Dragondoom

CHAPTER 17

Winter, Spring, Summer, Early Fall, 3E1601

[Last Year]

Snow scrutching under her feet, Elyn made her way across the assembly grounds toward the main hall of the garrison. Overhead the auroral lights bled bloody red again, as they had done off and on since Year’s Long Night, fueling talk of ill omens and dire fortunes. Around her, wooden palisades stood starkly in the darkness, their sharpened ends jutting upwards, clawing at the scarlet light above. To fore, side, and rear, long low buildings squatted blackly, log sided and sod roofed: barracks, stables and smithy, store-houses, and such. Straight ahead, yellow lamplight streamed through the oiled skins covering the windows of the common building, her goal. As she stepped inside, shutting the heavy wooden door behind, Men turned, their voices falling silent. The Princess made her way toward the head table, joining Brude, commander of this outpost along the Kathian border. Slowly the conversation resumed as she threaded among the warriors, finally coming to her place. Brude, a stocky, muscular Man in his forties, glanced up as she seated herself, his look wary. The commander had been troubled at the thought of a Woman joining the ranks of his garrison, a Princess at that. She had come in the late fall, just ere the snows had flown, a Warrior Maiden, she had said-all had heard of her training, and of her exploits ’gainst the Naudron-to learn more of her craft, she had said. Uneasily Brude had accepted her-in truth he had no choice, for Aranor himself had sent her. But she had proved to be a true Warrior Maid, quick of mind and of arms, her skills equal to or better than that of his best. Even so, still it was hard to accept that a female shared duty along this restless marge, no matter what her lineage or skills might be.

As she sat and was served a meal by the kitchen crew, from out of the hum of conversation she could pick a phrase or two, and she noted that once again the talk turned to the blood-red werelights in the sky above:

An ill omen for someone. .

Perhaps for the King. .

Nay, not just the King; ’tis an ill omen for the whole of Jord. .

Aye, it means killing and Death and War. .

“I see that disaster strikes again tonight,” Elyn said to Brude, breaking a piece of bread from the loaf.

“Mock not the high winter light, Princess, for at times it does indeed foretell what is to come.” The commander took a mouthful of stew, his eyes losing focus as his mind turned inward upon his memories as he chewed and swallowed. “There was the red warning three years apast when Tamar attacked. And many is the bard’s tale of hidden messages written in the lights for Man to puzzle out.”

“Perhaps so, Commander Brude,” responded the Princess, “yet I have not the skill to read such arcane writings, and neither do I think has any man jack among us.”

“Many nights, now, the sky has dripped red,” growled Brude, still lost in his thoughts. “Each night I have set an extra watch along the walls, expecting an attack. Yet none has come, no matter what say the lights above.”

“If they do be omens, Commander,” mused Elyn, “perhaps their secrets could be delved if only we knew for whom the messages are intended.”

Brude had no response, and they ate awhile in silence, conversation abuzz all about them. At last the commander cleared his throat. “Spring will be here soon, Princess-another thirty days or so. Another shift of troops will come in with the flowering of the blooms. I would ask you to wait a fortnight beyond their arrival, then would I have you take charge of those returning through these wild lands to the main garrison.”

Elyn’s heart leapt to her mouth. He expects me, a Warrior Maiden, to lead the Men home! My own command! A far cry from being a courier, a scout. Ah, but my own command. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Brude. “Commander, I accept; and I am gratified by your trust.”

That night, Elyn and Brude pored over maps of the region as well as maps of the lands between the outpost and Jordkeep:

“This route is straightest, Princess, yet you would have to pass through Render’s Col, and a better place for an ambush has ne’er been seen. Now by this way”-Brude’s stubby finger traced a course across the chart-“there are no easy places for ambushes to lie, yet there is the Little Grey, and in springtime its waters roar along the banks faster than a horse can run, they say, though I misdoubt it.”

“What about the way I came?” asked Elyn, her own finger moving across the map.

“You came in the fall, my Lady,” answered Brude, “but in the snowmelt and spring rains, these cliffs become laden with water, and mud slides roar down the slopes.”

Brude and Elyn stood in silence, gazing at the maps. “It be your first command, Warrior Maid,” said Brude at last. “What be your choice?”

Elyn’s answer was a long time coming, yet at last she responded: “I cannot do aught about snow melt and spring rains, nor about raging rivers and sliding mud. But ambushes I understand, and to be forewarned is to be fore-armed. I would choose Render’s Col as my route, and defang any ambuscade ere it had a chance to be sprung.”

At Brude’s grin, Elyn knew that she had passed her first test of command.

