Chapter 4

They descended to the ground level and emerged gratefully into the afternoon sunlight. They had found the tower oppressive and stifling, even if in its cool shade they enjoyed some relief from the summer heat.
      Soon they had mounted their steeds and were riding once again toward the west. When they had left the ruins of Gôl Certhad behind they rode with the River Aglathrin flowing swiftly on their left. Another twenty-five miles they went and then they made camp near the river’s edge.
      As trees were plentiful in Arnedia they had no difficulty finding sufficient firewood. Soon they had a good blaze going which they used to cook their evening meal. Alatar had located some edible tubers called cahava which were highly nourishing and tasted much like sweet potatoes. These were mixed with bits of smoked antelope and parsley to produce a pasty mash that looked awful but tasted quite good. This dish when prepared with venison or the meat of any domestic animal was called mastim and was a traditional meal in many parts of Arnedia, though there were of course many variations on the basic recipe.
      After their meal they spoke of their experiences in the tower of Gôl Certhad.
      ‘Do you suspect that it is Nostaite who lives in the tower?’ Talen asked of Raavan.
      ‘No,’ replied the wizard confidently, ‘it is not Nostaite.’
      ‘How can you be so sure?’ pressed the Elfling.
      ‘Because I know Nostaite,’ answered Raavan. ‘I have seen the signature of his personal aura, and it is quite distinct from that which I sensed in the tower. No, this is a different individual. What’s more, I do not believe I have ever run into this individual before.’
      ‘Really?’ said Falco with some surprise.
      ‘Entira is a large place,’ replied the wizard, ‘and there are quite a number of fools in it who are drawn toward the black arts as a means to improve their social status. Most of them never progress further than the conjuring of shades or even more basic tricks than that. But occasionally one finds his way into rather more powerful and dangerous domains: witchcraft, sorcery, necromancy. The very existence and potential of these dark disciplines is a constant danger to the world. It is from this that emerges the need for benign orders such as that of the Kastairi. Indeed, it could be argued that without such enemies wizards would be little needed in the world.’
      ‘Is that to say that there is little difference between wizards and sorcerers other than their intentions?’ asked Falco.
      ‘Actually, the differences are quite profound,’ replied Raavan, ‘for whereas sorcery depends on the explicit worship and service of demons as well as of certain of the lesser and greater dark gods, wizardry derives instead from the hidden power of nature, which, though seemingly latent is nevertheless considerable. Intent and methodology make for the most obvious distinctions between the two sides, but the significance actually runs much deeper and has its origins in the very nature of the world, and of its creation.
      ‘More important for us at this juncture, however, is the identity of this particular individual, for I fear that his power may not be quite as limited as I had originally guessed. Also, he has clearly been concerning himself with certain facets of Arnedian politics. I am yet shocked and now very concerned by the discovery of the Earlstone among his belongings.’ Here, the wizard removed the magnificent jewel from his pack and considered it with a long, thoughtful gaze.
      ‘It is rather surprising that such a grand and coveted royal heirloom would not have warranted such protection as to keep it from the hands of some conjuring rogue,’ said Burak as he beckoned for Raavan to hand him the weighty gem. Receiving it he scrutinised the piece with a keen eye, turning it over in his strong hands till no part of it remained unexamined. ‘The craftsmanship evident in the cutting of the gem itself is astounding. Yet, this is not of Dwarven make. Know you the name of the craftsman who created this exemplary piece?’
      ‘I do not,’ replied Raavan. ‘I know only that it was reputed to have been cut during a passing of the Cendilstar, which may explain why it has on occasion been claimed that the amulet also possesses certain healing virtues, in addition to its more celebrated military value.
      ‘Regarding its unlikely fall into the hands of our conjuring rogue , as you have aptly called him, I could only speculate as to the series of events that allowed that to happen. I am of course very curious to know the truth of the matter, and indeed, I may make a brief but careful enquiry when we pass through some of the cities to the south. I can say that often sorcerers have been known to hire themselves out as thieves or assassins, and it may be that our fellow involved himself in some plot by one fiefdom to obtain the prized relic from another. He may then have decided simply to keep it for himself, though for what purpose I cannot imagine.’
      After a brief silence Alatar said, ‘Raavan, you made some reference to our route ahead.’
      ‘Yes,’ replied the wizard, ‘I think we shall cross the Nientile and make a brief trip to Stonecastle. It is somewhat out of our way, but it seems I now have several good reasons for paying a visit to western Arnedia’s largest city, so we will make the time. After that I am thinking Greycastle and then Aglathrad.’
      ‘But is there not a high king over this land who resides in Aglathrad?’ asked Burak. ‘Would not a separate trip to each of the kingdoms under his rule be redundant and unnecessary?’
