The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (8 page)

Glenwood was enraged. It was only the extreme fatigue clouding his mind that prevented him from attacking Rham Jas. Instead, the defenceless acolytes of Shilpa the Shadow of Lies fell upon him. They screeched, sobbed, tore at the air, but each one died swiftly at the edge of his katana.

Those who turned towards Glenwood were frenzied and had no sympathy for the pain he felt at Shilpa’s death, nor his hatred for the assassin who had killed her. He lashed out, killing a man with bite marks on his chest. His thoughts focused on reaching the Kirin and ending his life in vengeance.

‘We’re leaving, Kale,’ shouted Rham Jas, darting off the platform.

A Karesian woman drenched with sweat stepped in front of him, swinging an iron torch-holder. She struck Glenwood on the side of head and his vision went dark. He lost consciousness as a biting pain enveloped him.

Calm, sweet Kale, let your mind be calm... our time will come
. The beautiful voice echoed through his mind.

CHAPTER 3

TYR NANON IN THE FELL

L
ONG AGO HE
had lived in the Drow Deeps. Far to the south and the east, beyond the lands of silence. It was peaceful and timeless, an early life spent in play and mischief. Nanon couldn’t remember exactly how old he was, but he had pieced together twelve centuries of memory. The first two were in the Drow Deeps, among his own kind. The next five in the Heart, learning his craft. He was a Tyr, a warrior, and a Shape Taker. He had mated, sired children, fought in wars, battles and duels. He had learned to be cautious and considered. He had survived. Nanon was older than any other Dokkalfar he had met and he saw the world as a river of endless conflict. It was the Long War and he was its soldier.

His last few centuries had been spent among men, walking the paths they considered important and learning their ways. He liked them and their short-lived, obsession-filled lifestyles. They were foolish, passionate, capable of tremendous honour and rather amusing. They had taught him humour, a concept rare among the Dokkalfar.

He smiled and returned to the present. They had been fighting for a week. Nanon had lost count of the days he had gone without rest and the friends he had seen die. His ally, Tyr Dyus the Daylight Sky, had made sure that the Dokkalfar of the Fell Walk had come to their aid, and Nanon’s host had stayed at around fifty warriors despite the losses.

It was early morning and the Hounds of Karesia had not attacked for several hours. The old Tyr had not taken any rest, preferring to allow his fellows to meditate while he stayed on guard in the branches of a tall tree.

Their advantage was twofold. First, as long as they stayed in the Fell, the Hounds couldn’t use their full force. Second, the humans needed sleep and the forest-dwellers didn’t. A few hours’ quiet meditation every few days was enough for the Dokkalfar, and this advantage made their defence of their forests more stubborn and effective than their numbers would suggest.

Fresh arrows and black wart were delivered each day, and the humans had not crossed the line set by Nanon. The first Dark Young they had killed still stood, in the form of a withered tree, a short way from where he sat. Beyond it, a few hundred dead Hounds lay in the smouldering ash of the Fell, and many more had been retrieved or burned by the Karesian army. The fires had stopped and it appeared that even the whip-masters of the Hounds wouldn’t bombard their own troops with flaming boulders. Nanon mourned the loss of so many ancient trees from the Karesians’ initial bombardment, but he was stubbornly refusing to let any more burn.

‘Shape Taker!’ The voice came from a Tyr skulking in the darkness below.

‘I’m busy.’

‘Vithar Loth asks for your presence in the Fell Walk,’ said the voice.

Nanon frowned and turned from the tree line, directing his dark eyes towards the younger forest-dweller.

‘As a Kirin friend of mine once said, you fucking what?’ demanded the old Tyr, evoking Rham Jas.

The Dokkalfar was confused by the cursing, but grasped the tone.

‘He was very insistent that you return to take counsel from the Vithar.’

Nanon considered swearing again, but decided not to shoot the messenger and merely waved him away.

A few trees to his right, Tyr Dyus sat, strumming calmly on the string of his war-bow.

‘My friend, I am required to leave,’ Nanon said to his ally. ‘Loth wants to flex his muscles at me again.’

