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‘Who among your sons is fit to lead in your absence?’
He thought about this. ‘All three, although Antesh is my heir. I have taught them to be ready, but he is the most level-headed.’
‘Good.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve lost sons, Arkan. It is most bitter. Your father lost two, making you his heir.’ She took a long moment to study Arkan. Her nephew had been as young as his father had been when the responsibility for his people fell to him. After a while she said, ‘Very well. There is something you must do. It will most likely get you killed, and even if you survive you may never be able to return to your clan. Are you willing to risk everything to save your kin?’
Without hesitation he said, ‘That is a chieftain’s burden, and his honour.’
‘I’d expect no less an answer. Then come, Arkan of the Ardanien, this you must know: a conflict that will engulf our world is brewing, and without your help we may all perish. You must travel south, where the humans make war, and possibly beyond.’ She fell silent.
‘What must I do?’ he asked.
Liallan looked him in the eyes, then motioned for him to stand. Once again she studied his face before speaking. ‘I do not know.’
‘So, I am to leave my home, place the care of my people in my sons’ hands, and … do something; but you do not know what it is?’
‘You must go south. You must disguise yourself as an eledhel, since few humans would notice the difference, and you must seek someone out.’
‘Who?’
‘Again I do not know. But I am certain you will find that person and then your next path will be made clearer.’
Arkan was silent for a time, then said, ‘I respect you as much as anyone does – and you are my kinswoman – but you ask much and give so little.’
‘Should you survive, nephew, should all of us survive, I will give Kalina to your eldest son.’
Arkan was rendered almost speechless. ‘Why?
‘Your sons are closer to the soil of this world than my chieftains. They are true sons of the moredhel, warriors without dishonour, strong without being overly ambitious. Should I name any of my chieftains my heir, the bickering and rivalries would tear the Hamandien apart within hours of my death. But if I name your son my heir, not only will he bring a small but powerful clan into the fold, but it will also prevent such a falling out. Clan Ardanien would serve as effective a personal bodyguard as any chieftain could desire. My chieftains would bend their knees and accept his rule to keep the clans intact. The Snow Leopards grow stronger and survive for another generation.’
‘You’d do that?’
‘If you go south and find this man you’re fated to meet.’
‘How do you know I’m fated to meet this … human?’
‘In my dream I see dragons flying; and upon a mountain peak two figures, one a man in a black robe, and the other is you. You protect him while he wields great magic. You are destined to save our people, Arkan.’
He had no words, so he merely sat in silence. Then he rose, nodded and left the light, warm pavilion, and returned to a dark, cold, and windy world.
• CHAPTER TWO •
Raid
BUGLES SOUNDED THE WARNING.
Martin conDoin, son of the late Duke of Crydee, dropped the spoon carrying the first bite of food he’d had in hours and was nearly out of the door of the inn he was using as a forward headquarters before his chair hit the wooden floor. He hurried to the south-western gate. ‘Report!’ he shouted as he ran from the harbour to the city’s entrance.
Sergeant Magwin looked down from his position on top of the tower, a small figure at that distance, but his voice carried. ‘Scout’s returning, sir!’
‘Open the gates!’ shouted Martin.
An exhausted rider wearing the tunic of the garrison of Crydee came cantering through the partially opened gate and pulled up before Martin as it was slammed shut behind him. He was covered in road dirt and sweat, and his horse was near collapse. He saluted and said, ‘Found the infantry, sir.’ He held out a folded parchment.
Martin read the report. ‘Is he seriously refusing to return?’
The scout dismounted. ‘Yes, sir. The captain of the column is from LaMut. He said, “I’ve got my orders, and they are to go to Sarth and meet the Duke; no lad from Crydee is telling me otherwise.”’ He lowered his eyes. ‘That’s when he wrote that and gave it to me, sir.’
Martin fumed silently, then said, ‘That’s … perfect.’
Brendan, Martin’s younger brother and his adjutant, had hurried from the heart of the city, dodging through the press of people who were waiting nearby to hear what news the scout might bring. He was almost out of breath when he stopped and gasped out, ‘A small band from LaMut has arrived.’
‘Some good news,’ said Martin, looking around. The two young men looked like twins, both with long brown hair to their shoulders and slender, agile bodies. Being only one year apart, the differences between them were growing smaller with each passing month. ‘How many?’
