Ardeen, Volume 1: The Circle of Magic

by Sigrid Kraft

  The Brotherhood had discussed this matter over and over again, and at last the council of the twelve agreed on this point: The Nimrod was an unnatural condition. In fact, the council now consisted of only nine Towerlords, not twelve. Most of the Towerlords had been killed in the Great War and even now three towers still stood vacant. Extraordinary mages were rare, and less skilled men had been chosen to fill their places. So it had happened that mages of the seventh and even the sixth grade now called themselves Towerlords, something that before the war would have been completely unthinkable.

  In those days, no one below the ninth grade could have been elected to this position. But during the Great War, when the earth burned and mages and dragons had fought ferociously, losses on both sides had been heavy. This had left many vacancies, which remained unfilled to the present day, as the Brotherhood had still not regained its old strength.

  Perhaps we should be grateful to the Great Gray for weaving the Nimrod spell. It put a definitive end to the war. That was before my time, and who knows what the world would have been like otherwise. Compared to a dragon, a bunch of robbers is certainly the lesser of two evils.

  Most of the dragons had lived in the Midland, as the Nimrod had been called before. Then the spell had swallowed it all. A gray fog covered it now, and no one could pass through it any more. It was like an opaque gray wall that you could deform slightly, but never break through. Since that time, there had been no more living dragons seen outside this unnatural barrier. As for what was living inside, nobody could tell. For fifty years, no one had gone in and no one had come out.

  Lord Boron entered the room and Prince Raiden glanced up. Boron was the commander of the Black Guard and also Lord of Griscont, a small castle a little to the north of Naganor.

  “My Prince,” he greeted him respectfully. They had known each other for a long time now, and were also connected by a deep bond of friendship. But Lord Boron was always respectful, and it was only when he was not on duty and when they were completely alone that he dropped his official tone.

  Prince Raiden waved him in and greeted him: “How are you, dear friend?” and then he came straight to the point: “Ulf Merett is annoying me again and, generous as I am, I promised him the help of the Guard. It will be a good exercise for the soldiers to move a little, so that they do not become fat and lazy.”

  Lord Boron murmured disapprovingly. None of his men were fat and lazy.

  “And...” Prince Raiden continued, “...Master Merett is willing to pay five hundred thousand in gold for this little favor.”

  Lord Boron whistled in astonishment. “This is an enormous sum, my Prince.”

  The Lord of Naganor shrugged: “Master Merett didn’t seem troubled. It seems I could have bargained harder and easily demanded double the price,” he said lightly and then continued: “If the mission is successful, I will show my gratitude and reward the Lord of Griscont with one hundred thousand pieces of gold.”

  Lord Boron bowed his head humbly. “Very generous, my Prince.”

  “In exchange, I expect you yourself to go into these mountains, find the rebel Fenns and wring their bloody necks. You should hang a few of them in public, as a deterrent to the others.”

  Then he reflected on the history of the Fenn. “Master Harok would have saved us a lot of bother if he had taken drastic action against Bealan and his people a hundred years ago. But what did the good-natured fool do? He just let the rebels go. Now you see where a gentle heart can lead you. And the offspring of these ancient rebels have become nothing more than irksome rebels themselves. This matter could have been settled once and for all with a proper firespell.”

  Many historical accounts had been written about Master Harok and Bealan and they were part of every young nobleman’s education. These writings differed greatly from the heroic stories told among the Fenn.

  But as a good soldier, Lord Boron was not much interested in the Why. In his thoughts, he was already planning the campaign and needed more detailed information.

  ”How many men do you estimate we will have to deal with, my Prince?”

  The reports differed on this point. “They say about forty. Probably fewer. The leader calls himself Vrat the Raven.” Most apt for a scavenger. “The other clan villages are pacified. I don’t believe his filthy mob is gaining any new members,” Prince Raiden informed his commander.

  “It is surprising anyway, that this small bunch of riffraff could play such havoc with the commanders in the north,” remarked Lord Boron, and Prince Raiden agreed:

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “With a hundred men and some magicians...”

