Legends of the Riftwar

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘I don’t know. Why?’

  ‘If Hartraft destroyed one of the units of my army I’m curious to know.’

  ‘It all happened so quickly,’ Corwin said slowly, as if the memory of the incident was still painful. ‘One moment the forest was empty, the next Tsurani troops were everywhere and I ran.’

  ‘Their helmets. Some are marked with feathered plumes, others with coloured cloth wrapped around the top,’ and as he spoke Asayaga pointed to the strip of faded blue cloth tied to the back of his helmet.

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Was it yellow? I know that Zugami’s company was on patrol. Maybe pale green of Catuga, or the red feather of Wanutama?’

  Corwin looked thoughtful. ‘I think green. Who was this Catuga?’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘They were all killed; you know that don’t you?’

  Asayaga lowered his head. ‘Green then.’

  ‘Yes, I’m almost certain.’

  ‘I see. The leader, Catuga, he had a spiked helmet and was tall for one of my race, as tall almost as Hartraft. He was an old friend of mine. Did Hartraft kill him?’

  ‘Yes. I remember seeing that. I saw Hartraft kill him towards the end of the fight.’

  Asayaga nodded and looked over to where Dennis slept.

  ‘Scouts coming in!’

  It was young Richard whom Dennis had detailed with an unfortunate half dozen others to stand watch while the rest of them slept.

  Instantly men were awake, sitting up, looking to the west. Down along the brook which they had been following Asayaga could see the two riders slowing, turning aside, and coming up the hill to the edge of the woods.

  At once Dennis was awake and on his feet and Asayaga fell in by his side. He could hear Dennis groaning softly as he walked, stretching, trying to shake off the exhaustion.

  Gregory and Tinuva reined in and dismounted.

  ‘Two miles ahead. A stockade. Fairly new from the looks of it, a good position, set on top of a hill, a dozen or so farmsteads surrounding it.’

  ‘Occupied?’ asked Dennis.

  The scout nodded. ‘Humans.’

  ‘They know we’re here?’

  ‘Fair to assume so. The gate was closed, no one was in the fields or farmhouses outside the stockade.’

  Dennis rubbed his chin as he thought.

  ‘They undoubtedly had a watcher on the bridge,’ Asayaga offered. ‘Strange they didn’t cut it.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t have time. Tinuva and I ran the risk of rushing it when we first saw it. We saw footprints but they were boy-size.’

  ‘They know we’re here,’ Dennis mused aloud, head lowered. ‘We need shelter. Do you think we could take it?’

  ‘If they’ve got twenty men in there, armed with bows, they’ll kill half of us.’

  ‘A night attack then.’

  ‘What I was thinking.’

  ‘Why attack?’ Asayaga asked.

  ‘What?’ and Dennis turned to look at him.

  ‘We could talk, make an offer.’

  ‘We are a good fifty miles beyond the frontier,’ Dennis announced as if trying to explain something basic to a child. ‘Anyone up here is outside the law and is to be treated as such.’

  ‘The law?’ Asayaga said with a bitter laugh. ‘You call what we are doing to each other the law, and people up here are the lawless? Have we seen any sign of the presence of these Dark Brothers here?’ And as he spoke the question he looked at Tinuva.

  The elf slowly shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’ve seen only human signs since we came to the valley floor. There is a chance, though, they could be allied to the moredhel.’

  Asayaga looked sceptical. ‘Do you think that? If they were allied to the Forest Demons they should have been waiting for us at the bridge. Surely those behind us would have sent one fast rider around us while we were down in the foothills, to gain their help in blocking the bridge. I think those who pursued us were as surprised by the bridge as we were. The way they attacked frontally tells me they had no knowledge of the terrain above us or what was at the top of the trail. Two archers could have stopped us from crossing. I think these people are hiding, had no idea of our approach and we are a very unwelcome surprise.’

  Tinuva was silent for a moment as if deep in thought, and then finally nodded his head. ‘You have a logical mind, Asayaga. And wisdom.’

  ‘I see where this is going,’ Dennis said wearily.

