T’Aragam
The Max Ransome Chronicles
Jack W. Regan
Sweatshoppe Publications
Grand Rapids, Michigan
T’Aragam
Copyright ©2009
Jack W. Regan
ISBN: 1-4421-1459-2
EAN-13: 978-1-4421-1459-3
LCCN: 2009924819
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Published by Sweatshoppe Publications
Dedication
For Bef
Acknowledgments
Countless friends helped make this book by contributing ideas, character names, constructive criticism, and encouragement. Most of them even understood when I disappeared for months at a time and refused to return phone calls. They endured both my rage when the writing wasn’t going so well and also my smugness when it was. Thanks!
Chapter One
Some Dire News
“Ridiculous. Just ridiculous, that’s what it is!” Gramkin stumbled on the rocky path, going to one knee and tearing a hole in his breeches. “To wait and let me know the grim state of affairs until it’s almost too late to avert disaster.” Short and stocky, the medgekin sported a wispy gray beard and an outrageously bald head.
It was a moonless night. Clouds obscured the stars and the only light came from the sporadic blinking of chuckle bugs, which are like fireflies that light up only when they’re amused. It could have been Gramkin’s imagination, but they seemed to glow more brightly every time he tripped in the dark.
“Hateful creatures,” he muttered. Indignant, he pushed himself to his feet. He brushed his hands, dirtied in the fall, on his leather jerkin and continued down the path. It was a familiar route, but still he held both arms out, feeling his way through the darkness. He tested the ground with one foot before stepping forward and saved himself another nasty fall as he discovered a tree limb fallen across the trail.
The trees grew thick in this area and Gramkin shuddered as a sound wafted through the forest. He paused and listened, but heard nothing further except the wind in the trees and the scraping of branches.
He continued onward, hurrying to escape the darkness. Then he heard the sound again—a rustling in the bushes, the snap of a twig.
Verging on panic, Gramkin broke into a run, stumbling on every other step as his little feet pounded the path. The sounds kept pace as if something was following him. Something larger, faster…
Then all was silent. Gramkin heard only the thud of his own footsteps. Strangely, the silence seemed even more terrifying and he didn’t slow his pace, following the trail by memory and ignoring the low-hanging branches that slapped at him. He wore a small knife at his side and he felt for it, the coolness of the hilt offering a small comfort.
He rounded a bend in the trail and came to a sudden halt.
Something tall and gaunt stood in his way, arms outstretched, giving a specter-like appearance in the darkness. In one hand it held a long staff and, raising it, tapped it once on the path. Immediately, the area was illuminated and Gramkin risked an upward glance.
“Zohar!”
The wizard looked displeased. His long beard bristled and his unruly eyebrows sloped disapprovingly. “Gramkin? What are you doing wandering about the forest in the middle of the night? Where are you going?” Zohar’s voice sounded like dry parchment being crumpled in a fist.
“I am on…medgekin…business,” gasped Gramkin, relieved by Zohar’s appearance, but annoyed at the questioning. “And, if you must know, I am headed for Ransome Hall.”
“It must be vital to warrant such a dangerous journey,” Zohar said. “You are fortunate I happen to be going that way myself. Have you not heard of the recent phantor activity in the area? I had an encounter with them just this evening.”
Gramkin had recovered sufficiently to remember his pride and he huffed. “Quite important, actually. The annual medgekin games are scheduled for tomorrow and we seem to be completely out of cheese. You know everyone will be expecting a large variety of cheeses. We medgekins are known for it.”
“Cheese!” Zohar’s beard rustled indignantly. “Foolish medgekin! T’Aragam teeters on the brink of disaster and you worry about cheese!”
Gramkin blinked. “Disaster?”
“Eh, but I’ve said too much.” Zohar cleared his throat. “Here I chide you for wandering through the forest at night and then continue to detain you. Come, I’ll escort you the final distance to Ransome Hall.”
* * *
Ransome Hall was a large stone castle on top of a hill. One side of the hill broke off abruptly and formed a steep cliff, at the base of which lapped the murky waters of Lake Dismal. Around the remainder of the hill circled a dry moat, which was separated from the lake by a man-made dam. The moat could be flooded at a moment’s notice by raising the floodgate and letting the water pour in.
A drawbridge crossed the moat and across this ran Zohar and Gramkin. Even though the hour was late, lights burned in the windows of the castle.
“Someone’s up,” Zohar said. “Perhaps Lord Ransome has company.”
“I hope they haven’t eaten all the cheese,” Gramkin said, his small legs struggling to keep up with the wizard’s lengthy stride.
Zohar sighed. “Enough with the cheese. We have much more serious issues at hand.”
Gramkin started to ask what kind of issues, but was too out of breath.
At last they stood at the massive front door. Zohar took a deep breath and used his staff as a knocker. To Gramkin, who was expecting only the sound of a staff against a wooden door, the sound was enormous. It boomed through the mansion, causing even more lights to appear in windows.
A minute passed before the door was flung open. A guard stood there, his sword drawn and ready.
“Who goes there?”
Over the guard’s shoulder, Zohar saw someone else approaching, a tall, broad-shouldered man with short dark hair and a small goatee. The man’s demeanor marked him as a leader. Recognizing him, Zohar deflected the guard’s blade with his staff and boldly stepped past him.
“Lord Ransome!”
“Who is it that interrupts my dinner party with such rude manners?” demanded Lord Ransome, continuing forward. He smiled when he caught sight of the wizard. “Zohar! I should have known. You were never one for the strict social graces.”
“I offer my apologies, Lord Ransome. My entrance must seem a little untoward.”
“Entrance! I was referring to the late hour. The festivities are drawing to an end.”
“Festivities?”
“Dinner and entertainment. Most of the guests have already left and we were just cleaning up. Didn’t you get the invitation I sent?”
Zohar shook his head apologetically. “I did not. I do travel quite a bit.”
Lord Ransome shrugged. “Well, no matter. What brings you here, then? Not bad news, I hope.”
“I’m afraid so.” Zohar moved farther into the room and the guard closed the door. “Might I speak to you in private?”
Lord Ransome raised an eyebrow. “That serious, eh? Very well, we can talk in my study.” He turned and led the way down the hall. Gramkin trailed unseen behind the two men.
