Still clutching Davin's arm, his voice became a taut whisper. “Elzor's next target? Is Darad itself.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
It took two and a half days, and a lot of goading from Elzor, for Skart to lead them safely away from the Daradian patrol routes and into Vandan territory. Though Skart gave the most solemn oath in the Vandan vocabulary—according to him—Elzor insisted that either he, Langon, or Brynak watch the bandit at all times, lest their guide decide to abandon them.
After clearing the last cluster of reesa trees that marked the end of the Celosian Forest, the four riders crossed an open plain, fording several narrow streams as they approached a line of hills that loomed several miles in the distance. The temperature had dropped considerably, and Elzor had to pull his borrowed cloak around himself to keep the chill out.
They had only gotten halfway across the treeless plain when a dozen merychs, bearing the same streaks of multicolored dye as their riders, rode out to meet them. Once Skart explained the circumstances of his return to his homeland with three Agrusian soldiers in tow, the lead rider insisted that Elzor and his men surrender their weapons, including their shields. Elzor, against his better judgment, capitulated.
From there, the journey continued southeast. Their escorts kept their mounts a respectable distance from Elzor as they traveled, never once taking their eyes off him.
What little Elzor knew about Vanda he had learned during his training for the militia. Not that there was much to know, as very little had changed in the past thousand years. For centuries, Vanda was nothing more than an amalgamation of warring clans that fought each other for whatever they could get their hands on: land, metals, women. When they weren't slaughtering each other, they would venture outside their borders to prey on whatever hapless travelers they came across.
Nearly forty years before, a Vandan named Malgar, fed up with the centuries-old feuds between many of the clans, decided to take action. He declared himself Warlord of Vanda and waged war on his most powerful rivals, slaying them one at a time and absorbing what remained into the fold. The weaker clans were faced with a choice: yield or die. With thousands of followers, Malgar turned his eyes northward, toward Darad.
Given its proximity to the southern wetlands, the soil of Vanda was far less arable than that of Darad. Only two days' ride away, Daradian farmers tilled fertile soil and reaped bountiful harvests while Malgar's countrymen struggled to get anything edible to grow. The time had come, in Malgar's opinion, to expand his borders.
King Armak and his newly-appointed High Mage had something to say about that.
With Malgar's defeat and execution, the surviving Vandan leaders were told in no uncertain terms that crossing into Daradian territory was an offense punishable by death. Thoroughly cowed, Vanda resumed its miserable existence. That is, until Maxtar, one of Malgar's many children, decided to take up his father's mantle.
As far as Elzor knew, Maxtar had whipped the Vandan populace into shape, and was gearing up for a new campaign against Darad. Unfortunately for Maxtar, Darad had continued to grow in power, population, and resources in the interim. King Aridor's army was ten thousand strong, well trained, and well armored. On top of that, the High Mage, despite his advanced age, was as formidable as ever. No matter how great Maxtar's thirst for conquest was, he could not hope to overcome Vanda's shortcomings any more than Malgar could.
This, according to Elzaria, is where Elzor came in.
With the sun at his back, Skart and their Vandan escort led him and his men through a wide canyon that had been denuded of a vast number of reesa trees. After exiting the canyon, they descended a long yet gentle slope down to what Elzor assumed was Varlak, the Vandan seat of power and the home of Warlord Maxtar.
It wasn't difficult to determine which abode belonged to Maxtar. It was by far the largest structure for miles, a fortress with a ten-foot-high stone wall surrounding it. Large enough to house twenty people, there were double that number of Vandans guarding the perimeter. Maxtar took his personal security very seriously.
Skart instructed them to dismount and approach the giant metal gate that marked the home's front entrance on foot. Upon their approach, six Vandans, all of them with painted faces and clad in several layers of animal skins, aimed bows with nocked arrows at them.
One of the guards opened the gate, and an old man stepped through. Tall and thin with a snowy white beard and a palpable air of authority about him, he cut an intimidating figure despite his age. At the sight of Elzor and his men, his eyes blazed with suspicion. He scanned Elzor with a sneer before turning his attention to Skart, who stood in front with his head bowed.
