Once A Hero

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Yelena pressed me to dance when the music shifted to something more lively. Quick and light as she was, she managed to keep her tiny feet from beneath mine during the Centisian turn. The players then struck up a Kaudian reel, which I forced her through and showed her that speed in battle can translate elsewise into more pacifistic pursuits.

  Our scores tied at a dance even, we agreed to let the third dance—a complicated Centisian walking step with twirls and bows and hop-skips—decide who was better. I kept up close to her level of performance until the spin right before the hop-skip then bow at the end of the dance. At that point the man next to me accidently smacked me in the chest with his hand, prompting my bruised ribs to report on their state of health.

  I worked my way through the last two sets of the dance, then withdrew from the crowd as a young man whisked Yelena away into the swirl of an old quickstep. Keeping a smile on my face, and my left arm clamped down to protect my ribs, I headed to the outer edge of the crowd and started looking for Aarundel. Under normal circumstances finding him in a crowd was easy—both of us were tall enough to be visible over most other people.

  I wandered halfway around the circle, then spotted him up at the top of the steps of the legislatorium. I joined him, plucking at the shoulder of my tunic as I did so. "A red tunic? I'm the Dun Wolf, not the Red Tiger, my friend."

  "Red is heroic." The Elf shook his head. "Dun just looks dirty and is not festive at all."

  "Your sartorial guidance is appreciated." I looked back down on the varicolored throng pulsing and weaving in time with the music. "Hard to believe Aurium almost tore itself apart last evening."

  "Humans are quick to anger, yet quicker to distraction." Aarundel's dark eyes watched the crowd, then flicked toward me. "Our men have been told to be on their best behavior this evening. They were warned about everything from diseases to slapdeath rings. . . ."

  I frowned. "I'm not thinking they have to worry about ringbites here. Polston, perhaps, but this place?"

  "Neal, with the Fishers and Riveravens, the tools of treachery will soon be available here, if they are not already."

  "You have a point."

  Aarundel bowed his head in my direction. "Drogo brought word from the Red Tiger. The Haladin forces have abandoned the siege at Polston and seem to be withdrawing to behind the Kaudian mountains. Sture is pursuing them, but he is under orders to let them flee if they do not make war on the mountain freestate."

  I arched an eyebrow. "So they are running in the direction of the Reithrese homeland?"

  "Or their own deserts, affirmative. Beltran has decided to winter in Polston despite Sture's urging a strike north to liberate Irtysh."

  "That explains why Sture is off chasing Haladina away from Beltran and Irtysh."

  "I assumed you would notice that. The Red Tiger is going to use his armies to help bring in the harvests, which should endear him to the people. It will also prevent the Reithrese from sending their tax collectors in." The Elf grinned cautiously. "While there will be battles next summer to contest control of Centisia, there is no doubt who owns it for this year."

  "Did Drogo bring orders for us?" As I asked the question, I sorted the likely missions to come with a positive answer. I put being allowed to raid far into Reithrese territory at the top of my list, and far below it I placed being called down to Polston for strategy sessions. While I admire and very much like Beltran, the Red Tiger, the thought of spending more than a month in a port city like Polston made me shiver. The fact that Sture was certain to return to Polston for the winter made me shiver as if I had falsethaw fever.

  "Beltran desires us to remain here in Aurium and reconnoiter into Ispar, even advancing as far as the plains before Jarudin. He wants the Reithrese to believe his next thrust will be to the heart of their empire and the capital."

  I nodded because that made sense. The Man-force fighting the Reithrese relied on mobility and speed to defeat the Reithrese hosts. A feint at Jarudin would make the Reithrese reinforce it, expending supplies and trapping forces in the capital. If we struck elsewhere—preferably a place where they had only Haladina for defense—we could hurt them badly.

  Beltran understood the problems of controlling an empire and was using them against the Reithrese. While Sture was probably correct that Irtysh was ready to revolt and come over, it was too far from the freestate to be able to have us defend it. And Sture's patriotic feelings notwithstanding, Irtysh was less valuable than even a town like Aurium.

