Ferral's Deathmarch Army

by Tod Langley

23

  The Atlunam Council

  Cairn followed behind Kristian and the others, already uncomfortable at being asked to accompany them into the Atlunam council chamber. He remained at the back of their small group, hoping not to draw attention, knowing it would not work. They were surrounded by the old, wise men of the Atlunam. The council members sat in high-backed chairs in a semi-circle in front of Kristian listening to him recount the past month. A head did not move during Kristian’s speech, but when the young king was finally finished, Gun-Surow stood and all attention turned toward the older king. “And now you have come here. Hoping that I might help you rescue your betrothed. You know little of us, King Kristian, if you expect us to become involved in the affairs of the northern people.”

  “This is not about helping me save Allisia. This is about helping yourselves,” Kristian pressed. “Surely, you can see that, sooner or later, Ferral will turn his powers against you?”

  “He already has,” Gun-Surow replied. “We have killed several of his scouting parties trying to enter the forest, but we have seen no army of dead creatures. So, Kristian, why should I believe you or help you, especially since you come into my lands with my enemies in your midst?”

  Balhir was with them and stepped forward. “I have come because I have seen these creatures myself. They are even now besieging my father’s stronghold.”

  “Good, they’ll do part of our job for us. Hopefully, there will be a lot less of you for us to kill later,” Prince Te’lin said from the back of the room. Balhir turned toward Gun-Surow’s son, ready to shoot back a reply, when Kristian stepped forward.

  “I’m not going to go through this again.” Kristian gave the Atlunam prince an exasperated look before addressing Te-lin’s father. “I came seeking help. Not just for men and supplies, but knowledge. I’ve heard there are none more learned in the world than the Atlunam.”

  “And who has made that claim, I wonder?” Gun-Surow looked at Cairn and then spoke to him in his own language. “It has been a long time since you were here, Cairn. How has your own quest gone? Did you free yourself of the voices that haunt you?”

  “I have dealt with the monsters … the voice still lingers,” Cairn answered. He looked over at Te’lin, Gun-Surow’s oldest son, and noticed he was sneering at him.

  Gun-Surow nodded, sadly. “There are still some monsters left, it would appear.” Cairn raised an eyebrow in question but said nothing. “We will talk more later. I have to decide what to do about this foolish, young king.”

  “Kristian is young, Your Majesty, but growing out of his folly. I, too, have seen these creatures. They are real and there are many of them.”

  “How many?” one of the council members pressed Cairn.

  “Countless.”

  “What does that mean?” Te’lin challenged.

  “It means that there are more than I could count,” Cairn replied evenly, staring back at the Atlunam prince.

  “How many?” Te’lin demanded. “Or don’t you know how to count? Perhaps you lost your brain, as well as your sanity when you came begging for our help, Tarish’sa Shaif.”

  Cairn smiled. This was the part that he had expected but had hoped to avoid. Cairn had never met the children of Gun-Surow, but Te-lin’s reputation preceded him.

  “At least twenty five thousand creatures are attacking the Cougar Holt. From what we encountered in Shuru Kaithep, I’d estimate there’s at least another one thousand of the dead already in the forest.”

  The gathered elders shifted, worried expressions covering their faces. Even the self-righteous Te-lin could not hold Cairn’s stare. He looked away.

  “Yes, well, we already knew that Ferral was up to something,” Gun-Surow replied as he sat back down. Cairn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Gun-Surow evaded his stare and offered, “My own sage saw it in his dreams.”

  Gun-Surow let out a deep sigh, and then he spoke to Kristian. “I do not doubt your words or what has happened to those that have met you. So, I would be an even bigger fool to help you.

  And why are you here?” Gun-Surow changed languages again to confront Balhir. Only Cairn and Hin’cabo could keep up with the rapid changes.

  “I asked my father to let me come and find the answer we need to defeat this army that threatens my people,” Balhir announced, stiffly.

  “Do you honestly think that we would give that answer to you,” exclaimed Te’lin.

  “I was hoping … I was hoping that we could put aside our own arguments in order to combat this threat together.”