  Dennis looked over at Asayaga as the two of them walked up the trail. They were in the open now, in the killing zone of open fields around the stockade. Tinuva, as always, was right in his observations: the wooden stockade was somewhat weathered, but was not more than several years old. Smoke coiled from a chimney of the long house inside the small fortress. Dennis could see faces peering over the wall, but it was hard to tell who they were.

  ‘Women and old men, mostly,’ Dennis said. ‘Listen to me, the moment the first arrow flies we run and if you get hit, blood debt or not I’m leaving you. This scheme borders on outright stupidity. There is no way in hell they are going to swing open their gates to over a hundred armed men.’

  ‘Blood debt?’

  ‘You know damn well what I mean. Fishing me out of the river.’

  Asayaga laughed softly.

  ‘So you honour that, too.’

  ‘I honour nothing, Asayaga. I think this idea is mad, but if we can capture this place intact, without losing any more men, or worse yet having it burn down around us, we just might survive the next few days. That’s the only reason I’m coming along with you.’

  ‘It’s me coming along with you,’ Asayaga growled. ‘You’re the Kingdom soldier, I’m the alien invader, as you put it when we discussed this idea.’

  ‘I need you along to help explain what we want.’

  ‘Not another step closer!’

  The voice, clearly that of an old man, caused them to stop.

  ‘Clear out of here right now, or my archers will riddle you with arrows.’

  Dennis cautiously lowered the shield loaned to him by Asayaga’s sergeant and raised his right hand. ‘I wish to parley.’

  ‘Clear out, I tell you.’

  ‘I am Dennis Hartraft, of the House of Hartraft. My father and grandfather before him held the royal warrant as wardens of the marches before the coming of the Tsurani. I come without weapon drawn to talk.’

  ‘Hartraft? They’re all dead these nine years. Go away.’

  Dennis lowered his shield, letting the butt rest on the ground. With his free hand he ever so slowly unbuttoned his cape and let it fall to the ground, revealing the faded colours of the Hartraft crest on his dirty tunic. It was not the tunic he usually wore on patrol, but Gregory had suggested that he pull it out of his pack and put it on.

  ‘By these colours,’ he pointed at his chest, ‘you will see that I am who I claim to be. I am rightful warden of the marches.’

  ‘Step closer.’

  Dennis gave a sidelong glance at Asayaga and did as requested, stopping when he felt that to venture any closer was suicide. He carefully scanned the battlement, looking for the slightest movement that would indicate a bow being drawn.

  Asayaga advanced with him, but kept his shield up.

  ‘That short fellow beside you?’

  ‘I am Force Commander Asayaga of House Tondora, of Clan Kanazawai.’

  ‘Why would Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers march side by side? You are deserters and renegades. Clear out. You are liars: I heard that no Hartraft would tolerate a Tsurani to live.’

  Again the sidelong glance from Asayaga.

  ‘How do you know what a Hartraft would do?’ Dennis asked.

  ‘I just know,’ the old man cried in a peevish voice. ‘Now move it, you scum-eaters, you sons of drunken whores, you rump-kissing pasty-faced boys not fit to suck the pig-dung off my toes. No man who claims to be a Hartraft would walk with a damned Tsurani who looks like the offspring of a cretinous dwarf and a one-legged disease-addled harlot.�
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  Asayaga bristled, raised his shield slightly, obviously ready to respond to the insult to his lineage.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Dennis hissed, and even as he spoke there was a puzzled look on his face as if trying to remember something.

  Asayaga, features turning red with anger struggled to maintain control.

  ‘The Tsurani by my side is indeed a sworn enemy,’ Dennis replied. ‘But there is a darker enemy afoot. Whoever it was you had watching the rope bridge will tell you that.’

  ‘He saw only an elf and a Natalese before he fled to bring warning.’

  ‘We are pursued by the Dark Brotherhood. Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers will always lower their swords against each other and join to fight such a foe.’

  ‘Damn you,’ and there was a tense shrillness to the challenging voice. ‘If they are chasing you now you’ve brought them down upon us! Clear out! I’ll grant you the rights of parley no longer. Clear out, you sons of a herder who sleeps with his goats because they remind him of his sister!’

