Chapter 10 – Towards The Spire (5386) (DRAFT)

Chapter 10 – Towards The Spire (5386)

Meggelaine awoke as the sun was rising through the trees, its frigid rays filtering through the snow laden branches. Roztov had found them a good place to camp where the ground was clear and the trees had wide crown spreads that sheltered them from view completely. It was also situated at the bottom of a valley and so was sheltered from the wind, to a certain extend.

When they had arrived, the druids were exhausted, Roztov most of all. He curled around the fire in a big green arc, still in the form of a dragon, and was asleep instantly. Meggelaine had changed back and lain in the thin lair of autumn leaves that was the ground of their camp and panted for a full half hour until she got her breath back.

Ghene had been quicker to recover but even so, let Broddor and Floran take charge of setting up camp. A fire was lit and the last of their rations was eaten.

Meggelaine awoke to find she was still snuggled in beside a dragon.

‘Roztov,’ she said as she rubbed her eyes. ‘You have to change back!’

The dragon’s head snaked round to look at her. It then spoke, a deep murmuring mutter, its chin on the ground.

‘I can’t understand you, sweetie.’

The dragon cleared its throat and lifted its head a little, then said something that sounded a bit like, I’m not sure I can.

‘I warned you this would happen,’ Meggelaine said as she stood up. ‘This is what happens if you show off.’

I know, grumbled the dragon.

‘The longer you leave it the worse it will get.’

Ghene was awake now too, ‘We are right here, Roz. We can help you.’

The dragon growled and stood up, throwing aside Broddor who had been resting against its tail.

It flapped its wings then refolded them. It shook its head. There was a yellow glow and its form seemed to shift a little, but after a few seconds, Roztov gave up the attempt.

The dragon growled and clawed at the ground. By now everyone was awake and standing back to give him room.

‘What are you waiting for?’ chided Meggelaine. ‘Try again.’

The dragon gave her a look, then sniffed. It seemed lost in thought for a moment. It then coiled around itself, twisting around, bringing its tail in and folding its wings until it was almost a ball. It then seemed to leap into the air, flapping and twisting as if having a fit. It flapped and rolled and twisted until it was about ten feet off the ground and knocking branches off the trees. Everyone stood further back. It briefly landed, then leapt into the air again in one last mighty spasm and suddenly turned into a bear.

The bear crashed to the ground and lay in a heap, panting, but otherwise motionless.

It let out a long sigh and then stood up. After a few more breaths it reared up onto its hind legs, pawed at the air and roared before finally turning back into a man.

Roztov stumbled and then sat heavily down at the fire.

‘That hurt.’

Meggelaine was immediately in about him, fussing. ‘Good idea to transition to a bear first. Now, let me check you over.’

Her healing hands poked and prodded him, looking for anything that looked broken or out of place. She then went through her usual routine that she had, such as checking his heart, vision, breathing and such.

‘You’ll live,’ she said eventually. ‘Just rest and no more nonsense.’

Roztov lay resting for the remainder of the day and for a while seemed to get worse, his complexion turned deathly pale and blood flecking at his lips.

Meggelaine fussed around him, keeping the shelter warm with a large cheery fire. She went as far as to make him a bed from freshly cut pine tree branches covered in two cloaks.

‘I’m honestly fine,’ said Roztov as he lay watching the fire.

‘You are coughing up blood, you idiot. What did I tell you? Your insides are all tangled up.’

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted, but rumbled about on his bed to try and find the best position for his aches and pains.

‘Missing your bed back in Angor?’ Meggelaine said.

‘Oh yes, well, very much so, since the start of this whole escapade. I got it made by a carpenter in Ulrim, solid oak, with a whey-husk mattress. It’s like sleeping on a cloud. You know, you should come over and see us, after all this is over. The girls aren’t even babies any longer.’

‘I will, I’ll come and see you. When we get back in Nillamandor I’ll do it even before going to the Council.’

‘Do it,’ said Roztov sleepily. ‘Bring Assynt with you.’

‘Shush you!’

‘What does it matter here?’ said Roztov with a laugh. ‘What does anything matter?’

‘Oh get some rest you stupid old man.’

They spent two nights camping in this secluded area and sleeping in their shelter. On the first evening they got Broddor to re-tell the story of his battle with Mordran again.

