by Emmet Moss
Working with stubborn mules while nursing a queasy stomach and splitting headache proved to be an unwelcome exercise. Alessan also learned about the mysterious women who paraded around camp. Having grown up in a relatively quiet and respectful village, he had never been privy to the seedier side of life, one that involved gambling, drunkenness, and ladies for hire.
The women who followed along in the column were tall, thin, and even in the cold, scantily clad. They wore expensive jewelry, and the intense smell of exotic perfumes permeated the air all around them. They were striking to behold, with darkly painted lashes covering glittering eyes that beckoned any man who would dare steal a glance. Alessan blushed when he learned they could be bought for a price, and that there was little they regarded as taboo.
On one of the first nights of the long journey, Fingus caught Alessan in the middle of a lustful stare. With a smile, he educated the younger man in the simple rules that governed any dealings with the ladies. Having never garnered any attention from any women back home, Alessan spent a few days agonizing over the intense thoughts now invading his mind. With chagrin, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he attempted to satisfy his growing urges. Although stunted in growth, Alessan maintained the same strong desires of any young man, and as with all young men, he often fantasized about being with a woman. That the rest of the men in the convoy had all experienced the pleasure of a woman irked him, and being determined to fit in, he soon made a decision.
One night, fed up with the merciless ribbing of his companions, Alessan made his way into the area frequented by the women and haggled briefly with the towering man who guarded them. After settling on a price, he was directed towards a small wagon and ushered through the doorway.
The carriage smelled of a heady perfume that Alessan had often noticed while walking alongside the column. The interior was quite plain, with the walls empty except for a few gauzy drapes that provided some measure of privacy.
“Good evening,” said a woman languishing in a mass of pillows and exquisite silk sheets. “My, aren’t we a young one tonight?” she commented as he entered through the door.
She was very thin and looked only slightly older than Alessan himself. Her hair was dark and tied in a tight knot at the top of her head. Her bright blue eyes shone when he extended his small bag of coins.
“I’m not as young as you might think,” he replied sullenly.
“I really don’t care how old you are, and don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. Now take off those clothes and come to me,” the woman purred.
Alessan had never been as uncomfortable with his frail body as he was at that very moment. Glancing down at his bony frame and shriveled arm, he wondered whether any woman could ever come to love him. Would he be forever satisfied with women who would gladly service a man in exchange for coin?
“Well then, are you going to stand over by the entrance for the rest of the night?” the woman asked as she lay back in the thick covers, her clothes now discarded next to the bed.
“No… no, no, ma’am,” he stuttered, moving slowly towards her.
“Good,” she smiled. “You can leave the coin near the door. Blow out the lantern as well, and I’ll show you what a woman can do for you.”
A rush of excited nervousness rippled through his naked body. His heart pounded loudly in his breast, and for a moment it was all he could do to stop himself from fleeing the sparsely decorated wagon. Pausing a moment to calm himself, Alessan finally stepped forward, blew out the lantern, and plunged the room into darkness.
As the newest member of the entourage, Alessan was usually assigned the most unfavourable of chores, the worst being the collecting of suitable firewood. The eerie tales involving the Aeldenwood served as reason enough for many of the handlers to avoid venturing too far into the strange forest. The King’s Road was easily wide enough to accommodate the large merchant wagons, and most traders elected to stay huddled with the column. Superstitions, it seemed, played upon on the minds of those working for the demanding Corian Praxxus.
Alessan found it ironic that although he had left the drudgery of his old life, here he was collecting wood for a fire, much as he once had every morning in Briar. Nine days out from his homestead and things had changed far less than he would have supposed when first leaving on the journey.
Finding some amusement in his predicament, he set to his tasks with the same care he had shown back in Briar. His father had always stressed the importance of working hard and being proud of what you had accomplished by a day’s end. The true measure of a man, the big Lumber often said, can only be found in the pride of that man’s work.
With the Crossroads only a day away, the men and women huddled close around the fires, enjoying the warmth in the midst of another chilly night. Although somewhat milder under the large canopy of the forest, the nights were still frigid. A warm fire went a long way towards warding off the cold, if only for a while. Spring still seemed a far-off dream.
Squinting in the failing light of another long day of travel, Alessan was collecting what dead wood could be found along the old road. With one bundle quickly returned, he glanced at the branches providing the leafy roof overhead. Faint sunlight strained to pierce the thick foliage. The days were much shorter here in the Aeldenwood, what with the forest itself shedding a gloomy darkness over the entire journey. Alessan realized, as he stooped to collect a thick branch that lay at his feet, that he missed the open sky and the feeling of freedom that came with it. For all its wondrous and uncommon beauty, the Aeldenwood was stifling.
Cradling the wood under his weak arm, Alessan walked deeper into the forest, his mind wandering while a tune whistled from his lips. As he bent over to retrieve some fresh kindling, he could sense the unmistakable presence of another creature.
Straightening from his crouch, he turned and carefully gauged the surrounding treeline. His body stiffened with apprehension as he caught a flash of grey flit between two trees. Placing his bundle of wood down on the forest floor, he kept his eyes fastened on the closest trees. He quickly brandished one of the sticks, this one as long as his arm and plenty thick if it needed to be used. Long seconds passed before the dark shape moved once more, the bulk of its body hidden by a thick stump.
