A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘Do we leave him?’ asked Roald.

  ‘No,’ answered Baru. Again he spoke in the odd tongue, and reluctantly the dog came to his side. ‘The language used to command our dogs must be still the same, for he obeys.’

  ‘How, then, do we proceed?’ asked Arutha.

  ‘With caution, but I think it best to let him lead us,’ answered the hillman, indicating the dog. He spoke a single word, and the dog’s ears perked and he began trotting up the trail, waiting at the limit of their vision for them to follow.

  Quickly they mounted and Arutha said, ‘What did you say?’

  Baru said, ‘I said “home”. He will lead us to his people.’

  • Chapter Nine •

  Captives

  The wind howled.

  The riders pulled cloaks tightly about themselves. They had been following the Beasthound for more than a week. Two days after finding the dog they had passed over the crest of the Great Northern Mountains. Now they moved along a narrow trail just below a high ridge, running toward the northeast.

  The dog had come to accept Baru as his master, for he obeyed every command the Hadati gave, while he ignored any spoken by the others. Baru called the dog Blutark, which he said meant, in the old Hadati tongue, an old friend rediscovered or come back from a long journey. Arutha hoped it was a favourable omen, and that those who bred the dog would feel similarly toward Arutha’s company.

  Twice the dog had proven useful, signalling dangers along the trail. He could smell what even Baru and Martin’s hunters’ eyes missed. Both times they had surprised goblins camped along the trail. It was clear that Murmandamus controlled this route into the Northlands. Both encounters had taken place at junctions with trails clearly heading downward.

  The trail had run southeasterly from Inclindel, then turned east, hugging the north side of the mountain ridges. In the distance they could see the vast reaches of the Northlands, and they wondered. To most men of the Kingdom, ‘the Northlands’ was a convenient label for that unknown place the other side of the mountains, the nature of which could only be speculated upon. But now they could see the Northlands below them, and the reality of the place dwarfed any speculation, for it was an immense reality. To the northwest a vast plain stretched away into the distant mists, the Thunderhell. Few men of the Kingdom had ever trod upon that grassy domain, and then only with the consent of the nomads who called the Thunderhell home. At the eastern edge of the Thunderhell a range of hills rose, and beyond were lands never seen by men of the Kingdom. Each turn in the road, each jog in the trail, and a new vista opened before them.

  That the dog refused to descend caused them concern, for Martin avowed they would have more cover in the hills below than upon this open trail. Weaving along the north ridges of the mountains, they only now and then descended below the timberline. Upon three occasions they had noticed indications that this trail was not entirely natural, as if someone had once, long ago, undertaken to connect sections of it.

  Not for the first time, Roald remarked, ‘That hunter wandered quite a distance from home, that’s for certain.’ They were easily a hundred miles to the east of where they had found the body.

  Baru said, ‘Yes, and that is a strange thing, for the Beasthunters were given the defence of an area. Perhaps he had been pursued for some time by those trolls.’ But he knew, as did the others, that such a pursuit would be a matter of miles, not tens of miles. No, there was another reason that hunter had been so far from his home.

  To pass the time, Arutha, Martin, and the boys had undertaken to learn Baru’s Hadati dialect, against the day of meeting Blutark’s owner’s kin. Laurie and Roald spoke fluent Yabonese and a smattering of the Hadati patois already, so it came quickly to them. Jimmy had the most difficulty, but he was able to make simple sentences.

  Then Blutark came bounding back down the trail, his stubby tail wagging furiously. In atypical behaviour he barked loudly, and spun in place. Baru said, ‘It is strange…’

  The dog normally went on point when sensing danger, until he was attacked or ordered to attack by Baru. Baru and Martin rode past the others, the Hadati ordering the dog forward. Blutark dashed ahead, around a bend between high walls of stone, as the trail cut downward again.

  They rounded the turn and pulled up, for in a clearing Blutark faced another Beasthound. The two dogs sniffed at each other and wagged tails. But behind the second dog stood a man in black leather armour, an odd iron mask over his face. He sighted at them down a Bessy Mauler, mounted upon a single long wooden pole. He spoke, the words made unintelligible by the blowing wind.

