“It is beautiful, in its own way,” Deryn said as he flitted over to see about his worried friend. “It feels both hidden and forgotten all at the same time.”
“I am sure the falls would detour intruders,” Cal replied. “Though I am not sure why the markings led us here … there is nowhere else to go that I can see.”
He surveyed the surroundings, his eyes searching the small grove of stunted and crooked cedars, tracing the lines of the grasses and the white and violet flowering herbs towards the cascading waters, when something bright and glowing caught his eye.
“What in the name of the THREE who is SEVEN?” Cal said aloud.
“Did you find something?” Astyræ called out.
“What? What is it Cal?” Deryn asked, flitting up to meet his gaze and see whatever it was Cal could see.
“I found it,” Cal said, the wounds of Farran momentarily forgotten.
“What did you find?” Deryn asked excitedly.
“The way.”
Chapter Seventeen
Days passed ever-so-slowly in the dark silence of the prison hold. Very little love did the guardsmen of the colony have for Yasen and his men, and even less love did they show him these last days, now that she was here.
Yasen reached up to touch his bloodied and swollen lip, his fingers gingerly surveying the damage of this past day’s beatings.
“Oh, if Hollis could see you now,” he grunted and winced against the pain. Just then, his stomach roiled and growled angrily. He could not rightly remember when last he had a proper meal, let alone a crust of bread to assuage his unhappy hunger. He spat fresh blood onto the cold floor of the cell, when he heard a commotion of voices out from beyond his prison.
“She is not happy with this lack of progress, Pyrrhus!” Seig said in a growl as he held the fire knight by the threads of his tunic. “And I will not have her, my queen, our queen, dissatisfied.”
“Yes, my lord,” Pyrrhus said apologetically. The anger and rage that had earned him his name were all but ashes now in the light of this new power that had come for them. “But he won’t speak. He won’t tell us anything about where his men went off to.”
“Well then, apply pressure! Or do I need to demonstrate again what it is I mean by that?” Seig growled.
“No, Governor,” Pyrrhus said.
“The Raveness will return any day now from Aerebus, her reserved strength marshaled from the bowels of the Hekate’ to usher in this gift of a new light,” Seig reminded him. “And what did she ask in return for such generosity?”
“Only our colony’s complete loyalty and allegiance, my Governor,” Pyrrhus replied.
“Our complete loyalty, yes exactly,” Seig went on. “But let me ask you this,” he released his grip on Pyrrhus' tunic and turned in a dramatic fashion to survey the square at the center of the stronghold. “Does it look like our colony has delivered her request?”
“No, my lord,” Pyrrhus admitted.
“No, it does not!” Seig seethed. “In fact, the only woodcutter that we have even seen in these last dozen days is locked behind the bars of the prison hold and leading us nowhere!”
“I know, my lord, but he won’t tell me where they have gone off to,” the fire knight argued.
“Do you think she will care to hear your excuses? Do you think her dragons, who have devoured nearly all of our livestock and horses, will be stayed by our failed attempts and poor efforts?” Seig said, his finger pressing violently into the mail upon his guardsman’s chest.
“No, my lord,” Pyrrhus said as he stole a wary glance at the ashen faces of the company of her guard that stood there in the center of the square.
“She will return any day now,” Seig concluded. “Get him to talk before her dragons have a taste for something other than oxen and horses.” With that the governor strode off angrily in the direction of his own quarters, bowing in exaggerated reverence to the twin serpents as he left.
Pyrrhus wiped the sweat from his brow with his remaining hand, embarrassment boiling over into rage at the belittlement he felt. He marched deliberately towards the iron bars of the prison hold, and as he arrived he slammed the hilt of his blade with a loud clang against the metal of the bars.
“It will not be me she feeds to those monsters,” Pyrrhus growled. “I will not pay for your insolence, woodcutter.”
“I am not asking for you to pay for anything,” Yasen said as he rose to his feet, “but, I won’t tell you … because I don’t know.” Yasen looked into Pyrrhus’ eyes and said the words as if he had spoken them a thousand times already.
