War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  "Hola, Eskeriel!" Shouted a swarthy man at a cook fire. "How goes the mercenary business?"

  Tuchek smiled at the man. "Hola, Benjam. Not too well today. How goes the search for the king?"

  "We will find him one day, Eskeriel, as the spirit wills." It had the sound of a ritual greeting, for that is what it was. The old witch Jecha came from behind the lead wagon, carrying a small jug of river water.

  "Eskeriel." Her voice sounded tired. "Is it you, then?"

  He smiled grimly in her direction. "Weren't you expecting me?" Her answering smile was weak.

  He dismounted and led his horse into the portable corral the Entreddi had erected. Jecha looked on stonily. "Something is bothering you, old woman." It was a statement of fact. "Maybe you weren't expecting me after all?"

  She shook her head. "I expected someone. I had not thought it would be you."

  "Is that bad news?"

  "Maybe. My sight fails me on this." She looked him over once again, this time with a familiar sort of kindness. "Perhaps today you will consent to a reading?"

  He shook his head. It was an argument they had had many times before. "You know how I feel about that." He looked around, carefully noting the positions of everyone about the camp. He saw the sleeping shapes of Haim and Aelfric. "You have strangers here."

  "Guests." She replied. "Two slugabeds, although I guess they can be forgiven since they rode through the night to reach us."

  "Is there some trouble?" He had been feeling the sense of warning in her tone from the beginning.

  She nodded. "There is trouble. You and they have brought it to us, or at least that is what the stones foretell."

  "The stones have never been wrong?" He was faintly skeptical. The Entreddi witch woman and he had never seen things the same way.

  "The stones are never wrong." She replied testily. "It is only in the reading of them that there is sometimes wrongness. Perhaps today, but probably tomorrow there is trouble. Death trouble."

  He shook his head. "Tell me, Jecha. Do the stones merely foretell the trouble or does the casting of them bring trouble? You know what the inquisitors would say."

  "The inquisitors know that I am just a harmless old cart peddlar woman, scarcely worth the trouble of building a fire." She smiled in reply. They both knew that on this score, at least, the inquisitors of the Eye of Lio were mistaken. Jecha was among the most powerful of the Entreddi Seeresses, including those of a hundred roving bands, and whether there was truth to her seeing or not, she was far from harmless. At a word from her a knife could be sharpened for anyone in Mortentia.

  He looked at her seriously. "Do you want me to move on, Jecha? I've no desire to bring you trouble. I do not forget my debts, either."

  "You have more than repaid the small kindness I did you ten years ago. Without your eyes and ears we should know less peace on the road than we do."

  "I've done nothing but tell you what I know, Jecha. Just the things I've been in a position to see."

  "And I did nothing in those days other than tell you the things I was in a position to see. It was just luck that brought you to me when you needed it."

  "Luck, perhaps." He shook his head, as if dispelling ancient memories of troublesome days. "Still, you have not answered my question. Do you want me to leave?"

  "Stay, Eskeriel, if that is the name you use these days. You are always welcome at our fire."

  "One name is as good as another, Jecha. I haven't been Eskeriel for eight years now. We both know that wasn't my true name either." He sighed. "These days I am called Tuchek."

  "You and your names. Eskeriel to say man of battle in the Kirluni, not a soldier, which would be Eskori, but a man who battles himself, Eskeriel. And now…it is a good joke, Tuchek." She replied. "Tuchek is 'no name' in Kirluni. I suppose you knew that?"

  "It is 'fatherless' in Thimenian." He answered her. "I guess I'm altogether a nameless bastard."

  She frowned, not seeming amused by his joke. "You were never that, Eskeri…Tuchek. You were never that."

  Aelfric woke to see the old woman talking to a stranger, a full-blooded Aulig by the look of him. They were speaking the musical tongue of the Entreddi, and he didn't understand it at all. This Aulig wore a broad sword openly, however, and had the look of a man who could use it. It must take some hubris for an Aulig to carry such a weapon in a land where only nobles openly went armed, that or a powerful sponsor.