  ‘Damn foul-mouthed fool,’ Asayaga hissed. ‘Maybe you were right, Hartraft. Once it’s dark we storm the place.’

  Dennis, however, let his shield drop to the ground and stepped forward another pace.

  It was the wonderful insults that had triggered something. A memory of long ago, of boyhood, a memory of hearing such phrases, cherishing them, and repeating them to his friends, until one day his father overheard him and washed his mouth out with soured milk.

  ‘I know that voice. Wolfgar, is that you?’

  The voice did not reply.

  ‘Damn it. Wolfgar? I remember you now. When I was a boy you use to chant the old ballads for my grandfather. You were the finest of bards of the northern frontier.’

  Dennis took another few steps forward and cleared his throat.

  ‘Kinsmen die, cattle die, I myself shall die,

  All that shall live after me,

  When I go to the halls of my sires,

  Are the songs that Wolfgar shall chant of the glory won in battle.’

  He proclaimed the words in the old way, a deep baritone chant, his voice carrying far across the fields.

  ‘You wrote those words,’ Dennis said with a grin. ‘I remember it well, you pox-eaten offspring of a pus-licking dog.’

  There was no response until finally the gate cracked open and a wizened old man, leaning on a ornately carved and twisted staff slowly shuffled out.

  It took more than a minute for him to cross the few dozen yards to where Dennis stood. He was so hunched over that the crown of his bald, liver-spotted head came barely to Dennis’s shoulder. Like an ageing buzzard he craned his neck, twisting sideways so he could look up into Dennis’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, horse shit,’ Wolfgar sighed. ‘It is you.’

  Dennis respectfully lowered his head in a formal bow. ‘You were the greatest of bards ever to visit the Hartraft Keep.’

  ‘Bountiful was the table of your grandsire,’ Wolfgar said, his voice weak but suddenly revealing the richness of the training in his craft, ‘for there is still fat at the root of my heart from the feasts he gave in my honour.’ Bones creaking, he turned slightly to look at Asayaga. ‘What in the name of all the devils is that? Is that little man typical of them, these Tsurani I hear of?’

  ‘He is the captain of the band that joined my unit.’

  Dennis could see Asayaga stiffen slightly and Wolfgar cackled.

  ‘Proud as a peacock with a new feather sticking out of his ass, this Tsurani.’

  ‘I did not join him,’ Asayaga snapped. ‘We have an alliance.’

  ‘Oh, an alliance is it?’ and Wolfgar’s features clouded. ‘Then you spoke the truth. The Dark Brothers are chasing you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh damn you,’ Wolfgar sighed wearily. ‘They suspected some of us were hiding hereabouts, but never bothered to look too hard, being troubled by other things. Now they’ll be on us.’ ‘My men,’ Dennis said and then he caught Asayaga’s baleful gaze. ‘Our men. We’ve been on the run for days. We need shelter, food, a place for our wounded to heal. I can offer you nothing in return but my bond one day to repay you. I ask this in memory of my father and grandfather who were honoured to call you their friend.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  Dennis drew closer, leaning over. ‘I’ll have to storm this place, Wolfgar and take it,’ he whispered sadly. ‘It’s either that or my men will die. And you know the Hartrafts well enough to know we honour the pledge to our troops to see to their needs first. Don’t make me fight you and your friends inside.’

  Wolfgar sighed in the way only an old man could, the raspy whistle of his breath revealing an infinite weariness with the ways of the world. He craned his neck further around, his squinting gaze focused on the western sky. ‘Storm coming again. Maybe it will block the passes for a while.’

  Dennis followed his gaze and saw the wisps of high clouds beginning to darken the early evening sky. The old man was right, by morning it would be snowing again. ‘I need shelter now,’ he said and this time there was a cold insistence to his voice. ‘I’ll ask only one more time as a friend.’ He paused and then shook his head. ‘I’d prefer it if we clasped hands in memory of my sires who were your friends and patrons long ago. Once the storm is passed and my men rested we’ll clear out and try to throw the Dark Brothers off from you.’

  ‘No, it’s too late for that now,’ Wolfgar replied. ‘The damage is done.’

  He squinted, looking at Asayaga again.

