The Forest of Peldain

Chapter Two

King Krassos of Arelia, Monarch of the Islands, had always struck Lord Vorduthe as a man chafing at the bit, frustrated for lack of conquest.

His father, King Lawass, before him had already united all the islands, bringing them under the Arelian crown and so ending centuries of inter-island warfare. In his youth Krassos had been heard to murmur bitterly that there would be nothing left for him to do, for on the ocean-bedecked world of Thelessa only the sprawl of islands bejeweling the Pan Sea were habitable. The three small continents were either ice or volcanic ash, lava plains and scoria.

Outside the Hundred Islands, as the unified kingdom was ceremonially called, only Peldain was capable of supporting life, and that life was a sport of nature, a forest so deadly that not even Krassos, for all his thirst for adventure, would think of venturing there. Therefore, although Peldain, lying to the south of the northern continent of Kurktor, was somewhat larger than Arelia, his main island, King Krassos found his dreams of achievement thwarted, and excitement to be gained only in the occasional uprising among one or other of the subject populations. Yet, despite his disappointments, he became a firm and respected ruler. He never failed to make himself available on the petition dates due each island in turn, and he meted out fair and just treatment even to the southernmost island of Orwane, whose people were generally disliked because of their peculiar brown color.

Barely a hundred days previously Lord Vorduthe, Commander in General of the seaborne warriors, had been summoned to the king’s palace in Arcaiss. There the king had presented to him a man whose general appearance was as strange, though for different reasons, as that of the Orwanians themselves. His eyes were a flinty blue, and his skin uncommonly pale, like limestone. His hair was coarse and a bright yellow in color, resembling straw. His features, too, were odd, with high jutting cheekbones. To Vorduthe, his face was like a statue of the head of one of the leaping deer of Arelia.

“Lord Vorduthe,” King Krassos said, “meet Askon Octrago, of Peldain.”

The name fell unfamiliarly on Arelian ears, and Vorduthe found the provenance incomprehensible. He nodded distantly, looking at the man and wondering from what isle he hailed.

“Did you not hear what I said?” the King continued casually. “Octrago claims to have come out of the Forest of Peldain.”

Vorduthe curled his lip. He took the remark as a joke. “Then he would need to be made of stone, as he appears to be.”

“Not even stone can survive in that forest, if what we are told is true,” the king added softly.

“Quite so.”

Then the stranger spoke, using the Arelian tongue but with a sharp, almost strangled accent. “Just the same, I come from Peldain. I will tell you what I have told His Majesty. You are mistaken about the forest. It is indeed as hostile as you believe, but it does not extend over the whole of Peldain, as you have always assumed. It forms a hedge around my country, between thirty and forty leevers deep. Within is a fertile, fair land inhabited by people like myself.”

Vorduthe looked toward his monarch. Krassos was smiling. “The stranger has been interrogated at length,” he said. “If he is a liar, he is a convincing one.”

“Forty leevers of Peldain forest still sounds impassable to me,” Vorduthe replied, looking back at Octrago. “How did you cross it?”

“By means of a special route known to me which avoids the greatest of the forest’s severities. Even so we suffered much difficulty. Of fifty who set forth, only five survived to reach the sea, where we put out in a raft whose frame we had carried with us. Had our preparations been less hasty, we would have fared better.”

“Then you are not alone? There are others of you?”

“I fear not. For over ninety days we drifted at sea. We of Peldain have no experience as sailors. When an Arelian ship picked us up, I alone was left, my companions having died of thirst and myself nearly so.’

Krassos nodded. “He was in poor shape, that much we do not need his word for. And he comes from none of our islands, if I am any judge. But speak on, Octrago. Tell Lord Vorduthe the reason for so desperate a venture.”

The stranger drew himself up. He held his head high. “I, Askon Octrago, am the rightful monarch of Peldain, but I have not been permitted to take my throne. I suffer, my lord, from treason. On the death of my father, the revered King Kerenei, my cousin Kestrew gathered together a gang of ruffians and claimed the throne for himself. Peldain is a peaceful country, my lord. The king commands no armed forces. I was forced to flee for my life. Yet there is nowhere in Peldain where I could be safe. Therefore I and my loyal companions resolved to seek help from the islands we knew existed across the ocean.”

King Krassos took up the tale. “And now Octrago offers to become my vassal, in return for help in regaining his kingdom.” He clapped his hands. Vorduthe saw that his eyes were sparkling. “That’s it in a nutshell. What do you think, Vorduthe?”

Vorduthe pondered these remarkable words. It was not surprising that Krassos was aroused by the tale. The possibilities it opened were, indeed, enticing….

“What, exactly, are you proposing?” he asked Octrago, tilting his face in the typical Arelian quizzical manner.

