Corwin never touched Roark again. Roark was overcome by the need to defend Eohan, but he remained quiet and allowed his master to protect her apprentices.
“Eohan’s not yet to be bound,” Alana said.
“And if he is lost?”
“Then we wasted no time binding an apprentice. I want two young men for my honor guard. This one has an impressiveness to him, don’t you think?”
Finishing the count, Corwin’s sneer disappeared; a frightening smile spread across his face. He held out a large waxed envelope to Alana. “Are you taking him to your bed?”
“What I do with men is not your concern,” she replied.
“You’re lucky you’re useful to us, Alana, but someday you will weaken,” he muttered still clutching the envelope. “Your team awaits in room seven.”
“Thank you, Lord Corwin.”
Corwin dropped the dossier on the floor.
Alana inclined her head and gestured at her apprentices to rise. She kicked the dossier back to Roark, who plucked it from the ground.
Another hallway, another darkened room.
Alana entered first. Both young men followed her closely. As with all strategy rooms of the Guild, the exact measurements were elusive as the walls seemed to withdraw out of reach. If one weren’t careful, one might run into a support or a forgotten chair hidden in the darkness. As they moved toward the center, the gloom parted enough to see the outline of a heavy oaken table and six chairs where two Larcian dwarves and a Daosith enjoyed mugs of Guild mead while they waited.
“Lady Alana,” the Daosith, Lord Seweryn, said, standing and opening his arms wide. He smelled as if he had not bathed in a month. His silver hair was greasy across his ashy dark skin, black tunic stained with sweat, but Alana still embraced him with the familiarity of an old lover reunited once more.
Alana gestured at the dwarves. “Allow me to introduce War Ender Lady Kajsa Goldsvein and Lord Doriel Angrock.” At the Daosith, “Lord Seweryn of House Illysdum, this is Eohan, son of Aedell.”
“Weapon?” Kajsa, the dwarf fighter asked. Behind her as always was Doriel Angrock: her brother-in-law and brother-in-arms. They also wore the weave, but their golden hair and full beards were neatly plaited. Roark was glad to see he knew everyone on the team. Kajsa was once Alana’s apprentice, and Doriel and Seweryn were trusted colleagues.
“Brain,” Alana replied.
Corwin grunted behind them. “Enough pleasantries. The Guild needs you to move if you are to stop a war.”
“Roark, Eohan, secure the perimeter,” Alana ordered. “I don’t want outsiders to hear my plans.”
“Why do you fear the truth coming to light, Alana?” Corwin asked.
“Get out,” she said.
“I leave because I choose to.” He disappeared into the darkness as if he was never there.
Roark took a piece of chalk from his pocket and handed Eohan a small bag of salt. “Trace my steps.”
He chalked a protective circle upon the stone floor. Eohan followed with the salt. Roark raised his arms above his head. “I ask the Goddesses and Gods bless this circle. No sound will escape. We will not be seen or heard. Even when we leave this place, our goods will only be touched by those within the circle.”
A high-pitched tone engulfed the room, which settled into a low hum. Roark felt the vibration of energy within his bones as the circle manifested.
“That’s it?” Eohan asked in a whisper.
“What did you expect?”
“A ball of light?”
“Real magic isn’t like how street buskers do it.”
“Boys, discuss that later,” Alana said in a low tone Roark knew to obey immediately.
He sat in the chair to Alana’s left, and Eohan sat on the chair beside him, now quiet. Roark was glad Eohan knew when to obey as well. He didn’t want to have to teach him everything.
*
Chapter 6
Persidal Valley in the Realm of Larcia
On horseback, Kajsa and Doriel surveyed the great valley filled with daisies, wild parsley, and carrot that the telchine coveted. Hemmed in by granite mountains, where the dwarves could retreat, this could be a death trap for either side. They studied their maps and Guild dossier for several hours before deciding on the best path for Alana’s army to march and sent a crow.