“You know, alright,” Pyrrhus argued. “I was there that day, remember? That day her ravens dragged that damned ship upon these damned shores. I saw you and your man talking about seeking the light, and all the while none of your brothers were anywhere to be seen.”
“What do you want me to say, Pyrrhus?” Yasen asked as he held a hand to his swollen side. “I don’t know where they went, and even if I did, I wouldn’t turn them over to you, or Seig, or the Raven Queen, as you call her. She is not my queen, and I would not, for all the timber in all the land, bend a knee to her will.”
“You don’t know what she is capable of,” Pyrrhus said, his face ghostly white in the firelight of the braziers. “I have seen her command her carrion, as they tore one of your men into a thousand bloodied pieces at the flick of her vile finger. Do not believe that these soldiers of hers are the pinnacle of her strength. She will return, and God help us all when she does.”
“We have all seen our share of witches, Pyrrhus, or do you not remember the Isle?” Yasen said in mockery. “And we escaped both her wrath and her snare. What is one more witch upon our journey, huh? Are you bullied into submission by a few birds and a dozen soldiers? I thought you were a knight of Haven.”
“There is no more Haven, woodcutter,” he said in exhausted, lifeless defense. “There are only those who are for the Raven Queen and those who are against her. And mark my words, Yasen … all will bend the knee to her; if only half of what she boasts is true, you will not be the last to do so.”
Yasen lowered himself gingerly to the dirt floor of his cell. “I think not. But in any case, I don’t know where the woodcutters have gone, so you can leave me be and go about your finding them another way.”
“You do know,” Pyrrhus growled as he leaned his oily, angered face into the bars. “You said it before, that day … only I can’t remember the word. I know it is north. You didn’t think I was paying attention, but a man can remember much when he puts his mind to it. “
Yasen looked up, his eyes showing his alarm at this sudden revelation.
“I am right! Your face betrays you, woodcutter,” the fire knight said with a studying stare. “I have not guessed far from the truth, and that is something.”
“Do you really think this queen of yours is going to be happy with such a vague answer as ‘north’?” Yasen argued.
“Oh, I’ll remember it alright. I’ve remembered this much, haven’t I? I am sure the rest will come to me in due time.” Pyrrhus said, gloating at the prospect of both pleasing the governor and distressing Yasen all at the same time.
The air erupted with the sound of a low, soul-chilling horn blast; once, twice, and then six horrific times in a row. “What in the damnable dark is that?” Yasen said, laboriously rising back to his feet.
“She has returned,” Pyrrhus said, swallowing his fear against the bile that churned in his stomach. “God help us all, woodcutter, she has returned,” the knight whirled about, his tattered, green cloak catching the air about him. He barked orders to his fellow guardsmen, and their faces betrayed their own fear.
The few dozen Nocturnal soldiers in the courtyard rose to their feet, their faces ashen and emotionless, shadows of their former humanity. Their sickly-green eyes were aglow with the obedience they offered to her.
“Do they not see?” Yasen said to the darkness about him. “Were they not men once? With hearts and minds of their own?
How do they not see the brightness they have forfeited to gain the sight of her world?”
Her soldiers marched in formation towards the timber gates of the stronghold, and Yasen watched in horror as they broke their line to receive their mistress. Seig and the rest of his guardsmen stood upon the platform of the square, the banners of the colony and the braziers of the watch fires dancing in the chilled, wild winds of the Wreath.
Rank after rank of the raven army poured into the timber walls. Their standards, lit with the sickly-green torch light that crowned the bannerman’s pole, pictured a white raven on a black field.
Her soldiers snapped into formation, their unpolished armor and blackened blades held in a stoic salute as a storm of green-eyed ravens drew a chariot upon their winged wickedness into the center of the parade line.
The driver, the very same who held the helm of the hijacked ship, screeched out his command in a soul-chilling voice to the murder of crows. With that, the obsidian-wheeled chariot came to a halt.
