Revelation (4 page)

“To that end, I believe I can help,” Lorik said. “When Morryn led us into the Shattered Hills, we waited just outside a tunnel entrance. It had stairs that descended quite deep, disappearing into darkness. None of us entered it. Just before the trolls attacked, however, a bone-chilling howl came up from the darkness. It was an unearthly sound, something that could freeze your very soul.”

“A wraith!” whispered Braden. The others turned toward him, anxious for anything else but he was silent.

“Braden worries too much,” responded Garam. “There are no such creatures. The ancient stories spoke of a guardian which stalks the catacombs, an unseen being that feeds on fear. This is nothing more than a fable.”

“Garam,” Lorik said, “as far as I knew, there were no such things as dwarves. Perhaps our histories cannot be fully trusted when they are written with the intention to deceive. I would rather choose to believe that there is some evil in these underground corridors and go in cautious and aware.”

“Whatever we may or may not find there, we will deal with,” Aaron spoke with authority and then looked toward Braden. “Perhaps we will find a…what did you call it…a wraith? Tell me everything you know about such creatures.”

“Captain,” returned Braden, “Garam is the lore-master. I only know that they are creatures of great evil, inhabiting shadows and paralyzing their prey with extreme fear. If we encounter one, we won’t be able to fight. The only thought that will fill our minds is to flee.” He trembled as he spoke.

“Spoken like a true coward!” Garam’s rebuke fell hard on Braden.

“That is enough!” Aaron’s words were hard as iron. He stood and stepped between the two dwarves. Then he turned his attention to the sergeant. “Lorik, can you find the entrance to this underground cavern?”

“Yes. Captain, the lieutenant took us on a march almost directly east of North Village. Once we reached the edge of the Shattered Hills, the cave was less than a day’s ride. I think that if we march southeast through the woods, then turn east after two days, we should be able to find it.”

“Very well, Sergeant.” Aaron stood to his full height, his arms crossed over his chest, and the two dwarves pursued no more conversation. “We leave at first light.”

The night passed without incident and when dawn broke over the horizon Aaron and his companions prepared to depart. They had gathered several large bundles of vegetables, mushrooms, and assorted roots for the journey. These they placed in the remaining satchel and bundled them in the two dwarves’ cloaks. Throwing snow on the burning pile of brush, they extinguished the flames, reducing the fire to smoldering ash. White smoke and steam drifted through the trees, casually rising into the atmosphere, carried away on the wind.

Aaron and Lorik hoisted their gear as Garam and Braden took their cloaks, now laden with supplies, and heaved them over their shoulders. They checked their weapons and made sure all were secure. Then, with settled determination, the foursome began the long march through the misty woods.

The distance passed beneath them as the troupe continued their silent vigil, doggedly trudging through the brush and trees. The sun, for all its brilliance, did little to warm the air or the attitudes of the travelers as filtered light streamed through the trees like ribbons. Occasionally a bird would soar high over the snow-covered forest. It seemed, for a time, a black hawk took an interest in the four men, keeping pace with them as they maneuvered through the woods. But soon its interests waned, and the bird disappeared beyond their sight. Because of the trees, little snow covered the ground, making their passage through the woods that much easier. With the foliage dormant for winter, they walked relatively unhindered along the dry, brown earth.

One hour after another passed while the sun silently moved across the pale-blue sky, resting again upon the tips of the Shadow Mountains. Long, thin shadows cast by the trees gave the woods an eerie, ghostly feel. Exhausted, the companions trudged through the forest with nothing more than stubborn persistence to keep them moving. Aaron’s muscles and joints painfully protested against the effort, but he did not stop. He pressed on like a man possessed, as if the very thought of rest had evacuated from his mind. Behind him the three others followed.

Garam looked at Lorik. “Does your captain ever contemplate taking a rest?”

Lorik gave a half-smile. “When Aaron set’s his mind to a task, it is a very difficult thing to slow him down.”

The shadows lengthened as the sun dipped lower over the western mountain range. Lorik walked several paces behind his captain. Aaron heard the conversation behind him but had no thought of stopping. For hours they marched, and yet he seemed unaffected by the strain.

