The Prophesy: Book 1 - Cave Lupus

 

The caravan kept moving southwest, and the terrain was gradually smoothing itself out, clearly indicating they were getting near a flatter land. The forest itself, on both sides of the road, seemed to get ever thicker and dense, with fewer open space between trees. The forests began to infringe on the road banks and finally, after a few days, the thick treetops overshadowed the road, which had been reduced to a narrow two cart-wide lane, from its original six-cart width.

"I figure we are in an area where the traffic was lighter during ancient times. After all, all civilizations probably had clumps and dense populated areas separated by sparsely populated or even wild areas," commented Harold.

"You are probably right," replied Dunbar. "For that matter, it may be good, because, if my memory is right, the denser the road network, the more likely we will find the Atom God's marker. There seems to be a relation between the two, and you may have found it."

"I am not sure about that," commented Paschal, who had decided to take a break from his consolidating all the maps and travel logs of the Caravan Masters. It was a long, difficult job, and some of these august persons would have benefited from a few slaps on the fingers for their bad calligraphy, or their use of a code they had problem figuring out when asked about it.

Dunbar looked at Paschal, raising an eyebrow. "And how would you interpret this?"

"More likely, I think, is that the Cataclysm targeted the most densely populated areas, in order to maximize casualties for the minimum cost. I think war can be seen as a business: a cost-benefit ratio, like I see you do with the caravan."

"Hey, that boy does more than draw well, it seems! He even noticed my calculations in the logbook!"

"They are hard to miss, you know. I have to read every page to find tidbits of information about events and things you noted. Every logbook is as disorganized as yours, if that can reassure you!"

"What do you mean by saying my logbook is disorganized? I apply the rules of the trade, I note everything of importance as I travel, with a date and time, and what I carry, buy and sell, or deliver to whom or buy from whom. That's how things are done, they have been done that way ever since the merchantmen of old."

"Maybe, but it's not because something has been done a certain way for years that it is the best way to do it."

"Oh, pray tell, how would you organize the logbook?"

"Are you really interested, or are you just trying to make fun of me?"

"No, I am interested. Maybe you do have an idea that never crossed any of the Grand Masters since the foundations of trade?"

"OK, if you say so. Well, first, I would separate accounting in a distinct book. That way, you would have a better overview of things and stop having to reference to a previous trip to know how your standing is financially."

"I see. And what else?"

"I would try to note distances more consistently. And, well, draw things. You know, a representation of the roads, the rivers, the bridges, and the mountains. All I have is approximate distance. How can I figure out a map with this kind of information?"

"Give me an example?"

"Well, you pointed out to me where you talked about the collapsed bridge and the trail we had so much trouble with. Do you remember how you described it?"

"Vaguely "

"Let me read it to you: When we reach the collapsed bridge, back up and look for the giant oak to the left. The trail starts there and it takes two days to reach the end. It took us two weeks! And what will happen when the giant oak collapses? Wouldn't it have been better to measure the distance using say a three-foot chain and write that the trail started on the left, say three hundred chains from the bridge. And think, whose left? Are we talking about the left while looking from the bridge towards the trail, or the left of the caravan, which, by the way would have had its leading cart looking at the river! I found the reference to the falls five pages later! And the reference to the mud flats on a return trip! Dunbar, this logbook is a mess. You are not alone in this method, and I wonder why you bother encrypting things. You may well be the only one able to make sense of your logbook!"

"I am sorry, Paschal. When listening to your comment, I realized that it was true. Are you giving up making a common map?"

"No, I am more stubborn than an ass, but you will find me a pain in the ass. I shall be asking clarifications and further information as I try to make sense of things. You might as well talk to the other Masters, they will feel the pressure too!"

"I shall. But how do you plan to have a notion of distance?"

"When I saw the logbook's organization, that fateful morning where you burdened me with that task, I figured I needed a measuring stick. You certainly noticed the tinkle of a bell as we roll?"

"Yes, I was wondering what was the reason. It was getting on my nerves."

"Well, I have asked the help of Sitar in this: he counts the number of times the bell sounds, by marking the ticks on a scroll, and an indication of the road direction, left, right, straight ahead. That way I have scale, and the length of a segment is the number of ticks multiplied by the length of road covered by one spin of the wheel. When we stop, He gives me the scroll, I give him a new one, and so it goes. We even have a way of measuring half and quarter turns. I coloured each quarter segment differently. Since there are twenty-four spokes on a wheel, I can measure to a precision of 1/24th of the wheel's length."

"That is remarkable, Paschal. As for the term you have been unable to find that describes this aspect of the wheel, it's called the circumference," commented Harold. "One question we have to ask is where is your starting point?"

"Oh, I had started taking the notes myself when we crossed the farm road to Sitar's place. It took me some work to fix the cartwheel properly. I showed Sitar how to record things, because he was wondering what I was doing and why. When I explained, he offered to do the recording, so I could look at your logbooks, and try to make sense of them. Since this is a boring task, I have three more doing the same at the same time. That way, I can crosscheck their results. If one shows inconsistency, I take the other three's notes; if two are in disagreement, I take the average of all four, and if it's a question of direction, I mark the segment as indeterminate. That way, I have a good idea of what lies where."

"Well, Dunbar, not only is Paschal a good artist, it turns out he has the talent to be a cartographer. You sure are full of surprises. It has been a long time since someone drew a map, and I think things have changed considerably since the Ancients did theirs."

"Is that all you are asking?" wondered Dunbar.

"No, they have to indicate if we are climbing, on flat land, or going down. Rivers and lakes are noted, relative to the position of the road. These information may be useful one day."

