Warautumn (45 page)

“Let’s go back to my tent,” Avall suggested, avoiding Vorinn’s query. “Anything that needs our attention can be pursued as well there as here.”

With that, he flung one arm around Vorinn and the other around Rann—both of whom had been, at various times, his Regents—and nodded for his ever-attentive escort of Night Guard to open a path for him away from the hold.

Yet he paused again where the causeway met the outer wall and the route started down the narrow outside stair. It was a good place to see from, and a good place to be seen—and, since a good third of his army was crowding in below, it was also as good a place as any from which to give worth its due.

Taking a speaking horn from a herald who had attached
herself to their party, he leapt into the embrasure between two merlons and, oblivious to the dizzy drop below, raised the horn and shouted to the suddenly attentive throng crowding into Megon Vale.

“People of Eron,” he began. “Knights of Eron and people of Eron and everyone who has, even once, borne the most excellent rank of soldier!”

And with that, as though they thought with one brain, everyone in the entire vale and the hold behind him fell silent.

“Hear me, all you good folk,” Avall continued. “Today we have the victory—in proof of which we have the head of he who gave us so much grief. And without its head, the body will soon wither and decay. So shall it be here.

“But that is not why I address you,” he went on. “I stand here not for my own sake and my own glory, small though that glory may be, but to present to you another: the man who endured longest and risked most to bring us to our present happy pass. All good people of Eron—I present to you the man who truly is your savior: the Lord High Commander of all the Royal Armies: Vorinn syn Ferr-een!”

Perhaps Avall had heard a louder cheer when Vorinn joined him on the ramparts, but he doubted it. It began as applause and shouts of acclamation from those close-packed ranks below: those best stationed to hear his words. But from there it quickly spread up the hollow and into the gap, even as more applause erupted from behind: applause that was soon joined by hoots and cheers and bellows. And then someone began beating a shield, and someone else a drum, and a third someone a helmet; and a flute was found, then a trumpet, then two more, and to Avall’s utter amazement, the whole world dissolved into joyous noise.

Even the earth seemed to be celebrating, for it was shaking, too. It took Avall a moment to realize what that portended. “Wonderful as all this is,” he whispered in Vorinn’s ear, “we probably aren’t as safe here as we could be.”

Without further debate, Avall and his companions—and Vorinn after a final pause to wave at the ecstatic crowd, which prompted another swell in volume—started down the stair.

They walked back to the camp because it was a fine day; and though they were all tired to the bone, it was a fatigue that was not worsened by action. Not when a cheering mob flanked their every step and followed them all the way. Many of that number were Gem-Holders, Avall noted, wondering how they had managed to get outside so fast.

It was just as well they were here instead of there, he supposed, if what he feared about the hold’s stability was true. Still, he banished that and other dark thoughts from his mind as he led what had been most of his Council and a good part of his court back to the Royal Pavilion.

“Wine,” he called to the chamber squire—who had arrived but a dozen breaths ahead of them. “The best there is in the camp, and keep it coming. Some of us have had to stint for far too long, and for now—I don’t care. Everyone have what they will, and let’s relax, and then, much as I hate to say it, we need to consider a number of important matters.”

And with that, Avall flopped down in his chair of state—where he remained exactly long enough to note that everything he had on was somewhere between damp and sodden, whereupon he disappeared into what had been his private chamber and found a pair of fresh house-hose and a long robe, both in Argen’s colors. Not bothering with shoes, he belted the robe with a plain black belt and returned to the outer chamber, which was rather less populous than when he had departed.

Most of his court had followed his example regarding dress, it seemed, and came trickling back by ones and twos, drier and without armor, with Lykkon and Bingg last of all—by which time the chamber squire had managed to secure the requested wine, along with a spread of cold meat, cheese, bread, nuts, and an assortment of sauces.

