Again, something echoed in the back of his mind. Some part of the thief begged him to listen to the king. But it was the gold. It glittered. And he longed to take it.
The thief reached out his hand.
3
Coe and the company found a barren campsite: a burnt out fire, something black and picked over, rotting above it on a spit. Thoughtfully made traps surrounded the perimeter. One was torn and mangled, the leftover bones of a rabbit scattered there, one that had made easy prey for a wolf once it was caught in the trap.
To Coe’s word, there was no castle on the mountainside, nothing but rocks and the beginnings of a winter snowcap.
The ranger took Rotrick aside while Two-finger and Wellspoken rebuilt the fire. The two rangers spoke quietly. Their words were lost to the wind.
Days passed and then a week and then another. They gathered mushrooms and other vegetation. Rotrick shot a deer with his bow, and they ate a feast one night. There were always two eyes on the mountain, often more. Even in the dead of night, Coe studied the blank peak, watching for a light or a shadow, anything to indicate a change from the status quo.
This was what being a ranger was: lots of waiting for things to happen. And when they finally did happen, they were usually over far too quickly. And it was back to waiting once more.
As another week passed, Coe became irritable—even more so than usual. He didn’t remember it taking this long before. Now he had to make a concerted effort to look at the mountain. Other thoughts were plaguing his mind. The chill in the air had become a bit frostier. The ground was hard, and most of the red, yellow, and orange leaves had fallen to the ground. They were all brown now.
Rotrick shot a wild boar. They ate well that night.
The next morning, the smell of bacon and the last remnants of the coffee wafted across the hillside. The feeling was familiar like the new Sunday brunch at the Rotten Apple. But the feeling left him as Coe sauntered to the fire. His band of misfits didn’t look like his band of misfits. It startled him seeing Two-finger’s fine form beside Wellspoken, an elf by the fire.
Rotrick turned over the bacon and smiled up at Coe.
“Don’t know what we’d do without you,” Wellspoken said to Rotrick as Coe walked up. “We’d probably eat those squirrels Coe likes to catch.”
“Aye, but I likes ‘em, squirrels that is,” Two-finger said.
“Well, at least one of you thinks I’m useful.” Rotrick put eyes on Coe but then buried them in his work, the bacon on the fire. “Unlike others,” he muttered to himself.
“I do find you useful,” Coe said. “It’s just best not to show all our cards.”
“That ain’t what ya said last we was playin’ poker,” Two-finger argued.
Rotrick and Wellspoken laughed despite themselves.
“You know you still sound like a dwarf,” Coe said. “You couldn’t have maybe worked on that, this last month?”
“Ya never said—”
“I shouldn’t have had to. You’re not to talk when we meet the Great Ranger. You’ll give us away for sure.”
Coe took a slice of bacon as Rotrick pulled the pan from over the fire. It was hot, and grease was still popping, made worse to his fingers by the crisp morning air. He dropped it back in the pan and went to put his burnt fingers in his mouth to soothe them. That was when he saw it, the castle on the mountain.
“Sh—”
“It’s there,” Rotrick said, looking up from the fire. “The castle, it’s there now.”
A cloud hung between the highest towers. But the castle was there, plain as day, a fortress made of the same sand and stone as the rock around it.
“I can see that,” Coe said hastily. “Pack your gear. Let’s go.”
Rotrick stood. It didn’t have much effect, him looking very much like a Rotrick sized dwarf. “I'll only ask this one last time,” he said, his eyes searching Coe’s face. “You're sure you don't need me, you don’t want me up at the castle? I have to stay hidden?”
Coe nodded without speaking a word, biting his lip. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
4
Coe kept thinking that maybe the castle would disappear. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, not once, as they made their way up the mountain, climbing. The trees became sparse and then finally vanished away completely. The hawks and other birds became like a memory. No sound, not even that of the wind, found a passage to their ears. Two-finger eventually got used to the idea of not talking, but it took him a while. Every time they even thought he was about to make a peep, Coe or Wellspoken shushed him.