“You!” he snarled at Skart. “What's yer business here?”
Elzor stepped forward. “I seek an audience with Warlord Max—”
The old man jabbed a bony finger in Elzor's direction. “If ya open yer mouth again without my sayin' so, I'll have the skin flayed from yer body. Izzat clear?”
Langon stepped forward, fists clenched, but Elzor waved him away. Rather than press his luck, Elzor gave a contrite bow and stepped back.
“You,” the old man addressed Skart, “speak.”
In a mumble Elzor could barely make out, Skart informed the old man of his “meeting” with Elzor and his subsequent rescue from certain death at the hands of the Daradians. When Skart finally got around to revealing Elzor's identity, the old man's eyes went wide.
“I trust ya searched them for hidden weapons?” the old man asked the leader of their escorts, who nodded. He gave Elzor one more scathing inspection, then gestured at the two guards manning the gate. Within moments, the entrance lay open.
“You four, follow me.” The old man pointed at Elzor once again. “If ya so much as twitch an eyebrow, ye'll find out what a whole quiver o' arrows in yer back feels like.”
Elzor nodded in acknowledgment, seething at the indignity of it all. To be spoken to with such disrespect, and by a mere lackey! When the time came for this alliance to end, he would take great pleasure in finding out how brittle the old man's bones were.
He and his men were ushered through the gate at sword-point, crossing a large, dusty courtyard with merychs tied to hitching posts along the walls on either side. The old man ordered them to stop ten paces away from the house, a one-story structure made from carved stone and festooned with skulls. Many skulls. A cold shiver shot up Elzor's spine as he wondered if his head would be Maxtar's next ornament.
The old man turned and faced them again. “On yer knees.”
Elzor stood fast. There was only so much humiliation he would subject himself to. Who did this underling think he was?
The white-bearded man took a step forward. “Either yer knees hit the ground, or yer head does.”
Elzor glared at the old man, and a silent battle of wills ensued. Then, to his own surprise, he forced himself down. Behind him, he heard Langon and Brynak do the same.
Smiling, the old man disappeared into the house.
Elzor took the next few moments to calm himself. Losing his composure in this place would only get him killed. His best chance of survival was to feign subservience, to keep his abhorrence of these barbarians buried deep. He inhaled and exhaled, slowing his heartbeat, picturing a time in the near future when he wouldn't need these animals' assistance anymore.
Moments later, the old man returned. Right behind him was the most gigantic man Elzor had ever seen. This could only be Maxtar.
As the Warlord of Vanda approached them, Elzor had to crane his neck to keep his eyes on Maxtar's head, which topped a body nearly seven feet in height. He wore thick leggings and boots like many of his countrymen. From the waist up, however, he was clad only in a black jerkin that displayed a chest and arms with muscles that bulged in places Elzor did not think possible. This enormous beast of a man looked strong enough to pluck a reesa tree from the ground by its roots and swing it like a cudgel. Long, black hair dangled from both the back of his head and his chin, all braided into knots.
He stopped several paces away, standing with his arms akimbo as he assessed Elzor. His face betrayed no opinion one way or another. Elzor took that as a positive sign.
The old man spoke up. “You may stand. Speak only when spoken ta, and address Warlord Maxtar only as 'Warlord' or 'Great Leader'. Unnerstood?”
Elzor nodded as he stood, his gaze fixed on Maxtar.
The Warlord's lips parted in something halfway between a smile and a snarl, revealing a row of jagged teeth. They almost resembled a lyrax's fangs. When he spoke, his deep baritone filled the air of the courtyard. “So … you are Elzor. The Barjan rebel. The scourge of Agrus.” He laughed. “I thought ye'd be taller.”
“I thought the same thing,” Elzor replied drily. “I heard one tale that you were ten feet tall with claws instead of fingernails.”
Maxtar continued, ignoring Elzor's words. “I'm not used ta surprises. But this … this beats all others. The most feared man on all Elystra, right here on my doorstep.” Maxtar gestured at the old man. “My advisor, Brinegar, tells me that you saved one of my countrymen from a Daradian sword.” He turned his gaze toward Skart. “Is that true?”
