A Bright Power Rising

by Noel Coughlan

  He brought the meeting to a close, and then slipped out of the dormitory to inform Sebryn of its outcome. The abbot was praying alone in the chapel. When he learned the Orstretcherists intended to leave for Pigsknuckle the next day, knotting wrinkles and deepening lines carved his aged face into an icon of indignation.

  “You have no faith,” he snapped.

  AscendantSun’s surprise at his friend’s ire turned to anger.

  “I forsook my homeland for the Forelight. To serve him, I cast aside many lifetimes of devotion to Aurelian. I sacrificed everything I had, and you accuse me of faithlessness. Perhaps you are the faithless one. You released me from my vow of pacifism in the first place.”

  Saint Sebryn swallowed his reply. He blessed AscendantSun and curtly bid him farewell.

  Grael smiled. It was a relief to be safely off the Pig and nearly home.

  He accompanied Dawan to his home. As usual, the cabin was so crammed with young Mangals that they spilled out the front door. Their grandfather, old Thomol, sat by the fire, mumbling about the cramped conditions, while Dawan’s heavily pregnant mother waded across a sea of children as she went about her chores. Even taking into account that the cousins and friends would eventually go back their own homes, it was hard to imagine all the inhabitants of the house would fit in it, once they lay down to sleep.

  “I don’t know how your mother manages,” Grael confided.

  “The big ones mind the little ones. Most of the time,” Dawan said.

  Lormak emerged from the middle of a pile of children, and picked his path carefully through the throng beneath him. He warmly shook hands with the new arrivals. His resemblance to an older Dawan with a beard was uncanny. “Welcome back, Grael. We might go for a walk. It’s impossible to hear anything in this bedlam. Dawan, run to Grael’s home and let his parents know he is home safe.”

  Grael and Lormak strolled through the forest, discussing the journey to Pigsback, AscendantSun’s arrival, and the slow improvement in the weather. Lormak’s head swiveled about dramatically. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you any idea why I invited you here?”

  Grael shook his head.

  Lormak bit his lip. “We need a new politician. One who puts the village before himself for a change.”

  Grael’s eyes narrowed. “If this is about the Cliffringdeners, I want no part in it.”

  “There may be some folks unhappy about taking in the refugees. You have to take your allies where you find them. But most just want rid of the Changeling and his cronies, Maergan and Evram Erath, Fapath Carnath, and their ilk. What sort of future have my children with a man like Garscap Torp as their politician? What future has any of us?” Lormak was trembling.

  “And who is going to replace him?”

  Lormak pointed a finger at Grael. “You are. We want you to have the thorny crown, if you are willing to wear it.”

  Grael’s heart skipped a beat. “My father does not know about this?”

  Lormak nodded. “We haven’t talked to him, but you can be certain of his support.”

  “You want me to risk my family’s welfare in this…conspiracy.”

  Lormak’s face burned with indignation. “I’m risking my own.”

  “Why choose me?”

  “You had a fortune, and you gave almost all of it away to feed the village. That sort of selflessness is what we need in a leader. And it should be rewarded.”

  Lormak had used we a lot, but he hadn’t divulged the names of the other conspirators. “Who else is part of this?” Grael asked.

  Lormak’s blush deepened. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to the others to give you their names yet. Not until you decide you want in. But our number is significant.”

  “What about Widan?” The answer might give a clue as to the fate awaiting Harath.

  Lormak snorted. “He gave the thorny crown to the Changeling in the first place. His daughter is married to Garscap. Even the Melkaths don’t want him back.”

  If Grael was politician, he might be able to protect Harath, prevent her from being exiled with her husband. He might be able to keep things peaceful. But it was a huge gamble, and not just for him, but for his whole family. If Garscap somehow won…

  Grael wet his lips and asked, “Are you sure you have sufficient support to overthrow the Changeling?”

  Lormak’s eyebrows arched. “Of course! The whole village wants rid of him!”

