“My lord,” one of the figures whispered, its voice cold and wet, “calm your mind. The Ancestor is still on you. What are your orders?”
Halkoriv closed his eyes again and waited. His lips moved and he flinched. He grew hunched and his shoulders shook. His eyes clenched and his brow furrowed. A shudder rushed through him. He straightened, becoming tall and powerful and serene. His eyelids parted and he turned black, featureless eyes on the waiting Servants.
“Send word to Draden. He is to move east, immediately. Speed is the priority. They will find a force of plainsfolk and foreigners from Vanador, and Gharven warriors with them. Draden is to stay ahead of them, to make for the eastern sea and seek a place to gain advantage over them.”
“And Lord Lasivar, majesty? The rumors of his disappearance grow more prominent. Lord Draden has inquired after him. His messenger reports that they have found neither he, nor his remains.”
“Spread word that he is dead.” Halkoriv’s voice echoed and warped in the marble chamber. “A commander from Vanador slew him, and took his name to fool the northerners. They have been deceived.”
The figures nodded.
“Send our newest Servant to us—to me.”
The figures bowed and left. Moments later, another, taller and broader than the others, entered the hall. Wrapped in a dark cloak, the figure approached the dais and let his hood fall back. Halkoriv’s featureless eyes drove into him.
“You were dead, but I have given you new life,” Halkoriv said. “Your life was bereft of purpose, but now I have given that to you as well. Go to the North with all speed. Take whatever forces you see fit. Find Lord Lasivar—he is travelling the northlands. He must come to me, alive, at the place you now call Ancestor’s Stone. Tell no one what you know of him.”
The figure bowed and turned to leave. Halkoriv’s gaze returned to the basin. The flow of water increased. The footsteps of the figure faded, leaving behind only the sound of the water’s flow.
—
Azra, as if for the first time, strode through the village he once knew. Memories came to him in slow waves and, like waves, broke and receded around him even as he tried to grasp them. Images and feelings drifted past him with every corner turned.
He remembered Lasivar—or Revik, as he had known him. All their parents had told them they were special, but even in their youth the children could see it in Revik. Azra remembered looking up to the boy almost as much as he had his own father. Though Azra still could not recall his own parents, Revik now stood out in his mind, even as a child, like a beacon in the shadowy reaches that were his memories.
Tak’la followed a few paces behind as Azra continued through the village. The small homes were deserted. Some of the residents had gone to join Lasivar, but the rest had left, seeking safety in other settlements or in hiding.
Azra wandered, circling and crisscrossing the empty village. He leaned against a tree, pressing his back to it and hanging his head.
“What is it?” Tak’la asked.
Azra felt tears in his eyes. “This was… my home. I can barely remember it. I cannot remember my parents, not really. I… I cannot even remember which house we lived in, or if it is even still standing.” He stopped as the words caught in his throat. He sank to the ground, his head in his hands.
Tak’la shifted from one foot to the other, then sat beside Azra. He reached out a hand to clasp Azra’s shoulder.
“I do not know what I am supposed to do, Tak’la. Everything I can remember… I was supposed to be someone with a purpose, someone special. Now I find that it was a lie, and even the life I thought had only been stolen is truly gone.”
Tak’la stared at the ground, then looked up. “Your life is now all yours. No one can tell you what it should be.”
They sat in silence, listening to the trees, feeling the cool sea air from the north. Autumn was coming but somehow Azra felt warmer, comforted.
“You are right, though discovering what that is on my own may be more difficult than it sounds.” Azra stood. “I am finished with the past, Tak’la. The war, Halkoriv, my old life—none of it matters. I can…” he searched for the words. “I can leave it, cast it away—but not here.” He beckoned Tak’la to his feet. The Huumphar stood, confused. “I am going west. I want to find a place to get away from the past, to just… live.”
“You can't forget what is happening out there.” Tak’la's eyes grew stony. “The war will come to you, wherever you go.”