Lord Ransome’s study was a magnificent room constructed of red cherry wood and furnished with leather upholstered furniture. Bookshelves lined the walls and books lined the shelves. New and old, thick and thin, these books represented the ancient knowledge of T’Aragam, volumes of history, collections of poetry and prose. An avid collector of literature, Lord Ransome had even tried his hand at crafting a bit of his own and several of his own works appeared amid the lists of titles.
“Your library grows more impressive each time I visit,” Zohar said. “And speaking of such…” He reached into the folds of his cloak and removed a small, leather bound book. “I found this last month during my travels.” He handed the book to Lord Ransome who examined it with growing excitement.
“The Compendium of Magic, Vol. 13!” he breathed, taking the book. It was a smallish volume, its leather cover dyed blue. There was gold etching on the facing that shimmered in the firelight. Lord Ransome opened the book and flipped a few pages. “I’ve searched everywhere for this. It’s the final volume, the only one missing from my set! You have my gratitude, Zohar. You are a book hunter of the finest caliber.”
Zohar chuckled. “High praise coming from you, Lord Ransome. It cost a fair sum, I’ll admit, and I had to travel to some rather unsavory corners of T’Aragam to find it. There are forces at work who would be most displeased if they knew of its existence and especially so if they knew it was in your possession.”
“A rare book as well as intrigue.” Lord Ransome smiled. “It doesn’t get any better than that.”
“I’m pleased you like it,” Zohar said, “but about the reason for my visit.”
“Of course.” Lord Ransome regretfully closed the book and set it aside on his desk. “What is so important that it brings you in haste in the middle of the night?”
“There has been increasing phantor activity in the south, Lord Ransome. Just last week a group of cutters was wiped out in a surprise attack on the northern border as they were going about their normal duties of cutting back the advance of the Dark Wood.”
“They didn’t stray past the borders of the Wood?”
“Not that we could tell. Of course, there were no survivors left to tell the story once I arrived.”
“You are the one who found them?”
“I discovered the site of their demise, if that’s what you mean,” Zohar said grimly. “There wasn’t much left of the poor fellows. Some cutting tools and a few scattered pieces of clothing was about it. Obvious signs of a struggle covered the ground. Trampled grass, fresh dirt turned up, drag marks…”
“Drag marks?”
Zohar nodded. “Drag marks. Long trails in the turf, as if heavy objects had been dragged along the ground.”
“And where did these trails lead?”
“Into the Dark Wood. Trees must eat as well.”
Both men fell silent, Lord Ransome understanding the implication and Zohar letting it sink in. Zohar broke the silence.
“It is becoming increasingly obvious that, along with the phantors, the Dark Wood is regaining its power, feeding off an increasingly evil presence in T’Aragam.”
At these terrible words Gramkin let out a squeak. Lord Ransome frowned.
“Is someone else in the room?”
Zohar looked back and saw Gramkin cowering behind him. “I apologize, Lord Ransome. I met this medgekin on the path to Ransome Hall and escorted him the rest of the way. I was unaware he had followed us into your private study.”
With his staff he made a shooing motion toward Gramkin, who dodged out of the way and scuttled to the door.
Once back out in the hall, Gramkin sniffed. Unless he was badly mistaken the smell of cheese was in the air. There was no doubt a large spread laid out for the dinner party and he hoped to be able to lay his hands on a large portion of it. Then he could sneak out and make his way home before anyone noticed he had been away.
Gramkin followed his nose to the banquet hall, which was still decorated with bright ribbons and festive greenery. All the guests had gone home, however, and the only people in sight were a few workers who moved along the tables cleaning and clearing dishes.
Careful to stay out of sight, Gramkin moved cautiously along the tables, but the only cheese he found was scattered crumbs on the floor and some on a table where the platter must have rested.
If I could just find that platter, he thought, I’d have more than enough cheese to see us through the games tomorrow.
Finding the kitchen was an easy task and finding the cheese was even easier, given Gramkin’s finely attuned sense of smell. No one was in the kitchen when he entered, but Gramkin was still cautious as he made his way across the room to a large cupboard. He sniffed around the edges of the door for a moment and then slowly opened it. There lay a huge platter of cheeses. Blocks of cheese, cubes of cheese, cheese slices of varying thickness…ahhhhhh! Gramkin’s mouth watered.
“I’d better sample a bit of each variety,” he murmured, “just to make sure it’s worthy of being served at the games.”
With this noble intention, he snatched up a slice of cheese and fondled it a little before nibbling off the teeniest corner. His eyes rolled back in his head with delight as he savored the rich, pungent flavor.
A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, causing Gramkin to yelp and leap into the air with surprise. A voice hissed from behind,
“I’ve caught you this time, you little swine!”
Chapter Two
Phantors!
Max Ransome heard shouting from down the hall and hurried to investigate. It was coming from the kitchen and he looked in at the door to see the head cook holding a short, stocky creature up by the collar and dangling him dangerously close to a pot of water boiling on the stove. The wretched creature looked terrified and clutched something in its left hand. Max looked closer and saw it was a piece of cheese.
“So it’s you who’ve been stealin’ our cheeses!” the cook roared. “I should drop you into the soup water and serve you up to Lord Ransome!” She dipped his toe into the hot water, but pulled it out immediately. “But then why let you off so easy? I’ll deliver you to Lord Ransome in person. He has no use for thieves. He’ll string you up from the tower! That he will!”
Max decided he should intervene quickly. “You can put him down, Lydia,” he said. “He looks harmless enough.”
The cook started and turned. Max leaned against the door frame and watched the entire scene with amusement.
“Don’t be fooled by his innocent appearance,” the cook huffed. “He’s a dirty thief, is what he is.” Although obviously displeased with the interruption, she did as she was told and set Gramkin down, not too gently, on the stone floor. She cast him a final dirty look before stalking from the kitchen.
Gramkin bowed toward Max. “Thank you, young Ransome. You may have saved me from being an entrée at the next Ransome Hall feast!”
Max had been trying to adopt a stern expression, but at this remark he broke into a smile. “I doubt that,” he said. “We’re not complete barbarians. How do you know who I am?”