  "One of your slugabeds is awake, Jecha." Tuchek observed in Kirluni. Then, in Mortentian, he continued, his quiet voice nevertheless carrying a warning. "Jecha tells me that you are guests of hers. See that you cause these people no trouble."

  Aelfric rubbed his eyes as he sat up in the Entreddi blankets. "I assure you, friend, I have no intention of doing so."

  "Me neither." Haim yawned nearby, sitting up bleary-eyed. "We'll be out of their hair soon enough." The freeman looked around at the Entreddi gathered about the fire. Fully a score of people, all dressed in garish finery and costume jewelry, walked purposefully about the camp, engaging in the chores necessary to keep the caravan going from day to day. From the position of the sun in the sky he judged it to be about noon. His nose told him the same thing. "Mmmh. What is that smell?"

  A girl of perhaps sixteen winters looked at him, a taunt in her flashing dark eyes. "Roasted calf simmering in Pulflover mushrooms. Are you hungry?" She was a strikingly beautiful girl, slender and dressed in scarlet with several gold rings in her ears and on her wrists. Tiny bells were sewn onto her soft shoes, and they tinkled merrily when she walked, almost dancing, beside a large cookpot suspended over the fire. There was something mischievous in the direct way she looked at Haim, and he blushed self-consciously.

  "I'm goin' to die if I don't get some of that in me, girl. I swear it." She smiled at his answer, but Aelfric looked disapprovingly at his friend.

  "Don't take oaths lightly, Haim." He admonished. The girl raised one eyebrow and frowned at Aelfric. Even her frown was pretty, Haim decided.

  "Life's a dream, milord. Oaths don't mean nothing in a dream." Haim's tone made it clear that he wasn't going to take any direction from Aelfric this day.

  Aelfric sighed. "I only wish it was, Haim. Then I could wake up and go back to yesterday morning."

  The pretty Entreddi girl looked at Aelfric. "Oh, but it is a dream, stranger. Don't you know that?"

  "Now he's done it." Tuchek grinned, looking sideways at Jecha, busy on the other side of the fire. He had watched the exchange with little interest until he heard the girl's last statement. Sure enough, Jecha was called over by one of the others by the fire.

  "Storyteller! Here's one who doesn't know the Dreamer's Tale. Let's have it over lunch."

  "Bah!" Jecha replied mockingly. "He doesn’t speak our language."

  "Tell it in common, then." Mama Luskia demanded. "The children need to hear more common anyhow."

  "It's no good telling it in common." Retorted the old woman, but it was obvious she was pleased by the attention, as any storyteller would be. "Besides, you've all heard it already."

  "I haven't." Haim noted.

  "I'll have it again, Jecha." Tuchek seemed amused by her feigned protest. "I'd like to hear it in the Mortentian." Aelfric said nothing, but he was plainly interested.

  "Oh, very well." Jecha relented. "I suppose for the good of this Tolrissan's education I'd better tell it. Perhaps you will then understand why we say life is a dream, Aelfric." Her face grew still, and Aelfric had the feeling she was reaching deep in her memory for the words. As the story unfolded he realized that she was a gifted storyteller, for he found himself lost in the words, words that seemed to come to her from some deep well of memory. He knew without being told that every time she told this story the words were exactly the same.

  "Before our world began there was another world, a world which traveled through the void in its place. In that world there were people, there were wars, there were Sesseri hidden in the deep woods, and there were men."

  Sh
e began the story in a simple, peasant's Mortentian, but as she continued her inflection grew more formal and the words more like those a noble would use, at least to Aelfric's ears.

  "In the last years of that world, a child was born into a humble family that lived near a great lake in a sheltered valley. This family was unremarkable, except that five years after this child was born the family and their home lay in the path of an advancing army.

  "During the time that this army overran the defenders of that land, they put all people they found to the sword. The people were gathered together and slain without mercy, and this fate fell upon the child’s parents as well. In the dark and snow the child’s father ran with him in his arms until an arrow found the man and he could run no more. Tearfully he told the child to run on alone as he turned to face his pursuers. The boy ran on into the night, and never saw his father again.