‘Forty,’ said Brendan. ‘Mostly men over fifty, but they seem fit: farmers and millers, loggers and the like. Twenty or so are bowmen.’
‘Good, we can always use more archers on the wall. See to their quarters.’
‘They’ve got this old—’ He laughed as he spread his arms widely, as if describing a fish he had caught. ‘A ballista that big … Maybe a bit bigger, but I’ve never seen its like. Said it’s been on the top of the gate in LaMut since … well, since anyone can remember. Some of the retired soldiers who came south thought it would be useful.’
Martin tried to be amused, but failed. ‘Have them bring it here.’ He glanced around and saw a small patch of earth between two buildings, perhaps once a garden in better days, and pointed at it. ‘Move the wagon there. We might need to put the ballista up on the wall.’ He scanned the entirety of the battlement above, then said, ‘But I have no idea where.’
Ylith held a unique position in the Kingdom. It was nestled in the north-eastern corner of a near-perfect but tiny harbour. Given the city’s position, the massive harbour gates were its main entrance. Away to the south-east, there was a small beach running barely a quarter of a mile between the southern edge of the city docks and the rocks along the quickly rising headlands. From there the coastline reared upward sharply to the promontory called Questor’s View, two days’ ride on a fast horse. A small village occupied the flat top of the promontory, and a small garrison was stationed there. The Duke had stripped it of soldiers as he marched south, leaving the village protected only by its surrounding terrain. From there, no safe landing existed until one was deep within the principality, near the town of Sarth, which currently was expecting the muster from Yabon.
Shoals and rocks hidden just below the surface, to the south-west of the harbour, provided a natural defence against any nearby landings. The shallows created a tide race, and every experienced captain gave that part of the coast a wide berth lest they be swept onto the rocks and wrecked. It was over half a day’s ride by swift horse before a safe landing south of the city could be found.
Between the city walls and foulborough beyond was an open plaza, giving archers on the wall a field of fire. The booths and stalls that on market days and holidays traditionally stood against the wall had been removed even before Martin and the Crydee muster had arrived.
Three roads intersected at the centre of the plaza south-west of the harbour gates: the highway to the Free Cities and Natal ran south along the bay; the road to Crydee moved away to the north-west; and a small road led east, which rapidly turned into a farmer’s track. Here lay the heart of Ylith’s commerce, the busy port that was the gateway to Yabon.
The city of Ylith had been seized by invaders once before, when the general leading the invading army of the Emerald Queen had set himself up as King of the Bitter Sea. Only a betrayal by one of his southern commanders in exchange for consideration from the Kingdom had allowed the tyrant to be dislodged. Martin had read the history of the Emerald Queen’s invasion and knew the vital part played by this city in protecting the principality, Yabon, and the passes to the Far Coast. The Kingdom might lose Crydee and recover, or even lose control of the eastern shore of the Bitter Sea between Ylith and Sarth, but if Ylith fell, all would be lost.
‘What news from the south?’ asked Brendan.
‘It’s bad,’ said Martin, handing over the message.
Brendan quickly read it. ‘Is he serious?’
‘Apparently.’ Martin threw the parchment into the dust and looked around. ‘If I were in his place I would not wish to explain to my duke where his infantry was, if he was expecting them to arrive in Sarth next week.’
‘Would you rather explain how you lost all of Yabon?’ countered Brendan.
‘Just following orders,’ said Martin dryly. ‘Well, the pirate we hired should have delivered my message to the Duke by the time the infantry reaches Sarth.’ He calculated. ‘If the Prince hasn’t commanded him to continue on to Krondor or stay in Sarth, he could be back here with his cavalry and light foot regiment in ten days.’
‘Lots of ifs,’ said Brendan.
‘I know,’ answered Martin. ‘Where are we now?’
His brother knew exactly what Martin was asking. ‘Our men at arms number three hundred from Crydee, plus the fifty irregulars the Duke of Yabon left here with Bolton.’ Captain Bolton was the nephew of the commander of the Earl of LaMut’s guard. The brothers were convinced that he had been left behind in the hope that no attack would ever reach this far north. Once he had been taken down a peg or two by Martin, the earnest young man had turned out to be completely out of his depth, which was the reason for all his bluster when they first met.
Brendan continued, ‘About two hundred men and boys have trickled in since you sent word north, but they’re the ones who were too unfit to answer the Duke of Yabon’s first muster: mostly old men, a few former soldiers, and eager boys, for the main part under fifteen years old. And too few damn weapons.’
