"They were the first human monarchs to fly the banner of the Great Bear," Stefanik chimed in. "Imagine-they were put to death by Ketheryll, but their symbol has lived on to become the talisman of the high kings of the Ffolk. I used to believe that the king must have been taken by treachery, but now I think maybe he was captured by the Legion of the Damned."
"The Doomed Legion," Pawldo corrected.
"And it was on the moonless night of the slaughter that the curse took effect," Stefanik whispered, then glanced at the night sky.
"Yes-the spell of the wizard, coupled with the vengeful might of the Earthmother. A black fog rolled from the forest," Pawldo said, his voice a hoarse whisper, his eyes wide as he looked into the shadows around their fire. "It cloaked the gathering for a full fortnight, and for all that time Ketheryll and his legion huddled in their palace, fearing to go forth into the world. Then, on the night of the solstice, under the light of that full moon, the fog dissipated. And the Palace of Skulls was gone-Ketheryll and all his men with it," the lord mayor concluded.
"All but one!" Stefanik interjected. When Pawldo looked at him in surprised confusion, the young halfling continued. "That's the tale in Llyrath, at least. A thief named Garius, a rogue who'd traveled all across the world, was among Ketheryll's men. Garius had grown to despise his evil master- the thief appreciated wrongdoing for profit's sake, but had no taste for wanton cruelty. It's said that under the cover of the fog, he fled his master and his gruesome palace!"
"Did he escape?" inquired Pawldo, intrigued by this new version of the legend.
"No one knows for certain," Stefanik said, his voice hushed. "Everyone thinks he got away before the curse took Ketheryll, but no one saw him again. Some say he escaped the castle, but not the prince's terrible magic." He shrugged. "Most of the old folks in Llyrath Downs say Garius was transformed into something horrible as punishment for his treachery."
"Maybe that's true," Pawldo noted with a yawn. "But we won't ever find out if any of these legends are true unless we get some rest."
"Then we can talk about it more tomorrow, I guess," Stefanik said cheerily. "We'll have time, since it'll take us most of the day to get to the place where I found the dagger. But it won't be hard to find. Like I told you, it's at the fork of two streams."
"Splendid, splendid," replied Pawldo. His voice trailed off, and, despite a few persistent questions from his young companion, the lord mayor of Lowhill would make no more speculations-aloud, at any rate.
The next day they began to move through the shadowy reaches of the forest. Dark, thick trunks rose around them, leafy branches crowding the air, forming a dense canopy overhead. The verdant ceiling blocked any ray of sunlight from reaching the ground, and the two halflings rode through a dim twilight. A soft bed of moss, leaves, and pine needles covered the ground, allowing for easy travel.
Pawldo felt a confining, almost claustrophobic sense of oppression as they rode between the pillars of rough bark. He soon missed the open stretches of the moors, where even the mist seemed distant and friendly compared to these looming sentinels. The air was moist and cloying, with humidity that dampened his forehead and an overpowering scent of dirt and pine. He longed for a breath of wind-an eternal companion on the moor-and yet not a breeze stirred the trees.
Toward the middle of the day they reached the bank of a deep, cold creek. "The Birchbrook," Stefanik announced. "If we follow it upstream, we'll come to the place where I found the dagger."
Even the waterway lay within the shroud of Llyrath's canopy, for the trees on either bank were so huge and soaring that the width of the streambed could not keep their branches from mingling. Gray boulders jutted from the murky waters, the river washing around them in eerie silence.
For the rest of the afternoon the halflings made their way along the banks of the Birchbrook. The stream surged with relentless force, but it seemed unusually quiet to Pawldo. The water was deep, often collecting in dark pools after a tumbling spill down a chute or over a short drop. Yet even in these rapids the Birchbrook did not splash and froth as he would have expected. The veteran traveler found something in the stealthy stream even more unsettling than the cloaking forest.
"There!" cried Stefanik, urging his pony forward. "See where the two creeks come together?"
"Yes. Good guiding, lad," Pawldo replied, pleased.