"What will happen when we have to make a run for it under attack?"

"Come on Dunbar! Have you ever seen oxen run while pulling a cart? I suspect even if their jewels were on fire, they wouldn't be able to do so! If you ever count on speed to get us out of a tight spot, you might as well give up right now!" replied Paschal, to the bemused looks of Dunbar and Harold.

***

Harold made a short sword and a leather scabbard for it that would be the right length and weight for Sitar; he also made a long knife for Harp. While at it, he made proper knives or sword for everyone who had none or were under-equipped, for a total of well over thirty blades of all types. It was beginning to dig seriously in the metal and coal reserves, but, as Dunbar and others expressed, better be safe than sorry. Every adult, be they man or women, was already equipped with some type of weapon fit for their size; only children had been left unarmed, but it was decided, with the parents' consent, or, in the case of apprentices, with their Order's consent, that no one able to walk should be left defenceless. Even an eighteen-month old toddler, the child of one legionnaire, was given a knife, and shown how to use it properly. After all, a knife behind the knee disables, whatever the size of the person that handles the weapon. Boys and girls aged seven or more were given bows and arrows that fitted their strength, and teens were trained in the use of the crossbow. By the end of Jan²⁸²⁸ ("Jan: January. The name of the months have been shortened over time, whenever possible. This is a normal evolution in a language."), anyone that had a need for a weapon had one, and training was mandatory for everyone, past sext. Those that were proficient in one type of weapon were given training in another where their ability was more dubious.

Even Harp found a role as a trainer; he showed remarkable patience with the toddlers of his age and younger. His ability with knives steadily improved, and became legendary with his peers; hero worship started early for some!

Meanwhile, what had been learned from the carcass of the priest was put to good use. A mobile target was built that modelled the priest's structure and presented only a tiny triangle as a bull's eye where a knife, an arrow, a lance, or a pilum could enter in the hay that filled a dangling wooden scarecrow with a mobile head. It became a question of pride between the members of the caravan as to who could put the most of each type of projectile in the death zone. Even toddlers had their run at it, to the hilarity of the adults, until Harp had his turn at thirty pace and put his two blades in it one after the other. From then on, it became serious business for everyone, and no one dared laugh at the children. Who knew when one of Harp's protégés wouldn't come up with that kind of score? Sitar had kept quiet during the ribbing of his little brother, smirking at the snobbish attitudes of the legionnaires. He knew how good Harp was; after all, he had trained him.

Things settled in a pattern, as the younger ones learned by emulation how to handle weapons, did physical exercises to gain strength and endurance, and studied with their respective orders their trade.

One morning, as the caravan was slowly making its way along a lake, the legionnaires reported orcs moving parallel to the road in the forest, but keeping a safe distance from the caravan.

"What do you think they are doing?" wanted to know Williams, who had taken position in the thirds cart of the caravan so as to keep an eye on a group of toddlers being taught how to make arrows.

"A scouting party, I would wager. I suspect we will have some trouble shortly," replied Annabelle. "Dunbar!" she hollered to the cart in front of hers.

Dunbar jumped off his cart, waited for hers to come within climbing distance and embarked on it as it passed.

"Yes, Annabelle?"

"What's the road ahead like? More of the same?"

"Yes. Why?"

"There is a report of a party of orcs parallel to us and staying at our level. One, they know we are here, second, they are monitoring us, third, we must expect some trouble later. That's why I want to know if there is a place that would ease an ambush for them?"

"I have to go check with Paschal, he still has my logbook. That little pest is a nightmare. He has found so many inconsistencies in our logbooks that I am beginning to wonder where the sun sets!"

"That boy amazes me. He is good with that slingshot. He now hits the bull's eye four out of five times, from thirty paces. And he is getting pretty good with the short bow Harold made him. He has some promises with the sword and the quarterstaff as well. His problem with the bow, the sword and the quarterstaff is he lacks reach and strength. He is underdeveloped for his age, due to the privations and mistreatments he endured."

"I know, but I've noticed he has developed a healthy appetite, and works hard to build muscle mass. Have you talked to the healers?"

"Yes, they told me to remind the decurion that handles physical training to take into account age, initial physical condition, and not to stress the youngsters' body too much because their bones are still under development. I did so."

"Well, I better go see Paschal. Do you know where he is?"

"Last time I saw him, he was with Sitar, and the three apprentices he recruited to count the distance. So, he is in Harold's cart."

"OK, thanks. I'll be back shortly with your information, if I can find my logbook in that place."

"Oh, you will, Paschal is a neat freak; everything has a place and everything must be in place. He even sorts his colours according to the rainbow!"

"I noticed! I am even surprised he doesn't pile his crap like neat, smelly logs!"

"You are too much Dunbar! Get lost before you make me have an accident. I'm having more and more problem with this as the baby grows in me."

"That is one thing we will have to discuss later, Annabelle."

"I know. Get going!"

Dunbar jumped off the rear of the cart and navigated his way through the column to Harold's, that was now very easy to spot in the caravan. He had been coloured and painted over by the ever imaginative Paschal to represent a huge white wolf on a starry night. The wolf was drawn facing the moon, howling at it on a rock reminiscent of Command Rock. The symbolism did not go unnoticed by the other members of the caravan and kept reminding them day in day out who had organized the defence during the attack at the Rock.

Harold was with the boys, cleaning Sitar's sword that he had inherited from his dad. Paschal was doing some sketches of a potential map, and trying to reconcile the different logs as Sitar and the three helpers kept monitoring the distance travelled. The arrival of Dunbar surprised Harold, who looked at him as he climbed on the driver's seat before entering the cart.

