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CHAPTER SEVEN: The Waltz of the Woods

The sentry was damp, and a little chilly. He entered the compound and stepped quickly down the long flight of rock-hewn stairs (there were twenty-seven, he had counted many times). Torches lined the corridor every half-dozen feet, and when he reached those closest to the bottom, he paused for a moment to soak up some of the very welcome heat. He did not tarry long, however. He had news, very important news, and the master must be notified immediately.

As he navigated the subterranean hallways, he noticed that while many of the torches were alight, there were very few people walking around, far fewer than usual. Of course, he knew there was a reason behind it, and he was certain that it had something to do with the trespassers in the forest, though he was not aware of the details.

He descended another flight of stairs, and was now on the bottom level. A canal ran through this area, a canal that led, after a ways, to the outside and to the river. There were other things of note down here also, but he knew them all well and thought about none of them at the moment, except for the lone oaken door at the western end of the hall, the one with the gilded trim and the old banner hanging from the edges, one that was old and worn, but still inspired a patriotic feeling in those who were so inclined. It was a dark blue banner, outlined in white, and dominated by the image of a majestic eagle in flight, and was adorned with a symbol, . He did not know the name of the symbol, but he was aware of its meaning, that being the ever-repeating cycle of everything and everyone.

There was a heavy brass knocker near the handle, and he rapped it hard against the metal of the door several times. There was no answer from inside, so he tried again, rapping even harder this time. Once again, no one came to open the door.

The sentry thought for a moment. If his leader were not in committee with his four captains or that Aqualorean giant who followed him almost everywhere, where would he be?

The first answer he came up with was the Dormitories, and he took off towards them running as fast as he could. Back up to the upper levels and down to the western portion of the compound he ran, and when he reached the large subterranean corridor that led to the expansive living areas, he was very much out of breath. He paused, and leaned against the paneled stone walls to gain a second wind. Then he made straight for the master’s room, a door no different than any of the other hundred in this area, but one everyone here knew apart from the others.

The sentry rapped at this door, with his knuckles, as this had no knocker, but from behind this door there was no answer either. He tried once more, as before, but nothing. He was curious. No one was around, even in the always-bustling dormitories. It seemed as though the place were abandoned, and someone forgot to tell him.

He walked back out of the corridor to the main halls, unsure as to where he should try looking next. The news was urgent, and there was still a touch of quickness in his step, but it was energy without direction. He decided to search down by the dock again.

As he made his way back to the stairs, he passed by a pair of double-doors, the only such portal in the entire compound. He knew he passed it earlier, but he could have sworn the door had been tightly shut. Now, one of the doors was slightly ajar, and light escaped from the crack. It was a soft melange of colors, a little red, a little blue.

He pushed the door open a little, straining a bit against the heavy oaken weight of it, and stepped into the chamber, though it wasn’t really a chamber at all. What was behind these doors was by far the artistic centerpiece of this entire complex.

Much of this complex was cut off from daylight, being underground, and was lit only by torches, candles and oil lamps. This room, however, was quite different. The land that this place was carved into so many centuries ago ended very abruptly on the southwest end in a sheer cliff, and from this cliff one could easily see the limitless expanse of the Edenia Ocean. It was into this cliff that the Immortal King left his gift to the world, a gift that very few knew about. And what a gift it was.

It was a cathedral. A wonderful cathedral with a thirty-foot high ceiling covered in all sorts of exquisitely detailed murals, showing tales of valor and bravery in a war long since ended. There were similar murals adorning three of the walls as well, larger and even more detailed than those above. It was the fourth wall, though, that was what always grabbed the attention when you first saw the place, and often, many times thereafter.

From the floor to the very apex of the tipped ceiling, that wall was not really a wall at all, rather it was nothing but stained glass, thirty feet wide and thirty feet high at the summit. At the seventeenth hour of the day, when the sun shone brightly as it did this day, sunlight bright and pale radiated upon the face of this cliff, and when it did, some of it came this way. The stained glass accepted the sunlight like an offering from God, transforming it from plain and pale into a myriad of brilliant colors, looking like a diamond beset by light from every angle, and filling the cathedral with a dazzling display that defied description.

