War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  In traditional fashion, the groups gathered around the most respected of their number; the warriors who had acquitted themselves in the most valiant manner the day before. Levin found himself at the center of one such group, those who had not seen him strike down the black-braided captain of the enemy first hand eager to hear his version of the event, despite his lack of Thimenian. Modesty prevented him from boasting of his deeds in the rolling style of the Thimenians, but neither did he understate the difficulty he had faced in combat. Once he had finished telling his story, and then waited for it to be translated into Thimenian, he settled back to listen to the accounts of his fellows.

  Jarlben told how he had been the first to enter the Brizaki ship and how he killed three Brizaki within it. Ohtar the Orange laughingly recounted Levin’s finding of the naked girl and how he had let her and the eagle go, and Jarlben made much of it, calling Levin ‘the Mortentian who did not fuck.’ Once that was done, and all of the warriors congratulated each other on being a part of such a heroic band, a paean was sung for the six Thimenians who had died, extolling their virtues and the valor of their ancestors as well. At about this time Jarlben tired of translating things to Levin, and he directed another reaver to come over.

  “This is Kuljin Halfman, ghoulslayer. His Mortentian is as good as my own.”

  Kuljin wore a helmet shaped like a dragon’s head, and the mouth of the dragon protruded from his forehead such that Kuljin’s eyes were perpetually in shadow. “I am Kuljin Halfman.” He introduced himself. “My Mortentian is better than his, and I am a known man in Khumenov.”

  “Levin the Stupid.” Levin replied. “I killed twenty ghouls on Damrek Island.”

  Kuljin smiled. “I know.” His Mortentian was nearly perfect and quite clear. “I watched you do it. I also watched your swordwork against the Brizaki commander. I’d like to spend some time in the practice yard with you. You have an interesting horizontal style that I’d like very much to learn.”

  Levin relaxed, put at ease by the reaver’s easy way with Mortentian. “I’d be glad to show you what I know. I’m afraid it’s not too much compared to these others. I notice you don’t have a boast.”

  Jarlben interrupted. “Levin, you are ignorant so much. He said he was a Known Man in Khumenov. That IS his boast.” From the way Jarlben emphasized the words, apparently ‘Known Man’ was some kind of title.

  “Yes, that’s how I am called.” Kuljin acknowledged. “I’m also more of a swordsman than any of these Thimenians. The extent of their sword knowledge is that if you hit something hard enough and often enough, eventually it will break.”

  “Well, that is true, is it not?” Jarlben replied curtly. “And no one hits harder than we do.”

  A few rounds of stolen wine and mead passed among the revelers, and they sat in silence as the speeches from the other campfires died down. The men from Levin’s fire one by one drifted over to the large fire in the center of the camp, where a large knot of men sat patiently, waiting for their chieftain to speak. Once all of the reavers were assembled, and the few men who had been wounded to the point that they could not walk on their own were born on litters to that place, Jarlben raised his voice in the high lilting mode known as the warrior’s chant to address them. Kuljin translated as follows:

  Jarlben son of Jarlben spoke as follows:

  “Here on this morning of victory it is meet to speak

  Of the deeds of the living and the new dead

  That Sheo God of Skies should hear our boast

  Of fine deeds wrought in his name and to his glory.

  That men should not forget the children of Sheo,

  Or the deeds that they did yesterday in war

  Not in anger or cowardry, but holy wrath,

  Against those whom Sheo did see fit to defeat.

  Let us therefore recount the deeds of yesterday,

  Once more before the telling of traditional tales,

  As is our custom and tradition since the world began,

  I as war captain declaim the right to now speak.”

  The camp fell silent. “What’s he waiting for?” Levin whispered to Kuljin.

  Kuljin replied in whispered, rapid Mortentian. “Everyone waits to see if Mulgraff the Spear will challenge him for the right to speak. He broke the shield wall yesterday and could challenge Jarlben for leadership. It would mean a fight to the death. I know Mulgraff, though. He’s not that ambitious.” Sure enough, Mulgraff remained silent, apparently satisfied that Jarlben address the fierce god of the sky.

  “Came we four score men forth from the city of Valtheim,

  Five sevendays and three days hence,

  In Sheo’s name and at the request of our good king,

  Into the land of the tyrant,

  That the men of Jomar’s Steading should well and truly know

  That all is not darkness in the world

  That the halfmen do not rule the seas

  And that Thimenia remains free as always.

  Wreck and ruin have we visited upon the enemy,

  Wherever he advances to meet us,

  The sun glitters on our swords,

  And we have put him and his evil servants to flight.

  Two warships have we burned to the waterline

  One have we sunk by ramming, and two forced to flee.

  His merchants we have captured,

  His captains sent to Valtheim in chains.

  We have used no spies, no wizards, no deceit;

  But have sailed against him openly under the naked sun.

  Iron in hand is our weapon, his cowardice our ally,

  The sea and sky our savior, the land his ever refuge.

  Yestermorn, nigh unto the land of Mortentia we espied,

  A mighty warship lying at anchor,

  Filled and manned by the halfmen,

  Resting in the lee of a mighty ancient pier.