He nearly forgot about the men behind him as he pressed through the snowy woods. The singular decision to recover the treasure that cost him so much whipped his mind and urged him to continue. He gripped the pommel of his sword and, with his head bent low, avoided the grasping branches that clawed from the skeletal trees.

Lorik hurried to walk alongside him. “Captain,” he said, “we’ve been marching through the day and have only a little light left to us. Do you think, sir, that it has come time to make camp?”

Aaron tilted his head. “Make camp?” he said, as if it were the strangest question he had heard. Then, as if waking from a daydream, “Yes,” he replied, “of course.” He looked back and watched as the two dwarves moved through the woods. Several hundred feet behind them, Braden and Garam would disappear in a patch of undergrowth only to reemerge a few paces closer. The captain quickly scouted the landscape with his eyes and pointed to a small group of trees more densely packed than the rest of the forest. “We’ll take shelter in there. Have the other two gather wood for a fire. You and I will set up camp.”

Lorik waited for the two dwarves who were still several yards away as Aaron moved toward the copse of trees. When they caught up, he said, “We will take shelter in those trees.” He pointed toward the dense growth. The three followed Aaron and began the preparation to make camp. Quickly Garam and Braden unloaded their bundles and began the process of gathering wood for a fire. Returning to the captain, Lorik joined Aaron to set up a small shelter. Inside, the trees were formed into a circle, leaving a center clearing of about twenty paces. The sky began to grow dark as the trailing light faded into night, and the cloudless sky sparkled with the first, brightest stars of evening. Streaks of purple and orange raced from the western horizon like fingers stretching to hold onto the sky, but night soon enveloped the earth.

Lorik found Aaron kneeling on the ground in the center of the trees, examining something imbedded in the earth. “What is it, Captain?” Lorik asked as he approached.

“It seems to be some sort of marker,” the captain answered. “I can’t identify the writing on it, however.” Lorik looked down at the item the captain was investigating. It was stone, round and about a foot in diameter, with several swirling symbols that appeared to be some form of writing encircling it. In the center of the stone was a raised triangle that stood out from the stone’s face. The triangle was made of bronze and the years of exposure had marked it with several holes and worn its edges smooth.

“Perhaps Garam would recognize it,” Lorik remarked. “He seems to have information regarding the ancient days.” As if on cue, the two dwarves entered the circle of trees. Braden carried both cloaks, laden with food supplies while Garam packed in a hefty amount of wood. They walked toward Aaron and Lorik, and dropped their bundles near the two soldiers. Garam came alongside Aaron and looked at the ground where the captain had cleared away the grass and snow.

“Ah,” Garam exclaimed as he bent down to examine it more closely. “You’ve found a boundary stone!” With a renewed eagerness, Garam traced his fingers over the markings and brushed away more dirt from its surface. “I’ve not seen a marker of the ancient kingdom except in old tomes.”

Braden came alongside and peered down at the marker, “What does it say? Can you read it?”

Garam examined the intricate writing. “It’s hard to make out the words, they are very worn from the centuries of exposure to the elements, but this says
welcome
,” he said as he pointed to the first group of swirling letters. “This phrase speaks of the protection of the king. The rest I cannot read, the words are too far worn for me to understand.”

Aaron looked to his sergeant, his brows furrowed with bewilderment. “How have we never seen one of these markers?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Captain,” Lorik said. “You and I have traveled far in Celedon, but this marker is the first I’ve ever seen.”

Aaron was struck by the idea that this was another verification of all that Lord Dunstan had told him. More than ever, he felt the need to find the book, to find some answers to the questions that pushed through his mind. “Well,” Aaron said, “this is fascinating. I wonder how many other hidden mysteries will come to light as we search for this book?” He stood up and took a deep breath of cold air. “Now we need to get some rest for our journey tomorrow. Sergeant, how far do you expect it is to reach that entrance you spoke of?”

“Sir, I imagine it will be a good day’s march through these woods and into the Shattered Hills, but if we leave at dawn we should arrive at the entrance before sundown.” Lorik’s voice carried his uncertainty.

“Very well,” Aaron said, “we leave at dawn. Garam, Braden… begin setting up our campfire, and Lorik and I will make some shelters for the night. We will each take a two hour watch; I’ll take the first.”

