Warriormage: Book Three of the 'Riothamus' trilogy

by Rosemary Fryth

  Gunthred quickly glanced across at the drawn face of his king, “If it comes down to that, I’d think we’d all be beyond caring, Kunek. If we fail in this, then there is little hope for the poor sods left behind in the province. Despite the dangers and difficulties ahead, I know that I’d much rather be here making a difference, than sitting back waiting with the army and not knowing if all the deaths and injuries were for nothing.”

  Kunek nodded glumly, “By any calculation it’s a bad situation. However you’re right Gunthred. At least we’re doing something here, not just sitting on our behinds and waiting and guessing what might happen next.”

  Aran too stared down at the grave site and silently bade his old friend farewell. This was not the way he had envisioned the journey. He had come to rely on always having Trevan’s strong support and wisdom, and now with the elderly mage dead, there was a terrible hollowness left—a void that now Drayden would have to find it in himself to fill.

  Darven gently touched his shoulder, “It’s getting on. We ought to be on our way.”

  Aran nodded distractedly, “If we survive all this and the war goes our way, I’d like to return to this place and have a small shrine built.”

  He glanced about him at the towering conifers, and the close and quiet atmosphere of the copse of trees. “Already too many good and brave men have died,” Aran mused, “And there ought to be something built to honour their memories—this seems to be as good a place as anywhere else I’ve seen.”

  Darven glanced curiously at his friend, “I would have thought that the first ambush point would have been the obvious place to site a shrine…”

  Aran firmly shook his head, “That place holds too many bad memories. There is no way that I will honour the place where I went insane on the battlefield.” His eyes hardened, and an edge crept into his voice, “It does not please me to know that even in Thakur my actions on that day have been judged and found wanting. What must I do as a king to find redemption in the eyes of my people?”

  “It is usually the victor who writes history,” observed Darven sadly, “If we win this war, then history will relate that you were a strong and just king who saved his people from certain oppression. In the face of that fact Aran, the attitudes of a defeated people are like so much chaff in the wind.”

  “Then there is little fairness in life,” Aran remarked bitterly, “For I am trying to be a good and honourable man, but already history has marked and tarred me.”

  “Only a newborn babe has the benefit of an unwritten life ahead of him,” Darven replied carefully. “Every action of ours will always impact somewhere, on someone or something. Even if we do nothing, history will still write and comment on our inaction.”

  Darven sighed heavily, and turned his back to the grave, “Aran, you were born to the Warriormage Ability. I came to it as a direct consequence of this war. However, because of who we are our actions will be scrutinised more carefully than any other person.” He glanced back to Aran, who was still staring heavily at the gravesite, “Since you are the king and Warriormage both, you will be scrutinised the most closely at all. Do not be too hard upon yourself Aran, for we are all human and fallible.”

  Aran sighed, and finally turned away, “Due to this war, and my involvement in it, I am losing good friends and fine soldiers. Yet because I am the king I must still do this thing. It is obvious that I have been given no choice in the matter. If I had sat back and not raised an army, the Thakur would have still come against us.” He looked up and met Darven’s dark and understanding eyes, “There is just too little honour in this war. All I have ever wished is for some other resolution to this matter. Just something else except the hard and terrible way of blood and death.”

  Darven placed a hand upon his friends’ shoulder, “Unfortunately it is the Thakur who have offered us no other choice. In order that we keep our lives and liberty, we must speak the only language that their Warleader understands, and unfortunately it must be the language of blood and death.”

  Aran nodded, and glanced back towards the grave, “Then we must make our reply to her both swift and decisive. I would not have history record our fallen as dying in vain!”

  *

  Chapter 5—The Trident Range

  The sparse, and lightly falling snow, hid the marks of their tracks and campsite far more effectively than any other mage-formed interference or wind; so Aran felt certain that there would not be any more surprise attacks from the rear. Even so and before the group set out, Aran spoke to Halffang, asking that some of the wolf’s Brethren scout behind, as well as to the front in order that the group should ride undisturbed and undetected.

  Drayden had also decided to brave the weather to make yet another reconnaissance flight across their path ahead, and also to swing further west to see if anything was happening on the main Thakur/Riggeltz road. With such a long and extensive flight ahead of him, Drayden would be gone far too long for the group to wait, and it was unanimously decided to press on with the Earthmage catching them up somewhere on the route ahead. With Theaua leading Drayden’s riderless horse, the group set off into the wintry morning, with the captive Scout sitting bound and guarded on one of the spare mounts.

  *

  The Thakurian had passed an uneasy night’s sleep amongst these his peoples’ enemy. He still had no idea of their intent towards him, and he had even less of an idea as to what their final destination would be. He guessed the city of Thakur, but excepting one or two of the group, their height and pale hair would immediately mark them out as intruders from the Free Province, and so would not get very far beyond the high walls that defended his great city. He thought too of Erie and immediately dismissed it from his mind. No living man or woman was allowed within even sight of those walls—for only the elite soldiers of the gHulam were allowed free access to and from that place. The Scout’s thoughts too drifted back to the group he was with, and the disturbing events he had seen that morning. Not only was the tall blond leader able to converse with the wolves, but it seemed in fact that one of the beasts was able to converse right back. Perhaps it was a trait of these people that they had such a kinship with animals. This fact too had been ably proved, when the golden haired sorcerer had shaped himself into the semblance of a great bird and had flown off into the cold and overcast day. With the powers of this group demonstrated regularly before him, the Scout was beginning to wonder if the Honoured Warleader had been entirely right in her mind to be so adamant about invading a race of sorcerers.