  We were four score and one, the enemy eight score and ten,

  We counted our courage a score of men,

  His cowardice two score and ten,

  The mist in his eyes a dozen at least, we brought him war.

  We breaked his vessel with our good ram,

  Making him scream womanish with fear,

  We climbed upon his decks and formed a shield wall

  Against it he crashed and died vainly.

  His arrowmen claimed two men,

  Almrond son of Thermian, who died foes at his feet,

  Gorskald son of Bruinhalt, whose blood was shed

  Defending his captain, may they have honor.

  Sword and axe against him we stood,

  Mighty upon the waters,

  Besting the halfmen with our manly strength

  Breaking his shield wall and throwing down his standard.

  On the deck we lost four men, in heroic fight,

  Hornwelt and Horvlast, sons of Harthdan,

  Temlant son of Rhunvilt, Miklon son of Arven,

  Fell with the two score they killed there.

  The tale of our losses is ended with that,

  The fires of our grief burned hot as our rage,

  And none could withstand us until Mulgraff the Spear

  Met with their shield wall and tore it down singly.

  Around this strong shield wall their forces did stand,

  Until Mulgraff pierced it, bloody spear in hand,

  And none did better this day than did the Spear,

  Who valiantly broke their defense with his own strong body.

  Levin Ghoulslayer our guest and companion,

  Met with their captain sword to sword,

  The blades flew faster than the eye could follow,

  But the halfman was no match for the swordcraft of the Ghoulslayer.

  Lord Sheo we thank you for this great victory,

  We thank you for putting the fires in our hearts,

  For the morning mists and for the wind that led us,

  Here to this great battle far from our homes!”

  W
ith this last statement Jarlben raised his axe in the air and gave a mighty shout, in which his grief at the loss of his men, his joy in victory, and his hatred of the enemy all seemed interwoven, and others quickly joined in, until it seemed to Levin that even the sand was trembling. He was surprised to find himself standing and shouting with them, overcome with the fierce war pride of the Thimenians. He had been surprised to hear himself mentioned in the chant, but glad that no mention of the girl or his allowing her to escape was made.

  Not that they weren’t all talking about it just the same, he supposed, but he didn’t need a song sung about it.

  After the shouting died down, the Thimenians sat and began drinking and eating the plundered rations of the Brizaki, which were actually quite good. Each man seemed lost in his own thoughts until an older man named Thorbold cleared his throat as if to begin speaking. Suddenly every face was eager, as the seasoned warriors turned with childlike attention to hear the veteran speak. Thorbold began with an appreciative look at the warriors surrounding him, and all conversation ceased.

  Kuljin began to translate the words to Mortentian without being asked, and his translation was swift and confident.

  The Tale of Thorbold

  “This reminds me of a battle I once heard of in my youth,” he began, his gravelly voice a sharp contrast to the fluid tones of Jarlben. “It was during the Age of Dragons, I’m told, when it seemed that all of the world would bow to the evil Bloodlords and their monstrous serpent steeds.

  “As it is told in other tales, Ulmerith the Tolrissan had escaped into the great Western Sea with a band of companions, and was going this way and that way, trying to raise an army from lands far away that had never known dragons. Among these peoples there was much doubt as to Ulmerith’s ability to successfully combat the dragons, and few people would follow the banner of an unproven warrior, no matter how impressive his lineage. Ulmerith decided to prove himself in battle against the Bloodlord who was entrenched at Vantarmin on the coast of Khallas on the western Tolrissan peninsula.

  “As we were yesterday outmatched in numbers, so much more was Ulmerith overmatched, but he chose the moment when the sun was setting to strike from the west, adding the sun to his short list of allies. For troops, he had only his few dozen proven myrmidons and three hundred good and honest Thimenians, against whom were a thousand tarks, some soldiers and two dragons. Ulmerith knew that he must have surprise in his favor, for no rebel had dared to attack a Bloodlord in his citadel in many lives of men.

  “He had himself escaped from a Bloodlord dungeon years before, and he knew that he might throw himself in vain against it with ten times the number of men that he commanded. Ulmerith consulted with the Oracle of Lio and learned that the freedom of all men hung upon his success, for if he was defeated no man would ever dare to oppose the Bloodlords, while success would bring a legion of supporters to his banner.

  “There was no question that he should strike at the enemy in a bold way, but even his closest advisors cautioned him against such a suicidal venture as this. The fortress of a Bloodlord is impossible to take, they told him, but his will was set. ‘If I cannot take this fortress at the very edge of the Tyrant’s dominion, how can I ever hope to see the end of him?’ he asked them, but still they cautioned him. Putting all of their counsel aside, he avowed as how he would do this thing, and swore them all to binding oaths to follow him and not to betray their cause.

  “He first sent spies into Vantarmin to determine how he might accomplish this thing and gauge the strength of the enemy.”

  Thorbold paused in the telling for a moment and looked around him expectantly, and he did not speak again until a full skin of mead was placed in his hands. Taking a long pull from the swiftly proffered drink, he continued.

