Legends of the Riftwar

by Raymond E. Feist

  Tinuva, Gregory by his side, leaned against the open gate, watching the show and it struck him as fascinating how both companies had basically the same rituals, the turn-out before dawn, the evening inspection, even the mannerism of the sergeants, who combined a certain gruffness with some and a touch of fatherly help with others.

  The Tsurani snapped to attention as Asayaga came out of the long hall, dressed in full armour and accepted the salute of Tasemu. He then proceeded to walk slowly down the line, pausing to draw a sword from a scabbard to see that it was properly sharpened, stopping to adjust the buckles on a young soldier’s armour, opening several backpacks to make sure all the equipment was properly stowed.

  Dennis followed the ritual as well, though his men stood at ease, but at his approach they were watchful and respectful. He ordered one man to string his bow, then chewed him out over the fact that the string was not properly waxed and the ends were frayed; another man received a dressing down because his backpack was missing a blanket.

  ‘If we had to pull out now, this minute,’ Dennis snapped, ‘you’d freeze to death the first night out and I’d forbid any man to share his blanket with you, damn it. Three days cleaning the jakes.’

  After Dennis stepped past, Sergeant Barry gave the unfortunate a withering gaze and made a point of nodding towards the privies outside the stockade gate. They had replaced the slit trench Dennis had ordered dug the first day, but the privies needed cleaning whereas the trenches had not.

  Inspection finished, Dennis turned to face the Tsurani who were standing less than a dozen feet away. Asayaga finished at nearly the same time and the two officers stood looking at each other, Dennis obviously uncomfortable with the Tsurani’s insistence of standing at attention, thus forcing Dennis to do likewise.

  ‘All equipment is in order. All my men are accounted for,’ Asayaga announced.

  ‘All accounted for,’ Dennis replied, ‘save for four on the north pass. Patrol to the eastern gorge reports no sign of the enemy.’

  Asayaga nodded his thanks. The Kingdom soldiers had assumed the burden of patrols and watches so the Tsurani might observe their Day of Atonement. Tsurani soldiers would take extra watches and patrols to compensate the Kingdom soldiers over the next few days.

  ‘I have no incidents to report,’ Asayaga stated.

  ‘Nor I,’ Dennis replied yet again.

  There was a moment of awkward silence then Dennis finally turned to look back at his men. ‘The Tsurani, as you know, are observing a holy day that will last till sunset. Some of you saw the ritual begin last night. As I understand this ritual we may not speak to them unless they speak to us first. They will fast for the entire day and I ask that we refrain from eating in front of them. We’ll stand their watches for them today so they may meditate and pray, and they will make up the difference tomorrow. I don’t want to hear any damn comments about anything you see them do. They participated in our midwinter feast and showed proper respect.’

  ‘And drank more than the rest of us,’ a wag quipped from the back rank, his comment greeted by a ripple of laughter.

  ‘Well, there will be a feast tonight, after sundown and we are invited. So be respectful and let’s keep it peaceful.’

  He turned back to Asayaga and the two saluted.

  The Tsurani broke ranks, stacked their gear inside the long house and then came back out. Several of the warriors saluted as they passed Dennis, their action causing him to respond with a confused nod.

  ‘My men are grateful that you are respecting our Day of Atonement,’ Asayaga said. ‘When the subject first came up many thought you would refuse.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just because, no reason was needed.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. The request was reasonable.’

  ‘Are you saying I am being ridiculous?’

  ‘Are you saying I am being unreasonable?’ Dennis snapped.

  The two stalked off down the length of the street, arguing vehemently.

  ‘Must they always seek a reason to argue?’ Tinuva whispered, looking over at Gregory.

  ‘You know Dennis, we’ve fought alongside him long enough. Besides, I think they almost like it.’

  Tinuva nodded, turning away from the disagreement in the middle of the narrow street to watch as the Tsurani filed out of the gate of the stockade and formed up to face the eastern horizon.