  "In that wretched wilderness of snow and wind there was no place for the boy to seek shelter, and all the lands were filled with the soldiers of the enemy. He fled into the forest therefore, seeking escape, until overcome with fatigue and near to death, he fell into the final sleep in an ancient pine grove.

  "As the boy slept he dreamed, and in his dream his sorrows were healed, his body was warmed, and forest spirits came and comforted him in a golden bed. When he awoke, miraculously, his dream had come true. He was lying in a golden bed in the bough of a huge tree, and all about him were the Sesseri, the hidden folk, curing his heart with the ancient Art. His sorrows were forgotten and he went among them and learned their ways. He grew into a strong and healthy youth, and remained among the Sesseri until he reached the age of eighteen.

  "When the youth reached his maturity, he decided that he must go and find some of his own people, for the ghost of his father still haunted him. Taking few provisions, he journeyed back to the land of his birth. When he arrived in his homeland, he found that all had changed disastrously. The people of his family’s kin were no more. They had all been sold into bondage or killed. In his homeland he could find no trace of his people, nor could he find there any that spoke his tongue. Alone in a nation that had no use for him, it was not long before he found himself cast into the direst poverty, living in the slums of the king's city like a common wretch.

  "He lived in poverty for nearly a year, until one day he saw the daughter of the king being borne on an elaborate palanquin through the street. Her beauty and noble bearing amazed him, so he did not notice that all around him the common people had thrown themselves to the ground in reverence and fear. When the eunuchs in the princess’ van saw that he alone of all the people did not bow, they were angered by his insolence, and two of the stoutest among them fell upon him brutally with their iron-shod maces.

  "Caught by surprise, he was not prepared for the blows, and with bones broken and great pain inside of him, he collapsed, to be hurled onto a side street by the cruel men. It was not long before his weakened and starving body succumbed to the wounds, and again he fell into the final sleep that precedes death; but in his sleep he dreamed.

  "He dreamed that he was in a high tower deep in the Sesseri wood, that all of the animals were his friends and companions, and that he was healed of all hurt. He dreamed that instead of a wretched pauper he was a prince, with a retinue of his dearest Sesseri friends about him. In his dream the princess was beside him, speaking in his own tongue. In the dream he bared his heart to her, and she loved him and swore to always stand beside him. In his dream a marvelous tower lay all around him in the deepest part of the wilderness, where the Sesseri yet dwelled. Such was the power and the wonder of his dream and his longing that when he awoke he found that it had come true, and there beside him was a loving princess and about him he found the walls of his palatial tower.

  "When the princess awoke she had shared the same dream, and in the dream she saw him as the prince she had longed for. For many hours they sat and spoke together, while wild beasts brought them a sumptuous feast. Outside of the tower the Sesseri raised their beautiful voices in songs of joy.

  "For a year and a day the Dreamer and his princess dwelled together joyfully in the tower, and their days were filled with the bliss of new love. The Sesseri filled the land with rumors of their happiness, and all good beasts were their companions.

  "Meanwhile, only a hundred leagues away, the king raged at the loss of his daughter. Every spy in his kingdom scoured the land seeking her, but all they could tell him was that she had been spirited away from the litter under the very eyes of her royal escort. The princess’ eunuchs could reveal nothing to their inquisitors, even under torture.

  "In the end it was the princess herself who revealed the lovers. She missed her family and her friends, and in a moment of regret she sent a letter, written on the golden leaf of a windel tree, to tell them that she was happy and well. The bird that bore the letter flew to the king's city from the west, the direction of the tower, and the king’s men marked this.

  "The king, when he received the letter, knew it for his daughter’s writing, and he sent it to his wise men to determine from whence it came. The wise men knew that only one forest with windel trees was known to exist west of the kingdom, and they told the king the location of that wood. It was not long before the king and his armies were on the march, and the king was grim and terrible in his coming.

