by Jon Kiln
Peregrin gave a signal to the rest of the group and spurred his horse forward at a swift gallop. When horse and rider reached the mob, they simply plunged right in. People clawed at Harwin’s pant legs and someone threw a rock that narrowly missed his head, but Peregrin kept pressing the horse forward. The other riders followed suit, and the group slogged through the crowd slowly but steadily, finally bursting free on the other side and continuing towards the castle, leaving behind them a flattened trail of bloodied humanity.
The fighting around Castle Staghorn was fierce, but King Heldar had summoned so many reinforcements that the rioters were badly outnumbered. The air was alive with the sound of combat, and the street was slick with blood. The sentinels recognized Peregrin and ordered that the gate be opened. The riders galloped into the castle grounds without slowing and the gates were slammed shut behind them.
Inside the castle wall, it seemed as though they had crossed over into a different world. Most all of the noise of fighting was blocked out, and the grounds were as peaceful and pastoral as ever. Here and there, broken windows could be seen, where rioters had hurled rocks before the soldiers managed to push the fighting away from the castle.
A castle aid came out to meet them.
“Fetch Allette,” Taria ordered the boy. “Tell her that Rothar has need of her.”
Chapter 36
Allette must have drifted off, for she was dreaming of another time when she was roused by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see a boy standing over her. Esme peered over his shoulder.
“Rothar has returned, he is afflicted and you are to come at once,” said the boy.
“Afflicted?” asked Allette, sitting bolt upright and smoothing her dress. “With what?”
“That is all that I was told, madam,” said the aid apologetically.
Allette bustled about the room, fixing her hair and gathering up the tinctures and herbs she had been procuring from the castle kitchen, tossing everything into a small bag. Lastly, she grabbed the ancient book that she had taken from the dead apothecary.
The aid led Allette and Esme down the narrow hallway to a large and more lavishly appointed chamber. Inside, Rothar had been laid down on a broad bed. Standing around him were Taria, Peregrin, Harwin and a handful of other men whom Allette did not know.
Taria saw Allette enter and hurried over to her.
“We do not know what is wrong with him, but he cannot seem to wake up,” Taria said. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest and Allette could see the strain of worry in her eyes. “I know how much you have been reading in Ariswold’s book. I was hoping that perhaps you may be of help.”
“I am sure that the King has the finest physicians in all the land at his disposal,” replied Allette. “I do not see what more I could do for him.”
“Please, at least look at him.”
Allette nodded sheepishly. “Very well.”
She approached the bedside where Rothar lay. The clan of huntsmen parted to make way for her. Allette looked at Rothar for a few seconds and turned back to Taria.
“I need not be a physician to know what is wrong with him,” she said. “He has smoked too much of the Obscura, against his will I am sure. I have seen people like this in the smoking dens in Witherington. Usually they just get dragged out into the alley… I do not know if they ever wake up.”
Taria put her hands over her mouth and gasped. Some of the huntsmen grunted in concern.
“I should have known,” said Peregrin. “He must have come up against the Reapers and they did this to him. They have made an example of him.”
The group began talking at once, discussing what could be done to bring Rothar out of his state. Someone suggested dunking him in a horse trough, to which Harwin responded that Rothar should not be made to suffer such an indignity. The debate continued as Allette slipped away to a corner of the room and opened the apothecary book.
Slowly and deliberately, she began leafing through the pages, checking one remedy against another, poring over symptoms and complications, ingredients and methods for application. There was no remedy for an over consumption of a drug, but there were instructions for making a myriad of other medicines that were intended to revive the unconscious, repair damaged minds and restore fortitude to the afflicted.
Allette began to remove jars and vials from her bag. With a mortar and pestle, she set about grinding herbs and minerals together, adding water to make a paste. Several minutes later she was back at Rothar’s bedside. As the arguing and conjecture continued around her, she spooned a bit of the paste into Rothar’s mouth. Allette drew a cup of water from a decanter next to the bed and carefully poured some into Rothar’s mouth as she gently supported his head.
The group gathered around the bed grew quiet as they watched Allette administer the mysterious substance. Eventually, the room was perfectly silent as every eye watched Rothar and the woman cradling his head.
A full minute passed, and nothing happened, then, quietly, Rothar coughed. His eyes fluttered open and then closed again, his chest rose and fell as he drew a deep breath. His eyes opened once again and stayed open. He seemed to be trying to find focus, and a wildness danced behind his eyes.
***
The transition was dizzying for Rothar. He had been kneeling in the center of the circle of fire, peering at the faces, beyond the faces, trying to find Taria again. It was all so real, he could feel the hot sand under his feet, the blood raining down on him grew sticky as it dried. His ears rang from the horrific screaming and squalling that came from the inky black sky.
Then, all at once, he felt different. It was as if the reality he had been living in for… how long had it been now… was being pulled away from him. At first, he resisted, fearing that Taria would be left trapped amongst the leering faces if he went. But the stronger the pull became, the harder it was for him to resist, to stay in the ethereal hell.