“Everybody around here knows who you are. You are Max Ransome, Lord Ransome’s son, heir to the castle, blah-blah-blah.”
“Blah-blah-blah?”
Gramkin coughed. “In a manner of speaking.”
“You have the advantage on me,” Max said. “You know much about me, but I know nothing about you. Except that you are a master thief with a weakness for Cheddar, of course.” He grinned. “Who are you?”
“Gramkin Truly is my name. You may call me Gramkin, as long as you do it with respect. Otherwise, you must call me Lord Truly.”
“Are you a lord?”
“Not in the slightest.” Apparently reassured by Max’s pleasant demeanor, Gramkin finished the cheese in his hand and then reached into the cupboard for another. He bit off a sizable portion and chewed regretfully. “To be honest, I’m really quite common as medgekins go.”
“You’re a medgekin?”
“Did I not just say so? Really!”
Max was interested. “I’ve only met a couple of your kind. I’ve read that some medgekins possess the power of mind control. Is that true in your case?”
“As I said, I’m really quite common as medgekins go, but I do possess a gift or two. One of which is the ability to read the minds of willing subjects.”
“So you can’t read the mind of someone who doesn’t wish it?”
“Precisely. Some of the ancient medgekins have developed more advanced skills, but I’m afraid I am somewhat limited.”
“Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?”
Gramkin closed his eyes and concentrated. “You are thinking of a meadow full of flowers.”
Max looked startled and then broke into a huge grin. “That’s amazing! How did you do that? There’s a trick to it, isn’t there?”
Gramkin shrugged. “The key to mind control is suggestion. Most mind readers don’t actually read someone’s mind—they inject a thought or idea into the subject’s mind and then merely tell the subject the thought or idea. But as I said, the subject has to be willing.”
“Try this one,” Max said. “What does my father usually do with thieves he finds looting the castle?”
“He’d never string me up from a parapet,” Gramkin said, dismissing the notion with a wave. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise this will be the last time I accept any gifts from your kitchen.”
“Are you saying you have permission from my father to be here?”
“Well, I don’t have a signed invitation, if that’s what you mean,” Gramkin said, waving his fingers in the air, “but the last time he caught me down here…I mean, the last time we dined together he did mention that if I was ever in need I should come to him.”
“I’m not sure this is what he meant.”
Gramkin turned back to the cupboard. “I’ve known your father for years,” he said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” He shook his head violently as if clearing cobwebs. “Anyway, I need this cheese to serve at the annual games tomorrow. If I don’t have cheese to serve there will be trouble!”
“The annual medgekins games are tomorrow? I’ve read about those, although I’ve never seen them.”
“They are something to behold,” Gramkin said. “They’ve been held every year for a millennium with no lack of cheese. This is the first year I’ve been in charge of the provisions. If I fail, I’ll be disgraced!”
“Isn’t there a special reserve of cheese set aside for the games?” Max asked. “What happened to it?”
Gramkin looked uncomfortable.
Max laughed out loud. “You’ve been pinching cheese from your own store room, haven’t you? You are quite the glutton!”
Now thoroughly embarrassed, Gramkin reddened. “I have a high cheese requirement.”
This excuse only made Max laugh harder. “Oh, I see! I suppose you require cheese like other people need sleep? Or water?”
“Precisely. I not only love cheese, I need cheese. It defines me as a medgekin.”
“It defines you as a thief,” Max said, sobering. “Speaking of which, you need to get out of here before someone else finds you and reports to my father.”
“But…the games!”
Max hesitated, but finally went to a cabinet and removed a canvas sack. “Fine. You seem harmless enough. Fill this bag with cheese and then get out of here. But this is the last time!”
Gramkin nodded and got to work busily dumping cheese into the sack.
The room trembled.
Did you feel that?” Max looked at Gramkin.
“Yes, the room trembled,” Gramkin said calmly. He continued snatching cheese for a moment, then stopped abruptly and straightened. “In the name of Gouda, the room trembled!”
Running to the door, Max looked into the hall. He could hear shouts from inside the castle and the sound of running footsteps. Then from somewhere in the night he heard something else…a low moaning sound so powerful it made the door shiver on its hinges.
Although he didn’t remember hearing the sound before, it seemed strangely familiar, like the feeling of deja vu he sometimes got. From down the hall came muffled shouts and the clank of metal. Within moments, members of the guard hurried past, heading toward their posts in the towers. They were dressed in full battle attire and carried their weapons at the ready.
“Something’s wrong,” Max said, setting off in pursuit of the soldiers. Gramkin shouldered his bag of contraband and hurried to catch up.
They met Lord Ransome and Zohar coming out of the study. Both men looked grim and Lord Ransome grabbed Max’s shoulder.
“We are under attack,” he said. “I need you to go to the armory—it’s the safest place in the castle. Wait there until either I or Zohar come for you.” He gave Max a push and then turned and walked quickly after his soldiers.
Zohar looked once at Max, saying only, “Do as your father says,” before following after Lord Ransome.
The armory was a long, narrow, windowless room. Weapon racks, now mostly empty, lined the walls. Max and Gramkin entered and looked around. Lord Ransome had never allowed Max to play in the room when he was little and the room had always held an element of mystery. Now, with the strange moaning sounds still reaching them and the occasional shudder of the floor, it was nothing short of creepy.
“What did my father mean by ‘under attack’?” Max wondered aloud. During his sixteen years, Ransome Hall had never faced an enemy. He had heard of battles being fought in other places and even heard recent rumors about trouble, but had never seen warfare up close.
Gramkin, who was much older than Max, did not share his curiosity. “It’s the phantors!” he said, his voice high-pitched with fright and frustration. “Why tonight of all nights?”
Despite the circumstances, Max snickered. “Are you seriously annoyed that you’ve been interrupted in your thievery? I’m personally more concerned about surviving until morning!” He sat down next to Gramkin, who seemed on the verge of panic. “Tell me more about these phantors. Are they really dangerous?”
“Dangerous! They’re the most evil creatures in T’Aragam. Trust me, the less you know about them the better.”
“But who are they? Where do they come from?”
