The Rise of the Wrym Lord

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  Antoinette flinched. A sudden image of the open tomb flashed in her mind.

  “Are you all right?” Aelic asked. She shook her head dismissively.

  “Therein lies my struggle,” Kaliam said. “How might we discover the enemy’s plans? The main road is closed to us now—save perhaps if we delay until the enemy’s untold thousands pass under the boughs, and then follow in what stealth we can manage. If we wait on the other side of Forest Road, things may go ill for Yewland. If only we had dragon steeds, we could fly to Yewland.”

  They all became silent. An answer was there, looming in the midst of them, but no one wished to make it known. Finally, Antoinette spoke up. “Couldn’t we cut through the Blackwood?”

  Tal, Tobias, and Nock wanted nothing to do with the Blackwood. Lady Merewen was the only one immediately willing. “There can be nothing worse among the trees,” she had said, “than the horrors of Paragory.” The others agreed only if Kaliam was convinced it was the only way. He was.

  And so the twelve rode their unicorns at top speed to the northern fringe of the forest where Nock thought he remembered the location of an ancient path. He searched in vain at the edge of the forest, but the groundcover was thick and widespread.

  “Ha, here it is at last!” he announced. “Come, it was well hidden, but now that I have found it, I will not lose it again!”

  The twelve left the sunshine and slowly disappeared under the forest’s massive boughs. Tree limbs, lush with foliage, flexed as the knights passed, and sprang back behind them as if a living door had closed. The Knights of Alleble were immediately surrounded by the glad green tones of living things: shrubs, ferns, sprawling canopy trees, and climbing vines.

  Small golden insects teemed in the air and took no notice of the travelers. The air smelled of lilac and honeysuckle. There was also the music of the forest: the rustle of leaves in the wind, the happy chirruping of birds, and an odd, warbling trill sound that reminded Antoinette of the spring peeper frogs back home.

  “This doesn’t seem so bad,” Antoinette said. The unicorns too seemed quite comfortable. They bobbed their heads and were allowed to occasionally munch leaves from protruding branches.

  “Verily,” replied Sir Oswyn, “nothing stirs my soul like a pleasant walk in the woods. Why, I feel almost merry!” And, in a flash, he fished out his lute and began a happy little melody.

  Of all the forest creatures that dwell under forest eaves, Perched upon the branches or feasting on its leaves, There lives a mighty mite more mighty than them all. It does not claw or scratch and stands only one inch tall.

  It will not strangle like a serpent or stalk you like a cat. It does not beat you like a bugbear or bite you like a bat. It cannot crush its prey or maim it or drop it down a hole. It has no deadly poison but is as deadly as a troll.

  So what is this fell and mighty beast? And what terror does it hold That rules the sprawling forest and makes faint hearts of the bold? Why, it is the purple spotted meep frog, a truly perilous pest. And lest you laugh, I promise it is more fearsome than the rest.

  For doughty knight may face a panther or the fiery dragon slay, But if he sees the purple meep, he’ll clutch his ears and run away. For one little meeper is bad enough, its meeping song annoys. But when there are ten thousand, they will drive you mad with noise!

  And so Oswyn’s song went on, lifting the spirits of the team. But Nock was pensive. “I thought this was to be a beastly place,” said Mallik, and he spurred his unicorn to trot next to Nock’s. “Full of nasty creatures and pitfalls—was not that what you said, Nock my friend?”

  “The reason you still feel glad,” said Nock, “is that we are not yet in the Blackwood.”

  “What?” said several of the knights in unison. Sir Oswyn’s song ended abruptly.

  “There is an apron of undefiled forest several leagues deep around the Blackwood,” Nock explained. “That is where we are now. Alas that the Blackwood was once teeming like this and pure.”

  “Well, how will we know, then?” Aelic asked. “How will we know when we enter the Blackwood?”

  “You will know, Sir Aelic, because the unicorns we ride will halt and refuse to go another step. You will know when the sounds of living things go dreadfully quiet. And you will know when the only trees you see are massive, dark, and brooding. Then you will know that we draw near to the real Blackwood.”

  Mallik’s mustache twitched, and he let his unicorn drop back a few paces.

