Already the bite of winter
had settled in over the forest. There
was a chill in the air, one that smelled of frost and cold rain. Midsummer seemed an age ago. That thought was not lost upon Elu as she
continued her lonely trudge along the forest trail. She tried not to think on it too much. It hurt too much to remember.
She was not ready to come to terms with it just yet. Better to concentrate on the task in
hand. Getting to Grimhabim. Finding Mirulas if he was there.
Heeding Ifith’s advice, Elu kept to
the trail. She did not dare to do
otherwise, though often it was tempting to gather some mushrooms or roots to
add to her stock of provisions. She knew
they would not last forever. She was
not sure how far away Grimhabim was, but it would be best to eat
sparingly. Still, she passed on the
opportunities to gather more food with reluctance. Only her fear of being attacked again caused her to refrain. She did not want to have her arm broken
again.
That day seemed to spiral onwards,
never-ending. Elu was not sure how long
she travelled. The monotony of the path
was broken only by the lone chirping of a bird in some foliage, or the distant
bay of a wolf. At such moments Elu
would freeze and duck beneath a nearby clump of undergrowth. When nothing would come for her it would
take her several minutes of building up her courage to leave her hiding
place. With such diversions, it seemed
that her journey would take forever.
Half a day went by, or something
close to half a day – Elu found it hard to tell. Still the forest did not end.
No fur traders or trappers came her way, though evidence of their cart
tracks had beaten down the trail well.
It was disappointing, but Elu had somehow expected it. The onset of winter was an unfriendly time
for poaching or hunting bears. There
would be little to be got, due to the bears’ long hibernation period. And camping out in woods waiting for bears
in winter would never be a pretty pastime.
So Elu was left to walk the trail alone. She thought longingly of Fally, Mirulas’ poor, trusty horse. If Elu had not been so stupid, if she had
allowed Fally to run away from the bear, then the mare would still be alive
today, and she would be riding her now to go and seek out her master. Elu felt shamed at the thought that she had
allowed Fally to die. It was almost as
if she had let down Mirulas’ trust in her.
But then, she reasoned, she could not have helped it. She had been injured; she had been hungry,
thirsty and exhausted. She was lucky
she was still alive.
Night was falling by the time that
Elu reached the edge of the Rillon Forest.
The trees had begun to thin, and the ground was softer, loamier. The track widened, dipped, then gave
way. The fields were before Elu now,
vast and open. Bathed in the light of
the rising moon, the grass seemed a subtle tint of indigo rather than
green. In the distance she could see
nothing. Whatever was on the other side
of the fields was blotted out by the steady dip and rise of large hills,
undulating across the horizon like the humps of a coiling dragon. No town, no village, not even a hamlet was
in sight.
Elu hesitated. All of a sudden the promise of open ground
was not as welcome as it had first seemed.
It was getting dark, there was no evidence of any shelter nearby, and no
one was about. Somewhere far off, an
owl gave off a lazy hoot. Soon it would
be up and about, hunting the plains for mice and other small game. Out too would be foxes and bats. Elu shuddered. Bats. Mirulas had always
laughed at her before for it, but Elu loathed bats with a passion. She had no idea of what to do.
In the end she decided that it was
too dangerous to sleep out on the field that night. It would be safer to sleep on the edge of the forest, under the
protection of the undergrowth. No one
need know she was about. If she kept
close to the track, then she might be safe from any predators who might be
lurking about. And if she kept a fire
burning all the night, no wolf would dare come near her, at least not without
debating it first.
Having thus made up her mind, Elu
entered back into the forest. She found
a small copse not far from the track, and a small mound of earth where someone
had evidently lit a fire before. It was
quite open, and the dark purple of the sky could be descried through the canopy
of the trees. Setting down her pack,
Elu kindled the little lamp that Ifith had given her. It had already become too dark for comfort. It took a while for the small flame to take,
but when it did Elu was relieved. She
felt safer when the yellow light had spilled out over the clearing. It was only the ominous shadows that the
lantern cast out over the trees and bushes that worried her.
Trying not to think on such things,
Elu undid her pack and rolled out her blanket.
Already the chill of the night was creeping up on the forest. She would have to make a fire soon. It took a painfully long amount of time for
her to gather some firewood and set the timbers alight. It was never work that she had been
especially good at, though she had watched Eldeen stoking up his large fires in
the grate many times. Somehow, it was
different out in the open. Several
times her fire guttered before she could get it to burn sufficiently well to
keep on going. She was not certain it
would last throughout the night.
Quickly she fetched more firewood and piled it up next to her bed. If the fire were in danger of burning itself
out, at least she would have more fuel ready.
She made a small meal out of her
stock of provisions, sticking to her mental rule not to eat more than she
had. The dried meat was good after the
tiring walk, as were the mushrooms. She
wondered if she had enough water to make a stew the next day. Only if she could find a spring, she told
herself. She had to conserve every last
drop of water she could. It was no good
going thirsty.
When she had eaten her fill she lay
down to bed. The fire was comforting,
but it was cold, colder than any of her attempts at warmth could dispel. She huddled under the covers, trying to
concentrate on the pleasant crack and pop of the flames. Somewhere nearby, an animal was scuttling
about, drawing nearer, then pausing before it ran away. An owl was in a tree almost right above her
head. She could hear its hoot, and its
rustling amongst what foliage was left on the trees. The whole forest seemed alive, even the trees themselves, with
the constant crackle of twigs and branches.
