Dust rose into the air. The air grew foul with the smell of crystallizing blood falling to earth as stone and clay.
*
The flap of the gryphon’s wings and the thunderous beat of its giant heart did not obscure the chaotic screams, shouts and screeching metal against metal below. Eohan watched hoping to see the clean plaits of Kajsa or Doriel, but it was only violent confusion. He was glad though he wore the claymore on his back; he was not expected to use it yet on anything other than a bail of hay.
Following Alana, they flew over the fort and saw Kajsa riding her horse and slashing her greatsword on a telchine who crumbled back to the clay. Without looking at her opponent, she rode through the battle. Slashing her weapon to the left, then the right. Her flashing armor and sword grew muddy and dull with each kill.
The dwarven defenders fought hard, ignoring the mud, dirt, clay, crystal.
At the end of the hour, the telchine had not gained the fort but had not retreated either. The dwarves sequestered themselves inside. The telchines made camp upon the battlefield again, however, exhausted from battle and this close to the enemy, there was no carousing to be heard throughout the day and evening.
Deep in the night, Alana and Roark dressed in the weave with care. They left Eohan sleeping in their tent and crept past the sentries. Alana set sawdust charges and blasting caps on the hinges of the dwarves’ granite walls. Roark hid in the shadows, where the rising sun would blind anyone who looked his way.
*
Chapter 10
Persidal Valley in the Realm of Larcia
As the sun rose across the field, Alana mounted Ortzi who stepped towards the Larcian fort. Ortzi screeched at the fort door, louder and more magnificent than any herald’s trumpet. Once the sound died on the wind, Alana called out, “I come to negotiate in good faith.”
Blazedigger shouted from the wall, “Never!”
Alana raised her hands.
Roark pushed the ignition switch.
Seconds later, a loud boom echoed through the valley, followed by a thud as the door fell to the ground in front of Ortzi’s feet. The gryphon screeched again. This time loud enough to echo across every room of the fort.
“I ask again if you would consider negotiation, with the Guild acting as mediators,” Alana said.
“We will never surrender,” a young man with a red beard called out. Alana made a note of him as a troublemaker.
“Shut it, boy!” Doriel shouted, “I want to hear the General and Sergeant speak!”
“Children suffer from this continued conflict with the telchine,” Kajsa shouted, “We have already lost farmers and their children. We have lost brothers and sisters-in-arms. Yet, if we lose this land, Larcia is lost. How can we negotiate?”
“The Guild only seeks to stop this war and find peace.” Alana said, “We seek a fair and profitable compromise.”
Older, wiser dwarves began speaking. Every time a word of opposition to a possible treaty filled the air, Doriel shouted it down while Kajsa begged for peace from her people.
*
The gryphons were housed; the armies made fires and waited while the leaders spoke with Alana on a wooden pavilion created by the newly collapsed fort door. Roark, long accustomed to seeing the secrets all intelligent beings hide, listened.
When the first knife appeared for Alana, he deflected it and killed the would-be assassin before sie came in blade length near his aunt. The telchine crumbled back into the clay from which sie was born.
Holding piles of fresh clay, he openly begged loud enough that all who stood by could hear: “Allow your honor guard to sit beside you, Lady War Ender. You are in danger!”
The rumor that Alana was in danger spread predictably through the ranks.
Alana met eyes with Melittas. “You hired me. Am I safe in your presence?”
“Yes, War Ender,” Melittas replied. Hir voice did not betray the duplicity.
She turned towards Kajsa. “General, am I safe in your presence?”
“Yes, Lady War Ender,” the dwarf said without any hint of warmth in her tone or her eyes.
Beside her, Blazedigger watched Melittas with a new weariness. “My Lady War Ender, if it pleases you, we might offer one of our own in ransom to provide you with even more security.”
Melittas quickly also added, “I would also offer one of my own.”
“Good, but unneeded.” Alana dismissed Roark and Eohan who went back to the grounds.
“That blade ...” Eohan whispered.
