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ASTOCATH ORDERED HIS retainers home, so, left with his apprentice, Mordrak and Tulan, he retraced part of their journey eastwards again. In the distance, when they mounted the crests of the rolling hills, Astocath pointed out the shadows of the Great Forest that lay to the northeast. Mordrak’s belief that it stretched a thousand miles from end to end was confirmed to be true by Astocath’s reckoning.
Passing through a small town, and, finally coming to a wide river that flowed quickly south from the Great Forest, Astocath led them away from the road to cross the moors and head north along the river. Mordrak took to singing which no one minded as he had quite a good voice. In the light of the setting sun, which cast the company’s shadows long and narrow, they could see the outline of the Great Forest some hours’ ride in the distance.
“That,” said Astocath, pointing his finger with a thrusting arm, “is roughly where we’re headed for. But we’ll rest here until the morning. It will be too dark otherwise to find our way.”
Mordrak stopped singing his songs, some bawdy, some ballads, and he gasped aloud. “And Adriselle, she is there?”
Astocath nodded. “She is. She is safe with the elves.”
Tulan saw Mordrak give the mage a discerning look and now, of a sudden, he understood how the man appeared so different. Mordrak exclaimed, “You are of elven blood, aren’t you?”
Astocath made no comment. There was a silence as they all looked at the mage in mixed feelings.
“What if I am?” said Astocath.
“No matter if you are. It just wasn’t apparant,” replied Mordrak. “Except manipulative, of course - something at which you excell.”
Jorlon rubbed down his stallion’s coat. “Good boy, Tiser. We’re off to visit the elves!”
“Can he understand you?” asked Tulan unashamedly.
“Of course. Animals have more understanding than you can imagine.”
Tulan nodded.
Jorlon went on, but this time more seriously. “Men have more imagination than is good for them, and the horrors they perceive are fuelled by their stubborn ignorance. True knowledge and wisdom is too deep for them, so they dismiss it. Like refusing to learn to swim, in such conditions, you will ultimately drown.”
Tulan dutifully whistled. “Strong words.”
“The secret is knowledge and understanding of friend and enemy alike.”
“How did you come to understand all this?” Tulan frowned.“I mean, I know what you’re saying—”
“But not many can articulate it, nor even abide with it.” Jorlon’s tone was haughty, and he was obviously rather impressed with himself. “Is there a wise lord who makes a fool of a powerful enemy?”
“What do you mean?” asked the squire, more out of good manners than interest.
“I mean if we are to become good friends, we must understand one another.”
Tulan turned away, saying, “I’ve got to feed us. There’s cooking to do and tents to be set up.”
“Astocath told me to help,” said Jorlon in a friendly manner.
“I’ll cook then.” Tulan’s decision was instant, and his tone was warm.
“Very well, then. This time around, we can take turns.”
Both of them wondered if they could ever be friends. Jorlon supposed not, ultimately, but saw no reason why he should not make an effort in the meantime.
Mordrak sat beside Astocath near the campfire that was as yet unlit. “Is the forest as dangerous as men say? Few dare enter there, I’ve heard.”
“Oh, it’s much like any forest, young man. But prettier, even so.”
“Are there nymphs and pixies and things?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do the elves fear them, their wiles?”
“No.”
“Are they friends?” Mordrak persisted.
“Not often. Like the difference between man and elf, each has different ambitions or motives.”
“Such as?” Mordrak was genuinely interested and pondered the tensions between the variety of intelligent creatures.
“The elves are the keepers. As for the others, they’re more interested in their own company, largely unmarked by any understanding of man, goblin or otherwise.”
“But nymphs ...” Mordrak’s passion flamed with a dream of certain safety caught in the clutches of a jealous, sensuous feminine creature. Her harbouring him would excuse him from the cares of his own world.
“Selfish, flippant and of lusty ken. Worse still, they are more deadly than night-hags.” Astocath sniffed noisily. “And they never do men any good, not in the way they would consider the experience wonderful. Like a succubus, the wrong sort drains the soul. Indeed, many are succubi. But I’m not prepared to discuss such things any further.” He clapped his hands and turned to watch Tulan struggling to light a flame with his tinderbox for the campfire. “When’s supper going to be ready? I’m famished.”
“Soon,” replied Tulan calmly.
Astocath returned his attention to Mordrak. “Well, you’ll be seeing your sister tomorrow.”