  “Come, Knights of Alleble,” said Kaliam. “It is nearly midday. We must quicken our pace. I for one do not wish to walk through the Blackwood at night.”

  They rode for hours as quickly as their surefooted steeds could bear them on the ancient path, broken and strewn with root and vine. Though the forest was still alive with green leaves and golden light, the twelve spoke very little, for each was busy with his own thoughts. And Sir Oswyn’s lute stayed securely on his back.

  Antoinette was nibbling at a crust of bread when they came to a strange sight. The bread dropped from her hands. Row upon row of tall trees stood before them, but they were without bark and bone white. And the groundcover died off as if fire had swept through a wide swatch of the forest.

  “Beneath the ground,” Nock said in a quiet voice, “the roots of the Blackwood stretch out to protect their realm. They will suffer no other living plant to pollute their soil.”

  The unicorns ground their teeth. Some of them reared. The twelve tried in vain to calm them, to urge them forward. “They will not pass this skeleton hedge of dead trees,” Nock said. “To force them into the black forest beyond would drive them mad.”

  “We must dismount!” Kaliam commanded. “Our steeds have borne us well, but Nock is right. They will not enter the Blackwood. Take whatever food provisions you can carry and the waterskins. Leave spare garments and other comforts behind. We can purchase such necessities in Yewland.”

  “What will happen to the unicorns?” Antoinette asked. She stroked Rael’s neck affectionately.

  “They are clever beasts,” answered Kaliam. “They will find their way back to Alleble. They will be far safer on their journey, I fear, than we will be on ours.”

  24

  THE BLACKWOOD

  Continuing their journey on foot, the twelve wove their way through the dead barrier of pale trees until at last the blackwood loomed before them. Immense black trees, they were, with great limbs and crowns of broad crimson leaves. The bark of the blackwood trees was smooth and featureless except that it was as black as a pool of cave water.

  “Keep your weapon at the ready,” Kaliam said, reaching over and adjusting the angle of Antoinette’s sword. “By my reckoning, we have about four hours before the sun begins to set. Even if we are not delayed, that will be a challenge.”

  They stepped into the realm of the black trees and walked as briskly as they could, constantly ducking low-hanging boughs or stepping over the massive roots. Antoinette noticed that the warble of birds and the meeping of the frogs had ceased. In fact, no sound of any living thing could be heard. A cold breeze whispered between the dark trunks and swirled through the broad crimson leaves here and there as if quiet secrets were being shared from tree to tree. That was the only sound, and it was not comforting.

  Aelic noticed Antoinette draw her cloak tight around her neck.

  “There is a chill that seeps up through one’s boots,” Aelic said. “And through the cloak—right to one’s bones. No garment seems to hinder it. It is not natural.”

  “It is a summons that you feel,” said Nock. “A call to all evil in The Realm. The call of the Seven Sleepers.”

  “Do not fill their minds with such nonsense,” said Sir Gabriel sharply.

  “It is not nonsense,” argued Nock. “Say that you cannot feel it. They are here, somewhere in the Blackwood, waiting.”

  “Rubbish, Master Archer,” said Sir Gabriel with a dismissive wave. “In all your years in Yewland, did you ever find their final resting place, the Sepulcher
, I believe it is called? Did any Yewland Brave in the history of your homeland ever find it?”

  Nock frowned. “No,” he said reluctantly. “My brother Bolt and I rarely ventured deep into the Blackwood, nor did most of my kinsmen, for it is vast and treacherous. We did not wish to find the Sepulcher of the Seven Sleepers. But you do not need to see evil to know that it is there.”

  “And yet, what one fears in the dark may not be there at all,” replied Sir Gabriel.

  Nock grumbled.

  “Nock, can you tell me more about the Seven Sleepers?” Antoinette asked. “They don’t sound pleasant, but I’d like to know what we may be up against.”

  “I do not wish to speak of them now,” Nock replied, and he threw up his hood and hurried to catch up to Mallik.

  “I would like to know also,” said Tal, turning to Antoinette. “My friend Matthias, a worthy knight who fell in Mithegard, spoke of them to me once, but that was long ago.”

  “Yes,” agreed Lady Merewen. “I am intrigued. Is there any among us besides our disgruntled archer who knows more of this?”

  “I will tell you the tale,” said Sir Oswyn.