  Grael shied from Lormak’s look of feverish anticipation. He just couldn’t decide here and now. “Let me think about it overnight. I’ll give you my answer in the morning.”

  “Very well. I can understand that you need time to mull it over.” Lormak sounded disappointed. “It’s a big decision.”

  Grael spent the rest of the day wandering the forests, absorbed in his dilemma. As night fell, he found a secluded spot on the edge of the village. Using a hollow log as a seat, he waited for his family to go asleep. He was in no mood for questions. As he sat alone in the dark, the Erols’ home was probably filled with games and stories and laughter. He didn’t need a reminder that his family’s happiness might rest on his decision. It was very late when he tiptoed back to the silent cabin. The dull light of the dying fire revealed his sleeping parents and siblings. They looked so peaceful and contented. He lay down on his straw bed and prayed to the Forelight for guidance. He closed his eyes but his predicament kept him awake through the night.

  It was long walk back to the Mangals’ house the next morning. Lormak answered Grael’s knock on the lintel. He had that expectant look again.

  Grael took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.” Every word felt momentous.

  Lormak patted him on the back. “Good man. Good man.” His eyebrows furrowed a little. “What made you decide to accept?”

  Grael shrugged. “Something my father once said to me.” Often, in trying to cheat our fate we cheat ourselves. Whatever Grael decided, his family would ultimately be forced to choose a side in the coming conflict. Knowing his father, it wouldn’t be the Changeling’s.

  Grael ignored Lormak’s puzzlement. “So, what is to be done?” Grael asked.

  “Nothing as yet. Still gathering our strength. But soon, very soon, we’ll rip the thorny crown from the Changeling’s head.”

  PART III

  GARSCAP

  16

  Nimbly his fearsome axes danced,

  Flaming steel that consumed all foes,

  No shield could withstand their advance,

  No spear could pierce their maze of blows.

  FROM ALACKALAS AND THE FAIR PRINCESS.

  The men of Pigsknuckle gathered at Leaftea not long after daybreak. AscendantSun spun his batonaxes as he addressed them. Many were uninterested. Some were hostile.

  “These are the most fearsome weapons you will ever face. Imagine fighting four men, each with a double-bitted axe in one hand and a dagger in the other. Imagine these four warriors fighting in perfect coordination. That is what you must withstand when you face a single batonaxer. Batonaxes are dangerous. In inexperienced hands, these weapons can kill their wielder as easily as his opponents. On the other thumb, inexperienced hands amongst our race are long gone. All are well versed with using these weapons.”

  He nodded to Grael and Evram Erath to attack. They approached him cautiously, spears at the ready. Evram circled to the left so that AscendantSun was forced to stand in profile and glance back and forth between his assailants.

  “Observe, they wield spears, not axes. Batonaxes are short-range weapons unless thrown. The spears give the advantage of distance,” he lectured.

  Evram lunged. AscendantSun hooked the spear with one batonaxe, and pulling the surprised youth forward, delivered a kick to his torso. As Evram tumbled to the ground clutching his belly, the spear flew from his hands and barely missed Grael. Grael charged, but AscendantSun parried his spear thrust and swirled into him. Before Grael could react, a spike pressed against his neck.

  “Sorry,” AscendantSun said as Grael w
iped a drop of blood from his throat. “I did not mean to knick you.”

  “What about kicking me in the stomach?” Evram asked.

  “I was fighting two. It was your misfortune to be the first.” He offered Evram a hand to help him up, but the youth refused it.

  AscendantSun thanked Grael and Evram, and then continued. “Be under no illusion. For you, tackling a batonaxer alone is suicide. To have any chance of winning, you must work in pairs, at the least, and coordinate your attack. You must maintain distance from your opponent, read his moves, force him into over-committing, and kill him with your first strike.”

  NeverFear and NoonBlest watched, heeding every word.

