Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  Ullyssil slapped his two blades against his armoured shoulders as he spoke, calling to a heavyset charger of black colouring to come to him. The horse bore the same armour over its head and flanks as its master and appeared wild-eyed to the watching Valinians, though it nuzzled against the ancient warrior while it flared its nostrils and snorted a challenge to all around him. Mounting slowly and deliberately, as if offering Morambeth a final chance to accept the proposal, he held the reins loosely in one hand as he turned his mount to face the exit.

  “Your importance is such that this is not the end. Your refusal was expected, but that is not to say it has been accepted by my master. We shall meet again, Rothil son of Baloran, but under more hostile circumstances. You will attend the meeting in the Fire Elven land, whether you wish it or not, so why refuse the one chance do go without injury? You say you hate the Camentari nation entirely, yet why then do you flatter them sincerely with your impersonation of their pettiness, warmongering and foolish obstinacy to look facts in the face?”

  The angry glares of the Valinians and Rothil were ignored by Katchanga’s soldier as he tapped his hand against the neck of his steed, bringing the beast swiftly into a gallop towards the gate which remained barred. The glares turned to looks of shock and awe as the warhorse and its rider faded into mist before contact was made, the grey wisps wafting over the structure as the two beings were carried by their master’s magic to report upon the mission.

  ***

  September 25th, 1190

  A light frost lay upon the grassy plains that surrounded the village, a stark difference clearly visible between the knee-high grass that surrounded the settlement and the trampled terrain within, the autumnal sun unseen as it passed its zenith behind the screen of white clouds. The wild dogs that would soon be following the tribe to its winter settlement were already gathering in large numbers throughout the epicentre of the village, crowding close to the burning fires beneath the expansive pots within which a thick broth was being prepared by the women, while a couple of the young boys helped their mother with the roasting of a freshly slain boar, turning the spit with youthful enthusiasm as the skinned beast’s flesh turned golden from the flickering heat.

  Brushing aside the panther skin that served as the entrance to his father’s home the Seventh Lonarth emerged into the soft sunlight, and saw the men of his tribe gathered around near the small cabin of logs that served as the home for the Medicine Man. Their voices were raised, though not with any hostility, as if they were speaking anxiously about something. The curiosity of his tribe’s Founder, the god who held the form of the fleet-footed stag, flowed through him as he moved to discern the source of the crowd.

  Sarinai, the aged Medicine Man of the tribe, appeared in deep conversation with a strange being that was unlike any other racial being. Though Elven in appearance his skin was gold in colour rather than the pale flesh he had always been taught the Elves had, and he also noted with surprise that his teacher seemed to be showing an unusual level of respect for the newcomer. At the arrival of the Seventh Lonarth, the gathered men parted to allow him to pass into the centre of the ring and stand beside the two who were engaged in conversation. As he entered the circle, the Chief who led the People of the Stag saw the golden Elf turn and face him, and in that moment all else around him seemed to disappear in a sudden cascade of darkness, leaving the stranger as the only being he saw, illuminated by flames and looking him in the eyes. Then he too vanished, and Dareinax caught a sudden glimpse of a charging stag before he awoke with a gasp.

  Wiping the cold sweat from his muscular frame, the warrior who now led the tribe whose territory ranged the full length of the Western border of Barid, from the fertile lands to the South that had been coveted and invaded for centuries by the jealous men who governed the Empire of Charad, to the harsh tundra of the North where neither man nor beast could expect to survive for long without the aid of the Gods, ran through the vision he had received in his dream. This had been the third time in the night that he had held the vision, and yet it was once again different to the others though all three had been played countless times over the past few weeks. Sarinai had told him when he had been but a babe that he would receive such cryptic messages from the founder of his tribe yet until now, his thirtieth birthday, he had never received one of such vividness or one that had any variations such as the three he had witnessed tonight. He had tried to decipher the riddle of the dreams by himself, for his position meant that the Stag would guide him upon his path and show him the answer if he sought one hard enough, but the variations were not a normality even within a concept that he had struggled to comprehend throughout his life, and it seemed to him that only his teacher would know their true meaning.

  Wrapping a cloak of deerskin about his broad shoulders, the fur of his tribe’s worshipped creature turned inwards so that it trapped the air against his chest, he lit a torch and exited the ruling home of his predecessors to walk across the cold and damp grass that glistened within the night. The greenery froze his bare feet, yet his mind was too occupied to register the numbing sensation as he headed for the Medicine Man’s cabin.