Suddenly Elu missed the old Oak Tree.
She missed the way it had connected with her, had confided in her and
told her of its past. She recalled the
way it had screamed at her as Welle had been razed to the ground, how its
shrieks had echoed through the very walls of her mind. I
die! I die! Anguish knotted her guts. It was so cruel, so cruel, to kill something
as old as that, something that had seen and witnessed so many lives, so many
deaths. The Tree had even shown them to
her. She recalled the images of a
battle, of bloody, torn bodies littering the plains that Welle had stood on, of
the blue skies being clouded over with a terrible blackness. Had the Tree witnessed such terrors? And why had it been trying to make her see
them?
It all seemed such a puzzle to
Elu. The urgency of the images played
through her mind again, even as the Tree had shown them. She did not understand. She did not even understand why it was that
she should understand. All she knew was that there was a puzzle
represented in those images, one that the Tree had wanted her to piece
together. Something about not marrying
Mirulas? Why? Why would it have anything to do with such a violent past as the
one Éadan had suffered?
There was only one war that Elu had
known Éadan had suffered in the past, one that could have fit the scale and
tragedy that the Tree had shown her. And that was the War of the Sundering. But still she did not understand the importance of that event,
other than that it had been the cause and beginning of the Age of the Dark,
when all the races of the Fithandani had been split, when the Spheres of Harmony had been broken
and the Aksees left to plague the land.
The riddle seemed to be insurmountable.
It hurt her mind even to think of it.
She didn’t know what it all meant.
It didn’t have anything to do with her.
Why should she bother trying to work it all out?
Yet even as she fell asleep, her
mind was riddled with the dark of that one horrible event in world’s history,
and all she saw was the streams of red blood and the blades of cold steel.
She awoke the next morning,
realising that she was bathed in a cold sweat.
She sat up slowly, rubbing at her eyes.
The fire she had made was out and was now merely smoking. It was then that the frosty chill of the
morning claimed her. She found her
teeth chattering and her limbs trembling.
Nothing for it. She’d have to
rekindle the fire.
Once she had it going again, she sat
down and ate breakfast. There was a
despondency in her now that she was not able to fight off. Was she doing the right thing? Was this all just a fruitless mission? She tried to tell herself that there was
nothing else she could have done. There
was no home to go to, no family to return to.
There was Ifith, but she had her own life. Elu had to make her own.
It was as she was peering absently
into the fire that her dream from the previous night suddenly sparked into
fresh light in her mind. A man, with a
sword. The cool calm collectedness as
he had set out to murder her. Then the
horror, coming off him like a sweat.
The words, begging not to do it.
Do what? Kill him? Or kill her? She still didn’t know who it was who uttered those last pleading
words.
She shook her head, trying to stave
off the memories. Dreams, stupid
repetitive dreams! They meant nothing,
they made no sense. It didn’t matter
how much they tried to make her listen to them. She wouldn’t anymore.
The lands of Grimhabim were far
different than those of Éadan. The
grass was coarser, longer and darker, almost blue. Where the plains of Éadan were a combination of flats and gentle
slopes, those of Grimhabim were an amalgamation of sharp hills and tors, laid
almost one on top of the others. This
rough and unyielding ground made for hard traversing, but, Elu realised, it
made it a spot for any fortification, which was what Grimhabim initially was.
Elu remembered many tales having
been told of Grimhabim. Many of the
bards and minstrels that had come to Welle had passed through that ancient
town, many had even sang in the great halls of the lord that governed there. In the Age of Light, when the great and glorious
kings of renown had ruled the lands of Fithandani, Grimhabim had been a state
of the eastern-most kingdom of Rofaçilin.
They were separated by the natural highlands and plateaux that lay
between the two lands, but the ties between them in both times of war and peace
had been strong. But by the time of the
War of the Sundering, nothing had become stable anymore. Early in the War, Rofaçilin and its weak,
covetous king had fallen to the temptations of the Dark, and the powerful
armies of the northern tûrkals. This
new affiliation to the religion of the Dark was not one that the stalwart
people of Grimhabim shared. They had
loathed the Black Princess Tolminäre and her Dark powers. They had refused to follow the people of
Rofaçilin into aiding her tûrkal armies.
Grimhabim had known it had put itself into a tenuous position. Éadan, the seat of Tolminäre’s
self-professed empire, hemmed them in from the west to a now hostile
Rofaçilin. Still, they trusted to the
strength of their fortress, Grimhabim Stronghold, and the unyielding coarseness
of their lands to hold back the invaders.
Despite being outnumbered, despite being surrounded by the enemy, they
had managed to keep their town from being ransacked, even to the very end of
the War. Many songs were told of the
great stands they made before the castle ramparts, vowing to fight to the last
of their men before they would let the enemy within their walls. Such bravery was unique and yet not uncommon
during those horrifying, fate-changing years of war. In the face of so much maiming and death, last stands and tales
of final heroic deeds had been a source of wonder and hope. Yet through all, the ancient stronghold of
Grimhabim had managed to survive intact.
