by T. O. Munro
“What have you heard?” Niarmit asked before the dwarf should notice the trembling humour that had seized the Oostsalve Lord.
“The enemy is stretched too thin to firmly hold their stolen land. In the foothills of the Hadrans there have been no foul orcish patrols in months. There is a swathe of land where the invaders’ writ is observed in word but not in deed. We have trade again with tinkers, seeking our iron work. There are people in Undersalve who have hope of ploughing their land in freedom.”
“Undersalve, free?” The queen exhaled a breathless question.
“Not yet, your Majesty. Near the bigger villages and towns the vile invaders have large encampments of the vile orcs and treacherous nomads, but they are mostly the old, the infirm and the immature. The province has been stripped of virtually all that are able to bear arms and it stands now ripe and ready for reconquest.”
“How spirited of the ten clans to bring us this news,” Rugan murmured. “And with no thought of your own gain?”
Pardig gave the prince a cold hard stare. “A good dwarf has always an eye for honest business, there is no sin in that. Trade benefits all and we know well how the loss of Undersalve and the river route to the sea so crippled the trade wealth of Morsalve.” Pardig paused to stroke the luxuriant plaits of his beard. “Though, I hear the rise in tolls on the Eastway did no harm to your own revenues, my prince.”
Rugan’s lip curled in distaste but, with an arch of her eyebrow, Niarmit kept his retort in check.
“Expelling the invaders would be good for our business as well as meeting your ends,” Pardig went on. “The ten clans have agreed to offer you our services, our axes and our warriors, in reclaiming the lost province. Dwarves will march beside your armies and together we will seize back Woldtag and all of Undersalve.”
Kaylan clapped his hands together in a double beat of stillborn applause. Kimbolt’s eyes like the rest of the council were on the queen waiting to take their cue from her reaction to Pardig’s offer. Niarmit’s lips were parted, her brow creased in a frown, a look of haunted longing in her face. “My father’s province,” she murmured.
“Your province, my lady,” Kaylan echoed. “Our province, our home.”
It was too much for Bishop Sorenson. The prelate rose to his feet. “Forgot not your Majesty, that the Province of Nordsalve is both still a part of your kingdom and also in peril from without and within.” The role of gainsayer was not one which came easily to the ishop of compromise and he shot an apologetic look at Pardig. “I have no doubt that the ten clans’ offer is well meant and generous, but we have not the strength to expend in chasing senile orcs and nomad cripples south of the Hadrans. Not while the hardiest of our enemies still stand in their legions on the borders of Medyrsalve and Nordsalve poised to strike at us from fallen Morsalve.”
“My lady,” Kaylan hurried in to counter the bishop’s logic. “It would be a diversion, a way to draw the enemy’s strength. Let the first province to fall be the first that is won back. Let us learn from the enemy’s strategy.”
“This is not strategy,” Rugan growled. “It is a fantasy. Undersalve is an irrelevance in our current plight. There is no province now of Morsalve to benefit from its river commerce, nor does it provide a gateway to any other place than the desert and the ocean.” The half-elf stopped himself mid flow and offered Niarmit a brief apologetic nod. “I mean no offence to your father Prince Matteus or the battles you and he waged, but this is not the time to fight for Undersalve.”
“You would let our people languish in slavery,” Kaylan cried. “But then I should not be surprised. We know well how you let them fall into slavery, through the service you never rendered at Bledrag field.”
“Enough Kaylan,” Niarmit commanded before the incandescent prince could make his own pointed response. “This is no time for such recriminations. The ten clans’ offer deserves all due consideration as a matter of state along with all other matters that press upon us.”
“You are queen of all the Salved Kingdom, your Majesty, not just the Princess of Undersalve.” Giseanne spoke softly but was still heard by all.
Pardig frowned unhappily at the mixed reaction his great news had received, but he covered his disappointment well. “It is not the dwarven way to act in haste or without taking due counsel, your Majesty. We would expect no less careful consideration in responding to our offer than it took the gathering of the clans to formulate it.”
“How long was that, pray tell?” Tybert’s reedy voice made its solitary contribution to the debate.
“Seven days,” Pardig answered. “Though that did include the opening formalities and the ordering of this embassy.” A sweep of his stubby fingered hand encompassed his nineteen co-delegates.
