Jharmin made a noise in his throat and rolled his eyes. "So who does lead this mockery of an army?"
"I do. I am Madra of Far Rossing, one of your former subjects," Madra said without a hint of courtesy.
"Former?"
"Quite. At one time, your family protected the land and our people, but then you surrendered to the Zjhon. You've been little more than puppets since."
"How dare you speak to me that way, peasant! I should send you back to the hovel you came from," he said, the nimbus around him expanding.
"Please," Catrin said. "There has been enough bloodshed. Now is not the time for fighting. What this land needs is peace and leadership so that it can be rebuilt. A battle today will do nothing but reduce the number of able-bodied people available to do that rebuilding. Would you send your homeland into ruin?"
"Silence, witch. Your evil tongue cannot poison our minds."
"You call her a witch, yet if it were not for her, you would be dead," Madra said.
"Lies and tricks. The Herald Witch makes people believe she's come to save them when all she's done is kill the good people of the Greatland. I don't know exactly how she caused the other statue to explode, but I was in no more danger within Adderhold than I am right now," Jharmin said, looking smug.
"You're an arrogant fool," Madra said as she turned to walk away.
"I want you off my lands by nightfall, and you're never to return--any of you," Jharmin said, his face growing redder as the conflict wore on.
"You'll have to kill us all, then," Madra said. "You can kill your own subjects. I won't stop you. I can only imagine, though, how all those young people in the Zjhon armies will feel when they find out you killed their parents and children."
"Don't mock me, woman. I'm the protector of my people. It is you that poses a threat, and it's my responsibility to protect Lankland from you."
Madra tilted her head back and laughed a harsh, barking laugh. "Kill us, and there'll be fewer left to protect, m'lord. But have it your way. My army goes where I lead it, and I'll leave your lands when I am good and ready. If you wish to fight, then let us be done with it and fight now. What do you say?"
"I say you travel with the Herald Witch, and that makes you my enemy."
"What did I ever do to you?" Catrin asked, no longer able to contain her anger.
"Beside the fact that your family has been killing my family and people for over a hundred years? How about pretending you would marry me just so you could attack Archmaster Belegra."
"I went to Adderhold willing to marry you if that was what it took to save people's lives. You can believe what you want about me and about the statues; I'll not try to change your mind. But do remember that your family has been killing my family for just as long. I know since you killed my mother and both my aunts in a most cowardly fashion," Catrin said, becoming more incensed with each word.
Jharmin appeared genuinely surprised by the accusations and simply stood with his mouth open for a moment. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"That's just how his grandfather wants it," Madra said.
"Silence!" Jharmin said, glaring.
"Jharmin, please," Catrin said, trying desperately to avoid violence. "If you say you knew nothing of their deaths, then I believe you, but you must also understand that I've had no knowledge or involvement in what my family has done here in the Greatland. I grew up on the Godfist. This is all new to me, and I don't know how to fix it, but I'm certain fighting isn't the answer."
Jharmin stood silent, apparently considering her words, but just when he was about to speak, there was a shout from his men. Catrin turned to look where a man pointed. Above the rolling hills, a waving pennant rose, showing Istra and Vestra in their immortal embrace. Soon the standard bearer then the body of the Zjhon army came into view. Row upon row of mounted riders approached, followed by orderly columns of foot soldiers. In the distance the supply wagons were barely visible.
Catrin and Madra looked at Jharmin. "You two had best go prepare yourselves," he said; then he went back to his men.
"What are we going to do?" Catrin asked as she and Madra walked back to camp and the awaiting sea of worried faces. Only the underlying determination on those faces kept Catrin from despairing. These people would die fighting if they had to. Catrin hoped it didn't come to that.
"This is what we came for," Madra said. "Although having the Kytes here makes things more interesting, we'll do what must be done," she said, and she turned to her soldiers. "Stand at attention. Show no fear. If I say attack, attack, but until then, do nothing."
