by Tod Langley
17
The Cougar Holt
The Holtsmen took Kristian and his friends to a chamber several floors above where they had first entered the stronghold. Locked inside, they had little to do except wait. The room was sparsely furnished with two bunk beds and a few stools placed along the walls. A window set in the wall faced east toward the great forest. It was dark and the trees were too far away to see. Instead, Kristian’s attention was drawn to the flickering torches thousands of feet below him. The faint sounds of battle echoed up the side of the mountain fortress.
Holtsmen ran frantically back and forth between the walls and the entrance to the mountain fortress. Kristian knew men struggled to keep the dead from breaching the walls and main gate. It seemed as though the warriors were prepared to defend their home for a very long time. But how long can they really hold out against the dead?
He sighed and then turned to look at his friends. Maurin sat cross-legged on the bed biting his fingernails. Cairn sat motionless on one of the stools lost in deep thought. Mikhal paced the small room.
“How long? How long will they keep us here?” Mikhal asked them. No one could answer. “I can’t believe they will decide Hin’cabo’s fate without allowing him to speak.”
“They will let him speak,” Kristian assured Mikhal.
“Hin’cabo won’t speak even if they give him the chance. He would rather die and join his fallen comrades,” Maurin commented.
“Do you think they’ll allow us to speak for him?” Mikhal asked.
Kristian could only shrug.
“I think we’re about to find out,” Cairn replied, staring intently at the door. The companions looked at him, confused. A moment later, the outside bolt on the door slid back and the door swung outward. A guard came in talking in the Holtsmen language. None of them understood. The guard looked at them, frustrated, and started motioning for them to follow.
They followed the guard through several twisting hallways and down stone steps to new levels lit irregularly by torches set deep within the walls. The narrow halls eventually gave way to large open breezeways. These areas were better lit and highlighted the stone-working ingenuity of the Holt. The walls were cut perfectly smooth and slender granite columns supported the vaulted ceiling lost in the darkness above. Shields and banners with crests hung from the walls. Everywhere Kristian looked he saw paintings of a great cat, a cougar. He also saw women and children for the first time since their arrival. They walked with a sense of purpose, moving quickly through the hallways. Everyone worked to help the warriors as best they could, but Kristian sensed their anxiety. The people of the Cougar Holt were afraid.
At the junction of two major corridors, a large, circular chamber with a high ceiling had been cut out of the mountain. In the center, a small fire rose out of the stone floor. The flame’s glow reflected off the polished walls and floor filling the chamber with a soft light. On the far side of the chamber, the companions could see a large stairway leading down. Stone guardians flanked the stairs. Granite cougars, poised to attack, stared across the chamber at the Erandian king. Kristian had seen few sacred places that could compare with the splendor of this room.
He felt the pride and heritage of these people here. They were fierce and noble. Kristian just hoped the Holtsmen were not also arrogant.
Their escort strode across the chamber and down the stairs. Kristian and Maurin looked at each other with uncertainty. Mikhal followed the guard with eagerness, concerned about Hin’cabo’s fate. The rest of them hesitated a moment longer before joining Mikhal and their escort.
The stairs did not descend very far. They entered another grand chamber after passing the cougar statues. This new chamber was also circular with columns along the circumference. Between the columns were stone benches filled with Holtsmen. A man sat on a granite throne on a dais at the far end of the room.
The guards bowed to their chief and moved to either side of the stairway. Kristian’s eyes locked on the man across from him. He sat upright, one gnarled hand resting on the stone arm of his throne; the other hand stroked a black beard with almost as much grey in it. Bushy eyebrows furrowed as he surveyed Kristian and his companions. Kristian could see that their chief was a severe reminder of the men and the life his people lived within the mountain. After a moment, he crooked a finger, motioning for Kristian to advance and be recognized.
Mikhal moved forward without hesitation. Kristian joined him while Cairn and Maurin stayed back. Kristian and Mikhal stopped just short of the dais and bowed their heads to the Chief of the Cougar Holt, Vortah.
