by Morris, Dave
‘I think Oraba’s right,’ said Altor. ‘we could certainly do with a good night’s rest.’
A woman came over who might have been Shanans’ sister. She put blankets into their arms and showed them a place beside the fire. ‘Sleep here,’ she said. ‘Since a seer is with us, tonight there will be no bad dreams.’
They rose after daybreak and breakfasted on salted porridge and sweet buns. Shanans gave them a haversack containing provisions for the journey.
‘I feel guilty taking anything,’ said Altor, shaking hands. ‘You have so little.’
‘We can spare it,’ said Shanans. ‘And in any case, the gift you gave us was far greater.’
It was time to be on their way. Oraba was not about. After bidding the villagers farewell, Altor and Caelestis stepped out into the cold morning air and slowly trudged through the snow away from the longhouse.
‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’
They turned at the sound of this clear young voice. Oraba was sitting perched on a snow-sprinkled woodpile. She wore only her thin hooded jerkin, seeming not to feel the cold.
They smiled and walked over. ‘I thought you’d forgotten to say goodbye,’ joked Altor.
‘No,’ said Oraba, ‘but we have some things to talk about that the others might not understand. Here, a parting gift.’
She held out a small sack. After a moment of surprise, Caelestis took it and looked inside. He pulled out an iron bell. ‘Oh, just what I always wanted.’
Oraba laughed. ‘It’s for ringing out the old and ringing in the new!’
‘That’s exactly the sort of thing I’d expect a seer to say,’ grumbled Caelestis. ‘Whatever a seer is.’
‘Glimpses of the future can’t easily be put into words,’ said Oraba with a shrug. ‘Sometimes I think I just tell people what they already know. You already knew your destiny was to assemble the pieces of the Sword of Life, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘destiny’,’ said Caelestis. ‘It makes it sound like we can’t think of anything we’d rather do.’
‘And after the Sword of Life is whole?’ pressed Altor. ‘What then, exactly?’
‘You’re asking a seer to be exact? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound all cryptic and ever-so-wise, but the future is never exact. Your destiny is to stop the five last True Magi from returning to the world—Red Death, Blue Moon and those others. To do this you need the Sword of Life. The Warlock King has the hilt, and that’s why you’ve come to Wyrd.’
‘Originally, yes,’ said Altor. ‘But seeing the hardship here, the way these people are suffering—that’s as good a reason to rid them of his evil.’
‘Good and evil are like the counters in a game of chequers,’ said Oraba. ‘Long ago a man, a visionary, used the power of imagination to transform Wyrd into a land of ease and pleasure. The people in those days didn’t toil their way through short and miserable lives. All took their fill from the cornucopia. Time wore on without season or death. The land was changeless—a paradise indeed, but paradise is an inhuman place. Man cannot endure heaven any more than he can endure hell.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Caelestis.
‘This.’ Oraba waved her hand, taking in everything around them. ‘Our land and our dreams have become sour, dull, grey. The Warlock King has closed himself off from the fount of existence. His heart is hard. He holds Wyrd in a withered grip, like a dead flower pressed in a book.’
‘And yet you say he’s not evil?’
She sighed and gazed north. ‘Forget good and evil. Just destroy him if you can.’ She sighed and turned back to them. ‘I’m a seer. That means I can look into the future for you—just one quick peek.’
‘In that case, perhaps you’d better tell us where we’ll find the Warlock King,’ said Caelestis.
‘His Palace of Dusk, according to some, lies at the northernmost tip of Wyrd. Others say it exists only in dreams.’
‘We’re going to have to know which is true.’
Oraba laughed. ‘Both!’
She closed her eyes, and it was eerie to think she might be looking into their future. ‘You must pass through a bramble wood to get there. The elves will try to stop you. Challenge them to a game of chequers, but be warned that they can cast illusions on the pieces that will confuse whoever tries to play them. In the woods I see frost hounds—the Warlock King’s first defences, the first elements of his dreamworld that will become aware of you. There are too many to fight. Trust alone will save you.’
‘And what will we find within the Palace of Dusk?’ asked Altor.
