by Alon Shalev
One of them was still mounted on his horse, but the other two were circling a family. They had already tossed the rickety cart over and rifled through some boxes. Clearly annoyed that there was nothing worth stealing, they had turned their attention to the family. The man was lying on the ground with a deserter’s foot on his chest and a sword held carelessly at his throat. The other soldier was grappling with the woman, while the children sat on the grass, crying.
Sellia took aim with the arrow taut on her bow, a second in the same hand. She aimed at the man on the horse, and then at the man standing over the father.
She released and, with great calmness, nocked the second arrow and fired at the deserter on the horse. Both men grunted and fell, but the third man sprung to his feet and pressed his knife to the woman’s throat, his spare hand gripping her to his chest.
“She dies if you don’t show yourself,” he yelled, his voice squeaking with fear. He stumbled two paces forward and stared at the hill, his eyes darting from side to side. “I mean it. I’ll count to three.”
Sellia needed the man to turn to afford her a clear shot. Seanchai turned his palm toward a nearby rock and, digging his feet into the ground, pushed forward with his hand. The rock was a long way off and barely vibrated. He tried a second time, to no avail, so he picked up a smaller rock and threw it. It missed, but created a small avalanche. The man jerked around to see where the noise was coming from, and Sellia didn’t miss her chance. Her arrow pierced him through both his ears.
She quietly ran back up to Seanchai, and they retrieved their packs.
“Hey,” the woman called. “Where are you? Let us thank you.”
Her echo was the only response.
It was another half hour before Sellia stopped and took a drink.
“You were amazing,” Seanchai said. “I’ve seen you shoot, but that was. . . that was special. The speed that you nocked the second arrow, and then. . .”
Sellia was laughing, her teeth a bright, white contrast to her dark skin.
“What’s so funny?” Seanchai asked, folding his arms.
“You’re cute when you forget who you are,” she replied. “I guess I forget who you are too.”
“And what does that mean?” Seanchai was unsure how to take this.
“I forget how young you are, Seanchai. You’ve had to grow up so fast. I remember the lost and somewhat pathetic calhei that stumbled into Uncle’s camp. I was so glad that Uncle didn’t pick me to teach you.”
She laughed, and Seanchai couldn’t help smiling.
“I bet you’re sorry now that you never got to teach the Wycaan anything,” he jabbed good-naturedly. “Wouldn’t you have liked to be able to boast to your grandchildren? But maybe it’s not too late.”
“What do you want?” Sellia asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Teach me to use a bow. I mean, you probably can’t teach me much, but even a rudimentary level so that when I reach the–”
“Hey, I was amazing just a few moments ago.”
“So you’ll teach me?”
“For a price.”
“What?”
“I get both bearskins when it gets cold.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rhoddan followed Shayth out of the village and back onto the narrow forest path. Both had to keep their eyes on the rocky, root-riven ground, which forced them to rely on their ears to warn of anything suspicious. They walked briskly and in silence.
A couple of hours later, they crossed a brook and took turns filling their water skins.
“Do you think there are army patrols anywhere nearby?” Shayth asked, peering into the brush.
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Rhoddan replied, crouched at the water. “The brush is too thick here, but you never know. The army did find the village and take the blacksmith. I hope she was a blacksmith. . .” he mused.
“What do you mean?”
“I hope the reason they took her was because she was a blacksmith, and not something else,” Rhoddan explained.
“Yeah,” Shayth replied. He went silent for a few moments and then spoke. “No one can hear us right now?”
“Seems like that to me,” Rhoddan said, rising and stretching a few cramped leg muscles. “But I wouldn’t go out of my way to make a noise. Why?”
He turned just in time as his friend’s right fist slammed into his chin. He wheeled around and fell, banging his head on a protruding rock, and lost consciousness.
When Rhoddan came to, he was lying with his head on his cloak. Shayth crouched nearby, looking at him.
“W-what happened?”
