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The Wizard and the Fox

A /hmofa/ Special

By Magnus

Chapter 5 - Song of the Mountains

Gunnar's Gate. At last Rowan and Oleander had reached the end of Gallwood's well-trod trading route and stood before the threshold leading up into the mountains. The monolithic peaks of the Unicorn Range made the foxwoman feel incredibly small and humble next to these natural colossuses. Their path quickly became far less gentle as the road's incline grew steeper and steeper the closer they drew to the mountains. They could already feel the chill winds blow down upon them as the pleasant warmth brought about by Spring seemed not to be present any longer. Oleander drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

As truly commanding of attention as the landscape was, its natural beauty was broken by a grand structure of stone and metal. It was a giant rectangular arch as tall as twenty men at its highest point gilded with an odd bronze-colored metal that sparkled in the light like gold. Its grey stone skin was intricately engraved with odd runes and detailed pictographs depicting all manner of wondrous creatures and people. The mouth of this arch swallowed the road, which transitioned from bare dirt beaten by decades of horses and carts to smooth and even stone. Oleander stopped Cinnamon to stare up at the marvelous monument in awe. She could hardly comprehend how mere men could create such a wonder with their own hands. Rowan took in the sight as well with a warm smile, happy to finally be back this way again.

The two of them lost and regained sight of the gate as they dipped down and up the hills leading to it. The trees of Gallwood grew far shorter, farther apart, and more coniferous in that slice of the forest as slowly the sky started to reveal itself to them once again. Oleander was giddy, chatting on happily about what they would find up in the realm of the dwarves.

“The first stop we'll make is not too far along the road." Rowan said, nodding at the distant gate. “The closest fortress is Bjisaljendurk."

“Rowan!" Oleander gave a very boisterous belly laugh “Have you gone mad? Mayhap had a stroke?"

The wizard was puzzled for a split second, then scoffed with annoyance. “Yes, yes, the name of the place does sound odd. I'll have you know my dwarvish is excellent and the pronunciation is perfect, it's just a bit… alien to most.."

“Do the dwarves speak only with their throats and not move their tongues?" she joked, not letting up on the laughter.

“Better get it out of your system now," he warned, pointing a stern finger at the fox “talk like that in the confines of a fortress and you're liable not to have a tongue yourself by day's end."

She took a breath and agreed. “All right, all right, I couldn't help myself. T'was merely a surprise to hear such a silly-sounding name, that's all."

He sighed, suppressing his own laughter. She was right, the language of the dwarves was quite absurd. “Well, as a fair warning, all their names sound silly. So just brace yourself, okay?"

“I think I can manage."

---

The gate itself seemed even larger when they came upon the threshold. Oleander gave it a much closer firsthand inspection and saw that the engravings were even more intricate than she could tell from far away. Standing back, she realized the stonebound art was pictures within pictures, designed to look like one thing from a distance but depicted far more complex scenes once one was close enough to throw a rock at it. She didn't even want to think about how its creators would have even planned such a wonder of the world.

It was only a few paces before they had crossed under the gate and began to ascend the curiously smooth slope that led them into the embrace of the mountains. Rowan broke the awed silence and said “Once we cross this gate, we are in the realm of the dwarves and the wolfmen. We are beholden to them and their traditions. The first of which being that it is rude to enter their domain unannounced."

Oleander was about to ask a question, but chose to watch the wizard as he stopped their horses and dismounted Jet. He walked a few steps forward and cupped his hands around his mouth. “ I am Rowan, son of man, adherent to Morgaine, esteemed wizard of the Order of the Iris!"

His last word seemed to echo and carry through the entire range, quickly fading back to silence. He nodded up to Oleander. “Now, you."

For a moment, she looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Wh- what do I say?"

He shrugged. “Your name, your lineage, what titles you hold, those kinds of things."

Carefully, she hopped down from Cinnamon and stood beside the wizard. She muttered to herself, unsure of what words to choose. After a bit, she too cupped her hands and shouted “ I am Oleander, daughter of Lupus, fox of the Gallwood, wife of the wizard Rowan!"

She coughed daintily, unused to raising her voice like that. “Good enough?"

Rowan put one arm around her, leaning over to give a kiss on the top of her head. “Good enough."

Oleander seized in shock as the mountains around them emitted a primal howl, first from one direction, then another, and another after that. What sounded like the cries of a dozen wolves echoed from deeper within the range. The howls carried on for a pregnant moment before falling back to quiet. They were being watched.

“Hah, It seems they've accepted us." Rowan said with a satisfied nod.

The foxgirl tried to scan every rock and tree that surrounded them at once, wanting to pinpoint wherever those cries could have possibly come from. She cocked her ears back and gently held her own tail like it was a ragdoll. “Oh, is that what that meant? It sounded more like a war cry to me."

