Xith angrily cast a wall of fire from his hands, sending back a sudden frenzied push from the wraiths. “We discussed this; there is another way. The boy. We agreed. The boy.”
“The other is a boy no longer. You yourself said this.” Noman turned around, swept his hands in a great circle, sending an arc of searing white light into the mass behind them. A swath of wraiths dozens wide and several dozen deep winked out of existence. He turned to Adrina. “Without fear,” he told her as he touched her forehead. “Call him forth.”
Outside the command tent, Prince Valam walked the long line of captains and lieutenants. He stopped at the line of crossed swords symbolizing the leaders lost in the battle. The first marker was for Captain Eran of the long swordsmen. He cast a sidelong look at the mustered ranks, knowing in his heart the pomp and ceremony was necessary to restore faith and order.
Captain Vadan Evgej, who had walked silently at the prince’s side, spoke quietly to the prince. The two then walked to where the long swordsmen were mustered. At the fore of the ranks were the masters of the sword, behind them the swordsmen, and further back those few of the sword apprentices that remained. He granted field promotions to three of the swordmasters, but it was Ylsa Heman, on behalf of her fallen brother Eran, who gave each their insignia of rank and office. Eddrick Reassae, Nobel Jrenn, and Seran Hindell stood proud and accepted the promotions graciously. As they were all from some of the kingdom’s oldest Great Houses, Valam did not doubt that they would serve well in their new offices as lieutenants.
Before he turned away, Valam regarded Ylsa. He put his hand on her shoulder. Her archers had performed many a miracle on the field. “Captain of the Fourth Order Ylsa Heman,” he told her as he directed her to the ranks of her bowmen. Several of the squires of the bow, ahorse at the back of her lines, let out a whoop. Valam grinned, saying nothing of the breaking of the attention order.
The mood was not as good among the decimated ranks of lancers and pikemen that had been led by Willam the Black. Willam was the first of the kingdom lieutenants to fall. While he had taken many of the enemy with him, his men had not fared well after the loss and had succumbed to a blood fury, charging relentlessly into the heart of the enemy until there were but few left of their original company.
Valam eyed the lone squire of the lance at the back of the ranks and called the young lad forth. The squire, no older than Valam himself, had a bold, wild look in his eye—a look that said he feared nothing and no one. “What is your name?” Valam asked the squire.
“I am Michal Klaive,” the squire said.
Surprised to find a nobleman’s son in the rank of squire, Valam asked, “Rudden Klaive?”
“I am my father’s namesake,” Michal returned boldly. “Rudden is my brother.”
“And why are you a squire in my company when your house title gives you the rank of lancer by right?”
“My father says a man must work his way from nothing to something.”
Captain Vadan Evgej’s eyes showed his surprise at the bold tongue of the squire, but Prince Valam’s face gave no hint of what he was thinking.
“Kneel,” Valam commanded as he withdrew his sword from its sheath.
Michal looked to Vadan Evgej as if beseeching the other to intercede on his behalf. “Kneel,” growled Vadan.
Michal knelt quickly. His eyes said he was wary of what Valam intended to do with the sword. As Valam raised his sword, Michal closed his eyes. Valam touched his sword to Michal’s right and left shoulder.
“What is your preferred weapon?” Valam asked as he brought his sword to the top of Michal’s head.
“The great lance,” Michal called out, his eyes still closed.
“Then rise true, sir knight, and from this day henceforth be known as Knight of the Lance. You are a First Lance now and a knight, no more an apprentice. Do you understand?”
Michal nodded solemn understanding of everything that went with the title.
Valam turned his eyes to the short line of lancers who stood their mounts, asking “Who among you shall I name lancemaster?” Without waiting for a response he turned to the line of pikemen, asking “Who among you shall I name pikemaster?”
Not one of the lancers or pikemen said a word. Valam turned to Michal and asked the questions of the newly named knight. Michal offered no response. “Very well, then,” Valam said turning on his heel to face the lines. “One and all, it shall be,” and upon the saying a cheer went up from the ranks all around the lancers and pikemen. No few of the kingdomers knew of the deeds of Willam’s men on the field, and no few held back their cheers.