"Hey Dunbar, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing, Harold, it's this pesky little cartographer I want to bother!"

"Oh, well, I was hoping for an excuse to get a break from this work, but since I can't count on my friends to procrastinate with me, I better get back to work!"

"What does procreate mean?" asked Harp, wide-eyed.

The question made everyone in the cart laugh. Harold took on him to light the boy's candle and explain the word.

"Procrastinate, said PRO - CRAS - TI - NA - TE, means finding all sorts of excuses not to do the work you are supposed to be doing."

"Oh You mean you wanted to be lazy?"

"Well, yes."

"Why not have said so in the first place then? Wasn't procreate harder to say?"

The hilarity in the cart redoubled.

"What did I say that was so funny?"

"Procreate, Harp, means to make babies, and it is both fun and tiring!" supplied Harold.

"Oh, it's a game, like when I go play with the others. OK, I understand."

"Yes," replied Harold, thinking he had gotten himself out of a hot spot with that one.

"Can you show me how to play the procreate game?" piped up Harp after waiting for the offer from Harold!

Harold looked around, trying to find some help from Dunbar or the apprentices, or even from Sitar. Dunbar took on to whistling a travel song, sounding completely off tune, the apprentices focussed on writing notes on their scrolls, looking very absorbed, and Sitar smiled wickedly at Harold. Paschal looked as innocent as he was on the matter, not being any more informed about it than Harp. In fact, he seemed to be expecting a demonstration himself, right then and there. He had been wondering why the older boys laughed and just followed suit, not to feel left out.

Harold decided that if Harp knew of death as much as he did already, it would be proper he also knew about life. But how could Harold explain things to a child without grossing him out? And, more to the point, how could he do so when he himself had very little knowledge about how things went after the act? Then Harold had an idea.

"Harp, do you remember how life was at the farm before you and Sitar had to go?"

"Yes, it was fun. I had many friends. We always went out to play in the field, fish, hunt, or play in the barn. Mommy made some nice hot food every day, and we had honey on hot bread in the morning. It was so nice."

"You had a barn. Did you have many animals?"

"Yes, we had a few cows and a mean bull. We had a horse to pull the tilling tool, and the cart when time came to pick up some hay for the winter or collect apples, or haul the water barrels to and from the creek. We had dogs to keep us company, and give the alarm when we had visitors. I miss Blackie!" and Harp hugged Harold with all his strength.

Harold looked up at Sitar, wondering who Blackie was.

"Blackie was his dog; I had mine too, Cleopatra. The two had been missing for a month when the orcs attacked the farm. I think Cleopatra was going to have pups, and decided to go in the forests to dig a den. She and Blackie were very close, so they left together. Maybe they are alive. After all both knew how to hunt."

"You think so?" wanted to know Harp, looking at his big brother from the lap of Harold.

"Maybe it's better that way, at least they had a chance. No one else had any. Had we been at the farm rather than away, we too would be dead, Harp. Where there is life, there is hope."

"Do you think they will find us?" Harp enquired, hoping against all hopes of recovering his lost dog.

"I do not know. Harold? How long does it take for a dog family to raise pups to the point they can leave the den and follow the parents?"

"Well, wolf pups start leaving the den at two months to roam ever further away from their home with the pack. I do not expect dogs to be any different. I am sure the bitch left just a few days before giving birth, so they should have started roaming just when we found you in the cave."

"That means we will be too far for them to find us when they return to the farm," commented Sitar, as he kept ticking the scroll. "I miss the dogs too, Harold. I wish they were with us, it would give me and my brother a sense of home we no longer have."

"Who knows, Sitar," replied Harold, "We have not travelled that far from your farm, the oxen carts are slow, and we travel only in the morning. We have been on the road for a month, now, and Feb²⁹²⁹ ("Feb: February.") is at its apex³⁰³⁰ ("Apex: The word apex means at its peak, in this case, the middle of the month. The month rises and declines, like the moon's size rise and decline. In a lunar calendar, each new moon marks the start of the month, as it begins to grow in size to full moon, its apex, and then decline to be dark again."). The pups may well be ready to leave the den with their parents to return to the farm, and even if it has been a while, your scent is on the road. Maybe they will catch up with us. It's only a fifteen-day walk for a man, less then five for a dog on the run exploring a region to find out where everyone went. We are well within the normal roaming range of dogs and wolves. And who knows, the den may be closer than you think. Remember when we asked you where your farm was?"

"Yes, I do. Why?"

"You could have come from any direction. We had no idea where it was. The same goes for the den, Sitar. We may well be walking towards it, rather than away from it. Who knows, they may have elected to set the den under a tree along the road, a few miles ahead."

"I sure hope so, but I don't hold much hope."

Dunbar looked at Sitar, critically. "Young man, what hope did you hold of staying alive a month ago?"

"None."

"Yet you held your own, and survived, and found friends and, if you so wish, family. Do not give up on Cleopatra and Blackie, no more than you gave up on Harp or yourself. If anything, being with Harold has shown me that he attracts good like a tree attracts lightning. If your dogs love and care for you, they will find a way to be reunited with you and Harp. I am sure of it. I have to get back to Annabelle, Harold. Would you come with me please? We have to discuss the last scout reports."

"I'll be right there. I only need to put Sitar's sword in its scabbard and I'll be there. I wish we had a tanner. We need to replace the scabbard, its been left without proper care too long. I oiled it, but some parts have rotted away, and must be replaced. I do not wish to throw it altogether because it was a beautiful work. Just, it was left in a damp place too long. Jump off, and I'll follow you."

