Alaric entered the great hall that morning physically weary and emotionally drained, but with a spiritual renewing he had greatly needed. He made his way to the duke’s table and sat wearily to the morning meal.
“Did you find what you sought in the chapel?” the duke’s kind voice cut through the low murmur of morning conversation.
“Thank you, my lord. Perhaps it would be better to say that I have found the path to what I seek.”
“Fair enough. Then I hope that God goes with you on the rest of your journey. Your father and his men could not wait for your arrival. He asked me to have you follow them after you had eaten. Your horse will be saddled and ready.”
Alaric understood the speed with which an army, even one as small as his father was leading, moved. Rather, he understood the speed with which it didn’t move. The Igni might be able to cover a hundred miles a day, when they weren’t slowed to the pace a human could keep, but an army of men moved considerably slower. Considering how many of the men were on foot, they would be lucky to make six to eight leagues in a day. A single man on horseback would catch them up in a matter of hours.
After finishing his meal, Alaric took his leave of the duke, and made ready. Before any but the earliest of merchants had lifted the awnings on their shops, he was riding toward his father’s lands once more. He caught up to them just before they resumed their march after lunch. He’d been counting on the more leisurely march meaning that the men would stop for lunch, rather than eating as they walked.
He rode through the men while exchanging nods of acknowledgement and the occasional pleasantry. Riding through them, he felt something different. This was hardly the first time he had ridden through a group of men led by his father, but never had he felt so accepted by the men on foot. He hadn’t felt rejected or outcast previously, but now he felt as though he’d almost been adopted by the infantrymen. He remarked on it to his father when he reached the front of the column.
“Of course you do. You led many of these men in a battle. Specifically, you led them to victory when they believed they were about to die. Even the ones who weren’t there have now heard about what you did. What you did for them won’t be forgotten. I’m not sure, if I forced the issue, if they would side with you or with me now.”
Kahji, loping along easily beside the baron, confirmed his father’s words, “The men know you did not have to do what you did. You could have stayed safe with me and my soldiers. Instead, you charged recklessly through the fight to lead these men home safely. You then did it again when it appeared your father’s force and ours were going to collide. Many of these men know they are alive today, and going home now to see their families, because of you.”
It seemed strange to Alaric. He had never been noticed much even at his own father’s court. His eldest brother, of course, was heir to the barony. He had been trained to leadership and diplomacy. Their second brother had entered the priesthood. That option had not been open for Alaric. As the third son, he had to remain available to take his brother’s place, should the worst happen. He’d spent most of his life, except for those times when he was adventuring with the Champions, as an afterthought. To be accepted and even loved by those other than his closest friends and his family was an unusual experience.
For the next six days, the group marched toward the Baron’s castle. On the morning of the seventh day, they saw its tallest tower on the horizon. They would reach the walls as evening set. Seeing that safety, that home, ahead of them lifted everyone’s spirits. By now, even the foot soldiers knew that the raids against the Border villages were only foreshadows of something worse. Everyone wanted to get home to family and that feeling of security. Some of them knew their stay would be brief. They valued the time all the more.
For reasons they could not explain, their good cheer faded as they neared the normally friendly walls of the castle. Something about the vast fortress seemed foreboding. Were there more sentries on the ramparts than normal? What was going on here?
Alaric was the first to notice something else.
“Father, where are the field workers? This late, they should be seeing to the fields before the harvest. I haven’t seen anyone. And doesn’t it feel a little cool to you? You almost can’t notice it, but it feels more like late spring than the end of summer.”
“You’re right. I hadn’t noticed, but you’re right,” the baron responded. He turned to his signal men, “Filter through the ranks, everyone should be ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Something is wrong here.”
Up and down the column, the men gripped their weapons a little tighter. Knights ensured their weapons were lose in their scabbards, or made sure squires were near with lances. Arquebusiers ensured their matches were ready and that they had sufficient shot. For long, tense hours the army marched toward the castle. Every step was more tense. Every mile seemed to bring them closer to doom.
Even when they arrived at the castle, they allowed themselves only the slightest breaths of relief. Something was definitely wrong here. Their standards, waiving above the baron and his officers, were well known. Normally they would have been greeted with cheers as family rushed to their returning soldiers. Instead they were met with near silence.
Now inside the walls, they could see that there were more sentries on the walls. What was more, they were not armed, as normal, with arquebus. Instead, most of them carried fusil tempête, the famed “storm guns” of the human artificers.
Humans could not work magic naturally, as could the other races. Instead, they worked with long rituals and runes and symbols. When allowed time to work their craft, however, human magicians and artificers could work wonders unimagined by the other races. Besides relatively minor items, like the water tokens Alaric and his companions had been carrying all that time ago, they created weapons of war. Their crafting took much time and effort, so the weapons were only used when there was great need. Seeing so many put to use now meant that his brother, in charge while his father had been away, had decided that the situation was dire indeed.
