The Shattered Crown (The Legends of Ansu Book 2)

by J. W. Webb

  As one, they hurried down to the lake edge. Nothing else mattered. They had to touch that beguiling water, had to bathe in that golden light. They approached the lake, not noticing the slight ripple that stirred in the distance.

  “Such beauty…” Ariane sighed. She reached out to touch her pale reflection with a shaking hand.

  “Be careful, Queen!” warned Corin, his voice sounding uncouth, uninvited. “Best not touch the water. There’s enchantment here. I can sense it.”

  “Oh, but it’s so beautiful,” she leaned closer. “A little time spent here will revive our aching limbs and tired minds. Surely”

  “Corin is right, Queen; I too feel bewitchment here!” Roman was struggling to stay alert as drowsiness lured him down to the shore. “I think we’d best continue and regain out wits,” he urged. She nodded reluctantly; but at her side Galed was lost for words.

  Corin quickened his pace. He too felt the lure of the lake but clenched his teeth together. He kept his eyes stoically on the path ahead. He’d heard stories about this place but couldn’t recall their content. One word came to mind: peril.

  They trudged on doggedly, skirting the southern side of the lake. Every footstep was an effort, each breath a heavy chore. Sleep beckoned, promising kindly dreams.

  Beneath their feet perfect pebbles chimed in tune with the distant voice of the waterfall.

  The surface of the lake was calm perfection. Its depths hinted something else. Something intangible. Danger perhaps? Here and there pale tendrils of mist drifted up like wraiths before vanishing in wan autumn sunlight. Silver arching birches and golden maples fenced the path, casting shadows over water. Occasionally a gentle breeze would stir their limbs, and leaves of crimson and gold would glide and dance before settling silent on the path.

  At the far side beyond the birches stood a dock, a small jetty constructed of slender wood, its weed-strewn stanchions lapped soothingly by the water. Moored neatly alongside was a golden barge of eldritch beauty. It rocked gently, bidding them board, promising rest and deep contentment. A dozen golden oars straddled the narrow decking. At its beam, saffron drapes formed a pavilion, concealing hidden wonders within.

  The golden barge had a voice. It called to them in watery whispers, bidding them board. Cast off and be free, it told them. Each traveler had an overwhelming conviction: One had only to clamber on deck to be at peace forever. Galed groaned longingly, commenced stumbling his way down toward the jetty.

  “Stop, Galed!!” Corin croaked. “The lake is bewitched you idiot. We must be wary!” He cursed as the diminutive squire paid him no heed, hastening down toward the waiting barge.

  “Begging your pardon, Ariane,” Corin hurtled after her man. He grabbed Galed from behind, dragging him backwards by the cloak pin at his throat. Galed coughed, spluttered, and cursed but at last regained his composure just enough to mutter a rancid ‘Thank you.’

  “I just wanted to see what was inside that tent,” Galed assured the Queen. “I wouldn’t have entered.” She raised an eyebrow at that.

  “Death,” muttered Corin. “That’s what’s inside there. This whole place is a trap.”

  Reluctantly they left the barge and jetty behind. The shoreline was more open on this side, revealing a sizeable part of the lake. A mile or so from the bank was an island. They hadn’t noticed it before. Its gentle slopes were peppered with cedar and spruce. Smoke columned skyward from somewhere in their midst.

  Corin looked closer, entranced. He saw a cottage walled by apple blossom, trapping the last of the evening sun. Inside, a fire was under way; the embers glowed with warm invitation.

  Then he saw the woman.

  He knew her in an instant, of course. You again… She looked up and smiled across to him. She seemed very close—almost in arms reach. She called out, her voice warm and rich like liquid amber.

  “Corin, my young love. It has been so very long. Have you forgotten me?” The words were carried on ripples approaching from across the water. She stood there beautiful and smiling—impossible yet true. “Come join me. Abandon this foolhardy quest. There is much I could give you, my only love!”

  “Corin, do not listen!” Ariane’s shrill bark snapped him back into alertness. The Queen’s voice was crow harsh compared to the sultry tones of the woman on the island. Corin froze. He had unwittingly been making his way back to the distant barge behind them.

