Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars)

by Jim Grimsley

  Neither he nor any of the others returned to camp following this gathering. Instead, the Nivri and the Jhinuuserret were dispatched to perform various tasks. Pel Pelathayn and Kiril Karsten formed parties to inspect the perimeter guard, the permanent encampments of soldiers who kept watch on entrances into Arthen. Kirith Kirin rode east to country near Drii to confer with King Evynar. Mordwen Illythin rode south to Maugritaxa where he took charge of intelligence gathering, while Ren Vael and his entourage returned to Cordyssa.

  Not long afterward, Prince Imral followed Ren to the city with battalions of the Woodland army.

  Uncle Sivisal was one of the soldiers picked for that journey and so was his companion Rel. When the orders for the soldiers to march reached camp, I said good-bye to the two of them, wondering what they were being sent to do. At the time, we weren’t even certain they were headed for Cordyssa. We only knew the north was in uproar. Hardly a day passed without fresh rumors about violence in Cordyssa.

  This was in summer. Riots continued through the season and the military ruler found it impossible to keep the peace. Word had come that General Nemort would be marching within the year at the head of an army to reinforce the city garrison in Fort Bremn. But Kirith Kirin’s soldiers had reached the city ahead of the news. Soon after, Imral’s troops stormed the fortress during a series of food riots in the outer city.

  The riots had been prompted by yet another increase in the price of grain. The city garrison in Bremn, weakened by losses incurred in attempting to keep order during summer tax collection, was caught by surprise, with half the Blue Cloaks in the streets trying to control a mob in the market. The soldiers trapped in Bremn offered resistance but were slaughtered. Imral and the Woodland Guard were said to have fought savagely, with Ren Vael and the Cordyssans at their side.

  Word of the massacre soon spread. The mobs and Cordyssan soldiers finished off the Blue Cloaks in the streets. No one from the garrison survived to carry the word that the fortress had fallen. The mob hanged the tax collectors from the walls of the city. Flesh-eating birds killed those who did not die immediately.

  When news of the Cordyssan revolt finally reached camp, some weeks after I learned of the event at the lake shore, one would have thought the encircling mountains had tumbled into the sea. Nearly every soldier had relatives or friends in Cordyssa, or else had visited the place once, so every tent housed an expert in Cordyssan politics and civic character.

  From this initial victory there was no turning back. Imral marched quickly to attack Fort Ithlumen, on the road south of Cordyssa, before word of the massacre could reach the garrison there. The northern army gained entry into Ithlumen by the following ruse. Imral Ynuuvil composed a message to Ithlumen’s commander, giving it to the Bremn garrison’s military scribe for copying, the scribe’s life having been spared for this purpose. Imral himself signed the document, imitating the handwriting of the former military governor’s second-in-command, the governor having perished in the fray; and the letter was sealed with the dead commander's ring. The letter was dispatched by a Blue-Cloaked messenger and a portion of the army followed, cloaked in the garrison’s own blue weave. The rest of Imral’s army marched behind this force.

  The forged letter detailed the latest riots in the city and the loss of Fort Bremn, differing from the actual course of recent events only by claiming that a certain number of Bremn’s soldiers had escaped and were presently marching toward Ithlumen in advance of rebel forces.

  The fortress commander saw soldiers in blood-stained blue cloaks for the survivors of the garrison that had secured Cordyssa for Queen Athryn, and the force following as their pursuit. The fact that the fortress commander recognized few faces did not surprise her in the time that was left her to register surprise. Fearing the rebels who were said to be chasing the remains of the garrison, she ordered the gates opened.

  Inside, the Cordyssans threw aside their Blue Cloaks and slaughtered the soldiers in the gatehouse, reinforcements already in sight. The fortress was thrown open and the soldiers taken unawares, many having no way of recognizing friend from enemy. The southerners perished to the last soldier. With control of Fort Ithlumen, Imral Ynuuvil won control of the whole Thynilex territory, including the mines and armories.

