by Rob Scott
‘When I reached the balcony above the grand hall, I finally saw Pikan. She was resting her elbows on the ledge, gazing down into the darkness below. She had been hideously injured from the blast; through the half-light I could see part of her face had been torn away, leaving strands of her lovely flaxen hair falling over an open wound that stretched from her ear down to her chin. Her robes had been torn off in the explosion; all she wore now was a pair of short breeches: little enough to stave off the season’s chill.
‘When she turned to face me, I knew my suspicions had been well-founded. “Well, hello, Fantus,” Pikan’s body called to me in Nerak’s voice. “Do you care to join us in here?” She reached up and began fondling her breasts, squeezing and pressing them together as a man might in the throes of passion. “It’s cosy with just us two, but we’ll make room for you.” The voice was Pikan’s now, but I knew she was gone. Nerak must have taken her an instant before she died in the tower. Now he held her by a thread, dangling her a breath away from eternal rest.
‘I wiped the blood from my eyes as Pikan made her way slowly towards me. My grip tightened on the broadsword. For a moment I thought I might stand and fight.’ Gilmour stared through the firelight into the darkness above the Estrad River for a moment. ‘But I didn’t. Fear overcame me and I fled like a child. I dropped the sword at Pikan’s feet and ran the length of the balcony at a full sprint. As I came to the far end of the room, I screamed a spell to open the windows and when they flew out on their hinges, I dived out into the night without a moment’s hesitation. The last thing I heard before I struck the ground was Nerak, laughing like a demon through Pikan’s broken body.
‘I shattered my shoulder and ankle in the fall, but that was just flesh and bone. My spirit took longer to recover. I have never lifted a weapon again, but I have spent the past nine hundred and eighty Twinmoons studying magic, just like Nerak.
‘He must have taken Lessek’s Key and the far portal that very night. He made his way south to Rona, killed Prince Markon and a number of other members of King Remond’s royal family. Then I’m guessing he travelled to Colorado, where he hid the only weapon that can destroy him in your bank, Steven.
‘I have waited half my life for Lessek’s Key. Now it is within our grasp, and I will use it to destroy the force that murdered my friends and brought death and terror to Eldarn.’ Gilmour took up his pipe after his long narration and smiled at his friends before moving off to his bedroll near the river. No one else said a word. There was too much to take in.
THE RONAN PIEDMONT
Next winter
Steven woke to cramp, and the sound of the river rolling by. He rolled over and, without thinking, checked his watch. It wasn’t there. It took a few seconds for him to remember giving it to Garec two days earlier. He could see Mark, already up and kneeling at the water’s edge. ‘What time is it?’ Steven called without moving.
‘I don’t know.’ Mark splashed cool water on his face. ‘The time here has my internal clock running like a drunk Pamplona tourist. The sun is up, so I guess it must be daytime.’
‘Insightful of you,’ Steven grunted as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around: Brynne was dousing the vestiges of the evening’s fire with a pan of river water. Everyone else was missing. He pulled a clean tunic over his head and asked, ‘Where did they go?’
‘Good morning, Steven.’ Brynne waved, moving towards him. ‘They’ve gone to check traffic along the Merchants’ Highway. It’s not far from here; they’re concerned there may be soldiers moving north to search for us.’
‘Terrific. I was hoping we’d have another day of fleeing for our lives. I’m just beginning to get skilled at it.’ He crawled to his feet and went to join Mark by the river.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Brynne called after him, ‘it’s still about two avens before midday.’
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked Mark. ‘It’s about seven o’clock.’
‘First period is just about to start.’ Mark stood up and used his T-shirt to dry his face. ‘I bet my substitute is making a mess of the Industrial Revolution right now.’
‘Don’t feel bad about it,’ Steven teased. ‘With any luck we’ll have you home in time to teach your students about the Yalta Conference.’
‘Grand.’ Mark looked back towards the campsite. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘I don’t know,’ Steven shook the excess water from his hands and stood beside his friend, ‘but I can leave the two of you alone if you want to make your peace with Brynne.’
