In the Woods

by Nancy Gideon

  Freeacas was a humble man, a man unaware of his own charm, but steadfast in his duty. He had no patience with his people's clucking or their wistful smiles as he strode purposefully across the yard upon grim business. As he was without his legions, they guessed the fighting still continued, and none quite dared delay him to ask how it fared. That, they would hear soon enough, for drafty corridors held few secrets.

  Freeacas traveled a labyrinth of cold, shadowed halls whose mossy stone was illuminated sparingly by uneven torches light. Familiar with them since birth, he made his way directly into the king's presence, pausing only to bow out of respect before entering his chamber.

  Haggert was a magnificent figure of a man, an older version of the gilded youth before him. Battles had worn upon him, as had a series of recurring illness, sapping his strength but dimming none of his regal aura. Though unable to ride onto the field, himself, he was unmistakably in control of his armies and just as obviously possessed of his son's regard as the young man waited to be recognized.

  "Freeacas! I did not expect you so soon. How does the campaign proceed?"

  Freeacas hesitated and that, in itself, bode ill.

  "Not well, my King," he answered at last. Rather that he be drawn and quartered than to approach his sovereign with bad tidings.Knowing this, Haggert lowered the cup from which he was about to drink, frowning deeply at the sight of rusty stains on his son's armor.

  "Oh? What has happened?"

  Bad news was best spoken quickly so Freeacas was blunt. "We were attacked by a legion from King Karth."

  "Damn him!" The jeweled cup went flying against the far wall as Haggert left his chair and took to pacing in agitation. His movements were obviously painful, and Freeacas loathe to watch without biding his father to see to himself with greater care. But the moment was not one for personal compassions or comforts so the lad stayed wisely silent, knowing this was not the news his king had hoped to hear.

  "How did we fight?"

  Again, the hesitation. Haggert came to a halt, regarding his son intensely, already hating what he would learn from those unsmiling lips.

  "It was a massacre."

  "He will pay for this!" The promise ground out through clenched teeth, but Haggert said none the angry tirade which sprang to mind, sensing there was more. And that what was left unsaid, was worse, by far.

  "There was a monster with them, larger than our finest steeds."That spoken, Freeacas gaged his father carefully to see if he would be believed or thought unhinged by the strain of battle.Haggert's expression remained set and grim, encouraging him to continue.

  "It must have come straight from Hell. Our men were running from it. They were running!" That confession burst out, thick with all his frustration and shame, echoing his own sense of personal failure.

  For a moment, Haggert simply stared at him, overwhelmed by this unwelcome news. Then, his beloved features grew harder, fiercer, until set in stone. Freeacas, who had never had a reason before, suddenly quelled in fear before his father.

  "And this beast was not of our Earth?" he demanded, needing that clarification.

  "I have never seen such a creature. Not even in our children's drawings."

  Haggert drew a deep, regretful breath then immediately girded up his resolve once more. "If this is the way he wants it . . . so it shall be."

  A shiver ran through Freeacas's soul, a cold, quivering of unnamed alarm. Never had he known such dread, not even in the midst of his most deadly conflicts. Not even when facing the Saracen infidels for the first time. This was the kind of fear that stirred in the darkest night, when awakening from a disturbing dream to wonder if what lurked within its shadows could be real.

  "What will you do, sire?"

  "Fight evil with evil. I am not as unprepared as the Dark One would like to believe." And a cold, cruel smile shaped the good king's lips. "I need not tell you what kind of man Karth is. He is ruthless, without God, without remorse, but I have never told you that he is also a man of power."

  "Power?" Freeacas scoffed. "Why there is no man in this realm who commands as much property and respect as you do, my lord."

  Haggert gave a tolerant chuckle. "I do not speak of that type of power, my innocent son. I speak of the dark forces, of unholy unions, of things best left unspoken."

  Freeacas fought not to shudder. "What things, my king?"

  "In his youth, Karth was a student of the sorcerer of Sethrye."

