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As the voices calmed, Earconwald assumed a frown of grim determination. “For we go, my brothers, to avenge an act of perfidy, an act both shameful and cowardly, an act worthy of only vile animals. In kindness and concern for our fellow men in Eormenlond, we sent priests of the Way, men of purity and the Eternal of Edan, to enlighten those who live in darkness. We are light in the darkness, and Edan calls us to spread His salvation. But often when a man extends a hand to a beast, it bites the helping hand.
Many in the assembly could not contain themselves. Their contorted faces grew red as they shook their fists and shouted. Pleased with himself, Earconwald paused to let his audience rage. So easy. A stroke of genius, telling them Caergilion might invade. They’ll hate them even more, and I will ascend on their zeal. Now, let them think they’re virtuous for hating.
Earconwald continued, “You’ll see wonders not witnessed in all the ages of men, sure signs that Edan is with us. Through the vessel of His priests, Edan will show He goes with us in the struggle. And our victory will be the sign of His power. You may thus go with Edan’s strength in you, confident He guides your hand and your sword. We fight not just for this world or the kingdoms of men, but for the Kingdom of the Eternal. We cannot fail, and our enemies will join us in the ranks of the Eternal or perish, as all unbelievers must. Yes! Those who refuse Edan’s call will perish, but some will see
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The energy was so intense that Earconwald’s heartbeat sped as he grew intoxicated with the fervor his words evoked. He checked himself. Truth and salvation — what drivel.
“When we march to Caergilion and to victory, remember the three martyrs who gave their lives for the Way. Remember your wives and children, whom you make safe from our enemies by striking ere they strike us. Remember Torrlond, the kingdom that gave birth to you, greatest kingdom in all of Eormenlond. And remember Edan, to whom we consecrate ourselves as we go forward to spread His salvation.”
Only a hint of Bledla’s anger escaped in a slight widening of his eyes, and his voice lowered even more. “The Way is the path of Edan, the only salvation, and anyone who thinks to use it for his own ends will discover, whether early or late, he is Edan’s pawn.”
“Thank you, my loyal subjects.” Which of you bastards dared to hire him?
Gnorn grunted. “Torrhelm is thrice the size. Even Etinstone seems small when you’ve been to Torrlond’s chief city. Grand and cursed, a place like no other is Torrhelm. Yet Etinstone’s the elder of the two.”
began with a line now familiar to Dayraven and Imharr: “Dweorgs’ memories are long, for we watched the coming of the Andumae and your people. The land we ride in now was not always known as Torrlond. ‘Land of Towers’ the conquerors named it, such was their awe of the remnants of the kingdom they laid low.”
Ignoring Imharr and Hlokk, Gnorn warmed up to his audience of one. “Almost a thousand years ago, before your people’s coming to Eormenlond, the Andumae began their great War of the Four Kingdoms, which lasted over a hundred years. It was in truth between their two mightiest kingdoms, Sildharan and Riodara, but the strife enveloped the others. The war raged on until, in the year 992 by your reckoning, the Red Death came.”
Dragons returned to wreak destruction and avenge old quarrels. Between war and plague, much lore disappeared. The kingdoms of the Andumae dwindled. Many believed civilization would succumb, and only wild beasts would roam the land.”
“Yes,” answered Gnorn. His sad eyes narrowed. “But listen, and you’ll see. By the time the Andumae found them, the Ilarchae had been massing in northeastern Eormenlond for perhaps a century. Though they at times sent ships to fetch timber from the Ironwood, the Andumae never settled the rough lands beyond the Amlar Mountains. In the Ironwood dwell elves and wolves and ancient beasts, and in the eastern Amlar Mountains the trolls and dragons remain in greatest numbers. At their eastern end lies Slith, greatest of fens, wherein dwell foul aglaks.”
“But Riodara was destroyed by the Ellonders under King Folcwalda,”
In later days that name shortened to Ellond, for the Ilarchae slew Adoager and drove the Riodarae over the Theodamar River, and Hingwar claimed the kingdom of Ellond in 1069.
When Gnorn ceased, the clip-clop of their horses and the chirping of birds sounded louder than usual. In the near silence, Dayraven took in one important thing: The Dweorg’s tale altered his view of the world and who he believed he was. In the bright sun he gazed ahead at Etinstone and wondered what it was like when it was Derahan and the Riodarae dwelled there. He also pondered the Ilarchae, his apparent ancestors, who destroyed that civilization to replace it with another. Folk in the Mark had little good to say of the barbarians dwelling in the Wildlands.
