Beside her, on a white charger, rode a child equally bright, perhaps six, in golden breastplate and greaves, with a small sword in hand and a child-sized crown on his head. This was a simple thing, iron, like a helmet with the top removed.
“Must be the Captal’s Pretender,” Bragi muttered. Astream of Kaveliners followed the woman and child. The Captal had, apparently, found support for his royal candidate.
The battle was lost, he thought. Shinsan had softened him up for these men to break and give the child-king an imaginary victory. Time to worry about keeping it from becoming a rout.
Which, unhorsed, would dishearten those troops most? He drew a shaft to his ear, released, put a second in the air while the first yet sped.
He let fly at the two stallions, assuming the sorceress would have shielded herself and her puppet with spells.
The first shaft found the heart of the white, the second the flank of the black. The white screamed and threw the child. The black, like the soldiers of Shinsan, made no sound, but it staggered and slowly went down, hindquar-ters first. Two more shafts whistled in, one missing, the last turning to smoke in the invisible protection around the woman.
She shrieked, a sound of rage so loud it should never have come from mortal lips. She swung a glittering spear round to point at the peak. Mists of darkness enveloped her.
Ragnarson ran. The bluff behind him exploded. He put on more speed as he heard stone grinding and groaning. The bluff was falling apart, sliding away into the pass. Two hundred yards downslope he glanced back. The peak looked as though some antediluvian monster had taken a bite-and was still nibbling.
“What the hell happened?” Blackfang demanded when he reached the canyon floor.
“Witch got mad at me.”
“Cut off her nose to spite her face, then.”
“Eh?”
“Must’ve been three hundred Shinsaners where the mountain fell.”
Ragnarson’s men were finishing the survivors. Some were about to go haring over the rockfall toward Maisak. “She’ll really be mad now. Call them back. We’re pulling out.”
“Why? We’ve won.”
“Uhn-uh. There’s still one hell of a mob over there. Kaveliners. But she’s the problem...”
“As you say.”
“Now the barons,” Ragnarson mumbled, as he settled on a rock, exhausted.
After a while he had men collect enough Shinsan armor and weapons to convince any doubters in Kavelin.
NINE: Family Life
I) I’ll wind from Itaskia
Elana didn’t worry till Bragi had been gone a week. By the end of the second week she was frantic.
The third raid had left her all raw nerves, and Bevold, who had fallen days behind schedule, had become insufferable.
She spent much of her time watching her teardrop, till Gerda chided her for neglecting Ragnar and Gundar. She realized she was being foolish. Why did the women always have to wait?
One bright spot was Rolf. His chances looked better daily.
Came an afternoon when Ragnar, playing in the watchtower, shouted, “Ma, there’s some men coming.”
They were near enough to count. Six men. She recognized Uthe’s and Dahl’s mounts.
Despair seized her. “That bastard. That lying, craven son-of-a-bitch with a brain like sheep shit in shallow water trying to make it to dry land. He’s let Haroun talk him into it. I’ll kill him. I’ll break every bone in his body and kill him!”
“Ma!”
Ragnar had never seen her like this.
“All right.” She scooped him up and settled him on her hip. He laughed. “Let’s go watch Uthe weasel.”
She moved a chair to the porch and, with Ragnar and Gundar squirming in her lap, waited.
One glimpse of Uthe’s face was enough. Bragi had gone chasing Haroun’s dreams. She was so angry she just glared and waited.
Uthe approached reluctantly, shrugged and showed his palms in a gesture of defeat.
“Goodwife Ragnarson?” one of Haas’s companions asked. She nodded.
“Captain Wilhusen, Staff, War Ministry. His Excel-lency offers his apologies and heartfelt condolences for any inconvenience caused by his calling your husband to active service.”
Active service? They couldn’t do that. Could they?
“Elana?”
She turned slightly, allowed another face to focus. “Turran! And Valther. What?...”
“We work for the army now. Kind of slid into it sideways.”
“And Brock?” Her anger she ignored for the moment.
