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Chapter Seven
"What did that to those people, Angelaria?" Talen asks. "Spill the beans and don't even try to lie. I know YOU know what did it."
She looks helpless. "It might have been a snowman...an Ogavran Kor. And not the kind that you typically think of when you hear the word 'snowman.' These creatures come from Vas of Kleef- -I've told you about it before. They're demons whose breath is like ice, and they survive on blood that's been allowed to chill...to freeze. A single snowman killed these villagers, butchered them in their sleep, and carried their carcasses to the lake to entomb them until they were cold enough for it to eat."
Talen looks around at the shadows and the dark trunks covered with icy bark. "Do they sleep?" he asks.
"I'm not sure," she answers.
A scream pierces the highlands, the same one we heard the day before, but this time it's much louder, more horrifying. And just like the one before, it sounds only once.
"It saw us on the lake," I say. "It knows we're here."
Talen's face is awash in fear; his breath emerges in a frosty cloud from between his lips. "Let's make some tracks."
The three of us find the road and start our way west, moving as quickly as we can over the snow-covered path. Nothing appears on the trail behind us or emerges from the snowy gloom, yet I watch the trees on either side with keen apprehension. After lunch, I move into the lead and the road steepens. The snowflakes are extremely wet and heavy. The track shines through in big black swaths of mud and freezing water. My armor does a good job of keeping it from my skin, but my cloak soaks completely through and hangs about my shoulders like dead weight. It's miserable walking, but Talen, Angelaria, and I keep up our pace, breathing hard and climbing the slope of the mountain step by step. Up ahead, the snowy gloom parts briefly, and the flurries of white flakes spread out like a white curtain above us. The tops of the spruce trees and firs of the highlands fade in and out of view like ghostly sentries.
I spy the top of a stone tower. It has a conical roof and is built into the side of the mountain towering over us. As we approach I see it marks the highest promontory of a large castle with six minarets and a massive gate flanked by colossal granite blocks. A path large enough for a wagon and a team of horses branches from the road and rises to the wall of the keep, spiraling upward for a quarter of a mile like the back of a titanic serpent.
"Kian," Angelaria says touching my shoulder. "We need shelter. I'm exhausted, and I know you and Talen can't be much better off. Perhaps there's someone up there that can give us lodging for the night."
I consider it and glance once more at the keep, blinking the falling snow out of my lashes. My nose is runny and my lips are cold. I don't trust keeps or the knights that live in them, but I want to get warm and dry. "What do you think, Talen?" I ask.
Talen's doing his best to keep his teeth from clattering. He nods rapidly. "Yes...dammit...yes. I think it's a splendid idea Kian. Lead on."
I grimace and reset my pack. The others follow me as I traverse the road, which forks away from the pass. The spruce trees on either side of the road rise thick and tall against each other. The wind sighs against the walls of the keep, and the snowflakes, broken up by the branches of the tall trees, drift lazily in the descending sunlight. I plod along the road hidden beneath the wet snow (dodging the soft and extremely muddy spots when I can) until I reach the bottom of the cliff face where the ascent begins. The three of us, silent as footpads, proceed with caution. The trail beneath us is slick with ice concealing a road of ancient cobblestones. I wander close to the edge a few times just to marvel at the drop to the forest below. As I near the gatehouse, the trees are so far beneath us that they appear as a green blanket spotted in white.
"How high do you think we are?" Talen asks, staring out over the lip of the road. He spits and watches it sail into oblivion.
"A thousand feet or so," Angelaria answers.
"That's all?" I ask.
"Height is deceptive," she states. "It's not the same as traveling lengthwise. I know it looks like we're miles above everything. Trust me, we're not."
I yawn to allow my ears to pop. I can only vaguely see the path ahead, much less the gatehouse. There's just too much snow. I set my jaw and move my aching legs one after another, falling in behind Angelaria who pushes her way to the front. At last, the three of us reach the summit and stand before a massive edifice. The gate's about forty feet tall, and heavy granite blocks protrude over the entryway which is dusty with the white stuff. The doors are slightly ajar and made of massive timbers held together by three iron strips: one at the top, one at mid-length, and one at the bottom. Directly above me, the gatehouse extends over us for a full ten feet; murder holes stare down ominously upon my shoulders.
