Authors: William Gehler
CHAPTER FOUR
M
artan’s office was a large room with walls of stone covered with maps and a dozen clerks and as many officers and messengers coming and going with dispatches. Rokkman ushered Clarian in to meet Martan, commander of scouts. Martan looked up and met Rokkman’s eyes with a quizzical look on his face. Rokkman rolled his eyes upward, his mouth set grimly.
Martan studied Clarian for a moment, then turned to a messenger and gave him an order. The messenger hurried out. “Are you ready to fight?” he asked Clarian.
Clarian stared hard at Martan but did not answer.
Just then, Lillan, whose back had been turned, swung around to look at Clarian. Her long, chestnut hair was gathered in the back, her skin was fair, and she had lustrous brown eyes set wide with long lashes. She was almost as tall as Clarian, and her bold face caught his attention, something the long ride from the Grasslands had failed to do.
“I am showing Clarian the castle and then I will take him down to the training fields,” said Rokkman.
All the people in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at Clarian openly.
He felt self-conscious. Why were they so interested in him, he wondered. Why did everyone he meet continue to stare at him, as if evaluating him? He was only a soldier, and he didn’t want to be there at all.
“Why don’t I show Clarian the defenses of the castle? Let him view the soldiers being trained,” said Lillan.
Lillan walked past Clarian, and he turned to follow her. As they passed through the door into the corridor, a soldier whose eyes had been on Lillan turned to another soldier next to him and said, “Did you see how he’s dressed? Right out of the wild frontier! He doesn’t look like much to me.”
Suddenly, Clarian was beside the soldier, a fierce, wolf-like look to his face, skin drawn taut across his scarred cheek, eyes cold, narrow, and smoky. The startled soldier leaned back against a table, his mouth open in surprise.
“On the frontier, men live or die by their words,” hissed Clarian through his clenched teeth. His hand moved down to his hip where his knife was sheathed. Everyone saw the movement of his hand, and the soldier froze, alarm in his eyes. Clarian spun and strode out through the door, past Lillan, who had stuck her head back into the room and witnessed Clarian’s reaction to the taunt.
Lillan hurried and caught up with Clarian, a grin on her face, and led him down a long corridor that opened up to a balcony from which one could look out on the city and far out into the country to the east. They stood admiring the morning sun as it spread a golden glow across the sky and a soft light over the rolling hills in the far distance.
Clarian was still seething but trying to calm down as he took in the rolling green vista of the countryside spread out before him.
Lillan decided not to comment on the incident, and together they watched silently as below them soldiers streamed out from the castle onto the drill fields to begin the day’s training.
“There, far to the horizon, do you see the line of black?” Lillan pointed.
“I think so.”
“That’s the Forest of Darkness. The Maggan are there,” she said, adding, “You’re not at all what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” he asked.
“Someone older and short with bowed legs, thick arms, and crooked teeth,” she said.
Clarian laughed and then Lillan laughed too. Clarian thought it felt good to laugh. He couldn’t remember when he had last laughed at anything. They both became self-conscious. Lillan was wearing a Citadel uniform—blue tunic and blue trousers with black boots. She had a bow and arrow patch high on her left shoulder. Clarian was suddenly aware of his rough clothing.
“Let’s go inspect the troops,” she said. Lillan led the way down several flights of stairs, crossed an inner courtyard, passed out the main gate, and strode around to the north side of the castle until they came onto an open green. There, companies of soldiers were gathered in small units preparing to begin their training exercises for the day. Those near the castle wall were drawing wooden swords and lining up according to the directions of officers to practice sword fighting. Farther away stretched fields where archers were setting up targets, and off to the side, other soldiers were already hurling lances. On the east side, mounted soldiers were galloping through maneuvers, wheeling in formation and then charging with swords waving or lances thrust outward.
Lillan and Clarian stood watching the exercises with great interest. Lillan was particularly proud of the archers. Nearby lines of archers faced distant targets down range, and she pointed out the showers of arrows arcing up and then dropping down into the targets.
“What weapon are you best at?” she asked, turning to him.
“I like archery from horseback,” he said.