“Here,” Shayth took the elf’s hand and pulled him to a sitting position. When Rhoddan groaned, he offered his water skin. “How do you feel?”
“Like some pictorian just punched me in the face and the back of my head.”
“Thank you, but the rock there takes the credit for the back of your head.”
“And the front?”
“A pissed off prince. I suggest you refrain from calling me that again.”
“Ow,” Rhoddan rubbed his head and winced. “What gives, Shayth? Did it occur to you that we’re in hostile territory?”
“Yeah, but if I waited until we returned to the dwarves, then I might have changed me mind.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Rhoddan muttered.
“Well, I didn’t mean for you to hit a rock on your way down. Kind of spoiled it, in fact. I had planned to pommel you a few more times.”
“Is that your way of apologizing?”
“Maybe we should camp here tonight. I’ll hunt and then make a fire. You relax.”
“So you’re sorry?” Rhoddan’s attempt at a grin quickly became a wince.
“Don’t push it.” Shayth growled and disappeared into the forest.
Rhoddan leaned back and slept until the smell of rabbits over a fire woke him. He sat up and stared at Shayth, who was turning the meat on two spits. He reached over to his water skin and drank some more. Shayth passed him one of the spits.
“Um, this is good. You make such tasty dishes with so little to work with.” When he received no response, he returned to eating. He knew that brooding silence.
“What’s going on, my round-eared friend?” Rhoddan asked finally. “You whacked me. Why aren’t you moving on?”
“Did you see them all go down on one knee?”
“I did.”
“After everything I’ve done, people still want. . .”
“Why shouldn’t they?” Rhoddan said. “The Emperor gives them nothing but fear and despair. They have a right to dream of something better. You might just be what–”
“I’M NO KING,” Shayth yelled.
“Yeah, I don’t think there are any patrols around,” Rhoddan replied evenly. “What’s really bothering you, Shayth? You can’t be surprised people recall your lineage. You garnered a lot of attention before you joined us. And people are hanging by a thread. They’re desperate. Remember what the little girl said her mother told her? People change. Has it ever occurred to you that she might be right?”
Shayth didn’t answer, and Rhoddan ripped another mouthful of meat off the spit. He chewed, watching his friend.
“You’ve thought about this before. How could you not? What is it Shayth? Do you really think I wasn’t okay to play that card? I didn’t have any other ideas. We’ve been through a lot together, my friend. Tell me.”
Slowly, Shayth finished chewing his meat and stared into the fire. Rhoddan waited. Then Shayth took a big sigh and turned to the elf.
“It stays between us?”
Rhoddan nodded. “I promise.”
“When they went down on one knee,” he gulped and struggled to continue the sentence. “When they went down on one knee, I felt that it. . . I felt that . . . it felt right.”
They went silent again. Finally, Rhoddan spoke.
“That’s okay,” his voice was quiet and hesitant. “You were born and trained for such a role. It’s there under the surfa
ce. No point denying it. You can decide against it. But it exists.
“When we rode out from Hothengold with Ballendir, at the head of the dwarf king’s army, it was you who rode alongside him.” He put up a hand to stop Shayth interrupting. “It was fine. I know you didn’t do it intentionally. But that’s my point. There’s a path there that you could choose to walk.
“For now, let’s just keep ourselves alive, okay? And perhaps find yourself another punching bag?”
“Thanks, Shayth said, “and I’m sorry about. . .” He signaled a swinging a fist, then rose to his feet and threw the skewer behind him. Rhoddan could see he was struggling with something else. The human rubbed his spiky hair and shook his head. When he turned to his friend, his voice was scarcely a whisper.
“There’s something else about when the villagers went down on their knees, Rhoddan. When they paid homage, I-I wanted it.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ballendir called his commanders to a meeting as soon as Rhoddan and Shayth returned to camp. He was not interested in their fatigue and made sure they knew that he disdained their little detour.
