Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on May 4, 2010 15:18:56 GMT -5
The day’s dying light cast a glow of pink and orange ribbons onto the fading horizon and rain-heavy clouds looming above the distant canopy of the Grove. From his vantage point high on a rock outcropping Tamwynius peered with furrowed brow through a collapsible spyglass at the trailhead far beneath him. He grunted his discontent while the tiny mechanical servos whirred adjusting the lens for optimum focus; a sun’s position low in the Eastern sky backlit the trees below casting long dark shadows over the point in the road he most wished observe. With a huff Tamwynius lowered the spyglass, collapsing it delicately in his hands as he turned to his companions; their faces beamed anticipation.
“I hate twilight.” Tamwynius said as he replaced his spectacles to their proper position on the bridge of his nose.
“What?” One of his companions spoke, a tall robed man with flowing blonde locks of hair hung to his shoulders. “Didn’t you just the other day . . .”
“Yes,” Tamwynius retorted sharply, “that was different. I was sneaking up on a guy then. It was darker it was helpful; three days ago I liked twilight. But right now I’m trying to see something and I can’t; so now I don’t. That alright with you, Jayem?”
“Ok, relax, I was just asking a question.” The robed man held his hands before him in mock defense.
“Cut it out, both of you.” A deep heroic voice resounded in the evening air, and a barrel-chested man stepped between them, the sweat on his vein-embossed biceps glistening in a sun’s fading light. “Tam, what did you see?” Drallion asked.
“Nothing,” Tamwynius responded somewhat hesitantly, “it’s too dark down there. But, there are no campfires, or lights, so we know there is no one between us and the Grove.”
Drallion appeared thoughtful, various muscles flexing for no apparent reason as he contemplated.
“What do you make of it?” Jayem inquired.
“What?” The muscular man snapped out of it, “Oh, I was thinking about something else; fruit, in fact.” His brow furrowed. “What of our pursuers?”
Jayem eyeballed the road on which they’d travelled, three pairs of dusty boot prints leading to their position. He closed his eyes in concentration, envisioning the road behind the trio reaching out to those who tracked them across undefined distances. Opening his eyes, his world was awash in glittering light as the Threads hung the breeze. He could see the taught glistening strings, which tied his group together, entangling their fates in respect to their common mission. He could see the finer, more slack strands shimmering off from himself, from Drallion and Tamwynius far beyond the horizon connecting them each to friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers they’ve yet to encounter. It didn’t matter how many times he gazed upon the world like this, with his Vision—and attribute so rare among humans—it never ceased to inspire awe.
Jayem got a hold of himself, allowing his senses to narrow in on a single Thread. It danced in the sunset, vibrating with apprehension, anticipation, and an eagerness born of bloodlust. “The good news,” he began, “is that Tam’s little incident at the Bay of Bantar has managed to obscure the bulk of our trail. I can find no trace of Bloodeye.”
Tamwynius flushed with embarrassment. The memory of losing control of the carriage whilst reading a trashy book he’d picked up in Sephro and steering it, horses and all, into the Bay was still fresh in his mind. By the look on Drallion’s face it was evident that the event was no less obscured by the days of carrying the bulk of their remaining supplies.
“There is,” Jayem continued, concentrating on the singular Thread reaching out to his own avatar, “one whom we’ve yet to shake.”
“The apprentice?” Tamwynius asked.
Jayem nodded gravely; the tone of his voice in stark contrast to the expression on his face. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. I am, after all, a practitioner of the magical arts. She’d be a fool to engage me in P.V.P.”
Drallion’s face contorted in bewilderment.
“’Potentially Violent Practice,’” Tamwynius clarified, his eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. “He had to explain it to me the first time I heard it, too.”
“You’re lack of understanding makes it no less true, friend.” Jayem retorted, clearly irritated, “One spell, one kill. Such is the way of the Magician.”
Drallion asked, his confusion becoming skepticism, “Have you ever actually engaged in . . . P.V.P.?”
“Of course not.” His voice cracked with indignation, “Aside from the two of you; I don’t make a habit of associating with fools.” Jayem shouldered his pack and turned toward the Grove. Unprepared for the sight before him he staggered backward, hands to his face as though he’d been struck in the eyes.
Tamwynius responded immediately. “What is it?” He rushed to his companion’s side, helping Jayem regain his balance and stand up, “What’s wrong?”
Jayem moved his hands from his eyes, slowly, allowing the brilliance of the light before him seep between his fingers at a measured pace. He tried to take it in, this Vision of the Grove in the distance; thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of Threads leapt from the Grove in all directions. Jayem had seen “hubs” before; great cities where the sheer bulk and density of the population created similar formations as hundreds of Threads shimmered their way between avatars some hundreds of miles distant from the city itself. Nothing, however, had ever compared to this.
He could see shimmering tendrils reaching out to distant lands in great bundles, he could see the occasional strand fade into glittery fragments and disappear into the sky, he could see new Threads bursting forth from the Groves confines, reaching out beyond the horizon to tie some destiny in a far away land. Once his eyes adjusted, Jayem stood, mouth agape, just staring into the luminescence of the Vision.
“There’s, there’s just so many.” He took a deep breath, “I wish you two could see this. It’s just . . . it shouldn’t be possible. The Grove is uninhabited, there should only be a few, and only if someone is travelling through. But there are just so many. It’s like . . . it’s like the trees themselves are alive; but not like trees are alive, but as you and I. Conscious, rational; like the Grove has a soul of its own and it’s connected to everything.” He swallowed hard, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Drallion shrugged, “Well, that’s all well and good, but we need to keep moving.” He tightened the buckle on the great sword strapped to his back; the hilt of which loomed a good six inches above his head, the business end requiring him to lean forward when he walked to avoid it dragging into the soil behind him.
“He right, Jay.” Tamwynius echoed. “If my calculations are correct we’ve got about four hours before another sun rises. She travels faster at night, and we’ll need to keep ahead of her if my,” his eyes grew shifty, “deliberate attempt to mislead her . . .”
“And drown us.” The muscular man interrupted.
