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

by D. S. Halyard

  “’Men and soldiers of Vantarmin’, he cried. ‘You are a valorous people, and the deeds of your fathers and their fathers speak proudly of your prowess in battle. It is not the intention of my general to see honorable men put to death, nor to waste lives in needless battle. You have seen for yourselves the fall of the tyrant who has held you in thrall for many years, and you have seen that his lieutenant has fled before us as well. If his dragons and monsters were not sufficient to oppose us, you know that you yourselves cannot. I stand before you not as herald of a conqueror, but a liberator. The end of an era is at hand. The reign of the Bloodlords, whom all free men must despise and fear, in this place and for this day is ended.’

  “’You men who have fought in the army of the Tyrant know that his deeds cannot be imputed to you, nor do we intend to do so. Instead, we are prepared to offer such terms as wise men cannot refuse, and only unfounded fear of treachery or foolish overconfidence in your own strength will justify a refusal of these terms:’

  “’First you must surrender your ships to Ulmerith, your liberator. Secondly you must put aside your weapons and armor, and swear an oath to such gods as are sacred among you never to bear arms in the service of the Bloodlords again. Finally, a pillar shall be erected by you in the sepulcher of the heroes, upon which shall be inscribed the names of all of your captains, and upon this pillar shall each man among you swear the oath I have described. You see that we have taken the citadel, and you cannot hope to overcome us as long as we are entrenched there. Neither can your ships escape the harbor and leave this peninsula by sea. We hold the road, and you cannot escape in that way. I urge you to accept our terms, by which you may escape the hardship of a siege, and escape battle with your honor and your families intact.’

  “The Vantarmini herald exchanged a token of his honor with the herald of Ulmerith, and begged leave that the Vantarmini be given until the morning to reply. There was debate among these men, but ultimately they accepted Ulmerith’s terms. In the meanwhile the myrmidons on the gold sailed vessels set up a trophy on the seawall to mark where the dragon had fallen, and the Thimenians likewise set one up on the west wall of the citadel to mark their victory.

  “The myrmidons and Ulmerith decided that the best way to deal with the tarks still in the citadel was to fire the structure, and this they did. As the fire reached the upper reaches many of the beastmen leaped from the heights to the stones below, while many more were burned in the flames. Some few attempted to fight their way out, but these were leaderless, and were soon put to the sword. The few Vantarmini in the citadel surrendered at discretion, and were amazed when Ulmerith allowed them to walk free into the main part of the city after surrendering their arms.

  “So it was that Ulmerith had his victory and was able to raise an army quickly. When the men of Vantarmin had given up their arms they were allowed to see how small in fact Ulmerith’s forces were, but they held to their oaths nonetheless, and formed the vanguard of his new army. And that is how Vantarmin became the heart of Ulmerith’s strength, and the Vantarmini were ever at the front of his battles against the dragons, of which many tales are told.”

  When Thorbold finished the story, the warriors immediately sat back and began debating its truth. This was a custom among them, and a lengthy debate continued through the noon hour as to whether the story actually occurred as told. No one questioned Thorbold’s accuracy in recounting the story, for he had never been caught telling the same story differently. It was his gift to hear a story once and then remember it exactly.

  Levin ate side by side with Ohtar the Orange and Kuljin Halfman, who never took off his dragon helmet, even as the clouds cleared and it grew warm. They finished eating and Kuljin found a pair of wooden practice swords. As the two men stood facing each other on the sandy beach, with a ring of cheering Thimenians all around, Levin felt more a part of their band than he had ever felt a part of anything, even on the Sally’s High Touch.

  After a few passes at each other Kuljin spoke. “You fence well. You’ve had some training.”

  “You also.” Levin replied, and it was an understatement. Kuljin was a blademaster by any definition, and very much Levin’s superior. “What does it mean, you are a Known Man in Khumenov?”

  “Khumenov is a Thimenian city near to Vherador. They’re all horsemen there, and they don’t do much reaving by sea. They raid the hell out of western Vherador, though. The Khumenov horse raiders are feared by all.” He spun into a pretty riposte, smacking Levin in the ribs. It would have been a killing blow with a real weapon. Levin winced. He would have a bruise for sure.

