The Kinnon Gate ( a short story)

by Neil Shooter

  "This is the reason," said Chirath.

  Vardan could only nod. This was an invasion force, and it would prove overwhelming to a few hundred of the Kinnon's best warriors and mages. This was the afterlife, a punishment for all their sins. The gods were real, after all, after all his mockery and derision, and his punishment would be a grisly end, very close to this spot.

  "It loo-" began Chirath, pointing out across the vista. If he'd not turned his head, the great black arrow would have skewered it like an apple, but he had, and the arrow had instead cut a gash from brow to neck, slicing off the top of his right ear in the process. Blood rushed down Chirath's face, as they both ducked behind the protective stonework.

  A few other arrows sailed past them, but it must only have been an opportunistic attack. They had been fools to stand so long atop a wall before an army.

  Vardan crawled through the snow to Chirath, and scooped up fresh snow from the drift, to wash the wounds of blood.

  "Don't coddle me, Friend Vardan," said Chirath.

  "It's quite a gash you have."

  "Aye, and that is my ear on the ground, but we must return and tell the others."

  Vardan nodded, and they crawled and stumbled to the safety of the stairwell, retrieving an arrow from the snow.

  "I told you it was a bad omen," Chirath chuckled.

  "On the contrary, you lost only a little blood, and a superfluous ear part. I'd call that a good omen, just as I told you."

  They laughed together.

  Chapter 5.

  They said very little to each other. It was clear that neither of them appreciated being stuck with the other.

  Kalummenon had decided that Pereg was incompetent as well as a young fool. Pereg seemed to have no sense of stealth. Kalummenon kept to the shadows, while Pereg walked straight down the middle of the snowy street. Eventually, Kalummenon couldn't take it anymore. "Come here!" he hissed.

  Pereg turned a startled face towards him, and after a moment's hesitation, approached. "What do you want?"

  "What do you think I want? We are meant to be keeping out of sight, and you keep prancing down the middle of the street like you're on parade!"

  "I do not prance!"

  Kalummenon sighed. "Look. We need to cooperate. We need to do what we've been asked to do. All I'm saying is that you need keep to the edges of the street, so that if we see someone, we can watch them without them spotting us. That's not so hard is it, lad?"

  "Don't call me lad! Why does everyone call me - "

  "How old are you?" Kalummenon demanded.

  "Seventeen. Almost eighteen though, but - "

  "That's why. You'll grow up soon enough. If you survive long enough, that is."

  "I'm a cadet -"

  "In the King's Academy, yes, I know, you told me. But the Academy teaches you how to act like a soldier, and obey commands, does it not?"

  "Yes," Pereg agreed, feeling like a trap was being laid for him.

  "So listen to me when I tell you what to do. I'm considerably older than seventeen, which makes me your commanding officer. Understood?"

  The trap had been sprung, and the tone of command was unmistakeable. "Yes, sir!"

  "There's no need for that. Don't call me 'sir'. Call me Kal. I just want you to listen to what I'm saying. "

  "Agreed."

  Pereg followed meekly along behind Kalummenon, keeping to the shadows, searching here and there in open doorways and windows as they went. The tension between them dissipated, as Pereg behaved in a way more acceptable to Kalummenon, who took to command like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Pereg was comforted by the easy confidence of the more experienced man.

  "I'm sorry I laughed, but it really is an odd name," Pereg said eventually.

  "Not to me it's not."

  "Where are you really from? Originally, I mean?"

  "I told you my father was a sailor. I don't know if he was a pirate or not, to be honest. There is a lot that adults don't tell young children. My father died when I was little, and I was brought to Peledar, and that is where I grew up. I barely remember any other place."

  "You learned Abrilian on the streets of Peledar?" Pereg sounded incredulous.

  "Yes, and you learned it at a military academy. I ... was acquainted with a courtier from Maynar for a while. She taught me a thing or two..."

  "I'll bet."

  After a while, Kalummenon took the bait. "And you?"

