Samples from books that we have published under the Eartherean Press imprint.
This is another in a series from the second book in the 4-book series The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn: The Divine Queen.
© 1982 by A. Adam Corby
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
The League of Elna
THE HIGH REGENT of Tarendahardil returned with his attendants to the city through the Vapio Archway, and mounted to High Town on the Way of Kings. Before the steps of the Palace he emerged weakly from the covered chariot and sought audience with the Divine Queen. Astonishment was evident upon the palace slaves’ faces at the old man’s appearance, as, gravely, they led him round into the Imperial Gardens.
A light, mistlike rain was falling, unusually chilly for summer. The leaves of the trees shed mournful tears in the Gardens’ lower levels. Restlessly upon her favorite mare the Queen rode the horse-tracks, up and down, not unlike the half-starved beasts kept in cages below the Circus just before the Games.
She rode the course twice before she noticed him. When she did, she rode over and whispered Kis Halá to a stop a pace or two from him. He abased himself in the wet grasses, and the cold dampness seeped into his legs. She bade him rise, but herself remained astride the high horse. She studied him for a moment before asking his business.
‘Your majesty,’ he said in a faint, reedy voice, ‘Ilkas and Kixza have fallen, and Rochnora is now beset. Ara-Karn nears the Way of Vapio, the ancient trade route leading to the deep South. When once he gains that, there will only be the broad highways running through the provinces between him and Tarendahardil.’
She smiled, a dangerous upturning of those painted lips. ‘You are perceptive, good Regent. Why do you not schedule a meeting of the High Council and draft a letter to the barbarian, informing him of your displeasure?’
She was dressed in a dark brown lora, with a wide hooded cloak of the same color to shelter her from the rain. Even so, the mists had kissed the curls about her brow, darkening them slightly and drawing them down in slight, sweet disorder. Her lashes were thick and dark, as if she had wept. She was unspeakably lovely, this woman who was the highest born noble in the world. It occurred to Dornan Ural vaguely, as a side thought, how much he hated her.
‘I have already sought the other regents,’ he replied, and all his weariness was manifest in his voice. ‘Old Farnese, who was in his youth named the greatest general of our age, lies sickly and near death in a tent in the horse-fields of the Eglands, and follows the wild herds. He cares nothing that the barbarian approaches, but rather relishes the prospect that none of us will long outlive him. Lornof of Fulmine’s father’s famous palace is empty and forsaken, and all his armories there are hollow. His gambling debts have beggared his entire estate; what he left, the moneylenders took. Now he has gone into hiding somewhere, too cowardly even to take his own life. Arstomenes wallows in wine and lechery in his gardens, and says he will not end his revelries until Ara-Karn has been a guest there. The most of the nobility are there as well, drunken and debauched…’
Too weak to go on, he stopped. Chara Ilal had been in those gardens of Vapio, along with his own sons. They had not returned with him. What else he had beheld there, unutterable and vile, he would never forget.
‘So,’ the Queen mused, softly and mercilessly, ‘now there are but the two of us.’
He bowed his head, that she might not behold his eyes.
‘What then are your plans, O Master of Tarendahardil?’
He took a deep breath to gather strength, and spoke to her of his hopes, of the only plans he had managed to fashion in his long, wearying, jolting journeys. ‘The first object must be to prevent the barbarians from reaching Tarendahardil. Without walls, the great city cannot withstand a single assault. We must, therefore, muster forces. The latest reports put the barbarian’s forces in the fields at no more than forty thousand, many of whom are renegades whose loyalties cannot be unshakable. If the Empire could but join in alliances with other unconquered nations, we might raise a force three times the size of the barbarian’s. There are arms enough in the vaults of the Citadel, I know, to equip many more men than they had presently.’
‘You have not visited the armory recently,’ the Queen said. ‘Those arms are gone. We sent them with Ampeánor to Tezmon long ago.’
‘But how, and why? You had no right to do that without consulting the Council!’