“I think we can be a little quicker than that, Pardig-ap-Lupus,” Niarmit replied with a smile.
The dwarf bowed low again, the tips of his moustache brushing the floor in a gesture that was as much a feat of balance as of courtesy. “We will withdraw while you deliberate, your Majesty. I trust the courteous prince will be able to accommodate our needs.”
Rugan’s eyebrows shot up and he waved his hands in helpless compliance. “My hospitality is as famous as my courtesy, Pardig-ap-Lupus. Mien casta, dien casta as they say in the Eastern Lands.”
The dwarves retired observing the same precise hierarchy with which they had entered, though Kimbolt was glad they dispensed with the need for a formal announcement of each dwarf’s withdrawal. At a word from Niarmit, Rugan followed them out to ensure the honoured if numerous guests were properly quartered.
Kaylan, his patience barely able to wear the last dwarf’s departure, was the first to speak. “It is a golden opportunity, my lady. Your father would have seized it an instant.”
“Prince Matteus was a soldier,” Giseanne said. “He understood strategy as Rugan does. He would not want you to risk all in pursuit of pride.”
“Your Highness,” Kaylan spluttered. “This is a matter of honour, not mere pride.”
“Neither honour nor pride nor a recaptured Undersalve will console us when Medyrsalve and Nordsalve are overrun in our armies’ absence.” Sorenson said. “The council were agreed on a mission to Nordsalve as the most pressing priority some weeks ago. This delegation does not change that urgency.”
“What says Oostsalve?” Kaylan whirled on Tybert, clutching at a strawman to support his case.
The dilettante lord glanced from one face to the next in desperate search for a clue as to which answer would avail him best. In the end he gave a weak wave, “Undersalve and Nordsalve are each as much a distance from Oostsalve. I think either course has as much to recommend it as the other.”
Kaylan clucked his disgust at Tybert’s indecision, while Niarmit’s gaze settled on Kimbolt. “And what of your view, Seneschal?”
Kimbolt wet his lips. “I think your Majesty, that the bishop is right. Better to save one province from falling, than to retrieve another already fallen,” he said with some care.
Kaylan clapped his hands atop his head and strode to the chamber’s raised entrance, fuming with indignation. Then seized by a sudden thought he spun and jabbed a finger at Kimbolt. “Do you forget, Captain, how I was part of that last mission to Nordsalve. Me, Fenwell and the queen. Think what failure that ended in. One dropped to his death and two of us lucky to escape alive. D’you not see. We have no route by which to reach Nordsalve save travelling through the conquered northeast of Morsalve. Would you expose the queen to such risks again? I wouldn’t, but maybe a second seneschal is poised to send her into peril.”
“Kaylan!” Niarmit’s voice was as sharp and cold as ice. “Be civil or begone!”
“My lady,” Kaylan bowed, cheeks flushing as red as if she had slapped him.
“Kaylan has a point,” Giseanne conceded reluctantly. “Until we get word from Tordil of the Silverwood’s support, there is no safe route to Nordsalve.”
Niarmit sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “There is a way. Quintala and Maelgrum are n
ot the only ones who can open the gates between the planes.” She smiled at their dumbstruck faces. “It was Quintala herself who told me. I see now she meant to scare me. She spoke of when Sturmcairn first fell and King Gregor wanted to send a spy to the fallen castle.”
“She told me that tale too,” Giseanne said. “Probably with the same purpose.”
“A priest or priestess of the Goddess can earn the power to open a gate between too very disparate places. At the king’s bidding, Archbishop Forven created such a portal to send a spy from Morwencairn to Sturmcairn. The same device could allow us to send a party to the Lady Isobel and the boy Prince Yannuck.”
“What happened to the spy sent to Sturmcairn?” Kimbolt asked. He had been in that captured fortress and was sure no agent from Morwencairn had delved into the secrets of its fall.
“He was trapped in the planes while the sands of time ran out decades of his life, before returning to his starting point an hour or so after the king had seen him on his way. He came back a wizened old man with barely enough breath to describe his failure before the withering of age claimed him.”
“And you would risk the same fate?” Kimbolt demanded in horror.
