by David Wind
Ecorah looked from Namor to Roth and then to the queen, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. He turned back to Namor. “The choice is yours.”
Namor stared at him for several seconds before taking a half step back and extending his free hand to Roth. “You are a strange man, Roth. I think I may even get to like you. Make certain you return from your spying, and in one piece.”
<><><>
Four days later, and a day and a half after leaving Brumwall, Roth drew his kraal to a stop. Riding next to him, Enaid did the same. Behind them rode a dozen men of his Free-Blade company. They were twenty miles from the Free-Blade encampment, hidden in a grove of trees.
“There is a darkness about their camp, and a block as well. There is a sorceress there, not Afzaleem, but of the darkness. She is young and of no great power, but enough to cause harm. She will not be able to read you, Solomon. As I told you, even I cannot read you, only sense certain things.
Roth looked up, between the swaying branches of a tall, ancient pine. The sky was clear, the sun halfway through its afternoon descent. Because of the kraal’s powerful stride, and its speed—more than double that of its ancestor, the horse—Roth could reach the camp shortly before sundown.
“Your block will hold even at this distance?”
Enaid nodded. “And I will see with Regit’s eyes.”
“I know we discussed this, but are you sure it is not a risk to send Regit with me?”
“I will block my aoutem. Whoever this sorceress is, she is not strong enough to break the block or learn anything from you or Regit.”
“The Gorlon will not raise suspicion?”
Enaid shook her head. “It is not unheard of for a Free-Blade to train a gorlon or coor as a battle companion.”
Roth looked down at the aoutem. In the month since his first sight of Enaid’s gorlon, Regit doubled in size and, although still only seven months old, stood almost three feet high and weighed close to a hundred pounds.
Two hours later, with the trailing edge of the sun almost below the horizon, the Free-Blade guard at the camp’s first post, stopped him. “What seek you,” he asked.
Roth studied the man. Tall and broad, a longsword hung at his side. His clothing and armor proclaimed him a Free-Blade, but his manner and stance showed him to be other than his appearance.
“What do any of us want? Employment, brother. My captain died, and our company disbanded. Therefore, I seek work. With whom do I speak? Who is your captain?”
Perhaps it was Roth’s manner, or the guard’s inability to think quickly, but his confusion was evident. “Sirk is our captain.”
Roth waited a minute for the man to go on, but he remained silent. “Where do I find him?” Before the man could reply, Roth added. “Never mind, I’ll ask at the camp,” and kicked the kraal gently to get him moving.
The guard just stared at Roth as he moved on. Regit growled once, his head turned up at Roth. “What else could I do?” Roth said to Regit, and to Enaid, whom he knew was staring at him through her aoutem’s eyes. “They put a moron at the post.”
Tension vibrated through him when he entered the main area of the camp and two men dressed as Free-Blades rushed to intercept him. They froze at Regit’s loud warning growl, the gorlon staring menacingly at the two. The first drew his sword and turned to the gorlon.
“You will die before you swing your sword, Brother. He but acts to protect me.”
The man lowered his sword but did not sheath it. “And you are who?”
“Roth, a Free-Blade seeking service.”
“There is no service to seek here…Brother,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Roth rose in the stirrups and made a show of looking around the vast encampment. “Seems like you are preparing for something. Why would you not want to hire another sword?”
“Move on, Free-Blade,” the second man ordered. “We have a full complement.”
Since the moment Roth passed the first guard, his eyes roamed everywhere, storing all he saw into a compartment in his mind. “Then it is your loss, Brother. Mind you if I ride through to the other side? I shall seek better luck in Morvene.”
The first man laughed. “I suggest Aldimore or Northcrom. We left Morvene barely a week ago. The king hires no Free-Blades.”
Roth nodded. “Then I go east to Aldimore.”
“I suggest you go now. Sirk dislikes strangers. And you are a stranger, Free-Blade or not.”
Roth nodded. “Then I go. It seems to me, your Captain Sirk is a foolish man.” Roth held both men’s stares, “To turn down an experienced blade.”
