“Lead on, cousin,” I said.
He squinted his eyes at me for a moment and then turned on his heel and led me into the longhouse. We crossed the great room, nodding to Sif and Yowrnsaxa who were tending to the remaining wounded. Mothi led me to a wide hallway that had doors sprouting off every thirty feet or so.
Veethar’s map room was decorated with pictures of deep forest meadows and copses of trees unspoiled by human hands. Veethar, Meuhlnir, and Yowtgayrr were clustered around a hip-height oak table that was positioned in the center of the room. A tanned skin was unrolled on the table with a drawing of what I assumed was the continent of Suelhaym Eekier—Suelhaym of Yesterday.
Meuhlnir had his finger pressed on the map, pointing at a garrison town of the Pitra Empire. The garrison was located on cliffs overlooking a fjord on the western coast. The town was named Piltsfetl, and it seemed to be situated between a forest to the north that was named the Darks of Kruyn and another to the south called the Forest of Kvia.
“Is that where they are? Piltsfetl?”
Meuhlnir grunted and threw and accusatory look at Mothi. “Yes, Hank. Yowrnsaxa found them while trying to divine Luka’s whereabouts. More of a side-effect than—”
“How do I get there?” I demanded.
“Hank, it’s not quite that easy. We don’t know what kind of force Luka has with him. We don’t even know if the Black Queen is there with him, or if the Pitranar are in cahoots—”
“None of that matters! If they are being held there, it’s time to go and get them away from Luka.”
“I do understand the intensity of your feelings, Hank, but listen to reason a minute. We can’t just charge in there in a head-on assault.”
“Why not? We’ve stood them off several times. We are not a force to be dismissed out of hand.”
“Hank,” Veethar said in his quiet way.
I turned to look at him, and he dropped his eyes back to the map.
“First, no proo leads to Piltsfetl. Second, the Pitranar have a garrison there for solid strategic reasons. Take a look here,” said Meuhlnir, pointing at the town and the fjord to the north of it. “The town is bordered on the east, west and north sides by sheer cliffs. And see this crossroads here?” He moved his finger east of Piltsfetl to a place where four roads came together. “There’s another town here—it’s not a garrison, but if the Pitranar are part of Luka’s effort, there will be troops stationed there looking for us.”
“Isn’t the glamor supposed to trick them into thinking we are still on the way to Suelhaym?”
“Yes,” said Veethar.
“But Luka is no fool. He won’t be so utterly fooled that he will let his defensive plans lapse.” Mothi looked down at the map and pursed his lips.
“Where is the closest proo?” I asked.
Veethar moved his finger to a place in Kvia, to the south of Piltsfetl, just on the eastern border of the Forest of Kvia.
“Then let’s go there. We can hug the coast all the way to Piltsfetl.”
“Luka will have the closest known proo guarded,” said Mothi. “I would.”
“Can’t these preer be moved?”
Meuhlnir nodded. “But that would also alert my brother.”
“Then what?” I asked, exasperation ringing in my voice.
Veethar moved his finger to a peninsula north of Piltsfetl that curled around like the letter C. The peninsula was covered in the markings for forest land and had a small range of mountains running up its center. “This is the Darks of Kruyn,” he said in his whisper-quiet voice.
“The villages marked here are… They are marked more for historical purposes than to show areas of population,” said Meuhlnir.
I shrugged at Meuhlnir in confusion.
“No one lives in the Darks of Kruyn anymore,” said Mothi. “Not since Vowli conquered Ayiar Oolfur, the island south of Fankelsi, in the name of the queen, and then gave the land to his followers. Once they had a solid base of operations, Briethralak Oolfur began raiding across the Tempest Sea into the Darks. The thralls and karls who lived in the Darks have either been consumed or worse.”
“Then the Darks of Kruyn are held by Vowli’s troops?”
“Well, no,” said Meuhlnir. “If only it were that simple.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Truykar,” said Veethar.
“Truykar? What’s that?”
“Revenants,” said Meuhlnir. “Reanimated corpses.”
