Wintersong

by William Cooper

  Remus was a man well-travelled and had heard many strange legends, but there was something about the dark shape of that island that set his blood to run cold. When he asked his guide to arrange passage the man’s face paled, and he tried to warn him off. But Remus was not so easily put off. He had not been smuggled across the channel, by one of Tristan less savoury friends, to be stopped by ghost stories. He had a mission and to complete it he had to find the one person who could help him achieve it.

  He had travelled as a mercenary across the Islinor Empire, claiming to be on a pilgrimage to Karac-Lor. This was not an odd thing, for in contrast to the island, the Cathedral of Karac-Lor was claimed to have been built by angels. No one would stop a mercenary with a heavy conscious going to pray in the Holy Empire. Besides, mercenaries were not uncommon on the roads as many guarded the merchant trains and ships of that realm. Remus also spoke the official Imperial Tongue, knew the customs of that place and fitted in easily. At Amech he had picked up his guide, Nemester, a bargeman who claimed he knew the Empire like the back of his hand. Remus came across him in an ale house and was immediately suspicious at the man’s helpfulness and eagerness to guide him. Remus suspected Nemester was an Islinor spy. Though he could also have been an agent for someone other group. Either way, Remus was happy to let the spy help him, as he felt it was better that he knew exactly were the spy was, as he travelled across Islinor. Besides Nemester did have his uses, he had helped him track down an agent that knew where the man he sought may be hiding. The informant was called the Canting Man, by the criminal underworld of Islinor. A Canting Man, whose black deeds could not be spoken, for they would stain a man’s very soul on hearing them. He had tracked this man down to a brothel, of sorts, in the very capital of the empire. Khel Adraz, the towered city, they called it. The Canting Man was impossibly fat and obscene. In his dinghy rat hole, the lord of a meagre realm sat. On his knees, as big as a hams, sat a twelve year old girl dressed as a whore. Her eyes were cries of pain and misery, but Remus hardened his heart. He had business with the wretch and spoke with the fat one as a servant speaks to a king, for the man’s pride was bigger than his grotesque belly. As they talked his eyes wondered around the brothel, and saw the men that resided within its filthy walls. He felt his anger rise at the sights he saw, and swore that one day he would cut that fat man’s throat.

  The Canting Man grinned to hear his request. ‘This Jared the Mendicant, you speak of is no friend of mine. But I would not have him as an enemy either,’ his voice was childish and hideously high pitched. Sweat oozed off him, and the putrid smell made Remus want to wretch. Remus could not look at the girl who sat on Canting Man’s knee; else his hidden anger at the pawing, fat bastard would boil over.

  ‘Why do you desire to speak to that one?’ asked the Canting Man.

  ‘That is my concern,’ answered Remus.

  Suddenly the Canting Man hissed through his teeth. A look of fear and realisation passed across his face. ‘You seek the dragons? You would seek trade with those savages!’ he snarled.

  ‘I will pay you well for your time to speak to this Jared,’ said Remus. The men in the brothel were taking an interest now. The red dragons conjured fear in the hearts of humans everywhere.

  The fat man laughed, ‘Jared the Mendicant is a title not a name, and the one who holds it now would make the evil one shudder. Keep your money. I have no need of that kind of trouble.’

  ‘I have money to give to you for a simple piece of information, or the money to hire killers. Which will you chose?’ asked Remus, his voice low and deadly.

  The Canting Man’s eyes fixed on his, something in their dark depths slithered and hissed.

  ‘Don’t threaten me, mercenary,’ he spat, the childishness in his voice was gone now, replaced by a harsh and brutal tone.

  Remus heard movement behind him, and he knew that the large guards he saw playing cards by the door were standing up.

  ‘I don’t threaten fat man. Help me or hinder me. If I do not leave this city alive, then...’Remus shrugged. ‘You know who I am; you know I’m good for the money. It’s your choice, I seek only to make you rich.’

  The Canting Man looked doubtful now, angered at being caught in a trap. It seemed to Remus his bluff was working. The fat toad might have had his doubts but he valued his life and his pleasures. ‘Very well. It is the Isle of Ferik Kor you seek, near the pious shit hole of Karac-Lor. May god curse you, and when you find this Jared. Now get out.’

  Remus bowed. ‘Your money will be sent shortly, goodbye.’ He smiled ironically and quickly left trying not to look at the faces of the young girls who worked in this little slice of hell. Remus was good for his word, and the money was sent. Though he promised one day he would put an end to the Canting Man.

  So it was he found himself on this wide lagoon with the island of Ferik Kor before him. The island formed a rough circle with several small hills on it. It was about three miles in diameter. Taking his leave he bowed to the boatmen and boarded the rowing boat. Nemester followed him into the rowing boat dutifully, and Remus noted the little man seemed nervous.

  ‘God Keep you, sir,’ said the boats captain in the Islinor tongue. Remus took the oars and began rowing to the island. Nemester muttered a prayer under his breath as the Island got closer. When the boat reached the wide stony beach Remus jumped into the freezing water, and with Nemester’s help brought the boat to shore.