It was after the war that the lords of Grimhabim
declared themselves independent of Rofaçilin, and the State of Grimhabim became
the Municipality of Grimhabim. Until
Rofaçilin once more became allied to the then Allied Kingdoms of Light,
Grimhabim would have nothing to do with its eastern neighbour. Though Rofaçilin never claimed Grimhabim as
its own again, in the three thousand and more years since the War, friendship
and trade had once more grown between the two countries. Rofaçilin had embraced the religion of the
Light, and was no more an international pariah. Those days had long ago ended.
Elu looked about her with interest as she travelled
the unfamiliar lands. She had suddenly
realised that she had never once stepped out of Welle or the outlying lands
about it, not once in the eight years or more that she had dwelt there. There was an odd feeling in that. A sense of expectancy, and of
excitement. She was facing an immediate
future that was less than certain, in a strange land. Something tugged at her heart then, something not unpleasant. She tried in vain to work out what they
were. A deep-set sense of adventure,
one that she had not uncovered since she had first come to Welle. The joy of travelling, of seeking new
places. Of breathing fresh, crisp air,
of feeling the wind pull through her hair, of feeling her cheeks redden and
numb at the briskness of morning chill.
Not for the first time she wished she had a horse. She had the sudden and ardent instinct to go
galloping off into the fields and ride until she was worn out. The feeling half frightened her. She was not sure where it had come
from. It was almost as if the sentiment
was not her own.
She ate lunch hungrily at about noon. She was beginning to tire of the simple diet
already, but with no streams in sight she had been unable to risk making a
stew. She longed for the pies and
pastries Mistress Eldeen would have made back home, only to have the wish
immediately followed by a sharp pang in her stomach. Best not to think about it.
It was late afternoon when she heard a merchant cart
clanging up behind her. When he made as
if to overtake her she called to the man at the reins, and asked him how far it
was to Grimhabim. The man looked
friendly enough, but he also looked as if he had seen better times. His dark brown fur coat was now faded and
shabby, and there were several bald patches in the velvet of his hat.
“Grimhabim, eh?” he answered amiably, “I’m headed
there m’self. Should only take a couple
of hours by horse and cart, miss. Maybe
four if you’re walking it. It’ll be
darkening by then though, so the drawbridge might be up when you get there.”
Elu didn’t like the sound of that. “Do you think I
could take a ride on your cart?” she asked him. “Only I need to get to
Grimhabim as soon as I possibly can.
I’m meant to be meeting someone.”
The man made no hesitation with his next words.
“Well, if you’d be paying the right price then I’m sure I could oblige you.”
Elu held out three copper coins ready for him. She had known he was desperate enough to
take money for a hitchhike. His clothes
had been proof enough of that. Once she
had made herself comfortable by the merchant’s side, she felt a lot more
secure. By evening she would be in
Grimhabim. That meant a roof over her
head, some warm food, and a drink other than water. And perhaps Mirulas.
“And where might you be from, missy?” the merchant
asked her pleasantly, making conversation. “It’s not usual that one comes by a
young lady like yourself wandering through such unforgiving conditions as
these. It’ll be snowing in a few weeks,
no doubt.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Elu was reluctant to talk about the events that had
surrounded her. Somehow it all seemed
too tragic, too terrible to face, even for herself. She had to think a bit before she replied.
“I come from Éadan,” she spoke at last, “My village
was plundered by the Aksees some months ago.
Since then, there’s nothing to be had in the village. So I decided I’d travel to Grimhabim in
hopes of finding some work. The
prospects there are better, or so it’s said.”
“Aye, and never a truer word was spoken.” The man
sighed and shook his head with feeling. “Éadan’s been ravaged bad these
days. Me, I used to trade the Rillon
bear furs often down in Töngel. But
only last month the place was burned down by the Aksees, top to bottom. Everyone fled, and there’s not a penny to be
had there.” He sighed again. “I just got back from Pedrell m’self, but hardly
anyone there wants to buy cotton, let alone furs. They’re afraid the Aksees will come for them next. So they’re saving every coin they have in
case they’re made to flee east.”
Elu listened silently, a sick tang unfolding inside
her. So Welle had not been the only
place to be razed then. So had Töngel,
which had not been a few hours north of Welle itself. And the people of Pedrell were living in fear as well. What village would the Aksees claim next?
“There’s a lot of rumours abroad,” the merchant
continued darkly when Elu did not speak. “They say the Dark is growing once
more over the lands of Fithandani, that the Aksees and all the Dark creatures
cling to it like leeches onto festering wounds. Why is anyone’s guess.
The people in Pedrell, they say that it's the tûrkals in their northern
strongholds, conjuring up black magics again, stirring the old Dark forces. I don’t know what to believe m’self, but I
do know that an awful lot of those witless Aksees have been about. If they multiply anymore, Aan knows they’ll
take over the whole earth!”
For the rest of the journey Elu felt uncomfortable,
and didn’t say much. The merchant’s
news had set her into an anxious mood.