  Baru raised his hands and shouted something, most of the words lost upon the others, but his friendly intentions clear. Suddenly, from above, nets descended, ensnaring all seven riders. A dozen brown-leather-clad soldiers leaped down upon them, and quickly wrestled Arutha’s party from their mounts. In short order all seven were trussed up like game birds. The man in black armour broke down his pole, folding it, and slung it with the crossbow across his back. He approached and gave his own dog and Blutark both friendly pats.

  The sound of horses accompanied another detachment of men in brown, this time riders. One of the men in brown spoke to them, in heavily accented King’s Tongue. He said, ‘You will come with us. Do not speak aloud, or we will gag you. Do not try to escape, or we will kill you.’

  Baru nodded curtly to his companions, but Roald began to say something. Instantly hands jammed a gag into his mouth and tied a cloth over his face, silencing him. Arutha looked about, but only nodded to the others. The captives were roughly placed back in their saddles, their feet tied to their stirrups. Without further words the riders turned back down the trail, leading Arutha and the others along.

  For a day and a night they rode. Short halts were ordered to rest the horses. While the horses were being tended, Arutha and his companions would have their bindings loosened to lessen the cramping they were all experiencing. A few hours after they had set out, Roald’s gag was removed, much to his relief, but it was clear their captors wouldn’t permit them to speak.

  After dawn they could see they had negotiated nearly half the distance between the trail along the crest of the mountains and the foothills below. They passed a small herd of cattle, with three watchful and armed herdsmen who waved, and approached a walled hill community.

  The outer wall was sturdy, heavy logs lashed together and sealed with dried mud. The horsemen were forced to make a circular approach by deep trenches about the wall, coming up the hill on a switchback trail. On both sides of the trail the trenches revealed fire-hardened wooden spikes, ready to impale any horseman who faltered. Roald looked about and whispered, ‘They must have some charming neighbours.’

  One of the guards immediately rode in next to him, the gag ready, but the leader waved him back as they approached the gate. The gate swung open, and they discovered a second wall behind the first. There was no barbican, but the entire area between the walls was effectively a killing ground. As they passed through the second gate, Arutha admired the simple craftsmanship. A modern army could take this village quickly, but it would cost lives. Bandits and goblins would be repulsed easily.

  Inside the walls, Arutha observed his surroundings. It was a village of no more than a dozen huts, all of wattle-and-daub construction. In the compound, children played, but with serious eyes. They wore gambeson armour or, in the case of a few of the older children, leather. All carried daggers. Even the old men were armed, and one hobbled past using a spear instead of a walking staff. The leader of the company said, ‘Now you may speak, for the rules of the trail do not apply here.’ He continued to speak King’s Tongue. His men cut the straps binding the captives’ feet to the stirrups and helped them dismount. He then motioned for them to enter a hut.

  Inside, Arutha and the others faced the commander of the patrol. Blutark, who had continued to run at Baru’s side, lay at the Hadati’s feet, his large tongue lolling out as he panted.

  ‘That dog is a rare
breed, of particular importance to our people,’ said the commander of the patrol. ‘How do you come to have him?’

  Arutha nodded to Baru. ‘We found his master killed by trolls,’ said the Hadati. ‘We killed the trolls and the dog chose to come with us.’

  The man considered. ‘Had you harmed his master, that dog would have killed you or died in the attempt. So I must believe you. But that breed is trained to obey only a few. How do you command?’

  The hillman spoke a word and the dog sat up, ears perked. He spoke another and the dog lay down, at rest. ‘My village had dogs of similar breed, though not so large as this.’

  The commander’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Baru, called the Serpentslayer, of Ordwinson’s family of the Iron Hills Clan. I am Hadati.’ He spoke in the Hadati patois as he loosened his long bedroll and removed his tartan and swords.

  The commander nodded. He answered in a language similar enough to Baru’s that the others could understand. The differences between the two languages seemed mainly to be pronunciation and otherwise trivial. ‘It has been many years since one of our Hadati kin has come over the mountains, Baru Serpentslayer, nearly a generation. This explains much. But men of the Kingdom usually come here to cause mischief and of late we’ve had more than our share of such men. I think you other than renegades, but this is a matter for the Protector’s wisdom.’ He rose. ‘We shall rest here tonight, then tomorrow we shall depart. Food will be brought. There is a bucket for night soil in the corner. Do not leave this hut. Should you attempt it, you will be bound, should you resist, killed.’