“They live in the Dark Wood.” Gramkin was shaking and he stood up and began pacing. “That’s where their power is the strongest. But lately they’ve been straying into the surrounding provinces, Grendale and Andulas, and causing mischief. I heard your father and Zohar talking in the study. A group of cutters was killed just a few days ago on the border of Grendale.”
“That’s not far from here!”
“Exactly. This must be their next stop.” Gramkin’s pacing quickened and he felt for his knife.
“But why us?”
“For the love of Muenster!” Gramkin stopped pacing for a brief moment. “Don’t you read the history books? The phantors were a part of the uprising that threatened to conquer T’Aragam some years back. Your father played an important role in defeating them, mainly by bringing Grendale and Andulas together in a powerful alliance. There have been rumors that those responsible for the first uprising are up to their old tricks. Obviously, your father would have to be taken care of early to prevent him from rallying T’Aragam’s forces once again.”
The floor trembled and the few remaining weapons shook in the racks. Gramkin resumed his pacing and, as the trembling increased, suddenly grabbed the bag of cheese and broke for the door.
“I refuse to die here!” he shrieked. “There may still be time to make it home before the castle falls!”
“Gramkin!” Max grabbed for the little man’s jerkin, but the smooth leather slipped between his grasping fingers. He hesitated and then started after his new friend. As an afterthought, he halted and grabbed a sword and scabbard from the rack before heading out the door.
The medgekin was already halfway down the hall and Max struggled to catch up, while at the same time buckling the sword around his waist.
Outside the armory, Max could hear the noise of battle. The shouts of the soldiers, the strange moaning, and another sound he couldn’t place. A hissing, crackling, whooshing sound, like the blaze of a fire when fresh fuel is added.
Then Max heard a scream from somewhere above. In one of the towers a soldier had been hit. But it wasn’t the sudden scream of a man cut with a sword or pierced by an arrow. It started low and then increased in pitch and volume. Most horribly, it continued for several seconds before slowly dying out again in the same manner as it started.
Max shuddered and continued after Gramkin, who had disappeared around a corner. Max turned the corner and stopped. There was no sign of the medgekin and the only way out from here was a flight of steps leading upward—toward the battle. Bracing himself and grabbing the hilt of the sword, Max ran up the steps, shouting Gramkin’s name.
A soldier appeared at the top of the stairs, causing Max to come to a screeching halt and almost sending him backward down the steps.
“Young Ransome! What are you doing up here? Didn’t your father instruct you to remain below?” Instead of waiting for an answer, the soldier grabbed Max’s shoulder and turned him around. “Now get back to the armory and stay there. It’s not safe!”
Max turned back around to ask the soldier if he’d seen Gramkin, but before he could speak he heard the same crackling sound from earlier. A moment later the man in front of him burst into blue flame. His face registered shock and the same horrible scream ripped from his throat.
Hearing the death was nothing compared with witnessing it. The soldier’s armor melted around him, encasing his upper body in molten metal. His flesh liquefied and then quickly turned to ash. Within seconds all that remained was a twisted pile of melted armor and scattered ashes.
Max stood on the steps, shocked and sickened. Then he became aware of something approaching him. Looking up, he saw a swirling dark mist. It was somewhat in the shape of a man, but without defined features. Like a phantom, its face was only a black smudge and appeared to be shadowed by a hood. It moved across the stone floor as smoothly and quietly as smoke. Max didn’t have to be told…this was a phantor. Even the atmosphere felt evil and, although he couldn’t see any facial features, Max knew the creature was leering.
It was going to kill him.
Chapter Three
Escape from Ransome Hall
Max drew the sword and held it in front of him, although knowing it would be of no use against the strange creature and its devastating weapon. For some reason the phantor paused and seemed to peer closer at Max, as if trying to recognize him.
It spoke. The low, raspy voice made Max shudder.
“Raaaansommme…”
Max gripped the sword tightly, the tip held up and pointing at the phantor. How had the apparition known his name? His knees felt weak and for a moment he thought he might either pass out or be sick. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt thick and immobile.
The phantor moved forward and reached out toward Max, brushing his cheek. The touch was ice cold. The creature raised its arm to unleash a ball of flame that would engulf Max in seconds, but a voice stopped it.
“Not so fast, demon.”
The phantor swirled and turned. Lord Ransome stood a few feet away, his own sword drawn and ready. The blade glowed with a golden light.
“I believe I’m the Ransome you seek. Let’s see how you fare against a foe armed with the means to defeat you!”
Hissing, the phantor unleashed a flaming blue orb toward Lord Ransome, who parried it with his sword. The phantor surged forward and reached for the lord’s throat, but shrieked as its efforts were rewarded with a slicing blow.
It drew back, snarled, and gathered for another attack. Then Max saw a second phantor gliding silently across the floor behind his father. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the words were lost in a whooshing crackle as a burst of blue fire erupted from the phantor’s outstretched hand.
Lord Ransome turned and saw the fire ball. He tried to bring up his sword, but was a second too late. The fire engulfed him as it had the soldier, reducing him to ash within moments.
Max closed his eyes and smothered a scream, while the room filled with howls from the phantors. Max began swinging his useless sword with abandon. It swished through the air and clanged off walls.
The howls turned to shrieks and Max heard another voice over the noise. It was Zohar.
“Cease your swinging, boy—you’ll behead me!”
Max opened his eyes and saw one of the phantors disappearing out the door. The other was nowhere to be seen.
“What…where’s the other one?”
Zohar dismissively waved his staff, the knob of which was pulsing with the same golden light Max had seen on his father’s sword. “I sent him back to the underworld where he belongs. Now come with me before it’s too late. Ransome Hall is lost and we must flee if we are to save our lives. Back to the armory, quickly!”
“But I just came from there,” Max protested. “There’s no way out. We’ll be trapped!”
Zohar ignored this reasonable concern and began dragging Max down the steps.
They reached the armory in short order and the wizard pushed Max inside and followed him through. He slammed the door, locking it securely.
No sooner had he done so than they heard moaning coming from the hall and knew the phantors had followed them to the hiding place. They heard the familiar whooshing noise and the door, which was oak reinforced with iron, shuddered. The thick oak planks smoked and the edges began to blacken.
“The door won’t hold them but a moment,” Zohar said. “Through here.”
