Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (28 page)

For a day and
half he trudged. No sign of folk or beast did he discover.
Gradually an ineffable loneliness crept over his being.
Occasionally he emerged from tight knots of larch to stand upon a
gusty promontory or to stare bleakly out upon the sea. There were
many such naked points, wind torn and eerie. He spied a fearsome,
three-masted barque, all black and wind-torn, lurching and bounding
in the swells like a fabled menace—likely a ship full of dastardly
rogues on a dastardly mission. The vessel slogged its way northward
without flag, causing Baus to shiver, even though he was glad of
its departure. He knew that ships of this magnitude were manned by
pirates. He recalled the horrid tales of mariners unfortunate
enough to have crossed paths with those bloodthirsty
reavers—killers who plundered the coast, despoiling their victims,
and leaving only a tearful waste in their wake.

He moved on.
Out of the knife-blade shadow, he ducked a flock of kite-thrush.
Black beaks gave rise to raucous croaks which fought the wind’s
howl. Scavenging fowl as these were incredibly dangerous; they had
down-turned beaks similar to wegmor horns and hollowed out yellow
eyes. They were evil, all round vicious cousins of the black-billed
thrush.

He stood at
the edge of a glade, taking in the barren remnants of a trio of old
wind-eaten columns. Trooping closer, he discerned a few toppled
limestone busts of an unrecognizable statue, lying prone in the
wind-blown grasses. Noses and ears had been shorn.

Discoveries as
this came numerously and as dispiriting as they were Baus took up
the trail once again. The signs of what appeared ‘grave-markers’
began to appear in greater numbers. Amongst patches of rubble and
old stone, stone slabs and plaques and gravestones stretched in the
grassy emptiness inscribed with cryptic declamations—

“
Beware the
remorselessness of the Dakkaw!
”

. . .

“
Curse he
who hoards—we foist multiple maledictions on the Dakkaw!
”

. . .

“
On the way
to Krintz may venturers beware! A hefty curse be laid on the
Dakkaw’s deeds. I, Druli, cousin of Falon, driven of hope and
comfort, despair for my kinsman’s welfare!
”

Baus frowned.
The disclosures were queer. Who was this Dakkaw? What prompted such
frightful writing?

Baus
attributed the significance as anything other than an omen, but was
largely unsuccessful. An upsurge of superstition chipped away at
his confidence.

The day
progressed, but any attempt to decipher the nature of the queer
avowals gave way to bleaker ruminations. At any rate, he decided to
steer clear of this ‘Dakkaw’. The person or creature referenced had
indubitably perished a long time ago, along with the crumbling
wretched fanes and the weathered markers he passed in plenitude. A
speculative part of Baus’s brain could not wholly dismiss the fact
that the absence of wayfarers in this region could hint of doom and
was not entirely explained by the ruggedness of the landscape and
the absence of roads.

Baus thrust
the thought out of his mind and pressed himself to industry; he
would take these noteworthy clues as counsel for caution. With all
speed he forged ahead.

V

The following
day Baus felt himself in better spirits. He had managed to snare a
rabbit and cook it over brambles and twigs fired with a chunk of
flint he had found. He bent his way northward, up the coast through
the brightening wilderness. He had passed an evening free from
wandering koots; now he enjoyed fresh air that filled his lungs to
invigorating effect. A taste of fall majesty was in the air; the
vistas towered over the sea and high promontories formed such
impressive vantages for studying the grandeur of the coral-blue,
white-foamed sea that much of his apprehension began to diminish.
He had put significant leagues between himself and Heagram, and now
a gentle valley spread itself at his feet: majestic ruins, leaning
towers, arches of archaic design. For a half league or more,
granite pillars, alabaster fountains, wind-carved obelisks sprawled
shamelessly. He was amazed to spy a jumble of dilapidated grandeur
stretching nigh as far as the eye could see. He had never witnessed
such a ruined city—or heard of anything like it in these parts.

Nursing his
wonder, he saw a large structure dominated the city. It was more
massive than the other buildings and appeared a curious intrusion,
in better condition than its peers, glinting sharply in the
distance, but even from this vantage, Baus saw a convoluted roof
pitched on many angles and supporting two towering spheroids,
bronze and crusted with verdigris, and flanked by iron towers.