  As ever, Sarinai was within his dwelling and reclining in a soft hammock of deerskin as a fire flickered a couple of paces from him. A structure of stone surrounded the fire, ensuring that his home would not be destroyed if one of the many winds that howled across the plains was too passionate and sent an ember away from the rest of the flames, and it was to either side of this that the hammock was tied by the heartstrings of a deer. Even in his silent slumber the Medicine Man wore his necklace of deer bones, a stag’s skull upon his head with sweeping antlers pinned to it by a hammered shard of bone, allowing the wisdom of his god to pass into him. Though Dareinax moved silently it seemed as if he had disturbed his teacher, because the old man opened one grey eye, raising a thick grey eyebrow questioningly as he silently enquired as to the reason behind this visit within the heart of the night.

  “I have received visions, wise teacher, and have for the past weeks had no light shed upon their meaning. They came to me tonight with such frequency and clarity that the event they foretell must be close, yet still I do not see the answer.” Dareinax’s eyes seemed to burn with furious energy, though anger at his own ignorance added strength to it such as Sarinai had never witnessed. The wolf that accompanied the Medicine Man everywhere raised its head from where it lay beside the fire, a low growl showing it to be ready to defend its master if such measures where required, but a raised hand told the beast to be at peace as its master spoke, his voice soft yet still holding a power that had not been dimmed by the many years he had walked upon the plains.

  “Tell me of these visions, and I shall try and remove your troubles if I can.”

  “I walk from my home to see the men gathered around you and a stranger, a golden elf, and you are talking to him. I walk through the crowd to stand before you both, and the stranger looks at me. Then one of three things happens that I cannot understand.”

  “This event is to happen, apparently very soon, and you shall have a choice that will have one of three consequences. What happens in your visions?”

  “I see him disappear, and a cloud of dust led by bears and panthers passes across the village and everything else disappears leaving a dying stag before I wake up. Other times I see him look at me and a herd of deer pass through the village and attack the panthers and bears and end the dust cloud before it reaches us, and other times I see everything disappear except him, before he disappears and I see a charging stag before I wake. What does it all mean?”

  “The Elf you see is a being called White Tiger, a warrior not unlike you who holds the highest regard within Nature’s heart. He has dedicated his life to trying to prevent the ways of Nature from being lost, to the destructive and consuming desires of the other nations, who do not understand her way as we do thanks to the Founder. It would seem that he shall come and ask something of you, and that you must decide whether to agree to his w
ishes, refuse him or waver between the two. The consequences, in the order you described your visions and probably not in the order of your choices, are that you shall lose everything to the attackers, shall bring your people to great triumphs over the adversaries, or shall risk the loss of everything for an unknown prize, if anything at all is to be gained. Nothing is done that does not have risks, so any choice could lose or gain you everything, so I assume your third vision was that you waver, for only if you shift and change your standing can the result be unclear. I have met White Tiger only once, yet his way of life would suggest that he would not knowingly cause the tribe to fall into oblivion, so I would suggest you trust in him to give you the glory your second vision foretells. However the choice is not mine to make, and you must look to your own heart if you are to make the decision that is right for our people. Honour and glory are already held by the Founder, and so he would never desire that you allow your people to fall for the sake of such things, so your decision is about what is best for your people rather than yourself.”

  “Thank you wise teacher. I shall search my heart for the answer I must give, and may the Founder grant me the wisdom that is his so that I do not fail him.”

  “Remember this, my pupil, you may have to lose your role as leader to carry out the wishes of the Founder, but it is not a bad loss since you shall reclaim the title should your path grant you a successful return to us. Many stags must lead a herd throughout the years if it is to survive the perils of the forest, and not all are the sons of the old leader, yet often the old leader will return to lead when those perils demand that the young must leave for any period of time.”

  ***

  September 26th, 1190

  The following day dawned with a laziness that was customary to the region, in that it was a dark and dreary grey until the sun had covered fully a quarter of its daily course. It was only then that the villagers emerged to commence their day’s activities, the women creating their rudimentary garments while the men formed several hunting parties and boasted of how bountiful their day would be, yet all of the routine was unseen and unheard by Dareinax, as he rocked slowly back and forth with his arms wrapped around his legs. Resting his proud head upon his knees in more the fashion of a young child than a man of thirty, his green eyes strained with fatigue due to his having spent the remainder of the night seeking guidance from the Founder, the handsome barbarian shook his shaggy mane of blond hair as Sarinai entered the hut, his lupine companion slinking a few paces behind as its beloved master walked slowly with the aid of his staff. This symbol of his stature within the tribal community was created from twisted oak, deer antlers adorning the top either side of a large and highly polished opal, yet over the passing years he had come to depend upon it almost solely for support where his weak knees no longer could. Though his frame was now thin and frail, there were several signs that once he had been as strong and fit as the generation that hunted the bounties which dwelled within the woods, by the grace of the Founder and His brethren.

  “You have found the answer to the question that bound your heart and mind in thorns last night?”

  “No I haven’t, because I cannot see if the decision I must make holds hidden risks that could cost more than I can lose. The Stag is silent in my mind.”

