Chapter 189: Into the Spinewood

Book 4, Chapter 30 - Into the Spinewood

Caw, caw went the lone crow perched atop Red Vine's northern watchtower. Perhaps it had come expecting a feast after the knells that'd rung and ruined the festival of the night prior. There was no feast for it here, but the morning was a sour one regardless. Celebrations had carried through the night, but true mirth had been robbed from it.

Aaron eyed the crow warily as he waited on horseback for his paltry army of two hundred young men to leave the small town behind. Commander Rask led them out, and a trail of townsfolk followed to Red Vine's gates, watching the men march unto the Spinewood.

A cool breeze blew from the distant mountaintops. It was as if the Äld were a living entity, breathing down on the lands below. Aaron nudged his mare and turned her to face the peaks. Their white tops, usually shrouded by mist, shown almost clearly in the growing daylight. He brought his gaze lower toward Lady Serene's larger force, all mounted, waiting for Red Vine's footmen to arrive. The princess was at their head, riding atop a sleek brown horse the kinds Aaron had seen among Illeyan breeders. She brushed aside strands of her hair caught in the wind, tucking them gently behind her ear. Aaron had not spoken to her since that misunderstanding the night before. She'd kept her word still, readying her small army to ride before dawn.

The watchtowers, though, had not rung in the night in false alarm. The young men keeping watch had seen Silver Tail wolves run amok in the open fields outside the town. Not a strange sight, but the watchers had claimed the wolves tamed, and bearing riders. That was a far more troubling aspect. Woodsmen had confirmed the tracks of wolves found eerily close to the walls of Red Vine, and in greater numbers than what belonged to a single pack.

“Viper,” Aaron said, knowing the Shadow Walker was with him. “Can you scout ahead of our path once we enter the treeline?”

“You don't want me watching the Saintess?” came the rasped response from within the mare's shadow.

“She has her two loyal guards now,” Aaron said. Ophelia was accompanying in the event her Healing were needed. “Not that I trust those men. We'll have to observe them from afar for a time.”

“I'll go. But what do you suppose the wolves were here for?”

Aaron grunted. His small army had caught up. He'd promised the princess to ride at the van and so nudged his horse toward her company. “How far back does Shieda spoken history go, Viper?”

“Beyond even the War of Ashes.”

“Were you ever taught anything about our Eternal Flames, and the shrines that bear them?”

“I was told they provide warmth and light and a semblance of shelter to those even hundreds of miles away if the Flame is bright enough,” Viper said. “You've said something similar yourself.”

“Mm,” Aaron answered. “And were you ever told what would happen should a fire in a Shrine fail to be rekindled and allowed to die?”

“Darkness and corruption are bound to thrive, save against those few good of heart,” said Viper. “This has relevance to my first question?”

“I… think so,” Aaron said. “Shrines were placed around the world by the first Flame Bearers strategically, so far as I'm aware. Their protection was to be granted to all those in the surrounding area for hundreds of miles. Only, a flame unkindled begins to wilt, and the radius of protection shrinks as a result. Negativity and corruption are allowed to breed in spaces where their light does not touch.”

“Then, logically speaking, there should be a Shrine of Flames somewhere in this region?” Viper asked.

“Yes. Only, I have no memory of it. It is likely none from my ancestors have come to this region's Shrine in so long that it has been wiped from my mind, or perhaps buried too deep for me to find. I fear creatures of the depths beneath our feet have been given free reign of these lands. Creatures like ratmen, imps, and the many twisted varieties they come in.”

Viper stayed silent for a while. Ever the cool breeze whistled past, hardy northern grass swaying in their wake. The horse neared Elizia's company. Viper reduced his harsh voice to a lower whisper. “Does not the loss of an Eternal Flame breed malcontent among people too? The people of Red Vine do not seem ill of mind.”