The dwarves rode for the smallest and most remote granite fort in full regalia of Lady Bjalla whose estate was a month’s ride to the north. The next fort was several days ride to the north, over hard terrain. Kajsa’s heavy velvets signified her the rank of general, Doriel was her man at arms, a cavalry lieutenant.
“Hey Oh! Brothers, we bring word from the rift,” Kajsa called from the base of Fort Ebnora.
The gate opened without hesitation.
“One would think they weren’t on the edge of war,” Kajsa whispered. Doriel grumbled in agreement.
Kajsa leapt from her horse and strode forward, shouting, “Who is in charge here?”
A one-eyed sergeant on a peg leg wobbled towards her, clumsily bowed. “What’s the fuss all about?”
This man suffered more than her dossier had told her. “The telchine army arrives in three days.”
“Here? Why would they come here?”
A murmur ran through the crowd.
“They are coming!” Kajsa was careful to mix in the truth; if any authenticators were among the company, she would give no hint of lying. “It is only by chance we are this far south. A trusted friend gave us this information. We need to prepare.”
“We lost three men and a lady trying to get here,” Doriel added quickly. “We are hungry. Our horses need rest, Sergeant…”
“Blazedigger. Molin Blazedigger.” He said, “My … Our troops may be few, but we train each day.” He snapped his fingers. A young fair-haired dwarf hurried over for their horses.
“I hope so,” Kajsa said with a practiced touch of sadness in her voice. “They plan to take this fort to gain the foothold in the Realm. Where can we find reinforcements?”
“Fort Moldus is ten days’ ride.”
“Doriel, send a message to Fort Moldus. Sergeant, I would like to inspect the troops.” She turned towards the small company. “We may have to fight to every last one of us. The telchine has hired the Guild.”
Groans, coughs, and choked breaths filled the entire fort.
*
Chapter 7
City of Mavpotas in the Realm of Si Na
The elfkin rode miles past the city until they reached a primitive wood hut that looked as if it had been abandoned for a century. Seweryn made a bed for himself in the old hayloft while the others dressed in full regalia.
With her apprentices behind her, Alana crossed a brick bridge covered in black soot. Below was the place between three Realms where the Expanse grew thin. Within the ravine, a person could stroll across from one Realm into the next, which is what gnomes, telchine, and dwarves had been doing. It might have been used for trade and prosperity; instead, someone used it to steal. No one knew which side raided first. Only that mistrust had spread between the dwarves and the telchine.
Inside the telchine city of rising spires, they were greeted with cheers and a shower of rose petals. Their towers and cathedrals in the city looked magnificent, but up close it was disgusting. Tenements surrounded each block of gasworks that provided hot water but belched out noise, smoke, and foul odors. The stone streets were covered with straw to dampen noise, but on close inspection, it was covered in the feces of animals and other rubbish.
“What do you see?” Alana asked Eohan.
The clay, asexual species did not fear disease the way other species did, but Eohan thought that might not be the answer his master sought. And he didn’t want Roark to judge him a cumberworld.
“There is no right answer. Tell me what you see,” his master said.
“Though the telchine is at war with the dwarves, the populace seems relaxed – just going about their day. I don’t sense fear of the coming arm
ies. They are happy we are here because they think it means they will win.”
“Very good, Apprentice.”
Alana stopped in front of a small candle shop on the edge of town.
Two telchines the color of river clay greeted them by bowing and clasping elbows.
“I’m called Theklas, this is my offspring Elpis,” one said.
Theklas’s flesh was cracked and weathered, while Elpis’s was smooth but other than the signs of age, they looked nearly identical. Their eyes were the same color as the yellow grass, and their hair the color of the mountain soil. Their thick fingers were callused and their arms muscled. Observing them, Eohan discovered they held traits of both genders as well as traits of neither. No wonder they did not have words for “he” or “she” in their language.
Theklas shook hands with Alana. “We will help any way we can, my friends. We open our home to you.”
Alana thanked them and turned back to her apprentices. “Go down each lane, find anywhere the edge of this Realm touches another. After speaking with Theklas, I shall meet the Viscount. Meet me in the royal aerie in an hour.”