Harold took his katana, sword, and longbow with him, as had become his custom. He left the short bow and quarterstaff in his cart, and followed Dunbar, who carried his logbook with him. The two men hopped off the cart and waited for the caravan carrying Annabelle to pass them before jumping in. It had been decided that her condition warranted she be further down the caravan during movement so as to have a minimum level of protection. Other women had also been afforded the protection of the inner positions, and the youngest were grouped right in the core of the caravan.

***

"You took your time, Dunbar. I had another report from the scouts while you were off trying to beat us women at the talk game!" exclaimed Annabelle.

"Sorry, Annabelle, Harp was asking tough questions to Harold."

"What kind of questions could a four-year old boy ask of you that would be so tough you would take an eternity to get here?"

"What would you have answered to a boy wanting to know how to play the procreate game with you without giving him the impression of rejecting him or that it is a bad thing to do?" replied, acidly, Harold.

"I see. And how did that word ever reach the mouth of Harp?"

"I told Dunbar that coming to see you would give me an excuse to procrastinate, and he misunderstood. He asked what the word procreate meant. I was stuck."

"I see; how did you get out of that trap, oh genius of strategy outwitted by a four-year old?"

I started asking him about animals at the farm, intending to explain procreation to the best of his ability, but suddenly he recalled his dog and the question took back seat to their fate."

"Their fate? There was more than one?"

"Yes, a couple, in fact, a couple, and they probably survived, the bitch having gone in hiding with her mate to give birth. But you didn't send Dunbar to get his logbook so we could talk about the coupling habits of canines."

"No, you are right. Dunbar, have you found the information we need in that book?"

"I'm looking, Annabelle. I realize, now more than ever, that Paschal is right. Finding something in this book is, to say the least, difficult. I noticed he has taken a lot of notes from all the logbooks and set up a cross-reference system. I shall have to ask him how he plans to use this to create a map. Even his comments on my accounting are right. I wonder what he will discover next!"

"That you are bankrupt and do not even own your underwear anymore!" exclaimed Harold.

"I could always live in a barrel, like Diogene³¹³¹ ("Diogenes of Sinope: Greek philosopher (born 412 BC - died 323 BC) that lived in a tub (barrel), totally nude, ignoring all social conventions so he could denounce their hypocrisy.")."

"At least, he owned the barrel, you would probably have to steal it from a tanner!"

"There, you are wrong Annabelle; he stole his tub from a temple. Quite fitting for these sharks, if you want my opinion! They haven't changed over time in their mentality, at least, if not in shape. They sell Heaven as if it was made of rooms in a brothel, God the publican of the place, and they do not even guarantee delivery! If governments saw this for what it really is, they would bring them to the axe for fiscal fraud and charlatanism. At least the prostitutes deliver some fun; these sharks only promise it!"

Harold's sortie had detracted from the true question, so Annabelle brought the topic back on track.

"Dunbar, have you found anything yet?"

"We are getting close to a river that is a mile wide. The current is slow, but the river is deep. But before that, there is a stream we have to cross on a bridge that was, the last time I went over it, on its last leg. It probably got washed away with the melt of last spring, like at Newbridge."

"I see. If it is gone, will we be able to build another bridge?"

"I don't think so, well not like the one at Newbridge. First, the road comes to the side of very stiff cliffs, second, the river is a lot faster than at Newbridge, and there are no pillars."

"No pillars?"

"It was a roadbed that had been set on two long steel beams, using wooden crossbeams. It had been repaired over the years, but rust had severely corroded the steel, and erosion was eating at the abutments; it was already very shaky when I last traveled on it. In fact, I had the cars roll one by one, rather than risk losing a bunch of them if it collapsed. I can tell you I let out a breath of relief when the last cart was done crossing it."

"What of strategic defence positions for us?"

"None that I can think of. The forest cover is dense, and will only get denser as we get nearer the stream. The trees are huge and could afford orcs numerous shelters from which to attack us."

"Them we must deal with them now. If we wait, we will be cornered without possibility of movement, in a place not of our choosing. I prefer choosing the battle ground, since I cannot have the advantage of surprise," replied Annabelle.

"I noticed, as I came to the cart, a strange terrain up ahead. Do you know what it contains? It looks like an artificial mountain."

"You mean the Mountain of the Watch? That used to be a defensive position of the Kingdom, before we had our first runs with the orcs and pushed them away. The King of the day had it installed so he could monitor the bridge, while being away from a direct charge from the road. Little good it did them."

"What do you know about that Mountain of the Watch?"

"Nothing much. Rumour has it that the Ancients had built a huge structure there, for a mysterious purpose we are unsure of. It stayed up for a long time, but finally collapsed or got buried by nature, as so many other man-made structures do as time goes by."

"Would you mind, Annabelle, if I took the cavalry there?" asked Harold. "They aren't of much use in this forest, and are in need of exercise. I would want to go there right away, so as to be back by sunset, and be able to spare a few hours of light to look at it."

"Please proceed, exercise is good, and who knows what you might find there."

Harold called on his herald to get his men together and prepare his destrier³²³² ("Destrier: a type of warhorse.").

***

It took the cavalry half an hour to reach the base of the Mountain of the Watch. Its artificial nature was even more apparent from close up. Huge slabs of granite, finely polished, were piled on each other, on their sides, as if they were held in place by magic. Some had fallen off, and had broken in pieces in their fall, revealing the face of a very strange looking rock that had rust marring its face at intervals. The trail used by the constructors to build the Tower of the Watch had been invaded by trees, and the mechanisms used by the builders to get the material to the top had long since rotted away.

