April 10, 708 CR
Quoddy was relieved when the snow storm broke the previous evening. While he was no stranger to flying in such weather, this late in the year he was used to warmer weather and if there were any clouds, it was only the rains which were rarely torrential. The thunderstorms always came at night and he never liked to fly at night anyway.
Still, it cost him time and he had to exert himself to reach the headwaters of the Arabas river before nightfall. The sun was setting in the ocean to the southwest, casting an orange glow on everything. The whitewashed lighthouse standing atop the largest of the bluffs overlooking the sea glowed like burnished bronze. Quoddy gasped in relief and glided in for a landing atop its flat cupola.
He waited there for ten minutes preening himself before he saw a familiar black shape winging up from across the river to the north. Quoddy turned and lifted his wings as if he were drying them off like his brother needed to do, then leaped from the lighthouse and soared to the forests just south of the village. On an isolated bluff shielded from the town and from the fishermen he waited for his brother.
The cormorant swooped down a few minutes later and shook his wings for a moment before both of them grew to their most human and wing-hugged. Lubec's bright eyes fixed him as he tilted his head to one side. "I wasn't expecting to see you for another two days. Is everything okay, big brother?"
Quoddy puffed up his chest feathers and cawed, "Aye, and perhaps better even. Metamor has sent some one to kill Calephas and Gmork." Lubec's eyes widened. "We're to have our contacts bring as many weapons and men to Fjellvidden as we can. In just one week, everything could be over if the plan works."
Lubec bounced from one webbed foot to the other, long neck craning up and down. "Oh that is good news! What's the plan?"
The gull laughed and slapped his wings against his back. "It's ingenious. Lindsey hasn't told me all the details, but he'll be able to reach Calephas where he least expects it."
"Lindsey? Who is that?"
"He was on the timber crews at Metamor. He used to live here in Arabarb."
The cormorant nodded at last before shaking his head instead. His golden and black beat cracked in an almost avian shrug. "He sounds familiar, but I don't remember ever meeting him. But it is good that he's from here. My contact will be more likely to help knowing Lindsey is from this land." He folded his wings along his back and then glanced at the night sky. "What of your contact?"
Quoddy glanced back to the south and then returned to his brother. How he always felt better every time he saw his younger brothers. Truly they would spend the next year together at Metamor if he had his way.
"My contact is already gathering those he can and heading to Fjellvidden. I'll meet them there. But first I have to let Machais know too."
"Of course," Lubec bobbed his head up and down and then cawed softly. "I will let my contact know and we'll be waiting for you in Fjellvidden."
Quoddy hugged him again and the two birds rubbed heads together in brotherly affection. "I know you will. Now, I'm famished. Is there anything we can eat?"
Lubec squawked in laughter. "At this hour, it's fish the old fashioned way."
The seagull gave his cormorant brother an amused look. "Do you want me to get you one too, or do you want to dry your feathers off all night long?"
April 11, 708 CR
Fjellvidden castle was built on a declivity on the southern bank of the Arabas River, with its northern extent perched over the river itself, massive stone pylons sinking deep into the bed of the river. This provided an efficient sewage system for the castle, as well as a convenient means of torturing and killing prisoners. As such, the dungeons were at the lowest level of the northern wing, interspersed with several false floors that could open out and drop the prisoners into the water where they'd struggle and drown if the guards didn't pull them up again.
Even with entrances accessible from the swiftly flowing river they would not be used by Fjellvidden's enemies. The entire dungeons could be sealed and flooded with the turning of a few gears in the guardhouse chamber just above. No army could hope to reach that chamber even if they were able to breach the river-doors. The staircase leading up from the prison was twisted and narrow, allowing enough space only for a single man to walk.
On the contrary, the dungeon itself was wide open with columns providing architectural support. Over a hundred men could be chained to the floor and languishing in the cold, dark space lit only by a few scattered torches, and in a hazy stink of human refuse relieved only when the river gates were opened and the cold mountain river water would scour everything clean and drown a few of the weaker prisoners.
But Calephas didn't keep prisoners long anymore. Ever since Gmork's arrival there had not been a need. Those captured in acts of treason were either killed or pressed for information in Gmork's unique ways. Some of these were sent back out into Arabarb to act as spies. The rest gladly gave their bodies as food for Gmork and his children, or even to the few bands of Lutins left in Arabarb. After Nasoj's defeat most of the Lutins retreated back to the Giantdowns, but there were a few who enjoyed the comparative bounty to be had in the forests of Arabarb.
It was these creatures that were given the task of guarding the two prisoners currently in the dungeons. Both prisoners were grown men and kept perhaps two dozen yards apart in the gloom. Just enough that if they did decide to speak they would have to speak loudly; loud enough that Gmork's spells would overhear them.
Of the two prisoners, one was a red-bearded man showing signs of gray, of the typical physical stature and features of a man of Arabarb. The other was a stout man with broad shoulders, lighter colored hair, long scars gouging the side of his face, and an odd foreign set to his features. Of course, the more distinguishing features were the ears, pointed and coated in light gray fur, his nose which had broadened and flattened, lips that were cleft, and oddly swollen fingers and nails.
It was to the deformed man that Gmork turned when he entered the dungeons followed at a discrete distance by one of the Lutin hunters assigned to the castle. The prisoner, dressed in drab, black rags that clung loosely to his chest and legs, turned his ears as Gmork approached, but did not look up to meet his gaze.
"And how is my newest pup feeling today?" Gmork asked with a playful growl dancing on his tongue. He could feel the magical skill this man had winding ever tighter inside of him, seeking to escape Gmork's inevitable grip. The chains about his ankles were mere formalities; Gmork's mere will kept him prisoner more than any chains could.
Lowering on his twisted legs, Gmork leaned just over his latest acquisition. A month ago he'd been a simple traveler passing through the cleft in the mountains from the Giantdowns. He'd come straight for Fjellvidden, watched by Gmork's spies. With a frightening degree of intrepidity he'd gained entrance to the castle without alerting any of the Lutin or human guards, making his way to Calephas's chambers.
Gmork had been there instead.
And now this would-be assassin belonged to him. Gmork smiled, long fangs revealed behind thin, dark lips. "You do not answer your father?"