  Freeacas gave way to a hard shivering. Who had not heard of that magician from the far mountains of Sethrye? What child had not been hastened to bed with warnings that the sorcerer stalked the blackness of night looking for the souls of the innocent to corrupt with his dark spells? Fairy tales, or so he'd thought. So he'd hoped.

  "If this is true, then we are lost." The young prince spoke without thinking, then flushed hot with shame. "What I mean is how can we defeat someone who has the unseen world at his command? Our men are the finest of knights, brave, sure and loyal, but that is against others of their own kind. How are they to fight monstrosities called up from the very bowels of netherworld?"

  Haggert calmed his son with a steadying hand upon one broad shoulder. "I would not ask it of them."

  Freeacas frowned slightly, not understanding. The good king smiled at his confusion.

  "I, myself, will go to Sethrye, and ask for a magic to drive this curse away from our lands. Karth will not win the day. I will not lose all I hold dear to such as him."

  Prince Freeacas tried to absorb it all, but he was a simple man, a good man, raised and trained to rule ordinary men, in ordinary times. Talk of witchery and evil, and making bargains with the denizens of Hell sat uncomfortably within the purity of his heart.The battles he'd fought were won with wits and will and might, not by cunning and mysticism. He wanted to argue with his father against using such extreme measures but knew not what to say. Their situation was dire. Their kingdom was in peril. Perhaps this was the only way.

  But he didn't have to like it.

  And he spoke his reservations plainly.

  "But sire, isn't there a price to pay for using dark magic?"

  The old king sucked a ragged breath and expelled it heavily with a bitter truth.

  "Yes, my son, and it is a severe one. But one I will meet to hold your inheritance for you. Whatever the cost, it shall be paid."

  ӜӜӜ

  It was a treacherous journey best done by day, but necessity made them hasten long into the hours of night, high into the jagged hills of Sethrye.

  The small party drew little attention. Those they passed would believe them a band of wanderers, ragged of clothes and scant in possessions, not worth the trouble of their interest. Had they looked closer, they might have become suspicious, seeing the determination in each hard expression, the focus in the narrowed eyes that rarely left the slumped figure of their leader. Had they inspected that man who rode slightly ahead of the others, they would have noted what a casual eye dismissed—the regal bearing that age and weariness could not bend, the unquestionable authority wielded with each slight gesture to spur an instant response from the rest. But the night was cold and the light uneven, and few cared to linger wondering over the purpose of strangers who passed quickly from their sight.

  Just as Haggert intended when he covered his royal finery with beggar’s robes.

  He hadn’t been to the mountains of Sethrye since boyhood, when his years were even less than his son’s in number. But it wasn’t a journey one forgot, and it wasn’t a trail easily lost from memory.It remained within the darkest corners, crouching low like a particularly vile nightmare ready to spring upon the unsuspecting mind.

  He could feel the terror building in those he’d hand-picked for his entourage. Brave men all, but even the bravest quivered when the winds of Sethrye moaned and whispered. With each ever-upward mile his own soul shivered and his old bones groaned. He refused to be daunted. He was the king. His mission would mean the survival of his people. He could not afford the lu
xury of fear. Or conscience.

  When he raised his hand to halt his fellow riders, he heard their mutters of confusion. Why were they stopping outside a rude hut seemingly cut into the side of the mountain? A meager fire burned within, too small to offer adequate heat or the hovel sanctuary for a half-dozen near-frozen and exhausted men.

  “Sire, do we make camp here?” one of them called in uncertainty.

  “This is our destination. Dismount and be careful to disturb nothing.”

  The only things disturbed were the men who silently, if questioningly, obeyed.

  Haggert approached the hide-covered doorway, forcing his aching form into a haughty posture as he threw back the rags to reveal his silver mail and emblazoned crest. Now was not the time to display any weakness, not in the frailty of his old frame, or with the slightest hesitation. He flung back the flap, bracing against the stench of bitter herbs brewing over a sputtering fire.

  “I am Haggert,” he announced to the wizened figure crouched over the bubbling pot.

