Saga Mac Brón: Chapter 16

10 minutes

The Wild Woods

Fabian Middalur drew his sword. He was Lord of Gray Keep, in the Wild Wood east of the Empire Road. Monsters dwelt here, between Talahm-lár and Black Lands, and one more had fallen into his hands.

It had not cried out, knowing that he ever scoured the woods for fell things. Fabian knew it was there, and that it was large, by the way the tree tops moved against the breeze. For the House of Middalur dared to live amid monsters, and eschewed Talahm-lár’s peace for the sake of its preservation. Long ago, the first Lord Middalur had dared to build his fortress in the Wild Wood, distrusting that softness that came from the end of struggle. The other houses had thought him mad. Even emperors held aloof from the Lords Middalur. Yet there was cunning in their madness. In lands where few dared dwell, the humblest lord was also king.

“Steady, Moon.”

The mare whinnied, nervous as it passed under the dark, low-hanging branches. They were approaching the dell where Fabian’s trap was laid. This one was simple; a deep pit, lined to the bottom with barbed, back-turned spikes. A good snare for any of the dark things in the Wild Wood, but not wide enough to bury the greatest. Perhaps the creature was one of these, for Moon was swift and brave, nor did she fear to bear her master into horrors, though they’d taken her mate. Yet now the horse stepped slowly, forcing herself to go where she was bid.

Middalur came to the tree line, and looked down into the dell. At the bottom, a many-legged thing struggled in the pit. A dozen segmented arms, black and covered in red fur, strained upwards against the tearing barbs. Some reached even the trees, clinging to them, making them quiver. But with every hard pull, the creature only further ensnared itself, and its frenzy worked the spikes into the gaps in its carapace. Yet it had managed well for all that, peeking its head and compound eyes above the lip of the deep well. It suddenly saw him, and hissed. Three legs swivelled, and a red haze filled the air.

Moon reacted before Fabian could. The horse bolted, bringing its rider just out of range of the screen of long red hairs that whistled through the air, striking the trees where they’d just been.

“Giy’yup!” shout Fabian, driving in his heels, forcing Moon to a quick gallop.

The mare shot around to the other side of the dell. Then Fabian struck her neck open-palmed, and she whinnied, knowing that signal, and hating it. She ground to a halt, and Fabian leapt from her back.

“Go now!” he shouted.

The horse ran into the woods, leaving her master beside a pile of long pikes. He crouched, snatched up a wooden spear, and sprinted toward the pit. The beast’s many eyes turned on him just before Fabian drove the pike deep into its brain. It writhed, far from dead, or else incapable of dying rationally, and he quickly took up another pike, and rammed home. Five times he ducked its frenzying legs, and five times he pierced it through. Finally the thing shuddered, and stopped struggling. It slipped downwards into the killing pit and hung there suspended on the spikes.

Fabian walked over and looked down into the hole. He spat, and shook his head. The vile thing was stuck tight. Even after it rotted, its corpse would stay lodged in the pit. He might try burning out the carcass, but the trap was likely ruined. There was no good solution for the ones that got that big. Shrugging, he turned away, and called for Moon.

Silence. He waited, but the horse didn’t come. For a moment, he fretted for her safety, wondering if some dark thing had snatched her while he’d dispatched the creature. Then she whinnied; a quick, quiet, warning sound, and he knew it was his own carcass he ought to mind. Lord Middalur turned in time to see three dire wolves burst from the tree line. They leapt over the great pit where the monster stood pierced, and landed beside him. The foremost lunged at his throat. He threw up a gauntleted arm to protect himself, and the wolf bit down hard. Fabian reached for his sword, then realized with desperation that he hadn’t sheathed it. It lay on the ground beside the pikes. The other wolves circled behind him, and lurked in the space between Middalur and his weapon. One stood directly over the sword, smiling. The other launched itself at his unprotected flank.

An arrow caught it in the throat. The wolf stumbled as it reach him, knocking Fabian to the ground.

Schunk. Schunk.

The wolf on his gauntlet shuddered, and fell dead. He scrambled to his feet, intending to go for his sword, but the last wolf was already dead. A long white arrow pierced it from throat to loins.

“Moon!”

Now she bounded from the woods. Fabian kicked aside the wolf carcass, snatched up his sword, then leapt into the saddle. He turned to face the trees.

“Who are you?”

No answer. He steered the horse in a circle, conscious of the many things that watched him. Wherever he traveled in this dark land, eyes stared out from the brush. Yet now he seemed alone. It was terribly quiet, as if the monsters themselves were afraid. He turned back toward the place from which the arrows must have come.

“Show yourself!”

“Over here,” said a voice.

Far to his left, a man stood in the clearing. He was hooded and garbed in some color that made him invisible against both trees and ground. For all Fabian Lord Middalur knew, the man could have been standing there the whole time. Fabian tried to keep the speaker in view, but his eyes seemed to slide off the earthen form.

Fabian spurred the horse foreword. The stranger stood still. It was almost a condescension, as if this man merely permitted himself to be seen. A small bow showed where it poked out from behind his back. A short sword hung at his waist. His gray hood enclosed his face in shadow. All Fabian saw of it were two eyes, bright and green. And the stranger was tall, and wisp-thin. Though himself mounted, and looking down, Lord Middalur felt no advantage.

