by Edward Cox
Vladisal took a calming breath. Just for once, she wished Abildan would speak with a civil tongue; show some degree of the humanity and compassion that would make Üban and the rest of the knights see that their captain’s trust was not misplaced. Or was it herself Vladisal was trying to convince?
She stood up and threw the stones aside. “Why did they send you here, Abildan? Why do the Wyrd wish to kill one of their own?”
Abildan cocked her head to one side. “My masters have given me no explanation of Dun-Wyrd’s crimes against Mya-Siad. I’m merely following orders.”
“Ah, but you are no fool. What do you suspect are her crimes? Why do you think Dun-Wyrd has come to the Great Forest? What does she plan for Elander?”
Abildan paused for a moment, calculating. “Answer me this - if we had every fact, every piece of information that answered all questions to everyone’s satisfaction, what difference would it make? Would you and I not still be here, serving our masters as we must?”
“Understanding duty can push a knight harder to succeed,” Vladisal said proudly. “It gives us a sense of belonging.”
“An interesting albeit pointless philosophy.”
“I’m not here to discuss philosophy, Abildan. Talk straight, damn you!”
Cat-like eyes narrowed. “You throw question after question at me, as though I am yours to command, and then you demand straight talk? If we truly share an alliance, isn’t trust and truth a mutual commodity?”
When she received no reply, Abildan snorted and shook her head. “You knights share much in common with the Ulyyn, Sir Vladisal. They too demand honesty while harbouring secrets of their own. Your armour shines with chivalrous virtue, yet beneath you are selective with whom you show courtesy, and your prejudices are telling. You would offer me nothing, while expecting everything in return.”
“Think what you will.” Vladisal sneered. “I am not the one serving masters of cruelty. I offered you my hand of respect, Abildan. It was you who chose to spit upon it with your mocking ways.”
“You would speak to me of respect?” The yellow of Abildan’s eyes flashed angrily. “You could not even give me thanks after I saved your life.” She leant forward and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I could have left you, you know. I could have let Dun-Wyrd’s monsters strip the flesh from your bones. But I didn’t because I uphold our alliance, Sir Knight.” She leaned back and sniffed in disdain. “The truth is the Ulyyn are better than you. At least they are honourable enough to respect a life-debt, without prejudice.”
The feliwyrd’s words were like a slap across Vladisal’s face. Her pride evaporated as she thought of the battle the previous night, of her tangle with the tree-demons. In doing so, she came to realise that without Abildan’s quick blade, Üban, Luca and Dief would never have reached their captain in time to save her.
“You’re right,” Vladisal admitted. “You saved my life. I should have thanked you for that.”
“Think nothing of it.” Abildan averted her gaze as though embarrassed. “For one of your own kind, you would not struggle with your words. But for someone like me - a servant of cruel masters, as you say - I can understand how your appreciation might run dry.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Vladisal said. “But from now on, I will push our differences aside. I consider myself indebted to you.”
“Truly?”
“I give you my word.” Vladisal managed a smile. “Let us honour this alliance by sharing the truth with each other.”
Abildan seemed genuinely surprised by this statement. When she next spoke, there was uncertainty in her voice. “Then… you wouldn’t mind if I asked some questions of my own?”
“Please, ask what you will.”
The feliwyrd looked around to ensure that no other was in earshot. “You are Elander’s champion, yes? You and the boy are close?”
Vladisal nodded.
“You talk often? He shares his secrets with you?”
“Yes.”
“Does Elander have nightmares?”
Vladisal frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Does he see things in his dreams so disturbing that he pisses the bed?”
Vladisal clenched her teeth. “What is this?”
“I mean no disrespect,” Abildan replied quickly. “Perhaps I should rephrase the question.” A slow smile curled her thin lips. “In recent times, has Elander been speaking in a manner that might be construed as witchery to you Boskans?”
“Mind your words, Abildan,” Vladisal warned. “It is the son of a noble house you are mocking, and I will not tolerate such baseless accusations.”