The stocky man's ears twitched and a little whine escaped his throat. The eyes, dark with flecks of golden light spreading through the iris, lifted to meet Gmork. They were at once full of hate and fear. Gmork reached out a hand and gently stroked his cheek, noting the strange scars on his cheeks and neck, and then ran one finger across the pointed and fur-covered ears. The fur was thicker than it had been a day ago.
In a sterner voice, Gmork again asked, "How do you feel, pup?"
His lips, once full but now thin and darkening, quivered for a moment before a dull red tongue slipped between the teeth to mutter, "Fine."
"Fine?"
His pup tried to stare at him defiantly, but Gmork's own gaze bored into him, touching that swirl of magical energy inside of him. The man's irises swelled larger, more beastly, before subsiding back to their normal size. He whined again, even more like a little dog, and murmured, "Fine, Father."
Gmork smiled and gently pet him across the head. The hair was unkempt and dirty, but felt smoother and fuller.
"Very good, my pup. I am your Father. Your will belongs to me and is mine to dispose of. Do you not feel the hunger I have? Do you not share it? Can you not smell it?"
At the very suggestion, the man's twisted nose flared and drank in the tapestry of odors that clung to Gmork. From the many animal skins he cloaked his misshaped body with, to the lingering stink of the Lutin who'd accompanied him, all of it would be soon known to his pup. He lingered for a moment on the sweet scent of trees and fresh breeze that Gmork had lately passed through in his twilight lope. And then, his tongue pressed itself anew between his teeth and began to glisten with saliva as his breathing intensified. His hands and hardened nails dug at the stone beneath him as he pushed himself forward an inch or two toward the small leather knapsack that Gmork had brought with him.
"Oh, you do." Gmork smiled again, and taking the knapsack, opened it and drew out a skin-wrapped hank of freshly killed thigh. Even in the feeble light from the torches, the deep red of the bloody shank was clear and vibrant. His pup craned forward a little bit more, panting even more visibly now. Gmork could see his teeth, once even and only mildly discolored, now straining at his gums and thoroughly yellowed.
With a succulent growl, Gmork whispered to his pup, "Do you want this? Ask for it."
The man's eyes lifted from the meat and he whined again, quivering, "May I have it... Father? May I eat it?"
Gmork's smile widened as he hunched closer. The other prisoner, if he were watching, would have been able to see Gmork's tail sweeping back and forth across the stone floor from beneath his cloaks. "It's human. You may have it."
His pup sucked his tongue back into his mouth and tried to inch away from the hank of flesh. Hunger now begat horror. He whimpered and shook his head back and forth. Had he a tail it would have tucked itself between his legs. Through the rags Gmork couldn't see if he'd gained such a beastly appendage but it shouldn't be long now. Still, his continued refusal to eat what he believed to be the flesh of a man - for he had long since believed whatever Gmork told him, except when it came to things about himself - frustrated Gmork. Until he could eat human flesh ravenously and without compunction, the transformation could never be complete. It wouldn't suffice to make him appear like himself; he had to think and behave that way too.
The hank of flesh was really from a deer, but there was no use in telling him that just yet. In sultry words, Gmork leaned over, letting his face press out into a narrow snout as he growled, his words now guttural but still plain. "You are hungry, my pup. You have asked my permission to eat. I have given it. You are hungry. This is food. All things, but your father and siblings, are food for you, my pup. All things. This too. You are hungry. So very hungry. It has been days since you last tasted blood. You yearn for blood."
As Gmork spoke of the new pup's hunger and taste for blood, his eyes flicked furtively down at the tender, red flesh. The hank was torn at either end where Gmork's jaws had severed the leg from hip and knee, but the ends of the bone were visible and glistened a golden hue in the torchlight. The tongue pressed against the back of his teeth.
"That's right, my pup. You are very, so very, very hungry. But you are in no position to eat it like that. No pup of mine would eat sitting. Turn over; crouch as do I."
The pup trembled and closed his eyes, ears turning down as if to shut out the words. Gmork felt across the swirling madness of his magical core with his carnal instinct, chiding him for every man-like ideal he encountered in his pup's scattered thoughts. Justice? Only those willing to eat would be filled. Mercy? An invitation to ruin and starvation. Truth? The only truth that mattered was his hunger, the food before him, and his father's beckoning command.
Slowly, with every ounce of resistance struggling the whole way, the man pulled his legs underneath him and rolled over until he was on his hands and knees. With an unsteady push, he eased himself onto his unshod feet, the tops of which were flecked with the same gray fur on his ears, and leaned forward on toes swollen and crooked. The sheer exertion of fighting Gmork's will left him panting from exhaustion.
"Oh, my pup. You are hungry. You need to eat to live. I have been a good father to you. I have brought you food to sate yourself. Eat it. Eat it like the beast you are."
Gmork picked up the meat in one hand and lifted it so that the scent of it was plain to his pup's nose. The man shuddered as his nose drank in the tantalizing aroma of a fresh kill. His hands lifted to snatch the meat from Gmork but paused halfway. Instead he drove his fists into the stone and Gmork's grip on his magical core faltered. "No!" He snapped with indignation and force unbecoming the whining pup he'd been a second before. "I will not eat the flesh of man... Father."
Gmork lowered the meat, knowing that it would do no good to press any further today. His mind and will were already twisted enough that even in defiance he still knew he was but a pup. It was progress. Not as much as Gmork had hoped for, but progress nevertheless.
He betrayed none of his disappointment, growling his words and lifting furred ears high over his sloped brow. "Not today, no. But you needn't fear. This is not the flesh of man."
His pup's tongue immediately pressed back between his teeth and saliva dripped across his lips. The defiance, like a wick extinguished, was gone. He held out his hands, stubby fingers twitching eagerly. "May I have it to eat, Father?"
Gmork set the hank of flesh on the stone before his pup and nodded. "But not with your hands."
The pup put his hands palm down on the stone and bent over the hank, tearing at it ravenously with his teeth, smearing his face in the blood. Gmork felt a surge of delight at the sight. Another week or two, a month at the most, and his newest pup would be ready to leave the dungeons and take his place in Gmork's family. And on that day, he'd tear a child of Arabarb to pieces merely because Gmork willed it; and he'd enjoy it too.
