by Alon Shalev
Denalion’s voice piped up nearby. “Great one, before you stands a Wycaan Master. He has called my people to arms, and we have answered because he imbues the greatness you speak of. He has built an alliance in the east, bringing humans, dwarves, elves, pictorians, and aqua’lansis together. Now, he asks that you help in these dire times. Bear us across the Plains of Godrin with the speed of the wind. Only you can do this.”
What awaits us on the other side of the Cliftean Pass? Our numbers dwindle, Wycaan. Great herds no longer gallop across the plains as we once did. This is the age of man, elf, and dwarf. We are from an age gone forever.
“A great battle,” Seanchai said. “But I will not ask you to fight; only to aid us across the plains.”
Oaths we swore to the great Wycaans. Ashbar, we said. We are obligated to answer your call.
The creature shook its mane and snorted with resignation. Seanchai took a chance.
“Transport us across the plains, and I will release you from your oaths. Fulfill them this one last time, and you will run free forever.”
He was answered with silence, a pulling back. Then Seanchai felt a surge of energy course through his body and many voices melding into one.
The herd senses your wisdom and feels your spirit. Prepare yourself, then, Wycaan. We will answer your call as we answered your ancient ancestors. The Plains of Godrin will shake once again under the beat of our hooves. Prepare your people. The Shieldhei are coming.
Chapter Seventy-One
Seanchai felt their approach long before he saw them. He recalled these legendary creatures of great speed and strength from the children’s stories his parents told. The ground indeed shook as hundreds of hooves pounded in a single, rhythmic canter.
He looked to the south, where clouds of dust rose. Denalion patted Seanchai’s shoulder. “You did well, Wycaan. You are truly a builder of alliances.”
“They had oaths to fulfill. They would have come.”
“Ah, yes.” Denalion swept his red hair back. “But they come now as proud, free creatures. It makes all the difference and is the magic of serving you. It fills us all, both sides of the Cliftean Pass, with hope for the future. The Emperor faces a weapon he cannot contend with. And it is exciting to watch.”
Denalion started to walk back to the others. He had to shout over the sound of approaching hooves. “I’ll leave you to meet alone. When you’re ready, come to us. We await your lead.”
Black dots became Shieldhei, which veered toward Seanchai’s companions. Only one continued toward Seanchai, his gait long and powerful.
In moments, a great, four-legged beast stood before him. The Shieldhei were horses that had been exposed to Wycaan magic. They were silver, almost translucent, from head to tail. Their haunches were larger and stronger than was proportionate. They were honed to gallop, and took great joy in feeling the wind on their faces.
Seanchai felt a wave of childhood excitement. As the creature approached, he saw its face was angular with a boney ridge down the length from its mane to muzzle. Its neck was also longer than a horses’ and similarly ridged.
The great animal stood before Seanchai, breathing heavily, puffing warm smoke into the chilly morning air.
We have come, it said inside his head. I am Amuranth, Lord of the Shieldhei. Only a Wycaan Master can ride me, and only then with my consent.
Seanchai moved forward. “I am honored, Amuranth. Thank you. I craved the stories of the Shieldhei as a calhei, but never dreamed I would have the privilege to ride one. May I be worthy of your benevolence.”
There was no saddle or reins. Seanchai tentatively raised himself up onto the animal’s ridged back. They moved to accommodate him sitting down and then closed to secure him.
Amuranth turned and trotted east into the sun. Seanchai watched the herd close in behind him, carrying his friends. Denalion rode to one side of him and the Weapons Master on the other. Further back, Sellia rode behind Shathea on a huge stallion. And the great shieldhei and their elf riders stretched out in the shape of an arrow. It was a magnificent sight.
We ride in arrow formation so that none of us is denied the wind in our manes.
When the backline was in formation, Seanchai leaned forward and spoke into Amuranth’s ear. “Lord of the Shieldhei: what is it like to feel the wind whistling in your ears?”
Amuranth nickered and shook his mighty mane. That cannot be described in the stories of children. I must show you.
