by Tim Stead
“The delay was unavoidable,” she said. “I was in council with Hammerdan.”
He turned in time to see the doorway close. Morianna stood beside his bed, the hood of her brown robe thrown back. Her expression was half a frown and half a smile.
“You’re in no danger doing this?” he asked.
“Only that which I will face here,” she said.
“Then let us do it.”
Skal led her down to the courtyard. There were surprised mutterings from the men. Some recognised her garb as that of a mage, but most seemed completely puzzled. She stood close to the wall, laid a hand on the stone.
“Here?”
“As good a place as any,” he said.
“And where do you want the way to open?”
Skal was taken aback by the question. He knew, of course, that a Durander magic door could open between two distant places. He had seen this. He had walked from his bed chamber to some room in Durandar with a single step. Yet his head refused to grasp this completely. He still imagined a door as a door, that it was merely a passage through a barrier. He had not got past thinking that Morianna’s magic would take them through the wall of the fort.
Was there an advantage to emerging elsewhere? Skal studied the map in his head. He imagined the line of the Seth Yarra defences, the line of the forts, the bend of the river, the land around them. What was the ideal point of attack? Obviously it was behind the Seth Yarra defences. They were designed to defend an attack from the north. If he came at them from the south he would do more damage at less cost.
“The western end of their line,” he said. “About two hundred paces south.”
Morianna nodded, and she began to work. She produced a rock of chalk, water, a candle, and began to sketch out a door on the fort’s south wall. Again Skal watched with fascination as she made single strokes, all straight lines, and the shape slowly formed. This was a larger door, wide enough for twenty horsemen, tall enough for horses to pass through.
He dragged his eyes away from the spectacle.
“You know what to do,” he said to his men. “Destroy their defences, burn their tents, any food or firewood you see, burn it. Don’t waste time killing men you don’t have to kill. Leave that to the winter.”
If only he could have had the Telan cavalry as well. Then he might have risked an assault on their main force. But this would do. He didn’t envy the Seth Yarra commander if this attack was successful. He’d still have the best part of ten thousand men, but nothing to feed them with, and two hundred miles of difficult country between himself and succour.
The mass of horses and men stirred restlessly. They were mounted now, and Skal could see the eagerness in their faces. They were keen to be about their work. He wished he was riding with them today. It would not be a glorious battle, but it was important.
The wall before them began to shimmer.
“Remember,” he called. “Ride back to the point that you emerge, not to the fort.”
The way opened. It was most peculiar. He could see through the wall, and what he saw in the distance was the line of forts. He was looking back at his own position.
“Go!” he cried. “For Avilian and the Wolf!”
They went. Rank after rank, swords singing from sheaths as they rode through Morianna’s magic doorway, they flowed from the keep, riding up through the passageway from the tunnel below, up the steps, across the bailey and out into the fields south of the Seth Yarra line.
Skal felt the urge to run up to the battlements, to see with his own eyes, but there was little point. He had a fine view through the wall.
“You guaranteed my safety, Lord Skal.” Morianna was looking at him. It seemed for a moment that they were the only two left in the bailey, though Skal knew there were men up on the walls and down below. His entire infantry force remained in his three forts.
“I did,” he said. “And I stand ready to defend you with my own blade if the need arises.”
“One man? One blade? Forgive me if I feel less than safe, Lord Skal.”
“Hestia’s forces are engaged. I have given the order to seal the tunnel beneath the forts if the need arises, and I am more than just one blade, Areshi. I am Farheim.”
Morianna was clearly shocked by the revelation. Her mouth opened to speak, but no words came forth. It closed again. The way she had created flickered, then vanished. The wall of the fort became just a wall again.
“Get it back!” Skal shouted. “Get it back now!”
Morianna did not seem to have heard him. Finally she found her voice. “Farheim? How can that be? Who do you serve?”
“Open the door, damn you!” he shouted. “Those are my men out there.”
“Tell me who you serve.”
Skal was in no mood for conditions. He had a thousand men out on the plain with no way back. It had been a mistake to tell Morianna, clearly, but now it was done. He drew his blade.
“Open the door again or I’ll make a present of your head to Hestia myself,” he said.
She must have seen the look in his eyes. She flinched, and Skal saw genuine fear in her face. This was probably a mistake, too, threatening a mage, but he was desperate. The door should have stayed open.
She began to sketch with the chalk again. Her hand was shaking.
“I’m sorry, I mean you no harm,” Skal said. “But my men – you understand?”
Morianna did not speak for a while, but carried on with her work. She seemed to grow calmer, for her hand ceased to shake.