While his pup fed, he turned his gaze to the other prisoner in the dungeons. The red-bearded man watched him with dull but sombre eyes. His sallow cheeks belied an iron will and dangerous blood. Gmork let his snout retract back into a more human visage as he loped on all fours a little nearer this other prisoner. The Lutin guard watching them kept far back, refusing to approach this other prisoner.
Gmork wasted no time here. He didn't even like being in his presence. "Have you anything you wish to tell us?"
The man's laconic gaze irritated Gmork. If not for Calephas's interest in the man, he would have been drowned in the river two months ago when they'd captured him. A faint smile appeared through his beard. "Nothing today."
"So be it." Gmork loped back to his pup, noted that he was still chewing madly and gorging himself on the fresh kill, and then straightened as much as he was able, and walked back to the stairs leaving the dungeon. The Lutin guard followed him up, closing the heavy iron door and locking it behind them.
He was only halfway up the twisted stairs when he met one of his other children, this one draped in clothes that had at one time been fine but were now stained and dirty mockeries of their former elegance. Fur poked through several holes along his arms and upper back, and a naked whip-like tail dangled through a gash rent in the seat of his trousers. His eyes, arctic blue from eyelid to nose except for the coal black pupil, gazed at Gmork with fawning adoration. "Father! One of your pets has news you need to hear."
Gmork smiled and stroked his eldest pup between the ears. They grew pointed and fur-coated in appreciation. "Very good. Let us go to the Listening Room and see what the little pet has to say."
The listening room was three floors above the dungeons in the northern wing of the castle. This wing Calephas had essentially ceded to Gmork for his purposes so long as he did not interfere when Calephas wished to see the prisoners himself.
In the center of the structure, well hidden from any windows, was a room that had once served as some servant's bedroom. Gmork had fitted shelving along the walls, and in each of the many nooks had placed one of the baubles he'd collected, and into which he'd taken the will of his puppets. There were no lights in the small room as there was no need. The glowing baubles cast shadows in every direction and filled the room with bronze twilight.
Gmork and his eldest pup entered and crouched before the western wall filled with over a hundred little baubles. Only six of them remained dark. When they were filled he would have to kill some of his puppets before he could make more. It took over a year to fashion a single bauble. Until he had at least a dozen pups who could tend to the pets and to each other, Gmork could not spare the time. He growled and salivated at the thought of ripping out Nasoj's throat; that betrayer had slayed his other pups a year past. At least he had been able to save his baubles when he escaped from Nasojassa.
"Which one was it?" Gmork asked. The pup loped to the shelves, not daring to stand higher than his father, and tapped two separate baubles with his shrunken hands. "Bring them to me."
The pup obeyed, carefully depositing the glowing spheres at Gmork's feet. He crouched lower, his cloak of furs crumpling across the ground around him. He rolled the baubles in his hands, licking each of them once and then listening to the voices within. They didn't want to talk to him, but they had no choice. They never did. He spoke softly to them, asking them what they knew. And then he knew everything that they knew. It took several minutes, but soon all that he wanted was his.
He offered both baubles back to his pup who was quick to return them to their reliquary. Gmork pondered what he'd learned for only a moment before rising and declaring, "I must tell the Baron what I have learned. Stay and listen to my little pets."
"I will, Father!" his pup bayed eagerly, naked tail sprouting fur in patches as it wagged. Gmork gently stroked a hand down his head and neck before leaving the room behind and venturing south through the castle.
The portion of Fjellvidden castle situated on the southern bank of the Arabas was more conventional and patrolled by Calephas's human and Lutin soldiers. Still, it held its dark secrets and after asking one of Calephas's senior soldiers where the Baron was entertaining himself, he headed down toward the cellars near where the river doors were and where one of those dark secrets continued.
He found Calephas behind an iron door in an almost immaculately kept room. A tiger Keeper who bore nothing but a collar and harness was rubbing the floor with towels to clean up something that smelled acrid and made Gmork's nose cringe. Calephas was bent over a broad oaken table with beakers and bottles arrayed in a deliberately confusing profusion. A small censer kept one of the bottles heated, and the yellowish fluid inside bubbled with brisk abandon.
Chained to the far wall opposite the table was a young boy of perhaps ten years of age. He had no clothes on, though whatever comeliness he'd once possessed was now marred by unnatural deformities in his skull, chest, arms, and legs that warped and twisted his bones. Gmork was disappointed to see that the child had passed out from whatever pain he'd endured, and a long, thick tongue dangled from his twisted and narrow jaws. The skin along his sides and back had hardened like a thousand scabs and pressed together and blossomed a rich purple like a fresh bruise.
The boy's arms were forced back so that they jutted out of his shoulder blades and dangled uselessly at his sides. And his legs were splayed on either side of his hips, the toes curled so tightly that even in his unconsciousness it looked as if they were causing him pain. Gmork sneered in distaste at the pungent dry scent that emerged from the spent child's flesh. In another day he was sure to be a carcass cast into the river and devoured by fish.
"What is it, Gmork?" Calephas asked as he set a pair of bottles down with a sigh. "I asked you not to interrupt me while I'm here."
Gmork straightened for a moment, smiling with confidence as he clenched his nostrils tight to keep from taking in anymore vile odors. "Unless the news was of Metamor, which it is."
The tall aristocrat turned and gazed at him with baby blue eyes that betrayed anything but innocence. "Have they sent more spies?"
"An assassin," Gmork replied. "One who is native to Arabarb and who knows the land very well. He is coming to Fjellvidden now and should be here in a day or so."
Calephas grunted. "Metamorians are easy to spot. Even if he did once live here, I have no doubt you'll find him before he is within a mile of the castle."
The beastly Gmork shook his head ever so slowly. "I have not sensed the telltale signature of the Metamor Curse anywhere in your lands, oh my Baron. He may not have suffered the Curse. The horse rules lands that have been spared it."
"True," Calephas admitted and began to stroke his clean-shaven chin with one hand. "That would be a clever move on their part. It's about time they finally had a clever idea. Nevertheless, I expect you to identify this assassin and capture him. My men are at your disposal of course."
"What orders may I give?" He hated being subservient to the Baron, but it was necessary for a time until he had replenished his children. Then Arabarb would be his hunting grounds and its people his flock and food. On that day, Calephas's head would decorate a pike until the scent of his fouled blood was too much to bear. But until then, he was a dutiful servant and sometimes partner to the disciple of Lilith and Suspira.