It seemed as though the sky was cracking open, letting golden light stream in through countless fissures. Rothar felt weightless, cool, fresh air washed over him and he realized for the first time that he had been breathing torrid air since he had been trapped in the netherworld.
The light above became brighter and overtook him. Rothar could see nothing, but could now feel that he was lying on his back. The brightness burned his eyes when he tried to look around. Someone was holding his head, the sensation of being touched caused him some alarm. Forcing his eyes open, Rothar could see human figures. He blinked and tried to focus. He could make out faces.
Did he know them? An unfamiliar fear gripped him. He felt at his waist. No weapons. Rothar sat bolt upright, shaking off the arms that held him. He heard his name being spoken. Rising to his feet, he prepared to fight. That is when he saw her.
A face he would recognize in any light, and in any madness. Taria stood before him and instantly his confusion dissipated. He looked from face to face. Peregrin. Stone. Harwin. Esme. Allette sat on the bed, next to the pillow where Rothar had lay. On the table was a cup and an apothecary’s mortar.
“You brought me back,” Rothar said to Allette. It was not a question, he knew exactly what the woman had done for him. “Thank you.”
Allette said nothing, simply gave a shy little smile and bowed her head. Rothar turned to Taria and embraced her. He had never been so pleased to see anyone, yet the infernal hell still played at the back of his mind.
He wondered if it would ever leave.
Chapter 37
King Heldar sat at one end of a long, oak table. Rothar was positioned at they other end. Between them, Queen Amelia, Taria, Peregrin, Harwin, the Huntsmen and Allette were assembled. A small contingent of soldiers stood behind the King, guarding the door.
The captain of the guard had just been dismissed after briefing the group on the state of things in the city. The fighting near the castle had been all but squelched, and not a moment too soon for the dungeons were teeming with apprehended rioters.
News fro
m the rest of the city was worse. Most of the manors in the upper city had been looted and badly damaged. Noble families who chose to stay in their homes were dragged outside and beaten. Anything of value was stolen, although there were so many pilfered goods being peddled that there was hardly a way to sell anything more.
In Witherington, the chaos had diminished as the mobs moved into the more affluent areas, but the fires had continued unchecked with no one available or willing to put them out. More than half of the merchant district had been reduced to ash and rubble.
Rothar pressed his fingers against his temples and closed his eyes as he listened to all of these things. The lingering affects of the Obscura left him weakened and distracted, and it took all of his focus to retain the information he was hearing. He had been asked several times to recount his experience in the red desert. What had he seen? Who had done such a thing to him? What were they up against? To this point, Rothar had not been forthcoming. He remembered a lot of things, but he needed time to sort out what had actually happened and what was a drug addled hallucination. What was real and what was the nightmare.
Now Harwin was speaking, telling of his foray into the woods in search of Taria, of seeing the flying machine and being pursued by it’s occupants. When he told of how the dark stranger was devoured by the alligator, Rothar saw Peregrin crack a small smile, while the women gasped and put their hands to their mouths. Rothar himself would probably have smiled at the recounting as well, under different circumstances.
Eventually, the room was quiet, and every eye was on Rothar, who sat at the end of the massive table, still rubbing his temples, eyes closed. He could hear the group slowly growing restless as he sat silent. They probably wondered if he had even been listening, or if his mind was adrift once again.
Finally he opened his eyes and looked at each person at the table in turn. He took a moment to consider what they were up against, and he took stock of what they had to work with. It was an unlikely bunch, to be sure. An assassin, as assortment of wild huntsmen, a Southland refugee, a blacksmith, a weaver turned apothecary in training, and a very angry King and Queen. Rothar decided that no better group of souls had ever spat in the face of evil, and he began to speak.
“On the other side of the Andrelicas and about twelve miles into the red desert, is a fortified city. The city, as far as I can tell, is contained within a wall which dwarfs our southern barrier and cannot be climbed. This is where the Reapers live, and this is where the Obscura, or the ladder, or the stairway or whatever the devil wants to call it, is produced.
“I do not know how great of a force they are, for I have seen only a part of the city, but I know that these are shrewd people, they are cunning and they are ruthless.”
Stone could no longer remain silent. “What of our scouts? Did you see anything of them?”
Rothar looked down at the table. The fate of the huntsman scouts was a thing of which he was certain, though he wished he could dismiss it as only a hallucination.
“There is a particular way which the Reapers feed the plants,” he began. “It seem the Obscura must… grow in bloody soil.”
It seemed as though everyone at the table took a sharp breath in.
“What are you telling us, Rothar?” spoke Stone, leaning grimly forward. “That our brothers were slain so that their blood could sour the earth, bringing forth this awful scourge?”
Rothar stared ahead. Stone’s words made his memories tangible, gave him focus. He felt strength returning, borne upon the wings of rage.
“I have seen it,” he replied. “Men, horses, I know not what else, it all feeds the Obscura. It is only by some cruel stroke of luck that my own blood is not in that soil right now.”
King Heldar spoke for the first time since sitting down. “So, this is the type of madness we are dealing with now.” The King shook his head slowly. “And what is the reason for it all?”
