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

by D. S. Halyard

  He peered about with his keen eyes and picked out a tiny shape, ascending a broad slope toward the top of the hill, where Gutcrusher saw the profiles of wooden towers. He took a brief morning piss, keeping her in his sight the entire time, then he began trotting after her, his long strides eating up the distance between them. Even from a distance he could see that she paused frequently. Still, there were no footprints to follow in the snow, and Gutcrusher wondered at that, and he snuffled the ground and noticed that she left no scent behind her either. Witchy.

  The slope he ascended appeared to have been the scene of a big battle, and the corpses of men in Aulig clothing and a few corpses of men in blue or white or red livery lay about. Broken spear hafts and shattered shields could be seen, and a few dead ponies.

  He lost sight of her at the top of the hill when she crested it and walked out of his sight. He saw the tower clearly now, and saw that it was a temporary thing, probably knocked together in a hurry for some reason. When he crested the hill she was waiting for him.

  “Ugly Woman Hill.” She said. “That is what they call it. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged. Such nuances of wordplay were beyond his reckoning. “Why did you run away from camp, witch?” His hands were empty, for his spiked mace was still in its hanger and he had left the shield by his fire. “You don’t like our cooking?”

  “Believe me, the food that sustains me would not suit you or your kind, nor yours mine.” She declared. “I left you because I have chosen my place to die, mighty king.” She sat down on a stump. The morning was very quiet.

  “Here? You want to die here?” Gutcrusher looked around in all directions, but honestly he couldn’t see the appeal. But maybe it would look better in spring, when there weren’t so many ravens and scavengers about and when the scavengers had done more to clean the place up.

  She ignored the question. “You will be without me for a time, mighty king. I would give you a word before I die.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. She nodded briefly. “Remember what I told you. When the Black God died the things bound by him are unbound. There will be those among you who will be tempted to return to the old days and the old ways. You have stated your vengeance for the trespass that was done to your people, and in this you are justified under the laws of ancient days. The penalty for trespass is forfeiture, and the aggrieved names the price.”

  He gave her a look of confusion. “That’s you, Gutcrusher. You are the aggrieved. But be careful not to look beyond what the old law provides. The lands of the Auligs are bounded to the east by a great river. Do not cross it! Also do not trust everyone around you. There will be treachery before all is done, I feel it.”

  “Don’t cross the river and don’t trust nobody.” He said. “I got it. Anything else?”

  She might have said more, but he was impatient to get back to camp, and she was impatient to get on with dying. She shook her head and bade him to go. He walked a few paces away, then turned to look at her again. She was very still. He sniffed the wind and smelled nothing. He moved closer, peering intently at her face.

  “I’m not dead yet!” She exclaimed irritably, and he jumped. “Get back to your boyos. You’ll have fighting today. I will see you in the spring time, if you live.” So he left her, and she lay back against the tree and died, and all of her seemed to shrink into a small space, and bones and leathery skin was all that one might find there. The ravens weren’t hungry enough to bother with what was left of her. They had had a good season.

  By the time he returned to the campfires, the ogres were awake, with the exception of a few meat-drunk slugabeds who had to be kicked out of their furs. The five hundred ogres of the Winter Mountain were assembled in a neat square, and they were the first to rise and the first to don their gear, as they had been every morning of this march.

  When Wolf returned to the camp to report a large trail of men moving north, the ogres were optimistic and almost cheerful. It was wonderful what full bellies could do for them. They made no plan, moving quickly in the direction Wolf offered, determined to see what the day would bring them.

  In three leagues they came upon the camp of the Stony Creek Cthochi, and the screaming began. Snow was falling.

  In the great camp of the Ghaill of Ghaills a mighty debate was raging in the largest of the tents, for the Earthspeaker had brought the terms of a peace to the Cthochi, and they had been received unhappily. This was the third day of argument. Fifteen warriors and leaders of great renown sat around the large central fire, and the smoke from the tent was visible even in the stonecutter city. Five honored guests they had with them also, and these five, one of whom had been their prisoner not long since, sat apart from the war leaders.

