Assault in the Wizard Degree, page 7
“There have been strange portents,” she replied. Before she could go into any more detail, she nodded in the direction of our travel. “Luckily, you’ll have the chance to ask him about it this evening.”
I craned my neck around Galen’s midsection again and took in the sight. We’d finally crested the last set of hills, the tallish reeds and grasslands vanishing along with the slope.
A flat expanse of pale green mosses and other ground cover ran all the way up to a host of wooden buildings in the distance. Though many appeared abandoned, they all looked well maintained, without a broken window or loose board in evidence. A broad avenue lined with cobblestones lay welcomingly between the buildings, leading to yet another short slope.
Looming over the makeshift town was a tall central tower or steepled platform. This was surrounded in turn by a sturdy two-story wall. The wall’s ramparts were pierced by a main gate and a pair of smaller gated openings I’d learned were called ‘sally ports’.
While the town itself looked dead, there was plenty of activity up by the walled structure. A troop of armored centaurs wearing chainmail exited the main gate at a trot. Rather than come down the cobblestone avenue, they veered to the right, heading north.
No sooner had they exited than yet more hoofbeats sounded from off to the left. I just made out the dim eaves of another forest from which a second armored patrol emerged. They filed in an orderly fashion back through the main gate. The battered look of their arms and armor suggested to me that they’d either been through some rough weather, or combat.
But combat with who? That was the real question.
“Welcome back to Bloodwine Holt,” Rikka said to Galen. “It’s been too long, brother.”
“Indeed,” Galen said, his voice grim. “Let’s hope that the reason for my visit doesn’t turn the sweet taste of reunion to ash.”
That went double for Dame Chrissie, so far as I was concerned.
Chapter Eleven
The ‘town’ immediately outside of Bloodwine Holt looked a lot like an old-time movie set. It also looked as if the town had been battened down in preparation for a hurricane. All along the main avenue, shops made of wood planking had been boarded up and made secure against the weather. Were it not for the activity up by the Holt itself, I’d have guessed that we were travelling through a ghost town.
I spotted jutting hooks and posts set high above the doors, obviously made for signs apparently stashed elsewhere. Instead of wooden sidewalks, the avenue’s cobblestones simply rolled right up to each building’s doorways. A horizontal metal bar mounted roughly ankle-high off the ground sat next to each door. Try as I might, I had no idea what the purpose of that object might be.
“Do not be dismayed by the looks of the immediate environs,” Galen cautioned me. “Remember, the Holt is nearly abandoned for eight months at a time. All the buildings here have been sealed and weatherproofed for their owner’s eventual return in the summer months.”
“I get it,” I said, as I listened to Galen and Rikka’s hooves clop on the gray cobblestone. “It reminds me of some of the towns I visited on the East Coast, up in a place called ‘Maine’. For most of the year, half the place would be boarded up and the few locals would just maintain the place. Then, when tourist season starts up, everything’s a flurry of activity.”
“Interesting,” Rikka remarked. “Are ‘tour-ists’ edible creatures? It sounds like they are the fare that these towns live on.”
I considered that for a moment. “Eating tourists is…well, socially tricky. But yes, you’re right. They’re what the townspeople survive on. A couple bad ‘runs’ of tourism and a town can go belly-up.”
“We don’t eat anything as exotic as tour-ists,” Galen said. “But your analogy is correct. About one in twenty centaurs remain at Bloodwine Holt for most of the year. They serve on patrols, lookout posts, and handle the odd trader or diplomat. Everyone else follows the migration pattern I described.”
Our discussion paused as the two centaurs halted in front of a guarded checkpoint just outside the Holt’s walls. The guards were a trio of older centaurs, each of whom wore their flowing beards in a wide, single plait. Maybe it was a generational thing, but it seemed that as soon as male centaurs hit a certain age, their beards sprouted like a fresh crop of weeds.
The guards looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and surprise, but once they verified Galen and Rikka’s identity, and looked at King Fitzwilliam’s seal, they waved us on through without comment. We trotted on towards the main gate where I got another surprise.