  "Peledarri, born and bred. My father died in the War, and Mother died a few years ago. I have a sister, Aralda. She's in service to a noble family somewhere up north. She keeps saying she'll come for a visit when she can. She hasn't been able to."

  "And that's why you're a cadet."

  "Yes, I suppose it is. There'll be a place for me in the Royal House if I graduate with good enough honours, and then I'll be set."

  "Provided the Royal House stays the Royal House."

  "Well, the king is young. I'll bet he's got a few years left in him yet."

  "Provided the rest of the Lords agree with the current state of affairs."

  "He's a good King. Why wouldn't they?"

  "Politics." Kalummenon shouldn't have been surprised that Pereg was a loyal subject of the King, but it always got under his skin when people blindly accepted the things they were told, without questioning them in the slightest. Being an orphan made Pereg susceptible to being taken advantage of, of course. "I'm an orphan too. My mother died before my father did." It felt strange for Kalummenon to talk about his past, even if he was still leaving out some key details. It was a relief in some ways, but it also made him feel vulnerable.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Pereg said quietly. "Being alone is the worst thing in the world."

  Kalummenon could immediately think of several things that were much, much worse, but he didn't name any of them, instead letting himself appreciate the sentiment for what it was. "Thank you. And the same to you."

  Pereg nodded solemnly as Kalummenon held his gaze for a moment. But then something tore their attention away, ahead. There was a sound.

  The street stretched away into the distance, and curved away to the left. From that distant hidden stretch of street emerged a procession. They watched it, spellbound, as it came closer. At the head of the procession floated a pale voluminous figure in flowing robes, and shimmering with a magical light. Behind the floating figure marched a battalion of armoured men, clad in furry hats and cloaks against the cold. Between the soldiers trundled several covered wagons, some of which were smoking ominously. The wagons moved without being pulled by any beast. Perhaps the floating figure was towing them with magic.

  Kalummenon and Pereg looked at each other, and understood without needing to speak that it was time for them to return to the square.

  Chapter 6.

  Making no further pretence at stealth, the two Peledarri men sprinted down the last part of the snow covered street into the square. The square was so full now that it was difficult to maintain any speed through the huddle of warm bodies.

  The magical vortex that had brought them here, and brought hundreds of others since they'd left the square, had vanished. They were trapped, and the strange procession was close behind.

  Kalummenon and Pereg pushed anxiously through the throng. "Vardan! Where is Vardan?" Finally someone with the knowledge heard them, and pointed him out.

  Vardan was speaking with the other scouts, and Chirath was sporting a thick red scar across the right side of his head, which must have been healed by a mage among those gathered.

  "Apologies!" Kalummenon said, and all conversation in this circle ceased at once at the interruption.

  "Ah, the Peledarri pair," smiled Vardan, in a way that made Kalummenon's skin crawl. This was not a man to get on the wrong side of.

  Kalummenon forged on with his report, and any of the nobleman's annoyance ebbed away at the news being delivered.

  Vardan began barking orders, and it became clear that the square was no longe
r a chaotic rabble from all over the lands of the Kinnon, but had been tied by time and proximity into something approaching a unity of purpose. Vardan was in command, and in his element.

  The scouts were ignored for the time being, allowing them the opportunity to confer.

  "Chirath found an arrow," announced Rysil cheerfully.

  "There's a huge army camped outside the gate," said Khendam solemnly.

  "And they took one look at Chirath..." laughed Wegri.

  "We saw a scout from another part of the city, but we don't think he was a native. He was bundled up in several cloaks, and looked miserable. I think he was like us, but from somewhere warmer, perhaps. Someone like us..." Tulacha was lost in thought for a moment, but her face suddenly brightened. "There are other gates along the city wall, on each side. We were brought to this gate -"

  "Kidnapped," said Khendam.

  "And there are others at a distance, near to the other gates."

  Kalummenon looked at Khendam and Rysil. "You saw people too?"

  Rysil nodded. "Oh yes, a troop of foreign soldiers passed down a street that crossed ours. I thought they were patrolling a boundary. When we got closer, we could see well worn tracks in the snow. They seemed uninterested in straying from their chosen path."

