by Court Ellyn
“It was you then? You, she was crying after. I should’ve guessed.”
“Leave it be, m’ lord.” Pain seethed across his shoulders as he raised an arm to beckon Duíndor. The bruised tatters of his pride forbade him to tend to the welts. He hoisted himself back into the saddle and rode well behind the rest of the party. Eventually even Eliad left him to brood in solitude.
Bexby Field came into view. Thatched roofs rose from a wooded hollow. Smoke curled from chimneys. A white streamer of light announced Zephyr’s return. “All appears to be quiet, my pearl.” Her bright white eyes spotted the red and purple lines on his upper arm. “What happened to you?”
“Duíndor threw me.”
The horse tossed his head in protest.
The fairy wasn’t fooled either, but she refrained from arguing.
“Did you find Tullyk?”
“He’s hiding in the tavern. Corner room, top floor, third door on the right.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Rhian urged Duíndor to a trot and caught up with Kelyn and gave him the news. The War Commander returned a curt “Thank you,” then cantered ahead. The rest of the highborns, suddenly a tight-knit clique, broke into a canter in his wake.
That fast they had cast Rhian from their midst. He hung back with the dwarves and the Miraji. Dagni raised a kerchief and gestured at a rivulet of blood trickling down his arm.
Face unbearably hot, he cleaned it away as the party rode down the hill into town. Much of Bexby Field appeared to have been razed several weeks before. Fire had gutted half the buildings and spread to a few trees. Blackened beams and scorched branches stabbed at the sky. The people were resilient, however. A few new constructions grew on the foundations of the old. New thatch gleamed golden.
The sight of the Regulars marching up the street stirred horror among the citizens. They didn’t wait to see if the delegation was friendly or not. Shutters slammed shut. A woman screamed and ran, grabbing a child’s hand as she fled into an alley. Overturned wagons and charred timbers had been set up as barricades at intervals along the main road. The Regs weaved through them at a cautious pace. Laniel and Dannevir appeared ahead, on the edge of the town square, waving the all-clear.
The tavern was placed prominently on the square. The sign swinging fitfully in the unsettled air depicted an upturned flagon and a cascade of golden ale. “The Bottoms Up,” it read.
Kelyn posted the Regs in a perimeter around the building. One of the Miraji headed off to the back door, while the second positioned herself at the front. The dwarves divided as well, khorzai gleaming over their shoulders. The spectacle they made didn’t go unnoticed. Half a dozen human faces crowded the window of the common room. Chatter increased in volume.
“Eliad, if you please,” Kelyn said.
Lord Drenéleth shouldered his way through the door and announced, “In the name of Lord Ilswythe, the War Commander of Aralorr, we are requisitioning this tavern for the rest of the day. Get out.”
Patrons scurried into the daylight.
The delegation eased inside. The man behind the bar was built like a stone block. Something about his stance, his elaborate black moustache reminded Rhian of his cousin Shark. And the floor was almost as gritty as that in the Castaway’s Inn, only it was soil from fields under his boots instead of sand from the sea. Despite the shame curdling in his belly, he realized he didn’t miss his cousin’s seedy little tavern. His fists clenched at the thought of returning to it.
“I protest,” the barkeep bellowed. “Those were paying customers.”
Kelyn flicked a fat silver coin onto the bar. “So are we. If you’re lucky, we’ll be out of here before your busy hour, and you’ll have new gossip to spread around. Rejoice.”
The barkeep fisted the coin, flung down his apron, and strode out.
Eliad headed upstairs to find Tullyk.
While they waited, Dagni climbed onto a stool at the bar, sniffed at a half-emptied mug of something dark and foamy, then wrinkled her nose and pushed it aside. Laniel inspected the filthy corners, the grimy walls, and greasy tables, and refused to touch anything. Lady Athmar and the Leanian captain made themselves comfortable at one of the tables; neither seemed to want their backs to the door. Rhian couldn’t argue. He peered out the filmy window and watched Dannevir climb into one of the andyr trees in the square and vanish among the leaves.
Feet stomped overhead. Eliad appeared on the landing with Tullyk beside him. The captain of Bramoran’s city-guard was sallow and emaciated. He wore civilian clothes that draped his frame like empty sacks. Apprehensive eyes were too large in his face. White hair stood out at his temples, in an untrimmed beard. He leaned on a cane and carried a satchel, but bore no weapons.
