The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (40 page)

Kirin halted his speech. Again, he drummed his fingers on the table as he looked to each of his guests in turn. Nothing but stunned silence greeted his stare.

As usual, Daric spoke first. True to form, he had thought of a tangent to the point “So… Si’eth was telling the truth!”

Kirin scratched his head and shot a puzzled gaze in Daric’s direction. “Who is this Si’eth character?”

“The Salrian prisoner we—” Daric waved off the how, when, and why he knew Si’eth. “It is a long story. We discovered he was smuggling a map of the Tunnels of Aldregair to someone unknown, at the behest of a greedy Salrian general.”

Kirin thumped the desk and stood quickly. “Oh no, no, NO, NO!” Turning, he kicked the ash bucket in front of the hearth and began pacing back and forth. “That’s what we’d feared. Damn it!” Kirin stood still with his head in his hands. He mumbled to himself for a few minutes and then turned. “You must go back, and quickly. Have a few hours’ sleep, then go back and destroy that map!” Kirin’thar dry-washed his face and began pacing again. “By the gods, I wish Tor’gan was still here,
Cinnè’arth or no Cinnè’arth. He could have been there within the hour and burnt the damn thing. Gods, the Tunnels of Aldregair, I never thought… A hundred years ago, we were all but defeated. That foul place was all that stood between us and oblivion. I never thought she would risk that again. But, of course, with a map…”

“Why? What is in the tunnels?” Elspeth asked.

Kirin’thar stopped tapping his foot. He folded his arms and leaned back against the hearth. He was about to speak, but Toban answered first. “The Karakin.”

Olam and Daric shuffled in their seats. Nobody wanted to
hear
that name, never mind speaking of them.

“Who are the Karakin?” Gialyn asked.

Toban looked at Olam and Kirin’thar before answering; maybe he would rather they took up the story from there, but no one answered. “The Karakin are the lost clan of Alphas, wolves that were snared and bound to serve Ash’mael and his followers. Yes, I know your next question, Gialyn. Ash’mael was an Oracle, one of the original six. The other five are his followers, or at least he is first amongst equals. Together they serve Diobael. They are as close to true evil as this world has ever seen. Yet they stay within Aldregair. Nobody knows why. Most think they are guarding something, but what, that is anybody’s guess. The Karakin are evil beasts, neither alive nor dead, so they say. Just pray the gods they do not choose to leave.”

Kirin’thar clapped his hands on the table. “Let us not concern ourselves with things that will not happen. Let us deal with what is in front of us.” He filled his goblet with wine and handed the bottle along to Daric. “It was only last night, in that very clearing, the dragon Tor and I were discussing the Madden. The one answer we couldn’t reach: From where will they attack? Without that knowledge, we cannot plan a counter. The map must be destroyed. If they find a means to travel safely through the tunnels…” Kirin looked to the heavens in despair. “We will only have three weeks, maybe a month, before they fall on Bailryn—and the palace. Whether we know their plan or not, there is no time to counter an attack through Aldregair
. They would be on us too soon.” Kirin looked at each in turn. “There will be no getting them out. The whole east coast, from the Isles to the Raithby Delta, will be under their control.”

Daric stared into his cup. “It may not be all bad,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Kirin’thar asked.

“We are on this trek of ours because of the guard recruitment. We think it is a ruse to get as many young able-bodied men as possible to the capital. The royal messenger delivered the invitations, along with travel warrants and written proofs. Never has a simple recruitment been handled in such a way. In three weeks, Bailryn will be full of thousands of eager would-be soldiers.”

Kirin pouted, tilted his head, and shrugged his shoulders. “Sneaky, but…” He sat back down. “Anyway, you must still travel to the keep at Cul’taris. Whether they know or not, I doubt they will be aware of the army in Northern Barath, or their plans to use the tunnels.”

“Indeed not!” Daric said. “Do you have horses?”

“Yes. However, they will not travel through the Morrdin, and that map is still your priority. I will send horses to the northern point of Crenach. At least your journey will be swift from there. It’s only a day-long ride to the hold.”

“Agreed.” Daric nodded.

Kirin settled and turned his attention to Elspeth. “And you, young lady, you must go back to the Geddy and get that father of yours to convince the magistrate in Beugeddy to send aid, as soon as possible.”

Elspeth sat up, stumbling for words. “Err… My father is only the manager of Rundair. I do not think he has even met the magistrate.”