Tamwynius sighed and continued, “If she and Bloodeye have split up, we may have lost him. But she’s sure to be right on our heels. We have to get into the trees before daybreak.”
Jayem squinted, focusing his attention on the Northern section of the Grove or, more specifically, the Threads tied to it. He watched the Threads closely as his companions passed by him on the road. Something was wrong. The Northern Threads vibrated as though in some celestial wind or as if some unseen hand was shaking them. The motion was chaotic, abnormal for any single Thread, let alone for so many. More distressing were the sheer number which broke or faded or even became tangled; the Grove itself appeared to create as many as necessary to patch the imperfections in this web work, but it clearly losing the race.
It must be He’Alem’s army, he decided. Legions of Trolls on the march; it was the only way he could explain such a disturbance. Trolls, feeding on the disorder their presence inevitably created.
Jayem shook the Vision from his eyes, hiked up his robes to knee level and jogged to catch up with the other two men. If his assessment was correct, then his companions were right. They had to keep moving, and quickly.
The short-night passed quickly. Hiking downhill in the dark, though, was no picnic. After half an hour stumbling over various obstacles Tamwynius had resorted to using the twin barrels of his rifle to feel his way down the graded hill toward the Grove. His fear of pursuit made him doubly blind, spending nearly as much time looking behind himself as he did toward the front. At one point he nearly skewered himself on the great blade Drallion carried when his companion came to an abrupt halt on the trail and Tamwynius hadn’t been watching. After that he had suggested the more muscular man take up the rear of the party, enabling him to kill two birds with one stone.
Now, finally with the coming of dawn, the majestic white trunked aspens of the Crivellaro Grove loomed above them. The three men stood, surrounded by the crumbling bulk of ancient stone buildings long fallen into disuse, catching their breath after the hike and contemplating the path before them.
Jayem spoke first, between breaths, “So, what do we know about this place? It’s haunted or something right?”
Tamwynius shouldered his makeshift cane, “Well, according to the book . . .”
“The one at the bottom of the Bay?” Drallion interrupted.
The rifleman sighed in quiet frustration, “According to the book; a long time ago there used to be a city here; one of the three kingdoms of Ad’Min. Hence the buildings.” He made a wide sweeping gesture to their surroundings. “Legend says that when the world erupted into chaos, the Scion who ruled here took it upon himself to bring calm to the disorder. He spent many weeks, maybe even months in meditation, without food or water; consulting with the world itself. Then one day . . .”
“Let me guess,” Drallion began, “He came to the conclusion that people were the cause of the chaos and wiped out his whole city.”
“What?” He scowled, “No, just the opposite in fact. One day he was just gone.”
“Died?” The magician asked, an eyebrow rose in speculation.
“Nope, just gone. No one saw him leave, but there was no corpse. He just vanished, as if swallowed by the soil itself.” Tamwynius shrugged, “But that story dates back almost to the time of the Folly, so the records are kind of sketchy.”
“Wait,” the man-hulk interjected, taking a seat on the nearest crumbling windowpane, his rock-hard gluts battling for dominance with the stone beneath them, “So what happened to the city?”
“Nothing really.” Tamwynius watched his companion draw the massive sword from his back and begin polishing the blade with a bit of his tattered loincloth. “The people just stopped caring. They stopped maintaining things, the city fell into disrepair, and those who didn’t leave just died with it in time. Really a bizarre . . . Oh, c’mon Drall!”
“What?” He continued to rub grime away from the gleaming SharpCo logo engraved near the hilt of the blade.
“I can see your . . . Shit, man, just stop.” He shielded his eyes as if from a blinding light. In his peripheral he could make out Jayem making an exaggerated effort to look elsewhere.
Drallion dropped the corner of the cloth he had been using, “Fine.”
“Alright, get up.” Jayem insisted. His eyes were red and bloodshot. Tamwynius wondered if he’d been monitoring the Threads all night. “We have to keep moving.”
Drallion stood and with the morning sun to their backs the trio entered the Grove. Tamwynius was concerned for the magician and considered inquiring as to his condition. The lack of sleep was evident and he was curious how much exertion seeing the Threads required. But he knew Jayem, he knew the man would never admit to weakness, and Tamwynius knew so little about the Threads and how they worked that he wouldn’t know where to begin his inquiry.
He considered his position while he watched the trees as he passed by them. Tamwynius, inventor, civilian, a nobody. Just a kid from a backwater town who, according to Jayem, had managed to get his fates entwined with these two; a renowned magician who could reportedly summon powers beyond his comprehension and a warrior the like of which he’d never seen. A seasoned adventurer who most certainly made up for in size what he lacked in brains, and that sword . . .
“I still can’t believe you bought that thing,” Jayem stated plainly, gesturing to the sword as if he had Tamwynius’s mind.
“I can’t believe you didn’t buy one.” Drallion countered. “It comes with free sharpening for life! Besides, the man said it would make me a better fighter, and just look at me. Look at these muscles; all from carrying a sword you said would be too heavy swing” He laughed triumphantly.
It was true; there was something about that blade which had certainly contributed to Drallion’s prowess as a warrior. Though he’d always been a large man, when he’d purchased it Drallion stood firm six and half feet in height. Now a week later he was considerably taller, and his musculature had been noticeably enhanced; and his voice had dropped at least an octave.
Comparing himself to the two of them was enough to make a guy feel pretty insecure with himself; and Tamwynius was a guy.
“Do you guys think I’m annoying?” He asked hesitantly.
“We’re not having this conversation again.” The magician replied, clearly annoyed.
Tamwynius sighed and trudged onward through the Grove; the shade of the high canopy providing a welcome respite against what have otherwise proven an uncomfortably warm long-day. The current sun being closer, hotter, and larger in the sky cast a white luminescence into the forest below. It was hard not to reflect on the tranquility of the scene, the light particles of dust drifting on the soothing winds, the otherworldly mists of the morning dew evaporating into the air casting miniature rainbows across every field of vision, the whispers of the trees sneaking into the recesses of their minds.
