Warriormage: Book Three of the 'Riothamus' trilogy

by Rosemary Fryth

  “Then you will die,” the Scout sighed, “You will have come all this way, and for nothing. You will not be allowed to enter the fortress.”

  “We will be allowed in,” Aran said humourlessly, “I believe we are expected.”

  The Scout’s eyes narrowed at that, but he refrained from commenting.

  Then his eyes flickered over to the sleeping figure of Mage Trenny, “Yon mage…will he live?”

  “I would assume so,” Aran said abruptly, “He has been Healed, and so all he needs now is rest and quiet.”

  The Scout nodded then asked, “What do you intend to do with me?”

  Aran looked up and shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess it rather depends on how this trip works out. If we succeed then you’ll be coming back to the Province with us. If we don’t, then you die.” Aran’s eyes grew hard, “I never wanted the responsibility of a prisoner-of-war, but now we have you, you’ll have to accept what we decide.” He paused, “We did not take prisoners after the initial ambush, the only reason you still live is that you are a civilian and not Held by the Warleader.”

  “I see…”

  Aran stared into the fire finally he drew his gaze back to the Scout.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Te-Gormeth,” answered the Scout.

  “What does it mean?” asked Aran.

  “Mean? Oh, I understand, freely translated it means something like ‘Trackfollower’. It immediately identifies me as belonging to the Tracker Caste.”

  “How many Castes are in Thakur society?” Aran was intrigued.

  “How many? Hmmmm,” the Scout grew thoughtful, “I think ten.”

  ”Only ten? What are they?” demanded Aran.

  The Scout’s eyes narrowed, “Let me see…there are the Traders, Miners, Herders…Makers, Farmers, Trackers…Healers, Soldiers and Priests.”

  “That’s only nine,” said Aran counting them as the Scout spoke.

  “The Women’s Caste makes it ten,” explained the Scout, “Although a woman is born into a Caste she then loses all association with it as soon as she is shackled to a man. Thus women are thought of to have no rigid Caste, but they themselves form a loose association called the Women’s Caste…” he frowned, “Because it’s something they have made up, then it’s not recognised by the Gathering of Nine.”

  “Gathering of Nine?” queried Aran.

  The Scout sighed, “The Gathering of Nine is made up of a representative from each of the Castes. We have a new Gathering made every ten years.”

  “No women in the Gathering?”

  The Scout shook his head, “No, women have no social status in our society.”

  “Has Thakur society always been that way?” asked Aran.

  The Scout looked away, “I have heard that it was different before the Shaming, but now it is this way, and women have accepted their new roles.”

  “So it was different,” insisted Aran.

  The Scout looked up and finally met Aran’s eyes, “Long ago, before the Shaming, we were known as the Serat…” He smiled at the memory, “In our tongue, Serat means ‘First of All’. Now because of the Shaming, we have taken the name ‘Thakur’…it means ‘Dispossessed’….”

  “So what was the Shaming?” asked Aran curiously.

  The Scout laughed, “I am surprised that you should be the one to ask that question, for it was your ancestor who Shamed us in the first place!”

  “Andur?”

  The Scout nodded.

  “So what are you ‘Dispossessed’ of?” Aran said quietly, “Surely not our Province, for that was stolen, and never yours for the taking!”

  “Our pride…” replied the Scout simply.

  “So if you win this war you will again be the Serat?” Aran asked narrowly.

  The Scout nodded.

  “And your Society?”

  “Will be Serat, and in Serat society women are our matriarchs and leaders.”

  Aran frowned as he began to understand.

  “You mean to say, that women were once rulers of the Serat, but now they are without status. Was this new order a punishment on all women because they lost the Province in the Great Uprising?”

  “I do not understand your term,” said the Scout, “The reason why women lost their high status, is because they lost the battles against your Warleader.”

  Aran frowned again, “In all my reading, I do not remember that the Serat were ruled by the women of your society.”

  “Since history has been recorded, men have always commanded the armies…” the Scout replied, “They in turn always took their orders from the Matriarchs of the Noble Houses.”

