Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

  "Why, it is so light, so smooth to the touch. Like cloth, not rings of steel," Kal said, fingering the coat of mail Devved had handed him.

  "Nor better nor worse than the work of any of my fellow forgemen," said Kesontor, abashed by the attention he was receiving.

  "Not true, Kesontor. 'Tis indeed better by far than most of our forgework. The work of a master among masters. You were my finest student," Volodan said. "I have never been sadder to lose an apprentice than when I lost you."

  "My thanks, Volodan," Kesontor said, nodding to his former master. " 'Tis no small praise coming from the lips of Nua Cearta's finest forgeman. But you understand my meaning."

  "He means that all the forgework in Nua Cearta, even the craft of lacklustre forgemen, is of a quality that far surpasses what we have aboveground," Devved said, his enthusiasm waxing again. "They have a way of smelting that is of their own devising, one that makes for a harder, lighter steel than anything I have ever seen." Devved laughed at himself. "I do it once again, Volodan. But it is true! So true! I would never have thought it possible, but I begin to gain a notion of how it is done. There is so much to learn, and Volodan has offered to teach me, to make me his apprentice. This is fortunate, no?"

  "Yes, fortunate indeed," Kal replied. His flat tone betrayed his misgiving.

  "You sound uncertain, my lord Hordanu," said Volodan, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  "No, not at all. I do not mean to give offence. We owe you much—too much, I think at times. Our people grow . . ." Kal paused, searching for words, burdened by a growing disquiet.

  " 'Tis nothing, such instruction as I can give," Volodan said, and smiled broadly. "A trifle as compared with the lessons in archery and bow skill your folk have given us. Thurfar Fletcher—well founded is his naming—he teaches our hammersons the art of shaping both bow and arrow." The hammerson winked at Devved. "We have never seen the like of his work—"

  Galli burst into the shop. "Ah, there you are, Kal! I've been looking all over the place for you. King Magan's guardsmen and Alcesidas have, too. It was the costermonger's little girl said you'd come this way."

  "Why? What's the matter?"

  "It's Dhu. He's made his first kill. A farmer from the borderlands witnessed it firsthand. Came straight in to report it. And one of the hammerson border rangers saw the whole thing too, but he stayed back, keeping his station, standing watch, as by orders bound. Re'm ena, Kal, the whole kingdom's on about the news."

  "It was who, Galligaskin? Do you recall the name of the farmer, by chance?" Volodan asked.

  "Nor . . . Nor-something. I do not rightly remember."

  "Nordisst? It was Nordisst?"

  "Indeed! That is the name!"

  "A solid, dependable fellow, and a respectable forgeman. He has a farm in the valley next down from ours. You have met him, Devved. His was one of the forges you desired to visit."

  "Indeed, I remember him."

  "Kal, you must come now," Galli said. "Magan Hammermaster awaits you."

  "Aye, Galli. Kesontor, Volodan, Devved, briacoil. I will take my leave of you."

  "My lord Hordanu, I am honoured that you would attend my shop," the smith said and bowed.

  Seven

  The two Holdsmen found King Magan and Alcesidas in the sprawling courtyard before the main palace doors. The place was filled with commotion, a crowd of people abuzz with talk, gesticulating towards the arched and turreted roofs of Sterenhall.

  "Look, Kal, up there." Galli pointed to the heights of the domed building that rose to meet the granite roof of the cavernous landscape.

  "Dhu," Kal said softly. "But why the excitement?"

  The fellhawk stood perched high above the courtyard, its wings tucked close to its body, peering down on the throng. As Kal and Galli jostled their way towards the king, they realized that the attention of the people was divided, shifting between the great bird and an open patch of ground in front of the king. When they reached the spot, there lay the carcasses of two tunnel wolves, black fur mottled with thickly caked blood from horrific wounds.

  "Two of them? Where did the second one come from?" Galli asked in surprise.

  Alcesidas beckoned, lifting his voice above the noise of the others. "Ah, there you are, Kalaquinn!" Beside the prince stood a middle-aged man with a crag-worn face, dressed in homespun and fidgeting nervously with his hat. "Come meet Nordisst and hear the tale he has to recount."

  "Indeed, what a tale," echoed Meriones.

  "Indeed, what a bird!" King Magan exclaimed. "Already there are two horrors the fewer since you set him free to roam our skies." The king's eyes strayed up again to the turreted abutments of Sterenhall.