They all felt it. A sort of blissful apathy slowly overwhelming their senses, squelching the panic of losing control as quickly as it arose. Drallion was the first to succumb, his step growing short and unsteady and eventually coming to a halt all together. He leaned against a nearby tree with a smile on his face, “What are we doing here?”
Jayem paused in his slowing stride to answer, “I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the last hour. It all seems so pointless, doesn’t it?” He stopped and sat in the middle of the trail, blocking Tamwynius’s way. “We’re three men, against an army of Trolls. What chance do we really have?”
“Who cares? Who are we to say what’s right and wrong?” Tamwynius began, “Maybe the Trolls are right? Maybe we shouldn’t bother trying to stop them. They live here too, it’s not as if they’ll destroy the world.”
“Exactly,” the warrior continued, “and even if we did stop them; there’d just be another crisis eventually.”
Jayem nodded his acquiescence, “I say we stop here, quit trying to change destiny, and allow the situation to work it self out.” The others agreed.
Drallion’s eyelids began to droop while Tamwynius took up a spot leaning against a nearby tree.
Yes, this too shall pass.
He jolted forward away from the trunk. When it hung in the air, the words and been sweet, even seductive. When he actually made contact with the Grove itself, the rapidity with which it took over was alarming. Tamwynius blinked and shook his head trying to clear his mind. He could feel the soothing atmosphere trying once more to take control, to lure him into a blissful end. He pinched himself repeatedly as if trying to stave off a dream.
Then he heard the singing. A rich tenor ringing throughout the small clearing, an audible voice not coming from the trees; “I often wonder,” it sang, “if we're just plunging down a rabbit hole; just like Alice; but how fast do we fall; until we reach that wonder below?”
Tamwynius looked about feverishly; he kicked Drallion awakening from his slumber and shook Jayem back to attention, “Do you here that?”
Jayem blinked heavily, fighting off the trance as another verse rang out; “Some float, some speed; I wish I would float; so I could reach out; and grab the orange marmalade.”
On the last syllable a man, dressed in bright colors, ruffles on his shirtsleeves and oddly silent bells on toes of his shoes stepped out from behind a broken old building. “Good day, sirs!” The man beamed with enthusiasm.
Perhaps beamed too much, Jayem noted, “The sun is shining through him.” He whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. It was; a ray of sunlight broke the canopy above and shone very clearly upon and through the form of the man ahead of them.
Drallion finally came out of it, “Who the hells is he?”
The man before them never broke his smile and bowed elegantly before them removing his well-worn hat, “I am Sensaro; actor, poet, and play-write. And who, might I ask, are you?”
Tamwynius stepped forward, gesturing toward Jayem, “This is Jayem, magician, diviner.” Jayem nodded. “And this is Drallion, swordsman, adventurer.”
The transparent man’s eyes narrowed in regards to Drallion.
“And I’m Tamwynius, inventor, and . . .” He paused, unable to fill the blank.
“You feel you should be more than what you are?” Sensaro asked inquisitively, “That is interesting. A man who is unimpressed with his own being; a man who feels he should be more than he is. Such is the kind of man heroes are made from.”
Tamwynius felt his face flush.
“Tell me, hero,” Sensaro continued, “what brings you to my neck of the woods?” He smiled as if enjoying at his own wit.
“I . . . I can’t really recall.” Tamwynius searched his brain, but honestly couldn’t remember—or care, for that matter—why they had opted to travel this road.
Jayem spoke up, “We are travelling to the kingdom of Rowland to warn Lord James the Red of an impending invasion.” He looked toward his companions who were both seemed to suddenly recall their goal. “I wrote it down.” He added; gesturing to a scroll he’d retrieved from his pack.
“A noble quest, indeed!” Sensaro seemed to become excited at the prospect, “an invasion by whom? Why?”
“Trolls,” Drallion chimed in, “lots of them. Led by the un-banished He’Alem. He wants to capture the last Scion of Ad’Min, Lord James the Red, and force him into relinquishing his powers.”
“Can that even be done?” Sensaro asked.
“We don’t know,” Tamwynius stated frankly, “We’d rather not find out. We choose to cut through the Grove while the Trolls marched through the mountains to the North. We have to reach Rowland before them and warn James the Red so the Crimson Legion can be mobilized in time to fend off the advance.”
“That was a mouthful. Are you alright?”
Tamwynius nodded.
“Well then, that truly does sound like quite the adventure, I very much wish I could accompany you.” Sensaro looked down at his shoes, the tiny bells made no sound as he wiggled his toes inside the soft fabric. “Regardless, I think you would do well to make an active effort to recall your purpose as long as you are in the Grove.” He shifted his weigh uncomfortably, “It’s easy to lose sight of things here.”
“Sir?” Jayem asked hesitantly, “Why do you not join us?”
“I cannot,” He lowered his eyes in dismay, “Many years ago I came to this Grove, in search of a serene place to be inspired, and to write a great epic. Sadly, I lost sight of my goal, and now I shall remain here. Always.”
All three set of eyes dropped simultaneously as they realized the implications of the dead man’s words. How easy it would be to lose oneself to the serenity of this place and forget the world, perhaps even forget them selves. It was a sobering moment, which was suddenly broken by a howl from the distance. Drallion’s pectoral muscles flexed instinctively.
“You must keep moving travelers, and quickly.” The ghost seemed genuinely alarmed. “Your pursuers have but one goal, and a single-mindedness which protects them from this place.”
“He’s right,” Jayem said suddenly. “They are nearly upon us. We must make haste!” He broke into a run and the other men followed.
They ran feverishly, long minutes passed as Tamwynius’s sides began to hurt. Between the three of them they were simply carrying too much gear to move as fast as they needed to. A fact made all the more apparent by the occasional glimpse of canine forms in the trees keeping pace with them. The foliage was becoming denser as they travelled, evidence that most travelers didn’t make it this far before succumbing fully to the Grove’s effects.
“Jayem!” Drallion called out between breaths, “We’re not going to make it.” He grabbed the magician by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “They’re already ahead of us, we have to fight.”
