The Flight of the Griffin (22 page)

‘Where do they keep disappearing to?’ Loras asked Groober as around them, more Hidden emerged giving shy toothy smiles before scuttling out of their way to watch from the damp shadows of the forest.

‘What’s that you say? Who keeps disappearing?’

Loras glanced down at Groober. ‘Hidden, that’s the third one I’ve seen walk into a tree and … look there went another one!’

Groober grinned. ‘They’re not disappearing, you’re with the Hidden, this is our city, look,’ he pulled Loras over to a tree and showed him a fold in the bark. ‘It’s a doorway, most of the bigger trees have shops in the base and homes above; others contain stairs to higher levels. Below us are the warrens, tunnels beneath the earth where others live and shelter from the heat of the day.’ His nose was twitching as he held the fold aside. ‘It is very important to us that our lives are at one with the forest, the trees…with the Source.’

Loras peered inside the tree and was surprised to discover a small dark musty room and stairs leading to both an upper and lower level. Sitting at a table was one of the Hidden, stitching some of the familiar animal skins, already filthy, making what passed for clothing. He glanced up and waved at Loras who pulled his head out with a start.

‘Very good tailor, you may want to get yourself a nice new coat or something,’ said Groober walking on. ‘He’s very good with squirrel and rat skins taken from the dead animals we find.’ He stopped and gazed intently at Loras, ‘We don’t…kill…animals, the Hidden are nice.’ Loras smiled a little uncertainly. Groober nodded then carried on. ‘Up above us are…well let me show you,’ he glanced around and strode over to a large elm. ‘Come on, follow me,’ he called, before disappearing into the tree.

They walked over and saw a narrow staircase. It was a little cramped, especially for Quint, but they managed to climb up until it opened amongst the topmost branches of the forest and into another, quite different, part to the city. It was lighter up here and the smell of mould and decay was gone, replaced by fresher air and the scent of life rather than the stagnant deathly aroma that filled the forest floor. Here walkways of branches and covered platforms nestled amongst the leaves stretching as far as they could see into the forest.

The Hidden still preferred the shadows even up here. As they moved around they were making every effort to avoid the soft green light, darting across any sun-splashed areas as quickly as possible. They were shy, preferring to observe from the shadows but several waved and gave them toothy smiles as they made their way along the walkway.

‘Down below it’s so damp and depressing, but up here it’s beautiful,’ said Mahra, echoing everyone’s thoughts. Groober gave her a strange look then ushered them along a narrow walkway of woven living branches, proudly pointing out different parts of the city, the homes, shops and even a small factory with rows of Hidden busily hammering away. They stopped at a school with a group of tiny children who threw things at them and shrieked until the teacher clapped her hands and they reluctantly returned to the lesson.

‘I am sorry, they are young. We are taught to fear and avoid outsiders…people less fortunate than ourselves,’ simpered Groober by way of an explanation as he led them on.

‘It’s a long way down from up here,’ observed Tarent peering over between the branches, ‘best keep an eye on Loras, if anyone’s going to fall over the edge it’ll be him.’ Loras glared at Tarent for a moment before continuing after Groober. They walked on for some time then stopped as Groober announced that the King's home was up ahead.

‘Please be careful when speaking to King Cahlrik. It is a delicate matter to bring outsiders into our city and we all wish this meeting to go well.’ He became a little hesitant. ‘I’m sorry, but would you mind leaving your weapons by the door? I will of course vouch for your safety.’ He offered his best and most rehearsed smile, which was so awful it actually made Loras wince. ‘As I’ve already said, we are not a violent people, and it would be a bad start for an armed group to enter the King’s hall.’ They exchanged glances then unbuckled their swords and left them with their bows by the door, secretly however, they were each keeping a weapon well concealed.

‘Very well, my friends, let us go,’ said Groober marching to a screen of branches and pushing them aside; a strong unpleasant smell rushed out to greet them.

