“Can you feel the energy running between the head and the heart?” she asked him.
Arwhon nodded as Shiri continued with her lesson.
“It feels a little fluttery to me, not consistently strong as it should be. Carefully add just a little Power to that energy. Very slowly, or you’ll kill him.”
Rancid’s eyes widened in alarm, picking up the warning through his bond with Shiri and looked sideways at Arwhon, who was concentrating very hard on his task. Little by little Arwhon transferred Power into Rancid’s system, tuning it to match the pulses of the mule’s own energy. The heartbeat lowered, each beat becoming more powerful and the mule’s ears stood erect as Rancid lifted his head.
“Enough Arwhon, you have done well for a first time. It’s the same for all living creatures but you must be careful not to overdo it. More Power will kill far quicker than less.”
Shiri removed her hands from Arwhon’s as Rancid winked at him or at least Arwhon thought the mule did.
He had a question of his own.
“So if I channel the Power quickly, it will act as a weapon against anything alive. All I need to do is touch head and heart.”
Shiri looked saddened.
“The Earth gives for our benefit and must be respected, please don’t let your heart become hardened to life or you’ll become no better than those we fight.”
Arwhon looked down in shame.
“It’s good you’re with me Shiri. I’m still a boy in some things.”
Her mischievous smile glittered in the dim light.
“But not in most, my love.”
Chalc insisted on weapon’s training before their evening meal and was gladdened to see the time in the Tree had not diminished Arwhon’s abilities with any of his weapons. If anything, he was faster and even more accurate.
“Next stage Arwhon.”
Arwhon looked puzzled. “What next stage?”
Chalc produced a strip of cloth.
“How do you think I hit those glamoured spies in Belvedere without being able to see them?”
He tied the cloth tight over Arwhon’s eyes and placed one of the ever-present wooden practice swords in Arwhon’s hand before whacking him on the ribs with the other. Arwhon swung at where Chalc had been but missed entirely.
Shiri sat by the fire watching them train, amusement on her face. She knew Chalc had a job to do and she approved.
Training would benefit Arwhon. It would take his mind off other things for a while.
The following day they rode hard again but had to slow down during the afternoon. They saw herds of deer fleeing west followed by the big cats which lived out on the open plains. The air was thick with birds and small furred creatures ran through the long dry grass, all heading in the same direction, west. The animals were fleeing while they could.
The smoke in the air was thicker now, catching their throats and making it difficult for the horses to maintain the pace so they slowed them to a fast walk. Rancid seemed in fine fettle, it was only Arwhon who silently suffered, bearing his bruises and bumps from the previous evening’s training with equanimity.
On the eve of their second day in Barsoom, they spotted tents in the distance and soon reached the semi permanent camp of the King of Barsoom. How they had managed to ride to exactly this place, when the King could have been anywhere in all of Barsoom, was beyond Arwhon’s ken, although the fact Chalc had left here not so long ago could have had something to do with it.
The scene was one of organised chaos, with Riders coming and going from another complete camp set up a little further to the south. Arwhon asked Shiri to apply the glamour which made him look like a normal human and she a young teenage girl. They were challenged as they rode in, until Chalc announced himself. The mounted and robed guards lowered their lances and from their saddles offered small bows and friendly smiles.
“Welcome back Master Chalc, where’s the big fellow?”
“We had to leave him in Belvedere, he has work to do there. I need to see the King as soon as possible. Could you tell him I’m here on urgent business?”
They were taken to a small tent, provided with refreshments while their horses and mule were led away. The three of them waited for what seemed a long time before being summoned into the presence of the King of Barsoom.
“Master Chalc. It’s good to see you again.” The King boomed as the three of them were led into the Royal tent. Beside the King, sitting on comfortable seats, were his wife and both heirs. They now looked in far better condition than they had in the cavern beneath Gildon’s Keep. It only took a second or two before both heirs, recognising Arwhon’s face, leapt to their feet, pointing.