Mordrak was chagrined to think he was dependant on Astocath’s goodwill to ever see his sister again. After a brief moment’s silence as he contemplated this, he did not speak of how he truly looked forward to seeing her. Rather, looking around to see that they were out of earshot of the others, he said, “That was a terrible fight at Ifhrd’s. I’ve never known nor dreamed of such a time. I have fought ogres, but that troglodyte was worse.”
“I well imagine,” replied Astocath. “I doubt it would be defeated if it weren’t for Ifhrd.” He pulled a face as he clearly regretted losing his friend.
“Will it return? I mean is it dead, or did it get banished when defeated?” Mordrak asked, speaking of the monstrous troglodyte.
“If it hasn’t taken what it wanted maybe it can arise again. But I imagine it also depends upon who summoned it and why, for whatever reason.”
Mordrak blinked. “So then, it is possible we will meet it again?”
Without speaking further, the mage walked away to be alone. Jorlon came over, having erected the two small tents. He smiled at the knight and said, “ I would like to make my sword a gift to you.”
Mordrak looked the apprentice up and down. Without making any effort to veil his reservation, he asked, “Why?”
“Will you accept it as a gift?”
Looking away, Mordrak said, “I don’t know.”
“Here. You have it already. You just don’t need to give it back.”
“Like I say, I don’t know.”
Tulan broke the atmosphere. “Supper’s ready.” He offered Mordrak a bowl of the stew which was readily accepted.
***
IT WAS MORDRAK’S TURN to keep the last watch over the camp until dawn. He sat looking towards the Great Forest, thinking all the while of Adriselle and considering the wisdom of encouraging Prince Tabor to marry her. One thing he was sure of was that the prince would not remain faithful to her, could even eventually bring scandal to the house with his alternative preferences. Greater still, could it be a wasted marriage? And who in the entire world would she then be fit for in a second marriage? Prestige for the family was tentative, given the situation, though it would be hard to see any shame falling on Adriselle should the prince become indiscreet. Sweat prickled on his back as he considered these things and weighed up the implications.
His head felt heavy as if it were as metal as his helm, and he chewed on his lower lip, wishing upon the crescent moon for a promise of hope. The figure of the moon-man barely peered over the forest. Mist rose from the ground, and he wished his life were as ordered as these natural elements around him. His head ached with an oncoming chill; he felt cold and shivered with the sweat that was cooling on his back.
He was about to fan the small campfire when he saw lights glimmer in the distance. He stood up for a better look, glad to stretch his legs and unknot his aching muscles, wondering who might be travelling at this hour. He hoped the elves had organised a greeting party. Yet aware this might well be danger that approached, he heaped stones upon the fire to dull its glow. The lights were still quite distant, and he walked towards them cautiously, conscious that he might be drawn out from the camp for an attack behind him. But he felt compelled to approach the lanterns all the same. His fears were allayed as he heard his sister’s voice calling, “Mordrak! Mordrak! Is it you?”
His heart pounded, and he wished that the lanterns were much nearer. Adriselle had come out with the elves to meet him and Astocath. He hurried his pace on towards the lights and heard Adriselle call again, “Mordrak! Is it you? Come here!”
“Yes, it is I!” he shouted, and broke into a run, despite the discomfort his chainmail caused him. He also ignored his straining and choking lungs that compressed against his armour as he exerted himself. He was coming closer to the lanterns, and it seemed they were also quickly approaching him.
Suddenly, he felt his feet sink into the ground, and losing his balance, he fell headlong. He feared a pit, yet rather than land painfully upon solid ground ten feet below, the ground squelched beneath him—he was in a mire. Filth was in his mouth, and the place stank evilly now that it was disturbed. Not a thought came to mind except the fear that he would never see his sister again.
Mordrak cried out as despair seized him. The lanterns were an unfathomable distance away. “Adriselle! Adriselle!” he cried.
“Brother! Come quickly!”
“I’m drowning!” he cried out, certain that she could not hear him. Her company was such a distance away and his mouth so full of grime his voice could not carry.
Memory of the pits that the wraiths had promised him came to the forefront of his mind, and he feared his sister would fall into the mire herself and bring true the terrible prophecy. His heart faltered as he coughed and choked. A fearful thought of an eternity struggling and flailing within the mires inspired a vision. Each of them would be alone and never seek out the other. Both of them but spirits of futility, their ghostly voices ever heard moaning for one another across these moors.
