The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2) (30 page)

The Southland boy nodded.

“The Keltaran cannot assure themselves a victory, but they most certainly can assure themselves that they don’t lose. We’ve always set out to encounter the Anvil on our terms, and been forced into fighting on theirs. We march west searching for them and at the most inopportune time we find them. If the battle turns in our favor, they disappear into the mountains, never suffering heavy losses. However, if the battle turns in their favor, they harass and punish us all the way back to our borders, inflicting as much damage as possible along the way.

Now it’s our turn. They march forth from their protective mountains. This time they don’t need the safety of the mountains and a quick place to disappear. They’re the greater force. The Anvil expects the Guard to stick to their normal battle plan.  They foresee a pitched battle on the plains or a siege of the Capital.

We’ll give them something else entirely. We’ll treat them to a display of their own tactics. We don’t wish to defeat them, only to slow them until Corad Kingfisher arrives. If we set aside our pride and are willing to slowly cede land to the Anvil, we should be successful. Once we’re supported by the nets, tridents and horses of the Spear, then they’ll see an entirely new army.”

The room remained silent as Flair looked to Manfir. The prince’s brow remained knit and his eyes downcast. After a moment he looked up and scanned the staff.

“The boy’s plan is either genius or the ravings of a madman.” smiled Manfir. “I can’t discern which, but one thing is for certain. He’s accurate in his assessment of the future. If we remain locked in the Capital, we will all eventually die. It may occur in the present or we may push it off to the near future, but we will die.”

Manfir spun to General Wynard.

“Every horse that can stand. It is and has always been our best defense against the Anvil. Mount them with any man trained in fighting from horseback.“ said the prince as he turned to Brelg.  “Get the remainder of the men moving on foot. We’ve a long march ahead and very little time.”

Wynard and Brelg bowed and sped from the room.

“Ipson.” called Manfir.

The tanner stood from his seat at the table. He looked haggard.

“Yes  .... your majesty.” bowed Ipson.

“I’ve been told that in only a night’s work you discovered considerable sums of heretofore unknown supplies.” smiled the prince.

“Was but a simple task, your majesty.” smiled Ipson. “The former supply commander used a somewhat .... questionable accounting method to inventory the goods commandeered by the Guard. It required many hours study, but once I cracked his method I accounted for an astounding sum of hoarded supplies.

There are quite a few private warehouses spread throughout the city burgeoning with grain and tack. Why, there are even a few back alley armories sprinkled throughout the capital.”

“Have these stores and goods been confiscated and taken under the crown’s control?” questioned Manfir.

“Uh ... absolutely, my lord.” stammered Ipson. “And....well ... you know my ways, Prince Manfir. I used my new post to arrest the owners of the warehouses.”

“Colonel Ipson,” laughed Manfir. “You’ve always been a man of black and white with very little room for grays. If you feel the owners were aware the goods were illegal, imprison them. We’ll see if a cold, dark cell jogs memories of other hidden goods.”

“Yes, my lord.” replied Ipson and he quickly exited the room.

“Commanders.” said Manfir turning to the militiamen. “Your camp South of the city must be on the move by the morrow. Speed is of the essence. We must make the Bear’s Knuckles before the Anvil.”

“But, my lord.” complained one of the militia. “My men are ill-equipped and hungry. A forced march on an empty stomach will leave us with a useless troop.”

“Leave those worries to Colonel Ipson.” replied Manfir. “I have faith in his abilities.”

“General Yully.” said Manfir. “News of our plans must make its way to Corad Kingfisher and my father. It’s essential that they make haste to the Dunmor. As you said, our plan is bold, some say madness. King Macin will not appreciate its intricacies.”

“No, he will not.” replied Yully flatly.

“You’re one of his longest serving and most trusted advisors.” stated Manfir. “I’ll wager you consider yourself a fair manipulator of my father.”

“That I do.” smiled Yully.

“Then use those talents now to make him see the sense behind these plans.” requested Manfir. “Make him understand that we are in a fight for the lives of all and not just the preservation of his beloved city. Make him see that this battle is about so much more than Macin of Zodra.”

Yully bowed deeply.

“I will, my lord.”

