by Marcus Lee
Taran looked back fully at Maya. She walked back and forth across the hillside and all the while her hands softly brushed the withered grass. Occasionally she would pause and bend down to smell a dying flower, only to rise and resume her meandering path. Taran felt enchanted by her movement. She had an animal grace and light as a fawn, she trod softly, carefully, and behind her, the land blossomed. Taran had seen it so many times before now, and yet every time was like the first. He felt a thrill pass through his veins as she shone lightly, not just from the sun, but from an inner light. He’d wanted her to stay further away, but Maya made her way down the hill until she stood beside him, then her hand slipped into his as they turned to face the giant together.
The giant’s thoughts were so confused that it was hard to discern its intent, but then it lifted its head, and that strange noise emanated from its throat. Suddenly, from the trees strode a dozen other giants all bearing clubs or staffs. Remarkably they must have been there the whole time, and within moments they were surrounded.
Taran felt Maya’s hand grip his tightly in worry, but he turned to her and smiled.
‘Fear not,’ he said, and knelt, only to take her hand and kiss it. As he did so, the giants all knelt as well and touched their foreheads to the green grass in homage.
‘It is not just me who worships you,’ Taran said with a smile as he stood. ‘Now we need to get our friends, for they want us to meet the Elder of their clan, the oldest giant of them all. Wait here a while,’ he continued, ‘they mean you no harm at all, and that will extend to all who travel with you. So let me get the others,’ and then Taran made his way up the hill for the final time.
As he entered the cave, he saw that Rakan was ready to go, while Kalas, who’d been freed, was now gathering his equipment. Yana was also there and had a pack on her back.
Taran raised an eyebrow in a silent question.
‘I’m coming with you, Taran heart-stealer,’ she said. ‘It’s decided, so don’t even think to argue,’ and she brushed past him to head outside.
Rakan followed while Kalas made himself busy. ‘I’ll be with you in just a moment,’ Kalas said.
Taran turned back into the sunlight, his pack over his shoulder and Maya’s pack in his hand, then headed down the hill to catch up with Rakan and Yana.
In the cave, Kalas walked further into the gloom and stood before Laska.
Laska waved his guards away and met Kalas’ gaze.
‘Will you please forgive me, father, after all these years?’ Kalas asked, shaking with suppressed emotion.
Laska looked unsteadily back at him, torment in his eyes. Then, after a short silence, he slowly shook his head as the expression on his face hardened. ‘My sons died years ago, both of them!’ he choked, and turned along with his guards, walking back into the tunnels.
Kalas strode out of the cave toward his destiny, heart broken afresh.
-----
Astren shook his head, and Tristan looked up at the movement and raised an eyebrow, not bothering to speak. They were both in the erstwhile commander’s quarters, poring over papers, maps, and charts.
‘It seems Anthain almost won Daleth’s war for him before it even started,’ Astren sighed. ‘This letter to Elender introduces the holder as a peace and trade emissary from Daleth. That one advises that new gates will soon arrive, and to remove the old ones in readiness. Another instructs that half the garrison be disbanded and for Elender to keep the excess payroll as a token of appreciation. It goes on and on.
‘Anthain’s betrayal has been long forged,’ Astren continued. ‘We can now be sure he never sought to raise men to defend this citadel, and who knows where the gold went. I think in light of this we should immediately seek help from our neighbour states, for he will have misled them just like Elender. We should also send riders to the Eyre and the desert tribes. We can request for military aid, but even if they don’t send it, they will be forewarned, for Daleth’s conquest won't stop with us.’
Astren looked thoughtful. ‘Is it worth sending riders to the Horselords as well? Next to the Eyre they’re our nearest neighbours and have a fearsome reputation,’ he asked.
Tristan shook his head. ‘There’s a reason we’ve paid them a tithe for time immemorial to leave us alone. Imagine if they took advantage of the situation. No, one enemy horde is enough to consider facing for now. Not forgetting they’ll simply kill any outsiders on sight, emissaries or not.’