  “So this female Warleader is perceived as Thakur society returning to the illustrious days of the Serat…” Aran mused out loud.

  “If we win the war, yes,” the Scout answered. “But you must remember that her rise to power was not universally acclaimed. Indeed, there were many who disagreed, and raised their voices against her will. There were many too amongst the Priest Caste who said the Cycles had not yet turned…” he paused, and his face grew grave. “My own brother was one of those who publicly dissented, and I have not seen or heard of him since.”

  “He was killed?”

  The Scout shrugged, “I assume so. Se Taanata does not tolerate opposition. Her Will and her Word are absolute.”

  Aran’s face tightened at that bit of news, “So what did you mean by the words ‘the cycles had not yet turned’?”

  The Scout stared at the Free Provincial leader across from him, and drew a deep breath, “In our mythology it is stated that our society is driven by two cycles, Growth and Dormancy. When we invaded your Province, we were at the peak of our Growth Cycle, then the Shaming happened and the cycles were overthrown…” He smiled wryly, “Ever since the Shaming our priests have been trying to calculate the length of each cycle, even to this day they have come to no resolution or agreement on this matter.”

  “So they still think your society is in the cycle of Dormancy?” stated Aran.

  The Scout nodded, “Most of the Priests agree that they believe the cycle should have lasted longer.”

  He swallowed nervously, “There are also many who say that only a pure Thakurian woman should have heralded the turn of the cycle. I have already told you, that it is rumoured that Se Taananta’s father was of the Free Province. In the beginning of her Rise many accused that she was cross-bred, and her blood was impure. Those insulters soon disappeared.”

  “So by warring against us she sets herself out to prove that the cycles have indeed turned,” Aran said bluntly.

  The Scout nodded unhappily.

  “And if she is wrong?”

  The Scout fell silent, and no amount of persuading from Aran could draw him to speak again.

  *

  A little while later there was a muffled and scrabbling noise at the tunnel entrance, Aran glanced up to see Darven and the others returning.

  “So, who did you find?” called out Aran.

  “We’re not certain,” the reply came, “He doesn’t seem to have our language.”

  With a pulling of stiff and tired muscles, Aran levered himself to his feet. Across the flickering firelight he could now see clearly the others, and the bundle of rags that drooped at their feet.

  “Are you certain it’s human?” he asked quizzically.

  “Oh aye,” Darven replied, “He’s human enough…and smells as though he hasn’t washed since last spring.”

  “A herder”

  The Wolf Leader shrugged, “Maybe, it’s difficult to tell.”

  “Let me see,” Aran replied.

  Stiffly he walked over to inspect the stranger. Obligingly the guardsmen took the bundle of rags by the shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. Pulling away the grimy and smelly goat skin fur that served as a hood, Aran gazed impassively at a dirty face that was as lined as the bark of a hoary old tree. The man grimaced, exposing a mouth that smelled like a midden tip, and whose brown and di
scoloured teeth had more gaps than an old sagging farm fence.

  “Not a pretty sight,” Aran agreed, “Where did you find him?”

  Gunthred gestured up with his head, “In an old tunnel back yonder…oh close on fifty yards away. The wolf lead us straight to him…” he grimaced, “And a right pig’s sty it was too….”

  “Wolves live cleaner than this human,” growled Halffang contemptuously, “I’ve never known such a stench. A wolf would never soil his own den as this human has.”

  Aran’s eyes narrowed at that piece of news, but he refrained from commenting.

  The man spat out a couple of words, and although the words were unclear, the meaning at least was obvious.

  “He’ll never cooperate, if that was what you were hoping for,” said a voice from against the wall.

  Aran spun around to where the Scout was sitting.

  “You know him?”

  The Scout smiled wryly, “Indirectly. I know of his kind, for I’ve met others like him in the past. I assume he’s of the Priest Caste. Only a Priest who has chosen the way of isolation, would willingly live in the squalor your friends so charmingly described.”