Harold took a cursory look at the trail, but was more interested at the structure itself. He asked his men to explore the base for any indication of the nature of the mountain or what role it might have had for the Ancients. Everyone divided in groups of five, staying within eyesight of each other as they did what Harold asked.

After two hours of exploration, a legionnaire called up from deep in the bush near the backside of where they had come to the Mountain. He had found something interesting and asked for Harold to join him. The message propagated from group to group and reached Harold less then ten minutes later. It took Harold another half-hour to get to where the legionnaire was waiting for him.

"So, legionnaire, you found something of interest?"

"Yes, I think so, Legate. Look in there; it's an opening that seems to be going deep inside the mountain. Do you think we should explore it?"

"Definitely so, legionnaire, but with ropes tied to each other. I shall light the way with Mitsuko. There may be holes in this place, or even predators. I prefer being safe than falling into a crevice."

An order was given to bring ropes and torches. There was only one Mitsuko, but torches were numerous, and if the Legate fell, the others would be hard put helping in the dark. Another hour was spent getting all the material ready, and it was nearing sext when the exploratory team, led by Harold and lighted by Mitsuko, began their progress.

The doorway, for such it was, decided Harold from looking at its structure, led to a small anteroom, which opened to another, much vaster room. It was so big, in fact, that it was only lighted partially by Mitsuko. Harold decided he wanted a better view, so he asked the sword to slowly increase its intensity, until he told it to stop.

As the brightness increased, it revealed a round room with a dome that reflected torchlight in myriad crystalline pieces of shiny shapes; so exquisite were the cuts that the dust covering their surface only slightly tarnished their brightness. The light also revealed many holes around the circumference of the room, clearly where doors had been. One of the doors was noticeably wider than the others and was situated directly across the room. Harold decided to explore that direction first, since it seemed to call to him.

As they walked across the rotunda, legionnaires commented about the filth, and the presence of a lot of animal bones. One suggested it might have been once used as a den by a large predator, but seemed abandoned for a while. A few orc skeletons were to be seen, and, most surprising, an iron mask, close to a dorsal bone structure reminiscent of the priest they had killed. The claw marks on the rusted surface clearly indicated the predator had trouble with the priest's armour.

Harold used a chalk mark indicating with an arrow the direction to the exit. The group progressed some distance in the dark long hallway, and noticed the presence of numerous open doorways. The end of the hallway showed a shaft that seemed to go straight down, and another hallway crossing the one they had followed like a T. Harold hesitated. Turn left, or turn right? Finally, he decided to turn left, for he felt a strange reticence to turn right. Something was definitely pushing him away from that direction. Harold marked the return path as he had before and engaged on the left hallway.

As they progressed, someone asked if they had noticed they were going down on a rather steep incline at that.

"Yes legionnaire. How deep do you think we are now?"

"From the distance we have walked in that hallway, I would say about fifty feet below the forest floor, for about a mile on the surface, given I estimate the slope at ten percent."

"And it seems to go a long way in the direction we are following. Even with Mitsuko, I cannot discern the end of that tunnel. It seems to be going on forever."

"There is another thing I find strange Legate Harold. Initially, the doors were spaced every ten feet or so, except for some occasional ones that seemed to be side by side. Now doors are spaced every fifty feet. If the spacing between doors is an indication of room sizes, the rooms these doors gave access to must be huge!"

"Well observed, legionnaire. Let's have a look at the contents of one of these rooms as we pass by the next door on our way."

The room revealed piles of rubbish. It seemed to be aligned in a strange manner. Rust could be seen everywhere, and dark brown matter could be seen as runoff on the walls. A legionnaire took a poniard and rubbed the stuff; it tainted his blade reddish.

"Rust, Legate. Rust marks, everywhere."

"This looks like the legion's depot at Riverside," commented another legionnaire. "Rows and rows of shelves, but ours would rot rather than rust. I worked there before getting affected to the cavalry. I found the Depot immensely depressing."

"I've never seen such a huge storeroom," replied Harold, "but I agree with you. My first master had a lot of weapons in the making, and showed his ware on racks placed in rows in a big shed. Let's continue on this expedition, I want to find where this leads. The Ancients were not known for doing things uselessly, most of the time. Has anyone any idea of the direction we have been following, how far we have gone?"

"We have been going towards the stream for a while, still going deeper. I'd say we have covered about two miles under the forest."

"Let's continue. I want to see what gives."

It took another hour before the floor of the tunnel levelled off for a bit, then resume its plunge deeper. By then nones was quite close, and Harold decided to turn back. After all they needed to get back to the caravan. The return trip took a lot less time than the exploratory one, if only because they walked at a good pace. By vespers, an hour after sunset, they were back at the caravan, to the relief of Annabelle and the others.

"I think we found something very interesting," reported Harold. "I shall return to the mountain at sunrise tomorrow, and since we now know where the entry is, we will try to get there as fast as we can. Given the height and width of the hallway, we will also use horses to travel the distance underground. I have a feeling, deep inside, that this discovery may save our skin. The caravan is still three days off where we entered the forest to get to the mountain. This leaves us time before the orcs realize what we are really up to. I shall send a group to see if it can be accessed from the road more easily. Who knows?"

"How far did you say you travelled underground?" wanted to know Paschal, interested.

"I have no exact idea. After all, the slope was steep, and estimating time underground is difficult, at best. We I'd say we travelled four or five miles."