Alaric surveyed the situation in moments. It was clear that battle had not reached the castle yet, but it was feared that it would soon. He could see the extra weapons gathered in neat stacks, close enough together to be convenient, but far enough apart to prevent a single lucky strike from destroying too many at once. He saw the shelters built where the priests and women would care for the wounded. He saw the pails of water, ready to douse the castle walls to help keep them cool.
Something had happened while they were away. Castle Dell was prepared for war.
CHAPTER 10
Alaric and his father did not even stop to see to the men’s disposition. The men knew what to do without orders in any case, and they wanted to find out what had happened from Martin, his brother. Dismounting, they hurried to the keep and up the steps into the great hall. They did not even pause to be introduced.
Sitting in a chair to the right of their father’s empty seat, Martin was speaking to the castellan, actually the son of the man to whom Alaric had been given as a page. Even in the great hall, both men were dressed for combat. Martin wore the high boots and arming coat that suggested he would be able to don his armor quickly. Alaric’s brother stood slightly taller than he did, and was a little wider in the shoulder. His haughty eyes were grey, and his hair a dark brown. Except for coloration, he looked like the spitting image of his father.
Sir Gyire was wearing a breastplate and holding his helm tucked at his side. At his belt, he wore a war sword, and his high boots already had unadorned steel grieves buckled on. His own hair was a fiery red. His green eyes were keen and shone with an inner light. Slightly shorter than Alaric, he seemed disproportionately wider in the shoulder, and thicker in the thighs. His bearing and tone, those of a warrior born and bred, were all that kept his freckles from making him seem like a mischievous rapscallion all grown up.
They both stood and looked to the large double doors as the baron strode in.
“
Father! You’ve returned!”
“My lord! We feared for your safety!”
The two men spoke over each other. They both moved forward to greet the baron. As was common for both of these men, they paid no heed to Alaric. Martin greeted his father with an embrace.
“Father, what kept you? When you did not return when we expected, men were sent to the village. They reported back yesterday. They said it appeared the Igni had struck. Are they striking so deeply?”
Boores moved toward his seat, and motioned the others to theirs. “Give me a moment to catch my breath,” he began. Before he could continue, he was interrupted by outraged shouts.
“A Fire Ape, here?”
“Get behind me, my lord!”
Kahji had just entered the great hall. To Alaric it was apparent he was enjoying the discomfiture he was visiting on the baron’s elder son and the castellan, especially in light of the term “fire ape.” Before Sir Gyire could spring to attack, Alaric intercepted him with a hand firmly on his chest.
“Hold,” he found himself commanding, “This is no enemy.”
As his brother and the castellan first took notice of him, his father confirmed his order, “He speaks true. The War Leader is an ally and knows more of the enemy than we do. Stand down, sir knight; we have better things to do.”
With a look of distrust Sir Gyire reluctantly sheathed his sword. Even so, he kept his hand insultingly near his weapon. Kahji either did not recognize the stance for the insult it was, or, more likely, simply chose to dismiss it. He ambled up to the dais easily.
“As to my whereabouts, my son, I had to go warn our lord the duke of the nature of our enemy. Before we get to that, however, please tell me what has happened in my absence. When I left, I gave no orders to prepare for war.” His tone held no accusation or condemnation. The Baron trusted his sons, often more than they trusted each other.
“After you left, I began some basic preparations. Since we did not know what you would find, I felt it prudent to take some precautions. When you did not return, nor send word, within the expected time, we assumed the worst. I was preparing the castle for defense before I took some of the men to look for you myself. The scouts I initially sent only returned yesterday.
“Why do you say this Igni is an ally? The scouts seemed quite definite that the Igni are the only ones who could have done the damage to the village that they saw.”
With that, the baron filled in his son and the captain of his castle’s defense on what had happened, and what they had discovered. He explained the existence of the Frost Fiends and the fight barely avoided when his own men reached the ruined village. He told them of the urgent journey to the duke.
“One thing concerns me, however. No messenger reached you? A messenger should have come here to tell you what had happened, and to tell you to send a unit of light cavalry to escort a group of Igni back to the border.”
“No, father, no messenger ever arrived. And our scouts said nothing of a group of Igni in the vicinity.”
“If my men did not wish to be found, they would not have been. But they would have had no reason to hide from your scouts. They would probably have believed them to be the escort they had been told to await,” Kahji interjected in his bass rumble.
“Are those scouts still in the castle?” the baron asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have one of them report to us. I believe we need to ask a few more questions.”
The castellan called one of the pages and sent him on the errand, “It will probably take a few minutes” he stated as the page ran on his errand.
“While we have the time, then, did the Monsignor Manitoc come through? We were actually only going to pass through here on our way to find him. The duke said he had headed here to do some research.”
“Yes, father, he passed through several days ago. Though, to be truthful, something seemed wrong with the man. At the very least, he did not seem the kind of man who would be one of the king’s own scholars. He left here the day after he arrived.”
