by JW Webb
The Tcunkai camp was bigger than he’d expected, a cluster of tents, fences, and timber outbuildings, and through the middle, a wide gurgling stream. Outside, a broad warrior glared at their approach, his huge tattooed arms folded, and at his side a heavy tulwar. The guard nodded at Teret and without a word pulled back the tent flaps, allowing the young woman and her companion to enter.
It was spacious inside, lamps lit the corners, and thick rugs covered the floor. Tamersane blinked and glanced about until Teret bid him sit cross-legged by a pole and wait. It was only then that Tamersane realised this tent was curtained into several parts, thus even bigger than he’d thought. Teret kneeled beside him, and together they waited in silence for several minutes.
At last a deep voice bid them enter. Teret stood with fluid grace whilst Tamersane awkwardly shambled to his feet. Ahead, the curtains were pulled back and Tamersane recognised Rogan’s tough features staring at them beneath a lantern. Rogan grinned and ushered Teret and Tamersane inside the inner tent.
A large figure was seated on a broad rocking chair, smoking a pipe and fussing the floppy ears of an ancient hound that lolled sleepy at his feet. The man looked to be in his fifties, with a wide-set frame, and his heavy-set face wore a lugubrious expression. He looked at Tamersane with lazy eyes: they were shrewd jet beads, and Tamersane noted that this was the first Tcunkai he’d seen without blue eyes.
“Take your seat.” The Kaan’s voice was as heavy as his face. He looked bored, but Tamersane knew that laconic gaze was summing him up. “I trust your arm improves?”
Tamersane nodded, looked around for a chair and seeing none evident, took to sitting cross-legged on the rug again. Teret remained standing, as did Rogan and another thin-looking warrior who had just arrived and now glared at Tamersane in an unfriendly fashion. Tamersane smiled at the newcomer. There’s always one miserable bastard.
“I’m mending fast, thanks to Teret here.” Tamersane smiled at the healer, who for her part kept her cool gaze focussed on the tent wall ahead.
“She is a good healer.” The Kaan puffed at his pipe and fussed his hound again. He leaned back and yawned. “Well, farlander, how best may I serve thee?”
Tamersane was a bit taken aback by the formal tones. He scratched his head. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. My head’s in a bit of a muddle,” he said after a moment. Close by, Rogan grinned and Teret flashed a smile. Meanwhile, the glaring man kept glaring. “It’s been a hectic few weeks, and I don’t know where to begin.”
“At the beginning.” The Kaan pulled at his pipe, sending a sweet aroma washing through the tent. It reminded Tamersane of Yashan, their guide in the desert, who had favoured a similar habit.
“It’s a long story, and a tad complicated.” Tamersane’s nose itched. He was tempted to pick it but deemed this not the right time. Instead he smiled at the Kaan in vacant fashion.
“Is he soft in the head?” This from the skinny man with the hostile expression.
“A joker, I believe.” The Kaan smiled ever so slightly. “And a man who hides his cunning behind a smiling mask. Relax, Dilani, not every farlander is our foe.” Dilani said nothing. Neither did he relax. “My attendant has no love for strangers,” the Kaan told Tamersane. “He doesn’t like his own family much, come to think of it. Do you Dilani?” The Kaan chuckled slightly whilst the thin man’s gaze slipped sideways. Tamersane would have to watch his back with that one, he decided. “Now,” continued the Kaan, “bring sustenance and brew, there’s a good fellow. We have a long evening ahead.”
Throughout that night Tamersane remained crouched and very uncomfortable as he recounted events west and south of The High Wall during recent months. He started with his meeting Corin at Waysmeet Village in distant Kelthaine and continued through to their victory against the sultan down in Permio. He filled in as best he could around Corin’s other adventures, as it was his friend that seemed to interest the Kaan most.
“This is the one the Seeress told Olen to await?” This to Rogan.
“Aye, Kaan, a Longswordsman and redoubtable fighter by the look of him,” Rogan replied.
“That he is,” added Tamersane. “The finest warrior I’ve ever known, though a touch grumpy on occasion.” He went on to explain how Corin was cursed by visitations of various divinities and had a weird kind of death wish. The Kaan was most interested in this.