  There were too many wrinkles to tell the creature’s gender. A pair of pale, piercing eyes fixed upon the king without a flickering of awe or interest.

  “We’ve been waiting.” The words were a whispery rasp blending with the scrape of a spoon around the pot’s interior. A spine-tinging sound.

  “He knows I’m here?”

  “He’s been expecting you.”

  Haggert turned to his men. “Grain the horses and rest yourselves. And do not move from this spot no matter what you might hear.”

  At that cautioning, the men’s initial relief turned to apprehension. But Haggert had no time to quiet their anxieties.Terror wasn’t out here in the sharp wind and lonely nightfall. It was inside the mountain where destiny awaited, where a wall became a doorway, a passage to the darkest realms of the unknown. Where long ago, another king had led his two twin sons to seek the fate of his kingdom. One son was Haggert, the other Karth. That king asked one question, which of his sons should lead his lands into prosperity and peace. The answer had come with a price. Haggert would rule one day in his father’s place as a fair and wise king.

  And Karth would remain behind with the sorcerer as his apprentice, to pay for that piece of knowledge.

  Haggert paused to shield his eyes as he stepped into a cavern deep within the bowels of the mountain. There, an unholy flame burned without fuel in the center of the cave, it’s brightness sparking, rainbow brilliant, off the huge spikes of exposed crystal which made up the walls of the chamber. The light dazzled and blinded.

  “Ask your question and prepare to pay the price.”

  The scratchy voice belonged to the crone-like figure from the hut, but in the soaring chasm, it boomed with preternatural power.

  The voice of the sorcerer.

  “You once promised I would hold my kingdom against the realms of darkness. Now, it is threatened by the very monster you created.”

  “I did not create the beast which feeds upon your borders,” came the somewhat insulted argument.

  “You created Karth, and they are one in the same.”

  “What would you ask of me? To strike down my best and brightest pupil?”

  “Yes,” Haggert cried. “Along the unnatural creature that does his bidding.”

  “You ask much. To accomplish that would mean calling upon the same forces you seek to destroy.”

  “My kingdom is at stake. Call up your demons, only win me the day.”

  The wizard’s harsh chuckle stirred Haggert’s hair at its roots.“Step close to the flame and give me your hand, that hand that holds a kingdom ahead of all else.”

  Haggert did as he was bidden, surprised by the lack of heat while standing only feet from the burning shaft of fire. He thrust out his hand facing upward. A sudden pain scissored along his flesh, and crimson pooled quick and bright in his palm. His wrist was gripped by the sorcerer’s withered fingers and forced with inarguable strength right into the sheets of flame. Haggert gasped, expecting hot agony only to be startled by a cold that bit to bone. When his hand was turned over, blood splashed down upon the uncharred floor to sizzle, smoke and ominously spread, until amazingly it thickened, taking on height and breadth then form. Growing, changing within the searing chill of flame into the answer he sought.

  An answer that soon became every bit as frightening as the problem, itself.

  Haggert stood terrified. And exhilarated.

  Yes!

  He turned toward the wizened mage to shout, “Name your price, to a third of my lands, to half of my coffers and it will be yours in exchange for this – this marvel.”

  “‘Tis not the land, ‘tis not the wealth I want.”

  “Then what? Name it!”

  “I want that which has value above ground and gold.”

  Haggert frowned slightly. Did the magician think to claim his crown? To demand his fealty? Things the wizard had to know he could not give. “I don’t understand.”

  “But you will,” the ancient one cackled prophetically to bring a shudder to Haggert’s soul. “Oh, you will.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fog lay thick upon the ground. It rose in gossamer ribbons that wound about the trees. It moved with a cold grace, stroking each surface it passed with an icy caress, wrapping around all it concealed in a blanketing embrace both serene and sinister. The mood created was one of disembodied peace, a strange and alternate reality which was somehow very fitting in Prince Freeacas's mind.

