Realms of Valor - James Lowder [3]
“And look at the way it's pointing,” Pawldo said. The glow subsided, and he reached out to touch the weapon's already cooling hilt. “Straight into Llyrath Forest.” “Can it be from that place?” “Like I said, it's the only explanation!” Pawldo's mind worked furiously. The fortress meant treasure beyond belief. And that might mean a suitable present for the king and queen! “Can you find your campsite again?” “Of course!” Stefanik proclaimed. “I'm a good scout, too! I know that woods like the inside of my own burrow!” “Splendid! Let's see, we'll need some supplies and a couple of ponies. It'll take me a few hours to get ready. You can rest up at my house, and we can leave in the afternoon.” His estimate proved conservative. In actuality the two halflings rode down the King's Road sometime before lunch, a fact that the road-weary Stefanik regretted but was too timid to mention. They spent the night at a comfortable inn in Cantrev Koart and made such good time the next day that by early evening Stefanik led them southward from the road until they reached the very fringe of the forest There, amid a sparse scattering of dry-needled fir trees, they found a grassy meadow for their camp. During their journey, Pawldo found himself developing an avuncular affection for the young halfling. Stefanik's blatant hero worship did nothing to impair the relationship, and the lord mayor's restrained silence only served to inflate the youngster's somewhat exaggerated assessment of his skills and exploits. As twilight fell on their little camp, they passed some time in more serious conversation, comparing the tales they'd heard about the Palace of Skulls. Among the Ffolk of the Moonshaes and their halfling neighbors the place was a common setting for tales of heroism, though few believed that it really existed. Pawldo found that the version of the legend told in the village of Llyrath Downs differed somewhat from the stories he'd heard elsewhere in the Moonshaes. Yet, since that little village of halflings was nearer to the ancient structure's reputed location, he placed strong credence in that folklore. “Llyrath Downs,” Pawldo remarked as he settled down near the crackling embers of their fire. “There aren't many who live there, true?” Stefanik shrugged. “Until I saw a great city like Lowhill, I would have disagreed with you. But, truth be told, we are but a dozen families, scattered over a wide hilltop.” Pawldo suppressed a smile-the “great city” of Lowhill, indeed! “You live in the forest proper?” he asked. “Only the fringe. No one lives in the middle of that dark wood. We won't pass through my village, though-Llyrath Downs is another day's journey east of here. It's not on the way to the place where I found the dagger.” “And the legends you've heard, they hold the Palace of Skulls to be in this part of Llyrath?” "Yes. It's said that mad Prince Ketheryll built the great fortress in Llyrath with the heads of his enemies. That was at the time when Gwynneth and the rest of the Moonshaes were only a lot of small principalities. Ketheryll made war on all of
his neighbors. They say his cruelty was surpassed only by his might.“ The youth shrugged. ”He must have been pretty tough, since he eventually drove all the other humans from southern Gwynneth.“ ”All the tales claim that he was a ruthless master,“ Pawldo agreed. ”His conquests are matters of history, though I'd always presumed his reputation for bloodshed to be exaggerated. Still, no one seems to doubt the tales of his Doomed Legion.“ At Stefanik's puzzled look, Pawldo added, ”At least no one outside of Llyrath. The legion was made up of his lieutenants, each magically branded with the skull that was their master's symbol.“ ”I'd heard that each of the prince's men had sworn to give his life to protect him,“ Stefanik admitted, ”but never anything about them being branded. It's not surprising, though, since the prince was always so interested in magic.“ Pawldo laughed. ”It's so ironic that the wizard Flamsterd and his spellcasting finally