Jayem nodded gravely, “Yes. You are right, I was hoping I could delay this moment a bit longer, but such is fate. Is it not?”
“Whatever. Look, muster up some of that magic you’re always bragging about, they’ll be on us any second.” Drallion focused his attention on the animals in the shrubbery, drawing his massive blade. “Tam!”
“I’m already on it.” Tamwynius had taken up a kneeling position, facing ahead and slightly to the right of their path, hoping Jayem could hold the left while Drallion defended the rear. He adjusted the anchor spike on right knee and jammed it into the earth beneath him, locking it down. A similar procedure was performed on the spike strapped to his left ankle.
The rifleman could hear Jayem beginning to chant next to him as he loaded break-action, double-barreled, revolving rifle. Shoving a finger length cartridge into all eight firing chambers and closing the contraption with a heavy clank. He brought the butt to his shoulder and trained his sights on the foliage before him.
The wolves were upon them quickly; it was hard to say how many. Tamwynius felt a searing heat erupt to his left side and smelled the burnt hair and flesh which accompanied canine’s cry, white lights filled the area. Jayem began chanting once more.
Another of the beast lunged at Tamwynius from the brush and he fired. The very trees vibrated with the shockwave of the dual-barrels erupting smoke a flame a solid metal simultaneously. Leaves fell from the canopy above as the wolf was sheared in half by the impact of the slugs on its body. Hot blood spattered against Tamwynius’s face and he could see a series of tree trunks before him displaying great gouges in the bark. The Grove seemed the shriek as a single tone permeated his brain while he cocked the rifle for another shot.
“Holy Shit!” Drallion called out from behind him, “Overkill much?” Tamwynius could hear carcass after bloody carcass dropping to the earth behind him as Drallion laid waste to the oncoming beasts.
Fire burst forth again from Jayem’s hands, setting the immediate area ablaze with flame which burned like molten mirror; reflecting the sun’s blinding white light in all directions. Tamwynius adjusted the tint on his spectacles and fired again into the fray. Three wolves toppled atop one another, each missing chunks or limbs or major organs. A tree gave way and collapsed.
“Tam!” Drallion called out, “I’ve got a problem here.”
Tamwynius turned his head to see Drallion holding the hilt of his sword in one hand, kicking and punching at the snarling beasts. The blade wedged in a nearby tree. “I told you it was too big!”
“No such thing!”
“Here!” More silver flames engulfed more wolves as Tamwynius drew a pistol from his belt and tossed it to Drallion. How many of them were there? He fired again, renewing the ringing in his ears and painting the forest a deeper red. “I’m almost out!” Something was wrong, no animals should continue attacking when faced with that kind of noise.
“Tam, I can’t fire this thing! My fingers are too muscley.”
“That’s not even a word!”
“Doesn’t make it less of a problem.” Drallion smashed another beast in the skull with the butt of the pistol. When he looked up he confronted with a sight he wasn’t prepared for. Stepping forth from the underbrush far out of his own reach, a pair of the largest wolfs he’d ever seen, larger than fully-grown bears, accompanied a beautiful woman into the melee.
She stood calmly amidst the chaos around her, seemingly unaffected by the carnage and the sick scent of burning hair and flesh.
“She’s here, Jayem.” Drallion called back.
Jayem spun, his hands aglow with silvery fire and met her icy blue eyes. The corner of her mouth curled into a sneer exposing a single sharp incisor.
At her prompting, the great wolves rushed the group. Tamwynius unlocked his anchors and spun in time to fire over Drallion’s right shoulder, bringing down one of the massive beasts before the other could tackle his companion. He could see the trickle of blood from Drallion’s ear as he fought the canine off, holding it’s vast mouth agape before his throat with the strength of his own two hands.
The area was awash again in white light and Tamwynius saw the woman engulfed in blazing mirror-like flames. He heard her cry out, then he heard her laughter and it sent a chill down his spine.
Scooping up the pistol Drallion had dropped, he fired a round into the skull of the beast holding his companion to the forest floor. “Get up!”
“What?” Drallion replied. But Tamwynius was too preoccupied to repeat himself.
He could only stare at Jayem, standing stunned before the woman facing him. The flames having completely engulfed her body seemed to have left her utterly unscathed.
“One spell, one kill.” She taunted, her voice was as sinister as it was seductive. “How’d that work out for you?
“You two need to run.” Jayem stuttered quietly.
“Why?” Tamwynius was confused, “We can take her.”
“What?” Drallion called out.
“Just go, it’s me she wants. Get to Rowland before it’s too late.” Jayem snarled, “Go!”
Tamwynius grabbed Drallion, who had retrieved his sword and the two ran as fast as their tired legs would carry them.
She spoke again to Jayem, “So, little magician, are you ready to meet your maker?”
His eyes narrowed, ready to meet the challenge. “My parents don’t live around here.”
Lights and heat flashed behind them as they ran. Tamwynius didn’t bother to look back. The edge of the Grove couldn’t be far ahead. He tried to keep close to Drallion knowing that in his temporarily deafened state, if they got separated they might never find each other again.
He heard the sounds of battle end abruptly behind him but couldn’t allow himself to stop. Through it all he could still feel the Grove, probing at his mind for an opening. He repeated to himself over and over, get to Rowland, get to Rowland. Finally, in the distance after what seemed like eons of running, Tamwynius could see the tree line.
“There it is!” Drallion called out, much louder than their proximity required.
Tamwynius nodded and tried to smile. Approaching the edge of the Grove he finally allowed himself to slow to a walk; Drallion followed suit. They could see a humanoid form ahead of them, waiting.
“Good, you made it.” Jayem said cheerfully, his face displaying an uncharacteristic smile. “I was beginning to get worried you’d allowed him to stop for a nap.” He indicated Drallion.
“No. We’re fine.” Tamwynius gasped for breath. “Who was she? How’d you get in front of us? Did you kill her?”
“Hey, that clown ghost is back.” Drallion said excitedly as Sensaro appeared once more from amidst the trees.