As on the walls and ceiling, this stained glass panorama told stories from times long past, but that was only trivial in comparison to the centerpiece. Dominating the massive display was the image of a woman, a woman with long cornflower hair and a pale gown, and even in this medium, a soul could be dumbstruck by her beauty, her eminence, the compassion in her features and her crystal eyes. The sentry had lived here for years, had offered his prayers in this cathedral every week, and still it held him in awe every time he saw it.

It was only the shadow darkening the glass that finally drew his attention back to the present, a shadow tiny against the immense glass, but a recognizable one.

The master.

The sentry walked slowly towards the master, whose back was turned to him. He approached the dais on which the master knelt, and waited silently.

Finally, the master stood, and turned to face the sentry.

“I’m sorry, my good man,” the master said, “I was merely offering prayer.”

“Of course, my lord,” the sentry replied.

“You have news for me? Have our friends arrived yet?”

“No, my lord, but they do draw near.”

The master nodded. “How many?”

“Six, my lord. Five of the Foresters, and – him -.

“The de Torbauld son? He’s not with them?”
“No, my lord. Just those I mentioned.”

The master smiled. Things were going exactly as planned. For the smallest of moments, he allowed himself to believe his grand vision was finally beginning to blossom, after almost a quarter of a century. But only for the smallest of moments. There was still much to be done, and years still to live before he could hope to see it to the end.

“Thank you for informing me. Everything is almost ready, and you should make ready as well. Go back above, and station yourself. I want to know when they arrive.”

The sentry bowed. “By your leave,” he said, and the master nodded.

The master turned back to the magnificent stained glass window, watching it grow less luminous as the sun began its descent over the horizon. His eyes were fixed on the face of the woman.

“Be strong, ye of faith and stout heart, and place now and forever in God thy trust, for good is His sign and bright is thy future”, he quoted softly, to no one but himself.

The five Elefrim Foresters kept with Ronin and Townshend as they left the city gates, and along the short trek towards the edge of the Tearran Forest. It was not but a half hour’s walk into the small, unnamed valley which served as the western gateway into the vast, dense woods.

There were small forested areas in the lands surrounding Darinth City, and Ronin had visited many of them in his youth, once he became old enough that his father allowed him to leave the city proper for a few hours a day, but what natives of Darinth called forests was a damn sight less impressive than what natives of Elefrim called forests.

The forests near Darinth, for starters, were mere wooded patches in comparison to the Tearran. The Darinth woods were spotty, and the increase in density was very gradual. Tearran Forest was not gradual in the least. When you entered the valley, it was nothing but grass and shrubs for about a quarter of a mile, and then you suddenly encounter a massive, thick wall of imposing greenery. Take fifty paces inside, and when you looked back, you could not even tell that there was an exit behind you, so thick and strong the forest was.

Ronin much better appreciated the company of the Foresters now, for his imagination and experience did not prepare him for just how confusing this place really was. Only Townshend remained with him, though. The five others fanned out and dispersed the moment they entered the forest, supposedly keeping pace with him, but as Townshend told him, they were quite good at staying hidden, for Ronin could not see any of them, even when he tried.

And there was no shortage of places fit to conceal someone. The trees were packed so densely that at times Ronin could see lines of them that were almost like living walls, too close to even slip between. There were smaller trees and large, fat bushes closer to the ground to fill in a good many of the gaps. There were fallen logs and branches practically everywhere, and several times Ronin avoided tripping over them only to get his foot snared by some of the tangled bramble undergrowth that seemed to cover the entire forest floor, the parts that weren’t already covered by layer upon layer of slick dead leaves. To make matters worse, they were still close to Elefrim, and it rained here almost perpetually, as it did in town, making for a damp, miserable journey, and the lack of direct sunlight brought everything to a green-shaded dimness that was almost as thick as twilight, even though it was much closer to high noon.

