Shadowheart lotr-2

by James Barclay

  'Complete,' said Ranyl. 'We have re-established full contact with the demon dimension; the Al-Drechar's information has allowed us to redraw our map of inter-dimensional space and calculate dimensional alignment events. When they occur, our full range of dimensional spells will be available for the event's duration. We are ready. We are back in control.'

  Dystran smiled again. 'I want the alignment information passed to the army so we can factor it into our attack plans. When will the first helpful event occur?'

  'Three days,' said Ranyl.

  'Then that informs our timetable.' Dystran jabbed a finger at Kestys. 'You need to do more work. Get me the identity of the One caster on Balaia and get it for me in three days. Given that we are again linked to the rest of dimensional space, we can send that damn dragon home. Perhaps you should offer a deal. Actually, I don't care. If I catch you sleeping before this task is complete, I will feed you to the demons.

  'Eat quickly. This meeting is closed.'

  To his credit, Riasu had despatched a fast rider towards the Wesmen Heartlands immediately he'd taken Devun in. To Devun's irritation, he hadn't advised the new Black Wing leader of the fact for over two days. They were two days when Devun alternately feared for his life and saw the potential of Selik's plans open up for him.

  Riasu wasn't a particularly difficult man but he was suspicious. And his grasp of standard eastern Balaian was fragmented, though still far better than Devun's tribal Wes. His suspicion was well founded and explained his initial hostility.

  He had been tricked by eastern devils before, he had said, and he would not be again. One mage and his army of walking dead, blank-faced men had promised the Wesmen help in destroying all the colleges bar Xetesk six years before. He had been a liar, like all easterners. Many brave Wesmen warriors had gone to the Spirits because of him. He, Devun had discovered after more difficult questions, had been Styliann, former Lord of the Mount of Xetesk; and killed by a dragon in an alien dimension.

  Still, it gave Devun his first glimmer of hope. Riasu had been very pleased to hear of Styliann's demise. But it had still taken Devun two days of fragmented discussion to persuade Riasu first not to kill him and second, to take him to meet Tessaya.

  And so to this. Devun and his few Black Wing guards, riding unarmed under the hostile gaze often times their number of Wes-men warriors. None of their hosts bar Riasu had horses but they seemed unconcerned by hours of jogging, leaving Devun impressed despite himself.

  There had been a glint in Riasu's eye when he revealed Tessaya had already been contacted and that a meeting point had been arranged. Devun had firmly gritted his teeth and consigned the memories of fear and uncertainty to the back of his mind. All that mattered was that he was making progress and Riasu could have his little victory. He was acutely aware, though, that Riasu was one hurdle, Tessaya another entirely.

  The terrain they travelled was spectacular if bleak. Great shale and rock slopes fled away to the north while ahead a line of scrub-covered hills promised difficult conditions for man and horse.

  'Tell me, Riasu, did your people suffer under die bad storms?' asked Devun, keeping his language deliberately simple as he referred to the elemental destruction wreaked across the continent by the Nightchild.

  Riasu turned a harsh face to him as they rode together. The dark, unruly hair that surrounded his gruff, wrinkled face was shot with grey. His lips were small, his nose bulbous, having seen too much wine over the years, and his eyes were buried deep beneath his brow.

  'Warriors died with no enemy to fight,' he said. 'Children's bellies swelled though no food was inside. Elders perished early to join the Spirits. We suffer still but nothing breaks the Wesmen.'

  'I am giving the Wesmen that enemy,' said Devun.

  He paused, fighting the urge to speak more quickly. Conversation had been little short of torture at times.

  'So you say.' Riasu shrugged.

  'Do you not believe me?'

  ‘Ibelieve you hate magic,' said Riasu. 'But can you give us our enemy? They will hide within their walls and cast their evil. Are they really broken or do you lie like all your kind? The Lord Tessaya will say.'

  Riasu still hadn't properly understood. Devun felt as if he expected the Black Wings to march the mages from the gates of Xetesk in chains. He hadn't even tried to fully explain the ramifications of the war now consuming the colleges, nor his support from the non-mage Balaian population. It would have been pointless. Fortunately, the man he was being taken to meet was possessed of a far higher intellect.