  “Kaliam, will you not stop this nonsense?” complained Sir Gabriel.

  “No, I think we should all listen,” said Kaliam firmly. “It will at the very least help pass the time. And it may be wise to hear of the dangers if they should turn out to be more than legend.”

  Sir Gabriel snorted and covered his head with his hood.

  Oswyn began the story: “The Realm was new and no scrolls had yet been written. It is in the unwritten history of the Wyrm Lord where we find the lore of the Seven Sleepers.”

  As he spoke, it seemed to Antoinette that it became darker in the woods. Is it getting late? she wondered.

  “King Eliam discovered a magnificent dragon in the wild—the region we now call the Shattered Lands, some say. And behold, this wyrm was exceptionally intelligent and endowed with extraordinary powers—not only a breather of fire, but it could change form such that it looked like one of us. It could even speak. It was, in fact, the firstborn dragon in all The Realm, the lord of all wyrms. King Eliam grew fond of it, and the wyrm grew very fond of King Eliam.

  “But when King Eliam took on a servant by the name of Torin, the friendship between the King and the Wyrm Lord became strained. The dragon grew jealous. While the King was hunting in the forest, the dragon assailed Torin’s Keep. Some say the Wyrm Lord broke down the gate. Others contend that he subtly tricked Torin into opening it of his own free will. But in any case, King Eliam returned and found Torin and his family slain. The King sought the Wyrm Lord everywhere, but the creature escaped for a time to the mountains. There a pack of seven wolvins agreed to hide him in exchange for the power to shape-shift. And—”

  “But what of The Schism?” Nock interrupted. “When the Wyrm Lord killed Torin, that is when The Schism occurred. Right, Sir Oswyn?”

  “That is a matter for scholars like Sir Gabriel to debate,” said Sir Oswyn. He turned to their ambassador, who lowered his hood and nodded respectfully at the compliment.

  Antoinette thought something had moved high in the branches, and she looked into the treetops. But it was too dark to see anything distinctly. Why is it getting dark so quickly? she wondered. She started to ask, but Sir Oswyn continued his tale.

  “The wolvins attempted to deceive King Eliam when he sought the Wyrm Lord in the mountains. By being able to change form at will, the villains escaped justice for a time. But the Master of the Realm, King Eliam the Everlasting, was not fooled. He eventually found the wyrm and his seven conspirators. He delayed judgment of the villains, but rather imprisoned them each according to his due. The wolvins he doomed to the long sleep, held beneath the earth by the roots of The Realm’s strongest trees, the blackwood. He locked the Wyrm Lord in a cell of stone beneath a lake of fire. It is said by many that one day, both the Wyrm Lord and the Seven Sleepers will be set free from their containment, but on what that may mean, there is much disagreement. Some contend that the villains will face final judgment at that time, while others believe that they will roam The Realm once more to wreak havoc upon the innocent. That is all I know of the Seven Sleepers.”

  Sir Gabriel clapped in an exaggerated fashion. “Splendid, Sir Oswyn,” he said. “I do not believe a word of it, but it was a tale well-told. See Aelic and Lady Antoinette—they look stricken. You have them believing that at any moment we could trod upon the ancient burial sight of a sleeping horror.”

  “I’m not afraid!” Antoinette blurted out. But in truth, she felt very uneasy. “Anyway, if the Seven Sleepers appear, Mallik will hit them so hard with his hammer that they’ll go deeper underground than they were before!”

  The knights laughed quietly—all except for Aelic. “Are you okay?” Antoinette asked him.

  Aelic shook his head. He was not okay. “It is not the Seven Sleepers, but rather a dream I had—” But remembering his promise to Kaliam not to speak of it, he would say no more.

  They walked on for some time, and with each step, the tension grew. They were mostly bunched together, but Tobias and Gabriel walked a little apart and spoke in whispers. Tal had strategically placed himself between Mallik and Sir Rogan. Nock suddenly strode forward to catch up to Kaliam. Antoinette was convinced that Kaliam had goofed on his estimate of the time.

  Maybe that’s why Nock went up to talk to him. He’s afraid we’re going to be stuck in the Blackwood after dark.

