“Very well Arwhon, return after lunch for my decision.”
It was a long few hours before the allotted meeting time so Arwhon took Shiri to a local market and bought her a multi coloured silk scarf and a tiny knife to conceal about her person. She bought him a silver clasp for the cloak her mother had given him. It was in the shape of a gryffon.
Chalc was standing beside the King when Arwhon and Shiri were shown into the audience chamber on the lowest level of the Royal Keep. No longer dressed in his utilitarian clothes, Chalc’s robes of office made him look important and regal and his sword was pushed into the sash he wore around his waist. Arwhon knew Chalc could still unsheath it just as fast from there. He stood before Arwhon with a slight smile on his face.
“The King and I agree your plan has merit. We will provide food and an escort for the Barsoomi on their journey through Tarkent. I have written a letter to King Daveed of the Barsoom, which our King has signed, outlining your plan. Do you wish to send a letter also?”
Arwhon nodded and a pen and paper were brought immediately. Arwhon composed his own letter and folding it up, a frivolous idea came to him.
“Do you have sealing wax?”
He obtained some and placed a dry blob on the join of his letter before sucking in a little Power. He pressed his Ring to the cold wax and smoke rose. Removing his hand, he found the Ring had heated the wax, sealing the missive and imprinting the design of the Ring into the wax.
“Learn something new every day,” he grinned. “I’ll give these to two of the Barsoomi Riders who accompanied us, to take back to King Daveed in the Broken Lands. Will they need a letter of safe passage?”
The King struggled to take off a gold ring, set with a large ruby which was engraved with the royal motto.
“This should do,” he said, handing it over.
Arwhon bowed deeply and exited the chamber, dashing down the stairs to find the Riders.
“Randar, Neta, I have an important task for you.”
They both looked a little puzzled.
“We have to ride with you Arwhon, Daveed our King said so.”
Arwhon shook his head.
“There is an urgent message which has to be taken to King Daveed as soon as possible. Can you remember the way back through Tarkent and over the mountain?”
“Easily Arwhon.”
“Good, take this message and this one and get them to your King as soon as possible. Haste is most important. Leave immediately and one of you wear this ring; it is a right of passage wherever you travel. Don’t lose it; the King of Tarkent wants it back. Breeta remains with us.”
The two Riders looked sharply at him. “We always ride together.”
“Not this time. Chalc is remaining here in Tarkent and Shiri and I will need help. I believe Breeta will be adequate for the task. If King Daveed says anything to you about it, just tell him that the Black River Tribe will see her return later. Now, thank you both for your help in getting us here but the sun is now going down the sky. I figure you have another three hours of daylight left.”
The two Riders quickly got themselves organised and in fifteen minutes were ready to leave. Breeta arrived back from the markets just in time to bid them safe riding. Under the trees to one side of the little camp, a rather pot bellied gryffon lay asleep, digesting a meal which was noisily indicating its passage through her. Arwhon was sure she had grown some more. He informed Breeta of his plans and suggested she be ready to ride in the morning before he went off with Shiri to attend to Duran and Rancid.
Evening came and the King held a banquet in their honour, with dish after dish of exotic foods. It was a cause of merriment when Arwhon drank the warm lemon water placed beside them for hand washing. There was a lot to learn in this world. He and Shiri slept soundly that night, only stirring when servants awakened them before dawn to begin their preparations for leaving.
Chalc was awake early enough to see them off, sadly waving after them as they rode away. Their parting had been emotional on both sides with Arwhon promising to return if he survived.
“We have adjoining farms in The Broken Lands Chalc. We should be able to spend time together after this is all over. If I live and I intend to.”
They clasped wrists then Arwhon mounted Duran and rode off, accompanied by Shiri and Breeta. Chalc smiled at the happy gryffon bounding along behind the trio. Only Arwhon could have picked up so unusual a companion.
