Blade of Empire

by Mercedes Lackey

  Runacar shook his head ruefully. He had been his father’s child, not his mother’s: it was Glorthiachiel who saw reasons behind reasons, plots within plots, Bolecthindial who had seen a goal and the most efficient way of reaching it quickly. But now that they had both gone—to Void or Hunt, he did not know—it seemed he was taking heed of his mother’s lessons at last. Hamphuliadiel hoarded people as a miser hoarded wealth, uncaring that the wealth amassed would burst the bounds of the counting room—or city walls—and overflow. But people were not grain or gold, nor would they patiently stay where they were put.

  Another puzzle for the future.

  * * *

  Once Runacar had gotten them across the Angarussa, which was broad and shallow this far south, and through the Temeryll Hills, the army was in the Kashadabadshar, the great red desert that formed the southern bounds of most of the Western Reach and the Western Shore. Not even the Otherfolk knew how far the red sands stretched: the winged ones enjoyed the spiraling updrafts, but even the Gryphons said they could see no end to the sands. Runacar’s plan was to traverse the Kashadabadshar to the coast, meet with the Ocean’s Own, and then turn northward. The domains would be expecting any attack to come from the landward side, not the seaward, and probably through Delfierarathadan.

  It took his army most of a sennight to make the desert crossing, and they were very low on water by the time they saw the ocean in the distance. The little water they’d found along the line of march needed to be purified by the Spellmothers before it was drinkable: it extended their supplies, but not by much. The Spellmothers and the Earthdancers both said the same thing: you could not call water if it was not there to call. Even Radafa agreed, saying you could not call rain to a place where it did not rain.

  Runacar could have crossed a hundred miles to the north, and evaded that problem. But the Kashadabadshar crossing did what he intended it to: it gave the army its first lesson in relying upon one another.

  * * *

  “What if your friends don’t come out to fight, Houseborn? Will you be sorry?” Andhel walked beside Runacar’s destrier as had become her habit, her bundle of javelins resting lightly on her shoulder. None of the Woodwose—so they said—knew how to ride, and try as he might, Runacar had not been able to convince any of them to learn. They attacked on foot from deep cover, with throwing spears, the short bow and the long bow, slingstones, and darts. There was—so they said—no place for a horse in all of that.

  For this journey she’d dyed her hair the color of the Kashadabadshar sands and her leathers had been replaced by a tunic and leggings of pale homespun. The ribbons sewn along the arms and across the back of the tunic made her look as if she had wings.

  “No,” he said briefly, and Andhel smirked. “You know as well as I that our purpose here is not to kill them, but to drive them eastward. If they lock themselves up in their keeps, we have to get them out. But if they choose to run, I’ll be grateful.”

  “Unwilling to kill your own kind? You’ve been willing enough to kill us.” The “us” in her remark was the Otherfolk, of course: Andhel lost no chance to remind Runacar that no matter what she looked like, she was not Elven.

  Runacar laughed. “I’ve been killing my own kind since before you set foot to earth, girl.”

  “Let him be, Andh’a. You’ve been sounding that same horn since he came to us, and I’m tired of the song,” Tanet said.

  Runacar didn’t trust Tanet any more than he did Andhel—at least, he didn’t trust Tanet not to slit his throat if it was convenient; he certainly trusted his generalship—but at least Tanet didn’t spend all his time baiting him.

  “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong, Tan,” Andhel said.

  “Doesn’t mean you’re right, either,” came the response. “Besides, all the other Houseborn want him dead, too. So you and they have that in common.”

  Runacar touched his heels to Hialgo’s flanks and the grey stallion trotted forward until he was out of earshot. He’d heard the start of this argument before, and knew that the bickering would go on for hours, the matter only dropped when the participants grew bored.

  * * *

  The vanguard of the army crested a last hill and Runacar saw the ocean for the first time in his life.

