Chương 251: 11.7

As they came out of the covering canopy of the High Forest Jewel stilled in her step. Eyes taking in the terribly familiar landscape. The bodies were years gone. Eaten by Gryphons, buried or burned. The Village had been rebuilt after a fashion, Herds and plantings had been made but the land was still scarred. Sorcery's mark had turned much good soil and farmland into tangled hillocks of stone riddled earth and clay or other even stranger and more twisted magical detritus.

The Fauxfire in the air was still and yet what had been changed by the battle remained changed. And what had been rebuilt was not where it had once been. The village was now a collection of buildings clinging to A single cobbled road that cleaved through the valley where Fizzbunches had called it forth. Lost were the weaving, curving packed earth and dirt paths that had been before. And even what fields and fences had been restored after the trampling by armies and wizardry were scattered.

Much land was still abandoned. There were patches everywhere that had been left fallow. In one the scrabble and shrubbery that grew there did so with a color and shape of illuminated manuscripts of foliage rather than natural vitality. With leaves that looked like dried parchment and colors that were pale, dead or unnaturally vibrant. Some even edged in the shine of gold. These splatters of the workings of Urul sprouted in single shrubs or in two places entire expansive murals of wild flowers and meadows.

In other fields the grass grew red and glistening. Scattered across pastures in splashes and whorls. Arcs that mirrored where blood was spilled. Even from the edge of the forest she could still smell the iron-rich tang. The touch of Jaksa the red. What once had been good ground to sow wheat, barley or peas were tumults of stone and building. Entire heaping piles of brick, rubble and shingle were contorted through once soft soil and twisted buildings tangled and wrestled one another where meadow had been.

Some had fallen in their abandonment but scattered brick towers twisted and strained against fortress walls yet in places. Frozen in the throes of their battle. Only lightly wrapped in vines and living growth. The marks of Fizzbunches and Veoul. In other places the soil dipped low into divots and sudden chasms. Where soggy pools of swamp reeds sprouted. A great wedge of marsh marked where Tsulogothulan had held against the Weird of Fortresses. And so much more scattered across the lines of conflict.

Where Jewel remembered the less obvious wizard's workings had touched sometimes it had merely been fire and was now mostly tilled over. But then there were sudden copses of trees. Grown far too large and pale for the time since the battle. White bark and crimson or yellow leaves. Old woods over tall for the few years since they sprouted. Amidst the trunks Jewel could see briars with thorns as long as a man's arm and nearly as thick.

The lines of sudden trees crisscrossing the landscape like the gashes of a wildly swung knife. Euewyn's scars. And with all the ruin made of the land the signs of farm and people had diminished. When Jewel had first seen this valley the buildings of its village were almost three times the number that had since been rebuilt. And what structures were here now took on a mixed appearance. Wood timbres that seemed strange and a mix match.

Brickwork and stone that was a medley of the solid hard stones of the fortress and the small little bricks of city buildings. The place of Jewel's first and last battle was stark. Made all the more so that except for one place her Wyrmdoom was the least ruinous mark upon the land. A slight furrow in the earth in a few places. Already evened out and made productive if the scythed bristle of wheat was anything to go by. But one of the towers of the fortress was still aborted abruptly.

Some of its stones had tumbled in the years and seasons since to make its broken edge jagged. But otherwise the place Veoul had been slain. No one had acted to repair it. Jewel's only surviving mark on this valley was no longer a perfectly straight ending where wyrmflame had engulfed and unmade stone, timbre and wizard. It was a broken, damaged place. Jewel's words came to her unbidden, soft and fragile.

"There is so much left of the battle." In the wake of one conflict a ruin had been enacted on what had once been rough but fertile fields. After surveying the desolation for longer than was strictly proper Jewel led her party onward. They walked on the straight smooth cobbles, one of Muriel's footmen had acted as vanguard and she could see that her banners were raised in welcome and assurance on the walls of the distant fortress.

But moving along the far too straight and orderly way through the terribly still village bothered Jewel. What men and few women she saw stared at her with a deadness in their eyes. Something beyond fear. The eyes of rabbits who already knew they were caught in a snare. The ones who could not even raise the breath to scream in their despair. On either side Jewel could not deny what she saw. Pasture was abandoned, far overgrown beyond what any cow, goat or sheep would leave.

Fields all over that had never seen tilling or planting for years. The buildings were carefully built. Thick walled for the harsher highland winters. But they were far from numerous. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. There had once been a village here. Technically they might have rebuilt one. But now it was hardly a hamlet. Where armies and fortifications had been settled around the keep were now scattered buildings huddled close to the straight cut road.

Like a single line of Kaeketeh's midtown had been dredged up in the midst of farmland. Fizzbunches' road had been claimed and slowly built around. But there was a presence to the shadows between those few structures that had been erected along this cutting path. Jewel could hear a mother cat nursing her kittens in the loft of one of the houses. A pair of toms wrestling and clawing at one another in a shadow.

It was a sign of life but all but smothered by the still and staring peasants that did not labor as Jewel knew they should be. They watched her pass. All eyes upon her. Too afraid to let Jewel out of their sight. Standing outside their simple houses, or from within door frames. They all watched Jewel passing. The stink of fear and sweat choking the air around them. Paul whispered to her.