  As he reached the door, Arutha asked, ‘Where are you taking us?’

  The man looked back. ‘Armengar.’

  At first light they rode out, heading downward out of the highlands into a heavy forest, Blutark loping along easily beside Baru’s horse. Their captors again instructed them not to speak, but their weapons had been returned. To Arutha it seemed their captors assumed they would act as comrades on the road should trouble start. As the only likely encounters would be with Murmandamus’s servants, Arutha thought it a safe assumption. It was clear the forest had been logged in places, and the path seemed one used regularly. Coming out of a stand of woods, they passed a meadow where a small herd of cattle grazed, with three men standing watch. One was the Beasthunter, who had left the village the night before. The others were herdsmen, but each was armed with a spear, sword, and shield.

  Twice more that day, they passed herds, one of cattle, one of sheep. All were tended by warriors, several of whom were women. They came at sundown to another village and were given a place to stay, again with instructions not to leave the building.

  The morning of the next day, the fourth of their captivity, they entered a shallow canyon, following a river out of the mountains. They paralleled its course until past noon, then came to a long rise. The road circled around a large hill rather than follow the river, which cut its way through the rock, so their view of all below them was blocked for nearly an hour. When they cleared the hill, Arutha and his friends all exchanged glances in silent wonder.

  The leader of the party, who they had learned was called Dwyne, turned and said, ‘Armengar.’

  The city could not be seen in detail, but what could be seen was staggering. The outer wall was a full fifty or sixty feet high. Bartizans atop the wall were placed every fifty feet or so, allowing overlapping fields of fire for archers placed in them. As they closed upon the wall, more details emerged. The barbican was immense, fully a hundred feet across. The gates seemed more like movable sections of the wall than gates. The river they had followed out of the mountains became a moat that flowed along the wall, not giving more than a foot of ground between its bank and the base of the wall.

  As they approached the city, the gates opened with surprising swiftness given their ponderous appearance, and a company of riders appeared from within. They rode at good pace toward Arutha’s escorts. As the two companies passed, the riders of each raised right hands in salute. Arutha saw they were attired in identical fashion. Men and women both wore leather coifs over their heads. Their armour was leather or chain, with no plate in view. Each wore a sword and carried a shield, and spears and bows appeared in equal proportion. There were no tabards or devices upon shields. Soon they were past, and Arutha’s attention returned to the city. They were crossing a bridge, which appeared to be permanent, over the moat.

  As they entered the city gate, Arutha caught a glimpse of a banner flying from an outer corner of the barbican. He could discern only its colours, gold and black, not its markings, but something about that banner caused him to feel an instant’s disquiet. Then the outer gates were closing. They seemed to swing shut of their own accord, and Martin said, ‘There must be some mechanism that moves them from within the walls.’ Arutha only watched silently. ‘You could have a full hundred, hundred fifty horsemen sally forth without opening the inner gates,’ said Martin as he regarded the size of the killing ground in the barbican. Arutha nodded. It was the largest he had ever seen. The walls seemed an impossible thirty feet thick. Then the inner gates swung open and they entered Armengar.

  The city was separated from the walls by a bailey a hundred yards wide. Then began a tightly packed array of buildings, shot through with narrow streets. There was nothing like the broad boulevards of Krondor in sight, and no signs upon any building betraying its purpose. They followed their escort and noticed that few people loitered about the doorways. If there were businesses here, they were not apparent to Arutha’s companions. Everywhere they looked, the people walked in armour and wore weapons. Only once did they see an exception to the armour, a woman obviously in the late stages of pregnancy, yet her belt sash held a dagger. Even children who looked above the age of seven or eight were under arms.

  The streets twisted and turned, intercepting others at random intervals. ‘This city seems without plan,’ said Locklear.

