The storm arrived our second day at sea, hence it was that an eight day crossing turned into a miserable ten long days. I had barely moved from my hammock. Almost as soon as we set out into open water, leaving the calmness of the shallow bay, I confined myself to my swinging bed; though it smelled of rat piss and dank bilge water below deck.

Carac routinely checked on me throughout the first day and was shrewd enough to deposit a bucket beside me without laughing at the state of my green visage. I availed myself of it within seconds of its arrival, emptying therein what little contents my stomach possessed.

A resourceful man, that Carac, I mused afore retching again.

He was later able to tempt me up into the fresh briny breeze the first evening so that I might see for myself how the Gulf of Dragons derived its name. He pointed to the eastern horizon, now a dusky blue in the twilight, where I could just make out the pointed profiles of a line of mountainous islands; three of which were erupting with fire. Plumes of red and orange exploded regularly into the midnight firmament as I watched, mesmerized by the rivulets of flame that hemorrhaged down the sides of the peaks, along glowing trenches, as the red, waxing moon surveyed us balefully from above.

When the foul weather had rolled in, on our second evening, the animal cages were brought down below, the sail removed and almost no one ventured above deck except the minimum crew required for the watch; not even to use the garderobes on the bow: which were little more than seats with holes aimed over each side of the prow.

I obtained no sleep that night; nor the next. The ship groaned and creaked precariously, waves thundering against her sides and up over the gunwales all night and into the next morning. Men were forced to void their bladders and bowels into buckets instead of hazarding upstairs; although, by morning, most of these had been flung about and discharged across the floor by the interminable pitching and rolling of the straining hulk.

At length, the fury of the ocean abated enough, by the morning of the next day when we passed into the Midnight Straits, that I crawled above deck to take in the fresh air — I could stand the putrescent odors of the ship's bowels no longer. Carac stood atop the forecastle with the merchant captain, but I decided that I would remain where I stood, on my yet unsteady legs, directly beside the hatch; or close to the mainstays and mast, but no further afield.

Each day became better than its predecessor and by the time I had been at sea a full week, I was eventually confident enough in my sea legs to brave the very perimeter of the ship's sturdy sides, looking down at where the wide hull sliced through the dark water.

I was never happier to see the Vargenlund Narrows that eventually appeared to the north — a nearby sailor who had been inspecting the rigging had furnished me with the name of the estuary ahead — but I would be happier still once I was permitted to stumble down the gangplank and onto blessedly solid ground; alas, that would not be for another week. Although I stood in the open air, I still felt claustrophobic and desired more than anything to plant my feet onto terra firma.

My anxious yearnings pulled my nerves taut by harrowing degrees — like that of a drowning man's desperate need for air! These thoughts so completely distracted me — as well as Vargenlund's towering, white city walls to the eastern half of the mouth — that I did not feel the presence of a man beside me until Higgins, his clothes now unkempt and stained with the questionable filth of the voyage, laid his thick forearms on the gunnel next to where I clutched at it with bone-white fingers.

He spared a quick look towards Carac, who was still quietly conversing with the captain, and then brought solemn blue eyes, almost hidden beneath his wiry, unruly red brows, to meet my own pale, green gaze.

"You be careful now, miss," said Higgins with another swift, covert glimpse at Carac. "There be strange things wot happens yonder," he whispered clandestinely, nodding his head toward the coastline that was steadily increasing in magnitude as we moved nigh; the tops of the Vargenlund ridges to the east disappearing into the layer of ominous clouds coating the sky.

"I know whither you art bound, m'lady, and I...mean to warn you." He spoke Gaeldic well enough, though his accent was of a decidedly northern timbre. My expression darkened despite the fear his words had elicited within me and, seeing the dawning dread mix with the skepticism of my pallid visage, he hastily made to placate me somewhat. "I only wish to caution you...frendly-like, see?" I nodded at his words, but trepidation gnawed at my insides nonetheless.

I could not suppress the shiver that manifested itself into raised hairs along my clammy flesh; foretokening the hardship that would soon precede my arrival. His words slipped, like dread, into my conscious and I took a step away from him. However, he continued heedlessly.

