by Alex Janaway
‘Are you alright?’ said Ellen, kneeling down next to him. ‘I’m sorry!’
Gantak said it again. ‘Arok.’
A word she was unfamiliar with. ‘I don’t–’
‘Power,’ he said in Imperial. ‘Power,’ he repeated, a little louder, his voice stronger. ‘Strength!’
She took his arm and gently pulled him back up on to his haunches.
‘That was good then?’
Gantak spat into the flames, the gobbet sizzling. He fixed her with a hard look. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered.
CHAPTER 47 – NUTAAQ
Nutaaq pulled at the reins encircling Raak and bid the creature hold still. It fought him for a moment before remembering its place. He reached down and collected a skin of water. He took two deep draughts and wiped his mouth. How was it that the water tasted different here? Not bad, just different. He stared eastwards, looking out across the gently rolling hills that gave way to a vast sea of green. It spread out before him towards the horizon, north, south and east. On and on. There were places like this in his homeland back across the sea, but the sheer scale of this place was surprising. He had been told the plains continued for miles, and it would take months before they reached the mountains, home of the dwarves and further still south to the elven Heartlands, the wood elves, the gnomes. Enemies all. Yet it would seem that of them all, the elves had to be, must be, the ancient foe, the monsters of legend, who had driven the Nidhal from their rightful hunting grounds. These grounds. The plains were theirs, they were the first to ride across the soil, to trample the grasses. It was true, the Tissans had taken their place, but they were not to know, and they had been scoured clean too. And the Emperor himself had declared that once they were done, once the Nidhal had come home from the west, all of the plains would be theirs from the coast in the north to the seas in the south.
Nutaaq smiled. It was a good thing to imagine. He took another drink and put the skin away. Either side of him, his riders were spread out in a loose line, perhaps a half mile in length. All the better to scout and inspect the land.
Arluuq’s mount padded towards him from the south. Nutaaq watched him cover the ground until they were level.
‘Brother,’ he said, with a slight nod.
Arluuq carried his spear in one hand and rested it on his shoulder. ‘Brother.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Of this place?’ He shrugged. ‘It is flat.’
That was Arluuq, never one to show much joy. ‘This is our home now.’
‘I know. But it is still flat. I always preferred mountains.’
‘Then when the great journey of our kin is done, you may make the mountains to the far east your hunting ground. Let the dwarves try and stop you, if they dare.’
Arluuq considered this and finally nodded. ‘Yes. I like that. It would be good to have an enemy so close too. It will make hunting so much easier.’
Nutaaq had to agree with that. ‘Better them than our people fighting each other. We will be stronger in our unity.’ Though Nutaaq knew that distrust between tribes would take a long time to change.
‘Then we must not try too hard to destroy them at our first attempt,’ said Arluuq, as if he had read his mind.
‘The Emperor has explained the lie of the land, using those maps he brought with him. I do not think their full strength would be brought against us. Their cities and fastnesses are far away.’
‘Something to aim for then. A time we can burn their homes and see them driven before us, to avenge ourselves. That is a good dream.’
‘Less a dream than ever before, my brother. We are here.’ Nutaaq spread his arm wide. ‘We are home. And I will die rather than give it up again.’
Arluuq let the spear slip through his grip and then he brought the butt to the ground with a hard thump.
‘As will I, brother. No bastard elf or dwarf will stand in our way!’
Nutaaq grinned. Perhaps his brother didn’t show joy, but his feelings ran deep. He noticed that Arluuq was looking south and frowning.
He turned to see spears rising, one after another, held horizontally. A simple message, something had been spotted.
‘Elves?’ asked Arluuq.
‘Perhaps. Who knows what’s out here?’
‘Let’s see.’ Arluuq kicked his mount and it jumped away, Nutaaq close behind. In a manoeuvre practiced a thousand times, each warrior who spotted the signal would home in on the next until only the warrior who had raised their spear first still held it in place. Nutaaq knew that another forty riders would be behind him, driving their vargr south as quickly as possible. They joined more riders as they reached almost the end of the line, where all were gathering in a clump around the remaining spear, facing west.
‘What do you see?’ he asked of the warrior.
‘A black line, shapes just on the horizon’s edge,’ the warrior replied.
‘Not a ghost vision?’ asked Arluuq. A fair question, many a rider of the People had sworn they had caught sight of things in open country. Especially on the hot days.
‘No,’ said the warrior, simply.
‘Look, it comes again!’ said another.
An excited murmur swept among his riders. Were they to see battle this day? Nutaaq squinted his eyes and scanned the far distance. Yes! There they are. Little more than dark specks, but definitely something.
‘Brother, shall we go greet them?’ asked Arluuq.
‘Yes. But wait!’ he barked to stop his first warriors before they kicked off on a charge. ‘We do not know what they are. Until we are sure, we will go slow. Let them see us as we see them. Let us learn who we face.’
Many disappointed faces looked back at him, yet none would dare question his wisdom.
‘Let us spread out in a line. Closer together than before, so we can charge if needed. But hold your position. I will go forwards, alone. Let us see how they react.’
