Chapter XXXIII
“A wilderness lies ahead of us, a rocky terrain tangled with the roots of dead and dying trees, and no established road runs through the twisted ravines,” said Theodoric. “Thick bracken and low branches will increase to block our way the closer we draw to the River Gravidas. Raspar forefathers did choose their territory well, to ward off outsiders. The hiking high in the trees will not be so difficult, but land travel will be treacherous.”
“You remain quite sure the Aoten have been in Raspar lands?” asked Wyllem, as he securely wrapped leather straps around Artur’s shins.
“I believe the arrows show it so.”
“Then shouldn’t there be a path already cleared?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Theodoric, somewhat sheepish.
“Ah, the Rufoux brain at work,” said Artur.
Theodoric eyed Artur and replied, “A rumidont said to a thylak, ‘I think I will take my rest now. I think I’ll sleep, if you don’t mind.’ But he wasn’t thinking at all.”
“That had all the earmarks of an insult,” Artur said to Wyllem.
“We’ll have to go north a bit,” said Yarrow. “But it will be worth it, if we can find the giants’ path and make the crossing easier.”
“Can we not think of another way?” asked Dungo.
They couldn’t, and so the journey began, first up the Alluvia in a Koinoni boat, just to the point where they had seen the Aoten crossing weeks before, then onto the opposite shore and to the east. The plains bordering the River Alluvia at first offered a pleasant walk, but before many groonits had passed the ground arose in angry shards of rock and shifting gravel. Only an occasional giant footprint, revealed in displaced gravel, offered guidance along the unforgiving ground.
“This ground without compare is the most disagreeable I have ever trod upon,” began Dungo. “Only these scant mounds of pebbles offer anything close to the comfort of walking upon the sands. These jagged rocks turn my sandals to the tops of my feet. This may be fine walking for Melics, with those thick calluses you grow on your soles, and for Rufoux boots — how do you fare, sir, under those robes?”
“Fine,” said Yarrow, and all the others suddenly realized they’d never seen Koinoni feet.
The walking became ever more perilous the further they went, and finally Dungo stumbled over some stark rock fragments jutting out and lay weeping upon the ground. “I can’t go on. I’m at the end,” he panted.
“We’d best stop for the night anyway,” said Artur, and then to Sylva, “You’ll have a heck of a time putting tent pegs in this ground.” She nodded, and put her finger to the side of her nose.
Theodoric gazed down at Dungo and said to Franken, “You need to have an idea.”
“Pick up a man to carry across and that will be hard as walking, I’ve found,” said Franken in his sing-song manner.
“Yes, but we’ll get him nowhere on his own tomorrow. I’m sure of that.”
“I will sit with my tools and we’ll hatch out a plan,” said Franken.
Sylva chose a small parcel of level ground and tied a rope to the lowest branches of trees found in its four corners. She threw the fabric of the tent over the ropes, forming small makeshift walls. She looked to Artur and shrugged, then tried to drag Dungo inside. She could do no better.
Artur expertly built a fire, and Yarrow produced a bag filled with exotic vegetables and spices. He quickly mixed it in a shallow pan, where it sizzled and spattered, and even Dungo forgot about his tribulations for a time, and he offered a small bottle.
“No thank you,” said Yarrow.
“It’s only oil,” said Dungo.
“I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake.”
Soon the little band had warmed their stomachs well. Franken had remained silent through the evening; now, without warning, he stood up and said, “I must find some vines before nightfall arrives,” and he slipped away like a ghost.
“He must have his idea,” said Theodoric, and he pulled his reed from his belt. “Please excuse me,” and he vanished into the branches above. Soon his melodies wafted into the night air, accompanied by the rhythm of a hatchet.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep,” said Dungo. “This ground is deliberately hard.”
“Count rumidonts,” said Artur, and he moved away, leading Geoffrey by the arm. “Did you talk with anyone about our conversation?”
“About Andreia? No.”
“Someone has been talking. Just before we left, Picta practically announced our engagement.”
“Yes, I heard her. But I have spoken to nobody. Perhaps we’re just too thick, Artur. We are Rufoux, after all. Others dwell in our camp now, others who have greater insight than we. Such things may be plain to see for them.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s it, and we have those who dream as well. Andreia has dreamed of it, she says.”
“So I heard. But she said she dreams; she didn’t really say of what.”
“I took it to mean she had dreamed of our wedding.”
“Perhaps that’s how you want to take it,” said Geoffrey. He stroked his grizzled beard with one thumbless hand. “My eyes witness much change swirling around me, things I could never have foreseen. Much greater changes than this issue, really. But I must consider the matter more.”
“I haven’t felt this way since Lauræl.”
“I know. That I can see.”
The Rufoux bedded down upon their simple pallets, and fell asleep to the soft music and whimpering voice of Dungo.
The morning opened their eyes to a contraption they had never seen before. Long and narrow, two wooden poles stuck out from the front and the rear. A small platform rested in the middle, and on either side disks of twisted vines supported it. Franken slept leaning against one of the disks, and Theodoric stood over him smiling.
“Well done! Amazing, he has taken this from Raspar design!”
“What is it?” asked Artur.
