Continuing on their path, they passed a few vestiges of this name: rusted, half-buried weapons, ruins of old fortifications from another era, and even a few yellowed bones sticking out of the brown soil, a silent testament to battles that had been raging since the beginning of time.
How many battles had this land seen? How many men had died here? Even as far away as the Matriarchy there was a legend that no matter where one dug in the Warrior’s Vale, one would find a skull. How many times had the Thalittes attacked Goran? How far had they advanced before being pushed back?
As the miles passed, these morbid signs became more and more frequent. Lana said a few prayers for the warriors whose bones the horses walked over. Is this what Saat wanted? The Upper Kingdoms hadn’t known a war since the last generation. Did he want to start another, as Usul had predicted?
The rain had stopped, and though the sky was still dark, the heirs could see a long way across the barren landscape, far enough to see the frontier post long before reaching it.
Goranese soldiers were ready for their arrival. Their post was a small one, with wooden ramparts reaching fifteen feet into the air and a shallow trench encircling them. Despite the fort’s small size, the men seemed ready to defend it to the death.
Ten archers threatened Grigán, Corenn, and the others when they approached slowly, hands raised in peace. Still, the Goranese kept their bowstrings tense.
“We won’t host anyone!” a captain warned them, from the top of a small wooden tower. “So if you weren’t sent by the emperor himself, get going!”
“That we will do, sir,” Corenn shouted so that he could hear. “But our affairs take us to Sola, and we would like to avoid the enemy’s camps. We would be grateful if you could share this information?”
“You are crazy,” the man said immediately. “Or something much worse. What affairs exactly bring you to the Wallatte border” He looked at them suspiciously.
“You are wrong to mistrust us, soldier,” Corenn said. “Our reasons for crossing the frontier at such a perilous time are quite sad, actually. My brother goes to Sola once a year to sell jewels. However, he left for Sola more than four moons ago, and we never heard from him again. With my companions, his associates, we are out to find him.”
“You’re lying,” the Goranese decided. “You are going to join the Wallattes!”
Grigán and Corenn looked at each other, surprised and confused.
“Why the devil do you think we are going to join the Wallattes, when we are headed to Sola?” Grigán asked, letting his frustration show.
“Because you are spies! Vermin from Wallos!” the man responded, pointing at them.
“You are at war with Wallos?” Corenn said, genuinely surprised.
The Mother’s obvious surprise finally made the captain doubt himself, and he responded with no less hostility, but less yelling.
“Who do you think we are facing? Who do you think is on the other side of the Vale? The Kauliens, maybe?”
“We thought it was the Thalittes . . .”
“Thallos was razed. Almost all the northern barbarians have disappeared or joined the Wallatte army. Like you didn’t already know it!”
“Of course we didn’t know. Why would we ask you for our enemies’ position if we were spies?”
Letting the man think through her response’s logic, Corenn turned to her friends.
“There you have it, Saat’s location,” she whispered. “With the Wallattes. My knowledge of eastern history is fairly weak, but I think that their civilization is the most evolved after the Tuzéens’.”
“Which makes him a serious threat to the Upper Kingdoms,” Rey noted, regretfully.
“We still have to pass through the Vale,” Lana reminded them. “The Goranese will stop their invasion, and the Loreliens won’t delay to come to their aid.”
“Where is your army?” Grigán asked the captain.
He smiled cynically and waved to the north.
“Don’t you see it?”
Squinting, Yan and the others tried to make out something on the horizon.
“I don’t see anything,” Léti declared.
She turned to Grigán, who had the best vision. The warrior scanned the horizon from northwest to northeast, his expression darkening.
“It’s there,” he said. “The entire horizon.”
Incredulous, Léti looked again, and stepped back, speechless. What she had taken for an absence of relief was the relief itself. On the horizon stretched a compact mass of camps, fortifications, wagons, horses, and footmen, invisible individually, but so numerous as to change the color of the horizon.
