Chapter 11
“Well this is a strange turn of events!” declared Feron as he chewed thoughtfully on a lump of pork, seared in the flames of their fire until blackened and smoking, “Nay lady,” he held up his hand, “I hear your thoughts as though spoken aloud, I do not wish to see thee. You were wise to hide behind this hideous mask, for you understand the hearts of my people well. I do not wish to take that test, for of the tales I have heard of your kind... I know for sure that I would fail. But now I will be able to look upon the shell that you present to my eyes and know that beauty beyond imagining hides inside. In that knowledge, I am content, I do not wish for proof.”
“Then you understand that our journey into the mountains now carries an extra risk!” warned Tillendur seriously.
“Aye, that I do,” grinned the Dwarf, “For the honour of an old and warty hag I may have been reluctant to fight, but for the sake of a Nymph, my hammer is ever at your service,” he stood and bowed low, a sign of the greatest respect, before shuffling close to Ulaff and whispering into his ear, “Did you know?”
“That I did,” the Ogre chuckled quietly, “Her draft clouded my eyes but for a minute, the potions of her kind have little lasting effect on me.”
“So you see her, in her natural state?” gasped Feron in disbelief, “Tell me friend... is she...?”
Ulaff smiled, “All that you imagine Feron... and much more, she has the deepest blue eyes, hypnotic and beautiful, they glow like perfect sapphires filled with a divine fire, and her hair is like fine spun gold. I have never seen an angel, only in my imagination, but I know in my heart that an angel would hide her face in shame if compared to fair Fiorina.”
“She has entrapped you?” a slight concern edged into the Dwarfs voice as his lumbering companion turned such a lyrical description, he had expected the Ogres usual gruff answer to such questions, 'Aye, I suppose she is passable enough,' but to hear such eloquence raised alarm.
“I love her,” nodded Ulaff, “I love her as the partner of one of my closest friends.”
“Partner?”
“They are together now,” Ulaff nodded, “He is deeply in love, but not besotted,” he added quickly, “It is clear that she has given her heart to him, no small thing for a Nymph to do, for she has condemned herself to a life of faithfulness. We must accept that she has become a part of our lives also now Feron, where he goes, she will always follow.”
“Then my heart swells with joy for him,” chuckled the Dwarf as he slapped Ulaff on the back, “Let you and I retire with a small cask and celebrate his good fortune, and give them a modicum of privacy.” he added with a knowing wink.
Far to the south a keen nose snuffled in the undergrowth, gathering facts, clues and hints. “Their scent is old,” he growled, the hair on his back rising in a ridge along his spine. “Many hours old, we must travel fast my brothers,” he spoke in the common tongue of the south, the language shared by all races, both fair and foul.
A lieutenant bristled at the alpha's side seeking the scent, “They ride on horses, we cannot match their speed, we are too late lord.” instantly he felt the pack leaders teeth at his throat as he collapsed into the leaf mould fighting for breath.
“I decide when it is too late,” he growled through his clamped jaws as the submissive lieutenant simpered and fawned, “They travel with an Ogre, or did your pathetic nose miss that fact, they travel at his speed. We have plenty of time before they reach the mountains.” he added as his jaw slackened and the cur debasing itself in the dead leaves drew a strained breath. “But we must move quickly, we have many miles to cover.”
As the first pale light of dawn crept amongst the deep shadows on the forest floor Ulaff heaved a heavy pack onto his shoulder and patted the lead horse in his team. Feron busied himself dousing water on the embers of the camp-fire, a fire he had built up before his companions had risen. He had craved a warming breakfast for the night had been chill.
“We must leave now,” said Fiorina glancing back into the deepest part of the forest that lay behind them, “They are close now, I feel them.”
“The trees also whisper of their approach,” added Tillendur as he released his grip on the smooth and shining bark of a beautiful young silver birch tree, “We must make haste.”
The animal track that had guided them the day before led on, the trees swiftly thinning as the sound of cascading water grew in their ears.
“Shilla awaits us,” Fiorina announced aloud, “We must cross quickly, I hear the Wulver clearly now, I can almost smell them on the breeze.”
