The Haven

by Graham Diamond

  “It’s good to see you, Hector,” said Nigel calmly.

  “And I am pleased to see you again, too, Lord Nigel,” replied Hector. But even as he spoke he kept his gaze on Des.

  Nigel turned to the side and gestured with his hand. “This is Captain Desmond, officer of the Royal Guard. He’s been given the charge of leading our expedition.”

  Hector eyed Des as he had eyed no man ever before. This one was no cub, as Nigel seemed, he knew. This one was a soldier. The sort who probably killed wolves who innocently had strayed across his path. “I did not expect soldiers to be with you,” he said truthfully. “You gave me assurances this was to be a peaceful journey.”

  “And so it is, I promise,” answered Nigel. “But we had to take along the best men we could, men who know something about the forests.”

  “And about fighting, no doubt,” said Hector.

  “And we did not expect to find Hunters with you,” countered Des. “We were told that only you were to act as our guide.”

  “Well put,” growled the wolf. “We’ve both had a surprise. But don’t be misled. I’ve brought you two of the finest guides that anyone could want. Both are North-Forest Trackers. Both are Seekers.”

  Des looked at him curiously. “What are Trackers and Seekers?”

  “To you,” said Hector with a sly smile, “they’re Scouts.”

  Des shuddered at the word.

  “But don’t confuse them with dogs,” added Hector. “Not by any means. A Tracker and Seeker has the capabilities of both a Warrior and Scout combined. If there is danger to cross our paths, they’ll eliminate it, I promise you.” Hector glanced over his shoulder, then gave a short growl. The large brown wolf crossed the pond and bowed in wolf-fashion.

  “This one is called Dane. He’s young, but he’s good. The best of his Pack. Dinjar had him culled from the others especially for this trip.” Again he turned and growled. The remaining wolf, larger than the other, with fur as black as midnight, also came across the water. “This one we call Sesto. In our tongue it means eyes-of-anger. Sesto was weaned by dogs and knows well their ways.”

  Des froze; Nigel broke out in a cold sweat. What were they getting into?

  Sesto gave a short curt bow, then returned to staring at Des. His slitted eyes seemed menacing, yet compelling. Des was fascinated.

  “But you needn’t worry about his past,” said Hector. “His mother was taken as a slave before his birth. His father was butchered by them. Sesto knows only hatred for dogs.”

  Nigel swallowed hard; he signaled for the rest of the band to dismount. One by one the men came forward, shyly at first, but more boldly as they realized that the wolves, while not precisely friendly, were not actively hostile, either.

  “This is Commander Lawrence,” said Nigel. “He’s second in command. And this is Rolf. Crafty old Rolf, we call him, he’s third.”

  Hector looked at Nigel oddly. “Are you not a Lord of the Haven?” he asked, “A member of your ruling Council?”

  Nigel nodded.

  “Then as a Lord of your tribe, are you not to lead your men?”

  Nigel grinned. “No, Hector, I’m afraid not. You see, among men, things work a little differently than among Dwellers.”

  Perplexed by their strange ways Hector merely shrugged and put this odd situation out of his thoughts. Men do many queer things, he knew. This was another.

  Then one by one Nigel introduced the rest, as Hector and his Hunters searched each of their faces. And save for Nigel, it was clear that each was a well-schooled veteran of many battles. From old Reese to the giant, Rolf, each could easily pose serious problems if they had a mind to do so. And despite his trust of Nigel, Hector’s suspicions ran deep. Still, he had given his word, and so had Dinjar.

  Hector paced before the men, then spoke. “We’ll be together for quite some time,” he said, addressing them all. “So whatever distrusts we have of each other must be put aside. The dangers of the forest are many, to both wolf and man, and if we are to succeed in this goal we’ll have to trust one another.”

  Nigel was right about one thing, thought Des, as the wolf spoke; he did seem truthful and convincing. And quite a diplomat. Had Hector been a member of the Council, he would have been a politician’s politician.

