The Ancient sotfk-2

by R. A. Salvatore

  “But he is not,” said Milkeila. “Whether through simple luck and soft mud, or his extraordinary powers-and he is truly blessed-I know not. But he is here, and he was up there, and he comes to us with a dire warning. The Ancient of the Samhaists has taken the glacier as his home, and plots now to destroy all of us who dwell upon Mithranidoon.”

  “Samhaists?” Toniquay echoed. He had heard the name before, in the private discussions among the shamans about people who lived beyond Mithranidoon’s warm waters. The Samhaists, so it was rumored, had given this place its name, though that had been centuries before. In the lore of Yan Ossum, shamans had gone south to teach their magic to the men of Honce, long before the many battles and wars between the two peoples. In Alpinadoran mythology, Samhaist magic was a direct offshoot of the Alpinadoran Ancient Gods, though in Samhaist lore, the order, and who taught whom, was of course reversed.

  “This stranger is from outside of Mithranidoon?” Toniquay asked. “Strange then that he arrives just a few years after the Abellicans. Before them, none had come to us from the outside since the powries, before my father’s father was born.” Even as he denied the possibility, though, Toniquay had to admit that the man’s clothing was fairly convincing, and unlike anything he had ever seen.

  “He is an Abellican spy,” someone from the side yelled, a sentiment that was echoed through the crowd.

  “He is not of my former comrades,” Cormack answered. “He is no Abellican, and has only been to Chapel Isle on one occasion-yesterday-to deliver the same message there that we deliver here. This is no trick, Toniquay. On my word, for what that is worth to you. I found this man in the mud on the northern bank of Mithranidoon, injured. He came to us with a tale that you must hear, that my people must hear, that the powries must hear. For if he speaks truly, and I believe that he does, then all of us are in dire peril, and will soon be washed from our homes.”

  Toniquay stared hard at Cormack for just a few moments and then motioned to some of his nearby tribesmen. Soon the trio found themselves surrounded by armed Alpinadoran warriors.

  Cormack immediately turned to Bransen and grabbed the man by the arm. “They are honorable, but careful,” he said in the common language of Honce.

  “I insist that you remain with us while we investigate your claims,” Toniquay explained.

  “Be fast, for all our sakes,” Milkeila answered.

  Toniquay nodded his agreement and motioned to the warriors, who escorted Bransen and Cormack to a nearby hut, while Milkeila stayed with Toniquay and the other shamans.

  She knew what they would do, and was not surprised when several of the more powerful shamans called down high-flying birds. Weaving spells, they each bound their sight to that of an individual bird, then sent the winged creatures on their way, and for the next several minutes, the powerful elders saw through the eyes of their familiars. Unlike Ancient Badden’s heightened powers, though, these shamans couldn’t control their familiars, and so they were at the whims of the aerial creatures.

  Still, it didn’t take very long for more than one of the birds to climb above the glacial rim, and the ice castle gleamed in the midday light.

  To her surprise, a most pleasant one, Milkeila was allowed to leave Yossunfier with her two companions. She had not been forgiven, Toniquay assured her, and would ultimately have to answer the many questions her arrival with the men of Honce had raised, beyond the worries of some strange “Ancient” plotting atop the glacier.

  Now, though, given the revelations, they all had more important issues before them, so Milkeila, Bransen, and Cormack paddled off for Red Cap Island, while Toniquay and the others plotted as to how they would best bring all the Alpinadoran tribes of the islands together again in an even more urgent cause.

  Father De Guilbe rubbed his face and leaned back in his seat, breathing hard.

  “It cannot be,” Brother Giavno said, shaking his head in denial.

  “Exactly as the stranger said,” De Guilbe confirmed. He tossed a soul stone back onto his desk, the same stone that had just allowed him an out-of-body journey, where he had willed his spirit to fly up to the great glacier looming over Mithranidoon.

  “They are boring a chasm that will collapse the front edge of the glacier into our lake,” he explained.

  “Ancient Badden?”