“From the Viscount,” Roark whispered back. “I’ve always felt it’s the height of bad manners to kill a War Ender whom you hired.”
Eohan smiled wanly. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
In position, they waited. Hours were broken by the occasional game of cards with a curious dwarf or telchine who had never met a Fairsinge. The dwarves were mostly interested that Fairsinge “bled like animals” while the telchine were curious “how they knew they were male.”
From the cliffs above the pavilion, Seweryn flashed a mirror towards Roark’s face. Leaping to his feet, Roark raced towards the tent screaming, “Watch out! Lady Alana.”
As planned, Eohan fell a few paces behind him.
Once Roark was in the correct position, Seweryn, dressed in a realistic looking beard, but a telchine uniform in greens and blues shoved a dwarvish knife into Roark’s chest. It missed all the major organs, but Roark still screamed from the pain of the knife piercing his flesh.
Seweryn was gone before anyone could catch him.
Agony rattled in his chest as Alana bellowed, “You tried to kill me, Lady Alana of the Guild, though we negotiate in good faith? For Roark is more than my Guild Honor Guard, he is also of my own nephew. If he falls, I fear Guild retribution will be swift for both sides. You offered your own people as ransom, should I kill them in cold blood?”
Roark didn’t hear the council’s answer as Eohan and a nearby dwarf carried him to another tent. In the commotion, they weren’t stopped as the dwarves and telchine joined forces in search for Roark’s killer.
Eohan gently placed Roark on his cot. He knelt beside Roark pressing his massive hands to his chest. “We need all these people out! Good Sir, bring a medic!” Eohan screamed. The dwarf raced out.
Fighting against the pain, Roark pressed his hands over Eohan’s hands, trying to staunch the blood. Looking into the other apprentice’s face, he was glad his aunt found a friend for him who wouldn’t leave his side.
Seweryn materialized from a dark corner wearing only the weave with a first aid kit. He sprinkled a potion upon the wound and bandaged Roark efficiently. Then extracted a bottle of Daosith wine from his bag, uncapped it with his teeth, and took a swig. He handed it to Roark who downed the rest, forgetting Alana’s earlier message about being friends with the assassin.
“Eohan, don’t look so glum,” Seweryn whispered in Fairsinger. “Both sides share a common fear of Alana’s retribution. Common fear is common ground.”
Rustling through a bag, Seweryn found a bottle of telchinish whiskey, took two large gulps and handed it to Eohan.
“Dwarves love self-sacrifice for one’s comrade in arms and telchine are very loving to their offspring. They might not understand the idea of ‘nephew’ in our sense of the word, but they understand it’s a familial relationship. That’s why I stabbed him, not you.”
Eohan sniffed and wiped away his unstoppable tears. “Alana told me. I just didn’t expect this much blood. Sorry.”
Roark wanted to tell Eohan not to be sorry. No one ever cried for him, but the elvish wine made him too sleepy to comfort his friend.
“Take a drink to settle your nerves, but don’t get drunk. Clean the bandages every two hours. Keep Roark still and give him a single pill every time you clean the wound. As night falls, call in the servants and explain Roark is near death. Understand?”
“Yes, Lord Seweryn.” Eohan choked out.
“Chin up, lads, your part is alm
ost over,” Seweryn said before he rolled under Roark’s cot where he napped while Alana entered with a telchine doctor.
Staring at the blood-stained bandages, sie muttered, “I can make a mud pack to cover the wound.”
“The bandages are better for our kind,” Alana said. “Any other suggestions?”
“I’ve never seen the red blood of elfkin. Does this mean you are related to the humans? I know someone who keeps a human slave…”
“Then leave! I’ll care for him,” Eohan snapped. Though it wasn’t part of the plan, he straightened to his full height and backed the doctor out. Roark had never seen such passionate anger in his companion’s eyes.
Alana gave Roark a kiss on his brow before she followed.
Watching his companion’s shoulders slouch, Roark asked, “You alright?”
Eohan nodded. Seweryn voice whispered from below Roark’s cot. “Calm yourself, Son of Aedell. Roark will be fine and so will you.”
