The Final Storm (29 page)
Far away up the tunnel, they heard a tremendous
WHOOSH
, followed by a howling wind.
“What is that?” Trenna asked.
They both stared up the tunnel.
A harsh orange light raced up the tunnel toward them.
Robby grimaced. “We’re trapped!”
T
hrivenbard saw Sir Oswyn by a broad hole in the ground from which dark smoke poured.
“Sir Oswyn!” Thrivenbard called. “We have beaten back the serpents, and the spiders have drawn off ! We . . .” His words trailed off when he realized that Sir Oswyn was despondent.
“What has happened?” he asked.
Oswyn looked up, misery in his eyes. “Robby, Trenna, Rogan—they have all died by my hand,” he said.
“How can that be?” Thrivenbard asked.
Sir Oswyn explained what had happened. “Sir Thrivenbard, while we were in the den, spiders began to pour in from every trapdoor—”
“That explains why the spiders withdrew,” Thrivenbard said with wonder.
“I gave them a little longer than the ten minutes. I did not see them come out here, but there are trapdoors throughout the forest. I thought they would use a different door. But I have been waiting here, and still they do not arrive. I fear they were in the tunnels when I . . . when . . .”
Thrivenbard looked at the black smoke pouring out of the hole, and then he understood.
“I should have waited longer,” Sir Oswyn said.
“Waited?” Thrivenbard objected. “And if you had? How many more of our team would have been dragged to an evil end under the ground?”
Sir Oswyn stood slowly and nodded.
The rest of the team assembled. They had lost Baldergrim of Yewland, but his kinsman Boldoak had escaped. Sir Jarak of Acacia had fallen, but Valden returned with Locke. Both had been bitten and required medical attention from Oswyn. But Sir Rogan, Robby, and Lady Trenna were still missing.
The team from Alleble pressed on deeper into King’s Forest, and each time they came to a smoking spider’s burrow they called for their missing comrades. But each time they heard nothing but the whispers of things burned and smoldering.
The sun was foundering in the west and the forest darkening when at last they came to a path among the giant trees. “Many iron-shod feet have traveled this way,” Halberad said, stooping low. “Do you think Paragor’s forces have come before us?”
“If they have,” Thrivenbard replied, “I hope the serpents and spiders wreaked havoc upon them.” But Thrivenbard did not laugh. He was bitter and angry. He had led his team into the dangerous snares of the forest’s creatures.
“If Paragor’s troops entered this wood,” Nock said, “then it was by some other path than this one. They are reckless and destructive—as we saw in the Blackwood. This path was trodden by a rank of soldiers both orderly and well-disciplined.”
“If not the enemy, who else might have come this way before us?” Halberad asked.
“Zabediel entered the forest alone,” Sir Oswyn said. “Or so the accounts say. And yet, we are looking for a hidden village. A village sounds like more than one Glimpse to me. How could both be true?” No one knew or even had a guess. Nonetheless, they followed the path, and it led them deeper and deeper into the shadowy trees.
As they walked, Nock took a sudden interest in the high limbs of the trees. He strode forward to be near Thrivenbard and said, “There are scouts in the trees.”
“Yes, numbering near a hundred so far,” Thrivenbard replied. “Their camouflage is excellent, so I may have missed some.”
“Their woodland skills are far superior to Paragory’s,” Nock said.
“And yet, I am not at all sure that they are friends,” Thrivenbard replied. “In any case, we shall soon find out.”
The path led the team from Alleble into a clearing. Only a few of them had noticed the watchers in the trees, but all felt a sense of present danger. When they came to the other side of the clearing, Thrivenbard discovered a large gray stone embedded in the ground like a grave marker. It was roughly square, chipped and gouged, but bore only one symbol: it looked like a letter
Y
with its right arm split so that a smaller branch angled off to the left.
Thrivenbard held up a hand. “Stop!” he yelled. “Sheathe your weapons and be still!” The warriors did as they were told. They stood staring up into the trees and wondered what new danger might be upon them. In a moment a wooden spear with a sharp iron head nearly as long as a sword blade stabbed vertically into the soft ground near the stone.
“Hold, trespassers!” came a shout from the trees, and a stout warrior landed softly beside the spear. He wore dark cloth armor that striated his shoulders and chest, and mail made of tiny black rings. Upon his back he wore a long quiver filled with a dozen or more spears like the one in the ground.
His face was crisscrossed in paints of gray, black, and dark green.
His eyes glinted green. He smiled, grasped the spear like a staff, and approached Thrivenbard. “I am called Warriant,” he said, “first vanguard of Balesparr the Wood Realm!” He whistled, and similarly clad warriors fell like rain and surrounded the Alleble Knights.
“Had you passed The Stone of Challenge unwelcomed,” Warriant said, “you would have felt the prick of our bales before you even saw the Baleneers who threw them. But you waited. For that courtesy, I thank thee. I judge by your eyes that you come from Alleble. Now speak swiftly and honestly. What business brings servants of King Eliam into this wood?”
“I am Thrivenbard, leader of this team. We have come on a mission of dire importance for all The Realm. We seek an old Glimpse named Zabediel.”
A murmur traveled like a wave around the circle of spearmen. “Peace!” Warriant cried out. “Do not cast your judgment on these servants of King Eliam!”
But he turned then and looked shrewdly at Thrivenbard. “I know of Zabediel,” Warriant said. “But tell me, why have you come bearing arms thusly? Mean you to take Zabediel by force?”
“Nay!” Thrivenbard exclaimed. “That is not the way of our King. We would ask Zabediel to come willingly, or at least to offer advice in our time of need. We are armed because we feared that our enemy, the Prince of Paragory, might seek to stop us from fulfilling our quest.”