"Nothing new. Let him think he has caught us unawares. The safer he feels, the more easy he will be to spot."
"Just what I thought as well," Gmork admitted with begrudging respect. At least Calephas did think like a beast.
"Good. Now, see to it. I have a few more experiments that I wish to perform then I fear I'm going to need a new boy." Calephas glanced at the unconscious monstrosity and shook his head as if disappointed in his victim. "Make that a new order. You know which ones I like best."
Gmork knew very well. "I will do as you ask, my Baron." With that he backed out and left Calephas to his grotesque fleshcraft.
April 12, 708 CR
For much of the next two days, Lindsey and Pharcellus spent them laying in the wagon and watching what they could see of the world slip past. The road took them across several small rivers and after the first day, all of them flowed north toward the Arabas. On the second day were passed by a compliment of soldiers who insisted on inspecting Elizabaeg's wares. The hidden compartment proved its worth and after claiming some of the foodstuffs as an impromptu levy, they let Elizabaeg continue on her way.
The third day out from Vaar brought them to the long slope down toward the river bluffs and Fjellvidden. By midday they could see the city and its ramparts, a gray, drab collection of not very inspiring architecture hugging the southern banks of the Arabas. Hovels clustered about the walls, through which sheep, pigs, and cattle milled. To the east of the castle the land rose steeply, and across the gorge stretched an old stone bridge. The northern bluffs, as Charles had once described to Lindsey, were still dominated by Lutin encampments.
There had been a day when the Lutins had been pressed back into the tundra in the far north of Arabarb. Now they squatted in its most important city. They even held the gatehouses at either end of the bridge and who knew how many other important defenses for the city. Lindsey trembled in fury at the sight of it.
The road wound down a gentle slope before turning east to reach the city's western gates. Neither Lindsey nor Pharcellus said anything on that long descent. And once they joined the east-west road, Elizabaeg hid them in the wagon again.
The guard at the town gate apparently recognized Lindsey's mother, or rather her disguise, and allowed them into Fjellvidden after only a cursory examination. Through the wood and blankets they could smell the scent of bad fish, poor sewage, and whatever decrepitude the Lutins had left behind. They heard the crunch of wagon wheels on stone, the clop of hooves, the sound of a distant blacksmith, the cawing of birds, and precious little else.
Lindsey felt Pharcellus's hand on his shoulder and he was grateful for it. He'd always wondered what it would be like to have a big brother and was very grateful to learn now. He put his much smaller hand on the dragon's and patted it gently. And then grunted when the wagon bumped loudly over the stones. The grip on his shoulder tightened for a moment before the wagon came to a complete stop.
They listened as Elizabaeg climbed down and spoke to somebody else. They heard a pair of booted feet approaching, but Lindsey couldn't understand what they said. The conversation was brief, followed by the wagon moving again. After a few bumps, the ride became smooth as the horses and wagon wheels rode across wood. The little light they had coming through the enclosed compartment dwindled to almost nothing.
And then the wagon top opened and Elizabaeg smiled down through her false beard at them. "It's safe to get out now, Chellag." She looked at Lindsey and swallowed. "Andirg, you can come out now. We're safe here."
"Who are these?" a man's voice asked from behind the wagon.
Pharcellus and Lindsey shimmied out of the hiding hole in the bottom of the wagon and saw that they were inside a small workshop. Along the floor and walls were pieces to hulls, tar, pitch, wooden nails, and an assortment of tools. Their host must be a shipwright, Lindsey guessed. Which meant they had to be very close to the river's edge.
Their host was a tall broad man, even larger than Alfwig or Gerhard by at least a hand if not two. He dressed in several layers of oiled sealskin and kept his bright-hued beard in one of the tightest braids Lindsey had ever seen. And judging by its length the shipwright was old enough to have his first grandchildren. He eyed them both dubiously.
"These are my nephews," Elizabaeg lied, "Chellag and Andrig."
He nodded. "And who are they really?"
Elizabaeg smiled briefly. "My son and a friend. They are here to help us kill the monsters."
"And we will," Lindsey assured him. "Do not judge either of us by our appearances."
"You speak well for you age," the shipwright noted.
"I have been to Metamor."
The man stared at him for several seconds before the import of those words struck him. His lips creased in a faint smile. "I see. But that means you are still a child."
"A child that can think like a man. Now who, sir, are you?"
The smile widened slightly, but there was a wary distance in his eyes. The shipwright was impressed, but still unsure. "Vysterag. Shipbuilder and fisherman. One time sealhunter, but those days were a long time ago."
Pharcellus busied himself with inspecting the half-constructed hulls stacked along the near wall, but his head was half-turned to show that he was paying attention. Vysterag watched him out of the corner of one eye, but most of his focus was on the ten year old Lindsey. "Seals are along the coasts. Why did you come to Fjellvidden?"
"To protect my family. They stay safely hidden, and I stay where I can keep an eye on you know who." He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his three visitors with a skeptical stare. "Now that you're here in Fjellvidden, what can we do for you?"
Lindsey glanced at his mother. She stroked her hands down the flanks of her horses once before meeting Vysterag's firm regard. "We need a place to stay while here that is hidden. Others will be coming in a few days. We need to be ready to strike as soon as my son had killed those monsters. And... I need a place to keep my horses and wagon that won't draw much attention."
"He has watchers in the two Inns that haven't been ruined in the last ten years. And after what happened to Alfwig, Ture is also watched. Strom can probably take care of the horses and your wagon; his paddocks are big enough, but you'll never be able to slip away quietly there if things don't work."
"I'm not intending to slip away, quietly or otherwise," Lindsey pointed out. "Does Strom own cattle?"
"Sheep and pigs," Vysterag replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "He helps keep the soldiers fed so they don't look at him too closely. I keep them in boats and fish so its the same for me."
He pursed his lips in thought. "Are there ways to get into the castle from the river?"
"None of them easy. You'd have to fight the current to reach the river dock beneath the castle. The monster keeps a ship there for his own purposes. It's a fast yawl - he could sail by himself if he needed to - but big enough to carry supplies that would last him two, three months."
"Has he ever taken it out?"