“If you speak the truth,” he said to Gnorn, “then the folk of Ellond, Torrlond, and the Mark are all, like the Thjoths of Grimrik, kin of the Ilarchae. We come from them.”
“I advise you not to repeat the tale to the Torrlonders. They’d take it amiss to be called the relatives of savages.” Gnorn winked and chuckled.
The way into Etinstone teemed with traffic going and coming: merchants carrying their wares, tradesmen clanking with their tools, farmers carting produce to market, travelers seeking shelter, soldiers being idle, thralls running errands, citizens milling about, horses waiting in the competition for space, dogs weaving their way underfoot, children playing and crying, and beggars of every age looking for a sympathetic face in the massive huddle crowding together.
It was a rough, chaotic sea of human and animal flesh.
He had left so many dreams behind. They’re dead. And who am I without them? A mass of apprehensions and yearnings that changed with his surroundings, he and all his emotions would someday fade into the world’s pulse. What was one small mote of awareness like him? Such thoughts stemmed from his encounter with the elf with its promise of oblivion. The steady hiss in his mind sharpened, and the elf-shard quickened as its shadow darkened his vision and its greed grew palpable. He could see those eyes again, and the temptation to slip into them grew until he felt that condition of strange
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Once again he thought of finding Imharr’s sister and then risking a return to the Mark and to Kinsford to ask Ebba to wed him, just as his father returned to his Eldelith. I’ll reclaim something of my life.
Dayraven sensed the presence of the gift in the man. It was akin to knowing that someone just outside the periphery of his vision was staring at him, but the sensation emanated from the priest.
“That, my lad, is the first King Earconwald, who reigned nigh three hundred years ago. In his day your kingdom of the Mark gained its freedom in the year 1412 by your reckoning. ‘Twas also the time of Aldmund, the wizard and prophet who first proclaimed
the Way. Aldmund played a key role in convincing King Earconwald to grant your ancestors their . . .”
Beneath a sign depicting a hammer and tongs, the four travelers entered the open doorway of one noisy shop. Stiflingly hot inside, the shop brimmed with piles of weapons and arms in various stages of completion — swords, axes, daggers, spearheads, shields, byrnies, and the like. Metal filings and twisted pieces of iron covered the floors and shelves, and the heavy scent of charcoal drifted in the room despite the open door and the louver above the raised stone forge. A pile of charcoal occupied one whole corner of the shop. On the other side, hot coals glowed in the duck’s nest of the
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May I present Imharr and Dayraven, and I might add the latter promises to become a fine loremaster with the right sort of training.”
For the first time, Bur looked at Dayraven. “Don’t worry, lad. I’ll take care of her for Gnorn’s sake. He’s the best of us. Should you outlive him and Hlokk, don’t burn their bodies after the old manner of your folk or bury them lying down as the Torrlonders do, but bury them sitting up in a mound, and be sure they face north.”
Dayraven gritted his teeth and lowered his eyebrows. He wondered what his father would have done in his place. In spite of his status as a warrior, Edgil was always restrained and slow to anger. Taking a deep breath, he took his hand off his sword hilt, not even realizing he had put it there in the first place. But he did not want to appear afraid, so he said, “I’ll not fight a drunk.”
The lieutenant bent down under the table and from a pile picked up two pieces of woven cloth, which he flung at Dayraven and Imharr. Dayraven caught and looked at his. It was a woven image of the ensign of the king: snow-capped silver mountain with a gold crown overhead on a blue background.
Solemn and still it was. All waited for the ritual to begin. From the large, round window above, the direct ray of the sun’s light bathed Bledla, shadowing his deep-set eyes and gleaming on his white hair, beard, and robe. Motes of dust danced and spiraled around him. Noon on the Day of Edan. Bledla nearly gasped when the ecstasy of Edan’s spirit entered him. It is time. Perfect silence reigned as the supreme priest raised his arms aloft. All within the temple fixed their eyes on him.
Bledla looked above into the light. While the rest of the congregants followed his gaze, the supreme priest uttered to his god, “In the beginning, there was only You, Edan. You made the elements, and from them You created the heavenly bodies and the world. In Your infinite wisdom You inhabited it with life, over which You set men to rule.
