by Sean Russell
Cynddl was equally quiet and troubled, though Tam suspectedit had little to do with any events of that day or even anxiety about thefuture. He had seen his friend look this way before-the stories of this placedisturbed him, and there was no place where he could hide from them. Tam hadcome to realize that the life of a story finder was not enviable. For everystory that rose from the ground like a gift, there were many that rose likecadavers, disturbing and best left unknown. The stories of men were too oftenstories of war and treachery, greed and revenge. Cynddl had once told him thatstories of love did not linger and last the way stories of hatred or violencedid-as though the intensity of the emotions sustained the stories over time. Tamwanted to believe that love would be stronger than hatred, but it appeared notto be so.
Wolfson drifted apart from them as they traveled, and nowand then Tam would catch a glimpse of him striding beneath the trees, a wolf ortwo gamboling about his heels.
And to think, Tam found himself ruminating, they had set outto travel a fortnight on the river to buy horses upon which to ride home. Thathad been their idea of an adventure-the adventure of a lifetime! He suspectedthat if he lived to tell his story in the Vale, none would believe him. No,that was not true: his grandfather would believe.
Evening brought them to the base of a wooded hill that stoodout from the terrain around like a massive burial mound. They filled theirdrinking skins from a spring that Wolfson knew.
“It is a good place to camp,” the giant said, crouchingbefore the spring. The water splashed out of a cleft in the rock and fell intoa diminutive pool, bordered by large, flat stones, no doubt placed there byWolfson’s people. Darkness was perhaps an hour off, and already the mountainswere casting long shadows over the green valley. “There is a often a cool windfrom the north at night. Air sweeping down off the mountains.”
“We will make our camp on the hilltop,” Alaan said, waving ahand up the slope.
“But the hilltop will offer little protection from the wind,”Wolfson argued.
“No, but it will offer protection from other things.”
Wolfson stood, rocking from one foot to the other. “Mypeople don’t go up on this hill. It is a cursed place.”
“We will chance superstition,” Alaan said, and led his horsetoward the wooded slope.
It was almost sunset as they crested the mound. There werefewer trees there, and the vantage offered unobstructed views to all points ofthe compass. To the north, rugged mountains and the long valley winding off tothe west. They looked down on the forest from the hill, and into the largemeadows that interrupted the green carpet of trees. Cynddl began pointing andnaming species of trees by the differing shades of green.
Already a cool breeze flowed down from the mountaintops, andthe companions all found cloaks from their packs. Wolfson looked accusingly atAlaan, but the traveler did not seem to notice, or if he did, care. As theothers unsaddled horses and collected firewood, Alaan stood staring off to thenorth, his face grim. One of Wolfson’s small pack of wolves came into campthen, and it took up a place next to Alaan, sitting and staring out over the forestas though it too looked for something.
“What is it, Alaan?” Tam said quietly. He had positioned himselfso that Alaan was between him and the wolf.
“No fire,” Alaan said. “We will stand watches tonight.”
“Are we so close to Death’s kingdom?”
“Yes and no. Our task is too important to risk by complacency.”He turned away and fetched his bow from his saddle, then walked once around thehill, examining the lay of the land, gazing off into the south for a while,where the dark clouds of a storm hung low, obscuring the landscape.
Alaan returned to the others. “If we make camp over here,”he said, pointing to the south, “there is a rock outcropping that will give ussome shelter.”
In a few moments they had established themselves in the leeof a small rock face, out of the worst of the cool wind.
“We might start a fire here after dark,” Alaan said, lookingat the lay of the land. They were in a natural hollow, now, which would likelyhide their fire from anyone below. Smoke, of course, would not be hidden, butby dark in this breeze it would be quickly swept away and hard to see on such ablack night.
“Who is it Alaan fears?” Fynnol asked Tam, as darkness fell.Tam could not see his cousin, but he could hear the concern in his voice.
“I don’t know,” Tam said, “but he is watching the north.”
Indeed, the traveler had posted himself in the brunt of thebreeze and sat, hunched against the wind, staring toward the mountains. Starsappeared, but the moon had not yet risen, and the forest spread out as dark asthe ocean.