Two smaller streams formed a Y as they merged to create the deeper, wider Birchbrook. The right branch frolicked down a stairway like progression of stone shelves. In some places, the branches overhead actually gapped slightly, allowing thin beams of sunlight to reflect brilliantly from the surface. The river's left branch seemed to Pawldo more like the Birchbrook proper-it meandered through a channel that was not as steep as the other. Though the current moved quickly, the water didn't splash with the same vitality as its neighboring stream.
"In the middle-that's where I camped. I found the dagger there," Stefanik explained.
As they approached the spot, Pawldo saw that the place between the two channels indeed seemed like a perfect camping site. The ground was flat, free of trunks and roots. Several large rocks had been gathered in a protective circle, providing a windbreak for a fire and screening any blaze from casual observation.
"We can cross the right branch," continued the young halfling. "There's a good ford there."
The two ponies waded into the stream, which splashed only to their knees, then emerged onto the flat clearing. The charred embers of an old fire huddled between several of the boulders Pawldo had seen earlier.
"Is that the remnants of your blaze?" he asked Stefanik as they both dismounted.
"Yes. Here's the old birch root I pulled out before I went to sleep," replied the younger traveler, kneeling beside the gritty fire scar. "No one's been here since me."
"I'm not surprised," muttered Pawldo. The murkiness of the forest was now unnervingly oppressive, but he shrugged off the feeling as best he could. "Where did you find the knife?"
"Over here." Stefanik crossed to the left fork of the converging streams, indicating a shallow depression near the bank. "It was lying right here. This hole is where I pulled it out."
Pawldo knelt beside the shallow excavation. Freshly turned dirt lined the hole, although tufts of moss already tinged the exposed earth. The depression matched the dagger's length. The object had rested just above the water level of the stream, between a pair of rocks.
Looking up the channel, Pawldo saw gloomy outcrop-pings of granite looming through the trees. The creek emerged from a deep cut between these high walls. Though tree trunks blocked much of the view, he saw the passage nestled between these bluffs-a narrow canyon, source of this left branch of the Birchbrook. He studied the steeply sloping streambed, dropping from that narrow gap to the small backwater at his feet.
Confidently Pawldo took the dagger out of his pouch and held it before him. "Show me the Palace of Skulls," he commanded, waiting for the telltale flush of heat to infuse the handle. Nothing happened.
"Maybe you have to drop it on the ground," Stefanik suggested.
Pawldo threw the blade to his feet, but it lay lifelessly in the dirt.
"What did you do before-to make it glow, I mean, and point toward Ketheryll's palace?" Stefanik wondered.
"I don't know," Pawldo snapped, but then bit his mouth shut. "Look!" he hissed.
As it had in Lowhill, the dagger began to glow. The halflings could feel its warmth as they stood over it. Then, very slowly, the weapon wiggled across the ground. In a few moments it lay still, pointing directly at the narrow, rocky gap up the stream.
"Up there," Pawldo said. "That's where it came from."
"It-it looks pretty dark," Stefanik observed hesitantly.
"Morning will brighten it up," Pawldo announced, his voice heartier than his thoughts. In truth, the forest-shrouded chasm seemed like a foreboding place. It didn't take him more than a moment to decide to postpone its exploration until the morrow.
Stefanik unsaddled the ponie
s while Pawldo gathered some dry branches he found scattered conveniently around the camp. He set them beside the fire scar and looked to Stefanik-only to see the younger halfling freeze taut, his eyes bulging at a sight behind Pawldo's shoulder.
The lord mayor whirled to confront a pair of unblinking yellow eyes, less than six feet away. A canine face stared impassively. A narrow snout gaped, while a pink tongue lolled between long, white fangs.
"Wolf!" Stefanik hissed.
Pawldo had already recognized the powerful body of the predator. The creature squatted upon a rock, ready to pounce.
Yelping in astonishment, Pawldo fumbled for his sword, but all he managed to do was stumble backward to collapse into an ungainly heap. All the time the wolf stared at him with those penetrating yellow eyes. By the time he had his sword half-drawn, the halfling realized that the creature presented no immediate menace.