The next few moments passed slowly, like the mire of dreams, and Catrin watched events unfold with detached indifference, as if it were not real. It was too strange to be real. She and Madra walked together but apart, Jharmin came from another direction, and a swaggering, older man came from yet another. "State your intentions," he said, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Jharmin Kyte, grandson of Arbuckle--"
"I know who you are. State your intentions."
Jharmin looked shaken, and Catrin was amazed no one else could see the flames that leaped higher around him as his fury grew, but it was obvious they could not.
"I came to investigate reports of an army on my lands," Jharmin said, "and a report that two local guards had been killed," he said, glaring at Catrin. She considered responding but decided to keep her mouth shut.
"I have orders to bring in the Herald Witch," the man said. "We have no need for your services. You're dismissed."
Jharmin's flames soared and danced around him, and his face flushed. "I must insist that you not do battle on these lands. I will remain to see that the people of Lankland are not made to suffer."
"So be it, pup. Stay if you want, but stay out of my way or you might accidentally fall on my sword." Not waiting for a response, he turned to Catrin. "You will surrender immediately, otherwise we'll kill you all. You," he said, turning to Madra, "will go away."
Madra wasn't looking at him, though, and she did not react to his statement. Instead, she scanned the Zjhon lines. Suddenly she gave a start. "Medrin, Chelby, attend me!" she shouted across the distance. The Zjhon commander turned slowly, and he flushed as two horses separated from his lines.
"Shoot anyone that deserts!" the commander shouted. The two riders continued forward, and Catrin gasped at the twang of a bowstring. One rider ducked under the arrow, and a scuffle broke out in the Zjhon lines. One of the men in Jharmin's army stepped forward and called out another name then another. Behind Catrin, men and women called to their children.
Soon nothing could be heard over the din. More and more riders and those on foot began to leave the Zjhon lines, their loyalty to their families far stronger than their fear of death. The Zjhon commander, who'd not even been courteous enough to give his name, now found himself faced with a flood of defectors. Those still loyal fought to join together and rally, but that number was shrinking rapidly. When the dust settled, Madra's army was by far the largest, with Jharmin's not far behind. The Zjhon commander suddenly found himself faced with superior force.
Jharmin made no move and said nothing; he just stood with his arms crossed over his chest and stared at the Zjhon commander. Catrin knew the danger was not yet averted. A battle between Jharmin's and Madra's armies would lead to horrific casualties, and she had not yet counted the Zjhon out of the equation. When she made up her mind, she could only hope that her actions would not lead to a bloodbath.
Chapter 5
To forget the past is to jeopardize the future.
--Meriaca Jocephus, historian
* * *
"Samda!" Catrin shouted, and everyone turned toward Madra's army, which now looked like a real army. "Approach!"
Samda came swiftly, but his measured stride spoke of confidence. "Lady Catrin," he said when he arrived.
"Traitor," the Zjhon commander spit. Jharmin stared at Samda with distrust.
"I am a traitor to a failed faith. We were wrong
, Grevan. Archmaster Belegra is wrong."
"Bah! Lies," Grevan said.
"She has coerced him. He can't be trusted," Jharmin added.
"Mind yourself," Samda said. "Do not forget who presided over your right-to-inherit confirmation." Jharmin flushed and looked at the ground. "And you, Grevan. Who was it that granted you the crest and mark?"
"You'll not intimidate me," Grevan said. "You may have granted me the crest and mark, but it was by Archmaster Belegra's authority. I could execute you now for treason. The Herald Witch will come with me."
"Yes. Yes," Samda said. "You have your orders, Mark Grevan. You can execute me now and take the Herald Witch into custody. What is there to hinder you?" Samda asked with a feral smile. "I can still smell the burning flesh of the last men who attacked her."
"If you feel it is right to follow Archmaster Belegra," Madra said, "then I suggest you follow him into whatever hole he's chosen to hide in."
A tense silence hung in the air. Mark Grevan made no move. "What of you, Jharmin? Where do you stand?"
