Illuminaria [LitRPG Fantasy Healer Adventure]

48 - Knightmarish Story

Joe and Mojo found Padu waiting for them as they approached the old farmstead. He could feel the small changeling on his shoulder stiffen, coming to an alert pose. Joe didn't sense fear or alarm through their connection. What was flowing from the broodling was far more a feeling of respect and awe. Mojo's feelings towards Padu were akin to a Londoner standing before a member of the royal family. The little guy even slicked down the spikes of fur around his ears.

Padu was obviously aware of the attention and nodded her head regally to the shug monkey. Joe received a warm look before she stood to greet them. As he stepped onto the porch, the old lady brushed against his leg and then led them all inside.

"Welcome back, Joe Healer," Corran exclaimed, placing the book he had been reading down onto the end table beside his elegant chair. "I was wondering how ye made out with them badboons."

"I teamed up with a partner, and together we cleared them out from around the road. Should be safe to travel again soon, but first, we have to deal with a bunch of undead that have either escaped from Glen Cumha or have been created from the necromancy leaking out of a break in the wards."

"How is it that ye recall that name, son? Yer wee bit of fey blood should not be enough for you to escape the dissembling surrounding the Vale of Lament."

"I have picked up some crazy good mental resistances when I first got to Illuminaria. I think they are what is filtering out the confusion … forgetfulness effect. Regardless, I can recall the name even when everyone else seems to forget about it, and I know it's connected to the court of the Feylands. What I was hoping is that you would tell me what that connection is."

"That be a sad tale, lad. Tis the root of the reason Padu and I have been stationed here on the cusp of that dread valley for the last few centuries. We are the watchers, sworn to guard against what is bound down under the Gwanwyn Cairn, the pyramid I have doubt you saw within the vale."

'Yeah, I saw it. I know what a cairn is. What does that first word mean?"

"Tis the first season, the time of blooming. It means Spring, son. Gwanwyn Cairn means Spring's Grave."

"But why? Do I need to trade my favor for the story?"

"Ah, well asked. Had ye offered yer favor for what I know, I would have traded it, but ye asked if ye need to trade it, and that be no. I will tell it to you, but not without a bit o' drink first. This maudlin tale is not one I wish to tell without a good bit of whiskey to ease its passage."

The fey knight gestured to the couch for Joe and Mojo to sit while he got up and moved to a sideboard, returning with an exquisite bottle filled with a golden brown liquor and two snifter glasses. The vessel had a cut glass band encircling the base and another just below the neck of the bottle. Each sharp facet threw off glittering sparkles as he carried the bottle to where the seats were. Corran poured, and Joe's enhanced sense of smell quickly picked up the rich scent of a smoky whiskey with some odd undertones, something berry or floral-like, but nothing he could precisely identify. Joe was not sure he had ever smelled anything quite like it before, guessing its origin was not of this world or something found on Earth.

He poured a measure for Joe and then another for himself. He downed that first draught in one gulp before he tipped a second into his glass. This portion he held while he settled into his armchair.

"Long was the day, and long was the night," the bugbear began, using the same words that opened his other orations, "when the kings and queens of Annwn ruled over every tree, stag, and sprite. Radiant was Gloriana, the queen of golden Summer. Grim was Morrígu who reigned from Winter's icebound hall. Fierce was the Oakbaron, who rode the amber-leaved thickets hunting with his wild packmates. The last of the Great Lords was the joyous King of Spring. The Erlking he was, also known as the Lord of Larks.

"Each noble fey was gifted in the magic that suited them best. The Spring King was the master of glamours. By magic and words alone, he won the friendship and loyalty of the eldest of all dragons, Salmara'roog. From the primordial swarm demon, Khimbar, the Erlking extracted a promise that the Great Devourer would never attempt to cross the Veil into Annwn. Even his fellow queens found themselves bound by promises. Only the Oakbaron was truly immune to his enchantments, as such was the balance laid out by Arawn; the queens were equals, as was each king.

"In time, the Lord of Larks drew more favor than did his sisters and brother. His court grew vast, larger than the followers of any of his siblings. Beyond his vast charms, there were reasons for this imbalance. The Crow Queen was a harsh mistress, and the end of winter enlivened the hearts of the fey. Summer's toil and Autumn's preparations were well and good, but there was nothing so welcoming as the unfurling of Spring's delight. Wherever the Erlking walked in the days of Spring, larks followed full of song, and blossoms awoke in each of his steps.

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"The queens began to resent their bright brother. The Swan Queen and the Lady of Winter conspired to bring him low. Morrígu held winter far past the time she should have waned into warmth, and Gloriana heated the skies early, her sweltering season curtailing spring's daya. Year after year, the pair weakened the Lord of Larks by stealing his time.