“I had a little help from my new friend here,” Jayem said, holding his own hand aloft allowing the sun’s rays to pass though it. “She shouldn’t be a problem for you any longer. She’ll be returning to Sephro to collect her bounty.”
“You . . .?” Tamwynius could feel a lump forming in his throat. “You asshole.”
“Go, my friends,” Jayem urged, “Make haste to Rowland. Time is of the essence.”
“I hate twilight.” Tamwynius said as he replaced his spectacles to their proper position on the bridge of his nose.
“What?” One of his companions spoke, a tall robed man with flowing blonde locks of hair hung to his shoulders. “Didn’t you just the other day . . .”
“Yes,” Tamwynius retorted sharply, “that was different. I was sneaking up on a guy then. It was darker it was helpful; three days ago I liked twilight. But right now I’m trying to see something and I can’t; so now I don’t. That alright with you, Jayem?”
“Ok, relax, I was just asking a question.” The robed man held his hands before him in mock defense.
“Cut it out, both of you.” A deep heroic voice resounded in the evening air, and a barrel-chested man stepped between them, the sweat on his vein-embossed biceps glistening in a sun’s fading light. “Tam, what did you see?” Drallion asked.
“Nothing,” Tamwynius responded somewhat hesitantly, “it’s too dark down there. But, there are no campfires, or lights, so we know there is no one between us and the Grove.”
Drallion appeared thoughtful, various muscles flexing for no apparent reason as he contemplated.
“What do you make of it?” Jayem inquired.
“What?” The muscular man snapped out of it, “Oh, I was thinking about something else; fruit, in fact.” His brow furrowed. “What of our pursuers?”
Jayem eyeballed the road on which they’d travelled, three pairs of dusty boot prints leading to their position. He closed his eyes in concentration, envisioning the road behind the trio reaching out to those who tracked them across undefined distances. Opening his eyes, his world was awash in glittering light as the Threads hung the breeze. He could see the taught glistening strings, which tied his group together, entangling their fates in respect to their common mission. He could see the finer, more slack strands shimmering off from himself, from Drallion and Tamwynius far beyond the horizon connecting them each to friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers they’ve yet to encounter. It didn’t matter how many times he gazed upon the world like this, with his Vision—and attribute so rare among humans—it never ceased to inspire awe.
Jayem got a hold of himself, allowing his senses to narrow in on a single Thread. It danced in the sunset, vibrating with apprehension, anticipation, and an eagerness born of bloodlust. “The good news,” he began, “is that Tam’s little incident at the Bay of Bantar has managed to obscure the bulk of our trail. I can find no trace of Bloodeye.”
Tamwynius flushed with embarrassment. The memory of losing control of the carriage whilst reading a trashy book he’d picked up in Sephro and steering it, horses and all, into the Bay was still fresh in his mind. By the look on Drallion’s face it was evident that the event was no less obscured by the days of carrying the bulk of their remaining supplies.
“There is,” Jayem continued, concentrating on the singular Thread reaching out to his own avatar, “one whom we’ve yet to shake.”
“The apprentice?” Tamwynius asked.
Jayem nodded gravely; the tone of his voice in stark contrast to the expression on his face. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. I am, after all, a practitioner of the magical arts. She’d be a fool to engage me in P.V.P.”
Drallion’s face contorted in bewilderment.
“’Potentially Violent Practice,’” Tamwynius clarified, his eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. “He had to explain it to me the first time I heard it, too.”
“You’re lack of understanding makes it no less true, friend.” Jayem retorted, clearly irritated, “One spell, one kill. Such is the way of the Magician.”
Drallion asked, his confusion becoming skepticism, “Have you ever actually engaged in . . . P.V.P.?”
“Of course not.” His voice cracked with indignation, “Aside from the two of you; I don’t make a habit of associating with fools.” Jayem shouldered his pack and turned toward the Grove. Unprepared for the sight before him he staggered backward, hands to his face as though he’d been struck in the eyes.
Tamwynius responded immediately. “What is it?” He rushed to his companion’s side, helping Jayem regain his balance and stand up, “What’s wrong?”
Jayem moved his hands from his eyes, slowly, allowing the brilliance of the light before him seep between his fingers at a measured pace. He tried to take it in, this Vision of the Grove in the distance; thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of Threads leapt from the Grove in all directions. Jayem had seen “hubs” before; great cities where the sheer bulk and density of the population created similar formations as hundreds of Threads shimmered their way between avatars some hundreds of miles distant from the city itself. Nothing, however, had ever compared to this.
He could see shimmering tendrils reaching out to distant lands in great bundles, he could see the occasional strand fade into glittery fragments and disappear into the sky, he could see new Threads bursting forth from the Groves confines, reaching out beyond the horizon to tie some destiny in a far away land. Once his eyes adjusted, Jayem stood, mouth agape, just staring into the luminescence of the Vision.
“There’s, there’s just so many.” He took a deep breath, “I wish you two could see this. It’s just . . . it shouldn’t be possible. The Grove is uninhabited, there should only be a few, and only if someone is travelling through. But there are just so many. It’s like . . . it’s like the trees themselves are alive; but not like trees are alive, but as you and I. Conscious, rational; like the Grove has a soul of its own and it’s connected to everything.” He swallowed hard, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Drallion shrugged, “Well, that’s all well and good, but we need to keep moving.” He tightened the buckle on the great sword strapped to his back; the hilt of which loomed a good six inches above his head, the business end requiring him to lean forward when he walked to avoid it dragging into the soil behind him.
“He right, Jay.” Tamwynius echoed. “If my calculations are correct we’ve got about four hours before another sun rises. She travels faster at night, and we’ll need to keep ahead of her if my,” his eyes grew shifty, “deliberate attempt to mislead her . . .”
“And drown us.” The muscular man interrupted.
Tamwynius sighed and continued, “If she and Bloodeye have split up, we may have lost him. But she’s sure to be right on our heels. We have to get into the trees before daybreak.”
