A Daughter of Kings, Part I

  Chapter IX

  “The Fields of Caluran”

  The Khor’dua stayed in Qurn for two days, recovering both from their journey and from their party. Alirah saw little of Kelorn during that time. He was awake and gone from his room before she was up the day after the party. Nobody could tell her where he’d gone off to. By evening she’d begun to fear he’d actually run off and left her. Then as dusk fell he turned up, looking sunburned and weary as if he’d been out walking around all day.

  He’d apologized for having left so suddenly, and said he was sorry if he’d caused her any distress by doing so. She’d told him that no, of course he hadn’t, and with an effort she’d made her voice sound light and carefree. She’d even smiled. He’d looked relieved. Then he’d walked away again without offering any explanation for having left the dance in the first place.

  Meanwhile a day of wracking her brains on the subject had not improved Alirah’s mood. She could not escape a feeling of guilt. Part of her was certain she’d done something wrong: crossed some line in asking him to dance. The rest of her was even more certain that she hadn’t.

  It’s not my fault! she thought. All I did was dance with him. I didn’t even mean anything by it! At least… I don’t think I did… And I was just standing there when he ran off. I didn’t do anything. He probably just has a girlfriend back in Arandia and never bothered to mention her all these weeks. He seems like the type who wouldn’t!

  The next day she still didn’t see much of the young Druid, but when she did he looked well rested. He seemed to be his normal, quiet self again. If he still thought at all about their dance together, he did not show it. So Alirah determined that she wouldn’t either.

  He’s the only company I have, once we leave Seilann and the others behind. And he’s the one who knows where we’re going. It doesn’t matter if I do like him. I’m not going to go swooning over him and then have to ride along at his side all awkward for days and weeks at a time when he doesn’t like me back. Most of the time he still seems to think I’m just a little kid anyway!

  The caravan rolled out of Qurn just after dawn on the third day since its arrival. The Khor’dua did not send out escort riders so close to the town, so Kelorn rode along with Alirah, Seilann and the others. Alirah spent the day laughing and chattering with Seilann and her friends about trivial things. She spoke very little to Kelorn, though he did add a word or two into the conversation now and then. That evening when he asked bashfully if she still wanted to train together, she said of course, why wouldn’t I? And when they actually sparred, she tried not to daydream about him attacking and defeating Riuk.

  Beyond Qurn and the broad valley of the Giris, the landscape began to change more dramatically than ever before. The road now wound its way ceaselessly up little hills and down into little valleys, but it always went more down than up. As the days went by, Alirah felt as if the world were dropping beneath her feet. The soil grew richer, streams grew larger, and even the air became thicker and more heavily laden with moisture.

  Three weeks out from Qurn, the dry prairielands to which Alirah was accustomed had been left behind completely. The grass grew high, and it was still a vibrant green even under the fierce July sun. Mists gathered each morning in the deeper valleys, though they invariably burned away before noon. Almost every day Alirah saw a new kind of flower, or shrub, or leafy tree. She felt like a small child, peppering Kelorn and Seilann with excited questions as she sought names for everything she beheld. Neither of them were botanists, however, and they had only a handful answers between them.

  At length a range of low but rugged mountains rose ahead. Their slopes were clad in a thick mantle of leafy trees. The road ran up to the mountains’ feet, where their slopes plunged down into a deep crease at the eastern edge of the rolling lands. A swift river filled the crease. Its waters were smooth, but obviously deep and swift.

  “So what’s that one called?” asked Alirah, glancing at Kelorn with a sly smile.

  He blushed. “I think the river must be the Calur. The mountains beyond it are the Egarines. They rise higher as they run north. From the southern reaches of Arandia you can see their peaks capped with snow far into the summer.”

  “Does Arandia lie on the other side then? Are we almost there?”

  Kelorn shook his head. “Not quite. We’re a lot closer than we were, but Arandia is still a good ways north of here yet, beyond Verusa and the other Tributary Kingdoms. I don’t know if anyone lives right across from us anymore. There used to be a realm called Caluran, but it was destroyed in the last war between Arandia and the Jeddein Empire.”