‘So,’ asked Roztov, once it had concluded. ‘Besides his claws, teeth and icy breath, he had magic too?’

‘Oh, he had all sorts of magic,’ confirmed the dwarf. ‘He fired off all sorts of stuff at me, most of which hurt. My armour stopped him from killing me though, thanks be to Aerekrig. A fireball or two, I think he tried to turn me into a frog, but it didn’t land. He went invisible, but my helmet, as you know laddie, is magical and allows me to see invisible things. He tried to turn into a mist as well and float away, but my sword is blessed by dwarven runes and could cut him even more easily than when he was in a material form, so he changed back. I annoyed him greatly.’

‘I bet you did.’

‘That dragon needs slaying though,’ grumbled Broddor. ‘What sort of tale is it, that I fought a dragon as big and powerful as that, but didn’t slay it? It’s hardly a tale worth telling.’

‘Well maybe,’ said Roztov. ‘I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t a bit of misunderstanding though.’

‘He seemed nice enough to me,’ put in Meggelaine.

‘Oh aye? Did he indeed? Well, I fought the bugger for two days, so let me tell you, he’s not all sweetness and light. You druids seem to think you can talk your way out of anything.’

No one said anything until Broddor began again.

‘Well, I suppose Roztov did sort of bring peace to Styke, I’ll give him that. I take it back, I meant no offence to your powers of diplomacy.’

‘None taken,’ said the druid, holding up his hands.

‘But I can’t end the tale by saying “and then a druid came along and resolved it all peacefully”, do you see what I mean? And yet, such a mighty battle, I have to tell it.’

Roztov knew this was a thorny issue for the dwarf, who came from a race that based so much of their identity through their tales.

‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out.’

‘It would be best if...’

Just then Ghene entered the shelter and put his finger to his lips.

‘There is a dragon overhead.’

While everyone else remained silently inside, the other two druids could not resist going outside to take a look. The tree cover over their camp was thick, but they could catch glimpses of it, casting its shadow over the forest. It was a big black silhouette against the overcast sky. Meggelaine ducked back inside and the other two watched it until it left the area.

An hour after that, as they sat around the fire once more, Meggelaine started shivering in fear.

‘Oh my heart!’ she cried out. ‘I can’t take it any longer!’

‘Meggelaine, you are as cold as ice, get closer to the fire,’ said Roztov as he bundled her up.

‘I’m a nervous wreck, we need to get off this wretched island!’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t take it any longer. Every time I see a dragon I pee my pants. I’m not even joking.’

‘There there.’

‘I need some fresh air,’ said the fressle as she stood up. ‘The walls are closing in on me.’

She left through the shelter’s small entrance and Roztov followed. Together they went down to a secluded spot between two massive trees. Roztov knelt and rubbed Meggelaine’s back until her composure returned.

‘It’s going to drive us all batty, Roz.’

‘Hopefully not.’

 ‘Look at Ophess, have you looked at her recently?’ she continued. ‘She’s retreated into herself, totally gone. I don’t know why we are not all stark raving mad.’

‘We’ve had worse, Em.’

‘Have we?’

‘Well, I don’t want to make you feel worse by remembering other dark times, but we had some bleak days on the Moon Marshes. And even back in Styke when we went into those endless goblin tunnels.’

‘Oh don’t,’ said Meggelaine with a shiver. ‘And how was I then?’

‘A nervous wreck.’

‘There is only so much I can take, Roz. This is my limit.’

Roztov sighed and thought for a while.

‘Dear Meg. We’ll rest here another day, all right? Then sneak past the Spire, into Stovologard and steal a boat. We could be out of here in less than a week. You just need to hold it together for a bit longer.’

‘You make is sound easy.’

‘I never said that, just that it might be over quicker than you think.’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve not been on a proper adventure in years. I’m old and past it. Then we take on all this. Ridiculous! Me and Ghene deserver everything we get, for being such idiots. I wish I’d never dragged you and Broddor into it though. And Tup. Oh Etruna, and all those poor sailors!’

As she dissolved into tears again, Roztov lifted her up and hugged her like a child.

‘There there.’

