by Chris Ward
‘I am so pleased to hear this,’ she said. ‘I grew up on the edge of the Wildwood Forest of Revelyn. None would enter the forest for it was known to be death to do so. None could tell why but it was said to be a haunted place where mighty creatures roamed and the thunder of their approach spelt death to any who heard it. But I was a child and understood little of this and so I often wandered in the forest, much to my parents concern. And one day I came across a great group of mighty horses. So big and powerful, and I knew them to be the Equin, and they were dancing...’
‘Dancing!’ Giraldyn exclaimed suddenly, once more quite animated and revealing that he knew something of such behaviour.
‘It was so beautiful,’ Sylvion went on, ‘that I sat in the sun and watched, and they did not see me for a long time. And when they did they seemed to long for the touch of my hand and I stroked them and spoke with them and they seemed to understand me. The greatest of all was one I called Thunder, he was the biggest and so white and the leader I was sure, and although they could not speak, they understood my voice.’
‘You found them,’ Giraldyn said happily. ‘Perhaps it took a child.’ He laughed then.
‘I visited them many times,’ Sylvion continued, and when I needed help to defeat Zelfos and the King Petros, they gave their lives. As you said Giraldyn, truly, to leave their forest was death to them and the silver arrows of one killed some as well.’ She spoke now with tears upon her face. ‘Revelyn owes them a great debt.’
‘They all died then?’ Giraldyn whispered sadly, and Sylvion was moved by a thought which came to her with his words.
‘No they did not,’ she said quietly, but thinking hard. ‘Not all came to the battle. There must be a remnant in the forest but I have never returned for I could not bear to bring them the sad news of the loss of all of their companions.’
And so a deep silence fell upon the gathering as they thought upon the Equin of Wildwood, and their kin, the mighty horses of the true Ravalin.
‘The marks upon the forehead, Giraldyn,’ Sylvion continued finally, and once more her change of subject took them all by surprise. ‘In Ramos a travelling magician by the name of Gryfnor offers what we call Diabules, small rocks which seem to hold unnatural power for they seduce the mind and make a purple mark upon the forehead. What do you know of these?’ Giraldyn nodded, and it was clear he knew much. He puffed upon a fresh pipe and chewed the stem awhile before he answered.
‘This magician will be Zelfos returned Sylvion,’ he said quietly. ‘After you slew him, Zydor suffered much and sought his twin in Ungar and the Lord Ungarit granted him his wish, that Zelfos return but in a lesser form, so Zydor rules him, but they are closer now and still seek what they have always have, to rule and open the way for the demyn realm to come to the land of men.’
‘Gryfnor is Zelfos and I did not see him!’ Sylvion cried in anger, for Giraldyn’s words tore at her heart. ‘Rayven warned me and I did not see it,’ she slammed a fist into her palm and paced about in agitation for a time, as the others watched. Sensing then their eyes upon her, she calmed and turned to the old man. ‘I am sorry Giraldyn, speak on,’ she said.
‘Long ago Zydor discovered the enchanted rock deep below the Horn of Svalbard, where the rock is hot and the water from the black lake of death seeps down. Ungarit gave it to him, and such is its sorcery that it steals the mind and produces visions which allow the one who gives the rock, to see and hold. By this means Zydor has gained complete power over all in Svalbard and other peoples...’
‘The Lowlanders of Moran,’ Reigin said looking into the fire and remembering how they all bore the mark.
‘They are the Mamit people,’ Tyron interjected. ‘The ones who hunt the Mamyth. They all belong to Zydor.’
‘And many now in Revelyn,’ Sylvion added, ‘but how does it get so far south?’
‘Zydor is cunning,’ Giraldyn replied. ‘He has trained the Snow Crane to carry the rocks...’
‘You mean the birds bring them?’ Sylvion was incredulous.
‘Indeed,’ Giraldyn replied. ‘They carry them easily and store them in their great nests of sticks upon the houses and the chimneys. Gryfnor would easily recover them...’
