by Alex Janaway
Nadena found a small, cold knot of fear form in her stomach. A whisper of an old terror that was legend even before the Nidhal were expelled.
‘Surely nothing will come from the east. It has been too long. Our sentinels have seen naught but ghosts.’
‘It’s true our sentinels have stood strong and vigilant all these years. Perhaps the ghosts have been waiting for that to end?’ Lenard laughed a little too lightly and tapped her shoulder with the rolled parchment. ‘Your face, Nadena. I did not mean to worry you. All will be well. Those old ghouls have long passed from most of our people’s memories. I doubt we are but a memory to what is out there too.’
Nadena bit her lip. Of course. She was being foolish.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Lenard. It is time.’
Lenard bowed his head to her.
‘Travel safe and return home quickly. For your daughter and for the Heartlands. We will need our newest Member in the days to come.’
She nodded and took her leave. She tried not to think about the future beyond finding the Tissan remnant. She had a tradition to uphold, where the defence of the Heartlands was all that mattered. At any cost.
Part One
CHAPTER 1 – OWEN
Owen studied the map laid out before him and scratched his chin. Showing the eastern borders of the Highlands and onwards to Celtebaria, the map was covered in markings highlighting locations they had deemed important: enemy settlements, both wood elf and gnome, sites that would make good ambush points, places where skirmishes had already taken place, sightings of troop movements, and finally a number of peaks and hilltops where watchers maintained a vigil, where beacons of wood and oil had been erected. With the resources available he had done the best he could. With only a handful of eagles, they could not hope to spot every armed body heading towards them. It needed the Erebeshi scouts on the ground, it needed his core of volunteers who maintained their lonely vigils by the beacons. His eagles had to act as the link between them all, passing messages and intelligence as necessary. And it wasn’t enough. Eagle’s Rest had its own demands; it needed enough people to maintain it, to support it, to care for the young ones within. He had kicked the hornet’s nest and now wood elves buzzed around looking for retribution, scouring the lands looking for who had attacked them. He made sure they were led a merry dance, keeping their attentions fixed on anywhere but the Highlands. But it was only a matter of time before someone on the other side woke up to their ploy and then the game would change, and there might be an enemy incursion into the mountains. In itself, that did not worry him. It was home territory. He would be prepared. But if the elves of the Heartlands were involved, then things would get tricky. And what of the ogres of Drifa? Now there was a kettle of angry, big-bellied fish with nasty teeth. Would they come through for him? Would that ogre queen and her pet Tissan Reader convince her fellow monarchs to start raiding, to actually fight? Maybe he should just be grateful he got out of there in one piece. He couldn’t think of a time he felt more in fear for his life, and that included his first eagle flight.
Owen sighed, stood up and stretched. He wanted it to happen. He wanted to engage the elves and beat them. It would be the military victory he had been seeking. But, right now, he still had not figured out how to achieve it. Perhaps he was worrying too much. One battle at a time. He stepped out from under the leather tarp that acted as his bivouac and command tent and inspected the camp. A hilltop scattered with clumps of trees and patches of open ground big enough to accommodate an eagle. Around him were caches of food and other sundries. A place where his fighting patrols could return to rest, for those lightly injured to recoup and strike out again, as far from Eagle’s Rest as they could manage without losing contact completely. As well as supplies, he could see a few tents, hidden under the shadows of broad branches. The place seemed deserted, yet he could hear someone talking quietly, and from somewhere else there was a snort, a camel, a sound he was now familiar with. He caught the scent of cooked food, something made the night before, on fires built to be hidden from view, the glow obscured by wood and stone. This was their forward operating base, right on the fringes of Highland territory. High ground to their backs, lines of retreat already marked. Ahead of them the land dropped steadily but still gave them plenty of places to hide.