“The spy was doomed by Quintala’s treachery and Maelgrum’s artifice. She had plenty of time to tell the Dark Lord of Gregor’s plans. It would have been a simple matter for him to cast an enchantment to intercept and trap the unfortunate man. But Quintala has no ear on our deliberations here. Maelgrum will have neither knowledge nor opportunity to waylay us. If we are swift I am sure we can journey in safety right to the Lady Isobel’s side.”
“You’re going to Nordsalve then, my lady,” Kaylan said with dull resignation.
She nodded. “I am. I have decided.” She turned to Sorenson. “The spell requires someone with knowledge of both the point of departure and of arrival. You alone, Bishop, stand high enough in favour with the Goddess and sufficiently acquainted with our destination to meet our needs.”
“I will do anything to serve your Majesty and my Lady Isobel.”
“Then go and pray for the granting of this power. You have a long night ahead of you. I mean to be in Nordsalve tomorrow.”
A sound escaped Kaylan’s frame, it may have been a sob. The queen rose and patted the thief on the shoulder. “Fear not Kaylan, I will meet with the embassy of the ten clans and we may find a way to decline their offer with honour and good grace. But Undersalve had five years of my life fighting for its freedom. Others must have their call on my attention, before Undersalve can claim me again.”
***
“Your return to thessse hallsss isss mossst timely. Quintala. There isss a tasssk to be undertaken and I doubt I could entirely entrussst it to anyone elssse.” Maelgrum’s form sat motionless in his great stone throne. Quintala had this audience entirely to herself. Amusing as it was to taunt Rondol infront of the lich, she prized such moments of private communion and the reassurance that she still stood highest in his favour.
She gave a slight bow. “I am at your service, as always.”
“Yesss,” Maelgrum stretched out the affirmative in a sibilant hiss. His blackened fingers drummed a brief but complex tattoo as he contemplated his next words. “I have to travel away.”
“Will you be gone long?”
“That dependsss on what I find. It isss a plane I have not visssited in a thousssand yearsss. It isss peopled, like ssso many, by greedy creaturesss of rude temperament.”
“Our kind of people then.”
There was a deeper flicker of scarlet in the Dark Lord’s eye sockets. “Quite ssso, Quintala. Of old they were my mossst formidable mercssenaries. Even the orcsss trembled at their passssing. A few of them were quite sssuffficient to ssstiffen the sssinews of my alliesss, while melting the resssolve of my adversssariesss.
“I had not thought to call on them again. In the passst there ssservice was marred by a certain lack of reliability. But given the ssstubbornesss of thisss wretched witch queen I am minded to enlarge my force. These creaturesss will ssserve more continuousssly than the dragon, more ferociousssly than the orcsss and, if well led, more obediently than the undead.”
“Formidable allies indeed.” Quintala wondered at what mythical creatures could embody all those virtues.
“However, they are a racsse of limited witsss and in the centuriesss that have passst sssince my lassst visssit, it isss possssible they have forgotten me.”
“Surely not.” Quintala felt she might have over-egged her indignation, for the Dark Lord paused in his slow nodding recollection his head frozen, ear cocked to hear the sarcasm.
“It isss possssible, and retraining thessse creaturesss in the waysss of obediencsse may take sssome time.”
“I could go in your place, I am sure I could whip them into shape.”
Maelgrum’s mouth spread in a grinning display of ancient teeth set in a gumless jaw. “I think I prefer you, Quintala, with your armsss and legsss ssstill attached to your body. I am sssure you do too. These creaturesss lack the intelligence to underssstand you or the wit to fear you. There isss only an inssstinct to dessstroy which requiresss ssskill and exssperience to handle. Thisss tasssk isss mine alone.”
“And my task?”
A thin veil of mist descended from Maelgrum’s sleeves as he gazed over Quintala’s shoulder at the emptiness of his throne room. “I had occasssion to sssubdue a town, a placsse called Colnham, in the north-eassst of thisss province of Eadran’sss. It ssseemsss that the foolish folk have not learnt the lesssson well enough. They have sssent my appointed freeholder another headlessss orc.”
“I think I’ve been in that tavern,” Quintala quipped. “The ale’s not as good as the Wingless Harpy though.”
