In The Shadow Of The Beast (26 page)

Sigourd made to come the way they had
arrived, but Isolde stayed his hand, ‘No, there is a quicker way
down, it will lead us straight into the deeper forest.’

‘
And we’re quite sure the
deeper forest is where we want to be going, are we?’ asked Jonn
Grumble uncertainly.

Isolde took the lead, and led them instead
down a narrow passageway that opened out onto the eastward gantry
that Sigourd and Jonn Grumble had spied earlier.

They were back outside amongst the trees and
the other pods where now a thick mist had descended to shroud the
treetops. The light of the orbs that hung between the trees was
hazy now, and everything seemed to be cast in a disorienting, hazy
twilight.

As they made their way along the gantry,
there came a sound that chilled their blood. The howling of a wolf,
long and protracted, it carried on the cold night air like the
braying of a ships horn far off and away on lonely seas. That
lonely howling possessed all the murderous promise of the hunter
unleashed.

‘
They know...’ said Isolde,
her voice trembling now with fear.

‘
What, you can tell that by
the sound of some scavenger howling at the moon?’ asked Jonn
Grumble incredulously. But as he spoke, another wolf took up the
cry of the first, and then another, and another. The howling was
coming from all around them now. Echoing out of the mists near and
far. It was impossible to tell how close the makers of those blood
chilling sounds actually were.

‘
There is more to this
place than meets the eye,’ whispered Sigourd.

‘
There is no time to dally.
We must leave this place,’ she Isolde, her voice wrought with a
desperate need to be away.

Sigourd nodded, and Isolde turned once more
to lead them. In the course of their head long flight, Sigourd lost
his bearings entirely. He could no longer tell which way was north
or south, if they were going up or down. He feared that he would
take a wrong step and tumble over the edge of the gantry, but
Isolde seemed so totally convinced of her direction he could do
ought but follow her footsteps as faithfully as he could. All the
while, the ululating braying of the wolves echoed all around
them.

Down through the mist they descended. It
almost felt as if they were falling through the impenetrable miasma
so quick was their descent. Sigourd’s feet were churning up great
puffs of vapor that stirred between his legs in coiling tendrils.
His footfalls felt as nothing against the heavy mist as the trio
made their descent.

Of a sudden, the ground rose up to meet
them. It was under their feet so unexpectedly and so solidly that
both Sigourd and Jonn Grumble collapsed onto all fours.

‘
Quickly, ’ said Isolde,
‘we must make for the cover of the deep forest.’

Picking themselves up without pausing to
dust off, Sigourd and Jonn quickly regained their feet, breaking
into a run for the nearest trees that would provide them with any
sort of reasonable cover.

As they ran, the relentless braying of the
wolves continued to echo and re-echo around them. The sound hanging
in the cold night air far longer than it seemed possible for any
mere animal noise to do so.

They ran headlong through the dark forest.
Only the barest slivers of silvered moonlight fell to cast poor
illumination in aid of their flight. That moon was still masked by
a gathering of the heavy clouds that hung brooding in the sky.

Bracken and low hanging branches whipped
past them, stinging bare faces and snagging loose clothing. In and
amongst the gigantic red trees that populated this forest were
smaller cousins that nevertheless offered impediment aplenty to the
trio. They ducked in and around those trees in an effort to put as
much distance as possible between themselves and the strange
village they just infiltrated.

The trio entered a small clearing in which
the trees of the forest, large and small, seemed to maintain an
almost perfect circular perimeter around an area open to the night
sky. Standing there on the edge of the clearing, some fifty meters
across, Sigourd cold not shake the feeling that they were already
surrounded.

The light of a moon partially obscured by
rolling clouds shone down on them, and as Sigourd looked upon its
radiance, as he had in his dreams, there came to him a strange
sensation. It was as if he could feel the rush of blood through his
own veins. The hammering of his heart in his chest. The intuitive
understanding of dangers unseen.

