Hulbard turned away from the scarred doors of the gatehouse to see Trastgor prowling the edge of the plaza with a watchful eye, peering into the deep shadows lurking below the twisted boughs. Reaching up, he hooked a hand over one branch and hauled himself up into the bulbous, winding limbs of a tree and from there, he surveyed their surroundings for a long second with the grimmest frown Hulbard had seen from him in a long time.
He dropped back down onto the lopsided flagstones with a grunt and moved to a point directly opposite the gate.
"There is a path here," he growled shortly and Hulbard peered over his shoulder.
The sky overhead was laden with grey clouds that would have made any forest seem gloomy, but the shadows ahead of them had settled deep into the uneven ground, pooling where it dipped and rolled to create an uneven, grey landscape devoid of colour. The entire place looked sickly, like a wasting disease had come to the plant life, leaving everything grey and withered but not quite dead.
It had looked grim from the gateway, but up close, he began to get a real sense of just how mangled the limbs of the trees were; they swept low in unnaturally long, twisted patterns in an attempt to block the way forward. Many of them, he saw, had met overhead and twined together like creeping ivy to form thick ropes out of their limbs, which he'd never seen before. Below, thorns and thick bushes gathered about the lumpy tree trunks, huddled beneath them as if for shelter or warmth.
A line of broken, grey slabs trailed away into those woods.
"Fuck," Hulbard sighed out.
"Makes the trail we followed through Volyumenth look like a stroll in a garden," Knox muttered at his side, warily eyeing the way ahead. "Kind of ironic when you think about it since this was a garden".
"Best listen to the woman this time around," Hulbard muttered, "Keep your weapons close".
He looked back to see Semekt resting nearby, watching them with those expressionless, unblinking orbs. If anyone could spot danger in a place like the wilderness before them now, it would be him.
"Semekt," he said loudly, making sure he had the Dramaskian's attention before continuing, "Scout the way. Follow the stones. Ten strides ahead at all times".
The black scaled creature slithered upright and drew the heavy, black crossbow from its harness between her shoulder blades and quickly set about loading the weapon with all four arms bent to the task at once. Bolt set to string, Semekt slipped silently into the underbrush, scarcely stirring the vegetation with her passing, to meld seamlessly into the shadows beneath the trees. The Dramaskian paused exactly ten paces ahead, without the need to look back over her shoulder, and leaned against the grey trunk of a tree with her crossbow at the ready.
The chain of the warrior's flail rattled taut by his side and, at a nod from him, Trastgor drew the khukri at his hip and stepped into the gloom of that shadow haunted forest. With Hulbard at his heel, the Kurgal began to hack his way through the overgrowth. Smooth, precise strokes of the heavy blade brought thinner branches down, while they were forced to duck under or step around the thicker knots of warped wood. Semekt waited until they were almost upon him before slithering ahead, a deeper darkness in all that pervasive gloom but moving with enviable ease. It was easy to see why his kind had taken so well to the dense, Axirian jungles of the south.
He'd scarcely gone a dozen steps before Hulbard felt the need to cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder to see Quintus following close behind. The old man was gripping his staff tight in one hand, while the other gripped his cloak close to stop it snagging on every branch they passed. His armour and Trastgor's thick fur turned aside the thorny brush crowding around their legs, but their companions weren't so fortunate.
Behind him came Skye, her dark rimmed eyes wide as she peered around at their surroundings, nervously fidgeting with the broach at her throat. Shankhill trudged along doggedly at her heels, frowning at the plant life clawing at his clothing every step of the way. Knox came last with his bow held at the ready, sharp eyes scanning this new wilderness with an arrow already set to string. Beyond the archer, Hulbard could see little sign of the gatehouse they'd passed through only a few minutes before.
