by Robert Day
“I don't know, but I feel almost like a puppet. To think they tell what will come to pass makes me feel like a pawn, somehow.”
Noticing her brother's resentful tone, Kitara moved to reassure him. “But these Omens are only what may come to pass, Andy, and there are many of them, probably too many for Ka'Varel to copy into a hundred books. Besides, they do not refer to actual happenings as such, but events, like junctures. It is these that make the prophecy.”
“I suppose you are right.” Andrak sighed, sniffing against the faint effects of a cold from the rain soaked day. “Still, it is a humbling thought that ‘we’ need to do certain things, which will affect certain prophecies. Who would have thought?”
“Not I,” assured Kitara, rolling onto her back and raising the covers to her neck. “Yet I would like to read that book of Ka'Varel's, to see what other prophecies might concern us.”
“Well, if we are mentioned more than a few times, I don't want to know,” declared Andrak softly, fighting a yawn. “I feel enough pressure as it is, rather than have the weight of a hundred prophecies hinging on my every move. As you said, there are probably countless many of them, so we can just hope that what we do is what is meant to be. Besides, what if we are meant to do things we would rather not do? Would you not do something because you did not want to, knowing the outcome of a prophecy might hinge on it?”
The question hung in the air as Kitara pondered it, suddenly realizing there were many possibilities where the prophecies were concerned, and she did not know the answer to her brother's question. She would have liked to say 'No', but there were indeed things that would give her pause should she have the decision put before her, between desire and necessity. She thought of Valdieron then, strangely enough, and when she heard Andrak's regular, soft breathing, she rolled back over onto her side and closed her eyes.
Her thoughts were varied and oppressive as she struggled for sleep, and when she found it, her dreams were more so, yet they were the type that were numerous but not easily recollected, so when she woke the next morning, try as she might, she could not remember what she had dreamed of, only that Valdieron had been in there somewhere. Not for the first time, she wondered where he was at that moment.
In the ensuing days, Kitara was able to get the book of prophecies from Ka'Varel. Though it seemed she was reading nonsensical words with many of the phrases, a few made some semblance of sense. Many spoke of unknown people and places, as well as crucial events and occurrences at certain times that were equally enigmatic. She found references to the Elves and ‘The Lion’ a few more times, along with the Crown and Rose of their family, but few others were easily decipherable.
There was one focus of many of the prophecies, however, which seemed to be towards somebody of great importance and power, who would be the main force behind the crushing of the Demon hosts. He, for the phrases often spoke of ‘he’, or ‘the son of’, was referred to in the same vein as the demons and the one power that opposed them. Most often she found he was related to the Sky or Dragons, yet there were others, like 'Son of the Dead Race' and 'Flame Wielder'.
When she asked Ka'Varel who this might be, however, he merely shrugged and replied, “I cannot say.”
When pressed whether that meant he did not know, or could not say, the old man was equally vague. “He will come, however, and when he does we will know if he is the right one.” Showing this was all he had to say of the matter, Ka'Varel shifted to ride beside Tyrun, leaving the bemused Princess with more questions than answers.
Valdieron took another drink from his canteen, hoping to ease his parched throat, though he knew it wouldn't for long. It was not hot; in fact the early spring day was overcast, and the morning sun half hidden as it rode the heavens. There was also no end to the pounding in his head, which had diminished little in the two days since he had left Garthtown and the strange incident behind.
Yet he carried the harsh memories like a burden, wondering not for the first time their implications. He ran it through his mind numerous times, wondering where Kaylara fit in, and why the two thieves had been after his pendant and sword.
A soft breeze breathed on his sweat-covered skin, causing him to pull the folds of his protective mantle around him. He had perspired constantly since the incident at the Inn, and assumed it was a result of his system fighting the lingering effects of the drug they had used on him.
