“Good. Then you can answer my questions. The force that attacked this camp… how large is it? In which direction did they go? What is the name of the commander?”
The Dourosh looked like he was trying to laugh, but the pain radiating from the stab wound in his side wouldn’t let him. Faric leaned his bow against his pack, which he’d set on the ground, and drew the long knife sheathed at his left hip, next to his quiver.
“I know that your commander murdered the general who led this army,” he said. “After interrogating him. Your commander has a unique gift, doesn’t he?”
The Dourosh nodded.
“I don’t have the same kind of gift, so I can’t make you tell me anything. I could torture you, but that often leads to false information. You Dourosh know that, but it doesn’t stop you, does it? So let’s make a deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I won’t summon the Ember Lion.”
This time the Dourosh did laugh. “You can’t summon the lion. I heard about what your general said to my commander. There’s a girl—a hornless—who called forth the lion.” He licked his lips. “That news spread quickly through the ranks. We understand she’s a ripe young thing.”
Faric shrugged. “There is a girl, yes, and she was there when the Ember Lion appeared. But what our late general didn’t tell your commander—because he didn’t know—is that the Ember Lion has been appearing in Lanion regularly ever since the battle. Queen Anneli placed the Lion’s Crown on her head, and it seems to have awoken something in her. She can now call to the lion.”
“Good for her, but she’s not here.”
Faric smirked. “No. But I am her brother.”
The Dourosh’s face dropped as he tried to decide whether or not Faric was telling the truth.
“She’s observing me even now with her remote sight. At my signal, she will call to the Ember Lion and ask him to come to me.”
The Dourosh was about to speak, but Faric thrust his knife out toward the prisoner’s face. The move was a feint; with his left hand, he made a few subtle movements which the Dourosh did not see. A long, low growl emanated from the woods at the edge of the clearing. Faric started, as though he hadn’t expected it, and watched the blood drain from the Dourosh’s face. The man began shaking as he squinted toward the woods.
“It seems Anneli decided to send the lion early,” Faric whispered. “I must warn you that even though it’s here to aid me, it’s not completely under my control. And it hates your kind. I’ll try to keep it away from you, but—”
With the Dourosh’s attention on the woods, Faric cast another simple auditory illusion, and a second growl carried across the clearing. He knew it was a cheap trick, and there had been every chance the Dourosh would know it was nothing more than a ruse, but the man’s fear of the Ember Lion had clouded his judgement. Faric tried to conceal his smile.
“Send it away,” the Dourosh said quickly.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Try! Please!”
“You’ll tell me what I want to know? Because if you don’t, Queen Anneli won’t be happy. And if she’s not happy—”
“Yes, I’ll tell you! Send it away.”
Faric stepped forward, toward the clearing, and made a few meaningless gestures with his hands. After a moment he turned around and nodded. “I think it understood. It’s gone.”
The Dourosh was nearly weeping, and Faric stood still for a moment, baffled at the man’s reaction. The Dourosh hated and feared the Ember Lion, it was true, but this response was almost too extreme. He grew immediately suspicious.
“Which way did your general’s army go after attacking this camp?”
“South.”
Faric nodded. He’d already seen the evidence that the army had gone north, so now he knew: this man was lying. As long as he asked simple questions, he could expect the opposite answer to be true.
“Is this army here because the Dourosh are gathering in the North Wood, or is it a simple scouting party?”
“We’re a scouting party. After the battle at Lanion, we mostly fled back toward the West Wood. We’re here rounding up deserters who didn’t make it back.”
“I see. So it’s a smaller force?”
“Yes. Three hundred.”
Faric supposed that could be true, but it was safer to assume it wasn’t. Nearly three hundred Lanosh had perished here. It had been an uneven battle, and the Dourosh had probably outnumbered them by at least two to one—probably more.
“Finally,” Faric said, “the name of your commander.”
Here the Dourosh paused. After several uneasy seconds, he finally opened his mouth again. “Gralock.”
Faric smiled. This answer, he felt, could be the truth. The soldier had tried to come up with a false name, but his wits had failed him. He turned away from his captive and looked toward the ruined camp. His scouts were returning. The name wasn’t familiar to him, and it probably wouldn’t be to Anneli. His captive would have known that. They knew next to nothing about Dourok’s commanders, so a simple name was meaningless. But it was good to have it in case it came up again.
As his scouts rejoined him, he looked down at the Dourosh. The wound in his side was still bleeding freely. “Laeock,” he said, “can you do something for that?”
Laeock frowned but knelt down and began drawing on his skill with healing magic. After a few moments, the bleeding stopped, and the expression of pain faded from the Dourosh’s face.
Faric gestured to Arric and led him away. “He’s too injured for us to take him with us,” he said quietly, “but without continual treatment, he won’t survive for long.”
Arric frowned. “If we leave him alive, there’s a chance his comrades could come back and find him. Then they’d know about us.”
“And what would they know? That there’s a band of scouts operating in the North Wood? They probably expect there to be several. I did tell him I was Anneli’s brother, but I also told him that the Ember Lion was here. He was playing a role for everything that followed. I don’t think he believed a word I said.” He glanced back at the prisoner. “And besides, there’s a good chance he won’t last the night. Laeock has stopped the pain for now, which is more than pity expects of us. He is Dourosh, after all.”