Though plain fare for a Royal Court, to Avall, who had not seen its like in several eights, it seemed a feast indeed. Helping
himself to a slice of roast venison with hot mustard on dark bread, he tallied those before him: Merryn, Rann, Lykkon, Bingg, Vorinn, Veen, Tryffon, Preedor, and a number of men and women he barely knew, whom he assumed Vorinn had appointed to replenish the Council’s ranks when Rann had abdicated. These last traded uneasy glances with each other, as though wondering if they should, in fact, be present. Avall, in turn, wondered what they thought about sharing the room with Rann and Lykkon, whom some of them surely considered traitors.

“Welcome, all!” he cried when the silence grew too strained. “Things have changed somewhat since I was here last, so I apologize for any discomfort, either physical or otherwise, you may experience. I also see a certain amount of concern on some of your faces as to whether you should indeed be here, so let me address that first. All here are welcome here, and welcome to remain here until we return to Tir-Eron. Your presence implies both competence on your own part and the confidence of those in whom I place confidence in turn; therefore, welcome all. But be warned: You will soon learn that I conduct affairs in a certain manner, so do not be surprised at anything you hear—or see. Not that anything is likely to surprise anyone after today.”

“No indeed,” Tryffon snorted. “Not hardly.”

“Now then,” Avall continued, after a deep breath, “I know that we all want to catch up on what has transpired of late, since we’ve all been separated in a number of interesting ways and at a number of interesting places. Unfortunately, much as I hate to say it, the particulars of that should probably come later. Frankly, too, I don’t have the energy to rehearse it all again, having just done a short version of that very thing earlier today. For now”—he paused, gazing around the table—and beyond, to those who had found no seats there and settled for benches against the wall or, in Bingg’s case, the floor—“we need to address two things before any other. One, of course, is how to conclude our business here; the other is what our business
henceforth will be. There is one obvious answer to the latter, but I would like to hear the latest word on that before anything is decided. Which leaves us with our present situation.”

“What
is
our present situation?” Vorinn inquired, with scarce-controlled impatience. “I never made it into the hold, as you remember, and you never properly answered my question when I arrived. I assume, however, that the Ninth Face has been defeated.”

“It has been defeated
here
, as far as we can tell,” Avall acknowledged. “They fell victim to a fatal moment of indecision and disarray, and from investing too much authority in one person. Which may be a kind of national curse of ours,” he added. “Comes from all those damned rites and rituals—but that’s not what we’re here to discuss. So, to continue with your answer, Vorinn: we have taken Zeff’s second—his adjutant, officially—a fellow named Ahfinn—prisoner, and he will be tried in Tir-Eron, either by our folk or by Priest-Clan, if we can get them back in their place. For the rest, Zeff’s people didn’t put up much resistance once we got into their hold, which implies that theirs was, in part, a cult of charisma, not of dogma. In any case, there were more of us than of them, and more of us all over again, as we began freeing the hostages in the hold. There were casualties—a few. Crim was murdered, and justice has already been served for that. Several Ninth Face soldiers killed themselves, and there were a few fights and some wounds taken on both sides, but we suffered no fatalities—which I know is hard to believe.”

“But good to hear,” Vorinn countered, nodding.

“We also find ourselves in something of an awkward situation, for two reasons,” Avall went on. “First of all, we have to decide what to do with the people we’ve just freed—”

“Leave them here, those who want to stay,” Lykkon broke in. “Appoint a new Hold-Warden, and find a Lore Master to see who’s where in their rotation and if any vital skills will be needed.”

Avall shook his head, frowning ever so slightly. “Won’t
work—not like that, anyway. First of all, while the hold—any winter hold—always has more than year’s worth of supplies on hand, most don’t have their population effectively doubled during the summer, and certainly not at the same time that shipments of supplies are curtailed. They should have been stockpiling for the winter all last quarter, but the only new resources to have made it here are ours, which I’m afraid
we
will need if we’re to accomplish what we intend. In fact, I rather suspect we’ll be on short rations ourselves before we get back to Tir-Eron, and maybe after.”

Rann cleared his throat, glancing at Avall for permission to speak. “There’s also the matter of the safety of the hold itself. I know it’s hard to think of something so huge and solid being vulnerable. It was built for the ages, and looks it. But Merryn will tell you that War-Hold looked that way, too, and one third of it now lies in ruins. In this case, however, the problem is that while a good portion of Gem-Hold was hollowed out of a subsidiary peak of Tar-Megon, part of it—the front third, in fact—was built over the Ri-Megon, which was harnessed for various purposes inside—and which was turned to the hold’s defense when they closed it off and flooded half the vale. Trouble is, they flooded the mines as well, which has rendered them, and with them the entire foundation, unsafe.

