The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (61 page)

Sigurd stopped by one of the trees and turned back to the two humans. ‘You will not be able to find this location again, so do not try… if you try and succeed, you will be killed,’ he said in a matter-of-fact way, before reaching down to reveal a wooden hatchway hidden amongst the leaves.

The hatch was circular and had been woven out of thin branches, making it even more difficult to detect with a cursory look. Beneath, all Rham Jas could see was a slight yellow glow, though he smelled the telltale scent of Dokkalfar food – a form of nutrition that involved boiled vegetables and herbs, with no meat or bread but with a hearty flavour.

Sigurd jumped down, making no sound as he landed below. Brom looked at Rham Jas, and the Kirin smiled before he too jumped down, making a considerable noise as he thudded on to the tightly packed earth below. Brom followed a moment later and the two humans paused to get their bearings as the hatchway closed.

The forest floor above had given no indication of the huge space beneath, and both Rham Jas and Brom gasped as the glow increased in brightness to illuminate the Dokkalfar village. Starting a little way in front of them, the roots of the trees served as pillars, stretching away in chaotic lines. Around the base of each tree were simple, organic-looking structures which appeared at once beautifully constructed and entirely natural. There were no straight lines and neither windows nor doors, but leaf motifs were in abundance throughout the settlement. The forest floor above was a high ceiling, perhaps twenty feet from the actual ground, and Rham Jas could see beams and struts of twisted wood and earth acting as supports for the bed of leaves above their heads. He found it difficult to tell whether or not the supporting beams were natural or had been built by the craft of the Dokkalfar. The expression of awe on Brom’s face indicated that his friend was just as confused.

Sigurd stood a little way ahead of them and waved elegantly, indicating that they should follow him deeper underground. Neither followed straightaway, as other Dokkalfar were visible in the settlement and, without exception, they had all directed their black eyes towards the two outsiders. The structures of which Rham Jas had taken note were little more than canopies or large awnings, and all kinds of Dokkalfar were peering out from their homes. Rham Jas felt self-conscious as several dozen heads tilted to regard the humans.

‘You will follow,’ Sigurd stated. ‘No one here will harm you.’ The words didn’t reassure Brom, but with a gentle shove from Rham Jas they walked further into the Dokkalfar village.

Cooking pots of amber and baked mud hung from carefully constructed apparatus above glowing rocks. It seemed they did not use fire, but their craft nonetheless enabled them to heat things to a sufficient temperature.

Rham Jas walked after Sigurd, smiling nervously at the nearest Dokkalfar, and Brom followed closely behind. The forest-dwellers followed their movements and Rham Jas saw both curiosity and anger in their eyes, though he sensed no immediate danger.

Sigurd led them through the thinly spaced tree trunks past a Dokkalfar presence as diverse as any human settlement. Rham Jas saw children playing with branches and twigs as if they were swords, running across the dark forest floor, and Tyr warriors at work beside heated rocks that served as forges.

Brom was right when he said that Black clerics had never hunted in the Deep Wood of Canarn. Duke Hector had always resisted attempts by the church to set up a Black keep in the area, and although the men of Canarn were not aware of the forest-dwellers’ presence, their distrust of the clerics had inadvertently protected their Dokkalfar neighbours.

The looks directed at the two men were hostile, however, and the children in particular whispered quiet insults at the humans.

‘They don’t seem to like us,’ said Brom, stating the obvious.

‘Just be thankful it’s our race they dislike rather than us,’ replied Rham Jas. ‘If it were the latter, our heads would likely be adorning a high tree top by now.’

‘Who are the Vithar?’ Brom asked, as they followed Sigurd down an incline which led away from the majority of the dwellings.

‘Shamans,’ answered Rham Jas simply. ‘The Dokkalfar don’t have leaders as such, they take counsel with the Vithar shamans if a course of action is not clear. The Vithar invariably counsel patience and endurance.’

Brom nodded, but Rham Jas thought he was only half listening and had been talking mainly to alleviate his nervousness in the alien environment.

As they followed the Dokkalfar male away from the habitations, the settlement opened out as the ground sloped sharply away from them. The forest floor above was still at the same height, but the tree trunks below ground were now vast wooden pillars, as tall as the towers of Canarn, and a deep depression in the ground provided an awe-inspiring vista of walkways, galleries and platforms built in and around the trunks.