  ‘Someone as short as you most likely won’t eat much anyhow. Come on, you bastards, bring your men inside.’

  ELEVEN Respite

  The morning was cold.

  Dennis Hartraft leaned against the wall of Wolfgar’s stockade, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, hood up to block out the cold wind sweeping down from the west.

  He wondered if he’d ever really be warm again. The world was forever cold it seemed, seeping into his bones, and his heart. He knew it was a cold of the mind, not the body, for even though it was now winter in this valley, the cold he felt on the wind was nothing compared to the bitter freezing they had endured the last three days of their chase. Then Dennis reconsidered: not a cold of the mind, but a cold in his soul.

  Perhaps it was Wolfgar who triggered it, memories better left dead…

  A long-ago winter morning standing on the battlement wall, watching the first snow of winter drifting down, the wonder of it all for a child of seven, heavy flakes swirling, a bard kneeling by his side, laughing as he caught the flakes on his tongue or held out his mittens to catch one, then hold it up close to look at its intricate design until it melted away.

  He remembered so clearly the sound of laughter, looking down into the courtyard below, a little girl running in circles, arms wide, shouting that she was a snowflake riding on the wind, the bard chuckling softly, telling him he knew a secret, that the little girl liked him.

  Years later, again a snowfall and the little girl had grown, and they were to be married, standing arm in arm on the battlement, both of them sharing the memory of the bard, laughing, wondering if there was a way he could be found and invited to perform for their wedding.

  And yet another snowfall, the flicker of fire, the screams…

  He lowered his head, pushing that thought away. Never let that back in, never.

  ‘Remind you of something?’

  Dennis took a deep breath, blinking hard, his features falling back into the mask he presented to life. He turned.

  Wolfgar was ever so slowly climbing the steps to the battlement, staff wobbling, the old man hanging on to it with both hands, taking one step at a time. Dennis almost reached out to help him, but knew better: old men had their pride, especially this one.

  At last Wolfgar was at his side, hood drawn up over his head, frail body wrapped in heavy layers of furs. He looked up and smiled crookedly. His lips were blue and Dennis knew that wasn’t from the cold, for his breath came in a raspy gurg
le and his pale eyes were watery.

  ‘You shouldn’t be out in the cold like this,’ Dennis offered.

  ‘Damn you, it’s a life covered in offal when I have to start taking advice from a lad who I once pushed off my lap because his swaddling clothes were leaking on me’. Wolfgar laughed and shook his head. ‘I asked if standing up there reminded you of something, you seemed lost in thought.’

  ‘Just waiting for Gregory and Tinuva to return.’

  ‘There are some things that never change with a man–the boy still locked inside. Even when you were seven you use to stand like that, shoulders hunched, hands clasped in front of you, always watching. Reminded me of a snowy day, the two of us watching the first storm of the season, and I told you that Gwenynth liked you. How your eyes sparkled even though you were a proud lad of seven and would not admit that girls were of any interest yet.’

  Dennis looked away.

  ‘I heard what happened to her, to your father and grandfather.’

  Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off but couldn’t.

  ‘My heart was with you, lad. I wept for you. Your old grandfather always wanted to die in a damn good fight, and your father, well, he never had a chance to rule in his own right but I heard he died sword in hand. But for you, I wept.’

  He fell silent, not mentioning her death. Dennis closed his eyes…

  The begging, the pleading for her not to let go, his fumbling to stop the bleeding, to somehow force her soul back into her body and that smile that lit her features as she slipped away, as if she was trying to console a little boy who didn’t understand, that it would work out in the end…but it never did.

  ‘It was nine years ago,’ Dennis whispered, using every ounce of effort to keep control of his voice.

  ‘In some matters time is meaningless. For an elf like Tinuva, nine years is but a moment. Memory of loss can linger for an eternity. I know, I use to sing about it often enough.’ Wolfgar hawked and spat noisily, removing his hand from Dennis’s shoulder to wipe his mouth.

  Dennis looked over at him. ‘Let it drop,’ he snapped. ‘It was a long time ago. No song, not even yours can bring them back, except in memory, and I prefer those memories buried.’