She opened her eyes. ‘That is something even I cannot say. What lies at the heart of the dreamworld is something you must discover for yourselves.’
Eleven:
The Forest of Thorns
They headed north under a sky laden with snow. Wherever possible they kept to the shelter of pine trees, out of the arctic wind that whistled around them and stung their skin. Each breath froze into crystals of ice, a fine white flurry of snow-dust on the breeze.
By mid-afternoon the snow was falling thickly. Ahead stretched a forest of tangled black thorns. A path of sorts lay through the briars, but as they trudged towards it a group of tall figures dressed in green and grey came out of the forest. They carried longbows and slim silver swords, and their eyes were like emeralds.
Altor and Caelestis stopped when they were a half-dozen paces from the group. The leader came forward, meeting their defiant stare with his cold green gaze.
Then he spoke: ‘Now wild weather of the world awakes throughout this land. Clouds cast keenly their cold upon the earth, with great gusts from the north to shiver the flesh. The blizzard bears down on all living things. The whistling wind whips up from the fells, filling every dale full of deep drifts.’
‘It’s winter all right,’ said Altor.
The elf held them in the scrutiny of his pale eyes. ‘The way ahead is ours, and the toll we exact is mortal blood. We shall deny you these woods. Avaunt. Follow your own tracks back through the snow. You shall not pass.’
Caelestis turned to Altor. ‘Typical elf—says everything three times over.’
The elf’s smile at this was bleak and soulless. ‘A word can many times be spoken. Life once lost is not repeated.’
‘Death?’ Altor shook his head. ‘We don’t care for fighting. Clashing swords speak loudly, but saying nothing worth hearing. What would be a better way to settle things, Caelestis?’
‘Why not a game of chequers?’
The elf pondered this. Like all creatures of his race, he clearly found it hard to resist a challenge. At last he came to a decision. Still with his eyes fixed on Altor and Caelestis, he called to his warriors: ‘Bring a board! Fetch playing-pieces! Mortal shall with faerie duel for the right to use this path.’
One of the elves loped off into the thorn forest, returning a few minutes later with a chequers set, which he placed on a tree-stump. The other elves lowered their bows and peered in fascination as Caelestis set out the pieces.
The leader of the elves sat down in the snow, his fur robes spread around him. ‘Who will play?’
Caelestis pulled off his gloves and crouched down opposite him. Blowing into his hands to warm them, he said. ‘Let’s begin.’
The elf turned the board. ‘Yours shall be the black pieces. I take the white.’
‘Whatever.’
The elf reached out, touched a piece, considered it. He changed his mind and moved another piece.
Caelestis called out to move to Altor, who was crouching some distance away with his back to them. He had dug up a number of pebbles which he set out in rows in the snow. As Caelestis announced the elf’s move, Altor moved one of his pebbles.
The elf frowned. ‘What’s this?’
Caelestis smiled genially. ‘My friend is the one playing you. Please be quiet while he decides his move.’
‘Nonsense!’ said the elf. ‘If he is my opponent, he must sit at the board, not play with pebbles.’
/>
Altor called out his opening move. Caelestis pushed forward one of the black pieces. ‘My friend is worried he might find that too distracting,’ he said. ‘He prefers to concentrate on the game without any... outside influences, shall we say.’
‘You mean to suggest that I would use trickery?’ hissed the elf. ‘Deception? Illusion?’
‘I said nothing of the kind,’ replied Caelestis affably. ‘Your move.’
The elf shoved one of his pieces forward with ill grace, making a noise like an angry swan as he did so.
Altor swiftly replied with a counter-move. The game progressed. Occasionally Caelestis found that a move Altor called out to him seemed as if it would place one piece on top of another, or make use of a piece that had already been lost. But when he went to make the move it always worked—the pieces returned to their old positions, mysteriously leaping back into what had seemed to be blank spaces, while phantom white pieces proved not to be there after all.
Caelestis rubbed his eyes. The illusions made him feel dizzy, but he was enjoying the look of consternation on the elf’s face.
