Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  The people of the Citadel scoffed at “Ali’s Folly” because they were expecting an ordinary army of men and weapons. They could defend themselves very well if besieged, for they had control of the resources and would outlast any invaders, but they couldn’t imagine the existence of Lokai. If only the wooden gates stood in the way, the beast would turn fire, wind, venom, and incredible brute force upon the City. The stone-cutters might have grumbled as they set about their labors, but the lives of all the people rested in their hands, though they did not yet know it.

  Ali was planning additional defenses with his lieutenants when he was interrupted by Hallagond, who had come on a matter of some importance. Ali immediately made him welcome.

  “Ah! Hot oil-cauldrons to be set atop the walls, I see,” said Hallagond, examining Ali’s latest drawings in approval. “An excellent idea. And who is to be in charge of them?”

  “Broca will command them,” said Ali, indicating one of the men who stood by. “It was his suggestion.”

  “I thought Broca was going to see to the direction of the archers atop the north wall,” said Hallagond. “He is one of your most capable men.”

  “And so he is. He will need to serve for both—my other men are to be occupied elsewhere. A pity, but there you are. Nelwyn is to command the archers atop the gates, and Habib is taking charge of the south wall. As Supreme Commander, I must be able to go where I am needed most.”

  “Who will orchestrate the launching of the catapults?” asked Hallagond.

  “That has not been decided,” said Ali with a hint of frustration in his voice. He was running out of experienced people, and Hallagond knew it.

  “What if I told you there were several fine, battle-seasoned men wasting their talents in lying about within these very walls? And what if I also told you that I have arranged for you to meet with them?”

  “First, I would ask if you have been standing too long in the midday sun, and then, having learned that you were not addled, I would kiss both of your feet simultaneously in gratitude,” said Ali with a vague but discernable smile. “Yet I fear there are no such men in the City.”

  “But there are, Worthy Commander,” said Hallagond. “You will merely need to overlook a few, ahh… past transgressions. I have been to your prison, where I found at least six men who will serve your needs. You need only determine how to convince them to aid you.”

  Ali sighed and shook his head, never taking his eyes from Hallagond’s. “You don’t understand...people here are not imprisoned unless they pose a grave threat. These men are undeniably dangerous, and their treachery is of the highest order. We dare not ever release them. But, just because I am curious, do you have a list of their names?”

  “I do,” replied Hallagond, handing it to Ali with a flourish. When Ali read the names, he laughed.

  “I intend no offense, but you truly do not perceive the absurdity of this notion. Not one of these men could ever be trusted with freedom—violent murderers and rogues, the lot of them! We’re very glad the walls that hold them are strong. Two are Corsairs, the only survivors of a shipwreck at the harbor-gates. We tried to welcome them among our folk, but their true nature surfaced quickly. They robbed and killed several of our citizens before their evil deeds were discovered, and these other four are no better. Lord Salastor will never permit the release of any of these fine gentlemen. We will need to find another way.”

  “Will you not at least speak with them?” asked Hallagond. “I do take your point, but you have no one else of experience. I have some knowledge of the sort of men these are...they’re incredibly useful in a fight.”

  “I will not ask how you acquired such knowledge,” said Ali with a wry look, “but I’m afraid these prisoners might be just as useful to our enemies, depending on which direction the wind took at the time. They have no loyalty to us—after all, we threw them in prison. It was a worthy thought, Hallagond, but I must insist that you pursue it no farther.”

  “Yet the time may come when dire need is on us, and we have nothing else,” said Hallagond. “Just remember that these men will fight to save their own lives, and I doubt the Scourge will care to spare them. Keep this thought in your mind.” With that, Hallagond and Ali agreed to speak no more of the matter, and they resumed their planning. Hallagond stayed the rest of the day, for his opinions were both respected and needed.

  In the Healing Halls, Fima the dwarf was responding well to the care he was receiving. He insisted on spending part of each day in the Library, borne there on a litter until he could walk the way himself. Lord Salastor had ordered that he be shown every courtesy, and that the scholars attend his every wish. Of course, he spent nearly as much time teaching as he did learning, for he knew of places and events that the scholars could only imagine.