“Baseless? The boy has had no visions of the future? He does not dream of events that come to pass?”
Vladisal’s face twitched.
“Ah,” said Abildan. “Your expressions tell me all I need to know, Sir Knight.” She became hard and mocking again. “Elander has the Sight, as you call it, yes?”
Vladisal panicked. What if the women overheard? “Hold your tongue,” she hissed.
But Abildan did no such thing, and continued with an air of triumph. “And so we come to understand why dear Elander is of such interest to Dun-Wyrd. The boy has the Sight, Vladisal. There is magic in his veins, magic which a Bone Shaker can use to do many terrible things.”
Vladisal’s hands balled into fists.
Abildan sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “There, Sir Knight – one of your questions is answered, and it was you who kept the truth secret all along. Doesn’t it feel good to honour our alliance, to trust each other?”
“Damn you, Abildan.”
“Never fear, your secret is safe with me – for now.” She slipped off the log and, using the hemp cloth sack and its contents as a pillow, laid on the ground with her back to the Boskan captain. “I need to rest and gather my thoughts. I suggest you do the same.”
Vladisal stared at her for a moment. Dread dominating her, she turned and walked away, suddenly filled with a desire to find a quiet place, far from everyone, where she could order her mind.
The voice of Abildan followed her.
“Prepare yourself, Sir Vladisal. Now you’ve admitted to your little secret, the stakes have changed. Sir Redheart has until tomorrow morning to return. Whether the Ulyyn are with us or not, we march for Dun-Wyrd’s lair come the next sun.”
Ten
Uljah
She knew her name was Redheart. She was a Knight of Boska. She remembered that she was on a quest to save the son of her duchess. She recalled parting company with her friends from Mayland. But her thoughts were hazy, jumbled, disorganised. There was a grey area in her mind, like a hole in her memory, tormented by dreams of monstrous serpents spitting venom at her face.
Through muddled senses, Redheart understood that she was outside. In a forest. Birds trilled. Insects clicked and buzzed.
She tried to open her eyes, just a crack, but blazing sunshine forced them shut. Her tongue was too dry to moisten cracked lips. Her face felt swollen and sore. Skin burned, drenched in hot sweat, prickling as though the embers of a fire lay upon it. She so dearly wished to tear free of her armour and feel the soothing kiss of the forest breeze upon her body. But Redheart was too weak to move.
From the swirling cloud of confusion, an image drifted to the surface. A leaf. It represented an ancient race. Didn’t it?
The answer never came. Her mind once again spiralled down to that grey area where great, venomous serpents waited. And Redheart decided that she was dying…
Shivering like the harshest winter had set inside her body, Redheart felt the sensation of rising. A smooth, gradual lifting, which convinced her that her spirit was ascending into the heavens and the loving arms of the Mother God.
But the movement was accompanied by a creaking sound, as though she hung from the end of a complaining rope. The ascent stopped. Gentle swaying. Creaking.
Movement.
Whispers.
Knuckles rapped sharply upon the hard shell of Redh
eart’s breastplate. She groaned, unable to open her eyes. Quick and rough hands removed her armour. The rank scent of her body filled her nostrils as her gambeson was pulled free. Warm sunshine eased her shivering.
Whoever had stripped Redheart naked did not speak, and busied themselves smothering her face with a foul-smelling salve. It stung bitterly. She tried to struggle, but her arms, already weakened, were easily restrained. A hot and sour brew was poured into her mouth. It burned the back of Redheart’s throat as she gagged and swallowed.
The fire in her veins dulled instantly. The soft call of peaceful sleep beckoned. Just as Redheart succumbed to the call, she heard the sound of creaking rope and felt herself rising once again…
She remembered her quest to find the Ulyyn. She remembered being attacked by a strange, vicious plant-creature…
Redheart’s eyes snapped open. Her vision was blurred. She sat bolt upright.
