In a concealed tower high in the Grimwalls nigh Jallor Pass . . .
• • •
. . . RADOK TREMBLED IN HIS dark hiding place, not chancing even a visit to the pits to relieve his bladder and bowels. Instead he voided them in the small chamber where he cowered . . . and he waited; how long it might be he knew not. His master slew and slew, and had done so ever since his aethyrial visit of the night. Just ere the flight, his mood had been one of gaiety, and he chortled in glee, for his splendid plan, no doubt, had come to completion that very day. But upon his return his wrath seemed unbound, and Radok had taken to his heels and had hidden away. What had happened, he did not know, but whatever it was Radok did not wish to be accidentally caught in the rage. His master tended to kill messengers of ill news, and even though Radok had no ill message to convey, still some dreadful event must have occurred. Nay, Radok would not be caught in his master’s blind fury, as hapless Chun most certainly were. And so Radok trembled and hid in the tiny closet and squirmed in his own urine and feces . . .
. . . while Nunde slew and slew.
62
Reckoning
The consequences of war are quite dreadful: treasure spent; property destroyed; lives lost; warriors forever maimed in body, mind, spirit, heart—one or more or all. But perhaps the most profound damage occurs to those not directly involved in combat, for wars produce widows and orphans and bereaved sweethearts and lovers and kindred, and for every warrior slain there are many left behind who must grapple with inconsolable grief and with living a life bereft. And given the total number killed in a war, the entirety of those with grieving hearts is enormous.
And in the battle fought at Gûnarring Gap . . .
• • •
“. . . SEVENTEEN WARROWS, five Dylvana, thirty thousand Alliance men, two Lian, and ninety-seven Jordians are fallen.
“Among the enemy, thirty thousand Garians and Albaners are dead—fifteen thousand in battle, fifteen thousand murdered—along with just under fifty thousand Southers.
“No Châkka were slain, though some took minor wounds. I take that as proof of the merit of the black-iron armor as well as to the proof of the excellence of the Châkka in combat.
“And of Arkov, there is no sign.”
“What of the wounded?” asked Reyer, his head bandaged where he had taken a cut.
Aarnson, now War Commander, replacing Lord Raden who had been slain in the second battle, looked at his list and said, “Eight thousand Alliance warriors took damage—light to severe—while nine hundred Jordians—including Alric—took harm. As to the Southers—”
“I am not concerned with the Southers,” said Reyer.
“My King,” said Conal, “you might not be concerned with how many are wounded or slain, but you need to decide what to do with those who survived, those who are now our prisoners.”
“And there are some forty thousand in all,” said Aarnson.
“Have them bury the dead—Alliance first—in the plains of Ellor,” said Reyer. “Make certain that any surviving jemedars and other commanders of theirs work beside their soldiers. After which, I will pronounce verdict upon them all.”
“My lord,” said Silverleaf, “the Waerlinga and the Dylvana will wish for pyres.”
“As you will, Alor Silverleaf,” said Reyer. Then he turned to King Ulrik.
“My slain Vanadurin,” said King Ulrik, “must of needs be buried ’neath green turves in a common mound, for they fought together and died together and shall be buried together, wearing their arms and armor as well as having the arms and armor of the foe they slew lying at their feet. —My own men and I will see to that.”
Reyer nodded.
“And I would have the slain enemy buried far away from the Harlingar mound,” added Ulrik.
“Were it mine to do, King Ulrik, they would not e’en lie in the soil of Mithgar,” said Reyer. Then he sighed and added, “But we must clean up these grounds.”
He looked off to where the battles had occurred, where gorcrows and ravens and kites and other carrion-eaters gorged upon the fallen, rising up scrawking in dark milling clouds when disturbed, only to settle down once more to the feast, where they tossed torn-away dangling gobbets of meat down ravenous, bottomless craws.
Then Reyer stood and said, “And now, my lords, if you will forgive me, I will see to my brother, Alric.”
“I would go with you as well,” said Ulrik.
