Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  “I only hope D’Yana will go easy on us.” Casius said as they left the room. “With her wit and sharp tongue we may rue ever setting foot in the dining hall.”

  Connell chuckled, “I would not be concerned, my mother had many gowns sent to her chambers. To the best of my knowledge D’Yana has never worn a dress. I think she may be rather subdued this evening.”

  “We should try not to laugh then.” Casius advised with a grin. “If I know her she will be armed.”

  Connell’s grin faded, “You’re probably right Casius.”

  The Queen’s idea of a simple meal differed from Casius’s expectations. They entered the dining hall to find the long table filled with a wide assortment of food. There were trenchers of pheasant, pork and beef. Exotic dishes of vegetables Casius had never seen the likes of before. The heady aromas set his stomach to rumbling.

  A quartet of minstrels played softly in the background while servants stood close at hand ready to see to their guests needs.

  The Queen was dressed in a gold trimmed gown of deep green satin that shimmered with her every movement. She smiled warmly at their entry. On her left stood the Kings empty chair. On her right sat D’Yana.

  They stared at the Lakarran man hunter. Dressed in a gown of deep purple with a thick strand of pearls about her neck. D’Yana was radiant, her hair pulled back in a tight bun pinned with silver and gold combs. Her bright eyes narrowed, daring them to laugh.

  “D’Yana,” Connell said when his voice returned. “You look wonderful.” Regaining his composure he bowed to the Queen. “Mother,” He said in greeting.

  “Your highness,” Casius said with an awkward bow of his own.

  The Queen smiled and offered Connell his fathers seat. “The King will not be joining us tonight.” She said once they were seated. “He is in council with your companion Marcos.”

  Connell nodded but he could not take his eyes from D’Yana. “Good,” he replied. “Marcos may yet gain Gaelan the boon he seeks.”

  “Enough politics,” The Queen said waving her hand as if shooing away a fly. “Tonight we will celebrate your homecoming.”

  They spent the next several hours attempting to answer the Queen’s questions. She was an intelligent woman and her inquiries were often cunningly worded.

  Casius knew that Wolhan had a competent advisor sitting at his side. As the time passed the Wine, food, and music took its toll and he began to fall asleep. Jerking himself awake he saw the Queen looking at him with a soft smile on her face.

  “Forgive me,” Casius said shaking the clawing webs of sleep aside. “I meant no insult your Majesty.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” She responded graciously. “It is I who should seek your pardon. The hour is past midnight and the weariness of travel lies heavy on you all.” She stood gracefully. “We will talk more after you have rested.”

  D’Yana and Casius paid their respects and were led by servants back to their chambers.

  Queen Elrendil embraced her son warmly. “Connell,” She said his name with misty eyes. “I will not ask you to abandon your cause. The world is facing its doom and men such as you are needed to save it. I ask only that you take care. You have trustworthy friends at your side, knowing this puts my heart at ease.”

  Connell took his mothers hands in his own. “There are dark days yet to come, but knowing I have a home to return too gives me cause for hope.”

  “You have never lost it Connell.” She replied. “You are a son of Kesh, never forget that.”

  Connell bowed, “I won’t mother,” He said turning to leave.

  “Connell,” The Queen called his name stopping him. “D’Yana is a good woman, both intelligent and beautiful.”

  Connell laughed, “You forgot to add dangerous to that list as well. Her temper is the stuff of legends.” He shook his head. “We were in love once long ago, but that ended badly.”

  “Did it?” The Queen asked with a slight tilt of her head. “I saw the way you look into each others eyes. There is love there I think, though neither of you will admit it.”

  “I have only just returned mother,” Connell said defensively. “And you are already playing matchmaker?”

  “The match is made,” She answered. “It is up to the players to let it run its course.”

  “We have one danger threatening us as it is.” Connell replied. “Lets be done with it before we bring a wildcat into this house.”

  “Ask your father about the raptor of Raldor wood.” The Queen kissed his forehead and left him standing alone in the dining hall with a puzzled look on his face.

  Connell returned to his chambers. The room was filled with the objects of his youth. Things that had been important to him at one time, they were now merely curiosities that awakened many half forgotten memories.

  He sat upon his bed holding a wooden horse that had been given to him by his grandfather when he was but six years old. He could not remember his face, only the impression of great strength tempered by a kind heart.

  Setting the horse aside he pulled a thick wool robe around himself and left his chambers. He wandered the halls aimlessly, the lateness of the hour left few people awake. Occasionally he would come across the royal guards on patrol or a servant going about his tasks. He would nod politely at their greetings and pass on.

  His walk took him to the uppermost reaches of the Spire. Through narrow corridors that were seldom used and dimly lit by widely spaced oil lanterns. Taking a lantern from the wall he walked up a narrow stair so steep that it would be better named a ladder. At its head he came to wooden trap door locked by rusted bolt. It took considerable effort but he eventually unlocked it.

  The hinges groaned and dust fell from the door as he opened it. The opening above was pitch black and a cold wind blew down the stairwell. Leaving the lantern on the stair Connell ascended through the opening and into the cold night air.