He gave her a firm pat on the back. “Don't worry, it's only theater. The wolfmen may growl and gnash their teeth, but usually they're quite noble under the surface."

The foxgirl tossed her hair back and gave a cool and defiant look to nobody in particular, as if trying to hide the fact that she was cowering a mere moment ago. The two remounted and trudged their way up the incline. The road was near-immaculate, as if a giant had smoothed the stone into a perfect shape like it was moist clay. Its edges were lined with that odd bronze-like metal, seeming to serve no purpose other than aesthetic. Rowan noticed her gaze and explained that it was apparently something they called “orichalcum", an alloy of some kind that the dwarves were quite secretive about. Supposedly it was made from copper and “the blood of the gods", but he dismissed its theoretical second component as mere speculation of the uneducated. His explanation was good enough for her but Rowan began rambling on about the metal's possible applications, the known methods of dwarven metallurgy, and all sorts of less-than-interesting tidbits that Oleander had quickly learned to tune out until he finished speaking or swapped to a much more engaging subject.

Luckily, Rowan was slowly getting a hang on when to cease his lectures and give the girl's ears a rest. He figured the best thing to do at that point was shut up and enjoy the change in scenery. After an hour on the road they started seeing small bits of evidence of the supposed empire under their feet. Entrances to the underground paths popped up from time to time. They were always smooth, round arches carved with runes and sealed with a giant slab of rough iron, seemingly impossible to open by mortal means. When Oleander asked how on earth those could possibly function as doorways, he simply shrugged and answered “The dwarves have their own magic". Even he didn't know how they worked as no man had seen a dwarf use them. At least, if they did they certainly couldn't or wouldn't tell the tale. But, as the dwarves were not the only ones to live on the Unicorn Range, signs of the wolfmen were also scattered alongside the road. The skulls of many deer and other wild game lined the way, some of them still bearing a bit of half-rotted flesh. They were carefully placed atop of rocks and hanging off of tree branches, their empty eye sockets turned toward the road as if made to watch the passing travelers. Another hour of travel and the two saw more of the same, but soon the clear air receded and the mists began to gather in the nooks and crannies between the peaks and one could only see half as far as before.

“I didn't expect this place to be so eerie." Oleander noted with an edge in her voice.

Rowan was about to respond, but suddenly he had Jet stop in his tracks and looked to the mists behind them. Oleander began to ask “What is it?" but her words fell as Rowan put a single finger to his lips and shushed her.

Both of them held still as the grave as they strained their hearing to detect whatever had the wizard on guard. For a few tense moments, only the hollow echo of the wind through the trees reached their ears, but the faintest traces of something else came through. A voice… it sounded like a man's. He was singing. To their surprise, the song was actually quite jolly.

...in the deep old roads, die with your axe in the deep old roads.

“Ah, tis merely a merchant." Rowan finally said, somewhat relieved.

“What did you think it was?" Oleander asked.

“Something hungry." he said cryptically.

The singer's words were clearer and clearer as he closed the gap between them.

Well, my boots are soaked and the air is cold,

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

My kids are young but the wife's too old,

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

My back is broke but there ain't no gold,

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

It's the oldest story that's ever been told,

Die with your axe in the deep old roads

Breaking through the mists was a peculiar shape; a very short yet wide man in a leather cap riding a pony rather than a full-sized horse. When they got a clear look at his face, the man's lineage was quite obvious. Rosy round cheeks, large nose, thick brown eyebrows, and a bushy black beard that clung to his face like moss to a tree and grew down nearly past his belt. It was a dwarf all right, there could be no doubt about it.

“Ah!" the dwarf shouted as he approached. “I thought I smelled a pair of fellow travelers. Hail, friends! Might I ride alongside you?"

Rowan waved at him and shouted back “Of course, sir dwarf, what brings you topside?"

The dwarf nudged his pony to a light gallop to catch up with the two of them. Rowan shared a look with Oleander. “A real dwarf?" She whispered excitedly. “I never thought we'd meet one already!" He gave an equally enthusiastic nod in response.

The wizard took off of his floppy hat and gave a polite bow to the dwarf, which Oleander reflexively mirrored. He gave one right back and said with a strong, confident voice. “Well bless my belt, I've found me a of wizard, haven't I? What's the news with the merchant goddess, hmm?"

“She grows more temperamental by the day." Rowan answered, matching the man's jovial tone.

The dwarf gave him quite a devious chuckle, flashing a set of crooked yellow teeth. “Same as always, then? Heh heh. The name's Otto, friend."

“Rowan, Order of the Iris." Rowan and Oldander dismounted their steeds to greet the dwarf, still standing taller than he was atop the pony. “And this is my wife, Oleander."

“A pleasure, my dear." Oleander had offered him her hand but instead of shaking it, Otto took it and gently kissed the back. His beard felt like steel wire but she was just as charmed regardless.

