Hunted (Book 3) (9 page)

No suggestions forthcoming, Gen led them carefully back down the incline until they were hidden from the view of the creatures in the bowl on the other side. Rather than risk stepping on loose rocks or branches due to speed, Gen set a careful pace toward the ridge intersecting perpendicularly to the one they followed. The rushing water and wind provided excellent cover, and Gen wanted the aid of evening shadows before they started their ascent.

“It’s too steep,” Volney complained when they arrived at the perilous slope adorned with stunted, half-green pines leaning at wild angles. The gnarled trees stretched knotted branches into the wind.

Gerand put his hand on Volney’s shoulder. The tall Rhugothian looked sick. “It will be challenging,” Gerand affirmed, “but I think we can do it. Be careful not to break any of those branches. It will sound like thunder splitting the air.”

By the time Gerand finished his sentence Gen had started the difficult traverse, using the abundant cracks and gnarled tree trunks to propel himself upward. Gerand followed his example, Volney coming awkwardly after. Every pebble knocked loose and every twig snapped from a dangling branch, brought a displeased look from Gen. Near the top, they were exposed to the bowl below, but as they pulled Volney up the rest of the way, they exhaled in relief—they had not been detected. The Uyumaak milled about as purposelessly as before.

They rested for a moment out of sight behind a thick, squat cedar. The opposite side of the ridge proved more daunting than they hoped. A sheer drop greeted them, the road running along a tree-lined lane that, on its far side, dropped even farther into a canyon hazy and shadowy in the weakening light.

“How do we get down to the road from here?” Gerand asked, peering over the edge to search for handholds.

Gen pointed to a stately pine growing close to the edge a few yards up the ridge. “We use the tree. It will be noisy, but it must be half a league from the main body. As long as we are reasonably silent, we should get down undetected.”

What looked and sounded easy at a distance proved difficult once they surveyed the tree up close and faced the task. No branch thick enough to support their weight stretched near the perilous drop off at their toes. They stared at the closest limb for several moments as if willing it to thicken and grow closer.

Gen breathed out, eyes focused on the tree. “Follow me. It will hurt, but it’s the only way.”

Gerand shook his head. This was foolhardy. He opened his mouth to say as much when Gen leapt from the edge into the mass of coarse needles and branches. The top of the tree swayed as if hit by a hearty gust of wind. Bark and detritus rained down through the boughs, but in short order Gen worked himself to the ground, a mass of scratches covering his arms and sticky pine gum besmirching his clothes.

“Oh, look, that was easy,” Volney said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“You’d better go next,” Gerand prodded him, “while the example is still fresh.”

Volney looked like he would be sick, but after screwing up his face, he issued a determined grunt and heaved his massive frame into the air. The tree got the worst of the impact, a branch snapping under his weight and echoing loudly through the air. Gerand swore, shaking his head as his lumbering friend wove himself downward through the branches like a sack of rocks. Uyumaak drums pounded a frantic new rhythm. Gerand executed the leap before Volney hit the ground.

No one needed to be told to run. The road lay in interconnected gray bricks before them, wide enough for a carriage or wagon to comfortably travel without fear of the edge. A thick stone balustrade provided a barrier between the road and the precipice, though wind and rain had eroded the support from underneath it, sending sections tumbling into the canyon in years past. The brick, too, proved uneven. Depressions and loose, upthrust sections sought out their boot tips in the approaching dark, sending the young men stumbling. Behind, the sound of claws scrabbling on the brick neared.

“Go on ahead,” Gen ordered. “I will slow them down.”

“We should fight together!” Gerand protested.

“I’m not going to fight!” Gen answered, drawing his sword and felling one of the large trees along the lane with a single stroke so that it fell onto the roadway with a tremendous crash, effectively blocking the path. “I’ll down a few more. Now go!”

The sprint up the incline strained burning muscles already weary from travel. Despite urgency, the arrival of dark forced Gerand and Volney to slow their pace.

“Let’s stop a moment and wait for Gen,” Volney suggested.

“I concur,” Gerand said. He leaned against the canyon wall breathing hard, hands on hips. They walked in circles to keep loose, spitting bitter bile over the balustrade and into the abyss. The wind had died, a thin mist gathering as a damp chill set in.

After several moments, Gen arrived, resheathing his sword. “That should slow them down for a while. Let’s move. I don’t think we will have any sleep tonight. Look for any good places to hide as we go.”