  The Black Prince interrupted: “Fennland is unhaer.”

  “Apologies,” Lord Boron grinned, “As a stubborn unmagical, I had forgotten that. So the magicians will have no powers there.”

  “At best I can give you some artifacts,” the Prince considered, “I must have a look through my collection to see what might help. Unfortunately, only a few artifacts are useful in the Unhaer. And the art of creating such treasures was lost long ago.”

  The commander raised an eyebrow and frowned. “Well, then we shall see to it the unmagical way. Suits me better, anyway,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Nevertheless, I should take a few healers with me, my Prince. For when we return from the Unhaer.”

  This made sense. If any of them were wounded, it would be important to have a healer close at hand. “Scouts I will get locally. When shall I leave, my Prince?”

  Prince Raiden gave his most winning smile: “At once!”

  Lord Boron rose with exaggerated weariness. “Don’t rush an old man like that, my Prince.”

  “Go earn your keep. After all you get paid for moving your old bones,” the Prince mocked, but Lord Boron gave as good as he got: “Exactly, so that you can keep sitting by a warm stove with your feet up. It is certainly beneath the dignity of a mage to fiddle around with anything as banal as a steel weapon.”

  The Prince forgave his long-time comrade such jokes. Others he would have punished severely. The Black Prince was an excellent fighter – far better than Lord Boron himself. Now he frowned theatrically: “Such impertinence does not suit you, commander.”

  The Gray Wolf replied with feigned seriousness: “I humbly beg your pardon, my Prince, and take my leave.” He finished his act with a very deep bow and left.

  The Black Prince watched him go. He’s grown old. No... we’ve grown old. The years have simply flown past.

  In the meantime, Falgars Vale had developed into a well-fortified town surrounded by a stone wall with defense towers. After the discovery of the gate, the population grew rapidly. Rich and poor alike came to seek their fortunes and the original small town had expanded considerably. Many people came to do business inside the walls, and every now and then a member of Vrat’s bunch sneaked in unnoticed to gather information and buy supplies. They also made contact with various dubious characters to whom they sold their stolen goods.

  This time, Aileen was hiding in the shadows of the woods. She had come with the purpose of meeting a dealer to negotiate the price and delivery of the loot. But the moment was unfavorable. On the wide open field in front of the town camped a company of about one hundred men.

  They do not look like normal soldiers. All of them wore black coats over suits of shining armor. From the distance, Aileen could not see too much, but it was clear that this was not a good development for the rebels. I will wait till nightfall and then steal up on them under the cover of darkness. Perhaps I can find out more about them.

  Slowly the sun crept below the horizon and the shadows grew longer. The men moved between the tents, going about their work. Nothing extraordinary happened during the day. Two wagons left through the town gates and four farmers also went on their way. As usual.

  Aileen’s contact had not come, which was not unusual. Safety first. If it was not possible to leave the town without attracting attention, the dealer would not come.

  In th
e end, the dealers risked their necks just as much as the fighting Fenn. And nobody coming out of town can sneak around this large camp undetected.

  Aileen became lost in her own thoughts, and – as so many times before – Eryn came to her mind. How strongly I desire to be with him now. I would like just to forget the old customs. Everything is changing anyway. But then she admonished herself: We fight for the honor of the Fenn and it is these old traditions and ideals that we defend, as well as our land. The land the Lowlanders stole from us. And what has become of the Clans who surrendered? Bitterness filled her heart. Lorne Stonefist and Savas Wildriver and their people were such proud men and women, and now they are no more than beggars. Those savage warriors with great names are now broken and unkempt men without influence.

  The Lowlanders had established offices and courts to control life in the village. Only those who were on good terms with the Lowlanders were still allowed to hunt, though game had become scarce anyway. Too many people were now trapping and shooting in the mountains.

  The Lowlanders had hanged a few of Vrat’s sympathizers, so now they kept away from the villagers.