There's a silence about the place that's broken only by the occasional whistle of the wind as it moves amidst the stones. I look to either side of me at the upturned faces of my companions and step to the door to peer inside. All that greets me is heightened shadows and more gloom.
I slip into the courtyard. Behind me, Talen and Angelaria follow, and their steps make this little ~crunch~crunch~ sound as they walk. The floor's covered in virgin powder. As I make my way across, I stir hidden lumps with my feet.
Clumps of rotting leaves.
That's when I notice the trees, growing stark and naked, limbs bare to the sky. They look long dead and I wonder why they weren't chopped down.
On either side of me and about twenty paces apart rise twin towers. The one on the left holds a door that dangles from its hinges. It's also deeply scarred...maybe by axe or sword blows? In front of me about thirty paces is a set of stairs; they lead to a pair of double doors on a plain granite wall. Skeletons of ivy cling to a tall trestle. There are four old barrels, one of them broken open, next to the wall on my left.
"This place is deserted," I say. My voice seems somehow stilled by the cold. Or perhaps a supernatural hush lies over this place.
"I think it's a Valion keep," Angelaria says. "The Valions built strongholds like this for their knights in order to keep the passes safe for travelers and caravans."
Ever curious Talen goes to peek inside the tower at our left. He lowers his head and gazes upward into the shadows of the place. "Nothing over here 'cept a bunch of webs."
I shudder. I hate spiders.
Angelaria crosses the courtyard to inspect the barrels while I proceed toward the steps. When I reach their base, I take them one at a time until I stand dwarfed by the wall of the keep. Behind me, Talen jogs across the snow and leaps lightly up the stone steps to join me at my side. I catch the gleam of something shiny in his hand.
"I found a sword," he says proudly.
"Where?" I ask. He hands it to me to inspect. It's a longsword with a slender blade almost three feet long. It's well balanced with an extra-long hilt embedded with jewels.
"It's from a weapons rack inside that tower. I've never seen a gold hilt before. It was so pretty I just had to have it."
I give it back to him, and he grips it tightly and motions for me to proceed. I reach out, clasp hold of the door on the left, and tug on it slowly. Weather and years of disuse have wedged the door in its frame. I've to place my boot against the other just to get enough leverage to force it open even slightly. When I do, the snow at the base of the door forms a thick furrow after only a foot or so. Inside the gap I've made lies the interior of the keep shrouded in oppressive darkness. Some natural light squeezes through narrow windows high above the floor, but they're mostly covered in debris. The roof is pockmarked with holes great and small and I spot tracks left by rodents making their way across the snowy flagstones. I blink to adjust to the gloom. I stand at the end of a gargantuan hall. There's only enough light to see about twenty feet ahead before the shadows begin; they retreat into complete darkness a bit farther into the room.
"What happened here?" Talen asks.
I've no answer for him.
I tiptoe into the silence, lower my visor, and spring the blades on my wrist. One step and then two. I stop about ten feet in and switch to night vision. The green tint reveals only smashed furniture, torn tapestries, discarded and broken swords, and overturned tables. There are broken arrows and crossbow bolts all over the place. I hear only the moan of the wind on the eaves far above me and the rattle of loose shingles on the roof.
Talen and Angelaria follow me inside, Talen taking up the rear. Angelaria's eyes are wide with fright, pupils dilated to the darkness. She shifts uneasily in her boots, looking at the passageway. "The barrels were filled with oil," she whispers. "I'm not sure for what purpose."
"Oil has a million purposes," Talen says. "As for this place, I'm sure they planned to use it as a weapon. They had murder holes in the gate back there. It's fairly common practice to boil it first, and then toss it down on your enemies pounding on the gate. If that doesn't kill them, you light it on fire and fill them with arrows."
