Part 1 (2/2)
”No, not that I can see.” Pawldo couldn't take his eyes from the silvery surface. He identified the gems-here was a plump ruby on each handguard, there an array of emeralds around the base of the hilt, in the middle of the handgrip a huge diamond! With difficulty, he kept his hands from trembling. Never had he held an object of such worth, such splendor! ”So it looked like it hadn't been there long?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
”No. But that's the funny thing, since no one had been there before me-at least, not for a long time. I'm a pretty fair tracker,” Stefanik added with bucolic honesty. ”I'd have known.”
The lord mayor turned the dagger over in his hands, examining the blade. Platinum there, too, polished and honed to the sharpness of a razor. Then a small imperfection caught his eye, near where the blade met the hilt. Raising the knife so that full sunlight fell on the blemish, he looked closely-and felt a sudden chill of apprehension.
The image was no flaw in the polished surface. It was a tiny etching of a leering, fleshless skull.
”What is it?” asked the youngster, following Pawldo's gaze. He gulped audibly when he got a close look. ”I never noticed that before! What does it mean-a skull?”
”You say you found this in the depths of Llyrath Forest?” Pawldo inquired meaningfully.
”Yes! But I don't-”
Stefanik stopped abruptly, his face blanching, his eyes growing to saucers in sudden suspicion. ”The Palace of Skulls?” he whispered.
”It's one explanation ... the only one,” Pawldo concluded grimly. ”It's supposed to appear in Llyrath Forest only once a generation ... and then, only for the waxing of the summer solstice moon!”
”The new moon was but four days past,” Stefanik said, his tone full of wonder.
”And the knife-when did you find it?” Pawldo pressed.
”Three days ago!” the younger halfling exclaimed with a shudder. Then he squinted, a surprisingly mature skepticism appearing in his expression. ”But I thought the tales of the skull fortress were just legends! Sure, my grandmother used to frighten us with stories of evil Prince Ketheryll and his curse-but now that I'm a grown-up I can't take them seriously.*”
”Can't you?” inquired the mayor of Lowhill archly. ”Don't you think there might be some basis to the tales?”
Again Stefanik suppressed a shudder. ”I know the stories-that Ketheryll still dwells there, but he's no longer a man. Just some kind of shadow that can suck the soul and the life right out of you!”
”What about the other stories?” Pawldo grew increasingly excited as he considered the possibilities. ”Tales of treasure beyond your wildest dreams, mountains of wealth, glories such as you've never seen, all there for the taking-but only until the rising of the full moon___”
”You mean treasures like this?” Stefanik asked, his eyes dropping to the dagger. ”You think the dagger comes from the Palace of Skulls?”
”Ouch!” Pawldo declared, abruptly dropping the weapon and blowing on his palm. ”It got hot!”
”Look!” hissed Stefanik, pointing to the dagger as it twisted on the ground.
The blade had fallen on its tip, and for a second it wavered back and forth, as if it might stick into the ground. Then it bounced into the air, flopped onto its side, and flipped around so that the blade pointed just a little south of due east. The platinum surface glowed with a brightness greater than the sun's reflection.
”It's... it's like it heard me,” Stefanik said softly. ”As soon as I said the name of the place, it heated up.”
”And look at the way it's pointing,” Pawldo said. The glow subsided, and he reached out to touch the weapon's already cooling hilt. ”Straight into Llyrath Forest.”
”Can it be from that place?”
”Like I said, it's the only explanation!” Pawldo's mind worked furiously. The fortress meant treasure beyond belief. And that might mean a suitable present for the king and queen! ”Can you find your campsite again?”
”Of course!” Stefanik proclaimed. ”I'm a good scout, too! I know that woods like the inside of my own burrow!”
”Splendid! Let's see, we'll need some supplies and a couple of ponies. It'll take me a few hours to get ready. You can rest up at my house, and we can leave in the afternoon.”
His estimate proved conservative. In actuality the two halflings rode down the King's Road sometime before lunch, a fact that the road-weary Stefanik regretted but was too timid to mention. They spent the night at a comfortable inn in Cantrev Koart and made such good time the next day that by early evening Stefanik led them southward from the road until they reached the very fringe of the forest There, amid a spa.r.s.e scattering of dry-needled fir trees, they found a gra.s.sy meadow for their camp.
During their journey, Pawldo found himself developing an avuncular affection for the young halfling. Stefanik's blatant hero wors.h.i.+p did nothing to impair the relations.h.i.+p, and the lord mayor's restrained silence only served to inflate the youngster's somewhat exaggerated a.s.sessment of his skills and exploits.
