by Paul Drewitz
Erelon dunked the wooden pail into the stream and, filling it, went back to camp. He started the coffee, and it was not long before Fresmir was awake. Rolling onto his side, the Brect watched the fire for a moment before throwing the blankets back, rolling them, and tying them to his horse. Fresmir also disappeared in the direction of the creek. Erelon was sipping at his second cup of coffee when the Brect again appeared, face still damp, a few water drops dripping from his hair. Without a word, he grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee. They sat, warming up, chasing away the cold mountain atmosphere.
The Brect’s cup emptied, and he finally broke the silence, “We’ve got to make up time lost. We’ll have to move quickly for the next few days.”
Fresmir came back to camp. Light was failing, causing the furrows that lined his concerned brow to look all the more deep and anxious.
“Watch this,” Fresmir commanded. Dropping the logs, the Brect brought an axe over his head, slamming it into the limbs. Sparks flew and the sound of tearing metal shrieked and echoed through the trees.
Erelon looked around. The last few days had seen the trees grow iron gray and spindly.
“We’ve entered the Ironwood, then,” Erelon said more as a statement than a question.
Fresmir nodded his head as he squatted and began to throw pieces onto the weak fire.
“Hard to catch on fire, but once it does, one log will burn hot for a long time,” Fresmir commented.
They both sat watching the few flames, taking turns trying to coax it to life with tinder and by blowing onto it. For a moment, the flames would brighten and rise, but only for a moment. Then the flames eased back into their bed of ashes. The ironwood slowly began to glow red and then never died. The wood crackled, ridges and valleys grew, and little pieces popped off and quickly cooled.
“It’s true,” Fresmir whispered.
“What’s that?” Erelon asked.
“What they say about this forest. The trees and animals are hardier. Almost as if made of iron,” Fresmir answered.
“Never doubted the stories,” Erelon answered back, “If traveling has taught me nothing else, it is not to ignore myths until proven one way or the other, but always to be cautious. One country’s legend might have some truth to it in another land.”
The Brect was puffing on a pipe and nodded his head at the truth of Erelon’s words before adding, “Once we reach the flying city, those words of wisdom will take on new meaning.”
“Just wait until we reach home, I’ll show you all the great sites. I’ll take you to my favorite places. There’s this bar at the corner of Magle’s Street and Borton. Wow! The ale is cooled using mountain streams, and constantly fresh beef over an open fire, and then there’s fresh goat cheese and bread,” the Brect was in an optimistic, upbeat disposition.
The sky above the trees was dark grey with white clouds passing above. Holes were pierced by streaming light that filled the forest, unveiling holes and chasing shadows. Erelon’s mind trailed, and the Brect’s voice, excitedly talking of his home, passed into the back of Erelon’s mind. The wizard was not as comfortable riding through the strange forest. A sense of inevitable encroaching shadows weighed on his mind. The wizard always heeded his instinct, and at this moment, he listened to his instinct with anxiety. The trees behind the two men rustled, and as the wizard turned to look, he thought the trees moved closer, making all paths narrower.
Erelon shook his head, his long hair dancing back and forth as he tried to clear his mind, and shrugged it off as a vision. Only the trees moving in the wind, Erelon tried to convince himself. Something creaked and groaned behind the wizard, but he forced himself to resist the temptation to turn around. The Brect’s voice floated to the wizard from in front, but again the wizard’s focus, his attention, was directed to what was happening behind.
“Run,” Erelon bellowed toward Fresmir as he spurred Draos into a sprint.
Limbs swung down and crashed into the back flank of the wizard’s horse. Draos stumbled, went down, but was up just as quickly and darted down the trail. The horse’s elvish blood turned him into a spirit as he moved through the trees. The kicking heels of Fresmir’s own beast of burden were not even the length of Draos’s body ahead.
