Kings and Daemons

by Marcus Lee

  ‘It would have been intelligent, not to use this intelligence,’ offered Astren.

  Drizt chuckled. ‘Indeed, my friend, indeed. But now the damage is done, I fear.’

  Tristan paused, wondering what to do. He slowly lowered his sword and one of the men stepped forward shuffling his feet.

  ‘My king,’ he said. ‘Of course we’re all up for a good fight, but, we’re more used to keeping the traders in line and levying taxes than fighting, how did you put it, an invading horde?’

  Tristan’s face grew red, but he tried again. ‘You men are the finest soldiers of the Freestates first and foremost. You have trained for this; you have been waiting for this moment your whole lives to give it true meaning, to sacrifice yourself, to give your lives for the greater good.’

  ‘Oh by all the gods,’ muttered Drizt, ‘if he says any more like this there won’t be a garrison soldier left by dawn.’

  He strode forward.

  ‘My king,’ he called, as Tristan was just about to say something else, and Tristan spluttered to a halt as Drizt continued walking past him.

  ‘My friends, my brothers,’ he said, opening his arms as if embracing the men before him, and the muttering stopped for a moment. ‘I stand before you small, green, and perhaps rather ugly,’ and the men before him laughed at his self-depreciation. ‘I don’t stand before you as a king, but rather as a soldier like yourselves, and I stand steady. We’ve just heard the king tell us of a little bit of trouble on the horizon, and I am here to tell you that it will take more than a few thousand unwashed westerners to take a fortress like this one.’

  ‘A few thousand!’ shouted one of the soldiers. ‘There’s a hundred thousand of ‘em, and unwashed or not that’s too many I tell you!’ and around him, men started to nod.

  Drizt put his hand on his hips and laughed, trying to think quickly of a way to mitigate Tristan’s mistake in divulging the enemy numbers. The only way, he decided, was to bluff.

  ‘You,’ he said, pointing at the spokesman of the group. ‘You look like a fine soldier with a strong sword arm and mind. Tell me, how many men can a fortress like this defend against. Cast your mind back to your training days. What did they tell you?’

  The man puffed his chest out at this compliment, and turned and whispered to a few of his friends. ‘We can defend up to ten times our number,’ he called out, ‘ten times!’

  Drizt clapped his hands and threw a salute at the man. ‘There you have it, from the very mouth of experience standing amongst you all. We have nearly fifteen hundred men and the Witch-King just a hundred thousand. Even a thick green skin like me knows that’s not ten times as many as we have. We will not only hold them; we will beat them!’

  The soldier counted on his fingers, looking perplexed, but not wanting to appear stupid, he shouted. ‘By the gods, he’s right!’

  ‘But at what cost?’ cried another. ‘What do we stand to lose? It’s all well and good defeating them, but I don’t want to be one of the dead at the end of it!’

  ‘At what cost?’ shouted Drizt, calling the men’s attention back to him. ‘I, for one, am glad you mentioned that. You’re right, men will die, but ...’ and with this, he turned and swept his arm toward Tristan, ‘your king has put forward a war bounty of ten thousand gold coins for those who survive this fight. You asked at what cost, but I ask you what do you stand to gain? The riches you will have when you stand victorious, will mean you can retire as rich as the king himself, and if some die, then there’s more left for the rest!

  ‘Forget honour, forget glory, forget your country, but whatever you do, don’t forget the gold! For gold!’ he shouted, raising his bow above his head.

  ‘For gold!’ the men shouted back, lifting their swords, cheering. Drizt turned away and walked past Tristan.

  ‘What have you just done?’ Tristan muttered out the corner of his mouth. ‘I can’t afford to pay that!’

  Drizt stopped for a moment. ‘You can’t afford not to. If I hadn’t done that, every one of them would have deserted by tomorrow daybreak. Now, I bet they’ll all stay. You are the one who educated me that the people of the Freestates worship gold, so now you are their god from whom the riches fall.’

