Poisonwell
Page 95
Paedrin pushed aside the branches, parting them enough to squeeze through. Inhaling again, he lifted free of their clutches and breathed in the cool morning air. The sun was just peeking through a long mane of puffy clouds, coloring it such a startling shade of pink that he gaped in wonderment. He drank in the rays of the light, feeling it on his face. He inhaled again, rising even higher, floating over the sea of treetops. It was such a strange sight, like a vast plain of rolling hills, except he was looking at the rounded caps of skeletal oak trees, some still clutching dying leaves or clumps of mistletoe. The view of the sky was intense and he felt tears prick his eyes at the beauty and majesty of the dawn and the gratitude for life.
“What do you see?” Baylen called from far down below. Paedrin had almost forgotten the Cruithne.
“A glorious sunrise,” he said. He invoked the power of the Sword to keep his height as stable as he could and began to cast around in each direction. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he saw it. “I see something! That must be the center of the woods.”
“How can you tell?”
“There’s a big hill made of stone. It’s not that far. It rises above the rest of the forest.”
“A mountain?”
“No, not that big. It’s a cleft of rock. There are . . . ruins. I see ruins. Looks like a castle keep was once built there. Some broken stairs leading up from the woods, facing us. It’s really not that far.”
“How big?” Baylen asked.
“It’s probably the size of the Arch-Rike’s palace in Kenatos. Now that I look at it . . . it seems very much in the same style. The parapets are all fallen and broken, but there are segments of wall still standing. Some archways that haven’t collapsed yet. It’s overgrown with brush, but I think it’s the way. If we can get there before turning back, both of us, then maybe that will help in the future.”
Even though the sky was beautiful and radiant, the woods were still cracked and diseased. The smell in the air was moldy and sick. He looked around in each direction, wanting to make sure he had seen everything.
“I’m glad I came up here,” Paedrin called down. “I see some huge spiderwebs over that way, blanketing an entire section of forest. If we keep the way we’re going, we’ll miss it entirely.”
“I don’t like spiders.”
“I agree with you. Best to stay clear if we can.” A series of black shapes rose from the trees and began flapping toward him. “Ah, looks like more Cockatrice are coming this way. They see me. I’d better come down.”
Paedrin maneuvered through the branches again, hearing the sound of the coming creatures. He dropped down to the forest floor quickly, motioning for Baylen to follow him in the direction he had seen the ruins.
The Cruithne was dirt stained and weary. They had been walking all night long. The sound of the Fear Liath had made sleep nearly impossible, but Paedrin felt like they had to keep moving, even if they were walking in circles. Standing still meant death. With the dawn arriving, he knew the Fear Liath would go back to its lair again, unwilling to meet its own death from their blades in the daylight.
“Do you think we’re going to make it out of here alive?” Baylen asked as they started to march toward the ruins.
“Anything is possible, my friend. Do you have the feeling that the Arch-Rike isn’t very concerned about us? Maybe the Boeotians are attacking Kenatos right now and that’s drawn his attention over there. Or maybe he doesn’t believe we can escape because the trees will steal our memories. I don’t know what he’s thinking, actually.”
“He’s probably trying to track down Tyrus. I pity him. But as you said, if we can get close enough to the center, it’ll help whoever comes after us.”
The sound of flapping emerged from above the treetops. Paedrin kept his eyes on the mesh of branches and wondered if the Cockatrice would wriggle down and attack them. He had the perfect weapon to scatter them again and would not hesitate using it a second time. But strangely, the creatures flapped further away, paying them no mind.
A strange exhilaration filled Paedrin’s chest. They were very close to the center of the Scourgelands. He was convinced of it. Somehow, he had managed to go even deeper than Tyrus. Perhaps deeper than any two men had ever gone before. What a wild and forgotten place. Even the dark, brooding trees had a strange, ancient beauty to them. The sunlight could not quite penetrate the cowl of the oaks, but the light was evident and felt strangely reinvigorating. Some of the oppressiveness was gone from the air.
“What do you see?” Baylen called from far down below. Paedrin had almost forgotten the Cruithne.
“A glorious sunrise,” he said. He invoked the power of the Sword to keep his height as stable as he could and began to cast around in each direction. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until he saw it. “I see something! That must be the center of the woods.”
“How can you tell?”
“There’s a big hill made of stone. It’s not that far. It rises above the rest of the forest.”
“A mountain?”
“No, not that big. It’s a cleft of rock. There are . . . ruins. I see ruins. Looks like a castle keep was once built there. Some broken stairs leading up from the woods, facing us. It’s really not that far.”
“How big?” Baylen asked.
“It’s probably the size of the Arch-Rike’s palace in Kenatos. Now that I look at it . . . it seems very much in the same style. The parapets are all fallen and broken, but there are segments of wall still standing. Some archways that haven’t collapsed yet. It’s overgrown with brush, but I think it’s the way. If we can get there before turning back, both of us, then maybe that will help in the future.”
Even though the sky was beautiful and radiant, the woods were still cracked and diseased. The smell in the air was moldy and sick. He looked around in each direction, wanting to make sure he had seen everything.
“I’m glad I came up here,” Paedrin called down. “I see some huge spiderwebs over that way, blanketing an entire section of forest. If we keep the way we’re going, we’ll miss it entirely.”
“I don’t like spiders.”
“I agree with you. Best to stay clear if we can.” A series of black shapes rose from the trees and began flapping toward him. “Ah, looks like more Cockatrice are coming this way. They see me. I’d better come down.”
Paedrin maneuvered through the branches again, hearing the sound of the coming creatures. He dropped down to the forest floor quickly, motioning for Baylen to follow him in the direction he had seen the ruins.
The Cruithne was dirt stained and weary. They had been walking all night long. The sound of the Fear Liath had made sleep nearly impossible, but Paedrin felt like they had to keep moving, even if they were walking in circles. Standing still meant death. With the dawn arriving, he knew the Fear Liath would go back to its lair again, unwilling to meet its own death from their blades in the daylight.
“Do you think we’re going to make it out of here alive?” Baylen asked as they started to march toward the ruins.
“Anything is possible, my friend. Do you have the feeling that the Arch-Rike isn’t very concerned about us? Maybe the Boeotians are attacking Kenatos right now and that’s drawn his attention over there. Or maybe he doesn’t believe we can escape because the trees will steal our memories. I don’t know what he’s thinking, actually.”
“He’s probably trying to track down Tyrus. I pity him. But as you said, if we can get close enough to the center, it’ll help whoever comes after us.”
The sound of flapping emerged from above the treetops. Paedrin kept his eyes on the mesh of branches and wondered if the Cockatrice would wriggle down and attack them. He had the perfect weapon to scatter them again and would not hesitate using it a second time. But strangely, the creatures flapped further away, paying them no mind.
A strange exhilaration filled Paedrin’s chest. They were very close to the center of the Scourgelands. He was convinced of it. Somehow, he had managed to go even deeper than Tyrus. Perhaps deeper than any two men had ever gone before. What a wild and forgotten place. Even the dark, brooding trees had a strange, ancient beauty to them. The sunlight could not quite penetrate the cowl of the oaks, but the light was evident and felt strangely reinvigorating. Some of the oppressiveness was gone from the air.