“Zombies? You’re kidding me.” I raised my hands and let them drop in exasperation. “Wait, draugr? Hel’s minions in Niflheim?”
“Truykar is the plural of truykr, but I don’t know what zombies or draugr are, though it sounds like the latter is a Viking word for truykr,” said Meuhlnir. “As far as Niflhaym goes, I don’t see why the Dark Bitch would keep minions there. Awfully inconvenient for waging war here on Osgarthr.”
I shook my head. “And it’s better to face legions of truykar than try to sneak past any guards Luka might have seen fit to station in Kvia?”
“With any luck, we won’t even see any truykar,” said Meuhlnir.
“And how likely is that, Father?” asked Mothi. “The smell of your breath alone will draw them like gadflies to the stable.”
“My breath? Why would that attract truykar?” asked Meuhlnir with an air of long-suffering.
Mothi shrugged, trying not to smile. “It does smell a bit of the grave.”
Meuhlnir shook his head at his son and then turned back to me. “The very thing that makes you want to avoid the area is the advantage of it. No one would think of guarding the proo there because no one would choose to go there.”
“But we will?”
“Yes,” said Veethar. “It makes the most sense given our situation.”
“If we can get into the area undetected, the number of options we have to mount a rescue increases. If we go in through Kvia, then our only option is likely to be an all-out assault against unknown forces. Plus, Luka will know we are there and will have plenty of time to put your family on a ship and set sail to who knows where.” Meuhlnir tapped the point in the Darks of Kruyn that held the proo. “If we drop in here, all we have to do is avoid these former population centers and our chances of being discovered by truykar go down.”
“Why is that?”
“Truykar live in their graves, or, lacking graves, at the place where they died. In the wilds, there will be small groups—former farmers or woodsmen and such—but no large concentrations. It has the added benefit that it will be unguarded, and that the approach to the fjord from the north will also be unguarded.”
“How can you be sure of that?” I asked.
“Because only Luka’s oolfa can travel the Darks without fear.”
“Oolfa? Wolves?” I asked.
“Yes.” Meuhlnir nodded, a grave expression settling over his face. “Itla sem yetur.”
“The evil that eats. I see,” I said. “What are the chances of running into a wolfman on this little jaunt?”
“Wolfman?” asked Veethar.
Meuhlnir waved his hand. “Oolfa. I can’t say for certain, of course, but to my mind, it is very unlikely. Luka will want most of his supporters close to hand.”
It was beginning to make sense to me. It was a huge risk, but it was hardly the riskiest thing I’d done since following Bobby Timmens into that cave in Western New York. I mean, I did fight a dragon. Twice.
“How do we get from the proo to Piltsfetl? Looks like a long walk.”
“Horses,” said Veethar.
“They can travel with us?” I asked.
Veethar nodded.
“How do you get them down to the Vault?”
“Walk,” said Veethar.
Veethar really didn’t like to talk much. I turned to Meuhlnir. “When do we leave.”
“Soon,” he said. “I’ll talk to Sif and Yowrnsaxa, and Veethar will tell Frikka and gather the horses. Mothi can track down the Tverkr, while Yowtgayrr gets the Alfar read
y to move. Assuming Sif doesn’t flat out refuse to let you travel so soon, we can leave by tonight.”
“And how long will it take us to get to Piltsfetl?” I was already getting antsy—like I used to feel before boarding an airplane to go visit my folks in Florida.
“No more than two or three days to the inland end of the fjord, then another couple of days to the garrison—all of that depends on being able to move at speed and not running into trouble.”
Since trouble, in this case, was a legion of undead, I wanted to take the best-case scenario and make it come true. “In four days, I might have them back,” I mumbled.
Meuhlnir nodded. “If all goes well.”
Yowtgayrr put his hand on my shoulder. “We will make it go well.”
Once the women had given their approval, we all gathered our belongings and met in the Vault of Preer. “Mothi, Sif, Yowrnsaxa, Althyof, and I will travel first and make the other end of the proo secure if need be. Then Veethar and Frikka will move the horses through and then follow themselves. After that, I want the three Alfar to come through, which, Hank, leaves you for last. I don’t want to see you step through before everyone else is through.”
