by P D Ceanneir
Only one man rode a horse, he was richly dressed in elegant riding britches; knee-high brown leather boots and a silk shirt of a bright lemon that would make him stand out in the darkness of the woods. His red cape did not have a stain on it and his white velvet gloves looked pristine. He wore a golden circlet on his head that almost concealed his shock of white-blonde hair. The dandy was talking to Whyteman and Havoc saw him pointing in his direction. Both the equestrian and the archer moved towards him.
‘This is my brother the Atyd Morden,’ said Whyteman introducing the richly dressed rider.
‘I’ am grateful for your help sir,’ said Havoc walking over the dead that covered the slight rise in the ground he was defending. The rider looked with astonishment at the bodies and flinched at the groans of dying men. He gave Havoc a sardonic smile through hooded eyes. He was perhaps only a few years older than Whyteman, with very little resemblance.
‘Is this all you’re doing young man?’ he said indicating the bodies. He said the words slowly and with much distain, as if he was talking to a stupid servant.
Havoc frowned at the question, he looked to his right, and pointed with his sword at the nearest body, the dead Vallkyte soldier was laying face down in a shallow red puddle of water and blood.
‘Probably not that one, I saw him drown himself with depression, but the rest I can claim, yes,’ he said this with such a serious tone and a straight face that even Whyteman blinked.
‘Oh, right then,’ said the rider with a slow nod. He looked around him to ensure that his men were doing their job and that the Vallkytes had fled. ‘Good show, keep up with us then, we will head off shortly.’ He turned to his brother and waved goodbye, then trotted off.
‘Don’t worry about my brother,’ said Whyteman, ‘he is not as vain as he appears. I think he was impressed.’
Havoc stunned the young archer by embracing him.
‘You arrived in the nick of time, my friend. How did you find them so quickly?’
‘My brother is Atyd for the south Eldom of the Eternal Forest, the land there is called Triel, luckily for me he was hunting there for deer and wild boar when I happened across him.’
‘Lucky for us to,’ said Havoc who yawned, he suddenly felt very tired.
Furran appeared with Brynd and called them over. Havoc was relieved to see them alive. Furran’s stitches on his cheeks had burst, but the blood had only oozed from the wound.
‘We got cut off from the others,’ explained Furran, ‘Luckily those archers stopped the Vallkytes from overrunning our position. Little Kith and the others are up ahead.’
The Atyd Morden soon collected all of his men and marched them to the north. Havoc met Little Kith and his group a few hundred yards away as they walked ahead of the forest men.
‘Powyss has sent word back. The Falesti have taken them and Verkin directly to Morden’s town which is not that far north,’ said the giant who was getting looks of awe from the shorter forest folk.
‘Who are the Falesti?’ Havoc Frowned.
‘It is the true name of the peoples of the Eternal Forest,’ said Linth, ‘the name is ancient, dating back thousands of years.’
‘Where are they taking us?’
‘Triel Hall, the seat of the Atyd,’ said Brynd.
‘What’s an Atyd?’ said Furran who looked ill at ease with the Falesti marching at their backs.
‘To us it means prince,’ said Whyteman.
‘I did not think that there were many prince’s on the island?’ said Havoc in surprise.
‘It is not a high royal rank among the Falesti, the closest translation for you will be duke or count such as a landed Mormaer. There are four Atyd’s all ruling the four Els’ or Burghs of the forest, Balael to the north, Wurel in the west, Flael is east with Triel here in the south.’
‘So you are a noble then?’ smiled Havoc at Whyteman.
‘Not really,’ blushed the youth, ‘I have five older brothers, and only two have titles. I can however, call myself Boughman.’
‘Which means what?’
‘It means I have the authority to command a detachment of archers,’ shrugged Whyteman.
‘Very handy,’ said Havoc.
‘I thought that the forest folk did not take kindly to strangers on their land?’ asked Little Kith.
‘We are protective of our people and traditions. Nevertheless you will find that we are very hospitable,’ said Linth.
