“Oh, that’s a lovely thought.” Alaric often retreated into sarcasm when things looked grim “So whether this being exists or not, they’re essentially looking for unlimited access to the rest of the Realms where they can engage in all kinds of killing and destruction. And we have no clue what this thing might be or where it might be found.”
“No, we do have some clues,” his father broke in, “It is immaterial if we believe this story or not. They believe it, and that is enough. They believe their imprisonment, and that of this Chaos they worship, was caused by the Ancients. We know they exist because all the peoples of the Realms acknowledge them, and we’ve found evidence of their existence. It would follow that what they are looking for has to do with the Ancients. Perhaps it’s an artifact or some piece of information they left behind. That would mean we need to find out as much as we can about the Ancients, to see if we can find what they seek.”
“Before that, however,” Kahji interjected, “I recommend you rally your duke. He may not be willing to call up his army, but he should be warned, as should the rest of your people.”
“Perhaps both can be served,” Alaric mused aloud. “As I recall, the renowned scholar Manitoc was going to visit the duke’s manor to confer with some of the duke’s scholars about something. Few know more about the Ancients than does the monsignor. If he has not left the duke’s hospitality, perhaps we can catch him before he leaves.”
The Baron shook his head. “That was months ago.”
“I heard of his visit before he arrived, and the monsignor is not over-fond of travel. Depending on when he arrived, he may well still be with the duke.”
“Very well, we will return home, and you will go see the duke to inform him of the circumstances here. If the monsignor is there, meet with him. If he has already left, maybe the duke’s own scholars will know something of use. As for you, War Leader Kahji, as soon as an escort can be arranged, they will see you and your men back to the Gateway.”
“With your permission, Lord Baron, I would stay with your son. I have already exceeded my authority and the orders of the Chief in revealing as much as I have. A flame is as good as a spark, we say. Perhaps my presence will help your duke make wiser decisions.”
The elder Dell looked between his son and the Igni, trying to gauge how deep their ties ran, and how they had been forged so quickly. After a moment he nodded. “So be it. I assume you will have instructions for your troops. We will leave ten knights and twenty men at arms here as a guard to supplement your own force in case the monsters return. The rest of my men will depart at first light, and I will dispatch light cavalry as an escort for your soldiers as soon as we arrive back at my castle.”
Their course decided, the Dells returned to the army and ordered the troops to stand down and make camp. Kahji returned to his own troops and gave them their instructions. Guards were set and the camps settled down into their routines. By the time the sun tinted the sky with yellow and rose, the Baron’s men were ready and the march began.
CHAPTER 8
“My Lord Boores Dell, Baron and Defender of the Borderlands, Keeper of the Gate of Fire, and Knight of the Order of the Silver Shield!” the herald’s voice boomed throughout the massive hall where the duke was keeping court.
Nobles of various station turned toward the entrance and stood, bowed, or nodded as their station required. Most were in their casual wear. Today was neither a holy day nor any other special occasion. Nevertheless, they all far outshone the road weary Dells. Most wore robes or garments made from linen, usually in green or brown. Some few wore the red of the Church or the blue of the Gentry.
The walls of the great hall were decorated with rich tapestries depicting scenes of battle, or religious images. A carpet had been set on the dais where the duke’s high seat was. He sat almost sprawled in his chair. While others’ daily garments were of linen, the duke could afford richer clothing, and most of his was silk, leather, or fur. A simple steel circlet sat on his head, framing his black curls. His well-trimmed mustache and beard framed a hard, serious face, though his eyes shined with affection, and even friendship, as the baron was announced. The chair to his right was empty, indicating the countess was away at the moment, probably holding her “ladies’ court.” Flanking the two high seats were the various ministers of the court.
Though the Baron’s entrance caused no great stir, the entrance of the War Leader caused a great commotion. His approach was heard even before he reached the door, as guards had to be told to stand down and allow the dignitary to enter. The herald gulped audibly when he was handed the list of Kahji’s titles.
“The Lord Kahji par Vrothin, Lord of the Burning Sea, Champion of the Chief of Clan Chiefs, War Leader of the White Flame Army, Victor of the Battle of Far Gate, Prince of Infierno!”
Even Alaric was surprised at some of those titles. He had suspected, though never bothered to confirm, that Kahji was more than just a War Leader. He had not expected that his friend was the son of the Chief of Clan Chiefs or the mind behind the Ignis’ great victory over his great-grandfather’s forces at Far Gate, an ill-advised and short-lived settlement just through the Gateway into Infierno.
If Alaric was surprised, the rest of the court were simply stunned. As the son of the Ignis’ monarch, Kahji outranked all here but the duke. Many eyes hardened and backs bowed quite stiffly as the minor lords and ladies present realized they had to bow to someone they believed an enemy. Even the duke looked somewhat taken aback as he rose to his feet to accept the august visitor.
Kahji pretended not to notice the ambivalent, and sometimes openly hostile, stares as he moved across the room. Together, the Igni prince and the Dells moved to the duke to pay their respects.
“My Lord, may I present Prince Kahji, who is with us to present some rather disturbing news. Might we see you in your chambers, my liege?”
