Song of Echoes

by R. E. Palmer

  ‘The Draedalak.’

  Elodi’s scalp tingled. ‘I don’t know that word.’ But as she spoke, deep down, part of her recoiled at the name.

  Bardon’s eyes widened. ‘Few do, and nor should they. It’s the old name for drayloks which I will not readily repeat.’ He turned back to the forest. ‘My father spoke of such matters shortly before he passed on. I must admit at the time I took it to be the ramblings of a dying man beset with fever, but a dread has taken hold of my heart these last few months, and with the news of activity beyond the gate, his last mutterings now seem all too real.’

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Of what did he speak?’

  Bardon returned to the table and refilled his glass. He offered more to Elodi; she understood from his gesture she would be wise to accept. He sat and leaned back in his chair. ‘There are records in the Hall of Scrolls, rescued from the fires of Elmarand, that speak of such manifestations. My father was a scholar researching the history of the first two realms. He claimed he read four recovered scrolls from Elmarand here in the archives, but I’ve since tried and failed to locate them. However, on my last visit I discovered a room under lock and key, I suspect what he read may well be secured behind that door.’

  Elodi felt the chill seeping into her bones. ‘And you believe him?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes I do. My father had kept it to himself, hoping these drayloks had long since disappeared from this world, and that he fretted over nothing. Back then I guess it was the least of his worries with other pressing troubles of the day and no sign of the enemy for centuries. But now the Archon speaks of an invasion… it feels all too real again.’

  Elodi collapsed back into her chair. ‘What do we know of them?’

  ‘Little, especially about their origin. But on one issue, the tales make clear — they cannot cross into this realm unless summoned by a great power, and then only for a short time. And those who offer that invitation must have the strength to firstly command, then resist their fury if not satiated. And, if all three fought at the last battle against the Archon, the summoner would have immense power to bring them at their bidding.’

  Elodi set her glass on the table. ‘Yet, the Archon defeated them. We must take encouragement from his success.’

  Bardon nodded. ‘Yes, but defeat may be too strong a word. He held them at bay and barely escaped with his sanity, and he didn’t, ultimately, face the one who summoned them.’

  Elodi frowned. ‘But why didn’t their leader challenge the Archon? The beasts would have severely weakened him, all but guaranteeing the enemy a victory.’

  ‘I can only assume they would have been too occupied with commanding the drayloks to take part in the battle in person. The act of the summons must have taken its toll.’ He tried to raise a smile. ‘Perhaps, if we’re lucky, the beasts slayed their summoner when they were denied their prey.’

  ‘Then why does the Archon not mention this person, being or whatever they are? Even if to dismiss the myths and give us less to fret over.’

  Bardon looked to the window. ‘My father believed the Archon has little recollection of what happened on the Gormadon Plain. The few who prevailed on the battlefield long enough to witness the horror have long since passed away. Whether they contributed to the archives or the making of the tapestry, we don’t know. Only the Archon survives those dark days.’

  ‘And if these… what did you call them?’

  ‘Drayloks will suffice.’

  ‘If these drayloks survive to this day, can they be called upon again?’

  ‘That is my concern.’ Bardon stood. ‘We must seek an audience with the Archon, hopefully alone. After all these years, I remain wary of Kernlow and Galabrant. They’re old and stuck in their ways and, unfortunately, will believe without question anything the Archon chooses to tell them.’ He turned to leave. ‘I shall speak to the Proctor, or if that comes to nothing, the Castellan.’

  Elodi hooked her arm under his and walked him to the door. ‘Will he listen?’

  He exhaled. ‘I take encouragement from the Archon making his invasion plan known, be it at this late stage. Let us hope he is open to our concerns.’ Bardon’s hand paused on the handle. He looked back to Elodi. The lines on his face softened. ‘Not the easiest time for you to take the title of Lady Harlyn, but, if we can work together it will make it easier for us both.’

  Elodi took his hand. ‘Thank you, and yes, you have my full support.’ She blushed. ‘For what it’s worth.’

  Bardon patted her hand. ‘More than you think.’ He turned, and she watched him leave, seeming more stooped than when he entered.

  Elodi closed the door and rested her back against the ancient carvings. She yawned and stretched. ‘To bed, I think.’ She jumped at the knock at the door. She opened it. ‘Did you forget—?’