Nogcwren stepped gracefully down from her transport. The dark, onyx train of her feathered dress gave her an almost floating quality. Her black-steeled bodice clung to her frame while a crown of ravens’ feathers encircled the ever-changing ink markings that writhed and morphed upon her slender, pale neck.
Yasen saw that there was a yellow in her eyes, one reminiscent of the lady of the Isle Dušana. And yet, this was not an evil veiled; it was scorn on full and defiant display, and he shuddered in fear at the very sight of her foreboding presence.
Seig rose to his feet from his seat upon the platform, a lord turned vassal in the presence of her intoxicating power. He spoke loud enough for all to hear, “My Queen.” He bowed his head and splayed his arms in a dramatic gesture, “We are delighted for your return, and my colony welcomes you, yet again.”
She looked at him, not with malice but rather with triumphant pity. “My dear Seig, have you forgotten already?” she said, her voice as seductive as silk upon bare flesh.
“My Queen?” he asked, rather confused by her question.
“This is not your colony; this is but an outpost of my Nocturnal kingdom.” With that, she raised her scepter and pointed it towards the governor. The air about them cracked with her witchcraft as she forced him to his knees.
Seig dropped, his large hands barely catching the ground before he fell to his face. “Forgive me, Raveness, I did not mean—"
“Good,” she silenced his stumbling apology.
The guardsmen looked wide-eyed in horror, though not in surprise, for they had seen her display of malice there upon the shoreline before.
“My Queen,” Seig managed, breathless from her powerful blow. “What would you have of me?”
She seemed to glide upon the ground as she strode triumphantly towards her now-humbled servant. “Arise,” she purred as she beckoned him with a ringed finger.
He leapt up from his prostrated position, as if some marionette master had yanked upon hidden strings, until he stood tall before her.
“Have you brought to me the rest of your colony, like I have asked you to do?” she said, examining the gathered forces around her. “It looks as if our reception is rather poorly attended.”
Seig swallowed hard against the fear that threatened to steal his voice. “I have found and sequestered one of the woodcutters, Raveness.”
“One?” she asked, her thin, black eyebrows rose. “Just one?”
“Yes… but he is—"
“I did not ask for one of your woodcutters. Not five, nor a dozen,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice was cold, but it was not without decorum. “I asked for all of them, Governor. If one intended to rule all of Aiénor, wouldn’t it stand to reason that all of Aiénor would need to be presented to their new ruler?”
“Yes, Raveness,” Seig managed.
“Then bring them to me!” she railed in anger. “This was your first assignment.” She came closer to him, her black-nailed hands tracing the collar line of his shirt. “Was it not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have failed, Governor.” Her voice grew colder by the moment.
“Yes,” he stammered his response. “But … we have their chieftain.” Her eyes brightened at his words. “And I am quite sure he will point us towards our quarry. That is, if we ask the right questions.” His confidence was beginning to return as her attention turned away from him and towards the woodcutter in the prison hold.
“Pyrrhus,” Seig called.
The fire knight stepped forward, his remaining arm crossing his chest in salute. “Yes, Governor,” he answered warily.
“Tell us of the fruits of your interrogation. Our queen is eager to know of the woodcutters’ whereabouts.” Seig dusted the dirt from his tunic as he spoke condescendingly to the knight.
“Of course, my lord,” Pyrrhus answered nervously. “He … he said they went north.”
Her head snapped in his direction like the strike from a serpent. “North? Where north, fire knight? My Nocturnals have patrolled these lands for years. It would be helpful if you could be a little more specific as to where exactly north they might have gone?”
“He wouldn’t say, Raveness,” Pyrrhus replied.
“Perhaps I should have asked a man with two arms to do this kind of job,” Seig interjected.
“I asked every way I know how, but he won’t loose his tongue.” Pyrrhus shot back, fear and disgust roiling in his eyes. “He is there in the prison hold if you would like to ask him for yourself.”