The duke did not seem to like the idea of an Igni in his personal chambers, but there was no way to deny the request without giving offense. After the barest hesitation, the duke nodded and then addressed the rest of the court.
“I will adjourn to my quarters with the Baron and our Noble visitor. Viscount Mannard, please conduct business until I return.”
With that, he rose and swept out of the great hall and up the stairs to his personal apartments. As his men at arms moved to follow, he discretely waived them aside. Their presence would not stop the giant Igni if assassination was the true goal, and he had no desire to cause insult. With only minimal delay, they arrived in the well apportioned rooms.
“Please, sit. Water or wine can be provided, if you desire. What is this news that is so important it cannot wait until you have bathed, and so dire that my court should not hear it?”
There being no chair to support his bulk, Kahji moved to an empty corner and squatted on his legs, using his great arms as support. Alaric and the baron both moved to high-backed chairs upholstered in velvet. Each gratefully accepted a cup of water.
Taking a deep drink, the baron began, “My Lord, you are aware of the problems we have had along the border. In fact, I believe you were the one who suggested my son and his companions would be our best chance of finding information. Well, they succeeded, but the cost was high. My son lives, but his companions fell gathering the information. I’ll let him tell you what he found.”
After accepting the duke’s condolences, and fighting down another surge of grief, Alaric took a deep breath and told the story. He explained how he had decided to take a more circuitous route to the site of the attack they were investigating. He told of the ambush, and described the monsters they battled. “It was only from Kahji that I learned they were called Frost Fiends.”
He only touched very briefly on his convalescence and the trip through Infierno. He then described finding la Gauche’s force and rescuing them from the Frost Fiends, the march toward his father’s castle, and finding the destroyed village. He then explained the conclusions they had reached.
“My lord,” th
e baron took over once more, “we know you can’t call in your vassals’ service without a more specific goal or threat, but we believe it would be most prudent if you put them on the alert. I am convinced that the Igni are not our enemies in this, but the barons, bannerettes, and knights further away from the Border have not had the interaction with them that I have, or that you have. It would not be advisable to make them an enemy when they need not be.”
The duke nodded slowly. “I see why you brought this to me directly. Certainly there are those in my court who are no friend of the Igni, and would rather give in to their own prejudices than give your claims any credence. Even I, had I heard this from someone I trusted less, would not believe it. It will be as you say. The letters will be drawn up today, and sent out with messengers tomorrow morning. Was there anything else?”
“Yes, my lord. We believe these Frost Fiends are looking for something to do with the Ancients. We do not know what it is, but we believe they have a specific goal. It is our understanding that Monsignor Manitoc had come to speak with some of your own scholars. We were hoping he could shed some light on what they might be looking for.”
“I’m sorry, but Manitoc left a week ago, accompanied by those same scholars he came to meet. They took forty men at arms with them. I believe they were headed to an area within your lands, in fact. You must have just missed their message telling you where they would be working.”
“Then we must leave as soon as possible. We believe that he may be the only man in the kingdom who might divine their objective.”
“Why such haste? In a matter of a few days, every knight in the duchy will know the truth of our enemies. Armed with the knowledge you’ve provided, we should be able to prevent them from doing much more damage.”
“Because the Frost Fiends shouldn’t be able to enter Mediatus at all,” Kahji interjected with his bass rumble. “The fact they can suggests they have powers we, their ancestral enemies, did not know, or that they have unlocked some source of power. In either case, it makes them more dangerous. You cannot count on them attacking in small groups. The last group we fought was small for an incursion into Infierno, but they should not have even been able to get that many through into the Border, let alone into the Center Realm. The day may be coming when you no longer face them in scores, but in hundreds.” Kahji paused for a moment before continuing, “Trust me when I say you are not prepared for that.”
The duke studied the war leader for some moments before answering, “Then why did you not tell us of these creatures before? We asked your people many times about these raids along the Border, and you plead ignorance. Why tell us now?”
Only Alaric, now so much better acquainted with the Igni, noticed Kahji’s embarrassment as he responded, “Because the Chief forbade it, Duke. Even now I go against my father’s wishes; he and his advisors believe that this is no fight of ours. In truth, they may hope the Fiends deal a crippling blow to your own forces. Just as many of your people have no love for mine, so do many of my people harbor hate towards your own. The brave one here convinced me they were wrong. I do not think he has fully accepted the strength he showed when his friends died. He reacted with bravery and honor. In doing so, he wounded a silverback. None of my people has done that in more than a century. If he represents even a significant minority of your people, no blow the Fiends deal you, short of your destruction, will cripple you. My people must accept that, and learn to treat with you as allies, if not as friends.”
Alaric was touched by the words. He had never considered that his act was one of anything other than foolish revenge. To hear someone as accomplished in battle as Kahji call that choice brave and honorable was a source of pride. He also felt sorrow. In the weeks, even months, since his friends’ brutal deaths, he had not taken the time to grieve for them. When he first awoke in the Citadel of Flame, and then marching with the Igni, he felt grieving would show weakness, a weakness he could not afford to show. Then, with leading the men he had rescued on the border, he had been too busy to reflect on his friends’ deaths. By the time he had ridden with his father to see the duke, Alaric had believed he had buried that grief too deeply. That was obviously not the case.
