None of the other chieftains possessed the courage to challenge the Fhrey leader, so Raithe had to say something. Lack of proper weapons had been the reason he’d refused to be the keenig in the first place, and Nyphron wanted to take the Rhist before they had time to prepare. Persephone had returned from Belgreig with the secret of iron, but forging enough weapons for an army would take time.
“Your recklessness demonstrates why Persephone is the keenig and you are not,” Raithe said loudly to Nyphron, drawing attention. “You’re Fhrey. You don’t care about the lives of us Rhunes. The only thing you care about is winning. The amount of blood spilled while reaching your goal is inconsequential—because it won’t be yours. Attacking Alon Rhist before we’re properly trained and have adequate weapons will be suicide. Hundreds, maybe thousands, could die on those walls. And then—”
“No one is going to die,” Nyphron replied in a superior tone that suggested he was speaking to an imbecile.
Raithe took a step toward him. “If we attack one of the most fortified strongholds in the world with farmers armed merely with mattocks, men will die. Many men.” Raithe turned to the other chieftains. “You’ve been to Alon Rhist, right?” He pointed at Nyphron. “Isn’t it filled with an army of Fhrey warriors like him? Charging those walls will be like slapping a beehive with a stick. Except these bees don’t just sting. They cut off your head with very sharp bronze swords while hiding behind massive shields.”
Persephone was paying attention to him, listening.
That’s something, at least.
“I’m not asking for anyone from here to fight.” Nyphron spoke to Persephone rather than to Raithe. “Your people won’t even have to get near the Rhist. They will merely be decorative, a garnish if you will.” Nyphron began to pace back and forth. “That fortress is my home. I own it. My father was the head of the Instarya tribe, the people who have lived in that fortress for centuries. He was the supreme commander of all the western outposts. That position typically falls to the son upon the father’s death, which makes me the lord of the Rhist.”
“But the fane—the leader of your people—put someone else in charge after your father challenged him, correct?” Tegan of Clan Warric asked.
Thank you, Tegan. At least one person is paying attention.
“True,” Nyphron replied. “But that Fhrey isn’t well-liked by my tribe, and the Instarya have been ill-treated for centuries, alienated and exiled through no fault of their own. They need a leader who understands their plight and can right their wrongs.” Nyphron sighed. “Do you think this is some impetuous idea that popped into my head this morning? I’ve worked on this plan for quite some time. I know how to take Alon Rhist. And I can do so without the loss of a single life.”
“That’s not possible,” Raithe said. “We need to—”
Nyphron rolled his eyes. “Allow me to explain why we must act immediately. I’ll do so in short sentences with small words. Right now, the fane is preparing his own forces. He’ll need to marshal his troops on the frontier to attack us. His best soldiers are the Instarya tribe—my brethren—and they’re headquartered at Alon Rhist. The Instarya are the greatest warriors in the world; without them, the fane has no troops. I intend to steal his strength, but we have to move quickly. We can’t allow Lothian to reach Alon Rhist first.” Nyphron moved closer to Persephone. “I can nullify the whole Instarya tribe from Ervanon to Merredydd. Doing so will cut off the fane’s arms. He’ll have no army to fight for him.”
“Will they fight for us?” Siegel asked.
Nyphron looked at the Gula-Rhune chieftain as if he were a child. “Of course not. Fhrey don’t kill Fhrey, but if you do as I say, I can ensure that they won’t kill Rhunes, either. And without his warrior tribe, the fane will need to train others. That”—he pointed at Raithe, still without looking at him—“will give us time to forge weapons. Something we can do more effectively behind the Rhist’s walls.” Nyphron began counting off with his fingers. “Alon Rhist has tools, facilities, shelter, and food, everything required to build the sort of fighting force needed to face the fane’s inevitable assault.”
“But how do we take it?” Tegan asked.
“Just leave that to me.”
“See, that’s where I have a problem,” Raithe said. “You expect us to trust you?”
