Garscap looked back to share his triumphant grin with the couple, but when his eyes met AscendantSun’s, the smile died. Instead of wasting time as an unnecessary escort, AscendantSun should have stayed in Pigsback to press the other Orstretcherists to return to Pigsknuckle. Garscap had said as much to his companion several times, but he could not resist reiterating his point.
“As I explained before, we set aside this day for private contemplation on the matter,” AscendantSun said. “The final debate will wait till I return to the monastery tomorrow.”
Garscap asked the question foremost on his mind, though he feared its answer. “And do you think you will win?”
AscendantSun shrugged. “The events that sent us back to Pigsback have divided us. Our united purpose has fractured along our private inclinations. We are like a mirror smashed on the floor. Before, there was a single reflection. Now the image differs slightly on each shard.”
“Better to make your mirror out of polished metal than glass. It isn’t so fragile,” Garscap said.
“Better to not drop it in the first place.”
“I had nothing to do with the attack on DayFlambeau,” Garscap growled. “The fault lies with Evram and the Carnaths. Two are dead, and when the third is found, he will be delivered to Pigsback. What more can I do?”
“Be patient,” AscendantSun said gently.
“Be patient,” Garscap scoffed. “Tell our enemies to be patient.”
“Whatever my comrades decide, I will fight by your side.”
“Forgive me. Your prowess in combat is indisputable, but what difference can one make against an army?”
“What difference can four dozen make against a legion? Victory lies in the hands of your own race.”
“Then we are doomed,” Garscap said, too softly for Harath or Grael to overhear. “Our mirror was shattered long ago. The saints scattered its fragments across the mountains. Without the help of your friends in Pigsback, I cannot bind the pieces together. Saint and Orstretcherist must rally to our cause or it is hopeless.”
They were about to pass the last furka on the trail down the mountain, when Harath said, “Let’s pause here a while. I could do with a rest.”
Garscap was inclined to continue if only to annoy her, but it was important not to appear petulant in front of AscendantSun. He shrugged and smiled. “We aren’t in a rush. Take as long as you like.”
Harath and Grael shared a boulder as a seat, while Garscap and AscendantSun strolled a little further on to take in the view. From this vantage point, they could see the village, the valley beyond, and the mountains that enclosed it.
“Look!” AscendantSun cried.
Garscap followed the Elf’s pointing finger. At first, his straining eyes detected nothing extraordinary in the shadows drifting across the distant mountainside. Then something gleamed in the midst of the shifting cloud. The sun’s glare revealed a saffron thread extending downward from the rugged horizon like a misplaced hair.
“Our enemies are patient no longer,” Garscap said. “War is upon us.”
22
Nacreous steel and sun-forged gold,
Like lightning, arms and armor flashed,
Like thunder, their bearers’ roars rolled,
As the saffron storm onward thrashed.
FROM THE MARTYRDOM OF CONEYRIDDLE.
Pigsknuckle was wide-eyed with terror. As Garscap looked down on the swarming villagers, he was reminded of a kicked ants’ nest. People scurrying in all directions, the desperate cries and barked orders—all lent to a general aura of panic and confusion. Women prepared their families for flight while their menfolk readied their weapons. Pairs of girls struggled to prop up aged grandmothers on their slim shoulders as they crawled out of the village in the hope of getting a head start on the impending exodus. Young men helped their grandfathers to the furka before getting their own weapons. It was fitting that Widan stood near these ancients as he tried to shape the chaos. The Cliffringdeners were quieter and sadder as they organized their departure. They had witnessed all this before, and they knew how it would end.
“Harath, are you tired?” Garscap asked, glancing back at his two remaining companions. The suspicious scowls on their faces were comical.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Someone must seek Littleknuckle’s aid,” Garscap said. “I can spare no man.”
“Send someone else,” Grael said. “She’s too tired. Send a boy who knows the way there.”
