by Rick Shelley
The route to the crypt wasn't as brightly lit as it had been for the funeral procession, but there were occasional torches along the way, even one inside the burial chamber-fresh, so someone took care to keep a light burning there.
I don't think I went down there to communicate with the dead. I never believed that was possible. I'm not sure why I headed almost instinctively for the crypt that night. Maybe Hamlet was working on my head again. A stone-carver had been at work, preparing the headstone on the new niche. Dad's name was finished, but not the dates. I put my hands against the stone. Cold marble. In my mind, I talked to Dad, told him what I was planning to try, confessed that I was scared, that I didn't see how I could possibly pull it off. No matter what kind of front I put on for the living folks upstairs, I still didn't know what I was doing, I was scared, and I wanted to run for home and try to forget the whole nightmare.
Dad didn't answer.
It was appropriately chilly in the crypt, and I got hungry almost at once, as ghoulish as that might sound. But I didn't leave. I was in no real hurry to get out of the crypt, and that surprised me.
It was eerie. The slightest noise echoed over and over, forcing me to pay attention, to look around me almost constantly, as if someone might sneak up on me down there.
I looked at the capstones on the other niches. There were a lot of them. The dates weren't A.D. or B.C., so I couldn't place them absolutely, but the numbers ranged from a high of 3713 down to a death date of 177 on the stone labeled Vara, right in the center. Looking at the wall, it was kings to the left and Heroes to the right.
Something happened. I don't have any idea what it was-something just inside my head, I think. I hope. I got so frightened, though, that I almost chickened out and ran for home again. When I could control the panic, I forced myself to stand there and look at the wall of burial niches again. I wondered where they would put me when the time came, if I served as both Hero and king. Which end would be mine? Or would they start using the other wall and put me in the middle opposite Vara? Gloomy thoughts in a gloomy place. Of course, the odds looked good that the question wouldn't arise. I might easily end up in the vault before Pregel. I assumed that that would put me next to my father, or just above him.
Gil Tyner, King of Varay? It sounded crazy, absurd. There was a surrealistic air about the entire situation. That feeling was as dangerous as the Elflord of Xayber or the Etevar of Dorthin. Maybe I hoped that standing in the crypt where we had buried the last Hero would help etch the reality in my mind. How can you prepare for mortal danger, make it feel as real as it has to feel? I didn't have a drill sergeant to scream at me, or banner headlines in newspapers and network anchormen wailing about a war. No jingoistic propaganda, no visible evidence of the danger but that stone on my father's burial niche.
I guess I spent a couple of hours there, standing before the rows and layers of dead kings and heroes while my mind drifted wherever it wanted to go. Part of the time I thought about things Dad and I had done together. At times I could almost hear him talking to me-memory-talking, not spirit-talking-bits of lessons he had taught me, even some of the corny jokes he liked to tell just to hear people groan. I tried to come to grips with my resentment over the secret life my parents had led. Maybe all parents lead lives their children don't know about, but this was something more than a teenager's shock at learning that his "ancient" parents still enjoyed sex.
There was no way to recover the years of lies, no way I could change my own past to include Varay-despite Parthet's philosophy of history. Maybe I couldn't even extinguish the resentment I felt, but I couldn't let it fester. Forgive and forget? Not exactly. I wasn't ready to tell Mother, "That's all right what you did to me," because it wasn't. And I certainly didn't expect to forget.
I was as trapped as any of the people in those burial niches, and I was still alive to suffer the frustration of the trap.
Finally, I climbed the stairs back to my room. I even slept for a time, and this time there were no dreams. After a hearty breakfast and a round of farewells, I opened the passage to Castle Arrowroot and stepped through with Lesh and Harkane.
My war was about to start.