“What? Archery from horseback? That’s not what we do,” Lillan shook her head. “We archers are usually on foot and normally stand behind the soldiers in order to shoot over their heads.”
“In the Grasslands, there is no cover of trees when one is hunting, and the grass stands high. So we who live out there go hunting on horses, and when we flush out the game, we race in and shoot from the back of a horse. I thought everyone did that,” Clarian explained.
“I’d like to see that done.”
“I would show you if I had a horse and a bow.”
“We can arrange that. Let’s go.”
With Clarian following, Lillan walked out across the practice fields, cutting between companies. After a good walk, they arrived at the archers’ field. Clarian was thinking he shouldn’t have spoken. The training officers came over to Lillan when they saw her approach. She gave instructions, and one of the officers hurried off to get a horse. Another called a halt to the practice. The several hundred archers gathered round Lillan and Clarian.
Projecting her voice to reach all the archers, Lillan called out, “Archers of the Citadel, this man called Clarian came here from the far Great Grasslands. He will now demonstrate archery from the back of a horse.”
Clarian cringed inwardly at Lillan’s words. She had a smirk on her face. As she was speaking, all activity ceased, and soldiers from the other companies converged on the archery field, until there was an immense crowd of soldiers. High above, from the battlement of the castle, Rokkman and Martan watched the event unfold.
Clarian was amazed by the attention and the large numbers of onlookers. Of course he was used to performing at the harvest fair in a village near the ferry in front of cheering crowds, although they were small in number. And of course, he had performed many times when his life depended on it against the fierce Kobani, who were also horse warriors.
“Place three targets spaced one hundred paces apart on a line across there,” Clarian instructed them.
Several soldiers trotted out to position the targets.
A soldier brought a horse to him. Lillan handed him a quiver and a bow. Clarian tugged at the bowstring, feeling the tension and strength of the bow. The bow was longer than he was accustomed to using. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and practiced drawing an arrow out several times. Satisfied, he stepped to the front of the crowd. He smoothly pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back quickly, set the arrow, drew back in a fluid motion, aimed, and let fly. The arrow flew high over the target. He repeated these actions, and this time the arrow struck the target in the upper quadrant. He drew back again and released the arrow. It flew in a low arc and struck the mark. A cheer went up from the soldiers. He allowed himself a small, shy smile.
Clarian mounted the horse, urging it forward into a lope and then dropped the reins, keeping his hands free. He pressed with his right knee, and the horse responded by shifting its direction to the left, and then with pressure from his left knee, the horse moved to the right. Clarian showed his satisfaction by patting the horse on the neck.
He rode out about forty paces beyond the last target. Then, wheeling so that he would be crossing parallel across the face of the targets, he kicked the horse into a gallop, his long, brown hair streaming out behind him. Seated without his hands on the reins, he pulled an arrow, notched it, aimed, and shot directly into the target.
Still galloping, he drew another arrow and shot it into the next target and then shot another one swiftly into the third target. He regained the reins and brought the horse back to where Lillan and the crowd of soldiers were loudly cheering.
Standing high up on the castle wall, Martan looked at Rokkman with amazement. “Did you see what he just did?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how it’s possible,” said Rokkman.
Down on the field, a soldier asked Clarian, “Why do you shoot from horseback?”
“Because if you use a sword, you must come close to your enemy, and then it is one-on-one combat, and he may prevail. If you are on horseback, you can move quickly, and you need not come too close to your enemy. You can defeat three enemies or more in the time it takes to fight one by hand. Besides, in the Grasslands you can’t see your enemy on foot because the grass is so high. Only from horseback can you engage.”
“Is this what you will teach us in order to defeat the Maggan?” the soldier asked.
Clarian looked down from his horse at Lillan’s oval face shining up at him as she stepped up to his horse and took hold of the bridle. Her eyes seemed to pierce his being, and he felt warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he had never known before.
“Yes, I will teach you.”
Clarian dismounted and found himself standing close to Lillan. She was not shy, and her brown eyes looked boldly into his. He suddenly felt aware of how scruffy he looked. He might even smell from the mad dash across the country on horseback, the quick wash this morning notwithstanding. Still, he felt camaraderie with these happy soldiers that crowded around him. And he wanted to be close to Lillan.