  Shite—me too… Corin glanced back across the water, but a sudden mist veiled his vision. He could no longer see the woman. Both the homely house and the island it had stood upon had vanished. Perhaps they had never been there. But I saw her…

  “BEWARE THE LAKE!” thundered a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “DO NOT DREAM. STAY ALERT!”

  Corin and Roman exchanged worried glances, whilst Galed cringed and covered his ears.

  “Who are you that speaks?” Ariane called out, wild eyed with hand on her sword hilt. “Declare yourself, spirit!”

  There was no answer. Corin suddenly pictured an old man in a cloak shouldering a bright spear, features occluded by a wide-brimmed hat. He cursed enthusiastically. Beside him, Galed wept openly. Corin was not the only one that had seen a vision of wonder. Roman’s face was bleak, and Ariane looked deeply troubled. The Queen said nothing of what she had seen, but her expression was sad, as if recalling a tragic event from her past. She tried to smile.

  “I believe we are getting near to the center of this wood! It becomes stranger by the minute.”

  “Aye, Queen,” responded Roman wearily. “It’s as if the ancient Faen are among us, stealing our very thoughts!”

  “Faen?” Corin looked puzzled. “What are Faen? He vaguely recalled Silon’s mentioning that word on Barin’s ship, but the wine had occluded his memory.

  “The forgotten people. The faerie folk,” said Galed, finding his voice. “Do they know nothing of history in Fol? I know it’s remote up there, but I’d have thought”

  “Enough, Galed!” snapped the Queen. “You were educated in the High Academy at Wynais, a privilege granted to few, even among the wealthy in Kelwyn. The faerie folk have all but disappeared; few of our people remember them now.”

  “Have they anything to do with the Aralais and the Urgolais?” asked Corin, grinning nastily at Galed. “That lot are quite well known in Fol. I’ve even met ”

  “The Faen are different.” Ariane paused, glanced around the lake. The music of the waterfall was louder, compelling. It boomed thunderously as they resumed their tread and made hastily toward it. Almost it drowned out Ariane’s voice as she explained what she knew.

  “Legend says that when the Aralais came to this part of Ansu they found the Faen already here. They paid them scant heed, for these were a secretive folk, dwelling quietly in woods and caves, revealing little of themselves. It’s widely suspected that some had dealings with the Urgolais warlocks and became evil.

  “Dark Faen, we call them in Wynais. There is a place in the mountains close to my country, a very bad place. Ulan Valek, it was called...” she turned her head as if afraid to utter more. It was Galed that picked up the tale whilst trudging behind his Queen.

  “Many Faen were lost in the terrible war that raged between the Golden Ones and their shadowy brethren. They were caught in the crossfire. Those that survived became even more secretive and were seldom seen.

  “To this day the Faen shun the open lands where men dwell, preferring to stay in the forests and groves where the mantle of Elanion, their patron, still partially protects them. Little more is known about them, save that which is written in the ancient records of Arollas the Golden.”

  “Aye, they lurk and creep about in the shadows,” added Roman with a scowl. “I know men who’ve seen them on the morrow of battle. Grey ghosts walking among the dead, stealing their souls.”

  “That’s just stupid superstition, Roman,” retorted the Queen. “Come on.” She quickened her step again. “We’re nearing the northern shore. Let us heed the voice’s warning,
be rid of this lake and its fell spirit!”

  They hurried. Ahead were tall pines, the ground rising steep on this side of the water. It was strewn with rocks they would have to climb. Beyond these crouched more firs, their dark canopies reaching out toward the setting sun.

  The waterfall loomed to their right, deafening their senses, its churning force cascading down in frothing torrents. The booming voice thundered like an angry god descending in wrath.

  Corin thought he heard voices in that song. Cold voices. Angry voices. Voices full of hate and resentment. Voices that threatened to engulf the companions, trip and snare them; break them on the rocks, or else drag them beneath cold water and drown them.

  “Hurry!” he yelled “Let us be free of this place!”

  They reached the jumbled rocks at the edge of the fall and ascended alongside the torrent. The four of them clung desperately to wet moss-covered stone, hauling themselves up as icy spray buffeted their bodies and soaked them to the skin. Corin cursed the heavy priest’s cloak yet again. It weighed him down and trapped his ankles, and Clouter’s scabbard kept catching on the rocks.

