Ghosts Of Alfhaven (Book 2) (3 page)

“Come on Sawain, you can go sight-seeing later. You have an appointment to keep.”

The guard whistled at an approaching cart that was being drawn by the largest badger Sawain had ever seen. Its eyes glowed like the other animals around the forest and it had bony growths puncturing its pelt. He assumed this to be one of the animals affected by the forest's magic. The cart driver eyed the guard and Sawain cautiously as he drew up to them.

“Where to, then?”

The guard hung his lantern on a hook by the prison door and flipped the driver a coin, which was snatched from the air by the driver. He ushered Sawain into the cart as he talked to the elf driver.

“To Arborhart, please. We're in a hurry too, if you don't mind.”

The driver nodded and waited for the guard to climb into the cart. Once both passengers were aboard, the cart lurched forward and began racing down the twisting streets. Sawain watched the city rush by as he tried not to throw up the contents of his virtually empty stomach. The guard spoke to him as they moved along.

“We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Ilias. Nice to meet you, Sawain. Thought you might want to know a thing or two about the city and the Triumvirate before you face the trial. First of all, be on your best behavior while at the Arborhart. It's a holy place to the people of Alfhaven. The people here worship their ancestors. Two simple rules in Alfhaven: respect the living, revere the dead. The Arborgard protect the city, while the Ancestral Guard protects the Arborhart.”

“
Ancestral Guard?” Sawain asked.

Ilias nodded, “Aye, spirits of fallen druids that were so closely bound to the forest that when their bodies were destroyed, their spirits remained and took on a sort of semi-corporeal state. Put simply: They're ghost soldiers. Hard to kill someone who's already dead.”

Sawain scratched his chin, “But how can a spirit hurt anyone?”

Ilias smiled, “Remember, I said they were semi-corporeal. They retain a portion of their druidic powers. What makes them visible to the living is a sort of body the spirit forms out of mist. The spirit can also turn that mist into a weapon that is sharper than any natural sword.”

Sawain nodded, terrified at the thought of ghosts wielding mist swords. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

“
What keeps them from killing everyone?”

Ilias replied, “Sense of duty, lingering morality. That, and they are bound to the light of the Arborhart. That means they cannot stray from it, even if they wanted to.”

Sawain nodded, feeling a little more comfortable about the Ancestral Guard.

They turned a corner and the city opened up. From Sawain's vantage point, he could see a breathtaking sight. A spiraling tower of white wood rose from the ground to the top of the dome. Three smaller towers of the same elegant build rose around it, tapering off with pointed domes of woven branches. Each one was connected to the main tower by two suspended hallways of woven white vines. The weaves of vines opened at points, creating beautifully shaped windows covered by stained glass. Each window was adorned by a glass mosaic of an elvish hero or robed cleric. The towers were surrounded by a wall of white briars that rose twenty feet into the air and surrounded the entire complex.

Sawain let his mouth hang open. The wood itself, both of the buildings and the briar wall, glowed with a pure white light. A light haze of mist surrounded the entire citadel, giving it a ghostly appearance. Ilias chuckled at Sawain's reaction to this sight.

“
Welcome to the Arborhart, Sawain. The Triumvirate is inside, at the top of the central tower. Good luck in there, you'll need it.”

Chapter 3

Sawain followed Ilias out of the cart, eyes still stuck on the Arborhart. They stood at the gates of the great citadel. The walls stretched so far in either direction that Sawain could barely tell where they turned inward. Two ghostly soldiers dressed in transparent white armor stood on either side of the gate, each one leaning on a long spear made of the same misty material as their armor and bodies.

The armor looked to be some sort of gleaming metal. It was full plate mail that was adorned with vine-like etchings. The pauldrons and upper leg plates were shaped like broad leaves. The helmets on their heads looked like they were made of a sort of leaf mail mesh. The metallic canopy on their heads flowed down across the backs of their necks.

They stared straight ahead, as if they could see something that Sawain could not. Being in their presence unnerved him. Their eyes turned on him and met his gaze, which chilled him to the bone. Ilias gave him a shove from the back, which caused him to stagger forward.

“
It's not polite to stare, Sawain. Come on, move your feet. You don't want to keep the elders waiting.”

He shot a backwards glare at the pushy guard and marched dutifully toward the gates. The two guards spoke at the same time, stopping Sawain in his tracks.

“Halt. Who approaches the Arborhart Gate? State your business.”

Sawain could not find his tongue. He stammered nonsensically for a moment. He heard Ilias sigh and take a breath.

“I am Ilias of the Arborgard, Deepglade Prison Unit. I am transporting prisoner Sawain Thrallborn of Anvilheim to his trial before the Triumvirate of Elders.”

The ghosts studied the pair for a moment, then raised their spears and slammed the butts of the weapons against the earth. The misty aura in the air intensified and condensed on the gates of the Arborhart. Sawain watched in amazement as the intricately woven gates pulled themselves apart, much like the smaller door at the prison, but on a grander scale. The guards spoke again when they were fully open.

