Kitabı oku: «The Complete Demonwar Saga 2-Book Collection», sayfa 9

There was a moment’s silence, and Undalyn demanded, ‘Speak! Is this a safe haven?’

‘There are demon signs. Not recent, but … demons have been there.’

The Regent Lord threw back his head in rage and torment and let forth a howl of pure barbaric anger and pain. ‘Is there no refuge?’

‘Only signs, my lord,’ said the magician. ‘I found no demons.’

‘How can that be?’ said the Regent Lord as he fixed his dark gaze on the magician.

‘In my travels I saw many lands, heard many stories. A century ago, a demon lord reached this land, but he was without a battle host. He took the guise of a woman, a queen of the humans, and conquered a third of that world before he was stopped.

‘A magician of vast power, aided by other magicians and a human army, defeated the demon and threw him down.’

The Regent Lord sat back, his head cocked to one side as he listened, and he shook his head slightly as he said, ‘Just one demon. That is unusual.’ He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘But even one means more may follow.’

‘I bring hope too, my lord. For there are hints in the stories that the demon did not come to that realm by conjuration, but rather through … a gate.’

‘The demon gate!’ spat the Regent Lord. ‘That tale grows old, Conjurer. It is but a fantasy to explain the demons’ presence among the mortals and absolve those like your brother. Every Master of Lore since the time before time has avowed that demons cannot come to this realm unbidden! I will hear no more of this blasphemy, lest you wish to end up with the same fate as your brother!’

At the mention of a brother, the Conjurer’s face went rigid.

Lowering his voice, the Regent Lord’s expression calmed. ‘He still lives.’

‘In your dungeon, my lord?’

The Regent Lord actually smiled. ‘In a cage I had placed in a small courtyard. I thought the dungeon overly deleterious to his health, with no sunlight. I wanted him still alive if you returned, as you have. It must become a little uncomfortable in the afternoon heat, but otherwise he is well enough.’

A slight flicker of anger crossed the magician’s face, but he remained silent.

The Regent Lord said, ‘Your brother’s continued survival depends on your obedience, Conjurer.’

The magician inclined his head. ‘Gulamendis and I serve at your pleasure, my lord. It has always been thus.’

The Regent Lord’s mood darkened. ‘Do not be glib with me, Conjurer.’ He pointed to the west. ‘The Plains of Delth-Aran are covered with the bodies of warriors who “served at my pleasure”, and I count each loss as an affront to our people. There are children here in Tandamar who will never know their fathers’ faces.

‘Across five worlds we have battled the Demon Legions, and each world we leave behind is littered with valiant fighters who “served at my pleasure”; and their females, and their young.’ Behind the anger in the Regent Lord’s eyes, the Conjurer could see genuine pain. ‘My grandfather, and his father before, all stood with defiant resolve, and each warrior serving “at their pleasure” gave their full measure and left us poorer for their sacrifice.

‘I would not dishonour their memory by forgiving those responsible for this horror. Now they are here, on the World of the Seven Stars, and we have nowhere left to go.’ Then his voice softened and he almost whispered, ‘Except Home.’

The Conjurer said nothing. It was an old argument, one that he had experienced many times before. Laromendis and his brother were practitioners of the mystic arts, a calling barely tolerated at the best of times, and this was hardly the best of times. Laro was a Master of Illusion, a Conjurer, who could kill a warrior using his will and imagination, conjuring up illusions so real to the opposing fighter that a killing blow would even end his life. Gulamendis was a Master of Demons, and among those who were blamed for the terrors now visited upon the People. Laro and his brother had been raised by their mother in a remote village; she had known her sons had inherited great and terrible gifts, the ability to use magic.

The Regent Lord said, ‘Now, is this world safe?’

‘I think so, my lord.’ He paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘As I have said, the knowledge I have gathered tells me that this world has powerful protectors, men and women who could serve to stem the coming of those with whom we battle.’ He paused again, then carefully said, ‘We may have found allies.’

‘Allies!’ shouted the Regent Lord. ‘Dwarves, lesser elves, humans! Perhaps we should treat with the goblins as well? Would you have me be the first ruler of our people to parley with those we have warred against since time immemorial? Would you have me seek succour from those who are fit only to be conquered and bent to our service?’

Laromendis said nothing. He knew this was an argument that would take the leaders of the Regent Lord’s Meeting weeks, even months to debate. And he also knew that if he was to save his brother’s life, he must ensure that when the Regent Lord’s Meeting was called, the Loremasters and priests were his allies; the fate of the People hung in the balance, and in order to save itself, this once proud race had to start making accommodations with those who had always been counted as enemies.

The Regent Lord asked further questions for an hour, insightfully pulling out details needed for his next plan. Finally he said, ‘We shall move two clans into this valley, have them occupy the fortress at the north end.’ Laromendis nodded. The dark elves had left everything intact. While overgrown and falling apart after a hundred years, it still would provide a safer place from which to muster, and could quickly be reclaimed as a highly defensible position.

