The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (60 page)

‘Rham Jas…’ The words came from Captain Makad, the Karesian trader who owed him a favour and had agreed to do the job for little money. ‘The sea will be getting choppy. If you want me to put you ashore on that beach, you’re going to have to row. I’m not getting near the rocks.’

‘Don’t worry, captain, we’ll row,’ he responded. ‘And you’d better stay clear of Canarn.’

‘That was the plan,’ the captain said with a smile, before returning to his duty.

They had not been able to reach the barracks or the king’s harbour, so neither Rham Jas nor Brom knew how many knights were in Ro Canarn. If Captain Makad were to come too close, he would risk being spotted and boarded by knights of the Red, and Rham Jas had no doubt that the captain would sell them out for very little money. Not that the knights would be able to find them in the Deep Wood, but it was still better if he and Brom remained invisible for now.

The sea was starting to get rough and Rham Jas doubted he would be able to sleep. They’d reach the coast tomorrow, and the Deep Wood a few hours after that, and he hoped he’d hear the song of the Dokkalfar for a few moments before they kicked him and Brom out of their realm.

* * *

The forest was dark and Rham Jas disliked not being able to see the sun through the dense canopy. The trees in the Deep Wood were tall and imposing, having been there long before the duchy of Canarn had been founded, and they had a solidity like towers constructed of wood and bark. The forest floor was free of the usual detritus of fallen branches and uneven ground, with only a thick scattering of leaves covering a grassy floor.

Despite having spent most of his young life within a few hours’ travel of the Deep Wood Brom had never ventured into it before, and the look of awe on his face as he perceived the huge, majestic trees was testament to their near-magical presence.

Each tree had a name in the Dokkalfar language and though Rham Jas had never tried to learn, or even pronounce, their names, he knew that the reverence in which the Dokkalfar held the trees was more than a simple respect for nature. Long ago, the Dokkalfar had been bound to a Forest Giant and, unlike men, they understood that nature was both beautiful and terrible, deserving of fear as well as love. Animals of the forest were locked in a daily struggle for survival, constantly hunting and being hunted in an endless game of life and death. This had made the Dokkalfar suspicious, on edge at all times, never at rest.

Rham Jas liked them. Despite the opinion the majority of other men held, he respected their synergy with the woods and their ancient acceptance of persecution as something that had to be endured. As he led Brom deeper into the woods, the Kirin assassin felt a sense of calm that he rarely experienced. A quick look behind showed that Brom did not share this feeling, and Rham Jas had to remind himself that other humans were uneasy around the forest-dwellers.

‘How much further?’ asked the young lord.

‘I don’t know… maybe another hour, maybe two. They’ll approach us when and if they choose to.’ Rham Jas knew that actually looking for them was rather pointless. The Dokkalfar could remain hidden indefinitely; they hadn’t survived for so long by being easy to find.

‘This forest reminds me of the Fell.’ Brom was walking slowly behind his friend and craning his neck to look up at the towering tree trunks.

‘That’s because the same trees grow here. I think the Fell is their… homeland, I suppose. Though I’m not sure if the term really applies.’ Rham Jas slowed his pace to allow Brom to take in their surroundings.

‘This forest has never been hunted by the Black clerics, so far as I know, so they should be more relaxed… shouldn’t they?’

Rham Jas raised an eyebrow. ‘It doesn’t really work like that, I’m afraid. They communicate somehow over long distances; each settlement shares the pain of every other settlement that’s attacked and every Dokkalfar that’s killed. They call it the Slow Pain.’

‘Interesting people,’ Brom replied simply.

‘They’re not people, my friend, they’re Dokkalfar.’ It was a basic distinction, but a very important one. ‘They don’t like being compared to men.’

‘But they look like men, don’t they? I mean, I’ve never seen one, but I always imagined… two arms, two legs, a head.’ Brom was nervous and Rham Jas allowed him to ask his questions.

‘They have the same limbs and roughly the features as us, just a bit… different,’ the Kirin replied, realizing that this answer was not hugely helpful. ‘They’re taller than you or I and they… they’re just not human. You’ll see.’

