Ever since emerging from the pass they had been watched and followed. Their trackers knew she would detect them immediately and so they made no attempt at full concealment, keeping as far away among the trees, so as to make identification impossible, yet making both her and her escort fully aware that there was nothing they could do that would not be reported back to the relevant interested parties.
Itheya picked a narrow, but worn and familiar, path that wound from the very edge of the lake, into the trees and back out again, always following the safest route; it would not be long now. She could see the island, and her home sitting proudly on it; the colours of winter were displayed as she expected but there was one other there, flying from the building’s highest banner poles. Red, the colour of the thenestevan berry, the berry of death, the berry that only grew in the Glade of the Mhezhen, where all the tribe’s leaders from the day when they had first entered the forest lay at rest under its rich black soil.
The path then moved back into the woods where, as the trees thinned, it broadened considerably. This would be just the place where her brother could wait to attack them, she thought, if he was being as dull and predictable as he usually was.
And, sure enough, he was there.
Not sitting alone on his roan charger, oh no. There were maybe twenty other people both alongside and behind him. She saw Tiavon there among others; no doubt his family were among those to switch allegiances.
Signalling for her escort to stay back, Itheya rode forward to face her brother, who did not move, his face a mask of studied calmness.
‘Hello, sister,’ he said. ‘How fares the war in the human lands?’
She matched his calmness. ‘It fares well. The humans fear us and our reputation rides high among those with whom we are allied.’
‘The humans left their weapons of iron at the Taethan. Unsurprisingly, they were of poor quality. We have scavenged what we could and have incorporated the iron into our own weapons.’
‘Have they been distributed among the tribes?’
Dramalliel smiled slyly. ‘Not as yet.’
Itheya was indignant. ‘It should have been done immediately; not to do so will foster mistrust among the other tribes. What were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking that maybe it is the time for things to change, that the balance of power between the tribes may not be the happy compromise we all think it is.’
She fought hard to control her emotions. ‘It is well I have returned; your reckless stupidity could endanger our entire realm.’
‘Oh, sister.’ There was a patronising tone in his voice. ‘I see your tendency for exaggeration has not left you.’
She ignored him. ‘Tell me about Father.’
‘He left us peacefully. The healers put him into a sleep from which he never awoke. He has been laid to rest with his predecessors. The death berries are already beginning to grow over his body.’
‘I wish to go and see him.’
‘Not yet, sister; we have other matters to discuss first.’
She looked at his entourage. ‘Can we not speak alone? Is the divide between us that great?’
Dramalliel nodded and ordered everybody back. He then dismounted, with Itheya following suit, and the two of them walked a little way into the trees before she spoke again.
‘I have heard rumours about things that may have happened here and am hoping you can dispel them for me. What exactly has been going on? You do know I am here to accept my position as leader, don’t you?’
‘And that, sister, is where we are at variance. As it stands, I cannot let you become leader of our people, for I cannot agree on the direction you wish to take us. It is as simple as that.’
She took a step back from him at that remark. She was finding it far harder than she imagined controlling her temper.
‘I think you will find,’ she said coolly, ‘that you have absolutely no say in the matter. I am the eldest – that is all that is required for my succession.’
‘No, sister, you need the backing of the head of the tribe’s first families – all five of them.’
‘Don’t waste my time,’ she snorted. ‘It is but a formality, a throwback to our days on the plains. There has been no dissension on this matter since the days of the human wars.’
‘If I need to,’ Dramalliel said, ‘I can get one of the families to support me.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ She felt her cheeks flushing as she whispered the words.
‘If I have to, I will.’
‘Which of the families have you turned?’ She knew the answer already; nevertheless she felt a little relief for it seemed the rebellion was not quite as widespread as she had feared.
‘Tiavon’s, of course; his father is in his dotage and follows his son’s advice in all matters. You really should have given him your body a little more often; it would have left me with no leverage whatsoever. It must be the first time your lack of physical patronage has cost you anything.’
She walked away from him a little, trying to compose herself. He had obviously planned this encounter for a while; his smugness and composure bore testament to that, whereas she was just a mass of seething emotions, all of which she was trying to keep in check. After a few deep breaths she returned to her brother.
‘So, you are holding me to ransom. I take it I give you what you want and you get Tiavon to back me – is that correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, what is it you do want?’
It was his turn to stop a second, obviously running over a mental list.
‘Finish this foolish war, cut all ties with the humans, reinforce our boundaries against them and assert our dominance over the other tribes, especially the Ometahan. Withholding these new weapons until we get increased voting rights should help us with that. Those are my terms, if you need my support.’
‘And if I do not agree to them?’
‘I am hoping that you will.’ Dramalliel looked her directly in the eye. ‘If you do not, then I will have no choice but to use force against you. I will never get the backing of all the families, so I will use force to control the tribe. I already do control the lake here; everyone is accepting my rule until you return, but I have those that follow me in place ready to seize power permanently – if required.’