There were perhaps half a dozen others sharing the camp with him right now. Everyone else was engaged in their guerrilla war. Striking hard and fast and withdrawing before any pursuit could be mustered. The winter months had given them a respite, the wood elf response had been chaotic and disorganised. But with the snows cleared, the campaigning season had begun in earnest, larger parties were ranging out and Owen wanted to fight them at every turn. It was a vital part of his strategy to make them think the foe they faced was far larger than the mere hundred he could muster.
‘Hey, Karl, you about?’ he called, before bending down and retrieving his gear: saddlebags, crossbow and spear.
‘Yeah, I’m here,’ replied Karl, emerging from the trees opposite. He was a man in his early twenties, blond and blue-eyed with crooked front teeth. A man of Scotia, of Gerat’s band, one of many who had volunteered to fight. Call it guilt, call it duty, Owen wasn’t bothered. They all pulled their weight, they were one community now.
‘I’m heading south to try and meet up with Major Roche. I want to see what he’s found.’
‘Alright. When can we expect you back?’
‘A few days. One of the brothers should be back tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. Just let them know where I’ve gone.’
‘Will do.’
Owen waved his thanks and headed towards the peak of the hill. He shaded his eyes and looked up into a crisp blue sky.
‘Arno? Get your arse down here, bird,’ he pulsed.
It took a few moments before he saw the eagle, swooping in low from the west. It passed over, and Owen’s hair ruffled in the downdraft.
Owen laughed. ‘Show off!’
Arno banked sharply and landed gently on the bare earth before Owen. The eagle tucked its wings in and cocked its head, regarding the Rider with a quizzical look.
‘Yes, you. Getting cocky in your old age.’ Owen dropped his gear next to where the saddle was already laid out, walked toward Arno and placed a hand on his neck. ‘You magnificent little shit, you.’ Owen rubbed the eagle’s neck then slapped it affectionately. ‘I hope you caught something good to eat,’ he said returning to the saddle, hoisting it up on to his arms. ‘We’re heading south today, and we won’t have time to forage.’
Arno elected to retain his normal stoic repose and calmly allowed Owen to fuss about, preparing for flight. Five minutes later and they were airborne. Owen made Arno circle their hilltop a few times, radiating out further each circuit. He did it every launch he made, wanting to make sure their camp was concealed from any potential prying eyes, especially gryphons. Those creatures were too smart and too dangerous, and they flew low. Just one could wreak havoc in the camp and be away to alert others before Owen’s people could respond. Content that, from the air at least, nothing stood out, he set a course south. It would be a long day of flying.
It was the final hour of sunlight. Owen was of a mind to give up and make camp for the night, intending to start the search again the next morning. He had been conducting diagonal sweeps of a river course, flying high and controlled, following straight lines rather than the more freeform soaring one might see from an eagle. He wasn’t worried, it was something that would only strike an observer as odd if they were making the time to notice. And now it was so close to night no one would care.
Then, in the flaring light of the last rays, from the corner of his left eye, something flashed. He turned his head, leaning back in the saddle. Again! Another burst of light, coming from the spread of trees down by the water. He had Arno make a tight turn and head towards the source. In response to his approach, the flash was repeated, three times in a row, allowing Owen to home in. He looked for somewhere to land and chose a gap betw
een two copses, perhaps two hundred yards north.
As Arno put down, Owen withdrew his crossbow and scanned the ground around him. It was truly dusk down here and shadows ruled. Arno shared his concern, shifting uneasily, moving his head left and right. ‘Steady boy, we might have to leave in a hurry.’ A minute or so later he felt Arno tense. Something was out there. He raised his bow as a dark shape detached itself from the trees and walked towards him, arms raised high.
‘It’s me,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Is all well in the land of camels?’ asked Owen. It was a deliberate question.
‘Like I care?’ was the response.
Owen relaxed and raised his weapon.
‘How are you, Major?’
Killen Roche stepped in close and lowered his hand to grip Owen’s.
‘The same as always. But this time it’s a little unusual.’
Owen nodded.
‘Your message was sparse on detail.’
Killen scratched his nose. ‘We weren’t sure what was happening. But I took an educated guess.’