Many of the buildings in Fitzwilliam’s capitol were mixtures of stone and wood. What set the palace off from the others was the fact that the walls, and most buildings (save for Parliament’s roost) were made of stone. It just sort of fit the aesthetic for a medieval kingdom.
The Holt’s walls were comprised of vertically set logs of timber. It made the entire place resemble an old Western fort, the kind you’d expect the cavalry to head out from to defend a passing wagon train of settlers.
Inside, the same style was repeated. Buildings were made up of either vertically set timber or long boards of lumber. At least some of the lumber must have been freshly sawn, as my nose tingled with the smells of sawdust and pine.
In the center of the Holt sat a large, narrow building resembling illustrations I’d seen of Viking long halls. The entry doors had been thrown open, draped with burgundy banners, and lit by glowing stones set in wall-mounted braziers. A tower laid out with whole timbers set like Lincoln Logs soared three more stories above it.
Centaurs trotted back-and-forth through an inner courtyard between various buildings and open spaces laid out with painted lines. After a moment, I realized that the lines were lane-marking like on any Los Angeles freeway. From what I saw, centaurs often cantered from place to place, moving at velocities a human could only match while sprinting. The lanes helped direct movement and keep people from colliding at speed.
I finally saw that strange, ankle-high bar in use. When centaurs approached the entrance to a dwelling, they paused to knock their forehooves against the horizontal piece of metal. This shook off any caked dirt or mud from their forehooves before entering. So, I guess the bar was the centaur equivalent of a doormat.
The final impression I got before entering the central building was simply how enormous everything was in Bloodwine Holt. It took me a few moments to figure out why. After all, Fitzwilliam’s palace was easily larger, if one went by the space enclosed by the massive stone walls and the many multiple-story buildings. Everything in the Holt looked larger because it was built for centaur-sized creatures.
The doors and ceilings inside were easily fourteen feet high, which pretty well matched most of the rooms and corridors in Fitzwilliam’s palace. That made sense, as I’d been told they’d been heightened specifically for centaurs as a gesture of goodwill from the humans.
Entryways were significantly wider in order to let a pair of centaurs pass together with enough room to spare. I also noticed that the tables were set much higher than in a human dwelling. Oh, and there was a complete lack of anything that resembled a chair.
The delicious smell of roasting meat mingled with the scent of fresh-hewn pine as we progressed further inside. An unmistakable grumble issued from Rikka’s stomach, but neither sibling made mention of it. Instead, their eyes were fixed upon a pair of centaurs approaching our small group.
One was a grim-looking warrior with the body of a bay draft horse wearing a set of armor like Rikka’s. While he didn’t appear injured, his armor sported a wicked set of dents and ripples. The other was garbed in a jacket like Galen’s, only green instead of purple. This centaur attracted my attention, as he had flame-red hair and the body of a pinto. He looked familiar, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall his name.
Luckily, Galen supplied me with that missing detail as he saluted the approaching centaur with his wizard’s staff. Well met, Sir Jorvath!”
“And a well-return to you, Sir Wizard,” Jorvath said, trotting up and clasping hands with Galen briefly. “Would you have brought Dame Chrissie with you?”
I leaned to one side, looking around Galen’s torso once again. “I’d say that he did.”
“Ah, there you are. No offense meant, I didn’t see you.”
“I won’t take offense if you won’t,” I said, as I slipped off of Galen’s back. “I know you, Sir Jorvath, but I can’t recall where we met.”
“We were all a little preoccupied at the time. I serve as Second Shield for King Angbor and thus take orders directly from him. We met as my liege was about to take us to battle with the Andeluvian forces, and Sturmgalen…assumed command from his father.” Jorvath looked a little embarrassed as he added, “When I questioned his power to turn me into a toad, you asked me whether or not I liked the taste of flies.”
I had to fight to keep the grin off my face. “You know, I do recall something like that happening.”
The centaur in the badly-dented armor cleared his throat.
“Before I forget,” Jorvath added, “this is Sir Yaegar, First Hunter of the Holt.”