Long into the night they planned, the experienced Brude giving canny Elyn his advice, in turn delighting at her apt turn of mind. Yet there came a time that Brude yawned and stretched. “Ah me, my Lady, but this old warrior needs his rest. I know that you would rather decide all things this very nighttide, every question answered, each plan complete, but we must needs get some sleep. Fear not, Warrior Maid, we shall speak at length many times ere you depart.”

Scrutching through the snow on her way back to her quarters, Elyn was deep in contemplation, reflecting upon all that she and Brude had said. Suddenly, she shivered, and Elgo’s face came unbidden to her mind, wrenching her out of the tracks of her thoughts, her heart hammering wildly, as if a doom faced not only her twin, but all of Jord as well. And without conscious volition, she looked upward, and still the werelight in the skies above bled a ruddy red.

At last spring came, with snowmelt and rain and flowers in its train, followed swift upon by the arrival of the relief. No trouble had been encountered by them in Rendor’s Col, yet along this marge of Kath, trouble could come at any time.

Elyn had made final her plans, consulting with Brude every step of the way. Two Lieutenants were selected from among those returning warriors who would ride in her care, and they joined in the deliberations. At last all was deemed accounted for, and two weeks later, the column of fifty set forth for Aranor’s holt, Elyn of Jord at its head. She had gone to the garrison as a scout and messenger, and now returned as a fledgling commander.

Slowly through the upland hill country they wended: warriors, horses, pack mules. And ranging far ahead and aflank fared the outriders, the scouts. Spring rain beat down upon them all, and everywhere they looked, green sprigs of an awakening land greeted them. And in spite of the cold downpour, Elyn’s heart sang with the turn of the season.

Four days they rode ere coming into the jagged lands, their course restricted ever more by the crags about them. They were aiming for the slot of Render’s Col, a slot leading down unto the wide grassy plains of Jord. Still the chill rain fell about them, and they wearied of its incessant beat. But, as the col, with its cover of tangled forest, hove into sight, hearts beat all the quicker, and breath came in shorter gasps. The close-set trees were still barren in their winter dress; even so, the crags were so thickly wooded that an entire army could lie concealed within, foliage or no.

“Galdor, take your four and scour the left; Brenden, you and yours take the right.” Elyn but repeated what everyone knew, yet somehow her crisp words fell fresh upon heightened senses as the plan unfolded.

Into the slot rode the ten Harlingar, splitting in twain and fading into the bare-branched woods thickset upon either side. Now the main column paced forth, bows at the ready, spears, sabers, long-knives at hand. Slowly they stepped along the way, and Elyn could now see just why this was called Render’s Col.

Into the gap they rode, and around them the crags loomed threateningly, the trees clawing at the wet sky above. And now and again Elyn could see one or more of the scouts, and they used hand signals to note that all was well.

Down the length of the pass they fared and out; no ambuscades were set this rainy day.

At one and the same time, Elyn felt both relieved and disappointed: relived that no foe lay in wait; disappointed that no foe lay in wait. As Galdor and Brenden rejoined the column, Elyn thought, This must be as much of War is: that careful plans are laid for which there is no execution; that stratagems are conceived which are never used.

Before them, beyond a long series of down-stepping hill-sides, they could see the great Jordian oceans of grass, still yellow from the long winter sleep, yet patches of green even now mottling the ’scape. And down into this great wide land rode the column of Vanadurin.

“What? Gone to face Sleeth? When?” It was early evening, and Elyn sat before a warming fire with her sire, Aranor. She had arrived at the castle but moments before, and had been greeted with open arms by the King. He had drawn her into his private quarters, travel stains and mud-splatters notwithstanding, shouting for the servants to bring food and drink, and to summon Arianne and Mala. And when she had asked about Elgo, that was when she had discovered that her brother fared on a mission to slay Sleeth.

“Aye, Daughter, he’s gone on that mission of his,” said Aranor, pouring a goblet of wine, mulling it with spices and a hot iron from the fire, handing it to Elyn.

“But a Dragon, Father, a Dragon!” exclaimed Elyn. “Ruric told us long ago that no Man has e’er slain one. Has Elgo gone mad?”

Aranor laughed. “Nay, Daughter, not mad. List, Elgo’s plan be sound, for it is the very hand of Adon, Himself, that will strike the Drake down.”

“But Ruric said-” Elyn began.

“Ruric fares with him,” interrupted Aranor. “He agrees that Elgo and his Warband will succeed. And so do I. Hai, Elgo, Sleeth’s Doom!” Aranor quaffed his own goblet in salute to his son.