10 – Annick
The waters of the Mist lapped at the curtain wall of Castle Arrowroot, a constant background music. The castle sat at the angle where the coast bent north to form the Isthmus of Xayber. A broad moat wrapped around two-thirds of the fortress and connected with the sea, making the castle an island, all to itself. Castle Arrowroot wasn't overly large, but its walls were high and thick, a weapon of war guarding one of Varay's most vulnerable border areas. Our point of entry was in a corridor leading from the outer battlements to the keep. Lesh knew the layout of the castle and headed us toward the great hall. The first person we met was a garrison soldier. Harkane announced me in a drill-field voice, and got through the spiel without a crack in it.
"His Highness Prince Gil, Hero of Varay, wishes to be shown to Baron Resler, Castellan of Arrowroot." Even though Harkane's voice wasn't solidly sunk into its adult register yet, he sounded fairly impressive.
The soldier bowed his head toward me and said, "At once, Your Highness." Then he led the way.
Baron Resler was still at the table, eating breakfast with fierce determination, a scowl apparently glued to his face. The garrison soldier announced me with a flourish. Everyone stared for a moment. Resler stood and made a formal bow and greeting. He was about five foot six, built wide and solid but without visible fat. He was a military man. That was clear in his face and in the way he moved. His face was weathered, his beard trimmed, his hair rough-cut but shorter than most men wore it in Varay. Bushy eyebrows were separated by the deep vertical furrows of a perpetual frown that had nothing to do with his mood.
"Will you breakfast with us, Highness?" he asked.
"We ate before we left Basil, but perhaps a morsel or two, and coffee." I saw a steaming pitcher on the table. "Don't let me interrupt you."
Resler took me at my word. He seated me at his right and went on eating while a page brought me a platter and utensils, and poured coffee. I had to remind the boy not to give me heaping portions, just a sampling of everything. Eat, eat, eat, etiquette and need-a need I didn't fully understand. Lesh and Harkane found seats lower on the table. They showed no reluctance at shoveling in another full meal even though they had eaten at least as well as I had at Basil.
"We don't have time for social graces here," Resler said around his chewing. "We plunge right into the business at hand, even in the midst of a meal… if you have no objection."
"No objection at all, Baron." The coffee was stronger and more bitter than the usual brew at Basil. If you weren't expecting it, that coffee could cross your eyes. "I need the three best horses you have, this morning, and you need to get ready to move virtually all of your men to Castle Thyme about two weeks from now. The reasons for that will have to wait until we're alone." I took out the warrant that King Pregel had signed and sealed. Resler wiped his hands on his wool robe before he took the document and read it.
"The wizard was here two days ago," he said when he finished. "I knew your father, of course. I grieved to hear of his end. You look a lot like he did when he was younger." Resler's voice was gravelly, even when he spoke softly.
"The grief has to be postponed for now," I said. "We have to worry about all of Varay."
Resler nodded solemnly. "Perhaps we should go to my apartments to discuss what needs to be discussed."
At Arrowroot, meals didn't end when the big shots got up. I doubt that anybody even noticed when we left. Once Resler and I were alone, I told him the essentials of my plan.
"I know of the doorways, of course, but I never considered that they might be used to move an army," he said.
"That depends on my being able to get fresh sea-silver out of Xayber." I reminded him, not sure that he knew about the weed or its use. "That's why I need your best horses for my men and me."
"You'll get them. When will you leave?"
>
"As quickly as possible. You know the situation here far better than I do. What's the best time and route? What will give us our best chance to avoid the elflord's forces?"
"There's no certain time or road." He lowered his head and thought about it, holding up a hand for silence when I started to speak. "I think I'd best give you some idea what we face here first," he added.
"I'd appreciate that." The views of the man in charge at the scene had to be better than what I'd gotten at Basil.
"Things get powerful confusing. This isn't a proper little war at all. There are just two main routes from Xayber into Varay. Arrowroot guards one. Coriander sits astride the other. Any large force, any army, has to take one or the other-or come by sea-but there are dozens of paths and trails that a small raiding party could take. We have to patrol the coast and halfway to Coriander."
"With how many men?"
"Never enough," Resler said, predictably. What commander ever thinks that he has enough men, supplies, or support? "Right now, I have about four hundred and fifty men. Ten times that wouldn't be enough to do a thorough job, even if we only faced steel and not elfin magic."