“Quiergh presoon tuh mai?” Vortah said. Kristian looked around, hoping to find a way to communicate. Balhir stood up from one of the benches and answered the chief.
“Mai presook,” Balhir responded, “and forgive me, Father, for speaking in the vulgar, but they do not understand our language.”
Vortah’s son turned, waving his hand at the companions. “May I present King Kristian of Erand, Lieutenant Mikhal Jurander of the Cavaliers of Erand, Cairn, and Maurin. They have traveled far and bear critical information that I think you should hear.”
Vortah raised an eyebrow in suspicion.
“If you think their words are important, Son, then I shall hear them.” Vortah pointed at Kristian. “How does a king come to my Holt? Why does he come with no retainers or guards?”
Kristian lowered his head and spoke softer than he intended. “My kingdom has been shattered, Chief Vortah. My people are in hiding.”
“What does the great kingdom of Erand hide from?” Vortah challenged. “They claim to be the greatest power in all of Erinia, but they’ve been stepped on and crunched under the boot of the Belarnians like a fat cockroach.” Kristian heard the mocking tone in the chief’s voice, and it took all of his willpower not to snap back at the chieftain.
“We hide from the evil magic that Ferral has unleashed, the same mad man that has unleashed this army upon you.”
The old chieftain snorted. “This freakish army is no match for my men. Even were their numbers twice as many they would not have enough to breach even the first wall.” Several heads around the chamber nodded in agreement.
Kristian raised his arms, conceding the point. “Your fortress truly appears ready for such a trial, but I would warn you of Ferral’s trickery. He has become a great sorcerer and surely plans something.” At this, some of the gathered Holtsmen shifted uneasily. “And from what I have seen this army could continue the siege endlessly.”
A Holtsman on Vortah’s right stood then. “He is right, Vortah. At best, we are held hostage in our own home. How will we defeat them?” Others grumbled their fears also.
Vortah slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “Enough! We are Holtsmen! We are the Cougar Holt. Kabileh Kloogai! We have never been defeated, and we never shall be defeated. I will not speak of these matters in front of foreigners.”
Vortah calmed himself before continuing. “Our scouts have already revealed that there are no more than twenty thousand of these … creatures out there. I have sent word to our neighbor clans, the Bear and Ram Holts. Holts’ warriors are fierce in battle. Reinforcements will arrive within a week, and then we will counterattack and destroy the army of the dead.”
Kristian shook his head knowing their numbers would never be great enough to defeat Ferral’s creatures.
At this, Cairn moved forward. The swordsman nodded slightly to Balhir and Vortah. “These creatures are a great danger. As you hack at one, to prevent it from attacking you, several more of the creatures surround you and close in for the kill.”
Someone shouted at Cairn. “We know this already. A few of our best warriors have already fallen from the walls. Tell us how we can destroy them.” All of the gathered Holtsmen shouted in agreement.
Mikhal offered, “Their magic fails with the rising of the sun. Wait until they have fallen and then send your men out to hack at them. Cut them into small enough pieces and they can do you no harm. The s
pell is lifted and Ferral’s control over them ceases.”
Vortah sighed, waving his hand dismissively. He did not want to talk about it any longer, but Balhir argued, “They have already tried that. A lone creature stands over their corpses by day. This accursed demon, in a red cloak, has torn some of our best men apart.”
Mikhal turned to look at Kristian. Despair and desire contorted his face. “She is here?”
Vortah stood to stretch his old joints, sighing, “The thing stays out all damned day, just standing there in front of the gate. It does not move … it does not attack as long as we do not try to leave.”
A broad man with a long, black beard and curly hair stood. “I sent one hundred of my warriors out to kill that demon. They swore to send it back to Hell, but it tore them apart in less time than it took them to put on their armor.”
“And it laughs cruelly at us, mocking us,” another Holtsmen claimed.
Vortah sat back down wearily. He sighed again and said, “Enough of our troubles. When our Bear and Ram brothers arrive, we will have enough men to destroy even that monster.”