  The folk of the Citadel soon learned to love his earthy sense of humor and his sharp-witted but good-natured banter. He was a treasure of great worth. He plumped back up very quickly on fine food and drink, but his white beard had been so damaged by fire that he had to cut off most of it to even it out. This pained him; Grundin’s folk cherished their beards as a mark of maturity and experience. Fima, however, had spent enough time in the world and had gained enough wisdom to be able to separate his mind from the hair on his chin, and he shrugged it off. After all, even Elves could sometimes be wise, and they had no wisp of a whisker at all. His snowy-white eyebrows had been singed as well, but they had grown back already.

  Gaelen and Nelwyn went to see him as they could, spending hours relaxing with him, reading aloud as he dozed by the window in his chamber, or singing to him as he wished. The scholars were surprised at the fondness held by this dwarf and these two She-elves, for such friendships did not exist in lore.

  “I will not be able to come and see you for a while, Fima,” said Gaelen on one pleasant afternoon as she sat with him in the Courtyard of the Scholars.

  “And why not?” asked the dwarf. “Though I am not dismayed, for I have plenty to occupy my time other than the entertaining of a Wood-elf.” Gaelen smiled inwardly at this contention, which was so obviously untrue.

  “Because I am going away from the City for a while,” she said, “if Lord Salastor and Rogond will allow it, that is.”

  “Hmmm…” said Fima, lowering his eyebrows at her. “If you are worried that Rogond won’t allow it, it must be foolish and dangerous. How very typical of you.”

  “I don’t consider my errand to be foolish or especially dangerous,” she replied, “but it is necessary. Someone should scout back to the east and determine how near the enemy is to the City. I’m the only one here who truly knows how to read the language of scent, thus only I can determine their location without coming within sight of them.”

  “Surely an army of that size can be heard before it can be seen,” said Fima. “There are others who could perform this task, and they know these lands better than you do.”

  “I’m certain that the Scourge raises quite a dust-cloud as well,” replied Gaelen, “but you have just proven my point. They no doubt travel by night, when their dust cannot be seen, and those who pay little heed to the subtleties borne upon the wind have no notion of how far a scent will carry. I will smell them long before I hear them, if the wind is right. My hearing is far superior to that of mortal folk, as well. You know it. Besides,” she added with a slight shiver, “They will have advance scouts ranging far from the main body of the army. Even I dare not come within sight of them.”

  “Rogond won’t approve of this, Gaelen,” said Fima. “And I see no advantage in it, either. You must at least take someone with you who knows these lands.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” she replied, “if any experienced scout can be spared. Nearly everyone is busy preparing our defenses. I may need to trust to my own instincts.”

  “That, and pray the wind blows from the right direction,” growled Fima. “If you are seen, things will go all the harder for the City. The Scourge will know they have been anticipated. I expect Lord Salastor
will not approve of your plan either.”

  Gaelen threw a sardonic half-smile at him. “Perhaps not, but I will go in the guise of one of the enemy warriors. I still have those red-and-black garments, though they are now much cleaner than they were when I acquired them. If I am seen, I will not arouse suspicion, and I will disappear quickly. Lord Salastor need not fear.” She patted Fima’s shoulder affectionately. “If I don’t come tomorrow, you will know that I have gone,” she said. “Don’t fret over me, for I will return.”

  Fima shook his head. “At least take Nelwyn with you. She will not want you to leave without her.”

  Gaelen sighed. “And then Galador will go. Both he and Nelwyn are needed here. I am apparently not essential to the defense effort, as I have been assigned no duties as yet. This knowledge, if gained, will be vital; it is the best way to use my abilities to aid the City.”

