The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy

  Tinuva said I’d need these men, Dennis thought. Hell, I could kill off half of them myself at this moment … and he pushed aside the temptation.

  ‘Go a little way back down the hill to the small pine trees, cut off the branches that are thick with needles. We’ll use that for ground cover and to build up windbreaks. Any men with axes, get them chopping wood, lots of it.’

  Asayaga nodded, too weary to raise any objections, and withdrew. A moment later, his men scattered to their tasks.

  The overhang of the cliff formed a shallow V, but it was nowhere big enough to hold over a hundred and twenty men. Dennis went over to join a squad of men who were dragging up fallen logs to be wedged between the rocks edging the overhang and the trees further out, thus forming a rough stockade.

  Within minutes fires had been started, the stockade walls on either side of the overhang were rising. Tsurani troops swarmed in bearing armloads of pine branches which were layered over the logs on the inside, while on the outside those men carrying field shovels packed snow into the cracks. More branches were laid in under the rocky overhang and those men too far gone to labour were bundled in, while Brother Corwin piled snow into a camp kettle and set it into the fire, and then threw in a handful of tea leaves once the water started to boil.

  The first hunter came back in with a small doe over his shoulder and several men set to butchering it, everything but the offal going into the fire. Corwin claimed the liver and heart for the sick and wounded. Another hunter came in with a couple of hares, and yet another with a heavy dark-plumed bird that weighed near to twenty pounds. The Tsurani gazed at in wonder, since it did not range down into the lands where the war was being fought.

  Soon the tantalizing smell of roasting meat cooked over a sweet-scented fire filled the air, driving the men to pause in their frantic labours and move closer to the flames until either Sergeant Barry or Strike Leader Tasemu set the men back to bringing in more wood.

  A near-frenzy started to seize the group as more and yet more wood was piled on to the three fires that now roared at the base of the cliff. Dennis, finished with helping to build the rough stockade which was now nearly chest-high, stopped to look at the sparks swirling up into the evening sky.

  Gregory, breathing hard, came into the encampment and joined him.

  ‘A damned beacon,’ Dennis sighed. ‘A blind man will see its glow from five miles out and smell it a mile away.’

  ‘Let it burn like this for a little while, till the men get the chill out. By then it will be completely dark, then let it simmer down a bit.’

  ‘Anything up above?’

  ‘Just the old trail. It’s been long years since I’ve been up here, it’s hard to remember.’

  ‘Tinuva knows it, though.’

  Gregory nodded.

  ‘Something’s really itching him,’ Dennis said.

  ‘You know who’s following us don’t you?’

  ‘A whole moredhel army.’

  ‘It’s Bovai.’

  Dennis looked away for a moment. He didn’t want Gregory to sense the dread. Now he understood some of the strangeness in the way Tinuva had been acting, a feeling he had had that somehow the elven warrior was half-walking in another world.

  ‘If it’s Bovai and he knows who we are,’ Dennis hissed, ‘he’ll come on no matter what, even if he kills half his troops doing it.’

  ‘I know that, so do you.’

  ‘So why the hell did Tinuva sway the argument for us to stay here? He knows how much Bovai hates my family; my grandfather almost killed him, and my father drove him away in shame the last time he came to Valinar.’

  For an instant, something played across Gregory’s face, as if he was going to say one thing, but then he said another. ‘Because we are played out, Dennis. Tinuva was right, it is your one great failing as a commander: you seem to think everyone else is made as you, is as driven as you.’

  ‘That is how I learned to stay alive,’ Dennis snapped.

  ‘Damn near every Tsurani would be dead by morning if we had pushed on.’

  ‘Good. It would save us the work of butchering them.’

  ‘I’m glad you feel that way, Hartraft.’

  Startled, Dennis turned to see that Asayaga was standing behind him. ‘I prefer to kill a foe whom I know hates me,’ Asayaga continued, moving up to join them.

  ‘Remember, Asayaga, the truce is temporary.’

  ‘But for now we need you as much as you need us,’ Gregory interjected, staring straight at Dennis who reluctantly nodded an agreement.