The gate was open. The party stepped into the dusty courtyard inside the walls of the castle. There was no grass, no greenery at all, not even a statue, no token vestige of what had once been inside the castle walls. The air was stagnant as if it too was forgotten until this day, the day the castle had reappeared from nowhere.
Eerie quiet met them. Even the wind was quiet. Coe had to keep checking to ensure that the dwarves, though they didn’t look like dwarves, were still in tow behind him. He looked down to remind himself of what he must look like: a weathered old man. A knobby hand reached out and knocked harshly on the main door to the castle.
There was no answer.
He opened then pushed the door to and looked inside. It was empty.
“Hello?” Coe spoke softly. The word echoed throughout the arched entryway.
They made way to the great hall, hoping to find something, anything. But there were no decorations, no furniture, nothing in the halls or the rooms at all. No one greeted them. The great hall was just an empty room, as empty as the mountain itself, a giant open space with a ceiling as high as an oak tree.
They waited.
“Something’s bound to happen,” Wellspoken said in a cleverly accented elven tongue. “Isn’t it?”
Coe put a finger to his lips and shrugged.
“Hello?” he said again.
Hello, hello, hello, it echoed.
“Come on. Follow me.” Coe led them, stepping cautiously deeper into the castle. “Let’s not get separated. If anything should happen, it should happen to all of us.”
Two-finger and Wellspoken nodded warily.
The better part of the day had passed. The light had faded outside. Coe noticed the candles that stood perched on the windowsills all had pristine wax as if they’d never been lit. Through a passage, they came upon a large room. The room itself seemed to glow from the inside as the dim setting sun reflected from its middle. The room held a large assortment of gold, stacked neatly and high. It glittered, bouncing beams of light from wall to wall.
The three of them stepped swiftly toward it. Well, Two-finger and Wellspoken had stepped hastily, and Coe reacted just in time, pulling the both of them back by the hoods of their traveling cloaks.
“Visitors? How… nice.” A chilling voice rang out from behind them.
The three disguised travelers turned back to see a man standing in the doorway from which they’d entered. He had skin of deep toffee, the natural skin tone of Rotrick and Coe. He wore not a fine suit but a tattered robe of crimson. There was a crown on his head, and it too looked in disrepair, scratched and unpolished. It was most definitely the Great Ranger. He’d done nothing to hide his appearance except grow a bit of a scraggly white beard. His brown eyes met Coe’s.
“I’m sorry,” Coe said. “We mean no harm here. We don’t mean to take what is not ours. We are mere travelers and thought the castle deserted.”
And it probably was, Coe thought—deserted until this very instant when they had entered the room, part of some enchantment notifying the Great Ranger of a presence. Coe remembered it was a witch that had sent the Great Ranger down his foul path. She had either granted him abilities, not unlike her own, or she was still in some sort of league with him.
“I grant you that the castle does seem deserted. But why explore here, to this room? I find it quite… suspicious.”
“To that, I have no
answer,” Coe said earnestly. “As I said, we are but travelers. We saw the castle and hoped for a meal and possibly a bed to sleep tonight. Never did we expect it to be abandoned. And this room, well, it’s almost as if it drew us here from our path.”
The king, that is, the Great Ranger, smiled at this. Coe had said the right things… so far.
“Abandoned? You can see it’s not abandoned. I live here. But my servants, yes, they did abandon me.”
“And may I ask,” Coe said as meekly as was possible, “who you are?”
“I am the ruler of this place, the king if you will. My true name is of little consequence. You may call me Lord or Sire or Sir. It matters little.”
Two-finger began to step backward toward the gold, but Coe grabbed him again.
“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” The Great Ranger motioned to the gold.
“It is,” Coe said. “But it’s not what we’re after. Do you have room for us or not?” Perhaps he said it too harshly.
“The gold. It’s calling to me.” Wellspoken took another step back. Coe thought he heard a bit of the dwarven accent show through, but perhaps he had been listening for it.
