by JW Webb
“Ptarnians for certain.” The yellow Seer spoke for the first time, his voice deep and penetrating. “Sounds like a raiding party.”
“Too many for that,” Olen replied. “They filled the ravine. This is a force bent on invasion.”
“Invasion of what exactly?” Subotan scoffed and Arami laughed from his bench to Corin’s right. “I mean where would they be heading? Clearly there is nothing for them here.”
“I don’t know. But I do know what I saw.”
“But what prompted your journey? Why ride off into the emptiness? Did a madness aflict you, and if so why should we trust your wild story?” The Mage had taken his seat again and now gazed coolly at Olen with thoughtful eyes. “It was the Dreaming, wasn’t it? You think you have the Seeing, Olen?”
“I have the Dreaming, yes.”
“This liar should be horsewhipped bloody!” Subotan was on his feet again. “Only Seers have the Dreaming. He is mad or else a false shaman scraping alone in the dark. I say take him out and hurl him and the foreigner from the ledge.”
“Maybe I should say something,” Corin muttered, “since you are doing such a good job.”
“Shut up!” Olen hissed down at him.
“So, you have the Dreaming?” The Mage’s voice was laden with irony. “And what have you dreamt of? Invasions?”
“I dreamt of the man beside me. I dreamt he is the harbinger, the one long foretold. And I dreamt of war and loss and the end of all we care for.”
“And these wild, doubtless drug-induced dreams drove you into the steppes. The wilderness where no one sane ventures? I am inclined to agree with Subotan. I think you are deluded, Olen, or else this stranger has cast a glamour on you. Which is it?”
“This is total bollocks.” A rough voice to Olen’s right.
The sharp intake of breath heralded silence in the cavern. All eyes were on the stranger. The tall, hard-faced warrior now stood addressing them. “He went to see the Mountain Seeress, who told him all about me and the Ptarnians. Now, I don’t know rat shit about Ptarnians, but I do know enough about me to warn you that you are in for a rough ride and need to listen in to this Olen laddie and stop acting like a bunch of stupid twats.” Corin sat down with a thump as hostile shock filled the cavern like steam.
“I think you’ve just arranged our execution,” Olen whispered in his ear.
“Sorry, but someone had to stick up for you.“
“Take this impostor outside and hurl him off the ledge,” roared the Mage, beside himself with rage at being addressed so by a foreigner. “And arrest that fool too!” He pointed again to Olen, and suddenly the Delve erupted with yelling and confusion. Corin had produced a knife from his belt and calmly tossed it between his hands.
“I learnt long ago never to be entirely without at least some weapon,” he grinned at Olen. “You can never have enough sharp things in this world.” The Mage signalled the warriors present to close in and take the impostor in a rush. They leapt to obey but then froze as sudden chill filled the cavern. The torches and lanterns flickered and stilled and the fires roared high for a moment and then retreated back.
Someone had entered the cavern from without. Corin saw the scrawny shape of what looked to be a woman limping toward the high place where the Mage and his Seers looked on askance.
“You are not permitted here!” The Mage yelled at the woman but she ignored him as though he were invisible. She approached like a hunting spider, stopping to the left of the nearest Seer who shrank back from her in his chair.
“Elsbetha you are banned form this place! You —”
“You, Mage, are a fool and this is a Delving of folly. You have no vision and deserve to crumble like winter leaves beneath the storm that is coming. The stranger speaks the truth as does Olen of the Tcunkai. War is coming!”
She threw the hood back from her face and Corin saw a women perhaps in her late forties, but with ancient eyes of the darkest blue they appeared almost black. She was thin beneath her robes and a fierce hunger seemed to eat at her. Her hair was very long and smoky dark and she wore heavy kohl that accentuated those terrifying eyes.
She was both frighteningly ugly and weirdly attractive. There was a feral lust shining in her eyes and Corin now realised who this must be: the witch who had warned Olen to meet him by the hidden pass. Corin recalled the washer at the ford, the last witch he’d seen, and shuddered.