“There has been war for generations,” Azra said. “I cannot change it.” He started west with new life in his stride. Tak’la hefted his pack to follow when Azra stopped and turned north. “Cast it away,” he murmured.
Azra broke into a run and Tak’la raced to catch up. “Where are you going? I thought you said west?” he shouted.
“There is something I have to do!” Azra dashed through the village and the orchard to the north and reached the cliffs. The sun was high and bright, and the wind gusted from the sea. The waves crashed below as Azra, standing on the brink, took the garnet-pommeled sword from its sheath at his waist.
“I took this sword from a man who I hated my entire life,” he said softly. Tak’la came closer to hear him. “It was the most important thing I owned, because it reminded me of how I overpowered him.” He looked at Tak’la. “This was my life. Power. Prestige. I lived every day to take revenge on that man, and after I did I only wanted more. I am through with it.”
Azra spun and hurled the sword into the wind over the cliff. It flashed and whirled in the sunlight, the garnet in its hilt glittering and blazing before it vanished amongst the waves and rocks below.
Azra turned back to Tak’la. “I know you want to help your people. Go. I am grateful that you offered to come with me, and you have helped me more than I could ever have helped myself.”
Tak’la shook his head and scowled. “I will go with you. Perhaps I must forget as well.” His scowl became a smirk. “Besides, you may need protection, now that you threw away your weapon. The Huumphar were right. Outlanders are stupid folk.”
Azra smiled broadly. Without the sword he felt lighter, as if he had loosed a chain from his neck that he had not known was there. Still, something nagged at him. He strove to ignore it. He felt free.
Together Azra and Tak’la faced the west and started walking. Only when the other was not looking did either of them turn and look to the south.
—Seventeen—
After a week’s travel, the army left the forest and entered the plains. With each day’s march the red glow in the southern sky grew more vivid and the air smelled more and more of smoke. There was no way to hide such a large group in the open, so Lasivar relied on his Sight and the Huumphar scouts to watch the horizons and steer clear of the Cheduna. The army met no survivors or refugees—all had fled the conflagrations set by the southerners. The scouts reported to Lasivar daily, sometimes twice a day. After each report, the direction and speed of the march was adjusted.
The smoke grew omnipresent. It hung so thick in the air that the army lit small fires at night without fear of being seen.
Lasivar spoke little of his plans, which did not seem to bother his Vanadae soldiers. Few of them spoke any languages of Feriven and so they kept to their own groups. Some of those with Lasivar turned out to be from The Gharv. They had been his bodyguards from the time he was a child. They had fled with him over the sea and were now old, grizzled men. At least one of them always within sight of Lasivar, and they were present for the discussions of planning or strategy, offering words of advice or experience. Ahi’rea had never seen their like before, but her father appeared to know some of them from many years past.
It had grown unnaturally cool for the beginning of autumn. By midday it was still warm, but the nights were already cold. The wind swirled around them, sometimes blustering from the south and other times rushing from the north.
Ahi’rea strode amongst the massed warriors and soldiers as they made camp. Despite their heavy
armor and packs, the Vanadae seemed well-rested and strong. The Gharven woodsmen set up their tents and bedrolls. They carried their own dried rations and relied on what little remained of the local game and flora for their food. They gave Ahi’rea wary nods as she passed. Despite the old friendships between their peoples, the northerners still regarded the seeress with awe and a little fear.
She spotted Ruun’daruun setting up his tent and noted that he had chosen a spot closer to the center of the camp than he used to. She joined him in placing the last of the hide coverings. She shot him an encouraging smile, but said nothing. Ruun’daruun met her gaze and glanced over one shoulder at Haaph’ahin, who was watching them from across the camp.
As they worked, each enjoying the other’s presence, a rust-cloaked figure materialized out of the gathering darkness—one of Lasivar’s bodyguards.
“Lasivar would speak with you.” The old man's voice creaked. In the dimness Ahi’rea could just make out the line of an old, deep scar on the right side of his throat. “And after that, he will need your help as well,” he said, addressing Ruun’daruun. “Also the one called Ken’hra. Where can I find her?”