Roark moaned about the pain whenever a servant approached the command tent, but otherwise kept to his cot. At midnight, he officially died.
Alana and Eohan burnt a draped effigy filled with feathers in front of all the assembled dwarves and telchine. Eohan stared at the fire, unblinking while Alana keened loudly.
High on granite cliffs, both wearing the weave, Seweryn and Roark watched his funeral. Watching Alana weep, Roark wondered what would happen if he fell in battle. The rest of his family would be glad to be rid of him. Would Alana truly mourn me? She claimed she was getting older, slower. If she fell, would I keen for her? Not knowing disturbed him. The agony of never seeing her again disturbed him more.
Roark was pulled from his thoughts when Seweryn whispered, “Everyone’s busy. We can safely cross the divide without being seen.”
“Agreed. My lord, I must know … Are you the reason Corwin looks for Alana’s downfall?”
“The lady’s belief that Martlet vows are more sacrosanct than Guild law is why Corwin seeks her fall. You know this.”
Seweryn stepped through the Expanse. Moments later when they passed into Si Na, Roark caught up to him.
“But did you?”
“Yes.”
Roark kicked a stone. It almost rolled down the hillside, but Seweryn stopped it with his foot. “Please don’t cause a fuss. I’d hate for Alana’s devotion to you all be for naught.” He sidestepped Roark and headed north where he had stayed before.
“How could you? She’s old enough…”
“Alana might be your aunt, but to me, she is a woman — and I cherish the memory of our time together.”
A rolling heat filled Roark’s stomach. “Do you think Eohan…?”
Seweryn flashed a cold smile and shook his head. Not in the negative but in contempt. “Since this seems to matter to you, may I point out that I was never her apprentice. And I was a man of twenty-five, not a youth. I was shy. She took pity.”
“Twenty-five? Really?” Roark was surprised. He figured that most Guild apprentices employed brothels or commoners.
Seweryn shrugged. “Alana teaches you to be in the world. During my apprenticeship, I wasn’t allowed to partake in any enjoyments that might distract me. Corwin feared a mistake might blush his reputation and hurt his chances at promotion. One night, Kajsa and Doriel went to a brothel as their habit. I did not partake. Alana asked me. I said yes. We were not in love. She insisted we use lambsheads, so she didn’t bear any more children. She needed a distraction. Your cousin’s death was on her heart. I hope as clumsy as I was, I offered her some comfort. She offered me a few skills, so I no longer fear I’ll make a whore weep.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“You brought it up,” Serweyn said. “Your jealousy is surprising.”
Alana used half-truths all the time, so Roark decided he could too. “I’m not jealous; I fear Corwin,” Roark said.
“Oh is that all? Well, that just proves you aren’t stupid, lad. A few nights with a man — especially another Martlet — is not why Corwin growls.”
“But those were his words.”
“Words hide true emotions as well as they show them. I thought Alana was teaching you to use this.” Seweryn flicked Roark’s brow. “Use it.”
*
Staring at the withered ash-coated embers, Alana allowed herself a moment to be taken by the grief of her fallen daughter. Saray had laughed easily and was kind to animals and children. Much to Corwin’s dismay, Saray had no talents for ending a war, but she had been an expert swordswoman. On the day she died, ten fell from her sword and she had stacked their bodies into a gruesome wall to defend the nursery. If only I had been home to fight beside her, perhaps Saray would still be alive.
Alana pushed that thought from her head.
“I leave you both to your folly. My own blood fell on this worthless field.”
She turned to the command tent. Eohan followed.
She had not taken two steps when Blazedigger cried out, “No, don’t leave us!”
Melittas agreed. “Please, don’t leave us, War Ender. Help us!”
An hour later, the war was over.
The dwarves would not lose their land, but Viscount Melittas could send trade envoys freely paying only one silver coin in duty per every ten pounds of earthen goods and linens if sie traded anywhere in the valley. Dwarven merchants paid the same rate for all metal goods and ales. The duty for gnomish spider silk would be a single copper per bolt, and since gnomes didn’t leave their hollows often, their merchants, who were from all beings, could travel freely from Si Na and Larcia. This would profit the telchine, the dwarves and the gnomes.