  "Aye, that's our Dhu!" Narasin said in the common tongue, proudly stepping out from the crowd of onlookers that ringed the mangled remains of the tunnel wolves.

  "How so? What has happened?" Kal asked.

  "Please, Nordisst. Explain again, for the sake of my lord Hordanu, the events that transpired this morning."

  "As you wish, Sire." The farmer bobbed his head to Magan. Then, with his eyes fixed to the ground at his feet, wringing his hat in earnest, he retold his account.

  "I arose early this morning, sooner even than the breaking of the dawn. Leaving my wife and little ones abed, I roused my eldest son. I was keen to check on my flocks in their pasturage, for I had heard the wolves howling in the night. We armed ourselves, my boy and I, with the best steel from my forge. My son donned a bow and quiver, newly fashioned by yon anuas." Nordisst paused, his gaze briefly seeking out Thurfar, then dropping again to his feet. The farmer spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.

  "Our farm lies on the very frontier, hard by the walls of Nua Cearta. We carried lanterns, the two of us, and made our way through the ploughlands close by the house, walking out to a sheltered meadow where we had left one of our flocks folded. 'Tis the most isolated place on our steading, but good pasture and protected by our best ram and by stone walls built in long times past. As dawn broke and we drew near the place, we met one of the rangers stationed by our parts. With him was the anuas here, Garis." Nordisst stopped twisting his hat long enough to lift an open hand in the direction of the young Holdsman now standing beside his father, Narasin, and Artun, his brother. Garis smiled broadly, understanding the gesture if not the words. "He has stood watch with the rangers on the frontier these past few nights. Like me, the ranger and Garis were drawn by the terrible howling, now grown many times louder and more menacing, and closer, too, coming from trees along the far end of the pasture. We moved to the stone fence by the sheepfold. As we climbed over the wall"—the farmer flattened his hand and made a steep swooping motion—"there came a wild shriek unlike anything that I have ever—"

  "You should have seen Dhu, Master Kalaquinn," Garis said, unable to contain his excitement and prompted by the farmer's gesture, which he understood better than the farmer's words and now imitated. "He simply fell from the sky! It was—" He was cut short, chastened by a scowl from his father.

  "It's all right, Garis. Clearly you were impressed." The young Holdsman brightened at Kal's words.

  "Yes, indeed, it was a sight! But forgive me . . ." The young man tipped his head to the hammerson farmer and lifted his empty palm to encourage the farmer to once again take up the telling.

  Nordisst returned his attention to Kal, raising his gaze from the ground, and continued. "Looking up, I saw yon great bird swoop down screaming from the sky, dropping fast as a stone. As I topped the fence, I was chilled to see black shapes bounding across the field towards my poor, bleating sheep. Tunnel wolves, a good half-dozen of them, the lead wolf outpacing the rest. It all happened so quickly. The lead wolf slowed a step and lifted its head. At once that bird dropped like a stone onto the wolf's back. It drove the creature into the ground, even as it plunged its talons into the wolf's back. When the wolf strove to turn its head and bite its attacker, the hawk kept one foot planted while it seized the wolf's muzzle with the other and with a jerk snapped its neck. T
he wolf went limp, dead."

  A murmur passed through the assembled folk. The story had clearly lost none of its power for being now twice, thrice, even four times told.

  "The hawk stood on the carcass and screamed at the wolves that followed, spreading its wings wide. It was something to behold, the change in the wolves. From fierce beasts of prey they changed into tuck-tail whelps and slunk away like shadows to their caves. I would not have believed it possible." The small farmer shook his head in wonderment, then looked to Garis, nodding for him to take up the account.

  "What happened after the wolves retreated, Garis?" Kal prompted in the common tongue.

  "Well, as a Holdsman, I'm more accustomed to Dhu. So I'm not so afraid. I run down ahead from the stone fence into the fold. The sheep are still frightened and cowering, except for the ram." Nordisst smiled, as Garis raised his fists to his temples, and dropped his head in imitation of the beast. "He lowers his head and advances a few steps from the flock when he sees me. Dhu had quietened down, all right. The wolves had turned and fled. Nordisst and Lesk—the ranger that was with us—they are chary about getting any closer to our bird. And I should not blame them. We shared the same dread back in the Holding when Master Kalaquinn first showed his nestling.