It had been a long time since he’d seen it, but this was not the first time he’d had to deal with Meggelaine having a break down. It was understandable, given the circumstances they were in, he had been a bit like that too back in his younger days. Now he was older though, and imbued with so much druidic power he wasn’t frightened of anything much anymore and he’d long since tackled all the inner demons associated with seeing friends die and wondering if he could have saved them if he’d done things differently.

He also sometimes wished he could let it all out like Meggelaine did when she had had too much. He wondered if he could even do it, if he wanted to. This was how it was though, Broddor was a dwarf and they were born to battle, Floran was an ugrai and they saw the world differently from men. Floran viewed the world outside of Hyadna as somehow not as meaningful as in his home country. Roztov realised that this sounded a little harsh and that Floran was a lot better than most other ugrai, who saw all other races as inferior and the rest of the world as pretty much a waste of time.

Ghene too, came from an arrogant race. Elves were long lived race and saw the world from a wider perspective. Roztov sometimes thought that Ghene spent too much time looking at the bigger picture, which made him appear callous. That was also too strong, he realised. Ghene was emotional, he knew that, but it all went on inside him. He supposed he was closer to Meggelaine in temperament and outlook. In the lands of men, druids stood alone and distant from the rest of their race, ignoring borders and going about their business largely unchecked. He had grown used to the respect given to him by his kin, but underneath it all, he was still just a man.  

She was asleep now. Roztov sighed and carried her back to the shelter.

Later that evening Roztov awoke to find his arm had gone numb. He gently lifted Meggelaine’s head from the crook of his elbow, got up off the bed then pulled the cloak across to cover her sleeping form. He then went outside into the night to empty his bladder. After that he stood for about fifteen minutes, enjoying the quiet of the still forest air.

He felt tired, physically and emotionally, from talking the poor little fressle back to her senses. After a few minutes lost in thought, he coughed, his breath a big cloud of mist that hung motionless in the still air, then turned back to the shelter.

Broddor came out of the door just as he approached it, presumably on a similar errand. He looked up at the druid.

‘Oh, Roztov, I’ve got it!’

‘Got what?’

‘The next big white dragon I slay, I’ll just say it was Mordran,’ said the dwarf with a laugh. ‘That way I can conclude the tale something like “the battle went on for many days” and then um... “I hunted him down, and after an epic chase” something something, and then “finally slew the beast”.’

‘You’re assuming you’ll encounter another big white dragon.’

‘I think there is a fair to middling chance of that happening in a place like this. Any dragon would do though, when you come to think about it. I can’t tell them apart after all, I’m not a dragon expert like young Ghene there. And Mordran can change his form into anything, so the next dragon I kill could well be him anyway, how would I know?’

‘Fair enough, but since he’s a shape shifter he could be anything. Why not (and I’m not advocating this by any means) just go stab a squirrel and say it was him?’

‘Talk sense lad,’ said Broddor as he gently cuffed his friend’s chest. ‘A squirrel? What sort of ending to a story would that be? It has to be a dragon, obviously!’

‘Right. I’m going to bed.’

‘Night night laddie!’

Roztov shook his head, then lay down beside Meggelaine again. Nothing ever seemed to stop that dwarf anyway. He was relentless.

The next morning, the gossip around the campfire was that Floran and Tankle had wandered off.

‘Have they had their breakfast?’ asked Meggelaine.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Roztov as he ate his. It was trout fished from a nearby river, roasted on the fire, along with a selection of chopped up and baked root vegetables.

‘Well, where did they go? Does nobody else care that they are just wandering around in the forest?’

‘They are not far away,’ said Ghene.

Meggelaine knew that if Ghene said so, then it was true, but even so she continued.

‘I mean, what are they doing? What’s...?’

She stopped as she watched Roztov laugh and splutter as he ate, then nudge Broddor who was eating his fish and chips beside him.

‘What? Oh...’

‘Here, have some breakfast sweetie,’ said Roztov offering her a plate. ‘I doubt they’ll be gone that long.’

‘Fine,’ she replied, grumbling as she took the plate. ‘Always the last to know, nobody tells me anything.’

‘You honestly didn’t see it?’

‘What do I know of the love life of the big folks? Although I now remember you saying he came on this voyage in the first place because he had lady trouble. What was it?’ asked Meggelaine.

