by JW Webb
“He was hurt when we lost Corin near Darkvale,” Olen explained. “I found him lying on his side with a Ptarni spear sticking in his haunch, a nasty wound, but he’s patched up well.”
“Tough as his owner,” grunted Greggan.
“That he is but not as dumb.”
“You got me there! How long is the trip to Point Keep from here?”
“Three days if we don’t tarry, and we’ll need to lie low as we draw close, lest your friend Vale the Snake is prowling about.”
Olen was right. It took three long hard days riding at good speed to reach the folds of The High Wall that hid the fortress Point Keep. They were lucky, encountering no enemies, whilst the weather remained chilly and dry, a brittle breeze sighing from the wild grasslands flanking their east.
That last night, they made furtive camp in a vale of frozen bracken, the mountains hard to their left. When the horses were settled and man and beast had eaten, Olen and Arami and a third man Greggan didn’t recognise approached him in the gloom.
“How far is the fortress? You said we were close?” This third man was called Kerante, one of the several clan leaders (or Kaans) present, Greggan learned soon after.
“Close enough to walk were one in the mood.”
“And are you in the mood, Greggan of the Wolves?” Olen leaned close pinning him with his deep blue gaze.
Greggan chewed on his last piece of dried beef. “For what…exactly?”
“Reconnaissance,” the young one, Arami, grinned at him. “May happen a bit of blood spilling.”
“Only as a last resort.” Olen waved Arami back. “But we need to find out how best we can aid your friends, so I guess we’ll take a stroll up and see what we can.”
Greggan nodded and minutes later he led them—six leaders and twelve other warriors—through the bracken and into the dark pines that led up to an old track, itself winding stiffly up the folds, until the smooth stones of Point Keep glistened in the moonlight ahead. It was late. An hour, maybe two after midnight.
They stole close, keeping to the track until they were within eyeshot. Nothing stirred, and the fortress loomed tall and silent ahead.
“Think they’re all sleeping?” Olen shuffled into a better position at the side of the road; they dared not go much closer. “What do you suggest?” he asked Greggan, who was about to answer when the hooves of a lone rider drummed the night. Glancing ahead, they saw the dark shape of horse and horseman hurrying their way.
“A messenger at this time of night?” Kerante glanced at Greggan who shrugged.
“Unlikely,” Olen spoke for him and then turned to Arami crouching low beside him. “You got this, Anchai?” Behind them, three men minded the horses whilst the rest lay flat on their bellies surveying road and fast-approaching rider.
“I’ve got it,” Arami smiled as he quickly went back to the horses and loosened the weighted cords tied to his saddle. Arami was a master of the bola; even Olen had to acknowledge his remarkable skill at previous contests held between the clans.
Horse and rider clattered close, and Greggan recognised one of the Leethmen who had led the attack that terrible night. “Hordo. Snake’s muscle man. Quick, he’ll be past us in a mo!”
Arami stepped out into the night, a wolf grin on his lips and the bola curled around his left hand. The big rider saw him and spurred his horse hard toward where the lone figure stood. Hordo swung his axe and hollered.
Arami tossed his bola, and the lead weights at the cord ends whirled through night air so fast Hordo didn’t see what hit him. The weighted leather whip lashed around his torso, wrenching the axe from his massive fist and throwing him off his horse. Hordo tried to rise, but the bola’s cords and weight had him pinned and trussed, allowing Arami to stroll close and gaze down on him with interest.
It took three teeth and all five nails from his left hand, these prised out slowly by Kerante’s hot knife, before Hordo broke down weeping and imparted news of the raid and recapture of Point Keep.
“So the boys are back home,” Greggan smiled as he slid his knife along Hordo’s throat sending the big warrior to Yffarn. “Lucky we saw this bastard, else King Haal would be up our arse by mid-morning. Come on Rorshai, let’s go greet my old muckers!”
***
A rapping on his door, followed by hoarse shouts and talking.
What the bloody hell?
Corin blinked an eye open and staggered out of his covers. It was still dark and whoever was waking him had better have good reason. His head throbbed; the boys had had a bit of a session after retaking the fortress, and Corin had been in the thick of it. And now his head was thick with the result.
