Chapter III:
Beautiful Peiraso
The Hospitality of Cheft Biron
Peiraso was located about a half a day's journey to the east of Galva. The people of Noras were not fond of forts and castles, preferring logs and tar to stone and mortar. But when danger arose in the land, the people came pouring into Peiraso like water through a burst dam. Cheft Biron's country estate was one of the few fortified refuges in Noras. So he was not surprised to see the serene hill upon which his home was built littered with tents and temporary shelters. A great number of people from Megd-la and Coran-la had heard about the coming of the goblins and traveled many leagues to seek shelter on Cheft Biron's land until the goblins were driven away. Here, well on the eastern side of the mighty Galva, and with the strong walls of Peiraso about them, they felt secure from the threat of raiders.
The people were mostly peasants who had no wealth to protect but their own lives, nothing to leave behind, and nothing to bring with them except their children and a few tattered sacks filled with what little provision their lives in the forest allotted them. What they did bring, however, was their gratitude. Cheft Biron's magnificence was well known throughout Noras and the people repaid his kindness with honorable words and songs of praise.
On the fourth day after the departure of the Galva Army, he sent Lady Marima ahead of him to Peiraso to prepare the land for his return. Three days later, he himself returned to the home of his ancestors with Cheft Ponteris and several other important members of the Noras Council. They rode in a sturdy but comfortable carriage drawn by a team of four horses.
Peiraso was built on the top of a small hill in a large clearing where Cheft Biron's ancestors had settled many generations ago. A stone wall about the height of two men encircled the house on all four sides. It would take a man about an hour to walk all the way around it. The southern gate was overshadowed on both sides by small guard towers; one on the eastern side and another on the west. There was a much smaller gate on the north side that was very rarely opened.
The castle itself consisted of a large stone house with small watchtowers on each corner. It was built in the form of a square with each corner facing one of the cardinal points. The main entrance was on the southeastern wall. It was not a very sophisticated castle, certainly nothing compared to Dadron, but it offered the Noras something that they had in very little quantity: Security.
'The grovelers have come out in flocks and herds, my friend,' Cheft Ponteris said as they approached the estate. 'It is good that they have come in Primus, though. It would be a shame if they had come in the spring or summer when the grass is green and lush.'
'You are heartless,' Cheft Biron said coldly. Cheft Ponteris just laughed.
Cheftan Biron was Daryas' father, and looked it in every respect. His shoulders were broad and he was tall for a man of Noras. His hair was somewhat darker than Daryas', however, and it had a handsome curl to it, which his son's hair never quite attainted. He wore a very thick otter-skin coat over a deep red tunic and brown wool trousers. At his side he wore a long hunting knife with an iron hilt set with green gemstones. Among the Noras it was considered arrogant to carry a weapon, but it was also a sign of laziness to be seen without some kind of tool. While he was still living, Cheft Biron's own father, Hiron Galvahirne, never left home without his fishing tackle. In these dark times, Biron thought, the knife was the more useful accessory.
'You know, Master Biron, on my own estate we have a lake. Have you seen our lake, Biron?' Cheft Biron shook his head. 'You haven't? That is truly a shame. Our lake is the most beautiful lake in Noras, I believe. But you see, we have to keep it beautiful. And that takes a considerable amount of effort on our part. Those who have seen my estate have frequently remarked how natural it all looks. But that is far from the truth of the matter. Beauty is not an accident. That is one thing that I know for certain.
'My own wife is proof of that. Lady Linae is quite skilled in the arts of decorating her face. She will spend as much time as she is allowed painting and covering her face with ointments, aloes, and dyes purchased from who knows what distant port. And she looks quite lovely for it too. But it is hardly an accident, though she would never tell anybody how much trouble she makes over her face. When people tell her how beautiful she looks she simply smiles and acts as though she is surprised. It is all a very pitiful act. She knows what she is doing and she does it quite on purpose.
'It is the very same thing with our little lake. Imagine how disgusting our lake would become if we just left it to nature. In no time at all it would become a swamp. Deer come from every filthy place in the Noras Forest to swim and drink in the waters. I don't mind a few deer here and there, but if we did nothing they would soon overrun our land and strip the trees of their bark. So every winter I hire hunters to clear the woods and drive these creatures away.
'That would seem to be a wise course,' Cheft Biron said impatiently. 'But I find that on my own lands the deer are not so populous. Between the wolves and the bears their numbers are kept in check.'
'Ah yes, but then you will have carcasses and bones lying about. And I think you will agree with me, my friend, that carcasses do not have a part in beauty.'
'True enough.'
'The solution to that problem is to drive away the predators. It is so peaceful in our region now that there are no howls and growls to wake our children in the middle of the night.'