‘We can only speculate,’ said Roztov putting down his plate and stretched out his legs by the fire. ’But Hyadnian marriages are really hard to arrange from what I’ve heard. Complicated. And for Vizards it’s even worse. I think he had a thing for a necromancer, which is pretty stupid considering what happened to me.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Meggelaine. ‘Soora went that way after you married her though. It’s another thing to marry one knowingly.’

‘It says something about Hyadnian society if a necromancer was his best or only option.’

‘True enough.’

‘When they do eventually get married, their weddings are quite civilised affairs though, considering how hard it is to arrange one. We attended one when we were there, remember Broddor?’

‘Aye, it was dull. Completely dry, not a drop of drink to be had. Food was good though I suppose.’

Roztov laughed. ‘Well, compared to a dwarven wedding it was dull. Dwarven weddings are just drunken fist fights!’

‘That’s not fair!’ exclaimed Broddor. ‘That wedding was wild even for a dwarven one. Don’t judge us all by the one and only dwarven wedding you’ve been to. It was a special case.’

‘So you say.’

The conversation around the fire continued for the entire day in much the same vein. Stories about old comrades and what became of them, tales of their earlier adventures, the people they had met and the places they had been.

It was a world apart from the life of a sailor and the last three crewmembers of the Red Maiden generally listened to the tales with great enjoyment. Sometimes they got repeated, by Broddor in particular, and when he launched into a tale from the Moon Marshes they had all heard before Salveri sat back with the other two sailors. They struck up a conversation of their own.

‘That dwarf sure likes the sound of his own voice,’ muttered Salveri. ‘These people just sit and swap stories all day. If I’ve heard this one twice in two weeks then they must have heard it a hundred times.’

‘Yes, but it seems to be the way they pass the time. Maybe they used to do it too, when they were out on campaign,’ said Arrin.

‘They should try the life of a sailor then. No time for chatting, not for a top man. You work all day, you are too tired for chatter at the end of it.’

Arrin and Tankle both knew this was far from true and exchanged a knowing glance between themselves.

‘I don’t know,’ Salveri continued to mutter. ‘They make light of everything. When you think of how many we lost in the wreck. It’s disrespectful... I...’

Salveri paused and rubbed his hands over his face and beard. His anger was swelling, his impotent rage at that gang of freebooters that had, in his eyes, caused the destruction of the Red Maiden and the loss of most of her crew. The loss of his nephew, his sister’s boy, was eating away at him and he planted the blame for the lad’s death firmly at the feet of those that were now talking and laughing so freely around the camp fire.

‘So help me,’ he went on. ‘If I met any of them down an alleyway one dark night, I’d stick a knife in them. That Ophess may be a spoilt brat, but I’d take her any day over that lot. We are nothing to them, just foot soldiers, Lunarian cannon fodder. How many have they already marched to their deaths?’

‘Now then...’ started Arrin.

‘Oh don’t start making excuses for them. Sure, they’ve saved our lives, but it was them that endangered it in the first place.’

‘But the captain, he made a...’

‘Oh, stow it will you?’ hissed Salveri. ‘Gods, that dwarf prattles on and on...’

Salveri stewed in silence for a while. Arrin and Tankle both looked on Salveri with great respect, but neither of them was shy of voicing their own thoughts.

‘Well, you don’t know much about dwarves then,’ said Tankle. ‘When I used to go see my friend Freja in the dwarven fortress I learned that retelling stories is how their culture works. If you knew any dwarves, then you would know this. The others listen to him out of politeness.’

‘My friend Freja?’ said Salveri with a mocking tone. ‘They are all just squatters in the land of man. I’m glad I live as far west as you can get. Away from all the short arses. How do you even have a dwarf friend? You’re a sailor.’

‘I knew her from before I went to sea. When I was a girl.’

‘When you were a little girl? Give me strength. It’s because the captain was a Borlander we had women on board. Letting women on ships honestly, it’s madness. In any port in Bellavia, they would never hire... ah.’

He stopped talking when Tankle shifted her weight and loomed over him. Salveri suddenly remembered that she was near twice the size of him and while she might tolerate his racism, since his sexism was targeting her personally it might be less well received.

‘What was that Sal?’ she said with quiet menace. ‘You were going to say something about women at sea?’