  “People still live there,” said Seilann, who rode nearby. “But not many of them, and they’re not very fond of strangers passing through their lands. I can’t imagine why. We’ll have to be careful. Unfortunately, it’s also where we’ll have to say farewell. Our road will run south along the coast towards Arjuun, while yours will lead you north towards Arandinar, or wherever it is exactly that you’re going.”

  The road crossed over the Calur river upon a high, arched bridge of gray stone. The bridge reminded Alirah of the little lichen-covered one she’d seen close to Rusukhor, and of the elvish stonework she’d glimpsed from afar in that city. It had obviously been built by hands, and yet it looked almost as old and as natural as the mountain slopes beyond it. Alirah wondered if elves had ever dwelt in that land, but neither Kelorn nor Seilann could say for sure.

  The Khor’dua crossed the bridge, and then spent four days climbing up and over the Egarines. Alirah saw that a few people did still dwell upon the mountains’ western slopes. Narrow plumes of wood smoke rose from villages hidden by the trees. Here and there stone walls and towers rose upon the heights, although some of these structures were now only crumbling ruins. The road itself became more thoroughly worn, but the other travelers they met were few and wary. Farmers and woodsmen driving rickety little carts would move to the side and stare silently as the big caravan rolled past.

  On the far side of the Egarines the road led out onto a long, low spur which thrust out eastward from the main range. The crest of the spur was bare except for high, lush grass thickly strewn with tiger lilies and snapdragons. No trees or high shrubs grew within a hundred yards of the road. From her saddle Alirah had a clear view of all the lands ahead: east, south, and north.

  Eastward the spur slowly dropped onto a smooth, green plain. Kelorn said that the Eastern Ocean lay near, and Alirah strained her eyes hoping for a glimpse of it; but all she saw was a bright haze above the horizon. To the south stretched a hilly land covered in windswept grass and dark thickets of pine trees. Close to the spur everything looked green and fresh, but in the distance the world dried out. Away upon the southern horizon the few trees and shrubs stood out like dark flecks upon a palette of beige, tan, and ochre.

  Rolling green hills also marched away northwards from the spur. For a number of leagues the land looked mostly open, but after a while great stands of sycamore and other leafy trees began to appear and cluster together. In the far distance the sun shone down upon a dark, primordial forest, whose eaves gleamed in the light but concealed brooding shadows underneath. The mountains curved eastward and rose as they ran north. Far away Alirah could see summits of bare, dark rock that stood thousands of feet above the coastal plain.

  At the very end of the spur, the Great East-West Road came suddenly to an end. It ran headlong into another highway, even larger and more deeply graven into the earth, that ran from south to north. Four dark, standing stones thrust up from the ground where the two roads met. The stones formed a rough square about the intersecting roads, so that each route passed between two stones as if through a gate. A fourth path ran off eastwards between the two stones on that side of the square, but it was much smaller than the others and long overgrown.

  The stones themselves had an eerie look. They had settled deep into the earth and n
o longer stood perfectly straight, yet each still rose to twice the height of a man. Uncounted years seemed to lie upon them, but at the same time their edges were still sharp, and the stones were completely free of moss or lichen. Strange, angular runes had been engraved upon their surfaces.

  The Khor’dua rode between the standing stones without hesitating. Some even reached out and touched the stones as they passed, as if for good luck. But Kelorn, who’d been out ahead of the convoy that morning with some of the other escorts, had not passed through. He sat waiting for Alirah before the westernmost pair of stones.

  “What is this place?” asked Alirah, as she drew near.

  “It’s called Waysend in the common tongue,” said Seilann, who rode alongside her. “The stones have been standing here forever. It’s considered ill luck to come through here without riding in between them. They’re said to mark the start of all the roads in Irium.”

  “What are they, though?” asked Alirah again. To her the stones seemed vaguely threatening: not quite evil, perhaps, but unfriendly and horribly strange. She felt as if they belonged to some other world that was darker and more dangerous than the one she knew. Seilann just shrugged her shoulders, however.

  “They’re just some old monument, I guess. I’ve heard all kinds of stories, but nobody knows for sure.”

  “They’re probably a relic of the First Kingdoms,” said Kelorn. “Those symbols are Indiric Runes, I think. But I can’t read them.”

  “What are the First Kingdoms? Or what were they?” asked Alirah, eagerly. She might also have asked, what are Indiric Runes?, but she held her tongue. She was more anxious than ever that he not think of her as an unworldly child.

