by Emmet Moss
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Kieri said. She gave his hand a light squeeze.
“She was a good woman. She also deserved a better fate,” he added bitterly.
“Do you believe they watch over us, our loved ones who have passed? That they now live with the gods?” she asked.
Leoric shrugged. “I don’t think it’s for us to know the answer to that question, Kieri. Angvald would have you believe it, though,” he smiled. “He reminds me every day that I will surely sit proudly at the table of my ancestors. There are times that I question his sanity. But, I guess I can only hope that Alanna smiles down on me, comforting me when needed. You know, she loved to dance, and maybe she’s happy dancing up there in the stars,” he spoke, his eyes scanning the night sky.
“With the gods.” the woman added in a whisper.
“I have no trust in the providence of the gods,” Leoric said sternly. “I will never forgive them for taking away my family. I would have gone in her place had I been offered the choice. In my mind, she dances alone, free from any gods.”
“But who are we to question their reasoning, Leoric?”
“I would openly question anyone who dealt unwarranted pain upon another,” he retorted. “I only have pain to remind me of my grief, an unfair punishment it seems that the gods deemed necessary,” he continued. “I won’t be party to that belief. Life is difficult, and tragedy strikes us all; it’s as simple as that.”
“I, for one, welcome the pain,” Kieri whispered.
“Why?” he asked softly, wrapping his arm around her slim figure.
“It reminds me that I’m still alive.”
Pulling her closer, he fought to stem the tears that threatened to spill forth. There was such agony and sadness in Kieri’s words. He decided at that moment that she need only to ask for help and he would be there. As Kieri nestled deeper into his comforting embrace, Leoric hoped that Alanna would understand.
In Raven’s Dell, the wind blows cold,
Steps grow weary, bones grow old.
The sun bleeds red on ashen ground,
Wild whispers creep from barrow mound.
A war forgotten, a nation lost,
The price of freedom, a crushing cost.
Many a man in war here fell,
Their memory lost to Raven’s Dell.
Leoric clapped loudly and whistled as Angvald finished his song. It had become something of a tradition for the Kaleenian to regale the men and women of the camp with tales of faraway places and peoples of Kal Maran.
During such performances, captivity was almost bearable. The songs reminded him of home, of the town tavern where he would sit among friends and share a pint while a minstrel sang. Surveying the room, Leoric realized that somehow they had found a measure of comfort despite their captivity.
“How can you all laugh?! Are you truly that happy?” called an angry voice from the crowd. “You toast to each other’s health, and yet I wonder have you all forgotten where we are and what has befallen us?”
Merias stood on one of the few tables in the room, his eyes blazing and his body taut with fury. Everyone knew that he had been severely affected by Stephen’s death. He had become irrational and openly defiant of their goblin captors ever since. His bruised face and bandaged ribs reminded those assembled of the price for such behaviour.
“You smile and pretend nothing’s wrong even though we’re here in the Wilds, fighting over the scraps that the goblins leave for us! Do any of you have the heart to hate them anymore?”
“He speaks truth,” Drake agreed, standing at his friend’s side. The border soldier, along with Leoric, had been one of the few who had spoken out vehemently against their captivity. As Leoric had paid a price, so too had Drake. “We have grown complacent.”
Angry murmurs swept through the crowd, some heads nodding in assent, others downcast and wearing ashamed looks of sadness. As Leoric moved to voice his support, a grip like steel forced him back into his seat. Staring balefully at the assailant, Leoric struggled to break the hold.
“Sit down, lad, before you help those two buffoons get us all killed,” warned Auric, the man’s grip tightening in response to his struggles. “Ware the look on the bastard’s face near the fire, Leoric, and tell me what you see,” the old man inclined his head to the left.
Joram was watching the proceedings with feigned bemusement. Surrounded by his usual cronies and holding Kieri tightly around her waist, he failed miserably at hiding the dark glint in his eyes. Joram whispered something to one of his men, making it quite apparent that he wasn’t pleased with Merias’ passionate plea. After witnessing the reaction, Leoric calmed his attempt to break Auric’s surprisingly strong grip.
“He’s plotting something and will try to use this situation to further his own designs,” Leoric said.
Joram often spoke adamantly about currying more favour with the guards. To work with their captors could only bring about good fortune, he would preach to the others in the camp. It was all Leoric could do not to throttle the man where he stood.
“His heart is dark and twisted. Little remains hidden from his eyes. He enjoys this.” Auric agreed.
Accepting the strange comment, Leoric forced himself to finally look away from Joram. Angvald had pushed his way through the crowd and reached Merias’ side by the time he had turned back to the impromptu proceedings. Whispering urgently in the man’s ear, the big Kaleenian pulled the angry man from the table top, shoving him forcefully onto a bench.
“The Kaleenian saw the same,” Auric nodded approvingly. “He is far more intelligent than he lets on. He sees truly into men’s hearts, as do you, weighing them and judging accordingly. It would serve you well to keep such a man as your ally.”
“What are you talking about, Auric?” Leoric frowned. Not for the first time since meeting the prisoner, Leoric was annoyed by the smatterings of advice the man felt compelled to share.