‘So you are happy to plunge our tribe into war, to set brother against brother, to see blood spilled here – something that has never happened before.’
‘I am. With great reluctance, but I will if I have to.’ Dramalliel turned his gaze from her, the import of what he was saying obviously bothering him, too.
Itheya sensed his change in demeanour and decided to go on the attack.
‘Before I say yes or no to your proposals, please tell me why this policy of isolation will well serve our people. What benefit is there for keeping us ensconced in this forest? And what is more, are you saying you will kill me if I refuse?’
‘Exile, sister, exile. There are plateaus in the mountains equal to the task. You will have a cave for shelter and the means to feed yourself but that is all. As for this isolation of which you speak, why don’t you tell me of the benefits of mixing with the humans, our murderers and enslavers? Those who have stolen our land from us, driven us into the barely habitable margins of the world. You would be friends with such beasts? I say we take control of the forest and then scour the nearby plains clear of humans. Extend our realm, make them fear us. Fear is the only thing to give them pause. That is how to restore our reputation among them, not collaboration and acquiescence. They see our eagerness to please as weakness, and, if they see us as weak, we will never regain any of our former glory. Can you not see this? Is it you that is stupid, not I?’
His remarks were stinging her. Nobody had ever called her weak before.
‘Have you been over the mountains to see how we fare? Our style of warfare, fast, mobile, able to strike where we will is perfect for the task and, don’t forget, you would have no new weapons without our “acquiesc
ence”. What you are proposing is an invasion of the plains after achieving the subjugation of the Ometahan. The humans would see that as an act of war and come against us.’
Dramalliel gave a knowing smirk, leaving his sister astonished.
‘It is what you want, isn’t it? A glorious war against the humans, your name sung in our songs for ever. Now listen to me.’ She pointed an angry forefinger at his face. ‘It is not a war we could win. At the moment over the mountains we rove over land that is not ours; we are not defending anything. We are not equipped to stand face to face with the enemy in attritional defensive conflict. There are a thousand humans to one of us. We would be driven back to our forest never to leave it again. And don’t start me on the ramifications of trying to humiliate the Ometahan; we would end up with the sort of kin strife not seen for a thousand years. Now, you want to know what I am trying to do? The reasons for my “weakness”? Well, consider this; since we came to this forest the best times for us were the times we could trade freely with the humans. We had steel and iron then, for the humans were happy to hand them over in return for our crafts, the gold in our rivers, even our steeds. I want those days to return, where to leave the forest and ride the plain was not an excursion into hostile territory. The nearby human city is called Zerannon, an elven name which shows how strong our influence was over them once. Doing this could get us our artefacts back, increase the flow and variety of goods coming into our realm, and allow our influence to grow. We are already known as fearsome fighters for our contribution to their war, so they know we are strong enough not to do whatever they wish of us. You are choosing conflicts against the humans and our own people that would surely doom us; I have chosen one conflict that could benefit us all. Who is truly being stupid here?’
‘Fine words!’ said Dramalliel. ‘But there would be many obstacles to cross before this vision of yours can be realised. Say you have supported the wrong side and this war is lost. Where are we then? A people worthy of scorn, of jest?’
‘We would be no worse off than we are now.’
‘Tell that to Cullenan of the Ometahan. He has supported you in this enterprise, but, if it goes wrong, do you not think he would hesitate to twist the knife into us? He could get support from tribes who are normally our allies, call a vote of censure against us that would limit our future voting power for up to five years. Your gamble could change the balance of power here for ever and very much to our detriment.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘I will ensure that, whatever the outcome of the war, we will withdraw with no loss to our dignity or our influence.’ Her words were weak and she knew it.
‘So you admit you are gambling with our people’s future?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I am taking a risk, but it is but a fraction of the one you will be taking with your desire to go to war with everyone. We are going round in circles here; your terms I cannot accept. Isolation is death for our people and to foment conflict with the Ometahan is unforgiveable. Now what are you going to do? Bear in mind that there are four hundred warriors proven in battle just a few days over the mountains. If anything happens to me, they will be coming for you. I have promised Culleneron my hand; if you threaten me, you threaten him and destroy the unity of our people.’ She, of course, had promised Culleneron nothing of the sort, but felt the need to strengthen her admittedly poor hand. Her brother, after all, could have her killed on the spot.
Dramalliel looked to the heavens; this was not going the way he wanted it.
‘So you will not even withdraw from this pointless conflict?’
‘No.’
‘Then we are at war with each other then.’
‘So it seems.’
‘If Culleneron fights for you, then many will die on both sides.’
‘I am glad you can see that.’