“No matter, I’ll send scrolls with the seal of Crenach’coi, one for your father and one for the magistrate. They will believe that!”

Elspeth raised her hands in bewildered submission. “All right, then.” She would have complained, but her sense of duty—as much as it was—bade her to shut up.

Kirin looked to Arfael. “And now, sir, to you.” He sighed. By the look on his face, it appeared that dealing with the Cinnè’arth was more of a task than winning a war. “The dragons of Aldriegan are in dire need of your assistance. You
must
travel to Braylair in the Bren’alor valley as soon as you are able.”

Olam’s head spun from Kirin to Arfael and back. “Are you kidding, friend? Did you not see what just happened out there?”

“I understand that, sir, but he
is
the Cinnè’arth!” Kirin said. “You should first visit on a girl called Brea. She lives in the Braylair, and she will be expecting you. The girl is a Dragon Soul Guardian and is very powerful, though she hardly knows it yet. She will be able to help.” Kirin’thar cupped his hands as though praying. “Please, make no judgement on that which has come to pass today, or in any day until now. It is vital that you attend. The entire campaign could very well hinge on your action, Arfael.”

Arfael looked vacantly at Kirin. He blinked and bowed his head. “Is this my destiny, old man?”

Kirin was surprised at his response. “Your destiny was written one hundred and twenty-three years ago, my friend. This is just another chapter and one you alone can read. Do you not know who you are?”

Olam looked to Toban, who shrugged and nodded. “Destiny?” he said. “Are you saying he is the elder? That he is, indeed, A
rlyn. Nothing we have heard has made us certain of that, whether you chose to call him by that name or not.”

“Yes, of course he is. How could you not know this?”

Toban spoke. “We knew he was one of the three brothers, but…”

“Well
, he is the Cinnè’arth! Arlyn Gan’ifael: the saviour of Barais’coi and destroyer of Eiras’moya.”

Silence filled the room again.

“I know,” Arfael whispered. “I have known since Illeas’den. I do understand who I am. I do
not
understand what I’m supposed to do. I owe nothing to you or your crusade. My duty is my own. I owe nothing to anyone, and I will not be controlled.”

“Phaw.” Kirin’thar waved away Arfael’s speech. “Your duty is not your own
. You are Kel’mai. You owe everything to your brothers and to those who died trying to save this land. And as for being controlled, you are the Cinnè’arth. We are yours to control, Arfael. Now you just get yourself straight, young man. We need
you
. We do not need self-pity.”

Arfael began to shake. For a moment, it looked to all as though he were about to change again. His face turned red and his eyes yellow. Olam and Elspeth both tried to calm him, but Kirin’thar banged his fist on the table. “Leave the
Cinnè’arth be. It is his choice. If making the right one turns him, then he is no use to us.”

“That is enough!” Daric shouted. “I don’t know what he is
. I do not know who he is. But as far as I can see, the man is a soldier, and he has fought his battles. Gods know that’s the truth. You will not force him into anything.”

“I must go,” Arfael whispered loud enough for all to hear. “Thank you, Daric, but Kirin’thar is right. And even if he were not, I couldn’t turn my back without learning more. I will see this… girl you speak of. I cannot know my next step until I know more of where I have been.”

“Well said, my friend.” Olam nodded and patted Arfael on his shoulder.

All but Elspeth seemed in agreement. “Arfael, you do not have to fight if you don’t know what you
’re fighting for.”

“And that is why I’m going, little one.” He smiled.

Kirin stood and bowed. “Finish your food and rest if you can, though I don’t know how you will sleep—I certainly won’t.” He turned to his wife. “Loreanna has prepared cots for you all and there is a place to wash at the end of the hall. If you need anything else, please ask. Don’t be shy.” Kirin’thar left them to finish while he spoke with his wife.

The travellers sat silent for a long minute. No one wanted to lift their eyes from their plates, knowing it would start a conversation that none particularly wanted to hold.

Gialyn broke the silence. “I don’t mean to be selfish,” he said. “But what am I to do in all of this?”

“You’ll go back to Albergeddy with Elspeth. Someone must see to your mother,” Daric said.

Gialyn nodded. “Of course, Mother. Sorry, I didn’t think.”

“Well, can’t he take the scroll, then?” Elspeth asked. “What of my brother? I cannot leave him here, and I very much doubt he will be ready to travel anytime soon, even if the Cren have healed him.”

Daric flicked his head back. “Ealian… You are right, Elspeth, of course. We must see how things are when we get back to the others. We will decide who goes where then.”