      ‘It would be redundant and unnecessary if the high king wielded authority and sway commensurate with his title,’ explained Raavan, ‘but I am afraid that at this point in Arnedian history he does not, and so it will be necessary for us to meet with each of the major powers in this country. Those powers are considerable in extent, however, so the effort will not be wasted, I assure you.’
       
       
      Talen woke the next morning to the smell of fresh tea brewing over the fire. In the early hours of morning Alatar had finished off the final watch by collecting some useful herbs near camp, whereupon he chanced to find some wild tea growing nearby. This was entirely agreeable to the Elflings, for their tea had run out days ago and they were much the worse off for it. Raavan made it known that they soon would be able to purchase more tea and waybread to replenish their stocks, though the latter likely would not be Melimbar. Yet, although he doubtless knew it, the wizard was informed that they all were doing quite well on smoked antelope, for their craving for the bland cakes had as yet not returned with any perceptible urgency.
      Soon they had struck the camp and were again underway. They rode for an hour or so with the river sliding steadily by on their left, and now a series of small hills began to rise up on the right. Soon the river struck due south and just as abruptly the company angled south-westerly, for it was roughly in that direction that lay the city of Stonecastle some two hundred miles hence.
      The terrain became now alternately rough and smooth, with at times a brief wood or a line of hills breaking up the view of expansive fields stretching wide before them. At times the terrain became most disagreeably rocky and altogether unpredictable in the way it rose and fell, and at these times it would be an exaggeration to say that they trotted gaily along. Yet their spirits were not low, for a bright sun danced merrily across the wide blue sky and a pleasant breeze often was to be felt passing gently among them, stirring up the still summer air and carrying fluttering butterflies to and fro in search of undiscovered blossoms.
      At noon they gave their steeds a brief rest and watered them at a clear stream that crossed their path. Mounting up again they continued south-westerly on their way, and by early evening they had travelled fully one hundred miles since morning. As sunset approached they spied before them the arc of another great river running aslant toward the south-east: the Nientile, Raavan informed them, a major tributary of the Aglathrin, and the river upon whose southern bank was built the city of Stonecastle, still many miles away.
      As the sun was beginning to touch the horizon they espied another prominent feature not far ahead: a modest castle, still some distance from the river, set on an open plain with several villages now seen sparsely dotting the surrounding landscape. As they passed by these places they saw that the inhabitants were very poor, having thin, bony frames and sallow faces.
      ‘What place is this?’ asked Burak as they rode on toward the small fortress.
      ‘That is the Chateau Kilarroch,’ replied Raavan. ‘We will stay there tonight. It is actually more of a monastery than a castle. It is kept up by the Ministry of Lumenya, who also serve as the default authorities of this pitiful little province.’
      ‘Priests?’ asked Burak.
      ‘Druids,’ said Raavan. ‘Ostensibly, worshippers of Angwë, though I am not sure anybody really believes that. Few people actually worship Angwë anymore—certainly not these charlatans. They have been secretly dabbling in various forms of mysticism for many years now. They fancy themselves wizards, and are given to performing miracles of various sorts. They will refer to me as Brother Raavan. ’
      Soon they had arrived at the immense wooden doors that were the chateau’s main entrance. No moat or protective wall surrounded this fortress, and rather than battlements and ramparts the structure was adorned with stained glass windows and sculptures of various sorts. It appeared more like a church than a citadel.
      Dismounting, they tethered their horses to a line of posts near the door where they would be able to graze in the immediate area and drink from the nearby trough. As Raavan stepped up to the threshold Airi flew off for his evening hunt.
      ‘I guess Airi’s not fond of them either,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘Shh!’ Raavan admonished the youth as he banged the heavy knocker.
      ‘Brother Raavan,’ said the solemn figure who answered the door. ‘How good of you to visit. The Ministry welcomes you as always.’
      ‘Hello, Mornion,’ said Raavan to the white-robed druid. Beneath his hood they saw that he was a clean shaven man of his late forties, but other than this they could discern nothing about their host, who now led them with stately gait past the massive oaken doors and into the truly immense hall beyond.
      What they had assumed from its appearance without must house three or perhaps four storeys they now saw to contain only one, for the ceiling in this first room was at least sixty feet high. The other dimensions of the hall were very large also, and it was not long in coming to their minds that this structure had been built and originally inhabited by some ancient race of titans. Indeed, in the four corners of the hall stood enormous statues of giant-like figures, strangely adorned and with rather inhuman faces. These imposing guardians looked down upon the companions as they were led along the raised marble walkway toward the far end of the hall.