Tristan turned to an Eyre guard who stood at the door opposite his desert spearman counterpart. ‘Send for Drizt,’ he ordered, and the man hurried off.
Tristan started putting quill to parchment, and Astren leaned over to see him write requests for help from the other Freestates leaders, offering gold, tax exemptions, and more, in return for men to help with the defence of the citadel.
Tristan looked at Astren, answering his unspoken question. ‘I know you can spirit travel to them, but they will give no credence to you unless a written order from me first sits in their hands.’
Drizt walked in shortly thereafter and looked over the letters.
Tristan took them back, rolled them up and sealed them with wax before imprinting them with the royal ring. ‘I need you to select trustworthy men to take these messages. With good fortune, we might get a little help from our neighbour states in time,’ ordered Tristan.
‘Why have you offered to reward them for helping defend their own lands?’ asked Drizt quizzically. ‘If we fail here, they lose everything. Surely they will send what troops they have anyway because of the impending invasion?’
Tristan sighed. ‘You might think so. But our strength, in this case, is our weakness. No Freestates leader will act in haste unless he sees a profit, and in fairness, each state only has a small city garrison to keep public order.‘
‘Is everything about money with you people?’ asked Drizt. ‘What about loyalty to king and country, a sense of duty or honour?’
Astren chuckled. ‘All those things mean little to the citizens of the Freestates. Our god is money, and everything else is secondary. The other lords might well refuse our king, but they are less likely to refuse their god.’
Drizt called in one of his men and gave him the written orders, instructed him on what to do, then sent him on his way. ‘Riders will leave before the midday sun,’ he said, turning to Tristan who nodded in acknowledgement.
Astren cleared his throat, and Drizt turned toward him. ‘We need your help in taking stock of our stores here. Can you assign some of your men to do so?’
Drizt nodded. ‘They’re bored, so giving them things to do will ease that. By the way, the desert tribesmen have almost finished nominating their new commander. As soon as they’re done with the ritual, I’ll have him sent up.’
‘What ritual is that?’ asked Astren in interest. ‘How do they choose?’
Drizt shook his head before replying. ‘Those who wish to take command have to face the sting of the scorpion. The one who takes the most stings and lives will be the new commander. The ones who fail will not need to apply for the role.’
A soldier from the garrison was shown in, and he bowed to Tristan.
‘My king,’ he said, ‘I hear you’re interested in the whereabouts of the gates to the citadel wall and the keep itself.’
‘What’s your name and tell me what you know,’ said Tristan, getting up to look the man in the eye. ‘Speak freely and fear not the nature of your answer.’
The man shuffled his feet nervously. ‘My king, I am Galain, sergeant of this garrison and second in command to Lord Elender before his,’ and he paused, searching for the right words.
Drizt chimed in. ‘Before his fall from grace.’
Astren sighed but also smiled ruefully. Even the death of Sancen couldn’t keep Drizt’s good humour entirely subdued.
‘Yes, yes, before his fall from grace,’ Galain continued. ‘I also lead the engineers and carpenters here.’ He coughed before continuing. ‘Lord Elender ordered my men and I to take
the gates down about two months ago saying we’d get replacements shortly after. We were to take down the gates in walls two and three as well, but we hadn’t got around to it yet.’
‘Thank the gods you didn’t,’ said Tristan.
‘But, why my king, if you don’t mind me asking? Lord Elender said trade was soon to resume!’
‘Galain,’ said Astren interjecting. ‘Does every soldier in this garrison believe we are at peace, and war has been averted?’
Galain nodded. ‘Yes sir. Lord Elender told us himself just before he sent five hundred of our lads home a few of months back, saying they wouldn’t be needed in a time of peace. But that’s right isn’t it, sir?’ he asked, his voice rising as he asked the question.
‘Galain, I have a task for you,’ said Tristan.
Galain stood tall. ‘But of course, my king. What is your wish?’
Tristan looked through the window at the sun in the sky before saying, ‘I would like to address the garrison troops. Organise this for tomorrow morning, first light. Have them ready in the courtyard.’
Galain saluted and started to turn away.