“We’re not here for gold,” Coe said rigidly.
“They let you speak for them?” the Great Ranger asked. “You,” he pointed to Two-finger, “do you not have a voice?”
Two-finger looked at Coe, wide-eyed.
“My son does have a voice but no tongue. Please, if you’ll show us some food and comfort, I can tell you our story.”
“Yes,” the Great Ranger said in an unsavory voice. “I think I can do as much.”
The king, the Great Ranger in a ratty disguise, led them back to the Great Hall. And to the amazement of Wellspoken and Two-finger, it was now lit and filled with furniture. There was a grand table laden with foods: bread, cheeses, root vegetables, and a plate with a charred whole fish placed atop leaves of lettuce and other veg.
Coe, however, was not taken aback. This place was enchanted. He had known that before this trip, years ago, when he watched the castle vanish and reappear, then vanish and reappear again. At the time, he had thought there was just a mad old king living inside it and that the king had run away all his subjects and servants. It was only years later, Coe realized that thieves were going missing from the realm. Then he heard tell of a room of gold—ripe for the taking—with a mad old king its only protector. And it was more recent that he had put the whole story together.
Coe had to play his part. He’d never been the best actor, but who was?
“I thought you said you had no servants?”
“That is true,” the Great Ranger said. “I do, however, have a bit of magic at my disposal. So, please, eat up.” This did take Coe aback. He would never suspect the man to be so frivolous with his secrets. “You mentioned a story. That’s what I’d like to hear. How is it your son came to be without speech? And how is it you found your way to my castle?”
They sat at the table and made heaping plates of food from all that was available. The dwarves dug in, as dwarves do. Coe had to give them a look, reminding them both to eat as civilized beings—and not what they were underneath Epik’s spell.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Coe said as wearily as he could manage. He worked out the whole story since the halfling had changed him into an old man. “I’ve not been sincere with you.”
“You haven’t?” The Great Ranger eyed him suspiciously.
“No,” Coe shook his head, “it’s just my son—”
“You mentioned the son, his tongue—”
“No,” Coe said. “Not this son.” He pointed a finger to Two-finger. “I have another son.” Coe sighed deeply. “You see, I raised them both myself. Their mother, she died in childbirth. I raised them as well as I could. But I worked both day and night. Honestly, I didn’t make a good living. I tried, but we fell on hard times. And the boys, well, they both went to thieving to get the things they desired.
“This one, Finniger, was caught in his youth. He may look handsome, but he’s far from a gentleman. He stole from the wrong man. He told this same nobleman the wrong lies. And his tongue was cut out for them. Never will he tell another lie. And never will he steal again.”
Coe gave a Two-finger a look. To the Great Ranger it may have looked like a disapproving father. But its true effect slowed Two-finger’s chewing by half.
“And what of your other son?” the king asked. “Where is he?”
“That is why we’re here. That is what we are hoping you can tell us.” Coe took a sip of the deep red, possibly enchanted wine, hoping no harmful enchantments were plaguing it. His hands stayed knobby, and the false story still parted his lips. “My son, Bill, is a much better thief. As I understand, he became obsessed with a tale of a great treasure, one here that, of course, we now know truly exists. See, I hired this elf, Well… um—Wellum,” Coe said, and Wellspoken nodded. “A tracker, he’s helped lead us here to find Bill who’s been missing some time now.”
Both Two-finger and Wellspoken looked up. Briefly, shock hinted at the edges of their falsely long faces.
“I know," Coe continued, "that if you have caught him here in this castle after your treasure...well, I don't suppose it would be good for him. Do you have him locked in some dungeon? If so, I beg you to return him to my care."
“You beg?” the king, that is, the Great Ranger, scoffed. “It doesn’t look very much like begging. No, not begging at all.”
“Please, sir, what I speak is truth. I just want my son back.”
“Your son,” the Great Ranger leaned back in his chair, “tell me, was he missing an eye?”
Coe nodded.