‘I’m not sure she wants to,’ Mark said, his face solemn. ‘I think she’s still angry that I tied her to a tree.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘Good point,’ he said as he slipped into his tunic and belted it around his waist. ‘All right, here goes nothing.’
Steven watched as Mark wandered back to where Brynne was busying herself rolling blankets and packing supplies, then turned to the river. He reflected on Gilmour’s fantastical tale of evil demons and homicidal magicians possessing Malakasian royalty. He didn’t even like fantasy literature: he liked logic, things that made sense, not the utterly impossible. And this was impossible: here he was, standing by a river in a grove of trees so similar to dozens of rivers and groves he had visited over his lifetime, and yet he was in danger – the sort of danger he could not even have imagined a week ago.
He was facing a journey he might not survive: that fact was beginning to sink in, to become less an external reality rearing up periodically to frighten him and more an inherent part of who he was. This river was different. This river was haunted by the terror awaiting them in Malakasia.
Like the evening before, Steven began to feel a need to pack up and rush to Welstar Palace, to get there as quickly as he could. Kneeling once again, he took a long drink and splashed cold water over his head. ‘We might not make it,’ he repeated several times as the water ran across his down-turned face and dripped onto the smooth rocks below. Slowly, Steven began to get used to the idea.
Mark moved around Brynne’s horse to help tie down her bedroll and saddlebags. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,’ he said without warning, ‘it’s just that we weren’t certain what was happening. We still aren’t certain what’s happening, but I know you want to help us.’ He looked down at his feet before adding, ‘I was afraid and I thought you might lead us into town to-’
‘It’s all right,’ she interrupted, ‘I was taking you to Greentree Tavern because I knew there would be soldiers around. I was hoping to lose you in the confusion.’
Mark laughed. ‘So I was right.’
She smiled. ‘’Fraid so. I was planning an escape – but I was glad Sallax didn’t kill you at Riverend. I still am.’
‘So am I. It would’ve really put a damper on our relationship if your brother had shot me full of arrows or run me through with his rapier. I’m not certain I would ever have been able to build up the courage to ask you out after that.’
‘Out?’
‘Yes, out, on a date,’ he tried to clarify.
‘A date, like today or yesterday?’ She seemed confused.
‘No, not that kind of date!’ He searched for the right words in Ronan.
‘Mark, I would very much like to help you, but I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ she said.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of her smile. ‘You’re toying with me, aren’t you? You know exactly what I mean.’
‘I might be, but it’s always fun to watch you stumble over yourself,’ she said and reached across the saddle to give him a playful shove.
Grabbing her hand, he said sarcastically, ‘Oh, sure, mock the foreigner, why don’t you.’
‘Well, you did tie me to a tree.’
‘And your brother tried to kill me with an axe. I’d say that makes us even, wouldn’t you?’ He held her hand for as long as he dared, then released it to secure an errant leather strap to her saddle.
‘Even?’
‘Oh, don’t start tha
t again.’ Mark moved to collect his bedroll while Brynne stored the last hickory trenchers in her saddlebag. With his back turned, the young teacher did not see her watching him from the fire-pit. Kneeling near the log Mark had dragged from the forest as an impromptu sofa, Brynne played with his watchband, turning it slowly around her wrist. Then, smirking, she started preparing the remaining horses for the day’s journey.
*
When the Ronans returned from the forest, it was obvious Gilmour and Sallax were engaged in an argument.
‘I understand why you want to raid them, Sallax,’ Gilmour said calmly, ‘but we cannot afford to bring attention to ourselves. Who knows how many Malakasians are already tracking us north?’
‘That’s exactly my point.’ Sallax was determined. ‘We have no choice but to flee. Why not hit that caravan before they reach port? You know it’s nothing more than yet another group of merchants and landowners buying peace from Malagon’s generals.’
‘That’s true,’ Gilmour conceded, ‘but our mission now is clear. The days of raiding caravans are behind us.’
‘Forgive me if I’m not as confident in your mystical solution to this very real problem. Raiding has worked for us for many Twinmoons, Gilmour, and a fat cat is lumbering by out there just waiting for us to play with it.’