He tapped his staff against the wall and Max watched in fascination as it fell away to reveal a staircase that disappeared into darkness.
“A secret passage!”
“Ah, a lad with keen insight into the obvious,” Zohar said. “Get in, boy.”
Max stepped through the doorway and then remembered Gramkin. “Gramkin!”
“What about him?”
“He ran off into the castle.”
“What the—! Why would he—?”
“I think he panicked. He thought he could make it out before the battle spread.”
“That worked out well,” Zohar growled. “Medgekins are no end of trouble. We can’t risk going back for him. The phantors are at the door as we speak. He’ll have to fend for himself. Now go, boy, go!”
“Where am I going?”
“Just follow the passage to its end. I’ll try to stall the phantors long enough to ensure your escape.”
“What about you?”
“Your concern is touching, but your survival is more important. You don’t understand that now—you’ll have to trust me.”
The door crumbled.
“Go!” Zohar turned his back on Max and filled the doorway, his staff held out in front like a rapier. “Phantors, you shall die!” he shouted.
Max didn’t wait to see what would almost certainly be the demise of an old family friend. Instead he took the wizard’s advice and descended the steps as quickly as he could. His feet reached the bottom and he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. He was on dirt now and standing up he felt around him to discover a narrow passageway. It was almost completely black, forcing him to feel his way along. As creepy as the passage was, the horrible sounds of battle from overhead kept him motivated and he pushed forward into the darkness.
In the previous crisis he had been unable to think and react normally, but now the reality of his father’s death came rushing back and he began to run, sobbing as he stumbled through the darkness, running into walls and once thumping his head on a low beam or tree root.
He was brought up short by running directly into something solid. Blinking away the stars the collision had produced in his line of vision, Max felt rough wooden beams in front of him and then the cool metal of a door handle. He pulled, but the door refused to open. After more blind grasping, he found a lock bar. With great effort he pushed it aside, the rust grating as the bar slid away.
The door opened hesitantly as he pulled on the handle, the hinges also being rusted and long unused. Max could now hear night sounds and the noise of battle was distant. Cautiously, he stepped through the doorway and looked around. He was in the forest surrounding Ransome Hall. He had played here many times, but didn’t remember ever seeing the door. He looked back and watched with surprise as the door gradually faded away. He grabbed for it, but it slipped through his fingers and disappeared. He walked around where it would have been, but there was nothing but bushes and trees.
“I hope I don’t have to go back that way,” he muttered.
“Not likely,” answered a voice.
Max jumped and his hand grasped the sword at his side. Then he recognized the voice. “Gramkin! You’re safe!”
“Quite. And no thanks to you! How could you abandon me like that?”
“Abandon…you panicked and fled! I came after you and was almost killed in the process.”
“I never panic,” Gramkin corrected. “I was merely…” He peered closely at Max. “Have you been crying?”
“No. I mean, maybe just a little.”
“Don’t blame you. I almost wet my—”
“My father’s dead,” Max blurted.
Gramkin stood speechless.
“It was the phantors. They were going to kill me. He stopped them.”
“This is indeed dire news,” Gramkin said. “And the castle has fallen?”
Max nodded.
Gramkin reached in the sack he still carried and offered Max some cheese. “Eat this. Nothing takes the edge off tragedy like a bit of cheese.”
Max waved it away, but the smell of the cheese incited hunger and on second thought he accepted it. He ate slowly, listening to the fading sounds of battle. It was almost quiet now. There was one last, long scream and then…silence.
“You can stay with me tonight,” Gramkin said. “Perhaps you can come to the games!”
“Let’s go, then,” Max said. “It’s only a matter of time before the phantors come down the same passage I used and we don’t want to be standing here when that happens.”
As if on cue, the low moaning drifted from the forest. They both looked around uneasily.
“Which way to your house?”
Gramkin pointed. “That way. But it’s not a house, exactly.”
“I don’t care what it is!” Max said. “Can we just go, please?”
They began running through the trees. There was no path and the branches of trees and brush snatched at them as they ran past. Gramkin led the way, but was so erratic in his direction that Max began wondering if the little man knew here he was going. He voiced the concern.
“I’ve lived here…all my…life!” Gramkin wheezed. “Of course I know where I’m…going.”
They ran on for several more minutes before Gramkin came to such an abrupt halt that Max ran into him, knocking the medgekin over and promptly falling on top of him.
Gramkin wriggled out from the tangle and stood up. “Okay, now I’m lost,” he said, looking around. “This part of the forest doesn’t look familiar.”
“You said you knew where we were!”
“And so I did! Then. But now things look all…not so familiar.”
“You didn’t lead us into the Dark Wood, did you?” Max punched a tree in frustration. “You did, didn’t you! We ran right into the phantor stronghold, didn’t we?”
“We can’t be too far into it,” Gramkin reasoned. “Merely on the outskirts. If we turn around now we should be able to make it back to the forest in no time. From there I’m sure I can find the way home.”
The moaning had not subsided. In fact, it had intensified and was growing louder by the minute.
“They won’t have much trouble finding us here,” Max said. “I remember my father talking about the Dark Wood and how treacherous it is. I was never allowed to play within a good distance of it.”
Gramkin looked around, trying desperately to get his bearings. “Which way were we facing when we first entered the Wood? If we just walk in the opposite direction from that, we should be out of its borders in short order.”
“I have no idea how long we’ve been in the Dark Wood,” Max said. “And we’ve changed direction several times, thanks to your rather casual approach to navigation. I’d have been better off just hiding in the forest until morning.”
“There is nothing wrong with my navigational methods,” Gramkin pouted. “Obviously, they’ve moved the forest around to confuse us. We’ll just have to outsmart them by working our way back to the starting point and then find our way home by going in the opposite direction.”
Max snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Whoever heard of moving a forest around? Not even Zohar could pull that one off.”
A branch rubbed against Max’s arm. He yelped and jumped aside.
Gramkin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem convinced.”
“I’m just a little jumpy,” Max said. Even as he dismissed the notion, some of the trees did seem to be in motion. Not moving, perhaps, but shifting slightly. “They’re just swaying in the wind.”
“Why do you think your father wouldn’t let you play anywhere near the Dark Wood?”