The Great Ranger’s lips curled into a hint of a smile; he steepled his fingers. “I might be able to help you. That is if you’re willing to help me in return. You see, I offered your son a proposition. One he refused. I will offer your party here the same proposition. And there’s a chance we’ll find your Bill along our way—if you agree.”
“Anything,” Coe said without thinking.
“Excellent.” The Great Ranger brought his hands completely together, conniving.
5
“The gold in that room,” the Great Ranger said, “is a part, a small part, of a much larger treasure—a City of Gold, if you’ll believe me. Most don’t.” He took a sip of wine. And through red lips, he said, “I seek only a small portion of what is there, but what I seek is too much for one man to carry. In return for help in this matter, I offer each member of your party one token, one piece of this treasure for their own. But only one.”
“Has anyone ever taken you up on this offer?” Coe asked.
The Great Ranger unclasped his hands. “How do you think I’ve amassed such a treasure?”
“They do this for only one piece?” Wellspoken couldn’t keep hold of his tongue, but his elven accent was back. “When you get the lot? Couldn’t they just return to this, this City of Gold and get more?”
The edges of the Great Ranger’s smile curled knowingly. “Some men have agreed wholehearted to my terms,” he said. “And some have lost their head or their nerve or both. It’s not that I alone know the whereabouts of this City of Gold. But you see, the gold is enchanted, enchanted in such a way that it makes anyone mad who touches it. Not just mad but fervent with greed and desire. I’m able to lift this curse for one item and one item only. What I have in that room is mine. Your Bill touched the gold and is now under its spell.”
“What sort of spell are we talking?” Coe grimaced inwardly. This wasn’t exactly what he’d asked Billy to do. The dwarf was the best thief he’d ever known. Months before the journey he’d requested Epik Bill’s appearance, asking the dwarf to infiltrate the castle and to get caught attempting to steal this legendary gold. But something had changed. Something had gone wrong.
“Do you know much about spells?” the Great Ranger asked skeptically.
“No,” Coe said, thinking better. “I only know what I’ve heard in pubs and taverns. An
d once, I knew a man come under a witch’s spell. Did her bidding and the like.”
The Great Ranger gritted his teeth but was still smiling.
“Where I’m from we call that marriage,” Wellspoken said.
Again, Coe gave Wellspoken a look. It sounded like something a dwarf would say—not an elf. Wellspoken shushed himself with a loaf of bread.
“Your son now seeks the Golden City. He will walk endlessly, for all days, until he finds it. That is the nature of the spell.”
“And how many have suffered that fate?”
“You ask a lot of questions, my dear man. Tell me, do we have a deal? Will your party accompany me to this city?”
Coe looked around as if questioning their approval. “We have a deal,” Coe said.
“Good,” the Great Ranger nodded. “We’ll leave at dawn. You will find three rooms up the northern tower. I hope they meet your approval.”
In the back of Coe’s mind, he knew that three rooms were made fit for each of them at that moment.
Sleep was like an insolent child, only allowing Coe but a few winks before startling him awake in the dead of night. He lay there on the all too comfortable mattress, thinking, wondering whether Rotrick could still see the castle’s outline or its lighted candles. Or perhaps, the castle had vanished again, back into whatever plane of existence it hid.
Coe also wondered if he had done the right thing. Should he have allowed Rotrick to come along with them? Should he have stayed camped alone instead? The trek the next morning would be difficult for Rotrick to follow. Coe would not leave any obvious, whether visible or not, trail. No, the Great Ranger was too good for that.
These were the thoughts that plagued Coe’s stirring mind well into the morning hours. He had a hate for questions without answers. And hindsight is just another word for an unanswerable question.
Breakfast was waiting for them on the same table the next morning, catered by the enchantment. The Great Ranger waited anxiously for them to finish like a leopard ready to pounce on its prey. The dwarves packed every leftover morsel of food into their packs, and the company was off.
The Vanishing Castle: An Epik Fantasy Short (The Great Ranger Book 2) Page 2