"What about Coriander?"
"Baron Dieth has a more vulnerable castle, fewer men, and as much ground to cover."
I knew that manpower was spread thin throughout Varay. By any "modern" demographic standards, the country was more underpopulated than some deserts back home. People had moved to other kingdoms over the centuries. Many had left the buffer zone altogether, fleeing to Fairy or to our world. Varay was too often in the way of invaders.
"Attackers come at any point of our border," Resler said. "When the elflord is feeling particularly strong or cross, he sends his army against the castles and towns. But he's never been able spring a strong enough magic to cut us off from resupply." I understand that he was talking about the magic passages. "More often, though, he just sends raiding parties to attack our villages, burn crops, steal livestock. Usually, the raiders come out of Battle Forest from the isthmus. More rarely, a dragon ship comes out of the Mist to ravage a coastal fishing village and escape before we can respond."
Resler shrugged. "It could be worse. Vara's magic protects us somewhat. The elflord's offensive magics always seem to go awry when he hits us with them. Outside Fairy, those magics aren't always reliable for Fairy folk."
The way Varayan magic didn't work in Fairy or the way my lighter wouldn't work even in Varay, I thought. I wondered if my pistol would work either place. Dad had carried firearms, though they hadn't been with his body, and guns hadn't saved him. It was something else to ask Parthet about when I got a chance. In the meantime, I just had to remember not to count on my gun.
Baron Resler walked to a window. It wasn't glass, but a skin that had been scraped and oiled until it was translucent, then stretched and tacked to a frame. He opened the window and looked out at the Mist.
"I've spent most of my life fighting forces out of Fairy," he said. "Oh, there are months, even years at a time, when the elflord makes no trouble, but we can never be sure. We can't stop our patrols. We never know until our people spot his, or until he attacks. He never tires of it. Over and over your father put his mind to the problem without success." Resler turned to look at me again. "You can't imagine how weary I get of the fighting, how I long to see the old prophecies come true."
"What prophecies?"
"That we'll have us a new golden age when the same man is both Hero and King of Varay."
I thought, Oh shit, not again. But I just said, "You think that will stop the attacks out of Fairy?"
"How could the age be golden if this warfare continued?"
I didn't try to answer that.
"We've lived a long time on hope," Resler said, turning to the window again. I shook my head. He was another True Believer who though that a vague legend could do what all his years of experience couldn't. I waited, and the melancholy mood seemed to lift from him.
"You were wanting suggestions for your route," he said. He strode across the room to me. "There is no certain way, but your best chance is to stay in the forest, fairly close to its edge, near the Mist. Any force traveling the western side of the isthmus would take the open road along the beaches and bluffs. You might chance upon a patrol in the forest, but perhaps not. Speed is essential. The elflord knows when outsiders trespass in Xayber. You may have one other problem. Lately, we've had two dragons flying south out of Xayber to hunt. They haven't raided right around here yet, thank the Great Earth Mother, but dragons are nothing if not unpredictable."
"That's all I need," I muttered. "We'd better get started, unless it's safer to start after dark."
"Light or dark means nothing to creatures of Fairy, so there's no call to wait on that account. Come, Highness, we'll find you horses and such food as you can carry."
It didn't take long to outfit us. Lesh and Harkane chose lances from the castle's stock of weapons to go with their swords and knives, and Lesh added a wicked-looking battle-axe. I had my own weapons, all of them. The horses were excellent by appearance, a coastal breed with long hair. They were smaller than Gold or his ilk, but they looked strong, and the chief groom said they could stand the greatest rigors of a campaign. Resler told the groom that we were to have the best in the stable. The groom chose them, and Lesh signaled his satisfaction. I accepted Lesh's judgment, because I didn't know enough about horses to contradict him.
When we headed for the main gate, the portcullis was down and the drawbridge was up. Resler took no chances of being surprised. While we waited for the gate to be opened, I glanced up at the ramparts between the gate towers and saw a young woman staring down at me. Her long blond hair blew freely. She was dressed in dark green with a thick leather belt around her waist. I smiled. She nodded, so slightly that I though I might have imagined it.