"Tis an evil place ye be headed, miss. The Redweld villagers talk of awful happenings an suchlike. I hear tell of folk disappearing into Nørrdragor's borderlands; but none are ever seen again!" He shook his head sadly when I gasped. "There are legends..." he now spoke excitedly, "of great monsters that lurk in the-"

I would think on his warning later, but for now he did not get to finish his narrative for he was unexpectedly interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Higgins!"

We both whirled around as if we had just been caught in the midst of an underhanded plot; and perhaps the old man had been. Carac had, unbeknownst to Higgins, moved toward us stealthily the while the old sailor had spilled his premonitory advisory. I knew not how much of the sailor's yarn he had heard for his aspect, I noted, was misleading and concealed by his usual cold detachment.

"Have you no better assignments with which to occupy yourself," he drawled, "or do you take pleasure in needlessly distressing my charge?"

By the time he had completed his question, Higgins had genuflected nervously, as if Carac were himself a powerful lord, and scampered away like a rat from a barking hound; lest my guardian's gaze smite him where he stood gaping.

Now that he was closer, I could see the hint of...rage? Yes, Carac was indeed seething, and Higgins would do well to stay hidden the remainder of the voyage. This he did faithfully. I did not see the man again; and I never did get to hear what he would tell me.



❆



The last five days of my journey were quite unlike the first half. I did not know what I had expected Nordrlund to look like, but it certainly appeared nothing like my homeland, nestled in the moors. As we sailed along the main artery of the Vargenlund Fjords, I was utterly taken by the dramatic blue glaciers and black cliffs that jutted out from the river's edge, and the verdant valley's that spread out before us, across certain parts of the river we passed. Eventually, the river became too narrow and the water too shallow for the ship's draft. The rest of our journey would be by horseback.

The countryside was truly the most magnificent sight my unsophisticated eyes had ever beheld, but after ten grueling days aboard the Lady Anne, I was more than happy to disembark. When I was finally able to plant my foot atop Nordrlund soil, I stumbled and fell awkwardly — my legs unused to stable turf. Carac's reflexes were such that I did not hit the dirt, but I was, alas, the brunt of his coarse humor.

"It might take a while for your feet to become accustomed to the unfamiliar feel of an inert surface," he grinned.

Despite the trepidation I felt for my new home, I would be happy never to see another ship again! Carac handed me a leather flask which I greedily put to my parched lips and, draining the fresh water within, inspected this new land before me. We had docked an hour ago and I had all but sprinted off the gangplank, my wobbly limbs notwithstanding.

Redweld's wharf seemed much the same as any other small fishing village nestled alongside the rocky shoreline. Rats scaled the thick ropes that held the ship to her slip as I followed Carac out of the way of the men still unloading the Lady Anne's cargo.

The streets were perhaps a little cleaner, the alleyways not so fetid and the streets somewhat less congested. The peasants here looked a lot healthier and taller, their children not so grubby and emaciated as was the case at Heathersea; I longed to say the same of myself, but I had been unable to keep aught but water down throughout our ocean passage — and sometimes not even that.

"Not much longer now, girl."

Carac was looking at me with something akin to sympathy, or amusement, and for some reason I did not want him questioning my mettle so I straightened my spine and feigned a smile as the clamor of a little bell rang out in the crowd.

I turned my curious gaze toward a man in a heavy, dark cloak as he hobbled along the dusty road ahead of us; the crowd parting in disgust.

Carac seemed to be the only man unconcerned by the leper who continued to ring his little bell, warning the townsfolk out of the way of his contagion. The old leper was feebly making his way past us when Carac pulled a leather purse from the pocket of his fine doublet and, taking the miserable pariah's cankerous hand, placed the gold into the little fellow's palm. He stammered his thanks as surprise, gratitude and dread warred blatantly over his diseased features. I watched his deteriorating figure walk off and noted how every suspicious eye on the crowded dock was now consequently narrowed at Carac.

"When do you expect we shall arrive?" I croaked.