At the waters edge Feron leaped down from his sturdy mount and thrust the reins into Ulaff's hand as he unslung his hammer, “Get him across, I will delay these hell hounds... now go,” he cried as the crashing of racing bodies in the undergrowth carried clearly to his ear.
“Come swiftly, have no fear,” called a thin cold voice from the water, Shilla rising slowly above the surface, “You may cross in safety.”
“Go,” urged Tillendur as he snatched his bow from his shoulder and swiftly drew an arrow.
“Not without you,” replied Fiorina defiantly drawing her own short bow and releasing an arrow high into the air, it's golden fletching catching the first light of day above the trees, flashing for an instant before plunging back into the forest, a terrible yelping scream following just seconds later.
“A mighty shot,” laughed Feron as his battle rage mounted, spurred on by the sounds of the mortally wounded wolf, “Now come to me you worthless puppies,” he shouted into the dark forest.
“Do not tarry,” Shilla shouted from the river, “You must flee from this enemy, I can hold them back, have no doubt of that.”
Tillendur spurred his horse forward circling in front of the sturdy Dwarf, “There is no shame in retreat,” he cried with urgency, “Turn to the river brother, we must cross.” Another of Fiorina's arrows flickered above, and another chilling scream rung out in the trees. “The danger lies ahead, not behind,” the Elf urged, his relief clear as he saw the mist clear from Feron's eyes.
“Then let us face that danger, and leave these flea bitten hounds to the water demon,” he nodded, and turning swiftly raced toward the river.
“Cross now,” Tillendur shouted over his shoulder, his cry directed at Fiorina as he released his first arrow into the chest of a Wulver who broke the cover of the undergrowth and came bounding down the track.
“Follow me now,” she cried back, “Ulaff and Feron are across, they are safe... follow me.”
My love, he heard her thoughts clearly as he turned his trembling steed, the howling of the approaching wolves unnerving the beast. Follow me my love, her plea filled with concern and anguish.
“My love,” he cried aloud and charged into the swiftly flowing water, the lead wolf snapping at his horses heels, “I am coming.”
The sight that they witnessed that morning lived with them for the remainder of their lives. The Wulver, many in the form of giant wolves, many transforming into great hair covered creatures that stood erect on solid legs plunged into the water, their cries of dismay pitiful as they found the clear liquid as thick and resisting as treacle, like crystal clear amber that clung to their legs, both those on four and those on two, “What is this madness,” screamed the leader as he backed away from the edge, shingle flying from beneath his paws in his dismay and panic.
“I cannot move,” screamed his lieutenant in shocked disbelief as the water ran swiftly around his legs yet held him firm as though trapped in solid ice.
“You shall not pass,” hissed Shilla as she rose above the surface of the clear water, her visage terrifying. A demon in every aspect, revealed in her true form, dark and sinister, an horrendous vision of glistening serpentine scales and wickedly curved teeth. Tillendur turned away as the lieutenant screamed and the river turned a deep crimson.
“We should leave,” whispered Fiorina dragging her eyes away from the carnage, the shredded corpses that floated free on the current, released fro
m the waters hold as their lives ebbed away. “Shilla has the rage upon her, we cannot trust her in this state.”
On the far bank The Wulver howled and bayed, some in their rage diving into the water, snapping ineffectually at Shilla, stoking her fury, goading her to frenzied slaughter.
“I see you Nymph,” the leader howled from the safety of the shore, “And the rest of you, I will feast on your flesh before this day is over.”
A shrill and mocking laughter rung out in the trees above the frantic wolves. “Feast on this,” cried Fiorina as she loosed an arrow striking the fairy in the centre of his chest, “Dine on your informer, eat that sneak, and enjoy foul hound, for you will never taste us.”
“What I did was very wrong,” she excused to a stunned Tillendur as they turned away from the water, “But we are in grave danger because of his wicked tongue, for so many years I have been tempted to silence him, he was the worst of a bad breed, now he can tell no more tales.”
“You have shocked me,” replied the Elf recovering his wits.
“He threatened your life, he has put you at risk, all of us... there is nothing that I will not do to protect you,” she whispered in reply, “Nothing.”
“I knew I liked her,” laughed Feron quietly as he rode alongside the towering Ogre, “If I had any skill with a bow, my heart tells me I would have done the same.”