“The Politician of Littleknuckle may ignore the pleas of a child. This mission requires someone more headstrong, and I can think of no woman more suited to the task than your betrothed.” She was tougher than most of the men in the village.
Harath hushed Grael before he could speak. “I thought the politicians made you their leader. Surely, he must obey your command.”
Garscap snorted. “He must, as long as it poses no risk to Littleknuckle. In this circumstance, he may be tempted to invoke that exception.” Garscap would, if the situation was reversed. “Someone must remind him of his duties as a Stretcher.”
“I’ll go,” Harath said, glancing at Grael. “Nobody will have rest this day.”
“Do you even know where it is?” Grael asked.
“We passed near it on our journey from Cronesglen,” she said. “Have no fear. I will find it.”
“You mustn’t dally at one of Littleknuckle’s outer furkas,” Garscap said. “You mightn’t be discovered there in time. You must strike for the one in the center of the village.”
Grael threw up his arms. “Are you mad? Do you realize the risk that you are asking her to take? Harath, don’t listen to him.”
Ignoring him, Garscap stared into Harath’s eyes, demanding her attention. “Tell Lohor Teevan Pigsknuckle is under attack, and he must honor the sacred pledge he made on Cronesglen’s furka and come to our aid. It’s his duty as a Stretcher. Now go, and may the Forelight protect you.”
She planted a kiss on Grael’s cheek and ran.
Garscap waited till she was a good distance away. He waved his arms and cried, “Wait!”
She halted and looked back, her head tilting quizzically.
“I forgot to say something to her,” Garscap explained to Grael as he dashed toward her. “You stay where you are. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She scowled suspiciously as he neared. “What do you want?”
Garscap halted beside her and took a moment to recover his breath. A glance back at Grael confirmed that he was too far away to hear what Garscap was about to say. The last thing that Garscap needed today was Grael holding him to his word. “If Lohor is less than willing to help, tell him that I am dispatching other messengers to every monastery and village in the mountains. If he doesn’t come to our village, Littleknuckle will be known evermore as a village of cowards and liars.”
Harath gave him a dubious look. He had already protested that he could not spare a single man, and now he was talking about scattering men across the Stretches.
Garscap smiled. “Those are my words. If they prove false, the sin is mine alone. Now go!” Of course, he might forget to send the messengers, or circumstances might deny him the opportunity. But Lohor wouldn’t know that.
She nodded reluctantly, and raced away.
“What was that about?” Grael demanded as Garscap reached him.
The politician smiled innocently and shrugged. “Just a little more detail on how to deal with Lohor Teevan.”
Harath had already disappeared into the forest.
Grael frowned. “If anything happens to her, you’ll be sorry.”
The politician chuckled grimly. “Your concern is admirable but misplaced. In Littleknuckle, she may be safer than the rest of us.”
“Unless it, too, is under attack,” Grael muttered.
They ran down the slope and hurried to the village. Faces vivid with terror and anticipation crowded around Garscap. He pushed through them, sprinkling morsels of hope behind him, inviting them to follow. Thus,
it was at the head of a procession that he reached the furka and his old rival.
“I’m glad you have returned,” Widan said. “It would be a shame to die without you.”
Garscap stared into Widan’s defeated eyes and filled Pigsknuckle with defiant laughter. “It was a lucky day for this village when you handed me its thorny crown.” He leapt atop the earthen podium and shouted to the departing Cliffringdeners. “Where are you going?”
“Away from here!” one of the women cried.
“You took our hospitality, and now, in the midst of this crisis, you abandon us. You shame the memory of your village and those who died in its defense.”
A few of the women booed. Others protested against his slander.
One shouted, “What do you expect? We aren’t warriors.”
“You can’t fight but you can carry,” Garscap retorted. “You can help to carry our infirm and aged. You can help shoulder the provisions for our flight.”
“And where will we all go?” another asked. “What village will bear such a host?”