Jharmin took a moment to consider before he replied. Looking each of the assembled in the eye, he seemed to struggle. "I stand with the people of Lankland," he finally said, "and I believe they have just spoken. You are to remove yourself from my lands and never return."
Mark Grevan said no more. Turning on his heel, he strode away. When he reached what remained of his army, he gave no orders. Instead he mounted, wheeled his horse, and rode back the way he had come. A handful of men followed him, but more chose to go their own way, and they scattered, some alone, some in small bands.
"There will be more," Samda said. "That was but a fraction of the Zjhon's number."
"Thank you, Samda," Catrin said, and Samda bowed before returning to Madra's army. "So, Jharmin, what will it be? Shall we rip each other to ribbons? Or will we rise above this cursed feud?"
It took a moment for Jharmin to respond. The mantle of flames that only Catrin's eyes seemed to be able to perceive dwindled as he seemed to find his calm. When he spoke, his voice conveyed more sadness than anger. "I agree the feud between our families has brought no good to our peoples or us. I declare no peace with you, though, for I've no authority to do so. I will, however, grant you passage across my lands."
"I'll no longer be traveling with Madra and her army, will you grant them passage as well?"
"Madra and her army represent the people of Lankland. I'll not stand in the way of their revenge on the Zjhon. My men will escort them wherever it is they wish to go, and I will escort you personally from my lands."
"Are we in agreement?" Catrin asked, looking at Madra.
"We are," she said.
"We are," Jharmin added.
"Then let it be so," Catrin said. "I must make the arrangements for my party's departure. Lord Kyte, if you would excuse me."
"I'll await you on the hill," he said as he turned to walk away. Catrin and Madra walked back to the waiting army.
"I can now provide horses for you and your companions, so you can ride to Ravenhold," Madra said. "I have my children back, but there are many more sons and daughters out there. This army will go on until all those that live have been returned to their families."
"I wish you blessings and the speed of the gods on your quest, Madra, and I thank you for your generosity. You are a great hero."
When Madra laughed, the humor reached her eyes. She smiled and shook her head. "Look at us. Two great heroes, neither willing to admit it."
* * *
"I insist we stop in the very next town and procure a carriage or a wagon," Millie said. "I'm not built for horseback." Her complaining had started the instant she was told she would ride, and since then it had only grown worse.
Morif rode alongside Catrin and kept his voice low. "If you make her ride all the way to Ravenhold, she'll waddle like a duck for the next moon." Millie shot him a narrow-eyed glance, and he pulled back, chuckling.
"As soon as we can, Millie. As soon as we can," Catrin said, trying not to smile. In truth, much of the terrain they had to cover was not fit for a carriage and would make for a rough wagon ride, but Catrin hoped, for Millie's sake, that they could soon travel by road.
Jharmin and his squad of guards rode at a distance, camping within sight but out of earshot. When they came to a large town, Jharmin rode out to meet Catrin. "On the other side of Mickenton, we can pick up the trade road. I will get us passage down the main thoroughfare, and I don't want anyone wandering off."
"There're things we need from the market," Catrin said.
Jharmin frowned. "What do you need?"
"A carriage and harness."
"I'll have one of my men purchase it for you and deliver it tonight. You may camp here," he said and rode away.
"You'll have your carriage this night," Catrin said to Millie when she returned. "We'll make camp here, and tomorrow we'll be escorted through Mickenton. From there, we travel by road." Her statement brought about many smiles and sighs of relief, not to mention a chuckle from Morif. Millie turned her nose up and walked away.
Jharmin was true to his word, and two of his guards arrived, one with a fine carriage, the other on horseback, carrying an extra saddle. After unhooking his mount, the guard cleaned everything meticulously, and he presented the harness and carriage to Catrin. "Lord Jharmin sends this as a gift."
"Please tell Lord Jharmin that his gift is appreciated," Catrin said. "But I can pay for the carriage."
"I assure you there is no need, m'lady. Lord Jharmin was quite clear on this."
