The Way Forward

  When Nolan had imagined traveling upon the Coastal Highway to Stormhold, he’d thought of warm campfires and sharing stories under a starlit sky. An adventure that would be the prelude to an even greater journey.

  Instead, his naivety was greeted by the Kingdom’s Central Coast with a bitch-slap of freezing rain that ranged in volume anywhere from downpour to torrential. It seemed that the protection offered by the Westfold Mountains to the Southern heartlands abandoned the Coastal Highway entirely.

  In hindsight, he should’ve expected nothing less from a road leading to a place called Stormhold.

  Shivering beneath his sodden cloak, Nolan clutched the sides of the covered wagon as it lurched along the crumbling remains of the once-proud cobblestone road.

  The Coastal Highway was an ancient road that predated the formation of the Kingdom, and showed its age from the great cracks that permeated its surface. Large potholes marred it's dilapidated form, and chunks of cobbles broke away along the edges – a testament to power of the constant rains that fell upon the coast that composed the Western Edge of the Kingdom.

  The storms broke against the tall spires of the mountains and cast gentle rains into the interior of the continent, but here on the wet side of the Westfolds, the fury of the Unending Storm was unleashed without ceasing.

  Nolan pulled his cloak tighter, mumbling to himself through chattering teeth, “The region is aptly named, that’s for certain.”

  Glancing out the back of the wagon, Nolan observed to the right a jagged cliff face that rose into the deep black storm clouds. To the left, a sheer drop fell into the raging, black sea that threw water and foam up into the air and onto the highway. The wind raged with such force that Nolan feared a particularly large gust would send them straight over the side of the cliff and into the ocean.

  Clambering up toward the front, Nolan joined Reginald—the merchant who’d agreed to take him as a passenger on his way to Stormhold.

  Clambering up toward the front, Nolan joined Reginald—the merchant who’d agreed to take him as a passenger on his way to Stormhold. The man was enormous, with arms like wine barrels and a frame that looked built to break doors rather than open them. His rain-slick cloak clung to him as he hunched over the reins, doing little to fend off the wind and slashing rain.

  Reginald was drenched, and despite his formidable size, and visibly trembling from the cold.

  “Want me to take the reins for a while?” Nolan offered. “You’ve been up here since we cleared the pass, while I’ve been bundled up in the wagon. Are you not freezing?”

  Reginald didn’t look away from the road. His thick red beard dripped water in thick rivulets as he shook his head.

  “Appreciate the offer, lad, but I’ve got to stay up front. These horses are trained, sure, but one good flash of lightning or sudden gust could spook ’em. And if no one’s holding the reins when that happens—well, we’d all be taking a long swim.”

  Seeing Reginald shivering in the rain, Nolan couldn’t shove down his guilty conscience.

  “Well at least let me come and keep you company. A miserable time is made into fond memory in the presence of good company,” he said with a half-smile – a saying his father used to use.

  Reginald glanced down at him, the corner of his mouth lifting into a beard-hidden grin. “Suit yourself. But I won’t blame you when you scurry back inside. We've still got a few hours before we hit the first camp.”

  Undeterred, Nolan pulled his hood forward and braced against the rain as the wagon continued to crawl over the treacherous path.

  “How many times have you made this journey?” he asked after a while.

  Reginald nudged the reins, guiding the horses around a collapsed section of the highway where a chunk of stone had slid clean off the cliff and into the sea below.

  “Nearly twenty times now. Started when I was about your age. My parents moved from Brinehollow when I was just a boy, but my aunt stayed. So I travel to see her maybe once a year and deliver her the comforts of the greater continent.”

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  Nolan marveled at the idea. “You choose to do this every year?”

  Reginald chuckled, though it came out more like a cough. “Aye. The route’s dangerous, sure—but it’s the fastest way to the northern holds. Folk need goods. Families need their comforts. Someone’s got to do it.”

