Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “At that time Rugen was little more than a collection of rude lodges protected by an earthen wall and quickly fell. The Salcheks then marched farther north only to be met with fierce opposition by the yellow-hairs, as you reported.”

  “And had some success for a season or two.”

  “Yes, the invaders made good progress and crushed tribes one by one for a season or two. At that point it appears the Salchek began suffering a series of defeats that cost them most of the ground they had won in the forest land.” Ethbar looked pointedly at Jeff. “It was about this time that notes began appearing in Salchek records concerning redhaired, darker skinned warriors with eyes like wolves. Warriors who appeared to be leading the yellow-hairs.”

  “The Redhairs.”

  “Or as you report their name, the Alarai. A war of stalemate continued for over thirteen years, during which Rugen was continually reinforced and its present walls largely constructed.”

  “An invasion seemed to me the best explanation for such sturdy defenses with no cities nearby to pose a threat,” Jeff commented. “The walls are impressive. Why did the Salchek leave after so much effort to build them?”

  “We do not know. Without forewarning and having suffered no serious defeats, the Salchek withdrew southward leaving the city to its own devices. It was most fortunate that northern warriors did not choose to seek revenge. Shortly, mercenaries left behind contended among themselves and with local warriors for supremacy.”

  “Civil war and anarchy. It must have been a terrible time for the people of Rugen.

  “In some ways worse than the Salchek occupation. A full year passed before a mercenary officer named Bartel gained undisputed control of Rugen and the surrounding countryside, styling himself count. The current ruler, Imogo, is his son and has advanced his title to king.” Ethbar paused to sort memories. “I was a mere child when the Salchek departed. They were brutal and caused great harm yet brought learning as well. The Salchek largely introduced the policies that regulate the city and our lives to this day.”

  “The other side of the coin,” Jeff observed. “Great oppression, yet a system of effective laws that create order out of chaos. May I assume the Salchek built more than the walls?”

  “This building, the palace, our bridges—all constructed from their designs.” Ethbar gestured around the room. “Every scroll you see, in fact every scroll in our possession, was brought or composed by Salchek scribes. Yet I imagine there are now no more than a dozen scholars in this city that bother to study them, and that number declines by the year. There are no schools to educate our young; no attempt has been made to educate their parents. So much has been lost through negligence.”

  A look of alarm appeared on Rengeld’s face. He hurried to the partially open door, checked the hall in both directions, and closed it. Ethbar acknowledged the service with upraised hand.

  “Thank you, Rengeld. The door should have been closed from the outset.”

  “We cannot afford to expose ourselves for even a moment. If maliciously overheard, your words would be artfully employed against us. A closed door is no sure protection.”

  “I am aware of the risks in so talking, but risks that are as nothing when compared with what is likely to come.” Ethbar glanced at Jeff. “I must also say that the risk our guest has ventured by offering us his confidence is not trivial. In my estimation, it far exceeds ours should my words come to the ears of those incredibly ignorant courtiers who fawn on Imogo and find solace in stupidity.” Rengeld appeared skeptical, but bowed acceptance.

  “And so, young Jeffrey, can you doubt the Salchek I have spoken of and Gurthwin’s Iron-shirts are one and the same?”

  “It seems likely they are. To argue otherwise would place a heavy burden on coincidence.”

  “Just so. The question that might well be large in your thoughts, however, is why we share your belief that the Salchek have returned. Rugen, after all, is quite isolated from the South and rumor.”

  “Having viewed your map of this land, that thought has indeed occurred to me.”

  Ethbar shuffled through a pile of parchment and hurriedly moved to another. He carefully extracted a single sheet from the third pile.

  “Thank the gods. For a moment, I feared it had been misplaced.”

  “Evidence of invasion?”

  “Perhaps. Certainly this mere sheet of parchment aroused our suspicions. One of Rengeld’s scouts happened across remnants of a body some distance south of Rugen. This was found nearby.” Ethbar held the tattered sheet up so Jeff could peer at it. The ink was smeared and the parchment looked like it was ready to fall apart. “It is composed in Salchek script.”