“Yes, Lady Alana,” Roark said. Eohan echoed him and followed the other apprentice as they rode down the dirt road.
*
“How well do you know the Viscount Melittas?” Alana asked Theklas as sie led her through the candle shop and up the stairs to their apartment.
“I was a soldier when I was young. I’m just a chandler now.”
“And your offspring?”
“I train hir to follow me. We were told if we house you during your stay in Si Na, Elpis will serve the Guild’s needs, rather than fight. We have a private stable for your horses.”
As Alana expected, her contacts were unimportant to this battle in every way.
“Bring me to Viscount Melittas. I must speak to hir.”
Theklas’s blinked a few times. Hir voice quivered. “Yes, of course, War Ender, but don’t you want to refresh yourself?”
“No.”
“Elpis, see to our supper and the care of the War Ender’s horse,” Theklas ordered in the tone of a suggestion and squeezed Elpis’s shoulder before they left.
Alana enjoyed the telchine’s tender way with their offspring during a decade-long training period. Unlike the elfkin who birthed their children, the telchine were molded full-grown from clay and given the breath of life from their progenitors. Elpis being left alone with fire and a warhorse must mean sie was between age five and ten years.
Theklas led Alana into the most central building within the winding streets. It was even more elaborate than Alana expected, a jaunty red stone mansion under a thin layer of lichen and moss, overlooking the creek.
“I wish to see the Viscount,” Alana said to the guards in front of the house.
They looked over at Theklas who shrugged. They sent word to another servant, but as soon as the door was opened, Alana pushed past the guards, assuming a ninety-one percent chance her rank would protect her.
“My Lady, this is highly irregular,” a guard said.
“Where is the Viscount’s solar?”
Sie paused.
“Don’t keep a Guild War Ender waiting.”
“This way.” The guard brought them to the Viscount in hir expansive solar. The stone tiled floor was obscured in a soft carpet. Depictions of florae and peacocks were frescoed in the thick plaster walls embedded with gold. Maps covered the heavy oak table.
Melittas was everything Alana expected hir to be.
Hir pupils indicated sie was shocked that Alana forced her way in, but like all diplomats, sie held a relaxed coolness. “War Ender, I didn’t expect you yet, but welcome.”
“We must speak strategy before we handle secondary worries.”
“My forces spent the past winter months recruiting in order to strengthen the next phase of military operations,” the Viscount said. “I contacted the Guild to help us clear the valley of dwarven troops.”
Sie spoke with large hand motions, in the carefully clipped language of the telchine. Hir clay-colored skin was artificially smoothed with greasepaint, and hir hair was dyed the color of fresh grass which matched the embroidered green linens, sie swathed hirself in. Alana could never trust leaders who used the Guild but put commoners in a place to take the blade if everything went wrong.
“The valley on the other side of the Expanse in Larcia?” Alana asked.
“Of course, but it is an ancient ground of the telchine. Just as your own Realm split into Daouail and Fairhdel, Si Na lost Larcia.”
Alana nodded noncommittally. “My understanding is your family owns an aerie.”
“But gryphons are…”
“Exactly what we need. Do you wish to win or not?”
Alana showed the Viscount her “official” plan. Melittas tried to argue about the ancient ties between the telchines and gnomes, something that she, a wandering elf knight errant, couldn’t understand.
Stepping closer to the Viscount, Alana repeated the plan in louder Telchinish.
*
Alana bowed at the head mare, Ortzi. Though she didn’t bother to rise from her nest, she did bow her feathered head. Her mate, Piltzi followed suit, as did her offspring.
“I mean to end this war, but I need your help, Lady,” Alana said.
The mare stared at her with deep golden eyes. In Telchinish broken only by the slight guttural rumble of her feathered throat, Ortiz replied, “Gryphons don’t sully our feathers with fighting; that is only something you bipeds do.”