  Lord Tessaya had been the first Wesmen leader to unite the warring tribes in over three centuries. First, it had been under the banner of the Wytch Lords, and fear as much as respect had driven the Wesmen to a single purpose. They had so nearly succeeded too, their ultimate failure a combination of the sheer strength of the combined colleges and their magic and the extraordinary intervention of The Raven. So few, yet responsible for so much.

  But the mark of the Tessaya's true influence was the maintenance of tribal unity in the aftermath of defeat. He was still their leader, still their greatest hope of victory. And the only man worth talking to in the whole Wesmen nation. He was not to be underestimated. That was why Selik had hatched plans to ally with him.

  They travelled all day and well into the early evening, covering a great deal of stark and barren ground, endlessly climbing and descending slope after slope, but still Devun felt frustrated. A rough calculation of the mid point between the Wesmen Heartlands and Understone Pass had them riding for at least three days before the first possibility of a meeting.

  It was with great surprise then that, late in the evening, a glow emanating from behind a hill resolved itself into a camp lit by a ting of what smelled like dung fires and crisscrossed by braziers. A palatial tent was pitched at the camp's centre and around it in clusters of two or three, a dozen smaller, circular tents were grouped by campfires, standards flying over each one.

  Approaching closer, Devun could see that the standards were all identical, depicting the bear's head and claws of the Paleon tribes. Fifty yards from the pool of light, Riasu halted them in the shadow.

  'Dismount,' he ordered. 'None may approach the Lord Tessaya on higher seat.'

  'What?' Devun blurted out. Riasu looked at him askance, demanding he explain. 'Tessaya is here?'

  He'd been prepared to believe a camp could have been constructed but not that the Wesmen leader could have travelled here already. Riasu simply nodded. Devun signalled his men to dismount but his mind was racing. He walked round the front of his horse.

  'How can he be here? Is this where he lives?'

  'No,' said Riasu, that sparkle in his eyes again. 'He lives in the Heartlands.'

  'But he is here to meet me?'

  Another nod. 'Yes.'

  'So how can he be here already?' Devun gestured at the camp. 'I mean, how fast was that rider?'

  'The rider ordered the camp built,' said Riasu.

  'So how…? Did Tessaya fly or something?'

  'Horse,' said Riasu. He laughed. 'You think us savages. But those touched by the Spirits are closer to the Gods than you will ever be.'

  'I don't understand,' said Devun.

  'No,' agreed Riasu. 'You are not Wes.'

  Devun was desperate to know how they'd communicated. Would a bird have been fast enough? Possibly. He knew they used them but still the distance was significant and the method uncertain. It was clear, though, that Riasu was happy to perpetuate the mystery.

  'What happens now?' he asked.

  Riasu smiled at his next small victory. 'Your men will stop here with my warriors. They may move no further into our lands. You will come with me.'

  'Sir?' said Devun's deputy who had overheard the exchange.

  'We'll do exactly as he says. Just keep yourselves quiet, demand nothing and you'll be fine. Don't let them provoke you.' Devun indicated their empty sword belts; all their weapons were being held at the pass. 'Remember our circumstances.'


  'Yes, sir.'

  Devun turned to Riasu and pulled his cloak close, feeling an unseasonable chill in the evening air.

  'Lead on,' he said.

  'Good luck,' said the deputy.

  'If I have to rely on that, I think we're in trouble,' said Devun, a wry smile on his face. 'But I appreciate the thought.'

  Riasu led him towards the camp. At each fire stood a quartet of warriors. Around each tribal tent and fire group, men and women busied themselves cooking, eating and checking weapons. Around the palace tent, guards stood watchful. Tessaya was taking few chances. Just beyond the ring of fires, Riasu stopped him.

  'Wait. I must seek permission for you to enter.'

  Devun watched him go, walking proud and tall, nodding curtly to the guards who stood aside for him to pass before turning to glare at Devun with undisguised malevolence. He stared back, becoming aware of his vulnerability. If things went awry, he would be dead very quickly.