“Poisoned arrow in Escalon.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We’ve been dead for years. Just won’t lie down.”
“You’ll see Nepanthe, won’t you? She’s been so worried.”
“There’ll be time to catch up. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“I don’t understand. But come in. You must be tired and hungry.”
“You’ve done well,” said Turran, following her in.
“Bragi’s worked hard. Too hard, sometimes. And we’ve had good people helping. It hasn’t been easy.”
“No doubt. I know what this country was like.”
“Well, make yourselves comfortable. Captain. Val-ther. You. I didn’t catch your name. I’m sorry.”
“Sergeant Hunsicker, ma’am, with the Captain, and don’t go to no bother on my account.”
“No bother. Gerda, we’ve guests. Hungry guests.” A moment later, “Some explanations, please,” she de-manded, unable to control her anger. “Where’s my husband?”
“Captain, may I?” Turran asked. He received a nod. While he talked, Elana considered the changes four years had wrought. He was handsome as ever, but gray had crept into his raven hair, and he had lost a lot of weight. He was pale, looked weak, and at times shook as if suddenly chilly. When she asked about his health, he replied cryptically that, once again, this time in Escalon, they had chosen the losing side.
A shadow ghosted across Valther’s face. He looked older than Turran, who had a decade on him. He had been a lively daredevil four years ago; now he seemed almost retarded. When, with a sort of childlike curiosity, he wandered over to stare into the fireplace, Elana whispered, “What happened to Valther?”
“It comes and goes,” Turran replied. “He never talks any more. Escalon was hard for him. But the bad periods get shorter. Sometimes he seems almost ready to speak, then his mind wanders... I haven’t given up hope.” He went on explaining why Bragi hadn’t come home.
She didn’t understand why she had to turn her home over to Captain Wilhusen, but it was clear she had little choice.
“Where can we go?” she asked. “We can’t stay in the kingdom. We can’t go north to Bragi’s people. We’ve all got enemies in Iwa Skolovda, Dvar and Prost Kamenets. And we can’t go south if Greyfells’ partisans want us.”
“Enemies all around us, yes,” said Turran. “The Minister has offered to let you use his estate on the Auszura Littoral.”
“We can’t get there from here.”
“We can, but it’ll be hard.”
“How?”
“One way is through Driscol Fens, over the Silverbind, through Shara, south to the Lesser Kingdoms, then down the River Scarlotti to the coast.”
“Which means sneaking past Prost Kamenets, then hoping we can get out of Shara without being murderedor enslaved. I trust the alternative’s more palatable.”
“You go west through the forests to the Minister’s manor at Sieveking, then catch a naval transport going south. It looks easier, but there’re problems. First, this vessel’s too small to let you take any personal effects. Second, it’s lightly armed and has a small crew. It wouldn’t stand off a determined pirate. There are still some around in the Red Islands.”
“A dilemma with more horns than a nine-headed stag.-I’ll talk it over with my people. And Nepanthe. Her lot will have to go too, I suppose.” “Of course.”
II)
Walk to the coast
With one exception, the people chose to abandon everything to Captain Wilhusen. The exception was Bevold Lif. The Freylander refused to budge. They had survived bandits, wolves, weather, and war, he declared, and he would survive Greyfells’ political successors. He was staying. Somebody had to keep the soldiers from stealing the silverware.
They left the grant with little but food and clothing. Preshka was the only adult not walking. He rode a donkey. The forest paths were impassable for wagons and horses.
The way led within forty miles of Itaskia, and for two days they had to travel open farmlands above the capital, hurrying to cross a strait of civilization which ran north to Duchy Greyfells and West Wapentake, a strait that separated two great islands of forest in the midlands. Unfriendly eyes found them there. As they reached the western forest, they spied the dust of many riders.
“You think they’ll wait for us on the other side?” Elana asked.
Turran shrugged. “They don’t know where we’ll come out.”
“How much figuring would it take? They know wherethe Minister’s place is...”
“But we’ve got the jewel. We can slip past them in the dark.”
“You hope. You said you’d tell me about it.”