‘Brother I–’
Arluuq started to protest but Nutaaq raised a warding hand.
‘I know, brother. But trust me in this. If they see many, they may run. But if they see one, then perhaps interest will overcome caution.’
‘But why give them a chance to attack?’
‘Because we are not Tissan. If they are enemies, then we are not who they come to fight. That plays to our advantage.’
Arluuq growled his dislike for the plan, as did many of their companions. But it was decided.
‘Be ready to ride hard,’ Nutaaq ordered, then turned Raak to face the distant specks. He kicked Raak’s flanks and moved off slowly. Behind him the order was given, and he heard the vargr move into position. Good. Those approaching would see this line and see him. He took his spear and held it vertically, then thought better of it, and slung it over his shoulder. There was no need to provoke any reaction. As he gained ground away from his warriors and closed with those in front, he did wonder at his own actions. They were unusual and not in keeping with years of practice and tradition. To ride towards an enemy with peaceful intentions was not the People’s way. You rode with strength and purpose, ready to intimidate and overwhelm. Yet this was a new land, and they had never fought anyone except themselves. Who knew how these other races reacted? Better to try new ways in order to succeed.
He was drawing closer now. They had not bolted at least, nor had they charged him down. He was almost in bowshot
The riders looked almost familiar to him. Their horses looked big and lithe, he could see spears and banners, feathers and fetishes hanging from them. He could hear the jangle of bells, and the riders wore hide and leather. They looked like they were outfitted for travelling, and there were more riders behind and many spare horses carrying packs on their backs. Others pulled sledges. He saw a small face peer at him from one.
They were human.
He stopped and raised a hand.
They in turn halted. There was some quiet discussion, a decision made. Three riders at the centre rode forward and stopped a few paces in front of him. They s
tudied him with wary interest. And he in turn studied them. Their features were different, their faces rounder, darker skinned than those he had sailed with, whose flesh was almost white. Two were male, one with a dark black beard. The other was older, with deep lines about his eyes and forehead. His beard was white, and his moustache was long and drooped downwards. He studied Nutaaq with a fierce intelligence. The third rider was a woman. Dressed no different to the men and solidly built, her hair was tied into a tail that ran all the way to her waist. As Nutaaq looked at her he realised that they were not as unfamiliar as he had thought. There was one of their kind he had seen before. He struggled to remember the word then it came to him. He recited it a few times in his head, wanting to get it right.
‘Plainsfolk?’
The three riders shared a look of surprise. Then the older rider nodded.
Nutaaq smiled. This was a surprise for him as well. What now?
He pointed west.
‘Tissan.’
Again, a look, this one unsure.
‘Tissan,’ he tried again. ‘Emperor. Warriors. Many.’
‘There are more?’ asked the white beard. ‘More of us?’
‘Yes.’ Nutaaq thought of something else. ‘A city. Food and water. Shelter. Three days ride.’
The three spoke among themselves, using a tongue he did not understand. Nutaaq could see their excitement if not follow their quickly uttered words.
Nutaaq was pleased. He was making progress. He tapped his chest. ‘We are Nidhal. Your word is People. We are friends to Tissan. Come.’
The Plainsfolk spoke again. An agreement was reached. The white beard raised a hand to his forehead and dipped his head.
‘We will come with you. My name is Tomor. This is my son Bayar. And my daughter Sarnai.’
Nutaaq dipped his head in return. ‘I am Nutaaq. Come.’
He started to pull on Raak’s reins.
‘Nutaaq?’
He stopped. The white beard, Tomor, was frowning. He pointed south and west.
‘Elves. Do you know of them?’
Nutaaq growled, deep in his throat, it was instinctive, it was anger. ‘Yes.’
‘They are chasing us.’
Elves. Good. Then this journey was not in vain.
‘Come,’ he bid once more. ‘Come.’
CHAPTER 48 – MICHAEL
Michael pushed through the madness that was the market square. Word had reached him of the return of the Nidhal scouting party as he strolled the streets of the Big Island enjoying, for once, a settlement that was bustling with life. He swore he could almost see the message spreading, it was like a breath of wind and as it touched each person they jumped and then passed it on. When it reached him, it sounded like the enemy was already at the gates.
He joined many others hastening towards the barracks, both militia and those where were simply wanting to find out more. There was a sense of excitement among those he moved with. The talk was fearful, yet many were pleased that something was finally happening.
At the bridge the gates were only partially open, allowing only those with a fighting role to pass through. He entered without hindrance.
‘Father!’
He looked up to find Fenner jogging towards him.
‘Sergeant.’ He nodded at the marine and gestured at the militia arming themselves, and several horses being saddled. ‘What is the truth of all this? Are they on their way?’
‘Looks like it, but “stand to” getting called is maybe a little premature. It’s just got everyone a mite excitable.’
Together they headed towards the outside gate, passing through it and onwards towards the pavilion. Near the entrance, several vargr padded restlessly, agitated by the activity around them, as one Nidhal tried to keep them under control.
‘Nutaaq just got back,’ explained Fenner. ‘At least some of his bunch. The rest are playing escort.’