  “This sodding waterfall, it’s trying to drown us and throw us back into the lake!” yelled Roman. “Hang on, and keep bloody climbing!”

  They struggled tenaciously hand over hand, heaving their soaked bodies from rock to rock. Ariane led the way up—she was lighter and spritely on her feet. Galed struggled miserably behind her, whilst Corin and Roman panted and swore as they strained beneath their heavy garments and clanking clutter.

  Water lashed their faces with icy spears and battered their tired bodies in its hunger to drag them down. Corin could hear the voices clearly roaring in his right ear, promising him a watery grave below. He shut them out and heaved mightily his strong limbs, carrying him passed Galed and Ariane too.

  At last he reached the stony ridge that basined the head of the waterfall. Cursing and gasping for breath, Corin turned to see how his friends were faring. He leaned down, offering his hand to the Queen, who grabbed it gratefully.

  Beneath her, Roman pushed an exhausted Galed over the edge and rolled onto the bank with a relieved grunt. There they remained for a time coughing, cursing, and eventually regaining some composure.

  Corin was first on his feet. He studied the terrain in the fading light, trying to discern an opening in the wall of forest ahead. They were trapped on an island outcrop, a slippery rock assaulted on all sides by the rushing stream.

  Corin scratched his ear and farted. “We’ll have to wade through that,” he said, not relishing the idea. No matter. They were wet through already.

  “What if it drags us back down?” Galed moaned.

  “Well, don’t fucking let it,” answered Corin. “What do you suggest, we fly over?”

  “Oh, piss off.”

  “Men…” Ariane plunged into the water and led the way into the rushing stream. Corin gaped stupidly at her and then followed, gasping, for the water’s touch was even colder than the waterfall’s spray had been.

  It was hard to draw breath. They linked arms, stepping carefully, as the stones were weed covered and slippery underfoot. Corin stumbled on a sharp rock that grazed his leg. He swore, then glancing up, froze in astonishment. Beside him Ariane and the others gasped in wonder.

  On the bank of the stream watching them calmly sat the strangest being Corin had ever seen. She looked like a young girl, but her skin had a pale blue tinge to it, and the long hair that scarce covered her nakedness sparkled like silver. She attended that hair with a fishbone comb and watched them silently—as a cat watches birds feeding at table.

  “A Nix!” exclaimed Ariane in wonder. “Be on your guard. She is most dangerous!”

  “Is she Faen?” whispered Corin, fingering Biter’s hilt. They waded over in haste, anxious to distance themselves from the strange girl on the rock.

  They were almost at the far bank when several things happened at once. The Nix rose up laughing, her mouth revealing perfect pearls of razor-sharp teeth, all neatly filed into points.

  To Corin’s left, Ariane screamed in horror as a pale sinewy arm grasped her leg, pulling her down into the icy water!

  Corin had Biter out before he knew it. He hacked down viciously at the arm, severing it, and noticed with horror how it was covered in scales like a fish. He had scant time to dwell on that fact. Other arms erupted from the water, tugging at their drenched cloaks.

  The water churned and tossed in whirling eddies. The four had their weapons free. Even Galed had mustered the wits to grasp his axe and was chopping down in frenzied panic.

  Corin sliced and stabbed with Biter, Roman swore and hewed, whilst Ariane skewered fishy arms with her rapier in silent fury, and all the time the Nix’s cruel laughter echoed across the bank.

  “Corin an Fol,” she called, her voice sounding like it came from deep underwater. “Brave, sweet Corin an Fol. Would you fight so desperately to save me? Don’t I deserve love as much as that Queen you so want to fuck?” She laughed out loud seeing Corin blanch as he sliced a fishy arm from Galed’s leg.

  “And Roman, steadfast captain loyal and soooo strong, love me. Fuck me. Love meeeeee!” Roman ignored her, just kept hacking.

  “Come, both of you. Join with me! Forget the stupid little Queen and her doomed mission. I will take you beneath the lake to my wondrous home, show you pleasures you cannot begin to imagine. Forget this foolish quest. You will fail. Join me instead beneath the water, and love me. I need loving! I hunger for it!”