Arric cocked and eyebrow. “All right. If you think it best to leave him.”
The two men walked back to the prisoner, and Faric smiled down at him. “Unlike your people, we don’t execute prisoners anymore. We’re leaving you here. If you’re lucky, your comrades will find you.”
The captive shook his head. “I doubt it. I don’t have long. The merciful thing to do—”
Faric held up his hand. “Your sword is over there. We’ll make sure it’s within reach before we leave. What you do after that is your choice.”
The Dourosh nodded. “Never thought I’d say thank you to a Lanosh, but… thank you.”
Faric felt a pang of guilt. Were all Dourosh beyond redemption, as he’d always been taught? This one had lied, but Faric would have done the same if he’d been captured. He examined the lines marring the man’s forehead, the dark hue of the skin, the dry and cracked horns. Dourok’s corruption ran deep in those he affected. But Lanosh with a strong magical affinity could protect those around them from corruption. Did Dourok’s black magic work the same way? Did proximity to their own kind keep them under his sway? When removed from others likewise corrupted, was there hope for recovery?
He’d left Lanion shortly after the battle and did not know what had become of the wounded Dourosh who’d been left behind on the field. He made a note to ask Anneli about it the next time she contacted him. If they could be rehabilitated, it might be worthwhile to find out. Rulers before Anneli had ordered the swift execution of captured or wounded Dourosh to keep their corruption from spreading. Her more merciful approach had been criticized by many, and in the field, most commanders either left wounded Dourosh to die or else carried out the old practice. At the battle for Lanion, Anneli had made sure, desp
ite her weakness, that the wounded Dourosh were treated. It was the first time any large number of them had actually been captured and kept alive. They were, of course, being kept away from the rest of the population to keep good Lanosh from being corrupted.
He realized he’d been staring and broke eye contact with the Dourosh soldier. In Lanion, where they had the means to keep a large number of Dourosh imprisoned, it was worth investigating. Here in the woods, he could not afford the luxury.
“Right,” he said. “We continue on.” He walked over to the sword on the ground, picked it up and tossed it next to the Dourosh. The man nodded as Faric turned and led his men away from the shore of Lake Dranith.
Chapter Ten
Dournion
General Gralock looked north, toward a clearing that had once been deep wilderness. This part of the Great Forest had never been heavily inhabited or even traveled through, and nature had been left to its own devices. In some places, the trees were so thick that one could scarcely tell if it was day or night, and deep shadows hid anything more than a few paces away. Most people—Dourosh and Lanosh alike—believed that some ancient magic acted upon the North Wood, making it darker than it should otherwise be. Even Lord Dourok, at two thousand years old, didn’t know all the secrets of the Great Forest, and Gralock, who in his few short decades had received little education beyond the battlefield, certainly didn’t understand such things. All he knew was that there were eternal powers slumbering beneath the land, and one would be wise to let them sleep.
Even so, at their lord’s command, the Dourosh had been making enough noise to wake the dead. The old growth had been put to good use, and a city now occupied the center of the clearing. Gralock, of course, had not questioned his master’s plans, but tearing down this many ancient trees was dangerous, especially this close to the ward, where so much magic was focused. About a mile beyond the buildings built of soft, green timbers grew the leafless, tower-like black trees that completely ringed the Great Forest, separating it from the land beyond, where the hornless lived. Those trees formed the ward, raised by Lanioc two thousand years ago, that kept the Dourosh from ever leaving the forest. It resisted most kinds of creatures, but it was particularly attuned to Dourok’s magic; anyone touched by it could not venture beyond those trees.
But Dourok had defeated one of Lanioc’s wards before. The magic that had protected the old Lanosh capital of Eranion had been broken. It had cost Dourok an almost unimaginable amount of power, but he had done it. And he had been in recovery for long centuries. Gralock didn’t know if Dourok could break this ward around the forest—it was stronger than that which had protected Eranion—but he might not need to. There might be another way.
Gralock’s own power was slow to recover. He’d allowed himself to be overwhelmed by magic in order to save his life during the battle at Lake Dranith. He’d found some hidden reserve during his interrogation of the Lanosh general, but after three days of being carried by his men, he’d known that as long as he stayed in the field, he would not recover his full strength. Thankfully, Lord Dourok had given him permission to return to the new city of Dournion.
Dourok’s old capital, in the West Wood, had also been called Dournion, but save for a small guard force, it was now abandoned. If all went according to plan, Lord Dourok would never return to it.
Apart from a few bodyguards, Gralock had let his men march on into the city. He was on his own feet now but still moving slowly. He began walking toward Dournion, taking a single step every few seconds. It would have been easier to be carried, but he had already shown enough weakness to his men. He had perhaps a mile to go before he could rest.
This new city had been under construction for a year, long before Dourok had formulated his new plan. Many had been confused by his sudden desire to move the capital from the West Wood, but once it was known that he planned to march nearly all of his forces on Lanion, his strategy became clear. If they did not win that battle—and they had not—his men were instructed to flee north, to this new stronghold, while the Lanosh pursued a few small bands of decoys to the west.
