It was late afternoon in Eutracia and the sun was starting to hide behind the tops of the trees. The fading sunlight cast ephemeral beacons onto the forest floor, granting the woods the wonderfully surreal appearance that only this time of day could bring. Soon the night creatures would start to prowl and sing and the stars would compete for space in the dark night sky.
One hour ago, the great stag that Rolf and Dale were tracking had unexpectedly turned north. The beast’s change in direction had been welcome, otherwise the two tired hunters would have been forced to give up and head for home. They had caught a glimpse of their quarry only once, but that had been enough to convince Rolf that the stag was the largest he had ever seen.
As night neared, Rolf hoped that he and Dale would overtake the deer soon. If so, he would let Dale try to make the kill. If the deer was taken, Rolf would partly dress it, leaving the entrails behind to make the carcass lighter to carry. He would then smear some of the deer’s blood onto Dale’s face, signifying the boy’s first kill. His only real concern was to leave the forest before the Hartwick wolves started their nocturnal prowling, for the scent of stag blood would draw them like flies. As they walked side by side, Rolf turned to look at his son.
When Dale reached manhood he would be tall and lean. His hair was dark blond and his sharp eyes were blue. Like his father, he wore a brown leather jerkin, matching breeches, and a narrow, brimless hat with a jaunty pheasant plume pinned along one side. His arrow quiver was strapped across his back, and he nervously held the ancestral family bow in his sweaty hands. A large hunting knife lay in a sheath secured to his belt, and his knee boots were of soft brown leather. The boy was desperately eager and equally worried about pleasing his father. He too had seen the great size of the stag. If he missed, a chance like this one might never come again.
Stopping for a moment, Rolf knelt down on one knee and looked at the ground. He pointed at the tracks that the stag’s hooves had left in the soft moss.
“There,” he said quietly. “Do you see how the tracks have become shallower and closer together? That means that the deer has stopped running. The confused track pattern just ahead tells us that he wandered about here for a time. Something must have caught his interest.”
Standing, Rolf looked around. After a quick search he found a telling sign. Four low branches of a nearby hinteroot tree had been stripped clean of their berries. An even more meaningful clue was that the same tree trunk was scarred where the stag tried to rub the velvet away from this season’s set of new antlers. Rolf called Dale nearer. Narrowing his eyes and rubbing his red beard, Rolf thought for a moment.
“What do these signs tell you?” he asked.
“That our stag was here,” Dale whispered back. “He ate the berries and scratched his horns on the tree trunk.”
Rolf smiled. “How do we know that our deer did these things?” he asked. “It is not uncommon for deer tracks to overrun each other’s. Perhaps we lost him, only to pick up the trail of a different one.”
Dale thought for a moment. “No,” he answered. “He was here. We have not lost him.”
Rolf smiled. “Explain your answer,” he said.
Dale pointed to the ravaged tree trunk. “Only a buck could have done that,” he said, “because a doe has no horns. And the stag we saw still carried his velvet. Odds are that this was done by him rather than by another.”
“Well done,” Rolf said. “But this great confusion of tracks makes it difficult to decide in which direction to go. How do we choose?”
Dale shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered.
Rolf winked. “It has to do with the missing berries.”
“I don’t understand.”
Rolf smiled again. “He was hungry-he ate four branches full of berries. Deer find them delicious, but the berries always cause them thirst. Unless I’m wrong, he’ll soon head for the nearest brook. So we will go east for a time. It’s a gamble, but if I’m right it will be worth it.”
Changing course, Rolf started leading Dale east. As night encroached, they soon found themselves standing atop a bank and looking down toward a swiftly running brook. Dale knew this stream; he had fished here before. It was a good place for Eutracian black-striped trout.
The steep bank was lined with trees that made for good cover. Without being told, Dale knew that it would provide an excellent place from which to shoot-if only the stag could be found. Guessing that they were nearing their quarry, Rolf silently motioned that they should move on.