‘And that was?’
The Major smiled, his teeth flashing white in the near dark.
‘We just found some new survivors.’
‘Really?’ It had been some time since they had found survivors. As far as Owen knew, anyone left in the Highlands must be at Eagle’s Rest. ‘This far south? Celtebarian?’
Killen shook his head.
‘Erebeshi.’
That was unexpected.
‘They’re heading north?’
‘No, and that’s one of the odd things. They were heading south.’
Alright, that was a little odd. ‘OK. So what did you want me here for?’
‘I guessed you might be interested to know they are being hunted by dwarf cavalry.’
‘Dwarves? They’re a long way from home. It’s very far for them to be hunting Erebeshi.’
Killen placed his hands on the hilt of his blade.
‘What say we get you under cover and back to our camp and I’ll brief you over something hot. We are set back a little downriver from here, the wood’s quite thick though. What’s the big fella going to do?’ He nodded at Arno.
Owen looked up into the dusk.
‘I think he’ll be alright.’ He smiled. ‘Go hunt Arno.’
Arno looked at him but made no attempt to leave. ‘Or not. I’ll be back soon.’ Owen turned back to Killen. ‘Lead on, Major.’
As he followed the Major towards the river, two more figures emerged from the treeline and fell in behind them at a respectful distance. It was good to know the scouts were taking no chances.
‘How’s your camel doing these days, Major?’
To his credit, Killen didn’t skip a beat. ‘Still a bastard,’ he muttered.
Owen smiled. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be some love underneath all that hatred. He just had to find it.
After a few minutes, they arrived at the Erebeshi camp. He smelt it before he saw it, the now familiar odour he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. Owen was directed to a firepit in the centre, with a small teapot suspended over a stack of embers. As he hunkered down he caught another scent. Owen felt his stomach grumble. ‘Is that mint tea?’
‘You want some, General?’ asked young Hassan, from across the fire.
‘Yes, please.’
‘You too, Major?’
‘Uh huh.’
Owen relaxed, crossing his legs and holding his hands out towards the warmth of the fire. Killen sat next to him and they waited in companionable silence as Hassan filled two small cups and handed them over. Owen sipped slowly, enjoying the sweet tang, beside him Killen followed suit. It was a ritual that the scouts maintained, one that came from their homeland and something Owen found he appreciated. It slowed everything down, gave him time to breathe for a moment before getting into the business at hand. A simple pleasure.
He took another small sip and nodded his thanks to Hassan, who smiled and dipped his head.
Owen turned to Killen.
‘Tell me more.’
Killen lowered his cup.
‘We ran across the trail a few days ago. Sadad found it, and for a while we weren’t sure who we were following. The spoor, the prints, were unusual. We estimated about fifteen, twenty riders. We hung back and looked for an opportunity to get close. When we realised they were dwarves, I wanted to see why they were so deep into our territory. I sent Jussi back to let you know and we decided to get ahead of them just to work out what was what. I sent flankers forward while the rest of us maintained a respectful distance behind. We spotted signs of a camp yesterday morning, the dwarves found it a couple of hours later.’
‘And the survivors?’
‘Not far ahead of them. They aren’t making any attempt at hiding their tracks.’
‘You haven’t made contact yet?’
‘No. We have been keeping eyes on the dwarves and planned on hitting them before they catch up to the survivors. We were just waiting for you, I thought you’d like to be here on our first engagement with the Dwarf Nations.’
‘A risky call.’
‘We wouldn’t have let dwarves near the Erebeshi, if it came to that,’ said Killen, firmly.
‘Sorry, I know.’ Killen inclined his head, apology accepted. Owen paused for a moment. ‘How do you know they are Erebeshi?
‘Ah, a little thing. They’d had a fire on at their camp, and we found tea leaves. They were mint.’