Alessan tightened his grip on the makeshift club as the other inhabitant of the wood took a step out into the dim light. Dark eyes peered out from a thick wintry coat as a young wolf carefully padded forward. Entranced by the animal’s calm demeanor, Alessan quelled his mounting fear, willing himself to remain in place. The animal showed no sign of agitation or fear of man, traits common to the wolves that prowled near Briar and other Lumber towns of the north.
As the creature sank down on its haunches, Alessan caught a clear glimpse of the long and ragged wound decorating the wolf’s left flank. As if in reply to his discovery, the young animal twisted its greyish white head and carefully licked at the injury.
The wound is healing well. She is stubborn, but brave. Your concern is admirable though, Alessan Oakleaf.
Mesmerized by the strange animal, Alessan had completely missed any sign that someone had crept up to stand nearly at his side. Turning to acknowledge his mysterious acquaintance, he frowned.
“You know you could warn someone when you approach, C’Aelis.”
My apologies, Alessan, but I was making no effort to hide my presence, a hint of amusement laced the words. I fear my dealings with your kind are quite rare these days. Turning towards the wolf, the Gorimm beckoned her forward.
You have nothing to fear. Greiyfois is a dear friend of mine; a steadfast companion while I attempt to set things to right.
“Can you speak with her as well?” Alessan asked.
Of course I can. It is no different than when I seek counsel with the trees, the rocks, the water, or the earth. We are all part of the living world, Alessan; yet some refuse to see what is plainly visible.
The Gath have become terrible foes, the Gorimm responded. She was loath to let one of them take me to my ancestors. It is like I said, she is stubborn.
“Incredible…” Alessan breathed.
Greiyfois thanks you for the compliment. However, she considers your scent particularly offensive. Ruffling the thick fur around the wolf’s head, C’Aelis laughed heartily. It was the first audible sound uttered by the strange man in Alessan’s presence.
“She can understand me?”
To a certain degree, yes, with a little help from me, C’Aelis nodded. She is also very good at reading our features.
Alessan let the rest of the tension slide from his body. Sitting wearily upon the ground, he looked once more towards the Gorimm. The man looked exhausted, his usually graceful posture had a slight stoop at the shoulders. His silver hair was damp and mashed against his forehead, the thin tendrils dangling limply down the contours of his face. Oddly, his garments were heavily stained and mud-splattered.
“So have you spoken to any others?” Alessan asked after a moment.
I have been far too busy, C’Aelis replied. The outer wards have needed resetting, and my travels have opened my eyes to the gravity of this world’s condition. Where once my people had friends, I now fear speaking with any until my work is complete.
“Why me, then?” Alessan questioned. “I’ve seen you more than once.”
Call it fate if you want, young Oakleaf. Mayhap the gods above see some use in our exchanges, brief though they may be. Of course, maybe it is all just luck, a haphazard meeting of strangers. Regardless, I am glad to find you well.
“You, on the other hand, look terrible,” Alessan replied with concern.
I would be lying if I didn’t agree. It is a small price to pay for the transgressions of your forefathers, C’Aelis trailed off.
“Transgressions?”
It is of no matter at the moment. You need only be concerned about the direction in which you travel.
“I have no choice in the matter, C’Aelis. We are heading to the southern Protectorate.”
The way is closed, Alessan. The King’s Road is far from safe, the Gorimm warned.
“And the Crossroads?”
The Crossroads will be your death, if your companions so choose. I have come to warn you of the Gath. They move quickly to surround your patron’s entourage. It will be a harvest like those creatures have not seen for many summers.
“Harvest?” Alessan whispered.
They will destroy you all, Alessan, and this time there are far too many for Greiyfois and I to deal with. You must turn your column north and seek another route.
The conviction of the sending caused Alessan to shiver. “I have no influence here, C’Aelis. Master Praxxus won’t heed any warning from me, or from anyone else for that matter!”
Then you are already lost, Alessan of the Oakleaf Clan, C’Aelis replied sadly.
“What?!” he cried in despair. “Then come with me, C’Aelis. Come speak to the man. He can’t ignore such a warning if it comes directly from you.”
I cannot. The people of this shattered world may react quite violently and out of fear. This is a place of legend and foreboding among your people.
“I didn’t react that way,” Alessan replied in exasperation.
I believe your life experiences have tempered your judgment of others. I know from your thoughts that you have always frowned upon those who judge on appearance alone. You are different, Alessan, C’Aelis added with a warm smile.
“But —”
I also believe that my fate does not lie entwined with that of the men and women you travel with. It is your task, if you are willing, to speak with Corian Praxxus. He knows me, Alessan. He has seen me twice now. Once when we met near the banks of the Da’fil, and also when I fought near the homestead of your people. He will believe —
In mid-sentence, C’Aelis suddenly jumped to his feet. Greiyfois growled deeply and immediately raced off into the woods.
The Watchtower! The wards have been activated! The words screamed through Alessan’s mind, the pain whelming him to his knees. Crying out, Alessan looked at C’Aelis and saw a panicked look within his emerald eyes.
