The darker forest realm made her feel more comfortable than the trail and very much more than the city. She saw signs of a fire that must have swept through the area fifty or a hundred years earlier. For every fire-scarred giant still standing, she saw ten smaller, younger trees. Though most were evergreens, a few aspen and birch groves had carved out their own islands on the hillside. Dried orange pine needles carpeted the ground, but dark-green ferns and bushes sprouted up where sunlight pierced the verdant ceiling above.
The riders formed up in single file as they directed their horses onto a game trail. The young trees allowed for a fairly good field of vision, though the ravines and wrinkles in the landscape could have hidden dozens of Haladina. The guards kept a careful watch, with half of them resting their drawn swords across the pommel of their saddles. Their procession moved more quietly than Gena would have normally assumed Men could, and she knew, were these the ancient Cygestolian forests, the lot of them could have been taken by Elven Foresters before they realized they were under attack.
Her apprehension did not slacken as the troops crested a gentle rise and looked down on the campsite. The center of the small depression had been cleared of trees, which, in turn, had been used to make the crude lean-tos half dug into the hillside. A narrow footpath leading up and away on the opposite side of the depression suggested water could be found over in that direction, while another area on the north end of the gully looked to be where the Haladina picketed their horses. Down the center of the campsite ran a line of three firepits, bordered on all sides by logs or stones suitable for seating.
Berengar brought his horse back next to hers and leaned over. "As we thought, a campsite. From the smoke and ashes I would guess they heard Waldo and his men coming out here ahead of us and fled, probably off to the north."
The explanation made sense to Gena. If Waldo and his squad had followed the same trail, they would have entered the depression from the south, so heading out north would have made sense. "Do you think Waldo and his men have pursued them?"
Berengar nodded. "He's probably chased them halfway to Ispar by now." He pointed to the campsite. "Do you want to inspect it?"
"Please."
They rode on down into the bowl and dismounted. Gena crouched by one of the firepits and warmed her hands over the embers. "They must have left close to dawn, after banking the fire for the night. They made no attempt to extinguish the fires when they departed."
Berengar chuckled, hooking his thumbs in his swordbelt. "I have never known the Haladina to be fastidious or concerned with more than escape when pursued by Aurdon Rangers."
"You have a point there." Gena rose and crossed over to one of the lean-tos. Dark and damp, it smelled more of woodrot than Man-musk to her, but the worn blankets and scraps of cloth scattered around the enclosure suggested both human habitation and a quick departure. Everything looked appropriate, but still something did not feel quite right. She could not identify the incongruities, but they gnawed at her.
Her apprehension spiked when she turned back toward the firepits and saw the guards had spread themselves out through the camp. Dismounted, using their swords to stir ashes and poke lumps of leaves, they had abandoned their previous caution. Even Berengar seemed bored, his eyes unfocused as his mind drifted.
Across from her, where the footpath to water curved around a colossal pine, she saw the flash and heard the snap of a flashdrake's talon falling. As the puff of smoke curling up from the longgunne evaporated, she saw a swarthy Haladin face break into a fierce bejeweled grin. Even as she gestured in his direction and screamed a warning, keening Haladin war cries drowned her out, and a dozen of the Outland warriors broke through the brush to reclaim their camp from the count and his men.
Chapter 8:
The Long Ride
Late Summer
Reign of the Red Tiger Year 1
Five Centuries Ago
My Thirty-fifth Year
***
IT STRUCK ME, as I rode from Aurium in the company of the Lansorii Honorari, that a Haladin ambush was the least of my worries. In actuality I felt less in their company than in their custody. Had they been inclined to trust me, I'm certain they would have left me eating their dust for the whole of the journey. Because they did not, two lancers rode behind me, far enough back so they avoided my dust, but close enough to make me turn this way and that to keep track of them.
Aurium, being the size it was, was a mite small for supporting the Steel Pack for the time we would be away. While our fighting force numbered four hundred, grooms, armorers, quartermasters, and camp followers swelled the ranks to near double. Before I left, I struck a deal with Festus and Childeric that allowed my people to set up camp on the other side of the Aur River. The Steel Pack foraged for game, and all excess was sold to the merchants in exchange for grains and other staples. Aurium, in turn, paid for protection and advice on how to fortify the town against raiders, the net result of all this being suitable living conditions for my men and a slight profit for the merchants.
While Drogo gladly accepted promotion to acting commander in my absence, he tried to convince me that going with the Elves would be my death. He didn't trust them, and given history, I knew well his reasons. Part of me, deep down, shared his fear for my safety, but my friendship with Aarundel erased the past. The confrontation at the legislatorium made it clear he was not going to let the Elves sent to fetch him home give me trouble.
The journey itself would likely provide all the trouble any of us needed. The distance between Aurium and Cygestolia was near twelve hundred miles as the crow flies, but given that summer was slipping fast into the season of ice, not much was flying from the south up toward the north. More to the point, none of us had wings; as we were ground bound, the journey would take close to two months, and that only if we pushed the horses as hard as they would go.