They continued their march upward as the night deepened. The air thinned. Gerand struggled to catch his breath, need and sheer will pulling each leg up and placing it before the other. His companions fared little better. They needed rest and a decent meal.

The road worsened as they climbed higher. Complete sections of brick went missing or were kicked aside into rough piles. Larger sections of the roadway had fallen into the canyon, forcing them to scoot along the edge of the canyon wall on what little ground remained.

At length, they arrived at a section completely fallen through. Two sturdy planks laid side by side spanned the fifteen foot gap. Gen walked across unconcernedly.

Gerand stopped and stared down. Certain death waited in the unfathomable dark drop. His shaky legs needed a little rest before attempting the crossing. Volney backed away from the precipice as if it were a poisonous viper.

“Just walk across at a nice even pace,” Gen advised. “The longer you think about it, the scarier it will become. It’s just like walking down the middle of a passageway.”
  “Except for the plummeting-to-your-death part,” Volney whined.

Summoning his courage and stretching his legs, Gerand struck out, crossing the abyss with only a little wobble at the end. Volney’s unsteady attempt, however, sent Gerand’s heart into his throat. Volney shook from head to toe, stepping forward slowly with eyes riveted to the board as if looking for a rusty nail that he might step on. His arms flailed at his sides, flapping this way and that as his body leaned precariously in every direction. As soon as he could, Gen extended his hand and pulled him over.

“My family lives on a plain,” Volney explained defensively.

“Should we pull the planks over?” Gerand asked. “The Hunters could make the jump, but none of the other Uyumaak could cross until they found a replacement.”

Gen opened his mouth, but before he could speak a green light bathed them all in an eerie luminescence. Hands went to weapons, but they could only faintly make out a figure sitting on the balustrade holding a recently unshuttered lantern fueled by a translucent green glob.

“Leave my pretty planks where they are, if you please,” a man’s voice instructed them. “I went through such work to put them there.”

“Show yourself,” Gen ordered. “Are you friend or foe?”

“Relax my young gentlemen. I assure you that I have no love for the Uyumaak. But you need not fear them if you hurry along with me. I have a safe place to stay. Indeed, some have said it is the safest place ever built by the hands of men. As for my name, you may know me as the Master of Echo Hold, at present.”

Gerand didn’t like this stranger’s carefree tone. “Is it close?”

“Yes, young one. Come. There are Uyumaak charging up the road from the other direction as well. If we do not make the drawbridge, we shall have an unpleasant time of it. Just follow the lamp.”

He stood from where he sat on the balustrade and started up the hill at a quick, soldierly march. He was tall and powerfully built, a thick mane of hair falling a little past his shoulders. He sang as he walked. The song, while cheerful in lyric, he sung in a melancholy fashion, as if the Master of Echo Hold regretted the words:

My light it beckons,

My light it calls.

It shines and warms

On whom it falls.

Come now, travelers,

Come and rest

Within my light,

A welcome guest.

For where it shines

All cares will flee,

The restful glow

Of eternity!

Away your burden;

Cast shoes from feet,

Let eyelids fall,

And summon sleep.

Gerand felt ill at ease, sharing worried looks with his companions. The farther along they traveled, the more the bones of long-dead Uyumaak littered the road. Their new companion took no heed of them, pulverizing the brittle remnants of their enemies with powerful steps from heavy boots. Gen and his friends tried with little success to avoid them, the snapping sounds destroying all stealth.

“This abominable racket will get us killed!” Volney complained.

The man ahead of them chuckled. “Quite the opposite, sir. The Uyumaak cannot bear to hear the cracking of their own bones. Didn’t you know? Besides, knowing your position can hardly help them now. Another turn around the bend and you will see your rest for this evening. All these years have not lessened my wonder at its majesty.”

The last bit of canyon wall gave way as they curved around a steep protrusion. Before them sat Echo Hold, a mighty fortress of men bathed in moonlight. The castle was built upon an upthrust of rock that rose from the canyon floor to the level of the road hundreds of feet up. The rock was large enough for the castle, a small city, and a large terraced area for farming.

The castle was built of a dingy white stone, and while the walls were not tall, rising only twenty-five feet, they were so thick as to defy any penetration. The keep rose higher than the walls, soaring upward into the moonlit night. Such was the elevation that low clouds floated beneath the level of the castle, giving it the strange sensation of movement.