‘Now that’s not exactly accurate, Sallax,’ Gilmour countered. ‘They are very well protected. We might lose people, or be slowed by injuries. It is too risky.’
‘One strike,’ Sallax mused aloud. ‘What if we hit them with one quick strike, bows from above and a slash-and-burn attack at a full gallop? Who knows what damage we might do?’
‘That might work, Gilmour,’ Garec said. ‘Versen and I can inflict a good deal of damage from the heights above the road.’
Versen agreed. ‘That’s true. We could certainly open a hole in their defenders’ ranks.’
Mark leaned towards Brynne and whispered, ‘What are they talking about?’
Leaning back into him, ostensibly to keep her voice low, she answered, ‘For Twinmoons now, we have been raiding Ronan merchant caravans riding north to the Falkan border to meet with Malagon’s occupation generals. They push their workers near death, pay them next to nothing in wages and hoard enormous sums of money.’
‘They buy the right to be rich in a dictatorship,’ Mark said. ‘It’s nice to see nothing’s really different here.’
Brynne put one hand on Mark’s shoulder and spoke directly into his ear. ‘So, we hit the caravans. We take silver and weapons to help fund the Resistance.’
‘That’s what you were hiding at Riverend Palace.’ Mark turned towards her, their faces only inches apart. ‘But with Riverend’s fall-’
‘Everything we worked for is lost, and worse, the Malakasians now know Estrad Village was the centre of the Resistance.’ She looked worried and Mark’s heart broke for her. ‘Who knows what horrors they’ll commit while combing the village for us? They’ll use it as an excuse – not that they need one – and I don’t like thinking about it.’
Gilmour dismounted and ran one hand across his balding pate. ‘You want to hit them?’
Garec, Sallax and Versen nodded, while Mika, less confidently, added, ‘Yes.’
‘All right, we’ll hit them.’ He walked to the edge of the river where Steven was standing listening to the earnest debate. ‘You should stand behind me, Steven,’ Gilmour said. Cupping his hands over his mouth, the old Larion Senator emitted a shrill cry into the forest on the opposite shore. It was pitched very high, almost beyond the range of their hearing, and Steven was glad he had moved back. As Gilmour’s call sounded, Brynne immediately covered her ears and Garec let out a cry of pain and pushed his hands firmly against his temples. Mark’s equilibrium was thrown off balance and he sat heavily to avoid falling down.
Sallax shook the dizziness from his head and asked, ‘What in a thousand Twinmoons of pestilence was that?’
The old man smiled and reached into his tunic for a pipe. He filled the small bowl and gripped it firmly between his teeth before answering, ‘You said you wanted to hit them. We just made arrangements to hit them.’
Versen was confused. ‘How? What did you do?’
‘I called the grettans.’ Gilmour exhaled a cloud of blue smoke that loitered around his head before dissipating. ‘We ought to move along right away. Once they get here, I’m not certain I will be able to control them.’ He pursed his lips and prepared to remount his horse.
Versen looked shocked. Mika wiped several beads of sweat from his forehead.
‘Riverend,’ Garec pointed accusingly. ‘I saw you from the palace. You called those grettans in to attack the Malakasian horses.’
‘Of course I did,’ he answered, as if it had been obvious all along. ‘I couldn’t have you all taken prisoner or killed. We have a great deal of work to do and I need you.’
Garec pursued the issue further. ‘Did you call them all the way down from Gorsk? What are they doing this far south? The rutting bastards almost had my hide for breakfast in the forbidden forest.’
‘I think that was Malagon, or I suppose I should say Nerak. I would guess he sent those grettans down here to kill me-’ he paused for a moment before adding, ‘-or perhaps each of you.’
Versen swallowed awkwardly. Mika looked as though he might fall from the saddle. Gilmour patted the youngest Ronan gently on the knee. ‘Malagon doesn’t realise I can communicate with these grettans as well.’
‘Communicate?’ Brynne asked.
‘Yes, I can call them around, or suggest they move off somewhere else – they can understand that much. But I can’t keep them from attacking us if they arrive while we’re still here jabbering on about them.’ He motioned for Mark and Steven to mount up.