  Even the king scoffed at Balhir’s words. “Many offenses can be forgotten, Holtsman, but the Atlunam will never forget the butchery you caused that sparked the War of the Woods.”

  “That was five hundred years ago,” Balhir replied.

  “It could have been a thousand years ago, we will never forget,” Te’lin cut in. “You should have let me kill him when I first saw him, Father.”

  Balhir started toward the prince again. “It isn’t too late to try, wood fairy. My brother was killed last week by an Atlunam raiding party. I’m more than ready to start up the old feud again if you are.”

  Te’lin faced Balhir’s threat, jabbing a finger toward the Holtsman, “Our kingdom was whole. We were united after a great tragedy, but your greed and desire for ‘self-rule’ stripped us of everything. You took everything: the seed, the food, the pottery, the manpower …”

  “We took what we needed to survive and nothing more. If we hadn’t acted, you would have destroyed us all with your foolish attempts to control magic. Didn’t you learn the first time,” Balhir shot back at them in their own language.

  “It was not the Atlunam that infiltrated the woods at night and slaughtered hundreds of innocent people,” Gun-Surow pointed out.

  “Ha! There are no innocents, especially in these cursed woods. Atlunam hunters killed my brother and hundreds of people under his protection. They were in the neutral area and protected under the truce. Your people slaughtered them.”

  “I do not know what you speak of. There have been no breaches of the pact since it was signed,” Gun-Surow claimed.

  “Their warriors have invaded the woods before, Father,” Te’lin countered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if his claims were made up just so they could have reason to do so again.”

  “We’re not the ones that meddled with magic that was better left forgotten. We’re not the ones that tried to bring back the old ways, the same old ways that destroyed our homes before. We had a duty to stop the magi, since your ‘fair-haired king’ would not,” Balhir snapped.

  “They were doing controlled experiments, trying to learn from the mistakes of the past so that we could have a future. We needed the magic to help us after you abandoned us,” Gun-Surow said in a defensive tone.

  “Our heritage and bloodline is thousands of years old. We flourished as an empire because of our ability to rule,” one Atlunam advisor challenged.

  Balhir laughed. “From what I have seen,” he paused to look around the room, “your bloodline is greatly diminished.”

  “Stop!” Gun-Surow commanded. “I am not finished.” His look encompassed everyone, threatening them and making sure they knew the discussion was over. “I will not allow these outsiders … these Northerners to know of our history,” Gun-Surow said so that Kristian could not understand. He looked at Cairn with a harsh expression making sure the swordsman understood how badly things would go for him if he told Kristian what he knew of their past.

  “I will hold you to the Kutodahk, Balhir, son of Vortah. There will be another time to talk about this matter.” Balhir chaffed under the king’s scrutiny but nodded in silent acceptance. Gun-Surow then turned to Te’lin and forced his son to step back behind the council members.

  Speaking to Kristian and his comrades, Gun-Surow announced. “I will not aid you with men or supplies. I will have enough problems of my own soon enough, thanks to you and your companions. This army and th
e sorcerer controlling them will surely turn their focus on us once they discover you are here. So, to get you out of my lands as quickly as possible I will assist you with knowledge that may help. I do not know the way to destroy these creatures. My lore masters have searched every tome and parchment we have in our archives and there is no mention of this type of devilry. However, there were two interesting facts that they did find out.”

  A scribe stepped forward and handed Kristian a rolled parchment. Kristian handed it to Mikhal without looking at it, his eyes fixed upon Gun-Surow. Mikhal scanned it briefly. “This is a layout of the Belarnian capital.” Mikhal shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t understand. How will this help us?”

  “Look closely at the small bay to the west of the fortress,” the scribe urged Mikhal.

  Kristian and Mikhal did and noticed a small, man-made bay on the western side of the walled city. They saw a rock seawall with only a small entrance created to protect the harbor. On each side of the bay, the map showed a single watch tower. The Belarnians were masters of erecting defensive structures. No doubt they feared a naval attack against their vulnerable fishing fleet and had developed these towers to protect against Erandian attacks. Looking even closer, Kristian noticed dashed lines that started at the tower on the south side of the bay and ended inside the walls of the city.