  “Anyway, their toughest raiders are called the Known Men. These are fighters who have won twenty or more battles and each of them has a tribe of warriors that follow them everywhere. To become a Known Man you have to either lead one of these bands or kill another Known Man. That’s what I did.”

  “Didn’t his tribe try to kill you for it? I thought Thimenians were all about vengeance.”

  “They tried all right.” He replied. “I was living in western Vherador when they came raiding my village. We were refugees from the Brizaki, you know, Vheradorans and rebel Brizaki who were trying to stay away from the troubles. Ungar the Known decided we were fair game because we had some halfmen in our ranks.”

  “Halfmen? That’s one of the things Jarlben said in his speech.”

  “Right. Halfmen. Half human, half-Sesseri. That’s what all of the Brizaki are, but not all of the halfmen are Brizaki, understand?”

  “I get it.” Levin replied.

  “Anyway, Ungar shows up with his reavers in the dead of night, and half the village is on fire before I even wake up. It wasn’t much of a village, truthfully, just four or five houses on the side of the road, but it was our village. By the time I got to the middle of it Ungar’s got our Thane tied to a post and is trying to torture the location of our silver out of him. There are maybe fifteen raiders with him, and the rest are going into the houses or putting them to the torch.”

  “I challenged Ungar to single combat in front of his men. Because he was a Known Man, he couldn’t refuse without losing face, not in front of his men. We went a few passes and I took his head.” Kuljin said this very matter of factly, demonstrating with his practice sword the cut he had used, and Levin nodded. That would do it, all right. Taking a man’s head in battle was no easy task, especially with a sword, but if you knew the angles and struck hard enough …

  “His men weren’t the fighters Ungar was. Hell, Berlist’s wife killed one of them with a darning needle.” Kuljin laughed at the memory. “I got six or seven, the town got the rest. That was the end of Ungar’s band and the end of Ungar, and I became a Known Man.”

  “How’d you wind up with Jarlben?”

  “Well, the village was wiped out and I hadn’t had any family there anyway, so I just sort of drifted around. I wound up in Valtheim with the Wolf Clan, and I’ve gone reaving with Jarlben a few times before. After Jomar’s Steading was hit I decided to join him on this vengeance. I always like a chance to hit the Brizaki.”

  Levin was demonstrating the horizontal style of sword work he’d learned from his father, and Kuljin was a quick study. As he was completing a maneuver that was a mirror image of Levin’s, his dragon helm went back on his head, and Levin got his first good look at Kuljin’s eyes. They were brilliant blue, slitted like a cat’s. Levin froze and caught a blow to his undefended midrift.

  “Watch your guard, Levin.” Kuljin cautioned while Levin stared.

  “Lio’s breath. You’re a Brizaki.”

  Jarlben, who had been watching, leaped to his feet and got between them. “Levin, watch your stupid Mortentian tongue! You don’t insult a Known Man!”

  Kuljin smiled and raised a hand. “It’s all right, Jarlben. He didn’t know.”

  Levin was standing and staring at Kuljin. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Now that he had a good look at his face, Kuljin’s features were obviously similar to those of the Brizaki they h
ad fought the day before. He was much larger than the largest of them, however, as large and as strong as most of the Thimenians.

  “It’s like I told you, Levin. All Brizaki are halfmen, but not all halfmen are Brizaki. My mother was from Khumenov, and that’s where I get my size and the blue in my eyes, but my father was from Rindoluisti, not that I ever knew him. My mother said he was a very good singer and played the pipes. I’m half Sesseri.”

  “And a hell of a good man for all that.” Jarlben added. “Why do you think we call him the halfman? I swear, you are so stupid, even for a Mortentian.”

  Chapter 46: Haim: The Whitewood Forest, Just South of Walcox

  It had been a hell of a night, and Haim was tired. An hour of this fighting was as bad as a day scything wheat, and he desperately wanted to put his head down and sleep. Four or five thousand people had run the terrible gauntlet between the town of Walcox and their camp, situated some three hundred yards into the Whitewood Forest, and Haim had helped to see to its defenses from the beginning. Now the sun hung above the horizon on the second day, and Haim hadn’t even had a moment to sit down, much less sleep.