“Why?” I asked.
“You are the point of this exercise, and you are recovering from a very serious injury. It doesn’t make much sense to risk you right at the cusp of getting your family back.”
I shrugged. “I want you to go forward with their rescue whether I’m there or not,’ I said.
“We will,” promised Yowtgayrr. “But the Master of Thunder is right, there is no reason to risk yourself at this late point.”
Again, I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll do as you ask.”
Meuhlnir’s nod was curt. “Then, if everyone is ready?”
“Uh…I won’t be going to the Darks of Kruyn with you,” said Althyof,
Meuhlnir looked at him with a half-formed sneer twitching on his face. “Why not?” His body language was stiff and jerky, and his tone was as cold as ice.
“There is something I need to retrieve, first. I’ll meet you at the tip of the fjord in a day and a half.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll need a proo to Kleymtlant, as close to the Forest of Fyalir as possible. Can you arrange that?”
“Why should we?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Because I can bring something of great power to the fight.”
“What could you have in the Forgotten Land? An artifact?” asked Frikka.
“Something like that,” said the Tverkr. “And besides, either you provide me with a proo, or I go on foot, in which case I won’t be able to assist in the raid because I will still be walking to Kleymtlant. Or I could simply quit and go home, I suppose.”
“I was under the impression that you were in my hire, Althyof,” said Meuhlnir with anger in his face and voice.
The Tverkr nodded, keeping his face neutral, but the look in his eyes led me to believe he was struggling against his nature to do so. “That is so, Meuhlnir, but that doesn’t mean I will act against my best interests.”
Meuhlnir shook his head. “And if the other side of the proo to the Darks is swarming with truykar?”
“Then kill them,” Althyof snapped. “You don’t need me for that.”
“Fine,” snapped Meuhlnir. “Can you provide him with a proo, Veethar?”
Veethar nodded and began to study the runes inscribed on the walls of the Vault. After a few minutes, he activated one of the runes and invited Althyof to use it with a satirical flourish.
Althyof smirked at Veethar. “One and a half days,” he said and stepped through the proo.
The Vault was silent a moment as everyone stared at the empty space where the Tverkr had just been. Then, Veethar grunted and activated the rune for the proo to the Darks of Kruyn. “Hope he gets lice,” said Veethar with a smirk of his own.
Mothi barked a laugh and patted Veethar on the back.
“Right,” said Meuhlnir. “Let’s move.”
The process was quick, except for leading the horses into the great hall and down the steps to the Vault. Veethar had no trouble getting the horses he led to do what he wanted, and Frikka and the Alfar fared better than I was able. Eventually, all the other horses were through, and I was still trying to convince Slaypnir to descend the steps. Veethar rolled his eyes and took Slaypnir by the bridle, gazing into the horse’s eyes for a moment. After that, Slaypnir almost pulled me down the steps.
“Neat trick,” I grumbled.
Veethar grinned, tipped me a wink, grabbed Frikka’s hand and stepped through the proo. I was starting to feel that telltale pull—like gravity, or the pull of a very strong magnet—toward the proo as if my fate waited on the other side. The Alfar nodded to each other and then to me, and all three stepped through at the same time. I saw no reason to linger.
Stretching out my hand, I touched the rainbow-silvery surface of the proo and felt the instant of heat and cold before beings sucked through into the Darks of Kruyn.
Forty-one
It had been late afternoon at Veethar and Frikka’s estate, but when I emerged high up on a mountainside in the Darks of Kruyn, it was just after midday. The others were standing in a half-circle with the horses behind them, and me behind the horses.
We’d emerged above the tree line on a tall mountain. A dark forest stretched from the mountain to the sea shimmering in the west. The mountain top itself was steep, exposed granite from just above the tree line to the peak. To our left, the mountain fell away into the forest with evidence of frequent rock slides. The slope in front of us was littered with loose stone, but a faint foot path led down into the forest.
“No truykar?” I asked.
