Ghosts Of Alfhaven (Book 2) (16 page)

Sawain heard Naralei's voice in his ear, “I got you.”

He could hear Jatharr cough loudly, “I owe ye one, Banth.”

Mari whooped out from somewhere above Sawain, “Oh yeah! Not even an old hag's power can hold me back! How'd you like that little ditty, you smelly old swamp prune?”

Sawain was covered in mud and bog slime. He felt things moving around in the water that made him even more uncomfortable. He took a free hand and wiped the gunk out of his eyes. When he opened them, he instinctively went for one of the knives in his belt.

The mysterious figure was no longer in the rowboat, but stood on the water, not far at all from Sawain and Naralei. It looked up at the trees, but shadows fell over its face. Its hands were clenched into fists. They were a pinkish lilac color. It pointed a finger at Mari. Its claw-like nail shot outward like an extremely long blade.

Sawain heard Mari scream, then another splash. His stomach turned in fear and he tried to look over his shoulder to see her.

“Mari!”

He heard muddy splashes somewhere behind him as well as a few coughs and gags from Mari, “Aww that's disgusting! I mean, really! Cut your nails! That's not very cute....icle.”

Banthan sighed, “That was your worst pun yet.”

Mari Sputtered, “Hey, don't blame me! I just got a little swamped, okay?”

Banthan groaned, but Sawain was glad Mari was alright. The hooded figure let out a rolling cackle. It retracted its fingernail and pulled back the hood that hid its identity.

Her face looked young and beautiful, although otherworldly. Her skin was the same lilac coloration as her hands, but this time, Sawain noticed an iridescent gleam. Her smiling lips were the color of lavender. Her eyes were large and were like two midnight blue crystal orbs. They had no whites and no pupils. Strands of long, white hair fell over her slightly rounded face. Her hair reached down to the middle of her back.

“I am impressed, young ones. No one is able to break my spell over them. You must have had a very powerful teacher. Tirinele of Rowan Circle, am I right?”

Sawain was not entirely surprised the witch knew this, “That's right. You must be Sibilach. We have been searching for you. I come in Turin's name.”

The woman gave Sawain a dismissive wave, “The names of your gods do not impress me, mortal. Just save all the high talking. However, I do owe Turin a favor. Yes, I know who you are, Thrallborn. I know why you are here. Yes, I will help you, but only because I must. Once you have what you came for, leave my bog and never come back, or I will devour all of you.”

Sawain swallowed the lump in his throat. He believed her. The pulsing anguish in his leg reminded him that he needed a healer.

“I need my totem charged so that it can become a proper icon of Turin. I was also told you had my chosen weapon.”

Sibilach grinned and exposed rows of needle-like teeth, similar, but larger to those of the pixies, “Totem charging, as you call it, I can do, and before you ask, yes, I can do something about your leg, but you may not like it. As for your big sword... well, we shall discuss it after you wake up.”

Sawain was confused, “Wake up? Why can't we do it now?”

Sibilach raised an open palm and pointed it at the Outriders, “This is not the time nor place. Now, sleep. When you awake, you will be somewhere safer. So, sleep.”

Sawain wanted to argue, but he grew so tired so quickly, that he did not have a chance to open his mouth before he blacked out.

Chapter 16

Sawain awoke in a warm, dimly lit cabin. He lay on a straw filled mattress. He was clean, dry, and actually wearing his own clothes, which was unusual after all the blackouts he experienced in his life. He also noticed that his leg did not hurt. He tried to wiggle his toes, but something did not feel right about it. He sat up and pulled his pant leg up to the knee. What he saw made him yell in surprise.

The lower half of his right leg was gone to the knee. In its place was a leg that looked like it was made of living wood. It was the same shape as his old leg, but had muscle fibers made of wood, He could flex it and move it like it was part of his body, though it was stiffer. It also had no toes, but was shaped in a way to simulate toes. He reluctantly knocked on it with his knuckles. He was surprised to feel it.

“You're awake, that's good. I thought you'd never get up.”

Sawain looked toward the direction of the strange voice. Sibilach sat at a small round table by the fireplace. The glow of the fire made her look ominous. She wore the same dark cloak she had on when they first met. On the table in front of her was a strange setup. A circle was drawn in what looked to Sawain like salt. Several straight lines within the circle made an unusual diagram. Three black candles were situated around the circle. Sawain noticed they were in a triangular pattern. Their flames let off a green light. Sibilach motioned for Sawain to approach.

“Come here, boy. It is time to begin the ritual.”

Sawain was speechless. He rose from the bed. He only stumbled once on his new leg as he limped over to the table and sat down in the only other chair.

“My leg... What did you do to it?”

Sibilach scowled, “Had to throw it away. The meat was no good. Lots of rot. That wound was not natural. There was evil in it. Waste of perfectly good meat... Ah well.”

“No, I mean... How did you turn it to wood?”

