The Secrets of the Wild Wood

  “I have a little time,” he said. “Sit down. Whose move is it?”

  “The King of… Yours, my lord,” replied Tiuri, doing as he was told. He was surprised, but felt that he must do as the prince commanded.

  The prince moved a piece and leant back in his chair, his elbows on the armrests, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Now you,” he said abruptly. But his eyes were kind.

  Tiuri found it hard to concentrate on the game at first, and yet he did his very best, as he knew that was what the prince expected.

  He did not know how long they played for; time did not seem to matter. It was not like the other three nights, though; his opponent was a different man.

  They played in silence – and Tiuri lost.

  “That’s checkmate!” he said quietly. “So if we had finished the game, the king would have won.”

  “If you think about it for a moment, you must realize you’ll never know for certain,” replied the prince. He rose to his feet and continued, “I took over the game and I beat you. So if the stakes remain the same, your life belongs to me. But,” he added, “I return it to you – although you know you are not entirely at liberty to do with it as you please.”

  Tiuri stood up; suddenly he felt free. He said nothing, as he knew the prince already understood. And he left the room with him, never to return.

  10 THE UNHOLY HILLS

  Prince Iridian had come to confer with Dagonaut’s knights about how best to defeat the enemy. His retinue included not only the jester Tirillo, but also Bendu and Evan, who had taken part in the battles. Tiuri and Piak were, of course, happy to see them again, although that joy was overshadowed by the fact that matters were still not settled. Sir Ardian was not there; he had remained with the men who were encamped near the Unholy Hills. Piak was particularly disappointed, although he understood why Ardian could not come. Someone had to stand guard over the place where the enemy was lurking.

  The next day, the sound of a silver horn rang out in front of the Tarnburg. Sir Ristridin had come from the east to take part in the discussions on behalf of King Dagonaut.

  Tiuri was the first to greet him. Finally he stood before the knight who had been in his thoughts so often. He looked at that lean, weathered face, with the bright blue eyes that studied him both thoughtfully and approvingly.

  “I have been looking forward to this meeting,” said Ristridin. “You continued my journey where I had to end it.” And he added, “Perhaps we shall soon ride out again together, side by side.”

  Towards the evening, Piak was walking across the clearing in front of the castle. He had helped the Men in Green with the work on the bridge and then spoken to Adelbart for a while, but now he was walking around somewhat aimlessly. The discussions were still going on inside; Tiuri was there, too – he was now considered the equal of the other knights.

  It shouldn’t be much longer now, thought Piak. As he stood by the shields at the gate, he suddenly saw someone he recognized… Who was that man with the spiky red hair? It was Red Quibo from the inn by the Forest of Islan! He was almost unrecognizable in his smart new tunic.

  “Quibo! However did you end up here?” asked Piak.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t ask me!” cried Quibo. “I’m here against my will and my wish! That cruel Sir Ristridin dragged me here, defencelessly and unlawfully, refusing to heed my cries of woe. No, now don’t you laugh or sneer. I am his squire, although that is poor consolation, and most harmful to my health.”

  Still, Piak couldn’t help but laugh at Quibo. “But why?” he said. “And how?”

  “Ah, be silent, before I give in to the weakness of tears,” groaned Quibo. “The things I’ve had to endure! I was dragged into battle, and – oh, horrors! – I even had to fight and brandish a sword! That’s the truth, or I would not be here to tell the tale! Now I have only one wish: to relate my adventures in an inn somewhere, to tell a story, not to be part of one myself.”

  As Quibo was speaking, Sir Ristridin had come outside, together with Tiuri. Piak started to say something, but Ristridin gestured at him to remain silent.

