Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (17 page)

They reached a central paved area where the
tree roots retreated underground to provide a gathering place for the community.
The space was bordered by curved stone benches forming a rough circle that could
comfortably seat a hundred people. A statue of a large woodsman with raised axe
lay in pieces in the centre of the clearing.  The bad atmosphere congealed into
hideous reality.

The surrounding tree homes seemed to droop
in failure. Their lower branches hung shredded, the beautiful emerald foliage
reduced to withered brown. The bark around doorways, once intricately woven around
living wood, was slashed and injured. The ground was covered in wrenched and
splintered boughs, and beneath the foliage crumpled shapes lay. BerantWolf threw
shattered branches from the corpse of a grey-haired woman. Malkrin noticed a broken
branch had been rammed with inhuman force through her stomach, pinning her to
the blood sodden ground.

‘This was Trisher. She was mistress of these
trees and governess of the tree-dwellers,’ announced Talgour sadly.

Malkrin looked around as his companions exposed
more corpses. All had been slain in similar barbaric manner. He glanced over to
where the piled remains of the tree-dweller men lay. His tracking skills told
him they had run to engage the threat. All had been decapitated as they fought
to protect their brethren. Silently the warriors strode amongst the tree homes,
noticing severed heads, arms and legs scattered through the trees and vegetation.
Malkrin’s hunter’s eyes interpreted a circle of male corpses protecting a rough
ring of dead women. Then at the centre the sad jumbled corpses of elderly and
children lay amongst stone seating. It had been a scene of frantic defence
against a pitiless foe. Malkrin estimated there must be at least two hundred
dead people here. A beautiful place had been desecrated and a valuable tribe
destroyed. He hoped some survivors had fled the barbaric wrath.

A shout rose from one of the Wolf warriors
who had bent to a sprawled shape. Malkrin and BerantWolf ran over.

BerantWolf swore in disgust as the
attackers’ identity was confirmed. It was as they had all dreaded and not dared
mention. ‘Demons,’ he spat the foul word.

It lay there with ferocity frozen on its face
and with an arrow skewering its windpipe. Malkrin drew Palerin and stepped
aside from the black carapaced body to scan the nearby boughs lest quarter-men were
about to return. His inner ear extended through the giant boughs into the small
rooms within, then beyond. The spaces were clear; nothing malevolent moved,
laid waiting or seethed. He finished the search and looked back to the hideous
form half expecting it to leap up and behead BerantWolf with its evil bone
talons. Two spears were imbedded in the joins around the carapace, but he
surmised the arrow had finally brought it down. It appeared to have taken a
huge effort in energy and weaponry to kill just this one creature. He counted
seven crumpled and dismembered men scattered around the demon and fully
realised now why BerantWolf had made such an effort to alert other tribes by
capturing their quarter-man.

‘We must prepare, for they can’t be far
away.’ BerantWolf stated. ‘But first we should look for Sylve survivors in the
depths of these great roots.’ He turned to Malkrin, ‘you and your companion
have great tracking skills. Circle the tree village to find in which direction
the creatures have gone.’

Malkrin nodded.

‘My men – search the village. You two
Brightwaters climb into tree-homes either side of the village and keep watch for
a renewed assault.’

Malkrin called over Halle and silently they
spent two hours circling the huge settlement. Bodies lay everywhere and Malkrin
feared none of the Sylve had survived. They soon found traces of an approach and
a later return through flattened grass. Splatters of fresh blood told of
injured creatures returning the way they had come. Unfortunately this would be
the direction BerantWolf’s band must follow to observe the main host.

They were about to turn back when the sound
of whimpering touched on Malkrin’s highsense ear. He paused and raised his hand
for Halle to stop. He pointed to where the sounds were emanating, and began perceiving
the nooks and crannies amongst giant roots. He directed Halle, whose intuition
then led him to the exact spot. Halle spoke soothing words into a black recess
between roots. Deep within, Malkrin saw a pair of frightened eyes and was
impressed; Halle was learning to use his intuition gift in conjunction with
Malkrin’s highsense.

Halle continued in a fatherly voice and
soon with soothing persuasion a small blond haired boy emerged. He was shaking,
covered in dirt and had a cut along a tearstained cheek but otherwise appeared
unhurt. Malkrin guessed he was of about seven years, well nourished and with calm
eyes in spite of his recent ordeal.

Malkrin grinned encouragement but the boy
clung to Halle who ruffled his hair and offered him an oatmeal cake from within
his cloak. The boy cheered and Halle led him back to the gathered warriors.

