Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  “My apologies, Your Majesty, for I was unaware of your pressing timeframe, but I am myself upon a very tight schedule and could not have delayed further than I already have been. Those who command me will have already grown impatient for news of an answer to the request I would make of you.”

  “Then get on with it, for you are continuing to waste my precious time with such pleasantries.”

  “Very well, Your Majesty, I shall cut to the proverbial chase immediately. An artefact of incredible power has been discovered in the East, and the Lord Katchanga seeks your son Enyatar’s membership within a group he has selected to carry out its destruction. Powerful magic of two sorts is bound within it; one that allows the conjuration of demons and that draws their untold levels of strength and other powers into the Bearer, and the other that guards it against destruction beyond the chamber in which it was forged by Moragil the Faceless. The task is one of great danger, yet if it is not fulfilled then all the nations of Naturien shall fall under the dominion of the Dark Lord.”

  “Such a task sounds honourable, yet from my experience of Katchanga he is one whose loyalty to anything seems questionable. He allies with a nation one minute and turns against them the next without any provocation. How can you seriously stand before me and ask me to sentence my youngest son to face the possibility of finding the renegade’s knife in his spine?”

  “You speak of him as a traitor, yet he has never sworn allegiance to you nor has he turned upon you without warning you that he shall. He holds allegiance to a principle and a belief that is far older even than the race of Men, and one that was followed by all during the time before your race was born into the world. It is due to what that principle commands that he turned against you when you went against it, a reason for changing allegiance not too unlike the reasons you ended your alliance with the Berinain. You wished to avenge your father, for even though you had warred with him you believed it your duty to fight to restore his honour. Surely you can understand better than any how someone can appear to betray his allies due to such strong beliefs?”

  Aithan appeared to pause then, a retort cut off by the apparent understanding of the position Aithan claimed to be in. Any argument against it would reveal to his bodyguards, and potentially the rest of his army, that he had been motivated more for a desire to claim the wealth and fertile lands of Berinan rather than a sense of needing to avenge the death of a father he had despised all his life, meaning that the King of Camentar had been backed into an almost inescapable corner.

  “Yet how do I know that my son will not inadvertently oppose this principle you say Katchanga follows? How am I to know that my son will not be punished for his ignorance of an incomprehensible ideology? There is nothing you can say that will remove my doubts, so I must refuse you the use of Enyatar in this…this fool’s errand.”

  “Yet Katchanga would not willingly slay your son when he can argue ignorance, but would warn him when he overstepped the mark, considering the importance that has been placed by His Lordship upon the Prince’s participation.”

  “My answer remains no, now you have wasted both my time and yours enough with this pointless conversation, and I shall have you escorted from the Palace at once that you can report your news without much more delay.” Five of his bodyguards walked towards the Fire Elf at this point, a glance from their King signalling them to act. The Ambassador smiled at the spectacle that had been designed to frighten him, wondering to himself why Men always seemed to hold the belief that useless displays of strength held some meaning especially when their nation was known to be losing an even more pointless war, and calmly exited the chamber in front of the soldiers. He met the Captain of the Royal Guard at the foot of the extensive staircase, and reclaimed his sword before being led from the Palace in the same fashion as he had entered, noting with some amusement that the crowd had not dispersed during his time within.

  “By your exit from His Majesty’s presence it is fair to surmise that your request was denied. I can’t say I’m sorry, since he has never been known to accept the sugar-coated words of a diplomat on any matter in times of war, nor can I say that I particularly care, since your kind haven’t helped us for a decade and the time you did the Elf betrayed us. I hope this means we shall not meet again.” There was nothing but scorn within the Captain’s voice, and he turned from the Ambassador with a grin upon his weather-beaten face, but he was silenced and brought to a halt as the Elf spoke his words of farewell, his mount already beating the air as he flexed his feathered wings in readiness for flight.

  “Yes my request was denied, as it was assumed by all concerned it would be. We shall not meet again, as you so ardently desire, but perhaps you should inform Aithan Curith that he has ended nothing, for his inability to listen and understand the words of a diplomat means that he doesn’t understand the importance of my commanders’ demands, and as such he shall still face the loss of the son that he doesn’t want to risk losing to any faction save that of the Berinain.” A smile still upon his face the Ambassador gently tapped the flanks of his mount with his heels, indicating to the loyal creature that it was time to return to their homeland.

  ***

  September 22nd, 1190

  The forest of Rinahuil echoed the sounds of battle raging within its heart, of steel clashing against steel and the cries of war from many a male mouth, yet the battle was not as it would seem to any eavesdropper. The raw recruits of Rothil Morambeth’s force, woefully few in comparison with the figures of a year ago and scarcely a tenth of the horde who had been present at the time when Katchanga had ventured to the fortified camp, brought their swords crashing against the shields of domed steel that were borne by their commanders, the Half-Elven soldier who led them all watching with an impassive gaze upon his face. It was almost effortless on the part of his relatively “elite” warriors, and the slashes and lunges of the newcomers were swiftly turned aside and counter blows struck against backs, arms and necks by the flat side of the veterans’ blades. He could not help clenching his fists against the unyielding oak that had been shaped into a large chair, overlooking the area of his stronghold that had been converted to a gladiatorial arena. For so long he and his commanders had been instructing the Valinian serfs in the use of arms, but still they seemed unable to utilise any of the techniques when faced with another warrior. Finally he had to raise his hands to halt the display of incompetence, rising from his seat to address his men.