From the darkness of the surrounding trees,
eyes flickered open. At first two or three pairs of yellow eyes.
They hung, suspended in the murk like nuggets of purest amber, shot
through with a vertical black slit of a pupil. Then another pair,
and another, and another until the trio found themselves surrounded
by eyes in the dark. The howling of the wolves ceased suddenly.

Now Sigourd and Isolde and Jonn Grumble
looked back at those golden points of light as surely as those same
menacing orbs looked back at them. A deathly silence had befallen
the clearing, and Sigourd could hear nothing but the gentle
soughing of the wind in the trees and the hammering of his own
heart in his breast.

He pressed Isolde behind him so that he
might come between her and any threat, and drew his sword. To his
left Jonn Grumble held his own sword staff ready, a sneer of feral
challenge upon his lips, ‘I think we definitely took a wrong turn
somewhere,’ said the wild man through clenched teeth.

And then the voice came. Booming out of the
darkness, heavy with the weight of authority yet also riven with a
savage lilt that cut through the quiet of the surrounding forest
like razors through flesh.

‘
You are indeed brave,
Sigourd Fellhammer,’ said the voice. ‘But bravery can make foolish
the noblest of intentions.’

Sigourd puffed out his chest to fill his
lungs, so that when he spoke his words would not be afflicted with
the shiver of timidity that fluttered in his heart, ‘Then step
forward out of the shadows, if you are fool enough, and I will show
you bravery,’ he said boldly.

From the darkness of the tree line, savage
laughter boomed.

‘
You continue to impress
me, young lord,’ said the voice, ‘but let us bring this deceit to
an end.’

From the shadows, a tall figure emerged into
the silvered light of the shrouded moon. Broad about the shoulders
and thick set in the arms and chest, he was clad in a leather
bodice and draped with a cloak of rough hewn cloth. A deep hood was
pulled up over his head, and from within its depths twin amber
jewels twinkled, glaring at the trio across the clearing.

Slowly, the figure reached up to pull the
hood back, revealing a face so hard and rutted that for all the
world it looked like to be carved from the dark wood of the great
trees hereabouts. He possessed a heavy brow that hung over his deep
set eyes like the edge of a cliff, and his high cheekbones framed a
jaw that was set as hard as the volcanic rock of the Ash’harad.

When Arook spoke again, his voice was low,
but the tone of threat was unmistakable, ‘Lower your weapons.’

Sigourd’s response was to assume a fighting
stance. He brought up the tip of his blade up so that it was
pointed squarely at the formidable looking figure not ten meters in
front of him.

Around the shadowed perimeter of the
clearing, the floating pairs of eyes seemed to shift as if
agitated, like they were preparing themselves to launch from the
cover of the forest in frenzied attack. But instead they continued
to stare on, blinking here and there as they glared at Sigourd and
his companions.

For his part, the craggy faced figure that
stood before Sigourd made no indication that he had registered the
young lords defensive posture. He seemed content to simply stand
there, as if waiting for some sign or signal.

Sigourd was so intent on the figure and the
baleful glaring eyes in the woods that he did not notice the curved
blade edging its way toward him until it was pressed firmly against
his throat. He looked down to see the blade resting there, a
momentary confusion flashing through him, and then turned slowly to
see that the delicate hand gripping the weapon belonged to none
other than his beloved Isolde. His eyes went wide with surprise,
‘Isolde, what are you doing?’

‘
Do as he says, my love,’
said Isolde, ‘this will go far easier for you if you do not resist
us.’

Jonn Grumble spun on his heel, bringing his
own weapon up so that he might strike at Isolde.

‘
No!’ cried Sigourd,
Isolde’s curved blade still pressed against his throat, a solitary
bead of blood tumbling down the nape of his neck. Jonn Grumble
stayed his hand, the sword staff poised above his head ready to
strike.

‘
Oh, I can definitely see
the attraction with this one!’ said Jonn, his eyes burning with the
light of a cornered animal set to attack.