“Your friend is at the Delve. That will be touch and go, but if he is who Olen thinks he is, and how you describe him, then I daresay he’ll survive their questioning. You see, Tamersane of Kelwyn,” (this was the first time anyone had mentioned his name and Tamersane was a bit shocked) “we Rorshai are not overly trusting of strangers. We need to vet you out. So. Enough of this Corin. What of you, Kelwynian?”
Tamerlane shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it. But I suppose I’ll head back to Kelwyn and seek out my cousin, Queen Ariane. See how she fares against the usurper in Kelthaine.”
Teret’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known about his connection to the queen. She also looked a bit disappointed, Tamersane couldn’t help noting.
“Yes, perhaps that’s best.” The Kaan had noted Teret’s expression also. “But not until spring. It’s too hazardous to cross the mountains this late in the year.”
“Or else I could go and join my friend at the Delve.” Tamersane glanced sideways at Teret.
“They would kill you.” She pinned him with those large blue eyes. “You are not your friend.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to chance the mountains in winter. They need me in Kelwyn, and there’s nothing for me here.”
“You are an arrogant man.” Teret’s eyes were daggers, but from his seat the Kaan chuckled.
“Come farlander, we’ve grilled you enough this evening! You must be weary. I’d have got you a chair but I wanted to see the mettle in your loins.”
“Thank you.”
“Go now.” The Kaan waved him and Teret leave. “We will speak more over the coming days whilst we await news from the Delve concerning the Ptarnians.”
“Ptarnians?” Tamersane glanced back before leaving the tent.
“An army, apparently heading this way. Good night!”
Teret walked silent beside him as Tamersane tried to gather his thoughts. It had been a peculiar few days. And now he came to think about it, he didn’t have a clue what he wanted.
Kelwyn and Ariane would stand or fall despite anything he did. Sure, Corin could use his help but that seemed out of his hands now. Then that left staying here. They seemed amicable enough, apart from the hostile attendant whom he would keep two eyes on. And then there was Teret, walking silent and moody beside him.
She said not a word until they arrived at a tent. A different tent, Tamersane couldn’t help noting. “Get some sleep.” Teret turned and faded into the night. Tamersane ventured inside, found a nest of blankets strewn across the floor. The Tcunkai clothes he wore itched so he stripped, and within seconds was fast asleep.
Tamersane woke in alarm to the soft touch of a warm hand caressing his manhood.
What the…?
“Is it really that bad—the prospect of spending winter at Morning Hills?” Teret smiled at him from the dark.
He was about to reply but she stopped him with a kiss. After that he got quite enthusiastic. “Be mindful of that arm,” Teret laughed as he pulled her close.
That following morning, Tamersane reflected that staying at Morning Hills until Spring might prove prudent. Besides, he needed to get his strength back.
Chapter 10
Greystone Bridge
“How close are they?” Ariane sat her horse next to Tarello as her captain held the glass to his left eye. The glass was a gift from Valentin that had proved invaluable thus far.
“Three miles and closing. It’s going to be tight.” Ariane nodded as her captain continued to scan the road behind. She knew the detachment had left Atarios but she didn’t know when. It was still twenty leagues to Greystone Bridge
where she had arranged, via pigeon, to meet them. Once there, their combined forces would hold the bridge against Perani, do as much damage to his army as possible, then cut and run into Raleen, hopefully tempting the enemy to follow. But, as Tarello just said, it was going to be tight.
“Ready for the next push?” Tarello shoved the glass in his belt and yelled the riders forward again, whilst Ariane gazed back along the road.
She could just about see the first riders coming into view as they raced south along the glistening ribbon of the rain-washed road. Dark-clad horsemen gaining fast. Time to get moving. If they held their pace they would reach Greystone Bridge at dusk, allowing just enough light to set their trap. Ariane doubted Perani would stop for darkness with his prize so close. She turned her horse about and urged it speed back down the hill. Once there, Queen Ariane joined the others and galloped along the Great South Way as afternoon deepened.
***
“He has done what?” Caswallon viciously hurled his wine glass at Gribble who ducked and hid behind a large urn. After a second, he dared show his goblin face again to leer at his boss. Mr Caswallon was in a rare bad mood today.