  “The First Kingdoms were the first realms of humankind in the eastern world,” answered Kelorn. “They were destroyed when the Dark Lord arose, or else they were absorbed into his empire and then destroyed when it fell. But their old ruins are still scattered around everywhere. Even in Arandia there are hidden temples and monuments and who knows what else, all thousands of years old now. But as for what these stones are… I have no idea. I don’t think they’re dangerous though, if that’s what you mean. A lot of people pass through here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Alirah quickly, looking away from him.

  At that moment Durgann rode up to them upon his black charger. Meiri was mounted sidesaddle behind him. Her thin arms stretched out to wrap around his big waist. She peeped out shyly from behind his back, looking sad.

  “Those old stones aren’t dangerous at all,” declared the old Caravaneer. “But I’m afraid they mark the end of our road together. Unless you’d rather keep on with us to Arjuun and the southlands. You’re welcome to; you’ve carried your weight so far. But I can’t think of a road that runs straighter away from Arandia.”

  Alirah felt his words like a blow. She’d known they would part ways eventually. She’d been dreading the separation since Qurn, but now she felt taken by surprise. Suddenly she thought how terribly she’d miss Seilann and the other Khor’dua women. She’d miss the spicy food, the laughter around the campfires at night, and the whispered conversations after they’d all lain down to sleep. A lump rose in her throat and she could not speak.

  “We must go north,” said Kelorn softly, after Alirah was silent for a moment. “Alirah must go to Arandia and… do something there. I don’t know what. But she has to go there first.”

  Durgann nodded to Kelorn, then looked back at Alirah. “Well, farewell then. If you’re ever headed back the other way, you’ll be welcome in our company. We mean to stay in the southlands for the winter, but we’ll be headed west again come spring. We’ll keep an eye out for you on the road.”

  “Thank you,” said Alirah at last, huskily. “Thank you for everything. I do hope we see you again. But… I don’t know when I’ll be going home.”

  Seilann smiled fondly. “Take care of yourself, honey. Whatever you mean to do up north, do it like you did in Rusukhor.”

  Alirah blushed but managed to smile back. “I’ll try.”

  “Good luck,” said Meiri. She chose her words in the common tongue slowly and with care. “I will miss you. I hope I see you again!”

  “Me too,” said Alirah. Then, to everyone in earshot she cried “Goodbye! Good luck!”

  Her voice broke. A lot of other of people called back to her in both the common tongue and the language of the Dua, but she scarcely heard them. Even beyond the sadness of the parting, the words I don’t know when I’ll be going home had stabbed at her like knives. To avoid bursting into tears in front of everybody she turned away abruptly and urged Tryll onwards. She passed through the standing stones without even realizing it, and came to a halt a short distance up the northern road. There she sat, sobbing quietly, while Kelorn said his own farewells.

  After a few moments that felt both pitifully short and painfully long, the young Druid rode north himself. He gazed at Alirah as he passed. His eyes shone with guilt and sympathy, but he did not speak. She fell in behind him, looking down at Tryll’s neck and trying not to cry.

  They rode north at a slow pace for a few hours while the sun sank in the west. They did not speak to one another. Even after Alirah’s grief had abated, she could find little to say. After nearly two months with the Khor’dua, she felt awkward to be alone again with Kelorn. The world seemed much too quiet without the slow grinding of wagon wheels and the sporadic chatter of a hundred and fifty voices.

  Kelorn sensed her distress. When they made camp that night, in a little hollow out of sight from the road, he kindled a small but cheerful fire. He scoured the level spot where she’d chosen to lay out her bedroll for stones and twigs that would trouble her in her sleep. She thanked him and managed a wan smile, then blushed when he smiled back.

  They passed through the night without incident, but the next morning as they sat and ate a cold breakfast, Kelorn looked troubled. Midway through his meal he stood up and stirred the blackened remains of the campfire, trying to extinguish the last few embers that were sending up tendrils of smoke in the morning sun.

  “I shouldn’t have lit that fire,” he muttered. “And we shouldn’t keep on travelling by the road today.”

  “Why not?” asked Alirah.

  “It isn’t safe, as I said before. Once we’re in Verusa, and especially in Arandia itself, it won’t be so dangerous; but here in Caluran there’s no law anymore. There’ll be outlaws and brigands looking for easy prey upon on the road.”