Baus frowned
and descended the hill warily. He set a course for the edifice,
bending gamely down into the ruins. He followed overgrown paths,
flagstoned promenades, narrow alleys that threaded their way
through the undisturbed city. He ventured past a domed
amphitheatre, then a shady vine-covered court, which gave way to
crumbling alcoves. He crossed a footbridge, and paused to marvel at
a line of battered colonnades whose onyx entablatures seemed
intact, but whose wooden rooftops had long since disintegrated. The
intricacy of the ancient town perplexed him. Snatches of murals
caught his eye, where majestic barques rode on blue seas and whose
pigments had almost faded . . . butterflies and sunflowers
abounded. All offered a strange glimpse into the past, a hazy
pastiche of a time no more. What had this city been in its days of
glory? Why had it been deserted?

Baus trudged
more cautiously under an archway. The hanging vines caressed his
shoulders in a shivering way but led to more footbridges, where he
paused to arrive at the forecourt heralding the imposing fortress.
The twin spheroids gaped down on him with authority; a great
sundial lay couched at his feet, weed-blurred in the shadows. A
ruined peristyle stood forlornly to the side while an overgrown
garden reached fingers in from the right.

Baus stepped
over the fallen blocks, marvelling at the quality of the massive
breadth of them. He entered the courtyard. The edifice seemed to
close in on him, shadow-hampering him like some great phantom.
There was something odd about the structure, almost disturbing. As
if the pretentious construction was a veneer, given the quality of
the other buildings half gobbled and disintegrated by time. There
was a peculiar impression of tight-lipped mystery that wafted about
this place. It whispered of time-lost energies, secrets in the past
when riches came from fabulous sources.

Baus could not
immediately appreciate the quality of the archaic spheroids though.
What was the purpose of the things? Why were they placed so
obliquely? Lightning rods? Decorations? Functional embellishments
of unknown nature?

He rejected
the surmises. The building, he guessed to be some sort of fort,
perhaps an abbey. The walls were limestone, with streaks of dun and
green clouding the exterior. A single brass door centered on the
façade; it had a moon-mossed lintel. No ordinary door was this,
standing nine feet tall and looming in the daylight
rivet-studded.

Baus stood
several paces from the doorknocker. He could not help but gaze on
in awe at the weighty brass and a coat-of-arms inlaid on either
flank of the portal. To the left arched a roaring scorpion; to the
right, a hooded falcon inclined with a piercing eye. Crenellated
ramparts stretched to infinity at either side—an illusion only. The
walls terminated into smaller, lower defensive outbuildings . .
.

The spheroids
dwarfed him. He frowned anew. There were no low-lying casements on
the façade; only six diamond-paned oriels that spread
equidistantly, high up near the roofline. They were plum-darkened,
as if covered deliberately from the inside.

Baus pitched
himself forward, pausing before the door’s wide, cracked steps. In
the deep shadow he halted mid-step. A slightly moribund sound
impinged on his senses, prickling the small hairs on the back of
his neck. The sound was not immediately comforting—a muted, vacant
lament, exuding a waft of helplessness—this from the cracks of the
stone, perhaps of some creature confined within.

Baus grimaced
and hurried back, feeling his skin crawl. Only silence greeted him:
the rustle of weeds in the wind, the call of an ancient sea bird.
The blood hammered in his ears. He twitched, fatigued and out of
sorts.

He turned to
go, but his eyes caught a brief glimpse of a small grate at ground
level. The opening was perhaps a foot wide, twenty to the door’s
side. He could not help but investigate.

He moved
toward it fascinated like a hound and found the portal no bigger
than the roundness of his face, yet blacker than black. The mesh
was tucked a foot beneath court level and cool airs issued from the
grate; indeed, the mouldy press of vapours which caused him to
shrink back. Something dwelled within—of what, he could not
guess.

Baus
back-pedaled his way out of the courtyard, stumbling over a toppled
stone. He picked himself up and perhaps twenty paces later, felt a
chill run up his spine. The appeal returned, filling his ears with
a ratchet-like grimness. The sound appeared remarkably human.