They walked through the dense wood slowly, Rham Jas taking note of familiar landmarks, but making no particular effort to be stealthy. He knew that to try and remain hidden in the Dokkalfar woods was largely pointless as they’d probably already have been seen. He guessed that the decision about what to do with the two humans who had wandered into the Deep Wood was currently being made somewhere out of view. He knew that he wouldn’t be killed, but worried about Brom. The young lord was an outsider here and, as a noble of Tor Funweir, he was directly related to the noble families that had hunted the forest-dwellers throughout their lands – and the Dokkalfar were able to sense such things.

Rham Jas stopped as they reached a small patch of open ground, a clearing between the huge trunks of half a dozen trees where a single ray of sunshine lanced down through the canopy. The forest floor was flat and featureless, save for the ever-present carpet of green and brown leaves upon which they walked. Rham Jas recognized the place and decided to stop for a rest.

‘Let’s stop here for an hour or two and give the watchers a chance to get a good look at us.’ He removed his longbow and sat at the base of a tree.

‘They’re watching us?’ asked Brom, a little alarmed by the news.

‘They have been since we entered the woods. It’s their way.’ Rham Jas knew that his friend was impatient, but the Kirin was not going to rush this encounter. The more insistent the visitor to the Deep Wood, the less likely he was to survive.

‘Sit down, Brom, we may as well take some rest.’

Hesitantly, he joined Rham Jas against the broad tree trunk. From ground level, the forest had a strange ethereal quality and the single ray of sunlight made the leaves glint and shine. Distantly, Rham Jas could hear a slight sound, the rhythmic chanting of the Dokkalfar. It sounded like no other noise the Kirin had ever heard – a chorus of high-pitched notes that rose and fell with beautiful and elongated timing, each note swelling before lowering, only to rise again.

Brom heard the sound too and raised his head the better to listen to the beautiful song of the forest-dwellers. His eyes closed involuntarily and his head began to sway slightly as the rhythm increased in tempo and volume.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Brom said as he listened. ‘Is that really them singing?’

Rham Jas nodded. ‘They say that it’s how they talk to the trees and pass messages to other Dokkalfar settlements,’ he said quietly, so as not to interrupt the song. ‘My wife used to spend hours just listening to it in Oslan.’

They sat and let the song flow over them, neither of them speaking. Rham Jas sat cross-legged and Brom lay back as if bathing in the ethereal glow, letting the ray of sunlight play over his face. The song had calmed the young lord considerably, and Rham Jas allowed himself to hope that they would indeed find help from the forest-dwellers of Canarn.

The minutes stretched and flowed together as the two friends listened, until another sound came from high above. This sound was not music and it caused Brom to sit up sharply and reach for his sword.

‘Easy,’ said Rham Jas quietly. ‘Keep it sheathed.’

They both looked up and Rham Jas saw a shape sitting in a high branch. The figure was crouched and holding two leaf-shaped blades, one in each hand, held across his chest. No face or features were visible in the high shadows, but the figure cocked its head to one side, as if studying the two humans. Size was difficult to gauge across the distance, but the figure appeared large and was cloaked in shadow, looming over them.

‘Rham Jas…’ said Brom, not taking his eyes from the figure.

‘Relax. They’d have killed you by now if they were going to,’ the Kirin replied simply, causing his friend to dart a questioning look at him.

‘Don’t you mean they’d have killed
us
by now?’

‘Oh, no, I wasn’t in any danger,’ Rham Jas answered with a broad grin. ‘You’re Ro, remember – everyone hates the Ro.’

Brom glared at Rham Jas before turning back to the figure above. ‘Can I say hello, or is that bad etiquette?’

‘You can say what you like, but don’t expect him to answer until he’s ready,’ Rham Jas replied.

A moment later the figure had blurred into motion, flexing his legs and jumping down to land gracefully on the forest floor. He crouched with one blade in front of his face and the other behind his back, in a guarded pose. Brom gasped as he looked into the face of a Dokkalfar for the first time.

It was a male, maybe seven feet tall, with long, jet-black hair hanging loosely down his back. His eyes were also black, reminiscent of pools of inky water, which seemed to flow from side to side as he looked at the humans. His skin was grey and he was slender with long, dextrous-looking fingers and sharp, talon-like nails. As he stood, his hair moved slowly to reveal large, leaf-shaped ears and no facial hair of any kind. His clothing was dark green, with flashes of black and grey inlaid within the thin fabric.