Deep in thought, Warriant quietly stared at the knight. At last he spoke again. “Alas, Thrivenbard,” he said. “You have come far too late to achieve your quest. But please come and take counsel in the holds of Balesparr. There we may both discover the answer to many things looked for, and perhaps find help to achieve our mutual goals.”
“Too late?” asked Thrivenbard.
“Yes,” Warriant replied. “For two seasons ago winged Deathreapers from Paragory descended from the sky. They slew a third of my Baleneers and took our sage Zabediel away!”
It was fully night as the Baleneers led the team from Alleble down the winding path into a deep valley. The forest filled with sounds: the eerie trilling of owls, the short, high-pitched bark of the forest coyotes, the crescendo of chirping tree frogs, and a strange knocking sound that echoed from the treetops. Even the Glimpses of Yewland were amazed at the music of the night.
The path went under massive curling roots and more than once crossed over the noisy brook that coursed beside it. The Baleneers talked in hushed tones as they walked, until at last they rounded a bend and saw undulating palisades of varying heights. At the head of these was a tall gatehouse where many lanterns hung.
Warriant led them there and rapped upon the door with his spear. A gray-headed Glimpse leaned out of a narrow window, and his beard hung nearly halfway down the wall. “Speak the password!” he called down gruffly.
“Aelbark, you know full well who I am,” Warriant said, trying to be patient. “Now open the gate.”
“Sure’n I recognize thee, Master Warriant,” the gatekeeper replied. “But as a vanguard, you should know the daily password.”
Warriant smiled apologetically at Thrivenbard, and then glared up at his gatekeeper. “Aelbark, you open the gate this instant, or I will tie your beard in a knot and hang you from the Tree of Celebration!”
Aelbark laughed, then disappeared from the window of the gatehouse. They heard the long, grinding sound of the gate’s wooden bolt being withdrawn, and then at last the gate opened.
“Look, friends from Alleble!” said Warriant. “Look upon the Wood Realm of Balesparr! Few from your city have beheld it!”
Balesparr’s cottages and keeps poked up like thick mushrooms or moss-covered stones among the massive curling roots of the forest’s towering trees.
As they entered, any chill from the outside forest left them, for Balesparr was a city of light. Candles of every imaginable color burned in every window. Lanterns hung on the corners of avenues and byways, and hardy fires burned in public hearths wherever two or more streets met. Glimpse men, women, and children looked with wonder upon the visitors. Some spoke in whispers and pointed. Others shied away at a glance.
When Warriant came to a certain street corner, he said, “Thrivenbard, as leader you will join me. Also, is there a Sir Oswyn traveling with you?”
“I am Sir Oswyn.”
“Then I request that Sir Oswyn join us,” Warriant said. “And anyone else you would like. My Baleneers will take the others to their barracks where they may sup and rest from their journeys.”
Warriant dismissed his soldiers to their barracks and then led Thrivenbard, Nock, and Sir Oswyn to a massive cylindrical building. Its stony face had many high arched windows, but only one grand door. They entered and Warriant said, “Welcome to the main hold of our city. Here we shall discuss many things, but first, I return to you a few things you have lost.”
Thrivenbard stared at Warriant questioningly, but no details were forthcoming. They followed a long curving hallway and arrived in a wide room with a high ceiling. In the center of the room was a very large fireplace where a merry fire crackled and flickered. Facing the fire were three tall chairs.
“You have come at last,” came a gruff voice from one of the chairs. And a familiar face leaned out from the chair and looked their way.
“Sir Rogan!” Os yelled. “By King Eliam’s provision! You live!”
“Of course I am alive,” he grumbled. “No thanks to you! I said set fire to the spiders’ den in ten minutes, but the flames raced in by nine—according to my count!”
“I waited twelve!” Sir Oswyn exclaimed. “How did you—”
“I was on a patrol with a squad of Baleneers when one of the spiders’ trapdoors began to tremble. I prepared to strike when a hand suddenly appeared from beneath the ground! We wrenched open the door and pulled Sir Rogan out just ahead of the flames,” said Warriant with a laugh. “He was a sorry sight, what with his hindquarters on fire!”
A female laughed from one of the other chairs, and Lady Trenna appeared, followed by Robby. Their armor gleamed as if it had just been polished. Sir Oswyn ran up and hugged all three.
“I thought I had cooked you all,” he cried. Then, studying them all a moment, he asked, “Are all of you well?”
“We seem to be,” Robby said.
“I now know Sir Rogan’s tale, but how did you escape?” Sir Oswyn asked.
“I found Trenna at the end of a long tunnel,” Robby said. “The fire came, and there was no trapdoor there . . .”
“So we made our own,” said Trenna.
“How do you know?” Robby asked. “I don’t remember anything after we killed those three spiders . . . that and the fire coming. I don’t see how—”
“My memory is a blur,” Trenna interrupted. “But our swords were fouled with mud and grime. There was dirt in our hair and under our fingernails . . . that had to be what happened.”
“But why wouldn’t we remember?” Robby asked.
“They have been going on like this for quite some time,” Warriant said with a laugh. “Spider venom does strange things to the mind. And the two of them took about as much venom as a body can withstand and still live. When we found them, next to the exit they had dug, they were beginning to fade. Skin green, muscles seizing—most unpleasant to look upon. Fortunately for them, it is customary for all Baleneers to carry with them a spider poison remedy. It effectively washes the venom from the blood, and the victim sweats it out. It is very fast-acting.”