“There’ll be one more major attempt ta bring supplies ta the troops in Ulster ‘fore winter. A large regiment of troops’ll escort the supplies ‘n possibly stay ta replace the soldiers at the fortress.
“We’ll attack again near the mouth o’ the mountains, but this time further in. Clan Dan Zu’Ulster has prepared a second site with a few surprises. We’re fortunate that, though his clan is steeped in the ways of craft ‘n not battle, Clan Leader Dugenminsk saw fit ta prepare several lines of defense. We move out in the morning.”
As the group broke up, Rhoddan approached Ballendir with Shayth alongside.
“Ballendir, what happens after this operation?”
“When we ride out for this fight, some’ll stay behind ‘n pack up the camp. I think this’ll be our last offensive ‘fore the winter.”
“Will you march back to Hothengold?” Rhoddan asked.
“No. We’ll winter in the mines of Ulster.”
Shayth and Rhoddan glanced at each other. “We’ll take our leave after the battle, then,” Rhoddan said. The dwarf frowned, but Rhoddan pressed on. “Our place is with Seanchai. We must return to him.”
“Yeh have no idea where the lad is,” Ballendir snapped. “Nobody seems ta. Do yeh think now’s the time ta go wandering ‘round Odessiya in search of an unstable young elf who can traverse great distances?”
“We’ll start at Hothengold,” Shayth suggested. “We’ll try and pick up his trail from there.”
The plan was similar to the previous ambush, but General Shiftan was ready this time. To begin with, the troops accompanying these wagons were four times stronger than the time before. Shiftan had also employed a group of rangers, expert trackers who could uncover what lay ahead, long before the army arrived.
Ballendir was especially dismayed to discover that Shiftan had called for regiments of dwarves who were trained to fight in the tough mountain terrain. These dwarves did not march with the main body of the caravan, but swarmed over the crags and peaks nearby. So the battle never reached the wagons in the gorge, because the conscripted dwarves pushed Ballendir’s troops back.
Unable to force their way through with the traps that had been prepared, Ballendir watched with growing frustration as Shiftan’s caravan progressed. Desperate to halt the supplies, the dwarf led his troops out from the cover of the steep slopes and confronted the caravan just beyond a trail that led to a closed gorge.
He had left his archers in the rocks above to guard against the Emperor’s dwarves, and to attack from above if he could drive the main force into the gorge.
It was a mistake, as Shiftan immediately sent wave after wave of disciplined cavalry against the dwarves. Then, inexplicably, the cavalry ceased its charges and pulled back to the caravan. Ballendir roared at his troops: “See how they cower? Prepare ta charge.”
“No!” Rhoddan cried and stepped forward. “Ballendir, wait. It might be a trap. Wait! Think about why they’re doing this.”
Ballendir roared back. “Never question mah orders in battle. If something has happened we press our advantage. Now lead the charge, Rhoddan, and I’ll forgive yeh. . . yeh insubordination.”
Rhoddan stared at the dwarf. Ballendir was not usually like this, but Rhoddan had seen the battle rage before. Ballendir’s eyes were wide, his armor dented, and his axe held high. He was fueled solely by adrenaline. Rhoddan glanced at Shayth and saw the same worry reflected in his eyes.
“Are yeh a warrior, Rhoddan? If not, step out of mah way,” Ballendir bellowed.
Rhoddan turned, drew his long broadsword, and raised it high over his head. “Rharghastii,” he cried in the dwarf tongue. “After me!”
Shayth charged forward with the dwarf forces. They rounded the bend and saw their enemy in formation further up than they had expected. As they passed the entrance into the dead-ended gorge, Shayth realized General Shiftan had the same plan as Ballendir: to drive his enemy into the gorge where there was no escape. Shayth looked over to Rhoddan, who was clearly having the same realization.
Furious fighting was happening on the ridges above them. Not only would the dwarves not be able to count on cover from the archers that Ballendir had placed there, but also they themselves would now be vulnerable to attacks from above if Shiftan’s dwarves seized control.
