The Crystal Cage Part One

THE CRYSTAL CAGE

An Aurivyn Tale

First published in Abandoned Towers Magazine Issue 3, 2009

Part One

Hazerium, my friend! It’s been a dog’s age since last I’ve seen you! I’ve been abroad, didn’t you know? By invitation of a very good friend of mine. You recall Thelosius the Centurion? He is now one of the sovereign Lords, charged with watching over the Holgonn Territories in the name of the Mother Empire!

Thelosius sent for me especially, you see. Oh yes! “Ganderamathrus,” he said to me, “please, I implore you to come and witness firsthand the dramatic changes I shall introduce to this land.” How could I refuse an invitation like that, I ask you? Exotic lands and exotic peoples mean exotic stories!

What an opportunity and what a terrible place it is, Hazerium! Picture it: the Holgonn Territories, far north of our beloved Trycadia, beyond even the arid plains of Yzaruam and the rolling steppes of Engathar. It is a place of unforgiving mountains and slanted fields of snow. I swear upon the grave of the First Emperor, it is always winter there.

If my visit told me one thing, it is that the Holgonn are in desperate need of our guidance and leadership. They are a simple, superstitious, and uncivilized people.  Instead of togas, they all—men and women alike—wear trousers and tunics made of…yak-skins, or something equally unpleasant.

Still, they are an intimidating lot. They are all bred tall and wide-in-the-shoulder up in Holgonn. A strong and burly people, and small wonder. Their legends all claim they are somehow descended from an extinct nation of giants.

Nonetheless, a remarkable people, with surprising talents! They are skilled hunters and skinners. They know the intimate secrets of metalsmithing, supposedly a knowledge their ancestors stole from the dwarves long ago. And sailing! I’m told they are sailors and ship-builders without peer!

Hmm, you know, it’s actually quite lucky for those simple barbarians that they were welcomed into the nurturing embrace of the Trycadian Empire before they could be exploited by some unscrupulous kingdom or other.

….Where was I, Hazerium? Oh, yes! Thelosius! He was granted a stark, cold keep overlooking a tiny village in a vale at the foot of the mountains. The little valley was surrounded on three sides by tall, steep mountains making it highly defensible and sheltered from the cruel winds. However, it was susceptible to small but regular avalanches. The place was named Vesterholt long before Thelosius got there. But within three days, our countrymen began calling it ‘the Snowbowl’.

After a week of freezing misery, witnessing Thelosius issue proclamation after boring proclamation…something interesting happened in the village.

I looked down from the keep and saw a gathering in the village square below. It set my insatiable storyteller-senses aflame, and I simply HAD to find out what was going on. So, quick as a wink, I rushed to discover the goings-on among the natives.

It was a fellow named Rolglor, who’d been out checking his traps for rabbits, or wolves, or some such and found something he did not expect. It was one of his own, a Holgonn, though apparently from the village of Zowtholt. The poor fellow was beaten and bloodied, and I understand he breathed his last just mere moments ere I arrived.

“I found him just beyond my farthest trap,” Rolglor told his fellow villagers, the Trycadian soldiers, and me. “He’d been badly hurt; I think the cold kept him alive so long. He was babbling about a magician who’s claimed the abandoned tower not far away, and goblins, and a kidnapped princess!”

“Goblins! Here?” I exclaimed, with a few others in the crowd. All of the Holgonn spun in place for a single revolution, then spat upon the snowy ground.

One of the soldiers said, “Lord Thelosius will not like goblins in his territory, whether they are the servants of a magician or not!”

“I know where this man was found, and his tracks should be easy enough to follow,” said Rolglor. “Tell your Lord that I shall scout ahead, and gather what information I can for the soldiers he is sure to send.” As I recall, he said these words with great respect and admiration. Though, had I not spent a week among their funny manners and customs, I should have mistaken his tone for sarcasm.

The soldier consented and rushed to the keep. The barbarian adjusted the heavy sword strapped to his back, then turned without saying another word and trudged back into the snow. And I followed him.

Well I had to, didn’t I? We all know what those simple barbarians are like. Their primitive minds would jumble all the facts into gibberish. In order to obtain all the proper facts, and put them into the proper perspective for the story’s maximum potential… Well, I just had to go with him.

He asked me, too, nervy fellow. “I am Ganderamathrus, a teller of tales,” I told him, “and I go where the story wills. What is your name?” Uh, please understand that I spoke much more slowly to him than I am now speaking to you.

I was fortunate. Except for his weird Holgonnic accent, he followed the Emperor’s tongue well enough, as long as I avoided the use of very big words.

“I am called Rolglor,” he said to me, poorly hiding his awe and reverence of my Empirical heritage behind a phony sneer. “I am a hunter. The animals I trap provide the village with meats to eat and skins to wear.”

I smiled at his effort to impress me. “Very admirable! I mean, very good and noble of you!” He rolled his eyes and shook his head; it is the way they show appreciation in his culture, so I’ve observed.

Hazerium, I can honestly say that I spent more time out in the snow that day than I ever wanted to! If I have my say, I never shall again! Rolglor told me it was no more than an hour ere we found the farthest of his traps, but I do not think his primitive mind keeps an accurate account of time. A dozen yards beyond that trap was the spot where he found his dying countryman.

The barbarian pointed at the shallow crater in the snow, at the end of a shallow trench. “This is where I found the Zowtholter,” he said placidly, “He stopped crawling here. Come on.” He followed the trench deeper into the woods.

Before too long, we found the place where he had fallen. The snowy ground was trampled; footsteps over footsteps, and Rolglor said it had been the site of a small battle. The Zowtholter fell there, perhaps to goblins.

To know for certain, we followed the footprints.

To Be Continued...