The Village in the Hills

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch. Together, they search for the source of her vile magic.


We crested a hill and saw a small village laid out in the valley below us. A few houses were huddled near another, larger structure that looked like an inn or a trading post--perhaps both, for it had an enclosed pasture behind it that backed up to the forest. Near that a barn sat with open doors. Two horses grazed outside, although what they nibbled on I could not be sure. The yard contained more dirt than grass. I heard the rhythmic sound of someone chopping wood, but could see no one.


The inn was a long rectangular structure that had a second story perched above the end closest to us. A chimney made of rough stone let out a thin wisp of smoke from the other side. The smell of roasting meat reached my nostrils and my stomach rumbled with desire.


Merrick frowned down at the small settlement and scratched his head. He looked questioningly at me, and I nodded. Seymuhr stretched his arms and Broo Fang Tane wore a slightly worried expression.


"Do you know anything of the people here?" Merrick asked Baram.


She nodded once. "They are simple folk, but good. They may be wary of strangers, but I doubt they pose any danger--if that is your concern."


"It is," he admitted with a gesture toward Tane. "My companion does not always mix well with 'simple folk.' Or rather, they do not always mix well with him."


Tane bowed his head, embarrassed. "My message does not...always...find suitable...soil," the little man said in his usual, halting way.


"Do you think we should risk it?" Merrick asked me.


I didn't want to answer too quickly. I would have, at that moment, given my left leg to eat anything besides spiders. We had consumed so many of those eight-legged beasts that I would not have been surprised at all if I started to sneeze silk. I pretended to consider our options, looking down at the valley and then up at the mountain again. Also, I was in no hurry to face the mountain witch, if her power was as vast and dark as I suspected.


"I think it might prove valuable," I answered. "It may be that these good, simple folk, know of our quarry and can aid us--with information, if not sword or axe. We may also find provisions."


"Indeed. It's settled." Merrick looked at Baram. "Are you familiar to them? Do they know you enough to put credence in your word?"


Baram gave a slight shake of her head. "I do not think so. I fear most who live near here would consider me somewhat aloof. They do not seek me out, nor I them."


Seymuhr grunted at that and I flashed him an irritated glance. "We will have to introduce ourselves, then. Perhaps we should leave Seymuhr behind? Until we know it's safe?"


"Keep him in reserve, you mean? In case they are hostile?"


I shrugged. That hadn't been my first thought. My first thought was that our best chance to make a good impression on a cluster of wary strangers would be to keep Seymuhr out of sight and, if possible, down wind. There was no reason to risk offending him by giving that thought a voice, however. "I just think we should be cautious, this close to the witch's lair."


"I a...gree," said Tane. It was the first time I heard him sound anything but cheerful. What had happened to make both him and Merrick leery of interaction with others?


"Then let me do the talking," I said. "I would guess that I am the least threatening of all of us."


I shouldered my pack and led them down the hill.

The words we make

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram paused, a quizzical look on her face. The forest was deep around us, the mountain still distant. Between us and its gray slope, a thin curl of smoke rose into the air. The trees teemed with life, even though the chatter of birds sounded sullen and muted.


"We must be drawing near," she said. "The air grows foul."


Seymuhr turned away, snickering into his palm, and I rolled my eyes. "Your senses are indeed keen, daughter of the wolf, but they mislead you this time. Our companion has difficulties that frequently cause exception to the nose."


It was as polite as I could put it and it made the thick brute howl with laughter. I felt my cheeks color, having to explain such a thing to this noble forest warrior. I looked to Merrick for help, but he had not paused. His back disappeared behind a thick trunk and so I walked on, instead. I fell into step with Broo Fang Tane, happy that Seymuhr was behind us and the wind favored his position.


"How came you to this company?" I asked him. I knew little of any of my companions, of course, other that Merrick was an agent of the Ministry of Human Preservation and Tane was a monk, an optimist by calling or disposition. "It is unusual to find someone of such continual good cheer this far south in Korin."


He nodded slightly and beamed, his eyes half closed. His fingers, tucked up into his sleeves, suddenly appeared as he plucked a forest poppy from the ground and held it up.