Maelgrum rose, vapour streaming from his robes. “Thisss isss no time for idle jessstsss, Quintala. Give thisss matter your mossst ssserious contemplation, or I will put Rondol in charge of it, with you asss hisss deputy.”
“You have my earnest attention, Master,” Quintala said with a low and honest bow which seemed to placate the Dark Lord’s fury.
“Your tasssk isss to sssubdue thisss rebelliousss quadrant entirely. It hasss a certain ssstrategic sssignificance.”
“It is the salient that separates Nordsalve and Medyrsalve.”
“Exssacttly. It mussst belong to usss utterly. You are to take up the overlordship of that corner of the land. Punisssh thossse ssservantsss who have failed usss and thossse ssslaves who have defied usss.”
“What force may I have?”
“Whatever you need.”
“Rondol and the wizards? The outlanders and the orcs?”
Maelgrum assented with the merest waft of his hand.
“Haselrig?”
“Of courssse your pet go. I certainly have no need of him. Take them all. You may even have Marwella, once the winter chill has easssed enough for the undead to walk abroad unfrozen by the cold.”
“I am honoured by your trust.”
“There isss a hill by thisss town, they call it Colnhill. Eadran’sss kind have not ssseeen fit to fortify it. They missstakenly thought their barrier would protect them from all illsss. I have ssstood atop the peak and ssseen how it could command the land. Their’sss isss an omissssion I want you to addressss.
“Build me a cassstle at the top of Colnhill. Make it ssstrong. Ensssure it cassstsss a long ssshadow over the land ssso that they will all know the futility of defiancsse.” Maelgrum’s red eye pits flared bright with the image in his mind.
The half-elf bowed. “It will be done.” She turned to go, but Maelgrum called her back.
“Quintala.”
“Yes.”
“Impressss me, ssshow me what kind of blood runsss in your half-bred veinsss.”
The half-elf’s bow was a little stiffer, her voice a touch more brittle. “Of course,” she said.
***
The first time Kimbolt had met Kaylan, the thief had laid him out with a crunching blow to the jaw. From the scowl on his face t
he seneschal judged Kaylan was a hair’s breadth away from attempting a repeat performance. His ill-humour was tempered neither by the impassive guards of Rugan’s household, nor the two lancers that Sergeant Jolander had insisted on posting as additional protection at the door to the queen’s quarters. Kimbolt curled his fingers into a soft preparatory fist. That first blow had caught him unprepared, exhausted after days of continuous riding. He would not be so easily struck again.
Still, the thief stood in the doorway unwilling to leave but uncertain on what pretext to stay. Kimbolt looked back down the long hall of the queen’s new quarters. Once Rugan had recognised Niarmit’s royal overlordship and also the vulnerablity of her former rooms to magical scrying by Quintala, there had been a rapid transposition to the most opulent apartments that his palace could afford. The whole expansive network of rooms was reserved for family and servants. Kaylan was assigned his own separate room, itself more luxurious than a thief from old Woldtag could ever have expected to enjoy.
“You should get some rest, Kaylan.” Kimbolt spoke softly, his voice belying the tension in his body. “We all should.”
Kaylan thumped the door frame with the heel of his fist. His mouth worked in a vain search of words to vent the frustration which consumed him.
“The queen has given you a task of great importance.” Kimbolt’s tone must have betrayed some undertone of doubt, some suspicion that the thief was unequal to the demands Niarmit had made of him, for Kaylan’s eyes widened in anger.
Kimbolt shifted his weight to his back foot in preparation for the simmering outburst that seemed desperate to find release in the thief’s fists. But in the end Kaylan simply thumped the door frame again and said hollowly, “She’s sending me away.”
“She needs you to be her spokesman with the dwarves.”
“Then why send Prior Abroath too, and Mistress Elise? This is just an excuse. She does not trust me anymore.”
Kimbolt reached out a hand, suddenly moved to offer the lean bruised thief some gesture of reassurance. “Abroath adds a little political weight, but it is your knowledge of the land and good favour with the dwarves that she needs.” He clapped his palm against the thief’s shoulder; it nearly bounced off the iron tension in Kaylan’s corded muscles. “She is sending you five hundred men-at-arms. That is three times as many men as you ever had before, and the dwarves will help you. Think what you can achieve in a province held only by the crippled and the old of the enemy’s forces!”