Dramalliel went to put his hands on his sister’s shoulders but she stepped away from him, her eyes displaying her hurt at his betrayal. She could see him thinking, thinking whether to follow through with his earlier threats to use violence against her. She hoped that her bluff about having the Ometahan fight for her would work, but more than that she hoped he would desist because she was his sister. Despite everything, she still wanted that to count for something between them.
And apparently it did.
‘What do you suggest then, to avoid bloodshed?’ he asked her.
‘Your rebellion is not yet an open one?’ she asked. ‘If it is not, then do nothing. Let me accede as is right and proper and I will forget this conversation has ever happened.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it is not yet open, that is true, but I have made promises to people, Tiavon and the like, that are dependent on achieving the conditions I have mentioned earlier. They might expect compromise, but to achieve none of them will not be acceptable.’
‘But, you idiot, I cannot accept any of them.’
Dramalliel hesitated a second before speaking again. ‘There is another way, one I was only going to mention as a last resort.’
‘And what is that?’
‘That I challenge you openly but stand down my forces. A challenge without mass bloodshed. The winner takes control of the tribe; the loser goes into exile voluntarily.’
Itheya’s mouth opened a little. ‘Are you suggesting a duel?’
‘Yes, fought in the old way – me against you. We fight until the other submits.’
‘Or dies.’
He nodded without answering.
Itheya considered for a minute. She had hoped that he would listen to reason, that his intransigence would be temporary, but now realised that his allies would not let him back down. She did not know how much support for her there was in the tribe and realised that he could easily order the death of both her and her escort before she could ever get to find out. She had but little choice.
‘This has not been done for hundreds of years,’ she said sadly. ‘But if this is what you wish I will accede to your demands. I will fight you, brother, and once it is over we will never see each other again. Now I wish to see Father’s grave before we return home together and you issue your challenge.’
‘Then let us go together; it seems appropriate that we should see him thus. I remember as a child Terath berating Father for being selfish enough to have two children, for in having two the seeds of future conflict are already sown. No doubt you think him wise – that I should never have been born.’
‘No,’ – she sounded deflated – ‘I would never say that of you. I just wish you had crossed the mountain with me for none of this trouble would have arisen. You know, Dramalliel...’
‘What do I know?’
‘With your desire for power, your determination to set tribe against tribe, to wage war on our neighbours across the plain and to set yourself up over all others...’
‘Yes.’
‘You have made yourself more human than any of us. The only things you are missing are your round ears.’
‘That is a bad joke, sister.’
‘I wish it were, I really do.’
They walked back to the path where their horses were waiting patient as statues, Itheya called to her escort to stay where they were, Dramalliel to his, and then together the two of them rode off to see their father where he rested under the dappled gloom, the first and last time they were ever to do such a thing as brother accompanying sister, and, as they rode, the first faint snow flurries of winter marked their silent passing.
29
‘This, young Willem, is the fleapit. Overwhelmed, aren’t you?’ Haelward could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
From outside, it looked just like another of the town’s grubby taverns, a timber-framed building whose whitewashed walls had long since been sullied into a grimier brown by the elements. Inside, it was equally unprepossessing – chairs, tables, a large roaring fire and a packed-earth floor strewn with loose straw. However, if one were to walk through the heavy door next to the small bar, instead of descending the steep flight of s
teps into a beer cellar, one would instead walk into a small circular amphitheatre, concentric rings of descending height ending in a circular floor of small, tightly packed cobbles some fifteen feet in diameter. Haelward and Willem were standing on the top tier, looking down, the only people there at the moment.
‘Tonight this place will be packed out,’ Haelward continued. ‘The gang leaders sit at the bottom circle – yes, they even have chairs brought out for them – and they send their runners back and forth to the top circle where the gamblers hang out.’
‘And the fights take place in the circle at the bottom?’ asked Willem.
‘Yes, they cover the cobbles with sand from the beach; it mops up the blood, you see. Normally they just have cockfights here two or three times a week. The spike fights are rarer – purely because of the risk to the participants; no gang leader wants his favourite fighter killed, after all.’
Willem started at this. ‘Killed? I thought these fights were only to first blood?’
Haelward turned to face the younger man, his tone was world weary. ‘Have you forgotten what Odo Kegertsa said to us? Shall I tell you exactly what a spike fight is?’
Willem nodded eagerly. ‘Please. I may not be that perceptive but I am guessing some sort of spike is involved.’
‘Very smart of you. Firstly, they are illegal; some grand duke outlawed them about a hundred years ago after some of his troops got their faces smashed in. Spike, I believe, is a corruption of some Kudreyan word, for it is from them the entire thing has been stolen, hence its popularity in port cities over inland ones. I believe some inns in Zerannon had them going on, but I had no interest in going to see one. I rather thought I had put all this behind me, to be honest. Anyhow, what they mean by a spike fight actually refers to a type of flail, a metal ball attached to a chain attached to a wooden handle.’
‘And the ball has spikes on it?’
The Forgotten War Page 114