“Odin! Oh, Odin! Have an eye for me!” he prayed as he fought with the clinging bog. “Astocath!” he screeched at a pitch he never knew his voice could reach and choked again as mud was brought down into his lungs. He was sinking quickly and reasoned he must become still unless he was to sink farther. His mind cried out, for his mouth was full of mud. “Astocath! Help!”
Surely he would depend on magic now! He tried to swim to where he had first fallen, but mud was also in his eyes, and he could barely see. The bog was almost over his shoulders; soon he would sink without a trace. He had been a fool, and more a fool to struggle. His muscles seized with fear, and he stilled and spat his mouth clear of muck. Now, unless his ears were blocked, Adriselle had fallen silent.
A shadow stood near his pool. “Mordrak!”
“Is that you, Astocath?” He gasped and spat more peat from his mouth.
“There you are! Yes, it is I.” He sounded angry. “You left the camp!”
“Help me!”
“It is as well I laid wards ...”
Was this an enemy? Mordrak spluttered in disbelief. “Damn you! Help me!”
“Stay calm. I’ll think what’s best to do.”
Astocath’s calm was like a lunatic's! “Damn you! Help, you bastard!”
Astocath knelt and reached out with both hands. He grabbed Mordrak’s head around the ears. It seemed to Mordrak that the mage’s arms had grown in length to reach out across the pool. His head felt as if it were caught in a vice, such was the mage’s grip, and he dared not cry out with the pain lest it be misconstrued for craven fear. Finally, as Astocath tugged and pulled, hurting his ears mightily as he was drawn upwards, the mage was finally able to grip him beneath the arms. Then soon enough, barely able to believe it, Mordrak slumped on solid ground in breathless gratitude.
“You stink,” said Astocath.
“I don’t care.”
“Good men do not wander off in the middle of the night alone. Certainly not on moors such as these.” Astocath shook his head. “And more importantly—”
“Where’s Adriselle?” Mordrak cut in, and looked for sign of the lanterns. They were dancing far away in the distance.
“More importantly, you should ponder on how those will o’ the wisps know your name. You haven’t been keeping your dreams and thoughts much to yourself, have you? And how else could they know of Adriselle? Believe me, Mordrak, the thoughts of many rings loud and clear!”
“Is this a time for a lecture? Curse you!”
“You’ve cursed me quite enough for one night, you repellent viper,” said Astocath coldly. “It’s important since ... well, these things are important.”
Mordrak coughed more filth from his mouth. “The wraiths are up to greater things, aren’t they?”
“Probably. Our enemy remains restless and likely the root to this encounter.”
“We have become complacent.”
“We have?”
Mordrak spat what he hoped was the last of the mud from his mouth, but then choked some more. Spitting dirt, he hoped Astocath would interpret the final discharge to be a signal of indifference. “I am pushed this way and that by all manner of magic, and now you say my thoughts blow like birdsong upon the wind. What am I supposed to make of it all?”
“Let’s get back to the camp.” Astocath stood and turned, surprised that Mordrak overtook him on the way and resumed his watch. “Would you have me take over from you, so you can have a rest?” Astocath offered kindly.
Any fatigue Mordrak had felt earlier seemed to have been left behind in the mire. He gracefully declined Astocath’s offer. Looking at the mage, he said, “How can I rest in this filth?”
“True.” Astocath shrugged. “You'll need to sleep outside.”
Mordrak said, “You saved my life this very hour, and I don’t suppose you really need me.”
“Glad to hear as much,” Astocath called in response.
Mordrak sensed the boy wraiths snigger at him from a hidden place, and his nerves rang cold.
***
WITH GREAT IMPATIENCE to be moving on, Mordrak shook everyone from their slumber. He had Tulan pack the tents whilst Jorlon prepared a quick breakfast. He told Tulan that Jorlon would be sure to dally just to make a nuisance of himself. “He is a nuisance already because I am on the rota to cook this morning.”
Mordrak raised his eyebrows in surprise.
The squire continued, “My hands are cold and the canvas is colder still. Anyway, Mordrak,” said Tulan, still grumbling, “what’s happened to you? Your armour—it ...” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’ll have to clean it.”
“So good you are, sleeping through all that noise last night!” said Mordrak in outrage.
Tulan looked at him open-mouthed.
“I fell into a mire that Astocath had to drag me out of.”
Tulan shook his head. “I’m sorry. Usually I’m a light sleeper.”
“I know.” Mordrak thought for a moment. “It seems our backs are still saddled by nothing but manoeuvre.” He looked grimly at the squire. “Do you still not wonder if it’s the magi’s Circle creating it all?”