"He looks hungry," observed Stefanik. The wolf's flanks showed the clear outline of his rib cage, screened only slightly by scattered patches of mangy fur. One of its ears flopped sideways, scarred by an ugly red wound. At the sound of the voice, the wolf shifted its gaze to the younger halfling's face, the good ear cocked forward attentively.
"Give him something to eat!" hissed Pawldo, more than a little embarrassed by his clumsiness-and still not certain of the wolf's intentions.
"Here, fellow," said Stefanik, pulling an entire slab of bacon from the saddlebags. He threw it onto the ground near the animal.
The wolf's eyes followed the meat but then came back to Pawldo. Finally, hunger won out. The creature sniffed tentatively, then hopped down from the rocky perch. With another look at Pawldo, who still had not climbed to his feet, the wolf settled to its haunches, tearing at the tough meal with teeth still white, long, and sharp.
In short order the wolf put a dent in their stockpile of cheese as well. Keeping a wary eye on the beast, Pawldo built the fire while Stefanik stretched out the bedrolls. They cooked some bacon for themselves, throwing another morsel to the wolf, as full darkness descended. Finally the animal dropped its head onto its outstretched forelegs with a contented sigh.
"I think we've found a friend," Stefanik said as the wolf closed its eyes.
"I suppose we could have a worse companion in these woods," Pawldo observed warily. The thought of sleeping here, with this huge carnivore just a few feet away, bothered him more than a little. "Maybe we should give him some more bacon."
"I think we should let him rest. He looks all worn out."
In fact, the animal appeared to have reached the end of a long and grueling trail. The shaggy flanks, now noticeably bulging, rose and fell with deliberate breathing. Pawldo noticed that the animal's muzzle and forelegs were also scarred, though not so badly as the ear. Many wounds, however, showed raw and moist-they had not yet had time to heal.
"Don't wolves usually travel in packs?" asked the younger halfling. "It seems odd to see one by himself."
"Do you see lots of wolves in Llyrath Forest?" demanded Pawldo.
Stefanik shook his head. "They're rare. Once or twice in the fall and winter we've seen them running past the village-like gray ghosts in the forest. They don't bother us.
In fact, they haven't even gone after the sheep kept by Whitebeard Karywether. But even then, when we see them there's always a pack-at least a dozen, sometimes twenty or more."
"From the look of this one, he's had to fight for his life. I wonder if he's the last survivor of his pack," Pawldo mused.
"I don't know what could slaughter so many wolves," Stefanik said. 'There are bears out here, but a wolf could outrun one of them without a problem. What about firbolgs?"
Pawldo shook his head. "Even if the giant-kin came this far south, they wouldn't do this to wolves. Sometimes they capture them for pets, but they wouldn't torture and maim them."
Soon the unsettled pair of halflings curled into their bedrolls and went to sleep. Neither slumbered soundly, and Pawldo stirred as soon as the gray dawn filtered through the mist of the streambed.
The wolf, he saw, was still there-though the animal no longer slept. Indeed, the yellow eyes followed Pawldo's every move as the halfling rose and crossed to Stefanik, nudging the youngster to wakefulness. They packed up their camp, half-hoping the wolf would be on its way. But when they started into the narrow canyon, the wolf bounded ahead, picking a way around gnarled roots and over massive rocks. He led them straight into the canyon.
The chasm walls, great shoulders of granite, glowered overhead. Streaks of moss and lichen ran across their weathered faces, and the rocky walls projected a chill that sapped every vestige of warmth from the air. The stream narrowed to a channel choked with debris. Nevertheless, Pawldo had no lingering doubts that the source of the splendid dagger would be found near the headwaters of this creek.
"We won't be able to take the ponies through," Pawldo announced, gesturing into the steep and narrow canyon. "Let's picket them here and try to get back by nightfall."
Stefanik, too, realized the futility of taking the steeds through the maze of rocks and deadfalls. The wolf watched them from its vantage of a high boulder as they dismounted, loosely tied the mounts, and selected a few important items-weapons, flasks of oil, and the platinum dagger-to carry as they progressed on foot. Surprisingly, the wolf seemed more interested in them than in their horses.