"What use is the seed, if it stays where it is...planted?" He asked. A slight breath scattered the white pods from the flower. One of them landed on my upper lip and I sneezed so violently my ears rang. "We train not to perfect our art, our joy, but to share it."


"I see," I said with a nod. In truth, we were much the same, except his charge was to spread the seeds of optimism throughout the land and mine was to gather these nuggets and preserve them in the annals of Queen Phedera's history books. I was a Falcuhn, a gatherer of histories and stories.


"In truth," he said. "I was never much...welcome...at the Temple of the...Sun. No one would tell...me of my fam...ily, or the circumstances that brought me...there. I...taxed my tutors more than my peers did."


"How so?" It was the most I had heard the little man speak, and I was curious. I wondered if his usual slow, halting pattern of speech was due to a lack of practice and was determined to help him. After all, in the dangerous world of Korin, one who tried to bring happy news could not afford to be slow about it.


"I saw it in the ...little things. I knew I was tol...erated but not love...d."


I gave him a sympathetic look and patted his right shoulder. My arm briefly encircled his back and I was surprised at the coiled power I felt there. He might have been a slight man, but he was in his own way as sturdy as Seymuhr--perhaps more so.


Tane looked up at my touch and smiled broadly. Suddenly, the words flowed out of him like a creek gurgling down a hillside.


"I remember one day I was helping in the kitchen," he went on. "It was not my usual station but the sun was...hidden...and it was cool. I thought my assistance would be welcome there. The head cook went by the name of Grool, named so because of the meal he served up on odd-numbered days.


"He was a fine cook, given to ominous words," Tane went on. "He weighed each one and delivered them like they were a dish prepared for the High King. I found him that day stirring a vast pot of bub...bling brown...liquid. A silver plate piled high with sliced meat and mashed fruit was nearby.


"'You'll find a gravy boat on that shelf, in the corner,' he told me when I asked if I could...help. Make it live up to its...name.' I leapt up to the counter and stretched to find the vessel, then dropped it into the steaming...vat."


Tane paused, giving me a sheepish look. I wasn't sure what to say. Had I missed the significance of this odd tale? He was silent for a few minutes, so I prompted him. "What happened?"


"He swore at...me, of course. 'What are you doing, you rock-headed toad?' I told him that I had followed his instructions. I pointed to the dish, floating--somewhat, any...way--in the gravy. 'Is that not what boats do?'


"'You fill  a gravy boat with gravy'," he said. He spoke very slowly, a kind of...wonder...in his voice. "You don't float them in gravy."


"'Why aren't they called gravy buckets, then?' I asked him, but he didn't answer my...question.


"'Just take it out of there,' he grumbled, a hand across his forehead. 'Put it aside.' I did as he instructed--again--and tilted it on its side. 'There,' I said, 'now it's a gravy shipwreck.'"


I smiled, in spite of the gravity in his tone. "They made you leave the temple because of that?"


"Oh. No. I was still very young then. That did not make them show me the door to that hoiy place, but I suspect it unlocked it. I gave them...other reasons...to make me leave. I was not a good...student."


And then he was silent, his hands tucked up into his sleeves once more.

Song of the fallen giant

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.




That afternoon, we trekked solemnly north.


I tried to ignore the stench of the fire that clung to my damp clothes. I did not mind the smell of a natural fire, of course, but a funeral pyre carries a distinct smell that lingers for days and I could not help but be reminded of the shambling thing that was Baram's chosen man. Even the dignity of the fire had been stolen from him. If the smell bothered me, how much worse would it be fore her? Yet if she noticed it, she gave no indication. If she felt compelled to look over her should to see the last white tendrils carrying his soul to the beyond, she did not show that either.


Then a new smell invaded my nostrils. I glanced up, repelled, to see Seymuhr's lopsided grin.


"Hello," I said. I wondered if I could lift my shirt to cover my nose without risking his ire. I decided not to.


"You are a storyteller," he said, his voice as raspy as ever. "A Falcuhn?"


"As I've said, yes."


"You know things of wordcraft, then. Of language."


I felt an absurd glow of pride that he--brute that he was--recognized such a thing. Then I realized that he was asking a question, not stating a fact.