She touched a hand to her face, feeling the line of a weeping sore that began from just below her right eye and ran diagonally down across her nose and cheek, ending at the bottom of her right jaw line. Despite the wound, her fever had passed, the poison cleaned from her blood, and she felt healthy enough.
Her eyes gained focus on the wooden bars of the cramped cage that imprisoned her.
Redheart’s armour and sword were gone. She had been dressed in a simple gown of a greenish brown material that seemed to be woven from moss and leaves. It was light and soft against her skin. She sat upon a thin mattress of the same material, which formed the floor of the cage.
She tested the bars of her prison. The wood was hard and sturdy, held secure by thick ropes of vine.
Redheart looked up through the bars overhead. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun was well past its zenith. The cage was suspended from another, thicker vine rope. It ran through a wooden pulley connected to a sturdy frame, and coiled around a heavy drum spool.
Redheart adjusted her position, and the cage swayed a little. The rope creaked ominously.
The cage hung before a wall of what seemed to be thick, gnarled bark. An arched doorway had been cut into it, smaller than the average doorway. It was too dark inside to see what lay beyond. Redheart lifted the mattress to see what lay below. There was a wooden platform, and the cage hung over a large hole cut into it. Through the hole, she could see another platform with another hole cut into it. There seemed to be yet another beneath that.
She looked back to the bark wall, lips pursed. How many levels did this structure have? How high was her prison? She twisted her position to look behind her.
Her breath caught.
“By the Mother.”
A forest of behemoth trees sprawled before her.
Struck by a sudden wave of vertigo, Redheart gripped the bars tightly.
By what law of nature trees could grow so huge, she could not guess. Greater than the tallest, widest towers of the mightiest castles, they were too numerous to count. Each was ringed by many levels of platforms, held aloft by huge, leafless branches, starting at the very tops of the trees and reaching all the way down to the forest floor.
Upon these platforms, Redheart saw hundreds of figures going about their day, disappearing and appearing through many arched doorways. Perhaps like the buildings of a city, these trees serve as homes for families and businesses alike. It was easy to imagine chambers and stairwells carved inside these impossibly monstrous trunks.
Was this the fabled city of the Forest Dwellers? Was this Uljah?
Redheart looked at bark wall before the cage, realising at once that the wall was the trunk of yet another tree so huge that she could not see around it.
A noise came from beyond the darkened doorway. Two guards emerged, both carrying spears.
Naked and vulnerable, Redheart shied from them.
Shorter than Redheart by at least a head and neck, their armour almost doubled as camouflage, the same colour and texture as the thick and gnarled bark of the enormous trunk behind them. The skin of their small, delicate faces was tinged with green and brown, as was their unruly hair. Everything about these guards seemed to represent some aspect of the forest, especially their small autumnal eyes that regarded the Boskan knight with dispassion. They stood on either side of the doorway, holding their spears menacingly.
Redheart knew she was looking upon the Ulyyn, and felt a surge of hope.
She tried to speak, but her throat would only release a dry croak. The leaf talisman! If she showed it to them they would surely recognise that she had come in peace. But in that moment Redheart realised that the leaf talisman, along with her armour and sword, was gone.
A shadow fell across the cage. The two guards snapped to attention. A cry came from above.
Redheart looked up as the shadow descended on her. It carried the slow beat of huge wings, and she raised her hands as wind buffeted her through the bars of the cage. A great form landed gracefully upon the platform with long talons clicking and scratching at the wood.
Redheart stared in wonder.
She had heard tales of the giant hawks that nested in the mountain ranges at the northern edge of the Great Forest, but knew of nobody who had actually seen one. The great bird’s feathers were thick and golden-brown, and its beak looked big and powerful enough to remove Redheart’s head with a single peck.
An Ulyyn woman slid down from the giant hawk’s back. The guards bowed then flanked her as she approached the cage and regarded Redheart with narrowed eyes and intolerant body language.