Bang bang! “Corin an Fol! Open the door!”
“I need sleep, not noise,” Corin complained as he slammed the latch back and stared at Baley and Bonkers, both grinning at him like ogres in the dark. “Piss off!” Corin swung the door shut in Baley’s face but the twin’s boot trapped it and held it fast.
“We’ve got visitors,” Baley said, pained that Corin didn’t want to speak with him.
“Tell ’em to come back at noon,” Corin grumbled and then, seeing their expectant faces, sighed mournfully and reached down and strapped Clouter around his shoulders. “Who is it?” They didn’t respond so Corin shrugged and followed them from the room.
Minutes later Corin stood in the bailey by the main gate amidst a cloud of noisy, chattering riders and sentries yelling at them from the walls. Lord Halfdan was there looking clipped and sharp and ready for the day ahead.
Corin saw Greggan among the riders and as his eyes adjusted to the light he recognised Olen and Arami. Corin’s yells joined the others as he vaulted down to join the Rorshai.
“I don’t believe you’re here!” Corin embraced Olen and then Arami and Greggan too. Then he saw Thunderhoof standing glum by the stable door. “Thunder? You’re alive? Bless your socks you old bugger, but I thought you skewered!” Corin ran across and threw his filthy arms around the big horse’s neck. Thunderhoof awarded him that forlorn knowing look.
“It was a nasty wound, but the blade was clean,” Olen told him smiling. No one loved horses like the Rorshai. “It’s good to see you alive, Corin an Fol.”
“Thank you, my friend—I’d thought I’d lost this old boy. Means the world to see him again, and you Olen, if truth be told.”
“Stop fucking about and see to their horses!” Halfdan’s shout brought sober order to the bailey and stables area. Everyone was awake now and all eager for the latest news. They broke fast in the main hall, and despite the stench of blood spilled the night before, everyone there was filled with new energy and purpose. Halfdan was livid, though, when he learned that Hordo had escaped.
“Lucky for us you were there, Greggan,” he said after formally thanking the Rorshai leaders. Olen had already despatched two men back down to his army waiting in their bracken hide.
“They will be here ere sun-up,” Olen told the general.
“Good,” Halfdan replied. “We’ve a busy day ahead.”
Chapter 24
The Gap of Leeth
Queen Ariane watched from her window whilst quietly sipping brandy. She hadn’t drunk alcohol since the night they saved Calprissa, but Ariane needed its comfort now. Outside, the campfires of the enemy filled the horizon, patrolled by a lone moon.
Across the mountains, Halfdan led his Wolves through the back door into Point Keep, whilst a bit father north, Shallan and Zukei gazed out exhausted from Car Carranis, having spent all that day loosing arrows on the foe. Throughout Ansu, the Raven Season had returned.
Ariane was washed out by emotions. They had achieved so much, but it was like catching and holding quicksilver. The enemy waited outside, vastly outnumbering them. Zallerak, their much needed wizard and counsellor had vanished—Elanion only knew where. And now Tamersane had killed his elder brother in a fit of rage.
She had postponed council until first light, after bidding her guards drag Tamersane away from his dead br
other’s corpse and escort him to his chamber, alongside the wounded woman Teret, whom Ariane had sent a physician to promptly fix up.
Teret wasn’t badly hurt, thank the gods; as a healer herself, she ordered the physician bring strange salves and plants and refused his ministrations. Ariane stationed guards at Tamersane’s door lest he do something lunatic. It was all too much, and this after only a few hours back in her own city.
A knock at the door.
Leave me in peace. Just get lost…whoever you are!
A second knock—this one harder and more urgent. “Who is it?” Ariane snapped, and a muffled voice answered beyond the door. “Who? Speak up—damn you!”
“It’s me—Prince Tarin. Cousin, I need to speak with you!”
Tarin. Of all the people Ariane least wanted to see it had to be Kelsalion’s useless son. But she’d hardly spoken to the prince since their hectic meeting at Greystone Bridge. Tarin had kept close to Zallerak during their exile in the mountains, and Ariane hadn’t felt like welcoming the prince into her tent. But now she had no choice. It had proved a crap night, so what the heck?