  To the release of the Mortentian scouts they agreed readily, and before the serious debate had even begun the thirty men were put in two war canoes and taken over to the Mortentian side of the Redwater.

  Ghaill Earthspeaker and Kerrick the Sword were in the council, and they were pushing for complete acceptance of the terms of Aelfric the son of the griffin. “This war was a mistake.” The Earthspeaker contended. “It was made clear to us months ago by the seeress Jecha of the Entreddi that it was so. I had hoped to bring a victory nonetheless, for the Mortentians seemed few and scattered, and already the Sons of the Bear had hit them hard.

  “But they brought down an army, and our best warriors could not defeat it. They have broken our siege of their great city, and with the road to the city open they can bring as many men here as they like, and we cannot prevent it. To press on with this war is to waste good men for no purpose. I have spoken.”

  Allein-a-Briech objected strongly. “I tell you truth, Ghaill Earthspeaker, my vision is clear. We must cross the Redwater if we are to survive as a people. On this even our esteemed guest agrees.” He nodded to the person sitting at the center of the five. “How can we cross the river if we do not possess the other bank? How can we possess the other bank if we do not win our right to do so?”

  “Goat shit on the floor.” Muttered the woman to whom Allein had nodded, and he stopped speaking and stared at her. She rose and was Jecha the Entreddi, having ridden through the nights and the days to get there. Beside her sat two foreigners, a thickly bearded man who spoke their language, if only slowly and haltingly, and a bald man whose eyebrows were plucked clean and who said nothing except to occasionally ask a whispered question of the bearded man.

  “I am sorry, Mistress Jecha, what did you say?” The Earthspeaker asked.

  “I said ‘goat shit on the floor’.” She replied quickly, and then she stood and faced Allein-a-Briech. Tuchek sat beside her and looked on bemused. “When last I visited you in your tent, Allein-a-Briech, there was goat shit on the floor.”

  “We have goats.” He replied with an indulgent smile. “Most of us in camp keep goats.”

  “But not one tent has goat shit on the floor.” She answered. “Not one. I have lived among you many times, Allein. Many nights I have slept in the tents of the Cthochi. I have been the guest of many of your families. Not one Cthochi woman would ever let goat shit sit on her floor. Not for an hour, not for minute, not for a moment.”

  “I am not the best housekeeper.” He replied lamely. Puzzled faces turned to Jecha to try to understand what she was saying.

  “I do not speak of you, shaman. I speak of your handmaiden. I asked about her the last time I was here, and they told me she was Eshebra of the Deep Green Valley, and that you brought her to your home two years ago.”

  “That is so, woman. And I am sorry if she is not the best of housekeepers, but that hardly …”

  “Be silent and listen.” She interrupted. “This morning I asked after her among the warriors from the Deep Green Valley who are in your camp, Earthspeaker. They told me that there was no such woman born there.

  “Tell me this, shaman, do you sometimes share your bed with this woman?”

  “That is my business.” Allein-a-Briech answered.

  “I do n
ot care if you are still a goat, Allein. What you are is a seer, and you have the gift. But the gift does not tell us everything, does it Allein? This much I know as well as you do. Do you sometimes talk to this Eshebra about what the stones tell you?”

  The shaman’s face became tight with anger. “My visions are not some secret, Jecha. I may speak of them to whom I will.”

  “I will take that answer to mean yes, Allein. Tell me then, who decided that to cross the Redwater must mean war with the stonecutters? Was that your idea or hers?”

  “What you are suggesting…”

  “I am not suggesting, dear, I am accusing. I am saying that in the nights when you, the great Allein-a-Briech, feel the loneliest she comforts you. Are you not alone among your people? Is she not the only one who understands your greatness? The only one who appreciates the great wonder that is your mind? I say that she flatters your vanity and pities your loneliness and your apartness, and that you tell her what you see in the stones. You have admitted as much.

