The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (30 page)

Hollis led Armas to the long table where the company of men sat, now much happier and a bit fatter thanks to Keily’s cooking and Shameus’ ale. The men had been stretched beyond the limits of weariness, due in part to the long months of hard labor, and more so to the fear of what evils lurked in the shadows of the North.

“This is Lieutenant Armas of the Capital guard, an old friend of mine,” Hollis told his men. “The Citadel has called for our axes once again, and some of you here will be answering that call to fight the darkness one felled tree at a time. For the Priest King’s crusade to colonize the Wreath is nearly upon us, and he has called for our axes to lead the way.”

The men began to talk and whisper among themselves, some eager at the prospect of a new assignment, others grumbling about the Citadel needing northmen to come to their rescue once again.

“We will follow you to this new assignment, Hollis, but not because that damnable Priest King commands it!” yelled one of the men who had partaken of a little too much brew.

“Aye!” called another. “Our axes are pledged to you, Chief!”

Hollis looked at Armas, and then down the line of men sitting at the table before him. “Silence! I may not be able to make the journey with you, brothers, for the Priest King has demanded a private audience so that he may assess my
faculties.
”

The men erupted in an angry protest, for they knew full well what the Citadel thought of the haunting reports from the North.

“Tell that Priest King to come see the fog himself!” shouted Oskar from the end of the table. “Where is his axe against the raven’s arrows?”

Goran stood tall and menacing in defense of his chief, addressing the force of his indignation towards Armas. “You Capital guardsmen have not the slightest inkling as to what hells we have faced these last weeks! If it were not for Hollis there would be no timber to fuel the frightened citizens of your damnable Priest King!”

“Enough!” Hollis roared out amidst the din, his bellowed fury sounding more like the man that Armas had once known. “Do you truly think that I need the likes of you to defend my honor? My axe is sharp enough still, brothers.” As he spoke, his wounded offense smoldered into a low burning resignation. “I will make plain enough to the Citadel the truth of what we have seen. Make no mistake about that. And then … well, then they can do as they wish to me.”

Armas crossed his arms and regarded his friend, feeling all the more uncertain about taking Hollis back to the review of the Priest King and the Chancellor.

“Just who will you send to lead us, then?” asked another ale-sodden woodcutter.

“Yasen!” Hollis called out to the dark-haired man covered in wolf furs at the other end of the long table. “Once we figure out what in the green-death is happening to that ugly eye of yours, you, my North Wolf, will lead our men across the Dark Sea.”

The men of the North both feared and respected Yasen for the vastness of his bravery and fortitude that, by comparison, made evident the small stature of their own. They were reminded daily of what burned inside his chest, for all they had to do was to look upon his scarred face and milky eye to see the measure of his courage. The woodcutters nodded and grunted their assent to Hollis’ choice in leadership, neither daring nor desiring to put up a fight against the mighty Yasen.

“Come, my friend, let’s go let the healer have a look at that eye of yours,” Hollis gestured with his hands as he called to the wounded hero. “Jhames is not prone to patience, of that I am sure, and we must see about putting your mending behind us now.”

Yasen quietly rose to his feet and followed the two men into the kitchen. The rest of the woodcutters finished their ale, and some fell asleep right there at the table. A few of them went out to tend the horses, but most of them were too full or too tired to care about the conference in the other room. As the three of them entered the kitchen, they beheld a welcome sight. The beautiful barmaid, who had both baked their bread and filled their flagons, was busying herself with boiling water and mixing herbs and oils.

“Well, it’s about time you decided to come in and face up to your medicine,” Keily gently scolded as she eyed Yasen.

“You, my girl, have outdone yourself indeed, and your papa should be most proud,” said the lieutenant, who couldn’t help but grin at the vivacious sparkle in the eyes that turned to him. “The meal was most … acceptable.”

“Oh,” she sighed, not at all flustered by the easy compliment. “Well, don’t you go getting too grateful just yet, for I haven’t attempted my hand at healing this wound. I would hate to disappoint the likes of the Citadel.” She winked briefly at Armas and turned her attention back to her quiet patient.