He contrived
to bolt in the opposite direction—far away did he leave that place
and its disturbing ambience . . .

* * *

The miles
drifted by.

Silently Baus
reprimanded himself for his graceless worry. Suppose there was
someone trapped down there, should he not lend aid?

He shrugged.
Provocations of this kind entailed perilous futures, and he was not
ready to shoulder any more at this time.

A guilty
reminiscence of Weavil’s plight pricked his conscience. He had left
an innocent to a bleak fate like Weavil and a display of callous
unconcern would catch up to him sooner or later. He knew that
perhaps his own self-fulfilling prophecy invited cataclysm down the
road.

Baus thrust
away such rogue feelings. They were unproductive.

Ever more
grimly he plodded on.

It was perhaps
early in the afternoon when he came upon a large byre. It was the
first so durably constructed in this area since he had left Rudik’s
croft. Baus mused. Unlike the barns common to the region, this one
was made of blue stone—in fact, it was cunningly constructed.
Griffins decorated the eaves; remarkable gargoyles graced a
polished exterior. A sharp, goblin-traced roof, tiled with red clay
reflected the noonday sun and Baus saw the structure was minimally
landscaped, but unnaturally large and seemed to betray a sense of
unmitigated eccentricity and the amplitude of an owner, whoever
that may be. Brown switch-vine grew in plenitude along the seaward
face. A massive pine door, stained from rich resins and age, leaned
ajar.

Baus moderated
his enthusiasm. To intrude upon such a construction was an arguable
venture. He stared from a distance with a profound interest. The
edifice seemed inviting enough, yet still slightly out of context
with its goblin-like effigies and the massive sturdiness. Perhaps
the warmth of its interior could provide a brief respite for his
weary limbs?

Baus picked at
his teeth. Was such a safe idea?

A long low
wagon was thrust up casually against the north face. The hollow
lowing of a wegmor issued from around back.

He edged his
way around the side and discovered a pair of untethered beasts.
They were munching furze and inspected Baus with a vacuous
indifference. He was soon to discover a small iron plough, a tidy
garden, a bed of corn-squash, carrots, arrowroot and leeks. An
annex erected to the barn’s flank denoted an egg-laying hen-loft? A
rabbit hutch?

Nothing seemed
menacing here. Yet, something hovered on the edge of his
perception, as invisible as thought. Suspiciously Baus searched
about for signs of human activity. None was evident. How puzzling!
Only the sound of hissing wind and the twitching of the wegmors’
tails graced his ear. The ripe scent of forest drifted from the
nearby meadow. There was the stuff of aromatic cedar, musk,
decomposing leaves, larkspur, asphodel.

Gaining some
conviction, Baus gave the door a tug. He entered the confines with
a trace of fear.

A sawhorse and
a long worktable dominated the foreground. A ball peen hammer,
nails, screws and saws hung on hooks on the nearest wall. The
instruments were ordinarily set lower down but they were
irregularly large and demanded room. The facing wall supported a
rack of rabbit skins hanging in tandem. Another massive table
resided in the centre with stout legs. In the shadows stood
numerous wood-carven effigies, of fantastic girth: foxes,
antelopes, hares, geese, wild wegmors. Baus’s jaw dropped. A great
mug and other edibles sat on the table, protected under a glass
jar. All were enormous. Baus could see that an inordinately large
aspect permeated all things—mug, tools, sawhorse, carvings,
furniture. On the back of the high-backed chair hung a cloak of
custom leather affixed with iron rivets. This, too, was suggestive
of an oversize being. What reasonable human being could fit in such
a garment?

Baus’s lips
twitched with misgiving. Obviously the person, or persons, who
claimed ownership of this well-kept barn were of an appreciable
configuration. A cautious individual would be wise not to cross
paths with such a person, in fact, make efforts to steer clear.

He cast
furtive glances at the statues and pulled at his lip. He could not
automatically condone his presence here, but nor could he detect
any palpable evil, try as he might outside of a hobbyist’s
playground. Moreover, what was there to lose from a reconnaissance?
Baus set forth to inspect the victual set on the table, with
inquisitive care.