"A few times a year and always under heavy guard. It takes a dozen men to row it back into the dock, and I'm told the anchor weighs as much as any two men. But it's sea worthy. If you need to escape the castle, he'd never catch you if you stole it."
"Could we get closer to the castle? Along the water I mean. I think I'd like to take a look at it tonight before we move."
Vysterag nodded. "Fishing is best at twilight. We have a couple hours. Go to Strom's; he'll give you something to eat and a place to rest your head. Then come back here and we'll do a little fishing."
Pharcellus turned fully to face them and hooked his thumbs through his makeshift belt. "I'd like to come too. Do you have enough room?"
"For a child and a young man? There'll be plenty of room. I could even claim you both as apprentices if I must."
Elizabaeg sighed heavily and climbed back onto the wagon. "Thank you, Vysterag. I'll let Strom know that you sent us, and my boys will see you again in a couple of hours."
Knowing that his mother wouldn't be there upset Lindsey strangely. He'd gotten used to having her there to keep watch over him and protect him the last few days. Even Vysterag seemed surprised. "You won't be coming along?"
She shook her head, her faux beard waving back and forth. "There's other preparations I must make tonight. My boys can take care of themselves. I am not afraid for them. I know you will take good care of them."
The last she added with some meaningful weight that made Vysterag's brow furrow uncomfortably. He nodded quickly and waved one hand in dismissal. "In sooth. I will see you in two hours then. You two might want to get back into hiding. I'm going to open the doors again. They've been closed too long as it is."
Lindsey and Pharcellus were quick to heed his advice.
Quoddy felt a surge of relief when, after flying the last day through crisp, cool air over a landscape of scrub, grasses, and long stretches of snow and ice, he saw his youngest brother Machias perched on the signal rock overlooking a placid sea. The shoreline was encrusted with ice, but it had already broken in long stretches through the various rocks and fissures that formed the coastline. These rocks stretched for over a hundred yards before the first of the scrub could be seen. One ridge of granite stood amidst lower sheaves of basalt, and on its highest point rested Machias.
The puffin turned and waved to him with one wing as he swooped in to join him. For miles in every direction the tundra was empty but for other birds come back early for the pleasant and nightless summers. It made the choice of this barren rock a particularly safe one for their meeting. They both shifted into their most human, hugged with their wings, and cawed in delight.
Machias's orange and black beak creased in a boisterous grin. "Quoddy! I expected to see Lubec. What are you doing this far north?"
Quoddy took a minute to catch his breath after the long flight against the wind, and then said in as excited a voice as he could manage, "Metamor's sent help at last. I just saw Lubec two days ago. We're supposed to gather what we can of the resistance and go to Fjellvidden."
Machias's dark eyes and golden lids widened, making his white cheeks even brighter by comparison. "Already? It's going to take me all night to pass that news along!"
"My contact in the south is already heading north with weapons and several others in the Resistance. Lubec's contact is doing the same." Quoddy looked over his shoulder and folded his wings behind his back. "He's staying with them and will meet us there."
"Well, the wind will be at our backs if we go southeast," Machias murmured. "We can reach Fjellvidden in two days, a day and a half if we're lucky." He then turned to the seagull and sighed in exasperation. "Oh brother, how have you fared down south? It's so different here than flying down south."
"It is," Quoddy admitted as he began to settle down on the rock, his taxed muscles begging for rest. "And if all goes well in the next few days, we'll be heading back to Metamor soon enough."
He cawed a laugh. "I would love to see that crazy dragon again."
"You will," Quoddy squawked in real excitement. "He'll meet us in Fjellvidden."
Machias turned his head to one side in an avian look of bewilderment. "How is he going to stay hidden? He's bigger than any four houses I've seen here!"
"He can take on a human form. Oh goodness, there's much more to tell. But it'll have to wait. I'm famished and tired. Is there anything to eat, and any place to rest out of this wind?"
"I have a good place out of the wind I'll show you. And there's plenty of fish. I'll find something for you. And then I'll go and tell my contacts the good news. What should I tell them?"
Quoddy hunkered down a little further and said softly, "Just that they need to be ready to seize the castle once our assassin had killed Calephas and Gmork. Oh, and the assassin is from Arabarb. Don't forget to mention that."
Machias shrugged his wings. "They might not believe it; is there anything more I can tell them?"
Quoddy shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. We can't risk the wrong person hearing the plan. They just have to trust us."
"Well," Machias murmured glumly, "I'll do my best to convince them tonight. Tomorrow we'll fly together to Fjellvidden. Now let's get you someplace out of the wind and some food." His beak cracked in a smile again. "It's so good to see you."
"And you too," the brothers wing-hugged again before the puffin and gull waddled off the high rock to a sheltered alcove away from the arctic wind.
Strom lived on the southern outskirts of the city where he grazed sheep and pigs. A stone and wooden building with high ceiling served as the paddocks. Elizabaeg hid the wagon and horses within, repositioned her goods so that the boys could sleep inside the wagon comfortably, and then spoke with Strom privately.
Their host was an older man with only one eye who was on the declining years of vitality. His frame was lean and his skin, tough as leather, now stretched and sagged over his bones. At one time he would have been as strong as an ox, but the years and deprivations of living beneath Calephas's boot had robbed him of all but what he needed to tend his flocks.
While his mother was occupied, Lindsey donned an extra bear-hide cloak and followed Pharcellus back through the streets of Fjellvidden. His older brother - rather the dragon masquerading as his older brother - led him quickly between the rows of decrepit houses that slumped against each other. They waited at the end of each alley to be sure that the streets were empty before they dared to cross. Lindsey felt terribly exposed and a little frightened every time they were forced to cross one of the larger streets. But Pharcellus held his hand, and the two of them were able to do it together.
With night coming soon the streets were mostly empty to begin with. Only once did they see a bored squad of soldiers walking down the street. But they entered one of the taverns before even passing where the two boys hid. They saw no one else.
They found Vysterag gathering nets and oars in his shop. The blond-haired northerner looked them both over before grunting, "Did anyone see you?"
"No, Master," Lindsey replied, still clutching Pharcellus's hand. "No one saw us."
"Good. No one will notice a man and two boys going to docks to fish. Here, Andrig, you can carry the lantern. Chellag, help me with the oars and nets."
