The Haven

by Graham Diamond

  Des pushed aside Xotha and strode forward. “My sword shall answer for that!” he shouted. Rondo drew his own weapon and lunged. Metal clanged against metal. Sparks flew. The Lords drew back in horror.

  “Enough!” shouted Assan. “Put away your blades! How dare such a thing happen in Council? I should have you both dragged to a cell!”

  Still glaring, the combatants sheathed their swords. Other Lords ran between them and pushed each one to a different corner.

  The scribes looked up, perplexed. They did not know how it should be entered. Assan paid them no heed. He threw his cloak over his shoulder and fixed his eyes on Des.

  “You were invited here as a guest,” he whispered. “Is this how you repay the privilege?”

  Des lowered his gaze to the floor.

  “If you dare to even smile the wrong way I’ll have you chained! Is that understood?”

  Des nodded, saying nothing. Then Assan faced Rondo. “And you,” he barked, “wipe that grin off your face!” Rondo gaped in shock. He had never before seen Assan so angered. “You fat pompous fool! By what right do you see fit to make jest of our allies?” He looked to Corin, who sat expressionless on his perch. “Please forgive us.”

  Corin nodded coldly.

  “I want to apologize to Counsel Bela, too,” continued Assan. “I know I speak for all of us. And I know that Lord Rondo feels the same.”

  Rondo looked up, bit his lip. “Assan is right,” he said. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty. I — I’m sorry.”

  Bela exhaled slowly. “I accept your apology,” he said. “But this still does not solve our dilemma.” He turned to Assan. “Will the Council vote on the plan we have proposed?”

  Assan slumped back in his chair, deep in thought. Just then Marco, who had been observing, strode forward. “May I speak?” he asked.

  Assan nodded. “It will be a pleasure to listen to a civilized tongue.”

  The wolf bowed, then began to pace back and forth in front of the Lords. “I have found Counsel Bela’s plan as strange as any of you,” he said. “But perhaps we only half-listened. Perhaps there is merit here that we have all missed.”

  A short stocky man stepped up from the back. He moved unsteadily, holding a walking stick. Assan gestured for him to speak before he even asked.

  “I would hear this tale again, my Lord,” he said. It was Kliev, the aged philosopher who had spoken. A man of more than ninety years, he had been both Counsel and advisor to many Elders, and was greatly respected.

  Assan’s eyes widened. “Have you found merit in this tale, Kliev?”

  The philosopher smiled. “There is merit in much we overlook, my Lord,” he said. “Consider, the books of the Old Time are mysterious. Indeed I have read this very tale myself, numerous times. And as Lord Rondo says, it seems written for children. But —” here his voice rose, his eyes seemed to sparkle, “it is for us to wade through the mystery and find hidden meaning.”

  Bela relaxed. Despite his years, Kliev was still as keen and sharp-witted as ever. His support, if given, could go a long way in swaying the Council.

  “You are a mystic, Kliev,” said Assan. “You know far better than we the hidden meanings of such books. If we listen again will you help us in understanding?”

  Kliev bowed deeply and smiled shyly. “It would be an honor.”

  Assan gestured to Bela. “Repeat the tale, if you will.”

  Bela again took his place in the center of the hall and once more began the strange story that Elon had bidden him to speak.

  “It is written,” he said, “that long ago there was a great city that stood beside the sea. It was the heart of a very great empire, rich and powerful, one that feared no enemy. But the Fates decided to deal harshly with its people for offending them. And to its shore there came many great boats carrying thousands of armor-clad soldiers. The men of the city were forced to withdraw behind their walls and wait while the enemy laid siege to their land.”

  Bela paused. The Council sat solemnly. The similarity was clear.

  “But the men of the city were strong of heart. Boldly they fought many battles with the enemy, winning some, losing others, but never losing heart. And for some years this stalemate continued with neither side able to gain victory over the other.

  “But the soldiers from the sea, Greeks they were called, were more cunning than the people of the city of Troy. They devised a plan, one that would take courage and deceit, but one that would also gain them victory.