Vortah waved his hand at Kristian. “These are our worries, not yours. My son, Balhir, has told me of how you tried to warn him and his men. I thank you. I would also be interested in all you have to say about these dead creatures and their master, but not today. My council and I must formulate our continued defense.” Kristian knew a dismissal when he heard one. He looked at Mikhal and could see the anxiety written on his face. Kristian decided to confront Vortah before Mikhal said something that got them into trouble.
Kristian cleared his throat. “Might I ask about the fate of our other companion?”
Vortah raised an eyebrow. He must be pleased at having a king under his finger, Kristian thought.
“The Atlunam shall be dealt with according to the Laws of Kutodahk. His fate will be decided tomorrow.”
“And when can we leave?” Cairn asked.
Vortah was becoming impatient. He answered quickly, “Go when and where you like. Once I have learned what I can from you I have no wish for any of you to stay.” He motioned for Kristian’s guards to escort them out of the chamber. The Holtsmen stepped forward, motioning for Kristian and his companions to leave.
“Farewell, Kristian, King of Erand.” Vortah smiled at the younger man.
One of the council members sneered and said, “How could they have been such a great country if they didn’t even know about us or try to understand the other cultures that share their continent?” Many other Holtsmen grumbled in agreement.
Kristian and his companions bowed and left. Most of them had more questions now than when they entered the council chamber.
Balhir caught up to them as they walked through the chamber with the fire in the center of the floor. “Wait, Kristian.”
Kristian turned, not sure if he wanted to hear what Vortah’s son had to say. He gave Balhir an annoyed look. “My father speaks in haste because of this siege. Were times different—”
Kristian would not let him finish. “I tried to warn you. I also spared your life and let you go when I could have just as easily killed you. And in return, you hold us prisoner, drag us to your Holt, and threaten the life of one of our friends.” Kristian threw his hands into the air. “This trouble is yours now. Let Hin’cabo go and we will leave in peace.”
Balhir’s’ downturned eyes was all the response Kristian and his companions needed. “I cannot. He is Atlunam and—”
“We’ve heard this before,” Mikhal cut in. “We don’t care about your stupid feud.”
“What about my brother, Delihn? Does his death go unanswered? Does he not deserve the same justice that any victim should get?” Balhir shook his head in frustration. “If you only knew how deep the hatred between our people was, you would understand. The Atlunam hate us as much as we hate them. It is a part of the code. Our way of life, our Taqaleb.”
Maurin interrupted. “Your father spoke of these laws, the Kuto … something or other. What are they?”
Balhir looked at them and sighed. “The Kutodahk are our ancient laws. Ever since our people arrived here, almost a thousand years ago, we have been the enemies of the Atlunam. So strong is this hatred that it is written into our laws. We are forbidden to speak to the Atlunam, let alone trade with them or make peace. They are the descendants of aristocratic fools. The Atlunam selfishly hoard resources hidden within their trees. Though they have plenty, they still try to force their ways on us and take our valuable minerals and ores. Their very culture threatens our way of life. The Atlunam have always threatened us.”
“Sounds very dramatic, Balhir,” Mikhal replied, rolling his eyes. “Surely, you see that your own actions have been as cruel as any the Atlunam may have done?”
“What do you mean?” Balhir asked, his eyes narrowing.
“What about Hin’cabo’s village? What did they do to deserve annihilation?”
Balhir’s’ eyes widened in shock then narrowed just as quick. His voice was low and angry. “We did not destroy the village. We only arrived as you and your Atlunam friends fired at us from across the river gorge. As I have already said, we were looking for those responsible for the slaughter of my brother and his men.”
Kristian joined the argument, “And if you had found the village unguarded? Would you have left without dealing out your own retribution? How many innocent people would you have slaughtered to get your revenge?”
Balhir looked at all of them confused and angry. He finally responded when Kristian and his friends started to walk away. “Just like the great King of Erand and his friends to side with the woods folk!” He brushed Mikhal’s shoulder as he passed by them, grumbling to himself.