At last the elf was forced to concede defeat. With a petulant gesture he swept the pieces back into their box and affected a look of boredom at the game’s outcome.
‘You lose.’ Caelestis was unable to resist gloating.
The elf lord lowered his proud gaze. ‘You set the test, this game, and I am overthrown. No grudge shall prevent me from fulfulling my promise. If the outcome had been otherwise, however, and I had been the one to win—would you then have kept our bargain and turned back? I doubt it.’
‘That’s a bit uncalled-for,’ said Caelestis sharply. ‘You lost fair and square. It shows poor grace to accuse us of falseness.’
‘My words were spoken in ill-considered haste,’ admitted the elf reluctantly, ‘and now I must make reparations. I shall give you a gift as recompense for the slight my tongue offered you.’
He pronounced a few syllables in his own language and the chequers pieces sparkled with grey-green light. ‘These playing pieces now have my rune upon them,’ said the elf. ‘When you contend against the final foe, this sorcery of mine shall aid you. At that time, the harm you were dealt by my unkind words shall be undone.’
Caelestis shrugged and put the pieces in his coat pocket. He had no idea what magic had been cast on them, but at least he could use them as bargaining chips when dealing with the Faltyn.
The elf got to his feet and brushed away the snow. He thrust the chequers board towards one of his warriors. ‘Burn this,’ he said. Turning half back towards Altor and Caelestis, he went on, ‘Ahead lies the Forest of Thorns. The agreement will be honoured. We shall not oppose you if that is where you wish to go, though foul and fierce are the dangers that you’ll find. Wild things wander in the briars, and bugbears with hungry breath will follow your trail by night. It would be tedious to tell you one-tenth of the further threats that abound within the thickets, so no mention need be made of the phantoms and wyrms and frost hounds, too, that may seek you out.’
‘Thanks for the pep talk,’ said Caelestis. ‘But we’ve got to be going now...’
‘The staunchest mortal would suffer no dishonour if his heart quailed at this point,’ insisted the elf. ‘No honest man would chastise a fellow who turned back from this fell forest.’
Caelestis looked at Altor. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Sounds fun. Let’s get in there.’
‘Right. Thanks for the game.’ With a cheery wave to the elfin warriors, he passed by them and entered the Forest of Thorns.
Altor caught up a few seconds later. ‘I thought I’d better check. They’re not following.’
Caelestis looked along the path ahead. It was already shrouded in gloom although the hour was barely past midday. ‘Maybe they know something we don’t,’ he said.
The day went swiftly within the spiny thickets. Night came all in a bound, staining the visible patches of sky like ink spilling across a page. But the snow kept a faint luminescence of its own. The tangled thorn bushes stretching above their heads formed a web of blackness in which the faint white gleam seemed trapped like vapour.
Their boots crunched on the powdery snow. By now the wind had dropped, making the awesome cold slightly easier to bear, but their breath still rose in clouds against the night sky.
‘Do you think this stuff would burn?’ said Caelestis, holding aside a branch of black brambles.
Altor shrugged. ‘Somehow I doubt it, but I guess it’s time we made camp for the night anyway. Will bread and cold soup do you for supper?’
‘Yum, it sounds as tasty as... Wait.’
Caelestis fell silent, cocking his ear. Half a minute passed while they both stood tensed. A noise nearby made them whirl, but it was only an overladen branch tipping its burden of snow to the ground.
Altor laughed and tossed down his travelling-gear. ‘Your imagination’s getting the better of you—and it wouldn’t be for the first time! Let’s get some grub.’
‘Ssh...’ warned Caelestis.
He pointed in the direction of a soft sound that came drifting through the bushes—the crisp pad pad pad of stealthy footfalls in the snow. Through an eddy of flakes swirling gently to the ground stared a pair of icy eyes.
Something moved off to one side. Altor spun in time to see a dark shape lope between the briars. He took Caelestis by the arm and led him slowly backwards.
‘There’s more than one,’ he said.
Caelestis nodded. They turned and began walking briskly away from the spot, abandoning the haversack that Shanans had given them. A moment later there was a muffled growling somewhere behind them as the creatures fell on the haversack and ripped it apart.