“A comparatively small force is needed to take the kingdom itself,” Octrago told him smoothly. “Peldain has never known external enemies—the forest itself has been sufficient defense. And it is the forest that will be the greater foe. With my guidance, and proper preparation, enough men could get through the same route I came by. The rest should be easy. Later, I believe this route could be strengthened, the forest driven back. Peldain would have regular intercourse with the Hundred Islands—and would be added, I pledge, to King Krassos’ realm. That I rule as his loyal vassal is all I ask.”

“This matter needs thought…” Vorduthe cut off his own words. He could see that, in fact, King Krassos had already made up his mind. Here at last was a chance to do what his father had done, and moreover, to nearly double the size of the kingdom. The temptation was too strong to resist.

But now, from the shadows at the side of the audience chamber, another figure stepped forth. It was Mendayo Korbar, a member of the Defense Council and a squadron leader under Vorduthe’s command. He wore a kilt made of pieces of beaten silver, sword-shaped and riveted to a belt. On his feet, sandals of bark leather. His torso, gleaming with oil, was bare save for the straps that held his weapons.

With hostility, he gazed on Askon Octrago. “Sire, how can you trust this man?” he said bitterly to King Krassos. “He says he is a king. Yet all we know of him is that he was picked up out of the sea. He speaks the same language that we speak, when even among the islands different tongues may be heard, yet he claims to come from a land with which we have never had contact! I say he is an impostor, and that there is no country of Peldain. The forest covers all of the island.”

Octrago, stepping toward Korbar, moved in and out of the bars of sunlight that shone from the high mullions of the room and made a grill pattern on the tiled floor. When the light struck his head, his straw-colored hair seemed to flame.

His voice, with its weird accent, became cold. “The son of a royal household does not permit one of inferior rank to call him a liar,” he said. “Though I am a castaway in a foreign land, I am ready to meet and deal with that slight.”

He too wore an Arelian kilt, though of strips of stiffened reed paper dyed in a rainbow of colors, and in addition a tunic of light green flax. The king permitted him to carry weapons, and he bore a sword, carrying it in the Arelian fashion, hilt downward, the blade slung up and passing under the left arm to jut up behind the shoulder, held in its scabbard by a clasp. Clicking open this clasp, he drew the sword. “Take back those words.”

“Indeed I will not,” growled Korbar. His own blade whistled free and he waited for Octrago’s attack.

It came almost immediately. Korbar was carried back by the first rush and almost stumbled. Octrago’s sword edge nicked his forearm and spattered drops of blood. He quickly recovered, and for a short while the two blades flashed blindingly in a brilliant display. It was clear that Octrago, though fighting in a style different from that taught in Arelia, was Korbar’s equal.

King Krassos and Lord Vorduthe watched fascinated at first, but then the king became alarmed at the thought of losing either man. He shouted with displeasure and leaped down from the dais where he had been seated.

“Enough! Put up your swords, I say!”

The clash and sparkle ceased. Octrago’s sword slithered up its sheath and the clasp clicked as he turned to bow to the king. Sullenly, Korbar did the same.

“I have heard tales spun as convincingly in the market place, sire,” he grumbled. “I repeat, he is a storyteller, a tool of insurrectionists who wish to draw our forces away from the Hundred Islands!”

“If you are right, you will have a chance for revenge,” Krassos promised him. “I am tired of you both: leave me. Not, you, Vorduthe. I would speak with you.”

After Octrago and Korbar had departed in different directions, Krassos beckoned Lord Vorduthe close. “So what is your opinion?”

“For one who is supposed to come from a land without war, he is handy with a sword,” Vorduthe said doubtfully.

“He was not trained in Arelia, I’ll warrant.”

“Unless he is a master of subterfuge,” Vorduthe admitted. “Still, I think there is some merit in what Korbar says. There is unrest across the water. There may be a need to forestall rebellion shortly. I do not think it safe to split up our forces at present.”

“Ah, that is why I cannot come with you,” Krassos said sadly. “I must remain here to deal with what may arise. I will tell you of my decision. I believe this man Octrago tells the truth. He has described this land whence he comes, its geography, people and customs. Its beasts, and the predacious trees of the forest. Did he invent all this? I do not think so.”

“It is odd that of fifty who set out, only their leader survived,” Vorduthe remarked.

“Hm. Well, it is the leader who is strongest. And doubtless his followers were prepared to sacrifice themselves for their rightful king. You had better learn to get along with Octrago, Vorduthe, for you and he are to be comrades-in-arms. My mind is made up. I wish you to organize an expedition as quickly as possible. Octrago will brief you. Together, devise means of getting our forces through the forest. When you have sketched out a plan, come and talk to me about it.”

“You know, sire,” Vorduthe said in a low voice, “that I have reasons for not wanting to be away on a long campaign.”

“Yes, I know, Vorduthe,” Krassos said with a hint of compassion, “but you are the man to lead this expedition. I want no other. Besides, your absence may not necessarily be a long one. Once Peldain is conquered I will appoint a garrison commander, and you can return home to your wife.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“Then I expect to see you in a day or two.”