“A cart for carrying heavy loads. Those round things I have seen outside the Raspar city, and I once told Franken of them. They roll along the ground like a log on its side. Very clever of him; the Raspars make them of rock.”
“How does it work?”
“Well, first, you have breakfast,” said Theodoric, and he began to stir about the supplies. Sylva had arisen, and the Koinoni came filing toward the fire in single file. Only Dungo and Franken remained asleep.
“I suspect they both had difficult nights,” said Theodoric.
Soon they had made breakfast disappear, and the Bedoua “tent” had to come down. Sylva roused Dungo, who in turn made such a fuss that Franken awoke.
“We will do well to set off right at once,” he said, glancing at the sun.
“Yes. You have done wonderful work, Franken, and I’m sorry we must strike out so quickly. But you have rightly said, we have no time to dawdle. The sun and moon care nothing for the hourglass.”
“Oh! My ankle!” cried out Dungo. “What am I to do?”
“Climb up upon the platform, sir, and make yourself at ease,” said Franken.
“What? A Bedoua vizier lie there like a bundle of rugs and be hauled about the forest?”
“Yes, vizier,” said Theodoric.
“I could never! It would be too humiliating for the leader of the Bedoua! Ow! Oh, my ankle. All right, help me up. Oh, this troubles me so! The indignity!”
“Think of the rolling parts as Bedoua bearers.”
Once they had secured Dungo onto the cart, laying flat on his back, the others piled supplies on top of him. With one powerful Rufoux at either end, the cart rolled easily along the ground, tipping only occasionally. Sometimes they found it better to carry the cart clear of the land. Soon Dungo could find nothing but praise and much clicking for the device.
“Oh, clever Melics! The things you do with the wood of trees, who would believe them! One must use what lies at hand, but who could have thought such a delightful invention could be crafted from logs and vines? Ho-ho! Such a grand way to travel, as well, gazing upon the clear sky and piled high with luxurious fabrics and sacks. My people back in the desert Bedoua camp would never understand such a thing, what it’s like to be rolled through the forest by one’s friends. Only Dungo will ever know, for Dungo’s great travels and wide experience have made him the greatest of all the Bedoua!”
“And his wide girth,” offered Geoffrey.
For some days the group progressed in just this way. The land rose and fell and on and on they went, always keeping one eye out for thylak or therium, the Melics walking the trees and checking the sun, the rest following the path blazed by the Aoten, until their eyes fell upon the River Gravidas, and beyond a heavily wooded land much like their own.
“We draw very near,” said Theodoric. “Not far beyond the river we will see some stone ruins, and then the Raspar city will rise out of the ground. The real danger begins here, though; the Gravidas does not have the big shoulders of the Alluvia, but the current runs stronger.”
“How do we cross?” asked Artur.
“Can your man fashion a raft with his axe?” Yarrow asked Theodoric.
“Anything in your head I can make with my hands,” said Franken.
Theodoric joined with Franken and soon hewed down several small trees. They quickly had the logs lashed together, and long poles supplied to the Koinoni sailors. The men dragged the raft to the riverbank, and the group set off for the eastern side. The cart stood forlornly alone upon the shore.
“Good-bye, my lovely! Good-bye!” Dungo called out mistily.
“The Raspars have likely already seen us,” said Theodoric. “If not, they soon will. Be prepared to hoist your shields.”
“You sit by me,” Artur said to Geoffrey.
The Koinoni made the crossing with much difficulty, unused to the Gravidas’ heavy current. As the raft neared the far shore, it nearly capsized, and most of the supplies washed overboard. “Pity,” said Yarrow as he watched the Bedoua fabrics float away.
Once back upon dry land, the Koinoni secured the raft, and the group marched cautiously into the thick forests. Shields held high overhead, the travelers took each step with watchfulness, not sure what to expect. The trees stretched into the sky grand and straight, growing tall before even the lowest branches reached out, but they seemed strange and unfriendly. Underfoot rocks still plagued the ground, though not as bad as before, and sharp thorns and barbs pricked at the travelers’ ankles. Worn rocks, some that had once been square, others that had been round, lay about the ground in confusion. Each foot followed the one before with great caution, and slowly they advanced.
Like a disguised cliff, seemingly out of nowhere, grand stone walls appeared from between the thick trees, standing upright out of the ground. Perhaps a hundred kronyn tall, these walls soared straight and smooth, so tightly laid that dirt and wear had rendered the seams between the stones invisible. Hundreds of small windows, the lowest some thirteen to fifteen kronyn from the ground, appeared at even spaces throughout the structure. Ivy crawled up the stone along the corners, but it had been carefully pruned away from all the openings. About half-way up, the smooth walls gave way to intricate carvings of faces and animals, leaves and birds, landscapes and battle scenes. The top of the walls, so high they could barely be seen, produced elaborate spires and onion domes, beautiful balustrades and hideous gargoyles. To one side a large hole had been torn out of the foot of one wall, cut stone by cut stone, starting at a low window.
“Mog’s goblins!” said Artur, caught in a stupor at the foot of the monument.
“Look out!” yelled Theodoric, and crouched beneath his shield. A thundering downpour of arrows cascaded from the city windows and overwhelmed the travelers.