“Captain Durai,” Nogcwren ordered. “Bring the woodcutter to me.”
“Yes, my Queen,” the green-eyed captain responded. With that, he and three others of his company broke their ranks and headed off in the direction of the prison hold.
Yasen watched as the small consort of Raven soldiers marched deliberately to where he sat in irons inside of the wooden cell. “Oh, Keily girl,” he exhaled with resignation as he thought of his love. “God help us all.”
“Woodcutter?” came the throaty, creaking voice of the large captain. He was dressed in a grey tunic, with an armored breastplate that was as black as the surrounding darkness, and his skin seemed as ashen as the spent coals of a long-forgotten fire.
“Aye,” Yasen said matter-of-factly. “I am one, yes.”
“Your presence has been requested by the Queen of Aiénor,” Durai ordered.
“The Queen of Aiénor?” Yasen argued. “I’ve never heard of such a person.”
The captain nodded to his escort and, with the swift clang of a sword hilt, the lock that had held him both captive and safe released its hold. “She is waiting.”
Two soldiers rushed into the small cell and grabbed the bruised and beaten woodcutter under his arms, dragging him to his feet. Yasen winced, taking in a painful gasp of air as his aching ribs protested the movement. “What does she want with me?” he growled.
“We will all find out soon enough, won’t we?” Durai said with a sinister grin.
They dragged him halfway across the square of the stronghold, at a pace he could not keep up with, until with labored breath and sweat-soaked brow he stood before the gathering of guardsmen and guests alike.
“My Queen,” Seig said with a flourish, “I present the woodcutter you have requested.”
Yasen turned his head and met the gaze of the former governor, his eyes asking the confused questions that his lips dare not.
“I see,” she said, studying Yasen for a moment. “No wonder he told you nothing, Governor. His spirit, unlike yours, has not yet been broken. Tell me, woodcutter, do you always stand with such disrespect in the presence of power?”
Durai came up from behind Yasen and swept his legs out from underneath him with a violent swing of his spear. Yasen grunted in wounded protest as his knees crashed upon the ground, his hands still bound in irons.
“Your Queen is addressing you, woodcutter,” Seig said quietly. “Pay her the homage she is due and let’s be done with this charade.”
&nb
sp; Yasen raised his head, his lone eye meeting the yellowed fire in her own. “You are no queen of mine,” he told her.
“Yasen!” Pyrrhus shouted in a whisper. “What are you doing, you fool!”
“Yasen, is it?” Nogcwren cooed. “My governor here tells me that you are the chieftain of your people, mighty with an axe.”
Yasen just stared, refusing to take whatever bait it was that she was looking to trap him with.
“Are you not?” she asked, an edge ever-so-slightly coloring the tone of her voice this time.
He stared defiantly, all the while praying in his mind.
Her sickly, yellowed gaze never left his for a moment, and so it was without warning that the thunderous clash of mail-covered fists upon the tender side of his ribs sent an explosion of pain through his already weary body.
Yasen coughed and sputtered, doubled over in the dust, a sticky trail of saliva and blood clinging to his battered face.
“Are you not the chieftain of these woodcutters?” she asked again.
“I am,” he managed as he coughed against the pain. “What do you want with me? Let’s be done with it already.”
“What do I want with you?” she asked as she tore her gaze from the crumpled woodcutter and fixed it now upon each and every man of Haven. “I want the same thing that I have always wanted.” She paused and let her gaze rest again upon the tall and still proud governor of Haven, before she spoke. “Aiénor.”
“Well then, take it already,” Yasen said as he struggled to rise to his feet. “You’ve taken Haven, or at least that is what Pyrrhus tells me. You’ve got more blades than we do, that is plain enough. What do you need a broken, one-eyed woodcutter for?” He spat the blood from his mouth and wiped tentatively at his lip with a sodden sleeve. “Looks to me like there aren’t many who could stand in your way.”
“My Queen,” Seig tried to apologize, motioning at Pyrrhus to enforce the homage this woodcutter refused to display.
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 13