  ‘I think your men were just as played out, Hartraft.’

  ‘We are,’ Gregory replied. ‘We were coming back in from patrol, the place where we met three days ago, we expected to rest there and wait out the storm. The men were already worn. They’re just as beat as yours.’

  ‘Do you think your men are just as exhausted?’ Asayaga asked, gaze locked on Dennis.

  ‘What is this? Some sort of game of pride?’

  ‘Yes, everything is a game,’ Asayaga replied and Dennis could sense a note of bitterness in the Tsurani’s voice. ‘You are worried about staying here aren’t you?’

  ‘The enemy we face bears a deep hatred for my family. It will compel him to press forward against us.’

  ‘Then we remain watchful and break camp before dawn.’

  ‘If he comes he’ll have the advantage.’

  Asayaga nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then fate is fate.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just that. We can go no further this evening, that is now a given. You believe the enemy will press forward and I will accept that as a given. So it is fate that decides, but for the moment it is senseless for us to stand here freezing while the warmth of the fire beckons.’

  Without another word, Asayaga turned and walked around the flimsy stockade to join his men who were huddling around the fire.

  Dennis looked over at Gregory who chuckled softly.

  ‘He’s right, you know, and the meat smells damn good.’

  Dennis followed the Natalese scout reluctantly. Darkness was closing in. The last of the wood-gatherers came in with one more load and dumped it into the piles next to the roaring fires. The flames were so hot that many of the men had pulled off their heavy jackets, hats and gloves. Ropes were strung up to hang the wet clothing on to dry out.

  Many of the Tsurani were sitting, unwrapping their foot-cloths, groaning with delight as they extended bare feet to the fires. The first slabs of venison were being speared out of the flames and pieces of meat were tossed about, laughter rippling through the group as more than one man swore and let the hot meat drop in order to suck scorched fingers, then gingerly picked the steaming treats back up.

  The last Kingdom hunter came in with two marmots over his shoulder, both of them plump with early winter fat. The hunter was embarrassed with such paltry fare but the Tsurani cried aloud with delight, even as the disgusted hunter dumped the carcasses on the ground and apologized to his comrades.

  There was a moment’s hesitation as two Tsurani moved closer to the hunter.

  ‘Go on, take the damn things,’ he finally growled. ‘I’ll eat crow before I’d touch ‘em. It’s all I could find.’

  His gesture of disdain was clear enough signal and the two Tsurani swept the marmots up and within seconds had them dangling from a tree limb. With expert cuts they sliced the skin around the necks, and then without making another cut they gradually pulled the skin off the bodies. The two seemed to be running a race and the conversations around the fires fell silent as the Kingdom troops watched what was being done.

  Chattering amongst themselves, the Tsurani skinning the marmots finally had the skins completely pulled off and dangling from the rear legs of the giant rodents. Then with a quick jerk the skins were popped off and then with a snapping gesture turned from inside out, to right side in, so that each skin was now a bag with the fur again on the outside.

  They now fell to carving the flesh and fat off the bone
s of the marmots and tossing them into the bags of fur. Next the bones were broken at the joints and stuffed in and finally all the guts as well. While the two laboured at their tasks other Tsurani had been gathering up small rocks and tossing them into the fires. Now they fished the red-hot rocks out of the flames and, laughing, tossed them bare-handed to the two butchers who grabbed the rocks and plopped them into the stuffed bags as well.

  Finally a couple of pins, made from a Tsurani wood almost as hard as metal, were fished out of haversacks and used to stitch the neck holes shut. Broken sticks were used to plug the arrow-holes in the hides and the two bags were tossed into the flames.

  Every Kingdom soldier had gone quiet and a bit wide-eyed, while the Tsurani seemed to be in near-celebratory mood, chattering amongst themselves, pushing in around the butchers, and obviously exclaiming over the strange feast being prepared.

  Gregory watched the show, grinning slightly. ‘I once slipped up on a Tsurani camp at night and saw this. Near as I can figure their lingo they got something like marmots on their world and they’re considered a rare delicacy fit only for the nobility.’