“I am sure that I will be most grateful for whatever aid your healing touch might offer,” Yasen said kindly, finally opening his mouth to speak to the endearing young woman.

“Well, we will just have to see about that.” She brushed the compliment aside as she motioned for him to sit. “Come now, let’s have a look at it. I’ll have to take that old dressing off of you.” Keily slowly and tenderly unwrapped the soiled bandage from Yasen’s head. When she came to the end of the strip of cloth and revealed his battered face, she let out a tiny but horrified gasp. “What in the damnable darkness happened to you?” she said as her fingers traced the rough and angry scars that lined the left side of Yasen’s face.

“Can you mend it, lass?” Hollis asked her.

“The scars?” she asked, shaking her head. “No. I suppose I might be able to charm them enough to calm their anger a bit, but they will still be there.” Her hands held the face of the hero of the North as she spoke. “I am not so sure about the eye though. This is well beyond my skill.”

“Will you try? Please?” Yasen asked her gently, his tone betraying a sense of vulnerability beneath his rugged exterior.

“I will try,” she consented, resting her hand upon his muscled shoulder as she knelt down to his eye level, “
If
you tell me what kind of devil did such a thing to the hero of the North.”

Just then, the kitchen door burst open and Oskar stood before them, wide-eyed.

“Lieutenant! We need you right away,” Oskar restrained himself from explaining further, his eyes falling on Keily. “It’s … um … the night patrolmen, sir.” His face betrayed the urgent nature of his beckoning.

Armas and Hollis exchanged suspicious glances before they excused themselves and followed Oskar into the main hall, leaving Yasen to tell his tale to the beautiful woman who demanded his story as payment for her aid.

“What is it, Oskar?” Hollis demanded.

“Lieutenant?” they heard a frightened voice call out from the entrance to the Knob. “Lieutenant, please sir … I … I need a word with you!”

The hesitant, young patrolman made his way nervously over to Armas and the two woodcutters. His face looked a sickly white and his eyes were wide with panic-stricken fear. “What is it, lad?” Armas asked him.

“It’s … it’s my brother, sir,” he barely managed to stutter out.

“Your brother?” Armas asked.

The frightened patrolman nodded his head forcefully. “You see, we were both on night patrol duty, scouting the North Road like we were told to do by the corporal. Then we saw what looked like a dark storm closing in fast … only it didn’t look like any storm I have ever seen before.”

Hollis stared hard at the young man, not for a moment shifting his focused attention. Armas watched the old woodcutter anxiously listen to the story of the young soldier with a keen, calculating eye.

“Go on,” Armas urged.

“It was the clouds, sir … they were too close to the ground to be natural. They rolled in like a thick, dark fog. At least, it looked like fog, but then I heard—no, I
felt
thunder.” He touched the small flint from around his neck to his trembling lips. “Felt it shake my very bones.”

“There has not been any sign of rain all day, lad,” Armas said disbelievingly.

“Nor was there any out there on the North Road, sir,” the patrolman said.

“So tell me true, what does this rainless thunder have to do with your brother?” Armas asked him, impatient to get to the point of it all.

“Do you not guess, lieutenant?” Hollis asked, a mix of anger and fear coloring his words. “Tell me, boy, what did you and your brother see next?”

The young patrolman just stared at the old chieftain, the words momentarily not able to find their way to his frightened lips. “I do not know, sir. The thunder bellowed and shook us yet again, and then a flash of green light burst from the clouds like a sickened bolt of lightning. My horse, spooked as she was, threw me from the saddle.” He looked back and forth between the officer and the woodcutter, not sure how to explain the rest. Finally, he spoke his truth, though it was grossly incomplete. “By the time I had caught my breath and found my feet … my brother was gone.”

“Gone?” Armas asked.

“Gone, sir. No horse, no brother, no hoof markings, and no more storm clouds neither. My horse, she was mad with fear, and it was all I could do to manage to control her enough to take me back to the gate,” the patrolman explained.

“How can a man and a horse just vanish like that? Are you certain you did not see them? Did you sound your horn or call out his name?” Armas asked.

“Yes! Yes sir, of course, but he was nowhere to be found, and I heard no answer.”

