The Lion's Crown (The Emberlyn Chronicles Book 1), page 6
This seemed likely. He had never believed in such things. He had never believed in magic, either, and nothing he’d seen from Morien had seemed at all miraculous. No, not quite. Seeing the Fire Star through the telescope… that had been miraculous. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the details of what he had seen. Valleys and peaks, just like on the Moon. If there were other worlds in the heavens, what else might be possible? Could hobs and wraiths and demons be real? Could the Ember Lion be real? If they survived for any length of time in the Hobswood, perhaps he would find out.
Chapter Eight
The Fool’s Burden
Four days after leaving Granisle, Sir William and the other three knights rode into Fenhold Village. As they made their way down the muddy street toward the tower at the edge of the bog, all eyes were on them, but no one approached or spoke to them.
When they reached the tower, William opened the wooden door leading inside. Dried peat was stacked up, filling half of the chamber. Next to the peat stack were a dozen large grain pots, their tops sealed with cloth and pitch. There was no fireplace, but there was a ring of blackened stones in the center of the room. A spiral staircase hugged the wall and curved up to a second story. William ascended the steps and found the upper floor empty. Eight large square windows, stretching almost from floor to ceiling, looked out in all directions, making the second story more of a covered rooftop than a proper room.
“Someone’s loitering outside the door,” Alfred Pierce said, poking his head through the open hatch.
William followed him back down and stepped out of the tower. An elderly man bowed as he emerged. “Sir, I am Edgar Marsh, the alderman of this village,” he said, still bowed.
“I am Sir William Carlyle. Rise, Marsh.”
The old man straightened his back as best he could. “How may I be of service?”
“You store peat and grain in the Fenhold?”
Marsh looked uncertain. “Yes… for the use of our lord and any noblemen who might find their way to our village. You are welcome to it.”
William smiled. “We might take a bit of peat for a fire, but I imagine we’ll leave you your grain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am looking for a particular young man. He went into the Hobswood as a boy.”
Marsh nodded. “Owen Blackmoor.”
“Where is he?”
The alderman pointed to a hut not far from the tower. Standing in front of it were a young man and a young woman, each around the age of twenty. Both were blonde, the woman’s hair a shade lighter than the man’s, and by their features he guessed they were related somehow. As William observed them, a man with dark hair joined them and stood looking back at William. He was perhaps a decade older than the other two.
“The blonde man?” William asked.
“Yes, sir,” Marsh said. “That’s his sister beside him, and the other man is named George.”
“Thank you, Marsh. That will be all for now.”
Marsh bowed again but did not move away. William stepped back into the tower and got the attention of the others. “I’m going to go talk with the young man who went into the wood.”
“Shall we accompany you?” asked Sir Stephen.
“No. It will be better, I think, to not overwhelm him.”
William went back outside and walked toward the hut. The two men and woman didn’t move, and even when he came to a stop in front of them, they remained silent.
William cleared his throat. “Owen Blackmoor?”
The younger of the men looked up, grinning.
“I am Penelope Blackmoor, his sister,” said the woman.
William looked at the other man.
“George Ashberry, sir. I’m… a friend.”
William noticed a scattering of people slowly moving closer. “I am Sir William Carlyle. Perhaps we might speak inside?”
None of them replied, but the woman who’d introduced herself as Penelope Blackmoor held open the door. The four went in, and William was given the only stool while Penny and George sat on the bed. Owen sat on the floor at Sir William’s feet, looking up at him.
William took the letter from the king out of his vest pocket. “I have here an order from His Majesty King Edward the Ninth. It states that this boy—this man—Owen Blackmoor, is to accompany my party on an expedition into the Hobswood Forest.”
The other three in the room were silent. William held it out, and George Ashberry took it and unfolded it. After he’d finished looking at it, he handed it to Penny.
She studied the wax seal at the bottom then ran her eyes across the lines above it, pretending she understood.
“It seems to be as the man says,” George said as she looked up.
“Yes….” Penny bit her lip and looked at William. “Sir… why?”
“His Majesty wants to know what is hidden inside the Hobswood. I have been tasked with finding out, and as your brother is the only man alive who has been in and returned, he will be invaluable to us.”
“Sir, you must know, he’s….”
“A fool? I know.”
“And he won’t be of any help at all. He won’t do as you say. He can’t answer any of your questions. He’ll be a burden to you.”
Sir William smiled. Penny thought she caught a hint of sorrow in his eyes, but it was fleeting. “His burden,” he said, “is to do as his sovereign commands.”
“This must be some misunderstanding,” said George.
William shook his head. “No, it’s not. I have a duty to follow my king’s command, as do all of you. I am permitted to offer compensation, if that is the issue.”
Penny shook her head. William could see that she was on the verge of tears. “People who go into that wood don’t return, sir. No amount of compensation will bring my brother back to me.”
Sir William looked away from her. “He has returned once already. Perhaps he is the only one who can bring us all back safely.”
“No.” Penny couldn’t think of anything more to say, but she knew that even if she could, it wouldn’t do any good. An order from the king could not be refused. The tears fell freely, and she felt George’s arm wrap around her shoulders.
“I am sorry for this,” Sir William said softly. “I am only following my king’s command. How old is he?”
“He’s twenty-one, sir,” George said. “But that means nothing in his case. He has the mind of a child. He can’t help you. If… if you don’t take him, no one would ever need to know. No one here even needs to know you asked. You could say you were only asking about what Owen might have seen when he went in before.”
Sir William sighed. “I am not unsympathetic to your position, but I cannot defy my king. Neither can you. We will stay one night but must depart in the morning.”
“Why so soon?” George asked.
“It… it is what has been decided.”
“Then let me go, too,” Penny said suddenly. “He won’t obey anyone but me. You’ll not be able to control him unless I’m there.”
“Penny,” George said.
“He’s my brother, George. I can’t leave him alone with strangers. He won’t know what to do. He’ll run off as likely as anything.”
“No,” said William before either of them could say anything more. “I cannot add any more to my party. Only Owen can come.”
Penny wiped her face and scowled at Sir William. “Then see for yourself. Tell Owen to follow you back to the tower.”
William stood and looked down at Owen, who still sat at his feet, smiling. “Owen? Come. Follow me.” He made for the door, but Owen remained seated, still smiling. “Come here, Owen.” He held out his hand. Owen looked back at Penny, and she cocked an eyebrow at Sir William.
“Owen,” William said, “I order you, in the name of His Majesty King Edward the Ninth, to stand and follow me.”
Owen looked back at Sir William but still didn’t rise. “King,” he said, and put his hands on either side of his head with the fingers upraised, pantomiming a crown.
“Yes,” William said gently. “The king wants you to follow me. Come.” William stepped through the door and began walking toward the tower. He stopped after a few paces and turned around. He put his head back inside the door and frowned. “If you told him to obey me, would he?”
Penny nodded. “For a time, maybe. But he’d forget about it after an hour or two.”
Sir William let out a breath. “Very well. You will accompany us. Be ready to go in the morning. And find someone to look after our horses.”
“I have a barn,” said George without looking up from his hands.
“You will be paid, of course. I’ll be at the tower should you need me.”
When William closed the door behind him, George pulled Penny into a tight embrace. “You can’t go.”
“I have to. Owen will be lost without me.”
“We’ll run away tonight, the three of us.”
“There’s only one road out. They’ll catch up to us on their horses.”
“Then we’ll go across country and travel along the edge of the bog.”
Penny shook her head. “If we’re caught, we’ll be killed for disobeying the king, and they’ll take Owen anyway.”
George took several deep breaths. “Then I’ll come as well. I’ll go ask now.”
“He won’t let you. He didn’t seem too happy about letting me go.”
“Because you’re a woman. He thinks you’re weak. I would be useful to them.” George got up and went to the door before Penny could say anything else. “Sir William!” he called.
William stopped midstride and turned. George jogged up to him and offered a bow. “I would like to ask permission to accompany you as well. I can be of service… carry your packs, make your camp at night, cook your meals….”
William frowned. “George… Ashberry, was it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If it were my choice, I’d have two dozen men. But it is not my choice.”
“You agreed to let Penny—Miss Blackmoor—join you.”
“Only out of necessity.” William sighed. “The king’s astrologer has decided on a party of five men. I do not put much credence in divination, but my order says I am to lead a party of five men, and that order bears the king’s seal. I must abide by it.”
“But Penny makes you six.”
“Yes. Five men. One woman.” William paused. He was defying the king’s order based on a rather sly interpretation of the language used. He’d never liked the idea of entering the Hobswood with so few men, and perhaps this oversight of language could offer him at least some of the extra men he wanted. “Five men in my party,” he said. “Should others follow along….” He shrugged.
George squinted at Sir William. “I believe I catch your meaning, sir.”
William reached out and put his hand on George’s arm, feeling his bicep. “You’re strong. Well built. Gather four or five more like you, and—”
George laughed. “No, sir. You won’t get anyone else in this village to go into the Hobswood, not for any amount of gold, and not even under pain of death. Especially now, with what’s been happening as of late.”
“What’s happened?”
George glanced about him then leaned in. “A wraith, sir,” he whispered. “It killed one man already. Hasn’t been seen for a few nights now, but it’s still lurking around somewhere.” He nodded his head toward the tower of the Fenhold. “Some believe it’s been hiding in there. It’s nice and dark inside.”
William looked back at the tower. “Do you believe in this… wraith?”
“I’ve seen it, sir.”
William frowned. “And you believe in all the fairy stories about the Hobswood?”
“I do.”
“Then why are you willing to follow us in?” He glanced back at the Blackmoor hut. Penny was standing outside, watching them. “Ah,” he said. “For love, isn’t it?”
George nodded.
“Very well. I am to enter the Hobswood with a party of five men. If you and Miss Blackmoor join us once we’re inside, I don’t believe that would violate the king’s order.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But now who will take care of our horses?”
“I’ll find someone, sir. You can still have the use of my barn. I’ll need someone to watch over my donkey and my cat at any rate.”
“Good. That will do for now.”
George bowed then turned back toward the hut, and William watched as he approached the young woman and spoke quietly to her. She seemed to be arguing with him, but eventually she nodded, and they went inside together.
He walked the rest of the way back to the tower and, once inside, gathered his men. “The fool will join us,” he said, “but only if his sister and another man named George Ashberry accompany him.”
“What of our order?” asked Stephen Laurenge. “We are meant to be a party of five.”
William told the others how they could use the language of the order to allow Penny and George to join them. None of them argued with him. It seemed they also disliked entering the Hobswood with so few men.
“One other thing,” said William. “There’s said to be a wraith lurking about the village. He strode over to the saddlebags which had been brought in from the horses and found his book. “I read a story in here which says wraiths cannot be killed by sword, but they can be killed with fire.” He patted the pile of peat with his other hand. “We’ll want a nice blaze going throughout the night.”
“You believe in that nonsense?” Alfred Pierce asked.
“I believe in not taking risks. We lose nothing by being cautious.”
The men nodded, and after he set them to work building the fire, William took the stairs to the upper floor. He leaned against the ledge of the window looking out across the bog. He didn’t know how, but the first time he’d been up there, he hadn’t noticed the line of black, twisted trees that marked the edge of the Hobswood. He watched the trees as the light began to fade, and for a moment they blinked out of view. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. They were back, but now a sickly looking tree he’d seen halfway across the bog was gone. He fixed his gaze on the spot where it had been, and over the course of the next minute, it materialized back into view.
A cold breeze wafted up from the bog and through the tower. It was much colder than it should have been for the time of year, and the smell of burning peat from below comforted him more that he would have thought possible. He walked to the hatch and started down the steps when a thick cloud of black smoke rushed out of the hatch, passing just inches from him. It dissipated immediately, and he stood stark still, trying to understand what he’d seen. He finally stepped through the hatch and considered closing it, but without a chimney, the fire they’d built in the center of the lower chamber would need some ventilation. Already more smoke was making its way up through the opening. He took one last look across the bog then turned and continued down the steps to join his comrades as they prepared their evening meal.
Chapter Nine
Wall of Fire
Sir William started awake. Stephen Laurenge was leaning over him, shaking his shoulder. The others were already up and putting on their boots.
“Something is lurking outside the walls,” Sir Stephen whispered.
William slipped into his own boots and began lacing them. A minute later, he was standing and drawing his sword from its scabbard. He tossed the loose belt and scabbard onto his bedroll then cast his eyes up toward the open hatch at the top of the stairs. Sir Stephen pointed toward the door as a whooshing sound passed by it, but something told William to be wary of the hatch.
He silently directed Sir Harold to the base of the steps and waved Sir Alfred toward the fire. Alfred leaned down near the fire and placed another log of peat on it. It began to smoke heavily, and the room darkened before it finally caught.
When the smoke thinned, Sir Harold let out a yell of surprise. William turned to see a dark shape gliding down the steps, toward Harold. Harold lashed out with his sword as it reached him, but the thing passed right through the blade. It continued on through Harold, who fell to the floor screaming in agony.
The last of the cobwebs cleared from William’s brain, and he remembered the story in the book: wraiths could not be killed by sword.
“Torches!” he yelled. “Fire!”
Stephen and Alfred rushed to the packs where their torches were being kept. The wraith rose back up the steps, but when it got to the hatch, it did not go through. Instead, it glided along the ceiling, circling the chamber above them.
Sir Alfred yelled to William and tossed him a torch. William thrust it into the fire and held it there until it lit. When he looked back at the ceiling, he saw the wraith disappear back through the hatch. Alfred lit two more torches as Stephen went to check on Sir Harold.
“How is he?” William asked.
“I live,” Harold said weakly.
“He’s as white as snow,” Alfred said.
William grunted. “Another moment of contact with that thing, and he might have met the same fate as the villager who was killed several nights ago.”
Sir Alfred held his two torches out on either side of him. “What do we do? We can’t sleep now, not with it up there. And we searched the second story; how did we not see it before?”
Harold was getting to his feet. He staggered to the fire and took up a half-empty cup of wine left over from their evening meal. He drained the cup in a single swallow then took a deep breath as he brought it away from his lips. “I remember something I heard when I was hunting highwaymen along the Peat Road. Wraiths can only exist at night. During the day, they must hide in a dark place or else they vanish in the light. But they return in the same spot once the sun sets.”
“I saw it,” William said. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but it rushed up through the hatch when you lit the fire. It vanished as soon as it came out into the light.”
“It must have been lurking behind this stack of peat,” Sir Alfred said.
William leaned his torch against the ring of rocks enclosing the fire and picked up the book about the Hobswood. “The value of this book has just increased tenfold,” he said, opening it. “We must find out everything we can. Yes, here it says the same. They can only exist at night or in very dark places.” He furrowed his brow. “Fire can kill or contain them—this we already knew—but here is something interesting. It’s said they do not fly.”
