The Barrow (68 page)

“Actually my name comes from the Athairi,
stjeppen
, meaning steppe or plain,” said Stjepan, squinting at the Black Tower.

“Child of the Steppes, then?” Gilgwyr asked with a laugh. “An odd name for someone born in the woods.”

“My mother always said I was conceived on the Plain of Stones, when she went there with my father to sing to the earth,” Stjepan said. He grimaced. “Strictly speaking, that was more information than I needed to know.” He glanced over at Erim. “Anything?”

“Nothing,” she said, lowering the spyglass. “Some ravens and crows, that's about it.”

Stjepan nodded and hefted two long wooden poles over his shoulder and started to walk slowly westward along the southern edge of the bowl. The rest of the group started to follow him, with Sir Holgar and Caider Ross as their rearguard, their heads swiveling between the surrounding hillsides and the vine-choked Black Tower.

“De Daemonologis
is an excellent place to begin the study of the war against Githwaine and then the later war against Azharad,” said Leigh as they walked through the waist-high grasses and weeds. “It collects and codifies many of the histories of the time, at least those thought reputable by the Sun Court . . . not that they are necessarily the best and most unbiased source. Patriarch Stephans wrote that after Fortias the Brave killed Githwaine, and the Sun Court called its curse down on Uthedmael and rendered it
Lost
, some of Githwaine's followers either found refuge here in the Bale Mole or were up here already.”

“What sort of people would live up here?” asked Arduin. “Uthedmael at least was once green and prosperous, yes? Before Githwaine arrived to lead it into error and darkness. But this land has always been bleak and harsh.” As if to prove his point, or in response to the insult, his boot caught on a hidden root and he almost pitched forward onto his face.

Leigh ignored the slight clatter from Arduin. “The first peoples of the Bale Mole were from the Daradjans and the Mael, hardy folk who loved the independence of the wild; they built the citadels of Angharad and Liss Dyved and towns like Tir'gaile to watch over the roads of the dead in and out of the Vale of Barrows,” he said. “By the time of Githwaine, the roads had fallen into disuse as worship of the Divine King took hold amongst the Danians, and the hills became plagued by necromancers and magicians seeking to tap the power of its burial sites and holy places. Githwaine had found several ready allies in the hills during his war against the Danians, including the twin necromancers Gallesdone and Heddis.”

“They held Angharad then, yes?” asked Gilgwyr. “Over . . . well, that away.” He waved off to the south in the direction that the lost tower in theory would be found. He was not sure he had his bearings correctly, and only remembered the names because of some delectable perversions they indulged in, but no one corrected him.

“Yes,” said Leigh. “In those days it was briefly called the
Brig A'duos Magos
, the Tower of the Two Wizards.”

“Another favorite of treasure-hunters,” said Godewyn. “It still stands, though only fools would enter it.”
Fools like you lot, no doubt
, he thought with a snort. But Leigh turned and fixed him with a smile that seemed to say
I know what you're thinking
, and Godewyn found himself brought up short.

“They were powerful enchanters, so at some point that would have been a trip worth making,” said Leigh pleasantly, before turning back around to follow Stjepan. “But no doubt not now. While not touched directly by the Sun Court's curse on Lost Uthedmael, the Bale Mole became a difficult place to hide, as the Watchtower Kings of Maece and the Wall used the Bale Mole as traversing ground into the Vale of Barrows and points westwards to seek out their enemies in the Djar Éduins. The followers of Githwaine and Nymarga who lived here were forced to lurk in the dark and forgotten corners of the hills, abandoning their citadels to burrow deep into the earth and escape their enemies.”

“I have always heard rumors of the hills being honeycombed with tunnels,” said Godewyn, staring with thoughts of murder at the back of Leigh's head.

“Gammond of Wael said that the Nameless Cults claimed you could walk from one end of the Bale Mole to the other and never see the sun if you so chose,” said Leigh, now huffing a bit as they walked. “But after Ravera's Mistake, which plunged the Watchtowers into confusion for a time, the followers of Githwaine and Nymarga eking out an existence in the Bale Mole were able to gain some respite from those that hunted them, and slowly reemerge into the light. Amongst them stood the warlock and enchanter named Azharad. He conjured up dark allies out of the tombs and barrows of the Vale, and attracted foul and evil mercenaries from brigand bands and Djar Mael clans. He built this Black Tower, and from it launched a war into the Tiria Wold, fighting against the Danian and Athairi lords of the woods, and came to control half the forest, capturing the citadels of Bronrood, Garner Lais, Uth Glydmoredd, Penngraile, and Porgraile. Stjepan, a moment!”

Stjepan nodded and they paused in their walk along the rim of the bowl so the enchanter could take a rest and swig from a water bottle. A few of the others drank from their flasks as well, and for a few minutes they just eyed the Black Tower, brooding and dark.

“Fuck,” said Erim at last. Leigh laughed as Stjepan started walking again and they followed.

“The self-styled ‘Kingdom of Azharad' flared for a while as a dangerous new neighbor, and knights from the Watchtowers, Dania, and Daradja plunged into the woods to halt his progress,” Leigh continued his tale. “By all accounts it was a war of horrors; Azharad and his followers had developed a taste for human flesh, made dark sacrifices to the Forbidden Gods, and engaged in bizarre and unnatural rituals. They made for formidable foes, possessed of black magic and sorcery and enchanted weapons. Azharad never actually used
Gladringer
, though he had it in his possession; they considered it an object of hatred as it had killed their cult-hero Githwaine, but one of his lieutenants, the villainous Harigrina, supposedly wielded
Mhorismal
, the Red Talon of the Wyvern King, which is almost as famous a blade as
Gladringer
. King Coric of Dania finally led an army against Azharad, catching and killing him while he was traveling between the citadels of Garner Lais and Uth Glydmoredd in the year 1127. Azharad's body was spirited from the field of battle by some of his followers, and King Coric and his knights pursued them back here to the Black Tower and put it to the torch.”

