By Ways Unseen Read online

  “Nattan, what are you about?” came a thin, wispy voice. An elderly head with long, thin hair appeared over the wall, gazing down at the three. “Who are you?” she asked.

  Pladt rolled his eyes, and his horse fidgeted a step and snorted. When there should have been the clamor of a city, there was the silence of death, and fear was thick in the air.

  “We are three travelers from Werine,” Geoffrey repeated. “We were seeking lodging, and news.”

  “I hope it’s not good news you sought,” the woman replied. “What are your names?”

  “Haydren of Hewolucs, Pladt of Werine,” Geoffrey replied, pointing to each in turn. “And I am Geoffrey of Hodp.”

  “Pladt Grecce?” she fairly squeaked.

  Something in her voice caught Pladt’s attention then, and he snapped his head upward. A broad smile enveloped his face. “Hauten?” he called.

  “Pladt, you—! Open the gates down there!” Hauten called with far greater strength in her voice than she had previously. “You all get your mounts in here!”

  “Do you know everybody, Pladt?” Haydren asked as the gates began to grind open.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Pladt replied. “I don’t know who that boy is that stopped us at first.”

  “Well it has been some years since—”

  The gates were fully open, then, cutting Geoffrey off mid-sentence.

  The castle inside had been razed; blackened pillars that had once supported houses stuck up from the ground like stubble. Here and there a stone house remained, and rising silently and singly near the center of the castle were the blackened remains of the keep, and the sun shone outward through one of the upper windows.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SCARS

  “Too much rain cancels the hunt, it is said.”

  “And a fire too cold makes impure the gold.”

  “This will not destroy him?”

  “I can only hope it will.”

  26 Tetsamon 1319 – Spring

  Hauten stood on the road in front of them, acknowledging their stunned gazes. “I assume you have been on the road for some time,” she said. “This is a week old, what has happened here.”

  “What did happen?” Haydren asked, spurring his horse forward into the interior. The town was now a broad field, with broken cobblestone roadways like black lace across it, stretching from wall to wall. Not a pair of structures stood side by side.

  “Beasts broke through in the middle of the night,” Hauten replied. “Somehow a hole was cut underneath the west wall. They poured through before the alarm could be raised.”

  “No one saw them approaching the wall in the first place?” Haydren asked.

  Hauten looked at Pladt. “Do you remember the west wall when you were here?” she asked.

  “Yes, but that was…” Pladt trailed off.

  “Come with me,” Hauten said, turning and leading the three through the battlefield. She pointed out one of the stone structures as they passed. “The Burrow Inn is one of the few things left standing. He might have a room available; there were not quite enough survivors to fill it, I don’t think.”

  Before they even reached the wall, Haydren could see foliage peeping over the top. Leaving their horses at the base of the wall, they climbed an external staircase. Though he had seen evidence, nothing prepared Haydren for what he saw when he finally crested the walkway.

  The Northern Forest butted directly up against the wall, and creepers were wrapped around the crenellation. Here and there the vines had constricted and broken off some of the large stones. The treetops themselves arched over the wall like a giant mouth preparing to swallow the massive castle whole.

  Pladt gazed at it, his mouth hanging open. “When did this happen?” he asked breathlessly.

  “It’s been happening,” Hauten replied. “Even while you were here, the woods crept closer. I suppose it finally reached the wall last year, and began tearing it down as you see now.”

  “You can’t do anything to cut it down?” Haydren asked, gazing back and forth at the treetops hanging over the wall.

  “We’ve tried,” Hauten replied. “The outer edge of the forest is too thick, and even when we cut the stalks of the trees beyond, they do not fall. When we come back to it the next day, they have healed themselves, and the forest presses onward. In another two years, at most, it will surround the castle. Another ten and we may be like Monte-Ir.”

  “The Kingdom of the Kalen?” Haydren asked.

  Hauten nodded gloomily. “The lost Kingdom; it can be found, if one feels up to braving the deep woods; but no one goes there now. Quaran, too, might not be lost entirely; but none would live here.”

