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Joruman answered, “Your captain here could tell you we’ll have some ninety thousand troops when we enter the enemy’s land. No force in Eormenlond could match it, and it’s only half of Torrlond’s military power. In addition, thanks to the might of Edan, we’ll have other means of conquest at our disposal. As you witnessed, the aglaks make formidable fighters, and we have much more up our sleeves.” The high priest grinned. “It may seem a bit much, perhaps, but we aim for a swift and decisive victory. This will prevent unnecessary loss of life.”
Wearing only his sword and his soaked, muddy breeches and kirtle, Dayraven felt out of place, almost naked, amidst all the splendid finery. Far worse than that, a new presence entered his awareness. Vast power emanated from the tent and pierced his consciousness. Someone inside possessed the gift in greater measure than the High Priest Joruman or Urd. The Supreme Priest Bledla. So I’ve come to you after all. Drawn like an insect to honey. Was this what fate had in mind for me?
But by far the most powerful presence was Bledla’s. The supreme priest occupied the chair next to the king. Keen and fiery were his blue eyes. The awesome and terrible power Dayraven detected from outside the tent blazed forth from the white-robed wizard, and he blinked in wonder at it. Now that he stood before him, Dayraven could believe that here sat the inheritor of Aldmund’s power and glory.
Something reached toward him and surrounded him, a force that threatened to smother him. With a chill locking around his heart, he understood the supreme priest was somehow probing his mind. Dayraven was naked and transparent. He sees through me. Useless to lie to such a man. I can feel it — he senses everything. Fearing he was capable of prying even into his unconscious thoughts, he dreaded what Bledla would say next. The supreme priest opened his mouth, but before a word came out, someone else spoke first and broke the spell.
Earconwald beamed. “The very man. And may I have the honor of knowing his son’s name?” Feeling a trap closing around him, he looked ahead with defiance at Bledla. “Dayraven, your Majesty.” Courage, the captain said. Might be it’s despair I feel, but let it happen now. I’m ready.
Dayraven could not have said what the stakes were, but he knew a contest of some sort was taking place. The supreme priest was still trying to probe his mind, attempting to peel back layers and examine his deepest hopes and fears. He struggled to shut him out. What does this old man want? Urd said he might want to train me, or kill me. Not you, supreme priest of the Way. You’ll make me no priest of yours. Bledla nodded as if he heard Dayraven’s thoughts. “You may go. The High Priest Joruman will rejoin your company shortly.”
“Dayraven of the Mark. It seems the bird has flown straight to us. This is the boy Bagsac was supposed to eliminate. The grandnephew of the witch Urd. I don’t believe she sent him as a spy. I would have sensed that. No, he’s here of his own accord. And he has no idea what power is in him. Could you not feel it, Joruman?” The high priest nodded. “I sensed it when I first saw him, my lord.”
King Earconwald shrugged. “For my part, I don’t care if you kill him. But you can’t slay an old war hero’s son openly. Do it without anyone knowing. Oh yes, and be sure the sword finds its way back to my treasury.” He rose from his seat and stretched. “I’ll go exercise with the troops. Good for their morale. As we discussed, the last companies arrive from the north today, and we now have enough of the beasts. We meet again this evening with the dukes to plan tomorrow’s departure.”
Bledla could no longer contain his agony. “The prophecies, Joruman. He awakened.” The high priest’s eyes widened with comprehension. “You don’t mean . . .” “I do. ‘My power shall be reborn in the one who awakeneth and beholdeth the world anew.’ The power of the Prophet Aldmund reborn.”
“But you are the one who wields the song of origin that Aldmund wielded. Only you.”
“The prophecies, my lord. We must consider them all. ‘Thou shalt know Edan’s life in the one that wieldeth the Way by the clear tokens of its glory. It will defy the eldest and greatest powers in Eormenlond.’ The elves. What else could the Prophet have meant? You must defy the power of the elves, and it has been sent to you in the form of this boy.”
“If the boy is Edan’s chosen one — as I believe in my heart he is not — then He will undoubtedly protect him in the battle.” “Yes. That is certain.” Bledla’s shoulders relaxed as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It made sense, and it was a test of his faith. Of course. Joruman is right. On the verge of accomplishing everything Edan has tasked me with, I must remain firm. I must have faith in Edan.
“If he does not survive, then Edan has spoken. Until then, we must proceed as Edan has commanded us. I will go now to renew my power over our greatest weapons. You will return to your duty in Hasumere. And keep an eye on the boy.” “Yes, my lord. Blessed be the Eternal.” “And the Kingdom of Edan.”
And yet, Dayraven had done him no harm. He was naïve but not stupid, and there was something about the young man he kept returning to, something that reminded him of the ideals that had brought him to his youthful resolution. He wished he had more time to think things over.