Walking stealthily along the ridge of the riverbank, the father and son soon found their stag. As Rolf had guessed, he stood in the middle of the burbling stream, drinking thirstily. Dale quietly slipped a razor-sharp broadhead from his quiver and notched it onto his bowstring.
Rolf put his lips near Dale’s ear. “He will lift his head soon, and suddenly,” he whispered, so faintly that even Dale could scarcely hear him. “Then he will take a look around. When he does, don’t move a muscle! Don’t worry-he won’t smell us because we’re downwind of him. Wait until he lowers his head to drink again. That is when he will be most vulnerable, so draw your bow and shoot. You know where to send the arrow.”
Just as Rolf predicted, as though the wary stag were trying to catch some predator off guard, he suddenly lifted his head from the stream. His body was broad and his massive horns held six majestic points on either side. Even to the experienced Rolf, he was a beautiful, wondrous thing. As brook water dripped from the stag’s mouth, his dark eyes darted around and his nostrils flared, testing the air. Finally convinced that he was safe, he went back to slaking his thirst.
Rolf knew that the deed now lay totally in Dale’s hands, and that all his teaching and care had boiled down to this seminal moment. He watched his son pull the string back to his right cheek, stretching the bow’s lacquered sinews nearly to the breaking point. Hoping against hope, Dale let the arrow fly.
His aim was true and the arrow buried itself deeply into the stag’s flesh, just behind the right shoulder where the beast’s heart lay. But the stag proved stronger than even Rolf had guessed. As the deer twisted in agony, Rolf realized the mighty creature was about to run. If the wounded stag could charge far enough before bleeding out, wolves might claim the carcass first and the situation would turn deadly.
“Shoot again, son!” Rolf exclaimed.
Dale already had another arrow notched and ready. Without hesitation he let it fly.
The second arrow also found its intended mark, slicing into the stag’s neck. It severed a major artery, and blood began to gush from the mortal wound. The stag struggled for several steps, but his demise was near. He lumbered heavily from the stream, then fell to the grassy bank.
Rolf let go a deep breath. Dale’s two shots had been perfect. There would be other hunts that would further bond him to his son, but this first kill would never come again. Nor could this initial prize have been more wonderful. As he looked at Dale he had tears in his eyes. He placed one hand on Dale’s shoulder.
“Well done,” he said simply.
“Thank you, Father,” the boy said. Despite his modest answer, he couldn’t have been happier.
They hurried down to where the stag lay. After warily kicking the animal to be sure that it was dead, Rolf took out his hunting knife and bade Dale to do the same. Soon a pile of steaming entrails lay beside their newly won prize.
Rolf looked again at the mighty deer. For several moments he considered quartering the animal so that Dale could help him carry it from the forest. But because darkness was nearly on them he decided against it. Carrying the deer would be backbreaking work, but if Dale helped hoist the carcass onto Rolf’s shoulders, he believed that he could manage. This was no prize to abandon to the buzzards, wolves, and flies.
“Come with me,” Rolf said, as he turned toward the stream. “We will wash our hands and knives before we go. I want as little blood scent in the air as possible.”
As he bent down and washed his knife, Rolf
looked downstream. About ten meters away, the brook emptied into a deep pool before rushing onward. Rolf again looked worriedly up at the sky. We need to get moving, he thought.
Just then he felt his knife edge bite into his palm, and a few drops of his blood dripped into the river. He shook his head. The wound was more embarrassing than serious. He had been careless, and he laughed at himself a little. As his blood ran downstream and into the pool, he produced a rag from one pocket and wound it around his hand.
Dale scowled. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Rolf smiled. “Yes,” he answered, as he sheathed his knife. “Unlike your foolish father, you must always be careful.”
Rolf decided that he would not mind bearing the short, jagged scar that would later form on his palm. Long after Dale had left Rolf and his mother and started a family of his own, the scar would always remind Rolf of this day. It will be a wonderful story to tell over and over again before the fireplace, he thought. He put an arm around Dale, and the father and son started back up the riverbank.