  Jeff whistled low. “Yes, that would do the trick.”

  Ethbar raised his eyebrows in query.

  “Forgive me. As Captain Rengeld discovered earlier, amazement leads naturally to my native tongue. To be sure, I can well understand that such a discovery would inflame suspicion. Have you succeeded in deciphering its content?”

  Ethbar indicated Rengeld should reply. “We believe the man was returning south when he was slain. All that remained were bits of moldy clothing, scattered bones, and a leather pouch. This single sheet is all that survived within the pouch, and that barely. It is one page of what can only be a scouting report.”

  Jeff and Rengeld shared a long look. “A scouting report having to do with Rugen, I presume?”

  “This lone page has no reference to Rugen,” Rengeld drawled. “Considering the other cities located close by, I feel confident in concluding that Rugen was the subject of this report.”

  That’s a good way of putting it, Jeff thought with a smile. There were no other cities, close by or otherwise.

  “And then I arrived, speaking of a mission to determine threat.”

  “Indeed. Once again, shall we argue coincidence?”

  When Ethbar looked up from tracing idle patterns on the tabletop, his expression was frustrated.

  “My scholarly regrets notwithstanding, Imogo has done well by Rugen and the Northern Kingdom. Yet now he risks it all. If only he would acknowledge what this scrap of parchment implies! He must come to realize this threat is real or his son, Torget, will never rule.” Ethbar stared into his mug and brooded in silence

  Rengeld arose to wander the room, his face a dark study. Some minutes later Jeff’s drawn-out sigh broke the silence.

  “Now my way is clear. I must journey farther south and discover the truth. If the Salchek have not returned, a subject state or ally might have. It is my duty.”

  “I believe you have been marked for this task.” Ethbar found his feet and extended his hand. “We are well met, Jeffrey Friedrick. Let no one persuade you that chance contrived it.”

  Releasing Jeff’s hand, Ethbar walked to the door with a young man’s step. “We will talk again on the morrow. Much remains unsaid.” He glanced at Rengeld and chuckled. “Please be so kind as to see our young guest to more suitable quarters.”

  Upon leaving the building Jeff and Rengeld retrieved their horses from a nearby stable. Well rested and fed, Cynic was in a feisty frame of mind and delighted in testing Jeff’s seat. He cavorted, sidled, did stiff-legged hops and generally raised hell. Cynic was only having a little fun, but his timing was terrible.

  “Blast you, not now!”

  Kicking his legs up, Cynic replied with an equine version of the bronx cheer. At the show’s conclusion, Rengeld and a few onlookers gave them both a round of applause.

  Rengeld chuckled off and on as they trotted along. “Your mount appears to be quite spirited. He is also most unusual in appearance. What are his origins?”

  “He is, indeed, most spirited and also quite stubborn,” Jeff replied with fervor. “I have not yet discovered where he was foaled, having come across him in the North fully grown. As to his breed, I am at a loss. Perhaps we will learn more in the South.”

  “I would be surprised if you did learn more. I have traveled that land widely yet never encountered such an
animal.”

  They became so involved in discussing the merits of various horse breeds that the return trip seemed to take only minutes. When they dismounted, Rengeld gripped Jeff’s hand warmly and bid him good evening.

  Examining his new room, which was furnished with a real bed and small writing desk, Jeff found it to be a marked improvement over the cell. Drawn by tantalizing smells and hunger pangs, Jeff found his way to the mess hall. Once inside he was attracted by an intriguing aroma that led him to a cast-iron kettle suspended over a glowing bed of coals on a hook and chain. He leaned close and breathed deeply.

  “May the saints be praised,” he murmured. “Not coffee, but smells as good.”

  While eating, Jeff started getting acquainted with other residents in the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters. The men were given to rough humor, but Jeff gave as good as he took. Compared to Valholm humor it was pretty mild stuff. With food in his stomach, the day’s roller-coaster emotions found him out and he nearly nodded off at the table. Excusing himself, Jeff turned in early.

