Story : Climbing Caer Caradoc
From Ars Magica
Contents |
Joining the Road to Sarop
Stepping out into the morning sun, dark shadows still clung to the western sides of the hills that faced them. Not far from the road, the farmers' fields ended, turning rapidly into dense forest that covered the remaining distance to the hills, and covering much of their sides. To the North-East sat Caer Caradoc; easily spotted among the lower prominences on the eastern side of the vale.
The old road ran past the front of the tavern from the North-East, and was moderately busy with people walking or riding in to Church Stretton to attend the Sunday services from both directions. Many of the buildings in the village were sending small trails of grey smoke into the fresh morning air, as Sunday dinners were prepared.
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Upon the Road
As the company set off, the peasants, serfs, and freeman travelling the opposite way gave them a wide-berth, as befitted those who, at first glance at least, looked to be travelling nobles, or churchmen.
Glancing back, the Long Mynd rose up behind them, dwarfing the hills, though lacking the loftiness of Caer Caradoc. Its sides glowed with a mixture of verdure and heather in the light of the rising sun. As the party left Church Stretton behind, Caer Caradoc moved toward the East, and it became clear that they would have to leave the old road, and bear toward the summit.
A trail left the road, running between two fields, and disappearing into the forest on the far side.
"It looks to me as if that trail goes through the lower lands to the south of Caer Caradoc itself" speaks Bedo. "That end of the hill looks less steep than the side that faces us to the north of here. Nenya - is that the way we should climb, or is there a reason to go another way".
Nenya brushed a strand of hair from her face, and smiled a bit nervously. "The path turns north after a bit. It's steep here but easy travelling once it reaches the ridge. This would be a good way to go."
Following the trail
"Right then, Let us start the climb. The sooner we reach above the trees the better, for then we will have views, and that bird of yours can start to fly free Phaedrus." Without waiting, he starts up the trail, heading up and away from the road.
Passing between the rye fields, Bedo soon finds himself under the thick canopy of the forest trees. Beams of light sparkled with with breeze-borne motes, and thick moss smothered the banks that lay either side of the path. The path didn't stretch far into the forest before its twists and winds caused it to be lost amidst the trunks of the old treees.
As they climbed up between the tree, Bedo spoke "I know what I'm doing, looking for a covenant. Durenmar I loved, but I need somewhere smaller and less full of scheming, where I can research, without always worrying who's planning what. Oh, and not having an archmage looking over my shoulder all the time will allow me to research as I feel right, not as he does. Now, what is it that brings you here, climbing this hill, looking for a new home?"
As the path fades away, he spoke again "Nenya - do you know of anything around here that should stop us just heading uphill? If we head upwards we are bound to break out above the treeline, and anywhere uphill takes us closer to the hilltop".
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The Brook
Rounding a twist in the path, the travellers were greeted by the sound of burbling water. Ahead, an old, blackened log lay across a wide stream. The boughs overhead cast shadows upon the water, and the odd submurged rock thrust the water up as it raced by. The top of the log had been sawn to make it flatter. Despite the effects of the stream's spray, and the moss upon its sides, the log seemed sturdy.
The path split before the log; a branch heading right along the side of the stream, while the main path continued straight toward the base of Caer Caradoc's ridgeline.
- Phaedrus notices that the bank to the left of the log is scarred, as though a horse or cow has been coming here to drink, or cross the stream.
- Nenya notices a splash of white amidst the churned water. Something snagged and held from being washed away.
- Bedo notices nothing but the pleasant sound of the water.
Nenya raises a hand in warning. "There's something there, in the stream," she said, and then pointed at the place she saw the splash.
Bedo peers down towards where Nenya pointed. Seeing the white item he calls out quietly to her in Welsh "Pass me a branch or something, and I'll try to hook it free". As he waits he glances up towards the far bank, looking unwarily over the chewed-up mud, to the cover beyond.
Before stepping forward, he pauses, and standing still on the bank, calls out the words of Eyes of the Treacherous Terrain, checking his way forward to where he could reach the white object.
His eyes seemed to chill in their sockets, perceptibly, but not so much that it caused discomfort. The mud, he saw, was but a thin layer upon rock and clay. The stream itself had a steeply sided bottom, and was much deeper than its width suggested. Of the bridge and paths, he could perceive nothing. By the time he let the spell fall from his eyes, his robees glistened in the bright morning sunlight with myriad tiny beads of water, like dew on the grass at first light.
"Better make it a good long branch" he added. "That water is deeper than it looks, and I don't fancy slipping in". He peered at the log bridge to see if he could reach it more easily from there. He reckoned it was well over twelve foot between the log bridge and whatever was caught in the stream.
"You know," said Nenya, "I think I saw one just up the path," and with that she wandered off, and returned a minute later with a fallen branch that was nearly as long as she was tall. "Will this do?" she said as she proffered it to the magi with both hands.
"Right ho - thank-you. It wasn't quite what I was thinking of, but it should help me brace myself" he replied with a smile. Before taking it, he took off his pack, his boots, and his outer tunic, folding it carefully, and belted up his undertunic around the top of his legs. Taking the branch, slowly and carefully he climbed down the muddy bank, and into the stream, stopping as he felt the chill of the water. He called out "Phaedrus - you can't swim, can you?" and, as he remembered playing in the brooks of Clwyd as a child, continued, bracing himself with the branch and feeling carefully with his bare feet, as he moved out closer to the white object below the cold water.