Erelon turned to look at the pursuing enemy. Like thousands of twisting turning snakes, the branches and roots of the iron trees had seemed to come alive, filling the trail behind. A branch lashed out, catching the wizard across his face and leaving a welt and drawing blood, while a root tried to lasso one of the horse’s legs only to find it already gone. The memories of the roots that had attacked Erelon while traveling the tunnel between the Rusted and Broken Mountains, raced back into the wizard's mind. He remembered how the roots had not stopped coming, until he had ended the fight.
A low hanging branch caught Erelon across the shoulders as he looked backward. The impact almost caused him to flip off Draos. Barely, the wizard’s foot caught in the stirrup, and his loose hands caught onto straps. Erelon jerked himself upright into the saddle in time for Draos to jump a rock and come back down, jarring every bone in the wizard’s body, his insides scrambled.
Ahead, Fresmir swung at limbs with his axe, pieces dropping to the ground where they writhed with pain until they went still. Fresmir was desperately trying to keep a path clear, at least until both he and Erelon could pass through.
The axe swept around, the blade shattering. The trees continued to close in, and no path was left to follow except one. Erelon felt that they were being funneled, guided like scared cattle. The world grew dark as the trees closed in and their foliage cut off the light.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Erelon yelled toward Fresmir and pulled his horse to a stop.
The trees also stopped moving, but closed in behind the wizard so that neither Erelon nor Fresmir could retreat. They left, however, the path beyond open. A cackling came from out of the forest daring the two men to continue their flight. The two looked around, back to back, before looking at each other, Fresmir with confusion and bewilderment, Erelon with anger. Both were out of breath and panting.
“Why are we running?” Erelon asked between gasps.
Fresmir only raised his eyebrows and looked at Erelon and then around them, his expression and body movement his sufficient answer.
“Come now,” a voice old and cracked boomed in unison from what seemed to be all the trees, “Continue, run, or we will be forced to crush you.”
“I will give you one chance to go back to sleep and allow us to pass in peace,” Erelon threatened.
“Or you will do what?” the voice laughed. A branch swung out and knocked the wizard from the saddle.
Without another word, Erelon drew Rivurandis and pointed it towards the sky. A bolt of lightning tore a hole through the trees so he could see the sky. The clouds began to twist and turn like a huge whirlpool in the sky. A cold wind blew through the tree tops, and then hail began to drop.
The hail came in the form of boulders and spikes ripping through the foliage, attacking the trees. Branches flew; spikes drove themselves through the trunks; and ice boulders smashed into the living wood, splintering it, mashing fibers, and rudely forcing them to splinter and break. The boulders continued through the foliage, striking the ground, causing huge explosions of dirt. The sound of the impact covered any other noise excepting a succession of explosions and then the rain of dirt as it showered back down upon the earth. The atmosphere was filled with the fresh scent of recently plowed dirt and crushed plants.
The forest seemed to shiver in pain. The roots and branches began to unweave and disappear, racing away from the destruction of the angered wizard. Ice boulders still bounced across the ground after them.
Erelon looked toward the Brect, his eyes still glowed red.
“I’d hate to have you mad at me,” Fresmir joked.
Both men looked around. “We’re lost,” Fresmir stated.
“I never really knew where we were,” Erelon replied.
When the
forest had first attacked, they had been closer to the prairie that the mountain’s foothills flowed into. The paths had been smooth with few rocks. Now the forest had virtually guided them back into the mountains, with very few trails leading out. Rocks cut into the view in every direction, deadfalls cut off paths through which they might have at one time passed. At any chance they could find, they took paths that led downward. At many places, this meant leading their horse’s across ridges they could barely stand on or down gravel slopes that threatened to send them on a rock slide over some edge crashing into trees far below.
As they made their way down, the mountain towered above and the forest grew darker until, day or night, it was virtually black. The glowing silver eyes of animals were all that they could see. Bats flew low enough that Erelon could feel their silky wings graze his head. Mostly they had to trust the senses of their horses to guide them. At times they lit torches or even a fire, but that seemed to draw more animals and insects that bit, and no matter how many spells Erelon cast, the end to the insect problem did not come.