  Although most of the Hedgehogs were alive and uninjured, his fyrdman was dead. He had been one of the ones at the north camp with the rest of the mercenaries, refusing to move camp to the field where the Privy Fort now stood abandoned. Accounts varied, but nearly all of the Mortentian regular footmen and most of the Blackboots, Ajin’s Band and Fire Eaters had died there, caught in a sudden hailstorm of arrows that killed most of them before they had a chance to know who or what they were fighting. The men of the Hammers of Arker had fared better, for they’d been camped close by the city gates when the arrows started falling, and had the sense to run into town almost immediately. The Mortentian regulars tried to defend the camp, and died in droves. Haim had seen maybe four or five of their eagle fronted crimson tabards all night, and not one that wasn’t torn and black with dried blood.

  There were a few black armored footmen from Dunwater, part of the house guard of their duke, Haim had heard, walking around the camp looking like lost children. The duke had died attempting to lead a sortie against the Auligs by the south gate, a valiant, if foolish gesture. Only the Red Tigers had come through largely intact, thanks mainly to Aelfric’s Privy Fort.

  Their camp was dark, and no fires were going, for no one wanted to attract the attention of however many Auligs were out there. The trees made any kind of accounting of their people impossible, as no more than a tiny portion of the camp could be seen from any one part of it.

  They cut timbers and made barricades here and there, but every time they thought they had defined the camp’s perimeter it overflowed with new refugees, so that now what they really had was three or four big camps, all spread out and disorganized, and hard to figure where to set men in defense.

  Haim leaned his back against the trunk of a gigantic sycamore. It was as big around as a cottage and must have been planted when the world was made. Thick white branches stretched out of sight above his head, and his feet rested on soft, mossy ground. There was very little undergrowth, and the forest seemed more like a cavern than a wood. He put his shield down and held his spear only lightly, closing his eyes and sighing. He wondered if he could sleep standing up.

  A movement of rust colored canvas caught his eye. It was a Red Tiger tabard, by far the most common he’d seen, and it was coming his way. “You there. You a Red Tiger?” The answer was obvious, for Haim was wearing the identical tabard, but he nodded anyway. “Come on, then. They’re fooking looking for us.”

  Haim groaned and fell into step beside the man. “Hedgehogs. Fifth Spear Fyrde. Name’s Haim.” Haim said by way of introduction.

  “Soolit.” The man replied, and Haim did not know if it was his first name or his last, or even if he had two names. Haim did not. “Second Swords.”

  “What’s this about?” Haim asked. “We moving?”

  “No.” Soolit grinned. “Attacking. Lord Privy’s orders.”

  Haim blinked, disbelieving. “The hells you say.”

  “No kidding. Don’t forget your shield.” Haim cursed and went back for it.

  “Attack? Are you insane?” Haim knew the man, he was called Busker O’Hiam, and he wore the off-white tabard banded in orange that marked him as one of Arker’s Hammers. He had come in with a bunch of peasants that seemed to regard him as some kind of hero. “We just got massacred, man!”

  Haim saw Aelfric standing in front of a ring of men, all of whom seemed to agree with Busker. They wore a collection of tabards, but most of them were Red Tigers. “Did you not see their archery, Lord Privy?” Another Arker’s Hammer exclaimed hotly. “We cannot withstand it!”

  The Red Tigers in the circle seemed to be in agreement with the Hammers, but they weren’t saying anything. They knew Aelfric had saved them all, and they seemed to regard him with some kind of worship.

  Aelfric wore that intense look of focused concentration Haim had first seen the day before when they were furiously trying to complete the construction of the Privy Fort. He stepped back and smacked a palm against the trunk of a huge poplar.

  “What is this?” He demanded. “What did I just hit with my hand?”

  “It’s a tree.” Replied one of the Red Tigers.

  “That’s right. It’s a tree. It’s a great big damned tree, and there’s ten thousand thousand of them all round. Biggest trees I ever saw. Any of you archers ever try to shoot through a tree? You can’t do it, in case you haven’t tried. Because it’s a tree. And if you can’t shoot through a tree, neither can an Aulig.”

