In The Shadow Of The Beast (19 page)

Finally, he flicked the reigns with a motion
of his wrists, spurring the horses into movement.

‘
Come, we still have a fair
way to travel before we reach Klay’s homestead.’

With that, the little cart pushed on along
the river Woe, that fed the mighty Hammer Of The Gods, before their
path took them up and away from the river. Higher and higher into
the frigid peaks of the Ash’harad they climbed.

Many hours later, the trio arrived at a
narrow channel of carved steps that twisted up and away around the
side of the cliff face. The old man had declared that they would
leave the cart and horses here, tethered to a spar of rock that
jutted from the pathway like a broken bone through flesh, and
proceed on foot up the stone stairway. Brodus Klay’s fastness was
to be found at the top of these steps. Hidden away from curious
travelers and vengeful acquaintances alike.

Together the trio ascended the stairway, its
ancient surface slick with black ice, treacherous to all save the
overcautious.

The stairway led them onwards and up for
many hours more, and several times they had to stop to make rest so
that Sigourd and Jonn Grumble might catch their breath in the
unbearably thin air. They had lit torches of firewood that they’d
saved from the sparsely forested steppes of the mountains, and
these they used to light their way through the encroaching dark of
pre-night.

‘
Eh old timer, how is it
that you seem so unperturbed by these foul conditions?’ asked Jonn
Grumble on one such occasion. ‘My bloody lungs are fit to bursting,
and here you are rambling away like it’s a mid spring
morning.’

The old man smiled, and there was just the
hint of a twinkle in his eye, ‘A big strong thing like you isn’t
complaining is he? Oh, for shame wild man. But don’t feel too
terrible, I’ve lived in these parts since before you were around to
suckle at your mother’s teet. These conditions are no bother to
me.’

And so onwards they climbed for another hour
or more, until finally Sigourd caught sight of what surely must be
the entrance to a great cave, an ancient archway carved into the
very surface of the stone just as the steps had been. It was nearly
night by the time they reached this place, the sun had dipped
almost completely from sight beneath the distant horizon, and the
chill wind seemed to howl and gather even more boisterously around
this lonely place.

Strange hieroglyphs and markings had been
etched into the stone about the archway, and they made Sigourd
uncomfortable to look upon. The archway itself was little more than
the opening of some great fissure in the side of the mountain, and
beyond that portal lay only impenetrable gloom.

The old man threw back his hood, exposing
himself to the biting winds which pulled at his papery skin. It
came as some surprise to Sigourd that that skin did not simply peel
from the head of the old man in great flaps as the wind tugged this
way and that. There was an almost feverish aspect to the old man as
he traced his hand along those hieroglyphs before bowing his head
to the rock as if in silent communion with the mountain itself.

‘
What do these symbols
mean?’ said Sigourd, indicating the strange markings about the
archway. The old man looked up suddenly, as if emerging from a deep
reverie. ‘These markings are of an ancient design, of a language
belonging to a people long since turned to dust,’ he said. ‘They
are a warning, against those who would trespass into situations
they have no true grasp of. Words to live by eh?’

‘
Why would Klay choose to
hide himself away in a place like this, so far from anything?’
asked Sigourd, his puzzlement at this strange location and the odd
markings growing steadily into a sense of unease.

‘
Even great warriors grow
weary of the day to day squabbling a of his fellows,’ replied the
old man. As he spoke, the little nightingale swooped down to alight
upon Sigourd’s shoulder. It chirruped insistently in Sigourd’s ear,
but it was Jonn Grumble who voiced what seemed apparent, ‘It
appears our little friend is a touch agitated at the prospect of
entering that cave. Can’t say I blame him neither.’

The old man stepped toward the nightingale,
reaching into a pouch under his cloak as he did so he produced a
handful of seeds. The bird immediately skipped onto the
outstretched hand of the old man and began to peck eagerly at the
seeds.

‘
It seems our friend was
probably in need of a little sustenance before continuing,’ he
said. He turned then to Jonn Grumble, that twinkle once more
glittering in his eye, ‘You’re not afraid of a little darkness are
you wild man? I’m sure you’ll do just fine down in the bowels of
the mountain. Although there are no stars to light your
way.’