  “I still don’t understand. What is this line running from the tower at the bay into the city? A tunnel?”

  “It is. A tunnel that Belarnian guards used to get back and forth during a siege. The exit is marked under a temple that we know is no longer there. Just ruins now. It was built to worship Belatarn but destroyed after the overthrow of the cult.”

  “How do we even know it is still there,” Balhir challenged. “It could have been destroyed or collapsed ages ago.”

  “That is certainly possible. In fact, that is most likely what has happened, but it is better than trying to tear down the gates. Would you not agree, King Kristian?” Gun-Surow asked.

  “We have already tried that,” Mikhal commented, remembering the moment he stood alone underneath Ferral’s position setting the main gate ablaze. “It didn’t work very well.” Kristian lowered his head slightly.

  “This path is subtle, possibly something Ferral has overlooked. He may not even know it exists. A small group like the one you have may be able to use it to get into the sorcerer’s lair,” Gun-Surow suggested.

  Kristian thought about it a moment longer before rolling the parchment back up. “I appreciate the information, but the help you have given me is cryptic at best. I had heard that you are the wisest people in the world. I had heard that you know more than any other people. Surely you know of some way to defeat this demon or Ferral’s army of dead creatures,” Kristian implored.

  Gun-Surow nodded with a smile. “I will have my chief historian meet you in the royal library. Much can be learned from history. Know your enemy and you may unravel the secret to destroying him. Perhaps you will find the answer in one of our ancient texts. Now, I will give you and your,” the Atlunam king hesitated as he looked at Balhir with disgust, “party fresh provisions. I also understand that there is a would-be healer with you. My best healers are instructing him even now on how to better treat the wounded. I expect that you will be ready to leave in one day. You will be escorted north along the most expeditious route by my personal guards. We will not meet again, Kristian, so farewell.”

  Cairn looked to see Kristian’s reaction. Kristian’s face was red and his lips tightened into an angry smile. “I came here asking for help with nothing to offer in return so I expected little. And little is what I got,” Kristian said. “Little courtesy, little hospitality, and very little help. Remember that it was I who came and warned you of the danger you are in. You may think that it will happen because I brought it upon you, but it would have happened anyway, sooner or later. Ignore Ferral and he will surely destroy your land and your people while you sit behind your wooden wall in your beautiful valley.”

  The Atlunam King looked down at the still hands in his lap and said in a quiet voice, “Perhaps. There is more to this than can be comprehended by you and the rest of the people of this world, Kristian. I wish you success in your quest.”

  Cairn hoped the king would say more to help them, but it was plain that Gun-Surow was finished with them. Frustrated, Kristian turned and left the room. Cairn hesitated a moment longer to look at Gun-Surow and his son; he bowed, showing respect to the king that had given him a second chance. Then Cairn followed his new friends out of the chamber.

  That night, as the rest of the company restocked their supplies and washed their clothes, Cairn walked along one of the balconied hallways of the palace. As he turned a corner, the swordsman saw the Atlunam princess looking out over the canopy of the trees below her into the dark. She sensed his presence and turned to look at him.

  The Atlunam princess had long golden hair that fell in waves over her shoulders and across her back. Her eyes were the color of ice floating in the sea, deep blue, yet touched with a piercing grey. Those eyes, sharp and intelligent, focused on him, studying him with an interest that made him uncomfortable. To Cairn, she looked small, thin, frail—a fragile treasure that should not be out of its casing. Yet, the way the princess moved indicated poise and grace. Her dress was a simple green garment that hugged her body; it revealed nothing but hinted at her perfect feminine form beneath.

  Cairn stared a long time. He forced himself to look down, nodding curtly, acknowledging her. Cairn murmured, “Your Highness.”

  She stared back a moment without replying. Then she gave him a warm smile. “You are Cairn, are you not?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Please, my name is Vi-tonia. My brothers call me Vi.” Cairn pried his eyes away and started looking for the nearest door. She started talking again, and he looked back at her despite his shyness.