The ragged animal again sprang forward, disappearing behind the large rock. It popped up a dozen paces ahead, its face turned alertly back to see if the halflings still followed.
"Yeah, yeah. Wait a minute!" muttered Pawldo, irritated at the ease with which the animal negotiated the rough terrain.
"If he's coming with us, we ought to give him a name," Stefanik suggested, struggling over a fallen trunk that bristled with prickly branches.
"Be my guest," grunted the older halfling as he, too, worked his way over the obstacle.
"How about 'Half-Ear'?" suggested Stefanik, taking Pawldo's frustrated mumbling for acquiescence. "Hey, wolf! Half-Ear-how about finding a better path?"
But Half-Ear only regarded them impassively. For several minutes they scrambled silently along the streambank to the wolfs latest vantage. By then, of course, the animal had bounded forward another two dozen paces.
Pawldo and Stefanik grunted and cursed their way up the narrow canyon. There was no path-indeed, deadfalls, rockslides, and thorny thickets all choked the base of the narrow chasm, making every step a struggle. Always Half-Ear remained before them, crawling under logs that blocked the halflings, scrambling up a steep surface of tumbled rock in a few bounds. Following slowly, the two-footed explorers climbed with painstaking care, hoisting their packs by rope only after they had made these perilous ascents.
The stream continued to flow beside them, rushing with silent power along a deep channel, for the most part free of the rocks that so typically obstructed the streambed lower down. Finally the walls to either side began to lean away from them, and soon they reached the top of the tangled chute. Struggling up a pile of boulders that spilled along the shore of the stream, Pawldo paused to catch his breath. Half-Ear waited patiently in a forest glade a short distance ahead.
"Open space," grunted the lord mayor as his young companion joined him. "Looks like the same kind of forest we saw below."
"Thank the Earthmother for that!" moaned Stefanik, collapsing on the rock pile in exhaustion. Then he looked around. "Where's Half-Ear?"
"Wait a minute, you mangy cur!" barked Pawldo as the wolf started through the glade toward the shadowed forest on the other side. "Give us a-" His shock swallowed the rest of his complaint.
"What is it?" asked Stefanik, following his companion's gaze. Then his voice, too, faded into stunned silence.
The structure in the woods before them was at first barely visible, so dense was the screen of tree trunks. Yet as the halflings squinted, a blocky outline came into view- a rectangular shape, like a long, high wall, pale gray or even white in color. Pawldo's first thought was that the o
utline was far too regular to be a clump of rocks or a hill.
"It-it's some kind of building," Stefanik said, unconsciously lowering his voice to a whisper. "And Half-Ear's going toward it!"
"Well, best not let him go alone," muttered Pawldo, surprised at his lack of enthusiasm. Something about the appearance of this bizarre structure-they had yet to get a good look at it-unsettled him in a way he found difficult to ignore.
"Uh, is it me, or do you think it's starting to get dark?" asked Stefanik. He glanced nervously at the dim forest surrounding them.
Pawldo didn't answer, but the growing twilight made him realize that they had spent the bulk of the day climbing through the tangled canyon. The usually shaded wood had already begun to sink into heavier shadow. Cautiously, as if he expected attack at any moment, he crept toward the edifice, darting from tree trunk to tree trunk, examining his goal from each vantage before moving forward again.
Half-Ear, in contrast, trotted right up to the thing and sat down expectantly, as if impatient for his companions to join the bold expedition.
Soon the halflings were close enough to see the details of the building, looming behind a screen of huge pines. As they emerged from the trees the whole structure opened up to view, and they stared in wonder. The white surface they had first spotted was the front wall, and it was not as smooth as Pawldo had originally thought. A multitude of turrets and parapets extended along the top, and a single doorway-large and yawning open-stood in the exact center. The wolf sat directly before this entrance.
And though they thought they had taken full stock of the castle from their vantage, only as the halflings approached the entrance did the true nature of the structure become apparent.
Realms of Valor a-1 Page 2