  The drilling continued through the morning. The tactics of batonaxers were dissected, and counter-measures explained. Many were theoretical, concocted by the Orstretcherists from their intimate knowledge of wielding batonaxes rather than their scant experience in countering them with other weapons, and AscendantSun had to modify and refine these techniques as he taught. The effectiveness of most of them would be temporary. The legionaries would adapt quickly. However, the Stretchers would have surprise on their side in early encounters, and that edge might be enough for them to triumph.

  Disgruntled mutterings emerged among his pupils as the noon approached, but he ignored them. Only when the concentration of his best pupils flagged did he end the lesson and let the hungry, exhausted Stretchers disperse to their homes.

  “That went well,” AscendantSun commented to NoonBlest as he and NeverFear approached. “Our students’ apathy waned as the lesson progressed.”

  “You were teaching them how to kill us. Of course they would be interested,” NoonBlest observed. “As for your techniques, well, two against one is hardly fair.”

  “We discussed this and agreed as a group this was the best way to help the Stretchers defend their families,” NeverFear reminded him.

  “I did not agree,” NoonBlest pointed out.

  “We voted,” AscendantSun said.

  “A vote does not make it right.”

  Clearly shocked by NoonBlest’s arrogance, NeverFear’s eyes bulged. He believed group decisions were sacrosanct.

  His shock quickly turned to a frown. “Would you rather batonaxers mow the Pigsknucklers down in battle?”

  “You too agreed this was distasteful,” NoonBlest replied.

  “Sometimes the distasteful is necessary.” NeverFear said. “We promised to aid the Stretchers. Our number is small, and our most effective means of helping is to train the Stretchers to defend themselves against legionaries.”

  “I came to the mountains to live in peace, not to start a war,” NoonBlest muttered.

  “So did I,” NeverFear said.

  “And I,” added AscendantSun.

  “That is why you dragged us into this war within a day of arriving at the monastery,” NoonBlest muttered before he stormed off.

  “He will calm down,” AscendantSun said, more in hope than certainty.

  “I hope you are right,” NeverFear said. “Only men participated.”

  AscendantSun shrugged. “I suggested the women should attend the sessions, but Garscap and Saint Charlin were against it.”

  “A shame,” NeverFear said. “If the women were permitted to fight, it would more than double Pigsknuckle’s defenders. I suppose they know their womenfolk better than us.”

  “This feminine pacifism is not universal among Mixies,” AscendantSun said. “In some tribes, women fight alongside their men. Garscap hinted that if I could assuage Charlin’s objections, he might look on my proposal more sympathetically. I tried, but the saint is adamant that a battlefield is no place for women, even if it engulfs their own homes.”

  “What about the other villages?” NeverFear asked. “Are we going to train their warriors also?”

  “Garscap commended the idea, but I suspect he is not as enthusiastic about it as he claims. He said he would prefer the warriors come here to be trained rather than scatter across the mountains, as he put it. He promised to make the necessary arrangements with the other politicians.”

  “I suppose it makes sense,” NeverFear said. “I…” His eyes fixed on something behind AscendantSun. “Here comes your friend.”

  AscendantSun twisted around to take a look. Grael was strolling toward them, his spear resting against one shoulder.

  “I need to talk to you, AscendantSun.” Grael glanced at NeverFear. “Alone.”

  The Elf’s tent was a novelty to Grael. Its scent was reminiscent of honey. The light seeping through the fabric painted everything either black or a pale yellow. Everything was neat, in its place, just so. The only dirt was a footprint stamped onto the mat across the floor. His boot must have made it. He blushed and pretended not to notice.

  AscendantSun folded his legs as he sat across from him. How long would his smile remain after Grael explained the reason for his visit?

  Grael’s deep breath failed to quell the fluttering in the pit of his stomach. “This conversation must remain a secret between us.”

  “Of course,” AscendantSun replied. Did he look nervous? It was hard to tell. “I assume this is connected to our discussions on the way to Pigsback.”

  “In part. I need you to answer a question. If Garscap Torp was no longer politician, would your alliance with Pigsknuckle still stand?” Grael braced for the answer.

