by Alon Shalev
“Still feeling optimistic?” Sellia asked.
Seanchai, unfazed, walked toward the largest boar and approached, hands outstretched to his sides, palms facing the giant.
“I am Seanchai, a Wycaan warrior.” He removed his hood, but received almost no reaction from the pictorians. “I am known to some of your people. I have fought against them, but parted from them with mutual understanding and respect.”
Seanchai stopped a few feet away and looked up into the pictorian’s face.
“I must speak with your leaders. Where is Umnesilk?”
There was a silence that seemed to Sellia to last for ages. Then the boar said something and another translated.
“If you fought our people and lived, you must be strong. But if you think this earns our respect or lenience, you are wrong.”
The leader growled, lifted his axe, and stepped forward. Seanchai heard the blade cut through the wind, but quickly stepped close and pounded the pictorian with his fists under his armor and through the sides between the front and back plates.
The pictorian staggered back, his axe dropping behind Seanchai. But the boar only smiled and drew a massive broadsword. Then it charged. Seanchai instantly had his two curved swords out to parry the blows, but he was forced backward by the intensity and strength of his opponent.
He stepped to the side, ducked under the pictorian’s swing, and stabbed twice into the boar’s unprotected thighs. Now behind his adversary, Seanchai kicked the wounded leg, and the leader grunted in pain as he fell to his knees.
Seanchai came in front of him, but turned to the pictorian who had translated. “I haven’t come to kill you or fight you. I seek an audience with your leaders. I believe I’ve proven my worth as a warrior.”
He was aware that the pictorian behind him was struggling to rise. The translator glanced between them. “Not yet,” he said. “NuGavack has risen. You have not proven yourself.”
Seanchai sighed as he swung round with amazing speed and kicked the rising pictorian in the head, sending him sprawling. Again he turned to the translator. “Now can we finish this? There are those of your people who fought at Hothengold; they can vouch for me.”
“No,” came the reply from behind.
Seanchai looked over to his opponent, who was on his knees and trying to rise, clearly dizzy.
“What do you want me to do?” Seanchai shouted. “Kill him?”
“Do you have the heart of a warrior?”
“A warrior does not kill senselessly.”
“A warrior does not dishonor his opponent by leaving a fight unfinished.”
“That’s absurd,” Seanchai snapped. “Can I not pass without killing your boars?”
The translator replied slowly. “Only through a fight to death or a Viehdigct can you pass. For Viehdigct, a First Boar must vouch for you.”
There was a deep growl from behind the translator, and pictorians were pushed aside. In a blur, a huge creature passed Seanchai and decapitated the wounded pictorian with one fell swoop of its axe. A rich, deep, purple fountain of blood spouted from the dead pictorian before the headless torso toppled over. Then the eight-foot, horned giant turned back to face the translator.
“I vouch for Wycaan,” boomed First Boar Umnesilk, and, as he walked away, the other pictorians bowed their heads and made way for their most feared warrior.
Chapter Sixteen
It was late afternoon when Ahad and the Crown Prince–with Ruel and Crefen trailing silently behind–arrived at the fortress of Skiliad in the province of Ulster. Any discussion in the two days since the discussion around the campfire focused around guard duty, hunting, and other such necessities. There was no mention of their previous conversation.
Skiliad was perched on the side of a mountain by the same name. The stones of its fortification were as gloomy as the mountains around them, and the only color was the flag that flew from its mast. There was only one way in, as the rest of the fort either backed against the rock face of the mountain or faced a sheer drop into a deep ravine.
“How did they build that?” Ahad marveled aloud.
“You don’t want to know,” the Crown Prince answered, and Ahad grimaced at the thought.
As they began their ascent to the castle, a large group of soldiers galloped up from behind them. An officer shouted for them to move aside. “We have wounded,” he cried.
Ahad watched the passing brigade. There were about thirty able-bodied soldiers and six more either tied to their horses or hanging on to another rider from behind. He saw raw wounds exposing bright pink flesh, bloody bandages, and two dead.
He felt his and his riding companions’ mood, not great to begin with, plummet still further. When the party had passed, Ahad led them back onto the path. A mounted soldier with a banner in his hand galloped down from the fort to them, and they stopped.
“Identify yourselves in the name of the Emperor,” he demanded.
“I am Ahad, son of the late General Tarlach, and I come with documentation. I will introduce my friends to General Shiftan. He knows me.” Ahad reached into his pouch and offered a sealed scroll.
“The seal of the Emperor,” the man said, clearly impressed. Then his eyes returned to Ahad. “I never served under your father, but I know he was a great man. Our own General Shiftan speaks of him with the highest regard.”
“Thank you,” Ahad replied tonelessly. “Please take me to the general.”
They followed the standard bearer through the gates and were directed to the stables. The man soon returned.
“Master Tarlach,” he said and saluted. “General Shiftan attends his wounded and receives information from the company head. He instructed me to lead you to the halls for refreshments. If you leave your bags there, they will be taken to your rooms.”