  At the same point King Evynar, following the advice of Kirith Kirin, dispatched soldiers to besiege Brisnumen, the fortress that guards the road from Cordyssa to Drii. Imral sent an army under command of Ren Vael to besiege Fort Cunavastar, near Lake Rys. This fortress secured the approach to Svyssn and Listrenen.

  Imral and those with him marched south from their victory at Ithlumen, scouring the road between Cordyssa headed toward the last of the fortresses, Gnemorra, which sat at the north end of Angoroe. Soon he reached Gnemorra and placed the fortifications under siege.

  With a larger body of soldiers Imral might have broken the garrison’s back at once. But one body of the Woodland Guard was marching north to reinforce the Cordyssans at Fort Cunavastar, where it appeared the Blue Cloaks were ready to surrender. Another force was marching to catch the Fort Bresnomen garrison, which had fled westward under cover of night, before it reached Fort Gnemorra.

  Kirith Kirin, at the time, was in Maugritaxa, keeping an eye on Nemort and the Fifth Army in Genfynnel. He was also trying to learn the whereabouts of Drudaen, who was variously rumored to have turned back to Turis, to have encamped on the east shore of Lake Dyvys or to have occupied Kursk, the city that lies at the joining of the Deluna and the Rovis. Some of the Anynae had rioted there, which made sense, since if the Queen was squeezing the north for silver, she was squeezing the south as hard. Gaelex sent a messenger to the Prince, informing him that she was assigning a thousand soldiers out of main camp to the pursuit of the Bresnomen garrison, and that she was leading the troops herself till Kiril Karsten could be summoned to take command. It was vital to catch the Bresnomen soldiers to prevent them from reinforcing Fort Gnemorra.

  The dispatch of this many troops left camp mostly barren. I had come to a lull in my training, a point where the lake women rested me from the strain of being so often out of real time. My lessons at Illyn were easy and brief. The women were preoccupied with the completion of the cloak they had been weaving, the magical fabric on which they had labored since I first came to the shore. The loom no longer appeared in the golden grass. A huge worktable replaced it, ludicrously large in comparison to the small wagon that had, presumably, carted the table to the meadow. On it was heaped the unending, shimmering cloud of cloth the Diamysaar had woven, a heap glittering like a starlit night, predominantly violet-blue-black in color, though occasionally swimming with other hues, plumage like rare birds, hearts of fire, fields of flowers. I gazed into the fabric with the same fascination with which one stares at burning fires, at waterfalls and vast abysses. Faced with an excess of beauty the mind can often only drink.

  When I asked what the cloth was, I was told it was to make a cloak in which the magician Yron would work magic. Beyond that it was none of my business, and they were very busy getting it started, since once Yron arrived the cloak would be urgently needed.

  I had the feeling he was near, and they were busy preparing. In fact, several mornings running the women dismissed me with barely a lesson, and I noted from strains in their conversations that the Sisters were disagreeing about something and didn’t want me to know about the argument.

  As a consequence I had some free time, and since I was resolved not to spend my small leisure in worrying about whatever secret they were keeping, I went abroad aggressively, seeking out such company as I knew from the few hundred folks left in camp.

  In the month of Ruus, high summer, General Nemort and his army departed from Genfynnel. I learned of this march in the company of the lake women. As for Drudaen, his presence remained clear to the Sisters and me. He was still in Vyddn, the province round Montajhena. One saw him from fifth level as a black cloud descending, the land beneath him gone dark, runneled with blood, the cloud itself brooding and b
oiling, its power turned upon itself. Had he been aware of what was happening in the Fenax, he would have been more active, it was thought, but one could not be sure. He should have been able to see the armies marching, if he wished. Nor could one but guess what he was doing, encamped in the countryside near the city he had dreaded for so long.