‘We had thoughts of using Tezmon as a wedge into the North – but never mind. As for your Council, we had asked, save that we knew we would be denied. Tell us the rest of your scheme.’
He continued, the sickness growing in his heart. ‘There are still weapons-makers in the city, and fine weapons might be had abroad, from Ul Raambar. More than enough weapons can be purchased with the reserves of gold in the Imperial Treasury. I am thankful now that I withstood all the strong temptations of the past two years, and left those reserves intact.’
‘You have not visited the Treasury recently, either,’ she said, her smile unabating. ‘That gold too is gone, to buy bows and an alliance with the rebel chieftain in Tezmon. Ampeánor was convinced – but enough. What else?’
It was a dreadful blow. He was glad now of the rain, for it concealed the tears he wept. She sat upon her horse high above him with neither pity nor concern. Then he remembered, and asked her, ‘Where is Ampeánor? Still we might have hopes, if we can find a general brilliant and esteemed.’
She shook her head. ‘Count not strongly upon the Lord of Rukor. He went away into peril, alone, before Bollakarvil fell. We have not had word from him since.’
‘Is it hopeless, then?’ he cried, openly weeping. ‘Is Tarendahardil doomed?’
‘Doomed, indeed, and quite lacking in hope,’ she answered, the smile withering upon her lips like a crushed blossom. A light shone in her eyes, unlike any he had seen there before. ‘And that shall be our greatest spur to victory.’
She leapt lightly from the mare’s back and, summoning the grooms in attendance, let Kis Halá be led back to the stables. She touched Dornan Ural’s shoulder, and bade him rise.
‘Now,’ she uttered sternly, ‘Dornan Ural, are you now but an old man fit for memories and tears, or have you labor yet in you?
‘Listen to our words, then. We have not been idle in these weeks. Did you think we would let Ara-Karn enjoy his little jests, and sweep upon us unprepared? We have been in contact with the other unconquered nations ever since the word reached us of Gerso’s fall. Such an alliance as you have suggested has long been in our mind. Yet the lesser nations were shy at first, and hesitated. Now, fearing perhaps even as you fear – for how may they stand after we have fallen? – they prove more tractable. We have entered into pacts with several of them, and your name will gain others.
‘Yes, it was illegal for us to propose alliances without informing you: what of that? Even now they raise forces to send on to us here. For the center of our forces we have the firm commitment of Ankhan, the lord of Ul Raambar, to come with all his famous, unconquerable warriors. For our general we have Ghezbal Daan, the mercenary captain once of Ul Raambar. A man steely, fearless, and with a cleverness for victory, Ghezbal Daan has in his career won or secured kingdoms for a dozen princes throughout the South and North. Yet never once has he turned on his employer and taken kingship for himself, though his chances have been numerous: he has confessed to us, he prefers the solitary captain’s role. There is not a soldier in a land who would hesitate to hazard his life under the leadership of Ghezbal Daan: not a prince who would be jealous of the ascendancy of this man who lives in a lonely tower overlooking the wide Marches, a willing exile from his own city. He has sent us a dozen assurances. This he views as his greatest challenge.’
She smiled prettily at the stupefied look upon the old man’s face and took his hand, the wise elder leading the child back to his studies. ‘Much has been done, but much remains. There are details to be overseen, such as how we shall feed these armies while they camp here. Our agents will assist you and inform you of the details of the alliance. We have few left, unfortunately; Fentan Efling and one or two others. Fentan is clever, however, and skeptical – you will get on well together. Come, then, Dornan Ural, for there is work for us to do.’
§
EVEN AS SHE HAD SAID, so it fell to pass. All the same, there were matters of details she had overlooked, problems of supplies and administration that might have undone all the rest; but Dornan Ural drew upon all his skills and all his years and solved them.
His hall became a bustling place again. He worked on, scarcely resting, though the burden of it all was a thing he could hardly bear. An early difficulty, and one he found in the end beyond all his powers, was what way the lesser princes should send their armies to Tarendahardil, where they were all to gather. There was too much danger to send them southward past the mountains and up the Way of Vapio; not enough time to send them northward to the Sea of Elna and bring them round by ship. There was but a single road, and that led through the heart of Belknule into Fulmine; and Yorkjax, the tyrant of Belknule, flatly forbade them to cross his domains.