Upon the hilltop, the trees bent and creaked to the wind,branches flailing the darkness. Leaves and pine needles whirled by, and thewind whistled eerily from all around.
“Well, it is a good night for a ghost story,” Fynnol said ashe used a flint to fire some tinder. “Cynddl, certainly you must know a goodghost story? Something that will creep into our dreams and wake us all at theslightest noise.”
“I know too many stories that will do that,” the Fael said, “butI think tonight is a night for a different kind of tale.” Cynddl shiftedhimself, warming his legs by the fire, for the wind bore the cold of themountains. “This is an old story of the Dubrell, one that Wolf-son must know.The kingdom to the south has always loomed over the valley of the giants, likea dark, shadowing mountain. Even in more peaceful times the people of thisvalley lived uneasily in that shadow. It ruined their sleep and troubled theirwaking hours. For some it was like a dark place in the mind. A dark place offear that never went away even beneath the midday sun. There were nomonstrosities escaping the southern kingdom then, only the whisperings ofDeath’s servants. To most these whisperings were no more than chill breezes,disturbing one’s sleep. But to others there were words in such breezes-wordsand promises. A group of Dubrell heard these promises and heeded them. Secretlytheir numbers grew-”
“This is a lie!” exploded Wolfson. “None of my people everhad dealings with the southern kingdom!” The giant had risen to his feet andglared down at Cynddl, pointing a massive finger at the story finder. His otherhand went to the hilt of his sword.
“The stories I find are true,” Cynddl said evenly, “whetheryou believe them or not. I apologize if this story disturbs you.”
“I won’t listen to lies!” the giant said, and stormed offinto the night.
Everyone was silent a moment, uncertain what to do, thenCrowheart said, “I would hear the rest of this story.”
“So would I,” Fynnol agreed.
Alaan, who had come to stand just at the firelight’s edge,nodded.
Cynddl composed himself again, his eyes losing focus as helooked within to that place where stories were found. “Secretly their numbersgrew,” he said again, “and they began to whisper among themselves, whisper ofoverthrowing the leaders of their people and making bargains with the kingdomto the south, so they would not have to live in fear. On a moonless night theycame here, where a tower stood-Thollingkep it was called. By deception they hadthe gate opened, and slipped within …”
Tam was no longer staring into the fire, but into thedarkness. He realized that Wolf son stood not far off, listening.
“A terrible fight ensued, but the Dubrell of Thollingkepwere murdered-man, woman … child. A war broke out among the giant folk, along war that finally saw the defeat of the traitors-those who had listened tothe whispers. That is why the Dubrell don’t come here now. It is a cursed placethey say-a haunted place.”
Wolfson appeared out of the darkness. “How did you know thename of this hill?” he asked, his voice quiet now.
“Cynddl is a Fael story finder,” Alaan said. “He can hearthe stories of a place. What he says is true. There is no lying to a storyfinder.”
Wolfson stared at Cynddl a moment.
“That is not the story I’ve heard,” the giant said. “Theelders say that Death sent a plague through the eastern parts o
f our land, andit swept the children away. He sent emissaries to the elders of these lands,then, and promised to return the children if they would make war on theirbrethren. As a token of his goodwill he sent a child-a single child who haddied, now returned to the living. In their sorrow the fathers took up armsagainst their own people.”
Cynddl shook his head. “That is not the story I have foundhere.”
“Death lets no one go who has passed through the gate,”Alaan said. “No one. I’m sorry.”
Wolfson hung his head a moment. His hand dropped from thehilt of his sword.
A deep blaring note, like a distant horn, came to them then,carried on the wind. Tam barely noted it, but Wolfson pulled himself up,turning his head slowly, listening, completely alert.
“Did you hear that?” the giant whispered. The faltering firelightplayed across his bearded face, now suddenly strained and grim.
“I thought I heard something,” Fynnol said, looking up atthe giant in apprehension. “What made such a sound?”
“A horn,” the giant whispered, still turning his head,seeking sounds on the wind. “There! Again! Did you hear that?”
Tam heard.
Wolfson grabbed his axe.
“Shall we douse the fire?” Cynddl asked.