As they disappeared into the distance Chalc turned to go back into the Royal Keep and start his new life. Being involved with Arwhon had elevated him from exile in a blacksmith’s shop in Cumbrisia’s End to being Chief Advisor to his own King of Tarkent. Fortune followed Arwhon. Chalc hoped it would also keep the man alive.
They all failed to notice the short, black-cloaked figure, whose hooded gaze followed Arwhon’s exit from Kyto.
8. In Extremis.
The Empress Martine had been back in charge of her army, resident in her luxurious pavilion outside Belvedere’s walls, for over a fortnight. Surrounded by her soldiers, victory almost within grasp, she should have been happy but she wasn’t. Martine needed to be entertained and sieges were tedious. If she’d had a General worth his salt she could have left him in charge here and stayed in Goristoum during the campaign, living a life of sensual leisure while the General took care of the war. Trouble was she had no such man. As soon as a General rose to a position where he became popular and could command the army, he also became a powerful threat to her. A number of Generals had suffered ‘accidental’ deaths in the last twenty years. Kroy was probably capable of directing this siege and although he was ambitious, his impending marriage into the Royal family of Tarkent should keep him manageable.
Perhaps.
Kroy. Was it worth recalling him to look after the siege so she could pleasure herself in Goristoum? No. She was better off running this campaign herself. At least there would be no way her plans could go awry. The remaining siege tower was almost completed and ready for use, the timber gathering teams no longer necessary now as the construction units had more than enough timber available to finish the tower. All day, every day, Martine lived with the constant noise of arms practice, sergeants shouting commands, steel clashing on steel and reinforced shields as the men drilled with their weapons.
Every detail of the war was now taken care of and the time for the final assault drew near. The only delay was dealing with the Draakon Reavers. Since they’d lost the use of at least twenty of their ships during the last abortive attack on Belvedere’s harbour, some sunk, others burnt beyond repair, the Admiral in charge of the Reavers had bargained with the Dark Mage, asking for more money and trade rights as compensation before they would attack the harbour again. The initial assault had not been as easy as the Reavers had expected and some of the survivors had wanted to return home across the Turquoise Sea to Draakonia.
‘Bloody cowardly pirates, no backbone,’ she thought to herself.
Unfortunately, Martine’s plan for the conquest of Belvedere required a two pronged attack, with Belvedere’s defenders having to fight on two fronts at once. Without Reaver involvement they would be better able to defend their walls against her army. Martine did not like the fact the Reavers were changing the original deal they had made with her but she had little choice. To make matters even more insufferable, she had to journey to Talhaven, Graswyn’s main port, to deal with the Admiral of the Reavers in person as he didn’t trust the Dark Mage and wanted Martine’s own word on the new accord. It was totally demeaning, she, an Empress, having to trek overland to meet a glorified pirate who refused to travel away from his ship. His time would come. The arrangement with the Reavers could be changed yet again once Belvedere was hers and she commanded all the ports and harbours along the southern coast.
The Dark Mage would have to summon the drakon again; Martine was not going to waste at least a week travelling overland to Talhaven and a week coming back. Her attention was required here at Belvedere. Besides being an interes
ting way to travel, the drakon would create quite a stir when Martine landed on the quayside at Talhaven and climbed down from the back of a giant flying creature from Draakonian legend. Negotiations would probably be facilitated by the Dark Mage’s huge beast waiting for them, malevolently conspicuous on Talhaven’s dock.
Martine sat quietly, considering. It would be best to organise the final assault on Belvedere to commence soon after her next treatment in Goristoum, some two weeks or so hence. After the rejuvenation she would be at her best and strongest and would thoroughly enjoy riding into Belvedere on her white horse, secure in the knowledge she looked radiant and every man who saw her would desire her.
Three weeks. The Reaver dog would agree or suffer greatly. By the time of the attack, the city of Belvedere would indeed be hungry and weak. Weak men did not fight well. The city would be hers.
Just as the Dark Mage had promised.