  The air was thick with the stench of fur burning off the carcasses. The two self-appointed cooks rolled the marmots back and forth in the flames and the marmots swelled up like balloons, reminding Dennis of nothing other than a dead body floating in the water, bloating up beneath a hot summer sun.

  Finally it looked as if the marmots were ready to burst asunder when suddenly juice and steam started spraying out of holes in the bodies that nature had originally placed in the marmot and which had not been plugged shut. Loud shouts of laughter erupted from the Tsurani as the two marmots were rolled out of the flames. One of the cooks, hands now protected with gloves picked one of them up and with juice still squirting out approached Asayaga, who grinned and bowed ritualistically, then knelt down while the cook held the marmot over his head. A stream of juice shot into Asayaga’s mouth. He licked his lips, and said something that caused a great burst of laughter.

  The second cook held up his marmot and began to approach Asayaga, but the Tsurani commander said something and pointed towards Dennis. The laughter stopped and all looked over at Hartraft.

  ‘The first juice of the marmot,’ Asayaga announced in the common tongue, ‘is reserved for nobles and leaders. You drink now.’

  ‘Like hell I will,’ Dennis grumbled under his breath, his words drowned out by the crackling roar of the fire.

  The second cook, approached Dennis, grinning.

  ‘Better do it,’ Gregory whispered. ‘It’s obviously considered a sign of respect.’

  ‘Damn it, I won’t drink juice spraying out of a marmot’s backside.’

  ‘Do it!’ Gregory hissed, ‘or we might have a fight on our hands. This is the first sign they’ve given that they respect you as a leader; don’t cock it up!’

  Dennis spared a sidelong glance at his men. There was a mixture of reactions. Some were obviously disgusted with the entire affair, but more than one, especially the older hands, were grinning at the predicament Dennis was now in.

  His angry glare killed most of the smiles. Then, cursing under his breath, he knelt down on one knee. The Tsurani cook held the marmot up, steam still spouting out of the marmot’s rearend. The Tsurani squeezed the body and a stream of juice shot out.

  Dennis managed to take a single gulp. The liquid was oily, thick, and scalding hot. He struggled to swallow and the cook turned away, shouting something. Laughter erupted from the Tsurani and was soon joined by the Kingdom troops, obviously delighted by the discomfort of their leader.

  Asayaga approached Dennis, pulling a sac out from under his tunic and uncorking it. ‘Here, drink this, to wash it down.’

  Dennis looked at him coldly and Asayaga, smiling, tilted his head back and squeezed the sac. A stream of white fluid shooting into his mouth. He pointed the sack at Dennis and squeezed.

  The sour bitterness hit Dennis’s palate and this time he did gag.

  ‘What in the name of all the devils is that?’ he cried.

  ‘Aureg.’

  ‘What? It tastes like horse piss.’

  ‘Ha! The wrong end of a horse, if it came from a horse. It’s fermented needra milk.’ The needra were the six-legged beasts of burden the Tsurani had imported from their homeworld. They served as oxen and draft-horses for the Tsurani, who had no horses on their world. ‘Cools one in the summer heat and warms the stomach in winter.’

  ‘Oh damn,’ Dennis said.

  As he spat out the rest, the Tsurani erupted in gales of laughter. Dennis looked over at Asayaga, wondering what the hell he was doing and the Tsurani drew closer.

  ‘Respect forestalls the killing,’ Asayaga said, his voice suddenly cool. ‘My men will be more receptive to your “suggestions” in the future.’

  He looked back at his men who were gathered around the two marmots which had been split open. Eager hands were reaching in, pulling out the steaming hot meat. One of the men came up respectfully to Asayaga and held out his hand. Resting on the palm were two steaming pieces of meat.

  ‘The liver and heart,’ Asayaga said, offering one of the curled up pieces of flesh to Dennis.

  Dennis reluctantly took one and popped it into his mouth. In spite of his initial reaction he had to admit it tasted half-way good. He nodded.

  A number of Kingdom troops, drawn by curiosity, were gathered into the crowd, several of them munching on bones and strings of meat, then turning back to their comrades, laughing and challenging them to join in.

