Chapter 3 – The Touch of Golden Eyes...
The fog concealed Gareth and Wren's destination until they nearly rebounded off of the tall, steeply sloped wall of earth that served as the Stonebrook keep's first parameter of defense. The keep had offered security during generations of Stonebrook kings. Thus the village that sprouted in the shadow of that keep's protection nestled tightly against earthen berm that rose several stories above the town's tallest two and three-storied buildings. The first Stonebrook kings regarded the art of scavenging a foremost building skill. The berm rising above the village attested to it as it hardened through seasons of drought, winter and rain while many another rival kingdom's walls of stone betrayed cracks and fissures. Roots of ivy stretched tendrils into the ground and protected the berm from erosion. To attack the Stonebrook's outer, circling berm appeared to many a potential attacker as a siege against the giants slumbering beneath the ground, and even those thirstiest for conquest lowered their spears rather than combat such a hulking extension of the earth.
Asguard whimpered as his nostrils flared. His tail dropped as he accompanied his master to the wide wooden gate cut into the berm.
“It's alright, boy. You'll not find enemies beyond this gate.”
Yet Gareth never distrusted Asguard's instinct. Something troubled Asguard, and so Gareth felt his own anxiety rise. The fog condensed more thickly at the earthen boom than it had in the village, rolling against the wall and settling like a soiled, gray cloak.
Wren's eyes followed Gareth's as he wondered why the fog appeared to puddle rather than dissipate. “We've discovered the keep cannot keep all threats beyond its walls. You'll find the fog thicker still beyond the berm.”
Asguard whimpered as Gareth waited for the berm's thick, wooden gate to rise. The team of thick horses bred to pull against the gate's chains was absent. Instead, a group of soldiers grunted and heaved as their small steps struggled to find leverage against the gate's weight. Gareth promised to see that those men ate well that night as he passed through the opened gate.
The fog-infested inner grounds struck another blow against Gareth's morale. The inner ground remained immense, but those acres were barren. The inner grounds had been far more magical and lush when Gareth was a child. Then, those acres crowded with thick oaks and elms that stretched into the sky, unfolding a canopy that shaded and cooled the hottest summer days. Gareth remembered the game that once bounded through that inner forest – the deer, the fox, the wolf, the bear. He thought of the magical creatures whose tracks the huntsmen claimed to discover in those acres between the earthen berm and the stone keep. Gareth shuddered as he thought of that last, magical monster King Harold had intruded upon as the last trees of that forest were cut to the ground.
The ancient Stonebrook kings had relished that inner forest between berm and keep. They grew thicket walls. They planted dense shrubs filled with brambles and thorn to create twisting mazes brimming with pitfalls and snares. Any army that might have overcome the outer berm would have faced a dangerous and dark wood that would make any tactician pause before sending warriors upon forest trails that never neared the keep's heart.
Gareth sighed. The forest has been a green jewel before his father fell to his obsession with mounted knights and armored charges.
The creation of armies commanded King Harold's last years. He bred warhorses and built stables. He funded legions of mounted knights, and he strove to train all of his soldiers in the skills of the stirrup and lance. His enemies trembled when King Harold's horses pounded the ground.
Obsessed with his cavalry, King Harold saw no sparkle or treasure in that ancient forest that grew between the berm and the Stonebrook keep. He saw too many trees crowding the field. The trees left no room for the oval tracks upon which Harold imagined his horses racing. The trees did not allow room for the tournament fields upon which knights could compete to prove their mettle with the lance. How could Harold become a feared horseman when so many trees limited his equestrian pleasures? Harold thought a forest an undignified garden for a king who would expand his empire upon the power of the horse.
And so Harold replaced his huntsmen's bows with axes. The tallest and most ancient of trees fell first. Gnarled stumps were pulled from the earth. Flame devoured the thorns and brambles. The snares were disarmed. The pitfalls were filled.
Asguard whimpered and broke Gareth from his thoughts.
Wren's gray eyes squinted upon her brother. “Does the fog so trouble you?”
“You are too young to remember the green.” Gareth sighed.
Wren looked upon the field and tried to imagine the ghosts Gareth must have seen. She failed to see the groves and vines. She saw only the fog lurking above a flat blanket of gray snow.
“It was a crime for father to destroy such a forest,” Gareth said.
“Don't forget he paid for it with his life,” Wren answered.
Gareth patted Asguard to lift his spirits. The fog overwhelmed any comfort Gareth might have felt during his return to home. He had been away for many years, and he felt alien as the fog swirled and blanketed his memories of his family's old home. One direction looked the same as another. Already, he missed his training field, his kennels, the sound of his barking dogs. The fog was thick, and Gareth feared its cruelty. For the fog allowed only one memory to rise in his mind, and Gareth would prefer to send that memory to oblivion.
Kennel, Kingdom and Crown Page 3