  Tristan raised his sword again. ‘For gold!’ he shouted, and the men raised theirs back in salute.

  -----

  Taran had sat with Maya for most of the day. They were both tired, and they leaned toward one another. Taran had his arm around Maya as he rested his head lightly on hers.

  The discussion that had begun at dawn with the Elder giant had given Taran a pounding headache, for he’d never used his gift for such an extended period, nor in such a way. He’d opened his thoughts to both Maya and the Elder at the same time, because it was the only way to communicate efficiently and without hidden intent.

  The conversation had paused now, and the Elder warbled away with the other giants in attendance. It was a strange sound, mournful almost, and fitted these giant creatures perfectly.

  Taran moaned slightly in discomfort. In response, Maya’s hand rose to knead the knotted muscles of his shoulders, and he relaxed as she used her touch to ease his pain. He could quickly have fallen asleep but resisted the temptation. Instead, he closed his eyes and thought back to the conversation of the morning and wondered how the others would react to the decision that he and Maya had reached.

  When they’d first sat down, the giant had wanted to know who they were, what was happening in the outside world of men, and how they came to be seeking passage across the valley. Taran, and Maya through him, had told the Elder everything they knew, as it sat there unmoving, considering their words.

  Afterwards, Taran had asked the Elder his name, and how they came to be here, hidden from the eyes of normal men.

  It transpired that the giants in human terms referred to each other as treekin, and it was the intonation of the greeting that identified them as individuals. As to the story of the giants’ origins, it was incredible. If Taran hadn’t experienced recent events that had challenged his view of the world and what was possible, he would have dismissed it as utter fantasy.

  The Elder had explained that many hundreds of years ago when humankind first came to the western shores of this land, there were those who’d started to change, altered by the capricious gods.

  Some became faster or stronger, some could talk with their minds, and some like him and his kin grew far larger. Most of those with gifts could walk amongst others and go unnoticed, but not those who showed signs of becoming a giant. They were feared and cast out, and over the years, those giants who lived long enough came together and decided to find a new home.

  The land of men would not have them, and while the Forelorn mountains proved impossible to ascend for a normal man, the giants searched for and found in the high mountains a means to escape persecution. They had come across this beautiful valley hundreds of years ago, cut-off from the outside world, and had worked to make it their own.

  Taran had looked at the giant before him and those around him somewhat differently then, recognising that despite their difference in size, they were gifted, had also fled for their lives, and were in many ways just like him.

  However, the power of normal speech was denied them, and the giant explained that those who were gifted were also cursed. The giants were given prodigious size and strength, and their lifespan was many hundreds of years, and yet their curse was not only losing the power of normal speech as they grew, but also of infertility. For a mated pair to conceive was so incredibly rare, that their population had hardly grown from when this valley first became home.

  Sadly, the last giantlet to be born had been slaughtered many years before by the soldiers of man, and they were still in shock half a century later: thus all subsequent incursions had been met with death to protect their way of life.

  Taran had questioned the Elder giant then, about those who were gifted being cursed, and the giant looked at him for a long time before answering.

&nbs
p; ‘Everyone who is gifted, young Taran, is also cursed. Mark my words. Look to your chosen beside you. When she uses her gift to heal others, she ages herself. This Daleth the Witch-King as you call him, lives for hundreds of years, yet has no heirs and likely suffers from being unable to sire children. Kalas, your new comrade, would seem to have been gifted with extraordinary speed and skill, but was then possessed by a daemon.’

  Taran had smiled at the giant before him. ‘But I am the counterpoint to your argument,’ he’d said, ‘for I am gifted,’ and he’d held Maya close, ‘and gifted more than once, and I do not feel cursed in the least.’

  The giant looked solemn then. ‘Taran, so it has always been, thus it will always be. Just because you don’t feel cursed, doesn’t mean that you aren’t. In time you will come to know the price you will pay for the gift you have been bestowed.’