      Now they passed through an enormous doorway into another hall of similar proportions. This time there were no stone giants to intimidate them with their ageless stare. What drew their eyes instead were the large, stained glass windows depicting intricate scenes of yore. As impressive as the gazing eyes found them, yet more astounding would the fragile works have appeared with bright sunlight filtering through them. It was upon this that they were reflecting when they noticed that three figures also robed in white stood with hoods drawn over their heads at the far end of the hall. Quietly the trio of druids conferred near a more nearly man-sized portal leaving the hall, and toward these persons the companions were now led.
      As the company approached the trio the tallest of the three dismissed the others and turned to greet the arriving party.
      ‘Ah, Brother Raavan,’ said the tall figure who now half smiled at them in a queer sort of way. Unlike the peasants they had seen upon their approach to the chateau, Talen noticed that these strange clerics appeared to be in full health. ‘It is good to see you, my friend. We are always pleased to confer with a fellow colleague on matters of science.’
      ‘Hello, Mentar,’ Raavan greeted the man. ‘Actually, we are just passing through. Our immediate business lies elsewhere, I am afraid.’
      ‘Ah, then I hope you will accept our hospitality for the night,’ said Mentar.
      ‘Thank you,’ accepted Raavan. ‘That is very gracious of you.’
      ‘Brother Mornion can prepare a room for you, and supper, of course,’ said Mentar. ‘Perhaps in the morning we can break our fast together and exchange news.’
      ‘I would like that,’ replied Raavan.
      ‘Very well,’ continued the druid. ‘You will forgive me if I take leave of you now, for I do have important business to attend to this evening.’
      ‘Of course,’ replied Raavan.
      They were led then by Mornion back to the first large hall, where they now noticed several inconspicuous doorways leaving the vast room to either side. Through one of these they were led, down a long, dark passage. In the flickering light of the druid’s torch they saw that many doorways opened to left and right, yet they continued on till the passage terminated at a stone stairway. Up they went, left, then left again as the stairs turned back on themselves in their ascent.
      Finally they came to a long hallway that led to the far side of the chateau and there opened onto a long room with open windows and a string of ten or twelve beds. Here they left their things while Mornion showed them to a modest dining hall on the ground level and had food brought out to them by a half-starved servant.
      Dinner consisted of a bland vegetable stew and a crusty loaf of bread. Though the fare was not overly toothsome, there was plenty of the soup to go around, and as they were quite hungry they partook of it liberally.
      As they ate little was said by anyone, for it was clear to the companions that Raavan did not wish to openly discuss their quest with the strange, hooded clerics, and little else of substance occurred to them as they gazed round at the blank walls and slurped their soup.
      No more was seen of the servant or of the robed priests, so in time they took themselves upstairs again and retired to their beds. Raavan hung his cloak out a window so that Airi would know where to find him should he tire of his nightly exertions before morning.
      It was in fact Airi’s return that woke Talen, or so he supposed, for when he sat up abruptly in bed the first thing he saw was Airi’s silhouette in the nearby window. The bird grunted quietly several times, turned his head round smoothly to look out into the night, then fixed his gaze on the wizard, who slept in the bed next to Talen’s. As he continued to watch the bird he became aware that several distant lights were visible through the window, distant or perhaps only small, and now his curiosity was roused regarding these.
      Greeting Airi softly he joined the bird at the window, where he now was able to discern the nature of the lights. They were in fact torches: many of them, held aloft by a crowd of people gathering some distance behind the chateau. They appeared to be common peasants.
      As if wondering whether he yet slept Talen rubbed his eyes, but neither the lights nor the people who bore them were dispelled by this confirmation of his wakefulness. Suddenly he heard a movement behind him. It was Falco.
      ‘You always were a light sleeper,’ Talen whispered when the other Elfling knelt beside him at the window.
      ‘Not as light as you,’ replied Falco. ‘What’s going on out there?’
      ‘I don’t know,’ said Talen softly. ‘Maybe some kind of ceremony. I think I spied several of our robed friends down there. They all seem to be gathering behind that line of trees, though for what purpose I don’t know.’
      ‘Then let’s find out,’ said Falco donning his Meithilín armour and his cloak.
      ‘What?’ said Talen incredulously.
      ‘Come on, let’s go have a look,’ said the other as he girded himself with his short-sword.
      ‘Are you crazy?’ asked Talen.
      ‘I don’t trust those druids any more than Raavan does,’ said Falco grimly. ‘If they’re up to something diabolic, I don’t want to be asleep when it all boils over.’
      ‘What do you mean?’ asked Talen.