  He’d known what an ocean was, of course: a large body of water like an enormous lake, and salt instead of fresh. But nothing had prepared him for the fact that it seemed to stretch on forever, its surface a shifting dance of blue and gold and green. It was edged by a beach of white sand as fine and smooth as if it, too, were made of salt; a border of sea-wrack showed the highest point of the tide, and its endless waves curled up to break upon the shore with a crashing hissing sound as rhythmic as a heartbeat. He stared in wonder, inhaling air that was briny and fresh at the same time.

  Sea-birds wheeled over the water’s edge and stepped delicately through the surf, hunting dinner. A band of shore-apes, startled by the arrival of the army’s vanguard, fled, shrieking and barking indignantly. Runacar barely noticed them.

  Ever since he had taken sword and spurs at his father’s hand, Runacar had only considered a landscape in terms of how easy—or how difficult—it would be to fight across. Even the Flower Forests had meant nothing beyond that: Otherfolk hid in them and Lightborn needed them. But Great Sea Ocean was something he could not ride across, nor was it something he could ignore. It simply was.

  “—Runacar. Runacar. Rune!”

  He blinked, coming back to himself, realizing that Pelere had been trying to get his attention for some time. “Sorry, I … What?” he said, shaking his head to break the ocean’s spell.

  “Should we make camp here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.”

  * * *

  The army, as usual, made camp by the simple expedient of stopping in its tracks and wandering off. Ah, if only the Hundred Houses had ever embraced such refreshing simplicity, Runacar thought. The coastal air was mild and warm, the salty bite of the ocean was an unfamiliar but welcome scent, and so far as he could tell, nobody had ever farmed these lands at all.

  The following day, the delegation to meet with the Sea Peoples left the camp a few candlemarks past midday. No one had told Runacar how long the discussions might take, and he suspected nobody, not even Audalo, really knew. In addition to Runacar, Keloit, and Tanet—which probably meant Andhel as well—there would be Frause, Audalo, who would speak on behalf of Leutric, Pelere, and Radafa, since the Gryphon could fly out over the water to let them know whether anyone was coming to shore. Probably they would be accompanied by a dozen Fauns, since Fauns were always everywhere and obeyed no orders. Runacar doubted that so large a group could agree on any matter whatsoever, but for once that was not his problem.

  He had ridden Hialgo down to the shore, at least partly to discover the destrier’s reaction to the Ocean’s Own. Now he swung his leg across the stallion’s back and dropped lithely to the ground, proving once more that a suit of Elven armor was so flexible its wearer could dance while wearing it, or fight afoot. Collecting the banner-stave from its rest on the saddle, he followed the others toward the water’s edge.

  Before he’d covered half the distance, he revised his opinion of the armor and its craftsman unfavorably. It was clear that four legs were better than two on this terrain, and the shifting salt-white sand seemed to be slippery, fluid, and inflexible all at once. He found himself needing to use the banner-pole as a discreet walking-stick more than once, but fortunately, the wet sand at the water’s edge was firmer.

  By the time he reached it, he could see a roiling disturbance offshore. The sea bubbled like a cauldron. Suddenly it exploded in spray as something breached its surface.

  Horses.

  No, not horses. The creatures were three times the size of even the largest plow horse, while as graceful and delicately-made as the finest racing high-bred. Their coats and manes were as white as seafoam, and as they made their way shoreward, he realized they weren’t horses at all—or n
ot entirely. Just behind the ribs, hide turned to scales, a dorsal ridge appeared upon the spine, and instead of hind legs and a flagged tail there was a scaled, sinuous, alabaster length of … body … terminating in a wide double-lobed fin.

  With them, some holding to their manes for support, others free-swimming beside and behind them, came other creatures. Some he had seen before—the otterlike Selkies—and others were unknown to him: men and women who looked nearly as familiar as any Woodwose or alfaljodthi, save that their hair was silver, or green, or blue, or gold, and their bodies below the waist terminated in fishtails of a number of rainbow hues. The Nisse, he thought to himself. They were garbed in ornamental armor and brilliantly gleaming jewelry, and he wondered if they traded for such items or if they had some magic that let them forge metal underwater.

