The Forest of Peldain

But why had it ever been laid? Ultimately the trail led over the mountain pass and to the strip of open land lying between the Clear Peaks and the forest—too small a territory to be worth a major feat of engineering, notwithstanding the sculpted hill. Still less did it seem worth building a mountain fortress to guard the route.

The arrangement would make more sense if larger territories to the east were the intended destination. But on the map of the island Octrago had drawn back in Arelia, eastern Peldain was entirely given over to the forest, with only the Clear Peaks themselves free.

They moved away from the tunnel entrance. Suddenly there were startled yells from a number of serpent harriers, who had looked up to view the castle overhead. An avalanche of human bodies was tumbling down the cliff face. They crunched sickeningly on the rock pathway, spattering it with blood and leaving it piled with smashed limbs.

“They are disposing of their dead,” Vorduthe said grimly. “Expedience is all, apparently.”

The war party set off in good order along the causeway. Octrago and Mistirea marched side by side, the High Priest wearing a purple cloak. Vorduthe stayed close by them to eavesdrop on any conversation, but either they had nothing to say to one another or they were wary of speaking in his presence.

As time went by the rotten, sulfurous smell of the bog became overpowering. Occasionally huge armored beasts, their long snouts crammed with teeth, broke surface and regarded the travelers with beady eyes. But only once did one of the monsters heave itself onto the causeway to confront them, and it was soon driven off using lances.

Before the sun had reached its height the party had crossed the swamp and the land began to alter in character. The ground was sometimes mossy, sometimes grassy, much as in the forest except that trees grew only in rare clumps and seemed entirely innocuous.

The sun shone strongly and behind them the tips of the Clear Peaks were still visible, shining whitely. A change of mood had come over Octrago. He smiled often, and became relaxed. Suddenly, to the immense surprise of all the Arelians, he began to sing—a flowing song in an alien scale, with words which, though they were sung in their common tongue, Vorduthe could not fathom.

At midday they halted to eat and drink of the supplies taken from the castle. Vorduthe sat with the Peldainians, some way apart from the others.

“It is time we outlined our strategy,” he said.

“Indeed we have need of very little,” Octrago said good-humoredly. “In two days or less we shall be in Lakeside.”

He was speaking of the capital of Peldain which lay close to the sacred lake, though as far as Vorduthe could make out it was less of a town than Arcaiss, for instance. Indeed the mode of life of the Peldainians was something still to be clarified.

“And there you still intend to claim the throne from your cousin Kestrew?”

“With your assistance, yes,” Octrago answered, with a glance at Mistirea.

“You are returning with no larger a force than you left with,” Vorduthe reminded him. “How much resistance may we expect between here and Lakeside? And how much support can you rally to your cause?”

“We shall meet virtually no resistance, but neither shall we receive support,” Octrago informed him. “My face will not be familiar in the villages along the way, and I shall preserve my anonymity. As I have explained, there is no standing army in Peldain, and with luck news of our coming will reach Lakeside no faster than we shall get there.”

“You say Peldain is not a warrior country, yet that is not the impression I received in the mountain fortress,” Vorduthe commented.

“Fighting skills are preserved among the acolytes of the cult, traditionally to protect the High Priest, and the nobility learn swordsmanship mainly for sport. You can form your own view as to how the acolytes performed as compared with your own men. And my cousin Kestrew will no doubt have gathered a band of ruffians about himself. How great an adversary that will present at this stage is hard to say. Do not despair—we have two great advantages. We have a band of disciplined fighting men—my previous followers could not really claim to be that. And perhaps even more important, we have the High Priest.”

“And where was Mistirea at the time of your departure?” Vorduthe asked.

Mistirea kept his eyes downcast and did not speak. “He had already taken himself off to the retreat in the mountains, probably to avoid the civil disorder, or else to avoid taking sides,” Octrago said dryly, and Mistirea did not gainsay him.

“If everything you say is true, he could probably have decided the issue and saved you much trouble,” Vorduthe observed. He pondered. “Tell me about this religion of yours. What gods do you worship? And what is the significance of the lake, ‘the eye of Peldain,’ as you call it?”

Octrago looked at the High Priest as though expecting him to answer. But Mistirea only made a small gesture indicating that he should speak.