“Are you satisfied?” the man asked, feigning concern. “Return to your homes; it would be better for you. For in a couple dékades, when the Wallatte vermin have gathered their troops, this land will be the site for this century’s largest battle.”
“Sir,” Lana intervened, “by the grace of Eurydis, help us. We are going to try to get through, but we will never make it unless you share your knowledge.”
Lana’s charm and her Maz robe, which was much respected by the Goranese, was finally enough to get the man to respond.
“For now, the Wallattes amass near the coast,” he revealed. “They have built catapults to keep our ships from approaching the coast and surrounding them, something the Thalittes never thought to do. If you stay close to the mountains, you should be able to pass through just fine. But once on the other side, I suggest you head directly for Sola: stay far away from the ocean until you cross the Col’w’yr. After crossing the river, the region should be less dangerous.”
They thanked him and headed east, leaving the protective Goranese army, and the civilizations they had always known, behind them. From this point forward, they would march without knowing where they were going.
Grigán pushed them hard, very hard, on their first day east of the Curtain. Using his Rominian compass, he guided them southeast, toward Sola, as the Goranese captain had suggested.
Saat was somewhere to the south, at the heart of the Wallatte Kingdom, and if they wanted to face him, they would have to penetrate deeper and deeper into enemy territory. But Grigán left this confrontation for later. This close to the Vale it was too dangerous to head straight south; better to enter the kingdom from the east than from the north. The warrior didn’t dare share his pessimism about the entire endeavor.
The Warrior’s Vale was equally deserted on both sides, so much so that they didn’t see a living soul for many miles. But the place more than earned its name. The barbarian people cultivated the art of intimidation, and macabre trophies lined their path. The bodies of Goranese soldiers, hanged, impaled, or decapitated, had been left as close to the trail as possible, acting as so many warnings to anyone trying to enter the barbarians’ territory.
They crossed fifteen bodies before Grigán suddenly changed course and headed east at a gallop. They followed, anxiously scanning the horizon and looking for something that might have put the warrior on alert. He didn’t let them slow down until they reached the first few protective trees, a sign the cursed Vale was at its end.
“Did you see something?” Léti asked, as the horses caught their breath.
“A group of riders, to the south,” Grigán responded, as he scanned the hills. “A dozen or so, perhaps more.”
“Wallattes?” Yan asked.
“I don’t know; they were too far.”
“Do you think they saw us?”
“If I could see them, they could see us. Even more so because we were silhouetted on the horizon.”
Then, “There,” the warrior said angrily, pointing at a black spot. “Open your eyes, if you don’t want to be impaled on a stake!”
“Wise Eurydis, what a horror!” Lana responded, shocked at such an image.
“Don’t worry, Lana,” Rey responded, with ease. “Grigán would never let them do that. Right?”
“Don’t tempt me,” the warrior curtly responded.
They looke
d out over the landscape for a while longer before continuing. They tried to stay hidden among branches, rushing between patches of trees as quickly as possible. Soon the forest expanded, and the risk of being seen lessened. Yet the heirs didn’t relax, freezing at any sign from Grigán and ready to flee or fight if they needed to.
They had been riding since dawn, but their anxiety was stronger than their fatigue, and none complained. They all understood that, before anything else, they had to get as far away from the Warrior’s Vale as possible, even if that meant not stopping until nightfall.
Once again, as they had done often over the last two moons, Yan, Léti, and the others slept beneath the stars. As he set up his blankets on the wet, spongy ground covered in moss, the young man thought nostalgically of their princely chambers in the Broken Castle, Zarbone’s accommodations in the Land of Beauty, their rooms in Sapone’s palace in Romine, and all the other places they had stayed, all the way back to Raji the Ferryman, the Othenor’s cabin, and the performing troupe’s wagons. So many different places, already, and how many more to come? Few, probably.