“My, you certainly know how to make a good impression." the foxgirl commented with a sly side-eye to Rowan. “This one ran away from me when we first met. It's good to know I don't just have that effect on people."

“I didn't flee," he shot back “I was merely running at you the long way."

“Well, there's no need to waste daylight," Otto said, gesturing at them to remount. “I'm headed the same way for a while, we can swap stories while we ride."

“That would be lovely." Oleander said as they climbed back into their saddles.

Rowan nudged Jet in the sides, spurring him to move again. As the three of them went on down the path side-by-side, he asked “So, what brings you above the old roads?"

“Needed some damn fresh air." he answered curtly. “I've grown quite fond of the paths you treefolk use."

“Treefolk?" Oleander cocked her head and swished her tail.

“Yes, treefolk!" the dwarf asserted with wild gestures. “Ye damned manlings may as well be walking trees for all we care with those gangly limbs of yours."

Oleander pondered his explanation for a moment and shook her head with a smile. “I suppose that is really how you would see us, isn't it?"

“Aye, tis the truth." Otto said. Oleander looked a bit closer to the dwarf and noticed he was clad mostly in furs and rawhide with a cape that would be comically short on anyone else. His pony looked packed for a long haul but didn't have any obvious wares that a merchant would have. She could spy only a simple handaxe and a set of craftsman's tools hanging off of the saddle.

“Might I inquire as to what your occupation is, Otto?" Oleander asked, still eyeing the gleaming metal implements that his mount bore.

“Stonemason's my trade, but teaching's my hobby." he answered simply.

Rowan cocked an eyebrow. “Teaching never struck me as something one would take up as a hobby, especially considering how the fortresses treat their knowledge."

“Hah, aye, secretive bastards they are." Otto agreed with another toothy smile. “But you wouldn't believe how much gold the treefolk pay to learn the simplest of dwarvish techniques. Sometimes I feel like a highwayman! Bless their good faith and intentions but by the gods most of them don't know a hammer from a ham sandwitch."

Otto paused for a moment, seeming satisfied with himself, but then he quickly added “Errr, I mean no offense to you and yours of course."

“I could hardly admonish you for saying so," Oleander said “I come from a village made up of logs and twine. We can't work the stone, and we certainly can't make anything like the gate I saw a few hours ago."

The dwarf looked a bit relieved. “I thank ye for your understanding, and apologies, my mouth goes faster than the rest of me some days."

The three riders held a conversation for quite some time after. Rowan swapped his stories of traveling and meeting his wife for Otto's stories of teaching masonry to the “younger races". Otto was a wanderer like them, not as fond as his kin were of the typical dwarvish lifestyle. He spent most of his time outside of the fortresses traveling up and down the length of the Unicorn Range paying visits to mankind's settlements to trade knowledge for gold. He had quite the strong opinions on “treefolk" but still held a surprising amount of respect for mankind. Oleander took to him very quickly, it was almost making the wizard jealous.

Otto was on his way to visit family in Yuljensin, a fortress situated nearly at the end of the dwarf roads. Oleander jumped at the chance to invite the dwarf to travel with the two of them until he reached his home. He accepted without need of convincing, glad to have new company on the road. They went on with their conversation well until dusk where they made camp a few paces away from the road.

“No lessons tonight," Rowan said as he unfurled the double bedroll and smoothed it out “we need to set watches. Otto, if you wouldn't mind taking one?"

The dwarf nodded as he shed his outwerwear and cap. “I'll take first, I don't sleep til late anyhow."

Oleander looked between the two of them, cocking her ears in confusion. “Hold on now, what's going on?"

“Need to set a night watch." Otto answered gruffly. “Don't want any of the nasty creatures out there sneaking up on us while we're sawing logs, do we?"

“I suppose not…" Oleander looked up at the dark silhouettes of the peaks that loomed over them, suddenly realizing how many hiding spots there were up in the mountains. Something could come from virtually any direction and they would be none the wiser until it was almost on top of them. A chill crept its way up the foxgirl's back and it certainly wasn't just from the cold air.

“Don't worry Miss Oleander," Otto gave her a toothy grin “anything sticks its maw too close to us I'll give it a mouthful of steel to swallow."

The dwarf didn't much come off as a warrior to her but she felt a bit better nonetheless. “Well in that case, we'll leave it to you."

“I will take second." Rowan added “Oleander, you can take the last watch."

She nodded, shifting awkwardly on her feet. “All right, but what do I need to even do when the time comes? Just, watch…?"

Rowan blinked, momentarily befuddled by the question. Sometimes he forgot she led somewhat of a sheltered life. “That's the idea of it. There's no wrong way to keep watch so long as you stay awake. Keep an eye on the horses, if they seem spooked then there may be something. And… and if you hear anything strange, wake us up. I don't care what it is, if it sounds any more sinister than the crickets or the wind, don't hesitate."