It took him another few minutes to really realise what it was about the forest that struck him as so unnatural; everything seemed to have grown with little regard for sunlight. The trees should have been soaring upwards, each competing with the next for space and height. Instead, they were clumped so close together their branches didn't just touch, but had grown together. In all the years they'd had to grow, they should have risen above the walls surrounding them but instead, they seemed bent towards the ground, where their roots had shattered the thick slabs of stone they now sought to trace.
In other forests, the undergrowth would have died off completely with so little access to sunlight. Here, it had somehow thrived. Glancing at one, Hulbard saw that it had given life to a series of small, dark flowers with wrinkled leaves that looked ready to drop at any second. A dark, viscous fluid looked like it was trickling from the buds, running in thick rivulets down the plants narrow stems. It reminded him eerily of blood, but Hulbard pushed the thought aside and set his sights ahead, where Trastgor's blade was making short work of the fragile, low hanging branches.
Then there was the unsettling silence and stillness of the place. Sheltered within the tall, blue walls, not a leaf stirred in that long lost garden. That was one thing, but the absence of life as he knew it was another. There should have been birds flitting between the branches or filling the air with their chatter, but there was no signs of them in that dreary place. Likewise, the insects he expected in any woods, from spiders to beetles burrowing through the undergrowth, were all missing.
It wasn't long before he began to see smaller pathways of cracked slabs leading away from the wider avenue they were following, leading away deeper into the shadow soaked woods. Following them with his eye, he saw the remnants of bright, marble structures between the trees; the half crumbling pillars of long forgotten seating areas choked by creeping ivy stabbed into the air. Here and there, artificial ponds shimmered in the weak daylight like liquid lead.
Wreathed in ivy and half hidden between the boughs of thick, stunted trees, statues loomed through the murk, scarred beyond all recognition by the merciless passage of time until Hulbard could scarcely guess whether some were meant to be man or beast. It was as he eyed one, idly wondering whether it was meant to be a woman, fish or some mixture of the two that he realised what it was about that expanse of enclosed wilderness that seemed so perversely wrong; it was the complete absence of wildlife. There'd been little in the way of animals in the city proper, which was unusual enough in its own way, but there was nothing of animal habitation in that cursed place.
No birds flitted through the tangled branches and no nests vouched for the fact that they ever had. No insects buzzed above the still ponds or scuttled through the damp soil at his feet. There wasn't even a breeze to stir the leaves so that, besides their dogged footsteps, the forest was silent.
Their going was slow and tedious, despite Trastgor's ready use of his khukri to help clear the way, but it was far from the worst terrain Hulbard had ever marched through. That honour was divided between the flooded marshlands of Harne, where he'd spent seven months back in his younger days with a troop of soldiers tasked with driving the swamp dwelling Gir from ruined fortresses, or the frozen wastes of Liornia, where he'd been pitted against ceaseless snow storms, ravenous packs of bears with no qualms about attacking travelers and a sizeable force of rebels well versed in stealth. Compared to either of those two campaigns, the trees surrounding the tower were ominous, but hospitable. It was eerie and unnerving, but most things in Dalághast were.
While Hulbard's own endurance and stamina were up to the task of their trek through that misbegotten place, he knew it was taking its toll on his companions. Quintus' eyes were fever bright but he was starting to lag behind, his thin lips set in a grim frown. Behind him, his Apprentice had started to swear vehemently every time her cloak got snagged by a thorny bush or low hanging branch. Shankhill marched along in her wake with his head hanging low, utterly oblivious to their surroundings and, for once, saving his breath for walking instead of complaining.
In spite of the bone weary exhaustion that had sank its claws deep into his broad shoulders, Hulbard's wits remained as sharp as ever, his shield and hammer held at the ready while his eyes scanned every half collapsed structure they passed for anything out of the ordinary. It seemed unlikely that an ambush could catch them off guard, but the place made him feel restless and he was well used to scanning such places for threats. A furtive glance further back down the line and he saw Knox keeping pace with them easily despite his injured ankle, looking just as alert as Hulbard felt.
The only truly tireless one among their number seemed to be Semekt, who darted ahead without so much as a whisper through the undergrowth.