Jonn Grumble stiffened at this jibe, flicked
his wild hair out of his face before proclaiming proudly, ‘The day
I can’t handle a jaunt into some poxy little hole in the ground is
the day we discover the world to be round!’

The old man nodded as appreciation of
Grumble’s bold statement. Turning sharply he shuffled into the
mouth of the cave and was swallowed abruptly by the impenetrable
gloom.

Sigourd and Jonn Grumble shared a brief
glance before the voice of the old man came echoing up out of the
darkness, ‘It would not do to linger on the mountainside while the
sun dips out of sight!’

Sigourd steeled himself, and plunged forward
into the cave mouth after the old man. Jonn Grumble hesitated a
moment longer, casting a longing glance at the night sky overhead.
The stars above glittered like roughly cut jewels cast against
black silk. Gritting his teeth, the wild man too made the leap into
the unknown, plunging headfirst into the black.

Inside the cave it was dank and wet, the
walls glistening, cold and slick with seepage from the rivers that
ran through this part of the mountain ranges. The cave itself was
really more of a tunnel that branched left and right where offshoot
tunnels were spaced irregularly along its length, and no doubt the
whole network was the result of volcanic activity that had played
itself out millennia hence.

Sigourd marveled at how well the old man
seemed to know the terrain. He shuffled without hesitation over the
slippery surface of the tunnel floor, where Sigourd and Jonn
Grumble were both moving with far less confidence. Even by the poor
light of their sputtering torches, Sigourd was not able to make out
anything in particular detail until he was almost standing beside
or on top of it.

‘
You say a great warrior
lives down here?’ asked Jonn Grumble from the rear of their line.
‘He must be a bit hard up if you ask me.’

‘
Not enjoying yourself, eh
wild man?’ said the old man, a touch of dark enjoyment entering his
tone. ‘To one used to living his life out under the open skies, it
must be unnerving down here in the center of the world. Perhaps you
feel the darkness suffocating you slowly, or perhaps it’s the walls
closing in from every angle. I would understand if you felt that
the situation was more than you were capable of dealing
with.’

Jonn Grumble scoffed a little too loudly,
ever ready to put a brave face on any situation, ‘Nah not me you
old crow. I’m enjoying the change of scenery if you must know.’

Sigourd could hear the bluster in his
friends word’s. But there was also a current of unease coursing
through Jonn’s voice as obvious as the River Woe. Jonn Grumble had
made no effort to illustrate the extent of his claustrophobia, but
it was plain enough to Sigourd, and no doubt to the old man
also.

‘
In that case,’ said the
old man, ‘let us continue on. But be mindful of rock
slides.’

‘
Rockslides?’ croaked Jonn
Grumble nervously.

‘
Yes, they’re as common as
the pox down here, and it wouldn’t do to get sealed in forever and
a day because we were talking too loudly. Just think of it wild
man, entombed in the heart of a mountain.’

Jonn Grumble gulped loudly, and cast an
uneasy sideways glance at Sigourd. By the firelight, He could see
that the wild man was sweating despite the unremitting chill in the
air.

Sigourd considered himself a person
empathetic to the needs of his fellows, and especially where it
concerned friends who had been so faithful to him. He did not want
to see Jonn Grumble suffer unduly when he, Sigourd, was perfectly
capable of undertaking the journey into the mountain with only the
assistance of the elder.

‘
Perhaps you should wait
here Jonn, by the entrance way. You would be able to guard us from
attacks should they come from the cave mouth,’ said
Sigourd.

Jonn Grumble considered this for a moment,
his aspect brightening somewhat. ‘Yes, that sounds a bit more like
it. I’ll do a spot of rearguard action. Keep me old peepers peeled
for any tricky sorts sneaking up on ya!’ he said.

‘
We’d be mightily obliged,’
assured Sigourd.