“Father, he’s the one. The man from the caverns who came in a dream. The one who led the party which rescued us.”
They rushed over to Arwhon and hugged him, both at the same time, patting him on the back and thanking him for their rescue. The King stood and walked forward to take Arwhon’s hand in his.
“I wondered if I would get to meet you. I’m deeply indebted to you Sir. You seem to have arrived at an unfortunate time though. One of our routine grass fires. Come, sit and take refreshments while we talk. Who is this young girl with you?”
“We are sort of related Sire. She travels with me at the command of her people, to learn something of the world. Sire, what did you mean by ‘routine grass fire’?”
“We get them every year or so, they burn north until they hit one of the rivers running through Barsoom. Whatever Tribe is affected moves north and stays with the next Tribe until the grass regrows in the spring, then they move back to their own lands. Why?”
“Sire, there is much for me to tell you of and very little time to do it in. Your land is under attack.”
The King laughed heartily.
“Don’t let a little grass fire faze you lad. Sit with us and take refreshment.”
He signalled one of his retainers and seats were brought.
Before they made themselves comfortable, the King introduced himself and his family. “I am Daveed, my wife, Mareeta and my son Callun and daughter Verita.”
Arwhon bowed.
“I am Arwhon and this is Shiri, Chalc, my Servant, you already know.”
They took the offered seats and refreshments were brought. Callun and Verita could not take their eyes from Arwhon, fascinated by a man who could come to them in dreams then organise their rescue from the clutches of the Dominion Empress. Arwhon was impatient, having to politely sit and eat while the opening gambit in another Dominion War was afoot. He could contain himself no longer.
“Daveed, I’m not that familiar with protocol and if I blunder, please forgive me but what I have to say cannot wait. This is not your usual grassfire. Empress Martine has set fire to your whole border. Within a week or so the Plains of Barsoom will be a blackened wasteland.”
The King sprayed wine as he guffawed.
“Don’t be preposterous, she wouldn’t dare. We would ride her armies down and fight to the death.”
“How, with all the plains burnt and still hot? No food for the horses for the week or so it takes to travel across them and no game to hunt. Martine has planned this to protect her western border from you, while she uses as much of her army as she can spare to attack Southland. Once she has Belvedere she virtually controls the whole country. Martine has allied with the Draakon Reavers and has joined forces with a powerful Q’Herindam sorcerer who is working with her. Tell me, does the wind normally blow from the east so persistently? Is it normally so dry at this time of year?”
The King sat silently, a new reality bestirring him.
“The Golden River Tribe is already camped here. They’re the southernmost Tribe of the Barsoom. We thought we would be safe camping here with them to guard us. You’ve given me much food for thought.”
“King Daveed. There is not much time for thought. Belvedere was preparing for an attack on Southland by Dominion forces as we left but I have been given a task which is most important
in the war against Martine. All of you, please come outside for a moment.”
Puzzled, the King and his family all rose and stepped outside. Arwhon pointed to the eastern horizon. There was virtually no moonlight, both moons being at their lowest phase and all along the horizon to the east, way off in the distance, as far north and south as could be seen, the thick pall of smoke reflected the red glow of the burning grasslands.
“The fire is burning all along your eastern border. The Tribes need a plan right now, not in a week or so.”
Returning to the tent, the King looking pensive.
“So where does your strategy come from Arwhon? How does a young man such as yourself acquire such grand plans?”
“I’m not at liberty to say Sire, although the Council of Ten in Belvedere agrees with them.”
The King shrugged.
“Then I believe we’ll travel to Belvedere and help Southland.”
Arwhon shot to his feet.
“No Sire! That’s exactly what Martine wants. How long do you think the food supplies would last with the Barsoomi Nation camped in or around the City. It would hand her the war on a platter.”
Shiri had been invited to sit on Queen Mareeta’s knee; the Queen thought the child heavy for her age but was enchanted with the young girl. Shiri was toying with the beads of the Queen’s necklace when the King turned to his wife.
