The Call of the Crown (Book 1)

by T. J. Garrett

  Silence filled the room again.

  “I know,” Arfael whispered. “I have known since Illeas’den. I do understand who I am. I do not understand what I’m supposed to do. I owe nothing to you or your crusade. My duty is my own. I owe nothing to anyone, and I will not be controlled.”

  “Phaw.” Kirin’thar waved away Arfael’s speech. “Your duty is not your own. You are Kel’mai. You owe everything to your brothers and to those who died trying to save this land. And as for being controlled, you are the Cinnè’arth. We are yours to control, Arfael. Now you just get yourself straight, young man. We need you. We do not need self-pity.”

  Arfael began to shake. For a moment, it looked to all as though he were about to change again. His face turned red and his eyes yellow. Olam and Elspeth both tried to calm him, but Kirin’thar banged his fist on the table. “Leave the Cinnè’arth be. It is his choice. If making the right one turns him, then he is no use to us.”

  “That is enough!” Daric shouted. “I don’t know what he is. I do not know who he is. But as far as I can see, the man is a soldier, and he has fought his battles. Gods know that’s the truth. You will not force him into anything.”

  “I must go,” Arfael whispered loud enough for all to hear. “Thank you, Daric, but Kirin’thar is right. And even if he were not, I couldn’t turn my back without learning more. I will see this… girl you speak of. I cannot know my next step until I know more of where I have been.”

  “Well said, my friend.” Olam nodded and patted Arfael on his shoulder.

  All but Elspeth seemed in agreement. “Arfael, you do not have to fight if you don’t know what you’re fighting for.”

  “And that is why I’m going, little one.” He smiled.

  Kirin stood and bowed. “Finish your food and rest if you can, though I don’t know how you will sleep—I certainly won’t.” He turned to his wife. “Loreanna has prepared cots for you all and there is a place to wash at the end of the hall. If you need anything else, please ask. Don’t be shy.” Kirin’thar left them to finish while he spoke with his wife.

  The travellers sat silent for a long minute. No one wanted to lift their eyes from their plates, knowing it would start a conversation that none particularly wanted to hold.

  Gialyn broke the silence. “I don’t mean to be selfish,” he said. “But what am I to do in all of this?”

  “You’ll go back to Albergeddy with Elspeth. Someone must see to your mother,” Daric said.

  Gialyn nodded. “Of course, Mother. Sorry, I didn’t think.”

  “Well, can’t he take the scroll, then?” Elspeth asked. “What of my brother? I cannot leave him here, and I very much doubt he will be ready to travel anytime soon, even if the Cren have healed him.”

  Daric flicked his head back. “Ealian… You are right, Elspeth, of course. We must see how things are when we get back to the others. We will decide who goes where then.”

  Olam took a deep breath. “My friends, I know it is going to be difficult, but I suggest we all get some sleep. I do not think it wise to take on the Morrdin without at least some rest.”

  They all agreed and one by one set off to bed.

  * * *

  The morning came quickly. After a brief breakfast, the travellers gathered in the courtyard in front of Kirin’thar’s house.

  “Did you sleep at all?” Kirin said to the whole group. A few murmurs and bouts of muttered waffling followed. “Me neither,” he said. “Anyway, I suggest you all take one of these and tie them like masks once you reach the Trees of Morrdin.” Kirin passed out cloth bandanas to the group.

  Elspeth took a sniff. “Ah… that’s…”

  “Kalli root.” Olam answered for her.

  “Yes,” Kirin said. “It will clear your mind for the hour you will be amongst them.”

  “Hour?” Elspeth said.

  Cal approached the group. “Yes, it is daylight. We should get through in an hour. The straight path is only three miles.”

  “Oh… are you coming back with us?” Gialyn asked

  “Yes, I am,” Cal said. He didn’t sound too pleased at the prospect.

  “Cal and Mateaf will travel with you to the Northern Keep, as our emissaries. If needed, they will go to the palace. It is time we organised ourselves. We must stand together or not at all.” Kirin waved his finger as though highlighting his point—especially to Cahldien.

