The Lion's Crown (The Emberlyn Chronicles Book 1), page 9
Sir Alfred nearly ran into him. “By the lion’s tail,” he whispered.
In front of them, the forest gave way to a long, narrow meadow. A riot of color stretched across it, and William took a few steps for a closer look. They were flowers. Dozens, maybe hundreds of different kinds in reds, blues, yellows, purples… every color Sir William could imagine. To his left, a patch of sparkly white flowers caught his attention. The snow was thickest there. He waded into the field, and a flurry of snow rose up in his face as he approached.
“Come see this!” he called to the others.
His companions gathered around him to look at the shiny white blossoms. The petals looked to be made of ice. He touched one; it was cold but soft like any flower petal. As his fingers came away, a puff of icy crystals drifted up from the petal like dandelion seeds. He brushed the dusting of snow from his fingers and watched it rise up into the air and get caught by the breeze. The petal he’d touched quickly iced over again, and soon crystals were once again flaking off of it. Owen ran his hands across the tops of the flowers and laughed as he sent up a great cloud of snow.
“How do they do that?” Penny asked.
William shrugged. He looked over at Owen. “They don’t seem any worse for wear from being touched. I wonder….” He reached down and plucked one of the flowers. He held it up and began waving it. Snow continued to cascade off of it, but after a few seconds, it began to thin. William touched the petals and frowned. “It’s warm now. They don’t hold the cold once plucked.”
“This is certainly where the chill was coming from,” George said. “Perhaps the flowers go dormant at night and only begin… snowing… when the sun rises again.” George looked up at William expectantly. “This place… surely it’s wondrous enough that we can turn back now. His Majesty would be pleased to hear about something like this.”
“We’ve been in the Hobswood one night,” William said. “I agree that this is wonderful, but we can’t go back so soon.”
George frowned and turned away. He kicked at a clump of the snow flowers then began wandering away to look at some of the other plants.
Sir Stephen was already in a patch of orange and purple blossoms. He called to them as he bent down over something. The others left the snow flowers behind to see what he was looking at. The orange and purple flowers were both growing from the same type of plant. Beneath each flower were vine-like growths that continually snaked around as though searching.
“Dare I touch one?” Stephen said, grinning.
William shook his head. “We were foolish enough to touch the snow flowers. We’d best not take any more risks.” He looked up across the field of blossoms. “But after lunch, we’ll continue to the end of this meadow to see what else is in here. It doesn’t look like it’s too steep to get out on the other side.”
He turned back toward where they’d left their packs, and the others followed without argument. They were all hungry, it seemed, and as they reached their packs, William noticed that each of them was devouring their rations as though they hadn’t eaten in days.
He was about to reach into his pack for another cloth-wrapped cheese when he stopped himself. “That’s enough for now,” he said.
They grumbled but began putting away their food. They spent a few more minutes resting then continued on, back to the meadow. Not a minute in, Sir William’s stomach was growling.
He stopped. “Is anyone else hungry again?”
“I am,” said Sir Harold.
“And I,” said Alfred.
In turn, they all admitted to being hungry.
“It’s the scent!” George said. “The scent of one of these flowers. It’s like everything good I’ve ever tasted all in one.”
William inhaled sharply. George was right. He fought back the urge to take off his pack and begin eating. “Follow me!” he called, and turned to the right, which seemed to be the quickest way out of the meadow.
He kept moving until they were half a mile from the flowers, and only then did his hunger begin to subside. “Can you imagine,” he said, stopping, “some poor fool sitting down in the middle of that field and eating and eating until all of his rations were gone?”
“Aye, then he might seek out the flowers that give off that scent and eat them,” Stephen answered.
“Poisonous, do you suppose?” William frowned. “If so, the bodies of whoever dropped dead amongst those flowers would nourish the plants for quite a time. I only wonder if the local creatures are immune or else have learned to avoid this place. I didn’t see any sign of dead animals.”
“Maybe there aren’t any. Maybe they’re not poisonous at all, and it’s just one of the little cruelties of the Hobswood,” Sir Harold said. “Either way, it’s a lesson. Even something that seems harmless and beautiful can be deadly. This forest will try to trick us at every turn.”
“And is that a trick?” Penny pointed past William to a small hillock just at the edge of their vision. Embedded into the side of the little hill was a tiny door.
They all stood and watched the door for a long time, waiting for something to come out. When nothing did, Sir William looked from George to Penny. “What is it?”
Penny and George caught each other’s eye. “Could it be?” said Penny.
George raised his hands. “How should I know?”
“What?” William said, watching them.
George stepped up and took a breath. “This is the Hobswood, Sir William. And that… is a hob house.”
William nodded. He took off his pack and brought out his book. “This is a collection of stories about the Hobswood taken from villages all along the Bleaklands. Nothing in here mentions a hob house. How do you know of it?”
“A story Mary Briar once told,” said Penny.
“Who?”