“You may enter. The elders are expecting you, Sawain Thrallborn.”

Ilias gave the ghostly sentries a respectful bow and ushered Sawain inside. The gates quickly closed behind them. Sawain let his eyes wander all over the outer courtyard of the Arborhart. The walkway they strode across was made of the same white wood, woven together in a tight knot pattern about five feet wide. It stretched across a green lawn from the gate to the central tower. It also branched off to the left and right, weaving through beautiful hedge gardens adorned with violet and blue flowers. Sawain found the courage to speak again as he took in the view.

“So, you know a lot more about me than you let on earlier.”

Ilias chuckled, “I was just being friendly.”

Sawain snorted, “The others around here should take a lesson from you. Say, Ilias, You didn't happen to see a couple of halflings come into the prison the same time I did, did you? One was a man with a thin blonde beard and close cut hair, the other was a woman who would have been in very bad shape.”

Ilias nodded, a grim demeanor veiling his face, “Aye, the woman was in poor condition, she was taken to the infirmary. I haven't seen her since. The other one was locked up in Deepglade as well. He ranted and raved like a wild animal for three days before he wore himself out. I didn't know that halflings could be so full of stamina.”

Sawain nodded, “Is he still there?”

“
Yes,” Ilias answered, “but I doubt the Elders will let him go any time soon. He did quite a number on poor Lieutenant Bauthas.”

Sawain sighed. He remembered the temper Jatharr was capable of stoking when put in stressful situations. He resolved mentally to free his friend as well. He was confident that the elders would listen to him once he told them who he was.

Ilias led him into the main tower of the Arborhart. It was larger inside than it looked from the outside. The tower was hollow on the inside. The inner courtyard was full of elves kneeling in prayer at one of the threescore stone statues lining the inner walls. The same pale mist that composed the Ancestral Guards hovered over each statue, forming a loose halo of light above each head. Sawain assumed the statues were of family patriarchs or great heroes who fell in battle defending the city.

A fountain in the center of the courtyard emanated the same pure white light the towers gave off, but at a brighter intensity. The ground here was a level, grassy field. Ilias led him to the right of the entrance. A staircase made of thick tree boughs woven together extended out ten feet from the wall and ran up along the diameter of the tower. Sawain noticed another floor was woven together about sixty feet above them. It was not as tightly woven as the walls or doors, so he could see rays of light beaming down from a pale blue source above, which gave the grove of statues below a peaceful, more ethereal ambiance.

Sawain and Ilias climbed the twisting stairs and passed floor after floor. Each one was similar, though they seemed to serve different purposes. One floor lacked statues, and instead had a large silver basin in the center of the room that contained red embers. The worshipers in this chamber were throwing handfuls of herbs onto the embers while they sang a hauntingly beautiful song. Wisps of white smoke curled through the air, melding with the words of the elves.

Sawain's elvish was still poor, but he thought it sounded like a poem of lament from the few words he could pick out. The aroma of the burning incense and the lilting melody made Sawain drowsy. He silently followed Ilias up to the next room as he reflected on his mother. He decided this was an appropriate place to remember her.

Sawain's legs grew sore and tired as he climbed the tenth floor's stairs. They emerged in a room unlike the ones below. This one was completely walled off, the floor below was solid. The room itself was only as wide as the staircase that leveled off here. A door like the gate outside blocked entry to the hallway beyond. One of the Ancestral Guards stood before it, leaning on her spear. She perked up when she noticed the two ascending the stairs in her direction. She cleared her ghostly throat as she spoke to them.

“
Ah, the Thrallborn boy. Took you long enough, didn't it? Right, in you go, your judgment is at hand.”

She tapped the gate with her spear, then dissolved before Sawain's eyes. The gate unraveled itself and Sawain stepped forward, following Ilias into the hall. He heard the guard's voice in his ear.

“Good luck, Thrallborn.”

He turned, half out of surprise, to say his thanks, but there was no ghost visible. The thought of the invisible ghosts lurking around made his skin crawl. He simply turned around and followed Ilias.

Ilias stopped in front of a double door. This one was made of polished white wood and had actual knobs for handles. Ilias stepped to the side and motioned for Sawain to go through the doors.

“
The Triumvirate court is on the other side of these doors. This is as far as I go with you. Good luck Sawain.”

Sawain's stomach tied itself into a knot. He suddenly became so nervous, he felt as if he would vomit, but he contained himself, took a few deep breaths, then several short ones as he placed his hand on the knob and turned it.

He stepped into a large circular chamber, about half the size of the lower floors. Three tiers of elevated benches ran along the length of the room and stopped at the far end, where three elevated pulpits resided. They stood side by side, with the middle one brought slightly forward. The benches were full of elves dressed in rich attire. They looked like the nobles of the realm.

Three ancient looking elves sat behind the three pulpits in high thrones made of wood overlaid with silver. They were dressed more elegantly than any other in the room. They wore blue robes lined with silver and perforated with precious stones. Each one wore a jewel encrusted crown on his or her brow. The two men had flowing white beards that were woven into their equally long snowy manes of hair. The elder to the left of the highest elder also had long white hair that wrapped around her waist like a sash.