‘Well, fuck me,’ Brom said, as he paused and looked into the heart of the Deep Wood. ‘How did I not know this was here?’

‘Because the forest floor above is natural and flat. Men have walked over this ground a thousand times, never knowing what was beneath.’

Rham Jas was trying to act as if all this was only to be expected – in reality, he’d never seen anything like it either. The Dokkalfar settlements he’d seen in the Fell and in Oslan were humble tree houses by comparison.

‘Any cleric blood left on those dirty hands of yours, Rham Jas Rami, Kirin man?’ The voice came from a Dokkalfar perched on a branch overlooking where they stood.

Sigurd didn’t look up, but paused as Brom and Rham Jas both craned their necks to see who had spoken. The Dokkalfar jumped down from his perch and landed nose to nose with Rham Jas.

‘You look older,’ Nanon stated, letting his eyes move slowly from the Kirin’s feet to his head.

‘You look the same,’ replied Rham Jas, ‘but then you would.’

He’d not seen Nanon for several years, when the Dokkalfar had helped him ambush a Purple cleric near Ro Leith. He looked exactly the same as he had done then – short for a forest-dweller, just over six foot tall, and his grey skin was scarred in places. Rham Jas knew that Nanon had travelled widely from his home in the Deep Wood and that he had a fascination with humans that was curiously out of place amongst his people.

‘I am as old as I choose to appear, Kirin man. The
now
of man is the
forever
of the Dokkalfar,’ he said with a smile, the first genuine display of emotion that either of the men had seen since they encountered Sigurd.

Brom relaxed slightly, for Nanon spoke the language of Ro with less of an accent and had a friendlier demeanour. Rham Jas knew that the Tyr was more dangerous than any of them, but he was also more worldly and more tolerant of men.

‘Why are you and lord Ro man here? This is a dangerous
now
for men.’ His eyes were just as black as Sigurd’s but somehow conveyed more feeling, and he lacked the strange head tilt common to most of the forest-dwellers.

‘Bromvy of Canarn,’ Brom said by way of an introduction.

‘We know your name, Ro man, and we know your anger… perhaps you should relax a little.’ He turned from Rham Jas and stood equally close to Brom, assessing him in much the same way as he’d done with the Kirin.

‘Tyr, I must take them to the Vithar,’ said Sigurd.

Nanon didn’t acknowledge this at first and continued staring at the lord of Canarn. Rham Jas thought Brom was becoming a little nervous under the Tyr’s gaze, but he maintained his cool and simply let himself be studied.

‘Very well,’ said Nanon with another smile. ‘I will accompany you.’

The old Tyr moved quickly to stand next to Sigurd, and the two Dokkalfar resumed walking. They led Rham Jas and Brom down the slope towards the base of the larger trees. All around them new vistas came into view with each step as high platforms and strange organic structures snaked their way across the settlement. Dokkalfar, mostly wearing simple green robes, made their way across platforms and walkways between the thick tree trunks, going about unknowable business and scarcely acknowledging the outsiders below.

It was bewildering to Rham Jas that the huge roof of the settlement was also the forest floor above; he simply couldn’t conceive of the bizarre craft it must have taken to keep the floor – or ceiling – stable and invisible while all manner of animals and men walked across it. It was a knotted lattice of wood and sprouting plants, with nothing to give away its presence. He’d seen similar underground settlements in the south, but never anything on this scale, and he wondered if the Deep Wood held some particular significance for the Dokkalfar.

Ahead of them, Rham Jas could see the forest floor levelling out and the huge roots of trees became visible. As he looked up, he estimated the height of the trees to be fifty feet at least and a slight feeling of vertigo came over him at the enormity of the place. Next to the Kirin, Brom was similarly impressed and was standing with his mouth open and his eyes wide as he stared up at the trees. Rham Jas didn’t know whether the Vithar would agree to help them, but he was sure that Brom’s new station as ruler of Ro Canarn would be the key. If they were to succeed in liberating the city, and if Brom were installed as duke, he would have the opportunity to take the unprecedented step of declaring the Deep Wood a sanctuary for the Dokkalfar. Though, as Rham Jas looked around the immense settlement, he wondered whether the forest-dwellers would care about such things.