"How monstrous," she breaths, still casting her eyes to every corner and sound no matter how small.
"War's monstrous," Talen says with a snicker. "That's the nature of killing...or as we assassins like to call it...the bitter business. Right, boyfriend?"
I nod.
"Can you cast that light spell of yours?" he asks, fidgeting a little.
Angelaria rolls her eyes. "What's the matter? The big bad assassin afraid of the dark?"
Talen frowns and says, "You've to admit it's a wee bit unsettling in here." He hovers near my shoulder, eyes darting nervously to every corner of the room.
She sighs and mutters the incantation. A small bobbing light appears above her left hand. She waves her finger and sends it floating ahead to illuminate the room. Now I can see much better, and I raise my visor. The floor before us is long and leads to a set of ornate double doors at the far end. Fuzzy and indistinct humanoid shapes that I saw before are now in focus: dusty suits of white armor. I move forward, carefully searching the alcoves and shadowy places for any hint of danger. Numerous pairs of rat's eyes gleam from the darkness. Near the far end, a pile of tapestries comprises the nest. The once rich cloth is now faded and covered so much with dust as to appear gray and dingy. But my mind fills in the blanks. I imagine brilliant blues and metallic golds.
I think castles are kind of romantic in a way.
Swallowing my spit, I freeze before the double doors. The fine details, the beautiful carvings, and the intricate handles of hammered bronze mesmerize me.
"How lovely,' Angelaria whispers.
"Indeed." Almost guided by instinct at this point, I turn my head and press my ear to the wood, listening for anything on the other side. Aside from our stirrings, the keep remains as quiet as a tomb.
I kneel down and peer into the lock. I placed the fingers of my left hand against the cold metal at its base and with my other hand I fish into my belt pouch for a thin metal pick. I insert it not to pick, but to familiarize myself with the number of tumblers that need to be moved for the latch to pop open. I realize with a certain satisfaction that I'm familiar with its design: an extremely old but popular arrangement of gears. I also know that I can open the door by pulling up on the handle. But, if I feel tension on the pick when I pull on it, then the door is most likely trapped.
Just to be clear, I don't expect it to be trapped. Why would a main door have a trap on it unless something came through after the place was clean and then set it? The answer to THAT question is an entirely different can of worms.
I turn rather stiffly. Talen's watching me, lips slightly apart and his brow feverish with sweat. "Careful, Kian," he whispers. Then he steels his legs and arms, levying his sword point first at the door to skewer anything that might appear.
I close my eyes, hearing my heart pound at the back of my throat. Then I open them, wipe the sweat from my brow, and place my fingers as lightly as I can on the door handle. With my pick still in place, I slowly start to move the handle up and to my surprise; I feel immediate tension. It feels wrong in so many ways. My blood freezes in my veins.
"The door's trapped," I say. "Get back both of you. I don't know what kind of trap it is."
Angelaria nods but Talen's reluctant to leave my side.
"Go," I order him. I can feel a wire inside the lock with the edge of my pick. Talen swallows and then lowers himself next to me and traces the wire invisibly behind the wood with his fingers. He does this based exclusively on the angle in which I'm holding the pick.
A trickle of sweat rolls down the side of my face.
"Talen please...I'm begging you--"
He cuts me off and then sets down his sword. "It has to come out here," he points near the floor. He crouches and places his face sideways on the flagstones. A moment later, he sucks air sharply into his lungs. "I see it," he says. "I see the wire!"
Tethyr's teeth. "Can you cut it?"
"Yes. Stand clear of the door. I don't know what'll happen when it goes off."
"I'm not leaving you here to get hurt. Let me cut the wire."
"Kian!" Talen exclaims looking at me. "Trust me. I'm not going to get hurt, but if YOU do, that kills me. Now get out of the way!"
I nod and stand, withdrawing my pick carefully. I backpedal to where Angelaria waits and put myself between her and the door just in case something calamitous happens. Talen delays to make sure I'm a safe distance behind him. Satisfied that I've heeded his warning, he slips a knife under the bottom of the door and severs the wire. There's a moment of silence and a horrifying thud; the door gets punched through by ten different arrows from the far side. Their heads barely poke through to the other side where we're standing, but I can see from here that the ends are black with dried poison. Talen wipes his brow; I sigh in relief. Then the hugs begin.