Much later, in the false dawn of the small hours, when a pale, wan light was only a promise of the sun, Owen waited behind a tree, his back resting against it and his crossbow cradled in his lap. He knew, rather than saw, that over a dozen scouts were spread in a loose line to either side of him; Killen was immediately to his left and Hassan on his right. They had gotten into position a half hour previously, having hiked three miles on foot. Fifty yards on the other side of the tree was the dwarf camp. Like the Erebeshi, they had chosen a spot near the river, with only one sentry as lookout. Apart from the occasional snort of a pony, and the rumbling and snoring of dwarves, Owen heard nothing unusual. A soft rustling noise drew his attention towards Killen, someone else had joined him and was leaning close. Presumably it was Sadad. Everything was in place. Sadad peeled off and Killen stood up, sword in hand. That was the signal, Owen got to his feet and then Hassan, each of the scouts following in turn.
Killen stepped around the tree and steadily moved off, carefully placing each footstep. Owen, conscious that he was the least suited to stealth, took his time, wincing at every sound his bumbling through the undergrowth caused. They covered the ground slowly and steadily, maintaining the line, and ahead he could hear the hiss and gurgle of the river. Suddenly the camp emerged. A fire still glowed surrounded by large misshapen humps. Where was the sentry? Then he remembered Sadad. Of course.
To either side, the party emerged and began to take post over the sleeping dwarves. Owen stood a short distance from one blanketed figure and trained his crossbow on him. Everyone else was carrying a bladed weapon of some description and soon they were all poised over a dwarf. He watched Killen raise his sword and stab down. Amid a cacophony of screams and howls of pain, the Erebeshi committed slaughter. Owen shot into the centre of the sleeping form before him and watched it jerk and writhe. He dropped his crossbow, drew his knife, and launched himself on to the struggling dwarf, stabbing several times until the grunting and bucking subsided.
Owen pushed off the still shrouded corpse. Only humans were standing in the blue-shadowed light, moving around the campsite. He spied the ponies, tied to a rope strung between two trees. They appeared surprisingly calm. Owen put it down to the speed of the attack.
He bent over and wiped his knife clean on the blanket and walked towards the ponies.
‘General?’
He stopped as a female scout jogged over.
‘The Major says the attack worked, there are no survivors.’
‘Are you sure none of them escaped?
’
The scout shook her head.
‘Two managed to run, but our flankers stopped them.’
‘Alright.’ He nodded to the scout and she sketched a salute. He continued and stopped to inspect the beasts. They appeared in good health and were clearly robust. They would have to be to carry a dwarf warrior on their backs. Their gear was all neatly stacked nearby.
‘Hey, Sadad?’ he shouted, as he saw the old scout pass by.
‘General?’
Damn, they were all calling him that now. ‘How many survivors do you think there are?’
Sadad scratched at his beard and shrugged.
‘Ten, maybe a few more.’
‘Hmm. I imagine, they’d like a break from walking. Do you reckon we could use these?’
‘Ponies? I’ve never ridden one, but can they be more stubborn than camels?’
‘Not possible,’ said Killen, walking over to join them. ‘Are you thinking of sequestering these animals for the war effort?’
‘Why not?’
Killen nodded. ‘I guess. Sadad, get everyone organised. Let’s saddle these beasts and take anything useful. Food, weapons, you know the drill.’
‘Yes, Major.’
‘Hassan?’ Killen shouted, looking through the camp.
‘Yes, Major,’ came the reply.
‘Get over here, lad.’ Killen looked at Owen and winked. ‘Let’s see how pliable a dwarf-bred pony is.’
It was not until late afternoon that the party stopped on the far side of a small rise. They had continued to follow the river until a thin pillar of smoke was spotted in the distance, causing Owen to land Arno and abandon him to go on foot for the second time in less than a day. Leaving the eagle and most of the scouts at a respectable distance, he asked Killen and Hassan to join him as they walked up the slope. Hassan rubbed his backside and shot his commander an injured look as he trailed behind.
Owen used his spear to climb the slope. He’d chosen to leave his crossbow by Arno. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but he’d learned the hard way that trust was not so easy to come by these days.