CHAPTER 18: THE ICY GRIP

Vieri scouted the foothills of the Scythtar Mountains. The Great Northern trade route diminished to a simple path twenty leagues from the mountains and disappeared within ten. Zodrian forces normally spread East and West by this point.

The Northern plains rolled up to the mountains and ended abruptly at a roaring torrent known as the Frizgard River. The Frizgard was a confluence of the many icy cataracts that fell from the melting snowcaps of the great mountains. The river ran erratically from West to East along the bluffs and foothills of the Scythtar, before turning South and entering the Erutre grasslands.

The Scythtar Mountains rose directly from the river’s frigid waters. Massive granite slabs leapt one giant step up to the bluffs and cliffs of the foothills then they rose in another great leap to the snow covered peaks.

The Borz assassin scouted up and down the river for a suitable crossing. She found one slightly East of the boy’s projected course. The old man’s group must be bringing the boy North of the river to rendezvous with the Ulrog. Rada said Amird wanted the boy. The Ulrog were the quickest way to deliver the lad to Kel Izgra.

Certainly the Elven girl would scout the crossing area first and possibly contact the Ulrog.  More importantly, the Elven girl would need to expose herself to make contact at the river. If the Ulrog were properly motivated and deceived concerning the Elf’s actions, this would be the perfect time for them to strike. 

Vieri’s plan was dangerous. She needed to cross before the old man and his scouts arrived at the fjord. She desired to rouse the Ulrog. The assassination of a priest would properly incite them. Then, Vieri wished to lead them back to the crossing and offer evidence that the assassin moved freely in and out of Ulrog territory.

When the Elf girl attempted to cross, the Ulrog would strike. The girl’s death would be the perfect conclusion to Vieri’s plan. In time, the Ulrog would discover that they eliminated an ally, but by then it would be too late for the boy. Vieri would see to that.

She frowned. The gray haired Guardsman was a problem, but Vieri hoped to avoid him altogether. The boy was a wanderer. He proved that time and again. He stumbled through life completely unaware of the danger that followed him. The Windrider glanced at the churning rapids in front of her. What Southern boy could resist staring at the surging water of a wild northern river? Vieri looked up to the bluffs opposite the river and smiled.

“We must move on.” said Ader. “We’ll travel to the Frizgard, then head East once the Sprites leave us. At some point we will come across Temujen’s people.”

The group headed North. The white faces of the snow covered mountains stared down upon them as the peaks leapt higher and higher above the horizon with every stride. It amazed Kael how something seemingly so near was actually so far away. The more they traveled the larger the range loomed, yet the base of the mountains never came into view.

The group traveled another full day before they started to climb the rolling foothills that lay at the base of the great range. As evening came, the riders approached a wall of granite that echoed with the sound of rushing water.

“The Frizgard.” stated Ader. “It flows from within the Scythtar and cuts a gorge across a good portion of the range’s face.”

The group made camp just South of the charging currents in a grove of stunted trees surrounded by thickets. Just beyond the thickets to the North, the Frizgard rushed a few yards below a long barren slab of stone.  As usual, Kael set about collecting firewood and caring for their mounts.

Eidyn spent the entire ride in sullen silence, and as he approached Kael to share in the task, the Elf still seemed as if talk were the last thing on his mind. Kael watched Granu approach Cefiz near the fire.

“A good camp this close to the Scythtar.” said the giant. “The river protects us to one full side.”

The Guardsman grunted and nodded his agreement, but Kael saw something else enter his face. Cefiz rose. The lieutenant retrieved a small crossbow from his belongings and wandered toward the sound of the rushing water. The sound of the torrent intrigued Kael ever since they arrived. He finished working on his mount then slowly trailed after Cefiz.

When the boy reached the edge of the grove he forced his way through a thick line of brush. He untangled himself and stood twenty yards from the churning rapids known as the Frizgard.

Cefiz stood at the edge of the river on a huge granite overhang.  The rapids churned several yards below. Kael watched as the lieutenant scanned the river. Its black face erupted here and there with foam. The water powered its way past partially submerged boulders. Kael was both drawn to and fearful of the river. Its power struck him with awe. Nothing could navigate such a force. The boy glanced at a huge white swirl, bubbling just beyond a great black hump in the water. How many hidden dangers lurked just under the surface of this snake?