  ‘Sorry to trouble you at this late hour, ma’am.’ An old man stood fidgeting at her door with his eyes fixed on the floor. He wore the uniform of the Castellan’s men.

  She straightened. ‘Well? What is so important at this late hour?’

  He glanced both ways. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am but… but I have news, ma’am… about your father.’

  16. a Change of Plan

  Toryn had woken during the night convinced he had heard footsteps outside their shelter. He had left Hamar to sleep and ventured out onto the ledge alone, but the impatient waters below had drowned out any other sounds of the night. The moon had gone and no matter how hard he peered out of the corners of his eyes, he could see nothing. A whole nest of droogs could have slithered along the ledge and he would have been none the wiser.

  ‘Not too much further.’ Toryn looked up to see Hamar pointing ahead. ‘See.’ They had reached the fork in the ravine in good time that morning, despite the heavy rain drenching the path. The ledge had finally widened as the slopes had retreated and opened up the sky. Hamar turned. ‘This will take us down to the bridge where we can cross the river.’

  ‘Be good to get out of this rain.’ Toryn shivered as another trickle ran down his back. ‘I’m soaked through.’

  ‘We’ll soon dry off in front of a roaring fire.’ Hamar winced as he rubbed his back. ‘Be nice to sleep on a bed again.’ He groaned. ‘If there’s one thing I miss when I’m on the road, it’s a comfortable bed, and it seems more desirable as the years pass.’ Hamar tightened the straps on his backpack and set off.

  ‘Will we find a bed?’

  ‘My old friend, Jacken will put us up at his place.’

  Toryn laughed. ‘You have a lot of old friends.’

  ‘Comes from being an Archonian, never forget your fellow guards who’ve stood by your side and had your back in sticky situations. Mind you, it’s been a good few years since I last saw him, but once a brother-in-arms, always a brother-in-arms.’

  Toryn’s stomach rumbled. ‘Looking forward to a decent meal.’

  ‘Now there we’re in luck. The pasture is good in the valley. Explains why it’s the best tasting meat in the land.’ He licked his lips. ‘Could murder a nice bit of roast beef.’

  With a spring in their step, they soon reached the lane leading to the bridge. Toryn tapped his foot. ‘Good to be on a proper road. Feels like we’re back in the land of the living again.’

  Hamar laughed. ‘We’ve not been gone two weeks yet. You should try living in the wilds for six months at a stretch.’

  Toryn sniffed the air. ‘I can smell the roasting beef on the spit.’

  Hamar frowned. ‘I can smell something, but that ain’t my dinner cooking.’ They hurried on and rounded the bend. Toryn’s heart sank; the pall of thick, black smoke billowing high into the air, and the anguished mooing of cattle, dashed any hope of sleeping in a comfortable bed. Hamar’s shoulders sagged. ‘Oh no, not here, not this place.’ They hastened across the bridge and passed a small fenced field. Hamar glanced at the cows. ‘That’s odd. The raiders have left them alone.’ He squinted at the gate. ‘Come on, there must be survivors in need of help.’r />
  Toryn felt for his sword as they passed beneath the shadow of the smoke. ‘Is it safe?’

  Hamar tilted his head. ‘It’s quiet. If the raiders were still here, they’d be singing their rotten throats raw, and taunting the poor souls chosen for their games.’

  ‘But we’re many leagues from the border. Do they usually come this far?’

  Hamar stared back down the road. ‘Not to a settlement of this size. No, this is troubling. I hear they’re bolder of late, but I can’t think how they came to be this far south and, in such numbers to do this.’ He stopped and kneeled to examine the road. ‘I don’t get it.’

  Toryn spat out the acrid taste of the smoke and wiped his mouth. ‘Get what?’

  ‘There’s no sign of a struggle. This is the only way into the place, but all I can see is tracks from wagons.’ He held out a hand. ‘Help me up, lad.’

  Toryn took Hamar’s arm and pulled him to his feet. ‘Could they have hidden in the wagons?’