“One day you’ll understand, Leoric. You’ll see everything through these eyes and remember,” Auric answered. And with that, the man winked and slipped off into the crowd.
Confused, Leoric barely spoke when Angvald and Cara joined him at the table. Understanding anything in this godforsaken land seemed impossible.
Thin winds whistle, the ghosts of arrows.
The fort of a handsome king laid low.
Guardian of the East, Great Watcher of the kingdom.
Fatuous, vain,
empty, and still.
And I, to whom the living things whispered,
could taste them nearing, foul in the air.
And when they shuddered,
the steel did sing.
When the stones crumbled, the men did shriek.
The Blood Moon rose, and I walked into the Wood.
—Unknown
Chapter XXII
The Watchtower of Al’Taers, Aeldenwood
The return trip to the winter encampment passed quickly. While less than a league from Dragon Mount’s walls, Gavin did lose consciousness during the ride on account of his injuries. The journey was eerily devoid of any excitement. Even the men known to be boisterous at the worst of times kept to themselves. Many of the soldiers, Bider gathered, were coming to terms with their new allegiance to the Fey’Derin.
Bider, as well as the other veterans, were visibly concerned with certain revelations that had come to light regarding their commander. That Gavin Silveron had spent considerable time training with the Koriani unnerved most, but only Bider and Ethan Shade caught the distressed glance Gavin had given the tall woman in charge of the Koriani troops. Brynne Wolien’s relationship with the captain brought up even more questions, and Gavin’s self-imposed exile from the mage stronghold seemed a far more complicated story than Bider had first assumed.
Gavin grew impatient
once he had recovered at the Fey’Derin’s winter camp. A stack of messages, many from friendly captains of northern companies wondering about the Fey’s plan of action come spring, needed attending to. Penning his responses and dispatching them as quickly as possible, the young commander had still to meet with a representative of Duke Berry before his planned departure to the Aeldenwood. Business seemed unimportant in light of his deep concern that the world was on the brink of a momentous change.
The return of the Gorimm could signify any number of things, some far more treacherous than others, and he wanted to confirm his suspicions. The arrival of the lost tribe of the Aeldenwood could also force his hand, a position Gavin desperately wanted to avoid. Also, he had yet to make a decision regarding any revelations he would make concerning his own past.
Duke Berry had dispatched a familiar representative to the site. For the past decade, Herod Blackwain had captained his own company known as the Delan Fere, ‘Shieldbreakers’ in the old tongue. The stout, burly northerner sported a thickly braided beard that rivalled even Ossric’s. Herod had fought in the southern Protectorate over the past two seasons and was responsible for defending several outposts that belonged to the famed Duke of Garchester. His company had also been instrumental in the defense of Matanis on the coast.
Gavin always enjoyed the man’s company. Herod was an experienced soldier who discussed his tactics openly with the younger mercenary. Gavin had drawn upon this knowledge during many perilous situations over the previous busy summer seasons. His fellow captain had always been friendly, a rare trait among most of the coin-hungry mercenaries of the land.
Gavin gripped the man’s thick muscled forearm in a welcoming gesture. “Damn fine seeing you again, Herod. But is that a few strands of grey I see in that mop of yours?”
“What a fine way to greet an old friend. Reminding him that he’s older than the last time you met!” the mercenary soldier retorted.
“I’m sure the Captain is just confused, Herod,” Ethan said from the entryway. The Eagle Runner was dressed in an immaculate long black coat and proffered a bottle of wine as he entered.
“How so, young Ethan?” the guest replied with a frown.
“The Captain may have thought you were Caolte,” Ethan said with a smile. “When I squint you do look somewhat alike.”
“Cursed Arne! I’m no grandfather!” Herod thundered. “A few stray greys are all I’ve got, not a full head of them!”
“I take it my wizened appearance is once again being brought to the fore. One of these days you’ll all wish that you look like I do at my age,” Caolte added as he approached the small gathering.
“Old?” Ethan asked curiously.
“Why, the perfect specimen of a man,” Caolte deadpanned.
The men laughed as formal greetings were exchanged between the Delan Fere captain and the Fey officers. Ethan poured the wine, passing each man a goblet as the group settled down at the wooden table in Gavin’s private quarters.
“How is Garchester faring these days? She took a decent pounding this past year,” Caolte asked.
Herod’s brow furrowed. “Well, we’re still repairing the damage, but the citizens’ spirits are quite high. Most of the damage was contained, but the battlements remain in a terrible state.”
“The Duke left the walls breached?” Ethan asked.
“Duke Berry looked to his people first. With so many cities falling under the influence of the nobles from Imlaris, namely that bastard Yarr, he can ill afford to lose any of the support he now holds,” Herod answered.
“A strategic move, but it could be costly should the walls remain open come summer,” Caolte murmured.
“He’ll get the work done,” Herod avowed. “Matanis isn’t in much better shape.”
“We heard only rumours while in Garchester as to your defense,” Gavin replied. “Your men came through well enough it seems.”