‘Yes but why are they giving me funny looks.’ They all looked behind them as Little Kith pointed towards the marching column of Falesti soldiers.
‘That’s because you look funny!’ said Furran, and got a punch on the arm for his cheek.
‘It’s probably because they have never seen someone a tall as you,’ informed Linth.
They marched on for another hour and Havoc noticed a slow transformation occur among the trees of the Oldwoods and the Eternal Forest. In the Oldwoods, the firs and birches grew in dense copses, massed together in wild overgrown disarray; the forest of the Falesti was more open and uniform.
The trees were larger too, much larger. He recognized tall mountain ash in abundance, their trunks wide and ample. He saw many varieties’ of sequoia, mountain ash and large oaks. Others he did not recognise, their branches so high that he could not leap to them even with the wind element for assistance.
The canopy was high, giving off an open airy feeling, reminding him of the library in his home citadel with its high arched ceiling of curved beams. However, it was also bright as the sunlight shone through the many gaps in this roof of leaves, dapples of light and shadow moved over the forest floor as the wind swayed the higher branches.
Grass grew in many places. These little glades, for want of a better name, also boasted flowers and shrubs of many species and colours. The sound of animals, searching for food in the undergrowth of tall ferns, was all around them. Birds and squirrels flitted from tree to tree; in the distance, a woodpecker could be heard beating out its drumming tattoo on a trunk.
For the first time, in what seemed forever, Havoc felt calm and relaxed as he viewed the beauty and splendour around him, life just seemed so simple and undemanding here in this tranquil haven. For once, his alter ego agreed; there were no incessant demands or whispers from the Blacksword and Havoc frowned at his anxiety and concern he had for this other persona. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was imagining it all.
The Atyd Morden broke his thoughts, as he rode to his side.
‘My brother tells me that you are the leader of this sorry lot?’ he said with a hint of apprehension. Havoc got the feeling that the Atyd was not used to dealing with outsiders.
‘Yes sir, I’ am.’
‘He is indebted to you for saving him from the atrocities at Haplann,’ said Morden, ‘and so am I for that matter. Don’t tell him, but he has always been my favourite brother.’ The Atyd leaned down and winked at Havoc.
The smile both men gave each other was genuine, and Havoc was beginning to warm to this dandified aristocrat.
‘Your secret is safe with me lord Atyd.’
‘Please just call me Morden, and you are?’
‘Havoc,’ he was aware that the man was trying to be friendly, but his tone was more patrician than familiar.
‘That’s a Rogun name isn’t it?’ he said with a slight note of disgust.
‘Born and bred,’ said Havoc with a sigh. He was not worried about others recognising his royal identity by his name; it was after all, common among his people.
‘So you bring the troubles of your people into the Eternal Forest?’ The Atyd’s tone was sharp.
‘There is a civil war brewing on this continent Atyd, how long do you think that the Falesti’s safety is compromised?’
‘We are quite safe inside the forest I assure you,’ Morden said this with some forced conviction and a straight back.
‘For a while yes, but with King Kasan and Cinnibar linked together in the Treaty of Sonora, and the lands around the Eterna
l Forest in Vallkyte control. It is only a matter of time before your haven of wood and leaf is in their hands,’ said Havoc in a light matter-of-fact tone.
Morden stared down at Havoc and shook his head.
‘We have been secure here for thousands of years. Safe in the knowledge that our land of tree is so easy to defend, and defend it we have in the past. In our very nature the Falesti are rooted with the forest, bound to the land, free from tyranny.’
‘The same thing can be said for my people. Look what happened to them.’
The Atyd huffed then struck the flanks of his horse and rode away. Whyteman appeared beside Havoc moments later; they walked together for a while in silence.
‘Do not think ill of my brother boss, his views are much the same as yours in regards to the war, but as Atyd he has a duty to the Falesti and to his queen. He is torn by his feelings and the laws of our people, many of whom are like him,’ said Whyteman after a time.
‘Also like you?’
‘Being a Boughman gives me the freedom to choose a different path from the restraints of my brother. He wished me to stay at his side, but I went with the Atyd Cinram to the Dragorsloth in support of the Sonorans’.’