  “That is the way of the Stag; to hide and silently observe the chaos of the hunt as it passes his position without finding him. How else can a creature so enviably beautiful and noble gain the wisdom it possesses? No creature knows its enemy as fully save the dragons and their kin, who have all had an eternity to observe the coming of races, and watch those races develop into the powers they now are.”

  “As ever you are right, but that is no comfort while I sit and wait for the foreseen future to become now.”

  “A predator may sit concealed upon a branch or within a thicket for hours awaiting the coming of prey, yet a stag will spend its whole day waiting for the need to run. Unlike the single-minded predator, however, he does not spend the day waiting and forsaking all else to prepare for the run, but he spends the time feeding, or resting, or testing his strength against the others of his herd to prove that he is powerful enough to face his foe if the run cannot succeed. The Deer of the North is always ready to run, spending almost all its days moving from feeding ground to feeding ground, yet never will it allow a foe to bring it down without a fight. You were born in the North, and so you are of the same line, so will you continue to be the predator or return your life to being that of the Stag?”

  “You’re right; I shall need my energy for the run, and to make the decision how the Stag would wish it made.”

  Dareinax stretched himself out upon the bed of wooden planks beneath deerskins and wolf hides, yet he only enjoyed a few hours of peace before noises from the village drew him out to witness the scene from his dreams. Now he would know what was wished of him by Nature and the Stag.

  There stood the golden Elf Sarinai had called White Tiger, but now the barbarian could hear the words he spoke, whereas in his dream the world had been silence. He saw the Medicine Man bow his head to honour the warrior, who brought out a hand that had a leather patch across the back and palm.

  “None who haven’t forsaken Her throughout their lives should bow to one who has served as her enemy in years gone past,” he told the old man in his musical voice of fire, bowing in respect to Sarinai instead.

  “Then you should not bow to one who is your brother but not your better. The Founder told me and the Chief that you would be coming, so come and make the request that will have such a powerful impact upon our tribe.”

  It was then that Dareinax looked into the golden eyes of the warrior, seeing within them the same fire that was pictured within his mind when he heard the unusual voice of Katchanga, and he was surprised that he didn’t feel the fear he had experienced while he had replayed the visions in his efforts to understand them.

  “Greetings, honourable Chief, who holds the powers of the Stag within his veins.”

  “Greetings White Tiger, for such is the name I have been given by wise Sarinai when I spoke to him of my visions. Why have you come to us?”

  “Because a time is coming when all the realms of this land shall face oblivion or worse, at the hands of a being who would place himself on a level equal to, if not higher than, the gods thee and thy fellow tribes follow. Already the wind brings rumours to me that he is gaining the strength he requires to achieve this end, yet one advantage is still held by me that may bring his undoing to pass; an amulet, a powerful item that shall grant him strength that would rival the Powers themselves, has been found and is in my possession, but it could still be lost to his foul desires unless it is destroyed. Magic as ancient as the world protects it beyond the small mountain cave where it was forged for its evil purpose, and so it cannot be unmade except in this one spot. All the nations of the West are being gathered to aid in this, yet none of them possess the strength and unrealised wisdom of thy people, and so I ask that thee come and stand beside me upon the dangerous path we must take to achieve the success of this task.”

  “My visions have shown me that whichever choice I make shall have a consequence, and the vision of my acceptance, as far as I can interpret, promises that I shall lose my tribe should I agree.”

  “It is true that thou shall lose thy village, though not in the way thou imagine. As the Chief of thy tribe thou cannot venture alone into the world, for thou are tasked with leading thy people through the realm thy Founder has given thee. If thou accept my request, then thou can no longer be the Seventh Lonarth, but shall once more become Dareinax. This does not mean, however, that thou shall lose the gifts given to thee by the Stag, for such gifts are given to one with a worthy heart rather than whoever holds the title of Chief. Whether thou are Lonarth or Dareinax thou shall always be a vessel for the powers of thy Founder, so what is thy choice to be?”

  Dareinax closed his eyes, furrowing his brow as he pictured himself becoming the Stag, hoping that now he would
receive the wisdom of his god, and all who were watching were amazed to hear the bellow of a Deer of the North escape his lips before he opened his eyes again. Katchanga and Sarinai made no reaction to the sound, the Medicine Man knowing the sound to have been the word of the Founder while the warrior understood the words spoken within the long and resonating sound; their meaning told to him through the bond he shared with the world created by the grace and will of Nature and her husband. All creatures must do the will of Nature, and her Guardian would not lead one astray.

  “You have my arm fighting beside yours in this, my heart beating beside yours, and my soul standing firm against any who would wish us to fail the parents of the Founders.”

  “Then so shall it be done. We shall speak more when the other nations are present at a grand meeting, but for now let us both depart to the meeting place to await them.”