wore a sparkling crimson robe with not even a speck of dust staining it. Her blonde hair fell on her shoulders and her sharp dark eyes on her guests. In her hand she held a glass, fashioned with the most beautiful shapes of flower once prevalent in Gallecia, and within the glass a thick red liquid was held.
“You are rather old to start training,” said the Countess. She then took a sip from her glass and stood up to closely examine her visitors. “I smell burning wood. Where did you come from?”
“A town near Windbreeze, Countess,” answered Ascilla.
The Countess looked at the Walkyrien and sniffed at her general direction, catching her scent. “What brings a Walkyrien of the Ichneumon Order here? What message does Constantine send?”
“I’m not here by order of the Duke.” She pointed at Archer. “You should ask him for the message.”
“I smell a familiar scent coming from this one.” She looked at Archer. “It is difficult to put in the words of your simple language. What message do you bring me, boy?”
Archer swallowed before saying, “Keshish sent me, Countess.”
“I am not fond of these meaningless titles,” the Countess interrupted, “call me Ganis. Now, what does this old fool want?”
“He told me to ask you ‘when is a tree not a tree?’.”
“I see.” She returned to her throne and sat, contemplating her next move as she stirred the liquid in her glass and watched it closely. She then hummed and licked her finger clean before asking, “Tell me of your father, boy?”
“I… I have no memory of my
father.”
“What about your deliverance?”
“It rings no bell.”
“I see,” Ganis gently placed her glass on the right arm of her throne and stood up. “You and your companions are my prisoners as of this moment.”
Ascilla quickly unsheathed her blade and removed her cloak. In one swift motion she plunged at the Countess, but she was no match for her opponent. Archer’s eyes did not catch the next set of moves and suddenly he saw Ascilla disarmed and Ganis standing over her with her white wings spread and held in an impossible grip. She pushed against Ascilla with her right foot and tore her wings off, discarding them immediately and slowly returning to her throne, and her glass. Ascilla remained bloodied on the ground, screaming in pain and paralyzed by it.
“You cannot defeat me,” Ganis calmly spoke, wiping off the blood from her face. “Now look at the mess you’ve done.”
Archer and Balta stood petrified.
“Listen to me and listen well,” Ganis said, she looked at Archer, Balta then at the fallen Ascilla now trying to stand up but slipping on the bloodied floor and grimacing in pain. “What I did to your Walkyrien companion might seem cruel for now. In time you will understand why I did so and, perhaps, forgive me. Know, however, that I do not seek neither your care nor forgiveness.” She slowly took a sip from her drink and enjoyed its taste for a moment before swallowing. “You can try to escape if you want and perhaps succeed, but that will result in either your death or that of whoever I get my hands on. Do you understand, Archer?”
Archer nodded in agreement. His face turned pale and his hands shaking.
“Archer,” Ganis continued, “you will be a disciple here and study for as long as I see fit. Should your progress satisfy me, I shall grant freedom to you and your companions. I shall also see that the Walkyrien’s wings are restored to what they once were. Will you accept my terms or have them forced on you?”
Archer nodded once more and at his compliance Ganis gestured at the skeletal figure which had guided the three visitors into Katabasis.