  “Aejus and Meraude, here to speak for the Ocean’s Own, accompanied by members of their court,” Audalo said quietly. “The seahorses are their guardsmen. The Selkies you know; they are here as observers for those races who will gain the most from access to the Western Shore. Those others are nixies.”

  Runacar looked where Audalo indicated. Sporting through the foam around the royal party were perhaps a dozen creatures so near to Elven shape—and at the same time so far from it—that they gave him an uneasy pang of aversion.

  If they were standing, they would, he thought, have been as tall as a child old enough to serve as an Arming Page. But they were slender to the point of emaciation, and their arms and legs were far too long for their height. Their hands—he could not see their feet—were as outsized as their limbs, and their long, delicate fingers were webbed like a duck’s foot and had far too many joints. The other things outsized were their ears, so large and long that the points rose above their heads like horns; their outer edges were finnily frilled. In the bright sunlight, he could not tell the color of their skin at first: it was only when one of them leaped onto the back of one of the sea-horses for a moment that he could see the skin was greenish-pale and iridescent like bad meat left in the sun. One called out to another, the sound hushed by the rushing of the waves, and the teeth in its mouth were as pointed as a cat’s.

  But it was the nixies’ eyes that made them utterly unsettling. Even the Gryphons’ eyes were something Runacar recognized himself in, eyes that held life, and humor, and awareness. But the nixies’ eyes were round as the eye of the serpent is round, and absolutely and utterly black. Reflexively, he reached down to tousle the hair of the Faun beside him.

  “They’re strange, perhaps, to land-dweller eyes,” Audalo said, for Runacar’s ears alone, “but the sea holds many strange things. And their hearts are good—even if their attention span is short.”

  “Like this fellow, I suppose,” Runacar answered wryly, sending the Faun on its way with a gentle push. “I’ll try not to shame you by acting like a Houseborn.”

  Helda, standing at his other side, made a soft rude sound. “The Children of Stars would already be firing arrows and yowling for their witchborn.”

  These were the conversations Runacar found most unsettling. It was hard not to see the Hundred Houses through Otherfolk eyes when one of them said things like that. After all, The Art of War taught the sons and daughters of the Hundred Houses to think like the enemy, and he had been a good student. But seeing the world through Helda’s eyes, through Otherfolk eyes, left Runacar confused not only about who he was now, but who he had been then. Had Runacarendalur of Caerthalien—Prince Runacarendalur Caerthalien—lived a good, and honest, and honorable life? His ancestors said yes. The Otherfolk said no. And somehow both were true. He shook his head, setting the unsolvable quandary aside once again. Now he must meet with their allies; discover if they would accept his presence, and discover what aid they could—or would—offer.

  He stabbed the pole of Leutric’s standard into the soft sand hard enough that it would stay upright, and walked forward.

  The two gigantic sea-horses had planted their forehooves in the sand at the tide line, resting on their bellies in the packed sand. Aejus and Meraude stood, or lay, or whatever people with fishtails did, beside them, each grasping a handful of mane to hold themselves upright. The nixies twittered and hissed like sea-birds, clearly daring each other to move further up the sand.

  Pelere, Audalo, and Frause approached the court first, giving their names, and extending the King-Emperor’s greetings.

  “And where is the general of whom the very winds speak?” Meraude asked. “I would look upon that one.”

  Runacar walked to the edge of the sand and bowed, equal to equal, for though Meraude was Empress, he was not her vassal. “In the name of Leutric, King-Emperor, I greet you,” Runacar said.

  “You are the Woodwose who would sweep the alfaljodthi from the land?” Meraude asked. Her tone gave nothing of her thoughts.

  “I was born to a prince of the Hundred Houses,” Runacar answered. “I am alfaljodthi. All my kinfolk are now my enemy.”

  “Ambitious,” Aejus said, peering at him. “Come closer, alfaljodthi rebel.” The sea-king held out his hand to Runacar.

  Cautiously, Runacar stepped into the water. The sea-horses turned their great heads silently to watch him, and he wondered absently whether they could speak any language he could hear. The water found every small gap in his armor; his cloak and surcoat clung to him soddenly, and he would need to give serious attention to both armor and weapons once this was over. But somehow, in the utter derangement of his life since the Battle of the Shieldwall Plain, this was something familiar. He set his feet carefully and bowed again.

  “The King-Emperor sends his regards,” Runacar repeated. “To him I have proven my loyalty through a service of many seasons. I do not command here, merely advise those I have trained, and Leutric sends his heir to stand surety for me, his life to be forfeited beside mine do I offend or betray.” He gestured toward Audalo. “In my own place, I would be styled Warlord, he who sets what talent he has at the service of his prince, holding no ambition of his own. The plan we have made is a plan approved by all. All of the landfolk,” he added hastily. “And so we now set it before you, our allies and kin, for it benefits you as well as us that the Western Shore be ours again.”

  Thank Sword and Star for Radafa and his love of history! Runacar thought feelingly. At first, he’d found Radafa’s tales not just boring, but meaningless, but it was unwise to tell someone to shut up when they could snap you in half with their beak. Eventually Radafa’s stories had started to form a linked picture in his mind of migrations, and alliances, and first meetings. And without them, he would have had no context for the hatred between the Ocean’s Own and the Hundred Houses, since it was hard to imagine them fighting over land, or fish. But the great rivers that began in the Mystrals and surged ever westward found their ends here in the sea, and as the creatures of river and lake were barred from Great Sea Ocean, so the Ocean’s Own were barred by Amrolion and Daroldan from using the rivers to travel inland.

  “And do you say this is a thing that you shall do, King Leutric’s Warlord?” Meraude asked.

  From the corner of his eye, Runacar could just glimpse one of the nixies slithering slowly toward him through the water.

  “We say it is a thing we shall do,” Runacar answered. One of the first lessons he had learned in his new life was that the Otherfolk acted out of consensus, not fiat. Leutric might well style himself their King-Emperor, but if he had tried to unilaterally command any of the Otherfolk clans—even his own—he would have found himself utterly ignored.

  “Yet you ask for our help,” Meraude pointed out.

  “We come to ask your counsel, and to tell you our plans,” Runacar answered. “And to ask if you will fight beside us to gain what will benefit all.” This was not the strangest parley he’d ever participated in, but it came close.

  The nixie had been joined by two of—his?—her? companions. None of them seemed to be carrying weapons, but Runacar wasn’t certain what to do about them. He could easily defend himself
, but he did not have the least notion whether doing so would be a good thing … or an utter disaster.

  “Then we will listen,” Aejus said, just as the first of the nixies reached Runacar.

  Runacar heard more than felt the skittering scraping of their claws over tasset and fauld and cuisse, then one began to climb him as if he were a tree, while the other two simply dug their fingers into his cloak—and pulled.

  He’d expected them to be strong, but they were also surprisingly heavy. Fortunately, any war-cloak would tear loose before strangling—or trapping—its wearer. It did. The two who had hoped to claim it as their prize found themselves imprisoned in a dozen ells of waterlogged velvet. He plucked the third one free as it reached his shoulder, holding it beneath the ribs and trying to duck its thrashing legs and claws as he held it out.

  “Yours, I believe?” Runacar said blandly, and Aejus roared with laughter.

  “Brainless sea-lice,” one of the sea-horses said. “You should eat it.”

  Runacar didn’t even blink.

  * * *

  Once the initial greeting was out of the way—it had been a test, as Runacar well knew—the Ocean’s Own moved closer to the shore, and the Landfolk came down to the tide line. The meeting turned from parley into briefing and negotiation, and Runacar found himself kneeling to draw illustrative diagrams in the wet sand with his dagger.

  “Amrolion and Daroldan can put less than thirty great-tailles of komen into the field between them,” Runacar said. “That is not a large force, I grant you. But their foresters are deadly foes, and I cannot say how many of those they have, as they were never required to count them as knights of the field. And their Lightborn are—”