Torrin nodded grimly. “They are not like a normal army, General; though I do not believe it is magical. They do not need to be supplied. They can and will eat but they can go great periods with no food because they are able to gain sustenance from the sun’s light.”
Tihir N’Avarin’s scoff was quiet. “Nothing in the Goddess’s creation has such abilities.”
“Do not forget,” said Dalemar, “these creatures are not from Eryos. The rules of Eryos do not apply to them, nor does our knowledge of the world extend much beyond the borders of our land.”
“How?” asked Cerebus in a low voice, “How could they possibly use the sun to survive?”
“It is not very different from a snake or lizard that needs the sun to warm its flesh before it can hunt or move quickly,” answered Dalemar. “The heat in the environment affects their ability to move. The Raken must be governed by a similar process.”
At this, Hathunor’s gravely voice rumbled forth, “Raken eat sun.”
Rowan sighed at the confused faces. Many of the people in the room were simple soldiers.
Torrin cleared his throat. “Suffice it to say, this army of Raken can survive without the conventional supplies an army normally needs. They can and will outlast the city’s stores provided the sun continues to shine.”
The grim silence that greeted this statement was absolute
*
The general cleared his throat loudly. “We will have to await the reinforcements from Klyssen and Tabor, we cannot hope to confront the army outside the gates without more men.”
Torrin frowned and shifted his stance, looking at all the faces staring back at him. This should have been a private audience. Rumours would spread throughout the city like wildfire. The power of suggestion was potent in warfare – a hint of fear could swell and grow into a tide of terror transforming a disciplined army into chaos.
He glanced sideways at Rowan. She stood proudly, but her straight back and tense stance belied her otherwise calm appearance. The audience stared at her with disapproval and, he sensed, a certain amount of wonder. Perhaps this was what Cerebus was counting on.
“You’ve sent messengers out to call for more aid?” he asked.
Preven nodded. “Four separate parties.”
“Are you certain they got through the lines?” asked Nathel from the table.
Preven wiped a hand across his face. “We’ve had no word, but then I didn’t expect there to be any. If the reinforcements from Klyssen and Tabor come we will at least be able to launch a combined attack. The Raken will be caught between the armies and we will have a chance.” He glanced uneasily at Hathunor.
“How many are you expecting?” Torrin asked him.
“Couriers were sent to Klyssen to request a thousand armed mounts,” replied the Klyssen captain.
“We are hoping for the same amount from Tabor,” added Preven.
The Taborian commander’s overlapping armour creaked as he leaned forward. “Rest assured, General, Tabor will send troops.” He scowled at the Klyssen Officer.
Torrin sighed, even under these dire circumstances the two countries could not get along. “How often are they attacking?”
General Preven shook his head. “There is no set pattern. It is very unnerving. The Raken do not need to muster because they are already standing ready. We’ve had to post more lookouts because there is so little time to prepare for an attack.”
“We have seen them exchange places with each other,” said the Klyssen officer with the hawk nose and slanting eyebrows, “but we do not know where the relieved Raken go once they leave the field. Until now we assumed their supplies were hidden from our view beyond the plain.”
“When we approached the city,” said Torrin, “there were smaller patrols we had to avoid, but we had no hint as to what they were doing.”
Arynilas stirred. “Despite the strange power over the Raken, whoever controls them cannot push them past their endurance or they would be of no use to him. Even Hathunor needs to rest, though his stamina far outstrips our own.”
“If they wanted t’, they could swarm the walls an’ breach yer defences,” observed Borlin. “It looks as if ye barely ’ave enough t’ man the walls.”
Preven scratched his jaw. “We have no explanation. The attacks are brief. You are right, Master Borlin, if they wanted to they could over-run the walls during a sustained attack. But they break off their assaults before we are tested to that point.”