Only once did Quintus pause in his trek and glare speculatively up at the twisted branches of a tree.
"Hold," he snapped, drawing the column to a halt. "Come here, Skye. Take a look there".
He pointed one long finger into the canopy and Hulbard followed it without spotting anything out of the ordinary.
"Do you see it?" he hissed impatiently, eyes fever bright.
"I do," Skye muttered, thoughtfully biting her lower lip, "But what does it mean?"
"What is it?" Hulbard asked impatiently.
"The branches look like a rune from an old alphabet," she told him quietly, "It's not exactly the same, but it's kind of close if you squint a little".
"The rune Tauz from the Altrickt alphabet," Quintua supplied firmly, "And where was that alphabet rumoured to derive from?"
He heaved a heavy sigh when Skye just stared at him blankly.
"Dalághast, you dolt," Quintus hissed at her, "According to legend, every modern day runic alphabet came from this damn city. That up there doesn't look like the one you know because it is probably the precursor to it".
"In a tree?" Hulbard asked a little incredulously.
"Maybe they're trying to tell us something," Shankhill suggested with a grin, in a tone laced with sarcasm.
Quintus ignored the man and pointed to another tree.
"And that one looks like Ulfe," he continued, "And Frore. Graile and Phosus. The canopy is full of them".
"If you say so," Skye said sceptically, still uncertainly scanning the tree limbs interlinked above them all.
"If it's part of an alphabet…" Hulbard mused, "Can you read what they say?"
"That's not how runes work," Quintus told him quickly, "Each one forms a meaning, not a letter. They're what allow Sorcerer's to perform certain spells and incantations. They are innate of the nature of reality itself and can be used to alter it".
"Fascinating," Knox said from behind, "But do they mean anything?"
"I don't know," Quintus admitted.
"Then I strongly suggest we keep moving before it gets any darker," the archer said firmly.
Quintus hummed in response but said no more and they resumed their trek through the wretched, forgotten garden. When Trastgor began to grunt with every swing and pant between them, Hulbard wordlessly nudged his shoulder and held out a hand. The Kurgal handed over the heavy blade and stepped aside to let him take the lead. Ploughing through trails of clinging ivy and clutching bushes, Hulbard began to carve his way through the vegetation.
Smooth chops from the weighty blade brought stout limbs crashing down at his feet while he used his other hand to snap smaller branches and fold them back out of the way, creating a corridor through the tight packed trees. He kept a watchful eye on the canopy overhead, seeking out any opening he could find to make sure they were going in the right direction.
The great structure of midnight blue stone loomed closer and closer throughout the rest of that long evening until shadows began to coalesce between the tree trunks. The darkness lengthened and thickened like a living thing until it lay coiled among the roots at their feet as pools of inky night. It was so gradual that it seemed to catch them all off guard but Hulbard was just about to call for torches when the trees fell away to either side and finally gave way to their destination. At the heart of that untameable wilderness, the sudden change in scenery was enough to bring them all up short.
Steps of deep sapphire stone, flanked by a low rail, led up to a truly vast set of doors built into the base of a vast tower that soared into the sky high overhead. Those doors had been carved from the same blue stone as the rest of the tower and, at a glance, Hulbard saw its face scrawled with a multitude of carvings obscured by the gathering dusk. Pale stone basins stood to either side of both the entrance and the steps, where he imagined great bonfires must once have blazed, but his eyes were drawn towards the lead grey carpet above as he stared up at the colossal edifice of stone.
A circular window of stained glass, its design lost on him in the near darkness, sat above the doorway but ranged above it all were many more at irregular heights and of a dozen different shapes. Ledges and wide balconies sat here and there; squat, imposing and bedecked with spires and statues. A pair of giant, marble phoenix's sat in niches flanking the door with heavy lanterns clasped on their long, hooked beaks.