“Not yet. Let’s get out of here before someone or something notices we are here,” said Yowrnsaxa.
It was too steep to ride, so we all tied our packs to our mounts. We walked and slid down the path across the steep slope, leading the horses behind us.
It was very hot inside my new armor. My clothes under the mail were soaked through in short order, but everyone was sweating, and no one was taking off any armor. Mothi was wiping his brow about every thirty seconds, and Sif had bright splotches of red high up on her cheeks. Everyone suffered in silence.
We mounted up once we reached the tree line. The upper parts of the forest were dark and forbidding. Very little sunlight filtered through the heavy canopy of the trees. At the altitude we were descending through, there was little underbrush, just broken branches and a strange sort of green moss that hugged the ground. The moss released a choking cloud of spores when the horses stepped on it. An utter silence pervaded the wood like mist. Meuhlnir led us down the mountain side for hours, ever deeper into the dark rainforest that sprawled at the mountain’s feet. The rainforest between the mountains and the sea was as black as midnight on the new moon, though it was still sweltering. Several forms of fern, creeping vines, and stunted Butia palms competed for soil and the almost non-existent sunlight. The forest felt bad, evil. Like an old, abandoned Victorian mansion, it felt haunted and set all of us on edge. I couldn’t put my finger on any one thing that made it feel so malevolent.
Meuhlnir led us west until we were clear of the mountain’s foothills and turned us south. He drew up and motioned us closer. “There is a village to the west,” he said in hushed tones. “We shouldn’t have any trouble, but let’s keep things as quiet as possible anyway.” He looked us each in the eye and then spurred Sinir forward, setting a brisk, but careful pace.
As we rode deeper into the pernicious and disquieting forest, the meaning behind the name of the region—the Darks of Kruyn—became clear. On the side of the mountain, it had been a bright, cheery day, but in the forest, it was as gloomy as a cloudy winter evening in New England. Shadows and tricks of the murk made us all uneasy and made the horses skittish. We rode the rest of the day in a kind of over-amped, jumpy state of alert. We saw nothing and no one. At dusk, the forest was as black as night, the trees became silhouettes against the mist that rolled in from sea
ward. Tree branches morphed into reaching, skeletal arms and the thorns of wild rose bushes became claws, grasping at our loose clothing. When we stumbled into a break in the trees just big enough to be called a glade, Meuhlnir called a halt. “We are close to the northern edge of the mouth of the fjord. If we could fly, we could be in Piltsfetl in a matter of hours.”
Veethar swung down and stared into the forest with an intense focus. “Strange,” he whispered.
“What?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Nothing,” said Veethar, stroking the nose of his mount.
“Not ‘nothing.’ You said something was strange.”
“I can sense nothing. No animals. No men.”
“It is the Darks of Kruyn,” said Mothi, as if that explained the unnatural stillness that was anything but tranquil.
“Even so, I expected small animals at least.” Veethar shivered. “Unnatural.”
Meuhlnir grunted and then swung his leg over Sinir’s neck. “Mothi, some wood for a fire, if you please.”
“No,” said Frikka. “No fire. Not in the Darks.”
Veethar frowned at his wife but, as usual, said nothing.
“You’ve seen something, Frikka?” asked Yowrnsaxa, staring into the dimness surrounding us and loosening her sword in its scabbard.
Frikka didn’t answer. She turned to her horse and began to remove her gear from her pack. She paid special attention to her shield and her short fighting spear, making sure they were close to her bedroll.
“What is it,” I whispered to Mothi.
“Frikka is gifted in foresight,” he whispered back. “Perversely, she is rarely willing to share her prophecies. We just follow her lead in times like this.”
“Why won’t she explain?”
Mothi shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Women.” He went about his business then, getting his weapons out and making sure his bedroll was in a comfortable hollow of the ground.
“We sleep in a circle tonight,” said Meuhlnir. “Hank sleeps in the center.”
“We sleep close to Hank,” said Yowtgayrr.
Meuhlnir nodded. “As you wish. We will take watches in turn. I want two watchers awake at all times.”
Blood of the Isir Omnibus Page 43