“What do you think my dear?”
“At least listen to the boy Daveed. He was clever enough to rescue our children and brave enough to risk his life when no other would. Hear him out.”
King Daveed turned back to Arwhon.
“What do you propose?”
“Sire, we must do what Martine would not expect and try to cripple her efforts as far as possible. I believe you should take all of the Barsoomi Tribes into The Broken Lands and secure it against the Dominion.”
“What! Don’t be a fool. Its borders are guarded by Dominion forces and anyway, the people of The Broken Lands are happy under the Dominion.”
Shiri piped up.
“No they’re not. Ever since the Dominion took over the rule of The Broken Lands, its population are virtually enslaved. Not only do they have their own food to grow, they also have to grow food to supply Debrishar. The only reason they accepted Dominion rule is because they abhor fighting. They also don’t like handing over the sturdy little horses they breed either. You of all people should understand that.”
The King was stunned; he had never been spoken to by a child in that manner before. It was almost bordering on insolent.
“How do you know so much?” he queried, unconvinced.
“My people come from up that way. We don’t live in a town, we’re foresters.”
Arwhon smiled as the Ring translated this to, we are M’Herindar.
Just a small bending of the Truth.
“So Arwhon, you propose we gather the Tribes and march into The Broken Lands. Then what?”
“Nothing. Talk to the people there and occupy the border area, spacing the Tribes out along it. Your horses will have grazing there and you should be able to buy food from the locals if you stop their surplus being shipped to Debrishar to feed Martine’s armies. Let the Broken Landers know the occupation of the border country is only temporary, until late spring when the grass will be long enough on the Plains of Barsoom to allow you to return. Both parties benefit. The only down side is you will have to protect the borders of The Broken Lands from the Dominion, which may mean a fight but I believe Martine has pulled a lot of troops south for her war and will be unable to spare enough soldiers, once she has committed them to her attack on Belvedere.”
Arwhon thought fast.
“If she takes Southland she will have enough farmland to grow everything she needs. She may let the Broken Land go for a year or so until she can build up her army and fight a war for it from Belvedere and Goristoum both. Whatever plan of action is pursued, it still doesn’t change the fact that the Plains of Barsoom will be effectively non-liveable for four more months at least and of no use to anyone, whatever side they’re on.”
Queen Mareeta had been listening intently to what Arwhon was saying.
“The boy speaks sensibly dear. I agree with his strategy.”
She turned to Callun and Verita. “You also have to learn to make important decisions. What do you both think?”
They nodded agreement in unison.
“There you have it Daveed my love but the decision is yours to make. You are the King.”
Daveed stood and pulled his ornate robe tighter around himself and paced up and down, muttering and shooting glances at Arwhon and Chalc.
“What is your opinion Master Chalc?”
Chalc looked serious for a moment.
“I admit I have pledged myself to Arwhon as Servant but I was originally trained as a Swordmaster in my homeland of Tarkent and the training involves a lot of strategy. It appears the easterly wind has already driven the fire across the river which means most of the Plains will burn. Arwhon’s plan is sound, very astute and offers the least risk to the Barsoomi Tribes. It is also not what Martine would expect.”
Daveed nodded and strode to the entrance of his tent.
“Baleeta, in here.”
As the King walked back to his seat, an older woman wearing an intricately embroidered robe entered the tent. The King introduced her to the small group.
“This is Baleeta, my personal assistant. She is my equerry and chief aid. Baleeta, this is Arwhon, Chalc and Shiri.”
They all bowed to one another before the King issued his orders.
“Baleeta. I want messengers ready to ride in an hour. I realise its night but they can trust to their mounts. In pairs, one pair to travel to each of the six Tribes north of here. Document six messages for me stating that this is a time of emergency and each Tribe is to ride west immediately, I repeat, west, carrying as much food and belongings as possible. Each Tribe is to camp beside the Great Southern Road and wait for me.