  “Are you sure? Seilann and the others were always worrying about brigands attacking us, but we never saw a one of them.”

  “With the Khor’dua we were two out of a hundred and fifty people who were constantly on their guard. That’s a lot for a bunch of robbers to take on. They’ll be less shy with just two of us. Especially since once of us is a pr…is… you know, a young woman.” He stammered at the end and blushed. He glanced at her sidelong for a fraction of a second, then stared determinedly down at his feet.

  “Lucky me,” muttered Alirah, sighing. Then for the next half an hour as they packed up and rode on, avoiding each other eyes, she wondered what he’d almost said. A princess? He hadn’t mentioned that for quite a while. A pretty young woman? Do you think I’m pretty, Kelorn son of Kardir? Her thoughts went around and around until she yelled at herself. Stop it! How awkward do you want the rest of this trip to be?

  Beyond their campsite, the Great North Road bent somewhat westward, back towards the skirts of the Egarines. Kelorn left it behind and rode almost due north instead, across some of the most lush and beautiful country that Alirah had ever seen. Small, bright streams trickled down from the mountains through little creases in the rolling land. Their waters gathered into clear pools and wide meads where the ground was lowest, but there was enough higher land to make travelling easy. Wildflowers of all description grew riotously amidst emerald grass and sedge
. Bees buzzed and red butterflies danced silently in the air.

  For a few hours they rode on in near silence. Whether because of his words that morning, or just because he wasn’t used to being alone with her anymore, Kelorn seemed even more quiet than usual. At last, bored and frustrated, Alirah decided to try and coax him out of his shell.

  “You know,” she said brightly. “As far as we’ve come together, I still don’t know very much about you.”

  He jumped a little in his saddle, startled. Then he blushed.

  “Well, there’s not much to tell…” he began.

  “Of course there’s much to tell! There’s your whole life to tell, or as much as you want to anyway. Come on, I’ve told you all about my mom and dad and brother and sister and everything. How about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Then, before she could help herself, she added: “Or… you know… a girlfriend? Anyone like that?”

  “No. No girlfriends,” he murmured. His blush deepened.

  “Okay, that’s a start,” said Alirah, trying to keep her voice light. “What about brothers or sisters? Or your parents? What do you like besides maps and being alone.”

  “I don’t like being alone. Or I guess… Sometimes I do, but…”

  He shook his head in frustration. She smiled at him serenely, waiting. Finally he took a deep breath and spoke more calmly.

  “Well, I’m from Dunholt, which is a little fortress and town in Fellsyr. My father is the Lord of Dunholt.”

  Alirah’s eyes widened. “Are you a prince then?”

  He grunted a laugh. “No. Not really, anyway. Lord of Dunholt sounds more impressive than it is. My father is a knight in the service of Fellsyr and he is the hereditary ruler of the fortress. I guess that puts us in the nobility, but only just. Even if I were to inherit my father’s title, which I won’t, I’d be called Milord, and not your Highness or anything like that.”

  “Why won’t you inherit your father’s title?”

  “I have two brothers. One older and one younger.”

  “What are they like?”

  “They’re…” He hesitated, as if whatever words he’d been about to say had got stuck in his throat. Two or three seconds passed before he finally found his voice again. When he did it was tinged with bitterness. “They’re fine. They’re big and loud and strong. And brave, of course. True warriors the way Northmen are supposed to be.”

  “You don’t get along with them, do you?” asked Alirah.

  He blinked. “How do you know that?”

  “Nobody sounds like that when they’re talking about people they like.”

  He shook his head. “No. They’re okay, really. But you’re right, we’ve never gotten along. They take after my father. I’ve never really gotten along with him either. My mother is mostly descended from the Eredun, like your father is. But my father is a Northman. And… He’s never had much use for a son like me.”

  His last words came out in a low, husky grumble. Alirah felt a sharp pang of sympathy, and then of anger. She could not imagine a father having no use for one of his children.

  “Why ever not?” she demanded.

  “Well, he’s a kingsman, through and through,” said Kelorn. “So he doesn’t like to have a son who spends his time sitting around looking at maps or reading books instead of fighting, or training to fight, or at least working with his hands somehow. He doesn’t want a son who can’t hardly even talk to girls! A son who’s afraid of… everything.”