“Abandoned his post, yes, yes—I know it’s naughty. Give me a break, I’m only the fucking messenger,” Gribble sulked. During the last few weeks Caswallon had become more and more volatile. It was almost as bad as working for Morak, his old boss back in the good old bad days.
Morak had been prone to incinerating things that irritated him, several of which had included Soilfins. But at least he had been predictable in his nastiness. It was consistent. This mortal wizard was all moods and scowls with the occasional treat sent his way.
Trouble was, Caswallon was obsessed with three things. First, acquiring the spear Golganak, which Gribble was familiar with and didn’t really want to see again—ghastly thing that it was. Second, crushing Kelthara, and they had rebelled again a few days ago and now appeared to have a more concerted leadership. The Groil Caswallon sent had been slaughtered, and his new boss was beside himself with fury.
The third issue was Bitch-Queen Ariane, who continued to evade Mr Caswallon’s generals—dim lot that they were, in Gribble’s astute military opinion. Derino had messed up big time, and now Perani seemed to be losing the plot—abandoning his post and all. Bound to piss the boss off that. Mr Caswallon employed the wrong people. Gribble had considered putting his name forward for general but hadn’t wanted the responsibility.
Gribble had just got back from the Perani camp, which had been almost deserted, save for a few guards. He’d flown on to Wynais, but that wasn’t much fun because he wasn’t allowed to eat anyone in that city—part of the tenuous arrangement between Caswallon and the turncoat Tolranna (though things would change shortly, Caswallon had informed him with one of his rare smiles). So Gribble decided it best to watch and wait, at least for the time being.
Caswallon, ignoring Gribble, slunk back in The Glass Throne, his coaly eyes smouldering like hot acid. Gribble, deeming his timing right, grinned and hopped over to snatch a fresh wine glass from the crystal bench gathering dust to the throne’s right. He twirled the decanter daintily with his claws and filled two generous glasses, taking the first to Caswallon.
“Perani better succeed else I’ll have his head on a plate. I will not be gainsaid, Goblin.”
“Of course not. You are the boss. Perani needs to shape up. If I were he I’d —”
Caswallon raised a hand as though he was swatting an invisible fly. “I do not need your counsel, Goblin.”
Gribble looked pained. “Well, you know I’m always here for you. You haven’t got many friends Mr Caswallon. But please don’t call me goblin.”
Caswallon’s face softened. “You are loyal, yes. And I do appreciate that, Gribble.” Gribble purred like a malfunctioning engine. “And yes, I am misunderstood—always have been. It’s just that someone strong has to take the helm. Rule the realms and maintain order. Kelsalion was weak—he had to go. By having him murdered I was merely being proactive.”
A dark cloud settled outside, accompanied by the noise of something heavy crashing into the wall. Somewhere close by glass shattered and voices screamed.
Caswallon paled. Not again! He’d just had the roof repaired.
For his part Gribble slipped behind The Glass Throne and stared bug-eyed at the winged shape manifesting outside the window like a thousand-ton bat. Vaarg the dragon was paying another social call.
Caswallon shrank back in The Glass Throne as Vaarg’s huge triangular head smashed through the double doors opening into the throne room, knocking them free of their hinges and onto the floor.
“I’M BACK.”
“So I see.” Caswallon gripped the throne’s crystal arms with his bony fingers and somehow held his nerve. “Do you always have to be so bloody destructive?” Last time the dragon dropped by, it had cost him a roof. This time it looked like the entire iron wall of the palace had fallen in alongside the doors. Caswallon shivered as the chilly breeze found him from outside.
“I FOUND YOUR REBELS, WARLOCK.”
“Did you grill them to charcoal?” Caswallon maintained hold of his wine glass and just managed to get the contents down his throat before the dragon replied, his great voice shaking the ceiling and sending a crystal chandelier crashing to the floor.
“NO. MY BELLY IS NOT HEATED YET. I’VE ONLY BEEN AWAKE A FORTNIGHT. IT TAKES TIME TO REACH THE CORRECT SETTING. BUT I GAVE THEM A FRIGHT ALL THE SAME.”
“I would have preferred if you’d grilled them.”
Gribble stuck his head out from the side of the throne. “It would have been better, yes, they are very dangerous.” He ducked back out of view when the dragon’s dinner plate eyes turned his way.