Garec stared at Gilmour with mixed admiration and amazement. ‘So, it’s true.’
‘What’s true?’ The older man was impatient to get the group moving again.
‘You really are a magician.’ Garec searched for the words. ‘It was all true, everything you said last night.’
‘Of course it’s true. Did you think I was making it up?’ he answered with feigned indignity. ‘Come now, we must hurry.’ Before riding into the forest, Gilmour turned to Sallax and added, ‘The grettans will hit the caravan. I imagine they’ll hit it hard, rout the wagons and ensure that silver never reaches port.’
Sallax nodded grimly in response.
They rode through the day, always north, and Steven soon noticed a change in the landscape. Hardwoods gave way to evergreens and the rustle of leaves under foot quieted into a soft carpet of fallen pine needles. The climb in elevation was gradual, nearly undetectable, but by the end of the day they had reached the southern slope of what appeared to be a range of more substantial foothills that spread far into the distance as misty indigo swells along the horizon. From time to time the group came within sight of the Estrad River; the once-deep current had narrowed to a fast-moving stream.
Versen led the way, accompanied by Mika, who was eager to learn everything the more experienced woodsman could teach him. Steven could understand why Mika was so impressed with Versen: his knowledge of the forest seemed second to none.
Steven rode between Garec and Gilmour and the trio spent much of their time talking. Garec, always alert with his bow, felled several rabbits and a pheasant along the way; the small band would eat well again this evening.
As the new friends exchanged questions and answers about their different lands, Gilmour would periodically chime in with an explanation of Pragan, Falkan, or even Malakasian culture. Garec was astounded at the level of technology in Steven’s world; the young banker’s description of air travel, medicine and warfare had him transfixed. Steven was equally impressed by the complacency about magic that permeated the Eldarni populace. Garec talked about magical incidents, places and historic events as if they were as common as a spring thundershower.
Gilmour’s questions related to the history of various nations on Earth; Steven ha
d to keep reminding himself that the venerable Larion Senator had been there to see much of it unfold. He was most interested in the American Civil War, and spoke in fascinating detail about troop movements and political decisions Steven had never known about. He rattled on at great length about the carnage at Sharpsburg, the accuracy of artillery fire on Henry Hill at Bull Run and the esoteric eating habits of General Lee.
‘I do wish I could have stayed on to observe the end of the war and the reconstruction that followed, but regrettably, my knowledge and leadership were sorely needed in Eldarn,’ Gilmour confided wistfully.
When he heard that President Lincoln had been killed before the Confederate surrender, his mood turned dark. He told Steven he was certain John Wilkes Booth had no sense of fairness and ran one hand thoughtfully through his whiskers before adding, ‘If they were going to kill him, they ought to have waited until after the war.’
Steven had taken a Civil War course as an undergraduate and promised to retrieve all his textbooks from a cardboard box in his basement if Gilmour could spare a few moments while in Idaho Springs. He thought the old man was going to actually kiss him, but Gilmour contented himself with slapping Steven hard across the back and shouting, ‘Outstanding! It’s a nine-hundred-Twin-moon-old novel I will finally get to finish.’
While Steven was trawling his memory for any Civil War trivia that might amuse his companions, Mark and Brynne were getting to know each other too. They rode together all day; occasionally Sallax would cast them a disapproving look. The Ronan partisan was slow to trust anyone, and he was still uncertain about Steven and Mark: were they truly refugees from another world? He had forced himself to believe Gilmour, so for the moment he decided to keep his doubts to himself.
Brynne had obviously put aside her fury at being carted round as a hostage and tied to a tree. The friendly banter she and Mark were exchanging had Brynne blushing and Mark grinning like an adolescent about to steal his first kiss. Sallax cringed each time his sister reached across to touch Mark’s hand or to give his arm an amiable punch, even though he thought he respected the foreigner: at least he had shown a willingness to fight, a tough resilience in the face of danger. He appeared to be extremely bright, and skilled at solving problems under pressure. Sallax supposed Mark might be his choice for Brynne – if he knew the two strangers could be trusted. Until that moment, though, he would look with caution on his sister’s new suitor.