Dyus didn’t turn from the tree line. ‘We are Tyr, we fight. They are Vithar, they talk.’

‘We have an hour or two before they attack again,’ replied Nanon. ‘I can get to the Fell Walk and back.’

‘I will lead in your absence,’ said Dyus. ‘No human will pass your line.’

Nanon jumped down from the tree, leaving his short bow on a high branch but keeping his Ro longsword in its scabbard.

‘Maybe I can bring a few hundred warriors back with me... and keep my line where it is.’

He backed away from the tree line and darted into the deep shadows, keeping low to the ground. Within minutes he was hopping over fallen logs and making his way swiftly through the dense forest. It was nice to be in the woods again after his time in Ro Canarn and he chuckled to himself, enjoying the excitement of his current battle in the Long War. The last time he’d been needed was four hundred years before, and that conflict had been rather tedious, involving a lot of sitting around and talking to unpleasant things. Whatever the downside of Shub-Nillurath’s attempt to reassert his power, at least the old Tyr wasn’t bored.

It was a brisk jog back to the Dokkalfar settlement and the Fell Walk was buzzing with activity when he arrived.

As with all forest-dweller havens, it was built below a constructed forest floor, using the roots of huge trees as pillars between which to construct buildings. Nanon considered the Heart, far to the north in the Deep Woods of Canarn, to be his home. It was a much smaller settlement, with a few hundred Dokkalfar rather than a few thousand, and he disliked the densely populated southern haven.

After so many years spent among men, Nanon quickly became frustrated with the slow and steady ways of his people, which were annoyingly prevalent in the Fell Walk. The pace of life was the hardest thing to adapt to. His short time in Canarn had included much activity, a daily dance of nice conversations and broad smiles. Nanon had thoroughly enjoyed his time with Brom and the other men of Ro and he had to acknowledge that he preferred their company to that of his own people. Even the Dokkalfar of the north, who had come to live in Ro Canarn, were better company than the Fell Walkers.

‘Tyr Nanon, you have been summoned.’ The voice was female and harsh.

Turning round, he looked up into the eyes of a Vithar. She was armed – unusual for a shaman – and wore a brown robe, covering her from head to toe.

‘Hello,’ replied Nanon with a smile. ‘Who are you?’

The Vithar didn’t react and her face showed no emotion.

‘Please excuse my manners.’ He bowed his head respectfully. ‘Just escort me to the auditorium... I assume that’s your job.’

She stepped past him and extended her arm to show him the way, evidently intending to follow close behind.

‘I love a good chat,’ said Nanon drily, as he walked in the direction indicated. ‘Again, excuse my manners.’

Closer to the centre of the Fell Walk, Nanon saw multiple Dokkalfar wearing armour and packing their personal belongings into woven satchels. The activity was strange. They were preparing for something, and he doubted it was a stint on the front line against the Hounds. Whatever Vithar Loth had planned, it would likely annoy Nanon. He prepared himself to bite his tongue rather than shout and swear. He needed to remember who he was... what he was. Now was not the time for the bluster of men.

With the Vithar still behind him, Nanon stepped on to a long and winding platform leading to the auditorium. It wove upwards, providing a clear view down into the settlement and confirming that a thousand Dokkalfar were packing their belongings. A hundred buildings of wood and earth at a dozen levels encircled the largest tree trunks, each one now empty of its inhabitants.

Nanon slowed and ran his hand along the twisted wood that formed a railing. Every few inches a leaf sprouted from it. Some had grown into small shrubs or produced flowers, and they would continue to grow, a symbiosis between nature and forest-dweller.

‘Keep walking,’ said the Vithar.

‘I didn’t stop.’

‘You slowed down. Please hurry up.’

The Vithar stepped close to Nanon and glared down at him. She was several inches taller than him.

‘I don’t like you, Shape Taker, so hurry up and I won’t need to force you.’

He smiled and walked slightly faster, not caring to argue with the Vithar. It was odd behaviour for a shaman and Nanon wondered if she was actually prepared to use force. He decided that he didn’t want a fight and that it was easier to just do as she said. Vithar Loth would cause more than enough irritation. Remember not to swear. Remember not to swear, he repeated in his mind.