  Looking around, Remus was grateful for the moonlight, for he could just make out a path in the silvery light. It seemed to lead directly inland. Having no other option, he shrugged and walked across the dark beach, with Nemester following. They walked in silence as they approached the small woods that crested the shore line. Remus had to admit to himself that he felt afraid. For the island had an eerie otherworld feel to it, as if something dark and brooding from another time lived here.

  Following the path, they both walked through the black woods. Eventually, they reached an open clearing, before them stood a long stone obelisk, pointing to the stars. The black obelisk was around eight foot in height, and maybe a foot or so wide, tapering at the top. There was something odd about the obelisk. Remus could not explain what it was that made him uneasy, other than a peculiar alien quality to the black stone.

  ‘What is this place?’ asked Nemester.

  ‘This is the spiritual centre of the island, and the tombstone of our god,’ replied the confident tones of a women. She was standing behind the two men, though neither had heard her approach. Slowly, both men turned around. Remus heart was thumping in his chest, as dark fears crept into his mind. This was madness, he thought, coming into the lion’s den. What did he think he could accomplish?

  She was beautiful, with long raven, hair, tall and well proportioned. She was dressed in an armoured doublet, leggings and riding boots. Her eyes were sharp and dangerous. She smiled faintly at Remus.

  ‘The Wolfhound’s warrior has come to my home, and I have to confess I am curious,’ she now spoke in in perfect Isle.

  Swallowing his fear, Remus said. ‘I have travelled far...’

  He fell silent as he saw shapes coming out of the woods, men in dark robes, shuffling, walking or crawling out of the dark surrounding them. Their bodies bulged and moved in strange shapes under their filthy robes. They were unnatural to behold and reeked an unpleasant odour.

  ‘To come here is death,’ said the woman, calmly. ‘I enjoy my privacy.’

  ‘I was sent to speak to Jared the Mendicant, is that you?’ asked Remus, looking around at the strange men, with hand on his sword hilt, behind him Nemester whimpered in terror.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, tilting her head in question.

  ‘I have a question,’ he said hurriedly. The figures were closer now, and he could hear a strange slobbering and hissing from under their long hoods.

  ‘A question?’ She smiled. Then the robed figures stopped as if answering some silent message. ‘How interesting!’ she continued. ‘but not all questions have answer
s. I am Jared.’

  ‘It is Lord Tobin’s question. He would know if you remembered who you are?’ Remus hoped he had got it right. He sensed saying the wrong thing in this place would be his death, and Tobin had been particular about the words used. Remus fished a simple ring out of his cloak pocket and tossed it to the lady. She caught it easily, even by the light of the moon. Lifting it up, she looked at the ring and smiled. She placed it on her right ring finger. It was a perfect fit. The smile faded and she looked back at Remus.

  ‘That is an easy question to answer, mortal,’ she said with an arrogant tone to her voice. ‘I am a sister in darkness. Have you not heard? The Holy Empire speaks of Jared the Mendicant in fear. How can I be trusted?’ She breathed in, almost hungrily. ‘Lives are so easily stolen, as are names.’

  Remus was unsure of the meaning of her words, but he felt a change of her mood. Though he still thought her deadly.

  Jared smiled again as she looked at him. ‘You are a loyal dog. But not to the King, but to his Wolfhound who gives too much to an ungrateful master. Why?

  Remus shrugged, and answered. ‘Tobin is a good man, a man that I could never be, and he has treated me kindly.’ She nodded, as if satisfied with his answer and said, ‘You are better than you know warrior. So what is it that Tobin wants?’

  ‘He wishes me to seek audience with the Red Dragons,’ replied Remus.

  She laughed then, a cold, empty sound. ‘What did he tell you to promise me for such a gift? A grand house, money, or a title? What sweet lies, tell me?’

  Remus licked his lips, and Nemester shuffled nervously. There was something unsettling in her tone, a hidden malice and madness, and Remus wondered again why Tobin would wish to consort with such creatures.

  ‘He will give you peace,’ said Remus. Silence rippled out and Jared tried to hide her shock, but for a moment it was clearly written on her face. Jared seemed to think for a moment, and then she nodded.

  ‘Very well, warrior I will arrange it, but first I will relieve you of your encumbrance,’ she said, and clicked her fingers. Suddenly the hooded creatures rushed forward with an unearthly howling and grabbed at the terrified Nemester. He begged for mercy as they bore him down to the earth, and surrounded him.

  ‘Have pity!’ cried Remus in horror and disgust.

  ‘Why?’ asked Jared. ‘He is a Whispering Assassin; do not pity the likes of him. Come. Let my brother’s feast in peace.’

  Not knowing what else to do Remus followed her, trying to shutout out the screams of Nemester as the creatures gorged themselves on his living flesh. Some of the beasts started to squabble amongst themselves for the choicest bits, they snarled and tore at each other. Jared walked calmly away from her feasting brothers and walked into the dark woods. Swallowing his fear, he walked behind her, praying for the dying screams of Nemester to come quickly to an end.

  End of Part One.