Medieval 03 - Enchanted

Very quickly the
cultivated fields fell away behind them. Forest rose around the
horses, an expanse of trees broken only by rare hamlets and even
more rare circles where ancient, uneven stones lifted their faces
to the sun.
    Unseasonable storms had largely stolen the blazing
reds and golds from the trees, leaving naked branches black against
the cloud-streaked vault of the sky. Drifts of leaves swirled on
every gust of wind and piled against boulders and sacred stones
alike.
    The closer the riders came to Stone Ring, the more
uneasy Simon became. Perhaps it was simply the loss of leaves from
the trees, but it seemed to him that there were more of the ragged
stone ruins now than there had been the last time he had taken the
trail.
    Ariane watched intently also, as though sharing
Simon’s feeling that something about the nature of the land
itself had changed.
    But it wasn’t until they reached Stone Ring
that Simon’s unease became urgent to the point of discomfort.
He didn’t want to look at the ragged curve of stone that made
up the single rocky ring.
    Yet he couldn’t look away.
    “What do you think of the land?” he
asked Erik.
    “There is nothing amiss that I can see.
Perhaps Winter and Stagkiller will have different news.”
    Erik pulled up where the trail divided. To the
south lay Blackthorne Keep. To the west lay Sea Home.
    Stagkiller emerged from the forest and bounded up
the slope back to Erik. Moments later Winter appearedfrom behind a cloud and shot down to her saddle perch
in front of Erik.
    The arrival of Erik’s beasts was noted only
absently by Simon. The longer he waited at the fork in the trail,
the more certain he became that the party was being watched.
    “The trail out of the Disputed Lands is
empty,” Erik said to Simon. “You should have no trouble
with renegades of any stripe.”
    Simon grunted.
    “Is something wrong?” Erik asked.
    Almost impatiently, Simon looked around the forest
again. No matter how carefully he watched, he saw nothing except
moss and lichen, ageless stone and living branches barren of all
but green tangles of mistletoe.
    There was only one ring of stones. He was quite
certain of it. The only shadows were those cast by the sun in its
normal fashion. There was no mist to obscure the inside of the
circle that was bounded by stones.
    Yet when Simon turned his back on the ring in order
to talk to Erik, he was uneasy.
    “Nay,” Simon said. “All is well.
Or seems to be.”
    “You sense something, don’t you?”

Erik asked.
    “A cold wind.”
    Erik gave Simon a sidelong glance and turned to
Ariane.
    “What of you, lady? Are you at
ease?”
    “It seems,” Ariane said hesitantly,
“that there are more stones than before.”
    Erik looked at her sharply. “How
so?”
    She shrugged. “Just that. I see more stones
than I did the last time I came this way.”
    “The last time you came this way,”
Simon said curtly, “you were senseless from your
wound.”
    While Simon spoke, he glanced around again. His
eyes narrowed against the sunlight lancing between gathering
clouds. Yet no matter how hard he looked, he saw nothing to justify
the odd prickling sensation over his skin.
    “What do you feel?” Erik asked in a low
voice.
    “A cold—”
    “Wind,” Erik interrupted impatiently.

“I feel it too. What else?”
    Simon looked at Erik. The tawny eyes looking back
at Simon were clear, intent, as fathomless as the sky.
    “I feel a prickling beneath my skin,”
Simon admitted.
    “Danger?”
    “Not quite. But not quite safety,
either.”
    “Ariane?” Erik asked, turning to
her.
    “Yes. A prickling.

’Tis…odd.”
    “Excellent,” Erik said with
satisfaction.
    “Not to me,” Simon said bluntly.
“’Tis like we’re being watched.”
    “We are, but most people wouldn’t
know.”
    Steel whispered against its sheath as Simon drew
his sword with unnerving speed.
    “I knew those renegades wouldn’t stay
in Silverfell,” Simon said.
    “Be at ease,” Erik said.
“’Tis only the rowan.”
    “What?”
    Erik gestured with his head toward the stone
ring.
    “The sacred rowan waits,” Erik said
simply.
    “For what?” Ariane asked.
    “Even the Druids didn’t know,”
Erik said. “They knew only that she waited.”
    “God’s teeth,” hissed Simon.
“What drivel.”
    He sheathed his sword with a single sweeping
motion.
    Erik laughed like a sorcerer and turned his mount
toward Sea Home. The stallion reared and fought the bit, not
wanting to