Reluctantly, they entered, emerging into a large, gloomy room where they could just make out the twenty or more elderly Hidden that made up the King’s council, gathered in attendance. The smell of mould, decay and…Hidden filled the stuffy space; the rank air held in by a thick curtain of vines and leaves that made up the walls and roof of the room. It really did allow little air or light to enter. A fire crackled in the centre, but it was belching mostly smoke offering little in the way of light.

As their eyes eventually adjusted, they saw Cahlrik himself seated on a wooden throne talking with an ancient advisor huddled over a stack of parchments. He was dressed the same as the other Hidden, in animal skins, and was every bit as dirty as the rest but had a small brass crown upon his head, held in place by large prominent ears; it was the only indication that he was king. As the group walked forward into the room, the talking stopped and the King looked over to see what had made everyone go silent.  He gazed across at the group of large strangers standing by the entrance, stood up and began tugging on his short jacket. His tongue flicked out to dampen his lips and his eyes darted over the group once more before he flopped down on his throne.

‘Have they come with an apology?’ he asked inspecting them, searching for their leader, his eyes finally coming to rest on Quint, the largest member of the group. ‘Haven’t you heard the stories of the Hidden…boy?’

‘They heard…but chose not to believe them,’ they heard Groober whisper behind them.

****

Chapter 15

The Tree Of T
ruth

The demon King Belial came out of the trance and studied his four fellow demons carefully as they waited for his command. They had been standing silently, unmoving for the long duration of the dreamlike state and, accustomed as they were to inactivity, they were now eager to be away.

‘Our prey has reached the Island of Minster and, as the Hawk and his fat friend can’t find them in the closed port, they must be with the Hidden. I tire of waiting; it is high time we joined the hunt, my brothers. There are some things that demons do
better
than humans.’ A low murmur of agreement came from the four hooded figures; none would be stupid enough to actually voice an opinion to their king, but the news that the time for action was now at hand, made them rash enough to show this slight sign of approval.

‘Find me the fastest ship available. I shall summon three more of our brethren and then we will leave for this
Minster Island at once.’

One of the demons dropped to the floor, his face touching the rough boards, his hands outstretched in abasement. ‘My King,’ his deep, rough voice rattled against the floor. ‘There is a ship in the harbour that may be worthy of your presence; we can leave at your convenience.’

‘Very good.’ Belial closed his eyes as he sought the calm necessary to invoke the required spell.

Shortly after, a tearing, screeching sound tortured the air and a small hole appeared in the fabric between dimensions. An arm was forced through, straining black muscles exerted in effort. A head followed, spitting, roaring and angry at the strain. The demon gradually made the hole wide enough and landed in an exhausted steaming heap upon the floor, gasping and drawing ragged breaths into its lungs. Some time later, by the time three new demons lay on the floor, Belial was himself close to collapse from the exertion.

It was, therefore, seven demons that accompanied their king as he marched down the stairs into Blake’s drinking hall.

A blanket of silence descended upon the room as all became aware that something strange was in their midst. The drinkers parted as the demons, standing head and shoulders above the crowd, pushed their way through. A woman screamed but was ignored by both demons and humans alike.

Once through the inn and out onto the harbour, the demons sniffed at the thin air suspiciously while several passers-by scuttled for cover. They scanned the line of boats tied up at the quay and seeing the one they needed, headed straight towards it, lurching along, huddled protectively around their leader, shading their eyes against the unaccustomed glare of the sun.

The boat the demons had chosen was a large ‘Ship of the Line’ with a compliment of sixty crew, plus a detachment of marines. It had entered the harbour only two days previously on its regular patrol of the coastal waters and sat proudly flying its many pennants in a show of naval strength. As the demon party boarded, the crew soon realised they had intruders and started to react, several marines ran forward. Unfortunately, the strange group that was boarding the ship was not the ordinary bunch of thugs and cutthroats that they’d been trained to deal with, this was an entirely different problem and the marines stopped in a horror of confusion, gawping at the invaders.