“Captain Danyel’,” Valam called out. The former lieutenant rushed to the prince’s side from the fore of his lines, a new light in his eyes at the sudden appointment. “These men become part of your ranks now. Treat them as befits their great skill and courage; treat them as masters of the lance and pike. All save this one,” he said turning to Michal.
“Captain S’tryil,” Valam called out. The captain stepped out of the lines and joined the prince. “I trust you’ve a position of honor for a First Lance.”
“I do indeed, my lord prince,” Captain S’tryil said, bowing his head in formal fashion as the hour of ceremony required.
Valam addressed Danyel’ and S’tryil’s lines next, each in turn, before he announced the field promotions of Pavil and Redcliff to the rank of Captain of the Fourth Order. The new captains were then in turn given permission to promote within their lines.
New sergeants and lieutenants were appointed throughout the kingdom lines. Bow apprentices became bowmen. Horse apprentices became knights. Lance apprentices became lancers. Pike apprentices became pikemen. Shield apprentices became shieldbearers. Sword apprentices became swordsmen. Masters of the bow, horse, lance, pike, shield, and sword were appointed as well.
Before the ceremony concluded, Captain Evgej and Captain Mikhal were named to the rank of Field Commander, a rank that put them at the same level as commanders in garrison and the king’s own Knight Captains.
Chapter Fourteen
Inside the command tent, Father Jacob kept the official record of the day’s events. Runners moving between the ranks and the tent kept him informed. When the ceremony was over, Prince Valam dismissed the men and entered the tent. Upon seeing the prince enter, Father Jacob looked up from his work, said graciously, “The first battle ends in victory, my prince. You’ve done well these past days and this day as well.”
“It is but the first of many,” Valam said, just before gulping down the glass of wine offered to him.
“It is,” Jacob agreed. “You’ve your father’s touch with the men. You are a just leader and have their respect.”
“Do I truly, Father Jacob?”
Father Jacob didn’t say anything for a moment as he finalized the scroll before him. He stood and opened the flap of the tent wide so Valam could look out to the field where the lines were yet maintained. As the two stepped out of the tent, a cheer went up from the ranks. “To the High Prince!” came the cry and the words were repeated over and over across the field.
The commanders in company joined in the cheers for a moment before calling the ranks to attention. Valam watched, a broad smile that was almost a grin fell away as he saw riders racing toward the company at full speed.
One of the riders reined in alongside Prince Valam. “It is as foretold. They come.”
“How many?” Valam asked.
The rider’s dapple gray courser started prancing and the rider fought to get the restless animal under control. “A host of thousands, many thousands. They come from the mountains along both passes.”
“How long before they are upon us?”
“It seems they march for the forests and not the plains. On Rivenwood. The city will surely fall before nightfall.”
Seth rushed out of one of the nearby tents. Brother Liyan and Tsandra of the Brown were close behind him as were several of the outriders who had just arrived from the field. “From Rivenwoo
d to Avenwood,” he said.
“This can’t be,” Valam cried out. “We’ve been so careful in our watch. We took the field. The next fight should be at their door.”
Seth felt something, a presence overhead trying to reach out to him. He was about to cast his will to the wind and soar up into the heavens when he found the link. For the briefest moment, he felt Queen Mother’s every emotion. He knew her anguish, her pain. He was her protector and she was his queen as it once had been.
Cagan knew Seth’s thoughts the instant the red brother emerged from the link. He spoke his fears before Seth could say anything, “King Mark’s battle fleet took Maru. The city burns. The fleet sails up the Gildway to lay siege to Leklorall.”
“That is nearly the truth of it,” Seth confirmed.
“But how?” Valam asked.
“Queen Mother begs of us to break camp. Sail with as many men and elves as we can to the east and Maru, and then up the Gildway to Leklorall. The rest to march on Rivenwood through the gorge to Avenwood and on to Leklorall.”