“I understand,” she said. “You are like the Wolf. I was there when Narak threatened Hammerdan because he had dared to trespass against one he held to be his own. You are the same. I did not intend to close the way, but you broke my concentration, Lord Skal. It is not an easy thing to do.”
“I am not Narak’s,” Skal said. “You asked who I serve, but no service has been asked of me, nor demanded, but that of Bas Erinor and Avilian, which I accept willingly. But I am in Passerina’s favour.”
“But you are truly Farheim?” She darted a quick look at him. Skal shrugged.
“So I surmise, and so I have been named. A Seth Yarra soldier called me such when he had run me through and I did not die. Every wound I receive heals in a moment. I am stronger and faster than any I have met, saving only Narak.”
Morianna paused again. “Seth Yarra? One of them named you?”
“Aye. I did not think they would know such things, but they must.”
“So they must, if they named you. You say that you were in Passerina’s favour?”
“These last few months.”
“But she cannot have made you Farheim,” Morianna said. “She does not believe. Passerina is the denier.”
“As I said, I do not know. No god mage has come to claim me.”
Morianna finished her sketch, and the door shimmered back into being. Skal looked out again onto a scene of devastation. Fires raged up and down the Seth Yarra line. His men had done their work thoroughly it seemed. There was danger now, however. The force that had been attacking Hestia had fragmented. They had seen their camp attacked and thousands had turned from the siege and were racing back towards Skal’s cavalry. They were close to being within bowshot.
“Come home,” Skal muttered to himself. “Turn and run, damn it.”
The job was done. As far as Skal could make out from this distance there was little that could be salvaged from the wreck of the Seth Yarra camp. Tonight they would have little or no shelter, they would eat the burnt remains of their food, and they would contemplate the unbroken walls of the chain. It was exactly what Skal had wanted.
Yet his men did not turn and run. Perhaps they had been mixing with Telans too long. Perhaps they had forgotten his orders, or perhaps they simply desired to enjoy the heat of battle a little longer before returning to the frozen idleness of the siege. Whatever it was, they charged the Seth Yarra.
It was a good charge. The men wheeled their mounts into a line and rushed forwards with
all the discipline he could have expected of them, but that they were disobeying his orders. Their problem was that the Seth Yarra force was no longer bunched. As they had hurried to recover their lines they had spread out. This meant that the cavalry charge cut through them as though they were not there at all, but it also meant that Seth Yarra archers off to the side had time to shoot again and again into the Avilian ranks.
The volleys were not devastating, but men fell. Men died who should not have died. Skal cursed as he watched them wheel once more and come back through the enemy ranks, cutting and trampling and losing still more men.
He prayed that they would not turn again, that one charge would satisfy their blood lust, because if they did there would be a chance that the Seth Yarra would reach Morianna’s door before the last of his men had returned. That would move the battle to within the fortress of the chain, which he would avoid at almost any cost.
To Skal’s relief the men did not turn again. They rode for the door with commendable speed. He stood aside and watched them come, thundering, drumming over the threshold of the way. He contained himself until they had crossed into the bailey and it was thronged with jubilant men and thick with the smell of sweating horses.
Morianna closed the door. Skal had a last glimpse of Seth Yarra running towards him, their faces etched with rage and desperation, and then there was only the wall.
He looked for Lissman. Lissman had been in charge.
“Captain Lissman?”
Lissman rode out of the mass of horses, his mount easing through the equine press. He was grinning.
“Did you see?” Lissman asked. “We cut them like wheat.”
“I saw.” Skal’s tone and his face should have warned the man, but Captain Lissman was too bound up in his own triumph, bathed in the glory of the fight.
“How many did you kill?” Skal asked. “In that last charge, how many?”
“At least two hundred,” Lissman said. “Probably more. Certainly more. Three hundred, perhaps.”
“Three hundred? And how many did you loose, Captain?” This was not natural for Skal. His inclination was to shout at the man, to call him a fool, but he had watched Cain Arbak do this a dozen times, and he had seen how effective it was.
Lissman’s smile fell from his face. He realised, in an instant, that he was not being congratulated, that praise would not be the order of the day. ‘Loose? I could not say. Twenty, perhaps? Good odds at the best of times.”
“Twenty-seven,” Skal said. “Twenty-seven men died in that last charge. They were my men, Captain. I lent them to you, and you did not bring them back.”
“But the odds,” Lissman protested.
“And what do you think would have happened to those Seth Yarra had you not slain them so valiantly?”
Lissman stared at him as though he did not believe the question. “Happened to them?”
“Yes. Now that their shelter is burned and their food destroyed?”