'This, I imagine, requires the hiring of more hunters?'
'Yes, of course. But it is not only deer and the wolves that vex our little lake. There are all sorts of wild fowl that make their home on my land. That is, they attempt to do so. And that is my point. Beauty is something that you do, not something that happens naturally.'
'What do you do to the fowl?' Cheft Biron asked.
'In the beginning of every season we see them flock to our property and nest in every nook and every hole along the shoreline. It is a simple thing to send out a few hunters with their bows and their dogs to slay and gather them up. This way the lake stays clean and fresh and our servants feast on eggs and roasted goose!'
'You are as clever as they say,' Biron said as they rounded a bend in the road. From there they began their ascent up the hill toward the southern gates.
Cheftan Ponteris was a typical enough Norasman. He was nothing like a Galvahirne, but he was by no means frail or unmanly. His hair, which was slightly gray, was slowly but surely retreating from his brow with each passing year - a somewhat uncommon and unseemly trait among the Noras, who, oddly enough, took pride in the strength of their hairlines, and in the thickness of their finger nails. His posture, however, was very different from his fellow Noras, as he made certain to stand at his full height at all times with his shoulders back and his spine upright. The Noras were, for the most part, informal with their stance, and it was not uncommon for grown men to be found slouching even at council meetings and other such formal occasions.
'And that is beauty, Cheft Biron,' Ponteris continued, 'But it takes work, and it takes a little bit of cruelty.'
'Cruelty?' Biron asked, feigning interest.
'Yes. You can't imagine that I like the idea of sending out hunters to slaughter these helpless creatures! But I must guard my honor with everything that is within me. Cheft Biron! What is a man without his honor?'
'He is not esteemed to be much at all, my friend.'
'It is the same thing with my beloved woman. Her long hours spent toiling over the looking glass - scraping and painting her face are not simple tasks. They are the labors of a true artisan! They are as cruel to her tender skin as I am to the wretched creatures that try to make their home on my estate.'
As he finished speaking the carriage turned around a bend in the road revealing the southern wall of Peiraso. 'Serge, take us close to the tents,' Cheft Biron commanded his driver.
'As you ask, my lord,' the man replied. The old man turned the carriage off of the main road onto a narrow dirt path that led off into the fi
elds. As the carriage approached the tents the people began to hurry about in preparation for the arrival of their protector. By the time the carriage reached the encampment they were enclosed on both sides by peasants. Cheft Ponteris sat up straight and began to look uneasy.
'Slowly, Serge,' Biron said. His driver obeyed and as they passed they could see the tears in the people's eyes. Some bowed low to the ground, others offered up small tokens of gratitude. Cheft Biron waved his hand in the air and the people returned his gesture.
'Hail Cheft Biron! Protecter of Noras!' one toothless old man cried out. The rest followed him in their praises. Then one of the older men among them broke out into an old song, written over two centuries ago in praise of the sons of Galvahir.
'When dangers from the shadows near,
There is one in whom the Noras trust,
The faithful son of Galvahir,
Above all others pure and just.'
'In council he is Pelas-wise,
His sword the devil Agon fears,
Fated above his peers to rise,
His voice the gloom and shadow clears.'
Cheft Ponteris sunk low in his seat and rested his cheek on his wrist. He said nothing more until they had passed the singing crowd and entered the house of Peiraso.
Cheft Ponteris at Peiraso
While the Army of Galva trudged through the Noras wilds and slowly but surely approached the slopes of Mount Coronis, Cheft Biron held many councils in the meeting hall of Peiraso.
Immediately following the meeting of the Galva Council he had sent messengers throughout Noras. By runner and rider he called to his estate some forty Cheftans, many of them from remote portions of the forest. Something had been troubling him of late. 'Like a forgotten dream,' he told Lady Marima. 'I feel as though I have been shaken from the midst of a troubling dream, yet I cannot remember a thing of it. There is something lurking in the shadow of my mind.'
'You need rest, my lord,' she would tell him. 'Then perhaps it will return to you.'
'But rest fails me while I yet stand here in ignorance. I must take council.'
'But how are you so certain that your fears are not needless, my lord. Care can be had in excess, or so it has been said.'
'There is not a shadow cast where no body stands. I can see the shadows at every council and in every deed that is done in our forest of late. But as of yet I have not been able to discover the cause of it.'
'But how will this council differ from those you have held already?' Lady Marima asked, puzzled.
'This time my eyes will be fully open,' he said in almost a whisper, 'And we shall see whether I am imagining danger where there is none.'
In the meanwhile both Cheft Biron and his wife were kept occupied. There were many preparations to be made before the other Cheftans began to arrive. There was food to be ordered and lodging to be prepared. The Noras were hardier than most races, but their Cheftans still expected to live comfortably, especially when summoned to a council in the dead of winter.