Garscap pointed to the Pig’s icy summit. “To Pigsback. The saints’ miraculous hospitality will sustain us till we can return here or find a better home elsewhere. There’s no need for despair while hope lives. AscendantSun is racing up the mountain to rally his friends to our aid. A messenger is on the way to Littleknuckle to summon its warriors. We can survive this calamity, but only if we stand together.”
“The men of Pigsknuckle have no choice but to stand together under this furka, like the Cliffringdeners,” Widan muttered. “It remains blessed and must be protected from sacrilege.”
“Pigsback will send a saint to deconsecrate it as soon as AscendantSun reaches the monastery,” Grael said. “Saint Charlin promised as much.”
“He’ll be too late even to bury us,” Widan muttered.
Garscap sneered. “Someone get me a hammer. The biggest one you can find.”
A furka would not murder him like his father.
Tossing his batonaxes aside, AscendantSun threw himself against the door of the monastery and pounded his fists against it till the sound of movement in the Needle’s Eye made him step back. The door creaked open, and Saint Charlin peered out.
“What are you doing back here so soon?” he asked, opening the door.
“Make haste to Pigsknuckle,” AscendantSun said as he pushed by him. “The Fair Folk’s army closes in on it as we speak.”
“I’ll inform Saint Sebryn. He is in the chapel with the other saints celebrating Saint Odran’s feast day,” Charlin said weakly, stunned by AscendantSun’s revelation.
AscendantSun’s soaring voice filled the reception room as he ran through it. “No time. Go now!”
The labyrinthine corridors through which he raced were awash with the overspill of devout chanting from the chapel. He burst into the Orstretcherists’ dormitory, slamming the door against the wall. They were all gathered there, eating lunch. DayFlambeau lay in bed, propped up on pillows, sipping from a spoon that NeverFear pressed to his lips. Heads swiveled in almost perfect unison to regard the unexpected arrival.
“To arms!” AscendantSun yelled. “Pigsknuckle is under attack!”
“We agreed decisions on our involvement in this conflict should be made by the group,” NoonBlest said. “Is that not so, NeverFear?”
NeverFear nodded slowly.
“There is no time for debate,” AscendantSun insisted. “Every moment we delay brings our allies’ ruin closer.”
“These same allies crippled DayFlambeau,” NoonBlest said.
“Garscap gave his word he had nothing to do with that,” AscendantSun said. “He promised that Evram Erath would be punished for his crime. Is that not so, NeverFear?”
NeverFear nodded.
“Lost your tongue?” AscendantSun sneered.
“The politician meant what he said, but that does not mean his followers can be trusted,” NeverFear said.
AscendantSun shook his head. “So you think we should let them all die.”
“I’m not saying that,” NeverFear said. “I think the group must decide the matter. Not you or I. The group.”
NoonBlest and his sympathizers nodded. They were exploiting NeverFear’s democratic inclinations to thwart AscendantSun. His foresight of this possibility was little consolation. With time, he might have unraveled their machinations, but time was one thing that he did not possess. The Pigsknucklers would be dead long before the debate was concluded.
“Enough talk. I am going to Pigsknuckle,” TrueFriend declared as he walked to AscendantSun’s side. “Anybody of the same mind should come with us. The rest can stay here and pray for our souls to salve their consciences.”
“But the group…” NeverFear protested.
“The group?” TrueFriend cried. “What about the group? Different reasons brought us here and different reasons made us stay. I am responsible for one innocent’s death, and I will not stand by and be party to the murder of others.”
“You risk facing your own twin in combat,” DayFlambeau croaked.
TrueFriend shrugged. “If I do, I will leave the moral dilemmas to him.”
“My twin is a cobbler, so unless legionaries need emergency repairs to their boots in the middle of a battle, I am unlikely to meet him,” PureFaith Nitor said as he, too, joined AscendantSun.
StrongArm Servitor followed him.
AscendantSun addressed the others. “We are leaving now. If you want to come with us, do not delay or we will be gone.”
