by Peter Grant
They came out of the trees to find the gigantic carcass lying next to a small stream. It was almost covered by the bracken and bushes that grew thickly all around it. The scout led them around the dead gruefell and up to his comrade, who had dismounted. He was standing by a man on the ground, lying next to a small rivulet. The man stirred as he saw the approaching patrol, and tried to lift himself onto one elbow, but couldn’t find the strength.
Owain dismounted, tossing the reins of his horse to a trooper, and strode forward to stand at the fallen man’s side. “How come you here, man?”
Two gleaming black eyes looked up at him unblinkingly. “Who are you?”
“My name is Owain.”
The other stared unbelievingly for a moment. “Owain? Are you the one they call the King’s Champion?”
“I am.”
The man broke into shaky laughter. “You are the one we were sent to kill!”
“Kill? Me? When and where?”
“In the forest, at the camp of the Baron of Brackley. We thought we’d killed you, but it must have been some other axe wielder. You’re mad to come here! They seek your death more than any other – and yet you walk right into their midst!”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“The sorcerers – curse them for all eternity!” The man tried to sit up again, but had to give up, hissing with pain as his twisted, misshapen legs moved against each other.
“Lie still, man.” Owain noted that his body was also shrunken. “You must be hungry. We’ll prepare food for you.”
“You would feed an enemy?”
“Right now, you don’t look like an enemy to me – just an injured man who needs help.” He gestured to the gruefell carcass behind them. “Was that your animal?”
“Yes, she was mine, until those accursed necromancers killed her!”
Owain shook his head. “I do not understand. Why would your own people kill a gruefell?”
“I know their killing spells – I’ve seen them before. They’re what killed my gruefell, and will probably kill me in the end, so who else could it be?” The man broke off, panting for breath. “Bring me food, to strengthen me, and I’ll tell you.”
“I shall see to it. Oh – what is your name?”
“I am Rajczak.”
“Very well. Rest easy until the food is ready.”
He straightened, and turned to Maram. “Cornet, we’ll overnight here.”
“But, King’s Champion, it is not yet noon!”
“Yes, I know, but I must learn all this man can tell me. Have one of the men prepare a hearty broth from the deer meat left over from last night, as quickly as he can. We must feed our prisoner, so he has the strength to talk. Tell the others to make camp in their usual pairs, taking care to ensure they cannot be observed from above. Dry fuel only for the fires, so that there’s no smoke. Give the horses a ration of oats, and picket them to graze where they cannot be seen. They could do with half a day’s rest.”
“Aye, King’s Champion.”
Once fed, the Graben was stronger. Owain settled down to talk to him. One of the priest-mages turned out to understand Graben, and sat with them, making notes.
Rajczak began by describing the raid on the Baron’s camp. “Our orders were to kill you. They said you were a large, strong man wielding a double-bitted battle-axe. You, above all others, were our main target. We were to bring back your weapons and everything you had with you. We were told you’d stolen something of great importance.” His gaze shifted to the arm ring Owain wore, with its distinctive design. It was one of those taken from the dead Graben raiders at the inn and the Baron’s camp, and twin to the one on his own arm. His eyes widened. “I can see what they meant!”
“Why do you say that?”
“That arm ring – do you not know what it does?”
“Tell me.”
Rajczak gazed at Owain for a moment, mouth open in surprise. “It admits us – the gruefell riders – to the outermost of the three circles at the Sacred Hill. That’s where we go with our gruefells when we finish our training, to receive our arm rings and be sworn into service. We receive and deliver messages and packages there from time to time. Without the arm rings, we couldn’t pass the wards of sorcery that protect the Sacred Hill.”
“Do all gruefell riders receive one of these rings?”
“Yes, and the specially trained men-at-arms who fly with us. It’s like a badge of office.”
“You mentioned three circles. What are the other two?”
“The second circle is reserved for the princes of our people. They have their own passkey to get into it, which also opens a sort of prison inside it, used to house those reserved for special tortures. They do the torturing, at the sorcerers’ bidding. The inner circle… there’s no key for that. Only the sorcerers enter there, and their apprentices.”
Owain nodded thoughtfully. The torc he had captured at the inn, now riding in one of his saddlebags, was probably a key to the second circle, then. “What if someone needs to enter the outer circle, but has no arm ring?”
“One of us can take them in, provided they’re touching our armband. Once inside, they’re safe; but if they release their grasp as they cross the wards, they will die at once. Our princes can take visitors into the second ring, in the same way, but very few are admitted there.”
“And the inner circle?”
“Only the sorcerers can admit someone to that. I’ve never seen it – only heard of it. It’s said to be a place of impenetrable darkness.” Rajczak shivered. “Sometimes, it is said, screams echo for miles from within it. I haven’t heard them myself, but some of my fellow riders said they did. There is a thing of great and dread power there. They call it the Eater of Souls, but what that means, I do not know.”
Owain blinked, remembering what the old couple had told him a few weeks before, at the mound on the coast. Could this be the same ancient artifact of evil they had described? Unconsciously he fingered the red leather pouch, now slung around his neck beneath his shirt.
“All right. You were sent to kill me at Brackley’s camp. What happened after that?”