Salveri gulped then said, ‘Never mind, wench. Never mind an old man. I’ve had enough of sitting anyway, I’m going out to stretch my legs.’

He then got up and left. Tankle and Arrin shuffled closer to the fire and resumed listening to Broddor’s story.

The next morning the druids deemed it safe to continue and they all packed up their meagre camp. As usual Arrin was one of the first to be ready and he stood in his place in the line waiting for the stragglers. Tankle’s arm was much better now, and she no longer kept it in a sling, but she still needed help getting her doublet on. Arrin noticed that it was Floran that helped her.

‘What is the plan, my lord?’ he asked Ghene, who was also waiting.

The elf was eyeing the path ahead as his hands rechecked his belt and scabbard.

‘Oh, we are going north,’ he replied. ‘There are dragons about, but I am fully attuned to this area now. Yes, it should be fine, we'll just go north as directly as we can. We’ll try not to get too close the Spire. The base of the mountain anyway. From here, viewed through the trees, we only see the top of it and it looks like an incredibly tall tower, but really it’s a mountain. The base is wide.'

‘How close will we be?’

‘It depends on who or what we have to avoid on the way, but a mile at the most I should think.’

A mile sounded quite close enough to Arrin. Everyone was ready now and they set off into the forest, Ghene leading the way. It was a rugged, densely forested area, but as ever Ghene found a clear and easy route for them to follow.

At midday they stopped to eat and drink.

‘This place feels just like home, don't you think?’ asked Ghene of Meggelaine. ‘It feels... fey. As if elves live here. I mean, they don't, we would know about that, of course, if they did, but if I didn’t know any better I would say this land was tended by elves. The trees grow so straight and true, the streams are full of crystal clear water, the animal tracks are so well placed. This could be the Great Forest in winter.’

‘Don’t talk to me about home,’ said Meggelaine. ‘I’ll have another attack of the vapours.’

‘Yes, apologies,’ replied Ghene as he stood and shouldered his pack. ‘Well, anyway. There are dragons over to the west, doing I know not what. The further east we can be, the better so we’ll bend towards the Spire a bit more. Should be fine.’

They had to do a bit more bending, as they day wore on, as Ghene navigated them away from danger. The spire loomed closer and closer, but it still seemed the safest route. Like mice trying to find a place to hide from cats they ran for the nearest hole in the skirting board. They set up camp that night with the spire towering over them, its base easily less than a mile away although they could not see it among the trees.

In the night, they were kept awake by dragons roaring in the distance.

‘What is happening?’ asked Meggelaine.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Ghene. ‘A battle. A war.’

The next morning they set off again, aiming to pass west of the Spire once more. It loomed, impossibly tall, its top disappearing into the clouds, before them, slightly to their right.

After no more than fifty paces Meggelaine stopped in her tracks.

'I don’t want to go', she said.

Roztov came up from the rear of the group. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘I'm scared.’

‘We are following Ghene, sweetie. He knows where he’s going.’

‘I know that,’ hissed Meggelaine. ‘Tell that to my britches though, I’m soiling myself. Look at that thing. It must be stuffed full of dragons and we are heading directly for it.’

‘Remember you are a druid, sweetie,’ cajoled Roztov. ‘You’ve already battled dragons. You can...’

‘Yes yes, all right,’ she snapped at him. ‘This is more than just my usual tormish fear of big things. I’ve got such a strong feeling of... well, like we are tangled up in something bigger than we can comprehend. That we have been led here. No. Been herded, that’s a better word. Like we are being herded towards this place, for some awful purpose... by some dreadful ancient... Can’t you feel it?’

‘I can’t feel anything Meg, I’m numb all over. We need to get moving.’

‘Just wait,’ she insisted, holding up her hands. ‘Just wait a minute.’

Roztov was about to speak, but Ghene turned around and addressed them all.

‘Everyone get undercover, here come a flight of whites.’

No one had to be told twice, as they leapt into the bushes and lay flat. Only Ghene poked his head up to get a look at what was going on.

‘Six... seven... eight. Heading west. All white. As big as Broddor told us Mordran was.’

He watched for a while longer. Everyone tried to breathe as quietly as they could, irrational as that was since the dragons were hundreds of yards overhead. The minutes stretched out for almost an hour until finally Ghene spoke again.

