“Like when we’d be most vulnerable—after the clans break up and leave Zeda for their separate autumn villages. That’s been worrying me.” Vatar glanced back over his shoulder. “I wonder . . . maybe Theklan will be able to help with the reconnaissance. An eagle—even a white eagle—would be less remarkable than a wyvern.”
“That’d be pretty dangerous,” Thekila objected.
Vatar shrugged, acknowledging that. “But as you pointed out, the Exiles wouldn’t have any way of knowing that his avatar can be the size of an ordinary eagle. They wouldn’t have any reason to shoot at him at all. And he’d be a much smaller target to hit.”
Chapter 25: Captive
Nertan looked up from studying the—very rudimentary—map of the plains at the gabble of voices outside the command tent. What now? He stood up just as the tent flap was pushed aside. Loran and Platan entered, pushing a tall, blond man in front of them. The scraggly Themyri, Gylfi, followed.
“What’s this?” Nertan asked, studying the man. Hair the color of dirty straw, without a trace of red. Well, except for the blood still leaking from the gash on one side of his head. Definitely not from Kausalya. Everyone he’d seen there, from the Fasallon to the lowest farmer had dark hair. The man was tall, too. Taller than either of his captors. Taller than Nertan. The man’s tunic was torn, exposing part of his chest and some odd-colored scars. Blue.
“We found this one riding around our camp, spying on us,” Loran answered, giving the prisoner a shove, then raising his hand to rub at his own split lip. “His friends got away, though.”
Apparently the fellow—whoever he was—had given almost as good as he’d gotten. Platan had a bruise starting around one eye, too. Nertan eyed the stranger, looking up into sky blue eyes. His eyes narrowed at the need to tilt his head back. “Put him in that chair.”
When Loran and Platan had wrestled the man into the chair, Nertan hitched one hip onto the edge of the table, and looked slightly down to meet the prisoner’s eyes. That’s better. “Who are you?”
The man pressed his lips together and refused to answer.
“Is one of the horsemen,” Gylfi said.
Nertan cocked his head to the side. “A Dardani? Are they all like this?” His hand gesture indicated the length of the prisoner’s body.
Gylfi nodded. “All tall. All light skin and hair.”
And from the look of him—and his captors—possibly pretty formidable warriors. Likely much better fighters than the pathetic Themyri. Which would help to explain some of Gylfi’s attitude toward the current plan. But how much better to have these Dardani at Nertan’s back when he returned to conquer the Valley. An army of these men would be much more impressive than the primitive Themyri. Likely more effective, too. “Who are you?” Nertan asked again. “A friend of Vatar’s?”
The prisoner’s eyes widened in surprise at that name. His eyes darted to the distinctive spear Loran held. A spear that felt faintly . . . disturbing to Nertan. His head came up defiantly. “I hunted Forest tigers with Vatar once. You don’t frighten me.”
Nertan forced himself to appear relaxed. “Well, and if you’re not afraid of me, there’s no reason not to give me your name, is there? Mine’s Nertan.”
“I am Ramel of the Wolf Clan,” the man responded defiantly.
Nertan smiled. The man obviously didn’t intend to tell them anything. Any tiny chink in that armor was something he needed to take advantage of. Appearing friendly, rather than adversarial, was probably the best course. And questions that the man would feel foolish not answering to start with. Until he was used to answering and wouldn’t notice that the questions had changed. “Good. That’s better.” He glanced toward Platan. “Wolf Clan, eh? What exactly does that mean?”
The man put his hand through the tear in his tunic and touched those strange scars reverently. “The Spirit of the Wolf is my protector from Evil Spirits.”
Ah, so that’s what those strange scars represent. Yes, that one does look something like a paw print, at that. Nertan’s smile widened as a new, better idea occurred to him. “Is that so?” He looked up. “Platan, may I have a word with you? Outside.”
Nertan led Platan outside and out of earshot of the command tent. “Change to your avatar.”
Platan’s brows knit. “Why?”