  “We are bound to assist you in any and every way we can,” continued Hector, “but we ask one thing: when we make a request of you, no matter how unusual it may seem, please believe that it’s done for our mutual safety.”

  “We understand and agree,” said Des. “You know the forest better than we. But you’ll have to remember that this is our expedition and not your own. We will make the final decisions in all matters. But we’ll seek your advise and welcome it whenever possible.”

  Hector nodded. “And we would have it no other way,” he said with a sly smile. “But we waste time! Give the command, Captain Desmond. We’re ready to go.”

  Des drew a long breath, put his hands on his hips. “All right, then. Mount up! Single file, ten paces between!”

  And in sharp order the men followed suit. A minute later everyone was on his horse and ready to go.

  “Check your weapons; prepare to ride!” Des raised his right arm, then lowered it sharply. The riders kicked, the horses lurched ahead. Dane and Sesto raced off ahead to scout, and were out of sight in moments.

  “Lead the way, Hector,” snapped the captain.

  And the wolf did as ordered. He led them into the thicket — first beside the low rise of a craggy hill, then down alongside a winding stream. Ahead, the vast endless expanse of thick forest loomed like a giant spider — a spider beckoning them menacingly into his deadly web.

  Hector looked back. “Stay close as we move between the trees,” he cautioned. “It’s very easy to lose your way.”

  Des glanced over his shoulder and sighed. The wolf was right. One minute into the forest, and already the Valley was becoming hidden from sight. For a single second a tinge of panic raced through him like a bolt of lightning. But as quickly as it came, it left His eyes focused ahead and his lips tightened grimly. He was in control again, full control: of himself, of his band, of the expedition. He gazed at the wolf running a few paces in front, and in many ways he envied him his sleekness, his demeanor, his cunning. Mind clicking with military precision, he knowingly put his life in the hands of a Dweller.

  And so the band moved on. Des was first in the line and behind him came Rolf, then Basil. Somber and stern, they strained all their senses and tried to adjust their bearings to these new surroundings. Behind them came Lawrence, cool and detached. Of all the band, he alone seemed at ease. Next was Nigel just paces behind, and Dal and Harn followed him. Sinjon came after them leading a nervous pack-mule laden with supplies, and almost at his right flank was Nevil, his small eyes darting back and forth. Old Reese was close to him with the three other supply-mules at the end of a long rope. They had to be constantly nudged and tugged to keep up the swift pace, often causing Reese to curse under his breath. And last in line came Carlo, frightened, yet eager to make up for the mistakes of his past.

  A small group of men. A brave group of men. Doing what few had dared even to dream. But for some, nightmare would be a better word; this was an adventure to make the stoutest of men cringe.

  And deeper into the forest they rode.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hector picked a path between the trees, thick lumbering ageless trunks that bended and twisted in every direction. Huge branches swept down among the riders, hugging them every step of the way. The grasses were thick and wet, the ground at the edge of the slope muddy. With great care and caution they moved through the undergrowth. It was quiet. Almost a deathly silence filled the air. This was not what they expected at all. Where were the Dwellers? Nothing moved, nothing at all, except for the wind whispering among the leaves.

  Nigel turned his head, glancing over the ground they passed. And the trees behind him seemed to loom even larger than when they had passed. Boughs and t
wines covered his head, almost blocking out the sky. As they straggled along the slope they became more separated. The mules balked. And the fast pace was abandoned. They wound down the grasses more slowly, through moss and thick mud. There was a narrow stream to the right, and Hector seemed intent on sticking as close to it as possible. Nigel thought of Ciru’s map, and realized the wolf was closely following the same route. The trees, the herbage, even the earth, with its dull reddish hue, all became unfamiliar. It was nothing like he had ever seen.

  The air became close and stuffy, because breezes no longer filtered down between the trees. The men began to tense. Suddenly Rolfs horse lurched in a bolt of fear, whinnied, and stood up on its hind legs. The old soldier leaned forward in the saddle, took tight hold of the reins and stroked its muzzle gently. It took a while, but soon the animal was calmed, steadied by Rolfs strong reassuring hands.