Skart stepped forward, head still bowed. “Yes, Great Leader.”
Maxtar waved him back as he glared at Elzor. “It is out of sheer curiosity that I have allowed this audience. Even within the borders of Vanda, stories about you and your demon-witch sister are told among the clans. I have wondered, since the moment I first heard your name, if your blood-soaked rampage would lead you to me.” He laughed, a deep rumble that reminded Elzor of the tremors that plagued the mountains of Barju. “And now, here ya are.” All trace of cordiality had gone from his voice. “Without yer sister, without yer army. Why would a man who commands such a force come beggin' fer my help?”
Elzor ran his fingers through his beard, gathering his thoughts. Whatever Maxtar had heard about him likely came from second-hand rumors. No one outside his inner circle knew about his quest for the Stones. If anyone did, they would never venture to this part of Elystra.
He squared his shoulders, gazing upon the enormous warlord. “Though you may have heard of my sister's prowess as a Wielder of lightning … Warlord,” he added the last word with the merest hint of disdain, “what you do not know is that she also receives visions. Visions of the future.”
Maxtar's eye twitched, the first crack to appear in his veneer of superiority. “Visions? Like the High Mage of Darad?”
“Yes, Warlord.”
“And what did these visions tell her?”
“Quite simply, that you and I were destined to ally, and that together we can bring the mighty kingdom of Darad to its knees.”
Maxtar scowled. “And why would I need yer help fer that?”
Elzor chuffed under his breath. Did this man not realize how hopeless his cause was? No matter how large a fighting force he amassed, they would be slaughtered like havsu long before they reached Dar. Under any other circumstances, Elzor would have been happy to let Maxtar lead his dung-headed followers to their deaths. Elystra would be well rid of them.
Swallowing his derision, Elzor replied, “Let us say, for the moment, that your men are stalwart enough to battle Aridor's army to a standstill. The High Mage, though aged, still has the power to rain down fiery death upon them.” He allowed himself a wry smirk. “But if we combine forces, not only will you gain the skills and experience of more than a thousand seasoned soldiers, but my sister's Wielding as well. We stand a far greater chance of victory together than we do separately, Warlord.”
Maxtar's eyes narrowed. He then walked several paces away without responding.
Elzor shot a glance at Langon. The general nodded in stoic approval.
After several moments of deep contemplation, Maxtar spun to face Elzor again. “Let's say we do defeat Aridor's army and his wizard. What then? Would ya just hand the throne of Darad over ta me and be on yer way?” He shook his head. “Ye don't strike me as a man who'd share power with another. I think ye'd turn on yer allies the second ya didn't need 'em anymore.” He walked over to the nearest guard, relieved him of his sword, and brandished it, the tip only inches from Elzor's face. “Tell me I'm wrong.”
Elzor took a step back, raising his hands in front of him. “The world is a big place, Warlord. Surely there's room enough for both of us?”
Maxtar's brow furrowed. “What're ya proposing?”
Elzor drew himself up. “Agrus' army is destroyed. The Barjan forces are in shambles. Imar and Rhys do not have the strength to oppose us. That only leaves Darad.”
“A preemptive strike?”
“Exactly. But time is short. My sister had another vision right before we journeyed here. Most of King Aridor's forces have gathered at Promontory Point, in western Darad, where they will join forces with Imar and Rhys. All we need to do is overcome the soldiers guarding the border, and we will have a clear path all the way to Castle Randar.”
Maxtar's eyes narrowed. “And ya'd would have me risk my life, and the lives of my clan-brothers, on the word of a woman?”
“Yes, Warlord,” Elzor said through gritted teeth. “I would not be here otherwise.”
“And where is your sister now?”
“She, and my soldiers, are gathering just outside the western border of Vanda as we speak.”
Either that, Elzor thought, or the attack on the Plateau failed, and this is all for nothing.
“And how do ya plan to overcome the border guards? Unleash your sister on them?” Maxtar said with a derisive laugh. “Ye've accomplished much, Elzor, and ya know much that is hidden, but ya don't know everything.” He gestured at Brinegar. “Bring out our other guest.”