"Good job, Kian. This trap might have gotten us all killed," he says, kissing me on the helmet. I try to hide it, but there are stress tears sliding down my cheeks.
Angelaria swallows hard and shows at least some emotional discomfort. "Yes. W-what he said. Good job and all that." Her face is as sober as I've ever seen. After I'm done squeezing Talen to death she breaks down a little. "You both had me so scared. I-I don't think we should go on. I'm getting a bad feeling about all of this. I don't relish being stuck in the mountains all by myself."
"Now look who's afraid of the dark," Talen teases.
"Oh shut up," she replies.
"Angelaria," I say softly. "Nothing's wrong...nothing's going to happen to us. I'd rather stay in here. It's a lot warmer and if these are the kinds of traps that have been left for us then I'll detect them every single time. Besides..." I start to say, voice trailing off. I look down the hall to where the light outside has almost all but disappeared. "It's going to be dark real soon, and I don't want to be on the outside when that thing back at the pond decides to come looking for us. It saw us on the lake, remember? It might not be such a good idea to be out in the open tonight."
Talen picks up his sword. "I'd like to get into something warmer, dry out my cloak a little, and air out my boots. That was a grueling march up the mountain, and I know you're exhausted."
She lowers her eyes. "All right. I was just concerned, that's all. I-I just wanted to make sure you knew that since I'm the reason we're here in the first place."
I put my arms around her waist and she smiles, moving her hand softly over my metal glove.
Talen turns his attention to the door. I move Angelaria to just behind my right shoulder and hold my breath. My boyfriend tugs upward on the handle, and the door just swings open. He looks back at me and then disappears around the corner. Angelaria directs her light to go after him, and I wait while the glowing light slips past me and over the threshold. I follow last, taking a moment to examine the arrows from the other side. They're bolts actually and without any kind of standard fletching. I spot the rusty ballista that fired them standing ten paces away. It has spider webs clinging to its surface like fine lace.
Talen's two feet to my left. We wait patiently as the glow from the light rises, forcing more of the chamber to come into focus.
The room ends up being gargantuan. I put it at about ninety-feet long and sixty-feet wide. Its rectangular shape affords several wooden posts spaced about every fifteen feet. Their tops attach to stout beams that crisscross the roof far above. Ancient dust blankets everything. A large table with a set of chairs, twenty in number, is positioned dead center. I skirt the spent ballista to examine them one at a time.
Each is made of oak and covered in fine varnish. Their feet resemble lion's paws, sanded on the bottom so they can be pushed about with ease. The silk cushions are a midnight blue, faded with time and use. Some have been torn open by tiny claws and teeth; their stuffing lays strewn about our feet.
Talen circles around to the far side. The two of us walk the length of the room looking for unusual things. About midway, I come across the ruins of a large chandelier. Wrought from black iron and made to support fat candles, it has two concentric rings. Long ago crashed to the floor, it now lays undisturbed. Many of the candles are broken, held together by their wicks. Some are burnt low; each shows some use having been blackened by fire. The pulley mechanism is on the wall near Talen's left hand.
They must have raised and lowered it to replace the candles, thus, keeping the room brightly lit. I wonder what kind of parties and feasts took place here in the past. I lament that I'll never get to see them.
Angelaria inspects the ballista carefully, and she snatches some of the webbing drifting around the old machine and places it inside a glass bottle, which she then stoppers with a little piece of cork.
Ahead of me, Talen scuffs his shoes on the floor. I see him pick-up a piece of tattered purple cloth. I walk over to him and he offers it to me. I gingerly take it betwixt my fingers. Strange and slippery it feels, yet far finer than satin. It writhes in my fingers as if alive. There's heavy gold thread along the top, and its color and resilience is unlike anything I've ever seen before.
