Gateway to Nifleheim (12 page)

“They arrived the day before yesterday,” said Claradon. “Up from Lomion City on one of their quarterly visits. Sire Brondel would come with us if I let him—a good man.”

“He is a good friend to your father, but a bit past his fighting days,” said Ob.

“Out of practice,” said Gabriel, “if not too old.”

“He knows it,” said Claradon, “and didn’t press me when I turned him down. He would have gone though, all the same. Brave man and a loyal friend.”

“His wife dotes on Paldor as if he were the prized turkey at midsummer's feast,” said Ob. “Makes me want to puke.”

“She’s proud her son is squire to Sir Gabriel,” said Ector. “What parent wouldn’t be?”

“Old Sire Brondel,” said Gabriel. “He never approved of the assignment. Tried several times to convince Aradon and me to put an end to it, but I resisted. The boy has potential and he stands to gain more from the training I’m giving him. But Brondel says he is too old to be a squire. He says that a man full grown should stand on his own feet, and not serve another.”

“There is a point there, on both sides, I suppose,” said Ob. “In any case, we best bring his boy back safe or his wife will have our heads.”

“And what do I do if you don’t come back?” said Ector to Claradon, his voice sharp.

Claradon sighed. “You prepare for a siege. You know how to do that.”

“And you fight, if there’s fighting to do,” said Ob. “Sarbek will be at your side, along with a garrison of other good men like Marzdan and Balfin. You will not be on your own here.”

“Sarbek is down with a fever,” said Ector. “Or else he would be riding out with you and you know it.”

“He will recover, soon enough,” said Ob. “He's as strong as an ox, that one, despite his years. He will give you good council, should you need it.”

“We should send a raven to the Tyrian Chapterhouse,” said Ector. “We’ve got to tell Jude and Malcolm what is going on.”

“If you do that,” said Ob, “them two hotheads will fly all the way back here from Lomion City without taking a breath. They probably won’t even stop to pack or pee, or bring along anybody with them what can hold a sword. If we’re being invaded, they’re liable to run smack into the enemy. Then they will get themselves captured or killed dead. I will not have that, boy—not on my watch. There will be no ravens for them until we know what’s what.”

“I agree,” said Gabriel.

“They have a right to know what is going on,” said Ector.

“Right now we don't know much of anything,” said Ob.

“We know that father is missing,” said Ector. “That is what we need to tell them.”

“You’re getting more willful by the day, sonny,” said Ob. “Maybe I should put you over my knee, as I did when you was a whelp. Maybe that will keep you in line and all respectful like.”

“It didn’t work back then,” said Gabriel.

Ob nodded. “As I recall it didn’t. We will tell your brothers what is going on just as soon as we know, and not before. Don’t even think about sending a raven to them after we’re gone—because I will have your hide if you do.”

 A little ways away across the courtyard, Theta and Dolan conversed quietly astride their horses. Dolan now looked little like a simple retainer, his aspect more akin to a veteran soldier or mercenary—donned as he was in a battered cuirass of brown and black-hued leather and equipped with a small arsenal of weaponry. He girded the well-oiled longsword sheathed at his side in the manner of a professional soldier, and the longbow engraved with strange pictograms that he carried over his shoulder was clearly often used. The hafts of several daggers protruded from sheaths at his boots and his shoulder.

“After we've seen this business through, will we head back home?” said Dolan.

Theta grunted, his meaning unclear.

“We must be here for some reason, something big, more than just strange goings-on in some woods. We're not halfway around the world from home for just that.”

Theta offered no response.

“What do you expect we will find here?” said Dolan.

Expressionless and even-toned, Theta replied, “Perhaps some world-eating monster or demon lord or ancient wyrm, but probably more reskalan or things akin to them, a lot more. It matters not, for I will put down whatever it be.”

“I thought we took care of the last of them things already?”

Theta ignored him.

“Guess there are some more lurking about. Never liked lurkers.”

“When we get going, ride up ahead and join the gnome,” said Theta. “Make sure he doesn’t stumble us into an ambush.”

“Aye, boss, that I will.”

“All right, you slackers,” bellowed Ob, “enough standing around. Check your weapons and secure your packs. We’re heading out forthwith.”