The idea had been to let the Lanosh armies continue west, chasing a nonexistent enemy, while the bulk of Dourok’s forces rested in the north. Then, when the Lanosh were far from their capital, Dourok would move on Lanion once again and attack when their defenses were weak. It meant marching through dense woods and over rough terrain, but it was a gamble that might just work.
But all that had changed. Lord Dourok now had a better plan.
Gralock, in his rare remote communications with Dourok, had not been given any updates on that front. The current queen of the Lanosh was adept at the magic of understanding, and she sent magical communications easily. It was suspected that she could therefore intercept other remote communications, and while that had not been verified, it had been decided that it was too risky to send sensitive information magically. Now that he was back in Dournion, he was anxious to meet with his lord and learn how things had been progressing. If what they’d heard about the hornless girl Queen Anneli had found was true, they could not waste any time. Lord Dourok knew this. Gralock would not be surprised if his emissary had already departed. No major actions could be taken with winter so close, but over the course of the long snowy season, the small seeds Dourok had planted would have time to develop. Come spring, they would be ready for harvesting, when the Lanosh were only just planting their own seeds.
Yes, this year, winter was the time for growth. Let the Lanosh hibernate in their beloved city. When the snow began to melt, they would awaken to a changed world, a world in which there would no longer be a place for them. After two thousand years, Lord Dourok’s victory was nearly at hand.
General Gralock’s pace quickened. The excitement about what was to come had invigorated his limbs, and despite his fatigue, he felt ready to see Dourok right away. His recovery could wait. He had to know what his lord had been doing.
He reached the edge of Dournion and passed by the sentry post. The city had no walls, but the southern entrance was guarded, since it was one of only two places where men could enter in any great numbers. Everywhere else, the streets and alleys were cramped and narrow, and barricades could be thrown up within a matter of minutes if needed. Since it was a city built almost entirely of wood, though, no general would try to lay siege to it; he would set it alight and let fire do all the work. The simple truth was that an attack was so unlikely this far north that Lord Dourok had not bothered to make the city defensible. And if everything happened as it should, they would not be here for long.
Ahead, at the end of the wide avenue leading north, was a tower surrounded by a plaza. It was the only stone structure in the city. It was not large compared to the castle in the old capital, but it was only temporary. Soon, Lord Dourok would command all of the Great Forest and even the lands beyond. The palace at Lanion would be his. He would rule there for all of eternity, and General Gralock might even have a permanent seat to the right of the throne. Just one more winter and one more thaw, and then the world would be theirs.
Chapter Eleven
Understanding
Penny stared at the strange markings in the book in front of her. Lanoshi was a complex, flowing script, and the shapes of the letters could change depending on which other characters were around them. Some letters were also identical except for small marks above or below them, and the meaning of a word could vary greatly depending on which of the two characters was used. Finally, she had discovered that there were two completely different alphabets: one for everyday use and one for magical use. Any magical text would use the first when describing the effects of a spell but switch to the other when recording the actual words of the spell. This practice dated back thousands of years, before the wars between Lanioc and Dourok, and reflected a time when the practice of magic had been more restricted than it was now.
She had thought her reading lessons with William had been challenging, but the alphabet of her homeland was almost childi
shly simple in comparison. It was no wonder that so many of the Lanosh had mastered it. She bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember which letters made which sounds, but they were all beginning to run together.
“Let understanding flow into you,” Anneli whispered from behind her, sensing her frustration.
Penny took a breath and refocused her attention. She teased out the magic flowing from the vortex beneath the city, through the earth, along the stones of the palace walls and finally up through the floor of the library where she sat. She latched onto it and trying to ignore the other, weaker forms of magic emanating from the more distant vortices. She’d been studying with her tutor for a week, and while the written language of the Lanosh no longer looked completely like random scrawling, she just couldn’t match symbol to sound. Anneli had said this portion of her training would go quickly if she drew on the magic of understanding; she’d tried, but so far it had not helped her. She had been able to feel it, to let it enter her, but she didn’t know what to do after that.
Anneli was still whispering behind her. She had switched to her language, Lanoshi, and a few of the words triggered sparks of recognition for Penny. Her pulse quickened as she realized that Anneli was reading the words from the book. She listened as she followed the lines of text, their meaning becoming clear.
Anneli reached the end of the page and stopped speaking. “Good,” she said, still using the language of the Lanosh. “You understand.”
Penny nodded. She did. She didn’t know how, but she did.
“Can you answer me?”
Penny licked her lips and said, “I think so.” She was amazed to hear an alien language coming out of her mouth.
Anneli laughed. “Tell me something else.”
“How… how can I speak Lanoshi?”
Anneli walked around the table and took the chair opposite Penny. “You have been hearing it all around you for several months. Your mind has absorbed it, but now the magic of understanding is allowing you to make sense of it. This past week of intensive language instruction was needed to trigger that understanding.”
The Lion's Crypt (The Emberlyn Chronicles Book 2) Page 6