A Distant Tomorrow

by Bertrice Small

  Days later they left for the Gathering, traveling across the Outlands plain to the Gathering place. Rendor was pleased to see those clan families who lived farthest away, the Piaras and the Tormod, had already arrived. Petruso, lord of the Piaras clan, now shared his authority with his eldest son, Vanko, who spoke for his father. Petruso had had his tongue torn out in the last Hetarian invasion, rendering him speechless, but he was still a fierce fighter.

  Imre, lord of the Tormod, greeted Rendor jovially. “We almost have our lands restored,” he told the Lord of the Felan, “but of course Petruso complains it will never again be the same,” he chuckled. “For a man who can no longer speak he has become incredibly vocal.”

  Rendor smiled. “Surely you didn’t think the loss of his tongue would render Petruso silent? He was always a vocal man, but I do regret the loss of his singing voice. Who else is here?” He gazed around the encampment.

  “Everyone but the Blathma,” Imre said. “You know Floren is always late because some field or another needed his final touch before the first frost. He should be here by tomorrow. Why?”

  “We will need to have a secret meeting of the clan lords,” Rendor said. “And until it is concluded it must be kept from public knowledge.”

  Imre’s bushy eyebrow quirked with his unspoken questions.

  “Not here, and not yet,” Rendor said. “And say nothing to the others. I will speak with each of them myself, but you cannot be seen speaking among each other, my friend.”

  “Is it good, or is it bad?” Imre wanted to know. “At least tell me that.”

  “It is both, but more good in the end, I believe,” Rendor answered him.

  Imre nodded. “You have piqued my curiosity,” he replied.

  Floren and his Blathma clan arrived late that day, surprising everyone. Therefore the general meeting of the Outlands Council was held that same evening, because once the meeting was over, the clan families could begin their celebrations of the year just past. The following morning Rendor went from clan lord to clan lord, calling them to a secret meeting late that night when the celebrations had reached a point where the lords would not be missed. “A small tent has been set up on the outskirts of the camp,” he told them. “Speak to no one about this, not even your wives and sons. Our very lives may depend upon your silence. I will answer no questions now. And remain sober! This is important business we have to discuss. You cannot have heads muddled by wine.”

  So the clan lords were careful in their eating and drinking at the evening’s celebration, but no one noticed, for on this first night feast discretion was usually thrown to the winds. The Gathering was the high point of their year. The fires continued to burn high as the revelry continued late into the night. One by one the clan lords disappeared from the festivities, but no one noticed. Finally, all were gathered in the little tent. Liam of the Fiacre. Petruso and Vanko of the Piaras. Imre of the Tormod. Roan of the Aghy. Floren of the Blathma. Torin of the Gitta. Accius of the Devyn. And Rendor of the Felan, their council lord.

  “What is all the mystery?” Roan wanted to know. “Why could no one know of this meeting?”

  “Because our very lives depend upon this secrecy,” Rendor immediately answered. “Lara, come forth.”

  A surprised murmur arose from the men gathered at the sound of Lara’s name, and then her sudden appearance among them. She was accompanied by Kaliq of the Shadow Princes, and a tall stranger with the look of authority about him. The Outlands lords each fell to one knee at the sight of her. Their homage was impressive.

  “Greetings, my lords!” Lara said. “It is good to be among you once again. I thank you for your courtesy, but please rise and be seated. You all know Prince Kaliq, and my other companion is the Dominus of Terah, Magnus Hauk.”

  “What is Terah?” Roan of the Aghy wanted to know.

  “You have heard of the Sea called Sagitta that borders both Rendor’s lands, and the lands of the Coastal Kings? On the other side of this sea is a wondrous place known as Terah. Magnus Hauk is its ruler, and I will shortly be his wife.”

  “There were rumors that you were dead,” Accius of the Devyn said.

  “Did you make up a death song for me then, Accius?” Lara asked with a smile.

  “We did not believe the rumor,” the lord of the Devyn bards replied with an answering smile. “You are the daughter of Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries. Death cannot claim you yet, Lara.”