Several feet above their heads, in the wall behind the pulpits, a balcony was carved in. Several ghostly figures dressed as stately as the elders sat there in a misty haze. All eyes were on Sawain as he walked into the room. It was nearly enough to make his knees buckle. He took another breath and remembered why he was there. He had a Hold to save. He had all of the Holds to save.

He strode to the center of the floor and looked up as fearlessly as possible to the elders. They sat a few feet above his head. Each of them stared down his or her nose at him like he was a piece of refuse. He did not allow their haughty manner to get to him. The middle elder spoke.

“Sawain Thrallborn, you are brought before the Triumvirate of Elders and the Council of Ancestors today on the charges of trespass, assault, and blasphemy. What have you to say to these charges?”

Sawain cleared his parched throat, “I am not guilty.”

The elder raised an eyebrow, “Did you not enter the borders of Alfhaven without permission from the rangers or the Triumvirate?”

“
I did, but--”

“
Did you assault the captain of the Eastern Watch when he arrested you for this trespass?”

Sawain's temper rose, “He insulted me and struck me--”

“Did you wittingly lead creatures cursed with undeath into the forest of Alfhaven?”

“
We were chased in by--”

The middle elder raised his left hand, “I do not care to hear excuses, Sawain Thrallborn. A simple yes or no will do.”

Sawain grit his teeth and glared at the inquiring elder, “Yes. I trespassed into the forest to escape an army of undead led by a necromancer that calls himself the Grey King. I defended myself against Captain Nerelis' attack when he found out where I was from.”

The other elders gave each other wary glances, but the middle elder simply looked bored. The elves in the stand were mumbling amongst themselves. The middle elder sighed.

“So you admit your guilt of the crimes charged against you. According to your transgressions, your punishment will be severe lashing and exile from Alfhaven--”

Sawain could not take another word, “ENOUGH!”

His shout silenced all in the room as he continued, “I am the chosen of the god Turin as well as the son of an Alfhaven native. You will listen to my case now. I did not come here to be branded a criminal. I came to seek help from the warriors of Alfhaven. The other holds are in grave danger. The Necromancer called the Grey King has united the tribes of the Frostwylde and has marched south into the Fells. I have seen firsthand the destruction his curse brings with it. If you do not heed my warning and take the fight to him, Alfhaven, too will be in great danger.”

Sawain's warning was met by bouts of laughter from living and dead alike. Only one did not laugh. Sawain noticed a ghostly elder sitting in the middle and at the front of the balcony who was staring at him as if the ghost was spooked by something more mysterious than himself. The head living elder raised a hand to silence the crowd.

“I have heard quite enough from you, young Thrallborn. Now, leave this court before I--”

The ghost who was studying Sawain stood up and shouted. He fluttered down to the floor in front of Sawain and reformed, facing the elders.

“Elder Orenias, you will hear this boy out! Did you not hear what he said? He is chosen of the god of the Sturmforge! He used his real name! None living remember the names of the gods, save you! You would be the greatest catastrophe of our history if you threw him out without giving him a chance to prove what he says.”

The elder's eyes narrowed on the ghost who interrupted him, “Ancestor V
ærun, you will defend this criminal?”

The elder to the left of the head elder cleared her throat, “Orenias, you know we revere the words of the ancestors above even the words of the Triumvirate. That being said, we are still a council of three. One alone cannot make a decision, even you are not exempt from this law.”

Elder Orenias' nostrils flared in temper at the counter action made by his contemporary. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked calmer than before.

“
So be it. Go on then, Thrallborn. Prove to us you are who you say you are.”

The ancestor who came to Sawain's rescue smiled and returned to his place in the balcony. All eyes were on Sawain again. He breathed deeply to steel his nerves and closed his own eyes. He prayed fervently.

Master Turin, lord of the Sturmforge, deliver me from these who seek to prevent me from fulfilling my destiny. Prove to them that I am who I say I am.

He opened his eyes again. He saw himself standing in front of the Elders of the Triumvirate. He was watching the scene unfold now as if he was someone in the crowd of nobles. His soulless body opened its eyes. They shone like beacons. Lightning crackled at his fingertips. The mist of the ghosts in the room grew heavy and gathered around his feet like storm clouds. When he opened his mouth, a voice like living thunder erupted from it. He recognized it as Turin's voice.

“I am Turin, god of the Sturmforge, wielder of the blade that splits heaven and earth. This warrior from Anvilheim is my chosen vessel to carry out my will in Hammerhold. You will show him the respect you would show me. He is young still, but he will grow into the hero this land needs, only if he is given proper guidance. I command you to aid him in his struggle against the torrent of the undead that washes across this land. There is one in this forest who will be his guide on the path to his fate. He must be able to seek her out. Do what you can to make sure he can pass freely in this forest or I will see to it myself that everything green will be turned to ash!”