Lindsey did as he was told, and wrapped his hands around the brass ring attached to the top of the oil lantern. He noted that it was designed with a metal hood that could focus the light if lowered. He made a mental note of where it was before following Pharcellus and Vysterag out of the shop and around to the back. A wooden staircase descended along the steep bank, paralleling an old ruined stone staircase that was swallowed by vegetation, snow, and ice. The sun didn't shine on the bank, and it quickly became even colder, and their feet struck patches of ice every few steps.
He lost count of how many steps there were sometime after twelve so started over again and got just as high again when they reached the bottom. The river had bored out a section of the hillside, and the crumbling rocks created a calm basin in which ships and fishermen could move about without being swept downstream by the very strong seasonal current. The wharves were a mix of wood and old stone, and apart from two caravels that hadn't been used since before the winter, there was a mix of a dozen smaller craft. Vysterag selected a dinghy, but did not bother to raise the sail. He set the nets along the port side, and gestured for the two of them to climb aboard.
He took the lantern from Lindsey and hung it on a hook at the bow before untying the boat from the dock. He then sat down in the stern and began paddling backward. Pharcellus sat in the bow and began paddling as well. Lindsey sat down on the starboard side and used the last paddle. The water splashed on his arms but he couldn't feel it through his thick hides.
Once they were clear of the docks, Vysterag turned the dinghy to face upriver toward the castle. The sky overhead was clear but quickly darkening. The gibbous moon gave the water a faint glow. They rowed in silence for a few minutes, moving east beyond the other ships, and especially the two caravels that lurked like ominous shadows. Lindsey ducked lower against the hull as they slid past them. Then he slipped a few smooth stones he'd found from the little pouch at his side and skipped them across the water.
"What are you doing?" Vysterag asked him in a sudden harsh whisper.
Lindsey crouched lower and said, "Nothing." He hated to admit it to himself, but he sounded far too defensive and childish. Glumly, he shoved the stones back in his pouch and decided to try rowing again.
Vysterag stopped rowing once they felt the current begin to push them back. He took an anchor and heaved it overboard, arresting their backward momentum, and letting them drift in place. The current aligned the boat so that the bow and lantern were pointed toward the castle. "This will do," he said softly. "No one can hear us out here, but keep your voices down. There might not be any ice on this water, but it will still kill you before we can warm you if you fall in."
Lindsey eased back from the side of the hull and sat just beneath the yardarm. Vysterag crouched over to the fish nets and began unrolling them from one end. "Chellag, come help me with this. We have to at least look like we're fishing."
Pharcellus scuttled over and together the two of them unrolled the fish net and cast it into the water. The current dragged it behind them, but they were able to drag it back in without difficulty. A few fish were caught in the net, and these they dumped into the small hold beneath where Lindsey sat.
"Good," Vysterag noted. "Poor catch here means we can keep moving closer to the castle. Can either of you see anything?"
Lindsey moved to the lantern and lowered the hood so that the light didn't shine back on him. The castle loomed before them even though it was easily another hundred yards upriver. The northern wing hunched onto a ledge of rock jutting up from the river, though a portion descended beneath the surface of the water, iron grates rusted and old letting the river flow through the space. The stone would eventually rot away, but during the Summer and Fall the river level would be low enough and the current slow enough that repairs could be made when necessary.
But despite this, there were no low windows of parapets that could be reached even by the most seasoned of climbers. There was no way to enter the castle, or to escape it, from the northern wing.
The rest of the castle was more conventional though still a fortress against all invaders. The curtain wall at one time enclosed all of Fjellvidden, but now the outer bailey had been abandoned and all defenses had been turned to the inner bailey. Even from the river Lindsey could see that guards manned the battlements, but he couldn't quite see what weapons they carried, nor how many there were.
He could hear them cast the net a second time and then a third time while he studied the castle. The soldiers he could see were all human, though judging by their build, many of them were not from Arabarb. Who were they then and where did they come from? He asked Vysterag.
"Remnants of Nasoj's army that didn't want to go back in defeat. He has the pass to the Giantdowns blockaded in case Nasoj or anyone else should attack."
"Is most of his army foreign?" Pharcellus asked as he tossed flopping fish into the hold.
"I don't know. But it seems that way. But he still has enough natives to keep the entire country from going up in flames. But there's only so much we can take."
"So why is the Resistance so small?" Lindsey asked, not turning from his contemplation. He was beginning to make out more details, but they were still too far away to be sure.
"The mage. If not for him, we'd have put that monster's head on a pike already." Vysterag sat down in the stern and grunted. "Let's row a little further in. There has to be more fish up ahead."
Both Pharcellus and Lindsey began rowing at the bow even before the shipwright had raised the anchor. By the time Vysterag began to row, they were cutting across the current back into calmer waters. The castle neared and its shadows stretched up and across the northern bluffs.
Lindsey pointed in delight when the torches along the battlements were lit one by one. And more were lit inside the castle. Now he could see the windows along the entire western flank of the castle. Most were too narrow even for a boy like him. They were arrow slits solely for defense, and, he realized with some dismay, almost all of them pointed toward the river. But there were a few balconies overlooking the water that might provide a means of escape if he were truly desperate.
By the time Vysterag dropped the anchor again, they were reaching the lip of the cove in to which the docks had been built. They could see strands of silvery light racing back and forth across the river's surface just ahead of them; if they dared row into that they'd be swept downstream too quickly to return to the safety of the cove.
"This is as far as we can go," Vysterag pointed out with a sigh. "The fish should be good here. Put your back into it, Chellag. Andrig, keep watch for us."
Lindsey nodded and turned the lantern with one hand to make it less obvious that they were looking at the castle. Instead, he focused on the shield of land running along the river's bank to the base of the fortress. High walls lined the top of the bank, but they reflected the light well, giving Lindsey the ability to see the foundations.
Nestled in a crook of the castle, he saw a small seadoor and yawl anchored there. He couldn't discern any details in the door, but he knew that even if he could reach it, it would be locked from the inside. And with the current flowing against them there was no way to reach it. The yawl looked big enough for a dozen sailors, and small enough for two or three. If he could find a way to get through that door, it would make for the perfect escape route. Or the perfect entrance. But it would take magic of a kind he did not possess to bridge that distance. Even a force of soldiers riding the current down from upriver would be swept and dashed against the northern bluffs as they passed the castle.