As they went, something behind them silently disturbed the surface of the downstream pool. Dark, long, and sharp, two twisted horns surfaced. Next came the crown of a skull that was smooth, hairless, and olive in color. As the horrific thing surfaced, its head and eyes showed next, along with its long, pointed ears. The eyes were wide apart, dully opaque, and held vertical yellow irises. Soon the short nose and wide mouth came into view. As the thing’s lips parted, a bright red tongue and rows of sharp yellow teeth were exposed. A pair of snakelike incisors protruded from the upper and lower jaws.
Silently, the hideous thing’s body emerged from the depths. Its olive-colored torso was human in form, with muscular arms, a broad chest, and highly accentuated abdominal muscles. Each of its eight fingers and two opposable thumbs ended in a dark talon. But as the rest of the creature broke the surface and the thing hurried toward shore, any similarities between it and a human being quickly ended.
From the thing’s waist down, its body was a scaled, snakelike tail. As the tail propelled the creature across the surface of the pool, it whipped to and fro with amazing power. Like the thing’s upper torso, the tail was olive in color, but it had dark spots all along its length and gradually tapered to a forked end.
When it reached the shore, the monster silently coiled and reared upright like a cobra, its tail supporting its humanlike torso and supplying the ability to lunge quickly. As it watched the two unsuspecting hunters lift the stag carcass, it curiously twisted its head this way and that. The red forked tongue slithered in and out of its mouth, savoring the evening air.
Suddenly another of them surfaced the pool, followed by another. Soon the dark water was teeming with them, as they too swam toward the shore. As dozens of the things gathered and reared upright, the first one looked at the others. After centuries of waiting, their time for killing had finally come.
Without warning, the first creature lunged straight for Rolf and wound its strong tail tightly around his midsection. Rolf cried out in surprise as he did his best to turn and see what had so suddenly attacked him. His eyes widened in horror. As he tried to reach for his knife, he screamed wildly to Dale to help him.
When Dale saw the terrible thing that had hold of his father, terror seized every fiber of his being, freezing him in place. Finally he had his knife in his hand and he started slashing viciously at the beast seizing Rolf. But the thing saw him coming. Opening its mouth, it let go a nasty hiss. With a quick swipe from one arm, it sent Dale flying across the ground.
The thing’s tail suddenly tightened harder around Rolf’s body, snapping two of his ribs and squeezing most of the air from his lungs. Terrified, Rolf watched his son fly through the air and land hard. Dale tumbled over and over again, finally landing on his back. As Rolf watched Dale’s body come to rest, an awful shock went through him.
During Dale’s fall, his hunting knife had plunged into his body. The weapon stood upright in his chest, and blood ran down Dale’s already blood-soaked sides and onto the ground. An experienced hunter, Rolf was well acquainted with sudden death. No one needed to tell him that his only son had just been killed. A sudden, savage anger flooded through him, and with his last bit of strength he finally grasped his knife and freed it from its sheath.
While the other curious monsters surrounded them, the one holding Rolf suddenly unwound its tail and dropped him to the ground. Gasping for breath, Rolf stood shakily and slashed at the thing, but it only hissed and then backed away with amazing speed. Before Rolf knew it the monster arched its back and lunged again, this time picking Rolf up with its two muscular arms as if he weighed nothing. Curling its tail beneath itself, and with Rolf still in its arms, the thing levered its upper body several meters high, into another cobralike pose.
Rolf tried to again to stab the thing, but his reach was not great enough. As the monster held Rolf before him, it turned its head this way and that, as if it was examining him for some reason. Then the slimy tongue again appeared to test the night air and retreated into the awful mouth. His strength gone, Rolf could do nothing but wait for death.
The creature reared back, opened its jaws, and bit savagely into the base of Rolf’s neck. It tore a large chunk of muscle away, then spat it out. Knowing that Rolf would soon die, the beast let go, sending him tumbling to the ground. Twisting its head this way and that, the thing hissed and looked down at the dying woodsman. To Rolf’s added horror, the beasts started wantonly slithering over and under one another in an orgiastic display of victory.