Seanchai could not suppress a whoop as Amuranth flexed his mighty leg muscles.
Shayth crawled up to the edge of the soldier’s camp. He needed to procure three horses, and quickly. If Rhoddan’s dream was really a message from Seanchai, then they would be doing a lot of traveling in the next few days. Army horses were strong and well cared for.
The patrol was shouting and laughing around a roaring campfire, becoming increasingly raucous as more ale was passed round. The two on-duty guards seemed more intent on listening to the stories than looking for an enemy. Shayth moved silently to the one near the horses, waiting for him to stop laughing so as not to attract attention from an abruptly curtailed cackle.
The guard enjoyed the end of the story, which Shayth ensured was the last he ever heard. The soldier crumpled to the ground without even so much as a grunt, his throat split while a hand covered his mouth.
Shayth slowly crawled to the horses, allowing them to smell his hand so they didn’t startle. He chose the three furthest from the camp and patted them gently. He had already procured three saddles from near the horses’ feed. Now he untied the reins and crept away.
Laughter erupted from around the bonfire. Laugh on, gentlemen, Shayth thought. Save some stories to tell when you walk back to your camp tomorrow.
He turned into the tip of a sword “Canna a prince ney afford his own steed?” a gray-haired officer with a huge mustache asked.
“I’m planning to meet up with my dear Uncle,” Shayth replied. “I’ll be sure to return the horses then.”
The officer glanced beyond Shayth. There was another wave of laughter from those sitting around the fire. “I served under yeh father for many years. I owe Prince Shindell mah life.”
He was clearly struggling with conflicting emotions. Shayth waited and covertly held out his hand to stay Rhoddan, who was approaching from behind.
“Odessiya would be a different place if yeh father had become Emperor. Tell mah. This elf we hear about: is he feh real?”
“More than you can imagine,” Shayth said. “He changed me from a violent, angry child to what I am today, without force, and almost without me noticing.”
“And what have yeh become, Prince Shindell?” The officer challenged him with earnest eyes.
Shayth took a deep breath and stood up straight. “I am the son of my father. Or, at least, I strive to be.”
“Aw, I could tell yeh stories about him,” the officer said. “But as three of mah men here will discover, now is ney the time feh stories.
“The Emperor is strong, young prince–stronger than yeh think. If yeh defeat him, there’ll be many within the army who’ll rally to the son of Prince Shindell, but ney while yeh uncle lives.
“Go now. If yeh have become whom yeh say, and the elf is real, too, then meebe next time we meet, I’ll tell yeh stories of yeh father and make yeh proud to carry his name.”
The officer stepped aside, and Shayth led the horses on. Suddenly, the reins felt terribly heavy.
Chapter Seventy-Two
“What do you mean, you won’t come?” Rhoddan yelled at a scowling Ballendir.
They had known each other a long time and Shayth knew the dwarf wasn’t used to being shouted at.
“Mah orders come from the King in Hothengold. I received them two days ago. All troops are ordered ta pull back. We leave in the morning.”
“Why’s he pulling troops back?” Shayth asked, anxious to calm Rhoddan. “Surely he knows that this’ll bring the battle to him. Hothengold has not been rebuilt to with
stand another assault.”
“Mah king has lost faith,” Ballendir said, lighting his long-stemmed pipe and sending up a cloud of smoke. “Seanchai came to him a broken elf after Ilana died. Now he has disappeared, and no one knows what has happened to him.”
“I know what happened to him,” Rhoddan jumped up from his chair. “Don’t you believe me? After all we’ve been through, Ballendir.”
“Settle down, laddie,” Ballendir said, his voice sharp. “Drink ‘n listen. Yeh described yeh dream, and I believe yeh had the dream. But I canna assume it ta be more than a dream, and, frankly, neither can yeh.”
“But how else could he communicate with me from beyond the Pass?”
“Mebbe it was wishful projection from a desperate friend,” Ballendir said and turned immediately to Shayth. “Has it occurred to yeh that mebbe the Emperor’s behind this?”
Shayth pulled a hand through his spiky hair. He nodded. “I thought of that. I don’t have an answer.”