“Later.”
“It’s later. Talk.”
“All right. After I make sure they don’t come in after us. Go on a few miles. We’ll catch up.”
She took the trail-breaker’s position, following a path tramped by generations of deer. Valther followed her, hand on sword hilt but eyes faraway, as if he were remembering another retreat. Turran had promised to tell that tale too.
After posting sentries she sat with Rolf, who was pale with discomfort. Valther remained near her, as he always did when Turran was absent.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked, laying one hand on Rolf’s.
“Miserable.” He coughed softly. “Lung’s never going to be right.”
“Think we’ll make it?”
“Don’t worry. It’s out of our hands. We will or we won’t. Depends on how much manpower they want to waste. They’re not stupid. Catching us won’t change the big picture.”
“Tell me about Kavelin. I’ve never been there.”
“I’ve told what’s to tell. Except that it’d be a nice country if someone skimmed off about fifty thousand Nordmen and ambitious commoners. I liked it. Might settle there if Bragi straightens them out.”
“You think he can? I mean, sixteen hundred men against a whole country, and maybe El Murid?”
“Sixteen hundred plus Bragi, Mocker, and Haroun.”
“Who’re only men. Rolf, I’m scared. It’s been so long since I was on my own.”
“I’m here. I’ll always be here... I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I understand. Ah, here’s Turran.”
The man came over, squatted by his brother, said, “Well, no worse. I was afraid being chased would hurt... Oh, they’ve posted watchers, but the rest went south again. Guess they’ll wait on the other side. How’re you making it, Rolf? Pushing too hard?”
“I’ll survive. Iwa Skolovdans are fiesty.”
Turran smiled wanly. “Won’t lay down and die, that’s sure.” Once, briefly, he had been master of that city. “Might as well make camp. We could do a few more miles, but we’ll be better off for the rest. Especially the children.”
Elana snorted. “Not Ragnar. Nor Ethrian. They’ve put in more miles than any of us. But maybe you’ll find time to tell the story you’ve been promising.”
Turran’s dark eye went to Valther. “All right. After supper.”
“I’ll tell Nepanthe.”
III) War in the east
“I suppose the story begins,” Turran told an audience of Elana, Nepanthe, Preshka, and Uthe and Dahl Haas, “when Valther talked Brock and me into going to Hellin Daimiel. Jerrad wouldn’t go. He went back to the mountains. I guess he’s probably hunting and trying to rebuild Ravenkrak. Fool. Anyway, in Hellin Daimiel we were approached by a representative of the Monitor of Escalon. He was recruiting westerners to help in a war.
“We became part of a devil’s catch of hedge wizards, assassins, mercenaries, and marginal types that might be useful in a wizard’s war.
“It was a long journey east. By the time we reached Tatarian, Escalon’s capital, there were a thousand of us.
“We found out that the country was at war with Shinsan. Escalon was strong, but no match for the Dread Empire.
“Escalon was losing. The whole kingdom lay under a siege of night. Demonic, poisonous hordes of hell-things fought for both sidles.
“We foreigners were thrown in right away. And we stalled Shinsan for a while. But then they started advancing again.
“The Monitor decided to chance everything on one vast thaumaturgic battle. It defies description. It lasted nine days. When it was over an area as big as Itaskia hadbeen wasted. Millions died. In Escalon only Tatarianand the major cities survived. In Shinsan, we don’t know. We hadn’t lost, but we hadn’t won, and that, in the long run, meant our defeat.
“It was during that battle that we lost Brock. We got too involved to look out for ourselves. An arrow got through and wounded him.
“That it had been loosed a thousand miles away in Shinsan was no excuse. We’d been provided with ways of sensing the attack. We just didn’t pay attention.
“The wound was minor, but the shaft bore soul-devouring spells. In the end he begged us to give him a clean death.”
Turran paused for a moment, locked in his memories.