“Well met, then,” Galen said smoothly. “Allow me to offer an introduction in turn.”
“I have heard of Dame Chrissie,” Yaegar said, in a soft, grim voice. “Some centaurs say that you prevented us from winning glory against the Andeluvians last summer.”
My reply was careful and correct. “So I hear.”
“Well, ‘some centaurs’ are also pig-headed idiots.” He made that same slight centaur bow that Galen and Rikka had given me. “I thank you for that. And I am grateful that both you and the Wizard have come to visit us here at Bloodwine Holt.”
Jorvath looked surprised. “Why the sudden gratitude, Hunter?”
“Because of the signs deep in the forest that stands hard by this place.”
The big centaur flexed his arm, showing off a huge scratch in the armor plate covering his shoulder. Given the size of the mark and the thickness of the metal, it looked like a hooked claw the size of my head had dug a gouge that could have taken this warrior’s arm clean off.
“You must know what fell beast caused this,” he said softly. “Or we could all be facing our deaths very soon, walls of timber and steel or no.”
Chapter Twelve
“The thing that did this killed two of my patrol,” Yaegar said, as he turned so we could all see the claw mark on the plate. “And I believe it is a harbinger. Angbor needs to know that there are many worse things to come.”
Galen let out a snort of alarm before he spoke. “I concur wholeheartedly. Might I have that shoulder plate for examination later? I believe Dame Chrissie might want a look at it as well.”
“Yes, when you’re done with it,” I agreed. “If there’s a trace of tissue there, perhaps I can take it to my world for analysis.”
Just then, a raucous cheer echoed from the room just ahead of us. It sounded like the life of the party had just arrived. Jorvath looked more than a bit surprised.
“Your arrival was expected more than an hour ago,” he explained. “The sentries on the Holt’s watchtower notified your father. He in turn has ordered a pour of mead to start off the celebrations of Equilux.”
This time it was Rikka who snorted. “My father will take almost any excuse to break out the mead, though I really can’t complain.”
“By the sounds of it, we’d better get in there before it’s all been consumed,” Galen observed.
Jorvath and Yaegar led the way. I had to move at what Southern Californians liked to call a ‘power walk’ to keep up with everyone, but at least it wasn’t that far to go. In fact, the brisk pace helped stretch my thigh muscles, which had been aching from the hours on Galen’s back.
The hallway ended abruptly as we entered Angbor’s throne room. I craned my neck to look around and take in the sights. Now that I’d been in a couple of ‘inner sanctums’ of various species, it was interesting to see how they compared.
The Sacred Grove of the fayleene had sported a green, ethereal beauty before Sirrahon destroyed it. Fitzwilliam’s throne room was a marble-planed exercise in Gothic architecture. The griffin Lair of the Elders, with its open-roofed cavern and network of iron chains, had a certain barbaric splendor.
By contrast, King Angbor’s court vaguely resembled a giant ski chalet or hunting lodge. Creamy amber colors predominated, from the log walls to the warm, steady light emitted from the glowing braziers along the sides of the room. Thick beams of darker wood held up a sharply vaulted ceiling.
High, narrow tables were set up in a rough semicircle around a raised stone platform. A mostly male crowd of centaurs wearing armor stood at many of the tables. They were drinking and talking merrily, for the most part.
A couple looked as if they were too busy brooding to have fun, while yet others were roaring encouragement to a pair engaged in an arm-wrestling contest. Servers dressed in natty-looking silver-trimmed jackets circulated through the crowd. They brought out filled-to-the-brim earthenware mugs on wooden trays, serving them out with practiced flicks of the wrist.
All in all, the centaur court felt a little homey, like a well-appointed Irish pub.
Skallgrym Angbor surveyed it all, looking every inch the Viking chieftain enjoying the antics of his warriors. I suppose it was appropriate. After all, this was quite literally a ‘mead hall’ for the moment.
Angbor’s equine half was the massive frame of a battle-scarred, chestnut war horse. His human half bulged with muscle where it wasn’t draped in golden chain mail, and he wore his beard in a pair of long brown and gray plaits. In fact, I’d say Angbor looked exactly the same as the first time I’d seen him, except for the fact that his nose jutted ever-so-slightly to the left. That was how it healed after his son had broken it with his fist.