  The sun had yet to break over the mountains to the east, but the tops of the mountains to the north and west were already aglow, bathed in a radiant pink that glimmered off the snow capped heights. Over head the clouds shone in the reflected light of dawn, shifting rapidly in color, changing to a brilliant gold and at last the sun broke the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow covered valley.

  Asayaga, who had finally come out to join his men, removed his helmet, placed it at his feet, then knelt down on the slushy ground, bowing low until his forehead touched the earth. Then he began a sing-song chant.

  More than one Kingdom soldier, out of curiosity, stood by the open gate, watching.

  For several minutes the Tsurani continued their chant, occasionally rising, then kneeling back down. Two of the men, standing behind the line, had lit a small brazier and the sweet scent of incense drifted on the wind as they brought it before the group and set it down.

  From across the field to the north the last of the Tsurani guards returned from their watch atop the pass and hurried to fall in with the group, removing their helmets and quickly bowing before joining in with the prayers.

  ‘Who’s replaced the watch up there?’ Tinuva asked, looking over at Dennis who had come up to his side to watch the ritual.

  ‘I’ve sent up young Richard and Hanson this morning to join Luthar and Corporal Bewin.’

  Tinuva nodded. ‘Richard?’

  ‘It’s about time the boy did his share of duties around here,’ Dennis said, his tone indicating that there was nothing more to be said about the lad.

  ‘Shouldn’t be too bad up there today,’ Gregory interjected.

  ‘Another few days of warmth and we might have problems. I want a forward patrol over the pass to check things out once this Tsurani holy day is finished.’

  ‘We already reckoned on that,’ Gregory said.

  Tinuva looked around at the Kingdom soldiers who had gathered at the gate. ‘Where’s Corwin?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dennis replied. ‘Off meditating or getting herbs I guess. Why?’

  ‘Just he’s been gone a lot this last week.’

  Dennis looked back at the group. ‘Next time he heads out, trail him.’

  The chanting began again.

  ‘Just what the hell are they wailing about?’ Dennis asked.

  Tinuva cocked his head and listened. What little command he had of the language of the Tsurani had improved tremendously in the last few weeks. Like nearly all of his race, his sense of hearing was far more acute to the finer nuances of sounds, the subtleties of pronunciation, combined as usual with a near-perfect recall.

  He nodded slowly, deeply moved by what was being said, and began to whisper a translation:

  ‘Hear, O Hilio,

  ‘Hear, O Judge of the Living, for we call out to thy distant dwelling places,

  ‘Lost in the wilderness we call to thee,

  ‘Standing at the threshold of eternity, before the gods of all, we bow our heads in submission,

  ‘For we are but dust, and to dust we shall return.

  ‘We come into this world with nothing,

  ‘And must depart from it bearing the burden of the sins we have committed.

  ‘Forgive us those sins, Lord Hilio,

  ‘Forgive us our sins as we must forgive.’

  Asayaga’s voice trailed off into silence and again he bowed low, striking his forehead upon the ground. Then the chanting began again:

  ‘Hear our cry from out of the wilderness, out of the strangeness of this world we call to thee,

  ‘For though we step across the et
ernity of the universe, still we are within thy sight and within thy hand.

  ‘Though lost in the wilderness, we shall not lose faith in thee.’

  Asayaga stood up and turned to the smoking brazier. Reaching into his tunic he pulled out a small scroll of paper and reverently placed it onto the hot coals, so that the paper flared up.

  ‘What’s that?’ Dennis asked.

  Tinuva motioned him to silence.

  ‘Receive our comrades who have fallen this year,’ Asayaga said, bowing to the brazier. ‘Gather them into thy gardens of paradise so that they shall know peace and comfort.’

  ‘Names of the fallen from his company most likely,’ Tinuva whispered. ‘Last night it was a prayer for forgiveness. They believe the smoke carries the message to the heavens, and to their god.’

  Asayaga hesitated for a moment, eyes darting over to Dennis and then he continued.

  ‘What is he saying?’ Dennis asked as the chant continued.

  ‘I’m not sure if he wants you to know.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘He said: “and our foes who fight us with honour, and whom we have slain, may they know peace in the realm of their gods.”’