"I like to think so." I kept my voice cool, somehow.


"I've come up with a new poem, I'd like you to hear it. It describes our fight with the giants."


Oh dear. I felt cold, weak and a little ill. I had head Seymhur's poetry before and the sound left me wanting to scratch my ears off. What if he wanted my honest opinion? The maces that hung at either side of his hips swayed menacingly.


"Have you, now? That's good. A man should stretch his mind as often as he stretches his legs."


"Would you like to hear them?"


"Them?" Bones of Barnok, there was more than one. That figured. "Would these be of the Nogovian sort? Like the others?"


A grunt and a nod. "They are, but not like the other. My poems are like belches. No two are alike."


I had to give him that one. It was probably an adequate description. "Very well."


He cleared his throat and paused. Baram, Merrick and Broo Fang Tane also stopped, Tane with a mild smile on his face and Merrick wiping sweat from his. The tang of his perspiration hung in the air.


"They came through the trees
hungry, tall and hideous
I hit them; they fell."


"Wonderful," I said, my voice flat.


"I struck first and their
ruptured flesh and splintered bones
made a foul, red swamp"


"Pretty," I glanced at Baram, who flashed me a quizzical expression. "Like a tapestry the size of a wash rag."


"Crows gathered nearby
summoned by the ghastly, shrill
womanish death cries."


"That about describes it," I said, clapping him on the back. "Well done. If the fight had not been fresh in my mind already, your words would bring it there."


"I like the...part a....bout the rup......tured flesh," Tane added, slowly.


"Ghastly and shrill, like a woman," Merrick mused. "Sounds like someone I knew, for certain." He winked at me and I turned away.


"Crows will be gathering nearby once more," I put in, "if we are not soon on our way."


"There's more," Seymuhr said. He cleared his throat again and his eyes took on a wistful look, as if he were staring at a plate filled with beef and nuts.


"Why don't we save them for the fire tonight?" I said. "If we need to pause, we'll have use of some cheerful words to keep the dark at bay. And if we don't start moving, we'll indeed have to spend the night in these woods."


Seymuhr considered. "Good. That will give me time to hone them a little more."


"One can hope," I said.


We set off again.

The silent tribute

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram watched the fire smolder in silence. She may have wished for immediate revenge, but none came to investigate the source of the black smoke that curled up into the bright blue sky. None that we saw, at any rate. The forest was never quiet; creatures stalked at the edge of our clearing making small but innocent sounds. Now and again a bird soared overhear, some of them quite large and black, but whether they were spies of the Mountain Witch or not, we had no way to determine.


None of my companions wanted to disturb the Daughter of the Wolf as she watched her husband burn. I took note of the single trail of tears that flowed unabated and undisturbed. I was reminded of a day, long ago, when I saw similar smoke, smelled the same stench of scorched flesh and mourned one who had meant the world to me. I was just a young girl, then, clinging terrified to my wailing father's shirt. My mother had been all I had known. I saw no way forward without her kindness to ease the sting of my father's hand or harsh words. I understood Baram's grief--I suppose, in a way, we all did--but did not think that gave me the right to intrude on it.


Instead I flipped through the pages of Harfigorn's log, seeking clues to our destination or, at the very least, our foes. the idea that the pirate himself was the lesser evil was still growing in my mind. I thought it possible now, that he was merely a puppet for a stronger, blacker power. Perhaps even the witch Athelane did not know what she trifled with.


I found troubling accounts of battles against gigantic creatures, ambushes on hapless merchant vessels and the blood-soaked rituals that followed. It was a circle of horror; the fluids and pieces of those doomed traders called the dark things that lay wait below the surface of the Big Seas to the surface. Some fought and died, others were allowed to return to their gloomy domain. I could see no pattern in it.


Merrick appeared beside me, tugging his sparse beard. "Anything?"


I shook my head. "The tales are wild, but not too informative. They detail the witch's power and depravity, but not her purpose."


A grunt. "I suspected. Those who crave this dark knowledge rarely let us know why. For us, it is enough to know they exist and must be stopped."