“I’ll be here,” came Ken’hra’s husky voice from behind the old warrior. He started and turned, nodding to her and smiling.
“I should have known better than to try and impress the Huumphar in their own plains. After Lasivar sees Ahi’rea, he will come to meet you.”
“What does he need me for?” Ahi’rea asked.
The old man shook his head. “I didn't ask. He’s camped by those small trees over there.” He indicated the direction to Lasivar’s tent and disappeared into the camp.
“He did not call for my father,” Ahi’rea said.
“Nor any other elders,” Ken’hra said. “Lasivar plays a dangerous game. He risks angering them.”
“I trust him.” Ruun’daruun finished tying the final knots to secure the tent. “Maybe it’s foolish, but I would follow him on the Last Journey if he wished it. Some, though, who once spoke of him as a god now treat him as a child.” He unconsciously ran his fingertips over the scars Azra had left on his face. “He knows what he’s doing. Fate has led him to us.”
Ahi’rea allowed herself to do something she rarely did; as Ruun’daruun turned back to his tent to finish securing its ties, she focused a flash of power on him, catching a glimpse of his mind. The old stories and legends lingering in his thoughts told her all she needed to know. She caught his hand for a second and he met her eyes.
Ruun’daruun nodded toward Lasivar’s tent. “He is waiting for you,” he said. She thought she detected both envy and jealousy in his voice.
Ahi’rea squeezed his hand and nodded at Ken’hra before starting toward the tent.
When she reached it, Lasivar was outside, speaking with a pair of his foreign soldiers. Their language was staccato and filled with rapid changes in tone. She contemplated an attempt to See their thoughts, but knew Lasivar would notice. She hoped she could trust him to translate if it were important.
As she waited, she caught a glimpse of the inside of Lasivar’s tent through its open flap. Rich furs and rugs lay out upon the ground, the inside finer than some Gharven homes she had seen.
After a brief exchange, the Vanadae bowed low to Lasivar and left, passing out of the ring of light from his campfire. Ahi’rea had a moment to wonder why he isolated his campsite from the safety of the group, and then he spoke and she found herself absorbed in what he had to say.
She forgot what she had been thinking about, forgot her curiosity, her concerns about Lasivar, even the nagging wonder about Azra and Tak’la. Lasivar outlined his plans to her, leaving out details of the larger picture. His words filled her with hope and surety, invigorating her mind even as he directed it.
With an act of will, she shook off his influence. A tiny corner of her mind had remained her own, and, free of the effect of his words, she could see his eyes glimmering. Storm, Ahi’rea thought. No wonder our ancestors followed his father, and his father before that. She held back her indignation at being dominated by this strange man’s will, but would not let him think he had overcome her so easily.
“Lasivar,” she interrupted. “Do not think me weak-minded. You are not the only one here who can See.”
Lasivar blinked and the light faded from his blue eyes. He smiled and nodded. “Of course. I am unused to speaking to others with the understanding you and I have. Even in Vanador, those like us are few.”
Ahi’rea nodded, but noticed he did not apologize.
“Halkoriv is stronger than I thought,” Lasivar said. “He seems to have been ready for my arrival. I think he discovered that I was coming at the same time as you did. His army is close, and approaching too quickly.”
“Will they be able to catch up to us?”
“Yes,” Lasivar said. “He anticipated we would go this way. His men will cut off our path to the South. Unless something is done, and soon, we will never make it out of the plains.”
—
“When will we be through this blasted smoke?” Ken’hra asked. “My eyes feel dry enough to roll out of my skull.”
Ruun’daruun chuckled. “That smoke has been all that’s protected us and our scouts for days now.” His smile faded. “You haven’t been as far south as I have. The grasses are gone. They’ve burned everything and the fires still won’t stop. If the winds change, I fear we would be completely exposed.”
“Is it true the Cheduna are only two days’ march away? And they still don’t know how close we are?”
“It is, but I think they’ll begin to figure it out when their scouts don’t return to them. I heard that some of ours killed two of them today,” Ruun’daruun said.