“Aye, we took our fair share of casualties. Seeing as how we were responsible for the majority of the fighting in the mountain passes, we did quite well.”
“How many short are you this year?” Ethan inquired. It was common knowledge that the devout northerner refused to hire men hailing from the south. Each summer of warfare cut deeply into the supply of Herod’s remaining reserves. Most replacements sailed from the port city of K’oral in order to reinforce the company each winter.
“I sent a request for two score, but losing Henric was my biggest blow,” Herod answered.
“He fell in the city? A fine officer and your longest serving, I believe?” Gavin said.
“I spent six years with him,” Herod nodded. “The fool was sometimes too damn full of himself. He got caught in an ambush not far from the eastern edge of the Seracen Pass last summer. He tried to hold it against two companies. By the time we responded to the threat, it was too late. He fell in the rearguard trying to buy time for the rest of his squad.”
“A terrible loss…” Caolte uttered under his breath.
“It’s what we all sign up for,” Herod stated. “You must put the anger and sadness behind you and move on. No sense agonizing over something you can’t change.”
“Now that is sound advice,” Caolte raised an eyebrow and sent a withering look towards his captain.
“Not a word, Caolte,” Gavin warned.
“Yes, sir,” came the reply.
Three bottles of wine and many stories later, the men left behind tales of friends lost in order to discuss the present situation. Gavin was troubled by what seemed to be a lack of strength the allies of the Duke could muster in his defense. It was no secret in the cities of the south that few were willing to commit to the nobleman’s cause.
“Where does the Duke believe the hammer will fall this coming campaign?” Gavin asked.
“Rumours keep swirling that Garchester will be hit again, but so much attention is being focused in that direction that some of us feel it could all be a diversion,” Herod replied.
“How so?”
“Well, Duke Berry has defended the city time and time again. The support from the populace is almost completely in his favour; no one to be bought off, no company to play spoiler and betrayer. The belief in his abilities as a leader is absolute. If Gadian Yarr plays things differently, we may have too strong a contingent of contracted companies in Garchester. We would then be unable to respond adequately to a secondary threat.”
“Sound points, but you’re assuming the Duke’s intelligence has been severely curtailed. It would be uncommon to have such little information concerning Gadian Yarr’s movements,” Ethan commented.
“Unfortunately, you have the right of it,” Herod agreed, idly scratching his beard. “We can’t get anything out of our usual informants.”
“Any indication that their loyalties have been swayed?” Caolte asked.
“Not that we can discern. Only a dry well when it comes to information leaking from their camp.”
“And Lord Dalemen?” Ethan pressed.
Herod shook his head. “Same thing, I’m afraid. The southernmost companies have been sending small numbers of men to his position near Avery for the past year. A squad here, a score there, and we have yet to pierce that mystery. Truth be told, every one of our agents sent to investigate has yet to return.”
“Strange. There’s nothing in that area of significance is there?” Gavin queried.
“Not that we’re aware of. We’ve documented better than a thousand men crossing through that terrain, and we have no idea where they’ve ended up.”
“A thousand men in the plains of the southwest wouldn’t be that difficult to hide.” Caolte mused.
“We’ll keep an eye on things out east, but this summer might push us past our boundaries whether we agree or not,” Herod stated.
“What’s the Duke looking for from the Fey?” Gavin asked.
“Your contin
ued support. Needless to say, without your men and my Delan Fere, he’d have no chance in holding off an attack. The Ca’lenbam is scheduled near Imlaris this year. The Duke will be attending for the first time in the hopes that his presence will sway a few undecided companies.”
“His contracts better be well-laden with coin,” Ethan declared. “The Duke will need to dip deeply into his stores if he wants to sway anyone.”
“Even you?”
“Of course not,” Gavin answered immediately. “I would be travelling north right now if my plans didn’t involve supporting his policies. Caolte could be visiting his newest additions, and Ossric would be drunk in the Black Boar whispering sweet nothings to some pretty young lass, no doubt.”
Chuckling at the comments, the visiting captain smiled. “I had to ask, Gavin.”
“Understood.”
An hour later, Gavin found himself escorting Herod back to the stables. The meeting had gone as expected, and the group unanimously agreed that Gadian Yarr was planning something unpredictable. His setbacks, both at Matanis and Garchester, were bound to have left a sour taste in his mouth.
“You’re welcome to stay for the night.”
“I can’t, Gavin, although I do appreciate the offer. I have two more stops to make in this blasted weather before I can settle my affairs for the upcoming spring. I’d rather get everything done as quickly as possible.”
“I understand,” Gavin answered. “Anything else I can offer?”
“The food has been splendid and the spirits a welcome gift,” Herod gestured to his newly laden saddlebags. “One thing though, what’s with the mage?” he added quietly. “I saw him chatting with a few of your men this morning near the smithy.”
“Tel’Andros is doing some work near the Aeldenwood border. Mage business I want no part of. I was asked to provide him a place of lodging, that is all,” Gavin said dismissively.
“Ah,” Herod said thoughtfully. “You won’t mind me mentioning that to the Duke now will you?”