‘Bargained?’
‘He had been captured by Delekhan’s agents while fleeing south—’
‘Fleeing?’ echoed Arkan.
She waved at him to be silent. ‘Your father chose to carry warning to the humans in the south. He had been the first to recognize the danger Delekhan and The Six were to our people, but knew he could not find allies enough among the clans to oppose them. So he sought those to the south who might be able to stop Delekhan. And he found them.’
Arkan wanted to ask a question, but he remained silent.
‘He spoke with human nobles, spent time in Caldara, home of the Dwarven King of the Grey Towers, and even paid a visit to the Queen and that abomination she sleeps with in Elvandar.’
Arkan stared at her. None of this was widely known. Finally he asked, ‘How do you know?’
‘Narab,’ she said. ‘When Narab killed Delekhan’s son and rose to take command of Clan Badger, he needed to make peace with me. For once in his life he made the right choice and told me the truth.
‘The trap that was laid during the second attack on the Kingdom city of Sethanon was aided by eledhel and dwarves as well as humans. The secret Narab would happily kill you to hide is that he was the one in league with the eledhel, dwarves and humans. He used them to lure Delekhan’s son, Moraeulf, to his death and then solidify his hold on Clan Badger and their vassal clans.’
Arkan sat back and drained his ale. ‘If the clan chieftains knew of this, Narab could never claim supremacy over the clans.’
‘It is a secret worth killing over. If he could will me dead, I’d be dead. And that’s why he chooses the path of patience on his journey to the throne.’ His aunt looked solemn.
‘Why tell me this?’
‘Because Narab is close to claiming supremacy.’
‘Unless Narab has more swords than we know of, he may have already set what will become a full-scale bloodbath in motion, with his rough treatment of the clan chieftains down there.’
Liallan shook her head. ‘It won’t come to that. By now he will have subdued the ‘council’ without killing any but a few bodyguards. We can be certain that if any chieftain perished tonight, he was no friends of Narab’s. He’ll send them home like whipped dogs in the next hour.’
‘The Star Elves?’
‘They have magic beyond our understanding, beyond even that of the spellweavers down in Elvandar.’ She fixed her nephew with a steady gaze. ‘Unless something changes quickly, Narab is only a year or so, away from entering Sar-Sargoth’s throne room and putting a crown on his own head.’
‘Even the false Murmandamus didn’t dare that, and he was mad.’
‘And he was mad,’ Liallan repeated. ‘I think holy men are more dangerous than ambitious ones, Arkan. The false Murmandamus was content to just lead the nation on a pointless invasion of the human lands.’ She sipped her ale. ‘Give me an ambitious murderer over a fanatic every time. The first will only try to kill you for your position, the second will destroy everything and everyone you love.’
This took Arkan by surprise. His people were not especially demonstrative when it came to feelings and his aunt was perhaps the most ruthless a person he had ever encountered. The dark elves understood desire, but love . . . that was rare and usually reserved for children or, occasionally, siblings. To hear the word ‘love’ come from Liallan’s mouth was something he had never expected.
She smiled. ‘Yes, there are things I love, nephew. Mostly my clan: I have nurtured them as if ever warrior, every woman, each child were my own.’
He nodded. As chieftain of his own small band he understood this feeling. ‘It is more than mere duty.’
‘Indeed,’ she agreed.
‘So Narab seeks to make himself king and we are to just sit here and let him?’
She shook her head and smiled. ‘No, to both. He will not make himself king . . . yet. Tonight is merely an abject lesson. If you head back down into the valley you’ll discover that most of the broken heads belonged to those in open opposition to Narab. His allies and those uncommitted to his cause were, perhaps, jostled a bit, but for the most part remain unharmed. He will claim he was merely restoring order and protecting his guests.’
‘Not all the clans were in attendance. I saw Clan Blood Elk heading west a few days back.’
She looked contemptuous. ‘Those primitives are of no importance.’
He knew she was right politically. ‘But good to have on your side in a fight.’