  *

  Mid-afternoon found the group deep in the foothills of the Trident Range, determinedly following north the path of the southward flowing stream. The landscape was steadily rising, and although at this altitude there was still some feed for the horses to graze upon, Aran looking ahead saw only the cold and rocky expanse of the mountains, and knew they would soon have to make their way on foot. Drayden had still not returned, and Aran guessed that the mage was delayed by the weather, and the long route he had chosen to fly. The copse of trees that had marked their overnight camp, had been the only vegetation worth speaking of, for the foothills seemed to be generally barren, with only the common low acacias and other native shrubs breaking the grey/white expanse.

  Seeing all this barrenness about them, it was no wonder then that the Ancients had decided to plant the great forests and groves of trees in the Province, Aran thought. For some reason trees were not native to this land, with only the scrubby low bushes and tufted grass of the plains being the only dominant vegetation here. Thinking back to that grove of trees, Aran suspected that those too had been planted by the Ancients, but the lack of viable, fertile soil had quickly shown to those men and women that trees would not grow easily in these hard mountains, and any further planting had not been considered worthwhile.

  “My lord Aran, mage Drayden has returned!”

  Aran turned at the shout and pulled up his horse. Behind him he could see the others also reining in, eager to hear of any news the mage could giv
e them.

  “How did you fare, Drayden?” he asked, whilst dismounting and immediately offering the older man his leather canteen of water.

  “Well enough,” replied the mage, “Despite the weather.”

  He glanced up at the thickening clouds, and the endlessly lightly falling snow, “Unfortunately it seems that we’ve days of snow ahead of us my lord. I’ve flown west quite a way, and there are banks and banks of snow clouds stretched as far as the eye can see, and for an eagle that’s quite a distance.”

  “And what of the Thakur?” asked Aran, drawing the mage and those who had gathered about him, out of earshot of the prisoner.

  The mage grimaced, and took a long pull from the canteen, “It seems that the main army is making their move now. I’ve flown over most of the Thakur/Riggeltz road, and for league upon league, all I’ve seen are troop movements heading towards our border. It is good that we did not take the main road into Thakur, for it is certain we would have been spotted within hours of our venturing upon it.”

  “What of their numbers?” Aran asked immediately.

  Drayden’s lips thinned, “It was hard to tell given the visibility of the weather and all, but I would estimate that they had at least three and a half times our total force.”

  “Even with the horsetribes?” asked Bini immediately.

  Drayden frowned, “Three to one then, if you include the horsetribes.”

  “That is still not good odds,” Darven mused, “Our army will have a hard fight of it.”

  Aran frowned at the mage’s news, and his thought went immediately to the waiting Guard and Legions encamped on the plains.

  “I only hope our own forces are ready,” he replied, “I would dearly like to get word to them about these troop movements and numbers.”

  Drayden shook his head, “Unfortunately the weather looks to be soon getting worse. I managed to fly ahead of it, but within a day this area is going to be hit by some pretty severe winter storms. There is no way I’ll be able to fly in that weather.”

  “We will be able to moderate the storms somewhat,” said Trenny confidently.

  Drayden nodded, “There is no doubt that you would be able to ward this group against the extremes of weather, but can your Abilities extend to warding a lone bird flying many leagues away?”

  The Weathermage shook his head, “That is indeed beyond our skill.”

  Drayden stared at Aran, “If I left now and flew fast and ahead of the storms, I predict that within two days I would be able to reach our waiting forces.” He frowned, “Unfortunately, there is no way that I would be able to quickly or easily rejoin you. I would be flying back into the very teeth of the storms, and I could not be certain to find you again.”

  “Then it is out of the question, Drayden,” replied Aran firmly, “You are needed here with this group. You alone know our route ahead, and where the enemy might lie. I cannot risk you not being able to reach us ahead of warning the army. The Legions have other Earthmages at their disposal. I am certain that they will be able to scout ahead as effectively as you.”

  Drayden nodded, “I would not be too worried, the Earthmages know to offer their services to the army commanders.”

  *

  So the afternoon wore on, and finally Aran and his group settled on a place for the overnight camp.

  “There’s precious little cover or protection here,” Darven mused whilst staring about him at the jumbled landscape of rock, snow and winter sparse brush. “There’s barely enough feed here for the horses…I doubt that we will be able to afford to take them on much further.”

  “We can take two or three only,” Bini replied easily. “The acacia leaves are considered good fodder plants by the plainsmen, and one or two pack horses will have enough feed to take us further in.”

  He glanced across to Aran, “However, I agree with Darven that the other horses will need to be abandoned in the morning. I can send them to graze further south where there is better feed. Then they will be ready for us when we return later in the season.”