The lieutenant finished his inspection of the river’s surface and felt satisfied. He turned his attention to the bluffs and cliffs rising up into the night sky across the river. Cefiz eyed the cliffs for a moment then tossed a handful of dried leaves into the air above the torrent. The tiny brown blades flipped and danced in the gusting winds before they slowly fell and settled in the river below. Immediately, the blades spun and twisted down the waterway, disappearing from view.

Cefiz turned his attention once more to the cliffs above then turned East and slowly picked his way along the river’s edge moving away from the camp.

Vieri waited on a small outcrop of the soaring cliffs and smiled to herself. She liked the North. These cliffs and rising plateaus were something she possessed little experience with in her life amongst the sands, but in many ways they suited her abilities even greater than her homeland. She felt safe and secure in her location knowing neither Zodrian nor Ulrog would look for her on the dark, treacherous ledge, let alone attempt to reach her.

Vieri spent the day hidden in the shadows of the ledge and waited patiently. Rada first counseled patience. An assassin who could not master patience was a dead assassin. The trick, Rada instructed, was to make yourself useful to the clan for years, not a single assignment.

The river crossing lay in perfect view from her perch. A plunging cataract and time had sculpted a long, narrow ravine reaching from the heart of the Scythtar. Debris, washed from the ravine, lay strewn about a shallow, flat area where the river slowed and sluggishly pushed around a great spur of the mountain.

The Ulrog came at dusk. The bulk of their force hovered just inside the tree line while their scouts roamed both sides of the river. Vieri smiled. She knew exactly what they would find in their search. Usually, the Windrider meticulously kept signs of her passage to a minimum. However, she used no caution at this crossing. She crossed the fjord many times over the past several days and left ample evidence of her travels.

The scouts returned to their masters with this information. Someone made several journeys across the shallows of the river. The traces were the same as those near the camp where their priest lie dead. This assassin, small and fleet of foot, used the crossing as a conduit into the Scythtar. The Ulrog leader growled a few orders and the pack quietly bled into the surrounding forest.

Vieri sat amazed. The Ulrog were masters of stone and rock. The beasts huddled just inside the tree line against the broken rock and fallen timber of the mountain slopes and disappeared from the eye. Vieri was painstakingly careful in her work, but watching the Ulrog gave her a greater appreciation of the danger she put herself in.

It took the Elven girl an hour to appear. Once again Vieri gave credit to an adversary. The Windrider concentrated hard on the river, yet didn’t see the girl until she was nearly half way across. Remarkable , thought the Windrider.

The Ulrog made their move once the girl committed to the crossing. The Elf crept nearly three quarters of the way across when huge figures broke from the tree line and splashed into the current. They ran hard to prevent the Elf’s escape then slowly drew in around her. The Ulrog believed the Elf to be the assassin of their priest. Her supposed handiwork from the previous evening left them with equal parts caution and aggression.

The Elf didn’t panic. She stood mid river and drew a small tube from inside her garments. The first Ulrog to step within three yards of the girl immediately clutched his throat and fell to the ground choking. The remaining Ulrog hesitated for a moment, but a giant priest broke from his cover in the tree line and barked a guttural order to the Hackles. They rushed the Elf and overwhelmed her.

Vieri felt satisfaction. She successfully planned and implemented the removal of one of the vessels most crucial supports. He would be that much more exposed when the girl died.

Suddenly, the priest jumped from the river’s edge and charged the group. A scuffle took place among the Ulrog as the priest used the blunt edge of his cleaver to beat some of the Hackles back.

Vieri had taken great pains to eliminate a high ranking priest in the area. She hoped the remaining Ulrog craved immediate revenge, but this priest held authority and apparently intended to question the girl. Vieri cursed her luck. If allowed to speak, the girl might change everything. Several Hackles pointed to their fallen comrade and howled for vengeance. Vieri saw possibilities in her favor. The Hackles were growing more vocal and called for blood. A larger member of the pack held the girl tightly in his arms, ready to tear her apart.