‘No doubt,’ she agreed, ‘but this time we struggle to avoid a fight.’
‘I noticed no Snow Leopards at the gathering,’ he said in a neutral tone.
‘Why would I go? I knew what was going to happen.’
‘Spies?’
‘I have many . . . friends. And Narab doesn’t have as many as he thinks he does.’
‘Well and good, but that still leaves me up here with you.’
She stared at him, but said nothing.
Finally he said, ‘You knew I’d come tonight.’
She smiled. ‘As I said, this time we struggle to avoid a fight. Had I been in attendance tonight, Narab might have let his ambition overrule his better judgment, but if he knows I’m up here with my Snow Leopards . . .’ She left the thought unfinished. ‘He knows that even now he cannot attack me.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Again, he doesn’t have as many friends as he thinks he does.’
‘Which brings us to me.’
‘If I were to count all the relatives I have through marriage and by blood who are smart enough to recognize a futile fight, and then invite them here . . . well, let’s just say you and I wouldn’t have a lot of company.’ She paused. ‘What orders did you give your men?’
He shrugged. ‘If I’m not back by sunrise take the clan into the high mountains. If followed, journey further north to the ice floes.’
‘Just like your father,’ Liallan said with a sad smile. ‘Do you welcome another twenty years hunting walrus and seal?’
‘Not particularly, but I welcome the obliteration of my clan even less.’
‘Then let us speak about what will preserve our clans.’
‘Our clans?’
‘The Ardanien and Hamandien are kin, even if some of my chieftains would wish it otherwise.’
Arkan understood what she meant. The Ardanien and Hamandien were allies through blood and necessity. Had it not been for Liallan’s power, the Ice Bears would have been obliterated after Gorath’s defection to the Kingdom. No matter that he had saved the moredhel from being dominated by a madman, and aborted the attack on the Kingdom city of Sethanon, thereby saving hundreds of lives; he was still seen as a traitor. He waited.
At last Liallan said, ‘Even as Narab unfolds his schemes, and thinks he’s gained the upper hand, there are other forces that may consume us.’
‘Those Star Elves?’
‘Among others. The humans war among themselves as well.’
‘So Narab stated; what has this to do with us?’
‘Ah, that is what must be discovered.’ She studied his face for a moment, then asked, ‘What does Cetswaya tell you of his dreams and visions?’
‘He speaks little. He claims he puts little faith in dream-lore.’
‘Still, he has said something.’
Arkan remained silent.
‘Then I shall tell you of my shaman. Arjuda dreams of dragons.’
Arkan’s face became an unreadable mask.
‘Dragons on the wing, with riders on their back; a host mighty enough to blot out the sun.’
Almost whispering, Arkan said, ‘So do I.’
She nodded. ‘Then there is something you must do, for yourself, for me, for our clans, and ultimately our people – perhaps even our entire world.’
Surprised by the fervour of his aunt’s words, he said, ‘Tell me.’
‘Who among your sons is fit to lead in your absence?’
He thought about this. ‘All three, although Antesh is my heir. I have taught them to
be ready, but he is the most level-headed.’
‘Good.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve lost sons, Arkan. It is most bitter. Your father lost two, making you his heir.’ She took a long moment to study Arkan. Her nephew had been as young as his father had been when the responsibility for his people fell to him. After a while she said, ‘Very well. There is something you must do. It will most likely get you killed, and even if you survive you may never be able to return to your clan. Are you willing to risk everything to save your kin?’
Without hesitation he said, ‘That is a chieftain’s burden, and his honour.’
‘I’d expect no less an answer. Then come, Arkan of the Ardanien, this you must know: a conflict that will engulf our world is brewing, and without your help we may all perish. You must travel south, where the humans make war, and possibly beyond.’ She fell silent.
‘What must I do?’ he asked.
Liallan looked him in the eyes, then motioned for him to stand. Once again she studied his face before speaking. ‘I do not know.’
‘So, I am to leave my home, place the care of my people in my sons’ hands, and . . . do something; but you do not know what it is?’