Olam took a deep breath. “My friends, I know it is going to be difficult, but I suggest we all get some sleep. I do not think it wise to take on the
Morrdin without at least some rest.”

They all agreed and one by one set off to bed.

*  *  *

The morning came quickly. After a brief breakfast, the travellers gathered in the courtyard in front of Kirin’thar’s house.

“Did you sleep at all?” Kirin said to the whole group. A few murmurs and bouts of muttered waffling followed. “Me neither,” he said. “Anyway, I suggest you all take one of these and tie them like masks once you reach the
Trees of Morrdin
.” Kirin passed out cloth bandanas to the group.

Elspeth took a sniff. “Ah… that’s…”

“Kalli
root.” Olam answered for her.

“Yes,” Kirin said. “It will clear your mind for the hour you will be amongst them.”

“Hour?” Elspeth said.

Cal approached the group. “Yes, it is daylight. We should get through in an hour. The straight path is only three miles.”

“Oh… are you coming back with us?” Gialyn asked

“Yes, I am,” Cal said. He didn’t sound too pleased at the prospect.

“Cal and Mateaf will travel with you to the Northern Keep, as our emissaries. If needed, they will go to the palace. It is time we organised ourselves. We must stand together or not at all.” Kirin waved his finger as though highlighting his point—especially to Cahldien.

“Are we ready?” Daric asked. All nodded in reply. “And you will send horses to the north, Kirin?”

Kirin’thar bowed. “All will be waiting at the crossroads by the sign to Be’olyn and Cul’taris. They will wait as long as necessary.”

A wave of panic came across Elspeth. “We’re not going through Be’olyn, are we?”

“No, child. Your path is north,” Kirin said.

Daric took Elspeth’s shoulder and gave her an understanding nod. He turned and quickly checked all were ready. “Off we go again,” he said. They turned to the west and back to the hollow.

CHAPTER 30

The small Salrian troop had so far spent six days south of the Raithby River. In all that time, they hadn’t seen hide or hair of the travellers. Jern, their leader, was beginning to think they were wasting their time. Rumblings of discontent were becoming commonplace; what was left of their cold meats and food supplies had run out two days ago. Berries and the odd raw egg was the best they could hope. Not that there wasn’t plenty of game to hunt; it was cooking that was the problem. “No fires!” The order was strict. Then again, this hunt was supposed to be done and dusted three days ago. Where were the bloody Surabhan?

They had scouted up and down the riverbank
, looking for tracks, even over towards the Eurmac trail. Now they were approaching the edge of Crenach for the second time, or was it the third?

“Are we crossing this bloody river again?” Uld’eth moaned. He had expected to be in charge of their party; he
was
the senior officer. Now, all he did was complain at every one of Jern’s orders. “This is the second time we’ve crossed and the third time we’ve made camp. We would do better staying in one place. They could be walking straight past us.”

Jern huffed as he turned to answer the old officer’s complaint. “There is more than one path, Uld’eth. If we stay in one place, they could very likely ‘walk straight past us.’” He shook his head and nodded towards the trail. “You are supposed to be looking for tracks, not
more
reasons to whine.”

“As you say… sir,”
Uld’eth answered.

His tone put a bur
r in Jern’s foot. He was beginning to wish Bre’ach
had
given the older man command. However, Uld’eth was not of their troop, and more experienced or not, tradition dictated that Jern must take lead. More’s the pity; he would have followed the man on this wasteful errand and with no argument. Then Uld’eth would have to explain their failure to Si’eth.

Jern formed his men up on the south bank and made ready to cross in pairs towards the far eastern corner of
Raithby’s Plateau—three miles southeast of the waterfall. They had travelled mostly at night, taking turns to stand watch during the day. It was a good plan. Surely, the Surabhans were not travelling at night, too. Jern’s stomach churned.
No, they’ll not travel at night. Why would they? Why haven’t we seen them?

Once over the river, the Salrians huddled for cover behind a line of wild berry and lemon-leaf bushes just inside the Crenach’coi boundary. They were not particularly quiet about it. Jern grimaced as he heard the men kicking about in the undergrowth, making room for their bedrolls. They’d started behaving this way two nights ago, about the time the food ran out—slow following orders, talking back, not maintaining cover—very un-soldier-like. Uld’eth didn’t help; questioning his leader’s orders is what started it all. Trusting someone to stand watch all day was going to prove difficult.