"If your estimate is correct, then the tunnel was getting close to the river that Dunbar mentioned, and you were well over two hundred and fifty feet below the floor of the forest. Was there any seepage?"

"No, it was dry, and getting pretty hot, if you want my opinion. We turned back when the floor levelled off, and the slope had been regular. One legionnaire estimated it at ten percent, quite steep, but still practical, and given the distance we covered, and I estimate we were two hundred to two hundred fifty feet below the surface of the forest. Another funny thing I notices was the glossy finish of the wall and floors. Very typical of Ancient work."

The more you talk about it, the more intrigued I am. I can't wait to see what you report tomorrow," commented Dunbar. "Will getting the horses inside be difficult?"

"Apart from their fear of dark places, I don't think so. Mitsuko makes the place brighter than a sunny day at sext! The doors were very wide, and we will have no problem getting carts in if we can get them there."

***

The next morning, prime had not yet passed that the cavalry was back on the road towards the artificial mountain. On arrival to the site, Harold split his men in two groups, one would find out whether it was possible to reach the road more directly from the entrance of the artificial cave and the other would protect him and his exploratory team by setting up defensive positions within the entrance.

Harold and ten legionnaires brought their horses inside the rotunda, and rode off along the corridor towards the cross of the T. It took only a few minutes to reach the crossing on horseback, and the group turned left again, following the previous day's path.

It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the spot where the previous expedition had turned back, marked by a chalky X. From there the horses were held in check and paced down the hallway. As expected the descent resumed shortly and kept going down, at about the same grade as before. The pattern repeated itself at regular intervals, and then stopped.

"So, how deep are we?" asked Harold.

"It's difficult to say, but my guess is about one thousand two hundred fifty feet, if the pattern is regular. And we covered some distance, I wager. I estimate we covered twenty-five miles since the T. We are well past the stream, and probably the wide river as well."

"OK. Let's get going, this more and more intrigues me. If your estimate is right, we may well have walked right under the next mountain range, and not even know it."

The horses resumed their walk and after another mile or so the slope began curving up. The feeling of urgency returned to Harold and it took all his will not to have his horse gallop down the corridor.

At a crossing, Harold almost continued straight, but Mitsuko flashed red rather than its customary white, and this made him halt, and look around more carefully. He spotted the branch and engaged in it with a green flash from his sword. This encouraged him to continue, after marking the branch and their direction of origin.

The group took off, more slowly this time, in what they thought was a secondary corridor, which was still going up at the usual ten percent gradient. A while later the noise of drums could be heard in the distance, so the men slowed and progressed more slowly.

The group suddenly came to the corridor's end, Mitsuko having reduced its brightness to a mere spark. What the men saw was horrible. A group of maybe fifty orcs were around a young man, teasing him with their poniards, pressing the red-hot blades on his denuded body, eliciting cries of pain and terror.

Harold couldn't stand this scene and decided to intervene.

"Close your eyes, men," whispered Harold, "we will blind these bastards and teach them a lesson they will bring with them to hell!"

The group did as asked and suddenly, Harold yelled 'Mitsuko!' asking the blade to bring the sun of sext to the room.

The orcs, totally taken by surprise, and blinded by the bright light of the sword, were slow to react as Harold came charging into the room. Before any of them had even time to turn around to understand what was going on, Harold had beheaded ten of them, and jumping over the fire had made his way to the torturers. His sword sliced the one Harold had seen from the head down to the thighs, neatly slicing him in half. As one of the orcs tried to attack from behind, the destrier gave a mighty kick from the rear, sending the orc in the fire pit.

The other horsemen had not been idle either and had dispatched a number of orcs before they had any chance to organize themselves.

"Hannibal! Circle the rotunda with Eriksson! We will hunt that varmint to the last!" ordered Harold.

The battle raged with utmost intensity and Barbary as the orcs tried to sell their skin at the highest price possible, but even with their numeric superiority, they were no match for mounted men that seemed to be inspired by God's angel of death. It took only five minutes to bring the rotunda to its former silence, as the last orc, the captain of the group from the markings, lost his head to Mitsuko.

Harold moved quickly to the figure that was tied to the cross for easy torture and swiftly cut through the ropes that had held him in place for the sadistic enjoyment of the orcs. The ropes had bit deeply in his wrists and ankles as the poor lad had writhed in pain.

The body was laid on the floor and Harold checked for a pulse. Finding a weak one at the neck, he figured the person was still alive.

"Mitsuko, cure this person!" ordered Harold, as the blade touched the torso. A deep green halo encircled the body and shortly, the burns, cuts, and other wounds disappeared, and the prone figure seemed to sleep deeply.

"We need to wash him, he is filthier than a pork after a mud bath. Eriksson, Hannibal, go check the exit and see where we are. Do not go further than the door. Terry, Michael, and a few others, find water. The Ancients must have used water, and there must be a source, somewhere! Travel two by two, never alone! The rest, we need to find a way to carry him back with us, and he definitely doesn't seem to be fit to ride a horse. Build a stretcher from our ropes!"

It took twenty minutes to find water within the structure, but finally, the legionnaires found a strange room that had flowing water. It was coming out of a wall, through a hole that seems way too circular to be natural, and the water gushed out of it with a lot of pressure. Rust could be seen along the wall, and funny holes were found in the ground some distance away from the water source. Some sort of bowl was attached to the holes, but the legionnaires couldn't figure out what these were. Nonetheless, they decided to take the water from the sprout rather than the stagnant dirty pool they found at the bottom of the bowls. To be ignorant does not equate with being stupid, and they decided it was better running water, however magical its source, than any stagnant pool.