‘Wait,’ said Tristan, ‘I almost forgot, what happened to the gates? Where are they and can we get them put back up?’
‘Excuse me, my king,’ Galain replied, ‘but they’re right in front of you and all around you.’
‘I don’t want riddles!’ snapped Tristan.
Galain hurriedly carried on. ‘The table you’re sitting at, the wooden panelling on all the walls, in the corridors. The furniture throughout these rooms. The boys and I did a great job didn’t we; we are craftsmen.’
‘Oh my,’ said Astren, and pushed away the piles of paper on the huge table that they sat around. He followed Tristan’s gaze as he looked around the walls, gloriously polished and buffed to a sheen, then finally to the exquisitely carved cupboards that housed the wine and more.
Tristan sighed. ‘A craftsman you are, Galain, a craftsman you indeed are. I don’t suppose you could undo this amazing work, and turn tables, chairs, and panelling, back into gates by any chance?’
Galain laughed, then pulled himself together and stood to attention as he remembered who he addressed. ‘My king, I’m a craftsman, not a mage. I think we will need to wait until the new gates arrive then we’ll put them up, especially as you’re burning some of the pieces in your fire yonder.’
Tristan sighed. ‘I’m now burning my gates, wonderful. You’re dismissed. Get the men ready for me. I’ll be down shortly.’
Drizt wandered over to the fire. ‘Sancen wouldn’t have been able to stop laughing over this,’ he said with a half-smile, warming his hands over the burning gates. But as he spoke, his voice broke slightly, and Astren saw the sheen in his eyes.
‘Right,’ said Tristan softly. ‘Let’s find out who the new commander of the sand dwellers is. We have maybe fourteen days to get new gates, get more men, get the men we have ready, ensure we have enough stores, have our catapults ready for action, create a field hospital and so much more. Then we have to face an army of a hundred thousand bloodthirsty men, and a Witch-King intent on killing us all, enslaving the Freestates and likely everything beyond.’
‘Thankfully, when you put it like that,’ said Drizt, ‘it sounds so easy!’ But even this attempt at levity didn’t lift the mood, as they each contemplated the daunting tasks before them.
-----
‘This feels like a strange dream,’ muttered Rakan, to Kalas and Yana. They passed the time talking amongst themselves, while Taran and Maya communicated with the Elder giant.
‘This must be how ants feel when they see us walking by,’ added Yana, as she looked around feeling dwarfed by everything, and the other two nodded.
It had taken them a day to reach the Elder giant who awaited them at the centre of the valley, and along the way they’d seen many giants who’d called out in their strange haunting tongue, to be answered by their escorts in similar kind.
It transpired the giants didn’t have a village or a town, as they lived apart from one another for the most as shepherds, and only came to this meeting place to choose a mate, to celebrate the birth of a new giantlet, or for other matters that required serious discussion.
Now, as they all sat waiting, Rakan looked up. The giants had woven the trees here into a canopy that provided shelter, and it was as if they sat under a living roof of twisted beams covered in leaves and alive with animals. Yet, there were signs of disease here, with some of the flora turning a sickly green, and leaves fell slowly like gentle rain. Even here, far from Daleth, the land succumbed to his life-draining force.
The Elder giant sat cross-legged some distance away, and before him sat Maya and Taran. It was strange to watch, not only because of the difference in size, for it all looked out of perspective, but because whilst they were deep in conversation, no words were being spoken.
Yana turned to Rakan. ‘Don’t you feel uncomfortable knowing that Taran can read your mind at any time?’
Rakan smiled at her. ‘No, girl. Taran reassured me long ago that those he views as friends or companions can feel safe in the knowledge that he will never look unbidden into their thoughts. He’s an honest lad. Imagine the advantage he could have taken with his gift throughout his lifetime, the riches he might have accrued, the power. Yet instead, he chose a life far less glamorous.’
‘He is rather special,’ sighed Yana, her eyes taking on a faraway look. ‘Imagine being in the arms of someone who knew exactly what you wanted and was able to give it to you without being asked. Maybe I should invite him to look into my mind.’