“Do you recall where he was going?” the baron asked.
“No. We were concerned about you by that time, and, as I said, he wasn’t completely coherent. I do know he was headed deeper into the Border, though.”
“If I may, my lords, he did say something about a temple,” the castellan interjected.
Before they could continue, the page led in a young cavalry officer. The man was short and slight. His wiry frame made him seem even smaller. Short brown hair barely covered his forehead, and a thin beard grew on his chin. Intelligent brown eyes peered at the gathered notables.
“My lords,” he introduced himself, “I am Sir Rodick. I was told you wished to see me.”
“Father, Sir Rodick is the knight who led the scouts,” Martin explained. “Yes, sir knight, we wished to speak with you some more about what you saw.”
The baron nodded. “Yes, Sir Rodick. Please tell me what you saw.”
The young knight took a breath, as though gathering his thoughts. “We arrived at the village and found it completely destroyed. It looked like some of the stone had even been melted. That was apparently not enough for the Igni, my Lord, because it seems they then tore down the buildings which had remained standing. We found evidence that the village garrison and militia fought bravely. Pike and arquebus were found at the scene. Most of them were damaged. In the fields outside the town we found scorch marks, sign that the Igni had released their fire waves.
We found no bodies, but that is not necessarily atypical for the Igni. Based on this evidence, we concluded that the Igni had laid in wait at the village after destroying it, and had attacked you as well.”
Alaric, Kahji, and the baron looked at each other. Alaric spoke first. “I don’t doubt your report, but your conclusions are incorrect.” He raised his hand to forestall the officer’s objection, “There is no fault; you simply were working on incomplete information. Better to say obfuscated information.”
“Thank you for your report. You may return to your post,” the baron dismissed him.
After the knight had left, Kahji noted, “For the Frost Fiends to have surprised my men and so overwhelmed them, they must have been able to put a substantial force directly into Mediatus. Whatever they are doing, they are growing more skilled or more powerful. Or both. I fear for both our peoples if they have found a way unrestricted into our realms.”
“Then it seems our search for the Monsignor must be put on hold. I must secure the barony against further incursion.”
“Actually, father,” Alaric spoke hesitantly, as though he was thinking his way through the situation, “This feels different to me. The Frost Fiends have not gone to any lengths to hide themselves before. We only did not suspect them initially because we were ignorant of their existence. Had we known about them, and known what to look for, we would never have suspected the Igni at all.
“Now they have changed tactics. It’s almost as if the initial raids were… practice. It seems as though those initial attacks did serve a purpose other than just destruction. They allowed the Frost Fiends to develop this new ability. We’ve been basing our plans on Kahji’s assertion that they are beings of absolute chaos. All of his experience says they do not plan or have strategic goals. With the exception of the lack of goals, that could have been said of the Igni, once. What if they’ve found a goal? What if this isn’t mere raiding, but a strategy?”
All five grew silent at that thought. After a lengthy pause, Alaric spoke into the tense silence. “I think we have an even more urgent need for the Monsignor’s wisdom. It may be the only way we can protect the kingdom, let alone the duchy or barony.”
CHAPTER 11
The five sat silent for a few moments. The mood, not light to begin with, had suddenly become much heavier. If their expressions had been serious before, they were now positively somber. It was one thing to think of so formidable a foe as a set of warriors, each out for his own personal glory. To think they had finally fo
und some amount of cohesion and become soldiers instead was enough to give each of them serious doubts about their ability to fight the menace.
Before the baron could answer, one of the sentries ran in, his eyes wild. “My lord, I think you need to see this.” The man’s pale face, even more than his words and tone, forewarned the men of what they would see.
“Bring armor for my sons and me,” he commanded as they rose from their impromptu council of war. Before the guard could respond, they were all striding quickly to the walls.
The noises of alarm led them to the Border side of the castle. There, they climbed the ladder to the ramparts and looked out. There, like a living sea, the Frost Fiends swarmed toward the castle. This was no mere raiding party. It was an army.
Along with the invading horde rolled a wave of cold air. The men could see frost forming on the ground. Nervously they gripped spears, arquebus, or fusil tempête.
“Lord in Heaven, preserve us,” Alaric whispered.
Within the seething mass of ice men were other forms as well. It appeared that the Fiends did not exist alone in whatever realm they occupied. Most common were porcine forms, standing an average of 20 hands high at the shoulder. On these, a Frost Fiend would ride carrying a club or, less often, a spear. Further in the back were ten large creatures that Alaric could not find an analogue for in his experience. Triangular heads ended in a mouth more like a beak than a muzzle. The creatures’ snouts sported horns like spikes. Some had another spike closer to between their eyes. Though not much taller than the hog creatures, they were much wider in shoulder and hip. Each one pulled behind it a catapult too massive for a team of oxen to have hauled.
Fire and Frost (Seven Realms Book 1) Page 7