“I owe you my life,” said Fabian. “Who are you?”

The stranger surveyed the tree line, then looked back at him.

“One who watches,” he said.

Middalur frowned. “For whom do you watch?”

The man stepped closer. Suddenly he stood beside Moon, closing the gap all at once, but without speed. He reached up, and placed an open palm on the bridge of the horse’s nose. To Lord Middalur’s surprise, Moon nuzzled the stranger, then bowed, burying her face in his gray robes.

“I watch for true men,” said the man, “on behalf of those who are true.”

Fabian swallowed. “The High Ones?”

The jade eyes met his own. No answer was necessary.

“And what do you want with me?” said Fabian.

“That depends,” said the stranger, after a long pause. “What does Fabian Lord Middalur wish for Talahm-lár?”

This gave him pause. What did he want? Peace? But no. That wasn’t the word for it. To hope for peace, in this life, was death.

“Justice,” he said. “Right rule.”

Jade-eyes nodded. “Good. But not enough. What would you do to restore justice?”

Fabian drew a slow, deep breath. He thought back to the council, and to the steward’s poor answers. Ketch had been lying about what had happened, or else, telling only a part of the truth. But why? What had Lord Ketch to gain from treachery? By right, Ketch could never become emperor himself, and the power of rule only added to his many responsibilities. A Talahm-lár without imperial rule was weaker, and less stable. To rule it without the throne would be to manage it. To be endlessly busy, and troubled. To exchange the privileges of an officer for the irritations of a sergeant. Fabian knew that peace—the blessed cessation of labor and anxiety—was his own great temptation. He couldn’t imagine what would move a man to increase his own labors without even a title to succor him. And yet he did not believe the Steward of Ketch’s story about the traitorous Blue Knight. In his heart, he felt sure that Lord Ketch was the traitor. Still, a fog of uncertainty lay over everything. And should the steward be deposed, what would prevent Talahm-lár from losing what order it had gained, and returning to the viper’s nest of warring kingdoms that had preceded the coming of the High Ones, and their noble daughters?

“I would fight to restore right rule,” said Fabian, carefully. “Or to end a false one. But not if the same would lead to greater chaos.”

The jade-eyed man nodded. “Well answered, Lord Middalur. And in this, we will aid you.”

Fabian narrowed his eyes. “The High Ones will come again in force to Talahm-lár? It was told by our fathers that you would not.”

“We will not fight this battle for you,” said the stranger. “We cannot, for our people dwell on the steps of the Light Imperishable, while yours stumble about in a fallen world. Every step in your dark lands threatens the culmination promised to us. Our bravest daughters go to you, and some of these have already lost their way in these dark lands, lured from their destiny by the temptation to be gods among you. You are a true man, Middalur, but your land is a cancer, barely contained.”

Fabian glared at him. “Then what help are you? I have less than fifty knights at Gray Keep. And even if I had many times that, I wouldn’t know where to strike, nor for what end. I do not with to be Lord of Talahm-lár, and the power is not in me to bless another man, and make him emperor.”

The stranger nodded. “Well said. But you already have an emperor.”

Middalur furrowed his brows. “The boy.”

Jade-eyes nodded.

“Where is he?”

“Of that, I will not speak,” said the stranger. “But he and his mother are true. I saw you at council. You were right to doubt the steward’s words.”

Fabian was briefly taken aback. This man had been in the room? But then he laughed, and sighed deeply, relieved at what the stranger said about the boy and the empress. Until this moment, Fabian hadn’t confronted the dreariness that had come to rest in his soul since he’d first heard of the royals’ betrayal. He had not really accepted the betrayal, yet the possibility had still eaten at him. Now his soul felt light, and fresh, for to hear the stranger speak was to feel certain of his goodness. Moon’s great head was buried in his gray robes, and the stranger gently stroked her neck, mane, and ears.

“What would you have me do?” said Fabian.

“Watch and pray,” said the stranger. “Uphold the spirits of your own people, and dispute the lies of Ketch when they are spoken. As for strategy, make no moves yet. Only, prepare your men. War is coming to you, one way or another.”

Fabian nodded. “And what will you do?”

“I watch too,” said the stranger. “And scour the lands for true men and women. High and low, I seek them. Even among peasants. Always, when the darkness seems to reign, there are people of the light. They hide, for fear they are alone. I go to find them, and succor them until the time to act has come. You have allies you do not yet know. I go to find them. Watch. Wait. Keep sharp the swords of Middalur. And now you must go, Fabian, for a delegation has been sent from Ketch, and waits even now outside your gates. I think they are not smiling.”

Fabian looked south toward Gray Keep. It couldn’t be seen through the trees, save for a wisp of smoke twisting upwards from one of its chimneys.

“What shall I say, do you think?” said Fabian, turning back.

But the stranger was not nowhere. Fabian steered Moon in a circle, and searched the tree line. The jade-eyed man was gone, though he’d stood there only seconds before. But for the mournful sigh that passed through Moon’s frame, the jade-eyed stranger might, Fabian thought, have been a dream. Middalur shook his head, and spurred the horse toward Gray Keep. Moon trotted foreword, obedient, sad, and suddenly wary.