Since they had crossed into the Eastian Kingdoms, Yan felt their adventure was reaching its end. It was an ominous, oppressive feeling, and images of Usul often bubbled up to the forefront of his consciousness. Grigán would die before the year’s end. The Upper Kingdoms would lose in a murderous war.
Certainly the future could be changed. In fact, weren’t he and the other heirs reacting directly to Usul’s prophecies? If Yan hadn’t revealed the coming war, would Corenn have decided to cross the Curtain? Weren’t they rushing to their end, believing their actions were for the best?
He dropped his blankets and looked at his friends, hands on his hips. Bowbaq, caring for the horses and their baggage. Grigán explaining to Léti how to install “traps” that would signal any enemy’s approach, like the ones he had used to catch Yan in Kaul. Rey worked to start a fire, sharing secret smiles with Lana while the Maz prepared a meal and selected a few items from their provisions. Corenn, right by his side, helping him put out their bedding for the night.
Despite the numerous dangers they had encountered together, they had always come out alive. But what if, this time, they had made the wrong choice? What if they had taken the wrong direction?
“We shouldn’t go to Wallos,” he announced suddenly, struck by a decision.
The heirs stopped their activities to stare at him in surprise. But Yan was at a loss. He felt their eyes on him, but didn’t know how to continue.
“Why?” Corenn asked, attentive to her student’s thoughts. “Are we missing something? What did Usul tell you that we don’t know?”
“Nothing else,” Yan lied, thinking of Grigán’s sad fate. “I only have . . . a feeling. I am not scared,” he added, to justify his words. “I mean, no more than we all are. But I don’t think we should approach Saat, if he is really at the head of this army. We’ll never reach him.”
“He’s right,” Grigán intervened, grabbing at the chance to share his own doubts. “With only the Thalittes, we would have had a chance; they were just beyond the Vale and small in number, compared to the Goranese. But now . . .”
“What does that change?” Rey objected. “We aren’t going to fight them all anyhow. So, Wallatte or Thalitte, what difference does it make?”
“It means we have to cross more enemy lines. With seven of us, and no one here speaks their language. How will we get past even a patrol when we don’t know the territory?” Grigán responded.
“But,” Lana said. “I thought we could get around the enemy? Approach Wallos from the east?”
“It won’t work,” Grigán asserted, shaking his head. “Their generals don’t seem to be idiots to me. If they thought to put catapults along the ocean shore, it’s probably a sign that they are watching their backs.”
“I don’t understand, Grigán. Why did you bring us here if you didn’t believe we had a chance? What did you have in mind?”
The warrior went to stroke his mustache, a sign of embarrassment, before once again discovering that it was hardly there at all, and hadn’t been since Three-Banks. The heirs anxiously waited for his response.
None of them know what war is like, he thought to himself. Two young Kauliens, a Mother, a Maz, a pacifist Arque, a loudmouthed Lorelien. That was his group of warriors, who naïvely thought they could slip past an entire army, an army of people who lived for battle.
“This morning, we didn’t know,” he finally said. “We couldn’t turn around once we had talked to the Goranese captain, and I wanted to see for myself. That’s done. With seven of us, we will never reach him.”
“Grigán!” Corenn shouted. Then she stopped and continued more calmly. “You’re not thinking of—”
“It’s our best chance,” the warrior interrupted her. “Alone, I could get close enough to Saat. Together, it is impossible.”
“You will not go alone!” Yan affirmed, joining Corenn’s protest. “You will not!”
“What other choice do we have?” Grigán said. “Fleeing is impossible. Saat can find us anywhere and send the Züu, or worse, the Mog’lur, after us. And going to Wallos together is a sure way to get ourselves killed.”
“Maybe we could send a message to Saat?” Lana suggested. “Propose a compromise.”
“Do you really think this man would change his mind for a letter? Only cold steel at his throat will get his attention,” the warrior said with a serious expression.
“We don’t know the extent of his powers,” Corenn reminded them. “Grigán, you can’t go alone. It would be madness.”