“Afterwards, the Monitor decided Escalon was lost. He summoned Valther and me. He told us that Shinsan would turn on Matayanga next. He believed the world’s hope, ultimately, lay in the west because Yo Hsi and Nu Li Hsi had been destroyed here. What he was trying to do, he told me, was to buy time. He hoped somebody like Varthlokkur or the Star Rider would see what was happening and do something about the west’s political choas.
“That’s when he gave me the jewel, Elana. The one I sent you. You’ve been using it for a warden, its least important power.
“The Monitor believed it was one of the Poles of Power. How he came by it I don’t know, and I don’t think it really is a Pole, but one thing’s sure. It’s important. I saw him use it. He could move mountains... He wanted me to get it to the Star Rider. But I don’t think so. I don’t know why. When this’s over, I’m going to try to take it to Varthlokkur. He knows the Dread Empire. I think he’d have the best shot at stopping them.”
Silence closed in, drawing a tight circle round the campfire. For several minutes Turran’s audience digested what he had had to say. Then his sister, glancing at a fitfully dozing Valther, asked, “Why didn’t you come home? You lost Brock, and the war was over...”
“It wasn’t over. Just lost. There was time to buy. We thought we could help. After the great wizards’ battle both sides had to rely on ordinary soldiers fora while. It’sgenerally conceded that I’m a pretty good general. Impetuous and over-optimistic, they tell me, but less so when I’m working for somebody else. I managed to take the battle to Shinsan for several months.”
“I’m confused. You’ve mentioned Nu Li Hsi’s heirs, and Yo Hsi’s. Who were you fighting?”
“Both. Sometimes one, sometimes the other. They were feuding. Shinsan’s army wasn’t. It took the orders of whoever gave them. When we first got to Escalon, we fought Yo Hsi’s daughter. After the great battle, it was O Shing. I don’t know when they made the changeover. The transition couldn’t be detected. A few months later we were fighting Mist again.
“I saw the woman... Unbelievable. So much evil in such a beautiful package.”
“But what about Valther?” Nepanthe demanded. “You never did have any patience, did you? Well, it’s a complicated story. Try not to interrupt.” Nepanthe and Turran had been bickering for years.
“By some snare of the Power he still had, the Monitor caught one of the Tervola. He managed to keep the m
an alive long enough to find out that Mist herself would take charge of the final assault on Tatarian.
“The Monitor planned one last cast of the dice. Its only objective was Mist’s death.
“Valther and I were heart and soul of the plan. And we blew it.
“Our job was to get captured.” Turran talked in little gusts, like an indecisive breeze. During his pauses he poked the fire with a stick, threw acorns at tree trunks, used the fingernails on one hand to clean those on the other. He didn’t want to relive these memories. “Because we’d been involved in her father’s death. The Monitor thought she’d want t’o question us. If she did, we were supposed to change sides, then kill her when we got the chance.
“It worked too good.
“The woman has a weakness. Vanity. Make it two. Insecurity, too. We played to them. And she started keeping us around like pets. She had a million questions about the west.
“Things started going wrong when Valt startedbelieving what he was saying...”
Sighs escaped his listeners. They became more attentive. Turran stirred the fire again.
“It was my fault... I should’ve... In Shinsan they use herbs to increase their grasp of the Power. It stops you from getting older, too. But once you use them, you have to keep on...”
“You?...” Nepanthe interjected.
“In the service of the Dread Empire, one must. After he had betrayed Escalon, Valt tried to make it up by killing Mist. It didn’t work.
“I don’t know. Maybe her wickedness was polluted by mercy. Maybe an accidental thread of love got woven into her tapestry of evil. Whatever, of all the possible punishments, she chose the simplest. She took away our supply of herbs.”
“That’s why he’s this way?” This time it was Elana who couldn’t restrain herself. “How come you recovered?”
“I’m not an expert on the human mind. Yes, I recovered. That was six months ago, in an asylum in Hellin Daimiel. For a while I didn’t know if what I remembered was true or just a nightmare. Nobody knew anything about us. The Watch had found us in the street and committed us for our own protection. The scholars who studied us told me Valther is using drug withdrawal as an excuse not to come back and face his guilt.”