"Do you think we'll be able to? If she has found a way to harness Ewl's power, or gain his favor, all the weapons we have might not be enough." I stared at Seymuhr as I spoke. He sat warming his feet by the pyre and munching on a dried spider leg as long as his arm.


"My--our--companions are stout fighters, and I've a few tricks up my sleeve," he said. "But there is no way to guarantee success in any battle. We can only prepare ourselves, bolster our own spirits, and do our best."


I nodded. Sound philosophy, of course. I had always followed it--and that was how I found myself bereft of coin and home and at the mercy Merrick and his agents of the Ministry of Human Preservation.


"That, and hope my luck changes," I said.


Baram bowed her head. I heard a few murmured words and then a deep sigh. She stood, brushing the grass from her backside and the tear trail from her cheeks.


"Enough," she said. "Let's be on our way. My sword is still dry and my soul hungers for vengeance."

The cleansing flame

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman. Now, they ponder their next move.


Later, we gathered wood for a fire and Seymurh placed Ranfyrd's body on it.


"You are certain of this?" I asked Baram. She had been quiet since she had instructed us not to bury the body of her husband, her gaze alternating between his shriveled, misshapen corpse and the blue mountains to the north. "Our errand is urgent, but we still have time to bury your man, perhaps build a small shrine...?"


"I am sure. Under other circumstances, I would be honored to give his body back to the land, so that he may sustain it for those who still live." She met my gaze and I saw a quiet rage there. "The evil the mountain witch infected him with must be contained. I would not want it to poison the land, or the creatures who may pass through here. It must be the fire. That is another crime this Athelane must suffer for--denying Ranfyrd his rightful place in the soil."


Merrick had drawn a short, thick vial from some hidden pocket. He shook it, dipped a finger in it and then inspected the green liquid that coated its tip. Satisfied with what he saw, he crouched over Ranfyrd's body, mumbling something, as he drew a quick circular pattern on unfortunate man's forehead. Then he closed his eyes and brought his hands together in front of his chest, took a deep breath and held it for so long I wondered if he would ever take another one.


HIs eyes flickered open and he flashed me a smile with no humor in it. "Merely a precaution," he said. "The flames should cleanse what the soil cannot."


Broo Fang Tane stood on the other side of the pyre, his head bowed in prayer. Seymuhr swatted a few more insects. I was not sure what, if anything, I should say, so I shifted my weight and held my tongue.


Merrick bent and picked up a log that jutted from the fire we had started nearby. The end smoldered, ready to give birth to new flame. He held it up to Baram. "It is time," he said, his voice soft and filled with compassion.


Wordlessly, she took the torch and held it below the shriveled corpse of her husband. the dry wood caught quickly, the fire spreading in great crackling leaps. the body was consumed in moments as the flames reached toward the clear blue sky. The black smoke curled upward, tinged with a bizarre, bright green.


I glanced upward, noting three large black birds that were circling overhead. the smoke would reach the top of the trees soon, and be visible for leagues.


"Will the smoke draw the attention of our enemies?" I whispered to Merrick, who shrugged.


Baram must have overheard. "Let them come," she said.


We watched the flames and readied our weapons.

Ranfryd's last Sojourn

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman...
 

I felt a pang of sympathy for her. It was bad enough to see such an unnatural thing done to a man; how much worse would it be to know the poor wretch, to have loved him, to have seen him in better days?
 
"I'm sorry."
 
She dismissed the gesture. "It is none of your concern. Thank you for releasing him."
 
"An..yt...ime," Broo Fang said. "Had I known...that...you were.........near....I would not...have...kicked him...so hard."

Baram grunted. Seymuhr slapped his forehead. I gave the Daughter of the Wolf a tight apologetic smile. I had already apologized for the manners of my companions and didn't see the need to do it again.

"What I think my companion meant to say is that he would have been more gentle with his release," I said. "How did he come to this sorry state, if you'll pardon the question?"

She glared at me, but Seymuhr stepped in, standing in front of me in what could have been a protective gesture. That was odd. I thought it was unnecessary and wished he could have stood downwind.

"We are searching for this mountain witch, as you call her," Merrick said. "We know her name, which is Athelane, and seek to destroy her if, in fact, she still lives."