She suddenly felt as if nowhere was safe anymore. She had not questioned the sudden increase
in the Aksees that summer, nor the added violence with which they had attacked
the poor villages in Éadan. For the
first time she truly puzzled over the raid they had made on Welle that day that
seemed so long ago. There had been
almost thirty of them, goblins and trolls and other Dark creatures
included. Why? The Aksees were not ‘witless’ as the merchant
had described them; they had brains, but they were driven only by the basest of
desires – food, drink, women, violence.
Why would they bother raiding a town, only to destroy it? What use would a burnt village have to
them? As far as she recalled, they had
stolen no cattle, no grain. They had
simply come bent on destruction.
She did not truly believe that the reason for this
wanton yet strange behaviour had anything to do with so-called black
magic. But she knew at the same time
that something was deeply wrong. It
troubled her, but she could find no answer to its dark intricacies.
The sun was beginning to fall beneath the horizon
when Grimhabim town came into sight. In
the rosy glow of the evening light, the deep grey walls of the city seemed to
gleam like gold. Elu found herself
regarding it with a stricken sort of awe.
She had never seen such simple grandeur, such strength and nobility
locked inside the simple walls of a town.
Stout and hardy they rose out of the ground like hearty, battle worn
soldiers, walls battered with previous attacks and rebuilt over and over, and
that yet emitted a sense of security.
These were walls that had seen and witnessed many awful events, just as
the Oak Tree had. But these had only
strengthened them more.
Over the tops of the walls peeped the roofs of
buildings, tall spires and towers that gave off a hard confident edge to the
overall outline of the town. It soon
became apparent that the settlement had first radiated from the top of a hill,
for there, raised high above all the lower buildings, was the imposing frame of
Grimhabim Stronghold, glaring like a sharp-eyed eagle watching over its roost
in the beams of the orange sun. As the
town had grown it had spread outwards, about the hill that the stronghold rested
upon, and finally the old walls had been built, draping about the sloping
tor. It was certainly an impressive
sight.
They reached Grimhabim just as the guard was about
to raise the drawbridge. The cart
clattered over the stout oak planks and into the town. Even in the onset of night, the great town
was a sight to behold. The shops were
closing, the people were thinning, but one could well imagine what this place
looked like in daytime. The cobbled
streets would be alive with commerce, the shouts of traders selling their
wares, of children shouting to one another, ducking in and out of allies;
perhaps the odd drunk brawling in the corner over an insult, and the sounds of
merrymaking from a nearby tavern.
Elu thanked the merchant, slipped down from his
cart, and shouldered her pack. First
thing was first. She needed food,
drink, a bath and a bed to sleep in. An
inn was the obvious place to go to. She
could even ask some of the customers whether they had seen Mirulas. The thought spurred her into action. It was not long before she found a likely
place, a quiet inn called the Cauldron.
She didn’t feel she could brave a tavern just yet.
As implied by its name, the Cauldron had a fat pot
of stew boiling at the inn hearth. Elu
bought herself a bowl, a mug of ale, a bath and a bed with the money Ifith had
given her before she had left the Rillon Forest. There was not much change given to her, but the other customers
were friendly enough, which kept her spirits up. She even managed to ask several of them whether they had seen
Mirulas. None of them had, though of
course there were several men about who fitted his description. By the time Elu retired to her bed, she was
beginning to wonder if it was possible that she would ever find him.
A full stomach and a warm bed eases one into sleep,
especially when one has experienced hard travel and sleeping out in the
wild. Elu slept well that night, and
was untroubled by dreams. She left
early that morning, intent on finding Mirulas by the end of that day if she
could. The market outside was already
bustling. There were plenty of people
to ask, but most of her inquiries only drew sympathetic shakings of the head or
blank stares. By midday she was feeling
thoroughly helpless and depressed.
She was about to go back to the Cauldron for some
lunch, when she saw the town guard approaching the square. They stopped as they scanned the faces of
the people there, both familiar and unfamiliar. Then they spotted her and began to walk over. Elu froze, half-afraid and
half-curious. She had done nothing
wrong, so she had nothing to fear. But
the look in their eyes told her they meant business.
“Excuse me, miss,” said the leader when they had
come up to her, “but we would be grateful if you could allow us to escort you
back to the town’s sheriff. No harm
done, just a matter of formalities.
From whence have you travelled here?”
“Welle,” she answered warily, “A village in
Éadan. Why?”
“We’re under orders to bring in any traveller from
those parts, particularly those who have not stated their business here. I’m sorry,” he continued, obviously looking
embarrassed. “I would not usually treat
a young woman such as yourself in this way.
We mean no harm,” he repeated again apologetically, “We only wish to
question you on a few matters unrelated to your appearance here. Business.
You understand?”
She was not sure that she did. But she allowed them to escort her anyway,
partly out of curiosity, and partly because she had no choice. They led her through several cobbled streets,
all crowded and bustling. No one batted
an eyelid at her. It seemed that this
was a common occurrence. At last they
reached the sheriff’s quarters, a neat, squat building near the centre of the
town, made of brick plastered over and stuck with pink and brown pebbles. It seemed a friendly family house, rather
than a soldier’s office.