“You had best come in then.” Ariane took a long hard slurp of brandy and waited for Prince Tarin to enter. The door swung open and he stood just outside it, hovering.
Ariane felt a flush of annoyance race through her veins. She quenched it with another slurp. “Relax, kinsman. I’m not going to eat you.” Ariane motioned the prince take seat beside her and offered him a brandy; she could tell he needed one.
Tarin crouched awkwardly on the seat and shuffled. “What’s the matter?” Then she saw the large bag tied to his waist, which he was currently adjusting. “And what is that?”
“Something Zallerak told me to give you before he left the camp the other night.”
“He told you he was leaving and you failed to report that to me?” Ariane snatched the crystal goblet from Tarin’s hand before he got chance to sip. “Surely I should punish you cousin?”
“He made me vow to silence—I had no choice, and I owe him that much at least after all he has done for me.”
Ariane summoned patience. “Drink.” She placed his goblet back on the table and motioned he partake, which he did with a long hard gulp.
“That’s good,” Tarin said. “Strong.” Ariane said nothing as the prince struggled with the drawstrings covering his bag. At last something heavy and shiny fell out and tumbled to the rug. Ariane almost threw brandy over her shirt in amazement seeing the Tekara, whole and regal, on the floor at her feet.
“I don’t understand? How came you by this?” In the recent chaos Ariane had clean forgotten about the crystal crown. She had just assumed Zallerak had it and was now grateful she hadn’t panicked after learning of his departure. The revelation that the Tekara was missing again after their months of seeking and remaking it would have most likes tipped her into murdering someone tonight. She pinned Tarin with her dark gaze.
“Enlighten me further.”
“As I said, Zallerak gave it to me to keep close until I had a chance to hand it to you in secret. He didn’t trust me to keep it indefinitely and said that you’re to hide it from all eyes until he is back. I can tell you I’m glad to be rid of it for lots of reasons.”
Ariane’s fingers lightly brushed the crystal of one of the crown’s horns and felt a slight tingle run up her arm. She shivered. The Crown of Kings in her charge. No small responsibility. Now all they had to do was find a king to wear it. Ariane grinned at the ridiculous situation they were in. Beside her, Tarin looked awkward again.
“So, conspirator, where has your mentor gone, and what does he mean by deserting us in this time of need?”
“He said he was going to Ulan Valek to finish something he’d meant to finish years ago.”
“Ulan Valek—the haunted castle?” Ariane was about to enquire further when another knock found queen and the prince gazing at the door. Silon stood there in his gold-trimmed nightgown, a candle in his left hand and a crumpled tiny parchment in his right.
“You need to read this.” Silon entered the room and handed Ariane the parchment. Tarin watched as Ariane smoothed the rough paper and held Silon’s candle close so she could read the words. “It just arrived via pigeon,” Silon told her. “A man delivered it to my room.”
Ariane read the short note twice and then read it again. A wave of emotions flooded her and she felt sudden tears brimming at her eyes. The note was from Corin an Fol.
Ariane,
I live yet despite the odds and have caught up with Lord Halfdan, who has informed me of something I cannot come to terms with. We are a hundred men on The Wild Way; we fare north on the morrow to recapture Point Keep. Tamersane is up here too somewhere, but we lost each other in Rorshai. Last I knew he was in good fettle with a Rorshai woman alongside. The Rorshai are our friends now; I’ve sent a scout to seek their aid. We will take Point Keep and then cause some trouble for King Haal.
And so it begins!
Hope this finds you in one piece.
Much love,
Corin an Fol
Ariane wiped a tear from the corner of her left eye whilst Silon stared in silence at the Tekara at her feet. “It appears that we have entered a new phase in this war,” he said. “Have you any suggestions on what we do next?”
“Funny thing, but yes I do,” Ariane smiled at both prince and merchant. “We hold council at dawn and then we make ready for battle.”
“Perani’s army outnumbers us considerably,” Silon frowned. “I trust you are not planning something rash, Ariane? Like placing the Tekara on your own head.”