Jayem squinted, focusing his attention on the Northern section of the Grove or, more specifically, the Threads tied to it. He watched the Threads closely as his companions passed by him on the road. Something was wrong. The Northern Threads vibrated as though in some celestial wind or as if some unseen hand was shaking them. The motion was chaotic, abnormal for any single Thread, let alone for so many. More distressing were the sheer number which broke or faded or even became tangled; the Grove itself appeared to create as many as necessary to patch the imperfections in this web work, but it clearly losing the race.
It must be He’Alem’s army, he decided. Legions of Trolls on the march; it was the only way he could explain such a disturbance. Trolls, feeding on the disorder their presence inevitably created.
Jayem shook the Vision from his eyes, hiked up his robes to knee level and jogged to catch up with the other two men. If his assessment was correct, then his companions were right. They had to keep moving, and quickly.
The short-night passed quickly. Hiking downhill in the dark, though, was no picnic. After half an hour stumbling over various obstacles Tamwynius had resorted to using the twin barrels of his rifle to feel his way down the graded hill toward the Grove. His fear of pursuit made him doubly blind, spending nearly as much time looking behind himself as he did toward the front. At one point he nearly skewered himself on the great blade Drallion carried when his companion came to an abrupt halt on the trail and Tamwynius hadn’t been watching. After that he had suggested the more muscular man take up the rear of the party, enabling him to kill two birds with one stone.
Now, finally with the coming of dawn, the majestic white trunked aspens of the Crivellaro Grove loomed above them. The three men stood, surrounded by the crumbling bulk of ancient stone buildings long fallen into disuse, catching their breath after the hike and contemplating the path before them.
Jayem spoke first, between breaths, “So, what do we know about this place? It’s haunted or something right?”
Tamwynius shouldered his makeshift cane, “Well, according to the book . . .”
“The one at the bottom of the Bay?” Drallion interrupted.
The rifleman sighed in quiet frustration, “According to the book; a long time ago there used to be a city here; one of the three kingdoms of Ad’Min. Hence the buildings.” He made a wide sweeping gesture to their surroundings. “Legend says that when the world erupted into chaos, the Scion who ruled here took it upon himself to bring calm to the disorder. He spent many weeks, maybe even months in meditation, without food or water; consulting with the world itself. Then one day . . .”
“Let me guess,” Drallion began, “He came to the conclusion that people were the cause of the chaos and wiped out his whole city.”
“What?” He scowled, “No, just the opposite in fact. One day he was just gone.”
“Died?” The magician asked, an eyebrow rose in speculation.
“Nope, just gone. No one saw him leave, but there was no corpse. He just vanished, as if swallowed by the soil itself.” Tamwynius shrugged, “But that story dates back almost to the time of the Folly, so the records are kind of sketchy.”
“Wait,” the man-hulk interjected, taking a seat on the nearest crumbling windowpane, his rock-hard gluts battling for dominance with the stone beneath them, “So what happened to the city?”
“Nothing really.” Tamwynius watched his companion draw the massive sword from his back and begin polishing the blade with a bit of his tattered loincloth. “The people just stopped caring. They stopped maintaining things, the city fell into disrepair, and those who didn’t leave just died with it in time. Really a bizarre . . . Oh, c’mon Drall!”
“What?” He continued to rub grime away from the gleaming SharpCo logo engraved near the hilt of the blade.
“I can see your . . . Shit, man, just stop.” He shielded his eyes as if from a blinding light. In his peripheral he could make out Jayem making an exaggerated effort to look elsewhere.
Drallion dropped the corner of the cloth he had been using, “Fine.”
“Alright, get up.” Jayem insisted. His eyes were red and bloodshot. Tamwynius wondered if he’d been monitoring the Threads all night. “We have to keep moving.”
Drallion stood and with the morning sun to their backs the trio entered the Grove. Tamwynius was concerned for the magician and considered inquiring as to his condition. The lack of sleep was evident and he was curious how much exertion seeing the Threads required. But he knew Jayem, he knew the man would never admit to weakness, and Tamwynius knew so little about the Threads and how they worked that he wouldn’t know where to begin his inquiry.
He considered his position while he watched the trees as he passed by them. Tamwynius, inventor, civilian, a nobody. Just a kid from a backwater town who, according to Jayem, had managed to get his fates entwined with these two; a renowned magician who could reportedly summon powers beyond his comprehension and a warrior the like of which he’d never seen. A seasoned adventurer who most certainly made up for in size what he lacked in brains, and that sword . . .
“I still can’t believe you bought that thing,” Jayem stated plainly, gesturing to the sword as if he had Tamwynius’s mind.
“I can’t believe you didn’t buy one.” Drallion countered. “It comes with free sharpening for life! Besides, the man said it would make me a better fighter, and just look at me. Look at these muscles; all from carrying a sword you said would be too heavy swing” He laughed triumphantly.
It was true; there was something about that blade which had certainly contributed to Drallion’s prowess as a warrior. Though he’d always been a large man, when he’d purchased it Drallion stood firm six and half feet in height. Now a week later he was considerably taller, and his musculature had been noticeably enhanced; and his voice had dropped at least an octave.
Comparing himself to the two of them was enough to make a guy feel pretty insecure with himself; and Tamwynius was a guy.
“Do you guys think I’m annoying?” He asked hesitantly.
“We’re not having this conversation again.” The magician replied, clearly annoyed.
Tamwynius sighed and trudged onward through the Grove; the shade of the high canopy providing a welcome respite against what have otherwise proven an uncomfortably warm long-day. The current sun being closer, hotter, and larger in the sky cast a white luminescence into the forest below. It was hard not to reflect on the tranquility of the scene, the light particles of dust drifting on the soothing winds, the otherworldly mists of the morning dew evaporating into the air casting miniature rainbows across every field of vision, the whispers of the trees sneaking into the recesses of their minds.
They all felt it. A sort of blissful apathy slowly overwhelming their senses, squelching the panic of losing control as quickly as it arose. Drallion was the first to succumb, his step growing short and unsteady and eventually coming to a halt all together. He leaned against a nearby tree with a smile on his face, “What are we doing here?”