  “Why do you, still?” Pladt asked. “Why have none moved away?”

  “We were born here,” Hauten replied. “We hoped the Forest might stop, eventually, or that some way might be found to defeat it. We thought hopefully the walls would defeat it; clearly they do not, though. But I have nowhere to go.”

  “And Nattan?” Geoffrey asked with emotion.

  “You saw him on the wall,” Hauten replied, appearing on the verge of tears. “He will not leave. Both of his parents – my son, and daughter-in-law – are dead, killed in the attack. He has me only to watch over him.”

  “He knows he will die here?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Death is not foreign to him,” Hauten said.

  They stood in silence for several moments, surveying the woods, and surveying the castle inside. Finally, Haydren spoke.

  “We hoped for supplies, and for advice on what route would be best to take west,” he said. “We are traveling to Frecksshire, and speed is of importance.”

  “Then seek to make it less important,” Hauten replied frankly, beginning to lead them back down the stairs to their horses below. “There are no swift routes to Frecksshire.”

  “We had thought of traveling through Fūnik,” Geoffrey said. Hauten shrugged.

  “You might,” she said. “We have very little news here. You might ask Sarah,” she said suddenly, pausing to glance back at them. “She arrived just before the attack, from the West.” Hauten continued down the stairs. “She must have come that way; as far as I know, she aims to go back soon. You might travel with her.”

  They reached the ground, and their horses. “You do not think she brought the attack?” Geoffrey asked.

  “She lost everyone who had come with her,” Hauten replied, shaking her head. “Besides, trouble comes from north and south, not west - at least, not that kind of trouble. Betrayers and connivers. And it just might be that kind of trouble actually comes from the east.” Hauten stopped abruptly and pressed her lips together. She smiled. “Forgive me,” she said. “We expected a patrol by now, someone to see what has happened here.”

  “I might have taken more offense a month ago,” Haydren replied. He shook his head. “Much has changed.”

  “You would most likely find Sarah at the Burrow,” Hauten replied. “Whatever you decide, Kirrin should be able to help you.” She gestured toward another of the surviving buildings, not far from the Inn. “He’s been supplying travelers for years, even…well, if you decide to go through the Forest, you should see him. I must return to the wall with Nattan.” She turned, paused, and turned back. “If you would go into the Forest,” she said quietly. “And if you should find any way to bring it down…”

  Haydren nodded. “Of course we would,” he replied.

  Hauten smiled, turned finally, and strode away. They stood by their horses, and Geoffrey turned to Haydren. “You still want to go through the Forest, then?” he asked.

  “Let’s see what we can learn, first,” Haydren replied.

  “The people here have always been eager to send warriors into the Woods,” Pladt said, digging a boot-toe into the dirt. He looked up and shrugged. “I don’t know if I can blame them.”

  Haydren sighed, compressing his lips. He glanced back up the wall, at the treetops hovering above it. “Yeah,” was all he said; he gr
asped his horse’s reins and moved toward the Inn.

  Inside The Burrow, Sarah was not difficult to find: she wore bright blue robes among a small crowd of dun, and was the only one who could have traveled from the west without dying along the way. All candles along the fieldstone walls were unlit, but generous windows sent sunbeams to every corner. As they approached her table at the back of the room, Sarah smiled in more than welcome.

  “Hello, travelers,” she said, her merriment poorly hidden behind her lips and eyes. Haydren cocked his head a little.

  “May we sit down?” he asked. “Hauten suggested we talk to you concerning a journey to the West.”

  “Please, do,” she replied, gesturing to the chairs nearby. As they moved to the chairs, she said, with a widening smile: “Good to see you survived those gremlins.”

  Everyone skipped a beat, and froze: Pladt’s surprise was mixed with appreciation, Haydren’s with a little confusion; Geoffrey’s knuckles whitened on the back of the chair he was grasping. As Sarah enjoyed their reactions, they slowly lowered themselves into their seats.

  “That was you?” Haydren asked.