‘Well, set them to making arrows. They’ll be slow at it at first, but if there are enough hands put to the task we should do well. I’d rather the archers had too many than too few.’
‘Wood is no problem, and the smiths here can do the broadheads, but we’re going to have a problem with the flights: not enough feathers.’
‘Use chicken feathers if you have to. Set snares for pigeons and seagulls,’ snapped Martin. ‘I don’t care.’ Then he closed his eyes and said, ‘Sorry. I’m …’
Brendan put his hand on his brother’s arm. ‘I know.’ He indicated with a nod of his head that the scout was still standing nearby.
Martin dismissed the man with thanks and ordered the gates of the city sealed. He looked towards the heart of the town and said, ‘How are the provisions?’
‘Enough,’ said Brendan as they started walking back to the mayor’s house, which was being used for local headquarters. ‘With most of the fighting men down south, the local farms can provide enough for a siege, as long as we keep the north gate and road clear.’ The old baron’s castle on the hill to the north-west of the city was far enough away. Martin had done little more than give it a quick inspection, but it would serve as a last resort for defence if the entire town fell to the Keshians. It was his purpose to see that didn’t happen, for even if they held the keep above the town, Kesh would have achieved their purpose: bisecting the Western Realm. If that happened, no aid could flow in either direction. Not only would this region be lost, the entire Western Realm would be left vulnerable.
Martin glanced around as if seeking inspiration. His home of Crydee was already crawling with colonists from the far south of the Empire, the region known as the Keshian Confederacy, and they were aggressively driving out whoever occupied the farms and mills, mines and lumbering villages. Herds had been seized, as had anything else of value, and a steady stream of displaced Kingdom citizens entered Ylith on a daily basis.
‘You look lost in thought,’ observed Brendan.
Martin smiled slightly at his younger brother. ‘Just trying to imagine what I’d be doing next if I were the Keshian commander in Crydee.’
Brendan shrugged. ‘It would depend on what his orders are, right?’
Martin nodded. ‘We’ve not seen any Keshian ships this far north. Queg must be keeping them busy to the south.’
Brendan knew his brother meant that Queg was keeping Kesh from sailing west of their island kingdom. While no formal treaty existed between Queg and the Kingdom, they were effectively allied against Kesh’s northward expansion in the Bitter Sea. The part of the Kingdom fleet that wasn’t stationed down in Port Vykor and Krondor would be hugging the coast of the Principality, freeing Queg from the need to protect their eastern coast. ‘Even if they bottled up all of the Prince’s fleet at Krondor, some Kingdom ships had to sortie out of Port Vykor and would have been out on the water when this war started. Most likely, there’s a line of ships between Vykor and Sarth, enough to hold the Keshians in check.’
Martin nodded. ‘Which means Kesh is not reinforcing her armies by sea.’
‘So, the only large force they have in the region is the one that drove us out of Crydee,’ finished Brendan.
Martin squatted. ‘Let’s assume for the moment that whatever ships Kesh have are down south supporting the land assaults against Land’s End, Vykor and Krondor. So how does that leave us here in the north?’ He pulled out his belt knife and drew a half-circle in the earth. ‘We’re here,’ he said, sticking his blade point into the ground. He motioned towards what would be the west on his makeshift map. ‘If they bring those forces here, we can face them along one or two walls at most, without support, and not worry about the rest of our defences.’ He motioned to the south of the harbour gate. ‘Out there is a natural choke point between the docks and gate.’ He stood up. ‘Unless they mean to swim across from the western shore then attack up the road …’ His expression changed and he motioned for Brendan to follow him as he hurried over to the steps leading up to the ramparts.
At the top of the wall he could see the handful of men stationed along the battlement, all trying to appear keen and ready, but really just hiding their boredom. Martin knew the tedium of the watch only too well as he and his brothers had served more than their share; their father had ensured that his three sons understood every aspect of the soldier’s trade. There was an old soldier’s saying: War is protracted periods of boredom punctuated by short bursts of violence and terror; and so far, Martin had found that to be entirely true.
Scanning the docks below the wall and the foulborough between the city walls and the docks, he said, ‘How would you attack this city?’
Brendan moved to one of the crenels and leaned out slightly, his hands resting on the merlons to either side. He said, ‘I’d not wish to.’
‘I know, but if you did, how?’