Luckily for him, there was no pursuit from the city, or at least none that caught the fleet footed stallion. What laws there might be regarding self defense were unknown to him, but he could not let himself be detained for what might be an indefinite amount of time. It had been self-defense, he reminded himself adamantly, and the two thieves had been the ones to approach him, sneaking in on him while he slept. He had struck the first blow on the first thief who reached for the pendant, but the blow had only been meant to knock him away. The thief may have even been still alive; depending on the power the Tear had jolted him with.
He was thankful there were only a handful of other small towns or villages south of Garthtown, and he wondered when he would reach the lands of the Darishi. The land had fallen away gradually, becoming flatter and harsher; rocky patches becoming more prevalent and the sparse brown tinged grass littered with bracken and other stringy plants. There were few trees, often set in small copses at distant intervals, varying from towering poplars to other skeletal trees with arcing branches that may have been related to the Elm.
Game was also sparse, though when he took the extra time and effort he was almost always rewarded with a wandering hare or grouse. More often than not, the lightning fast Kaz proved more effective than his bow, the great cat stalking their pray with the innate talent of his kind. He was only relatively new at this game, however, and most times he would fail, but he learned quickly from these mistakes that often meant hungry hours before the next attempt. The challenge, however, was to teach him how not to tear the animal apart when he caught it, or to give the catch up so Valdieron could have some.
Not knowing what to expect from the Darishi, Valdieron stayed on the road as often as possible, leaving it only to find shelter from the weather when necessary, to hunt, or find a haven for the night in a ravine or a copse of trees. From what he had heard, the Darishi were aloof as a people, though fiercely competitive between clans who had been feuding over land rights for many generations. Occasionally he would see small piles of stones heaped into a certain pattern, which he first guessed to be burial sights, but later assumed were land markers.
With no distinguishable border, he estimated he was no more than five leagues into Darishi when he realized he was being followed. Halted momentarily to take some water, the distant neighing of a horse floated to him from over his right shoulder. He spun quickly, expecting Ashar'an assassins or soldiers from Garthtown, but instead caught a fleeting glimpse of a mounted Darishi slipping beyond the far rise. Hoping he was just a guardian or watcher, Valdieron continued along the road, though he kept a constant lookout for danger.
He spotted a few more as the day wore on, but none came near him so he passed them off as watchers, though he made sure he stayed to the road. He made his camp by the roadside that night, lighting no fires and sleeping on the hard ground rather than in his hammock, as there were no trees within a hundred paces of the road on either side. He was feeling back to normal now, his head having ceased its incessant throbbing, and he no longer broke out in a cold sweat for no reason.
It didn’t come as much of a surprise when a small party of Darishi appeared in the distance two days later and galloped towards him, coming from the south east. It was a bright, clear morning, the fiery orange sun not yet twice its size above the flat horizon, with a few sparse clouds to the south, which might bring a late afternoon change.
He reined Shakk in and looped a leg over the front of the saddle, trying to appear calm as he waited for the small group. With a soft command he brought Kaz to his side, the large Moorcat resting on his paunches, though he ey
ed the horsemen unblinkingly, his pointed ears twitching with each beat of hooves. He growled deeply in his throat, but obediently remained unmoving, even as Shakk's restless stomping drew close to him.
There were nine Darishi in the group, and he was surprised by their appearance, even though he had seen and battled against a few in the Trial of Combat in Thorhus. These riders were dressed in a variety of cured skins covering their torsos, and also wore thick black furred capes fastened around their necks with golden chains. Each carried a short thick bow, nocked with silver fletched arrows, along with a weapon at their hip or hanging from the pommel of their saddles.
He noticed two of the young horsemen were both visibly and physically different from the others. They were young, a little older than him at a guess, and wore pendants, chains and rings that were both gem encrusted and interwoven with plain stone, wood and bones. Both had raven dark hair plaited over both ears and secured with colored ribbons. Both were tall and muscular, though one was even more so, and both carried sheathed swords, long and slender for ease of handling on horseback.