‘I think we can carry on now.’

They all stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves from their clothes.

Meggelaine, who was looking around, yelped, ‘Where is Ophess?’

‘She’s not with you?’ asked Roztov.

Ghene glanced around then looked at the forest floor. He then looked east.

‘She’s gone towards the spire.’

***

She wondered how long it would be before they realised they had lost her. Presumably at some point Meg would realise, have one of her panics and then get them all searching for her. Probably Ghene would find her and bring her back, or Roztov would come along and give her a telling off then drag her back to the group. No, he wouldn’t tell her off, he didn’t do that sort of thing. He’d just be dismissive of her, which was worse.

Well, she'd just enjoy the idea of them all being in a panic for a while longer. Served them right.

Too busy thinking about and talking about their own problems. Just because she had been quiet for a while didn't mean that she had disappeared or that she'd forgotten that they had all promised that they would find her father.

She decided she hated them all now, even Meg. It had all been a pack of lies, about finding him, to keep her quiet. She realised that now.

The forest opened up into a path and she followed it, walking quickly, oblivious to the danger she was in.  Imagine how angry they would be if she went in and they had to come and get her, she thought. It did occur to her that it might be dangerous, but the druids had said that the one they had called Mordran had been nice enough. As long as you didn't attack them like that stupid dwarf did then you'd probably be fine.

Viewed from where she was, the Spire was a cliff face, a wall of rock that ascended dizzyingly into the clouds, a near vertical wall of featureless stone.

From looking at it through the branches, she had expected it to enter the ground just like the roots of a pine tree, straight down into the earth. In her head she had pictured it like the harbour wall back at Tullis, which had a set of steps on it that lead to a solitary door. She had always thought that door odd, placed as it was in a wall as high as a house and as long as ten ships. She had asked her father once what was behind the door, but he had laughed and told her obvious lies.

The Spire was a mountain though, and further away than she had thought. She kept on thinking that the entrance, this harbour wall door, was going to be around the next bend, but the next bend led to another length of the path. And this path she was on, it was so inviting, she wanted to see what was around the next corner, then the next and then the next. There was no snow here, the forest was very pleasant, not too cold at all. She could even see what looked like fire flies flitting around in the deeper parts of the wood away from the path. It was magical, in a good way. Her father had once taken her to his home town on Borland and down to this forest that he had said was full of pixies. She had seen lots of fire flies their too and had been entranced by them and had believed every word her father had said about them. She realised, older and wiser now, that he had just been spinning stories, made up on the spot about pixie kings and princesses. They had just been fire flies.

The path didn't lead directly to the base of the spire as she had envisioned, but curved around and down, deeper into the trees. With no better plan, she kept following it until it came to a wooden door set into the base of a featureless rock wall. She was astounded, as it did look a lot like the door on the harbour wall of Tullis. It was smaller though, as if made for a child, and rounded at the top. She approached the door then looked up, but could not see beyond the trees, then looked back along the path. Still no sign of the druids coming to get her.

The door was hardly even five feet tall, a man would have had to bend down to get through it, but it was just the right height for her. It was also slightly open. For a second she thought she heard voices.

Holding her breath she pushed the door inwards and looked inside. She saw a long stone corridor that ended in another door. It was closed, but there was light coming from underneath it and she could faintly hear talking. High pitched voices that sounded a little bit like the way Meg talked.

Could there be fressles here? She tip toed along the corridor to the other door and then pressed her ear to it. The chatter continued, there sounded like four or five voices. Every so often one or more would laugh, a high pitched string of cackling squeaks. Whoever they were, they sounded like a jolly lot.

With no warning, the talking abruptly stopped. She took her ear from the door and stood back. A moment later it opened and she saw two strange beings looking up at her.

They were shorter than Meg, but not by much, they had wide black eyes, like mice, and pointed ears. They wore clothes, but had large shimmering wings on their backs, transparent like a bee’s.

One cooed at her. The other pulled its lips back to reveal sharp looking teeth and hissed.

She could see that the room beyond was like a little kitchen or something and that there were two more of these creatures sat at a table. They had apparently been playing a card game.

Before she could recover her senses, one of the grabbed her hand and yanked her inside, while the other locked the door and pocketed the key.