Lissman stared and did not speak. Skal could see the point dawning on him, the futility of that last charge, the waste of lives. Skal saw Lissman swallow. He saw guilt. Now was Cain’s moment, the exact time. If he waited a minute longer Lissman would be forced to either debase or defend himself, and neither served a purpose. Skal turned away. His eyes rested on Morianna, who, he guessed, had observed the exchange with interest.
“Areshi, may I offer you some refreshment? Our fare is poor, but something can be found, I am sure.”
“I would be glad of a chance to speak with you, Lord Skal,” she said.
Skal left Lissman struggling with his unarticulated guilt and led Morianna into the fort’s keep. He did not go up to his room – it would not have been quite appropriate – but instead took her to what might have passed as a reception room. But this was a fortress, pure and simple. There were no luxuries to offer, no soft chairs or fine wine. The room had bare stone walls, a stone flagged floor. The windows were not glassed, though they were no more than slits and Skal had ordered them stuffed with cotton rags to keep the heat in. The one thing that the room did have was a fire, a great roaring fire and dozens of lamps. There were benches and tables here, too, rough hewn pieces suitable for the regular abuse of rough hewn men. It was a warming room, a place where his men came to restore themselves when they came off duty on the wall. Just at this moment it was empty.
Morianna sat herself down in a chair, one of the few actual chairs in the room. It faced the fire. Skal sat on a table, one knee drawn up to his chest, his other leg swinging free.
“I truly do not know,” he said, anticipating her first question.
“I believe it,” she replied. “But there is a way of knowing, and it will prove the truth of what you say, that you are Farheim.”
Skal thought about that. A way of knowing? Doubtless this was some Durander spell, some ancient piece of magic that they had preserved against the day. But did he want to know? It seemed to Skal that he had been made Farheim by accident. The only reason he could imagine that he had not been visited by his ‘benefactor’ was that his benefactor was not aware of him. He rather thought he would prefer it to stay that way.
Skal wrapped his hand in cloth and poured a cup of tea for each of them from the large kettle that hung over the fire. It was a simple herb drink, unsweetened, but it was hot and restorative. They both sipped.
“This way of knowing, how does it work?” he asked.
“It is a calling. You and your maker will meet.”
“So he will know me and I will know him?”
“That is so.”
“Then if you do not mind I will not do it. I have enough problems to deal with at the moment without interference from some resurrected god mage.”
Morianna seemed surprised, and from what Skal knew of Duranders he could understand that. They idolised the god mages, thought themselves the inheritors of their spirit, the guardians of their legacy.
“You decline to meet the one that made you?” she asked.
“I do. I am a soldier of Avilian, Areshi, and a loyal one. I have my duty, and when it is discharged, when this whole mess of a war has been resolved one way or the other, I may seek another. I may not. The future will bring what the future brings. Is that not a Durander saw, Areshi? Do not try to walk in tomorrows footsteps?”
“It is, Lord Skal, but is it not a soldier’s duty to anticipate, to seek allies?”
“Both. But I anticipate complications, and cannot be sure of alliance.”
“It is an opportunity you should not dismiss out of hand, Lord Skal.”
“Nor shall I. Now that you have presented me with the possibility I shall think on it every day. If I should come to the conclusion that you desire I can call you, can I not, if you permit me to retain this ring?”
He saw that she had intended to take the ring back. It would hardly do for one of the seven, one of the rulers of Durandar to be at the beck of a minor Avilian lord, but there was another side. Morianna and the other mages would be desperate to know who the god mage might be. It was fifteen hundred years since Pelion had withdrawn from the world and the Duranders clearly thought they had waited long enough. Now was the time of their reward. He suspected that had she been capable she would have forced him to undergo her ritual, forced him to reveal the name.
Morianna nodded. “You may keep the ring, Lord Skal, but use it only in this particular matter.”
“I cannot promise that, Areshi,” Skal replied. He’d always believed that you should use the advantage when you had the whip hand. “But I will promise to use it only to preserve the knowledge that you seek.” In other words his own life. It had occurred to Skal that having a mage of the path of Abbadon on call might well serve to get him out of a difficult position, should he find himself so sorely pressed.
He would not tell her about Hestia. The idea if Hestia being Farheim would offend the Duranders deeply, possibly beyond reason. He had sensed the insanity of hatred on both sides of their traditional and ancient divide.
“Very well,” she said. “Keep the ring, but use it with care.”
“With utmost care, Areshi,” he replied.
That seemed to satisfy her. They talked of the war for a while longer, but neither seemed to have any significant news. There were rumours of a battle at Wolfguard, Narak and Passerina had not been seen since. There had been attacks on Jidian and Sithmaree, neither of which had been successful, and that was about the sum of it.
Morianna left as she had arrived, and Skal caught another glimpse of her room through the door she created, caught another taste of the air. Then he was alone.