Lord Ponteris was especially restless in those days. He could be seen wandering about idly, sometimes for hours. At times he would gaze out the window at the encamped peasants and after a while simply shake his head. He stayed indoors for the most part, though at times he was seen wandering the perimeter of the estate in the early morning. He said little, and ate even less. Altogether it seemed quite clear that he was not comfortable in Peiraso.
One cold morning Lady Marima found him sitting alone in a small pantry near the servants' kitchen.
'My lord must find Peiraso dreadful,' she said, laughing.
Cheft Ponteris rose from his seat. 'My apologies, my fair lady,' he said with a bow.
'It is a pity that Lady Linae was not able to be here. She is such a lovely woman, you must be very proud.'
The Cheftan hesitated for a moment. 'Indeed. She is greatly missed.'
'Are you hungry, my lord?' Lady Marima asked.
'No, I am not,' the Cheft answered swiftly and awkwardly.
'Well, if you are, you will find better service in the dining hall. This hall is for the servants.'
With this Ponteris bowed and walked away to some other part of the house. Many others reported stumbling into the Cheftan in unlikely places. He was always alone, but he never really seemed to be lost. He was seen among the stables, silently examining the horses, he was seen in the halls looking at the woodwork; by the time the first of the Cheftans began to arrive he had spied out the entire house. All of this Cheft Biron noted well.
In the days leading up to the meeting of the Noras Council, Biron himself had the misfortune, as he called it, of spending a considerable amount of time in conversation with Cheft Ponteris. It would always come about in the same way. Biron would stumble upon Ponteris in some strange and unexpected corner of the house. Before he could ask for any explanation, Cheft Ponteris would interrupt him with an anecdote or a joke or riddle.
'Several years ago, around the time of the autumn sacrifice,' Ponteris would begin, 'my driver and I had come to the edge of my property, just before the road turns north toward Galva. You've seen my home before, haven't you?' Ponteris asked, interrupting himself.
'Yes, once or twice, though it has been quite some time since I have had the opportunity to visit.'
'Very good. Then you will certainly remember the stone-carving that I had built on the right-hand side of the gate?'
Biron paused for a moment and shook his head.
'The large sculpture of an Aggelos woman, carved in white stone?' Biron shook his head again. Ponteris seemed insulted. 'Well, I suppose it cannot be helped if the Galvahirne have no great love of craft and beauty,' he snapped.
'The Galvahirne love beauty, my friend,' Biron said calmly. 'It is just that beauty is so wearisome and impractical that we seek our happiness in the usefulness rather than the elegant. As you say, beauty requires work, and we Galvahirne cannot spare the labor to craft such things.'
'Well, at any rate,' Ponteris said, gruffly returning the conversation to its path. 'As we approached this statue there appeared in the road a little peasant girl. How she came to be on the road so near to my estate was a mystery; she probably got lost in the woods while her mother was picking berries or nuts and whatever other things peasants eat. But however it was that she came to be in the road, there she stood, right in the path of our carriage.'
'How dreadful, what happened?' Biron said, now seeming more interested.
'We were faced with an awful dilemma, my friend. If we swerved to the right, we would smash and mar one of the most glorious stone-work statues in all of Weldera; certainly in all of Noras. But on the other hand, if we swerved our carriage to the left, we would trample the pathetic little girl to the ground. Our speed was too great, since we were as yet not even on the main road and were still traveling on my own private drive. My driver shouted, that we could not stop the horses ere we collided with one or the other. "We must turn aside!" he yelled.'
'So what did you decide?'
'Well, I felt that there would always be more peasant girls; there would certainly be more of her kind. You know, the rosy cheeked little girls that live in the wild places of northern Lavri-la and even in some parts of Galva-la. These creatures come and go; they always have and always will, as long as the world endures. But the like of this statue cannot be replaced, not though a hundred artists labor for three ages of the world.'
'So you chose to turn aside to the left and ride over the girl?' Biron said with a grave expression on his face.
'That is the decision that I came to in that terrible moment. And it was no easy judgment to make. After all, despite her homeliness, the child had an innocent and endearing little face. I am almost brought to tears just thinking about it.' He looked at Biron and laughed. 'Don't worry, Cheftan!' he said. 'Good Pelas was merciful to me that day and broke the two back wheels of my carriage just at that moment. We crashed to the earth and with one violent jerk we were brought to a halt, saving both child and s
tatue.'
Biron looked relieved, though he still looked at his fellow with disdain.
'So it was that by the grace of Pelas, beauty and innocence were saved together!' Ponteris laughed. Biron stood up and wandered to the other side of the room.