“King Coric was the last king of the united Danias,” said Godewyn. “With both King Aramo of Dain Dania and King Eolred of Erid Dania as his descendants, carrying on the feud of his sons.”

“May the King of Heaven and Earth watch over His vassals,” said Arduin and Sir Holgar said together. “May they rule justly in his name.”

“I'm sure they will,” said Leigh. “There were rumors that the feud between Coric's sons, Iawn and Medrawn, was the result of a curse that fell upon them when they entered the Black Tower.” He waved toward the ruin down below them.

“Shit. Then the Barrow of Azharad is down there somewhere, yeah?” Erim asked, surveying the vale with shivers coursing her spine.

“As a friend of ours once said, ignore the bright bauble,” Stjepan said gently over his shoulder. “The ruins of the Black Tower have been searched through for the last three centuries by every tomb robber and questing knight looking for Azharad's burial place and
Gladringer
. Or for the body of Harigrina and
Mhorismal,
which is supposedly buried there as well. Well, those that walked away from it alive, that is. It's a place of darkness and death. So maybe something's still in there.”

He came to a halt. They had walked to the other side of the bowl, and now stood on the western ridge looking down into it.

“But not
Gladringer
, at least according to our map,” said Stjepan. “The map says we go . . .
this way
.” And he turned to the west, putting his back to the Black Tower, and started to walk toward the yellow light of the setting sun behind the light grey clouds.

With glances at each other that betrayed a mix of excitement, curiosity, and skepticism, the rest of the group fell in behind him, following him as he walked slowly up to the crest of the ridge, and turned to survey the view back to the tower below them and the vista to the east. He slipped the dry mariner's compass out of his satchel, and slowly maneuvered himself until he was finally satisfied with his orientation with the tower and the hills and mountains visible in the distant east. Then he turned around again and started heading due west.

Stjepan led them down a gentle, shallow valley and then up a slope toward the crest of another hill. Ahead of them and stretching to their north they could see a line of great boulder formations that protruded up from the grass and bramble, and as they reached the crest of the hill they could see that the great rocks were actually massive pieces of stone carved into the shape of animal and bird heads and set into the earth. The closest two that they were approaching appeared to be a pair of lion heads, carved of black rock that might have once been smooth and polished, but were now weatherworn and pockmarked. Stjepan frowned as he approached them. They were easily three times his height and faced to the east. Enough survived of their appearance to give them a fierce, predatory cast. “Hello, guardians of the dead,” he said under his breath. “But not what I was expecting.” He looked in both directions, studying the stone heads until he spotted two great vulture-head statues just to their north.

“Hmm, off a bit,” Stjepan said to himself.
Unless someone has moved them
, he thought.

Stjepan walked over and stood between them. The massive vulture heads were in slightly better shape than the lion heads, and their feral look was even more pronounced. He checked his west and east bearings with the compass, and started to count out paces to the west as he walked.

He went three hundred paces and almost tripped over something. He stopped and slipped the compass back into his satchel, and then he unlimbered the poles he was carrying, handing one off to Erim. He used one end of the pole to push and prod at the bramble and grass and thorns in front of him, slowly pushing some of them aside to reveal what appeared to be the lip of a stone step, almost buried under the top growth of the hill. He started to walk forward, probing, revealing more covered steps. Slowly he worked his way another three hundred paces and stopped.

He had come to the side of a steep nondescript hill, albeit covered with ugly weeds, thorns, and briars. The others came up behind him and joined him in staring at the side of the hill.

“What? This is it?” Godewyn asked.

Leigh mumbled under his breath and waved his hand through the air as though testing it. “I detect no magic here,” he said.

“According to the map he was buried in iron and plain earth, with only subtle wards. Strong magic would only draw spirits and the
Fae
Courts, and they'd just trade the secret of the location to mortals, or steal his magics for themselves,” said Stjepan.

Leigh rolled his head from side to side for a moment, pondering it. “Aye. That's how I'd hide it, I suppose,” he said finally.

Stjepan stepped forward, and began to slowly prod and poke into the hillside. He tested it in several places, slowly pressing up and forward a bit until suddenly his pole slid easily into the roots of the briars. He poked again, and earth and roots crumbled a bit to reveal a darkness in the earth.

“Here. We'll dig here,” Stjepan said quietly.

“I'll get my crew,” Godewyn said, and he turned and started jogging back to the rest of the expedition.

Two hours later, bramble and thorn and loose earth had been shoveled out of the way, and Stjepan and Godewyn were slowly pulling away the last roots and thorns to reveal a vertical, stone-framed open maw in the side of the briar hill, unmistakably the entrance to a manmade tunnel. Dusk was near and the sky overcast, making everything gray. With the clouds it was dark enough already that they had set lanterns alight and set them to hang from poles around their work site. Cole Thimber, Giordus, and Too Tall stood to one side behind them, dirty and sweaty from digging into the side of the hill with shovels. If they had disliked being the ones doing the bulk of the digging, they had not complained; they knew it was why they were hired, after all. Gilgwyr, Erim, Arduin, and Sir Helgi also stood nearby, watching in grim expectation.

“Fuck me,” Gilgwyr finally said with wonder.

“This is it,” Stjepan said. “If the map is right, this is it. This is where it has been leading us.”

“Fuck,” Erim said.

For a while they stood stock still, staring at the entrance into the earth.

Finally Arduin stirred and spoke. “I'm . . . I'm not sure I thought it would be real, in the end . . . the Barrow of Azharad. I think I stopped thinking that we were actually going someplace, a real place. The Barrow of a Sorcerer-King.”