  “Tuchek said not to go after Auligs in the woods, Aelfric.” Haim said.

  “Then he told me that these Auligs, these Karltan Islanders who attacked us, he said they aren’t any good in the woods, Haim. They are fishermen and whale hunters. But they’re camped in the woods, not more than half a league from here. They’re sitting around campfires bragging about how many of our brothers they killed yesterday and eating the horses from our cavvy. Isn’t that right, Wallin?”

  Some thin fellow in the mottled brown shirt of the scout Fyrde spoke. “Yes, Lord Privy, that’s right. We got right up on them, too. Me and Chelt. Half of them was asleep. They got no pickets out.” He pointed with his shortbow at another scout, who nodded agreement.

  “And the ones who aren’t in the woods are wandering around Walcox, burning houses and killing anyone they find.” Aelfric continued. “Because they think they’ve already won. They think the battle is over. They’re having a victory celebration and they’re going to start putting up trophies.”

  “Aye well, it is pretty much over Lord Privy.” Busker observed.

  “You think so, O’Hiam?” Aelfric’s reply was hot and impatient. “Let me tell you what happens if the battle is over. If it’s over, all of us soldiers, we assemble and we start marching down the king’s road back into Brenwater. We march eleven days on no rations and no water. Behind us come the people of Walcox, and they have even less food than we do. Meanwhile, all these Auligs, they get a good night’s sleep. Then they eat all our horses and all the food they can forage until they’re fat and happy. Then they come after us, and they can move faster than we can because they’re Auligs, well-fed and rested, and they start at the back of the line, picking people off. We’ll never make it to Brenwater, Hammer. How does that sound?”

  “But attacking them is suicide.”

  “YOU AREN’T LISTENING!” Aelfric roared, and everyone stared at him as if he was coming unhinged. “Not attacking them is suicide! This battle is not over, it’s half over. They had their attack, now it’s our turn.” He closed his eyes, as if willing himself to patience. Haim stared at his friend in disbelief.

  Aelfric continued, trying to sound more patient. “Listen. I know you are all tired and some of you are hurt. I know you’ve been up all night, same as I have, same as everyone has. But they’ve been up all night, too. They think they’re the winners. They think they can get drunk
and screw whatever women they’ve caught around here and eat our food and take all our chattel. After that, they want to take a long nap, then they want to come hunting us. They think we’re going to do the smart thing and run.”

  “Well, that’s what I’d like to do.” Complained a man in the livery of a Blackboot.

  “Sure you would.” Aelfric replied. “So would we all. But to run is to give them our backs. And I’m not saying the women and children and the townsfolk shouldn’t run. Of course they should. But not us soldiers. We have to kill them. We have to kill all of them, and we have to kill them now.”

  “Balls in a tempest.” Someone said unhelpfully.

  Haim took a step forward. “I think he’s right.” He surprised himself by saying, and Aelfric’s bleary eyes turned to him gratefully. “If we run they’ll hunt us down.”

  “Aw, screw it all.” Busker O’Hiam said. “I’ll get my commander and the men.”

  “Good.” Aelfric said, sounding relieved. He rested his eyes for a moment, and then that frightening look of focus returned. “Let me tell you where we need to put them.”

  The title of Privy Lord had been too good to forget, and it was on everyone’s lips. The Privy Lord says we need a fyrde of archers here. The Privy Lord says we need a shield wall there. Haim was in equal parts amused and awestruck at the reverence with which people said the name. It had been a joke, of course, but now it wasn’t. The fact that Aelfric hadn’t objected to the title made it even better.

  Now Haim was marching with a full fyrde of spearmen through the forest, in an attempt at double-time that was impossible. Every one of them was exhausted, but Haim knew that once they encountered the enemy their blood would rise and fatigue would vanish. They had a long moment of fear as they crossed the King’s Road without cover, moving quickly into the forest on the other side of it. Aelfric had been right about the trees. You couldn’t shoot an arrow more than twenty paces in this wood without hitting one.