“That is because I am here,” Aaron said in a low tone. Heads still turned his way as nearby soldiers bearing the Eagle sigil on their leather armors wondered to whom it was he spoke with his head turned toward empty air. “I possess an Eternal Flame, though it is not of my own. The presence of one of my bloodline,” Aaron said, avoiding stating his last name before Elizia's soldiers, “is enough to dispel the darkness of our world. It is a poor substitute for the radiance of the Flames in a Shrine, or the radiance once exuded by the four lesser Gods of Illusterra, but it is enough to calm the people.

“You should recall the horrid state of mind these people were in when we first arrived. I did my best to relieve their ails through actions, but my mere existence is a cleansing factor, and the stronger my state of mind, the stronger my Flame's blessing on those in my immediate surrounds,” Aaron finished. Protection though he might provide, Darkspawn, once they'd tasted the free air of the world above their wicked abodes, grew feral in their pursuit to devour it all.

Yet the Virk, barbarians though we call them, are not meek of heart. A mountain range isolated them from civilization, but the faithful of Erioh, the once mighty God of the Mountains, were among the hardest of folk. Literally . Sons of Erioh, those few he'd molded from clay himself, were said to have possessed stone like skin and strength. It was a hereditary trait like with Daughters of the Forest, yet it should have waned in power over the generations. But if it hasn't, and some among the Virk tribes have decided us their enemies…

Viper held his silence as Aaron neared the First Princess. He rode without word, several meters separating him from Elizia and her lieutenant. He pondered long on the recent knowledge he'd come into from his distant memories. The stronger my state of mind… It had been weak during his time in Eurale. He'd been conflicted, afraid of responsibilities, angry. He felt a lingering of those insecurities deep within. They'd not been eradicated. They could not be. Not with the traumatizing memories he possessed of many of his past forefathers.

Mother had a weak state of mind , Aaron thought. A woman broken by endless abuse and abandonment by loved ones. If she had been stronger, perhaps much of her harsh experiences would not have come to pass. Aaron possessed nearly all of what she'd been through. Every assault she'd suffered in an alley, every brutal client she'd served, and even that time in the guardhouse of Seldar which he'd covered his eyes from. He knew of every moment in excruciating detail as if he'd suffered it all himself. A wonder I am not insane already. Such is the torment and the fortitude granted us Flame Bearers by the Creator. A fortitude Lera had apparently lacked.

Aaron felt the burn of hatred rise in his breast. He touched the hilt of his sword to siphon it away, but this hate was strong. His grandfather was still alive somewhere, and he did not know the extent of his daughter's suffering. Her memories had not been passed down to her father. They could not be.

“Were you talking to yourself?”

Aaron stirred. “What?” he asked, finding that he'd been grinding his nails into the leather of his mare's reins. He turned to Elizia, surprised that she'd spoken.

“I asked if you were talking to yourself. You were talking to open air as you came to ride alongside us.”

“I —no. No I wasn't,” he said. “Don't ask irrelevant questions,” he then snapped. His fingers were on Butter Knife's hilt still, but the power he felt in his veins had lessened significantly, making him want to grip the hilt entirely. He resisted that urge, frowning. Elizia's odd interjection had split through his spiteful thoughts with the ease of a sharpened knife.

Aaron glanced toward her again, finding her staring at him through narrowed eyes. He spat a glare and turned away. The way she made him blank was unsettling. A void filled him when looking at her too long, and that void swelled with thoughts of Tyrella. How is it one bloody man's will is so strong among all my other ancestors?

Minutes of silence passed as both armies reached closer to the rising treeline before them. A false silence it was, as the sound of hundreds of marching feet and stomping hooves had been present to accompany. Aaron ground his teeth, wondering how to go about cleansing the awkwardness that still held after yesternight's incident. He decided to do the right thing before the two companies could arrive at their destination. “I apologize for the misunderstanding last night,” he said, announcing it loud enough so that several lines of Elizia's soldiers could hear. They might have held a negative disposition toward Aaron and his men. That could not be allowed to persist when facing enemies —and be it Virk tribesmen or Darkspawn creatures, enemies were near. “I acted hastily and rudely,” Aaron said. “It was unbecoming.”