  Arutha shook his head. ‘It is a city with great plan, a clear purpose. Straight streets benefit merchants and are easy to build, if the terrain is flat or easily worked. You see twisting streets only where it is too difficult to cut straight ones, such as in Rillanon, which is situated upon rocky hills, or near the palace in Krondor. This city is built upon a plateau, which means these meandering streets are intentional. Martin, what do you think?’

  ‘I think that should the walls be breached, you could place an ambush every fifty feet from here to the other end of the city.’ He pointed upward. ‘Notice every building is of equal height. I warrant the roofs are flat and accessible from within. A perfect place for archers. Look at the lower floor.’

  Jimmy and Locklear looked and saw what the Duke of Crydee meant. Each building had only a single door on the ground floor, heavy wood with iron bands, and there were no windows. Martin said, ‘This is a city designed for defence.’

  Dwyne turned and said, ‘You are perceptive.’ He then returned his attention to their passage through the city. Citizens watched for a moment while the strangers rode by, then went back to their business.

  They emerged from the press of buildings into a market. Everywhere they looked, booths were placed and people moved about them, buying and selling. Arutha said, ‘Look,’ as he pointed toward a citadel. It seemed to grow from the very face of a gigantic cliff, against which the city was nestled. It rose up a full thirty stories high. Another wall, thirty feet in height, circled the citadel, and around the wall another moat. Jimmy looked and said, ‘They must expect some bad company.’

  ‘Their neighbours tend to be an irksome lot,’ commented Roald.

  At that a few of the guards who understood the Kingdom language laughed openly, nodding agreement. Arutha said, ‘If the booths come down, we ride across another bailey, giving those on the walls an open field of fire. Taking this city would cost a fortune in lives.’

  Dwyne said, ‘As it was meant to.’

  They entered the citadel and were ordered to dismount, and their ho
rses were led away. They followed Dwyne down to a dungeon, though it seemed clean and fairly spacious. They were shown to a large common cell, illuminated by a brass lantern. Dwyne motioned they should enter. He said, ‘You shall wait here. If you hear an alarm, come to the common court above and you will be told what to do. Otherwise, wait here until the Protector sends for you. I will have food sent down.’ With that he left.

  Jimmy looked about and said, ‘They don’t lock the door or take our weapons?’

  Baru sat down. ‘Why bother?’

  Laurie heaved himself across an old blanket placed upon straw. ‘We certainly can’t go anywhere. We can’t pretend to be native to this city, and we couldn’t hide. And I’m not about to fight my way out of here.’

  Jimmy sat down next to Laurie. ‘You’re right. So what do we do now?’

  Arutha removed his sword. ‘We wait.’

  For hours they waited. Food was brought and they ate. When the meal was finished, Dwyne returned. ‘The Protector approaches. I would know your names and your purpose.’

  All eyes turned to Arutha, who said, ‘I think we gain nothing by hiding the truth, and may gain something if we are forthright.’ He said to Dwyne, ‘I am Arutha, Prince of Krondor.’

  Dwyne said, ‘That is a title?’

  ‘Yes,’ Arutha said.

  ‘We remember little of the Kingdom, we of Armengar, nor do we have such titles. It is important?’

  Roald nearly burst. ‘Damn it, man, he’s brother to the King, as is Duke Martin here. He’s the second most powerful lord in the Kingdom.’

  Dwyne seemed unimpressed. He was given the others’ names, then he asked, ‘Your purpose?’

  Arutha said, ‘I think we shall wait to speak of this with your Protector.’ Dwyne seemed not in the least offended by the answer and left.

  Another hour went by, and then the door flew open. Dwyne entered, a blond man a step behind. Arutha looked up expectantly, for perhaps this was the Protector. This was the first man they had seen not attired in brown armour. He was dressed in a long coat of chain over a red, knee-length gambeson. A chain coif had been thrown back, leaving his head uncovered. He wore his hair cut short and was clean-shaven. His face was one that would have been counted open and friendly by most, but there was a hardness around the eyes as he regarded the captives. He said nothing, simply looking from face to face. He studied Martin, as if noting something familiar in him. Then he looked at Arutha. For a long minute he stared at the Prince, his eyes betraying no reaction. With a single nod to Dwyne he turned and left.