In the end, it had been the Queen who had cut this knot: massing Imperial troops under the leadership of Haspeth along the Belknulean marches, she sent word to the princes’ armies to come and dare Yorkjax in his den. He, faced with war or compliance, then relented, and let them pass in peace. Doubtless it was his secret wish that the armies of the League and Ara-Karn would destroy each other and leave him, Yorkjax, the strongest man in the South.
The armies marched through Belknule unhindered, and gathered at Tarendahardil. The martialing field south and brightward of the city grew big with tents and horsemen and the companies of foot-soldiers. Even Dornan Ural’s spirit was upborne at the sight.
Now the news came to them of Ara-Karn’s gaining of the Way of Vapio after a foredoomed battle with the Vapio charioteers, and of his sweeping upon Vapio like a desert wind. And the armies of the League grew restless, consuming the last of the food Dornan Ural and his clerks had allotted for the armies’ brief stay there. Eighty thousand men was their strength, of a dozen lands, assembled and waiting; and all they lacked were a center and a general. No word had reached them in Tarendahardil of either Ghezbal Daan or the warriors of Ankhan of Ul Raambar. The swiftest messengers had been dispatched toward the dark horizon, but they did not return.
Vapio, the oldest city known to men, fell to the barbarians, and the pleasure-gardens of Arstomenes and all his revelers were trodden under the hooves of the war-horses of Ara-Karn. In the banquet hall of the Imperial Palace, the Queen banqueted the principal lords and captains of the armies of the League. There it was agreed they could wait no longer, but the armies must depart with the next waking. The captains and princes conferred with the Queen and chose the Charan Fronaril Thibbold, a Peshtrian, to be their general.
‘And where do you think you will meet the foe, Charan?’ the Queen asked him. ‘In the fields of the Eglands?’
He nodded. ‘It is the best place for our horse, which must surely be superior to that of the barbarians. We shall await him, your majesty, on Egland Downs.’
‘May Goddess ride at your side,’ she said.
‘And so,’ cried one of the captains, raising high his winecup, ‘let us drink a measure to those who stayed behind hiding in their homes, and to the mighty Ghezbal Daan, who had better things to do. And then let us drink seriously, to dark God for victory.’
They drank, and hailed the Queen. She presided over them like the Goddess she was said to be, arrayed in a blazing white lora, with gold upon her arms and brow and pearls about her throat and breasts. Her eyes burned like sky, more blue than Dornan Ural had ever seen before. She was as terrible as a wounded thorsa, and Dornan Ural did not wonder that their allies, who before had hesitated, had now not dared deny her, but were swept up by her grim determination. These captains felt it, too. With the blessing of such a one, surely more than a mere mortal woman, they had no doubts but victory must be theirs. Yet possibly it was only that they had all drunk somewhat overmuch of this sweetly bitter Postio wine. Even Dornan Ural’s worn and ghostly cheeks burned as if they had some color in them by the end of that feast, and his hollowed eyes a spark.
One by one, in the order their ambassadors had agreed upon, the captains and charanti took their leave and rode with the kisses of the Divine Queen still hot upon their brows, out of the city to the martialing field. Haspeth, who had command of the Imperial forces, the Queen bade linger.
‘Captain,’ she told him, ‘it is our wish you choose one of your fellows to lead our contingents in the center. You shall take your own company apart and go northward to your homeland, Rukor. There have been reports of further outrages committed by the pirates of the Isles, who have become the barbarians’ allies.’
‘Your majesty, choose some other for this errand,’ he pleaded, angry and hurt at her command. ‘But do not, I beg you, cause me to miss this battle, which should prove the most glorious and slaughterous conflict we will know in our lives. Does your majesty doubt my loyalty or ability, that you should so insult me? Or is it a harsh fate that leaves me always behind?’