'I got to thinking about why it was that I was so sorely vexed in that moment about my decision,' Ponteris added, not letting his host escape the conversation. 'My driver's inclination was to spare the girl and go crashing into the statue, shattering the delicate masonry. But my own heart said to spare the glorious stone. But why should I choose one over the other? What makes this little girl more valuable than my statue? Those are the questions that I began asking myself. I asked my driver and he simply responded that "It's just the way things are, master." I asked my wife, the lovely Lady Linae, but she just slapped me.' Biron laughed heartily upon hearing that.
'But to be quite honest, I could not find any difference between them that would justify the destruction of so marvelous a sculpture. They are both formed of the earth, but of the two it is the pure white stone of the statue that is more valuable. Human flesh, like the wheat of the field is grown and raised every year and in every age; sometimes in more abundance than we can maintain. But the likes of this stone will not likely be seen again, not until the foundations of the world are overturned.'
'Perhaps the difference is not in what they are formed out of, but rather what they are formed into. The stone lies still and dead while the girl lives and breathes.' Biron suggested.
'I have considered that as well, my friend,' Ponteris sighed. 'But so it is with fire, which moves and breathes and grows, yet I see no man saving and preserving it any further than it is useful to his own needs. And there are many living creatures that would offer us the same dilemma. You wouldn't smash one of the world's greatest works of art if it were it the life of a squirrel or a hare that was in danger, would you?'
Biron walked back to the table and sat down. 'I suppose not,' he answered wearily.
'But why not? That is what I am trying to figure out. Why save the girl and not a squirrel? It seems to me that the only reason to smash the sculpture would be out of sympathy.'
'You are not now going to belittle sympathy, are you my friend?' Biron said with a mock grin. The truth of the matter is that he was quite disgusted with the man and was almost hoping that he would go too far, and say something that would give him the excuse to sever all ties of friendship with Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne.
'I cannot belittle it, because I cannot quite understand it.'
Biron laughed, 'So you admit it? You have no sympathy. Cheft Ponteris, there has never been a more honest man, not in Noras nor in any other place in Weldera.'
'I do not understand it,' Ponteris said, ignoring Biron's words, 'not because I do not feel it, but because I do not understand why a rational creature needs it. Certainly it serves the goblins well enough, so that they care for and protect each other instead of robbing and slaying their kin. But we are ruled with mind, not might, and sympathy as often misleads us as it serves us.
'Some time ago an old beggar man appeared on our doorstep clad in torn and weathered brown with naught but a strand of rope for a belt. It must have been at least ten years ago. He knocked on the door quietly with what looked to my eyes to be the staff of a shepherd. He politely asked if he could have a place to sleep for the night. He asked for my leave to sleep in the barn, and I would have obliged him were it not for Lady Linae who insisted on giving him one of our guest chambers.
'He stayed in our home for one night; just one night and no more. In fact, when the day dawned he was nowhere to be found. He left sometime before the first light without so much as a thank you. All that he left in return for our hospitality was mice.'
'Mice?' Biron asked interestedly.
'Yes, Mice,' Ponteris answered with a look of disgust in his eyes. 'But my dear Cheftan, you must realize that these were no Noras mice! Their teeth were like razors and they multiplied quicker than hares. Before we knew it the entire house was nearly overrun by vermin. We went through great pains to drive them from the main hall. Now they only remain in the cellars where they are so deeply burrowed that Pelas himself could not drive them out. That is what comes of sympathy! But we have since mended our ways.'
'So am I to understand that you would leave an old beggar out in the winter cold because he might carry mice with him?' Biron asked.
'That is not what I am saying. I may very well give in and allow the dirty beggar to stay, but I do it out of sentiment and not out of wisdom. But sentiment leads us astray as often as it leads us aright, as I have already said.
'There was a young servant girl who lived on my estate, many years ago. She broke the laws of the household and was one day found to be carrying a child in her womb.' Biron sat up and listened intently.
'When her time came upon her she gave birth to a little boy, if it is right to call it a boy. For the child was a monster. Two heads it had, and three arms; one on each side and another coming from the middle of it's chest. I shudder to even recall the sight.'
By Pelas!' Biron whispered. 'What became of the child?'
'It perished in the wilds, long ago. At my command, the baby was to be taken and burned with fire, lest the gods curse us with further trials. The woman was ransomed for thirty ewe-lambs as the priest of Lavrila instructed us. But she would accept no pardon and stole off in the middle of the night with the child and wandered off alone into the woods toward Galva-la. She stole the child right off of the altar; he was taken right out of the flaming coals.