***

Despite the circumstances, riding toward the main gates, which led to the Outer Dor, Claradon couldn't help but be impressed by the strength and majesty of the Dor itself. The twenty-foot thick outer and inner walls of the noble castle, crafted by master stonemasons, stood forty and sixty feet in height, respectively. Mammoth towers flanked the main gate and additional towers were situated at the four corners of both the outer and inner baileys. The towers' crenellated parapets partially obscured an array of large catapults and ballistae that fortified the roofs. Looking back, whence they came, he saw the enormous cylindrical tower in which his family resided. It was a magnificent work of engineering that approached two hundred fifty feet in height and included several majestic turrets and minarets that branched off from the primary tower.

Claradon had ordered the Dor's forces to prepare to defend against a possible attack, and as they approached the main gate he saw that the preparations were well underway. Squads of men-at-arms guarded the entranceway and the barbican area beyond. Soldiers on the allures heated iron vats filled with oil and squads of crossbowmen stalked the battlements—all under the watchful eye of Sir Marzdan, a steely-eyed veteran and Watch Captain of the citadel’s outer gate.

There was an unmistakable and pervading sense of doom that plagued the keep. Dor Eotrus had ever been a place of strength, peace, and security. Now all that had changed. Citizens dashed about, frightened looks etched on their faces. Many carried bundles of food or other supplies, stocking up for a feared siege; some loaded wagons with all their worldly belongings, apparently preparing to flee the Dor for safer environs. Though where that could be, save for Lomion City herself, was not clear. Conversely, nearly all the residents from beyond the town walls had either taken refuge within the Outer Dor or were lined up outside the main gate to petition for sanctuary within the citadel. Claradon gave the gatemen leave to let in any and all that asked for refuge, for the Eotrus took care of their own. More than a few citizens noticed the heavily armed troop of knights and surmised their mission. Calls of support and “bring them back safe,” rang out from all around the citadel and throughout the Outer Dor as the knights rode by.

The Outer Dor bustled with activity. Citizens scrambled to bar storm shutters, reinforce doors, and nail wood planks over the windows. The buildings were built of brick or stone, with walls at least double the thickness needed for stout defense against the northland’s punishing winters. Northerners had long memories. In the tradition of their ancestors who suffered through lugron raids, they built their buildings strong.

“We're not properly provisioned for a siege,” said Ob. “Not when we’ve so many mouths to feed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Claradon. “This may all blow over yet. It may be nothing.”

“By Asgard, I hope you’re right,” said Ob.

Just after they passed through the Outer Dor’s second gate, several riders in Eotrus livery approached at a canter from beyond the wall. Their leader, a grayed veteran, pulled up alongside Gabriel and Ob.

“What news, Baret?” said Ob.

Baret's face was grave. “We found no sign of his Lordship's patrol, Castellan. We rode as far as five leagues into the wood. We found the circle, but there was no sign or trace within it and not much without. It's hard to explain . . .” Baret looked warily about, leaned toward Ob, and lowered his voice. “Near the circle, the wood is dead. Lifeless. Unnatural like. The rest of the wood don’t feel right, neither. It stinks of sorcery to me.”

“What do you mean, dead?” said Ob. “Speak plain, man.”

“There weren't any animals about. That is as plain as I can put it. Not one squirrel or possum. Not a bird in sky, tree, or bush. Not even sight or sound of insects. Not a chirp, hoot, or howl. All life has fled the deep wood.”

“I have never seen its like,” said Baret. He lowered his voice further. “It must be sorcery. Dark and evil and on our doorstep. I don't envy you heading out there with night coming.”

“Was there any sign of an enemy force?” said Gabriel.

“None,” said Baret. “Whatever is out there comes in the night, I expect. In the deep black, with the mist,” he said as he made a protective gesture across his chest.

X

THE CIRCLE OF DESOLATION

The expedition passed through the last street beyond the Outer Dor’s walls, an unseasonable chill in the morning air, and headed down the main road, a wide cobblestone lane that led south toward Riker’s Crossroads, and then on to Lomion City, Kern, or Doriath Forest, depending on which way one went. Soon, both sides of the rode were lined with fields of vegetables and grains, and groves of fruit trees of many types, all well-ordered and closely fenced or walled. Farmhouses, some small and quaint, others akin to sprawling and impressive manors, some few, more castle than house, lay at the end of cobblestoned lanes that sprang from the main track. In the distance could be seen cattle and goat, sheep, pigs, and chickens. Here and there guardsmen from the various manors and keeps patrolled the ways on horseback and with dogs, wary and nervous owing to recent events.