  “It can only be. The castle of ice has the Samhaist tree design.”

  “Then Cormack was not lying, and the stranger is…?”

  “Of no concern to us at this time,” Father De Guilbe answered. “We must be gone from this place posthaste. Our time here was not profitable-we claimed not a single soul-and so we will continue our mission elsewhere.”

  “We will allow Ancient Badden to destroy the lake and all who live upon it?”

  “What choice have we, Brother?”

  Brother Giavno trembled and lifted his hands several times, as if about to divulge some plan. But alas, he had no answers.

  “Prepare the brothers, prepare the boats,” Father De Guilbe instructed.

  The differences between the reactions of the three peoples were not lost on the foursome of Bransen, Cormack, Milkeila, and Mcwigik. In fact, the reaction of the supposedly vile powries as compared to that of the humans proved startling to the two men and Milkeila-startling and embarrassing.

  “Yach, but ye done good!” Kriminig the powrie leader congratulated Mcwigik after he had led Bransen and the others to his boss so that the stranger could tell his tale. “That beast up there’s thinking to be dumping on us when we’re not knowing, but now that we’re knowing, we’re the ones to be doing the dumping!”

  “You know of Ancient Badden?” Cormack dared interject.

  “Ye just telled me of him,” Kriminig replied, as if he didn’t understand the point of the question, and while the dwarf leader began barking commands at his charges, readying them for a fight, the three humans found a moment of quiet discussion.

  “He believed us without reservation,” Cormack whispered, his tone clearly marking the distinction of that reaction to those of the monks and the Alpinadorans.

  “Or maybe he is just happy for a fight,” Milkeila said, and she swung about to the wider commotion going on around them, the many excited discussions springing up among the powries.

  “Bah, but I’m sad to hear this killer’s surrounded himself with trolls,” one said. “Their blood’s not much for shining me beret.”

  “Aye, but he’s got a swarm o’ them, they’re saying,” another piped in. “We’ll get a glow out of it. The folks of the other islands won’t be needing their share, don’t ye know?”

  “Yach, and there’ll be bunches o’ them folks about, too, won’t there?” the first replied with a wink. “More than a few’re going to be bleeding bright red.”

  “And who’s to say they won’t be turning on us when this killer’s chopped down?” asked a third.

  “A few hundred trolls and a few hundred men, and only two score of us,” the first said with a sigh. “It’ll take me all the day to collect the blood!”

  “Ha ha!” the others laughed, and they swatted each other on sturdy shoulders and rolled along their way, as only powries could.

  That last comment had brought a look of alarm to both Milkeila and Cormack, though-until Mcwigik and Bikelbrin shuffled over.

  “Bah, but don’t ye be thinking me kin’re to start any trouble up there, other than the trouble that… what did ye call him? That Ancient?” said Mcwigik. “No trouble, I tell ye, other than finishing the trouble that one’s already started.”

  “They are willing to fight beside the monks and the Alpinadorans, then?” asked Cormack.

  “Ye heard Kriminig say just that,” said Bikelbrin.

  “Sure, and a fine row it’ll be, we’re all for hoping,” Mcwigik added. “Though we’re not even knowing if yer monks’re coming along for the play. Did ye hear them say that?”

  Cormack’s lips grew very tight, all the confirmation anyone there needed to understand that he
was filled with doubts about whether his brethren would march alongside the rest or not.

  “Yach, but it’s not to matter,” Mcwigik said generously, and he slapped Cormack on the back. “That Ancient up there’s made himself an angry swarm o’ powries, and we’re meaning to show him that doing so wasn’t the smartest thing he’s ever done!”

  “Hope he’s not too old and withered,” said Bikelbrin. “Me beret’s needing a bit of a gloss.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Meaning of Home

  Brother Giavno stepped out of the small boat onto the shore of Lake Mithranidoon for the first time in more than a year. He glanced back in the direction of Chapel Isle, the place that had been his home for these last few years. Not much of a home, and not much of an island, Giavno knew, but still there was in his heart a great lament, a profound sense of loss. Nothing more than a cursory glance at his dour companions told him that he was not alone in these feelings.