'We searched long and hard for her, but in the end her body was found naked, starved and drowned on the shores of the Yilnir River. The beast's swaddling clothes were discovered many miles downstream. By this we knew that he had also met his doom in the waters. Saved from fire to perish in water; so senseless.
'Sympathy it was that drove this beautiful maiden to madness. Reason dictates that nothing but sorrow and pain can come of a child so afflicted by the gods. But sympathy for the cursed fruit of her womb drove her to cast off the rational woman and take up the mantle of a lunatic.
'Her sympathy cost her both her child and her life together. Better it would have been for her to do as the gods require and burn up the fallen seed in flames.'
Biron was silent for a several minutes and just sort of wandered around the room, lost in thought. After a long while he sat down again and spoke, 'This little girl that you almost struck along the road,' he said, returning the conversation to the former subject.
'Yes,' Ponteris responded.
'How do you know she was not beloved of the gods?'
'What do you mean? She was only a peasant.'
'But so was Galvahir, when he took up his sword and vanquished the darkness. And so were your own ancestors who wandered into this forest hungry and naked. Was Oastir a hero already when in a burlap shirt he marched to the aid of the Silvirne King? You cannot know whom the gods will make noble; or whom the gods will choose to sit upon a throne and rule over their peers. You may have struck a queen on that road; you know not who she might become. Therein lies the answer, my friend. For the gods have little use for statues and precious white stones, whose mansions are built with gold and silver and every precious gemstone. But there will only ever be one Galvahir and one Oastir. And had they so lightly been struck down in their youth, there would be only seven clans in Noras and certainly no Cheftan Biron Galvahirne and no Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne.'
Cheft Biron got up and walked to the door. 'You cannot know the councils of the gods,' he said. He left the room and shut the door loudly behind him.
The two had many such conversations. Until at last Biron took to avoiding Ponteris and hoping only to see him at the Council. And after that, hoping to see him not at all.
The Noras Council
About a month after Cheft Biron's arrival, the other Cheftans arrived and many councils were held. All the while Cheft Biron's servants were kept busy feeding and c
leaning up after the many important guests. Lady Marima worked as hard as any, though she was still quite weak from her sickness. Cheft Biron urged her to rest, but she would not listen to him.
'Shall I lay in bed forever, my lord? And allow the house to be run by servants?' She asked him when he had pressed her hard.
'My only desire is to see you well rested and in your full strength,' the Cheftan explained. 'It would pain me so much to see you fall ill again.'
'I will take care, my lord, but I will still work. While our sons march in distant lands under gray skies and over frozen streams I will not lay idle. If what strength and diligence I have can aid your councils and thereby aid our sons, then I will be glad, though my last breath be spent scrubbing the stone kitchen floors.'
'My lady,' Cheft Biron said in a desperate voice, 'Let the servants scrub, there is still plenty for the Lady of Peiraso to occupy herself with!'
For the better part of two weeks the Cheftans remained in Peiraso, meeting in a council every evening and discussing the threat of goblins. Though he was still not quite certain, Cheft Biron was beginning to apprehend the cause of his troubled spirit. In many times past the Galvahirne had borne the brunt of conflict, whether it be the wars against the Daevaron in the east or against the goblins in the western mountains. It was no surprise to the Cheftan of Peiraso that the Galva Council was so ready to take the lead and march to war with the goblin raiders. But what did strike him as out of place was the ingratitude of his fellow Cheftans. It was almost as though they thought all the efforts and sufferings of the Galvahirne were displays of pride and greediness, rather than courage and loyalty. He felt their resentment even as they sat down to eat the meals his cooks had provided for them. 'What devil could breed such envy among so many wise men?'
On the morning of the twenty-eighth day of Frohest Cheft Biron gathered the Cheftans from every part of Noras in his Council Hall at Peiraso.
'Greetings fellow Cheftans of Noras!' Biron's voice boomed through the hall.
The others responded in near unison, 'Hail Cheft Biron, lord of Peiraso.'
The Council Hall was the largest room in Peiraso. It had a tall arched ceiling held up with large wooden pillars. Each pillar was painted with a deep reddish brown color and was carved with letters and images recounting the history of the Galvahirne. The walls were built of dark logs and overhung with the pelts, teeth and horns of many different creatures. Cheft Biron was seated at the western edge of the Hall, clothed in his finest with a fur cape hung across his shoulders. Light came down in thick beams and struck the large wooden table in the center of the room around which the Cheftans were seated.
'I pray a blessing from Lord Pelas on the heads of all who love and honor Noras. For that is our business; it is for love of Noras that we gather, and I pray that in our gathering and in our councils we will be led to honor our beloved homeland.'
There was some scattered applause and some words of approval. Then the Council began.
As the Cheftans spoke, one after another in turn, Cheft Biron began to perceive a certain reluctance among many of them to even discuss the goblins and the march of the Galva Army.