Torrin tapped a finger on the pommel of his sword, his frown deepening. How was it the vast army before the gates had not yet taken the city? It made no sense. A commander wouldn’t prolong a siege, using up precious resources without good reason. But then the Raken army had no need of supplies. It cost whoever was controlling the Raken nothing to keep them occupied with Pellaris, conventionally speaking anyway. He glanced at Dalemar – given how exhausting it was for his friend to use skills, Torrin couldn’t imagine the power it must take to control the Raken army. Perhaps –
Rowan spoke his next thought even as it formed. “Maybe he is waiting for the right time to launch a final attack. Perhaps there is something else he needs to do and is simply keeping Pellaris contained for the time being.”
“The Wyoraith,” Cerebus said.
Rowan nodded.
“It could be that the one behind the Raken invasion is extended to his limit,” said Dalemar. “The summoning of the Wyoraith might be of more importance at the moment than the capture of Pellaris, or perhaps he hasn’t enough strength to achieve both goals at once. I imagine the Raken are fighting his control. It could be that he hasn’t the strength to force them into a prolonged attack. Keeping the Raken from breaking free of his control is one thing but forcing them to actually act against their collective will would take a great deal more power.”
Cerebus nodded in agreement. “Then it would seem our task is to determine who is controlling the Raken and find a way to break his control over them.”
“Indeed,” said Dalemar.
“What would the Raken do if they were no longer controlled?” asked Elana.
“Raken brothers not attack if no reason,” rumbled Hathunor. “They never attack and fight unless in defence. They like quiet place. Brothers miss homeland.” He lifted one of his clawed hands and tapped himself on the chest. “Hathunor miss homeland.” There was a deep well of sadness in the huge Raken’s voice, and the audience fell silent.
Rowan spoke. “If the summoner is dead, his control of them will be ended.”
Torrin turned at the finality in her voice and saw in her face the shadings of things to come – they scoured through him like a cold, hollow wind. He clenched his fists, his heart contract in his chest. He took a breath to calm his racing heart. “What of the city’s storehouses? How long can Pellaris last against this siege?” He was surprised to find his voice steady.
A questioning murmur spread throughout the chamber.
“There is perhaps a month’s worth of provisions, maybe more,” said Preven. “The chancellor will know the full extent.”
“There have been many questions from citizens,” said a green robed councillor, rising to his feet. “Are there enough stores to last until the reinforcements?”
“We have not had an update from the chancellor’s office for days,” stated another councillor. “What is the rationing schedule?”
Elana leaned forward, ignoring the councillors, her penetrating gaze levelled at Rowan. The queen’s voice cut through the chatter. “Is there anything more you can tell us about this slayer?”
Rowan shifted and drew in a breath. “The Wyoraith was last summoned a thousand years ago. There was a man, believed to be born in this land, a man who grew up to become the Slayer of the Wyoraith. It is not known how he was able to kill it or what part of Pellar he came from, only that he was found here in this very city. The Seers sent me to give the message to the king of Pellar in hopes that he would understand. In hopes that you might know who the Slayer is.”
Cerebus released a long breath and his eyes held regret. “I fear we do not.”
Torrin’s slight hopes plummeted like a stone dropped to the bottom of a pond.
“What of this gateway?” asked the king.
Dalemar replied and Cerebus looked at him. “The gateway could be the portal through which the Wyoraith will enter this world.”
Cerebus leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “It would seem we have many more questions.”
“Your library is rumoured to be one of the largest in all of Eryos,” said Dalemar. “Perhaps the answer to these mysteries can be found there. A thousand years ago Pellar did not exist but there may yet be an echo of the realm that covered these lands. If records were kept, they would be older than Pellar’s history.”
Cerebus turned to Galen. “Advise the head archivist to begin searching for any reference to the Wyoraith and a Slayer. Any Kathornin scrolls and texts would be a good place to start. I seem to recall a fairly large Kathornin collection. Also advise Craius to accommodate any requests from the Lady Rowan and her party. He is to give them full access to the entire collection.” Cerebus looked directly at Rowan. “Your message, it seems, begets another quest. I do not know whether the answers to the questions you have brought before us can be found, but we will try. Tell me, Lady Rowan, what would your Seers suggest be done if we are unable to find this slayer in time?”