The salt had reduced my organ of speech to naught but rust, however, wanting to distract Carac from the multitude of evil and frightened glares, I asked nonetheless despite the disjointed cadence of my voice. He too was most likely aware of the hostility, but seemed insouciant and undisturbed by the crowd of onlookers. I would come to realize that naught ever seemed to fluster Carac — least of all the opinions of other lesser creatures.

"As soon as the horses disembark, we'll set off and should reach Nørrdragor before dark."

My smile only faltered a moment before I caught myself and nodded; at least I would be continuing the rest of the journey by way of solid ground. A small mercy indeed, despite the eight hours of hard riding that lay before me.

The farmsteads and village houses we passed were not so different to the ones that could be found in the south, save for one thing. I began to notice a common theme here: outside of every door there was a goat or a pig tied to a post, and though night had not yet befallen, every door appeared secured shut for the night, a feeling of dread mantling each and every silent threshold.

"Why do they all leave those animals outside, Carac?" My back felt crooked and beaten with all the jostling my rump had endured thus far, but I gritted those words out determinedly enough, trying as best I could to hide my discomfort.

"Those are the blótdýr." He smiled to see my confusion. "The sacrifice owed to the Beast In The Woods."

I shuddered at that, staring in trepidation at the deepening shadows where the forest abutted the road. "There is a beast in these woods?"

Carac's answering chuckle did nothing to banish my fear. "Tis only an old legend. The peasant folk are a superstitious lot," he said the last somewhat derisively, perhaps thinking them foolish to believe in monsters.

For my part, I rather thought there was always truth in legend. "So you do not believe that it exists?" I asked him.

"I did not say that." There was that awful smile again. I did like Carac, truly, but there were moments even he terrified me.

These northerners, I decided, were a clever lot. I had always had the talent for sensing lies — Edwyn was nothing but a drunken liar — but here I was ofttimes confounded. Here, I was coming to find, they omitted and twisted truths in a way as to belie their meanings. It was cleverly done and I never felt that I was being lied to; only distracted.

But from what?

❊



As the sun dipped low behind the jagged line of conifers and the shadows gathered stealthily at the bottom of the vale behind us, I was struck with foreboding as I finally caught my first glimpse of Norrdragor Castle.

The gray stone towers and battlements appeared first, revealing themselves gradually as our horses picked their way steadily along the inclining, rocky causeway. The stone fortress loomed powerfully atop an escarpment of jagged bedrock; eerie and lonely. Its dark gray limestoned walls seemed almost black as the shadows of the evergreens to the West lengthened in the waning light - like talons creeping up over the sloping taluses. The Castle was oriented South, overlooking the winding road that snaked up the mountain ridge, atop which she sat brooding. Her massive ramparts were buttressed by several large cylindrical towers and turrets that were riddled with arrow slits.

Her eastern batters sat precariously atop the edge of a sheer crag overlooking a dark, broiling sea that, as I watched, hurled itself against the cliff face; spitting brine and billowing spume high into the gloaming sky. The west curtain wall, with its crenellations and covered parapets, faced the dense forest of firs and towering, red, birch-like trees encroaching along her borders. The Castle, though predominantly flinty gray, seemed to glow crimson as the last of the suns dregs caught the red sandstone in its walls, like a malevolent butcher's apron caked with the blood of a thousand deaths; I recoiled at the analogy that sprung to mind and wondered at its sudden, insidious infiltration.

I had never seen such a grand, sinister-looking old keep, although my experience was exceedingly limited on that front, and thought it lacked only the crack of thunder and a bloated harvest moon to complete the effect; although the moon would reach that state on the morrow, by the look of her.

As if I'd conjured the rain myself, with my morbid imaginings, the rain began to fall in earnest. Sheets of icy, cataract sloughed down and pelted our faces as the heavy clouds released their burdens.

"Make Haste!"

Carac grabbed the reins from my numb fingers and began urging my horse impatiently behind the rest of our group as we traversed, single file, along the heavy old drawbridge – a cacophony of thundering hooves and gusting rain reverberating against the ramparts as we approached.