With BerantWolf was a badly shaken young
woman, she had a serious gash in an arm which Eighth-of-Senate had just stitched
with cat gut. He was applying a tight bandage to help protect the wound as
Malkrin and Halle reached him. The girls name was Tabra and she had helped her
husband and father battle a quarter-man. When they were slain she had glanced
at her people dead and dying everywhere, and in her dismay had lost courage and
ran. The demon creature had followed slashing at her. An arrow had lodged in a
seam in its carapace, distracting the creature long enough for it to stop and
rip it out. She had fled uphill and had kept running, only returning when she’d
spotted BerantWolf's party arriving.

The girl’s language was again a variation
on the Brightwater dialect and Malkrin was beginning to get a feel for the way
the Seconchane-Brightwater language linked tribal dialects enabling them all to
understand each other. The exception had been the fleeing Skatheln probably
because they had travelled from a far distant land.

The boy ran to Tabra and she comforted him.
Both relieved to have found another of their tribe. With daylight fading the
whole party withdrew to the safety of the largest tree through an entrance door
reached by a wooden ladder. They hauled up the ladder after them for security. Lookouts
were posted at the three small windows giving coverage of the whole tree
village. Tabra explained it had been the home of Trisher the Governess and was
the most well appointed tree-home in the community. They cooked a meal of rabbit
and vegetable stew on a brick range. Malkrin observed how the smoke was sucked
into a wide orifice of carved stone then up a circular earthenware tube. This
led out of a closely fitting hole in the tree to the outside air. Ingenious, he
thought. Another innovation the Seconchane could have used to make their smoke
filled hovels more habitable.

‘We continue tomorrow to seek the main
horde of quarter-men,’ stated BerantWolf. ‘We must attempt to ascertain their
main direction of travel. Then estimate their strength and whether they appear
organised or a leaderless rabble.’

‘We must not venture too close. We are too
few to offer more than a token resistance,’ Eighth-of-Senate added to a subdued
chorus of accord.

 ‘Someone approaches,’ a lookout shouted
from the winding stairs above them.

Malkrin withdrew Palerin from his leather
scabbard and cracked open the main door. Below was a dishevelled figure.

‘I am Palreth of the Sylva, and mean you no
harm.’

Tabra pushed past Malkrin and lowered the
ladder in greeting. ‘Palreth, I had thought you slain.’ She exclaimed.

‘I too, when I wounded a demon and others
came for me,’ Palreth panted as he climbed. ‘So I ran, for I believed our tribe
all lay dead and I could be of no more aid.’

They helped Palreth into the dwelling and introductions
were made.

‘Can you estimate how many quarter-men raided
your people?’ Talgour asked.

‘I counted two short of four hands, one was
slain and five were wounded but could still travel. I followed the demons for a
while until I knew they would not return. Then I ran back to bury my dead
friends and family. I saw the light in Trisher’s windows and here I am with
you.’

‘Will you join us to observe the main host
of quarter-men?’ BerantWolf asked.

Palreth thought for a moment, ‘yes, if you
first help bury my people. But I have further news to report.’

Palreth had their undivided attention.

‘In the distance from the hill of the
fallen monument I have seen demons encamped and stopped for the night. Three separate
bands of them and they’re less than a day’s travel away.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

N
ardin couldn’t close his mouth or move.
Despair gripped him. All his attempts to become a scholar paled into
insignificance with Cabryce's death. The bad news kept on coming as if each event
were an additional affliction sent to demolish him. Their plans had failed
almost before they'd been instigated. Only he was left now, unless he could
count Malkrin; and he may well have left this world already. Nardin imagined
sand blowing over a crumpled body somewhere out in the deadlands. Then he
imagined Cabryce sinking, and managed to shake his head to remove the imagined
horrors.

The faces of Moleskin, Rantiss and the
Abbott emerged from the despairing paralysis. He stared from one to the other
looking for a crumb of compassion and saw it only in the Abbott’s eyes.

‘Let him leave; he knows nothing,’ the
Abbott looked directly at Moleskin.

Moleskin held Nardin’s tunic as if
enthralled by his own revelation and kept glaring. Finally he came to a decision.
‘Very well: leave. If you turn out to be lying then you’ll wish for the point
of a sword by the time I’ve finished with you.
Now go.
’

Nardin focused on the door, keeping his
pace even and his head high as he had seen Cabryce do. Outside the room he realised
he was shaking and bathed in sweat. His enemies had identified themselves,
their suspicions roused and only the Abbott had backed him. He hoped the
Abbott’s support meant the priesthood was not after all totally subservient to
the Brenna.

His feet felt heavy and his shoulders
slumped, he considered renouncing his decision to be a scholar now that Cabryce
and Malkrin’s dream had died with them. He left the large doors of the Priests
Keep without remembering getting there and headed down the cherry tree lined
avenue back to the track which led into the town and home.

Cherries were ripe on the trees. The priests
and the Brenna would be able to add variety to their diet, he thought idly. A vision
of fat Brenna being fed by fawning priests re-triggered his resolve. All right,
his friends were dead, but he would carry on their crusade, it was what they
would have expected of him.