"Are we sure we are welcomed guests here?" Jewel nodded to her husband and spoke softly, the sound of her voice made the villagers tremble. But none of them fled, she almost wished they would. But even the children were stuck still as they stared. Her words made them tremble like leaves.

"My friend the Count of Arva promised our passage as guests in his lands and to accompany our party to the capital from here." The old temple had been utterly destroyed some time in the fighting. In its place was something almost worse than nothing. These poor people barely even had a roofed-over shrine. Packed with statues and idols, many of which were cracked or damaged. A brief reminder of the original temple half torn asunder by the first strikes of Wizard Fire. Paul nodded to that.

"I don't recall hearing much respect f-from my mother's court for Arva. So I suppose he cannot be that bad." She could only nod again, not wanting to spook these terrified peasants anymore with her voice. Jewel picked up the pace and no one in her party questioned it, the horses settling into an easy trot as they fled the too small village that was practically squeezing in as close to the fort's walls as the security of the fortifications would allow.

Thurzó had promised to meet them here in the southernmost holding of Arva. But at the state of the village and the furtive and sparse population of peasants Jewel wondered how well this land could afford to host anyone. By her ear and sight there could not be more than a hundred able bodied men in the valley. Maybe twice that in children and women if she was generous and assumed more were in the woods beyond her sight.

But Jewel was not hopeful of that, the woods around here felt wild and agitated by the presence of all but Jewel. Almost offended by any that dared touch the roots or press the branches. The trees around this valley smelled of biting autumn well outside the season for it. Random branches were already heavy in fiery colors a good season early. And in places thicker dark bark had fallen away to reveal the all too familiar silvery white of a certain Weird.

Their party left behind the sad imitation of a village and its far too small and few households. Not enough women, far too few children. Entering into the no-man's land between the fortress' walls and the new site the peasants had set their homes. Jewel noted it would be a very short run indeed to get from even the farthest house and into the walls. The placing of the meager settlement speaking to a fear just as profound as the one held by the staring populace. Jewel could not find any words.

It had been years, but in many places the scars of the battle were practically fresh. Scarred over in new growth maybe. In places stone and timbres had been salvaged. But on the whole the former battle felt like a just barely scabbed over wound. The world was duller and more subdued. Tangled and confused in the medley of abandoned workings and sorcerous signs.

"Ho Countess of Viznove! Be welcome to High Forest Castle!" Jewel was thankful when finally the footmen stationed at the fort called out to them. The Rochford and Thurzó banners set on equal prominence at either side of the gate. A sign of life and warmth after the disturbing, terrified stillness of the village.

But that relief stalled as they made their way into the courtyard and she saw a far too familiar and entirely too smug black cat with a floppy red hat sitting prim and proper in the middle of the fortress courtyard with footmen in a line to either side of him. Eyes shining golden with delight. As her party approached Fizzbunches of the alleys, Esteemed Lord Sorcerer and Weird of the Demesne of Ghergeintat dipped his head into a bow that somehow made him seem more insulting than acknowledging.

"Jewel of House Rochford, Lady of Valasect and Kaeketeh, Shining Wyrm and Countess of Viznove. I Fizzbunches, Out of obligation and honor of my circle to fulfill our promise and pledge of protection to your father and family come to humbly escort you in your travels beyond the Vault of the Ridgetail Mountains." If they were alone in the woods, or even indoors Jewel might have refused the smug cat outright for his offer. But in front of her party? In full view of all of these footmen of Arva?

Just past the gate of her friend the Count Thurzó and on the eve before they would both depart for the capital together to see the High King? Jewel was the Countess of Viznove, Fizzbunches and his circle had been instrumental in the very victory she had won here. They were supposed to be fast allies and he comes out here in front of everyone declaring that he owed Jewel aid and assistance for this journey? If she refused it would be a sign of weakness. Mother's lessons clenched on her heart.

If she showed such a blatant and public insult to her ostensible allies from a circle of Wizards it would weaken Viznove's position. And unlike in her youth Jewel was now certain Fizzbunches was doing this on purpose. She could not even afford to sigh in exasperation with so many eyes on her. Fortunately Gem's lungs could heave for the rest of her in exasperation. While her wyrmish throat and tongue worked to express all the grace and dignity a strong ally of a countess deserved.

"Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches, I accept and welcome this sign of loyalty to our alliance. You may join me in my travels. Now shall we present ourselves to our host Count Thurzó of Arva?" The smug cat grinned with pearly white fangs and his eyes shined even brighter. And as he had before nearly eight years ago he spun in place and began marching ahead of them to the main entrance of the keep where arrangements could be settled for their welcoming feast and presenting to her friend's court.

Jewel spared a glance for her party. Smithson was sizing up the Thurzó men. Muriel was arranging for the room and board of her footmen. Dariusz and his family had already slipped away to see to the kitchen things with whatever staff Thurzó had brought to the keep. The only one that was not already busying themselves was her Husband. Paul was making a face that suggested she and him would have things to talk about that evening regarding wizards. She wondered precisely what though?

Jewel had told her husband about Fizzbunches before. She had in fact complained at length about the Weird of Ghergeintat and his manners. As Jewel stepped forward and her husband swung out of his saddle he leaned over and whispered only just loud enough for Jewel to hear." You never said that Fizzbunches was a cat!"