The other men in the room pretended not to see his tears.
“Then at least stay the night,” said the Duke. “Bathe, eat real food, and rest for the night. Then set out in the morning with fresh eyes and strong backs.”
Looking at his son and realizing the rest he needed was not merely physical, the Baron nodded his agreement.
As they left the duke’s private rooms, he caught Alaric’s eye, “We have our own chapel within the curtain wall.”
CHAPTER 9
Alaric ate quickly that evening. After an almost perfunctory appearance at the duke’s head table, he went to the chapel. He knew he needed to give into his grief for a time if he was going to be able to function. He also knew he would best find solace among the icons, the smell of incense, and the softly burning candles of the small chapel.
Entering the small building, he crossed himself with the holy water. That done, he bowed to the Body of Christ, secure within the Tabernacle. He then moved to the vigil candles, some burning already.
As he lifted the taper from its holder, he breathed a prayer, “God bless you and keep you. Though I can no longer see your faces nor hear your laughter, I pray we will meet again, in God’s time.”
He first lit a candle for Morgan. He thought of the times they had seen, and the fun they had. Morgan had been, by far, the most lighthearted of the group. Perhaps it was size; after a childhood of verbal abuse Morgan had decided that he might as well have fun. Perhaps it was his intellect; Morgan quickly found the humor in most situations. Whatever it was, Morgan had been his emotional anchor more than once.
He recalled an adventure they had shared before the company had grown to four. They had ventured far into the Border to find a rare fire rose. He could not even remember who had wanted it or whether she had tasked himself or Morgan with finding the thing. The rare plant would bloom in flame. When the flame died, the flower that remained would look like flame- all gold and red and orange. They had searched on foot for weeks before they’d found one. Then, after carefully digging it from the almost scalding earth, they had realized they had no way to transport it. Thinking quickly, Morgan had snatched his helmet from his head, and they had used that to take the flower to the maid in question. She had promptly told them she had settled on another suitor.
Even as he smiled at the memory, he moved the taper to light the next candle. This he lit in remembrance of Etienne. The two had been friends since boyhood. Etienne had been given over to Alaric’s father for his page service. Alaric had been given into the service of his father’s castellan and master-of-arms. Whenever their duties would permit, the two were inseparable. Etienne had been quick-witted and sly, even as a child. This, of course, led them into trouble on more than one occasion.
As the wick of the small votive caught, Alaric remembered one such incident. The two had been playing knight with appropriated pots as helms, and their lids as shields. Such were the amusements of nine and ten year old boys. However, it had been Etienne who had decided that they should slay a Great Dragon. What would serve better than the jousting quintain? Even that would not have caused a problem except for one minor detail. Alaric’s brother was at lance practice, which was the primary reason Etienne had not been required elsewhere. A faint smile came to his lips as he recalled his brother’s face, blotched red and purple, as he brought his charger to an abrupt halt. They had received quite the tongue lashing. Then, when his father heard, they received a real lashing. Alaric even fancied he could still feel the sting of the leather strap.
Once more Alaric smiled even as the taper again rose and dipped. The next candle was for Troye; he had been the best of them in many ways. He had not been born a noble. Instead, he had been the son of a cobbler. He had been apprenticed to the local farrier when men, led by Alaric’s brother and including
Alaric himself, had battled a raiding party of Igni in one of the incidental battles that occasionally cropped up on the Border.
The Igni had reached the small town first and had already overrun the small garrison. The town had not had a wall, looking to one of the nearby castles for protection. When the Dells and their men had arrived, most of the citizenry had already fled. Not Troye. Sitting on a horse obviously untrained for combat’s noise and chaos, Troye had nevertheless been able to keep the beast calm enough to give him hope when he was attacked by one of the raiders. His sword work had not been good, Alaric now recalled, but it had been good enough. More impressive had been his handling of his horse. It had almost seemed as though the young farrier’s apprentice and the steed he rode shared a single mind and purpose. It had been his horsemanship, as much as his personal gallantry, which had won him his spurs despite his low birth.
All through the night Alaric prayed for the souls of his fallen friends. Before leaving on their quest, they had all stopped by the small chapel in his father’s castle for a blessing and the Last Rights. Alaric insisted upon it and the others had come to see it as a ritual for good luck. He recalled good times and bad times. He recalled their fights and their friendship. He dwelt on each of them for a time, consigning them to God’s merciful hands.
When the sun rose, Alaric had not gotten even a minute of sleep. Nevertheless, he felt more rested than he had in weeks. As he watched the stained glass windows lighten with the dawn, Alaric realized how much of a burden he had been carrying. It was not completely gone, of course. His friends would be with him forever, which meant he would never fully be rid of the grief. He did feel that his grief was beginning its journey of transformation, however. It was still painful and raw, but he allowed himself to believe that he could see that he had set his mind on a road to reconciliation with that pain. Now he felt the pain and the sadness; he hoped one day only to remember their fond memories.
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