  Aran nodded. “I’m glad that you recommended that we take a couple of the pack horses. I rather suspect that if the weather is set to deteriorate then we will need all our tents and heavy gear. Mind you, what is too much for the horses to carry will need to be distributed amongst the group, and we’ll have to carry it all on foot”

  “We have packs enough,” replied Darven, “And there is enough rock and snow that we can build a serviceable cache and cairn for our surplus supplies.”

  Aran stared about him at the many rocks, “Then those who aren't detailed to cooking ought to start gathering suitable rocks.” He glanced over to Darven, Bini and Drayden, “We need to sort through our supplies and determine what needs to be taken with us, and what has to be left behind here.”

  *

  With the heavy overcast, and intermittent snow flurries, it was difficult to determine when night became day, but working in the pale and banked light of the fires, Aran and his companions finally finished sorting through their gear, and loading it into the leather and canvas backpacks.

  The three pack horses were destined to carry the folded tents, sleeping sacks, ropes, tools, and branches and kindling gathered along the way. Each man and woman needed to carry their own clothes and also a portion of the group’s food supplies and cooking and eating equipment. For now, and with the stream flowing so conveniently nearby, it was not necessary to carry water, but they all had leather flasks for the necessary time ahead when they had to leave the water, and strike further west towards Erie itself. The guardsmen and the Thakurian prisoner had almost completed building the shell of the cache, when Aran and the others carefully deposited the surplus sacks, saddlery and equipment into the heart of the rock cache. Working by the feeble light of the fires alone, they completed the rock construction of the cache, and carrying snow scooped up in their wooden eating bowls, covered the rock mound to disguise it against casual discovery.

  “Not that it looks anything other than a cache,” remarked Darven sourly as he patted the last of the snow hard against the side of the rocks. “If anyone comes through here it will still stand out as something that has been artificially made.”

  “I doubt that anyone will be through here until the summer,” said the Thakurian suddenly.

  Aran turned at the man’s words, “How is that?” he asked coldly.

  The Thakurian shrugged, “This is a hunting trail you are following. In these mountains the game is scarce indeed during winter, and the trails are only used during summer. Besides with the war taking every able bodied man, there is none who might turn their thoughts to hunting game.”

  “So what do you do for food supplies?” asked Darven curiously.

  The Thakurian glanced westwards, “In the fertile valleys we have extensive farming, and we also graze goats and sheep in the high mountain summer pastures. By first frost we have killed most of our herds, and have salted the meat for consumption during the winter. We bring the breeding herds into Thakur City itself for protection against the cold and predators. By spring the animals have bred again, and are ready to be sent out to the high grazing pastures.”

  “Is that all you eat?” asked Aran, “Goat and sheep?”

  The Thakurian nodded, “We get salted fish or beef occasionally in our trade with the south, but those rare meats go straight to our leaders. The rest of us are wholly dependent on the meat that comes from hunting, or from the slaughter of our mountain herds.”

  “Yet you ride horses,” said Bini, “Are those traded too from Nafeking?”

  The Thakurian shook his head, “There are plains far to the west of Thakur—plains that edge the great and endless western desert.” He glanced at Bini and swallowed nervously, “Directly after we first came to the mountains we raided horses from the great herds of the plainsmen…”

  Immediately Bini was on his feet, his short stabbing sword flickering out in the direction of the Thakurian. It took both Aran and Darven several minutes t
o pacify the irate plainsman.

  “Those few horses comprised our initial breeding herds,” continued the Thakurian, nervously inching away from the furious plainsman. “We took them to our grasslands, and set young boys to watch over them. Now the herds are large and the army uses them well.”

  “They use them ill,” growled Bini in ready and apparent anger, “Have you all so little notion of care for your animals that you ride your mounts until they fall dead beneath you!”

  “It is the way the army is Held,” explained the Thakurian miserably, “I cannot condone their actions, but only try and explain that it is the way of the Honoured Warleader that she would allow nothing to slow the invasion.”

  “Tell us more about the Warleader?” said Alissa, walking up after overhearing the men’s conversation.

  The Thakurian stared hard at the tall, slim, golden haired woman, and then turning back to the other men, replied, “It is against my Custom and Law to speak directly with a woman who is not my mate or my kin. I must direct my reply to the men folk only.”

  Alissa offered no comment except to pull a face.

  “So who is the Warleader?” asked Aran, reinforcing Alissa’s question.

  The Thakurian scout sighed, “We don’t know anything about her early life, except she was born in disgrace to an unshackled woman of the Trader’s Caste.”

  “Unshackled?” asked Alissa quietly.

  The scout ignored her question until it too was asked by Aran.

  “Unlike the women of the Free Province who seem to have high and equal status, our women are kept close to hearth and home, and have no status except what is gained from their husband. An ‘unshackled woman’ is a woman who is not yet married, but who lives in her father’s home and is obedient to his Law and Word. For an unshackled women to have a child is to carry the deepest disgrace of our society¬—both she and her child are cast out from the father’s home, and Shunned for twelve years. Most of the time these outcasts die by the first winter, but if either of them survive twelve winters alone, then they are allowed to reenter society.”