Together, they strode toward the hospital grounds.
North and a goodly distance upwind and away from the smell of blood and gore and slaughter on the battlefield, horses, weary and hungry, grazed upon the lush green grass of Ellor. Mounts and remounts, Jordian and Elven, they had run long and hard, and had covered just under sixty leagues—or as Durgan would have it, one hundred seventy-five miles—from one morn to the following. An incredible ride, all told . . . improbable, many would say; impossible, would say others. But now these noble steeds fared on rich and grain-headed grass and drank of the cool waters of nearby streams running down from the tors of the Gûnarring.
“Elwydd!” exclaimed Ulrik, upon approaching Röedr and Valder and Alric, “but he is the spitting image.”
Valder grinned but Röedr said, “All but his eyes. They belong to my Gretta.”
Alric, wincing, sat up and said, “King Reyer, I present my sire, Prince Valder, and my grandsire, Duke Röedr.”
And although they had already met in the field, Reyer inclined his head as both men stood and bowed.
Then Alric turned and gestured for Conal to come, and when he arrived, he added, “And I also present my Da, Captain Conal of King Valen’s court.”
And both Jordians clasped Conal’s hand and Duke Röedr said, “Thank you, Captain Conal, for raising such a splendid young man.”
“All of my lads, all of my sons, whether sired by me or not, are splendid men—Reyer, Alric, and Durgan, as well as Cuán who is not here.” Then he turned to Alric and said, “How is that hard noggin of yours?”
“My headache is almost gone, Da. I don’t know what I hit it upon when Runner fell, but hit it I did. Knocked me into next sevenday.”
“And your chest?”
“The leather and chain took most of the hurt, but enough was left over.”
“And here come the two who saved your ratty hide,” said Reyer, gesturing for Perry and Digby to approach.
After they were introduced, Perry said, “’Twasn’t us who saved Alric, but—”
“Ahem, Perry,” said Digby, “but it’s Lord Alric, I understand.”
“Prince, lord, or just a giddy youth,” snapped Perry, “no matter—”
“Giddy youth?” sputtered Alric.
But Reyer roared, and Valder joined him, as well as did Ulrik and Conal, and Ulrik said, “Giddy youth: that seems to fit his sire, too.”
“Like sire, like son,” said Valder, and his face split with a wide grin.
“Ahem, if I might have your attention,” said Perry, “it was the Dwarves who saved Alric, and me and Diggs, too.”
• • •
FUNERALS WERE HELD, and Men and Elves and Warrows wept, yet all understood that death was a dreadful cost of war. Riessa sang them into the sky, including the slain Southers.
In all it took a tenday to deal with the dead and the burials. During this time, feeding upon rich grasses and drinking pure water, the horses of the Jordians and of Elvenkind rested and recovered.
As to the foe, Reyer sentenced all the jemedars and other commanders to hang by the neck until dead. And the common foot soldiers among them were exiled from Reyer’s realms forever.
He sent the wounded of the Alliance on their way home, escorted by hale and fit countrymen. As to the remainder of his Alliance army, he ordered them to march the prisoners down through Jugo and to Arbalin Isle, where they were to commandeer ships and sail them to
the shores of Chabba. There the prisoners were to be offladed upon the beaches to fend for themselves. In this task, the Raudhöll Châkka asked to accompany the march. “It will be good to see them gone from this land,” growled Regga. “Delek has asked to go with them, as have others, in the hopes that the prisoners take it in their heads to rebel. I am of a mind to send them. They seem to fear us.”
“Imagine that,” said Digby, and he broke into laughter.
Reyer and the Jordians and the Elves and Warrows and a number of other Men, along with Driu and Dalavar and Draega and a smattering of Châkka, then set out for Caer Pendwyr in the hopes they would find Usurper Arkov there.
• • •
IT TOOK BUT FIFTEEN days for this army to reach West Bank on the River Argon, where another four days were spent in ferrying horses and riders across to East Bank. They rode onward, and some twelve days after, the outriders reported that distant scouts were tracking their progress.