It tapered towards a vast dome high overhead, almost as high as the Roost had been. Dalághast had seemed like some kind of fever dream ever since they'd first set foot in it, but here, he could feel the weight of centuries seeping from every stone.
Hulbard tore his eyes away from the Tower of Sorcery to glance at Quintus, who was staring at their destination slack jawed and wide eyed. He looked like a man dying of thirst who'd just stumbled upon a stream of crystal clear water fresh from the peak of a mountain.
"That's it, is it?" Shankhill's voice broke the dreamlike silence.
"Not another word," Skye hissed without so much as glancing at him, "You haven't the slightest idea what you're looking at".
"Nor do I care," Shankhill muttered, shaking out his torn cloak.
Quintus seemed oblivious to both of them and said nothing. Instead, he marched up the steps, movements slow and somber, to stand in front of those wide, tall doors.. One hand gripped his staff in a white knuckled grip, while he brushed the fingertips of the other reverently across the stonework. His companions trailed along behind, all cowed into silence by the fabled Library of Dalághast. Hulbard only distantly remembered to hand the heavy blade back to Trastgor, who was staring at the building with a fierce scowl. The hairs across his shoulders and spine rippled as he eyeballed the Tower, eyes narrowed to green slits.
"Alright," Quintus said, setting his staff aside and shaking out his long arms, "This is likely going to take some time. Set up a camp. I'm starving, so someone put on some grub. Skye, bring a lantern once a fire is lit. I'm going to need your help".
Without another word, they fell into the typical routine of readying a camp for the night. Knox picked a place near the base of the steps and began to unpack a bundle of kindling from his backpack, giving them plenty of space to work with away from the clinging grasp of the forest.
Hulbard fell into patrolling the area with hammer and shield held ready and it wasn't long before Trastgor joined him, leaving the archer to his work.
Taking their lead, Semekt slithered up a nearby tree to keep watch with her crossbow held at the ready. Shankhill dropped his pack by the steps and flopped listlessly onto it before setting to work with a knife, trimming the tattered edges of his clothing.
By the time Knox got the fire going a few minutes later, darkness was well and truly drawing close. Skye did as she had been bid and lit a lantern for her Master before traipsing wearily back up the steps to join her by the door. At a glance, Hulbard saw the old man kneeling with his hands outstretched to rest against the ancient stone.
His work, it seemed, was just beginning. It would all be down to Quintus now and all they had to do was wait. He'd just turned back to the forest when Hulbard paused suddenly and a cold shiver tickled at his spine. There, just beyond the clearing, he saw a strange shape beneath the trees. It was unmoving, but distinctly human in shape.
A sharp whistle brought Trastgor's head round and the Kurgal marched across to him, a hand to the blade slung across his shoulder. Together, they peered at a humanoid figure, built from head to foot from twigs and branches, with a ball of kindlin for a misshapen lump of a hand and long twigs for fingers. It stood in a strange stance, with one arm outstretched to press a hand against the nearest tree.
"What is it?" Hulbard muttered.
"An effigy of some kind," Trastgor told him, "Though like none I've ever seen before. Perhaps Quintus' friends left it behind and cast their Magic to make sure it wouldn't rot?"
"It gives me the creeps," Hulbard admitted, half tempted to inspect the wooden figure but unwilling to go much closer.
"Perhaps that is its purpose," the Kurgal shrugged.
Hulbard grunted and turned to move on, when he spotted a second effigy on the very edge of the forest and, now that he was looking for them, he began to pick out more between the trees. Almost a dozen of them surrounded the clearing, each and every one of them in a different pose. Some were bent to their brittle, makeshift knees, while others looked like they were caught mid stride through the bushes. Many were just like the first, but others had flowers blooming across their forms, leaking a black fluid onto the branches below.
"Keep your eyes sharp," Trastgor told him quietly, "Do not allow this place to play tricks on your mind. Keep your thoughts in check".
Hulbard nodded and moved away to resume his patrol, but every time he passed by one of those sentinels, he felt the hair on the back of his neck shift and writhe.