The old man couldn’t help but chuckle to
himself, ‘Ah, but we’ll miss your company down here in the dark!’
he said to Jonn Grumble. Scowling, the wild man turned to address
Sigourd, ‘I’ll wait at the cave mouth. If you don’t return in the
next couple of hours then I’m ruddy well coming back down after
you!’

Sigourd nodded, smiling at his friend, who
turned and began to trudge carefully back up the tunnel in the
direction they’d come. Sigourd looked to the old man, ‘You seek to
provoke him at every opportunity. Has he given you offense?’

The old man shrugged, ‘Oh no, I rather enjoy
his roguish company as it happens. Reminds me of the fellows I used
to consort with in my younger days.’

‘
He’s a good man,’
continued Sigourd, ‘I’m honored to have him with me on this
journey.’

‘
Perhaps I have taken the
wild man’s skin to be thicker than possibly it might be. I meant no
harm.’ Sigourd smiled at the old man, placed a reassuring hand upon
his shoulder, ‘I’m honored to have you both by my side.’

The further Sigourd and the old man pressed
on, the more the surrounding tunnels seemed to glow with an eerie
light. Sigourd was unable to determine its source other than to
surmise that the light was emanating from the very rock itself.

Besides the strange glowing, they now
encountered forests of dripping stalactites that hung low from the
ceiling of the tunnel like the fangs of some giant carnivore. As
Sigourd negotiated his way carefully around these he could not
shake the uneasy feeling that he was truly in the mouth of madness,
or perhaps the gullet of some titanic slumbering monster. The place
was so strange, it both its location and it composition, Sigourd
could not but wonder what would drive a man to make his way down
here to settle.

‘
How is it Brodus Klay came
to make this place his home?’ he asked the old man. ‘It is a place
that beggars belief. The strange symbols, the unnerving nature of
these tunnels. What has led him down here?’

The old man didn’t look back as he picked
his way between the stalactites with an ease that suggested he’d
done so before and quite frequently at that.

‘
Klay was not driven down
here. He discovered this place, and chose to make it his residence.
These caves were once a coven of warlocks. Many hundreds of years
ago they infested these tunnels like termites might infest the
foundations of a house, building and excavating to what ends I can
only speculate. The magics they practiced here were great and
powerful, and although the last of them died out over a century
ago, the effects of their conjuring linger on. It is a place of
great power for those that have the means to harness
it.’

‘
And Brodus Klay has been
down here, trying to unlock their secrets?’ said Sigourd, unable to
hide the note of alarm that rang in his tone.

‘
It’s not just the warlocks
magic that Brodus Klay is scrying for,’ said the old man, ‘these
mountain ranges are not feared by mortal men without good reason.
The Ash’harad is the seam in the join between two worlds.
Everything west of these ranges is the world you understand. But on
the other side is a world that remains untamed. Feared and shunned
by the multitudes who do not dare try to understand what it is that
shapes the Eastern Fringes. This mountain sits on the fault line
between those two worlds, and at the sight of that intermix a man
might gain some measure of the truth of this life, if only he has
wit enough to know where to look.’

Sigourd could not suppress the shiver of
unease that flashed down the length of his spine. As he looked into
the eyes of the old man he could see a glittering excitement there
that bordered on delirium...or madness.

‘
Why is Brodus Klay out
here, what business does a man of the soldierly orders have in this
accursed place?’ he said.

The old man swallowed hard, a moments
hesitation diminishing the gleam of mad delight in his eyes. ‘He
was banished by his baron, over twenty years previously. Commanded
to wander the wastes of the world because he made the mistake of
performing as his duty bid. Because he saw too much!’

‘
What was it that he saw?’
asked Sigourd.

‘
Brodus Klay was there the
night the Lady Veronique was attacked by a creature from the
nightmares of madmen.’

Sigourd struggled to keep his surprise in
check. The mention of his mother’s name was something he’d not
bargained on, but he did not wish to allow his surprise to betray
any element his identity to the old man. He had intentionally given
only the barest of details concerning his immediate objective. For
all the old man’s kindly ways, Sigourd had felt that discretion
concerning his lineage would serve him better than if he were to
reveal his true identity.