His younger brother was silent as he continued to survey the landscape beyond the wall. His attention lingered for a moment on the keep high above the city and then dropped to the road from the west, across the harbourage and then the road to the south. Finally he said, ‘I’d come at the city from the east. It’s the weakest part of the defence.’
‘But to do that means you’d have to get your forces across the water to the western coast of the Principality. No ships, remember.’
Brendan said, ‘The Free Cities have ships.’
‘But to turn south and move on Port Natal leaves your rear exposed to … well, us.
‘And even if you get past the Rangers sniping at you from behind every tree, win past the city defenders, and get your hands on enough ships, you’ve still got to sail back north and get past Queg’s patrols.’ He stopped, thoughtful. ‘But your instincts are right, I’m certain. We just have to figure out how they intend to do it.’
‘Which brings us back to a raiding fleet from the south,’ said Brendan.
Martin shook his head. ‘Let’s leave the problem of how they do it to the Keshians. We must assume they can get to the western shore of the Bitter Sea. If I were their commander, I’d make straight for Questor’s View and come ashore on that beach to the north of the town.’
‘Which would put you only a day’s forced march south of that old fortification there,’ said Brendan, pointing across the water.
‘That would be a fine staging area. Leaving out the part about swimming across, invisible ships, or other magic as beside the point of having soldiers there, let’s assume the Keshian commander is as intelligent as you are.’ Martin turned. ‘Sergeant Ruther!’ he shouted.
‘Sir!’ came the answering reply from below.
The old sergeant might not always be in sight but he was always near at hand. Martin motioned for him to come up and despite his age the old soldier took the steps two at a time as he hurried to his young commander’s side. When he reached Martin, he said, ‘Sir?’
‘What can you tell us about that old fortification?’
‘Been abandoned for nearly a hundred years, I’ve been told. Built as a buttress against some nasty raids over the mountains and down along the coast. Seems things got calmer and one of the old barons decided that paying for a second garrison wasn’t necessary.’
‘How long would it take to ride down and have a look around?’
‘An hour to get there. It’s farther away than it looks from here. That’s no hill overlooking the beach and the road bends through the woodlands. Another hour to inventory, and then an hour to return. Be back by supper, sir.’
‘Get to it,’ said Martin.
As Ruther headed down the steps bellowing orders to form a detail to ride with him, a sentry at the far western corner shouted, ‘Patrol coming in!’
Martin turned to see four riders coming in at a canter; an urgent enough pace to indicate that there was news, but not fast enough to signal immediate danger. ‘Open the gates!’ he commanded.
Four riders entered, as grimy as their horses. The sudden early summer rains had quickly dried out and mud and dust covered both mount and horseman. The leader of the patrol, a newly promoted corporal named Jackson, dismounted and said, ‘Saw ’em, sir.’
‘Where?’
‘Their vanguard is about half a day’s ride the other side of the pass.’ The rangy, sandy-haired young man stopped and calculated. ‘Saw them at dawn yesterday, Commander, so they must be a day and a half, perhaps two days at the most, behind us.’
‘How many have they brought?’ asked Brendan.
‘The whole bunch, sir,’ said Jackson. He thanked the guard who handed him a water skin. He took a long pull from it, then said, ‘Seems like they don’t feel the need to leave much behind. It’s as if they don’t care about any attempt to retake Crydee from the south.’
‘Odd,’ said Martin. ‘So what numbers do you think we’ll see, and when?’
‘Five hundred horses, if I judged rightly; a bunch of those desert fellows with the leopardskin trim on their helmets, maybe three hundred; and what looks like heavy cavalry: lancers with baggage wagons. And infantry. At least a thousand Dog Soldiers, and twice that number of irregulars.’
‘Siege engines?’ asked Brendan.
‘I expect they took ’em apart after we left Crydee, and will be dragging them along, sir. Didn’t stay around to see if they were in the rear with those leopard fellows getting close. A couple of them gave chase, but they didn’t last long once we turned and ran.’
Martin studied the distant road through the gate. He had ordered entrapments and barriers erected, knowing full well they were more of nuisance to the enemy than a real deterrent. Still, anything that kept the Keshians from swarming over that hill and coming straight at the gate was to be earnestly wished for.
His eyes returned once again to the old keep on top of the hill overlooking the road. He had conducted a quick inspection of their defences a week earlier when he had first arrived. Now he wondered if he had been overly hasty.
‘Find Bolton,’ Martin said softly to his brother.