  “Are we ready?” Daric asked. All nodded in reply. “And you will send horses to the north, Kirin?”

  Kirin’thar bowed. “All will be waiting at the crossroads by the sign to Be’olyn and Cul’taris. They will wait as long as necessary.”

  A wave of panic came across Elspeth. “We’re not going through Be’olyn, are we?”

  “No, child. Your path is north,” Kirin said.

  Daric took Elspeth’s shoulder and gave her an understanding nod. He turned and quickly checked all were ready. “Off we go again,” he said. They turned to the west and back to the hollow.

  CHAPTER 30

  Good, Bad, and Ancient

  The small Salrian troop had so far spent six days south of the Raithby River. In all that time, they hadn’t seen hide or hair of the travellers. Jern, their leader, was beginning to think they were wasting their time. Rumblings of discontent were becoming commonplace; what was left of their cold meats and food supplies had run out two days ago. Berries and the odd raw egg was the best they could hope. Not that there wasn’t plenty of game to hunt; it was cooking that was the problem. “No fires!” The order was strict. Then again, this hunt was supposed to be done and dusted three days ago. Where were the bloody Surabhan?

  They had scouted up and down the riverbank, looking for tracks, even over towards the Eurmac trail. Now they were approaching the edge of Crenach for the second time, or was it the third?

  “Are we crossing this bloody river again?” Uld’eth moaned. He had expected to be in charge of their party; he was the senior officer. Now, all he did was complain at every one of Jern’s orders. “This is the second time we’ve crossed and the third time we’ve made camp. We would do better staying in one place. They could be walking straight past us.”

  Jern huffed as he turned to answer the old officer’s complaint. “There is more than one path, Uld’eth. If we stay in one place, they could very likely ‘walk straight past us.’” He shook his head and nodded towards the trail. “You are supposed to be looking for tracks, not more reasons to whine.”

  “As you say… sir,” Uld’eth answered.

  His tone put a burr in Jern’s foot. He was beginning to wish Bre’ach had given the older man command. However, Uld’eth was not of their troop, and more experienced or not, tradition dictated that Jern must take lead. More’s the pity; he would have followed the man on this wasteful errand and with no argument. Then Uld’eth would have to explain their failure to Si’eth.

  Jern formed his men up on the south bank and made ready to cross in pairs towards the far eastern corner of Raithby’s Plateau—three miles southeast of the waterfall. They had travelled mostly at night, taking turns to stand watch during the day. It was a good plan. Surely, the Surabhans were not travelling at night, too. Jern’s stomach churned. No, they’ll not travel at night. Why would they? Why haven’t we seen them?

  Once over the river, the Salrians huddled for cover behind a line of wild berry and lemon-leaf bushes just inside the Crenach’coi boundary. They were not particularly quiet about it. Jern grimaced as he heard the men kicking about in the undergrowth, making room for their bedrolls. They’d started behaving this way two nights ago, about the time the food ran out—slow following orders, talking back, not maintaining cover—very un-soldier-like. Uld’eth didn’t help; questioning his leader’s orders is what started it all. Trusting someone to stand watch all day was going to prove difficult.

  “We will post lookouts in twos today,” Jern said, hoping they would be less likely to sleep on the job if there were more than one.

  Moans of malcontent
came from all.

  “Why would you do that?” Uld’eth protested. “We will have to double up on shifts, two each.”

  Jern folded his arms and stared at the older man. “Shifts will be three hours. You and I will take the middle one.” The other Salrians smiled and nodded. Of course, for them, that would mean six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Uld’eth didn’t look so happy, though.

  The day passed uneventfully. One of the lookouts woke Jern for the second time. He pushed open his eyes and dry-washed his bald head. He nodded thanks to the lookout. “Wake the others and see to the water.” The lookout nodded back half-heartedly, then walked along the line of sleeping Salrians, kicking the bottom of their feet to wake them.

  Uld’eth immediately resumed his complaining. “When are we going to call it a day, Jern, and be done with this nonsense?”

  “Like I said, one more day and we will backtrack. It is no use looking for Si’eth. We could cause more harm than good. Best we go back the way we came and wait for him at Herann’coi. I don’t see that anything else can be done here, other than walk around in circles.”