Jayem paused in his slowing stride to answer, “I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the last hour. It all seems so pointless, doesn’t it?” He stopped and sat in the middle of the trail, blocking Tamwynius’s way. “We’re three men, against an army of Trolls. What chance do we really have?”
“Who cares? Who are we to say what’s right and wrong?” Tamwynius began, “Maybe the Trolls are right? Maybe we shouldn’t bother trying to stop them. They live here too, it’s not as if they’ll destroy the world.”
“Exactly,” the warrior continued, “and even if we did stop them; there’d just be another crisis eventually.”
Jayem nodded his acquiescence, “I say we stop here, quit trying to change destiny, and allow the situation to work it self out.” The others agreed.
Drallion’s eyelids began to droop while Tamwynius took up a spot leaning against a nearby tree.
Yes, this too shall pass.
He jolted forward away from the trunk. When it hung in the air, the words and been sweet, even seductive. When he actually made contact with the Grove itself, the rapidity with which it took over was alarming. Tamwynius blinked and shook his head trying to clear his mind. He could feel the soothing atmosphere trying once more to take control, to lure him into a blissful end. He pinched himself repeatedly as if trying to stave off a dream.
Then he heard the singing. A rich tenor ringing throughout the small clearing, an audible voice not coming from the trees; “I often wonder,” it sang, “if we're just plunging down a rabbit hole; just like Alice; but how fast do we fall; until we reach that wonder below?”
Tamwynius looked about feverishly; he kicked Drallion awakening from his slumber and shook Jayem back to attention, “Do you here that?”
Jayem blinked heavily, fighting off the trance as another verse rang out; “Some float, some speed; I wish I would float; so I could reach out; and grab the orange marmalade.”
On the last syllable a man, dressed in bright colors, ruffles on his shirtsleeves and oddly silent bells on toes of his shoes stepped out from behind a broken old building. “Good day, sirs!” The man beamed with enthusiasm.
Perhaps beamed too much, Jayem noted, “The sun is shining through him.” He whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. It was; a ray of sunlight broke the canopy above and shone very clearly upon and through the form of the man ahead of them.
Drallion finally came out of it, “Who the hells is he?”
The man before them never broke his smile and bowed elegantly before them removing his well-worn hat, “I am Sensaro; actor, poet, and play-write. And who, might I ask, are you?”
Tamwynius stepped forward, gesturing toward Jayem, “This is Jayem, magician, diviner.” Jayem nodded. “And this is Drallion, swordsman, adventurer.”
The transparent man’s eyes narrowed in regards to Drallion.
“And I’m Tamwynius, inventor, and . . .” He paused, unable to fill the blank.
“You feel you should be more than what you are?” Sensaro asked inquisitively, “That is interesting. A man who is unimpressed with his own being; a man who feels he should be more than he is. Such is the kind of man heroes are made from.”
Tamwynius felt his face flush.
“Tell me, hero,” Sensaro continued, “what brings you to my neck of the woods?” He smiled as if enjoying at his own wit.
“I . . . I can’t really recall.” Tamwynius searched his brain, but honestly couldn’t remember—or care, for that matter—why they had opted to travel this road.
Jayem spoke up, “We are travelling to the kingdom of Rowland to warn Lord James the Red of an impending invasion.” He looked toward his companions who were both seemed to suddenly recall their goal. “I wrote it down.” He added; gesturing to a scroll he’d retrieved from his pack.
“A noble quest, indeed!” Sensaro seemed to become excited at the prospect, “an invasion by whom? Why?”
“Trolls,” Drallion chimed in, “lots of them. Led by the un-banished He’Alem. He wants to capture the last Scion of Ad’Min, Lord James the Red, and force him into relinquishing his powers.”
“Can that even be done?” Sensaro asked.
“We don’t know,” Tamwynius stated frankly, “We’d rather not find out. We choose to cut through the Grove while the Trolls marched through the mountains to the North. We have to reach Rowland before them and warn James the Red so the Crimson Legion can be mobilized in time to fend off the advance.”
“That was a mouthful. Are you alright?”
Tamwynius nodded.
“Well then, that truly does sound like quite the adventure, I very much wish I could accompany you.” Sensaro looked down at his shoes, the tiny bells made no sound as he wiggled his toes inside the soft fabric. “Regardless, I think you would do well to make an active effort to recall your purpose as long as you are in the Grove.” He shifted his weigh uncomfortably, “It’s easy to lose sight of things here.”
“Sir?” Jayem asked hesitantly, “Why do you not join us?”
“I cannot,” He lowered his eyes in dismay, “Many years ago I came to this Grove, in search of a serene place to be inspired, and to write a great epic. Sadly, I lost sight of my goal, and now I shall remain here. Always.”
All three set of eyes dropped simultaneously as they realized the implications of the dead man’s words. How easy it would be to lose oneself to the serenity of this place and forget the world, perhaps even forget them selves. It was a sobering moment, which was suddenly broken by a howl from the distance. Drallion’s pectoral muscles flexed instinctively.
“You must keep moving travelers, and quickly.” The ghost seemed genuinely alarmed. “Your pursuers have but one goal, and a single-mindedness which protects them from this place.”
“He’s right,” Jayem said suddenly. “They are nearly upon us. We must make haste!” He broke into a run and the other men followed.
They ran feverishly, long minutes passed as Tamwynius’s sides began to hurt. Between the three of them they were simply carrying too much gear to move as fast as they needed to. A fact made all the more apparent by the occasional glimpse of canine forms in the trees keeping pace with them. The foliage was becoming denser as they travelled, evidence that most travelers didn’t make it this far before succumbing fully to the Grove’s effects.
“Jayem!” Drallion called out between breaths, “We’re not going to make it.” He grabbed the magician by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “They’re already ahead of us, we have to fight.”
Jayem nodded gravely, “Yes. You are right, I was hoping I could delay this moment a bit longer, but such is fate. Is it not?”
“Whatever. Look, muster up some of that magic you’re always bragging about, they’ll be on us any second.” Drallion focused his attention on the animals in the shrubbery, drawing his massive blade. “Tam!”