  He let his gaze drift north along this, the western coastline of Mithranidoon. Cormack was up there, he knew, along with his strange collection of friends and perhaps with more allies culled from the various islands. He meant to go against Ancient Badden, and that was a noble cause, whatever the reason.

  A splash behind him turned Giavno back to the lake, where the last boat, bearing Father De Guilbe and a foursome of Chapel Isle’s best warriors, neared the shore. As the five debarked, Giavno was left wondering how many years, decades, centuries even, might pass before the construction at Chapel Isle was once more inhabited by disciples of Blessed Abelle. Their monument would stand against the wave should it come, Giavno believed, and even if someone else, powrie or Alpinadoran, happened upon the island, they would more likely use the sturdy chapel fortress than tear it down. So maybe, someday long in the future, the Abellicans would return and continue the work done by Giavno and De Guilbe and the others.

  “Form them up at once and let us be far away from this place,” Father De Guilbe instructed Giavno as he walked past. “I would find Dame Gwydre before the onset of winter, and that will be no easy road.”

  “Of course, Father,” Giavno replied, and a part of him agreed. Another part, though, had him looking to the north yet again, and wondering about Cormack and the others. He recognized the expediency of De Guilbe’s decision to abandon their mission and return where they were likely needed, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he and his brethren were, perhaps, abandoning their neighbors in this time of dire need. For despite all of their fighting, even the deadly siege put upon Chapel Isle by the Alpinadorans, Brother Giavno did think of them, and of the powries, as neighbors.

  That was the surprising paradox that dominated his mind and his heart.

  “Brother Giavno!” Father De Guilbe shouted, shaking the man from his contemplations. He nodded and rushed off to rouse the brothers.

  He was glad that it was not his place to make these decisions.

  They glided out of the mists of Mithranidoon like the ghosts of their warrior ancestors, painted with berry dyes of red and yellow and blue, carrying spears and clubs, and decorated with trinkets and necklaces of teeth and claws and paws and beaks and feathers-so many feathers. Their flotilla numbered boats in the hundreds, each boat carrying as few as one or as many as a half-dozen of the proud Alpinadorans. Most stood up as the boats reached the shore, as if in defiance to the task and enemy that awaited them.

  Even Milkeila, intimately familiar with her people, even Bransen, who had seen the armies of southern Honce, even Mcwigik, who was never much impressed with anything human, gasped at the spectacle of the many diverse tribes of Mithranidoon coming together as one. And for Cormack, this marvelous sight served to reinforce his understanding that proselytizing these people, with their traditions, heritage, and pride, was no more than a fool’s errand, and a condescending one at that.

  For Milkeila, though, another emotion accompanied it all, based on her certainty that she was looking upon her people for the last time, likely forever. Even if she managed to survive the coming battle, she knew that it was over for her. Her small group of friends, co-conspirators dreaming of leaving Mithranidoon only two years before, had been split apart from her in more ways than physical. She stood with the man she had come to love, but inside, Milkeila had never felt more alone.

  Still, the spectacle before her made her proud to be, or to have been, of Yan Ossum.

  At the center of the Alpinadoran force came the shamans, Teydru and Toniquay prominent among their ranks. More than just spiritual leaders, Alpinadoran shamans were considered the wise men of their respective tribes, the advisors on all matters important.

  “They will direct the attack,” Milkeila explained to her companions, indicating the select group.

  “They will likely wish to speak more with Bransen then,” said Cormack, “as he has seen the passes and the glacial structures.” He was about to add that he would help Milkeila in translating the exchange, but the woman just shook her head.

  “They have seen them,” she explained. “Both the way to Badden and his defenses. If we were to be a part of their execution, they would have summoned us as they debarked their boats.”

  “What’s that to mean?” Mcwigik demanded. “Got all me boys together just to be a part of it.”

  Milkeila calmed him with an upraised hand, and cautiously made her way along the beach to speak with Toniquay.