“I STOPPED BY TO INFORM YOU OF YOUR ENEMY’S IDENTITY.”
“Go on.”
Vaarg’s tongue flicked out across the room, knocking the decanter off the chest and spilling claret on the expensive carpet. Caswallon winced, whilst Gribble scurried over to lick up the mess.
“ARALLOS THE GOLDEN. HE HAS RETURNED.”
“That’s not possible. The Aralais are gone, Morak told me so.” Caswallon paled. No wonder he’d been blocked in his mission to crush the little queen and find the missing prince. An Aralais. No—the Aralais. Arollas the Golden was the greatest sorcerer of his time, though that was over a thousand years ago.
Vaarg’s massive eyes mocked the mortal wizard now shivering on his stolen throne. “IT IS OF SMALL ACCOUNT. I HAVE VOWED TO OBLITERATE HIM AT THE APPOINTED TIME.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Gribble muttered, now safely back behind the throne.
Vaarg ignored him. “ANY NEWS OF THE SPEAR?”
“I’m working on that.” Caswallon’s mind was everywhere.
“WORK HARDER. I WILL RETURN ONCE I’VE RESTED, AND I WILL BRING MY FIRE.”
“Something to look forward to,” Gribble couldn’t help saying as Vaarg’s huge head retreated back through the hole in the wall it had created. Minutes later, dark wings drummed the sky, and the shadow of the dragon vanished from the afternoon. Caswallon stared at Gribble and the goblin stared back; neither enjoyed these unannounced visits from the dragon.
“I met him on that boat before I got skewered.” Gribble chewed a nail thoughtfully.
“What?”
“That Arallos fellow. Thought I’d recognised him from somewhere. Very tall. Got big blue scary eyes.”
“Why didn’t you report that back to me?’
“I forgot.”
Caswallon pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and bid the goblin go get a flask of brandy - something stronger than wine was called for now. When Gribble returned, the goblin and his master sat staring at the hole in the wall. He’d have to get the builders back. Just another day in Kella City.
Meanwhile, in the south, Perani sensed victory was close.
***
“We must cut them off before they reach that bridge!” Perani yelled in Gonfalez’s ear. The general
and his second stared down from the hill as their troops filed by, rank upon rank of spear carrying hard-faced former Tigers. A mile ahead his cavalry— two thousand strong—were closing on the queen’s pathetic force, just visible in the distance.
Perani was anxious. Light was fading fast, and they should have caught up with Ariane by now, but somehow the little minx had stayed ahead. It was though she was tempting him on, or else playing him for a fool. Perani had the nasty feeling trickery lay ahead, but he calmed his nerves and snatched the spyglass off his second.
What could possibly go wrong? The little queen was running scared, hoping to reach Raleen. And so what if she did? Raleenians wouldn’t help lest they brought down the wrath of Caswallon. Nope, thought Perani, this irritating business would be sorted inside an hour—two at most. He cast an urgent eye at Gonfalez, who nodded and together they filed down to re-join the rest of the army below.
***
Ariane urged her beast to greater speed. Beside her, Tarello yelled encouragement at the riders following, amongst them Cale and Galed, pale-faced and ready for this day to be over. To the west, the sun sank like a huge brandy ball behind the shoulder of a rock. Ahead, the rush of water on stone announced they drew close to the River Glebe, where Kelwyn bordered Raleen.
Directly ahead, and clearly visible despite the rapidly fading light, Ariane spotted the stone walls marking Greystone Bridge, the only safe place to cross the Glebe between mountain and ocean. She spurred her mare on one last time. “Go girl—we’re almost there!”
Ariane’s riders clattered onto Greystone Bridge just as Perani’s vanguard thundered close behind. She gazed about wide-eyed; there was no sign of any Raleenians, and away south the road dwindled empty into evening.
Ariane cursed and dismounted, allowing her beast respite. “Form a shield wall!” she yelled. “We have to hold the bridge for as long as we can!” Tarello leaped down from his horse and shouted orders as the Kelwynians and Jaan’s Raleenian Lancers hastened to block the bridge from the approaching foe. The general’s first riders were scarce a hundred yards distant. In the fourth row, his ginger head buffeted by shields and the armour of his companions, Cale felt a little bit sick. It seemed very apparent that they were about to receive another hiding.