Two miles or so down the way, the expedition turned off the main road and headed west along a well-used dirt track, a hunter’s trail that passed through fields of short grass and low rolling hills before reaching the Vermion Forest. Gabriel rode at the vanguard of the main group, followed by his picked men, Artol, Paldor, Glimador, and Indigo. Behind them were Theta, Dolan, Par Tanch, Ob, and Claradon. The rest of the expedition closely followed, save for the outriders Gabriel deployed to cover their flanks.

The fields were unusually thick with pestering mosquitos and other flying insects, which made what was normally a pleasant, scenic ride an annoying ordeal. All along the way they spotted deer and elk running through the fields—odd for that time of the morning. In the distance to the north they spied several bears, and to the south, a roaming pack of wolves.

“Never seen game this thick hereabouts,” said Ob as he uncorked his wineskin.

“They’ve been driven from the forest,” said Gabriel. “No doubt by whatever created the circle.”

“Maybe there is a pack of those reskalan things rampaging about the wood, putting the animals to flight,” said Tanch. “I have no wish to come face to face with even one of them, little less a pack. Are we certain that we have enough men?”

No one answered him.

The edge of the Vermion Forest was only a few miles away—well within sight from atop Dor Eotrus’s walls. The forest’s border was abruptly defined, its trees cut back years before when many acres were harvested for firewood and building materials. Lately such was taken from far to the north to preserve the Vermion for hunting and as a buffer against the region’s punishing winter winds.

The leaves were still on the forest’s trees; those at its border grew tall and majestic, but the rest, the ones deep in the heart of the old wood grew twisted and gnarled—like giants warped and frozen in time. It was an eerie place in the best of times, but one they were all well accustomed to.

A flattened track took the expedition to the edge of the woods where they halted. “That is a racket,” said Ob as hooting sounds filled the air.

“I’ve never seen so many owls,” said Claradon. “And in the daytime, no less.”

“Hawks gather in the upper branches,” said Gabriel. “Ravens and eagles beside them. A strange thing.”

The birds screeched and hooted louder and louder as the men resumed their approach.

“Are they going to attack us?” said Tanch. “I’ve heard that large birds can be quite dangerous when provoked or frightened. Perhaps we should take cover,” though the only cover lay before them in the forest.

“They’re warning us away,” said Theta.

“You are joking,” said Ob. “The man is a jokester. Birds warning us, he says. Ha, ha.”

“Then you explain it,” said Theta.

“They’re only birds,” said Ob. “Maybe they got some fancy birds back in your lands what talk and sing and dance the jig. Maybe they’d ask us over to sit a spell and have a smoke and a game of spottle, but hereabouts, they’re just birds. They got no brains to speak of, so they couldn’t warn nobody about nothing.”

Theta offered no response.

“It’s a strange thing,” said Gabriel, “whatever it means.”

As they moved into the wood, the trail narrowed and the forest slowly grew denser, the air closer, thicker, and stiller, and eventually, the sounds of the birds died away. Ob and Dolan struck out ahead of the others to scout.

“Bear sign,” said Ob, as he studied the ground. “Boar, deer, elk, and rabbit too.”

“And wolf,” said Dolan as he crouched down beside Ob.

Ob raised an eyebrow and looked at Dolan. “Good eye, sonny,” he said. “You know your tracks. Maybe there is more to you than you let on.”

“Not so much. Lord Angle has schooled me up on a few things, but I still don’t know much.”

“All the signs are fresh,” said Ob as he turned his attention back to the tracks. “And they’re all heading east, out of the forest, which makes sense considering the game we saw on the way here. They’re running from something, but what?”

“Something hungry, I expect,” said Dolan.

“Aye,” said Ob. “Something hungry. Keep your eyes peeled, sonny. If Wizard Boy is right, and there are a pack on them six-legs hereabouts, we best spot them afore they spot us.”