‘You must go south. You must disguise yourself as an eledhel, since few humans would notice the difference, and you must seek someone out.’
‘Who?’
‘Again I do not know. But I am certain you will find that person and then your next path will be made clearer.’
Arkan was silent for a time, then said, ‘I respect you as much as anyone does – and you are my kinswoman – but you ask much and give so little.’
‘Should you survive, nephew, should all of us survive, I will give Kalina to your eldest son.’
Arkan was rendered almost speechless. ‘Why?
‘Your sons are closer to the soil of this world than my chieftains. They are true sons of the moredhel, warriors without dishonour, strong without being overly ambitious. Should I name any of my chieftains my heir, the bickering and rivalries would tear the Hamandien apart within hours of my death. But if I name your son my heir, not only will he bring a small but powerful clan into the fold, but it will also prevent such a falling out. Clan Ardanien would serve as effective a personal bodyguard as any chieftain could desire. My chieftains would bend their knees and accept his rule to keep the clans intact. The Snow Leopards grow stronger and survive for another generation.’
‘You’d do that?’
‘If you go south and find this man you’re fated to meet.’
‘How do you know I’m fated to meet this . . . human?’
‘In my dream I see dragons flying; and upon a mountain peak two figures, one a man in a black robe, and the other is you. You protect him while he wields great magic. You are destined to save our people, Arkan.’
He had no words, so he merely sat in silence. Then he rose, nodded and left the light, warm pavilion, and returned to a dark, cold, and windy world.
• CHAPTER TWO •
Raid
BUGLES SOUNDED THE WARNING.
Martin conDoin, son of the late Duke of Crydee, dropped the spoon carrying the first bite of food he’d had in hours and was nearly out of the door of the inn he was using as a forward headquarters before his chair hit the wooden floor. He hurried to the south-western gate. ‘Report!’ he shouted as he ran from the harbour to the city’s entrance.
Sergeant Magwin looked down from his position on top of the tower, a small figure at that distance, but his voice carried. ‘Scout’s returning, sir!’
‘Open the gates!’ shouted Martin.
An exhausted rider wearing the tunic of the garrison of Crydee came cantering through the partially opened gate and pulled up before Martin as it was slammed shut behind him. He was covered in road dirt and sweat, and his horse was near collapse. He saluted and said, ‘Found the infantry, sir.’ He held out a folded parchment.
Martin read the report. ‘Is he seriously refusing to return?’
The scout dismounted. ‘Yes, sir. The captain of the column is from LaMut. He said, “I’ve got my orders, and they are to go to Sarth and meet the Duke; no lad from Crydee is telling me otherwise”.’ He lowered his eyes. ‘That’s when he wrote that and gave it to me, sir.’
Martin fumed silently, then said, ‘That’s . . . perfect.’
Brendan, Martin’s younger brother and his adjutant, had hurried from the heart of the city, dodging through the press of people who were waiting nearby to hear what news the scout might bring. He was almost out of breath when he stopped and gasped out, ‘A small band from LaMut has arrived.’
‘Some good news,’ said Martin, looking around. The two young men looked like twins, both with long brown hair to their shoulders and slender, agile bodies. Being only one year apart, the differences between them were growing smaller with each passing month. ‘How many?’
‘Forty,’ said Brendan. ‘Mostly men over fifty, but they seem fit: farmers and millers, loggers and the like. Twenty or so are bowmen.’
‘Good, we can always use more archers on the wall. See to their quarters.’
‘They’ve got this old—’ He laughed as he spread his arms widely, as if describing a fish he had caught. ‘A ballista that big . . . Maybe a bit bigger, but I’ve never seen its like. Said it’s been on the top of the gate in LaMut since . . . well, since anyone can remember. Some of the retired soldiers who came south thought it would be useful.’