‘We have no doubts to your ability, Captain – it is the reason we chose you. As for your loyalty, that you may prove by going north. There are other good reasons besides, why we would have you, our finest soldier, and no other, perform this duty. Go to Rukor – raise an army from the countryside, and await our calling of you. We may yet have great need of you, in circumstances which it would prove ill-omened to speak of now.’
And he, though he argued further and seemed angry almost to the point of rebellion, at last agreed to obey the command of his sovereign, and took his leave.
Dornan Ural had looked on this scene with some confusion. ‘Why, is there something else to attend to?’ he asked. ‘Is there something I don’t know?’
‘It is a thing of small importance,’ she replied. ‘A detail we would not wish to burden you with. You have worked hard on our behalf, Dornan Ural, and earned our gratitude.’
‘It was not for you we worked,’ he answered, somewhat sullenly. ‘We worked for our city and our home.’ Then his mood brightened as he thought of the great army he had gathered without the city. ‘How long, do you think, before the news comes?’
‘Not long. Thibbold will be defeated quickly enough. Then we must be ready here.’
‘Defeated! Why, how do you foresee that? The barbarians have but half our numbers!’
‘Numbers signify nothing. Generals signify everything. Ara-Karn and his chieftains have been outnumbered and surrounded on every step of their long, blood-weltered journey. With Ankhan and his Raambas, and the generalship of Ghezbal Daan, we might have held them off. But Charan Thibbold, though the best we have, is not the equal of Ara-Karn.’
‘You speak, your majesty, almost as if you knew this Ara-Karn intimately – as if you admired him,’ he added cruelly.
Yet the insolence did not seem to trouble her. ‘Perhaps I do,’ she said softly, letting her gaze roam about the high hall.
‘Yet you were not in all matters so prophetic,’ he said. ‘For I seem to recall other words of yours, when you swore before all the heavens that Ankhan of Ul Raambar would not forsake us; and where is he now with all his famous soldiers?’
‘Had Ankhan of the Strong Heart received our messages and been able to reach us, he would be here. You are wearied, Dornan Ural, and drunken, and it has not improved your manners. Go back to your hall and rest. You have done well, but for now our part is over with, and all we may do is wait and pray to Goddess.’
He bowed and left her. Anger and annoyance at her calm certainty burned in him all the way to his mansion; but upon reaching the stillness of his gardens he fell upon a couch, exhausted and dazed. He slept briefly, woke and slept again. Now an old, enfeebled man, he had driven himself upon his city’s behalf unstintingly, far beyond the limits of his strength. Out of love and shame, he had offered up his own health in sacrifice and expiation for all his earlier errors and failings of foresight. Now even in the sleep of wine his limbs shook.
Standing over him was his wife, an elegant woman dressed darkly even as her husband in mourning for his two sons, who had perished with all the other happy guests of Arstomenes. Behind her, a young man leaned against a pillar of the stoa. He was dressed in the latest fashions, and his looks could only be called beautiful.
‘Look at him lying there, twitching and slobbering,’ the young man said. ‘How have you borne it so long, to share the couch of such a toad?’
‘Be silent, Relanistir,’ she said, looking still upon her husband’s form. ‘I have told you before, he and I have not touched each other for years. Nor were you so disdainful of the gifts this man’s money bought you.’
‘Well, at least it is over,’ he said sulkily. ‘Come away now, Khilivirn, can you not? The bearers are waiting. Or is there something you have forgotten?’
‘No, nothing.’
He laughed slyly, caught her in his arms and kissed her skillfully in the shadows of the colonnade, so that despite herself Khilivirn laughed.
Dornan Ural, roused partway from sleep by their voices, looked out through dark-weaving eyes to behold his garden. It had been shamefully neglected these weeks, he thought dimly. Weeds choked the rows, and the vegetables were rotten and insect-ridden. He must attend to it when he was better.