*
Chapter 11
Outside Mavpotas in Realm of Si Na
“I’m not sure if I am intelligent enough for The Guild, my lady,” Eohan said as they rode away from the telchine city towards the port village. Though he felt the horse’s cantering movements, after riding gryphons, Cloudy seemed to be part of him. Out of training and instinct, he leaned forward as the horse jumped a hedgerow and shifted his weight as the horse landed.
As did Alana on Talia, and Jaci, who was acting as a packhorse, since Roark was ‘dead.’
“It’s so much. You saw to the end of it even before we started.”
“That’s why you train.”
“And you didn’t make someone dance on coals for their misdeeds,” Eohan said softly.
Alana chuckled. “The old stories don’t quite capture the work, do they?”
“They are strangely more exciting … and less somehow,” Eohan said. “But what of my brother? I can’t leave him to his fate.”
“Kian has never been far from my mind. We must remain cautious, but I asked contacts to look into Port Denwort. We head to Dynion as soon as we pay the others and check in with Corwin.”
“We wanted to open a sausage shop.” As the words left his mouth, they felt bitter on Eohan’s tongue. He didn’t want that life anymore when a life of adventure awaited.
“Is that still what you wish?” Alana asked.
Thinking of his little brother’s safety, Eohan lied to himself, “Yes.”
“You’re sure you would rather be a butcher than work for the Guild?”
“Yes.” And I will believe it ...
Alana plucked a small burlap sack of coins from her saddlebag and threw it at him.
“That will fund your ride to Fairhdel. Keep the clothes; you can sell them to help finance your brother’s freedom.”
The bag of coins was more than he ever held before, yet she had several times more in her saddlebag. His pulse quickened as he wondered if there was some way he could have it all.
Faster than he could see, she grabbed Cloudy’s reins. Eohan felt panic as the three horses were crowded together. Jaci, riderless, neighed uncomfortably from behind him.
Without warning, Alana’s dagger was at his throat. He leaned away from the blade. A squeeze on his neck, then piercing pain between his ribs. Falling. He landed flat on his back on the dirt roa
d. Alana rode away with Cloudy and Jaci behind her.
The wind had been knocked out of him, but as he rose, he discovered no injuries. He checked his belt, his knives were still in place, but the scabbard on his back was empty; she had taken his claymore!
“I’m sorry,” he shouted after her. “I’m sorry.”
He walked until darkness fell. A pinch began in his heels and rose to his shins. His fingers grew numb in the cold. He hid them in his sleeves.
Something rustled through the bushes beside him.
He screamed as a huge animal appeared from the brush. A stag pawed the ground, but Eohan focused on the sharp-looking, six-tined antlers.
He receded slowly, putting space between him and the beast.
He leaned against the tree. Wet moss was cold on the back of his head.
A lump grew in his throat. He cried for the loss of everything. Kian, his mother, his new life and friends: Alana, Roark, Kajsa, Doriel, and Nalla. He would never see Nalla again.
His tears stopped when he heard laughter and voices.
“Lady Alana?”
No answer. Eohan feared he was being watched. As he was taught, he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and started scanning the underbrush for threats.
Four telchine approached on the road, singing in drunken song. They stopped when they saw him.
“What have we here?” The closest one wearing a frizzy yellow beard said. “Are you a dwarf?”
“No, I’m Fairsinge.”
“A what?”
“An elfkin.”
“Really?” Another answered, his voice slurred with alcohol. “You look like a dwarf to me.”
Eohan backed away. Struggling with his limited Telchinish, he said, “I just helped save your people from the dwarves. I flew beside the Viscount!”
“You a friend to the Viscount? Sie buy you that fancy tunic? My own offspring go around half-naked thanks to the damn taxes for hir war.”
The War Enders Apprentice (Chronicles of the Martlet Book 1) Page 7