  Lorne and Savas would help us in spite of the danger, but Vrat does not want to bring more misery to their people. They already suffer enough. And Belemen, Aileen became enraged, that serpent-hearted knave allied himself with the Lowlanders. He dances to their tune and would betray us all without batting an eyelid.

  Some of Belemen’s men scouted for the Lowlanders, but such traitors were the first to be despatched with an arrow through their chests, and the word soon got around. Sometimes the rebels also sustained losses and Vrat’s men now numbered only thirty three. At first there had been about sixty of them, and the fallen were quickly replaced by newcomers. But lately their numbers had been diminishing. And if a new man turned up, he was more likely to be a spy or a traitor than a fighter for the Fenn´s cause.

  How much longer will we be able to hold out? Some of us think we should leave for the west, where the last free clans live. There are settlements beyond Belemen’s village, and the Lowlanders have no interest in the area. After all, they are not here because of the mountains, but because of the damned gate. We should go, but Vrat will not listen. He will fight for the Fenn’s cause until the end, and when he speaks, he lights a fire in our hearts and we are still proud to be Fenn. We live as Fenn and we die as Fenn.

  So Aileen was not yet able to find a solution to her problems. As long as she valued the Fenn’s traditions, she could not be together with Eryn. To honor the laws of her people meant that she, as a spearwoman, must not lie with any man.

  Only the feeblest hint of daylight remained, making the camp fires clearly visible. The overcast sky promised a deep darkness soon.

  Now it is time for the shadow of the night, Aileen thought. Beneath the trees she moved around the camp till she found a convenient angle from which to creep closer. The guards cannot see me approach from this direction.

  Soundlessly, she slipped down and made her way through the high grass. The tents came closer and the blurry figures became men with faces. Hard faces of tough men, with bodies steeled by constant exercise. Not a single one had removed his heavy armor to be more comfortable, not even those who sat around the camp fires or ate their meals.

  Those are warriors. No comparison with the soft soldiers we deal with normally. And I suppose we are the reason they are here. I have to warn Vrat and the others. The Lowlanders have set a new pack on our heels and these dogs look extremely vicious. It seems we will have to run this time. Perhaps the moment has really come to head out west.

  But first she needed to learn all she could about these soldiers. The more we know about them, the better we can make our plans. This could make all the difference.

  So she started to commit to memory all the details. How many men and what kind of troops they were, their armory and supplies. She noticed a few trappers by one of the camp fires. Carefully she crept closer. She peeked at them curiously to see if she recognized any of their faces, since she knew many of the clanspeople by sight. She parted the grass with one hand to have a clearer view and caught her breath in surprise.

  Willen, that miserable traitor! We owe all this to him. The discovery of the gate and the death of Eryn’s parents. And we always thought that filthy dog had lost his miserable life at Aspengate.

  They never found his body. But many bodies were burned beyond recognition when Aspengate was destroyed.

  He must have escaped somehow and washed back to shore like the dross he is.

  Beside Willen sat another familiar face, Raegnir Halfhorn. He too had often been welcomed as a visitor in Bron’s village.

  How open-hearted and trusting we were to those traitors in the past! Showing them our hospitality.

  The third man at the fire was unknown to her. A black beard, closely trimmed, framed his face. He was athletically built and a little taller than Willen. The men laughed aloud at some joke, but Aileen was too far away to make out individual words.

  Should I get closer? Aileen was wondering when something stung her neck. She swatted at the insect.

  Damn! Did someone hear that? How stupid of me. I should know better.

  Nervously she glanced towards the camp, but no one seemed to have noticed anything. Now Aileen probed her neck where the insect had stung her. A small welt had formed.

  Cursed insects! The closer you are to the ground, the peskier they are. Hell’ s teeth! That was one of the bigger ones. I’ll take care of it later. Some herbs will reduce the swelling and ease the itching. It’d be better if I could do it now, but this is neither the time nor the place. Anyway, I am done here.