CHAPTER FIVE
“W
e’re going on patrol. You will see the Forest of Darkness,” Martan said to Clarian.
In the early hours before dawn, the riders pounded down the dusty road heading northeast. Clarian was beginning to think that no one here rode casually. Everyone seemed in a hurry. If the Maggan were in fact planning to attack in the near future, it was clear that time was critical. He had observed the building of the Karran army, and although they were in greater numbers than he had ever seen in one place, they were far from ready for battle. And he had been told the Maggan could march with even larger numbers in force.
The yellow-white sun rose up high, ushering in the day, beating down upon them. Up on the plateau just ahead of them, the land was dry; Clarian had been told that there had been no rain for weeks. The road left the rolling hills of the city of the Citadel atop its grand hill and dropped down between low hills with clusters of trees on the summits and open spaces between, cultivated by farmers. Animals were grazing in the pastures, and men were working in the fields. Cottages, white-washed and gleaming, were set back off the road, surrounded by trees and outbuildings.
As they rode the farms thinned out. The land became emptier of people and turned into dry, brown, grasslands. Red rocky ridges rose up on either side of the road, which had diminished to no more than a narrow trail. A shallow stream ran alongside the road with occasional small pools of water filled with green rushes. The riders, about twenty in all, slowed their pace, with no more than four abreast as they proceeded into ridge country. Dark-green, twisted scrub trees grew at the base of the ridges and up on the summits. The riders changed horses at a guard outpost and pushed on for another long day.
The evening shadows lengthened, and a reluctant sun dropped to the horizon. The lead rider stopped when they came over a hill, and the group bunched up to look across a short valley carpeted with dry, brown grasses barren of living creatures. At the far side of the valley, the land thrust up into highlands, and there on top of the highlands was a forest, black against the sky.
“There it is!” said one soldier.
The forest seemed to explode up into the sky, so dark that the giant trees, towering a hundred feet or more, looked almost black. The foliage was so thick at the top that it created a canopy that blocked out the sun. Beneath the trees, it was very dark. There was no sound except the heavy breathing of the horses and their shifting hooves on the hard-packed earth. The sun, fading in the west, was partially blocked by dark, rainy clouds looming over the forest.
“Let’s get behind the ridge on this side, out of sight,” said Martan. The riders turned their horses around and rode a short distance before dismounting. When they had watered their horses, they gathered around Martan.
“The Forest of Darkness makes its own weather,” said Martan. “No one knows how far the forest extends.”
Martan motioned for them to creep up to the top of the ridge to gaze at the forest. He turned to speak to Clarian. “I have been in the forest to observe the Maggan a number of times. They are so arrogant that they post no guards here at this entrance to the forest. And you may have noticed that the road is not well traveled. We do not go into the forest. There is no trade between our peoples. They do come out and scout us from time to time at night. They do not fear us. They have moved a large camp of soldiers less than an hour’s ride from here, inside the forest. It’s dark under the trees, but your eyes get used to it after a while.”
“Let’s take a look at the Maggan,” Clarian suggested.
“Not on this patrol. Besides, it will be dark soon, and that is when they arise.”
“Why bring me here if not to show me the enemy? And why do you concern yourself with me anyway? I am just a warrior like so many others.”
“The Flamekeeper has given me orders. That is all I can say. We will camp here tonight.”
“I want to see the Maggan!”
“Not now, Clarian.”
“We need to know their numbers and how soon they could march out.”
“Not tonight.”
The patrol camped without a fire behind a ridge. The horses were picketed close by.
Clarian gazed at the forest with curiosity. He had questions that needed answers. He sensed that the Karran soldiers feared the Maggan. Why? What was in the forest that could provoke such anxiety? And why not creep into the forest to observe the enemy and determine their readiness?
Lillan appeared next to Clarian as he tossed his blanket on the grass.
“They can see in the dark as well as we see in daylight.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“The road leads directly to their camp where they are mustering their army. It’s very dark under the great trees, even during the day. Not much light filters down through the canopy. Only a few scouts volunteer to go into the forest. Most won’t go. They’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“We’ll see.”