Southern Debrishar was almost deserted when Arwhon and Shiri quietly rode through the countryside with Breeta, who spent time gazing avidly about her, taking in the sights of a land far different from her own Barsoom but somewhat similar to that which they had passed through riding up from The Broken Lands into Tarkent.
The small group had been cautious wending their way down from the high plateau which encompassed two thirds of the land of Tarkent. The steep hillsides were wooded on both sides of the well used road, normally marched by Dominion troops heading up to, and returning from, Kyto. Those troops were being deployed elsewhere now and the road was deserted.
Autumn was well advanced, the leaves on the trees almost all shed to carpet the ground underfoot. Where the leaves covered the road, it was slippery and a few times both Arwhon and Shiri had narrowly avoided a spill when first Duran then Rancid had lost their footing. Breeta, riding to the rear, evaded the same fate. There was not much protective cover under the trees and Shiri cloaked them all with a glamour which made them appear as working folk mounted on hairy ponies. Krissi had her own glamour, courtesy of Shiri, and now would be seen as a small pony by anyone without magical ability.
Arwhon could not get over how fast Krissi was growing and later in the evening, she once again brought a small deer into camp, laying the carcass at Arwhon’s feet as a gift. He sliced off a couple of steaks from the rump for himself, Shiri and Breeta and left the rest to Krissi. He knew that by morning there would be no remains at all, not even the bones or a scrap of hide. They were camped well off the road in a small, deep hollow which concealed them well. After dark, so the smoke would not be spotted, they risked a small fire to cook the meat.
Following the satisfying meal of grilled venison and dark bread, the tired group settled down on their sleeping rolls, Shiri still dressed in her green armour, worn constantly in dangerous country and Arwhon, still in chainmail with his sword to hand. Breeta had placed her own sleeping roll back from the fire, partially hidden by a deadfall. She took her position as guard seriously and would take first watch before Arwhon took over. Shiri had guard spells set but anyone with magic would be able to circumvent them, so a physical watch was still necessary.
The small fire flickered, giving a little light but not much heat. They would extinguish it soon. The sound of their mounts, cropping grass under the trees, was reassuring. Krissi lay on the far side of the fire gnawing a bone and Breeta sat far enough away to give them some privacy. Shiri placed her hand on Arwhon’s arm and drew some extra Power from him to top up her own.
“I can’t understand how you can draw so much Power wherever you wish although it is handy to reinforce the Earthmagic I manage to absorb. We M’Herindar can only store a lot of Earthmagic with the aid of Ch’ron.”
Arwhon smiled to himself with the memory.
“It was something Ch’ron arranged for me when I was inside his Tree. He said I would have great need one day and somehow convinced the Ring to making a pathway directly to Power with Firemagic. Ch’ron couldn’t make the connection himself because he uses Earthmagic and I apparently have Firemagic wrapped around my core. I don’t really understand it at all though.”
Arwhon sat, knees pulled up, arms around his legs, staring into the fire.
“I can’t explain how drawing Power works or I would show you how to do it, your magic seems to take more out of you. Would you mind showing me a simple spell again? I really want to learn how to use magic.”
Shiri sighed. “Showing is no good, I’ll instruct you as I would a child new to using magic. We use spell-songs to focus the power of Earthmagic through the mind. Like your martial training with Chalc, repetition, over and over again, until its use becomes automatic and the song is no longer needed. Seldom used or difficult spells still require the song which activates them. My mother knows nearly every spell song of the M’Herindar and what she doesn’t know, my father does. Hearing her sing is an enchantment in itself. We’ll start with illusion. It is a relatively simple thing. Think of some simple artefact lying on the grass at your feet and sing after me. It is not how loud you sing but the form of the words.”
Shiri began to delicately sing a soft tune. The M’Herindar words sounded strange to Arwhon’s ears as he tried to copy them, along with the tune, visualising a book on the ground at his feet.
“Larellin starafin par din murhair. Larellin starafin par din murhair.”
Shiri sang and Arwhon copied the tune and the words.