  “Let me tell you a story, Quibo,” Ristridin said. “Almost a year ago, four knights rode out to avenge the death of Edwinem, their friend. In armour of grey they rode along paths beaten and unbeaten, and the men they followed were Red Riders, led by a Black Knight with a Red Shield. They did not yet know who their enemy was: the King of Eviellan… the man who is now in the Unholy Hills plotting our destruction. The knights were four in number: Bendu, Evan, Arwaut and I. Sir Arwaut is dead, but the other three are now together again. And they will ride out once more to search for the Black Knight with the Red Shield. Not to fight him this time, but to talk to him as envoys of King Dagonaut. Four Grey Knights we were then, and now we will be four once again, for Tiuri, here beside me, will take the place of Arwaut and go with us to the Unholy Hills.”

  Red Quibo had turned even paler. “And how does this story end, my lord?” he asked.

  “You already know,” said Ristridin. “You are coming with us, as you are the only one who knows his way around the Unholy Hills. You will be our guide; you are to take us to that gloomy vale and it is the last thing you will have to do for me. Then I will let you go!”

  “That’s if my life’s story does not reach its conclusion in the Unholy Hills!” muttered Quibo. He cast a timid glance at Ristridin before quickly striding away.

  Piak looked at Ristridin and then at his friend. “Envoys?” he said.

  “Yes,” replied Ristridin. “This situation cannot be allowed to continue indefinitely. We have no doubt that we can defeat the King of Eviellan, but as the situation stands, that could take months – or longer, and it is sure to cost many lives. The king must realize, beyond any doubt, that his cause is lost. King Dagonaut wants us to inform him that he and all of his men must leave the Wild Wood immediately and retreat to within the borders of Eviellan. That way the conflict can be ended quickly without any further losses.”

  “Do you think the king will do that?” asked Piak.

  “It is the only reasonable course of action he can take,” replied Ristridin slowly. “But he is not a reasonable man – and I fear there will be no reasoning with him now. All his plans have failed, and a man who feels so frustrated and disappointed…” He stopped. “I had better not say such things,” he said. “Forget my words and try to be hopeful.”

  “The four of you are going,” began Piak. “And Tiuri…” He turned to his friend. “Is your squire allowed to come, too?” he asked.

  Tiuri’s face made it clear that he’d be only too pleased to say yes, but still he looked questioningly at Ristridin.

  “That’s something Sir Tiuri must decide for himself,” Ristridin said with a smile.

  “There’s no decision to make,” said Tiuri. “Of course Piak should come! Isn’t that right?” he asked his friend.

  Piak nodded.

  Then, deep in thought, they headed back into the Tarnburg, where the other knights were waiting for them, along with Prince Iridian.

  Some days later, the envoys headed out into the enemy’s territory, from the tourney field to the south-east. Sir Ristridin blew on his silver horn again. Twice: a long blast followed by a short one. It had the same meaning in all three kingdoms: Lay down your weapons. An envoy approaches.

  Would the King of Eviellan hear it in his hiding place? The envoys looked around and wondered if they would find him.

  They saw trees, both straight and twisted, some covered with moss, some grey brown with rough bark, others silver grey with patches of black. They saw leaves, most of them pale green, with dark branches of pine here and there… and leaves on the ground, dry and rotting. There were paths that split, and split again, twisting and turning, leading down and then back up, before splitting once more – and every path looked just like the one before, going past the same trees, the same ups and downs… That was the way through the Unholy Hills!

  Red Quibo went first, with the
four knights following him: Ristridin, Bendu, Evan and Tiuri. All four of them were on horseback; Tiuri was of course on Ardanwen, with Piak sitting behind him.

  Now and then Quibo stopped; sometimes because he seemed not to dare to go any further and had to summon up courage, but often because he had to think about which direction to take. Once he looked up pleadingly at Ristridin and asked, quietly but eloquently, to be relieved of his task. Ristridin shook his head, though, and said, “Carry on.”

  “Onwards, onwards!” muttered Quibo, tugging at his hair. “But how? I chose left or right every time the path split – left and right in turn… at least that’s how I did it back then, after I’d ended up in the same place yet again. Hmm, that was by that hunchbacked birch tree, I think… Or am I mistaken? Onwards!” And onwards he strode.

  Ristridin blew his horn once again – it sounded clear and bright in the silent forest.