‘
Both of you will lower
your weapons,’ insisted Isolde, a steely undercurrent of menace in
her voice that brooked no argument. Jonn Grumble looked to Sigourd,
who nodded reluctantly to his wild friend. There was a moments
hesitation before both men slowly lowered their weapons, dropping
them to the ground with dull thuds.

In the instant that the weapons landed upon
the soft earth, figures from the forest’s edge rushed forward to
seize Sigourd and Jonn Grumble. These figures were dressed in a
similar fashion to the men who had stolen Isolde from the palace,
all cloaks and hoods, their faces hidden beneath deep shadow.

Jonn Grumble struggled in vain against his
captors, snarling and cursing at those who clamped strong hands
firmly about his arms and torso.

Sigourd gave no resistance whatsoever as his
captors held firm. He could do nothing but stare at Isolde, his
eyes betraying a depth of confusion and sadness that he had never
known.

‘
Why, Isolde....?’ said
Sigourd, his voice rising barely above a whisper, ‘why have you
done this?’

Isolde had lowered her blade the moment the
other’s took hold of Sigourd, and she now stood before him with
eyes that were full of a different kind of sorrow. Regret. The
regret of the reluctant betrayer. She could not bear to see the
pain in Sigourd’s eyes, and looked away, casting her gaze upon
ground.

‘
Isolde is an integral part
of a far grander design than simply to steal your affections, young
lord,’ said Arook, who had come to stand beside the crestfallen
girl. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, which seemed to
renew her vigor somewhat as she looked to him with the conviction
of one who has made necessary sacrifices for a greater
cause.

‘
What is the meaning of
this?’ said Sigourd. ‘Who are you!?’

Arook stepped closer so that he might look
more clearly into the boy’s eyes. He moved with an easy, feline
grace despite his considerable size and fearsome appearance.

‘
We have brought you here
to this sacred place so that you might witness your own emergence
Sigourd,’ he said.

‘
Emergence? What madness
are you speaking?’ said Sigourd, trying to mask the uncertainty in
his voice.

‘
Through study of our
ancient texts, we have determined the exact time and place that you
would come to us, Sigourd. We have known for hundreds of years that
tonight you would slough off the skin of your former self and begin
your journey into a new existence. Behold the lunar zenith,’ Arook
gestured to the shining moon hanging low in the sky. The clouds
that had formerly obscured it seemed to have been burned away by
the fierce brilliance of the glowering sphere.

‘
The great eye of the wolf
looks down upon us,’ continued Arook, ‘it will cast deep into your
soul Sigourd, and you will see in its light the course of your
destiny!’

Strong hands gripped Sigourd about the head,
forcing him to look directly upon that hunter’s moon. As he looked,
the feeling of momentous energy built steadily until it coursed
through him. It was the manifestation of all of the sensations he’d
experienced in his dreams, in his fight with Jonn Grumble, in the
moment when he’d maimed the brute in the tavern at Yarneth Vardis.
It was all that magnified a thousand times. His heart became a
percussive hammering in his ears, his blood rushed in his veins
like the surging of a tidal wave crashing ceaselessly against a
forgotten rocky shore. He could feel the throbbing pressure of the
minds of those around him, and those others who remained concealed
in the shadows at the edge of the clearing. He could feel the heat
of their collective life force, it surged in and around him like
underwater currents. He felt so alive!

But it was too much. Sigourd’s mind was on a
precipice, about to fall and shatter. His body felt like it might
burst with the excess of life force seething to escape his mortal
shell.

The moon, the terrible moon, so cold and
remote, like the love of a distant god. Like an intelligence too
vast for Sigourd to comprehend other than to be intimately aware of
its soul rending scrutiny. He tried to look away but could not, his
will was no longer his own.

And still the surging life force built
within him. Sigourd was wracked with agony, the marrow in his bones
feeling as if it had quickened to molten lead. His blood boiled
beneath skin that felt alive with a fire so intense it consumed
him. His whole body seemed to be made of fire. Fire the destroyer,
fire the great bringer of change.

Inwardly, Sigourd burned in that silvered
moonlight, his body a crucible of incandescent agony.