The Mage approached her now with both hands pointing. She laughed, uttered a spell and the Mage’s hands became bats flapping in his face. The other Seers took on the shapes of strange beasts.
Corin saw that Subotan now resembled a large fat ape and the Tcunkai Seer a two-headed donkey. The Mage cried out as the floor turned to hot liquid and rose up to cover his body. He fell and the liquid poured over him until he lay wriggling and shuddering on the cavern floor. The woman laughed again and her spell subsided, the beasts returned to men, and the Mage flapped his hands instead of bats.
Corin wondered if he would ever see a normal day again. The woman was looking at him now, ignoring the panic and furore of the crash of bench and rush of feet, as Seer and robed elders fled the cavern. Only the clans’ warriors remained, though their faces were grim with fear.
The strange woman approached Corin from the dais, her gait awkward and jerky. She smiled cruelly. “Yes, you are the one. The fulcrum foretold. The harbinger of war.” Then in a quieter voice she added, “You ride into peril, Corin an Fol. Seek your father in the mountains.”
Corin wasn’t surprised to see Skulde’s harsh stare. “Oh, it’s you again. Can’t say I’ve missed you.” The hag’s face shifted to become Vervandi’s golden smile, then her beauty crumbled like flooded sandcastles to become the girl child up that tree. Corin heard Urdei’s childish giggles filled the cavern. The three nasty sisters were back in town.
“Be careful, lover boy,” Urdei winked at him. “Your time of greatest peril is close. She is waiting. Even Vervandi cannot save you from her.”
Then the vision passed, and Corin found himself gaping with open mouth at the sharp-faced Seeress called Elsbetha.
“Who the fuck are you?” he managed, watching the knife fall through his fingers.
“She is the Seeress of Silent Mountain,” Olen muttered beside Corin. “She is forbidden here, as she is believed a witch and creature of the night. But Elsbetha is the one true Seer and my dreams guided me to see her.”
“And my dreams led me to see you.” The woman smiled coldly at Corin, surveying him from head to boot. He had the nasty feeling she could see inside his clothes and was about to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “Relax,” Elsbetha said, “there is another has claim to you, Longswordsman.”
“You know of Shallan?” Corin felt a sudden rush of excitement. “How fares she?”
“I know not who you mean. I speak of another.” Before Corin could respond, the woman turned away. She raised her voice so that those remaining could clearly hear her.
“You need to make ready, warriors. Your leaders have forsaken you and are no longer fit to rule. Instead it is down to you to decide and act. But do so swiftly!
“Even now riders hasten here. One from the east the other the west. The news they bring rides on ravens of war. This Delving is at an end, and there will there no other. Rorshai is at war!”
Without further word, the woman flicked the hood back over her head and limped off into the gloom behind the flickering sconces. Corin watched her go like a man recovering from a bad trip.
As the witch foretold, half an hour later, the first messenger arrived. Purple snake scars on his forehead announced him as Borasi, a chief among the far-ranging Oromai. “I come from our camp bearing grim news. The steppes are alive with strange warriors. They are marching northeast toward another army, camped in a valley near the dark wood.”
“Another army?” Olen thrust his face into Borasi’s. “More Ptarnians?’
Borasi shook his head. “No, these marched up from the south a week ago.
A disciplined group, but small in number compared to the army approaching them.”
“Belmarius!” Corin blurted. “We must warn him of this impending attack. He is our friend and ally,” Corin continued, but got no further, for the second messenger had arrived and stood dripping wet in the cavern. It was Rogan, and the news he brought was dire indeed.
Chapter 13
A Twist of Love and Loathing
Tamersane emerged from his blanket and stuck his head out the tent flap as the drumming of hoofs thundered through the morning. It was early, the cold grey glimmer of dawn spreading in the east. He heard shouts, then a woman’s scream.
Teret!
Tamersane hurried into his trousers and tossed a shirt over his shoulder, fussing at the buttons as he looked for his sword. There it was propped against the tent pole; Teret whilst tidying must have put it there.