  Ardanwen twitched his ears, but his step remained steady and even. I am not at all afraid, thought Tiuri. That was strange, because they could be attacked at any minute. The men of Eviellan would surely not hesitate to attack envoys.

  Many of the valleys were deep and full of undergrowth, which sometimes swayed and moved. But they saw no one.

  They rode on and the hours passed. They exchanged few words and Ristridin kept blowing his horn. But as the day was drawing to a close, they still hadn’t seen a single soul.

  They stopped, dismounted and prepared to sleep.

  “Now we are in the middle of the Unholy Hills,” Red Quibo said in a whisper.

  Evan and Piak gathered dry branches and made a fire. They sat around it in silence as darkness fell.

  Ristridin blew his horn once again.

  “They must know we are here by now,” said Bendu, speaking more quietly than was his usual custom.

  “Without a doubt,” said Ristridin. “But perhaps they have no wish to speak to us or to listen to us. The King of Eviellan is hiding and we must find him. I believe I know where he resides…” He looked at Quibo. But he was silent; all his eloquence had abandoned him.

  With daylight, however, Quibo’s talkativeness returned. “The Forest Brook is over that way,” he said, pointing. “So I think the valley, our goal, must be nearby! I heard many feet last night… sneaking, stealing, skulking stealthily all around. Blow your horn again, Sir Ristridin! I am afraid of this silence; please ease my fears.”

  There was indeed something comforting about the silvery tone of Ristridin’s horn; the horn that – as Tiuri remembered – Sir Edwinem had given to him.

  And this time the sound was answered. Men appeared from all around. Red Riders! Most of them gathered on the path, clearly intending to block their passage. One of them, the captain, came closer, with his sword drawn.

  “We are envoys of King Dagonaut,” said Ristridin. “We wish to speak to your master, the King of Eviellan.”

  None of the Red Riders responded.

  Ristridin repeated his words and added, “Let us pass!”

  The captain of the Red Riders silently complied with his request. His men stepped aside and allowed the envoys to pass. But then they followed after them.

  Red Quibo looked around. “I don’t like this at all!” he said. “Do they want me to show them the way, too? But they already know it!”

  “Onwards, Quibo,” said Ristridin.

  “I’m so confused,” muttered Quibo. “Wish me more wisdom – or better luck!” He walked this way and that for a while before leading them up a slope.

  Soon the envoys were looking down into a shallow valley. They did not have to ask which vale it was… it was just as Red Quibo had described. They saw the pool and the den built into the slope; smoke curled from the roof.

  Behind them someone cried, “Wait!” and the captain of the Red Riders hurried towards them. He looked at Ristridin and said, “What do you want here?”

  “I have already told you that,” the knight replied coldly. “We want to speak to the King of Eviellan.” He lent force to his words with two more blasts on his horn.

  “The King of Eviellan!” said the Red Rider. “Do you think this is a residence fit for a king?” The other riders came closer and surrounded them threateningly.

  “Fine, then, announce us to the Black Knight with the Red Shield,” said Ristridin calmly. “He knows me – he knows all four of us.”

  “We are envoys of King Dagonaut,” said Bendu. “But you may also call us the Grey Knights. I’m sure your master remembers us.”

  “Then dismount from your horses,” said the captain of the Red Riders, “and walk down the slope. I shall announce your arrival to the Black Knight.”

  He went down into the valley, and the envoys followed him, leading their horses.

  11 THE CHALLENGE

  They stopped by the pool, which was so dark and dull that nothing was reflected in its surface. The water was covered in a slimy layer of green. On the other side of the pool was the den; it appeared to be built of earth and sheets of moss and turf, with rough grass and branches sticking out here and there. There was an opening in it, like a door, and the captain of the Red Riders disappeared through it and into the darkness.

  The envoys waited in silence. When they raised their heads and looked around, they saw Red Riders standing at the top of the slopes around the valley. They, too, were silent; there was not even the clink of a weapon.