"She exists. What you see is proof. There is more further north, closer to the mountains. It is there that my husband went, seeking the source of an evil that is permeating our land. He left in the night, while I was asleep, under the misguided impression that he was protecting me from danger."

I glanced at Seymuhr, who still stood in front of me. I stepped aside and waved some fresh air toward my nostrils. "How did he know where to go? Can you take us?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He might have just ventured north, with no clear direction in mind. Her evil—you will see it soon enough, if you continue your course—should not be too difficult to follow."

"You...followed your hus...band this far. Could....you..."

"Yes, I can," Baram said. "If you truly seek to confront this evil, then I will accompany you. I would have done so long ago, and I urged my husband to be patient, as well. For the mountain witch has found great power in her hidden domain and ending her reign will be difficult."

"More than your husband could handle," Seymuhr said. I winced, and wondered at the lack of compassion in the man. I started to protest, but Baram stopped me.

"Indeed, more than he could handle, as you said." She looked down at his shriveled body and paused. For a moment, her eyes gleamed, but then she blinked the wetness away. "He was a stout man, strong of heart and limb, with the fierce blood of a warrior in him. It was not enough."

"We are four, where he was one," Seymurh said. He cocked his head from side to side, stretching the muscles there and his fingers crackled as he tightened them into fists. "And I've not met a foe that I could not send to Ewl's dark domain."

"We are five, not four," I snapped. "Even you've enough fingers to count that high..."

"Save your strength," Merrick broke in. "And you as well, Seymuhr. For if this Athelane still lives after all this time, it may be that she has already visited—or been sent—to the dark god's realm and found the power to escape death's embrace."

Daughter of the Wolf

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman...





As a woman, the figure who emerged from the forest was everything that I was not. Tall and lean, with strong limbs, a flat stomach and a figure that drew appreciative stares from all of my recently-found traveling companions. Her hair was dark and long, with strands that glinted like gold in the afternoon sun. The pelt of some unfortunate woodland creature covered her rounded hips and ample bosom—barely—and boots of faded leather hugged her calves. She released the tension on her bow, pointing the arrow toward the ground as she approached.


Nobody spoke. I cleared my throat and Merrick snapped his mouth shut, ran a hand through his tangled hair and sheathed his sword.

"I am Merrick, and these are my companions," he said. "Seymuhr, Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Esmiralda, a freelance historian in the loose employ of Queen Phedera. May I ask your name? How did you come to this place, and what knowledge have you of this mountain witch?"

She replaced the arrow in her quiver and slung the bow over her shoulder. She looked at each of us in turn and her gaze lingered on Seymuhr, who wore the glazed expression, as usual, of a horseman who been knocked from his saddle by a low branch. The woman's eyes were darker than any I had seen before and they conveyed age and wisdom in a way her lithe form did not.

"I am called Baram d'Lupene, and this is my domain," she said.

"d'Lupene," I found my voice at last, and translated the name as I spoke it. "Daughter of the wolf?" I had heard tales of a forest queen who counted herself among the greatest of the woodland hunters. A legend that could not possibly account for this woman's presence.

"The same," she said.


"Daughter of the wolf?" Seymuhr asked. "Doesn't that make you a bi..."
 
"Show some class," I admonished him. "My apologies. My companion knows little of the courtesies most people extend to one another."

"I care little for them, and would expect no less from one of his kind," Baram said. 

"Men, you mean," I clarified, sensing a kindred spirit. Tane gave me a wounded look, but Baram answered before he could say anything—not surprising, considering the slow, erratic way he formed his words.
 
"I do not." She looked down at the corpse, and sadness flickered across her eyes. She prodded it with her foot.
 
"He won't be getting back up," Merrick told her. "At least, I think not. Our companion saw to that. Do you know who...or what...he is?"

She nodded. "I have answers to both of your questions. I know little of the mountain witch, as you call her—although her work is more and more common in my forest. As to this poor creature, who he is and what is he are the same. He is a puppet, or was, before your companion 'saw to that,' an aberration and evidence of the black power she wields. Before that, he was my husband."



NEXT: Ranfryd's last Sojourn