  The conversation had moved on then, for the Elder, having understood that the malaise of the land and people were down to Daleth, wanted to know what Taran and Maya would do to help.

  Maya had spoken through Taran in answer to this. She’d offered to spend time healing the valley, restoring its life, before they sought refuge beyond in the Freestates.

  The Elder looked thoughtful as he replied. ‘We will gladly accept your offer and then assist in the safe passage of you and your friends across the valley. You will have our eternal friendship as well, for it has been too long since we’ve had cause to welcome others to our lands who bring life and love,’ and he’d smiled at the two of them sitting before him.

  ‘Yet my concern is more what happens to the world outside or even in this valley when you die Maya, for die you will, one day, even as we do. Will the magic of healing you’ve wrought upon our valley and other lands unravel? Will the Witch-King live until the day the whole world has given him it’s last breath for him to perish last of all?

  ‘You say you are escaping from Daleth’s clutches to a kingdom which may fall against the power of this man and his armies. If that transpires, it seems likely he will continue hunting you; thus, you will spend the rest of whatever days you have left running. Don’t you wish to have the chance to live your lives together, to feel the blessing of true love every single day, to have children, and to know complete fulfilment in peace and tranquillity?’

  Maya had looked at Taran then, her eyes shining. ‘I would love all of that,’ she’d said, and her eyes dropped as she’d sighed then repeated the words, ‘children together.’

  Taran’s heart had never been happier, and he’d held Maya close. Everyone looked over then as their love made her shine, and all around them, small flowers had grown and bloomed.

  ‘To this end,’ the Elder had said, ‘I believe that to have any degree of certainty in your future, you will need to fight to make your dreams a reality. For the sake of this world, for everyone, this Daleth must be opposed, and he must be stopped. If he is not defeated, then the alternative is death to everyone and everything!’

  Maya and Taran had considered the words.

  ‘I’d hoped we could put the fighting behind us now we had escaped. But the Elder is right, nowhere is safe until Daleth is defeated,’ Taran had agreed reluctantly.

  Maya had nodded. ‘We must do what we can to aid the Freestates, and we must meet with Astren and offer our help, and hopefully, that of our friends as well if they agree with us. But I’m frightened my love, for you, for me, for our friends, but I fear even more what will happen if we don’t do anything.’

  At this stage, the conversation had ended while the Elder had started to communicate with his treekin.

  Taran’s musing was interrupted, as he realised that the Elder was now calling to him, and his eyes snapped open, bringing him back to the present.

  ‘We have agreed, young Taran, that your party can rest here for two days while Maya works her healing upon our lands. Thereafter we will show you to the passage leading to the lands you know as the Freestates, and to your destiny.’

  ‘My kin are so insular, yet I had hoped some might be willing to assist you. Sadly I‘ve been unable to persuade any, and I feel lessened by this, for if you are willing to risk yourselves in this endeavour, then we should be offering our help as well. Thus, in the absence of others, on my people's behalf, I will travel shortly hereafter to join you in your fight.

  ‘The land of men will once again see a giant amongst them!’

  -----

  Chapter XXII

  Astren looked around him, and not for the first time wished he were far away in Freemantle or indeed further still. It had been a week since their arrival and time was against them. The Witch-King’s army was only two weeks or less away, and despite Drizt’s rallying speech, morale was low.

  The lack of gates in the first wall was proving to be their biggest worry.

  Trom, the new commander of the desert spearmen, had come up with a simple solution to take the gates from the third wall to fit them to the first. Unfortunately, it transpired that they were too small and it would be weeks before suitable timbers arrived to make a replacement. Astren had suggested using the trees in the forest beyond the entrance to the pass, and everyone’s hopes had risen at this simple solution. These hopes were dashed when Galain explained that only Sandalwood and Mornal trees grew in the shallow rocky soil close to the mountains. Sadly, these beautiful trees were useless, for they warped when cut, and were extremely flammable.