Vorduthe bowed to King Krassos as the monarch turned casually away, flipping his cloak of woven purple grass over his shoulder, and sauntering through an arched exit from the audience room.

The king’s palace was a graceful structure of gleaming white limestone, decorated with large, brightly colored clam-squirt shells, and with thin sheets of a smooth iridescent material resembling mother-of-pearl, a costly material taken from the internal lining of trench-mouths, sluggish beasts inhabiting the shallows surrounding the Hundred Islands. On leaving, Lord Vorduthe first made his way along the docks of Arcaiss, where ships were forever arriving and departing, so that the dazzling blue ocean looked like a board game on which rested slowly moving pieces in carved and painted wood. Despite the exhilarating sea breeze, the warmth and freshness of the day, and the stirring noise and color of the wharves, he knew he was greeting the prospect of adventure in a strange land with the wrong feelings. In his heart, he agreed with Mendayo Korbar.

To one side of the bay, the land rose steeply. Slowly, Vorduthe mounted the sweep of steps that brought him to his house, overlooking both the harbor and the shore barracks of the seaborne warriors he commanded. He pushed through the gate-screen of long, cool palm leaves, crossed the scented garden, and entered the airy interior of the flat-roofed dwelling.

“Is the Lady Vorduthe awake?” he asked of the servant girl who appeared to receive him.

Briefly the girl bent her head. “Yes, master. She is listening to music.”

He could hear the strains of a ketyr coming from his wife’s room at the end of the corridor. He removed his sword-harness from his shoulder and placed it in its niche in the wall, before padding down the passage.

Quietly, he opened the door and entered. The ketyr player was bent over his instrument, plucking and caressing the strings with rapt concentration on his no longer young face. The simple waist-cinched robe he wore was crisply white and obviously donned anew no more than an hour or two ago. Musicians visited the Lady Kirekenawe Vorduthe nearly every day. It was one pleasure still left to her.

Kirekenawe moved her face toward her husband in dreamy greeting, but did not take her attention from the music. On the other side of her bed one of the two female companions who nursed and tended her day and night sat silent and unmoving. Vorduthe moved to a cane seat, and waited.

The ketyr sang, skirled, meditated plangently. At length the player paused for long moments, as if he had finished; then he broke into a furiously fast and rhythmic dance theme, which slowed first to a lilt, and then to a languorous plodding sound. Finally, with two evenly spaced, deliberate-sounding notes, he ended.

Kirekenawe sighed, closing her eyes, and then opened them to look directly at Vorduthe. “You are home early.”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “I have something to tell you.”

Kirekenawe but glanced at her nurse, then at the musician. They rose, bowed, and left.

Vorduthe picked up the cane chair and moved closer to his wife’s bed. The form showing through the white sheet was that of a young and beautiful woman, but in respect it was deceptive. Young and beautiful it certainly was, but motionless and inert.

“The king sent for me today,” he began when he was seated once more. “I have to go away.” Concisely he told her what had taken place: of the arrival of Askon Octrago and his tale of what lay within the Forest of Peldain, and of Krassos’ orders.

“If all goes well I shall not be gone long,” he told her. “The king has promised to recall me as soon as the conquest is complete.”

“You must stay as long as is needful,” she said calmly. “A man like you should not spend all his time at home.”

“Yes, but… I do not like to be away from you.”

He avoided her eyes and gazed through the gauze of his wide window, through which the garden was blurrily visible. How often had he looked at her, and seen the thought in her mind: I should die, and then he would be free. But how can I die? No one will do it for me.

It was four years now since their happiness had ended. Once it had been her delight to run, to swim, to make love with vigor and abandon. Now she could not even feed herself, and her own wastes had to be carried away by another.

There had seemed hope when it had first happened. They had gone sea fishing together in an outrigger boat, something they did frequently. He had thought he knew the waters well, but a sandbank must have shifted—a bank that hid a barb-squid, buried beneath the sand and waiting for prey. When the outrigger struck, its tentacles had come lashing forth to seize and sting, spray and wet sand flying everywhere. Vorduthe had fought the squid, hacking its tentacles and forcing it to withdraw, but the spine of a barb, thick and green and hard as wood, was left in Kirekenawe’s neck. He had pulled it out with his own hands and sailed as quickly as he could back to Arcaiss, knowing there was a chance the physicians there could wash the poison out of her blood in time. And so they had. Days later her fever ended, and she awoke calm and collected—but paralyzed. He had believed it was but a temporary effect of the poison, until, days later still, the physicians told him the truth. The barb had severed nerves in her spine. She would never be able to move anything below the level of her neck again.

She was made as comfortable as was possible. But no amount of love could erase the frustration he knew she felt, or her sadness at knowing his sadness.