‘It seems this Atyd Cinram had no constraints if he left the forest for battle,’ Havoc mused.
‘He and the queen never saw eye to eye at the best of times, he was married to the queen’s daughter. The queen forbade the taking of arms against outsiders, but she had to relent to public opinion because of Cinram’s popularity. Sadly, he fell in battle, and now the balance of power in the forest shifted,’ he turned to Havoc, ‘I do not know what new world I will enter.’
‘I understand. Things change, they have changed for me every year since my people’s exile.’
The path they walked was well trod. The forest, with its wide spaced trees harboured many such roads. They crisscrossed the ground for ease of travel, and branched off at random intersections that wound deeper into the woodland. Everywhere Havoc looked, he saw the same scenic view. If he had no sense of direction he would feel lost. He was amazed that the Falesti knew their way through the vast expanse of forest without road signs.
‘Are you a Rogun Noble?’ asked Whyteman suddenly, ‘the others are curious about you and Captain Powyss is very tight-lipped.’
Havoc regarded the archer for a few seconds. He realized that Whyteman did not mean to offend him with his forwardness and any prying into Havocs background overshadowed his curiosity.
‘I’ am nothing without a home, Whyteman,’ he answered, ‘and I’m only noble in heart.’
Whyteman accepted this with a nod.
There were shouts up ahead as a small troop of archers carrying tall war bows appeared and welcomed the Atyd and his men. Havoc could see the outline of a wooden palisade, which looked like thick vines interwoven and knitted into a robust wall.
The gate was made of a curtain of hawthorn and leafy brambles that seemed to open up on their own accord. The natural growth of leaves and lichen on the walls gave the whole aspect the look of camouflage. Havoc saw the similarities in his own people; their techniques regarding plant manipulation and reverence were comparable to the Falesti.
Beyond the gate and the walls was a township in the trees, houses made from the branches themselves sat in the spread of boughs and limbs. Twigs and leaves meshed and fused together to make walls and roofs. The brown sticky resin that exudes from the tree bark that also held everything together weatherproofed the whole ensemble. Havoc was impressed at the artisanship; he voiced his opinions to Linth.
‘It looks like the houses have been made by the trees?’
‘It’s thanks to the Roguns that we have this knowledge. One time, long ago, a Rogun Elder wandered into the Eternal Forest and made friends with the Falesti. He taught my people the art of manipulating the trees to provide shelter and protection. In return we look after the forest.’
‘I did not know that. Who was the Elder?’ Havoc said.
‘A man called Veltigen. He and the queen soon fell in love and married. They had four sons who became the first Atyd’s and each inherited the four Eldoms’ of the forest. Whyteman and his brother are descendants of the first Atyd of Triel, where we are now,’ said Linth sweeping his hand around him at the town of tree-manses.
‘So this Veltigen was one of your kings?’ smiled Havoc.
‘No, our people do not have kings, only queens. Females are prized higher than men because of their closeness in sex to the Earth Mother.’
Havoc was surprised to hear another culture identify with the ancient stories of the Elders and My’thos. He for one believed that the Roguns and the Vallkytes were the only tribal entity who worshiped the ancient religions.
‘Of course, your people worship the My’thos, where mine worship the Earth Mother because she created them,’ said Linth as if he knew Havoc’s thoughts.
The houses in the trees were not restricted to the branches. They also had huts on the forest floor, with pens for livestock and the open sunny glades for crops. Spiral staircases, some manmade, others grown from the thick trunk of the tree itself, curled up from the ground to the high houses. Interconnecting branches above them produced a highway of bridges linking to other homes. Some of these were even viaducts carrying rainwater to each household. Pulleys with ropes were used to hoist up goods or transported along horizontal rope crossings that ran parallel to the bridges; this, in turn, was a quick and easy way to convey supplies and merchandise to anywhere within Triel. This whole system of bridge and rope was lost or hidden amongst the greenery of the tree tops; even the homes of the natives were hard to see until you were close enough to notice the stairs or the livestock around the trunks.