“It won’t fit me.” She smiled down at the crown. She told them her notion, and after hearing that, Silon decided on a large brandy too.
***
Dawn. The sun was rising over the ocean of grass to their east and casting pinkish grey shadows on the mountains behind them. Corin held the glass his father had handed him to his left eye and counted. “I’d say a mile—if that?”
“Then what are they up to? Surely they don’t mean to attack King Haal’s army?” Greggan shook his head in puzzlement as Corin handed him the glass. “You suppose they are allies?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Corin replied. “Caswallon arranged for another army just in case the Leethmen got carried away and decided on taking The Glass Throne for themselves.” Corin felt a peculiar shiver after mentioning Kelsalion’s former seat of power. My heritage…
“Insurance,” Greggan nodded. “Makes sense. But what did he promise them in return, I wonder?” The two men and Olen of the Rorshai were perched halfway up a pine tree awarding wide views of the Gap of Leeth, beyond and below. As dawn’s glow gilded the grasses, Corin gazed across the Gap seeing Car Carranis’s granite bulk scarcely four leagues north.
Soon Shallan.
“I’m coming to get you,” Corin mouthed the words as he watched a skein of geese wend south from the forest at the far side of the Gap.
“You say something?” Olen awarded him a knowing glance.
“Time for breakfast, methinks.” Corin freed his arms and let his rangy body drop silent from the pine’s limb to rest crumpled in a foot of snow.
“Agreed,” said the others and landed lithe beside him. Back at camp, the Rorshai leaders and Lord Halfdan were already discussing tactics whilst devouring sausages and soup.
“What did you see? Are the Ptarnians going to attack?” Halfdan bid Corin and Olen join them whilst Greggan hurried off for a shit.
“They’re scarce a mile from the nearest tents. I’m surprised those dozy Leethmen haven’t seen them yet. That said, they will soon, so we had best get cracking.”
“You’re certain you want to do this?”
“Yes, father, and we have the men chosen and ready.”
“Two hundred Rorshai volunteers,” Olen added. “”Myself and Arami here included. Kerante will lead the main force.” Arami winked at Halfdan as he crunched on a sausage. “And twenty Wolves who just had to
be with Corin, among them Baley and Bonkers and that idiot Scaff.”
“I’d sooner that lad stay with the main force.” Halfdan dusted his hands free of crumbs and took to his feet. “But I guess he deserves a chance of glory—whatever that is.”
“We’ll keep him alive if fates allow,” Corin said, as he wiped soup from his mouth and wandered over to see to Thunder. He appraised the big horse with a critical eye. Thunder gave him that look again.
“You up for a bit of a charge old boy? Nothing radical, just show our arses to the enemy then tear off again. What say you?” Thunderhoof said nothing.
“Ride tight and close,” Olen shouted as the two hundred-plus volunteer cavalry mustered around him. “Remember: the objective is not to engage but rather to piss them off!”
Halfdan watched as the column of volunteer riders filed away from their hide in the last fold of Tolfallon, the most northerly mountain in The High Wall. It was a bright sunny morn and their helms and shields sparkled as they turned a corner and faded from sight.
Halfdan sighed, “Corin an Fol, stay alive. I’d sooner not lose you now I’ve just found you again.” He returned to camp where his Wolves were making ready for a busy day. Close by, the Rorshai diced and idled but Halfdan knew these fine warriors would leap into action at his nod and wink. Just when that happened depended on Corin an Fol.
***
Pashel Akaz never gave the order to advance that night, a decision he would soon regret. His scouts had fed him reports all the previous day, informing him the barbarians were now engaging the city in fury, their entire force bent on its destruction.
With that in mind Pashel Akaz deemed it sensible for his army to advance during the following morning while the savages were busy hurling themselves at the city walls. The Gap was wide enough for them to pass unheeded if they filed narrow and moved at speed. Let the barbarians take their city and be damned; it was all they would get in this campaign.
Pashel Akaz nodded to the messenger as he leaped down from his horse just as dawn rose, promising a glorious winter’s day.