The hall was filled with three or four other
travellers like herself. Most of them
were grumbling at the inconvenience, one of them was snoozing in a corner on a
wooden chair. The guards left her there
to report to the sheriff, then their leader returned to call one of the
travellers to the main office. One by
one the people were questioned, mostly for a short period of time, and then
were let free with sincere apologies and a few coppers for their time and their
trouble. Elu was the last to be called.
The sheriff was a comely looking man with a walrus
moustache that Elu fancied he spent most of his time attending to. He bade her sit at his desk with a smile,
and she did so, looking about with interest.
The room was small, plain, but functional. It was sparsely furnished with a single chair standing in the
furthest corner apart from the table and benches that she now sat at. Two guards were standing either side of the
door, but their stance was informal.
“My sincere apologies, miss, at having thus
inconvenienced you this afternoon,” the sheriff spoke genuinely, “But we have
some pressing inquiries we wish to make.
My men tell me that you have recently travelled here from Éadan. May I ask what your business in Grimhabim
is?”
He was very tight, very succinct; he wasted no
words. A typical soldier.
“I’ve come here searching a friend,” Elu explained,
a little unwillingly. The memories of
that horrible day were still fresh in her mind. “He may have passed this way
some days ago, perhaps some weeks. It
is of great importance to me that I find him.”
“Many people pass this way.” The sheriff looked
thoughtful. He sat back in his chair
and twiddled his moustache absently. “May I ask why you are searching for this
person? What may have brought this
person here? Just curiosity,” he added,
seeing her pained expression.
“My village was destroyed,” she answered dully,
trying to fight the welling of emotion within her. “My husband-to-be told me to
meet him at the Rillon Forest when I escaped.
But I came too late. I thought
he might have come here.”
“Ah,” there was genuine sympathy in the man’s
eyes. He did not have to ask whether it
was the Aksees or something else. As it
was he thought to save her the pain of explaining. After a moment he stood up. “Thank you, miss. I think you’ve answered all our
questions. You may go about your
business again now. Here are a few
coins for your troubles.”
Elu hardly saw the coppers. “May I ask, sir, why you
wanted to question me at all?” she asked curiously, despite her better
judgement. The man appraised her a
moment, then laughed.
“Well, I suppose you have a right to know. Though I suspect you should know the reason
already. The destruction of your
village is a clue.” His face sobered. “We are concerned over the recent
increase in the Aksees and their attacks.”
“They have attacked Grimhabim too?” she asked
quickly, astonished. The man seemed
surprised at the boldness of her question.
“Not as such,” he finally answered. “But there have
been spies. And that is all I am
admitted to tell you.” He pointed to the guards standing at the door. “My men
shall escort you out.”
Elu allowed herself to be led out by the men,
pondering this new bit of information.
Spies? Why would the Aksees want
to send spies to such a fortified place as Grimhabim? She was no longer surprised at the sheriff’s concern. Something definitely odd was going on. As she leaving the building a girl came
breezing past them, obviously rattled.
Elu caught the deep odour of a rich perfume. The girl was not more than sixteen or seventeen, but she was
dressed like a noblewoman. Her gown was
of rich burgundy velvet, and was lined with heavy dark bear fur. A jewelled belt was slung high up her torso,
almost to her flat bosom, attempting to accentuate what little she had. The velvet skirts had been hitched up and
knotted to reveal the expensive linen of the kirtle she wore underneath. Elu gaped.
She had not thought noblewomen would ever do such an undignified thing.
The guards parted to let the girl past, saluting her
as they did so with mutterings of ‘my lady’, but the girl hardly noticed. She ground to a halt once she was in the
hallway, like an angry mare rearing and bucking despite her master’s
orders. Her blonde hair had been drawn
up into a coil knot at the top of her head, and Elu could see the flash of her
gold earrings as she tossed her head about impatiently.
“Kerlan!
Kerlan, where are you!” she called out imperiously, but failing
miserably. She only succeeded in making
herself sound like a petulant child.
Elu had the sudden urge to laugh, but held it down when the girl turned
to face the guards. “Where is that Kerlan?” she demanded of them, “I told him to
inform me of all that was going on, and he snubs me like this! Is the daughter of the Lord of Grimhabim not
even allowed to know what is going on in her own city? Where is he? Speak!”
“He’s in the back, m’lady,” one of the guards
answered uncertainly. He was not used
to the strange mood swings this girl seemed to indulge in. “He’s just been
interviewing some travellers. He’s all
finished now.”
“Finished?” The girl’s voice went a notch
higher. Then she saw Elu, and looked
her over intently. “Is this one of them?” she asked.
“Yes, m’lady.
But she had nothing important to tell the sheriff. We’re escorting her back now so…”
“I wish to speak with her personally,” spoke the
girl, cutting off the soldier before he could finish. “If Kerlan will not tell
me what’s going on, then I shall find out myself. Bring her to me.”
It would not have seemed unusual if
the girl had stamped her foot at that moment.
But she did not, and the guards unwillingly turned Elu over to her. They knew better than to argue with her. Elu walked uncertainly over to her, and she
began to get impatient.
“Oh, do come here,” she ordered
briskly, “I’m not going to bite you.” All this from a girl who was probably
several years younger than Elu herself and still only a child. It seemed somehow comical. She even took Elu’s hand with a firm,
familiar grip when Elu approached her.