The gap from the canyon road to the outcropping of rock on which the castle stood stretched over one hundred feet, a drawbridge spanning the distance. Two more of the green lanterns hung against opposite sides of a gate built into the wall that was wide enough to admit two carriages side by side. Their would-be host did not stop to let them admire the scene but kept up his steady pace amongst the piles of bones.

“Who killed all these Uyumaak?” Gerand asked. The Master of Echo Hold turned his head to the side briefly, revealing a noble profile and a closely cropped beard.

“I have killed them. Seems they would learn to avoid this place, but I never tire of teaching the lesson, however thick-headed the students. Come. It appears we may have some trouble after all.”

Squinting beyond the lantern, Gerand could discern three Uyumaak Hunters loitering along the road near the bridge, tentatively examining their surroundings and the lamps upon the walls across the ravine. Gerand stiffened as the Hunters turned from the bridge and approached the stranger and his lamp at an easy pace.

“Stay still,” the man commanded them, halting himself. “They only have eyes for the lantern.”

The Uyumaak approached, twitching eyes riveted to the ghoulish light. The scales on their skin turned to match the colors within the circle of the lantern’s glow. Gerand fingered his sword hilt. The man appeared perfectly at ease as the creatures approached, their clawed hands reaching reverently for the light. Just as a Hunter touched the lamp, the man shuttered it. Gerand found himself blinded by the sudden absence of light, and he and his companions drew swords at the sound of scuffle. But before his eyes could adjust, the light broke forth anew. The three Uyumaak lay dead upon the ground, eyes wide, without a visible mark of violence upon them.

“The light attracts them,” their leader explained, voice fresh and energetic. “Such foolish creatures, really.”

“Why do you hang lanterns by the gate, then?” Gerand asked. “What if they came in numbers? Are the walls guarded?”

“You have not heard what I said or understood what you just witnessed. The Uyumaak only have eyes for the lanterns. They are quite insensible when entranced. As for guarding the walls, I am quite alone here. I am happy now to have you as guests so that I can, at last, report the discharge of my obligations. Come forward. We shall enter, and I will retract the bridge so that you can slumber without worry tonight. I am sure your road has been long and toilsome.”

The bridge was also made of stone. It was not lowered from the wall, but appeared to retract horizontally into a space beneath the castle. The grounds around and within the castle grew wild with weeds and thorny shrubs poking through even more piles of bones at the base of the wall. Their host removed the lanterns and signaled for them to follow him through the gate and into the tunnel that ran beneath the wall. He again hummed his song to himself. Gerand’s skin crawled.

Gen glanced back at his companions, their worried faces mirroring his own misgivings about their host. But they were all exhausted. They needed rest and protection, and while Gen had confidence in his own skill and that of his friends, the Uyumaak were too many. They would chance a night in Echo Hold.

Bones littered the length of the tunnel through which the stranger led them, mice and rats scurrying away from the light and the heavy feet of men marching forward. Fetid dust reeked of age and decay. As they entered the main courtyard, the wind dissipated the smell, though bones lay about in prodigious numbers. The Master of Echo Hold led them along a path of ground down bones until they crossed into the streets of a deserted city that surrounded the inner keep and the tower that sprang from it into the sky.

As with gate into the castle, the gate into the keep was flung open as if the resident invited an attack rather than feared one. Another green lantern hung by the heavily fortified door into the keep.

“This place is impregnable,” Gerand commented. “I remember reading that farther back there are places to farm and raise animals. Good weather permitting, the fortress could sustain nearly two thousand inhabitants indefinitely.”

“It’s as safe a place as anyone could hope for,” Volney added, “if the gates are shut. The Uyumaak certainly managed to get in here in numbers at some point.”

Gen nodded. Their host certainly had a knack with the creatures, particularly with killing them.

“I will shut the gates tonight, young friend,” their host assured them as he waited for them to cross the threshold into the dank interior of the keep. When he slammed the door shut and barred it behind them, Gen thought he might have preferred it open, after all. He wasn’t sure if the Uyumaak were being locked out or they were being locked in.

The floor of the keep was paved with white tiles embedded with circular purple and gold patterns. The walls held shredded hints of fine tapestries and long-rusted sconces, but all that wasn’t stone had faded beyond recognition. Thankfully, while the hall was narrow and uncomfortably dark, no bones crunched underfoot, and their boots kicked up no dust. The hall terminated in another narrow door that opened into a room glowing orange from the coals of a recent fire. The warm light was a welcome change from the lurid green of the lanterns, and they filed into the room eagerly.