The demons were a hideous assortment of nightmares made real. The only racial similarities amongst Belial’s honour guard was jet-black skin and large gaping mouths set beneath red soulless eyes, any further demonic likeness ended there. Of the demons now climbing the gangplank, three had long white hair, hanging in clumps, the others had little that could be called hair, rather scales or horns sprouting from faces that promised nothing but torment. They were huge intimidating creatures, clad head to foot in dark metal and leather and carrying a gruesome assortment of weapons.

Before they could do anything past recovering from the shock, the defenders were tossed over the side of the boat with little ceremony as Belial, surrounded by his escort, made his way to the bridge. He judged the boat worthy and smiled as several arrows bounced off his skin. He brushed them away like a small swarm of mosquitoes. Addressing the closest demon and ignoring the efforts of the boat's captain to talk to him he started to issue orders.

‘We’ll require twenty of the humans to help sail the boat, keep them on board and remove the rest.’

Hearing this, several crew, including some of the ship’s officers, leapt over the side and into the waters below. Others, not fast enough, were captured then dragged to the ship’s hold and hurled down without any care for injury. Seeing this rough handling, Belial stopped the closest demon.

‘Twenty will not be sufficient, try to keep thirty or so whole, these humans are fragile creatures and there will be breakages.’ The demon nodded, giving a snort of understanding and went back to capturing crewmen. The ship's captain finally got Belial’s attention, which he promptly regretted. ‘Ah, an eager volunteer I see.’ Belial picked up the screaming seaman and, lifting him over his head, tossed him half the ship’s length, through the open hatchway and into the hold. ‘Yes I think that one broke as well,’ he muttered thoughtfully. ‘Let’s get underway; I have a hankering to eat children for lunch.’ He closed his eyes and slowly raised his arms into the air. Around him, the ship trembled and demons and humans alike struggled to stay standing as the great ship rose groaning into the air with water streaming from its sides. Several seamen still aboard took this last chance to bolt for the relative safety of the water, where they watched in awe as their ship rose above them.

With an agonising creaking sound, the ropes binding the great ship to the harbour wall strained and then began to snap one after another, lashing back with a series of loud cracks to the boat, now moving above and still streaming water from its bilges. The massive ship, against all normal laws known to man, continued to rise out and over the harbour wall and away across open sea.

****

Tarent stepped forward and dropped to one knee. ‘Your Majesty, we are from a land far from here and are on a Quest in the name of the Source. We’re not Minstens and have only been on this island for a few days. We travelled here to the home of the Hidden, because this is where our Quest directed us.’ Behind him the others were also kneeling at eye level with the little king. All waited for the king’s response.

‘You look like Minstens,’ murmured the king looking them over carefully. ‘Maybe a little taller and you don’t have beards yet, but you’re not of the Hidden, are you?’

Groober shuffled forward, once more wringing his hand unhappily. ‘These travellers were visiting Minster town when we met them,’ he whined, ‘Their boat is docked in the harbour. I hope I have not displeased my King, but they paid Trader Jack good gold to come here and they weren’t…’ he turned to Tarent smiling his horrible smile, ‘…scared of us at all.’ The room was silent for a moment as the crew fingered their hidden weapons wondering where this strange conversation was heading. Finally the king stood and banged on the floor with his staff before returning his attention to the crew.

‘We Hidden are aware of the evil stories told about our people, how most would shun us believing us to be evil. These stories have saddened us greatly, but as we have sought to remain away from the world, they have also helped to maintain our seclusion. You, however, saw past the legends and came in search of the real Hidden and for that we welcome you amongst us.’ The Hidden shouted their agreement with King Cahlrik, their feet drumming on the floor. After a moment Cahlrik raised a hand to bring back quiet. ‘Tell us your story and how you believe the Hidden may help you. If we can, then we will…if not…’ he offered a toothy grin, making his crown wobble forward and he casually pushed it back. ‘Well...if we can’t then we can at least show you the real hospitality of the Hidden.’