As twilight fell on their little camp, they pa.s.sed some time in more serious conversation, comparing the tales they'd heard about the Palace of Skulls. Among the Ffolk of the Moonshaes and their halfling neighbors the place was a common setting for tales of heroism, though few believed that it really existed. Pawldo found that the version of the legend told in the village of Llyrath Downs differed somewhat from the stories he'd heard elsewhere in the Moonshaes. Yet, since that little village of halflings was nearer to the ancient structure's reputed location, he placed strong credence in that folklore.
”Llyrath Downs,” Pawldo remarked as he settled down near the crackling embers of their fire. ”There aren't many who live there, true?”
Stefanik shrugged. ”Until I saw a great city like Lowhill, I would have disagreed with you. But, truth be told, we are but a dozen families, scattered over a wide hilltop.”
Pawldo suppressed a smile-the ”great city” of Lowhill, indeed! ”You live in the forest proper?” he asked.
”Only the fringe. No one lives in the middle of that dark wood. We won't pa.s.s through my village, though-Llyrath Downs is another day's journey east of here. It's not on the way to the place where I found the dagger.”
”And the legends you've heard, they hold the Palace of Skulls to be in this part of Llyrath?”
”Yes. It's said that mad Prince Ketheryll built the great fortress in Llyrath with the heads of his enemies. That was at the time when Gwynneth and the rest of the Moonshaes were only a lot of small princ.i.p.alities. Ketheryll made war on all of his neighbors. They say his cruelty was surpa.s.sed only by his might.” The youth shrugged. ”He must have been pretty tough, since he eventually drove all the other humans from southern Gwynneth.”
”All the tales claim that he was a ruthless master,” Pawldo agreed. ”His conquests are matters of history, though I'd always presumed his reputation for bloodshed to be exaggerated. Still, no one seems to doubt the tales of his Doomed Legion.” At Stefanik's puzzled look, Pawldo added, ”At least no one outside of Llyrath. The legion was made up of his lieutenants, each magically branded with the skull that was their master's symbol.”
”I'd heard that each of the prince's men had sworn to give his life to protect him,” Stefanik admitted, ”but never anything about them being branded. It's not surprising, though, since the prince was always so interested in magic.”
Pawldo laughed. ”It's so ironic that the wizard Flamsterd and his spellcasting finally proved Ketheryll's undoing, since he was so taken with sorcery himself.”
”Aye-the wizard and the Earthmother. The humans say the G.o.ddess exacted revenge against Ketheryll because he distressed the Balance.” Stefanik nodded seriously.
”The tales I've heard all over the Moonshaes include the Earthmother,” the older halfling said. ”Had you heard that Ketheryll dedicated his gruesome fortress to the new moon of the summer solstice? He held a great celebration with his most loyal followers. They killed hundreds of captives in a grim arena-called the Circus Bizarre, I seem to remember-simply for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the prince and his evil band. It's said that he captured the young king and queen of a human realm and put them to death along with the rest”
”They were the first human monarchs to fly the banner of the Great Bear,” Stefanik chimed in. ”Imagine-they were put to death by Ketheryll, but their symbol has lived on to become the talisman of the high kings of the Ffolk. I used to believe that the king must have been taken by treachery, but now I think maybe he was captured by the Legion of the d.a.m.ned.”
”The Doomed Legion,” Pawldo corrected.
”And it was on the moonless night of the slaughter that the curse took effect,” Stefanik whispered, then glanced at the night sky.
”Yes-the spell of the wizard, coupled with the vengeful might of the Earthmother. A black fog rolled from the forest,” Pawldo said, his voice a hoa.r.s.e whisper, his eyes wide as he looked into the shadows around their fire. ”It cloaked the gathering for a full fortnight, and for all that time Ketheryll and his legion huddled in their palace, fearing to go forth into the world. Then, on the night of the solstice, under the light of that full moon, the fog dissipated. And the Palace of Skulls was gone-Ketheryll and all his men with it,” the lord mayor concluded.
”All but one!” Stefanik interjected. When Pawldo looked at him in surprised confusion, the young halfling continued. ”That's the tale in Llyrath, at least. A thief named Garius, a rogue who'd traveled all across the world, was among Ketheryll's men. Garius had grown to despise his evil master- the thief appreciated wrongdoing for profit's sake, but had no taste for wanton cruelty. It's said that under the cover of the fog, he fled his master and his gruesome palace!”
”Did he escape?” inquired Pawldo, intrigued by this new version of the legend.
”No one knows for certain,” Stefanik said, his voice hushed. ”Everyone thinks he got away before the curse took Ketheryll, but no one saw him again. Some say he escaped the castle, but not the prince's terrible magic.” He shrugged. ”Most of the old folks in Llyrath Downs say Garius was transformed into something horrible as punishment for his treachery.”
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