The thunder of their hooves dissipated with a cacophony of snorting and whinnying as the group drew short well within bowshot, and the two different men rode forward flanked by two others. The horses were magnificent, and Valdieron eyed them with the careful eye of one trained to do so, and wondered what a single one of them would cost. The two guards rode roan mares, easily sixteen hands high, with mane and tail braided and interwoven with gold and silver thread. Their saddles were of gilded silver bearing ornate carvings and symbols, while their leathers were tanned dark and also inscribed with strange markings.
The other two rode large stallions, one as dark as a cloudy night and the other grey like an inclement storm in the distant sky. Their tack was similar to the others, though gilded. They looked upon Valdieron with curious smiles, like cats looking upon a mouse with nowhere to go.
Bringing their mounts to face Valdieron, there was a curious silence broken by the nervous animals' snorting and stomping as the two other stallions strained to come closer to Shakk. They were obviously well trained, however, and ceased after a soft command and dominating jerk of the reins, though Shakk appeared as calm as ever, his only give-away being the tenseness of his neck and shoulders as he stared at the other two while trying to dig up some stray grass from the soft dirt road.
The taller of the two spoke first, regarding Val with a cool grin, which came across as slightly mocking. His gaze flicked over Shakk with silent appraisal before resting for a time on Kaz, a little uncertainty gleaming in those dark grey pools.
“Greetings, from the Black Lion Clan.” This explained their black capes, though the hide could have been from any number of animals, and Valdieron had never heard of a black lion. Still, he could not discount the claim. “I am called Dhalan, Chieftain of the Black Lion clan, and this is my brother, Khalan, First Cavalier and second in line for the title of HorseLord of the Clan.”
Somewhat bewildered by the strange terms for these clansmen, Valdieron watched as Dhalan touched his forehead with a silver pendant attached to his reins. It was circular and plain, and was fastened to each set of leathers. Surprisingly, Khalan did not offer any form of greeting, merely watched him closely, his thin mouth turned up in the likeness of a wolfish grin.
Valdieron returned a curt nod, not knowing how to address these two who appeared somewhat noble in appearance. They were obviously important by their titles, probably the equivalent of Princes in Ariakus, yet he suspected that to offer some form of obeisance from out of the saddle would appear offensive and insulting. “I am Valdieron of Tyr.”
Khalan's eyes flicked angrily for a moment, though Dhalan appeared amused by the greeting. His grin widened, however, and he unconsciously flicked the reins over as the horse shifted beneath him, causing him to frown momentarily. “You are known to us, Valdieron of Tyr. By reputation only,” he continued quickly, seeing Valdieron’s sudden surprised expression, “but a reputation of considerable size, to be sure. It seems some in Thorhus now regard you as the potential victor in next year's tournament.”
Valdieron tried to hide his shock with a modest smile and shrugged. He had not expected word of the tournament to spread this far so fast, let alone word of his own deeds, but it seemed these Darishi knew much of what had transpired during the tournament. He could not recall a Darishi entrant in the Tournament from the Black Lion clan.
“Rumor has no doubt been magnified to dwarf the actual events,” offered Valdieron, wondering what else these plainsmen may have heard about him, perhaps even what occurred in Garthtown, though they appeared affable. He assumed that if they were after him to bring him in for his deeds, they would have used surprise and speed, having him outnumbered by so many.
Dhalan inclined his head in acceptance, but still his smile widened. “Be that as it may, any defeat of Javin of the Water Seekers Clan is worthy of praise. He is considered unbeatable by many who know and oppose him.” There was a steely tone to the young man's voice as he spoke of Javin, whom Valdieron remembered for his flashing twin sabers, and he sensed there was some rivalry between the two.
“You keep strange company, Valdieron of Tyr!” This from Khalan, more of an accusation than a comment, though Valdieron was glad for the interruption. Not knowing where the mentioning of Javin might take the conversation, he may have caused insult through ignorance had they continued, not knowing what lay between Dhalan and Javin.