Max shrugged. “Because of the phantors, of course.”
“And what about when the phantors were all but destroyed some years ago? Not much of a threat then, were they?”
“I guess he just didn’t want to take chances. Look, can’t we just go? There has to be some way out of the Wood or at least somewhere we can hide until—”
Gramkin gasped as if a brilliant idea had just occurred to him. “The inn!”
A ball of blue fire shot from the Wood and hit the ground some distance in front of them. It carved a smoldering trench along the point of impact and several nearby trees burst into flames. They burned for a few seconds before exploding in a shower of limbs and splinters. Max and Gramkin were forced to hit the ground to escape the flying debris.
“What inn?” shouted Max. “Where is it?”
“Somewhere in the Wood not far from the castle. Your father set it up as a haven for passing travelers. It provided a safe place for them to spend the night. We can’t be too far from it.”
“That really narrows it down,” Max said sarcastically, “considering we have no idea where we are in relation to the castle.”
“There’s no need to be surly,” Gramkin huffed. “The phantors are coming from the castle. I’m sure as long as we keep them at our backs we’ll eventually find the inn.”
“I don’t think I’ll be running toward them any time soon,” Max replied. He considered Gramkin’s logic highly flawed, especially since it would likely require them going even deeper into the Dark Wood.
But now they were both up and running, making little attempt to find their direction. The moaning had become louder and assaulted their eardrums mercilessly. Max’s head pounded from the noise.
Another ball of fire streaked toward them. They ducked and it sailed overhead, demolishing a stand of young pines.
A streak of golden light pierced the night sky and was just visible through the overhead branches. Max stopped and pointed.
“Up there,” he said. “What is that?”
Gramkin followed the point, but shrugged. “Another phantor trick, no doubt.” He tugged Max’s arm. “Come on, we must keep going.”
Max continued staring upward. “It looks like a signal.” He thought back to the battle at Ransome Hall and the brilliant golden glow he’d seen pulsing from Zohar’s staff. “It’s Zohar! He’s signaling to us.”
“It could also be a trap,” Gramkin insisted, still gripping Max’s arm. “I say we keep going.”
“No!” Max jerked his arm away. “This is our only chance. It may be a trap, but we’ll never outrun the phantors on our own.”
For a brief moment Gramkin hesitated, but then saw the truth behind Max’s words. “All right, but if we die I’ll never forgive you.”
“Agreed!”
They changed direction and ran toward the beacon. Then they were out of the woods and running through an open field. Ahead of them stood an old, ramshackle inn, its windows alight and welcoming.
A fire ball crackled past and they watched as it headed straight for the inn. Max’s heart fell. Having seen what the flames could do to sturdy trees, there was no doubt in his mind what would become of the ancient building.
Just before the fatal moment, however, the fire ball seemed to hit a shield and it exploded in a breath-taking display of sparks and leaping flame.
The fire surrounded the building and began rising into the air, as if crawling up an invisible barrier. Soon the inn was encased in a globe of blue flame, which flared and sparked furiously without doing any harm.
Only a few yards from the inn, Max and Gramkin were brought up short by the fiery obstacle. Looking over their shoulders, they caught glimpses of the shadows advancing and knew another ball of fire could appear and devour them at any time. At this range, the phantors wouldn’t miss.
Through the flames, Max watched as the door of the inn flew open and Zohar appeared. His flowing, white beard bristled and his silver robe sparkled in the fire light. His eyes flashed and he held his long, knobby staff in one hand.
“Young Ransome!”
At Gramkin’s warning shout, Max looked back again and saw a fire ball heading their way. He turned his attention back to Zohar, who had raised his staff and pointed it in their direction. The wizard shouted a few words and a stream of pure white flame shot from the end of the staff and collided with the globe of blue fire.
The white fire burrowed into the globe, eating into it like dry sand absorbing rain water.
“Into the white flame!” Zohar cried, waving his free hand toward Max and Gramkin. “It’s your only chance! Jump for it!”
Max hesitated. Jumping into a wall of fire, whatever its color, wasn’t his idea of an escape, but a final glance over his shoulder showed the fire ball almost upon them. Taking Gramkin’s hand he counted to three and together they leaped into the inferno.
They landed unscathed on the ground inside the burning globe. Zohar lowered his staff and the white flame was quickly overpowered.
“Inside, quickly!” Zohar said, bending down to help Max and Gramkin to their feet. “You’re safe for the moment, but they won’t go away until you’re out of sight.”
As they passed through the door, Max looked up at the sign over the inn door. It read, “The Luscious Lemur.”
Chapter Four
At the Luscious Lemur
Leading the way inside, Zohar shut the door behind them and bolted it. A hat rack stood left of the door and the wizard leaned his staff against it. To Max’s surprise, he then removed his beard and also hung it on the hat rack.
“I don’t really have a flowing, white beard,” he explained, seeing their curious faces, “but it seems most people expect wizards to have them and without it people refuse to take me seriously. So I put it on whenever there’s a chance I may need to perform wizardly deeds.”
Max looked around the inn. The floor was made of wooden planks and mostly covered with brightly-woven rugs, while the walls were constructed with rough paneling. Sturdy beams crossed the ceiling and were covered in paraphernalia: extra lanterns, lengths of rope, furs, strings of vegetables, bags of potatoes, and even a wire birdcage. A large crow occupied the cage and eyed the newcomers warily.
Max approached and peered at the bird. It was almost as large as the cage and so firmly pressed against the wire that blue-black feathers poked out between the bars.
“That’s Roquefort,” Zohar said. “I’d stay away from him, were I you. He’s really quite hateful.”
To emphasize the point, Roquefort clicked his beak and Max retreated a step. “Are we safe here?” he asked, turning back to Zohar.
The wizard nodded. “For a time. The inn is protected against the evil magic of the phantors. I expect they will withdraw and wait for us to leave in the morning.”
“So let’s not,” Gramkin said. “We’ll just wait them out here.”
“Impossible,” Zohar said. “The inn can’t withstand an extended siege by the phantors and there may not be enough food to last but a couple of days. More importantly, we must get to King Grandmere and tell him Ransome Hall has fallen. He’ll need to gather his forces.”