When she had done so she swept to the door again, and spoke to the
guards haughtily. “Tell Kerlan that from now on I wish to be present at all his interviews. I will not have the town guard keeping
information from the Stronghold. This
is the Lord’s fight as much as it is yours.”
She left with her nose in the air,
Elu close at her heel. She was almost
astonished when the found that the girl was leading her right towards the great
stronghold itself. So, the girl was
either too young or too stupid not to know that peasants were not just brought
into the midst of the nobility on a whim.
“Don’t worry,” spoke the girl
suddenly, as though reading her thoughts. “I know I have nothing to fear from
you. But these are desperate times, and
desperate times call for desperate measures, as my father says.” She paused and
looked over her shoulder to smile at Elu. “What’s your name? Are you from Éadan?”
“Yes,” Elu answered, a bit taken
aback at all these recent happenings. “My name’s Elu. Elu…Eldeen.” It pained her to take the name. “I’m from Welle.”
“Welle? Never heard of it. Is it
a small village?” The girl did not wait for an answer. “My name’s Lairin. I’m the only daughter of Lord Brinda, the
Lord of Grimhabim. It’s an insufferable
position, of course.” She laughed, half to herself. “They all expect me to
embroider and sing, and take walks in the garden all day long, when all I’d
rather do is help father with running the city. I am to be Lady of Grimhabim when he is gone, after all. What use will weaving be then?”
Lairin was speaking this all at
top-speed as they approached the stronghold gates, exuding a friendliness and
familiarity that both stunned and comforted Elu. She didn’t think she’d ever met a person quite like this
headstrong Lairin of Grimhabim.
Grimhabim Stronghold loomed before
Elu like a great lion lying in wait for its prey, high upon the hill. The stone of its walls were ancient no
doubt, just like the city walls, but sturdy and strong. There was no doubt in one’s mind that it was
made for defense. Towers and turrets
spilled out everywhere, guards were patrolling every nook and cranny of the
grounds, there were arrow-slits in every wall, even archers keeping watch on
the battlements. To Elu, who had never
seen such things, it was almost frightening.
Definitely it was awe-inspiring.
But it was also strangely exciting.
What must it be like to live in such a place, she wondered? And for a girl as young as Lairin was.
Instead of leading Elu up the steps
to the main entrance, Lairin took a small side path that wound through the
surrounding gardens – if they could have been called so, for the flowerbeds
were all rather wild and unkempt – and to a more discreet secondary
entrance. The guard standing there gave
Lairin a hasty salute, which the girl thoroughly ignored. The hall there was modest, with few
adornments or draperies, but it was larger than any hall Elu had ever had the
pleasure of witnessing. The ceiling was
tall enough to make Elu feel completely belittled. The walls were made of large bricks of thick, dark grey stone and
rose upward to meet the heavily beamed roof in an arch. Torches burned and crackled along the
corridor, sending out deep shadows that swerved and bent as the flames wavered
in the draught from the door closing behind them. But before Elu even had time to take this all in, Lairin had led
her into a side door which seemed to be some sort of room where the guards spent
their time off duty. It was empty.
“Sit down,” the girl offered
amiably, but made no effort to draw up a chair for Elu. She may not be a conventional Lady, but she
was a Lady nonetheless. Feeling a bit
bemused, Elu took a chair at a nearby table.
Lairin took the seat opposite her.
There was an eager look on her face, a look that bespoke the girl’s
interest being simply in the moment.
Elu almost envied her. There was
something indestructible and secure about her.
Here was someone who thrived on a vibrant energy, an endless
vitality. She had no cares for the
inconveniences of others, unless they troubled her directly. She had no thought for Elu’s discomfiture at
such strange happenings.
“I’m sorry about having to whisk you
away here at such short notice,” Lairin apologized. She didn’t look very apologetic. “But that Kerlan never listens
to a thing I say. I ask him to tell me
everything that’s going on in the town.
I even inquired that I might sit in on his interviews. But he always seems to forget. Sometimes I think he does it on
purpose.” Elu said nothing. She didn’t doubt it. “So,” the girl
continued, “I thought I might conduct some interviews myself. My father’s in a state, you see, and I do so
hate watching him look so worried all the time…” She checked herself, suddenly
remembering her status. “Well,” she tried to look a bit more lady-like. “Let us
begin the interview. I hear you come
from Éadan. Was your village
attacked? By Aksees?”
Elu was a little taken aback at the
directness of her questions.
“Yes,” was all she could manage to
say.
“How many of them were there? What did they do? Did they capture any of your people? Or did they just kill them all?”
There was no pause between any of
these questions. Elu could hardly take
one in before another one began. Lairin
went over them with the insensitivity of gun spewing bullets. Suddenly Elu felt very angry.
“Why are you asking me such
questions?” she blurted out heatedly, forgetting her manners. She rose, her face hot with a sudden spurt
of rage. “Yes! My village was attacked,
and probably all the people there were killed!
I don’t know, I never saw it all to the end, but most of the villagers
were dead by the time I was able to escape.
The man I was pledged to put me in his cart and sent me away before they
could kill me too! And now he’s
probably dead as well!” There. She had
said it. She confessed the deepest of
her fears out loud. Even as the last
word passed from her lips she felt drained.