  "Lucky for us," said Khendam. "We must have been about half way to the next gate."

  "So we are all here - " began Pereg, but a commotion stopped him in mid-sentence.

  The procession had reached the square, and Vardan had already managed to organize their motley crew into something approaching an army. A company of warriors guarded the entrance to the square, in an unevenly outfitted defensive ring of swords and spears. On the edges of the square, and leaning from some of the lower windows of the stone buildings, archers drew bows.

  It was an impressive achievement on such short notice, but still it was clear they would be no match for the battalion of properly supplied troops which had halted at the edge of the square. The majority of the men and women of the Kinnon had not been carrying their weapons when they had been summoned here, and the number of weaponless and defenceless people was staggering. If this went badly, there would be a slaughter.

  The floating figure was perhaps a corpulent man, but Kalummenon was too far back to be certain. The figure floated in place at head height, and seemed to be taking in the men and women gathered against him. With a flick of his wrist, the figure conjured a shimmering wall of energy.

  Near the front of his army, Vardan called out for the archers to hold, but a few stray arrows launched nonetheless, breaking against the shimmering wall and falling harmlessly to the ground.

  The figure ignored the affront, and began a new working in earnest. He was speaking some words and moving his hands, and after a few moments he cast his hands suddenly outwards towards the square. Twinkling light spread out from him, and the people of the Kinnon gasped as the light passed over their heads, and then descended amongst them.

  Kalummenon fixed his gaze on the figure. There didn't appear to be any menace to his actions, or demeanour, but not knowing what was going on had them all on edge.

  The floating figure smiled. It seemed forced, or at least not a smile born of pleasure, but rather of satisfaction.

  "There," said the figure, and his voice was now audible across the whole square. "Friends! Welcome to the city of Ebulon, and our deepest gratitude for all of you who have answered our call!"

  Impossibly, the figure spoke in the courtly language of the Kinnon, or seemed to. All around the square could be heard similar murmurs of surprise, and people spoke quickly and furtively to each other.

  The figure let the words sink in for a moment before continuing.

  "Do not be alarmed! The shimmering light which fell upon you is nothing more than the lifting of the linguistic barriers between us! Now we can speak and understand each other! Ordinary weapons will be turned away by the shield I hold around me, but do not fear an attack: I come to speak to you, and to help you.

  "I am Nunda, a spokesperson for King Yadi of Ebulon. King Yadi issued the Call, and you have heard it, and have come to our aid. We in turn come to your aid. I bring wagons of food, of hot meats, of roasted tubers, and other simple but hearty sustenance. I bring also a thousand of King Yadi's finest soldiers to aid you in the coming battle."

  Nunda was forced to stop speaking by a rise of angry protest from the crowd. He raised his hands, and after a while a begrudging quiet descended.

  "Who speaks for you? Have you a leader?" asked Nunda.

  "I seem to be the highest ranking here," said Vardan, stepping closer to the front of the crowd. "I am Vardan of Tarakal, a Lord of that fair land." He had the crowd's full attention, and he paused, gratified that none had spoken out to deprive him of this open acknowledgement of his own importance. "We have come at your calling, that may be true, but we have not come to fight your battle for we have battles of our own to fight and families of our own to protect. We demand that we be returned whence we came!"

  The crowd roared its approval.

  Nunda was shocked by their enthusiasm. "Did you not hear the Call? Did you not willingly follow the Call?"

  Now Vardan held his hands up to calm a rising wave of indignation. "We don't know what you thought you were doing, but for us the "Call" was not a choice or a question, and it most certainly was not an informed decision. It was a compulsion, a charm, a magic spell, that dragged us, captured us, and forced us to step into the light and come here. At no time were we asked about our willingness to fight, and the fact of our being here is not the same as consent. I have seen your enemy, and my people want no part of your battle. We will all die if we face that vast army at your gates, and if we are to die we would die for our own people, not yours!"