'The purpose of this council is the war, my fellows,' Biron reminded them. But it was of little avail; Cheft Ponteris reproved him.
'Of all the Cheftans of Noras, I at least understand your mind, Cheft Biron. For my own son Sion marches toward the icy slopes of Mount Coronis even as we speak. I understand the anxiety that must assail your soul for the sake of your second-son. But we are all likewise invested in this land and we know too well your concern and worry. But we will do our sons greater harm if we neglect the land they protect and offer them nothing but poverty to return to in the end.'
And so the Council once more turned their minds to other matters. The vanishing of the White stag, whose famous pelt had made many hunters in Noras renowned and wealthy, was one of their chief concerns. Lord Biron paid little heed to these endless discussions. Cheft Gornas of the northern foothills of Daela suggested a sacrifice. 'Fifty white stags for the Vernal Goddesses. They cannot refuse such an oblation, for their love of the Noras is well-known,' he said with many appeals to the efficacy of the sacrifices of his northern ancestors.
Biron lifted his head for just a moment and asked him, 'Cheft Gornas, suppose they stay their hand from the sacrificial knife and the hunter's bow together. Will not their numbers increase? And a few years of scarcity will revive the value of the beloved pelts. Take a lesson from Lord Ponteris,' Biron laughed. 'He can tell you how rare and valuable deer have become in his own lands!'
Lord Ponteris laughed politely. 'Remember, Cheft Biron, beauty requires sacrifice.'
In the end the Council decided that it would make the sacrifice on the first day of Spring.
Other matters were discussed, some briefly and some at considerable length. Each day, Cheft Biron would open the meeting with a reminder that their true purpose was the support of the Galva Army, but this was soon forgotten and their attention was drawn to other matters. This was done so swiftly and seemingly so deliberately that Cheft Biron's suspicions were roused and the shadow which he had feared began to take shape.
On the seventh day of the Council he rose up in his seat and spoke in a voice that echoed through the halls of Peiraso, stopped every mouth and turned every ear. Though none of the others could see him, Lord Pelas himself stood beside him and gave Biron's mortal voice immortal authority and strength.
'Men of Noras,' he began, omitting the honorable title of Cheftan, 'It is well known that the Galhavirne have ever been the guardians of Noras.' At this, many of the Cheftans became uneasy, Biron took note of these.
'Since the ancient days we have been the vanguard in every danger and have bled and suffered first in every battle and every woe that has befallen Noras. This is nothing strange or new, for it was the way of our first father Galvahir Pelassum. He was given that title, which means 'the like of Pelas', by none other than your own ancestors. Every one of them in that day acknowledged the bravery and the strength of Galvahir.
'It was he who drove the Black Devil out from under the trees of Noras and freed the thralls from their dark master's chains. Not being content to retire in some remote corner of Noras while others guarded the peace that he attained, he marched out to war against the delvers and the Goblins of the Coronan Mountains. Thus he wrought peace and freedom within Noras and safety and security without. For this he was called Galvahir the Twice-Blessed.'
'And let us not forget the fell day that the High Silvirne King was besieged by his enemies in the great fortress of Dadron. My first father was not content to sit idly by in his hidden forest home and hope to escape a danger that fell on his neighbor rather than on his own head. But he mustered the Noras under the banner of the Silverne King and marched to war. There he fell, with his kinsmen Cossa and Mishna before the walls of the Silvirne Fortress.
'As it was then, so it has ever been. The Galvahirne have suffered many evils and trials for the sake of their beloved Noras. And when they are finished with war and peril, they must take to the gathering of taxes and the harvesting of tribute. For the Noras Council demands a tithe of its people, but the Noras Council has not the strength to gather it. So it commands its humble servants the Galvahirne to do its mud-work! We guard the borders and rob the peasants with the same blade. Thus the Galvahirne have a name, both honored and reviled, but all for Noras. I do not say this to complain, rather to call to remembrance that there is much that Noras owes to its Galvahirne brethren. The least of that obligation is its attention when the Heir of Galvahir speaks!'
This last sentence he spoke with such force that some of the Cheftans were nearly driven from their seats. The attention of the Council was turned to the matter of the war. Pelas was contented and himself took a seat next to the Cheftan and watched.
'What would you have us do, Cheftan Galvahirne?' Cheft Fidre asked, trying not to tremble.
'The Galva Army approaches the goblins as we s
peak, yet we do not know whether it is a tribe or an army, whether they are petty or hob-goblins. How many orcs are there? How are they armed? Will the Noras Council send its sons to war against phantoms, whose shape it knows not?'
