“Terriah?” Celrod said in wonder. “Then … then it must be a thousand years old, this place.”
“Four hundred and sixty-three years old,” the giant answered proudly. “That is if me remembers rightly. It was built by the first king, and he told me father’s father to care for it, and to keep a sharp eye for all who wanted passage through its gate.” The giant sighed a deep, saddened sigh as he continued. “And that’s what me father’s father, and me father, and me did … until those Ravens stole their way through.”
“What was it for?” Michael asked. “I mean, why … why did the King of Terriah build this place out here in the midst of these mountains?”
“Why … to guard against the wilderness is why, boy,” Vŏlker said matter-of-factly.
“The wilderness?” Michael asked sincerely.
“Are ye daft?” Vŏlker said incredulously as he lowered Georgina to the ground. “Just beyond that gate is the only stretch of land in all the world that connects our part of it to their part of it.”
“What are you talking about, master giant?” Celrod asked in earnest.
Vŏlker sat down and furrowed his sizable brow, confused at these strangers who did not know the makeup of their own homelands. “Out there,” he said as he pointed to the west, “is nothing but the black waters of the Dark Sea, for as far as ye can behold; but there is… this one strip of land that connects the wilderness of the west to this, me home.”
“So the Ravens, then … they came from the wilderness?” Fryon asked.
“Aye, murdering me HlÍf,” Volker growled.
“And burning our city and killing our brothers,” Timorets chimed in.
“Me swears by the bones of King Æðelric, that when those damned Ravens turn feather and head for their home, vengeance will be mine!” The giant pounded the ground below him.
“They are coming back?” asked Georgina, frightened at the thought.
“Vŏlker?” the lady Margarid asked, kindly trying to discourage this kind of conversation as she walked closer to the seated giant. “Is there a fire inside, some place for us to warm our tired bones and rest our tired feet? We have been walking for days upon days and have not received the slightest bit of hospitality from anyone.”
“She is right,” Michael agreed. “We would be grateful if we could rest a bit, at least until we gather our strength for the rest of the journey.”
Vŏlker thought on their words as a sad smile broke out upon his bearded face. “Me sad that me HlÍf is not here to meet ye; she always wanted to have a visitor or two.” He rose to his feet and dusted off his large pants. “Aye, there is a hearth inside, big enough to roast a whole bull on a single spit, it is … if there were still bulls in these rock lands to hunt. Ye all can rest. And then, when yer bones are less weary, ye can tell me where it is ye are journeying to.”
“Aye,” Michael said as he placed a friendly hand upon the leg of the giant.
“Thank you, master giant.” Margarid said. “My friends and I are grateful, indeed.”
“Alright, then,” he said, blushing at the gratitude of this tiny, auburn-haired woman. “Warm yer bones and rest yer feet.”
The giant led them through a tall door opening just to the left of the large, iron gate. They walked up a flight of steps that ran parallel to a few enormously deep steps, which Vŏlker ascended with little effort. Finally, he led them into a massive hall with a roaring fire burning in its oversized hearth.
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” Georgina exclaimed as the warmth met the coldness of her cheeks.
“It is, indeed,” Michael said, feeling the strength returning to his road-weary body.
“Aye,” Vŏlker said as he surveyed these strangers. “Me have a blanket, maybe two that ye can use; but we are all out of straw since the animals are gone.”
“Thank you,” Margarid said with a smile.
“Ye can sleep here if it suits ye,” He piled the old, patchwork blankets near the hearth. He looked into their eyes and knew that indeed these were the good kind of people in this darkened world. “Alright then … get some rest.”
And with that, the giant left the hall, walking up the back spiral stairs into his bedchamber in the tower above them.
“Do you think this is safe?” Harmier asked warily.
“He could have killed us a hundred times over already,” Fryon said.
“Agreed,” said Celrod. “We are not his enemy.”
Margarid looked about, her eyes tracing the beautifully carved stone, the craftsmanship of the cobbled floors and ornate masonry about the roaring fire. “Can you believe this place? I do wish Engelmann could see it. Do you think he knew someplace like this existed in the world?”
Michael came over to her, and took her slender frame in his arms. “I think he knew a lot more about Aiénor than we could even begin to guess.”
“Margarid?” the little girl asked.
She lifted her head from Michael’s shoulder and found the worried eyes of Georgina. “Yes, dear?”
“What happens if they come back?” she said nervously. “The Ravens, I mean.”
“We will be safe here, girl,” Michael tried to intervene. “These walls are big, and besides, we have a giant that is looking out for us now.”
“It wasn’t safe for his HlÍf, was it though?” she said as tears began to stream down her face.
Margarid looked up at Michael, telling him with her eyes that she would handle this from here on out. She walked over to the little girl, laying down beside her and holding her close. “You are right, but things are different for us here.”
“Oh?” Georgina asked through muffled tears. “How so?”
“The giant has us looking out for him, too,” Margarid said as she kissed the top of her head. “Now, don’t worry. It is high time we all get some rest.”