“Is there any hope in such?” asked Vadan Evgej.
Valam withdrew Truth Bringer from its sheath and raised the sword high into the air. “We’ll be at the heels of King Mark’s army the entire way. We can harry their every step. They will come to fear us. That is the full truth of it.”
They filled what few ships remained with supplies, men, and elves. The ships set sail for the east as they broke camp. The command tent became the last vestige of the enormous camp. Not long after, it too was taken down and carefully packed away.
As they rode away from the camp, an idea came to Valam. He remembered the narrow rocky valley between Avenwood and Rivenwood. He urged his surefooted charger along, racing to catch up with Seth at the front of the lines. Captain Evgej and Captain Mikhal sped along at his side, their mounts as eager as his to find the wind.
“Tsandra, Teren,” he called out as he passed the brother elves on his way to Seth. The two unquestioningly turned their mounts in line behind Valam and followed where the prince led.
When he reached the lead riders, Valam ordered the lines on foot and ahorse to turn due east, calling for the brothers of the Brown to break ranks and join his conference with Seth, Tsandra and Teren. He also called out for Captain Danyel’, Captain Redcliff, and others. Soon there was a company of fifty or more around him.
A wind swirled, tugging at Valam’s cloak as he sat the saddle. He spoke to the Tae brothers first, addressing Redcliff before addressing Danyel’. “I once asked you to defend the House of Alder against our enemies, to die in service if need be. You have proven yourself many times over beyond the training field, and you have no more debt to me than to the wind. Do we understand each other?”
The mountain of a man who once had been one of his father’s best training masters straightened in the saddle but said nothing.
“Danyel’, you have proven yourself on the field as well. It saddens me that I must ask of you.”
Danyel’, like his brother, sat stoically in the saddle. He too was a tower of a man with a height and girth eclipsing that of most.
“I know you both to be mountain men, and I trust to you a task that I would trust to no others. Danyel’, you once spoke of a sudden slide of rock that closed the entrance to your valley home. You told me of how your people dug through the rock the whole of spring to free themselves by summer.
“I would ask you to use your skill with great axe and hammer to create slides of rock in the gorge connecting Avenwood and Rivenwood. Tsandra, Teren, and much of the Brown will go with you to guide you on your way. Let them help you. Do this thing in such a way that it is for all time.”
“It will be as you ask, my prince,” Redcliff replied. Without a further word, he, his brother, and the others rode off to the north, to Rivenwood.
Tsandra was the last to turn into the file. “My oath to you: as I live and breathe so shall they.”
“Be well,” Valam told her, and then he watched her ride away.
Ærühn stood over the fallen, dismay and perhaps confusion reflected in his eyes as he looked upon them. His long hair hung down, covering his face in a blanket of braids and beads. He had taken their weapons, a flask of ale, several bags of water, what armor he could salvage. It was the spell woven upon them that he could sense but not see that troubled him. He could feel the same spell in the air all around him now that he searched for it.
Geoffrey grabbed the dragon man’s arm. This was the fourth in a long series of rooms that they had come to. All the rooms had been occupied and they had had to fight their way through each. “We must move on,” he told the dragon man.
Ærühn looked up at him as if through a haze. Strange as it seemed to him, he could see Geoffrey but not see him—if such a thing were possible. “Yes, of course,” he answered reflexively, only now realizing that he spoke in dragon speech and the other spoke in the language of men and yet they both understood each other.
Geoffrey hurried to catch up with Captain Brodst and the others. Captain Brodst stood next to Midori, Calyin next to Lord Serant. Ayrian waited impatiently near the door, acting as look out. Keeper Martin spoke quietly. “Nothing is what you think it is,” he was telling the others as Ærühn and Geoffrey joined the group. “Isn’t that so?” he asked the dragon man.
Ærühn nodded but didn’t understand.
“We were all brought to this place for a reason. There is an ancient power here. It drew us in as surely as the scent of a flower draws a bee. What we must try to understand is why?”