  “The Greek soldiers came to the gate of Troy and announced that they would sail for home. The men of Troy had been worthy opponents, they said, and would be respected for it. And to pay honor to such bravery, they left the Trojans a gift — a mighty wooden horse, standing taller than the trees. Then they lifted the siege and set sail for home, tired and beaten.

  “The Trojans, a vain and proud people, accepted the statue and brought it inside the walls. Overjoyed at the sight of Greek sails heading home, they held a great celebration in honor of their victory. The Trojan soldiers fell into a drunken stupor — their gates were left undefended. But what was there to fear? The Greeks had gone.”

  Bela paused again and smiled at the intent faces. “That was their mistake,” he said triumphantly. “For the Greeks had not gone. And hidden inside the belly of the statue, concealed from sight, lay dozens of mighty Greek soldiers. They lowered themselves from the horse and flung open the gates of Troy. Thousands of waiting Greeks entered and murdered the Trojans in their hour of celebration. Then they burned the city and forever defeated the enemy. This then was how a cunning adversary managed to defeat a force far greater than their own.”

  There was a long silence after Bela had finished. The Lords looked at one another, still not sure they understood Elon’s plan. At last Assan broke the silence. “I still do not see how this can be of use to us,” he said. “We are like the Trojans, trapped behind our walls. We seek not to get in, but to get out.”

  Bela smiled coyly. “But are we like the Trojans?” he asked. “Or are we like the Greeks?”

  Assan shook his head and sighed. “Now I am more confused than before,” he said. “What do you say, Kliev?”

  The philosopher looked at Bela. “I trust you have the answer?” he said. Bela nodded. “I do.” And he gestured for Gwenn to come forward. Saul stared as his daughter asked permission to speak. Assan nodded. All eyes turned to her as she threw back her head and smiled. “The plan is really quite simple,” she said, looking at their faces. “We shall give such a gift to the dogs.”

  Assan’s eyes widened; his jaw dropped. The Lords looked at one another incredulously. “Is this a joke?” asked Saul. Gwenn shook her head. “No, father,” she said. “This is Elon’s plan to defeat the Master.”

  There was a flurry of restlessness as the Council members whispered among themselves. Assan turned to Kliev. The old man furrowed his brows, deep in thought. If others thought the plan to be foolishness, it was clear that he did not. He swayed back and forth for a moment, then turned to Gwenn. “The idea shows cunning and imagination,” he said, “but how does Elon expect it to work?”

  Gwenn’s eyes brightened as she smiled broadly. “We will build the Master a great statue as a gift — a statue in his own image, a fighting-dog. It will be as high as the trees and as broad as a house. And inside the hollow belly we shall conceal a small force of volunteers, both men and wolves, and when the gift is accepted and taken within their camp, we’ll strike. We need only slay the Master and his horde will scatter in fear once he is dead.”

  Finally, after much debate, Assan placed his hands on the table and looked from one face to the next. “It is clear that many of you now favor this plan,” he continued, “while others, like myself, are troubled about taking such a course of action. So I say this: all of you must look deep into your hearts. This plan is fraught with danger. Even Elon would concede that. And if it fails and our army is once again beaten, it will be the end. Yet it is a daring plan, one that if properly an
d precisely executed, could give us victory.

  “While Elon yet lives he still speaks with the authority as Elder. And I will not go against his wishes. Therefore, while I will not tell others how to decide, I personally will vote in favor.”

  The Great Hall became very still. A momentous decision was about to be made, and it lay heavily upon all their breasts. The Lords all took their places; the scribes prepared to record their votes. Gwenn and Des stood back and held their breaths. Bela gazed to the floor and clasped his hands tightly behind his back.

  Assan nodded gravely to the scribes. The first name was called. The vote was “aye.” And one by one each man cast his ballot, somberly, without emotion. And when it was done all but three had cast their votes in favor. The scribe read the tally. Assan got up; he stood tall and erect. “Then it is done,” he said. “Let it forever be recorded.”

