"Tha's not possible," Grundar argued.
"I think you will find that many things are possible when you meet a faerie in her own wood," Chlora responded tartly. "Now go, before the witch finishes whatever task she has planned. I hate that stupid old hag. So good luck."
She faded into the forest, "And goodbye for now ... cousin. Happy Midwinter."
"Wait," Tolian exclaimed, "That's impossible. Midwinter's still a week away."
But the tiny fae was already gone.
The companions shook away their surprise and grabbed their weapons and packs. Wasting no time, they sprinted to the fallen tree. Rounding the snapped end of the tree, Tolian stopped abruptly. Jaxius, too, stopped, unable to see over or around his stunned friend. Grundar bumped hard into Jaxius, his reflexes dulled by grief and pain. All three companions tumbled down what seemed like an endless slope.
Finally, they hit bottom. Each one tried to rise from the concussion; each one fell soundlessly back to the packed snow and earth. Blackness took them all.
Chapter Six
Fire crackled merrily in the hearth. A wrinkled hand lifted a wickedly barbed knife from the rickety table beside the wall. The iron chains holding Bergar upside down on the torture rack rattled as he violently struggled. The stench of whatever brew the vile witch had poured down his throat churned angrily in his heaving stomach. The burning in his gut at least let him know that he was still alive. Bergar looked around, surveying his strange surroundings. A couple of tables, a chair, and numerous bowls and flasks were scattered around the room. A short, ornate wooden altar set against the stone wall opposite him held his flickering attention longest. The horrific carvings along its legs and side depicted vile acts inflicted upon poor tortured souls by monstrous beings. Atop the altar sat a gold plate and chalice, several half-melted candles, and an ancient, grayed human skull. The skull eyed Bergar sympathetically. He prayed that he find a way to not be the newest addition to the hag's atrocious collection.
There appeared little chance for escape, even if he could break free from the biting chains. One door stood ominously on the side of the room opposite the crackling fireplace. The torchlight that flickered under the door silhouetted two feet. A guard. There were no windows in the stingy room. The smoke from that glowing fire must go up some sort of chimney, but even if he found such a route, Bergar was simply too large to fit up a chimney. Even if he did, somehow, make it up the chimney, what would he do if the drop to the ground was too great?
His assessment was cut short by the blinding bolt of pain that shot through his body. The witch who held him captive dragged her cruel blade across his ribs again. His warm blood trickled across his chest and neck before finally falling to the floor with a hiss. It sizzled and boiled as it raced through the purposeful cracks in the stone floor. His blood, at last, flowed into and filled a circle etched into the stone around his torture rack.
The witch took up a long stick affixed with chalk on one end and began drawing symbols around the edge of the circle, chanting as she went. Her raspy voice got slightly louder as she worked. When she completed her circle around Bergar, she set the chalk stick to the side and took up a small, wooden bowl from the nearby table. Taking the contents from the bowl into her spotted hand, she dribbled the fine sapphire powder in a line from the bloody circle to the crackling fireplace. Still chanting, she tossed a handful of the blue powder into the fireplace where it ignited. Flames leaped from the fireplace and immediately found the thin blue line on the floor. A sparking flame danced along the powder to the circle of blood, where it erupted into a solid wall of fire all around Bergar. The heat stole the breath from him until his lungs ached, and he prayed to the gods to let him find release. He found no relief in blackness, though. The hag had seen to that with her burning concoction. Bergar's only outlet was rage. He knew that he, like all his people, could withstand great torture and trauma whenever they let their bestial natures take over. So, bit by bit, the young man embraced the pain. He let it wash over him. He let it lick at his very soul, his primal self. The pain ripped open a gaping hole there and was met by a creature most fearsome. Bergar howled an inhuman sound. He was Bergar no more, only white-hot rage existed now.
"Yes," the witch hissed, talking to herself or him, Bergar didn't know. "Fill my ritual with your emotions. The Goddess will attend your screams and come to relish the taste of your terror. Our masters know so little of her power. But they will, oh yes. They will. They will see what Fylzia can do to an entire people. Yes, the ritual may be theirs, but I add the Goddess's power."