  His eyes adapted quickly and stars beyond counting graced the sky above. He stood atop the highest tower of the spire, a needle thin splinter of stone one hundred feet high. A low crenellated wall encircled the rooftop affording some sense of security.

  People feared this place, with the buffeting winds, and such a low a wall there was always the very real possibility of falling to your death.

  Connell was aware of the danger but in the history of the Spire only one person had ever fallen from this spot and that was by choice. It was from here that Tessa took her life and in doing so bequeathed it her name. Tessa’s perch had a bad reputation and there were those who believed that her spirit haunts this tower.

  It was those very stories that enticed Connell to this place in his youth. He came seeking adventure but instead he found the one spot in all of Kesh were he could enjoy some small measure of solitude.

  During the fullness of day one could see most of the kingdom from this height, from the dark shadow of the Dragon Spine Mountains in the west, to the stormy shores of the North Sea to the east. Rolling hills of emerald green lay northward and the dark stain of the forest to the south.

  The moon burned brightly in the eastern sky, its cool light painting the landscape in faint colors of silver and blue. Below him the city was alive with flickering lights, somewhere a bell tolled solemnly in the dark. Beyond the outer walls there burned thousands of fires. Marking the encampment where the army was patiently awaiting the king’s orders.

  The lantern light spilling from the hatch darkened drawing his attention from what lay below. Turning around he watched his father come through the opening. The king blew into his hands warming them.

  “Blast this damn cold,” King Wolhan muttered. “How can you stand it?”

  Connell shrugged, “I’ve been traveling a long time and have grown used to it.”

  “Marcos claims it is the work of Sur’kar.” King Wolhan said coming to stand next to his son. “It’s likely to get worse in the coming months.”

  “Heed his words father,” Connell advised. “He is a wise man.”

>   “Aye,” Wolhan agreed. “I have a feeling he is our only hope in the times that lay ahead.”

  They stood quietly for several awkward moments, listening to the slow toll of the distant bell. It was King Wolhan who spoke breaking the silence.

  “There are a lot of good men down there.” He said. “Farmers, Millers, men of every craft and trade, fathers and sons alike setting aside their livelihoods to answer the call to arms. Leaving behind wives and children, knowing that there is a chance that they may never return.”

  “That has always been the terrible burden of war.” Connell replied.

  “It is for their sake that I will not lightly go to war.” The King said sadly. “Those men do not come for gold or glory, it is to serve Kesh. Their duty lies with country Connell, we must do the same. Kesh is what matters, we must defend her no matter the cost.”

  Connell nodded in understanding, “You have always been a good King.”

  “I should have been a better father,” King Wolhan said regrettably.

  Connell was about to respond when his father interrupted him. “I wanted to ensure that you would be a better man than I.” He said. “ I pushed too hard and drove you away, for that I am sorry son.”

  Connell was at a loss for words and could only nod in response. Perhaps age had softened his father, the man he remembered would never have offered an apology.

  “What makes a king?” Wolhan asked. “A crown of gold? A throne upon a dais?” Wolhan shook his head. “None of it, nothing more than beaten metal and polished wood.” King Wolhan touched Connell’s chest. “What makes a great King can be found here. When you care more for your subjects and their well being than for yourself, then you are a King. It is within you Connell, whether you choose to believe it or not. Men will follow your banner and you have the mettle to make the tough decisions.”

  “I have no desire to rule father.”

  “And that is why you must.” Wolhan responded. “Power can blind a man and harden his heart. It is too easy to become a tyrant.” King Wolhan looked to the city stretching out below them, glittering in the darkness. “They come first, remember this and you cannot go wrong.”

  Connell understood and knew that he could not run from his duty. “It was said that long ago, a wise man could come up here and see the whole world. I stand here now and can see only a narrow path upon which I am loath to tread.”

  King Wolhan squeezed his son’s shoulder in gratitude. “I will aid Gaelan,” He said. “Not because I am convinced of his innocence mind you.” He added. “Marcos has shown me the dangers of allowing this Goliad to take Trondhiem. It is for the safety of Kesh that I will do this thing.”

  A great weight lifted from Connell’s heart. He knew how troubling a decision this must have been for his father to make. “Thank you,” he said bowing his head in gratitude.

  “You will ride at my side, as the prince of Kesh it is your duty to do so.”

  “What of Marcos?” Connell asked. “Am I to abandon my promise to aid him in his quest?”

  “Once Trondhiem is freed of Goliad and Vernal’s filth you are free to continue with Marcos.”

  Connell breathed a sigh of relief. “Very well,” He replied.

  “Now that this is settled I will give you some advice concerning Marcos.” King Wolhan said changing the subject. “You are a grown man and can heed my words or not, that is your choice. Be wary of him Connell, the Tal’shear are not men and their ways are not our own. His purpose drives him, and he may be willing to pay too high a price to achieve his goal. All that I ask is for you to keep your eyes open and return home once this foul business is done with.”

  “I will,” Connell answered.

  “Good,” King Wolhan turned to leave.

  “Father,” Connell said causing the king to turn about. “Why does the bell of Amothteir sound?”

  “It tolls for you,” King Wolhan replied. “It has always tolled when one of Kesh’s heroes returns.”