  News reached camp that Karsten had joined Gaelex and the thousand soldiers and was subsequently successful in turning the Brisnumen garrison northward from its march toward Gnemorra. Both armies were heading into the Anrex Valley, with Venladrii soldiers also in pursuit. But this news was old to me as well. At the time camp learned the news, the Battle of Anrex was already being fought. Karsten ambushed the Queen’s garrison at a bridge on the Mymitur River, at the east end of the valley, two detachments of cavalry sweeping down from the hillsides after archers had softened the Blue Cloak advance from cover of the trees. The Venladrii squadrons arrived to find the Brisnumen garrison in full retreat, and the Blue Cloaks were cut to pieces between the Venladrii and the Woodsfolk. A handful of southerners survived to be marched to Drii as prisoners of war.

  The remaining northern army divided into two forces, one headed to Fort Cunavastar to aide the Cordyssans with the siege. The second army was hurrying south to join Imral Ynuuvil whose army was encamped at the north end of Angoroe, awaiting General Nemort.

  Shortly after, Cunavastar surrendered, its half-starved garrison taken without bloodshed, marched off to Cordyssa as prisoners. This left only Gnemorra of the Queen’s northern forts; but that garrison would never surrender knowing Nemort was on his way.

  Nemort himself crossed north Turis, anticipating no more than a leisurely march toward Cordyssa while the Fenax weather was not so forbidding.

  I had heard the Sisters speak of these matters so often it was hard to remember what I was supposed to know, and I found myself continually biting my tongue — particularly at supper one night, when Fethyar the assistant groom (who was in charge of the horses left in camp while Thruil rode with Lady Karsten) declared that he had heard from a good source in the merchant sector that the Brisnumen garrison had escaped Karsten and was within four days march of Fort Gnemorra. The rumor was false, but I was forced to listen to him while he passed on his incorrect information to a dozen unsuspecting souls. With the rest I feigned horror at the appropriate places, and hoped Karsten could catch the Blue Cloaks in time.

  By now we were entering late summer, with autumn and last harvest coming fast. A few days before the end of Ruus, those of us who remained in Suvrin Sirhe received orders from Kirith Kirin to strike camp and march with all speed to Nevyssan’s Point.

  4

  The order for the move was brought to us by the Nivra Vaeyr of Cordyssa, who was accompanied by Inryval son of Thorassa, one of Gaelex’s aides familiar with the routine of striking and moving the tent city and wagonloads of equipment. Vaeyr was, as I had learned, one of the Nivri with a reputation for practicality and efficient administration, and no one questioned his competency or that of Inryval; still, this second move did not proceed as smoothly as the first.

  I supervised the dismantling of the shrine and the taking down of the tent following sunrise on the day we were to march. Two householders gave me some help, but as to how to do it I was left to my own memory. No disaster overtook the cumbersome shrine, nor did lightning strike anyone involved in the task, so I guess we did all right and YY-Mother was not offended.

  When the shrine was packed, I pitched in wherever I was needed, once I made sure my own possessions (including the necklace in the leather pouch and the Book of Suuren, which had been in my care since Mordwen left camp) were safe and secure. Axfel I turned over to the dog master, who packed him in a traveling wagon. One does not like to watch one’s dog enter imprisonment, but we would be many days marching, and the hound was not yet sufficiently accustomed to Woodland life to be content following the column. If Axfel strayed into Arthen and were lost, my last link with my family would have vanished. I wanted nothing less, these days when my fear for my mother’s well-being grew and grew.

  The lake women were cryptic when they learned of Kirith Kirin’s orders. But when I told the Sisters camp was leaving shadow country (knowing, as I did, that they were aware of the orders to march before I had been), they behaved curiously. Commyna, Vella and Vissyn watched each other with expressions that could only be described as mischievous, and Commyna said, “I can just imagine two hundred tents in the middle of a cliff in Nevyssan. Charming place for a camp.”

  “Don’t make fun,” Vissyn said. “Jessex will have a wonderful time in the gorges and ravines.”

  “Well, at least he’s come to his senses,” Vella said, and I knew, without asking, she wasn’t referring to me.

  I was not with them long that day. They were working with the glimmering fabric draped over their knees, their preoccupation obvious. I performed a cyclical of meditation and trance exercises, said a routine good-bye.