When the cavalry charged, Ballendir formed his men into a tight wedge. Dwarves did not carry spears, so their best defenses were their shields and their height. It was hard to strike a dwarf from high up on a battle charger.
Ballendir called to Rhoddan and Shayth to stay protected in the middle and drop to their knees. He took the point position. The great chargers smashed into the interlocked wall of shields, which stood the charge.
The cavalry reformed on the other side and the wedge pivoted to face them. The thunder of heavy hooves shook the ground, masking the sound of the foot soldiers as they crept up from the wagons and attacked the rear of the defensive wedge.
The formation broke as dwarves in the back turned to fight off the attack, and the battleground became desperate mayhem. Horses charged through the ranks of dwarves, kicking up dust and cutting down all in their path, regardless of which side they were on.
Ballendir had no choice. As the cavalry passed by for another run and the infantry continued to push, he called for his soldiers to retreat into the gorge.
“It’s a trap,” Rhoddan yelled in his ear as they moved.
“Yeh think I don’t know that, elf? I planned for this ta happen ta them, remember? But we can’t survive attacks from both sides. With our backs ta the rocks, they can only attack from one direction.”
“But they hold the ridges. The caravan will pass.”
Ballendir glared at him. “Do yeh have a better idea, other than ta run? Dwarves don’t run.”
Rhoddan didn’t have an answer. He raised his sword and let out a cry as he charged the line of infantry at the mouth of the ravine. Shayth joined him, and, together, they pushed the soldiers back from the mouth, allowing most of Ballendir’s forces inside.
Once in the gorge, they formed up to face the line of cavalry horses that assembled. As the rhythmic thunder of hooves pounded the ground, rocks flew down on the dwarf shields and sent many to their knees. The wedge did not hold.
The battle should have lasted only a short while, as the fighting increased in desperation. The horses retreated to allow the infantry to finish the mission, keeping in close line to cut down any dwarf who might try to run. No dwarf ran.
Rhoddan felt a surge of energy as he battled multiple soldiers at a time. The battle rage took him. This was a good way to die. He barely registered when the intensity of the fighting dropped. The horse line was broken; the foot soldiers had turned to face another enemy. Rhoddan continued to swing his blade, though his arms were numb.
Then he vaguely heard Shayth shout. “Rhoddan, stop. Hold!”
&nbs
p; He lowered his sword and stared. Pictorians swarmed into the steep enclave and were hewing their way through the cavalry. In the middle, towering over all, First Boar Umnesilk roared his battle cry, and it echoed against the three rock faces around Rhoddan.
It was the most beautiful sound Rhoddan had ever heard.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Shayth moved among the wounded dwarves. He had little to offer but a few words to some and eye contact with others. Still, he followed orders from the healers to bring water, tie a splint, or help a wounded dwarf to the wagon they had procured.
When there was nothing left to do, he helped the pictorians pile bodies onto two pyres. On one was stacked with dwarves of the resistance, the other with uniformed dwarves. Shayth didn’t think any pictorians had died; their impact had been so sudden and decisive. There was a lot to say for surprise, he thought.
Rhoddan came alongside him. “It’s crazy to see them as allies,” he said quietly.
“I met their first boar,” Shayth replied, staring at Umnesilk. “Seanchai reached out to him when we were leading them away from Hothengold. I could have killed him.”
Umnesilk looked over at them and, recognizing Shayth, lumbered over.
“We meet before,” he said in his deep, melodic tone. “You friend of Wycaan.”
“I am,” Shayth said and stood straighter, noting that he barely reached the
First Boar’s chest. “This is Rhoddan, also close companion to the Wycaan.”
“Well met,” Rhoddan inclined his head. “Your timing is impeccable. Thank you.” Umnesilk stared at him. Rhoddan cleared his throat, thinking of what else to say. “Last I recall, you led your boars from the battle at Hothengold. Have you returned now on our side?”