“No. Build it up!” the giant said as he strode toward astand of saplings. “And find more firewood.”
He began to hack the saplings down and lop off the branches.Alaan took up their own axe and went to the giant’s aid, not even stopping toask questions.
“Here,” Wolfson said, tossing a sapling to Alaan. “We musthave spears. Sharpen that and harden it in the fire. Iron tips are what weneed, but this will have to do.”
“What’s out there?” Fynnol asked. He stood looking on,almost bouncing with fear.
“Perhaps it isn’t us they’re after,” Wolfson said, stillchopping branches away. “We might hope.” And he said no more.
Tam strung his bow and found all his arrows before searchingfor more firewood. The wind continued to howl through the trees, and, overhead,clouds buried the stars. Firelight grew as they heaped on dry branches,lighting the sentinel trees, coloring the apprehensive faces of his companionsa dull orange.
Tam threw another armful of twisted branches on the fire andwiped away the sweat from his forehead and eyes. The call of the horn was heardagain, but this time closer, the sound making the hair on his neck stand up.Wolfson’s pack surged into camp, their own hackles erect. They were frettingand growling, howling sporadically. They gathered about their master but kepttheir eyes on the darkness to the north, their teeth bared.
Tam stood by the fire, his bow in hand, one of Wolfson’smakeshift spears planted in the earth. They all arrayed themselves with theirbacks to the fire, Wolfson in the center, Cynddl,Tam, and Fynnol close to him,Alaan and Crowheart to the outside.
A different sound was carried on the wind now-the sound ofbreaking branches, of something crashing through the trees. The wolves begansnarling and yapping at the darkness. Overhead the crows screeched and flutteredfrom branch to branch.
Whatever crashed through the wood stopped just at the shorelinewhere light met the sea of darkness. Wolfson took up a dead fir branch, all itsneedles turned to brown. He thrust it in the fire, then held it up flaring andcrackling. Whatever lay beyond the firelight hesitated but did not retreat.
The horn sounded again, this time very near, and there was asudden stamping in the darkness, then out of it shot some dark-skinnedcreature, the height of a pony. It went straight for Wolfson, who tossed hisbrand at its face and stepped forward, driving his spear into its neck.
A boar, Tam realized, but huge and grotesque. Wolfson sprangout of the way of the tusks, and the beast charged into the fire. Tam leaptaside as burning logs were thrown every which way.
More creatures thundered out of the trees, some larger thanthe first. Wolves leapt at their legs from behind, and they kicked and threwtheir heads, but kept coming, snouts down, aiming to gore the men. Crows fellupon one, tearing at its eyes so that it veered aside and stopped, trying toshake off its tiny attackers. Crowheart stepped forward and calmly cut itsthroat with a sword.
Tam was struck from behind as he drove his makeshift spearinto the shoulder of the largest of the creatures. He was thrown down on theground and only saved himself from being trampled by rolling nimbly to oneside.
“Go up!” Alaan shouted, pointing at the pinnacle of stonethat leaned over the camp.
Fynnol was already scrambling up, tearing moss away from therock in his efforts. Tam swept up his bow and quiver and tried to follow. Thegiant boars seemed to be everywhere, charging in all directions, chasing afterwolves, trying to shake off the attacking crows. Though Tam didn’t know who hadfallen, he went bounding up the rocks hand over hand, his bow and quiver thrownquickly over a shoulder and threatening to get in his way and cause a fall.
Fynnol reached down and grabbed the first thing that came tohand-Tam’s hair-and pulled him up onto the small summit. A boar tried tofollow, snapping at Tam’s heels, but Fynnol put an arrow in its snout, and itfell away, squealing.
A moment later they pulled Cynddl onto the peak and thethree sent a rain of arrows down into the creatures that ran amok below. Firehad spread everywhere, catching in the dry grasses and in the dead branches oftrees. The scene was chaos, with Wolfson in the middle, surrounded by hiswolves, charging this way and that. Rabal’s crow army lit upon the faces of thebeasts, but Crowheart was nowhere to be seen.
“There must be twenty of them!” Fynnol shouted.
