Empress of Clouds - PART III - The Tower - Chapter 22

           

                                                                     Chapter 22

                  

           

            The largest of the nightmarish snowmen lunged down upon Brythia with arms flailing and jaws gnashing, while the other two moved to flank her.  Monsters of blood and ice.  The druidess rolled over and flipped herself to her feet.  Shimmering lunar blade ready in her hand, she backed up.  It was difficult to see them in the snow; she looked around her warily.

            She turned to run after Tolian.  She had only taken steps in the drifting snow before she was bowled over by one of the animated snow ghouls.  The thing glided over the deep snow with remarkable ease.  Another of her frosty assailants grabbed her as she fell and set its eager teeth upon her neck.

            She cried out in pain and jabbed the horror’s head with her sword.  The blade passed completely through the snowball, causing some snow to fall away from the left side of its head.  The thing scooped up some snow from the ground and restored that portion of its head in one easy motion.  It barely slowed the creature.  She swung the blade again and sliced at its arm, severing it just above the elbow.  Her attack only served to eliminate that one limb—the thing maintained its vigorous offensive with the remaining arm and its snapping jaws.  The largest snow fiend came down upon her once again, moving in so fast: it prevented her from regaining her feet.  She had no choice but to lay half buried in the snow and swing the Moonsword with everything she had.  She was able to keep them at bay, but, clearly, the things had the advantage.  She had to figure out a way to defeat them, and fast.  Fatigue tore at her fighting skills and her brain as she considered her situation.

            She stared into the eyes of one of the snowmen.  Human eyes plucked from their owner, their icy sockets lined in blood.  What sort of sorcery could create such sinister creatures against the laws of nature?  Her sword thrusts to their snowball torsos did little to slow them.  How could such things move with the life force?  What engine did the dark magick use to animate them?  One of the icy ghouls grabbed her leg and pulled her towards it, temporarily catching her off guard and leaving her open to attack by the smallest of the creatures.  Its teeth clamped down on her wrist, on the hand that held the sword.  She fought the pain to maintain her grip on the lunar blade’s hilt.  The snow poured from the heavens relentlessly.  It was difficult to see them in the whiteness.

            She called out, “Whisper.  Get help, quick.”

            She balled up her fist and landed a strong punch in the middle of the little snowman’s head.  The snow gave some, crumbling half the head away.  One eye fell to the ground and the teeth released her other arm.  It retrieved its eye and repaired the damage to its head, pausing only briefly to do so.  Throughout this struggle, however, the other monsters had not been idle and fought her kicks to gain a position of advantage.  One of the creatures brought its arms down and its blood-covered hands found her throat.  A firm grip for a snowman with a cadaver’s arms.  Brythia began to lose consciousness.

            There was a loud whinny and Whisper reared up out of the snow behind her.  She watched in surprise as a well-placed hoof sent the thing’s head flying ten yards away.  Its attack did not lessen.  It did not release its strong hold on her.  She was quickly losing the ability to defend herself.  As her kicks and sword slashes became more infrequent and ineffectual, the punches, bites and slams by the snowman increased.

            Something clicked in her brain.  An image appeared.  The three bodies in the snow.  The organs had been removed.  Why?  Because the snowmen needed them.  Needed the organs.  Part of the black magick that animated them.

            Whisper reared up again and leveled a square kick at a snowman (it was impossible for Brythia to tell which one at this point), but did little more than knock the thing back a few feet.  It did afford her a moment, however, long enough to make her move.

            She lurched forward and stuck the point of the Moonsword deep into the center of the middle snowball of the creature.  Right where the heart would be if it were a person.  The fiendish snowman reeled backwards clutching at its chest.  It stopped moving, held frozen once again.  Brythia looked at the sword.  It was soaked in blood.  Now she knew what she had to do.  She drew a deep breath.

            Another kick from the faerie horse bought her enough time and room to gain her feet once again.  She held the Moonsword with both hands before her and waited for the remaining two animated snow monsters to make their moves.  Luckily, she realized she was facing the headless one, who seemed to be moving around more or less aimlessly, and the one-armed one.

            Brythia felt the energy of the mystic weapon pulsing up her arm.  She saw the eyes through the snow.  A jab.  She spun around and struck again.  Both remaining snowmen instantly stopped in their tracks.

            She paid them no further attention.  With a soft and perfunctory, “Wait here,” to her horse, she made her way through the deep snow following Dowbreth.  His horse’s tracks were easy enough to see, but the blizzard made for slow going.  Although they were difficult to see, two dozen or so ancient tomb mounds surrounded her in the field.  The tallest stood maybe twelve feet high at the top of the dome-shaped barrow.  For the most part, all were completely snow covered but one, the one toward which the tracks led, appeared to have an opening in its side.  A glimpse of cavernous darkness in the otherwise pure white vista.

            She forced her legs to move even faster through the drifting and blinding whiteness.  In her eagerness, she did not see the great black warhorse moving behind her from her right side.  She stood momentarily, just before the opening.  It was narrow, but just big enough for a person to squeeze through.  As she puzzled over how the giant could have gotten through, she heard a sound behind her.  She turned at the same instant Dowbreth’s horse struck her in the head with a hoof.