  “The powries wish to help,” she said to her superior. “They have brought the whole of their force to join in our march.”

  “Our march?” Toniquay quipped, his expression sour. “You have plotted to leave us, and conspired of late to expedite your journey. Because you brought us this information, Shaman Teydru has seen fit to grant you your wish without prejudice or punishment. You have paid your worth to us and are free to go.”

  While those words might have once sounded as welcome to the young woman, in this time and place they hit her as mightily as a bolt of lightning. She had known it was coming, indeed, but still, to hear the declaration spoken so clearly and directly unnerved the poor young woman. The black wings of panic fluttered up all around her, threatening to drown her sensibilities in their confused jumble of flapping. She felt alone, suddenly. Homeless and without family, stranded on the beach of a hostile world, all security stolen.

  She looked over to her tribesmen, trying to sort through the jumble to spot Androosis, or some other friend who had expressed similar desires of leaving Mithranidoon.

  “Your young friends will not be joining you,” said Toniquay, as if he had read her mind (and indeed, that was not beyond his power). “They have offered no compensation for the freedom they desire-not even Androosis, though there was debate about whether or not he, too, should be given free leave.”

  Milkeila stood there for a long while, trying to find her breath.

  “I would have thought this news exciting and welcome to you,” Toniquay teased, for of course he had anticipated exactly this.

  Milkeila regained her composure, albeit with great difficulty. “Of course,” she said, for what choice did she have? A decision so rendered by the shaman council was not an invitation to debate.

  “The powries have come in whole to join in your battle with Ancient Badden,” she restated. “They are fierce allies and ferocious enemies, as you are well aware. They would know their place in this, among a force so many times their size.”

  “How generous of them,” Toniquay remarked, contempt thickening his voice. “Better than the cowardly monks, at least, who debark far to the south and run down the road of the same direction. They stand strong only behind thick walls of stone, it would seem.”

  “Their place?” Milkeila pressed, knowing well that Toniquay could launch into a diatribe of many minutes, and one that left him far from her original question, if he was not quickly reined.

  “They have no place among us,” Toniquay answered bluntly. “If they wish a place in the battle, then it is to the side, and out of our way.”
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  Milkeila started to argue, but Toniquay was hearing none of it. “We do not train beside powries, nor are we to expect our warriors to trust any of them. The same is true of the monk and the stranger.”

  “And of Milkeila?”

  “You trained beside us once.”

  “But the trust?”

  Toniquay paused and let the question slide away before reiterating, “Their place is not among us. They, you, all of you, would do well to stay far to the side of our march.”

  Milkeila couldn’t help it as her misty eyes were drawn out to the lake, toward Yossunfier, which had once been her home.

  Once and always and nevermore.

  They were not properly outfitted to survive the climate off of Mithranidoon, even now before the onset of winter, so the Alpinadorans, led by their shamans, who had used the views of eagles and hawks and crows to spy out and map the passes, wasted no time in their march. Long and swift strides carried their formations up the mountain passes beside the glacier; shamans and other leaders shouted encouragement and bolstered the warriors with magic and herb-treated waters to hold their spirit and their strength. There would be no camp, no respite. Their swift pace would end when they met the enemy.

  Behind them came the powries, and among them Bransen and his two now-homeless companions, still trying to figure out where they would fit into this upcoming battle.

  Before they had even reached the glacier, sounds of fighting erupted far ahead, at the front of the Alpinadoran line. The ranks tightened, powries eagerly adjusting their berets. But those ranks quickly loosened up again, and when the trailing group crossed the battlefield they discovered that the army had happened upon, and had summarily overrun, an encampment of no more than a dozen trolls.

  “Here’s for hoping that one or more got away to warn their friends and set them all about us,” Mcwigik grumbled. “Sure to be the only way we’re to find any fightin’ this day!”

  “Aye, the tall ones’ll run all the way through Badden’s door,” Bikelbrin, at Mcwigik’s side, lamented.