Prince Gyllen Ch. 14

Leaving Sachsen behind, Gyllen and Min sailed even further east and a little to the south along the mainland. Having grown used to the more heated climates of their previous destinations, they were caught off guard by the sudden presence of a noticeable chill in the air. While not as frigid as Snjórland's waters, it still warranted to have them wrap up a little more than usual, something which Gyllen felt oddly nostalgic about doing.

"So, what's our next secret shag spot gonna be then, Goldie?" Min asked Gyllen first thing one bitter morning while they were out at sea, a thin cape wrapped around her stubby body and, for once, concealing her indiscreet assets.

"Honestly, Min! Is that all you ever think about?" Gyllen retorted, though knew full well himself that always seemed to end up being the case no matter where they found themselves.

"'Course not...I think 'bout jillin' off a whole bunch too!" The goblin chortled.

"If you must know, we're visiting what is said to be the oldest castle on the western continent still in use." Gyllen answered. "The castle also houses the single largest private collection of books in the world so, as you can imagine, I'm planning on doing a lot of perusing whilst there. I won't be able to make any time to, as you eloquently put it, 'shag', even if I wanted to."

"Oh, hang on, that's Castle Şolomanţă yer thinkin' of, right? In Dacia?" Min said. "Even I've heard a' that place. Never been there meself, but always wanted t' drop by it sometime. Imagine all the valuable antiques they got stashed away in there~"

"The only other thing you think about..." The prince sighed.

"Hey, I'm just messin' with ya!" Min chuckled. "Though, I always heard stories 'bout that place bein' a haunted, old wreck."

"Well, unless I got a response from a ghost, that doesn't appear to be the case." The prince replied. "The castle's current countess has been so gracious as to let us stay on the premises for a few nights."

"So what yer sayin' is...we're gonna be doin' it in a library next? Oh, you kinky fucker~! Just remember to keep it quiet, or we might get an earful." Min laughed again. Gyllen merely rolled his eyes to the goblin's humour. "But seriously, what's so great 'bout flickin' through a buncha dead trees for a couple days anyway? Ya coulda done that at home, easy."

"Imagine all the rare texts in that collection I would never be able to find at Mrs. Skrifadotter's Literature Kiosk down the street!" The blond answered gleefully. "The Countess said she's been looking to lessen the bulk of her catalogue for a while now so I've agreed to take a few things off her hands."

"Whatever. I jus' don' see the appeal of readin' 'bout other people's made-up adventures. I rather go out an' do all that stuff meself."

"You're perfectly free to stay behind if you wish, you know."

"Nah, 'course I'm taggin' along. Someone's gotta make sure that crusty ol' bat ain't gonna take advantage of ya." Min said. "'sides, maybe I can finally score meself a pop-up Kama Sutra or somethin'."

The Killer Kraken was able to make its course a decent way inland into Dacia thanks to the River Folyadék: a waterway which flowed from the springs of the snow-capped Havasok Mountains that ran along the country's northern borders. The river cut straight through the land before spilling out into the ocean and was wide enough to let several large ships travel both ways at a time, allowing for direct trade with and visits to the numerous waterfront settlements. The pirate vessel cruised up the canal for few more hours, stopping in a large basin which the capital city of Barlang was built around. From here on out, the river began to become too narrow for a galleon of the Kraken's size to safely continue much further. The boat moored in the marina where Min and Gyllen shortly disembarked with a small case of luggage between them to seek out a transfer which would take them on the next leg of their trek towards Erdeuelu, the region wherein Castle Şolomanţă was situated.

During the voyage over, Gyllen had studied the basics of the Dacian language in order to make their time in the foreign land a little less cumbersome, however even that was not helping much with the heated argument he was currently having with the clerk at the transport office over their itinerary.

"But you have carriages going even further than Erdeuelu!" Gyllen firmly told the elderly, bespectacled gentleman behind the counter. "I checked the route maps. Some are even going out of the country! We have plenty of funds to cover the return trip several times over. Why is it just that one place posing such a problem?"

"Money is not the issue here, my good lady - er - man." The greying administrator responded, looking over the rim of his glasses. "The way you wish to go is simply far too treacherous anyone working here is willing to take."

"It's only a few hills and some forest. Even I can traverse that on horseback just fine!" The prince claimed.