Not even tears would spring to her eyes now. She sat down again heavily. “There, I’ve told you
everything. I hope it satisfies
you. May I leave now?”
Lairin said nothing. She simply sat there, looking taken aback at
this heartfelt outburst from a simple commoner. She blinked once before she spoke.
“Well, I suppose you may…” she
paused and looked suddenly ashamed. “I am sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Elu said
wearily. She did not think this girl
knew enough of her plight to be sorry.
She suddenly knew it. Mirulas was
dead. Of course he was. It had been weeks since the attack on
Welle. He would have found her by now,
if he were still alive. The abrupt
realisation rent at her heart like a dagger.
She could hardly move her legs to the doorway. She did not even know how she managed it in the end.
“Let me escort you out,” Lairin
offered, standing up. Her voice was
gentler. She sounded awkward, but
guilty. Elu did not turn back.
“No thank you, I think I can find my
own way out.” She turned the doorknob slowly and slipped out. The next few minutes she passed in something
of a daze. Mirulas was dead. That was all she could think of. She would never see his face again, the
bright curve of his smile as he looked upon her, the love in his eyes, the
tenderness of his arms as he held her.
The man who was to be her husband, so cruelly torn from her. What was she to do now? She had nowhere to go, nothing to aim for,
no future. The gulf if emptiness seemed
to loom before her, dark and impenetrable.
What was the point in carrying on?
She was stumbling down the lane that
led back to the town centre, when a carriage rattled past her, nearly driving
her off the road.
“Watch yourself, miss!” called the driver with his
friendly warning. Elu debated on
whether she cared for watching herself or not anymore. But she stopped anyway and looked up,
letting them pass. A row of friendly
faces lined the carriage window, all gaily dressed with parti-coloured doublets
and feathers in their caps. They were
laughing amongst themselves, telling stories and singing songs. Minstrels.
They must be going up to the stronghold to provide the lord with
entertainment. There was probably going
to be a feast that night. Suddenly it
all seemed so worthless to Elu.
She was making to move on, when suddenly she heard
the carriage stop and someone clamber out.
Then she heard whoever had stepped out wave the carriage on. Whoever had spoken sounded vaguely familiar. She turned, looking back for whoever it was
with only a mild curiosity, not knowing who could be here that she knew. Already the figure was making its way
towards her.
“Miss. Elu,” the figure addressed her over the
distance, and she immediately knew who it was.
The storyteller.
He was dressed in finer clothes than he had been
when she had first met him in Welle.
His cloak still bore a hood, but it was less tatty and had some gold
thread worked into the lining. Although
he still favoured his dark greys and browns, his hose and tunic were of a much
better cut than they had been, and were made of soft patterned linen. His hair too, had been neatened and cut back
a few inches, revealing his face. It
was more lined than she remembered it, and yet, strangely, an element of youth
and vitality clung to him even as it had clung to the young Lady Lairin. She stared up at him in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him
incredulously.
“I was about to ask the same question of you,” he
replied dryly. “I thought you would be married by now, and be happy playing a
wife to that young man of yours. Has
the wedding been postponed?” There was joviality in his voice, but Elu sensed
something else there as well. A faint
touch of concern, of anxiety. As though
her presence there both confused and worried him. She hung her head, not able to meet the gaze of his bright gold
eyes.
“There will be no wedding,” she finally spoke, her
tone low.
“What?” Now the apprehension was clear in his voice,
as though he didn’t quite understand.
“Welle was attacked by Aksees at the beginning of
autumn,” she spoke through gritted teeth, hating to have to repeat the same
sorry sentence over again. “Mirulas found a way for me to escape. He said he would meet me at the Rillon
Forest, but I missed him. So I came
here hoping that he would think me here.” She raised her eyes to the
storyteller’s face. His expression was
stricken. “But he is dead,” she spoke again more loudly, “I know it now. He cannot have left Welle before it was
burned down and taken. There were too
many of them. They probably killed
him.” She broke down suddenly and wept, unable to contain the terrible pain and
horror of the admission any longer. The
storyteller was silent for a moment, as though he would let all this sink
in. Then he raised an arm and drew it
about her shoulders, holding her tight.
She was surprised at how strong and comforting his grasp was. He said nothing on what she had told him,
and no words of comfort came from his lips.
“I think you need to have some tea and a rest,” he
spoke at last, his voice low. “Come back with me to the stronghold, Elu. I have a room there, and a kettle of water
waiting at the hearth. How about I make
you a cup of calming amityleaf tea? How
does that sound?”
Until that moment she had not known how comforting a
simple cup of tea and a welcoming room would be. She was thankful that he offered her these things rather than try
to console her by saying he was sorry, and was there anything he could do to
help? Wiping blandly at her tears, she
nodded her head, but could manage no more.
“All right, then, come with me.”
He led her back towards the stronghold, his arm
still about her shoulders. She was
amazed once again at how strong his grip was for an old man. Even as she walked with him, she felt the
muscles in his hand bunching and relaxing against her skin. Once she looked up into his face, and saw
that his jaw line was set hard. Again
she felt that odd sense of anxiety crawling through him. It was almost as if she could sense it like
she had sensed the feelings of the Oak Tree.