Perhaps the worst part of all was the total chaos and confusion it all presented to those who traversed its depths. Townshend had warned him that there was no road or trail through the forest, but once again Ronin did not appreciate the true bearing of that statement until he was deep in the forest’s chaotic embrace. There was no road or trail, and that was bad enough, but worse was the total lack of a straight path. The going was twisted and tangled, with what seemed like far too many turns. Ronin was completely lost on his own, for every method he knew of finding his bearings was completely useless to him here. He did not have the position of the sun or the stars to guide him. He knew the old adage about moss, and how it grows only on the north side of trees, but as far as he could tell, this was nothing but myth, for he saw many trees with colorful mosses growing upon their bark, but this growth was by no means uniform. He saw moss growing on many sides, in every direction, some growths facing others directly. If not for the skillful help of the Foresters, he knew he would be totally helpless here. Now more than ever, he prayed nothing happened on the way.

The going did eventually get better though, for while the conditions only got rougher as they got deeper inside, Ronin found himself improving his ability to navigate, in that he was learning to better stabilize himself and keep his footing. Townshend gave him a few short lessons on such things, and they were of help, but Ronin learned more by watching how the Forestmaster stepped around. Ronin began to emulate his movements, and what helped most was forcing himself to stop dragging his feet, and make as if marching instead over the parts of terrain that seemed uncertain. His movement was much improved, but walking that way was unfamiliar to him, and it made his legs sore, but there was no stopping. Townshend and the invisible Foresters kept a lively pace, and Ronin would not allow himself to lag behind.

Ronin wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he did try to make banter with Townshend to at least alleviate some of the tension he felt. Back in town, Townshend had been quite the chatty fellow, one of good humor even after the Dragoons caused further disruption to his city. Here in the forest though, he was stoic, silent except to offer warning or direction to his companion, and otherwise totally focused on his charge. A second attempt to converse met similar results, but Ronin did not really mind. He merely pressed on ahead, and tried to focus himself as well.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the southern arm of the Elefrim River, the one that snaked through the forest towards the Panthalis Bay. The darkness was swift in its descent, and to Ronin, it seemed as though the transition from day to night was one of mere minutes here, as opposed to the usual hour of twilight found this time of year. Townshend looked around for a suitable spot, and after he found one he felt was suitable, he and Ronin made camp for the night.

Both men laid out bedrolls, and Townshend warned Ronin not to build a fire. Ronin blinked. He was no forest man, not even an outdoorsman, period, but he also wasn’t an idiot. He felt it wise not to give voice to his resentment, and besides, Townshend meant well.

The trek through the dense vegetation, with all of its pitfalls, tangles, and uneven terrain, left Ronin’s entire body tired and sore. He lay flat upon his bedroll, staring up at the sky through the thick canopy of the Tearran. He reached into his pack and unwrapped some of the dried meat he carried. Over the last few weeks, he had eaten such things many times, and while jerky and hard bread stuck well to the ribs, the last good meal of roasted meat, soft bread and vegetables he enjoyed seemed like a year ago, instead of just last night.

Walter Townshend was also taking in a little provision, though he did so stooped by the edge of the river, filling his canteen.

“How are you handlin’ things, lad?” he said to Ronin.

Ronin had a start, it was the first time in hours Townshend had said anything to him. “I’m holding my own, I suppose.”

Townshend nodded, which Ronin barely saw through the gloom. “Worst of it’s over, yeah. Those maps of mine, they say that we can follow yon river south and it’ll lead us right to the spot where our friends lie. It’ll be easier footing ‘long the riverside than trippin’ through the brush, though we’ll have to take greater care to stay hid. Any eyes of the Dragoons will be able to see ‘cross the river too.”

“About how far do you think we have to go?” Ronin asked.

“Hard to say, lad. I’d say we did well, and I’m going to guess we’re a little less than halfway there, but even us men, we almost never go this deep without a damn good reason. After all, most of what we need we can find without going more than a few miles inside. Even still, we’ll be moving a lot faster tomorrow, thanks to the river. We’ll cover the difference in no time, you’ll see.”

Townshend came back from the flowing river and lay flat on his bedroll, stretching out and yawning. “Best get some shuteye, lad,” he said, “You’ll need the weary off your bones, after all, and you’ll definitely need your wits about you when we find this place.”