  "Most troubling..." muttered Nunda. "When our King sent out the Call, it was to call to the spirit of the hero, the spirit of any who would willingly step forward to protect the weak and the innocent, and any who believed they were able to rise to the occasion. You were all Called by the light because you yourselves believe you are heroes, because you think you are heroes, and because you would choose to help someone in dire need! We are in dire need, and we need your help! It is true, there is a vast army facing the walls of Ebulon, but that is not the end of what I must tell you, only the beginning. This army has marched across our world, swallowing proud and free nations one after the other. This army, camped at our gates, has not merely conquered the peoples of our world. This army has not merely enslaved the conquered peoples of our world. No, they have slaughtered all they have conquered, from newborn babes to honoured elders! They are a pestilence upon the land, and they have overrun the whole world. Except for Ebulon! Some few survivors reached us, warned us of what was coming. And we have already fought battles in this bitter war, which is why you find wide parts of our city empty and broken. We are bled almost dry. We are not the only free people left in the world: we are the only living people! Those monsters want to kill everything that is good, and destroy everything of worth! They will cut off our heads, and then they will knock down our city, leaving not even a memory of it. They wish to rule an empty world of rot and decay, and we say to them, NO! You shall not have us!

  "And you, you all, you came to us, you followed the Call, because you are good and strong and brave and clever! You came because you are heroes, because only heroes can hear the Call!

  "But please, forgive us our shortcomings! We failed you if you felt compelled or fooled into coming. We failed you if you came here against your will. We failed you if we brought you here to help us without asking plainly. We failed you if the Call did not explain our need. Forgive us! But we fight for our survival!

  "Now you know more of us, and more of our story, will you aid us? Will you stand with us against the worst enemy we have ever known?"

  Vardan spoke up clearly, "In this, I cannot speak for my people. They must choose for themselves."

  From the otherwise silent crowd a voice called
out, "Are we hostages? Will you send us home? Can you?"

  The crowd took a collective breath, waiting for the answer.

  Nunda sighed. "We can send you home now, if that is what you wish. You are not hostages. You are free people. It is as free people that we Called you. You are free, and you will remain free. But logistics must be mentioned. We can send you home now, if you are unwilling to aid us, while we are able, but once the battle is joined, we might lose those with the power. The future is difficult to predict. I cannot say who will fall and who will stand. But if, after the battle, there are still those among us with that power, they will return you to your homes. But the battle will soon be joined, perhaps on the morrow, and who can say how all this will end?"

  "How rousing," Kalummenon thought to himself.

  Khendam, standing beside Kalummenon, sighed. "I'll stand with you!" he called. Meeting Kalummenon's gaze, he shrugged. "What can we do but help these poor saps?" But he didn't seem happy about his decision.

  Here and there, others spoke up, "I'm with you!", "I'll take a few of those fiends with me!", "Count me in!", and similar affirmations.

  Vardan held his hands up for quiet, and said, "Nunda, many of my people have chosen to stand with you, given the choice plainly stated. Any who wish to return to their homes, go to Nunda now, and he will make good his promise!"

  Nunda cleared his throat. "Well, actually, I am not one of those with the power to send you home, but I can escort any so minded to an audience with our King Yadi. Those of you choosing to stay, my deepest thanks. May we all live to see victory!"

  Chapter 7.

  "I would speak."

  Her voice was not loud, but it felled every sound in the crowded square. There was something about it, some quality in it, demanding to be heard: authority.

  She made no effort to move to the front of the crowd in order to address everyone. Instead, those around her took some steps back, making a space for her in the crowd, shuffling away from the power inherent to one like her. She was an Alfar.

  "Vardan of Tarakal does not speak for me." She turned to Nunda. "I am Moriambra, ambassador to the Kinnon, from a distant and powerful kingdom. My heart followed your Call, as did all present. My spirit calls out to me to aid you in your time of need. But for me it is not that simple. Many among us will be missed greatly by those we have left behind. I have family. I have obligations. I have people depending on me. I would put those concerns aside for this grand ideal if I could.