  “He won’t be happy, you know, not one bit!”

  Gods, does the man want to go home or not? Jern sighed. “We had our orders. We have carried out our orders. They could have crawled this far by now! No. They haven’t gone south, and that is what we were sent to prevent—our job is done!” Jern nodded assertively, almost as if he were convincing himself of his explanation.

  Uld’eth picked a few berries from the bush in front of him while he spoke. “That’s fine with me, Jern,” he said. “But if we’re wrong, it is your head, not mine.” He chuckled to himself.

  Jern bit his lip. Stone the fool if he isn’t trying to ruin me. “We will go a few hours north, past that gully Bre’ach spoke of. If we can pick up any trails, if there is sign of them, then the commander has dealt with it already. If not, they must have gone another way. Six days is too long, even for the Surabhan female.”

  Uld’eth nodded, not laughing this time. If they had gone past, Si’eth would probably be waiting for them, waiting for two days or more!

  Night fell while Jern and the other Salrians broke camp. They didn’t make a much better job than the last day they’d spent there. Jern sighed at the broken branches and half-eaten sour apples. He was thankful Si’eth wouldn’t be travelling south on their way back home. A child could find this camp.

  The moon rose while a few stray clouds still lingered. Jern was glad of the light; the Crenach’coi was no place to spend the night, no place for a Salrian, at any rate. There were few forests in the mountains of An’aird Barath. River stone and mud were what they used to build houses in Jern’s village. Even the chairs and tables were mostly woven reeds. The tax on transporting wood was so high only the merchants and noblemen of Barath City could afford it—another reason to hate the bloody Surabhan! Jern ordered his men to head back west until they reached the tributary and then cross to the northern path at the base of the gully. They kept to the trees for as long as they could and then scurried along the base of the ridge. The outlet at the foot of the waterfall’s plunge pool was shallow enough to wade, half of it crossed by hopping stones.

  It was apparent, even to the inexperienced Jern, that a fight of some kind had taken place: tracks, splintered arrows, blood. The Salrians looked about for signs of their commander. Nothing of any note, though some looked curiously at the contents of one of their belt packs strewn amongst bloodied rags. Somebody was injured, or more importantly, somebody was alive to treat somebody who was injured.

  Jern waved them into line behind him. “Don’t stand in the middle of the track!” he said. He beckoned all to line up against the eastern wall, to follow him to the top of the gully. Jern peered over the rim at the uppermost. Left and right he looked but could see nothing. Then, straight ahead, he saw the mounds. He gestured for all to stay low while Uld’eth and he crept up to the dark earth.

  “They’re Salrian!” Uld’eth’s guttural whisper crackled with disbelief as he looked at the graven insignia lying on the rocks circling each mound. “They are all Salrian!”

  Jern sat, for the moment, overcome with quiet panic. Gods, what could have happened here? he thought. Where is Si’eth? That thought brought him back with a jolt. “Check the insignia,” he said. “See if the commander’s is there.”

  Uld’eth scurried, almost on all fours, around the graves, looking at the blackened insignia at the front of each. “There are five; none bear his mark.”

  “Then there are still eight.” Jern’s first thought was selfish. The enemy had passed him by, and now five of his compatriots were dead. What would Si’eth have to say about that?

  Again, Uld’eth’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “There are tracks leading to the tributary.” Uld’eth was crouched five paces in front, pointing north along the waterway.

  Jern got up and crept to where Uld’eth signalled. Indeed, there were many tracks. “Whoever made these were here a long time. It is clear that our men buried them—the Surabhan wouldn’t know about burning the insignia before placing it on the graves. We must assume they are still on the hunt.” He stood for a moment in thought. Are they hunting? Why bury the men unless the Surabhans were caught? Burying would take time. They must already have them. No, the tracks would lead back west. Gods, what is going on? He turned to his men. “Spread out along the bank. See if you can find more tracks.”

  It wasn’t long before a whispered, “Over here,” came from one of the Salrians. Jern and Uld’eth ran low to where tracks led into the water.