  “And when the stones are not clear she makes suggestions to you, doesn’t she? Like perhaps the Ghaill would appreciate your gifts more if you could bring him great victories against the stonecutters with your visions.”

  The Ghaill himself interjected. “You have said things like this, Allein-a-Breich.”

  “Eshebra has nothing to do with that!” The shaman protested, but Jecha was merciless.

  “Answer me the truth, Allein. Have you not told her of your visions and asked her opinion from time to time as to what they mean? The truth, Allein, I demand it.” Jecha was standing now, facing the seated shaman who appeared to want to sink back into his cushions.

  Allein-a-Briech seemed lost in thought, as if recalling all of his time with Eshebra, who was both his handmaiden and mistress. Finally he nodded. “Yes, we have spoken of such things.”

  “Go and fetch the girl.” The Earthspeaker said to one of the warriors at the council, and the man swiftly departed, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He returned only a few moments later, for the tent of Allein-a-Briech was close by. Close enough for its occupants to have heard everything, Tuchek thought.

  “She’s gone!” The warrior said. “The tent is empty but the fire is still burning. She has not been gone long. Shall I gather hunters to find her?” The Ghaill nodded and the man left again, if possible faster than before. He could be heard calling to his men for a while.

  “I don’t think you will find her.” Jecha said after a few minutes. “Or perhaps you will find her body in the Redwater, if it does not sink too soon. Her master will not suffer her to live if we have discovered her.” She shook her head dismissively.

  “It does not matter. The woman was but a tool, and likely knows nothing of importance. The fact that she has been with your shaman for two years tells more of her than anything she might say.”

  “Why?” The Ghaill asked.

  “For the same reason the Sparli were here so soon, Ghaill. For the same reason the Sons of the Bear were present when you killed the bull. There is someone who wanted you to start this war with Mortentia. Someone who had the patience to put people in place long in advance of it.”

  “We knew to be ready for this war last year.” Spoke a man who had not previously opened his mouth. He was a stocky man with a round face and a small pointed beard. His armor was bronze plates sewn together onto a leather shirt, and he had a steel cap on his head. His name was Sleeps in the Goatpen and he was the Sparli representative in the council.

  “Who told you to be ready?”

  “Our tarl told us that the Tarl of Tarls commanded it.”

  “Tarl is what the Sparli call their Ghaills.” Derbas whispered to Rashad.

  “But why should there be war? It profits no one.”

  “Ah, that is not precisely truth, my friend Ghaill Dirtspeaker.” Derbas-Al-Dhulma had to speak loudly to make himself heard over the number of whispered conversations that were taking place between the Auligs, and his Kirluni was not enviable. “There is one who profits from this war who is far away. A powerful emperor who sees Mortentia as a rival and who sees the Auligs standing in his path. A war between these two forces is of great interest unto him.”

  “Who is this person?” The Ghaill of Ghaills asked, his voice carrying a tone of menace.

  “Ah … Well, I do not wish to accuse him with surety, but I believe that the Brizaki emperor is likely behind your troubles.”

  Jecha spoke up. “I have no trouble accusing him.” She said acidly. “We Entreddi have uncovered evidence of his guilt in this matter.” She went on to outline in brief her findings, including the connection between the Kalgareth and the missing children, and the connection between the black haired witch, who remained unfound, and the money from Tolrissa.

  “I see the connection to Tolrissa, and certainly there is ample evidence to connect that gold to this war, but I don’t see the connection to the Brizaki.” The Earthspeaker replied.

  “Ah, I am sorry, I neglected to mention that. In the conversation with the mercenary we captured in Mortentia City we learned that they were to blind the king’s eyes. We learned also from a farmer in Nevermind who is friendly to us that Brizaki soldiers were behind the capture of a king’s eye in the spring time. It is too much of a coincidence …”

  “You never told me that Brizaki soldiers were in Mortentia.” Tuchek interrupted. “That is news. I find it amazing that they would dare such a thing.”