“Make no move against them,” said Reyer. “I would have Arkov know I am coming.”
And onward they rode, shadowed by others, for a twoday more.
Thus it was that a fortnight after leaving the Argon, they came into sight of the city of Caer Pendwyr, where outside the first and easternmost defensive wall, a heavily timbered palisade, stood an army across the way.
Röedr threw up a hand, and the legion came to a standstill.
Somewhat back in the ranks, Digby groaned. “I thought we had beaten them all.”
“Ready your bow, bucco,” said Perry, pulling his own from its saddle scabbard.
Yet as the buccen strung their weapons, a rider broke away from the distant army, even as a wide central gate in the palisades swung open and driven waggons and carts and people afoot came streaming out, each pausing only long enough for the army to pass them through.
The rider, though, continued galloping toward Reyer’s army.
Durgan, bearing the High King’s standard, broke away and rode forward to meet the oncoming rider.
Out some distance, they met. And after but a moment, Durgan turned Steel about, and he and the rider both galloped toward the legion.
Digby and Perry, bows strung, arrows nocked, moved to flank Reyer, for they yet were charged with his protection.
“Mayhap they send a messenger to ask for parley,” said Alric, at hand.
But Driu smiled and said, “See the tabard the messenger wears?”
Alric frowned and said, “A silver circle on a field of blue? Wait, I remember my mother’s lessons in heraldry. Riamon, right?”
“Aye,” said Driu. “It represents the ring of the Rimmen Mountains, the singular feature of Riamon.”
“Why would they be siding with Arkov?” said Alric.
“Wait, my boy,” said Valder, now also grinning widely.
The messenger haled his steed up short before Reyer, and leapt to the ground and knelt. “My King.”
“Rise,” said Reyer.
“The lords of Riamon and Aven bid you welcome. We have conquered the Garians occupying our lands, and would join you in the overthrow of Arkov the Usurper.”
“What?” said Perry.
“Shh!” hissed Digby, relaxing his draw.
“We have been waiting, my King,” said the messenger. “Our scouts reported your progress.”
“That’s who they were,” said Alric.
“And the city?” asked Reyer.
“Even now we allow the citizens to evacuate,” said the messenger, “for neither King Ian nor King Galar would wreak destruction upon the innocent.”
Röedr growled and said, “I would not have the Usurper in disguise sneak away among them.”
“We inspect each and every one,” said the messenger.
“You examine the carts and waggons for false bottoms?” asked Röedr.
“Aye, my lord. And we make certain none are hidden among bales and—”
There came a shouting from among the distant army.
“See to that,” said Reyer, glancing at Alric.
“Gladly!” said Alric, and he spurred his horse forward, with Valder and a group of Jordians galloping after to catch up.
• • •
“I AM NO ONE, my King,” quavered the man on his knees, cowering, bowing and scraping, mumbling to the ground.
“No one? Hiding in a waggon among carpets?” said Alric.
“Let me see his face,” demanded Galar, king of Aven.
A soldier grabbed a handful of stringy pale hair and jerked the man’s head upright.
“As I thought,” spat Galar. “I recognize this rat from days bygone: ’tis Baloff, Arkov’s prime counselor.”
“No, I am just a poor—”
“Deny it not!” shouted Galar. Then he turned to Reyer. “My liege, I say we put him to the sword.”
Reyer held up a hand of abeyance, and, without taking his gaze from the coward, he said, “Lie to me not: you are Baloff?”
The man’s “Yes” came out as a squeal, and weeping, the man blubbered, “I counseled him against war, truly I did, yet he was determined to take the crown.”
“Where then is Arkov?” demanded Reyer.
“Where he has been ever since he returned,” wailed Baloff. “Sitting on the throne. I said we should flee, but he would not, and now it is too late.”
“Right,” said Perry.
“Hush,” said Digby.
Reyer turned to Captain Hann and said, “Manacle him. I will deal with his ilk later.”