NoonBlest’s voice, brimming with triumph and mockery, followed them down the corridor. “I guess AscendantSun has as much respect for the opinion of the majority as he has for the precepts of his religion.”
As they passed through the Needle’s Eye, TrueFriend said, “Our weapons are beneath a cairn by the graveyard around the back. I thought it was kind of appropriate.”
AscendantSun quickly retrieved his batonaxes and followed the others around the back of the monastery. Snow furred the mound. It formed a ridge along the spine like hackles. TrueFriend brushed away part of the icy cover, and they began to pick away the stones from the mound. As they pulled free leather parcels containing weapons and armor, AscendantSun thanked his companions for their support.
“You know me. TrueFriend by name, true friend by nature. To be honest, Ashin is the reason I am here. In my legionary days, the slaughter of Mixies never bothered me. Yet, the death of this one girl, though it was not by my hands, haunts me as much as our defeat at Gules. She taught me what words could not. I need no more lessons in the value of a Mixy’s life.”
“I am sick of listening to the others’ whining,” PureFaith said as he slipped into his mail shirt. “Your disappearance for a year does not make you any less our leader as far as I am concerned. I am sure you had good reason for it. Some of us suffer from too much ambition to serve. Whereas once their object of veneration might have been the Golden Light or the Consensus, now it is the group, but as TrueFriend rightly pointed out, there is no group, just a collection of individuals.”
“I must go because of them,” StrongArm said, grinning and pointing to his friends. “I probably would go anyway. It beats talking.”
With numb fingers, AscendantSun helped the others strap on their armor. They walked past the Needle’s Eye for a second time as they headed down the mountain. In their hasty exit, they had left its doors wide open. The hot breath of the monastery pouring through it turned into a cloud. AscendantSun kept glancing back at the entrance for some hopeful glimmer of activity, but it cradled only darkness, silent and hollow.
Grael paused before the open door of his parents’ home, apprehensive about the welcome he might receive there. He peered inside. Mam was stuffing clothes, edibles, and a few treasured possessions into leather bags, while Wanyr tried to keep a struggling Miona, now a robust toddler, from climbing out of her arms. Dad, red-faced and sweating profusely, watched them in silence, his obvious desperation for their departure undoubtedly
tempered by the knowledge that their lives might depend on whatever was in those sacks. A fearful Maerbard, spear in hand, stood quietly in his shadow.
Dad glanced in the direction of Grael’s cough. He nodded to Grael, and Grael nodded back. They smiled.
“Trust you to come for a visit on a day like today,” Dad said.
Grael stepped into the cabin. “Where is the hammer I gave you?” he asked his father.
Dad waved vaguely towards one corner. “Are you ready?” he asked the others.
Grael found the hammer, still in its original leather wrapping.
“Should we put out the fire?” Myryr asked.
“Does it matter?” Lahan asked. “I will take care of it. You should go now.”
“Garscap told everyone to head for Pigsback,” Grael said.
“I’m staying with you,” Maerbard said to his father.
“None of that nonsense. You are going with your mother and sisters,” Lahan said.
“I’m near manhood.”
“Be thankful you’re not yet a man,” Dad muttered, glancing at Grael.
“But people will think I’m a coward,” Maerbard whined.
Grael rolled his eyes. Poor Maerbard did not realize that by the end of the day, there might not be anyone alive to judge him.
“This is Grael’s fault,” Mam hissed. “Maerbard got these notions from him.”
“Myryr, no harsh words, please,” Dad said calmly. “Maerbard, I don’t think you are a coward. Do you, Grael?”
Grael shook his head.
His father smiled at Maerbard. “See, Grael doesn’t think you are a coward either. It would be a relief for me to know that your mother and sister and baby brother are safe with you.”
“I would feel safer with you to protect us,” Mam added.
Maerbard’s agreement was grudging, but his relief evident. The family trooped outside, and Grael made his final farewells.
As he hugged his mother and kissed her cheek, she whispered in his ear, “Look after your father.”
A Bright Power Rising Page 32