Joruman swallowed in his throat and forced out his next words, which tasted bitter as they left him. “Dayraven of the Mark must die. He has no control over his power as yet and is therefore no immediate threat. However, his presence has become an obstacle to the fulfillment of Edan’s kingdom, an impediment sent to interfere with the supreme priest’s calling. It’s best to take care of the matter unobtrusively. You have proven your ability and devotion to Edan many times, and it’s time to do so again, most loyal of servants.”
He shook his head to banish his remaining doubts. “I’m sorry, Dayraven. You must die. Bledla will have his sign from Edan. Blessed be the Eternal, indeed.”
Keeps me on my toes. But one thing I know for certain: Even if I fail, I’ll give my life for it. Maybe that’s all that matters. You know why, my lady?” He paused a moment. “Because a life isn’t much without a purpose. I’m a lucky man in that mine is simple.”
Sequara smiled at the old man. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of the horses. Afterwards I’ll look at your stable boy if you like. I may be able to help him.” The old man’s eyes widened for a moment before he bowed again to her, this time even more deeply. “A healer, then? Bless you. That would take a worry off an old man’s back. But aren’t you beautiful, and such a pretty smile too.”
He leaned a bit closer. “In addition to a loose tongue due to a bit too much wine and an enviable streak of luck at cards, the fellow who won all your silver has a cousin whose brother-in-law is a close advisor to King Balch and Queen Rona on matters of commerce. He informs me that the king is gruff and short-tempered, whereas the queen doesn’t speak much at court. But he takes counsel from her. In fact, they say she’s the real steel in Adanon. So, if you want to win him over, you convince her first, my lady. The trick is you do it while talking to him. He takes it ill if he thinks he’s being
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Based on their past responses to Queen Faldira’s messages, Sequara expected much resistance against the proposal to aid Caergilion in its imminent war against the invading Torrlonders.
Scowling at Asdralad’s emissary beneath his bushy black eyebrows, the king scratched his greying beard. “Welcome to Adanon, Lady Sequara. To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” He spoke in the Northern Tongue, and though the words were courteous, the tone was abrupt.
“The Northern Tongue is, as you point out, the language of diplomacy and trade in Andumedan. However, if those who wield power in Torrlond have their way, it will become Andumedan’s only language. And with it will come only one faith: the Way of Edan.”
Facing Sequara again, he said, “My lady, I am Duke Anarad. My younger brother was named Longarr, and he had a son called Imharr, whom our foes in Caergilion enslaved after murdering his family. I sought my nephew and his sister for many years, and I despaired of ever finding them. But you’ve rekindled my hope, whether for good or ill. If the king gives me leave, I’ll take a few of my soldiers and go with you to Caergilion to seek these two young men of yours. And if your Imharr turns out not to be my nephew, I’ll bear you no grudge.”
Balch swallowed, paused, and then addressed Sequara. “As far as Caergilion is concerned, tell that bastard Malruan that, if he’s willing to beg for Adanon’s help, I’ll consider it. We’ll need some incentives, you understand. A treaty recognizing the true boundary between our kingdoms and Adanon’s right to settle the border region would be a start. I make no promises, but it might be worth it for the pleasure of seeing Malruan come on his knees. If he is to accompany you, Lady Sequara, Duke Anarad will bear testimony to my wishes and bring Malruan’s reply to me.”
She understands the benefits of helping Caergilion, yet she’s managed to keep Adanon uncommitted for now. Not a bad strategy, but too much caution may prove their ruin. I might have done the same in her place. I just hope it’s not too late.
The presence of the elf skimmed along Dayraven’s mind like the morning mist curling over the fens. He looked at Imharr, who nodded, and no one else was within hearing range, so he began, “I’m not sure I understand yet myself. It began in the Southweald, when I met . . . an elf. I should have died, but I awoke. The elf put something in me. A piece of . . . power.” He glanced around again to make sure no one was listening. “We meant to go to Ellond. Urd, my great aunt, told me to find a wizard there, Galdor, and to avoid the priests of the Way. She said the supreme priest might want to train me.
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The tall Thjoth reinforced this point to the entire company. “Toughen up if you want to see more than one battle. You’ll find your limits, but the final test comes in the storm of steel. Stand together. The time for deeds is at hand. Mercenary Company of Etinstone, are you ready to go to war?”
Surely, this was what it meant to be a soldier. Leaving behind the dissipating mist, it was not long before the Mercenary Company met another company on its way to the wide plain where the entire army would rally.
The mightiest thunder could not have vied with their din.
As the inexorable flood carried them all, there was no will to question, only to obey. Their own collective force impelled them. All that was needed was some voice — whether an authority or a divinity — to direct them or hurl them like lightning, and they would fly and crash in glory against the enemy.