“No,” interrupted Lord Serant. “What we must know is where we are. Somewhere in the Rift Range I suspect, perhaps the Endless Ice.”
“I was getting to that,” Martin said. “But first you must understand the why of it. I think I have the answer.” He looked to the dragon man. “Has the truth of it come to you yet?”
“This place makes us see what we want to see,” Ærühn said. He pulled a blade from his belt, turned to Geoffrey. “This is the blade you were given. It was expected that you should kill me with it. I will ask you again, why didn’t you?”
Geoffrey took the blade so as not to have to talk about it again. “With you I have no quarrel.”
“Yet you left the blade for me to take. How did you know I wouldn’t turn it against you?”
“If you were going to kill me, you could have done this while I was unconscious. Instead you put a blanket over me to keep away the chill. You gave me food and drink when you could have kept it for yourself. If I was truly your enemy, why would you have done such a thing?”
Ærühn snatched the blade from Geoffrey’s hand and threw it across the room. “Do you know so little of my kind? I am a Dragon Man of the Stone Shields. There is no honor in killing the sick or the weak. My punishment was to nurse my enemy back to health so that I might see through his eyes before I battled him to victory or defeat. My punishment was to bring me low—to see as you because I did not see. Don’t you understand this?”
Ayrian stepped between Geoffrey and Ærühn. “He does not know your law. How could he?”
“The Law is,” said Ærühn. “It is known to all.”
Keeper Martin touched a hand to Ærühn’s shoulder. “It is what I was trying to explain. We do not see as you see. This place has a hold over us, as it has over you. It makes us see differently and only when we question do we start to see true. I suspect we are in a wayside of old. A place where all things seem familiar but unfamiliar.”
“A wayside?” asked Captain Brodst.
“I’ve only heard tell of it in the most ancient of the texts. But I believe this is a place between the realm gates.”
Calyin swept back her long black hair, looked at the keeper quizzically. “Keeper, the day is long. We must be moving along.”
“We are caught in a wayside,” Martin explained. “We are caught in the place between.”
“The between? With the souls of the dead?” scoffed Geoffrey. “Surely you jest, Keeper. The bet
ween is for those passing beyond this life. It is where the Choice is made and the Wish.”
“True, yes, but it is also used by realm travelers. Before any of you interrupt me, I would like Ærühn to tell you of the dark land of the hunt. I would like Ayrian to tell you of the Kingdoms of the Skies. I would like to tell you of Uver and a time when his gates connected all the lands. So Ærühn, will you tell us how your people move from the frozen land to the dark land of fire?”
“The Great Door. It is known.”
“I’m afraid that it is not known. We know little of the Land of the Dark Fire or the Frozen Land of Ice and Snow.” Martin swept his hand around the circle. “They know nothing. I know only what I’ve been able to piece together. The one thing I do not know is if it has begun. Has it, Ærühn? Is that why you are here? Are you the Hand on the Wall, Ærühn?”
Ærühn glared at Keeper Martin. His large round eyes suddenly wider than seemed possible. “He will know. He will be angry.”
“Tell me of Prince Sy’dan Entreatte. Tell me of the High Lord. Tell me of the lost kingdom. What do the dark elves plan?”
“What would you have me say?”
“Will my telling do as well?” asked Belajl Entreatte, High Lord of Shost, as he and his people entered the room from hidden recesses.
“It would,” Martin said, his expression betraying no hint of surprise, though he hurriedly hastened everyone to the doorway Ayrian was supposed to have been watching.
“It will not work for you,” Belajl said.
“But of course it will.” Martin unrolled the small piece of parchment he held in his hand. As he faced the high lord and his men, he spread his arms wide to keep the others back.
“You underestimate my resolve. You were brought here to change the path and so it has come to pass.”
“Ah, but you forget that in the time before time, the lands were ruled by titans, dragons, and the great eagles. The Master Keeper knew, and so I know. I did not have to seek out the Hand on the Wall, the Hand sought me out. Is that not so, Ærühn?”
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