  Dennis, startled, stared at Tinuva.

  ‘It’s what he said,’ Gregory interjected.

  Dennis said nothing. Asayaga caught his gaze for a brief instant but then turned away. In the shadows Dennis could see the Tsurani rising one by one to stand over the brazier and then a blade would flash across a finger and a hiss of steam would rise up from the blood-offering.

  And so the Day of Atonement began, and more and yet more men of the Kingdom stood silent, watching, whispering comments as to what the Tsurani were doing, and what the chanting meant.

  The early morning was cold as Richard trudged up the pass. His breath formed steam before his lips as he climbed up the path from the valley below. Eventually, he reached the hut which the guards used to warm themselves while they ate.

  Hanson, Richard’s companion, stamped his feet to get some life back in them, as Richard looked inside the hut. The fire was burning low, so Richard tossed a log onto it and poked it back to life. Stepping out from the shelter of the hut which housed the watchers at the pass, he said, ‘You wait here and warm up a little, and get the soup hot, while I go tell the others we’re here.’

  Hanson gave him no argument, and went inside while Richard went forward to relieve Luthar and Bewin, from their position on top of the cliff that overlooked the northern pass.

  Both men were huddled up, their heavy capes over their shoulders, but they were alert, turning with drawn weapons at the sound of his approach over the crunchy snow.

  ‘Anything?’ Richard asked.

  The two stood up, stretching, Bewin absently rubbing his shoulder which had given him trouble ever since a Tsurani had put a spear through it the year before.

  ‘Silent except for the wolves,’ Luthar said, yawning.

  This was Richard’s first time on watch in the mountains and though he would not admit it, he was excited by the prospect and responsibility it offered. Not a word had passed between him and Hartraft, except for orders and the usual chewing-outs since the day of Jurgen’s death and he secretly hoped that this assignment of trust meant that somehow the commander was finally showing some signs of forgiveness.

  The view from the cliff was magnificent, the mountain sweeping down across the open rocky slopes to the treeline more than a thousand feet below. Far beyond the trees were distant plains and in the still morning air he could see what appeared to be a herd of wild horses grazing. The next range of mountains, more than a dozen leagues away, stood out stark and clear, so close it seemed that he felt he could touch them.

  All of it was snow-covered, the dawn light illuminating the mountain slope and ice-clad trees so that it seemed as if the gods had carpeted the world in diamonds and rubies.

  ‘Food ready?’ Corporal Bewin asked.

  ‘Hanson’s with me and has the pot of soup simmering.’

  ‘I’d prefer some ale myself,’ Luthar sighed.

  ‘Well, our relief will be up tonight,’ Richard answered.

  ‘Damn Tsurani and their holy rantings. I should have been relieved last night.’

  ‘They stood watch the night of Midwinter feast,’ Richard offered.

  ‘It wasn’t my watch then damn them. I’ve been up here four days without a drink.’

  ‘Stop your whining,’ Bewin replied. ‘It all works out. Let’s go get warm.’

  Luthar, grumbling, carefully worked his way down the rocky outcropping to the hut hidden at the edge of the treeline behind them.

  ‘Keep a sharp watch, son,’ Bewin said.

  Richard smiled. ‘I will.’

  ‘I’ll send Hanson up at noon to relieve you. Remember lad, stay low, don’t move around a lot, and keep alert. Keep watching along the flank of the mountains as well as the plains below. They could try to work a few scouts over the tops of the peaks to swing in behind us.’

  ‘Yes, corporal.’

  ‘It’s hard to tell but out there, below the treeline, it looks like something beat down a trail, it could just be those wild horses, but I want you to keep a close watch on it. If you hear anything strange, see birds kicking up out of the forest, or if something just doesn’t feel right, you come back and get me.’

  ‘Yes, corporal.’

  ‘Fine, son. Now off for some soup and sleep for me.’

  Richard smiled. There was almost a touch of warmth in Bewin’s voice and it did his heart good. Bewin had been the only one to take him under his wing and show him some of the tricks of survival after Jurgen’s death: the rest of the company had pretty well cut him off.