He stood at the central platform, flanked on either side by a pair of centaurs. I wasn’t sure if the two were supposed to be advisors or guards. They were wearing well-used sets of swords and armor. On the other hand, they were drinking as enthusiastically as the rest of the crowd, even to the point of swaying on all four hooves.
Once he spotted Galen, Angbor’s face broke into a craggy grin. He nudged the centaur to his right, who almost fell over in an alcoholic haze. Once steadied, the newly-roused centaur raised a long pole adorned at the end with a dozen leather cords, each tipped with the scales of some reptilian animal. A shake or two, and the resulting rattle brought all conversation to a halt.
“‘Ware, all good and loyal centaurs!” he shouted, his nasal voice cutting through the remaining background clatter. “Listen to the words of Skallgrym Angbor, the King and Dread Liege of the Three Houses of the Holt!”
“Well met, my good people!” Angbor boomed, his voice carrying a good deal more weight than his announcer. Grabbing a mug from a nearby server he continued. “Tonight we welcome back into the fold my son, Skallgrym Sturmgalen!”
A chorus of boozy cheers rose in reply. The Wizard blushed as he stepped to the platform, inclining his head in respect. I found myself grinning, hoping beyond hope this would all work out well.
“It is magnificent to be home again,” Galen replied, his voice coming close to breaking. “I thank you for the welcome, father.”
“Speak to us, then. Tell us of your time in Andeluvia. And of who you bring to us tonight.”
His son replied in a surprisingly rough voice. “Dread Lord, I continue to show the Andeluvians a reminder of our people’s strength and might! And I bring two people from my travels with me. Dame Dayna Chrissie, of the Land of the Angels, who shall shine light on the truths that trouble us!”
Galen gestured in my direction, so I stood on tiptoe and waved to the assembled centaurs as best I could. Several of the centaurs gave me curious looks, but none were outright hostile. More cheers erupted from around the room. That was nice, but seeing as how most of those present were drunk enough to cheer for darn near anything, well. Angbor raised his mug to me, drained it, and let out a belch.
Sure enough, that got an even louder chorus of cheers.
“Dame Chrissie is welcome in our kingdom,” he stated. “She has served well and honestly. Tomorrow she shall bring her sharp mind to bear, for tonight is the Feast of Equilux.”
“Of course, Dread Lord and Sire.”
“Who is the second that you bring?”
“Father, I bring my sibling, Skallgrym Serikkaylen.”
“What? Why would you bring one such as her…?”
Angbor frowned, looking over to where his daughter stood at my side. Confusion and mild embarrassment played over his face. Rikka clenched her jaw and took a half-step back as if she planned to bolt.
Instantly, I felt sympathy for her. I’d faced a tough royal crowd before as well, though not in the same circumstances. All I knew was that running off would wreck whatever respect Galen was trying to build for her, and that wouldn’t help things a bit.
I wasn’t sure how she would react, but I decided to take a chance. I stepped up, taking her right elbow firmly in my left hand. She didn’t pull away, though she did throw a half-panicked look my way. I shook my head and nodded back towards Angbor.
“On the way here, she headed off an attack on Dame Chrissie,” Galen said firmly. “She single-handedly slew two of the umbral cats who have shadowed our patrols. And in our best tradition, she has brought the kill home to be consumed!”
A louder, sustained cheer followed Galen’s speech. The puzzled look on Angbor’s face cracked and was replaced by one of acceptance. He spoke again, acknowledging Rikka himself for the first time.
“Well met, Skallgrym Serikkaylen! I bid you to take the carcasses to where they can be skinned and spitted. It shall make a fine finishing course…for now it is time to feast!”
This time, the cheers were deafening. The floor shuddered under my feet as the assembled centaurs began to stomp their hooves. I let go of Rikka, throwing an arm around a nearby table leg to steady myself. It sounded and felt like I’d been caught inside a stationary stampede.