“Now I could demand my just dues be given for your assault,” Elizia replied, “or instead I could take a page from your —excuse me— my book and accept your humble apology instead. I'm glad our conversation last night has taught you something about arrogance.”

Aaron scowled. “Let's get this straight. Your words taught me nothing I did not already know. I'm only doing what is right.”

“Mhm.”

“And you can hardly blame me for suspecting you in such a position.” Aaron kept tact enough to not mention Elizia's murderous intent before her men. It was likely they knew nothing of the matter.

“I suppose,” was her response.

“And a better woman would have accepted the apology without using their tongue as a dagger,” Aaron continued. “A mark of arrogance I daresay.”

“Perhaps,” said the princess.

Aaron turned toward her, opening his mouth to say further words in his favor when noticing the subtle smile she kept on those lush pink lips. “You're mocking me.”

Elizia gasped. “Me? I would never. Not to a high lord.” Some of her soldiers sniggered.

Aaron grit his teeth. He let the issue go. A few exchanged words and the tension between him and the Eagles had been eased. All it'd cost was a sliver of pride. The blessings of an Eternal Flame could not cleanse all negative emotions after all. It only inspired a small degree of confidence and prevented depression to a certain extent.

The depression of everyone but myself.

Aaron stole another glance for towards Elizia. She was good, if anything, at reducing him to a normal person unburdened by centuries of memories. For that reason alone, he did no mind her company so much as he thought he might have.

***

Elizia resisted the urge to put up her hood's cloak, if only to seem a tad more capable before this overly irritating high lord. She'd gotten the better of him in a trade of words, yet he sat there in his ragged black coat, riding a horse of near equally dark fur, plain faced and staring forward. He did not look disgruntled or embarrassed in the least. That level of emotional control had to be inhuman. He's been laughed at by my soldiers and there's nary a flush on his face? Flames, but the cold at least should've wrought some color from his face.

She'd felt the breath of the reaper on her neck last night. Aarondel had pulled her in so quick, so sure that she'd ordered a raid on his small town, and he had a hand on her own knife before she could’ve reacted. He had the instinct to kill without hesitation, without waiting to confirm if his beliefs in the moment were even true. Yet he danced with as much grace as a well-disposed nobleman. Elizia had been tutored in the art, despite her negative disposition toward it. She was certain her lacking education in the subject would've been enough to triumph over a once pirate of the Basin, but even in dance he proved her better.

She pulled at a piece of drying skin on her lip, grinding down on it with her teeth until it cut away, leaving a sting in its place. What can't he do , she wondered. She stole a furtive glance as they entered the treeline proper, cutting through a narrow stream running over smooth faced stones. The Spinewood, true to its name, consisted of tall reaching spindly pines. What little undergrowth was present stood little higher than ankle level, and was of a faded lime green.

Elizia looked up at the trees, noticing lines of frost still stuck to a number of branches as if she needed another reminder of just how unpleasant the cold northern climate could be. “Dismount,” Elizia called over her shoulder. “Bind the horses to the trees.” The beasts would be of little use in such a dense woodland. Elizia jumped from her own horse, giving Valor a scratch behind his ears. He bent low to chew on sprouting ferns as she bound him to the nearest tree.

“Faren,” Elizia said, “get our best scouts running east and north through the woodlands. Make sure they have their horns with them.” She then turned to the high lord, who sat atop his horse still, staring into the dense woodlands. He wore a slight frown. “How far are your mines, Lord Caranel?”

“Less than a mile north of here,” he said, dismounting at last and bending low to inspect a narrow, manmade pass the width of a single wheelbarrow.

“Is the undergrowth throughout the forest as little as it is here?”

“For the most part.”

“Then setting ambushes against us will have to be done through clever tricks in terrain than through cover.”

“Most likely,” Aarondel said.

Elizia folded her arms. “You're not giving me much to work with here.”

“The edge of the forest is open to us,” he claimed. “The scouts will bring back any relevant information regarding what we may be up against.”