Amazingly, Gramkin was still clutching the bag of cheese and this he waved at Zohar. “But I have to deliver this cheese. Without it, the games will be ruined!”
“There will be no games!” The sharpness in Zohar’s voice startled Max and Gramkin jumped. “T’Aragam is under full-fledged assault. The capture of Ransome Hall is only the beginning.”
“How did you escape the phantors?” Max asked.
“I fought them for a time and then retreated down the passage. Knowing the phantors would waste little time following, I made straight for the inn and had just arrived when I heard the phantors attacking somewhere in the Wood. Thinking you might be in trouble, I sent up the signal.”
“And just in time,” Max said. “We were completely lost.” He shot Gramkin a sour look, which the medgekin ignored.
A smile briefly tugged the corners of Zohar’s mouth. “Regardless, you made it safely and that is the important thing. Now all we need is a good night’s sleep.”
A piece of the door splintered.
Gramkin, who had been sitting with his back to it, jumped to his feet and whirled. Zohar and Max also started and the wizard quickly retrieved his staff and beard from the hat rack.
“Who is it?” Max whispered.
Zohar shook his head. “I can’t imagine. No phantor could enter through the shield. Its power hasn’t yet begun to fade.” He looked at Gramkin in disgust. “Stop whirling, medgekin, you’re making me dizzy. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. The shield is quite adept at discerning intentions. If whatever is out there intended us harm, it is doubtful it would have made it this close to the inn.”
Zohar walked to the door and slowly drew back the bar. The door burst open and in the frame stood a hideous creature. It looked like every scary monster that Max, as a small child, had ever imagined hiding under his bed: large, bulging eyes; jagged, dripping fangs; large feet with curved claws; long, unkempt hair stringing down over its eyes.
Max heard screaming and clamped his hands over his mouth to stop the noise, but the scream continued. Then he realized it was the monster who was screaming. Its wide eyes were terror-stricken and it trembled with fear.
Then, apparently unable to cope, the monster covered its eyes and howled in terror. Max took the opportunity to crawl out of sight under the table.
A minute passed and the monster slowly let one hand fall away from an eye. The eye peered around anxiously and, not catching sight of Max, the monster stopped screaming and uncovered his other eye.
“Blimey!” said the monster, his voice thick with a Cockney accent. “I’ve just seen the most ‘orrible monster!”
Gramkin, who had leaped into a barrel of provisions when the door had crashed open, now hauled himself out and fixed the monster with a disgusted stare. “Oh, for Limburger’s sake, Gloom, stop making a fool of yourself. It’s just a boy.”
“A child!” the monster shrieked. “You know I can’t stomach children.”
“You don’t have to stomach him,” Zohar interjected. “He’s not dinner. This is Lord Ransome’s son.”
Max poked his head out from under the table. “Um…I’m really quite harmless.”
Gloom whimpered and Max braced himself, but the scream didn’t come. Instead, Gloom watched as Max crawled out from under the table and positioned himself on a nearby stool.
“See?” Max said. “Harmless. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“What about monsters?”
“I don’t hurt them, either,” Max said, shaking his head. “I’ve always been afraid of monsters, actually.”
Gloom brightened and also sat down. He looked at Max hopefully. “Afraid of monsters?”
“Indeed,” said Max.
This pleased Gloom and Max watched with some amusement as the monster grinned, showing his horrible teeth.
“I’m a monster, ya know,” Gloom said imperiously. “And I don’t blame you for bein’ terrified. I’m really quite frightenin’. It’s been said that I’m the most ‘orrifyin’ creature to ever—”
Quiet to this point, Roquefort let out a piercing squawk.
“Help!” yelped Gloom. “It’s a bird!” He busied himself trying to crawl under a chair.
“Quit that!” Gramkin hauled the monster’s head out. “You’ll break the furniture. The bird can’t get at you; he’s in a cage.”
“Oh, right, right.” Gloom climbed back onto the stool and began grooming his fur self-consciously. “Lost me head there for a bit. Quite all right now.” He looked at Max and whispered, “I’m really not scared o’ birds, ya know. I’m just somethin’ of a prankster.”
Max nodded with understanding.
“What brings you here, Gloom?” Zohar asked, tiring of the show. “Besides your impersonation of a lunatic, that is. Which, I must say, was most convincing.”
“I was out lookin’ for me brother, actually.”
Gramkin frowned, concern etching his forehead. “You don’t mean that Doom is missing!”
“I do, indeed,” Gloom said. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen ‘im. I just assumed ‘e was down with the plague, but—”
“These monsters get the plague like you would get a cold,” Gramkin whispered to Max. “To them it’s nothing.”
Gloom continued: “—but when ‘e didn’t show up for the annual Tri-Monster Sonnet Competition I knew somethin’ was amiss. Doom never misses the Competition. This year ‘e was scheduled to deliver the opening verse. An epic, it was. No doubt would have claimed the prize!” At this, Gloom dissolved into tears. He grabbed the corner of a canvas potato sack and dabbed his eyes assiduously. The sack was still full of potatoes, but Gloom didn’t seem to notice. “Anyhow, I didn’t notice the night comin’ on and before I knew it, darkness had fallen across the land like quilted injustice. Ooh! Not a bad line for a poem, that.”
“We haven’t seen any sign of Doom, I’m afraid,” Zohar said. “We three just managed to escape the phantors with our own lives. We are traveling to Grendale tomorrow, however, and our path should pass close to your brother’s cave. We’d be happy to stop and inquire.”
“I know ‘e’s not at the cave,” Gloom said. “I’ve checked there.”
“Perhaps he was just out,” Zohar suggested. “Really, it would be no trouble.”
Moving carefully so as not to frighten him, Max went to stand next to Gloom and put his arm around the monster’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Gloom. I’m sure your brother is fine. Don’t cry.”
“I ain’t cryin’,” Gloom sobbed. “I’m allergic to birds.”
Roquefort squawked, as if to say, “Likewise, I’m sure.”
Zohar leaned his staff against the rack and hesitated a moment before deciding to leave his beard attached for the night. He took a last look out the window and then closed and locked the shutters. Walking to the fire, he tossed another few sticks into the flames before going to a corner chest and pulling out blankets and pillows.