"Listen, you're obviously foreigners so you may have a hard time understanding this..." The clerk took a deep breath as he pushed his spectacles up his hooked nose before lowering his voice to a grim whisper. "Officially, we're not allowed to talk about this, but we are a very traditional people here in Dacia, and with those traditions come very strong beliefs. It has been said that the entire Erdeuelu area has held a terrible curse since time immemorial. There have been many travellers who have gone through that land only to vanish without a trace, and those who do return rave of dreadful daemons amongst their terror-induced gibberings. I remember the last trip one of our coaches risked into Erdeuelu, over thirty years ago to the date I believe. A Gaulish noblewoman, by the name of Margaux Minuit if I recall correctly, was invited to a stately dinner at Castle Şolomanţă only for her and the driver never to be seen or heard from again, with not a single sign of the carriage, the horses or even any bodies turning up since then. Even the authorities refused to conduct a formal investigation into the matter precisely because it had occurred in Erdeuelu, that's how notorious the region is."

"Well, if nobody looked into it, how do ya know she didn' jus' like the place so much, she decided t' settle down at a nice cottage or somethin'? Hel, maybe she was havin' an affair with the driver and they decided t' elope that day." Min tactlessly interjected, trying to lighten the dire mood. "Sounds like yer jus' a superstitious, cowardly lot t' me. So what? A few people get lost in the woods or get scared by the odd fox or crow jumpin' from out the bushes and suddenly ya think ya got monsters runnin' 'bout yer back gardens? Gimme a break..."

"Look, if you two are that dead-set on visiting the castle even after all my warnings, then I won't stop you." The old man gave in. "But the absolute closest we can have anyone legally take you is Marha Village, which is still a good few miles distance from the castle. After that, you're on your own. Are you still willing to go?"

"I suppose it's better than nothing..." Gyllen remarked, feeling drained after his experience with metropolitan customer service "What do you think, Min?"

"I think we'll take it!" The goblin made the final call.

Shortly thereafter, Min and the prince found themselves heading out of the city and into the countryside sat on the cushioned seats of a luxury hansom drawn by two horses of the highest pedigree. For hours, they rode along a cobblestone road, over tranquil streams and through serene woodlands, the backdrop of the hillocks and warbling of the birds accentuating the natural beauty of their surroundings. Settlements became few and far between the further they travelled from Barlang; towns gradually shrank into villages, and villages gradually melted into fields. The cold sting in the climate remained ever-present however, its existence becoming more notable as the sun started to dip down into the west.

Their cab arrived on the outskirts of the small hamlet that was Marha Village just as the rapidly setting sun caked the land in a warm, orange glow, and caused the shadows of the modest buildings to cast long and dark against the ground. The duo stepped out from the coach just in time to see their luggage be practically tossed by the driver into the prince's hands from its fastenings atop the roof of the coach.

"Wh-what's the rush?" Gyllen asked him, staggering when the suitcase clumsily fell into his arms.

"So sorry, úr, but I must return to Barlang without delay! I do not like being out too long after nightfall." Their chauffeur quickly explained before hopping back onto his seat. "May the Dawn Mother watch over and protect thee." He then cracked his whip over the horses, causing them to start recklessly hurtling back down the path from whence they arrived faster than Min could say:

"Well, that was bloody rude." She turned to face her human companion. "What's the plan now, Gyl?"

"Finding some people would certainly be a start..." He said as he surveyed the barren locale with not a living soul anywhere in sight. "Well, if I've learned anything from hanging about you long enough, it's that pubs always seem to be a popular spot no matter where one goes."

"Now yer speakin' me language~" The goblin flashed a bright smile. Together, the two sought out and soon discovered what was likely the village's tavern: a long, stone building with a thatch roof and wooden sign creaking slowly in the faint wind above the door. The name of the establishment was in Dacian, of course, and Gyllen was only able to understand the word for 'dragon', while the sign depicted an image of the aforementioned dinosaur against a full moon. Min was the first to reach the door and swung it wide open only to be greeted by a pungent odour wafting through the air.

"Phwoar! This joint doesn' half-reek!" Min declared, pinching her pierced nose closed. "I think someone's goin' overboard with the garlic in the kitchen."

"I don't think it's that so much as they're apparently decorating the place with the stuff. Look!" The blond remarked, catching a whiff of the same smell as he came in behind the little redhead. True enough, the interior was lined wall-to-wall with smelly white bulbs and flowers "You know, I've heard of some cultures using garlic to ward off evil spirits."