“Your Viscount Melittas, myself and two apprentices who will serve as my honor guard need to be carried high above the skirmish for survey, and I shall cast the occasional illusion in order to protect lives.”
The mare glanced at her spouse and the two eldest gryphons spoke a few sentences in their own language.
Behind her, the apprentices approached. Roark as confident as always; Eohan full of fear.
A crow flew into the stables and landed on the floor. Alana tossed it a bit of apple and untied the scroll from its foot.
“Kajsa reports: ‘As expected the dwarves have hidden in their underground cities; the outskirts and farmland are unguarded. The word of the Guild’s involvement has spread to them. The gnomes remain neutral.’ Good.” She paused. “I’m hungry. Elpis is making us a supper.”
Following Alana out of the stables, Eohan asked, “Why is it good that the gnomes remain neutral?”
“Because we don’t want to have to fight two armies,” Roark said.
*
In Theklas’s chambers, Eohan followed Alana as she set out clothing, checked the repair of each weapon, and made ready for the morning. She turned and bumped into him. She pressed her lips together and looked towards the ceiling — an expression he had seen on his mother when he got underfoot — but Alana did not chastise him. She just continued with her list.
Roark sat upon a bench by the window, slowly running a whetstone across his saber. Nerves creased his brow, but he remained in one place. Eohan wished he could be as still as his companion. In honor of their hosts, the two nobleborn spoke in Telchinish for most of the night with Roark repeating in Fairsinger to Eohan. He felt so stupid, so uneducated, so terrified of the clock ticking down ‘til morning.
Roark said in their own language: “Be careful, Auntie. I think the Viscount wants to put a dagger in you for asking for the gryphons. Or sie might try to take on Eohan — a commoner on a noble mount.”
“A dagger?” Eohan asked, his voice raised as if he spoke a question, ending in a squeak. “And a gryphon?”
“It’s like riding a horse,” Alana said.
“Only if you fall, you fall farther,” Roark said with a terrible grin. “After all it’s the gryphon who does most of the work. All you need to do is wear your livery and hang on.”
“But if sie comes after me?”
“I suppose you should learn how to deal with it.” Alana said, “Clear the room.”
Roark jumpe
d into action, pushing the furniture out of the way. Eohan turned to help him.
Without warning, Alana punched Eohan’s ribs. He doubled over as he grimaced in pain.
“That’s how it will come. Then you’ll be dead, so there is no use worrying about it. Now try to hit me.”
He curled his fingers into a fist and jabbed toward her chin. She sidestepped out of the way.
A growl tore its way up his throat. He lunged, and she easily backtracked away. Another lunge. Another dodge. Eohan’s face grew prickly with heat. He started panting. How could an old woman move so fast?
Alana slammed Eohan into the wall. He tried to struggle, but the more he resisted, the tighter her grip on his throat.
“Stop. You will hurt yourself.”
Though Eohan felt the rage and despair flutter around his heart, he stopped.
“If you can’t learn to control your emotions, you’re a danger to us all. Can you do all I ask of you? If not, you better stay in this room and help Elpis care for our horses until the war’s over. It’s your choice.” She released him. “If you stay here, learn Telchinish so the experience isn’t completely wasted on you.”
Being parted from his protection and translators seemed more terrible than facing a battle. “Yes.”
Theklas didn’t say anything, but from the corner of the room, sie drew hir offspring closer.
Turning to them, Alana said something in Telchinish.
Feeling his cheeks flush, he begged, “Don’t leave me behind. I can do it. Tell them I’m going with you.”
“They know that,” Roark said behind him. “She apologized for instructing you in dodging, but you feared Larcian daggers. Help me put this table back. Now she is apologizing for your most recent outburst.
“Theklas is talking about how sie is glad Elpis need not fear Larcian weapons since Alana must teach us so harshly to avoid them. Now they are discussing how disrespectful offspring are to their progenitor’s wisdom. Goddess, I need to work on my Telchinish, I can barely keep up with them, but that’s the gist.”
The War Enders Apprentice (Chronicles of the Martlet Book 1) Page 5