The Wizard-King's Truth I
As morning broke, Kyembe, Wurhi and St. Cristabel continued their journey north to Gergorixs city.
A mans scream shuddered through the western foliage, piercing the dawn and echoing through the colossal trunks. Wurhi the Rat dropped into a defensive crouch. An ogres bellow followed. The Zabyallans little hand gripped a bronze sword plundered from the body of one of Eppons trackers. It trembled as it hung ready to strike. What was that?
Shh! Kyembe raised a hand, while the other had his sword on guard. It seems so of Avernixs muster might have escaped their fellows slaughter at the camp we passed earlier. They are being hunted.
Another scream sounded from the east.
Poor devils. St. Cristabel adjusted her boat balanced over her broad shoulders. Her plate quietly clinked and the pack on her back rocked, large enough to overburden a mule. In her free gauntlet she bore her bearing sword. Alone and wandering in these deadly landsthey do not stand a chance.
I hate this stinking place, Wurhi muttered.
The Traean adjusted her visor. Ogres are a vicious race and slayers of n, but so can be bartered with if one speaks their tongue. Not these. Danu the Bottomless rules this great swath of forest, and she is hunger given flesh. The rest follow her mould. They will not let a single one escape.
Oh good. They werent just dealing with ogres. They were dealing with especially hungry and vicious ogres. For the ten thousandth ti, Wurhi cursed the mont shed stepped foot in these lands.
It would be good if they hunted the old wizard down, Kyembe grumbled. Many ogres were burned in that massacre; his doing no doubt. I am sure he still lives. His crimson eyes narrowed as he looked around them. He is out in the green sowhere, still after his prize.
Or maybe hes waiting for us, looking for revenge, Wurhi added uneasily.
Perhaps.
Mayhaps that would be better, St. Cristabel added gravely. We stride into the beasts den. An ambush now can be reversed; an ambush in the midst of battling a tribe of ogres would bring so disquiet.
We will not battle an entire tribe of ogres. Kyembe gave her a look. Not until the egg is in our hands. Once we have its power, we could battle all of Cymorillia for all I care.
A battle where victory is assured? the knight gave a deep chuckle. And where would the rrint lie in that, Spirit Killer?
Wurhi and Kyembe exchanged a look.
When hed first suggested the three of them travel to Gergorixs city together for protection, Wurhi had been happy at the knights acceptance. Being surrounded by ogres was much more palatable with a walking wall of tal and death at their side. Now she was starting to regret it, and she could see so of that echoed on Kyembes face. Not nearly enough to her liking, though.
For much of the morning they stole through the greenwood, with the Sengezians keen senses and forest-craft weaving them around danger. Dying shrieks continued echoing about them - the final throes of those not so fortunate. Ti and again they hid upwind when the sound of great, clawed feet passed close by. St. Cristabel longed to confront the brutes, but their pleading just barely stayed her hand.
By mid-morning the ruins lood ominously before them.
Ancient weathered structures dotted the trees: cyclopean remnants built by hands and backs ruled by King Gergorix. The blackened skeletons of burnt-out watch-towers entwined with giant firs. Statues once towering - now long-eroded by the rains of ti - lay in pieces strewn across roads reclaid by the forest. Stony antlers crowned heads of long-bearded n whose cracked fingers held broken circles woven from rope-like strands of stone. War-goddesses in stone-crested helms bore the remains of spear and shield. Wings, strangely unbroken, extended from their backs.
An old man hunched with a walking stick beside a wide-bodied woman, heavy with child.
We are close. Kyembe eyed a well-preserved sculpture of an ancient crone with her lips twisted in wet laughter. Idols of their deities would protect their most precious ground.
Thump.
St. Cristabel placed her kit by the old womans base and slid her hand into her shields straps. After a mont, Kyembe dropped his bundle alongside hers.
What are you doing? Wurhi protectively clutched her possessions on her back.
We will need to move quickly now. He gave his sword a few quick swishes through the air. If we live, we will co back for them. If we diewellwe will be dead.
The Zabyallan thought on this, then placed her things beside his. When this over, Id best be the richest woman south of the Sea of Gods.
But we are north of the sea right now, Kyembe pointed out.
She gave him a look. He said nothing else.
As the idols of Gergorixs ti protected his people, they ca across the effigies of the regions current inhuman masters. Snarling faces with too many horns carved into titanic tree trunks. Branches twisted into towering monsters, capped with grinning mastodon skulls further crowned by rhinoceros horns. Bramble baskets hanging from trees, swaying and rattling with grim contents: hundreds of bones painted ghastly colours.
The echoing screams died out.
Avernixs fleeing warriors seed not to have made it this far.
How odd, St. Cristabel muttered behind them. We are well within the bower of these beasts, yet not a single sentry watches.
Kyembe threw her a troubled look and bent to the path. We are still on an old road, and the footprints smother each other in the earth. They co this way often. He looked up to the trees. The path should be well-guarded.
Wurhi sniffed the air and frowned. I sll ash.
The Sengezian swore and began to move quickly.
They ca upon their answer not a hundred paces down the path. A crude watch-post had been made in one of the trees. From it hung a solid thickly woven vine leading to a branch so massive that a carriage could drive along it. A nest was built there, comfortable enough for a sentry to stay in, but no watcher lay within.
An ogre lay crumpled face-down on the earth below with one of its horns snapped off.
Kyembe examined it grimly, seizing it by its shattered shoulder but struggling with its weight. He made a noise of disgust and turned to the Traean knight. Why did I bother? Can you turn it?
St. Cristabel cracked her neck. The saint planted her sword and upturned the giants corpse with one hand, rolling it as though it were a re sack of grain. Its dead eyes stared emptily and ash blackened its lips, pouring down the front of its chest. Wurhi hissed, rembering how the wizard had slain a man by burning his lungs from the inside. How the terrible ember had killed with hardly a glow, hiss, or sound.
He has arrived first! Kyembe snarled in frustration. We have little ti! Co!
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