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 had to swivel a little in his chair to follow the figure of his Brother-Leader as he paced the floor from window to fireplace and back again. “They are short and muscular, and very dark, making them extremely hard to see at night. They evade the villagers rather than seek them out. Each time one is spotted it has been carrying a child with it, and Brother Hagen reports that although no children from the village are missing, the villagers bolt their doors and windows fast at dusk. Perhaps they have stolen the children from somewhere else.”
“You said, ‘somehow alien’.” Jayme stopped before Gilbert’s chair and folded his arms in frustration. “What do you mean by that?”
Gilbert shrugged. “I only relate what Brother Hagen relates, Brother-Leader. He was not specific on that point.”
Jayme sighed and patted Gilbert on the shoulder. “I cannot but think the Forbidden are moving again.”
Spoken words about the Forbidden were enough to make all three men shiver with foreboding. Every Acharite living knew that a thousand years previously, during the Wars of the Axe, their forebears had driven the frightful races that had once dominated Achar with their evil sorcery back across the Fortress Ranges into the Shadowsward and the Icescarp Alps. Then, with the help of the Axe-Wielders, the Acharites had cut down the massive forests that had once harboured the Forbidden races, putting the cleared land under Plough and civilisation. It was part of Acharite legend that one day the Forbidden would seethe back across the Fortress Ranges and slither down from the Icescarp Alps to try to reclaim the land that had once been theirs. Every parent scared their children with the threat.
Jayme walked slowly over to the fire, his shoulders stooped. He raised his cold hands to the flames until he noticed with horror that they were trembling, and quickly bunched them into fists and hid them in the folds of his gown. Though nothing as yet connected the two sets of reports from Gorkenfort and Smyrton, Jayme was scared they were connected. The responsibility of his position weighed heavily on him.
Moryson and Gilbert watched silently, both aware of the seriousness of these reports, both glad they were not the ones who had to make the decisions. Moryson scratched his chin reflectively. He knew dark events were upon them.
Slowly Jayme turned back to his assistants. “Tomorrow Carlon celebrates King Priam’s nameday. The celebrations will end with a banquet in the royal palace to which Priam has extended me an invitation. He has also advised me that we will need to meet privately to discuss the problem at Gorkentown. Neither Priam nor the Seneschal can meet this threat alone. Achar will have to stand united as it never has before if we can hope to survive the threat of the Forbidden. Artor help us, now and forever.”
“Now and forever,” the other two echoed, draining the dregs of their wine.
King Priam’s nameday was an occasion of great celebration throughout Achar, but nowhere more than in the city of Carlon where a general holiday was proclaimed. In the morning Priam presided over a parade through the winding streets of the ancient city, sitting under a heavily embroidered canopy that usually kept sun from his regal brow. Today it kept an unseasonable drizzle from his closely curled head. Despite the unsettling rumours from the north, the townsfolk lined the streets for the parade – an affair put on by the various guilds of Carlon to honour their king. Priam waved cheerfully enough throughout the extended parade, although he was bored witless by the time the fifty-seventh flower-draped cart passed him by. He made a good-humoured speech at its conclusion, thanking the guilds for their efforts on his behalf, and saying some graceful words about the large number of enthusiastic (but largely talentless) children of guild members who had performed throughout the parade. The crowd cheered their king warmly, Priam beamed and waved some more, and then everyone hurried home, remarking on the cold weather and wondering whether it would affect the evening’s festivities.
Priam’s nameday was the one day of the year when he extended his royal largesse to all the citizens of Carlon, providing them with a free feast (although if they wanted to sit down they had to bring their own stools). With the tens of thousands of mouths that had to be fed, the public banquet involved many months of careful planning and preparation. As much as anything, the banquet was an opportunity for the lords of the various provinces of Achar to demonstrate their loyalty towards their liege. Earl Burdel of Arcness bred and transported five hundred substantial porkers, the gigantic Duke Roland the Walker (too fat to ride) of Aldeni supplied two hundred and thirty-five carts of vegetables and fruit, Baron Fulke of Romsdale supplied enough ale to keep the Carlonites off work for three days after the banquet, and two hundred and twenty barrels of his best red. Baron Ysgryff of Nor, understanding that the citizens of Carlon would need to have something to entertain them once they had drunk and eaten to sufficiency, donated the services of one hundred and eighty-five of the best whores and dancing boys from the streets of Ysbadd. All the lords contributed what they could, eager to impress the king, but the most generous of all was Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar, who donated an entire herd of his finest mutton and beef, and distributed amongst the guilds a fistful of diamonds and emeralds from his mines in the