"Wardin' off the customers is more like it!" Min retorted.

The bar itself was sparsely populated and dimly lit by a handful of candles and a roaring fireplace. The few peasants present were spread out amongst a few tables, quietly murmuring amongst themselves as they drank from foaming glasses while a young nomad girl stood to the side and played a quiet, sombre tune upon a viola in exchange for coins. Some heads were turned as the pair made their way towards the counter, Gyllen's extravagant clothing and Min's decidedly unhuman appearance causing some scrupulous looks, but they were just as quickly ignored.

"Excuse me." The blond said, gaining the attention of a portly, moustachioed bartender. "Sorry to be a bother but is there anywhere close by where we can hire some transport? Our last driver had leave us here and turn back on account of...erm...a personal emergency."

"Depends. Where're you heading?" The bartender asked without once stopping his hand from rinsing a mug out with a rag.

"Castle Şolomanţă." Gyllen casually name-dropped their destination.

The room fell into a sheer silence upon that mere utterance of the elusive keep: the patrons ceased their banter to gaze upon the oblivious strangers, the viola stopped being played after a startled, misplayed scratch of a note and even the bartender froze his automatic polishing as his eyes grew wide in shock. Gyllen look around himself, starting to worry he said something he should not have, with Min feeling equally uneasy by the unfriendly stares upon them. The quiet lasted until a deep chuckle was heard coming from a darkened corner of the room, which soon turned into near-maniacal laughter.

"If it's a ride inta Erdeuelu yer lookin' for, then I'm yer best, and only, bet. These gutless pansies can barely go take a piss alone at night, let alone plunge headfirst inta that wicked, godless blight upon th' surface o' th' earth...not that a personage of your breedin' would believe all that tripe, sah." The source of the mirth said, in a distinctly non-Dacian inflection, before a long arm extended from out of the penumbra and gestured the two tourists closer towards the table at which he was sat. Gyllen was about to do so, albeit very cautiously, but was stopped momentarily when Min tugged on his coat sleeve.

"Eh, you can go humour that loony. I think I'll stay a safe distance an' help meself to a cheeky half-pint." The goblin whispered to him before standing tip-toed to order something from the bar.

As the prince approached the silhouetted character, he realised how odd it was that none of the locals called the person out for his brazen insult addressed to them. In fact, it seemed as though they wanted nothing to do with him in the slightest going by how they had resumed their previous activities, hardly acknowledging his being there at all. As Gyllen's blue eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was able to discern the individual more clearly. The first thing to stand out from the figure was an old, battered top hat worn atop his head, partially hiding a black mane of long, untamed hair that germinated from his crown to his shoulders, complementing the small, patchy beard growing on his chin, lips and cheeks. The rest of him donned a dark, tattered suit and jacket, a bright scarlet scarf around his neck, a pair of grey-green fingerless, woollen gloves fitted on his hands and a noticeably mismatched set of scuffed boots on his feet: one beige and the other ebony.

"And to whom do I owe this...er...'pleasure'?" Gyllen asked.

"Wolsing, sah. Lawrence Wolsing. At yer service, m'lord." He introduced himself, lifting the headgear from his shaggy head by the brim and swinging it across his chest in a histronic manner as he made a short bow whilst making a wide, toothy grin from ear-to-ear. Perhaps it was just the light playing tricks on his vision, but the prince could swear the two rows of bared, glinting teeth appeared to be slightly elongated and razor-sharp, more like the fangs of a wild animal than the dentition of a human. With his hat briefly removed, the blond also noticed that his two ears tapered into slight, pointed tips, similar to an elf's but not to the same exaggerated degree. "Please, 'ave a seat and we'll talk business, Mister...?"

"Um...Gyllen, son of Stål." The Nordic teenager shyly revealed his own name as he helped himself to the chair opposite of Wolsing just as the latter lifted a half-chewed leg of lamb by the exposed bone from the table to his mouth and savagely bit into it with those enamel spikes, tearing out and scarfing down a large chunk of the meat in a single breath, the juices dripping and tinkling onto the tin plate below. The prince felt repulsed by the display of such barbaric table manners though, to be fair, it did look and smell like a very appetising shank.

