literature

Chapter Thirteen of the North

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Chapter Thirteen
Peter had moved out from the camp at first light, for the men had had plenty of rest. There was a great mood in the army. Behind in the ranks he could hear them singing and clapping and he thought he could hear the sound of a flute not far behind. Songs of their heritage. Songs they all knew.

Away bound from our own town,
Sure as rain in the lowlands.
They’ll hear us coming not with but a sound,
And we’ll come back all the more grand.
Sure as rain in the lowlands!

All the same it was difficult maneuvering through the woods, it was dark, gloomy and the air was thick. It was only after a few hours of traveling Peter noticed the branches lifted higher, and the trunks seemed thinner. Grass grew instead of reaching ferns. Even the horses took note and picked up their pace, for the mangled roots and shrubs no longer clawed at their hooves. Before long the light woods grew down and dropped away completely to reveal the vast expanse of the clan plains. Enormous, grey and dull moors ranging into the distances. With glens sprouting here and there on the horizon. The men rode out onto the plain and looked out, peering into the overcast land. It was then they realized that the forest they had just exited was at the foot of a large glen itself, and a long loch could be seen shining along the river-way. Two mountains peaked at its far edge. Edged with snow and ice. The grasslands in-between the land was scattered in colours of yellow and green and swayed in the wind. It appeared that two rivers met on the far side of the loch, but its names were long since forgotten. Peter for a brief time forgot he was now in hostile territory, and even as he glanced over his shoulder Irlos himself had his jaw felled in awe with his eyes wide. No man from the Lowlands had traveled into the Clanlands in generations.
  They had not traveled far into the glen when Peter saw the fort. Felicia sat upon a tree-ridden hill in the centre of the glen. The large walls had covered all of its edges and a square, large keep rose up to the right. Two stone bridges branched off from the keep to large towers, almost all but destroyed that rose directly up from the glen ground at river height. And the large, torn down gate lay in ruin at the side of a path-like cliff. The strong battlements all but destroyed. It looked like something from fairy tales, the fort dwarfing Curtelen’s castle. The silver clouds circled around the stronghold of old. And Peter struggled to see how it could ever have fallen to such a state. But in all of their awe he did not allow their guard to drop.
‘Irlos’ spoke Peter. The southerner approached from behind.
‘Yes, Peter?’
‘That ridge up there’ he pointed. ‘Go up there, check it out. Get a view of the fort from up there. See if it is inhabited’ Irlos rode off up the hill.
‘Who built it?’ asked Peter to his uncle.
‘Folk who lived in these lands many years ago. Our kindred, Peter’ he said. ‘Known as the river men. Before we moved south to our home now. They were great men, and held the peak of power in these lands. Or indeed all of the north. Their castles putting our keeps to shame, their mines sent riches throughout the land. And Felicia is but only one of the great castles they built’
‘How many did they make?’
‘Three’ said Alavor ‘but this is the only one left standing. Coro in the north, near the sea. Alendor in the west in the mountains. And Felicia in the south in the glen’ And with that Peter’s uncle broke into a soft song.

Oh Reathold of old, why now do the streams run dry?
Why now do the birds fly south?
Where now do the winds blow?
The fair Coro at the mouth,
To Alen up high and Felicia shall ever sow.
Why now did you say good-bye?
Oh Reathold of old.