Once again the multitudes on death’s doorstep let their voices soar, buffeting Dayraven. He remained silent amidst the unbearable tumult. Alone.
More deafening cheers exploded. The cheers swelled to an impossible crescendo, and then, like water bursting a dam, the elf surged in Dayraven, its eyes burning through him like blue flame.
But the mortal consciousness awoke, a faint voice like a raven’s call that warned it was time to return. The elf-state dissipated.
The westerly wind bore mild air from the Sundering Sea, and he tasted the unfamiliar salt in the breeze, which awoke a longing in him to see the great water beyond the vineyards on the hills rising like waves into the distance.
The quickest way through those peaks was Balnor Pass, the place where his father won his greatest glory. Torrlond’s army was sure to make its way to Caergilion by the fortified pass, and they would find the first major resistance there. Fate, it seemed, was leading him to Balnor Pass.
Opening her mind and releasing the gift, Sequara expanded her awareness to include the anger and fear in the Adanese who abode the charge with her. Similar emotions propelled the Caergilese, who rushed toward her on their massive steeds. This was a place where men drew blades first and asked questions later.
Into the minds of the horses she allowed her energy to spread. Muscle and fury, power and speed — these were proud, fiery beasts with tempers and training for battle. But neither temper nor training could withstand the strength of the gift in Sequara. As an irresistible presence in their minds she commanded them. The horses had no choice. It almost seemed they were obeying their own will.
She turned to the lead soldier from Caergilion. “You have a deadlier foe than Adanon now. Torrlond is about to smash your kingdom and change your lives forever, if they spare any of your lives at all. I marvel King Malruan has left any soldiers in the south of his kingdom.”
Eyes wide, Duke Anarad did not hide his surprise. “There must be fifteen thousand soldiers down there. Three quarters of Caergilion’s army.”
Only the discipline of routine kept everything together. Had the men not been war-hardened soldiers, panic would have scattered them in complete disarray.
“Your Majesty,” answered Sequara, “Duke Anarad accompanied me from Adanon to testify to King Balch’s willingness to discuss joining forces with you.” Sequara presented the seals of Adanon and Asdralad to King Malruan, who glanced at them as she continued. “Queen Faldira sent me to ask you to consider requesting aid from your old foe. As we told you in our previous messages, Torrlond brings an army larger than any ever assembled to invade these lands. The priests of the Way have enslaved beasts to do their bidding as well. Though you’re a proud and strong people, Caergilion cannot meet this
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This would be in the interest of all. In the interest of future generations from both our kingdoms. All you need do is ask King Balch for aid. He’ll want terms, an agreement over our border that is favorable to Adanon. But the offer is genuine. Give the word, and I’ll send three of my men in haste to Adanon with a message. Balch will come with an army to fight not against you but by your side.”
“The foul beasts must have moved in the darkness of night, crawling over the rocks. Hundreds of trolls and thousands of pucas waited over our heads. Must have slain our scouts . . . we had no warning. Swamp-trolls too, the aglaks, though they came later. Everything began when the trolls started throwing boulders down on us. We thought the mountain was tumbling on our heads. Men screamed . . . rocks battered us. Couldn’t even see the boulders coming. Rocks and boulders cracking so loud my ears rang. Screaming. And running. Blood and death everywhere. Naihi, a mate in my company, standing next
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She would have to seek Dayraven and Imharr in the midst of the coming battle, hoping to reach them before death did. This task would be a little easier since she would sense Dayraven’s presence. However, the priests of the Way, especially Bledla, could sense him too, and probably her. She gritted her teeth. We failed to help Caergilion. I must not fail to find Dayraven now.
Gods be good. I just pissed. Didn’t I? Dayraven winced. His bladder exuded a heavy sense of pressure, a writhing in his gut, even though, having heard the veterans’ stories, he had relieved himself before lining up.
When he opened his eyes, the neat ranks of Caergilion’s red and white soldiers still stood far below in their rectangular formations of companies. This too was not going to be an even fight. But one difference for him was the Mercenary Company of Etinstone would see its share of combat this time.
Thank the gods I’m looking at their backs.
Imharr looked over. Dayraven returned the glance. Under the nose guard of his friend’s helm was his familiar smile, which reminded Dayraven of the Mark. If I live through this, I’ll return one day for Ebba. From somewhere behind him came the command, “Archers! Fit your bows!”
Yew and elm creaked as thousands of archers bent their longbows behind him.
As a gust of wind the swarm of arrows whooshed over the soldiers on the front line. The grey sky darkened to black with the flurry of missiles. His heart soaring with the arrows, Dayraven thought, the fury of the gods. The arrows sought the swollen clouds overhead then arced downward, mingling with the raindrops.