But much to the surprise of Cheft Biron, and much more to Pelas' amazement, the Cheftans soon recovered their nerves and spoke boldly against Biron. There were some indeed who seemed to be of the same mind as their host, but the boldness of their peers prevented them from coming to his support.
'The decision to send an army so hastily was the decision of the Galva Council, not of all Noras,' Cheft Daevin spoke with a finger pointed toward Biron.
'Do not wag your finger at me, Cheft Daevin. It has ever been the custom of the Galvahirne to march out to meet trouble rather than beg for it to have mercy when it comes to meet us!' This last remark was not taken well at all. Cheft Daevin lived, of all the Noras clans, furthest from the mountains and closest to Daevaron. It was widely believed that it was due to his ancestors' sloth that so much of the lands between the forest and the Libron River had been surrendered to Daevaron.
'Cheft Biron,' Cheft Gornas interrupted. 'When did the Galvahirne begin to be so much greater than their brethren that they belittle them with harsh and thoughtless words?'
The mood of the council took a quick turn and many Cheftans had their turn criticizing and upbraiding Cheft Biron. 'You are not the only Galvahirne, my lord,' spoke Cheft Hassa. 'And the Galva army are not all your kin, though I imagine it is only your kin with which you are concerned.'
'Is not Cheft Faros in command of your army?' Cheft Gornas asked, 'And is not Cheft Rahm, Noras' greatest warrior with him? Surely they can manage a few renegade goblins.'
At that Cheft Biron stood up again. Pelas rose as well and with a breath from his nostrils the light of the torches leaped up bright and tall. The room fell silent. Cheft Biron seemed in that moment to possess all the grandeur of his ancient father.
'If it is truly the will of this Council to play at war as though it were a mere curiosity, then I will call back the army of the Galvahirne at once. Let the goblins run free if they are so few, for there is plenty of room in the mountains for so small a force. Let them live in peace, and then we'll see the great wisdom of the Council of Noras fulfilled.'
Cheft Horan, a thin but severe old man, had until this moment been quiet. But now he rose from his seat to face Biron. 'It is not the will of this Council to send armies to where there is little danger. The scouts have spoken; you have heard their report for yourself. The goblins are few in number, hungry, and poorly armed. The Army of Galva will return by the time of the Harvest Moon. Of this I have very little reason to doubt. And nor should you, Cheft Galvahirne. You shame your ancestors with your haste!' Cheft Horan pounded his flattened palm on the table and walked away.
Many of the other Cheftans followed him. 'Tomorrow this Council must make its decision,' he said after he had thrown open the door of the Council Chamber. 'I pray to the Blessed Pelas that your heart is softened ere we reconvene.'
'You cannot oppose Cheft Horan,' Cheft Ponteris insisted when the Hall was finally emptied of all but the two of them. 'He is too beloved and too powerful to offend. If he turns his heart against the Galvahirne there will be no convincing the others. Bide your time, friend, and we will see what Cheft Faros can do.'
'Even the greatest warriors can be overcome,' Cheft Biron responded. 'Do not forget that it was not only Galvahir Pelassum who perished in front of Dadron in the old war. The Silverne King himself was slain, and even Marliuk the Eglat was dragged down in ruin. Every force has its limit, and we don't yet know what force besets us in the mountains.'
'But aren't you being as overzealous as they are stubborn? After all, have you any reason to think that there is more to fear on Coronis than a camp of raiders?'
Biron sat silent for a while, then said, 'We will see, when all the scouts have reported.' Then he rose and departed from the Council Hall.
'What scouts?' Ponteris asked, 'We have already heard their reports!' But Cheft Biron had already left, without staying to hear what he had said.
There was a storm during the night and it seemed as though the dawn never came. The clouds were thick and the sun was nowhere to be seen when the Council regathered in the Hall. There was very little humor that morning. The Cheftans had noticed a rather abrupt change in the quality of their meals. It seemed to them, though none of them would say anything openly, that when they opposed Cheft Biron's opinions, their food and drink tasted worse. This morning there was only toasted bread and cheese, with milk and water to drink.
Watching them grumble quietly to each other from outside the hall, Lady Marima laughed.
'Is it so funny to watch old men suffer so,' Cheft Ponteris asked as he approached her.
'I'm sorry, my lord, I did not realize you were nearby, or I too would have hidden my sentiments. But the secret is out. I laugh at the Cheftans. But I can hardly be blamed. They sit on my cushions while our sons sit on frozen roots, and for their sakes! No, they will not get an ounce more of my cream and butter!'
'You are conniving woman,' Ponteris said with a smile. 'But Cheft Biron is indeed fortunate to have such a lovely wife and such an impassioned mother for his sons.'