  The night was not an easy one. He arose well before sunrise, driven from bed by restless dreams and worry. The kitchen bustled with cooks and was noisy with the clatter of pots when Jeff entered. Humid from cooking, the air was laced with the smell of herbs, baking bread and pastry. Gingerly holding a hot roll, Jeff dipped a mug of what he decided to call coffee. Back in his room, he pulled a chair over by the bed and propped his legs up. Half a mug later his mind was coming on line.

  Some things never change, Jeff reflected. No matter where you are the same patterns seem to endlessly repeat. Doesn’t matter if it’s a tavern brawl or political intrigue. Still, maybe he could make a difference here, or at least enough of a difference to help a few people. Jeff smiled. Not just a few people, but also my people. He marveled at that thought before mentally ticking off what he had learned.

  Number one: the Salcheks came much like the Romans and had about the same experience with northern barbarians. Then they left, but no one seems to know why. Recalling Rome’s final decades, Jeff pursed his lips and nodded. Most likely internal strife at home. Possibly a war of succession or an uprising.

  Number two: the scrap of parchment. The habit of empire was a deep one, and even deeper was the need for raw materials of every kind from furs to minerals. Materials that had to be pumped into the empire’s rotting interior to keep it going a bit longer.

  Number three: if the Salchek invaded, his people would be totally unprepared to take them on. Fifty years without war inevitably would and had led to dissolution of wartime intertribal bonds. A drifting apart into tribal units that got together once a year or so like Valholm’s moot.

  Jeff shuddered as he considered what would happen if tribesmen came up against a disciplined army of veterans. They would be cut to pieces then defeated in detail as the invaders ground north. Nope, he thought, crossing his legs on the bed, can’t let that happen. His mind slipped into neutral and Jeff drew the saber. Examining the blade without really seeing it, his thoughts drifted back to the prior day’s meeting.

  What do I really know about Rengeld and Ethbar except what they’ve told me? I’ve only been around Rengeld two days, and Ethbar for a matter of hours. Are they as open and sincere as they seem? That was one intense meeting! Maybe everything is moving too quick. I walk into that room not knowing whether I would survive the day, and walk out with stars in my eyes. It’s possible they’re playing games at levels I can’t possibly be aware of as a newcomer. How do I know the writing on that piece of paper is Salchek; that there even is such a people?

  Laying the saber on the bed, Jeff jumped to his feet and paced a tight circle. “Who are these courtiers Ethbar spoke of? What’s their game? I know nothing about the power plays at court! Shit. This is all too much. I feel like a babe lost in the woods.”

  The pacing worked its charm and Jeff began to relax. Everything Ethbar said about the Salchek invasion dovetails with Gurthwin’s tale of the Iron-shirts, he thought, and their Redhairs can be nothing but Alarai. Even the timeline is close. Ethbar’s schedule has the Salchek hanging on for three or four years longer than Gurthwin’s does, but so what? It’s not unreasonable to imagine the Salchek were hoping for reinforcements and didn’t want to give the city up. I think Ethbar and Rengeld are what they seem to be, and God knows I still feel driven to find out what the hell is going on!

  The commotion of breakfast in the mess hall was loud enough to intrude on his thoughts. Sheathing the saber he looked to his appearance. On the way to the mess hall he thought wistfully of hot showers, toothpaste and Band-Aids. The last item made him laugh, and he entered the mess ready for whatever the day would bring.

  Jeff had already grown fond of some of the young officers. He greeted them by name while collecting a platter of meat and what appeared to be gruel. The trooper who had taken possession of the saber brought a circle of friends over to Jeff’s table. As breakfast progressed he let them pass the saber from hand to hand. Excited question flew so fast that he barely had time to eat.

  Damn, he thought, I feel like an old man around these kids. Jeff was turning that thought around in his head and finding it amusing when he spotted Rengeld. Washing down the last mouthful of gruel, he made his excuses and hurried from the building.

  They took a different route than the previous day and Rengeld informed Jeff they were going to conference at Ethbar’s residence. Rengeld carried on a decent conversation along the way, showing no evidence to Jeff’s mind of anything but concern for the future of the city.