Rabal and Alaan appeared from behind, climbing onto thecrowded summit. They began calling to Wolfson. “Come up! Come up!” though Tamdidn’t know where the giant would stand.
The largest of the beasts threw himself at the little hill ofstone, and the men hacked and thrust with their swords. The pig would havethrown them all off but a rock rolled beneath its feet, and it slid down,landing on its side, where the pack fell upon it.
Wolfson came clambering up the slope then, and the archerstried to drive off the beast that chased him. The giant clung to the stone justbelow them, there being no room for him on the crest. He held on to the stonewith one hand and brandished his sword with the other. Below, among the patchesof flame, the enraged boars gathered, snuffling and squealing, arrows bristlingfrom their faces and flanks. Shadows wavered across the ground and trees, andhere and there fires flared up as some dry bush or grasses were touched byflame.
“They’re going to charge us,” Wolfson said, he lookedbehind. They were little more than a dozen feet above the giant creatures, andto their backs the ground was even closer as the slope of the hill rose up. “Ithink we have no choice but to run into the trees. Down the slope there aresome great oaks and maples. We might climb up and be out of their reach. Theywill be gone by sun-up, if we can stay alive that long.”
The wind whipped the giant’s hair and beard, and blew bitsof flaming vegetation past their faces. They all stood, gasping for breath,sweat running freely down faces turned the colors of sunset by the firelight.Alaan had blood running down his arm and covering his hand, though he didn’tseem to notice.
A crashing in the forest behind caused them all to jump.
“They are behind us now, too,” Alaan said, hefting hissword.
“They’re going to charge!” Wolfson warned, and certainly thebeasts did seem to have worked up their rage, squealing and pawing at theground. Tam could see them in the orange light of the spreading fire. The eyedid not admit their size-the largest the height of horses, but twice a horse’sbulk. Lethal-looking tusks protruded from their snouts, and their small eyesglittered madly in the flickering light.
The wind blew fiercely across the hill, whipping the men’sclothes and hair. It moaned through the trees, tossing branches and fanning thegrowing flames. A horn sounded, echoing down the wind. Wolfson braced himselffor the assault, which he would meet first.
The squealing reached a frightening crescendo, and theterrible beasts c
harged in a mass.
Out of the trees, at that very moment, plunged riders.
“Hafydd’s spies!” Fynnol cried, pointing.
“Into the trees!” Alaan shouted.
Tam turned to run, but more of the creatures loomed out ofthe dark. He fired an arrow, then another. The dark mass did not falter butcharged through the underwood directly for them.
“Jump!” Cynddl cried, and they all threw themselves from thesmall summit.
Tam crashed through some sparse bushes and scrambled to hisfeet, ignoring the scratches and cuts. His bow was gone, so he yanked his swordfrom its scabbard and crouched low, ready to fight man or beast. From his placein the shadows he stared into the small clearing, and there, lit by burningtrees and patches of grass, he saw a battle, between mounted men and thesecreatures, out of someone’s nightmare. The horses wore trappings that protectedthem from being gored, and the men seemed to know their business, as thoughthey’d fought such beasts before.
To Tam’s surprise, Wolfson leapt down from his perch andwaded into the battle, calling out to the men, who answered him with words Tamdid not know. Alaan ran out of the shadows to guard the giant’s back, and theyleapt upon any animal thrown down by the riders, hacking at its throat orcruelly taking out its eyes.
The remaining creatures crashed into the dark wood, thesounds of their progress loud over the howl of the wind. They were gone.
The riders dismounted and immediately began beating out theflames with their cloaks. Wolfson took up the ruins of someone’s bedding anddid the same, flailing at the burning grass, coughing from the smoke. Tamsheathed his sword and followed the giant’s example, choking and covering hismouth. But the flames fought back, refusing to be beaten, consuming all thefuel left by a dry summer.
Tam wondered if the whole hill would catch fire, perhapseven spreading down into the valley, when a drop of cool rain splattered on hisforehead and ran down into his eye. In a moment it was raining hard, and thefire was failing. One of the strangers made an effort to keep flames in thefire pit, and by this frail light Tam and the others gathered their trampledbelongings, some of which had been spread far beyond the small circle of light.