§
EVEN THEN, at that selfsame moment under heaven, Ampeánor rode down into a broad shallow stream in the midst of the forest. Behind him he led the horse on which he had bound his barbarian captive. The pebbly currents washed and bubbled about the legs of the weary horses, which lowered their heads and drank, grateful for the respite. Far over their heads, a gap gleamed in the thick walls of green and purple leaves, where the sky meandered like a broken stream of blue and jade.
Ampeánor dug his knuckles into his sore neck, softly cursing the forest, the flies, and his own folly. Still they were lost here in these trackless woods where no men ever came save for thieves and runaway slaves. Wandering almost aimlessly, taking turns at hazard to evade the barbarians close on their trail, Ampeánor knew not even in what quarter of the sky the bright horizon was, or in what gross direction Tarendahardil lay.
Behind him Gundoen, his thick arms bound about the breast of his horse and his massive legs secured beneath the belly, bent up his head and regarded his captor with a malicious eye.
‘Not long now, Southron,’ he said. ‘Those are men of my own tribe who track us – I know them by the calls they make. My tribe’s trackers are the finest in the far North. And they are drawing nearer. You have been clever so far, more clever than I would have expected; but it won’t be enough in the end. Not long now, until you stop to rest a moment, even as now, and – phh-t! – a death-bird will find your gorge, and there will be an end to you.’
By now Ampeánor knew better than to respond to the barbarian’s taunts. Slapping at a fly, he took the reins and urged his steed on, following the currents of the stream. From all sides the pungent odors and furtive, echoing cries of the immense forest surrounded close upon them.
By now, Ampeánor thought gloomily, Allissál will have regained her strength. The image of Qhelvin’s painting swam through his limbs with a pain and desire and loneliness, like some great wriggling eel. By now he might have been her consort and commanded all the armies of the League of Elna. Goddess, he wondered, why have I been so hasty and reckless? This seeking had been folly from the first. It is as if a spell has been put upon me, he thought bitterly, the spell of that damned painting.
When the streambed turned treacherous, Ampeánor rode up the far bank, where he vanished with his prisoner amid horse-high ferns and writhing tree-roots as large as chimneys.
Far behind them, the several barbarian trackers rode into the stream and examined the signs along the bands. Dividing into two bands, they followed the stream in both its directions with the steady, confident pace of those whose quarry cannot escape. About them, too, the odor and distant bruit of the forest closed like a curtain drawn across an alcove withdrawing it, for a time, from view.
§
FROM THE PALACE ROOFTOP, Allissál watched the departing masses of men waving in the distant field like some sea of iron wheat beneath Goddess’s broad face. She watched them go with no great hope or fear, but only resignation. She had done all she could, knowing well it would prove in the end useless. At least, in Haspeth and his men in Rukor, she had kept some small reserve, which might be used either for a shelter or a counterattack. She felt like the chara in some old romance awaiting her far-flung suitors, who must journey perilous ways to attend her father’s feast. Ampeánor from the bright horizon, and Ennius – Ara-Karn – from the dark: impatiently now she awaited their returns. What Ampeánor might have done in the barbarian camp was not apparent at so great a distance; Ennius’s accomplishments were loudly told, in the silence emanating from Ul Raambar.
She kept even now his secret. It was not a thing she relished, that all men should know what a fool he had played her for; and she wished the vengeance that struck him should come from her alone. The two Gerso merchants had long ago departed Tarendahardil without ever learning whence that portrait had come. The earliest messages she had sent to Ul Raambar and the other cities along the dark horizon had but asked that the Gerso charan be placed under guard and escorted back to Tarendahardil. Those first messengers had returned with only the news that Ennius had departed Ul Raambar with great honor and celebration, and had not been seen since. She knew his presence, though; felt it in all the events around her, a darkness as of a storm-cloud’s brooding, baleful shadow. Out there somewhere in the world he was, regarding her and waiting. It had surprised her little when Ghezbal Daan had not responded to her call; not at all when the distant fastness of Ul Raambar fell silent and unheard-from, as though it had never been.