“Not that I know firsthand,” he added quickly. “I haven’t been down there yet, though I plan to go later today. But I
have
found the former Mine Warden—one of the few survivors of the initial explosion—and he confirms it. In other words, until their safety can be assured, the mines are useless, which effectively negates the reason for this hold. Moreover, those parts of the hold that give access to the mines have suffered the most damage, and the raw fact is that the whole place is in danger of collapse. The north end may be fairly safe, but my feeling is that no one should live there until we can give it a thorough inspection. Now, with that in mind, I
would
suggest that you leave a team of stonesmiths here over the winter to undertake such an inspection. There would certainly be resources on site
to accommodate fifteen or twenty, which is all that would be required—and all we can spare in the bargain. There’s also the small matter of winter. Winter will be especially hard on this place because water will have reached places where water has never been, and will freeze, expand, thaw, then freeze and expand again. All of which will render the hold less stable. Which is another reason it needs to be abandoned for the nonce.”

Silence, briefly, while everyone stared at each other.

“There should be no problem with people retrieving personal goods,” Rann went on eventually. “As long as they realize they’re acting at their own risk. But unless this Council rules otherwise, I’d say the place should be closed until we can determine for certain that it’s safe.”

“What about the … magic gems?” From Tryffon. “They’re the reason this started in the first place.”

Avall regarded him squarely. “As far as I know, there
are
no more gems of that kind—not here, and let’s say I have a good reason for that assumption. And if there do turn out to be more, I have every confidence that a means exists to retrieve them. And about
that
I will say no more.”

“And the Ninth Face prisoners?” Veen inquired. “What do you say about them?”

Avall started to speak, but noted that Vorinn was seeking recognition. “Lord Vorinn? You have a suggestion?”

“We can’t leave them,” Vorinn stated flatly. “We can’t, because we can’t trust them. But it occurs to me that they owe a massive debt to Gem-Hold, above all else. What I would therefore suggest is that they bear the brunt of carrying whatever goods need to be salvaged by their former hostages. We would have to chain them, but surely with so many able smiths about, there’d be no problem contriving sufficient fetters.”

Everyone laughed at that, including Avall, but something about Vorinn’s casual tone made him uneasy. “That’s until we get back to Tir-Eron,” Vorinn continued quickly. “Once there … we have a number of options as to their specific
disposal, depending on what kind of resistance their clanmates mount. But in any scenario I can think of, the idea of Ninth Face knights stripped naked and tied to tabletops seems to figure prominently.”

More laughter followed—but not from Avall this time. “I would prefer a more humane option,” he said carefully. “That said, labor is more humane than death, so perhaps we should give your idea consideration. Your
real
idea,” he added.

“What about Tir-Eron?” Merryn broke in. “I’m sorry to speak out of turn, especially when the rest of you may know things I don’t, but it seems to me that if we’re going to return to Tir-Eron, we should have some idea what we’ll find when we get there.”

Avall chuckled. “You doubt that we’ve got spies there, or will have? I’ve more faith in Tryffon than that!” He peered at Tryffon expectantly.

For his part, Tryffon looked as uncomfortable as Avall had ever seen him, to the point of shifting in his seat. “The fact is, lad,” Tryffon began, “we don’t know as much as we’d like. We’ve sent people there to find out, of course, but you have to remember that Eron Gorge is a long way from here, even with good horses in high summer, and that’s not considering the fact that one isn’t wise to make a direct approach to the place if one’s intentions are other than they appear to be. The whole west end of the gorge cuts through grassy plains, after all, saving those ridges to the south where we fought that last battle, so one can’t come upon it by stealth, not from the nearest end. The only chance for that is to follow the north rim farther east, find one’s way to the bottom, then work up-gorge again. Which we’ve done, I hasten to add.”