“She’s our village’s keeper of stories.” She gestured at the book. “I imagine there’re a hundred stories that aren’t in that book of yours, and Mary Briar probably knows them.”
William furrowed his brow. “I would have spoken to her if I’d known.”
“Well, we’d best steer clear of it anyway,” George said. He looked expectantly at William.
“No,” William said after a pause. “No. We are here to find out everything we can about this forest. I want a closer look.”
“They’re dangerous,” George said.
William tucked his book into his belt and put his pack back on. “We’re a large party, taking into account the size of that door. I believe we’ll be safe. And it’s still early. We’ll be a long way from here before nightfall.”
Penny reached out and took George’s hand as Sir William started toward the hob house. She stopped Owen as he tried to pass her, and the three of them only continued walking after the knights had gone a few paces ahead of them.
“This is a mistake,” Penny said quietly.
“And we’ll let them find that out,” George said. “We’ll keep our distance.”
Ahead, Sir William had reached the little door and was peering down at it. Penny tugged on Owen’s hand. She stopped by a large oak several yards away and watched closely, expecting the worst.
Chapter Thirteen
The Hob House
Sir William reached out a hand and stroked the door with his finger. He had to do it to convince himself that it was real. Now that he was closer, he saw that on either side of the door were little shuttered windows. From a distance they had looked like brown patches of dirt, but they were in fact made from small, crudely formed boards.
“What do you make of it?” he whispered to Sir Harold, who had come up beside him.
“It appears to be empty; surely we would have heard some movement inside by now.”
William placed his finger against the center of the door. Behind him, he heard Stephen and Alfred draw their swords. As he pushed, the little door creaked inward. Both he and Sir Harold flinched.
Nothing came out. William grinned at Harold then pushed the door the rest of the way open. He shrugged off his pack, set down his walking stick and got down on his stomach to look inside. A corridor stretched to the back of the mound. At that end, he could see that it opened up into a larger area, but he couldn’t see any detail beyond that. There were two openings on either side of the corridor as well, and the walls and ceiling of the hallway were made up of sticks and twigs that had been braced against one another.
“Well?” Sir Harold asked.
“I can’t see anything but a little hallway.” William brought an arm forward. He could fit his hand through the door, and he reached around to one of the nearer side openings. “I feel something,” he said. He took his hand out and opened it to reveal a tiny twig chair. The other knights gathered around to look at it.
William passed it to Sir Stephen then reached his arm back inside. His fingers had just brushed against something else when a cry from behind caused him to jerk his arm out. He was still on his belly, but he rolled over onto his back just as something flew from the top of the mound directly at Sir Harold. Harold was drawing his sword, but the little thing was already latched onto his chest.
As William scrambled to get up, Stephen and Alfred rushed to his sides. They began hacking away at the top of the mound, and when he got to his feet, he saw why.
At least two dozen little hobs were rioting on the top of the mound. They were light brown in color with ugly, round faces and pointed ears. No hair was in evidence, and they were all dressed in clothes that seemed to be made up of scraps of fur, cloth and foliage. The tallest stood no more than six inches high, and they were all yelling incomprehensibly in shrill voices.
Stephen and Alfred struck blow after blow against the top of the mound, but the hobs effortlessly danced and spun away from the blades. William risked a glance at Harold. A hob was clinging to the front of his shirt. Every time he reached down to remove it, it snapped at him with pointed little teeth. His hand was already bleeding in several places.
William motioned for Harold to stand still and aimed his sword at the back of the hob. The hob froze as it felt the closeness of the blade, and there was immediate silence from the top of the mound.
William turned his head but kept the hob gently pinned against Harold’s chest, being careful not to move his arm. “Stephen, Alfred, stand down!”
The two knights did as they were told.
“I don’t want to kill any of these people if we don’t have to,” he said. “They might hunt us for days if we do.” He spotted the tiny chair on the ground. It didn’t look like it had been damaged in the melee. “Stephen,” he said, “pick that up.”
Stephen picked up the chair and handed it to William. William held it up high so the hobs could see it then set it on the edge of the mound. Next, he took his sword away from the hob on Harold’s chest and sheathed it. The hob leapt from Harold’s chest, bounced off of Alfred’s shoulder and landed amongst its comrades on the top of the mound.
Alfred hardly had time to know what was happening, but he swatted at his shoulder a full second after the hob had left it. “Be still!” William said. “Sheathe your weapons.”
They all put away their swords. William picked up his pack and walking stick and started to back away. The others followed, and the hobs resumed their chittering, but less excitedly. When they reached the tree where Penny, Owen and George had stopped, William looked at the villagers. “What now?”
“Give them food,” George said.
Penny nodded her agreement. William searched around in his pack and brought out a whole roll of bread.
“They’re watching,” George said. “Better give them all of it and show we’re not stingy.”
“Stay here,” William said to the others. He approached the hob house again, holding the roll out in front of him. The hobs were quiet once more. Without getting any closer than he had to, he stretched to set the roll on the top of the mound then carefully withdrew again.