‘Once a small package of Diabules was found in such a nest,’ Sylvion whispered, ‘and it was made known to me... we thought the bird had picked them up from curiosity...’ She sat and shook her head. ‘This is amazing, such a simple thing and those beautiful birds corrupted to do the work of a Demyn god. Is there no end to the pollution of the land?’ And they all thought upon her words and saw too the decay which had led to such a thing.
‘If one uses the stones too long, the mind and will are lost forever,’ Giraldyn said quietly. ‘None here in KingsLoss bear the mark, and if any were found to,’ he paused, ‘they would be killed.’
At this Rema could not help but think of his wonderful friend Andes and he grieved deeply. At least it seems that you made mighty amends, Andes, he thought. I am sorry though for your weakness.
After a short time Sylvion spoke again, only now she spoke of their quest.
‘We come to slay Zydor...,’ she said and the words echoed fearsomely about them, ‘...although until just now I did not know he existed. In Revelyn there is great turmoil. The land is sinking and some say there is a need for human sacrifice to appease some god who will restore a balance. Gryfnor is behind it. I know this now. I have a daughter, Rayven who warned me. She is in part, of the Wisden, the mighty ones who read the prophecies and tell what might come to pass. She saw his evil. I only saw a distraction for my people, a curiosity in the market place.’ She took a breath and it was clear to all the Sylvion was unburdening herself.
‘I hated Zelfos and slew him eagerly. I thought his evil had passed but I have been so wrong. Rayven sought to have me move against it but I would not listen and so she left to search out how to save the land. I thought she had some knowledge of the Ravalin and how they held off the sinking of the land.’ Sylvion shook her head sadly. ‘Perhaps she did; or perhaps she put herself in danger so that I would follow, for the Shadow Blade in Ramos was as though in a sheath, whilst great evil stalked elsewhere. I do not know, but Rayven was captured in Celestra. She was taken west. We now know, thanks to you Giraldyn, that she must be in Svalbard. Before I took Shevryn’s life it was revealed that she was to be sacrificed on the full moon of the summer solstice. I must prevent this, or die trying, and I will slay Zydor as I did Zelfos.’ She took another breath and looked fiercely at Giraldyn. ‘That sira is my story.’ Sylvion stood by the fire and shook with emotion, for in the telling of it, she knew she was passing sentence on Giraldyn.
‘Your daughter passed this way not long ago. We saw them pass. A large group with a woman on a horse; her hands were bound to the saddle.’ Tyron spoke now and Sylvion turned from Giraldyn, eager to hear all he had to say.
‘Was she injured? How was she?’ Sylvion asked.
‘She was riding well and sitting proudly.’ Tress now spoke for the first time. ‘I remember wondering who she might be for she looked strong of spirit and not cowed at all.’
‘You did not think to rescue her?’ Sylvion spoke with a sudden firmness.
‘We did,’ Tyron replied, ‘but we were two; just Tress and I, and they were a score and always they travel with sorcery. We watch the roads, but it would have been death to try anything beyond this.’
A sudden knock upon the door startled them all and Tryon spoke once more with the same soldier who had come sometime before. This time he seemed greatly agitated and Tyron frowned and nodded his head in concern.
‘We must speak now Giraldyn,’ Tryon said when the man had gone. ‘It seems we face a great danger.’
‘Then speak Tryon,’ Giraldyn said, ‘we must know the worst of it, and better now before the battle than to be taken by surprise.’ Tryon looked about at the gathering and Giraldyn sensed his mood. ‘I think we can all hear what I assume is some knowledge of a new presence on the battlefield. After all, we w
ill all have to stand against it.’ The old man smiled and puffed upon his pipe, and to those who watched him it had the most calming effect.
‘Well,’ Tyron said slowly. ‘I was informed earlier that they had a Nephytroll. I thought this manageable for last time we went to war they had one, and we managed to overcome this beast then, so I thought perhaps not to worry you...’ Tryon looked at Giraldyn who seemed to be able to read his mind.