Nertan sighed. Why did none of them ever see the obvious? “Because, if he’s so convinced that the ‘Spirit of the Wolf’ is his protector, your avatar should make a powerful impression on him. Powerful enough for us to learn everything we want to know.”
Platan’s face lit with comprehension. “I see.” He screwed up his face in concentration and shifted into the form of a very large black wolf, more than half again as large as any natural wolf.
Nertan smiled and slapped his leg, like he was calling a dog. “Come along. Let’s see how well this works.”
They re-entered the tent, Platan’s huge wolf trotting alongside Nertan like an overly-large pet dog.
Ramel’s eyes widened until the whites were visible all the way around at the sight. He opened his mouth, and then just let it hang agape. His gaze remained riveted on the wolf.
Nertan grinned. “As you can see, the Spirit of the Wolf favors us, also.”
Ramel raised his eyes to Nertan’s face. “Are you a shaman, then?”
Nertan frowned and glanced at Gylfi, who had eased back to the edge of the tent when the wolf entered.
“Magic man,” Gylfi said.
“Ah,” Nertan turned back to Ramel with a sly smile. He laid a hand on Platan’s wolfish head. “Why, yes, I am.” He gave Ramel a moment to absorb that, before continuing. “So, since we are brothers in the Spirit of the Wolf, why don’t you tell me all about the Dardani?”
Ramel gulped. “What do you want to know?”
Nertan cocked his head to one side. “Let’s start with how many of you there are.”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Nertan forced himself not to scowl. “Well, then, how many are in the Wolf Clan?”
Ramel stared into space for a moment. “Almost two hundred herdsmen and others. As many women. And the children, of course. Maybe five hundred, all told.”
Five hundred. We have little more than that many Themyri capable of fighting. Nertan studied Ramel again. And, at a guess, the Themyri would lose in a one-on-one fight every time.
“How many clans?”
“Six.”
“And the same numbers for the other clans?”
Ramel half-nodded, half shrugged. “About.”
Too many. No wonder Gylfi didn’t want to attack them all together. Nertan paced across the tent and back. Something Gylfi had said . . . “The clans don’t stay together all year, though, do they?”
“No. Only for the summer at Zeda.”
The name meant nothing, but that wasn’t important. “So, they’re all together now. For how much longer?”
Ramel shrugged. “Another two moons. Maybe a little more. Or a little less.”
Nertan nodded. He looked up at Loran, prepared to dismiss them. Then he thought of one more question. “And what Spirits protect the other clans?”
Ramel blinked. “The other clans are Bear, Raven, Horse, Eagle, and Lion.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Nertan looked over at Loran. “Take him somewhere he can rest. And have a Healer see to his wounds.”
Loran, Gylfi, and Ramel had barely left when Wartan came huffing into the tent. “I heard they’d captured a spy.”
Nertan smiled. “Yes.” But an agent for us, though I don’t think they intended that.
“Well?”
“I’ve already questioned him, Wartan. And got some very useful information. We’ll need to call another war council tonight. I think we’ll want to wait for a couple of months before moving on the Dardani after all. Take their clans one by one.” He turned and saw Platan, still sitting on his haunches in wolf form. “You can change back now. Go help Loran with our friend.”
“Friend?” Wartan hissed. “Don’t you mean prisoner?”
“No, actually, I don’t think I do. He was quite persuaded by Platan’s performance as the ‘Spirit of the Wolf.’ So convinced that he told me everything I wanted to know. So won over that he just might spread a . . . readiness to capitulate to us among his own people. At the least, I think we can count on his story to demoralize our opponents. Yes. I think the best plan will be to let him go, for just that purpose.”
Chapter 26: Bad News
With Theklan’s help, Vatar set about getting everyone settled in the cabin Orleus had led them to. Orleus had gone to get reports from his second-in-command—and Quetza, of course. Perhaps it wasn’t kind, but Vatar continued to allow Theklan to deal with his friend, Sharila.
As she dismounted, Sharila looked more pleased than she had in days. “Well, this is more like it. But why is there dirt half-way up the walls on the outside?”