She glanced sidelong at a large mirror, missed during the young barbarian's assessment of the room. Then she returned to her chanting and working at his flesh like a sculptor while he growled and cursed. Bergar bucked and strained, trying to break free of the iron fetters. But the chains binding him to the devilish contraption held fast. Bergar's anger continued to boil and erupt, time and again. Flexing his mighty chest and pulling tight his entire body, again and again, soon caused the wooden rack behind him to crack and creak. The witch, paused in her evil chants, shrank from him, a look of fear and disgust on her face.
"Morgrys, aid me!"
The door swung open and her lackey entered with a menacing stride.
"Calm him," she said.
Grinning with pleasure at the task set before him, Morgrys swung a heavy boot around to meet the side of Bergar's face. Fully taken now by his rage, the pain the tortured barbarian received only fueled him. His anger swelled, and as it did his strength and force of will mounted as well. Bergar flexed harder, feeling his muscles tear beneath his skin. As his shoulder nearly dislocated from the force of his pulling, the torture rack's support beams snapped.
First an arm, then a leg pulled free. Bergar slumped to the floor, the red-hot stones searing his already wounded flesh.
Bergar peered up and a wild look contorted his rugged face. He charged Morgrys, knowing that his own speed was far greater than his captor's in his pain-induced rage. The tortured barbarian jumped through the air and prepared himself to throttle the life from both Morgrys and the accursed hag. Inches from Morgrys's throat, though, his grasping hands met an impenetrable resistance. They folded into his chest, and his face slammed into the same barrier. His rage suddenly spent, and his momentum stopped mid-air, Bergar crumpled to the floor.
The witch raised her hands, and Bergar lifted from the floor, suspended by her dark magics. He hung in the air, arms and legs spread wide, once again upside-down. His face pulsed with pain. No longer able to breathe through his smashed nose, his chest heaved in and out with short, ragged breaths. His rage burned its final flare. Bergar raised his head and sliced a hole through the witch with his fatal stare.
"I will see you die, witch."
His threat was met only by a shrill cackle. The hag waved her bony hand and his torture rack flew out of the way and crashed against the wall. She promptly went back to work defacing Bergar's flesh with small cuts and designs.
Morgrys raised an eyebrow, and with it came the corner of his mouth into a smirk.
"You will not win, boy. You and your entire people are weak." Morgrys spat in his face and promptly left the room. The small hollow click of the door shutting was the last sound Bergar heard before finally succumbing to the blessed darkness.
Chapter Seven
After a few moments, Tolian's vision cleared. None of the scrapes and bruises that he thought he had suffered on his way down the hillside were visible. After another moment, he realized the hill that they had fallen down was not visible either. In fact, there wasn't any kind of hill at all, only deeply quiet forest. Apparently Jaxius had come to the same realization. The two men eyed each other. Grundar joined his blank stare with the others.
Although they were in a small clearing, surrounded by woods, they were definitely not in the same clearing where they had decided to make camp. But the bard had no solid idea of where they might be.
"Great. Now we have to figure out where we are."
Tolian sighed. He looked at Grundar with a raised questioning eyebrow.
Grundar shrugged.
"Or how much time has passed," Jaxius added.
Tolian decided that they must still be in the same forest. The trees looked the same, more or less. Ahead of him, night was approaching quickly through the deep snow blanketed forest. He turned around to face the sunset, and panic grabbed him. They were standing at the forest edge near a settlement. As he looked more closely, Tolian noticed that this was not merely a settlement, but a large tower surrounded by an even larger camp. Immediately he dropped to the ground behind some covering bushes.
Jaxius turned to see the reason for Tolian's odd actions and quickly followed suit, dragging the confused Grundar with him.
Tolian whispered, "It's sunset. We are at the edge of a forest. And there is a very big tower, with an equally huge raider camp, a stone's pitch away. Do you think that faerie brought us here somehow?"