“Yes,” Haaph’ahin’s voice creaked. He approached them from his place by the fire. “You overhear much, Ruun’daruun. That information was given only to elders and the Gharven and foreign commanders.” Haaph’ahin stopped before Ruun’daruun, carrying his staff at his side. “You disrespect me, eavesdropping on private meetings.”
“No, Elder.” Ruun’daruun took a step back, locking eyes with Haaph’ahin. “They spoke to me as well.”
“You would spread rumors and undermine my authority,” Haaph’ahin snapped. “Halkoriv is canny. He may be listening. He may have spies among the outlanders.”
“Elder,” Ruun’daruun said, “I lead many of our scouting parties, as does Ken’hra. I trust her with my life. I have led several warbands and so has she—with respect, I know what I’m doing.”
Haaph’ahin fumed. “You think yourself as capable and wise as I, then?” The light flashing from his eyes illuminated the campsite.
Ruun’daruun’s eyes narrowed. They stared at one another, neither of them willing to blink. “No, Elder.” Ruun’daruun cast his gaze to the dirt.
“You could lead the Huumphar as well as I?” Haaph’ahin asked.
“No, Elder.”
“But still you eavesdrop, you distribute information that is not yours. You confer with Lasivar as if you were an elder, when a loyal tribesman would defer to those wiser than he.”
“Elder Haaph’ahin.” The three of them turned to see Lasivar approaching with his guards, Ahi’rea, and the Gharven and Vanadae leaders. “I had hoped to find you,” Lasivar said. “You must gather your people. Our survival depends upon the next several hours, and the Huumphar have an important part to play.”
Haaph’ahin ignored Ruun’daruun and addressed Lasivar as he might an overexcited child. “Such haste, Lasivar. Let us discuss your plans and I will be your voice of experience. Perhaps with our Sight combined…”
Lasivar held up a hand. “There is no time, Elder. My plans require two things: that we move quickly and that those who have pledged their forces to our cause trust me.” Haaph’ahin scowled. “Besides,” Lasivar continued, “I am afraid you would See as little as I. The future is in motion and is veiled to all of us.”
Haaph’ahin took a deep breath. “Lasivar, the Huumphar a
re not yours, they are m—they follow their elders. And while I am elder, I demand to be treated with respect. I will know what you plan for my people, or they will not join you.”
Ahi’rea watched the exchange in silence. She did not expect what happened next.
Lasivar stepped forward and spoke in a voice of Storm. Only she and Haaph’ahin heard his warning while the rest looked on. Do not obstruct me, old man. Your power-hoarding may have been tolerated by others, those who feared you or thought you wise by virtue of age or power; not I. I will free the Huumphar, the Gharven, and all Feriven—only you and others who are allies of opportunity can stop me. You must trust me—or we all die. Hope is in our cooperation and trust. Choose your words carefully.
The message was instantaneous. Ahi’rea could not even blink before Haaph’ahin responded. With eyes downcast, he nodded, his nostrils flaring. “Very well Lasivar. They will be ready.”
The others looked at the two men in confusion. Haaph’ahin addressed Ken’hra and Ruun’daruun, gritting his teeth. “Go, alert the tribes and gather them. Lasivar would have us ready to act.” They paused, but shook off their hesitation and dashed away when the elder looked up. He said nothing more, but glanced at Ahi’rea before he shuffled away.
“I must speak with the Vanadae and Gharven.” Lasivar put a hand on Ahi’rea’s shoulder. “Thank you for your trust. We will need the Huumphar’s speed and knowledge of the plains if we are to have any chance. Go to your people.” He strode off toward the other camps, followed by his bodyguards.
Ahi’rea found herself alone. She rubbed her eyes, starting toward the Huumphar tents, giving herself a moment to reflect. Lasivar seemed to have Feriven’s interests at heart—but his secrecy and force of will and personality worried her. Should one man command so much power? Perhaps others followed Halkoriv just as Ruun’daruun followed Lasivar.
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