‘Have the Solis and Matusic ready themselves,’ the Regent Lord ordered, and the herald bowed and departed. Laromendis kept his face expressionless, but inside he smiled. The Solis were under the command of Seboltis, Undalyn’s favourite surviving son. That unexpected decision gave Laromendis a tiny advantage, for when the time came the Regent Lord would be less inclined towards conquest as the only solution if the heir to his throne stood at risk. Like his brother, Laromendis knew the People had to change to endure. Undalyn would favour conquest to reclaim Midkemia as the rightful home of the taredhel. He might reach an accommodation with those living in Elvandar, could even acknowledge their Queen as the true ruler, giving up his line’s power – though Laromendis counted that unlikely. But he would insist that she govern a people who ruled the Home, not shared it with lesser beings.

Laromendis knew that such thinking had done nothing but destroy the lives of millions of the People over three generations. To survive, the People would need to put aside dreams of conquest and come to terms with the dwarves and humans. His way required planning and luck, for the two brothers were barely tolerated and hardly trusted, yet it fell to them to change the mind of the Regent Lord.

A messenger appeared at the door, breathless from the dash up the long flight of stairs from the stable yard below. As he fell to his knees before his ruler, he lowered his head and held out the scroll.

The Regent Lord’s expression darkened as his worst fears were fulfilled. ‘Garjan-Dar has fallen. The demons are through the breach.’

Laromendis knew two things; the demons would be repulsed and the Barrier Spell would be re-established, but at great cost. But how many more times could they repair the barrier, for each time warriors were needed to hold the ground while magic users spent their lives to maintain the spell. Once more, twice perhaps, but eventually the Barrier Spell would fail entirely, and soon after the city would be besieged. The walls of Tarendamar would prove little obstacle for the Demon Legion. Masonry and magic might keep them at bay for a week or two, perhaps a month, but the city would fall and with it, the heart of the Seven Stars.

The Regent Lord put his boot against the shoulder of the kneeling messenger and pushed him away. ‘Get out!’ he shouted, and the messenger appeared glad to obey, obviously relieved the Regent Lord’s wrath had been limited to an impolite kick. In days past his head might have adorned a pike at the entrance to the keep.

The Regent Lord moved back towards the window and stared out. He took a deep breath then he asked, ‘Which is your birth world, Conjurer?’

Laromendis said, ‘This one, my lord. Far to the north in the snowlands, at the foot of the Iron Mountains.’

The Regent Lord said, ‘I was born here, as well, but my eldest son was born on Utameer.’ The Conjurer knew this, but if the Regent Lord felt the need to belabour the point, the magician was not fool enough to interrupt. ‘When he was but ten seasons, I took him hunting bovak and longhorn greensnouts in tablelands to the east of the city of Akar. It was hot, all day, every day. Rain came rarely in those lands, and when it did it thundered and came down in a deluge. Children and small animals were sometimes washed away in flash floods. Lightning would rip through the sky as if the gods themselves were at war.’ He turned to look at the magic user. ‘We are going to lose this world, Conjurer, as we lost Utameer.’ He leaned against the window’s ledge, staring off into the distance. ‘As we lost Katanjara, and Shinbol and the others.

‘In my grandfather’s grandfather’s time, we conquered the stars. The Clans of the Seven Stars ruled worlds!’ He added sadly, ‘Now we have come to the end of our reign. Now we must become refugees.’

Turning away from the Loremasters and the magician, he moved back to the chair and said, ‘We must return Home. It is our only salvation.’

Turning to Laromendis he said, ‘Eat, rest, then return at first light. You shall conduct our battlemaster and a company of scouts to Home. We will begin preparing the way.’ He frowned at Laromendis and said, ‘Go!’

The Conjurer bowed, turned and hurried from the hall. He had a great deal to do between now and the morning, and had no illusions he would get any rest. It took a great deal of energy to plot treason.

• CHAPTER FOUR •
Harbinger

THE RIDER RACED UP THE HILLSIDE.

It had taken Alystan three days of hard running to reach the Keep at Carse. He had paused in Carse only long enough to deliver the merchant’s response to the Earl’s request, eat a hot meal, sleep in a warm bed, then leave again at first light. As the negotiations had ended on good terms, the merchants could wait for another to return with the agreement. He had bid farewell to the Earl and his household that evening, for he left as dawn approached, accepting the loan of a sturdy gelding, and promising to return it on his way home.

The Ranger kept his own counsel on the matter of the elf, not wishing to involve the Kingdom unless it became necessary. At the moment the only evidence he had was what he had seen, and there might still be some explanation that would remove his foreboding. Yet, there was something in the manner of that elf, the way he carried himself, something that communicated menace. If nothing else, he was dangerous.