“There’s nothing more we can do tonight,” he said. “We should all get a good night’s rest and see what the morning brings.”
“Hopefully, more cheese,” Gramkin muttered.
Chapter Five
Into the Dark Wood
Max jerked awake and sat up. He had to think for a few moments before remembering where he was. The realities of last night’s events came back to him and, jumping to his feet, he ran to a window.
Looking out, there was no indication of the phantors’ attack, except for a circle of singed grass surrounding the inn. The day itself, however, looked warm and inviting. The sun was high in the blue sky and the field of high grass surrounding the inn stirred in a slight breeze.
Only the Dark Wood suggested anything other than an idyllic summer day. Even in the bright sunshine the trees were mysterious and forbidding. As Max watched they seemed to move slowly back and forth, not a gentle swaying in the wind, but independently, as if shifting positions.
He tore his gaze away from the trees and, rubbing his eyes, stepped out into the sunlight. The sun was high in the sky and Max realized he had vastly overslept. The others were already awake and moving around outside, helping Zohar pack supplies into sacks piled on the back of a donkey. The animal didn’t appear at all happy with the arrangement and occasionally tried to bite whoever happened to be near.
Max patted the animal on the rump and just had time to pull his hand away as the donkey twisted around and snapped at him.
“Who conjured up the donkey?” Max asked. “He seems cross.”
“He’s inn property,” Zohar said. “Travelers use him to pack belongings to their destination. Then they set him free and he wanders back to the inn to await his next assignment. He’s always made it back safely, so his attitude must be working out for him. But you are correct, young Ransome. He is quite ill-tempered.” Zohar smiled at Max. “I thought we’d have to leave you behind.”
“That might not have been a bad thing,” Max said, stealing another glance at the Wood. “It’s hard to believe we’re all in such danger when everything looks so normal. Except for the Dark Wood, of course.”
Zohar’s expression sobered. “Let’s not ruin a perfect day by talking about the Dark Wood. Our goal is to get away from it as quickly as possible. Hopefully the bright sunlight will help keep them deep in the Wood until we’re gone. Yet another reason why we are leaving in the middle of the day.” Zohar handed Max a length of fresh bread. “Put this in a sack, will you?”
Max approached the donkey gingerly and, by moving slowly, managed to pack the bread without getting eaten.
“Everybody ready?” Taking the donkey’s lead rope Zohar began walking, with the others falling into step behind him.
At first they were able to keep the Wood a comfortable distance away on both sides, but as they traveled farther the path narrowed.
And the sky darkened.
The trees grew taller and occasionally a black, oozing vine lay across the trail. For all their disgusting appearance they looked dead and harmless enough, but the travelers made it a point to step carefully over them.
It became even darker and Max, who had drifted to the rear of the group, began paying more attention to the ever-closing Wood than where his feet were stepping.
It happened in a second.
Something squished beneath his foot and a large vine, at least two inches in diameter, circled his ankle like a python and squeezed.
Max cried out in pain and fear, causing his companions to turn quickly. Zohar raised his staff, but paused. It would be easy to miss the vine and hit Max, destroying his leg and perhaps his life. Even if the wizard did hit the vine, who knew what it would do to Max’s leg in its death throes?
Max tried to stay upright, balancing on one foot while struggling to loose the vine from his other leg before the coils crushed it. He drew his sword and raised it to strike.
Having secured its grip, the vine began retreating into the Wood, the movement throwing Max off balance. He toppled to the ground and landed hard. A rock connected with his shoulder and his arm went numb, then tingly. The sword slipped from his grasp and the others watched in horror as he was dragged, kicking and flailing, into the Wood.
The vine dragged Max along at incredible speed. He looked back and saw Gramkin draw his knife and sprint for the Wood. With no apparent thought to danger, he charged into the darkness, brandishing the knife.
“Young Ransome!”
Another vine swooped from the upper branches of a tree and circled Gramkin’s waist. With one frenzied blow he sliced it in half. The vine snapped back like a whip, black ooze pouring from it, while the severed end writhed on the ground like a headless serpent.
No sooner did this one fall then another vine appeared from the darkness and snatched at him. Gramkin slashed it as well, but it was followed by another and another and soon he was fighting for his own life.
The first vine had reached its tree and, coiling about the branches, began hauling Max upward. He looked up and, where the trunk ended and the branches began, saw a huge, gaping maw. It widened and shrank convulsively, impatiently awaiting his arrival.
Max struggled with the coils, knowing they were too strong for him, but unwilling to surrender to such a hideous fate. Perspiration covered his body, stinging his eyes and making his hands slick. In the background he heard Gramkin shriek and felt the trees shake with fury. The medgekin was obviously giving them a fight.
Max became aware of a low moaning sound that pulsed against his eardrums. Phantors! With an energy renewed by fear, he pounded the vines with his fists. They responded by tightening their grip.
The moaning increased and the grip on his ankle tightened. The blood had rushed to Max’s head and he was too exhausted to hold it upright. He began blacking out, spots dancing in front of his eyes. The pain began to numb and he was vaguely aware that Gramkin’s screams had ceased.
Max relaxed and closed his eyes. Struggling had become nothing more than a way of extending his agony. Better to let come what may and hope for a quick end.
The vine jerked and Max felt a tugging at his dangling arms. Something was pulling him downward. The vine writhed and strained.
“Young Ransome! Max!”
Somewhere in his blurry field of vision, Gramkin’s face floated. There was a quick flash—the knife!—and Max dropped a few feet. He felt something catch him, arresting his fall. The vine was being stripped from his leg. Someone stood him upright and then they were running, stumbling, from the Wood.
Max’s vision cleared and he saw Gloom’s panic-stricken face above him. Vines reached for them, lashed their legs, and slapped their faces. The trees were vibrating wildly and the moaning increased.
At last they plunged from the trees and found themselves back on the trail. Zohar was waiting for them, his staff at the ready. Several pursuing vines followed them from the Wood and the wizard dispatched them with several well-aimed bursts of white flame.
“Quickly!” Zohar shouted. “The phantors will soon be upon us!”
Gloom had never stopped running and the other three wasted little time in following him down the trail. Max paused only to reclaim his sword.