  I knew I might be a bit harsh in my dismissal of Irtysh, for Sture's troops fought well, but Sture and I did not get along at all. He found out, after I had formed the Steel Pack and joined the Red Tiger, that Aarundel and I had seen the battle in which his father, Duke Harsian, had fallen. He somehow decided that it was my fault that his father had died and his nation lay in thrall to the Reithrese.

  Aside from the fact that the Roclawzi and Irtyshites had never been allies, with the Reithrese on the doorstep to the Roclaws, there was no way I could have convinced any Roclawzi to join me in fighting in Irtysh, even if I felt that was a good idea. The fact that I didn't think Irtysh was important enough to be liberated, and had no difficulty in voicing this opinion in front of Sture, meant that Takrakor and I would be good friends before Sture and I ever exchanged a civil word.

  Down below I caught a flash of the blue gown Yelena was wearing. "So we will have to spend the winter here?" I frowned, trying to remember exactly what I had said to her. "I'm thinking that won't be a good thing."

  Aarundel's face brightened as he picked up on the distress in my voice. "She is quite attractive, Neal. You could suffer worse than to have her warm your winter nights."

  "Aye, my friend, but there are complications. Not being as glib as you, my lies do not allow me much room to run."

  The Elf laughed. "Provide her a quote from the Codex Mercenarius that will remedy the situation."

  "For a book you invented last night, I'm thinking we're working it hard." I shook my head. "I tried to match your wit by inventing a Roclawzi tradition that had me in mourning for a lost love. While celibate now, I could have taken her in the winter, I said."

  "Arrange for your brother to send you a letter saying the lover who had been presumed lost has been found again."

  "Ah, but I told Yelena my brother had sent a note saying the woman had died of fever."

  "You terminated her? What a cruel thing to do." He gave me a look of Elven disdain, but overplayed it to the point of absurdity, then began to laugh.

  I gave Aarundel a hard stare. "It's all well and good for you to laugh, my friend, but you've not got a woman setting her cap for you. While she is comely and smart, she is not the one for me."

  "Not 'the one'?" Aarundel shook his head. "You listen to the bards who sing too much of romance, Neal. The idea of a True Love is not realistic."

  "Emotions and reality combining—now there, I'm thinking, is an interesting idea." I folded my arms slowly. "So how is it that you can have your Marta, and I'm being denied my True Love?"

  I could see he wanted to dismiss my riposte as something I couldn't possibly understand, but he conquered his reflex and opened his hands. "What we have is vitamor—it goes beyond any Man-thought of True Love. Moreover, Marta and I have known each other for over a century by your reckoning. We have seen each other in triumph and defeat, adulation and dejection. Even if examined in human terms, our courtship would have lasted a decade—a time in which most humans could have consummated and dissolved a half-dozen marriages, each with progeny as well."

  I could have protested his example, but I saw no reason for punishing his attempt at explaining things to me. "Just so you know, my friend, I do not begrudge you your vitamor. I'm just hoping someday I will be as lucky as you. Maybe after the Red Tiger wins his little war, I'll be free to find my Marta, and the Elven Councils will let you marry yours."

  Aarundel's eyes focused distantly. I had seen that expression before, and I put it down to times when he was thinki
ng on her and she on him likewise. Somehow they managed this momentary communion no matter the distance between them, and Aarundel always seemed the better in spirits and humor for the time spent enraptured.

  A smile spread across his face. "When you find her, Neal, you will know it instantly. Your heart will beat faster, your stomach will clench. It is as absorbing as battle-madness, but in reverse, because it drives you toward creation, not destruction."

  I shared his smile. "I envy you, Aarundel, and Marta as well. If ever the council lets you wed, I'd be proud to stand beside you."

  "I shall demand it, Neal." We clasped hands and shook firmly, cementing more tightly a friendship unthinkable by anyone who had heard the Eldsaga sung.

  A scream from down below killed the music. Releasing Aarundel's hand, I turned to face the square, but Shijef eclipsed my view of it. He thrust my swordbelt against my chest and let his talons tickle the bruise beneath my tunic. "This blade you will need."