By then, Hannibal and Eriksson had done their job and came back to report to Harold.

"Legate, the exit faces west, and from the sun's position, we estimate it is one hour before sext, because the mountains create a shadow over the exit. From our lookout point, we found what seem to be vestiges of an old road. The exit is clear. It is a cliff face, much like the one at the other end."

"Any trace of rivers or other dangers?"

"There is a huge river ahead, but it is at least a month's trip away. The valley is narrower north and wider south, indicating the river travels southward. We are high, but I do not think we gained any real altitude relative to the other entrance. It's the valley that seems to be dug in deeper."

"Thank you, Hannibal."

"Legate Harold, the stretcher is ready. We tied it between two horses, and used a horse blanket to keep the body from rubbing on the ropes. Michael has washed the body and has asked you come look at it."

Harold accompanied Terry to where Michael continued to carefully wash the boy. He was down to the legs and was almost finished.

"What is it, Terry?"

"Look at his ears, Legate. They are strange."

Harold, up to now, had not bothered to look at the boy more than necessary, occupied as he was by the necessity of command. What he saw made him raise his eyebrows. First, the ears were pointed; second, the skin was without the hair, whatsoever, except on the head. The eyes were widely spaced and presented long blond eyelashes. The eyebrows, as blond as his hair, were narrow and well defined. The nose was straight and projected a light shadow on the pink, full lips. The chin, cheeks and for that matter, the rest of the body was totally hairless; yet the genitals seemed to be those of an adult, with the scrotum showing that the balls had dropped. Boy, man? The question remained unanswered.

The legionnaires had found clothes, severely torn, made of a silky tissue like they had never seen before. The cut seemed to have been for the boy's size. Searching the body of the orc captain, the legionnaires found an exquisite dagger, whose handle represented a maple leaf, enclosed in a finely worked leather scabbard. Another one found a short bow and a quiver of arrows that matched the quality of the blade, so they assumed they belonged to the same person. Also found was a quarterstaff that had both ends wrapped in a metal like none they had seen before.

Harold was particularly fascinated by the staff, and looked at it carefully.

"Legionnaires, this quarterstaff is made of ironwood and this metal is mithril. I had heard the Ancients made lots of things in it, but it is so rare it makes this quarterstaff a treasure in itself. Is there any more of this material or anything else laying around that might belong to this boy?"

"I found this rope, it has a strange feeling to it, like silk, and is very light and slippery. It is also very long, Legate, yet it packs in a very small space. It was with this backpack that contained this gourd of fine leather, and this funny-looking object. I have never seen any like thing before. The pack also contained a bowl and cup of a metal that is similar in appearance to the one found on the tip of the quarterstaff."

"And I found this set of armoured leggings and this finely worked metallic chainmaille³³³³ ("Chainmaille: an arrangement of finely interweaved metallic rings that were designed to protect the body while maintaining enough flexibility.") vest. There was also this finely made sword."

The sword had the same maple leaf pattern on the blade, along with writings that made no sense to them. The vest, to be passed over the head while the arms were up and could slide in the sleeves, proved to be remarkably light.

"Legionnaires, let's head back, we have a long way to go, and I want to be back at the caravan before vespers, this time! Wrap the boy in another blanket, and then tie him up to the stretcher. You two get some of the stuff from the orcs, mostly a few blades and the sort of things. I want to know if this place has been disturbed when we return, so we will organize them in a pattern that will be easily recognizable if it is so. We will tie them using a fishing line that should cross the path of the hallway and trigger the blades to fall some distance in the hallway we came from. Let's call this our early warning system for trouble. I do not want to fall on a party of orcs with the carts in close quarters."

It took the legionnaires thirty minutes to booby-trap the entrance, and once this was set, a fine, almost invisible, string was strung across the rotunda, over the cross, along the corridor's roof, and finally held tense with a dangling poniard swung expertly over an overhang in the ceiling of the long passageway they had come from. The poniard pulled just a little on the string, and would fall to the ground almost silently if any object happened to cut or disturb the string at the other end. These precautions taken, the party returned to their point of origin at a gallop, the horse's shoes making a noise that would have given thought to the hardiest of their enemies.

***

They made good speed and were out of the artificial mountain an hour before vespers. Harold immediately convened the leaders of the caravan to Annabelle's cart. Dunbar and Williams, along with Paschal and his now very close friend Sitar, joined Harold and Annabelle for a discussion of what had been discovered so far.

The report was short and to the point. Annabelle, Dunbar and Williams wanted to see the strange boy the expeditionary team had rescued, so they all took a quick walk to the Healer's cart, right besides the one occupied currently by Annabelle.

Paschal took a single look at the boy, and exclaimed "An elf! You found an elf! That is marvellous. I wonder how long he will sleep?"

"I have no idea, Paschal," replied the healer. I have never met any of his kind before."

"What makes you think it is an elf?" wanted to know Harold. He had thought it could be the case, but had dismissed the idea as preposterous.

"His ears, the golden-white colour of his hair, and the total lack of body hair; he is as bald as Harp! Mother told me about elves before I got taken away, and he matches the description in every detail."

"Until further notice, then, this is an Elf. And according to the effort Mitsuko put in pushing me towards him so we could affect the rescue, he must be a good Elf. We will treat him with honour and respect until proven wrong."

Everyone agreed, and returned to Annabelle's cart to resume their strategic planning.

"Dunbar, I think we should plan on using this passage, even if we do not know exactly where it will land us. Getting across first the rapid stream, then the wide river, and then climb the mountain range ahead that the fog the river gives out hides from view, to be again exposed to an orc attack in a tight, narrow pass, doesn't enchant me. On the other hand, there is nothing I would love more than to vanish right under the nose of that scouting party."