"You know the lady above the gate?" I asked Lesh softly.
He glanced up. "What lady?" I looked again and she was gone. I described her, and Lesh shook her head. "I don't recall anyone like that, but it's years since I was here last."
The portcullis went up, the drawbridge went down. We walked our horses across the rough-hewn surface of the bridge.
There was a large, open plaza between the castle and its town. Built at the shore, Castle Arrowroot didn't have the advantage of height that helped protect Castle Basil. The near edge of the town was two hundred yards from the moat. The buildings were lower than the curtain wall as well. The plaza and streets were paved with stone. The houses and shops seemed considerably more substantial than those in Basil Town, and the roofs were of timber or slate rather than thatch. Arrowroot had a different feel to it than Basil Town. Basil was open and friendly. Arrowroot was closed and suspicious. There were no open shopfronts, no tradesmen plying their crafts in full view of passersby. Apart from the three of us, there weren't any passersby. The lower stories of the town were made of stone, and the doors looked formidable. Living under the immediate threat of attack left a mark that I could almost feel as we rode through the silent streets.
"They don't take much to strangers," Lesh said.
I grunted, too nervous to speak. I looked around all the time and wondered if the feeling of-almost-dread was natural or perhaps enhanced by the elflord. That feeling could be a mighty weapon.
We had to wait at the town gate. I thought that the gatekeepers were going to insist on a pass from the baron, but after Harkane made a loud fuss, the gate was opened… and quickly closed behind us.
Beyond the town wall-another difference between Basil and Arrowroot-the farm fields provided another clear zone, three hundred yards or more from the walls to the trees. This early in the spring, the crops would offer no cover and little incentive for a raider. Halfway across the cleared acreage, I reined in my horse. I stared at the forest ahead, then turned and stared back at Arrowroot. I felt an equal sense of foreboding in each direction, as if Arrowroot was as dangerous as Battle Forest and Xayber.
"There's magic at work h
ere," I whispered. "Resler said that the elflord's magics fail outside Fairy, but there is magic working against Arrowroot."
"How can you tell?" Lesh asked.
"I can feel it, can't you?" Then I realized that he couldn't, that this was my first experience of the heightened awareness of danger that was supposed to belong to the Hero of Varay. "Trust me, Lesh. There's as much danger behind us as there is in front of us."
"Aye, lord, I'll take your word." Lesh looked back. Harkane didn't say anything, but I thought I saw a smug look sneak across his face.
As we started riding forward again, I tried to analyze the feeling of danger, but that didn't help. Danger in front, danger behind-equal. I couldn't localize the feeling or tell what the source of the danger was back in Arrowroot. Or who. But I didn't question my awareness. It was firm knowledge, not nervousness. Once we reached the forest, the danger felt one-sided. The threat from Arrowroot had faded-just a little. Battle Forest was rife with danger. But the sensations still weren't specific. I only knew that there was danger, and I hardly needed the extra sense for that.
Battle Forest was as different from Precarra as Arrowroot was from Basil. Battle Forest felt immeasurably old. The trees were mostly huge firs, some of them hundreds of feet tall. The bark was a dirty gray, cracked and scarred. There were signs of old fires that had burned out the underbrush without killing the trees. In some places, gnarled vines had grown around the trunks. The oldest vines, as thick as my thigh, squeezed the trees, forcing them to grow between the garroting loops. Impenetrable brambles isolated huge tracts of forest, defining the possible routes by their absence.
Nerves made it easy to feel an evilness about the forest, no matter how illogical that feeling might be.
The three of us rode bunched close together. The road was wide and level, and the lowest branches were well above our head, but we bunched up anyway. Whether or not they were conscious of it, my companions must have felt the danger on some level. The horses, more sensible than many people, were clearly uneasy, skittish, unsatisfied with a walk. I didn't want to press the animals, though, certainly not right at the start. If we had to rely on speed once we crossed into Fairy, I didn't want to squander the horses' strength.