  "Anyway, when I bid him leave the dead wolf and take to the air, he obeys like I was his master. Leaves us there with the carcass at our feet and flies off. Then we decide that, as this is probably Dhu's first kill in Nua Cearta, we ought to bring it back to Sterentref, a trophy for Magan Hammermaster. So we four load the tunnel wolf onto the farm wagon Nordisst went to fetch and bring him here. Lesk remained at his post, on patrol in the borderlands, as were his orders. But no sooner do we arrive back and lay the beast down here in the shadow of the palace than all eyes are on the sky in amazement, hammerfolk and Holdsfolk alike, pointing and shouting. There is Dhu again, a second wolf gripped hard in his talons like a rag doll. So then he swoops down over the crowd and lets go the second wolf, dropping it atop the first, neat as you please. And then our bird, well, he flies up to that turret where he is now perched." Garis looked up at Dhu, a grin on his face.

  "My thanks, Nordisst. 'Twas a well-told and welcome tale," Kal said, then turned toward his fellow Holdsman and added, "As was yours, Garis. A good telling—but for one very important detail."

  "H-how so?"

  "Dhu is no longer our bird." Kal now turned to the gathered people and switched again to speak in the language of the hammerfolk. "He has been made gift to Magan Hammermaster and the folk of Nua Cearta. With Dhu on the wing, our friends may beat back this plague of tunnel wolves."

  "Indeed we shall, my lord Hordanu. My heart is filled with gratitude to you on behalf of my people." Magan bowed, then initiated a round of thunderous applause. As the clapping subsided, he spoke again.

  "Our bird"—a grin played across his face, and he winked—"shall be known henceforth as Dhu Wolfhammer. Alcesidas, see that yon turret is given over to him as a mew."

  "My thanks to you, Magan Hammermaster, for providing Dhu with such apt ground in which to fill the measure of his skills as a hunter. It seems your bird has taken to his role with a dauntlessness that befits his new masters."

  "Well and smoothly spoken, my lord Hordanu!" Meriones's stern countenance broke into a broad smile. " 'Tis not to be wondered that the Test of the Riddle Scrolls was but a gentle prod to your quick wit and ready tongue."

  "Indeed. Perhaps too often too ready a tongue." Kal paused; then, turning to Magan, said, "And now, Sire, I would ask a boon."

  "Come, let it be spoken, my dear Kalaquinn."

  "I request an audience with you and Meriones in private, Sire. As soon as may be conveniently occasioned."

  "Easily done, my dear Kalaquinn, and willingly, too. But do unfurrow your brow. Methinks that these great events of recent happening do neither arouse nor increase your cheer, but rather serve only to compound some unspoken burden you carry upon your heart."

  "Indeed, you speak truer than you may know, and it is of this burden that I would speak to you."

  "Then, come. We shall retire to the palace library. I think it my favourite place in all my realm. Like Meriones, I savour its atmosphere of parchment and polished oak." The king clapped his hands. Then, placing one in the crook of Kal's arm, he began to direct the Holdsman towards the palace. "What better place to open a bottle of Regnal in the company of friends—nay, rather boon companions. And would that all my boons were so agreeably dispensed!"

  In the high-ceilinged bookchamber of Sterentref, King Magan pressed a delicate crystal goblet half filled with red wine into Kal's hand. "Come, my lord Myghternos Hordanu," he said. "You have brought a great gift to our people. We must raise a glass in grateful celebration."

  Flanked by Meriones, the king directed Kal to a comfortable chair in a carpeted alcove with soft-grained wainscotting that set it apart from the rest of the palace library, where in contrast neat shelves stuffed with leather-bound tomes stretched from floor to ceiling. Here, stained-glass windows above the wood panelling gave a warm colouring to the midday light that streamed in from the outside and fell across the reading stands and soft, deep chairs. A fire crackled merrily in a small stone hearth set deeply in the back wall of the reading room.

  Kal sat upright on the edge of his seat, resisting its easy contours. Restlessly, he cradled his glass while King Magan and Meriones each took a crystal goblet from the sideboard and settled in two high-backed chairs opposite him. The bard sniffed at the wine in his fine-stemmed glass like a dark moth testing the nectar of some dainty blossom, then held the glass up to the light with a knit-browed look of appreciative scrutiny.