A long stone table big enough to seat ten stretched along the center of the room, and it took Gen a moment to realize that the skull of an Uyumaak had been placed on the table in front of each chair. Even the chairs themselves had been fashioned from bones, an especially complex one gracing the head of the table near the fire.

The Master of Echo Hold made a gesture toward the table. “Come, young companions, and sit. Oh, I see you are put off by my table decorations. I do apologize. It does get a little lonely at the table, as Bibbs doesn’t like to come near it. Here, let me make things a bit more pleasant.”

With a broad sweep of his arm the Master of Echo Hold circled the table and knocked the skulls to the ground, sending them bouncing and cracking all over the room.

“I would have you know,” he said when finished, “that I had named them all. So I do feel a bit guilty dashing them to the floor, but more lively guests await, and they must go lower. Bibbs!”

Gen, Gerand, and Volney, stood rooted in their places. Gen wondered where their host’s oddities would end, feeling more discomfited by the moment. The Master of Echo Hold clearly wasn’t in his right mind.

An unarmored Uyumaak Basher bumbled in from a side entrance. Gen drew steel, his friends following his example. The Basher cowered at their display of arms, covering its eight eyes with a quivering hand.

Their host laughed. “Put your weapons away, gentlemen. This is Bibbs. He has served me for several years, at least. Bashers are the best servants. They are just bright enough to do what you say but not clever enough to scheme.”

As weapons slowly returned to scabbards, the Basher relaxed, and master and thrall communicated with each other, the former in Common, the latter by slapping its chest. After a few moments, Bibbs turned and left.

The Master of Echo hold turned toward them again. “I was quite stunned to find that the Uyumaak understood the tongues of men, elves, and dwarves. In my boredom, I took the time to learn its language, though it is complex and they have no teachers among them. As you can imagine, the first thing I learned to understand was their beat pattern for, ‘please don’t kill me.’” At this the Master of Echo Hold guffawed, slapping his hand on the table and ignoring the troubled stares of his guests. “Of course, I have uncovered many mysteries in my solitude and boredom. If you are very good, I will share some of them with you. But while we wait for Bibbs to conjure up a meal, I must make a confession, and since you are the first human faces I have seen since the Shattering, I can at last lay my conscience bare and perhaps find some solace. Please sit.”

“How is it possible that you’ve been alive since the Shattering?” Gen asked cautiously as he took his place at the table. The bony chair was a little knobby against his back.

Their host leaned back, eyes distant. “That is part of the story. From your conversation, I know you have heard of this place in legend or history. Likely, that history questions its fate. Echo Hold was built by a collaboration of the human kingdoms during the Middle Peace, and—as you have so aptly noted—it is as impenetrable as a Basher’s skull. In its glory it was a nation unto itself, nearly five thousand men and their families living within the walls—only the best of men and the finest of fighters. A Knight General ruled over the fort with a council of eight Knight Captains. Knight General Oakenstone was a good man, seasoned and sensible, and I felt honored to serve as his High Captain on the Council.

“As well you know, the Middle Peace ended as Mikkik sowed corruption and betrayal to break apart alliances and dull the honor and hope of all good things. Echo Hold was no exception, though Oakenstone’s vigilance and swift justice secured our safety for a time. Mikkik threw armies at this place only to have them slaughtered by the thousands. Soon, he ignored us and sent his strength to drive the armies of men, dwarves, and elves to the west. We sallied forth from time to time, confident in our security, and harried the enemy, but we never wandered far from our gates.

“Messengers arrived from the dwarves that dwelt in the underground mountain halls not far from here. They brought word that they had called forward all that remained of their men and boys that could fight and equipped them with the best armor and weapons from their mighty forges. They proposed that we join with them, a force ten thousand strong, to fall upon Mikkik’s rear and turn the tide of the war. Oakenstone rejoiced at this opportunity and heartily agreed, as did the rest of the Knight Captains. I, of course, voiced the same publicly. But inwardly, a doubt grew, spreading its enervating vines in my heart.

“Was it cowardice? You would be right to ask. I think not. It is not my nature. I can only say that this place had grown upon me. My wife, young, inviting, and tender-eyed lived here, and whenever I rode back through these gates after a raid or a short march, my feet felt married to the ground beneath them and my heart a part of these stones. The thought of riding half a continent away inexplicably terrified me, not because I feared death or battle, but because anywhere but this place, I thought, could only be alien and forlorn.”