‘Reathold?’ asked Peter puzzled.
‘Yes, the land this was once called, before the wildmen took over. I can’t imagine what force they mustered to overthrow the river men. And so became Reathold the Clanlands. Its beauty wrought to dullness and savagery’
Irlos returned before he could continue, and he looked surprised. ‘It’s deserted! He said. ‘Not a soul in sight, Peter’
‘That can’t be true?’ Peter said, ‘It is a pre-built stronghold for the wildmen, why would they turn it down?’
‘Who knows, but it looks it has been abandoned for countless years’ the army pushed on down into the glen, following the river until the came to the edge of the loch. From there they followed the shoreline along what looked like an overgrown road, paved. Small, leafless trees specked the glen and after a short while the fort loomed above them. They, cautiously and slowly, moved up the hill towards the gate, the road going this way and that in different directions until finally it reached the top and the army stood in a small fallen down yard. It looked like it was once an old second courtyard, but now little more than a few stones in a square formation around the first gate, which looked destroyed and basically in rubble.
  The men slowly made their way in a tense feeling around the edge of the castle, its high stained walls looming above. Eventually Peter, at the head of the column, came across a gate. It was small and reminded him of Curtelen’s castle’s private and secret gate from the yard.  They entered. Many of the men had bows at the ready, spears raised and shields. But soon it became apparent as they all began to dismount in the large stone courtyard that it was indeed empty. It took the men’s breath away, it was one thing seeing the castle from afar on the edge of the forest compared to now literally standing within its walls. Everything seemed huge; or indeed they just felt small in its midst. Several pairs were sent to investigate the castle, all one by one returning confirming its vacancy.
  It didn’t take long for the men to make it their home. The old ruins now became host to the men as they set up their camp, a few even going so far as to rebuild one of the part stone buildings with makeshift wood. The old beds were found somehow still intact from the old garrisons and Peter had climbed the highest tower still standing, alone. It was dark in the small room, he could not imagine anybody had lived in this small watch tower, perhaps a guard. Or two. Reluctantly Peter took cautious steps out of his room onto an old balcony of grey stone, it didn’t look like it would hold, but it did. He looked west deeper into the clan lands. The glens seemed impeccable in beauty and Peter wished he could capture the scene to show his little sister, and Hanell. Hanell. He had forgotten about her. Not just from his quest but altogether it seemed, he turned from the west to look south back to the Lowlands, back home. He had never really gotten to know Hanell, the poor girl. Broderick had told him about her the day she first came to the castle, never have been found the time by her own family now she had a new. And even then Peter could scarce recall on his hands the times he talked to her. Duncan and his Lira always accounted for that, Peter always had to be with his father. Learning how to rule, attending council meetings in the throne hall. He sighed. On the misty horizon could be seen the silhouette of the faint keep of Camble, beyond the forest of Sorada they had left earlier that day. And now it was getting dark, the red sunset falling to darkness. Peter looked up at the sky. His quest was over, the fort was retaken. In a few days he would set out back to Curtelen, leaving his uncle in the stead to manage the garrison at the fort. Ten riders he would take with him back to the capital. Peter turned away and went back into the tower, descending the stairs, exhausted. He could not wait to see his family again, for as great as Felicia was it was not home.

  Two days had passed and Peter was preparing to leave back home, he was packing bags at the gate with his uncle helping him.
‘You sure you will be okay by yourself?’ asked Alavor.
‘Yes, yes. There are fewer riders with me now so we will make greater speed. Should reach Camble by nightfall if we make good speed through the forest’ the men were generally uninterested, going about their daily chores of brandishing their weapons and sharpening spears. Many guards now lined the walls all on lookout. Such a force Felicia had not seen since its downfall. However, a few guards stood by helping out the riders with their luggage and supplies.
‘Very well, tell your father all is well here, and say hello to your little sister’
‘I will, uncle’ Peter mounted onto the horse. He was just about to ride off when he heard the voice of Irlos running and shouting to Peter.
‘Wait!’ he said. ‘Peter! There has been rumors that Keran Farak is nearby in the valley over the way to the east. He is scarcely protected’
‘What? Keran Farak is here?’ gasped Peter.
‘Yes, Peter. A ten minute ride to the west and we could get him! End the war here and now!’ Peter looked down at his uncle, then back to Irlos. The riders nearby had drawn their attention to the conversation.
‘Very well, mount up Irlos. And you Uncle. Let us finish this.’ Peter turned back to the ten riders who would have accompanied him back home. ‘You will come as well, we need witnesses at the great Keran Farak’s downfall!’ And with that the small company departed the fort and headed down the hill to the valley ground, where they turned right and galloped east in a hurry with Irlos at the head. Ready to kill the clan land’s leader and end the war.
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