  By afternoon a mist had set in, reducing visibility to no more than a few paces. Each man could barely make out the rider in front. A soft rain began to fall and they pulled their parkas over their heads.

  Hector paused on the high ground at the crest of a hill, waiting for the band to catch up. Des reached the summit first and looked about uneasily. The heather was thick and wet, the ground broken by ridges and furrows, ditchlike. And all dong the edges grew small, menacing brambles, rows of them, stretching out as far as he was able to see. It was forbidding, almost a warning sign for them to turn back now, before it was too late. But the soldier paid scant heed. He fixed his eyes on a small spider that was weaving a web between the two foremost roots of a juniper; he studied the creature as it methodically ran its silk in a precise pattern, perfectly parallel to the previous strand.

  Nigel took a long drink from his canteen and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “How long before we reach Deep-Forest?” he asked.

  Hector wagged his tail impatiently. “Not for some days yet, Nigel. Maybe not for a week at the rate we’re moving.”

  Nigel drew a deep breath, then blew it out from his mouth.

  The wolf smiled. “By comparison this part, Near-Forest, is really quite open and easy to travel — and certainly no strain on your horses. And much safer than what lies beyond. We need not fear while we’re here. Once we do get to Deep-Forest you’ll have to walk; your horses won’t be of much use. You’ll need your hatchets to blaze the trail and a free hand on your weapons. It’s then that the real test will come.”

  Des flexed his muscles and pursed his lips. He glanced down at the wolf. “And just what dangers can we expect?”

  Just then there came a cry — a low mournful howl from far away that set their hair on end. Des clutched at his dagger.

  “Have no concern,” growled the wolf calmly. “It’s only the wail of our cousins.”

  Des’s eyes darkened. “Dogs? You mean dogs?”

  Hector shook his head. “Jackals, Captain. They hail your arrival to the Dwellers. They fear us, but they won’t attack. All they’re doing is reporting our movements.”

  Basil furrowed his brow and slung his ready crossbow back over his shoulder. “You mean we’re being watched?” he asked.

  “We’ve been watched since the moment we left the Dell,” replied Hector.

  “But that’s impossible. We saw no one!”

  The wolf smirked. “You have much to learn about the wood,” he said. “Of course you saw nothing. But I did. And my nose has told me that many Dwellers are close. And they’re all observing us, even now, and even though you can’t see them.”

  Des rubbed at the side of his cheek, then put his dagger back in its sheath. “We’ve rested long enough,” he said curtly. “Let’s get going. I want to cover as much distance as I can before night.”

  And without further talk they continued on, this time down the slope of the other side. Strange plants, tall and spindly, shot up all around. The brambles and thistles stung at their sides, occasionally ripping into their tunics. Willowy branches gnarled and knotted above, seemingly linking each tree with the next until the forest looked like one single entity — one single breathing creature made up of ten thousand different parts.

  The path began to climb again, then suddenly dropped sharply for a brief time, but only to start its climb again steeper than before. By late afternoon both men and horses were completely exhausted, their pace slowed to little more than a lizard’s crawl. “We can’t stop just yet,” Hector told them.

  Basil groaned, bone-weary.

  “But we’ll be able to rest for the night quite soon,” the wolf said. “Up ahead there’s a field.”

  Des looked at him incredulously. “You mean there’s a clearing in this jungle?”

  “Not a clearing as you might think of it,” replied Hector. “But it is a flat grassy area, with sparse trees and shrubs — an excellent campsite for the night.”

  “Well, Fates be praised!” cried Rolf with a hint of irony in his tone. “Our first night in the wood will be just like at home.”

  Dark began to close in swiftly now, the last glimmer of day fading grayly in the western sky. And as it did the forest came alive for the first time. Odd whistles and wails filled their ears from every side. A hoot, a growl, a cry. The men glanced at each other warily. There was noise enough, that was sure — but they still had yet to see any creature. Not a snake, not a jack-rabbit or hare, not even a deer. They were being avoided as if they were carrying Plague to any they came across.