“The Seers of Danum sent no advice, King Cerebus.” Rowan’s voice was solemn. “For myself, I would send a force, however small or large as can be spared, to find and kill the summoner.”
Torrin nodded in approval. In her voice he heard the sound of a commander giving no quarter. He saw Preven and the other officers were in agreement.
Tihir N’Avarin’s cold voice, laced with sarcasm, echoed around the chamber. “And I suppose you are the one, sent to our aid by the grace of your Myrian Seers, to stop this summoner?”
“If I must. If no other way were found; if there is no slayer to send; then yes, I would go. I would try.” There was only quiet sincerity in her voice.
The room was silent, all eyes fixed on Rowan.
Torrin drew a deep breath, fierce pride radiating through his body.
Cerebus also took in a long breath and let it out. “Let us hope that will not be necessary.”
“It would seem that our gratitude must be given to this brave woman,” said Elana, her gaze fixed on Rowan.
Cerebus nodded. “Indeed, regardless of the nature of the message, she deserves our gratitude for the risks she took to deliver it.” He looked at all of the companions. “You all deserve our deepest thanks.”
The king of Pellar stood and his deep resonant voice echoed through the circular room. “To those of you who fight bravely for our freedom and our lives, whether you are a soldier, smith, healer or servant, I offer you now that which I see in front of me – hope. It comes in the form of good will and courage from a woman not of our land and her companions who have traveled through great hardship to bring us a message.
“That message, thought it is not fully understood stands now between Pellar and despair. It offers light beyond the grinding pain and exhaustion of our days and nights; hope that we may yet prevail against the enemy outside our walls. Now we have a solution to look for and a course to chart through these treacherous waters. I ask that each of us remain steadfast in our duty to Pellar; to our freedom; to our lives until the day when this doom is lifted and the Goddess’s sweet light is no longer dimmed by the suffering of our people.”
A great collective shout erupted from the listeners as Cerebus finished. The soldiers on the top tier were on their feet; their shouts the loudest of all. “Hail King Cerebus! For Pellar!” reverberated around the chamber.
Torrin smiled with admiration amid the noise. This is why it had been a public meeting. Although more questions were raised and the path was obscure, it was possible to end the siege. Hope had been given to a city in need of it.
The Balcony
The sun had set over the distant horizon and the city of Pellaris was cast in hues of pale pink and mauve. Lanterns had been lit in the large square before the keep and lights had begun to appear in windows, twinkling in the dusk. From up here, on the wide balcony near the guest quarters, it was difficult for Rowan to see the damage wrought by the month-long siege of the city.
The top of the city wall was just visible between the houses with the black sea of the Raken army beyond. Rowan frowned and leaned against the balustrade for a better look. If the power over them was broken, what would happen?
An image formed instantly in her mind – the huge beasts looking around in confusion as though waking from a dream. They discard their unlikely weapons and cast red-eyed glances back at the walled city as they disappear into the forest, melting like dark smoke into the shadows of the night with feral grace. Rowan blinked and came back to the balcony overlooking the city, goose flesh rising on her arms. Was that a glimpse of the future? She pushed the thought away and continued her inspection of Pellaris.
The rolling swells sounded hollowly from the bottom of the harbour. Rowan turned and looked out across the expanse of the ocean. It felt good to be close to the sea again. The breeze carried up the faint sounds of shouts and creaking rigging; at the docks, crews readied the Pellarian fleet in case a final retreat became necessary. Five ships had already departed for Tabor, loaded with women and children, the sick and elderly. The season for storms on the northern ocean had begun and there was ever increasing risk to any who set sail. A large number of folk though, had refused to leave their homes and businesses, their city.