Night and day became one, and the travelers did not know the difference. So they slept on their horses, riding day and night, stopping periodically to give their horses a break. Holes in the roof of the forest began to give the men hope as light came through, blinding to those that had been traveling the dark passageways for days.
The breaks became more frequent until the trees began to thin and blue sky could be seen. The mountains still towered above the men, but they no longer were traveling through them. The forest through which they passed was crossed by many deep ravines filled with dead falls, rancid water, seeps, brush, and washed-out roots. They passed through one which contained a stone tombstone, the name barely visible. As soon as they passed into a ravine, they looked for a way out on top of the other bank, fearing quicksand, rushing water, deadly snakes, or any other of many possible traps.
As they climbed from one ravine, a graveyard appeared to their left. It contained no huge stones, and no clue had been left as to the race who had left their dead here. Random stones of random size and shape grew from the ground. None were perfectly straight, and many had sunk into the earth. Moss hanging from the trees seemed to brush the stones. A small gate still stood, but there was no fence. Whether there had ever been a fence, Erelon could not tell.
On more than just a few occasions the travelers were forced into a ravine and had to follow it for miles before finding an exit. They grew deep, the top so high that the trees above grew small and distant. The ravine would split and branch out, sometimes to grow shallow with the walls' grade flattening. At other moments, they grew deeper and turned almost into canyons. The roots of trees were what held the earth together and kept the ravines from collapsing. The roots were sometimes exposed as the earth had been washed away by racing water.
Fresmir sighed heavily and then stated, “We’re still lost.”
Erelon looked over towards the partially buried body of some race of human. The body laughed at the wizard from the side of an earth wall. The thought ran through Erelon’s mind, hopefully we don’t end like him.
A path led the two men to the edge of a meadow directly below the mountain, against its wall. Ringed by trees, the grass grew above Erelon’s hip. In the meadow three trolls stood, two large and iron grey, belonging to the Ironwood. The third was short and almost brown in color. All were huge in comparison to Erelon and Fresmir. All were hideous.
“Let’s go around,” Fremir hissed.
“No, no, wait a moment,” Erelon whispered with curiosity.
One of the grey trolls smacked the brown one with the back of his hand. This assault was followed by the Ironwood troll slamming his club into the little troll’s skull. Both iron grey trolls let out a low laugh that rolled through the grass. The small brown troll tried to protect itself, its hand covering his face, stumbling backward. This continued on until the little troll was bleeding, whimpering in terror and pain.
Erelon looked at Fresmir with a smile of humor creasing his face and said, “A typical case of the big bullies picking on the smaller.”
A voice boomed from one of the grey trolls, “How dared ya tu thunk ya, a little mud trull, cud pass throw the country of the Ir’n trulls.”
“Let’s go,” Fresmir seriously and sternly stated.
“We need a guide, we’re lost. You take one, I’ll get the other,” Erelon gave the orders, his mind made and set.
The Brect groaned but followed Erelon out of the trees. Both horses became a dark streak as they quickly shortened the distance between them and the trolls. The horses were barely tired since travel had been relatively easy after the flight from the trees. They enjoyed the run into battle, their hair flying in the breeze they created with their speed.
They passed the brown troll cowering in the grass. The Brect almost seemed to become a single identity with his horse as he disappeared. Suddenly Fresmir could be seen morphing from the horse until he was racing across the earth on all four legs, almost like a cougar, in front of his horse. The Brect’s cloak trailed behind him. Fresmir climbed the troll like a cat does a tree. His square blunt teeth, lengthening, turning into fangs, sank into the throat of his iron troll, into the main vessels of the neck, tearing them out.