Servants bustled in with food and drink, while Elyn’s thoughts whirled. “What do you mean, Father, that Adon, Himself, will strike the Drake down? How can that be?”

And as Elyn sat and listened, King Aranor explained Elgo’s plan. And during the telling, fair Arianne, Elgo’s wife, entered the room bearing Bram and sat quietly, rocking her sleeping baby.

“. . And so you see, Daughter, he had to leave ere now to be at Blackstone at Mid-Year’s Day, when the Sun rides the sky longest.” Aranor leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his white-streaked coppery hair-he was a Man now in his late fifties, yet still slim and hale and fit. “By Kalgalath, I would have gone, too, but someone needs must run the Kingdom.”

Elyn noted for the first time that Arianne and Bram were in the room, the wee bairn now aslumber upon the soft cushions of a nearby window seat, the exquisite Arianne sitting pensively, her long wheaten hair falling down o’er eyes the color of a pale blue sky. And Elyn stood and embraced her brother’s wife, feeling Arianne’s tiny frame trembling in fear. “Worry not, my sister,” whispered Elyn, “ ’tis a good plan Elgo follows. List, he would have taken me had I been here in time.”

Spring came green and stepped into summer, and Elyn could often be found afield with Arianne and Bram, flying Redwing, the hawk she had raised from a chick. At times Mala and others accompanied them, for Mala was an avid falconer, and in spite of her disapproving nature, she often contributed greatly to the training of hunting birds. And when it came to these excursions out upon the wide grassy plains, Bram was a delight, and a true son of Elgo, the golden-haired babe now a toddler, gurgling in pleasure at the swooping of the red hawk, uttering a language that he alone understood, while reaching out to grasp at the fierce bird’s plumage. Arianne protected him from himself, speaking to him of talons and beaks. And during these talks he would gaze intently at his mother as if he truly understood, but straightaway would turn and reach out for the bird once more.

On Mid-Year’s Day, a feeling of anxiety ran throughout the castle, for this was the day that Elgo’s plans called for the assault upon Sleeth. Yet there was nought that any could do to ease the tension, except Elyn drilled especially hard at swords that day, causing her opponents to marvel at her skill.

In the dark of the night, Arianne awoke screaming Elgo’s name.

And even though it was now summer, Elyn had the irrational notion that the nighttime skies ran blood red. And she arose from her bed and walked out upon the dark battlements and gazed at the starry skies above, as if seeking omens in its wheeling pattern. No aurora ran scarlet overhead, though a spate of falling stars streaked upon fiery golden tails across the startled heavens.

Summer slowly waned, stepping toward autumn, and still no word came from Skaldfjord. And some petitioned the King to send a scout, a herald, a representative of some kind to seek news, Arianne among these. “If we’ve not heard by autumn’s coming, then will I send an emissary,” was his reply.

Redwing swooped and glided through the high blue sky, his calls skreeing down to those below. Bram laughed to see the bird plummet in a stoop, plunging toward the earth to bring down game. Kyla, Arianne, and Elyn sat upon a cloth spread o’er grass and nibbled at their meal, while Mala stood nearby and watched the flying hunter, the leather hawking gauntlet upon her right arm. The bird pulled up short from his dive, the quarry gone to earth, Redwing hurtling low across the prairie, Mala’s eye following him for a while, but then coming to a stop as movement afar arrested her sight.

“Hmmp,” growled Mala, “now who could that be? Men on horseback. Waggons too.”

Elyn stood and shaded her eyes and gazed, counting-“Eleven at most, I make it: nine horses mounted, two wains driven”-also wondering at what small band it might be in the distance, making their way southeasterly toward the castle. But then she espied a jet-black steed, and a white-speckled roan as well. “Arianne!” she cried. “ ’Tis Elgo! And Ruric!”

Flinging herself upon her horse, Wind, Elyn spurred toward the distant column, shouting and hallooing as she went, racing at a Hèlbent gallop. Behind came Arianne, her milk-white horse swift as well.

And breaking away from the column came three, Elgo and Ruric and Reynor, racing toward the twain. And the horses skidded to a halt out upon the prairie, the riders stopping and dismounting at one and the same time. And Arianne flung herself into Elgo’s arms, while Elyn hugged them both, and Ruric and Reynor as well.

And Elgo clung to Arianne and wept, all the sorrow and mourning for his lost comrades welling up within him in an overwhelming surge at this his homecoming.

Ruric, too, wept, as did they all, Reynor and Elyn and Arianne, for they were home at last.

And Elgo stood before them, his face scarred, a patch upon one eye, and a white streak through his copper hair. But Arianne did not care, for her beloved was back.

It was the first day of autumn.