His arm hurt this morning but he ignored the pain, grabbed the sword, and slid it fee of its scabbard, allowing that fall to the floor. Wild-eyed,Tamersane leaped out the tent and started yelling, just as something hard smacked him across the back of the head and he pitched forward into darkness. Such was the swift glory of Tamersane’s morning. At least his intentions had been good.
When he awoke Tamersane was lying alongside a stream, Teret’s concerned face looking over him. “Is he awake?” That was Rogan his voice raw with emotion.
“Yes.” Teret passed a gourd to Tamersane and motioned him to drink, which he did greedily. Only then he noticed the tears staining her cheeks.
“Teret—what has happened? I heard hoof beats and shouts then a woman’s scream. I rushed out of the tent but then something hit me hard and I fell. I am sorry.”
“You are lucky to be alive.” Rogan crouched over him as Teret wiped spilt water from Tamersane’s lips. “That was a cast bola, meant to stun and then snare you. But your attacker was over hasty, and my thrown knife punctured his lung before he could close on his quarry.”
Tamersane blinked. “Thank you, friend. You must think me a crap warrior—all I do is roll around in the dirt these days.”
“At least you tried.” Teret’s eyes were warm as they gazed on him.
“Where are the others?” Tamersane winced as he took a look around. They were seated beneath dark pines flanking the stream. Morning Hills was nowhere to be seen, though a distant trail of smoke gave out its location.
“Dead or fled.” Rogan looked weary and bitter. “And the children taken.”
“Who?”
“Sulo—who else? He must have gathered some of the reds to come pay a visit. Olen should have slit that bastard’s throat.”
“The Kaan?” Tamersane reached up and wiped a tear from Teret’s cheek.
“My father is dead, my other brothers too, and my cousin who you liked. All murdered in their sleep by treacherous Anchai. Morning Hills is no more.”
“Teret, I’m so sorry.”
“Rogan saved us,” she continued shaking her head as though in disbelief. “He was out hunting early and heard the attack. He hid your body and then found me with three of them on top of me.” Tamersane’s face lost all colour.
“They didn’t harm her—they didn’t have time. Once they were dead, Teret and I returned to scoop you up and flee the camp. We lay low a mile away and watched them leave. I wanted to challenge them and take as many as I could, but Teret insisted I stay alive to warn Olen. So guess where I’m going?”
“The Delve?”
“Yes, the Delve. Some of the horses broke loose. They’ll be around somewhere. Once I’ve reined one in I’ll away. Olen needs to know about this, as does the Council.”
“We’ll come with you.” Tamersane sat up and then spewed on the ground. His head thudded and his arm hurt again. But he was angry and determined to protect this woman and help their friend.
“No, I’ll travel faster alone, and we’ve scant time to explain your presence at the Delve. Look after Teret and seek cover in the mountains.
“Don’t linger here, that Anchai scum will most likes return when he realises Teret escaped. He’ll scour these lands for miles until Olen returns to spill his guts on the floor. Now I’m off as there’s no time to waste.” Rogan showed them his back and commenced sprinting toward the thin funnel of smoke smudging the horizon. Soon he was out of sight.
“How do you feel?” Teret stroked his hair and smiled at him, and suddenly Tamersane was filed with love for this tough, self-reliant woman. She had lost almost all her kin to raiders and yet she was more concerned about him.
“Sore. But then I’m used to that. But more importantly how fare you, Teret? Would that I’d woken early like Rogan and managed to kill some of those bastards. But I slept somewhat heavy last night.” He winked at her and she smiled.
“As did I too. Come on, we cannot linger here. Let’s make for the mountains, there’s a path way up that will award wide views and we’ll be able to see when Olen returns or if the Anchai come back.”
“What then?”
“We join Olen and help him kill Sulo.”
“And after that?”
Teret frowned. “I don’t take your meaning?”
“Olen rides to war with Corin an Fol. I’ve seen this happen before with Corin. I think we too should look to another path.”