  We left Suvrin Sirhe in the month of Ranthos, the fourth day. Summer was fleeing while we marched from the shadow of the eastern mountains. It felt like no summer I had ever known.

  Chapter 9: NEVYSSAN’S POINT

  1

  Nevyssan lies beyond the Arth Hills, twenty days march from Suvrin Sirhe, in northernmost Arthen. Nevyssan is hill country, an ancient habitat of shadowed firs and aged cedars, the only part of the old north forest to survive.

  That whole part of the world is different from other places, as if the blast of a God still hangs in the air. A hundred volumes could not hold all the stories that are told about the Arth Hills, where the Sisters were born beneath the Eldest Tree. Nowadays one cannot get to that tree, or anywhere near it. One cannot reach the interior of Arth Hill country on horseback, nor can one cut a path through the brambles, the foxvine, the elgerath tangling and choking on itself. Even the Jisraegen at the height of their woodcraft never traveled in those hills, and whatever creatures live in Arth have no need of intercourse with other peoples.

  The lake women never took me there, though to do so would have been within their power, nor did they tell me any stories about the place, nor answer my questions. When the march took us close to the hill-shadows, I asked Vella what was there. She gave me a bland look, answering with uncharacteristic firmness. “What I know about the Arth Hills comes from long before any time you need to know about, young fellow. No one will tell you anything about Arth, so keep your questions to yourself.”

  The column reached the edge of the hills on the twelfth day of marching. By then I felt as if I had been riding toward Nevyssan for a century at least.

  Time at Illyn intensified again. The long days of autumn passed, the briefest of pauses, the soldier column marching through bronzed leaves, autumn flowers and heavy fruits. Moments away from training were like rest between long breaths.

  I was left to surmise I was making progress from cryptic references in the lake women’s conversations, from which I gathered that some difficulty in hiding us lately came from me. Exactly what I was doing that made the veil such a drain on the Sisters’ concentration I did not know and could not learn. They were not displeased with my skill as far as I could tell, though any word of praise that I had hoped for died in the air.

  There is no need to linger over the events of those days, either at Illyn Water or on the march to Nevyssan. I was becoming accustomed to the bizarre routine of entering and leaving real time; it no longer troubled me that between singing Velunen in the morning and Vithilunen in the evening, an interval might pass that seemed months long in my mind. None of what I did at Illyn bore much resemblance to anything I had ever seen or done in the world beyond. I was young and, lately, had gotten used to changes.

  When we reached Nevyssan, guides joined the column to lead us along the trail to Kirith Kirin’s encampment, five days march to Nevyssan’s Point, a hilltop with a commanding view of the surrounding Fenax. These guides were not people I knew, but they did bring some news even I hadn’t heard. We were headi
ng for Kirith Kirin’s camp, all right, but he was absent at the moment and Mordwen Illythin was in command. Kirith Kirin rode with patrols along the Angoroe border, marking the northward progress of General Nemort.

  One of the guides had a message for me from Mordwen. He wanted me to ride with the bearer of the message in advance of the main column to Nevyssan’s Point. Sealed with his ring. The Nivra Vaeyr sent for me and told me to pack.

  The summons from Mordwen flooded me with relief and the prospect of seeing him made me so happy I could hardly contain myself. I had been alone a long time and thought of him as company. That he had sent for me almost made up for the news Kirith Kirin was somewhere else.

  I rode away following Velunen, accompanied by the messenger, Cuthru son of None, who had been lent Mordwen’s horse Prince Naufax for the occasion, along with a ring to tame him, to keep pace with Nixva. I was acquainted with Prince Naufax from other rides and scratched the blue-black stallion’s silken nose by way of greeting. Cuthru was a taciturn man, a descendant of Cordyssans who had migrated to the south generations back, his mother having inherited land from a childless uncle in Amre. A “son of None” is a boy whose father will not acknowledge parentage; a daughter would be called his “false child.” Northerners are not well-liked in the south, any more than southerners are liked here in our country. The bloods have never blended, even in the present day.