"What do you make of it?" he asks.
"I'm not sure. It doesn't feel like silk or satin."
Talen smiles. "Is it just me, or does it squirm in your fingers? Can cloth do that?"
I shake my head. "It's definitely not your imagination. I feel it too; it's unsettling. Do you think it's magical?"
"If it's magical I get it," Talen says with eagerness.
I scowl at him, and he flashes the puppy dog eyes at me. "Please, I really want it."
"Why do I get the impression that everything we find down here that's even remotely interesting is going to end up yours?"
"You love me, right?" Talen asks.
"Yes," I say without hesitation.
"Then that's why."
Well how do you argue with that?
Angelaria overhears us talking and walks down the length of the table to stand directly under the magical bobbing light overhead. "Is what magical?"
I show her the scrap of cloth. She takes it in her fingers and almost cries out. "How vile. What IS this?" She wiggles her fingers and shakes her head, raven-black hair cascading in liquid darkness over her shoulder. "It's not magical. Or at least it doesn't detect as magical. Sometimes simple detections are not enough to divine whether an object is magical or not, especially if it's going out of its way to avoid you."
"How can a thing go out of its way to avoid detection?" Talen blurts out. "It's not like the cloth has a mind of its own. It was made on a loom for Tethyr's sake, and it's probably torn loose from a much larger garment. I found it on the ground here...at my feet. It's probably been there for years."
"I didn't say that it 'thought' now did I? Now before you get all excited, listen. Sometimes powerful enchantments can be woven into a garment for the exclusive purpose of non-detection. If this was a scrap from such a garment, well, it only stands to reason that it wouldn't detect as magical now doesn't it?"
"She does have a point," I say to my blue-eyed, yet slack-mouthed lover.
Talen is clearly frustrated and rolls his eyes in disgust. He points a finger in my face, "You need to stop taking her side, or you won't get any sex tonight. Not one bit."
"I wasn't taking her side, Talen. I made a suggestion...that's all."
"You were too taking her side. How would you like it if I started taking the other person's side instead of yours?"
"What other person? There's no one else here."
"What if there WAS someone else here? Huh? Did you think about that?"
"Well...I-this is nonsense. We're arguing about nothing Talen."
"Say you're sorry," he says, "or you don't get to fuck me tonight."
I swallow nervously. "I'm sorry. I won't ever take her side again."
Angelaria shakes her head and looks at the ceiling. "THIS is complete bullshit."
Talen ignores Angelaria and looks rather smug. "No problem," he says. But I can see that he's still a little bit sore at me. I can live with that. It's the "no sex" thing that had me worried. I like banging Talen too much for my own good.
Talen doesn't let me sulk for long though. He whispers into my ear a moment later, "For the record, it would have been really hard for me to keep that threat, Mr. Sexy."
Two French kisses later and I'm wearing a smile on my face that could shame a barracuda.
I turn my back on the two of them and walk the rest of the hall, stepping carefully over broken furniture and unidentified lumps of gray that I spot on the floor. I grab a stick and poke my way forward, tapping here and there, stooped ever so slightly at the waist.
I admit I'm a little tense and the noise of the wind on the shingled roof far overhead does nothing to calm my nerves. The light of the globe in the middle of the hall is not quite bright enough to uncover the shadows at its farthest end. Once again, I find myself staring into darkness, trying to identity shadowy shapes and patches of black that seem more sinister than they actually are. Behind me, Talen resets the leather pouches around his waist and retrieves the bit of cloth from Angelaria's outstretched hand. Then the two of them follow my path, measuring their pace evenly until we've joined up once more.
Angelaria gestures and the light overhead moves forward, casting back the gloom to reveal a wall made of red brick with three doors piercing its weathered crust. One of them hangs off its hinges like the one on the tower outside, and I can see its far surface is pitted with deep lacerations. Each is at least an inch long and spaced about the same width as a human hand.
I know no man-made weapons could have left these.
I shall post Chapter Eight next week. If you would like to join my mailing list for my stories, please shoot me an email.