  “Why is he up here?”

  The Scout shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess that he’s one of the dissenters I spoke of before. Many who spoke out disappeared. I guess that he decided that the mountains were a safer refuge, than attempting to bear the brunt of the Honoured Warleader’s rage.”

  The Scout frowned, “I would expect that he is not the only one to have fled into the mountains.”

  “Is he safe?”

  The Scout grinned, “As safe as any priest could be. Mind you, it is widely reckoned that most of the priests are considered to be insane. It comes of breeding only within one’s Caste; the faults are carried on through generations.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Aran caught Genn nodding in agreement.

  “Is he Held?” asked Hela, nervously eyeing off the disreputable priest.

  The Scout shook his head, “No, in the beginning it was only volunteers from the Soldier Caste who came forward willing to be Held. Then as the Warleader’s influence spread wider, there were many who dissented, and those who raised their voices loud, disappeared. Obviously this one left the city before she Held the population…”

  “How many in the population are Held?” asked Aran carefully.

  The Scout stood, “I know that the Trackers, Healers and Makers are free. Of the rest, I know that the Army is completely Held, as are the Priests and the Traders. I’m not certain of the others.”

  Why leave some and not others?” asked Alissa curiously.

  “Free will has a lot to do with it,” replied the Scout. “Makers, Healers and Trackers need a clear mind and their wits about them in order to perform their jobs well. I would assume the others are Held because they could pose a threat to her security.”

  “I can understand the Army being Held,” said Aran quizzically, “But how can Traders and Priests be such a threat?”

  “Traders deal with the world outside of Thakur,” replied the Scout simply. “The Honoured Warleader does not want outside ideas or corruption seeping into pure Thakur society.”

  He sighed, “As for the Priests, well they have always determined the length of the cycles, and when the Gods state they should turn. When the Honoured Warleader saw that the voices of dissent were mainly coming from the Priest Caste, then she quickly put forth her influence to silence that sector.”

  *

  “The storms are getting worse outside,” commented Bennek to Hela early next morning.

  The apprentice Weathermage nodded, “It’ll pass in a couple of days, but it’s going to get far worse before it gets better.”

  “At least we’re in here now and not out there,” the guardsman replied. “It’s still perishing cold, but with the fire and the Moderating that you’ve been doing, at least has kept this part of the tunnel above freezing.”

  “I’ll be glad when Mage Trenny gets his strength back,” sighed Hela, “The Reinforcing might have made me stronger, but it’s quite an effort to Moderate the cold here against all these storms!”

  Bennek turned anxiously to Hela, “Are you certain you can keep this up? I mean, you are carrying a child.”

  Hela smiled fondly at the guardsman, “Now don’t you go worrying yourself on my account, Bennek. Both the child and I are fine. Jede has been helping me a lot, but he’s only new to his magepower, and there are some things that really only a Glaive trained Weathermage can do.”

  “You will stop if it gets too much,” insisted Bennek, putting his arm protectively around her, “I may only be a Warriormage with no idea of this weatherworking, but I do know that mothers-to-be can tire easily.”

  “I will be fine,” she reassured him, “Besides Trenny will be up and about in no time. Genn is more than happy with his progress.”

  Bennek nodded, and turned back towards the tunnel entrance.

  “I wonder how the rest of the Guard and Legions are faring?” he mused. “It seems like months now since we left although I am certain it’s only been a matter of weeks.”

  “They will be weathering these storms too,” replied Hela, “Although the storms won’t be near as bad as they are here. It will still be uncomfortable for them on the field of battle.”

  “They could be fighting now,” said Bennek, whilst unsuccessfully trying to cast his awareness out. Finally he shook his head, “I don’t know how Lord Aran and Wolf Leader Darven do that Farseeing. I’ve tried and tried but I still can’t feel anything out there.”

  Hela squeezed his hand, “Don’t worry. I’m certain it will come to you in time…”

  **

  “What’s happening now?” demanded Captain Taran, as he vainly tried to see through the snow slurries.