Seeing the youngsters hesitate, unsure what to do with their weapons, the man spoke again. “Here, we always carry our swords and”–he glanced at the insignia of the assassins that Ahad wore–“whatever other blades are upon us. Your bows and heavier weapons can be left here with your bags.”
They soon found themselves in a large hall lined with tables and benches. There was a low-burning fire in the fireplace. Bread, stew, and ale were set out for them.
When they were seated alone, Phineus mumbled to Ahad. “It’s strange that the general doesn’t run to greet you, no?”
“Not at all,” Ahad answered. “The soldiers here are loyal to General Shiftan for good reason. He has gone to first tend his wounded and honor his dead. He knows many of their names and about their families. I have heard that any soldier who dies under his command can be assured that any kin will be well looked after, beyond the pension they receive from the army. He is a good man and a fine officer.”
Ahad studied Ruel and Crefen as he said this, but their mouths were too full to react as he thought they might. A few minutes later, the standard bearer returned with a young boy at his side.
“Master Ahad. I am instructed to bring you to General Shiftan. The squire here will escort your friends to their rooms and bring them to dinner shortly after.” The man stared at Phineus, who had made a face at Ahad being called “Master.”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
Ahad didn’t wait for the Crown Prince to reply. “It’s fine. Please, just give me a moment with my friends.” As the solider backed away, Ahad leaned in close and spoke quietly.
“Time to decide, my friend. If you want to let it be known that you’re here, come with me. But if you do, General Shiftan or one of his staff will send word back to the capital.”
“You go,” Phineus replied. “Do not announce me unless you feel there’s a very good reason to do so. I trust your judgment.”
Ahad rose and followed the standard-bearer from the hall.
“Have you ever met the general?” the soldier asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” Ahad replied without elaborating.
“Was he expecting you?” After a moment’s silence, he spoke with more
restraint. “I’m sure your business–the Emperor’s business–is your own, sir. My apologies if I overstepped my mark. I’m at your service.”
Ahad didn’t look at him when he said, “Thank you.”
As they approached a building that Ahad suspected might serve the healers, General Shiftan exited. His sleeves were rolled up, and there were bloodstains on his forearms.
“Thank you,” he said to his standard-bearer. “Please check that Master Ahad’s guests are well taken care of. Come, Ahad. Let me show you our fortifications.”
He turned and walked away, and Ahad followed. Their conversation would not take place near prying ears. They climbed onto the walls and up to a tower. Once there, Shiftan closed a heavy, wooden door behind them. They stood, just the two of them, on the parapet.
“You’ve grown, Ahad. I would not have recognized you as the man who stands before me.”
“Life moves us along quicker than we expect.” Ahad replied. He remembered General Shiftan as a man with a dense bush of red hair, but now it was thin and predominantly gray. Time had not been kind to him either.
“You’re probably tired of condolences for your father’s loss, but I was one of his closest friends. I cannot let this moment pass without expressing what a great man he was. Your mother aside, there is no more than four or five others who knew him as well as me.”
“Thank you,” Ahad said. “Is it true he died by Shayth’s sword?”
Shiftan nodded. “And I bear shame for that, too.”
“How so?”
“I met Shayth in battle and singled him out for my own personal attention. I knew your father was. . . attached. . . to the boy, and wanted to save him the confrontation.”
“What happened?”
“Shayth is good. He is fast; balanced; and, above all, ruthless. He has no discernable fear, seeming to welcome death. He took control of our confrontation, as though he, not I, had thirty years of field experience. When he recognized my rank, he smashed my knee, but let me live. He wanted me to deliver a message to your father that he was coming for him.”
Ahad sighed. “Does your intelligence tell you where he might be?”
“I don’t need intelligence. The dwarf king sent reinforcements here from Hothengold to Clan Dan Zu’Ulster. The son of Prince Shindell leads them.”
“You have seen him?”
“Not personally. But the troops that return talk of him. They speak with awe and fear. I plan to ride out and confront him in the next few days.”
“Why have you not done so already?” Ahad demanded.
“I needed my second-in-command to return from leave. He arrived yesterday, and I have been briefing him so that he can assume command if needed. I’m experienced enough to know when I’m facing a better soldier.”
“If you think Shayth will kill you, why go out to face him? Send younger soldiers and greater numbers.”
General Shiftan smiled. “My age and experience may have made me a wise commander. But the boy killed my best friend. I will avenge his death.”
Ahad stared at the general. “Then it was well you waited until now.”
“Why?”
“I will ride with you and face my father’s murderer. The rite of vengeance is mine.”
Ahad expected gratitude from General Shiftan, but instead the man just sighed and shook his head.
Chapter Seventeen
“What’s the matter?” Ahad asked.
“I’m not sure that you’re ready to face an adversary like Shayth, and I don’t know how your mother would fare losing you, too.”
Ahad’s tone was haughty. “The Emperor has deemed me ready, or he wouldn’t have sent me.”
“Perhaps,” Shiftan replied dismissively. “What else has he instructed you to do?”
“Find the elf and track him. I have a way of contacting the Emperor when this happens.”