  “Why have you returned to us?” Liam of the Fiacre queried. “Have you found your destiny then?”

  “I have found a portion of my destiny, Liam of the Fiacre,” she replied. “My destiny is to keep the Outlands clan families from destruction.”

  “Destruction? What destruction?” Floren of the Blathma demanded to know. “We are at peace with Hetar. What threatens us?”

  “Hetar threatens you, Floren. They mean to invade the Outlands come the spring. Their mercenary armies will come through the province of the Coastal Kings into Felan lands, and from there into all of the Outlands. And when they have conquered much of your lands another attack will be launched through the mountains of the Tormod and the Piaras, thus pinning the remaining Outlands in a two-pronged attack.”

  “We will fight Hetar and drive them back as we did before!” Roan of the Aghy declared, leaping to his feet.

  “Aye!” his companions chorused.

  “Nay,” Lara told them. “You will not. For a year the Shadow Princes have kept the Outlands safe for you, but even their powers have limits. They can protect you no longer. Gaius Prospero, Hetar’s emperor, has raised a mighty force to come against you. They will be led and commanded by Hetar’s Crusader Knights. He has expended his own monies to train and house these men, and Gaius Prospero never does anything that does not yield him a goodly profit.

  “Hetar suffers from overpopulation, and an inability to feed itself. The people have grown poorer with each passing day. They can barely subsist, and what little coin they can spare goes to feed and house them. There is little profit to be made any longer, and profit is the life blood of Hetar. In order to gain his position Gaius Prospero has promised the people much. He has promised them lands to live upon, and lands that will feed them. He has promised that he will return Hetar to prosperity. He has already used his power to encroach upon the Forest Lords, and along the edges of the desert sands belonging to the Shadow Princes. But it is not enough. He needs the Outlands, and he means to have them.”

  “And why should we not defend our homes, Lara?” Roan asked her.

  “Because if you do you will die,” Lara said bluntly. “You will die, and those who survive will be sold into slavery. Your flocks, your herds, everything, will be given to those Hetarians who follow the mercenary armies into the Outlands. Is this what you desire? The death of the Outlands clan families?”

  “What other choice can you offer us?” Liam wanted to know.

  “I can take you to Terah,” Lara replied. She turned to the Dominus. “Tell them, my good lord.”

  “My lands are vast,” Magnus Hauk began. “My people inhabit but a fraction of these lands, and all along the fingers of the sea we call fjords. Beyond the Emerald Mountains is a vast plain much like this one. It is fertile, and it is uninhabited. It is bordered by a second sea, larger than Sagitta. I offer you these lands, my lords, both mountain and plains. I ask only that once yearly, when I come to you, you give me your pledge of fealty.”

  “And Hetar knows nothing of Terah?” Torin of the Gitta asked.

  “Only the Coastal Kings know of Terah,” Lara responded, “for Terah supplies all the luxury goods Hetar desires. But I am the first Hetarian to go to Terah. Terahn vessels meet with Hetarian vessels in the middle of Sagitta. It is there they exchange their goods.

  “The kings do not want anyone else in Hetar to know of Terah lest they lose what they perceive as their advantage. Gaius Prospero assumes the goods he deals in are manufactured by the Coastal Kings. He has never been to this province. Terah is their secret,
and they will keep it.”

  “You are asking us to give up our lands to go to a place none of us knows,” Floren said. “I will not do it! My fields are like my children. I know them well. I spend the winter months in my hall developing new varieties of my plants. The Hetarians will find me too valuable to kill, and will leave me be if I do not fight them.”

  “Stubborn as ever,” Torin of the Gitta said. His clan family were also farmers. “Do you not understand, Floren? What in the name of the lord of Limbo makes you think that the Hetarians will leave you in peace because you do not resist them? They want the Outlands for themselves. If they were content to live in peace with us they would not be planning an invasion. They do not want to rule us — they want to annihilate us!”

  “How can you know that for certain?” Floren replied.

  “Stay,” Torin said. “Watch while your wife and daughters are forced to give pleasures to Hetar’s Mercenaries before they are killed, but in your case I suspect you would be more distressed if they cooked and ate your new plants.”