“But despite these misgivings, I still honored my duty and supported Oakenstone in his preparations. But doubts shoved aside and not confronted are but cracks into which evil can pour its poison and sicken us, and before we are aware, we are gripped in a feverish madness of emotion that overcomes all sense or pledged commitment. And when I was in this fever, a servant of Mikkik found me.

“Like a god he was, but without the brilliancy, and he made no pretense at presenting himself as holy or even as my friend. It was a Mikkik Dun, and after unhinging my joints with some spell, he forced into my head a vision of what the dark one planned and the doom that awaited the Knights of Echo Hold were we to leave the safety of our walls. Numberless columns of dark creatures streamed through the canyon below and overthrew all in their path. He offered a way to save myself and my men. I took it.

“And then he changed me by some power, and he gave me the means to kill Oakenstone without suspicion. To my eternal shame, I did it. To all appearances, Oakenstone had simply gone to bed and never awakened. You cannot imagine the sorrow, but the funeral and mourning provided a convenient excuse to delay our departure. I then cited the need to scout around the area to be sure that no ambush would befall us, and thus we waited more.

“The dwarves grew impatient and sent me missive after missive, begging that we make haste, to honor Oakenstone’s pledge, but still I delayed. At last, a ragged dwarven messenger, haunted and harrowed, arrived at our gates, claiming that some horror had flooded their halls and mines, killing his people in droves. He begged for our assistance, and I would not give it. And in that cowardice, the members of the Council overthrew and imprisoned me. Immediately they marched to their aid. They never returned. Not one. Only women and children remained here afterward, and of course, I remained in my cell. My wife abandoned me, ashamed, and I did not bother to explain my actions.

“But that is the tale of my sin and my guilt, and after you have eaten, you shall see my penance and witness to it. Perhaps, then, this prolonged existence can find its end. I have been cursed, and that curse will not allow me to die. I do not know if it can be undone, but I hope that by showing you my work of restitution, I might receive some reprieve and find peace again.”

“You are Sir Tornus, then,” Gen stated, “if I remember my history.”

“That is correct,” Tornus replied, eyes distant. “That name stood for honor and bravery once. Part of my penance is that you will teach my history so that I can no longer be held in such esteem. I am a murderer. I betrayed the dwarves. Following a certain line of reasoning, I betrayed the world. Ah, but here is dinner!”

Gen’s mind spun, but a meal delievered by the sulking Bibbs set his mouth to watering. A rich venison stew with spiced bread filled the famished corners of his belly. They ate until sated while Tornus, who didn’t bother with the feast, regarded them carefully.

Once it was clear that they had finished, he stood. “If you are satisfied, I ask you to come with me so I can show you what poor atonement I have attempted for my mistakes. Come.”

Tornus guided them through a side door and several dim passageways until they walked into a courtyard softly lit by the moons. As with other areas they had seen, bones clumped about in uneven heaps upon the paving stones. Outside the keep, the city of Echo Hold stretched before them along dark, abandoned streets. Sturdy, two level buildings of stone slid mournfully by as they followed Tornus through the maze of lonely avenues toward an unknown destination. At last they emerged into an open plain separated from the city by a waist-high wall.

“Beyond this,” Tornus explained, “is where all the agriculture needed to sustain Echo Hold in the event of a siege took place. The orchards have grown wild and the fields returned to weed, but here was the only place big enough to accomplish my task.”

He led the young men through a broken wooden gate and headed into the quiet field of dry, raspy grass. All about them sat stones placed at regular intervals, forming long rows to their left and right.

“These are grave markers,” Tornus announced. “I went into the dwarven halls and found all the dead and carried them here for burial, each warrior with his weapon and each mother with her children. A staggering task, to be sure, but a debt that I owed them for my part in their destruction. Did you know that their bones, like their weapons, do not age or rot? But no matter. What I want to show you awaits us ahead.”

Gen glanced back at his stunned companions. Staggering hardly sufficed to describe the enormity of the task. The rows of graves ran interminably in all directions, disappearing into the dark. As they proceeded, the burial sites were newer and less choked with grass and weed until soon fresh mounds of dirt indicated recent work. A polite cough from Tornus tore their attention away from the graves to an enormous pit dug into the earth.

“This,” he said, pointing into the abyss, “is what killed them. All of them. It destroyed the armies sent forth and then turned and slithered into their mines and caves and halls and poisoned the rest. After the Shattering, the host of them just stopped and lay where they were. They did not rot, and, while lifeless, they still feel warm to the touch. I gathered every one I could find and threw them here.”