The council today had been long. Rowan folded her arms and began to pace. Although her message had finally been delivered in full, she felt a growing unease. She had proclaimed she would go in search of the summoner if the Slayer of the Wyoraith could not be found. When she said it today in the vaulted chambers, her own shock had matched everyone else’s but it was an intent truly declared. Where would she even look for the one trying to summon the Wyoraith? Her gaze was drawn eastward toward the distant line of the Krang Mountains – a dark jagged strip against the dusk sky. The first stars were beginning to appear above it. They were treacherous, Dalemar had told her, but from this distance they looked beautiful to Rowan. It was hard to believe that mountains could be so tall and steep; the mountains of her homeland seemed soft and round by comparison. Dalemar had spoken also of the Great Timor Mountains to the west beyond Tabor – mountains from which explorers often never returned. They were twice the height of the Krang range. Like a great wall, they spanned the length of Eryos cutting it off from the lands to the west. Rowan shook her head; it was a thing beyond her experience.
An image of Clan Shorna’s Mora’Taith came to her, his spindly arm stretched out toward the northeast. The one who hunts you sits there. Rowan swallowed. If the summoner and her unknown enemy were one and the same, then perhaps she would know which direction to head.
She tore her gaze from the horizon. Shivering, she hugged herself; the fabric of her sleeves silky under her fingers. This lovely dress was a gift from Queen Elena, and while Rowan was thankful to have something appropriate to wear to tonight’s banquet, the full skirts and tight bodice were uncomfortable. It felt so strange to wear a dress after months of travel clothes, and she wished briefly that she had thought to pack some Myrian garb formal enough to for the occasion. Silly, she thought, twirling to watch the skirts flare out.
Last night after their arrival, after the battle on the city walls, a glorious bath had awaited her. Her room had smelled of roses and the petals had been left floating on the water. Rowan, bone weary and utterly filthy, caked still with the mud they had used to cover themselves and splattered with blood, had left her soiled clothes in a ragged line on the floor, set her sword within easy reach of the bathtub, and slid into the hot water in absolute bliss. Her smile deepened as she looked forward with relish to another hot soak tonight.
But
first, the banquet arranged in her honour, a generous effort while the city was under siege. Given the present rationing she doubted it could be much of a feast. Glancing once more over the city, she smoothed down the skirts of her dress.
A soft noise sounded behind her and she turned to find Torrin standing beside the fountain watching her. Rowan’s eyes widened. His armour and sword were gone, and he looked handsome in a dark blue tunic, trimmed with red at cuffs and collar; his hair, which had grown over the past weeks to curl over his ears and the back of his neck, was cropped shorter.
Rowan’s face flush with heat as his eyes traveled over the dress she wore. It was silly, the gown concealed more then her usual leggings, but she felt more exposed in it. Her hair was loose, lifting in the breeze, and she brushed a few strands from her face.
“You look beautiful,” Torrin said, walking towards her.
“Thank you.”
Leaning over the balustrade, he surveyed the city. “I went to your room but you had already left.”
“It is difficult to get used to the indoors after so long spent out upon the land.”
“I know what you mean.” A slight smile curved the edges of his mouth. He looked toward the distant Krang Mountains. “Your task is finished. You have fulfilled the duty placed on you. You can rest now, if you choose to.” His voice held a note of appeal.
“I wish I could feel happy about it. I thought I would be relieved, but I fear the task is not finished.”
Torrin was silent, his gaze returning to the city below.
Rowan turned to face him squarely. She took a deep breath. “You were right, Torrin. I would never have made it to Pellaris and King Cerebus to deliver my message without you and the others. In a strange land where I found few welcoming faces and even less comfort, you and the rest of your company aided me, saved my life more than once and gave me the irreplaceable gift of your friendship. I owe you all a debt I can never repay.” Rowan reached out, placing her palm on Torrin’s chest in the Myrian fashion of paying tribute to a comrade in arms – an acknowledgement of a bond between warriors. “It has been an honour to fight at your side, Torrin, son of Ralor, and I thank you.” Rowan placed her other hand over her own heart and curled her fingers into a fist in salute.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 32