  ‘They would’ve searched wagons coming through the gate, and if they’d found any brigands, there’d have been a skirmish.’ He scratched his head. ‘If only a dozen Ruuk came through, you’d see signs of their rough-shod boots in the dirt. But they’d need more than that. This place may be a backwater, but the old guards living here could easily handle raiders. Unless…’

  ‘Unless, what?’

  Hamar turned back to the entrance. ‘We need to find Jacken. Perhaps he can shed light on what went down.’ Toryn could not take his eyes from the smoldering buildings. The thatched roofs had gone, leaving open shells with blackened struts jutting up to the sky. He gawped at the senseless destruction — this could have been his own village. And what had happened to the people? Hamar coughed. ‘I’d say this took place late yesterday judging by the embers.’ He pointed to the pall of smoke hanging over the village. ‘But something still burns.’

  Toryn searched the gaps between the buildings. ‘Where is everyone?’

  Hamar shook his head. ‘This is strange. You’d expect to find the dead and injured from both sides lying where they fell. They wouldn’t have had time to bury them yet.’ He took a deep breath and stuck his head inside the door of the nearest house, then walked to the next, returning while shaking his head. ‘Both empty.’ He pointed down the street and strode with a purpose. ‘We’ll try the square. If there was a last-ditch attempt to save the place, that’s where they would’ve rallied to stand any—’ He stopped. ‘What the…?’

  A few paces ahead, a blackened hole several feet deep obliterated the path. Toryn walked to the edge. His stomach churned as he peered at the bottom. ‘It’s like a giant rock landed on this spot.’ He turned to Hamar. ‘Have you seen anything like this before?’

  Hamar stared over the rim. ‘Never. Can’t think what could have done this. We have trebuchets at the gate, but they couldn’t hurl a shot as large’ — he turned back towards the stockade — ‘or as far. Besides, I doubt you’d drag an enormous war machine to this place. It’s hardly a fortress.’

  Toryn paced around the perimeter of the hole. He steadied himself as his head span. ‘It’s still hot. And look at the ground, it’s like glass.’

  Hamar staggered across the earth, thrown up at the edges. ‘Let’s check the square. It seems to be where the smoke is coming from.’ They found their way to the opposite lip of the hole and walked the short distance to the center of Greendell. The square was twice the size of Toryn’s village, but no bunting brought color to the scene. Long gouges lined the charred ground as if ripped by huge clawed hands. At the center, a smoking mound marked where the flagpole would have flown the colors of the village.

  Hamar put his hand on Toryn’s shoulder. ‘You wait here.’

  ‘But—?’

  He clenched Toryn’s arm. ‘Stay put.’ He watched as Hamar’s hunched figure made its way to the mound. He stopped at the edge; his hand went to his mouth. Hamar moved to the other side and kneeled. He reached forward and took a small object from the smoldering heap. He held it up to the light, then staggered forward. Toryn took a step to help him. Hamar’s voice croaked. ‘Stay there! Don’t come over.’ He stood and shuffled back to Toryn. As he neared, Toryn could hear Hamar muttering to himself. ‘This is evil, they didn’t deserve this…’ He stopped a few paces away — his eyes wide; his head shaking. ‘Get me to the other side of the bridge please, Tor.’

  Toryn looked over this shoulder to the square. ‘What is it, Hamar? What did you see?’

  ‘Please, get me away from this place.’

  Toryn took his arm and felt Hamar shake. He helped him out of the settlement, over the bridge, and lowered him to the soft, grassy bank. Hamar stared at the ground. Toryn lit a small fire and heated a mug of water from the river, all the time Hamar sat muttering to himself. Toryn glanced to Hamar and added a shot of their emergency liquor from his flask. ‘Here, drink this.’

  Hamar gladly accepted the mug and gulped it down. He wiped his lips. ‘Sorry about that, lad. It’s been many years since I’ve seen anything so grim.’

  ‘What was on the bonfire?’

  Hamar choked. ‘They didn’t deserve that.’ Tears brimmed. He opened his hand. The object from the ashes glinted in the pale sunlight.

  Toryn took it. ‘You have one of these.’ The old man’s hands went to his face as he sobbed. Toryn sat beside him and rested his hand on Hamar’s shoulder and said nothing. He watched as a light wind picked up and lifted the smoke, sending it down the valley as if washing the evil away.