“Sod,” Theklan said as he pulled the saddle from her horse.
“Hmm?” Sharila asked as she continued to study the structure where they’d be staying.
“It’s sod, not dirt. And it’s there for insulation. It helps keep the interior cool in summer and warm in winter.”
Sharila turned to face him. “The weather seems perfectly comfortable to me.”
Theklan shrugged. “Now, yes. But it’s barely summer. Wait another month or so. And then, of course, there’s all the snow in winter.”
“It gets cold enough to snow without being in the mountains?” Sharila asked.
“Oh, yes.” Theklan paused to look around. “I’ve never been here before. But on the plains, I’ve known it to be so cold everything just freezes.”
“So they live in houses like this on the plains, too?”
“No. There’s not that much wood on the plains. And what there is is needed for fires. The huts are just sod.”
“And that’s where you want to live? Not in the Valley where you can be much more comfortable?”
Theklan sighed. “It’s not about physical comfort. It’s about where I belong. And I belong with the Dardani. Anyway, I’d a hundred times rather suffer through the worst winter where I can be and do what I choose than in the Valley where teachers like your brother try to regulate everything I do from sunup to sundown.”
“It’s not that bad and you know it,” Sharila said.
Theklan sighed. “No. But it’s bad enough when your brother can forbid me to leave the Academy grounds without his permission.”
“Well, I’m sure Sharlin only had your interests in mind,” Sharila huffed and followed Teran and Thekila into the cabin.
Vatar and Theklan had just turned the horses into the small fenced meadow adjoining the cabin when Orleus rode back to them.
He swung down out of the saddle and turned Racer, still fully saddled, in with the other horses. “Well, I’ve just had some news from my lieutenant. It appears some of your Dardani scouts got cocky and rode too close to the Exiles camp. Two escaped, but one was captured.”
Vatar’s stomach clenched with inexplicable worry. “When?”
“Yesterday. His friends ran into some of my scouts and asked for help to free their comrade.”
Vatar blew out a breath. He didn’t like the idea of any Dardani in the hands of the Exiles—for more reasons than one, but . . . “Probably not feasible.”
Orleus smiled. “No. But, as it turned out, also unnecessary. Their missing friend turned up today.”
“Escaped?” Vatar asked, suspicious.
Orleus’s smile turned into more of a grimace. “Not according to him. He says he was released.”
“That . . . sounds unlikely, from what little I know of the Exiles. Unless . . . was Zoria there?”
Orleus shook his head. “No. Our latest information on Zoria and the rest of the women Exiles places them still in the mountains. That’s from Quetza and Zoridan doing aerial reconnaissance. We still haven’t heard much directly from Zoria. And Quetza agrees with your assessment of Nertan and Wartan.” Orleus frowned. “This escaped-or-released Dardani scout is apparently surprisingly hot to get back to Zeda, which argues for some ulterior motive on the part of those who released him, if that’s what happened.”
That niggling worry bloomed into fear. The feeling was . . . very like Fore Sight. “We need to find out exactly what happened—and what the Exiles might have learned from him.”
Orleus nodded. “My scouts have tried to persuade him and his friends that it would be better to come by Tysoe, first, on the grounds that, as allies of the Dardani and nearest to the Exiles, we need whatever information they have. Besides, crossing the lake will get them here faster than they could ride and actually shorten their ride back to Zeda. And rest their horses, into the bargain. So far, my scouts have gotten them to agree to ride together—for mutual protection—as far as the trading settlement at the western end of the lake, North Cove. The others seem willing to come on to Tysoe, but the one who was caught and maybe released is pushing to go straight back to Zeda.”
Vatar gazed off toward the west. There was definitely something troubling about that. But the only way to find out what would be to talk to the man in person. Well . . . that could be done. “Then I’ll have to go meet them.” His eyes narrowed. “North Cove will be perfect. No need to explain how we arrived without horses.”