  He’d looked up at her at first, but then quickly looked down at the road again. His voice became more strained with each word. By the time he finished it was a self-loathing whisper.

  Alirah gazed at him, appalled. “But you’re not afraid of everything, obviously. You came out to find my father all by yourself, didn’t you? And you stood up to Riuk! You kicked his butt, from what I hear.”

  “He was going to kill you,” muttered Kelorn.

  “I could tell. And I could tell that it wasn’t a coward who stood up to him when nobody else would!”

  He smiled at her weakly, but he did not look convinced. For a few moments they rode on in silence. Alirah fidgeted upon her saddle, fuming but trying not to look like she was fuming. She wished she could find his family and yell at them. Finally to break the awkward silence she spoke again.

  “So what is a kingsman, anyway? Why does being one mean your dad is a jerk?”

  Kelorn grinned. “He’s not a jerk. Well… He sort of is, I guess. But I forget you don’t know these things. A kingsman, or the kingsmen, are what the supporters of the Tyrant Kings call themselves. Of course they don’t use the term ‘Tyrant Kings.’ They think what these last few kings have been doing is right and just and good for Arandia.”

  “But in the last couple of generations, being a kingsman has come to mean more than just being a member of a political party. It’s come to mean you have certain views about the world. About how men and women should each behave, in particular. To them an Arandian man should be a warrior first and foremost. He should always be ready to fight for his king, or his honor, or whatever. He should be strong and tough and loud. He shouldn’t be shy. He shouldn’t be afraid to get hurt or to hurt someone else. And he shouldn’t like to do soft or silly things like make art, or read, or study old maps. Those kinds of things are for women to do, or at least for old men past their fighting years.”

  “So… your father and your brothers, they think you’re girly?”

  Kelorn nodded. “Something like that.”

  Alirah blew out a raspberry. He smiled at her. They rode on for a minute or so before Alirah spoke again.

  “Just how are women supposed to behave then?”

  Kelorn’s smile vanished and his face turned scarlet. “Well, they’re supposed to be just the opposite, I guess. Beautiful, of course. And soft. They’re not supposed to fight or be too loud. And most importantly to the kingsmen, they’re not supposed to rule.”

  “Not supposed to rule? Like, rule the country?”

  “The country. Or the household. Basically, they’re not supposed to rule over men. Wives are supposed to follow their husbands’ lead. Queens should follow their kings. That sort of thing.”

  “We’re supposed to be submissive,” said Alirah, glaring.

  “I don’t think that way,” he said quickly. “And lot of people still don’t! Once upon a time in Arandia, nobody did. But the kingsmen have been in power for a long time, and that’s what the kingsmen teach their kids. It comes from the feud between the kings and the Priestesses of Illana, I think. For more than a hundred years the Priestesses have been the only ones really able to stand up against the Tyrant Kings. So many of the common people still revere them so much, even an awful king like Archandir can’t move too forcefully against them. But over time the kings have turned kingsmen versus priestesses into men versus women generally. They’ve done all they can to promote the idea that good women shouldn’t try to rule, and that good men shouldn’t listen to them if they do.”

  He fell silent, and for a long moment Alirah sat in silence too. Of course, she’d heard of such things before. She’d experienced them before. But her father had never felt that way, she was sure; and she’d never imagined such things when she’d daydreamed about his faraway Arandia as a little girl. Now she felt betrayed, and indignant. At last she realized Kelorn was still watching her sidelong, embarrassed and fearful of her anger.

  “Well, great,” she said, sighing. “Let’s just hurry up and get there.”

  As the day wore on, the land began to rise a little. Alirah and Kelorn left most of the marshes behind. Small, clear pools still stood here and there like mirrors dropped in the grass, reflecting a bright blue sky. Far to the south great storm clouds gathered, but no worse weather reached the fields of Caluran than a warm breeze which stirred the grass.

  Late in the afternoon Alirah began to notice green mounds
rising every so often atop the broader swells of the land. No flowers grew upon the mounds, though the grass grew as high and lush there as anywhere else. The mounds did not rise with any regularity that Alirah could see, and no paths wound among them. Yet they did not look quite natural. She noticed that Kelorn took care to avoid riding over any of them.