  Settling down into the cleft between two boulders Richard sat on the furs vacated by Bewin and Luthar, then pulled his white cloak up over his shoulders and head. From a hundred feet away he would be all but invisible and after several minutes he actually felt comfortable, as well as excited by the responsibility given to him. All the men of Hartraft’s command, and for that matter the Tsurani as well, were now depending on him and he swelled with a touch of pride at the thought of it, standing watch while his comrades slept, or celebrated their ritual.

  In the weeks they had been together in the valley he had become fascinated by the Tsurani. Having been assigned to Brother Corwin, he had spent hours helping to nurse the four wounded Tsurani and three Kingdom soldiers who had survived the bitter march to the valley. One from each group had died, but the boy he had argued about saving had actually managed to live, his leg now almost healed, and though Osami would walk with a limp for the rest of his life, at least he was alive.

  The two had struggled to teach each other their tongues, and though the conversation carried little beyond food, the mastery of the Tsurani game of dice, and clumsy, laughing comments about some of the serving-girls, he felt he could call Osami a friend.

  When the talk in the barracks at night turned to whispered conversations about what was to be done regarding the Tsurani once they left the valley, he felt confused. Some of the men talked coldly of simply slaughtering the lot once they were free and clear, doing it by surprise in the night. Others declared that given all that happened perhaps an open and fair fight was best after all, and that maybe it could even be settled by a duel between Asayaga and Dennis, and then the two groups could go their separate ways. And finally there were a few who said the whole thing was crazy and once out of the valley they should just back away from each other and call it a draw. Richard whole-heartedly was behind that opinion, but given his position in the company with the death of Jurgen, he knew better than to offer any comment.

  The nightmare of the moment of Jurgen’s death came back to him whenever he slept–the way Jurgen seemed to hang in the air above him, the spear covered with his heart’s blood, the eyes looking into his, his strange, detached smile as the light fled from his eyes.

  And Hartraft. The way the commander looked at him, the coldness which had not
broken once in the past month, that tortured him, too.

  The lazy hours passed. Occasionally he would stand to stretch then sit back down. Towards mid-morning he thought he saw something moving down on the plains. He shaded his eyes, straining to see. It almost looked like a horseman, briefly glimpsed for a moment, apparently chasing a second horse, then the trees on the lower slope, several miles away, blocked his view.

  Should he call Bewin?

  He decided to wait, to remain still and watch, but the long minutes passed, and he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks, that it was just two horses with no one astride the second. The two horses turned and disappeared back under the trees. With nothing to point out he knew he’d look foolish.

  He settled back. Strange how this all had turned out. He had expected the war to be far different–armies arrayed, valiant lancers to the fore in full armour, trumpets blaring, banners flying, the chance to fulfil all the childhood dreams of glory.

  And yet, in the past month, he had seen instead a savage murder-match in the forest, men grappling like animals in the driving rain and snow, long, exhausting hours of running with terror at one’s heels, the brutal killing of the troll which squealed in terror as its life slipped away; then the final mind-numbing march up the mountain slope.

  No trumpets, no mentioning of his name in a dispatch back to the King, no jovial brotherhood around the campfire. And as for the enemy, that was the boy Osami, his own age, just as frightened as he was, the two of them secretly sharing a stolen bottle of brandy, shaking dice together and gambling over a few coins which Osami treasured as if they were jewels. And then there was the boring endless tedium of inspections, bringing in firewood, or toting the kills that the hunters made back to the compound.

  He heard voices behind him and looked back. He couldn’t see anything because the camp was well hidden on the reverse slope, but it sounded like Brother Corwin,–he heard a booming laugh, a snatch of a comment from Bewin rejoicing that the monk, having climbed all this way, had thought to bring along a skin filled with brandy. He started to move, then thought it best to remain diligent and to keep careful watch. Looking up at the sun, he judged that in another hour at most it would be time for his relief and then he could sit with the monk and have a sip of brandy.