Sibilach grinned, “Didn't turn it, boy. Made it. I had to cut off your old one. Are you not listening? You have some of your mother's druidic blood in you. I tapped into it and used it to make this new leg. Now you're more like your mother than ever! Ha ha ha!”

Sawain furrowed his brow, “I don't see what's funny. Where are my friends?”

Sibilach sighed, “Outside, somewhere. They all got cabin fever as soon as they awoke. I'm sure they won't go far without you. Now, if you could just hold your questions, we have to get started.”

Sawain nodded, abashed at her snide attitude toward him. She took a silver pitcher from beneath the table and raised it above the surface. She tipped it and clear water flowed from it. Sawain gasped and expected the water to splash all over the table and onto him. It did splash a few inches above the table, but instead of running everywhere, it was as if an invisible bowl caught it and was filled by it. Sawain stared in wonder as the water took the form of the invisible container. Sibilach put the pitcher back and stretched her hand over the bowl, as if she expected Sawain to give her something.

“
Your totem, boy.”

Sawain pulled the totem out of his shirt and from around his neck. He took a quick look at the tiny lion totem, then stretched out his hand to give it to her. She grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. The shock and pain caused him to drop the totem into the water.

“Hey!”

Sibilach glared at him as she picked up a knife on the table, “It's all part of the ritual. Now, relax.”

Sawain could not relax as she ran the blade of the knife over his palm. He winced from the pain and the uncomfortable feeling he got at she squeezed the wound to get his blood to drip into the water. The blood made contact with the totem and it began to glow. The candles flared up. Sibilach chanted a strange incantation in a language that was familiar to Sawain, but he did not comprehend it.

“
Blod ek bein vertha ein. Dae sturm tivn kappi ein visá thurfa. Hinga Himinn dyrr in des lykil ov bein.”

The totem's glow intensified. Sibilach continued to speak in the strange tongue. The room grew darker. It seemed to Sawain like the totem itself absorbed all of the light in the room. Sibilach's words turned into familiar ones.

“Blood and bone are now united. Open the champion's ears with your holy noise. Now the mother's spirit is one with the son. Bound by blood and bone, they are. May this guardian icon shine with guiding light.”

Light returned to the room. Sibilach stared at Sawain. She grinned at him and waved a hand over his cut palm. It immediately stitched back together. Sawain was shocked by her use of bloodless magic. She spoke to him in the strange tongue, but he knew what she said.

“Go ahead, boy. Pick up the Icon.”

She let go of Sawain's hand and he dipped it into the water. He grasped his totem and pulled it out. He put it back around his neck. It did not feel different to him. Sibilach sighed.

“We have finished the ritual. Your Icon is charged and now you can harness Turin's energy without being killed. You can also understand the Ald Tang naturally now. You have completed the second step to becoming a fully realized Champion. There is but one thing left for you to do. You will find your weapon of the gods, Sturmedge, at Turin's Standing Stones, to the west of the Dwarven stronghold, Caer Teallagh. The journey there is hard enough without an army of undead abominations prowling the countryside. No one ever said it would be easy, though, right?”

Sawain shrugged, “I guess not. So, how do I get there? Are you going to send me magically or am I walking?”

Sibilach cackled, “Magically? You are a strange one, indeed, Thrallborn. I could send you the way between the borders of the worlds. It would be faster, but the people of Hammerhold need a war hero now, and you need to grow more. You are not yet ready to wield Sturmedge, but you will be by the time you reach it. This is the truth.”

Sawain's heart sank, “Alright, but how am I supposed to get there? We are called Outriders, but the truth is, we don't have anything to ride. We left on such short notice, we never had a chance to get our steeds.”

Sibilach grinned broadly, “In a hurry to die, are we, young half-elf? This forest is not kind to the prepared, much less so for those who charge in recklessly, but I know you have experienced that already. Never mind not having a mount. I have just the thing for you. In fact, I've been preparing them for you since the day Turin chose you.”

Sawain raised an eyebrow, “Since the day Turin chose me?”

Sibilach nodded, “Yes, he visited me the very same day he chose you so he could call on his favor. He told me all about you, he told me you would be an outcast in need of guidance. So, here you are, before the queen of the outcast! How fortunate for you!”

Sawain furrowed his brow, “An outcast? I mean, sure, I started as one in the city, but I have friends and allies now. “

Sibilach nodded. A sly grin slithered across her face.

“
That may be so, but a handful of friends does not save you from being rejected by society as a whole. The Triumvirate still believe you will die here in the forest. They suspect that if Alfhaven itself does not kill you, that I most certainly will. Ooooh, how it warms my heart to imagine their smug, disappointed faces!”

Sawain did not care for the Triumvirate. He knew what she said was true, so it cheered him a bit to think about how upset they would be when they found out their ploy to kill him failed. His mind switched back to the transportation problem.

“So, these horses you've been preparing for me, are there enough for all the Outriders?”

Sibilach laughed and waved a hand at him comically, “Ha! Horses? You think I could raise horses here? No, I have something better in mind. You will see them in due time.”