Finally my entourage arrived at the flanking towers of the gatehouse and I was ushered forward, after Carac had pulled me roughly from my saddle, and away from the deluge without. I passed beneath a series of portcullises that in yesteryears might have slammed down on either side of an invading horde; creating a killing field for the guards to slowly pick off their prey. I stood sheltered, but already completely sodden, beneath the vaulted ceiling of the barbican with its many murder holes like tiny, pernicious eyes watching with hostile intent from above.

A grim welcome indeed.

The wooden door, which was studded and reinforced with iron bands, was finally opened to us by a grumpy old guard mumbling in Norn — loathe to be out in this foul weather. He led us through the neck of the walled road connecting the outer and inner baileys and through yet another fortified gatehouse as our horses were lead by the stablehands behind us; their coats, still warmed from the days exertions, hurling threads of steam into the frigid air. Once inside the inner wall, I was again besieged by the relentless sleet that was, this time, accompanied by a symphony of lightning and thunder rumbling through the low cloud. My mood plummeted further.

Each layer of clothing was now inundated with frigid rain as though I had attempted to capture every drop on purpose and succeeded. I could no longer feel my extremities and my teeth were chattering wildly of their own volition as I was delivered deeper into the keep. We Finally entered through the metal plated door of the broad donjon: a tall, multi-windowed, rectangular tower. From thence I was ushered into the Great hall and thereat beckoned to warm myself by the fire flourishing in the colossal hearth.

The fireplace's overmantel was nothing more than a rustic, protruding, stone carving of two snarling wolves that surpassed even Carac in height. Each of the salient beasts were reared up on their hind legs either side of the enormous ingle as though frozen in battle over the fire. Their snapping teeth and engorged heads alone practically started my eyes from their sockets, but I was soon distracted by the symbols on the mantle-shelf. The motto, which I imagined it to be, was unfamiliar to me — I could make no sense of the runes above me despite that the flames cast them in sharp relief.

"What do they mean?" I said, pointing at the runes above us as the fire endeavored valiantly to warm my almost frost-bitten hands. Carac scratched his bewhiskered jaw and contemplated my question.

"It is the Greyback heraldic motto. You will find it emblazoned on the coat of arms throughout the castle."

"Yes, but what does it mean?"

"As wolves they come — the scourge of night. A laden moon doth herald blight. Some of the words do not exist in your stunted language, but I believe that is the basic translation."

I frowned dubiously, not understanding entirely, but nodded all the same. Carac stopped a passing servant and muttered some command that had the red-haired lad scuttling away with great celerity. I was at quite the disadvantage: being ignorant of their words. I therefore decided resolutely that I would learn quickly.

Once my ears began to thaw, I became aware of the hubbub around me. The hall was buzzing with the din of preparations, supper service and activity as the liveried servants scurried about the trestle tables carrying trays of roasted venison, boiled vegetables and flagons of spiced wine to and fro between gauntleted giants reposing at their heaping trenchers. I seemed to attract no attention, on the contrary, I was largely ignored as the rest of my group was reunited with their fellow knights and welcomed warmly with the laughter and camaraderie that one expects after an absence. A scrawny, muddied, wee child of no import in their midst would not engender much, if any, curiosity.

Why then did I have the strange and uncanny feeling, as of ants crawling up my spine, as though I were being watched. I turned toward the raised dais, from whence the strange sensation emanated, behind which another fire crackled in an identical fireplace to the one I stood before and where a man was seated in shadows; silhouetted by the flames at his back.

The hall was extremely large and I stood far enough away that I could not make out his face, shrouded in dimness as it was. He was motionless and seemed to be idly surveying the animation around him with such an air of power that it left me extremely intrigued and wary. I almost believed that, had I possessed a third eye with which to peer through the gloom, I would now be staring straight into the sneering eyes of that solitary being perched high upon his throne like a rapacious chief. I felt keenly how he watched me.

"Ariana!" I whipped my head around at hearing my name on a woman's lips. I had not heard a female voice since leaving my homeland. My thoughts were pulled suddenly into a new direction, thereby stirring me from the strange reverie I had entertained before.