Ronin nodded silent agreement, although he needed little encouragement. He was already tired and weary, and already the soft babble of the river flowing past, the soft noises of insects and small animals, and the light, temperate breeze rustling the new spring leaves all served to lull him into a deep sleep. It took just a few minutes, and soon both men were softly sleeping.

Walter’s eyes snapped open, but the rest of his muscles stayed calm. Thirty years in the Foresters had given him an almost immaculate sense of hearing, and he was hearing something now that he knew did not belong. He saw the Viceroy’s prize pet, but the city boy was out cold, definitely not hearing anything unusual. He cupped his hand to his ear, and heard it more clearly. A soft swishing sound, the sound of something walking through leaves and twigs, and coming this this direction. And the swishing was too regular to be anything but the footsteps of a human.

He slowly stood, taking great care to make as little noise as possible, though this was habit more than any sort of special precaution. Whoever was approaching the camp was making noise, probably a good deal more than he thought he was making, and if his ability to hear sounds was as poor as his ability to hide his own, then there was little fear of Walter being discovered.

Still, it didn’t pay to be reckless.

Walter crouched over, and stepped away from the small clearing, towards the nearest clutch of foliage. His movement was slow and deliberate, placing his heel down and slowly shifting balance to the front, back to front, spreading his arms slightly to maintain balance. Once he was certain he was out of sight, he knelt down. He scanned in the general direction of where he heard the intruder, drew his long knife from its sheath, and waited, his muscles tense, ready to strike.

Sure enough, the source of the noise drew closer and closer, and Walter could hear the intruder enter the camp before he could see him, though with only a little filtered moonlight to illuminate anything, he’d have to be right on top of him to even be seen.

Walter and the Viceroy’s man made camp in a small clearing, one of few such clearings within the forest. It wasn’t more than a hundred square feet in size though, so when the intruder did finally emerge from the trees, enough of him was visible from the moonlight.

Walter leapt at the intruder. He extended his right arm, catching the intruder by the throat as he sailed by. The intruder gave a strangled yell as the larger Forester threw him to the ground. Within a second, he found Walter’s keen-edged long knife in his hand, the tip pointing at his throat.

“Hey! Easy, easy!” the intruder cried. He was totally taken by surprise and made no effort to resist. Walter’s surprise was quite evident, for his intake of breath was so sudden he nearly choked on it.

“Young Master!” he cried out, “What in the name of Providence are you doing out here?” He quickly stood up, and helped the intruder to his feet. It was none other than Robert de Torbauld.

“Hey!” Robert said, “Not so rough, Walter! You almost took my head off!” He brushed dirt from his cowl and chest.

“Take your head off?” The Forester exclaimed, fury blatant upon his face. “You ignorant little whelp! Of course I almost took your head off! You’re intrudin’ off in places which you aren’t supposed to be! The Duke ordered you to stow yourself at home!” He spat on the ground. “You ought to thank Providence that I didn’t stick this through your neck!”

The noise awoke Ronin, and he leapt to his feet, swords already in his hand. His eyes widened with shock as he realized who the new arrival was.

“I’ll be damned,” he said, “Why aren’t you back in town?” His tone did not betray the anger he too felt.

“I’ll tell you why. First, I don’t take orders from either of you. Second, I think you’re mistaken, Ronin. I think I’m more than capable of being a part of this operation. That I was able to track you this far on my own without you discovering me should be enough proof of that.” He sat on the ground, and the edge of his voice softened. “Besides, Reese is there, she’s in trouble. I sit there in the house, and all I do is make myself sick with worry over her, anger over what you did, and fear that I can’t do anything about either.”

Robert looked both men in the eyes. “I don’t care what either of you say. I’m going with you.”

Ronin said nothing, but Walter was not mollified. “Young Master, you’re going to be the Duke someday, as I’m sure someone bothered to tell you. You can’t be actin’ so rash like this, stickin’ your neck out all the time. What’s going to happen when you are the Duke? You think you’re gonna personally involve yourself every time? Are you gonna rescue every pussycat what finds itself stuck on a high branch? You can’t do that. That’s what we’re for.”

“As Duke, it is my honor-bound duty to protect my citizens,” Robert retorted.