  “Every one of you shows great prowess during training, yet when charged with duels against your fellows you cannot use any of the skills. Why is this? Are you afraid of using your knowledge lest you inadvertently wound your comrades? Or is it just that you cannot fight against a man whose next move is unknown to you? Whatever the reason, it means that you shall never be able to face a soldier in combat and live.”

  “I am of the opinion, Lord Morambeth, that your men are unable to use their skills because they concentrate too much.” The voice was proud in tone and told of great experience upon fields of battle, an impression carried by the speaker himself. Attired in full plate armour, the image of a roaring lion’s head emblazoned upon his chest, the stranger walked from the afternoon shadows to reveal himself to the Valinians and their leader. The helmet he bore upon his head was unlike any Rothil had ever heard of, bearing two holes to allow the warrior to see yet with ridges of metal inlaid with gold above them so that the entire face of the stranger was hidden in shadow, and it was the Half-Elf’s immediate conclusion that this intruder wasn’t human, yet his movements and voice did not give even the merest hint of Elven lineage.

  The sight of so strange a warrior was unnerving to the men who followed Morambeth, most of them peasants rather than military men, and those who held their bows fired a hasty volley of white-fletched arrows at the armoured being. Silently continuing to stride further into the clearing, the warrior brought a shield almost as tall as himself to block the shafts, the scale-shaped dome absorbing the impact easily as he closed the gap bet
ween himself and the frightened soldiers. The light cascaded across his plate mail, revealing an elaborate design of gold filigree that resembled a tangled vine across the many ridged surfaces, and showed the sentinels upon the camouflaged perimeter of thick wooden beams the array of weapons upon his back and within his black belt and sash. Two scabbards hung at his sides, each one holding a sword that was of more than average length, while an array of knives and daggers were hung in black leather sheaths attached to the sash, which was hung across his chest and back from his left hip to his opposite shoulder. A large double-bladed war axe hung with its rounded shaft of pewter hanging down his spine, the edges of each blade shining as if forged from diamond while the gleaming grey of both blades and the shaft were covered with gold filigree in a similarly swirling pattern as his armour bore. It was obvious that the warrior was little beyond being a fighter, had no calling save that of battle, yet no army was known to be at war whose armour was akin to his, and no mercenary had been heard of by any in Valinia who was as this stranger, so it was an immediate question within Morambeth’s mind as to who or what he fought for.

  “And who are you who are so wise in the ways of war yet do not join one of the many that rages across the land?” The question was delivered in an angry tone, the Half-Elf furious at his men that they had neither detected the warrior’s presence nor acted to prevent his entry.

  “My real name has been lost through the passing of Time since last I was called it, for all who pledge their services as I did to the General who commands me are provided with one that describes their heart and soul rather than the one their parents place upon the shell you call a body, and now I am known as Ullyssil.”

  “If such is the case, Ullyssil, then why not give us all an example of your martial prowess that is so bewitching.” Morambeth leapt down from the platform he had been standing upon, drawing his large hunting knife from its sheath of cowhide leather as he did so. The strange soldier watched silently as the Half-Elf was thrown a sword by one of his officers before drawing a knife of his own from the collection within the sash, a strange design with one edge of the blade designed for slicing and the other covered with notches that seemed to have no purpose as far as Rothil could discern, and complementing it with a sword whose blade was of a length halfway between that of the two swords at his sides and the largest of his daggers, the weapon appearing to be designed for thrusting into a foe rather than slicing through his flesh. As with all the other weapons he carried the edges of the blades seemed forged from diamond rather than steel, even the notches upon the knife, while the rest of the weapon was covered with the vine pattern in gold, and it seemed to the onlookers as if the arsenal was designed personally for him.

  “Who crafted the armour you wear and the weapons you carry, for they are surely all designed for your use alone?” remarked Rothil as he brought himself into a comfortable stance in readiness for the coming duel.

  “My General, called by himself and others by the name Katchanga yet by his Lord and Lady by the name of White Tiger for reasons that are not mine to say, crafted them a few months before we began the crusade to liberate the lands who had fallen into the hands of Carrassiel, calling them a token of gratitude for my loyalty to him. I told him I meant what I had said within the lands of the Fire Elves, for I had witnessed what had occurred to him before the party from that realm came upon him within the cave, and I too felt the blessing of Nature in the weeks that followed. You said I do not join in the wars that are raging, but that is because all of us who serve Katchanga, and through him Nature, know the reasons behind the feuds to be petty and selfish on the part of the commanders. Before I was originally brought into my general’s service I too would have taken the path you are now walking, but I know now that there are other ways of achieving the desired end, that do not involve such mindless slaughter by both armies. I was sent by Katchanga to tell you that the time has now come for your chance to win back the lands of your father’s people through tasks which shall bring honour as it is perceived by all races rather than solely that of Men.”