The lady who had called out to me was now walking briskly towards me. It was dark in the hall but I could easily make out her fine features and welcoming smile.

"Oh, my dear girl, you are wet through!" said she with a worried frown. "Gerald! Have John brought to me posthaste, there's a good lad. And tell him to bring some blankets!" Having issued the order, she brought her solicitous regard back to me. "Welcome to Nørrdragor, Ariana," she smiled kindly and I blushed at receiving such a warm greeting. I wondered who she was and what her role at the castle might be. She seemed troubled as she greeted Carac, and I attributed that to her faux pa: for she had not introduced herself; as if expecting that I should know her identity.

Mayhap she is the earl's sister? I mused as she leaned in to kiss Carac's bewhiskered cheek, scolding him gently for having "arrived just in time." Just in time for what?

At length, a little, wizened man, whom I later understood to be the lord's chamberlain, soon approached us. He looked pityingly at the bedraggled mess I had become, stepped over the small rills flowing from the puddle accumulating at my feet and, holding out a large cloak of fur pelts, quickly wrapped it around my trembling shoulders.

"T-t-thank you," I sighed as a set of chills wracked my body.

My words were as yet stilted from the cold but he nodded, smiling. He then began to talk rapidly to the lady in Norn, who nodded hastily and, with an apologetic grin, excused herself directly with a promise that she would see me anon.

"Who is she, Carac?"

My question seemed to reach preoccupied ears, for he replied distractedly as he nodded his head in greeting to the figure on the dais yet shrouded in darkness. "Lady Anne," said he.

I watched Lady Anne depart back whence she had come, but soon became aware that the man, John, was now addressing me, using his hands as if I might better understand his meaning, but I cocked my head with a frown, unable to decipher his strange words and hand signals. Finally I shook my head at him, then looked to Carac expectantly.

Carac's attention had finally been wrested from the stranger on the raised platform. "The master requests you attend him forthwith. Follow John, miss. He will take you to the family's private solar."

"Will you not accompany me?" I was almost desperate not to leave his side for he had become my protector — my benevolent shadow. I felt bereft at this sudden separation.

"You are home now and well protected within these walls. Hence you no longer require my presence."

"But...please, Carac!" My breath hitched painfully in my throat as I begged him to intercede. John nudged me to follow, but I knocked his hands away. My resistance seemed only to annoy Carac for his brows drew together in vexation and he lowered his voice to scold me.

"Cease this childish nonsense, Aria! Have a care!" he whispered furiously, glancing behind him to the man who sat at the dais. "Your audience will see that you are frightened and know that you are weak!" He moved in closer and crouched low so his head was level with mine and only I would hear his warning.

"There is always someone watching! Never forget that! Never let your guard down. Never beg. Never let them see you cry! Understand?" I nodded mutely, my eyes burning with unshed tears. He continued. "Have courage! Only the powerful are valued here. The weak are cast aside!" He shook my arm painfully and it was all I could do to keep those afore mentioned tears from spilling forth and streaking down my cold cheeks. He seemed not to notice or merely ignored my glistening stare.

"I would see you prosper! Do not disappoint me!" He stood to his full height with a smile, or a grimace, of encouragement that I neither returned nor appreciated. "Go," said he.

I watched — the tears spilling unchecked from my glistening eyes — as he moved off toward the shadowed man beside the twin fireplace, at the other end of the cavernous hall.

John, it seemed, could understand that much from our exchange, Carac's tersely uttered, 'go' seemed to transcend the language barrier for he resumed his tugging. This time I acquiesced, but timidly, and withdrew from the hall; still aware of that aberrant, icy glare burning the back of my head.

Thus, I followed John as he held his lamp out to light our way through the darkened hallways. He whisked me up a dextral winding staircase that was narrow and cold, a sense of impending doom weighting my every step. And somewhere in the heart of this vast, stone fortress my benefactor — my would-be groom — sat waiting in his lair.

Like a lamb to the abattoir, thither was I led.



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