“Aye, ‘tis that. But you can’t do it all yourself. When time comes for you to be the lord of the realm, your duty’s gonna make it impossible, and you sure as hellfire can’t do it with a head full of piss and steam like you had this mornin’, cause all you’ll do is get yourself killed, and maybe others too. You need to learn now some restraint. Can’t very well order you back, not as though you’d go even if I did, but you need to be fully cooperative with us. Yon Covington and my men have a plan already in action, and you must follow it to the letter, you understand?”

“Of course I do.” Robert said. He looked over at Ronin. Ronin was watching him, they looked right at each other, but neither said a word to the other. Neither man had yet recovered from the injuries to the pride both had inflicted upon the other, nor was either of them yet of a mind to apologize to the other.

“Hope you had a mind to bring a bedroll with you,” said Walter.

Robert patted the haversack on his back. “I’m not stupid. I came prepared.”

Walter felt like challenging the young lord’s self-appraisal, but thought better of it. “Get some rest, cause I want to be movin’ by the dawn’s first light, and that’s not but a few hours from now.” He lay down on his roll and was lightly sleeping within a minute or two. Ronin followed shortly after, still worn from his unusual experience.

Robert was no Forester, but neither was he a stranger to the woods like Ronin was. He still had vigor left in him, and the events of this morning still dominated his thoughts. Thus, sleep did not come easily to him. He lay awake for another hour, staring up at the few stars visible through the forest canopy.

It was still dark when Walter roused his travel mates from their slumber. He already had his belongings together, and was not very patient in waiting for Robert and Ronin to prepare themselves.

“I thought you said at the first light of dawn,” said Ronin, rubbing his eyes.

“Stop complaining, sonny,” the Forester replied, “It’s not but a few minutes in coming. We’ll make time and be happy for it later.”

“So you say.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, O Mighty Captain of the Guard, but I’d be partial to a spell of rest before we get to mouseholin’ that Dragoon nest. You can stay and rest more if you want, but I ain’t waitin’ for ya.”

Ronin packed his roll and items without further comment.

“So Walter, how much farther to go, do you think?” asked Robert.

The Forester checked his map. “By this here, I’d say we’re about fifteen hours distant. If we want to cover most of that today, and have time to prepare for actually goin’ in, I suggest we not dally here any longer. It’s going to be a long day.”

So they continued south, keeping close to the banks of the Elefrim River, but not so close that they were immediately visible. None of the men involved held any illusions that they were invisible, not even Ronin, but even a basic level of concealment was preferable to none. The undergrowth was less dense this close to the river, which made for considerably quicker progress, and considerably less physical fatigue. The Foresters were once again moving each on his own and out of sight, while Walter led Robert and Ronin. A group of three was difficult for Walter to travel with, especially since he was the only man who wasn’t blundering about, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Three times during the day, the band stopped to rest, sip water from their skins, and chew a piece of jerky, though there was little protest when the time came to resume. They were close now. Only Walter had any idea how close, but Ronin could feel it, and judging by Robert’s increased awareness, he felt it too.

Between the second and third stops, the river began to widen and flow faster, at times enough to churn a small bead of white foam at the edges. Not too long after this, they caught sight of something.

“Well, boys,” said Walter, an impressed look crossing his face, “I suppose there really was a road running through the Tearran.” Both Robert and Ronin could only nod, for there was the evidence.

There was no visible road itself, it having been reclaimed by the forest many long years ago, but one part of it had not, and probably never would be.

Spanning the breadth of the river was a bridge, and there was no mistaking it for anything but a very permanent one. Built completely of stone and wood, it was actually a rather complex work of engineering, complete with arches and calculated stress points. It looked very old and weather-worn, but very sturdy. It had crossed this river for at least several hundred years and would likely cross it for many hundreds more.

“Now that’s not something you would expect to see,” said Robert. “Thing looks old enough to have been here in the days of Arwyn.”

Walter laughed. “At the least, young Master. ‘Tis a fine work, this.”

“Do we cross?” Ronin asked.

Walter briefly glanced at the map. “No, I should expect not. What we’re after is still on this side of the river, according to this. And, look, it shows that a trade route once ran right here. She’s accurate, boys. What a find this was!”