  “I am no hero.” Connell said with a laugh.

  The King nodded his head towards the lights where the army lay encamped. “To them you are,” he said. “Now lets go get some rest, for tomorrow the blades of Kesh will ride forth once more with the drums of war.”

  Chapter Nine

  Gaelan rushed down the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, his armor rattling with each foot fall. In the hall below he could hear his assembled officers engaged in half a dozen heated conversations. He paused on the narrow landing above the hall. From the lancet he watched for a few moments while the men rushed about the bailey below following orders he had issued only an hour ago.

  The hall grew silent as he entered, the assembled men rising to their feet.

  “Are we ready?” He asked motioning for them to be seated.

  “As ready as we can be on such short notice sir.” One of the officers answered.

  A man named Irson Qual came to his feet. He was one of Lord Fullvie’s men. Powerfully built with a temper to match from what Gaelan had seen. “Where are we going?” He asked boldly. “The whole tower is ready to march and the pass now stands unguarded.”

  Gaelan smiled, the man was as blunt as his Lord. “How do you kill a snake?” He asked.

  “Sir?” The bear of a man asked puzzled by the question.

  “How does one kill a snake?” Gaelan asked again.

  “You cut off its head?” Irson answered, unsure of where the Prince was going with his question.

  “Exactly,” Gaelan said. “One cut and the fights over.”

  Irson nodded in understanding. He had a good idea about what the Prince was going to do. “With short of two thousand men and less than a tenth of that number in horses you would lay siege to Rodderdam itself?”

  The men laughed half-heartedly at the suggestion.

  Gaelan waited for the laughter to subside. “Goliad’s forces have routed Lord Hurin’s men. The north has fallen and they are coming here.” He paused for a moment allowing the dire news to set in. “If we remain behind these walls we could hold them off for a short while. During that time our enemy would be allowed to tighten his hold on our homeland. Eventually Carich would fall and with it Trondhiem.”

  Irson sat down; he knew Gaelan had spoken truthfully. “Tis a long march.”

  “It is,” Gaelan said in agreement. “Only those men sound enough for the trek will go.” Gaelan could see the disappointment in the older veterans faces. “Those of you who remain should hold the pass in the hopes that Prince Connell will succeed where others have failed.”

  “Should the Keshians come they will be forced to find us on the march.” One of the younger men reminded him. “Trondhiem is a large kingdom.”

  “Two thousand men leave ample spoor lest they take care to conceal it.” Gaelan replied. “We march south gathering the men at Galtor span to our number. When Goliad’s forces come to Carich they will find it abandoned. We will be a week on the march if our luck holds.”

  Gaelan looked at his men with pride, not a one among them refused to meet his gaze. They were both loyal and courageous and would follow him to the ends of the earth.

  “There is one more detail to be considered.” He continued. “There is a force of men several miles south of the Rildrun River. I am assuming they are there to thwart an undertaking such as this. We are equally matched in numbers, but many are not seasoned warriors. I intend to drive them into the hills. The conscripts will break easily and we should win the day.

  “We could circumvent them,” Gaelan suggested. “But I will not leave such a large force of men so close to my back when we come to Rodderdam.”

  “If we do this and fail?” Irson spoke once more. “Where do we turn?”

  “Allies hold Timosh.” Gaelan said. “If things go badly, we make a break for the keep. Goliad would pay dearly trying to lay claim to that bastion.” Gaelan pulled his gauntlets on. “Boldness wins wars gentlemen, not cowering in the dark.” He said using one of his father’s favorite sayings. “Gol
iad must conquer all of Trondhiem, We have only to win Rodderdam.”

  The men sat in silence thinking through the choices that lay before them. To stay at the keep and eventually fall, or evade Goliad’s noose and risk all on one desperate assault upon Rodderdam.

  “Better to die a free man than an imprisoned hare.” Irson said with a nod to Prince Gaelan.

  “Shall we go for a walk then gentlemen?” Gaelan said nodding to the door leading out of the tower.

  The men followed him out the door and into the crowded Bailey beyond. The warriors stood in orderly ranks their weapons and armor blazing in the morning light.

  With a nod from their liege, bronze horns called forth, echoing in the hills. The drums sounded and the men marched out of the keep. Watched by a large number of old veterans who could not make the trek.

  Gaelan set a hard pace and the miles crept slowly by. They stopped three times during the day to rest. As the sun hung low in the western sky they stopped and made camp on the fringes of a dark wood clinging to a low hillside.

  The men slept soundly, the exhaustion from the march overriding the ache of their feet. That night heavy clouds rolled in from the west, obscuring the silver orb of the moon. Before dawn the temperature dropped dramatically and a heavy snow began to fall.

  The men cursed their luck and broke camp early. The march resumed and with the exertion they soon forgot about the cold. The afternoon sun began to melt the snow, turning the ground into slush-covered mud. Their pace slowed as the men fought to keep their footing.

  That evening they made camp a few miles from the town of Galtor. The amber lights from an outlying homestead twinkled in the evening gloom. Once more snow began to fall, far heavier than the previous night. The mud underfoot froze over and the snow fell until by midnight, it was well over a foot deep.