  “What are those?” she asked at last.

  “They’re barrows,” he said. “Graves.”

  “Graves? But they’re too big for graves. You could fit a house in some of them. More than one.”

  Kelorn shook his head. “They’re not graves for just one person. This must have been where a great battle was fought. Probably during the last war between Arandia and the Jeddein Empire, forty years or so ago. Seilann spoke of it. Thousands of people died in that war.

  “Thousands?”

  “Many thousands. On both sides.”

  Alirah looked at the mounds again with wide eyes. She could not imagine many thousands of people dying all at once, and she quickly made herself stop trying.

  The silence deepened as they rode on. It could have been only her imagination, but now that she knew the nature of the mounds, Alirah felt as if a great sadness lingered around them. She no longer heard insects buzzing and chirping in the grass. A few birds still sang, but their songs had become low and mournful. The wind itself seem to whisper with unintelligible grief. The longer she listened the more certain she felt that she could catch strange words and phrases upon the breeze. Then all at once she sat up straight, wide-eyed and stiff with alarm.

  “There are voices,” she cried.

  Kelorn started. “What?”

  “There are voices on the wind! Can’t you hear them?”

  He shook his head. “No… or, wait… Maybe…”

  She did not hear him finish. All at once, as if they’d only been waiting to be noticed, the voices grew into shouts and cries. Brazen trumpets echoed suddenly out of the north, while a deep braying of great horns arose from the south. With terrified eyes Alirah watched two great hosts flicker into being upon the fields around her. Pale and olive skinned men marched under blue and gold banners, while brown men marched beneath green and silver. Then with thunderous roars the two hosts charged into battle against one another.

  Alirah reeled, trying to take everything in. She knew that she was seeing the battle which had raged upon those fields long ago. Deep down she knew that none of it was real. Kelorn still rode next to her. She could faintly hear him calling out to her in alarm, but he seemed to be dim and remote. The sights and sounds of battle around her were horribly clear in comparison.

  All around her men fought and screamed and died in a shifting blur of violence. The ringing of steel upon steel hurt her ears. Time seemed to have sped up, as if trying to make a few moments do for horrid hours. Everything around her became a blur, but wherever her eyes focused she saw things clearly and at normal speed. In one place she saw a great Jeddein warrior wielding two scimitars at once and keeping a whole host of Arandians at bay. In another she saw a young, white-skinned lad out of the far north, thrilled and sickened as he cut down his first opponent. Two wounded combatants lay next to each other, uncaring: no longer enemies in their fear and pain.

  Soon the proud banners were torn and bloodied. The sunlight dimmed. Black clouds hung in tatters beneath a red sky. The cries faded. The men in blue and gold triumphed at last, but they could not advance; they were too badly hurt and too far from home. The survivors piled the fallen and raised mounds over them, and then the diminished hosts slunk back the ways they’d come.

  But some on each side remained. Bloodied men in battered armor stood gazing down at the mounds. Years passed and grass grew high upon the mounds, and still the men stood there. All at once Alirah realized she was looking at the dead, gazing in silence at their own graves. With a shudder she squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands over her ringing ears.

  It’s not real! she thought, desperately. None of it’s real!

  She counted slowly to three, then opened her eyes. For a moment she felt a warm swell of relief. The dark clouds blotting out the sun had vanished. The sky was now a clear blue, deepening towards lavender in the sunset. The only movement was the swaying of the grass in a breeze upon which no whispers could be heard.

  But one fallen soldier remained.

  He stood about twenty yards away, knee deep in the grass. In the brighter sunlight he was partially translucent. His form rippled and flickered slightly in the breeze, and Alirah could see through him in brief and blurry glimpses. He wore the blue and gold of Arandia, and in his hand he held a notched sword. His armor was rent, and livid wounds marred his ashen flesh, but he was not bleeding. His eyes shone with a keen light.

  “Oh… Why can’t I ever see puppies or kittens or anything like that!” Alirah moaned, closing her eyes and starting to count again.

  “That’s no vision,” hissed Kelorn. “I can see him too!”

  Alirah opened her eyes with a gasp. The soldier was still there, staring at her, and now she could feel anger radiating from his eyes like heat from a flame.