“And I,” nodded Ulaff, “I think that before we reach the end of this journey she will prove many more times to be a valuable and capable companion. Have you ever seen ought to compare with her skill with a bow?”
“Never,” agreed the Dwarf, “She hit those Wulver by sound alone, for I do not believe that she could see them.”
“A deadly lady indeed.” sighed Ulaff as he looked up to the towering mountains, “But I feel that her greatest test lies just ahead.”
King Greyler raised himself onto powerful hind legs, muscles filling out as he stood tall, his lupine muzzle fading into the flattened face of his alternate form, as tall as any Ogre, yet lithe and agile. Snarling he gazed at the swiftly flowing water, now running clear, his savaged servants but mere memory. “You will pay for this act of betrayal,” he growled as Shilla matched his transformation, taking on the form that duplicated Fiorina's, slender and beautiful, a pleasing façade to hide the cold heart that beat steadily in her chest.
“Betrayal?” she giggled, “Who have I betrayed?”
“We had an accord!” snapped Greyler.
“I agreed not to kill your people when they quenched their thirst with my cool clean waters, I owe you no loyalty.” her mirth turning swiftly to menace. “Had I not prevented your crossing... now that would have been true betrayal. Fiorina is my sister, our races are closely related, as you well know... oh mighty king,” she added, the mockery clear in her voice, “Do not play with words and threats, you cannot harm me, I was old and strong when you were just a helpless whelp sucking on your mother's teats, and I will still be strong and vital when you have rotted into the ground like the worthless cur that you truly are. But mark my words wolf king, never again will your drooling packs be welcome in my domain, any and all that I find who dare defile my waters will be slaughtered without mercy. Be gone cur, before my wrath grows again, make for the bridge if you dare, but remember well, if as much as one hair of your breed touches the waters, death will follow swiftly.”
“Lord Kangan will hear of this insult,” Greyler snarled as he backed cautiously away from the water, “You will answer to a greater authority soon enough.”
“The words of the small and desperate,” Shilla laughed loud and long, “Bid him come when he is strong enough to match me, until then, be gone, you begin to bore me with your puppyish whimpering.”
Dropping back onto the shingle Greyler assumed his lupine form, and baring his long yellowed fangs turned to depart. “Run, with your tail between your legs,” hissed Shilla as she grew large in the stream, a writhing serpent of flashing scales and vicious teeth, the shock of her sudden transformation causing the wolf king to yelp in fear, and adding to his fury, his tail did actually dart between his legs.
“Oh, she will pay for today,” he growled silently, before gathering together his depleted pack, “To the bridge, there is still time.” he ordered, and with a yelp, he began to run.
The trees thinned yet further as the ground began to climb steadily, pine grew in place of oak and birch, the fresh green of young leaves faded into memory to be replaced by the sombre darkness of everlasting needles.
“What are the chances of game in these mountains?” mused Feron, no stranger to rock and ice, “Do you think that any goats survive up here, it feels an unwholesome place.”
“In the past this was a place of great beauty,” replied Fiorina, “And at this time of the year the slopes were smothered in a riot of colour, so many beautiful flowers, yet now, it feels withered, as though a Dragon passed over and laid it's fire across all fair things that grew here.”
“This talk is depressing,” stated Ulaff, “We have enough ahead of us, the Kros, Trolls, probably giants and evil mountain Goblins, yet now you speak of Dragons, can we not find a happier subject?”
“And what subject would you like to discuss?” asked Fiorina playfully, “Love?”
“Nay, let us not step onto that battlefield.” laughed Feron swiftly, “Better to walk in silence.”
“The word scares you?” she asked, exchanging a look with Tillendur.
“Scares me?” chuckled the Dwarf, “Nay lady, it does not scare me... it terrifies me, it is like a disease that can strike all, from the highest to the lowest, it robs a sound mind of reason, turns a wise man into a gibbering fool, talk not of love dear lady, it is not a fitting discussion for warriors.”
“Then if we may not discuss the darkness, and talk of the light is also forbidden, what in between can we discuss?” she asked, before winking playfully at Tillendur.
“Better to remain silent in our own thoughts,” replied Ulaff, “Each to their own.”