The journey would also take us, albeit briefly, through Reithrese territory. While it struck me as unlikely that the Reithrese would actually attack an Elven troop; my presence might spur some ambitious Reithrese on to rash action. I was thinking, given the utter silence that greeted my presence as we rode off, that the honor guard would gladly give me over to any Reithrese we met. At the very least that would make me late for the wedding, so I was not looking forward to any confrontation that made my delivery to the enemy a viable solution.
Aarundel and I had decided during a late-night conversation that the permission for him to marry Marta had come because of the headway the Red Tiger was making in his war with the Reithrese. We both knew that the Consilliarii would love nothing better than having Men bleed the Reithrese while getting equally bled. Remaining neutral and watching both sides weaken each other meant that the Elves would not be challenged and not faced with the prospect of another crusade of the sort that spawned the Eldsaga.
Not that the Red Tiger's victory might not do just that, of course. Aarundel had pointed out a number of times that certain actions might invoke the wrath of the Elven nation, so the Red Tiger studiously avoided them. When Polston fell, for example, the Reithrese priests were allowed to deconsecrate their temples and withdraw from the city unmolested. Attention to Elven concerns meant that we waged a war which we kept civilized—no mean feat—and that, in turn, meant we remained in control and actually thought in terms of strategy and tactics before we hurled ourselves into battle. Even Sture avoided the elemental tactical mistakes that had cost his father his life and his realm.
The Consilliarii considered this shift in the way Men waged war to be the result of Aarundel's influence in our force. It is true that strategy and tactics were something that the longer-term Elven perspective made possible, but their introduction to our councils was not made by Aarundel alone. I had seen enough in watching the battles waged by and against Tashayul to see where victory had been snatched from the jaws of defeat by the Reithrese's superior planning. In doing so I realized that forethought, which brought with it an awareness of terrain, weather, supply, mora
le, and a host of other factors, could make a meagre force far more powerful than it had any right to be.
The Red Tiger himself came at tactics from an entirely different direction. Having been enslaved by the Reithrese, he saw their utter disregard for life, and human life especially. In losing friends to carelessness and cruelty, he saw no reason to win with blood what could be taken by stealth, surprise, and superior planning. While he saw the Reithrese nation as a giant scorpion preying on humanity, he knew the Reithrese army—filled out with Haladin warriors—was the scorpion's sting. Eliminating it or its ability to fight would force the scorpion to withdraw and win him the war more easily than anyone could imagine.
The Consilliarii's recalling of Aarundel was proof they could not imagine Men learning from past mistakes. By stripping us of his expertise, I assumed they thought we would collapse after having liberated Centisia. By withdrawing Aarundel they could claim to the Reithrese that they prevented the Red Tiger from overthrowing them. If we kept on winning, the lack of an Elf in our midst would free the Reithrese to use any means at their disposal to oppose and defeat us.
All of my thinking on this subject occurred in a vacuum. The Elves had decided to ignore me as best they could, but I'd probably not have discussed all this with them even under torture. Shijef might have offered interesting comments, but he opted to isolate me as well. He got along no better than I with the Elves, but he was used to a solitary existence and apparently had decided I should see what it felt like.
We had left Aurium early in the day and headed roughly northwest. We continued on for two hours, outstripping evidence of human habitation. The Elves and their mounts moved through the forest with a preternatural ability that included shadows' reluctance to surrender them to light. Even the slight clanking of their armor dulled in the forest, and as I looked around, I realized I could see only the two Elves directly in front of me. The rest had disappeared.
I knew the Elves meant to shock me and inspire fear in me. They succeeded, for I could easily imagine the terror of people in the Eldsaga when the Elven Legions materialized at the edge of a forest before riding down some tiny village. I also knew that Aarundel, up there at the head of the line, was allowing his compatriots' pranks because he would have been surprised if I showed fear. In his honor, and for the pride of Men everywhere, I relaxed in the saddle and started humming a little tune.
I resolved to smile as well because the day had dawned bright and even in the deep forest, the sun managed to warm the air. Slate-gray tree bark broke up the deep greens and bright rust of evergreen needles present and past. The trail on which we rode wound around, up and down, through various little hills and along streambeds. I was thinking it was a game trail because it tended to go around things instead of over them, but piles of mossless stones at certain points along the way told me Men had been using it recently.
Mud splashed up from our horses' hooves as we picked our way down a swampy streambed. Clouds of needle-flies rose up but ignored the Elves in favor of me. Slapping the little bloodsuckers distracted me enough that I missed the spot where the others had ridden up from the streambed. Blackstar, apparently likewise immune to the insects, plodded on and started up on the far side of the muddy track. I gave him his head, and though I saw nothing ahead of me, I assumed I was headed in the right direction.
Though I had lost sight of them for only a moment and had spent less than a minute in locating them again, the Elves surprised me when I found them. They had already shucked their armor, unsaddled their horses, and set up camp on a hilltop plateau. As I came through the circle of oaks that denned the perimeter of their camp, I wondered at how the trees would have taken root in such a precise pattern. Once inside, however, the answer to that question seemed unimportant, and I began to feel as if I were suffering from a morning-after without ever having enjoyed the night before.