      ‘What if that Mentar is down there inciting that crowd of vigilantes against us—you know, telling them that we’re spies or witches, or worse?’ replied Falco.
      ‘Why would they do that?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Who knows?’ replied Falco. ‘These people are queer. I got a very bad feeling from that Mentar fellow, and even from the other one, Mornion. There’s more going on here than meets the eye, mark my words!’
      ‘That may be, but let’s at least ask Raavan about it before we do anything rash,’ suggested Talen.
      ‘Yes, good idea,’ agreed Falco.
      Now they gently woke the old wizard, who promptly sat up in bed and gazed over at the window where Airi still perched.
      ‘What’s this?’ asked the wizard. ‘A party out on the lawn, and we’re not invited?’
      ‘Yes, that’s why we woke you,’ said Talen.
      ‘Ah,’ said the wizard, looking for his staff. ‘Well, let’s go see what it’s all about then, shall we?’
       
       
      The three slipped quietly through the stone halls of the dark chateau, Talen cupping his glowing crystal in his hands to provide just the amount of light they needed to navigate. Dannadar had been waked and briefed on the situation just in case any of the others arose in the night and wondered at the three empty beds, but the young Elfling was unusually tired and went straight to sleep as soon as the trio departed.
      When they reached the large hall with the massive wooden doors Talen fully covered his light as Raavan led them stealthily through the vast, dimly lit room. Through the enormous arched portal and into the second main hall they went. To the far side of the chateau he now led them and out a small doorway into the dark courtyard beyond. Some distance ahead lay the line of coniferous trees beyond which the congregation gathered. A flicker of torchlight shone here and there through breaks in the foliage, yet nothing could they discern regarding the nature of the mysterious gathering.
      Now they edged along the rear of the chateau and so came to a stable, and beyond that a glasshouse, yet on they stole till they reached a small stream lined thickly with trees and flowing roughly from the direction of the assemblage. This they now followed in concealment till they had gone well past the line of conifers and had entered a wood bordering the field in which the communicants were gathered. Creeping ever so carefully to the edge of the wood they now stood inconspicuous in the deep shadow of night, observing with keen interest the enigmatical proceedings which were unfolding in plain view before them.
      In the midst of the field was raised a small mound, and upon this stood a large stone altar. All round the altar was ringed a line of white-robed druids. They stood with hoods drawn over their heads and faced the torch-bearing peasants. Now the druids parted to stand at either end of the altar while a tall figure dressed all in black ascended the mound and walked about with hands raised toward the sky. Ooooh , the crowd intoned softly as a blood-red banner was unfurled over the sides of the altar, revealing on each side a black emblem consisting of an equal-sided triangle containing a smaller triangle inverted within it, and an eye within that.
      Now a large tome was passed up to the black-robed priest as the other druids descended from the mound and began to move slowly among the crowd. All the while the oooohs went on softly and the torches which now were held over the peasants’ heads began to undulate in a slow, hypnotic pattern. Presently the head priest commenced reading from the book in a loud, sepulchral voice as the watchers softened their own intonations, though they did not cease entirely. The words read were strange and guttural, and though they may have been as foreign and meaningless to the crowd as they were to the Elflings, they nevertheless served their purpose, for the entire ritual had started to produce an effect most somniferous and lethargical in those who looked on. Eyelids became heavy, yet the worshippers continued to chant and to wave.
      Suddenly a struggle broke out on the far side of the crowd as the druids dragged an unwilling volunteer kicking and struggling to the altar. The woman was bound and laid on the stone as the head priest continued to read from the abstruse scripture. The chants went on. Now a flask was produced and a draught was administered to the terrified captive.
      Soon the woman was asleep and her bonds were cut loose with long knives wielded by the druids in white. This complete, the daggers were held up one by one to the head priest, who, placing two fingers across the flat of each blade, uttered an unintelligible benediction upon the cruel instrument.
      About the altar the druids once more were ringed, blades held on high for the coming sacrifice. The chanters chanted and the torches glowed, yet the blades were held aloft by patient arms as the head priest looked skyward, his palms raised in supplication.
      Suddenly the black-robed figure dropped to his knees in prayer, and so then did the entire crowd, their torches laid aside as they touched their foreheads to the earth. Now the other druids went about their grisly business. They drew their bodies close round the altar as they brought down their blades toward the victim, so that the terrible deed could not be seen but by the unholy ministers.
      Talen and Falco suddenly tensed, their hands now instinctively on their weapons. To stand by and watch as an innocent was butchered defied their every moral, yet Raavan held them back with a firm hand. Talen was struck with horror anew as he saw blades withdrawn now tinged with red. ‘Fear not,’ whispered Raavan, yet it was not fear, but rather sorrow and rage they felt, for as desperate tears rolled down Talen’s cheek a fury seized Falco like he had never felt before. It was a fury that one day would come to possess him again, to the great detriment of his enemies, but for now the rage would yield to his control.