“I’m already on it.” Tamwynius had taken up a kneeling position, facing ahead and slightly to the right of their path, hoping Jayem could hold the left while Drallion defended the rear. He adjusted the anchor spike on right knee and jammed it into the earth beneath him, locking it down. A similar procedure was performed on the spike strapped to his left ankle.
The rifleman could hear Jayem beginning to chant next to him as he loaded break-action, double-barreled, revolving rifle. Shoving a finger length cartridge into all eight firing chambers and closing the contraption with a heavy clank. He brought the butt to his shoulder and trained his sights on the foliage before him.
The wolves were upon them quickly; it was hard to say how many. Tamwynius felt a searing heat erupt to his left side and smelled the burnt hair and flesh which accompanied canine’s cry, white lights filled the area. Jayem began chanting once more.
Another of the beast lunged at Tamwynius from the brush and he fired. The very trees vibrated with the shockwave of the dual-barrels erupting smoke a flame a solid metal simultaneously. Leaves fell from the canopy above as the wolf was sheared in half by the impact of the slugs on its body. Hot blood spattered against Tamwynius’s face and he could see a series of tree trunks before him displaying great gouges in the bark. The Grove seemed the shriek as a single tone permeated his brain while he cocked the rifle for another shot.
“Holy Shit!” Drallion called out from behind him, “Overkill much?” Tamwynius could hear carcass after bloody carcass dropping to the earth behind him as Drallion laid waste to the oncoming beasts.
Fire burst forth again from Jayem’s hands, setting the immediate area ablaze with flame which burned like molten mirror; reflecting the sun’s blinding white light in all directions. Tamwynius adjusted the tint on his spectacles and fired again into the fray. Three wolves toppled atop one another, each missing chunks or limbs or major organs. A tree gave way and collapsed.
“Tam!” Drallion called out, “I’ve got a problem here.”
Tamwynius turned his head to see Drallion holding the hilt of his sword in one hand, kicking and punching at the snarling beasts. The blade wedged in a nearby tree. “I told you it was too big!”
“No such thing!”
“Here!” More silver flames engulfed more wolves as Tamwynius drew a pistol from his belt and tossed it to Drallion. How many of them were there? He fired again, renewing the ringing in his ears and painting the forest a deeper red. “I’m almost out!” Something was wrong, no animals should continue attacking when faced with that kind of noise.
“Tam, I can’t fire this thing! My fingers are too muscley.”
“That’s not even a word!”
“Doesn’t make it less of a problem.” Drallion smashed another beast in the skull with the butt of the pistol. When he looked up he confronted with a sight he wasn’t prepared for. Stepping forth from the underbrush far out of his own reach, a pair of the largest wolfs he’d ever seen, larger than fully-grown bears, accompanied a beautiful woman into the melee.
She stood calmly amidst the chaos around her, seemingly unaffected by the carnage and the sick scent of burning hair and flesh.
“She’s here, Jayem.” Drallion called back.
Jayem spun, his hands aglow with silvery fire and met her icy blue eyes. The corner of her mouth curled into a sneer exposing a single sharp incisor.
At her prompting, the great wolves rushed the group. Tamwynius unlocked his anchors and spun in time to fire over Drallion’s right shoulder, bringing down one of the massive beasts before the other could tackle his companion. He could see the trickle of blood from Drallion’s ear as he fought the canine off, holding it’s vast mouth agape before his throat with the strength of his own two hands.
The area was awash again in white light and Tamwynius saw the woman engulfed in blazing mirror-like flames. He heard her cry out, then he heard her laughter and it sent a chill down his spine.
Scooping up the pistol Drallion had dropped, he fired a round into the skull of the beast holding his companion to the forest floor. “Get up!”
“What?” Drallion replied. But Tamwynius was too preoccupied to repeat himself.
He could only stare at Jayem, standing stunned before the woman facing him. The flames having completely engulfed her body seemed to have left her utterly unscathed.
“One spell, one kill.” She taunted, her voice was as sinister as it was seductive. “How’d that work out for you?
“You two need to run.” Jayem stuttered quietly.
“Why?” Tamwynius was confused, “We can take her.”
“What?” Drallion called out.
“Just go, it’s me she wants. Get to Rowland before it’s too late.” Jayem snarled, “Go!”
Tamwynius grabbed Drallion, who had retrieved his sword and the two ran as fast as their tired legs would carry them.
She spoke again to Jayem, “So, little magician, are you ready to meet your maker?”
His eyes narrowed, ready to meet the challenge. “My parents don’t live around here.”
Lights and heat flashed behind them as they ran. Tamwynius didn’t bother to look back. The edge of the Grove couldn’t be far ahead. He tried to keep close to Drallion knowing that in his temporarily deafened state, if they got separated they might never find each other again.
He heard the sounds of battle end abruptly behind him but couldn’t allow himself to stop. Through it all he could still feel the Grove, probing at his mind for an opening. He repeated to himself over and over, get to Rowland, get to Rowland. Finally, in the distance after what seemed like eons of running, Tamwynius could see the tree line.
“There it is!” Drallion called out, much louder than their proximity required.
Tamwynius nodded and tried to smile. Approaching the edge of the Grove he finally allowed himself to slow to a walk; Drallion followed suit. They could see a humanoid form ahead of them, waiting.
“Good, you made it.” Jayem said cheerfully, his face displaying an uncharacteristic smile. “I was beginning to get worried you’d allowed him to stop for a nap.” He indicated Drallion.
“No. We’re fine.” Tamwynius gasped for breath. “Who was she? How’d you get in front of us? Did you kill her?”
“Hey, that clown ghost is back.” Drallion said excitedly as Sensaro appeared once more from amidst the trees.
“I had a little help from my new friend here,” Jayem said, holding his own hand aloft allowing the sun’s rays to pass though it. “She shouldn’t be a problem for you any longer. She’ll be returning to Sephro to collect her bounty.”
“You . . .?” Tamwynius could feel a lump forming in his throat. “You asshole.”
“Go, my friends,” Jayem urged, “Make haste to Rowland. Time is of the essence.”