"Thank you, sir."
The guard nodded a stiff bow then returned to his companion, who was tightening saddle straps. As they rode away, Catrin pondered the meaning of Jharmin's gift. She supposed it would be worth it to him if it helped to speed their journey off his lands.
Beyond Mickenton, travel became easier. The trade road was wide and level, and there were many inns along the way. Somehow, Jharmin got word ahead of them, and each night they would come to an empty inn, waiting for them alone. Again, Catrin wondered if this generosity was more insult than gift. If he wanted to keep her company isolated from his people, so be it.
"The day I leave the Greatland will be a joyous day," she said to Benjin one afternoon.
"I understand," he said. "I had hoped never to return, and I'll be happy to leave it behind as well. Under other circumstances, I would say there is great beauty here, but when I look around, I see only conflict and misery, and I tire of it."
By the time they reached the border of Mundleboro, the tension was unbearable. When a rider wearing the Kyte family sigil, the head of a bull, came at speed, everyone in both camps waited expectantly. The foamy sweat around the girth of his saddle spoke of a hard ride, and Catrin feared bad news. She watched, holding her breath, as he dismounted and reported to Jharmin. The change in Jharmin's posture was enough to confirm Catrin's fears; his shoulders slumped, and his head dropped forward. Even from a distance, Catrin could feel his pain.
Moments later one of Jharmin's guards approached. "Lord Arbuckle Kyte has succumbed to age," he said. "Lord Jharmin asks that you leave Lankland on the morrow. He is needed at Wolfhold and will leave this night. Two guards will be left to assure your safe passage back to Mundleboro."
Pain seared Catrin's heart. Compassion for Jharmin overwhelmed her. "Does Jharmin's father live?" Catrin asked Millie.
"No," she said. "He died many years ago in a hunting accident."
"Did my family have anything to do with that accident?"
"No. I don't believe so. Your grandfather had his grandfather killed, and then Jharmin's father killed your grandfather. To my knowledge, that was the last killing your family committed."
Catrin was shamed by the tale, and she vowed to put an end to the killing. With her head bowed, she walked toward Jharmin's camp. He was nowhere in sight, but she moved with purpose and intent.
"Hold," a guard said as she neared.
"I request an audience with Lord Ky
te."
"A moment, m'lady."
Jharmin emerged from his tent, his eyes red and swollen. "Say what you have to say."
"I came to express my sincere condolences."
His head snapped toward her, and his face flushed, but then he seemed to sense her sincerity. "Thank you for your concern. I doubt your grandmother will feel the same."
"Jharmin," Catrin said, taking his hand in hers. She was surprised when he didn't pull away. "Our families have been horrible to each other, but the time has come to heal this age-old wound. No more can we afford petty squabbles. Let our generation be the one that puts things to right."
Jharmin pulled his hand free slowly and walked toward the horse lines. He walked to his horse, which was kept separate from all the rest, and ran his hands over the glossy coat.
Catrin moved with him, and she scratched at the base of the horse's mane. The colt stretched out his neck and groaned, wiggling his top lip back and forth.
"You know animals," Jharmin said, and Catrin nodded. "Then you understand that it can be difficult to undo a lifetime of training."
"I understand, but I also know our families stand to lose everything in the coming months. I may have grown up on the Godfist, but I really do have the best interest of the Greatland in my heart."
"Go back to your camp," he said with a long sigh. "I'll send word that I will be delayed, and I'll travel to Ravenhold with you. We'll finish this feud one way or another."
His words were clearly a dismissal, but Catrin felt there was a victory in them, a victory for the people of the Greatland.
Millie and Morif left in the carriage with the dawn, hoping to give the Lady Mangst time to prepare for guests. Catrin could only hope her grandmother would understand.
* * *
"Enjoying the wine, Beron?" Master Edling asked.
"Yes," Master Beron replied. "It's quite good."
"And the ham? It's to your liking?"
The Dawning of Power Page 58