"Now then, Gylly...I can call you Gylly, right?" Wolsing asked once he licked his lips and fingers clean of residue, but continued rambling before Gyllen could give an answer. "If I over'eard right then it sounds like you two are wantin' a lift up t' see ol' Lizzie...I mean, Countess Mircalla. Been a good while since I last took someone up there."

"Yes, that's correct." Gyllen replied. "You're a coachman, I take it?"

"Bit o' a jack-o'-all-trades, really, if ya had ta pin me as sumfin'." Wolsing answered. "But I can take ya up ta the castle faster than ya can say 'brown bread', so long as ya gots the cash for it."

"Yes, of course!" Gyllen said, perking up for the first time since leaving the ship. It certainly was a refreshing change of pace for him to finally encounter someone in this country who did not treat Erdeuelu with such taboo aversion.

"I take me payment upfront too, if that's awright wiv you. Oh, an' I only accept gold specifickly, by the by. Or coppers. But absolutely no silver, got it? Can't stand the stuff..."

"Um, alright then." Gyllen said, perplexed by that seemingly odd specification but decided not to follow up on it, lest he risk upsetting their only chance of reaching the castle with unneeded questions, and asked just one more: "When can we leave?"

"Right as soon as I finish me dinner! And mebbe when yer li'l pal over there has done relievin' the yokels o' their wallets." He said as he pointed behind the prince, who looked over his shoulder in time to witness Min in the midst of dealing out playing cards to some unsuspecting punters with a pile of (presumably) wagered currency sitting between them. From the angle he was sat at, Gyllen was able to catch glimpses of the goblin's sneaky sleights-of-hand as she skilfully swapped cards in and out of the deck as she pleased without being noticed by her opponents.

Afterwards, on the cusp of dusk, the prince and Min waited outside the pub for Wolsing to pull his carriage around to the entrance. Illuminated by a single lantern affixed to its flank as it teetered into view, the diligence was a far cry from the splendour of their initial transfer: the black paint had peeled away in several spots, exposing the worn wood underneath, and the rickety wheels looked as though they were fitted rather flimsily onto their spindles, as though they could detach at any moment. At least the two horses hauling the heap looked to be of a healthy calibre, though their coats were so dark, they more so resembled eerie living shades of the real things, virtually blending into the nighttime background in places. Still, with no other alternative before them, the pair took their first steps towards the ominous transport but were quickly halted in their tracks when they heard the cries of someone approaching from behind:

"Kisasszony! Kisasszony!" Naturally, they turned around and found themselves face-to-face with a middle-aged woman, whom they assumed to be the barkeep's wife, displaying an expression of utter fear and clutching a thin hoop of string to which a small pewter pendant in the intricately-etched form of a stag was attached, which Gyllen recognised from his tuition years to be a common holy symbol in Dacian religion. The lady's speech was frantic, her accent was heavy and her dialect peculiar. In fact, the prince was only really able to make out the words for 'protect' and 'evil', so it was especially jarring when she forcibly shoved the necklace over his head and let it hang from his collar before vanishing back indoors just as suddenly as she appeared, leaving the blond with the charm and further puzzled. Wolsing sniggered at the whole ordeal.

"What's so funny?" Gyllen swivelled back around to ask him.

"Nuffin'. 'op on." He answered, still smiling that terrible crocodile smile while he leaned over and opened the coach's door for them to enter, making it squeak on its hinges. The blond remained wary as he stepped inside the carriage's dingy interior before helping himself to what remained of the red-cushioned, moth-eaten bench as the goblin heedlessly followed, banging the door shut again behind her. "Next stop, Şolomanţă Castle!" Their driver announced before making a shrill whistle through his teeth which caused the equines to start trotting along the pathway with a snort.

It did not take long until they found themselves out in the wilderness once more, though the splendour of the land appeared very different under the navy blue blanket of night: tree branches became sinister, outstretched appendages, sparrow songs were replaced by the screeches of owls and a horde of eyes belonging to unidentified beasts gleamed from the undergrowth. Gyllen felt rife with fraught to say the least, and the following baying of a nearby wolf did not help to put him at ease. The prince stuck his head out of the carriage's window to speak with the driver about his concerns. "Pardon me, Mr. Wolsing?" He asked in an elevated voice, his blond tresses billowing behind his youthful head. "Silly question, but there's nothing out there that could attack us...is there?"