  Cheers rang out. Many Lords gathered and shook Desmond’s hand. Kliev beamed, proud of his role. Gwenn sighed and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Among all those gathered there only Bela stood back, aloof. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. For only he among them knew the truth: in the early hours before dawn, Lord Elon, ninety-seventh Elder of the Council, had died peacefully in his sleep.

  *

  From a small hollow nestled between the Outlands and the Plain, the Master and his generals peered out at the great gray stone walls of the Haven. Billows of black smoke rose high into the sky, before they slowly disappeared against the sun.

  Kindari turned to the small trembling raven that stood meekly at his side. “What is it that men do?” he asked.

  “Those are the funeral fires, my Lord,” said the bird. “Men are paying homage to their leader, Lord Elon, who has died.”

  Lepidus kept his keen eyes on the smoke. “And when will they choose a new leader?”

  The raven fidgeted, wishing he were far away from this spot. “They already have, Lord,” he said. “The Council has chosen a man who fears your army greatly. Men are frightened. With Elon has also died their courage.”

  Toland faced him, his eyes blazing. The bird stepped back and shivered. “Enough of your gibberish,” he said. His voice was a low, deep growl: assured, commanding. “Get to the point. Why are you here? Why have men sent you?”

  “Men wish for peace. For a treaty.”

  “Peace?” said Matsui scornfully. “They cannot be serious!”

  Toland raised his brow and searched the bird’s face. “Do you take me for a fool? Men are not so easily defeated.”

  “I swear it!” panted the raven. “They fear you as they have feared no other. They remember well the fate of Sean, and they wish to be spared.”

  “Spared?” said Lepidus, incredulously. “They will watch even as we slaughter their cubs before their eyes!”

  Toland gestured for his aide to still his anger. He drew his snout close to the raven’s face. The bird felt his breath hot against him. “Are you saying that men would humble themselves before me? Before all dogs?”

  The bird nodded violently. “Men seek only to survive. They want to acknowledge you as King, as Master — as ruler of the Valley. They have been defeated, and they know it.”

  Kindari looked to his brother. “Feed this liar to the Night-Birds,” he growled, “There is treachery behind these sweet words. Let me tear the wings from his body and we shall hear a different tale indeed!”

  The bird began to shake uncontrollably. “I speak the truth!” he protested. “At this very moment they construct a great gift to please you.”

  Toland looked into his eyes, searching them carefully. “What could men give to us?”

  “A marvelous gift, Master. A mighty statue, as big as the trees! And shaped in the image of a mighty warrior-dog. Your image, Master. Their craftsmen labor both day and night to finish it.”

  “Why do they go to so much trouble?” asked Kindari. “Surely they do not really expect us to be honored by it.”

  “They hope to win favor in the Master’s eyes. They ask you to spare their lives only if you are pleased.”

  “Bah,” muttered Matsui. “We seek no gift. Let men know they are doomed!”

  Toland paced for a moment. “I am intrigued by this,” he said. “Tell me more of it.”

  “Gladly, Master,” panted the raven. “But why take my word? Send Night-Birds to fly above the walls. They will see it for themselves and report back to you.”

  “The bird lies,” growled Lepidus. “Men stall for time; they seek to hold us at bay. A great statue as big as the trees! Indeed!”

  “Let us strike them now,” said Kindari, “and be done with such foolish talk.”

  Toland paced back and forth again. “I would see this gift,” he said at length. His generals began to protest, but he silenced them with a single glance. “Tell this to the men: they must be quick about their work. I am impatient and will not wait long. Tell them I will consider sparing their city if the gift pleases me as much as they think.”

  “You cannot do this!” barked Matsui, clearly shocked. The Master barked back and his stare sent Matsui groveling at his feet in fear.

  “Fly, bird,” he said, returning his attention to the raven. “And let men know what I have said!”

  The raven bowed low, flapped his wings and flew to the trees. Toland watched him leave and smiled slyly.