  Rengeld dismounted in front of a large two-story building with spacious lawns, carefully manicured flowerbeds and elaborate courtyard. Talk about a townhouse, Jeff thought.

  “Most impressive. Salchek construction?”

  A cloud of strong emotion passed across Rengeld’s face. “Yes. This was the home of a Salchek officer.”

  Ethbar was waiting with a fresh pot of the same brew Jeff had encountered in the mess hall. As they lingered over the first mug, Ethbar’s observations concerning palace courtiers never let up. They were so dryly scathing that Jeff found it hard to do no more than chuckle appreciation. On several occasions he felt like roaring laughter.

  While pouring a second round, Ethbar spared a quick glance for Jeff. “I must confess that what you told me of Gurthwin has lighted intense fires of speculation. He seems most astute. Will you share his tale of these Iron-shirts again?”

  “I would be happy to.”

  As the day wore on, Jeff never stopped looking for contradictions or other discrepancies. It was a great relief when he found none of significance. Ethbar and Rengeld proved relentless in cross checking Gurthwin’s history of the invasion with their own. As a result, papers lay scattered around the table in disorderly piles.

  Ethbar noticed the sun was shining directly into his study, which faced west.

  “Enough. Let us be done for this day.” He began shuffling papers together but stopped and smiled at Jeff with twinkling eyes. “What questions you must have concerning the two of us.”

  “That is surely truth,” Jeff replied. “I know nothing of this city, its policies, or yours. In addition, I am new to this land and must confess that its customs further confuse my efforts to divine intent. I am, however, indebted to you both for the courtesies extended me. Were a greater span of time allotted us to deepen acquaintance, I have no doubt that a fuller state of trust would come to exist. Yet that time has not been allotted, only the same abiding urgency that gives no rest.”

  As he spoke, Jeff realized that his doubts about the two men had evaporated for good. Rengeld was about to reply when Jeff cut him off.

  “My apologies, but allow me to continue for a moment. Our fears concerning the Salchek must be addressed at once. If they are coming this season it must be within the next three months or snow will force a delay until the following spring. Forgive my frankness, but from what I have seen of Rugen’s defenses a determined siege would see its fall within a short span o
f time. And that leads me to an issue that is central in my thoughts.” Jeff paused for effect and eyed the two men. “What I must know is where you both stand—where the city will stand—defense or welcome if an army does arrive. I am sure you know the North will fight.”

  “A courageous question and one that is indeed central,” Rengeld said in a deadly serious tone of voice. “I am honored that your trust has extended so far as to permit such welcome frankness.” While his voice held no censure, it had a quality that spoke of barely restrained emotion. “I sense the urgency you see in this question of the Salchek and concur totally. Furthermore, your assessment of Rugen’s defenses is not far from the mark. But will we fight? Consider this.

  “The Salchek built Rugen on the backs of its people. How many deaths do you imagine these great walls and buildings cost? They were built in only thirteen years! Such an endeavor normally would occupy three decades or more! How many babes starved in winter’s cold because their food was sent south or north? How many fathers died in a war not their own, conscripted into service and ripped from their families? How many mothers and daughters were forced into brothels for the mighty Salchek?”

  Rengeld stopped and struggled to master himself. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper that seethed with hatred.

  “Such a mother was my own, taken shortly after my birth never to be seen again. I will fight, and foreswear this city should it choose not to.”

  Lost in his own memories, Ethbar shook his head as if to clear them from his mind. “The majority of this city’s people were touched by tragedy in one fashion or another during the Salchek occupation. With leadership their descendants will resist, without leadership they will panic and give the city away.

  “Imogo is a mercenary’s son and experienced none of what has been described. But he stands to lose a throne, whatever its worth is judged. More importantly, his head and the heads of his entire family will be forfeit if the Salchek mount a successful invasion. The difficulty we face with Imogo is not whether he will fight, but whether he will come to believe that the threat is real in time to prepare.” Ethbar looked pointedly at Jeff. “If in fact it is.”