  Nolan wondered how someone could have the drive to make this journey more than once in a lifetime, let alone once a year. After sitting with Reginald for hardly a few minutes, he was already soaked to the bone, shivering, and silently wanting to return under the cover of the wagon. Though his pride would never allow him to go back to shelter after just committing to keeping the huge man company.

  He cleared his throat. “So what’s this campsite supposed to be like?”

  Reginald squinted ahead. “An old ruin. Was a fortress once, guarding the pass. No one's maintained it in ages, but there's enough shelter in one of the towers for a night’s rest. Safer than sleeping out here.”

  A fortress. Nolan’s heart leapt despite himself. With this being the first time that he’d ventured from his home, Nolan had never seen a fortress before. In fact, there were no completely stone buildings in his village at all. The homes of Brinehollow were typically made of wood and if one did use stone, it was only for the ground floor at most.

  Nolan had many times dreamt of seeing a castle with their high towers and ramparts. To catch a glimpse of valiant knights or a princess. Of course, Nolan was dreadfully aware that they would only be stopping at a ruin of a mere road fortress, however he couldn’t help but be excited.

  Not soon enough, the hours eventually rolled by – as did the wagon as it bumped on every pothole and slid across wet cobbles as it crawled down the Coastal Highway.

  Nolan watched as the once impenetrable stone on his right gave way to a large gouge in the cliff face. Cleanly cut, the pass through the mountain looked as though it had been carved by hand rather than naturally formed.

  The wagon rolled around the bend—and Nolan’s breath caught.

  Ahead looming in the distance was a massive wall of dark quarried stone which spanned the impressive width of the corridor. The wall's color matched that of its surroundings indicating that they must have been hewn from the mountain itself. In its center yawned an open gate, flanked by towers and framed by a portcullis that hung high above.

  “Strange,” Reginald muttered, pulling back slightly on the reins. “That gate’s never open. Last I saw, the mechanism was rusted through.”

  Nolan leaned forward, shielding his eyes. “Perhaps someone is repairing the place? Maybe they’re looking to create a new trade route into the Storm Coast.”

  Reginald shook his head grimly. “If repairs were happening, we’d see signs—tools, carts, workers. But there’s nothing. I was here just two weeks ago. Place was dead quiet then.”

  As they passed through the gate into the courtyard, a cold weight settled in Nolan’s chest.

  Indeed, something about the fortress did feel wrong. Nolan wasn’t quite sure what it was, but there was a certain heaviness to air, a feeling as though you were being watched from all directions. However, when he looked around, he didn’t see anything. Nothing to show that any living being had stayed here. There weren't any tools, materials, or even trash indicating a person’s stay.

  There was nothing. Just a cold, oppressive feeling that chilled Nolan’s blood and made him want to run for the road. A certain sense of bloodlust and hunger that permeated the air and put him on edge, despite there being no visible source.

  Behind them, the second wagon arrived. A man and two children jumped down into the mud, laughing and splashing like nothing was amiss.

  Lukas, a short, broad-shouldered man with graying hair, helped his pregnant wife, Arin, down from the steps. Their daughter Lily followed, arms full of firewood, while their youngest—Orien—ran ahead toward the ruined tower.

  “Careful now coming down my dear, we don’t want to risk you falling,” Lukas said, steadying his wife.

  Lowering her hand to her swollen belly, Arin, visibly pregnant, shooed him away.

  “Quit fussing over me Lukas, I can get myself down from here just fine. Go get the kids inside, and get a fire in the pit, I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Nolan cast a glance at Reginald, unsure what to make of the situation.

  Nolan turned to Reginald, voice low. “Should we stop them?”

  Reginald narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

  He raised his voice. “Lukas! Arin! Back in the wagon—now! Something’s not right here. We’re moving on.”

  Lukas frowned, glancing around in confusion.

  Before anyone could respond, a groaning sound echoed through the keep. The mechanical rattle of turning chains.

  Nolan’s blood turned to ice as a rusted clang shook the air. He looked up—

  —and saw the massive portcullis falling.

  The iron bars slammed down with a final, thunderous crash.

  The only way out was sealed.