“Interesting.” General Shiftan looked around to check they were alone. “Tell me, Ahad, can you imagine that the Emperor might find it equally to his advantage to have you removed? You’re very close to his son, likely closer than the Emperor himself. I’m sure he draws parallels between you two and Prince Shindell and your father.
“Perhaps the Emperor sees you as a potential threat. You carry the legacy of one of greatest generals, his memory still fresh in the minds of soldiers and peasants.”
“I am no threat to the Emperor,” Ahad snapped, not liking how everyone around tried to manipulate him. He smiled. “And of course the Emperor sees parallels between the Crown Prince’s strategy and that of Prince Shindell.”
General Shiftan gasped, his mouth hung open. Ahad continued, glad to shock his father’s friend.
“I have spent considerable time with the Emperor and learned much from him. For instance, the Emperor eats very healthily. When he eats meat, it’s only the leanest cut, and he makes a point of keeping tabs on this.”
Shiftan stared out across the battlements, taking his time to collect his thoughts. ‘The leanest cut’ was the password for the group of men, many highly ranked now, that Prince Shindell had gathered to him as a secret society.
“He knows?” Shiftan whispered. “Yet he never acted against us?”
“There was no need as long as you never threatened his reign. You were all loyal and competent. The Emperor admired his brother’s ability to distinguish the best and bind them to him. Since you all continued to serve the Emperor with distinction, it wasn’t in his interest to destroy you.”
General Shiftan turned and smiled at Ahad. “You’ve grown up a lot, boy. Your father would have been very proud of you. And very worried.”
“Why?” Ahad asked, pleased to have finally elicited a response.
“It frightens me that the Emperor sees fit to lay such heavy responsibility on the shoulders of an unproven–”
“Heavy responsibility! You mean Shayth?” Ahad jerked his head around, aware that he had raised his voice.
“No,” Shiftan replied, his voice still scarcely more than a murmur. “While Shayth might be your death, I’m more worried that the Emperor puts his heir under your protection.”
“I was just his tutor.”
Shiftan turned sharply, but kept his voice low. “I am a congenial man, Ahad, but never let that fool you. Tell me: what did you tutor him on while you traveled the long road to Skiliad?”
They left the fortress early the next morning, how long after dawn Ahad could not tell. He was unable to see the sun through the pregnant cloud cover. A deep, foreboding fog swallowed the peaks of the mountains.
He wrapped his cloak around his body and tried not to show others that he was shivering from the cold. Snow flurried but did not settle. The Crown Prince rode next to him while Ruel and Crefen followed behind.
General Shiftan led the patrol of three sixers and Ahad’s group. Their mission was to meet with a trade train and escort it through the mountains. It contained arms, wood, grains, and other supplies–all essentials to maintain a large military presence, and Shiftan had confided to Ahad that they had allowed word to spread of the train. They were waiting to be attacked. With winter approaching, denying the fortress precious supplies would make a lot of sense to the resistance.
When they rested that night, Ahad’s cold, stiff muscles were sore. He was ready to sleep when a sergeant with a long, braided beard approached.
“Master Ahad, sir. I am to assign you and your men to guard duty.”
Ahad saw Phineus stiffen and quickly spoke. “We’ll of course take our share,” he said loudly.
“Does everyone share?” Phineus asked through his cowl.
“Everyone,” the man answered edgily. “Senior officers take the first and last shifts, but everyone takes one.”
“I said we would guard,” Ahad repeated, stiffening his own voice. “Which shift–”
“I would prefer to split you up. There are four shifts, and you’ll each be assigned to one.”
“Do you not trust us?” Phineus snapped.
“How long have you served with General Shiftan?” Ahad asked the sergeant, anxious to move the attention away from his friend.
“Five years, sir. Before that, I served for fifteen with your father. I’m proud to have drawn swords and fought with the great General Tarlach.”
Ahad turned to his friends. “This man has served the Emperor’s officers for two decades, more than any of us have lived. . . and he’s alive to tell the tale. I think we should trust his judgment and learn from his experience.” He turned back to the sergeant. “Shadow here will take the first shift, Crefen the second, and his brother, Ruel, the third. You may assign me to the final shift.”
“The last shift is often the most dangerous,” the sergeant warned. “Perhaps you should give one of–”
“I’m aware of the dangers from the dawn shift. It is mine to claim.”
A smile crept across the soldier’s face. “Ha! You’re your father’s son, Master Tarlach, and that’s the highest compliment I can offer.” He turned to Phineus. “Okay, Mr. Shadow, put your things over there and grab some food while it’s warm. I’ll introduce you to your shift captain.”
When the Crown Prince had moved off, the sergeant tuned to Ahad and spoke quietly. “The lad will have a hard time if he brings an attitude. I almost cuffed him for his insolence, and the other soldiers will be less forgiving. He might have an unpleasant discovery about life on the frontlines, if he crosses them.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Ahad said, and turned away so that the sergeant couldn’t see his grin. If any soldier hit the Crown Prince, he would also have an unpleasant discovery, and remember it for the rest of what would no doubt be his very short life.