  AscendantSun’s eyes widened a fraction. “It would depend on whether the new politician would wish to retain it.”

  “If I was the politician?”

  “I trust you, Grael. If you were the politician, our alliance would stand. But…”

  “But?”

  “I am going to ask this because I consider you a friend. Are you sure replacing Garscap would be to Pigsknuckle’s advantage? He is the only person in your village who has fought in real wars. He is the only one who grasps what is required to survive one. And this is a real war, not some skirmish over a couple of stray goats.”

  “You’ve fought in wars,” Grael said. “You can advise me.”

  A spasm of emotion flitted across AscendantSun’s face. Annoyance perhaps. “I’ve won a few, but I’ve lost the ones most important to win.”

  “I doubt Garscap has won many wars. Otherwise, he would be somewhere else.”

  AscendantSun poured a brownish yellow liquid into two small cups, and passed one to Grael.

  “I hope that this is better than your bread,” Grael said with a smile. He took a sip. A spicy sweetness pervaded the alcohol. “Very nice.”

  “This matter must remain our secret,” AscendantSun said. “My people would be disturbed to discover that there is dissension among our allies. If Garscap is to be replaced, it is better that they learn after the event.”

  “Believe me,” Grael said with a chuckle, “I don’t want this matter becoming common knowledge either.”

  “And how soon will this… change of leadership take place?” AscendantSun asked.

  Grael ignored the cautious urges of his instincts. He trusted AscendantSun. “By the end of the week.”

  Garscap and Evram sat on the fractured trunk of Leaftea’s deconsecrated furka, watching the Orstretcherists’ camp.

  Evram chuckled. “My friend, you’re a lucky man. You’re the most powerful man in Pigsknuckle, and you have an army of Fair Folk at your command.”

  Garscap’s yawn curled into a smile, not of triumph but of patience. “Keep that type of talk to yourself,” he chided gently. “As many mercenary captains learned to their great cost in Formicary, it’s not advisable to overestimate one’s position. As for the Orstretcherists, they fight for their own reasons. I do not pretend to understand them.”

  He picked up three stones and began playing with them, throwing and catching them with such rapidity that they seemed to fly of their own accord.

  “I’m forced to be a juggler,” Garscap said, grinning. “I’ve to juggle the villagers, the saints, and the Orstretcherists. It appears as though I am in control, but i
f I make one mistake…”

  He let the stones drop to the ground.

  “My dear father-in-law came to me this morning with an interesting story. Apparently, he was approached some time ago by certain parties in the village about replacing me as the politician. Turned them down, or so he claims.”

  Evram’s face stretched with surprise. He leapt to his feet, his hands curled into fists. “Did he name any of these plotters?”

  Garscap waved him to sit back down. When he reluctantly complied, Garscap continued. “He gave me one name. I can guess the others.”

  “What are you going to do about them?”

  Garscap winked. “Leave it to me. I have a plan. If they are scrounging around for a leader, I have a little time. Matters like this are always about timing. Speaking of which…quick, stand up before Saint Charlin sees us.”

  “The stone is deconsecrated.”

  “In reality but not in the heart. Get up. Get up!”

  “It is in mine,” Evram grumbled as he rose to his feet.

  “Over here, Worthy Saint,” Garscap cried, waving his hand above his head.

  Saint Charlin’s acknowledgment was reluctant. “You wish to speak with me?”

  “I need your advice, Worthy Saint.”

  As the saint approached, Garscap whispered to Evram, “Leave me. I must speak with Saint Charlin alone.”

  Evram scowled but obeyed without protest.

  “What do you want?” the saint demanded.

  “I must talk to you about the Orstretcherists.”

  “You are very amiable toward them, given your history.”

  Garscap could hear his sobriquet in the saint’s tone. “I like them well enough, when they train my men how to fight the Fair Folk’s soldiers.”

  “War is not the business of saints. I cannot advise you on such matters.”

  “Of course. I understand that. I wish to offer other villages the same instruction.”