‘Maybe they’ll be content with the provisions,’ said Caelestis. He looked back but could see only darkness and dancing snowflakes.
Altor set his jaw grimly. ‘I doubt it. In fact, here they come.’
Dark shapes stalked them through the thorny thickets. They had a glimpse of naked blue flanks, eyes like hoarfrost, fangs that were jagged black icicles. Rasping breath came closer—the eager panting of a pack of hunting dogs.
Altor and Caelestis quickened their pace. So did the frost hounds. Throwing caution aside, they broke into a run.
The frost hounds stayed hard on their heels. They could hear the relentless crunch of their racing paws in the snow, feel the freezing breath on the back of their necks.
Sixth sense warned Caelestis and he looked back over his shoulder to see an ice-rimmed maw flying towards him. He lashed out, ramming his fist against the snapping teeth. Sharp icy points bit through the thick leather of his glove and Caelestis felt a numbing stab of pain. The hound dropped to a crouch, growling, and Caelestis kicked at it.
It turned and sloped off into the bushes. There, waiting in the darkness, dozens of eyes glared like ominous stars.
Realizing Caelestis had fallen behind, Altor stopped. His breath puffed up, briefly luminous in the dim light emanating from the snow. ‘We’re not quitting, are we?’ he panted.
Keeping his gaze fixed on the watching eyes, Caelestis put his hands on his knees and drew a long breath. His arm was throbbing where the frost hound had bitten him. ‘I’m bone weary, Altor. If we’ve got to make a stand, here’s as good a place as any.’
Altor did not reply. He took a step closer, glancing to one side of the track. Caelestis saw and nodded.
Altor bared his sword. Caelestis dropped to the ground just as a hound broke cover and launched itself with a snarl at his throat. The sword carved a blazing silver arc. The snarl was cut off. With a thud, the hound’s head landed in the snow. Blood like murky ice water sluiced from the severed veins, freezing into a web of frost as it congealed.
Caelestis got shakily to his feet. His whole arm felt stiff and drained of warmth. ‘Actually, do you think you could handle them by yourself?’ he said. ‘Only I think I’m going to pass out...’
Altor supported him with his left arm whil
e keeping the sword levelled at the watching hounds. The pack had fallen into a baleful silence, but he could hear some of them moving through the thickets to either side.
‘If we get surrounded we’re done for,’ he muttered.
Half-carrying Caelestis, he retreated until the path divided in two. One branch stretched off between the thorns and was swallowed by darkness. The other wound up a slope and ended in front of a cave.
‘Which way?’ said Altor. ‘We might shelter in the cave—or it might be a dead end.’
Caelestis lifted his head. Despite the cold, there were feverish beads of sweat pouring down his face. ‘Cave...’ he gasped. ‘Trust, that’s what Oraba said...’
Altor started up the slope. He felt as if he was in a dream, his legs so heavy that he seemed to be wading through treacle. Caelestis was barely conscious. His feet dragged, scuffing feebly at the snow as they climbed towards the cave.
Two hounds broke from the pack and came pounding in full chase. Altor reached back without turning, slashing wildly with his sword. Icy fangs snapped shut on empty air and the hounds slunk back, but they did not retreat.
In front of the cave mouth now, Altor saw that it was choked with briars. He gave a groan and lowered Caelestis to a sitting position. Given a few minutes they could have hacked through the briars and perhaps gained safety from the frost hounds.
But they didn’t have a few minutes. The pack was already upon them.
Seeing that their prey was cornered, the rest of the hounds had bounded up the slope. Altor turned to confront a dozen foes with eyes of burning cold, jaws gaping, lean muscles coiled to spring.
He raised his sword as the pack closed in.
Twelve:
The Palace of the Dusk
‘This won’t do. Shoo! Go on now, be off with you.’
At the sound of the voice, the frost hounds drew back like scolded children, turning and slipping away down the hill. Altor watched them go. Eerily silent, they went like shadows on the snow and within seconds they had been entirely swallowed by the night.