  “I’ll make a small wager right now, if you are willing,” said Fima. “You will not be going on this scouting foray if Rogond has anything to say about it. If I win, you must promise to aid me in translating a difficult manuscript that was set down by the Lore-master of Tal-ailean. If I lose, I will buy you a large pot of honey. Do you agree?” He held out his strong, gnarled hand, and Gaelen took it. She would accept that wager, for she had already decided that Fima would lose. Even if he didn’t, she wouldn’t mind. She would enjoy aiding him in translating the manuscript anyway.

  As it turned out, Fima was soon required to obtain a large pot of honey. Despite the fact that Rogond did not care for the idea of Gaelen’s traversing miles of open desert alone, he did trust her to take care of herself. Lord Salastor and Ali wanted to know how much time remained to make ready, and they thought Gaelen’s plan could work. She left the City at sunset a few days later, mounted on Finan and leading Faladinn, who bore enough water for at least a fortnight. She carried a very detailed map, with last known water-sources clearly marked. Gaelen could find her way. What would we have given for this map when we came here from Mumari? she wondered. Almost anything, I expect.

  She sang as she rode away, and many in the City paused in their labors to listen. Rogond stood atop the gates and watched her go, knowing that if she did not return he would just as soon throw himself from them.

  Gaelen had never been in a lonelier place than the open desert, and she found herself talking to Finan even more than usual. She was well-provisioned and knew where she was going, so she did not have the constant worries of the prior desert journey, but the vast emptiness depressed her. At night things were better—she could hear desert creatures calling in the dark, and the enormous star-filled sky delighted her, though it was almost overwhelming.

  She moved steadily forward, hour by hour, enjoying the cool darkness. She knew that Finan could see as well as she did, and her thoughts focused on her task. Rain…I have seen much since you sent me back. I’m here, and I haven’t forgotten my purpose. I promise to stay until my oath is fulfilled…if I can. I wish you could be here to see the stars. They are like nowhere else…I wish I could share them with you. She looked to the east, where the faint glow of morning had begun to make its way over the horizon, and drew Finan to a halt. It was time to test the wind again.

  Gorgon Elfhunter looked at his own right hand in dismay. The skin had blistered and peeled, and now it hung in dry, lackluster folds. If he didn’t find water soon, he would die. His armor had grown heavier as his strength had waned. Worst of all, Gelmyr taunted him without mercy. He struggled through the sand, grinding his teeth, tasting salt, dust, and grit on the back of his tongue.

  One foot in front of the other…one foot in front of the other…

  He had to keep moving. There would be water on the other side of the ridge…full of sand and covered with a layer of slime. If he could only reach it, it would save his life.

  You’ll be lying down to die soon, won’t you? Gelmyr’s rotting, leering face loomed over Gorgon’s right shoulder. I almost wish I had water to give you, as I’m really not ready to say ‘goodbye,’ he said.

  “There will be water soon enough,” Gorgon muttered, waving at Gelmyr as though he were an irritating fly.

  “You’d better hope so,” said Gelmyr, who, naturally, was unaffected by Gorgon’s attempt at deflecting him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you look this bad. Such a pity…” His tone indicated that he didn’t think it was a pity at all.

  Gorgon squeezed his eyes shut and kept walking, heading relentlessly for the rocks and the scant pool of scum-topped water he knew would be there. He had already found water once, and his instincts would not fail him.

  He knew these things because Gaelen knew them. She had been here before.

  Gaelen returned in about a fortnight, and her news was grim. Though they had not yet crossed the Fire-mountains, the Scourge would arrive sooner than she had predicted. She looked at the new wall in dismay.

  “Why has this not come nearer to completion?” she asked Ali, who spread his hands in apology.

  “The builders decided they were being overworked for no good cause, and now refuse to labor for more than a few hours a day despite all entreaty from Lord Salastor and the Council. They’re not the only ones—I have been having difficulty convincing the people on many fronts.”

  Gaelen nearly panicked. “The wall won’t be finished in time if they do not task themselves now. If even a small part remains unfinished, all is lost!” Her eyes narrowed. “Someone on the Council is behind this. I would suggest that we call them together, and the builders as well. They need to be made to understand.” She went to her chamber to wash the desert from her body, and to prepare herself.