"I agree, but we must push them far enough to have time to do the movement without being seen, and hide our passage to any scout. How do you plan to proceed?"

"I am missing a piece of information. Has Centurion Yamato returned?"

"Yes, he has, about an hour before you did. He went hunting and should be back shortly with deer and boars. We are running low on meat."

"Fine. As soon as he is back, let's reconvene and see what he has to report on the task I assigned him this morning."

"It must be good, because he was all smiles, when I met him," replied Annabelle. "When I enquired, all he said was that you would be pleased."

"Good, we need a break, and that may be it."

Fifteen minutes later, the hunting trip was back, and had killed a deer, three boars, and countless birds. The team had also found a stream that crossed the road ahead. It had been hidden from view by thick underbrush, and escaped the cavalry confined to the roads. This was a nice bonus, because the water barrels were getting pretty empty.

It was decided that the next day, the caravan would travel to the stream and, as each cart crossed the culvert, a siphon would be used to bring the water from the stream to the barrels. To create the siphon's tubing, a series of wood pipes were drilled in flexible tree trunks found at the edge of the forest. Boring the holes took most of the night for the people involved, but they could sleep during the day while the barrels were being filled.

It actually took a lot less time than expected to create the tubing, since there were a number of long thin trees that had grown in the sunlight afforded by the road's existence. The hard part was boring straight in the middle of each segment, but Williams was well tooled, and had drill bits and a rotor that could be activated by pedals and a leather strap. By matins, four tubing systems were ready and would be primed by using one of Harold's blowers to suck off the air. The issue of watertight joints was resolved by covering them with tar and a piece of deerskin tied tightly at the joints.

Everything proceeded as expected the next morning. By tierce, the first carts stopped at the culvert, and their barrels got filled, from both sides of the caravan, using the longest tubing to fill in the barrels on the inside carts, and the shorter ones to fill in the outside carts. There was leakage, but not too much, and the siphoning worked marvels. It took less than fifteen minutes to service a cart. It was decided that this afternoon's routine would change and the caravan would continue to advance until one hour before vespers, so that each cart would have been filled by then.

Once the last barrel was filled, the caravan halted and prepared for the night.

***

The night was well advanced, when, suddenly, Harp was heard talking in his sleep by his brother.

"Come on Blackie! Stop licking my face! I'm tired! Come on! Stop! It tickles!" and the giggle Harp made finally woke up Sitar. Sitar suddenly jerked up, feeling a wet tongue run along the sole of his left foot! His yell woke up the others in the cart, and pandemonium broke loose.

"Cleopatra! How many times must I tell you not to lick my feet?"

Harold, Annabelle, and Paschal were startled awake and found the cart invaded by two big dogs. The yelps of pups could be heard outside. The camp was in turmoil. The first reaction of Annabelle and Harold was astonishment, soon followed by worried glances at each other. The centurion in charge of the guard past matins was summoned.

Annabelle glared at the man, too enraged to say a word, so Harold took over.

"Centurion, I would like to understand why two dogs and their pups managed to escape your watch?"

"I don't know, Legate! I shall investigate!"

"I want more than an investigation, I want an explanation! We are lucky these are Sitar's and Harp's dogs; what if they had been predators?"

The miserable look of the Centurion did not buy him any favours from Harold, who had grown very protective of the children and his expecting wife.

"When was the last round of the guards?"

"Two hours!"

"I must contradict you, Centurion", piped up a decurion, "it is near prime, and your last round was two hours after matins. Just look outside, the false dawn is upon us! Me and my men should have been relieved four hours ago!"

The faulty centurion was red in the face and glared at his decurion. He dared not protest the declaration of the man, for he knew it was true and would be confirmed by the other guards.

"So you slept on duty, and, because of your neglect, the guards were not relieved on time. What do you think happened to some of them?"

"They too fell asleep on duty, and therefore the dogs could enter camp without raising any alarm."

"Quite correct, centurion. I shall not punish the guards, they had their job to do, and you failed them. However, centurion, I shall ask that your misconduct be recorded. The punishment is mild only because the neglect did not have more dreadful consequences. Dismissed!"

The centurion saluted and left the cart, knowing he had displeased a person he greatly respected. He vowed to himself to make up for his misconduct.

Meanwhile the pups had been brought in the cart by Paschal and Sitar, all six of them. The dog family settled in a corner, while Cleopatra gave milk to the pups, which were not yet totally weaned.

"So, Sitar," asked Dunbar, "what did I say about hope?"

"To never despair, and you are right!"

Looking at the joy visible in Harp and Sitar's face. Harold sighted. "Annabelle, our family grew even more. We now have two dogs and six pups to care for."

"Yes, I know! Isn't that beautiful? And do not forget the Elf!"

"What elf?" wanted to know Harp, who, like many in the caravan, did not know the secret cargo that was hidden in the Healer's cart.

"Oh, we found an elf," said, dismissively, Harold. "He is recovering in the Healer's cart. It should be another couple of days before he is strong enough to sit and ten days before he can walk again."

"Can I see him? Please? I love elves!"

"Harp, the elf isn't a circus freak attraction. But, yes, you will be able to see him, when the healer allows visitors in a fortnight or so. I shall ask that Sitar and Paschal accompany you. He hasn't been that talkative according to the healers, but I figure you boys might get him out of his shell."

"Oh, OK, I'll bring one of the pups, maybe it will help!" declared in a tone that let no place for contradiction, a very pleased Harp.