The memory of the tree almost made her want to weep again.
They were not challenged at the gateway, though the
guards on duty looked a little wary of Elu.
“Just one of my apprentices,” the storyteller
explained lightly, “Had a bit of trouble with a young man down in town. I’ll take her back to my room and get her to
calm down.” After that the guards let
them through with no trouble.
The storyteller’s room was a small but serviceable
one on the second floor. Like the rest
of the stronghold its walls were grey, solid stone, but they were adorned with
a merry tapestry and a few paintings.
As the man stoked up the hearth and drew up two chairs by the fire, Elu
glanced up at the tapestry in interest.
It was finely woven, though now old and dusty. On it was depicted the shining figure of a man. It was, Elu surmised, Fortuminar, the
greatest hero of the Age of Light. In
his hand he held a gleaming sword, and was holding back a whole army of tûrkals
just with the strength of his one golden blade. At his feet lay the body of Tolminäre, the Black Princess. He had destroyed her, and laid her armies of
Dark to waste in his wake. But before
she had died, it was said that Tolminäre had first annihilated the Spheres of Harmony, and had forever
banished the world to evil and darkness.
And therein lay the tragedy – for according to the lays and poems,
Fortuminar had loved Tolminäre and had thought to call a truce with her; but
she had betrayed him, and destroyed that which was most sacred to both the
mortals of Fithandani and the immortal gods.
Thus, Fortuminar had been bidden by the almighty father Aan to slay his
love.
“Like that, do you?” The storyteller had caught her
staring up at the draping.
“Well, not exactly…”she blushed, though she didn’t
know quite why. “It’s a bit old, really.”
“Old, yes, yet not as old as the tale itself.” He
busied himself with setting the kettle at the hearth. “Some stories say that
soon after the scene depicted in that tapestry, Fortuminar turned his blade
upon himself.” He gave Elu a sidelong glance. “He could not bear to live any
longer without the woman he loved in the world by his side. Before he threw himself upon his sword he
swore to the gods that if they would not restore her to life then he would
suffer his own no longer.”
“And so the world was bereft of the greatest hero of
all time,” Elu finished for him on a breath.
Suddenly her sorrows seemed fewer.
She felt a pang of sympathy for the hero – not because he had been a
fallen champion but because he had been a man. “I can understand why he did what
he did,” she added quietly.
“Do not speak of such things,” the storyteller
chided her gently. It was not long
before he had handed her a cup of the sweet amityleaf tea. Even after a few sips she felt it calm her
senses. She sank back into the chair,
grateful of the warmth. “What is your name?” she asked him politely, as he took
the chair opposite her.
“My name?” he seemed momentarily surprised. “It
is…Grinda. Grinda Bard.” There was a
pause before he said it. Elu did not
entirely believe him, but she was too tired to argue about it. “How did you
remember my name?” she asked of him. He
smiled.
“A storyteller never forgets a name. Especially not the name of a young woman
whose handfasting he attended. Are you
feeling better now?”
“A little,” Elu nodded. She sighed. “I wonder what I
am to do now. Welle is no more and
there is no one left that I know of. I
could seek my parents, I suppose. But I
wouldn't even know where to begin to find them.”
“Your parents?” Grinda seemed to be considering
something. He looked up at her. “Are
you sure this man, Mirulas, that he is dead?”
“Not entirely,” Elu replied miserably, “But I think
it likely. There were so many of them,
you see. There were at least five of
them fighting him when I escaped.” She tried to think back on those last few
moments when Mirulas had disappeared into the smoke. Whose sword had it been swinging? She tried to see it in her mind’s eye, but her heart repelled the
thought. She shook her head slowly.
Grinda looked pensive. “So, there were many of
them,” he repeated slowly, mulling over the words like wine.
“Thirty, maybe more,” Elu returned, “And there
weren’t just Aksees, but other creatures of the Dark. There was something very strange about the whole thing…Before
they had only banded in groups of five or six to raid our village and take what
booty they could find. But this time,
it seemed as if they wanted to destroy Welle just for the sake of it. They killed everyone and burnt down the
whole thing.” She took in a deep, shaking breath. Grinda rose and moved to the open windows. He pulled them to, cutting out the chill
winter air.
“So,” he spoke, and his voice was thick with
foreboding, “it is as I feared. An army
of Aksees, moving out all across Éadan, not simply plundering the villages but
destroying them, one after another. But
for them to get to you…”
He paused, but did not turn again from the
window. Elu understood little of the
meaning behind his words. It was as
though he had spoken them more to himself than to her. Not for the first time she began to become
suspicious of what he knew. But she
dared not say a thing. At last Grinda
moved away from the window and turned to face her gravely.
“Elu, I must leave you here for a while. Rest here if you must, and drink what tea
you may in order to restore your nerves.
I shall only be a short while.”
“Where are you going?” Elu exclaimed in
surprise. She had no idea what she had
said to make him act so. He looked so
troubled now that she could see every line in his face crinkle into life.
“There is a grave matter I must attend to. Make yourself comfortable. I shall not be long.” He took up his cloak
and was already crossing the room as he spoke.
By the door he paused and smiled at Elu wanly. “Fear not, my child. I shall explain things in full when I
return.” Then he left.