"Had the kings joined forces, they might have righted this imbalance, but the Erlking was proud. The Oakbaron revered conflict, be it the hunt or war. He would never intervene in another strife without permission.

"And so strife and striving broke into war. The Court of Spring sallied forth to drive back the queens' theft of his months, attempting to reclaim the time that belonged to the season of flowers. The Song Knights of Spring met the Golden Bannerettes of Summer and the Wolf Legions of Winter.

"Even though the Spring King had the largest court, he could not stand against them both. His downfall was engineered by the queens with the aid of the Winter's hags. A great curse was laid upon him by Devilbone Kava, the greatest of the bog-hag witches. The curse warped the Lord's bountiful charms into a most dire bane. She turned the Erlking's greatest boon into his doom. Kava did not weaken his charms but empowered them so thoroughly that his presence enthralled all who saw him. To the queens and her coven, she gave the antidote, but the Erlking's mien swayed all others. Those who hated him gave him their regard. Those who love him already were driven to madness in their desire for him. Soon, his surest allies were at each other's throats, jealously tearing apart any rival for the Lord of Lark's love.

"The Erlking tried to save his people, to mimic the immunity the hag had given her allies. His spells failed. Instead of deadening his people's desire for him, he deadened their hearts in another way. Undeath filled his faithful. Akin to the vampire's unlife, his magic robbed the heart of more than fixation; it created forms that had no love. Instead, they craved the essence of life.

"This was the birth of necromancy as a form of magic. Undead had existed before, but they were a rarity: shades and specters, banshees and bodaks roamed the lands, born from tragedies or cruel temperaments. Yet no magic had before existed to raise corpses into ghouls and ghasts.

"In the battle of Dyffryn Gwyrdd, the queens gathered to meet and finally vanquish the Erlking's army, expecting to find legions of fractious forces. Instead, they were nearly overwhelmed by the undead throngs. The Lord of Larks himself had been marred by his new malevolent magics. He stood over his groaning brigades as a great wight, dead in flesh and soul.

"They were moments away from being routed, and having death rule Annwn, but their salvation came in a thunder of hoofbeats and warcries. The Oakbaron rode onto the field, bringing with him the entirety of the Wild Hunt in his wake. The fiercest of all fey forces decimated the dead. The queens, given a moment of reprieve, opened the Veil. The Autumn harriers drove the ghastly army into the Lands of Stone.

"Yet the vile marred masses and their fallen kings were not destroyed. The Owl King's seers divined that should his brother be killed then and there, his conniving sisters could claim Spring for themselves, upending his homeworld. Even though it was his aid that turned the tide, it was their war that would be won with the Erlking's demise. He had no trust in them to choose wisely.

"Instead, he had wards built to contain the remainder of the corrupted court. The valley where the twisted remains of Spring's army was encaged was given the name Glen Cumha, the Vale of Lament, for Oakbaron's heart broke to so bind his brother from their home in the Gossamer Lands.

"Once it was done, the Autumn King realized the balance of Annwn was breaking, though it was not shattered. One king had been banished, but he still existed. The only way to save Annwn from spiraling into chaos was to even the scales. The King in Brown chose to exile himself to Robin Goodfellow's world of stone, leaving the queens to split the rule of the Lands of Light between them. He forsook his flesh and took on the form his name implied. He grew tall and barked. His shaggy crown of locks he traded for a canopy of leaves. The Oakbaron became the Oak Baron.

"And through the long of the day and the long of the night, he waits as such still. Waiting until the balance of Annwn can once again be restored."

As the tale ended, Joe sat and digested the fey knight's words. Outside the house, the sound of the whirling winds mirrored his churning thoughts. The courts, as well as the kings and queens of the fey, were not what he had expected. The courts didn't sound like regions inside the Feylands; they seemed to be more based on time than location. Was each a ruler of everything for a quarter of the year? Now, maybe half the year.

The kings were now something other than what they had been, too. One was an undead while the other was a tree, maybe an ent. The queens sounded like bitches. They had broken the balance of their world out of jealousy because spring was more popular than their seasons.

But what could or should the Guild do about it? Should they simply seal the ward back up, or was that just a patch job on something that needed to be dealt with?

As Joe pondered these ideas, his arm was pressed downward by a demanding weight. The force was strong enough to almost pop the glass out of his grip. The star-filled mark on the inside of his right forearm was writhing on his skin. The motes swirled about like snow in a blizzard. It simultaneously felt both leadened and charged. It was telling him the fate of Glen Cumha had far greater repercussions associated with it than his encounter with Sougath ever did.

Joe was suddenly struck by the unshakeable notion that what he did there could truly change the world. Maybe two of them.