  Her hand flew to her sword, but she stopped herself before drawing the blade in a panic. Kelorn spurred Melyr forward so as to get between her and the soldier. He too grasped his sword. He called out in a harsh, shrill voice.

  “Who are you? Where have you come from?”

  The phantom soldier did not answer. He just kept staring at them, intent but expressionless.

  “Hello,” called Alirah. She tried to sound friendly, but her voice shook with fear. “Can you hear us?”

  He did not answer. Alirah asked the same question in the language of the Kwi’Kiri, but that also got her no response. Long seconds passed. The phantom continued to glare at her and Kelorn as if with hatred, but he made no sound and he did not move.

  “What do we do?” Alirah whispered at last.

  “Maybe… we should just keep going,” Kelorn whispered back. “Just leave this place.”

  Alirah nodded emphatically. Heart pounding, she urged Tryll onwards. Kelorn waited a moment, keeping himself between her and the phantom, then he followed after her. Every two seconds Alirah looked over her shoulder to see if the phantom was following them. He did start to follow them eventually, but only at a slow walk, so that he quickly fell behind. For a minute Alirah felt the vice of terror gripping her begin to release. Then she crested a low rise and saw two more phantoms striding towards her from up ahead.

  She choked down a scream. Tryll reared up in fright beneath her. Kelorn came up alongside, looking white as a sheet.

  The two new phantoms were also both Arandian soldiers. They both wore torn blue surcoats over their battered armor, but they were otherwise unique. Their wounds were different, and while one bore a notched sword, the other carried a cloven shield and a red-tipped spear.

  Kelorn fumbled again for his sword. This time he drew the blade with a pale flash. Alirah drew forth her own weapon. The two phantoms hesitated, but then they raised their own weapons slightly and started to advance again. For a second Kelorn tensed as if he meant to charge and attack, but then he thought better of it and shook his head.

  “Back to the road,” he cried. “Run!”

  Alirah dug in her heels, but Tryll needed no encouragement. The young mare shot back eastward at a wild gallop. Kelorn followed more slowly upon Melyr. Again the phantoms only walked after them in pursuit, so all of them were quickly left behind. But less than a minute later, three more fallen soldiers strode up over one of the green mounds ahead.

  Tryll reared up so sharply that Alirah was almost thrown from her saddle. It took her several seconds to get the mare back under control. When she did, she and Kelorn charged northwards again, but once more they were cut off.

  For a few frantic minutes Alirah and Kelorn tried to ride clear of the phantom hosts, but always in vain. No matter wh
at way they chose, more fallen soldiers appeared to block their path. Alirah never saw the phantoms appear, it just seemed as if each time she turned her head a few more of them were visible. Soon she counted at least thirty of them, closing in around her and Kelorn in a tightening ring. She could sense a great many others pressing in close behind those thirty, as if they were but the first rank of a vast, invisible host which hovered upon the threshold of the living world.

  When the phantoms had gathered into a ring twenty yards across, they halted suddenly. Tryll and Melyr reared and stamped wildly within the ring, seeking in vain for a way out. Alirah and Kelorn could do nothing but try desperately to hang on.

  Then one phantom stepped forward on his own. With a start Alirah realized it was the same one she had first seen, though he should have been left a quarter of a mile behind by then. She saw also that he had once been a lord or a captain of some sort. He wore a small broach like a silver sunburst upon his left shoulder, and small blue gems adorned the hilt of his sword. While his face looked gray and drawn in death, it had once been fatherly and handsome.

  The captain raised his free hand. Instantly Melyr and Tryll ceased their maddened rearing. They stopped so suddenly that Alirah almost fell out of her saddle as she overcorrected. Then she swiveled back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to meet the eyes of all of the phantoms who glared at her.

  Just at me, she realized, with an icy shock. They’re not looking at Kelorn at all! They’re just looking at me!

  Kelorn called out to the phantom captain once again. This time anger strengthened his voice.

  “Who are you? Why won’t you let us pass? We are loyal servants of Arandia, and we honor her dead!”

  At his last words Alirah finally sensed a reaction among the gathered phantoms. A few of them stirred faintly. Upon the breeze she heard low hisses of anger and sighs of loss. In a flash she understood. All of the phantoms were Arandian soldiers; she saw none of the darker-skinned Jeddein. While Kelorn’s sword seemed to burn with a pale flame, her own weapon, the Sword of the Kings of Arandia, looked dull and dim by comparison. The red-golden fire that so often lit it from within could not be seen.