  “The Terahn plain is twice the size of the Outlands,” Magnus Hauk interjected. “You will all have twice as much land for yourselves. One thing, however.”

  “Aha!” Floren said. “I knew there would be something.”

  Lara laughed. “There is, but it has nothing to do with you. It would concern the Tormod and the Piaras. In the mountains there lives a small race of gnomes. You will have to make arrangements with them to share the lands there, but they are a peaceable folk, and if you treat each other fairly there should be no difficulties.”

  “I should be more content to have eyes other than yours who have seen this Terahn plain,” Floren grumbled. “Understand it is not that I do not trust you, Lara, but you are asking us to uproot centuries of our existence on rumor.”

  “It is not rumor,” Prince Kaliq said. “Do not forget two of our own are on Hetar’s High Council in the City. We know what is happening, and what will happen, Floren of the Blathma. This is but the beginning, and if Hetar is to survive what is to come, my brothers and I must regain our combined strengths — strengths we have expended on your behalf, I might add. I have seen the Terahn plain. It is all Lara says it is.”

  “And I have seen it also,” Rendor spoke up. “The land is vast and green, and but for the native birds and beasts, uninhabited. It is well watered, and there are stands of trees even as we have here. I saw several lakes, as well. The beach edging the other sea, which is called Obscura, is sandy and wide.”

  “Beasts? You said beasts?” Floren said nervously.

  “There was nothing I saw any different from what we have here,” Rendor told him impatiently. “Cease seeking reasons not to go, Floren. If you insist on forcing your people to remain, their deaths will be on you and no other.”

  “It is a vast undertaking,” Accius of the Devyn said slowly. “How do you propose to make it happen, Lara? Will your brothers help us, Kaliq?”

  “You will be transported by means of our magic,” Lara told them. “And it must be soon, Accius.”

  “You would put us down in the middle of a wilderness without shelters or supplies?” Floren interrupted her.

  “Floren, shut your mouth!” Rendor roared impatiently. “Do you think so little of Lara that you believe she would place us in harm’s way? Let her finish. Open your mouth before she has, and I will kill you myself, you bloody old woman!”

  Floren looked thunderstruck at Rendor’s words. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again as quickly. About him his companions were snickering.

  “All that you have will accompany you,” Lara continued as if nothing had happened. “Your homes, your barns and outbuildings. All of your creatures, and chattels. Your granaries holding your harvests, and supply of next year’s seeds. Even the workshop where you develop your new species of plants, Floren. The climate on the Terahn plain has a shorter winter and a longer growing season,” Lara told them. “You will be able to plant and harvest your crops at least twice yearly.”

  “Twice?” Floren looked nervously to Rendor, but he had been unable to be silent.

  “Twice,” she assured him.

  “How would you accomplish this transfer of our people and goods?” Accius asked her. “It is indeed a very large undertaking. What songs we shall write about this!”

  “We will move one clan family grouping at a time. I had thought you might draw lots to decide the order in which you would go,” Lara suggested. “But before you do I would have you speak among yourselves, and then when you are in agreement I would first have you swear fealty to the Dominus who has kindly offered you these lands.”

  “Do you marry him to save us?” Roan of the Aghy asked her boldly.

  “I marry him because I love him,” Lara replied promptly, “but there is always a bride price of some sort, Roan, and this was mine. Especially when I learned from Kaliq that Hetar was planning to invade the Outlands. I am glad the Dominus loves me enough to pay my price. Be loyal to him, and do not shame me.”

  The horse lord nodded his red head. As much as he had always lusted after Lara he had come to realize that she was not the woman for him. He looked at Magnus Hauk, and wondered what it was about this man that had caused her to choose him.

  “I see no need to discuss this further,” Accius of the Devyn said. “Do any of you?” He looked about the small enclosure. “Forgive me, Rendor, for I do not mean to usurp your authority, but I know I am free to speak my thoughts. We Devyn are your poets, and the bards of our people. It matters not to us where we reside, but perhaps the rest of you need to speak more on it.”