“Yes, Great Leader.” Brinegar bowed, disappearing once again into the house.
Other guest?
Elzor shot Maxtar a quizzical look, a plea for explanation.
“My hatred for Darad may be legendary, but I am not the fool you and the 'civilized' lands of Elystra think me. Ya see Vandans as ye've always seen us—as mindless savages. But we've had many, many years to watch and plot. Yer arrival will allow us to move up our plans.”
“ 'Us', Warlord?”
Maxtar gave a knowing smirk. “I just happen to have a way into Darad that ye don't know of.”
Now Elzor was completely befuddled. “And what might that be?”
“That would be me,” said a voice from behind Maxtar.
Elzor stepped to his left, his eyes scanning the source of the voice. A young man with light skin and dark hair met his gaze. His bearded face bore a haughty, aristocratic sneer, a look Elzor had seen all too many times on Viceroy Callis. Whoever this man was, he certainly wasn't Vandan.
As the newcomer approached, Elzor noticed a symbol emblazoned on the front of the man's armor, that of a giant bird spreading its wings.
The emblem of Darad.
Langon lumbered forward, jabbing a meaty finger at the newcomer. “Daradian!” he bellowed, his hand reflexively reaching for a sword that no longer dangled at his side.
Out the corner of his eye, Elzor saw the Vandan guards raise their bows, preparing to fire at his general. He moved quickly to block Langon's path, halting the big man's progress, before turning his gaze back to Maxtar. “You've allied yourself with Darad?” He was unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.
“Not with Darad,” said the newcomer. “With me.”
“And just who in the Fire Realms are you?”
Maxtar grinned, clearly enjoying Elzor's bewilderment. “Elzor of Barju, meet Prince Agedor.”
For the first time in his life, Elzor was at a complete loss for words.
Agedor, however, wasn't. “You're Elzor?” he sneered. “I thought you'd be taller.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Davin sat on the ramp leading down from the Talon, his eyes glued to his computer pad. After explaining his findings the day before to his mother, the Council, King Aridor, and Mizar, he'd felt a surge of energy that still hadn't worn off
. Because of his prolonged afternoon nap, he'd barely slept since the group dispersed. There were several other hypotheses he wanted to work through before everyone sprang into action again, and now that they had a better idea of where Kelia was and where Elzor and Elzaria were going next, time was of the essence.
Instead of sleeping in the dwelling the Ixtrayu had given them, Davin had resumed sleeping aboard his bunk on the Talon. Not that he didn't enjoy slumbering on lyrax pelts, but he'd gotten so used to sleeping in cramped conditions—first back in Sahara Base, then in the Talon's crew quarters—that he found it difficult to get a good night's rest anywhere else. Plus, he figured, someone should keep Rahne company.
His mother woke him up just before dawn. He'd nodded off in the pilot's chair, halfway through running his umpteenth analysis on the Stone. The idea had struck him that he could possibly harness the energy being conducted by the Stone in some way but without success. He'd reached the conclusion that the only way to utilize the Stones' power was to be born with the ability to do so. Before departing, Maeve told him she was going to walk to King Aridor's encampment and discuss their next move with him and Mizar.
He yawned, wiping his sleepy eyes with his hand. The words on the pad had become a blur. He rose to his feet, intending to tiptoe passed a sleeping Rahne and synthesize a large mug of coffee when he saw a figure approaching. He smiled nervously, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it more presentable. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Eleri replied, slowing to a halt about five yards away. Her unease was apparent as she took in the sight of the Talon.
A pang of guilt gnawed at Davin. He'd not spoken to Eleri since she evacuated with most of the other Ixtrayu. They'd exchanged casual nods from a distance, but it was clear she was nervous about coming too close to the ship.
He closed the distance between them, his cheeks reddening with every step. She cast her gaze to the ground as he stopped a few feet in front of her. His mind raced, thinking of something to say. So much had happened since she left. People had died, the Protectress had been taken, and now the King of Darad camped only a short distance away. Could he and Eleri really slip back into casual conversation like nothing had happened?
Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2) Page 42