He spotted Kelyn leaning on the bar and descended the stair so fast that he fairly tripped into the common room and stumbled to a knee at Kelyn’s feet. “Goddess’ save me, it really is you. M’ lord, you’re alive! When he said I was to meet you here, it sounded too good to be true.” The man was near sobs. “And then when you didn’t … when you didn’t show …”
Kelyn raised him up. “We had to be sure. Ah, my friend, we feared you dead as well. How many does Lothiar hold prisoner?”
“One block of the dungeon is stuffed full. Each cell holds five or six men. He uses those big brutes to keep an eye on us, but they aren’t the most disciplined blokes. We were able to communicate, encourage each other, even take roll counts. About half the city watch were killed during the massacre. I figured he would dispatch the rest of us in one fell swoop, but it isn’t like that. One or two are taken away on an irregular basis. They aren’t brought back. I can’t imagine what he does with them. When he called for me by name, I knew I was next.” Tullyk shuddered. The memory of his terror surged from him like a flood. Rhian’s skin crawled with it.
Tullyk looked over the faces of those who had survived King Valryk’s banquet. His search arrested on Laniel. “Mother’s tits, Kelyn, you bring one with you! He looks just like that sadist bastard.”
Kelyn laid a calming hand on the man’s shoulder. “Falconeye is an ally, Tullyk. Many Elarion are allied with us against Lothiar.”
Tullyk scrubbed a hand over his face, tried to compose himself. “It’s all upside down, Kelyn. I can’t call any of them my friend. Not after…” His voice cracked. “Mother’s mercy, he is torturing my men. Torturing them, so I would agree to come. If I don’t return to Bramoran with a counteroffer, Lothiar said he will kill everyone left in the dungeon. I don’t believe that’s an idle threat.”
“Nor do I.” Kelyn gestured at the satchel. “Let’s hear his terms.”
Tullyk slung the satchel off his shoulder and took out a stack of parchment, inkpots and quills, and arrayed them on one of the cleaner tables.
“Lothiar provides us with the necessary accoutrements?” Drona asked. “Hnh, polite of him.”
“Captain,” Eliad said, “what about Valryk?”
Despite the blame heaped at the Black Falcon’s feet, Tullyk sounded mournful. “I haven’t seen or heard from His Majesty. Lothiar didn’t mention him.”
“Damn…” Eliad muttered, but what Rhian heard was Brother, my brother, my brother…
Kelyn stared at the floor; his thoughts were better guarded. “Well, it spares us the task of bringing him to justice.”
Tullyk handed Kelyn a parcel of folded parchment sealed with Aralorri blue wax. The wax snapped and the parchment crackled as he opened Lothiar’s terms. He took one glance, grunted in frustration, and extended the parchment to Laniel.
“If he wants to communicate with us,” Eliad said, “why doesn’t he write duínovan? Isn’t that your word for it?”
“He writes in Elaran,” Laniel replied, “because he finds your language beneath him. He might just as well ask why you can’t read what he writes, but he already knows. You’re an uneducated, course, ignorant animal.”
“Know his mind that well do you?” asked the Leanian knight.
Laniel refrained from answering and started translating:
“We, Ana-Forah’s First Children seek to right an age-old wrong and cleanse Dwinovia of crimes that have long gone unpunished—”
Kelyn cleared his throat. “Skip the manifesto.”
“Right.” Laniel skimmed a few lines, then resumed, “I, Lothiar, son of Danyth and Leavhan, speak on their behalf and offer the following terms—
“Point the First: The First Children demand that all humans, including those considered ‘highborn,’ disarm.” He paused and explained, “ ‘Highborn’ is the only word written in duínovan. We don’t have an equivalent.” He resumed, “All weapons, weapons stashes, armors and armaments will be surrendered to Bramor within forty days of ratifying this accord.”
“Bramor?” Eliad exclaimed. “Why the hell did he change its name?”
Laniel read on, “After forty days of non-compliance, following ratification of terms by all parties, ‘highborns’ found in possession of weapons, arms, and armaments will be arrested and imprisoned for no less than ten years.”
“Despicable,” Drona snarled.