At the end of the walkway a circular balcony hung over the settlement and housed the auditorium. The last time Nanon had been there he’d defied Loth and rallied allies against the Hounds. It was also the last time he had seen Rham Jas Rami and Utha the Shadow. The space was now mostly empty, with no Tyr guarding the perimeter and only four Vithar seated at the far end.

‘Tyr Nanon, you will approach,’ said Loth.

‘I approach in friendship,’ he replied, strolling casually into the circular auditorium. ‘You have more supplies for me? Maybe a hundred more warriors?’

A moment of silence. ‘We have not,’ replied Loth.

‘A shame, we are hard pressed.’

Nanon reached the raised seats at the far end and came to a stop in front of the seated Vithar. Next to Loth was a senior Tyr named Hythel who had refused to accompany Nanon to the line. On the old shaman’s other side were two more Vithar, both of whom were expressionless.

‘I can’t be away for long, my attention is needed on the line,’ said Nanon, keeping his tone even.

‘Tyr Dyus can kill in your absence,’ replied Loth. ‘You are required here.’

‘If I am required to talk... you can do that without me.’

‘Insolence,’ sneered Tyr Hythel. ‘You are not a Fell Walker and you have spent too much time among men. The cycles turn and, despite your age, you see nothing.’

Nanon refused to laugh. He wanted to, but it would have been lost on the forest-dwellers before him and would have showed more disrespect than he felt. He tried to think at their pace, slowing things down to a crawl in his mind.

‘Why is your settlement enveloped in such activity? And why do I now need escorting?’

Hythel tilted his head. ‘You see? He is arrogant and thinks only of his own now. The forever of your people is at stake, Shape Taker.’

Vithar Loth raised his hand and silenced Hythel. The old shaman turned his eyes to Nanon and attempted to communicate with him silently. Nanon refused to open his mind, not wanting to give the wily old forest-dweller access to his thoughts. After a moment, Loth tilted his head as well.

‘The ages of this land turn. We have seen this before and wish to wait out this battle of the Long War.’

‘That will not stop the lands from turning,’ replied Nanon, ‘or the Long War from raging.’

‘You misunderstand.’ Loth was impassive and difficult to read. Nanon was used to being able to sense motivation among his people, but those of advanced age were strong of mind.

‘You were escorted because we no longer trust you,’ said Hythel. ‘You misunderstand because you are ignorant. You kill because the stench of man has infected you.’

He shook his head, fighting bad habits. The Tyr before him was powerful but he was beginning to irritate him. ‘Please tell me plainly, what do you want?’

Hythel stood up and displayed his full height. He stood much taller than Nanon, flexing his shoulders and clenching his fists. ‘Plainly? What is this, impatience? We have meditated on a problem and wish you to join our meditation.’

‘Sit in silence with us and remember who you are,’ said Loth.

Nanon closed his eyes. He wanted to do as they asked and be a Dokkalfar again. He was angry with himself for his impatience, but he knew that sitting in silence for three days was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

‘I can’t. I am needed,’ he murmured.

‘If you will not sit as a Dokkalfar, we will at least speak to you as a Tyr,’ said Loth.

‘I am still Dokkalfar,’ he snapped.

Instantly, he knew he’d confirmed their suspicions. He’d become angry and let impatience govern his actions.

The Tree Father stood and softened his hard gaze with a minuscule smile. He was too controlled to appear smug, but now he felt superior and Nanon could sense it.

‘This land has changed and we have stayed the same. We have no hall to which we can flee, our ashes will not travel beyond the world, they will return to the earth we could not save.’ Loth was quoting from
The Edda
, an ancient tome written by the Sky Riders of the Drow Deeps. It was a somewhat ponderous treatise on the history and self-sacrifice of the Dokkalfar. Nanon had read it many times, especially the sections dealing with the Long War, but the majority of the book was a meditation on the inevitable destruction of the forest-dwellers.