Orbelon's World (Book 3)

by Martin Ash

  In the castle of the traitor, Ombo, where she, Shenwolf, Phis, Kol and others had been imprisoned and almost lost their lives she had, out of sheer exhaustion and horror, wept upon Shenwolf's shoulder. She had been so glad of his presence then, and had sensed how pleased he had been that she had turned to him, so frank and open, in her time of distress. But now, as on those occasions, she also felt uncomfortable. She knew that something had passed between them, something undeniable, and she was confused. She averted her eyes.

  Shenwolf released her hand, but remained kneeling. 'I hope you won’t consider me over-bold when I say that, though you are Queen and I a commoner, I feel that we have become friends, and that, if it is so, I am glad of it.'

  'I too,' said Issul, standing and smoothing her tunic with the flats of her hands. 'I rely upon you, for advice and companionship also, as well as for your skills as a soldier and bodyguard.'

  'Then I am a man fulfilled!'

  She smiled. She buckled her swordbelt about her waist. 'When we are alone I’m pleased for you to call me by my name. My own name. But at other times you must refer to me as 'Majesty' or, if my true identity is best not announced, 'my Lady'.'

  'Of course. I understand that anything else would be inappropriate.' Shenwolf rose. 'Now, the men are in position. Shall I take the chest?'

  'No, I will carry it.'

  Outside Phisusandra waited with two others of the Royal Guard. With Shenwolf leading they marched across the camp and entered the forest on the further side of the road. Taking a short detour so that Shenwolf could check on the positions and state of readiness of three of the guards he had placed, they then climbed to the crest of a small wooded knoll.

  'This is the place,' Shenwolf said. 'If you are happy with it, I will leave you now. Neither man nor beast nor insect could climb this slope, even now in darkness, without our knowledge.' He pointed down the incline. 'I will be just over there.'

  'Good.' Issul set the chest upon the wet ground. She took the lantern which Shenwolf held out.

  When she was alone she gave herself a moment to take stock. Below, through the trees, the campfires of her company glowed, the nearest no more than fifty yards away. Close upon them were the fires of the refugees. Issul moved behind a high shoulder of rock, where her lantern-glow might not be seen, and placed the lantern at the base of a stunted hackberry tree, then knelt before the wooden chest, unfastened its lock and raised the lid. She set the blue casket upon the ground before her.

  'Orbelon.'

  There was a pause, a breathless silence in which she felt her fears mount, then the god materialized before her, seeming somehow more solid in the near dark. 'Issul. Is it wise to summon me here? Is it safe?'

  'We’re not observed.'

  'Can you be sure of that?'

  'As sure as it’s possible to be.'

  'Where are we?'

  'In the forest, a day's ride from Enchantment's Reach. The weather has been against us. We’ve not made good progress.'

  'I see.'

  'And you? What have you been doing in these passing hours?'

  'I? Ah well, that is interesting. I have been meditating. Deeply.'

  'Meditating?'

  'Just so.'

  'What have your meditations brought you?'

  'In concrete terms that is not easy to quantify. I have been attempting to communicate with Leth, to make him somehow aware of my presence, to reassure him that I have not abandoned him.'

  Issul had caught her breath as he said this. 'Have you had any luck?'

  'Luck? Luck is not something I’d considered a factor. But results. . . well, it’s difficult to say, since I am still not able to determine Leth's whereabouts, or to realise him, or your two children, in any way that impinges directly upon my senses.'

  'Then you still don’t know if they are alive?'

  'It is as I said before: I sense conflict, which I believe has arisen as a consequence of their arrival within me. But Issul, what is wrong? I sense a change in you. A remoteness that was not present before.'

  Issul did not know how to go about expressing her fears. To question him about his allegiance, suggest that he had other, unrevealed reasons for returning to this world, would alert him, might even turn him against her if he was something other than he claimed to be. Yet she wanted desperately to believe in him. Without Orbelon she knew that she had no hope.

  'The old woman of the Hir'n Esh, Arene, who I told you of - she wants to talk to you. She believes it could be fruitful.'

  'What, here? Now?' Orbelon twisted his bulk from side to side, looking for Arene.

  'No. I have come to seek your permission to bring her.'

  'What benefit can a meeting have, in circumstances so fraught with the risk of discovery?'

  'She knows much about Enchantment. She speaks of an ancient legend which has come alive. The tale revolves specifically around you.'

  'Aha. Well, that is not entirely a surprise. So. . . very well, perhaps a meeting with her may be illuminating. But take care that we are secure.'

  'Of course.'

  Issul stared at him, still unsure of how, or even whether, to voice her doubts. She thought of the ivory carving, and reached into her tunic to bring forth the leather pouch containing the carving. She tugged at the string securing its neck. 'Orbelon, I want to show you something.'

  There came a curtailed shout from somewhere near the foot of the knoll. Then another, followed by a crashing in the undergrowth, as of a large body moving at sudden desperate speed.

  'Orbelon, begone!'

  Orbelon faded. As he did so Issul heard his last, whispered words: 'If you no longer trust me, remember, I am fragile in your hands. I am destroyed at any time.'

  She had no time to heed, or even consider how he had suspected her of mistrust. There were renewed cries from below. She grabbed the casket and withdrew with it into the black between bushes and rock, leaving the lantern where it was. Silence now, then the sound of footsteps on the slippery earth. Issul laid the casket carefully upon the ground and drew her sword.

  A dark shape moved, revealed in part-silhouette in the lantern-glow.

  'Majesty! It is I, Shenwolf.'

  Issul came forward. She saw the relief on Shenwolf's lean young face. Just beyond him was Phisusandra, and three other members of her Guard, peering into the enclosing dark, their blades drawn.