Bledla declared, “Blood of the elements. Blood of the Eternal. Sign of our brotherhood, sign of our inheritance in Edan, and sign of our salvation. All who are present, believers in Edan, receive this token of your salvation. As you go forth into the world, let it be the sign you are among the Eternal.”
“We must be single-minded in this. My power, your power, all that is. There’s only one purpose for it all: to bring glory to Edan. He manifested this power in me at the end of times, and I must strive to be worthy of the burden He has given me. As supreme priest, I am Aldmund’s heir in more than just title.” “My lord. The strength of the gift in you — no one since Aldmund has had such power. Who could deny this?” “The power that gave him insight into Edan’s truth will enable me to fulfill Edan’s will. It is as the Prophet foretold: Aldmund’s life and power have in truth returned in me. Soon
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Bledla stared for a moment. “I pray to Edan you’re right. But what the young man did to Bertric . . . Broke his power, and without even using a song of origin.
“The boy may be a test. His power comes from the demons, the elves. Mine from Edan. If it is so, I welcome this contest.”
“Torrlond’s army could do it alone, of course, but this will both ensure swift victory and fulfill the prophecies. As the Prophet says, ‘Trust not in the strength of men alone.’ And, as you’ve often pointed out, it’s possible that, once the kingdoms of Eormenlond see our power over the beasts, they’ll submit without a fight.”
The power of the Prophet was surely in him, reborn to work Edan’s will.
Sublimity enveloped the supreme priest, and the whip tumbled from his hand as he stretched his arms outward. Released from the confines of weak and sinful flesh, he was Bledla no longer. His consciousness expanded to take in the sanctuary, the temple, the city, the kingdom, Eormenlond, and the lands beyond the Great Sea. The ages of humankind and its kingdoms flashed before him, and all was one in a timeless present. Edan. He was one with Edan.
Beyond the world of forms he journeyed, and he beheld the Kingdom of the Eternal, tasted it as it burned away his pain, his flesh, his lusts, his pride, his fear, his doubts, and all else. His eyes fluttered open, and he gazed upward in rapture. Bliss unfastened his mouth in a broad smile, and a moan like laughter escaped from his throat.
It was not strong in her, but it was manifest in a certain depth and perceptiveness she possessed, and her gaze had lingered on him, leading him to wonder if she felt the gift in him.
It had been the Andumae who brought knowledge of it to Eormenlond.
Gnorn turned to him and Imharr. “This is the song of our ancestors. We sing it to guide the spirit of our departed sister back into their arms.
Many of the Dweorgs around Dayraven convulsed with weeping, and some tore at their hair or beards as they wailed. Such poignant grief. And what were they grieving? The end of one woman’s life? The reminder that such an end awaited each of them? The demise of their people? Lives begin and end. Kingdoms and peoples come and go. The world takes little notice as it pulses on in an endless cycle.
The susurration of the elf sharpened in his mind. It stretched and stirred with an alien awareness, exerting a volatile pressure that threatened to rupture the confines of his flesh.
“Another of us has departed. We Dweorgs have no god or gods as your peoples do. Instead, we worship our ancestors, which we all come from and to which we all belong. They dwell in the land, and they are of the land. Gna’s spirit will now return to them.”
Imharr nodded and smiled again. “Riall. My sister’s name is Riall.” “Pretty name.”
“Cousin Ilm,” said Imharr with a broad smile, “my nose tells me you’ve prepared a culinary marvel that will not fail to please your undeserving guests. And though I’m undeserving, I will partake, lest I offend.”
Dayraven and Imharr returned to the attic to don their full war gear. They wriggled into their clinking byrnies, which they put on over their old kirtles. The supple leather padding inside his bulky chain mail seemed molded for Dayraven’s shoulders. The byrny was a pleasant weight on him, and he admired how the shiny links caught the light as he moved. Over their byrnies they wore their new grey kirtles, on which they had sewn the king of Torrlond’s ensign on the left shoulder. Dayraven buckled Sweothol’s baldric over his left shoulder and paused to look at its blood-red gem, which prodded him
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I love this! this is what I love when I read fantasy.
Ilm’s grief still echoed within him.
The Dweorg woman wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and held her chin up. “There will be little solace for my cousins where they have chosen to go. Swear that you will remain true to them, that you will stay by their sides for as long as you can, keeping them from harm and giving them the comfort of your friendship.”