Ballendir disappeared behind another mass of pine-scented smoke. Shayth heard him sigh.
“Ballendir. We’re going back to the Pass, and we’ll do whatever we need to in order to distract Shiftan on the off chance that Rhoddan is correct. We need the dwarves and the pictorians.
“You know there is an opportunity here and that we must take it. What happens when the dwarves burrow underground again? The pictorians will head back north, and the Emperor will seek revenge with a massive army. He will pick you off, one stronghold at a time. You know that.”
Ballendir stared at him, slumped in his chair, and gnawed on the stem of his pipe. “I need more than that ta disobey mah king.”
They went quiet for a while. Immersed deep in his thoughts, Shayth gradually began to realize that everyone was looking at him. He stared back at them: at Rhoddan, Ballendir, and Maugwen.
She leaned forward. “He’s right, Shayth. Perhaps it’s time.”
Shayth rose and moved away to a corner, his back to his friends. He could feel their eyes upon him still. One hand went through his hair, and he began to bite the fingernails of the other.
He recalled the villagers where they had returned the children all bending down on one knee. “We will do the bidding of the prince,” the village leader had said. He thought, too, of the old officer who had let him steal the army horses.
And then he remembered Sellia whispering into his ear when they had last said goodbye. He could feel her hot breath. Be the person you were destined to be, Prince Shindell, and stop wasting so much energy trying to deny what everyone else sees so clearly.
Shayth slowly stepped out from behind the rough-hewn pillar. When he spoke to Ballendir, he barely recognized his own deep, measured tone. “Send a messenger to the King at Hothengold. Tell him you have answered the call of the son of Prince Shindell.”
Maugwen and Rhoddan looked at each other knowingly. Ballendir nodded slowly.
“Yeh ready? Yeh sure?”
“I don’t know. But I need you, Ballendir, old friend, if I’m going to find out.”
They caught up with Umnesilk and the pictorians late in the afternoon the following day. Their horses were exhausted from being driven relentlessly.
“Umnesilk! First Boar of the Pictorians. Where are you going?” Shayth called out. “Have you lost your battle spirit?”
The First Boar signaled for his small army to stop. There could not have been more than two hundred boars left, but their running still caused the ground to shake.
“White-haired one not return. Little people go into rock tunnels. What left here for us but to die in battle that serve no purpose?”
“Seanchai is coming,” Rhoddan blurted out as he jumped from his lathered horse. “He has summoned us to attack the army at the Cliftean Pass, to divert their attention enough to allow him to come through.”
Umnesilk stared at him. “Where he is, then?”
“On the other side. He went west of the Cliftean Pass seeking the Elves of Markwin. You know this.”
Umnesilk frowned. His voice went deeper. “No one ever return from there. Pictorians have stories.”
“He’s coming back,” Rhoddan said, his face reddening.
“He bring help?” Umnesilk asked.
Rhoddan didn’t reply.
“You spoke with white-haired one, no?”
“Not exactly,” Rhoddan said, his voice becoming despondent.
“You not speak with him?” The First Boar managed to frown even more. “Then how you know he return?”
Rhoddan glanced over at Shayth, but the latter shrugged. Rhoddan turned back to Umnesilk. “I had a dream, a very powerful dream.”
“You talk with him in dream?”
“No, I spoke with. . . I spoke with another.” Rhoddan winced. “He was red. His hair. . . or fur. . . was red.”
The pictorians surrounding him growled in their own language. Umnesilk stepped up to Rhoddan and towered over him. “You met Unsek, dream spirit? What his name?”
Rhoddan thought for a moment. This hadn’t been a detail he had particularly paid attention to. He creased his brow. “Den. . . Denali. . . I think. No, Denalion.”
The pictorians erupted in shouts, growls, and roars. Only Umnesilk stood motionless, staring at Rhoddan. When his boars quieted, the giant pictorian turned to Shayth.
“Son of Shindell. We run with you to Cliftean Pass. If Unsek call for fight, pictorians give mighty battle.”