As he did, he felt something starting to stir within him as the Power moved to the song but suddenly, out of nowhere, a lancing pain exploded into a blindingly savage headache and he gasped with agony, toppling sideways, unable to move. Breeta leapt wildly to her feet, looking around for a possible source of attack until Shiri calmed her with a hand signal before bending to Arwhon.
“What is it? That is one of the easiest spells to perform.”
“My head. Every time I get close to using a spell, something gives me a terrible headache. Almost as though I’m somehow being prevented from learning. Is there something wrong with me?”
Shiri could not answer. Who could? If Ch’ron had been unable to find anything amiss, how could anyone else? They let the fire die out and drifted off to sleep to the sound of Krissi finishing off the last of the small deer.
Arwhon sat his saddle easily. He and Duran were so aware of each other now it was almost as if they were one being. Earlier in the morning the small group had passed some disarmed, bootless Dominion soldiers. They had been ejected from Tarkent not long before Arwhon, Shiri and Breeta had left but had made good time downhill, binding bark to the soles of their feet and marching at a fast pace. They had been hidden among roadside shrubbery as the group drew near but Arwhon had somehow sensed them and asked Shiri to drop the glamour before calling them out. The three men reluctantly stepped onto the road.
“Why were you hiding? Going to ambush us maybe?” Arwhon asked.
One of them, most likely the leader, as the other two seemed to defer to him, replied deferentially.
“No, we thought you might be Dominion. We’re going home. Our families haven’t seen us in a long while and we’re sick of war. Our farms need to be worked and being beaten at Kyto was the last straw.”
He peered at Arwhon more closely.
“You were the one led them rebels weren’t you?”
“No, but I fought with them. Same as I will fight the Dominion elsewhere until it is totally crushed and men are free to get on with their lives without being used. Martine is evil and we fight evil.”
“What are you going to do with us?” the leader of the sorry group asked.
“Nothing. Maybe give you a little food and wish you well but if I come across you fighting for the Dominion again I’ll destroy you.”
Arwhon smiled as he reached into his saddlebag and drew out some bread and a small round of cheese, throwing them to the leader.
“That’s all I can spare. Take care and good day.”
They went to ride on past the three men but the leader called out.
“If you keep
heading on down this way past the crossroads, you’ll eventually come across a garrison which usually holds quite a few Dominion troops but there’s a forest trail a couple of miles past the crossroads on your left, marked by a tree stump, which will take you around the garrison.”
Arwhon reined in and turned Duran around.
“Thank you for that. What’s your name?”
“You’re welcome.” The man indicated the bread and cheese. “One good turn deserves another. I’m known as Wilbard.”
Arwhon nodded and with a wave, turned Duran around again and rode off.
Dodging around the Dominion garrison was not difficult, thanks to Wilbard’s warning and as they rode further west, the ground started to flatten out. It was Shiri who noticed the familiarity first.
“Arwhon, this is the same country we rode through when we travelled to Gildon’s Keep all those months back. We’ll be in Barsoom before long.”
“You’re right Shiri, so we will but I think it will look a lot different from the last time we saw it.”
During that day and the next, the trees thinned out even more and Arwhon gave the horses as much grazing as time allowed in the evenings. Soon there were no trees and before much longer they came to a ragged black line stretching north and south, as far as the eye could see.
The Plains of Barsoom.
Beyond the line everything was burnt, blackened and bare. It was only on close inspection they could make out the slight tinge of new green grass shoots emerging after the shock of the flames.
They headed due west. Riding at a moderate pace, so as not to tire the horses but cover as much ground as possible, they eventually camped late in the evening beside a stream flowing with darkened water, runoff from the blackened land. Breeta, nearly in tears at the sight of the burnt and naked plain, thought the stream might be the Snake River or the Blood River, depending on how far north or south they were. No cheery fire for the camp after dark as there was nothing left to burn and no food for the horses either, apart from a little grain they had brought with them. There was no need to set a guard as the plains were deserted.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 24