“Well, what should we do then? If someone has a better idea, I am happy to follow it. If not, I am sticking to mine,” he warned them.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost tangible. Everyone tried to think of an alternative, something less catastrophic, but no obvious solutions were found.
“I won’t let you leave alone,” Rey said quietly. “Whether it pleases you or not. I have a few words for Saat.”
“Me either,” Léti swore, her face hardened but her eyes shimmering with tears. “I would never let you leave alone.”
“I will go with you, friend Grigán,” Bowbaq hurried to add.
“That would be stupid,” the warrior responded angrily. “Your sacrifices won’t help me.”
“I have something to propose,” Corenn said, cutting off their angry exchanges. “It might be just as dangerous, but at least we will do it together.”
They all quieted to listen. What could the Mother be thinking? It must be a desperate plan, they all thought, and they were right.
“Go to Sola,” Yan guessed. “Find the portal in Oo.”
“Exactly. And meet Nol in Jal’dara,” the Mother concluded confidently.
Rey whistled in admiration, then said, “That seems even more difficult than attacking Saat. What will you do with the Eternal Guardian, described as uncontrollable, even by Nol? And what of the part about a divine touch?”
“You have to be touched by the Guardian to cross through the portal,” Lana explained. “At least that’s what I understood.”
“If this Wyvern resembles the Leviathan, his touch would be a mortal wound! How do you expect us to defeat such a creature, Corenn?”
“I don’t know, Rey,” the Mother confessed. “We can’t understand these things. The Leviathan never bothered us on Ji; we’ll have to hope that this Guardian does the same.”
“But, friend Corenn, the portal may not open. Ji’s never actually opened,” said Bowbaq with a worried look on his face.
“I know, but it’s our best alternative. The only one, in fact. At worst, we will lose a dékade,” she added offhandedly.
“In the worst case,” Rey corrected her, “we will be added to the Guardian’s eternal graveyard. I wonder if I’d rather be killed by the Wallattes.”
They turned to Grigán, waiting to see his reaction. He knew that whatever he decided, the group would follow, so he took his t
ime before responding.
“All right, we will head for Oo. Under the provision that Achem’s journal doesn’t warn us of another catastrophe. Lana, can you finish the transcription tonight?”
“I’ll start immediately,” Lana assured him. “It shouldn’t take more than a deciday.”
“Good, then we’ll know tonight,” Grigán concluded. “The Wyvern and Jal’dara or Saat and the Wallatte army.”
The High Diarch turned the door handle to check that it was locked, then pulled the key out of the lock and set it on the table.
His palace was far from finished, but its construction advanced quickly. It had taken only five days for the slaves, “motivated” by their Züu guardians, to build this wing. It wasn’t beautiful, but he wouldn’t be here long.
In a few moons, Saat would reign over the entire world from Ith’s Grand Temple. Or the Imperial Palace in Goran. Or, maybe, the Broken Castle of Junine. He hadn’t decided yet. Either way, it would all be his. If he so desired, he could build a gigantic palace with stones from all three historic monuments. He had promised Somber that he would burn the Holy City, a commitment he would take care to honor.
He blew out the only lantern in the room, and total darkness descended—though the blackness did not blind him. Saat could see in the deepest shadows almost as well as in the middle of the day. After a century underground, he had developed a few unique skills. His magical powers did the rest.
He pulled off one of his mail gloves and with his withered fingers caressed the rock wall ripped out from under the mountain. It was the same mountain, but not the same rock. The stuff in Karu’s pits was much darker, hotter, and full of gwele, even there. Even so deep.
Saat tried to model a piece of the wall, to make a Gwelom, if the rock would take it. But there was little chance of it working, and he had other, more pressing projects.
He pulled off his other glove, then his breastplate, the shoulder protection, and the ridiculous dagger sheath he wore to support the gladores, his elite warriors. He pulled off his own sword and dagger, then took off the rest of his clothes.
Shadow of the Ancients Page 22