Sibilach's jovial nature melted into grim seriousness, “We have something more dire that needs our attention.”

Sawain reached for his weapon, only to realize he did not have any, “My knives and sword, where are they?”

Sibilach rose to her feet as if she simply floated up. She drifted across the floor to a large brown chest made of oak wood. She unclasped the silver latches and lifted the lid. She beckoned for Sawain. He climbed to his feet, much clumsier. When he got to the chest and looked inside, his eyes widened. Inside was a black set of scale mail armor and his knives. Sibilach moved away as he picked up the shirt of the armor. It was black as the forest at midnight. The scales shimmered with an otherworldly light. Pauldrons of black hardened leather were sewn into the armor. The pants were made of the same scaly material. A black sash resided at the bottom of the chest, beside a pair of black boots. Sibilach addressed him as he donned the new armor.

“
That scale mail is special. The scales are swamp drake scales. Very tough and repels water well. It's woven together with black-stained Mithril, so it is light and strong. It's enchanted to misdirect weapons, so that most weaker attacks that are short of a direct hit will glance off harmlessly. The sash is also woven Mithril. It is my gift to you, along with this.”

Sawain turned to her and his jaw slackened. She held a massive sword in a matching black scabbard. The blade was nearly as long as she was, about five feet in length. The blade had to be five inches wide as well. She offered it to him. He slowly walked over to her and accepted the beautiful sword.

He looked it over closer now. It was a little heavier than he expected it to be. Its hilt was wrapped in white leather, but the cross guards were black as coal. They curved upward, away from his hands. The inside of the curves were serrated and seemed to also have an edge. The scabbard was wrapped in black leather. It had clasps on one side that allowed the sword to be drawn from the side for easier access. It was embossed with looping knot designs that ran the length. He drew out the sword itself to look at the blade. It was sleek and beautiful. Its black metal gleamed in the firelight. Its tip was round, instead of the angular blades he was used to making and wielding. Sibilach commented on it as he admired the craftsmanship.

“
It's a special order, made in my home city, far, far from here. The metal is unlike anything you will find in this world. That being so, it cannot be affected by curses or magic originating from this realm's arcana. But that's enough with the presents. Our uninvited guests are here.”

Sawain heard a scream from outside. It sounded like Banthan. The door burst open. Jatharr stood in the doorway, his breathing heavy. Sawain noticed he wore similar new armor. He met eyes with Sawain and his anxiety melted slightly into relief.

“You're awake! Good! We've got a problem outside! Come quick!”

Sawain did not hesitate. He followed Jatharr outside. They stood on a weathered wooden porch that extended around the house and overlooked a swampy yard. The trees here were the thinnest Sawain had seen yet. Evening sunlight poured into the swamp, which filled it with natural light. It revived something inside of Sawain. The front yard of the cabin was submerged in water and the rowboat Sibilach used was tied up to a dock not far from where they stood.

Naralei, Mari, and Banthan were spread out along the porch, weapons in hand. He noticed that they also wore armor similar to his own. They scanned the swamp in different directions. Sawain heard the threat before he saw it. He made a sweeping glance around the yard. He unclasped his sword when he realized what was happening.

A gurgling, rattling noise filled the air as several corpses rose from the bog. Many of them were skeletons of humanoids, but a few still had meat on their bones. Not all of them were on two legs. Many animal corpses and skeletons were rising as well. Sawain tried to find the one responsible for this atrocity. It did not take him long to spot the culprit.

A pack of the rune-scarred barbarians riding the Bjornhunds approached from the yard. The Bjornhunds were chest deep in the bog, but managed to stay afloat. Sawain counted seven of them. The one in the middle was different from the others. It wore a painted mask with no signs of eye holes.  The mask was made of bone and a wild head dress that looked to be made of ribs draped around its shoulders. It wore a set of gray robes over a shirt of chain mail that was barely visible. It wielded  a staff in its right hand that it held aloft. A gem was set into it, bound to the main shaft by gleaming briars. A dark aura emanated from the gem that seeped into the swamp at its feet.

Sawain could tell that this creature was one of the Grey King's drones. He brandished the heavy sword and pointed it at the leader.

“You are not welcome here! In Turin's name, I will destroy you and cleanse this place of your dark presence!”

The leader stopped its chant. Its sightless gaze turned to Sawain. It laughed. It was muffled and raspy and sent chills down Sawain's spine.

“What is this? How do you know that name? We were sent to convince Sibilach to convert to the will of the Grey King, but it seems we have been blessed with additional troops for our growing ranks. My lord will be very pleased with me indeed, especially if you are one of the chosen of his enemies. We could use another champion. Yes, indeed. Very well, I am an envoy of the Grey King, ruler of Hammerhold. I am one of his priests, sent out to spread his grey gift to those of this dark forest. You are now offered the chance to convert to undeath. Think of it as a way to achieve immortality. You will become faithful servants to the true king of Hammerhold and will fight to bring judgment to those who refuse to convert.”