“I believe that Rothar and I may have learned something about that from Mortez,” said Peregrin.
“Mortez?” asked King Heldar.
It occurred to Rothar that Peregrin and himself had never filled his Highness in on the encounter with Mortez in the old hollow tree. For Rothar, it seemed like so long ago, he had nearly forgotten it happened. Peregrin quickly recounted the story of how Rothar had snared the smuggler in the tree.
“He said that the Reapers use the drug to weaken a people, and then come to overtake the city,” concluded Peregrin.
“Overtake the city?” Heldar exclaimed, raising his voice suddenly. “I should like to see them try!”
“I suspect you shall see exactly that very soon, if we do not act first,” said Rothar.
At that moment, there was a concussive pounding, as if someone were trying to knock down the door with a battering ram. The sentries flung the portal open, swords at the ready, but the corridor was empty.
“I will get that,” said Rothar, and he walked to the window at the far end of the room.
Rothar pulled back the heavy drapes and the women in the room screamed. Rothar suspected that some of the men did as well. A giant eye stared in the window, which Rothar casually pushed open.
“Talfor! It is good to see you again!” shouted Rothar. “What news do you bring me from the southern front?”
“It is good to see you again as well, Rothar,” boomed a voice from outside of the castle wall. The floor in the chamber vibrated as the ogre spoke. “I have seen the flying machines that you sent word of. I have also spoken to my brethren throughout the mountains who have seen the same.”
Rothar turned so that he was speaking to both the people within the room and the ogre outside.
“So they are landing in the Southern mountain range?”
The eye disappeared and reappeared, then disappeared and reappeared again as the ogre shook his massive head.
“Not in the mountains. From our vantage point, we see all that moves above the Banewood. Until recently, that was only birds and clouds, now, nearly five dozen of the air ships fly over the wood. They land far off, before you are likely to see them in the city.”
Rothar faced King Heldar. “Do you see what I mean? The devil is at your doorstep.”
Chapter 38
“Dispatch every available man into the Banewood!” shouted King Heldar. “Seek out the flying machines! Kill the Reapers!”
Heldar, perhaps affected by loss of sleep or the sheer stress of the past several days, was ranting. His commands were not only foolish, but there was no one there to carry them out. The handful of sentries at the door were mere boys at best, they had no authority with which to convey a royal order. Besides, there really were no available men in the King’s City. Every last sword was busy holding back that flood of desperation that ran rampant in the streets; every sword, that is, except the ones now in the room.
“Eat something, old friend,” said Rothar, sitting back down at the table after thanking Talfor and reminding the ogre to be especially careful walking out of the city, although he suspected the giant might be of some use in - quite literally - stomping out the rioting in the King’s City.
“Eat something?!” hollered King Heldar. “There are sixty impossible machines in the Banewood, ready to attack my city, and you suggest that I eat something?!”
“Certainly,” countered Rothar. “You know how unreasonable you get when you are hungry.”
The King’s eyes widened. Everyone else around the table stifled a smile, especially Queen Amelia. They were relieved to see Rothar returning to his familiar, old self.
“I do believe that we may manage to destroy the machines in the Banewood, but I do not wish that upon your brave men nor the forest,” Rothar continued. “Furthermore, destroying the fleet will not destroy the enemy. No kingdom is safe until we have dealt with the Reapers in the walled city.”
“Haval,” blurted Harwin.
“Excuse me?” asked Rothar.
“I had forgotten, the alligator bait said something about dragging me back to Hav
al to feed the garden. At the time, I wondered if he intended for me to spend a life of servitude, tending to his plants. Now, I see that it would have been much worse. No matter though, he is dead.”
Rothar looked at his friend with admiration. The blacksmith always said exactly what he was thinking, a trait that was absent in most men.
“Haval then,” said Rothar. “No victory can be claimed until Haval has fallen.”
Everyone in the chamber nodded in agreement. King Heldar, who had calmed down considerably, asked Rothar, “How do you propose to take them down?”
Rothar looked out the window at the dark tendrils of smoke rising out of Witherington.
“We shall burn them out.”
***
Taria held on to Rothar’s arm as they left the chamber and entered the great hallway. Everyone had been given a duty, and each soul headed off in their own direction. Taria saw Allette hurrying off down the corridor.
“I need a moment,” she said to Rothar, releasing his arm. “I will be right back.”
Taria felt the need to cling ever so closely to Rothar, now that he had been brought back to her. She had spent too many years separated from him, and now to have him nearly torn from her again, it had been almost too much to bear. Yet she knew that Rothar could not be held too tightly. No, a man like him must be given the world to roam, and if he truly loved her, he would always return. Taria knew that he may not have been able to return this time, had it not been for the woman she now rushed to catch up to.
“Allette,” Taria called out softly, knowing how shy the girl was and not wanting to draw too much attention to their exchange. Allette stopped and turned around. Taria reached out and took one of the young woman’s hands in her own. Allette’s pale skin shone snow white against the sandy brown of Taria’s tattooed hand.
“Allette,” Taria said again. “I… I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for what you were able to do for Rothar.”