‘So they have another?’
‘No Giraldyn, they have five.’
At this even the calm Giraldyn sat upright and put his pipe aside.
‘Five! That is indeed most disconcerting. Five! Five!’ He repeated himself as though the very word itself were evil.
‘What in all the land is a Nephytroll?’ Reigin asked quietly. At this simple question the three true Ravalin exchanged knowing looks, but it was Tyron who spoke.
‘Zydor has found some way with his deep sorcery to take two creatures and combine them into a fearsome beast. Indeed an almost unconquerable beast.’ He paused solemnly. You may have heard of the Nephilim?’
‘We have,’ Reigin replied and all nodded in agreement.
‘You may not have heard of the forest troll.’ Tryon added, and now those listening shook their heads.
‘They are a remnant of a time when dwarves and trolls roamed the land. The forest troll is a huge beast, usually near thirteen cubits tall. The Nephilim are eight, so they are far greater than even those giants.’ Tryon’s words gave them all good reason to consider such a huge beast before he went on. ‘The forest troll is also far bigger than its cousin the cave troll, but they have a similar quality in that they are angry most of the time and so strong that they cannot easily be slain. But they have several weaknesses...’ he paused and all waited for him to reveal what this might be.
‘Forest trolls quickly lose interest in what they do. They fight and destroy indiscriminately but they cannot stay long at any task, and what might absorb them in one moment will bore them the next, and so they go off looking for trouble elsewhere. They also fatigue easily and so it was once not uncommon to find two huge males madly at each other’s throats, suddenly gasping for breath in a short time and sitting down upon the ground trying to recover, whereupon they forget what they were fighting about and might easily go off together hunting...’
‘There are many of these trolls?’ Sylvion asked.
‘Oh no,’ Tyron continued. ‘They too have faded in the land and only on the western slopes of the Redoubt Mountains are they to be found, and perhaps in a score of years they will have vanished. But...’ and once more he waited and held them all enthralled.
‘...but Zydor has taken the best of the Nephilim, which is strength and endurance and an superhuman ability to focus on what must be done, and joined this with the Mountain Troll and the creature that is spawned is huge and fierce and will keep fighting and not let up until it has destroyed whatever is before it. It fights with the cunning of a wolf, and feels no pain, well almost none... This then is a Nephytroll.’
‘... and there is another thing,’ Tress interrupted her husband, ‘Zydor has given it scales, thick and overlapping so that arrows cannot kill it. The scales are as thick as a fist.’ She shook her head. ‘We killed one last time but only with the greatest of luck.’
‘How?’ Rema asked, for he was amazed to think such a creature might exist, not to mention one which was not able to be felled by a well placed arrow.
‘Well in truth it killed itself.’ Tryon continued the story. ‘It was destroying part of the east wall, and it did so much damage that a tower above it collapsed and crushed it. Even then it did not die but it could not continue and so it dragged itself off into the forest. We discovered much later that it had died there of its injuries.’
‘And they have five now...’ Giraldyn whispered. ‘This is most serious.’
‘What do they do to destroy a wall?’ Reigin asked.
‘They carry a mighty iron bar, sharpened at one end,’ Tyron spoke once more. ‘It is as thick as man’s chest and must weigh as much as a small horse, but the Nephytroll will stand by the wall and work the stones out, or shatter then with huge blows, so that soon a hole appears, and the weight of the wall above it brings it all down. This is what happened the last time we faced one and despite all our arrows and spears it was undeterred until the tower fell, but I suppose Zydor will have ensured this will not happen again, and with five working together it is going to be a terrible problem for us.’
They sat in silence for a time.
‘How many men do you have?’ Sylvion asked after a time.
‘We have two hundred soldiers who can fight with both sword and spear. All can use a bow, and then we have another two hundred women and youths who might use a bow or drop stones or bring supplies or collect arrows. It is not many but with our walls and the battlements we have overcome everything Zydor has brought against us in twenty wars.