Clarian grinned at her and turned to spread out his blanket as she moved away. He wrapped up but lay with his eyes open, unable to sleep. The camp was soon quiet.
Clarian slipped out of his blanket, led his horse out, and walked quietly to the entrance of the forest. He mounted and within moments, he was in a gloom that made it difficult to see at all. It was so dim that it was difficult to see at all. He moved his horse along at a quick but quiet pace following the faint road. It wasn’t long before he saw light from campfires in the enemy encampment. He tethered his horse and proceeded on foot, careful to make no noise. He kept in mind that the Maggan could see well in the dark, and he made sure he was screened by the undergrowth beneath the giant trees.
Night had now fallen, making it darker than dark. No starlight or moonlight could penetrate the forest from overhead. The forest floor was strewn with rotting leaves, deadening his footsteps so that he passed almost silently. The wet undergrowth exuded a fetid odor. The road ran uphill on a slight grade and curved around massive black trees trunks.
It wasn’t long before he had a clear view of the campfires through the trees ahead. He stopped to listen: wood being chopped, laughter, and dogs barking. He stalked along the road’s edge toward the camp. The sounds grew louder, and then through the trees, light spilled out from a vast clearing. A great many cook fires were blazing.
Clarian could see the dancing shadows from the fires lighting the trees up to the canopy above, and he could now make out the moving figures in the camp. There were tents—hundreds of them—and campfires everywhere. Dark figures Clarian assumed were soldiers moved from tent to fire and back. Many appeared to be seated. Occasionally, a loud voice could be heard giving orders.
Clarian moved silently and slowly, from tree to tree. There was light foliage between the trees, mostly young saplings poking up, but no heavy underbrush dragging against his clothes or twigs snapping. He pressed up against each tree, almost hugging it. Several huge trees were blocking his way, so he moved to his right. He glided forward and eased in among several saplings that shielded him from the camp. He was about five hundred paces from the nearest campfire. He could make out stacks of weapons, bows, spears, shields, and swords lined up. The camp appeared busy. He wondered what they could be doing that late in the evening.
Clarian suddenly became aware of someone beside him.
“Beautiful morning, don’t you think?” said the figure.
Clarian turned to glance at the speaker just as the speaker turned to glance at him. The first thing Clarian noticed were the eyes, gleaming just like a cat’s with that star-shape in the center. Maggan!
Both of them jumped back with startled grunts and both caught their feet in tree roots and fell. Clarian landed on his back. The Maggan recovered first and jumped on top of him. They wrestled furiously. The Maggan was smaller, but quick and strong. As they grappled, Clarian couldn’t reach his knife, and he worried that the Maggan would pull one. They rolled, fighting furiously, among the tree roots. Clarian grabbed at the Maggan’s head, and the helmet slipped off, and long black hair tumbled out. The Maggan squirmed away and, sitting up, planted a hard kick into Clarian’s chest. Clarian kicked back, and they both delivered a series of kicks, each sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk and kicking the other as hard as could be.
“You’re a woman!” exclaimed Clarian.
“You Karran dog!” she snarled.
“You’re a Maggan!” he exclaimed in amazement.
“What did you think you’d find in our camp?” she hissed.
“Surrender!”
“You’re my prisoner!” she said.
“You’re
my
prisoner!” he said.
“You can never get out of here now,” she taunted him.
“I can get out. Besides, I heard you eat your prisoners. I’m not interested in staying around for that,” he said.
“I’m going to get a lot of pleasure out of eating your heart, Karran.”
The kicking stopped as each struggled upright.
The light from the many campfires cast enough light for Clarian to see her clearly. She had thick, shoulder-length, blue-black hair, braided on the sides; milk-white skin; green luminous eyes; and a face more lovely than any he had ever seen.
Clarian and Neevan both stood up at the same time. Clarian was considering what to do. Neevan glanced sideways toward the camp.
Clarian shouldered Neevan into a recess in a tree trunk, his hand over her mouth. Her body barely fit into it. She attempted to draw her dagger. Clarian knocked it away and drew his.