  Jern knelt to study them. “There are too many. It cannot just be our men. They must have followed the Surabhan over the river. If the commander had captured them in the gully, he wouldn’t have taken them east.”

  The Salrian who found the tracks nodded in agreement. Uld’eth huffed. Jern turned to him and gave the older man a stern look. “Gather your things, Uld’eth, and be quiet about it. They could be anywhere. We will cross in twos. Wait by those trees when you’re clear.” Jern pointed at two trees set against the eastern bank. He turned to Uld’eth and waited for the old soldier to acknowledge his order.

  Uld’eth gave an almost inaudible, “Aye, sir,” as he turned to gather his pack. He signalled the others to move up from the gully where they’d waited behind the cover of the rock face.

  Slowly, Jern and the other Salrians paddled through the fast-flowing waters of the tributary. Once they were all safely huddled beneath the trees, Jern pointed back at where they crossed. “The tracks lead in both directions,” he said. “Both into the water and out again. This makes no sense.” He looked to Uld’eth for answers.

  “Maybe they came back to bury them,” Uld’eth said.

  Jern thought for a moment. “If that is so, they must have caught the Surabhan. They wouldn’t give up the chase this close. And if they have caught them, why are there no tracks heading west at the base of the gully?”

  Uld’eth shook his head and gave a long sigh. “We must proceed as if the Surabhan have our men prisoner.”

  Jern’s shoulders dropped. “Yes. It is beginning to look that way, isn’t it?” He joined the old man with a sigh of his own.

  Uld’eth looked towards the east. He dropped his chin and creased his brow as though he’d seen something unexpected. “That cannot be a fire,” he said, pointing to where a faint orange glow lit up the trees.

  “That settles it. The wolves must have come with them,” Jern said.

  Uld’eth shook his head in contempt at Jern’s response. “If there were wolves with them, we would have seen tracks.”

  “Enough, Uld’eth,” Jern snapped. “Enough of your questions. Three men and three children didn’t kill five and take eight prisoners without some help. They must have trampled over the wolves’ paw prints. Either that or more Surabhan have joined them.” He folded his arms and waited for Uld’eth to reply. None came. “The wind is from the southeast. We will circle north and run down along th
e tree line. I want an answer before we charge in.”

  “Very good, sir.” Uld’eth bowed, apparently satisfied with the orders.

  Jern led the Salrians a farther half mile upstream before cutting across east to the forest rim. There, they slowly crept, one man at a time, to within a few hundred yards of the hollow.

  “Wait here!” whispered Jern. “I’ll go closer and see what we have.”

  The others nodded.

  Jern took off his pack and skulked as silently as he could along the tree line. He tested every footfall for twigs before lying down hard. He avoided every branch and leaf. It took ten minutes to come within sight of the hollow, and even then, he couldn’t get a clear view into the depths of it. However, he could see the top of Si’eth’s head, and he reckoned rightly that the travellers were not alone. The wolves were there, but where were the rest of them? Two wolves and maybe three Surabhan and no sign of the others? Slowly, he turned and quietly crept back to the others.

  Not quietly enough, though.

  * * *

  Aleban pricked up his ears and stood to attention, facing the direction of Jern’s retreat. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. His lip curled as he let out a low growl.

  “Do you hear something?” whispered Grady. He was sat with his back against the fallen tree. Rolling to his side, he both put down the knuckle of dried bread he was chewing and picked up his long knife. Straining to hear, he turned to the north, too. He glanced at the Salrians; they were behaving… well.

  Turning to the Cren, he gestured towards the Salrians. “Keep an eye on them,” he said. “Aleban?”

  “I can’t tell,” Aleban replied. “I’d swear I could smell Salrians. I don’t know if it’s these two or if there are more of them to the north.”

  “Let’s not take any chances.” He nodded towards the Cren while loosening his quiver and bow. “Can you get the prisoners behind the logs?”

  Si’eth protested. Rising to his feet, he approached Grady with hands raised. “If it’s my men, then let me speak. Truly, I want no part in this scheme of General Alaf'kan's.”