  “Why not?” Derbas-Al-Dhulma replied. “There is little likelihood that the Mortentians would take action against the empire. They are far away and therefore mythical. The most likely response should the Brizaki be discovered would be to burn them at the stake as agents of the abyss, is that not so?”

  Jecha nodded. “Yes. The enforced ignorance of the Mortentians often works against them. The sailors know different, but they keep their mouths shut.”

  The Ghaill of Ghaills considered all that had been said, then he turned to Allein-a-Briech. “High Seer, you have failed us in this. You see that, don’t you?”

  Allein-a-Briech could only nod. The revelation that he had been manipulated by his mistress into starting a war had humbled him.

  “I am sorry that you have done this thing.” The Ghaill went on, and his voice betrayed no emotion. “You will meet with Jecha the Seeress of the Entreddi and you will consult the bones or whatever it is that you spook pushers do. I wish to accept the terms of the Mortentians, for it is plain that we have wronged them. Mayhap you two can produce an augury upon which I can rely for what comes after.”

  Shocked silence greeted this announcement, for the rebuke and the humbling of the highest of all Aulig seers was a thing unheard of. That the great Allein-a-Briech could be brought low by a whorish spy from a foreign land was a lesson to all of them. There were not a few of the assembled chieftains who took some satisfaction in this moment, for Allein-a-Briech was a prideful man, but they would not have dared to speak such thoughts aloud. The seer could hear the things you said in the most private places, it was said, and he was known to be a vengeful man as well.

  Haim’s leg still pained him, but he could walk without too much of a limp these days, although he didn’t need to. Because of the courage they had shown and the losses they had sustained at Ugly Woman Hill captain Tolric had decided to reward the fifth and sixth spear fyrdes, now combined into just the fifth, by giving them light duty, and light duty meant a special mission escorting no less of an august personage than commander Busker O’Hiam.

  The special mission was to go to Walcox as rapidly as possible and secure as many peaches as they could. As rapidly as possible meant horses and two wagons, and the Hedgehogs rode in a high-wheeled wagon they had requisitioned from an abandoned yard in Northcraven. When O’Hiam had told him the mission, Haim had thought the man was playing one of the practical jokes the Hammers of Arker were known to fool new recruits with. “It’s no joke, fyrdman. The peaches are needed for the peace process, and we are to protect them with
our lives.”

  The horses and the wagons rattled down the road, skittering on patches of ice and hard-packed snow. Haim endured the endless bumping in silence, looking about at areas over which the Silver Run Army had marched and fought and killed for weeks. It was amazing that areas that had taken weeks to secure now passed beneath the wheels of the racing wagon in minutes or hours.

  By mid day they were in Redwater, and they stopped to eat. The town was more crowded than it had been only a week earlier, for many refugees from the surrounding areas had taken refuge behind its walls. The road to Walcox had been secured by the sleeping forts and patrols of either the Lord Mayor or a few of Aelfric’s lancers, and wagons of provisions were flowing both south and north. Rumors of a peace were in the air wherever they went, and the mood was hopeful. O’Hiam did not linger long, however.

  South of Redwater they rode through a land of farms and cotholds, and many of them had been burned by the Cthochi and were only now being repaired and rebuilt. They passed many farms that now rang with the sounds of hammers in the distance, and sawing wood. These were hundred kingdoms folk, and they knew even before the word reached them that the Cthochi would not be returning. There were barns to be raised and homes to be restored and turnips and carrots that had to be pulled from the frozen ground if they were to survive the winter, and they were hard at it.

  They passed two sleeping forts before sunset, and Haim again marveled at how quickly the leagues fell away behind the fast moving column. Wagons and men afoot alike moved off of the road when they saw the company coming, for they were flying the black griffin on red colors of the Privy Lord, and moving in haste. Many people waved or cheered at the sight of them. They reached a third sleeping fort at dusk, but O’Hiam did not stop. He wanted to end the day’s journey in Maslit, and when they reached the neat and orderly city it was full dark and snow was falling heavily.