“Must have been a major trade route, to warrant building a bridge this fancy,” said Ronin.

“I wouldn’t doubt it, really,” said Robert, “Arwyn was remote but still pretty busy. The idea of ferrying up the Elefrim had put into practice years before the Revolution, but once Arwyn was destroyed, there was really no need for trade roads through the Tearran, I suppose.” He swatted an insect crawling on his forearm. “Too bad about that, really. If Arwyn were still around, the trade road would be useable, and we could probably survive a year without the ferry.”

Walter laughed softly. “Assuming of course that they wouldn’t be cordoning off the trade road itself?”

“They wouldn’t have Arwyn to use as a staging area, so yes,” Robert retorted.

“There’re leagues of forest out here to be hidin’ in. The ruin of Arwyn makes for a great mouse hole, it’s distant and convenient, but there’s no end to the amount of room out here to hide in. Best not forget about that while we’re still in here.”

Ronin kept silent. What point was there in debating something like this? Walter quickly caught on, motioning Robert to quiet. He did as asked, but he clearly wanted to keep it going awhile longer.

They caught their third rest break as the already-filtered sunlight was giving way to twilight. A bite of food and a few sips of water all around. Walter again filled their waterskins from the river, which this far south was no longer just flowing, yet not quite raging. It was becoming obvious to Walter that they were closing in on their goal, for the increasing intensity of the river was likely a sign that they were nearing the Bay.

After he finished filling the skins and passed them back to their owners, they continued for another hour. By this point, the moon had displaced the sun, and was a shining crescent visible even through the thick canopy above. Walter scouted about for a few minutes until he found a site suitable for camp.

He found a spot, and they quietly set up for the night. Once they finished, he gathered Robert and Ronin together.

“One of you should get some rest. The other should stand watch… two-hour shifts sound good. I’m going on ahead a ways.”

“You’re leaving us?” Robert asked.

“We’re less than a mile from Arwyn, lad. I’m going to scout and recon, unless you fancy striding up there tomorrow, bold as brass and havin’ a knock on the front door?”

“You don’t always have to be so short, you know,” Robert said.

“I wouldn’t if you were more like your friend from the city here and didn’t ask so many stupid questions. Now, I’ll be gone for about three, four hours. I’ll come back and rest. In the morning, I’ll share what I learned, and we’ll coordinate a plan.”

Both Robert and Ronin agreed, though neither was up for being on first watch. It was decided on a coin toss that Robert happily won. He had his bedroll out within a minute, and in another two, he was sound asleep, his final thoughts of the day being that even the damp, rocky soil of the riverside can be comfortable if one is tired enough.

Ronin leaned back against a tall maple and did his best to stay alert. He grew restless though, and if he stayed in one place too long, he knew he would fall asleep. He therefore kept himself in motion, going over to the river every few minutes and splashing his face with the cold, crisp water. It ran very fast here, he noticed. When they had camped last night, the noise of the river was a soft, soothing trickle. Here, it was a dull roar, churning and thrashing about as if excited that it was near the Bay.

He occupied the time thinking about tomorrow, about the stronghold of the Dragoons, about Marisa, about Walter and whatever he was doing, and about Sophia again. That annoyed him, yet since meeting Robert’s sister, since getting that forceful and unwelcome reminder, and even though he convinced himself that the flash of memory was unwarranted, that she didn’t really look like Sophia, he just couldn’t shake it. You can’t unread what you read, his father once told him, and this was one time he wished his father had been wrong. It was a distraction, and one he particularly did not need right now.

He closed his eyes and tried to force his mind clear. It didn’t quite work out the way he hoped, but it did offer an alternative, he shifted his thoughts back to what lay ahead tomorrow. Hardly pleasant thoughts, to be sure, but at least the Dragoons were a problem he had a chance to deal with. He also hoped Walter wasn’t encountering any trouble. The outcome of this mission very much relied on his expertise. Ronin held few doubts about Walter though, he had definitely shown himself to be a capable ally, and he had little reason to think he wouldn’t return to camp in a few minutes.

He wouldn’t be disappointed.