  He straightened from where he'd dipped his cup into the chill waters of a stream, hoping the frigid flow would cut through the dry taste of dread thickening in his throat. He didn't like the day's doings as they were laid out before him, but would do the task in his father's name without question, without reluctance, and he would win at any cost. That cost the good king had claimed as unimportant, but troubled Freeacas no little bit.

  He didn't like magic. It was uncertain, not like the surety of cold steel at his command. Trifling with dark powers was a dangerous thing, a tampering with the natural order of God's intentions. He’d fought bravely in a foreign clime to rid the world of such heathen beliefs only to come home to find himself immersed in them once more.He could placate his soul by saying it was not their choice, but rather a necessary response to an unavoidable evil. Yes, that would do. That would give his conscience ease. It was Karth who threw down the gauntlet of mystery, and would be folly on their part to leave it unchallenged.

  He shivered again as he thought of that Devil Dog ripping into the vitals of his troops.

  Fight evil with evil.

  His father’s very words when he described what transpired on that mystical mountain of Sethrye. The facts his king laid out before him gelled cold and thick as cooling tallow in the base of his belly.His instinct had been to rebel, to decry such methods to maintain control. To employ such monstrous forces even to a goal of good surely bode only ill in the long run.

  He thought of his father making deals with the devil, a deal like the one that had brought him his throne. Freeacas now understood Karth’s fanatical lust for his father’s kingdom–a kingdom lost to him on the word of a wizard, and now within his grasp again using the same dark powers that had denied him his ancestral due. There was an irony there. Freeacas cursed himself for being too dim of mind to recognize it. He wasn’t a scholar. He was a soldier, a servant to his majesty who would someday, himself, be king.

  If he could win on this unholy ground.

  He straightened and threw off all traces of hesitation, as any good leader did when faced with a confrontation needing to be resolved. He couldn’t risk his men seeing doubt where there should only be strength and determination. They would falter soon enough when they saw what means he would call upon for victory.

  And some would even damn him for the deed.

  He tried not to think of that, of the possible scorn of his friends and comrades in arms. But damned he might well be before this day was done. All in the name of victory. All in the cause of a la
sting peace.

  Wasn't it a good leader who used every means as his command to defeat an evil foe?

  Even if those means were just as dark in origin?

  "Sire."

  He turned to see the silver of Galan's armor part from the cloud of mists. As wisps separated with the approaching break of day, he could see the outline of his knights lined up at ready along the embankment, still, taut, awaiting his command. He could feel their fear, could smell it on the morning breeze, as they considered what they would face in the approaching minutes. He shared their dread of Karth’s beast, but had shored up their trust with bold words and brash courage. He’d bid them to follow him, to believe him when he said that right would rule in the battlefield ahead. He, himself, had planted whispers of an alliance with Sethrye to inspire hope and encourage faith when all else faltered. How could he expect them to fight the good fight when he relied upon black arts to carry the tide of victory?

  Did they know how much he respected them, how privileged he felt to share the same field of honor? Would they see what he’d do as a betrayal of all they held sacred?

  But it was more than that, more than just the moment. That’s what he’d tried to tell his father. That’s what troubled him now.

  Once unleashed, the power would have to be controlled. With such strength came temptation. Why stop at Karth? Why not push on to the sea behind their mythical champion? Who could stop them? Who, indeed, but the very God they claimed to revere. A God who had to be looking down upon their actions with disappointment and dismay.

  Were they pure enough of heart to know when to put away their own demons lest they be consumed by the dangerous lure of power? Dark power . . . power with a price. Was that price to be eternal damnation?

  That was for better men than him to ponder. He had no time to let such questions confuse his mind. He wasn’t a scholar or a philosopher, and he had a battle to win.

  "How far did you say they were?" he called.

  Suddenly, a cry came from within the ranks.

  "They are here!"

  In one motion, shields raised and swords sang free. Shafts of sunlight pierced the haze, glittering off their unified front, dazzling his eyes. The beauty of it brought a swell of pride to his chest and a firm control to the voice that shouted, "Forward, in the name of your king!" as the prince's sword plunged into the air.