‘The trees here produce leaf all year round, due to our care of them,’ said Linth, ‘this is why it is known as the Eternal Forest.’
‘How are you able to manipulate the trees?’ said Havoc.
‘We sing to them.’
Linth could see Havoc’s surprise.
‘Falesti have this knowledge taught to us when we are young. It is a skill that we have known about for many an age; although, when the Elder Veltigen arrived, he helped us to understand and refine our abilities somewhat.’
As they wandered through the township, the people came out of their homes to stare at the newcomers. Men women and children in the similar green attire as the archers watched them pass by. Several groups of young women pointed and giggled shyly at Little Kith. They were either blond or brunette, with flowers in their hair and short light brown skirts that showed off their long bare legs and feet.
‘Looks like I’m going to enjoy it here,’ smiled Furran.
‘How many battles have you been in?’ enquired Whyteman.
‘Plenty, why do you ask?’
‘Well that will give you some experience with the Falesti women then.’
Whyteman laughed as he watched Furran go pale.
They halted at another gate, this time it was manmade with the wall to match. Beyond was a large building that spanned six trees. Each of the four high towers formed from branches, which twisted together into the circular shape of turrets. Its first section was on ground level, and to the prince’s surprise, it was made of stone that was covered in large leafed ivy.
Complete with windows and doors, the stonework looked out of place here, compared to the rest of the structure. A pair of large oak doors opened as they entered the compound and Powyss strode out. The prince was pleased to see his old friend and smiled when Powyss gave them all a big grin.
‘Am I pleased to see you lot,’ he said, ‘we have been here for over an hour now. I thought you would never get here.’
‘Can’t get rid of us that easily,’ said Little Kith looking around him.
‘How’s Verkin?’ Havoc asked.
‘He’s in very good hands, but he will need a lot of rest, so we can’t disturb him. The others are eating the Atyd out of house and tree. Follow me.’
They all followed
Powyss through the oak doors and into a small open courtyard, which was more like a garden. Flowering shrubs and creepers grew all along the inner walls. Blooms of many species were sitting in pots along the flagstone and rain gutters. Smaller trees blocked the sunlight in the shaded corners and roses stretched along the borders of the courtyards path, their pink and yellow heads catching the sun’s rays through the openings in the canopy. Havoc could smell honeysuckle and jasmine in the warm air. The smell reminded him of Eleana and his heart leapt at the memory of her.
Beyond the courtyard was a square lawn next to the entrance to the hall, a long table with chairs sat in the centre. A group of thin, dirty, hairy, threadbare men were stuffing their faces with fowl and pork. A tall man with an eye patch and dark curly hair was pouring cider into the goblets of the hungry group. He looked up at the newcomers.
‘Hey they’re here!’ shouted the eye-patched Velnour.
All of the others rose up from their seats, welcomed Havoc, and his men. While Furran gave a brief explanation of what had happened after they had all separated, Velnour told Havoc their story.
Whyteman and his brother’s men had found them not long after they had set off. They had taken Verkin strapped in-between Dirkem and Sarema, because of the spacing between the trees of the Eternal Forest this was easily done, and had made good time to the Atyd’s manse, which was what the larger tree houses were known as.
‘Medicine men and women from the town are helping to treat Verkin now, they know of your attempt to heal him. They said if you hadn’t done it he would be dead by now,’ said Velnour.
‘I’m glad he’s well, when can we see him?’ said Havoc.
‘I think they will make an exception for you, boss. Ahh… we all wanted to turn back and help you, but…’ Velnour looked guiltily at him.
‘I know. There was nothing you could have done that the Falesti hadn’t done already.’
Havoc only had time to drink half a mug of cider and eat a palm-sized strip of pork, when Powyss took him to one side. With a chicken leg in one hand and the rest of the cider in the other, they walked round to the stables on the other side of the hall. Thin trees had grown up from the ground and then pressed and intertwined together to form the walls of the lower level to the hall and its stables. However, the stable entrance was an open oak arch, hand carved with symbols and depictions of rider-less horses.