“There is no other path.” Teret’s mouth twitched and her blue eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Going home,” Tamersane winked at her. “My home—Kelwyn. I long to see it, Teret, and hear how my cousin fares.”
“Your cousin?”
“Queen Ariane of Wynais.”
“So you are noble born? I thought so.” Teret looked troubled. “Then yes—you must go home, help your queen against her enemies. There is nothing for you in Rorshai.”
“Just the one thing I never expected to find.”
“And what is that?” Teret gazed down at the fields, her eyes sad and lost.
“My heart’s desire.”
“You are being foolish.”
“Look at me Teret.” She turned, and he smiled at her troubled eyes. “I love you and will not be parted from you.”
Teret wrinkled her nose. “You are easy with words, and you are not hale of body; therefore you cannot be trusted.”
“I am easy with words, and yes, I did have a bit of a reputation. But that was then. Truth is, I’ve always been looking for the right woman and have never found her. I’m not addled. My mind is clear as yonder stream, and I know what I want.”
“You would choose a Rorshai cow maid over the high-born ladies of Kelwyn?”
“You are the Kaan’s daughter, Teret, and therefore not your average milk maid.” Tamersane rolled onto his knees and reached out, holding her face in his hands.
“Look, I want to return to Wynais and help Ariane fight that bastard Caswallon. That’s my fight, Teret. But if you must choose to stay here, then I’ll stay here too. One thing I will not do is let you out of my sight, Rorshai girl.”
She kissed him then, long and hard. “Does that mean you’re coming with me?” Tamersane asked after they were done fooling around by the stream.
“We had best get moving.” Teret started off toward the fading smoke trail. “Like Rogan, we’ll need horses and any food we can find for a long cold trip across the mountains.”
That night, they huddled close by a small fire as the wild cries of mountain lions sounded in the distance. Above their heads, the pines were cloaked in snow and a white moon rolled free from a shoulder of rock. It was there by the fire that she told him she loved him.
Looking back on his life in later years, Tamersane never recalled feeling so happy as on that night beneath moon and pines, with the orchestra of wind and wild beasts snarling in the distance. By morning, they reached The Wild Way—the ancient track that ran the entire length of The High Wall Mountain Range. It was two days later when their troubles returned.
***
The three dead men sat their tables laughing and spilling
ale. Hagan smiled, because the drunken fools didn’t realise they were dead. But dead they were or would be shortly. He leaned back in his armchair stationed at the corner of the inn and watched fascinated as the newcomer took silent seat by the door, his back resting on a wall and his face, like Hagan’s, hidden from view.
The man watched the three soldiers jostling and jibing until the inevitable happened. The nearest and biggest turned and noticed the hooded figure watching him at the door.
“What’s your problem?” The big soldier demanded of the smaller hooded figure. “Where did you sneak from? Are you a spy listening in to our conversation?”
The newcomer said nothing, just stared, and Hagan noticed the slight hint of a smile brushing his lips. The big soldier leapt to his feet and approached the newcomer, a knife brandished in his right fist.
“Did you hear me?” The soldier thrust his knife toward the other’s face in warning. The man smiled at him, then cobra-swift his left hand shot out, locking the soldier’s wrist and pulling him forward onto the knife he held hidden beneath his cloak.
The soldier gurgled as his blood drenched the wooden floor of the inn. His two comrades cursed and leaped to their feet, their swords scraping free of their scabbards whilst their friend twitched on the floor. The nearest lunged and missed, the newcomer having leapt to his left and kicked the chair out from under his feet, sending it crashing into the third soldier’s knees. This one cursed as he stumbled forward.
The second soldier swung again and again he missed. But this time his opponent got inside his reach and sliced his knife up along the man’s exposed wrist, severing the veins. He dropped the sword and sobbed as his blood spurted forth.
The newcomer kicked him to the floor and faced the final soldier. This last one clearly was in no mood for a fight.
“Who are you?” the man gasped as he levelled his blade at the killer of his friends. A raucous night in a Port Wind Tavern had turned into his worst nightmare. The man facing him had green eyes and a beautiful smile.