“We will post lookouts in twos today,” Jern said, hoping they would be less likely to sleep on the job if there were more than one.

Moans of malcontent came from all.

“Why would you do that?” Uld’eth protested. “We will have to double up on shifts, two each.”

Jern folded his arms and stared at the older man. “Shifts will be three hours. You and I will take the middle one.” The other Salrians smiled and nodded. Of course, for them, that would mean six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Uld’eth didn’t look so happy, though.

The day passed uneventfully. One of the lookouts woke Jern for the second time. He pushed open his eyes and dry-washed his bald head. He nodded thanks to the lookout. “Wake the others and see to the water.” The lookout nodded back half-heartedly, then walked along the line of sleeping Salrians, kicking the bottom of their feet to wake them.

Uld’eth immediately resumed his complaining. “When are we going to call it a day, Jern, and be done with this nonsense?”

“Like I said, one more day and we will backtrack. It is no use looking for Si’eth. We could cause more harm than good. Best we go back the way we came and wait for him at Herann’coi. I don’t see that anything else can be done here, other than walk around in circles.”

“He won’t be happy, you know, not one bit!”

Gods, does the man want to go home or not?
Jern sighed. “We had our orders. We have carried out our orders. They could have crawled this far by now! No. They haven’t gone south, and that is what we were sent to prevent—our job is done!” Jern nodded assertively, almost as if he were convincing himself of his explanation.

Uld’eth picked a few berries from the bush in front of him while he spoke. “That’s fine with me, Jern,” he said. “But if we’re wrong, it is your head, not mine.” He chuckled to himself.

Jern bit his lip.
Stone the fool if he isn’t trying to ruin me.
“We will go a few hours north, past that gully Bre’ach spoke of. If we can pick up any trails, if there is sign of them, then the commander has dealt with it already. If not, they must have gone another way. Six days is too long, even for the Surabhan female.”

Uld’eth nodded, not laughing this time. If they had gone past, Si’eth would probably be waiting for them, waiting for two days or more!

Night fell while Jern and the other Salrians broke camp. They didn’t make a much better job than the last day they’d spent there. Jern sighed at the broken branches and half-eaten sour apples. He was thankful Si’eth wouldn’t be travelling south on their way back home.
A child could find this camp.

The moon rose while a few stray clouds still lingered. Jern was glad of the light; the Crenach’coi was no place to spend the night, no place for a Salrian, at any rate. There were few forests in the mountains of An’aird Barath. River stone and mud were what they used to build houses in Jern’s village. Even the chairs and tables were mostly woven reeds. The tax on transporting wood was so high only the merchants and noblemen of Barath City could afford it—another reason to hate the bloody Surabhan! Jern ordered his men to head back west until they reached the tributary and then cross to the northern path at the base of the gully. They kept to the trees for as long as they could and then scurried along the base of the ridge. The outlet at the foot of the waterfall’s plunge pool was shallow enough to wade, half of it crossed by hopping stones.

It was apparent, even to the inexperienced Jern, that a fight of some kind had taken place: tracks, splintered arrows, blood. The Salrians looked about for signs of their commander. Nothing of any note, though some looked curiously at the contents of one of their belt packs strewn amongst bloodied rags. Somebody was injured, or more importantly, somebody was
alive
to treat somebody who was injured.

Jern waved them into line behind him. “Don’t stand in the middle of the track!” he said. He beckoned all to line up against the eastern wall, to follow him to the top of the gully. Jern peered over the rim at the uppermost. Left and right he looked but could see nothing. Then, straight ahead, he saw the mounds
. He gestured for all to stay low while Uld’eth and he crept up to the dark earth.

“They’re Salrian!” Uld’eth’s guttural whisper crackled with disbelief as he looked at the graven insignia lying on the rocks circling each mound. “They are
all
Salrian!”

Jern sat, for the moment, overcome with quiet panic.
Gods, what could have happened here?
he thought.
Where is Si’eth?
That thought brought him back with a jolt. “Check the insignia,” he said. “See if the commander’s is there.”

Uld’eth scurried, almost on all fours, around the graves, looking at the blackened insignia at the front of each. “There are five; none bear his mark.”

“Then there are still eight.” Jern’s first thought was selfish. The enemy had passed him by, and now five of his compatriots were dead. What would Si’eth have to say about that?

Again, Uld’eth’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “There are tracks leading to the tributary.”
Uld’eth was crouched five paces in front, pointing north along the waterway.