  The fact that he had presented me the sword in time with the scream came as no testament to his speed. The Dreel had doubtlessly smelled the trouble brewing below, but felt no reason to warn me. After all, I had not asked for warning. Just the return of Cleaveheart when I would need it. In the little game we played, he had won a round.

  Stepping aside, I took in the now-silent square and felt glacier-melt run through my insides. A dark wedge of armored riders moved slowly and deliberately to drive itself into the circle of people below. Their huge warhorses shouldered men and women aside as if they were stalks of grain in a wheat field. I saw Festus and Childeric impose themselves directly in the line of march, but the riders pressed on through them and their protests before executing a sharp turn toward the north.

  Aarundel and I remained in place as they came toward the legislatorium. Though I had never before seen the style of armor they wore, I knew from the riders' size and the strength of their mounts that they all were Elves. That fact had not been lost on Aarundel, which explained why his face tightened. It also explained why silence ruled the night, with the exception of some gentle sobbing.

  I looped my swordbelt over my left shoulder, leaving Cleaveheart's hilt hanging breast-high from beneath my left arm. I tried to affect an air of bored indifference, but it was not easy. As much as I wanted to deny them the victory, the Elven riders were impressive. Memories of Eldsaga nightmares skittered icily up and down my spine.

  The armor they wore, while clearly practical, had been designed for ceremony. It had been styled with hooks and barbs and horns that contributed to their fierce aspect. The decorations looked odd for the handful of heartbeats it took for me to identify the problem; then my sense of unease doubled. Instead of being modeled on an animal's antlers—the way most human warriors would want it—the armor's twists and curves had been taken from wind-warped tree limbs and gnarled roots capable of crushing stone through inexorable and inexhaustible pressure.

  The Elves, their armor proclaimed, had the luxury of time with which to destroy their enemies. They needed not adopt the symbols of predators nor usurp the weapons animals shed to make themselves more powerful, just as they had moved with careful and deliberate speed through the crowd below, so, too, could they leisurely slaughter their foes. The Eldsaga had made that very clear, and these Elves had no intention of letting anyone who saw them forget it.

  The lead rider stopped at the base of the stairs, his eyes level with ours, Shijef started to creep forward, but I grabbed the scruff of his neck and restrained him. He grumbled and flashed fangs at me, but remained in place. He subvocalized something he knew irritated Blackstar, then followed it with a satisfied growl when the lead horse's nostril's flared.

  The lead rider, his identity hidden by the full helm he wore, looked over at Aarundel through the cross-slit in his visor. "Aarundel Imperator, salus!"

  Aarundel's head came up, his face implacable. "Speak in the common tongue. Neal Custos Sylvanii knows some of our language, but he is not fluent."

  "I am not come to converse with him, Imperator."

  "But I will inform him of all you say, so I direct you to obviate the necessity of translation."

  "As you will it, Imperator. I am to convey the felicitations of the Consilliarii. Your nuptial petition has been considered and approved. We are the Lansorii Honorari sent to conduct you to Cygestolia for the ceremony. We are to leave immediately."

  As much as I knew that news had to have excited Aarundel, I marveled at his ability to keep his emotions hidden. "Neal and I, and the Dreel, will be ready to ride with you in the morning."

  The lead horse shook its head as the rider's grip on the reins slackened momentarily. "We are to conduct you alone, Imperator. With all due respect to the Custos Sylvanii, his presence was not mentioned. And we were ordered to leave immediately."

  Aarundel's slight shoulder shift was something I had seen many times and marked his absolute determination not to retreat from his position. "I am an Imperator; I travel when I will it. As the groom I have the right to bring to my wedding those companions with whom I enjoy fraternity. Forget any attempt at imposing your will on me, Lansor. Those who gave you this mission and promised rewards if I returned alone and quickly merely meant to make the impossible seem possible and defeat seem palatable."

  His dark eyes narrowed as his chin came up. "Though I need not explain myself to you, Lansor, I have reason for wishing to delay my departure. You doubtless refused to mark the celebration through which you rode, but it is in honor of nuptials uniting the two largest clans in Aurium. I was invited to attend, and attend I shall."