Martin tried to be amused, but failed. ‘Have them bring it here.’ He glanced around and saw a small patch of earth between two buildings, perhaps once a garden in better days, and pointed at it. ‘Move the wagon there. We might need to put the ballista up on the wall.’ He scanned the entirety of the battlement above, then said, ‘But I have no idea where.’
Ylith held a unique position in the Kingdom. It was nestled in the north-eastern corner of a near-perfect but tiny harbour. Given the city’s position, the massive harbour gates were its main entrance. Away to the south-east, there was a small beach running barely a quarter of a mile between the southern edge of the city docks and the rocks along the quickly rising headlands. From there the coastline reared upward sharply to the promontory called Questor’s View, two days’ ride on a fast horse. A small village occupied the flat top of the promontory, and a small garrison was stationed there. The Duke had stripped it of soldiers as he marched south, leaving the village protected only by its surrounding terrain. From there, no safe landing existed until one was deep within the principality, near the town of Sarth, which currently was expecting the muster from Yabon.
Shoals and rocks hidden just below the surface, to the south-west of the harbour, provided a natural defence against any nearby landings. The shallows created a tide race, and every experienced captain gave that part of the coast a wide berth lest they be swept onto the rocks and wrecked. It was over half a day’s ride by swift horse before a safe landing south of the city could be found.
Between the city walls and foulborough beyond was an open plaza, giving archers on the wall a field of fire. The booths and stalls that on market days and holidays traditionally stood against the wall had been removed even before Martin and the Crydee muster had arrived.
Three roads intersected at the centre of the plaza south-west of the harbour gates: the highway to the Free Cities and Natal ran south along the bay; the road to Crydee moved away to the north-west; and a small road led east, which rapidly turned into a farmer’s track. Here lay the heart of Ylith’s commerce, the busy port that was the gateway to Yabon.
The city of Ylith had been seized by invaders once before, when the general leading the invading army of the Emerald Queen had set himself up as King of the Bitter Sea. Only a betrayal by one of his southern commanders in exchange for consideration from the Kingdom had allowed the tyrant to be dislodged. Martin had read the history of the Emerald Queen’s invasion and knew the vital part played by this city in protecting the principality, Yabon, and the passes to the Far Coast. The Kingdom might lose Crydee
and recover, or even lose control of the eastern shore of the Bitter Sea between Ylith and Sarth, but if Ylith fell, all would be lost.
‘What news from the south?’ asked Brendan.
‘It’s bad,’ said Martin, handing over the message.
Brendan quickly read it. ‘Is he serious?’
‘Apparently.’ Martin threw the parchment into the dust and looked around. ‘If I were in his place I would not wish to explain to my duke where his infantry was, if he was expecting them to arrive in Sarth next week.’
‘Would you rather explain how you lost all of Yabon?’ countered Brendan.
‘Just following orders,’ said Martin dryly. ‘Well, the pirate we hired should have delivered my message to the Duke by the time the infantry reaches Sarth.’ He calculated. ‘If the Prince hasn’t commanded him to continue on to Krondor or stay in Sarth, he could be back here with his cavalry and light foot regiment in ten days.’
‘Lots of ifs,’ said Brendan.
‘I know,’ answered Martin. ‘Where are we now?’
His brother knew exactly what Martin was asking. ‘Our men at arms number three hundred from Crydee, plus the fifty irregulars the Duke of Yabon left here with Bolton.’ Captain Bolton was the nephew of the commander of the Earl of LaMut’s guard. The brothers were convinced that he had been left behind in the hope that no attack would ever reach this far north. Once he had been taken down a peg or two by Martin, the earnest young man had turned out to be completely out of his depth, which was the reason for all his bluster when they first met.
Brendan continued, ‘About two hundred men and boys have trickled in since you sent word north, but they’re the ones who were too unfit to answer the Duke of Yabon’s first muster: mostly old men, a few former soldiers, and eager boys, for the main part under fifteen years old. And too few damn weapons.’
‘Well, set them to making arrows. They’ll be slow at it at first, but if there are enough hands put to the task we should do well. I’d rather the archers had too many than too few.’