“Point the Second: Humans, being of a lesser race, will owe homage to the First Children. As a mercy, ‘highborns’ will be spared execution. The First Children will permit ‘highborns’ to govern settlements of humans under the supervision of the First Children, as vassals.”
“Kind of him not to murder us outright,” Drona said.
“Didn’t work so well the first time,” Eliad added.
“Get on with it,” Kelyn demanded. The chatter stopped.
“Point the Third: The laws of the First Children will supersede those of existing human law. Upon ratification, all human law will be considered null and void. Elaran law, definitions of crimes and punishments, property and ownership, will immediately take effect.
“Sedition and rebellion will not be tolerated. The First Children reserve the right to crush unrest and punish offenders according to the severity of their crimes.
“Point the Fourth: Human vassals will owe yearly tribute to the First Children, in accordance with terms yet to be negotiated.”
Eliad huffed. “He’s actually giving us a say in something?”
“Point the Fifth: Vassals will concede to the First Children the cities and holdings that were originally erected by Elaran hands. Namely: Bramor, Ilswythe, Lunélion, Brynduvh, Athmar, Endhal, and Mithlan.
“Humans will empty all villages within ten miles of these cities named, and will be forbidden to farm, hunt, or craft goods and wares within this ten-mile radius. These lands will produce food, game, and goods for the First Children alone.”
By now, Drona’s fists were knotted upon the tabletop, the Leanian knight was gaping open-mouthed, Kelyn had lowered his face into his fingers. Even Laniel was beginning to squirm as if he stood on a bed of hot coals. Eliad, however, appeared to be on the verge of laughter.
“Point the Sixth: Human children under the age of thirteen will attend Elaran schools where they will learn to speak, read, and write Elaran. Elaran is to be considered the primary language in all homes. Books written in duínovan will be surrendered to Bramor within one year following ratification.
“Point the Seventh: Avedrin.”
Rhian raised his chin in defiance. Everyone in the common room glanced at him.
“We, the First Children, define avedrin as deviations and aberrations. Their unnatural ability to manipulate nature, their capacity to violate another’s mind, must be eradicated. Is it good or right that they divert rain from the path the Goddess intended? Do they know better than the Mother-Father herself? Avedrin are the enemy of Elari and human alike. Therefore, immediately upon ratification, humans will concede to the First Children the custody of all avedrin extant, as well as all avedrin born in the future.
“Point the Eighth…”
Kelyn pushed himself from the bar. “Don’t read anymore. There’s no point. We cannot agree to any of this.”
Laniel flung the papers away. They flopped across the floor like a bird with broken wings. “He says he speaks for us, but he doesn’t. These are his views, not the Lady’s, not mine.”
“Don’t worry, Falconeye,” Kelyn said, “we’re not going to string you up from the nearest tree.”
“What will we offer Lothiar in return?” Eliad asked.
“Besides a hammer to the head,” Drona muttered.
Kelyn took a seat the table lined with ink and parchment. “Tullyk, I urge you not to return with the refusal we must write. Too many messengers bear the brunt of a recipient’s rage.”
“I must go back. The lives of my men depend on it.”
Kelyn sighed and dipped a quill.
“Let me,” Eliad said. “I have a few choice words.”
“Choice words won’t help.” Kelyn started scribbling, nothing but a fancy header, as far as Rhian could tell. “We aren’t the animals Lothiar thinks we are. We won’t act like it. Thoughts? That don’t involve profanities or bloodshed?”
The Leanian knight hmm’d and haw’d. Drona opened her mouth to offer a line or two, but her glance flicked toward the window. She sat bolt upright. “Kelyn, trouble.”
At the same time, the Regs surrounding the tavern began shouting. The dwarves freed khorzai. Dannevir was running across the square, loosing arrows as fast as his arm could move. He hit the tavern door and flung it wide. “Naenion! Pouring into the street.”
“Out the back,” Kelyn said, scrambling to his feet.
One glance out the door showed Rhian a break in the air above the square. The edges crackled and seethed with energies. Ogres filed through the crack one at a time, armed to the teeth. Several lay dead or wounded, plumed with dranithi arrows. An Elari in supple leather stood over the corpses, barking orders. The dwarves ran to form a barrier between the ogres and the tavern. The Regs freed dual swords with soft, urgent notes.