“My lord, we have no manacles,” said Hann, smiling grimly, “yet we will truss him up tightly until we come upon some.”
Reyer nodded, then turned to Galar and Ian and Duke Röedr and said, “As soon as the city is emptied, we will enter. Until then, have all of our men examine those leaving. As you said, Lord Röedr, I, too, would not have Arkov slip away.”
• • •
TWO DAYS LATER, into the city rode Reyer’s legion, and now with the Avenians and the Riamonians added to their ranks they were some twenty-eight thousand strong.
As planned, several hundred warriors stopped inside the gate and closed it and stood ward to make certain that none else from within could leave.
The streets were empty of all but the wind blowing swirls of dust before it. Now and again, a face would peer out from behind a curtain or doorway and look on in silence, and men would stop and make certain whoever it might be was of no immediate interest to the legion.
And on they rode, through the subsequent gates set within the defensive walls of the town—four walls altogether—counting the easternmost wooden palisade with its wooden gate—followed by three more of heavy stone with iron gates set therein.
At last they reached the tip of the headland, and, level with the eye, just beyond stood three broad and tall stone spires towering up from the Avagon Sea far below; perhaps they were once part of the headland, but no more. A swing bridge gave access from the headland to the first spire, and one would have to cross a rope-and-board span to go from the first to the second, and again from the second to the third.
And upon the first spire loomed castellated stone walls surrounding the High King’s palace.
“My liege,” said Röedr, “I suspect treachery, for the swing bridge to the spire is deployed, and the gates beyond are open. Mayhap the bridge is rigged to fall once we set foot upon it. I will send some to see.”
“I will go myself,” said Reyer.
“Nay, my lord,” said Captain Hann, leaping down.
But before Reyer could say otherwise, Conal said, “Rígán, you must let us do our duty to you.”
Then Conal dismounted and followed Hann, even as Reyer said, “Da, don’t—”
“Let him,” said Driu, and Reyer fell silent.
• • •
FINALLY, BOTH CONAL AND
HANN signaled that all seemed right, and Röedr himself and a warband of Jordians rode across and through the gate and onto the palace grounds while Reyer waited. Long moments passed and long moments more ere the Iron Duke returned and declared it safe enough for Reyer and the others to enter.
• • •
UP THE STEPS AND into the palace they strode, past the great bronze portal to come to the outer chamber, there where Valen had fallen. With Reyer in the lead, and Digby and Perry at his side, through halls they pressed until they came to the high-vaulted Chamber of State. And at the far end and upon a stone dais Arkov sat upon the throne, the crown of the High King of Mithgar gracing his brow.
Reyer stopped and held up a hand and said, “Stay.”
The warband with him hesitated, and Silverleaf said, “Art thou certain, King Reyer?”
“I am,” said Reyer, then he started forward, and both Digby and Perry started with him. And Reyer paused and said, “Not this time, my friends. This I must do alone.”
Perry ground his teeth in frustration, and tears filled Digby’s eyes.
Driu said, “It is his right, wee ones.”
DelfLord Regga nodded his agreement.
“But I can spit him from here,” said Perry.
“Nevertheless,” said Dalavar.
And as Alric clenched his jaw and shifted his lance from hand to hand, Conal said, “Go, Rígán.”
And Reyer smiled at his “Da,” then turned and strode toward the dais.
At the foot of the steps leading up to the throne, Reyer paused and said, “You have something of mine, Usurper.”
Arkov sneered and said, “And what might that be, Pretender?”
“My father’s crown, and now mine.”
“It was never his by right,” said Arkov.
“You lie, Usurper.”
“Do not call me that, boy.”
Reyer drew his sword and said, “Since you will not yield to me that which is mine—”
“You?” sneered Arkov. “A mere child? You would dare combat with me?”
Reyer circled the tip of his blade and said, “Dying by my hand is better than being gutted, quartered, and hanged in chains.”
Stolen Crown Page 35