  “Through his spies he learned that the Bloodlords engaged in trade with the men of Flana, which is now in the land called Mortentia.” Levin nodded confirmation when a few heads turned his way. “It seemed that the Flanesi would ship grain into Vantarmin in great, deep-keeled vessels once per month in tribute to the Bloodlord. Such a shipment entered the city on the third day after each full moon. Ulmerith swiftly made preparations for his assault.

  “The first step was the interception of the Flanesi ships off the main channel southwest of Charnoth. The Flanesi, none too proud of their servitude to the Bloodlords in the first place, gladly surrendered their vessels to Ulmerith’s Thimenian raiders. Sending the four Flanesi ships ahead by a quarter of a day, Ulmerith followed in the six golden sailed raiders, packed to the fullest extent with Thimenians of renown.

  “On the third day after the full moon, the Flanesi vessels, manned by Kirluni and Flanesi well trusted by Ulmerith, entered the harbor of Vantarmin. The first three vessels floated light in the water, for Ulmerith had emptied them of grain and filled their holds with armored myrmidons and Thimenians. The fourth vessel he deliberately made to sink at the harbor’s entrance, and left the three remaining ships around her but in the harbor, as if to save her cargo.

  “Now the fortress of the Bloodlord was situated close by the entrance of the harbor, so that the four Flanesi galleys were dallying within a few paces of its dock when the fortress’ watchmen first spied the six raiders rapidly sailing up on the city. The myrmidons had sunk the heavily laden galley in the center of the harbor’s only entrance, so that it was impossible for the enemy’s many vessels to clear the wreck and sail out against Ulmerith’s ships. The myrmidons on board the remaining vessels came out of their hiding places in the hold, and together with many Thimenians, they came against the dock and made landing there. They assailed the fortress, and the attack was so swift that the Bloodlords did not have sufficient time to close the seagate before the myrmidons were upon them inside of the fortress.

  “While the myrmidons attacked the fortress from within, Ulmerith brought his ships to the undefended seawall and three hundred screaming Thimenians attacked the fortress’ western wall. These were led by Ulmerith himself, and they had brought scaling ladders, ropes and grapnels for this purpose.

  “Had the Bloodlord’s troops had time to prepare, they could have easily prevented the taking of the keep’s wall, but they found themselves attacked from both outside and within, and they panicked. In the confusion many believed the numbers of Ulmerith’s troops to be greater than they were, and upon first sight of the fierce Thimenians they threw aside their arms and begged for their lives, like so many do.” He smiled at this last comment, and several of the Thimenians laughed out loud.

  “In the upper heights of the citadel, however, the Bloodlord still governed. He was confident of success, for he had two dragons yet and many scores of beastmen tarks. As he saw his enemies approaching the west wall, he sent one of the dragons aloft, to see if he could not prevent its taking. The tarks he commanded to hold the upper halls until he returned, and leaving a lieutenant to govern them, he went astride his mighty black serpent called Syggyrd the Black and took to the air.

  “While among the mysterious peoples of the Sunlit Seas, Brillan Dragondoom, Ulmerith’s friend and tutor, had found a way in which he might one day fight the dragons. Ulmerith had long prepared for this day, and he put Brillan’s plan into action.

  “From the holds of the golden sailed ships myrmidons emerged upon first seeing the dragon in flight. These heavily armored men rolled machines onto their decks, which were in the shape of great crossbows but made with many instruments and levers and such, so that they could be turned every which way. These were loaded with long and heavy spears.”

  Levin suddenly thought of the Sally’s High Touch and Captain Berrol’s strange ballista. Was it a relic from the Age of Dragons? But Thorbold continued.

  “As the Bloodlord approached the ships, thinking to destroy them by dragonfire, the men manning the machines removed their coverings and unleashed a volley of mighty spears. The captain of these men was called D’Shain, a red-skinned Sesseri from the Sundered Lands. It was his spear that pierced the wing of the dragon
Syggyrd and forced it to tumble into the sea. It was the Bloodlord’s misfortune to land in the sea near to the place where D’Shain had placed his vessel, and with another volley of spears the life of Syggyrd was ended, and the Bloodlord drowned. Among the wise this is accounted to be the first dragon slain in this fashion, and the Myrmidons cheered loudly at their enemy’s discomfiture.

  “From the top of the fortress the Bloodlord’s lieutenant witnesses his fall, and being the master of the remaining dragon, he called it and made good his escape. As the myrmidons entered his chamber they saw him take flight by dragonback from the large window there. He flew in wretched cowardry and was not seen again.

  “With the fall of their great lord and the flight of his lieutenant, the tarks were dismayed, and they sought escape from the myrmidons and Thimenians that now assailed them from all sides. In the sort of mad panic that often seems to overtake soldiers in battle when all seems lost, they fled to the highest and most secure places in the citadel. Meanwhile the Thimenians secured the west wall, and meeting the myrmidons from the Flanesi ships, they secured the bottom of the fortress.

  “In the harbor, the vessels of the enemy were left without the protection of the fortress, but they were a large army still. Unable to escape the harbor because of the wreck in the entrance, they gathered together on the east side, and arrayed themselves for a naval engagement. Seeing them gathered there, Ulmerith sent forth herald in a small boat to treat with them.