"The fae o' th' wood do mysterious things, friend bard," Grundar whispered back. "Mysterious an' evil magics they possess."
"Do you know what tower this is?" Jaxius asked, matching his friends' whispering.
"Nay, but if I had t' guess ..." he replied, "I would say ‘tis the cursed Claw of Fulzadar. Fylzia's den o' evil. Them what are surroundin' it are her horde."
"I am going to get a bit closer," Tolian whispered. He crouched as close to the ground as he could. Finding a good hiding spot behind some evergreen bushes at the outermost edge of the forest, he began mentally detailing their predicament. Jaxius and Grundar slowly slid forward to join him. The trio spent the next candle-mark observing the bustle of the tower and surrounding camp of barbarians.
Finally, Tolian softly slipped back, deeper into the relative safety of the woods. When Jaxius and Grundar joined him at length, he relaxed visibly.
"Here is what we know now," Tolian began. "These are the obviously same men who attacked us. That means that this must be where Bergar has been taken. There was one important element that I didn't notice, though. Guard patrols. Did either of you happen to see any?"
"No. I also noted no entryway to the tower. Unless I missed something?" Jaxius asked.
"Nothing. It looks like the forest surrounds the tower on all sides, though. Perhaps one of us could circle around and see if we can find the door," Tolian responded.
"Nay, I will jes' kick in her accursed walls t' git me boy back," Grundar growled. He was growing more impatient.
"Peace, Grundar. Try to remain calm for a little longer. I know, my good friend, that you wish nothing more than to rescue your beloved son. But listen to me. If we rush in, we will surely be cut down before we even make our way inside. I will move ‘round and scout for a door, or any other possible route of rescue," Tolian said. "You just stay here and keep hidden."
"Another question that needs an answer is what day it is," Jaxius said.
"I would surmise it is Midwinter Eve," Tolian said. "The custom of the people of Hawklos is very similar to the custom in Nordras. They burn a man made of sticks and straw. That's the end of the old. Then they have a birth feast, which is the beginning of the new. There is much dancing and celebrating. Copious amounts of food are shared by all. I saw what looked remarkably like a feasting tent, and there was a group carrying a straw man to the central fire just before we pulled back here."
Grundar nodded in agreement. "Well, that would mean we were out for a whole week."
Tolian said, "So it would. And that means we must hurry. Luckily, they should all be most distracted tonight."
Tolian moved silently through the forest in a broad circle around the looming edifice. His life as a performer afforded him some measure of grace which was much welcomed on this particular stealthy endeavor. He took quite some time circling the tower. Much to his surprise, the only entrance that he could find was a window about fifteen feet from the ground. He found his companions waiting where he had left them.
"Did they see you?" Jaxius asked.
"No."
"Which side is the door on?"
"No door. At all. The only opening I can find that is in any way reasonable is a small window about fifteen feet up. I think we are going to have to do this like we did in Chanua," Tolian said to Jaxius.
"Chanua?" Grundar echoed.
Jaxius rolled his eyes and walked away, turning his back on the conversation.
"Yes. Chanua is a land far to the west of here. It is a noble land with a very complicated way of life. None of that really matters right now though. While we were there, we had to rescue some plans from a very, very bad man. He had built his grand fortress in such a way that one could only enter through a tunnel whose location was guarded most secretly. He had made the singular mistake of having regular windows on the third floor, however. We had to be a bit creative in finding a way in since we didn't really have the time to find his secret entrance. Our plan was absolutely amazing. Full of precisely the right combination of amazing luck, strong-as-steel guts, and sheer stupidity. We fired crossbow bolts into the wall at intervals and simply climbed our way to a convenient window. Isn't that wonderfully inventive?"
"Aye. I see what yer gettin' at. But we ain't got any crossbows."
Jaxius turned about and raised his hands at the undeniable logic.
"No. But we do have Jaxius' short spear," Tolian reasoned.