“We were driven off. We must have been betrayed. Who told you?”
“I was not there. I know nothing of any betrayal.”
“You weren’t there?” For a moment the man fell silent, speechless. “Then… all those dead gruefells, all my dead comrades… it was all for nothing?”
“I fear so.”
The Graben spat furiously to one side. “That explains much. As we fled, those of us who survived spoke among ourselves, using our gruefells’ mind-links. We concluded that somehow, the sorcerers had thrown away our lives for no good reason. We were very angry, and planned to tell our comrades about what had happened; but, as we flew over this place, a killing spell hit us. I’d seen them used a couple of times, to punish those who’d failed the sorcerers, so I recognized it at once.”
“How is it you were not killed?”
“My gruefell had been sore hurt by an arbalest bolt. We lagged further and further behind. I told the others to make their best speed, that I’d meet them back at our base. We must have been almost a mile behind them when the spell hit. All of them dropped like stones, vanishing into the trees and brush higher up this valley. The outer edge of the spell brushed us. I felt faint and sick, and my heart fluttered within me. My gruefell must have felt something similar, but she managed to land before her heart gave out and she died. She was already weakened by her wound, of course, so even a light touch of the spell was enough to finish her.
“I was bounced out of the saddle when she struck the ground hard. I broke my right leg, and fainted from the pain. I suppose that’s why I’m still alive; since I made no movement, the sorcerers must have thought I was dead, so they didn’t bother to finish me off. When I came around, I managed to cut a couple of branches from the bushes with my dagger, and splinted my leg as best I could. I couldn’t walk at first, but I could drag myself along the ground, although
not very far. My heart had been weakened by the spell, so I couldn’t exert myself as before.”
“How did you manage to get enough food to survive?”
Rajczak hung his head. “At first, I cut meat from the body of my gruefell. It was rank and tough, but it kept me alive. I dried as much as I could over a fire, to preserve it, and ate it while I couldn’t walk. After a couple of weeks, it was gone, and the rest of her carcass was rotting. I cut two limbs from a big bush, and made crutches out of them. I used cord to set snares for rabbits and other small animals, and looked for edible greens.”
“How did you plan to get out of here, once your leg had healed?”
“My leg was setting crooked, and I knew it wouldn’t bear my weight for so long a journey. Instead, I waited for a gruefell to fly overhead. It would surely see the carcass of my mount; and even if it didn’t, I could reach it using the mind-link I’d developed with my own gruefell, provided it came close enough. I wanted to tell its rider what the sorcerers had done to us, his comrades, and have him warn the others – not to mention carry me away from here! I can’t understand why I haven’t seen another gruefell. Normally, they patrol this area at least once every week, but they haven’t passed overhead since the raid on Brackley’s camp. They must be using the valleys on either side of this one; but, sooner or later, one must surely come here.”
Owain shook his head. “If the sorcerers did this to you, they would make sure your comrades were kept away from here, so they could not find your bodies and guess at what happened.”
The other cursed aloud. “That must be it!” He breathed heavily for a moment, his face creased in renewed anger.
Owain gestured to the man’s left leg. “You said you broke your right leg, but your left leg is also injured. How did that happen?”
“It was five days ago. A boar came out of the bushes, and charged as soon as it saw me. It snapped both my crutches and knocked me down. I felt my left leg break. I stabbed the creature in the neck with my dagger, which stuck in its flesh. It ran off, taking my blade with it. I heard it fall over there, kicking and struggling and squealing, but I was too badly hurt to chase after it. My left leg was too painful to drag for more than a pace or two. Without my dagger, I could not even cut splints for it, let alone make new crutches.”
Owain nodded slowly. “So, you’ve been lying here for five days?”
“Yes. I had water from the stream, and ate what food I had within reach, but I only had enough for one day. I resigned myself to dying here. I’ve been growing weaker by the day, and feeling my heart beat more and more raggedly. I’m sure it’s still affected by the death spell the sorcerers used.”
Owain turned, and called to the nearest man-at-arms, “Walk over that way. See if you can find the carcass of a wild boar, with a dagger stuck in it. If you find it, please bring me the dagger.”
“Aye, King’s Champion.”
He turned back to the Graben. “You may think I’m your enemy, but I think we have a greater enemy in common – the sorcerers. Will you show me where to find this Sacred Hill of theirs?”
“I will. They showed me no loyalty, so why should I show it to them? If you get the chance, please avenge my comrades!”
“I’ll do my best. Let me get my map.”
When he returned, Rajczak pointed to the crossroads he’d previously marked. “Were you planning to come out of these woods and valleys at that place?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Don’t. It’s heavily patrolled, and gruefells fly overhead often. You will be seen. Instead, take this side valley.” His finger traced an alternate route. “It comes out a day’s ride east of the crossroads, where the traffic is much lighter. Cross the road at night, when it will be hard to see you, and travel under cover of the woods, following this stream. After three days, you’ll reach the Sacred Hill. Even in daylight, its peak is crowned with impenetrable darkness. The last few miles are again through open grassland, where you can be seen. Gruefells patrol the hill, high up, so don’t try to approach it. They are sure to see you, day or night. You could not pass yourselves off as one of our patrols, because they don’t go close to the hill. Our nearest fort is five miles distant from it, and no-one lives closer.” He shivered. “It is an evil place, a place to shun. I hated going there.”