“Trust me, Roth, you want no part of this. Move on.”
“As you say, Brother,” he replied and started the kraal forward. “Regit, come.”
As he moved toward the rear of the camp, one of the two men followed. Two hundred feet in, as he started to pass a large tent, a tall man stepped from within. Next to him stood a woman wrapped in a blood red cape. Both stared at him for a moment, and then the man stepped in the center of the path.
Every muscle in Roth’s body tensed. His hand moved slightly toward his sword, but did not touch the wrapped handle.
“Who is this?” the man snarled to the Free-Blade behind Roth.
“A Free-Blade seeking employment. He is leaving, my Captain.”
“Sirk, is it? I seek employment, but he said you were not hiring.” Roth jerked a thumb in the Free-Blade’s direction.
“You were told right. Move on.”
Roth looked at him for a moment and then at the woman hidden within the cloak, with only her eyes visible.
“As you say, Sirk,” Roth responded and then urged the kraal forward. Sirk barely stepped out of the way in time.
Roth rode the rest of the way as slowly as possible, looking everywhere, noting the details of the fighters, the supplies and the mood of Morvene’s fake Free-Blade company. By the time, he exited the encampment and circled it in the moonless night, he knew as much as possible without spending a day or two within.
He returned to Enaid and his men at midnight. Eighteen hours later, he and Enaid reported to the king, in Apolis. A platoon of Roth’s men remained behind to continue distant surveillance.
<><><>
A little more than five months after arriving in Apolis, and three months after his scouting mission near the border of Morvene, Solomon Roth attained the rank of King’s Advisor. Queen Enna held the position of Ecorah’s Chief Advisor, as all women of power did for their mates. Then came Prince Darb, who would one day rule Brumwall as king. Roth’s position was one of Military Advisor, along with Ecorah’s most seasoned officer, Namor.
At fifty-four, Namor looked like a thirty year-old man with deep chestnut skin and more black than gray in his hair. Taller by four inches than Roth, his lean body was well conditioned. A handsome man, despite the scar running from ear to chin: his violet eyes spoke of much experience. A cousin to Ecorah, and older than the king by ten years, Namor spent his life in the King’s service. Rising through the ranks slowly enough to learn well, he became not only knowledgeable, but also wise in the ways of handling men.
Although it took Namor several weeks to adjust to Roth and his strange ways, it was only after Roth had offered his life to Namor, that the officer accepted him completely. From that day on, the two got along well when it came to war plans and training for upcoming campaigns.
Today found Roth and Namor sitting next to each other in King Ecorah’s study. Ecorah sat across the large gazebow wood table from them with Darb at his left. Roth spread out a map he’d drawn after spending a week surveying the area outside of Apolis, and pointed to the base of the lake separating Brumwall from Morvene. While he regretted not bringing the detailed maps the ship recorded before he landed, he knew to do so would reveal more than would be wise.
“You are certain they will come from around the lake bottom toward Apolis?” Roth asked Namor.
The general met his gaze. “As certain as I breathe
. When you returned from your mission, I sent Analli, one of my most trusted warriors—a woman of moderate power and an excellent sword fighter—to Morvene, where she has a distant cousin. There, she joined the Morvene forces. She was accepted into a company whose captain is privy to much information and it was there she learned of their route to Brumwall.”
“Which means either they will go north once they round the lake, or they will come at night, by boat, with a surprise attack.”
“Why would you think such, given the information we received?” Ecorah asked suddenly.
Roth looked up from the map. “Two reasons, My Lord. The first because, after our scouting foray, they attacked no more villages; which, I believe is because they knew I was not a Free-Blade seeking work but a spy seeking information. The second reason,” he said, turning to Namor, “is if they have learned of your woman’s deception, such would be the obvious maneuver while maintaining the illusion of the army marching by land. I think they would have her Free-Blade company lead the way, while the majority of troops cross the lake—and, even if they have not learned who your woman is, they might be keeping the captain in the dark about their final plans.”