Energy returned to his limbs, even his
fingertips tingled with determination. More than ever he would be a model
villager and would throw himself into the farming and hunting routine like he
should have been doing all along. But in the evenings he would increase his
efforts to learn and use the knowledge to outwit the Brenna. ‘It’s what Malkrin
and Cabryce would have wanted,’ he thought aloud. And maybe, just maybe, one
day Malkrin would find a way to return.

He arrived home, his new resolve again
laced with sorrow. Cabryce deserved more than dying at the hands of the Brenna.
He decided to ask Sire Steth if he could find out how she had actually died. He
hoped knowing her fate would allow him to set his memory of her to rest.

Rose lay dozing as she waited for him
snuggled in the warm bed. His children slept soundly in theirs. He had decided
to tell Rose nothing; he did not want to worry her. Nardin resolved to teach
her as much as he could to help her realise there was more to life than mere
gossip and trading his meat and produce earnings.

‘You’re getting later every evening. Is the
learning tiring you my love?’ Rose muttered sleepily.

‘No, all is going well, it’s really
intriguing,’ he lied, and gave her a kiss then drew her into his arms.

‘Intriguing . . .?’

‘Sorry . . . it means, very interesting.’

The next morning Nardin felt a little
guilty at his hidden grief, but ruffled the children’s hair and waved his wife
goodbye. He walked down the winding path deep in thought but with renewed
energy. He informed the hunters he would be joining the threshing team.  It was
a chore shunned by most of the hunt but meant his family had a larger share of
the wheat and available fruit. He had previously shown great attention to
detail extracting the wheat from the chaff, so he was excused from hunting
whilst there was this unenviable chore. He worked with elderly villagers
filling the coarse sacking bags with wheat. Then they tied up the full sacks,
and pounded the kernels free from the stalks. Three days later they had
finished this first stage. Luckily a moderate wind blew enabling them to winnow
the kernels by emptying the bags onto sheets and throwing the contents skyward.
The wind blew away the light chaff usually into their clothes, hair and
surrounding trees. People downwind angrily kept their doors and windows firmly
closed. Tomorrow they would store the wheat in the special earthenware jars in
the underground stores. One for the ordinary folk, one for the priesthood and three
for the Brenna – in that proportion for all four hundred jars. It was the
arrangement that had been ongoing for generations and Nardin thought how unfair
the split was. The only consolation was the fruit and wine handed in meagre
portions by the Brenna Collectors to the threshing workers.

He stayed at home for three evenings satisfied
and exhausted with his punishing labour. On the fourth evening, he played with
the children and then ate his meal with them. He had the toy spear and his son
a wooden sword. He looked up from play-fighting over to his hunting spears stacked
neatly by the door – and the nagging curiosity of the scriptures returned to
overcome his tiredness. It was again what he really wanted; not hunting,
farming or threshing.

Nardin waved his family goodbye and left
for the Priests Keep. It was time to ask Sire Steth a huge favour – to find out
exactly how Cabryce had died, and why her body had not been released for burial.
During the last few days a conviction had grown that it was all a ploy by the Brenna
to warn him off, to show what happened if you dared offend them. Perhaps
Cabryce was snuggled safely in one of their luxurious guest rooms, being
courted by a new suitor.

He walked through the keep’s large doors; then
greeted the occasional priest as he travelled the passages to the scriptorium.
He intended to wait patiently for Sire Steth to arrive, but he opened the door
and Steth was waiting for him grim faced.

‘Wait here Apprentice,’ he said simply, and
walked off on an errand. Nardin presumed he’d gone to fetch a particular
scripture.

Half an hourglass later he returned.

 And with him were another elderly priest
and a young novice.

The elderly priest was Josiath Nighthawk,
Malkrin’s highsense tutor. The novice he had seen occasionally in the keep and
around the town but he did not know his name.

'Apprentice Nardin,' Seth had his attention
before Nardin could request anything from him. 'Sire Josiath has brought some
very bad news.'

'Relating to Cabryce and my conversation
with Moleskin and the Abbott?'

'I'm afraid so, the information we have is
grave. Please be prepared for the worst news.’ Sire Steth looked as if he were
about to break down, had he somehow guessed that Nardin was hoping Cabryce was
still alive?

     Nardin felt fingers of dread worming
into his stomach and whispered, 'go on Sire.'

     'The Brenna were not bluffing, I'm
afraid Cabryce is probably dead.'

     'Probably?'

     'I'll let Sire Josiath explain.'

     Josiath looked intently at Nardin as
if summing up whether he could be trusted. Then he spoke in a strong but sad
tone. 'Friend Nardin, you know I have Malkrin and his good wife's interests
firmly at heart?'

     'I know that Sire.'

     'Then trust what I say as the truth
and that I know it to be so.'

     Nardin nodded and the fingers of dread
turned into knotted fists.