Fortunately, Dhalan seemed unconcerned by the interruption and turned his gaze back to Kaz, who continued to watch the two riders from where he crouched at Shakk's left flank. “Yes. As I recall, Banded Moorcat are somewhat rare in the Northlands.”
“His mother was trapped and slaughtered by Hrolth near Ranil, and he has taken to me.” Valdieron made light of it, hoping this truth would not be taken for an attempt at misleading them. “He is not dangerous.” He was going to add ‘unless angered’, but thought it may have sounded like a threat. As it was, Dhalan spread his hands in placation.
“It is just strange to see one travelling with such a strange companion. We have seen that he is well behaved. It is just that we value our Horses above our lives, so any possible threat we have to investigate.”
“So this is about the Moorcat?” asked Valdieron unconvincingly. He knew these two had other reasons for confronting him, else they could have continued to observe from a distance.
Once again Dhalan smiled and spread his hands as if conceding that he had been found out. “Yes, but I’m sure our father, the Clanchief of the Black Lion Clan, would have you stay with us for a brief time. It is rare that we have visitors, especially from the Northlands. It is news we seek, plus he would no doubt like to hear you retell your account of the Tournament.”
Valdieron wondered again at the truth behind the answer. Still, rather than insult these obviously proud people, he conceded that it would be prudent for him to learn a little more about these people and the land before he ventured much further, and this seemed like a good opportunity.
“I would be honored to visit with your Clan, Dhalan.”
“Excellent. We are currently stationed about thirty leagues from here, at Salt Springs. We should be able to reach it by tomorrow evening.” He said this with a glimpse at Shakk, and Valdieron wondered if the Darishi had not meant it as a quip, though it was lost on him. Dhalan and Khalan were already wheeling however, the two guards flanking them quickly, and Valdieron had to urge Shakk forward. There was a brief command in the Darishi dialect from Dhalan, which had the remaining five guards encircle the group to the rear, enclosing Valdieron and Kaz, who skittishly eyed the horses around him.
They proceeded towards the west, the pace not fast but constant, before Dhalan wheeled the group towards the South west. Valdieron was quietly grateful for this, as it had him at least heading towards where he was travelling, so hopefully he would not lose much time with the stopover.
Settling into a comfortable position, he studied
his surroundings as they rode, as well as the Darishi. It was obvious they were expert riders, commanding their mounts with barely a movement of the reins or pressure from the knees. He took to trying to emulate some of their actions, for although he was an experienced rider, there was much he could learn from these people who spent most of their life on horseback.
With Shakk tirelessly bearing him onward, he lost himself to the sights and smells of the stark yet beautiful landscape. Although concerned with the burden of his quest, he reveled in the freedom of the ride and the exhilarating freedom he felt riding with the nomadic plainsmen. Thoughts of sadness, regret, anger and resentment faded with the afternoon daylight.
Chapter 4
Overhead, the stars dominated the heavens, joined briefly by thousands of orange sparks lifted from the large fire, to burn out in the cold darkness above. Qantari was only new, and would not be seen that night as anything more than a faint arch, while his twin, Santari, was waning, and would not show himself for many hours yet. It was dark in all directions, and as quiet as an ocean, save for a few insects and the crackle of the fire or the occasional stamp of hoof or swish of tail from the dormant horses lined nearby.
Valdieron sat across from Dhalan. The tall Darishi appeared mystical, his dark skin incandescent carmine under the dancing flames. He was intent on honing the edge of a long saber with a smooth grey stone and a flat of leather, though he was taking in Valdieron's every word as he spoke at length on his travels, with the obvious important and secret parts omitted.
They had eaten, a stew of freshly cooked rabbit and pheasant mixed with plant tubers and herbs, cooked by one of the guards, and Valdieron had devoured his portion after an initial concern that the food may have been drugged or poisoned. The incident at Garthtown had shown him that trust and acceptance go only so far.