“What the hell is that?” Kelyn demanded, peering out at the portal.
“Never seen anything like it,” Rhian said.
“That’s how Lothiar’s doing it. Giving commands so fast.”
“Abducting people,” Rhian added.
“Right. Run. Tullyk, with us.”
Everyone else had ducked out through the kitchen, but Tullyk was stuffing parchment back into the satchel. “But we haven’t had time!”
“They’re not here for a reply. Move!” Kelyn grabbed him by the shirt front and flung him after the others. Parchment rained like autumn leaves.
Rhian followed the highborns into the tavern yard, past a chicken coop and a chopping block and on toward the livery where they had left the horses. The Elarion and dwarves stationed around back filed in behind them. Dannevir brought up the rear and shouted, “Taov yora,” reverting to Elaran without thinking. His arrows sliced the air. Rhian turned to find half a dozen ogres barreling around the corner of the tavern. He leveled a palm. With an ear-splitting crack, lightning arched over the Regs’ heads and plunged through two of the ogres. The rest ran on, and the dwarves lunged upon them, khorzai arching.
Laniel led the highborns quickly down a narrow alley. Storm clouds darkened the sky. A gale bent the treetops. By the time they reached the livery, horses were screaming. A second portal had broken open near the stable yard. Ogres fell upon the horses. Three of the animals lay dead, their throats torn open. Duíndor, Drona’s gray, and the golden warhorses fought wildly, kicking and rearing and biting.
With twin daggers bared, Laniel dived to the attack. Two ogres fell dead before the highborns caught up to him and joined the fray. Dagni swung a hammer, breaking knees and ankles. Six of her dwarves roared, seeking new targets for reddened khorzai. And the others? The Elarion and dwarves who had stayed to cover their flight had yet to catch up. Bad sign.
Kelyn, Drona, and the Leanian knight drove blades deep. The two Miraji wove themselves inside their impenetrable veil and vanished, only to reappear seconds later in swirling clouds of sand and steel.
Rhia
n’s palms tingled with the release of fire.
There! The Regs who had defended the tavern rounded the livery and joined their brethren. There were only four left. Three dwarves staggered after them, and those wounded. Did the naenion follow on their heels?
Look after Da for me? Carah’s voice resonated inside Rhian’s head. As much as he wanted to steer clear of the War Commander, he worked his way across the stable yard to fight at his side. But Kelyn would have none of it. “Away from me, avedra!”
“I’ll keep my promise to Car!”
Two ogres ran at them. Rhian skewered them with lightning. A third fell upon them before he was aware. Armor crunched. Kelyn grunted, breathless, and flew past as limp as a ragdoll. Rhian ducked the ogre’s hammer, planted a palm against the muscle-hard belly and loosed a wave of raw energy. Spine and ribs and organs shattered.
Drona, of all people, stood over Kelyn, her sword a blur as she fended off an ogre. Squealing, the ogre backed away, clutching a stump where his hand should’ve been.
Kelyn came to, shook himself, and cradled his ribs. Rhian pried him out of the dust. “Get you to a horse, m’ lord.” He beckoned Duíndor. “Mithilë. Fann oan.” The horse had bolted free of the melee, but returned at Rhian’s whisper. He gave Kelyn’s foot a lift and hoisted him into the saddle.
“Pair up,” Kelyn said, but his voice failed to carry. “Tell them, Rhian.”
“To the horses!” Rhian bellowed. “Pair up!”
The Leanian knight lay in a spreading puddle of blood, and one of the Miraji too. And, oh, Goddess, Dannevir. The dranithi stared up at the roiling gray sky, his bow splintered in his hand.
Eliad claimed one of the golden warhorses and hauled Dagni up behind him. Drona scrambled into her own saddle, and the three of them galloped off.
Kelyn lowered a hand. Damned if Rhian would take it. He slapped Duíndor’s flank and shouted, “Lanilë!” The Elaran black tore off at a gallop, taking Kelyn with him. The second Miraji swept Laniel up behind her and made a pass at the ogres, giving Laniel a chance to loose arrows into their formation. Ogres toppled, but there were too many. Three dozen more were charging up the street. Rhian called lightning from the sky, convincing them to think again.