Nyphron dragged a hand over his face in frustration. “It doesn’t matter if you have doubts. The Rhunes will be perfectly safe. I don’t want any of them within a quarter mile of the Rhist. I and my Galantians will secure the fort. I only want you to be there.”
“You’re certain the Rhunes won’t have to fight?” Persephone asked.
“That’s correct. I want you and your people to stand across the Bern River Gorge in the high plains of Dureya. Is that too much to ask?”
Persephone looked at Raithe.
“You can’t listen to him,” Raithe said. “This is foolishness. He can’t take an entire fortress with a party of seven. Either he’s delusional or this is some kind of trap. At least wait until we have a thousand swords and shields.” He turned to Frost. “How long will that take?”
The dwarf puffed air through his beard and mustache, clearing the hair out of the way in order to speak. “We’ve selected a dozen good men who are eager and capable of learning, but we’re still struggling with the method and system.
“Although Roan carefully watched the swordsmiths produce an iron blade, she apparently missed a number of details. We are still working out the process—but we’re getting there. Once we have the steps down, those twelve will take what they’ve learned and train a smith in every village in Rhulyn. And those smiths will take on apprentices, expanding our numbers. When the system is perfected and people are trained, the work won’t take long. But getting all that going is the problem.” He rubbed his chin. “I estimate we could outfit a small army in…a year.”
“There,” Raithe said. “And in that time, we can train the men to—”
“It will be too late by then,” Nyphron said. “The fane will consolidate his hold on the frontier before winter. This is a race, and we’ve already delayed too long. Besides, there is a fine smithy inside the fortress, and a few residents in the city have excellent forges and tools. Also”—the Fhrey looked at Persephone—“where will the people of Rhen winter? Here? Will you shelter from the icy blasts against that wall?” He looked to Lipit. “Do you have room for them inside the city’s walls?”
Persephone’s eyes darkened.
Raithe was losing her. Losing her to him, which made it worse.
“My way will ensure we can defend ourselves if things go wrong,” Raithe declared. “If he fails to deliver on his outlandish promises—”
Nyphron smiled as he cut Raithe off. “And my way will win this war.”
Raithe glared at Nyphron, but the Fhrey steadfastly refused to even glance his way. Nyphron continued to study Persephone.
“How soon would you want to move on Alon Rhist?” she asked.
“Immediately,” Nyphron said. “We have already wasted too much time.” He gestured at the dahl around him. “While we sit and talk, who knows what the fane is doing.”
“I’d feel better if we had some Artistic support.” Persephone looked Raithe’s way. “In case anything goes wrong. But Arion can’t be moved, and Suri won’t leave her side.”
“We don’t need a Miralyith to take Alon Rhist, and we can’t afford to wait,” Nyphron said. “Arion is more likely to die than recover, and that mystic child is no Artist. Waiting for Arion’s death won’t change a thing.”
Brin raced into the courtyard, and all heads turned. She was moving so fast she had to skid to a stop. A huge smile stretched her cheeks. “Arion’s awake!”
* * *
—
They weren’t an army—far from it.
The course of humanity had shifted in a very real sense. Suri was ce
rtain she’d seen rainstorms with fewer drops than the number of people walking north. And while Suri wasn’t an expert on such matters, she imagined that even the worst army carried weapons, unlike the crowd around her. They were shepherds, farmers, leatherworkers, hunters, woodcutters, fishermen, brewers, and traders. Most didn’t own weapons. They carried bags and baskets. The rumpled host of that would-be army struggled to walk in line. They also complained about the pace, the road, and the sun—or its absence when the rain came. Most of the women had been left at home, except for those of Dahl Rhen, who didn’t have a place to stay. Those without small children walked alongside their men, carrying bundles of food and clothes. The majority of the host was ahead of the wagon where Suri and Arion sat, all marching along the road that went by Dahl Rhen, the same path they’d traveled down seemingly a lifetime ago.