Amid the chaos, in another area of the pool the surface of the water quietly broke again to reveal a different kind of being. This creature was unlike the many others still rising from the depths. Striding from the pool, it walked up the riverbank to stand over the dying Rolf.
The being wore a dark, tattered robe that spilled down over his wrists and feet. So as to hide his face, the hood of his robe was pulled up over his head. He gripped a gleaming silver staff in one hand as he dispassionately watched Rolf suffer.
As his vision slowly dimmed, Rolf watched the strange figure raise his silvery staff. At once a great shaft of azure light streamed from the staff’s end and went tearing into the forest. The ground started to shake and Rolf heard explosion upon explosion as the craft mowed down ancient trees and dense brush. Wildfires soon cast their orange-red flames into the dark night sky.
As his azure bolt faded, the robed figure continued to point the staff toward the charred path that he had cleared. Then he looked down at his servants as they hissed and slithered about in their orgiastic frenzy.
“That way, my children,” he said quietly. “Our work here is done. Kill no more until you are again ordered to do so.” His voice was deep and resonated with the power of the craft.
As the creature that had wounded Rolf slithered toward the path, the others quickly followed. With their great tails snaking back and forth, their speed soon became as great as the swiftest horses. Rolf turned in agony to see still more of the monsters rise from the water and slither up the charred trail.
There had to be hundreds of them by now, he realized. If their rampage continued, the monsters would soon number in the thousands. But his mind could not fathom how or why the terrible things and their mysterious master had so suddenly appeared.
To Rolf’s further horror, the hooded figure dispassionately turned and levitated into the air. He then hauntingly glided to a place just above the beasts’ onward-flowing column. With his dark robe billowing in the wind and his strange staff gleaming, he flew down the path and shepherded his newborn charges away.
While the forest fires crackled and smoke rose into the air, ever more of the newly born monsters exited the pool to follow their master. As Rolf drifted toward death, he heard a distant Hartwick wolf suddenly call out to announce another night of foraging.
How odd, Rolf thought, as he felt his warm blood spill out onto the ground. The wolves that once worried me are now the only familiar part
of this fiery, monster-strewn madhouse. It seems that the old wives’ tales about these woods are true, after all. The craft really does live here…
For the last time, Rolf turned his head to look at his son. If he could summon enough strength, there was one thing left to do. Reaching toward the stag carcass, with a trembling hand he gathered some of the deer’s sticky blood onto his fingertips, then gently smeared it onto Dale’s cheek. Goodbye, my son, he thought. You did well today.
As Rolf’s eyes closed for the last time, the faraway wolf again let go his plaintive cry.
CHAPTER VII
TRISTAN WAS THE LAST CONCLAVE MEMBER TO AWAKEN. He tried to sit up but his head spun sickeningly, forcing him to lie down again. He soon realized that his weapons had been taken from him and that Shailiha sat by his side. Searching his face, she smiled cautiously.
“So you finally decided to rejoin the world,” she said. “Welcome back. We were worried about you.”
The princess sat on a chair that had been pulled up beside the sofa on which Tristan lay. He tried to sit up but again his grogginess won out, forcing him back down. As best he could tell, he was still in the Archives of the Redoubt.
“What happened?” he asked thickly.
Shailiha handed him a cup of hot tea. “Drink this first,” she ordered. “Abbey laced it with some herbs. It will help bring you around.”
Tristan took the cup and gratefully sipped its steaming contents. After giving it back to his sister he finally managed to come up onto his elbows and look around.
As he thought, he was still in the Archives. From somewhere across the room, the other Conclave members were talking in concerned tones. Except for the Tome and the two Scrolls having been released from the wizard’s box, the room looked much as it had before everyone passed out. The oil lamps seemed to twinkle even more pleasantly, and mounds of disheveled archives still lay on the floor. Then his vision finally cleared and things came into better focus. A look of wonderment crossed his face.
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