Tulan looked at him from beneath his brow. “Sometimes I wonder, yes. But you know and want reminding that Astocath is trustworthy.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We’ve discussed as much already.” He shook his head. “And I don’t believe for one minute that Astocath is our enemy.”
“What could stop them from taking over Tell’s throne, anyway?”
“Fear?” Tulan suggested cautiously.
“Hmm. Fear of what?” Tulan’s insights could often be disarming, Mordrak reflected. “I rather doubt it.”
“Perhaps themselves. Shall I clean your armour before we move on?”
Mordrak sighed with impatience. “Just get on with things, I’ll see to it. We’re never going to get anywhere as far as I can see.”
Astocath bustled over and said, “We’ll be there soon enough in any case.” He wrinkled his nose. “Pooh, Mordrak, your armour?”
“Don’t you start!” And then he snapped at Tulan to begin his work.
As Mordrak walked off to a nearby rock to clean his chainmail with a wire brush, Astocath approached the squire, who was now beginning to dismantle the tents. “It comes to something when a knight sorts out his own armour, instead of letting his page attend to it.”
“He wants me to do this. Anyway, I’m no longer a page-boy of many years standing, or are you starting on me as well?” Tulan began rolling up a canvas tent.
“Between you and Jorlon, what chance would we have asleep in an unguarded camp? Nevertheless ...” Astocath paused. “How do you feel about going to Faerie?”
“Faerie?” Tulan drew breath noisily and looked up from on his knees. “Well, I don’t rightly know. It’s a bit unexpected.” He whistled. “Some don't even believe there is a place.”
“It’s likely the obvious course for us. I’ll be more certain when we get to the elves. I’ve been making my own observations concerning your master’s haunting. It is for ease of trust that I will confide some things to you from time to time. Perhaps you will help keep Mordrak’s heart at rest, and not give him the details?”
“I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
Astocath nodded with pursed lips. “I am taking every precaution open to us.”
They were to eat a ration of salted fish that Jorlon would boil up with dried corn. It did not seem it would be very wholesome, although the herbal brew Tulan had prepared in advance helped to encourage their appetites. By the time they were ready to eat, Mordrak still had not returned. Motioning for Jorlon to start cooking, the mage took Tulan with him to find the knight. “It might not do to shout,” Astocath said.
They reached a brook that fed into the river and found Mordrak’s armour laying spread out near the running water, but there was no sign of him.
“He has his sword,” Tulan muttered.
“Let’s hope it’s enough.”Astocath also saw the empty scabbard.
All around the area, boulders lay jumbled over the coarse grass. Their surroundings were bleak, and with the continual breeze, there seemed to be little comfort here for anything or anyone. The Great Forest lay in the distance, ten miles perhaps and more. There was no sight of Mordrak at all. Tulan saw Astocath motion as he conjured some sort of spell.
“Over there. I can hear he’s fighting,” said Astocath.
They jumped over a brook and followed it to an area of small rocky crags that jutted up from the ground. Now Tulan could hear for himself the sounds of scuffling and dull thuds of what was surely steel against wood. The sound of the fight was carried away by a gusty breeze.
Astocath dared to call, “Mordrak?”
“Over here!” Mordrak’s voice rang back. He sounded hoarse.
Astocath led Tulan quickly towards the clashing noise. “We’re coming!” shouted Tulan, drawing his sword, keen for a fight and to prove himself.
Arriving behind a heap of boulders, they saw Mordrak dwarfed by a towering ogre. The filthy, fur-clad brute gave a toothless grin at the sight of the mage and squire. It was almost as if he was fighting for sport; but he continued clubbing at Mordrak’s parrying sword.
Tulan rushed in and forced the ogre to step back, outflanked. Then with a terrible blow aimed for the side of Mordrak’s head, which was desperately dodged, the ogre turned about and fled. Staggering in shock from the continual mighty blows that had pummeled him almost senseless, and looking in surprise at Astocath, Mordrak put a hand out to stop Tulan from giving chase.
Quickly, Tulan drew a dagger and threw it at the ogre. It hit him in the small of his back, cutting the belt that braced the skirt of fur at his loins. The ogre fell to the ground with a growl and rolled, forcing the dagger deeper into his back. He lay motionless and cried out in pain. Closely followed by Mordrak, Tulan rushed over to the brute whose face was contorted with agony and howling, “Leave me! Leave me!” Yet he moved neither his arms nor his legs.