  “I have heard many people around the palace speaking of you. How is it that a northerner holds such esteem among the Atlunam?” Vi-tonia asked. Her emphasis on the last word, her apparent disgust with her own people, caught Cairn by surprise.

  “I don’t know, Your Highness. I spent some time among your people, with the lore masters of the sword, but I have done nothing that would be worthy of comment,” Cairn replied.

  “Being a northerner and being accepted by the great sword masters of the Tarish’sa Shaif, is definitely worthy of comment. Oh, I have heard many tales about you, Cairn. The Atlunam call you ‘Malit a’Shaif’, the Troubled Sword.”

  “I wasn’t exactly welcomed by your people, My Lady,” Cairn said.

  Vi-tonia moved a little closer to him, the moon highlighting her face. Cairn compared Vi-tonia’s beauty to that of Julia’s, knowing there were few in the world that could be measured against such a high standard. The Atlunam princess reached out her hand to touch the scarred skin of Cairn’s cheek.

  “One does not get something like this without a story to go along with it,” Vi-tonia said, her voice full of curiosity.

  Cairn could not help but flinch at her touch. His movement startled Vi-tonia, and she withdrew her hand unsure of what she had done. A distant voice echoed in his head.

  “Do you love me, Cairn?” Julia asked.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not mean to scare you. I really have done nothing worth talking about. Please excuse me, I must be going,” Cairn said, trying to get out of the awkward situation.

  “I am the one that should apologize. I meant no offense. I am curious about you and only meant to find out more, perhaps we can get to know each other better,” Vi-tonia offered. “I have always been fascinated by the kingdoms to the north.”

  Cairn gave her a half-smile despite himself. “Perhaps another time. Good night.”

  As Cairn walked by her, Vi-tonia whispered, “Until we see each other again, then.”

  As Vi-tonia watched the strange man disappear a voice emerged from the shadows behind her, “
Vi, Kla to daishu Gun-Surow. Ni atlube.”

  Without turning to challenge her brother directly, Vi-tonia said, “I was only talking to him, Te. Surely, there is no harm in talking with a man, even to someone who is ‘Ni atlube’.”

  Te grabbed Vi-tonia’s arm, squeezing hard, and spun her around.

  “Yes, Sister, there is harm … and dishonor. Remember your place, princess. The northerner should never have been brought into the forest, let alone be taught how to use the sword. Our father was wrong to allow it.” Te-lin’s intensity always frightened Vi-tonia. He would hurt her if he felt justified. Te-lin had hurt her before, though no one knew it. Vi-tonia lowered her head in submission.

  “Ni atlube, yai pamiu, kaa. No outsiders, I understand and obey.” Something about the meekness in Vi-tonia’s voice softened Te-lin’s mood. He raised her chin with his fingertips. Forced to look her brother in the eye, Vi-tonia saw the other, viler side of Te-lin. The side she had discovered only a few years ago and hated more than anything. Vi-tonia had avoided him ever since.

  Te-lin brushed away the strands of golden hair that covered part of her face.

  “That is well, Vi. One day you will make a beautiful bride for someone. Someone that deserves your beauty. Certainly not an outsider or one that pretends to be an Atlunam sword master. Perhaps you are too beautiful to share with anyone … else.” With that, Te-lin left.

  Once Te’lin disappeared, Vi-tonia let out her breath and tried to calm herself. Te-lin’s last comment was more threatening and terrifying than anything he had said to her in a long time. A single tear fell from her eye as she tried to regain her composure.

  “Stop crying, you idiot,” Vi-tonia ordered herself. “You are a Princess of the Atlunam. You are stronger than this.” She took a deep breath, smoothed out her dress and turned to look out beyond the trees again. Out there beyond the trees, beyond the valley, even beyond the Great Forest, there was a world of possibilities that Vi-tonia often dreamed of. Dreams she kept secret, longing for escape with the passing of each sun and moon. It only took a moment before Vi-tonia lost her composure again, smacking her fist against the railing, but she did not let another tear fall.