            She collapsed into the snow.  Numbness took hold of her as she watched the black beast leap through the narrow entrance in the snow-covered tomb.  It should not have been able to do so.  But it did.  Brythia struggled to rise, but she could not.  Dizziness and nausea.  She had failed.  Tolian was lost to her forever.  It was just as well that she would die here in the snow.  Extreme pain burned in her head.  Then darkness.

           

            As consciousness returned to the druidess, she became acutely aware of a considerable discomfort on the side of her head.  A throbbing that sent occasional jolts of pain deeper into her brain.  She did not open her eyes right away.  She was tucked in a comfortable bed with blankets piled upon her.  A crackling sound and warmth told her that a fireplace was across the room.  She could hear muffled voices [KR]You can’t feel a sensation because a sensation is a feeling.      and she had the sensation of someone’s eyes were upon her.

            “Good morn, Princess,” said Findelbres softly.  “How’s your head?”

            “It hurts,” she replied.  “Could you put some elf-root on it for me?  It’s in my pouch.”

            “We did.”

            “Use more, then.”

            “Of course, dear druidess.”

            She opened her eyes.  The wooden beams of the ceiling came into focus, and then the faerie leaning over her, applying the herb to her wounded cranium.  A soothing sensation slowly replaced the ache and discomfort.  She tentatively sat up.  Some dizziness.  Not too bad.

            “That’s doing it,” she said.  “Now where are we, the Inn?”

            They were in a small room with a bed, a table, a chair, and the fireplace.  Heavy blue curtains covered the windows.

            “You’re good,” observed the elf.  “Yes indeed, we are enjoying the hospitality of the Tanslynt Inn.”

            “We have to get after them, Findelbres.  I have to get into Faerie,” implored the druidess.  She felt galvanized, but exhausted, and the dizziness was coming back.

            “Well, first off, you need some rest.  A fair amount of rest.”

            She shook her head.  “There isn’t time.”

            “My dear, time is all we have.  Time moves differently between the worlds.  There is no telling how much time has passed in Faerie since yesterday.  It could be two minutes, or it could be a month, likely even more.” 

            “A month.  More.” she cried.  “We have to get back to the barrows now.”

            “We can’t,” replied Findelbres.

            “What do you mean, we can’t?  We have to.  I know what you’re thinking.  And, of course, I know that the others can’t go.  I would never ask them to—but you and I—we have to get into Faerie.”

            “Calm yourself, druidess,” the faerie warrior said.  “The Way into Faerie is closed.  I could not take you there if I wanted to, at least, not through the entrance in the barrow.”

            “What do you mean, ‘the way into Faerie is closed’?” Brythia asked.  She was incredulous.

            Findelbres nodded.  “When we found you, I attempted to follow them into Faerie.  I thought I could notify the King and Queen, and have our troops find them, one, two, three.  Nice and simple. Except, I couldn’t get in.  The way is closed.  Not only can’t we get into Faerie to find Tolian, I can’t get back home.”

            “How is it possible, Findelbres?”

            “I don’t know.  To my knowledge, only the Queen of Faerie controls the Gates of the Realm.  Even the King cannot control them.  They are only sealed at times of crisis.”

            The room was beginning to spin.  The dizziness was getting much worse.  She struggled to remain sitting up.  I must think clearly, she told herself.

            “Could the Queen be in league with Dowbreth?” she asked herself.  Out loud.  She hadn’t meant to.

            She had met the Queen of Faerie, Ymrisiva.  Both the King and Queen were guests at her and Tolian’s wedding.  She did not seem at that time to be plotting some treachery.  Still one could never tell with the Good Folk, they had their own motivations.  That thought made her cast a suspicious look at Findelbres.  Dowbreth and he were both faeries, after all.  If Ymrisiva was somehow involved in this conspiracy, there was certainly the possibility that Findelbres could also be involved.  He had proven himself a loyal friend.  Still, she would watch him carefully.

            Findelbres had paused to consider her question.  Finally, he answered.  “Queen Ymrisiva is in no way in league with Dowbreth, I would stake my life upon it.  But, admittedly, something has happened in Faerie.”

            Trust him, but keep an eye on him, she thought.

            Begrudgingly, she had to lie back down.  She sank into the mattress, her head resting on the pillow.

            “Okay, so how else can we get into Faerie?”  Brythia inquired.

            “You ask this question too lightly, Princess.  What makes you think that there is another way?”

            “There must be another way,” Brythia insisted.

            “Of course, there are other secret entrances,” offered the faerie quite reluctantly.  “But it is likely that those ways are closed as well.”

            “Yes, Findelbres, I had that figured out,” she said.  “But your kind aren’t the only beings who move between the Astral and the Physical World.  There are others.  What about the Pine Devils?  They are said to live in both realms.”

            The faerie pondered her words, “The Pine Devils, or the Winged Satyrs as we of the Sidhe call them.  Yes.  The Blue Holes.  That could work.”

            “The Blue Holes?” the druidess repeated in perplexity.  “What do the Blue Holes have to do with the Pine Devils?”