The hobs set upon the roll immediately. In the space of a minute, it had been torn into bite-sized pieces, and the little creatures were eating happily.
“Right,” said Sir William. “I think it’s best to leave them to it now.” He put on his pack. “Which way, though?”
Sir Stephen pointed to the left. “If we want to continue west, deeper into the forest, we should go that way.”
“Or,” George said, “we could go right and leave the Hobswood. Now you can return to the king with a truly marvelous story.”
“Enough,” said William. “I will decide when to turn back, and there will be no trying to convince me otherwise.”
George sighed.
“After all,” William said a bit more gently, “these seem friendly enough, once one knows how to deal with them. They possess… some form of intelligence. If there are fully intelligent beings in the wood, people a bit more like us, I want to find them.”
“Perhaps those other lost expeditions thought the same thing,” Sir Harold said dryly. He was wrapping up his bite wounds with strips of bandages he’d taken from his pack.
At the hob house, the feeding frenzy had ended, and the hobs had lined up at the edge of the mound.
“What now?” Sir Alfred said, frowning.
As one, the little hobs bowed deeply in their direction then leapt down off the mound and filed into their hob house. As the last one entered, they saw that it was carrying something. It was the tiny chair. The hob set it down in front of the door, bowed again, and then closed the door behind it.
“A gift?” Penny said.
William smiled. “In exchange for the roll. They must have really thought we wanted it.” He walked up to the hob house. He saw a cluster of faces at each of the windows, which were now open. He bowed at them and took up the little chair as he rose again.
“This will make a fine present for the king,” he said as he returned. He wrapped the chair in one of the bandages Harold was putting away then placed it carefully in a side pouch of his pack. He pointed to the left with his walking stick. “We continue on!”
Chapter Fourteen
The Castle and the Crypt
For hours, they saw nothing else unusual. There were no more hob houses and no more meadows filled with bizarre flowers. Penny began to feel the strain of the journey as they walked. She was used to long hours of hard work, but she was also used to the comforts of a bed and hot meals at night. She kept a close eye on Owen, but so far he’d made no indication he was trying to run off. He seemed happy to be in the Hobswood—happier than any of the rest of them, certainly. She wondered if it was because he wasn’t aware of the dangers or if he remembered being here before. He gave no outward indications, and aside from his expected excitement about being on a journey, he seemed his usual self.
They stopped for a short while in the late afternoon, and when they got up to leave again, Sir William told them to keep watch for a good place to camp. Dusk was three hours away, by their best reckoning.
The land began to rise, and their pace slowed considerably as they struggled against the incline. After another hour of climbing, Penny spotted what looked like the top of the ridge ahead of them.
“If it looks safe enough,” Sir William called back to them, “we’ll camp at the top.”
Penny huffed and walked a bit faster. The sooner she could rest, the better. She’d been looking down, watching the rocky ground beneath her feet, and didn’t notice that the others had halted just shy of the ridge until she almost ran into them.
She looked up to see what had made them stop. The upper part of a square tower was just visible beyond the top of the ridge.
The knights were whispering to one another. “Looks abandoned,” she heard Sir Alfred say.
William gestured for them to stay put. He took off his pack and crawled up toward the ridge. Once there, he dropped onto his stomach and remained still for a long time, watching.
Owen was beginning to get restless, and Penny took a bit of dried meat from her satchel to keep him occupied. He ate it more quickly than she had hoped he would, and she was debating about whether or not to give him another piece when Sir William stood and returned.
“It is abandoned,” he said. “It’s a ruined castle. I saw no sign of movement at all.”
He put his pack back on, and they followed him to the crest. Penny gasped as she looked down from the ridge. They were looking down into a long, deep river valley. She couldn’t see where the river began, but there was a sheer, high-walled canyon where it exited. The hill they were on descended steeply down to the valley floor, but there was a clearly unnatural ledge cut into the rock halfway down. Upon this ledge stood the castle. The tallest tower which they had seen from the hill rose up from the center of four stone walls, each fifteen feet high. Part of one of the side walls had collapsed, and the towers which had once stood at each corner of the castle were in ruins. Other structures could be seen within the walls; some were ruined, but others looked to be more or less intact.
“Is this what Granisle is like?” Penny asked.
“No,” said William. “Granisle Castle is even greater. In fact, I’d say this is rather small for a castle.”
Penny shook her head. She couldn’t imagine a structure larger than this. She had seen her lord’s castle, and it was only half as large as this one.
“There’s a way down,” said Sir Stephen.
Directly below them, steps had been cut into the side of the hill. Flat stone slabs had been placed into the ground, and although some of the steps were worn away and their stone slabs missing, it looked like an easy enough descent. Closer to the ledge, the bare stone was exposed, and the steps were cut directly into the rock.
Sir William began down the steps. They were steep, but Penny was glad to be traveling downhill for a change. The stairs weren’t wide enough for two to go side by side, so she let Owen go ahead of her and kept her arm ready to stabilize him if he got too close to the edge.