‘And what of the enemy?’ Sylvion continued.
‘They will have near a thousand men, and the five Nephytrolls.’ Tyron replied.
‘That is not a great many when we have the height and the fortress,’ Rema added, for these numbers did not seem overwhelming.
‘But they have the wolves,’ Giraldyn whispered, yet loudly enough to send a shudder down every spine in the room.
‘Wolves, in battle!’ Sylvion said quite startled.
‘And not ordinary wolves,’ Giraldyn replied grimly. ‘These too are born of great sorcery, for they can climb.’
The idea that a wolf could climb, and further do this up stone walls seemed impossible but it was clear that Giraldyn was not speaking in jest. ‘They have a spur behind the paw and this can find purchase on almost any surface. If a wall is in the least imperfect they can climb it. It is Zydor’s sorcery once more, but of all we have faced the wolves have tested us the most sorely...’
‘Until the Nephytroll,’ Tyron added quietly.
‘And how many of these fell creatures should we expect?’ Gravyn asked grimly, his face a mask as usual. The three true Ravalin just shrugged and so it was clear that it be would be a great many.
‘We have some measures which have been effective in the past,’ Giraldyn continued, ‘and so we can expect to have further victories over the wolves, but with the Nephytrolls...’ the old man shook his head, ‘...if they breach the walls the wolves will be through and they are so quick and fast that it will be over in a very short time.’
They all stood and looked into the fire, each with their own grim thoughts until Giraldyn spoke once more.
‘Let us go now and look out upon those who comes against us, for they love the dark and will no doubt seek to use it to best advantage,’ and with that he directed that Tyron push his wheeled chair and so they followed. The chamber in which they had spoken was high up in the keep and on one wall two great doors in the north wall were quickly opened at Giraldyn’s command and they walked out onto a mighty platform which stood high above all else. The five companions were awed at the sight, for there before them, and not a league distant were the camp fires of a thousand men, burning like lanterns in the night. They were dotted along the far ridge above the slope which gave way to the open farmland and the irrigation canals of KingsLoss. The night was dark but the fires gave shape to a vast amphitheatre in which war was soon to be played out. They could see no enemy, and hear no sound, until after a time a fearful howling came clearly to them and all knew the wolves were readying for battle.
Below were the battlements, reached by two narrow bridges high above the ground and Sylvion saw that good preparations had been made for the defence of KingsLoss, but as she looked carefully down upon those below her she saw they were indeed too few and would need to work hard... and together to hold off the mighty unseen force which stood against them.
‘You will see the timber roof we have built above the crenulations,’ Tyron said enthusiastically pointing out this strange feature. ‘We have covered it in a deep layer of
earth.’
‘Why such a thing when the enemy is below?’ Rema inquired.
‘We lost many men to arrows,’ Tyron replied. With the roof, the arrows fall and do little damage. The earth slows them and the timber stops them finding their mark...’
‘...And in a lull we send the youths up onto the roof and they collect the arrows which we can return with better success,’ Tress added with a laugh.
‘Come I will show you how we prevent the wolves reaching us.’ Tyron said, and with that they took leave from Giraldyn who could not join them in his chair. They descended many steps and crossed a bridge onto the battlements where they saw at close quarters the great protection which the roof gave.
‘Still the arrows can come to us below it, and so we must be watchful, but no longer do we lose a soldier from above, when least expected,’ Tryon said as he pointed out how the clever roof worked... ‘But here on the top of the wall is what will save us from the jaws of the wolves.’ He showed them a mighty iron lattice work which was fixed firmly to the wall and jutted out horizontally some two cubits into the air, and with the addition of many sharpened tips like small spears it made a fearsome obstacle to any climbing from below for they would need to leap out and twist around the points to get past. To do this without being impaled, and in the face of armed men and women with lances and spears it seemed indeed that the wolves, however enchanted would meet their match.