  So, now they had a team of unskilled soldiers trying to carve blocks of stone from the mountainside to fill the gate tunnel, yet this was also proving ineffective. The opening was so high and wide and the rock of the mountains so hard, that tools were breaking faster than they could be repaired. They also lacked the necessary tackle and pulleys to try and remove blocks of stone from other walls, and this major weakness in their first line of defence was a cause of consternation.

  As Astren walked around, surrounded by activity, he moved down to the gatehouse. Outside of the walls, a hundred spearmen stood guard and took shifts with their fellows, to ensure a ready defence until the breach was closed. Likewise, above on the wall, a hundred Eyre archers were now stationed, but along its length, they seemed few and far between.

  As Trom had explained, even if the main army of Daleth was weeks away, he still had forces in his garrison who might seek to strike early to take advantage.

  The other concern was that out of the six defensive siege engines; not one was in working order. Galain’s engineers swarmed over them, trying to make repairs, but the timbers had split after being exposed to the elements for so long. They had already taken several apart and were soaking the timbers in leaf oil, hoping that some flexibility might return to the wood which would otherwise splinter if put under immense stress.

  Suitable timber overall was the main problem in this area dominated by the mountains, and everything had historically been brought in from far afield.

  Drizt, on investigating the storerooms below the keep had found tens of thousands of arrows and had whooped with joy until he realised every single one of them was warped and beyond use. Thus the only current usable arrows were those he and his men carried in their quivers - twenty per man.

  Therefore, when off the walls, his men whittled new shafts from any useable timber they could find, from storeroom doors to wagons, attaching the heads and flights of the old arrows to create new ones. Worryingly, as Drizt put it, his men were making about fifty arrows each a day, yet could loose that amount in the time it took to draw twice as many breaths. He needed more, or his men would be throwing stones over the walls after the first few days.

  So little hope Astren thought. Fifty years ago when it had first been built, fully manned and stocked, there had been some doubt as to whether it could stop the Witch-King before it transpired his army had suffered catastrophic losses. Now, here they were with a fraction of the men, and everything in disrepair. They needed divine intervention, or things would go from bad to worse very quickly.

  Yet despite all of this, he sti
ll felt excited, for he would soon meet Maya and her friends. The previous night had seen her successfully communicate with him for the first time, and he’d been astounded to hear that she was not only in the Freestates, but would be with them on the morrow. She’d told a tale of having found passage through a valley of giants, creatures long gone from the land of men and into folklore. He still found it hard to believe, and couldn’t fathom why she would embellish an already incredible tale.

  The sun was setting, and shadows hastened across the valley as he turned toward the keep and a meeting with Tristan, Drizt and Trom.

  When he’d arisen in the morning and tried to explain this exciting news to Tristan, he’d been waved away over such an inconsequential piece of information. But now, at the end of every day, they came together to report on the citadel’s progress toward readiness, and he would raise it again.

  Astren climbed the many stairs to the top floor of the keep, now taken over by Tristan, and had to admit to himself; he was a little unhappy. The chambers there, were many, richly appointed, but empty save for the treasures Elender had collected, so Tristan could easily have let Astren, Drizt, or Trom take a room and still had privacy. Yet the only people to share the floor at night were the guards at the top of the stairs.

  Astren and the others slept in the cold halls and rooms below, along with the soldiers of the garrison, the archers and spearmen. Sometimes Astren saw goodness in Tristan, yet abject greed and the promotion of oneself was the Freestates way of life. It was hypocritical though, to judge Tristan harshly while he followed the same tenets, but still, he questioned his choice of someone he might call a friend.

  No, he thought, Tristan is a friend only when he needs me, and my king when he doesn’t. Even Tristan’s presence here near harm’s way wasn’t for the sake of the people; it was to protect his position and wealth.

  Astren nodded to the guards and was walking down the plush carpet hallway when he realised something was different. He paused, and then his eyes opened in surprise, for the statues that had depicted Elender had been meticulously reworked to look like Tristan by an artist’s hand.