My apologies Alessan, but I must go. Ancient wards have been reactivated, wards that should never have been touched. Keep heart, and do what must be done to convince the merchant of my warning.
“I will try,” Alessan responded with uncertainty.
If all else fails, ask him about Inigan.
“Who is Inigan?” Alessan posed the question, but C’Aelis had disappeared. Sinking to his knees, he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.
Wondering how he would approach the coming dawn, he suddenly wished he was back at the Black Boar, safe from all the hazards of the world. His sister would be readying herself to entertain the guests, and the gruff Varis would be at her side, skillfully working his cherished lute. Familiar faces and familiar times flashed as if in a vision, and he found solace in the memories.
Alone in the woods that night, Alessan Oakleaf from Briar cried softly. Only the trees of the Aeldenwood stood vigil over his suffering, silent witnesses to a young man’s fears and self-doubt.
The Shield is unlike anything I have ever seen. I cannot help but wonder at the reclusive mages who created such a wondrous thing. It is an artifact birthed during the mighty Age of Legends. I also ponder about the future of ruined Caledun. That such powerful magic can be wielded by one faction sets my nerves on edge. What the Silveryn mages could do if they so decided…
—Lord Crispin, The Explorers, Volume III
Chapter XVII
Erienn Mountain Range, Sanctuary of the Silveryn Order
Bider knew exactly why he had been designated part of the support company on the expedition to Dragon Mount. He didn’t like the reasoning behind it one bit, yet despite his injury, here he was riding his mount northeast through the foothills of the Erienn mountain range.
They had seen something that day in the woods north of the Galen’hide, but Gavin Silveron denied the truth of the matter. According to the Captain, the assassin had tumbled off one of the rocky ledges that dotted the Aeldenwood and disappeared into the rough foothills below. For the first time since joining the company, Bider found himself doubting his brooding captain.
Bider expected most of the men would laugh and ignore the impossible story. The Aeldenwood was unsafe because of the Gath, but the idea of a walking mound of earth and vegetation was preposterous. Captain Silveron’s corroboration would bring immediate credibility to the tale, and possibly unsettle the men. For that reason, and that reason alone, Bider continued to hold his tongue and avoid his commander.
And so, with his arm in a sling for a few days now, he slumped wearily in his saddle. The trek to Dragon Mount had been a yearly tradition for the new recruits of the Fey’Derin. As far as he knew, the Fey were the only mercenaries who dealt with the secluded mages of the high mountain. The Silveryn Order had long ago pulled their forces from the battlefields of Kal Maran, citing the use of magic in battle as immoral, dishonourable, and a perversion of the study of magecraft. Over the past century, the Order had slipped even further into obscurity. Once a thriving place of culture and education for new mages, it now struggled to find novices to join each year. The halls of Dragon Mount, some whispered, now held more ghosts than living beings.
There was a time when the Silveryn mages had acted as advisors and courtiers to noble families all across the land. Along with the Gorimm, the long-lived practitioners of the arcane held positions of honour and great influence. With the Shattering came drastic changes, and the respected archmages came to be s
een as threats, a hold-over from times of old. In those dark years after the fall of the king, hundreds of mages were hunted down and fell to the sword. In defense of the Order, the Silveryn mages closed their borders, and now covertly seek out only those born with the power.
The purpose of the company’s current journey was ultimately one of protection, albeit a certain amount of discomfort would need to be endured by the newest Fey’Derin recruits. The soldiers were to receive their mark, a magical tattoo cast into the skin and fused with living energy. When a spell was cast, the mark would react, sending a clear signal to the bearer that magic was active in the vicinity. It was this talisman, Bider recalled, that had warned Orn of the approaching mage working with Pier’s Brigade. Although somewhat effective at protecting against minor charms and wards, the tattoo acts as only a warning and is not a magical shield.
With the growing number of renegade mages in the land, Bider was glad to have the charm. Gently rubbing his chest, he grimaced as he remembered his own branding. The visit to Dragon Mount was the final initiation at the end of a Fey’Derin recruit’s probationary period. Once completed, the veterans had a duty to welcome all into their brotherhood.
Bider scanned the sky and cursed at a large gathering of slow moving dark clouds, harbingers of another blasted winter storm. He twisted in his saddle and donned a second thick cloak. No sense freezing to death with the journey only just begun.
Gavin was aware he had lost the trust of the soldier fast becoming one of the Eagle Runners best scouts. Coren D’Elmark was also one of the few men Orn Surefoot seemed to have a connection with. When the two scouts were paired together, Gavin could see that Ethan rested comfortably in the knowledge that the one-time thief would keep the problematic Orn under control.
Coren had started giving him dark stares, as well as doggedly evading his every attempt to talk the matter through. He could see that that the scout was wrestling with what had transpired in the forest. Regardless of the cost, Gavin was determined to keep the event under wraps. Caolte, for one, would have too many questions regarding the strange creature’s appearance. The captain and lieutenant had a long-running debate over the Aeldenwood’s many dangers, and Gavin had no desire to renew the quarrel.