Rakan looked hard at her then. ‘Listen, Taran is like a son to me, and he loves Maya with a rare passion that anyone can see, and that love is reciprocated. I like you well enough Yana, but make no mistake, if you do something, anything to interfere with what they have, you will have me to answer to!’ As he said this, his hand went to the hilt of his dagger, eyes narrowing.
Yana flinched away, shock in her eyes at the ferocity of Rakan’s words.
‘I would like to add,’ said Kalas, and both Yana and Rakan looked to him, ’that I couldn’t agree more with Rakan’s words. Interfering with true love is not something that should ever be condoned, so on that, we agree, and I ask you to heed his warning.’
Rakan nodded his gratitude at Kalas, and yet the eyes that looked back at him were unexpectedly cold.
‘However, let me give you fair warning, Rakan. If Yana suffers by your hand or any others, then it shall be answered with death.’
Both Yana and Rakan looked at him in surprise then.
Kalas lowered his eyes for a moment then looked directly at Yana. ‘I wondered why I didn’t kill you all back in the glade when you kicked me. Then when I found out who you were, it all made sense. You see, Laska is my father, even though to this day he refuses to forgive me for what he sees as a betrayal, leaving my ancestral home when I was young to join the king's guard, and that of course makes you my niece, blood of my blood. Somehow deep inside, I recognised this, and it stayed my hand.’
If Rakan’s eyes opened wide in shock, then this was nothing compared to Yana’s as she looked closely at Kalas’ face.
‘How did I not see it?’ she said in a whisper. ‘My father died when I was young, yet you are so similar, and there was something about you when I first saw you too.’ Yana threw her arms around Kalas’ neck, and surprised, he slowly held her too. Yana sighed. ‘We have a lot of catching up to do. I have so many questions to ask about my father; your brother. My grandfather didn’t talk of him much as it brought him too much pain, and he never once talked of you I’m sorry to say, yet I knew there was a sad secret that constantly ailed him.’
Yana smiled. ‘Will you forgive me for kicking you so hard?’ she laughed.
Kalas nodded. ‘But only on one condition.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
Kalas’ demeanour turned serious. ‘Don’t interfere with what they have,’ he said, indicating Taran
and Maya. ‘For if that happens, I’ll let Rakan kill you. The problem is I’d then have to kill Rakan, and I’m pretty sure killing the father of the man who gave me back control of my soul, will condemn it back to the nine hells that he might have saved it from.’
Yana looked over at Taran and Maya, and back to Rakan and Kalas, then nodded.
Kalas and Rakan seemed satisfied, for the mood lifted, and they started talking together again as if the matter had been resolved.
But even as they relaxed, Yana smiled inside. Men could sometimes be so gullible, and they hadn’t even asked her to make an oath. There would be plenty of time to make Taran hers; she just had to be subtler from hereon. Satisfied with her train of thought, she excused herself from the conversation, lay back, closed her eyes and let her thoughts run wild.
-----
‘Men, I stand before you as your king,’ said Tristan, raising his voice so that the assembled soldiers could hear.
He knew he wasn’t an imposing figure, being neither tall, nor broad, or even handsome, but he was a relatively confident speaker, and the words flowed from his lips without pause.
‘Today, I am here to tell you the truth that was withheld from you by the treachery of Elender and the machinations of Daleth the Witch-King. War is coming! We few, are all that stands between the Freestates and the invading horde of the Witch-King. We number a mere fifteen hundred men, and they, one hundred thousand. Yet what does that matter, when the glory we earn will be remembered forever! They will be upon us within a month, and in that time we shall make ready, sharpen our swords, burnish our shields, straighten our spears!’
He raised his voice loudly at the end as well as his sword, then brandished it in the air expecting cheers from the men before him, but they shifted nervously, murmuring amongst themselves.
Drizt, who was standing with Astren several steps behind Tristan murmured under his breath.
‘A short speech and to the point, but I don’t think he hit the right chord. Mentioning one hundred thousand enemy soldiers wasn’t perhaps the best piece of intelligence to divulge.‘