they have gorged, the creatures are slimed with the blood of their victims. The Ravensbundmen are afraid of them – afraid enough to move out of their homelands – and the Ravensbundmen, savages as they are, have never been afraid of anything before.”
“Have they tried to attack them?”
“Yes. But the creatures are somehow … insubstantial. Steel passes through their bodies. And they do not fear. If any soldiers get close enough to attack them, it is generally the last thing they get to do in this life. Only a few have escaped encounters with these …”
“Forbidden Ones?” Moryson whispered, his amiable face reflecting the anxiety that such a term provoked in all of them. None of them had wanted to be the first to mention this possibility.
“Wait, Moryson,” Jayme counselled. “Wait until we have heard all of what Gilbert has to say.” All three men had forgotten the tension and anger that Gilbert’s jibe had caused moments before.
“Magariz’s soldiers have seen similar apparitions, although most who have been close enough to see them have died,” Gilbert said slowly. “One man they found alive. Just. He died a few minutes after Magariz arrived. He said, and this report was Lord Magariz’s own, that he had been attacked by creatures which had no form and which had suffered no wounds at the edge of his sword.”
“And how did they wound this soldier? I thought the Gorkenfort garrison were among the best armoured soldiers in the realm.”
“Brother-Leader, Magariz understood from the soldier’s last words that the creatures surrounded him – then simply oozed through the gaps in his armour until they lay between it and his skin. Then they began to eat.”
Gilbert stopped for a moment, and all three men contemplated such a horrific death. Jayme closed his eyes; may Artor hold him and keep him in His care, he prayed silently.
“I wonder why they left him alive?” Moryson wondered softly.
Gilbert’s voice was caustic when he replied. “They had already consumed the rest of his patrol. One assumes they were reasonably full.”
Jayme abruptly pushed himself up from his chair and moved over to a wall cabinet. “I think Artor would forgive us if we imbibed a little wine this early in the afternoon, Brothers. Considering we still have the reports from Smyrton to review, I think we might need it.”
He poured out three glass goblets of deep red wine and handed them out before reseating himself behind his desk.
“Furrow wide, furrow deep,” he intoned.
“Furrow wide, furrow deep,” Moryson and Gilbert answered together, repeating the ritual phrases that served all Artor-fearing Acharites as blessings and greetings for most occasions in life.
Both ritual and wine comforted the men, and soon they were ready to resume their considerations.
“And what else from the north, Gilbert?” Jayme asked, holding his glass between both palms to warm the remaining wine and hoping the wine he had already consumed would beat back the chill gnawing at his soul.
“Well, the winter was particularly severe. Even here we suffered from extreme cold during Raven-month and Hungry-month, while the thaw came in Flower-month, a month later than usual. In the north the cold was even more extreme, and I believe the winter snow and ice persisted in places above the Urqhart Hills throughout the summer.” Even northern Ichtar usually thawed completely for the summer.
Jayme raised his eyebrows. Gilbert’s intelligence was good indeed. Did he have sources that Jayme did not know about? No matter, what was important was that much of northern Ichtar had spent the summer encased in ice when usually the ice and snow disappeared by Thaw-month.
“If the ice persisted above the Urqhart Hills, then Gorkentown must also have remained in conditions close to winter,” Jayme pondered. “Tell me, Gilbert, did the attacks continue through the warmer months?”
Gilbert shook his head and took another sip of wine. “No. The creatures appeared only during the most severe weather in the depths of winter. Perhaps they have gone again.”
“And perhaps they have not. If the extreme north remained encased in ice during summer then I dread the winter ahead. And if they depend on extreme weather conditions, then does that mean they will be back?”
“We should also consider the reports of our brothers in the Retreat at Gorkentown, Brother-Leader.” The Brotherhood of the Seneschal had a small retreat in Gorkentown for those brothers who preferred a more ascetic life, spent in contemplation of Artor, to the comfortable life of the Tower of the Seneschal.
“Yes, Gilbert. Perhaps we should.”
“Our brothers believe that the Forbidden might be behind this.”
“And their reasons for thinking so, Gilbert?”
“The reports and experiences of the garrison for one, Brother-Leader. But also several of the brothers have reported that demons inhabit their dreams on those nights when the wind is fiercest.”
Jayme chuckled softly. “Not reliable. You give me bad dreams most nights, Gilbert, and I am not yet ready to class you as one of the Forbidden.”
All three men smiled, Gilbert more stiffly than the other two. Moryson spoke gently, turning the younger brother’s mind from Jayme’s heavy-handed attempt at humour. “Have they reported seeing anything, Gilbert?”
“Neither Gorkenfort nor Gorkentown has been attacked; only small patrols or individuals outside the walls. No, the brothers have actually seen little. But they have observed the mood of the town and garrison, and they say that dark thoughts and moods lay heavily across the inhabitants. Extra prayers are offered to Artor every day, but the fear grows.”
“If only there was someone alive who actually knew anything about the Forbidden!” Jayme was angry at his inability to understand the nature of the threat in northern Ichtar. He stood up from his chair again and paced restlessly across the chamber.
“Gilbert. Forget the mutterings of the brothers in Gorkentown for the moment. What news out of Smyrton?”
“Unusual happenings there, too, but not the same as in northern Ichtar.”
Smyrton was a largish village at the extreme edge of the Seagrass Plains, the main grain-producing area of Achar. It was the closest settled area to the Forbidden Valley. If the Forbidden ever came swarming over Achar again, then the valley was the obvious place they would emerge, a natural conduit out of the Shadowsward, the darkest and most evil place bordering Achar. One day, thought Jayme, we’ll take the axe to the Shadowsward as well.
“The local Plough-Keeper, Brother Hagen, has sent reports of strange creatures sighted near the Forbidden Valley and, more disturbing, near the village itself. There have been about five sightings over the past several months.”
“Are they …?” Moryson began, but Gilbert shook his head.
“Nothing like the strange creatures of ice and snow that the soldiers of Gorkenfort report, Brother Moryson. Yet in their own way, they are just as strange. Man-like – but somehow alien.”
“In what way?” asked Jayme testily.
Gilbert