  Tiuri laid his hand on Ardanwen’s neck; he felt the horse twitch and tremble under his fingers. He glanced at Ristridin; his face was pale and serious and he was clutching his silver horn. Red Quibo was standing right next to him; he was clearly frightened.

  So this was where the Black Knight with the Red Shield had gone to ground, after so many wrong turns. This gloomy vale was now his realm; this humble dwelling was his residence – the King of Eviellan, once a glorious prince, the son of a king. But he had not given up the fight; here he was powerful, and he still wanted to do harm.

  Tiuri held his breath for a moment as the captain came back out. A moment later, the Black Knight with the Red Shield appeared. He walked towards them with slow steps and he stopped, facing them; the water of the pool was all that separated them. He did not raise his visor and his voice was muffled when he said, “What brings you here, knights?”

  It was Ristridin who replied: “We are envoys of King Dagonaut and we want to speak to the King of Eviellan.”

  “Then speak,” said the Black Knight, without moving.

  Tiuri had a strange feeling, as if something were wrong.

  Ristridin said, “We have come here with open visors and I shall tell you our names if you wish. But who are you? Our words are meant only for the black knight who is the King of Eviellan.”

  “I am the King of Eviellan,” said the knight.

  He was not the King of Eviellan, Tiuri suddenly realized; his voice sounded completely different. He turned to Ristridin and said quietly, “That is not true!”

  “I am the ear of the king,” said the knight. “Tell me your message.”

  “No, sir, we will not,” replied Ristridin. He frowned thoughtfully and then said, “Now I know who you are: Sir Kraton of Indigo!”

  “Bravo! Well done!” said the man, raising his visor. “So we meet again, Sir Ristridin. Are you surprised to see me here? You did, after all, promise me my freedom after the attack had begun, did you not? Your brother Arturin kept that promise and let me go. But soon I will return to Castle Ristridin. I intend to besiege that castle and destroy it as soon as my master issues the command.”

  “Your master,” said Ristridin coldly, “is the one to whom we wish to speak! Not about the oath we once swore, but with peaceful intentions. Tell him so, if he is reluctant to listen to us.”

  “On the contrary!” an unexpected voice said behind them, a voice Tiuri would have recognized among many. He had walked down the slope unnoticed and was now approaching them; clad in black armour like Sir Kraton, but with a bare head and no shield.

  The other en
voys stared at him aghast; his resemblance to his brother had taken them by surprise.

  “I have already listened to your words,” said the King of Eviellan, “and I know what else you want to say. So you can spare yourself the effort of speaking.”

  He stopped close to them, looking at each of them in turn. Tiuri did not find it easy to meet his gaze, even though he detected barely any sign of recognition in it, and certainly no interest. There was something chilling about the lack of emotion in those fathomless dark eyes – particularly when the king sneered and continued, “King Dagonaut orders me to leave his territory immediately and to retreat within the borders of my own kingdom… Is that not true?” he asked, when the envoys did not respond. “Well, I do not care for Eviellan and this is now my domain. Not that I am planning to remain in the Unholy Hills forever – I rather think I shall lay claim to the entire Wild Wood.”

  He gestured towards Kraton and the Red Riders. “I still have loyal followers,” he continued, “who would go through fire and water for me and who, if it must be so, are willing to share in my fate and my downfall.”

  Slowly, he looked around the valley before turning back to the envoys. “I have only to give the sign,” he continued, “and they will be here. There are many of them. Another command will send them on their way… to set fires in the north and to sow terror in the west, to bring death once more to the east – hmm, is that not where Islan lies? – or to plunder in the south and to breach the walls of Castle Ristridin. They will attack and then retreat here, inside my labyrinth of Unholy Hills.”

  He laughed again. His resemblance to Prince Iridian was rapidly fading. “That is how it will be,” he said. “There will be a patch of darkness within the Kingdom of Dagonaut, a place from which the curse of my anger will spread like a disease. You may try to wipe it out, but some sicknesses last a long time and are hard to cure.”