Owain nodded. There was no reason to tell this man how he proposed to reach his objective. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised.
The rider Owain had dispatched came back, holding a dirty, rusted dagger. “I found the boar,” he said, holding out the weapon hilt-first. “This was stuck in the bones of its neck.”
“Thank you.” Owain accepted it from him.
The Graben sighed, his eyes on the blade. “I’m sorry to see it looking like that. It served me well for many years.” He hesitated. “May I have it back?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to use it against you. It’s just that I’d prefer not to starve to death. At least let me open my veins, and die like a man!”
“We could take you with us,” Owain began, but broke off as Rajczak shook his head violently.
“No, you can’t. With two broken legs, how can I sit a horse?”
“We could make a travois –”
“No, you can’t. How can a horse pull it through thick scrub and brush like this? Besides, it’s several days’ ride up and down rough, steep hills before you reach level ground. I’d never be able to stand the pain of being bounced around like that. You know as well as I do that there’s only one way out of here for me; and I’m willing to bet you won’t give it to me. You don’t have the reputation of a man who’ll kill a wounded, helpless prisoner.”
“No… no, I can’t do that.”
“Then will you let me do it for myself? Please?”
Owain sighed. “I’ll think on it, and give you my answer tonight.”
“I… oh, all right. I’ll wait.” Rajczak hesitated. “There’s one more thing. My own gods, that I was taught to follow from my youth, proved to be useless when I really needed them. I no longer believe in them. I know you follow Ahurael, the God of Light. If a man like you chooses a god like that, there must be more to him than empty air! Will you tell me more about him?”
“This priest-mage can do that better than I can. I trust him, and you can too. I’ll leave you to talk to him for a while.”
—————
As the afternoon wore on, Owain passed the time cleaning the Graben’s dagger. He washed off the mud and dirt, polished away the rust using a little of the coarse sand they all carried to rub tarnish off their hauberks, and restored the blade’s edges and point to shaving keenness with a sharpening stone. As he worked, he listened to the murmur of voices from the Graben gruefell rider and the priest-mage from Atheldorn. They spoke for a long time.
Maran sent out archers to hunt for food. They returned with two deer and several rabbits, which were rapidly skinned, jointed, and set to cook over small fires, built out of tinder-dry wood to produce minimal smoke. Fresh greens, cut from and dug out of the surrounding brush, and pan bread baked in skillets, rounded out the meal. By the time the sun sank behind the peaks around them, the food was ready.
Owain took two well-laden plates over to Rajczak and the priest-mage. They looked up as he approached. Both men looked tired, but happy.
“I thank you, friendly enemy,” the Graben said with a smile as he took his plate.
Owain couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t think we’re enemies except in the purely technical sense,” he argued.
“I suppose you’re right. Thank you for suggesting I talk with this priest. He’s done me a lot of good, I can tell you.”
Owain glanced at the priest-mage, who nodded as he accepted his food. “I’ve explained Ahurael’s teachings to him, and he’s accepted them. I’ve shriven him of his sins.”
“That’s good news.” He turned back to Rajczak. “I had a thought. We’re planning to come back this way. I can
’t leave a man with you, but we can leave some food, and a bow and some arrows, so you can hunt anything that comes within range. By the time we come back, you might be able to sit a horse, and we could take you back to the Kingdom with us.”
“That’s if you survive to come back at all!”
“Yes, there is that,” Owain had to admit. “Even so, I’d rather see you wait for us than take your own life, perhaps needlessly.”
“Well… I’ll think about it tonight. May I give you my answer in the morning?”
“Yes, you may.” Owain took the dagger from his waistband and held it out, hilt first. “I’ve cleaned and sharpened it. I think we can trust you with it now. You’ll need it to cut your food.”
“I thank you.” Rajczak put down his plate and took the weapon, shaking his head slowly. “I… I swore an oath once, that I would not die in battle unless my blades were red with enemy blood; but I never got the chance to blood this blade. I know I’ve forsaken those gods now – and good riddance to them! – but it still feels strange to know that isn’t likely to happen now. I’ve lived with that vow for a very long time.”
“That’s easily solved.” Owain took back the dagger, bared his left forearm, and scratched it with the point of the dagger, very gently. It left a hairline cut in the skin, from which a little blood flowed. He rubbed the blade across it, then returned it to the Graben. “There. I’m technically an enemy, even though I’m not really one where you’re concerned; and that’s my blood on the blade. You can call your old oath fulfilled now.”
Rajczak stared, then broke into laughter. “Thank you, friendly enemy!” He wiped the blade on his shirt. “You can rest easy. I’ll not mingle your blood with my supper!”
Laughing in his turn, Owain left him to enjoy his meal.
—————
The patrol woke at first light, rolling out of their blankets, tying their bedrolls, saddling their horses, and preparing for another hard day’s riding. Owain completed his preparations, then walked over to where Rajczak had slept, wrapped in a blanket provided by the patrol.