  ‘Laughter also forestalls the killing,’ Asayaga said. ‘From what I heard and what I sense, there will be fighting tomorrow. We must fight together, Hartraft: eating and drinking tonight will make that easier come dawn.’

  Dennis found that he had to agree. He forced himself to take the sack of aureg and to drink. This time it didn’t seem quite so bad, at least if he swallowed quickly, and though it wasn’t brandy from Darkmoor, it did indeed bring a touch of warmth to his insides.

  As they passed the sac back and forth, watching their men feast, Dennis suddenly felt a strange sadness. Stripped down as they were, laughing, gorging themselves, the moment struck him as tragic. He had long ago come to accept life as an unrelenting tragedy but somehow, this night it seemed more poignant than usual.

  He was by no means falling into the maudlin thoughts that poets and ballad-makers spoke of – how enemies might share a moment of friendship. What he felt was sentimental foolishness: the war had done far too much to him. Looking over at Asayaga he knew he could kill him without hesitation and sensed that Asayaga felt the same.

  And yet, if it wasn’t for the dread closing in – the memory of what was occurring at this very moment but sixty miles to the south – he felt as if he could almost enjoy this evening. Perhaps we are fey, he thought. We know we’re doomed and have lived with terror these last three days and the break is a final grasping at a moment of laughter.

  He had shared many a campfire with strangers, and got drunk around many a fire as well, pledging friendships and then, come dawn, they had all gone their separate ways. He knew enough to place little weight on such things. Perhaps that was the reason for the melancholy. Or perhaps it was the sudden loneliness he felt with Jurgen not being here.

  What would Jurgen say of this moment? He most likely would have smiled and stepped forward to share the juice, then clapped Asayaga on the shoulder.

  But they had killed Jurgen, the same way they had killed my father … and her.

  ‘Something troubling you?’

  He looked down at Asayaga who was offering the sac of aureg and actually smiling.

  ‘No more,’ he said coldly.

  Asayaga nodded, and in an instant his features were again the blank expressionless gaze of a Tsurani officer.

  ‘Divide up your men. Once we are done eating, two sleep while one stands watch. I want the fires banked down. We’ll keep them going but not the inferno we have now. Once past midnight, I want ha
lf on watch. We’ll break camp the moment there is the first trace of dawn.’

  ‘I take that as a suggestion only, Hartraft,’ Asayaga said coldly.

  ‘Take it any way you want, Tsurani.’

  ‘You are a hard man.’

  ‘That is how I stay alive, Tsurani.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Asayaga shook his head and tucked the sac of aureg back under his tunic. ‘Two sleep, one on watch till midnight. Then half watch while the other half sleep. We break at first light. I’ll stand the first watch, Hartraft: you sleep.’

  Asayaga stalked away, joining the circle around the fire and within seconds he started to laugh again, accepting a handful of steaming meat, but as he laughed he looked back at Dennis, eyes watchful and intent.

  Dennis cursed softly. Picking up a stick, he speared a piece of venison out of the fire and walked into the woods to be alone.

  • Chapter Nine •

  Chances

  THE RISING MOOON WAS BLOOD-RED.

  Tinuva, all senses as taut as a bow-string took the colour of the large moon to be an omen, a warning from his ancestors, as it climbed over the forest behind him.

  There was nothing direct to tell him of the danger, no sound of snow crunching, no scent on the frigid wind: the warning was deeper, coming from the core of what he was. He knew that humans, at times, could vaguely touch that sense, the feeling of being watched, or better yet the bond that twin brothers had, knowing what the other was thinking and feeling.

  He felt hatred, an ancient hatred that stretched across centuries. He knew it as intimately as the presence of beloved friends, the memory of the sacred groves, the sight of the eternal heavens at night.

  Bovai was close, very close. Stalking, reaching outward, trying to touch into his heart, and above all else calling to him.

  He felt as if they were two serpents who had sighted each other at last, unblinking, staring, each trying to seek the first advantage before the lightning strike.