  Lord Boron sat in his tent on a field chair behind a small table. Beside him stood Sir Oswold, one of his commandants. On the opposite side were gathered the officials of Falgars Vale: Sir Joren, commandant of the city guard, Klaas Berden the town steward, Bran Merett, speaker for the guild, and Sir Ulwen, who had failed miserably to rid the mountains of the rebels.

  Now Bran Merett spoke up: “You have been camped here for two weeks, Lord Boron. I do not want to be disrespectful, but when do you plan to do something?”

  Bran was one of Ulf Merett’s sons, and Lord Boron was reminded of Prince Raiden’s complaints.

  Everyone has his own Merett, it seems. I begin to understand why the Meretts annoy the Prince so much.

  With annoying calm, he responded: “Today? Nothing.”

  Everyone’s jaws dropped in astonishment. Klaas Berden found his voice first and felt called upon to speak: “And just when are you going to take action? I mean, at least Sir Ulwen has clearly been trying hard to go after the rebels and master the situation.” To Lord Boron this sounded like an accusation of complacency, but things became even worse. Incredibly, Sir Ulwen now began to make excuses for his lack of success. “Yes, that’s true. I did everything I could. Searched the area day and night. And I would certainly have already dealt with this band of knaves if they weren’t always hiding like rabbits. I am a son of the noble house of Agarat...” But sadly the words missed their mark.

  The blather of a swollen-headed fool does not interest me in the slightest. With a hard, commanding voice Lord Boron interrupted the flood of words:

  “Spare me your family history, Sir Ulwen. The fact is, you did not eliminate the rebels and that’s the reason I am here! If you do not like my methods, then please complain to the Prince of Ardeen himself, and don’t bother me any more. Otherwise leave me to get on with my work. Dismissed!” And now be gone, you cockroaches.

  As military men, Sir Joren and Sir Ulwen knew when it was best to keep their mouths shut. They saluted and turned on their heels to leave immediately. Klaas Berden and Bran Merett followed at once. They didn’t have the stomach for further talk without the commanders behind them.

  Amazing how a few direct words suffice to bring about a bit of peace and quiet. Contentedly, the Gray Wolf rubbed his hands. After all, I am not here because the others did their jobs so w
ell.

  “And what are we really up to now, Lord Boron? asked Sir Oswold, and again a smile came to the Gray Wolf’s lips. “Oh, we have already accomplished a lot. I have gathered information and prepared everything. And now... we simply wait.”

  There is no sense in running blindly through the hills after these rebels. Vrat avoids open battle, that is more than obvious. Otherwise even a puffed up good-for-nothing like Sir Ulwen could have dealt with them by now.

  Lord Boron despised those snobbish scions of noble and wealthy houses who thought their names alone made them special and gave them the right to place themselves above others.

  I tolerate this type of arrogance in exactly one person. And I have known for a long time now that the Black Prince can match his words with great deeds.

  Again the tent flapped open and Master Eriwen entered.

  “It’s like market day around here.” Lord Boron remarked in a very good temper.

  “I fail to see what you mean, Lord Boron?” asked Master Eriwen somewhat puzzled.

  “Oh, nothing. And? Were you successful?”

  “Yes, we are in the game. We have just now had a stroke of luck.”

  Eagerly awaited news. “From how far away can you track the target?”

  Master Eriwen frowned: “Hard to tell. The signal is faint. But the person is still nearby.”

  The commandant smacked both hands on the table and stood up. “Time for action! Sir Oswold, send ten horsemen up the road. Master Eriwen, your man will join them. And don’t lose our prey, but stay out of sight.” Then Lord Boron reconsidered and withdrew his orders.

  “Wait! Better stay in sight and make a bit of noise. A nice piece of bait to catch a fine fish.” Amused, Lord Boron winked and then turned to Sir Oswold again: “We leave bright and early tomorrow. Prepare yourselves.”

  Aileen had withdrawn to the trees when she saw mounted soldiers with torches riding out of the camp.