“Look ahead, do you see the ridge?” she faced Tillendur but their words were private.
“I see it.” he replied.
“That is the southern border of the Kingdom of Kros,” she sighed, “From there we can expect to be free of the Wulver, they will hesitate before crossing that line.”
“We are being observed,” realised the Elf suddenly, wondering if the awareness had been planted as he gazed high into the clear spring sky to see two circling shapes, like giant eagles or vultures turning on outstretched wings, “They watch us from above.”
“It is as I had feared” she remarked quietly, “We are expected, and I can only assume that they know that I am in your company.” She reached across the gap between their horses and placed her slender hand upon his knee. “It is not too late, the path ahead now is clear and easy to follow through the mountains, I can still turn back if that is what you desire.”
“You already know the answer,” he replied solemnly, “You know my feelings now.”
“I do,” she replied, “But I need you to tell me, I need to hear your words.”
“Then hear me well,” he placed his hand on hers and gazed deep into her eyes, “Never talk of leaving me again, my heart could not live without you.”
The mountains of Krossus, as they had become know, barely rated as mountains at all, more a gentle ripple and uprising on the edge of the great plains, yet to the travellers they appeared a lofty and forbidding obstacle. Their feet clad in forests of pine and fir, their heights barren and snow capped.
“Do you know how many hours at wolf speed to the bridge?” asked Feron as his stomach growled angrily.
“Even if they run hard without stopping, they cannot have reached yet,” Fiorina glanced at the sun as she answered, judging the passage of time by it's height. “And there is no clear path this side of the river, for they must travel the same distance back before they can pick up our scent again.”
“Then may I suggest that we pause a while,
” continued the Dwarf, “I feel hollow inside, I do not relish a fight on an empty stomach.”
“A fight?” questioned Tillendur.
“You have said nothing... yet,” chuckled the Dwarf, “But I have seen their sentinels as clearly as yourselves, I see them spying on us from above, let us linger here a while, eat a little, then we will be better prepared when the moment arrives.”
“I agree with Feron,” announced the Ogre, “But for different reasons, do not forget friends, you ride comfortably, but I walk. It will prepare me better if I can rest my weary legs for a space.”
“This plan makes sense,” Fiorina nodded as she slipped down from her mount, one of the original pack animals who, in so short a space of time, had fallen utterly under her spell. “We are standing on the border of the Kros kingdom, maybe it will be seen as respectful if we pause here a while, rather than simply enter their lands without permission.”
“Call it diplomacy if you wish,” laughed Feron, “I care not, especially while my belly growls so.”
“They watch us even now.” Tillendur said silently as he scanned the cliffs and crags that formed the walls of a great ravine before them, their path leading onward into the gloom of shadows thrown by the high stone walls. “It will be wise to wait here a while, let them study us, I feel it in my bones, they will approach us soon.”
“I have also seen them,” replied the Nymph, a nervousness in her voice. Her situation clear in her mind, a tension had been growing steadily as they climbed. the Kros had no argument with the Guild trio of warriors, beyond a natural curiosity and suspicion, but they have justified cause to despise me, she thought as a dark figure slipped from view behind the rocks slightly ahead and above.
Tillendur released his horse to graze on the short alpine grasses and shrubs, secure in the knowledge that the animal would return the moment he whistled, should he be needed urgently. But that is not an issue, he admitted to himself as a dark cloud settled on his heart, if this should come to conflict, what use running on a horse if your foe is in the air, and what choice do we have if we flee, ahead are the Kros, behind the Wulver, we have but two options, to fight, or to talk, only they can decide which path we follow.
Although not being a warlike soul, as his companions, Tillendur would never step down from a fight if right were on his side, yet the possibility of combat disturbed him for the first time in his life, it is more concern that I feel, he admitted, concern for her safety, not my own.
“I can fight as well as the rest of you,” she cut into his thoughts, “So you should not be worried on my account.”
“I know that you fight well,” he replied instantly, “But that is not what grieves me, I do not doubt your abilities, I worry for myself, I am being selfish, I would not wish to lose what I have so recently found.”
Tillendur never received a reply to his statement, for in that very instant an arrow struck the tree above Fiorina's head and stood proud quivering as all eyes turned to the ridge above.