“And you think
I
am the mad one?” Hollis said to Armas, his voice dripping with contempt. “How long ‘til whatever green-hell of a storm this was makes its way to the precious Citadel? Huh! Tell me,
Lieutenant
… what kind of power will our Priest King have then?”

“Enough now!” Armas said to the incensed chief. He put a steadying hand on Hollis’ arm and pulled him to the side of the room in a private conference. “Do not address me with such a tone in front of your men,” Armas corrected with stern fervor. “It discredits your leadership, and you know it.”

Hollis studied the face of his friend, then nodded in consent. “Forgive me. I have been too long in the hungry stare of this dark predator. And I have begged for aid, for help from those who choose not to believe or even admit that we are indeed hunted!”

Armas thought in unsure silence for a moment about the gravity of his next decision. “I cannot say for sure that your fears are anything more than the anxieties of a man who has been far too long in the fringes of the light. And I will not risk your neck and our assignment with just the testimony of a frightened young patrolman.” His whispered words were forceful and decisive.

“Armas, you must see—”

”What I
can
say for certain is that the last thing our cause or your men need is for you to march into the Citadel and demand action that they will never give you.”

“So you would willingly let the citizens of Haven walk into this dark storm without word or warning?” Hollis asked incredulously.

“No, my friend,” Armas said, his expression softening with his meaning. “But I will not charge you as messenger. I need,
Haven
needs, the great chief of the woodcutters with his axe sharp and his head still firmly attached to his neck. If we ever hope to fend off whatever it is that lies out there in the darkness, then I cannot allow you to go to the Citadel. If you do … I am convinced that you won’t come back.”

The men stood in silence as Hollis realized what Armas was trying to tell him.

“Well then, it looks like I am not going to get the pleasure of seeing our fine Priest King after all,” Hollis said, still shaken.

“I need you to trust me on this, old friend,” Armas insisted. “Ride as hard and fast as your old bones will allow you, and send me another twenty of your best to join this lot and head for Abondale. As soon as Yasen’s eye is on the mend, he shall bring the company of woodcutters south and join the ranks of the chosen few for the journey across the sea. Let us pray that Yasen and our new governor can find commonality in our great cause.”

“Well that all depends,” Hollis said, “on who this new governor of ours is.”

“Have you not heard the news?” Armas asked, a bit surprised.

“In case you have forgotten, I have been otherwise occupied with graver concerns than finding out who the Priest King has chosen to be his next lap dog,” Hollis grumbled.

“So it would seem,” Armas agreed. “The Priest King has, in his infinite wisdom, appointed Captain Seig to the post of governor of the new colony.”

“Seig? Ha! Men like him are going to have a hard time winning the loyalty of men like mine,” said Hollis. “Let us hope, for the sake of Haven, that I am mistaken about him. The last thing we need is two stubborn rams locking horns with each other when the real enemy is staring us down through the shadows.”

“I will drink to that,” agreed Armas. “Now … I am going to see if Keily is as good with a half-dead eye as she is with a brace of rabbits. And you? Ride, my friend. Ride hard, and send me back good men and sharp axes.”

“Well, at least this is better than sitting around waiting for the green death or the dragons to get me,” he said with a wink. Hollis clasped arms with the lieutenant in a parting gesture. “Aye, I shall send the men, and they shall bring their axes, and they shall strike hard at this great darkening with all of the courage that they can muster.”

Hollis turned and walked towards the tavern door, calling two of the most sober of his men to ride along with him back to the cutter camp.

He turned back to Armas again. “I hope, for all our sakes, that Jhames is right about this new light. For if the sacrifice and tenacity of our flint-like resolve do not sway the heart of the THREE who is SEVEN soon and compel His new light to come for us … we will all be lost to the green death. You can mark my words on that, my friend. We will
all
be lost.”

Hollis left the Gnarly Knob without a further word, and the vacuum he left in his wake put those who remained in the room suddenly in need of breath.

Armas felt a sickening feeling in his stomach as the door slammed closed after Hollis, but he pushed it aside, willing his focus to be on his present assignment.