  While he stood waiting, the scents of the camp drifted over him. Wood smoke and cooked meat, rich herbs and even a hint of canvas wax. It was a very well ordered camp but he expected nothing less. Lord Tessaya was an impressive man; and that was before Devun actually met him. He felt a nervousness he hadn't experienced since he was first introduced to Selik.

  Riasu wasn't long, walking quickly back to the camp perimeter and waving him in.

  'Come,' he said.

  Devun strode by the guards, hearing one of them mutter something. Though he couldn't understand the words, the tone and intent were clear enough. He stopped and looked deep into the eyes of the Wesman who was a head shorter than him.

  'Say what you will,' he said pointlessly. 'But we will be allies. You will respect me one day.'

  'Devun!' snapped Riasu. He uttered a stream of angry Wes and the guard paced back, hand moving from the hilt of his sword. 'No games.'

  Devun walked over to Riasu and the two men passed by the six-strong guard at Tessaya's tent entrance. Down a short canvas hallway, another guard held aside a gold trimmed, deep green and tasselled curtain.

  'Show respect to the Lord Tessaya,' warned Riasu.

  Devun smiled at him, feeling his anxiety growing. ‘Ihad never thought to do otherwise.'

  He walked into the grand single room of the palace tent, taking in the netted four-posted bed that stood at the far wall, the fine carved table and six chairs to his right and the plain woven rugs diat covered every inch of grass. And he took in the group of three low, dark red plush sofas arranged around a rectangular table on which stood a jug, two metal goblets and a spread of meat and bread.

  In front of the sofas stood Tessaya. He was a broad-shouldered man, his shoulder-length hair tied in a loose pony tail. His weathered, pitted face carried the scars of countless battles but his eyes were chips of pure energy. He was dressed in loose-fitting grey robes, cinched at the waist with a tri-coloured plaited cord. He paced forwards. He didn't offer a hand but his face wore an expression of welcome not hostility.

  'Captain Devun of the infamous Black Wings,' he said in faultless standard eastern dialect. 'A shame neither Selik, nor his predecessor, Travers, had the wit to seek my help. I congratulate you on your good sense. Come, eat and drink with me. We have much to discuss.'

  Chapter 10

  It took The Raven almost three days to reach the periphery of the war zone. Three days in which The Unknown's growing concern for the safety of his family was only tempered by his determination to see The Raven reach their destination capable of making a difference. That was the difference between them, Hirad decided. He would have hurtled down the trail, taking his chances because time was everything. The Unknown knew they would achieve nothing by being caught.

  It hadn't made him any easier to live with, though. Whenever rhey rested, hidden in a cleft, river valley or one of the few surviving stands of trees, the emotions he kept in check for the good of The Raven surfaced. He prowled, biting his nails. He irritated Hirad for more and more contact via Sha-Raan and he snapped at Darrick, who had suggested a faster route.

  Now, a mile and more from any supply trail and travelling over tricky ground in the dead of night in a direction designed to take them into the Al-Arynaar camp without crossing allied patrols, Hirad felt he should speak to Darrick.

  'This is us,' he said. 'The balance we strike between emotion and practicality is one of those things that makes us who we are. Or so Erienne says. She calls me the heartbeat and The Unknown the brain.'

  'And what am I?' asked Darrick.

  'A friend with a lot to learn about us.'

  'But I could have helped. Selected a better route.'

  'The Unknown didn't agree and we believe what he says,' said Hirad. 'But in this case it's personal too. And if The Unknown wants us to be cautious, that is what we'll be. He only turned on you because you didn't understand that. We do it our way and you're one of us now but we all have our key strengths. Yours are things like tactics, on and off horseback. One of The Unknown's is always, always doing things the right way. Question him and you question his ability.'

  ‘Iwould never do that,' protested Darrick. 'The thought is ludicrous. I just wanted to help.'

  'And you'll learn the ways. Believe me, Ry, he holds you in high regard. But this is his task we're helping him with and we must let him do it his way. When he needs help, he'll ask.'