  The Nix stood up to reveal her naked body. Corin stole a sly peep between swipes. It was cold and perfect, if a little too blue for Corin’s taste. Still she was lovely, and he wouldn’t rule out a quick one should chance allow. Then he cursed as something bit into his leg.

  “Argh!” Corin stabbed down with fury at what seemed to be a fish with a human head. The thing just gulped at him as it clung tenaciously to his thigh. Corin tore it off in disgust and fought his way over to the bank where the others, exhausted, joined him, Roman having finally dispatched the last of the fish things with his broadsword. Behind them the stream settled, resumed its natural course as if nothing had happened. Corin looked across at where the Nix had been. She had vanished from sight, although he thought he heard her voice calling from far below the lake.

  “Come back, Corin, my love. There is still time. Do you stir beneath that cloak? Deny your destiny. It will ensnare you. Love me instead. Fuck me. Taste me…”

  Corin focused on the forest ahead.

  The light was fading fast as they distanced themselves from the lake of the Nix. They trudged on in silence, minds tired and confused, bodies battered and bruised. At least no one had been badly hurt by the attack in the stream, but that assault had left them all shattered and drained.

  Once again, the desire for sleep tugged at them. Corin was worried. Time was passing quickly, and he wanted to get to the sacred glade of the Oracle before nightfall. He found a new track; this one was broader, allowing good progress, and their spirits revived for a time. Corin led the way in long strides, the Queen and Galed behind him, whilst Roman’s bulk guarded their rear.

  As evening deepened, the forest opened out. The trees were bigger hereabouts, allowing more light. A welcome breeze carried scents of wood mold and fungus. The path showed deer tracks, and once briefly Corin locked eyes with a fox. Birds chattered above then grew silent as light faded. They gained a small ridge and stopped in sudden surprise. Corin’s hand rested on his sax hilt.

  Blocking their path was a man dressed from head to foot in green leather, small in build, raven-haired and whip lean. A single braid travelled the length of his back, and his features bordered on swarthy.

  Coal-black eyes calmly appraised them. His age was hard to judge, but there were thin lines on his weathered brow. His hands and cheeks were engraved with faint spirals: tattoos, intricate and complex. Covering his shoulders was a magnificent russet cloak that seemed to shimmer in the gloom.

  None of
this Corin noticed. Instead it was to the great longbow his eyes were drawn, and the quiver of grey-fletched arrows accompanying it. The archer!

  So you show yourself at last.

  Chapter 14: The Goddess Speaks

  The archer watched them in silence for a moment, but when Ariane made to step forward he raised his left hand, bidding her wait. This she did with a flushing of cheeks, not being used to such imperious gestures from strangers.

  “I am called Bleyne,” the archer announced in a cool musical voice. “I serve the Mistress of the Trees. She awaits your arrival at Valen-Durannin.”

  “Where is that?” Roman asked. Beside him, Corin kept two eyes on the archer, appraising their chances should this turn ugly.

  “It is the sacred glade in which stands the Oracle of Elanion,” Bleyne replied. This archer had an annoyingly arrogant air about him, as if he knew everything and they knew nothing. Corin was becoming vexed. He commenced surveying the stranger with professional distrust. He was skinny and hard, quick and dangerous, and they all knew how well he used that bow.

  “It was you that came to our aid yesterday, was it not?” he demanded of the archer.

  Bleyne shrugged. “I have followed your noisy trek through the forest,” he responded elusively. “You people have more enemies than you think. There are creatures far worse than Groil seeking to thwart your passage.” Ariane raised her eyebrows at that, and Galed paled visibly, but the archer changed the subject before they could question him.

  “The High Goddess desires you pass through her domain unhurt. She deems you carry a candle of hope against the growing dark. Old Night stirs beneath his mountain, and his legions fester in their charnel pits. Dark spirits return to reclaim their lands from mankind, who usurped them long ago.”

  “How wonderful,” muttered Corin under his breath. Not only was this Bleyne patronizing, he was evidently cheerful too.

  Ariane tried again. “We are hunted by mercenaries in the pay of Caswallon the Usurper. Have you encountered any?” the Queen enquired.