      ‘This is not as it seems,’ whispered Raavan. ‘Watch and see.’
      Now the butchers retreated from the body which they had covered with a white sheet, now stained with blood. At the base of the altar they knelt and began to pray. The head priest arose and performed an elaborate ritual over the body involving many talismans and pontifical enunciations and finally the anointing of the covered corpse with the contents of a ceremonial phial. Completing his office the head druid retreated from the body and proceeded to pray on bended knee.
      With the exception of an occasional whimpering here and there the crowd had fallen silent. The congregation now held their torches before them as kneeling they whispered many and diverse words of prayer.
      Long moments passed.
      Now a movement on the altar caught Talen’s eye. He gasped. The body had moved, and now the sheet was being withdrawn from its face. The sacrificed woman raised her head slightly and groggily looked about.
      ‘Úvar grants another resurrection!’ proclaimed the head priest to loud cheers from the crowd.
      Raavan groaned.
       
       
      ‘But, what about the bloody knives?’ protested Talen.
      ‘Don’t worry about the bloody knives just now!’ insisted Raavan as they made their way back to the chateau with as much speed as they could manage without giving their presence away. The ceremony over, the gathered peasants now were dispersing in all directions, returning to the surrounding villages from whence they had come. The trio did not wish to be discovered by any of the participants, but it was the druids in particular that they wished to avoid, for they needed still to slip back into the chateau and up to their room before the priests returned and locked the outer doors.
      Soon they began to encounter peasants crossing the stream along which the trio rushed, and now they broke into a run. Cutting before the stables they reached the chateau and now slowly crept along the outer wall toward the door as they regained their breath. They reached the door and found it unlocked. Looking round they saw that many peasants still were streaming out from the area in all directions, yet no robed figures did they see approaching.
      ‘They must be cleaning up all the blood,’ concluded Falco. ‘There certainly was a lot of it.’
      In through the door they went and now they hurried quietly through the capacious halls till they reached the stairway ascending to their room.
      ‘The blood was counterfeit,’ said Raavan as they climbed the stairs. ‘They must have kept a flask of it in their robes, then poured it out onto their knives and the body when the crowd had knelt to pray. The potion given to the woman was obviously a sleeping draught with a limited duration. They knew she would be unconscious long enough for them to splatter her with blood and to give her some convincing scratches. Then they needed only wait for her to wake up, and behold! they had their miraculous resuscitation.’
      Now they arrived at their room, and entering they saw that the others were fully awake and were just donning their cloaks and taking up their weapons.
      ‘Here they are!’ exclaimed Burak.
      ‘Where have you been?’ insisted Alatar.
      ‘Everything is fine,’ Raavan assured them.
      ‘What is going on out there?’ asked Burak, gesturing toward the window.
      ‘Our hosts have been administering religious services for the poor masses,’ explained the wizard, ‘that is all.’
      ‘In the middle of the night?’ said Burak incredulously.
      ‘Why not? After all, it’s probably the best time to have a human sacrifice,’ reasoned Falco.
      ‘A sacrifice!’ exclaimed Dannadar.
      ‘There is nothing to be concerned about,’ Raavan assured his companions. ‘Let me explain.’
      With that he sat them down and recounted the events for the three who had been left behind. Then he explained how he had witnessed similar rituals before by these same charlatans and knew that the execution would be feigned.
      ‘What I did not know was that their evolving doctrine had drifted toward the worship of Úvar,’ admitted the wizard. ‘That does concern me a bit.’
      ‘But you knew all along they were going to pretend to murder that woman, and you didn’t tell us? You just let us believe that she was being butchered before our very eyes,’ accused Talen.
      ‘I’m sorry,’ replied the wizard. ‘I was so engrossed and amused by their earnest attempts at appearing the powerful shamans that I quite forgot that you and Falco were not privy to the whole charade. My sincerest apologies.’ Talen’s pique was somewhat appeased by this, though not entirely.
      Raavan went on: ‘For now, my friends, there is nothing for us to do but return to our beds and get some much needed rest. I think I would like for us to slip away quietly in the morning before our hosts are up and about, just to avoid the possibility that any slip-up might lead to an awkward situation in regards to the events witnessed tonight. I would rather deal with this when I don’t have much larger issues on my mind. We really can’t afford to be delayed at every tower or monastery we encounter along the way. Heaven knows, there are enough freaks and miscreants in the world to keep us distracted from now till Noron’s Day, if we allow it.’