  “They know who I am,” she gasped.

  “What?” cried Kelorn.

  “They know what I am.”

  He gaped at her for a moment before his eyes widened in understanding. Then he looked back around the ring of phantoms with new fear. Even more strongly now could Alirah feel the pain and anger which emanated from them, and she knew he must feel it too. The phantoms knew who she was, and they were not happy to see her. She swallowed in a throat gone suddenly very dry.

  Suddenly the captain of the phantoms took another step forward. He extended his free hand in an angry, demanding gesture. His men all pressed in a step as well, tightening their ring like a noose. Kelorn tried to spur Melyr into action, but now that the phantom captain had calmed her, she would do nothing but stand and stare. With a cry Kelorn swung down from the saddle. He landed in a fighting stance. A fell light had kindled in his eyes.

  “You can’t have her,” he growled, almost to himself.

  Alirah herself froze. She scarcely heard Kelorn or saw him dismount. For all at once, feeling the phantoms’ anger more strongly, she also felt it more clearly. She felt rage, the shattering rage of irredeemable loss, but no malice. The phantoms demanded, but they did not threaten. Perhaps their ghostly weapons no longer had any power to do harm, but Alirah doubted it. Instead she felt certain that for all their fury, the phantoms did not mean to hurt them.

  Until now. Looking up again, Alirah saw that the phantom captain had finally turned his attention to Kelorn. His bright eyes glittered. All of his men had begun to stir and murmur with wrath. The captain had raised his sword straight before his body in what must have been a gesture of challenge. Kelorn had done likewise. The two were about to spring at each other.

  “No! Stop!” Alirah screamed.

  Her voice rang out with fright, but also with involuntary command. All of the phantoms drew up short, as if struck by a sudden gust of wind. Kelorn jumped and looked back at her with wild eyes. Alirah scrambled down from her saddle and leapt to his side.

  “It’s okay,” she gasped. “They don’t want to hurt us.”

  “They don’t?”

  She shook her head. She laid a hand upon his sword arm and lowered it with a gentle push. Trembling faintly, she moved past him and stood before the captain of the phantoms. He stared down at her with eyes like dreadful stars. Under his gaze she felt terribly young and fleeting, like a spring leaf before a fallen tree.

  “What is it?” she asked after a moment. “What do you want me to do?”

  He did not answer her, but at that moment the breeze stirred and grew into a cold wind out of the north. Upon it she could hear voices again, more clearly than before. She heard the names of people and places that she did not recognize, and stories of glory and loss; the stories of the fallen. She heard them all in a few seconds, too many and too quickly to be understood, but clearly enough that she felt a fresh wave of grief. Hot tears began to leak from her eyes and blur her vision. Above all else she sensed, rather than heard, a single overwhelming question, endlessly repeated.

  Why?... Why?... Why?...

  “Why what?” Alirah cried, not understanding.

  The wind died away. The phantom captain stared at her intently for a moment, then bowed his head. For several seconds all was still. Then the phantom’s face twisted into a scowl of anguish. Suddenly he raised his sword again.

  Alirah recoiled in terror and confusion. In one fluid movement Kelorn sprang to her side, seized her arm, and pulled her back behind him. Kelorn raised his own sword, but the phantom captain did not strike. Instead he reached out and grabbed the end of the blade with his free hand. The sharp edges did not seem to harm his ghostly flesh or cause him any pain. With a mighty heave, he brought the flat of the blade down upon his upraised knee. There was a flash of cold light and with a ringing crack the sword broke in two. The phantom captain flung the sundered pieces to the ground. He looked one last time at Alirah, then turned his back on her and strode away.

  Suddenly the air was filled with sharp cracks and heavy thuds. On all sides, the fallen soldiers broke and cast down their weapons. One by one they turned their backs upon Alirah and then strode straight away from her in all directions. A final, mighty wind arose and moaned over the fields. The farther the phantoms went the more the wind tore at their vaporous forms. At last, with a glimmer and a sigh, they vanished entirely. Alirah and Kelorn stood alone once more.