  Hamar cleared his throat. ‘It’s a long service medal.’ He held out his hand and Toryn placed it back in his palm. Hamar turned it over to reveal a name. ‘We joined at the same time and went through training together.’ He wiped his face. ‘Jacken survived many skirmishes, including Wyke Wood. He was injured many times but always fought back, only’ — his jaw clenched — ‘only for some coward to throw him onto a bonfire when he deserved a quiet end to his life. My old friend didn’t even get to die with his sword in his hand.’ Hamar turned to Toryn. ‘That’s no way for a man like him to go, or the others. These were good, hard-working, honest folk.’

  Toryn's mouth soured with the taste of the dead. He spat. ‘Was every poor soul from the village on the mound?’

  ‘No’ — Hamar took a deep breath — ‘mainly the older folk from what I could tell. I hope the rest fled, otherwise the scoundrels would’ve snatched them for some foul purpose.’

  Toryn stood. ‘The Ruuk do this?’

  Hamar raised his hand to the village. His arm dropped. ‘This isn’t the work of the usual brigands.’ He struggled to his feet. ‘Yes, the Ruuk burn and pillage, but they wouldn’t destroy the place, they’d leave it so they could come back the following year when their bellies are empty. And they wouldn’t murder the elderly.’ He held his chin. ‘It don’t make sense. The livestock are still in the field. You’d need a small army to overwhelm the place and cause this much havoc. There must be sixty head of cattle in the meadow, but they haven’t touched them. The gate is still secured. An army would have taken them for the road, or at least slaughtered and roasted a few after their victory.’

  Toryn looked back to the charred village. ‘Do you have an idea who might—?’

  ‘Norgog.’ Hamar’s lips curled. ‘From the far north. The Ruuk differ from one clan to the next. Those close to the border are much like us, except they don’t have a decent bone in their body. Further north, on the other side of the Trench, the clans become more troll-like, perhaps related in ways to cobtrolls but bigger. While many of the Ruuk clans can be a handful, they’re nothing like the Norgog. They’re from the places well beyond the boundaries of our maps. We had another name for them: Hammerskulls.’

  Toryn’s shoulders bunched. ‘Wouldn’t want to meet them on a dark night.’

  ‘You’re not wrong, lad. The hammer is their weapon of choice, and their heads sort of look like one.’ He winced. ‘Flat faces, elongated skulls, and they have a tough, gray skin that requires a ke
en blade to pierce. But then you’d need a thick skin to survive in the frozen lands.’ His hand gripped the hilt of his sword. ‘They’re shorter than other Ruuk, but broader, stronger, and aggressive. It takes a lot more force to bring down one of them buggers. But I’ve only ever seen them across the border, and never this far from their lands. Too warm for them, you see.’

  Toryn shivered. ‘Too warm? Here?’

  Hamar nodded. ‘And lucky for us it is. And hopefully, if it was them, they’ve gone back whence they came.’ He reached into his jacket and took out his pipe. He pointed the tip to the north. ‘But if this is the work of the Norgog, who’s commanding them? What’s driving them this far south?’ He scratched his head. ‘But there’d still be footprints.’ Hamar took out his tobacco, grimaced, and replaced it in his pocket. ‘Had enough smoke for one day.’ He waved his empty pipe across the valley. ‘We must report this. The Archon needs to hear of this right away. Greendell has always kept to itself, only trading with a few places in the autumn. If we don’t tell anyone, it could be months before anyone discovers the atrocity.’

  ‘I thought we had to keep out of sight.’

  Hamar exhaled. ‘Not after this. Change of plan. This is serious. Hand me the map, lad.’ Toryn unpacked the map and laid it on the grass. Hamar stooped and ran a blackened finger across the cloth. ‘Drunsberg, yes, the mines at Drunsberg. It’s about four days from here, maybe three if we stride out. We can take the proper road now, seeing as there’s no need for stealth. They have messenger birds at the mines. They’ll get word to Archonholm in under two days. If we see guards before then on the road, that will be all the better. Whoever did this will do it again. They have to be stopped.’

  17. the Horn of Archonholm

  ‘Tombold, ma’am.’

  Elodi held out her hand to the chair. ‘Please, take a seat, Tombold.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He groaned as he lowered himself into the chair Bardon had not long vacated.