  “They’re drawing back again,” replied Commander Urskar, “I don’t think they mean to try our defenses again so soon.”

  “At least not at this point,” growled Commander Druec, whilst breathing onto his numbed hands. “I hope they learnt their lesson with that first onslaught. Never would I have believed men to stampede their own ranks, then only to fall upon our swords.”

  His face twisted in disgust; “Any Legion commander worth his salt would have had some kind of battle plan…” he turned aside and spat into the snow, “It seems to me that the Thakurs’ sole objective is to overwhelm us with the sheer weight of their numbers.”

  “As indeed they would have done,” replied Taran quietly, “Had not the plainsmen joined us.” He shook his head, “I have to admit that our troops alone would have been hard put to hold the enemy here….”

  “They’re trying to the north again,” Urskar said suddenly, his keen eyes seeing forward movement in the black ranks of the Thakur, “Who do we have there?”

  “Most of the plainsmen, also Terdec’s cavalry from Sentinal, behind them are the third Helmsgard Infantry, some of the fyrd and the Earthmages,” replied Taran.

  At that moment, the ground shifted beneath their feet, and there was a muffled rumble further to the north. Steadying themselves, they saw the now familiar glow against the lowering snow clouds as the Earthmages channelled molten rock into newly created fissures opened by the mini-earthquake. Distance did not prevent the commanders from the hearing the howls of anger and anguish, as the possessed Thakur ran heedlessly into the channels of molten lava.

  Urskar shook his head in weary bafflement, “They never seem to learn. They just keep going in. I’ve never seen the like.”

  “If they can afford to throw away soldiers like this, then we’ve seriously underestimated their numbers,” Druec said. “I would have thought that we’ve already destroyed a good third of their army, yet they still seem to come on.”

  “Speaking of coming on, they’re moving again,” Urskar growled, whilst urgently gesturing to a legio cavalryman who waited nearby. “We need to alert the Legions and Guard to expect another attack upon this position.”

 
“Where did our Weathermages go?” asked Druec.

  “Back to rest,” replied Taran, “We will have to withstand this next onslaught ourselves. Even the Earthmages will have to soon withdraw to recoup their powers.”

  Druec turned abruptly on his heel, “Then back to our companies, gentlemen, we have a war to fight.”

  *

  Seemingly in countless numbers, the Thakur swept upon the well-drilled Legions and Guard like a relentless, endlessly breaking sea. Across the ground ravaged only yesterday by the Earthmages, the Thakur clawed their way through plains which had now become a surreal landscape of cratered pits, semi-molten fissures, and broken ground. Charred and still steaming bodies, and blackened dirt and snow, gave mute evidence of the ferocity of the lightning bolts that had spawned within the storm that the Weathermages had called down upon the heads of the rampaging Thakur. The smell of burnt flesh was all about them, and not even the clean, cold wind blowing from the distant range could dissipate the awful stench. Dead and dying soldiers lay everywhere, for in both armies great numbers of Thakur and legio alike had fallen, overcome by the ferocity of the battles. Most of the dead were staring sightlessly to the lowering sky, but some of the Thakur were found to be disfigured by horrific welts and marks of the invisible yet fatal hand of the warring Healermages. Not since the battle of the retaking of Seawatch Keep had the mages found reason to fight, and their chastising hand over the past few days had been heavy indeed. There was evidence too of the intervention of the plainsmen, with many of the Thakurians lying dead with the blue shafted arrows of the horse archers peppering their bodies.

  Time, and time again, the armies met and clashed beneath the leaden sky, the absolute greyness relieved only by the fierce burning of the heavy streams of molten rock. Time, and time again, the mages called up dwindling reserves of power to turn the very hand of nature against the invader. Upon the battlefield itself, individual conflicts took place, some heroic, others not, but all were linked by the terrible desperation that marked this war.

  *

  “There have been more raids to the north again,” announced Terdec later that night, as the commanders of the Legion, Guard and plainsmen all gathered for urgent conference.