  Ullyssil did not adopt a combative stance, his weapons held loosely in each gauntleted hand as he closed on Morambeth. Strangely, Katchanga’s officer didn’t hold the sword in his right hand in the usual fighting manner, the manner with which his opponent was facing him, but had opted to wield his toothed dagger so that he appeared to almost be a mirror of the Valinian commander. Rothil maintained his defensive position, though he was showing signs of curiosity over the nature of the task that his childhood idol would have him perform, and it was clear that he was slightly wary of the apparent favouring of the toothed knife, which up close showed its notches to be very much like the teeth of a comb.

  As the two warriors closed so that Ullyssil was within range of Morambeth’s sword the Half Elf lunged with sudden swiftness, the tip of the blade leading in a quick thrust while the knife curled in a rising arc that was partially concealed by its wielder’s movement. The soldier of Katchanga watched the lunge with a bored air about him, before matching the agility of his opponent and moving his weight to the left. Bringing his strange knife up at a right angle to the thrusting sword he caught the blade within one of the gaps between the teeth, following the capture with a direction change so that he twisted behind Rothil. The movement twisted his knife so that it tried to occupy the same air as the sword, the diamond notches far stronger than the steel of the slender sword, and the teeth of the small weapon tried to force the weapon to bend. Feeling the pressure against his entire right arm the Valinian watched with surprise as the sword was broken a quarter of the length from the tip, and hastily tried to turn and face the ancient warrior. His move was stopped by the knife being twisted and the keen cutting edge being brought close to his neck, a thin trickle of blood being produced as the skin was broken. A frown passed over the Elf’s features as he turned his head down in surrender, his opponent knocking away the ornate knife with his short sword as a precaution.

  “You did not lose through lack of skill, for you were able to resist my attempts to disarm you with my sword-breaker and had a sound strategy for combining a sword’s length with a knife’s ability to be hidden and thrust unseen past a defence, but more through lack of knowledge and flexibility to your strategy. Not too unlike the way you have been the leader of your group from what I hear.”

  “As I asked Katchanga when he came to our camp: What would he have me do?” Rothil was trying to keep anger from his voice after the comment made by Ullyssil, trying to keep his composure for the sake of his troops, but he had clenched his fists and his eyes were boring into the ancient warrior’s as he spoke.

  “An ancient weapon of Moragil the Faceless has been discovered, and whispers abound across the land of evil stirring in the East. Moragil has risen to assume the Lordship once held by Carrassiel the Black Conqueror, and White Tiger is…concerned that he might desire to try and succeed where his master failed so long ago. You are the only being of Valinian heritage that possesses the necessary abilities, to be able to lend possibilities of success to the planned attempt to destroy the powerful weapon, before it can be reclaimed and used against the nations who have not yet succumbed to the dark malice that spreads from the Dark Fortress.”

  “When you say that I am the only one of Valinian heritage, do you mean that the other nations are to be represented in this as well?”

  “But of course, for their fate will be the same as your own if the mission should be a failure.”

  “Even Camentar and the barbarians?”

  “Naturally. I know of your hatred for both creeds, but in your heart you know that each has virtues that would be of value in this endeavour. If you can work alongside the Camentari, and vice versa, you can easily guarantee that they shall deem you of more use as an ally than a foe, and you might free your lands. You shall have protection against a foe’s knife in your back, as shall the other representatives, but your greatest defence would be honour and valour against the troubles that will a
wait you both upon the path to this task’s conclusion.”

  “And in the meantime who will continue my efforts here in case your possible end is not achieved? I cannot abandon my people thus, nor can I put aside the solemn oath I swore when my father was slain upon the battlefield. My family has been destroyed by the Camentari, and now you ask that I entrust my life to one of their ilk? You expect me to walk beside one of them within foreign and hostile lands without having to watch for the hidden blade? The perpetual war you and Katchanga fight must clearly have addled your mind if you believe that they hold honour within their souls. This task shall not be performed by me without incontestable proof that you speak the truth on behalf of your master.”

  “A response I expected, for your life amongst Men has given you the narrow-mindedness and petty desires that plagues them all. I once was a man with a similar hold on the world, but my time since I was changed has taught me so much that I see clearly now the beguiling whispers of potential grandeur that flow within every man’s heart. I know now of the hidden pitfalls all Men must fall into while we follow the ways of our misguided race. Yet for all this you are considered an essential part of this task, and so I warn you now that this is not the end of Katchanga’s efforts. All he requests is that you come to the land of the Fire Elves, listen to the full details of what must be done, and decide when you hold all the facts whether the mission should be undertaken. It pains me that you cannot see the light though the sun shines still against the sweeping darkness that kills all hope that remains within this fragile world. It pains me that you cannot hold onto that hope, but instead linger on the border of the darkness believing the world to be your enemy. It pains me that you hide behind talk of abandoning your loyal troops, when your obstinacy is worse in that you are already walking into the distance and leaving them naked against the foe.”