  From out of nowhere Sesto came darting directly at them. He bowed before Hector and began to growl. Des followed his words as best he could, but wolf-language was strange and he felt more than a little bit helpless as the two wolves spoke briefly.

  “Well?” he asked at length. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Hector turned to him and grinned. “The field, Captain. The clearing. Sesto tells me it lies just around the next bend. And there’s plenty of fresh water and good game to hunt for supper. Tell me, do you like rabbit?”

  Des laughed, letting his tension melt away. And the thought of a tasty rabbit stew made his mouth water. Except for a few bites of the hard biscuits they carried, none had eaten all day. “Well, lead on then!” he commanded. “The sooner we get there, the better.”

  And so they rode on with newly found vigor, the gloom gone from both their minds and hearts. The first day in the forest was all but over and they had survived it quite well. The sight of the field, when it loomed ahead after they came to the bend, made them all as happy as children. Even the black of night did not discourage them; if every day went as easily as this one had, there would be no further problems.

  In no time at all the campsite was set, a small fire started. Basil and Dal easily caught a few large hares and everyone sat back waiting for Old Reese to prepare the meal. A little salt, a sprinkle of pepper, some roots and fresh-pickled parsley, and the tasty stew was done. The band gathered close to the fire and ate greedily. Hector, somewhat put off by the dancing flames and belching smoke, ate his meat alone, off beside the boughs of an old willow. Dane and Sesto restlessly left the camp completely and stood watch from afar.

  The fire was warm and set Nigel at ease. He lay back with his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky. The thick clouds were at last beginning to break and behind them he could see the twinkle and glitter of a few stars. It seemed to him that with but a single sweep of his arms he could encompass the whole sky, indeed the whole universe, and draw it beside him.

  Basil walked to one of the pack-mules and brought out his mandolin. He leaned with his back against a fir and softly began to strum an old children’s lullaby, one taught to him years before. The words were sweet and magical. Everyone listened and grew lulled as he sang:

  *

  “In a dream of a land far away,

  you can call to those who can’t smile;

  and when you wake at the dawn of the day,

  your lover’s eyes have watched all the while ...”

  *

  Some of the men began to hum and s
ing along, others merely sat lost in their own thoughts. But Des did neither. He remained tense and watchful. He knew that even at this very moment they were all being observed by hidden eyes. But what eyes? Dwellers who meant no harm and were merely curious? Or by secret spies of the enemy — spies who would run to their masters and warn them?

  One by one the men fell asleep, Nigel first and Des last.

  Mustapha sat perched in the willow and kept a lonely vigil. Below him Hector had curled up into a ball like a cub nestled beside a trunk. Antonius, resting close to the wolf, sighed. “They’ve done well, considering, don’t you think?”

  Hector opened one eye and cast a long curious glance at the parrot. He noted the tired eyes, the deep lines along his feathered neck and wondered just how old this bird really was. “They’ve done as well as you could expect of them,” he grunted at last. “But there’s much they still have to learn if they hope to survive. But at any rate, I guess they’re the lucky ones.”

  Antonius looked at him with surprise. “How do you mean?”

  The wolf sighed. “The dangers here will be small indeed, I fear, when compared to what those left behind must face.”

  The parrot’s beak drooped, nearly touching the ground. The wolf was right, he thought; the war at home would be terrible. And he wondered if when they did get back, there would be anything to come home to at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Warm gentle winds blew over the Valley; a brilliant sun shimmered high in the cloudless sky. Over the hills and meadows sprouted wildflowers in rich tones of yellow and orange. It was exactly nine days since man’s historic meeting with wolves.

  Two good archers, Klee and Lotho, stood at their post in the tower. Lotho wiped his swarthy face with his sleeve and spat on the floor. It was too hot to be confined like this, he thought. He had only come on duty six hours before and still had four more until he was relieved.