He paused to let his words sink in, before saying, “the ‘Free-Blades’ stay camped in the same location we found them in three months ago. They are there, without doubt, to make us believe this is their intended route.”
“And you suggest?”
Roth looked from Ecorah to Namor in deference to his higher position and diplomatically waited for the man to nod before turning back to the king. “I suggest we station a company of archers above the area they would have to land their boats, just in case this happens. Make sure there are sufficient archers with them, and layer the landing area with the liquid from your tar oil reserves.” He pointed a finger at the most obvious landing point.
“When they land, the archers will fire flaming arrows to make it impossible for them to pass. It will pin them to one area. If this happens, the commander of the archers is to message us the moment they see Morvene’s troops. It will take a bird but a few hours to reach us. And,” he added, “While it might take a day for our return, the archers hidden in the hills should be enough to hold them in the landing area or chase them back to their boats.”
“Do you agree?” Ecorah asked his cousin.
Namor met the king’s gaze steadily. He nodded once. “Roth speaks wisely.”
“Then it is settled. Now we wait.”
Namor shook his head. “Not for long. Analli’s last message said she was certain the attack will begin in a week to ten days, no longer.”
“Then we need be ready. Roth, I would speak to you alone.”
Darb and Namor took their leave and walked causally from the room, closing the large door behind them. Ecorah picked up the pitcher of wine, poured himself a glass, and refilled Roth’s glass. He stood and walked to a window, his hands clasped behind his back. He remained there for several long seconds before turning to Roth.
“This future of yours must seem a strange place, does it not, Solomon Roth?”
Roth laughed lightly. “My Lord, it is indeed.”
“Yet you flourish here as if you were born to Nevaeh.”
“It is my home, now as before. The name is different, the animals are different, and while the people are both the same and yet different, it is still where I was born and where I intend to die.”
Ecorah favored Roth with a smile. He returned to his seat, dropped his large body wearily into it, and took a deep drink of wine. When he set the goblet down, he exhaled sharply. “Your betrothal to my daughter will be announced tomorrow. It will take place in three weeks. See to it you survive the battle.”
<><><>
“What bothers you, my love? Enaid asked, her voice a bare whisper in the night. Her head lay on his shoulder as they sat on the stone bench before the center fountain of the courtyard. Her aoutem, Regit, lay at their feet. The young gorlon had matured into a magnificent animal, now three and a half feet tall, on all fours, and a hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle. The aoutem rarely left Enaid's side.
Roth exhaled slowly, his thoughts swirling strangely. “It’s too easy. We know everything about the coming attack. Something is wrong.”
“You are sure? It is not just…doubt?”
“Doubt? Brumwall’s army is powerful, strong, well trained, and loyal to their king. They will fight to the very end for him and for Brumwall. There is no doubt there. What I distrust is what we have learned of their real plans.”
“How do we determine what is real?”
Roth grunted. “Send probes from my ship.”
“Probes?”
“Something from my past we cannot use. A probe is a machine that flies and can observe unseen, and bring back pictures. It is also wishful thinking.”
Enaid took his words in stride. “We have probes, Solomon.”
Her words took him by surprise. ‘Impossible. A probe is—”
“—something that can observe and report, if I understand your meaning correctly, is it not?” she interrupted smoothly.
Roth could only stare at her, somewhat dumbfounded. “It is not possible.”
“Of course it is possible. Solomon, can a bird, a treygone or a traimore be a…probe?”
Roth wondered what she was getting at. “A bird cannot speak.”
She smiled. “You are wrong. My cousin Inaria arrives tomorrow. She is very powerful. Her husband Nosaj, is the Prince of Freemorn. He will be king one day. He brings two companies of Freemorn troops to add to our own. Inaria brings her aoutem, a traimore.”
Roth had detected a change in her voice when she spoke of her cousin. “You and she are close?”
“Sisters we call ourselves. We have grown up together and were schooled together.”
“Her husband?”
“Nosaj is young, only year older than she and I, but he is a good man, strong, yet gentle and intelligent.”
“Good.”