Arion and Suri were tucked alongside barrels, sacks, pots, and wool, rocking and bouncing with the ruts and dips. The Fhrey had declared herself fit to travel, but she wasn’t up for the long walk. Padera and Gifford, who served as cooks to that migratory march and also looked after Arion, rode with them. The two won seats on the wagon by virtue of Nyphron’s desire to travel quickly.
Suri didn’t make a habit of riding in the wagon, but she checked on Arion frequently and sometimes napped among the sacks in the afternoon. No one questioned her right to do so. No one spoke to her much at all.
Rumors had circulated about her incident in the land of the dwarfs. While Suri had always received stares as an outsider and a mystic, now the expressions of curiosity and disapproval were replaced by looks of fear. Folks sped up, slowed down, or even changed directions to keep their distance. With Persephone, Moya, Roan, and the dwarfs all so busy, the only ones who spoke with Suri were Padera, Gifford, and Brin. Everyone else acted as if she were poisonous.
I’ve always liked being alone, she reminded herself. I prefer it. Too many people in one place isn’t natural. This is better. But she wasn’t alone. Suri was surrounded by people, yet not a part of them. She was the daisy among the daffodils, the fly in the goat’s milk, the butterfly in the army.
Suri turned and saw the trees off to their left, a slope running upward, leafy boughs nudging into darker piney ridges. She knew that line, that rise of trees, that curve. Just beyond was a river and over the next hill they would see the full face of the wood—the Crescent Forest.
“We’re almost back,” Suri said. She checked the sun. “By midday, we’ll be there. How do you feel?” she asked Arion. “We’ll walk slowly. No need to rush.”
Arion, who was sitting up and wrapped in a light shawl, appeared puzzled. “Are we going somewhere different than everyone else?”
“Yes, to the Hawthorn Glen. Home.”
“But Persephone—I thought we were headed to Alon Rhist.” Arion looked perplexed.
“That’s where she’s going; we’re going home,” Suri said. “You’ll love it, Arion. The garden will be a disaster, but I’ll take care of that. You won’t have to do a thing except rest and get stronger. We’ll go swimming!”
“Suri, there’s a war starting,” Arion said. Suri believed the Fhrey’s voice reflected her health, and Arion’s speech was still far too windy and hollow.
“Yes.” She glanced at the men with hoes and mattocks on their shoulders. “And in the glen we won’t even know it. We’ll be safe and happy. In a way, it’ll be like old times—the way it was with Tura.”
Persephone had wanted Suri and Arion to go to the Fhrey fortress, but Suri didn’t think war sounded very pleasant. Instead, she had come up with a better plan. The two of them would ride on the wagon back to the Crescent Forest, then hop off and walk to the Hawthorn Glen. Arion was still weak, so they would go slowly and stop often. Might take all day, but once there, Suri would show Arion the most beautiful place in the world: the little vale where the sunlight was more golden, the water sweeter, and where birds of different species sang in harmony. Suri knew Arion would love it, and in that wondrous place the Fhrey would grow strong again, and then—
“Suri?” Arion stared at her. “Are you ready to talk?”
Suri looked away, focusing on the forest as home came into view over the rise.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Arion asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Last thing I remember, we were trapped under a mountain. We had a deal, you and I. Since I’m here, I have to assume you didn’t keep your end of the bargain. Don’t you think it’s time we talked about what happened?”
Padera shifted uneasily. “You should rest,” the old woman said.
Arion ignored her and continued to focus on Suri.
The Crescent Forest revealed itself in its formal gown of deep summer green. By contrast, the fields that skirted it were bright gold with speckles of orange, yellow, and purple. Birds were swooping low, bees darting, and above it all, bright, white puffy clouds drifted without a care.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened to Minna?”
At the sound of the name, Suri tore her sight from the beautiful vision but didn’t look at the Fhrey or say a word.
“Suri, I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Why, Suri? Why did you do it?”
Suri lowered her head, her lips bunching up in protest. She didn’t want to have this conversation—not now, not with Arion, not with anyone, not ever.
“You loved her,” Arion said.
“Still do.” The words escaped.