  The sun was clearly on its way down. There didn’t seem to be any other explanation for the quickening darkness. Antoinette watched Nock whisper something to Kaliam. The Sentinel looked up and nodded. Slowly Kaliam turned and went from knight to knight, whispering something in each one’s ear. Each time he did so, the recipient of the message hastily put on a helmet and looked warily upward. What? Antoinette wanted to know. What’s up there? I can’t see anything. It’s too dark!

  Finally, he came to Antoinette. “There are illgrets in the trees,” he said. “Do not move suddenly, but put on your helmet and ready your weapon.”

  And just like that, he was gone to Oswyn and Farix behind her. Illgrets?!

  “Aelic!” she whispered, urgently strapping on her helmet. “What are illgrets?”

  “They are flying predators,” he said. He turned and drew near to Antoinette. “They gather in the trees above us.”

  Antoinette strained to see into the dark of the treetops. “I don’t see anything,” she said.

  “Illgrets are as black as night, and there are many. Did you notice that it seems near dusk even though there are yet several hours until sundown? That is because there is such a great number of them waiting above us that light is shut out. They do not need the light themselves, for they have dull eyes and see little but movement. They are drawn very accurately to our body heat. They wait until they have sufficient numbers to overwhelm their prey.”

  “Can’t we run?” Antoinette asked.

  “It is too late.”

  Antoinette looked up. If possible, it seemed darker still. And the shadows seemed to be undulating. Antoinette tensed, clutched the hilt of her sword. Then came a shrill cry from above, and Kaliam shouted, “Now, warriors, draw your weapons! Stand back to back, and fight them off !”

  Aelic drew Fury and backed up to Antoinette. And she drew the Daughter of Light. The darkness above swirled down on top of them. Then there was chaos.

  Shrill cries exploded from every direction. A myriad of dark shapes swooped down on her. She swung her blade, felt a half-dozen strikes, and heard desperate screeches. She swung again, but illgrets were everywhere in greater and greater numbers. She felt like she was in a storm of claws, teeth, and dark wings. The only thing that kept her sane was the constant pressure of Aelic’s back behind her.

  “Away from me, cursed fowl!” Mallik roared. Antoinette heard and felt his great hammer smashing clouds of the creatures to the ground. She heard a bowstring singing from somewhere up high, and she wondered where Nock
was. But she could not linger on any thought for very long, for the illgrets came at her in fresh waves.

  “Aelic!” she cried out. “There are too many!”

  “Guard any exposed flesh!” he yelled. “Illgrets are drawn to your heat! And whatever you do, do not let one perch on you long enough to bite! There is sleeping poison in their saliva!”

  “I won’t!” Antoinette screamed. She slashed her blade as if it were a machete through tall grass. Dozens of winged black shapes fell with each slash, but still more came. She heard Aelic grunting and heard wet snaps as Fury swept through a cloud of winged enemies.

  Suddenly, one ducked under Antoinette’s sword and dove for her face. She screamed and dodged, but something sharp opened a gash on her cheekbone. She felt the thing on her shoulder, and tried to bat it away, but her armor made it nearly impossible.

  Then Farix was there, and barehanded he grabbed the illgret from her shoulder. Antoinette heard a series of cracks and snaps and watched Farix throw what was left of the creature into the forest.

  “It cut me!” Antoinette yelled furiously. She swung wildly, carving illgrets out of the air with every stroke.

  “It was a talon strike!” Farix said. “Or you would be on the ground, dreaming dark dreams!” And then Farix disappeared into a swirling mass of black.

  Another illgret swooped toward her face, tangled for a moment in her hair. Antoinette ducked frantically away and yelled, “Get away from me!” She went one-handed with her sword and whipped it low to high and at the same time backfisted an illgret with her left hand. They were everywhere.

  “Antoinette!” Aelic cried out. She felt his body slide to the ground behind her. She slapped away several dark shapes, then turned to Aelic’s prone form. Fury was no longer in Aelic’s hand, and he lay very still. In an instant several dark shapes landed on Aelic and began to peck at him. Antoinette let out a rage-filled shriek, grabbed Fury with her left hand, and cut the heads off the scavengers. She stood over Aelic and began to swing both swords rhythmically in an undulating figure eight pattern. Illgrets fell in severed piles all around her, as if they had flown into a buzz saw.