'Cabryce was taken against her will . . .'

     'I know I was about to visit her when
I saw her dragged out; arrested. I had to creep away like a chastised dog.'

     'You could have done nothing to help
her.' Sire Josiath stared at Nardin with sorrow and compassion. 'This is what
happened to her.'

     Nardin listened with rapt attention. Fury
built in him as Sire Josiath spoke of
Erich Gamlyn and his vindictive henchman
Janna, then of a damp wretched cell.

     Nardin seethed with impotence.

     'In the cell was a woman long believed
dead and almost passed from memory. Her name was Bettry Gamlyn, Erich's cousin.
Unknown to anyone until now, incarcerated for many years within Gamlyn’s
dungeon. It would seem that somehow she and Cabryce escaped the cell directly
into the river Kryway far up above the Shimmerrath waterfalls. They had no hope
of surviving the great cascades.' Sire Josiath hesitated, the sorrow in his voice
increased. 'Bettry's body was found by a washer woman in the Fethwerth Pool.
After an extensive search by the Brenna and again covertly by several of our
brothers, Cabryce's body was not recovered.' Sire Josiath cleared his throat.
‘We believe her remains are trapped deep in the pool. I can only offer my
deepest condolence.’

     Silence descended in the room, broken
only by the sound of the ancient clock.

     Finally Nardin said, 'someone should
find Malkrin, he may not have gone far. He could be waiting to find a way back
through the frontier guard-post. He should know what has happened.'

     Sire Steth took over as Josiath dabbed
his eyes with an embroidered cloth. 'We have thought exactly that, and have
decided that the young acolyte Olaff Deerhide will search for him.' Sire Steth
nodded to the young priest who smiled shyly.  'His father was the legendary
hunter Jory Deerhide who was killed by a wildcat three years ago. He taught
Olaff how to live off meagre resources, track spoor and kill accurately with
bow or spear. Olaff is young and has kept himself fit to hunt. There is no
better person to find Malkrin.'

     Nardin looked at the acolyte and
assessed him. He was certainly fit and had a look of inner strength about him.
'May Jadde protect and go with you, ' Nardin said with gratitude in his voice.

     The boy smiled again and looked
imploringly to Sire Steth – there was something else.

     'Yes', Sire Steth acknowledged the
look. 'Olaff has given us permission to tell you of a secret that you must
divulge to no one outside of this room. Do you so swear before Jadde and the
four of us?'

     Nardin was surprised then intrigued.
'Of course, I swear.'

     Steth walked to the far wall and
removed a tapestry, carefully folded it and placed it on a chair. His behaviour
at this moment was strange, Nardin wondered if he’d just removed it because he
had a new wall hanging for the spot.

     Sire Josiath continued. 'Olaff showed
signs of a great gift at a very early age but as usual it would sometimes come
when summoned and at other times disappear. Jory knew what would happen if the
talent was announced to the Brenna and then it failed completely. So he ordered
his son to never reveal the talent to anyone. Something that Malkrin said to
him one day convinced him I would help. And I did, to the best of my small
ability. I arranged with Sire Steth Harefoot to nurture and guide him in the
scriptures and to teach him the ways of the priesthood – to shield him. I am,
as you know, skilled in mentoring highsense and showing my pupils how to nurture
and hold on to the gift. So I have managed to increase his ability and hold it constant.'

     Nardin remembered it was Josiath's
tuition that had allowed Malkrin to hold his highsense for so long.

     'Rather than explain, would you like
to demonstrate Olaff?'

     The young novice nodded and stood up,
his face lit with excitement. He began to flex his arms then his wrists, then
his fingers. Nardin realised he was proud of his ability and was demonstrating
it with an entertainers build-up. And he thought with sudden curiosity it must
be a potent power for the two priests to have worked together to keep it so
secret. He realised both men did not work entirely for their priesthood but had
ulterior motives of their own. That was another question that required answers.
His contemplation was interrupted as suddenly Olaff stretched his arms out
before him and extended his fingers as if to grip an unseen object.

     Sparks flowed from his fingertips, in
an instant they formed into a churning ball of seething blue energy that crackled
with pent up vigour. Olaff flicked his arms and wrists and the energy ball flew
against the wall where the tapestry had recently hung. The ball ate into the
stone as if it was a living thing with ravenous teeth. Then with a crackle it
faded away leaving the air laden with a sharp burning smell. A large glowing
hole had appeared in the wall that he could have easily inserted his arm into.

     Nardin was astounded; it was certainly
a mighty highsense and one that should be carefully guarded. 'That is a powerful
gift,' he said in wonder.

     'You see why it must not be revealed?'
asked Josiath.

     'I do. It would kill great numbers of
men or animals instantly, and would have to be used with great thought. Also if
it disappears from Olaff, it would be a great loss to our people.’