We are massing the Barsoomi Nation. The fire they will be experiencing is not localised. The whole of Barsoom is being burnt by the Dominion and if they flee north or south they will die, because the wind is blowing from the east. Once those missives are prepared, bring them back here for signature and sealing then speak directly to the Golden River Tribe telling them to be ready to leave in the morning. Two hours after sunrise.”
Baleeta was nodding, absorbing all and when released by her King, she simply bowed and ran out, hurrying to complete the given tasks.
Arwhon was relieved. Another hurdle out of the way.
“Thank you King Daveed, I’ll be able to sleep easier tonight.”
Even as he spoke Arwhon was wondering what was happening in Belvedere since they’d left.
The sounds of voices raised in heated discussion woke Arwhon. He slid out from beside Shiri and drew his cloak around himself before slipping out of their Barsoomi tent. All around was activity as other tents were being dismantled and loaded onto frames ready for the packhorses. Not all Barsoomi horses bonded and it was those unbonded horses which were used for the more menial tasks, although a bonded horse would do virtually anything for its human counterpart if requested.
The noisy discussion was between two men over an item of furniture belonging to the King. A large, bulky desk. It was obviously too heavy a load for just one horse and there was now a loud argument going on over whether to take it or leave it. Arwhon approached to offer help.
“Looks pretty big. If it were mine I would take the contents and leave the desk itself, with a cover on it, in the middle of the trampled area of the camp. The fire won’t burn the trampled areas.”
The two men looked up to see an unremarkable young man wrapped in a cloak the colour of the surrounding plains, Shiri’s glamour hiding the real Arwhon.
“Yeah, well it’s not yours, so butt out,” one of the men replied.
Arwhon shrugged and returned to their tent to dress then take Shiri for breakfast. He
was gratified to see the desk under a cover, sitting in the middle of a bare area, when they returned from their morning meal about half an hour later to collect their belongings.
The tents of the Tribe to the south were coming down rapidly and the sky was growing darker and the air thicker by the minute. If they didn’t leave soon, the fire might catch them, as the wind was picking up speed, fuelled by the burning flames. King Daveed was on horseback, riding around, chivvying his people into action. Laden horses were already beginning to move off north west to join up with the Great Southern Road.
The Golden River Tribe eventually rode past en masse, saluting the King and his men from horseback as they did. Soon the huge encampment was no more, flattened grasses and firepit circles all that remained.
Throughout the day, more and more riders had taken to wearing dampened scarves over their nose and mouths as the smoke thickened and breathing became more difficult. The fire was not too far behind them now and the sunlight was reddish and dim, filtered through the smoke above. The King’s retinue pushed on into the night following in the tracks of the Golden River Tribe, eventually rejoining them and outdistancing the flames long enough to catch a few hours fitful sleep. Guards were posted to watch for the advancing fire and the tents were left on the packframes, the Tribespeople sleeping on the ground in hastily unpacked bedrolls.
Even the King and his family.
No real hardship for the Barsoomi.
During the exodus, the King moved to the front of his retainers who themselves fronted the Golden River Tribe which was strung in a long line back over the grasslands. The riders reached the Great Southern Road in the afternoon and turned north, travelling on until they met a ford, water crossing the road. The stream descended from the mountains of Mehgrin’s Wall, one of many. Once again in the evening they camped without erecting tents.
Early the next day, the long line of horses and riders were joined by the Slow River Tribe. There was much riding to and fro as friends and relations caught up with one other. The King drew the leader of the Slow River Tribe to one side and explained the situation further. The Slow River Tribe then fell in behind the others. Next morning they were joined by the Blood River Tribe and late in the afternoon came across the Snake River Tribe setting up camp beside the Great South Road near the river which gave them their name. The site turned into a tent city. Four Tribal satellites around the central camp of the King and there were still three more Tribes yet to join them.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 7