            Findelbres was beginning to get excited by the possibility.  “The Winged Satyrs use the Blue Holes to travel between the worlds.  It is their gateway.”

            “There’s a Blue Hole in Southwestern Lorm,” exclaimed Brythia.

            “We’ll go as soon as you are feeling a little better, and you get some rest.”

            Brythia did not argue this time.  As urgent as their mission was, Findelbres was right.  She had neglected her health for too long.  She was exhausted, in pain, dizzy (when not laying down), and she realized, she was starving.

            “Findelbres, is there anything to eat around here?”

            “Ah, well, I see that you’re starting to feel better already,” he observed.  “And you’re in luck—the inn keeper’s wife is a wonderful cook.  I’ll go see what she can whip up for you.  In the meanwhile, rest.”

            “I will.  Oh, but first, just a pinch more elfroot, if you please.”

            “Certainly, my lady,” replied the faerie.  He immediately set about applying more of the healing herb to her head and a little to her neck where she had been bitten by the sinister snowmen.  When he had finished, he made his exit while promising to send the food in as soon as it could be prepared.

            She closed her eyes, half listening to the fire’s soothing crackle.  She could only pray that the gods would protect her beloved from harm until she could get to her.

            It was not long before Mrs. Gelstrit, the innkeeper’s wife, came into the room, carrying a tray of food.  As soon as she entered, Brythia caught the delightful aroma wafting towards her.  The scent of cooked beef, carrots and potatoes—probably stew.  Her mouth began to water almost instantly.

            Mrs. Gelstrit was a fit-looking woman in her late fifties.  Her face was surprisingly robust and free of wrinkles, and there was only a trace of gray in her dark hair.  She wore a kindly smile that appeared completely genuine.

            “Well, hello there, dear,” she said as she brought the tray to the bed.  “You gave us quite a scare.  It was lucky your friends found you when they did.  You were bleeding aplenty when they brought you in, I’ll tell you.  Can you try to scoot up a little there?  Here, I’ll help fix your pillow.”

            She set the tray on the table and helped Brythia lean up a little in bed.  With great care she arranged the pillows to provide some support for her, yet in such a way to keep her dizziness to a minimum.  When satisfied with her work she retrieved the tray from the table and set it in Brythia’s lap.  There was a big, steaming bowl of beef stew, some fresh-baked bread, newly churned butter, and a large tankard of clear, cool water.

            “Thank you so much,” said Brythia[KR]We can hear her appreciation in her dialogue.  She said, “Thank you so much.”      .

            “Oh, you are so welcome, dear.  I’ve been doing my share of nursing here lately.  I must say though you look even worse than the other girl we had here yesterday.”

            “The other girl?” inquired Brythia with her mouth full of food.  She realized at once that the woman had to be referring to Tolian.  Her heart raced with the prospect of news of her beloved.

            “Yes, we had a strange couple here yesterday.  Of course, we’re used to having the Good Folk here, but that fellow that brought this poor creature with him—he was something else.  Big.  I swear I ain’t ever seen anyone near the size of him.  Rough he was too, but gentlemanly enough in his own way I suppose.  We get all kinds in here.  Oh yes, but the girl, she was awfully beaten up, but you could still tell how fair her features were.  It was such a shame.  The faerie who brought her said he had rescued her from some barbarians.  I suppose he was taking her home.  Well, I took one look at the poor girl and put her in this very bed.”

            Brythia pictured Tolian lying there.  She attempted to feel her presence as she gorged herself with the delicious food, and listened to Mrs. Gelstrit’s rambling narrative.

            “She seemed so sad,” continued the older woman, for whom talking obviously came naturally.  “It’s funny, you would have thought she would have been much happier, what with being rescued and all.  Well, I tended her, and fed her.  And the big gentleman, he sat in a chair, right over there and guarded her.  I guess so she wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout them barbarians.”

            “Did she say anything to you?”  The druidess asked.

            “Well, she had real manners, like a lady, and she was quick to say thank you and such, but, no, she wasn’t much of a talker really.  You could just tell by looking at her that she was beside herself with worry and sorrow.  Poor girl, I hope he gets her home right quick.”

            Brythia smiled at her with a cheerfulness and optimism that she did not feel, “Don’t worry, ma’am.  She’ll get home soon.  I’m sure of it.”

            “What a strange thing to say,” remarked Mrs. Gelstrit, “though I hope you’re right.  I’m sure her husband will be glad enough to have her back—pretty thing that she was.”

            “Her husband?”

            “She had a wedding ring, actually quite like yours, dear,” observed the innkeeper’s wife.  “I pay attention to details.  I imagine your husband must be worried about you—traveling with that odd assortment of friends of yours.”

            Brythia considered her response.  She thought briefly about saying nothing.  Instead, she said:  “Actually, the girl you’re talking about is my wife and that faerie ruffian kidnapped her.

            The other woman’s eyes went wide.  “Oh, my, you’re Princess Tolian then.”

            “No, I’m Princess Brythia, her wife.  And I’m going to find them, kill him, and take her home.”

 

Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt