“What of them?” Creel asked. “It’s been weeks since Ammon Nor. Surely she could’ve destroyed the remainder of your forces and razed Carran if it suited her.”
“That is the question, is it not?” the duke answered. “The bulk of their force is camped roughly three days south of here, waiting… what for, we have no idea.”
“Their patrols are plenty active, however,” Jahn added. “East and west, they’ve destroyed a number of farmsteads and small hamlets, torching the towns and slaughtering innocents. Yet they always let some survivors live so they can flee and spread word of their ill deeds.”
Lanthas nodded. “And still they continue arriving here at the gates, overflowing Carran beyond its capacity to hold these people.”
“She’s sowing fear,” Creel said. “A formidable tool if your foes are unmanned before the first blow is even struck, once the warlord decides to make her final push.”
Iris spoke up. “Perhaps that is her mistake. It will give the Free Kingdoms time to mobilize.”
Edwin barked a sharp laugh. “Free Kingdoms? Please. Sianna’s optimistic idea will amount to naught. Better to pray for the gods themselves to intervene personally than stake our hopes on nonhumans.”
“I wouldn’t count them out,” Creel countered. “They’ve got much at stake also. Who’s to say the Nebarans will stop in this madness after Ketania has fallen? Once war arrives at their borders and isolates them, they’ll realize it is too late. I suspect they will see the sense in attending the conclave, at least to hear out our position and gain what information they can of this common threat.”
Lanthas nodded sharply, as if Creel had confirmed something he suspected. “We shall fulfill our last directive from the queen as ordered. Prepare to hold a conclave and pray that we receive some word of Sianna’s whereabouts in the interim.”
Creel didn’t want to consider the possibility that she’d been taken to Orialan or anywhere back in Nebara. By the time such a long journey could be undertaken, the war would be long over.
I hope the gods favor us in this respect.
“So, in the meantime, let us hope we receive word from our friends of the Free Kingdoms and make preparations for their arrival,” Lanthas said.
Chapter 48
Kulnor eyed the elven gate with disdain. A frail-looking wooden contraption attached to solid poles driven into the riverbed effectively blocked all passage along the Slaerd River where it passed Lothloras, the capital of the elves of Silverwood Forest. He was confident a few of his warriors going at it with axes and hammers could likely bash through the barrier in a short time, were it not for the damned archers standing atop the gate and along the shoreline.
The barge Kulnor and his contingent of warriors rode upon was butted up against the gate and swayed underfoot as the current tugged at it persistently, a movement that unsettled his gut even further. They wouldn’t be going anywhere without satisfying this arrogant elven prick, a thought that galled him and his companions. Thus far, the situation wasn’t looking promising.
“I ask again, what are you transporting, and what is your destination?” the elven captain asked. His skin was as pale as a fish belly, and his eyes hard and unfriendly.
“Meself and me boyos here are transporting naught but ourselves and our mounts,” Kulnor said as patiently as he could. “We’ve business in the human lands that require us to make haste.”
The captain pointedly looked over the tense and irritable group of dwarves once more though he’d been observing them as he would a particularly foul clod of dung on the sole of his boot ever since the barge had come around the bend minutes earlier.
Harbek shifted irritably beside Kulnor. The burly leader of the warrior contingent was spoiling for a fight, as were his eighteen boyos, all stout fighters whom Kulnor knew and trusted.
They had traveled the past two days by barge down the Slaerd River since embarking near Torval’s Hold upon Sioned’s insistence that they make Carran as soon as possible. Ordinarily Kulnor, and none of these other dwarves, he reckoned, would’ve ever set foot on the watercraft had the queen not specifically ordered them to. No self-respecting dwarf would ever voluntarily let his feet leave the solid ground Reiktir created, save for a very good reason. Although this might qualify as a very good reason, none of them were happy with the arrangement.
So here they were, after two long, trying days aboard a barge, with frayed nerves and tempers threatening to boil over. The dark, towering forest ominously crowded the banks of the river, and the strange sounds they heard within—breaking branches and growls and grunts of unseen beasts—had gotten on everyone’s nerves. More than one crossbow bolt had been loosed into the woods from a twitchy finger along the way. And now they were encountering these haughty elves obstructing their passage and talking down to them as if they were rockworm dung. About the only positive thing to come of the voyage thus far was the good time they had made with the swift current—at least until reaching Lothloras and this damned river gate.
Reiktir, grant me patience.
Kulnor tugged on his beard and had to force himself not to grip the hand axe at his waist or the haft of the warhammer slung over his shoulder for fear he’d sprout an elven arrow or three. That or end up in some dungeon and fail me queen.
“We’ll need to inspect the hold,” the elf captain finally said after a long pause.
“Aye, be about it then,” Kulnor said, relieved this stalemate might be breaking. He nodded at the bargeman, a hulking northman human with an impressive beard of his own. “Let ’em look, and hopefully we’ll be on our way again soon.”
The bargeman threw open the hatch, revealing his hold, empty save for a score of unhappy dwarven ponies, bales of hay for feed, and several casks of good dwarven ale. The captain and three of his archers leaped nimbly aboard the barge. Two of the captain’s men dropped into the cargo hold and took their time poking around.
Kulnor studied what was visible of the city of Lothloras while he waited. Among the towering trees, slender spires and arches of what looked like white marble gleamed in the afternoon sunlight.
Fragile-looking things. Wouldn’t take much of a trembler to knock those down.
“Very well.” The elf captain looked over at Kulnor, apparently satisfied he spoke truth. “Now there’s the matter of the toll.”
“I’m listenin’.” The bargeman had warned Kulnor of the toll the elves exacted. Fortunately, Sioned had provided him a heavy pouch of coin for their expenses.
“Two silvers a head.”
Kulnor nearly barked out a laugh but managed to restrain himself. These pricks are as bad as highwaymen. His instinct was to haggle, but he was in a foul mood and his patience long gone. Something about the arrogant elf told him he wouldn’t budge from his demand, either. Kulnor wanted nothing more than to be away from there and reach solid land at Wilhye. There, they would unload the ponies and ride overland the remaining distance to Carran.
He withdrew his purse and begrudgingly counted out the forty silvers, plus another two for the bargeman. The captain nodded curtly and deposited the toll in a purse of his own. He waved and called out something in Elvish.
The elves hopped nimbly off the barge, and moments later the gate began to swing open. The barge bobbed against it, threatening to turn completely sideways before the bargeman pushed them clear with his pole and they straightened out and were on their way again. Within moments, the imposing trees loomed around them again, Lothloras disappearing like an apparition.
Kulnor almost wished they would be attacked by something so he could vent his frustration. He suspected the others would agree. But the forest remained the same, gloomy and foreboding. Even the unnerving noises resumed after they were a couple miles downstream of Lothloras.
Harbek offered Kulnor a mug of ale from one of the casks they’d brought with. “Game o’ dice is beginnin’ if ye’re for it,” he said.
Kulnor grunted. “Why not? It’ll make the time a bit shorter till we get to
Wilhye.”
***
Eighteen days later, Kulnor rode at the head of their party, relieved to spot the walls of Carran rising up before them. The city nestled up against the sapphire waters of Zoph Lake, a broad expanse of water dotted with the white sails of fishing trawlers. A castle rose near the lakeside, a curtain wall protecting it from any attack from the lake. The castle looked picturesque, as though designed for pleasing aesthetics but not much practicality for warfare. South of the city, a tent city had been erected, a great deal smaller than Kulnor expected for a kingdom at war. Evidently, the humans’ situation was dire if that was the only army they could field with their enormous population.
The trip had been uneventful since Lothloras, especially once they’d made landfall in Wilhye. The group’s spirits had increased immediately upon setting foot on solid ground. Kulnor had even witnessed a few of the warriors kneeling down and kissing the earth, so thankful were they to be off the barge.
The rolling plains and fertile fields were also a vast improvement over the oppressive forest. Not only did they have clear visibility for miles, but they made good time across the easy terrain. Everyone’s moods improved, and before long they were belting out marching songs as they rode their sturdy, tireless ponies.
After nearly a fortnight in the saddle, Kulnor’s sore backside was ready for a break. He wanted nothing more than to deliver his message to this human queen and spend the rest of his time at a tavern awaiting Sioned’s arrival.
“Unfurl the standard,” Kulnor said to Harbek.
The older dwarf unwrapped the Silver Anvil Hall pennant and couched the pole in his stirrup. The city walls grew taller as they neared, and Kulnor immediately noted the city wouldn’t be able to withstand a determined assault. The walls were too low and their expanse too lengthy unless the city boasted a massive guard force, unlikely if the humans were in as dire a situation as it appeared. Banners fluttered in the breeze over the barbican, and pikemen stood at attention on the ramparts. The city gates were currently open, although numerous guards kept watch. Crowds of what looked to be refugees were grouped off to one side so as not to obstruct the roadway.
“What’s your business in Carran?” a guardsman asked, looking over Kulnor and his dwarves carefully.
“I’m here on behalf of me queen with a message for Queen Atreus’s ears alone. We were summoned to attend a conclave.”
A couple of guards exchanged glances, and Kulnor got a bad feeling in his gut from the frowns and grim looks.
“Let them through, on orders of the duke,” someone called out in a stern voice. A seasoned guardsman, likely the captain, stepped forward. “Greetings, master dwarves. The queen isn’t in the city at the moment, I’m afraid. But if you would, present yourselves at the castle and speak with Lord Lanthas, caretaker of the city. I’ll send a runner on ahead to notify the duke of your arrival.” He barked an order over his shoulder, and a young lad who could barely grow a few chin whiskers took off at a run to deliver the message. “Shall I provide an escort?”
Kulnor glanced at Harbek, who shrugged. “Nay, I think we can find our way. The castle is hard to miss.”
“Welcome to Carran. Allies are always welcome in these dark times.” The guards cleared aside for the dwarves to ride through the gates.
“I’m thinkin’ this city wasn’t built to withstand any serious warfare,” Harbek noted. He pointed at the raised portcullis, which looked weak—almost an afterthought toward defense. “No murder holes, and the walls are too low and stretch too far.”
“Aye, that’s the same thought I had. Let’s hope the situation isn’t yet so grim that we end up fightin’ beside our allies atop these meager walls.”
They garnered a lot of curious looks as they made their way along the main street, which headed directly toward the castle. Kulnor had never been to a human city, and he was appalled at the ramshackle look of the buildings, especially the two- and three-story ones, mostly wattle and daub or wood framed, the latter warping badly from the humid air. All the good stone seemed to have been used in the construction of the walls and the castle, for little was visible anywhere else.
Crowds were plentiful, however—more people than he’d ever seen in his life, mostly refugees, from their squalid appearance, often gathered on street corners and stoops and huddled beneath awnings. Beggars and rogues were in high supply. He glimpsed Harbek checking to make sure his gear was strapped down tight. The warrior voiced a warning to his men in Dwarvish to the same effect.
The city looked nicer from a distance.
They arrived about ten minutes later at the castle, the gates opened wide and manned by a pair of guardsmen. Others were visible on the ramparts.
“Lord Lanthas awaits your arrival in the bailey,” one of the guards said.
A small group was gathered to meet them. An older man with close-cropped white hair and dressed in fancy clothes stood out, whom Kulnor took to be the duke. With him was a woman a decade or so younger, handsome of looks, likely once a great beauty. The lord and lady were accompanied by several others: a young lordling with blond hair and a haughty demeanor, who reminded Kulnor of the elves, along with another middle-aged man, likely a soldier. The latter was a hard-looking man with long black hair streaked with silver, piercing blue eyes, and a scar on his cheek, a formidable warrior still in his prime, from Kulnor’s first impression. Also present were a young lad and lass who stood near the warrior. One glance at the group’s faces was disheartening, for their expressions were generally as grim as if they’d just come from a funeral.
“I’m Lord Lanthas, caretaker of Carran,” the oldest man said. “With me is my lady wife, Talia. We welcome you to Carran.”