  "When word reached the Dreamer of the wrathful king’s approach, he fled to his tower. The king’s men found the tower, and lay siege to it. When the princess was seen on the walls, the king demanded that she come down, but she refused, for he would not guarantee the safety of her beloved. Wild beasts patrolled the walls, and the king’s men could not pass them.

  "For three days the siege continued, until the king’s patience was at an end. He demanded that the princess come down, but she ever refused, until he was enraged. At last his fury at being balked overcame even his love for her, and he cursed her and ordered that fire be brought to the tower.

  "Torches were kindled and trees were felled, until soon fire blazed at the base of the tower. Fire filled the lower chambers and the smoke flowed thickly upward, until the Dreamer’s high chambers were filled with reeking ash and choking. The beasts came to challenge the king’s men, but against the fire they had no power.

  "In despair and terror the Dreamer and his bride fled to the highest chamber and clung to each other as the flames entered behind them. The king again demanded that the princess surrender herself, but it was clear that he meant to kill her lover, and she would not forsake him.

  "In the dreamer’s arms she succumbed to the smoke and in his last conscious moment he kissed her smoke-tarnished brow and slipped away."

  The old woman paused then, for effect, seeing in every eye around the fire rapt attention. Then she continued.

  "But in his sleep he dreamed."

  "The power of his despair, broken hopes and love was such that this dream was stronger than any that he had ever known before. In this potent, magical dream the king was gone and in his place a stubborn thorn tree. All of the king’s men were turned to trees and all of the people of that kingdom were swept away. Towers fell to ruin and cities were laid waste. Nations and continents fell beneath the sea and new continents arose in their place. In this tempestuous dream one white shining tower remained solid and forever real. One face was clean and alive and beaming with love for him.

  "In the end of his dream the world was remade, hate was banished and pain defeated. The old world and the old age were all swept away, and only a few scattered people remained of what had been. The Sesseri walked in this dream as the keepers of the peace, and the burdens of age and death were removed from them. Magic came in the dream, and so many other things that I cannot name them.

  "Some of the dream has come to pass, some is yet to pass, and some of the dream may never come to pass; but when the dreamer awoke, his dream had come true, and that was the beginning of our world.”

  "Oh, I like that." Haim exclaimed, even as Aelfric felt the spell of
the witch woman's words leaving him. "I like ‘some of the dream has come to pass, some is yet to pass and some of the dream may never come to pass’. That's a great bit."

  Tuchek looked at Jecha and smiled. "That was pretty good, old woman. Still, you were right. I liked it better in Kirluni." Jecha put her nose disdainfully into the air as if to say she'd told him so.

  "The meat is ready." The pretty girl's voice was like music to Haim's ears, hungry as he was.

  Chapter 12: The Village of Alidis

  The seeker groveled before the unseen forces of its Mistress' mind. The punishment was exquisitely severe, and before long the handless wretch lay face down in the mud, its mouth open in a rictus snarl of agony, foul muddy water filling its nostrils. In time the punishment ended, and the seeker vowed not to fail again. Already the hunger, the gnawing, pitiless hunger that clawed at its guts and tormented the creature in its dreams had returned. No meat, food or vice could ever end this hunger, nor even blunt the edge of it.

  With its sight that was not really sight the creature, blind to the light of sun or moon, spread its perception outward. Already it made plans, and already it conceived of a method of following the man it sought. The seeker could feel that man now, having been so close only an hour before. The shadow of the man in his mind faded as fast as a good horse could gallop, away to the west and toward the river.

  The seeker would need help. It could always get help, though.

  It lay back on its heels and cloaked itself, all but the pitiful stumps where hands had been and the empty sockets of its once eyes lay concealed beneath the mottled, mud-spattered robe. Eagerly it cast its nets. With these Mortentians it was so easy, the seeker thought, for they were by and large so poor, and very vulnerable to forces they did not believe in. Already it sensed the approach of a small, weak mind. The gold that lay scattered about the seeker's knees, half buried in the mud, would provide the lure.