‘Follow,’ ordered Sigurd, and he and Nanon stepped on to a wooden platform secured to a tree trunk by thick vines.

Brom glanced at Rham Jas and the two outsiders likewise stepped on to the platform – and nearly fell over as it began to rise and move across the settlement. Brom grasped a vine to steady himself.

Looking up, Rham Jas could see a dense tangle of similar vines all across the village. They ran the length of the tree trunks and held numerous platforms and hanging bridges within their mass. Some were moving, but most simply looked as if they were part of the trees to which they were attached. Again, this was like nothing Rham Jas had ever seen.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Nanon asked, with a degree of pride as the platform sped through the trees.

‘It’s making me sick,’ joked Rham Jas. ‘Could you get them to slow it down?’

Sigurd looked confused at the Kirin’s humour, but Nanon laughed loudly – a sound that carried a fair distance through the trees and sounded strange coming from a Dokkalfar.

‘You’re still funny, Kirin man. I miss the wit of your people.’

‘I’ve been with him for a month and I’m getting sick of it,’ muttered Brom, still clinging on to the vine and trying not to look down to the forest floor.

Rham Jas was more sure-footed than his friend, but even he was clumsy in comparison with the Dokkalfar. Sigurd and Nanon stood with no assistance and appeared to know intuitively when to make the slight adjustments needed not to fall from the platform. Their grace was a thing of alien beauty and Brom struggled to reconcile the reality of these creatures with the stories he’d heard about the risen men.

Just when Brom looked as if he were about to be sick, the platform came to a sudden halt on a high terrace. The two Dokkalfar stepped off as soon as it stopped and the two men almost flew off the edge. Rham Jas was saved by his ability to balance and Brom by the firm grip he held on the vine – but both looked ungainly and foolish as they stumbled after the forest-dwellers.

Rham Jas took a quick look around and saw they were about halfway up a huge tree trunk and within sight of a green auditorium arranged between branches. The bridge that led to the auditorium was hung with vines and swayed ominously as the Dokkalfar made their way across it.

‘Did you know all this was here?’ Brom asked.

‘Of course… doesn’t everyone?’ Rham Jas lied with a maddening grin. ‘Well, not
this
precisely, no, but something like it.’

Rham Jas could see seated Dokkalfar within the auditorium and guessed that the Vithar shamans were arrayed before them.

‘Let me do the talking until they address you, okay?’

‘No problem,’ replied Brom. ‘But if it looks as if they’re going to attack us, try and give me some warning.’ Rham Jas thought he was joking, but he couldn’t be sure.

They stepped on to the swaying bridge and followed the Tyr on to a more stable platform at the front of the auditorium. Galleries comprised of twisted wood rose above it and spread out in irregular fashion, providing seats for several dozen Dokkalfar, though only a handful were currently occupied. Nanon and Sigurd held their position at the base of the auditorium and motioned for Rham Jas and Brom to pass them.

The Kirin put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and the two of them stepped in front of the raised seating. There was little light in the settlement, but something about this area made their features stand out as if they were held by a gaze that penetrated the obfuscating darkness. Before them sat green-robed Dokkalfar.

‘Rham Jas Rami dark-blood and friend to the Dokkalfar,’ said the figure seated in the middle. ‘You are welcome in the Heart.’

‘Thank you,’ Rham Jas replied, immediately thinking it a foolish thing to say. ‘I wish to ask something of you and your people.’

The Dokkalfar who had spoken raised his head and Rham Jas saw his dark grey skin; blacker than the others, he melded into the darkness around him, becoming distinct only when he spoke.

‘I am called Joror,’ he said in a faltering accent, and Rham Jas guessed he had not spoken the language of Ro for some time. ‘We are the Vithar and we will hear of your
now
.’

‘Wait,’ roared another voice from behind.

Rham Jas and Brom turned to see a large Tyr stride past Nanon and Sigurd, coming to a stop next to the humans. He was the largest Dokkalfar that Rham Jas had ever seen – not just tall but muscular and broad-shouldered. He wore a large leaf-sword across his back – a weapon that the Kirin doubted could be lifted by a man, let alone wielded in combat – and his black eyes looked at the humans with disdain.

‘You may speak, Rafn,’ said Joror with a bow of his head.