She wore robes of the forest, and a torc of wood around her neck decorated with lines of gold and red. Her earth coloured hair was not unruly like the guards’, but styled into a topknot. She wore an expression on her small, green-tinged face that clearly represented simmering anger.
She spoke to Redheart in a language that was utterly alien. A series of harsh clicks and grunts came from her mouth, followed an expectant, demanding glare.
Redheart swallowed and found enough moisture to utter a hoarse whisper. “I cannot understand you,” she said. “I come here in peace.”
The Ulyyn paused a moment, before producing an item from the folds of her robe. It was the leaf talisman.
“You. Have this.” She spoke the words clumsily, with a curious accent.
“Yes,” Redheart said. “It helped me find you. It was gifted to me.”
“Gifted.” It was hard to tell if she spoke a question or an accusation. “Where monster?”
Redheart shook her head. “Forgive me, but you are making no sense.”
The Ulyyn shoved the talisman back into her robes with an angry, snappish movement. She bared her teeth and restated her question. “Where?”
Redheart didn’t know how to reply, and opened her hands helplessly.
With a snarl, the Ulyyn snatched a spear from the nearest guard. She thrust it through the bars of the cage. Redheart froze as the point rested against her throat. Even though the spearhead was made of wood, it was keen and sharp against her skin.
“Wait!” Redheart pleaded. “Evil has come to your forest. You must hear me!”
“Yes,” the Ulyyn hissed. “I hear. Words you speak.” She applied a little more pressure behind the spear, and Redheart felt its blade nick the skin of her neck. “Where monster?” she shouted. “Where Abildan?”
Eleven
Eavesdropper
Abildan was thinking about her homeland.
Mya-Siad was a long way from the Great Forest. She had lost count of how many weeks had passed since her hunt for Dun-Wyrd had begun. She missed the dry heat of the desert, the smell of scorched sand. She longed to see the great towers and plazas of Siadan City, where the streets were full of markets, and the twisting back lanes were full of shadows and danger. The beauty of the Great Forest was wasted on the feliwyrd. Her senses were stifled by it.
At the edge of the Boskan camp, Abildan sat on the highest branch of a sturdy tree, far from the petty irritation of Sir Vladisal’s knights. Evening had already dulled the sky,
and all was quiet, although the edgy and sombre atmosphere still hung over the camp, as it did over all the Great Forest. There was also an air of boredom among the knights, a restlessness spawned by an entire day of inaction. They felt their time was wasted by resting idly. Abildan was enjoying the calm while it lasted, for she knew what the night would bring.
Up on her high perch, she reached inside her shirt and pulled free a small, slim box of dark wood.
The interior of the box was padded with purple velvet. Upon the padding lay a single crossbow bolt of unique design. It was expertly crafted, perfectly weighted. The shaft was thin and made from black metal; the flight had been fashioned from the grey feathers of a desert hawk. The head held a conical shape, made as a sharp spiralling blade of silver that caught the fading sunlight quite majestically. It was a perfect weapon for a perfect assassin.
Abildan looked up into the sky. The first stars had appeared in the deepening blue. Not long now.
The Wyrd of Mya-Siad believed in one inevitable truth: that the day would come when all the world would be covered in their glory. For generations, centuries, the Wyrd had been studying timelines, manipulating and cultivating the future. The women of Boska thought them savage, evil, and their simple-minded superstitions called them Bone Shakers.
The knights had no understanding of the greater science of Mya-Siad; they could not fathom the intricacies of a nation’s plans that would one day lead to a future where every country and race of Earth would bend to the rule of the Wyrd. And the Wyrd would kill anyone who stood in their way, even their own kind.
Abildan ran her finger along the bolt’s spiralling blade. Symbols were engraved along the flat of it, written when the silver was still hot. The meaning of the symbols was not taught to so low a subject as the feliwyrd, but Abildan understood their purpose. She supposed that they formed a message of a kind, a magical battle cry from Mya-Siad to the renegade Dun-Wyrd.