“Good shot!” cried Mordrak. The ogre was entirely crippled.
“What you doing here?” Tulan tore at the ogre’s hair.
“Agh. You die! You die!”
“Where are your friends?” He continued shaking the ogre’s head so as to rattle the information out of him. “Answer me now, or I’ll beat your face into the ground.”
The ogre roared all manner of curses between sharp cries of pain.
“What shall we do with him?” Mordrak asked the mage.
Astocath pulled a face. “By the looks of him, he’s past giving anyone much more trouble.”
Mordrak rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t seem to be moving his arms,” Mordrak said with deep sarcasm. “Tulan, leave him be.”
The squire moved away, poised to strike if necessary. “We can’t just leave him here, sir,” he said.
“You do it.” Mordrak looked Astocath in the eye.
“No, no,” replied the mage, somewhat ruffled. “Ripping out his heart here and now is not my style.”
“Here’s a dagger,” said Mordrak, and rolling the screeching ogre over, he ripped Tulan’s blade from its spine. The creature screamed as the pain racked through his body.
Astocath did not raise a hand to take it.
“Very well,” said Mordrak thickly, and kneeling by the ogre, he took a handful of hair to raise his head and slit his throat. “That’s his misery over with.” Mordrak stood and passed the bloody blade to Tulan. “You can wash it and bring along my armour. By the gods, it’s as if we’re destined to rot on this accursed moor!”
His ill temper railed against everyone to hurry packing the meal they were not to have after all and move. “We’ll still be here if there is a whole warband to descend upon us.” Mordrak strode up and down, snapping at the company, ever looking out for evidence of his words coming true.
As they hastened with their packs, Tulan noticed Astocath was reticent toward calling Mordrak to book, and would not have been surprised if they were to leave several things behind, such was Mordrak’s impatience and wrath.
Finally they were ready, and Astocath clucked his horse forward. Mordrak directed his horse quickly to the mage’s side and said, “Look! You’re taking us in the direction that ogre came from. You’ll have to find another way.”
“I can deal with a bunch of ogres,” Astocath said contemptuously.
“What, like you dealt with that one?”
“Now listen to me, young man! Did you not wonder why he ran away?” Astocath seethed. “I don’t always have a valiant knight to hand. And some I’ve known I have done better without. This is the way we’re heading. And for yourself,” Astocath pushed his head forward, “don’t be surprised if you’ve not heard the last from those wraiths.” He paused. “And don’t think for one minute they’re of my doing.” He knocked his knees against Quest, urging the beast into a trot and then capably leaped the banks of the brook.
Mordrak fell behind and quietened down, certain that the mage’s anger would be lost if he were to continue chiding everyone. It also occurred to him that he was becoming an unwholesome individual. His very personality had become inflamed. After a while, sure about the accuracy of his self-assessment, he sidled up to Tulan’s side. “Have I become unreasonable?”
“You’ve a lot of worries. I’ll always ride by you wherever you go, if you should want me. But I might become equally affected by those wraiths as you in time. It could happen before this task is through.”
“Thank you, Tulan.”
“There are going to be some things that I shall be aware of—things you’ll not be privy to, so Astocath tells me,” said Tulan softly. “It’s because your wraiths may be spying on us. And it’s not as if we are any the larger in number now we've shed our men.”
“Hmm, I am not sure you should have told me that.” Mordrak bit his lip. “Though Astocath would take us through a valley of harpies, I have no doubt, but Loki knows what he’ll have following in our wake.”
“Well I don’t suppose they’ll expect us to disappear into the Forest,” said Tulan, referring to the anticipated ogres. “Though it is said, ‘We are not of this world’.”
“Judezzeks have a similar saying, but of themselves: ‘we are not of this world’.” Mordrak coughed again. “Do you think there are different worlds, but Faerie is a different world, so there must be?”
“All as one to me. It’s like thinking of distant lands across the sea: some way to cross, but once the journey’s done, what does it matter? Most, I think, believe there are other worlds. Many though deny Faerie for some reason.”
Mordrak shivered as a cold wind began to sweep across the moor, and he hoped the chill he was developing would not turn into a fever. Astocath could do little to heal him if it happened. “There are some afflictions,” Astocath had said, “that magic can do nothing for. The common cold is one of them.”
Mordrak cared nothing for the limitations. He could not bring himself to trust to wizards’ enchantments; too many arcane wonders had been forced upon him since he had laid siege to Nan-Enn.