Lady Marima bowed, 'I thank you my lord,' she said, her cheeks turning red. 'You are too kind, for it is I who am fortunate.'
Cheft Ponteris paused for a moment and seemed lost in thought. His eyes were fixed on hers. She looked away and began to walk back toward the servants' kitchen.
He watched her until she was gone and then he shook his head and entered the Hall.
'Cheftan Biron is more fortunate than he deserves.'
The Wolf
Lord Pelas rushed from the Council Hall and left the house in a full run. He was not as fast as Mityai, but his feet still carried him faster than any mortal could run. With ease he leaped over the gate and landed on the soft grass outside the wall, making no noise. He rushed down the hill and came at last to the edge of the woods. There he let out a shrill whistle. No human ears could hear it, but for many leagues the beasts began to chomp and stomp. Dogs barked, wolves howled and the birds shrieked and darted about in fright.
In a moment a great black wolf appeared from the forest. His eyes glowed red as he drew near to Lord Pelas. 'For what does the mighty lord of Falsis disturb the night air with so terrible a call?' a cold and cruel voice said.
'Ghastin,' Pelas addressed him, 'you are the lord of all wolves, and you know every clearing and every hill in this wide forest. I have need of your speed and wisdom. You must find the great eagle Maru, and send him to Peiraso at once!'
'You are the god of all this land,' Ghastin answered, 'and there are few who question your power.'
Pelas shuddered as the wolf spoke, for he knew that his heart was full of darkness and hatred. The fell wolf spoke on, 'But there are a few of us who still remember our own strength as well as yours. Do not order me about as though I were one of your nymphs or string-legged lady sprites. Me and mine know better.'
'Very well, then, since I do not have the time right now to prove my strength to you I will bargain. What is your price?'
'You know very well. Our bellies are empty, for it is the middle of the cruel winter and there is nothing about for us to eat.'
'Your bellies?' Pelas smirked, 'You speak as though you had a belly of your own to fill.'
The wolf chuckled menacingly. It is better to fill the belly of this beast than to wander the world empty and shapeless like you spirits. But say what you will, my price remains the same. It has been many years since we tasted the flesh of men.'
'Very well, you shall have your fill,' Pelas said reluctantly. 'There is war coming to Coronan. There your packs will find the flesh of men and goblins ripe for the harvest. Only do not touch the son of Biron, whether you find him living or dead. Now do as I say and send Maru to Peiraso immediately!'
'As you wish,' Ghastin sneered as he bowed in mock revere
nce.
'Devil-wolf!' Pelas cried, 'Do not tempt me, and do not dare betray me, for I have half a mind to prove your challenge folly right this moment.' At these words the wolf backed away, frightened by the might of Pelas if only for a moment.
'I am many things,' he replied through his clenched teeth, 'But a traitor I am not. I have made my deal, and I will fulfill it. Look for Maru by the light of dawn. If he flies not over Peiraso by then, you can thrash me all you like.'
The wolf turned and darted away, howling to his servants. The wolves of Noras would have much work to do this night.
The Last Meeting
Through the first several hours of the final Council meeting, Cheft Biron sat calmly and quietly. He said little, aside from occasionally encouraging them to discuss 'smaller' matters and leave the discussion of the war off until later. But as the day drew on he grew restless. He ate very little when the council broke for the noon meal, and he ate nothing when their dinner was set before them.
By that time it was obvious to all that he was distressed. Cheft Horan was the first to express the common observation. 'It seems to me, Cheft Biron, that you must be feeling unwell. Perhaps you would like us to come to a decision about your request for aid to the Galva Army?'
'Whatever your pleasure is,' he said, rising from his seat. 'But hear me well Council of Noras. Whatever this Council decides, I am Cheftan of the Galhvahirne and will not suffer them to face peril alone.'
'But without the Council,' Horan sneered, 'There is very little that you can do, your army is, after all, not currently at your disposal. Unless you would summon them back from the mountains to rescue themselves from the goblin army!' This was met with a quiet rumble of tasteless laughter. Biron looked at him with cold eyes.
'What I can do I have done already,' Cheft Biron said as he walked toward the eastern doors. Just before he left the room he stopped and without turning to face the Council he spoke, 'I am not so bereft of help as you may suppose. Whether this council will choose to help the Galvahirne or not, I have already sent word to Dynamis.'
With those words he walked out and let the thick oak doors slam shut. Every sound within the Council Hall was stopped and the echo of the door rang in their ears as though a hammer was pounding the words of Biron into their minds. The smile had been wiped clean off the face of Cheft Horan, who now sat back in his chair staring up at the ceiling with nervous eyes. Cheft Ponteris alone seemed to retain his composure at the mention of Dynamis, and the hint of a satisfied grin could be discerned upon his face.