  “What have you done?” shouted Kindari, half in a rage. “How could you promise them life? This is a disgrace upon us all! Treason! Were you not my brother I would slit your throat and throw your carcass to the jackals!”

  Toland looked up at him. Any other who had dared to speak to him in such a fashion would have been killed.

  “I see no humor,” said Lepidus, watching the smile broaden on the Master’s face. “Kindari spoke truth. Our War-Lords will never stand for such a thing. There will be open rebellion against you.”

  Toland shook his head from side to side and began to laugh. “Have I convinced you, too?” he asked. Then he turned to Kindari. “And even you, little brother?”

  The dogs stared, bewildered.

  “I am glad, then,” he said at last, smiling at the gaping mouths. “For if I convinced you, then surely I have convinced that bird!” He paused and spat on the ground. “Do you really think that I would even consider showing mercy to our enemies? I, Master of All, allow men to live so that one day they may grow strong and rise up against us? No, my friends. I would have to be insane!”

  “Then why did you say what you did?” asked Kindari, confused, but relieved.

  Toland’s eyes flashed wickedly. A snarl came from his mouth; his eyes showed cunning. His upper lip curled and contorted. “I said it to give men hope, to make them think that I would consider their request. But it will be false hope, I assure you! When the moment of justice comes — and it will be soon, I promise — I will shatter this illusion of life. And they shall be all the more broken because of it! I have sworn before the Fates to wipe them from the earth, and that I will do! When winter comes and the first snows fall across the Valley, the Haven will be little more than wreckage. And no man shall live to speak of it.”

  Lepidus and Matsui sat back and smiled. Toland was indeed worthy of his title! Who else could have conceived such a cunning ploy?

  “I am glad,” said Kindari with a sigh. “For a while I thought that you really did desire this gift they build.” His brother looked up.

  “Ah, but I do desire it!” he said matter-of-factly. “It will stand as a monument for all dogs, to tell forever how men, our fiercest enemy, cringed at our might and sought our favors.”

  Lepidus and Matsui laughed cruelly, but Kindari was not so pleased. “I fear this gift from men,” he said. “Why must we take it?”

  “No, my brother,” said Toland. “You worry needlessly. I also suspect the gift. I also fear some hidden plot behind it; but have no fear!”

  “You are too vain, brother,” said Kindari. “No good can come of the gift.”

  “And you, little broth
er, are too worry-filled. If this statue is to be used against us, men will never have the opportunity. When the gift is received we shall honor them for it, and when the gates are opened, when men begin to hope they will be spared, then shall we strike. And in a single day we shall do what all dogs have dreamed for two thousand years. We shall rid the earth of men forever.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The early autumn nights were hot and clammy — still — as though the wind itself were holding breath and waiting. Tension in the air was thick, overbearing. Everyone felt it, but few spoke of it.

  Three hundred workmen labored by day and by night to build the gift to the Master. For weeks now they had toiled, and at last it was beginning to take shape: a towering monster nearly twenty-five feet high. Master-builders stood atop their platforms shouting instruction to the workers below. Shirtless, their bodies gleaming with sweat, never once did they let their gaze fall from the task. Saws buzzed and axes chopped as fifty carpenters fit and shaped the great beams. Then dozens of workmen tied and hoisted them high above their heads to be set into place on the platform. The pounding of hammers and rolling of wagons laden with wood was constant as everyone tried to meet an impossible schedule. Night-Bird spies flew high from sight and reported what they saw. And the Master was pleased.

  Yet even as this work went on, other men, well concealed from unwanted eyes, struggled deep in the tunnels. This was the harder task by far. Working by dim torchlight, they drained the cesspools and strengthened the crumbling walls. Only when this work was done could the plan proceed and the gift be presented. It would be a fight to the death this time, and no one would be spared.

  *

  Des walked timidly through the oval doors of the House of Prayer. Dim light from scattered oil lamps flickered near the front of the room.

  Des sighed. In a few days he would be dead. He would lead those who would hide in the belly of the gift; he would be among those who sacrificed their lives that the Haven might live.