Erelon passed below the feet of his troll while riding Draos, Rivurandis cutting through the tendon of one heel and then the other. Sparks squealed as the sword sliced through the tough hide. The troll came to its knees, and the wizard climbed its back as the troll swatted wildly. Barely the wizard hung on, jabbing two short knives into the huge creature, swinging from one to the other as the troll tried to smash the creature that bit. It slapped at its back like Erelon would swat at a mosquito. Erelon continued to pull new knives, stabbing them in, using them as a ladder to climb. Finally, standing on the troll’s shoulders with both swords pulled, Erelon thrust them through the trolls’ neck. The troll stood for a moment, very still as blood gurgled out of the wounds and poured down his chest. Then the huge beast fell beside its brother.
Erelon looked up toward the brown troll, the wizard’s eyes still heated by the magic of two swords, “We need a guide through this forest. Can you help us?”
The troll looked at both men in disbelief. He feared that he was next, but now they spoke to him.
“Well. . . ?” Fresmir said with nervous impatience as he looked at the fallen trolls.
The brown troll gurgled, wiped blood from his rough face, and said, “I dun’t came frem these perts.”
“Can you help us find a way through them?” Erelon again phrased his query.
“I c'n try,” the troll stated.
“Good. Then let’s go now,” Erelon commanded.
The troll’s huge, powerful legs did not tire easily and covered a vast amount of space, which demanded that the horses keep a steady, quick trot to keep pace. The troll wore torn pants and a belt across his chest. No apparent weapons, no boots. He had eleven toes, twelve fingers, and every individual muscle of a member of a normal human race was a cluster of muscles, all tightly woven and bound together. Two horns grew from his forehead, one broken, both banded with gold, and one tusk came from below his lip.
The troll cautiously chose their path through the forest, sniffing and guessing where they would be likely to run into other trolls of the Ironwood race. Three men of separate races, traveling together, were trying to survive, all with their own mission. The troll sat outside of the campfire one night. The flame’s flickering gently outlined his muscles, though the rest of his body faded in with the trees.
“So do you have a name?” Fresmir asked the troll.
“Bunkir,” was the low answer.
“Family?” came the next question.
“Muther, two bruthers, one sister. Father die in a fight wit another clan.”
“Sorry,” Fresmir said and then asked, “So where’s home?”
“In ta mountains. Deep. There is swamp forest. There live in mud homes.”
“So
what brought you out of the mountains?” Fresmir asked, suddenly very cautious.
“A threat, by a witch. In few days, you too see her fort.”
The troll made paths where there were none, clearing brush when it blocked the path and dropping logs across deep ravines. Time improved, and quickly they passed from the forest as one moment it just vanished. Across a meadow, in an indenture in the Northern Mountains, an island of earth floated in the sky, gently rotating on an invisible axis. The city could be seen above the walls as it rose to a point. Vines hung from the floating earth and also came to a point. A well marked trail, made of smoothed stone, led straight to the flying city.
Yet this wonder was not what the three men stared toward. Instead, a dark fortress stole their attention. On the side of the mountain, made of dark stone, with towers that started narrow at the bottom and widened toward the top with a slight curve, a fortress looked across the landscape.
“Tat is wut I come lookin' fer,” the troll said, “Ta witch tuk a bruther of ma father; I come lookin' fer him, but couldn’t enter ta gates.”
“I’ll look for him,” Erelon stated.
“But it's impossible ta enter. . . ,” the troll was cut off as Erelon held up one hand in silence and closed his eyes.
Erelon’s mind, his spirit, raced through the gates, as if escorted by the wind, causing leaves and dust to stir and goblin guards to look around in bewilderment, startled by the invisible presence. Erelon wandered down dungeons holding the living and dead bodies of prisoners.
Then the fortress ended in a void. Experience and tradition told Erelon that the throne room should lie where the void appeared. So the wizard waited. Only a few moments later a cackle flowed across the void, and a room rushed from the darkness at an alarming speed. A long colonnade, at its end a low stairway, led to a throne on which sat the fat body of a witch. The columns were black; down the aisle was a carpet of blood red color; and torches were fixed to the wall, a liquid crimson flame bubbling.