  Aarundel hesitated for a moment, then let a grin slowly twist his mouth up at the corners. I had no idea what he had in mind, but I cringed inside for the honor guard sent to fetch him home nonetheless. "As your arrival has disrupted this ceremony, I will require a service of you. I think it is fitting that we dance for the couple the way others will dance at my wedding."

  The lead rider stiffened with a clatter-clang of epaulets on his armor. "Imperator, there are some things that should not be . . . made vulgar."

  "The dance will be dishonored only if you do not perform honorably, Lansor." Aarundel waved the guards away. "Hobble your horses and remove your armor. You are guests and shall conduct yourselves as same. Your honor, my honor, depends upon it."

  I remained silent as they reined themselves around to the rear of the legislatorium to dismount and shell themselves, though I did let Shijef skulk on behind them. When the Elves had disappeared from sight, I turned toward Aarundel. "Do you actually think they will let me ride with you tomorrow?"

  He nodded solemnly. "After tonight they will be so anxious to be well rid of Aurium, they would let Takrakor ride with us. The Consilliarii's reaction to your arrival in Cygestolia will be something else entirely."

  "No matter, my friend." I slapped him on the back. "You can't siege a city until you have arrived at it. To attend your wedding, I'd even brave another visit to Jammaq."

  "Thank you for being willing to undertake the trek in the face of hostility." We both started down toward the square. "Let us just hope the reception you get does not make you think you have returned to Jammaq."

  Chapter 7:

  The Short Ride

  Early Spring

  A.R. 499

  The Present

  ***

  THE CELEBRATION IN honor of their victory over the Haladina struck Genevera as less of a festival than a phenomenon. From the very start, when she appeared at the top of a grandiose sweep of marble stairs and was announced to the assembly, she felt detached from everything. The music rang in her ears, as did the applause from the people below, but both failed to reach inside her. She did not quite feel on display as much as she felt she had entered a contest, but it was a contest which she had no interest in winning.

  She put part of the distance down to Rik's obvious discomfort over the whole situation. Though the chamberlain announced him as Lord Orvir, Waldo's wagging tongue had clearly been at work. The
shock at hearing that title used quickly faded into clucking and whispers. Gena felt a tremor run through Rik's arm, then felt him relax as he let out a chuclcle. "Fools ridicule what they should fear."

  Gena recognized the tone in his voice immediately and gave his forearm a squeeze with her left hand. "Pity them, Rik, for being creatures who allow themselves to be swayed by Waldo."

  He looked up at her sideways, a feral light burning in his dark eyes; then he smiled and it died. "Punishing the flock for the shepherd's sin is unnecessary, agreed."

  The staircase they descended worked all the way across the rectangular room's narrow southern wall, sloping down at a shallow angle. Halfway to the ballroom's floor it cut back toward the west and down again, depositing them in the southwest corner, twenty feet below the point where they had entered the room. Beneath the stairs a pair of doors centered in the wall led back out to the courtyard where they had seen Count Berengar fighting earlier in the day. A light breeze came into the room through the doors, bringing with it enough of a chill to keep most people from standing directly in front of them.

  The north wall had three tall windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling nearly thirty feet above. The east wall had nine of those windows, but only the first six, those nearest the north wall, had been glazed with clear glass. The three near the southeast corner had huge stained glass tableaux in them. Because that section of the wall joined up to another part of the manor, the windows were illuminated artificially. In triptych they told a story from Aurdon's history, stressing, as would be expected, the Fisher family's contribution to the city's defense against raiders.

  Three massive gold and crystal chandeliers, each with four smaller satellites, filled the room with a golden light. It reflected in kind from the gilt walls and the black marble floor. Tables grouped along the western wall held all manner of victuals and spirits, while smaller tables opposite provided places for people to sit and converse. A small orchestra had been arranged in the northwest corner of the room. Their music cut through the Man sounds in the room, pacing dancing guests as they spun and swirled across the center of the dance floor.