  “And you’re…Rinc Nain?” Geoffrey asked, noting her rich red hair and glistening onyx eyebrows.

  “Thank you,” Pladt said, noting her gentle smile, and nose that was a little too wide to be impish, but only barely.

  Sarah passed over the first two remarks, and smiled at Pladt. “You’re welcome,” she replied. “Definitely be more careful in the future, though; I may not be around next time.”

  “A Rinc Nain who uses magic?” Geoffrey said, refusing to be ignored. “A woman?”

  “We do exist,” Sarah replied, her eyes strained with patience.

  Geoffrey paused. “You know those are the words of the God.”

  Haydren glared at him. “Geoffrey, if we might? I want her help, even if you would rather argue with her.”

  “What do you seek?” Sarah asked, locking her gaze onto Haydren’s face.

  “We’re going to Frecksshire,” he replied. “Hauten said you might know the best way to get there.”

  She smiled. “There aren’t many ways,” she said. “If all problems were so easily solved. Fūnik is your route, unless you want to take a boat from Werinin to Estwind.”

  “We can’t go back to Werinin,” Haydren said softly, glancing sideways at his companions.

  “Oh?”

  Haydren smiled gently. “We don’t know you well enough yet,” he said.

  Sarah considered him for some moments. “If it helps,” she said finally, leaning forward; “I work for the Earl of Frecksshire.”

  “What were you doing here?” Haydren asked, surprised and a little suspicious.

  “Scouting the Kalen Woods,” Sarah replied smoothly, sitting back again. “We had gotten reports that the woods were nearing Quaran; Earl Durdamon sent me to investigate in case it threatened Frecksshire.”

  Haydren cleared his throat. “’Nearing’?”

  “Well, clearly our reports were understated.”

  “Clearly. When do you return?”

  “Within a few days,” she replied. “Whether Earl Durdamon would accept some of your companions, generous as they are,” she said with an appreciative glance at Pladt, “well…we have to try to get through Fūnik first.”

  “No one goes through Fūnik,” a new, deep voice said, suddenly standing near them. They glanced up in surprise. “I’m sorry to overhear,” said a tall man who carried his bulk in his chest and shoulders. “But you would make it outside Fūnik only to turn around and come back.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah demanded. “I came through easily enough.”

  “When?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “T-two weeks ago,” Sarah replied, faltering a little as she thought of the attack on Quaran a week ago, and the beasts running southward when it was over.

  The man nodded, confirming her suspicions. “Five days ago, an army of wolves, kobolds, hellhounds, and goblins cut off the border. Kelian is isolated from the west, now. Better for us, I say.”

  He saluted with his mug and walked back to his table in a corner. Sarah steepled her fingers against her lips. Haydren exchanged glances with Geoffrey and Pladt; soldiers inside a borderline protected against attack from the outside, not the other way around – meaning a beast-army kept Coberan out, not Kelian in.

  “I need to return immediately,” Sarah said, lowering her hands. “I cannot spend the time going to Werinin. Alone I might get through the lines around Fūnik, but I would not dare Kalen by myself. Will you travel with me? We might both make it through faster than any other route.”

  Haydren glanced at Geoffrey and Pladt; both looks told him they had not decided. “Give us the evening,” he said.

  “I leave tomorrow morning,” she replied, rising from her seat. “Meet me here, if you will.” She dropped a coin onto the table and strode to the stairs, quickly disappearing up to the second floor.

  The three companions slid out their chairs and exited the tavern.

  “I think this is the best way,” Haydren said as soon as they were outside. Without thinking he began walking to the shop Hauten had pointed out earlier, stopping short when Pladt and Geoffrey both remained in the street. “Do you have a better one?” Haydren asked. “Werinin? The three of us trying to sneak past a beast army that did this?” He gestured to the broken landscape surrounding them.

  “They alone didn’t do this,” Geoffrey said. “Whatever came out of those woods was powerful enough to flatten everything that wasn’t solid stone, Haydren; and you propose marching into it without a second thought.”