Brom didn’t take his eyes from the forest-dweller, and Rham Jas could tell that his friend was trying to reconcile the graceful being in front of him with the oft-told stories of risen men.

The Dokkalfar male tilted his head and looked first at Brom, and then directed a long, disquieting look at Rham Jas. The Kirin smiled awkwardly, hoping the creature knew who he was. Rham Jas had visited several different Dokkalfar settlements and their Tyr warriors always seemed to know him, having received the information from distant forests. The fact that the Tyr had not attacked thus far meant Rham Jas was fairly optimistic, but he wished the creature would speak and lessen the tension.

When he did speak, it was in a deep, sonorous voice. ‘
Paivaa
, Rham Jas Rami.
Hauska tutustua
.’ The Dokkalfar spoke a language unknown to man and Brom shot his friend a confused look.

‘Erm… hello,’ replied Rham Jas. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak your language. Nanon tried to teach me once, but I have no ear for it.’ Rham Jas cleared his throat and tried to say the one phrase he had memorized. ‘
Puhut ko Ro
?’ he asked, in an attempt to find out whether the creature spoke the common tongue.

The Dokkalfar appeared to smile, though the expression was thin and conveyed little friendliness. ‘I know your speech,’ he said, the words of man sounding somehow wrong as he spoke them, with the stresses in the wrong places.

‘This is Bromvy of Canarn, a lord of the Ro,’ Rham Jas said, anticipating some kind of reaction from the creature. When none came, he continued. ‘We ask an audience with your Vithar.’

‘You are friend to us, Rham Jas Rami. This man is not known.’ The Dokkalfar’s head was tilting from side to side as he spoke and Rham Jas thought he must be assessing Brom.

‘I have need of you,’ said Brom, unsure of his words.

‘Need is a strange concept amongst your people,’ the forest-dweller replied. ‘You are impatient and your needs must always be
now
…
now
you will do something,
now
you need help,
now
you act. I have no interest in the
now
of men.’

‘Nevertheless, we still ask an audience,’ Rham Jas repeated.

The Dokkalfar stepped gracefully within a few feet of Brom, his height, his grey colouring and his expressionless eyes making him appear huge and intimidating. He still held his two knives, but they were loose in his hands and Rham Jas did not think he was about to erupt into violence. Brom didn’t take his eyes from the creature and he raised his head the better to look up into his face, refusing to be cowed by the Dokkalfar.

‘And what is your
now
, Bromvy of Canarn?’ the Dokkalfar asked.

Brom glanced across at Rham Jas and tried to convey that he didn’t understand. The beauty and otherworldly qualities of the creature had clearly shaken the young lord, but Rham Jas felt it wasn’t his place to interfere. He stood off to the side of the forest clearing, gazing into the woods, as Brom and the forest-dweller searched for something in each other’s face.

When the lord of Canarn spoke it was with hard-fought confidence. ‘My
now
is a need to help my homeland and free my people,’ he said with conviction. ‘And to make those dishonourable men who murdered my father pay.’

The Dokkalfar paused, his head no longer tilting, and Rham Jas guessed that he was thinking about Brom’s words. ‘I am called Tyr Sigurd, it is… interesting to meet you.’ The forest-dweller gave a shallow bow of his head. ‘You will follow me.’ Sigurd turned sharply and strode across the clearing, placing his leaf-blades across his back as he did so.

‘What do we do?’ Brom asked Rham Jas.

‘We follow him, I suppose,’ the Kirin replied. ‘Oh, and Brom… well done, he didn’t kill you.’ Rham Jas smiled broadly and received a playful punch to the shoulder in return.

Sigurd walked slowly and frequently looked behind him, making an effort to move at a pace the humans could match. His stride was huge and he effortlessly avoided obstacles on the forest floor without looking down. He moved across fallen branches and the carpet of leaves, making no more than a slight rustle of sound, and his footsteps did nothing to disturb the detritus of the Deep Wood.

They followed him through tightly packed trees and down a sharp incline into a narrow valley, protected from the sun by an even denser canopy than before. The tree trunks here were thin and rose up from the flat valley floor with few roots at their base. Rham Jas knew that this signified a Dokkalfar settlement under the carpet of leaves. The tall trees had their roots lower down and a constructed floor, built halfway up the trunks, made the settlement all but invisible.