  Darrick blew out his cheeks and threw up his hands. With a mercenary sword at his side and an oversize leather jerkin over his uniform jacket, he at least looked more like a member of The Raven. But his youthful face wasn't scarred enough for a long-term mercenary. Too pretty. Like Sirendor Larn. Hirad smiled to himself remembering his old friend. A long time dead and gone from The Raven but never forgotten.

  In front of them, the way was suddenly full of figures blocking their path. They had melted from the night and were practically close enough to strike. Bows were bent back and the crouched stance of others carried threat and intent.

  The Unknown held up a hand and The Raven halted, seeing themselves hopelessly outnumbered. The Unknown kept his hands away from his weapons, Hirad staying his initial reaction and doing the same. A heartbeat later, he heard laughter ahead and saw two figures moving through the line of archers.

  ‘Iknew I was right,' said the voice in accented, slightly clumsy Balaian. 'And you are predictable.'

  Hirad slid from his horse and trotted forwards, clasping Rebraal's shoulders.

  'Only Ilkar's brother would have guessed our route,' he said, relief gladdening his heart.

  'I can't take all the credit,' said Rebraal indicating Auum, who stood beside him, not a flicker of emotion on his green-and-black camouflaged face. 'He has an eye for the land not shared by our – uh – allies, if we can truly call them that.'

  'Oh, we can still call them that,' said The Unknown, dismounting and walking to stand by Hirad, the rest of The Raven climbing a little more slowly from their horses. 'We are still after most of the same things. And don't take any credit, Rebraal. Why do you think I brought us this way?'

  Auum wrinkled his nose at that though Hirad was unsure how much he really understood. Behind him, Thraun growled and crouched. A ClawBound panther loped from the shadows and nuzzled him. Its elven partner, face painted half black, half white, impassive, walked close.

  'We aren't safe here,' said Rebraal. 'We'have made a secure area near our camp. You can hide there. We must be quiet on the way.'

  Leading their horses, The Raven followed the Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen elves in silence. It was a walk of over two miles, close to the Lysternan and Dordovan encampments, but Hirad didn't feel under a great deal of threat. TaiGethen scouted ahead and on the flanks, ClawBound ranged in the deepest shadows. Any inquisitive ally would be turned away. Any enemy wouldn't live to report back. What the elves did beyond fighting at the gates of Xetesk was their business.

  The main elven camp was quiet as the early hours passed. The only fires were for cooking and they were positioned in a single area close to t
he Lysternan forces. Beyond them, and further into the shrub and trees that the elves preferred to the open camps of their allies, The Raven were shown into the secured area, patrolled by Al-Arynaar. Their horses were unsaddled before being led away to the central picketing area.

  A small fire lay at the heart of this camp within a camp. Above it dangled two cooking pots and surrounding it, logs had been dragged in for seats.

  'Been expecting us?' asked Hirad.

  'We have tracked you for a day,' admitted Rebraal.

  A single figure sat poking at the fire. He stood quickly and stepped forward, straightening his clothing. Hirad couldn't quite see his face but Darrick knew exacdy who he was.

  'Take a wrong turn off the battlefield today?'

  'No, General. I just heard you might be making an appearance.'

  Darrick and Izack embraced, slapping each other on the back. Izack showed Darrick to a seat, turning and waving the others in.

  'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'm acting on my own.'

  Hirad shrugged and moved into the glow of the fire, The Unknown at his shoulder.

  'Do we trust him?' asked the barbarian, voice low.

  'If Darrick does, I do,' said The Unknown. 'Let's eat and talk.'

  He seated himself the other side of Izack, Hirad next to him. Denser and Erienne sat across the fire from them. Hirad was worried by them both. Erienne had been so quiet since casting the One spell and her silence had affected Denser. There was more to it than the concerned husband. He didn't want to think they were keeping something from The Raven. Surely Denser had been warned enough about that.

  Last into the firelight was Thraun. His face carried a deep frown and he shook his head, troubled in the depths of his mind. If it was possible, the frown deepened when he saw Izack. His agile frame slid quickly around the fire and he dropped to his haunches in front of the Lysternan cavalry commander, blond hair flying briefly. He studied Izack's face the way a predator studied prey before striking.