Lindsey sighed and turned away from the recessed alcove and studied the towers. The main castle had a sloped roof like a longhouse framed at the four corners by squat towers. Each tower was peaked with a cone. He doubted Pharcellus would find any place he could land as a dragon. Despite that hardship, he made note of as much of the castle details as he could while the other two fished.
After almost a half hour of scrutiny, Vysterag announced, "Well, we've filled half our hold. We ought not linger. Are you satisfied?"
"Enough," Lindsey admitted. Even with the moon shining over the city and the stars bright in the sky it was becoming increasingly difficult to make out any details. "It'll have to do. Let's go back."
Vysterag hauled the anchor and let the current push them back toward the wharves. The shipwright corrected their course, while Pharcellus and Lindsey rowed to speed the dinghy along. Within ten minutes they were easing back against the dock. Lindsey took the lantern while Vysterag and Pharcellus carried the net with their catch back up the stairs. They'd caught at least a few dozen if not fifty decent sized salmon. He hated to imagine what climbing the stairs would be like with a full net!
They saw no soldiers on the way back up and reached the shop without incident. Vysterag gestured to a large wooden open-faced box and said, "Dump the fish here. I'll take care of them. You two have done enough for one evening."
"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Pharcellus asked.
"I usually do this on my own. I'll be fine. Now get back to Strom's. The patrols are always worse after dark."
They thanked him and returned to the twilit city. Once off the river they could see the last tip of the sun's rays as it set behind the long hilly slopes to the south. The moon was in the southeast but climbing quickly. This far north it would never rise very high, but high enough that they could see everything clearly enough.
Lindsey slipped his hand into the teenager's and the two of them darted from alley to alley retracing their steps from an hour ago. They had crossed only two streets when they ran into a trio of soldiers coming out of a side door directly into the alley. The door clipped Lindsey in the side and he stumbled to the ground, his hood thrown back as he fell. The three soldiers stared at him for a few seconds before they began to smile. "Well, what do we have here. Out after dark, huh?" They began to laugh.
Pharcellus kicked the nearest one in the groin so quickly that the other two were still laughing even as he crumpled. With a swift tug, Pharcellus dragged Lindsey to his feet and they ran through the twisting passages, across the next street, right behind another patrol, and into the alleys again. Sounds of pursuit followed them a moment later.
"Go that way and cut them off," they heard a hard voice shout. And it was answered with voices before them in the alley. Pharcellus yanked Lindsey hard down a side passage that was pitch black. Lindsey stubbed his toe on something and had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out. He so wished his mother were here.
The dark path continued for a few feet before turning. Pharcellus didn't seem to have any trouble avoiding the walls that pressed close on either side as the shouting voices echoed around them. Lindsey bumped into them with nearly every other step.
After the third turn they saw a sliver of light ahead. Pharcellus stopped, sniffed the air, and then proceeded more cautiously. Lindsey swallowed, tigthening his grip on his big brother's hand. Step by step they neared the shaft of light. Six steps away and Lindsey could see that it opened onto another alley. Three steps away and he could see that the alley was narrow but that a turn to the right would bring them to the next street and into the moonglow.
One step away and one of the soldiers stepped in front of the opening and grabbed Pharcellus by the shirt and dragged them both out. Pharcellus let go of Lindsey's hand, but the boy was too close; the soldier grabbed him too. His face was angry, but he didn't have any weapons in hand. And to their surprise he did not shout, only whispered. "If he wasn't looking for another boy for his bed, I'd let the others harass you. Stay right here and I'll make sure they don't find you."
"I don't trust you," Pharcellus said in a voice that betrayed no fear. Lindsey tried not to quiver next to him.
"Good. Now stay put." The soldier let go of them both and walked out into the street. He was a fairly young man, Lindsey realized, just young enough to have been a potential victim of Calephas's lusts when he'd first come to Arabarb ten years ago. And then he disappeared down the street, running and shouting. "This way! I saw them go this way!" His voice and footsteps receded.
Both of them held their breath as they backed up into the darkened corridor. A few more booted feet ran past the opening, but none of them came down the alley. They waited for another minute but didn't hear anyone else. Tentatively, Pharcellus stepped back out into the alley, and then glanced up and down the street. He tugged on Lindsey's hand and the two of them raced across.
A few minutes later they were slipping through the doors to Strom's paddocks to join the bleating sheep and grunting pigs in the warmth and safety. They saw neither Strom nor Elizabaeg waiting for them. Lindsey leaned against one of the sheep pens and breathed heavily. "Why did he let us go?"
"They may serve him, but they don't like him." Pharcellus suggested softly as he stretched and looked around. "I thought you wanted to be captured?"
Lindsey licked his lips and then shook his head. "I do. Just not yet. It's too early. None of the others will be here for another two to three days. I can't risk being captured just yet. We're not ready for it."
"Very true," Pharcellus agreed. He walked over to the where the wagon was stowed in a corner at the other end of the paddock. The animals bleated at him as he passed but otherwise ignored them. Lindsey followed and saw the dragon peering into the wagon hold.
Lindsey chuckled without mirth. "Are you ready to sleep already? I don't want to get back in there just yet. Been in there for three days."
Pharcellus turned back around and smiled. He twirled one of his short beard braids with his free hand. "Just making sure everything is ready here. Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Looking for?"
"At the castle."
"Oh! Aye, I believe so. There's a few ways to escape from there that might work. But it is still heavily defended and we're going to need to breach the gatehouse quickly once I kill Calephas and Gmork. Have you noticed that nobody wants to say their names here? Vysterag called Gmork the mage, and everyone calls Calephas the monster."
"They are afraid of magical scrying. To say their names is to invite their attention." Pharcellus glanced beyond the walls of the paddocks as if he could see straight into the castle where those two malefactors waited. "We shouldn't say them either."
Lindsey rubbed his hands together and frowned. "Can you see any of their magic?"
"I've looked when I could. There is definitely something vile taking place in that castle. I couldn't see what. Mayhap others better trained would know. I'm still pretty young and inexperienced. Flying that fox and his friends around doesn't count for much."