  “Nay,” Roan said, and to Lara’s surprise the others all nodded in agreement. Even Floren of the Blathma.

  “Then,” said Lara producing a green velvet drawstring bag before their eyes, “it is time for you to chose the order in which you will leave. Within the bag are numbered tiles. I offer Rendor the first pick.” She opened the bag just wide enough for his hand to slip inside. Pulling out the tile he showed it to her. “Eight,” Lara said. “The Felan will go last. Liam of the Fiacre, chose next!”

  One by one the clan lords drew their tiles. The Fiacre pulled three. The Piaras four. The Tormod five. The Blathma two. The Aghy seven. The Gitta six. The tile marked one was drawn by the smallest of the clan families, the Devyn.

  “Is everyone content with their drawing?” Lara queried them.

  The clan lords murmured their assent.

  “When will you transport us, and how long will it take?” Rendor asked for all of them. “And what do we tell our people?”

  “You will tell your people nothing,” Kaliq spoke up. “I have no doubt there are some among your people who may already have been subverted by the government of Hetar. Vartan’s murder was an assassination arranged by Gaius Prospero himself. There are always those among the people who can be lured by the promise of a reward they might not otherwise ever possess.

  “Enjoy this Gathering, my friends. Go back to your homes as you always do to prepare for the winter season. Two weeks after your return, the transport shall begin. And within eight days your clan families will be safe in Terah.”

  “What if Hetarians spy upon us during the winter months, and see the Outlands devoid of people and buildings?” Vanko asked, speaking for his sire.

  “Those spying upon the Outlands after you have departed will see your homes, and all that they might see if you were actually here. That is simple magic to accomplish,” Kaliq said with a smile. “Only when the invasion begins will they find neither mortal nor houses, beasts or other chattel. The Outlands will be empty. And by the time they have sorted out the confusion of the invasion that found nothing to invade, many questions will need answering. I expect Gaius Prospero will, however, be quick to find answers to those questions, be they true or not,” he chuckled.

  “And most important,” Lara told them, “we will have prevented a war, needless destruction and the deaths of many innocents.”

  “Once ag
ain you have saved us,” Roan of the Aghy said quietly.

  Lara blushed at his praise. “I have done only what it was meant for me to do, my lord of the Aghy,” she told him.

  “And you are certain the land is suitably fertile?” Floren worried.

  “The land is fertile,” Magnus Hauk said, and he gazed directly into Floren’s brown eyes.

  The look was somehow reassuring to Floren. “Thank you, my lord Dominus,” he said, and his features relaxed for the first time since they had all entered the tent.

  “Now,” Lara told them, “all that remains is for you to swear your fealty to Magnus Hauk, the Dominus of Terah.”

  One by one the clan lords stepped forward and knelt before the Terahn ruler. Lara directed them to take his hands in theirs, pressing them first to their foreheads, then to their hearts and finally placing a kiss on the Dominus’s hand containing his ring of office. Each of the clan lords repeated the same words as he did so.

  “I, pledge you my loyalty, and that of my clan family, Magnus, Dominus of Terah. We will come when you call upon us to protect and preserve Terah and in return you will protect us from all enemies.”

  Magnus Hauk replied, “I accept your loyalty, and pledge you mine. I shall preserve your safety, and you and your clan family will serve me when I call upon you for the good of all Terah.”

  When all had pledged Lara said, “Then it is done, my lords. I thank you for trusting me. Remember you must keep all of this from everyone, even your wives and lovers. It is for the safety of the Outlands and its people.”

  They nodded in agreement.

  Lara looked to Liam of the Fiacre, and beckoned him to her. “The children,” she began.

  “They are well!” he quickly said.

  “Of course they are,” Lara replied with a smile. “I know they are safe with you, Liam. I just wanted you to know that with your permission I should like my younglings to remain in your care. Dillon and Anoush are Fiacre, and must remain so. When I give the Dominus an heir he will expect me to mother it exclusively. I do not want Vartan’s children neglected by any, even their own mother.”