A feeble, quivering hand touched Suri’s wrist, long, delicate Fhrey fingers gently rubbing. “I wanted you to kill me, not her.”
“I know.”
“Suri…I can’t go home with you.”
Suri pulled away, folded her hands in front of her, and looked back out at the forest. The vast expanse of green filled the view to the west. As Suri watched it roll past, she thought, It looks so strangely small. Has it always been that way?
“You can’t go, either,” Arion said. “You know that, right? You’re a butterfly now—in more ways than I would have ever expected. Days of eating leaves are over. The flowers need you. Your home isn’t in the Hawthorn Glen, Suri; it’s in the sky. You can’t hide. You need to fly. You need to show everyone the beauty of those wings.”
Suri frowned and climbed off the slow-moving wagon. “Right now, I think I’d rather walk.”
She let the wagon roll ahead. This left her at the rear of the long column. Quiet there, less hectic, and she enjoyed the feel of her feet on familiar, albeit sadly trampled, grass. Despite bringing up the tail end of the migration, Suri discovered she wasn’t alone. Raithe trudged along in the soft ruts left by the wagon wheels. He had his leigh mor folded and tied shorter and looser, in the way most men did that time of year. It exposed more of his hairy legs and arms—furry was the thought that came to mind. He glanced her way but didn’t speak, and the two fell into a silent tandem march.
They walked side by side in silence until they came to the intersection of the trail that led to Dahl Rhen. Suri didn’t think she had come at it from this direction since the morning after Grin the Brown was killed. Both she and Raithe slowed. Both looked at the nondescript trail, just a narrow path that wound through tall brown grass. Up that way stood the shattered remains of a wall, a lodge, and a well—the past that marked a turning point.
“Strange how deciding to walk one way rather than another can change your whole life.” Raithe managed to put her own thoughts into words. “I probably shouldn’t have gone down that road.”
Part of Suri wholeheartedly agreed. If she had refrained from going to Dahl Rhen that spring, Minna would still be alive and the two of them would be enjoying another summer together. Of course, if she hadn’t gone, everyone else would likely be dead.
Do bad things happen if I don’t know about them?
&nb
sp; Suri sighed and wondered if Raithe had been speaking to her, or just talking to himself. She also wasn’t entirely sure who she spoke to when she said, “The worst part is that I still can’t tell if it was worth it.”
They looked at each other knowingly, then resumed following the wagons at a greater distance, lagging back, letting the world drift away.
“I wish I were going home.” Suri kicked a loose stone into the tall grass.
“I wish I weren’t,” Raithe said. He glanced over. “I’m sure yours is much nicer.” He pointed at the wagon ahead of them. “How’s Arion?”
“Annoying.” Suri expected him to show surprise and ask why. Instead, Raithe simply nodded as if he understood everything. “I wanted her to come home with me to the forest, to the glen where I used to live. I figured we could be happy there, but she insists we have to be part of this war.”
“Sounds remarkably like Persephone.”
“Really?”
Raithe nodded. “Won’t listen to me. Listens to Nyphron, though. She hears him just fine. We’re going to war against the Fhrey, and whose counsel does she take?”
“So, you don’t want to go to this Rhist place, either?”
“I’d rather we were all in your glen.” He wiped sweat from his eyes and peered up at the blazing sun, as if he and it were having a disagreement. “Can you swim there?”
Suri smiled. “In a clear lake with swans.”
“Got food?”
“More than enough.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“It is,” she said and meant it.
“Over there, right?” He pointed at the cleft in the forest.
“Yep,” she replied. “Up that slope, around to the left, and then over into the valley. We could arrive before nightfall, easy. No one would even know we left.”
The two looked at the wagons and the long column of men snaking to the north, which kicked up a cloud of dust. No one was looking back, but if they did, Suri and Raithe would be hidden by the cloud. They could slip away unseen and vanish into obscurity forever. The war would go on, but without them.
Age of War: Book Three of The Legends of the First Empire Page 2