A bit shaky, I swung out of the saddle, and a dizzy wave crested over me. I flailed at the saddle with my right hand, causing Blackstar to shy away from me when I needed the support. I kicked my left foot free of the stirrup and braced myself for the Elves' piercing ridicule. Before I could land flat on my back however, strong hands grasped me under the armpits and steadied me.
The dizziness vanished when my feet hit the ground. I felt energy pour up from the earth through the soles of my boots. My toes curled down into claws, and my spine arched back as millions of pinpricks raced up my body. I wanted to yelp from pain and surprise, but the power froze my throat. Old air burned in my lungs, but the urgency with which I felt I needed to breathe dissolved as the tingling bounced around inside my skull, then seemed to explode out through my forehead.
I dropped to my right knee, pressing my right hand to the ground to steady myself. I swiped with my left hand at the stinging sweat searing my eyes, then looked up at the Elves gathered at the center of the circle. They regarded me closely, watching and waiting for something. I snarled at them, then forced myself erect. I repaid their curiosity with defiance and received surprise back again.
Aarundel clapped me on the back. "I had not realized we were so close to a circus translatio."
"A what?"
He crossed to where Blackstar stood and picked up the dangling reins. "This is a place of great magick. Magii sylvani wove great spells here eons ago. Had you not been with us, were the perimeter not disturbed by our recent passage, you would likely not have noticed this place existed. If you had, you would have most probably decided it was evil and have chosen to avoid it." He led the horse over to where the others were picketed, and I followed. "That is fortunate because the results could have been disastrous."
I frowned. "What are you talking about? What I felt here was not pleasant at all. If that wasn't a disaster, I'm thinking I don't want to know what would have been."
Aarundel gave me an open smile. "Among Men, the ability to cope with magickal energies is much akin to the tolerance for vital libations. With some, evidence your man Gathelus, even a weak drink profoundly impairs them."
I nodded. If Gathelus so much as stands downwind of an open bottle of wine, he falls fast asleep. Drogo and Fursey Nine-finger, by contrast, could use Nakanese brandy as blood and still remain sharp. "Entering here could have left me senseless?"
"It could have killed you—in theory—though I knew you would survive." He shrugged casually as he slipped the cinch strap on Blackstar's saddle. "I know you well enough to know that your ability to tolerate magicks is substantial."
"How?"
Aarundel tapped his left eye and smiled. "I have seen it. You have made oaths and they have been verified." He pointed back in the direction of Aurium. "When you joined those two families, you made an oath, and it will survive. Had you been educated in the Art, you would be, for a Man, a very powerful magician."
I shook my head, refusing to believe him. "I'm not saying you may not be right, but I'm thinking you're counting a lot on an oath not yet two days old."
"You vowed to kill Tashayul, and cited prophecies that came true."
"Luck, not power."
"Oh, you are Fortune's child, Neal—and your birth beneath the Triangle proves it—but you have power as well." He glanced back over his shoulder at the other Elves. "They expected you to faint and, if you had, would have used that as a reason you should not be taken with us."
"You will understand if I say that disappointing them does not cause me much pain." I slipped a halter over Blackstar's head, then attached the lead to the picket line. "Why are we stopping here? It is barely noon, and we've a long ride before us."
Aarundel smiled knowingly. "But not as long as you imagine, my friend. Rest here, and we will be off when it gets dark."
One of the other Elves called to him, and Aarundel answered quickly in the Sylvan tongue. I smiled and nodded toward the other Elves. "Go, speak with them. You've been apart from your people for a long time, and they are an honor guard. They're proud to be here, and we should respect that."
"Thank you for unders
tanding."
I winked. "What are friends for?"
Aarundel walked off and squatted down at the base of one of the oaks. I leaned back and watched them jabbering away among themselves. Every so often, though I understood nothing they said, I laughed, japing them. That generally prompted their voices to sink to whispers until a speaker became excited enough that his voice rose, and I laughed again.
In their vanity—and their reaction to my laughter—I found Elves far nearer to Men than either side of the Eldsaga would ever like to admit. That set a great part of me at ease, which is why, seated there with over a dozen people who had once tried to exterminate my ancestors, I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke quite alert, which I put down to the power of the magick circle instead of my distrust of my companions. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I found Shijef crouched at my side. His fetid breath bathed me with the scent of long-deceased, recently devoured forest creatures. "Seek they steal Shijef." The Dreel pointed toward the Elves, then flexed his left paw, extending the claws. "Lifeblack pools."
I frowned as a semicircle of Elves approached us. Each of them wore a silver coronet, two silver bracelets, and a pair of anklets. The fire burning behind them flashed from the slender silver chain connecting bracelets up and over their shoulders. Two other looping chains hung from the coronet at their temples and linked into the shoulder chain. I suspected that similar chains ran up the backs of their legs and connected as well to the shoulder line, but I could not be certain because of the loose-legged black trousers they wore.
I grabbed a thick handful of the mane at the back of Shijef s neck and pulled myself erect. I knew it had to hurt him, but I wanted that to remind him who was master and who was slave. His appeal to me was not a request for rescue, but his asking permission to kill as many of them as he could. He knew I would not give it, but he asked in hopes I might make a mistake.
Once A Hero Page 14