The quickest route to the dwarven stronghold at Caldara was through the Green Heart, the thick woodlands dominating most of the Duchy of Crydee. For the first ten miles inland, the coastline was dotted with small hamlets and solitary farms, trails and roads, and three towns of some size, Tulan, Carse, and Crydee. Light woodland occupied some of the land between them, but once a traveller moved farther inland, heavy forest was all one encountered.

The Rangers of Natal were second only to the elves in their ability to move swiftly and quietly through the heavy woods, but when it came to the open road, they had no difficulty in letting a horse carry them swiftly. They were a close-knit society, the inheritors of a unique birthright. Their ancestors had been Imperial Keshian Guides, the elite scouts of the Empire’s army who had come to the region when the Empire of Great Kesh had expanded northward. Like Kesh’s Dog Soldiers, they stood apart from mainstream Keshian society. When Kesh withdrew from the northlands, abandoning their colonies, the Guides became the de facto intelligence and scouting arm of the local militia. The cities had become autonomous and had bound together in a loose confederation, the Free Cities of Natal. And the Guides became the Rangers.

Rangers lived in large camps, moving as it suited them, always vigilant for any threat to the Cities. They felt more kinship with the elves of the north than the citizens they protected, and felt their only equals to be the present Keshian Guides and the Krondorian Pathfinders, also descended from the original Guides. The three groups shared a traditional greeting, ‘Our grandfathers were brothers,’ which was to them a bond.

Many Rangers had died beside soldiers from the Kingdom and the Free Cities during the Tsurani invasion, and because their numbers had been small, it had taken a devastating toll. Alystan remembered his grandfather’s stories of the Riftwar, and now he feared another threat of that magnitude was approaching; he knew another such invasion might mean the end of the Rangers.

Alystan was newly wed and as he rode through the dark pathways of the Green Heart he thought of his young wife, staying with his own mother and father as they broke winter camp down near Bordon and prepared to move up into the mountains for spring and summer. They had spoken of having their own child someday, and while they had yet to conceive, Alystan now feared that he might never see that child should his worst suspicions prove true.

The Ranger rode through the first day without incident, the patrols from Carse had kept the King’s Road clear of bandits and other troublemakers. He had seen game sign, bear and elk, so he knew few hunters were nearby.

In years past, the moredhel, the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, had roamed these woods and the Grey Tower Mountains making such a ride suicide without a company of soldiers as escort. Now times were more peaceful and the worst a traveller might face was a small band of poachers or the occasional outlaw. Still, goblins roamed the Green Heart from time to time, and more than three or four could prove dangerous to a solitary rider.

Alystan made a cold camp on the first night, not wishing to draw attention to his presence with a fire. He staked out his horse and moved some distance away, lest the animal draw unwanted attention. He risked losing the horse that way, but gained the advantage of not being surprised.

The night passed without incident.

Alystan quickly saddled his horse after inspecting it to ensure it was sound. The animal was one of the best the garrison at Carse had to offer, a solid gelding, well trained and fit. Not the fastest mount available, but one capable of long journeys at a good pace. With luck he would reach the dwarven stronghold at Caldara within three days. He mounted and returned to the road.

Three days later an exhausted rider and horse approached a gap in the mountains across which a large wooden palisade had been erected. Two dwarves stood on either side of the road, dutifully taking their turn at watch, though for years it had hardly been necessary. They waved him through, recognizing him from previous visits, and Alystan entered Caldara.

The village looked lovely in the morning light, nestled in a cosy valley. Trails led up to the high alpine meadows that were used for summer grazing, and down to lower valleys where the cattle and sheep were kept during the winter. Alystan remembered that beyond well-tended fields, a small stand of apple trees in an orchard marked the eastern boundary of the holding.

The wooden buildings were heavily thatched and plastered to keep out the winter cold. They shone pristine white in the morning sun, save for the massive longhouse that dominated the community. The King and his retainers lived there, with a large part of the local population. The longhouse was the hub of dwarven activity and on most nights any member of the community was as likely to be found sleeping on the floor of the great room before the huge fire as he was to be found in his own bed. Unlike the plastered walls, this building had been constructed in the old way: the boles of huge trees were stacked in cradles, forming the outer walls that defied both the elements and attacking enemies. The floor was made of stones laid upon the earth, flattened and smoothed so one could barely feel the joints when walking over them. But they were as impenetrable from sappers tunnelling up from below as the walls were from assaults above ground. The dwarves were miners and understood the uses of tunnels in warcraft as well as in mining.

Alystan pulled up his mount before the entrance to the longhouse and dismounted. He unsaddled his horse, and put the tack over the hitching log, then quickly wiped down the animal with a rag from his saddlebags. It would have to do until he had time to take the animal to the stables and tend to it properly. Dwarves were not horsemen, and the only horses they did keep were draught animals, all of whom would be out in the fields this time of day pulling ploughs as the dwarves readied the ground for the spring planting.