The four companions went into action, arranging the camp and setting up for the night. The frosty air bore down with a deeper cold as the last ray of light vanished over the western mountains. The stars ventured boldly into the night sky, their pinpoints of light filling up the black evening canvas. Garam, again speaking under his breath, with his hands cupped at the base of the pile of wood, whispered a flame into existence. The dry brush and twigs ignited into a blazing, warm fire. Silhouettes danced in the flickering shadows cast by the orange light of the fire, making their small circle come alive with motion.

Using fallen branches, Lorik and Aaron assembled two small shelters near the fire, capturing the radiant heat and warming the companions. Lorik opened the satchel he carried and distributed some of the rations they’d gathered. Each man sat in silence as the group ate. Then, they gave themselves over to the night and bundled up to sleep, leaving Aaron alone to watch.

****

The night passed without event and Lorik, who held the last watch, woke his companions just before dawn. During the night, thick clouds had moved in, heavy with the threat of snow. Slowly the eastern horizon began glowing with the rising sun. A grey dawn settled over the forest as a light fog lazily drifted in the midst of the trees. Braden stoked up the fire with extra wood, sending glowing embers and wisps of smoke through the canopy of branches. The men ate a brief but filling breakfast of cold vegetables and bitter roots. Garam passed around the water flask and each man drank his fill. Without a word Aaron stood and packed his gear, strapping his sword to his belt and throwing snow on the fire to extinguish it. The other three followed suit and geared up for a long walk through the cold woods.

“Lorik,” Aaron commanded, “lead us to the entrance of the underground passage.” The sergeant stepped out with Aaron on his heels, the two dwarves following close behind. By midday, with little rest, the four travelers found themselves near the edge of the woods. The trees had thinned, providing easier passage and a better view of the next phase of their journey. Ahead of them, silhouetted against the eastern horizon, looming large and ominous, the Shattered Hills stood in stark contrast to the gentle slopes of the forest. Tall spires of razor-sharp rock rose up out of the ground. The four travelers were still an hour’s march from reaching the western edge of the Shattered Hills.

“In all honesty, Captain,” Lorik said, “I don’t like this place. The last time I stood looking at this desolation, Morryn led our regiment to its destruction. And, sir, to speak my mind, you’re leading us back to it.”

Aaron gazed at his friend with compassionate determination. “But the end this time will be different.” He clasped Lorik’s shoulder and motioned for him to proceed. Lorik shook his head but continued.

Slow and steady the broken cliffs of the Shattered Hills rose up in front of them like the mangled teeth of some wild beast. The four companions continued to follow the edge of the forest, trudging through the frozen land. Aaron pointed out what appeared to be some sort of campsite in the distance, the remnants of the Third Order.

“That’s the last resting place for the regiment,” Lorik said, his voice choked with grief. Shredded tents flapped in the afternoon breeze while the scent of death hung heavy in the air.

They entered the frayed remains of the circle of tents and saw to their horror the evidence of troll activity. No bodies remained intact, only the decaying bits of torn flesh. The tents were thoroughly scavenged, not even a tinder box or flint stick remained. Aaron walked around the camp, knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword, horrified at the scene that surrounded him. He had no time to mourn, though his gut wrenched in anguish. Aaron knew they needed to get to the cave; he turned to his sergeant. “Lorik,” he asked as his voice cracked with anger, “where do we go from here?”

Lorik, his eyes downcast as he moved through the scene, was slow to answer his captain. “East,” he returned, “we must move east into the hills. There is a ravine that leads directly to the entrance. It is about a half-day’s ride. We didn’t ride swift, so I don’t think that it will be much more than that on foot… if we step up the pace.”

Anger coursed through Aaron’s veins with each beat of his heart. He set his eyes eastward and turned his back on the devastation around him. The other three followed, each one having to hurry to catch up with the captain.

Quickly the old camp was lost in the hazy distance behind them as they entered the high razor rocks of the Shattered Hills. The corridor that Lorik had traveled before now stood in front of them. Apprehension filled their small group, and the anxiety of finding trolls waiting for them in the distance dominated Aaron’s thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he led the men into the Shattered Hills and along the stony path.