  "To the folk of the Stoneholding"—Magan lifted his glass—"and to Dhu Wolfhammer, and to you, my lord Myghternos Hordanu."

  Meriones broke from his studied appraisal of the wine in his still-raised glass. "Indeed, my lord, to the Hordanu's weal. May he and his people be held in the eye of Wuldor and know always his gentle hand."

  Kal, too, raised his glass, inclining his head with an uneasy smile. "And to you, Lord Magan Hammermaster, together with all the forge-folk. And to you, Meriones, their most esteemed bard." Kal's voice was strained, his mirth forced.

  In unison they each placed glass to lips and sipped gently at the rich red wine.

  Magan exhaled with satisfaction. "Regnal Five. Our finest vintage," he said as he rolled the stem of his wine goblet between his thumb and fingers, admiring its contents.

  "Without a doubt, Sire, but Regnal Six and Seven come close, I would wager. Those were good years—the early days of your reign. Amazing to think that you were scarcely older than Alcesidas is now. A mere babe," Meriones said, nodding to the hammerson prince, who had slipped quietly into the room. Alcesidas grinned back at him impishly and poured himself a goblet of Regnal from the bottle on the sideboard, then turned to stand beside Kal's chair.

  "I apologise for my tardiness. I had to see to Dhu Wolfhammer's new lodgings. Here is to a long and fruitful fellowship of our peoples." Alcesidas lifted his glass, tilting it to each of the others in turn. The room filled with the tinkling laughter of the crystal goblets as their rims met.

  "Something is amiss, my lord Hordanu?" asked Magan, lifting a bushy eyebrow. "Indeed, your manner ill suits our spirit of conviviality. Perhaps the Regnal Five is not agreeable to your palate? If so, we will unstop a bottle of the Six, or the Seven—I shall call for a footman."

  "No, no, my lord. I do not mean to be rude, nor to cause offence. 'Tis a fine vintage . . ." Kal rose to his feet and paced the few steps across the room to where the small fire burned. He fidgeted with the crystal ridges of his glass, staring into the flame and ember. "But even in its joy, my heart remains heavy."

  "Heavy? How be this so?" The king leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed with concern. Meriones had followed Kal's movement with his gaze and now stared intently at him.

  Kal sighed, then said, "Because the time has come, Sire, for us to take our leave of Nua
Cearta and our hammerfolk friends."

  "Why so? I do not understand. We have failed you as hosts? Our ways are different. Irksome to you in many ways, one cannot doubt. It comes from the long centuries we have lived in isolation from the upperland world, from the rest of Arvon. But we have learned so much from you and from your folk. You have added an untold richness to our lives. But, come, my dear Kalaquinn, if you could but bear with us—"

  Meriones had placed a hand on Magan's arm. A ponderous silence ensued. At length, Kal lifted his eyes to the diminutive monarch and smiled wanly.

  "Nay, my good King Magan," Kal said, " 'Tis not as you suppose. Rest easy. Your hammerfolk are matchless in their hospitality, without peer as hosts. I dare any man, aboveground or below, to deny it is so. You have given us safe haven in the midst of a fearful storm. And we have learned so much from you as well, more knowledge than you have gained from us. In many ways our people's fate is bound together with yours, and in some ways it is not. You seek to bargain for peace with your Burren Mountain cousins, while I know I must embark on the path that stretches out before my feet and leads away from this sanctuary that you have provided us."

  "He speaks true, my lord Magan," Meriones said, regarding Kal with a look of sober concentration. "In this happy meeting of our two peoples, we have each of us grown forgetful of the duties to which he is bound by his office. He is Hordanu of all Ahn Norvys, and in a most perilous time, with burdens and responsibilities that call him forth from our humble caverns to embark on an enterprise of fretful extremity. In truth, my lord, we may not—nay, we must not tempt him from his destined course."

  "But surely, my lord Myghternos Hordanu, if it be that you must leave and go about what tasks you will, still your people may remain here with us. It may be so?" Magan's expression of concern resolved into one of grim determination. "Indeed, yes. Indeed, they shall enjoy sure safety in my domain from the broken peace into which you would venture. It shall be so!" Magan averred with such forceful gesture that the wine slopped over the side of his goblet, spilling onto the floor.