Umnesilk called something out, and the company formed up, turned, and jogged back in the direction they had just come from.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Ballendir’s scowl was not a welcome sight so early in the morning. The sun had barely risen, and a thick mist had settled around the camp where the dwarves had set up their base.
The pictorians were higher on the mountain, and a messenger had been dispatched to call Umnesilk. They waited for him in silence.
Shayth poured himself a hot drink and joined Rhoddan on a bench, where he sat with his eyes closed. Shayth was wondering if his friend had fallen back to sleep when Rhoddan let out a short snore. The Prince shook him and gave him the tea.
As Shayth poured himself another cup, Umnesilk opened the flap of the tent.
“Thank yeh fer coming, First Boar Umnesilk,” Ballendir bowed. “I regret the early hour.”
“Dwarf leader have good reason,” Umnesilk said, eying Shayth’s cup.
Shayth offered it to him, and Umnesilk nodded in thanks. Shayth returned for a third cup. If it wasn’t so cold, he might have given up. They waited for him to join them at the table.
“After I agreed to join yeh, I sent three dwarves ta Hothengold ta tell the king,” Ballendir said, and looked at Shayth, “They met an advance party of soldiers ‘n killed all but one. They. . . asked. . . the survivor what the patrol was doing.”
Shayth winced. Dwarves were not known for their delicacy with prisoners. Since his meeting with the officer from whom he had stolen three horses, Shayth was having difficulty lumping them all together as a single enemy.
“They learned that the Emperor sent an army ta Hothengold, ‘n while on its way, it received orders ta change direction ta the Cliftean Pass. It’ll be here in three days.
“One of mah scouts returned ta tell mah. The other went on ta tell the king.”
“And the third?” Shayth asked.
“Aye, he feasts in the halls o’ our ancestors. He was a fine dwarf. I knew him well.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Shayth said.
There was silence as everyone stared at the map in the middle of the table.
Rhoddan, now wide awake, voiced all their fears. “We cannot get caught between two forces. We don’t have the strength. We need to attack today and try to weaken Shiftan’s forces.”
“Maybe we can draw them away from the pass,” Shayth suggested. “What if the pictorians attack from here–” he pointed on the map “–and then run north through the valley?”
Ballendir shook his head.
“They might draw some away, but the General isn’t going ta be troubled by pictorians when they’re running away.”
“His troops are stationed there to protect the pass,” Rhoddan added.
“What if they were chasing me?” Shayth persisted. “Would I be more of an incentive?”
“You might draw out Ahad, but Seanchai is the bigger bait.”
“Umnesilk,” Ballendir looked up from the map to the First Boar. “What do yeh think?”
“Pictorians not good at tactics. We charge, we kill.” He laughed in a deep, rasping voice.
Rhoddan sighed. “Maybe we’re looking for something that doesn’t exist. Right now, Seanchai needs a distraction, not an outright battle.”
Ballendir nodded. “Aye. Their camp’s spread out. We attack from different sides ‘n retreat. Dwarves are better in the dark than humans. We attack at different times of the night ta make sure none sleep.”
“Let’s try to destroy their supplies,” Rhoddan said. “Deprive them of sleep and food.”
“Umnesilk. Can yeh boars attack from the south ‘n reach the central area, here?” Ballendir pointed on the map. “I’ll lead mah dwarves from the north, ‘n we’ll try ‘n draw soldiers ta us. We’ll attack two hours after the moon reaches its highest point. When yeh hear us engaged, yeh attack ‘n try ta destroy their supplies.”
Umnesilk grunted and nodded his massive head. Ballendir turned to Shayth.
“I’ll give yeh a group of mah best archers. Yeh can make mischief of yehselves during the day. Mainly, I want ta prevent them from sleeping.”
“What about the second army?” Rhoddan asked.
“I’ve sent some of mah dwarves ta rig the gorge they’ll come through. It’ll thin them out a bit, mebbe slow them down, but nothing more.” Ballendir looked at them all grimly. “If he comes alone or not at all, we won’t win this one.”