"Which is no crossbow, Tolian," Jaxius responded. "Besides, it took four bolts in Chanua. And they didn't make their fortress from the same stuff as this. And how do you know that the walls aren't magicked against intrusion here? There are too many holes in your plan for it to work. I say we try taking a prisoner and get the information from him."
"That will never work, my friend. First, if we try to obtain a prisoner and fail we are undone. Second, if we do manage to succeed in acquiring a prisoner and they don't know what we need, then what? Another and another until finally we have the whole camp here? We don't have any rope to tie them up with. Third, what if we alert the camp to our presence before interrogating said prisoner? And finally, to deal with the idea that the witch cursed the walls against touch, I saw some of the barbarians leaning on the wall with no problem. Chances are that she feels so smugly comfortable up there in her tower, that she simply wouldn't think to spell her windowsills. It's the one shot we have. Put the spear under the window about ten feet up. One of us will have to stay down on the ground to hoist the other two up. That's the only way we are getting in. And we have to do it rather quickly if we are going to do anything."
"So then, wait ... If yer fer climbin', that prob'bly means tha' I'm the one stayin' behind."
"You are correct, Grundar, but your job is the most important," Tolian said.
"But he's me son. Ye don' know what it is t' lose yer son."
"He has a point, Grundar. You must realize that your people need you. I think we can use just the one step. The short spear might do for that. If you can hoist us up and then get to the woods and stay hidden, then you will most likely be able to return and lead your people. Even if we fail," Jaxius gently reasoned with the forlorn father.
"Which we won't," Tolian added.
Grundar's shoulders slumped. "Fine. I'll be yer steppin' ladder. But be ye warned. If ye are fer takin' too long fer me tastes, I'ma kick in the walls and come git ye."
Jaxius smiled. "I understand, friend. I understand. Well, Tolian, what say we get started?"
The group circled around to face the side where the lowest window sat on the menacing structure. Luckily no guards were positioned on that particular side of the tower. Jaxius placed his shield under a bush, knowing that without his spear, it was of little use.
"Grundar, you try to sneak up to the tower. Get as close as you can without being spotted. I will throw the spear into the wall above your head. Then, you hoist us up to it. Got it?"
"Aye," Grundar grumbled. "I still think I ought be savin' me boy."
"We will get him. Trust us. And stay hidden," the half-elf reminded his fr
iend.
Grundar slinked out as far as he could, hiding in the bushes, and then turned to a crouching jog when the bushes no longer provided cover. Waiting until he was almost at the tower, Jaxius let his spear fly just over Grundar's head. Fast on the tail of the spear, Tolian and Jaxius sprinted into the open. The spear found a soft spot and sank into the mortar of the old tower. Jaxius leaped up onto Grundar's shoulder before the clan chieftain even turned around. One foot paused on the goliath's shoulder and then it was into the air. His other foot deftly found balance on the precariously placed shortspear. Another quick spring and he was grabbing hold of the windowsill with both grasping hands.
Tolian's route was a bit more forgiving for Grundar, since he waited for Grundar to spin about and set his hands before making his jump. Like Jaxius though, it was one foot on Grundar, then one foot on the spear. His final leap didn't gain him as much distance as Jaxius' had, so he grabbed onto his friend's back, using Jaxius as a sort of ladder. He climbed to the window and slid thankfully inside. A half second later Jaxius worked his way inside as well.
"You there, what are you doing?"
Grundar cringed, thinking Jaxius and Tolian had already been undone by the owner of the harsh voice. He turned around and looked at the tower window as he backed up. The fire-cast shadowy silhouette on the tower's wall told Grundar that he was the one in trouble now, not his companions.
"Well, y' see ...." Grundar started.
Chapter Eight
Jaxius peered up the winding stairwell. Torches lit the inside of the witch's tower with a fitful glow. The flickering, orange light spilled down on him, bouncing off of small imperfections in the rough-hewn stone walls. The smooth black stones that made up the stairs were worn and rounded.
"Up or down?" Tolian asked in hushed tones.
"Well, it is a tower. So I would say most likely up."
Jaxius slid his viortassi from its sheath.
Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 Page 4