<><><>
At midday, on the day following their conversation, the two companies of warriors from Freemorn arrived. Roth, Enaid, Ecorah, Enna, Darb, and Namor stood in a small group as Freemorn’s troops entered Apolis.
At their head rode two stunning people. It was not so much a physical beauty surrounding them, as the combination the man and woman projected. The woman radiated power. With white blonde hair in deep contrast to her tawny doe-like skin color, she sat straight backed and comfortable astride a silver and charcoal kraal. Even upon the animal, she appeared exceptionally tall. A tan and black traimore rested on her right shoulder; slung across her back hung a double curved bow of white wood.
The man next to her was a good three inches taller than Inaria, his skin was a deep golden bronze, his hair as black as a moonless night. Broad of body, and well muscled, the Prince of Freemorn cut an exceptional figure of a warrior. A longsword hung easily at his side, moving in rhythm with the cadence of his black kraal. His strongly featured face was ruggedly handsome. As Prince Nosaj drew closer to the waiting group, his eyes settled on Roth.
Roth held the Prince’s curious gaze, and, for no reason at all, intuitively found himself liking the man. Something about the prince spoke to him. Then Enaid grasped Roth’s hand and squeezed. “Inaria knows of our promised betrothal. Therefore does Nosaj.”
Roth remained silent, but did not release Enaid’s hand.
A few minutes later, Nosaj and Inaria stopped their mounts and Nosaj raised his arm in the air. The two companies of fighters stopped. Nosaj turned to an officer behind him, and isued an order. A half-minute later, the companies marched toward the training grounds and the tents set up for them among the rest of the troops.
The Free-Blade companies still lived and trained there. Ecorah, a month earlier had taken on two more Free-Blade companies to bolster Brumwall’s forces. He estimated Freemorn’s troops at about four hundred, with men outnumbering women by at least ten to one. Archers comprised a third of the Freemorn for
ces and all troops wore the traditional armor of Nevaeh; breastplates and back plates, which covered padded leather jerkins. Thigh shields and thick leather leggings protected their lower limbs. Two-thirds rode kraals while the others, the archers, walked.
As Roth studied the departing troops, the royal couple dismounted and walked to where the king stood. After greeting Ecorah, Enna and Darb, they turned toward Enaid and Roth. Inaria crossed the distance in a heartbeat to embrace her cousin, and Nosaj came over slowly and extended his arm to Roth. When Roth released Nosaj’s arm, the Prince smiled. “I have heard much about you, Roth.”
“I hope some of what you heard was good.”
Nosaj laughed. “Flowery phrases only,” Nosaj assured him. “I look forward to learning more about the Free-Blade captain who not only became the king’s advisor, but has the king’s daughter in love with him.”
“Perhaps later tonight we can share a pitcher of wine?” Roth offered while wondering exactly what Enaid had told the future queen of Freemorn.
<><><>
The summons to the eating hall came just before sundown. Roth, walking toward the small hall with Enaid, stopped and turned her to him. “You told me Inaria is almost as powerful as you. Can she not somehow learn of me from your mind?” Roth asked Enaid.
She smiled and shook her head. Lifting her hand, she stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. “You know women of power cannot read minds. We can communicate, but only what is freely offered can be…heard, I believe, is the right word.”
“You’re certain?”
“Solomon, the story my mother created for you will not fail. There will be no doubts, because it is impossible for anyone to know it is not true. The child of an exile, is an exile only as long as the child chooses.”
“Yet most remain in exile.”
Enaid nodded. “Usually because they are born with a…deformity.”
“You mean mutation?”
“Yes.” Roth understood the people of Nevaeh preferred not using the word. One of the most impressive oddities Roth discovered since his return, aside from the fact there were no longer separate races, dealt with people with mutations. These unlucky people were treated the same as a person without any visible mutation. To Roth, it seemed as if a subconscious genetic memory reminded them of their ancestors’ radiation filled world, in which everyone had mutated over the centuries; some with outward physical signs, others with no visible indication. Enaid was a prime example of mutation with her paranormal abilities.