The remnant of Haven slept deep and well, their bodies far beyond the point of exhaustion. There, in the hall of the Halvard, by the light of its great hearth, they found peace.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Michael woke with a startle, fully expecting to have slept long past his appointed watch at camp. When his eyes acclimated to the warm glow of the room, he let out a relieved breath and wiped the sleep out of his eyes.
“Me trust ye slept well, Michael.” Vŏlker said as he tended a delightful smelling cauldron by the fire.
“Huh,” Michael said with a lilt to his voice. “That is probably the first real sleep any of us has had in far too many days. Thank you, Vŏlker, for your hospitality.”
“Me HlÍf would have had it no other way,” he said, his eyes still red with fresh tears in them. “Besides, a friend can be found if our enemies are the same, aye?”
Michael patted his enormous back as he peered over to look into the fire at what the giant was stirring. “That smells good. What is that, there?” he asked hungrily.
“There is not much meat here in the Halvard, not much by way of food really at all; just some dried corn and beans and some fish that me salted some time ago,” Vŏlker told him. “But what we lack in vittles, we more than make up for in wine. See, the first king had a great cellar filled to overflowing with barrels upon barrels of it.”
“Wine?” Michael asked excitedly.
“Aye, good wine at that,” he said with a wink. “And with a few of me HlÍf's tricks and spices, well … me thought this would warm ye and yer friends right to yer toes. Besides … it seems like such a waste to dirty her mulling pot for just meself.”
“Thank you, Vŏlker. I thank the THREE who is SEVEN that my friends and I happened upon you; though I am sad for the circumstances of it all,” Michael told him as he reached out his hands to accept the horn of mulled wine that the giant offered him.
“Circumstances, indeed,” the giant said as he wiped his sniffling nose on the woolen sleeve of his tunic.
“Tell me this,” Vŏlker said after a long, silent moment between them. “Where are ye and yer kind headed to? Hundreds of years have gone by si
nce we have seen a single soul out here in the pass. And now, since the whole damn world went dark, there is not much friendly in these parts.”
Michael took a sip of his steaming wine, color and life coursing through his body with the fantastic, fragrant flavors of this small gift. “North,” he said with an unsure sigh.
“North?” Vŏlker tried to understand. “Just … north?”
“A friend, a teacher really, died saving us from the Ravens,” Michael began to tell the giant. “A great magic was in him, and it is by that same magic that we are alive today.” Michael heard the room stirring as his friends began to wake from their much-needed sleep. “The last thing he told us, before the magic left him, was to go north. And so, we have gone north.”
Vŏlker thought on his story as the rest of Michael’s friends came towards the sweet, warm smells of his HlÍf's mulling pot. He smiled and poured horn after horn of the warm drink, receiving the gratitude of these strangers. For the first time Vŏlker could remember, this great hall of his home felt alive and full and vibrant with laughter, just as he thought a great hall should feel.
“Thank you, master giant,” Georgina said with a wide smile as she took the smallest of horns to drink from.
“Indeed, little one,” Vŏlker said with a smile in return.
He let out a decided huff and rose to his feet, towering three times over the tallest of them. “Me don’t know yer friend and teacher, but me doesn’t think there is much more beyond these walls that is worth risking your necks to find.”
The remnant looked at one another, curious as to what this giant was trying to say.
Vŏlker grumbled to himself, frustrated that his point was not being understood. “Halvard is big enough for me and the whole lot of ye, too. This may not be North enough for ye … but … ye can make it home for as long as ye like.”
Margarid gave him a grin and a grateful nod of her head. “That might be the happiest news any of us has heard in months.”
The remnant and the giant spent the better part of the day sharing stories and touring the inner chambers of the mighty stone keep. In what had once been a great kitchen, Fryon discovered a fountain where cool, clear water spilled over into a stone carved pool. It stood in front of a row of bricked ovens that, in their former glory, had baked bread for the men who had once been stationed here.
Barracks and washrooms, now mostly empty storehouses, were all found on the opposite side of the large gate, but it was the small stable that filled the remnant with the most hope.
“Goats!” Portus exclaimed when he happened upon it. “All is not lost after all!”
“Aye,” Vŏlker said with pride in his eyes. “And there be a hog or two; though they are too skinny these days. Me HlÍf milked the goats and managed to make cheese after a while… but Me is ashamed to say it; Me don’t rightly know how to do much more than feed ‘em and eat 'em.”
“Well, don’t you worry then master giant,” Michael said with a hopeful smile. “We will tend to them for you; we might even find a way to fatten them up a bit.”
Their spirits rose over the next days. The women tended to the few animals and saw to the arranging of the supplies and beds within the old castle; the men brought what wood, roots, berries, and brambles they could scavenge from around the surrounding land.
Timorets was especially pleased when he came upon a great hive of bees hidden within the rotting trunk of an old gnarled hemlock tree, just beyond the north side of the great gate. He clothed himself from head to toe and with great effort he managed to remove a sizable piece of the comb from the angry swarm of bees. “Mead!” he told his friends through a swollen smile, punctuated by the stings he had received for such a prize. “I’ll make us the finest mead this keep has ever seen!”