“Kulnor Strongaxe, me lord and lady, emissary of Queen Sioned Hammerhelm of Silver Anvil Hall,” Kulnor boomed proudly. “I’m here in response to Queen Atreus’s plea for help. Our people intend to stand beside our human friends as in the olden times.”
Lord Lanthas nodded slowly, his demeanor improving markedly. “I thank you and your queen for their offer of aid in our tribulations. Yet I’m afraid Queen Atreus has been abducted by our foes. It falls upon me to try to rally the remnants of Ketania in her absence.”
Kulnor tried but failed to contain his surprise. “Abducted?”
“Tragically, that is so. But come, you and your warriors are welcome in my hall as guests. Will you join us for a repast? I’ll give you what news we have, ill tidings though they be.”
“Aye, food and ale would be splendid. Grim tidings are best discussed on a full belly, as me gramma always used to say.”
***
A couple hours later, Kulnor was trying in vain to stifle a yawn. His belly was full of food and ale, and the long miles were finally catching up with him. The news shared had been disheartening, to say the least. The Ketanians were fractured and demoralized, their lands too vast to defend effectively even had they enough men for the task. As it was, a usurper had seized the capital, their southlands were overrun, and for the time being, they were struggling to hold on to Carran and surrounding lands.
Sioned is right to send aid. If they are wiped out, nothing will keep these demon-led Nebarans from our doorstep.
“Does your Queen Sioned also speak for King Rukk Stonefist?” the man named Creel asked, seated across from Kulnor.
He stroked his beard. “Well, that’s what she’s plannin’ to do in the meantime—drum up support from old Rukk. He’ll come around, I reckon.”
Creel nodded.
Kulnor instinctively liked the human warrior—a no-nonsense type he could empathize with, one who he suspected was more accustomed to adventuring and relying on his wits and sword rather than biding his time in this lord’s hall while awaiting word of their queen, as the kingdom slowly disintegrated around them. Creel clearly was at odds with the arrogant blond knight, a redeeming quality in Kulnor’s eyes. From what he gathered, Creel and his two young companions had arrived a fortnight prior and been champing at the bit to take s
ome action and try to rescue their queen, if only they knew where she was being held. Kulnor knew he would’ve felt the same in their boots.
Harbek cleared his throat and turned to Creel. “Yer pardon, but ye wouldn’t happen to know where to find some proper ale around here, would ye? No offense to his lordship, but this ain’t all that wholesome.” He shrugged apologetically, nudging his tankard pointedly.
Kulnor snorted a laugh but then quickly stifled it, not wanting to offend his host. The weak brew the duke had his servants bring out barely qualified as a proper ale. After four or five tankards, Kulnor’s belly sloshed full of the liquid, but as Harbek noted, it simply wasn’t hearty. But they needn’t have worried about causing offense since Lord Lanthas was otherwise occupied, having excused himself to talk in low tones with a councilor in the corner.
Creel grinned knowingly. “I know just the place. Feldegast’s Tavern, down by the lakeside. The old goat hails from Rockwallow, and he’s known to stock a good ale or two.”
Harbek’s eyes lit up. “I feared we’d be stuck here on the verge of war without proper libation to fuel us.” Rockwallow was a large trading city near the border of the dwarven lands, appreciated as a sanctuary of palatable brews when in the human kingdom.
The three of them shared a laugh. Kulnor noticed Sir Edwin scowling at them, but he ignored the surly youth. The large windows of the dining hall were casting long pink-and-orange rays across the room, a sign dusk was approaching. The thought of returning to his tent so early wasn’t particularly appealing although he was tired.
Some proper ale would really hit the spot, yet I’m not so keen on traipsing all around the city in search of this tavern.
Lanthas had offered Kulnor and Harbek a castle room to share but apologized for the shortage of space for all his dwarves, claiming he needed the space for the other expected dignitaries. The two had declined anyway, more comfortable remaining with their warriors in camp, a space adjacent to the castle grounds in what was nominally a park but was being kept free of refugees. He supposed the space was reserved for all the conclave attendees’ retinues to set up camp there.
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