The sudden onset of modesty made Lindsey laugh, but he couldn't quite say why. "But you tell such great stories about them!"
"That I am good at doing!" Pharcellus replied with a wide grin. "And I've already figured out quite a few that will impress anyone who listens when we get back."
"Would you tell me one?" Lindsey's sudden good humor, and the prospect of a story, banished all the fears that had rattled him in the last ten minutes. "We don't have anything else to do."
Pharcellus climbed up on the wagon and gestured for him to do the same. Lindsey gladly did so. "Well," the dragon said with a faint laugh, "I guess one won't hurt. And this is one you don't know. It's about my trip along the coast with the birds."
Lindsey cuddled up in the quilts and listened with rapt attention.
April 13, 708 CR
Neither Elizabaeg nor Strom returned by the time that Pharcellus extinguished the lanterns and bade Lindsey go to sleep. In his dreams Lindsey was shooting squirrels and rabbits with a slingshot. Pharcellus was there as his older brother who congratulated him on each of his kills and together they took them home to their mother and father to eat. Only they were in a boat and he was skipping stones while Pharcellus fished; he managed to skip one stone all the way across the lake. And then they were both flying through the air, cool but pleasant with the ground rushing past beneath them, everything and everyone so small but so clear.
He woke to the bleating of the sheep as Strom drove them out to pasture. He blinked and for a moment wondered where his big brother was before remembering that Pharcellus was only pretending to be his brother. Lindsey shook his head to clear it, dressed himself, and climbed out of the wagon.
"There you are," Pharcellus said with a bright laugh. "I thought you'd need your sleep after last night. Any nightmares?"
"No," he replied. The dreams were already fading from his mind, but he knew they had been enjoyable ones. "No nightmares. You?"
"I dreamed I was chasing a mountain goat and that I was bouncing across the ground like a rabbit as I did so." Pharcellus's human face twisted into an expression of pure bewilderment. "It was very strange. Now, Elizabaeg will be bringing us something to eat soon. She was contacting the other members of the Resistance that she knows in Fjellvidden."
"How many?"
"She didn't say, but I don't think there were that many. She and Strom returned shortly after you fell asleep."
"Will they help us?"
Pharcellus nodded. "They will. We merely need to devise a signal for them. You are the one who is going to kill the monster and mage. What signal are you going to give them?"
Lindsey frowned and realized to his chagrin that he hadn't even considered that. How would he let them know that the tyrants were dead? Finally, he shook his head and sat down on top of the wagon. "I don't know. I'll think of something, something dramatic that will be impossible to miss. If I have to I'll throw the monster's head over the bailey walls."
The dragon laughed. "That would do it."
"Now comes the hard part," Lindsey said with a sour expression. "Getting to them and killing them. I only have one chance."
"To become an adult again, aye," Pharcellus agreed with a nod of his head. He then stared more deeply into the boy's face with his steady gray eyes. "But you may have more than one chance to kill them. There is a difference. And I will help you, never forget that."
"Did you see anything to defend the castle against dragons?"
"There were a few spells I thought were aimed at dragons. But I already have three soldiers upset at me. I'm sure it won't take much to convince them I need to be in the dungeons. Once inside, those spells won't matter."
"Ha! I like that. If they take me and you don't hear from me in a day, do that." Lindsey lowered his eyes and clasped his hands before him. "Tomorrow. I'm going to let myself be captured tomorrow."
Pharcellus put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you frightened?"
"Aye. Very. But that's not why I say tomorrow. That will give whoever is coming to our aid enough time to arrive. I just hope to see Quoddy and the others before I go. I miss him already. Did... did they really do all those things you said last night?"
"And more," Pharcellus chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "You are very strong, Lindsey. You have good blood in you. You will not fail in this. I believe in you."
Lindsey smiled but didn't raise his eyes. "I'm glad you're here. If I didn't have somebody I knew and cared for with me I would never be able to do this."
"Speaking of which, here comes Elizabaeg."
Lindsey felt a surge of relief to see his mother. She was still wearing the disguise but after four days it was almost as familiar to him as her real features. She carried a bowl of eggs and sausage for them both and insisted that they eat before asking her anything. Lindsey found he was ravenous and devoured the meal in seconds.
Her eyes widened as she watched him eat. "Oh my. Are you well?"
"We were almost caught by soldiers last night coming back," Lindsey said after wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He handed her back the bowl and then put his hands on his knees. "Not all of the soldiers like him. One of them saw us, but refused to take us in. He's looking for another boy."
Elizabaeg trembled, lowered her eyes, and made the sign of the yew.
"I'm not going to be his victim," Lindsey repeated. "We've been discussing what we're going to do, signals and the like. Did you talk with others who don't like him last night?"
She still did not look up, but she did nod. "Aye. Strom and I spoke with those we know. If something happens, they will be ready."
"If?"
She glanced at the two of them briefly before looking away, holding te empty bowl to her chest. "Most of them don't believe you will succeed."
"And you?"
She put her hand to her mouth and her voice caught in her throat. "I'm afraid."
For some reason, that bothered Lindsey more deeply than the doubts of the Resistance.
He shook his head and reached out a hand toward her. "Please don't be, Mother.
Please!"
"How can I not?" She stared at him hard for a moment, then it softened and he found himself wrapped in her arms for a moment. The forgotten bowl clattered to the floor. Lindsey wished the embrace had been longer, but Elizabaeg stepped back, plucked the bowl from the ground and took a few steps away. "You aren't a child anymore. Make your Father and I proud."
She glanced down at the bowl in her hands and then down the line of now empty stalls. "I'm going to make my rounds. When are you going to let yourself be taken?"
Lindsey ached. When he'd been a man he'd offered comfort to so many of his friends who'd found in his size and manner a reassurance and strength they lacked. Now he wanted to comfort his mother and be comforted by her, but neither were going to happen. He lowered his arm and sighed. "Tomorrow."
"I won't tell anyone else until it has happened." She turned and walked away as swiftly as her legs could carry her.
Lindsey stared after her and at the door she stepped through for several long seconds. When he finally lowered his eyes, Pharcellus put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Would you like to watch the sheep and pigs? There's a place we can watch them from where we won't be seen by anyone in town."
He sighed and nodded. "Could you tell me another story, 'big brother'?"
His smile was stained but true. "Of course."