  'What has happened?'

  'Someone - or something - was seen stealing towards the knoll. One of the men surprised him, but he escaped into the woods.'

  'It was a man?'

  'Most probably. I could not allow a full pursuit lest others lie in wait. We would be leaving you vulnerable. I fear we have lost him. Come, we must get you away from here.'

  Issul quickly took the blue casket and replaced it in its chest, sealed the lid and gathered the chest to her. 'You gained no inkling of who it might be?'

  'Most probably some over-curious body from one of the groups camped in the quarry. I’ll have them questioned.'

  'No, leave them be. They are, for the most part at least, innocent folk who have lost their homes and perhaps kin. They’ve suffered enough. If there is a subversive element among them, we are unlikely to uncover it now.' She watched his face. 'It was not Karai?'

  In her mind was the memory of her ambush and capture by a Karai forward unit upon the road not far beyond Crosswood. Were the outriders of Anzejarl's army here again, already?

  Shenwolf gave a shrug. 'I could not say. I will question the guard.'

  They made their way back down the slope to the camp. The forest was silent now, but for the eerie rustle of leaves as the wind, far lighter than before, passed easily through the trees.

  III

  With the morning came brittle blue skies laced with thin tails of dirty white cloud which stretched hazily towards the south. A chill, strong breeze had chased away the last of the stormclouds and the sun climbed sure and unencumbered, quickly dispelling the nightshadow and gilding the low forest with divers
e shades of rippling gold and green. Issul's company moved on with the first light, and arrived at the township of Crosswood a little after midway through the morning.

  Like the day before, the road to Crosswood was marked by an almost ceaseless straggling trail of people labouring towards Enchantment's Reach. More than once Issul wondered how the capital was going to cope with such an influx. She had learned last night that Anzejarl had been torching villages and towns indiscriminately as he advanced. No doubt it was a component of his overall strategy to place as many pressures as he could upon the city-castle, and flooding it with a terrified mass of dispossessed citizens would stretch its resources and tolerance to the limit.

  Crosswood itself had, in just a few days, been turned almost into a ghost town. Homes and businesses were for the most part boarded up and shuttered; the inn of the Green Ram, where Issul had previously stayed, was likewise closed and appeared deserted. Desperation and panic were in the air, almost tangible. Few but the most stout-hearted or reckless harboured any hope that the Karai onslaught would be stemmed or diverted.

  The company rode on through, aloof to the stares and occasional jeers of the people at the roadsides.

  They came to the place where, only days earlier, Issul, Shenwolf, Kol and Phisusandra had bidden farewell to their young comrade, Herbin. With a feeling of sadness Issul wondered how brave Herbin had fared. He had lost his brother to the Karai, and then his elderly father, Miseon, in the most terrible circumstances. Once free, Herbin had returned to his home, the hamlet of Glux, to care for his mother. But Glux almost certainly lay in Prince Anzejarl's path. Almost certainly, then, Herbin and his mother and fellow villagers would be making their way towards Enchantment's Reach, if not now then within the next day or so.

  In due course the company left the road, striking off through the forest towards the village of Ghismile, upon the shore of Ghismile's Tarn. There the traitor, brigand and self-titled baron, Ombo, with a band of armed thugs, had enslaved the village and subjected its inhabitants to the most appalling depredations. Issul's hackles rose as she recalled her betrayal at Ombo's hands, how he had thrown her and her fellow travellers - his former companions - into the dungeon beneath his keep. He had taken Issul to his chambers on the upper level and there tried to blackmail and rape her. She had killed him; she closed her eyes as she remembered. And then the nightmare journey back through the keep to free her companions. Five more of Ombo's men died on her sword before she reached the dungeon. They were beasts - worse than beasts - guilty of the most unforgivable crimes against innocents. They would have raped and murdered her too, given the chance, and she had little compunction in ending their lives. But that day had changed her, forever. Never again would she look upon the world with innocent eyes.

  She shuddered. It had happened only a week ago. The side of her face was still tender and faintly discoloured from the force of the blow Ombo had struck her.

  At his own suggestion Shenwolf made off ahead of the company, to reconnoitre the area and spy out Ghismile. Two hours into the forest Issul called a halt in a small clearing to rest the horses and allow the men to eat. When Shenwolf returned his customary good-humoured expression was absent. Instead he was pale and grim-faced. Issul took him aside.

  'Ghismile is occupied,' he said.

  Issul gave an exasperated sigh. 'The Karai are here already?'

  He shook his head. 'Not Karai. Forest things. Grullags.'

  'Grullags?' Issul was stupefied. She stared at him as if waiting for him to break into a grin and confess to a joke, albeit in extremely bad taste. But his face told her there was no joke. 'But they are beasts. Ferocious, yes, but they would never invade a village.'

  'I can tell you only what I saw,' said Shenwolf. 'There are at least a dozen within the village and keep. They are organized, acting as if with intelligence. And I saw no sign of any villagers.'

  Issul blinked several times, trying to grasp the concept. 'Then they are controlled, somehow,' she said in a low breath. 'Anzejarl. . . . It can only be that he has learned how to command these monsters also.'

  At that moment there was a sharp, hoarse shriek from behind her. She wheeled around. Arene stood a few yards away, stricken-faced. The old woman was pointing, her eyes wide with alarm, her arm and gnarled finger shaking, screaming, 'That is he! That’s him!’ She pointed directly at Shenwolf. ‘Queen Issul, you are betrayed! That’s the one! The one I met beside the pond!'

  The tale of Enchantment’s Reach continues in:

  Enchantment’s Reach 4: To the Dark Flame

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  With thanks,

  Martin Ash