Orleus shook his head. “Much as I’d like to, if they turn for the plains, we’d never find them. And if they do come this way, they’ll be here by day after tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t planning on riding—or taking a boat across the lake.” Vatar started for the cabin to get Thekila, then stopped. “No, Thekila has to stay here, with Taleara,” he mumbled to himself. But flying that far—or that close to the Exiles—alone wasn’t a good idea, either. He turned to Theklan. “How far do you think you can fly?”
Theklan grinned. “Far enough.” Then he paused. “But, um, taking off . . .”
Vatar nodded. He’d already had a similar thought. “More of a problem for me, than you. Trust me.” He studied the roof of the cabin. Then shook his head and said to himself, “Go with what you know works.” He turned back to Orleus. “Is there a place where cliffs overhang the lake nearby?”
“Y-yes,” Orleus answered slowly. “The town’s built on a promontory that sticks out into the lake. It slopes down fairly gently on the west, but the east side is . . . well, not as steep or as high as the peninsulas that guard the bay at Caere, but too steep to climb easily.”
Vatar nodded. “That’ll do.”
“Can I ask what you’re planning?” Orleus asked.
“We’re going to fly.” Vatar grinned suddenly. “Or didn’t Father tell you how I escaped from Gerusa last summer? I’ve had a lot of practice, since.”
~
After a brief conference with Thekila and Teran, they headed for the headland Orleus had described.
Vatar looked down over the not-quite cliff and frowned. “It should be enough height. I don’t think we’ll have an updraft to help with take-off, though.”
“I can handle it,” Theklan said.
Vatar turned and smiled wryly. “It’ll be easier for you.” He turned to Orleus. “Stay with Thekila, if your duties permit. She’ll know what we learn as soon as I do and can fill you in.”
Orleus nodded. “I will.”
“Right, then.” Vatar drew in a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
Theklan completed his shift first, as easily—well, precisely—as easily as Vatar could shift into his lion form. In the place where Theklan had stood there was now a sparkling white eagle perhaps just a little larger, but otherwise surprisingly similar to Thekila’s avatar.
Vatar’s shift required a little more effort and discomfort, since the Spirit of the Eagle was not his own totem Spirit. With a grunt, he pushed through the final resistance and looked up at Orleus from the eyes of a condor-sized eagle.
Theklan’s eagle hopped backward in surprise.
Orleus whistle
d softly. “Good thing you’re flying from here. You’d scare the horses.”
Vatar gave a birdish nod and answered with Far Speech. “Almost as much as Quetza’s wyvern does.”
Orleus’s chuckled and gestured to the cliff. “I have to see this.”
Vatar hopped to the edge and dropped off, beating his strong wings to gain altitude. Theklan followed a moment later.
Vatar set a course that followed the southern shore of the lake.
“Wouldn’t it be faster to fly across the lake?” Theklan asked.
Vatar remembered his first . . . well, it was more of a soar than a flight. He’d fallen a little every time he’d crossed one of the channels of the river. It hadn’t been any picnic flying across to that island, either. No, flying longwise across the lake was probably not a good idea. “The lake is longer east to west than it is north to south. And we’ll likely have more trouble maintaining altitude across the water. It’ll be easier to fly west and then fly across the lake to North Cove.”
“Won’t the Dardani be frightened of us, Transforming from eagles?” Theklan asked.
“They never need to know how we got to North Cove—as long as we get there first. So keep up.”
~
Vatar and Theklan arrived in North Cove shortly before sunset, landing in a tree-sheltered glade to Transform before walking into the settlement.
Vatar led the way to the guest house where he and Arcas had stayed briefly the summer before. “Orleus’s scouts will undoubtedly bring the Dardani here for the night. We’ll wait for them here.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Vatar recognized the tall Dardani in the center of the group as soon as they walked in. The one with a nasty cut on his forehead. Ramel must be the one who’d been captured.
“What are you smiling about?” Theklan asked.
“Ramel was one of the young men of my manhood test. I don’t know many from the Wolf Clan—other than those from the tiger hunt.”
Vatar and Theklan went to meet them while the Dardani were still standing blinking in the doorway, unused to the large wooden structure.
War of Magic (Dual Magics Book 4) Page 17