‘Escort?’ Michael spotted the horse opposite the vargr. It didn’t look like one of theirs, it was too big and adorned with unusual items.
‘Seems like the Nidhal ran into a bunch of Plainsfolk coming the other way.’
‘Plainsfolk?’
‘I know, right?’ Fenner clapped him on the back. ‘Life keeps throwing surprises at us.’
‘That it does,’ agreed Michael, as they passed the Emperor’s Nidhal guard and entered the pavilion.
‘Shame though, sounds like the elves are right behind them.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. Shit.’
Together they joined others at the Emperor’s table. The chamber was already full of anyone with a military rank, several of the councillors, many of the Nidhal and the Emperor himself with his usual entourage of Father Llews, the Empress and Immayuk. Seated close to him was a new face. A Plainsman with a weathered face, white-haired and dressed in furs. This one looked like he had never left his homeland.
The Emperor was hunched over a map and was speaking to Owen. After a few moments, the General nodded his head and stood back. The Emperor looked up at everyone, his face grave.
‘The time has come. Our enemy draws near. Out on the edges of the great plains, news of their approach is brought to us by those we had thought long gone. A tribe of the Plainsfolk who survived the great cleansing of our people, led by the noble Tomor here. Truly, Tissan refuses to be wiped from the world.’
A gentle murmur of agreement and satisfaction swept the chamber.
‘But the tribe are pursued. A great host is coming from the south. The elves have mobilised. They are coming to finish what they started.’
‘Are the dwarves with them?’ asked one of the councillors.
The Emperor looked at the plainsman. He shook his head.
‘It would seem not. And that is to our advantage,’ the Emperor advised. ‘Even if intelligence has been shared, they are lacking vital knowledge. They do not know about us!’ He looked at Owen. ‘General, if you will?’
Owen stood a little straighter. ‘Everyone. The elves, like the dwarves before them, believe they face a small group of survivors. Perhaps they may know of my Highlanders and Scotians and our few eagles. But they do not know that those survivors are organised, trained and ready. They do not know that a thousand Nidhal and Imperial troops bolster their numbers. We must use that to our advantage. I intend for us to draw them into a surprise attack, to destroy them utterly.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Fenner muttered, under his breath.
‘What was that?’ asked Owen, looking into the crowd. His gaze fell on Michael and Fenner.
‘Um, I was just wondering if we knew the size of this host?’ Michael asked quickly, shooting a sharp look at Fenner.
‘It is a good question. We need better intelligence to plan any strategy,’ added Devlin.
Owen turned to look at him. ‘I agree. The Plainsfolk saw only the outliers about ten nights ago and have been running ever since.’
‘Then it could just be a scouting party?’ asked Sent.
‘I think not. Everything we know tells us they would only travel this far if they planned a major expedition,’ replied the Emperor.
‘Then we return to the need for further intelligence,’ said Killen. He was flanked by two of his Erebeshi, all of them in full armour. ‘I am happy to volunteer my scouts.’
‘And my warriors,’ offered Nutaaq.
‘Thank you, both,’ said Owen. ‘It will need to come to that in the days to come. But right now, we need as much time as possible. If the host is large, then it will be slow moving, carrying supplies on wagons and soldiers marching on foot.’
‘It is what they did last time,’ agreed Cadarn.
‘Then it gives us perhaps a week. I don’t want to reveal the presence of our Nidhal, not until the right moment. They are the ace in the hole. It means our eagles are best placed to do the initial reconnoitre.’
The gathering rumbled in agreement.
‘And where are we likely to be fighting them? At the walls?’ asked Cade. Michae
l looked for her; she was leaning against one of the tent poles, her arms crossed.
‘Not my intention,’ replied Owen. ‘We lose the advantage of our mounted forces. We’ll pick our ground and meet them before they get anywhere near.’
‘My people have been on the receiving end of cavalry in the open, we really don’t want to deal with that again,’ Cade countered.
Owen did not reply straight away. He just stared at Cade, the muscles in his jaw bunching a little. Michael’s eyebrow rose. No love lost there.
‘We have all suffered at the hands of the elves, Cade. This time we will be prepared. The citizen militia of Tissan have been drilled to withstand a cavalry charge,’ Owen said, tersely.
‘Time is of the essence, I expect them to train doubly hard in the next few days,’ added the Emperor.
‘And be prepared to give everything,’ added Father Llews. Which Michael felt was entirely unnecessary considering the situation.
‘My eagles are ready to fly,’ said Cadarn.
‘Very good. But again, we must be careful not to overplay our hand. They will be looking for eagles. And if they have buzzers, they will give chase. We need to keep our tracking secret. Give them no reason to change their view of what they face.’
‘Then we should use the Gifted,’ Michael announced. As faces turned to him, he wondered at his own audacity. The Emperor’s face was inscrutable, but Llews was anything but. He looked disgusted. Everyone else was waiting for him to continue. ‘We have Watchers. We get them as far out as possible and start them committing the likely routes to memory. We can track their advance that way.’
Many heads – mostly those who were not part of the Emperor’s entourage – nodded.