  Haydren had thought, twice, three, even four times: the result was the same. “I just don’t know what else to do, Geoffrey,” he said wearily. “Hauten said people went in.”

  “A lot of them didn’t come back,” Pladt said quietly.

  “And do you know why?” Haydren asked. “For certain? Did they come out somewhere else, like Frecksshire?”

  Pladt shrugged, looking off to the walls. Haydren gazed at Geoffrey with a single question on his face.

  Finally, Geoffrey nodded. “Very well,” he said. “If Pladt is still up for it?”

  Pladt looked at the both of them. “We go straight through?” he asked.

  Haydren shrugged. “Hopefully.”

  “See, that’s what I don’t like,” Pladt replied, jabbing a finger at him. “The ‘hopefully’ part.” He sighed, glancing again around the barren castle. “But I’m in.”

  They began walking toward the shop. “Pladt, this ‘Kirrin’…” Haydren said.

  “My uncle,” Pladt affirmed. “My grandparents were not terribly creative,” he said tentatively, smiling. “Kirrin, Kerrik, and Ketter; Ketter died as a child, and Kirrin remained when my father moved us back to Werine.”

  “Maybe he will give us a better price, then,” Geoffrey suggested.

  Pladt shook his head. “I got the impression Kirrin was not pleased that Kerrik abandoned Quaran.”

  “Splendid,” Haydren replied.

  Geoffrey glanced up at a sun halfway down the western sky; there was no movement anywhere in the castle. He shook his head and bit his lip; they had done nothing to try to rebuild, did not even send out word of what had happened. They simply waited, for what? For anonymous death? For a miracle from heaven? Not something entirely impossible, but probably unlikely by now. When might someone come to the castle next?

  And why had there been no merchants in a week? Why did an army utterly destroy, then take up defensive positions against the west as if help might come from there? The only answer was one he would not finish even in his thoughts. He shook his head again; the survivors might need it, but he had other obligations; he glanced quickly at the back of Haydren’s head as a gentle gust of wind ruffled the dark chestnut hair.

  Though charred, the door to the shop was still intact, and opened easily. The interior was well lit, and they could hear grunts and banging coming from the re
ar of the store.

  “Kirrin?” Haydren called.

  One final grunt and clatter. “Yeah?” came a thick voice from the doorway behind a low counter.

  “We need some supplies,” Haydren called back. “We’re traveling through the Forest, and Hauten said you could help us out.”

  A tall, broad man who reminded Haydren of Kitrel plus thirty years emerged from the back room, wiping filthy hands on an equally filthy rag. He wore a heavy leather apron over what Haydren could only assume used to be a white shirt, and black trousers. He was bald, and a thick scowl covered his face. He stopped short when he saw Pladt.

  “Hi,” Pladt said with a wave.

  “How’s your father?” Kirrin asked gruffly.

  “He’s doing well,” Pladt replied.

  “What do you want with the Forest?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

  “We want to travel through it, to Frecksshire,” Haydren replied.

  “Hmm,” Kirrin grunted, and began ticking off fingers and gesturing around the shop. “Take a couple of torches, about five cans of fuel – of course Pladt already has arrows; probably should take some dried food though, critters can come scarce in the woods; oh, and take this tap, and a bowl.”

  “Why a tap and a bowl?” Haydren asked.

  “When you stop to rest for a period – you might call it night, though you probably won’t be able to tell – take the tap—”

  Haydren held up a hand to interrupt him. “Why not?”

  Kirrin’s hands dropped to his side. “The foliage is thick enough that trees that are cut down don’t actually fall down, right?” he said. “Anyway, pound the tap into a tree, sit the bowl under it. By the time you’re ready to move, you should have collected a bit of sap. It’ll burn, but not by itself; mix it with the fuel, about three parts sap to one part fuel; there’s no way you’ll carry enough fuel alone to get you through. Though I guess you could still run out.”

  “What?” Pladt interjected.

  “But it’s the best you can do,” Kirrin finished.

  “What if we put in more sap?” Haydren asked.