Oleander swallowed and nodded. “Okay."

Sensing her unease, Rowan pulled the foxgirl into a hug, letting her bury her snout in his chest. “Beasts tend to avoid the roads anyhow. This is just a precaution."

“I'm fine." She muttered into his shirt “It's just so different from the woods."

“But it's exciting, isn't it?"

She loosened the embrace and gave an annoyed look up at him “Getting attacked in the night by monsters is your idea of excitement?"

Rowan was the one to give a smug grin this time. “Well I wouldn't describe it as boring."

“You strange, strange man." she sighed.

The light of day was barely still a glint on the horizon when they retired to their bedrolls. It wasn't more than an hour before the night became fully dark. The flickering glow of the campfire cast dancing shadows on the bare stone of the road. Oleander watched out of the corner of her eye as Otto sat down on top of a rock with a knife and a piece of fresh fallen wood as he began his watch. She couldn't muster the willpower to keep her eyes open as the steady scraping of steel on wood lulled her to sleep.

---

Gods, help me!

Oleander roused suddenly in near pitch blackness as she was shaken awake by a firm hand on her shoulder. The only illumination was the pale, amorphous shape of a half-moon obscured by thin clouds and the stars peeking between the gaps. She was about to speak and ask what was going on before that hand clamped itself around her snout, muffling her words into unintelligible grunting. “Shhh!"

Please, help, please!

There was a new voice. It was a woman's coming from somewhere off in the distance. The utter despair in that pleading voice was like an arrow through the heart. Instinctively, she moved to get up and out of the bedroll to go find whoever was in peril, but she was forced back down. “Hold still for gods' sake!" Rowan whispered.

I don't want to die!

She grabbed his fingers and forced them off of her snout, whispering back “But there's someone in trouble!"

“That's no someone," the low, grim voice of Otto came from within the blackness “it's a something."

Oleander strained her eyes to barely see the outline of the dwarf, standing strong and ready with his axe grasped in both hands. The barest scent of smoke filled her nose as she realized their campfire had been smothered completely. Getting the hint, Oleander froze in place, slowing her breathing and closing her eyes to better listen to whatever was going on.

Is anyone out there?

The woman was moving toward them, repeating over and over again her pleas for help. But as it went on, Oleander noticed that it was all she could hear. No crying, no footsteps, no brushing of branches or bushes as someone passed, just the voice and the nervous rustling of the horses. But then she realized that it was coming from an odd angle, as if the woman was up in the rocky crevices rather than along the road. Her stomach almost turned itself inside out as another one of the cries sounded like it was right above them. She stopped breathing almost entirely and could feel her own heart pounding in her ears. Otto was still as a statue and she felt Rowan tense his entire body as well.

The preceding minutes felt like hours as the woman's voice passed them, and bit by bit grew softer until all that broke the pregnant silence was the song of the crickets. Finally, Rowan let out a long sigh and relaxed just a little. It seemed to be gone.

Oleander let out her own breath and immediately punched Rowan where she thought his chest would be. “I thought you said they avoid the roads, you ass!" she hissed quietly.

“He wasn't lying." Otto said. “I've not a clue why the wailers would come this close to the fortresses. It's springtime, they should have enough food for months."

Rowan rubbed his face with both palms and groaned. “Gods, it's her."

Oleander put a concerned hand on the wizard's shoulder. “Who?"

“You know who."

The foxgirl stifled a gasp. “Are you sure?"

“She sends monsters when she's mad at me." Rowan slipped out of the bedroll and stood up. “Didn't think it would be so soon."

Otto finally put his axe back down, turned to Rowan, and crossed his arms. “Something you're not telling me, friend?"

“Yes, but I'll explain in the morning when we can speak freely." Rowan muttered a few words, snapped his fingers, and a tiny pinpoint of light that dazzled them shone from the tip of his finger. He used the little finger-candle to rummage through the camp in search of his hat and cloak. “I'll start my watch early, get some sleep and try not to snore. It will likely be back this way."

Otto grumbled something in dwarvish and gathered his things to go to bed. Rowan blew out his light and plunged them back into near-perfect darkness. He took a cross-legged sitting position on the rock with his birch staff laid gently across his lap. He gripped it anxiously, eyes cast toward the sky.

Oleander found it hard to sleep after that, the agonized cries of whatever passed their camp still rang in her ears. Her imagination ran away with itself as she envisioned what exactly the creature that made them could even look like. She was tempted to ask Rowan but he and Otto seemed adamant on staying quiet and still. She was afraid to even roll over.

Fortunately, exhaustion was the best sleep aid. Even with the storm of fears churning inside her gut, she eventually calmed down and caught the last chance she had to get some rest before her own watch started.

She could still hear it in her sleep.