Laughter and hope were nearly palpable in the air about them as they all explored and worked hard through the glow of their violet hope. Singing could be heard throughout the halls, and even Vŏlker joined in on the unexpected merriment.
Celrod found a small room at the top of the eastern tower, its shelves lined with scrolls and tomes from the people of Terriah. He spent his time pouring over the ancient words, fascinated to learn of all that had befallen them.
“Did you know that this place was first meant to guard against the Mågąn, Vŏlker’s kind?” the old schoolmaster explained. “The first king thought them too hostile, and was afraid they would indeed wage war upon their settlement out here in the mountains. But after years of peace, he opened its leagues to befriend the giants.”
“I can see why they were afraid at first,” Harmier said, still rather uncomfortable with the notion of giants living in this previously uncomplicated world of his. “But I am glad they are the peaceful kind of giants.”
And so it was that as the days went on, the hospitality of the first king was still beating true within the heart of this outpost as the ancient friendship was rekindled between Mågąn and men.
“Michael,” Vŏlker said one day, happy to have these people of Haven living in his home. “Me would like to show ye something.” He led Michael and Fryon up the spiral stairs, past his own bedchamber, and into the lowest room of the western tower.
“Me can’t rightly fit in there, but… me never really had a need to. But ye and yer kind might could use some of it.” He pointed to an iron-clad, wooden door.
Michael and Fryon looked each to the other, curiosity dancing upon their hopeful faces. “What is in there, Vŏlker?” Michael asked.
“Go on, then, and see for yerselves,” the giant urged.
Fryon pulled hard against the iron hinge that had been little used for ages, and as the door swung noisily open, what they beheld filled their hearts with promise.
“I was wondering, you know,” Fryon said to Michael as the two of them entered the armory of the ancient keep. “Though I was afraid to ask, being that we are guests and all.”
“Can you believe it?” Michael asked as the bronze colored armor caught and reflected the light of the flickering torches. “Vŏlker!” Michael shouted back through the opened door and into the stairwell. “There must be a dozen suits of armor and nearly twice that in spears and bows.” He removed the oiled skins that covered their deadly points.
“Aye!” Vŏlker replied. “Though me doubts that any would have fit me or me HlÍf!” he said with a laugh.
Fryon had found nearly a dozen quivers of arrows, with faded fletching that had once been dyed a brilliant yellow.
“I have seen this kind before,” Michael said to Fryon. “There, look… the armor. It looks like folded, bronzed feathers. Cal was wearing the very same kind when he and I rode to Abondale, before the fall. I thought it looked strange, nothing like the armor of Haven’s guardsmen. It felt odd, peculiarly out of place … now I know why.”
“You don’t think he was here before, do you?” Fryon asked.
“No, not here,” Michael mused. “But surely he must have found this other place Vŏlker spoke of.”
“Come on, we had better tell the others—" Fryon’s words fell short as an all-too-familiar sound stole the excitement from his mouth.
BAROOM.
The loud, sickening bellow sounded: the horns of the Raven Army.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ever since Pyrrhus had watched the two dragons rip the woodcutter in two, he had not been able to manage to keep much more than bread from churning violently in the restless bile of his worried bowels.
He rode with a few of his knights and Yasen as they searched the wooded wilderness, searching along the tree line of the woodcutter’s vanguard.
“Captain!” came the shouted excitement of one of Pyrrhus’ mounted guardsmen.
“What is it?” the fire knight said, with little excitement in his voice.
“We have found something,” the guardsmen offered.
Pyrrhus looked over to Yasen. The face of the North Wolf showed little emotion since those damned dragons breathed their witchery over him. He mistrusted Yasen, the
Raven Queen, and this whole unsettling business; but he knew he too had much work to do if he was going to fall back into the good graces of the lot of them.
“Does this look familiar, North Wolf?” Pyrrhus said with exasperation.
Yasen looked about and saw the mouth of the cave where once the girl and Goran had been sent to hide. “Aye, it does,” he offered blankly.
“Well, well … now the dog has the scent, huh?” the fire knight quipped. “Come on, let’s be done with this already. I don’t know why my men and I are the ones who have to retrieve before we get our reward. You are the damned dog who let them loose to begin with.” He growled as he spoke, still wounded in more places than his flesh.
They rode cautiously up to the inhospitable cave, its blackness extending into the depths. “Do you see that?” one of the guardsmen said with frightened awe. “The torch light … it just disappears in there. No shadows, not even the hint of a flame.”
“They are not here,” Yasen said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, is that so?” Pyrrhus said as he puffed out his chest and bumped Yasen with the stump of his arm.
“Aye,” Yasen said as his one eye met the maddened gaze of the fire knight. “And no, I don’t know where they are, but I do know they are no longer here in this cave.”
“And just how convenient is that?” Pyrrhus jabbed. “For all we know they could be lying in wait, right there beyond the mouth of the cave itself. “
“By all means, please feel free to explore and waste our Queen’s precious time,” Yasen said flatly. “Ah … but then, you have not been given this gift of sight yet, have you?” he said with contempt in his voice. “Who is the dog here, fire knight? The one who does his master’s bidding, or the one who still begs for scraps from the table of her favor?”
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 18