***

It was an uphill climb toward the iron mines of the Äld Mountains. Lord Caranel had his woodsmen check for tracks in the surrounds throughout the entire half hour trek through the woodlands, never mentioning what it was he searched for. Elizia had some rusted skill in the craft, a teaching her mother had never truly imparted upon her. Perhaps one day when she wakes…

If she ever awoke.

“No strange tracks of any kind either within or outside of our mines, my lord,” said an aged woodsman wearing a worn brown cloak. A lone, chipped edged hatchet hung from a leather chord tied around his waist.

Aarondel breathed out a sigh of relief.

Elizia ignored him for the time being, observing her surrounds. She felt a certain comfort among the trees. Though a biting wind still whistled through their spindly branches, she suddenly did not find herself hating this place all so much. Elizia surrendered herself to the cold, opening her cloak and inhaling a sharp breath that chilled her breast. A soft touch pressed upon her mind. The touch of thousands in fact. Elizia flinched, snapping herself back to reality. What… what had that been? It felt as if she'd been connected to the trees around her for a second.

She shook her head. As if , she thought, returning to her observations. The uphill trek left her with a decent view of the horses she'd left below and the several dozen men left behind to watch them. The Spinewood stretched for many leagues westward. If this venture were to take many days, this was as solid a place as any to create a base camp, with un-scalable mountains on one side, and the edge of the treeline on the other, allowing for a hasty retreat if the situation called for it.

“We're making camp here,” Aarondel announced, as if having read her thoughts. “Do you have skill in constructing natural fortifications?”

“I was thinking of setting camp here too,” Elizia snapped, irritated that he'd mentioned it before she could. She reiterated the orders, and her company began unloading their gear and setting tents in small clearings, erecting her command tent on the flat top of an outcrop before the mines. She turned back to the high lord. “Are we expecting an attack to need fortifications? You've not given me much at all when I'm risking over a thousand lives here. I'd not have entered the woodlands without scouts having gone prior had you not insisted the edge was safe.

“Neither have you mentioned anything about the panic of last night,” she went on. “We found tracks of Silver Tail wolves near to the town. Hardly a case to ring the watchtower bell in the midst of a festival, if you ask me.”

“The wolves had riders,” Aarondel said.

“People riding Silver Tail wolves, my lord?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“They were not people.”

For a second Elizia thought she was being played. But Aarondel wore a plain face, looking westward deep into the forest, as if expecting to see something. “You mean… ratmen like the kind that plague Galadin's mines.” She'd never seen one herself. Not even the corpse of one. Elizia's only reference to the creatures of below were images in old books. They'd been disgusting things with humanoid bodies but a rat like head with huge teeth. Hostile creatures with a degree of sentience that had been known to move in cohesive units. “I thought we were here to hunt Virk barbarians attacking miners.”

Aarondel folded his arms. Behind him, dozens of large men offered their greetings as they dragged wheelbarrows full of picks and hammers into the dark opening of the mineshaft before them. Work was to continue despite the expedition.

“We are,” Aarondel answered after a while. “Yesterday's encounter was something new to me as well. I want fortifications built along the decline. Fences, spikes, and walls for archers. The base camp we make here will be the same one your armies will continue to use for the time you've promised them to my service.”

' I want '. He was all but giving her orders. She passed the orders along regardless. Commander Rask was farther below, giving instruction to Aarondel's small force of two hundred young men, the alleged Saintess standing at his side in her prim white robes and skirt, flowing golden hair poking out from beneath a translucent shawl.

An hour out, camps had been erected, and trees were being cut down to craft the necessary defenses the high lord wanted in place. All of it to protect a mining venture. Elizia shivered, recalling images of ratmen. Those pictures had given her nightmares as a child.

Fierce tribal warriors used to the harsh weather of the north and possibly gruesome creatures living in tunnels of darkness deep beneath our feet… Elizia was beginning to wonder if she'd gotten herself involved in something she should not have. “Just for some cheap iron,” she muttered beneath her breath. Cheap iron and an alliance that could shift Xenaria's tumultuous winds in High House Serene's favor.

Elizia's gaze passed over the faces of her hard at work soldiers. Why is it everything that needs be done requires lives put at stake first?