  At the insistence of Lord Salastor, the Hall of Council was packed nearly full. Builders, smiths and ironworkers, stonecutters—everyone deemed vital to the plan—had been summoned. The Council of Nine sat in their usual places, awaiting the arrival of Gaelen. The Company, including Fima and Bint Raed, stood behind them.

  “Where is our bold scout, Rogond?” asked Salastor. “The people are becoming restless, and their labors await them.”

  “She is coming,” Rogond replied, even as he heard the unmistakable sound of hooves upon stone. A moment later Gaelen rode in, the crowd parting back before Finan, who made his way forward to stand before the Council. He dropped gracefully to his knees and bowed before them, as Gaelen drew her short-sword and offered it hilt-first to Lord Salastor in a symbolic gesture of loyalty. He took it from her, and they both bowed in acknowledgment, then Finan rose to his feet and swept around to face the anxious crowd.

  Gaelen’s fire-cloak glittered and flashed in the torch-lit hall as she spoke to the people, pacing back and forth upon her fiery war-horse. Her voice and his footfalls were the only sounds to be heard. Estle could not help but smile at Gaelen, who was certainly making herself as fearsome and impressive as possible.

  “Hear me, Ye People of Dûn Arian! Your enemy approaches, and yet you doubt the need to make ready. I am now charged with revealing to you the nature of the doom that will stand before your gates. Hear me and be afraid, for your need is dire and your City will fall if you do not heed the warning. Listen to my tale, and listen well!”

  Finan stood on his hind legs, snorting fiercely as she spoke these last words. As if on cue, distant thunder rumbled, and a hard rain began to fall, hammering the rooftops so that Gaelen nearly had to shout over the noise. Her voice was powerful, and her words compelling; none would doubt her sincerity.

  “I saw helpless captives…many of whom were women and children just like your own wives, sisters, daughters and sons! They had been mutilated, tortured, and left to face the cruelest possible fate. Imagine your own mother pleading for her life as a man bludgeons her to death, drags her body from you, and hacks it to pieces. Then imagine that man commenting that her flesh will be tough and stringy and perhaps he should cook her first!”

  Gaelen took note of the crowd’s dismay, knowing she had their full attention. “Now imagine a child, barely old enough to walk,
screaming in pain and fear and confusion, while another man grabs him by his ankles, swings with all his might, and cracks the little one’s head against the stones.” She punctuated this by cracking a flat strap of stiff leather against one of the supporting columns. Everyone in the Hall jumped.

  Gaelen’s eyes darkened. “He’s dazed, but not dead. They start slicing off his limbs while he is yet alive. There’ll be no need to cook him, though…he’s no bigger than this one is!” She drew her blade and pointed toward a little blue-eyed boy being carried in his father’s arms. The boy buried his face against his father’s neck, whimpering piteously. Right on cue, thought Gaelen, noting the horrified expressions on the gentle people of the Citadel—the father’s face was ashen.

  “This is what approaches your gates, and those gates will not stop them. I know it! Do not doubt the need for this new fortification, or your people will be the next ones torn and eaten. You may have not even a month to safeguard yourselves. Do not listen to the counsel of the foolish! Pay heed to Talishani Ali, who is wise.”

  At this, the crowd began to talk amongst themselves. They were horrified by the pictures Gaelen’s words had painted, and her bright eyes held no deceit. She looked like the Warrior-elves of old, clad and mounted as she was.

  Estle stepped forward, turning first to the Council and then to the crowd. “I have seen these things also,” she said. “Gaelen’s words are true, although any description of the savagery in that encampment cannot help but fall short of the reality. You face a terrible enemy.” She looked over at Gaelen, who, she had decided, was now her friend. “I know it’s difficult to accept the need for such great labors based solely on the intuition of Elves. At first I did not accept it, scoffing right along with the rest. But I have since asked myself—why would Gaelen urge us into such a task without need? She has nothing to gain, whereas we have everything to lose. I have seen the dread in her eyes. I’m no stone-cutter, but I will aid in the building as I can.”