Jern got up and crept to where Uld’eth signalled. Indeed, there were many tracks. “Whoever made these were here a long time. It is clear that our men buried them—the Surabhan wouldn’t know about burning the insignia before placing it on the graves. We must assume they are still on the hunt
.” He stood for a moment in thought.
Are they hunting? Why bury the men unless the Surabhans were caught? Burying would take time. They must already have them. No, the tracks would lead back west. Gods, what is going on?
He turned to his men. “Spread out along the bank. See if you can find more tracks.”

It wasn
’t long before a whispered, “Over here,” came from one of the Salrians. Jern and Uld’eth ran low to where tracks led into the water.

Jern knelt to study them. “There are too many. It cannot just be our men. They must have followed the Surabhan over the river. If the commander had captured them in the gully, he wouldn’t have taken them east.”

The Salrian who found the tracks nodded in agreement. Uld’eth huffed. Jern turned to him and gave the older man a stern look. “Gather your things, Uld’eth, and be quiet about it. They could be anywhere. We will cross in twos. Wait by those trees when you’re clear.” Jern pointed at two trees set against the eastern bank. He turned to Uld’eth and waited for the old soldier to acknowledge his order.

Uld’eth gave an almost inaudible, “Aye, sir,” as he turned to gather his pack. He signalled the others to move up from the gully where they
’d waited behind the cover of the rock face.

Slowly, Jern and the other Salrians paddled through the fast
-flowing waters of the tributary. Once they were all safely huddled beneath the trees, Jern pointed back at where they crossed. “The tracks lead in both directions,” he said. “Both into the water and out again. This makes no sense.” He looked to Uld’eth for answers.

“Maybe the
y came back to bury them,” Uld’eth said.

Jern thought for a moment. “If that is so, they must have caught the Surabhan. They wouldn’t give up the chase this close. And if they have caught them, why are there no tracks heading west at the base of the gully?”

Uld’eth shook his head and gave a long sigh. “We must proceed as if the Surabhan have our men prisoner.”

Jern’s shoulders dropped. “Yes
. It is beginning to look that way, isn’t it?” He joined the old man with a sigh of his own.

Uld’eth looked towards the east. He dropped his chin and creased his brow as though he
’d seen something unexpected. “That cannot be a fire,” he said, pointing to where a faint orange glow lit up the trees.

“That settles it. The wolves must have come with them,” Jern said.

Uld’eth shook his head in contempt at Jern’s response. “If there were wolves with them, we would have seen tracks.”

“Enough, Uld’eth,” Jern snapped. “Enough of your questions. Three men and three children didn’t kill five and take eight prisoners without some help. They must have trampled over the wolves’ paw prints
. Either that or more Surabhan have joined them.” He folded his arms and waited for Uld’eth to reply. None came. “The wind is from the southeast. We will circle north and run down along the tree line. I want an answer before we charge in.”

“Very good, sir.” Uld’eth bowed, apparently satisfied with the orders.

Jern led the Salrians a farther half mile upstream before cutting across east to the forest rim. There, they slowly crept, one man at a time, to within a few hundred yards of the hollow.

“Wait here!” whispered Jern. “I’ll go closer and see what we have.”

The others nodded.

Jern took off his pack and skulked as silently as he could along the tree line. He tested every footfall for twigs before lying down hard. He avoided every branch and leaf. It took ten minutes to come within sight of the hollow, and even then, he couldn’t get a clear view into the depths of it. However, he could see the top of Si’eth’s head, and he reckoned rightly that the travellers were not alone. The wolves were there, but where were the rest of them?
Two wolves and maybe three Surabhan and no sign of the others?
Slowly, he turned and quietly crept back to the others.

Not quietly enough, though.

*  *  *

Aleban pricked up his ears and stood to attention, facing the direction of Jern’s retreat. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. His lip curled as he let out a low growl.

“Do you hear something?” whispered Grady. He was sat with his back against the fallen tree. Rolling to his side, he both put down the knuckle of dried bread he was chewing and picked up his long knife. Straining to hear, he turned to the north, too. He glanced at the Salrians; they were behaving… well.

Turning to the Cren, he gestured towards the Salrians. “Keep an eye on them,” he said. “Aleban?”

“I can’t tell,” Aleban replied. “I’d swear I could smell Salrians. I don’t know if it’s these two or if there are more of them to the north.”

“Let’s not take any chances.” He nodded towards the Cren while loosening his quiver and bow. “Can you get the prisoners behind the logs?”