Clarian pressed the blade against Neevan’s throat, his face only inches from hers as they stared into each other’s eyes. He was mesmerized by her eyes and by the sheer beauty of her face.
“I have to sound the alarm,” she whispered. “It’s my duty.”
“Why does it always come to this?”
She turned her face, fully expecting the knife to bite deep into her neck.
“Not today, woman.”
He slammed the haft of his dagger against her head and as she dropped to the ground, he was gone, running hard for his life into the trees and the darkness.
A horn sounded in the camp, and Clarian could hear shouting behind him.
Heavily winded, he found his horse, mounted, and urged it into a swift gallop. In short order, he broke out of the forest. He raced across the valley, splashed through the stream, and thundered down the road away from the forest.
The sound of horses’ hooves pounding hard behind told him all he needed to know. Clarian cast a look over his shoulder and could see riders in the gloom. He knew his horse was tiring after the long ride to the Forest of Darkness, and he was sure the Maggan were on fresh horses.
The moon was breaking out, casting a dim light on the rough landscape. He could see just ahead that the trail climbed up a steep grade and topped a bare hill. At the top of the hill, he reined in his horse and retrieved his bow. He waited as the Maggan warriors raced for him. He deliberately notched an arrow, drew back his bow, and snapped off a shot. The arrow arched through the night and thudded into a Maggan soldier, who toppled off his horse.
Clarian drew back again. Another shot, and a soldier flipped back over his horse. The Maggan soldiers reined in their horses, spinning about and shouting.
At that moment, Martan and Lillan and the patrol crested the hill. Martan was furious and shouted, “What are you doing? Are you completely out of your mind?”
“I had to see for myself.”
“You are about to start the war!”
“Yes, I might have,” Clarian snapped. “At any rate, we can’t outrun them on these tired horses. So, either we pick where we fight, or they will. Remember, no war has yet been declared. So they may not want to be the first to start it without orders. I think with us awaiting them here, the cost will be too high. They don’t know how many there are of us, and they might be afraid of a trap,” said Clarian.
Within moments, the band of Maggan riders reappeared, swarming down the trail toward the waiting Karran, who presented a strong front, with archers on each flank, bows in hand with arrows notched, and ten warriors lined up across the hill. The Maggan had twice the number of riders as the Karran, but they slowed when they sighted the Karran waiting for them. At about two hundred paces from where Clarian sat upon his horse with the others, the Maggan stopped and milled about, talking and pointing. One of the Maggan was waving his sword in the air and shouting at the Karran, but his words were muffled. After several minutes, the Maggan turned and rode back the way they came.
Lillan dismounted, and they all followed her lead, watering the horses in a brook that ran alongside the trail. All eyes remained on the path, not trusting that the Maggan had given up so easily. The thought remained that the Maggan might slip out of sight for a while and then try to catch the Karran unaware later.
“You fool!” snarled Martan.
Clarian glared back. “They would have lost half their men before reaching us, and then the odds would still have been in our favor because we held the high ground. They would have been at a disadvantage.
Clarian held the reins of his horse loosely as he led it to water.
Martan’s face was twisted in anger. “You took a big chance,” he said.
Clarian stared at him hard and then ignored him.
Some of the soldiers sat down on the sparse grass, some on large rocks, waiting to see whether the Maggan would return. Some took out food and began eating.
After two hours of waiting, they mounted up and resumed their journey back to the Citadel on tired horses. Three soldiers trailed and watched the rear, but no Maggan appeared. The road widened as they passed out of no-man’s land and into Karran territory, and they made better time. By day’s end, they rode slouched with fatigue into the courtyard of the Citadel.
Giving their horses to the grooms, the soldiers headed for the barracks. Rokkman met with Martan, and his face was soon livid, his eyes following Clarian. He hurried off, saying he needed to report to the Flamekeeper.
Clarian followed the other soldiers into the barracks. A soldier pointed out the door to the sleeping quarters. The corridor was dimly lit from a small window. Lillan stepped in front of him. She studied him with a long, penetrating look so that he could not avoid her eyes. She leaned her body against his, forcing his back against the cold, stone wall, her solemn face inches from his. It was like an electric jolt to his system.